winncollier

Brokenness, the Genesis Project and a Table

2009-11-03T15:26:00.007-05:00

Two weeks ago, I shared words from Barth that say better than I could the joy and the terror I find in preaching. Here are words from Henri Nouwen that say, again better than me, what has become a core conviction about leading and loving in God's community:

I am deeply convinced that the Christian leader of the future is called to be completely irrelevant and to stand in this world with nothing to offer but his or her own vulnerable self.

Actually, I should say that on my best days, I believe this. Other days (most days, probably), I run from these words. I'm fairly addicted to people thinking I have my trash together. I like to have the answers. I like to be right. I like to be the leader everyone wants to listen to. I want to have the good ideas. I want to work out my own problems. And that soul-draining, mask-wearing way will kill a person, let me tell you.

I've found a small company of friends who help me to remember the truth: that what I have to offer really has very little to do with me. They help me believe in the good news that my story is not the ultimate story. A few of these friends work with me in a little grass roots collective known as the Genesis Project. I don't know that I've ever mentioned it here, but there you go - another little bit about my life. GP, as we insiders call it (and you're welcome to be an insider too), has a good story, but ultimately it has grown out of friendships and a shared belief that we are a mess, that we need mercy and grace - and that Jesus meets us in community. Our official line, because every organization is supposed to have such a thing, is this: "the genesis project is a collection of friends with a heart for providing soul care for the leaders of developing churches."

We are friends who, due to our own stories, are keenly aware of the soul-draining realities of vocational ministry - and particularly the version known as "church planting." And we hope to spread our friendship around a bit (to spread the love, in other words).

So, I am eager to announce the Genesis Project's spring gathering, The Table. This small communal experience is designed for those leading new churches who are intimately connected with their own brokenness and need for grace - and who desire for Jesus to speak into these places among a community of friends.

The applications are now available online, and we will receive them until January 15th. The Genesis Project is funding this gathering, and it will be offered as a gift. Space is extremely limited, but if all goes as we hope, we will host others in the future.

Questioning the Sermon

2009-10-23T01:37:00.008-04:00

As pastors, if you won't let God use you to make a new world, through faithful words, then all you can do is service the old one. And that's no fun. {Walter Brueggemann}

Taking my cue from the Good Bishop Annie, I think it would be a shame indeed to offer trivial sermons about trivial things. The Bible tells a most outrageous story. If it's true, as I happen to believe it is, then our reality has been redefined; we need new eyes to see our life (and the entire cosmos) in new ways; and - perhaps best of all - hope has truly come, in Jesus.

This means that whenever I go to my work of wading into Scripture's deep waters, my task is to immerse myself in the Story, to let it up close so that the text's questions become my questions, so that the characters' fears and worries and awe find their way into my bones. My aim for the Sunday sermon is not to dumb the text down to a few bullet-points and a poem but rather to open a door where our community can encounter the possibility of a world-made-new.

As I begin to get words on paper for Sunday's homily, then, I need to wrestle with whether or not my words have any life to them, whether they are faithful to the Story, whether the words have any chance of helping people grapple with God-alive. Here are a few of the sorts of questions I ask to help me discern if I'm meandering in something like the right direction:

Are these words soaked in the Biblical narrative?

Will these words kindle holy imagination?

Will these words give space for sacred discontent, all the while pointing toward redemption and joy?

Do these words tend to our true questions, the deep questions?

Do these words yield to the gospel's tensions and mysteries?

Will these words ask us to obey, rather than to merely listen?

Do these words live in the here and now, in the world as it actually is?

Do these words find their life and breath from the Living Word, Jesus - and from the Spirit?

Will these words announce - with grace and with boldness - Jesus as Lord over all?

There are more questions - and better ones, I'm sure - but these are a start.

On Preaching

2009-10-23T00:02:00.019-04:00

Write as if you were dying. At the same time assume you write for an audience consisting solely of terminal patients...What would you be writing if you knew you would die soon? What could you say to a dying person that would not enrage by its triviality? {annie dillard}

Words matter to me, very much. Ideas matter. Images matter. This trio of convictions probably explains a bit of why my vocation dances around two acts that have much to do with words, ideas and images: writing and preaching. I usually chat about writing here. Lately, I've been thinking about preaching.

