The Unconventional Way

...like little children...

2012-01-04T13:43:00.000-08:00

Ava loves to cook, play, tend to our chickens, garden, picnic, stoop-sit, travel, hang with friends.... She loves all of these experiences very much and I love that she loves them.

Among all of these "loves", a good film ranks right up near the top.

A couple of nights ago, she was watching a film with her two older cousins in Minnesota. All three of them were captivated by the story. Their little heads swayed with the motion of Peter Pan soaring through the sky. They thrust their little arms into the air every time Pan beat Hook. As I watched them watch Peter Pan, I imagined that they were so enthralled with the film that the line between reality and fantasy had altogether disappeared. As far as they were concerned, they were watching the film from within the story.

And then, Ava's youngest cousin (18 mos.) began to cry. After a couple moments of prolonged sobbing, I noticed that Ava's head had turned from the film to Lucy. Her attention shifted from fantasy to reality.

But she didn't stop at noticing her cousin's cries...she got up and did something about it. I watched as she rummaged through a wicker basket for a special blanket. Having found it, she next collected a singing Christmas card that she had just received an hour earlier. With both objects in hand, she neared Lucy, covered her up, showed her the Christmas card, played it for her once, taught her how to do it herself, gently brushed her cheek, and then silently returned to the film without another word.

The adventure of compassionate living had trumped the entertainment of passive fantasy.

My daughter heard the cries of another.
She allowed her life to be interrupted by the life of another.
She tended to the needs of another and then taught the other how to do it herself.
She did all of this with tenderness and with no need to be acknowledged for it.
Having heard the cries and responded, she then drifted back into anonymity.
My daughter prefers compassionate living to passive entertainment.

Do I?
Do you?
Do we?

Thoughts from a recovering Grenade Launcher

2011-12-02T15:23:00.000-08:00

I received an email today from a young, dynamic college-aged student who has been hard-wired as a restless analysts who is always wondering if there's not something more to this life, this faith, this world.... Its a beautiful wiring that he is trying to learn to live with and leverage for good.

Here's what he wrote:

When we talked back in May, at one point I said that I was increasingly growing tired of being a critic and you told me that you had a similar sort of thought earlier in your life. The exact line you used was, "I've thrown enough grenades!" Over the course of the summer and the fall I am becoming more and more exhausted of my own critical nature.

Unfortunately after having invested so much of my identity into being a critic it's hard to try to change my mindset from destruction to construction.

So I wanted to know how the process of putting aside the grenades and learning how to build something, instead of just attacking everything, has looked for you.

Any insight you might have would be appreciated!

Here's how I interacted with his thoughts:

A couple of thoughts from a recovering Grenade Launcher:

1. Some things (perhaps most things) need to be questioned/deconstructed. It's likely that God has given you a critical eye for a just reason. It's in the way that we question/deconstruct that either results in destruction or construction. In my experience, its in the moments of humble curiosity and a true desire to be helpful rather than unconventional that construction results. It is when the end is my identity being reinforced as "unconventional" that things go awry.

To the "unconventional" thought...how much of your identity have you constructed around being the deconstructor / contrarian / grenader? The more infrastructure you have built into this identity, the more work/pain/challenge will be involved in its deconstruction. Do you see the beautiful irony here? Something actually needs to be "grenaded" in your own understanding of you.

2. Become the part of a solution. The challenge in the transition that you long for is that its actually easier to sit as the critical grenade launcher. This is your path of least resistance (that path worn into the wheat field of your existence -- Ephesians 4). It's fun...for a time...until you find yourself alone or exclusively with other grenade launchers. Then, its not fun...its lonely and we become faced with the cost of our "grenading": relationships. You need to live a new, different, better story. Contribute in the construction of something beautiful. I can say, with authority, that, being created in the image of God, you were designed as a constructive agent of good...a maker-right of wrong things. Perhaps its time to begin living into your truer identity: the Beloved. Perhaps its time to follow Jesus onto paths yet untrod.

3. Neither #1 or #2 are possible outside of the inhabiting of the very Breath of God. Bring the thoughts of this email (yours and mine) to Him. Bring these thoughts to your core community. Let them speak into the deconstruction that God is doing with you. As they do, listen for His voice. Experience His presence within. Ask Him to awaken your imagination, to listen longer than feels comfortable, and for courage to live what you hear.

The Popsicle-Stained Neighbor

2011-08-17T12:32:00.000-07:00

My family lives on Pepper Drive.

Pepper Drive is a unique place where God's Story is lived out in all sorts of beautifully bizarre, simple, common, and unconventional ways. Pepper Drive is one of the unique soils in which my family is formed.

I can remember our first visit to Pepper Drive. Two friends had recently purchased a home on the street and had invited Jaci and I to a house-warming party. A freeway to an exit to some side streets and up a hill we went turning at last from Garden onto Pepper.

"Just add Cucumber Circle, Tomato Blvd., and Crouton Court and these street names would make a great salad." I thought out loud as we veered toward the curb in front of our friends' home.

Over and over we made the journey to Pepper Drive. The frequency with which we returned meant that we started becoming friends with our friends' neighbors...Pepper Drive started to feel like home. One year later, Pepper Drive officially became our neighborhood.

Pepper Drive was hit especially hard during the real estate crisis. Like so many neighborhoods across the country, it seemed as though half of our street was vacant. Slowly, contractors bought the foreclosed homes, renovated them, and prepared to rent them.

Our dream has always been to live in close proximity with friends. We've often considered what it would be like to share resources and meals...what it would be like to intentionally share life with a few others. The dream became reality as, over time, we crossed the thresholds of the homes being renovated into friendships with the contractors. By the time a given house was ready to rent, Jaci would personally hand deliver the house to some of our friends and our friends to the contractors. In no time, there were seven homes filled with our friends...The Pepper Drive Community was born.

With 12-15 dynamic people (and a few great dogs) on Pepper, we began to explore some practices with each other. We figured that that many like-minded people in one neighborhood should cause the landscape to shift. Tangible differences should become palpable as, rather than focusing exclusively on being good neighbors to each other, we focus on being good neighbors to our entire neighborhood.

Three simple practices have emerged that have been helpful:
1. The stoop sit. Rather than sitting in our back or side yards, we are choosing to sit on our front stoop. As a result, we find ourselves far more available and present to our neighbors who are returning from work, going on runs/walks, doing lawn work, washing cars, and/or playing in the street. The stoop sit is creating frequent touch points with our neighbors that last anywhere from 5 minutes to an hour and, at times, end up around the table.

2. The shared table. Every Monday night, the Pepper Drive Community gathers around one of seven tables to eat, reconnect, tell stories and, from time to time, conspire tangible practices of love for the larger Pepper Drive. Periodically we find ourselves around the tables of other friends/neighbors and them around ours.

3. Shared Resources. Whether its vehicles, lawn equipment, food, or camping gear, our stuff is becoming "our" stuff. Eventually, we'd like to see this practice free our finances such that we can give it away in creative ways.

What I love most about Pepper Drive, though, is the frequency with which we find ourselves in the homes of others.

One night, as I was watching hockey in the living room of my next-door neighbors, I watched Jaci and Ava walk across the street and enter into the home of a different neighbor. 30 minutes passed and I hadn't seen them return. Knowing that our dinner was in the oven, I ran over to our house, switched the food out, and ran back to my friend's place for more hockey. As I walked in, I commented, "Sheesh...Jaci, Ava, and I are in everyone else's home but our own!"

Louisa, who has lived on Pepper far longer than the rest of us, said, "That's so cool." She continued, "Ever since you all moved onto Pepper, this neighborhood has gone vintage."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"This is becoming a neighborhood like it used to be...people becoming friends, friends becoming neighbors, neighbors becoming a family. As a matter of fact, I get excited when I turn onto Pepper because I love who I live among."

I was reminded of this conversation as Ava and I sat on our stoop this past Monday. Our artist friend and neighbor, Marcos, walked by with his two Chihuahuas and greeted us both by name. He's a brand new daddy of a beautiful baby girl and is getting some fresh exposure because of his unique style of art. I inquired about both worlds (daddy and artist) and he was thrilled to talk about each.

As we chatted, Ava, was eating the two-stick kind of red Popsicle. She had already broken the Popsicle in two and, therefore, had two leaking red Popsicles, one in each hand. As Marcos was preparing to move on, Ava reached out her right hand and offered one of her half-eaten, melting Popsicles to him.

"Thanks so much, Ava!" Marcos said with a wink at me. "Maybe next time."

"Okay!" Ava said nonchalantly.

"You're a good a neighbor, Ava." He responded as he walked away.

"Thanks!" Ava yelled.

My heart swelled a bit. I was proud of my little girl who had red stains streaking down her arms and well past her elbows.

After some time, as she continued to work on her Popsicle, she calmly asked, "What's a neighbor?"

"A neighbor is someone who offers her favorite flavored Popsicle to someone else." I said.

"I'm a neighbor?" she asked.

"Sure are!" I beamed.

In silence, she worked on her Popsicle a bit more.

"I'm a neighbor." she said to herself.

I looked over at her and she looked back. "I'm a neighbor!" she laughed.

From the BART window

2011-08-16T13:42:00.000-07:00

A short portion of my Saturday evening was spent on a BART train.

Having just gotten disconnected from a phone conversation with a friend, I stared out the window into the inky darkness created by the tunnel we had just entered. The life that was occurring in my BART car immediately flashed up as a reflection on the window. Lost in thought, I didn't see any of it until I heard:

"I ain't yo' DAMN girlfriend!"

I was already looking at her reflection...but now I saw her. She was a beautiful, young African American woman sitting next to an African American young man who was obviously embarrassed by both her words and volume. Pain was threaded in her eyes and was etched across her face. She sat rigidly next to someone who, I could only speculate, had hurt her.

As the volume of their conversation subsided, I looked deeper into the window whose reflection exposed the landscape of my place.

He wore tight gray pants, a black tank-top, flesh-colored dancing flats, and a black bra. He held his bike, as did his two female friends. A yellow button pinned to his pants read, "Women's Action."

It was obvious that he was undergoing hormone treatment as his breasts were abnormally large for such a tall, thin young man. It was equally as obvious that he was not yet comfortable with the new story that he was trying to live out.

The BART doors opened. It was his stop. His friends gave him quick hugs, promised to call the next time they went for a bike ride and, as the doors closed, said, "Bye Susie!"

She was a Latin mother of three small children, one of which was asleep in a stroller. The two older children, a boy and a girl, were thin...frail thin. They sat quietly next to her, heads bobbing to the sporadic jostling of the train. Her eyes exposed uncertainty, fear, and anxiety. Every time the the doors opened, she held her two children as close as she could while suspiciously eying every new person entering the train. At one stop, a business man on his phone hurried off but not before slapping the sleeping baby with his computer bag. The child screamed in pain...the business man left without a glance.

She was dressed in jeans, a white tank-top, maroon flannel button-down shirt, and men's brown, leather dress shoes. She wore her hair short and styled in messy faux-hawk. Three piercings adorned her facial features which gave way to a tatoo'd neck line. When she spoke, she strained to deepen its sound.

He was dressed in tight women's blue jeans, a silver belt, and a white, body-fitting blouse. His fingernails were long and painted, his hair hung half-way down his back, and the color of his lipstick matched the maroon flannel of his friend.

She was becoming he and he was becoming she. They held hands, occasionally kissed, and spoke passionately about the evening that she (he) had planned for him (her).

A seemingly insignificant 30 minute BART ride turned into a moment of formation. In those 30 minutes, I saw the humanity of my place reflected in a BART window. I was reminded of the pain, confusion, and complexity of those who call the Bay Area home. I was reminded of a Jesus who went out of his way to move toward the people in the reflection in front of me. I was reminded of a God who didn't just gaze into a reflection on a window, but Who entered into the pain, confusion, and complexity of others. I was reminded that, as a follower if Jesus, my vocation is to move toward the people in my train.

As the train approached my stop, I looked into the reflection one last time. My eyes were drawn to the momma with her kids. Her eyes were closed as she held her sleeping baby. A sudden jolt of the train shifted her daughter's eyes from the floor to the window I was looking into.

In the reflection, we made eye contact.

I smiled at her and waved.

She smiled and waved back.

In that moment, I moved out of the reflection and into real life.

Question 4: What can I do?

2011-07-29T17:39:00.000-07:00

While there is much to be done nationally and internationally, there is equally as much to be done internally and communally.

Here's what I mean:
Often times, when we hear stories of crisis and/or injustice our initial response is to say, "I need to go there and do something." It's a righteous response and the stuff of a breaking heart. However, too infrequently do we allow the stories of crisis and/or injustice to undo what must be undone within ourselves or the communities of which we are a part. That is, we're quick to parachute into other's issues of injustice before examining ourselves and discovering our own prejudices, racism, hatred, etc.

What I'm not saying:
I'm not saying that it is wrong to want to do something tangible in response to what you've read of the Israeli/Palestinian Conflict. By all means, there's much to be done!

What I am saying:
We must become people who allow ourselves to be moved, changed, refined, and formed by God. There are times, probably frequently, when I need to allow violence to be done to my perspective of me; that is, I daily need to allow myself to be undone and remade by God into a more accurate image of Himself such that His thoughts, words, and actions become mine.

So what can we do?
First, pay attention to what moved you most in the stories below and ask God why it moved you so. Get curious with God, yourself, and those closest to you about what God may be confronting, undoing, and reforming in you. We cannot become a part of any solution until we have confronted the reality that are a part of the conflict.

Then...
1. Develop the capacity to hold multiple narratives at once. This is complicated, messy, and necessary. Perhaps the start point is to introduce a rhythmic prayer like this into our daily repertoire: "God, empower me to step into others narratives with the same compassion that you stepped into mine."

2. Practice radical presence. We must cease so filling our lives with stuff that we are incapable of being present in the gift and/or pain of the now with others.

3. Embrace a Hebrew understanding and Jesus-practice of "Love your Neighbor." In the Talmud, loving the neighbor is equivalent to being pro-people. The Talmud describes my neighbor, created in the image of God, as more important than me. "Love your Neighbor" does not just mean "Love those who are like me." but includes "Love those who are different than me, who persecute me, who abuse me, who hate me." In the Gospels, "Love your Neighbor" means give all of yourself away for the sake of the other.

4. Embrace a Palestinian understanding and Jesus-practice of hospitality: when you are with me, you are the resident and I am the guest. In the Gospels, the Cross communicates hospitality at the highest cost: "you belong with Me!"

5. Embrace a Hebrew understanding and Jesus-practice of peace-seeking. According to the Talmud, seeking peace involves an insane pursuit of places and people where peace is not a reality. Once finding the place and/or people void of peace, actively work to build it. In the Gospels, the most important act of worship is reconciliation. It may be sin for us to sit on our hands in our own personal illusion of peace while there is conflict elsewhere.

6. Get creative in love. Words are becoming progressively meaningless in our world. Thus, we must encourage one another into creative, redemptive, compassionate, toward-people-moving action.

7. Become adept at traversing cultural boundaries with emotional connection and sensitivity. Perhaps the first step is identifying multi-culturalism in our contexts and then courageously and graciously crossing the threshold.
(Note: "Culture" is a term that I use generally to refer to groups and sub-groups of people who organize themselves around a specific identity and set of practices. We DO NOT need to get on a plane to cross cultural thresholds!)

8. Be about "human rights" but shift our understanding from "my" rights to "our" rights. Human rights do not exist for my individualized gain but so that we can come to the defense of those whose rights are being compromised.
(Note: One's shift in understanding of human rights from "my" to "ours" begins when we start paying attention to humanitarian crises in the world around us. Ask, "What humanitarian crisis moves me in my local context? Global context?" Ask, "God, how are you inviting me to participate with You in being the solution?")

9. Cease the non-helpful kind of spirituality where we are committed to proving how smart we are. In reality, people care very little how smart we are, nor are they longing to be guided by smart Christians. Rather, what people are longing for is to be guided by people whose lives reflect the Story that we claim.

10. Deal with the religious extremism caused by poor and/or convenient understandings of the Scriptures in ourselves and within our own faith communities. We have no right, nor do we have a voice, to deal with extremism within other faiths or communities.

11. Pay attention to the Freedom Flotilla that is trying to bring humanitarian aid to the Gaza Strip. Currently the boats are being held, at gun point, in the Greek port under an American and Israeli threat to Greece. To get updates on this, follow US BOAT TO GAZA on facebook.

12. Pay attention to the Palestinian Unilateral Declaration of Independence that will occur within the UN in September. Much of the International Community will support this declaration...The United States has already declared its intention to veto.

13. Watch the internationally recognized documentary Budrus, the story of one Palestinian village's remarkable non-violent resistence to the building of the Wall, and then do a screening of it with your community resourced with the stories and theological reflections from The Unconventional Way that were helpful for you.

14. Come with me some day and meet the Jewish and Palestinian heroes on the ground.

15. Keep exploring and stepping into the Just Heart of God.
He has told you, O man, what is good;
and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God?

Question 3: How are we to think theologically about the Israeli/Palestinian conflict?

2011-07-29T16:28:00.000-07:00

Rather than addressing this in totality, I am going to explore one tiny facet of this third question: Has the Church replaced Israel and, therefore, is Israel excluded from relationship and participation with God?

Before wading in to this, I want to offer eight brief thoughts that form some of my frame on theology:

1. We are all theologians: We all have thoughts about who and how God is.
2. We are all practicing theologians: Our thoughts about God inform how we live. Therefore, thinking carefully about the who and how of God is essential.
3. Our theology will eternally shift: God is fully committed to our process of becoming...our becoming like Him will take forever.
4. Theology unites and divides: For good and for bad, we tend to pitch our tents near those whose theology is like ours and far from those whose theology is different.
5. Theology is mostly retroactive: We tend to develop theology to justify what we do to others.
6. Theology is but a thin mist of reality. Language that is created to describe our thoughts about God represents the slightest fraction of who and how God really is.
7. Sometimes our theology is wrong. It is when we convince ourselves that "our" theology is "right" that we wade into a kind of calcified arrogance that interrupts our relationship with God, and others.
8. God longs to be known...thus, the reason He created us with a mind and with senses. His knowability and longing to be known is THE reason He put on flesh and camped in our neighborhood.

Thinking theologically is a comprehensive, life-long pursuit. From my perspective, God is always in the process of forming, adjusting, shifting, and even changing our theology. I see this most explicitly in Acts 10 as God very clearly changes Peter's theology.

In the story, Peter has a very clear theological stance that, in his opinion, is right, complete, and air-tight. His calcified theology told him that God was for Israel, that God had a "side", that the gospel was for Israel only, and that, therefore, his attention was to be directed exclusively on Israel. He was crystal clear on who God was, how God worked, and who God was for...or so he thought.

In a hunger-induced vision on the rooftop of a taxidermist's house (read the irony here!), God began to change Peter's theology: Don't exclude anyone...I AM for everyone!

With shifting theology, Peter moved toward people whom he'd never imagined that he would move toward: Gentiles (the nations)! Because he did, the Story of a Redemptive God flooded into the home of a Gentile and the viral, global movement of the Kingdom of God was ignited.

Peter allowed his theology to shift.
He was humble, curious, and teachable.

Peter found himself among those he formerly referred to as defiled.
His shifting theology caused him to humanize others and to stand in solidarity with them. He crossed their threshold. He became the resident in the embrace of Gentile hospitality.

Peter, no doubt, was scratching his head, wondering if it was okay that he was there.
It was a huge risk. It could have cost him is reputation and standing. He could have been wrong...it might have been the voice of hunger rather than the voice of God that he had heard.

Peter participated with God in initiating a viral, world-wide revolution of love.
Peter, a Jew, fully embraced the vocation and destiny of Israel: in word and action, He put God on display among the nations. Because he did, the multi-cultural, global Bride began to take shape and, empowered by the Holy Spirit, assumed the same vocation and destiny of Israel: to become the accurate demonstration of God in the unique soil of the now.

This raises our theological questions: What about Israel? Are there now two distinct communities with the same vocation? Did the Church replace Israel?

Some would suggest that Israel has been punitively replaced by the Church due to Israel's rejection of Jesus and His work on the Cross.
In response, I would suggest that, while many reject God, God rejects no one. He zealously chases after us...all of us. I would suggest that goal of the Cross is to reconcile, not to divide; to include, not to exclude.

Some would suggest that Israel has been functionally replaced by the Church due to Israel's rejection of Jesus and His work on the Cross.
In response, I would affirm the teachings of the Scriptures: Gentiles have been grafted into the Jewish vine. That is, Jesus did not plant a new tree; rather, through the Cross and Resurrection, He had the authority to graft us in.

Some would suggest that Israel made her final decision in her rejection of Jesus and, therefore, has no hope of being included in the New Community that God is making.
In response, I would suggest that, like everyone else, contemporary Israelis must decide what they do with Jesus. Like me, they can choose to acknowledge that their sin has interrupted their relationship with God, themselves and the other or not. Like me, they can either choose to identify with the crucified or with the crucifier. The choice that we make will radically impact they way we see, interact, and participate with God, ourselves, and the "other."

Thus, in exploring this tiny facet of our larger third question, perhaps we have addressed the entire question. That is, we are to think about the Israeli/Palestinian Conflict through the lenses of the redemptive, all-of-humanity-focused, Cross. For, on the Cross, God says to every person of every tribe: "YOU are worth my Son!"

Question 2: What do we do with the Conquering God of the Hebrew Scriptures?

2011-07-29T14:27:00.000-07:00

Perhaps before moving into this second question, it would be helpful to re-read my previous posts entitled "Yad Vashem and the Jewish Paradigm" and "Story Start Points: The Root of Societal PTSD". Both will give context to the work that we're going to do below.

...

My first encounters with Israel occurred hours before my airplane touched down in Tel Aviv. As I waited for my delayed plane to begin boarding, I was captivated by the pious activities of the very large number of Orthodox Jews who waited with me.

At our gate, a window gave view to the massive light-blue nose of the jumbo jet that we were waiting to board. This particular window faced East (it faced Jerusalem), so to this window, the Orthodox Jewish men, dressed in black suits with long coats and black full-brim hats, gathered to begin their full-body rhythmic prayers. I watched with rapt curiosity as nearly fifty men rocked back and forth and sounded their prayers toward Jerusalem.

Once on board and, having been in the air for seven hours, I awoke from a restless sleep to see the man sitting next to me no longer sitting. Rather, he was standing, shrouded in his white and black prayer shawl, arm wrapped with leather strap, and rocking to the same rhythm as were the men at the window in New York.

"Israeli Jews are extremely religious people!" I thought to myself. I began to wonder if all of Israeli Jews were as religious...as pious...as the man now standing and rocking next to me.

It didn't take long to recognize that the nation of Israel is not nearly as religious as the man who shared my cramped airborne quarters. While Orthodox Jews have a growing presence in the land, I would suggest that, rather than Israel's faith experience being Judaism, it is, in fact, atheism. In dialogue with a Rabbi, I also discovered that contemporary Judaism is 10% informed by the Hebrew Scriptures and 90% informed by what the Rabbis have said over the years. Thus, the Judaism of today is far different from the experience of the Israelites of old.

In light of the predominance of atheism and the evolution of Judaism, I was stunned to hear Israeli Jews, atheistic, pious, and cultural, repeatedly justify both their rights to the land and the unjust ways in which they are repossessing it in the name of YHWH, the Conquering God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

"In our Scriptures, our God justified violence in order that we might take the Promised Land."

This created a crisis for me. It is true. The image of the Conquering God does seem to be prevalent, especially as Israel crossed through the Jordan River and into the Promised Land. What do I do with that? How might we understand Joshua and the conquest narratives within? What do we do with the Conquering God of the Hebrew Scriptures especially when this imagery is being used to initiate an ethnic cleansing today?

Let me highlight two alternative readings of the Conquering God imagery of the Hebrew Scriptures.

First, if taken literally, we can understand the time and place of the conquest of the Promise Land as a time and place far different than today. This was a time and place, void of foreign diplomacy and the United Nations, where disputes were settled by war and conquest. The rules of the day were conquer or be conquered; to be served by or to serve another. Simultaneously, this was a world rich in mythology where it was believed that the gods fought on the behalf of their people. Thus, the conquest of one nation by another pronounced the supremacy of not only that people but also of that people's deity.

Consider Israel. They had just spent generations (430 years) in chains under the rule of the extremely spiritual Egyptians. The Egyptians had no chief god; rather, they had deities over specific spheres: the earth, the sky, the Nile River, the fields, the livestock, etc. Their polytheism created an incredibly complicated experience of life: constant blessing of the gods was necessary in order to be blessed. Constant blessing required constant reminders: thus the creation of massive statues and monuments. The idea was, if the Egyptians made big, elaborate enough statues and monuments of their gods, then the people would constantly see, be reminded, and bless the gods and, therefore, the gods would be pleased. In slavery, the Israelites were the primary workforce behind the creation of the statues and monuments of the Egyptian gods.

In chains, Israel built the monuments to the gods of the most powerful, influential, affluent, seemingly blessed people in the world. A generations-long experience of this does something to a people's perspective of their God, themselves, others, and other's gods. For years, they had cried out for YHWH to deliver them and for years YHWH had seemingly remained silent. I imagine that, after years of feeling ignored, the appeal of Egypt's pantheon of gods and goddesses increased.

Into the complexity of this, YHWH entered the created order in the form of fire: he was eternal combustion without consumption and He got Moses' attention. He had heard the cries of His people and was going to do something about it. Because Moses' heart broke for the same thing (reference his two failed rescue attempts in Exodus 2), God invited him to participate in being a part of the solution. Eventually, Moses agreed and God demonstrated that was not "one of" the gods but was, in fact "THE One": as Egypt (and their pantheon of gods) licked their wounds, the people went free.

However, freedom was a dynamic experience for Israel. They stumbled into the wilderness like a new-born fawn: they had no idea how to survive as a people. Watching from within the community, God said, "I need to teach my people how to live!"

"Hear O Israel, the LORD your God. The LORD is one. Love the LORD your God with all of your heart, with all of your soul, with all of your strength."

Their wilderness wander was an experience through which God taught them who He was, who they were, and what it meant for them to live as participants in His unfolding Story. They were to be the light to the nations. Dancing in the rhythms of the Creator, their vocation was to become an accurate demonstration of who God is; their destiny was to bless the whole world.

After a forty-year wander, they crossed through the Jordan River and into the Promised Land as a new generation. Far different from a democracy, they existed in a theocracy where YHWH was their God, their King, their Mighty Warrior, and their Provider. In the Promised Land, God's formation of Israel shifted from the learning-lab of wilderness wander to the learning-lab of disproportionate war.

With God, Israel would enter in to each battle as the underdog and, if they were faithful, they would come out victorious. Complete victory, an ancient common-place practice of warfare where no one was left living, was to give evidence to the might of a people's god. Complete victory is what YHWH desired as, through complete victory, YHWH would be seen by the watching world as THE God. Simultaneously, complete victory would enable a new generation of previously oppressed people to establish life in the way of the Creator in a specific place.

If taken literally both the Conquering God and the conquest was real and happened in a time and place where this kind of foreign policy was the standard. However, to justify a contemporary ethnic cleansing and formation of an ethnic state in the name of the Conquering God found in Joshua is unreasonable, unjust, and internationally illegal.

There is a second way to consider the image of the Conquering God in the Hebrew Scriptures.

