God Cannot Sit on a Nest
The Death of Omnipotence and the Birth of Amipotence, by Thomas Jay Oord. Published by SacraSage, 2023.
I've been following the work of Thomas Jay Oord for at least a decade. One of the things that I've noticed over and over again in his work the careful work of a scholar, theologian, philosopher, and excellent academic who is aware of the historical and intellectual sources, but also the ramifications and the consequences of the work that he has committed himself to. Additionally knowing him personally, I know his personal concern for the good news of the gospel and the practical pastoral realities that ministers, priests, rabbis, elders, and spiritual leaders in the church face as they work and walk shoulder to shoulder with people who are struggling, grieving, and questioning trying to understand how this God works.
I was happily surprised to read in The Death of Omnipotence and Birth of Amipotence another voice coming from Dr Oord. A political voice.
Dr Oord, in The Death of Omnipotence and Birth of Amipotence speaks in a political tone. By politics I don't mean anything having to do with elections or partisan positions on issues but simply in that idea of power. Power over, under, and with creation.
I know in my life when I felt I needed God's power to be made known, and I felt powerless, up against a situation for which I didn't have the resources nor the insight, I have waited for God to act because God is the one with all power. And then as those fears come to pass and something bad or some suffering occurs either in my life or that of someone else, I wonder what piece of the formula I not gotten right in my petition. How did I not pray correctly to release the all-powerful god? In relation to this god, I have felt powerless. But in relation to the amipotent God, the God of love, I am empowered.
Thus, The Death of Omnipotence and Birth of Amipotence has a sense of manifesto about it. Without the Aristotelian and philosophical omnipotent god, we can become aware of how actually seeks to relate to God’s creation. One can almost hear a chant between the lines, “the omnipotent god is dead, long live the amipotent God.”
The death of omnipotence should be celebrated. Its demise helps us understand scripture better and overcomes conceptual conundrums that stem from thinking God exerts all power, can do absolutely anything, or can control. Abolishing omnipotence makes it possible to trust God as loving when we suffer. We need not sit passively on life’s sidelines -- like helpless damsels in distress -- waiting for “the Almighty” to show up and rescue us. We have an essential role to play to promote flourishing…Omnipotence is dead. Long live amipotence! (Oord, 2023)
As Dr Oord releases God from the confines of philosophical labels defining God’s power, he relies on the Hebrew bible and the narratives which give shape to the God known most fully in Jesus. In looking at the biblical descriptions of God and God’s power, Dr Oord writes,
A robust description of divine power must account for what a loving God does and doesn’t do. It must explain the mighty acts of salvation history and the history of suffering and evil. It must explain why sometimes God can rescue and sometimes can’t. (Oord, 2023).
Ending that previously quoted with the word “can’t” hearkens to Dr Oord’s earlier book provocatively titled, God Can’t. Within The Death of Omnipotence, one will find even more depictions of what God cannot do. There are a lot of things God cannot do, and Dr Oord gets specific:
“God cannot lift a pebble. God cannot bench press 50 pounds. God cannot sit on a nest. God cannot chew licorice. God cannot do pushups. (Oord, 2023)
One god has been dethroned to make room for the kenotic, self-emptying God who has always been there. As a result, the power of God is revealed as a power in relationship as a co-laborer and as a collaborator. Neither we, not evil, is under God’s control. The power do subdue evil and to alleviate suffering is in our relationship with God and God’s purposes for creation. As Oord writes,
“An amipotent God creates alongside creatures and creation rather than overpowering or conjuring something from nothing” (Oord, 2023). In the face of evil, God comes alongside and continues to create.
Saying God has to love does not mean God is altogether without freedom. Open and relational theologians like me believe God loves moment by moment, facing an open, yet to be determined future. Consequently, God freely chooses how to love in each moment, given the possibilities and circumstances. Because God cannot be certain how free creatures will respond, God freely selects among the best options and calls creatures to choose. (Oord, 2023)
This freely and creatively loving God is the amipotent God. “Amipotence, by contrast, is inherently uncontrolling. An amipotent God necessarily loves and cannot singlehandedly determine outcomes. Amipotence can’t control” (Oord, 2023). Because love does not control.
This book continues Dr Thomas Jay Oord’s reflection on the open future and the uncontrolling nature of the God of love. With its empowering tone and it’s reference to the biblical descriptions of the type and character of God’s power, this book provides guidance for pastors and those seeking to learn more about our God whose primary description is love.
Dr Thomas Jay Oord States God Can’t: Calling us partner with the God who can
Dr Thomas Jay Oord States God Can’t: Calling us partner with the God who can
I remember, as a seminary student, being instructed about what not to say when entering the room of someone grieving. Hospital visits, broken relationships, death – all sorts of trauma – we talked about some of the least helpful things to say. Toward the top of the list were the statements implicating God in the actions. “It was God’s will,” “God means this to be a challenge for you to grow through,” and the most aggravating, “God will only give you what you can stand.” These were all off-limits. By the way, also off limits was, “How are you doing?” That open-ended question is just useless.
To get to know Tom Oord a little more, check out the All That’s Holy Blue Collar Podcast. Tom co-hosted with us a few weeks ago as we talked about Advent scriptures, and Tom shared a bit about what God Can’t do. Also, we spent quite a bit of time with him in a previous season of the podcast. Follow the links here to get to these conversations:
But what was particularly difficult, especially for those of raised on a God of providence. A God that preordains and pre-orders things toward their ends; a God who so intricately oversaw the moments of our lives moment by moment. We struggled to set aside the platitudes and actually enter the meaning and struggle of the trauma experienced by those in our care. One of the reasons it was a challenge, was that it forced us into consideration of some of the ideas about God with which we may not have been prepared to wrestle.
Evil and suffering are inevitable. At times, evil is from the hands of another, or from invisible diseases and disorders. Rather than attributing these to a God incapable of stopping the evil, or a God unloving and not willing to stop the evil, Dr Oord leans on viewing God through the life of Jesus:
we need to rethink God’s power in light of the love Jesus expresses….If we define divine power carefully, this God can rightly be called “almighty.” The God who can’t control others does miracles, healings, resurrections, and more. The God who can’t prevent evil is still powerful! God is not feeble or aloof but strong and active. We should worship the great, amazing, and mighty God of love who cannot prevent evil singlehandedly.
Dr Oord sets this conviction of a God who can accomplish mighty work in the context of Philippians 2 and what he describes as essential kenosis. The self-emptying that was in Jesus as described in Philippians 2 is a description – a definition, even – not only of Jesus, but God inclusively – a God who is self-limiting out of divine love. Dr Oord elaborates:
Loving others is who God is and what God does. Essential kenosis says God cannot withdraw, override, or fail to provide freedom, agency, and existence to creation. God’s love always empowers, never overpowers, and is inherently uncontrolling.
Thomas Jay Oord, takes on the struggle for those of us that love God, and love those in our care. As parents, teachers, friends, parents, and as pastors, God Can’t not only enters into the theological struggle, but it does so by entering the lives of real people engaged in monumental challenges. Oord writes,
“I wrote this book for victims of evil, survivors, and those who endure senseless suffering, I wrote it for the wounded and broken who have trouble believing in God, are confused, or have given up faith altogether. I’m writing to those who, like me, are damaged in body, mind, or soul.”
I found myself most drawn to Chapter Three: God Works to Heal. Dr. Oord tackles, in philosophically approachable, notions of atoms, physics, and all of the universe and its ability to participate with God. In participation with God evil can be challenged and the miraculous can occur. After enumerating fifteen myths about how God works to heal, Oord forcefully states, “God works to heal. your suffering was not God’s will. God neither caused it nor allowed it. God is a healer with works to mend your brokenness.”
Drawing things together, Dr. Oord’s depiction of a God that cannot do some things, is also an invitation to work alongside the God who love uncontrollingly. God does not use God’s might to control, but to influence, to create, to heal and to love. This God is “almighty as…the one who exerts mighty influence upon everyone and everything….and this might is always expressed as noncoercive love.” Summing up in the postscript, Dr. Oord states, “As we and others cooperate in loving relationships with the Lover of us all, we all enjoy the well-being love provides.”
