Last evening Sharon and I stayed at Regent for an evening lecture entitled, "Downloading our Spirituality: Why Going to Church Doesn’t Seem Necessary in this Virtual Age." It was a fascinating lecture I would recommend you download (ironic, isn't it?), but one of her main ideas is that we need community. We need people with skin on. We need to relate face-to-face. It is the way we were created in God's image. The Trinity models it. We reflect it. And we need to move away from looking at Scripture as simply the place to get answers and view it, as did the reformers, as the place to encounter the living God.
Following the 50 minute presentation, questions were taken from the audience. A twenty-something went to one microphone, and while the presenter was answering a question from the person at the other microphone, he stood there typing notes on her answer. When she finished answering the question and turned to him for his question, he was unaware of her because he was still typing the answer to the other questioner. She waited patiently for him to look up. When he did, he confessed he was busy typing her answer. He asked his question (a good one, by the way) and as she began to answer, he dropped his eyes to his laptop and proceeded to type her answer instead of remaining engaged with her as a person who was answering his question.
Had I been the presenter I think I would have stopped with my answer and patiently (I'd like to think) explained to him that I would be happy to buy him the MP3 of the lecture if he would simply stop taking notes and listen to the answer in real time from a real person. But instead she soldiered on and gave an excellent answer to his question. He thanked her and sat down.
Maybe its because of my age, and my own inability to multi-task very well, but I think the questioner vividly proved the presenter's point. As a culture we have stopped connecting with real people and simply want to get the top layer of information. As evangelicals we have done the same thing in our churches. We rate the church on the quality of the sermon, not the level at which I was able to encounter God. We don't go to participate, we go to listen (and maybe to watch). We have become passive in our worship instead of active as God intended. We have traded content for relationship.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
A Certain Irony
(Before you read further I need to stress that the friend referred to in this blog is, indeed, a friend. If he ever reads my blog, he may wonder, but I really do consider him a friend. Really. I just found the following incident ironic.)
A couple of weeks ago I received one of those forwarded e-mails from a friend of mine. It was entitled, "Too Busy for a Friend." It told a story, real or imagined, of a teacher who assigned each student the task of writing down the names of the other students on a piece of paper and then writing the nicest thing they could say about that student. The teacher collected the papers and the following day passed back to each student what their classmates had written about them. The students were surprised and pleased with what their classmates had written. As the story unfolds one of the students is killed in Viet Nam and at the funeral the deceased's parents pull the teacher aside to tell her that the student had carried that paper in his wallet all those years. One by one the classmates tell her that they, too, have carried that paper with them and have read it time and again.
The e-mail closes with these words, "So please, tell the people you love and care for, that they are special and important. Tell them, before it is too late. And one way to accomplish this is: forward this message on. If you do not send it, you will have, once again passed up the wonderful opportunity to do something nice and beautiful. If you've received this, it is because someone cares for you and it means there is probably at least someone for whom you care. If you're 'too busy' to take those few minutes right now to forward this message on, would this be the VERY first time you didn't do that little thing that would make a difference in your relationships? The more people that you send this to, the better you'll be at reaching out to those you care about."
Now here is the irony for me. I would have felt more appreciated if he had actually taken a moment to write something nice about me to me. He thought of me, yes, but what did he think about me? The closing of the e-mail intimates that he thinks I am "special and important", but why? Maybe I have a different Love Language, but I didn't feel particularly special or important since I'm technologically savvy enough to know he may have forwarded this to everyone on his e-mail list in less than a second. (Fortunately he BCC'd me so I didn't have a list to scroll through before I got to the forwarded e-mail. The downside is I also don't know if he sent it only to me because I am so "special and important" or if he included everyone in his address book.) I wish he'd taken a minute to actually replicate the real or imagined scenario and written "the nicest thing he could say" about me. Maybe he was "too busy".
A couple of weeks ago I received one of those forwarded e-mails from a friend of mine. It was entitled, "Too Busy for a Friend." It told a story, real or imagined, of a teacher who assigned each student the task of writing down the names of the other students on a piece of paper and then writing the nicest thing they could say about that student. The teacher collected the papers and the following day passed back to each student what their classmates had written about them. The students were surprised and pleased with what their classmates had written. As the story unfolds one of the students is killed in Viet Nam and at the funeral the deceased's parents pull the teacher aside to tell her that the student had carried that paper in his wallet all those years. One by one the classmates tell her that they, too, have carried that paper with them and have read it time and again.