A common understanding of the Pentateuch (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy) suggests that Moses wrote these five books. If that is the case, then it stands to reason that God whispered not only the words of the Law (10 Commandments, etc.) but also the two Genesis accounts of creation, the Garden of Eden, Noah and his ark, etc.

Internal evidence suggests a different possibility. For example, if one were to place the first Genesis account of creation (Genesis 1) next to the earlier Babylonian account of creation, one would find remarkable similarities.

Enuma Elish is the name of the Babylonian account that predates the Genesis account by several hundred years and tells the story of the gods, how the universe was created, and why human beings were introduced into the story. In short, the universe occurred as a result of a god's death and human beings were created to work for the gods by doing the things that the gods despised.

The author of Genesis tells an oddly similar story. It's a story about God, how the universe was created, and why human beings were introduced into the story. However, rather than the story being about the gods, it is about The God who, rather than creation occurring as an accident, very intentionally and lovingly spoke existence into being. Most importantly, the Genesis story exposes humanity as the pinnacle of God's creation: unlike any other creation, human beings were created in the very image of God.

The question is, if the Genesis accounts were influenced by the Babylonian account, how did this happen and why?

Let me suggest a possible answer.

First, we'd need to consider the fact that Israel's form of storytelling was not written...it was oral. The story of the ancients were augmented, enhanced, changed, and passed down from generation to generation. This is the nature of the oral tradition. It is not likely, therefore, that Moses had, or would even have needed, to write down the stories of the past. Eventually, however, it became became important for the stories to be decided upon and locked into a new medium: the written word.

As to when this actually occurred, no one is certain. However, there exits a fair amount of internal evidence from within the pages of the early Scriptures that it may have occurred while Israel was in captivity in Babylon.

If this is the case, then two primary (among others) questions likely informed the ways in which the stories were recorded: "Who is our God?" and "How did we get here?" That is, in drafting the stories, Israel sought to make sense of who God was, who they were, and how they had arrived in captivity (again).

Within this theory, the story-forming began by answering the question about God, the universe, and the existence of humanity by borrowing from the myth of their captors. However, while they borrowed the Babylonian myth, they took creative liberty with it so to identify the supremacy of YHWH. That is, in captivity they needed to believe that YHWH was stronger than the gods of their captors. Next, they reminded themselves of a former captivity (Egypt) in which YHWH had proved Himself as the One who heard and responded to His people: they reminded themselves of YHWH who proved Himself mightier than the gods of Egypt. The story continued with the YHWH's promise to Abraham coming true in the conquest of the Promised Land. YHWH was their God, their King, their Mighty Warrior, their Provider!

The problem was, they were in captivity again. How had they gotten here? Something had gone wrong such that they found themselves in chains again.

The primary answer, found in the voices of the pre-exile prophets, is Israel's idolatry. They had allowed the pagan practices and cultural gods and goddesses of their context to become marbled into their experience of worship. They had failed to worship YHWH exclusively and, therefore, found themselves in chains.

But there had to be an explanation for the idolatry, right? There had to be someone else to blame for the suffering of Israel in Babylon. Someone, somewhere, once upon a time, had certainly done something wrong...right?

Enter the created imagery of a Conquering God who sought complete victory. Enter the imagery of the Conquering God who is for us and against the nations. Enter the Conquering God who validated ethnic cleansing in order that the land could be inhabited by Israel. Simultaneously, enter the imagery of a former generation (not us!) who didn't do what they were told and gave entrance to idolatry.

"They (the former generation) are the reason we are captives in Babylon."

If taken retrospectively, the imagery of the Conquering God was developed to explain a current experience of suffering and to generate hope that He was capable of their release as He had been once before. Thus, to justify a contemporary ethnic cleansing and formation of an ethnic state in the name of the Conquering God found in Joshua is unreasonable, unjust, and internationally illegal.

Therefore, regardless of which of the two alternative readings one prefers, neither of the two justify what is currently taking place in Israel.

Let me conclude with a couple of additional thoughts from within the pages of both the Hebrew Scriptures and the New Testament:

First, the prophets give voice to a God who is for Israel, is for justice, and is for the nations.

Second, the prophets give voice to a God who consistently implores Israel to be the light to the nations by humanizing them, moving toward them, and practicing justice on their behalf.

Third, the prophets give voice to a God who says, "I am for the oppressed, the persecuted, the marginalized, and the occupied even if they are not you, Israel."

Fourth, as followers of Jesus, we are to read the Hebrew Scriptures through the lenses of Jesus. While Jesus references the Exodus, he never references nor validates a conquest of the Promise Land. If there is a conquering that Jesus exposes, it is God's complete victory over the power of sin.

Fifth, Jesus said things like, "Blessed are the peacemakers." (Matthew 5:9) and "When power is abused and you're the victim, don't get even, get creative in love." (Matthew 5:38-42). Jesus taught and then embodied these teachings and it cost Him His life. The greatest news, though, is that He didn't stay dead: Jesus, the living, resurrected reality invites and empowers us, by His Spirit, to live likewise.

Question 1: What do we do with the Abrahamic Covenant?

2011-07-28T00:09:00.000-07:00

The Story goes like this:

The Creator began to author an epic Story in which He was the Main Character. Because it pleased Him, He began to speak existence into being: light, dark, land, water, fruits, vegetables, dogs, the rest of the animal kingdom, then cats...

Then, the Creator did something He had never done before: He entered into the created order. Genesis 2 offers a picture of Him on His hands and knees, playing in the dirt. As He played, He lovingly fashioned the form of a human being and then breathed His breath into him.

The human being woke up to the face of the Creator and, in that moment, knew that everything that he was, would ever become, and ever needed would come from the One who had just exhaled into him. While He woke up to the face of the Creator, he also woke up to a Story that was already in process...a Story that was not about him. He knew that he was a participant in this Story.

The Creator put the human being back to sleep and woke him up a second time, this time to the face of the pinnacle of God's creative work: the woman! Together, they danced in the rhythms of the Creator...it was the way it was supposed to be...and it was very good.

Before long, however, the rhythms of the Creator didn't work for the human beings. You see, they began formulating a fantasy that was different than the Way of the Creator. Eventually, convinces themselves that their fantasy was a trade up, they chased their fantasy and found themselves hiding, isolated, blaming, fabricating tragic stories about God, themselves, and each other, and, for the first time in the history of the world, fueled by fear.

In Genesis 3, we find the Creator walking in the coolness of the Garden asking a question: "Where are you?"

The Creator didn't really get an answer until, finally, years later, a man named Abram said, "Here am I!"

And the Creator said, "Yeah. There you are. I see you. I love you. I choose you as the next primary participant in my unfolding Story. Here's what this is going to entail: Leave your identity reinforced by your people, your pagan practices, and your place. Along the way, you will discover a new, better, more whole identity. I will bless you. I will multiply you. I will give you a new place. And your massive family will bless the world."

So Abram said, "Okay. I'm up for that. I'll participate in your Story. There's just one glaring problem: my wife and I can't have kids!"

God smiled on Abram, renamed in Abraham, and give him not one, not two, but eight sons, the first of which were Ishmael and Isaac.

Ishmael came as the result of Abraham and Sarah taking matters into their own hands. God had made a promise...they were going to see to it that the promise was fulfilled. So, Abraham impregnated Sarah's servant Haggar. A son was born and Ishmael became the recipient of Abraham's affection.

Shortly thereafter, Issac appeared as a result of the faithfulness of an extraordinary God. God had made a promise and He was good to see it fulfilled. So, the ancient Sarah became pregnant and a second son was born: as he was obviously the son of the promise, Isaac usurped Abraham's affection.

Within moments, Ishmael became the first of two sons that Abraham was willing to sacrifice: he kicked Haggar and Ishmael to the wilderness. Outside of the intervention of God, Haggar and Ishmael were sure to die. But God saw and heard the cries of the oppressed, entered into their suffering, tangibly loved them, and blessed their future. Like his daddy, Ishmael would become the father of many nations and would have a place to call home.

Isaac became the second of two sons that Abraham was willing to sacrifice. Outside of the intervention of God, Isaac was sure to die. But God saw and heard. He was pleased by the faithfulness of Abraham so He tangibly loved them, and blessed their future. Like His daddy, Isaac would become the father of many nations and would have a place to call home.

Isaac eventually had two sons of his own, "Hairy Red Man" (Esau) and "Deceiver" Jacob. God loved and blessed them both, but because it pleased God, He chose the Deceiver as the next primary participant in His unfolding Story.

God and Jacob had a bizarre, love-hate relationship: they continually wrestled with each other, so much so that God eventually renamed "Deceiver" Israel or "Wrestles with God."

Israel inhabited the land that God had promised Abraham...and it was very good...until a famine hit the land. From that point forward, Israel has been on an extraordinary forever-journey into and out from the land.

Why this extraordinary forever-journey into and out from the land?

Consider the conditional voice of God through the prophet Jeremiah (7:5-7):

"For if you truly amend your ways and your deeds, if you truly execute justice one with another, if you do not oppress the sojourner, the fatherless, or the widow, or shed innocent blood in this place, and if you do not go after other gods to your own harm, then I will let you dwell in this place, in the land that I gave of old to your fathers forever."

It seems as though the journey has been forever in and out of the land because the condition, arguably given clearest voice in Micah 6:8, has not been met:

"He has told you, O man, what is good;
and what does the LORD require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?"

The people of God's sins of commission have consistently been idolatry and injustice, both of which have continually disqualified the people of God from the land.

What was the plot of land that God promised to Abraham?

Consider Genesis 15:18

"To your offspring I give this land, from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates..."

It appears as though the land would technically include Egypt, Gaza, Israel, West Bank, Jordan, Syria, and two-thirds of Iraq. A contemporary consensus would expose that approximately 15% of the land's inhabitants are Jewish and 85% are Arab.

To whom did God promise this plot of land?

With another look at Genesis 15:18, it appears as though this plot of land was to be inhabited by the "offspring" of Abraham. While it pleased God to invite Isaac's line rather than Ishmael's as the next primary participant in His unfolding Story, God did not forget Ishmael, nor did He cut Ishmael's line from Abraham's family. Ishmael and his line descended from Abraham, was made numerous and powerful (Genesis 16-17), was given land, and is yet considered Abraham's offspring.
Here's where it gets interesting. Even if we were to cut Ishmael's branch from Abraham's tree, we'd still have to deal with the birthright-selling Esau who, despite his appetite-driven, short-sightedness, was still a descendant of Abraham and was blessed with a right to the land. This is the same Esau who married two Hittite women: Esau married into Ishmael's line. What does this mean other than Isaac's line includes Arabs?

Thus, if we're considering the plot of land from the Abrahamic Covenant found in Genesis 15, then we could say with confidence that Abraham's offspring do, in fact, inhabit the land that is theirs and that each nation, Israel and Palestine included, should be given the right of place.

What was the significance of the land then?

Let's go back to Genesis 12.

"Now the LORD said to Abram, "Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you. And I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and him who dishonors you I will curse, and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed....When they came to the land of Canaan, Abram passed through the land to the place at Shechem, to the oak of Moreh. At the time the Canaanites were in the land. Then the LORD appeared to Abram and said, 'To your offspring, I will give this land.'"

Historically speaking, this particular plot of land was where the known world collided; the roads of the nations crossed here. God's specificity of this plot of land seems to highlight the land as a means to an end rather than an end unto itself. That is, there seems to be something far more significant in the Abrahamic Covenant than land: blessing. The whole point was that the entire world would be blessed as they came into contact with Abraham's offspring.

What might be the significance of the land today?

Israel is still to be a blessing to the nations. However, in order for them to be a blessing to the nations, they must assume a posture of powerlessness and practice justice on behalf of the Palestinian. Practicing justice must involve the cessation of land stealing, the granting of a fair portion of land, and the crumbling of the Apartheid Separation Wall.

As American's we have a role to play in Israel becoming pro-justice and pro-Palestinian:

We must encourage Israel to take their foot off the throat of the Palestinian and to allow them to stand up. We must encourage the Israel to see the Palestinian as a human being with rights.

It also means that we must stop supplying the boot that's on the Jewish foot that's on the Palestinian neck. It means that we must give up our American interest in the land.

Finally, it means that we must stop supporting the ethnic cleansing that is occurring in the land. Israel as an ethnic state will not expedite the return of the Christ, especially in light of the way that Israel is becoming Jewish. Simply put, God is not honored by what is occurring among Abraham's family within the land.

The Corner I'm Turning

2011-07-27T17:11:00.000-07:00

As the stories of my experience have unfolded on the very public forum of The Unconventional Way, I've been inundated with fabulous, messy, complicated, raw, and unanswerable public and private questions. I'm humbled that you would dare to ask the questions that you're now asking and join you in a posture of curiosity with God, myself, and my local and global community. My desire is that, together, we would continuously become the place where the thoughts, words, and actions of Jesus become real in the unique and complicated soil of today. Further, my desire is that we would become formed along the way such that we can fully participate with God in becoming the answer to the questions we're asking and prayers we're praying.

Therefore, within the subsequent four posts, I humbly seek to think some thoughts in relation to the four recurring questions that you, the community who has tread into the deep waters of this blog, are asking. I will attempt to keep these thoughts as focused as possible such that we can find ourselves in a helpful, solution-searching dialogue in the comment section below.

The 4 Questions:
Question 1: What do we do with the Abrahamic Covenant (Genesis 12)?
Question 2: What do we do with the Conquering God of the Hebrew Scriptures?
Question 3: How might we think theologically about the Israeli/Palestinian Conflict?
Question 4: What can I do?

Before navigating into these questions, I want to mention that the thoughts that will emerge below (or above as the case may be) are a result of hours of lecture, reading, dialogue, and reflection, mostly over shared meals with friends and mentors. Together, we found ourselves trying to sort out the complexities of the God-Life in the midst of a complicated social location.

Guides, Facilitators, and Co-Conspirators:
Dr. Glen Stassen, Lewis B. Smedes Professor of Christian Ethics, Fuller Theological Seminary.
Dr. Mark Gopin, Director of George Mason University's Center on Religion, Diplomacy and Conflict Resolution.
Dr. David Gushee, Distinguished Professor of Christian Ethics, Mercer University.
Dr. Salim Munayer, Israeli Palestinian and Founder of Musalaha
Dr. Naim Ateek, Israeli Palestinian, Liberation Theologian, and Founder of Sabeel
Shira Nesher, Israeli Jewish Facilitator
Fakhira Halloun, Israeli Palestinian Facilitator
Jon "Huck" Huckins, SoCal Co-Conspirator
Steve "Steve-O" Martin, Southeast Co-Conspirator
David "PB" Bridges, Texan Co-Conspirator
Christy Reiners, Co-Conspirator, West Bank-living Founder of In His Steps: Pathways of Peace.

I'm grateful beyond words for the contributions these eleven people made into my life in a very short period of time.

Now...into Question 1 we wade.

The Sights, Sounds, and Smells of Injustice

2011-07-25T17:27:00.000-07:00

I was incensed.

We had bypassed the Hebron Souk.

This was THE place that I wanted to visit.

"I'll be back." I thought to myself as the bus carted us to our appointment with the Mayor.

Five days later, with the learning delegation completed, I made good on my commitment: I returned to the Hebron Souk.

Words cannot adequately describe the remnant of the Souk. It's inhabited by men and women who are tying to eek out an existence under the worst imaginable circumstances. You see, built on top of the Hebron Souk is the Beit HaShalom Settlement. High-rise apartments filled with Jewish settlers reach toward the sky and overlook the narrow Souk below.

This is the place where I learned what hatred, racism, occupation, and violence look, smell, and sound like.

Their vantage point gives settlers the ideal location to terrorize both the shop-owners and the shoppers of the Souk. From their elevated apartment complexes, settlers began dropping rocks, and then bricks, and then boulders the size of the human head down on the Palestinians below. From two to eight stories, rocks are designed to irritate and, if big enough, cause discomfort.

Bricks and boulders are intended to kill.

The shop owners initiated a non-violent response. Together, they fastened chain-linked fencing together and fixed it just above their shops. While this creates a caged in feel from the street level, it is preventing the death of owners and shoppers and the remnant is able to survive another day.

Jamal is a shop owner who sells specialized Palestinian embroidery. Following in his father's footsteps he has chosen to remain in the Souk even though it would be far more lucrative for he and his family to go elsewhere. Jamal endures unspeakable injustice to keep his father's shop open.

A friend had told me to find Jamal so, equipped with a mental picture, I searched high and low. As I was beginning to wonder at the likelihood of finding him, I saw him...he stood at the entryway of his shop and was looking at me with an inviting smile.

"You must be Jamal!" I said, extending my hand. "Your goods and your company come with the highest of international recommendation."

Hand over heart, he responded, "You are too kind. Please. Sit."

As I took in the size of his tiny shop, I noticed that the interior seemed recently repainted.

"What an inviting shop!" I began, "and I've never seen your work rivaled." As a matter of fact, I'd never seen anything like Jamal's work.

He went on to explain to me the uniqueness of the work that he did. As he talked, I felt myself so drawn into his passion that I momentarily forgot the size of the rocks and bricks and the colors of the glass bottles that rested on the cage directly above his shop.

Eventually, I asked him about the cage, the rocks, the bricks, and the bottles.

"Oh yes." he began. "Don't forget the chlorine, the chemicals, the petrol, the human waste, and the egg.... The cage catches most of the solid material but can do nothing to contain the liquid. Please. Come with me."

He led me out of his shop to a rack of beautiful shawls and scarves.

"Have a look." he invited as his hand disappeared into the spectrum of colorful folds.

"Stunning!" I began to say until I saw what it was that Jamal wanted me to see.

While beautiful from a distance, every shawl had been ruined by toxic liquid cocktails poured from above.

What could I say?

Knowing that he would never sell these shawls, I offered to buy them and was shocked by his response.

"You cannot buy these. I will never sell these shawls. They tell a story that I cannot."

Sensing that I was struggling, he reached out and took my hand: "Jer. Do you know what you can do? Go home and tell the story of what you have experienced here."

As we walked back into his shop, a small platoon of heavily armed Israeli soldiers made their way through the Souk. As they went, the muzzles of their rifles knocked goods from tables and shawls from racks. I stood as they walked by Jamal's shop and looked to the left and to the right. The platoon had a left a wake of shop owners scrambling to pick up their goods before they could be trampled by shoppers.

Returning my attention to Jamal, I complimented the paint job on the ceiling. He smiled and said, "Thank you."

I sensed something behind his smile so I got curious. The story that unfolded further undid me.

It had been a relatively recent and necessary remodel as, not long before, settlers had drilled into his ceiling from above and had poured gallons of human waste into his attic.

It wasn't the last nor the worst story that I heard that day. At the final bend of the Souk, I met someone my age: a Palestinian daddy of two boys. After we talked for a while, he invited me into his home for tea. Naturally, I accepted and, entering into his home, sat in a room with windows welded shut.

"This is my eldest son's room." he beamed. "It used to be the brightest room in the house."

"Used to be?" I asked.

"Yes. Not long ago, we were able to open all of our windows."

Although I feared what I would hear, I asked, "Why can you no longer open your windows?"

"Because the settlers kept throwing fire at my son."

I looked on the floor. Sure enough, there were charred marks all over the artisan rug.

Later, I asked to meet his eldest.

"I can show you only a picture." he said, leaving to retrieve his favorite picture of his boy. "He's in Jordan recovering from a surgery."

"What kind of surgery?" I asked, innocently.

"They dumped chlorine in his eyes from above. It blinded him. I guess they finally got him."

Bypassing the Souk to Walk Shuhada

2011-07-25T16:10:00.000-07:00

From the Ibrahimi Mosque, our learning delegation chose an interesting route. We walked Shuhada Street.

Shuhada Street is where the most extremist, violent, hate-filled settlers live. It's where David lives, armed with his 9mm, within the walls of Beit HaShalom. Because of the Settlement and the presence of 400 settlers defended by 2000 Israeli troops, a major portion of the Hebron Souk has been shut down, welded closed, and tagged with the Star of David. Many Palestinians have chosen to relocate. Some have chosen to stay.

Once upon a time, the Hebron Souk was a thriving location of Palestinian commerce. This was the place where men and women would come to buy, sell, and trade their goods. It was the space where friendships were forged, families worked together, parents negotiated love, and a collective future was imagined. Now, it is nothing more than an Israeli controlled ghost town augmented with reality-creating language.

One image in particular caught my attention. Tagged on a "temporary" cement barrier wall was the image of the "3rd Temple." This is the one that Zionists believe will be built on the Temple Mount where the Dome of the Rock and Al Aqsa Mosque currently stand. Naturally, this would only occur if Israel became an ethnic state and held dominion over every square inch of "the Land." The building of the 3rd Temple would require the demolition of the Dome and Al Aqsa. The image, tagged near Beit HaShalom, communicates a presumed and desired future.

It was an eerie, hair-raising experience to be a part of a large group of Americans walking down Shuhada Street in the middle of the day in complete silence. The only signs of life were the occasional movements from within the Israeli guard towers and the overgrown vines that threatened to forever close off what used to be homes and thriving storefronts.

Two Palestinian kids courageously followed us trying to seduce us into buying their goods: beaded key chains and Palestinian bracelets. I loved what they were selling, but didn't feel like buying...nor did anyone else in our delegation. They disappeared as we neared Beit HaShalom. They knew David well and did not want to be seen by him or any of his people.

After the brief, troubling lecture by David in which he asserted, "We didn't conquer or occupy...we took what was ours." we were on our way again. Our two young Palestinian salesmen materialized and resumed the peddling of their goods. I took another look and found myself fond of a specific key chain that presented the Palestinian flag in strands of beads. We had been told that we were heading to what was left of the Hebron Souk, so I held off.

A few meters down the road, we came to a Checkpoint: another safety valve to protect the settlers of Beit HaShalom. As we approached the gate, one of the Palestinians barked, "You people are horrible! You listen to them and not to us?!"

I didn't understand until shortly thereafter what had just happened.

As we made our way through the Checkpoint and into the epicenter of Hebron, a bustling downtown, I recognized that we hadn't gone to the Hebron Souk. I inquired of one of the ethicists and primary guides of our experience as to why.

"Too dangerous." was his short response. "Besides, we're late for a meeting with the mayor of Hebron!"

As we piled into our bus, the words spoken by the Palestinian peddler made sense. We, an American delegation seeking to hold dual narratives in tension, had walked Shuhada Street but we had not also walked the remnant of the Hebron Souk. We were in the West Bank and had just blatantly stood in solidarity with the some of the most extreme settlers in the country.

Six days later, as my entire suitcase was dumped out, checked, and re-checked for explosives at Ben Gurion, I looked on the floor behind the young Israeli conducting the search. There, next to the garbage can, was the very key chain that had drawn my eye that day on Shuhada. I imagined that someone had chosen to stand in solidarity with the oppressed, only to have the souvenir discovered and discarded of at the airport.

The Irony of Artistic Expression: Part 2

2011-07-24T15:48:00.000-07:00

World War II saw the branding of the yellow Star of David as the representation of the Jew. In November of 1938, head of the German Gestapo, Reinhard Heydrich suggested that every Jew should be required to wear the yellow Star of David on his or her clothing. Prior to this, it was very difficult to distinguish European Jews from non-Jews. Once implemented, the yellow Star of David became the badge worn by every Jew, and the very public persecution of the Jews was underway. Forced to wear the star, Jews were immediately recognizable, kicked to the edge of society, herded into open-air prisons called ghettos, cattle cars, and, eventually death camps.

At first, Jews were humiliated by the badge. Eventually, they were terrified. A Jew caught without a badge could be fined, beaten, imprisoned, or killed. Caught with a wrinkled Star or one slightly out of place could result in a severe beating. Wearing a yellow star meant exclusion from society, access to schools, and business. Before long, people wearing the Star mysteriously began disappearing, never to reappear.

Simultaneously, the Star of David was painted on the window of Jewish owned shops. A very public campaign to boycott all of the Jewish economy was underway as people stayed clear of any shop tagged with the Star of David.

Today, because of the atrocities of the Holocaust, the Star of David has become a national symbol.

But it has also become a symbol of racism, power, hatred, and occupation. Today, closed down Palestinian shops are being tagged with the Star of David.

Here lies the second irony of artistic expression.

The Irony of Artistic Expression: Part 1

2011-07-24T15:14:00.000-07:00

Visual art is everywhere. It tells of our deepest longings, of our most cherished moments, and of our worst nightmares. Art gives voice to the workings of humanity's soul and uncovers, in brilliant colors, our very best and our very worst. Art tells the stories that words fail to express; it can be a form of activism and/or defiance. While we all see art from a different perspective, one thing remains consistent: we all see it.

Living on both sides of the Wall, I noticed an irony of artistic expression.

On the Israeli side, the art is encased in ancient walls, windows, and ceilings. The story told is an ancient story of a God who lovingly led His people. Artistic expressions of the extent of this God's love draw Christian pilgrims from around the globe. We travel to the other side of the planet to see paintings and sculptures of Jesus who lived in a real time and a real place. We see his teachings calcified in stained-glass, in chiseled words, and in bronze statues.

In Palestinian territory, the art is displayed on a contemporary wall with no windows and no ceiling. The story told is an ancient/future story of a people who long for the very things that Jesus lived, taught, brought, and accomplished. The art on these walls cry out for Jesus to be unlocked from the prison of windows, walls, and ceilings and to be made real in this place again.

The Tragedy of Tourism

2011-07-24T09:13:00.000-07:00

Last year (2010), 3.45 million people traveled to Israel from all over the world.

69% of global tourists were Christian.
19% (645,000) of global tourists were from The United States.

The most popular tour in Israel is called "The Gospel Trail" and includes the streets of Nazareth, the ruins of Capernaum, the Sea of Galilee (by foot, bike, car, or sailboat), the Church of Transfiguration, the antiquities of Migdal, and the Church on the Mount of Beatitudes. For those who make their way south to Jerusalem, their pilgrimage would include the amphitheater on the Mount of Olives, the chapel at the Garden of Gethsemane, one or all of the four churches where various traditions say Jesus ascended from, and the Church of the Holy Seplechure where various traditions say Jesus was crucified. For those who dare make their way into the West Bank, their only stop will be the Church of Nativity where various traditions say Jesus was born.

For an American Christian to "walk where Jesus walked" is a remarkable experience through an expertly designed and well manicured route guided by Israeli or, sparingly, Palestinian guides who are on the payroll of Israel's Department of Tourism.

Tourism is a BIG deal to Israel. As of 2010, Israel ranked only 49th of 222 in global exporting. They export $54.31 billion (USD). 3.45 million tourists per year translates into billions of dollars.

I didn't see this as problematic until I met a woman from Oklahoma.

Three friends and I were taking our lunch in a Druze restaurant in the Galilee. We ate in a large restaurant that was already quite full with a coach bus of American tourists from Oklahoma. I observed them interact with each other and with the staff of the the restaurant. They did nothing out of the ordinary for American tourists, but yet, from a distance, I willed them to be gracious and generous with those who served them. I know that American Christians have a reputation as being rude and horribly stingy and imagined that this carried over to American Christian tourists as well.

After a delicious meal of falafel and kabobs, I washed up and began to make my way through the crowded room. Simultaneously, an Oklahoman woman stood and began her own journey to the door. We arrived at the door at the same moment.

"Delicious Druze falafel wouldn't you agree?" I asked, followed by "How are you?"

