Community and Contentment

Tonight Bekah and I went to the Open Door church. It's this somewhat emergent community down in East Liberty. I've visited it before once or twice, but never went regularly a) because it's downtown, and b) because I was already pretty committed to CW.

I need to confess something: I haven't been to church very much lately. I don't know why. Every Sunday I think, I should get my a** out of bed and go to church...and then I roll over and go back to sleep. I can't explain this laziness.

I have not been back to a service at MPC since my job ended there, so maybe that's part of it. It's like, i just don't feel like I fit anywhere now. I don't really have a church community. It's weird, and I think avoiding visiting other churches keeps me from feeling so displaced.

But I went tonight, and I really liked it. And the message...it was one of those times when it was just what I needed to hear. BJ, the pastor, spoke on the end of Phillipians, including that ubiquitously christian phrase, "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength." It's the passage where Paul talks about having contentment, no matter what the circumstances.

I usually hear that or read it and feel guilty. Because I am not very content, especially right now. I'm trying to figure out where it is God wants me. And I can't see it. It makes me very frustrated sometimes, because I feel like I should have it at least somewhat figured out by this point. But I don't; and I keep trying to trust that God has a plan and will show me step by step. I'm not exactly content during the process. I want to be. I wish I was. So, guilt.

But right about this point, this pastor says part of Paul's secret to contentment is tied up in his fellowship with the Phillipians. Contextually, in the passage, Paul just got done raving about how faithful the church of Phillipi has been to him--when no one else has. So BJ said that part of Paul's contentment came from having his needs met by that community.

Now, I've been a Christian...basically my whole life. I've never heard the text interpreted this way, and I was just stunned. He went on to say Paul also had the strength of Christ, as in that oft-quoted verse...but even the way he talked about that made it seem like this beautful, mystical thing--not just some factoid to be applied to daily living.

It just took me by surprise, how the importance of community was so strongly woven into the message. I think most Christans read that and instead focus on the idea that if I grit my teeth and remember that Christ is my strength, I can get through anything. On my own.

The truth is, if it weren't for the interchurch fellowship I've developed here, I'd be a lot worse off. They are the only thing (well, family, too, mostly) that keeps me even remotely content here. And in fact, they have been my "church"...even when I haven't set foot inside a building.

Thank God for my anamchara community.

Church Geek

So, I've noticed something about myself lately, and I want to know if this is weird.

The past month and a half or so, I've found myself getting rather geekily excited by certain conversations I've been in, and things I've read. Now, I get like that about a fairly good list of things, but it usually revolves around a fictional series--ie, Lost, Heroes, Harry Potter, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, Narnia, etc. I'm used to that. Doesn't phase me anymore.

But my latest "obsession" if you will is not fictional at all. It's very real--and yet I find myself sometimes feeling as disconnected from it as I can about my fictitious obsessions. It's church, and for some reason, that surprises me very much.

I noticed it clearly just the other day--I was reading some reviews of a new book called "Reimagining Church" by Frank Viola. As I read, I caught myself getting absurdly excited--and mind you, this was just from the reviews! It felt like God was nudging me a little, asking me to take notice of my reaction and think about my passion for a moment.

I have this weird love/hate relationship with church. I love what it could and should be; I hate what it often becomes.

I feel frustrated a little by my own recent experience with working for a church--even though some of it was very positive, there was a good chunk of negative, too. And I left this last week's service (my penultimate time leading worship) feeling rather torn. Glad to give up the stress it has caused me, but sad that I won't be part of the new things to come. Ready to move on to where God wants me, but doubting if I was ever good for that service in the first place.

It seems like I've spent the last few months of my life being more jaded than usual toward the church in general, and that's probably understandable, given the battles I faced weekly with my service's leadership. Now, suddenly, I am re-energized. Why?

Perhaps part of it has to do with this blog and our ongoing conversation; I draw strength from knowing I'm not the only one who dreams and hopes for reform. And certainly I've read some encouraging books lately, too. But I think another part of the puzzle was my experience in Ireland.

Talk about jaded--the Irish people on the whole are just not interested in spiritual things today. And I could hear weariness and humble frustration in the voices of the missionaries and Irish church leaders who spoke to us. They feel like growth is slow.

Yet personally, I felt tremendously encouraged by their honesty. Not only that, but the Irish way of evangelism is very much like what George Hunter wrote about--focused on relationships. The Christians I met in Ireland, both American and Irish, are working hard to build relationships in their communities. They are, in fact, looking for creative new ways to engage their communities and fill needs. They are shifting away from trying to draw people in through programs, and they aren't waiting for folks to get their lives together and come to them.

