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If people like Pete Rollins, Chris Haw, Karen Sloan and a bunch of neo-monastics are your kind of people, you need to go to the Peace by Piece conference in two weeks.  It’s incredibly affordable, and you can find cheap fares on Southwest if you’re anywhere nearby.  I’m really looking forward to my time there, eager to hear from small communities doing the kind of quietly noble things that get few headlines but churn out a remarkable amount of justice, peace, grace, and other such gifts.   I’m also really excited about experiencing VOID, an experimental faith collective (similar to Pete’s IKON community in Ireland) located in Waco and facilitated by my friend Adam.

I’ll be offering up some thoughts of my own in two sessions- one on managing conflict and practicing peace in community, and another on doing sustainable justice in small faith communities.  Otherwise I’ll be scribbling notes and soaking up some fresh perspectives on how to go about the daily work of guiding a group of Jesus followers- and trying to live like one.

So what are you waiting for?  Go register, come meet new people, and come hear stories of hope from the front lines.

We’ve been discussing the Didache at Journey, and last night we had an interesting conversation about the verse “Abstain from fleshly and bodily lusts” (1:4).  I know-  you think you can guess what follows this.  But you’d be wrong.  Here’s what the Didache says immediately following that verse:  ”If someone strikes your right cheek, turn the other also, and be perfect.  If someone forces you to go one mile, go two.  If someone takes your cloak, give also your coat.  If someone takes from you what is yours, don’t ask for it back.  You really cannot.”

Leave it to the early church to remind us that retaliation, violence, hoarding and greed are “fleshly and bodily lusts” unbecoming to Jesus followers.

Another strand of our conversation came around the idea of these “forces” of discord, conflict, ungraciousness being described in a way that one of our community members, Misty, called “primal.”  We are like tigers crouching, eager to pounce in our attempt to gain power or control over any number of things.  One look through the headlines and in our own mirrors and this sounds about right.

Just to balance that sobering reality with a little hope (you know me, I’m in the hope business), here’s another thing about us that is primal:  altruism.  My husband forwarded this NY Times article to me and I found it quite fascinating.  Here’s a snippet:

Brain scans by neuroscientists confirm that altruism carries its own rewards. A team including Dr. Jorge Moll of the National Institutes of Health found that when a research subject was encouraged to think of giving money to a charity, parts of the brain lit up that are normally associated with selfish pleasures like eating or sex.

The implication is that we are hard-wired to be altruistic.

Of course, I attribute this to being created in the image of an altruistic God.  This doesn’t mean that we still don’t have struggles with the crouching power-hungry tiger that often lives inside of us, but it does mean that we are absolutely capable of choosing, in the Didache’s words, the way of life.  And wouldn’t you know it- we are even happier when we do so.

Every once in a while, when I’m doing something I do regularly, I’ll have this moment where I realize how strange and odd it is that I am doing it.  This morning it happened in yoga class.  I go there every week.  I’ve practiced yoga for years.  But today, for whatever reason, I was sitting there exhaling (you know, when you make the noise that shows you are exhaling properly and it sounds a little like ghosts screaming at a low pitch), in a group of forty people I don’t know, wearing minimalist clothing, and I thought, “This is absolutely the craziest thing.”  And yet, that is what makes yoga class worthwhile.  I might do sun salutations at home by myself, but no home exercise routine will ever match the one I have when I sweat alongside strangers for ninety minutes once a week.  There is something categorically different in the way I practice just by choosing to do this very weird thing of practicing in front of mirrors with other people.

Sometimes, my husband will be sitting on the couch in the evening and he will look at my dog and then look at me and say, “Seriously- we have a small furry animal who lives in our house.”  That has nothing to do with yoga, or church.  But isn’t it true?  Who thought of such a thing?!  And yet, we love having strange animals creeping around our house.  We think nothing of it.  You may let your pet sleep in your bed- your BED!  Furry animal who used to live in the wild long ago- snuggled up against you and shedding their furry hair onto your sheets.  And you don’t even bat an eye.

