Words, and a Prayer

Self-expression provides identity and proves existence. And my words often give me an unholy identity and existence. I would imagine that most of you feel similarly—or at least have in the past. So many times I not only regret what I say, but also what I do not.

The reflection and prayer from Michel Quoist that I provide below has really made me consider the severity of speech. I hope it enlightens you as you pray with him (as I try to do as much as I can).

I Spoke, Lord**
Speech is God’s gift. We shall have to account for it. It is through words that we communicate with each other and that we reveal what we are. We haven’t the right to be silent, but speaking is a serious matter, and we must weigh our words in the sight of God.

I spoke, Lord, and I am furious.
I am furious because I worked so hard with gestures and with words.
I threw my whole self into them, and I’m afraid the essential didn’t get across.
For the essential is not mine, and words alone are too shallow to hold it.
I spoke, Lord, and I am worried.
I am afraid of speaking, for speaking is serious;
It’s serious to disturb others, to bring them out, to keep them on their doorsteps;
It’s serious to keep them waiting, with outstretched hands and longing hearts, seeking for light or some courage to live and act.
Suppose, Lord, that I should send them away, empty-handed!

And yet, I must speak.
You have given me speech for a few years, and I must make us of it.
I owe my soul to others, and words are crowding to my lips to bring it to them.
For the soul could hardly express itself if speech were taken from it.
We know nothing of the infant inside its little body,
And the whole family rejoices when, word by word, phrase by phrase, its soul is revealed to them.
But when one of the family is dying, the others stand despairing by his bed, listening intently to his last words.
He passes on, locked in silence, and his relatives will no longer know his soul, once they have shut his eyes and closed his lips.

Speech, Lord, is a gift, and I have no right to be quiet through pride, cowardice, negligence or apathy.
Others have a right to my words, to my soul,
For I have a message from you to give them,
And none other that I, Lord, can give it to them.
I have something to say—short perhaps, but welling up from my life—from which I cannot turn.
But my words must be true words.
It would be a breach of trust to seek the attention of another, and under the cover of words not to reveal the truth of the soul.
The words that I pour out must be living words, full of the mysteries that my unique soul has grasped, mysteries of the world and of man.
The words that I speak must be conveyors of God, for the lips that you have given me, Lord, are made to reveal my soul, and my soul knows you and holds you close.

–

Forgive me, Lord, for having spoken so badly,
Forgive me for having spoken often to no purpose;
Forgive me for the days when I tarnished my lips with hollow words,
false words,
cowardly words,
words through which you could not pass.
Uphold me when I must speak in a meeting, intervene in a discussion, talk with a brother.
Grant above all, Lord, that my words may be like the sowing of seeds,
And that those who hear them may look to a fine harvest.

**This can be found in his Prayers (Kansas City, MO: Sheed & Ward, 1963), 69-71.

Hope: My Father's Prayers

My father and I are two very different people. And that has always confused me a great deal.

I love to talk. To communicate. To express myself. Most of you who know me know that is an understatement! I am a very vocal person. It is just my nature. I thrive off of conversation. Exchange of ideas. Disagreement. Challenge. Well-worded statements. Poetry. And when I have something happening in my life—good or bad—I like to talk and write until it all makes sense.

But my father is not like that. He doesn’t like to talk. Rarely is he deeply engaged by the beauty of articulate self-expression. It is just not his style. And whenever he has something going on, he never tries to figure it out with words. He likes to be alone. He lets the ideas work instead of his mouth. So he fishes. He plays golf. He does yard work. All of this when there is something going on in his life. All of this alone.

I like to think that my father is praying when he is alone.

Robert Frost said the something quite similar about the tree in his poem Birches. But he knew it wasn’t real. I do not. He invented the boy to make reality bearable. Doable. Liveable. Interesting. Alive.

I do more than invent a man’s faith, I hope. I acknowledge it. I hope that he prays through those experiences. I hope that he is growing closer to God each and every moment he spends alone. That in some way his “alone time” is not alone time at all, but is an outlet for communion with God.

I like to think he prays alone.

Didn’t Jesus do that every now and then?

I wrote this on Father’s Day, 2007. And I love my dad.

Julian: My Sister, My Teacher

I have been reading a lot of medieval mystic spiritual literature lately. And I have found it to be fascinating. The depth of spirituality that is so often expressed in literature from that time period is amazing and refreshing. They thought so differently than I do it is almost like we are speaking two different languages about the same God. But, like all such experiences, this encounter with another worldview has been a stretching exercise for me. And I know God is still speaking through these men and women.

Here are a few quotes from Julian of Norwich** that I have found especially thought- provoking. She was a mystic hermit who lived most of her life in a small room, not unlike a cell, giving spiritual guidance through a window to people in Norwich (then a major urban center in England) during the 14^th and 15^th centuries CE. Both her life and writings are extremely theologically rich. I will keep my commentary to a minimum on these in hopes that they will impact you as they did me. One word of advice, though…go slowly. This needs to be chewed.

On the presence of God:
A man walks upright, and the food in his body is shut in as if in a well-made purse. When the time of his necessity comes, the purse is opened and then shut again, in most seemly fashion. And it is God who does this, and it is shown when he says that he comes down to us in our humblest needs. (186)

And therefore the blessed Trinity is always wholly pleased with all its works; and God revealed all this most blessedly, as though to say: See, I am God. See, I am in all things. See, I do all things. See, I never remove my hands from my works, nor ever shall without end. See, I guide all things to the end that I ordain them for, before time began, with the same power and wisdom and love with which I made them; how should anything be amiss? (199)

On the Passion—or is it tithing?:
All the Trinity worked in Christ’s Passion, administering abundant virtues and plentiful grace to us by him; but only the virgin’s Son suffered, in which all the blessed Trinity rejoice. And this was shown to me when he said: Are you well satisfied? And by what Christ next said: If you are well satisfied, I am well satisfied; it was as if he had said: This is joy and delight enough for me, and I ask nothing else from you for my labour but that I may satisfy you.

And in this he brought to my mind the qualities of a cheerful giver. Always a cheerful giver pays only little attention to the thing which he is giving, but all his desire and all his intention is to please and comfort the one to whom he is giving it. And if the receiver accept the gift gladly and gratefully, then the courteous giver counts as nothing all his expense and labour, because of the joy and the delight that he has because he has pleased and comforted the one whom he loves. Generously and completely was this revealed to me. (219-20)

Toward a theology of prayer:
Prayer unites the soul to God, for though the soul may always be like God in nature and substance restored by grace, it is often unlike him in condition, through sin on man’s part. Then prayer is a witness that the soul wills as God wills, and it eases the conscience and fits man for grace. And so he teaches us to pray and to have firm trust that we shall have it; for he beholds us in love, and wants to make us partners in his good will and work. And so he moves us to pray for what it pleases him to do, and for this prayer and good desire which come to us by his gift he will repay us, and give us eternal reward. And this was revealed to me when he said: If you beseech it. (253)

—

I hope that you read this with the depth that it calls for. It can be a bit distracting. The first quote about God causing bowel movements was admittedly a little strange for me at first, too! But it is so crucial that we see that she is really not talking about bodily functions. She is talking about God’s presence—even in the most mundane of things. The extraordinary lives in the ordinary.

Or how about the play with the wording of 2 Corinthians 9 with reference to the Passion? I thought that verse was about the offering! I hear it all the time in church, but never like she is presenting it here. I thought her interpretation brilliant.

And how often do I sit back and engage my own prayer life in order to see what is really going on? I wonder what kinds of changes I’d make in my prayer life if I really saw it as being a process of growing closer to God.

I hope you found all this as interesting as I did. I know this is not something you hear everyday. So what do you think? Agree? Disagree?

My best.

**All subsequent Julian quotes are taken from her Showings (New York: Paulist Press, 1978).

Youth

Donald Miller made an interesting observation in his Through Painted Deserts that has sparked a pretty good bit of discussion with several of my friends. He was talking about the night before he and his friend Paul left for their trek across America when all of their friends came by to wish them well. He said, “We wished they could join us, and they wished likewise, but school and work owned their youth.”**

I have really thought a lot about that statement. Especially because I am in a library right now watching the sun go down. It is gorgeous. It just rained. The sky is an orange-red masterpiece. I am 23, and this is how I spend my nights: studying, reading, and writing. So what separates me from Donald Miller’s friends? Does school “own my youth”?