The e-mail closes with these words, "So please, tell the people you love and care for, that they are special and important. Tell them, before it is too late. And one way to accomplish this is: forward this message on. If you do not send it, you will have, once again passed up the wonderful opportunity to do something nice and beautiful. If you've received this, it is because someone cares for you and it means there is probably at least someone for whom you care. If you're 'too busy' to take those few minutes right now to forward this message on, would this be the VERY first time you didn't do that little thing that would make a difference in your relationships? The more people that you send this to, the better you'll be at reaching out to those you care about."
Now here is the irony for me. I would have felt more appreciated if he had actually taken a moment to write something nice about me to me. He thought of me, yes, but what did he think about me? The closing of the e-mail intimates that he thinks I am "special and important", but why? Maybe I have a different Love Language, but I didn't feel particularly special or important since I'm technologically savvy enough to know he may have forwarded this to everyone on his e-mail list in less than a second. (Fortunately he BCC'd me so I didn't have a list to scroll through before I got to the forwarded e-mail. The downside is I also don't know if he sent it only to me because I am so "special and important" or if he included everyone in his address book.) I wish he'd taken a minute to actually replicate the real or imagined scenario and written "the nicest thing he could say" about me. Maybe he was "too busy".
Out of Town When the Big One Hits
Sharon checked her e-mail in Vancouver, B.C. today. A friend from the Central Coast of California had written to describe her mom's experience of today's earthquake in Southern California. Both because we are in British Columbia and because we are on vacation, we had no idea. We called Sharon's mom, and she's fine, but we both mused on what it would be like to be in British Columbia when California falls into the ocean.
As a sidenote, our son, who is staying with Sharon's mom while we're gone, called her from work today to make sure she was o.k. It's great when you see your kids grow up to be adults. Atta boy, Jon.
As a sidenote, our son, who is staying with Sharon's mom while we're gone, called her from work today to make sure she was o.k. It's great when you see your kids grow up to be adults. Atta boy, Jon.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Everyone Wants to be Historic
Historic: Significant in history, important in or affecting the course of history
Historical: Formerly existing or happening, existing, happening, or relating to the past
Driving through California, Nevada, Arizona, Utah, Idaho, Montana, Washington, British Columbia and Oregon, it has become clear that those who designate towns and sections of towns do not understand the difference between something being historical (That is, it happened or existed in the past) and historic (That is, it had a significant impact on history). What Sharon and I now say to each other as we pass yet another "Historic" district, town, province, etc, is "Historic, which being interpreted means, old."
In their defense, what these local or state officials probably meant is that this town has actually survived the usual natural disasters and real estate speculation, so this alone makes it significant. But the Historic designation seems more to be about getting people to not drive past your town or district at 75 MPH. Instead they want you to stop and spend money on things you can find at home for less. (Is my cynicism showing?)
But there may be another reason why so many people want their town or area designated as Historic. We all have an overwhelming desire to matter. We don't want our town to be forgotten. We don't want our history to be forgotten. We don't want our people to be forgotten. We want those who pass through to realize that at some level every town, and the people who live there, are historic. Certainly from a theological perspective, that is the case. Nothing and no one is insignificant to God. Even a cursory reading of the Bible shows that everything and everyone matters. Maybe I should start wearing a tag that welcomes people to "Visit Historic Paul Schliep."
Historical: Formerly existing or happening, existing, happening, or relating to the past
Driving through California, Nevada, Arizona, Utah, Idaho, Montana, Washington, British Columbia and Oregon, it has become clear that those who designate towns and sections of towns do not understand the difference between something being historical (That is, it happened or existed in the past) and historic (That is, it had a significant impact on history). What Sharon and I now say to each other as we pass yet another "Historic" district, town, province, etc, is "Historic, which being interpreted means, old."
In their defense, what these local or state officials probably meant is that this town has actually survived the usual natural disasters and real estate speculation, so this alone makes it significant. But the Historic designation seems more to be about getting people to not drive past your town or district at 75 MPH. Instead they want you to stop and spend money on things you can find at home for less. (Is my cynicism showing?)
But there may be another reason why so many people want their town or area designated as Historic. We all have an overwhelming desire to matter. We don't want our town to be forgotten. We don't want our history to be forgotten. We don't want our people to be forgotten. We want those who pass through to realize that at some level every town, and the people who live there, are historic. Certainly from a theological perspective, that is the case. Nothing and no one is insignificant to God. Even a cursory reading of the Bible shows that everything and everyone matters. Maybe I should start wearing a tag that welcomes people to "Visit Historic Paul Schliep."
