I remember the day quite clearly: I was a junior in high school – a time when I was active in our local Young Life group, regularly attending church, and eager to grow in my faith – and I was opening my mail at my mom’s house after school.  The envelope that most excited me was from “Sound & Spirit” – a mail-order Christian music distributor.  It was one of those “Buy 1 CD get 13 FREE” deals that were popular before mp3s were invented.  I opened it up, flipped through the catalog inside and smiled to myself, thinking “Wow - there’s so much I can buy that will make it easier to be a Christian!”

The word consumption used to apply to disease.  It described a wasting away of the body, or was used to describe tuberculosis.  Marmeladov, the drunk man whom Raskolnikov encounters early on in Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, speaks of his wife dying from consumption.  Two books I’m reading right now think the Church is dying from consumption.

The first is Paul Louis Metzger’s Consuming Jesus and the second is Soong-Chan Rah’s The Next Evangelicalism.  Both trace the American evangelical church’s division along race and class lines to the consumerization of American society.  And there’s much to support that idea: the Church certainly has played mistress and not prophet to the economic structures of the West.  As Rah notes, to be a good Christian in America is to be a good consumer.  Even immigrant congregations face pressure to assimilate to the unholy (Next Evangelicalism pp. 60-61).  He cites two examples that are particularly disturbing.  The first is President Bush’s charge to Americans after 9-11: “I encourage you all to go shopping more” (p. 48).  I remember hearing these words on television eight years ago. I remember wondering then why it didn’t strike anyone around me as odd (much as I wondered silently why so many of my Christian friends in college eagerly supported the war in Iraq).  The best advice this “evangelical” President could give was to shop more?  Really?  . . .  The second example Rah cites is that of a professor at Colorado Christian University who was fired because “his lessons were too radical and undermined the school’s commitment to the free enterprise system.”  That quote isn’t from Rah’s own words; it’s the statement given by the university president for why this professor was fired.  That president also said “I don’t think there is another system that is more consistent with the teachings of Jesus” than free market capitalism (p. 50).  I’m ashamed that this happened at a school that’s inside my home state.

Rah continues, “The Western, white captivity of the church means that capitalism can be revered as the system closest to God and the consequent rampant materialism and consumerism of the capitalist system become acceptable vices” (p. 50).  The Church doesn’t just fail to confront consumerism, it buys into it hook, line, and sinker: Buy 1 CHRISTIAN CD Get 13 Free CHRISTIAN CDS and God Will Love You More!

And yet the system is somewhat inescapable.  To cite the books mentioned above, I linked to their Amazon pages. (Though, no, neither was free to me nor was I paid anything to write this.)  Still I have to confess I’ve traded the Sound & Spirit subscription for a book fetish, thinking at times like so many other “Ministers of the Word” that the answers to all of my questions can be found in possessing more books. 

But there are changes we must make to bear authentic witness to Christ’s Kingdom.  In Advent, Upper Room will be participating in Advent Conspiracy, encouraging people to spend less and give more meaningful or alternative gifts this Christmas.  I look forward to the conversation we’ll have at Upper Room’s Fall Retreat in two weeks about Consuming Jesus.  And  I pray that the Spirit will guide us in finding concrete ways to fight of the disease of consumption.

With Upper Room’s move to a new space earlier this month, we spent a little time thinking through what the set-up of a worship space communicates theologically.  This article by Paul Louis Metzger (whose book Consuming Jesus we’re reading together now)  raises some good questions regarding the use of space in Church.  Metzger points to the coffee bar replacing the communion table in many large evangelical churches as “the place where real community happens”.  He’s rightly disappointed by this because it’s indicative of our consumer-driven mindset, but he says that simply placing the Lord’s Table prominently in the room isn’t sufficient.  Other elements in the space become media  “for communicating the values of the gospel and deconstructing the values of our consumer culture.” 

