Has the Church lost its redemptive creativity?

The ongoing debates about immigration (fueled most recently by the new Arizona law) are filled with confusing rhetoric (like, confusing the terms "immigration" with "illegal immigration") and high emotion. Those who cry for open borders fail to consider the impact on the resources available to these pilgrims (think: hospitals, police protection, services provided by tax dollars, etc.) and also what happens to towns (especially border towns) when criminals from across the borders make their way in so that they can conduct illegal actions. Those who cry for closed borders come off as harsh and inhumane, forgetting that this is a country formed by immigrants, and that our current processes for legal immigration may be faulty. They also seem to think that building a wall will actually work. Any boy over the age of 10 knows that a wall is made for climbing.

During the disaster created by Hurricane Katrina a few years ago, I went to the Gulf Coast and participated with a network of churches from Louisiana to Mississippi to Alabama that had come together (like a bunch of Facebook friends) to share resources, deliver goods, feed the hungry, and shelter the homeless. The government could barely fix the roads, railways, and downed power lines--the devastation was that bad. One sheriff said to me, "I don't know what we would have done without the Christians." I could tell by the big pistols he was carrying that he was a man prone to seriousness.

A vast network of churches in the Gulf Coast area--assisted by volunteers coming from as far away as Ohio, California, and Canada--dropped their denominational distinctives, turned their fellowship halls into food warehouses and their sanctuaries into dormitories, and did what the government could not do: Care for the people. That was redemptive creativity.

What if churches in Arizona (and anywhere else, for that matter), banded together and asked God for a better idea? Do we believe in Jesus? Do we believe that he rose from the dead? Do we believe that when he rose from the dead he had a new body? Did that new body have a new brain? Has that new brain had any new ideas in 2,000 years?* I bet we could ask him and he'd come up with something no one else has thought of.

I wish I had a magic solution to this issue, but I don't. But I'll bet Jesus does. If, as my friend Tim Storey says, the best we can do is baptize a preferred political ideology, then we are truly bankrupt. I think if churches came together and quit expecting the government to solve everything for us, we'd get surprised by the results. Could the governments of nations be blessed by something like this? I suspect so. Would there be some pain and suffering in the process? I suspect so. Prophets are not always welcomed in their home towns.

Hospitals, welfare systems, and schools were, at one time, the realm of the church. The governments of the world liked the ideas enough to co-opt them. Perhaps we should now ask God: "What next?"


*Thanks to the late Dr. Ray Anderson for saying something like this in a systematic theology class. It has always cracked me up.

Arizona Law and the Church

The recent Arizona Law (SB1070) that makes it illegal for undocumented aliens to live in or travel through the state has caused significant reaction across the country. Entire cities have boycotted the state while others celebrate the proactive stance. While Christians might have social and political views that line up on one side versus the other, there is a larger question that must be asked:

What is the church's proper response to these kinds of social realities? Is it sufficient to simply pick a side and join in?

A friend of mine who is a Christian leader in Arizona advises the people he influences to use this situation as an opportunity to bring a new kind of leadership to the table. I think this is appropriate counsel. Rather than Christianize the political posturings of one side or another, a different kind of leadership is required--a leadership that is informed by Jesus.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer faced this in Germany at the beginning of World War II. He was horrified that the state church had submitted itself to Hitler's National Socialist agenda and called upon the "confessing" church to take a new stance of leadership. He insisted that, when the state acted unjustly, the church's role was to confront with state with its wrongdoing. If that did not end the oppression, then the church's next step was to shelter and protect the oppressed. If that failed, then the church had to act, albeit tragically, by shoving a spoke in the wheel of the state. In other words, take steps to stop the machinery of injustice. For Bonhoeffer, that resulted in his (as a pacifist!) joining the conspiracy to assassinate Hitler.

It would be a gigantic and inaccurate leap to equate Arizona's recent move with the Nazi terror of the last century, and that is not my intent. Instead, I would challenge us to think of a way that the church brings the leadership of God's kingdom to bear in an unjust world. Yes, illegal immigration has problematic social, economic, and legal results. But we do not begin with people as immigrants (or as any other imaginable label). We begin with them, as we do with all people, as co-humans made in the image of God. As such, we are called to bring a new kind of leadership in a broken, unjust world.