I don't mean to oversimplify this; they have a lot to overcome. There is a residual stigma against "protestants," combined with a distrust of religion in general that stems from years of abuse and power struggles that divided the land. If ever a place was in need of a dose of McLaren's "post-protestant/post-catholic" philosophy, Ireland is it. And...I feel like a lot of leaders are trying to move in that direction, even without having read AGO. They just know it's needed, and it's time.

This is why I felt a pull when I was there. One Irish leader used the phrase, "creating spiritual landscape for people to inhabit." I LOVED that. I was convinced another leader, originally from London, had read AGO, but he cited Dallas Willard instead. And a third, much younger, leader practically quoted from The Celtic Way of Evangelism--though I'm pretty sure he hadn't ever read it.

And I...ate it up. I became a geek. A church geek. And I find myself reinvigorated to discuss and think about church, and what my place in it is. Not church as a set of walls, but church as a community of people, dedicated to changing the world.

Do I sound obsessed, or what??

Hey!

I really want to know what you guys think!

It's been on my mind a lot, considering I am going to a prayer conference in Dublin (tomorrow!!!), and I'm already encountering some warfare.

I'm still thinking it over, and I'd love to know what you guys think. And whatever else you've been thinking about lately. You certainly don't have to be as long-winded as I usually am!

Query

So, I'm pages away from being done with "A Generous Orthodoxy" (AGO).

I just finished the chapter on being incarnational. I really am enjoying the book more and more, but today I had a thought. Brian McLaren's suggestion for interaction with other beliefs, religions, and cultures includes loving them and engaging with them. He listed several examples, like Buddhists, Jews, and Muslims. All of which I was fine with.

But today, another group came to mind. What do we do with people involved in the occult, wicca, or other forms of witchcraft? While I know that "we wrestle not against flesh and blood," I think we can't be too careful in how we deal with this kind of thing. There are, of course, different levels and forms of worship...some see themselves as "white" witches and worship nature, etc., not unlike the druids who were evangelized by St. Patrick centuries ago. But there is another kind of witchcraft which sees themselves as being in direct opposition to us, serving our Enemy.

Now, I'm not suggesting that we withhold love from these people; I just think that kind of situation requires a different, perhaps more cautious, kind of interaction. There is a potent spiritual dynamic that we can't overlook.

I really like that McLaren talks about removing the distinction between sacred and secular, suggesting that everything is spiritual in some sense. But in viewing the world that way, we need to be aware that there are forces of evil at work, too. I'm not an alarmist, but I do believe in spiritual warfare. So while I agree that we are to act in love and peace toward our fellow humans and other parts of creation, I'm not sure the same tactic is useful in the spiritual realm. Paul speaks of putting on armor, which is the language of war. When dealing with our Enemy and his spiritual counterparts, the language of the bible is unapologetically violent. Roaring, devouring lions. Resisting spirits. Battles.

What do you guys think? Brianne, you haven't read AGO yet, have you? I'd still like to know what you think.

Again, I like the way McLaren talks about dealing with the world--it's people and creatures. Maybe I haven't gotten to where he addresses this kind of thing...but it seems like he's ignored this aspect. He is willing to talk in spiritual, mystical terms, about the power of God, which is further than a lot of Christians go. I suppose I'm too Eldredgian, but I think if you're going to bring up the nearness of the spiritual realms, it needs to be brought up that there are other forces at work. Yes, God is more powerful. But that doesn't mean we don't still have to deal with spiritual battles from time to time.

For someone who talks so much about Jesus's teachings, examples, and life, he seems to have overlooked a large area of his ministry, which was casting out demons.

So, my question: What does a generously orthodox Christian do with spiritual warfare?

A Theory About Those Fundalits

Oh, Jess, your post first made me laugh, and then it got me to thinking. I laughed when you said "Perhaps some wordy theology might tire me." I laughed really hard. I couldn't figure out if you were insulting "wordy theology" or being facetious. Of course, if someone's theology was wordy just for the sake of being wordy, then it would really be boring. Okay, on to the topic at hand...

I was encouraged that you finally gave AGO a chance. I agree as well that this book is one that has forever changed my life. I have a much more optimistic view of the Emergent movement than most. And I have a theory that perhaps you may or may not agree with. My theory is that all of the attacks are based mostly on false premises. I'm sure there are a few marginal "believers" out there who claim that all truth is relative and don't believe the Bible is true and who rebel against tradition just for the sake of rebelling. But that's just it, they are in the margins of a huge movement that is mostly comprised of people just like you and me, people who have been disgruntled or disappointed with the Church because of it's overemphasis on all the wrong things.