"What is Druze falafel?" she asked, obviously confused.

"The Druze are the people that live here." I answered. "I think they have the best falafel! I'm Jeremy." I stuck out my hand to shake hers.

"Deborah." she responding taking my hand.

"A pleasure to meet you. So, where have you guys been?" I inquired.

Her answer mirrored the path of "The Gospel Trail" that they had toured for the past 12 days and continued with how beautiful this place was and how grateful she was to have gotten the opportunity to "walk where Jesus walked."

"Where have ya'll been?" she reciprocated.

"Jerusalem, the West Bank, Ramallah, and Hebron. We just arrived to the Galilee this afternoon."

Eyes wide, she asked, "What were you doing in the West Bank?"

"Building friendships and listening to stories." I responded. "We're not so much a tourist group as a learning community. We're focusing our work on conflict resolution and peace-building."

What she said next will fuel my work with the American Church in regards to our ignorance and apathy toward what is actually happening on the ground in Israel & Palestine for years to come.

"Oh my!" she began. "Isn't it something how these two people groups live in such peace with one another?"

How is it possible that a group of American tourists could spend twelve days in Israel and describe the relationship between Israelis and Palestinians as "peaceful"?

It is quite easy, actually. By focusing the tours on where Jesus "walked" the tourists are conveniently routed around and away from where Jesus would most certainly "walk" today. By leveraging the tourists' intoxication with the the ancient narrative, the tour guides hardly have to give mention to the contemporary narrative. Tourism caters to the American Christian Zionist paradigm which blindly celebrates and supports Israel as an ethnic state by showing the tourists that their dollars are being well spent: Israel is thriving as a Jewish state! Tourism in Israel accomplishes two objectives: it generates cash and it disseminates propaganda.

What do I mean by propaganda? 645,000 Americans returning home and narrating their experience of Israel with: "Isn't it something how these two people groups live in such peace with one another?"

Courageous Hospitality: The Way Forward.

2011-07-23T23:29:00.000-07:00

After days of wrestling through the complexity of place and people, we found ourselves in a Druze village with the best cup of tea I'd ever tasted in hand. As I sipped my heated, cinnamon flavored drink, shielded from the unrelenting sun in the coolness of a Druze home, I settled into my backless chair, not expecting to learn, for the first time, what hospitality really meant.

I was at a personal saturation point. I had learned and observed more than I had the capacity to contain. As I considered this, I heard our host say:

"Among our people, hospitality means that the guest becomes the resident and the resident becomes the guest."

The conversation continued from there, but I heard nothing else.

"...the guest becomes the resident...the resident becomes the guest."

In that statement, many things happened at once: I heard the voice of Jesus; I learned what courageous hospitality meant; I was confronted with my own feeble attempts at hospitality; and I discovered the way forward for Israelis, Palestinians, and all the rest of us.

If we could become people who embodied this philosophy of hospitality (which is nothing short of the Way of Jesus) then there would be no land grabbing or suicide bombing, no need for separation walls or barbed-wire, no more bullet-firing or rock-slinging. If we could become people who, in humility, offered residency to the guest, we would have peace.

Fixated on this new-found philosophy of hospitality, I began to wonder if it was simply theory or if it landed in reality. As the opposite of this philosophy informed the majority of our experience up to this point, I doubted very much that it was possible in practice...especially here.

I was wrong.

A Story of Courageous Hospitality: She Sang for Us a Song.
Fakhira was our Palestinian guide, but was far more than that: she was my friend. While she was still only our guide, she had told us that a day was coming when we all would be invited into her home. We were not few, so I was impressed by the level of hospitality that this would require. As the days went by, though, and as Fakhira became a friend, I began to discover just how significant hosting an American delegation would be to her and to her family.

Fakhira, you see, was one of four daughters, was single, and, much to her father's chagrin, was involved in politics. He would have preferred that she stopped wasting her time, a risk to herself and her future, with political nonsense and that she would settle down, get married, and begin building a life.

"Are you excited?" she would repeatedly ask me.

"So excited!" I would respond. And I was excited. In the days leading up to our visit, I saw in Fakhira how meaningful this moment was going to be for her.

When we arrived, her entire family had gathered. Mother, Father, Sisters, Nieces, Nephews. Everyone was there to welcome Fakhira's American friends into their home. They invited us in to the re-arranged living room and, plate after plate, began serving homemade delicacies that, no doubt, had been days in preparation. Dishes of sliced watermelon and plastic bottles of water and soda made round after round until none of us could eat another bite or drink another sip.

Fakhira's father stood to his feet and cleared his throat.

Silence settled in the room.

"You are home with us...this is your home...we are the guests."

It was the same quote from earlier that day. And it was true, I felt like I was home.

As his introduction and welcome concluded, the primary facilitator of our learning delegation, sensing the importance of this moment, rose to thank Fakhira's family but did not stop there. He went on to speak words of significance and virtue over Fakhira, to affirm the work that she was doing, and to give his support to her ongoing work and study in conflict resolution.

Both Fakhira and her father were in tears. With a group of Americans in a Palestinian home, a Palestinian father embraced the treasure that was his Palestinian daughter. In that moment, he recognized that she was, in fact, building a life: it was a different, meaningful kind of life that will matter for years to come.

The sound of Fakhira's niece singing to Jesus in Arabic set the soundtrack for the transformation that I saw occurring between father and daughter. It was good...very good.

When the song ended, I asked Fakhira to take the microphone and to sing. Sheepishly, she turned down the invitation, but I would not be swayed. I don't know why, but I wanted Fakhira to sing.

"Fakhira!" I began to chant. "Fakhira! Fakhira! Fakhira!" My friends joined in; so did her sisters, and mother, and father. Before the long, the entire room shouted "Fakhira! Fakhira! Fakhira!"

She looked at me with eyes that said: "You started this! You're in big trouble with me!"

I winked back and smiled, standing and chanting all the louder: "Fakhira! Fakhira! Fakhira!"

She took a step toward the microphone and the room went berserk!

"I don't sing." were her first amplified words, "but I'll sing. I'll sing a song that has much meaning to me."

She sang for us in her own home and in her own language a song about a Jesus who knows her name.

It was an inspired moment. All of us were spellbound.

Three days later, as Fakhira spoke to us about the most significant moments of our time together, she looked directly at me and said: "I want to thank you for strengthening me to sing. I had been disconnected from my identity as a Jesus Follower."

Another Story of Courageous Hospitality: Bread and Eggs @ 3:00am.
The learning delegation had come to a close. My American friends were getting on airplanes while my Palestinian friends awaited my arrival in the West Bank.

From behind, I heard a metallic click and a voice yell, "Stop!"

I stopped and slowly turned my head. My heart was pounding. The sound of blood pumping through my ears was deafening. The defender began walking toward me, machine gun in hands.

"Passport!"

I dug in my shirt pocket for the little blue booklet that gives me permission to go virtually anywhere on the globe. Finding it, I opened it to my picture and handed it to him.

Seeing that I was American, he softened a bit: "Where are you going?"

"To the West Bank." I said. Wasn't this obvious?

"Why?" he asked as he paged through my passport.

"Glad I just got my passport renewed!" I thought to myself as I could only imagine what he would have done had he seen where else in the world I'd been.

"To see some friends." I responded, trying to shield the anxiety in my voice.

He looked at me quizzically.

"Friends?" he asked. "How do you have friends in the West Bank?"

Not waiting for me to answer, he handed my passport back: "This is a military only entrance. Entrance for civilians is there." He pointed over my left shoulder and walked away.

"Thank you." I said.

No response.

I returned my passport to my shirt pocket, tightened my straps (again) and began to pull my suitcase toward the civilian entrance.

The Checkpoint is a fascinating experience. Composed of a maze of metal detectors, manned & armed security booths, and cages that route human beings like cattle back and forth before spitting them out on the Palestinian side. the Checkpoints are intentionally designed to dehumanize, humiliate, and irritate. They seem to be efficient at doing all three. No cameras are allowed, but (somehow) I found this picture on my camera by the time I got through.

Now, it was nearly 1:00am. I was approximately four hours late, yet, parked in the darkened streets of the West Bank was my friend Mahmut, the orange glow of a newly lit cigarette illuminating his silhouette.

"I've been waiting for your arrival, my friend." he began without a hint of frustration. It seemed as though my arrival was worth his wait. We sped through the streets of Bethlehem to the home of his uncle, Nabeel.

"You are welcome!" was Nabeel's greeting to me accompanied by a warm smile, a firm hand-shake, and, quickly thereafter, a cup of Arabic coffee. It was nearly 2:00am as we sipped our coffee together under the same stars that had, 2000 years prior, announced the arrival of One far more significant than I to this very place.

"Are you hungry?" Nabeel asked.

I was, but it was 2:00am. "I'm fine, thank you." I lied.

With the taste of coffee in my mouth, Nabeel showed me his home and to my room. I quickly understood that I was being given Nabeel's own room.

"Nabeel, where will you sleep?" I wondered aloud.

"The couch." he said.

"Thank you, Nabeel."

"You are welcome."

Having cleaned up for bed, I entered into the room where Nabeel would sleep for the next three nights. "Good night, my new friend." I said, hand over my heart in a sign of deep gratitude.

"Not quite yet." was his riddled response. "Mahmut has gone to get you food."

It dawned on me then that Mahmut had left the moment I had lied. I hadn't seen him since.

Thirty minutes later, at 3:00am, he returned with homemade bread still warm from the oven and six hard-boiled eggs.

Met by my bewildered look, he shrugged his shoulders and said "You looked hungry...lucky for you, I know when and where they make the bread."

Later, with a full stomach and with hand over heart for the second time in an hour, I managed: "Thank you!"

"You are welcome. When you are in my home, I am the guest."

2 Settlers: 2 Kinds of Extremism

2011-07-22T16:41:00.000-07:00

David was born in New Jersey and, at the age of 20, migrated to Israel. He is a settler in the Beit HaShalom (House of Peace) Settlement of Hebron and serves as their primary voice.

The Settlement Beit HaShalom was purchased for $1 million in 1991 and is nestled among 30,000 Palestinians. The settlers zealously defend their right to be near the tombs of the Patriarchs, arguing that they paid a fair price for their land. The slogan "Never Again!" means that, today, 2000 Israeli defenders protect a community of 400 Jewish settlers.

Over the years, the settlers of Beit HaShalom have dealt with eviction notices from their own government as well as tangible acts of violence from unhappy Palestinian neighbors. Simultaneously, these same settlers have initiated violence toward Palestinians. The cycles of violence have resulted in the Israeli military shutting down a large portion of the economic center of the area. Beit HaShalom is now completely surrounded by a locked down ghost town and is defended by several military camps and overlooks.

We spent a mere five minutes with David and heard, first hand, the voice of toxic Jewish extremism.

"This is ours...we will defend this no matter what it takes...we will pass this on to our children...our children will defend this no matter what it takes....Arabs stole this land...in the name of our God, we are taking it back."

While he talked at us, I looked down and was stunned by what I saw:

A 9mm and the threads of the tzitzit create a complex irony.

Numbers 15 and Deuteronomy 22 teach the people of Israel to wear the tzitzit as a tangible reminder to be the people of the Torah...to walk courageously in the Way of God...to be the living and active Torah on behalf of the watching world.

Within that Torah, God says to his people: "I will bless you and I will give you a land and I will bless the whole world through you." While the land is certainly a part of the blessing, the land is a means to the emphasized end: a people who will be a blessing to all nations.

Within the Torah, God says, "Don't multiply horses and chariots (tools of war)...you will always be the underdog and, when you trust Me and live in My Way, you will always come out on top...this is part of how the watching world will discover who I AM!" By this time, I'd grown accustomed to multiplied war tools in the hands of Israelis.

The presence of the tzitzit were to serve as a reminder of truths such as these.
The presence of the 9mm seems to indicate a misunderstanding of who God is and what it means to live the God-Life.

Myron is an American born Jew who migrated to Kfar Etzion, one of the original Kibbutz in Israel. Peacefully founded among Palestinian villages in 1943, Kfar Etzion, today, is a Settlement of approximately 1000 Jewish settlers. Myron is a peacemaking settler.

Coming from my encounter with David, I wondered to myself, "How is the possible? How can a settler also be a peacemaker?"

With much doubt and with much curiosity, I met Myron and his friend Janke. Rather than sitting around a table at Kfar Etzion, though, Myron decided to take us to the Palestinian village of Zechariahs, located just across the road. Here, we were met with the hospitality of Mohammed, the head of Zechariahs.

We stepped into a room together and I watched Myron answer my question.

As Mohammed's welcoming remarks flowed toward us, I noticed the difference between Janke's, Myron's and Mohammed's posture. Mohammed appeared to be relaxed and open; Myron seemed comfortable yet slightly tense; and Janke stood rigid with his arms crossed.

Myron spoke first: "Janke and I are very different. We think very differently about many things, but we have been very good friends for a very long time. Likewise, Mohammed and I are very different. We think very differently about many things, but we have been very good friends for a very long time. I have invited Janke here today to share with you all part of his story."

Janke, with arms still crossed, opened his mouth and, very softly, began to speak: "I've lived in Kfar Etzion for 41 years. I have driven past Zechariahs for 41 years. This is the first time I have ever stepped foot in Zechariahs."

With those words, I understood that we were participating in a massive moment in the lives of three individuals as well as in the lives of two villages. For years, Myron had been working with his friend Janke, an extremist settler the likes of David. Simultaneously, he had been working with his friend Mohammed, a leader of a village with an Israeli demolition order against it.

Janke continued: "My parents lived in Kfar Etzion when it was founded. They lived in peace with the surrounding Arab villages. Then, in May of 1948, Arabs from this village entered Kfar Etzion and slaughtered 129 people, including my parents."

My eyes shot over to Mohammed who stood by, far less relaxed than he had been ten minutes prior.

Back to Janke, arms still crossed: "This is Israel. We deserve to be here. We have a right to all of Israel...but I don't know what the answer is to the conflict between our people. "

In that moment, I understood how Myron could be a peacemaking settler. At great risk, being deeply misunderstood by his own people, he had sacrificed years of his life to set up this moment. A Jewish friend who believed that his parents had been massacred by a Muslim village now stood in the room with a Muslim who represented that very village. Being in the room together was, in and of itself, an act of peacemaking by Myron, Mohammed, and Janke. I recognized in that moment that Myron had to stay a settler because living in the Settlement meant that he could be a difference-maker from within.

I also recognized the threat that religious extremism is to the future of these two peoples: what is happening in Israel/Palestine is hurting everyone

Finally, I recognized that in Israel/Palestine, two peoples are trying to define who they are. In this effort, two peoples consistently return to their most deeply moving experiences: the Jews return to the Holocaust and massacres while the Palestinians return to the massacres and the occupation. These experiences define them and are leading to fatalism, violence, blame, projection, and indifference to the pain of the other.

Both David and Myron are stepping into the mess of this. The former is adding to the mess; the latter is building peace, one relationship at a time.

As to the Kfar Etzion massacre: Jordanian troops slaughtered the Jewish settlers, not the villagers from Zechariahs.

Two mistakes in the Ibrahimi Mosque

2011-07-22T14:38:00.000-07:00

The Ibrahimi Mosque is the fourth holiest site of Islam and is the most accessible sacred space to Palestinians in the West Bank. It's located in Hebron, the hottest, most toxic and violent place in all of the West Bank, Israel, and, quite possibly, all of the Middle East. Within the walls and below the floors of the Mosque lie the tombs of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and their wives. Naturally, this is a very important Jewish site as well.

In February of 1994, an extremist Jewish settler entered into the Ibrahimi Mosque during prayer time and massacred 29 Muslim men as they prayed.

In February of 2010, Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu declared his intention to designate the Ibrahimi Mosque as a Jewish Heritage Site which would close it off completely to Muslims.

As of today, a Jewish takeover of the Mosque has not occurred. However, because of the massacre, walls were erected to separate Muslim worshipers from Jewish pilgrims. This, accompanied by an increase of Settlements and Israeli forces, has resulted in cycles of rocks and bullets that have made this area extremely dangerous.

It was a beautiful Mediterranean late morning by the time we arrived. As the Muslim prayer time concluded we divided into two equal-sized groups. Half of us entered into the Muslim side while the other half entered into the Jewish side. The first thing I noticed as I made my way through the metal detector and into the Muslim side was the large, iron green door that, on this day, stood open.

Bullet holes riddled the door that gave entrance into a place of worship.

Having entered, our women were asked to shroud themselves and we were all invited to take off our shoes. We were entering into both a holy place and the site of a holy war. This became real to me as I noticed an intense and hushed conversation between a Muslim tour guide the Jewish rabbi who had entered into the Muslim side with us. A son of Ishmael and a son of Isaac were quite obviously not happy with each other. Their irritated dialogue occurred near a silver and gold grate under which Father Abraham, the Father of many nations, the Father who had two sons, the Father who was willing to sacrifice them both, lay.

This was our first mistake: the Jewish rabbi should not have entered into the Muslim side. He knew better, yet he entered anyway. His entrance had provoked the Muslims within.

As their conversation subsided, we made our way to the tomb of Sarah. This is the only shared location in the Ibrahimi Mosque: through green steel cages and a sheet of bullet-proof glass, people from the Jewish side and people from the Muslim side could both look in on the covering of her tomb at the same time.

It was here that our second mistake occurred. The Jewish rabbi that had accompanied those on the Jewish side invited both groups to come together here for prayers of hope and peace. It was a well intentioned move, but could easily have been interpreted as an intentional act of provocation, especially when someone from the Muslim side prayed "...in Jesus name."

Uneasy about this prayer time, I took a step back to observe what was going on around us. The room on the Muslim side that we stood in was sparsely populated with Muslim women engaged in prayers upon our entrance. As soon as our "prayers" began, every Muslim in the room cleared out. Their exit did not appear to be motivated by respect for the moment of "worship" that was occurring for our group, but, rather, seemed to be motivated by our overt disrespect of their moment of worship.

Had we become settlers in our own right? Had we just claimed territory that was not ours?

I recognized in that moment that we were much more than a learning community. We represented either a peace-making or a peace-interrupting delegation. That is, simply by our presence there, we were communicating something: we needed to be extremely thoughtful about what we were communicating.

While our prayers were for peace, our presence communicated quite the opposite.

Eavesdropping on Amos in Bethlehem

2011-07-22T13:29:00.000-07:00

Dheishe left me wondering where the church was. Here we were, in the very city where God put on flesh to make Himself tangibly known to humanity. As we made our way from Dheishe to the Church of the Nativity, I wondered if, like 2000 years ago, there was no room for Jesus here. Where was God today?

The ancient monstrosity that is the Church of the Nativity accompanied by the long train of tour buses carrying Christians to the site added significant weight to my struggle. Here was the church: we were tourists intoxicated by a desire to see where God incarnated once upon a time. The church was so fixated on the ancient narrative that we were blind to the contemporary one.

"God, incarnate again through people!" I prayed as I called my friend who lives in Bethlehem. Deciding not to enter Nativity, I chose, instead, to sip coffee with her and to meet some of her friends.

"How's your head?" was her opening question.

Silence was my response as I watched tour guides compete for the attention of tour group after tour group.

Slowly, I began to articulate the messy, complicated couple of days that I had just lived. As I began to speak of the injustices of Dheishe, my friend's phone rang. She answered, looked directly behind me and started laughing. I turned to see a young Palestinian man on his phone speaking emphatically to Christy. His name was Sa'id. He had been eavesdropping on our conversation and wanted to know if he could sit in our circle.

"Please!" I said, longing to develop friendships and to sort through both my internal mess and the mess of this place.

As Sa'id pulled his chair next to mine, I asked him to tell me his story. He began by pulling a green ID card from his pocket. It was the Israeli issued, Palestinian ID card.

"This," he began, "gives me permission to feel free to stay right where I am."

He pretended to tear it and then pretended to throw it.

"I hate this thing!" he said through gritted teeth. "I would destroy it if I could, but I cannot."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because if ever I am found without it by Israeli defenders, they will send me to prison."

"Where was your family from?" I asked.

"Tekoa." he said. "Once it was my family's land. Now it is a Settlement."

"How did that happen?"

"What do you mean, 'How did that happen?'" he spat. "They came in with government papers and took it."

"Was there a fight?"

Two tongue clicks communicated much: there had been no fight. What could they have done against the guns, tanks, and bulldozers of the Israelis?

Changing the subject, I asked, "Did you know that one of the prophets from my Scriptures came from Tekoa?"

"Amos!" he replied with pride.

"Do you know what God said to Israel through Amos?" I asked.

"Tell me." He leaned in, obviously interested.

"Amos was a shepherd whom God invited to share God's heart with Israel's leaders." I began. "He started by speaking of all of Israel's enemies, identifying all that Israel's enemies had done to them, and explaining what God would do to the enemies of Israel...Israel celebrated the words of Amos."

Sa'id interrupted: "I do not like this man, Amos."

"There's more to the story." I said, taking a sip of my Arabic coffee. "As Israel's leaders celebrated, Amos had one more thing to say: 'Israel, you are guilty of the same kinds of injustice against your enemies...you will reap what you sow.'"

Silence.

Sa'id broke the silence: "I like this man Amos. He encourages Israel to be pro-people."

"I like Amos too." I said, "but I like his pro-people God even more."

In that moment, some of my internal mess dissipated. If the church is God's ongoing presence in the unique soil of the here and now, then our role is to be pro-people activists. Our work is to be the practitioners who make the compassion and justice of God real and who encourage others to do the same. Our work is to make the thoughts, words, and actions of Jesus real in the everyday.

In that moment, I also recognized that to be pro-Israel means that we encourage them to be pro-people. That is, we must push Israel into just practices with the Palestinian.

Understanding Occupation: The Dheishe Refuge Camp

2011-07-21T16:15:00.000-07:00

The bus slowed down...we were nearing the 300 checkpoint for the first time.

The wall cast an ominous shadow on the Israeli side.

We were quiet...blue Passports in hand...hiding our Palestinian tour guide in the back. Why? Because technically speaking, as a Palestinian resident of Israel, it was illegal for her to enter into the West Bank.

We breezed through.

Lunch was our first order of business, followed by a walk through the Dheishe Refugee Camp.

The camp, itself, is not what I expected. Over the years, it had gone from tents to shacks to small structures to stories-high buildings. As we wound through the narrow streets, one could see that here, unlike on the other side of the wall, people lived on top of people with little to no space of their own.

The shrieks of children running before us announced our arrival. People came to their windows to see the American delegation who dared to step off the manicured paths of tourism.

Typically, the only tourist foray into the West Bank is to enter the Church of the Nativity: a massive, ancient structure built over the cave where historians say that Jesus was born. The square outside of Nativity is pristine and populated with shops, restaurants, and a mosque. It is designed to mimic the tourist sites of downtown Jerusalem. Tourists are warned by their guides to stick to the Church of the Nativity and to the square and are usually whisked away within 30-40 minutes of arrival.

Tourists come in and out of the West Bank without ever having to see or understand what life in occupied territory is really like. Most tourists enter and exit the West Bank blind to the reality of occupation.

As we made our way through Dheishe, we learned something of being a Palestinian refugee.

First, Palestinians are extremely hospitable people, and, at the same time, outraged by the injustice of the scenario that they find themselves in. The tension of hospitality and outrage is a bizarre tension and it added complex layers to our learning. Being people who seek to offer hospitality to the stranger, they cannot understand why the same kind of hospitality is not being offered to them.

Second, Palestinians are arguably the most well-educated people group among the Arab/Muslim world. Over and over I heard them emphasize education as a must for their people while, simultaneously, I heard them bemoan the fact that there are no jobs in the West Bank.

"What good is education if there are no jobs?" I thought to myself...and then out loud to our Palestinian guide.

"Education validates our humanity." was her response. "Once educated, we can prove to the world that we exist as innovators who can contribute to the global community.... Once educated, we can prove that we have a voice."

Third, Palestinian refugees adamantly protect the status of refugee. They see this designation as politically important as the term "refugee" garners international sympathy and support. Palestinian refugees are doing whatever they can do to invite the global community to see them.

As we made our way through Dheishe, we also learned something of being a Palestinian refugee, but we also learned something of being the occupied.

The West Bank is designated in three ways: Area A, B, and C. Area A is considered to be territory under Palestinian jurisdiction, Area B is considered shared, and Area C is considered to be territory under Israeli Jewish jurisdiction. We learned of these designations as we stood on the top of a building overlooking a small portion of the West Bank. From our 360-degree vantage point, we could see all of the Dheishe Camp, a good portion of Bethlehem, and, surrounding both, were high-rise villages known as Settlements.

Settlements are territories within the West Bank where conservative/extremist Israeli Jews have moved in and taken over. Because of the slogan, "Never Again!", wherever Israeli Jews go, Israeli troopers must accompany and defend. What's more, in an effort to protect the settlers, guarded, settler-only roadways must be built. Naturally, settler roads spiderweb throughout all of the West Bank making it next to impossible for Palestinians to get from point A to point B in an easy fashion. That is, Palestinians are not able to access nor cross over the wall and gun-protected settler roads.

The result? Rather than a trip to a friend's home or, for that matter, to the hospital taking 5 minutes, now, it could take a day. Naturally, the settler roads drastically interrupt friendship, family, commerce, and life itself as countless Palestinians die on their way to the hospital.

Settlements are internationally outlawed...yet they continue to sprout up and grow all over "the Land."

Just as the orange-tiled roofs of the Settlements stick out, so too do the black and gray water reservoirs affixed to the tops of every Palestinian home.

Curiosity got the best of me again:

"Why do the Palestinian buildings have the black and gray reservoirs on their roofs while the Israeli Jewish (Settlement) homes do not?"

"The Jews control the water in the West Bank." was the response.

"In Area C, right?" I wondered aloud, remembering that the Jews controlled Area C.

"The Jews control the water, the electricity, and all of the roads in Area A, B, and C."

Later, I learned that the summer before, the water was shut off to the West Bank for a month. There is no water crisis in Israel. This was not an attempt to conserve water. This was an attempt to dehumanize, demoralize, and destroy the Palestinian people.

I also learned of the difference between my definition of curfew and the Palestinian experience of curfew. My understanding of curfew is that one is to be home by a certain time. If not, relatively mild consequences are sure to come: loss of the car keys, grounding, etc.

When curfew is imposed in the West Bank, it means that you cannot leave your home for any reason and includes the consequence of a bullet and loss of life if broken.

Question: What do you call it when one people group builds a 3'-thick, 25'-high cement wall around another people group and then controls the electricity, water, and roadways and can impose a life-threatening curfew?

Answer: Occupation.

Story Start-Points: The Root of Societal PTSD

2011-07-21T14:58:00.000-07:00

Within five minutes of conversation with an Israeli Jew, you will discover how many family members she lost in the Holocaust. I did not hear a number lower than 70%. Unimaginable stories of horrific loss and/or miraculous escape or survival are ingrained in the national psyche of the Israeli people. Informed by the stories of their grandparents and great grandparents, they live with societal PTSD.

Within five minutes of conversation with a Palestinian, you will learn how many of her family members have been or are currently political prisoners in Israeli detention camps. Today, there are 12,000 Palestinians in such camps. Further, you will hear stories of the village that was once hers, past livelihoods that are no more, life in occupied territory, and how many times she, personally, has been held at gun point by Israeli troopers. Informed by their own stories, the Palestinian people live with societal PTSD.

