A "You Gotta Be Kiddin' Me?" Spirituality

This is but one of many blog postings, I’m sure, that will help me process what happened to my family in June 2013…more is to come, especially as I pray and ponder on God’s presence within it all.

 

June 5th of this year will be a significant marker in the lives of the Bunn family. It was on that horrific day that my wife had a hemorrhagic stroke. That day defined as much of my understanding of what the word SURREAL means in that it was like becoming a spectator to the routines and rituals I took for granted. And yet it was like any other day at our house. The morning Bunn routines were the same as always—the kids getting up to find bowls and spoons to begin the ceremony of cereal selection, and I dutifully started the coffee maker as I rummaged through the cabinets looking for the cleanest coffee mug (our dishwasher didn’t always clean those little nooks and crannies).  And as my teenage daughter carried away the family’s newest addition for a brisk diaper change and bottle prep, we all heard the startling crash from upstairs that fractured any semblance of “normal” in which we were accustomed to.

In an attempt to get her medications from the dresser drawer, my wife fell off our bed because the left side of her body was completely paralyzed. Little did we know what had happened as the kids and I ran up the stairs to investigate—all the while in stride shouting, “Mom! Mom! What happened?! Are you okay?!” When we got to the room, we heard muffled tones from the figure lying next to the bed.  When I saw my wife on the floor, I just knew in my heart of hearts she suffered a stroke. And sure enough when we got to the emergency room, the doctors confirmed what I already knew to be true…thus the nightmare began; for it wouldn’t be until four weeks later that the children and I would hear her voice again.

June 5^th also marked a bizarre take on my understanding of spirituality as a shared lived experience. In other words, I was trained in seminary to conceptualize a spirituality that included an encounter between the infinite and the finite as well as a similar relationship among finite creatures—an attempt to harmonize a Christian spirituality that embodies the divine within the earthiness of what it means to be human.  But at the end of that day, I looked to the heavens and muttered in my best Georgian accent, “You gotta be kiddin’ me?”

 

 

Divided No More

The following essay is from a seminar class at McAfee School of Theology. The aim of the seminar was to teach students how to develop spiritual guidance for individuals and groups. Resource: Palmer, Parker J. A Hidden Wholeness: The Journey Toward An Undivided Life: Welcoming the    Soul and Weaving Community in a Wounded World. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2004.

 

           Parker Palmer, teacher, author, and spiritual guide, challenges his readers in his latest work to view and engage life through a holistic spirituality, which entails listening and discerning wisdom from the teacher or soul within. Palmer, a Quaker (Religious Society of Friends) at his roots, earnestly tackles aspects of reuniting one’s personhood through an ethic he describes as “divided no more.” Through a process of self-discovery, supported with the integrity and place-sharing of trusted individuals, Palmer suggests that our truer nature or true self can take shape and form within our everyday lives—witnessed by the way in which he eloquently describes the negotiation of life through the means of a Möbius strip (pp. 45-49). He addresses an ever-present issue of reconciliation with oneself and neighbor. Though, the waters may be choppy at times, Palmer exhibits a faith in humanity that can eventually find its truer nature and purpose. His model for such a journey engages the would-be traveler within an intentional community of trust, which he defines as a “circle of trust.” The following reflection paper will highlight Palmer’s main issues towards creating a circle of trust and its inherent strengths and weaknesses.

TRUE SELF

            Palmer’s understanding of knowing our true self is equated to the shedding of masks or personae until what emerges is the soul. The soul, a precarious sort, is coy and timid to say the least, and its functionality resembles the following:

The soul wants to keep us rooted in the ground of our own being, resisting the tendency of other faculties, like the intellect and ego, to uproot us from who we are.

The soul wants to keep us connected to the community in which we find life, for it understands that relationships are necessary if we are to thrive.

The soul wants to tell us the truth about ourselves, our world, and the relation between the two, whether that truth is easy or hard to hear.

The soul wants to give us life and wants us to pass that gift along, to become life-givers in a world that deals too much death (pp. 33-34).

In other words, being open to one’s true self requires a bold approach to reflect on one of life’s ultimate questions, “Who am I?” What Palmer suggests is that our true selves keep us from pursuing trivial aspects of our being and prods us deeper towards exploration rather than escape, which constitutes our very being—our spiritual DNA.  True self, then, becomes a life-giving attribute to us and others (p. 39).

            Such an exploration is risky though. For example, the missed paths of our truer selves or nature, when pressed, can also cause turmoil in an already chaotic life for most. If and when a person journeys towards the soul’s truth of the matter, she may find that the life she carved and labored for herself (marriage, children, career, and social status) must change if only to adapt to her true self. That might not be as dire an issue, but for those of us who have piled on all of the accoutrements of a false self; suddenly making a shift within mind and heart (psyche) can cause external disturbances as well as interior ones.

            Palmer does offer some consolation, or, at least, a fresh perspective with which to think about how the external and interior lives can find some common ground. As mentioned earlier, he utilizes a mathematical illustration (a möbius strip) to demonstrate how the interior life is connected to the exterior and vice versa. In doing so, he makes the point that a healthy spiritual life cannot be formed, singularly, on the merits of one or the other—a fragmented soul—but instead, within the sacred connections that constitute the whole—a spirituality marked more by an ebb and flow rather than a fenced pietism or exclusivist morality. His consolation is based on the fact that a healthy spirituality is a holistic endeavor.

At the center of Palmer’s arguments is a constant that not only runs throughout this work but also substantiates much of his earlier work. And that is the search for truth, wherever it may be found. Truth-seeking is the impetus with which the journey of the true self begins. In order to do the work of truth-seeking, Palmer makes the distinction; first and foremost, that one must be willing to hold the “tension of paradox.” Though he discusses this tension within the field of teaching, it is apparent that is has much to do with his exploration towards the true self:

Holding the tension of paradox so that our students can learn at deeper levels is among the most difficult demands of good teaching. How are we supposed to do that? Imagine yourself in a classroom. You ask a well-framed question, and then you wait and wait as the great silence descends. You know you should wait some more, not jump, but your hear pounds, then sinks, and finally feels helpless and out of control. So you answer your own question with an emotional mix of anxiety, anger, and authoritarianism that only makes things worse. Then you watch as the opening to learning offered by the silence vanishes—and teaching becomes more and more like running headlong into walls….That scenario—which could apply to holding any of the paradoxes, not just silence and speech—suggests a simple truth: the place where paradoxes are held together is in the teacher’s heart, and our inability to hold them is less a failure of technique than a gap in our inner lives. If we want to teach and learn in the power of paradox, we must reeducate our hearts.[1]

            It is in the heart, as Palmer puts it, which eventually becomes the armature for supporting the soul. This reeducation of the heart becomes the very basis of what he unequivocally and intentionally describes as “circles of trust.”

