So when does the fruitfulness begin?

Unless a seed falls to the ground and dies it remains just one seed. But if it dies it becomes much more.

~ John 12:24

Seasons change fast. It seems like just yesterday I wrote that my new job was finally enabling us to move confidently into a missional church plant with Ikon Community.

Today, I’m here to report that we have shut Ikon down.

More details later. The short version is this: we were simply unable to either internally cultivate or externally recruit a viable leadership core. In recent months we’d gained momentum with two experienced leaders showing interest, but a few weeks ago that changed suddenly.

That was a tough blow.

Losing these people caused us to re-evaluate everything. Over the past 18 months, internal leadership candidates had either balked or moved away and we’d exhausted our local network for recruiting potential external leaders. Ultimately Jenell and I decided we were unwilling to carry the burden of leadership alone.

Without the gifts and camaraderie of a well rounded leadership team we simply can’t grow in a healthy way to the level of a mid-sized group (40-50 people) with the critical mass necessary to share a creative liturgy and have an impacting local mission. In my mind these are the two things we needed in order to be more than just another small group, and these were the two things we were never able to either initiate (a creative liturgy) or sustain (an impacting mission).

We could have continued Ikon as a rogue small group or house church in the area, but frankly that has never interested us. Besides, for better or worse, Jenell and I have never had much patience for propping up corpses. It was time to bury this one. Hence, we will no longer be gathering as a group and we’ve shut down the church planting process with The Vineyard Community of Churches.

What more can I say?

The personal cost to undertake this effort – starting over two and half years ago and begun 2200 miles away – has been nothing short of enormous. Peering into the coffin is painful and confusing. After 17 years in professional ministry and a graduate degree from seminary, I don’t know what this change means for my ministry vocation. I don’t know what this means for our family’s worship life. Honestly, I don’t know what it means for my faith.

It feels like a death or a divorce. In the end I suppose it’s a bit of both.

I was like an angry drunk for about a week while processing this decision. Some of you may have noticed (I should stay away from Twitter when I get that way). It didn’t help that my wife was out of town at the same time. Sorry for that.

I’m good now. Surprisingly good actually.

Some final notes: 1) In a day or two I’m going to write a post-mortem for our missional church plant. With all the missional bravado out there I figure someone should write about failure. Who knows? Someone might learn from it. Hell, maybe even me. 2) As coincidence would have it Mike Breen sent me his book Launching Missional Communities. I was reading it the very same week I was wrestling with the decision to close Ikon. I told Mike I would review it here, and I aim to fulfill that promise. Perhaps a perspective of the book from this side of the church planting experience might be helpful.

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.

Does it entertain? Does it instruct? Yes. Yes it does.

Cultural reality check: child evangelism as seen through the lens of Harpers Magazine

Rachel Aviv’s article, Like I was Jesus: How to bring a nine-year-old to Christ (August 2009, Harpers Magazine) may be one of the most important pieces of non-fiction literature I’ve read. It is aesthetic enough to be beautiful yet plain enough to get out of the way. She drops just enough insight to propel the reader forward, but is wise enough to mostly prop the piece up as a kind of mirror. A very effective mirror.

It’s a long article, but well worth the investment. Here are my random thoughts:

I found myself growing angry with the tactics used to bring children to Christ. Specifically, the way they separate kids from family members is just plain creepy. Also, I was struck by the way they use story and metaphors to perpetuate a closed concept of God. Does this bother anyone else?

The missionaries are communicating an increasingly untenable worldview. It’s a social imaginary of God – namely, an individually incubated form of superstitious certainty – that won’t hold up under the weight of a pluralistic society, the hardships of life, or, for that matter, the goodness we regularly encounter through others.

They are creating little fundamentalists. The only way to maintain the beliefs being conveyed by the Child Evangelism Fellowship (at least, as they’re represented in the article) is to sequester oneself in relative isolation with others who adhere to the same set of narrow beliefs. This doesn’t bode well for the cultivation of a just and peaceful society.

