Friday Arts Y.A.P.--Music with the Kids

I could not survive The Wiggles. I would've gouged my eyes out.

Several years ago while visiting a friend, I found his children were addicted to the Wiggles. Wiggles on TV, Wiggles on DVD, Wiggles on CD, Wiggles on the radio. I admire the Wiggles' spirit of entrepreneurship; I also admire anyone who can make a living as a musician. Some may want to debate whether the Wiggles are musicians, but my definition is broad. They make music.

Based on my Wiggles ear worm experience, I decided in my parenting strategy that for shared survival with my children, we would engage my musical collection. We sometimes gravitate toward their requests. I continue to be fascinated by what they choose when they make a song request. I have some categorized observations about their musical enjoyment. They're not neat and tidy, but I think this sums it up.

+  Experience matters. If they attend a concert or see a movie with a memorable soundtrack, they want to hear the song again.

Lipps, Inc. "Funky Town" This song was passed on from my generation to the next via Shrek 2. It is known as the "Shrek Song" in my house. One day while driving in Seattle, I asked my daughters what city we were in. My eldest daughter responded, "Funky Town."

Hey Good Lookin' My family attended a concert by The Wilders this summer at the historic Raymond Theater, in Raymond, WA. My youngest daughter was especially enamored by the Hank Williams cover tune and can be found regularly singing it around the house. Both daughters also recognize the Wilders whenever they show up on my music shuffle. It was a good experience on the whole because we also spent two days playing at the ocean before we went to the concert.

+ A lyrical or musical hook matters. Sometimes one particular line from a song will register with my daughters. Genre doesn't seem to matter as much as the imagery.

Whiskeytown "16 Days" Everyday for about 2-3 months, my youngest requested this song, which she knows as "Running Ghost." Repetition with a good musical hook can burn a song into daily living. For all of the critique they receive in my church circles, praise song writers know what works. Apparently Ryan Adams is aware of this, too (though I think he uses the tool much more effectively).

Great Big Sea "General Taylor"  This song inspires some of the most robust singing I hear from both daughters, triggered by the lyrical (even liturgical) hook "walk him along, John, carry him along."

+ Imagery matters.

Blood, Sweat and Tears, "Spinning Wheel" Not only does a spinning wheel image resonate in this song, but I think the painted pony reference works for my daughters as well.

Captain Tractor "The Last Sasketchewan Pirate" Though pirates are serious business these days and a security awareness for US military, we have a romantic relationship with pirates on all levels of culture. Did you participate in Talk Like A Pirate Day? This song is also a favorite, so much so that we made a special pilgrimage to the North Branch of the Saskatchewan River in Edmonton to look for pirates, because the river was beginning to thaw, and they might be getting ready for their plundering.

 
+ Sometimes children's music finds its way into our rotation. It doesn't have to be Wiggles-esque, either. Elizabeth Mitchell has some great music for kids, and her CD's always have something for the adults (including a great cover of The Velvet Underground's "What Goes On").

What I've learned from music and parenting is something that has been discovered by several Christian education professionals (Rich Melheim at Faith Inkubators, for example) is that we too often segregate our experiences on many levels. What was originally a selfish motive in avoiding The Wiggles has become something I look forward to sharing. Yes, we need time with our peers, but the multiplication of learning through music across generations has enriched my relationship with my daughters.

Take your pick: movement or institution?

Is it better to be part of a movement or an institution?

Once again, Seth Godin has me thinking about factories. During this time of economic restlessness and ennui, some call for America to return to its industrial revolution days and make things. When America made things, many people had steady paychecks and pensions. Middle-class America worked hard, saved money and many sent their kids to college, trade school, or set their children up for a good life. Institutions felt safe.

The church participated in the world of factories, too. In my Lutheran church world, good children of Northern European immigrants worked hard, canned vegetables and fruit, saved their money, and sent their children to Lutheran colleges (hat tip to Garrison Keillor to help me understand the cultural history of my tradition), which theology and religion departments served as factory feeders for Lutheran seminaries. That world was changing when I attended a Lutheran seminary in the 1990's; we were told that demographics were shifting, and more seminary students were coming from state colleges and universities than every before, quickly approaching 50 percent. I remember there were adjustments to the factory. Paul Sponheim told one of my classes that he used to be able to count on seminary students having a solid background in philosophy, but no more. He adjusted by giving a 2-3 lecture survey of philosophy.  There was some flexibility in the institution, but it was hard.

