So, I'm in the changeroom at the Y the other day and I strike up a conversation with another man, a Sikh, who, like me, has the look of having just gone through the ringer from his workout.
I said to him, "still not getting any easier, eh?" to which he replies, "god says, 'no pain, no gain." I mumbled back something and later think of what I wish I would have said. What strikes me about our conversation as it continues, is the ease with which he continues to quote one whom he refers to as 'god.' I wanted to respond with "God says...." and pepper my conversation contributions with Bible quotes, but I didn't. For a reason.
The reason is this: I wonder if a Christian talking overtly about God and the Bible opens or closes ears. I wonder if, given the historical place of Christianity in North America, if we haven't already had our chance to be direct about our faith and that our mismanagement of the spoken and lived Gospel Commission hasn't created the effect of closed ears, or at least the reflex to close them.
A moose's long nose is called a 'proboscus' and a moose has the rare ability to voluntarily close his nostrils when she sticks her proboscus in the water. Sometimes, I wonder if non-Christians don't have a built in proboscian reflex to shut their ears whenever they find themselves in Christian 'water.'
So, there I was, listening to a Sikh quote 'god' while my assumptions had me keeping my mouth mostly shut, and just listening.
At first, this seems like a strategic evangelistic loss. Score one point for the Sikh and not even a shot on net for the Christian. Except, if the Sikh weren't seeking, his proboscian ears were shut to my Christian quotes anyway. And, if he were seeking, a Sikh seeker, the Holy Spirit would have prompted him to ask about God and my perspective, especially when he saw me put a cross necklace around my neck at the conclusion of getting dressed. But he didn't.
What did I learn?
In baseball, when the batter sees a pitch coming and looking like it will come across the plate and begins to swing but stops, the first base umpire decides whether he made a full stop or not and if he didn't, then the batter is charged with a strike.
I learned that when you listen to a Sikh who gives evidence of not being a Seeker, and you don't swing, er, quote God to match his god quote, then you don't get charged with a strike.
And, if I am patient enough with the non-strikes, I may just get on base on balls.
So, what would you have done, or said, and why?
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Beyond the Welcome
I went to a workshop today: "Beyond the Welcome" based on research done through Tyndale and World Vision to help local churches meaningfully include new immigrants into their communities. Great stuff! The speaker was a familiar face, Bill van Geest, husband of one of Carol's teaching colleagues in Rexdale from the late '80's. The topic was an important one and, as I thought about it in terms of the congregation I (normally) lead and serve, Maranatha, a perfectly culturally appropriate one.
Maranatha was founded by immigrants. In the 1950's, they were the new Canadians. I wouldn't be surprised if some of the other Canadians in Galt wouldn't have told what they thought were jokes about these Dutch immigrants: the way they talked, and the curious habits they had. And so, the Dutch immigrant community did what was not only theologically but socially relevant for them: they clustered together, formed a community, and slowly opened their doors and habits to invite others in. Today, Maranatha is a fantastic community of people who love God, know Christ, depend on the Spirit, and are looking for ways to meaningfully express God's care to the city in which we live. In other words, Maranatha is perfectly poised to welcome the new Canadian, rather than tell jokes about or exclude them.
New Canadians today face the same challenges which many of Maranatha's founding members faced: skill sets which don't necessarily transfer, some levels of economic scarcity, lack of domestic education, and a bit of a generational gap as their children feel more at home in the new country than the parents do. While the adults of an immigrant generation tend to want to cluster, the children or next generation want to integrate.
Now, let me introduce you to Zlata. I met this Yugoslavian immigrant at the Library today. She came 40 years ago, and remembers just how much of a challenge Canada can be to new Canadians, because our culture tends to encourage the segregation of people into pockets of culture of origin rather than to stimulate integration of non-like-minded people. But, says Zlata, things are changing. As a Librarian, she has seen a massive shift at the Queen's Square library in terms of two items in particular: books and resources for learning languages, and books on ethnic cooking. She felt that Cambridge residents are increasingly and rapidly looking for ways to actually integrate, to do something which previous generations did not do, and the effects on library lending in these areas are dramatic. She pointed out resources the Library has which I had no idea existed -- especially the online resources, for borrowing e-books, audio books, language learning tools, and so on. I think I'll have more conversations with Zlata about how I can use these tools. She said she had a hard time getting the word out about them and that many don't know they exist. I told her I would write about this in my blog, read by about 60 people per day.
anyway,
As Zlata and I stood and talked for 30 minutes in the library (remember when you couldn't talk in the library? -- now I was talking with a Librarian in a Library) she shared with me how she felt that people really just need a sense of place. I told her that I had been to a conference that morning about how local churches can and should be places where new Canadians can experience a welcome and a sense of place. She said that would be great.
