The Inklings

I just got done reading “Mere Christianity” by C.S. Lewis. Not really noteworthy, except for the way in which I read it. Instead of reading on my own, I read with a small group of people.

Every week since early September, on Sunday evenings at 5:30, seven or eight of us gathered in a room here at the church and read aloud, stopping every page or so to ask questions, offer insights, and process what we were reading. We had a wonderful experience; we called ourselves “The Inklings” in honor of the discussion group Lewis was a part of at Oxford in the 1930s and 40s.

I would definitely recommend this process to anyone who has ever wanted to read a weighty theological book, but couldn’t find the motivation, or was a bit intimidated, or just didn’t know exactly where to begin.

Here are a few of the things I learned in the process:

- There was no curriculum other than what came out of our own minds in the moment. That made for some fantastic conversation and some energetic back-and-forth of ideas. It also led to some very interesting, albeit tangential, conversations about all kinds of things from cabbage to terrorism to amusing English idioms. Since we were not restricted by a curriculum, we were free to take the conversation where it wanted to go naturally, although always returning to the book itself to move things along.

- We took turns reading aloud, which gave us the opportunity to hear several different voices. It is fascinating to learn about who somebody is by listening to them read aloud. Tone of voice, inflection, syllabic emphasis choices – each reader brings their own personality to the task of reading, and in so doing offers a bit of themselves to the group. And to hear words read aloud as you are reading them yourself deepens the impact of their meaning.

- It is so fun to hear how others react when an idea strikes their fancy. There were many times that another person’s reaction to a particular thought was more significant than my own, which always made me pause to ask them what had been so meaningful to them. Comments were made as the reader went along – “Oh I like that!” “That’s a good one!” or even just “Wow!” And there were definitely moments when the entire group all reacted at the same time, and it was really exciting to be a part of the synergy of thought.

- One of the most interesting parts of the process was the way in which members of the group made connections to “real life” experiences. The Syrian refugee crisis was an ongoing story this fall, and often came up in our conversations. We talked about Pope Francis, presidential candidates, racial issues on campus, war in the middle east, and gun violence, among other things. Often the connections that others made were not necessarily ones I would have made myself, which was sometimes puzzling but always illuminating.

So now we are going to take a break, but decided last night to pick up another book in the new year. We chose “The Cost of Discipleship” by Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Yep. We’re going for it! As one said last night, “I’ve always wanted to read it, but never would have on my own. The only way I would read it is with a group, so I’m in!

I truly think that people long to “go deep” spiritually, to spend time wrestling with heavy thoughts, thoughts that are worth thinking, and we’re much more likely to do that together than alone. So pick a book, get some people together, and start reading. It’s easy. You can start your own “Inklings” right where you are!

Well Maybe It IS My Parents' Offering Plate, After All

There is a lot to like about “Not Your Parents’ Offering Plate,” a book about money and the church by J. Clif Christopher.

People give to support a mission that is making a difference in people’s lives and that they can therefore truly believe in - yes.

It is not a great idea to appeal to “making our budget” as a way to get people to give - yes.

There are multiple ways to give, including regular income, capital, and estate giving - yes.

It doesn’t make sense to describe a poor financial situation and then expect people to give to a “failing” project - yes.

Sending regular “thank yous” to people who have given significantly to the church is always a good idea - yes.

All good stuff, all very helpful.

But when he tries to ground his ideas theologically and scripturally, I do not find it to be quite so helpful. In fact, I’m not quite sure how his ideas are connected to the theology he offers. The theological concerns I have with this book are the same two theological concerns I have with much of the contemporary church - Christology and ecclesiology.

Christology
The Church today adheres to a dramatically impoverished Christology. I believe this to be the central issue confronting church leaders today. We have no idea who Jesus really is, but we like to pretend that we do, and in the process often use Jesus as a means to achieve our desired end.

As it seems this book does when we are told that Jesus “had a great concern for the wealthy” in that he “knew how easily money could draw them away from their heavenly Father.” The rhetorical question is then posed: “With whom was Jesus more concerned about being able to enter the Kingdom of Heaven … the rich or the poor?” The argument is then made that we as pastors are supposed to get people to give money to the church as a way to “save their souls.”

Ah! Nothing like a little works righteousness to get your heart pumping, is there? I find it very difficult to agree with the notion that Jesus has a preferential option for the wealthy.

We must not minimize Jesus into a convenient means to get what we want. In this case, what the author wants is for people to give money to the church, and so Jesus becomes a fundraiser for heaven, skillfully convincing them to relinquish their resources in order to win God’s favor. Or in another case, what we might want is a congregation with a bigger worship attendance, so Jesus becomes the recruitment officer for God’s army, whose only purpose is to get people enrolled in the organization.