Coming away from God Can’t, the steady challenge throughout is to face suffering and evil head on. To acknowledge there are things that God has no control over. One has to walk the fence between our longing for a God who will fix all things to our satisfaction on one side; and, the God who seems to capriciously predestine us for suffering for a “greater good.” A result may be that Dr. Oord rescues God from being misperceived or misused as a foil to our perceptions of the meaning of our suffering. Yet, more effectively, as a pastor, I find a wider lexicon of ideas, freedoms even, for sharing the suffering of others. Philosophically, God Can’t provides access to some profound thinking. But as one who sits with others in pain, God Can’t presents a loving God calling us to partner in the work of justice, guiding, loving, and healing.
Gator-Babies, Homeland Security, and Seeing the World Differently
The terrorizing of small children has cultural precedence
I got an education from my friend, yesterday. It was one more wake-up call to the fact that I am white and he is black and we see the world differently.
Being white means missing connections
We rarely talk about politics. Usually we talk about high jump, sprint form, and lawn care.
Yesterday, he made a comment about "45", referring to the US president. We talked a little about the investigations and the lies. When the conversation turned to the missing children separated from their parents when crossing the border, my friend then asked if I knew about "gator bait babies". It was a phrase with which I was unfamiliar. He saw a connection with the present mistreatment of children and a dreadful past.
This was the least offensive image I found on the Internet when searching for gator babies.
Gator bait babies demonstrate the spirit of evil and death which so easily infiltrates our world. The moral and cognitive dissonance is astounding. During the period of slavery, children were chained or tied near shorelines of marshes and rivers. So effective was this form of abuse in attracting alligators, the practices even survived after the end of slavery. These children would be used as bait to attract alligators, whose hides were valuable for producing leather goods. The callous abuse of children was even popularized by "humorous" postcards during the age of slavery and after.
Ferris State University, in its Jim Crow Museum, maintains a historical archive of American racism. The Jim Crow Museum provides the following description of gator babies being used as late as 1923:
“The headline in the September 21, 1923 Oakland Tribune reads “PICKANINNY BAIT LURES VORACIOUS ‘GATOR TO DEATH. And Mother Gets Her Baby Back in Perfect Condition; Also $2”. In the article T.W. Villiers chronicles the entire process of using black babies as bait and how “these little black morsels are more than glad to be led to the ‘sacrifice’ and do their part in lurking the big Florida gators to their fate without suffering so much as a scratch.” Villiers is quick to point out that the babies are brought out of the “water alive and whole and come out wet and laughing” and that “there is nothing terrible about it, except that it is spelling death for the alligators.” In a strange twist, Villiers reports on the hunter’s attempts to rationalize the motivation of the alligators to ‘jeopardize every hope of life for a live baby, and in the matter of color, the additional information is vouchsafed that black babies, in the estimation of the alligators, are far more refreshing, as it were, than white ones.’”
The terrorizing of small children has cultural precedence
I wonder, how deep is our antipathy toward the non-white, non-European, and non-affluent? I want to learn everything I can from my friend's comment, I do want to recognize that my mind would never have gone down that path. I want to think, "our government could not treat children so badly". But my friend, from a different perspective, and being raised in a different cultural history, found the mistreatment of children as part of a larger historical theme, as not actually surprising at all.
We can speak of white privilege, identity politics, "playing the race card" and similar politically charged terms. When we do so, we speak past each other. We don't hear what each person and community is saying and where their ideas come from. But to be a part of a community, a culture with a long history of children being abused, denied dignity, violently mistreated for centuries, the news looks different. And we who are not a part of those communities need to listen and learn from them.
“Jesus loves the little children
All the children of the world
Red and yellow, black and white
They are precious in His sight
Jesus loves the little children of the world
Jesus cares for all the children
All the children of the world
Red and yellow, black and white
They are precious in His sight
Jesus cares for the children of the world
Jesus came to save the children
All the children of the world
Red and yellow, black and white
They’re all precious in His sight
Jesus came to save the children of the world”
Resolutions: Epiphany 1 - The Baptism of Our Lord
Resolutions should be liberating, for oneself, and for others.
Epiphany 1: The Baptism of Our Lord, Matthew 3:13-17
Last Sunday, the first Sunday of 2017, our co-pastor, Rick spoke about New Year’s resolutions. While I took several notes, there was one thing he said that has stuck with me and I have been thinking about all week. In fact, it was going to be the central point I was going to focus on today had we not canceled our worship service because of the weather. Instead, I’m blogging, rather than preaching, today.
Last week Rick, while speaking about the process of choosing a New Year’s resolution mentioned an essential characteristic of a good resolution.
Resolutions should be liberating, for oneself, and for others.
What if liberation, and all the array of concepts about freedom, was at the heart of a resolution? Freedom, liberation, emancipation, deliverance, justice, peace, and solidarity are all powerful purposes for a resolution. These connected concepts, though are anything but easy, they are perhaps even painful. As Peter Enns writes in The Sin of Certainty, the idea of carrying a cross isn’t about carrying the cross, it is about dying on the cross being carried (Enns, 2016). So, while freeing, resolutions are not necessarily easy.
Jumping into the lectionary Gospel text for the First Sunday of Epiphany from Matthew 3:13-17…
13 Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. 14 John would have prevented him, saying, "I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?" 15 But Jesus answered him, "Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness." Then he consented. 16 And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. 17 And a voice from heaven said, 'This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.'
One of the abstract and theological questions commentators love to ask about this passage is a question of why. As orthodox faith has held through the millennia, Jesus as God’s Son, is sinless. So why is it that he would receive the baptism of repentance? What would Jesus have to repent of?
Hold that thought in mind….
Shane Claiborne tells the story of visiting students at Princeton University. They were eager to make a difference in the world and affect change, they asked what issues they should be involved with or support. Claiborne’s response to these earnest inquirers was just about perfect. Claiborne describes the event:
The question made me cringe. Issues? These issues have faces. We’re talking not only about ideas but also about human emergencies. My response to the well-intentioned Princeton students was, ‘don’t choose issues, choose people. Come play in the fire hydrants in North Philly. Fall in love with a group of people who are marginalized and suffering, and then you won’t have to worry about the cause you need to protest. Then the issues will choose you’” (Claiborne, 2006).
As this past week went on, I kept wondering about resolution and revolution, which is why I initially reached for Shane’s book, Irresistible Revolution, on my shelf. If resolutions are to be liberating, might they also necessarily include a bit of revolution?
While John the Baptist is preaching about a baptism of repentance, Jesus comes forward and says he must receive this baptism. And what if we are interpreting too narrowly the concept of repentance?
The call “to repent” is often associated with moral deficiency, ethical failure, evil intent, being bad. Truthfully, I am capable of being all those. And I have probably excelled in one or more of those from time to time. So yes, repentance is about self-assessment and choice and the discipline to turn around as St Paul described it, so as “to walk in the newness of life” (Rom. 6:4). That’s all true. But if that is the only truth about repentance, then we are still stuck wondering why Jesus received the baptism of repentance from John the Baptist.
But the word repentance means more than the self-assessment of moral failure. The essence of the word is “to turn around”. Theologically, it means to be aware of the Spirit of God who prods you to this turn or that turn to follow Jesus. And this is something the Spirit is doing for everyone always (that’s called prevenient grace). When we narrowly use the idea of repentance to make ourselves and others feel bad about the mess we’re making of life, it lacks vision and creativity. Repentance is less about looking at how bad we are and more about turning toward a better vision. And this better vision isn’t an abstract idea, but the person of Jesus.
The nineteenth century preacher, Charles Spurgeon said of Jesus “He had set His face like a flint upon the accomplishment of the task He had undertaken and He had resolved to go through with it even to the end!” Repentance, is not just about turning away from the failed and broken lives we lead; perhaps even more crucially, it is about turning toward “the accomplishment of the task undertaken…even to the end.”
