confessions of an emerging pastor

after spending four days spilling the church's sins, revealing her weaknesses and begging the world for forgiveness, i think it is time for me to offer a few ecclesiastical confessions.

1. about three years ago, after a valiant struggle against categorization and cunning attempts to label myself as an eh-vangelical instead of an ee-vangelical, i finally confessed that i wade in the evangelical stream. now after a couple of years of dancing on the margins and regularly deflecting criticism that has been launched at the emerging church by raising my hands in a sign of resignation and saying something like, "i'm not an apologist for emergent, just an interested party," i'm ready to come clean. i am a willing and ongoing participant in the emerging church conversation. i am proud to walk forward with this crew as together we submit to and pursue the mission of God.

2. i also confess that i often do not what "emergent" stands for and means. from my perspective, "emergent" is more of a missional community than a clearly defined institution or organization. that makes definitions a bit difficult.

3. although i have a deep love for the church, in all its various and sundry forms, i have occasionally scrutinized and judged other forms/methods/modes and denominations/organizations with a hermeneutic of suspicion instead of one of charity. for my lack of charity and the divisions it undoubtedly caused, i ask forgiveness.

4. for many years i mentally characterized committed pentecostal and charismatic christians as anti-intellectual enthusiasts. now i realize that individuals from these very traditions are expanding my perception in significant ways and are challenging me to replace many of my ministerial fears with a thoroughgoing missional faith. i thank God for these brothers and sisters and beg their forgiveness for the way i slandered them in the past.

5. i do not know how to pursue the missional opportunities God has given our community without embracing an entrepreneurial spirit. so instead of risking failure, i do nothing. i confess my fear of failure and will need a number of you to help me if i am to move forward.

6. i wax eloquent about social justice and commit a bit of my time to the poor. but when someone is truly disordered, in a psychological/physical/spiritual way, i often ignore them instead of accompanying them through their desert. in fact, i have a friend who is languishing on a "ward" right now and am almost afraid to visit her. i don't know what to do in these situations and do not know what to say. moreover, with this friend in particular, i question the value of my accompaniment.

7. i realize that when i'm teaching, preaching or praying i occasionally sound certain about what i believe and where i think the church should go. these slivers of certainty are completely unintended and often extremely untrustworthy. beware.

8. i don't do the mission/vision/values thing well. maybe one of the reasons i'm outside of the institutional church is because i am not a very organized person. i don't know if that's true, but it's definitely something to consider.

9. i am as uncomfortable with God's sovereignty as you are. i have openly questioned his ordering of sexual relationships on a number of occasions and, in periods of great suffering, such as those we have witnessed in South Asia, Iraq and Mississippi/Louisiana, i am quick to question both his presence and the extent of his control. i also have great, overwhelming questions about the last word and the word after that (the concept, not the aptly titled book) and the final consummation of the Kingdom.

10. i love Christ and am committed to His church. it is an honor to walk with you. i will walk, teach, sing (yes, even the girls' parts), accompany, lead, listen, serve and sacrifice beside you for as long as you will have me.

11. i confess that i have often had a false humility concerning my teaching and preaching gifts. i think that this tendency has occasionally had a negative impact upon the church and, more importantly, has dishonored our Creator by blighting the beauty of his creation.

may the peace of Christ be with you.

snapshots of a fragmented soul

cloaked in burlap, wrapped in snow, an introverted preacher calls to the crowd:

"city of peace, receive the peace of God."

"hot chocolate to warm your bodies, confession to warm your souls!"

"you've received condemnation from the church, now receive her confession!"

"drink our free hot chocolate, 'tis sure to ward off the bird flu."

"isn't it time the church came clean? come hear her confession."

somewhere along the line, the preacher realizes that his slogans are not the bane of the boulevard's existence. rather, his slogans are his way of blessing the churning, chaotic and charmed city. faith is such a funny thing. then again, so is fear.

the well-groomed pastor and the cynical confessor stop in front of a store front. the latter leans against a warped door, while the former lays his bag of crullers on a window frame. the pastor works for a mega, while the cynic helps lead a micro. one of the pastors carefully explains the four squares of his tradition, while the other laughingly imitates a friends' astute observation: "buncha e.o.e.in' whores in this town." both of these pastors, one carefully coiffed and bright-eyed, the other cynical, yet harassed by hope, are walking the same path. the body is broken, the blood is shared.

his name is scotland. i desperately want him to hear my confession, he simply wants to spend a few moments with me. i speak of the church and he asks about life, i talk about life and he questions the church. after twenty minutes together, i am standing on the fence of frustration, due to our failure of communication, when i stop. these moments, inviting the stranger walk beside, if only for a moment, are sacred. accompanying someone to a destination, rather than blithely providing directions, can be sacramental. i realize that i learned to administer this sacrament at the cracker barrel and cannot conceal a snicker.

dear God, how i loathe lyric posts

"remember to remember me.
standing still, in your past...
floating fast like a hummingbird."
~wilco, hummingbird

"hey jude,
don't make it bad.
take a sad song,
and make it better."
~paul mccartney, hey jude

"somedays i'm bursting at the seams
with all my half remembered dreams
and then it shoots me down again

i feel the dampness as it creeps
i hear you coughing in your sleep
beneath a broken window pane."
~david gray, this ain't no love that's guiding me

"saint joseph's baby aspirin, bartles and jaymes and you...
or your memory."
~the mountain goats, you or your memory

rest assured that there are lips and assholes on the counter and i'm planning on grinding. more to come on my unexpected stint as a street preacher, the third anniversary of sinners and saints, david gray and more.

overheard

"God loves you and has a hard plan for your life." ~Mark Galli, as quoted in Rob Moll's CT article, "The New Monasticism."

i think i just pissed myself

check out holy ghost tees. props to matthew for the link.

pixie notes, volume 1 part 2

please note: kellie wrote this post in response to a conversation that is taking place on aaron monts’ blog. so, if you are the kind of person who cares about context, read his post entitled house church. if you could care less about context, feel free to read it anyway. i think it’s stimulating stuff.

OK, so I know I’m getting in late on the conversation. I originally wrote a long comment which Jeff was going to post on his blog and link through the comments (I am married to Jeff by the way) but now this thing has 55 comments. So I might as well go and make it longer.

My intention is to help try and give a little more clarity on a very fuzzy thing: what home churches are and how they operate. Here is my curriculum vitae on homechurches (if you need it): I did my internship for LCC with Xenos Christian Fellowship and after graduating spent two years living with them. I have spent two years now helping to lead Sinners and Saints. OK…so not extensive, but still.

Side note: someone comments back hit the nail straight on the head. The author of the article that started this here shindig is a blessed child of God who doesn’t support his arguments well at all. I think it was called “cultish”. Anyways, I read his book with wineskins in the title during my internship. Long-time ago, so don’t have all the details straight but I do remember a strain linking the tabernacle times (good, Israel directed by God chosen Moses, and the church is mobile) and temple times (bad, Israel ruled by lots of bad and some good kings, not everybody can make it to temple) as a reason to go with homechurches vs. traditional churches. I think this sufficiently highlights the background of said article and provides evidence for referenced comments.