I don't think of myself as "a preacher," at least not in the Huck Finn South sort of way. But I do gladly embrace the old and honorable pastoral practice of immersing myself in the Biblical text in hopes of glimpsing God - and then offering what I see (or what I think I see) to my community of faith. I believe - bet all my marbles on it, in fact - that God's story is the narrative that is trustworthy and that gives meaning and dignity to my story, yours too.

For me, then, preaching is not about giving a lecture or merely passing along religious information. Nor is it an attempt to whip people up into some devoted fervor. A sermon is far more personal, more engaged, more treacherous and alive and messy than that.

A sermon, a good one anyways, tends first to God - and to us second. We get a whiff of what God has in mind, what kindness or justice or grace God intends - and then we ask ourselves if we have the courage (the faith, you might say) to believe, to obey, to spurn fear or control and dive into the mercy. I continually return to Karl Barth's reflection on what happened whenever he stood behind the pulpit: "When I look out at the congregation, I realize they are here with one question: Is it true? Can it be true that there is a God who is loving and wise and powerful? Answer that question."

Here's a way to discern if we've told God's story well: does it simply sound too good to be true? does it touch a hope so deep that it causes us to tremble at the possibility? do we wonder if it could possibly be true - and is there a certain sense of fear - of doubt - that it might not be? If we encounter that kind of fear and trembling, chances are we've gotten somewhere close to the God of the Bible.

Soon, I'll post a list of other questions I bring to the text, in hopes that my sermons will not "enrage by [their] triviality."

Seth

2009-10-07T09:04:00.013-04:00

Seth turns 6 today, this joy of mine moves another year toward manhood. I have to tell you, I love this boy. I'm happy today, happiness mixed with a twinge of sorrow too.

I'm happy because I am overwhelmed with gratitude. For all his years, this one no less, Seth has offered me the gifts of laughter (like with his break-dancing) and mercy (his "I forgive you") and honesty ("Dad, you hurt me") and cuddles (still) - not to mention being my most faithful coffee pal. Seth (his innocence, his tenderness, his recklessness, his wide-hearted abandonment, his questions) remind me of what is good and wholesome in this world, that the whole botched thing actually isn't irrevocably shot to pieces.

Seth helps me believe in God.

But I also feel sadness. Not for a year passed by or because of sentimental nostalgia. I am a bit melancholy because I realize that I have not been all I want to be for him this past year. I have not been as present, as generous, as playful, as courageous toward him as I long to be.

The thing about longing, though, is that it flings open the door to tomorrow. Regret pulls us back into the gloomy what-might-have-been, but longing invites us out into the sunshine of what-we-hope-yet-to-become. I'm choosing the longing.

And, Seth, I long to be your dad. Not just your authority figure or the old man who pays the bills. I don't just want to be your chummy sidekick either. Far more than all that, I want to be your dad, the dad who loves you with all his heart and who believes in you, even more than you believe in yourself.

Happy Birthday, Son!

your dad - always.

Caption of the Week

2009-09-28T21:52:00.004-04:00

In case you missed the story, this was Khadafi at the UN this week, who turned a 15 minute time slot into a 93 minute mostly-unintelligible tirade. Not that we need it, but this picture is dying for a witty caption. Whatcha got?

If we get good participation, maybe we'll make this a regular installment.

The Problem with Organized Religion

2009-09-22T12:27:00.013-04:00

This week, Wall Street Journal columnist Gary Hammel reflected on "organized religion's management problem."

Attempting to offer friendly critique from an outsider, Hammel provided a number of insightful observations. I found his piece intriguing on multiple fronts. First, I just think Hammel is an interesting writer (his phrase "mugged by change" will get some play with me). Second - being a pastor, I hear a good bit about the problem with "organized religion." In these conversations, often, I'm nodding my head with a strong, "amen, brother (or sister)." Other times, I have this haunting suspicion that we are asking some of the wrong questions and as a result, landing in some of the wrong brier patches. Perhaps that topic will be for another day...

