Things were touch and go for a little while at first. When Amy went into labor, Jonah was still pretty high up in the womb, and then his umbilical cord came down before his head did.  In order to prevent his head from getting caught in the umbilical cord, doctors held his head in place while Amy was wheeled into the operating room for an emergency C-Section.

Everything worked out ok, though.  While Amy was being stitched back together, I got to hang out with Jonah in the nursery, where I read to him.  I started out with two Old English poems, read in Old English, of course:  The Wanderer, and one called Hwæl or “The Whale.”  I thought these were rather appropriate, considering his name.  Next, I read some selections from John Steinbeck’s The Red Pony, followed by a little bit of Isaac Asimov’s novel Foundation.  Later, after we were back in our hospital room and after Amy and Jonah finally got to spend some quality time together, I read him J.R.R. Tolkien’s translation of the Book of Jonah from the 1966 edition of the Jerusalem Bible.  Somewhere in the midst of all that, I also recited Lewis Carrol’s Jabberwocky to him.

Jonah’s older siblings are excited to get to meet him tomorrow–I called Grady at his school this afternoon to tell him the news, and Abby got to see a picture of her new brother on Grandma Linda’s cell phone.

Right now he’s sleeping in his mother’s arms (although technically he’s supposed to be eating).  Welcome to the world, my youngest son. There’s so much I want to teach you, and so much you have to teach me.   Most of all, your mother and I, and your brother and your sister (and lots of other people across the nation) love you very much, and we’re glad you came.

One Hundred:

Forever (Instrumental Mix):

As with all my music, they are published under a Creative Commons license — so feel free to share, copy, download, distribute, remix, rearrange, redistribute or whatever else you feel like doing with them. Enjoy!

Church Past

In the earliest days of the church (extending throughout the medieval period as well), life was a fragile thing.  Medical science was also in its earliest days: sickness, disease, plague, and accident claimed lives at enormous rates, and life expectancy was relatively short.  Death was inevitable, and sooner more likely than later.   A great share of the hope offered to the world by the gospel was one of new, incorruptible life after this one — but also the hope that, through prayer, a loving God might magically intervene in human circumstances so as to divert death, sickness, plague, etc.   Medieval prayers and liturgies reflect this twin focus on the afterlife and divine intervention in this life.  And of course, where these fail, there is also in early and medieval texts a “repackaging” of suffering itself as something noble, something that identifies one with the holiness of Christ.

Bottom Line:  In the early and medieval church, faith and prayer are focused on the most pressing and widespread early/medieval concerns:  suffering, death, and the afterlife.

Church Present

With great advances in medical science during the modern period, life expectancy rates are significantly longer, infant mortality rates are significantly lower (even in developing countries), and many diseases that once afflicted humanity are eradicated or significantly diminished.  Hospitals, emergency rooms, and paramedics are often able to prevent serious accidents from becoming fatal.  Death is still an ultimate reality, but for large portions of the world’s population, there is a reasonable expectation of a long, relatively healthy life.  This inevitably has an impact on the way we see God, prayer, and faith — or perhaps more precisely, what parts of the “gospel” we emphasize.  Even the renewed emphasis on “social justice” in some branches of the church can be seen as a shift away from eternal concerns towards quality of life here and now.  Likewise, the Prosperity Gospel emerges in response to the question, “well, what should we pray for, now that we have this longer life?”   One may argue about what exactly “prosperity” entails (wealth? fame? happiness? family?) and I suspect that those who advocate a prosperity gospel would define it more charitably than those who critique it.  But a desire for a better “quality of life” seems to be a motivating factor however one defines it, and this seems largely an outgrowth of the fact that there is now more lifetime to occupy one’s self with.   That said, there are still things that plague our modern civilization–cancer, natural disasters, and those accidents we have not learned to prevent or cure.  Often, our prayers are still turned to these things, asking God to intervene miraculously where our technology cannot, and placing our hope in an afterlife when those close to us die.

Bottom Line:  In the modern church, faith and prayer are still focused on the widespread concerns of suffering, death, and the afterlife, but we are now in a time of transition — as life becomes longer and more certain, we focus our prayers and faith more on quality of life than on quantity (or at least more and more people are starting to do this).