 CIRCLES OF TRUST

            Circles of trust for Palmer are more than mere small groups, though they may have similar dynamics within them. He distinguishes a circle of trust in that it must give room for the soul. In comparison, small groups or small group meetings tend to organize themselves by agendas; whereas, the only agenda, so to speak, for circles of trust are to wait and listen:

In a circle of trust, we can dwell in the truth by dwelling in the conversation. In such a circle, our differences are not ignored, but neither are they confronted in combat. Instead, they are laid out clearly and respectfully alongside each other. In such a circle, we speak and hear diverse truths in ways that keep us from ignoring each other and from getting into verbal shootouts—ways that allow us to grow together toward a larger, emergent truth that reveals how much we hold in common (p. 127).

            What he suggests is that we allow the soul of each participant to slowly leave its shell in order for truth to come forth. Tacitly, through his advocacy of the soul within the circle of trust, he is proposing a theology of immanence—the teacher or divine spark dwells within and emerges if given genuine opportunity. And it is the soul that reigns supreme within this model. Although Palmer makes no qualms about his Christian tradition, it, too, takes a back seat to the emergence of the soul in search of truth within the context of a multi-faith and multi-cultural circle:

When the space between us is made safe for the soul by truthful speaking and receptive listening, we are able to speak truth in a particularly powerful form—a form that goes deeper that our opinions, ideas, and beliefs. I mean the truth that emerges as we tell the stories of our lives….Storytelling has always been at the heart of being human because it serves some of our most basic needs: passing along our traditions, confessing failings, healing wounds, engendering hope, strengthening our sense of community. But in a culture of invasion and evasion, this time-honored practice cannot be taken for granted. It must be supported in special settings and protected with strong ground rules (p. 123).

            It is within the act of storytelling that provides a common ground element in which diversity can thrive. Although sharing stories within the circle of trust provides openness to participant’s vulnerabilities, its downside or hindrance is the mere fact that most of us want to “fix” whatever deficit we see in others. Thus, ground rules are a necessity. And the major rule Palmer preaches is to ask or comment with others through “honest, open questions.” He subscribes to this because it keeps the “fix it” mentality in check. But, of course, if asking honest, open questions is a difficult best practice to perform (Palmer makes a notation that training is advised), how are circles of trust able to flourish and thrive in the most common of settings; i.e., churches, synagogues, and other community-based locales? And this is the work that is ahead for all of us.

CONCLUDING COMMENTS

            Palmer’s contributions for leading and searching for truth with others has practical applications in this class as well in my ministry context. Although I realize there are limitations with the number of congregants that may be open to participate within a circle of trust, training a number of people on leadership teams within the local church has potential for transformative ministry—a ministry focused on the leading of God’s Spirit rather than the agendas of a few, strong-willed individuals. If they (the congregation) can practice asking and discerning through honest, open questioning and dialogue, the truth of a congregation’s spiritual DNA could eventually emerge. And, of course, this dovetails into the goals and aims of this class—teaching and helping others to discern individually and collectively. Palmer is a helpful resource in that he reminds us to be truthful with ourselves before we begin the process of helping others. The underlining premise for him is that unless we believe in the truth within us; we will never believe in the truth within others.

            What seems to be most difficult in ministry is to be honest with my feelings as a minister and as a layperson. My life tends to focus more on inner and outer circles rather than a continual weave of who I am as a child of God. It has been helpful to read Palmer’s struggles in his own life—not as a comparison but as a reminder that what we all are striving for is hopefully truth, in ourselves and in others.

  

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Palmer, Parker J. The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher’s Life.

San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1998.

           

           

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[1] Parker J. Palmer, The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher’s Life (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1998), 83.

Is Bigger Better?

Have you ever heard the phrase, critical mass? The first time I ever heard that phrase used was in a church staff meeting. The senior pastor looked down at me (this lowly youth director) and pontificated on the how’s and why’s of developing critical mass in order to grow (of course, numerically rather than spiritually) the youth group. Now, I realize this sounds bitter on my part, but it was an absurd conversation then as it would be today for most youth directors.

So, what is critical mass, or better yet, what did that senior pastor really have in mind during that staff meeting? Well, in his defense, he was really trying to communicate that “bigger is better.” He proposed a theory of critical mass that suggested if more people participated in a group; they would (by word of mouth and the nature of group dynamics) bring their friends until a base or core group formed. Now, I had been privy to the “bait and switch” tactics in youth ministry—get the good-looking football player and cheerleader in your youth group to make it “cool” and watch how many more youth would come just to be considered popular or, at least, known by them. I mean, there’s really “nothing new under the sun” in that respect—remember Charles Wesley’s adaptations of drinking songs into hymns back in his day. But at that time, as a youth director, I was much more attracted to the potential quality of youth spirituality than the quantity of how many youth came to youth group on a given Sunday—but, of course, to survive as a staff person in churches you have to do both…something I didn’t learn until later on in the ministry.

It wasn’t until recently that I happened to come across an article on statistical research, which discussed quality research in relationship to critical mass. Please note that I’m not a stats or math person, but I did find the article fascinating—something that gave some credence to my earlier naïveté.

The journal article based its research on the following critical mass premise:

The old notion of critical mass was of some sort of threshold group or department size, below which research quality tends to be poor and above which research standards start to improve. The idea has been extended to, and perhaps beyond, its logical conclusion: that ‘the bigger the group, the better’, and that ‘benefit continues to accrue through increasing scale’ (Kenna & Berche, 2012, p. 22).