Hammel had a few encouraging things to say about the church's influence:

The fact is, society is made more hospitable by every individual who acts as if “do unto others” really was a rule. And contrary to what you might believe, evidence suggests that, on average, “religious people” really are nicer—in practical feed the hungry, clothe the naked, sorts of ways. (And if you’re one of those generous folks, you’re undoubtedly embarrassed by the minority of believers who are quicker to judge than they are to love).

And a few distressing things to say about the church's current predicament:

Moreover, it’s usually necessary to decapitate the old leadership team before an organization can embark on a new course. In other words, fundamental change in large organizations happens the same way it happens in poorly governed dictatorships—belatedly, infrequently and convulsively. And that’s pathetic. It shouldn’t take the organizational equivalent of a deathbed experience to spur renewal. We need to change the way we change...Over the centuries, religion has become institutionalized, and in the process encrusted with elaborate hierarchies, top-heavy bureaucracies, highly specialized roles and reflexive routines.

I most resonated with his guiding hypothesis: "The problem with organized religion isn’t that it’s too religious, but that it’s too organized."

My sense of what Hammel means by this (or at least my own conviction that I'm reading back into his words) is not that we are too purposeful or that there should be no visible, flesh-and-bones reality to our faith - commitment to a community in which we embody our faith with others, for instance. Rather, I think Hammel suggests we are too manufactured, too programmed, too full of all our plans and certainties about who we are to be and what we are to do. Our faces are set like flint toward our destination - and we will exert whatever energy, raise whatever funds, pimp whatever value or political cause -- in order to get there. If we have always approached things in a particular way and if this particular way affirms how we view the world (whether or not that's the way the world actually is), then reality-be-damned, off we go (or here we sit, whatever).

And it's a sham. It isn't real - religion-faux.

When we follow that path, we lose our imagination. We sacrifice the simple (and essential) Jesus-way of friendship, curiosity, awakened hearts and courageous living, all on the altar of efficiency, safety, power and image.

And Hammel is right - that's a problem.

Eugene Williams

2009-09-09T21:31:00.006-04:00

The first time I met my eighty-one year old neighbor, Eugene Williams, he said, "You know, you and me - we're making history." I was hooked. A few days later, I was back on his front porch, sharing pizza and Orange Crush with him and his wife Lorraine. Eugene shared tales of segregation and injustice, stories of my neighborhood. He told me how he was the third black to move on that end of the street - and how most of the whites quickly evacuated. He shared how he refused to use the cup labeled for "colored people" that hung above the water fountain at the old silk mill.

I walked into a world I never knew. I heard stories of my town and the way things once were. But more than anything else, I made two new friends.

Mr. Williams, a Charlottesville native, was born on Dice Street in 1928. Eugene has lived through much: a country clawing its way out of the Depression, WWII, segregation, the monumental Brown vs. Board of Education decision. He has seen many cycles of Spring and Fall in our city, many versions of city government, many people moving in and out of his town. As I’ve discovered, Mr. Williams has made many, many friends – he is beloved by many people from many walks of life.

And Eugene Williams should be much loved here – he has helped to make Charlottesville a better, more just place to live. When Charlottesville schools refused to desegregate (as did many Virginia public schools), Mr. and Mrs. Williams’ third-grade daughter, Scheryl, was bussed to one elementary while their white neighbor girl attended another. Eugene would have none of it – and he and his wife, along with a few other families, brought suit. Eventually, Scheryl arrived at Johnson Elementary, although unfortunately with a police escort. And again, when his fellow citizens needed an affordable place to live, Eugene risked most of his (and his wife’s and brother's and sister-in-law’s) savings to purchase and renovate 21 properties that provided 62 affordable housing units for those needing a place with dignity to call home.

Mr. Williams would be the first to tell you there is more to be done. However, because Eugene Williams put his shoulder to the work of forcing Charlottesville schools to desegregate and because he put his money and reputation on the line to address the need for affordable housing in Charlottesville, all of us who live here receive the benefit. We owe Eugene Williams our thanks. Thank you, Mr. Williams. Thank you, neighbor.

Culinary GameChangers

2009-09-03T23:45:00.001-04:00

I can find my way around a kitchen. I may not be as fussy about cleaning up as Miska would like, but on the whole, I do alright.