Ecclesiology
And speaking of the organization, since when did the church become an entity inhabiting a separate location than the people? Isn’t it true anymore that “I am the church; you are the church; we are the church together”? Or was that just a cute little Sunday School song that we are using to brainwash our kiddies into thinking they are actually important? (he said sarcastically.)

Throughout the book, the people are considered to be separate from the church. This is just plain bad ecclesiology. The entire premise is that “people” give to “the church,” and that just doesn’t make any sense to me. A representative sentence: “We must learn to answer the question our donors are asking us, ‘Why should I give to you?’”

Offering isn’t giving “to the church,” it is Christian discipleship. It is an act of worship. It is the church giving of itself in order to accomplish God’s mission. It is a part of our response to the grace of God given to us through the faithfulness of Jesus Christ and enlivened by the presence of the Holy Spirit in our midst. Or to put it another way, “Growing in the grace of giving is a response Christian disciples offer to God’s call to make a difference in the world.” (Bishop Robert Schnase)

To me, this is a more faithful approach to finances, and I know from experience that it is an approach that works. It is the approach we have taken in two different congregations in which I have served, and it has been effective at both of them. Both congregations were actively engaged in local and global ministries, and continue to make significant and transformative impact in the lives of people. (That’s not nearly as much experience as Clif Christopher has, but it ought to count for something.)

My ecclesiology does not make it possible for me to think in terms of the church as an organization, but more as an organism. (I can’t remember where I originally heard this distinction, but it’s not mine originally, that’s for sure.) I know that there are structures everywhere; even clouds have structure (thank you Dr. Robert Martin). And yet we shouldn’t think that the people are separate from that structure. Far from it - the people comprise the structure itself.

And so, what do I do with a book that has some excellent practical suggestions but derives them from a theology that I personally cannot agree with? Plus, I’m not so sure that Christopher makes the connection between the theology he holds and the practical suggestions he derives. It almost feels like he came up with some practical ideas and then tried to justify them scripturally and theologically.

It’s a tough one for me, too, because coming from my own theological perspective, I have arrived at many of the very same practical suggestions that this book does. Now how did that happen?

Maybe it says something about trying to universalize ideas that really are very contextual. My approach has worked in the places I have served, but probably wouldn’t elsewhere.

One of the things I have heard over and over in the places I have served is how tired people are of the church “asking for money” all the time. To me, this book feels like just another way to ask people for money, rather than infusing the church with an attitude of extravagant generosity.

If anyone is still reading by this point, I welcome your thoughts…

No Longer Teeth Grinding, But Still Reading... Part 3

A light bulb went on as I read “Breaking the Missional Code” yesterday. It helps explain a lot of my reactions to the book. On page 79, the authors reveal that both of them “grew up in non-Christian homes,” and then one describes the significant experience he had in beginning his relationship with Jesus.

In other words, for both of them, there is a time in their life that they were not in a relationship with Jesus, and they remember the moment it began. Their moment of justification is of the type that is a clear reorientation from “no Jesus” to “know Jesus.” I think this is what leads them to eschew tradition, nuance, and complexity in favor of making new converts.

I think they are projecting too much of their own personal experience into their book without acknowledging that it comes from their own personal experience.

Because my own faith journey does not include such a moment, I am feeling as though my experience is being belittled and minimized. As if, because I grew up in church, my spiritual life doesn’t count somehow, and I have to discount all of it in order to be truly faithful. So I confess that I am projecting my own personal experience into my reading of this book, and allowing that to influence my perception of their ideas.

Because my passion is for reaching people who have either been wounded by the church or for whom the church has ceased to be meaningful, and not necessarily for introducing the church to people for the first time, I envision the Missio Dei differently than these authors do. I affirm that their approach is a very important part of what the church is supposed to be doing, but I cannot go as far as they do, and claim that it is the only thing the church is supposed to be doing.

And so I flatly reject their notion that “either the lost like you or the satisfied religious crowd likes you” (p. 80), and I find it unhelpful that they make such simplistic, sweeping claims like this as if they are unassailable truth. But maybe they aren’t doing that; maybe their main idea is less narrow than I am perceiving it. Maybe they aren’t really saying that the stuff we’re supposed to be doing is an either/or proposition, rather than a both/and. But to me, it sure seems like that’s what they’re saying.