Chopsticks
Our B & B in Vancouver, the Light Heart Inn (http://www.lightheartinn.ca/) is within a few blocks of Commercial Drive (http://www.thedrive.ca/), a must for any visitor to Vancouver. There are French Moroccan, Italian, Greek, Ethiopian, Mexican, Thai, Jamaican, Nepalese, Japanese, Chinese, Mongolian and other assorted restaurants. Wanting to eat ethnic while we're here, we went to the Szechuan Chongqing Seafood restaurant (http://www.szechuanchongqing.com/). We were seated at a table where the live lobsters and crabs could watch us from the comfort of their tank while we ate their friends. Rather than put them through that, we ordered the spring rolls, sweet and sour chicken, and beef broccoli and rice.
The food arrived. That's when I noticed the chop sticks where my silverware should be. Now I was in a quandry. Maybe it was because I was eating in an Asian restaurant, but suddenly saving face was a big issue. I couldn't be in the bastion of ethnic restaurants and ask for a fork. They'd know I wasn't a local. (As if my American accent hadn't already given it away.) So I picked up the chop sticks and proceeded to eat heartily. I even cleaned my plate, save for a few stray grains of rice. It was hard work and I ate much more slowly than I normally do. But I did it.
It makes me wonder. What else could I do if I simply decided to try? What skills have I never developed, simply because it would be hard and, initially, potentially embarassing? What foods have I failed to enjoy because I never tried them? More than I would care to admit, I'm sure. So during this week, we're going to try at least the Nepalese restaurant (since Kelli was there some years ago) and the Ethiopian restaurant (since our friends the McClary's spent time there and love the food). And when I get back to California, who knows? Skydiving? Underwater basketweaving?
The food arrived. That's when I noticed the chop sticks where my silverware should be. Now I was in a quandry. Maybe it was because I was eating in an Asian restaurant, but suddenly saving face was a big issue. I couldn't be in the bastion of ethnic restaurants and ask for a fork. They'd know I wasn't a local. (As if my American accent hadn't already given it away.) So I picked up the chop sticks and proceeded to eat heartily. I even cleaned my plate, save for a few stray grains of rice. It was hard work and I ate much more slowly than I normally do. But I did it.
It makes me wonder. What else could I do if I simply decided to try? What skills have I never developed, simply because it would be hard and, initially, potentially embarassing? What foods have I failed to enjoy because I never tried them? More than I would care to admit, I'm sure. So during this week, we're going to try at least the Nepalese restaurant (since Kelli was there some years ago) and the Ethiopian restaurant (since our friends the McClary's spent time there and love the food). And when I get back to California, who knows? Skydiving? Underwater basketweaving?
Do Your Children a Favor
My parents are reaching their 80’s and considering how to slow down gracefully. Part of that decision is whether to remodel the house they’ve lived in since they were married 60 years ago or to move into a smaller place that automatically requires less upkeep. They are finding it difficult to decide. One evening Sharon and I sat with them and talked through options. I had to be quite directive (wearing my interim pastor hat which allows me to cut to the chase) with them regarding all the stuff in their garage and in their basement. I told them that whether they stay where they are or move somewhere else, they have to tackle the garage and the basement. For the sake of their three children, they need to downsize their stuff by giving it away or throwing it away. They need to make decisions about their stuff while they still have decisions to make. The reality is that if they wait until they are unable to go through their own stuff (sometime in the next 20 years), my siblings and I will order a dumpster and simply fill it to the brim with their things.
For those of you who have been acquiring stuff over the years, don’t wait until your kids are sitting in the living room with you appealing to you to get started. Start offloading now. There is a great freedom in lightening your load. And your children will thank you.
For those of you who have been acquiring stuff over the years, don’t wait until your kids are sitting in the living room with you appealing to you to get started. Start offloading now. There is a great freedom in lightening your load. And your children will thank you.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
The Gift of Place
It is a point of theology with me, taken from 1 Corinthians 12, that we are given not only a spiritual gift, but a place to use it and a Holy Spirit-produced result. From time to time I am reminded how good that is. When I attended church with my parents on Sunday night I realized how grateful I am that I have been given the privilege of serving Jesus in California among Evangelical Free Church of America believers for the past 18 years. It’s not that I couldn’t minister in Coeur d’Alene, but like a missionary new to the field, I’d have to study the culture and adapt to it.
Attending the church was a vivid reminder that expressions of public worship are cultural. The forms this church uses I’m sure help the worshippers to connect with the Father. But I kept noticing the pastor in coat and tie and the use of the hymnbook and the singing of “Count Your Blessings” followed by a time of sharing “how God has blessed you.” The pastor’s sermon was much like our experience in Pennsylvania at the reformed Presbyterian church in which a member of the Sunday School class dodged the plain reading of the text “He is the propitiation for our sins, and not for ours only but also for the sins of the whole world,” (1 John 2:2) by saying that “obviously” John didn’t mean the whole world, but only those who are chosen by God to be saved. His comments during the sermon on Moses were filled with dispensational observations that left the text gutted (in my opinion) of any application of actual story and got entangled in issues of how one was saved under the old covenant and how one is saved under the new covenant and the security found in the new covenant and the lack thereof under the old covenant. (As a side bar, I wish the pastor had emphasized the fact that despite the discipline exercised on Moses, not allowing him into the land, it is clear his salvation was absolutely secure since Moses shows up at the transfiguration.)