I feel this weirdness sometimes while singing at Journey on Sunday nights.  Think about it- you are sitting in a room with people singing songs about faith and God and other important things about life.  Together.  Out loud.  Even if you have a bad voice.  And nobody thinks it’s weird.  People don’t normally sing together like that from day to day.  Aside from concerts or the occasional flash mob, we don’t find it normal for people to just start singing aloud together en masse.

And when do we ever go around reciting the same words together like we do when we pray together? (Maybe taking the Pledge of Allegiance as a child? Or that oath of sportsmanship my son says before he plays soccer?)  At any rate, these are weird things people do in groups- things that otherwise would be noticeably strange, but have become routine and ordinary for our communal life together.

I have friends who believe these things are strange enough as to not be worth their time any longer.  One time a friend said to me, “I don’t need to sing with people I don’t know to follow God.”  I can see her point.  But I can also see the point of doing weird things in groups.  Whatever dynamic it creates is powerful enough to pull me to yoga class and our community gatherings every Sunday.  Being together changes the way I practice my yoga as well as my faith.  Something happens when I join the chorus of ghost-hums with strangers around me while in a pose.  I get stronger, I can hold the pose longer, I can push a little more.  Something happens when we cobble our voices together into the air on Sunday nights and dip our little bits of bread into the same cup and place our hands on people while closing our eyes and talking out loud to a God we can’t see.  Something happens when we all grab hands (weird!) and stick our chins up in the air and hear words that send us out to be bearers of love in the world.  We are breathing together, pulling our lives together with the lives of the people around us, gazing in the same direction, even if just for a brief moment.  I get stronger, and a little more hopeful, and I feel this embodied sense of support as I try to walk the way of life.  I enjoy looking around the room and knowing that, for this moment, we are all holding each other together, even though we will spend much of the week apart.

I’m sure I’ll still have moments when I find it weird (because it is)- but I hope they are followed by moments where I remember it is also mysteriously wonderful.  Like having a small furry creature wandering the halls of our house.

This weekend my husband and I went to go see the movie Avatar.  Neither of us had high expectations, other than that it was to be a virtual feast (literally) of cinematic tricks.  On that expectation it delivered far beyond what I could have imagined; the world of Pandora was absolutely breathtaking.  I distinctly recognized a feeling of delightfulness and awe very similar to the one I remembered feeling when watching The Neverending Story as a child.  (Remember that scene where Bastian is riding through the sky on Falcor?)  And yes, I realize this only proves what many of us heard on NPR- that Avatar is a conglomerate of pieces from stories and movies we’ve heard before- but what isn’t?  The genius of the movie is that Cameron combines these elements in such compelling fashion.

This morning I saw this article reporting that some people have suffered depression after watching the movie.  As it turns out, Pandora is a compelling place to want to move, and the fact that it cannot be accessed in reality has created tension and depression for people who feel discontent with the life they do have.  Of course, in the article (and in the subsequent Tweets and FB posts about it) this is spoken of in such a way as to be considered either ludicrous or silly.  I’m not convinced.

I could probably write a number of posts about my theological musings during this movie (and yes, I am geeky enough to watch movies and dissect them theologically, all the time, ad nauseum).  The story of a struggle to find one’s rightful identity, even when it’s among people who could not be more foreign to you, sounds rather akin to Epiphany, for starters.  It’s always shocking to find your home somewhere that seems so very far from where you came- and to risk so much to travel there without knowing how it will turn out.

Part of what those people in the movie theater experienced was tension with parts of the world they didn’t want to be part of anymore.  And though none of them were specific, I’d guess the list would be things like greed and imperialism and a total lack of humility.  Why would it ever be bad to feel a deep, almost depressing desire to move away from that and toward something more life-giving?  Isn’t this why each of us has taken up the path of faith?  Isn’t this what “conversion” means- to turn from one way of life towards another way of life?