I would also add that the instigators of these laws are also co-humans made in the image of God. Redemptive leadership should reach into those places as well.

Is such leadership possible?

Is God really trustworthy?

Recently two of my grandsons have dealt with significant health issues. We have prayed for them, their parents have seen to proper medical attention, and the boys seem to be doing well. We can breathe easier. It seems that God has heard us. All appears to be well. We can trust God.

But what if something goes awry? What if their condition changes and their health deteriorates? What if our prayers do not receive the answers we desire? Can we trust God in that?

Almost twenty years ago, a dear friend of mine was diagnosed with terminal cancer and given three months to live. He was a devout Christian, and many of us prayed for his healing. His lovely wife and four young daughters loved and depended upon him for their care. He made it seven months and then died. We trusted God for healing, but got death instead. We found no answers to our questions about why such a good man had to die.

I've prayed for others over the years, including three more people who had cancer. One had a small tumor that concerned his doctor. The other two were given death sentences, but still underwent treatment. All three recovered. I cannot claim with absolute certainty why they recovered. Even with grim prospects for recovery, maybe the medical treatment won the day. Maybe God really did bring healing. All I know is that we prayed and they all got better. We were able to rejoice in God's goodness and trust that he heard our prayers.

Both of my grandsons had either birth difficulties or early-age medical problems that would have probably resulted in their deaths had they lived a hundred years ago. Our medical technology intervened and both have been enjoying robust lives. When I stop to think about it, I am grateful that they are in our lives at all.

So who do I trust in all of this? God? Science? Random flukes of the universe?

I need to mention that one of the three above-mentioned cancer victims did later die. His death was due to an accident in his home, not due to cancer. We prayed, he went through treatment, he recovered, and he died anyway. But that is the way of all people--of all living things--isn't it?

I can sit with my grandsons--talking, laughing, playing--and thank God for his care and love. I am grateful that I can trust God for all this joy. But could I sit at the graves of ones I have loved, and then trust God as well? Or is my trust linked only to the delivery of my expectations through prayer?

I think the answer lies in seeing God as trustworthy regardless of our expectations. The two disciples on the road to Emmaus (in Luke's gospel) are disappointed that Jesus didn't turn out to be the liberator that they had expected. They had trusted God, but he seemed to have let them down. The resurrected Jesus--the one who had just recently suffered and died--came alongside them to set them straight. If God is to be trusted, then our expectations and desires have to be subordinate to God's.

I'd like to be in the place where I trust God no matter what. If I (or the ones I love) live, then we trust our lives to God. If we die, then we trust that our lives are fully embraced by this trustworthy God, that we might one day enjoy him in the new heaven and the new earth.

Faith and Trust are interchangeable words in the Greek of the New Testament. But for us, faith can be purely cognitive. We can claim that we have faith just because we've ordered some information systematically in our heads. Trust, however, is relational. It comes out of full engagement with the trustworthiness of another. I can really only trust God within my relationship with him.

In the meantime, I still pray and hope. Within all that, I try to trust.

Hitler and Idiots

Yesterday I drove through the post office on my way to work and saw a booth set up on the sidewalk, sufficiently distanced from the post office door to satisfy any regulations about political affiliation. The booth had a nice little umbrella and several large signs around the sides inviting people to come and sign a petition to impeach the President.

Adjacent to each of those signs were large posters featuring a photograph of Mr. Obama and another man (I couldn't tell, from my car, who he was), both sporting Hitler-esque moustaches.

In our society, people are free to voice their opposition to all kinds of things, including presidential administrations, acts of Congress and decisions made by the Supreme Court. People can satirize our governmental leaders without fear of being arrested during the night or being banished to the wilderness of Iceland. We are free to voice our opinions, right or wrong, and that's okay with me.

I wonder why, every time a president does something people don't like, that president is equated with Adolf Hitler. You remember him, right? He's the German (Austrian, actually) dictator whose close followers revered as God, who took over the State Church, replacing crosses with swords and Bibles with copies of Mien Kampf. He orchestrated the deaths of six million Jews and thousands of others he considered ethnically impure. He invaded neighboring nations, absorbing them into his empire and planned to take over much of western Europe, if not the world, launching a world war that cost between 50 and 80 million human lives.