In every movement there is always an extreme few who don't define very well the mission or image of the group as a whole. Take for example Al Quaida. (Not sure if I spelled that right.) I know it's not a perfect example of my point, but it's an example that paints vivid pictures in our imaginations.) Not all adherents to the Islamic religion are like the few extremists that lash out in violence against "infidels". Now, I'm not defending the religion, either; I'm just making a point. On a more local level, how about those big-haired, lavishly dressed, wacky preachers on TBN? Some people think that they represent what Christianity is as a whole, when in reality, they only represent a marginalized group. I would venture to guess that some people have rejected Christianity all together due to an impression they received from seeing TBN's version of the religion.

I began to have this theory (the one I began discussing in paragraph 2) when I attempted to read a book by John MacArthur (a man that I am not all too fond of these days). It was called Truth War, or Truth Wars (I can't remember just now what it was). The book starts off with a very compelling philosophical and logical argument for objective truth, which I wholly agreed with. But then it made this leap, and forgive me, but I couldn't help but take it personally; it began to attack the entire emergent movement by saying that adherents to this group do not believe in objective truth. That's when the big question hit me: is there really a war at all? Or is this battle only in the minds of a few radical fundalits (as L'Engle would call them; Brianne, I knew this would make you smile. =) Could it be a battle that only exists because people are afraid of a movement that is simply non-traditional, against the "flow", and a bit radical?

I'll be the first to admit that if I were to have encountered the likes of Bell and McLaren about ten years ago, I would have vehemently considered them to be cohorts of Satan himself. This point brings me to my second theory. Maybe, just maybe folks like MacArthur aren't willing to humbly and objectively study what the emergent movement actually is saying...because they might have to admit that in a few areas of their thinking...that, oh dear...(whispering now) that they've been wrong about one or two things?

When I finally came to that "fork in the road" point in my life, where I had to abandon all that I held to that was false and embark on this new journey that has led me to my current position, I'll have to admit that it was pretty scary. And I was only in my late teens/early twenties! Now imagine with me someone who has lived their ENTIRE life by a few denominational "non-essentials" (but has held them as essential for all), and they find themselves in their sixties or so, and then they encounter this same "fork". I can only imagine how much harder it would be for that person to just "chuck" the old for the new. But me, hey, I've still got my whole life ahead of me with many new adventures and lots of time for thinking and pondering different ideas. I'm not saying this is definitely what I think about people like MacArthur, or about anyone for that matter. I'm just offering a theory. And heaven forbid, I also suspected that this whole "controversy" could simply be yet another money-making venture, because I wholeheartedly believe the battle exists only in a few peoples minds, and the book is selling lots of copies in those circles. Ironically enough, I visited a book store recently and made my way to the "Christian" section (ugh) and they had like the top ten sellers or something. I smiled when I saw titles from Rob Bell, Donald Miller, and Brian McLaren right next to Truth War. I wondered if the publishing companies even realize that one book condemning the other straight to Hell sits right next to the condemned book in the store.

What I really wish would happen, and it is my prayer constantly, is that people who have this false image in their heads would actually listen to someone who feels she is emergent and listen to her heart and hear what she says she believes, not what some fanatics on the Sky Angel network say she believes. Who better to ask what emergents think or feel than an emergent herself? I say this because I want my parents to stop listening to their television and radio programs and start listening to me. They think I am a relativist now. I mean COME ON FOR GOD'S SAKE I SURVIVED RAPINCHUKS APOLOGETICS CLASS and I came out stronger for it! There is no way IN HELL that I could be a relativist! But I can't sink that through their heads. Only the Spirit will be able to do it. And I pray that he does very soon. Until then, I'm up against the likes of Kirk Cameron and Todd Friel. (If you don't know who the latter is, check him out, and try not to get pissed.)

Whew. I got really long winded. Sorry. I'm just so thankful to now have the time and resources to join in with you girls in this very important conversation. Somehow I think God is preparing us for big things to come...

And Jess, may the peace of the Lord be with you so that you can finally get some much needed sleep.

Wrestling

Been something of an insomniac lately. For some reason, like a child who thinks she'll miss out on all the fun, my body just doesn't want to go to sleep. I'm sure there's an explanation somewhere, and some kind of remedy, but I haven't discovered them yet. For now, I've been trying sleep aid pills...not something I really want to do, though. I tried melatonin last night, and that didn't help. I need to be knocked out for my body to surrender.

