While I’ve not been writing, I have acted on something I’ve wanted to do for a while. Along with my good friend Brian, I am launching the Pedestrian Saints podcast.  Our first attempt has some of the markings of a first podcast, but overall we are pleased with the results. I look forward to a couple of technical tweaks for episode 2, including a new microphone for Brian (no, he wasn’t on a phone call… it was live). After a few episodes, we will launch on iTunes and obtain millions of subscribers.

Without further adieu, our first episode covers the question of whether a person can disassociate from the church without disassociating from Christ in some sense:

Pedestrian Saints – Episode 1 – Quitting Christianity

Around 25 minutes

I’ve just finished part one, where Wright shares four areas in our human experience that point to a reality beyond the one we directly know through our five senses.

- the longing for justice
- the quest for spirituality
- the hunger for relationships
- the delight in beauty

He calls each of these an “echo of a voice” that calls from beyond ourselves. None of these prove that God exists, but they open our minds to the possibility that we are indeed known by a God who created us all with similar, God-like desires.

In the introduction, Wright says that his aim is “to describe what Christianity is all about,” for those inside and outside the faith. In part one, he has begun to do just that, laying a foundation for curiosity about God, without using these echoes as some kind of definitive proof.  This approach is a relief after having grown up around the Josh McDowell apologetic approach which “demands a verdict” from the listener, beyond the reach of doubt.  It’s not that McDowell didn’t present a very convincing case, but it left me wondering if this assault of evidences allowed room for faith strong enough to withstand uncertainty.

The shadows of doubt are long, and occasionally reach into every Christian’s soul.  But the four areas above are experienced by every person on this earth at one level or another. When considered all together, they should cause each of us to stop and say,  “Something seems to be going on in the world that is beyond my simple explanations of reality.”

I believe something beyond my five senses is going on in the world, and there are signposts all along the journey that keep me moving down the path, even if they don’t definitively proof what my heart suspects is true.

What does that accomplish?

Instead of bringing people together and creating an environment of authentic exchange, it polarizes people. If drawing a line in the sand is the most important priority, then we are in the business of deciding who is in and who is out of the club. While this creates a strong sense of security among those who make the cut, it also fosters an elitist ethic, or even hostility toward those who are considered outsiders.

Once we experience the comforts of elitism, it doesn’t take long to convince ourselves that our religious aristocracy is endorsed by God. Ironically, this weakens our ability to demonstrate the love of Christ. The thicker we draw our moral lines, the more difficult it is to cross over and share an amiable conversation with those on the other side.

The most damaging result of our moral proclamations to the world is the dangerous potential to distort the gospel from a balm for healing into a weapon for punishment. I don’t mean to say that every preacher who calls abortion a sin is doing this, but ask these questions next time you hear a sermon on any hot moral topic:

Did I walk away with a stronger love for people, no matter how far they’ve walked away from God?

If I compared this to the story of Jesus, the Pharisees, and the woman caught in adultery, who did it sound more like? The Pharisees, prepared to strike her with stones? Or Jesus’ way of protecting her and telling her that she could free of the things that enslaved her?

Perhaps we should rethink how we talk about these issues.

For example, would you talk the same way about homosexuality in a small group which included a young man who was gay but also said that he was a Christian? Would you speak with the same tone? Would you use the same figures of speech if he were sitting right in front of you?

If you sat in a small group which included a single mom who is going to have health insurance for the first rime due to the recent health care bill, would you talk about it in the same way? Would you villanize all those who wanted those bill to pass?

What if you sat in a small group which included a 19-year old who decided on an abortion after getting pregnant and has agonized over the decision she made for the last two years? Would you “make a stand” in that setting?

In 1 Corinthians 2:1-2, Paul tells those at the church in Corinth that when he came to them, he “decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.” No lofty, moral argument would supplant the principal message of Jesus and his life, death, and resurrection.