The Hebrew prophet, Zechariah, living in a time where hope, liberation, and justice were not evident encouraged others to “not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin” (Zechariah 4:10). The point is, everything has to start somewhere, sometime.
Jesus mission, as Matthew’s story tells it, is that Jesus “came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many” (Matthew 20:28). The notion of a ransom is that while kidnapped, you can cannot give your life to free your life, someone else must offer a greater prize to the abductors. Jesus is the greater prize, paying a ransom to liberate “those who are in slavery to the fear of death” (Hebrews 2:15).
But, as said earlier, this just doesn’t happen. It begins somewhere, sometime, doing something.
As Jesus walks forward to John for the baptism of repentance, Jesus was coming forward with purpose and resolve; resolute and with resolution. Broader than a New Year’s resolution, but the resolution of a new era: the reign and realm of Heaven was being made present. Christians speak of Jesus “becoming sin who knew no sin” (1 Corinthians 5:21) on the cross. And with the resurrection of Jesus, the power of sin, the slavery to death and fear, are vanquished. But the walk toward the cross, of carrying a cross, begins in the river. Repentance, if used to describe Jesus, illuminates the intention and direction to walk toward something. Perhaps even greater than walking toward the cross, but walking to the other side, through the cross, to the liberation of everyone from the fear and slavery of death.
I know my New Year’s resolutions are paltry in comparison to saving the world. And I can get hung up on self-improvement in a resolution to the point of becoming selfish. If I fail, I feel guilty; if I succeed, I can get conceited. But if my resolutions were less about issues, and more about life and relationships, I wonder what might be different?
If Claiborne is right, perhaps a New Year’s resolution doesn’t have to be abstractly chosen, or drawn out of thin air. Who is in your life already? Who do you know that needs liberating in one way or another? What kind of relationship might call for advocacy, sharing a challenge, or simply being available? While a 2017 NBC News poll indicated that the main two resolutions made this year were 1) to become more organized; and 2) to eat healthier, a question is, to whose liberation?
It is never too late to make a resolution, a step toward repentance, or move toward liberation. So to paraphrase Claiborne: Fall in love with a group of people who are marginalized and suffering, and then you won’t have to worry about the resolution you need to choose. Then the resolution will choose you.
That's what I was thinking about....
References:
Claiborne, S. (2006). The Irresistable Revolution: Living as an ordinary radical. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan.
Enns, P. (2016). The Sin of Certainty: Why God desires our trust more than our "correct" beliefs. N.Y., NY: HarperOne.
to the other side
Let us go across to the other side.
“On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, ‘Let us go across to the other side.’”
For so many years I have taken encouragement from the story of Jesus crossing the sea in a sinking boat.
A couple decades ago I was assisting a church that had gone through a difficult passage. There were conflicts, a lack of clarity on mission, confusion among the lay leaders, and a fractious congregation following a divisive vote on whether to retain or dismiss a pastor. It was a mess.
I was so frequently asked, "Is there any hope for us?"
For the first several months, I heard this question repeatedly. Sometimes from key leaders and influencers. Occasionally from the church administrator who knew more than anyone about the ins and outs of that faith community. Frequently in quiet in-home visits where young families sought assurance that this was a place to invest their time and nurture their kids. “Is there any hope for us?” “Is our congregation beyond repair?” Interestingly, the eldest members didn’t ask these questions as much. Perhaps they had witnessed the resilience born of God’s grace.
Regardless of how I felt, or even what I was capable of seeing, I always answered “yes”. There is always hope. It may have been then that the gospel story from Mark 4:35-41 became more firmly placed in my imagination. But that’s not when that passage most impacted me. After a painful experience of my own with a congregation, I came to see the promise contained in that story more clearly. The story begins with Jesus’ seemingly offhanded comment, “let us go over to the other side”.
It might have been nice, though, if he hadn’t been so confident. He was asleep on the cushion.
In Rembrandt’s famous depiction from Mark’s story, The Storm on the Sea of Galilee, painted in 1633, we can see Jesus in the front of the boat. One wonders how in the world he had been sleeping through that storm. But I take courage in his slumber. He said they were headed to the other side; he didn’t say they were heading to the bottom of the sea.
We all need evidence of hope
In January of 2017 I will begin podcasting, To the Other Side Minicast, brief messages about “getting to the other side”. Find the podcast page on the tab for "media" on themissionplace.org at http://www.themissionplace.org/to-the-other-side-minicast/ Send me a question via email, message me on Facebook, send me a Twitter direct message, or leave a voicemail with a question about challenges, issues, problems, hopes, or curiosities about your community of faith. I will read or play your recorded question on the podcast and then give a brief response to hopefully bring some light and encouragement. Additionally, when useful, I’ll put together an infographic, a checklist, or a list of resources to guide through the points I bring up.
I don’t guarantee my responses will be perfect. In fact, try not to look too closely at the man in Rembrandt’s painting, the one leaning over the gunnels of the boat. Sometimes getting to the other side with Jesus still makes you think some Dramamine might be helpful.
Bring on the questions!
Do You Feel the Spirit?
Is the Holy Spirit a bit grabby?
The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. Ezekeil 37.1
I used to teach Art History. I actually had to explain to my students, my background was in History. So I would teach my class as a history class with lots of pictures. Frequently I would teach about the historic events and the prevailing philosophy of the different periods in history.
When I was teaching about the rise of the empirical method and the loss of mystery in the Age of Enlightenment, I looked for art to display the dialogue that took place. While the world became more and more tame, Caspar David Friedrich saw the sky, sea, ice, fog, the earth as a place of metaphysically ineffable mystery. Watching the fog roll as the monk stands on the shore always leaves me with the opportunity to perceive the fog as rolling away to reveal the emerging sky above. Or, sometimes the sky is being swallowed up by the oncoming mist.
Today I was thinking about the Holy Spirit. We often have internal associations with the way God's spirit works with us. We seek a feeling inside. We yearn for motivation and empowerment from within. Inspiration, a very personal encounter with the Spirit seems to rise within us. The prevailing hymns, songs, and talk about the Spirit of God touching us seems to imply the Spirit rises within us. But I wonder rather than being a Being contained within, the Spirit moves from the outside, moving us along to wider and wider circles of the reign and realm of God?
Certainly experience speaks of the internal work of the Spirit. Even the Apostle Paul defended the view by asserting the Spirit resides within our bodies as in a temple (1 Cor. 6:19). And the way the Spirit intimately understands us seems to imply a deep connection as it even understands our sighs and groans (Rom. 8:26-27). But what about the outer, in the world experiences of God's Spirit?
I was once told (and I like to think it is correct) that Ezekiel 37:1 can be interpreted as "the hand of God was upon me and he cast me into a valley of dry bones." God does not merely lift, but tosses, Ezekiel. Might seem a bit violent. But it doesn't sound like God was awaiting motivation, a warm heart, or inspiration, to rise from within Ezekiel. No. God grabbed him.
Interestingly, when the prophet John saw his vision of heaven in the Apocalypse of John, he does not tell us that the Spirit was in him. Instead, he was in the Spirit. Which I don't really understand other than to say, the Spirit was somehow outside of John. Similarly, when the Apostle Philip has had his encounter with the Ethiopian, the Spirit comes from outside him and whisks Philip away to Azotus (Acts 8:39).
The Holy Spirit seems a bit grabby.
Are you looking for the Spirit's work in your life? Looking for the Spirit to give you some direction? I wonder if we have been looking in the rightplaces? Could the movement of the Spirit be outside us?
Heads up! Look around, the Holy Spirit is out there.
Twice as Bright?
a smoldering wick he will not snuff out
“The flame that burns Twice as bright
burns half as long.
Lao Tzu, Te Tao Ching
a smoldering wick he will not snuff out
Isaiah 42.3b”
So, to be honest, I'm not impartial when it comes to bi-vocational ministry.
I have a bias.
My bias is this: bi-vocational pastors have their candles burning at both ends, actually several wicks on each end. Work and family balance is doubled. Issues of job performance are doubled. Professional image or persona, doubled. Bosses, supervisors, accountability, doubled. Calendars, doubled. Opportunities for spiritual renewal, continuing pastoral education, and pastoral peer-to-peer relationships, halved. All this doubling and dividing can be exhausting, tiring, and can take a toll.