What do you say?
Maranatha was founded by immigrants. In the 1950's, they were the new Canadians. I wouldn't be surprised if some of the other Canadians in Galt wouldn't have told what they thought were jokes about these Dutch immigrants: the way they talked, and the curious habits they had. And so, the Dutch immigrant community did what was not only theologically but socially relevant for them: they clustered together, formed a community, and slowly opened their doors and habits to invite others in. Today, Maranatha is a fantastic community of people who love God, know Christ, depend on the Spirit, and are looking for ways to meaningfully express God's care to the city in which we live. In other words, Maranatha is perfectly poised to welcome the new Canadian, rather than tell jokes about or exclude them.
New Canadians today face the same challenges which many of Maranatha's founding members faced: skill sets which don't necessarily transfer, some levels of economic scarcity, lack of domestic education, and a bit of a generational gap as their children feel more at home in the new country than the parents do. While the adults of an immigrant generation tend to want to cluster, the children or next generation want to integrate.
Now, let me introduce you to Zlata. I met this Yugoslavian immigrant at the Library today. She came 40 years ago, and remembers just how much of a challenge Canada can be to new Canadians, because our culture tends to encourage the segregation of people into pockets of culture of origin rather than to stimulate integration of non-like-minded people. But, says Zlata, things are changing. As a Librarian, she has seen a massive shift at the Queen's Square library in terms of two items in particular: books and resources for learning languages, and books on ethnic cooking. She felt that Cambridge residents are increasingly and rapidly looking for ways to actually integrate, to do something which previous generations did not do, and the effects on library lending in these areas are dramatic. She pointed out resources the Library has which I had no idea existed -- especially the online resources, for borrowing e-books, audio books, language learning tools, and so on. I think I'll have more conversations with Zlata about how I can use these tools. She said she had a hard time getting the word out about them and that many don't know they exist. I told her I would write about this in my blog, read by about 60 people per day.
anyway,
As Zlata and I stood and talked for 30 minutes in the library (remember when you couldn't talk in the library? -- now I was talking with a Librarian in a Library) she shared with me how she felt that people really just need a sense of place. I told her that I had been to a conference that morning about how local churches can and should be places where new Canadians can experience a welcome and a sense of place. She said that would be great.
What do you say?
Sunday, April 10, 2011
AFTER LIFE
The priest at St. Ambrose said it so plainly in his homily this morning: "We live in a time when many teach that there is no afterlife." I have no idea what he said after that, because in that moment the little word "afterlife" split in two -- "AFTER LIFE" -- and my thoughts raced all over the place. I wouldn't be surprised if, in my preaching, listeners have this same experience of having their moments of ignoring my sermon to be the most effective in their life. Perhaps, from here on in, I will view the inattention of sermon listeners in a much more positive light. But that's a blog for a different day. Today, back to the "AFTER LIFE."
AFTER LIFE. You've heard the analogy of the plane passenger who was setting up the perfect environment in his seat, pillows, blankets, pictures of his loved ones, everything just so, and then was shocked and saddened and angry when the plane landed and he was told to give up his comfy place. One day, for each of us, the plane of life lands, and we need to get off. This life is the much briefer and smaller journey to the place that is really our home. One day, when Jesus returns, our plane will land.
Two weeks ago was Corrie's funeral. I am confident that today, she is enjoying this time, AFTER LIFE, with even more spunk, zeal, and joy than she demonstrated in her earthly life. And that's saying a lot. This past Thursday was my aunt's funeral. She was just 60 years old. The minister in Dunnville reminded everyone there that Geesje's earthly pains were done and that she was now at perfect peace. Her AFTER LIFE was secure, as the minister's text reminded her, "You lead me with your counsel and afterward take me to glory."
The priest at St. Ambrose was right, we do live in a time when many teach that there is no afterlife. I am glad that Geesje and Corry and many others know otherwise.
I had breakfast with a teen a few weeks back and told the teen that I had talked to a man in our church, Herb, about his being ready for death, which he very much is. The teen replied, "that's kind of awkward." I asked, "What?" She said, "Talking about death." And from there we had a mostly one-sided and at best slightly helpful conversation about the reality of death and 'AFTER LIFE.' She knows there is an afterlife, but it is a 'back burner' issue, not one she is interested in exploring, right now.
I talked to a neighbor this week. His mom is dying, and, in the midst of dealing with this news, his dog had to be put down. Too much death. And not enough peace, in the absence of clinging assuredly to the hope of the resurrection, (for his mom, I'd rather not get into the debate about dogs in heaven, I'll leave that to the people who make cartoons).
