Knowtown…

After commenting before about the Propaganda of the Christ, I thought I would not say any more about the film here. But I went to see it with my wife tonight and I feel compelled to comment. I can honestly say that it was one of the most negative, traumatic, and multi-sensory experiences I have had in a very long time! Don’t get me wrong, the film was outstanding. (I won’t say more than that because I doubt that Mel Gibson made this movie to get my feedback. I think the film, like all art, speaks for itself and doesn’t need my mediocre commentary. Go see it and let it tell its own story.)

What I am referring to is the crowd I experienced. Apparently someone forgot to tell the majority of fundamentalist in the theater that this was supposed to be “a once in a lifetime opportunity” to witness to all the poor lost people. I hope they treat those poor lost people better at their churches. As my wife and I searched for two seats 25 minutes before the show started in a theater that was only half full at the time, we were told by all the nice people that we couldn’t sit within 6-8 seats of them because those seats were “being saved” (funny how different that sounds in this context) for people who wouldn’t show up until show time. I guess at some churches its ok to be rude to people as long as you get the good seats for yourself and your friends. The pre movie chatter was all about how bad all those poor lost people were and too bad they have not become enlightened enough to see the world in the “right” way, which of course is their way. No doubt, when they all see this movie they will become one of them and they will finally rule the world as God intended.

After the film was over the questions began. I heard people in the lobby talking about how inaccurate the film was. Some were arguing that Mel Gibson went too far with the way he chose to tell the story. “How can anyone add stuff into the Scriptures like that?” (As if this film was intended to be part of the canon) “I don’t remember this or that being in the Bible.” (I was almost expecting someone to say, “That’s not what Peter and Mary really looked like.”) I’m pretty sure that all their articulate, well reasoned arguments about how Mel missed the fine point of their favorite obscure doctrinal position are just what those poor lost people need to hear to convince them that they need to go to their church to learn more about “what the movie was about”. I wondered to myself why they would even go see the film since they seemed to have a firm grasp on the way the crucifixion really happened.

I think it’s sad that we have an opportunity to embody the greatest story in the world but we don’t because we have lost our ability to hear, or tell, a story without someone comparing every word to their private (infallible??) interpretation of the sacred (inerrant??) texts. In the lobby I was reminded of the recent film Big Fish. We get so concerned that everyone tells the same story our way that we lose the point of telling the story in the first place. I, for one, am glad we have four different and complimentary gospel narratives of this event. I am happy that there are more stories that have been passed down through centuries of oral tradition. I like that the “stations of the cross” include things that most Protestants have not been exposed to. And I am thankful that 2000 years after this event, some are still willing to tell this story in their own way. I should have followed Jason Clark’s idea.

So my only recommendation for the Passion of the Christ: Don’t see it with a theater full of Evangelical Fundamentalist.

With so many great blogs out there it is impossible to mention all of them. I just recently “discovered” Rachelle’s blog and like it so much I am adding it (Thursday PM) to my favorites. Check it out.

Here is an article from my local paper. The church in this article has had other controversial signs in its marquee in the past. People where I work have been talking about this all day.

***addition*** Here is another link which includes the actual sign…

Last night we went to an Ash Wednesday Service at a local Episcopal church. This was the first Ash Wednesday service I had ever gone to so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. I found the tradition and liturgy to be simple and beautiful, but to be quite honest it seemed to be “emptier” than I expected. Being an outsider to the liturgical traditions perhaps this is more my naive interpretation of what was going on around me. While the mood was very somber, it seemed to me that everyone, from the priest on down, where going through motions that had lost there significance a long time ago. It probably would not have bothered me so much if I believed it was just me, the outsider, feeling this way. In my observation, even those who were part of the church’s tradition seemed to be missing in action. (Doesn’t depth of the doctrine of Christ’s “presence” in the Eucharist seem unimportant if the people who gather are “absent”?) I think I understand more fully what Rev. Sam Portaro was saying in the article I posted earlier.

I was thinking of a passage in Donavan’s book where he discussed the liturgy of the Masai tribe and how liturgy must truly be a work of the people. He talked about how damaging it would have been to have the Masai submit to the traditional Catholic liturgy and the process he went through for allowing them to create their own. I doubt an African tribe would have got much out of the service I was at last night because it was not their work. In a way, that’s how I felt. While it was deep and reverent, it was not something I (or our community, I think?) would have created. I was frustrated that I was sitting right next to my friends as we went through the liturgy but I might as well been a thousand miles away–or simply reading their blogs;-). We could not talk with one another and share our thoughts with one another, even though we were in close proximity to one another. I was disappointed that we all spent 90 minutes together but only had 5 minutes to talk, to share life. I was heartbroken for our friends who, once again, could not find even one hour to worship in this type of context because there seems to be no good way to allow parents of young children to participate fully in any church.