I have seen caricatures of US Presidents--both Democrat and Republican--with little Hitler moustaches on them. How is it that we equate our Presidents with someone like Hitler? How is it that being the President of a country like the US can instantly be the same as being a deranged European dictator? Given our system of government, is that even possible?

This is not a new thing. After shooting President Lincoln, John Wilkes Booth leaped onto the stage of the Ford Theater, breaking his leg, and shouting (in Latin), "Thus always to tyrants!" It seems that, when we don't like our presidents, we equate them with tyrants and dictators. When you have demonized your opponents, you no longer have to debate reasonably. Raw emotion will do nicely.

The issue is summed up nicely in an exchange between six-year-old Karen and her parents in a clip from the UK comedy Outnumbered. Karen's father has just explained to her that it is important to respect and be tolerant of other people's views about life. Her response is thoughtful and helpful:

"What, even idiots? Even if they want to stab you in the eye with a pencil?"

Well said, Karen.

Love Hurts

"Love hurts, love scars,
Love wounds, and mars . . ."

I like this Bryant and Boudleaux song (my favorite version is by Emmylou Harris). It sounds ironic, since love is supposed to be happy and joyful rather than painful.

But it's true. Love hurts.

Yesterday morning, just before stepping into a day full of meetings, Emily called me to say that our 12-year-old grandson just had a seizure and was being rushed to the hospital. Jacob is diabetic, and it turns out that he had a severe drop in blood sugar and his insulin pump wasn't connected. All his tests came out normal and he was home that afternoon.

But the news that morning disrupted everything inside of me. I dearly love my kids and grandkids. Jacob is the firstborn grandchild and was diagnosed with type-1 diabetes at age 3. He's a strong and brave kid, and all of the medical stuff he's had to endure gives him a special place of concern in the hearts of all the family members. Hearing that he had become helpless--even for a few minutes--and was at risk caused a physical sensation in me. It actually hurt. Love hurts.

I am reminded in this that we can avoid things like broken relationships, loss of loved ones, betrayal and so on if we could just not love. Without love, those things have no fertile ground. Without love, people cannot harm us. They cannot betray us. We won't feel the pain of loss when they leave or die. For those things to happen, love has to exist.

The pain that we all felt yesterday at the news of Jacob's plight was medicated in the afternoon by the sound of his voice on a phone, through our visits to see him at home, and a return to some kind of normalcy that let us rest for a while. But even this morning, the residual pain is still there.

We're told in the Bible that love is found, not in how we love, but in how God loves. All of the pain and loss we can endure and inflict comes after God has already loved. Much of what I've learned in studying the Bible can be summed up this way:

Love hurts.

Good Friday and the Atonement

In our observance of Good Friday (also known as Great Friday, Holy Friday, and Black Friday), we solemnly view the suffering and death of Jesus with an eye to Sunday--the day that we celebrate his resurrection. We would never observe Good Friday and then skip Easter. Without Easter Sunday, Good Friday is just another day that a good person dies a bad death.

It is interesting to me that, in our debates about the Atonement (trying to answer the question, Why did Jesus die?), we sometimes act as though Good Friday is the most important part of the story. If the death of Jesus, by itself, accomplishes something for God (assuaging his anger toward sinful humanity, setting the scales of justice right, relieving the offense against God's holiness, etc.), then the cross is really where the story ends. The death of the Innocent One somehow fixes everything that has gone wrong. The resurrection is just a bonus.

It is significant to me that the church has traditionally tied the events of Holy Week together, culminating in Easter, then moving toward the observance of Pentecost and the movement into Ordinary Time, where we live out the implications of God's work in the world, one day at a time.

The death of Jesus is truly significant, but not when it is seen as an isolated, transactional event that satisfies a need that exists in the heart of God. The story is bigger than that.

Institutions and Idolatry

Isaiah 44 speaks of the irony that is revealed when a man cuts down a tree to create fuel for his fire and an idol for his worship:

"Part of it he takes and warms himself; he kindles a fire and bakes bread. Then he makes a god and worships it, makes it a carved image and bows down before it." (Isaiah 44:15)

The wood offers a reasonable service to the man--the wood can be used to build a fire for warmth and for cooking. The wood becomes a servant, giving of itself for the blessing of the man. But the wood then becomes the master, fashioned in a shape that the man deems worthy of worship.