This past Friday night at Gerry Martiniuk's retirement party, Greg Desrochers closed off the evening by tributing Gerry with these words: "May you enjoy much success, health, and happiness, what more could we ask for?" While I am thankful for Gerry's selfless leadership for our region and also wish him well in his retirement, I could think of something more to ask for -- comfort in life and in death. Because the next big gathering for most of us after our retirements, is our funeral, and unless we are ready for the AFTER LIFE, all of that is just a really bad ending to an otherwise happy life.
As I was writing this blog, I was interrupted by a phone call from Herb's daughter, Geri. Herb has died. His life is over. I am glad for the certain knowledge and comfort he had and which he shared with me and with his family. On this morning while Christians around the globe gather at churches to experience the presence of God and to hear his voice, my friend, Herb DeVos is in AFTER LIFE, experiencing the presence and hearing the voice, no longer dimly but face to face.
At Herb's funeral this week, it will be easy to give testimony to his certain hope. The challenge, for all of us as we meet our neighbor's at the curb,have conversations with teens, and talk to non-Christians around town, whether at retirement dinners or funerals is this: "How do we communicate the reality of AFTER LIFE in a culture which actively teaches otherwise?"
And, as I tuned back in to the priest at the end of his message this morning, he was asking the same question.
AFTER LIFE. You've heard the analogy of the plane passenger who was setting up the perfect environment in his seat, pillows, blankets, pictures of his loved ones, everything just so, and then was shocked and saddened and angry when the plane landed and he was told to give up his comfy place. One day, for each of us, the plane of life lands, and we need to get off. This life is the much briefer and smaller journey to the place that is really our home. One day, when Jesus returns, our plane will land.
Two weeks ago was Corrie's funeral. I am confident that today, she is enjoying this time, AFTER LIFE, with even more spunk, zeal, and joy than she demonstrated in her earthly life. And that's saying a lot. This past Thursday was my aunt's funeral. She was just 60 years old. The minister in Dunnville reminded everyone there that Geesje's earthly pains were done and that she was now at perfect peace. Her AFTER LIFE was secure, as the minister's text reminded her, "You lead me with your counsel and afterward take me to glory."
The priest at St. Ambrose was right, we do live in a time when many teach that there is no afterlife. I am glad that Geesje and Corry and many others know otherwise.
I had breakfast with a teen a few weeks back and told the teen that I had talked to a man in our church, Herb, about his being ready for death, which he very much is. The teen replied, "that's kind of awkward." I asked, "What?" She said, "Talking about death." And from there we had a mostly one-sided and at best slightly helpful conversation about the reality of death and 'AFTER LIFE.' She knows there is an afterlife, but it is a 'back burner' issue, not one she is interested in exploring, right now.
I talked to a neighbor this week. His mom is dying, and, in the midst of dealing with this news, his dog had to be put down. Too much death. And not enough peace, in the absence of clinging assuredly to the hope of the resurrection, (for his mom, I'd rather not get into the debate about dogs in heaven, I'll leave that to the people who make cartoons).
This past Friday night at Gerry Martiniuk's retirement party, Greg Desrochers closed off the evening by tributing Gerry with these words: "May you enjoy much success, health, and happiness, what more could we ask for?" While I am thankful for Gerry's selfless leadership for our region and also wish him well in his retirement, I could think of something more to ask for -- comfort in life and in death. Because the next big gathering for most of us after our retirements, is our funeral, and unless we are ready for the AFTER LIFE, all of that is just a really bad ending to an otherwise happy life.
As I was writing this blog, I was interrupted by a phone call from Herb's daughter, Geri. Herb has died. His life is over. I am glad for the certain knowledge and comfort he had and which he shared with me and with his family. On this morning while Christians around the globe gather at churches to experience the presence of God and to hear his voice, my friend, Herb DeVos is in AFTER LIFE, experiencing the presence and hearing the voice, no longer dimly but face to face.
At Herb's funeral this week, it will be easy to give testimony to his certain hope. The challenge, for all of us as we meet our neighbor's at the curb,have conversations with teens, and talk to non-Christians around town, whether at retirement dinners or funerals is this: "How do we communicate the reality of AFTER LIFE in a culture which actively teaches otherwise?"
And, as I tuned back in to the priest at the end of his message this morning, he was asking the same question.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Almost at the Pinnacle
Over the last week or so, Carol and I have begun making preparations for a trip to Greece and Turkey to follow in the footsteps of Paul through Ephesus, Philippi, Thessalonica, Berea, Corinth, and of course, Athens. Plus a little side trip to Patmos where John wrote Revelation.