So last night, as I tried to sleep, my gaze fell on a book resting on my nightstand. "A Generous Orthodoxy." Hm, I thought. Perhaps some wordy theology might tire me. My first mistake. I picked it up and began reading, and found myself instead drawn in, my mind working even more.

Today I am tired, but restless. I have this tendency to overthink things as I hash my way through them. When I first picked up AGO, I wasn't sure I entirely liked it, or entirely agreed with it. But what I read last night (about post-protestantism and being post-liberal-and -conservative) really resonated with me. This morning I was reading about poetry and mysticism. And I've decided this book will make it onto my shelf of Books That Changed My Life.

What I'm frustrated by, perpetually, is the attitude of so many Christians towards thinkers like McLaren and Rob Bell. Today I was looking at a mutual friend's facebook page, and she had a virtual bookshelf, with virtual books she is reading and wants to read. They had provocative titles which lead me to their amazon.com pages. Most of them had to do with the Emerging Church, but as critiques. I read several reviews of each one.

There is something about the conversation that almost gives me hope, but mixed in were too many negative depictions of the emergent movement. I just feel like if the three of us were any kind of cross section of the Emergent Church, a lot of their arguments would be obsolete. I don't throw out truth, I haven't given up on the Bible. I just recognize a lot more gray areas than I used to. I let myself wrestle honestly with God and Scripture, all the while feeling pretty secure that God can handle it, and will continue to guide me.

If nothing else, my foray today just reinforces the idea that people like us need to continue to participate in the conversation. We all know, and are related to, people who think that the emerging church is actually a bunch of apostate heretics who have abandoned the bible. While I know that speaking up and out will initially just draw criticism, I can only hope that people like us can ultimately contribute to something larger. I felt hopeful last night, as I read McLaren's words about a post-protestant world. I would like to be a part of that kind of world, where we don't focus so much on what makes us different, but what we have in common. So much of what I read last night echoed what I'd just read in "The Celtic Way of Evangelism." (So I'm going to plug that again!)

What do you guys think? Is there hope for Christianity to be less divided in coming generations? What do you think we can do to help?

Pioneer

First off, Sara, I am so sorry that your parents don't seem to understand the new direction your faith has taken. I have watched you grow over the years, and I'm so proud of the choices you've made in your life. You have allowed God to work you into a thoughtful, compassionate, ridiculously intelligent woman. I don't understand how your family can't see that and be as proud of you as I am.

Second, I can echo some of the discontent you have in church and the Church. The last year for me has been tough when it comes to church stuff. I was with FPC for five years before I had to leave- it had become a place I didn't recognize anymore. Looking back on my time there, it's bittersweet. There are so many people I've met through that church who have been important in my life. Travis taught me about youth and worship there. He and Erin became family to me. God blessed me with friends like Trey, Kate, Mike, Barb, and the Rolfs. There are families at that church who poured into me emotionally, spiritually, and financially. But it ended so ugly. I really got burned in the power struggle, and Mike... I wish I hadn't had to leave, but by the time I did, so many of the people I had loved about that church had fled or died. I saw the best of the church body and the worst of the church body over those five years.

Now I'm trying to get involved in a new church, but it's hard. I know that part of the reason it's been hard is because of me. I was hurt and tired and not wanting to get involved again when I went to BUMC. I didn't want to meet people or make friends. I just wanted to sit there for a while. I needed a break. It's been a whole year now, and I'm volunteering again. I'm hanging out with youth and helping plan worship, but I can still see the politics of church and the people who don't want to grow or change or reach out to their community. It really makes me wonder of I'm just sensitive to it now or if the Church just really doesn't care of they live or die. We're supposed to be reaching out to the broken, and instead we bitch about worship style and the church "not looking like the Methodist church I grew up in" (that's a direct quote, by the way.) I want to make a difference, to be a revolutionary, but it feels so futile. I know I'll keep fighting, but sometimes I look into the future and all I can see is heartache and loss.

Don't get me wrong, I'm in a totally different place now than I was a year ago. I'm blessed to finally be getting to know my new church family. I'm making connections with youth and am a part of worship service that is focused on evangelism. On a more personal level, I'm in a better brain-space than I was last year, too. I've started to heal from all the brokenness of that church, and while I still miss Mike, I'm not drowning in depression like I was then. Life has moved on.

Jess, I can't get that song, "Pioneer" out of my head. You remember, you sent that to me on a CD a couple of years ago? What a beautiful song. The line that really sticks with me is one of the first- "Pioneer, pioneer/keep pressing onward, beyond your fear..." That's what I know I have to do. I know that I have to keep on working for change in the church and the Church. I know I have to keep pressing for revolution in the hearts of my community. It's scary, and I'm afraid I'll be hurt again, but I know that this is something I have to do.