All this to say, I have become enculturated to Central and Southern California and I love it and I’m so thankful to God for the privilege of being there. And I am grateful that there are faithful people who know and are part of the culture in Northern Idaho so that Christ is preached and lived among all people.
Attending the church was a vivid reminder that expressions of public worship are cultural. The forms this church uses I’m sure help the worshippers to connect with the Father. But I kept noticing the pastor in coat and tie and the use of the hymnbook and the singing of “Count Your Blessings” followed by a time of sharing “how God has blessed you.” The pastor’s sermon was much like our experience in Pennsylvania at the reformed Presbyterian church in which a member of the Sunday School class dodged the plain reading of the text “He is the propitiation for our sins, and not for ours only but also for the sins of the whole world,” (1 John 2:2) by saying that “obviously” John didn’t mean the whole world, but only those who are chosen by God to be saved. His comments during the sermon on Moses were filled with dispensational observations that left the text gutted (in my opinion) of any application of actual story and got entangled in issues of how one was saved under the old covenant and how one is saved under the new covenant and the security found in the new covenant and the lack thereof under the old covenant. (As a side bar, I wish the pastor had emphasized the fact that despite the discipline exercised on Moses, not allowing him into the land, it is clear his salvation was absolutely secure since Moses shows up at the transfiguration.)
All this to say, I have become enculturated to Central and Southern California and I love it and I’m so thankful to God for the privilege of being there. And I am grateful that there are faithful people who know and are part of the culture in Northern Idaho so that Christ is preached and lived among all people.
Remembering Wendell
At Sunday night church in Coeur d'Alene, I saw the widow of Wendell Little. Wendell was a contractor who went to the church I attended after I came to Christ. He hired me to tote and fetch for him. Looking back I think he hired me more so that he could influence me for Christ than for the actual work I could do for him. (I wasn’t very good at anything beyond carrying and lifting and suggesting it might be time for a coffee break.) Looking back I realize that Wendell kept shifting conversations to living out my new faith. Wendell wasn’t a systematic theologian, he was a practical theologian. He had a love for Jesus and a heart for a teenager who had just met Jesus. He never preached at me. He didn’t take me through “10 Basic Steps to Maturity” or “Design for Discipleship.” Wendell couldn’t always give me chapter and verse, but looking back I realize he gave me a model of what it meant to be a follower of Jesus. He worked me hard and sat with me over coffee and he pointed me to Jesus. Always to Jesus.
Going Home Again
As we drove through Coeur d’Alene, it was amazing how people’s names came back to me. Names I hadn’t thought of in the 38 years since I moved away. It was a graphic reminder of how much we are marked by our early years, whether we realize it or not. These were people who played a role, however large or small, in imprinting me for good and ill.
In the evangelical world we often assume, without scriptural warrant I might add, that having come to Christ we simply become new creatures and our past has no continued impact on how we view life or the choices we make. It is true that Paul exhorts us to “forget what lies behind and strain forward to what lies ahead” (Philippians 3:13) and he states clearly that “if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” (2 Corinthians 5:17) But the fact that he has to intentionally “forget what lies behind” assumes that “what lies behind” is what is most naturally what he thinks about. The reality is that we are more marked by where we’ve been than we are willing to admit. This is why we need to continually renew our minds and allow God to change us from the inside out because for years we’ve been changed from the outside in. Unless we are intentionally allowing God to disciple us in all the areas of our life, where we've been will be were we are.
In the evangelical world we often assume, without scriptural warrant I might add, that having come to Christ we simply become new creatures and our past has no continued impact on how we view life or the choices we make. It is true that Paul exhorts us to “forget what lies behind and strain forward to what lies ahead” (Philippians 3:13) and he states clearly that “if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” (2 Corinthians 5:17) But the fact that he has to intentionally “forget what lies behind” assumes that “what lies behind” is what is most naturally what he thinks about. The reality is that we are more marked by where we’ve been than we are willing to admit. This is why we need to continually renew our minds and allow God to change us from the inside out because for years we’ve been changed from the outside in. Unless we are intentionally allowing God to disciple us in all the areas of our life, where we've been will be were we are.