The author was on her own faith journey. I thought Aviv seemed to be grieving the loss of her own childhood faith, while simultaneously coming to grips with its dysfunction. My impression was that she was longing for a faith that is intelligent enough to make sense of a complex world and exist with integrity alongside other forms of knowledge in a way that reflects sociological/cultural adulthood. I think this may be true of our culture in general.

I was (and continue to be) haunted by the way Aviv wrote about story and narrative:

The Fellowship, too, equates children with a more primitive phase in our culture. It reaches backward in time, creating a community that is still vulnerable, prone to magical explanations, and free of secular learning. Children are predisposed to the fundamentalist’s literal mode of reading. Unlike adults, they are not yet suspicious of the way that stories—with their seductive yet predictable arcs—try to capture our imaginations. They can still surrender to the world of a narrative.

Story/narrative is a major thread throughout this piece, which is interesting to me because it’s a rather popular topic in the theological world too. The author essentially tries to expose the use of narrative as a way of perpetuating a more primitive (that is, inferior) social imaginary and she seems to believe that story itself is a more primitive (that is, inferior) medium.

If her perspective is typical of educated post (or hyper) moderns (and I’m not saying it is, I honestly don’t know), this creates a serious problem for Christian mission because much in the current formulation of postmodern mission hangs on the belief that people long for and relate to story better than data.

But, Aviv’s remarks made me realize that it’s one thing to indulge in story (clearly we are a culture that is obsessed with narratives of alternative realities) – but it is another thing entirely to have faith in a story, especially a fantastical one.

(Seriously. We poke fun at people who organize their entire lives around fantastical stories, and for good reason. We recognize there is something juvenile about this. Think of “Trekkies.” More and more, the secular Western world looks at conservative Christianity as one giant version of Comicon. Yes, I know – these sorts of sub-cultural communities are hugely successful and lucrative. But is that really what we want to emulate? Is Christianity just another successful juvenile fantasy niche market?)

As Christian leaders and missionaries, do we realize that “growing up” necessarily involves the process of calling simplistic narratives into question? Furthermore, to what extent are we seriously interrogating our own use of story to convey the gospel in a way that is true in a mature sense?

For example, some of the tension between Christianity and culture boils down to the Christian community’s insistence on holding to an immature understanding of biblical stories. We often use these narratives to communicate immature simplicity, societal preservation, and individual confinement, when the same stories can be used to communicate mature complexity, societal possibilities, and personal freedom. The creation story is the most obvious example.

So, when Jesus said to have “faith like a child” did he really mean we ought to shut our eyes and cover our ears the way children do when they don’t want to deal with difficult or unpleasant things?

Or did he mean something else?

I have come that they may kick ass, and kick ass to the full

Today, a little post-Christendom juxtaposition. Some of us are desperately trying to regain the seat of cultural power, and one way of doing so is by appealing to cheap American populism.

Case in point: Bryan Fischer of the American Family Association is disturbed by a trend in the awarding of the Medal of Honor, as exemplified recently by Obama’s awarding Army Sgt. Salvatore Giunta the Medal of Honor for saving a fellow soldier’s life.

Fischer commends Salvatore’s actions, but then laments that we aren’t rewarding soldiers for killing too (HT: American Jesus):

But I have noticed a disturbing trend in the awarding of these medals, which few others seem to have recognized.

We have feminized the Medal of Honor.

According to Bill McGurn of the Wall Street Journal, every Medal of Honor awarded during these two conflicts has been awarded for saving life. Not one has been awarded for inflicting casualties on the enemy. Not one.

So the question is this: when are we going to start awarding the Medal of Honor once again for soldiers who kill people and break things so our families can sleep safely at night?”

(I’ll set aside for a moment the observation that, with these comments, Fischer has managed to besmirch both femininity and masculinity – which, I have to admit, requires savant-like talent.)