I understand the main difference between the home church model and traditional model to be the point of entry for the convert. In both models, people are brought through relationships. One will tend to invite them to the home church first and the other to the main church service. This is largely because home-churchers will identify themselves first with their home church and then the fellowship when asked where they attend. “I am a part of the Sinners and Saints home church. We’re with City on a Hill Christian Fellowship.” When I was in the traditional church I said, “I am a part of Jefferson Street Christian Church. I go to the Land home group.”

As to us getting the same bugs as the traditional church…would we be a church without it? I mean, wasn’t the NT with the exception of the Gospels largely written to corral said problems? Bit of info for you here: Xenos did go through a church split a while back. I think that it involved music.

So, why home churches? Here are my personal reasons:

1. Personally, as a woman, it opens ministry opportunities that are rarely open to me in the traditional church. Or if they are available there, I am to afraid of controversy to take. Honestly, I went through all of college planning on taking the academic route. My parents were always involved with ministry and when I was twelve one of their friends took another position because the church he was at didn’t want to change anymore. And ministers moved all the time…I’d already had enough of that. So I went to a ministry focused college with the intention of never marrying a paid minister or doing paid ministry. Besides, I’m a girl that doesn’t like to teach kids or sing songs so there weren’t many areas that I thought a church would hire me. And then Doc Kurka suggests I go to Xenos because the internship I wanted to do in Germany fell through. So I head out to Xenos thinking I’ll be studying worldviews or something (they do a big lecture series on that) and end up spending my time building relationships and learning to do church. My mentor challenged me to stay in the church…. “too many of our minds go into academia, we need some here in the church too” and “the best thing you could do is to teach someone else what you know…teach them to live Christ.” He told me that I could plant home churches. Wow, somebody actually telling me that I could teach and plant churches and help with church strategy. No one had ever thought I could do that before.

Anyways, enough testimony…back to the opportunities. The homechurches that I have been a part of (this may not apply to every homechurch you come across) have a head leadership of 4 people, 2 male and 2 female. They rotate teaching, take care of growth and discipline issues, and facilitate developing more leaders to hopefully plant a new homechurch. The female leaders do basically everything the male leaders do except peeing standing up. When I moved to Boston, Xenos was debating female elders, and the 2 head pastors were men. But on every other level ministry opportunity was shared across gender. Now of course, if one of the guys met some girl they worked with and she started coming ‘round we’d try and move the relationship focus to one of the girls….the “When Harry Met Sally” thing combined with ministry is a time bomb.

2. I love the fact that in home-churches most people are lay ministry. I really like hanging out with people that aren’t Christians. It is stimulating and stretches me. One of the best ways that I have found to do this naturally is through the workplace…I spend more time at work than I do with my husband. A 40-hour work week and ministry are feasible if shared with 3 other people and the church gets to 25-30 people at its largest. I find too, that it encourages people with other vocations that they can do serious ministry too. I’ve known home church leaders that were doctors and dentists and teachers and social workers down and waiters. And if you got them aside, they’d tell you that their main joy was building the church and discipling and teaching. Most of them hadn’t known Christ long before some had said to them….grow a little and you can lead a church too.

3. I love the fact that when I hear the word “ministry” in the homechurch it is applied to long conversations at coffee bars or pubs, or counseling and praying for another believer, or writing encouragement notes. I love the fact that in Xenos, when you meet with someone (even those that have been around for only months) you haven’t hung out with for a while, conversation will turn to ministry. All Christian are ministers, so it’s natural, right? And isn’t something wrong with your spiritual growth if you’re not serving? See, homechurches tend to put people to work immediately so they don’t know there is the option of pew-sitting. One of our guys was mystified that a close Southern Baptist friend evaluated his spirituality on the basis of knowledge rather than service. He thought the way to be a Christian was to spend hours loving the disabled guy that most people wouldn’t spend time with…or on the fact that he handed out money to help non-Christian friends at work with medical bills.

4. I love the fact that in home church, I get audience support when I am teaching. Another “ministry” of the church is to support the teacher by talking. If the service is dead, the members know that it is just as much their fault as the people guiding the meeting. I mean, if it didn’t make sense or you thought the teacher was completely not making the text relevant, you had the opportunity to say so, yeah? I love the fact that it is so laid back I can bring some of the classroom into a teaching, that I can go detailed background because it is a small group. I don’t have to worry about losing someone because I know that a) they tell me they don’t understand or b) I can see it on the face and I will have the opportunity to sort it out with them.

5. I love that fact that homechurches can at times totally disarm the lost. They come in with all these preconceptions about church and Christians which are immediately turned on their head. They start asking questions…You’re a church? Why are you meeting in a house? (Because the church is really the group of people worshiping God irrespective of where they meet). Who is your leader? (Well, we have 4 leaders because in the church ministry is shared and at some level everybody shares part of the responsibility). We get the chance to immediately start teaching truth because they start asking questions.

6. I love the fact that right now all of our money goes out (well except for $20 for toilet paper and coffee). Right now we don’t have any overhead and it is a blessing. Someday we may get big enough where it makes sense to get a building for the main teaching or to pay a few people to oversee a network of churches. But right now we have the blessing of giving it all away. When we started going through church finances at one set meeting a month I saw a passion for giving take hold in our members. We have our monthly missionary commitments, but our goal is to exceed that. Then we sit down and try and come up with places to give the rest too. Our goal is a near empty bank account. It’s changed us.

7. I love the history of church growth. When I interned with Xenos, I was with the North 4^th Home Church. When I came back after college, they were in the middle of birthing a new church and I soon was a part of Red House Home Church. Some of my friends stayed with the other church. When I moved to Columbus both churches had birthed a new church. So, now my friends in the original group were now part of four different home churches. That meant a lot of people came to Christ and grew up into maturity. Yeah, it took place over years but it is so cool to look back on and to look forward to for Sinners & Saints. It gives people a tangible hold on growth…like starting a new service, except it happens more often. And when they see themselves growing, they get excited to do it again.

So in the end, it’s still church. When we grow big enough we look really similar. We have the same goals. With this difference: most people become members by joining a home church and then start associating with the larger body. We start with the small and grow big because we intend for our small churches to self-replicate, because we intend our people to “self-replicate” themselves through helping someone else to grow in Christ.

Jesus, the Christ,
however little we know your Gospel,
it is light in our midst.
However little we grasp your presence,
it is light for us.

We search for you, Jesus, the Christ,
sometimes with uncertain steps,
but you have already come.
You bring light into our anxiousness.
You know
we would never want to choose darkness
but always welcome your inner life.
~brother roger of taize, life from within

happy haiku friday

the cold, black onyx

worn by waves, anchored in sand

remains my teacher

do or die, part deux

bottom of 5

you know your team is in trouble when you get overly excited about an HBP. oswalt looks unhittable.

first and second, no out. i'm going to follow rick's advice and think happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts...