Yes, there are major moral implications inherent in our faith in Christ, and we are to continually struggle through the difficult questions that come with no easy answers. However, our primary call as the community of Christ-followers is not to make public moral announcements about where we stand. The most important commandment is to love, and when we obey that call, we will begin “making disciples.”

“It’s not you.  It’s me.”

Over the past few weeks I’ve come close to impulsively deactivating my Facebook account. Part of it is all the uproar over their elusive privacy policies. As a self-proclaimed geek, I don’t have any trouble tweaking my settings, but people like my parents will never be able to keep up with privacy changes to their account. It seems that Facebook is taking advantage of that for advertising dollars. But most of my problem with Facebook is really that it’s not a good fit for me.

I’ve gradually reduced my visits to Facebook, and instead of checking in a few times a week, I’m down to a couple times a month. So closing my account is really not that big of a deal. For a while now, all of my status updates have been coming in from Twitter (a much simpler social media tool) where I maintain tons of control over what comes across my feed. But the idea of closing this account brought a few issues to mind for me that I want to continue to examine more closely.

First, I simply can’t keep up with the flood of updates, friend requests, birthdays, old “friends” who come out of the woodwork to find me, and the incessant layout changes. Visiting Facebook only adds to the mental clutter that I am constantly trying to eliminate. Does anyone really know how something ends up in the “Top News” vs. the “Most Recent” feeds? And does it matter? Why am I adding to an already overloaded mental whiteboard with this kind of thing?

Second, I believe Facebook is contributing to a redefinition of “friendship” that dilutes it, causing us to truly connect less. I have 231 “Friends”, many of whom I haven’t spoken to in years, and didn’t really talk to very much then. It’s not that I dislike these people, but I don’t have time to stay in touch, even through an easy medium like Facebook. And as an introvert, there is something psychologically draining about knowing that at any given moment all 231 of these people could easily get in contact with me for a surface conversation about “how things are going.”

Third, I’m seeing this as part of an ongoing effort to simplify my life. Closing my Facebook account fits in with the other things I’ve done lately to simplify:

• Taking walks in the evening.
• Doing yardwork and enjoying it.
• Unsubscribing from an absurd number of email marketing efforts.
• Selling or giving away things we don’t use.
• Resisting the pressure to fill our new house with furniture we don’t really need.
• Staying out of consumer debt.
• Watching less television.

Seeking simplicity is my biggest reason for closing my Facebook account.  I have always had a knack for managing a certain level of chaos. Perhaps that has to do with my upbringing, where my family structure drastically changed every few years starting with my parent’s divorce when I was seven. Or maybe I’m just built for more adaptability than others. However, I have more recently seen the limits of my ability to thrive in chaos.

Thanks to the new found responsibility of helping raise a post-newborn pre-toddler (baby adolescence is such an awkward time), I have had to be more diligent to ask myself the question of what is important and how much can I effectively manage. The answer to that question is different for everyone, but I don’t want to wake up in 20 years still trying to figure out how to simplify life and find a focused direction. Tomorrow’s opportunities are built upon the ones seized today, so waiting around for the clutter and chaos to resolve itself will only result in more of the same.

“Three Rules of Work: Out of clutter find simplicity; From discord find harmony; In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.”
~ Albert Einstein

The Voice is a new translation from Thomas Nelson that uses a screenplay format to present scripture in light of what it truly is: a drama (thank you, N.T. Wright). Though I’ve graduated from seminary, I lack the ability to judge a Bible translation on the basis of how accurate it is to the original languages, so at this point I can only share a personal response that lacks academic scrutiny.

The Voice doesn’t strive to be an in-depth study Bible with pages of study tools. It is simply a reading Bible that allows the reader to focus on the flow of the biblical story. There are some well-placed outlined boxes that give expanded information on passages throughout, but they are non-intrusive and do not interrupt the flow.