Church Future

Predicting the future is nothing if not controversial.  The future I am about to paint is no exception to this, and so I should say at the outset that I take my cues unapologetically from Ray Kurzweil, and I believe his record of accuracy speaks for itself.   You can disagree with me, but please don’t label my views of the future as unrealistic or impossible until you’ve thoroughly read what the man has to say!  Let us proceed:

Continuing the trend of the past segment, life spans will continue to increase (dramatically) and medical science will continue to advance (dramatically).  There will, of course, be new challenges, new threats, new dangers, and new manifestations of evil — but sickness, disease, and ultimately even death will not be among them.  Few bodily accidents will be fatal or beyond repair.  Without any remaining need for miraculous healing or for an eternal afterlife, the early/medieval focus of Christianity will finally be brought to a close.  At this point, I believe that the Prosperity Gospel, in whatever form it will have evolved to, will be dominant, and will be the orthodox representation of Christianity (although there will still be small pockets of dissenting theology, as there always have been).  Christians may still disagree about what kind of prosperity we ought to pray for, and what kind of prosperity God grants — but “quality of life” will be the last remaining frontier beyond our control, and the place where God’s miraculous intervention is still most needed and sought after.

However, it is in this era that a challenge to the Prosperity Gospel will finally arise:  It will finally be made irrelevant by the same technological and cultural forces that made its predecessor irrelevant.  Prosperity (however it is defined) will begin to become widespread.  Converging developments across a wide array of fields will contribute to the ultimate breakdown of the economic principles of supply and demand, ushering in an era of abundant food, energy, material resources, and information (in our own era, the economics of abundance are already breaking down traditional paradigms in information management).  The prayers and faith of Christians will begin once again to shift toward whatever aspects of their lives seem beyond their control, whatever ways in which they feel a need for miraculous, divine intervention.

Bottom Line:  In the future church, faith and prayer are no longer focused on sickness, suffering, and death, because these are no longer significant factors in people’s lives.  Quality of life (prosperity) is the dominant concern of Christianity, but we are again in a time of transition — as prosperity itself becomes widespread, and no longer beyond the reach of most Christians.

All this raises a good question:  If “technology” supplies all of humanity’s needs, will there still be a need for God?  Personally, I view technology as part of God’s creation.  Human achievements reflect human agency in God’s plans.  To ask if God will still be needed in a world without sickness, disease, death, or lack of resources is not unlike asking the question:  Will God still be needed in Heaven?   Of course God is still needed, if one views all things as flowing from God.   I doubt everyone will see it this way, and that’s fine.  Humanists will sing the praises of Human achievements, while Christians (and other people of faith) will give thanks to God for these things (we already do that when we praise God for the skill of the surgeon, or for life-saving technologies).  Nor do I think that this world I described necessarily “equates” to Heaven or the Kingdom of God (although I’m open to that possibility too!).  If there are new challenges, dangers, manifestations of evil, my premise is simply this:  The predominant focus of Christian prayer, faith, and theology will shift itself to emphasize the aspects of the Gospel that best align themselves with the hopes, dreams, and aspirations of humanity.  That’s not a bad thing for an incarnational Gospel.

UPDATE: Since writing this post yesterday, I’ve also come across a couple of very thoughtful and positive perspectives on Prosperity Gospel, especially in developing countries as an alternative to the colonialist, paternalist approach that Western Christians in mainline AND evangelical traditions are often guilty of.

• The Case for the Prosperity Gospel by Grant Brooke  (one of my classmates at Princeton Seminary) in Huffington Post
• Pennies From Heaven by Peter Berger in Wall Street Journal

To modify a famous quote often applied to the state of Texas, “I wasn’t born a Presbyterian, but I got here as fast as I could.” That said, I don’t think that the awareness of what it means to be a Presbyterian always grows out of participation in the life of a particular church alone. For me, it has grown out of participation in many Presbyterian communities—particular churches among them, but also camps, conferences, retreats, seminary classes, online communities, missions, and general assemblies. There are, however, some common threads that weave through them all:

To be Presbyterian is to be Confessional—I was tempted to say “biblical,” but this seems to be an abused concept in many churches today. Most churches claim to be biblical, when what they generally mean is that they subscribe to is a particular understanding or interpretation of the bible, or that they emphasize certain parts of it while largely ignoring others. Presbyterians are guided by the historic confessions of the church, which are in turn grounded in scripture and the combined wisdom, tradition, and experience of our forbears. Our confessions lead us, teach us, but most importantly unite us—in our theology, our polity, and in our worship when we recite them together. Individually, each speaks to a crisis or an occasion in the history of the church, showing us that the church is contextual and local. Cumulatively, they show us that the church grows and changes, but remains universal and continuous. I became aware of this at the feet of Dr. Ellen Babinsky, in participation with a classroom community at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary.

