Missional postmortem: some personal struggles, part 2

This has been a tough post to write.

As I previously mentioned, the past two years have brought two of the toughest personal challenges Jenell and I have ever faced. Last time I wrote about my two-year struggle with joblessness. That was tough.

This was tougher.

On September 30, 2009 Jenell’s mother, Nolie, died after a multi-year battle with cancer. I wrote about her at the time and I don’t want to be redundant, but there are some things that haven’t been said.

Jenell grew up in southern California as an only child. She and her mother Nolie were quite close. Even after we married in 1991 (she was 19, I was 20) Jenell visited her mother nearly every day and if she didn’t actually see her, they at least spoke on the phone.

Then, in 1993 I abruptly moved our fledgling family to Utah in pursuit of a new direction for my life – and we didn’t look back for 15 years.

Jenell missed her mother badly. I remember how much my wife struggled those first few years in Utah and, to make matters worse, over the coming years we didn’t see her parents more than once or twice a year because we were always several states away (first Utah, then Ohio). Over time this contributed to a growing distance between Jenell and Nolie and I saw how it took a toll on my wife.

I didn’t do much about it.

In late 2005 Nolie was diagnosed with cancer – about a year after we moved to Ohio. Jenell struggled with the fact that her mother was coping with the illness after we’d moved even farther away. But Nolie fought the disease and, thankfully, went into remission. However, by November of 2007 Nolie’s cancer returned and we knew it was more serious this time. We’d already decided to move back to California, but now we knew it was more important than ever.

Of course, I wanted to plant a church. A crazy, grassroots, missional, quit-my-career, screw-the-system, it-will-never-pay-our-bills-in-a-million-years kind of church. So I bundled the two together (moving back near family/planting a church) and sold it to myself and everyone else as a package deal. We moved in the summer of 2008.

The first year was a Godsend. We settled into the Oceanside community, enjoyed the beach, and built new friendships. Jenell re-connected with her mother as much as possible. It was tough for Jenell to see Nolie’s health deteriorate, and, I think in an effort to protect Jenell emotionally, Nolie was rather guarded about her condition – but Jenell pushed through the awkwardness. It was a very good thing.

It was right smack in the middle of all this that we attempted to start Ikon Community.

Actually, Ikon went very well initially. Our group started heating up in the Summer of 2009 – right when Nolie took a turn for the worse. Jenell started spending more and more time helping her dad with Nolie, and I began to wonder if we could maintain both efforts. Jenell said we could, and I ignored my better judgement.

When Nolie passed away in September 2009 I thought to myself, Jenell is going to need at least a year to really grieve so we should probably hold off on moving Ikon forward. But again, I ignored that impulse. Instead, I tentatively brought it up to Jenell, but she quickly dismissed the idea. She seemed to be handling the loss extremely well.

But Jenell didn’t know what she needed and I heard what I wanted to hear. I should have known better. I should have pushed through her dismissals and really cared for her. But, mired in my own emotional crisis, I was desperate for some kind of win in my life. Jenell knew that and she suffered silently.

The truth is, Jenell was in emotional shock. Outwardly she remained the rock she always has been, but inwardly she was processing her grief in complete isolation. I wasn’t there for her and, to be perfectly frank, we hadn’t allowed ourselves to grow close enough to the Ikon group to lean on them like we should have in a genuine community of faith.

So, for the better part of a year – from the fall of 2009 to the fall of 2010 – Jenell and I were each struggling with our own very serious individual grief. We weren’t completely available to each other or to the people of Ikon. As our frustrations grew on several fronts (personal, professional, financial, missional), we increasingly withdrew.

Things are better now.

Nearly 33 months after moving to California, 18 months after Nolie’s death, 6 months since I finished grad school and landed a stable job, and 4 months since closing Ikon Community, our lives are just now beginning to feel somewhat healthy. My perspective is better than it has been in a long time and Jenell has allowed me to share in the processing of some of her grief. I’m grateful for that.

I don’t know what lies ahead. But I don’t ever want to go back.

Technorati Tags: Church Planting, Family, Ikon Community, Missional Postmortem, Nolie

Andre and I share the same prayer beads

Last week, as the weather turned here in San Diego, the temperature dropped while the number of people in our lobby rose.  By Tuesday morning there wasn’t enough space to contain the volume of  men, women, and children. They filled the chairs and spilled onto the floors, into the hallway, and out the front door.