Yes.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not saying that I am ungrateful for that which I have. I know I am one of the most blessed people in the history of humanity to have the opportunity to study like I do.

But sometimes it just gets a little old doing this everyday. And I wonder about the validity of someone my age doing the things that I do. I guess what I am searching for is an understanding as to the why. Why am I spending all of my time with a nose in a book? When I look back on this time in life as an adult, will I think that it was a royal waste of time and money? Will I be glad I did it? Oh, and the more practical questions, Will this M.Div. really help me find a better job?

And the answer to all of the above questions is, “I do not know.” Truthfully, I do not know how I will view much of anything in a few years. All I can do is trust that I am being formed by this degree and the whole of my educational experience for the better. And I think that is true.

This post is really just long way of saying that I think it is important to see the value of each stage of life. So often I talk to people who feel as though they are in a perpetual state of transition—myself included. Or at the very least we feel negatively toward the place in life in which we find ourselves. We are living in “that time,” and not this time. And I think that is unhealthy.

Right?

**This quote can be found in his Through Painted Deserts (Nashville: Nelson Books, 2005), 7.

Theologically Reflecting on Art, Part 2: Jesus and Movies

Now, let’s ask the question of the hour: Why are we doing this? Why are we having this talk about a movie? To answer, I would first say that this is not simply a discussion about a movie. To see it as such is to miss the point. We are communally engaging in a “feast” of theologically rich art. We are reflecting on a shared experience. We should view it as nothing less. That is the beauty of art. It doesn’t objectively tell you what you need to know. It presents a particular idea to you and allows you the responsibility and privilege of interpreting it. And as with any art, it is much better to engage in communal reflection than individual reflection. (Why is it that we keep coming back to that point over and over and over again when dealing with Christianity?)

And this is a very biblical idea. From the very first verse in the Bible we see God’s people expressing themselves artistically—with poetry, prose, and narrative. While there are some books passages that are much more literarily mature than others, all of the Bible is fantastic literature.

One of the most dangerous things Christians can do is to neglect to see the Bible as art.

But the Bible also presents us with many models of theological education. The most important of which, in my humble opinion, is that of Jesus. And how did he teach more often than not? That’s right…through parables.

Let’s think about what a parable is: it is a story that is presenting a reality about which we are encouraged to reflect—drawing a deeper understanding than we might from, say, a law code or someone else’s mail. There is rarely one single point. In fact, there is rarely even one angle from which to view them. That is the beauty of this art form: it allows us to engage on a deeper level than basically any other teaching method. Modern Christian educators would perhaps call them “Case Studies” of sorts. No wonder Jesus used this method!

So would it be so incredibly heretical if I proposed in this essay that movies can be modern parables? Many are not nearly as theologically rich as, say, Babette’s Feast, but there are so many movies out there that can be used in many of the same ways we use Jesus’ parables (see the list below).

So by producing and engaging theologically rich art, we are actually following the teaching model of Jesus much more appropriately than if we were to give a lecture on a certain theological theme, for example. And this is equally true of deep theological thinkers and people who are ignorant of theology. It is a simple solution: allow an art form with which people are comfortable to become the seed of theological discussion. Then go from there.

If people are uncomfortable or unable to adequately discuss the Bible alone, or if they need another conversation partner in an already deep spirituality…use art.

Here’s a real life “for example”: A faculty member at the graduate school I attend recently expressed some concern about his teenage son’s spiritual quest. His son attends a public school and is exposed to people from different (or no) faith traditions all day long. This man’s concern was how to approach the topic of “Jesus vs. Everyone Else” with his son in a way that would encourage honest and sincere questioning. So the suggestion was made that he should read the book Life of Pi by Yann Martel with his son. This novel tells the story of a boy who actually practices Islam, Hinduism, and Christianity simultaneously. It is a perfect conversation starter for the kinds of conversations that he wanted to have with his son. Granted, that book has not been made into a movie (yet!—I heard a superb rumor that M. Night Shyamalan may be buying the rights to it!), but you can see where I am going with the illustration. Why should we not do the same with certain movies?

There is no other art form with which modern people, especially young people, are more comfortable than that of film.

It is much easier to get people to talk about a movie than it is for them to talk about Ephesians. It just is. Why not embrace that?

Overstreet says:

“…film is uniquely qualified to explore spirituality. More than any other art, it mirrors our experience in time and space. Reflecting our world back to us, it gives us the opportunity to explore and revisit moments. Offering imaginative visions of alternative worlds, it helps us glimpse aspects of our own that we might otherwise have missed. Slowly, we begin to discover the universal in the particular, the timeless in the temporal, the miraculous in the mundane.” (77)

Wright adds,

“Cinematic art can focus our attention on reality so as to call up meaning from its inner depth.”

Next time you are reading a parable, think of Jesus and the gospel writer as artists instead of rabbis or a religious teachers. What is going on in a parable? Jesus is presenting us with an idea, a situation, in order for us to wrestle with it. A parable is inviting us to engage, to think through something—and often from many different points of view.

And following that, next time you are watching a movie, think of the filmmakers as teachers. What are they showing you? What are they trying to tell you? How can the story that they are telling be used for engaging the world around us? Would this movie be a good conversation piece with some of your non-Christian friends? Did it teach you something about God that you didn’t know? If so, what?

May God bless us in the reading of his Word, and the watching of our movies!

What do you, the faithful and much appreciated few who have read all of this, have to say about this last little rambling of mine?

I leave you with this from Overstreet:

“If dining at the table of movies becomes my primary focus, I am forgetting the purpose of the meal. It is served to give me strength so that I can return to my life stronger, healthier and closer to being whole.” (94)

Recommended Viewing (A Few Movies with Some Theological Substance):
Amadeus, Any movie telling the story of the Exodus and of the Passion (a fun exercise would be to watch them all in a relatively short period of time and to compare and contrast them), Babette’s Feast, Baraka, Chronicles of Narnia, Crash*, Dead Man Walking*, Les Miserables, Magnolia*, Meet Joe Black, Million Dollar Baby, Ordet, The Green Mile, The Matrix*, To Kill a Mockingbird, Schindler’s List*, Se7en*, What Dreams May Come, ?

Recommended Reading:
Steven D. Greydanus’ Review of Babette’s Feast:
http://decentfilms.com/sections/reviews/babettesfeast.html

My Blog: mateov.wordpress.com—“Art and All Things Spiritual”

Overstreet, Jeffrey. Through a Screen Darkly: Looking Closer at Beauty, Truth, and Evil in Movies. Ventura, CA: Regal, 2007. Specifically chapter 3, pp. 69-102.

Overstreet’s blog and movie reviews: www.lookingcloser.com

An Essay-Level Review of Babette’s Feast by Wendy Wright: www.unomaha.edu/jrf/BabetteWW.htm

Yancey, Philip. What’s So Amazing about Grace? Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1997. Specifically chapter 2, pp. 19-29.

* = I’d leave the kids at someone else’s house. There is either sexuality, violence, or language in these films that might be a problem for some.

Theologically Reflecting on Art, Part 1: Babette's Feast

If you have not watched Babette’s Feast, then I recommend just skipping on to Part Two of this post and coming back to Part One once you have watched it.

The film is a theological feast, but one we must be taught how to eat: “Art can’t be swallowed whole. It takes a fork and a knife. You have to chew on it” (Overstreet, allusion to 84, 82). This is my feeble attempt at helping us all chew on this wonderful movie. Look at it as more of a guide to helping ask better questions of the film than an explanation of the theology of it. I realize that this post series is significantly longer than some of the others I have posted in the past. My recommendation is to address it in stages. While the movie might not sound overly exciting, it is incredibly theologically rich. I highly recommend, and I guarantee you will not be disappointed. Also, this post is meant to be a continuation of my previous post Art and All Things Spiritual. So check it out and join in the discussion.