For over a decade I have served my congregation as a bi-vocational pastor. Previously, I had served in congregations as a full-time pastor. As a pastor, I have been in a multi-staff role and solo pastor. I had served congregations from 100 people to over 400 (which, in our tradition is megachurch status!). But in my present role, in my congregation, I serve only part-time.
In the larger congregations, there was a level of financial security. However, there were also politics, endless processes, and an addiction to committee meetings. When I began serving as a bi-vocational pastor in a small congregation, I was happy to be rid of the baggage of larger congregations. Yet, the financial support, as well as other features of larger communities, was missed.
Precarious and Vulnerable
As a bi-vocational pastor, I receive a minimal allowance each month that does not come close to, nor is it intended to be a half-time income. Previous to 2008 and the Great Recession, this was fine. My entrepreneurial persistence had paid off in the success of an independent consulting ministry that was growing and beginning to pay the bills, until the Great Recession depleted the accounts of most of my clients. 2009 forced me to find work that practically edged me out of ministry.
Feeling like a smoldering wick.
This has led me to wonder how vulnerable do bi-vocational ministers feel? Is our pastoral role the vulnerable aspect? Or, is the other job vulnerable? What choices is one forced to make when the employment outside the church may have a negative effect on pastoral ministry?
While the "faithful" answer to all the challenges bi-vocational pastors face is to say that God is gracious and provident, the experience for many is anxiety, depression, and exhaustion. If a job changes or is eliminated, the bi-vocational pastor may not be able to carry on in the pastoral work either. It can be a very small chain reaction of falling dominos.
When I had to go to work full-time after the Great Recession, my ministry changed. I was not able to participate in weekday events due to my schedule. Pastor's groups did not make time for people like me. In my own denomination, retreats, meetings, special assignments were not available. Annual conferences for my region and bi-annual conventions for my denomination were out of the question. My employer held control over my schedule. My formal connections with my colleagues in ministry were gone. Informal connections were tenuous. I even had several pastors in my tradition assume that I had left the church. The closer truth felt more like the church had left me. Not intentionally, but for all practical purposes, as a bi-vocational pastor, working full-time for an employer outside of the church, the church had little means of supporting or resourcing me. I was isolated.
Most, if not all, of the established denominations I have worked with are not in a position to support bi-vocational pastors. Yet, there are many bi-vocational ministers who are in ideal jobs for balancing ministry and outside employment.
Where there's smoke, there's fire. But where there's only smoke....
Living Beyond Means
The Descent from the Cross c. 1435, Rogier van der Weyden
““power is made perfect in weakness”
Paul, II Corinthians 12.9
The church, then, as a body of Christians, is constantly active;...living continually beyond its means.
The Politics of Discipleship, Graham Ward, pg 201”
Lent carries a paradox, or at the very least, a challenge.
The word itself, derived through a history of languages and derivations may have originally meant "to lengthen," referring to the arrival or spring in the northern hemisphere. Yet, as a season in the church, Lent is a countdown to Good Friday, to a death. To further challenge us, Lent begins with ashes and a reminder of our coming death. As the world's day light increases, our light begins to fade.
Tom Oord writes in The Uncontrolling Love of God, that, "When creatures cooperate with their Creator, shalom may unfurl in extraordinary ways" (Oord, 2015, Kindle 2808). Cooperation means following the way of grace. Following the way of grace leans on God and God's provision. Walking in the path God lays down has no guarantee of painlessness. We just walk by faith.
Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return
Lent acknowledges the destination of this journey. One way or another, death won't be escaped. Trying to escape it can become an anxiety producing, destruction laden, and mind numbing escapade. Probably bringing death closer rather than keeping it at a distance.
The imposition of ashes beginning Lent brings us up close and personal to death. Traditionally, quoting from Genesis 3:19, the officiant says, "Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return."
Just this morning I was warmed by the sight of the morning sun. Noticing that it crept above the trees and houses and began to reflect sunshine into the windows. Just as the days are lengthening and the signs of spring are emerging, we begin to think of life, newness, buds, blooms, and warmth. But as the days are lengthening, they are also passing by. Just as athletes speak of "leaving it all out on the field" so too is life. We have this glorious creation all around us and there's no reason to hold onto our lives as if they were an investment that if buried and left untouched will grow with time. It won't.
Be spent
The Lenten reminder of our own end, the ashen reminder of our origin from dust and ashes, and the lengthening days of spring remind us less of the death awaiting us, but of the life we are we are pouring out for others. Be spent.
Ringlemann Effect
There's the belief in synergy and how the total group effort is greater than the sum of its parts.
“For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.
Matt 18.20
Within a single mile of wherever you are...there are dozens upon dozens of people who are loving their neighbor as an expression of their love of God...there are millions more migrating to this relational way of being the church.
The New Parish, Sparks, Soerens, Friesen, pg 28”
So many times we think about the strength we have in numbers. There's the belief in synergy and how the total group effort is greater than the sum of its parts.
Not so fast...
That's not always the way it works.
Max Ringlemann, a German psychologist, pinpointed the phenomenon by asking people to pull on a rope as hard as they could, first alone and then as part of a team. Average productivity dropped as more people joined the rope-pulling task. Ringlemann suggested that people may not work as hard in groups because their individual contributions are less noticeable in the group context and because they prefer to see others carry the workload (Schermerhorn, 2013).
One of the realities of my congregation is that there is no back row. The lack of a back row is a reality of how we sit together, but it also has metaphorical power. The old 80/20 rule had minimal effect. When we share in projects, helping some members move to a new house, making food for an annual Mennonite Central Committee fundraiser, or just gathering for worship, everyone has an opportunity to be involved.
There are times I struggle with our smallness the things we cannot do with a small number of people, a small budget, and constrained availability. However, everyone gets to pull, because everyone knows they are vital. Ringlemann may not hold as much sway in the new parish.
Ethnography 3: Grave Stone Stories
We would take walks through the Salford church cemetery, with stones dating back to the mid-18th century. John spoke of these people as if he had known them personally.
Then Joshua said to the Israelites, “In the future your children will ask, ‘What do these stones mean?’ Then you can tell them....(Josh. 4:21)
In Sparks, Sorens, and Freisen’s new book, The New Parish, they use the phrase “above place”. “’Living above place,’ names the tendency to develop structures that keep cause-and-effect relationships far apart in space and time where you cannot have firsthand experience of them” (Sparks, 2014). Each place and every place has a story. The stories of place create subcultures, understandings of the world, and rules with expectations.
In two of the congregations I served, I was privileged to have some significant mentors. In my first congregation, I had Louis. In my second congregation I had John. Louis and John were storytellers. They let me know what and who had been in those places long before me and how those stories affected the people who now lived there.
Nearly every Thursday, I could look forward to his truck driving up to the church office. He’d enter, wander around the building, as if he were looking for something to fix. I remember once looking at the cemetery log with Louis. As we looked, he told me stories about the families listed there, he filled in some of the blanks. The “blanks” were the unnamed in the cemetery log. A wife and mother had died and was listed as “Mrs. Abraham Schmidt” (not the real names). Or young children listed as “child of Mr. Abraham Schmidt”. These individuals were nameless. As if they had no story of their own. Louis would tell me as much as he could about these stories and about those days.
In my second congregation there was John. John was an historian. We would take walks through the Salford church cemetery, with stones dating back to the mid-18th century. John spoke of these people as if he had known them personally. He could see umbilicals connecting his story and the stories of others to larger and larger connected stories. When I asked him about being a historian he corrected me and said he was a storyteller.
Discovering the stories beneath surface can give direction, trajectory even. Once when working with a congregation experiencing rapid ethnic change in its neighborhood, rediscovering their history opened them to the possibility of new mission. Recognizing the increasing numbers of immigrant families seeking work in the orchards and fields nearby, the church felt detached, too middle-class, too mono-cultural to connect. However, as they re-told the stories of how their previous generations had left the Dust Bowl of Arkansas, Oklahoma, and Kansas, they began to understand a deeper story. Their families, generations before, had come to the region as farm laborers, too. As these immigrants are now, they as a community once were. The faith community had stories leading toward connection, empathy, and understanding.