The military exists to kill the enemy. If you have no problem with that, then you should have no problem with Fischer’s remarks. It’s only an issue because the AFA is a Christian interest group. Taking some heat from fellow Christians, Fischer followed up with a theological defense of his remarks:

“Christianity is not a religion of pacifism. Remember that John the Baptist did not tell the soldiers who came to him to lay down their arms, even when they asked him directly, “what shall we do?” (Luke 3:14).

War is certainly a terrible thing, and should only be waged for the highest and most just of causes. But if the cause is just, then there is great honor in achieving military success, success which should be celebrated and rewarded.

The bottom line here is that the God of the Bible clearly honors those who show valor and gallantry in waging aggressive war in a just cause against the enemies of freedom, even while inflicting massive casualties in the process. What I’m saying is that it’s time we started imitating God’s example again.”

This is typical of the Modern Christian-American narrative: God is on our side, and is glorified by the American military when they inflict large-scale casualties on the enemy – be they Brits, Germans, Japanese, Afghans, Iraqis…whoever.

We’re not the only one’s who believe it. Everyone believes God (or righteousness) is on their side. We believe it. America’s enemies believe it. Strangely enough, sports teams and athletes believe it. Businesses believe it. Churches believe it. And we all use this excuse to justify actions of aggression that hurt, suppress, exploit, defeat, or even, too often, kill those who are in competition with us.

Then we give medals and awards for it.

Interestingly, Andrew Sullivan of The Atlantic Weekly posted this snippet of a Greg Boyd sermon today, which addresses this very issue:

“When you pick up the sword you lay down the cross.” Indeed. Let’s face it: God isn’t our God. Power is our God. Power guised as safety, security, prosperity, peace, family values, law and order, righteousness and morality, or evangelism and church growth.

But the cross has nothing to do with asserting power, it has to do with abdicating power. The cross is where the supremely powerful God of the cosmos abdicated power and thereby made the powers powerless. That’s precisely what makes it a scandal, an offense, and a stumbling block.

There’s a bumper sticker that quips, “I’m pretty sure when Jesus said ‘Love your enemies’ he meant don’t kill them.” My sentiments exactly.

But hey, that’s just me.

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.

This is my burrito, broken for you

One of the things I love about forming new relationships is recognizing that moment when I’ve entered into the cycle of gifts with someone, because that is when grace begins to grow. This happened for me recently at work with the ladies at the front desk.

I’ll explain in a minute, but first, a quick word about grace and gifts.

Grace, you see, isn’t an abstraction. Rather, it’s born by the corpus of a gift. This, in my opinion, is a critical point to understand, because like most things theological, we have a tendency to abstract grace into oblivion.

Pastors of a certain persuasion tend to describe grace as the ultimate Get Out of Jail Hell Free Card; so cosmically magnanimous that the impulse to sin withers. In a word, for them, grace is freedom.  I think there’s truth to this, but it’s mostly overstated and largely unhelpful on a practical level. Worse, this freedom is often made into a badge that, ironically, excludes and vilifies others.

Pastors of another persuasion often describe grace as a divine ability, given for the transformation of self and others. In a word, grace is power. While I think there’s truth to this as well, it’s often given to a level of theatrical absurdity (“these aren’t the droids you’re looking for”) I just can’t stomach anymore and prone to a level of abuse that none should tolerate.

I’ve come to the conclusion that grace is far more ordinary. I think grace is a gift. I know, I know… everybody thinks that. Unfortunately, we’ve even made that concept abstract to the point of  obliteration (If you think grace being a gift simply means it’s free then you don’t understand how gifts worked in archaic societies – or modern societies for that matter). So perhaps it would be more helpful to say that gifts are grace. I mean that quite literally: every gift is grace.

Like my breakfast burrito.

This particular form of grace came to me this morning, but its genesis began a few weeks ago. I had moved into a new office at the front of the building, where two hard-nosed, battle-tested women run the font desk like a special forces commando unit. I needed to build a good relationship with them, so I gave them a gift.