For the Israeli Jew, the story of their people begins not in Genesis, but in the death camps of WWII.

For the Palestinian, the story begins not in ancient times, but in 1948.

The Israeli national slogan is "Never Again!"

The Palestinian national slogan is "Your Holocaust created our Catastrophe!"

The Palestinian cannot touch the pain of the Israeli Jew because, if she does, she fears her validation will cause the Jews to justify their acts of injustice against her people.

The Israeli Jew cannot touch the pain of the Palestinian because, if she does, she fears that the Palestinian will either hold her to just practices or take advantage of her lowered defenses.

The Jew and the Palestinian are locked in a Vicious Dance which keeps them focused on the past.

And she danced in our circle

2011-07-20T00:24:00.000-07:00

In the twilight hours and in the wake of Yad Vashem, our learning community found ourselves circled up in an upscale West Jerusalem park. Diverse narrations of people's experiences and new understandings of the Holocaust slowly emerged as words were hard to find.

A lull that had grown into a prolonged silence was interrupted at last by the family story of our Israeli tour guide. 90% of her bloodline was murdered in the Holocaust, but her four Polish grandparents survived.

This woman had become my friend so I listened with tears in my eyes to the horrors of the minuscule details that she was able to share with us. I understood unlike I had ever before why her grandfather would, at each birthday, raise a glass in vocal defiance of the enemies of Israel. Lost in the memories of a dehumanizing time, he would exclaim "Never again!"... and the rest of the family would echo, "Never again!"

Violence had been done to my perspective of human beings on this day. At Yad Vashem, I was confronted with the reality of hatred, injustice, violence, and silence. It seemed as though everything beautiful about life and humanity had been stripped away. I needed a reminder of hope, of new life, of beauty, of relationship.

Just then, I watched as a bride walked with confidence into the middle of our circle with her photographer in tow.

"May I dance in your circle?" she asked.

"Please!" I said not knowing or caring if she was Israeli or Palestinian.

As she danced in our circle, we celebrated her life.

Yad Vashem and the Jewish Paradigm

2011-07-19T13:21:00.000-07:00

Every Holocaust Museum tells a specific story. For example, the Museum in Washington D.C. tells of the horrors of the death camps, but ends with the American liberation. One way of reading this story is that the Nazis did this horrific thing and we (the American Liberators) ended it. In large part this is true.

Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem tells a different story.

To begin, the facility itself is an amazing structure. The building is shaped like a massive three-dimensional triangle that literally cuts right through a hillside. The top of the triangle is transparent, freeing ambient light to illuminate the main corridor that lies beneath. A massive panoramic window on the far side of the museum draws each guest close: illuminated by light, we walk through the land toward the light.

The curators of Yad Vashem have done an amazing job of helping its visitors understand both the global tragedy and also the personal terror of the Holocaust. For example...

I found myself standing in the middle of the first exhibit before I realized it. I stood in the main corridor gazing toward the panoramic window at the end when I looked to my right and left. As I did, I recognized that I stood between two massive pictures, each a different picture of the same gruesome massacre.

A layer of logs and a layer of Jews...A layer of logs and a layer of Jews...A layer of logs and a layer of Jews...ten to fifteen layers thick...all of them dead and partially burnt.

These pictures were taken by a liberator as smoke continued to rise from the worst bonfire I'd ever seen. You see, just before the camp was liberated, the Nazis laid down a layer of logs and then a layer of Jews, executed them with a bullet in the back of their heads, laid down another layer of logs and did it over and over and over...it was their final attempt to exterminate as many Jews as they possibly could and to destroy the evidence with fire before the liberators arrived. The fire never really caught, so what remained on that day will forever be seared into my memory and the memories of thousands of visitors a day who visit Yad Vashem.

Directly beneath the pictures lay a glass display with the things that the liberators found in the pockets of the people in the pile. Charred pocket watches, wedding rings, ID cards, drawings of "home", maps of the death camp, letters to loved ones. As I processed what it was that I as seeing, I understood that these objects were the very things that individuals had held on to in an effort to remain sane and to hold on to hope for a better day. What's more, I understood unlike I ever had before, that the Holocaust was deeply personal: real people killed real people.

As I began to weave my way through Yad Vashem I quickly understood the story of this particular museum...it was a story that is not often told on this side of the world.

The story goes like this:

In the Holocaust, the whole world tried to kill us.

One display in particular opened my eyes to the global scale of the Holocaust. On a wall in a room was a massive map of Europe and Asia. Red dots marked not tens...not hundreds...but thousands of death camps. On the opposite wall were listed the names of specific countries under which were listed the names of the death camps in each country complete with the number of people who were killed in each camp. Next to each country name was a large number that depicted the total number of people killed in that country during the Holocaust.

As Americans, we hear about the four or five major death camps. We don't necessarily hear about the thousands of them all over Europe and Asia. It wasn't just the Germans who tried to exterminate the Jews...it really was a global effort...and it was nearly successful.

...but the story continues:

In the Holocaust, the whole world tried to kill us.
In the Holocaust, Christians tried to kill us.

The following display emphasized that the majority of the Nazi regime were Lutheran...they were Christians. In their story, the Jews understand that Christians sought to exterminate Jews and that the American Christians stood by silently.

One quote (Christian to Jew) paralyzed me: "We cannot help you...you killed Christ."

From that moment forward, the story becomes incredibly personal. I read post cards scribbled in a panic from a cattle car. One such post card was written by a young mother whose baby boy had just been ripped out of her arms. Finding herself packed into a cattle car, separated from her infant child for the first time in her life, I could hear her screaming out:

"Richard...O my Richard! Has anyone seen my Richard? God save my Richard!"

Yad Vashem unofficially ends in a circular room that is forty feet tall, floor to ceiling. I entered into the space on a platform that suspended me at twenty feet; from my vantage point I could look up and I could look down. The walls of the space, floor to ceiling, are lined with bookshelves on which sit binders containing the names and personal information of the 6 million Jews who were murdered in the Holocaust. To this day, they continue to the search for every last name.

In the Holocaust, the whole world tried to kill us.
In the Holocaust, Christians tried to kill us.
We survived...

From this room, the official end of Yad Vashem drew me: the panoramic window. The view of "the land" was stunning. The story continued:

In the Holocaust, the whole world tried to kill us.
In the Holocaust, Christians tried to kill us.
We survived...and the land is rightfully ours.

As I exited, I watched as a platoon of young Jewish defenders who had just made their way through the museum. As I listened to their impassioned commander, a question grew loud in my mind:

Why is it that I have never heard a contemporary Jew refer to God as the God who delivered them from the Holocaust?

In my understanding of the Hebrew Scriptures, it seems as though Israel always identified God by what He had done. For example, God was not just named "God", He was named "God who rescued us from Egypt." My experience of Yad Vashem concluding with the sight of kids with guns left me wondering if contemporary Jews saw God as the God who had delivered them or if they saw God as the God who had abandoned them.

Kids with guns chanting the national slogan, "Never again!" seemed to answer the question.

It seems as though they believe that God had not delivered them, but that God had abandoned them. And if God had abandoned them, then they weren't rescued from the Holocaust: they survived. And because they survived, the land through which Yad Vashem cuts through was rightfully theirs. What's more, it seems as though they believe that the land is going to stay theirs not because they put their faith and trust in their God but because they put guns in the arms of indoctrinated kids.

In the Holocaust, the whole world tried to kill us.
In the Holocaust, Christians tried to kill us.
We survived...and the land is rightfully ours.
God cannot be trusted so we will trust ourselves.

Oooh...So that's what American Christian Zionism sounds like!

2011-07-09T13:07:00.000-07:00

During our stay in Israel/Palestine, our study group spent a fair amount of time considering the implications of Christian Zionism.

In short, Christian Zionism is the ideology that still sees Israel as God's chosen people who have a biblical/covenantal right to the land. Most Zionists believe that the sooner Israel repatriates "the land" the sooner Jesus will come back.

America is a Zionist nation, politically, religiously, and ideologically. Our majority context blindly adheres to foreign policy decisions made in favor of Israel taking back and protecting "the land." Our newspapers create language that reinforce faulty perspectives of Israel Jews (peaceful, victimized, "trying to come home") and Palestinians (terrorists, thieves, dangerous, interrupting Israel's attempt at "coming home"). The created language strengthens our "pro-Israel" and "anti-Palestinian" sentiments.

We cheer Israel on! "Take the land!", we shout from across the ocean.

The sooner they do, the sooner Jesus will come back...don't you know?

And then you go there and step off the manicured paths of the Jewish & Christian monopolized tourism industry. Instantly, you find yourself beneath the surface of our Zionist ideology and into real life. You begin to see how "the land" is actually being taken. You watch the caravan of Israeli-defended American-made bulldozers go from one Palestinian village demolition to another, the dust of real peoples' homes still clinging to their exteriors.

3 Quick Asides:
1. The Israeli military has a special contract with Caterpillar who has developed bulldozers for the sole purpose of home demolitions. Do you own stock in Caterpillar?
2. Over 350 Palestinian families were made homeless in 110 degree heat while I was in Israel/Palestine. What would you do if you someone came to your home and told you you had 10 minutes to grab your belongings because your home was going to be destroyed.
3. No reason is ever given for a demolition. Often times, the demolished village sits untouched for years while the former residents live in tents among the rubble. Does this make any sense to you?

One night, I made my way beneath the posh exterior...the world that Israel and America have collaborated in creating. In order to crack the surface, I had to walk through the American funded, Israeli constructed "300 Checkpoint." This included numerous metal turnstiles and metal detectors manned by armed 17-year-old Jewish defenders who looked at me with a mixture of curiosity, apathy, and disrespect. Once through the turnstiles and detectors, I entered a back-and-forth caged maze which eventually spit me out in the West Bank. Everything about the check point, I realized, was designed to humiliate and dehumanize the Palestinian.

I was in Palestinian territory and instantly felt at ease. As I waited, alone and in the dark, for my friends to arrive I updated my Facebook status:

"A solitary midnight crossing through the Wall last night. Humiliating, anxious, eerie. So good to stand in solidarity with the occupied."

The next day, I was talking to some Palestinian friends about America, American Zionism, and the American Church.

"When will the American Church see us as human beings?"

"You come here to see where Jesus walked. Why don't you walk like He walked?"

"Why is your country so selective in whose independence they champion?"

As the questions continued to come, I began to wake up to the tragedy of American Zionism. Our blind support of "God's chosen people" is funding a humanitarian crisis.

Simultaneously, I recognized that I have no voice in Israel/Palestine...but I do have a voice here.

"But I'm sure that I don't know people who are hard core Zionists." I thought to myself! "What does Zionism even sound like in the States?"

Shortly thereafter, I went to my Facebook again and found this comment under my status update from the night before:

"So, I am confused - are you a Christian or a Muslim? Do you stand with YHWH, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, or with allah, the god who wishes the Israelites driven into the sea?"

Confused is an understatement. What was this guy talking about? And then it dawned on me:
"Ooooh!" I said out loud. "So that is what American Christian Zionism sounds like!"

Let's unpack this comment, shall we?

1. I'm guessing here, but I would imagine that this person has little to no real friendships with Muslims (or Palestinians for that matter.)
2. I'm continuing to guess, but I would also imagine that this person has little to no real friendships with Jews (especially Israeli Jews) either.
3. If this person has been to "the Holy Land" I would imagine that he experienced the bliss of an air-conditioned tour of the places where Jesus walked and little more. If he's been there, he has been intentionally shielded from the current catastrophe.
4. Lest we forget, every Muslim in the world is a part of Abraham's family and was blessed by God. There are Islamic lines through Ishmael AND Isaac.
5. Note his intentional "lower case" lettering of "allah" and "god". This represents the very kind of arrogance and disrespect that is resulting in homes and cemeteries being bulldozed, families becoming homeless, children having chlorine dumped into their eyes, and millions of people going hungry and thirsty in a place where there is plenty of food and water.
6. Guessing again, but I would imagine that this person has never read the Qur'an. If he has, perhaps he missed all of the many times hospitality, generosity, and peace are mentioned in the way the Muslim is to interact with his/her neighbor. Further, he would have recognized that there is no place in the entire Qur'an that speaks of Israel being "driven into the sea."
7. The irony is that the person who has actually been publicly quoted as saying something similar was former Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin: "I would like Gaza (open-air prison of 1.5 million Palestinians) to sink into the sea, but that won't happen...."

Rather than including these thoughts in a comment back, I responded like this:

"I long for the dysfunctional Abrahamic family, of which I am a part, to awaken to our belovedness by God. I am pro-people and seek to stand with the oppressed, the occupied, the humiliated, and the powerless no matter their religion or nationality. On this, I take my cue from the Creator."

Pulled over at Ben Gurion

2011-07-02T12:29:00.000-07:00

A Palestinian friend and taxi driver gave me a lift from Bethlehem to Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv tonight. We spent the drive catching up on each others' stories. We shared stories of growing up, me in Wisconsin and he in Jerusalem. We talked about faith, politics, schooling, friendships, girls, his fiance and my wife, his longing for a big family and my desire for a smaller one than he. While we talked, his fiance called. Like I've learned that Israeli's and Palestinians do when something is wrong, Anas clucked his tongue twice: with a sheepish grin he said, "She's mad at me tonight!"

A five minute argument ensued and then settled.

"Everything alright?" I asked with a grin?

"It will be, Inshallah (God willing)."

About that time, we passed the first sign for Ben Gurion Airport and Anas noticeably tightened up a bit...and the stories changed.

Now, rather than boyhood memories, longings for justice, and yearnings for the married life, he told of the last time he had come to Ben Gurion.

His girlfriend had been with him and they were picking up a client who had specifically requested Anas to be his driver. As they approached the check point, an Israeli soldier took a liking to Anas' girlfriend and began making advances at her. Naturally, Anas got a bit defensive and told the soldier to simply check her identity and let them pass. His mistake was that he "told" the soldier what to do. Things intensified quickly until the soldier, at gun point, commanded Anas to get out of the vehicle. Anas pushed the door open into the chest of the soldier who retaliated with a push. Anas responded by punching the soldier in the face.

It wasn't the correct response...Anas paid for it with 3 months in prison.

We were close to the check point at this time.

"I've picked you up in Jerusalem...NOT in Bethlehem. Jer, this is very important that you understand this."

To the check point we arrived. In perfect Hebrew, Anas greeted the soldier who asked to see his I.D. Discovering that he was Palestinian, he told us to pull off to the right shoulder. For 20 minutes, I stood with Anas as he smoked cigarette after cigarette. Simultaneously, I watched as car after car was allowed to pass through the check point without a second look...these cars were not driven by Palestinians. For every four cars the flew by us, one was pulled to the right to join a growing number of Palestinian drivers and foreign passengers: the drivers all smoked and paced while the foreign passengers either remained in their cars or shuffled their feet nervously.

At last, a soldier made his way to Anas and I.

"Jerusalem. Leonardo." responded Anas to what I assumed to be a question regarding our origin.

My turn.

"Passport! What's your name?"

"Jeremy."

"Why did you come to Israel?!"

"To walk where Jesus walked."

Two tongue clicks.

"Open the van!"

After Anas opened every door, the soldier proceeded to rummage through seats and throw out everything he could find. Next, they brought a blueish wand over to check for explosives. After another 30 minutes. The soldier nodded at Anas. It had been an hour and we had been cleared to approach the terminal.

As we neared my stop and as I dug deep into my pockets to compensate him well, I said, "I'm glad that's over!"

"No." he responded. "THAT will never be over. Salaam my friend. Come again soon."

Processing Mamilla: Violence

2011-06-28T20:35:00.000-07:00

It is amazing to me how, in the process of writing a narrative, one discovers meaning. Let me tell you the story of how I have processed the Mamilla experience so to identify the violence that most moved me that evening.

Yesterday, for the first time since I've been here, I awoke without hope. Neither my readings and prayers nor a delicious Middle Eastern breakfast helped. Seeing what hatred looks like had drastically disoriented me.

A filmmaker friend of mine asked me for ten minutes. Thinking he wanted to have a cup of coffee and sit outside, I silently nodded and followed him out of the room. Instead of seeing coffee, I saw that he had his camera set up. We sat down and he said this:

"You look noticeably different today...as though something very dark and heavy shadows your soul. Can you tell me about it?"

He pressed record and I started to tell the story of Mamilla.

As an experiential storyteller, I choose to relive the story as I tell it. I felt the sweat on my forehead from the long walk, I smelled the soil of Mamilla, and I saw the eyes of the Israeli kids with guns.

Military service is mandatory here. Immediately following high school graduation, boys and girls must serve in the Israeli defense. Their boot camp experience involves a deep understanding of their narrative which, sadly, is not the ancient narrative of the Hebrew Scriptures. Rather, it is the very contemporary narrative of their demise in the Holocaust, the International reparation in the giving of the land of Palestine to Israel in 1948, and their military conquests of 1967 and beyond. "Never again" is the national slogan: indoctrinated kids with guns is their solution.

It was in the storytelling and seeing their eyes again that I recognized why I was so disoriented and why "something very dark and heavy" shadowed my soul: my heart didn't break for these kids. Violence, I discovered during my interview, was being done to my perspective of me.

Ethicist, Theologian, and Provocateur Stanley Hauerwas calls himself a pacifist because he knows what a "violent son of bitch" he is. I resonate more deeply with his sentiment now, yet I long for my language to be something like this: I am a peacemaker because I am moved by my Rabbi into the way of creative love.

There is pain in the experience of living between who I am and who I want to become. Grace accompanies the pain.

Mamilla Plaza

2011-06-27T11:50:00.000-07:00

I went for a long walk tonight.

Earlier today, we were in a conversation with Dr. Nabael Shaath who is Palestine's Hillary Clinton. Currently, his work is to travel around the world in an effort to garner support for Palestine as a distinct nation. In September, Palestine will go before the U.N. in order to declare unilateral independence.

A distinct nation, according to Dr. Shaath, is:
a country with clear boarders;
a country that is no longer occupied by Israel and has no more settlements;
a country filled with citizens who have the internationally agreed upon human rights.

As he talked about the injustices of the occupation, he mentioned that just last night (11pm), three Israeli bulldozers, 2 trucks, and 20 Israeli officials entered a 12th Century Muslim cemetery in East Jerusalem and bulldozed 100 graves. The cemetery was called Mamilla.

I am in East Jerusalem right now. I've heard stories of Israeli's bulldozing Palestinian homes (places of the living), but never had I heard of them desecrating Muslim cemeteries (places of the dead). Why the bulldozers? Two reasons: First, they seem to want to wipe out the memory of the Palestinian from the land; Second, they want a playground for their kids.

Later this afternoon, upon our return to our hotel, I noticed that I had received an email from a friend in Bethlehem letting me know that the cemetery bulldozing had occurred. I Googled the location to find that it was no more than a 20 minute walk. I grabbed my camera and left. I needed to see what this kind of hatred looked like: hatred that causes one group of people to attempt to wipe out the evidence and memory of another.

I didn't know what it was that I would see or if I would see anything at all. What I knew was that a community of oppressed people had just been humiliated and insulted again. If nothing else, I wanted to communicate my solidarity with the oppressed, humiliated, and insulted.

As I walked, I considered the writings of the Prophet Jeremiah who repeatedly called Israel to walk in the way of justice with the nations. I recited the lines of Psalm 87 where the Psalmist envisioned YHWH standing at the gates of Jerusalem inviting the Babylonians, the Philistines, and the Egyptians (Israel's greatest enemies) into the City because it belonged to them. I observed the artificially lit city walls and the sunset reflecting off the rolling Judean countryside.

"Beautiful." I thought to myself

I walked by one Israeli police SUV...and then another. 18-19 year old "officials" manned the vehicles and watched me, a solitary, tall, Scandinavian American, with more than a little suspicion. As I neared the cemetery I heard laughter...not necessarily the sound I was expecting. I rounded a corner and looked up at where the cemetery was located to find 17 Israeli troops around its perimeter. They were 25 meters up a hill and looked as though they expected trouble.

"Loaded automatic killing machines carried by 18 year-olds." I thought to myself. "This is what hatred looks like." The place was suddenly far from beautiful.

I leaned against a rock fence, looked up the hill, and made an observation about myself. My heart did not break for these 17 kids. My heart has broken over and over again in the last 7 days...but it did not break for these 17 kids. Naturally, I was troubled by that so, in the ancient tradition of the people with whom I now shared company, I asked YHWH a question:

"Why does my heart not break?"

In the silence that followed I began to recognize these 17 kids for what they were...kids that happened to be in the grip of a senseless cycle of violence. Then, my heart started to break.

I knew that I wasn't going to be able to get any closer so I entered into another ancient practice of the diverse peoples of this land: I prayed for them. In my prayers, I blessed them and asked that God would stir a crisis in them on this night that would move them from the cycle of violence and into His embrace.

It was time to go. I smiled, put my right hand over my heart, and bowed my head ever so slightly. None of them responded.

It was dark by then so I began my return journey, my soul filled with questions...and one request: "I need to see the goodness of these people. Will You help me see the goodness of these people?"

My journey took me through Muslim and Jewish neighborhoods, a theater district, and a park.

And then I heard music...Jewish music.

I was drawn by the rhythm and unique sound of music and laughter. The closer I got the more intrigued I became about the source of the sounds...and then I saw them...Jews from around the world singing and dancing the same songs and dances they've sung and danced for thousands of years. It drew me...they drew me. It was good.

And there was beauty again.

As I drifted into the shadows, I looked up at a sign above the very alive, dancing community. The sign read: "Mamilla Plaza".

"Fence" or "Wall"?

2011-06-23T13:43:00.000-07:00

I'm confused...I keep hearing this 25'-tall cement thing referred to as a "fence"
Thoughts?

Yesterday's Quote...Today's Understanding

2011-06-23T12:23:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, a Palestinian friend of mine (her family has lived here for generations) said, "Language Creates Reality."

I'm someone who uses words enough to have an idea of what she meant...or so I thought.

Today, I shared a table with the Senior Editor of the Jerusalem Post who is a Jew whom recently migrated from Massachusetts. As Senior Editor of arguably the most influential Zionist Newspaper in the Holy Land, she is creating a future reality for my Palestinian friend and her family by the words she uses.

Here's how:
1. When referring to herself and her people, rather than using the word "Jew" or "Jewish", she used the word "Israeli". When referring to Palestinians, she used the word "Arabs". The use of these identifiers caused my radar to go up but it caused my friend, the only Palestinian in the room, to drop her head. Why? Because my Palestinian friend is Israeli too. When a powerful Jew, whose words ripple globally, excludes Palestinians from Israeli identity, it gives the global community permission to exclude Palestinians as well. Israeli as "Jew-only" is propaganda that alters psychological reality. Further, by referring to Palestinians as "Arabs" is to lump this people group in with an amorphous group of people with no identity, no place, and no rights.

2. The focus of the Editor's journalism is to report on the development of Jewish Settlements. Settlements are Jewish neighborhoods that are intentionally springing up in Palestinian territory with specific goals in mind: to steal land and to further displace Palestinians. Rather than referring to this as land stealing and displacement, the Editor referred to the transitioning of "Arabs" to specific, non-ideal portions of land that do not include major Jewish religious places. Her language dehumanized the Palestinians into objects that can be moved around like one would rearrange living room furniture. To visualize the land stealing and Palestinian displacement, see the image below.

3. Frequently, her references to "Arabs" were accompanied with quotes of suicide bombings, danger, and Jewish national fear. In so doing, it became clear that she saw the "Arab" as an enemy and as a disease that must be cut from the "body". Through the use of language, she is creating a reality for Palestinians and for the Global Community: when the Senior Editor of the Jerusalem Post refers to Arabs with enemy/disease language, it alters the perspective of the Global Community such that we begin see them as the "enemy/disease" as well. Further, it creates an ideal reality for the Jewish Community as, with Palestinians seen globally as "enemy" the Jews become seen as wise and generous in the "gifting" of parcels of the land that is "rightfully theirs."

When the conversation was over, I asked my Palestinian friend what she thought of that. She took a deep breath and simply repeated her quote from yesterday: "Language Creates Reality."

Kids with Guns...

2011-06-22T13:58:00.000-07:00

A late night walk through the Muslim, Christian, Jewish, and Armenian Quarters of the Old City spilled me out at the Western Wall, the only remaining portion of Herod's Temple Mount. As I sat on the foot-polished stones and watched the artificially lit scene before me, I considered the original intentions of the Temple: this was the place where the community of God and the community of humanity merged; it was the place that hosted God's focused presence within Creation; and it was the place where every nation was supposed to fuse in worship.

Last night, I watched and listened to the prayers of the Orthodox Jews. I saw their rhythmic motion and three sporadic jumps ("Holy! Holy! Holy!"). I heard their unintelligible moans. Something authentic seemed to be happening before me as they were calling upon a Power greater than themselves.

Between my own prayers, I wondered to myself, "What are they praying? Was God listening?"

And then I saw three kids wearing jeans, t-shirts, and sneakers who couldn't have been older than 18 work their way toward the Wall. Like the Orthodox Jews, their heads were covered and they seemed very serious about this very spiritual moment. However, rather than carrying a copy of the Hebrew Scriptures, they carried these...

As tears dripped, I wondered to myself, "Whose power do they trust in? What are they praying? Was God listening?"

How many words is a simple picture worth?

2011-06-22T13:18:00.000-07:00

I've been in Jerusalem for 32 hours and have heard and seen something significant about this place: everything, everyplace, and every occurrence carries at least two different explanations.

I have two new friends Shira and Fukhira. Shira is an Israeli Jewess who has served in the Israeli military for two years (Jewish Quarter), has been a tour guide for 4 years, is currently a student at Hebrew University, and is maybe 24 years old. Fukhira is an Israeli Palestinian Christian who has been a social worker for several years, has advocated for Palestinian Intifada "criminals", is actively pursuing a Ph.D. in Conflict Resolution, and is maybe 30 years old. These two young women are serving as the primary guides for my journey into the Conflict here and are working out the complexity of the Conflict in front of our eyes. Their work is to help us understand everything from two different perspectives.

Some examples of things/places/occurances with different explanations:

The Temple Mount (Jewish) is also called Mount Moriah (Arab).

Mount Moriah is the place where Abraham demonstrated his faithfulness by binding Isaac and is also the place where Mohammed both received the 5 prayers and ascended to Allah.

Mount Moriah is the past location of Solomon's (1st Temple) and Herod's Temple (2nd Temple) and is the current location of the Al Aqsa Mosque and the Dome of the Rock.

The Western Wall (Jewish: last remaining portion of Herod's Temple Mount) is also called The Al Buraq Wall (Arab: Where Mohammed tied up his horse "Buraq").

The site itself is one of the most important worship sites in Islam, but is fully controlled by Israeli soldiers.

A different kind of example:
This morning, we stood on the Mount of Olives overlooking Jerusalem. To the naive eye, the space immediately to the left of the Old City looks like an urban neighborhood with limestone homes roofed with orange terracotta shingles and augmented by a large Israeli Flag. From a Jewish perspective, this sight inspires awe and cultivates hope: we are expanding...we are reclaiming what is rightfully ours! From a Palestinian perspective, this sight stirs despair and reinforces hopelessness: our homes have been taken from us...we are occupied.

If in most places, a picture is worth 1,000 words...here, every picture is worth 2,000.

Red-Light Manikin in the Flowered Dress

2011-05-10T20:57:00.001-07:00

She sat on a stool, legs crossed, in a flowered dress.