(marginal note: i can't believe fox just drew attention to their dumb-ass "right now!" box by playing that stupid, we substituted substance abuse for social justice song by van halen).

and it's...another blown call. everett clearly missed molina. in these instances, where the umpire has absolutely no angle on the play, he should be allowed to ask the first base umpire, who had a perfect angle on the play, for assistance. dumb-ass union monkey.

okay. 3-1 is a hell of a lot better than 3-0.

that's the stupidest comment i have ever made.

you'd think that on a day like today, when i got a promotion at lifeway, probably sold the corolla, completed a ball-busting take home exam for a seminary class and am sitting on my couch with a beer in my hand and dog at my feet, i'd be a little more optimistic. so i'm doin' it. if karma works for earl, optimism will work for me!

good at bat for eckstein. he struck out, but he made him work. little by little. little by little.

top of 6

is there anything less compelling than an in-dugout interview with tony larussa? i think he would rather eat meat than talk to thom brennaman in the midst of a tight playoff game.

why do they have to put the in-dugout microphones on idiots? earlier, brandon backe noted that "the walk from the mound is the loneliest walk in the world. i don't care if i done good or not. i hate bein' pulled." jeff bagwell is sitting in that dugout, doing nothing, and you choose to mike the likes of brandon backe? come on! (of course, this entire argument would be unnecessary if fox pinched their penchant for stupid gimmicks (i.e., scooter, right now!, diamond cam, fan cam, manager interviews, etc.), of which dugout mikes are only a part.

you can't scheme a schemer! except when you can. that squeeze was huge.

bottom of 6

okay, the gig is up. edmonds, walker and sanders cannot catch up to a 97 mile an hour fastball anymore. or a 95 mile an hour fastball for that matter. this team has some major re-tooling to do over the winter. i told rick that if we don't win this year, we won't win for 7 or 8 years. i'm not the prophet or the son of a prophet, but...

i think pitching to pujols with one out and no one on bat is foolish.

i told you i wasn't a prophet. oswalt just stole albert's milk money.

that oswalt is one cool customer. he's a consistent, understated and sane version of prior. ugh.

top of 7

i found this incredible picture of gate 5 at bush on the nyt website this morning. i found it strangely touching. it also provoked the following top 5 lists.

top five moments at busch stadium:

watching the cardinals whip the cubs to secure the 1985 national league east title

sitting five rows from the field on a beautiful sunday that also happened to be the last regular season game at busch

willie mcgee's ninth inning walk-off homer on opening day in 1997

the "brawl" that was precipitated by will clark spiking the "secret weapon" and ozzie swinging at will and hitting him in the helmet

watching the cardinals whip the padres to win the first game in the 1997 nlcs

holy shit. when it rains it pours. they're chilling champagne in the visitor's locker-room right now.

bottom five moments at busch stadium:

making vicious fun of tony gwynn throughout the aforementioned game and laughing when somebody threw a twinkie at him

getting douched with beer in the right field, upper mezzanine section when i was nine years old. did i mention that i was wearing my brand-new satin bullpen jacket (oh yeah, i still have it)

having frank thomas' foul ball (it was an interleague game) bounce of my hand and into the hand of the guy sitting next to me. that was the closest i ever came

the day that our greedy, bob dole votin' owners push the self-destruct button on my youth. "it'll increase attendance." we drew over three million almost every year! "it will revitalize downtown!" yeah, for people who are seeking jobs with aramark or sports' service. "the ballpark village will be a year around draw!" yeah, just like the half-vacated union station. fuckers.

bottom 7

even tony realizes reggie can't catch up to that heat. hello so!

can i add another one to my top five? every moment i spent at the stadium with my grandfather. earlier this year he tried to convince me that i had attended a game at sportsman's park with him in the early sixties. i almost didn't have the heart to tell him that i wasn't alive then. it was one of those rare, advanced age moments that are truly memorable.

top 8

spent monkeying around with blogger's font formatting. insert curseword: _________.

bottom 8

if we could have taken 2 out of 3 from houston during the last week of the season, things could have been different.

top 9

i can't find it in me to hate craig biggio. but hating the fact that someone wrote a haray caray, a fired cards broadcaster by the way, quote on the walls of busch stadium comes naturally.

bottom 9

if we have to end it now, i'm glad we're ending it at busch.

enjoy retirement larry walker. thanks for playing with a bulging disk and enduring the cortizone shots.

for the record: i'm rooting for the white sox and trusting that the final send off will be respectable.

there it is. congratulations astros. but i hope drayton mcclain chokes on his reprocessed meat.

there's no crying in baseball. no crying.

does somebody need to tell tom brennaman that shoeless joe has been dead for 50 years?

worth a thousand words

alex posted this beautiful picture and wrote some nice words about our community on his blog. thought you might enjoy the picture and the post.

memorandum from captain random: do or die edition

if the cardinals blow this one, i'm going to hit an eight-ball and burn down those damn crawford boxes. in fact, while i'm at it, i might burn the other crawford - that abomination of desolation - down as well.

top of the seventh

on the red wall behind our black couch, i am keeping a list of people to kill. at the top of my list are two fox commentators. three ryan dobson stickers will be awarded to the first person to guess who these two "broadcasting professionals" are (for the record, i do not consider "scooter" a color commentator).

as much as i bitch about my life on this blog, i should probably mention when things go well...on that note, pettitte just picked eckstein of with the most illicit move i have ever seen. that move would be called a balk in babe ruth league. i can't believe they let that, um, motherfucking broadman & holman author get away with that! anyway, today i ground out four and half hours at work, helped phil wyman and his team set up a massive stage in salem for their haunted happenings outreach, was greeted with squeals of delight and hugs when i returned to the afterschool program after a two week absence and spent two and a half hours at the bev library falling further in love with n.t. wright (his nuanced, thoroughgoing understanding on the kingdom of God, as put forth in Jesus and the Victory of God continues to impress me). when i returned from the library, hopped up on caffeine and hungry for dinner, i found that kellie and her parents were watching scarface, which they thought featured less nasty language and violence than goodfellas. that killed me. of course, the cardinals could ruin it all, but that remains to be seen.

bottom of the seventh

if the cardinals lose this series, i'm going to remember two major base running gaffes. the first was pujols going on contact with no outs last night and the second will be eckstein getting "balked off" in the top frame. of course, i'll also remember our manager and all-star centerfielder acting like adolescents in the late innings of a must-win game, but i don't want to talk about that.

if i was an angels or an astros fan, i think i would have to strangle myself with a rally monkey or hurl myself off of the crawford boxes. is there another group of fans that pair such extraordinary enthusiasm with such unsurpassed baseball ignorance? i didn't think so.

burke singled. runners at first and third with one out. come on, berkman, roll into a double play.

holy shit. that all-league flag football player just broke my heart.

so many people give me shit for my pessimism. but scoff all you want, dear friends. pessimism softens the blow.

top of the eighth

wouldn't you assign a prisoner with a tatooed map of the facility to perpetual solitary confinement?

four outs to go and the commentators are defending the legitimacy of berkman's 337 foot home run. inappropriate comment deleted.

three up, three down. i'm going down to the basement to swipe some of james' methyl alcohol.

bottom of the eighth

i got nothing.

the umpiring has been woefully inconsistent this post-season. i think it's time to bust up the union.

now they're showing pictures of the new busch stadium. pour on the salt guys, pour it on.

top of the ninth

can we say die?

you gotta love eckstein. taking what he can get, even when it doesn't really matter. he's been one of the brightest spots of this season.

edmonds. one runner on, we're down to our last out nad pujols is coming up behind you. lean into it!