I met Andre in the hallway, where he was waiting patiently for a case manager. I first noticed him because he was alone – which is unusual since I mostly notice families these days. I introduced myself  and we shook hands. He was friendlier that most men you meet; eager to make contact.

I learned he was a commercial truck driver but lost his job due to cut backs. I learned he was from Long Beach and had a son who was good with computers. I could tell by his posture and manner of speech that he had the kind of optimistic hopefulness that is sometimes mistaken for confidence.

I noticed the beads hanging from his neck.

I have the same beads, I told him, pulling mine from under my shirt to prove it. Andre burst into a smile, inspecting the plastic crucifix at the end of my beads while unconsciously fingering his own.

He must not have been convinced of my eternal security (or maybe of his own) because he immediately started to testify. Soon he’d worked his way into a homily and was moving headlong in the direction of a full-blown extemporaneous sermon. He started to swagger a bit and find his cadence – summoning the spirits of a thousand charismatic preachers from street-corner churches, big tent revivals, and cable TV miracle hours. If I’d let him go on he might have baptized me in the lobby drinking fountain. And I night have let him. Andre isn’t the only one looking for a home these days.

Instead I politely interrupted and said I needed to get back to work, but could I take his picture? I wanted to remember his face long after I’d forgotten his words.

Technorati Tags: homeless, Interfaith Community Services

Meet Charlie: from homeless to helping others

“I was tired of living under a tree.”

That’s the response you’ll get from Charlie if you ask how he first connected with Interfaith. He’s reluctant to go into details. What comes across is not so much embarrassment as a profound sense of humility; Charlie just doesn’t think his story is anything special.

An Army veteran, Charlie spent most of his adult life addicted to drugs and alcohol after returning from Vietnam, and over the years he weathered more than a few storms on the streets of Escondido. That is, until five years ago when someone told him Interfaith had programs for veterans. On that day, Charlie decided he wanted help.

Like everyone who comes to Interfaith, Charlie’s case workers took the time to find out exactly what his needs and skills were, and used this information to determined what kind of assistance would serve him best. These assessments are a vital part of the case management process because whether the problem is addiction, disability, mental illness, lack of food, or lack of housing, the goal isn’t merely provide relief – the goals is to build sustainability. Unlike many agencies, Interfaith can walk someone through a comprehensive continuum of care services that will enable them to eventually live truly healthy and sustainable lives one day.

Initially, Charlie became a resident of Interfaith’s Veteran’s bunk house where he was provided with the immediate shelter he had been lacking for so long. Eventually, however, he was identified as an excellent candidate for Interfaith’s Fairweather Lodge program. Charlie agreed and he became the third Lodge’s first resident. Now Charlie lives within an intentional community of adults with similar challenges who operate their own business together.

Charlie is quick to point out that this job gives him a sense of purpose and accomplishment that he had been missing in his life for a very long time. Perhaps most significantly, like many people who have come off the streets and learned to live healthier lives, Charlie’s biggest desire is to give back, so he’s eager to start helping out as soon as he’s eligible, saying, “Interfaith has given me so much.” There’s a gratitude in Charlie’s words, driving him to contribute, and a sense of pride that he actually can.

I’m telling Charlie’s story because it isn’t uncommon. Interfaith’s family tree is crowded with people who spent years living on the street, struggling with addiction, or marginalized physically and financially due to physical or mental disabilities, but who have now learned to be healthy, productive, self-sustaining, and even strong enough to give back to the community in some way.  I know the same is true for other social service agencies as well.

Unfortunately, we live in a time when people are hurting more than ever (last year alone Interfaith served 35,800 individuals), yet the political climate in America is again rapidly becoming hostile toward social help under the mantra that helping people is actually hurting our communities.

Balderdash.

People need more help, not less. Granted, it needs to be the right kind of help; the kind that builds capacity, not co-dependence. True help must walk people through a process that leads to healthy sustainability. But that kind of holisitc, capacity-building, wellness-producing work requires more time, more services, and more money – not less. It requires public money and private money. It requires federal and state grants, private foundation support, and individual household contributions. It requires lots and lots of people rolling up their sleeves and helping those who cannot yet help themselves (last year we utilized over 5,000 volunteers).