Granted, I don’t find the idea of running away from the reality of our world helpful.  I don’t think playing hours of the Avatar video game is going to do anything helpful for anyone.  And I certainly refuse to say that this world, despite its flaws, is beyond changing.  If we feel that tension, it is our responsibility to resolve it not by walking away but by engaging and pushing and trying.  But I want to affirm that these inclinations, this desire for a better kind of world, even and maybe because it looks so different from the one in which we live, sounds a lot like the quest for that place where the Realm of God is made complete among us.  It sounds like the first step in conversion, where it dawns on you that a better way is possible, and you may not be currently walking that better way, and you may be ready to start trying.  I wouldn’t want to relieve that tension for anyone.  That’s holy tension, and without it, the world would never change.

The idea of a place where we seek to live as those connected with God and with all that God has created is not exactly a new idea, James Cameron.  But thank you for igniting our imaginations with strange, tall, blue people who remind us that it’s beautiful enough and compelling enough to actually try to make real.

Three cheers for Epiphany!  Today is the day we remember the story of the wise men/magi/camel-riding, gift-bearing mystery men from the East who traveled halfway across the known world to visit the Christ Child.  I love the day so much I devoted an entire chapter to it in my book.  Here’s a snippet:

“Most people who know this story [of Epiphany] zoom right past it, as if it’s a window display they have seen before.  They have not stopped to peer inside, to notice the details, and to consider what it indicates about where the story of God might be heading.  For most, these men and their camels are simply pieces people use to populate their nativity scenes, making the Jesus-in-the-manger barn scene look more crowded and important.  Very few realize what a grandiose political statement it is to place ceramic painted figurines of pagan men holding gifts in front of this Jewish king.  It is not simply holiday cheer; it is a prophetic statement about the kind of world God is creating.  …Epiphany is the declaration that God is not just God of the Israelites but God of foreign pagan astrologers, too.  Though God’s activity in the world began with one family, Jesus’ kingship begins with one world.”

W.H. Auden’s poem “For the Time Being” is quite long, but part of it chronicles the story of these strange travelers from the East.  The last line of that section says, ”To discover how to be human now is the reason we follow this star.”  Despite all that separates us- time, geography, culture, even in this case religion- we all find a common home under our quest to live wholly human lives.  This Epiphany eve, I’m giving thanks for the Child who brings us together in such beautifully unexpected ways, and who shows us the way home to true humanity.

Despite the Christmas vacation away from my computer screen, I’ve followed a bit of the blog banter around Andrew Jones’ (aka Tall Skinny Kiwi) blog post declaring the end-date of the Emerging Church Movement.  What I say below is in no means a way to throw criticism back in Andrew’s face, as he has brought up thoughts and questions I’ve shared in the past year.  Rather it’s a way of processing what this point in our history as a movement means for all of us—those of us who have been around a while, as well as those of us who are just beginning.

I stumbled into this conversation as an eighteen year old college freshman in Waco, Texas.  A few short years later, I felt as if I’d accidentally been placed among a fabulous group of people who happened to be sitting on top of a revolutionary volcano.  It was thrilling, and sexy, and I quite literally believed that we were going to change the world.  I can recall that feeling like it was yesterday.

Since then, I’ve gotten a seminary degree, had two children, and I now pastor a church that just celebrated its tenth year as one of the first independent emerging communities of faith.  This is the part of the love story where you begin to wear your proverbial curlers to bed.

The truth is, everybody loves the beginning of a revolution.  (Well, at least those of us who enjoy playing the part of the revolutionaries!)  You have the distinct honor of experiencing and witnessing a slew of firsts- and sometimes being one, too.   You get the thrill of telling people ideas they haven’t heard before and watching their expressions as little fireworks go off in their heads (for better and for worse).   But no revolution stays in its honeymoon period forever.  At some point, you have to come home and start the hard work of actually making a life together, and you have to do it out of the banality of everyday things like  grocery lists and flu season and tax day.  You have to hold a church gathering when you’re feeling uninspired to create new cutting-edge stations.  You have to figure out a way to make ends meet on a shoestring budget.  You have to find pastoral words of wisdom not for yet another person going through a postmodern faith crisis (“I’ve got plenty of thoughts on that!  I can help!”) but someone who just lost a loved one to cancer.  None of those concessions mean that you are giving up the revolution any more than returning from the honeymoon means you’re giving up the marriage.  It means you believe in this thing deeply enough to stick around, even when the thrill of that first kiss has dissipated.