To be Presbyterian is to be Thoughtful—The founders of our tradition were lawyers, theologians, and professors, who valued and affirmed the capacity of all individuals to read, study, and investigate the scriptures for themselves, forming intelligent and rational conclusions. This is visible in the high commitment to Christian education found in most Presbyterian churches, in the rigorous academic training required of Presbyterian ministers and scholars, and in the very nature and purpose of the Heidelberg and Westminster Catechisms found among our confessions. Moreover, my own experience in Presbyterian communities has shown them to be places where questioning, doubt, freedom of expression, and challenges to the conventional wisdom are welcomed and carefully engaged, rather than feared, denounced, or suppressed in the name of doctrinal unity. I first became aware of this reverence for intellectual discourse through participation in church sponsored Bible studies, and then again in my seminary studies and pursuit of ordination.

To be Presbyterian is to be Reformed and always being Reformed—We live in the constant tension between the defining events of the 16^th century Reformation that gave birth to Presbyterianism, and the future God is calling us into as Presbyterians in the 21^st century. On one hand, we cannot forget or abandon our past—the principles of reform for which Calvin, Knox, and others advocated so diligently. But on the other hand, we cannot not freeze-dry their doctrines so much that we are unable to follow their example. In every age, we must be reformed anew by God’s Word and Spirit, particularly in our ecclesial structures and observances. The Scots Confession teaches “not that we think any policy or order of ceremonies can be appointed for all ages, times, and places; for as ceremonies which men have devised are but temporal, so they may, and ought to be, changed, when they foster superstition rather than edify the [Church]” (3.20). I became aware of this concept of continual reform through my participation in the gatherings and conversations of Presbymergent, a community committed to exploring the intersection between the PC(USA) and the Emerging Church.

To be Presbyterian is to be (for better or worse) Calvinist—The contributions of John Calvin to the development of the Presbyterian church are inescapable, and the influence of his Institutes of the Christian Religion is imprinted on almost every page of the confessions. Calvin’s strong commitment to God’s providence led him to the theological doctrine most associated with Presbyterianism: predestination. Whether we stand with or apart from Calvin on this issue, we continue to define ourselves in relation to him. Perhaps more positively, Calvin’s thoroughly sacramental theology and his attempts to strike a thoughtful balance between the sacramentology of Luther and Zwingli give us both our high regard for the sacraments and a model for ecumenical dialogue. I was dragged kicking and screaming to an awareness of Calvin through unwilling participation in several seminary classes, and then later came to a genuine appreciation of him through a book study among an online community of Presbyterians exploring Calvin’s views on the Sacraments.

To be Presbyterian is to be Missional—Missional is a word that means different things to different people, but I equate it with the commitment of the Presbyterian Church (USA) to social justice issues in our own country and around the world. As Christ showed compassion to the poor, oppressed, and marginalized, our mission should be the same as his. The Brief Statement of Faith enjoins us, with Spirit-given courage “to unmask idolatries in Church and culture, to hear the voices of peoples long silenced, and to work with others for justice, freedom, and peace” (10.4). In various times and circumstances, Presbyterians have lived into this call through relief efforts, mission work, protests & boycotts, bold resolutions, calls for action, fair trade advocacy and practices, and through ecumenical and interfaith dialogues. I became aware of this missional side of the Presbyterian church while in community (SHYC) with a gathering of young Presbyterians listening to the prophetic words and experiences of Rick Ufford-Chase, then through mission trips, and in working with Presbyterian churches in Juarez, Mexico through the border ministry of Pasos de Fe.

To be Presbyterian is to be Representational—Perhaps the most easily identifiable aspect of Presbyterian churches and Presbyterian governing bodies is leadership by elected elders and representatives. Like many mainline Protestant denominations, Presbyterians are connectional; we are part of a larger structure of support and acocuntability that extends beyond particular churches. However, there is no episcopacy in the Presbyterian church, for as laid out in the Second Helvetic Confession, “Christ is the sole head of the church…the highest Pontiff before God the Father [who] performs all the duties of a bishop or pastor… and therefore does not need a substitute for one who is absent” (5.131). The polity of the church protects the will of the majority, the voice of the minority, and promotes orderly dialogue and processes at all levels. I first became aware of this aspect of Presbyterian polity as a staff member at a Presbyterian church, through participation in session meetings, and more recently as a participant (first as a “remote” observer, then as a “present” observer) in the 218^th and 219^th General Assemblies of the Presbyterian Church (USA).