The Black Swan
Pocatello, Idaho, is not really on the way to much of anywhere, but if you ever get to Pocatello, be sure you stay at the Black Swan Inn. There are 12 “themed” rooms to choose from. We stayed in the Wild West room. This is the first hotel I’ve stayed in where I just kept walking around the room, chuckling. Murals of western scenes, a coyotes sitting on the faux fireplace, the sunken tub where the water goes into the tub by first running into a wooden trough, the shower head that is a watering can, the canopied bed with the red brocade bedspread, the bathroom with the crescent moon on the door. After the initial joy, I found myself continuing to chuckle throughout our stay. I don’t think we’ll paint murals on the wall at home or buy a plaster coyote (which Sharon actually threw a towel over because she thought his eyes were following her around the room), but it was great fun to stay at a poor man’s Madonna Inn.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
We're Not in California Anymore
Montana is definitely not California. For instance, in Montana they have cattle guards at the beginning of the highway ramps to keep cows from wandering onto the highway. In Clinton, Montana, they have a testicle festival (I promise I will not reference the 42rd president). The billboards (yes, billboards) announcing this annual event show a cartoon cow standing upright with his front legs crossed in front of himself looking very panicked. In Montana they have casinos in gas stations, so you can fill up your car and lose your life savings all in one stop.
Utah has its own cultural differences. In Cedar City, “Fiddler on the Roof” is part of their Shakespeare Festival. In Saint George, Utah, the Sunrise Breakfast at the Days Inn is a choice of donut, bagel, or toast and two kinds of corn flakes (frosted or unfrosted) and the worst coffee in lower 48 states. On this trip I’ve realized again that California culture is the norm by which all other cultures are measured. (See my June 30, 2008 blog on “…centric”.)
Utah has its own cultural differences. In Cedar City, “Fiddler on the Roof” is part of their Shakespeare Festival. In Saint George, Utah, the Sunrise Breakfast at the Days Inn is a choice of donut, bagel, or toast and two kinds of corn flakes (frosted or unfrosted) and the worst coffee in lower 48 states. On this trip I’ve realized again that California culture is the norm by which all other cultures are measured. (See my June 30, 2008 blog on “…centric”.)
ASR
Sharon has coined a term for me. I’m ASR. This is not to be confused with AR (anal retentive). This is anal semi-retentive. I don’t have to ALWAYS have things my way or be in control, but I do prefer things to be done the way I want them done. I don’t fixate on having forgotten to take along a tall kitchen garbage bag to put my dirty clothes in so that my dirty clothes don’t mix with those I haven’t worn yet. I think about it several times a day, but I don’t fixate on it and I simply ask my mom for one when we get to Coeur d’Alene (a full two days after leaving Huntington Beach). I do sleep better now, knowing that my dirty clothes are not mixing with my clean clothes, but that is decidedly different than if I were AR and HAD to have my clothes segregated. I don’t have control issues, unless I’m not in control.
GPS
Unlike our trip in 2003, this time we have a GPS which allows us to find where we’re going as well as nearby restaurants, gas stations, theaters, etc. On our second day we discovered the limitation of the GPS. No big picture. We were getting low on fuel and getting hungry. We asked the GPS to find us the nearest gas station and we followed the directions. The problem was, as it turned out, that the nearest gas station was 5 miles east of the highway in Logandale, Nevada. Had we had a map along, we would have noticed that just 6 miles north was a smallish town where we could have stopped for gas and for dinner. In fact, we did have dinner there.
There were other times we wondered where we were in the journey. The GPS would tell us how long until we arrived at our destination, but it didn’t tell us what was just beyond the 3.5 inch map on the screen. We had no sense of the bigger picture. It created a type of tunnel vision.
In the same way, we need other believers who help us see the bigger picture. How easily we get focused on the details, missing the fact that if we would simply invite another Christian into our life, they might be able to point out that if we simply continue the direction we’re going we’ll actually save time or energy. Or they may know that taking the trip 5 miles east will actually save us 20¢ a gallon (which it did). While we have very clear instructions in Scripture, it’s helpful to have those who have walked before us to help us see the larger context of the truth.
There were other times we wondered where we were in the journey. The GPS would tell us how long until we arrived at our destination, but it didn’t tell us what was just beyond the 3.5 inch map on the screen. We had no sense of the bigger picture. It created a type of tunnel vision.