I recall standing near John’s farm, at the Branch Creek (likely his favorite place on earth) as he told vast stories covering centuries.
The Branch Creek
He pointed out wildlife trials that became hunting trials for the original inhabitants. Pointing to hills and roads he would explain which battle had come that far, or what war among which parties had come how far. The battles between different nations, Iroquois, the Delaware, the French, the British, and the Civil War. Once with reverence and gratitude while standing on the banks of the creek, he said, “and this place has never known war”. That was the story of that place. A story he has given his life to undergird in that community. A story of peace.
What are the stories told by the stones, the roads, the street names, or the buildings in your community? How does the community of faith begin to grapple with stories to undergird, to overturn, to reclaim, or add new chapters to?
References:
Sparks, P. S. (2014). The New Parish: How neighborhood churches and transforming mission, discipleship, and community. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press.
Ethnography 2: Unringing a Bell
Some bells cannot be unrung, even the memory of the sound may still bring grief. But new bells, new ringing can be sounded and bring healing.
“If then there is any encouragement in Christ, any consolation from love, any sharing in the Spirit, any compassion and sympathy, make my joy complete: be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others. Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus (Phil 2:1-5).”
Listening and asking questions
It all begins with talking and listening and asking questions. Trust increases, and vulnerability is no longer hidden behind defenses, then a picture emerges.
As I sat with two respected elders in the church, I began a series of frank questions. The setting seemed almost inappropriate, as I was speaking to these two men who were twice my age as if they were being sent to the principal’s office for misbehavior.
Together they worshiped, they were in the same Sunday School class, they saw each other throughout the week at the café, the grain elevator, at the implement dealer. I had met with them in some of those settings, often with both present. These two men were in each others lives.
Sitting with these two elders who were at odds, my task to was to move a congregation toward reconciliation and transformation. Something had happened. An angry word spoken. A hurtful comment, a demeaning response, and without attempting to, the repercussions extended outward in ever larger circles, networks, and relationships which were now tearing a congregation into two adversarial camps. My job was to un-ring that bell.
“Unringing the bell” is a phrase from the courtroom. When a witness, or lawyer, or some other participant makes a comment that is not admissible, the jury may be asked to ignore that testimony and the clerk is asked to strike the comment from the court record. If the comment is too damaging, the judge can declare a mistrial on the basis of the comment since it would prejudice the jury. That bell, so to speak, cannot be unrung.
The best thing I could do was listen for the ringing, still reverberating in the controversies in the congregation. Investigating from where and what direction the ringing was coming, I had to trace it back to its source. But like sound waves, or ripples in the water after dropping a stone in a pond, it was already calm at the point of the origin. But this conflict had been public and witnessed.
When I met the congregation, it was on the verge of a split. Through listening to their stories, I discovered splitting off was part of their one-hundred-year history. Having arrived in the country from over fifteen separate villages in Europe, over their life together in the United States, whenever a conflict emerged, it was along old village lines and identities that the fault line was seen. In Ron Susek’s book, Firestorm, church conflicts are less described as large cataclysmic events with immediate shock and surprise, and more as event of slow burning embers (Susek, 1999). A tree’s root system can smolder underground, long after visible signs of fire had vanished, only to get a gasp of oxygen and erupt again. There was excess, generations old, baggage carried into every conflict. Even the smallest infractions could tear at their patchwork quilt of community.
Listening for source stories
Following the present conflict back to its source, these two men who now sat in my office, was not difficult. It was basic ecclesial detective work, or what might be called ecclesio-pathology. As I recounted my conversations, my awareness of the situation, and my understanding the state of the congregation, I asked them to tell me what had happened. With some embarrassment they explained that that was old news and that they had gotten beyond that. They had already discussed it, shared forgiveness, and tried to move on. The ringing sound of their conflict had gone out and drawn others into its sound. But their reconciliation was silent. We could not unring the bell of conflict, and it was not going to likely be advertised that these two had made amends. So we had to consider other ways of ringing a new bell.
Listening for the emerging shared story
Listening to stories is time consuming. Listening to multiple and sometimes conflicting stories is a puzzle. But as each story modifies the one before it and creates context for the next story to come. Reflecting back to the congregation and the storytellers the larger story is challenging, but necessary. Not everyone will agree on all parts of the larger narrative. But if told with care for the dignity of all the stories and storytellers, many will be able to see themselves and their part in the larger story. Engaging in ethnography takes time, but also creates space for reflection.
For the remainder of my time with that congregation, the focus was two-fold. For one, we emphasized multiple layers of forgiveness and restoration, and God’s call to mission in the community. Following Jesus’ way of offering forgiveness to even the unrepentant (“Forgive them, for they know not what they do”) created the awareness of the old baggage carried too long. Then, consequently, the reviving the mission of the kingdom of God and their role in the community. We did not seek to do these one subsequent to the other, as if, God’s mission would be something to be entered after “we get ourselves put together”. Healing was something that took place in mission, not something separate from it.
Some bells cannot be unrung, even the memory of the sound may still bring grief. But new bells, new ringing can be sounded and bring healing.
Up is Gone: The Sky Has Fallen
we've known it's been coming down for quite sometime
Then God said, "Let there be lights in the expanse of the heavens to separate the day from the night, and let them be for signs and for seasons and for days and years. Genesis 1:14-15
Several years ago the sky fell.
The debris field of sky-pieces goes unnoticed until, tripping, one falls into a sky. Chunks of blue, fragments of lightning, drops of thunder clouds smeared here and there, scraps of cumulonimbus at your feet. Bits of sky, having fallen, confuse birds, sunflowers are anxious about which way to turn their sunny heads, trees grown vine-like upwards and downwards and sideways trying to find up. Up is gone. The sky has fallen.
It seems an apt description.
The famous fable begins with Chicken Little getting a thump from falling acorn. Fear turns to panic, turns to social movement in preparation for the end all things. But what if it were not just one acorn? Roxburgh writes in The Sky is Falling, “discontinuous change is an all-out acorn assault…the attacks seem to come from all angles and all directions.” And now Chicken Little is right, the sky is falling, or at least metaphorically, it all seems to be changing rapidly. Roxburgh goes on, “It exhausts our physical, mental, and spiritual resources by sheer magnitude…” these changes force us to “deal with changes on every front simultaneously…making it difficult to know which to pay attention to and what to do next (Roxburgh, 2005).
I had thought this awareness was pervasive, now a decade after Alan Roxburgh wrote that. However, today, Faith and Leadership promoted the idea that our expectations of clergy need recalibrating. As a stalwart of the mainline church, Faith and Leadership, the new home of The Alban Institute should not be surprised that the definitions, expectations, and measures of effective pastoring have changed. But now that they have, a list of issues emerges that many mainline churches are unprepared for. For instance, how do we educate clergy? How will they be mentored, coached, and shaped in professional ethics? Should we expect less because of the daily jobs, competing priorities, and need for balance and health? How is education for clergy to financed, who will pay the student loans? And what would content even be of such an education? Seeing how the ministries for which modern clergy prepared have changed so much that their education is partly irrelevant to today's ministry needs?
At a meeting several days ago, sitting with a number of judicatory leaders of mainline churches in our area, there was description of heaviness hanging over the clergy they supported. They told of clergy whose skills no longer matched the ministry needs of the context; how many of the things these folks had learned were no longer as meaningful, how generations of pastors and priests had been shaped as ministers for christendom. Now that christendom, like the sky, has fallen, these leaders are anxious. Maybe even desperate.