To be Presbyterian is to be Tribal—I borrow this term from one of the PC(USA)’s newest theologians, Carol Howard Merritt, who says that “among a new generation, ‘tribe’ has become a term for subculture, a network of relationships, or a group of people who care for each other in the most basic ways.”¹ Many people wear baseball caps emblazoned with the logo of their favorite sports teams; my baseball cap has the PC(USA) logo on it. Being Presbyterian has become part of my core identity in a way that goes beyond doctrines or church membership. The vast majority of friends I interact with on a daily basis via Facebook, Twitter, and Second Life are dispersed across the nation, yet share my affiliation with and passion for the “Presbyterian Tribe.” These are the first people to congratulate me when I have good news, the first to comfort or counsel me in when I am in crisis. I first became aware of my tribe in the early days of online social networking, as Presbyterians were venturing out and looking for familiar connections in unfamiliar places. But my tribe doesn’t stop there. We are an extended family—online, but also at conferences, assemblies, campfires, classes, and even random encounters on airplanes. We have our own tribal culture, with our own quirks and inside jokes, our own rifts, rivalries, and drama. Most importantly, wherever we are, we come together around a shared table, lovingly prepared by a heavenly parent.

1Carol Howard Merrit, Tribal Church: Ministering to the Missing Generation. Herndon, Va: Alban Institute, 2007.

In my personal statement of faith, I make an interesting word choice in describing the methodology of Christ:  I refer to him as “using the technology…of his day to convey God’s love and reign to all.” It may seem anachronistic to link Jesus and technology. But boats, roads, coins, bread, wine, and letters written in sand are all human technological developments, albeit ones that no longer impress us as much as contemporary machines, chemicals, and computers. Jesus did not hesitate to make use of them for the purposes of God. Likewise, the Confession of 1967 says that “the church calls every man¹ to use his abilities, his possessions, and the fruits of technology as gifts entrusted to him by God for the maintenance of his family and the advancement of the common welfare” (9.46).

The nature and uses of technology are an important part of my identity and my sense of calling. But what does technology—specifically Jesus’ use of technology—suggest about God, humanity, and their interrelationships? It points to the incarnational nature of God. Not only did God become flesh (biology itself may be viewed as a divinely instituted form of technology) in order to dwell among us, but God also (through Jesus) used tools in order to communicate, teach, travel, and spread the Gospel message. If Christ’s incarnation in bodily form is an affirmation of our bodies and their “goodness” as part of God’s creation, then Christ’s use of technology is an affirmation of our propensity for tools and instruments—the synthesis of our God given minds and bodies with the resources God has placed at our disposal. Indeed, if all created things are from God, and inherently “good,” this must include technology and technological developments.

There is, however, another example of technology in the life of Christ: The cross upon which he was crucified was a horrific and powerful technological development in Roman execution methods. The wood of the cross, likely fashioned with the same tools, from the same trees that framed local homes and synagogues, reminds us that although all creation is good, humanity is broken and fallen. We take the gifts of God—technological and otherwise—and twist them to our own desires and selfish ends. In our use of technology, as with all things, we are dependent upon God’s mercy, forgiveness, and grace.

But the story doesn’t end there: The cruel technology of the cross became for Christians the very symbol (and the use of symbols for communication is a form of technology) of redemption. For two thousand years we have used our tools, instruments, and now even our digital technologies to replicate and reproduce the cross of Christ and raise it as a beacon (yet another technology) for the world to see and follow. My hope for ministry, reflected in my faith statement, is that when I—and we, the church—encounter new technologies, rather than resisting, denouncing, or ignoring them, we will affirm them as part of God’s creation and therefore inherently good, resist their uses for selfish and harmful ends (and resist those who use them in this way), and follow instead in the example of Christ, who used all technology (even the image of the sword!) to teach, to communicate, and to spread the Gospel.

1Were I to personally use the Confession of 1967 for teaching purposes, I would revise it to use language that addresses women as well as men. I presume this was the intention of the authors, and that our linguistic customs have changed since the time of its writing.

I trust in one God who is the creator and sustainer of all worlds. I trust—even when I do not necessarily understand—that this one God is also somehow three: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. As such, God reigns over all; God loves all.