they're giving us just enough rope to hang ourselves. prove me wrong, pujols, you true believer. prove me wrong.

holy fucking shit. holy fucking shit.

bottom of the ninth

the cardinals haven't had a home run of that magnitude in 20 years (ozzie smith, 1985 n.l.c.s.. can we say go crazy, folks. go crazy!?)

two away. convulsions are starting.

alex just made a great point. if jeter had hit that homerun or a certain half-crippled first baseman smoked a shot off of the american league's best closer, the commentators would have gone crazy. as it was, it sounded like they were disappointed that they will have to miss their complimentary halliburton tour tomorrow.

holy fucking shit.

a moment of clarity in the midst of obfuscation

"in my head and my body there's this race between life and death going on. but then isn't that the case for everybody who's ever lived, forever and always? isn't that the nature of being alive?" -douglas coupland in eleanor rigby, pg. 247.

two and a half years ago, i took a seminary exegesis class that focused on matthew. although the lectures were a little bit stiff and the professor was suffering from the power-point plague, it was good stuff.

at least i think it was good stuff. instead of reading the commentaries, interacting in exegetical conversations ("it's a subjective genitive? that's fascinating!") and honoring the prof with my attention ,i re-read the novels of douglas coupland. i found myself wrapped up in the apocalyptic visions of girlfriend in a coma, i participated in virtual picnics in the palm springs desert and i wondered why the european girls i met during my travels never showed up on my front porch sporting hot pink cowboy hats and unholstered cap guns. i read the coupland corpus in dr. ciampa's class and i felt guilty.

but i shouldn't have. i think that christians would be a lot better off and the church a bit more healthy if we were as attentive to the everyday revelations that we stumble across in novels, music, conversations and coincidences as we are to the scriptures. i fear that we will never be able to fully hear the poetic proclamations of the ancient prophets or respond to their summons until we are willing to listen to and live among the prophets in our midst.

that is all. krista, thanks for the long-term loan.

always out of context

"i've got reservations.
about so many things, but not about you." -wilco, reservations

"who would you rather bone? harriet miers or condoleezza rice?" -jamie simkins

"when we speak of our virtues we are competitors, when we confess our sins we become brothers." -karl barth

"i write down good reasons to freeze to death
in my spiral notebook,
but in the long tresses of your hair
i am a babbling brook." -the mountain goats, broom people

"held under these smothering waves
by your strong and thick veined hands,
but one of these days i'm gonna wriggle up on dry land." -the mountain goats, has thou considered the tetrapod

"george bush is the smartest man i've ever met." -harriet miers, current supreme court nominee and two-time runner up for miss washington

musings from the media center

last week i read mark winegardner's crooked river burning. this novel sets the love story of david zielinsky, the son of a connected union organizer and a small town starlet, and anne o'connor, who's family is to cleveland what the daley's are to chicago, against the social, political and athletic history of cleveland. throughout the novel david and anne attend the ill-fated coronation ball of allen freed, the self-proclaimed progenitor of rock and roll, participate in the golden era of indians baseball and browns football, the scenes that featured satchel page were at the center of my emotional experience of the novel, and find themselves in the midst the race riots, racketering, economic shifts that comprise rust-belt era politics. the story of anne and david's on and off again, at turns naive and adulterous, relationship provides a strong enough plot. however, it is the detailed descriptions of their individual attempts to form and maintain their identity within the city limits of cleveland that i found most compelling. i was especially drawn to david, who throughout his journey from a bright-eyed and ambitious politician to a middle-aged man whose ideals were broken by city hall and busted by the electorate, always retained a vestige of his initial hope. through david, winegardner is reminding us that we will all be exposed to the subtleties of evil and will, at some point, find ourselves playing life from both sides. however, although he has deep sympathy for the situations and circumstances we will ultimately find ourselves in, winegardner still believes that a conversion to corruption or an embrace of a thoroughgoing hermeneutic of suspicion is still the result of a choice. in essence, even in the midst of the most despairing realities, winegardner believes that we can choose hope.

in the end, as other readers far wiser than i have noted, winegardner reminds us that by telling one story well, even a story that is set among the unexpected twists and turns of the cuyahoga, a writer can tell the story of us all.

he spoke…and it was good

just a moment ago i had my feet propped on my plastic trashcan, cheez-its in my mouth and an excerpt of brother campbell in my hands. as i savored the saltiness of both the crackers and the clipping, a hesitant, high-pitched voice said “how are you doing?”

at that moment, tears unexpectedly sprung. the voice faded as quickly as it came, but in that moment i remembered.

i remembered God’s pronouncement of the imago and recalled why i chose to follow jesus in the first place. i had the ears to hear the image and a desperate longing to see it fulfilled in myself as well as in the pock-marked, beyond plump, half-hearted goth of a boy who finally dared to offer a greeting.

i tell you this not to be overly sentimental or spiritual, but because i need you to remind me. remind me to pay attention to these rare moments when tears unexpectedly spring and a lump arises. remind me to listen and long for the voice who spoke of the image initially and the high-pitched voice which betrayed it today.

as i continue upon this road i am beginning to suspect that it is these unexpected encounters and remedial revelations, rather than our systematic theologies and well-constructed liturgies, which will enable us to persevere. and to persevere, from my perspective, seems to be the point.

while we debate the degree of miers' orthodoxy

n.p.r. reports

seven point six, thousands dead

how i hate mother

wondering through the warehouse

let me preface this poorly rendered reflection by admitting that i had a spectacular time at soybean bible college. although at first i felt “kind of cool, you know, and kind of weird. like something you would see on David Letterman,” i quickly adjusted to campus culture. to wit: within mere hours of my arrival i was drinking lukewarm coffee in the warehouse, desalinating my tongue and thinking that “shane and shane” might not be as queer as i first thought.

anyway, after sitting through an old professor’s class and responded to his introduction with a slightly suggestive joke that the students either didn’t understand or appreciate, the aforementioned scholar and i sat down to talk about ourselves and size one another up.

after the scholar reported that his doctoral studies went well and i ragged him a bit about his pacific coast tan lines, i began to tell him a bit about my ministry. i prefaced my comments with a warning that i was not an apologist for, but a friend of emergent (which seems to be the new willow creek whipping boy for soybean scholars) i told him that i had never felt more personally centered and integrated into the kingdom than i do at present.

much to my surprise, my scholarly friend responded to my story fairly sharply. he suggested that non-institutional forms of church were strains of a virus that sucked vitality out of and were completely dependent upon its institutional host and he openly wondered whether my investment in our community was hindering the Community of which many of us are a part. i mentioned that similar strategies were employed by Jesus and he responded by replacing WWJD with WWJWMTDT (which stands for “what would Jesus want me to do today?”). I told him his acronym was much too complicated and would never catch on (unlike my Forever Under Christ the King logo, but that’s another story altogether). when i admitted that i found the worldview focus at the alma mater to be fairly troubling, since such frames seems to be overly-reductionistic at best and a potential matrix of judgment at worst, he told me that it was a pity that i would not be endowed with the ability to dust the frames and replace them when necessary. confounded by my friend’s lack of affirmation i sought refuge in my coffee and promptly ingested the foreign object (a baby roach. oh soybean, some things never change. which reminds me: current students, don’t let the ultra-modern sheen of the cafeteria fool you. the septic system backs up through the drain in the kitchen when there is barely a threat of rain) found within.

i hope that you hear what i am saying as well as what i am not. as for the latter, do not doubt my love for my friend or assume that i question his intentions. he is not only on the road of incarnation and redemption that i wander, but is one of the only reasons i am there at all. however, i do question his elevation of the mega over the micro and am confused by his numeric metric of success. he clearly believes that i am called to great things. i wonder whether i have settled for less.

rest assured that i do not think so either. but it is not wise to quickly cast aside the words of one’s advisor.

you know what’s worse than elementary poetry and middle school prose? being in the middle of a post and realizing it is a mix of both.