What Kenna & Berche soon realized, by way of hybrid sociophysics models and mathematical ones (I won’t bore you with those), that a critical mass number did emerge, but having more researchers above the critical mass number did little, if anything, for the quality of research:

Therefore, statistics and operational research groups should strive to achieve a size of at least N/2 ≈ 9 members, and should be happy if they have over N c ≈ 17 staff. But beyond that, it does not much matter how many staff the group has—more staff beyond the critical number will tend only to increase the quantity of research, but not its quality (2012, p. 25)

How many of our church youth groups today reflect about 10% of the church’s worshipping community? Well, let’s just say, “a lot!” The size of most of those groups, realistically, run anywhere from single digits to low double-digit numbers. And even in those larger groups, subgroups of youth (we like to call them cliques) emerge. This is a perfect example of one of those sociophysics models based on the Dunbar number—highlighting that whenever a group of people exceeds a certain size, it will inevitably fragment into smaller, subgroupings.

So, what is that critical mass number for youth groups? Well, I don’t think the senior pastor I mentioned earlier would care for my analysis, but I’ll give it nonetheless…well, actually, I’ll let Jesus provide the answer: “For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them” (Matthew 18:20). At least, that’s the number I’m sticking to when it comes to “quality” ministry. I mean, wouldn't a confirmation group of two to three youth discussing God's grace, charity, and love be just as important, if not more, to kingdom building work as a triple digit youth group heading to the Rocky Mountains for a ski retreat? Now, I'm not knocking skiing...I mean, who doesn't like to ski?! But, I think you get my point.

Lastly, I would be amiss if I didn’t mention that in Kenna & Berche’s research, they did come to the conclusion that “bigger is indeed better”, with a caveat—communication of the members has to happen in order for the research to be quality research. And I would make the case, communication happens best in smaller, intimate groups.

So…is bigger really better? You be the judge...until then, God bless.


Reference: Kenna & Berche, Statistics of Statisticians: Critical Mass for Research Groups in Significance: Statistics Making Sense (December 2012, volume 9, issue 6, pp. 22-25).

Benedictine or Not? Developing a Rule of Life That Fits You

The following book review is from a seminar reading prep course for McAfee School of Theology:

ref: http://www.amazon.com/At-Home-World-Christian-Classics/dp/1596270268


Margaret Guenther, associate rector at St. Columba’s Episcopal Church in Washington, D.C., shares in, literary grace and style, the applications of the Benedictine Rule for our lives. She highlights the rule from the core of the Benedictine vows: obedience, stability, and conversion of life—each one of which will be discussed later in the essay. Guenther challenges the reader to consider a rule of life that is life-giving and affirming; She suggests that the Benedictine Rule would be a perfect place to begin. Thus, for this essay, we will consider the meaning of a rule as well as Benedictine spirituality as it is known from its core values—its vows.

A RULE OF LIFE

Guenther admits that we follow rules all the time. In fact, we are in need of them—they govern our way of life throughout our personal, professional, and religious lives. Whether we know it or not, we choose these rules for our benefit—what we eat, when and where we exercise, in pursuit of an education, etc. We tend to succumb to them, though we may not always with such a willing heart. But what she challenges us to consider is developing a rule that matters and gets to the heart of what we ultimately are striving for—to know the ineffable…the Holy Other:

A thoughtful rule of life is quite another matter. Even when it deals with the small things in our lives, a rule of life never trivial. It cannot be coerced; it must be voluntary. Prisoners, conscripts to the military, refugees in camps, even the biddable children of my early school days all live under a rule that they have not chosen. A voluntary rule is different; it has a life-giving freedom even when it seems restrictive to outsiders…Making a rule, like devising a trellis, must have something to do with real people trying to get through their days mindfully and fruitfully. The very phase ‘rule of life’ suggests something far removed from modern life, and there is always the danger of romanticizing the past and seeking to live by and unreal and absurd standard that cannot be maintained. A rule of life for the rest of us has to be rooted in the here-and-now; it has to be germane and useful (p. 13).

Marjorie J. Thompson, a Presbyterian minister and Director of Pathways Center for Spiritual Leadership at Upper Room Ministries in Nashville, Tennessee, also suggests that when we begin to think of a rule of life, such as a trellis (a support), we need to think of this as an organic whole from which patterns and rhythms flow in and out of our daily living:

A rule of life is a pattern of spiritual disciplines that provide structure and direction for growth in holiness. When we speak of patterns in our life, we mean attitudes, behaviors, or elements that are routine, repeated, regular. Indeed, the Latin term for ‘rule’ is regula, from which our words regular and regulate derive. A rule of life is not meant to be restrictive, although it certainly asks for genuine commitment. It is meant to help us establish a rhythm of daily living, a basic order within which new freedoms can grow. A rule of life, like a trellis, curbs our tendency to wander and supports our frail efforts to grow spiritually (1995, p. 138).

In other words, a rule of life for the Christian is about intentionally seeking God’s presence within the daily life of the pilgrim. And what Guenther suggests is that the Benedictine Rule provides us with such a starting point.

THE RULE OF SAINT BENEDICT

If one begins to peruse Benedict’s Rule, the first notable characteristic will be its length—seventy-three chapters in all. But under closer scrutiny, the chapters are justified in that they give guidance and direction for communal living. Guenther never really gives a succinct answer as to “why” one should look to the Benedictine Rule as a source or dynamic for developing one's rule of life; though her book implies such reasoning and, more specifically, a nudging of sorts.

I believe Elizabeth J. Canham, a contemporary of Guenther’s and fellow Episcopal priest and writer, provides a clear argument as to why Benedictine spirituality or rule is appropriate for us occidental Christians—providing a way to reflect on our insatiable need to consume:

The Rule of Saint Benedict embodies the conviction that we have all we need—we have enough. Conversely Benedict also tells us that we need all we have, for all our gifts, personal history, and life experiences make up the raw material out of which we are formed in God’s image and grow together in community…Knowing that we have enough takes us out of the never-ending tension created by greed, out of the constant envy of others that causes us to overlook our own riches, and out of the turmoil of unmet desires (1999, p. 13).