Allow me to share with you three kitchen gadgets that have changed my world.

[1] Double-walled tea cup. I love tea cups without handles so I can cuddle with the warmth. However I do not like first-degree burns on my palms and fingers. With this cup, burns begone.

[2] Egg-Perfect Egg Timer. We eat lots of boiled eggs in our house. And everyone in the fam likes theirs cooked differently, which provides a problem for someone as haphazard and chaotic as me. This little beaut is a godsend. With lines inside indicating the various preparation levels (soft / medium / hard), all you have to do is drop the timer in the water with the eggs and watch it do its magic. As the timer heats up, the color changes in sync with the level to which it has cooked. I can not tell you how amazing this is.

[3] Pampered Chef Butter Softener. First off, two words: Pampered Chef. 'Nuff said. You are welcome to invite me to your party anytime. I love butter, real butter, like the stuff that actually traces its roots back to cows. I love soft butter, the kind that doesn't require a hacksaw to spread evenly on your bread. However, I do not like margarine or anything that surprised me that it is not butter. In other words, I do not like to eat plastic. This little culinary marvel allows you to drop your (real) butter inside, pour a little water in the lid (don't ask me how this works) - and sit this technological miracle on the cabinet (yes, cabinet - it doesn't even need to be refrigerated). Then, sweet mary! whenever you have a late night hankering for toast, you are one happy little chef.

Any marvels you care to share? And if you know a way to salvage the train wreck that happens every time I try to peel the shell off our boiled eggs, I will rise up and call you blessed.

Review: There is a God by Anthony Flew

2009-08-24T22:13:00.003-04:00

{from Goodreads}

There Is a God: How The World's Most Notorius Atheist Changed His Mind by Anthony Flew

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I had heard bits of Professor Flew's fabled change of mind, from atheism to theism. The book purchase was an impulse buy, though, when I saw it at one of our local bookshops.

I was eager to read Flew's story. After the introduction, I was eager to gobble the pages. Unfortunately, about midway, I realized I was going to be disappointed. I expected an emphasis on narrative, the story of Flew's wrestling. I wanted to hear the angst and hear him tell the stories of what it was like to be a headliner in so many well known philosophical debates. I wanted to know why he had changed his mind, for sure, but I wanted it set in the context of his life, who he was as a man.

Flew, however, wrote a book that skimmed the surface of his philosophical change of heart. He quotes a lot of people (too many for my taste), and he gives a broad sketch for why, after more than half a decade leading the charge in one direction, he did an about face. It's interesting, even helpful (though I doubt it beefy enough to change many people's mind). It just wasn't worth $22.

Flew describes his journey in words that explain why I found little resonance with this book (and, truthfully, little resonance with his overarching bent in religious matters): "In short, my discovery of the Divine has been a pilgrimage of reason and not of faith." When speaking of belief in God, I'm (for the most part) happy however one happens to get there. However, some paths are more beautiful (to me) than others.

Rather, I wish Flew would have sunk more deeply into the words he quoted from Frederick Copleston: "I do not think that it can be justifiably demanded of the human mind that it should be able to pin down God like a butterfly in a showcase."

Collier Men

2009-08-20T17:13:00.005-04:00

Miska is away to Richmond Hill for a short retreat, which means the Collier house is all men all the time.

Here is a short schedule:
(1) A game of UNO with our shirts off (Wyatt's request)

(2) Wacky photo session (view to the left)

(3) The boys making their first blog entries:

Wyatt: Don't be dumb. Be cool!
Seth: My dad rocks!! (with only minor coaching)

And up next:

(4) Guy's movie - I thought it was going to be Rocky, but I was outvoted - Eragon

(5) Playing with power tools (a power washer to be exact)

A Few of the People...

2009-08-18T13:49:00.004-04:00

I bet you if I had met him and had a chat with him, I would have found him a very interesting and human fellow, for I never yet met a man that I didn't like. {Will Rogers}

Here are a few of the interesting people I've encountered today:

A courier standing in line with me at the bank. As we talked about his job, I asked him if he had ever transported something really weird. "A body chopped up into parts," he said.