Even though the Bible sometimes refers to idols as "nothings" (see, for example, Isaiah 44:10), they become demonic when they are given the power of mastery. The wooden idol is nothing; and yet, it has power over the man when he grants that power, permitting himself to orient his life around that which is nothing.

There is an application here, I believe, to the power of institutions.

Institutions are constructed to give shape and organization to something organic and alive. In their best contexts, institutions serve human beings in a variety of ways. Over time, however, institutions often morph from servanthood to mastery, and serving the institution becomes the primary interest of the people connected to it. When that which was initiated as a servant becomes a master, the demonic becomes real. The idol is no longer a nothing.

Shadow Meal

My new book, Shadow Meal, is now in print and available here.

The Motif of the Eucharist

Interesting how there have been different motifs when it comes to the Eucharist. One is the altar, which makes one think of sacrifice. Another is the passing of the elements across rows of people, each looking straight ahead, suggesting a context of solemnity and minimal interaction. Still another is the Eucharist offered at stations throughout the sanctuary, where people come, take, eat and drink at their own instigation, remaining isolated as individuals and free as choosers.

More and more I am seeing the Eucharist as the table of Jesus, a table around which people may gather. It was given to us as a meal, shared with one another, a sharing that comes at the invitation of Jesus and in which the people look across at one another, meeting the eyes and touching the hands of those who are intimately gathered.

How does the shared meal motif speak into our celebration of the Eucharist? What would that look like in the worshipping life of the church?

Death of Movements?

Interesting conversation stemming from Jason Clark's post here. Of particular interest to me were the links to both Tony Jones and Jason Coker.

I'm currently reading How the Mighty Fall, by Jim Collins. Movements and organizations go through various phases that precede their collapse. I'm wondering: In movements and institutions that we label "Christian," do we experience the same cycles of growth, success and then decline that for-profit corporations go through because we continue to organize by contemporary business models? Is there another way for us, with different expectations and measures of "success"?

Coming to the Table

Is the table of Jesus about being qualified and certified? Or is it about hospitality and wonder--welcoming the awestruck stranger?

The Table in Time

Is the Table of the Lord - the place of Eucharist - a memory of the past, a realization of the present, or a foretaste of the future? Or all?

Worthiness at the Table of Jesus

By the early second century, according to Justin Martyr, the Eucharist was already limited to people who affirmed the tenets of the faith and had been baptized. Just 100 years earlier, Jesus served that Last Supper (and first Eucharist) to twelve friends who didn't get it, had deep reservations about Jesus, were about to cut and run, and included one who was selling Jesus out to his murderers. Yet Jesus served them all. Interesting how the boundaries of right belief and proper membership emerged so quickly.

Eucharist-Shaped Church

The evangelical church has, in my view, made a mistake by either marginalizing the Eucharist or using it as ancient/future window dressing. If we dare explore the Lord's Supper as a narrative/eschatological expression, we might find that we unstick ourselves from our desperate need to produce, perform and sustain the props of a western Christendom that may be gasping its last.

President Obama's Nobel Award

I've been doing some research into the make up of the Nobel Institute after hearing about the award of the Nobel Peace Prize to President Barack Obama. Here's what I have learned:

1. The Nobel Institute is not in Nobel, Ontario, Canada, as many people might have assumed, but is rather in Oslo, Norway, which is somewhere in . . . Norway.

2. The entire staff and nominating committee of the Nobel Institute are very, very, very white, which is apparently what happens to you if you live for a long time in Norway.

3. Norway is actually considered to be part of Europe, which means that the people associated with the Nobel Institute are probably European. And Norwegian.

That's why this whole award to a first-term, first-year American president is a puzzle to those of us who actually live in the country over which he presides. We Americans are, they say, industrious, pragmatic, and all about results. How can the Nobel committee award the Peace Prize to someone who hasn't accomplished some things that have measurable results? If that's how it works, then maybe I can get the Nobel Prize for Literature because I'm thinking about writing a world-changing book. Somebody needs to suggest that to the Norwegians.

The GOP is mocking the president by claiming that he is receiving the prize just "for awesomeness." We Americans believe in having potential, but we generally don't give prizes for it.

Since I heard the news yesterday I've been thinking about this on two levels. First, why would a group of European intellectuals agree on this award? Second, Do I reflect on this as an American who has some particular political affiliation or as a follower of Jesus?