I'm Finally Online!

Jess,

Well, like the rest of the world, I'm finally hooked up to the internet in my tiny apartment. So now I will actually have time to contribute to this blog! I'm so excited! Okay, moving on.

I guess I don't really have anything profound to say about truth, necessarily, at least I don't remember what I was going to say at the time. What I do have to say is how my passionate quest for it has brought me just as much pain as joy. Just as much mystery (maybe more) as new data. Just as many new struggles as resolutions. Sometimes I've looked back on my journey and, God forgive me, have questioned why I've come this far. When it seems like the painful consequences have outweighed the beautiful ones. Like when my entire family dismisses me as having fallen prey to a cult and when they tell me that I'm going to hell. Like when I find a larger-than-life discontentment with almost every church I visit, and with the Church as a whole. But then I reflect on the good things that have come during my journey. I love people so much more than I used to. And I love life way more than before. I've discovered grace for the first time in my life, and God has shown me how to extend it to others in ways I never thought I could.

Right now I am reading Everything Must Change by Brian McLaren. As you probably already know, I am a huge fan of his thoughts. This book so far is about the Kingdom of God. In modern Christianity, we were taught that the Kingdom of God is something we get when we die, and only if we ask Jesus to come into our hearts, right now, because we could die tonight and go to, well, you know. And if your church upbringing was anything like mine, you were also taught that if Jesus returns (the rapture) and he catches you in the act of sin (including sinful thoughts) then you were going straight to that other place, too. Damn it all, we've been missing the point all these years! Jesus came to show us how to bring the Kingdom of God HERE! Not somewhere else when we die. Not somewhere else after the rapture-according-to-Jenkins-and-LaHaye. Right here, right now.

I'm sure that you will be seeing more of my thoughts on this book I'm reading, as that will be in the forefront of my mind these next few weeks. I'm sorry that my thoughts seem so scattered. I will be more intentional next time I post. Promise!

Exponential Celts

Okay, okay, I'll bite. I'm writing less out of a feeling of guilt and more out of a feeling of insomnia. Must. Sleep. Soon. Anyway, moving on.

Jess, this sounds like an amazing book. I can see that you're really excited about it. And when I first read what you had to say about it, I thought of how that philosophy of evangelism applies to my own life. I mean, the best experiences I've had, sharing the Truth with believers and non-believers, have been all tied up in relationships. That's what the Celtic people were doing, wasn't it? Living together, working together, hashing out the hard parts of faith together. I know that there are documented cases of people's lives being changed at the Calgary revival or the Brownsville revival or any number of other movements, but the most drastic cases of change I've seen have been because of one person investing in one person. Maybe it's because I've never been good at dividing my attention in lots of different directions, but I've got to minister that way. When I try to spread it too thin across lots of different people, I just end up not helping anyone and burning myself out in the process.

I like the idea of planting the church, watching it grow, making disciples, and then moving on. The Celts had it right: they were equipping the next generation of believers to make the next generation of believers. By pouring into a few and encouraging them to invest in another group of people, they created exponential growth. By taking some new believers with them to the next church plant, they gave them ownership over their faith, their church, and their style of evangelism. No wonder Christianity spread the way it did in Ireland. They were spreading the Truth on a personal level.

The most amazing thing I can ever see is one of the girls I've mentored mentoring another girl. I've tried to keep in touch with "my girls," the ones I've known since they were in the seventh grade and I taught their junior high Sunday school class for one summer. Those girls graduated from high school this year and I don't know, it chokes me up a little bit. They're growing up and moving on and impacting people in a huge way. Seeing the six years of growth in those girls makes my heart grow like the Grinch's, but it also brings me closer to Jesus. It was by his grace that I was ever able to pour into those girls in the first place. It's him who inhabits those girls, and I am so knocked flat by the fact he chose me to be there to listen to them and pray with them and bumble through growing up with them. That's been the exponential growth in my life. While I was pouring in to girls, Jesus was pouring in to me. I've grown just as much as they have. So it's kind of a back and forth when it comes to evangelism- I may have shared with them, but what I got in return was tenfold whatever little tidbits they got from me.

There: my tiny thoughts, served with plastic ware. "You bought me plastic ware? You love me!" To paraphrase Dexter.

Celtic Evangelism

Okay, I SO do not want to be the only contributor to this blog...I already have a blog of my own...


That being said, I also don't want to wait months and months in between posts. I know you guys have amazing things going on in your heads. Let's see what you make of this:

In preparation for my upcoming trip to Ireland, I've been reading George C. Hunter's "The Celtic Way of Evangelism," and I'm about halfway through it now.