In the same way, we need other believers who help us see the bigger picture. How easily we get focused on the details, missing the fact that if we would simply invite another Christian into our life, they might be able to point out that if we simply continue the direction we’re going we’ll actually save time or energy. Or they may know that taking the trip 5 miles east will actually save us 20¢ a gallon (which it did). While we have very clear instructions in Scripture, it’s helpful to have those who have walked before us to help us see the larger context of the truth.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Canyon View
After leaving the restaurant in Mesquite, Nevada I noticed a sign for an area called Canyon View. I laughed about how street and housing developments get named for things that are nowhere to be seen. Falcon Rim has no falcons and it not on the rim of anything. Ocean Breeze Estates is so far inland that you're lucky if you called it Oscillating Fan Estates. So as we were joking about the fact that Canyon View overlooked a rather large arroyo, but nothing more, we began our drive through the Virgin River Canyon. It is spectacular. The 45 degree angles of the striations. The shifting colors in the fading light of day. The winding river cutting its way through stone. It was the highlight of what had seemed, visually, a pretty boring day as we drove from Southern California through Las Vegas into Utah.
I have to hand it to those people in Canyon View. They got it right.
I have to hand it to those people in Canyon View. They got it right.
On the Road Again
Back in 2003, Sharon and I took an 11,000 mile, 33 state road trip. It was amazing. On that trip I journaled about things I saw and, in some cases, the spiritual parallels. (These musings became a book that is in its 4th printing. One batch of 100 at Kinkos that were actually bound and looked like a book and 3 copies on a Xerox machine on 81/2 x 11 paper.) Well, today Sharon and I hit the road again, but with a more moderate itinerary. We'll be in 8 states and British Columbia.
Toward the end of today we were using the GPS to find someplace to eat. We located Pizza Bella, an Italian restaurant in Mesquite, Nevada. The food was good and we were glad we randomly found this great little, non-franchised restaurant. As we got out of the air-conditioned car into the high 90's, low 100's Nevada heat, we both noticed the front door of the restaurant. There on the metal pull bar of the door, permanently affixed with a zip strip, was a towel. It took us both a moment to understand. This was a cultural thing. Rather than risking a lawsuit over third-degree burns on the customer's palm, these restaurateurs have anticipated what the heat does to metal door handles and the dire consequence to the very people they want to reach. Rather than sitting around complaining about the heat, they have taken steps to do what they can to minimize the problem. They certainly weren't going to be able to do anything about the heat and they probably were not going to move their restaurant to a colder clime. After all, if they moved the restaurant to Nome, what are the people in Mesquite going to do for fine Italian dining. So while they couldn't do everything, they did what they could.
How many churches today make excuses for why people won't come. The facilities, the staff, the music. I read through the book of Numbers this morning and was struck again with the incessant whining of the Israelites. Things were never good enough. In fact, slavery in Egypt looked better to them than their current circumstance. How easily we look back at the good old days and complain about today instead of doing what we can today to make each person's experience at church as good as it can be. Maybe we all need to zip strip a few more towels to our door handles and invite people in. They may find what they're looking for.
Toward the end of today we were using the GPS to find someplace to eat. We located Pizza Bella, an Italian restaurant in Mesquite, Nevada. The food was good and we were glad we randomly found this great little, non-franchised restaurant. As we got out of the air-conditioned car into the high 90's, low 100's Nevada heat, we both noticed the front door of the restaurant. There on the metal pull bar of the door, permanently affixed with a zip strip, was a towel. It took us both a moment to understand. This was a cultural thing. Rather than risking a lawsuit over third-degree burns on the customer's palm, these restaurateurs have anticipated what the heat does to metal door handles and the dire consequence to the very people they want to reach. Rather than sitting around complaining about the heat, they have taken steps to do what they can to minimize the problem. They certainly weren't going to be able to do anything about the heat and they probably were not going to move their restaurant to a colder clime. After all, if they moved the restaurant to Nome, what are the people in Mesquite going to do for fine Italian dining. So while they couldn't do everything, they did what they could.
How many churches today make excuses for why people won't come. The facilities, the staff, the music. I read through the book of Numbers this morning and was struck again with the incessant whining of the Israelites. Things were never good enough. In fact, slavery in Egypt looked better to them than their current circumstance. How easily we look back at the good old days and complain about today instead of doing what we can today to make each person's experience at church as good as it can be. Maybe we all need to zip strip a few more towels to our door handles and invite people in. They may find what they're looking for.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Reports From my Children
Nothing could make me happier than getting reports that my children continue diligently in the way of Truth! 3 John 1:4 (The Message)
Early in my ministry I didn't understand, on an experiential level, the truth of John's words in his third letter. Now that I've been involved in vocational ministry for more than 30 years, it has taken on a deeper meaning.
Over the past few weeks I have received e-mails from, or spoken to, young adults who were children in our church at Santa Margarita. At a recent wedding on the Central Coast I was also able to re-connect with people who were (and continue to be) adults in the church at Santa Margarita. In those conversations, I was delighted to hear (without my prompting or inquiring) that they were continuing to follow Jesus. When a pastor preaches and teaches week in and week out, he sometimes wonders if what he is teaching, and the example he is attempting to be, makes any difference at all. Turns out, through the power of the Holy Spirit to transform lives, it does. Most Christians, whether paid clergy or unpaid volunteer, never get to hear how God has used them to help another Christian "continue diligently in way of the Truth." But when we do, it's a great, gracious, encouraging gift.