First, the Nobel committee claims that it awarded the prize to Mr. Obama for "his extraordinary efforts to strengthen international diplomacy and cooperation between peoples. The Committee has attached special importance to Obama's vision of and work for a world without nuclear weapons." We haven't see the accomplishment of full international diplomacy or the cooperation between peoples, but maybe the committee sees it as a foretaste of what could be. Perhaps they also see Mr. Obama's efforts as a change in the way the US has been perceived by the rest of the world. So it could be that the award was given because of what the President represents to the world. Maybe that's a European perspective contrasted to a USAmerican perspective.

Second, as a follower of Jesus, how do I reflect on this? It won't do to just pick political sides and christianize our rhetoric (although, in spite of the head-scratching that some may have over the logic of the award, I really don't understand why we wouldn't consider it somewhat of an honor that the President of our country just got the Nobel Peace Prize. Why we want our national leaders to crash and burn--as though that would be a good thing for the nation--remains a puzzle to me). Without turning anyone into a 21st century messiah (which I am not trying to do), are we able to reflect eschatalogically about this event?

To think eschatalogically is to consider how the intentions and purposes of God, which will be fully realized one day, are given in the here-and-now as a foretaste of what will come. What God gives in sign and wonder offers a deposit on the fullness that he will one day bring in the new heaven and new earth. In the continuum of Israel, Jesus and the church, we find a representative community that gives evidence that the kingdom of God is breaking into human history. We should be the ones who understand the value and meaning of something that is already, but not yet.

Maybe that group of Norwegians were having an eschatalogical moment when they made their decision. Maybe they were thinking about what might be.

I'm not qualified to say whether this award was given appropriately or not. However, I was in Europe in 2004 and got a taste of what it's like to be from a country that no one else seems to like. That America would be seen in a different light appeals to me. But no matter how we view this award, we might be better served (and be better servers) if we see it through the eyes of those who live in the expectancy of what we hope will one day be--not in political or military maneuverings, but in the reality of the kingdom of God.

Is Compassion Misplaced?

The release of Abdel Baset al-Megrahi by Scottish Justice Secretary Kenny MacAskill has scandalized and horrified many. al-Metrahi's hero's welcome in Tripoli has enraged the people who still grieve the loss of the 270 people who died as a result of the bombing that took place twenty-one years ago. The rage that has been expressed through the media has been constant since al-Megrahi's release.

I cannot fathom the pain that must be felt by those who lost loved ones in that bombing. The sense of injustice must be overwhelming for them. I understand the power of their emotions.

Secretary MacAskill defended his decision by saying,

"In Scotland, justice is tempered with compassion. That is why he has been allowed to go home to die.

"I'm showing his family some compassion. I accept it is a compassion not shown to families in the United States or Scotland.

"But we have values and we will not debase them and we will seek to live up to those values of humanity that we pride ourselves on."

As I read his statement about the particular Scottish value of compassion, my mind went to a story told by the German theologian Jurgen Moltmann of his time of captivity in Scotland and England at the end of World War Two. Moltmann had been involved in the aerial bombings of strategic locations in Holland and was captured toward the end of the war. When the war ended, he and others were kept in the camps for the purpose of re-education so that they might return home to Germany and create a new culture there.
When Moltmann and his comrades learned of the Nazi atrocities in the death camps (as regular military, they had not been aware of the genocides), their shame was overwhelming. Many refused to return to Germany. Moltmann, however, found forgiveness in a way that he could never have anticipated. In the preface to his book, The Source of Life, he reports this experience:

“In Kilmarnock the miners and their families took us in with a hospitality which shamed us profoundly. We heard no reproaches, we were accused of no guilt. We were accepted as people, even though we were just numbers and wore our prisoners’ patches on our backs. We experienced forgiveness of guilt without any confession of guilt on our part, and that made it possible for us to live with the past of our people, and in the shadow of Auschwitz, without repressing anything, and without becoming callous.”

I have to wonder: Is there actually something embedded in the hearts of the Scottish people that allows such forgiveness in the face of obvious and confirmed guilt? Moltmann goes on to give an account of his confrontation, after his conversion to Christianity, with some Dutch theology students who relayed the effects of the bombings in which Moltmann had participated. Yet, through tears, these students reached out in forgiveness and embraced their German brothers, claiming that it was only through Jesus Christ that such forgiveness could take place.