Like it or not, we all pay one way or another for people who are poor, homeless, mentally ill, or otherwise debilitated in some way. Why not commit, as a nation, to do so ethically? We can build strong systems of care that eventually lead people like Charlie to contribute to their communities, rather than relegate them to the streets – or to jail – where they simply tax our communities.

In short, the creation of a strong and healthy community requires the participation of the whole community; the rich, the poor, everyone.  Everyone has something to give.

Charlie gets that. I look forward to the day when everyone else does too.

Technorati Tags: Charlie, economy, Escondido, Homelessness, Interfaith Community Services, Politics, poverty

Coincidence or God? Lost In-Laws

This is my last coincidence story for now. The car keys made me scratch my head and the drunk uncle incident made me wonder about God’s involvement in coincidences, but this encounter actually helped Jenell and I make a major life decision. Bear with me, this one requires a little back story.

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In December of 2007 Jenell and the kids and I had flown out from Columbus, Ohio to visit my parents in San Diego. One night they told us to go out and have fun, just the two of us, so we decided to drive up PCH and find a restaurant. We weren’t very familiar with the area, so we just headed north.

We soon found ourselves passing through Carlsbad village, a collection of beachside shops and restaurants, and Jenell said, “Oh, I think this is where my brother’s shop was!”

Over ten years before Jenell and I were living in Utah when she and her half-brother, Adrian, first made contact. They always knew of each other, but never met. Somehow Adrian’s wife tracked down Jenell and reached out, calling her one day. He was in his early twenties, newly married, and curious about the sister he’d never known. They formed a bit of a relationship over the phone and soon we were inviting them to come to Utah for a visit.

They spent a weekend with us. It was a amazing to see this person who in so many ways resembled Jenell – in appearance, mannerisms, and even sense of humor. More so for Jenell, who had been raised an only child. They connected instantly.

Adrian talked about the retail business he’d just started back in California, and we talked about our dreams for ministry. We talked about kids, about marriage, and, of course, about God. Adrian was an atheist and his wife Stephanie was dabbling in other kinds of spirituality, so they were a little unsettled to learn that we were in Christian ministry. It wasn’t long before we were chatting about religion and God, but the discussion remained friendly – even if it grew serious at times.

When the weekend ended we said our goodbyes and sent them back to California. Adrian and Jenell traded phone calls for the next year or so, but we both moved and changed numbers soon afterward and eventually lost contact. Jenell was always grateful for that visit, but sad about losing the relationship too.

All of these memories came flooding back ten years later as we drove through Carlsbad Village that night. We wondered aloud about Adrian and Stephanie: Did they still live in the area? Was Adrian’s business here? We talked about how nice it would be to reconnect.

We kept driving up PCH, looking for a decent restaurant, all the way to Camp Pendleton at the end of Oceanside. Nothing looked good, so we turned around and headed back to Carlsbad where we’d seen a Mexican food place that seemed promising. We parked, left our names at the crowded adobe-style restaurant, and were told it would be about 30 minutes.

So, we walked. And prayed.

We were in the throes of a big decision, pretty sure God was leading us to plant a church…but where? How? Our trip to San Diego was, in part, an excursion to see if God might be calling us back there. Was this the place? How would we know?

We walked around the Village, talking through it all and praying out loud, “God, show us what your will is? If this is where you want us, make it clear.” That’s when I saw it. Across the street.

A Starbucks.

“Let’s cross the street,” I said earnestly. “I think God is leading us over there.”

Jenell snickered.

As we made our way to the Starbucks we kept praying, “Show us Lord. Show us something.” We were so engrossed in our talking and praying we nearly ran into a small group of people walking the opposite direction. We managed to thread past each other without incident, until one of them turned back suddenly and said, “Jenell?”

We both turned and looked at the woman who’d called Jenell’s name. I didn’t recognize her. And I could tell by the look on Jenell’s face that she didn’t either. Slightly amused, I waited to see how she would handle it.

“Uhhh” Jenell mused, trying desperately to make the connection. Finally, she gave up, “do I know you?”