The preface states that the vision for this translation is summed up in these four concepts:

Holistic – considers heart, soul, and mind
Beautiful – achieves literary and artistic excellence
Sensitive – respects cultural shifts and the need for accuracy
Balanced – includes theologically diverse writers and scholars

After a relatively short amount of reading, I am convinced that The Voice is all four of these things. Most importantly, it has already renewed my desire to read the Bible again. I foresee this being an important catalyst for launching me back into regular reading and study of the Bible. For that reason alone, it is worth having alongside other translations in your library.

Click here to buy from Amazon.com.

My previous post was a review of N.D. Wilson’s excellent book, Notes From the Tilt-A-Whirl. While I enjoyed the book as a whole, I would have addressed the problem of evil in a different way.

Wilson used art as a metaphor to understand why there is darkness in God’s world. He talked about the necessity of both shadow and darkness in a good painting, otherwise you end up with something that has no depth or color. Without black, you are left with a perfectly white painting, and perfectly blank.

In the same way, he says that when we see the shadows of life, we must understand that the painting of reality is a potpourri of shadow and light, resulting ultimately in beauty.

Wilson also makes an appeal to our limited perspective. Because our perspective is limited, we simply have to accept that this is the best of all possible worlds (for now):

If we live in art, struggling in the boundary between the shadow and the light, how can we begin to judge? How can we presume to talk about a better painting, a better novel, when we only see a single line, a single page, and it brings us grief?

I think we can talk about a better painting because God has given us glimpses into a what that looks like. Will the new heavens and the new earth be a lesser work of art because there will be “no more tears”?  The analogy breaks down badly at this point.

The scriptures are filled with tradgedy and pain and our lives hold potential to have horrible suffering that can’t be explained.  But there will be beauty in the end, and God will crush such evils under his feet–in fact, he is already active in doing that now and invites our participation.

For me, the problem of evil in the world is not about just wanting my own position “a little more comfortable.” When I struggle with it, I’m not thinking of the aches and pains my body carries around with it every day.  I’m thinking of the most horrific evils in the world and how they can be permitted to happen when God is perfectly good and powerful.

I cannot brush off the fact that children are sold as sex slaves by saying that my perception is limited, and if I could just see things from a higher view it would make sense. I’m not convinced that such evils can make sense. Perhaps the better answer is that we are supposed to struggle with them and not just accept them as a part of a larger tapestry that will look beautiful in the end.

Perhaps our hope in the face of such evils is that God has invited us to participate with him to set captives free and “let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream” (Amos 5:24).

Notes From the Tilt-A-Whirl was an excellent book, thanks to N.D. Wilson’s ability to describe everyday life events with an eye for the divine. Once I finished reading it, I was inclined to again take a careful look at the ordinary in search of the extra-ordinary.

Wilson’s writing style is captivating and he takes you on a journey that is full of imaginative imagery and captivating metaphor.  In fact, there were times that I was so absorbed by his descriptive and creative language that I forgot to try and figure out where he was trying to go. This characteristic, which I consider a quality, may be to others a flaw. Be aware that you have to have some tolerance for randomness.

However, I don’t think he was trying to be random. If you read carefully, you’ll follow the lines and recognize how he gets from one thing to another to reach his destination.

Much of the book is an invitation to snap out of our small-minded view of the world and to see it as a playground built by God for his glory and enjoyment, a place that is brimming with all of God’s characteristics:

You are on your porch. Look at the blue sky.

God, am I going to get this sale today? The commission would pay for a boat.

Look at this squirrel, He says. Do you understand it? Do you know what it means? What does it tell you about me? Watch its tail snap. You’re the only one watching. You and I are alone in the audience sharing this scene. What does it remind you of?

I need this sale.

There’s an ant on your shoe. It’s a good ant. Last spring it turned the tide in the great Sidewalk Crack War of D Street. One of its grandfathers traveled half a mile with Louis and Clark. Did you know that today it dies? That you are its death?

I wish I had a new car. Hyundais are lame.

Wilson’s message in the book is an important one: God is trying to get through to us while we are busy chasing red herrings.