Here are a couple pictures from Upper Room’s new space.  What does the room set-up communicate theologically?  What does it say about community and worship?   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Three things are worth mentioning that aren’t obvious in these pictures: (1) The space is upstairs.  When the space became available, we liked the idea of having a worship space in an “upper room”, because we liked the idea of ascending into a place of worship.  Sometimes going up and down the stairs feels like you’re entering/leaving a different place.  (2) We still use a projector to show the song lyrics on the wall from which the pictures are taken.   The projector and computer, however, are hidden in the shelves of the round end-table in the top picture.  This keeps the distractions from our own technology (hopefully) to a minimum.  (3) We’re next to a movie theater.  You can sometimes hear sounds from the theater or the nearby bowling alley when in the worship space.  It’s not obnoxious or annoying, but it’s enough to remind us that we’re still in the world.  I’d like to think that this will keep us from forgetting the importance of mission.

So, what does this space communicate?

I had to fill up my car’s gas tank today.  With all of the errands we’ve run for Upper Room’s new space over the past few weeks, plus several trips to the airport, it seems I’ve been stopping to get gas a lot recently. 

My dad told me once that one should never let the gas gauge stay below half-a-talk.  We were filling up his Toyota at Bruton’s Conoco station in Delta – a frequent occurence since he lived miles outside of town.  I had asked why he always filled up when he didn’t really need to: the tank wasn’t on empty yet.  I don’t remember the exact answer he gave, but I remember the advice.  Now, I see how the wisdom of that advice applies to other areas of life.

Having a new church move to a new space ran our tanks down to near empty last week.  By the time this past Monday rolled around, I was exhausted, and a couple folks on our steering team had nearly burned themselves out getting the space ready.  A lot of us worked more hours than we should have, didn’t take time to rest or nourish ourselves spiritually, and did not pace ourselves wisely. 

The rhythms of sabbath and daily office have been two ways I’ve learned to fill up my tank before it gets empty.  Taking one day per week to avoid all church work and do things that are restorative and life-giving has kept me alive over the past year.  The daily office (short times of liturgical prayer at a few fixed times of the day) is a practice I’ve slid in and out of, sometimes keeping it regularly, other times not. (It’s becoming easier, though, since I discovered the online version of Phyllis Tickle’s The Divine Hours.) Not surprisingly, the times when my tank stays full are the times when I maintain these practices.  Also not surprisingly, I’ve found both more difficult to keep with all of the busy-ness of Upper Room’s move.

There are many ways sabbath and daily times of prayer are beneficial, but what I realized today is that much of the benefit simply comes from the rhythm.  Drivers are less likely to look at the gas gauge and see it on empty if they fill up regularly (like my dad tried to teach me). Likewise, we’re less likely to find ourselves spiritually drained when we embrace rhythms of work and rest, action and prayer, community and solitude.  The trick is convincing ourselves that it’s necessary to fill up even if we don’t see the warning light.  Rhythms help us fill up even if we don’t think we need it.

I have not blogged in a long time.  This is for at least two reasons.  First, much of my life recently has been consumed by thinking about this.  The second reason is that I’ve been spending all of my free time for the past three weeks reading Thomas Merton’s  Seven Storey Mountain.  I had read New Seeds of Contemplation before, and thus appreciated his writings.  His autobiography gave me a deep appreciation for the man behind the writings.  But reading it did more than that:  I was sucked-in. If I had a free minute, I couldn’t put the book down.  Parts of his story resonated with my own life and other parts left me utterly fascinated. It made me hungry for liturgy, tradition, the sacraments and prayer.  So, in an effort to process through some of the questions it raised for me, I’m going to write a few posts about Merton and Seven Storey Mountain.  Tonight I’m thinking about the idea of the false-self and true-self.

A year or so after Seven Storey Mountain, Merton wrote Seeds of Contemplation.  Twelve years later, that was revised as New Seeds of Contemplation.  There Merton talks about the false-self and the true-self.  He writes:

Every one of us is shadowed by an illusory person: a false self.  This is the man that I want myself to be but who cannot exist, because God does not know anything about him.  And to be unknown of God is altogether too much privacy.  My false and private self is the one who wants to exist outside the reach of God’s will and God’s love – outside of reality and outside of life.  And such a self cannot help but be an illusion. . . . A life devoted to the cult of this shadow is what is called a life of sin. (p. 36 of the Shambala edition [2003], emphasis added)

A page later, he defines the true-self:

“The secret of my identity is hidden in the love and mercy of God.  But whatever is in God is really identical with Him, for His infinite simplicity admits no division and no distinction.  Therefore I cannot hope to find myself anywhere except in Him.  Ultimately the only way that I can be myself is to become identified with Him in Whom is hidden the reason and fulfillment of my existence.” 