Here is a brief synopsis of Babette’s Feast: It is a 103 minute Danish film by Gabriel Axel—it is the film version of Isak Dinesen’s short story under the same title. Set in a mid 1800s coastland in Denmark, it deals with the arrival of a Babette, a French civil war refugee to a small religious community. After serving them faithfully for 14 years, she gives them something they have never experienced before—a gourmet French feast.

Naturally, it is best to reflect on this movie while eating! So grab a snack, a friend, and take a peak into the fantastic world that is Babette’s Feast. Let’s start by asking some preliminary discussion questions:
• What/Who is the movie about? Who are the main characters and what is their relationship with one another? What happens in the story? What is the climax of the movie?

• Describe the spirituality of the group. What are their values and their fears? Compare and contrast the sisters with the rest of the group.

• What about the song they keep singing? How do they sing it? Why is it presented in the way that it is? Why do they keep singing over and over again about Jerusalem?

• What is going on in the community before the feast? After? In other words, what did this feast do to change the characters of the movie?

• What happens in the meal scene? (Describe it as much as you can.) Who is present? How many are there? What is the sequence of events? Who talks and what do they say?

• Why does the general get the climax speech? What is the point of this speech? (See my interpretation below.)

• How is the meal scene a moment of grace for this small Puritan community? Is it an appropriate metaphor for grace? Why or why not?

• What is the theological significance of this being about a meal? Let’s think about this whole biblical phenomenon of food and eating. Meals have played a major role in the spiritual lives of the people of God. Why is that?

• Let’s talk about Babette for just a minute. What is her history? Where did she come from? Describe in as few words possible the process of her life as portrayed in the movie.

• Now focus on the general’s description of Babette. What is it that he says about her?

• Cailles en Sarcophage… Café Anglais… What do those things mean?

• Compare and contrast this community with the Corinthian church.

• What biblical passages come to your mind as you reflect on this movie? Better yet, what specific passages were referenced either directly or indirectly in the dialogue?

• What is spirituality as presented by Axel in this movie? What is the goal he is wanting to show us?

What I would like to do is to direct the reader to the bibliography presented in Part Two of this series. I offer some reflections on the movie here, but only about issues that are not mentioned by the authors referenced there. It is not my intention to steal their ideas or discuss the same things in different words. Just read their stuff!

I would like to conclude by talking about the speech that Lorens gives at the table. While an integral part of the movie (arguably the climax), I have seen very little discussion on it—especially with regards to how it relates to the rest of the film.

I include a transcription here:

Mercy and truth have met together. Righteousness and bliss shall kiss one another. Man, in his weakness and shortsightedness believes he must make choices in this life. He trembles at the risks he takes. We do know fear. But no. Our choice is of no importance. There comes a time when your eyes are opened. And we come to realize that mercy is infinite. We need only await it with confidence and receive it with gratitude. Mercy imposes no conditions. And, lo! Everything we have chosen has been granted to us. And everything we rejected has also been granted. Yes, we even get back what we rejected. For mercy and truth are met together. And righteousness and bliss shall kiss one another.

The first thing we notice about it is its placement in the scene. We are struck immediately by its seemingly random nature. Had we not been exposed to the history of his life by the narrator, the speech would have had a different ring to it (as it would have to the people at the table). So why does he make this speech? It is obviously a result of his own inner spiritual dialogue, so why make a speech? Because what he says here is universally applicable. It is just as true of them all as it is of him…whether they know it or not.

And to whom does he speak? A group of ignorant and legalistic peasants. The very people who make up that shameful group that Jesus calls “the least of these.” But even they are worthy of the most profound dialogue in the movie. I like that. I like it a lot. And not only are they worthy of hearing it, they are worthy of living it. The townspeople live what he is saying in that they receive both the piety and the forgiveness they have always lived for. The sisters in that they receive the loves they both rejected, and the satisfaction that they have served their people. And the general himself in that he lived the life he always thought he wanted, and yet he did not lose himself in the process.

Notice also that he never gets the satisfaction for which he is seeking. He does not become convinced that he made the right decisions. Instead, he simply realizes that it does not matter. He finally sees that

Mercy is infinite and nothing is lost by the ruin of human choice.

This does not mean that choice is irrelevant. It is not saying that nothing matters. It is saying that mercy is just that much bigger. Mercy wins the day.

Perhaps Qoheleth (the writer of Ecclesiastes) would have grown a great deal from watching this movie. Is all vanity? I think Lorens would say “no”—as would I.

And it is not like mercy was ever not there. It just takes us coming to the point when we can see it. And what is it that brings him to this conclusion? The meshing of the spiritual with the physical. I have spent a great deal of time thinking about the whole Cartesian idea of spirituality vs. physicality (as expressed so beautifully by the villagers who feel a deep need to focus on the “higher things” instead of the carnal food and drink that will soon be served to them). And the more I think about it, the more I realize that

It is when spirituality and phsyicality are met that God can be present.

Perhaps that is why Babette’s love of food can be described as not showing distinction between the two.

Thoughts?

More Great Reading

I had fun recommending those books last week. So I thought I might do it again. Normally during the summer, I am constantly reading something—as are many of you. I typically use that time to catch up on reading that I have wanted to do but just haven’t had the time. This summer has been a little different. I have really only read one novel so far (Slaughterhouse-Five).

And instead of reading several books on spirituality or theology, this summer I have been reading basically only two—but them much more thoroughly. They are books of written prayer. I read a few prayers each day, and I meditate on them. Contemplate them. Pray them.

I cannot tell you how glad I am that I have been doing this. It has helped me to clarify the role prayer plays in my life. It has helped me see new ways to pray. It has allowed me to see what a mature Christian’s prayer life could look like.

The two books are: Prayers by Michel Quoist, and Awed to Heaven, Rooted in Earth: Prayers of Walter Brueggemann by Brueggemann himself. All I can say is that either one (or both) is worth buying this moment. I assure you that you will be glad you did.

I will include in the next two posts a prayer from each Christian: Quoist a French Catholic priest from the 19th century, and Brueggemann an American Old Testament scholar who is still prolific to this day. May this have the same impact on you as it did me.

Thank You by Michel Quoist:
We must know how to say, “Thank You.” Our days are filled with the gifts the Lord showers on us. If we were in the habit of taking stock of them, at night we should be like a “queen for a day,” dazzled and happy with so many blessings. We should then be grateful to God, secure because he gives us everything, joyful because we know that every day he will renew his gifts.

Everything is a gift from God, even the smallest things, and it’s the sum of these gifts that makes a life beautiful or sad, depending on how we use them.

“All good giving and every perfect gift comes from above, from the Father of the lights of heaven. With him there is no variation, no play of passing shadows.” (James I, 17)

Thank you, Lord, thank you.
Thank you for all the gifts you have given me today,
Thank you for all I have seen, heard, received.
Thank you for the water that woke me up, the soap that smells good, the toothpaste that refreshes.
Thank you for the clothes that protect me, for their color and their cut.
Thank you for the newspaper so faithfully there, for the comics (my morning smile), for the report of useful meetings, for justice done and big games won.
Thank you for the street-cleaning truck and the men who run it, for their morning shouts and all the early noises.
Thank you for my work, my tools, my efforts.
Thank you for the metal in my hands, for the whine of the steel biting into it, for the satisfied look of the supervisor and the load of finished pieces.
Thank you for Jim who lent me his file, for Danny who gave me a cigarette, for Charlie who held the door for me.
Thank you for the welcoming street that led me there, for the shop windows, for the cars, for the passers-by, for all the life that flowed swiftly between the windowed walls of the houses.

Thank you for the food that sustained me, for the glass of beer that refreshed me.
Thank you for the car that meekly took me where I wanted to be, for the gas that made it go, for the wind that caressed my face and for the trees that nodded to me on the way.

Thank you for the boy I watched playing on the sidewalk opposite,
Thank you for his roller-skates and for his comical face when he fell.

Thank you for the morning greetings I received, and for all the smiles.
Thank you for the mother who welcomes me at home, for her tactful affection, for her silent presence.
Thank you for the roof that shelters me, for the lamp that lights me, for the radio that plays, for the news, for music and singing.
Thank you for the bunch of flowers, so pretty on my table.