I told them the story of my daughter driving her Volvo station wagon through our garage door that morning.

That was my gift. I told them the story, and told it well. I used hand gestures and rolled my eyes, and made them laugh and gave them surprise. Telling stories is a gift I have – literally the corpus of a grace given to me – and therefore it’s a gift I have to give. When I give it, grace is passed and grows in the giving.

Since that day, we say hello and good morning. They ask about my daughter and I ask about their families. In this way, grace grows through small, ordinary gifts until it’s too big to contain, so more giving is required.

That’s how my burrito came about. This morning one of the ladies stopped at my desk and asked, “I’m going to get a breakfast burrito, you want one?” My eyes grew wide, “Yes please.” Grace is always given as a gift and it always returns as a gift, you just can’t control when or how. For me, this morning, it came in a burrito.

Now, there is freedom in this gift. Power too. A great deal of both, in fact. But more importantly – and this is what we radically miss in popular theological imaginaries – there is breakfast. That is, there is a form of grace (it’s love, really, isn’t it?) that I can take and eat and remember, that will sustain me now and in the future, by the flesh and by the spirit. If, as creatures of matter, we cannot conceive of how a breakfast can and must be the logical and spiritual outcome of the gospel of grace then our theologies have failed us.

So now I’m eating grace. Actually, my friend and I both are. We’re sharing a communion of potatoes and peppers wrapped with eggs and bacon and cheese inside a warm tortilla. As usual, it’s more than I need.

I guess I’ll have to give some away.

Announcing the 2010 Micah Film Festival

Some of you know that last year folks from Ikon put together a weekend film festival of documentaries here in Oceanside, CA. Well, It was so much fun, we decided to do it again.

For the 2010 Micah Film Festival we’ve found three incredible documentary films to screen this year – one about Christian and Muslim fundamentalism, one about emergency medical work in conflict areas of the world, and one about autism -  along with some amazing non-profit organizations to spotlight.

Check it out:

The Micah Film Festival spotlights excellent documentary films that celebrate justice, mercy, and humility and also serves as a forum for connecting people with non-profit organizations who are making a difference locally and globally.

Our mission is to help restore the human spirit through art and advocacy.

Over the course of one weekend we will screen three award-winning documentaries that compellingly represent the spirit of Justice, Mercy, and Humility. After each screening we’ll have post-screening Q&A sessions and panel discussions about the important topics addressed by the films. Click here to learn more about the 2010 film selections.

We’ll also use the weekend to spotlight several local non-profits that are working working toward these values around the world, and we’ll use proceeds from your ticket purchase to raise money for these amazing organizations. Click here to learn more about our featured non-profits this year!

If you are going to be in SoCal the weekend of Nov 19-21, please consider coming. Your ticket purchase goes toward some great causes, and I promise you’ll be inspired by the films and the post-screening discussions we host.

I’d also like to ask you to help us spread the word. If you’re on facebook or Twitter, please help spread the word.  If you have a blog, please post about it or link to us. We have lots of tickets to sell and every little bit helps!

Thank everyone – hope to see you there!

Cultural reality check: Sara Bareilles

The churches I attended growing up regularly engaged with pop culture  – in a condemning way. Pastors often read rock-and-roll lyrics from the pulpit as evidence of the  “satanic” influence of the world.  Back then we still thought we were in charge.

As an adult I’ve enjoyed engaging with culture from the perspective of a missionary. That is, borrowing from the anthropologist, I enjoy trying to understanding this strange culture into which I’ve been called. When I quote here from pop songs, films, and literature, that is the perspective I tend to represent. Most of you know this already, but one thing is painfully obvious:

We’re no longer in charge (and it’s a good thing, too).

Case in point: Sarah Bareilles’ recent song King of Anything. Using thinly veiled evangelical catch-words and images, the lyrics portray the response of a woman who is triumphantly bitter about being evangelized. That kind of expression simply wouldn’t be tolerated in Christendom.