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i would like to thank those that made my time at soybean so enjoyable. neal, thanks for the hospitality and the ongoing conversation. i never expected you to speak with me at length, much less serve as my spiritual director. thank miriam for allowing this arrested adolescent to stay in your home and eat at your table. toad, thanks for blowing off work to catch up with me. jackaway, thank you for keeping me company, constantly pushing our conversations from the level of abstraction to one of application and not being too sore that i couldn’t take you to the bar. such connections between alumni and students are strictly forbidden. besides, i didn’t want to spoil your “week of e” pub crawl. tracy thank you for accompanying me to the crack house. conversations just seem to have more clarity in those environs. aaron, i’m glad that you have seen the light concerning sam adams. now we won’t have to bar your light-beer drinking ass from our beloved commonwealth. unnamed scholar, thank you for the conversation. your friendship and guidance mean more to me than i can explain. katie, i’m sorry that we did not get to connect. i loved being your youth pastor and am sure that you’re making your parents and rgcc proud. intro to the bible students, you should have laughed at my quip. rest assured that i learned all of my sexual humor from the Bible. rest assured that it is ok to laugh and even, occasionally, swear in the warehouse. in the latter matter, let jackaway serve as your shining example.

in case you're still wondering. i have since reverted to my original opinion about "shane and shane."

nothing like a train to take you far away

just this side of the horizon a combine is storing soybeans in the bin and fouling the air with dust and husks. God how i hated this place. up in the choir room that has long served as a lecture hall, Brian Johnson is speaking to freshmen about God's fidelity and Israel's infidelity. i half-expect him to recount his take on the judges cycle that he taught me so long ago. God how i love him.

i feel like an alien, an unwanted stranger sitting in front of the raucous, cinder block hell of a dorm that i once called home. i wish i could describing my time at soybean bible more accurately. at one moment it feels like a wilderness in which i am being tested and at another moment it seems to be a spiritually gedi, where my wounds are being salved and i am once again finding strength for the journey.

the dirty gold cornstalks in front of me are reverberating with old prayers, some of which were answered and others which apparently ricocheted off the cinderblock ceiling of titus 217. occasionally, as the cornstalks sway, i am reminded of ambitions that have been fulfilled and others which were unrealized.

God how i hated this place. but fortunately this place, this mis-shaped square of uninspired utilitarian architecture, gracious yet unsettling professors and post-pubescent students who are filled with libido, a love of God and ambitions not unlike my own, has never hated me.

God, thank you for this black, fertile soil in which i died and have been born again. thank you for the hands which cultivated and occasionally pruned my heart. although this is the time of harvest, i hope my fallow field is once again suitable for sowing.

stuff that has been making me laugh

over the past two weeks massachusetts has celebrated the birth of two evacuee babies. the name of the first baby was, predictably, katrina. her parents said that they thought the name was "kind of cool, you know, and kind of weird. like something you would see on david letterman." the second baby has been christened cape cod in honor of the region that has so generously welcomed and served the evacuees over the past three weeks. i have no quarrel with people naming their children after natural disasters, hurricanes, major civil war battles or even tropical fruit (yesterday npr featured an interview with a woman named chiquita). however, i do not consider such names exempt from ridicule.

a humble request

i am planning to visit friends and make merry in lincoln illinois next monday and tuesday (10.3 - 10.4). if you (a) live in lincoln (b) read this blog and (c) would be willing to let me crash on your floor on monday night please let me know. i would prefer to stay on campus, where i can interact with the students and perhaps subvert a few minds, but am well aware that beggars can't be choosers.

if you are willing to briefly house this jaded optimist please drop a comment or send an email to jeffkelliegentry@yahoo.com. your assistance in this matter is greatly appreciated.

sunday morning

sitting in my chair, wise candle lit.
crumbs on my shirt, taste of coffee in my mouth.
i am overwhelmed with love.

convinced of my creator's beneficence
overwhelmed by his presence
my eyes well up
my heart breaks
for those who walk in, out and around my life
shining like the sun.

thank God for these fleeting moments
in which we enter the holy and hidden heart of it all.

memorandum from captain random:

nepotism provides the paper on which many an evangelical publishing contract is writ. not only james, but shirley, ryan and danae now ply the focus on the family shit. for another case, you needn't look far, billy has anointed franklin, ruth and anne as his literary arms. since these fuckers are setting up franchises i've decided to get in the game, from now on jeff dobson graham warren is my name. so let's sign that contract mr. tyndale, miss multnomah, let's publish more of the same, don't question my capabilities, just look at my motherfucking name.

this afternoon i'm listening to sufjan stevens and he's surprising me with his rythmic, contextualized truth. on illinoise sufjan provides a compelling apologetic for listening to life within your particular context (isn't particularity an essential component of art? what is a painting without a frame or a photo without a subject?). his music won't simply please your ear, it will suggest straight paths for your soul. four stars, sufjan, four stars.

i think everyone has a totem they love to touch or something they smell that reminds them of home. my totems are two misshapen black rocks, one stays on the nightstand, the other on an ontario shore. the smell is musty yet warm, it proceeds from the glove my papa once wore.

sufjan, what's up with this half-assed poetry you provoke? i think it's safer to stick to prose.

yet another reason i love sinners and saints: this afternoon i was talking to brooke about an old “okie” friend that i would like to beat some sense into. this friend continues to make rather poor decisions and does not seem to be willing or able to face the consequences of his actions. although i know that my pastoral counseling professors would question my treatment plan, i am convinced of its possible efficacy. fortunately, brooke told me that my convictions were for shit and suggested a wiser, more loving approach. i cannot imagine leading a community by myself. the shared leadership structure of s & s doesn’t ensure that we’ll never misread a particular situation, rend a relationship or do any number of additional ignorant things, but it does make such fuck ups far less common. that Jesus was up to something when he sent the disciples out two by two. moreover, st. paul might have been wrong-headed about women, but he got the plural leadership thing right.

musing...

i am beginning to think that one of the reasons the authors of scripture espoused and exalted an eschatological perspective is because it is quite difficult to keep people looking and moving forward.

i am a perfect example.

although i have yet to crack thirty, i already find myself constantly doubling back on the past. i cannot seem to finish a day without remembering how superior i felt as kerrie sat beside me on the elementary school swings, looking into the cracked mirror that produced ms. simmons' "portraits of monkeys" or smelling the grease at the rex's chicken on 21st and mingo. i also find myself wondering what happened to the more obscure characters in my play. i wonder whether gabe, my handicapped friend from fifth grade is still living with his parents or whether he is in a group home and i wonder whether rhett's intellectual acumen eventually enabled him to escape the poverty and familial dysfunction that always found a way to entangle him. for some reason i find it difficult to remember the characters in the last novel that i read, but i never find it difficult to drudge up memories of hell night at the citadel or how it felt like to hit adam buker in the face.

i'm not unthankful for these memories, but i am afraid of getting trapped.

i need to weave these strands of story together so that they will support me as i scramble up the mountains and dredge through the valleys that lie before me. these stories contain the whispered wisdom and crucial questions that will help me find my way. even more importantly, these stories bind me to those without whom i would be bereft and utterly alone.
but i cannot let these stories, sentimental and important though they might be, keep me from moving forward. these strands of support cannot become ties that bind me to who i was, lest i fail to continue becoming.