In light of Canham’s argument, I find solace in that there just might be a way in which to exit such a maddening existence. An existence and/or tension we all have to face, whether we want to or not. And this is the juncture at which Guenther alludes to the three Benedictine vows—obedience, stability, and conversion of life.

Obedience

Guenther views this vow as mutual obedience—an obedience that is not forceful or heavy-handed but instead is a movement of compromises and respectful overtones within relationships:

True obedience is a gift we bring to each other in love. And it is related—if we trace it back to its Latin roots—to a strong, ordinary little word: audire, to hear. Obedience is to be lovingly present and attentive to another; to hear, truly to hear what the other is saying, with words and sometimes without. We owe obedience to all those with whom we live in covenanted relationships. Hurtful things cannot thrive, but all kinds of good things can flourish when we are carefully attentive to one another (p. 18).

She reminds us that this vow is speaking to our humanness. In other words, we are not made in the image of God as mechanistic beings, though we may like to think of ourselves as such. We each play a role within the unyielding truth that we must be in community with others. And the way in which we respond to others or the lack thereof affects the broader community. Canham describes obedience as persistence:

Sometimes obedience consists of not giving up when efforts to listen to God through scripture seem unrewarding and when abandoning the attempt and opting for a less demanding activity seems easier. I often feel tempted to give up, but on one occasion my inability to focus and my decision not to give up taught me more than I might have understood at a time when I was able to be more attentive. That morning I sat with Bible, prayer book, candle, and strong coffee, trying to be still in the awareness of God’s presence. Beneath me I heard the jarring sound of heavy industrial fans drying out a basement from which six inches of flood water had just been drained. Outside fog blurred the trees, a metaphor for the cloudy muddle through which I tried to pass my attempt to pray. I could not stay focused on scripture, and inner questions escaped me….It was both unrealistic and arrogant to think that I could be as energetically attentive as I would like, and God’s invitation was to rest, let go, acknowledge the imperfection of my prayer, and offer it for God’s redeeming action (1999, pp. 142-143).

This type of persistence segues into the next vow of Benedict’s—stability.

Stability

Guenther describes stability as perseverance. Though this may sound uncannily close to what Canham describes as persistence in the vow of obedience, it is not: “This calls for perseverance, for holding on and hanging in, for making thoughtful choices and staying with them. (p. 20) Guenther further explains:

What might stability look like for today’s ordinary, on-the-go seeker? It might mean returning to the church even when you feel it has run off the rails, when the old rules of your childhood have disappeared along with the ‘Thee’s’ and ‘Thou’s.’ Or it might mean remaining committed to a congregation that seems hopelessly wrong-headed….Commitment to stabilitas demands that we at least give present circumstances a good try before we move on to the greener pasture down the street. Quite probably it too will disappoint, perhaps in new and different ways that we could never imagined (p. 21).

And yet, perseverance is not to be anchored by insecurities and outright fear. For example, we commit ourselves to those old, worn-out institutions because we know, through a reading of the scriptures, a remnant of God’s covenant remains. We persevere because we hold onto the covenant which is ours and God’s. Thus, we are always in the process of what Benedict calls a conversion of life.

Conversion of life

Lastly, Guenther remarks on the conversion of life as a life process. She highlights the fact that our choices and the places we have been and the places we are going form a pattern to the whole of life. And that these places or, better yet, stages in life provide us with nuggets of self-knowledge. Quite frankly, the gifts or charisms from God find their way through our many life choices, whether good or bad.

Guenther also recognizes that this vow of conversion is really a dedication of self to change: “It may be difficult to see that new life is coming, that our letting go and the redirecting of ourselves is movement toward a new life, and that our loss is only apparent—or at least outweighed by our gain” (p. 22). Guenther implies that these vows really constitute a cycle—that each vow tends to pull and tug at the other. Thus, Saint Benedict’s Rule is a dynamic endeavor rather than a static addition to the outdated and outmoded religious bric-a-brac that surrounds most of our lives.

FINAL REMARKS

There is much to glean from Benedictine spirituality. I know that I have been wrestling with the spirit of his vows for the past several months—wondering about the following: “What are my next steps?” “What type of education should I really pursue if any?” “Have I outgrown the church I serve?” “Is there a community out there that will accept me and my family, warts and all?” And I know I will continue to wrestle with these thoughts until they eventually transform into prayers and, hopefully, I will present them to God with a spirit of gratitude.

I have to admit, I am biased in reading Guenther’s work because I have heard her lecture before. And as with any great lecturer and teacher; I, as a student and hearer, wish I could have spent endless hours listening to her wisdom and teachings. In that respect, I am open to hear what God is saying through her writings and her presence. I have thoroughly enjoyed reading the prose of Margaret Guenther. She so eloquently places those nuggets of wisdom within sentence structure, that all can enjoy—laity, clergy, and scholars. She is truly a woman for all seasons.

References:

Canham, Elizabeth J. Heart Whispers: Benedictine Wisdom for Today. Nashville: Upper Room Books, 1999.

Guenther, Margaret. At Home in the World: A Rule of Life for the Rest of Us. New York: Seasbury Books, 2006.

Thompson, Marjorie J. Soul Feast: An Invitation to the Christian Spiritual Life. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1995.

The following interview is with Margaret Guenther as she discusses spiritual direction and/or spiritual companionship:

Aren’t you a Beautiful Creature?

I came across the following poem this morning. If you find this nourishment for your soul, I highly recommend Daniel Ladinsky’s Love Poems from God: Twelve Sacred Voices from the East and West.
I’d suggest reading the poem a few times (taking a minute or two to pause before the next reading), and ask yourself how is God speaking to you through these words…Blessings.

BEAUTIFUL CREATURE

There is a beautiful creature living
in a hole you have dug,

so at night I set fruit and grains and little pots of wine and milk
beside your soft earthen mounds,

and I often sing to you,
but still, my dear, you do not come out.

I have fallen in love with someone
who is hiding inside
of you,

We should talk about this problem,
otherwise I will never
leave you
alone!

-Hafiz


Hafiz (1320-1389) was born in southeast Persia. He had a great spiritual master as his teacher who guided the development of his poetry and the unfolding of his soul. His greatest desire in life was union with God.