Early in my ministry I didn't understand, on an experiential level, the truth of John's words in his third letter. Now that I've been involved in vocational ministry for more than 30 years, it has taken on a deeper meaning.
Over the past few weeks I have received e-mails from, or spoken to, young adults who were children in our church at Santa Margarita. At a recent wedding on the Central Coast I was also able to re-connect with people who were (and continue to be) adults in the church at Santa Margarita. In those conversations, I was delighted to hear (without my prompting or inquiring) that they were continuing to follow Jesus. When a pastor preaches and teaches week in and week out, he sometimes wonders if what he is teaching, and the example he is attempting to be, makes any difference at all. Turns out, through the power of the Holy Spirit to transform lives, it does. Most Christians, whether paid clergy or unpaid volunteer, never get to hear how God has used them to help another Christian "continue diligently in way of the Truth." But when we do, it's a great, gracious, encouraging gift.
Monday, June 30, 2008
...centric
When I was in St. Louis, MO last week, I was vividly reminded how centric I am. I was driving on I-44 when I came to the junction with I-270. The signs said that my options were Chicago or Memphis. Chicago or Memphis! Neither of those cities are in Missouri (I know because I checked.). Living in California the last 33 years, I've acclimated to the fact that unless you are within 10 miles of the Oregon, Nevada or Arizona border you are not going to see listings for cities outside of California. After all, why would you be leaving California anyway? Plus, we have so many cities to choose from within the state, why would we show you where else the highway goes?
How easily we all narrow our world so that we feel we can better understand and function within it. Yet how wide is our world. I love to think of myself as cosmopolitan rather than provincial, but the reality is that I am, as are you, far more provincial than I care to believe. I know "my people" and "my place" and I like it that way. And I expect others to think and act like me and my people. But if we all did that, think of how much of the glorious tapestry of God's diverse creation would be lost.
I need these periodic reminders that not all roads lead to California. And not all ways of living the Christian life or doing ministry lead to white, Germanic, Evangelical Free middle-aged men.
How easily we all narrow our world so that we feel we can better understand and function within it. Yet how wide is our world. I love to think of myself as cosmopolitan rather than provincial, but the reality is that I am, as are you, far more provincial than I care to believe. I know "my people" and "my place" and I like it that way. And I expect others to think and act like me and my people. But if we all did that, think of how much of the glorious tapestry of God's diverse creation would be lost.
I need these periodic reminders that not all roads lead to California. And not all ways of living the Christian life or doing ministry lead to white, Germanic, Evangelical Free middle-aged men.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Sunrise, Sunset
I don't remember the exact date, but I do remember the setting. I was watching "Fiddler on the Roof" for the umpteenth time in our living room in Santa Margarita. For years I had identified with the daughters and wondered why Teyve couldn't see how much they were in love and how he couldn't really control change anyway, so why not give his blessing? Now as I sat watching I thought "How can his girls tear out his heart like that? Don't they understand how much he loves them and wants the best for them?"
I knew I had crossed the Rubicon. There was no going back. I was a parent.
What I didn't know at the time was that my own children would choose, and be chosen by, wonderful adults who love Jesus and love my kids. I didn't know that I would grow to love and appreciate the people my children would marry. I certainly hoped that would be the case, (and I certainly planted those seeds early and often) but I know how uncertain life is and how wonderful and challenging free will is.
Last Friday my son proposed to his girlfriend and we couldn't be happier with his choice. She is everything he needs and he treasures her (and shows it). Turns out your kids don't have to rip your heart out. Sometimes they just break it gently by growing up.
I knew I had crossed the Rubicon. There was no going back. I was a parent.
What I didn't know at the time was that my own children would choose, and be chosen by, wonderful adults who love Jesus and love my kids. I didn't know that I would grow to love and appreciate the people my children would marry. I certainly hoped that would be the case, (and I certainly planted those seeds early and often) but I know how uncertain life is and how wonderful and challenging free will is.
Last Friday my son proposed to his girlfriend and we couldn't be happier with his choice. She is everything he needs and he treasures her (and shows it). Turns out your kids don't have to rip your heart out. Sometimes they just break it gently by growing up.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Just Because You Can...
Next weekend, Sharon and I will join a group of friends from Santa Margarita in Solvang to enjoy a PCPA production. These are friends of as many as 16 years and as few as 5 years. We've prayed together, laughed together, questioned together. They are, primarily, the people in our Home Group who meet each week to encourage each other in our journey with Christ.