Thank you for the tranquil night.
Thank you for the stars.
Thank you for the silence.

Thank you for the time you have given me.
Thank you for life.
Thank you for grace.

Thank you for being there, Lord.
Thank you for listening to me, for taking me serioulsy, for gathering my gifts in your hands to offer them to your Father.
Thank you, Lord,
Thank you.

Eucharistic Musings from a Church of Christ

I live in Abilene, TX. It is, in every way, a college town. There are three, count them, three, Christian colleges in Abilene. There is MacMurray, a Methodist school. There is Hardin-Simmons, a Baptist school and seminary. And then there is ACU, the biggest school in town, a Church of Christ school and seminary. So, needless to say, there is a lot of church going in Abilene. A lot. And, the universities greatly influence the ways in which church is done. Generally, people are much more open-minded theologically in a town like that.

But not all are.

So let me get kinda “Church of Christy” for a minute. If you are familiar with our services at all, the you will remember that we take the Lord’s Supper (Eucharist) every week. I really like that about us—and so do a number of liturgical scholars, which I think is pretty cool. I think it is one of the most theologically mature things that we do as a fellowship. And notice that this is an issue about which the overwhelming majority of us still agree. Huh, who would have thought that? The Eucharist uniting people?

No, I must be thinking of something else.

But along those same lines, if you know about us taking the Eucharist every week, you’ll most likely concede that it is almost always rather lifeless and boring when we do it. Most of the time it is hurried, and it is blatantly obvious that no real preparation has gone into it. It is often just another thing to check off the list, part of our mystical “five acts of worship” (whatever that means).

And what is worse is that so often we have taken the table aspect—the communal aspect—completely out of it. The ways in which we take of it look almost nothing like the way they did in the earliest centuries of Christianity. That is so sad to me. It is also ironic, because we claim to look exactly like they did! But I wonder how many of us actually still think that.

I recently read John Mark Hick’s Come to the Table: Revisioning the Lord’s Supper. Fanstastic book. I could not put it down—I read it in only a day or two. It really shook me up, and made me re-evaluate my own theology of the Eucharist. And it led to several realizations for me. One of which is that Churches of Christ should really do a lot more to rediscover the biblical witness and to appropriate it to our churches everyday. He even gives some helpful and practical suggestions for implementing a more biblical Eucharist in modern 21^st century Churches of Christ. I highly recommend.

But lets face it, many churches won’t change. Many are stuck in their routines, and won’t even think of deviating from them. I came from a background like this, and I shamefully judged others who were attempting to alter my way of doing things.

But not all churches are like that. Some are changing. And I am constantly amazed and impressed by them. I respect churches so much that are trying to get back to the Bible—something most of us claim to do, but few of us actually try to do. And one thing that I never really realized is the fact that even within these churches that are progressively atlering the ways in which they do things, there is still internal debate. It is almost impossible to have universal agreement on an issue within a church. And I know that it is wildly naïve to not see that, but it is true. I did not. I guess I just thought that they all just one day decided to do something different and everyone was cool with that.

Boy was I wrong.

The other day I went to a church that normally takes the Eucharist in a moderately traditional “CoC” way. But this particular Sunday the leadership decided to change things up a little bit. Instead of having a few select men (why it is always only men has been a constant mystery to me—but that is another post!) stand at the front and then pass the trays of crackers and juice to every other aisle—alternating with the man on the opposite side of the row of pews, this particular Sunday the elders stood at the center of the aisles and the people came to them. It was done much in the style of the Episcopal tradition. The methodology was changed this week to enhance the communal aspect of the Eucharist—a perfect example of trying to return to the biblical witness. I really liked it and was encouraged by it.

But (and there is always a but) there were two older people behind me as I stood in the line. And instead of hearing them talk about Christ, his sacrifice, its ramifications, or at the very least, about the fact that for once at church everyone was looking around during the Lord’s Supper, that it felt a little more like a group experience, I only heard complaining. One said, “This is not organized.”

The other piped up with, “This is not saving time.”

Then after it was over, while there are others that were still eating, they walked up to the preacher and instead of saying, “Christ lives,” “Blessed is the body broken,” or anything like that, they said, “Do I get a vote?…” and proceeded to complain to him—while the service was still going on! I gained so much more respect for this preacher after having watched that.

Now I am not necessarily saying that the way that church took the Eucharist that day was the best way possible. There were probably better options, But come on! At least they were trying something new. They were attempting to change the way the church saw the Lord’s Supper by taking of it in a little different way. I thought it a noble and appropriate cause.

Why is it that churches have such a hard time doing something new? Maybe that is the question, the point, of this post.

It would take way too long to unpack the theology that was expressed by those people, but a few questions will have to be asked: What was so disorganized? What do they mean by organization? Is their complaining in any way tied to a skewed reading of 1 Corinthains? Oh, and why are they trying to save time? What does that even mean? Save time. I guess there are more important things that they needed to do with their time, so they are more than welcome to sacrifice time spent checking in that silly little bread and wine shaped box on the checklist we call worship.

Or maybe this post means nothing at all. Just me venting. I don’t know. Allow me some unneccessary synicism?

Viva La Documentary

So I am in Cuernavaca again. I know, big surprise! But this trip is a little different than those that I have taken in the past. Instead of going primarily to work with a church, I am going to be making a documentary. I know it is a little weird, but hear me out. Mitchell (my brother) and I have tried to think of a way that we would be able to tell Cuernavaca’s story—in its own words. I asked for his help in allowing me to share what I have learned here with all of you. And we thought, What better way to do that than with a film? Isn’t that the medium with which our culture feels most comfortable? So we decided to shoot a 15-20 minute piece (whose title we are not yet revealing) about the church and the city that surrounds it.

The film is (at least at this point) going to set out to accomplish basically two goals:
1. It is going to introduce the audience (both American and Mexican) to an established church plant that exists without missionaries. It is going to briefly answer the question, What does a foreign church plant (that was envisioned, planted, and supported by American churches) look like years after its establishment and the exodus of its missionaries? What kinds of struggles are they dealing with? What do they need from us—if anything? Etc.

2. The film is also going to introduce the audience to the social injustices of the community surrounding the church. It is going to answer the question, What are some of the issues with which the church could become involved in order to bring about a kingdom ministry? What is meant by the term “social justice”? (This will be answered by showing what social injustice is an allowing the audience to answer for themselves what justice is.) What are some practical ways that the church could become more actively involved with its local community in an effort to be Jesus to it?

I think this last aspect will accomplish two things within the church in Cuernavaca. The first is that the church will begin to embrace its role as kingdom bringer to its community. This will lead them to where Christ’s church has always intended to be. The second is that it will provide a communal/congregational vision for the church. It will help them to focus on something other than survival.

What the film will not address is the question of how—really about anything. The film is not here to answer as many questions as it is to pose appropriate questions that audiences can answer for themselves. I once heard someone say, “So this film is like teaching people to tie a shoe?” My response was, “No. We are trying to teach people that there is a shoe that needs to be tied—we’ll let them figure out how to tie it.”

What I would like is to see this film as a discussion piece—not trying so much to teach something, as to allow the viewer to create his/her own answer to the questions and to share them with the community in which the film is viewed and with us (the filmmakers).

What do you think of this idea? Does it sound beneficial? Does it sound like we are taking on too much?

Why I Love the Church, Part 2: Mexican New Years

In my last post I talked about the church. It was crazy how people responded with encouraging comments. Who would have dreamed that would happen? And it is so much fun talking about the good things about church for a change. Maybe I should do it more often! So I decided to carry this discussion over into another post—but this one is a little different. Instead of talking about what church does, I want to talk about who church is.

So I go to Mexico a lot. Well, “a lot” might be an understatement! I go all the time. I am there at least a few months of every year—I am about to take my 4th trip for 2007! I really like it down there: I feel welcomed there. Wanted there. Useful there. Now that is not to say that I do not feel that here in the States; I just feel it more intensely down there. If you have ever done any missions you know exactly what I am talking about.