I was in the Red-Light District of Koh Samui, Thailand. Why? Because I was invited by the groom-to-be to accompany he and his friends for drinks. If you want to get drinks in Koh Samui, you cannot avoid the Red-Light District.

It's an island known for its stunning beauty, breath-taking sunsets, picturesque beaches, and high-end but affordable resorts. As a result, Koh Samui's economy is dependent upon tourism. Tourists, mostly Western and European men, frequent Koh Samui in pursuit of a different kind of picturesque beauty...something all together gruesome that will, no doubt, take their breath away. They come here for sex.

She's still sitting in the same posture on the same stool. Only now, she forces a smile.

I know the story of this place. I've read countless books and articles about the reality of sex slavery. Every year, I scour the Persons in Trafficking Report that documents its global progress and problem spots. I subscribe to the email of every abolition organization in an effort to feed the break in my heart for this particular form of injustice and to learn how I can continue to be a part of its solution.

I've read of how it all works. Now, I've seen it.

Twelve girls, ages 14-19, dressed in little more than thong and boots dance to the rhythm of their DJ inside of and on the street in front of their bar. They are aggressive in their work, dancing in front of you, reaching for your hand, asking for your name...anything to get you to stop, even for a moment.

Then, there are the little girls, ages 7-10, no doubt in training to fill the boots of their mentors. These little ones are bold. They walk up with arms filled with roses, placing one in your hand. Their objective is to sell you a rose which you, in turn, offer to the girl you want. Little girls, courageously approaching Western men, talking seductively to them outside of the bars at midnight...

The den mother sits near the back of the bar watching everything. She is the matriarch who, no doubt, is too old to wear the thong and boots. Now, she runs the show. I watch as she screams at and slaps under-productive girls while simultaneously pushing men at the most seductive ones.

All of them, the dancing girls, the little girls, the den mothers...all of them are owned by someone.

She hasn't moved in three hours. Same posture...same stool...same forced smile.

"Who is she?" I wonder as I walk by her again with the groom-to-be and his friends.

"Why hasn't she moved?"
"What will happen to her if she doesn't?"

Our next stop brought us to a bar where I could periodically check on what seemed to be a human manikin in a flowered dress. I knew she wasn't a manikin. I knew that she was a real person with a real story...she and I had made eye contact...but what I saw in her eyes left me wondering about her story.

She wasn't like the other girls. She made no attempts at aggressive seduction, her smiles were forced and her eye contact was labored. She didn't expose her thong or wear black leather boots. She wasn't moving to the rhythms of her DJ. She simply sat there, in a conservative flowered dress, obviously wishing that she was anywhere else but on that stool.

Was she a young mother with children in bed somewhere selling herself so that her family could eat?
Was she a young wife with a husband working on the main land selling herself so that she could eat?
Was she a slave owned by someone selling herself so that she could be free?

"Hi, my name is Jeremy."

She sat up uncomfortably, the forced smile growing progressively strained. Was that panic I read in her eyes? Fear? It was certainly not relief.

"I just wanted to say hi."

OBL and the quandary of Bi-Citizenship

2011-05-09T16:40:00.000-07:00

I was stunned to pick up the newspaper one week ago today to discover that Osama bin Laden had been killed. The most monstrous face of terrorism of my time was no more. The cynical tyrant, distorter of Islam, and disseminater of hatred was no longer free to plot the demise of innocents.

As I read the countless articles highlighting the top-secret mission that led to OBL's death, I found myself somber and wondering aloud, "How am I to process this?"

When I read a compelling article, my practice is to scour a dozen reputable websites in an effort to get a more well-rounded, global perspective. What I discovered last Monday left me undone and my question deepened.

The new question: "As a citizen of the Kingdom of God and of the Contemporary Empire, how am I to process the death of Osama bin Laden?"

The consensus answer that resounded throughout the Empire was "celebration". By the 9th inning of an east coast MLB game, the sold out crowd was unified in chants of "U.S.A!" News cameras captured the jubilation of college students in front of the White House and in the streets of their college cities celebrating the death and demise of the one who had been the face of "the enemy" for more than half of their lives.

As I watched the celebration ensue, I was reminded of September 11, 12, & 13, 2001 when I watched people on the other side of the world celebrating the atrocities of 9/11, burning effigies of people that looked like me, and, with jubilation, chanting the names of their countries. Ten years ago, as I watched that unfold, I became fueled not with a desire for justice...but with a desire for revenge.

An image came to mind...an image of a divided world sitting on opposing sides of a stadium looking at each other. Periodically, a team on the playing field would score and their fans would cheer while the opposing team dropped their heads and the opposing fans sat by stoically, awaiting their chance for celebratory retaliation.

I wonder...do we live in a world much like this image? Do we live in a world where we take turns cheering each other's demise?

I wonder...will the cheering stop only when there's no one left to cheer?

"As a citizen of the Kingdom of God and of the Contemporary Empire, how am I to process the death of Osama bin Laden?"

The Scriptures have been my guide this week as I've considered the question. I've read a number of Old Testament passages where God warns against our celebrating the fall of the enemy. I've read a number of Old Testament passages where God seems to initiate the demise of the enemy. This tension requires other blog posts and doesn't necessarily help with the question at hand.

Then I re-read Matthew 5:38-42 where Jesus says, "When power is abused and you're the victim, don't get even. Get creative in love." These words of Jesus, whose death and demise was celebrated by other Empires, gave credence to my misgivings with our Imperial celebration.

While "celebration" is a way of processing bin Laden's death, it's probably not the ideal way for those of us with bi-citizenship.

If not celebration, then what?

As I pondered the question further, I heard the word "justice" emerge and re-emerge as the Imperial definition of bin Laden's death.

The word "justice" paired with images of dancing college students holding signs with a bullet-ridden Osama bin Ladan raised yet another question for me:

Are our definitions of justice and revenge synonymous?

In the Kingdom of God, justice is the word that describes the moment when something wrong is made right...when something broken is made whole again. In light of that definition, can citizens of the Kingdom of God celebrate justice in the wake of bin Laden's death?

Perhaps we who call ourselves citizens of the Kingdom need to be careful not to let the definitions of the Empire become the definitions of the Kingdom...

The question remains: "As a citizen of the Kingdom of God and of the Contemporary Empire, how am I to process the death of Osama bin Laden?"

Perhaps a better way than "celebration" is "relief". The world can be relieved that a leader like bin Laden can no longer plot the demise of countless people. The world can be relieved that one more mass murderer has been stopped. But in our relief, let us be realistic that evil and suffering did not go away with the life of Osama bin Laden.

Evil and suffering remain...and will likely intensify...dancing in the streets has that effect on the other side of the stadium.

Is there another, better, more beautiful way forward?

Yes.

The Jesus Way of Shalom. Reconciliation.
The Jesus Way of thinking carefully how we live as citizens of the Kingdom within an opposing Empire.
The Jesus Way of not letting Kingdom definitions become cross-pollinated with Imperial definitions.

The other, better, more beautiful way forward is the Jesus Way of getting creative in love. This will likely require you and I meeting in the middle of the field, learning each other's name, embracing each other, apologizing on behalf of our "team", and conspiring together for a Kingdom future.

"Drink deep, little one."

2010-04-19T16:47:00.000-07:00

Last night, my community explored Jesus' encounter with a foreign whore. We watched as Jesus broke every imaginable cultural rule by initiating an unacceptable relationship. We watched as He tenderly, yet surgically, helped her to realize her soul craving for Him that had played out in dangerous, life-threatening ways.

A word on soul-craving:
I have a bias that God created in each of us a soul craving that He alone can satisfy. This soul craving for Him includes belonging, wholeness, freedom, intimacy, adventure... A part of being human means that I choose to play out that soul craving for Him in more immediate ways that tend to be harmful, destructive, even life-threatening.

That's what I see in the John 4 encounter. The woman had had six (or more) sexual partners which means she either began thirsty, ended thirsty, or (likely) both. She's played out this soul craving in such destructive ways that she can't even recognize the solution to her soul craving sitting at Jake's Well with her.

I wonder which person we resonate with...

As a Jesus follower, I've come to resonate with both. I am the unacceptable whore that God initiates an unacceptable relationship with: that's grace. As a result, I have become sent to other Jake's Wells to initiate unacceptable relationships with others: that's being an extension of the grace I have received.

As our training time came to a close last night, we were invited to drink deep from a basin of water intended to symbolize our soul craving for Jesus being satisfied by Him. We all had little Dixie cups to draw the water with.

After the gathering, my little girl ran up to me with her Dixie cup, picked up my open water bottle and dumped the almost full bottle all over herself, my Bible & shoes, and the floor. In so doing, she happened to also get a Dixie cup full of water.

"I'm wet." she said, very matter of factly.
"Yes you are." I replied, relishing the significance of this moment.
"Drink it?" she asked.
"Drink deep, little one." I responded.

Empty Wine Bottles...

2010-04-13T23:07:00.000-07:00

Had dinner with the crew from the Pepper Drive community tonight and was struck by how time flies when stories move from the catacombs of one's memory into the collective shared experience of a community.

Isn't that why we must remember stories out loud? That we would experience them anew/afresh?

Isn't that we are must remember the story about a community centered around Jesus that included bread and wine? That we would experience it anew/afresh? That it would become our collective shared experience as a community?

Simlutaneous Journeys

2010-04-04T20:54:00.000-07:00

4:30 came too early this morning. I awoke to my friend pounding on the door, my dog going crazy, and my little girl shouting, "Be quiet Jade!" Moments later I was up and out the door...it was Easter Sunday.

For months, my church has been imagining an experience that would help people step into both the complexity and the implications of this ancient-present-future moment. As we considered how that weekend may have played out, we were struck by the difference between our waking moments and the waking moments of the original Jesus-community.

My day began with a pounding heart (due to the knocking and the barking) but quickly shifted to excitement as the cobwebs receded and it dawned on me that I had awoken into a day alive with resurrection potential. The experience is very different for the three mentioned in John 20. I imagine that the waking moments for Mary were accompanied with the immediate return of the jack-hammer pain of loss. I can't help but to imagine that tear-stained cheeks were wet again by fresh tears as the memory of the brutal murder of the now-deceased flooded her mind.

"He's gone."
"I was convinced He was who He said He was."
"Why did I remain silent?"
"Would it had been easier if I had never met this man?"
"What am I going to do now?"

Note the contrast between our heartbeats.

Mine were quickened with anticipation as, before long, I knew that I would be gathering with my community of the Resurrected, remembering the Story so to more fully embody it.

Mary's were slowed due to the weight of outrage and inescapable sorrow. Like me, Mary remembered, only she remembered not the alive but the dead.

In an effort to capture the complexity of it all so to also capture the hope and today-implications, we invited our community into the story through the lenses of the original Jesus-community. As we hiked in the pre-dawn moments, our attention was periodically drawn to lantern-lit questions and everyday ancient elements. I watched as individuals paused longer by some questions/elements than others...I watched as a community journeyed deeper into the resurrection reality.

The longer (and higher) we hiked, the lighter it became...the sun was going to rise soon! The irony was unmistakable as, while we know the outcome of the Story, Mary had no idea. As we approached our destination (a ridge overlooking Mt. Diablo) Mary reached her's (a tomb encasing her beloved Rabbi...or so she thought).

The image of the broken seal of a stone tomb elicits two different realities: for us, both the hope of new life and participation in the God-mission; for Mary, despair. Here, again, we are faced with the complexity of being human participants in the God-life. Why couldn't Jesus have met her as she gazed at the inky blackness of the tomb's entrance? Rather than awakening Mary in that moment, the resurrected Jesus is absent...or at least silent.

Next, we read of the foot race between Peter and John to the grave. What are they thinking? Is Peter still replaying a fusion of sounds: rejection, rooster's crow, whip-ripping flesh, hammer-striking nail? What pushes John's threshold for pain as he runs faster, faster, faster? Why doesn't he go into the tomb when he arrives? Why does Peter descend in without a second thought? What do they truly "believe" as they depart?

And then we find Mary, by the tomb again...as our celebration continues with "Jesus conquered the grave; He conquered the grave!"

In the simultaneous journeys of two Jesus-communities, both are communities of the Resurrected...one knows it, one doesn't...yet.

But before long, both communities knew it.

In the simultaneous journeys of two Jesus-communities, one lived like it was true...will the other?

Dawn of Creation: A Poem

2010-02-06T08:08:00.000-08:00

Abyss,
Formless and void;
Tranquil darkness filled with inexpressible love
Shared by the Divine with Himself.
Gusts of unimaginable colors burst into being,
Exposing everything and nothing
…but love.

Disciplined silence echoing throughout eternal history.
Contained within Elohim’s self-sealed lips
Words yet unspoken leaving creation yet uncreated.
Mystery imagining eternal future;
Vivacious images inhabited by the Spirit
Of love.

Communal anticipation mounting;
Imagination soon to become reality.
Thunder reverberates across time outside of time;
His sealed lips crack open at last.
First ever light illuminates the void
At the sound of His voice.

"Empire State of Mind"

2009-11-29T15:39:00.000-08:00

A friend invited me to listen to and reflect upon Jay-Z's "Empire State of Mind" where, in the third verse, he rhymes:

"Jesus can't save you;
Life won't begin 'til the Church ends."

An observation, a question, and a challenge...

An observation:
Jay-Z, rightly, links Jesus and the Church.

A question:
What kind of Church, and therefore, what kind of Jesus has Jay-Z encountered? If it's anything like the irrelevant, locally and globally ignorant and indifferent Church in the West that my friends in SF with a soul craving for Jesus are experiencing, then sadly, he has a point.

A challenge:
To the Church: wake up! This is what the world thinks of us. It's time to live a different, true Story. It's time to live the saving Story of Jesus in a language that our world can understand.

If and when we do, I wonder how the lyrics will change...

Surprised by the Sound of Worship

2009-10-28T12:02:00.001-07:00

Sunday night, Open Door engaged in a unique fusion of worship and justice. We believe that the two go together, but are longing to find ways to experience them both in the practice of our weekly gatherings. The partnership was with World Vision's HIV/AIDS Caregiver Kit initiative.

Here is what the evening looked like:

We began, as usual, embracing the sound of God's people gathering. In those moments, I'm training myself to stop and listen to the sound of people gathering, reconnecting, storytelling, introducing, laughing...

Music began which serves to help focus fifty different conversations into one. After we had sung, one of us, a medical professional, began to teach us about HIV/AIDS from a biological/medical perspective. We learned about cell structure and how this virus enacts terrorism on our T-cells in an effort to reproduce itself. We learned the difference between HIV and AIDS through the story of a little boy named Simon whom our friend had watched make the deadly transition of no return in Uganda just a few short months ago.

Next, our friend from World Vision invited us to consider HIV/AIDS in all of its global magnitude. We imagined the tens of children orphaned within the time-span of his 10-minute storytelling. We heard about care-givers around the world who give themselves away to those infected with HIV and AIDS. We re-discovered our call to bring hope to hopeless situations.

It was time to respond. Our response took the shape of putting together Kits of supplies (petroleum jelly, latex gloves, cotton swabs, water purifiers, etc.) that would be sent to care-givers in Uganda. A part of the experience was writing notes of encouragement and prayer to the care-givers such that they would remember that they are not alone (vertically nor horizontally). We decided that we would also include pictures of ourselves so that the care-givers could put a face with a letter.

Once all of the kits were put together, I looked around our gathering space and saw our community pouring over those encouragement cards; an experience that was supposed to take 30 minutes took well over 45.

We were supposed to sing again. Instead of singing we listened. We listened to and were surprised by the sound of worship:

the sound of tape being applied to cardboard boxes;
the sound of cardboard boxes scraping wooden crates as they were being stacked;
the sound of chairs sliding across the floor as people repositioned themselves to write;
the sound of murmured community and individual prayers;
the sound of silence.

The foreign sounds of the worship/justice fusion must become familiar!

...so I stood still.

2009-09-25T15:02:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, I took the train into downtown Oakland to meet a friend for coffee. Usually, I'm running just on time or, too often, five minutes late. On this particular day, I happened to arrive 45 minutes early.

Having arrived, my natural disposition was to find the nearest coffee shop, plug in my computer and get some work done. However, on this beautiful Bay Area afternoon, I felt like what I needed most was to simply stand still for a while.

Here's what happened...

As I was finishing up a sausage from Top Dog, I was spotted by one of the most emaciated, beautiful little Asian men I have ever seen. When he started to walk toward me, I thought to myself, "Of course! He comes to the only person standing still in the entire area." As he continued to stumble toward me, I heard what I had just thought and took a look around. I was, indeed, the only person out of the hundreds within eye-shot that was standing still.

Decision time, do I avert eye contact so that I can stand still somewhere else or do I continue to stand still and let what will happen, happen?

I stood still.

He was just taller than my belly button, covered in soiled clothes, and wearing a whispy beard. I read both desperation and relief in his eyes as he gathered the courage to speak to the only person who wasn't walking away from him.

"I'm hungry," he wheezed with what I thought to be the last ounce of energy available in his 90 pound body.

I paused, waiting for him to ask for money but the question never came. The silence of the brief moments that followed impressed on me the privilege I had to do something about his hunger.

"What are you hungry for?" I asked.

"How about something from over there?" he responded, nodding beyond me to a soup and salad bar.

"Let's go." I said, gesturing with my head and neck in much the same way.

In we walked, a healthy 6'1'' young man and his...what was he? Was he my friend, a stranger...? It seemed that everyone in the restaurant was asking the same question: "What is he?" What's more, I read the staff of the restaurant wondering, "Who is he with?" and "He'd better not steal anything from us!"

I just stood by him, fascinated by what he did...

Rather than taking the biggest "to-go" container that he could, he reached out his crooked little hands and took the smallest one available. Then, meticulously, he selected the tiniest portions of what, I'm sure, were his favorite delicacies: watermelon, strawberries, pasta salad, avocado, cucumber...

Satisfied with his selections, he closed the clear, plastic box up and looked into my eyes. I saw gratitude and hope. He didn't say anything...he just stood by me waiting for me to make the next move.

"Something to drink?" I asked knowing that he had missed the four massive refrigerators boasting a broad selection of flavored beverages.

Slowly, he walked over and was instantly dwarfed by coolers. He seemed a bit overwhelmed. Perhaps that was due to the burden of choice or perhaps it was because he had a choice...

He chose an orange one and cautiously returned to my side. Together, we approached the cashier who I had noticed as being most suspicious of the goings-on.

"We'll settle up!" I said, pulling my wallet from my back pocket.

"Is this all?" she asked, no doubt with a series of questions running through her mind.

"This is all." I returned as I gazed at the tiny meal in the weathered hands of a friend I may never see again.

"$4.50." she said after a longer than normal pause. I knew she had given us a deal.

I handed over my Visa to pay the tab, signed the receipt, and handed it back to the cashier. A new softness replaced the suspicion that had previously permeated our interaction. "Thank you." she said, not so much thanking us for our business but, seemingly, for something much more.

"Thank you." I responded, moved by what was happening in that moment.

"Thank you." said this dear little man to no one in particular. In those two meaning-saturated words, I felt that, in humility, he was expressing his gratitude to someone or something far beyond those who were standing in line.

He walked for the door and I followed, longing to learn more but knowing that our time together had come to an end. He held the door for me, and I walked through expecting to turn around and see him shuffling away. Instead, I saw him standing by the door with his head cocked ever so slightly in one direction and looking at me. The gentlest smile cracked his face as he nodded one time, turned, and walked away.

As I watched him merge into the sea of human motion, I glanced up at the clock tower. That whole encounter had taken twelve minutes...I had 33 minutes left...

...so I stood still.

In Her Hand: A Good Friday Realization

2009-04-19T23:41:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, things happen that carry so much significance that I can hardly breathe...

I was in my backyard with my daughter and my dog on Good Friday when I noticed something in my daughter's hand. As she always has something in her hand (rocks, grass, books...) I didn't think anything of it.

Just a little while later, I looked and saw that she still had something grasped in her little, innocent hand. She wasn't messing with it, she was just holding onto it.

I figured I'd better take a closer look.

When I asked her to open her hand to "Show Daddy." she unclenched her fist to reveal a nail.

Now...how she got a nail, I'll never know; but the fact that, on Good Friday, my little girl had a nail in her hand was almost more than I could handle.

Here is this beautiful, nearly perfect little girl who held a nail on Good Friday.

Misplaced Association?

2009-04-09T14:01:00.000-07:00

Jesus has just endured betrayal, arrest, a myriad of six trials, and senseless beatings.

He now stands on one side of Pontius Pilate while the notorious criminal Barabbas stands on the other.

The Roman custom during the Passover Feast in Jerusalem is the release of a prisoner to be chosen by the people. Pilate wants nothing to do with this Jesus. I believe that he sees Jesus as a harmlessly charismatic, innocent man. Surely the crowd would see the unrecognizable state Jesus was in. Surely they would respond with mercy and beg for His release.

"Jesus or Barabbas. One of these belongs here, the other doesn't. One has been found guilty of gross atrocities against you, the other has been found guilty of nothing. One exists to take everything from you, the other has existed in generosity and for your all-dimensional benefit."

"Jesus or Barabbas. Which one would you like to walk your streets again?"

In one voice, they cry out for the release of Barabbas.

Imagine Barabbas' response. Imagine his surprise. Imagine the glance shared between he and Jesus.

Imagine Pilate's dismay.

"What shall I do, then, with Jesus who is called Christ?"

In one voice, they cry out for his murder.

When I place myself in this story, I usually find myself in the crowd, stirred by the goings on. I associate myself with the crowd screaming for Jesus' death.

I wonder if this is misplaced association.

If I'm honest, a better association is with Barabbas--the criminal set free...the criminal who's punishment was deferred to and satisfied by Jesus.

Construct Peace

2009-02-20T23:02:00.000-08:00

I was just at an Israeli/Palestinian symposium. Most of my experience is not speech-ripe yet, however I will share one insight from the evening.

There were two simultaneous ideas floating around in terms of getting to solution.
1. A Palestinian professor of law at Berkeley, Dr. Hatem Bazian suggested partnerships between the institutions of higher education in the United States and the three universities in the Gaza Strip. He also suggests similar partnerships between K-12 schools here and there.

2. A rabbi, disicpled by the mentors of Dr. MLK Jr. suggested that we need to find ways of constructing peace.

I can't help but to wonder if a combination of the two ideas is the part of the only real solution that exists. What I mean is this...

I happen to disagree with the notion that further diplomacy is going to lead to any kind of a feasible soltion to the Israeli/Palestinian conflict. The United States is so tied up in our own economic crisis that it will be years before we are able to give the attention to that crisis that it needs. Also--I think our world may be living in what Einstein called insanity already as it is: we keep doing the same stuff expecting different results.

As I listened to Dr. Bazian and Rabbi Lynn talk, I was struck with the notion that the very kind of peace construction that is needed is for the emerging generations of Americans, our elementary kids to live in pro-people relationships. In stating that this is for the emerging generation of Americans, I'm not underestimating the urgency of the situation over there. I am suggesting, though, that the only solution to what is happening is not diplomacy and it is not partnership...it is relationship.

I wonder what would happen if, in households all around America, children began coming home telling stories of real friendships that they developing with real children in Gaza. I wonder how that would begin to change the perspective of generations of families who have blindly supported injustice with our political disposition as well as our tax dollars for years. I wonder what kind of peace would begin to be created if, when children hear of bombing and aid being cut off for the Gaza, they plead with their parents to do something about it.

I wonder if, when America, moved by relationship instead of greed and politics, would move with such force that our government would have to dig their heads out of the sands of arrogance and respond.

I can't help but to offer the simplex notion that Jesus (the incarnational God) is the solution.

It's Raining Today

2009-02-13T16:09:00.001-08:00

I'm sitting in one of my new favorite coffee shops. I've been here for several hours now, mostly studying but, at times, eavesdropping on nearby conversations...you learn a lot about people this way.

It's been raining on and off again all day--currently, we're on our fourth go-around. I grew up in the mid-west where it's always green and rain is more of a burden than a joy. I can't say that I've ever celebrated rain.

I live in California now...today I celebrate rain!

Salaam and Shalom?

2009-01-07T09:33:00.000-08:00

Are you watching what's happening in Israel? Are you watching what's happening in the Gaza Strip?

You need to be watching BOTH stories.

As for me, I haven't been able to pull away from my computer. I'm watching video after video of what is happening in Israel and in Gaza. I'm reading everything I can get my hands on from both sides.

Why?
I'm confused. My heart is broken.

Why?
With war, nobody wins. I don't care of there are 1000 deaths on one side and only 1 on the other...everybody loses!

My heart breaks for both sides of this crisis. Both Israel and Palestine are victims of their own making. Both refuse to talk with each other. Both see the "land" as theirs. No one will budge...so they kill.

Sometimes it takes the form of missiles and ground attacks, other times it takes the form of teenagers, strapping bombs to themselves in "martyr" missions...driven to it by their own choosing and sense of honor and killing other teenagers. 17-year-old girls who would be friends in another place on this earth, die in each other's shadow at a grocery store (see "To Die in Jerusalem" for the story of Ayat and Rachel) for nothing.

And then I read the American newspapers that blindly support Israel because it is strategic that we do so. If we can control Israel we can control the Middle East. Is this our master plan?

And then I listen to mainline American Christians blindly support Israel. They're God's peopel right? That's the story they read in the Old Testament. But what about the times that Yahweh kicked them out of their own land because they were adopting the practices of their neighbors? What about the times of disicpline because of their faithlessness and failure to love? Whatever happened to standing in the gap against injustice? Where is compassion? Are we (American Christians and the American government) turning a blind eye to the beginning of another holocaust?

Bush, in response to the incredibly lopsided numbers of both air strikes and casualties (at that time there were 300 Palestinians dead and 4 Israelis dead) he referred to this being an obvious sign that Hamas is a known terrorist threat.

What?!? How is this obvious?

I posted a video on my facebook. The video shows footage from inside of the Gaza Strip. One of the comments I received was, "There are two sides to every story, aren't there? It'd be nice to hear the other side along with this one."

My response?

"Turn on your television or read your newspaper. The 'other side' of the story is all we're being fed in the U.S."

I want to know the whole story. I want my heart to break with compassion for justice and for, in both langauges, salaam and shalom.

Jesus...you are the only bringer of salaam and shalom.

By the way...over 40 Palestinians, mostly children, just died in a U.N. school where they were seeking shelter. They died because a missle slammed into them.

Why?
For nothing.

Just Hearts

2008-12-10T13:13:00.000-08:00

Six months ago, I was in a conversation with a friend and we were reflecting on the experience of Moses when Yahweh faced him.

God's heart was breaking because of the oppression of His people and He knew that Moses' heart had broken once upon a time for the same reason. God let Moses know that He was going to invite him to do something about it.

After stumbling over himself, he wonders out loud, "What if they don't listen to me?"

God's response: "What is that in your hand?"

"A staff."

"Yeah," said God. "I'm going to use what's already in your hand (which happened to be the tool of his trade) to set people free."

As this friend and I continued to reflect, she realized that her heart had been breaking for a community of poverty-stricken families living in one of the largest city dumps in the world. As we talked, she realized that she had a business degree and relationships with people who could help her start a fair-trade non-profit that could potentially become a creative form of a micro-finance organization already in her hand.