Jesus once said that "no one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God." i think this is kind-of what he was getting at.

reason #9836 that we're taking her to the kill shelter. fucking douche.

happy haiku friday

surrender to rain

let it soak right through your skin

find refuge with them

bad teeth work for hugh grant. i wish they would work for me

i am the reason that dentists commit suicide. i flinch when they stick me with a needle, i wince at the sound of a drill and i jump out of my skin when their metal hook catches one of my (many) fillings and delivers that unique, metal to metal shock.

i am the reason that dentists commit suicide. for this reason my former dentists have indulged me with the beautiful, bubby hygienists who aren't at the top of their trade, but can keep a male mind occupied. moreover, while they encourage more stalwart types like dr. james to do it sans novocain, they drug me to the nth degree and occasionally indulge me with a snort of nitrous.

i am the reason that dentists commit suicide. unfortunately, for that reason, dr. a has taken the gloves off. instead of indulging me and perhaps inadvertently nurturing my fears, she has decided to show me tough love. so she removed the bubbly hygienist with the brilliant personality, barred me from the bland hygienist who isn't much to look at but is easy on the ole gums and has forever banned me from the quirky-cute african-american girl in the front room. instead, she has put me in the hands of the pissed-off armenian. before today i had dealt with the pissed off armenian once before, so i knew about her lectures on holy dental hygiene, her ability to use the suction stick like a cattle prod and her tendency to transfer her hatred for the turks onto my sensitive teeth. after the last time she made me bleed and nearly brought me to tears i asked the receptionist to steer me away from her little suite of pain in the future. she said that wouldn't be a problem.

the bitch lied.

today, when i stepped into the office around 7:45 a.m. i was somewhat confident and almost non-chalant about my visit. i figured that i would draw the bubble, she'd clean the chicklets in forty-five to an hour and i'd be on my merry way. so you can imagine how my stomach dropped with the receptionist parted her nicotine stained teeth, gave me a cruel little smile and said "jeff gentry? armenian, around the corner." on my way to the corner suite, i steadied myself by remembering my desire not to prejudge, after all - the day of my last visit might have coincided with the anniversary of a divorce or death, and wrangled up a bit of courage by reminding myself that i would only be subjected to her fury for one hour.

i should have stuck to my judgmental guns.

the armenian began by numbing the right side of my mouth. after about six minutes of swabbing a bitter substance in my mouth she matter-of-factly told me that she was numbing the incorrect side. after all, i had already had scaling (a deep form of cleaning that is required for those of us who struggle with minor gum disease. don't ask for details) on the right side of my mouth. "didn't you rememeber" she asked accusingly. "you're the one with the chart, bitch," i thought to myself, but did not say, since she is the one with the sharp, probing instruments at her disposal. instead i feebly shrugged my shoulders and admitted that the fact had "slipped my mind." she then proceed to numb the left side of my mouth with strokes that betrayed her fury. as she set up her instruments and began to pull back my gums so that she could scrape the recently concealed roots of my teeth i could not think that this woman would make a hell of a dominatrix. unfortunately this seedy little thought was completely without joy, for in this particular instance i was stuck in the role of the gimp and the damn zipper was open.

the rest of the visit was filled with fun experiences such as the co-mingling of mucus and blood in my mouth and the fun, fresh feel of metal probing metal in my mouth. i don't know why i shared this story other than to warn you that if your dentist is not particularly prone to suicide you should not ignore your dental hygiene or piss off the doc in any other way. although chances are small that your dentist has an amoral armenian working for her, she has other ways of getting to you. trust me, you don't want your friendly dental healthcare professional to go medieval on your ass.

do you have any dental horror stories to share? if you do, please drop a comment below. the best story of the bunch will win you a limited-edition three pack of ryan dobson 2 live 4 stickers. these stickers have been generously donated by the good folks at lightway christian stores. no purchase necessary. void where prohibited. no, this was not edited.

happy haiku friday!

mountain of kleenex

pulsating river of phlegm

fall, my long lost friend

memorandum from captain random:

today i am compensating myself for the eight hours i am working this weekend by taking the day off. i am planning on reading moby dick, contemplating the divine conspiracy and cleaning the kitchen. throughout the day i might drop a line here and there or i might not. we'll see.

when you get a moment, check out this coupland-esque report from the apocalypse coupland-esque report from the apocalypse. i've always had a barely subliminated fear of living through the postmodern apocalypse that was foretold in girlfriend in a coma. perhaps that is why the ongoing struggles of the remnant in new orleans have hit so close to home. this is one of the finest newspaper pieces i have read in years.

"It was not my intention to do this in front of you. For that I'm sorry. But you can take my word for it, your mother had it comin'. When you grow up, if you still feel raw about it, I'll be waiting." ~the bride in qt's kill bill, vol. I

i still feel raw about it. though i doubt either God or you have been waiting for me to wrap words around my pain, that's what i am going to try to do. i have a need to bleed. i hope that these lines serve as a leech.
i don't know what to do with tragedies like katrina. i've heard others suggest that it is a man made disaster, since everyone except for fema was aware of the fragility of the french quarter and its surrounding environs, and i have even heard that it is an outworking of God's judgment, which was reportedly being brought to bear because of a homosexual convention that was scheduled for this week. rationalizations like the former make sense to me, while those like the latter tempt me to disembowel the false prophets who confound their rambling with the revelation of God. i've listened to their rationalizations and i've struggled to shape a few of my own, but at the end of the day, i don't have an interpretation to offer and am unwilling to explain or make an apology for God. here are the facts friends: the poor were shit on yet again. the homeless were evicted from their harried street corners, those without resources were being ignored while the rich calculated their flood insurance and rachel's screaming lament was heard 24/7 on CNN. there rachel sat, screaming for her children and it shook us to the very core of our soul. however, her wavering voice will probably not compel privileged folk like you and me to set aside our comfortable lives, so that we can set out on a quest to destroy the structures of poverty that pervade our land and shatter the motherfucking silence that perpetuates this rotten state.

i will not explain God's actions, nor will i defend him. he says that he is a friend to the fatherless and a protector of widows. he said that the poor were blessed and supposedly he even lived among them for a while. if this is true, then i trust his mercy will prevail. if this is true, i expect him and his people to act justly, shower mercy and walk humbly among the poor. i'm still raw God and i believe you are waiting. answer me through the actions of your people, the rumored still, small voice that is so rarely heard and any other method you have available.