“I’m your sister-in-law!” The woman said.

Now I was confused. Sister-in-law? Was this woman crazy? My brother and his wife lived in Stockton, and she’s not…then it clicked. She did look familiar. I glanced to her left, and there, eyes wide and mouth agape, stood Jenell’s brother Adrian. They were older, but it was definitely them.

Everyone freaked a little – except the couple with Adrian and Stephanie who stood off to the side looking every bit as awkward as they felt. We invited them all to dinner with us, but the other couple had to get back home. Adrian and Stephanie joined us.

At dinner, Jenell said, “Wow, I can’t believe you guys still live in the area after all these years!”

“Oh, we don’t,” said Stephanie.

“We live about an hour away, in Temecula,” said Adrian.

“We haven’t been here for years,” added Stephanie. “We hardly get out these days with the kids. I don’t even know why we came here tonight. We never really come back this way anymore.”

“Don’t you have a business here?” Asked Jenell.

“Oh no,” laughed Adrian. “That didn’t last long.” He switched subjects quickly; something else was on his mind. “I have to tell you guys, that weekend in Utah changed our lives.”

We blinked. “What do you mean?” Jenell asked.

“Well, we became Christians because of you.”

We just stared, unbelieving.

“Oh, we’re like totally Christians” Stephanie emphasized. “Adrian even thought he wanted to be a pastor for a while.”

“It’s true” he said, chuckling a little. “I even went to bible college for a while.”

“But, you were an atheist,” I said. “How did that happen?”

“It was you guys,” he continued. “We just couldn’t get over how different you were. You didn’t judge us or pressure us, but you had this passion for God and life that we wanted for ourselves. It didn’t happen right away. We came back and time passed, but sooner or later we started looking for a church where we could find that same thing. Eventually we became Christians.”

We talked for long time, catching up on each others families – nieces and nephews that had never met, jobs and careers, causes and passions. We talked of the joys of discovering God and fellowship, and the disappointments that come along with church too.

It was a real gift to us, in more ways than one. It turns out they’re amazing people who are doing amazing things. And we get to hang out now (see the pics above from Father’s Day this year). Not only was it a gift to hear – all those years later – that we’d made some kind of difference in their lives, but we took it to be a genuine sign that God was confirming our sense of being led back to California, and while we didn’t base our decision solely on that encounter (not even close), the truth is, it was a factor.

We asked God to show us something, and He gave us something instead; more than we could ever have imagined.

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Was it God or coincidence? How can we know the difference?

Technorati Tags: Coincidence, Free Will, sovereignty, Stories

Coincidence or God? Drunk Uncle

I have two more coincidence stories to tell. Honestly, my response to the car keys incident was plain-old, head-scratching bewilderment. Nothing more.

But this next encounter made me wonder. (Yes, I’ve changed some of the names).

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One cool summer evening the phone on our bedside table rang late at night. Jenell and I both jerked straight up in bed, immediately gripped with anxiety: Was someone hurt? Had there been an accident?

I snatched the phone from its cradle, “Hello!”

“Hi, yes, uh this is Robert Smith an I need to talk to someone about my bill.”

It was man’s voice. Older. Unrecognizable to me but recognizably intoxicated. Lascivious music loitered in the background and voices crowded the middle distance.

“Excuse me?” I said, “your bill?”

He jumped on my question: “Yes! My bill. I need to talk to someone about my bill!”

“What bill?”

“What bill?” He mocked with disgust. “What do you think. My phone bill.” He lamented to someone over his shoulder, “Jesus, what the hell is wrong with this person?”

“I don’t know who you are and I have nothing to do with your phone bill.” I flirted with hanging up, but somehow I felt he needed to understand he’d called the wrong number. Mostly, I just didn’t want him to call back. “I’m afraid you’ve called the wrong -”

“I already told you, this is Robert Smith. Just look up my account. You guys fucked up my bill and I need to straighten it out. Right now!”

My wife could hear the yelling from the phone. She looked at me, questioning. I rolled my eyes helplessly and shook my head, letting her know it was nothing serious.