I don't know which is more troubling to me: The sense of injustice seen in releasing one convicted of the deaths of so many people, or the disturbing ring of the Gospel in the actions of Secretary MacAskill. Jesus pointed out the counter-intuitive nature of life in the kingdom of God:

"You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax-collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” (Matthew 5:43-48)

I know nothing of Secretary MacAskill's religious leanings. But I have to wonder if it is possible that the permeation of the Gospel in a culture can actually produce a counter-intuitive response to hatred and violence that becomes scandalous and incomprehensible to the rest of the world. Certainly Jurgen Moltmann, even before his conversion, experienced forgiveness in that context and now, it appears, so has al-Megrahi.

I continue to grieve along with those who lost loved ones in the bombing of PanAm flight 103. At the same time, my hope is that the Gospel of Jesus will continue to permeate our lives and culture. The counter-intuitive nature of the kingdom of God will continue to disturb us, but perhaps that is how we Christians might be the light of the world.

Thoughts on the Passing of Dr. Ray Anderson

I first heard about Ray Anderson in 1975, during my time in the Navy. My friend, Jeff Baker, had just graduated from Westmont College and had begun his studies at Fuller Theological Seminary. Jeff kept telling me that I really needed to meet Ray Anderson. Twenty years later, I did meet Ray in a systematic theology course at Fuller.

My wife, Emily, audited one of the courses I took with Ray. It was a challenging time for us: I was twelve or thirteen years into my business career and now found myself at Fuller, attempting to sort out this sense of "calling" to ministry that had inconveniently raised its head in my life. We felt a bit stuck--how does a person consider leaving a financially successful career and move toward an uncertain vocational future? We had one daughter in college and one in high school. There seemed to be a lot at risk. We didn't know how to take our next step, if there was one.

One night in class, Ray stopped his lecture and told a story that is probably familiar to many of Ray's students. He shared his own journey of responding to the call of God. He told of leaving the farm and coming to Pasadena to start his seminary work. He spoke of "calling" as something that described the life of all Christians. He used the term "destiny" to speak of devoting one's life to something that mattered deeply--putting one's hand to the place of the heart.

When we left class that night, we no longer questioned whether or not we would make a radical life change. It would now just be a question of God's timing. Within a year we planted a church, I left the business world and we led that church for the next ten years. It was a true experience of putting our hands to the place of our hearts.

I've reminded Ray of that a number of times. I really wanted him to know how much his work could impact someone like me in some very important areas of life. It's a mixed bag when you tell someone like Ray that their words resulted in an action that reoriented the life of an entire family. The person might feel encouraged that their work made a difference. Or, the person might feel responsible and even worried. Probably a bit of both. But I think Ray had enough confidence in God to lean more toward encouragement.

A couple of years later Emily and I audited Ray's Theology and Ecology of the Family. He taught one evening about helping people work through deep issues of forgiveness. That same week a woman came to my office in need of help in forgiving people for horrible abuses that had taken place during her childhood. I walked her through what I had learned in Ray's class and the impact on the woman was dramatic and transformative.

The next evening of our class meeting, Emily and I rushed early to the International House of Pancakes where Ray would meet with students before class. We hoped that the usual crowd of fans would be small so that we could report to Ray what had happened. When we arrived, Ray was alone--no students had joined him that evening. We had him to ourselves.

We shared the story of how his teaching on forgiveness had be played out in real life with a real person. As we offered the details, tears rolled down Ray's face. It was an expression of Ray's love for God, people, and the intersection of theology and ministry.

I will always be indebted to Ray for teaching me to love theology--not for its own sake nor as an academic abstraction, but as a living, vibrant engagement with the living God who reaches deeply into human lives to bring reconciliation and transformation. Jesus was always at the center of Ray's teachings and he helped all of us to love Jesus more. Ray's mantras, "All theology is practical theology" and, "All ministry is God's ministry" continue to echo in my head. It is an honor to pass those words on to new generations of leaders--the population of people that Ray so honored and loved.

Ray will be missed by many. He will be missed not only as theological icon but also as pastor, mentor, friend and--as he liked to put it--maverick.