Reference: Ladinsky, Daniel. Love Poems from God: Twelve Sacred Voices from the East and West. Penguin Group, 2002. (page 174)

Spiritual Formation is a Family Affair

The following post is an excerpt from my DMIN manual assignment on Christian Spirituality:

In defining spiritual formation, I have to admit my denominational bias in that my religious background or upbringing is in the United Methodist Church—a Wesleyan influence. In that regards, spiritual formation as process is inherent within my theological framework. Though one might believe John Wesley’s evangelical fervor swayed towards camp meetings and the like, he actually thought of spiritual formation in terms of Christian nurture--more specifically, a formation that was family-taught and family-based. Wesley gave two reasons for his congregants as to why religious education or Christian nurture must begin in the home:

A. Christian education must begin in the home because the home represents the first environment the child encounters in life. Since at birth the child’s mind is a tabula rasa, waiting for good impressions to be made upon it by the reception of empirical sensations, whatever happens within the home is crucial to child development. Parents are, therefore, the first instructors, teaching by control of all stimuli from the very beginning….B. Religious education begins in the home because the home is the place where children first exhibit self-will and pride. Education, being the cure of self-will and pride, must necessarily, be provided immediately as soon as there is need for it (Naglee, 1987, pp. 212-213) .

In light of Wesley’s insistence on family as first responders to the faith, so to speak, one recognizes the fact that Wesley is explicit in his understanding of Christian nurture as being a familial or communal experience. And this idea of Christian nurture is, in my opinion, an appropriate underlining principle for the way in which one begins to think about spiritual formation.

M. Robert Mulholland, Jr., provost and professor of New Testament at Asbury Theological Seminary, defines his Wesleyan expression in the following manner: “the process of being conformed to the image of Christ for the sake of others" (Mulholland, 1993, pp. 64-73). And again, it is important to remember that spiritual formation does not happen in isolation. One must recognize that it is the community of faith that provides the language and education with which a person grows in faith maturity. Spiritual formation is an on-going process of learning and serving--a process that begins at home.

References:

M. Robert Mulholland, Jr., Invitation to a Journey: A Road Map for Spiritual Formation. Downers Grove: Inter Varsity Press, 1993.

David I. Naglee, From Font to Faith: John Wesley on Infant Baptism and the Nurture of Children. New York: Peter Lang Publishing Inc., 1987.

Door Theology

The following story is from Bruce Main, the director of Urban Promise Ministries in Camden, New Jersey. Bruce shares what he calls a “door theology” which demonstrates the church’s stewardship towards the Great Commission. This is a wonderful story as we begin to ponder what a new year in ministry will look, feel, and sound like. Although most of us reside in affluent communities of faith, there is still much need around us. All is asked of us is to search with the Holy Spirit’s guidance. And although Bruce’s story relates to youth and children (basically because his demographic consisted of over 50% of youth under the age of eighteen), it still relates to other demographics that may be prevalent in our ministry contexts—singles, senior citizens, the divorced, substance abuse individuals, etc. Most importantly, this story focuses on what is actually happening behind the doors of our churches. Amen and enjoy…

The Holiness of a Broken Door


I once met a Catholic priest who had a fascination with doors. He believed that the front door was the most important part of a church. The door, he claimed, should be something that beckons people to come in. It should be something intriguing, something that ‘whispers the mystery that lies beyond it.’

The door of our church used to be white, shiny, and metallic, smooth and new looking; it could have graced the cover of a church supply catalog. The door was seldom used. As a matter of fact, the door reflected the church that existed inside the door—unused. With only a couple of hours use of its hinges each Sunday, the door had little chance to tarnish its beauty. It just sat there, not living up to its calling as a church door—that is something that is used to allow people to enter a place where the mysterious Divine dwells.

But last week we had to replace the door. Since our rambunctious youth program arrived at the church three years ago the door had changed. The shiny, white metallic finish had been dulled by the continual touching and thumping of dirty hands. There were gouges, dents, and holes in the door created by kids who were late for events and needed to be heard. The bright brass trim around the mailbox had been ripped off. The inner core of the door could now be seen and had begun to spill its contents onto the surrounding sidewalk. Perhaps the brass had been stripped to be sold or taken off in an effort to rob the church. Whatever the case, the fancy trim was gone. All that was left was an ugly, roughly cut metal hole, through which the mail person could shove the mail each day.

Days before the door was replaced, it would hardly open. The only hinge connecting the door to the frame was the top one. And even that hinge had been reset a number of times. The other hinges had long ago been ripped out of their homes and tossed in the scrap pile. As the door was opened, shut, slammed, and propped over the last three years by children, teens, and staff, the door collapsed. Finally the screws gave way, and the wooden door posts disintegrated.

So the door was replaced. The cost: eight hundred and fifty dollars to put in a new frame and metal door. Unfortunately the trustees in our church didn’t share in the same door theology as my priest friend—that a door should create a sense of mystery and intrigue. We got a new, white, shiny metallic door.

Although I grimace over this expense in our budget this year, I do have to chuckle over the fact that we wore out a door. Children broke the door! Not intentionally, but because they wanted to get into the church. Something was happening inside these walls that were calling them off the street to come into this place where God lives. The door had begun to serve its purpose….The more I have thought about our door, the more I have wondered how many churches in America can boast over the fact that they have had to replace a door because of the dents and holes made by young people trying to get in.

But if the church really lives up to its calling, should it not be replacing its doors more regularly? Wouldn’t it be exciting if churches across America all of the sudden had to start ordering custom-made doors to replace all the doors that were being broken. Just think how wonderful it would be if churches had to start hiring special 'door ministers' just to keep door knobs from falling off and hinges from snapping. Right next to Minister of Music and Christian Education Director in the next year’s budget would be 'Door Minister.'