A friend at breakfast. I discovered he likes peanut butter omelets.

A guy waiting, as I was, for the bus. He calls himself "turtle man" because, as he told me, he moves slow - but always forward.

Everywhere we turn, we encounter people with stories and hopes and fears and interesting names. We discover people who will help us see our world with more richness and texture. We find people like us, people different from us. We find strangers who may turn into friends.

Tell me, brother, how do you see the sun standing from where you are today. {Michael Houser}

Dave Matthews is My Farmer

2009-08-10T11:00:00.007-04:00

Well, actually Dave is our friends Evan and Missy Hansen's farmer, but the Hansens share their extra eggs with us, so it's essentially the same thing. Essentially.

Dave Matthews (a local icon who got his start bartending and playing at Miller's downtown) and his wife Ashley Harper purchased several adjoining farms a few years ago and named their venture (appropriately), "Best of What's Around." The farm is a Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) farm, where individuals buy seasonal shares or trade working on the farm for receiving the farm's bounty.

I don't know how much time Dave actually spends on his farm, but I love to imagine him in overalls, with a straw hat and chewing on a long piece of golden wheat, gently caressing a turnip while he tries to read the weather. Not that I think about this stuff often, not at all.

Miska and I actually purchased a share of produce from Horse and Buggy, another local food cooperative. Horse and Buggy food comes from a local Mennonite community. So, while the Hansens have a rock idol on their side. We like to think that we have God on ours.

Shalom

2009-08-04T00:01:00.005-04:00

sirens wail
mother sobs
iron clinks
Shalom

stomach gnawing
nightmare haunting
refugee slumping
Shalom

tires squeal
dad disappears
again, again
Shalom

moonless night
sunless soul
forever alone
Shalom

violence
poverty
anarchy
here

goodness
well-being
feasting
everywhere

Shalom.

Dance.

2009-07-25T22:36:00.006-04:00

I saw this tonight, and I'm not ashamed to say I cried. Since Buechner says to pay attention to our tears, I will. I pray that all my family and friends, my community, my city and neighbors - myself - will know this kind of free joy, celebration, such reckless eruption of undeniable life. And I love that this was at a wedding, a moment of beginnings and beauty and goodness.

May you dance. Free. Me too.

Oh - and I love how the (slightly elder) pastor/priest was getting her groove on too. Joy is infectious.

peace - and dance.

Embarking on the Ludicrous

2009-07-16T13:31:00.005-04:00

I recently read a piece from a well-known figure in the church leadership world. He wrote of a zero-tolerance policy for any language or practice within their church that did not make sense to those who were uncommitted to the story of God. I think I understand - and agree with - some of his concern. I am beyond done with caveman Christianity, practicing the faith with near total disregard for the questions and realities of our friends who are among the unconvinced. I too share irritation at flat, tired Christian lingo, the entire ghetto mentality prevalent in many of our Christian subcultures.

However...

I'm actually drawn the opposite direction. Rather than railing against those things that make little sense to those outside faith, I believe the gospel calls us to live toward realities that don't make a single bit of sense to any of us, no matter what angle we come from.

Truly, the kingdom of God is laughable, if we take it seriously.
~the way to save your life is to give it away
~love your enemies
~seek the peace of all, even those you despise (or who despise you)
~live for others above self
~take risks and abandon control
~believe that Jesus rose from the dead - and one day will bring all dead things to life
~give yourself to the long, hard work of community
~abandon the droning, captivating sounds of selfish consumerism
~care for the least among us
~live as though success does not determine our identity

Based on the cultures we have breathed in and on the selfish nature of our own heart, we would have to say that those lines are idyllic nonsense, complete poppycock.

And yet, this is precisely the life Jesus calls us to. If we seek to be communities of people living in Jesus' way, we are embarking on the ludicrous. If the way we live and speak and love makes sense to those around us - or to ourselves - I fear we are wildly off course.

Here's to the ludicrous life...

I'm a Homeboy

2009-07-08T15:33:00.003-04:00

I'm now legit.

This morning, biking toward downtown and around the first corner from our house, I passed the bus stop where one of my neighbors sat waiting for the 10:52. I hadn't seen him in a while and stopped to say hi.