He was peppering his tirade with more profanity now. He was completely wasted, and emboldened by the alcohol to swing for the fences. Soon he would unleash all his phone-company-frustrations upon the uncooperative employee at the other end of the line. Me. I halfway sympathized, but also realized that it would continue to escalate. So I switched tactics.

“Alright Mr. Smith, my apologies, I’m going to take care of that bill for you.”

“It’s about fuckin’ time! Jesus…” he muttered.

“Can I have your phone number please? Starting with the area code?”

“Yeah, it’s 909-555-5151.”

909? I thought to myself. That’s from Riverside, California. What are the chances someone from my hometown would call a wrong number and get me in Utah? Weird.

“And where are you calling from?”

“Where am I calling from? What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“I just need it for my records, sir.”

“Uh…okay. I’m calling from a payphone at a bar in Victorville.”

Victorville? I had lots of family in Victorville. This was getting suspicious.

“Okay,” I said, “give me a second to pull up your account on the computer.”

“Great.” He was calm now. Satisfied and vindicated. He started talking again to the man over his shoulder about a woman across the bar, and the things he’d like to do to her. They giggled wickedly. That’s when I realized he was with a friend. Maybe someone less drunk than himself?

“Okay Mr Smith, I have your account in front of me and I can definitely clear these erroneous charges, but I need one more thing from you first.

“Great, what’s that?”

“Are you there with someone?”

“Excuse me?”

“At the bar. Are you with a friend?”

“What the f-…what does that have to do with my phone bill?” He was ramping up again.”Yeah I’m here with a friend. I’m here with my buddy Terry. He just got out of jail tonight and we’re freaking celebrating! Is that alright with you? Goddamn…” he said away from the phone again, “You believe this guy?”

“Could you put him on the phone please?”

“What? Excuse me?”

“Sir, can I please talk to your friend Terry?” I was still being polite.

“I don’t know why the hell you need to talk to -”

“Mr Smith,” I became stern, “do you want me to take care of your phone bill or not?”

He demurred, “Well, yes.”

“All right then. If you let me talk to your friend Terry I can erase this bill for you. If you don’t, you’re going to be stuck with these charges.”

“All right,” he gave in, “Jeeez, fine.” Away from the phone I heard, “He wants to talk to you…” followed by muffled protests. Then, “I don’t know, he just does. I need this taken care of, I can’t afford this bill. Just talk to him!”

The phone shuffled for a second. Then another older man’s voice tentatively said, “Hello?”

I recognized this voice.

“Terry?” I ask.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Terry Jones?” I pressed. I already knew the answer.

“Uhhh, yes. Who’s this?”

“Terry, this is Jason Coker. Your nephew.”

“What the…Jason? What are you doing on Robert’s phone?”

“He called me Terry.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know Terry,” I said, using his name as a punctuation mark. Do you know why your friend would call me here in Utah? From a bar in Victorville? After midnight?”

“Oh shit…” He trailed off.

Jenell was sitting up fully now, staring at me, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “Terry,” I called into the phone, trying to bring him back to the moment. “Did you give Robert my phone number?”

“No. No, no. Swear-to-God Jason, I didn’t give him your number. I don’t even have your number.” Off-phone Terry hissed at his friend, “Robert! You called my nephew. Jason. In Utah. He’s a PASTOR!” He let that last word sink in, as if he’d just unveiled the most dangerous secret in the universe.

“Then how did he get my number Terry?”

“Oh my God Jason,” he was back. “I know what this is.”

“Oh? What is it Terry?”

“This is GOD. Trying to tell me something.”

“Terry…”

“No, I’m serious Jason. Oh my God. I shouldn’t even be here Jason. I just got out of jail!”

“Terry, I don’t know if…”

“I get it Jason. Loud and clear. I get the message. I’m so sorry man, but I get the message.”

“Well, alright,” I said. “You take care of yourself.”

“I will. Seriously. I promise.”

“And tell your friend that I can’t help him with his phone bill.” With that, I hung up.

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So, God or coincidence? Is there a more likely explanation? Do you think Terry and Robert were telling the truth?

Technorati Tags: Coincidence, Free Will, sovereignty, Stories

Coincidence or God? Car Keys

I’m fascinated by stories of coincidence. Most Christians have no trouble attributing serendipitous events to the providence of God, but for me it’s just not that simple. I’m a big believer in free will, so these incidents are both an intellectual challenge and a real source of marvel for me.