I realize that was not the point of the evening but somehow I think there needs to be a balance. There has to be a way that our worship begins to envelope all areas of our lives in a meaningful way that is still beautiful and connected to the traditions of the generous orthodoxy of the shared faith of the past. But it needs to be ours in a deep sense. I do not want to gather together to simply go through some vacant motions. I want to be part of a people who bends their lives to the rhythms of a liturgical year not by performing empty actions and speaking empty words. I would rather we breathe life into these rhythms by being real people with real problems who confess together that our faith is one where our lives, as living sacrifices, produce a communal act of spiritual worship. I have no doubt that many people last night experienced that and I am happy for them. The fact that I was not one of them is probably more my own issues than anything else. I would be interested in hearing other people’s Ash Wednesday experiences. Perhaps in listening to others I will be exposed to a depth I did not see before.

It appears that our culture’s appetite for destruction is impacting people at much younger ages than in years past. I remember playing Atari and Colecovision games when I was younger, while my kids play PS2 or Xbox. Likewise, they never had stuff like this when I was a kid. In the words of AXle Rose, “where do we go now?“

We have all heard the story of the three blind men and the elephant. It is used to illustrate the fact that our perception creates our reality. Sometimes how you experience things is different from others not because one of you is right and the other wrong, but because you are experiencing it from different places.

As a lifelong non-denominational Protestant the Liturgical year is a topic I want to explore a little bit. Pretty much every Tuesday is a “fat Tuesday” for me but I am hoping to participate at some level in an Ash Wednesday service for the first time in my life. In researching this a little bit I find a lot of beauty and depth in some of these traditions and am looking forward to celebrating this. For me, this old tradition is “new” and unfamiliar. But for others it is an old and empty symbol. I found this interesting article, “Giving up Lent for Lent” written by The Rev. Sam Portaro, the Episcopal chaplain to the University of Chicago and director of Brent House. Here’s a short quote:

“Mastery over habit or our generous benevolence, when publicly displayed, are intended for an audience, for observers. It is a subtle manipulation designed to win attention, curry favor with God or neighbor, or just to think a little better of ourselves. Is it any surprise that God might look upon these hollow gestures and respond, “You call this a fast?” Our little ash-smeared faces straining to give up cocktails, caffeine, calories, boycotting meat at meals, rising an hour earlier to say one more prayer? You call this a fast?”

I like that he writes from the completely opposite perspective than the one I am coming from. What is fresh to me has become stale to some who have grown up in these traditions. Tomorrow, when I participate in my very first Ash Wednesday, service I will recall the words of this article and rejoice that Rev. Portaro and myself are merely blind men learning how to be faithful followers of God. It is important for us to listen to each other’s perspectives and experiences if we hope to understand more of the elephant than our own personal experiences can reveal. I am not quite ready to “give up Lent for Lent” since I have never even experienced this season in this way. But I am ready to start listening to more than just my own voice. I have lived too long as if I am singing the melody and not heard the subtle beauty of the harmony.

Today I want to say a big thank you to Christy over at Dry Bones Dance. Last night I had the great opportunity of participating in a remarkable dinner conversation hosted by The Vine. I met a few great people, had some stimulating discussions, ate some good food and worshipped in a casual way with a diverse group of Christ followers. Overall it was a great night. It was a night that was made possible by Christy. I have admired her writing ability for quite some time and greatly respect her ability to communicate with the right mix of honesty, deep reflection and humor in a way that is remarkably readable. I had the opportunity to meet her in person in December and enjoyed our short conversation. One result of that conversation was an invitation to the Vine dinner. I appreciate that she was kind enough to make that happen for me. She used her influence in a way that benefited me.

I like to think that Christy and I are casual acquaintances with one another. Following her blog has added a strange depth of information for a casual acquaintance relationship. With that information I have gained a whole lot of respect for her thoughts and opinions and I tend to give them more weight than some others I know. When she writes, I (try to) listen. Over the past several days I stumbled across a deep blog conversation going on about gender roles in the emerging church and the vocabulary we use when we talk to one another. Honestly, my first reaction was that this was not a big deal. But then I saw Christy had left a comment and it gave me pause. I reread the thread, looking for something I might have missed. I followed that with an email to Christy asking her to help me understand. She was extremely gracious and patient with her reply. While I still think the issue being discussed is one that was taken out of context and personalized by some in error, I no longer think it is “no big deal”. Christy helped me to see that much of the conflict and friction that gets generated in conversations within the “emerging” church scene come from a real place of privilege that most of us take for granted. Like it or not, I am forced to admit that when it comes to ecclesial dreaming in this North American context, if you are a white male you have an advantage. Maybe its not one we asked for, or earned—and we certainly don’t deserve it—but it exists none the less.