The only thing I did not appreciate about this book was how he handled the problem of evil. I was grateful for the way he helped us understand that we don’t know all there is to know about the cosmos. We don’t have God’s perspective and our view of things is fatally limited. However, when presenting this point he tended to belittle the pain of coming face to face with horrific personal tragedy.

I’ll discuss that part of the book’s message in my next post, because it’s a question that deserves some space to be talked through.

Overall, I recommend Notes From the Tilt-A-Whirl, and think you will enjoy the ride, unless roller coasters make you puke. Even then, it may provide a healthy dose of enjoyment that will make it worth the dizzy feeling that may follow.

“I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.”
~ From Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech

Today we celebrate the life and work of Martin Luther King, Jr., one of my favorite figures from our country’s history.  His legacy resounds with me for two reasons.

He addressed the glaring issue of racism, knowing that it would invite fierce opposition. We don’t like to acknowledge how deeply racism has scarred American history, but there have been many injustices small and great, based solely on the color of skin. King stepped in and began to dig up what had become very hardened ground in the hearts of American citizens, and he did so with a courage that few possessed.

Second, he motivated us to envision and strive for a different kind of America. King’s challenge remains strong today: release your lazy intellectual stereotypes. Start looking at people as individuals, instead of categorizing them based on superficial standards.

Racism is much easier than love. If I can group a person into a class and label that entire class, I no longer have to decide how to love them. It’s automatic. We say, “Oh, she’s one of those people,” and move on. No thought or effort required.

I appreciate the way King’s message pushed all of us, regardless of skin color, to take the hard path of love, to rise out of our stereotypes, and to begin to see each other as people bathed in the image of God.

Take 18 minutes this week to watch King’s “I Have a Dream” speech, and consider again how we can make that dream our own.

the ruins of a children's hospital in Haiti

It was sad to read about the earthquake devastation in Haiti, especially in light of their extreme poverty.

Every time one of these massive natural disasters occur, I ask the same question about creation: Is it chaos? Or is it beauty? Are those two descriptors sufficient?

It probably is an oversimplification to think of God’s world in only those terms, but Creation is, at the very least, an expression of both.

As for chaos, just take a look at the aftermath of the earthquake…  Or the last couple of Tsunamis in southeast Asia…  Or the last big hurricane to hit the USA… Or the famine in one of many areas in Africa. Does that look like order and design to you? If so, you have found a way to see natural disasters with a set of lenses that I do not have.

Some preachers (of what?) try to attribute order and purpose to these catastrophes using big words they don’t understand, like “judgement” and “sin.”  For example, Pat Robertson’s response to the earthquake in Haiti was to say that this was a result of a pact that Haiti made with the Devil.

Really, Pat? Are you that desperate to explain this?  Are you that afraid of not having an answer when natural disasters occur?

It makes us uncomfortable to look these disasters in the face because chaos scares us. We insist on some explanation, any explanation, to take away the uncertainty.  The sad truth is that many will accept Robertson’s explanation, simply because they cannot come up with anything better.

So where does beauty come in?

Of course we can look at a sunset on the beach, a night sky full of stars, or the work of a thousand ants on a pile of dirt and see God’s beauty.  But how can we possibly see that when we look at disaster?

I think the answer to the question of beauty lies in God’s work of redemption, starting with the cross of Christ. Jesus stepped into chaos and took the worst of it upon himself.

Romans 8 says that “the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.” Paul goes on to say that creation has been “groaning” for redemption.

If we are Christ-ones, and his work is one of restoration and redemption, then perhaps beauty can only be seen in the chaos whenever we respond and enter into the pain of others and offer the active love of Christ.

Ever been on a mission trip and gave your relatively small effort for a week to repair a hole in a roof? Ever been approached by a homeless guy who didn’t ask for money this time, but instead wanted to know why life was so hard? Ever been to a funeral and had that awkward moment when you didn’t know what to say, standing beside a grieving friend?