Reference: Revolution and Renewal: How churches are saving our cities by Tony Campolo and Bruce Main

Are you spiritually religious? Religiosity among youth examined

The following is an excerpt from my Master's Project at Clemson University. I began to examine the similarities and differences of the label(s) of spiritual vs. religious in light of the Search Institutes work in the domain of youth spiritual development and with the work done within the National Study of Youth and Religion. What I came up with is that being spiritual parallels and intersects with being religious, but being religious doesn't necessarily mean one is being spiritual--"being religious" tends to be dependent on an institutional system; whereas, "being spiritual" has an interconnected quality that can transcend institutional barriers.
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Defining Spirituality

When speaking about spirituality, one may be better suited to think of spirituality in terms of a verb rather than an idea or static statement: “One of the basic premises of any spirituality is that our nonphysical selves also thirst….We long to be loved, to love, and to live in a universe characterized by love. Yet we discover by experience that our longings are never completely fulfilled on the human level” (Holt, 2005, p. 1). So, in other words, life experiences have as much to do with our longings to be connected to something other than ourselves—a highly motivational factor with which one finds value and meaning throughout a lifespan. Thus, this perennial, human element forges through the complexities of life:

Spiritual development, then, is an ongoing, dynamic, and sometimes difficult interplay between one’s inward journey and one’s outward journey. It presses us to look inward to accept or discover our potential to grow, contribute, and matter, and to look outward to connect with life, including being in relationship with family, community, the world, and, for many, the sacred, divine, or some form of universal reality (Benson & Roehlkepartan, 2005, p. 20).

It is no wonder that youth express spirituality as being an aspect of the heart, especially if such an interplay highlights one’s inward feelings with one’s life experiences. Benson and Roehlkepartan (2005) go on to state that such an interplay involves at least three processes:

Awareness or awakening. Being or becoming aware of or awakening to one’s self, others, and the universe (which may be understood as including the sacred or divinity) in ways that cultivate identity, meaning, and purpose.

Interconnecting and belonging. Seeking, accepting, or experiencing significance in relationships to and interdependence with others, the world, or one’s sense of the transcendent (often including an understanding of God or a higher power); and liking to narratives, beliefs, and traditions that give meaning to human experience across time.

A way of living. Authentically expressing one’s identity, passions, values, and creativity through relationships, activities, and practices that shape bonds with oneself, family, community, humanity, the world, and that which one believes to be transcendent or sacred (p. 21).

It becomes apparent that when spirituality is used within the framework of youth development, it becomes a multi-layered stratum of experiences and reflections on those experiences that in turn provide an ever-changing stream of consciousness that, in most instances, blur or intimidate youth professional’s understandings of youth spiritual development. Because youth professionals are not sure what the guidelines are on addressing youth spiritual development (much like sexuality), they tend to stay away from either spirituality all together or, at least, labeling activities as such (Pittman, Garza, Yohalem, and Artman, 2005). Such a lack of understanding or clarity perpetuates a superficial understanding of spirituality, if that. But, in all fairness, youth professionals (secular youth professionals in particular) have reason to be cautious when spirituality sounds much more like religious indoctrination. In other words, spirituality or spiritual development is still considered, in many arenas, religious education or catechesis (Strommen, Jones, and Rahn, 2001). It is at this juncture, that the author attempts to define religion.

Defining Religion

The word religion is a peculiar word. In fact, its definition depends upon the lens in which one views religion—through the eyes of the theologian, philosopher, psychologist, historian, anthropologist, etc. And though it has many interpretations, one factor seems to be at the core—religion as a human experience:

Yet all agree that religion has to do with universal life experience and the ways in which sense is made of those experiences and meaning is attached to them. These universal experiences constitute the field from which the perennial human effort to make sense of the world (or deny that sense in some instances) arises: birth, death; joy, sorrow; knowledge, ignorance; success, failure; love, hate; suffering, relief; and body, spirit. This list includes that matters of primary concern to religion are universal, because of the fact that no human anywhere past, present, or future lives without experiencing them (Wiggins, 2003, p. 418).

Thus, religion or religious experience finds its bearings within the constructs of everyday life—the rituals, reflections, meditations, and pauses that give life meaning. But in defining religion as such, the author must take into account how religion has become the embodiment of vast beliefs and values, which have found shape and form throughout various houses of worship—churches, mosques, synagogues, temples, etc. These venues help define a community as well as the individual. So, when one does not wish to become a part of the religious community or hold similar beliefs and values, and yet is making meaning from life experiences, “being spiritual” becomes the default classification for most:

Perhaps most comforting to professionals, parents, and perhaps faith leaders is that the distinction between spirituality and religiosity seems to be clear to young people. Wilson conducted focus groups, interviews, and surveys of adolescents in researching her book A Part of You So Deep. Her findings: ’90 percent of youth said that a person could be spiritual without being religious—a finding consistent with research showing that while interest in organizational religion may dwindle during adolescence, interest in spirituality itself does not.’ Spirituality for these young people was more about finding and maintaining an inner compass than holding a set of shared beliefs (Pittman, et al., p. 32).

If the above-mentioned statement reasons to be true, then the dichotomy of being spiritual or religious is but the negation of religious systems or institutions. And that is a clarion call to all of us that religious institutions have the potential to hinder positive human development.

Within the Protestant Christian Church, the Swiss theologian, Karl Barth, re-emphasized this cautionary bulwark in ubiquitous fashion as the Protestant principle:

The ever-moving searchlight that the Reformation trains on all religion as it warns that religion may be as dangerous as it is necessary…All religion is in daily need of reformation because all religion, in both blatant and subtle ways, seeks to make itself and its creeds, codes, and cults more important than the revelation and experience it is meant to serve and pass on (Knitter, 2005, p. 55).

Even the most rudimentary reading of Church history portrays this divisive nature religion can play within the lives of people; consequently, youth professionals, working with youth of many religions or religious persuasions, may be leery when discussing how religion plays a part in youth development:

Doctrinal distinctions between secular and sacred, reinforces in the United States by (mis)interpretations of the First Amendment religion clauses, have led youth workers to a fearful avoidance of all things religious and spiritual in other than faith-based organizations. The rise of evangelical Christianity in the United States in the 1980s, with its powerful political infrastructure and its passion for youth ministry, reinforced the idea of equating spirituality in youth work with proselytizing. Today residual fear is regularly aggravated by news of growing global fundamentalism in Islam, Judaism, and Christianity (Kimball, 2008, p. 112).

Although there are potential negatives associated with religion in general, the term religion as an embodiment of everyday life experience(s)is much more analogous with the term spirituality. And yet, a spiritual person or young person need not be religious, so to speak.