Reorient to a New Constellation
At The Missionplace, we have worked for over a decade to train and prepare people for ministry. Through Seminary Without Walls, we have prepared lay leaders for credentialed ministry in Lutheran, Mennonite, Evangelical Quaker, Presbyterian, Baptist, and Episcopal congregations and parishes. We have realized that we function best when learning from each other in an atmosphere of "generous orthodoxy" allowing for uniqueness of multiple communions to inform and form leaders. Seminary Without Walls has worked to provide three foundations for ministry: intellectual growth, practical skill development, and spiritual formation through courses, continuing education events, and spiritual retreats. Through Seminary Without Walls, we can provide training far below the cost of seminary, provide continuing education for clergy, and train new generations of bi-vocational and missional leaders.
So, the sky fell. We have known it has been coming down now for quite sometime. We have the experience and the resources to adapt to the new world of mission in which the older world of ministry doesn't work as well any more.
Ethnograpy 1: Living the Strories We Tell
The stories we tell create the reality we experience and the future we move toward.
“You shall make this response before the Lord your God: ‘A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous. When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labour on us, we cried to the Lord, the God of our ancestors; the Lord heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. The Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm (Deuteronomy 26:5-8a, NRSV).”
The stories we tell create the reality we experience and the future we move toward.
Every culture has its own stories, icons, and images. Icons, images, and stories weave together into a fabric, so familiar to those who live in it, that it is not even noticed or seen to be remarkable. Often one can find codes of behavior which become an unwritten code of right and wrong – lists of dos and don’ts - which result in limited imagination and possibilities never considered.
For several years I worked with Church Innovations Institute as an Associate Consultant. One of the skills I learned there was doing ethnography. We would ask a congregation to use a process of appreciative inquiry to develop an understanding of the ethnography of the congregation. Ethnography is the fancy word for finding out about a people’s culture through the stories they tell.
Rather than asking questions which would elicit a simple “yes” or “no” response, appreciative inquiry prompts people to tell stories. These prompts were planned in order to uncover some key areas of the congregation’s shared life. A team of listeners would invite a number of participants to engage in telling their own stories. The listeners would carefully record the responses to the prompts. The stories were compiled and then shared with a third-party group to identify key words, repeating themes, frequently alluded to events, names, and other elements. But unlike a simple tally, the “right” answer wasn’t necessarily where the majority of responses echoed each other. We always had a sensitive openness to the odd, unique, and isolated “voice crying in the wilderness” by itself.
This process lifts interesting insights and stories. Which when shared back with the congregation often provides information they had not noticed before. There were two congregations with whom I worked that had interesting stories revealed to them through this process. One was a congregation in a quiet rural area of Kansas. The other in a suburb of a major eastern US metropolis.
The Kansas church told stories of the diminishing number of children, of young adults not returning after college, of a looming death. The stories were similar to many in rural communities. They had trouble seeing a mission that would motivate them forward. As they told other stories, generated through appreciative inquiry, they still were not able to see the larger narrative in which they were living. The smaller, individual stories were about gifted young people, who upon graduation did not return to the community, yet began living generative lives, contributing to their communities, and serving to make God’s reign known. The congregation then discovered a new story: they were a sending church, a missionary incubator, preparing people to leave and share God’s love. They unearthed their mission and ongoing motivation.
The suburban church had a similarly discouraging story they were telling themselves. While they were not a diminishing congregation, they were a sheltered congregation seeking sanctuary in a violent neighborhood. Again using appreciative inquiry, we discovered that the some of the experiences of conflict in their shared past had turned them into a congregation deeply educated and practiced in many conflict resolution and peacemaking skills. Skills that transcended congregational politics, and could transfer to families, work, and school. As this story emerged, the congregation began to struggle with their sheltered posture in the neighborhood and began to believe God had been gifting them to make a positive impact in a conflicted neighborhood.
Our futures are shaped by the stories we tell. Oddly enough, often the life-giving stories have been there all along, untold.
Digging up icons in stories
Doing anthropology through ethnography (or archaeology by digging up buried stories) at the local congregational level uses a mixture of conversations, statistical measurements, and a view to the trajectories of history. Usually a community “norm” emerges. Frequently, what is called “normal” may not be normal to anyone else. Granted there may be shared commitments, and a shared language for articulating faith, but that does not mean each community is meaning the same things. The shared meanings of the community are not external measures, but rather “meaning systems-- rules, common intra-cultural understandings, shared aims, etc.-- in which they are imbedded” (Feinberg, 2006). We don’t create these meanings so much as we discover we have been swimming in them. As a fish is the last to discover water, we are often last to discover the meaning, language, and cultures in which our imaginations and ethics have been formed. Frequently, we can be at odds with the meanings in which we are embedded and the actions and choices we make.
Several years ago, while consulting with a group of churches within one specific denomination, we discovered high levels of conflict. Many congregations had chosen to adopt a popular set of assumptions about church being promoted by publishers, authors, and leaders outside the denomination. As congregations proceeded down that path, the problems were not with the results, it was with the meaning of the results. As the saying goes, “dance with the one who brought you”, these congregations were dancing with someone else. The result was an incongruity between espoused belief and the behaviors of the new adaptation. It didn’t fit. Even though everyone else was doing it. Moving forward meant moving backward, to understand, re-embrace where possible, and retell the stories of their theological heritage. Recovering their community of faith origins provided context for the new realities to which they had come.
Ethnography enables one to discover the way in which the beliefs held are matching with the beliefs espoused. Time and again, belief changes, and the content of belief needs to be considered with the way a belief is carried out. Sometimes, the discontinuity between what is professed and what is acted out is too great to not be addressed. The meaning of the community life requires belief strong enough to hold it together, but also a flexible belief in order to adapt, to grow, and to develop (Martos, 2010).
What are the stories you hear, or tell? If the only stories told are those of problems and struggles, things that need fixing, then we can become focused on problem solving. Problems become the story and the story of hope and mission and imagination are left underground and unheard.
What stories are being told to move you forward in to God’s preferred and promised future? How many unearthed stories are waiting to provide a new future, and do you know where to dig for them?
References: Feinberg, W. (2006). Philosophical Ethnography: or, How Philosophy and Ethnography Can Live Together in a World of Educational Research. Educational Studies in Japan: International Yearbook, No.1, pp.5-14.
Martos, T. B. (2010). It’s not only what you hold, it’s how you hold it: Dimensions of religiosity and meaning in life. Personality and Individual Differences, 49.8: 863-868.
Livable Liturgy: I'm Good (enough for now)
Every moment holds the potential for shinning a divine light. What if God's divine light wasn't a surprise, but a regularly seen gift?
“But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. 1Cor12.9”
I am a creature of habit. I like to have things under control. I like it when things are predictable and planned. Once I had a surprise birthday party while I was in graduate school. Initially, I had unexpressed anger in my heart, I was mad because I had other plans for my time. But it wasn't too bad. I survived at least.
As a result, I've noticed that I give myself to routine. Regular rhythms have an earthly regularity to them like the sunrise and the passing of seasons. But the routines I create for myself, or those to which I give myself can become empty. Shallow. I hate that! Granted, emergencies have had a knack of kicking me into another gear and the Spirit of God tells me to fall in line.
Today, my alarm didn't go off. I over slept and felt behind. I made some alterations and shortened my time of prayer and meditation. Getting back on track, I discovered that a crucial life event scheduled for December had been moved to October. Okay, I can handle that, I've prayed, I've walked the dog, I've exercised. I can handle this. Breathe. Sacred pause. Take the next step.
Then as I am relaxing for a moment after studying and writing a paper for my class, I decide to hang out on social media only discover ominous comments of suicidal ideation from a friend. This friend lives far away. Fortunately, there is a close group of friends surrounding him in love and care. Breathe. Sacred pause. Take the next step.
After taking the dog for another walk, for me as much as it was for her, I find a text on my phone from a dear friend. Calling him, I learn of his unexpected cancer diagnosis. Enough said. Breathe. Sacred pause. Take the next step.
Granted the most difficult events of the day were in the lives of others. Yet, at the same time, these were things over which I have no control at all of any kind.
So I looked again at the photo of today's garden harvest. I was reminded of God's good and simple gifts. Rich, colorful, and necessary foods arising from the ground. Made of nothing but dirt, water, and sun. It is then that I come to terms with God for the day. Frequently, God and I have to come to terms. God's trump card in these conversations is grace. Breathe. Sacred pause. Take the next step.