Our false-selves are the persons we fancy ourselves to be, the “imposters” to use Brennan Manning’s term, the facades we project.  The true-self is a person experiencing life in union with Christ, abiding in the beloved state of being a child of God, and thus living without need of any facades or shadows. 

As Merton shares his life story, it becomes apparent while he’s studying at Columbia that his false-self is the self that wants to be a famous writer.  He works on two novels which never get published, spends all his time in literature, and writes book reviews and stories for periodicals.  Once he gets to the monastery, he thinks he’s left that false-self behind, until his superior starts assigning him translation and writing projects:

“By this time I should have been delivered of any problems about my true identity.  I had already made my simple profession.  And my vows should have divested me of the last shreds of any special identity.  But then there was this shadow, this double, this writer who had followed me into the cloister. He is still on my track.  He rides my shoulders, sometimes, like the old man of the sea.  I cannot lose him.  He still wears the name of Thomas Merton.  Is it the name of an enemy?  He is supposed to be dead.” (pp. 448-449, Harcourt [1998])

He’s admittedly confused: Merton thought he gave up his prideful pursuits only to enter a monastery where he became a bestselling author.  What was God doing with him?

Back in August, Upper Room decided to do an exercise to help people think through their false and true selves.  It was difficult, partly because people experienced the same confusion that Merton did.  I think Merton’s story is helpful and instructive because it reveals that the difference between the false-self and the true-self lies not in the action one performs (writing books, for example), but in the motivation that lies behind the action. It was only after Merton had dedicated his life and writing to the pursuit of God that he became a published author.  As he later wrote: “Ultimately the only way that I can be myself is to become identified with Him in Whom is hidden the reason and fulfillment of my existence.”  The more Merton found himself in Christ, the more his writing flourished.  Quite obviously, Merton’s “false-self” contained a seed of his “true-self”.  That seed, though, needed to be consecrated in order to grow into the source of blessing for others which God intended it to be. Praise God for the transformation that took place in his life that allowed such wisdom to be shared in his writing.

Changes are coming to Squirrel Hill.  Some of these changes are good, and some are bad.  But I’m especially pleased about one change that we’re announcing this week:  In November, The Upper Room will be moving to a new space at 5828 Forward Ave! 

 

In this picture, it’s the building between the movie theater (on the right) and PD’s Pub (on the left).  We’ll have two floors – one to use as a gathering area and the other for an office.  Among other things, this means we’re looking for furniture donations.  We are especially in need of office furniture and seating of all shapes and (most) sizes- chairs, couches, pews, bean bags, large pillows, etc. If you have any furniture to donate, or know someone else who might, please email Mike.  Keep us in your prayers, too, especially praying that we’ll be able to develop good relationships with our new neighbors.  More information will follow soon on the church website.

Today my hometown church, Delta Presbyterian in Delta, CO, will celebrate its 125th anniversary.  This is the church where I was baptized, and where I attended with my parents most Sunday mornings of my childhood.  It’s the church that my entire dad’s side of the family attended, and where my grandmother was one of the more influential longtime members.  It’s a small church, which makes it feel like a family.  So, this week I reflected on some of those family memories. These are some of the best:

• Church potlucks in Westminster Hall and coffee fellowship in the Annex.
• I remember being given my first Bible by Delta Presbyterian in third grade: I still have it.
• I remember “preaching” during a Sunday morning led by the youth when I was in elementary school. I think I spoke on something from the Ten Commandments.
• Painting the CU logo on the wall in the basement of the Annex with the youth group.
• Decorating the sanctuary for Christmas with David, the church organist.
• Making Chrismons for the sanctuary’s Christmas tree with the Bruce and Janet Sexton, the pastor who served the church during my childhood and his wife.
• Music recitals with Janet Sexton as my piano teacher.
• Playing the threefold Amen on the piano at the end of worship one Sunday – the first time I contributed music to a worship service!
• Going to Denver for a Rockies game with the youth group.
• The hiking trip Bill Forbes took the youth group on in the San Juans when I was in 7th grade.
• Brian Renfrow leading the youth group through the book In the Grip of Grace.  Also while in 7th grade.
• Bell choir – Especially the song Daniel Renfrow, the Sunderlands, and I knew best: “Simple Gifts”.
• The support I know Delta Presbyterian gave to Young Life , which had a life changing impact on me in high school, and in turn shaped much of my ministry today.
• Bill Forbes’ (the current pastor) sermon contrasting the conversions of Peter and Paul – still one of the most memorable sermons I’ve heard.
• Mowing the church lawn during high school.
• My attempts to lead “contemporary” music.  As the teenager who wanted to make room for guitar in church, I led 15 minutes of “praise music” before worship some Sundays.  Those who wanted to take part came early, while the traditionalists waited until it was over and the organ began playing.   
• Speaking about my trip to Thailand in 2003. (Thanks again to all who supported me that summer!)
• Speaking about my experience at General Assembly in 2004.
• Bill Forbes loaning me the book Crisis in the Church by John Leith, which influenced my choice of a seminary.
• The Christmas Eve service in David’s barn/garage two Christmases ago.
• My ordination last November (see here and here).

Though I’m in Pittsburgh now, Delta Presbyterian will always have a special place in my heart.  Compiling this list of favorite memories from there made me even more grateful for Delta’s support than ever before. As Paul wrote, “I thank my God in all my remembrance of you, always offering prayer with joy in my every prayer for you all” (Philippians 1:3-4).

Last night Mike and I returned from the 2009 Emergent Theological Conversation with Jurgen Moltmann.  To describe it in a few words, it seemed like a conference of sound bites. People asking Moltmann questions often quoted short passages from his books and then asked him to comment on them.  Topics changed somewhat rapidly.  Catchy one-liners from Moltmann were then tweeted and retweeted throughout the Twub.  A screen behind professor Moltmann displayed tweets from people attending the event. Everyone had a laptop open to either Facebook or Twitter where they conversed online with other people attending the event and with those following from far away.  I found it difficult to keep my attention focused on anything. I wondered at times if it was an event designed for people with attention deficit disorder.

Nevertheless, I managed to take six pages of notes, which I will now share here in soundbite form.  Here are the quotes from Moltmann which I found most interesting during the event:

“Talking about theological method is like listening to someone clear their throat.”

“Professional theologians must again and again go down to the people and the people’s questions and their answers.”

On his life story: “It is easy to tell, but it was difficult to live.”

On the Trinity:  “The doctrine of the Trinity is not a mystery; it’s really quite simple. If you come into fellowship with Jesus, you also come into fellowship with the God whom he called Abba, dear Father.  And in the fellowship of Jesus in the prayer to our dear Father, you feel the life-giving energies of the divine Spirit. . . . Before we develop the doctrine of the Trinity, we live already in God. . . We don’t believe in the Trinity only; we live in the Trinity.”

“The Trinitarian persons in their indwelling relationships are not only three persons, they are three rooms.  They give room to each other. . . . When we accept other people . . .  we give them a ‘life-space’ in which they can rest freely.  . . . This room-giving to each other is the best way to live the love of the Triune God.”

“The Reform tradition is my origin and the ecumenical church is my future.”

“God is not in control of everything; God is carrying and bearing everything.” 

“I read the Bible with the presupposition to meet the divine word in human words.  And whenever I meet the divine word which became incarnate in Jesus Christ, his suffering death and resurrection, then I meet the truth.”

In response to the question, “How do we practice hope?”: “Follow the Sermon on the Mount.”

“We have two crosses in Christian history: one is a real cross at Golgotha. The other is a dream cross of Emperor Constantine. “

“If you, on the side of the guilty, want to enter into the truth of your life, listen to the victims because they can tell you who you really are.”

“I am afraid I am not a universalist because, you know, there are perhaps a few people I don’t want to see again.  But God may be, because he created them and he’ll want to see them again.”

“I go on praying for the dead because the dead are not dead, they have died, but are not dead.  They are sleeping.“

On the relationship between science and religion: “The fundamental question of natural science is, ‘do you understand what you know?’  Knowledge increases rapidly, but do we understand it?  We need a hermeneutics of nature together with science.”

“A congregation without disabled persons is a disabled church.”  