Just like many who go on these 'once in a lifetime' trips, we are doing lots of reading and watching of videos from the Lonely Planet, Frommers, Fodors, and Rick Steve's section of the library. As I was watching a video of footage from around Athens, the location of the Areopagus struck me like never before.
The Areopagus (sometimes also called Mars Hill) was that place in Athens where the Apostle Paul preached to the philosophers, sharing the message of Jesus and contextualizing it in the culture and philosophy of the day. The Areopagus was an outcropping of rock just below the summit, almost at the pinnacle of the Acropolis, that hulking rock mountain in the middle of Athens upon which sits the Parthenon, the ancient Greek temple dedicated to Athena, the goddess of wisdom.
In Paul's day, on the heels of Athen's 'Golden Age' (ok, 500 years after, but the heel-marks were still there) the learned men of Athens were beginning to wane in their religious impulses for Athena, the goddess of wisdom as they began to assert themselves in their 'almost at the pinnacle' Areopagus for their own wisdom. There are parallels to Babel here, as the people, proud of the own accomplishments, assert themselves and lose their religious impulses. And there are parallels to Cambridge. Our 'Golden Age' wasn't 500 years ago, but there is a proud heritage of hard work, faith and patriotism in our town. And it's waning.
In our day, as Cambridge's proud heritage gives way to 'something else' we see people all around us searching for something more in all sorts of ways, almost at the pinnacle, but yet hanging out on a rocky outcropping. Kind of like the Areopagus.
As we make our plans to go to Athens, we notice the prominence of the Parthenon and the Acropolis in every guide-book we read, but the Areopagus gets barely a mention anywhere. Pinnacles get remembered, second-place remains just that.
Back to Cambridge, and this starts with you and me: Are you focussed on the pinnacle or the rocky outcroppings in your life? Put another way, as Psalm 18 and 62 remind us, God is the Rock. Paul was, which allowed him to visit rocky outcroppings like the Areopagus and point people beyond the simple summit of the Acropolis and Athena and Athen's 'Golden Age' to the True Pinnacle. Today, there are about 100,000 others sharing Cambridge with us who are all created with an impulse to reach the True Pinnacle. Problem is that the rocky outcroppings -- wealth, wisdom, health, sports, politics, the arts, community life -- often disguise themselves as the pinnacle and our fellow citizens get stuck there. They have smiles on their faces, sometimes, but they lack the 'comfort in life and in death' that many of us have deep in our core.
'Almost at the pinnacle' wasn't enough for Paul when he saw Athens. He wasn't content to leave the philosophers as they were on the rocky outcropping of the Areopagus. And because he followed the impulses of the Spirit and spoke into that, authentically, at least two folks -- Dionysius and Damaris -- went from rocky outcropping to 'the Rock'.
As you venture through your city today, I invite you to notice the rocky outcroppings and the Pinnacle and to look and pray for ways to speak and act authentically about the Rock in whom you have found comfort in life and in death.
Just like many who go on these 'once in a lifetime' trips, we are doing lots of reading and watching of videos from the Lonely Planet, Frommers, Fodors, and Rick Steve's section of the library. As I was watching a video of footage from around Athens, the location of the Areopagus struck me like never before.
The Areopagus (sometimes also called Mars Hill) was that place in Athens where the Apostle Paul preached to the philosophers, sharing the message of Jesus and contextualizing it in the culture and philosophy of the day. The Areopagus was an outcropping of rock just below the summit, almost at the pinnacle of the Acropolis, that hulking rock mountain in the middle of Athens upon which sits the Parthenon, the ancient Greek temple dedicated to Athena, the goddess of wisdom.
In Paul's day, on the heels of Athen's 'Golden Age' (ok, 500 years after, but the heel-marks were still there) the learned men of Athens were beginning to wane in their religious impulses for Athena, the goddess of wisdom as they began to assert themselves in their 'almost at the pinnacle' Areopagus for their own wisdom. There are parallels to Babel here, as the people, proud of the own accomplishments, assert themselves and lose their religious impulses. And there are parallels to Cambridge. Our 'Golden Age' wasn't 500 years ago, but there is a proud heritage of hard work, faith and patriotism in our town. And it's waning.
In our day, as Cambridge's proud heritage gives way to 'something else' we see people all around us searching for something more in all sorts of ways, almost at the pinnacle, but yet hanging out on a rocky outcropping. Kind of like the Areopagus.
As we make our plans to go to Athens, we notice the prominence of the Parthenon and the Acropolis in every guide-book we read, but the Areopagus gets barely a mention anywhere. Pinnacles get remembered, second-place remains just that.