God's sufficient grace carries me and my friends through each day.
A heart of gratitude. And the more I realize how grateful I am for the unknown friends surrounding my brokenhearted friend far away, and for the caregivers aggressively chasing down the cancer in my friend - and how excessive God's genius is with dirt, water and sun - I also realize that I'm good. I'm good.
I'm not good in some sense of moral perfection, heavens no! But I realize my friends, my garden, and I are in the hands of a good Spirit. A Spirit of plenty and abundance, nor scarcity or inadequacy. A Spirit of good, even when by so many external signs things look bad.
So as I thought about this, I queued up my favorite song for now. "I'm Good" by The Mowgli's. It's my go-to song when I need to remember how good life is, God is, and those I care for are. Check it out...
Tomorrow I will go into the garden. The dirt, sun, water and God will likely give me another several pounds of life-giving food. And I'll remember that through the grace of God, I'm good. Tomorrow could be my day for despair, for illness, for a potential misfortune. But God's good grace will be there. Awaiting. Because of God's grace, I'm good enough. Breathe. Sacred pause. Take the next step.
Livable Liturgies: Making the bed as an act of defiance
Seeing daily routines - habits, chores, mindfully engaged - as opportunities to know God's grace and presence...
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning... Lamentations 3.22-23a
"The adversary would destroy the internal by destroying the external" Pilgram Marpek (d. 1556).
"Lord God, almighty and everlasting Father, you have brought me in safety to this new day: Preserve me with your mighty power, that I may not fall into sin, nor be overcome by adversity; and in all I do direct me to the fulfilling of your purpose; through Jesus Christ my Lord. Amen." (traditional)
Nearly every day, I utter (sometimes only inarticulately mutter) this prayer. The key phrases "preserve me...that I may not fall into sin, nor overcome by adversity...direct me to the fulfilling of your purpose" kind of force me to do something. Often the snooze button tempts me. Sometimes the coming day frightens me. The sun rises as an unstoppable foe clearing the horizon, unfazed by vain attempts to slow its advance. But there's no way to fight it or flee it.
I get up. I make my bed.
I commit an external act to get an internal state moving into first gear (thanks Marpek). I make my bed, as a commitment to the purposes of God. And coffee isn't far away to keep me going in the right direction.
Jesus understands that some days the temptation to delay the start of the day, or extend the escape, is real. And as long as the covers are turned down, the bed is available as a retreat from the the fact that "each day has troubles" (Matthew 6:34), there is a chance that I might crawl back, close my eyes and hide my head. Since each day "has troubles of it's own" yet to appear, if I just close my eyes, I won't see them. Jesus understands.
Even after making the bed I could easily pull back the covers and hide away. But something about the ritual of making the bed tells me that this part of the day is done and I need to move on into what God's purposes are for me this day. It is a simple ritual that could be misunderstood as a "tidying things up" or a mechanistic habit carrying over from childhood with the words of your mother, "were you raised in barn?"
But what if one of the first acts of the day is a commitment to throw yourself into God's unfolding mercies and challenges and wonders? Get up. Make your bed. Get on with it.
“Our struggles in this world are similar, and the lessons to overcome those struggles and to move forward — changing ourselves and the world around us — will apply equally to all…. Making your bed will also reinforce the fact that little things in life matter.... And, if by chance you have a miserable day, you will come home to a bed that is made — that you made — and a made bed gives you encouragement that tomorrow will be better. If you want to change the world, start off by making your bed” (William McRaven, UT News, 2014).
So as a reminder that I am committing myself to the mission of God, and even as a hope for a better tomorrow, I make my bed.
References
Tickle, P. (2015). Fixed Hour Prayer. Retrieved from explorefaith: http://explorefaith.org/prayer/fixed/hours.php
UT News. (2014, May 14). Adm. McRaven Urges Graduates to Find Courage to Change the World. Retrieved from UT News The University of Texas at Austin: http://news.utexas.edu/2014/05/16/admiral-mcraven-commencement-speech
YouTube. (2015). monster.com commercial. Retrieved from YoutTube.com: http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=npQC7v73TXg
Hass, C. J., (1992). Readings from Mennonite Writings: New and Old. Good Books, Intercourse, PA. p45.
Livable Liturgies: Anti-Apocalyptic Dog
“But ask the animals, and they will teach you…In his hand is the life of every living thing and the breath of every human being.” Job 12.7,10
“But ask the animals, and they will teach you…In his hand is the life of every living thing and the breath of every human being.” Job 12.7,10
“Among the Algonquin nation…creation was brought about by Kukumthena, the Grandmother…accompanied by a dog.” In this myth, creation is continued and the end of the world forestalled, by the “work” of this dog. “Each day Kukumthena works at weaving a great basket, and when it is completed, the world will end. Fortunately for us, each night the dog unravels her day’s work. Those of us who have lost rugs, clothing, or furniture, to a dog’s oral dexterity may never be convinced that that ability could be put to such use as forestalling the end of the world” (The Monks of New Skete, 1978, p. 3).
Mika, keeps the world from ending, an anti-apocalyptic angel. At least she postpones the apocalypse by unraveling her own things.
The unraveling work of the anti-apocalyptic angel-dog, stuffing chewed out of the dog bed.
What if unraveling the weave of the great basket is more than a metaphor? Having a dog shares characteristics of having children, of attending to a spouse, or caring for friends. It’s just that a dog has less qualms about telling someone to pay attention. A dog will not put on a false display of patient waiting. Whining, licking, nudging, pawing at me, she tells me to pay attention to her.
Job wants me to do more than attend to animals, but rather "ask the animals, and they will teach" something. If there's a constant undoing to the end of all things from the myth about Kukumthena and the dog. Why is it that that myth emerged with the dog acting that way? Is there something about a dog's loyalty that has a future orientation? That the future is not all written out and a closed book? That maybe there is an open future and God has more in store than I can ask or imagine?
The mystic Matthew Fox always referred to his dog as his spiritual director. I get that. I have one too. I'd like it if my cat was as forthcoming, but he's a bit aloof.
Fowler's stages and postfoundational practice
...a Samaritan while travelling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity... Jesus said to him, ‘Go and do likewise.’ Luke 10.33, 37b
"mankind [sic.] is knit together with a holy knot ... we must not live for ourselves, but for our neighbors", John Calvin's Commentary on Acts 13
My friend, Beth, recently posted on Facebook a blog by Brian Zahnd, Beyond Elementary School Christianity, and in which he brought up the old classic by James Fowler, Stages of Faith: The Psychology of Human Development and the Quest for Meaning , and old classic that I recently put into a box of books to NOT sell to a used bookstore. Maybe I’ll have to pull it out of the box again since a friend of mine posted a response to Zahnd on her Facebook page. She asked “Do you think it's because leaders themselves are mythic-literal or are they simply fostering that viewpoint?”
The mythic-literal approach is also a mythic-linear way of thinking. When I think of myth, it think of imaginative stories of giants, gods, creation and destruction, and other grand over-arching narratives. Myths are meant to be widely interpreted and have the capacity to infiltrate multiple aspects of our lives, precisely because they are not literal. Literalism narrows and defines with precision the interpretation of the myth, and actually makes it no longer a myth but a literal instruction. Even literal and historical events can become mythic when they are interpreted widely and appended to our understandings of many events, relationships, and decisions we need to make.
Beth asked if leaders in churches that reflect Zahnd’s characterization of possessing a mythic-literal faith are that way because they are reflecting the viewpoints of the congregation, or if this faith position is that of the leaders themselves. Huge question. Basically, the answer is yes, no, and there’s more to it than that.