I’m going to tell a few of my own stories of coincidence. Mostly just for fun, but also because I’d love to prompt some discussion about these kinds of encounters and maybe read some of your stories too.

So, here’s a small example:

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I thoroughly enjoyed living in Park City, Utah for eleven years. As a youth pastor, skiing and snowboarding with teenagers was my job (I highly recommend it).

One time I was skiing at Park City Mountain Resort with a friend. It was a huge powder day and we were having crazy fun carving big turns in the deep, fluffy snow. We came to the bottom of a run and stopped at the chair lift grinning from ear to ear, when suddenly I realized my jacket pocket – the one with my car keys in it – was wide open and hanging inside out like a gutted fish. My keys were gone – lost somewhere in the 4 feet of snow on the mountain.

Of course I had to call my wife and have her bring a spare key to my truck so I could drive it back home, but the real bummer was all the other keys I would have to have made: house keys, mailbox keys, church keys…huge bummer.

I put it off as long as I could.

One week later (to the day) my dad was visiting from California. Naturally, I took him skiing. At some point in the day we were flying down the very same run, and when we reached the bottom I stopped in the big crowd of skiiers queueing up for the lift and said to to my dad, “Man, I was skiing here last week and came down that very same run and lost my keys somewhere in the powder. I was a huge bummer.”

Just then a man came flying down the hill and skidded to a stop about twenty feet away. He stabbed his poles in the snow, pulled off his goggles, reached into his pocket, and yelled to the crowd, “Did anybody lose a set of keys?!”

There, from his outstretched fingers, dangled my keys. I couldn’t believe it.

“Those are mine!” I yelled over to him. My dad looked at me unbelieving, and said, “No way. Shut up!” He thought I’d set the whole thing up. It took me 15 minutes to persuade him that I was telling the truth and that he’d witnessed the unfolding of a bizarre coincidence.

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So, what do you think? Is that God? Why or why not?

Technorati Tags: Coincidence, Providence, sovereignty, Stories

The Evils of Drug Use in a Nazarene Bible Class

Let me set the stage for you: Private Christian school at a Midwestern Nazarene mega-church, Bible class project: Make a video infomercial warning kids against the dangers of drug use. What grade would you give them?

(BTW: These are friends of my daughter Savannah – this is her previous school):

Technorati Tags: Christianity, Drugs, Videos

Mumford and Sons on Letterman

So, last week I met a new friend in Houston named James. He gave me a bit of hell in the Q&A portion of my panel for “unfairly picking on Martin Luther” in my paper concerning the development of the autonomous self through the theological validation of usury, and wanted to know if I didn’t think Luther’s contributions in that way couldn’t be seen as part of the Hegelian notion of progress. I said “no” – I think Luther just caved to pressure from his new patrons, the emerging German princes.

Anyway, I came to know James a bit better later on and found out that not only is he brighter than me, he’s incredibly talented as well (he’s currently writing a screenplay) and he’s royalty. Sort of. His mum and dad (John and Eleanor Mumford) are legends in the Vineyard and the heads of the Vineyard Association in the U.K.

Well, apparently, they’re an unbelievably talented family, because his brother Marcus heads up a band – Mumford and Sons – that made their American network debut last night on Letterman. Check em out:

Technorati Tags: Letterman, Mumford and Sons, Mumfords, Music

From L.A. To Vegas

(I’ve been slowly moving archived posts from an old blog to this one. This is a two-part story of a plane flight I took not so long ago.)

I’ve always thought those stories of pastors evangelizing people on planes were fascinating. You know how it goes: The good-natured pastor ends up seated next a divorcee, or maybe a young couple “living in sin.” The pastor introduces himself, delivers the gospel, brings them to repentance, unburdens their guilt, and cures their souls of dysfunction, all before touchdown on the destination tarmac.

Personally, I hate talking to people on the plane.

As an introvert I’d rather have my toenails scooped out with a spoon than break the ice for an hour or two with a stranger on a plane. It’s not that I dislike people. Sometimes I don’t. It’s not that I don’t care. I pretty much always do. I just don’t care about shallow things, and that’s what happens on a plane. Shallow. Tortuously long volleys of stilted banter about weather, sports, hobbies, travel and other insipid close-quarter glad-handing.