Just Hearts was born and launched last Sunday at Open Door. Through micro-finance, they are helping to create jobs for women and children endangered by the chains of human trafficking in both Nicaragua and Thailand.

God is using what's already in her hands to set people free.

An Email...

2008-12-10T11:41:00.000-08:00

An email I just wrote to our team of justice coordinators at Open Door...

I just finished reading a book called Slave. It is an autobiography of a woman named Mende Nazer, a Sudanese young woman who was abducted and sold into slavery as a little girl, but who eventually had the courage to escape after nearly 12 years. It is a riveting true account of her story.

As I was reading, I began to wonder if the monthly dialogues around the issues of poverty and slavery could benefit from just such a book. I'm wondering what would happen if our community engaged in a book dialogue/book study of books such as these. My next book is one called Infidel and is the story of an exploited Arab woman and her journey to freedom. She also wrote Caged Virigin--the book I'll read after Infidel. I also have a book called Sold which is a collection of stories of slaves who have been freed....

Attaching the issue to real stories of real people is one way in which I believe that God will continue to feed this break for us. More importantly, we could use stories such as these to guide us into the Text to listen for His heart on matters of poverty, slavery, and abolition.

I was just emailing with a young friend who gave a collegiate speech on human trafficking, inspired by some of the stuff happening at Open Door. She instantly had four people come up to her wanting to know what they can "do" about it. Here was my response....

Being a part of the solution here in the Bay Area is a creative process. Call+Response does offer some great ideas, however the world of storming brothels and rescuing slaves isn't necessarily a reality here. I would recommend directing your four friends to a community such as Open Door that are experimenting creatively with being solution. One way we are doing this is through monthly round table dialogues that are focused on getting educated while exploring God's heart on this issue. Another potential idea is hosting a book study focused on reading the autobiographies of rescued slaves so that the crisis can be attached to real people. The most tangible thing that we are engaged in is the launch of a non-profit fair-trade organization called Just Hearts. This is a creative micro-finance organization that is literally creating jobs in both Thailand and Nicaragua to impoverished families. As jobs are being created through the creation of jewelry and other goods, women and children who would typically be sold into slavery are finding a way out.

Not sure if this is helpful or not. I guess what I'm saying is that the best thing that people can do is get involved with a community of people who are about being solution and who are actively listening for God's leading in that endeavor. Make sense?

I wonder how God is going to use this issue, our break, and shepherding to guide people into His Kingdom. He is absolutely about abolition, physically and spiritually. I long for us to be a part of both.

Better than the "Good 'Ol Days"

2008-12-08T23:20:00.000-08:00

Two of our friends from college came out to spend two days with us. It was the first time we'd all been together in over seven years!

There are those friends who, no matter how long its been, walk in grace, truth, love, and trust with you. These are two of those people.

Once they landed, we went to the Farmer's Market in the City, drove through San Francisco, and did the Golden Gate Bridge. I was struck by how, even though these were great experiences and sights to see, we were lost in conversation.

It felt like every hour of our time together was life-giving...never was there a dull moment. My favorite time was last night over dinner after Open Door. Two of my friends from CA sat at table with two of my friends from MN...it couldn't have been better. After the CA's left, the four of us sat down, soon to recognize that we had experienced something rich--worshipful, really--in the last two days. Our time was more full than the good 'ol days.

We were the same people, kind of...

Right On

2008-12-08T23:13:00.000-08:00

Jac and I were out to dinner with a mentor of mine last week. It was one of those, "Time stood still for an hour-and-a-half" dinners.

I've invited this friend to mentor and advise me, to listen for what's really going on with me, and to speak candidly about what he hears and observes.

He spoke candidly on Wednesday night and it uncovered some things and created language I was searching for in others. Jac's imput served to strenthen what he was saying. I mostly listened with rapt attention as everything that they were saying was right on.

It was good to be sitting down with two people who are on the board of directors of my life. I live, follow, and love more fully after meals like that. I was much more nourished by the dialogue than by the physical food...although the food was good too.

An Elaborate Feast

2008-12-08T14:50:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, we hosted Ava's birthday party. Hard to believe that she's already one!

We chose to host both a birthday party and an open house as we have recently bought, remodeled, and moved into a new home (God's gift to us!). As we were working on the house (long days in the hot summer) we kept picturing the moment when our home would be filled with people, feasting on food, stories, friendships.

Yesterday, that vision was realized when, at one point, there were over 60 people from all spheres of our lives packed into our home...feasting.

A hike in the rain

2008-12-08T14:40:00.000-08:00

Mondays are both Ava day and Sabbath for me. I love it because it means that I no longer have Monday on my calender...Sunday, Ava-day, Tuesday, Wednesday...

We do a couple of things together every Monday. Eat delicious food, take a nap, go to the grocery store to pick up food for dinner (and flowers for Jac) and go on a hike that has to have a summit. A couple weeks ago, we were on our Sabbath-hike, an opportunity for the two of us to step back and savor the beauty and completeness of God, when it suddenly started to rain. It was cold, windy, and raining and I felt my heart rate increase at the thought of Ava and how stressed out she must have been.

But she didn't make a sound.

I soon realized that she had curled herself as tightly as possible in the Sherpani and as close to me as she could get and had fallen asleep. She was literally sleeping through the storm in the middle of nowhere.

She slept because she was with her Daddy. She slept because she knew that as long as she was close to me, she'd be fine.

Knowing that put her at peace...so she slept.

Usually on our Sabbath hikes, I'm captivated by the views and by listening to my little girl discover the world around her. She squeaks and points when she sees a squirrel or a deer. She follows the flight of the birds and trys to talk them into landing on her outstretched arm.

On this particular hike, I was lulled into worship by her serenity, the internal tranquility in the midst of the external cold storm.

She was close to her daddy.

My experience is the same...there is something about being held by the Father that puts me at peace. There is something about listening to His heartbeat in the midst of storms that tells me that as long as I am curled up next to Him, I'll be fine.

Flesh Colored Hand

2008-12-08T12:10:00.000-08:00

Last Sunday at Open Door, my friend Julia wrote and read an incredible piece on Christmas from a journalist's perspective. Check out "The Call of Christmas."

As she read, there was a picture of a mother's hand holding a baby's hand. The unique thing about this image is that the mother's hand was gray-scale while the hand of the baby was flesh colored. Something weird was happening with the projector, casting a blueish hue on the image that eliminated the contrast of the gray and the flesh.

Then, just as she read this, "The omnipotent creator of the universe enters the world in the terrifyingly vulnerable form of a baby, subject to the danger and evils in the world," the projector came into focus and the reality of the flesh colored hand landed with impact in our community.

God works in and through technology to tell His Story.

You could hear the entire community gasp at our collective understanding. Creator, Sustainer, Creator of all became flesh so we could see Him.

Where Hope and Fear Meet

2008-12-08T11:57:00.000-08:00

Monday was World AIDS Day. Ava and I went to the National AIDS Memorial Garden in San Francisco imagining that we would be two of thousands gathering to remember and to envision solution. Here's what we experienced...

We arrive in Golden Gate Park and pulled immediately into one of many parking spots still available. "Bizarre," I thought. We rolled down the path to a huge white tent filled, not with thousands, but with a couple hundred people, mostly representing the homosexual community quietly gathered in remembrance. The featured speakers were a family of five: mom, daughter, son, and adopted Ethiopian son all were HIV positive. Their story was a riveting one of living HIV positive in a world ravaged by both HIV/AIDS and misunderstanding. Once through, we were all invited to the "Circle of Friends" where the names added to the memorial were to be read with a bell rung in their honor.

Ava and I, knowing no one there, nor anyone whose name was going to be read, felt like going to the "Circle of Frinds" was exactly where we should be.

As the names were read and the bell rang out, I was struck with two stark voids:
1. Where was the mention of HIV/AIDS as a global pandemic that is ravaging our world? I wondered to myself, as I walked for nearly an hour after the ceremony, what World AIDS Day might have been like in South Africa. Where, as all are victims of HIV/AIDS, the experience of those in the majority world couldn't be more different than those I stood with in San Francisco on this day. So many, globally, are not people of influence with opportunity and freedom, but are true victims of exploitation, violence, and poverty resulting in an infection for which there is no solution.
2. Where was the Church? I've never, in my life, been in a place where fear dominated hope more than in the "Circle of Friends" that day. Perhaps the reason there was no hope was because Christians have taken such a polemic stand against homosexuality that simply choose not to be associated with local HIV/AIDS. You can't bring hope when your posture is against.

Perhaps hope and fear did meet on World AIDS Day in San Francisco this year. Ava and I got to be there standing with...

Jesus stood in the Circle of Friends with arms outstretched

Pakistan 3 years ago.

2008-12-08T11:48:00.000-08:00

Last Sunday marked the three-year anniversary of my experience in Pakistan--one of the most significantly formational experiences of my life.

Where as, then, the country was ravaged by an earthquake...now--it is war.

My heart is torn as I continually read about the unrest and chaos in the tribal villages of northern Pakistan where I fell in love with a community of people being painted as terrorists.

My mouth goes dry as I imagine a two-front war that Pakistan may be engaged in before long. I wonder about Mumtaz, Afzal, Farooq, Zaighum, and Shakoor. Will they have to fight this war? Which war will they fight in? How will their families be impacted by more war? Will Shakoor and Afzal get to spend time with their new brides? Will Mumtaz's kids wonder where their daddy is? How will Ziaghum's family stay warm this winter? Does Shakoor still remember The Lord's Prayer?

God, why is this happening?

Addicted...

2008-12-08T11:33:00.001-08:00

I began writing this post quite some time ago...

Here is an interesting perspective that I resonate with. It comes from Donald Miller, author of Blue Like Jazz.

"I saw this great interview on CNN with Tom Arnold, the comedian. He just wrote a book called, How I Lost 5 Pounds in 6 Years: An Autobiography. The interviewer asked him, 'Why did you write this book?' Arnold said—and my respect for him just went through the roof when I heard him say this—'The reason I wrote this book is because I am a broken person, and I do things to get people to love me.'"

I'm trying to remember what resonated with me so. I can't. My life and experience is so different now than it was a year ago when I began this reflection. It's amazing, really, how that works. You write something...you revisit it...you realize that things are different now...you reflect on if things are different positive or different negative.

As it pertains to this, I think it's different positive. I don't find myself "doing things to get people to love me" much anymore. Where as, once upon a time, that may have been the case, I feel that my expression of living now is much more of a response to Love than for love.

I spent a lot of time doing to get people to love me. Was that time well invested? Did I flourish or languish? My heart says I languished.

Hmm...

Stark Contrast

2008-12-08T11:21:00.000-08:00

I was on a run on not too long ago with my friend Jeff. Jeff went to Pakistan with me, is 61 years old, and is the one who challenged me with the $250.00 "live for the good of the world" challenge that I brought to Open Door.

As we ran in the mountains together, we came upon a lone oak tree in the middle of nowhere. We stopped. He asked, "Do you see that oak tree?"

"Yes." I said.

"I know that man who planted that over 20 years ago. Every single Saturday for a number of years, he would fill his wheel barrel with containers of water and other nutrients for the tree. Then he would begin the nearly two hour hike to feed the tree."

The tree was alive and thriving...a stark contrast to everything in it's surrounding.

One part healthy...One part unhealthy

2008-11-09T15:51:00.000-08:00

I was in a dialogue with a hurting and confused friend today. He was telling me the story of a conversation of which I was one of the topics. He told me that one part of the dialogue was healthy and the other part was unhealthy, but I sensed he was willing to tell me both if I pressed.

How do I interpret that? What do I do? Especially as part of me was morbidly intrigued by what was unhealthy.

Here's what I did...
I took a moment to check my pulse; I was surprised that it hadn't quickened. It would have quickened six months ago. I then asked him to share with me the healthy portion, but that if the unhealthy portion would skew my perspective of him or someone else, I would prefer that he keep it to himself.

I surprised myself.

Maybe I am learning to choose for people. Maybe I am learning that stories are viral in that they infect (both positively and negatively) those who tell as well as those who listen.

I want to choose not to speculate...I'm more free when I don't.

I want to whisper healthy stories of people's virtues.

Perhaps that's the sound of a great (and healthy) infection.

His eye is on the sparrow...what about the Congolese?

2008-11-04T09:08:00.000-08:00

A couple of days ago, I grabbed a sandwich at a local deli. Outside of this particular deli were all sorts of fruits and vegetables for sale, as well as some for decoration. Most specifically, there were these bundles of wheat that people could buy (not inexpensively) to hang on their doors or place as center-pieces on their tables.

I was quietly enjoying my lunch when a small flock of sparrows landed on the ledge next to the wheat. Before long, I could no longer see the sparrows as they were ingrained into the bundles of wheat, carefully picking out the individual pieces.

I just sat a watched, amazed that God's eye is actually on the sparrow.

The next morning, I continued to read up on what is happening in and around Goma, Congo...millions displaced and hungry.

His eye in on the sparrow...what about the Congolese?

Chunks of Cement on the Train.

2008-10-16T17:24:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, I was studying to guide my community into a year-long discovery of the Biblical concept of unity. I wrestled all day with the Text, with God, and with myself. I saw evidence of division all around me. Everywhere I looked, all I could see was disunity.

I saw it in the staff of the coffee shop I was sitting in.
I saw it in the way the shop was set up.
I saw it on the front pages of the newspapers.
I watched disunity being played out by a young brother and sister.
I watched as person after person came into the shop, guarded, isolated, lonely, divided from one another spatially and emotionally.

No cohesion. No unity in sight.

I became so distracted by it that I thought a walk might help. On my walk, I saw division everywhere. It felt like my heart and brain had turned into cement. I turned off.

Just a couple of hours later, as I was sitting on the train, I started asking God, "Why all of the division?" and "Why is it stirring in me what it's stirring?"

And then I started to experience the cement differently. I started to see it as the consequence of my own divisiveness, whether intentional or unintentional. He began chipping away at the cement by helping me both discover and recall where I had inspired division.

He helped me discover that I like feeling powerful--that I feel powerful when I choose division over unity.

He helped me to see that I like people relying me--that I feel powerful when people start seeing themselves as I see them instead of how He sees them.

He reminded me how easily I fabricate stories about people in my mind and start believing them to be true--that I feel powerful when my stories about them become true.

That train car became both a confession booth and sanctuary.

I hope they don't mind taking care of the big chunks of cement that I left behind.

"I had the time."

2008-10-11T15:45:00.000-07:00

I just got off the phone with my wife who has just built a new friendship.

This is Jaci at her finest...

She was walking around the Reservoir, pushing Ava in the BOB (a runner's stroller). She came across a young couple with a newborn who began asking her all sorts of questions about the BOB because they were thinking about getting one. Jaci waxed eloquently about BOB and why we love it, including all of the great features that she could remember. They shared pleasantries and went their separate ways.

As Jaci was making her way around the Res, she realized that there was something else that she wanted to share with the couple. Instead of throwing that thought away, she decided she would go and find them.

She rolled the dice, taking the risk that they would already be gone, and turned around to pursue them. She eventually found them and shared the follow-up info that she wanted to, did a folding demonstration, exchanged numbers, and said good-bye.

Just a few days later, Jaci got a phone call from her new friend wondering if she could help Jaci get settled into our new home. These two new moms spent an entire afternoon folding sheets and towels, hanging pictures, scrubbing walls, etc. As she left, she asked if it would be okay if she brought us dinner. A few nights later, she showed up with both dinner and dessert so that we could keep focusing on getting settled.

Yesterday, Jaci began running errands and shot her new friend a call to see if she had time for a walk today. They made plans to meet which they did this afternoon. Two new moms pushing their baby girls in their BOB'S (yes, they got a BOB) when she asked if she could tell Jaci a story.

She proceeded to tell Jaci how after she had walked away from them the first time, they both commented on what an outstanding person Jaci seemed like. It just so happened that Jessica was feeling lonely and questioning big picture things like purpose and direction during their walk that day. At that very moment Jaci caught them to follow up with them. It blew them away that she had pursued them.

Jaci pursued this woman exactly when when she needed to be pursued. She said to Jaci, "You pursued us and you didn't have to."

"You pursued us and you didn't have to."

What an amazing parable about our God who pursued us when He didn't need to. He risked everything and chased after us. He risked everything and chases after our new friends. He risked everything and chases after me.

When Jaci was reflecting with me (I'm crazy about my wife, by the way.) she threw out, parenthecially, "I had the time."

"I had the time."

How often do I miss out on the Kingdom breaking in because I don't have the time?

Observation Revisiting Part 2

2008-10-11T11:34:00.000-07:00

We began our retreat last night by asking two questions:

1. What has happened recently that is reminding you that God is alive?
Friends and Family; Being a pediatric nurse, I see miracles every day.; He shook me up recently and reminded me that He is in control--Him in control means He's alive.; Having a bad day, I saw a train of toddlers walking onto my campus.; A girl that I know is becoming.; My son.; Surviving a horrible accident.; A not-so-random connection with a past friend over email.; New found intimacy with Him.
2. What do you need to hear from God this weekend?
"Be still." "You're okay." "Simplify."

I am constantly awe-struck by how simultaneously at work God is in the lives of His people. He is intentional. He speaks in the language of individual people's souls. He floods our lives with His presence and invites us to become aware and present to it.

When I do, it stirs in me a desire for more.

When I hear multiple stories of how God is alive, it reminds me that God is alive.
I am hearing God say, "Ssshhhhh is best."

Sabbath

2008-10-10T14:24:00.000-07:00

I'm 28 years old and waking up to Sabbath.

Matthew 12:1-2 :: The super-religious freak out at Jesus because His disciples have the audacity to "harvest" grain on the Sabbath. Why is the Sabbath such a huge deal to the Pharisees? Perhaps it's because the Sabbath was all they had when they were in exile and so it became central. The danger is, it became so central that they attached all sorts of gunk to it so that the meaning and direction behind Sabbath got lost. Maybe that's why Jesus says (v. 7) "I wish you knew what this means, 'I desire mercy not sacrifice.'" Dale Bruner would suggest that Jesus is saying, "I long for human sympathy, not super-human discipline."

It still stands to reason that the Sabbath is a big deal though...but why?

Exodus 20 :: God, in summing up all that He ever had and would say to His people, expounds upon the Sabbath in the 10 commandments. Intentionally, He invests the most ink and real estate to Sabbath (98 English words: NIV) and idolatry (83 English words: NIV). He says, "Rest, because I did."

Where did He say that?

Genesis 2:2-3 :: God spends six days speaking stuff into existence. And then on the seventh day, He rests. Was this because He was tired? Or was it because He was finished? Nonetheless, He stops to take a leisurely step back to savor the beauty and completeness of Himself and all that He had created. Then He blesses the seventh day. He's never blessed a day before. He had created some living things and blessed them--humanity most specifically, but He had never blessed a day. Perhaps there is something alive and life-giving about the seventh day when we choose to stop and step back and savor the beauty and completeness of God and His creation. Perhaps when we do, we are choosing to tap into a day which God has impregnated with blessing. Then He makes the seventh day holy. That is, He intentionally set aside the seventh day for Him and for His purposes.

He sets a 6-on-1-off rhythm for us that we can choose to live into or not. He says, work hard for 6 days, but enter into rest on the seventh day because I did. Stop, Step Back, Savor Me and My completeness.

That's part of it...

Deuteronomy 5:12-15 :: God reiterates His command to Sabbath with one key difference. Instead of resting because God did, He tells them to rest because they couldn't rest while they were in slavery. They could worship Yahweh, but they never had a day off in 430 years to Play.

Play is so important to holisitic human development that the UN High Council for Human Rights deemed play a right of every child.

Perhaps Sabbath is both about stopping and intentionally placing myself in a setting that grows my love for God and reCreating well (that is, eating, resting, playing, enjoying God, creation and one another).

But still, there seems to be more...

John 5 :: Jesus heals a man at Bethesda is has been an invalid for 38 years. He heals him on the Sabbath and again the super-religious go berserk. Once they find out it was Jesus who did the healing, they confronted Him on it and he says, "My father is always at work and so am I." Is Jesus saying that the Sabbath is only a good idea and not necessary? Or is He saying that worship--which is what the Sabbath is all about--produces compassion and that it is impossible to disconnect compassion from worship-SO-don't take a break from compassion on your Sabbath?

I'm 28 years old and just waking up to Sabbath. I've missed out on so much because I live in the deception that blessing comes from what I do. I don't believe God for His promises, and thus, don't take his decrees seriously. I wonder what would happen if I did.

I don't know too many people who actually practice Sabbath. This is collective disobedience. Because I don't know too many people who do and because it is a rhythm that God created, perhaps we need to pay attention to that and begin.

I'm going to start.

An Observation Revisiting

2008-10-10T14:19:00.000-07:00

In April, I entered a post on an observation I made during a spiritual retreat called "Discover." It's been six months and I'm preparing to guide this experience again with a new set of 12 participants. We've made some tweaks to the guiding of the experience.

1. We're going to explore spiritual giftedness first while people are fresh.
2. We're going to help people attach information on specific gifts (Romans 12 and 1 Corinthians 12) and ministries (Ephesians 4) to stories from their past.

I look forward to seeing what God does.

Living in the "and"

2008-10-10T14:16:00.001-07:00

I find myself attracted to the inclusive "and." My experience dancing in the rhythm of Jesus is both individual and communal-alone and with-I and we. I am more alive living in the "and" than in the "or."

The First Battle

2008-10-10T14:15:00.001-07:00

My daughter and I had our first battle...

She has been an incredibly mild-mannered, calm, personable little 10-month old. She loves people, loves to be held, loves to eat, loves to play "climb on daddy."

But...she is getting older, stronger, and more mobile and, therefore, more independent.

I was getting ready to change her diaper the other night and she refused to lay on her back and let me do it. I understand that this is typical; that, if she just lay there calmly all of the time, I should probably be worried. I'm not saying she kind of moved from side-to-side, I'm saying she was flopping like a fresh-caught salmon on the banks of an Alaskan river. She was NOT going to let me get her diaper on. She lived under the misconception that she was in charge--that she knew what was best.

How similar am I to Ava. In the loving care of Father, I flop around because I'm deceived into thinking that I am in charge--that I know what's best. I live in the deception that independence is best, fighting dependency with everything that I am.

Assuming the posture of dependency...is it the fruit of disicpleship, the pre-requisite of discipleship, or both?

New thought :: I model for Ava the posture of dependence or independence.
Another thought :: I teach Ava how to listen to Father both by how I live and how I father.

It's bizarre seeing myself in the shape of a flopping, naked, female infant I call Ava.

The Pursuit of the Pursued

2008-10-10T14:11:00.000-07:00

Much of my life is spent in pursuit of others. I think I've always been this way. I was never one to wait around to see if I was going to a call or an invite--I was the one to do the calling and to make the invites.

I'm attracted to pursuers. I experience a unique depth of friendship with other pursuers. Perhaps it's because the experience is mutual...

I'm also realizing that I have an expectation to be pursued by those who have influence over me...that when it doesn't happen, I feel let down and the relationship takes a hit. Is this right or wrong? I'm not sure, but it is my experience and I can't seem to shut that off.

I love to pursue...I love being pursued.

Some questions have begun to emerge for me...
Do I let myself be pursued by God?
Is He in pursuit of me still?
If being pursued takes horizontal relationships to a deeper level of intimacy, is this my vertical experience?
Is there a mutual pursuit required?
Do I pursue others in response to my God who pursues me?
Do I and others experience God's pursuit in community with one another?

"Trust isn't Profitable"

2008-10-10T14:10:00.000-07:00

I was recently sitting over a cup of coffee with a friend and we were talking about the need for trust in our lives. Trust seems to be this bizarre concept that ever eludes us more and more in a culture disposed toward control.

We were two sociologists critiquing our context when he said, "Trust isn't profitable." That made it personal...and true.

We smiled at each other...the conversation was over.

Living Deceived?

2008-10-10T14:09:00.000-07:00

I was reflecting on the journey of unhealthy independence that Adam and Eve embarked. I'm wondering, as I read Genesis 3, what was the lie that they bought?

Imagine two people living in perfect community with God and with each other. They were created as fully alive human beings who got their identity, security, worth, value, significance from simply being in relationship with the Creator. Then, the devil shows up in the form of a serpent and starts a dialogue with Eve by asking a question.

There's nothing wrong with asking a question. Eve went wrong, though, in getting in a dialogue with the Devil--it's never a good idea to get in a dialogue with the master deceiver in whom is zero truth! His question is a legit question, saturated in curiosity and, likely, deception:

Did God really say you couldn't eat from any tree in the garden?

Eve steps into the dialogue and in the context of the conversation begins to remember Creator more tragically than He is.

We can eat from any tree except for the one in the middle. We musn't eat from that one, or touch it, or we will surely die.

Is that what God said? Turing back a few verses, we see Creator talking to Adam using the language of freedom and abundance with boundaries. He does say they must not eat from the tree in the middle because they they'll die--but He never says anything about touching it.

You won't die (said the Devil)...you'll be more alive than you are right now!

Satan is deceiving Eve into believing that she's been duped. She's not fully alive! There is something that she can do to make her more alive than she is right now. He says, "See that tree? Tasty huh? Go, Take, Eat and you'll really be alive!"

So she does. And in that moment, Eve transitioned from a human being into a human doing. Her identity and significance and security are no longer going to be coming from being in relationship with Creator...they were now going to come from her doing.

I live in that same deception. I do not live like I'm convinced that God created me as a fully alive human being who gets life from being in relationship with Him. I live as a human doing, trying to get what I already have available to me.

Hearing myself write, I guess I've been living deceived for quite some time.
It's been killing me.
It's time to let Him guide me back into a human being.

Third Wave Coffee and Jazz Music

2008-06-03T13:13:00.001-07:00

On Sunday, I found myself throwing the frisbee with someone I didn't know. We went from, "Wow--great toss!" to "Hey--what's your name?" to "What do you do?" It was a pretty natural progression as far as conversations go.

Of course, my answer to the last question was, "I'm a pastor of a church in Walnut Creek called Open Door," to which he responded, "Oh really? What's your church like."

My immediate response was, "Well, it tastes a lot like espresso and sounds a lot like Jazz Music." I was thinking about how we adopt local coffee shops and pubs and keep showing up there as well as our connection with the jazz community in the Bay Area. But then I started to reflect on it more and was surprised by the truth behind that statement.

"It tastes a lot like espresso."
I've come to love the subculture of specialty coffee. Because of my friendship with the owners of Pacific Bay Coffee Co. in Walnut Creek, I have become exposed to a world that I didn't even know existed. And, because of our experience at the Barista Championships, I discovered a whole network of "Third Wave" coffee joints--one of which I now frequent every time I'm in Sacramento.

"Third Wave."
To explain, this is the term used to describe coffee shops who see themselves standing on the shoulders of Folgers and Columbia House (First Wave) and Starbucks and Peet's (2nd Wave) to get really well done espresso into the hands of the community. The Third Wave shops aren't interested in you getting in and getting out, but take care to help you embrace the fullness of the coffee experience.

I have watched as this network of Third Wave shops collaborate with each other and how, as a result, they all get better at what they do. They share ideas, helpful practices, baristas, music, espresso beans, etc. They are constantly pushing each other to dream bigger and to experiment more. There is a longing to connect with origin (coffee farms) to understand coffee better and to help holistically enhance life for those on the farms.