But one of the biggest reasons I go down there so often is because some of my closest friends live there. And I love to spend time with my friends. In fact, there is nothing I love to do more. Maybe write. No. I like to spend time with them more—then write about it later.

Okay, back to church…

When I read 1 Corinthians 11, I see it as being about the class barriers. The rich were not eating with the poor. The Corinthian church just can’t seem to get over the Greco-Roman (or is it American?) tendency to separate according to class. They had not learned the way of Christ. The way of his table.

His table is about equality. Equality in light of the Christ narrative.

But are we any different? If we were honest, we’d most likely say “no.” Our churches are still socio-economically and racially quite segregated. And if the churches themselves aren’t segregated, then the cliques that form within them are.

A blatant over-generalization, I know. But basically right.

But on New Years 2006/2007 almost all of the church with which I work in Mexico got together for huge party. We ate pozole (a traditional Mexican soup made with chicken, veggies, onions, lime, and salsa—it is very good!). We laughed. We sang. We danced. We talked. For hours. The party lasted into the wee hours of the morning when everyone made their tired ways home. A great time was had by all.

But what was so great about that party was not what we did—by party standards, we really didn’t do all that much. I am pretty sure there was no alcohol there, and no one “hooked up” with anyone. What was great was who was there.

When I look at pictures from that night I do not see “young couples,” or “singles.” I do not see “rich people,” or “the poor.” I do not see “elderly” church members or “children.” I do, however, see family. My brothers and sisters in Cuernavaca are all ages, and of all levels of intelligence. They are financially diverse. Each member struggles with a different kind of sin, and each has different strengths. But they are a family—my family. That night we were the body of Christ.

All were there. All ate together. All played together.

Let’s be honest, there were lots of people there that could have been at other parties. Believe it or not, there are more glamorous places on earth than a literally homemade house in the middle of a central Mexican slum. But there we were. We were there with and for one another. Doing nothing but loving one another. Having fun with one another.

Isn’t that what 1 Corinthians 11 is really getting at? I think that Christ was more present that night—in that dinner and party that broke down barriers of all kinds—than he is in so many “Lord’s Supper” moments in our worship services. Is that fair?

Why I Love the Church

So I love the church. There, I said it. Ha! I know it is almost the cardinal sin to speak of church in a favorable manor while being in seminary, but I don’t care. Call me a traitor. A regular Benedict Arnold of the theologically elite. But it is true. I love it. And here is why…

Thursday I got a call. It was one of those calls that I’ll never for the rest of my life forget. I was picking my baggage up in the Atlanta airport after an exhausting week-long mission trip to Ensenada, Mexico with Vaughn Park Church of Christ. As soon as I got my bag, my mother called. She called to tell me that my brother had been rushed to the ER in Nashville to have a spinal tap. They thought he had meningitus.

Needless to say, I was stopped. Horrified. Completely weak. I thought of him. I thought of how much I love him and how much I wanted to be there with him. If you have ever been away from someone you love when something big like that happens, you know how it can be. Horrible. Maybe one of the worst feelings humanity can face.

And what is worse, he was alone. All of his friends were home for the summer. He was just staying by himself in the dorm for a few weeks taking a summer course.

Rushed to the ER. Afraid of a terrible disease. And completely alone.

And what could I do? Nothing. I couldn’t even be with him. I have never felt so weak.

So I called Jon, one of my roommates from FHU who lives in Nashville. I called him and asked him to just be with my brother. To give him the infamous ministry of presence. I simply uttered the words “I need you,” and he was there a few minutes later. He said, “Matt, don’t worry. I am here.”

You know how there are people in your life about whom you say, “If I ever needed them, they’d be here in a second”? Well, he actually did it. He was there for my brother, my family, and me at the drop of a hat.

Within a few moments of his arrival at the hospital, my brother was no longer alone.

That is church.

I think that I saw Christ more in Jon that night than I did in myself on the mission trip I’d just been on. No, I know I did. Jon gave my brother something that cannot really be described, much less haphazardly given—community. Community in the name of Jesus. As part of his body, the church, we have a responsibility to one another. To love one another. To bless one another. To be Christ to one another. And although Jon was just there with my brother, he was there with him. And that is Christ in him.

Christ lives after all in his church.

So Thursday my family saw Christianity. We didn’t just read about it. We didn’t just meditate on it. We saw it. We felt it. We were sustained by it.

Luckily, the results came back negative. My brother does not have meningitus. Soli Deo Gloria. Just a really bad infection. So I saw God in more ways than I can count that day. But mostly through Jon. And that because of church.

We, in the church, truly are the most blessed of all people. May we never forget that.

This is my prayer tonight.

God, thank you for Jesus. Thank you for his body, the church. For through it he is alive and well.

In spite of us—our weaknesses and failures—we have him alive in us.

Thank you. For this we worship you.

You are beautiful. You are worthy of praise. You are compassion. You are love. You are holy. You sustain the weak. Heal the sick. You are the one I saw yesterday. And today. And will tomorrow.

Plagiarized Musings for a 10 Minute Discussion

So I know that God is good and all… I know he is, right? He is good to all of those people who are good to him—or so they want you to think! I am a Christian, have been for some time now. But I have a confession to make: I have a hard time buying it sometimes. And recently I almost “fell.” Let me explain…

But before I begin, you need to know something about me: I have a problem with lust. I really do. I mean, I live on a college campus. What do you expect?! And it has been a real spiritual battle for me.

And so the other day I met my old high school friend Russell at a coffee shop in downtown Nashville to just catch up on each other’s lives. I rambled a little about school and work, as I normally do. But he began to tell me all about his most recent relationships—some of which were sexual in nature.

And immediately I began to feel foolish. That is the word. Foolish.

I felt foolish because I hadn’t had any experiences like that to share with him. I felt almost weak compared to him—even though I am doing what I am “supposed” to be doing.

But mostly, you want to know what I felt? Jealous. I was jealous. After all, we are both the same age. But here I am working at a church and going to seminary—spending my days and nights in a library, and he is out on Broadway every weekend.

And it isn’t just him. There are so many of our mutual friends (both male and female) at Belmont that are doing the same things. And they just seem to have it made. They date around with lots of people, and none of them worry about these “rules” of sexual purity this religion puts on me. They seem happier and more at ease with their positions in life as a result.

And they just don’t get it when I tell them that I am not sleeping with my girlfriend for religious reasons. Like the other day when I was at Russell’s house talking to his roomate Brian. He asked, in passing, how often we had sex. And I told him that we were waiting. He laughed at me—and then he called me a monk!

Again…foolish. It was funny and joking, but hurtful.

So, I guess the main purpose of this blog is to ask the question: Is this even worth it? Have I been basically wasting my time? I think I may have. Is this really doing anything good for me? And what makes it harder is that I know Russell and Brian have it easier than I do.

But saying that is a little strange to me. It is, isn’t it? It goes against all I have become—with respect to relationship with God and Christianity. I know this is a little internal dialogue “vomitted” out on the internet—but bear with me!

This was huge: I went to worship last night. I just sat down, discouraged about the conversation with Russell. The teacher got up and gave a lesson on the blessing of relationship with God. It was so incredibly thought-provoking. It got me thinking about the reality of Russell and Brian’s lives.

And truthfully, I am not so sure they have it all that great. Neither one of them have a church home. Their only friends are the guys they party with. There have a few people they hang out with at work, but it is nothing really deep. And I think they miss that. In fact, I know they do.

So I have to keep telling myself that. I have to constantly remind myself of the reality that they might not have everything I think I want. Is that fair? I am sure that I have some things in my life that they wish they had—like a deep spiritual life full of prayer and meditation.

God is my strength. I have messed up in this struggle of mine…I am not going to lie. But he lifts me up. I know he does. And that makes it all worth it.

So, I guess God really is good. Right? He is here with me. In this very moment he is helping me with this struggle of mine. And I trust that enough to where it makes a difference in the way I feel about faith most of the time—even when I almost “fall.”

Is this making sense? Questions, comments, statements, declarations?