I’ll freely admit- I went through a time of mourning that the sexiness of the new revolution is likely behind us.  Those were some great moments.  But then one day, something beautiful dawned on me:  the reason why it doesn’t feel as new and cutting edge anymore is because it worked.  These new ideas actually infiltrated such strange and previously unheard-of places as Bible colleges (who would have thought in 1999 that ANY place, much less a Bible college, would offer a degree in emerging church studies???) and denominational headquarters (whoever would have thought we’d gain the appreciative ear of the Archbishop of CANTERBURY?!) and the shelves of Barnes and Noble (who’d have guessed this conversation would produce stacks and stacks of books that publishers wanted to buy and readers wanted to purchase?!).  Who knew that there would be so many communities of faith across the GLOBE putting this theology and ecclesiology into practice for people trying to find a way to follow Jesus?

If Andrew thinks that 2009 is the year the emerging church conversation ceased to be controversial, it’s because we have convinced enough of the status quo that we’re right.

I remember a moment in 2004 at the National Pastors Convention/Emergent Convention in Nashville when Doug Pagitt and I were walking down the hallway.  The evening general sessions were both underway, and as we walked past the door of the NPC session, we noticed there was an artist painting live on stage, and a camera was showing his work and displaying it up on huge video screens overhead for all to see.  We looked at each other, wide-eyed.  Even though we may not have understood how they were using art in their main session, the fact that they were using art was a remarkable sign that they had been listening to us.  We realized that our call for having the arts become a more recognizable part of our worship life together struck a chord with people, and as such, there would be no way to control how/why others would apply this to their own lives and circumstances. There is both awe and frustration in a realization like that.

Once a movement actually gets accepted into the mainstream, new problems arise.  Sometimes the controversial ideas get domesticated into institutional structures.  Sometimes the controversial theology stops short of making enough waves.  Sometimes we get lazy and think we’ve reached the finish line far too early on.  Sometimes the indie group hits it big and its original die-hard fans cry sellout.   We started a revolution, and we cannot control what people do with the ideas.  And sometimes, what people do with our beloved revolutionary ideas will make us want to pull our hair out.   But in that is a sense of accomplishment, too- we said something that has inspired action, even if it wasn’t what we had bargained for.

The revolution we now call the emerging church movement may  not be as sexy as it once was.  It may not be feeding our endless obsession for what’s new and what’s next.  It may not have arrived in current form the way we had wanted or anticipated.  It may not be stroking our egos as much as it used to, now that some random guy on the streets of Dallas can probably define “missional” without our help.  But it is far from over.

As someone who is driven by challenges, I like to look at our current chapter in this global emerging church revolution in a different way.  Now that we’ve gained a following, our challenge to be revolutionary is more important, and more difficult, than ever.   Now we must figure out a way to push the envelope in the middle of something that’s become familiar, to try to redefine church when everyone assumes they know the answer already, to speak poignantly enough so as not to be confused with the pre-fab, boxed kit, marketed products now sitting on the 50% off  table.  We got the audience we wanted, complete with a readily listening ear.  Now what will we tell them?

When women gained the right to vote, nobody said the suffragette movement was over.  They said the suffragette movement was successfully accomplished.  If 2009 is an end-date, it’s that our hopes of gaining influence among church leaders and Jesus followers has been rousingly, beautifully, Spirit-infusingly, globally accomplished.  All those women who were active suffragettes didn’t go home and put up their sneakers after their big win, either.  They sat down at a table with their friends and said, “Okay, one down.  Now what next?”  That’s where we are right now, and I personally believe we have plenty of work left to be done.  We have institutional structures that still desperately need reform.  (Just because the Archbishop likes us doesn’t mean we couldn’t say a few more words he needs to hear!)  We have theology that is broken and tired and unhelpful that desperately needs to be revisioned, rethought, reinvented.  We have communities of faith (and pastors leading them) who still need examples of how to live sustainably and holistically.  And I’m certain we each know plenty of people who are just trying to find a way forward in faith, still trying to ask the simplest, most important question of all (and I’d suggest it’s the question we all must ask ourselves, over and over again):  How do I follow Jesus faithfully in this world in which I live?