They are not interested in becoming the bastians of the coffee world like the Second Wave shops. Take note, though--Starbucks, known for catering to the consumer, has lost its identity and is trying to regain its roots. They are no longer offering breakfast sandwiches because their shops don't smell like coffee anymore. Interesting huh?

Can the church learn anything from Third Wave Coffee?

"It sounds a lot like Jazz music."
What I love about and learn from Jazz music...

It is an ongoing conversation.
There really isn't any difference between performers and listeners. They all are a part of the experience.
It is always different based on the musicians who show up.
Anyone can contribute.
It is better when more musicians contribute.
It is never the same twice.
It builds on the past with creative liberty.
It is messy at times--and that's okay--it's cool, really, because something new emerges.
Leadership can seamlessly shift--it needs to in order to stay fresh.

Can the church lean anything from Jazz Music?

An Observation

2008-04-16T11:28:00.000-07:00

We do a spiritual retreat two times a year called "Discover." The whole point of the retreat is to position ourselves to discover who God is, who we are, and what it means to live in His unfolding Story. It's a fascinating journey with twelve people at a time. We spend much of the weekend gathered in a living room, around food, and out in creation engaged in a dialogue with God and each other.

Before the retreat, we serve, we eat, and we storytell together. We take a personality and spiritual giftedness assessment which is analyzed and prepared into a personal portfolio. During the retreat we step into a rhythm of solitude, pod-time (little groups of 3-4), and holistic conversation. We wrestle out loud with one another, we encourage one another, we become advocates for one another, we pray for one another.

Here's an interesting observation:

When we talked in pod-time about personality, the conversation was exciting and optimistic. There were wonderful discoveries that were both freeing and seemingly healing.

But when we talked about spiritual giftedness, the tenor changed to frustration, pessimism, and confusion.

When we discover and discuss our personalities and even begin to live more fully into them, we probably come a bit more alive. We tend to interact with people a bit better. We even tend to say "yes" to the right things and "no" to the wrong things a bit more.

But--when we begin to live into our spiritual giftedness, the Kingdom advances, the world changes, the Body is strengthened, and eternities are altered.

The enemy that roars like an old, wounded, defeated lion (1 Peter 5:8) is fully engaged in guerrilla warfare, trying desperately to keep us from living into who God has made us to be. Cowards engage in guerrilla warfare.

Is it any wonder that the personality conversation is easy but the spiritual giftedness conversation seems overwhelming?

The Church and Specialty Coffee

2008-03-31T13:04:00.000-07:00

I spent the weekend in Berkeley at the West Coast Regional Barista Championships.

The coolest thing happened...

A month before the competition, my friends--owners of Pacific Bay and hosts of this years event--got in touch with us. Knowing that the championship would take a lot of work by a lot of people and realizing that they were short handed--they called Open Door.

Why did they call us? Six reasons: 1. We've become dear friends over the past four years. 2. We just keep being a presence in their shop. 3. They trust us. 4. They know that when there is a need, our community responds. 5. We put them at ease when we're around (a direct quote). 6. There's just something about us (another direct quote).

A local organization had a need, so they called the church!

We answered the call, many of us living Jesus' Story all weekend in one of the more interesting sub-cultures--specialty coffee. Not only did we get to live, serve, and love well, we had a great time and learned a lot about coffee.

My heart is full--I think we experienced what it means to be the church this weekend.

Destiny...

2007-07-24T19:00:00.000-07:00

There have been just a couple of times in my life when I knew that I knew that something needed to change. The first time was when I was 19 and was living like someone whose fantasy of life was better than the Father's. I remember, as I lay recovering from a rather serious illness, that something needed to change. That particular change resulted in my first steps in the Way of Jesus.

The second time was just a few weeks later when I was back at school for my sophomore year. I had spent an entire year pursuing a degree in music education and doing it quite successfully. I remember classes resuming and not retaining anything of the previous year's education. What I was supposed to recollect was gone--as though I had never learned it. Something needed to change. That particular change resulted in a complete reorientation of my course of study.

The third time was after four years of working at a large church in Minnesota. While there, I experienced what "church" ministry was like. It was one of the most formational experiences of my short life as I began to discover how God had wired me. It was there that I realized that I am not a maintainer, but instead am most alive when I am out on the fringe somewhere, pushing the boundaries of what is possible. It was there that I realized that I was built to empower leaders, am fascinated with organizational and organic systems, and prefer to be with people who are flipping God and the church off. Something needed to change. That particular change resulted in my wife and I selling everything that we owned and heading across the country to a new world--literally.

The fourth time was after a life-altering experience in the tribal villages of northern Pakistan. I came home and began living in a world that I had set up for myself pre-Pakistan. It didn't fit anymore--something needed to change. That particular change resulted in my resigning a safe position for a dangerous one.

Last week was the most outstanding educational experience of my life. It is still hard to put into words what I experienced, other than to say that reformation of some sort is dawning. There was a clarity--an affirmation. It was as though God were saying, "It's time!" I wonder if this past week, for me, was the stuff of Destiny...

Want to come along?

Finding My "People"

2007-07-19T21:20:00.000-07:00

I am usually the one who sits and listens to people talking about Christianity or the church and what it could be thinking, "Something is off here." I am usually the one asking all sorts of questions from a different perspective. I am usually the one that is the "Devil's Advocate" in settings such as these.

All week, I have been wrestling with the following question:

"Why am I not disagreeing with this person?"

Answer: I have finally found my people!

I heard of a story recently concerning a women who left to go the grocery store (somewhere in South East Asia). Somehow, she got on the wrong bus and ended up in a place where nobody knew her language so nobody could understand her. She was lost for--get this--25 years! Finally, someone traveled to the area where she was who could understand her language. Upon hearing her dialect, he spoke words to her. She was understood for the first time and was able to understand someone speaking her language for the first time in 25 years. Imagine what that would have been like! She found her people.

I watched a movie called Happy Feet which totally resonated with me. It moved me deeply--more deeply than I care to admit to most people. I wrestled for several days--Why did this movie move me so? I finally realized that Happy Feet (a dancing penguin that is exiled from a singing penguin community) was me. I don't know how to sing. When I open my mouth to try, I squawk and make an awful mess of things. What I do is dance. Instead of learning how to sing, Happy Feet taught the village how to dance. My call is to keep on dancing and, in so doing, teach my village to dance. I'm not a singer. I am dancing, this week, with a couple of dancers. I'm finding my "people."

I was dancing with two such dancers this afternoon after class where we spent time discussion what missional incarnational impulse is and the power of organic systems (more to come on this later). After a beer at a local pub, I asked them (realizing that they don't know me well yet) what they are observing about my journey this week through interactions with them, class dialogue, etc.

Charlie: You're an apostolic leader who is probably an excellent communicator who is incredibly agitated. You likely feel isolated in your context. If you're not careful, you may be thrust into a position of leadership that is unhealthy for you.

Patrick: (From a Spiritual Formation Standpoint) There could soon come a point where everything that has worked in the past isn't going to work anymore and it is going to force a crisis. Know that God uses times like this to pull emerging leaders out, form them and teach them so that they can really spread their wings and fly. God uses life (good and bad) to form us. He is probably doing that right now and it might intensify soon.

My current biggest wrestling:
I think God might be focusing who I am becoming this week. I remember the discussion He and I had where He said to me, "I want to tell My story with your life. This is what I've built you for." I've thought about that over and over the past four days. I think He is focusing that call and I don't think it includes the institutional church. I don't think it includes the conventional church. I think it includes the unconventional. I think it includes that which is undefinable. I wonder what the best training for me is...

I'm finding my people. I'm hearing a couple of people speak my language and dance my dance. It's bizarre--

Let's release one another from the poverty of imagination about who we are and what He's calling us to!

Pasadena Conversation: 7/18 10:17pm

2007-07-18T22:19:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty exhausted so I just have four questions (more or less) to get us going. Interact with me on this and I'll flesh out my thoughts on the comments.

Q. What is your definition of discipleship? What would it look like? What informs your definition?
Q. What do you think would happen if we took discipleship seriously?
Q. Compare and contrast what leadership in the conventional church is with what you find in Ephesians 4:11.....How would you define apostle, prophet, evangelist, pastor, teacher? Which do we highlight in the conventional church?
Q. Where do you see Jesus embodying each of these?

More to come...

One additional thought...

2007-07-17T17:56:00.000-07:00

"If something is true, it will change you." Soren Kierkegaard

If "Jesus is Lord" is true, it will change everything about you.
If "Jesus is Lord" is true, Open Door, it will change everything about us.
If everything about you is not changing, then "Jesus is Lord" is not truth to you.
If everything about us is not changing, then "Jesus is Lord" is not truth to us.

Yowser!

Pasadena Conversation: 7/17 5:15

2007-07-17T17:16:00.000-07:00

Jesus informs the mission and the mission informs the church.

In an effort to illustrate this, consider the spontaneous expansion of the New Testament Church and the expansion of the Church in China. In 100AD, in a Roman Culture of nearly 40 million people, there were approx. 20K followers of Christ. In 300AD, in a Roman Culture of nearly 60 million people, there were approx. 20 million followers of Christ.

What happened? How did they do it?

In China, there were several Jesus-movements that were virtually exterminated throughout the 18th, 19th and 20th centuries. Under the Mao regime, Christianity was obliterated, professional clergy were killed, Bibles were burned, buildings were converted for use by the state. Today, there are 130 million followers of Christ and rapidly growing.

What happened? How did they do it?

My response this morning: "Well naturally, when there is persecution, the church grows." That is true to a point, but it wasn't what enabled the spontaneous expansion.

What enabled the spontaneous expansion is that everything was refined and simplified. For both ages, Jesus was placed in the center of what it meant to be Christian. Who Jesus was informed what it meant to be the church. All of the structures and systems were eliminated. People had to begin taking the initiative for their own spiritual formation, in community (never alone: they risked their lives to do this together). Community (people expressing common thoughts, feelings, etc) changed to Communitas (friendship that readily adapts when necessary). Theology was simplified to "Jesus is Lord." Everything else was fringe and took a new shape/direction. "Jesus is Lord" in turn informed the mission of the church. Their mission (informed by Jesus is Lord) was no longer to create or sort out the best system; their mission (informed by Jesus is Lord) became the redemption of the world. The mission, informed by "Jesus is Lord" then informed what it meant to be the Church. This changed the way they lived and the Church became known as a force through which God began redeeming the world--no matter what it cost. I wonder what the Jesus they worshipped, who was redefining everything, looked like...

If it is true that Jesus informs the mission, which, in turn, informs the church, then what does the Jesus that informs the American church look like? Perhaps we need to start by assessing what the American church looks like (what is central to us? we can tell based on our expectations of the experience of "church"). The face of our iconic Jesus might be revealed and it might scare us.

Thoughts?

Pasadena Conversation: 7/16 5:55pm

2007-07-16T17:56:00.000-07:00

Where to begin?

Alan Hirsch is the instructor. What I love about Alan is that he is a mixture of theoretician and practitioner. Much of his learning about what the church could be has come through dialogue and experimentation in his local context, Melbourne, Australia.

A question:
Is it possible that the American Church, including Open Door, is a faulty system reproducing itself?

Consider this--
Once upon a time, Christianity was on the margins. It was underground--it was on the fringes--it was happening among the most unlikely of people. It was viral, meaning it was incredibly grassroots--a movement spreading because a group of people began orienting their lives around the person of Jesus. Christ-followers were ridiculed, persecuted, looked down upon, seen as second-class citizens, yet they kept coming back. They just kept on living virally in the Way of Jesus and it spread and it spread and it spread. It spread not because of any catchy marketing scheme. It spread not because of the latest technology or coolest musical experience. It spread not because of a building. It spread not because a group of people happened to meet from time to time.

It spread because as people grew in the image of the Living God (discipleship/transformation/whatever you want to call it)--a God who is a missionary God (constantly pursuing and redeeming mankind)--the became driven by mission. Mission (the redemption of mankind) became central to them. This happened not because someone told them it should--but because that is what happens as we grow in the likeness of His Son Jesus.

As it spread--it changed everything.

And then a Roman Emperor named Constantine (blast Constantine), in the political move of political moves, made Christianity THE religion of the world (more or less). Why was this a bad thing you ask? It was a bad thing because that which was viral (like salt and light) was thrust into the center and boxed up into a nice building. It became easy to be Christian and the communal experience of being Christian went from a grassroots movement to a religion experienced on a particular day in a particular place.

From that moment until now (17 centuries in total) Constantine continues to show up. He shows up every time our perspective of church is a place with a thing that we go to and often times like. He shows up every time it is easy to be Christian. He shows up every time we become conditioned to a certain experience of worship. He shows up in the poverty of our imagination of what the church was and could be again.

What does this mean in general?

It means that for 17 centuries we have been recreating, repackaging, regenerating the same thing that doesn't work--it never has. It doesn't work because it became what it never was intended to be. Because we keep buying into Constantine's ideal, like the movie "Field of Dreams" we convince ourselves that if we build it and build it really nice--then people will come.

Reality Check--People are NOT coming! Why should they? They don't get the lingo, the don't get the music, they don't get how the church could spend so much money on things that don't seem to make any difference in the world.

Put another way: Once upon a time, missio dei (the mission of God: redemption of mankind) was central to the church. Now, "doing church" (producing a flashy worship gathering) has become central. Something is off...

A couple of questions...
1. If you were to strip the church down to what it was meant to be (see passages such as Acts 2 or Ephesians 4) what would it look like? What are the bare essentials?
2. If you were to completely reimagine church--what would it look like? No reimagination is to creative!
3. What are the above implications for Open Door? What re-calibrations are needed?

Invigorating stuff huh?
Pray with and for me...

Pasadena Conversation: 7/16 7:08am

2007-07-16T07:09:00.002-07:00

I was on a run on Saturday morning with my friend Jeff. Jeff went to Pakistan with me, is 61 years old, and is the one who challenged me with the $250.00 "live for the good of the world" challenge that I brought to Open Door.

As we ran in the mountains together, we came upon a lone oak tree in the middle of nowhere. We stopped. He asked, "Do you see that oak tree?"

"Yes." I said.

"I know that man who planted that over 20 years ago. Every single Saturday for a number of years, he would fill his wheel barrel with containers of water and other nutrients for the tree. He would then begin the nearly two hour hike to the young sapling oak tree and water it. Now look at it--it's fine--it's thriving."

As I looked at the tree and then as we began to run again, I thought about discipleship. What if you and I were as invested in the spiritual formation of others as this man was in the oak tree thriving? What if you and I consistently "packed a wheel barrel full with containers of water and other nutrients" and made the arduous two-hour hike to invest in the eternities of others?

Who are you discipling like this? Are you a tree that was planted once upon a time and left to attempt survival on your own? If so--I'm sorry. Let's begin the one-on-one watering.

It was a beautiful tree. It will live longer than any of us...

Pasadena Conversation: 7/15

2007-07-15T19:24:00.000-07:00

Greetings Friends!

I trust that tonight was a meaningful worship experience for you as we continue to explore the One Anothers. Take the challenge seriously to know one another's names, look for the good, and call it out! Don't go to bed tonight without calling or emailing a word of encouragement to someone in your world!

Whenever I am away from you, I find myself story-telling about you. I cannot tell you how encouraging it is to me when people hear the stories and respond with statements like, "That sounds really refreshing!" or "That's the type of church I am looking for!" or my favorite, "I didn't think God really did things like that!" The truth is, the more I storytell about what God is doing through Open Door, the more convinced I am that He is doing something fresh and unique with us. The more I storytell, the more I long to see God reimagine through us what it means to be ekklesia--the enhancing community--for the good of the world! I am encouraged!

The next five days for me--and hopefully for us--are going to be full, rich, challenging, invigorating, exhausting... I will be studying alongside other leaders under a man named Alan Hirsch, author of an undoing, irritating book called The Shaping of the Things to Come. If you have a book budget, or even if you don't--GET THIS BOOK! I will be reading six other books throughout the week that are going to radically push my and our thinking about what the church was designed to be and what it means for us, Open Door, in our local context.

In an effort to bring you in on what I am learning, I will post on this blog every single evening. My hope is to summarize the dialogue of the day while bringing you in on how I am processing it. I long to dialogue with you along the way. I cannot imagine a more holistic approach to learning than this--being in the classroom with leaders down here will simultaneously being "in the classroom" with my church family. Please read and respond to what you hear. What sticks out to you? What thoughts do you have to add to the conversation--nothing is unimportant--everything is valuable.

Please pray for me along the way. My prayer is that God would continue to reimagine inside of me--that He would continue to reimagine inside of you. My prayer is that we would fall deeper in love with His Son as we know Him more. My prayer is that we would see Walnut Creek and beyond come to know and follow Him.

Blessings on the Journey!

Why Don't I Write?

2007-04-30T13:39:00.000-07:00

As I discover what spiritual formation means in my life, I am beginning to understand why it has become difficult to write. I never considered myself a writer until I began blogging. Once I began to blog, I noticed that my heart grew--that something was happening on a deeper level--that blogging was, in fact, a means of spiritual formation for me. Accompanying that realization, came that ever-present complacency that led to not writing. Really, it is the same thing that happens whenever we discover something that is valuable in our relationship with God: as we discover its importance, we find ways to avoid it.

Do you ever fall into the same rut?

Wisdom of this World

2006-10-04T23:34:00.000-07:00

Isn't it crazy that in a world where performance is highlighted above everything else--God is interested in the messy process of forming us to the image of Jesus?

Isn't it amazing that He doesn't care what we can do--but that He longs for us to "be?"

Isn't it extraordinary that God is not in the business of answering our questions--but that He is in the business of being eternally present?

Don't be conformed to the wisdom of this world--

Wait: Further reflections

2006-09-17T10:25:00.000-07:00

Could it be that waiting is the most active thing that we can do?

Could it be that waiting cultivates a hunger and thirst for God inside of us?

Could it be that waiting pulls us into the present moment (the place God calls us to live)?

It seems like waiting must be accompanied by hope and expectation--by faith that God will show up.

Wait.

2006-09-14T17:58:00.000-07:00

I was at a retreat last weekend where 10 of us found ourselves in a cabin learning to listen to each other and to what the Spirit was up to.

He spoke through silence...
He spoke through prayer...
He spoke through meals...
He spoke through laughter...
He spoke through late night pipe smokes...
He spoke through Scripture...
He spoke through walks...
He spoke through stories...

He spoke, "Wait."
We listened.

I invited a friend of mine to come and teach at the community that I am involved with that Sunday night. This friend happens to be a provocative prophet in my life and in the lives of many others. I get the impression that because of that, people don't like him--especially church people. He speaks an "other" language.

The gist of his teaching was how our righteousness can potentially kill Christ. Using Matthew 1 as the guide, we examined how the "righteous" thing for Joseph to do when he found out that Mary was with child (not his) was to stone her. To stone her would have been to eliminate Jesus.

Is it possible that God cares less if we're righteous than if we are obedient? Could it be that obedience sometimes involves that which is isn't righteous?

He closed with Matthew 1:25: "But he had no union with her until she gave birth to a son. And he gave him the name Jesus." That is--Joseph didn't have sex with Mary (his wife!) until Jesus was born.
God closed with these marching orders: "Don't spread your seed on what I AM doing."

I haven't been able to get by that.

It seems that we don't error on the side of waiting, but that we error on the side of "spreading our own seed." Perhaps we need to quit masturbating on what God is doing. Masturbation--although an intense term here--takes that which is holy and sacred and intended for worship and defames it. Masturbation is all about instant gratification--self-gratification.

Maybe when we "spread our seed" this way--all we do is make a huge, gross mess!

Orthodoxy vs. Orthopraxis

2006-08-02T12:56:00.000-07:00

I'm reading The Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborne right now. If you haven't read this yet--get a copy, read it and then pass it along so others can too.

In chapter six he refers to a paradigm enlargening that needs to happen--from orthodoxy (right thinking, right believing) to orthopraxis (right living, right practices). So often we are caught up in telling people what we believe but lack any discussion about how we live based on those beliefs.

I wrote these words a couple of months ago with hopes that I would be able to finish it with the same line of thinking that I began it with. I'll close similarily, but not quite in same rhythm...

Perhaps what we need is not a change from one thing to the other. I have a growing allergic reaction to the "reactionary" way in which young leaders so frequently choose to respond. It's as though we go through cycle after cycle of generations where the younger generation flips off the older generation and the older generation pegs the younger one as arrogant and care-free.

I had a conversation with a friend the other day. We were discussing how perhaps what the world needs is not another "flavor" or "style" or "brand" of "worship" but for the younger generation to see itself as a Joshua/Caleb and the older generation to see itself as a Moses. It is unlikely that Joshua and Caleb flipped off Moses and told him that he was doing everything wrong. Furthermore, it is unlikely that Moses wrote Joshua and Caleb off as arrogant and care-free. Instead and most likely, Joshua and Caleb sought to learn from Moses and Moses sought to learn from Joshua and Caleb.

We have got to stop swining from one side of the pendulum to the other. To give up orthodoxy for orthopraxis would be destructive. To hold on to orthodoxy with no orthopraxis would be legalistic. To ignore those that have gone before us would be so unwise. For them to peg us as arrogant and care-free would be counter-productive.

To learn from each other--to greet each other with a kiss--to serve each other--to forgive each other--to submit to one another--to bear each other's burdens--to listen to each other--to learn from each other--to love each other--to not react--but to really listen for the rhythm of Jesus. That may be the form that obedience takes right now.

Cosmetics and Preservatives

2006-08-01T17:38:00.000-07:00

This post is random....

I was talking to a friend today and we were discussing what it would be like if we took Jesus literally when He said things like, "Lose your life." or "Sell everything." or "Take care of the hurting (orphans and widows)."

Today I question if that is even possible in the American suburb.
(I mean today literally because on most days, I have more hope. Today has been difficult.)

When did the "American Dream" become a better dream than God's? I italicized "better" because we live lives that make that question legitimate. We have chosen to let ourselves become deceived into believing that a way outside of the Father's is better. This means that we don't dream about people coming to know and follow Jesus at any price anymore, but instead dream of bigger homes, nicer cars, and if plastic surgery were an option--where we had have some work done. Instead of envisioning ourselves courageously and communally walking in obedience to the rhythm of Jesus, we dream of great vacations, the best clothes and the latest home theater systems. Instead of desiring to be a part of a community of people who care about what is happening in our world and being part of God's solution, we dream of owning condos in the mountains and cabins next to freshwater lakes where we can create our "safe havens" away from it all.

I'll admit, these are the frustrated musings of a man who has spent the last two weeks reading Scripture, the newspaper, and a great book occassionally interrupted by brief news updates on what is happening in our world (here and abroad). These are the frustrated musings of a man who spent part of his morning praying for God to intercede in Lebenon and talking with a community of friends about how we as the Church can respond to the violence and senseless death of countless people in Iraq, Palestine and Israel.

After that invigorating, life-giving, solution-based conversation where talk wasn't of writing a check, but of taking Jesus' words literally and living compassionately, with costly love, at any price for the sake of hurting--I went to a meeting where we talked about how we thought worship time went at a particular church.

Something doesn't sit right with me if church is all about performance and production and how we thought "worship" went. We seem to spend a lot more time talking about cosmetic enhancement and the preservation of the "church people" than we do what is happening in the world around us and what God might have us do or be a part of to bring healing.

Doesn't it seem ironic to you that the Church cries out for the U.N. to respond to those who are hurting?

I have a dream for the Church were we take Jesus' words literally--where we respond first.

Huh--maybe this isn't my dream--maybe it's God's....

Incognito: Listening and Prayer

2006-07-10T12:47:00.000-07:00

This isn't my style.

I believe in the power of relationships and how God designed us to be avenues through which his love and grace and forgiveness and freedom flow. I believe that relationships are the number one way in which people step into the rhythm of Jesus. I believe this because this is my experience.

Don't you find that a bit limiting?

We sat at the two fountains in our city. These particluar fountains are strategically located in the most consumeristic districts. We sat down with a sign that said "Listening and Prayer Available" and waited and prayed and waited and prayed....

It was a two hour wrestling match between me and God.
"This is stupid!" I would say.
"Be still!" He would say.
"No one is going to come and share anything with me. This isn't how You work!" I would say.
"So you know how I work?" He would say.
"People are looking at us and laughing!" I would say.
"Keep watching." He would say.
"Watching what?" I would say.
"My people--my kids--me Beloved." He would say.
"Yeah, but this isn't going to change anything for them!" I would say.
"This isn't about them!" He would say.
"Oh--" I said....

And then I was still--
And then I realized that I don't have the foggiest idea how God chooses to work--
And then I watched--
And then I began to see His Beloved--
And then my heart began to change--

Incognito: Free Car Wash (No Donations Accepted)

2006-07-10T12:24:00.000-07:00

What do you think when you drive down the main drag of your hometown and see this or that organization offering a "Free Carwash."

I'll tell you what I think--
If I pull over, then I am going to have to give them something. It's really not free--in reality they are hoping that at the end of their semi-good exterior cleansing of my vehicle, I will roll down my window--give them a 10-spot and drive away. If I don't give them anything, then I feel like a total cheap-skate and know that they will talk about the jerk in the maroon American car for the next three minutes.

As an experiment, we had signs made that literally said, "Free Carwash--No Donations Accepted."

We should have had signs made that said $2.00 Carwash because we would have washed more cars (I think).

I chose to be the one standing alongside the road that I drive almost daily holding one of the signs. I'm not good at this kind of thing. I would rather be at the gas station participating in the washing instead of putting myself out there to "market" what we're doing. I chose to do this, however, because I wanted to learn about myself by observing the reactions of my neighbors who drove past at high speeds.

People Group #1:
The majority of people paid little to no attention to me nor my sign. These people were the ones who were in a hurry to get from point A to point B and had no time, nor need to get a washed up.

People Group #2:
These were the ones who would look at my sign, then look at me and smile. It was as if I could hear their brains through the sound of the traffic, "Ah, isn't that cute. There is a grown man holding up a sign for a free car wash. Get a job bro!"

People Group #3:
The Double Takers. These were the ones who would look my direction, look away, and then strain their necks and eyeballs re-reading the sign. "Could it be that there is a group of people doing a carwash that is actually free? No--there has to be some catch. Nobody would waste their time to do something for free without expecting anything in return."

People Group #4:
I need to get washed up! We actually did have a long line of cars at one point. Surprisingly, people took us up on our offer and let us wash their vehicles (very well I might add!). The washing was usually accompanied by questions such as, "Why are you guys doing this?" "Where are you from?" "You mean I really don't have to give you anything?"

People Group #5:
The washed (but not for free). We had a lady get into an argument with us because we wouldn't take her money. Once her car was washed she pretended to drive away and then got out quickly and left a pile of money on the fence next to our washing supplies.

We had a guy who wouldn't take no for an answer as he offered money. So instead, he pulled out a tin of cookies and made sure that everyone was offered as many as they wanted.

Another guy pulled up to me as asked if he could see the sign up close. I held it up for him to see. After he read it he said, "So I really don't have to give you anything?" I told me that he didn't. He said that it sounded like a great deal and then pulled up next to the long line, inserted a Jazz CD into his CD player and cranked music for us. Before long, he had a sponge in his hand and was scrubbing cars right next to us. When I asked him was he was doing he said, "I've got to do something!"