We entrust our friend to our heavenly Father, on whom Ray's sights were always set.

Partisan Emails, No Prayer

I often get emails that make negative claims about our current US administration. Most come from fellow followers of Jesus. It is curious to me that I have yet to receive anything from these folks that says they are praying for the President and other national leaders. I wonder why that is? It seems to me that the kingdom of God calls us to a new way of relating to the world that transcends partisan politics.

The Bartender

My book on spiritual formation and evangelism. A natural title, don't you think?

You can get it here: www.fullerseminarybookstore.com.

Can the Church Survive in a Post-Consumer Culture?

The United States, and for that matter, the world, is not really post-consumeristic. All living things consume and if we stop consuming what it takes to sustain life, then we die.

However, the current economic meltdown is causing some economists to question the sustainability of economic systems (like that of the USA) that rely significantly on consumer spending. As evidenced this holiday season, when consumers spend less at Christmas, the growth of the economy suffers. The Christmas spirit is viewed less by worship and reflection on the birth of Jesus, and more on how to part with money we don't have for more things that we don't need.

The current crisis is significant and has to be addressed. But for we who follow Jesus, this may also be the time to self-critique; to have the courage to dismantle what we think has sustained our church systems and learn in fresh and new ways what it means to be the church for the sake of the world.

In highly developed societies (again, like the USA), there is an increasing lack of awareness of the relationship between production and consumption. Ask a young child where eggs come from and she might name the local grocery store rather than the chickens in the back yard. We work jobs and then spend money on things that have no apparent link to the work we produce. Very few of us grow the crops or raise the livestock that feed us. There are so many levels between production and consumption that the relationship between the two is often foggy.

That's why we can continue to demand more and more without regard for the price to be paid when consumer demand outpaces the ability to produce (not to mention that much of what we demand is non-essential. Guitar Hero and iPods may be cool and entertaining, but they are not essential to life. iPhones, yes. iPods, no).

If we begin to look closely at how that perception has leaked into the church we might be disturbed. People shop churches as though they are buying cars. The church experience is seen as the meeting of a demand, whether it is program for kids, sermons that inspire or entertain, music that is appealing and little or no requirement for participation. People leave churches with the same kind of consumer mentality that characterizes our shopping-oriented life. If the church up the street is more attractive, has better music, spicier programs, then we move, dismissing the significance of Christian community with no more concern than when we choose to shop at Target over WalMart.

This is a systemic problem in the church (of course, I am over-generalizing here in order to make a point or two), in that churches have often come to see themselves as vendors in a competitive marketplace. We construct "services"* in order to attract more people, and we don't really care where those people come from, and most of them come from other churches. 

We too often develop highly-produced musical aspects of worship not because we seek to draw people into the beauty of worship but rather in order to keep and attract our customers--I mean, members. We think we are somehow creating environments that will draw people seeking faith, but most of our movement in church membership comes from with the ranks of people calling themselves Christians who find it easy to move from one church to the other. 

In seeking to find needs and fill them we easily pander to consumeristic tendencies that have already created a massive problem in the culture--and the world--at large. And for all our efforts, we find that much of what we do is simply for us and not the world. In fact, the world out there doesn't really care how cool and trendy our "services" are (Click here for one atheist's view of the nature of Christian mission).

Brothers and sisters, this is not sustainable. And it has little to do with the essence of what it means to be the church.

What if, during these difficult times, we as the church began to look deeply at who God has called us to be, and then prayed for the courage to act on some newly discovered convictions (look here for a creative challenge to holiday consumerism)? What if we ran the risk of losing attenders by searching out God's desires and intentions for us and then forming our corporate life around those intentions? Would we consider our churches to be successful if we had smaller, more deeply devoted members who understood that we don't "do church" for ourselves but for the sake of the world? That to be a worshipper of God also means that we are lovers of the world?

If we USAmericans are waiting for things to get back to "normal" economically so we can get back on our debt and spending machines, then we have learned nothing. If the church at large doesn't use this opportunity to re-evaluate and reform both its inward and outward life, then we also will have learned nothing.

Returning to normal is not what we need. What we need is a new normal. 

*Note: Worship gatherings are not called "services" because they serve us. The idea is that we serve God in our worship. From there we go, as many churches include in their weekly benedictions, to love and serve the world.