However, since I made this realization about the authors’ backgrounds, I have been able to process the book differently. There is a lot of overlap in their particular interpretation of mission and/or evangelism (I still am having trouble figuring out their distinction) and mine.

For example, I love what they do with the idea of “spiritual warfare.” Calling much of what is available on spiritual warfare “odd,” both in books on the subject as well as in Scripture, they reconstruct the notion to include some of my favorite "demons" to "battle" – things like apathy, consumerism, and image. It is these “strongholds” that we must address to fulfill the mission at hand, they say.

But on the other hand, I do not appreciate their characterization of “deeper” theology as “minutia” (p. 80). And I wonder what they mean when they indicate that the kind of people they are talking about “can and do go deeper” later on in that section. What do they mean by “deeper,” then? I have spent 40 years (almost) exploring Christianity, and I feel as though I have only the tiniest hint of what it is all about.

Through six chapters of “Breaking,” I have reacted with a mix of agreement and disagreement. But now at least I have a fuller appreciation for the authors’ perspectives. I kind of wish they had mentioned that earlier in the book.

If you’ve read this, thanks for sticking with me. One of the reasons I’m digging into this is to prime my writing pump, and it’s primed, baby! So I’m going to finish up this book and write about it all along the way. On to chapter seven!




Part 1 - Part 2

Teeth-Grinding Reading, Part Two

Well, the book (“Breaking the Missional Code”) is getting better in that there is less teeth grinding going on as I read it. Though I suppose that could mean that my mood has changed and the book has stayed the same. I have read through chapter 5 now, and have read some helpful things. However…

When the authors define the Gospel, they seem to leave a whole lot out. Drawing from Luke 24:46-48, they write, “Here is the message – ‘repentance and forgiveness of sins to be preached in his name to all nations.’ When it becomes something other than repentance and forgiveness, then the gospel itself is lost in the process” (p. 39).

In selecting this one thought to focus on, their definition neglects much of Scripture. I personally believe that there is much more to the Gospel than repentance and forgiveness. As significant as these two ideas are, it just seems to me that there is more.

I suppose my theology is offended by such a narrow definition of what God is doing. Of course I include repentance and forgiveness in my understanding of the Missio Dei, the Mission of God, but do not limit it to just that. And that brings me to another observation about “Breaking the Missional Code,” the respective definitions of “mission” and “evangelism.”

“Evangelism is telling people about Jesus; missions involves understanding them before we tell them,” they wrote in the introduction (p. 3). I actually had to read the sentence three times to make sure they had said what I first thought they said. See, I happen to believe that evangelism also involves understanding the people with whom we share Christ; in fact evangelism is impossible if it doesn’t. And I have a deeper understanding of missions altogether.

Their definitions do not stay consistent, however, and they contradict themselves, or so it seems, later when they say things like, “…leaders that break the code are recognizing that ‘nonrelational evangelism’ is a contradiction” (p. 65). I agree wholeheartedly with this statement, but it makes me wonder about their previously stated distinction between “evangelism” and “missions.”

Are the two now synonyms?

See, when I think “evangelism,” I think “sharing my faith with another person.” When I think “missions,” I think “rectifying a situation that is not as God desires.” (It just so happens that when I am working to rectify a situation that is not as God desires, I am sharing my faith with another person, since my faith is what teaches me to do so.)

Take, for example, this quote from the book: “A truly biblical church will ask, ‘What will it take to transform this community by the power of the gospel?’” (p. 51). Which is a GREAT sentence, isn’t it? To “transform the community” is a mission to get behind, and why stop there? The church exists to change the world, for God’s sake!

NOT SO FAST – apparently we are supposed “to be on mission where God has placed us … not thirty miles away, not three hundred miles away, not three thousand miles away” (p. 31). Apparently the Gospel is not as far-reaching as we were led to believe!

So you know all those mission trips you have planned to the Gulf Coast or Haiti or Guatemala or Mozambique? Don’t worry about them; just stay put where you are and work on breaking down your own community. I guess those other places will just take care of themselves or something.

Seriously though, in my opinion, the Missio Dei calls us to an awareness of global interconnectedness that is so much bigger than what this book is asking.

And furthermore, even when it comes to undertaking God’s mission in one’s own local community, I still take exception to the notion that “they” are speaking a code that “we” have to break. (“They” being people in the community and “we” being the church.) My theology really isn’t able to make such a harsh divide between “us” and “them.” In my mind, it’s all “us.”

Is it not a bit arrogant, self-centered, and proud of “us” to think of “us” as having the power to break “them” so that “they” can understand the message “we” have to give “them”?