One final cautionary note needs to be made though. When we discuss institutions such as churches or synagogues, we need to remember that they are "jars of clay"--they are made up of people (like you and me) that exhibit imperfections and,though their intentions may be good, act in such a way that can be a hinderance in our and youth spiritual development. That being said, religious institutions do provide a spring board affect which allows youth to begin a process of developing a religious lexicon and religious symbolism that has the potential to permeate and give meaning to their life experiences. Yes, there is a light at the end of the tunnel for us religious educators. In the face of all that can be negative with religious institutions, we can help youth forge meaning and purpose through the symbols and rituals that we hold sacred and, hopefully, they will too.

Thoughts on the question as to “why” Elizabeth is in seclusion for five months (Luke 1: 24): An exercise in Ignatian Spirituality through Bible reading

Foremost, the Greek word we derive our current meaning of seclusion is defined as “hidden” or “to hide.” And hidden or to hide can be an either/and in terms of a literal or figurative interpretation (W. Mundle, Dictionary of New Testament Theology, Vol. 2). We find examples of its usage in Genesis 3: 8 where Adam and Eve are hidden from God as God walks throughout the garden calling out for them. We see another example of hidden found in the dialogue of Eli and Samuel within Samuel’s call narrative. In the New Testament, the same use of hidden is found in the context of faith (Hebrews 11:23)—the example of Moses being hidden three months after his birth. Interestingly enough, this had nothing to do with being fearful of Pharaoh’s decree.

What we can take from this, linguistically as well as biblically, is that seclusion isn’t the same as what we might think of today as isolation. In fact, being in seclusion seems to be a time of preparedness or anticipation for a sign of God’s promise towards the beneficiary. And, in most cases, that includes the participation of others, or at least, dialogue with God. So, what we read in Luke about Elizabeth (literally and figuratively) provides us with a timeline that John is to be the forerunner of Jesus as well as it speaks to the cultural reality of Jewish womanhood and, in particular, to Elizabeth’s plight:

Barrenness was a triple tragedy for a Jewish woman. It shriveled the hopes of her husband for posterity, sparked taunts from other women when she appeared at the village well, and signified her sin. To be barren was to be out of favor with God and man. To be pregnant was to be blessed....Zechariah’s term ended with the next Sabbath. He headed home, Elizabeth subsequently conceived, and for the five months she remained in confinement. She waited until it was perfectly obvious that she was going to have a baby before she ventured forth to the village well, the social center of the Near East. She had had enough of the taunts of her fellow townswomen (Connick, Jesus the Man, the Mission, and the Message, 1974, p. 111).

Luke goes on to write that within the sixth month (after the annunciation) Mary visits Elizabeth “in haste” (Luke 1: 39) and Elizabeth is filled with the Holy Spirit following the sign of John leaping in her womb (verse 41). Such a sign from God affirms God’s promise to Elizabeth as well as Mary; thus, it may not be a surprise that Mary sings a song of praise (the Magnificat) following such an event.

In addition to what Connick stated about Elizabeth’s pregnancy (see above), I would suggest that she’s in a period of waiting to process and see if this blessing will be fulfilled—meaning that I think of Elizabeth as a very real person within this story, and I think about her as taking on very human characteristics: wondering what others will think about her if she doesn’t come to full term; feeling bad that she would doubt God in the first place; wondering if what she experienced was real or not, even though many thought her husband had seen a vision because of his muteness and possibly deafness in the temple; and should she really wait five months, or any months for that matter, before entering numerous social circles…is this testing God?

Mary’s visit seems to quell any or all of those thoughts and in fully believing (and, yes, a sign is included), Elizabeth’s doubt* transforms into a galvanized faith not only for Elizabeth’s story but also for the world.

*Elizabeth’s doubt is arguable. I’m making this assumption based on my Ignatian reading of this passage. My reasoning for putting doubt into her narrative is because of verse 25: “This is what the Lord has done for me when he looked favorably on me and took away the disgrace I have endured among my people.” This could be a pronouncement of the blessing she received, much like we find in other narratives of important people throughout the Bible, or could it be that she’s trying to convince herself of such a blessing as well? The pronouncement becomes some sort of mantra—repeating over and over in her head to help keep doubt at bay.

Getting Fired for the Glory of God (Yaconelli speaks truth in love)

There are those books that you read once and never again pick up, and then, there are those books that you continually reread as if they materialize into some sort of automatic sifter—catching and examining every little nuance or gradation possible within its pages.

One of my favorites, though it’s not a classic, is a compilation of articles by Mike Yaconelli, the late great youth worker guru. The title of the book tells it all—Getting Fired for the Glory of God. I’ve reread this book numerous times over the past few years when it first hit the bookstores in 2008. I don’t know if it’s more of his personality that comes through in his written word or if it’s the mandate of “just love Jesus!” that imbue them, but, whatever the case, he knows how to write with conviction. Don’t believe me? Just read Mike’s thoughts on the state of youth ministry and the church for that matter:

I’m very concerned about the souls of America’s youth workers. Youth ministry here is precariously close to collapsing under the weight of its own success. We seem to be caught in the spell of a media-driven, techno-event culture that’s dazzling the life out of us. We have a spectacular array of seminars, products, conventions, rallies, crusades, and programs that draw large crowds and make lots of noise—and we wait expectantly for the next spectacular array of events. Sadly, an increasing number of youth workers have opted for more instead of deep. All over the country, one youth ministry after another is becoming a monument to our charisma, a tribute to our technology, a testimony to our management skills…and one more nail in the body of Jesus….The modern senior pastor operates like a CEO instead of a spiritual director, mentor, or fellow struggler. Numbers, activities, and programs dominate our agendas, and we soon discover that in today’s institutional church, mission statements, strategies, and results matter most. Efficiency and control rule. The bottom line is tangible growth. The youth minister’s soul is irrelevant. Then we wake up one day with very successful youth programs, only to discover our success has cost us our souls.