“The growing world community will be based on human rights or there will be no world community at all.”

“We do not celebrate at the Lord’s Table our theories about his presence, but his presence.  Let’s celebrate his presence first and then afterward talk about it.”

In response to the question, “What should we be reading?: “The Bible.”

Moltmann’s parting words: “Peace be with you and good theology too.”

Continuing in reading A Broad Place this week, I came across the background story behind Moltmann’s view of the Sacraments.  In The Church in the Power of the Spirit he makes cases (1) for an open table at the “messianic feast” of the Lord’s Supper, and (2) for believer’s baptism over and against infant baptism.  This story sheds light on the question of why.

On pages 163 and 164 of A Broad Place, Moltmann recounts that in October 1968 he had “two very different eucharistic experiences”.  The first was at a demonstration against the Vietnam War in London.  Prior to the event, a group of Protestants and Catholics  “met in the offices of the Catholic publisher Sheed & Ward, and with a celebration of the Lord’s Supper, sitting on the floor, we prepared ourselves for the demonstration by agreeing to renounce violence. . . . Bread and wine passed from hand to hand in a small circle, and we felt the bodily presence of Jesus among us” (163).  Moltmann then contrasts this with an experience at St. Giles Cathedral.  There, “After the sermon, those who stayed behind were served the Lord’s Supper on silver trays by servers clad in black.  The participants sat separate from one another, scattered here and there in the great church.  There was no sense of community and I went out of the beautiful church depressed.” This leads him to ask and conclude: 

Where does Jesus’ feast belong?  On the streets of the poor who follow Jesus, or in the church of the baptized, the confirmed and established? I decided for the feast that is open to all, and to which the weary and heavy-laden are invited.  Baptism on the other hand, should be reserved for believers.  That certainly contradicts the practice of our mainline churches, but it is in conformity with Jesus according to the Synoptic Gospels.  Jesus’ Supper is not a church meal for people who belong to one’s own denomination.  It is the feast of the crucified Christ, whose hands are stretched out to everyone. (A Broad Place p. 163)

This reversal of conventional mainline practice – opening the table to all and restricting baptism to believers – is one of the most unique aspects of Moltmann’s approach to the sacraments.  Yet it seems few have followed him in pursuing these radical suggestions.  Later in A Broad Place, Moltmann notes of The Church in the Power of the Spirit that “Hardly a single one of my suggestions was accepted”, and lists his reversal of the inclusivity and exclusivity of the sacraments as an example (Broad Placep. 204).  This is curious, given that other theological revolutions in which Moltmann was involved have made lasting impacts, such as rejecting the impassibility of the Greek notion of deity, emphasizing a social Trinity, and rethinking theology in light of eschatology.

In fact, this reversal can be credited to Moltmann’s eschatological perspective on all theology.  He writes that “baptism and the Lord’s supper are signs of the messianic era” (Church in the Power of the Spirit p. 243). Baptism marks the entryway into the hope of the coming kingdom of God.  It would make sense, then, that only those who have tasted that hope and are committed to living for it receive baptism: “It is a sign of the dawn of hope for this world and of messianic service in it.  it is a missionary sign” (Church in the Power of the Spirit p. 241).  Similarly, the Supper is an eschatological event, a foretaste of the messianic kingdom coming in its fullness.  But because Jesus shares in table-fellowship with all kinds of people, the Supper is open to all.  Because the Supper’s ”fellowship comes into being on the basis of Christ’s unconditional and prevenient invitation”, the invitation to communion in worship is “as open as the outstretched arms of Christ on the cross” (Church in the Power of the Spirit pgs 259 and 246).  

What would happen if some churches actually put these ideas into practice? Who would it offend and why?  Is the theology bad, or are these ideas credible?  What else (aside from 2,000 years of tradition) prevents churches from making radical changes like this?

 

“The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.” (James 5:16b)

Today I have a lot to be praying about: A friend’s mother is having a significant surgery. Upper Room is facing some exciting decision-making in the next week and our leadership needs discernment. We’re praying, and looking forward to seeing how God answers.

Yesterday at our Presbytery meeting, Vera White preached about the importance of prayer in new church development. Her text included Matthew 9:38-39: “The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field.” New church development, she reminded the presbytery, is God’s work, and that means our work begins with prayer. Vera cited a recent trip to Brazil where church-plants are thriving as evidence of the importance of prayer.