Conflicted Leaders
I know of leaders who do not share the opinions of the congregations they serve. These pastors maybe trying to lead their congregations to a new view of faith and life, but the congregation is not quite there yet. In conversations at conferences, coffee shops, and pubs, they confess the dissonance in which they live – trying to communicate at a level the congregation can grasp, but still trying to move them forward. I used to practice a ministry of storytelling. I’d use any good story. Legends, fables, short stories. I would weave these into my sermons. My first congregation appreciated it. But in another congregation, the chair of the elders reprimanded me, “we don’t need stories, we need facts”. They didn’t get it, and I failed in getting them there. The resistance was threatening and passive aggressive. There are pastors that feel vulnerable for their livelihood and may not have the social capital to challenge the mythic-literal viewpoint of their congregations. And they may have elders or other leaders to deal with as I had to.
Mythic-Literal Congregations
To a great extent, I suppose mythic-literal congregations would call, or lift up, a mythic-literal leader to be a pastor. They might not mind a synthetic-conventional (stage 3), since that is like a concrete-operational developmental stage. It is not likely that these congregations would choose a person in the individuative-reflective stage (stage 4) because they aren’t always sure what they are trusting in, the conjunctive faith (stage 5) sounds to ephemeral, and the universal stage (stage 7) would strike them as odd as a Buddhist koan.
Mythic-Literal Leaders
This is a breed I wish was rare. The trouble is that this is a terribly reassuring viewpoint. It sees the world as controllable, prayer as currency to get what you want, suffering as a sign of failure, and success as a sign that God’s favor is with you. You can make millions selling that kind of trust to people. As people eat up this simplistic god-talk, it merely reinforces leaders and prevents them from having to change. As Zahnd puts it, “We can preach the certitude of Proverbs, but not the paradox of Job; we can make sense of the maxims of Deuteronomy, but not the mystery of John.”
Advanced Stages is not “Progressive” or “Liberal”
Zahnd steers clear of the tendency of some, in which the assumption that progressing through the stages is equated with becoming a progressive (a.k.a. “liberal” in some quarters) Christian. Zahnd instead characterizes the higher stages of faith as abilities to enter contemplation and compassion. These are two characteristics are available to conservative and liberal Christians. But the Christians who reside in the post-conventional faith zone, are also less likely to describe their faith as a conservative or liberal position. In fact, they are likely to not think of faith as a position being held as much as a life being lived. A life which encompasses questions, doubts, and people of contrary views.
Postfoundationalism
Stanley Grenz was a friend who got me started on understanding, from a theological perspective that conservatives and liberals are more similar than they are different. Liberals trust the individual perspective, conservative trust the specific Greek words (carefully parsed and clearly defined). Both liberals and conservative build on a foundation of enlightenment epistemology: liberals on a Cartesian assurance of reason; conservatives on the assurance of empiricism. The foundation shared by both is that we can figure it out clearly, rationally, and absolutely. Grenz wanted to create a different foundation to measure what is normal – worship in a community gathered around scripture (as the “normalizing norm”) being led by the Holy Spirit. That’s a Christian foundation.
So to answer Beth...
My hunch is that with the foundational practices Grenz lifts up, mythic-literals of both stripes, liberal and conservative, might skeptically try out. But, if clearly practiced in behaviors of worship, Eucharist (sorry Quaker friends, I think the act is important), acts of mercy, and community reflection on scripture and the neighborhoods in which we live, even mythic-literals can be ushered into growing faith. These acts change both parties, both the recipient of mercy and the one who gives it are different, and closer. The wounded Jew and the Samaritan (Luke 10) certainly looked at each other differently, challenging their previously black-and-white understandings of each other and their cultures. But we have to leave the old foundations, separations, clearly defined "issues" and divides behind. The degree to which both leaders and congregations become self-absorbed and live only within the narrow confines of the familiar and habitual, the greater the difficulty there will be for them to grow in faith. Conversely, the degree to which leaders and congregations enter into scripture, worship and the lives of real people (not "issues") with an intention toward compassion, the greater the likelihood of spiritual growth.
Beth, I hope that answers your question.
Livable Liturgies: Clean Laundry
Over the course of the last several months, I have noticed the routine behaviors I carry out. Many of them are daily, and most all of them are mundane and filled with potential for vacuous meaninglessness. So I need to wake up and seek the patterns God is tracing in the daily routines.
Hypnotic slosh. Almost like breath. Mystics teach about breath prayer. But the rhythm of the agitator, the snap and click of zippers and buttons slapping the sides of the dryer, these carry alternate rhythms to the hectic days we live as well as the imposed orderliness we try to create.
But I like laundry for other reasons, too:
Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be like snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool. Isaiah 1.18
So few things in life allow you start again. I have studied approaches for removing blood, mustard, paint, marker, and more. Stains are not easily removed. Some add character and carry a story. Other stains are like scarlet letters confessing sloppy eating habits to the world. But with careful attention to fabric type, how old the stain is, and what kinds of kitchen chemistry you're capable of, some stains might go away. Might.
The fact that everyday I can pray "Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone. We have not loved you with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We are truly sorry and we humbly repent. For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ, have mercy on us and forgive us; that we may delight in your will, and walk in your ways, to the glory of your Name. Amen."
"For the sake of your Son..." phrase always gives me pause.
Then, "Almighty God have mercy on you, forgive you all your sins through our Lord Jesus Christ, strengthen you in all goodness, and by the power of the Holy Spirit keep you in eternal life. Amen."
That which takes me hours to do with fabrics and detergents and sometimes some kitchen chemistry, God does, for Christ's sake, as well our own.
Laundry reminds me of what God has done for us.
Livable Liturgies: Routines are Easy, Routines are Hard
if it wasn’t for my spiritual director’s collar, she would have face planted in the gutter
“he got down on his knees three times a day and prayed and gave thanks before his God, as he had done previously”
If it wasn’t for my spiritual director’s collar, she would have face planted in the gutter. Fortunately, the collar was attached to the leash – oh yeah, remember, my spiritual director is my dog. This morning while on our routine walk the sidewalks were icy.
This morning would have been a reasonable morning to skip our walk. The morning light was dispersed by freezing fog looking as if dawn was stalled and needed a push. But the routine had to go on. That is one of the reasons I wanted a dog, to remind me of the routines that I need to be committed to whether I wanted to or not.
In some ways, routines are easy. The habitual rehearsal of that which took place the day before, the season before, the year before. I know what to do and where to go – and usually I know why.
Routines are Easy
Routines have a goal. They are headed somewhere. Routines are about routes, pathways, the beaten path. The beaten path where the grass lays down, the rocks smoothed by friction, where the way is clear. These routines, these pathways are easy. The resistance is not from the route, but whether or not to get started and to keep walking.
My morning routine: first, get some coffee, quietly. Second, sit in my comfy chair and read my morning devotions. Third get more coffee, maybe some oatmeal. Read and think. More coffee. Sit. Pray. More coffee. Get lunches packed and send my wife and son off to school. Every morning, more or less, this routine centers my day. I find often that when the routine is broken, I feel off center.
Routines are Hard
In the morning as I practice my routine walk, geese fly overhead. Nearly every morning. Don’t know where they’re headed, or where they came from. What did they do all through the night? And where?
But when the sun’s light is at the goose-alarm-clock angle, they stir and they fly over. Some land in alfalfa fields nearby, some in the river, or suburban ponds. Every day, like clockwork, set by the daily rhythms of the sun. It doesn’t seem to matter what the weather is like, but the geese are dedicated. Watching a goose flopping its big flipper-feet one step at a time to break the ice, swimming and nibbling on the grass below. That poor bird must have been at least a little bit chilly.
Sometimes routines are hard to stay with. Bright, shiny, new things can catch our attention and distract us. I am easily side-tracked. Daily tasks, picking up things, cleaning the kitchen, playing with the dog; reading emails and magazines and books and blogs; sometimes just wanting to nap or hit snooze on the alarm. Other times the challenge comes from opposition: budget woes and unemployment, depression and lethargy, doubt and unanswered questions.
Routines are hard. The word route comes from the Latin “rupta”, or to rupture. Sometimes sticking to routine is hard and requires breaking through something: ice, drowsiness, distractions, disappointments.
Routines are Easy and Routines are Hard
The Descent from the Cross c. 1435, Rogier van der Weyden