When I think of all the questions facing us as we enter the second decade of the 21st century, I get both giddy and dizzy at all the new ground we’ll get to cover- and that we’ll need to cover.  And I know, as we start to ask those questions and come up with our first round of answers, there will still be people joining this conversation who have yet to hear the word “missional” and others who could really use some help in re-envisioning their church gathering to reflect a change from hierarchy to web.  Somebody’s going to need friends to discuss how great the idea of perichoresis is and how brilliantly Moltmann applies it to our ecclesial shared life (and that person should call me!). Someone is going to read one of these Emergent books for the first time while browsing through Barnes and Noble and need a cohort of people to walk with through each of the questions it raises.   Someone is going to need a friend and fellow companion to walk this road.  And the beautiful, Spirit-drenched truth is that we have friends to recommend, and churches and communities of faith where we can send them, and books we can give them, and a map of cohorts we can offer up.  And as sexy as it was fifteen years ago, we didn’t have any of that on our side.  If our goal in this movement is to help people follow Jesus better in our current world, we’ve created entire networks of friendships and artifacts that can be of great comfort and help.  We’ve become that married couple who has the weight of all those beautiful memories on its side, even if it’s added a few extra pounds.

As I survey my own experience of this movement over the last decade+, there are some things I’d change and some things I hope to change.  But overall, I feel incredibly proud and humbled to have been a tiny, tiny part of what the Spirit is doing in our midst.  Our conversation may have taken flight, but our aerial journey is far from being ready to land.  Call me a revolutionary, but I’ve still got plenty of feathers I plan on ruffling.

Thanks to everyone who has emailed me and left comments to nominate people for the Advent book giveaway!  After careful consideration, drumroll please…the winner is… Tia Lynn!

One of the reasons I wrote this book was to give people a hopeful and life-giving perspective on what it means to follow Jesus.  Tia, from what I can tell, your friend Maura has found her way into God’s story but could use some help finding abundant life in there and enough courage to push back on the fear that’s keeping her captive.

Especially as we celebrate this season of Advent, we celebrate and remember that we have been given “good news of great joy for ALL people” (Luke 2:10).  If Maura wants her family to come to walk in the way of the Christ child, I truly believe there is nothing more powerful or persuasive than the example of a life lived in hope, grounded in peace, and drenched in love.  The Gospel is not fearful news; it is the best news this world has ever received.  The light of Christ has come into the world, and the darkness has not overcome it.

In whatever small way possible, I pray the Spirit can use The Boundary-Breaking God to bring your friend Maura the hope that is ours at Christmas and year-round.  (And I hope you enjoy your copy, too!)

There is nothing that makes me more weepy than a children’s Christmas program…and that’s saying a lot, because I’m not that person who cries at movies or heartstring-pulling commercials, or at much of anything, really.  But give me two minutes in a chapel filled with children singing Christmas songs and my eyes tear up every time.

I think it’s the combination of the general hope I tend to feel during Advent with the message being heralded by such wide-eyed and hopeful innocence.  You never see a Kindergartener rolling his eyes at the idea of light coming into the world or peace being possible, because he absolutely think it is.  Kindergarteners think, in fact, that there IS light and peace in the world, and so it’s the most natural thing in the world to sing about it.

For those of you who have not attended any Christmas programs this week (and for those of you like me who believe when it comes to Christmas programs, truly the more the merrier),  here are the money quotes I heard the past two days that got my eyes to watering.  (It’s not surprising that both of these are inspired by Isaiah 11, which is one of THE best chapters of Scripture.)  Go ahead and imagine a chapel full of children’s voices when you read them…it’ll do your heart some good.

Compliments of my second grader and her classmates, I heard joyful clapping to these beautiful words:

“Dance and sing for the Lord shall be with us!  Glory, Halleluia!

Peace and justice soon shall be with us!  Glory, Halleluia!

Clap your hands and sing, Glory, Halleluia!

Joyful voices ring, Glory, Halleluia!