I am loving it.

I've heard a little about St. Patrick, and his productive efforts to evangelize the Celtic tribes of Ireland, but I'd never really heard what his methods were. So get this: he took a group of people with him to Ireland, and they would set up camp near a village or tribe, and then set about engaging the people. They used the arts, offered assistance where needed, and generally began building relationships. When they began to accumulate converts, they would welcome them into their camp. When they had enough, they'd build a church. Then they would leave a few of their number behind, to pastor the church, and take some of the new converts with them to the next location. They did this for 28 years.

The generations after Patrick decided to follow his example, and take the gospel to the Picts, Britons, and Anglo-Saxons. They used a similar model, in that they would build communities in accessible places near towns and tribes. Though these were called "monasteries," Hunter is quick to point out that they were radically different from the Eastern, Roman version of monasteries. He calls them "monastic communities," because instead of being places of solitude and escape from the world, they were idealistic, diverse communities who welcomed guests and seekers. They contained a few monks and or nuns, but whole families often resided within.

These people lived out their lives in close community, and worked out their faith together. Their "monasteries" were examples of an "alternative" lifestyle, and pointed expectantly to Eternity. Their days were spent in work, worship, fellowship, and study. Perhaps most importantly, they continued to engage outsiders and draw them in. The Celtic model of evangelism started with relationship, and worked its way down through questions and conversation, to finally offering them a chance to make a decision about salvation. They were not exclusive; unlike much of today's Christianity, they didn't wait for people to join them before including them in the community.

Thus Christianity spread throughout Ireland, Scotland, Britain, and onto other parts of Europe. People who were once thought of as too "pagan" and "uncivilized" to receive the gospel would build predominantly Christian nations. So what happened?

After a few hundred years of this kind of evangelism, Rome put the kibosh on it. Why? Because they weren't doing it the "Roman way." They pressured these monasteries to adhere to the Roman standards, and eventually rendered them ineffective (at least in evangelistic terms).

As I read that, I got really mad. To me, those communities sounded just fantastic. People living, working, praying, and learning together, and engaging the communities to draw people into the truth--it sounds a lot like the early church to me! And then forcing everyone to do things the "Roman" way just disgusted me. Maybe I'm a little touchy about it, because I've been undergoing a similar assimilation, but that just seems wrong to me. I mean, it's not like Christianity even started in Rome! To me the Celtic way makes more sense--they lived in the land and got to know the people, and adapted to them, instead of making them do things that were culturally irrelevant to them. It's like the missionaries who make converts in Africa use the organ in their worship, instead of their native drums.

Obviously I can't sum up the whole book in one post, but I'm finding it fascinating, and I have a feeling you guys would, too. Hunter's whole theory is that this kind of evangelism could be effective again, now, to this post-modern generation. I keep hearing people talk about trying to make post-moderns more rational, and I feel like they're missing the point. Instead of trying to make them something they're not, in order for them to understand the gospel, why not find more relevant ways to engage this culture?

I don't believe this means watering down our faith; instead, I think it require this kind of "living it out." I keep hearing from younger generations how disillusioned they are with the church and religion and everything else. They need to see people actually practicing what they preach, and not chasing down material pleasures.

I don't know. I love, love, LOVE the idea of this kind of evangelism, as opposed to how the church normally does it. And by "love," I mean "am considering doing it."

What do you guys think?

The Paradox of Contentment

Remember how I was talking about feeling discontent and a little like a heretic when I mentioned it to my friends? It happened again last night.

This is a different group of friends--mostly a little older than me. They attend my church. We are in a Small Group Bible Study (we're finishing up John MacArthur's Twelve Ordinary Men).

After discussion of this week's chapter, we went around the room to talk about prayer requests. Now, I don't know about you, but Prayer Request Time can be intimidating. I think this is for several reasons: 1, because it's hard to be vulnerable. If you open yourself up to what you really need prayer about, people will see your weaknesses. 2, it's opposed. The last thing the Enemy wants is for us to be genuine with each other and take it to the Lord in prayer.

I was the last one in the circle. I was thisclose to following in everyone else's footsteps and shrugging off my needs. But one of the things I'm so grateful for is this group where everyone will look at me and say, "Do you have anything we can pray for?" Sometimes it gets tiring to ask people to pray for the same kind of thing over and over. But I honestly think one of the worst things we do as Christians is pretend we're okay.

There is a Lie, a pernicious lie as Dr. Del Tracker (of The Truth Project) would say. It goes like this: You're the only one struggling with this. Don't tell anyone about it. They'll see how bad of a Christian you are. You'll bring everybody else down. Just keep it to yourself. You're on your own.