The Va Tragedy and Churches of Christ

This is my second post about the Virginia Tech Tragedy. It has really impacted me—as it has so many of you. Or has it? Three weeks have now passed. And do we even remember it? The facebook profile pictures are all back to normal, the headlines are being consumed by other things, and a number of students have left Va Tech completely. We are entering that eternal stage of the “move on” process. But have we responded to this stage as much as to the “initial shock” stage? Now that the newness of this tragedy has worn off, perhaps it might be more appropriate than ever to do something.

But sometimes it is not necessarily our place to do anything. Could this be one of those times? I fear that we—and I most assuredly include myself here—have a “messiah complex.” We want to be the ones who make the difference. We want to be the heroes. And if we were completely honest with ourselves, I think that we would see that we want ministry—ministry of recognition—more than we want to minister. I hope you do not think that it is for this that I have been arguing in these posts. But it would be gloriously inconsistent for me to say that I have not fallen victim to my own “messiah complexes” in the past.

I was talking to Seth Terrell (campus minister at Va Tech) the other day about all of this, and he made some really powerful observations. He is seeing that many Christian groups are coming onto the campus at Va Tech and are trying to “rescue” everyone—as if they were the saviors of this situation (a virtual Christian superhero movement). They want to be the solution to this problem, this horrible and inexplicable problem. And I am not sure that is what God is calling the church to be. (But that is not to say that they aren’t doing good things. It would be really unfair to deny that they are.) Seth calls it “Phariseeism.” Messiah complexes galore.

That reminds me of a conversation I had the other day with my friend Katherine. We were talking about me giving advice to a friend who is going through a really difficult time right now, and she told me that maybe what this person needed was not my advice— maybe what this person needed was not “ministry.” Maybe it was just me. It took me aback; but the more I consider it, the more it makes sense.

She said that suffering people do not necessarily want magic words of comfort. Sometimes they do not want to be “advised.” Sometimes all they want is to be validated in their suffering. They need to have their mourning respected and appreciated. We have to allow time to hurt. Hurt is a vital part of life, and it does a tremendous disservice to belittle it.

I mean, look at the Psalms! These guys would never have wanted a clichéd speech, or some too-good-to-be-true man with perfect hair and a cheap suit (in other words, 9 out of 10 preachers I know!) telling them not to worry—it will all be alright. No, they needed to scream at God. They needed to hurt. They needed to experience life as it was coming at them.

So maybe all we can do is simply be. We can engage in what we in the GST call a “ministry of presence.” Sometimes all we can do is suffer with people.

So the question of this post obviously becomes, What does that look like here, with this situation? That is what needs to be discussed. But let’s face it…these are not the kinds of questions being asked in so many churches (especially, but not limited to, Churches of Christ). Of that I am sure.

That is such a shame.

I recently read the latest edition of the Spiritual Sword, and within it I found over 48 pages of argumentation against Richland Hills Church of Christ in the Metroplex. The volume was almost entirely devoted to bashing them for implementing an instrumental service on Saturday nights.**

I am so profoundly disappointed in us sometimes. I am disappointed in us because I can guarantee you that within the entire corpus of literature produced by Churches of Christ this year, there will not be 48 pages devoted to ideas and discussion of possible ministry opportunities for the Va Tech victims and their families. There will not be as many words of encouragement sent to those families as there are words spent arguing about the instrument.

It just seems like we have separated issues like this tragedy from our religious worldview. It is like we think that this tragedy has nothing to do with our faith. Let me ask you something, Which would Jesus like us to talk about more—worship wars that we know we aren’t going to win, or ways we can help hurting and broken people by ministering to them in a time of extreme need?

The choice is so obvious it is embarrassing.

**Let me be completely clear here: I am not arguing for or against instrumental music in this post. I just don’t think that writing more and more about it is going to do any good whatsoever for either side.

What Can We Do for Virginia Tech?

A most of you know, there was a horrible shooting this morning (April 16, 2007) on the campus of Virginia Tech University in Blacksburg, Va. There were over 30 killed–making it the most deadly attack on a school campus in United States history.

Many of you know Seth Terrell, one of my best friends from Freed-Hardeman University. He is currently working within campus ministry for the students of Virginia Tech. He has been there for a few months now. I spoke with him earlier, and apparently the students involved in the Church of Christ campus ministry were not injured. While that is really good news, there are still so many people who are hurting with this from other denominations and faith traditions.

Given the scope of this tragedy, it is obvious that something needs to be done. What I am calling for here is a discussion on possible ways we can minister to the families and friends of those injured or killed. Perhaps there are some things that college students, or anyone else for that matter, from Churches of Christ can do. It is time to step it up.

And if not through this blog, then use some other way to get involved. Please.

Here are a few things I thought of:

1. Pray for this situation. We will will never see any real progress without God here. We are going to have to organize prayer groups and group fasting.

2. Communicate electronically to express our sympathy. If everyone calls people like Seth 4,000 times a day they will not be able to get anything done. I have started a facebook group called Ministry for Virginia Tech. Please join and use the discussion board and wall.

3. What else? Send people? Send money?

We can use the comments section of this post or the discussion board on the facebook group Ministry for Virginia Tech to get some conversation going.

Abortion, The O.C., and Lessons Learned

The other day I saw a clip from the popular TV show The O.C. For those of you who are not familiar with prime-time TV, it is one of those self-righteous teenage dramas that make it look like all normal people in America live in mansions on the Pacific Coast, have amazingly in-shape and attractive parents, and wear the newest, coolest designer clothes. Sadly, this is not reality—although it might be nice! But I must admit that every now and then I like to watch the show—please don’t judge me!

While it is wildly entertaining, I do not want to reflect on the absurdity of me liking The O.C. My issue is with a statement that was made by one of the characters that really caught me off guard. I saw a few minutes from one unusually dramatic episode** in which Theresa (who is supposedly in high school, but looks to be in her mid-20s!) becomes pregnant. She considers an abortion.

Now, before I write any more I want you to know one thing: this post is not primarily about abortion. My feelings about that extremely sensitive issue are complex and still in the formation process. I am not trying to argue in favor of or against abortion in this post. My goal however is to make Christians re-evaluate the way with which abortion and similar “touchy” issues are typically dealt.

Theresa decides to get an abortion for many reasons, but one in particular struck me. She gave the excuse, “I can’t tell my mom. She is extremely religious.”

Think about that for a minute…

Then Kirsten, Ryan’s mom, offers to take Theresa to the women’s resource center. While Theresa’s mother is portrayed as closed, harsh, and judgmental, Kirsten is portrayed as open, kind, and unassuming.

I hope you do realize that I am fully aware that we are dealing with a TV show here. But I think that their portrayal of a mother’s harshness as a result of religion represents quite well the nature of a problem that is occurring within modern American culture.

It is a tell-tale stereotype! Is this not exactly the way that so many non-Christians see Christians? They too often see us as mean-spirited and judgmental. This is something of which we should all feel absolutely ashamed. It was religion that kept that girl’s mom from being as loving as the secular woman. I suppose all of us who would claim some sense of spirituality would feel this stereotype completely unfortunate and unfair—or would we?

I suppose the question then becomes, Why is there even a hint of such a stereotype? What is it that religious people have done that has convinced the non-believers out there that we are so unwelcoming and hateful? What have we ourselves (not the Christian community as a whole) done to promote such stereotypes? It is a shame to admit this, but the answer to these questions has been made so obvious by both the actions of others and myself that they do not even need to be answered.

Many Christians have not represented Christ well at all. In us, many non-believers see nothing of his nature. That is the truth.

So where else can this post go? I must ask the question, What will be done so that the young pregnant girls out there (or whoever else who finds themselves in an easily judged situation—which is almost everyone) will see a world of love and hope within Jesus and Christians? Isn’t that what he was all about in the first place?

Thoughts?

**The episode to which I am referring in this post is the season 1 finale entitled “The Ties that Bind.”

A Moment of Clarity in a Lifetime of Confusion

How often does it seem that our lives are not defined by words like “happy,” “fulfilled,” “joyful,” or “peaceful”? No. That almost never happens—at least in my life. Instead our lives are defined by words like “stressful,” “anxious,” “dramatic,” and “confused.” I am finding this more and more the case the older I get.