"I've been looking for you," he said. "Just the other day, I was thinking, where's my homeboy?"

L - E - G - I - T.

Writing with the Body

2009-06-13T10:35:00.005-04:00

If I did not resist with my life, I should be unable to write...The Christian idea has got to be served; that the word is made Flesh. One must write with one's body. {Antoine de Saint-Exupery}

Antoine de Saint-Exupery was an acclaimed author (primarily for his children's book The Little Prince) and also an aviator who volunteered as a fighter pilot during the French Resistance in WWII. Older than most combat pilots, Saint-Exupery refused to surrender his commission. He believed that to write honestly required that he live honestly; and, in the historic moment in which he lived, Saint-Exupery believed that honest living demanded he offer his full self, even his life, for the just cause of resisting the Nazis. In the end, his choice did demand his life - Saint-Exupery went missing in July 1944 during a reconnaissance flight over the Mediterranean, shortly before France's liberation.

For Saint-Exupery, writing was not merely something he did, but integral to who he was. His writing both flowed from and fed into the whole of who he was as a man. If he lived dishonestly or without courage and integrity, then his writing would suffer the poison. He could not ignore the great cause of his day (perhaps his life) without his cowardice and selfishness corroding his soul.

He believed then that a writer "must write with one's body." In other words, a writer writes with their whole self - or we don't write truly at all. We write with our actions, with our friendships, with our laughter and our tears. We write with our hopes and our commitments and our generosity ever bit as much as we write with our words.

With Saint-Exupery, these notions of life and writing emerged from his faith. The central notion of Christian faith is the Incarnation, the belief that God went physical in Jesus. God is not an idea, but a person. Christianity is not primarily a moral code or set of theories and principles. Christianity, rightly observed, is the story of how God is making (and re-making) the world (and the people who make up this world) to be splendidly overrun with beauty, truth and goodness. Energized by this, then, how could a writer not write with intense passion, conviction and truthfulness. (And, the same is true for a painter, a baker, a builder, a grocery clerk.)

As a writer, I'm pondering Saint-Exupery's words - and asking myself the question: what do I need to write with my body before I write with my sentences? As a writer who is also a Christian, I'm pondering Saint-Exupery's words - and asking myself the question: where does my writing need to imbibe the way of Incarnation, to go physical and move toward beauty, truth and goodness?

Jokes on Me

2009-06-04T13:02:00.007-04:00

This week, I feel as though I entered into a cliche, Christian subculture joke: You know your kids have been raised in an emerging* church if...

On Tuesday, the fam went into Starbucks on The Corner at UVA. When Wyatt went into Bucks' upstairs, taking in the warm, earth-tone walls, the ambient light, the numerous chairs around tables, the art on the walls, the leather couches, he said, "Mommy, is this a church?"

I'm still pondering what I think about that, a lot there actually.

*for those fortunate enough to be unfamiliar with all the nuance of Christian subcultures, emerging has often become a catch-all world for new forms of Christian theology and worship - a word that, in actuality, mainly means nothing. But emerging does own the annoying stereotype of being fascinated with all things hip and trendy, a "relational authenticity" that can very much be its own version of plastic.

Make the World Beautiful: Autumn Film

2009-06-01T16:36:00.006-04:00

For the next installment of our make the world beautiful collection, here's another recommendation (introduced to me by Rob Johnson): The Autumn Film. I've just begun listening to them, but there is a rich texture to their music that makes me want to listen longer, more intently. Something there reminds me of one of my favorite bands, Over the Rhine, with perhaps a little Snow Patrol or Coldplay thrown in.

Best of all, they are giving away 3 separate EPs right now, 11 songs in total - and the video for "Joy," well, you'll just have to give it a watch. I'm not sure if I've ever heard something so haunting and original done to an old Sunday School tune. In fact, the only reinterpretations I've heard that compare to this are from my friend Tom Conlon.

Enjoy the beauty.