In American mainline circles, though, I notice a disturbing lack of confidence in prayer. We make comments about how prayer is “really about changing us”, as though the only power in prayer is introspection. True, prayer does change us, but that’s not all it does. I practice contemplative forms of prayer at times, but not to the exclusion of intercessory prayer. Another sign of lack of confidence in prayer is praying without clarity, asking for ambiguous requests rather than making clear petitions to God. Perhaps we do this because we are afraid that if we’re too specific, God won’t answer the way we want. But Jesus’ parables about prayer encourage specific (and persistent) requests.

James 5:17-18 expresses a genuine belief in the power of prayer: “Elijah was a man with a nature like ours, and he prayed earnestly that it would not rain, and it did not rain on the earth for three years and six months. Then he prayed again, and the sky poured rain and the earth produced its fruit.” The story referenced here is in 1 Kings 17 and 18, and it surrounds the story of Elijah and the prophets of Baal. And that makes it easy for us to say, “Well, that was Elijah the prophet! Of course his prayers were effective!” But James emphasizes that “Elijah was a man with a nature like ours.” What if we took this seriously and believed that effective prayers are not just for prophets, but for all of those filled with the Holy Spirit?

So today is a day for prayer. Please pray with us and for the requests I mentioned above. Read also the series that Mike is writing about prayer over at his blog.

In conversation with a friend last week, I wondered aloud if the desire for secular accreditation has led seminaries to compromise their ability to produce spiritually mature graduates.  Spiritual formation generally takes a back-seat to academic work, with the result that many graduates can say and write a great deal about God without having grown closer to knowing God personally.  Why does this happen? 

For the past two days I’ve been reading A Broad Place, Jurgen Moltmann’s autobiography.  It’s fascinating to read: his experience as a soldier in WWII, his conversion experience while a prison of war, and his accounts of encounters with various theologians and church figures as his career progressed.  In light of the question asked above, though, I’ve appreciated his commentary on the education system in which he both learned and taught.  Writing about his first seminary teaching experience at Wuppertal, he says, “It is a point worth remembering that in Wuppertal there were professors who were at the same time pastors of their parishes and never considered exchanging their congregations for the seminary” (p. 72). Earlier in the book, he makes a similar comment while recounting his days as a theology student. After writing about his professors Joachim Jeremias and Gunter Bornkamm and their involvement at St. Albani church in Gottingen, he notes  “I mention Jeremias and Bornkamm because neither close ties with the church nor a broader education are firm components of academic theology any more” (p. 43).  Moltmann seems to lament this, preferring instead theology in service of and connection to the church. Yet the inclusion of “a broader education” in that quote reveals a desire for teachers of theology to be connected with the world as well as the church.  As a result, Moltmann defends the German educational system which allows for theology programs in both public and private institutions:  “‘Theology at the charge of the church’ is good and valuable, but theology at the charge of the kingdom of God goes further than that and reaches beyond the bounds of the church out into the world, into politics, society, culture – and also into the universities, the home of the humanities and sciences” (p. 94).

Reading this helped me see that the problem of spiritual formation in schools of theological education does not have an institutional answer.  Spiritual formation is a personal endeavor – not in the sense that it is private, but in the sense that it requires relationships with real people, not institutions.  Discipleship is a personal and relational practice, rather than an institutional practice.  Hence Moltmann’s attention to the professors themselves in the first two quotes.  The people under whom we study influence our academic and spiritual formation more directly than the educational institution. Accordingly, students should take care in choosing the teachers to whom they apprentice themselves. And those who teach should not take their position lightly.  Strong role-models for academic service to the Church and missional engagement with the world can be found teaching in both ”Christian” colleges or seminaries and “secular” universities. Unfortunately lousy role-models can sometimes be found in both. 

This means that alternative programs like Ancient Christian Faith Initiative and traditional seminaries both have a place in preparing the leadership of the Church.  Both are capable of producing pastors and leaders who both know God and know about God.  But the deciding factor in whether or not that capability will be realized is personal and not programmatic; it depends on the spiritual maturity, faith, and knowledge of the teacher.