I must admit to be going through one of those times. You know. Those times. I have a million things to do. I have confusion in relationships of all sorts. And, as if there was nothing else to consume me, I am taking 13 grad hours this semester! This is midterm week, and I am emotionally, physically, and spiritually drained.

And all I can think about is getting all of these situations taken care of. All I can think about is something I have going on. And all I have wanted is peace. Peace in these situations. I want clarity. I want resolution.

And then I heard a song that changed it all for me last night. This song hit me. Hard. Here is the chorus. I think it speaks for itself.

“All the Heavens cannot hold you, Lord.

How much less to dwell in me?

I can only make my one desire holding on to Thee.”

—Third Day, All the Heavens

This is my prayer. It is all I have:

Lord, forgive.

Have mercy on me for I have sinned in your eyes.

You have given me the most glorious of all possible gifts—your own presence in my life and body.

And I have forgotten it.

I have desired other things.

Forgive, father.

Help me to find my peace only in you. To look nowhere else. To see your love in me.

Take not your Holy Spirit from me.

Restore unto me the joy of your salvation,

And renew a right spirit within me.

Te quiero mi Rey, Amen.

Mexican and French Theology

I once had a conversation on San Jeronimo Street in the middle of Cuernavaca, Mexico that I will never forget. San Jeronimo is a hilly street with a big glorieta (roundabout) directly beside La Universidad Internacional, a Spanish language school to which FHU sends students. The house in which I lived for two summers while studying there is in that glorieta. Iker Márquez, my friend and mentor, and I were standing beside the big yellow gate that served as the entrance for that house.

I have a lot of respect for Iker. He became a Christian moderately late in life, and lived a rather wild life before then. But now that he is a Christian, he serves his church and his family as if he had never known anything else. I have always thought that he was probably the strongest Christian I know. I have never seen anyone with as many temptations as he has—yet living as faithfully as he does.

We had just met a few weeks before, but had become good friends almost instantly. It was nearing the end of my first summer there and we went out to dinner and ended up talking for a long time once we got back to my house. One of our usual topics is a discussion of what we see as strengths and weaknesses of each other. He listed off a few things that I can hardly remember now about me, and I shamefully paid them little attention. But then it came time for me to tell him what I thought about him. I told him that he was one of the strongest people that I had ever met in my life.

I’ll never be able to forget what he said in response. He looked up at me and simply said, “yo no puedo hacer nada” (“I can’t do anything”). I must admit that I thought it a rather stupid answer to my compliment. But the more I thought about it the more I realized that I was, yet again, learning something from him. It hit me: the only reason he was strong was because he acknowledged he was weak. That is it.

No one is strong. No one. We are human—nothing more.

“Only when the Christian expects nothing of himself and everything of God can he be at peace.” Michel Quoist**

I have been thinking a good deal about this statement lately. I read it the other night and just can’t seem to get it out of my mind. It brought back that conversation with Iker. I think that it has hit me so hard because it is one of those things that my head has always known and my heart just won’t believe. And when I do believe it, like I did that night in Cuernavaca, I seem to forget it.

It goes completely against my natural theological instincts. Whether I would like to admit it or not, most of my life I have been trying to be faithful alone—by my own efforts. I have always focused on my responsibilities, my duties, my salvation, my baptism, etc. I think that I have, in many ways, tried to save myself. I mean I would tell you all along that it is God who is the one who saves—then I’d turn around and claim that a person must do this, this, this, and this in order to be saved.

And what I failed to realize is that people can’t. We just can’t. We are unholy people. We are sinners. The more I live, the more I am seeing that it is not in human nature to be faithful. But ironically it is part of our natural thought process (at least it is for me) that we must earn our salvation. That seems so self-contradictory. And this is not just true for people in Churches of Christ, although I have seen us really struggle with this issue. This is a cross-denominational issue.

For example, this really came out when I was talking with a lady the other who was in the hospital. She was sitting in a chair beside her bed with one of those revealing (and often humiliating) hospital gowns haphazardly draped over her body. She sat with a tray of uneaten hospital food close by as she breathed in an unnatural rhythm through an oxygen tube that wasn’t properly placed. She had this look of complete sadness in her eyes as I entered the room.

Once she figured out that I was a chaplain, she immediately started talking about religion. Most do. But after a few minutes of paying a hollow lip service to God, she began to tell me how useless she felt. She felt useless because her health stopped her from doing what she was used to doing in the church. She expressed what I, too, feel often just spending all my time at school! We want to know that we are doing something for God. While pious in its intent, I am so afraid that this is unhealthy.

I am in no way saying that this lady was in the wrong. She no doubt loved the Lord with all her heart. And I do understand where she is coming from. I love knowing that good has come from my life, too. And I would imagine I’d feel exactly like she did if I were in her shoes. In fact, I know I would.

It just seems like we never stop to realize that God is really the one who is doing the work. We fool ourselves into thinking that we can do things worthy of God. We cannot do anything of the sort. Only God can.

Probably the most commonly cited verse in the Bible used to defend this idea of us actually being able to do anything good is Philippians 2:12. You know, it is the one that says, “work out your own salvation with fear and trembling.” The problem here is that we never read the next verse: “for it is God who works in you…”

Does anything else need to be said?

**This is from “Temptation” in his Prayers (Kansas City: Sheed and Ward, 1954), 131. Forgive the gender-specific language here, please. This prayer was translated from French before widespread attention was placed on the male-biased sexism that is prevalent within the English language.

Prayer? Prayer. Prayer! Prayer...

It is so intriguing to me to appreciate the way that the spiritual disciplines find themselves defined in the lives of different Christians. Coming from a free-church tradition, I had never been accustomed to observing the Christian calendar. And the more I think about it, I think that is an absolute shame. I feel as though I really missed out.

This past Wednesday was Ash Wednesday. It began the period of Lent. So a small Bible study group of which I am a part got together and we decided to observe Lent. We each made a commitment to alter our lifestyles for the next 40 days. Some of us decided to give something up. Some of us decided to add something. Some of us both.

And I found it interesting that almost everyone in our group felt the need to pray more for the Lenten period. From the outside looking in, the people in that group are some of the best of the best. That group is made up of bright and committed theology students from Churches of Christ and Christian Churches. If anyone our age should have good prayer lives, it should be us. But almost all of us feel as though we are weak in that area. Almost all of us feel as though the spiritual disciplines are one of the first things to go in our lives when we go through just about any situation.

I just don’t get that. I mean, why is it that we find it so difficult to pray sometimes? Is it simply because we cannot hear an audible response? That seems a bit simplistic considering this group devotes a great deal of time studying and meditating on that which is not seen and heard.

I think that part of it has to do with the fact that we are so busy that it is really hard to get quiet and actually do meaningful reflection. So, in turn, we don’t pray. We just don’t.

Are we the only ones going through that? I don’t think so. I feel as though we really only represent the issues that are hitting our generation. But is it just our generation?

So what is the solution? I truthfully don’t know. Because I don’t want to just say that we should pray more, because I am not so sure that we are even praying in a way that does any good even when we pray. Perhaps that has something to do with it.

I mean, here is how the overwhelming majority of my prayers have looked in my life:

God, I just want to thank you for this day and all your many blessings. I want to thank you for working in my life and blessing me so much. I pray that you would bless me right now as I am really stressed out and I pray you would help me to trust you more. Bless my family and my friends. And God I just pray that you would help us all to be better. Guide me, father. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Multiply that length x5 and you have a pretty good idea how most people I know pray. Now I am not saying that they’re (we’re) doing something wrong here, but I think that it is pretty obvious that the above prayer is shallow. Or is it?

Even if it does do some good to pray like that, I am sick of it. I mean, sorry, but it is true. First off, some days I simply do not feel blessed or that my life has been worked in. Just being honest, there are a lot of days that I do not feel like saying “thank you.” I feel like I have been abandoned. But if you read the psalms you’ll see that I am not alone in that!

What I am saying is that there is very little honesty in that prayer. There is only stock formula. And I am beginning to see that it is almost not even worth it to repeat those words if all they are is words.