i still feel so fucking raw, but i think that not all is not lost. there are signs that suggest healing. of course my interpretation is only as trustworthy as the asshole who equated new orleans with sodom, but these signs are my only lifelines, so i'm holding on.

in the midst of this horror, i have been surrounded by a community that did not ask for answers and did not shudder when i accused God. they listened to my struggles, shared my potentially blasphemous prayers and showed themselves to be a tiny, atomistic incarnation of God's justice.

moreover, a little neglected piece of me believes that this tragedy will tear the roof off of southern poverty in the same furious way that katrina unclothed the superdome. for years we've been trying to pull off our hastily fashioned band-aids one millimeter at a time. now the whole fucking thing has been ripped off in one violent motion. i hope that we muster the courage to endure the pain of this wound and set out to seek treatment. may God curse us if we allow things to return to the status quo. may God curse me if i continue to live in the frame of luxury while others are being boxed in by mere necessity. make no mistake, i realize that the change starts with me.

i still feel raw about it and i have no doubt that you're waiting. i pray that you move us all towards a reckoning.

winds whip, levees break

you say “blessed are the poor”

i want to believe

unexpected sacrament

"Let's write a story of a tidal wave
We run out of luck, we run out of days
We run out of gas a hundred miles away from a station
There's a war and a plague, smoke and disaster
Lions in the coliseum, screams of laughter
Motherless children, a witness and a bible
Nothing but rain ahead and no chance for our survival

Just before the flood comes
Just before the night falls
Just before the blood runs
Into the valley...
Just before my eyes go
Just before we can't go no further
Love throws a line to you and me

Love throw a line..." ~love throw a line by sister patty griffin

"this stage is a confessional, you kneel and then begin. oh you cross yourself those three times, and step into this skin"

i can't sleep. i don't want to say that God woke me up because it sounds crazy, but it is the truth all the same. so here i am, feet on the windowsill, full glass of wine, hoping that this exercise in disclosure will solidify this unsettled mind. the ying in me says that i shouldn't be blogging at such times, but the yang argues otherwise. let's drink to the yang.

a half-hour or so ago, a piece of my life seemed to fall into place. somewhere in the midst of my dreams, which were troubled by katrina's horrific scenes as well as one another of kellie's simple yet brilliant schemes, my vocation seemed to come into focus. the feverish, half-baked revelation is this: i am a community organizer, not a preacher.

i realize that many of you who are close to me probably already realize this, but i'm just beginning to understand, so bear with me.

i think that this means that i am called to equip the saints for ministry rather than try to shape them with my ideas. God has not called me to simply be a conduit of sanctified information, but to help people incarnate the truth they find in Scripture and follow the path the Spirit of God has stretched out before them. i said earlier in the week that i feel more like an accompanier than a leader. that is part of it. my greatest joy comes from not simply helping people understand the gospel, but rather helping people be the gospel to others. all joking aside, when i see alex setting aside two hours to listen to mikey, loving him enough to hope for a better life for him and believing God enough to think that such a catalytic event is possible, i am much more satisfied than i am after preaching the most powerful sermon. moreover, when i read about becky's absolutely ingenious attempts to invite high school students to fall into God's story, i feel more satisfied than i have ever felt after completing an outline for a teaching or an agenda for a meeting. since accompaniment is the way that i can most effectively equip the saints for ministry, i am deeply committed to it. i am deeply indebted to jean vanier for this understanding of ministry. for more on this approach check out community and growth.

a couple of weeks ago i lamented the fact that i am behind the times in regards to understanding the catastrophic social injustices that currently blight the globe. although i am interested in increasing my knowledge in this area, i am also strangely warmed by the fact that i have helped give birth to a community full of people who are passionate about a number of these issues and are currently advocating and acting on behalf of the poor. for instance, i am overwhelmed by the fact that craig is enabling our community to invest in the university education of a young Ugandan man. moreover, i am so thankful that james and brooke have been trying to teach me for years that my consumption patterns can either bless or blight the people of the world. on a more personal note, i have been overwhelmed by kellie's suggestion that when we begin to work through the process of adopting (as an adopted kid, i think that it is important to pass on the blessing) we should explore the possibility of adopting a handicapped child. as difficult as that commitment would be, it would provide me with an opportunity to continue living out a love for the disabled that stretches back to my youth and would, in a sense, be a continuation of the experience that first bound kellie and i together. in the end, i think right now i need to stop looking for a new issue to embrace or a cause to commend, so that i can walk and work with my brothers and sisters as we seek to address the issues God has placed upon their hearts.

i know that as one who once was considered and considered himself a preacher, i am supposed to offer you another point and a poem. but that's all i can unravel at this point. as i turn my attention to my half-full glass of wine (yes, dr. james, this glass is gentry-sized) and set out to pursue the best way that our community can participate in the ongoing hurricane relief (rick, et. al, if you have any ideas here, let me know), i would like to affirm that my heart is full and i am incredibly honored to help lead a community of God. peace be with you.

somewhere between intuition and cognition the school of life is still in session

a couple of days ago a close friend asked an interesting question concerning vocation. he wanted to know whether most Christ followers had a definitive understanding of how and where they were to serve Christ or whether
understanding was more partial in scope. furthermore, he wanted to know whether their understanding of their vocation was revealed to them in a single experience or whether their understanding developed over a longer period of time. i think it is almost impossible to answer such questions in an objective way, since our personal experience always impinges upon our understanding of what vocation actually is and how it shapes our lives. for instance, i would have a hard time believing that one's vocation is revealed in an ecstatic experience, since mine has clearly evolved throughout my life (i.e., as a young child our preacher told my grandmother she had to "watch out" or i would become a preacher, yet both my adolescent years as well as some of my current behavior and thought patterns seemed to suggest otherwise). frederick buechner once quipped that your vocation is where "your gifts and the worlds greatest needs intersect." since my understanding and use of my gifts is always evolving and i live in a world that, from all appearances, is constantly changing as well, my lack of definitive understanding in this area does not surprise me.

that is a long and poorly thought out way to introduce a post that consists of half-baked, poorly formulated ideas. all i wanted to do was to tell you what i have been learning lately. now that i have told you what i am going to tell you and told you that i am going to tell you, so i guess that it is time for me to finally tell you. ugh.

lately i have been wondering whether God has wired me to be a leader or an accompanier. I know that this is poor, bi-polar thinking (since Kellie has already hinted as much), but that hasn't stopped me from wondering. i don't think that my greatest gift is fashioning a vision of what our community is going to be or laying out the strategic steps that will lead us to the aforementioned, indeterminate future. rather, i think that my calling is to walk with, or accompany, people as together we seek to love God, live the gospel and incarnate his compassion in this particular place. i don't deny that i serve as a leader of this community, but to merely identify my understanding of my particular strengths.

i have also been learning what it means for a leader to be lead by his people. i have posted before about how others are revitalizing my passion for social justice and leading me into leading a more holistic life (i even think that this latter part will some day require that i give a damn about what i eat and what kind of java i drink, but please keep that part between us). henri taught me long ago that my leadership would eventually give way to being led by God and by His community. however, i didn't think that this reversal would take place this early in my life (sidenote: this might sound like a ringing endorsement of the intelligence, generosity and compassion that characterizes our community as well as the individuals who are a part of our community. that is exactly what it is).