Mike’s words reverberate with me. He definitely causes me to take pause. He gives voice to a number of us, church workers, who nod our heads in agreement with his description of the Church’s underbelly and the way in which staff can lose themselves within the Church’s “doing” ministry model. But we don’t have to settle. I mean, Mike’s words don’t have to become a self-fulfilling prophecy for the rest of us as the Church thrusts itself unto the cultural landscape of the twenty-first century.

Our churches don’t have to look like mega churches or what people have come to expect, but then again, that’s quite alright. For example, I’m not against growing churches for the Kingdom of God, but I am against growing churches for growth’s sake with all the latest gadgetry and gimmicks. So, the challenge that’s set in front of us all is to look at “being” the church in the face of what we’ve been “doing” in the church for all this time.

Maybe if we look to the future with a pinch of creativity, integrity, and vulnerability, the Holy Spirit may show up and surprise us all.

To God be the Glory. Amen.

An Ecumenical Pragmatist (Part I): Searching for Places to Root and Serve

Well, I got my copy of Steven Harmon’s book Ecumenism Means You, Too: Ordinary Christians and the Quest for Christian Unity in the mail today. From what I’ve perused, it has already got me thinking about the unity of the church. But I have to confess, I probed the last couple of chapters first…Sorry, Steve.

But the reason I did was because the title of Chapter four caught my eye—10 Things You Can Do for the Unity of the Church. Within chapter four, two of those ten (though all ten are thought-provoking in their own right) resonated with me. And here they are: “Third, commit yourself to the life of a particular church, warts and all; and fourth, embrace a particular denominational tradition” (pp. 60-61).

Commit yourself to the life of a particular church, warts and all…embrace a particular denominational tradition…

This of course is not such an easy task for those whose churches or denominations have deemed them to be of little or no value, e.g., GLBT Christians among the ranks of most Protestants as well as Orthodox and Roman Catholics, not to mention the Church of the Latter-day Saints. And in response, a number of reconciling congregations have popped up over the past two decades. But is this a vestige of unity? I could also add the plight of women in ministry to this totem, which is a considerable part of the SBC (Southern Baptist Convention) & CBF’s (Cooperative Baptist Fellowship) story.

The reason I mention the GLBT community and the plight of women in ministry is because I, too, presented the Church with its own perceived incongruities about what Christian families and church staff should look like. My family represented an interracial one. I mean, what was the church to do with a white man and his black wife and mixed children wanting to serve in a congregational setting, especially in the Deep South! This definitely presented a dilemma for most. And, when God called me to the ministry (my beautiful family being a part of this as well), though I experienced a rush of unexplainable joy and humility, I soon felt forlorn and confused to say the least. I mean, I truly felt like I was on the island of misfit toys—that somehow I was tolerated as long as my role in the church didn’t allow me the rights and responsibilities of clergy status. And that’s when I began to search for something new—the way of the Baptists.

As my family and I trekked towards the Ohio Valley to attend seminary, I knew that I didn’t want to force my family makeup on any weary congregation—an itinerant system like the United Methodists (the denomination I grew up in), I thought, was out of the question. So, we found an American Baptist congregation in the heart of Dayton, Ohio. Within a couple of months, our family was received into the congregation, and we became Baptists! I soon combed over all the Shurden books I could get a hold of and became part of lively discussions of what ordinances and baptism for Baptists is all about. But seminary in Ohio became short-lived, and we soon moved back to Georgia, where I finished seminary at a respected Baptist seminary.

But what I soon found out in Georgia was that there wasn’t a place for me to serve and support my family at the same time. The story of the Georgia Baptists felt far removed from my experiences and readings of the Northern Baptists. Again, I didn’t “fit.” So, in hopes of finding ministry work, I returned to the United Methodist Church.

Fortunately, I found some ministry work, but at a price—the fact that I studied at a Baptist seminary instead of one of the United Methodist’s most premiere seminaries in the South isolated me within the episcopacy system. Thus, I had to come to grips with the fact that if I remained in the United Methodist Church, ordination might not be an outcome. And I still wrestle with that from time to time.

But the point of sharing my church story is this: For those of us who may seem flip about joining and serving within a certain denomination or church, the truth is that we are trying to find our way to worship, serve, and identify with something larger than ourselves that touches our inmost part of who we are in Christ. Although I want to be committed to a church or denomination, the larger institution must allow me to work and serve so that I can reside or find a place to root.

I’m reminded of a letter by Mark Rothko (one of my favorite twentieth-century painters) written to Yale University. It was an acceptance letter for which Yale bestowed Rothko with an honorary doctorate. This was a humbling honor because Rothko began his undergraduate studies at Yale, but never finished. Although Rothko is writing about the artist’s life, the underlining spiritual tone speaks to the very center of being ecumenical:

When I was a younger man, art was a lonely thing: no galleries, no collectors, no critics, no money. Yet it was a golden time, for then we had nothing to lose and a vision to gain. Today it is not quite the same. It is a time of tons of verbiage, activity, and consumption. Which condition is better for the world at large I will not venture to discuss. But I do know that many who are driven to this life are desparately [sic] searching for those pockets of silence where they can root and grow. We must all hope that they find them (1969).

In others words, being an ecumenical pragmatist is not a nasty word—it is a search, or better yet, a voyage some of us are willing to take. It’s my hope that we will find those pockets that we can eventually grow and serve within.

I’m fortunate today to serve a mid-size United Methodist congregation in North Georgia. They accept me and my family, and they give me the opportunity to lead. It’s not always easy (congregational ministry never is), but a spirit of mutuality and reciprocity reside within the community…that’s unity!

Suggested Readings:

Ecumenism Means You, Too: Ordinary Christians and the Quest for Christian Unity; Steven R. Harmon

Hope for the World: Mission in a Global Context; Walter Brueggeman (editor)

Joined in Discipleship: The Shaping of Contemporary Disciples Identity (Rev. & Exp) Chapter 10; Mark Toulouse

A Baptist Manual of Polity and Practice (Rev.); Norman H. Maring & Winthrop S. Hudson

The Baptist Identity: Four Fragile Freedoms; Walter B. Shurden

Baptist Life and Thought: A Source Book (Rev.); William H. Brackney (editor)

United Methodist Beliefs: A Brief Introduction; William Willimon

Word, Water, Wine, and Bread: How Worship Has Changed Over the Years; William Willimon