I don't want to listen to that lie. So, I took a risk and told the truth. I'm not doing all that well, as I said earlier. I'm struggling. Financially, Spiritually, even Physically. My attitude has been crap lately. I'm trying to figure out what my next steps are, what God wants me to do. Well, I didn't put it quite that well to my group; nonetheless, several of my friends piped up immediately and admitted that they were struggling, too.

Then something interesting happened. A couple others in our group launched into something almost like a lecture on contentment. Now, I know these folks meant well. And I certainly understand the points made. It's true that we are called to be content no matter what our circumstances are, and that whatever our stage of life is, we can find things to complain about.

This is the paradox of contentment: we are supposed to find contentment no matter how bad life is, yet we are never supposed to be fully comfortable here in this life. We are told to be joyful always, think on the good things, praise God in every circumstance. Yet balancing those words out are huge sections of scripture--in some cases, whole books--dedicated to lament and struggle. God knows we will wrestle--in fact, those who were closest to Him are often portrayed as having faith, but still struggling.

This is just another example to me of how the Christian life is one of Balance, and how things are not as simple as they are often painted.

Our tendency as a Church to want to "fix" people, or offer good advice and bible verses when people are truly wrestling and hurting has become a handicap. God is the one who heals, and He does it differently in different people. To assume that we know exactly how He works seems arrogant, to me.

For me, it's not as simple as wearing a smiley face pin or playing happy Jesus music. That doesn't fix the problem. And I certainly can't will myself to be content. But I know that God is working on me, and continually reminds me that He's taking care of me.

While that may bring a kind of contentment, that still doesn't change the fact that I need a new job, and I don't know what it will be. Though I do believe He will provide it. But I'll still wrestle when I get in my car and see how little gas I have. *Sigh.* Yet, how can I tell others that God provides, if I've never been in a situation where I desperately needed Him to come through for me?


PS: Sara, I'm still looking forward to your brilliant post about Truth.

Soul Friends Discovered.

Jess, I’m so glad that you’ve found a group of friends who can support you locally. You and I are closer now than ever, but there’s really something to be said about having people there who can be soft arms when I need a hug and give me Kleenex when I have to cry. I’m glad you finally have that. It’s something I prayed for you.

The last year and a half have been difficult. I’m trying not to dwell on it, but in less than a month, it will be one year since Mike died. And I still think about him every day. This summer I went through the longest dark night my soul has ever seen. I couldn’t see the end of it. And I functioned- I went to work, I spent twenty- three hours a day with other people, and inside I was dying. I didn’t even like to be around myself, so the people who walked with me through that time must have the patience of saints. (In Mitch’s case, I know that this is true.) I was hard to take last summer. I’m grateful beyond belief to the people in my life who stood by me during that hard time, but there were friends who didn’t. They were hurt by the things I said and did and won’t trust me now because of those things. On the other side of that, two of my best friends right now are friends I made during that time. They saw the state I was in- messy, broken, hurting- and they blinked and said, “I’ve been there, too. Let’s go to Sonic.” They didn’t judge me, they didn’t tell me to get it together or do things differently. They were just there while I dealt with things, because they knew I would be there for them in return.

Jess, I can echo your thoughts on being “fixed.” Who can really be “fixed?” (Besides Gizmo, Travis’s dog. The procedure actually solved a lot of problems for the entire Sappington family, but that’s a story for another post.) I don’t want someone to try to fix me, I want them to walk beside me while God fixes it. And I say that because I’ve been through wanting to fix friends. I’ve seen my hurting friends and wanted so desperately to take them up into my arms and “sew on patches to all you tear,” as Ingrid Michaelson would put it. I had to learn really fast that there’s no way I can sew up friends who have been ripped apart at the seams. I can hold the seams together while God sews them up, but it’s not up to me when that happens. So for me, last summer, hearing comments like, “You should really just go to therapy,” and “He died three months ago, you should be moving on,” weren’t helpful in the slightest. Those are the rational “fixes” to what was wrong with me. My heart was broken, and there wasn’t anything anyone could do to make it better. I just had to do it on God’s time, not mine or anyone else’s. It’s not like I wanted to be depressed all the time. I didn’t want to say mean things because I couldn’t remember how to put nice words together. I didn’t want to have a sinking, irrational fear that everyone else was going to leave me, too. Those things went away with time, but those friends who went away haven’t come back, not completely.