So the next logical question would be, How do you pray? Like the psalms? If that is true then we’d better start really getting upset with God and asking tough questions. Do we pray contemplatively? Then we better quit saying so much, and when we do we should make it mean something. And then there is the immediate danger of falling asleep. No, seriously…there is.

Should we pray more in community? Obviously I think so. But we are going to have to seriously re-evaluate our stance on prayer if we do that. I mean, how often do we pray for/with one another as church families? Even in small group settings, I feel as though we have greatly missed the goal here. Obviously there are exceptions to this, but not many if there are.

And what about mixed-gender prayer? How often do women pray in the presence of men, either in church or in private settings? Not much in Churches of Christ. It is time for the female voice to be heard in prayer in our fellowship.

And I even question the very nature of prayer. I mean, are we supposed to pray for our sake or for God’s sake? I think that obviously it serves us both, but I am struggling to really understand it. Obviously God knows what we need before we mention it, so what is the point of mentioning it at all? It is simply to get it off our minds? Is the very act of praying supposed to enable God it act? Or does it do nothing but get out in the open what we all know is there anyway? All of the above?

As you can see, I am not trying to offer solutions. Merely thoughts. Got any?

Art and All Things Spiritual

Art is the most divine of all human abilities and desires. God is in art. He lives in the expressions of people. Isn’t that the very first thing we read about him in the Bible—that he created? Only those who are truly alive love art; and only that life can make art. We are God’s art. We would have to be to be human—made in God’s image.

Of everything on earth, I am touched by art most. I have seen paintings that took me to places I would never be able to go in reality. I have watched movies that made me cry with both joy and sadness. I have read poems in which I would swear the author included me. I have seen sculptures that stopped me as I walked. I have read books that motivated me to be better. I have heard music that changed my life. I have completely lost myself in art. And, I wonder what all this means theologically. What I want to know is, Why is it that I have so consistently been impacted by art, but have often not been touched by spiritual things? Or maybe better yet, not by a biblical text. Is it okay to be more touched by a song or a painting than a biblical text?

The more I think about it, I think that it is okay. But that is not to say that the Bible shouldn’t impact—or that it never does. That isn’t true at all. The Bible is nothing but words that give life. But wouldn’t it be helpful to see Scripture itself as art, too? And isn’t it true that we are touched by different types of art at different times in our lives? Sometimes I think that we all are deeply and profoundly moved by a text—and sometimes we are deeply and profoundly moved by art. What is the difference?

I mean, after all, much of the Bible is poetry and song. It is art. I think that all art is God’s divinity coming out in his people—whether they were Bible writers or not. Art is the Holy Spirit working. I am amazed when people who profess to be Christians neglect to see the working of the triune God in their lives. So in that sense, art is not another thing separate and apart from Scripture. It is just as divine. It is just another way.

Many of us, in Churches of Christ, have done such a disservice to the Christian world by claiming that the Holy Spirit doesn’t work apart from the Bible. I couldn’t disagree more. Even a quick read of Romans 8 will impress upon a believer how powerful the Holy Spirit is in the world. I see art as one of the ways in which he works.

In light of this, I am increasingly impressed with how I am impacted by the world around me—or better yet, the Holy Spirit working through the world. After all, it isn’t that I am only impacted by art. I am impacted by the tragedies and suffering of others; I am impacted by the joys and hopes of others. They really do make me feel. But even still, I find myself calmly and collectively approaching situations that should forever be remembered. I forget, though. I have seen and done so much. I have seen poverty that is thought to be dead by many of the people who raised me. I have seen the ugliness of racism and oppression. I have seen some of the most beautiful landscapes on earth. I have seen Christ in ways I’ll never forget. I have seen happiness so great that it almost makes your heart stop for just a moment. Almost like I was…in a movie.

Now do you see where I am going? I identify certain times in my life as worthy of being represented in art. Don’t you do that, too? What does that mean about the nature of art?

But I want more. Don’t you? There is so much here on this earth that I really do want to experience—even though I know I have experienced so much. I don’t care if everyone else in the entire world is apathetic. I want more. I want to see more. To feel more. To live more. I want to travel more. I want to have deeper relationships. I want to lead people to Christ. To see him working all around them. And I think that it is because of all of this that I want to watch more movies. Read more books. Live in more poems. It is because of what I have lived that I love art. It is because of my hopes that I love art. Those that do not hope do not love art.

I think that is why I am so consistently touched by art. Art is only as touching as the hope it represents. Hope includes joy, pain, hope, and all things human.

And, to be fair, I am not always impacted by art. I mean, sometimes a book is just not good. A poem poorly written. A song not coherent. A painting out of inspiration. A song badly thought out. And I am rarely impacted by things like these. In fact, I almost never am. But it is not that I am talking about in this rather unusual post. I am talking about that art that makes you different after you experience it.

It is no wonder there is so much art in church history!

This has all been on my mind lately and I am throwing it out there. I hope it is helpful. I’d like to know what you think. My prayer is that we see God working in more than just the Bible. That we see him in art—and that we will experience him as a result.

Appendix 1:

The more I think about this post, the more I think needs to be said…

First off, what is it that I am talking about when I use the term “impact” or “touch” (I am obviously using them as synonyms)? Is it simply the evocation of emotion? Yes and no. Yes, in that emotion is often times evoked–and feeling becomes reality. No, in that what I am talking about doesn’t stop with emotion. Or does it?

I believe that God gave us emotions that he intended to be influences in our lives. He uses emotion; I am sure of that. If he didn’t, we wouldn’t be totally his.

But will emotion alone change the way we live? Maybe. I mean, people have changed the very foundations of their lives based on love and/or hatred for another person. Emotion should be seen as extremely important in the discussion as to how we live.

That is why I am convinced it is so dangerous to separate emotion from religion–which is exactly what the common sense realism represented within many Churches of Christ tries to do. If we have no emotion in our religion, we will quickly grow bored with it and gravitate to something that moves us. Doesn’t that seem right? That is just human nature.

What I am wanting to show is that art–by being part of the way God works–can put emotion into a religion that encompasses the entirety of our beings. Does this make sense?

But will art and/or emotion alone lead us to God? I doubt it. In fact, I know it won’t. Jesus, and Jesus alone, will. He is the true life. His word is our guide. Everything else is supplemental.

Thoughts on this?

Appendix 2:

I have been thinking about this more and more. And I still think more needs to be said. Another thing that I hadn’t considered is how art reflects past experience. For example, there are certain paintings, songs, books, and movies that make me think about past times. Past people. Past pain. Past joy. Past changes.

So I guess what I am saying is that art doesn’t always have to reflect/represent hope. Sometimes it reflects/represents past experience–and in that way it becomes real. It impacts. It evokes emotion. It causes change.

So this is just another way by which I have found myself trying to understand this whole phenomenon of the relationship between art and spirituality.

Making sense?

My Goal for Churches of Christ...

I am sitting here at my favorite coffee shop, Peet’s coffee, right off the campus of ACU. In the booth in front of me is a group of girls—they look to be late college age. There are 3 of them and they all look to be pretty much your typical Christian college students—upper middle class white kids (that is another post!). They are talking about a desire to do missions and to travel to far away exciting places and to work with kids. I make no attempt to judge their motives. I have no idea why they want to do what they are saying that they want to do. But, I do know that they have no idea how to do it. They have all of these great, youthful ideas and absolutely no idea what to do with them.

How embarrassing that Churches of Christ have nothing with which people can be involved on a large scale as far as missions and social justice is concerned. This has got to change. Perhaps they represent a large group of the youth within churches of Christ. I think they do. It is time that they find a way into the wide world of missions—beginning in Mexico. These people bring desire, heart, and money into a ministry that needs all of the above. Is it about a desire to feel useful? Probably. But that doesn’t mean that it is bad. God help us to organize these thoughts and to provide a way that people can help the impoverished of Latin America.

What would it be like if we were known as “that group that is so involved in helping poor and powerless people” instead of being known as “that group that thinks they are the only ones going to heaven”? If anything were to be my call in life, I think changing these stereotypes is it. I think—no, I know—that we can do it. God is alive within us and he can actualize any reality within us. Will we let him?