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?
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Saturday, February 06, 2010
Dawn of Creation: A Poem
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.
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.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
"Empire State of Mind"
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...
"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...
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Surprised by the Sound of Worship
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!
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!
Friday, September 25, 2009
...so I stood still.
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.
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.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
In Her Hand: A Good Friday Realization
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.
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.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Misplaced Association?
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.
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.
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