As great a concept as community transformation is, every single example in the book, through five chapters, mentions nothing at all about the transformation of communities. The specific citations of churches that understand this new “missional” reality are only of churches that have increased in size, even as the authors say specific things like, “For us, the size of our churches is less important than the transformation of community, nation, and world…” (p. 68) (Except for that part back on page 31 where they told us not to go anywhere except your own local community, but I digress.)

It may very well be true that the authors value community transformation over church growth, but so far in every one of the stories told as examples, success has been defined by increasing numbers of people in the church, which as we well know may or may not translate to actually transforming the community.

Okay, so I’m going to get started on chapter six, and see if maybe some of the good stuff starts outweighing the not so good stuff. Onward!


This is the second post in a series responding to my reading of “Breaking the Missional Code.”

Some Teeth-Grinding Reading Observations

I am reading a book that is really making me angry. Contributing to this is, undoubtedly, the series of difficult ministry issues that have happened over the last month, which already had me in a rather grumpy disposition. (And, incidentally, have prevented me from writing anything as well.)

So I re-enter the endeavor of writing by engaging this book, and exploring with you who care to read along just exactly how it is ticking me off. I’ve read the introduction and the first two chapters of “Breaking the Missional Code” so far, and the ideas presented up to this point have been clichéd, redundant, and even archaic. Here’s three:

1 - Page 2, still in the introduction, we encounter this thought: “Missions history is filled with stories of great revivals because missionaries were able to ‘break the code,’ and the church exploded in their community.”

Wow. So many things to say about that.

Missions history is actually filled with stories about cultural pillage in which arrogant Europeans basically destroyed beautiful communities in the name of Jesus. To ignore this is irresponsible. (Perhaps the authors will address it later in the book.) When missionaries, for example, forced Native American children to wear shoes and sit on hard wooden desks learning English, they were not “breaking a code” for the sake of offering a relationship with God. It was cruel, it was horrifying, and we need to say that out loud. We also need to say that to talk about the church “exploding” is probably not the best way to describe a history with a lot of violence.

2 - Page 5, to set the tone for the whole book, we read that Christians need to “…break through the resistance” to “the church and the gospel message.”

Wow. Where do these guys live?

There’s just not that much “resistance” to the church anymore that needs “breaking.” We are not at war with anyone here. This approach makes the church sound like enhanced interrogators working over a prisoner or something – yuck! The prevalent attitude in our communities is apathy, not antagonism. If we go about this process with the mindset of countering resistance, we are tilting windmills. There’s nothing noble about fighting against something that is not present. We call those tantrums, and they are never pretty. Apathy is very different than resistance, and the church needs to realize that before deciding how to share the love of God.

3 - Chapter 2 lists seven pastors that comprise a “new breed” of pastors that understand the new reality and the authors want us to see as examples. A good idea, but here’s the kicker – every single one of them is a white man.

Along with this subtle narrow-mindedness, the authors actually affirm that uniform sameness is a strength of the congregations they highlight. “We have discovered that when the growing core of leaders, the pastoral leadership, and the community are from the same tribe, then the potential for impact is significant.” Well, so much for diversity. Although they do say that it is okay if different congregations look different from each other. “Churches should function differently from location to location. When it comes to the kingdom of God, uniformity is not a value.” I wonder what the authors think about the common lament that Sunday morning is the most segregated hour of the week. Their thesis seems to be, one church can look different from the next, but people in a church should all look the same. I’m sorry, but I just can’t go there.

Those are three ideas from the first three sections of the book that made me grit my teeth a bit as I read them. And I fully intend to read the entire book, so I may need a mouthguard. But maybe it will get better as we go along.

There was one good idea I read: “We value technique, and sometimes it keeps us from hearing God’s voice and vision regarding our church.” Amen to that! There is far too much emphasis on “technique” in church leadership training these days, and far too little theology. Yes, that may be an attempt to compensate for years of too much theology and not enough technique. But I feel there has been an over-reaction, and completely agree with the authors’ assertion. So there, it’s not all bad!

If you’ve actually cared enough to read this far, I commend you. Engaging this book is my way to get my writing momentum back again, so I crave your indulgence for a few posts as I do so. Thanks!

New Year Resolutions

In 2011, I have a few things that I am going to resolve to do.


1) When it comes to the health of my mind/body/spirit, I am going to adhere to the advice my 93 year old grandmother gave me this week. “Always remember to pray. Work hard. And take good care of your kids.” She told me this as we visited her in the nursing home, Erin and I sitting on her bed and Nanny in her chair, facing us. There were tears in her eyes (and ours), and we held each other’s hands as her simple, profound wisdom was spoken.