Pinkie Winkie Doo

2009-05-28T16:15:00.000-04:00

Any soldier who goes into battle against the Taliban in pink boxers and flip-flops has a special kind of courage. {Secretary of Defense, Robert Gates} from NPR

And ... his shirt said, "I Heart NY"

Wyatt the Brave

2009-05-27T20:17:00.006-04:00

Wyatt, our oldest son, turned 7 today - and he's lived every bit of his 7 years, then some. Recently at All Souls, we passed out those little 12 inch wooden manikins, the ones that have joints and can be manipulated any number of ways. The project was simple, for each of us to paint or construct or do whatever with our manikin to represent our sense of what God is doing in us, redeeming in us, calling out of us. This was to be a reflection of our hope, which is to say - this was another way of praying.

As Wyatt worked on his, two of the words he said his manikin represented were "brave" and "strong-hearted." Well, people, let me tell you - there we have a prayer where the answer is already in the works. I see it in him. I live it with him. He's on his way.

One of my favorite stories with Wyatt this past year was from his first semester in first grade. Apparently the discipline system works like this: each student has a paper balloon beside their name; and each time they get in trouble, they have to move their balloon. With each balloon move, the consequences escalate. Much too far into the year, Wyatt informed me that he had yet to move his balloon, not once. That would never do. As one (me) who has often been far too concerned with making mistakes, I hope for Wyatt to be more free with chaos, more okay with not meeting up to every expectation laid upon him. So, I made a deal with Wyatt.

Wyatt, I'll pay you a dollar the first time you have to move your balloon.

It didn't take but a day or two - and Wyatt came home with the news that, sure enough, he'd been reprimanded at school and (shudder) had to move his balloon - and that I needed to hand over a green one.

I did, gladly.

Happy birthday, son. Let's be brave together.

Torture

2009-05-22T14:16:00.004-04:00

A survey conducted by the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life found that white evangelical Christians are more likely to support torture than people who rarely or never attend religious services. (from CNN)

And we say we live for another Kingdom?

God help us.

Because We Started the Conversation...

2009-05-18T13:06:00.003-04:00

Once the act of simply reporting or simply observing is exposed as a fiction — as something that just can’t be done — the facile opposition between faith-thinking and thinking grounded in independent evidence cannot be maintained. {Stanley Fish}

Today, Stanely Fish posted a follow-up article in the Times to his piece last week, "God-Talk." I found this week's installment intriguing, but also - it's just rude to walk out on someone mid-conversation.

I think Fish could have left out the little self-congratulating plug at the bottom, but then again, if someone were taking potshots at me, I'd be tempted to rub it in their face as well. Still, though, the editorial Fish refers to by Paul Campos, even if a bit of defensive hubris, makes a point, several actually. Campos summed up Fish's repeated mantra nicely: "No believer will find his faith shaken by evidence that is evidence only in the light of assumptions he does not share and considers flatly wrong."

If, however, you'd like to read a more imaginative (and I'd say humble) response to all this, check out John Blase's thoughts.

Holy Curiosity Jumps the Pond

2009-05-16T16:39:00.004-04:00

It usually take a bit for a book to cycle into the international market. Apparently Holy Curiosity has begun to make its way. Two weeks ago, I did an interview with Premier Radio in the UK - and this month a very kind review landed in Christianity Magazine, a British periodical.

Also, in other international news, this week I'm in the middle of a three week stint where I am doing six 15 - 20 minute interviews for Open House, a weekly radio program airing on 300 stations with 600,000 listeners. Mainly, though, it's just fun talking to a thoughtful guy with a really cool accent. I'll post later when the interview audio is available.

Silence, Shusaku Endo

2009-05-15T15:46:00.005-04:00

After I got past the Japanese use of the passive voice ("the scent of the grass was wafted over the white rock"), this simple, haunting story pulled me into a valuable conversation about the character of the gospel: what is the essence of Christian faith? How must the gospel incarnate itself in radical new ways within new, distinct cultures? How much of the gospel has been trapped in Western garb? How much can Christian faith accommodate itself to new cultural forms without surrendering its essence?

A line from the translator's introduction, quoted from another of Endo's essays will be on my mind for a while: "Unless there is in [Christianity] a part that corresponds to Japan's mud swamp, it cannot be a true religion."

From Goodreads.