I trust in Jesus Christ, fully human and fully divine, sent by God to walk among us. He gathered crowds and small groups, using the technology and familiar images of his day to convey God’s love and reign to all. He particularly embraced those labeled by society as outcasts and unbelievers. He visited the sick and comforted the suffering. He challenged powerful institutions, calling them out on oppressive bureaucracy and legalism, and back to the heart of their best traditions. Ultimately, he was subjected to betrayal, torture, and execution. He willingly accepted a fate he did not deserve, so that we might know mercy and grace, and through this act be once and for all awakened to God’s love, saved and redeemed. I trust that God raised Jesus from death into life, giving hope and reassurance for the life to come, and the life today: We are a resurrection people.

Jesus promised that his presence would remain, even when his physical form did not. Because of this, I trust in the Holy Spirit, who comforts, guides, and binds together God’s people in all places. I trust that God calls together faithful believers in every age to be the church: To worship, pray, fellowship, study, and serve one another and the world. Through the teachings of the church, I recognize two sacraments: Baptism and the Lord’s Supper, which serve as the signs and seals of my faith.

I read these things in God’s written word, the Bible, which testifies to Christ, God’s living word. I trust in the scriptures and the church as faithful guides to direct my paths closer and closer to God’s Kingdom.

I have long believed that all of God’s children are called, as related by the Westminster Confession,

out of that state of sin and death in which they are by nature, to grace and salvation by Jesus Christ: enlightening their minds, spiritually and savingly, to understand the things of God, taking away their heart of stone, and giving unto them an heart of flesh; renewing their wills, and by his almighty power determining them to that which is good; and effectually drawing them to Jesus Christ; yet so as they come most freely, being made willing by his grace. (BoC 6.064)

This confessional statement implies, and I affirm, that Christian calling of any and every vocation is truly a “full-time job” encompassing all aspects of life and work, drawing on the resources of mind, heart, and will. For this reason, I resist the sometimes popular linking of Christian Vocation solely with the work of the pastor, the chaplain, the Christian educator, or other positions traditionally within the employment of the church. Plumbing, accounting, programming, parenting, military or government service—all of these are Christian vocations when undertaken by God’s children.

The confessions also speak of vocation in relation to the church (8.23, 9.45). In this light, it is a shared task, done in community with other Christians in order to fulfill God’s purposes and usher in God’s Kingdom. I believe that this particular communal aspect of Christian vocation, affirmed in the confessions, is under-represented in most discussions of Christian vocation.

The statements above reflect my priorities in understanding Christian vocation: It encompasses the entirety (mind, heart, will) of individual Christians of any profession or occupation, and it is to be done in community. Within these parameters, however, there is still a place for the Minister of Word and Sacrament. The Second Helvetic Confession notes that God “has always used ministers for the gathering…establishing…governing…preservation”of the church, and “always will…so long as the Church remains on earth” (5.142). This is appropriately tempered a few paragraphs later with the enjoinder that “we must beware that we do not attribute too much to ministers and the ministry” because only “God moves the hearts of [people]” (5.144).

My own sense is that we live in a culture where individuality is a virtue—where CEOs, athletes, and film stars are accorded celebrity status for their roles in what are actually “team” endeavors. This has filtered into the church as well, where “successful” pastors become best-selling authors, “professionals” in the art of church building, revered, studied, and imitated apart from their teams (congregations). A corrective is in order, and the cautions of the confessions must be heeded once more. Fortunately, the financial difficulties in which many contemporary churches find themselves play a helpful role here: Increasingly, churches must rely on the diverse vocational/occupational talents of congregants to do many of the things (and typically not those things enumerated by the Confessions as the realm of the minister) once done by full-time ministers who have dropped to part-time status. Ministers themselves are also increasingly becoming “tent-makers” and pursuing vocational roles outside the employment of the church.

Within this context—clinging to reformed tradition while acknowledging contemporary culture—my own ministerial calling is to be the proverbial “guide on the side” rather than the “sage on the stage.” This does not necessarily mean I will not pursue full-time employment in a church setting, and it does not excuse me from providing leadership and vision within any congregation I serve. But it does mean I am called to be flexible and open to creative employment arrangements. It also means a large part of my role will be to help individuals in a congregation to see themselves in the light of their own Christian vocations, and to contribute my own unique gifts and talents alongside them as we fulfill our Christian vocation together in community.