That advice kind of epitomizes the way Nanny lives her life, too. And her approach to living has served her well for nine decades, so I suppose we might do well to adopt it. “After all I’ve been through,” she told us, “I don’t really know how I’m still here.” And she paused. “I guess it would be better to say I don’t really know why. Why me?” And she paused again, and kind of looked off into space for a few seconds. “But,” she shrugged and smiled, “here I am, anyway.”


2) When it comes to church, I am going to enjoy the experiencables, recount the describables, and avoid obsessing over the measurables.

- There are measurables, like how many people attend worship every week or how many participate in a faith development class or how many go on a mission trip or how many professions of faith are made, and so forth.
- There are describables, like the layout of a building or the flow of a worship service or the goal of a mission project or a Bible study lesson plan, and so forth.
- And there are experiencables, aspects of a congregation that you cannot hope to measure or adequately describe, but must be felt first hand.

All are important, but they are not equivalent, and furthermore I have consistently placed a higher value on the measurables than the other two. That ends in 2011. I do not think it is even worth trying to rank them in any way; each has a distinct and inherent value. And so I resolve to simply enjoy the moments that can only be experienced to be appreciated, talk and write extensively about those moments that can and should be described, and allow the things that can be measured to be just one among several ways to describe the health of the congregation.


3) In my personal life, getting specific, I am going to
a) Take a hike in the woods once a week.
b) Audition for (at least) two shows at Springfield Little Theater.
c) Sit down at the piano to compose for (at least) three hours a week.
d) Read good books instead of watching junky television shows.


These three resolutions seem to me to be a pretty good start for the new calendar year. Flipping the calendar is kind of arbitrary, just another number on just another page of just another calendar. And so many “New Year Resolutions” tend toward the selfish end of things, intended to impact no further than our own selves.

But this date does offer a chance to reflect and renew, and resolve to become better people, and that’s not a bad thing. I hope that our resolutions this year will be more than just a financial boon for fitness clubs, programs to help you quit smoking, and the latest greatest weight loss diet plan. I hope that they will really be geared toward living better lives in community with one another, and becoming the people God wants us to become.

Two Books Diverged in a Yellow Wood

I am currently reading “The Shack” and “Valis” at the same time. As a result, my mind is kind of splitting in two.

I’m not very far along in The Shack yet, but I’ve heard enough about it that I kind of see where it’s going. And I’m about halfway through Valis. So both books are incomplete, though it is interesting to anticipate how each is presenting the theme of God communicating with people, albeit in dramatically different ways.

In The Shack, God initiates an encounter by putting a note in a guy’s mailbox. In Valis, God initiates an encounter by sending a beam of pink light that is comprised of pure information directly into a guy’s mind. The Shack refers to God as “Papa;” Valis names God “Zebra.” The crisis in The Shack is the murder of a daughter; the crises in Valis involve drugs and cancer and mental illness, to name a few. So they are actually pretty good books to read together.

But the reason my mind is splitting in two has to do with the level of mental energy each book absorbs. So, if for some reason I am not fully engaged with Valis, and a sentence slips by without me, I’m lost. There is naught to do but go back and re-read it, because the writing is so thick and every word important. It is the kind of book that I have to set down every now and then in order to process the paragraph I have just read.

On the other hand, The Shack is very easy to read, since it is pulled along by the plot (at least so far). I mean, sometimes I may even doze off for a page and when I wake up I find that I’m able to just continue on, filling in the gaps as I go. I’m waiting for the juicy, “controversial” stuff to happen, which might be a bit more engaging, but so far I’m not seeing what all the buzz is about. It is a good mystery novel up to this point, to be sure, so we’ll see what happens with it.

Both of the books are great; I enjoy both ways to read. The complex, heady stuff in Valis charges me up in a very powerful way. And the catchy, surface level storyline of The Shack is fun to read, and makes me want to see what’s next. So I decide which book to take up and read based on what mood I’m in!

If I’m kind of tired and want a good story to occupy my mind, I read The Shack. If I’m clicking on all cylinders and want some intellectual stimulation, I pick up Valis.

Anyway, this post is pretty narcissistic, isn’t it? Let’s see, how to redeem it?

Oh, I know…

So how many books do you have going at the moment? Do you like to read just to occupy your mind, or do you like to read to stimulate your thinking? Or both?

What’s the best “just occupy your mind” book you’ve read? What’s the best “stimulate your thinking” book you’ve read?

There, now this post isn’t all about me!