So now, Jess, since you brought it up, I’ve been mulling over this concept of “soul friends.” I have many, many friends and even more acquaintances, but when it comes to those friends who know my heart, inside and out, there are only a few. (You’re one of them, sistah.) I can’t count all of them as “soul friends,” but of the ones I can… oh, wow. I’ve been blessed.

Great Blessings, Small Heresies

So. Another year, another blog. A new experiment!

I was going to write the following thoughts in my main blog, "Scope For Imagination," but I got carried away with my musings on Spring and Easter.

I've been in a weird funk lately. It's hard to explain. If I were going to use spiritual language, I'd probably say that I've been under attack lately. I could probably explain some of it on a physical level as being attributed to hormones. But it's kind of sneaky and hard to pin down. I've just been very grouchy and irritable and discontent with my life lately.

The thing is, I've felt this way in the past, but it's usually been a lonelier feeling. A few years ago, I was going through a dark time. A dry and barren time. They call it 'the wilderness' or sometimes 'the dark night of the soul.' It was rough--but the worst part is, I had very few people to talk about it with.

Things have changed since then. I now have a circle of friends again. But these feelings have returned, and honestly, I don't always know how much to share with people. I say I believe in being honest and authentic and transparent, but there's this other part of me that just doesn't want to trouble people with my doubts and struggles and discontentment. I had several people ask me today if I was all right. I am not, but I haven't the slightest idea how to explain why I'm not. And most people want to be able to help--to fix whatever is wrong, whether through words of comfort or encouragement, or helpful advice...whatever. Sometimes I don't want to be "fixed." Days like today, I just want space to figure things out. But that's not very conducive to community, is it?

So, the thing is, God has blessed me with a loving family and a great group of friends. And I'm incredibly grateful for that. As Sir Thomas More says,

“The thread of our life would be dark, heaven knows,

if it were not with friendship and love intertwined.”

But then again, people are people, and we all get on each other's nerves eventually.

Lately, I've found myself in a tricky place. One of my groups of friends is a 20somethings group at my parents' church. It took me a while to feel like I really fit in there, and one of the reasons is that they tend to be very Reformed in their theology. I'm sure there is an official definition of what it means to be Reformed, but the contextual definition in my life is: Someone who thinks they have all the answers.

Maybe I'm a little too post-modern, but I just don't feel that way. Yes, I believe in God, and yes, I believe in the infallibility of scripture. But...I don't know. Maybe I overthink things too much. To me, those two things don't translate into me having all the answers.

Here's an example: We're currently going through the "Truth Project." In theory, a very good, beneficial tool. But from the beginning, I've been wrestling with it. There are several reasons. For one, I think it focuses too much on head knowledge. For another, I think it promotes a modern way of thinking over a post-modern, and creates a sort of dislike of anything postmodern. But mostly, it seems to perpetuate an idea that we have all the answers. Where do we get all the answers? The Bible, of course.

Here's where I start to feel a little like a heretic. As I said, I do believe in the infallibility of Scripture, that they are the very words of God to man. But I would be lying if I said I understood everything about the Bible. I don't. Sometimes it confuses me. Sometimes it frustrates me. What I think confounds me more than anything, though, is that there are so many people who have their own "take" on the Bible and what it means.

Don't get me wrong. I studied the Bible in college. And in so doing, I was exposed to new ideas of what certain texts meant, things I'd never considered before. Quite frankly, sometimes I find it challenging to navigate all the claims.

When I mentioned this tonight, in the group discussion afterward, the advice given to me by a friend was to look at the context of whatever scripture is being quoted. Granted. I learned that in my first Rapinchuk class. But for me, it's just not that simple.

You know how people talk about a "child-like faith?" Well, I had that all growing up. It was the "I just believe" syndrome. I think that's precious. But as I got older, I was faced with complex things--difficult circumstances and messy situations. I found that a simple answer didn't always do the trick. In fact, sometimes a simple, cut-and-dried, black-and-white assessment often did more harm than good.

So, I'm not into formulas or checklists or bumper-stickers. To me, this Life, this Journey, this experience of knowing God and walking with Him, is so much more complex. It's not something you can do on autopilot. It's not something you can ritualize. To know God...how can we ever be so presumptuous as to think that we can and will fully know and understand Him here in this life?

In the past few years of my life, I've grown comfortable with questions. I've learned that it's okay to not know everything. Even the asking is okay, as long as you realize at the end of the day that you trust the One you're crying out to. I've heard a few people say something like this lately: "What we need, what this culture needs, is the truth. We need to tell people that we have the truth."

I think this postmodern culture would ask, as Pilate did, Qui es Veritas?--"What is Truth?"

I could go on, but I'd like to hear your thoughts now.