If you haven’t heard it already, I’ve embedded the lyrics and video below. Listen for yourself. Then, post your thoughts. What can we learn from Sarah’s song? How should we respond?

Keep drinking coffee, stare me down across the table
While I look outside
So many things I’d say if only I were able
But I just keep quiet and count the cars that pass by

You’ve got opinions, man
We’re all entitled to ‘em, but I never asked
So let me thank you for your time, and try not to waste anymore of mine
And get out of here fast

I hate to break it to you babe, but I’m not drowning
There’s no one here to save

Who cares if you disagree?
You are not me
Who made you king of anything?
So you dare tell me who to be?
Who died and made you king of anything?

You sound so innocent, all full of good intent
Swear you know best
But you expect me to jump up on board with you
And ride off into your delusional sunset

I’m not the one who’s lost with no direction
But you’ll never see

You’re so busy making maps with my name on them in all caps
You got the talking down, just not the listening

And who cares if you disagree?
You are not me
Who made you king of anything?
So you dare tell me who to be?
Who died and made you king of anything?

All my life I’ve tried to make everybody happy
While I just hurt and hide
Waiting for someone to tell me it’s my turn to decide

Who cares if you disagree?
You are not me
Who made you king of anything?
So you dare tell me who to be?
Who died and made you king of anything?

Who cares if you disagree?
You are not me
Who made you king of anything?
So you dare tell me who to be?
Who died and made you king of anything?

Let me hold your crown, babe

A prayer chain of faith, hope, and love

I’ve been making and using my own prayer beads for a couple of years now. I find the practice not only stretching, but somehow comforting. Jenell has picked up on the practice too, and we’ve each experimented with our own approaches to praying through them.

Recently Jenell created a set of prayer beads for a close friend. I thought both the beads themselves and the instructions were so beautiful I should share them here. The whole piece – more of a prayer chain really – is designed to be worn around the neck. The beads are turquoise and divided into three sets of ten – often called “decades” – with each set divided by little metal plates that say “faith”, “hope”, and “love”, respectively. The whole set clasps together at a wire cross, which divides one of the decades in half.

Here are the instructions Jenell wrote:

____________________________________________________________________________

First Decade
Start out with Hope. Stop and think about hope and what you truly need. Go from bead to bead and ask God for the things you hope for. Petition him for the things in your life you need and desire. Each request counts for one bead. These 10 beads are for you. You will have the chance to pray for loved ones in a minute.

Second Decade
Next move to Love. Stop at the love bead and think about whom you love and are thankful for. Ask God to be with these people as you move down the first five beads. You will then stop at the cross. Thank God that you only have the ability to love because He first loved you. Think about the cross and His willingness to die for you! Thank Him and then continue to move down the next five beads praying for, and thanking God for your loved ones.

Third Decade
Finally move to Faith. This may be the hardest set to pray through. Ask God to provide you with the faith and perseverance to act in accordance with his will. Pray for the things in yourself you need to change and don’t have the understanding, courage, belief to give up. Pray for the things in your life that you don’t think God can touch.

Stop at the Hope bead one more time and ask, pray for, hope for, peace in your day and finish by thanking God for giving Himself to all those who ask for Him.

A Few Notes

• You may or may not find it hard to come up with 10 things in each category. When you get stuck just wait a second and ask God to bring something else to mind. He will. Just wait.
• If you find yourself having more than 10 things to pray for, move on anyway. Remember you should come back to it in the next day or two and can pray about it then.
• Once you feel comfortable praying through the beads the way I have outlined start switching it up. Use the three beads as a jumping off point to pray for other categories, for example: Faith that the sick will be well (pray for 10 sick friends); Hope for the war to end and our soldiers to be safe! (pray for 10 soldiers you know); and so on.

____________________________________________________________________________

What are your experiences with the use of tactile prayer tools such as beads, candles, etc? Does this practice help you? Does it concern you? If you don’t have experience with this kind of practice, are you interested in trying it out?