Two women saw our sign and went home to pick up their "really dirty car" and brought it back to be washed. After questioning us about why we were doing it and finding out that we were about being a blessing and extending grace to our city they said, "You must be from a church." I told them that we all happened to go to the same church but that we had committed the week to loving our community. One of the two was from LA and was thinking about moving to our community. When she heard what I said she replied, "When I move back up here, I'm coming to your church. I've never heard of a church that just blesses people before."

Isn't that sad?

The carwash is an example of God's grace to you. What people group do you resonate with most?

Incognito: Come Like Children

2006-07-10T11:41:00.000-07:00

We arrived at a low-income housing district in a city next to ours to find that the majority of families living there were single parent and had a two-week to six-month lease. Once their lease was up, it was time to move on. During their stay, social workers would spend time assessing the family, determining the needs, and helping to teach and/or train the parent occupationally. This meant that little to no time was spent working with the children, most of whom were under the age of six.

So we started playing baseball....

Before long we had ten or twelve little ones taking turns swinging at pitches. We soon realized that for many of them, this was their first time ever holding a baseball bat. They didn't know how to hold it, much less how to swing and actually hit a ball.

I don't remember a time when I didn't know how to hold or swing a baseball bat. But I wasn't constantly moving from house to house, shelter to shelter, wondering where my next meal or warm bed was going to be. These little ones have already experience more pain, confusion, abandonment, and hurt in their short lives than many of us will in a lifetime.

The highlight of the morning was when that started playing a game called "tackle the crazy loud guy." One of my friends decided to start it by running around and screaming like a mad man. The natural response of every child in the vicinity was to run as fast as they could and attempt to tackle him. Much to their delight, he would eventually go down and they would pile on him and hug him and tickle him until he got up and they would do it all over again.

It reminds me of a time in Luke 10 when little children were trying to get to Jesus and these big manly 13-15 year-old body gaurds stood in the way. Jesus responded by saying, "Let them come to me--as a matter of fact--you come to me like them!"

And then I picture Jesus playing a game of "tackle the crazy loud guy."

Incognito: Washing Doors

2006-06-28T17:18:00.000-07:00

We met at 5:00am equipped with towels, window washing supplies, sleepy eyes, and a heart to see our city redeemed by Christ. In five teams we journeyed up both sides of our two main streets. The objective of the experience was to metaphorically wash the feet of our local businesses by washing their front glass doors and by praying for each business by name, including the business owners, employees, and those who would venture in to shop, talk, receive services, etc.

A friend of mine and I began on the left side of Main St. Ironically, our first door was to City Hall. I figured that if we were going to raise any suspicion, it would be here. Reason being, the window washing solution that we were using came from a spray can and applied as white foam. In other words, if you were watching us from a distance, you would have seen us shaking a can in a similar way that you would shake a spray paint can and spraying a white streak on each and every glass door that we came to. Turned out to be no problem whatsoever. What a neat opportunity to begin by washing the feet of the police officers and city leaders and to pray for many of them by name.

We washed doors for nearly two hours which got us to the complete opposite side of the city. One of our friends made little red cards that we tied to each door handle which said, "Be blessed today--You are loved."

We all ended up at a restaurant for breakfast and proceeded to tell the stories of what this was like and what we learned from it. One girl expressed how at first she saw this as a complete waste of time. No one would ever know that we had done it. As a matter of fact, someone's job was probably to wash the door again that day. Then she realized something incredibly important: "Who cares if anyone notices." She later discovered that the feet of Jesus' disciples would just get dirty again. He wasn't doing this just because it happened to be a need, but rather He did it because it was way of life that He longs for us to live in. She also made the discovery that the most powerful part of the entire experience was being able to pray for each business and for people that she would never know.

Another friend made several comparisons between the experience and following in the Way of Jesus. He commented on how neat it was to do this together with a community of people. Everyone had a different role to enable it to happen. Next he realized that no matter how clean we got the outside of the window, if the inside was still dirty the door was still a mess. What a keen observation of what the church has become--a spiritual country club that focuses on cosmetic alterations of the exterior. O that we would be a Church that is about the heart of people!

I personally was struck by how my city began to look differently to me. Our particular downtown is rated in the top ten in America due to the high-end retail and up-scale restaurants. It has always been a bit difficult for me, but realized that this is the place where God has called me to. Perhaps a heart of compassion for me city began to blossom inside of me?

My personal favorite moment of the experience was when something specific would catch my eye inside of the store or restaurant. Whatever it was that got my attention, the Spirit would use to inform my prayers for that particular establishment. What a joy to be able to pray specifically but unknowingly for people of my community that God is relentlessly pursuing.

After breakfast, we began our walk home. My heart was overwhelmed as I walked by squeeky clean (exterior only of course) glass doors with incognito messages of blessing tied to them.

God would you keep redeeming our city!

Incognito

2006-06-23T09:06:00.000-07:00

Don't you love it when plans fall through and you have to listen and let the Spirit help you reimagine what He has in store?

This just happened to my community.

We had plans to go serve for a week with developmentally disabled adults. We were all geared up and ready to go when we received a phone call that the week-long experience had been cancelled. My immediate response (fleshly, I know) was to say, "Who messed this one up?!?" And then the Spirit got ahold of my team and began to lead us in His Way for our upcoming week.

A week-long experience called Incognito emerged.

The purpose of this week is to live in the Way of Jesus in Community for the good of our immediate world. Each unique experience will be done in small teams and will end with a meal together to process what we’re learning.

I will attempt to blog what we are experiencing and learning as a community as we go. Please pray for us as we live in the controversial Way of Jesus.

The daily schedule is as follows:

Tuesday, July 27: Incognito: Door Washing
We will metaphorically wash the feet of and pray for the local businesses on the two main streets of our city.
Meeting at 5:00am; washing and praying until 7:00am.
Breakfast to follow.

Wednesday, July 28: Incognito: Come Like Children
We will spend our morning at a lower income district in our community loving the children through games, crafts, fingernail painting, etc.
Meeting at 8:00am; playing and loving until 12:00pm.
Lunch to follow in the park!

Thursday, July 29: Incognito: Free Car Wash (No Donations Accepted)
We will metaphorically wash the feet of, pray for, and extend grace to the people of our city.
Meeting at 10:00am; washing and praying until 2:00pm.
Bring a sack lunch! Yogurt to follow.

Friday, July 30: Incognito: Listening and Prayer
We will be available to the people of our city during the lunch hours to listen to and pray for anyone and everyone.
Meeting at 10:00am; listening and praying until 1:00pm.
Lunch to follow.

Three Stories from New Orleans

2006-04-17T19:50:00.000-07:00

I'm in New Orleans right now with a team of students. We're here doing Hurricane Relief which means we could be doing anything from cleaning out a house of every single possession (mudding out), or tearing down sheet rock and plaster to the original studs (gutting out). Here are four short stories from our first day that I want to remember and to share with you:

1. I was assigned to a team that headed New Orleans Teen Challenge. I had no idea what was in store for us, other than a bunch of sheet rock needed to be hung. We got there earlier than the Teen Mission Staff so my team of five decided to walk around the block to take in the whole scene. Littered throughout the abandoned streets are countless flooded cars, mostly which have been stripped of valuable parts. There was one particular car with a 2x6 pried under the hood and smashed through the windshield due to the force of the flood waters. I walked right into several homes to see what it would be like. All of them were completely gutted-out except for the last one. It was filled with every belonging of a family. The water in this neighborhood was 11-18 feet high which meant that couches, refrigerators, beds, bookshelves, televisions, were floating in tepid, polluted flood water as it slowly settled out in the ocean. This took weeks and weeks to happen which meant that the entire house, floor to ceiling, was covered with mold; the smell was unthinkable. What's worse--this was someone's home, someone's possessions. Everything that they owned was destroyed.

2. My first job was to clean off a brick cutter. This is a huge rolling table saw with dried cement all over it. At first I thought, "No problem, I'll have this baby sparkling in no time!" and then I began. After two hours of scrubbing with a wire brush in 90 degree heat and 90% humidity, I began to question if I would ever get this thing clean. I began to tell myself--this is good enough! No one will care if there is a little grime left on it.

And then I saw a picture of my heart and Jesus lovingly cleaning it.

What if He said that? What if He just decided to stop because He got sick of cleaning? What about the fact that He never has and never will?

I scrubbed for two more hours.

3. As far as the eye can see, there are abandoned homes with mutilple water level stains visible in a brownish yellow tint. There aren't that many people around in New Orleans yet, only the determined few who are giving every waking moment to rebuild their lives here. I noticed that no one was doing anything with the outside of their homes. All of the work is starting in the inside.

Consider this: What good would it do if people spent all of their time painting fences, mowing lawns, redoing their siding and there trim, and never spending any time on the inside. The outside would be beautiful but the inside would still smell that musty, dank, putrid smell and there would still be crap growing up the walls.

How often do we pay all of our attention to the our outside--painting and doing maintenance--wanting everyone to think that we have it all put together? What good does it do if we still smell like that musty, dank, putrid smell and there is still crap growing up the walls of our heart?

Aren't you glad that God doesn't look at the outside--He probably doesn't even care that much. Aren't you relieved that he is constantly "mudding out" and "gutting out" our hearts?

4. A junior named Kevin was telling his story of how ironic it felt to be destroying the inside of a home. He did say that this was one of his biggest highlights because, "Let's face it, who doesn't want to thrash the inside of a home?" (His words). As he was talking about this experience, I was overcome by the reality that destruction has to happen first. The only way that anything is going to heal here in New Orleans is if the destruction is completed so that people can rebuild.

This isn't a new concept--it's THE concept.

My faith is built upon a God who chose to come and live here so that I could understand an unthinkable love. He was completely and totally destroyed so that healing could be possible. He was "thrashed" as Kevin said, eluding to the inside of a home, so that a relationship with Him could be possible.

We just celebrated the power of His ressurection yesterday.

Total destruction leads to complete restoration.

Pakistan Journal: Meet Farooq

2006-03-20T14:03:00.000-08:00

He was the oldest of the five and knew the least amount of English. Farooq was the only soldier (a first lieutenant) that I didn't get the opportunity to know well, however I loved being around him and I could tell that the feeling was mutual.

Farooq was an observer. His posture was usually one of leaning on a wall or a tree or a rock with a cigarette in his mouth. I would always observe him watching intently as life happened all around him. It was as though he was taking EVERYTHING in and processing it in a way that only he understood. He was a man of very few words altogether, yet when he spoke, people listened.

On the work site, he would quietly listen and lead and men of the various villages would follow his instructions. It was hard for him to sit back and watch when it came to work being done--however. It was as though he had a sensitivity to and an urgency about what was going on in the mountains for these tribal people. From time to time--especially as it got colder--Farooq would frequently look up to the sky or to the top of the mountains. I always wondered if he was estimating how much time these people had left

Multiple times a day he would, in his Farooq way, acknowledge me and let me know that I was doing a good job or that he approved by holding his hand up--palm towards me and slowly exclaim (while blowing smoke out of his mouth and nose) "J e r e m i a."

We never spoke the same language but we understood each other....

Bumper Sticker Theology

2006-03-06T18:22:00.000-08:00

I've had enough with "Christian" bumper stickers! If you sport one of these--do God and Jesus-followers a favor and take a razor blade and some hot soapy water and get rid of it.

Today's bumper sticker read:
God doesn't believe in Athiests.

What a message of hope huh?

Gimme some more Body!

2006-03-06T09:08:00.000-08:00

Story #1: I was at a conference a couple of years ago where we were participating in the Lord's Supper (communion)--an ancient experience started by Jesus on the night before He was betrayed and arrested where you eat bread (representing Jesus' body) and drink wine or grape juice (representing Jesus' blood shed) in rememberance of His sacrifice for you and me. During this one particular experience one of the pastors at my church was offering the bread to a whole bunch of high school students. In the mix was her daughter, a fifth grader at that time, who took a huge hunk of the bread, dipped the entire handful in the grape juice and proceeded to have a full meal of the Body. Not two minutes later, when the line was still quite long, this little girl taught me a very valuable lesson. She ran up next to her mom, still offering the Body, and stood there trying her best to get her mom's attention. Finally, mom looked down at daughter (disapprovingly) and asked her what she wanted.

"I want some more bread!" she innocently exclaimed.

When was the last time you ran to the front of any line to get more of Jesus?

Story #2: Yesterday was communion Sunday for our fifth and sixth grade students. This was to be their first experience with the Lord's Table which is a pretty big deal for students and families at my church. I was talking with a couple of the fifth grade girls afterwards about what they thought about the whole experience.

In unison and with eyes rolling back in their heads they said, "The bread was SOOOOOO good!"

When was the last time you were overwhelmed with how good Jesus tastes?

Story #3: Last night we were participating in the Lord's Table at a community called Open Door. Once the evening was over and we were cleaning up, I noticed that there was a stack of bread loaf pieces left over. (Usually there isn't any left over because my friend's two kids will chow down on whats left of the bread after the experience is over.) There are a couple of homeless guys who call Open Door their church--which I love! One of them came up to me and mentioned that that bread looked awfully good. I asked him if he would like to take some with him. "Would that be okay?" he wondered.

"Not only is it okay--take all the bread you can get!" I answered.

When was the last time you were hungry for more of Jesus?

Is the "Emerging Church" Reactionary?

2006-03-04T19:49:00.000-08:00

I'm reading a great book right now called Emerging Churches by Eddie Gibbs and Ryan Bloger. Through vast research in the U.S. and the U.K., they have defined 9 characteristics that are shared by "emerging churches." Read the book to discover what they are...

Here are some of my intitial thoughts--

I wonder about the "emerging church." What is it really? I am a part of what some would call an "emerging" church or an "emerging community", but I have no idea why. Frankly, I am a bit confused about why this new movement is here and what they/we (whoever they/we are) stand for.

If we are an emerging church--are we a church? To me, the word "emerging" would imply that it hasn't arrived quite yet. Perhaps there is truth in that. (This point is discussed in the book).

Recently, I have been in on several conversations where the "emerging church" has been defined as a response to the church not doing its job or becoming irrelevant. I don't like the thought of any flavor of the church being a reaction to anything. There will always be an new fad--a way of doing church. My fear is that we all get so caught up in the conversation of how to do church that we lose sight of what it means to BE the church. The title of "The Emerging Church" potentially spells more alienation or division.

As I tap more into this book (which is very helpful) I would love to be able to dialogue with you about the "emerging church."

My second question: Can you paint a picture from the Text of what the Church was originally designed as and for?
My first question: What is your definition of the "emerging church?"

Pakistan Journal: Meet Afzal

2006-02-22T15:03:00.000-08:00

In order for the rest of this story to make any sense, you are going to have to get to know who the main characters are. In my next five posts, I will paint pictures for you of the men that I was privileged to serve side by side with. These Pakistani men went from unknown to me to friends--from friends to brothers (More to come on this in the future).

Known by his friends as "Baby Sparrow" Afzal represtented youth on the military team that welcomed us to Jabba on that cold November day. He is currently 19 years-old, a 2nd-year private in the Army, and engaged to be married this year. Afzal was that "little man" with a huge heart who thought that he was "bigger" than he actually was. Being that he was in the military, he held his head high with pride seeing his role as a virtuous, honorable position. Afzal considered himself the best at everything that he did, but was often shot down by his elder teammates who would quickly remind him that they frequently finished ahead of him in athletics and other military games. (They would put him in his place by shaking their heads and saying, "OOOOH Baby Sparrow but do you remember when...."and they would tell a story of when they beat him badly in a competition.)

After spending a couple of days with Afzal I discovered that he would take every opportunity to have tea prepared so that he could sit out for a while. He would frequently invite me to such tea breaks which I couldn't turn down (because I wasn't allowed to). Tea breaks with Afzal, although tastey, were difficult and a bit awkward because he thought that he could speak better English than he acutally could. The only thing that he said that I could ever really understand was, "Jeremia--I AM FULL-TIME HAPPY!" He would exclaim this with great joy and with a huge smile on his face. My response to such a statement was always the same--"Afzal--you are the only one that I know that is full-time happy!" He seemed to love this because it set him apart from anyone else.

One time I was having tea in the military's quarter with Afzal and he decided to put on a bit of a show for me. He was shirtless and thought that I would be excited about seeing how strong he was. He would flex and grunt and pose and check the status of his wee-bicept and then look to me for a response. I would go on and on about how strong he was--which of course he loved. I noticed that he had an interesting scar on his chest so I decided to ask about it.

He came closer and I realized that it wasn't just a scar, it was actually a brand. I learned, after many misunderstandings, that this was the name of his fiancee Janet. I wish you could have heard the way that he spoke of his wife to be. Every time he would mention her name he would touch his heart (under the brand) and close his eyes.

He assured me that this marriage was an arranged/love marriage. This means that the marriage was set up between the two families, but that their arrangement had blossomed into love. I asked him why He had her name branded on his chest. I'll never forget his response:

"So that when I close my eyes, I can see her in my heart."

Pakistan Journal: Surprised by Friendship--Why?

2006-02-21T17:42:00.000-08:00

How do you function when you "land" in a new community? Does the thought of not knowing anyone intimidate you or get you excited?

What about "landing" in the tribal areas of Northern Pakistan where you have no idea what you're going to see, what you're going to experience nor who you're going to meet? How do you prepare yourself for something like that?

When we arrived in Jabba we were surprised to find five Pakistani Army personel stationed there. We were told beforehand that Jabba, being a tribal area, had no military presence. Reason being, in the tribal areas, they are their own government and their own military. This meant that the villagers served as soldiers. However, due to the earthquake, the government deployed the military to help head the relief effort.

Shortly after the greeting of Mumtaz (more to come later) we were quickly introduced to the four other Army personel along with the three Americans that we were replacing. There was already a strong friendship between these three (all from Minnesota) and the military which was exciting yet caused a bit of anxiety as well. What was it going to be like when the three Minnesotans left the next morning? Is the friendship that I saw existing between them going to form between us--a new team--and them? Will they know our names like they knew the names of this first team?

Wait a second...I picked up on FRIENDSHIP existing between three random Americans and Pakistani Military personel. I watched laughter--I saw hugs. They KNEW each other's names.

Why did something so simple catch me so off guard? What was I expecting to find? Perhaps I was hoping that relationships would form but was pessimistic about it actually happening. Can Muslims and Christians actually get along. Can FRIENDSHIP really exist between these two worlds?

What about your friends? Do you have FRIENDS that don't believe the same thing you do? Do you have FRIENDS that look differently than you?

If you don't--WHY NOT?

Pakistan Journal: Jabba

2006-02-04T21:59:00.000-08:00

Our first glimpse reminded me of Machu Picchu--a Peruvian mystery community--in its landscaping. Jabba (pronounced not like Jabba-the-Hut but the emphasis on the second syllable) was a village built right into the sides of two mountains with a babbling brook trickling through its relatively insignificant valley. These weren't your typical mountains with a gradual incline; these mountains went straight up. Thus, the villages had learned (a couple of thousand years ago) how to landscape in such a way that levels or tiers were created to support not only their homes but their corn fields as well. I was suprised to discover that this was an agricultural people who survived on the corn and wheat that they were able to grow and harvest before the winter set in.

Jabba was a village of 1500 people and 120 homes. Due to the earthquake, I later discovered that over 300 of their people had died and they had lost 100 of their homes, leaving several hundred people homeless. Many of them were living in donated tents, the old school buildings, or barns that had not fallen. Every building that was left standing was significantly damaged, however, and will likely be torn down and rebuilt once the spring comes.

Imagine this....You have never seen an American before. What's more, you likely have never seen anything outside of your small village or valley. All of a sudden, a huge flying machine lands in your most spacious corn field. What do you think that must have been like for the people of Jabba?

By the time we landed, there were about 100 men and boys squatting just out of reach of the helicopter blades watching with wide-eyes as this "thing" hovered above them before landing gently into the ice-cold mud below. They must have thought the world was coming to an end--and then the "thing" opened and out came four Americans dressed in colorful jackets.

We were greeted with a wave of ice-cold air, confusion, anxiety, and the warm welcome of Mumtaz--a Pakistani Army Commander who was stationed in Jabba.

An Honest Word...

2006-01-25T15:32:00.000-08:00

What was God teaching me in Pakistan? Why did He have me go? These are the questions that have plagued me over and over and over and over....

It's funny how often we think that life is supposed to be filled with book after book after book of experiences that we live, learn and understand. It's as though we are to look at what life offers us as a set of scenes that we live (or watch based on your ability to really live) as nice, neat, tidy little things that we will understand soon after they are over. Like when you read a book, you know? You read cover to cover and understand--there was conflict; there were characters; there was love; there was hatred; there was a moral. You learn the lesson of the book, close the cover, and put the book back on the shelf--likely to never look at it again. Why would you right? You already read that one!

Nice--Neat--Tidy.

These are words that do not describe my life nor my faith journey. Why, then, am I expecting this experience to process in a nice--neat--tidy way? It simply is not!

Here are a couple of ways God is meeting me, though--

He is illuminating the wilderness--the course sand under my feet and the hot sun on my face. He is reassuring me that life isn't necessarily only about the "Promised Land" but that he is using the sand and the sun to build my faith.

He is awakening me to the fact that life and the experiences that lie within it are not supposed to be book cover-to-book cover experiences. I will be processing what happened in Pakistan for a very long time. Perhaps the last two-plus months for me have been that cover page that introduces a new chapter into my life instead of a different book altogether. Thus, God holds the future and what I will discover within the pages to follow.

How does this help?

I don't have to figure everything out. I can be broken and confused. I can wonder and hurt. I can grow callouses on my feet from the hot sand beneath. I can pray and trust. I can believe that God is building my faith. I can believe that He is working all things out for the good.

There is a really great picture of this in Exodus 15. The Israelites are walking (miserably) in the wilderness. They are confused, hurting, broken, not knowing how to live, etc. Just when they think they can't go one more step, God brings them into an oasis with 70 palm trees and 12 fresh water springs.

Awaken to the God of the oases!

Now I can keep telling the story---

Pakistan Journal: My First Helicopter Ride...Ever!

2006-01-17T21:47:00.000-08:00

I had a dream last night that Jeff, Ben, and I caught a chopper to the top of a mountain. I couldn't have imagined that dream coming true until we were sitting at the helipad watching a UN helicopter appear in a valley between two massive mountains. We heard the sounds before we saw the machine--my heart was pounding louder than the props!

We packed our bags and followed a Pakistani officer to his Jeep out in the street. He instructed us to throw our bags in the back and get in (not before a couple of pictures of course!) We were off--a five minute ride to the helipad which happened to be a clearing between a whole bunch of rocks on somewhat level ground. When we arrived, there was game of Cricket going on--Cricket is huge in Pakistan. There were also piles of supplies--bent pipe, rolls of foam, tin, bars--everything that we would need to make several shelters.

If only we knew where we were going (Not that it mattered I guess).

After an hour of waiting and hoping that a chopper would come we heard the soft rhythm of blades echoing through the valley. It was actually coming to get us! According to our director, it wasn't always the case. Sometimes he could count on the UN, other times he couldn't. He was on a day-to-day, flight-by-flight regiment with them. This particular day, we just happend to get lucky!

Instead of us jumping on the first chopper that landed, we waited and watched as several locals began to fill the cargo bay with supplies. Being that the wind was usually high up in the mountains, there were only a certain number of pipes, foams, tin sheets, and bars that were allowed on each flight. After they had it full, they would it up and sent it back up the mountain. This happened twice--by the time the second load was in the air, it was already 2:00pm. Were we going to make it up the mountain that day? Questionable at best.

While we were hoping and praying that another chopper would come, Jeff realized that he hadn't grabbed the stove that we had bartered hard for and gotten in Manserah. He asked us to watch his stuff as he was going to head back to the base to get it. If we bought it, we were going to use it! He caught a taxi and headed back while Ben and I continued to watch the horizon for the helicopter to come back.

Here's the thing. We had to get to the top of the mountain that day because the team of three that was currently up there needed to get back down to catch a flight back to America. The reason we were selected and sent was because we needed to get any information from them that would help us for our stay. We were talking about this very thing, wondering if we should go if Jeff wasn't back yet when we heard the chopper returning.

Decision time: Do we leave our leader here and go (providing a good transition with the team already on the mountain) or do we stay without certainty that there would be another one that day?

We went--easy decision. However--we did stall the pilots (much to their angst) for an additional five minutes.

The door closed--no Jeff. It was just Ben and I and our two other teammates that joined us at the helipad: Sean and Josh. The adventure was soon to officially begin.

We had no idea where we were going, what we would find when we got there, or how long we would be staying. None of that mattered--we were on our way--the helicopter had left the ground.

Pakistan Journal: Instant Deployment (Again!)

2006-01-14T10:16:00.000-08:00

We awoke the next morning to find that we were in the foothills of the Himalayas. Being a mountain lover, I thought that I had seen some amazing mountains in my lifetime. Granted, the Rockies are incredible and Yosemite is almost undescribable. The Himalayas, however, are real mountains! They're old, they're huge, they're breathtaking--and those were only the foothills.

Jeff, Ben and I were still riding the excitement from the night before coupled with the first really good night's sleep that any of us had had. We were ready to get to work! I must admit that I was a little unsettled at this point. My hope was to spend time with locals, getting to know them and learning how to help them. I would be lying if I were to say that I didn't have a little of the "hero-mentality" floating around inside me at that point. The hard part for me is that when I woke up, I discovered that the eight additional Americans that were at the Bisham base all had really strong personalities with eight different ideas of how do pull off the job of bending 1000 pipes.

A quick word about the pipes. The shelters that we were building looked like mini-car ports made out of tin. The supplies needed were 8 rebar stakes, 4 bent pipe, 1 roll of foam insulation, 10 pieces of tin (secured together), and 8 metal straps. All of the pipe in Pakistan came straight--for obvious reasons--meaning that we needed to bend it; thus the pipe benders that we brought over with us. By the time we would run the pipe through the hand-cranked machine, it would come out in a perfect arc. The problem was, the pipe-bending machines weren't cooperating well and kept on breaking down. The men there had been trying several different solutions the day before but hadn't come up with a good one. 1000 pipes needed to be bent by 8 strong American personalities and a couple of men from Peshawar, Pakistan and all we had were four broken down pipe-bending machines.

Now does my angst make a little more sense?

I was there to serve though, and was prepared to do whatever it was that I needed to do.

Jeff, Ben and I spent some time that morning praying together and then had breakfast (naan and eggs--delicious!). While were were eating, the director approached us at the table and said, "We need at team of three to get to the top of the mountain sometime today to trade out with a team of three that have been up there for a day and a half."

At this, everyone in the room began to bubble with excitement. At last, what we had all dreamt about was becoming reality. Everyone in the room (except for Jeff, Ben and I it seemed) began to plead there case of why their team was ready to head up the mountain. I watched the entire interaction confuse and stress out the director so I mentioned that maybe it would be easier if he talked with the three team leaders that were in the room and make the decision that way.

Ten minutes later, Jeff came up to me and asked if I had warm gloves. I was a little confused by the question, but answered that I did.
"Good," he said. "Put 'em on because were heading up the mountain in a half hour!"
And again, we were the team that got the go-ahead to move on.

Here's what happened in the leader conversation. All three of the leaders determined that it would be best to send my team because we were the only three that hadn't been orientated into the pipe bending. Because so many pipes needed to be bent, it made sense to keep the men there that had already been working on them. Thus--our team got the green light.

Within one half hour, we had our bags packed and were sitting in the back of a Pakistani army jeep on our way to the helipad....