i have also been exploring ways in which i can reinvest myself in my ecclesiological tradition. although i grew up in the a Christian Churches/Churches of Christ congregation and studied at their finest bible college, i have not had a strong connection with one of our churches, nor have i had an interest to be involved in their efforts in new england for several years. initially my indifference was fueled by my thoughts of swapping denominations (for the record: i still think i am either a displaced episcopalian or non-celibate franciscan friar at heart) and my unhealthy anger towards some...okay one...of the ministry leaders in our area. however, after years of hearing neal windham's admonitions to "study and experience broadly but always come home," i finally decided to heed his advice. so although i had little interest in either working in a traditional setting or being a part of one of their church plants, i began looking and praying for opportunities to reconnect with my tradition. fortunately that is one prayer that has been answered. within the past two weeks i found out that aaron and tracy monts were moving to the area to be a part of new church plant tentatively titled "the boston project" (let's pray for a new name), kellie and i had dinner with tim hawkins and his beautiful family who have recently moved to the area in order to work with impact campus ministries and in the lunch room at lifeway i ran into landis brown, who went to a Christian church bible college and has worked with Christian churches in the area (one of which was a home church!). so, landis and his family have now become a part of sinners and saints, i am looking forward to working beside tim and his team as they plant the campus ministry and am excited about working with aaron and tracy when they move out here next summer. i don't think church unity rose or set in alexander campbell's mind, i am not crazy about a church that often adorns itself with an oxymoronic title (every now and again they'll...er, we'll...refer to ourselves as the independent Christian Churches and Churches of Christ.) and when the winds of doctrinal inquiry blow i lean more towards a reformed than an arminian theology. but that being said, i am quite grateful for this new development in my life.

i have been learning that it is foolish, if not abjectly sinful, to underutilize the gifts that i have been given. i don't have anything more to say about that, but would like to thank craig for the admonition.

i have been utterly overwhelmed by how judgmental i am and how much work i have to do in this area. for a wonderful example of my short-sited judgmentalism, read my previous post about how short-sighted the evange-teens are in their pursuit of sexual morality and then read anna broadway's perceptive post from august 26th. i'm not taking back everything i said, by any means, but rest assured, dear reader that the truth is always more complex than i am able or willing to admit. more on the judgment issue to follow (maybe. someday. if i'm feeling really honest).

i have been constantly reminded of what a beautiful, life-sustaining partner i have in kellie. she has helped me become a more centered and passionate person. moreover, with her by my side, i think i will be able to persevere upon this windy road that i am currently walking. i thank God for her.
i know that many of you are not interested in a lot of the stuff i talked about in this post. if you've read this far, i'd like to thank you for listening anyway. if you get a chance, say a prayer for New Orleans and the surrounding environs tonight. it sounds like they are in for one hell of a tempest.

”excuse me while I whip this out.”

last friday morning, around 7:15, i read an article entitled the young and the sexless in rolling stone (props to pastor rick for the recommendation). the article focuses on a group of tragically hip evange-kids in new york city who are smart, sensual and sexless.

after reading the article i flew into an absolute rage that produced a couple of bad haikus and carried me far into the afternoon. i didn't know whether i was angry at the author, who at times seems to eschew any measure of objectivity (i.e., somehow i do not think that this particular group of evange-kids is reading john hagee), or the masturband (the livestrong inspired tool that indicates one's ability to master auto-eroticism) wearing evange-kids, who seemed to be utterly enthralled with the idea of displaying their acts of righteousness before men. although i found a number of things about the article troubling, i'll only clue you into a few.

the evange-kids commitment to virginity was so extreme that their interest in all things sexual seemed to border on obsession. these kids talk sex, blog sex, eschew and scrutinize sex to such a degree that sex seems to overwhelm their horizon. i found it particularly troubling when one of the evange-kids in the article insisted on referring to sex as "communion." while there is a intimate, communal element of sex, his linguistic choice seemed to confound sex with the one of the highest ordinances (in baptist language) or sacraments in the Christian tradition. while i appreciate the reverence with which he treats the act, i fear that he is setting sex on a far too lofty pedestal from which it cannot help but fall. although the Bible has a good deal to say about sex (no unsuspecting calves, brothers!), it does not obsess upon sex to such a degree. in fact, such an obsession seems to have more in common with canaanite and greek mystery religions.

second, if i walked into a church and saw dozens of twenty-somethings giving one another "chaste side hugs," i would hit the exit quicker than you can say hot karl. in my opinion, such practices do not help one properly order sex so much as it enflames our scantly repressed desires. legalistic practices such as these remind me of paul's teaching about the purpose of the law. the law does not restrain sin, paul tells us, but it illustrates the remarkable extent of our brokenness and prepares us to receive God's grace. as horrible as it sounds, i almost found myself wishing that these kids would just do the deed, so that they could come to terms with their brokenness, set aside their virginal pride and allow grace to reshape their developing sexuality.

third, i felt like a couple of the evange-kids who were interviewed were being less than honest with themselves. one of the boys confessed that a year or two before his girlfriend gave him a blow job and he felt absolutely horrible the whole time it was happening. i don't want to judge, but i have an extremely difficult time believing that (in fact, my original response was "liar. liar. liar."). i have little doubt that a shitload of guilt followed the experience, but in the moment i think that he felt a little more ecstatic than he was willing to admit. at some point, evangelicals need to come to terms with the fact that disordered sex and many other forms of sin are quite fun. we may choose to abstain from such practices for very good reasons, but to misrepresent the experience itself seems a bit dishonest.

fourth, the brief discussion about evange-kids infiltrating liberal organizations at u.c. berkley so that they could proselytize more proficiently made me want to puke. maybe its just because i'm a flaming liberal, but i do not think our calling is infiltrate and deconstruct the structures of this world so much as it is to actively incarnate the love and compassion of Christ and call people towards a more beautiful, good and true way of life.

okay, so i've bitched enough. i would love it if you would read the article and then do what i have failed to do here. namely, suggest healthier ways that Christians can maintain the sexual practices that are set out for us in Scripture and affirmed by the overwhelming majority of our traditions, without setting legalistic standards, becoming sexual isolationists and teetering towards damndable self-righteousness. basically, i want to think through this more clearly and eventually espouse a more holistic and healthy response. in order to do so, i could use your help.

i've also been reading a lot of articles on killing the buddha lately. i think this site is absolutely spectacular and would like to contribute something meaningful to them at some point in the future. if you only read one article, read a slut for faith. if i worked in a more traditional church, i would have every unknown couple who asked me to sanctify their secular contract read this article before proceeding. i think you'll love this site.

that's it for now. i need to strap on the masturband and get to work. er, i mean i need to wax my rocket. no, i meant...

i never claimed to be a promise keeper

unfortunately i have yet to write the review of doug pagitt's preaching re-imagined that i promised. however, i found a fairly interesting interview with doug that was posted at christianbook.com.

please note: neither i, the management of musings, nor lifeway endorse the consumer-driven, subtly liberal, crypto-communist website that this interview was posted on. peruse this site at your own risk.