When these occasions arise that allow us to spend some time our friends from the Central Coast, I begin to feel guilty that I haven't stayed in touch as much as I thought I would when we left. (That is, until I remember that they, too, haven't done much in the way of initiation of contact). I could call or e-mail regularly, but I don't. Sometimes I fear it is "out of sight, out of mind", but that just isn't the case.
What I think is happening (on both sides of the relationship) is a recognition that our primary investment of time in relationship is (and should be) with those who share physical proximity. That is, we need people "with skin on" who can help us through the seasons of life. A phone call is great for reporting information such as "How are the kids?", "Isn't it great that the Celtics lead the series 3 games to 1?", "How is the pastoral search going?" What e-mails and phone calls are not so good at is "What were you thinking?", and "Your words say one thing, your face says another", all the while placing an arm on your shoulder.
Earlier generations wrote occasional letters when someone moved away. But the expectations of how often those letters would arrive were much less than our expectations with today's instant communication. Our current expectations fail to recognize that God created us for relationships in proximity. It doesn't mean I don't love my friends from the Central Coast or that they don't love me. It doesn't mean we won't thoroughly enjoy one another's company next weekend and pick up where we left off, we will. (To paraphrase Humphrey Bogart in "Casablanca", "We'll always have the Central Coast.") What it does mean is that the idea that we will maintain the same level of intimacy over the miles is a mistaken idea. We so appreciate the fact that Paul wrote letters to friends he knew (thus giving us much of the New Testament), but repeatedly he speaks of his desire to be with them. He understood the power and blessing of relationship in proximity.
When these occasions arise that allow us to spend some time our friends from the Central Coast, I begin to feel guilty that I haven't stayed in touch as much as I thought I would when we left. (That is, until I remember that they, too, haven't done much in the way of initiation of contact). I could call or e-mail regularly, but I don't. Sometimes I fear it is "out of sight, out of mind", but that just isn't the case.
What I think is happening (on both sides of the relationship) is a recognition that our primary investment of time in relationship is (and should be) with those who share physical proximity. That is, we need people "with skin on" who can help us through the seasons of life. A phone call is great for reporting information such as "How are the kids?", "Isn't it great that the Celtics lead the series 3 games to 1?", "How is the pastoral search going?" What e-mails and phone calls are not so good at is "What were you thinking?", and "Your words say one thing, your face says another", all the while placing an arm on your shoulder.
Earlier generations wrote occasional letters when someone moved away. But the expectations of how often those letters would arrive were much less than our expectations with today's instant communication. Our current expectations fail to recognize that God created us for relationships in proximity. It doesn't mean I don't love my friends from the Central Coast or that they don't love me. It doesn't mean we won't thoroughly enjoy one another's company next weekend and pick up where we left off, we will. (To paraphrase Humphrey Bogart in "Casablanca", "We'll always have the Central Coast.") What it does mean is that the idea that we will maintain the same level of intimacy over the miles is a mistaken idea. We so appreciate the fact that Paul wrote letters to friends he knew (thus giving us much of the New Testament), but repeatedly he speaks of his desire to be with them. He understood the power and blessing of relationship in proximity.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Hearing from my Fans
How great is this. I have heard from all three people who read my blog. The friend I wrote about in my last post called the night I published it to ask if he had really offended me and didn't I understand he was kidding. I guess my tongue wasn't clearly enough placed in my cheek when I wrote the post. I thought the copyright logo on Kleenex would give it away.
Then another friend wrote me to tell me the guy I referred to probably wouldn't go to a movie with me unless it was Rambo. I laughed out loud (LOL) because I can't imagine the guy whose chain I was yanking would be caught dead (no movie allusion intended) in a Rambo movie. She encouraged me to keep writing, which I promise I will. Especially if I can elicit responses so quickly by being facetious.
My third reader, a friend who also happens to be my wife, just laughed about my being able to punk my I-will-never-go-to-a-movie-with-you friend.
So, to all three of you, thanks for making my day. I'll keep writing and I'll try to insert a winking emoticon when I'm not being serious.
Then another friend wrote me to tell me the guy I referred to probably wouldn't go to a movie with me unless it was Rambo. I laughed out loud (LOL) because I can't imagine the guy whose chain I was yanking would be caught dead (no movie allusion intended) in a Rambo movie. She encouraged me to keep writing, which I promise I will. Especially if I can elicit responses so quickly by being facetious.
My third reader, a friend who also happens to be my wife, just laughed about my being able to punk my I-will-never-go-to-a-movie-with-you friend.
So, to all three of you, thanks for making my day. I'll keep writing and I'll try to insert a winking emoticon when I'm not being serious.
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