Back to Cambridge, and this starts with you and me: Are you focussed on the pinnacle or the rocky outcroppings in your life? Put another way, as Psalm 18 and 62 remind us, God is the Rock. Paul was, which allowed him to visit rocky outcroppings like the Areopagus and point people beyond the simple summit of the Acropolis and Athena and Athen's 'Golden Age' to the True Pinnacle. Today, there are about 100,000 others sharing Cambridge with us who are all created with an impulse to reach the True Pinnacle. Problem is that the rocky outcroppings -- wealth, wisdom, health, sports, politics, the arts, community life -- often disguise themselves as the pinnacle and our fellow citizens get stuck there. They have smiles on their faces, sometimes, but they lack the 'comfort in life and in death' that many of us have deep in our core.
'Almost at the pinnacle' wasn't enough for Paul when he saw Athens. He wasn't content to leave the philosophers as they were on the rocky outcropping of the Areopagus. And because he followed the impulses of the Spirit and spoke into that, authentically, at least two folks -- Dionysius and Damaris -- went from rocky outcropping to 'the Rock'.
As you venture through your city today, I invite you to notice the rocky outcroppings and the Pinnacle and to look and pray for ways to speak and act authentically about the Rock in whom you have found comfort in life and in death.
Interruptions
Listening to a couple of folks I respect this week -- John Perkins and Shane Claiborne. For a number of reasons, they have both convinced me that they have an idea of what it means to follow Jesus in a post-Christian culture. I remember hearing them speak together at the CCDA (Christian Community Development Association) conference in New Orleans in 2003. Inspiring stuff.
Anyway, I've been listening to them on CD this week and they've been speaking about the importance of 'interruptions.' They suggest, and my experience and instinct immediately agree, that quite often what we view as an interruption is actually an opportunity in a couple of ways. Interruptions are opportunities for us to let go of the stranglehold we have on our schedules (or, ironically, the strangleholds our schedules have on us); and, interruptions are opportunities for us to welcome the appointments God has in mind for us to over-ride the importance of our own pre-planned appointments. John and Shane point out that Jesus allowed the interruptions to dictate his schedule. In fact, it was in the interruptions of Jesus' 'plan' that the ministry was done: a trip to preach in the Gerasenes turns into an opportunity to drive out demons; a trip to a well for water is interrupted by a truly thirsty woman drawing water at noon; Nicodemus literally showing up at night when most preacher's office hours would be long done; inviting interrupting children onto his lap to tell the disciples that this is really whom the Kingdom is for. Jesus demonstrated that our response to the 'interruptions' of life define what our true purpose is.
Which makes me think of my 'ventures' around Cambridge over the last month. As I've been working on reenacting some of Paul's activities in Athens, I've been looking for people to talk to and I've had some success with that -- the guy at the auction who was building his 'dream house', the soccer parents we had over for pizza, and the Hindu businessman who was working to make his workplace a heaven on earth, to name a few. My guess though, and this goes for any Christian in any city, is that the 'ventures' we ALL have with the 'Dionysiuses and Damarises of the world' aren't so much the ones we look for as much as the ones who 'interrupt' us.
Anyway, I've been listening to them on CD this week and they've been speaking about the importance of 'interruptions.' They suggest, and my experience and instinct immediately agree, that quite often what we view as an interruption is actually an opportunity in a couple of ways. Interruptions are opportunities for us to let go of the stranglehold we have on our schedules (or, ironically, the strangleholds our schedules have on us); and, interruptions are opportunities for us to welcome the appointments God has in mind for us to over-ride the importance of our own pre-planned appointments. John and Shane point out that Jesus allowed the interruptions to dictate his schedule. In fact, it was in the interruptions of Jesus' 'plan' that the ministry was done: a trip to preach in the Gerasenes turns into an opportunity to drive out demons; a trip to a well for water is interrupted by a truly thirsty woman drawing water at noon; Nicodemus literally showing up at night when most preacher's office hours would be long done; inviting interrupting children onto his lap to tell the disciples that this is really whom the Kingdom is for. Jesus demonstrated that our response to the 'interruptions' of life define what our true purpose is.
Which makes me think of my 'ventures' around Cambridge over the last month. As I've been working on reenacting some of Paul's activities in Athens, I've been looking for people to talk to and I've had some success with that -- the guy at the auction who was building his 'dream house', the soccer parents we had over for pizza, and the Hindu businessman who was working to make his workplace a heaven on earth, to name a few. My guess though, and this goes for any Christian in any city, is that the 'ventures' we ALL have with the 'Dionysiuses and Damarises of the world' aren't so much the ones we look for as much as the ones who 'interrupt' us.
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