Ugh.

Sometimes when I sense an irrepressible “talker” I charge like a sanguine Rhino, all horns and happy swagger, snorting intense personal questions at breakneck velocity, pressing frighteningly toward the ecstatic landscape of life’s horrific uncertainties. Tell me everything. Generally folks don’t receive that very well. That’s the idea. Break the American social contract of aesthetic minutia and people clam right up. It’s a sacred contract. Sometimes it even works with friends and family. Trekking much further afield threatens most people’s lovingly cultivated gardens of unfettered freedom – freedom to think and believe and do whatever the hell we want. Nobody wants to lose that.

So I read.

I don’t know about you, but the way I do it reading is an altogether different sort of dialogue: It’s an orderly, controlled, intentional dialectic with someone whose ideas are intellectual, deeply meaningful, and unusually well-considered (we’re talking the ideal book). It’s like conversation…for Calvinists. Plus I can interrupt the author and scribble all over his face if I disagree. Real live people tend not to appreciate that. Michael Servitus certainly didn’t.

So recently I climb onto a plane – a short hop to from L.A. to Vegas – and immediately pry open my latest conversation partner (The Starfish and the Spider, great book btw). Soon a woman slides into the seat next to me followed by a man, both in their late twenties and apparently not together judging by the informal courtesies exchanged during individualized pre-flight rituals.

I take the opportunity to transmit psychic morse-code: don’t talk to me…deeply engrossed in book…extremely focused…barely aware of you…nothing personal…completely uninterested. They get the message. Not a word. I cease broadcasting and ease back into the cockpit.

The steward bangs the plane door shut and the woman jumps straight from her tail as though a mini-ejector in her seat is wired directly to the latch. Suddenly she’s hyper-ventilating like a scared rabbit.

“Oh my God!” she says just above a whisper.

Oh my God, I think, ignoring her.

“Are you afraid of flying?” asks the man. He seems genuinely concerned. Good. She has a comforter. Maybe they’re both single. Maybe they’re MFEO. The last thing I need is a case of derailed kismet haunting my karma. Better to keep quiet.

“Oh, no-oh-oh-oh,” she stutter-laughs, “I mean…uhhh maybe a little, but I’ll be okay.”

Just as I’m telling myself her histrionics will subside after take-off the tired old plane shudders from the belly up, lumbering down the taxi-way, and the woman somehow shoves her entire head completely between her knees. Muffled primordial spasms erupt from her throat. I am amazed. I’m still trying to figure out the maneuver when she comes up for air. Apparently God is still on her mind

“Oh-my-GOD-oh-my-GOD-oh-my-GOD…”

She’s really emphasizing that name. Suddenly I’m wondering why we refer to that sort of thing as using the Lord’s name “in vain.” It doesn’t seem useless to her. I’m fascinated. I’m thinking through a more generous theology of “spontaneous utterances” when she starts barking. Well, more like a coughing-bark, actually like she’s clearing the fear from her throat. The man on the other side of her glances at me nervously: Your turn.

Uh-uh, I flash back. Determined not to be shaken I dig a foxhole in the paragraphs of my book. I hunker under piles of shoveled prose. Weather the storm, I tell myself. It can’t get worse.

“Oh my God, I think I need a barf bag,” she chokes, rifling through the seat back as we finish taxiing toward the runway.

To be continued.

Technorati Tags: Evangelism, Plane Flights, Stories

Top Ten: 2009 Pastoralia Posts

I know, I know: I’m way behind the curve. Most self-respecting bloggers did this sort of thing the last week of December. Whatever, better late then…well, you know. Here are my top ten most visited posts of 2009:

1. The Not-God of I-35 and John Piper

2. The Arrogant Bastard Church

3. The Mega-Freeloader Church

4. Birds, the Bible, and Broken Down Cars

5. How Eddie Gibbs Ruined My Life

6. I’m Calling B.S. On That

7. Todd Hunter and the Re-Branding of Christianity

8. The Body of Christ, Stolen For You

9. The Challenge of Community

10. Congratulations, You’re Postmodern

Technorati Tags: 2009, Lists, Top 10