Wolf and lamb shall rest together

Calf and lion shall join as friends

Peace shall come to all the nations

Come, O Savior, Come!”

And the Gospel given to us by a rafters-full set of smiling Kindergarteners:

“You be the lion strong and wild, I’ll be the lamb, meek and mild.

We’ll live together, happily, and THAT’S how it ought to be!”

(During that last line they would all emphatically swing their arms across their chests, just so we could SEE they expect the world to be this way.)

Advent Lord, grant that we would be able to sing as openly and joyfully as do your youngest family members.  Give us the wisdom to hope for your peace and justice to be made real among us, and to walk faithfully toward your future where lions lay together peacefully with lambs.  And may all God’s people say…Amen.

Happy Advent, everyone!  As it’s Advent, I’m in a particularly festive mood, and I’d like to celebrate by giving away a free copy of my book.  But of course, it wouldn’t be fun just to give it away without any fanfare.  It’s Advent, after all- the season of angels blurting trumpets of joy and pregnant women bursting out into song and declarations of peace on earth.  So, here’s the scoop on how you can score yourself a free copy of The Boundary-Breaking God.

I’m really appreciative of all the wonderful feedback I’ve gotten on the book thus far.  One of the comments I’ve heard over and over again is, “So many people need to read this!” or “I really wish my friend/pastor/professor/family member _________ could hear this.”  Well, here’s your chance to spread the message!  Who do you think most needs to hear this message of hope and promise?  Who most needs to hear the story of God as one of expansion, inclusion and hopeful celebration?  And by who, I don’t mean broad generalizations like “college freshmen” or “disillusioned Christians.”  Be specific, as in “my friend Jim who lives in Ohio” or “my Aunt Rhoda who thinks God is a dictatorial sadist.”  (If you have an Aunt Rhoda who thinks that, actually, I’ll do you one better- give me her number and I will call her up this very afternoon.)

So- give it some thought.   Then leave the name of the person you think most needs to read this book in the comments and make your case as to why.  The person with the most creative/compelling/intriguing answer will score two autographed copies of the book- one, of course, will be sent to the person nominated (complete with a personalized note from me- because I am nothing if not intent on the highest level of customer service) and one will be sent to the nominator to keep.  I’ll post the name of the winner this Friday at noon.

Let the nominations begin!

Every year from Thanksgiving to Epiphany, my husband listens to nothing but Christmas music.  I will get into my car and find the presets to a Christmas music station.  The minute he steps in the door after work, he turns it on- this year using some app through his iPhone that works through our computer and plays through our sound system (or as I like to say, by magic).  Selections range from traditional (Nat King Cole) to sentimental (The Lettermen) to experimental (Eddie Vedder), but whatever the flavor, Christmas bells are always jingling around here.

We like to do it up right at Journey, too.  I know some of my more mainline friends think it’s cheating to sing Christmas songs in church before Christmas Eve (you know, because you are supposed to have to wait to sing them) but I disagree.  The kind of waiting we are doing at Advent is hopeful waiting.  We are waiting for a baby to be born, and not just any baby, but One who will bring the kind of light that will shine like the dawn and guide our feet into the way of peace.  And what, may I ask, do we do when expecting a baby?  We celebrate.  We shower people, even before the baby arrives.

Or, think of it this way.  What do you do when you are looking forward to seeing your favorite band in concert?  Why, you spend the whole week listening to their songs, all the way ’till you roll on up into the parking lot with your favorite song now on repeat, giddily dancing around, eager to hear their opening number. 

Hopeful waiting gives us permission to sing about that for which we wait– it encourages us, even, because what better sign of hope is there than joyful singing?  This coming third Sunday of Advent is generally known as Gaudete Sunday, the Sunday of joy.  It’s the day we light the candle on the Advent wreath that is a shade brighter than all the others.  Its lighter color symbolizes the happiness we feel when we are nearing our concert destination- we know the thing we are waiting for is coming near, and we can’t help but sing about it.

So if you happen to join us at Journey this Sunday, no need to wonder why we are singing Joy to the World already.  We like to practice Advent hopeful waiting, Christmas carols and all.