This has been very convicting to me as an ecclesial dreamer. I am beginning to see that I have a responsibility that I never wanted. The responsibility to play ecclesial games with a deck that’s stacked in my favor with rules designed to help me at the expense of others. Becoming aware of this creates a choice on my part. I can play the hand that’s dealt and justify it by the fact that this is just the way things are. I could boycott the game altogether. I could stay and play but slowly try to influence the game in a different direction. I could become outraged and demand the game stop and fight against the way things are in a quest for fairness. The list goes on and on. I suppose that there would be different responses depending on the given circumstances that could all be valid. But how will I know which option to choose and when? I am fully aware that there are many people who would play this hand much better than I will but they are not even allowed to the table. This is both humbling and convicting. One thing I am learning is that for me to play faithfully I need to spend less time looking at the cards in my hand and more time listening to those more gifted people who are not allowed in the game.

I find myself in a strange place where I will have opportunities to use what little influence I have to benefit others, like Christy used hers to benefit me. This is really where the rubber meets the road, isn’t it? It is very easy to talk about egalitarian gender roles in the church but can we really embody it? I think we can but in order to do so we will need to redefine and restructure ecclesial leadership, authority, and servanthood. We cannot settle for simply allowing women to quest for power. We need to realize for worshippers of an infinite God, power is not a limited resource. All of us who are following Christ must learn to voluntarily give up our power for the benefit of others and becomes servants of all. We must learn to take the mind of Christ mentioned in Philippians 2:
“3Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. 4Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.”

Christy, thanks for getting me an invite to the Vine dinner, but more importantly, thank you for helping me to listen for things I do not hear on my own. You are helping me be a better Christ follower, husband, father, friend and ecclesial dreamer.

Over the past several weeks I have been organizing my thoughts about my ecclesial dreams. I was hoping to have the folks from Missio Dei over tonight for dinner and talk through some of my observations and see what comes of it. Unfortunately the scheduling didn’t work out. But I have been thinking long and hard about who I am and why I think about Church the way I do. I think I can express this more fully now than I ever could in the past. We’ll see.

At any rate, I keep coming back to the “life verse” for ecclesial dreamers (Acts 9:16) and sometimes when I am up in the middle of the night I ask myself, “what the $*@% am I thinking??!!

This is my favorite story from Donavan’s book. I will not ruin this lengthy excerpt with my meaningless commentary:

“The job of a missionary, after all, is not to teach sin, but rather the forgiveness of sin.

‘We did not search you out, Padri,’ he said to me. ‘We did not even want you to come to us. You searched us out. You followed us away from your house into the bush, into the plains, into the steppes where our cattle are, into the hills where we take our cattle for water, into our villages, into our homes. You told us of the High God, how we must search for him, even leave our land and our people to find him. But we have not done this. We have not left our land. We have not searched for him. He has searched for us. He has searched us out and found us. All the time we think we are the lion. In the end, the lion is God.’”

Chapter 4 (A time to Speak and a Time to Act) is probably my favorite chapter in Donavan’s book. It contains my favorite story in the whole book, but I am getting ahead of myself…

Donovan speaks of his education process (he was learning more from the Masai than they were learning from him) and discusses the concept of the “unknown” god in the context of the Masai. He attempted to show that the “True, High God” must be bigger than any one tribe or he was not the High God at all. He bagan with the story of God calling Abraham out of Ur to be the father of a new people, the people of the true God. He was trying to show the Masai that their god was not The God when one of the Masai asked him a powerful question:

“The story of Abraham–does it speak only to the Masai? Or, does it speak also to you? Has your tribe found the High God? Have you known him?”

Do we (I’m speaking as a non-denominational, Protestant, Evangelical) sometimes think that we are the only tradition who does not worship an “unknown” God? Do we have all the knowledge needed to take the gospel to all the world and not expect to receive anything back in return from the “lost pagans”?

AS Donovan continued his missionary adventure the Masai began to understand this Gospel he was preaching. He tells some great stories about the response the Masai began to give to this message. But he also recalls:

“Going back to visit and speak with Ndangoya and his friends and the people of the other villages week after week, we necessarily had come into conflict, not with them, but with the church that sent us. There were several things wrong with the neat format our church and its theologians had set up for us.”

Most notably, the problem of explaining the (Western versions of) concepts such as sin and the atonement:

“Another assumption on which missionary work was built was this: we had to convince the world of sin, instead of leaving that task to the Holy Spirit, as Christ suggested. We had to convince the world of sin, or the world would never feel the need for redemption, and the Redeemer. We had to tell them of the sin of Adam, original sin, which we all inherited or they would never feel any need for Christ.” Starting here caused many problems in evangelizing the Masai. He illustrates this with some great stories and concludes that the masai already “…knew all about sin. What they did not know about was forgiveness of sin. They did not even know it was possible.”

What a great story we have to share when we grasp this–the forgiveness of sins!! Good news indeed. Tomorrow I will post my favorite story from this book.