Beauty is Christ alive in our simple, two-bit offerings at those moments and hundreds others just like them.

How beautiful upon the mountains
are the feet of him who brings good news,
who publishes peace, who brings good news of happiness,
who publishes salvation,
who says to Zion, “Your God reigns.”
~ Isaiah 52:7

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(World Vision, The Red Cross, and many other organizations will be counting on our support to bring order, restoration, and even beauty to Haiti in the weeks and months ahead.  Donate at their web sites if you can.)

But before jumping ahead to next year’s goals and dreams, I wanna look back on the top five events of 2009 and what I’ve learned from each one. I know this is a bit cliché, but it has been a year worth reflection.

Numero Uno – The Birth of Jude and Parental Whiplash

Typically, a top five list should count down to number one, to build suspense. However, most of you already know what the big one is, so I’ll start with the one event that has changed us more than anything we can think of: The birth of our son Jude on July 8.

It’s funny to think back on our conversations as we predicted what life would be like with a new baby.  Our only visions were of bliss. Sure we heard it was hard work and that it would change our life forever, but for some reason we didn’t prepare ourselves for how difficult it would be. I’ve decided to name this naiveté: Parental Whiplash.

We were not ready. Yes, we read about and studied a variety of parenting methods.  We learned about more natural and instinctive ways of caring for a baby. And we continued to eat organic foods (cause that’s how we roll). As good as all that preparation was, it couldn’t prepare us for the 8 weeks of colic that followed.  We loved Jude with all our hearts, but at the end of it we had truly reached the end of ourselves.

Through those weeks, I re-discovered that the storehouse of my human resources is a wasteland compared to the magnitude of strength and wisdom of God that he offers so freely to those who ask.  I’ll always enjoy learning, but in all circumstances God is ready and able to go way beyond what I have learned.

Deuce – Discovering St. Bartholomew’s Church

We started attending St. Bartholomew’s Church in January of 2009, mostly as a curiousity.  Krista had encouraged it for some time, and we were in a place of wandering and wondering if we would ever find a church home that seemed like a fit.  We had no idea that the Anglican Experiment would end up as the exact thing we were looking for.

For reasons I’ve already stated and for some that I’m still sorting through, we love our church home.  It certainly caught us off guard, and was the best surprise of the year.

I suppose the biggest thing I’ve learned out of this is that no matter how well I think I’ve been able to keep God out of a box, he continues to show me where I have put divine expectations and boundaries up where none should be. He is the God of Being-Too-Big-for-Boxes (is there a Hebrew word for that?).

Number Next – Old Friends and New Ones

I realize that this could apply every year, but when you introduce a first child into the mix, it can mean newfound weirdness with your friends.  I can’t completely explain it, but I’ve heard this from a few different people. However, I’m grateful for old friends and new ones who have not missed a beat and have continued to reach out to us, even in strange times such as these.

The lesson for me? True friendship is worth the hard work that it sometimes takes.
(Disclaimer: this does not mean that I’m seeking more “Friend Recommendations” on Facebook. Stand down, ye extroverts.)

Fourth - Our New House

Our new house takes the fourth slot in the top 5.  We love the house and the neighborhood, and we look forward to seeing Jude grow up here.

As anyone who has bought a new house learns, we discovered that having a lot of money in savings was a really good idea, since the second you get the keys, the wall of the house turn into money magnets.

Ultimo  - U2 in Concert

I love the fact that I’ll get to tell my son that I saw U2 in concert twice (at least). The concert in Atlanta back in October was a great show, and though I had a great time with Brian, I do wish that Krista could have come.  She’s still yet to see them live. I hope another tour comes this way for her sake!

What did I learn at the U2 show? These guys are not even close to being too old, which became obvious about halfway through their main set when they rocked “Elevation” like a bunch of 20 year olds.

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Happy New Year to all… Tomorrow comes with new beginnings, if you so choose to have such hope.