I became a pastor/product of a Lutheran seminary, prepared to enter other smaller factories including the ELCA Board of Pensions, Thrivent Financial for Lutherans (formerly Aid Association for Lutherans and Lutheran Brotherhood), and a series of congregational factories producing meetings of all kinds, including Women of the ELCA, church councils, Sunday School, and a whole host of committees. The idea was that if I faithfully participated in all of these institutions, I will be assured to have money to live on after my working days are done.

There are still places where the factory/institution of church still exists, and often times it is supported by the culture or demographics. Sometimes the institution is supported by hard working and intelligent leaders. However, in many places (I live in one of these places), Lutheran and other Mainline/Oldline Protestant traditions are part of crumbling institutions; there is no guarantee of security for any pastor or church professional. Some of my colleagues long for the institutional days of security. Some are angry at the culture. Some are angry at other colleagues for making the church what it is today and question their faithfulness or their understanding of theology or tradition.

One of my good friends and colleagues invited me to a discussion about 5 years ago regarding his tradition. He was part of a relatively new tradition, full of passionate people and congregations. People had toiled and worked tirelessly to develop a movement of grace, hospitality and justice. Some people who had been working in the grass roots of the movement were concerned about the continuation of the movement for generations to come. Pensions, health insurance, and constitutions became part of meetings and regular discussion. What was once a movement was becoming an institution. What was once full of energy, passion and care became meetings with minutes and boredom.

What happened?

I am not writing today to decry institutions. I am curious about society and the church of which I am a part, and our over-dependence and skewed expectations of institutions to make life good. I appreciate many institutions in my life that helped provide for me in my life. From government safety nets, to church organizations, to educational systems and to congregations, I am thankful for the generosity of God and the collective work of many. The problem is that institutions exist to self-preserve, and my understanding of following Christ is that our attention is directed toward God and neighbor, and that our institutions, at least in the understanding of Christian faith never exist for the sake of themselves, only that they turn our attention toward God and neighbor--that is a movement.

Are movements and institutions mutually exclusive? Can an institution behave like a movement or beget a movement? After my first season of ministry (about 12 years) studying and being the church as an institution, is it possible to be the church as a movement? Do movement-minded people abandon the institution? Do institution-minded people shun the movements? I do not know the answer to these questions, but I do know that my desire for security sometimes keeps me from challenging myself and others (wouldn't want to risk my pension), so I am willing to uphold the church factory system while I happily attempt to break through it. We don't live in a factory society anymore, but my fellow citizens and I behave like we do. The big problem is, regardless of institution or movement, I am a person of mixed motives and allegiances. But I also know that God does something even with the mixed motive people. Thanks be to God.

Issues With Authority (Mt. 21:23-32)

Authority is a funny thing. We like to question it, hold it, claim it, tear it it down, deny it in others and abuse it. if someone tells me they like authority, I think they're a little weird. But I don't know many who are generous with authority. Jesus is generous with his authority, and he only strengthens it in doing so.

Shiny, happy, clergy people: my story

Even though the pay tends to be low and the hours tend to be long, pastors topped the list of having the happiest jobs in the country. Pastors in my colleague circles strutted around like peacocks for a few days. The feathers went into hiding as quickly as they came out, lest they appear too proud. For pastors, it's this odd combination of fear of sinful pride, Murphy's law, tempting fait, superstition and for some Lutherans, Scandinavian influence.

Am I happy as a pastor? Am I a shiny, happy clergy person (had to give recognition to the end of a musical era for me)?

Well, it depends. I've judged a lot of my life based on how I feel when I get up in the morning. I generally like what each day brings. A mentor of mine used to tell his congregations, "if I'm not at least 75 percent happy in my work, I'm going to resign. Just so you know." He realized that a 25 percent crap load seemed reasonable, and came with the territory. More of a crap load wasn't worth it, no matter what the pay. The man had had cancer, and wasn't going to sacrifice joy for work at that stage in his life. I haven't expilicity embraced that axiom as a pastor, but implicitly, that principle is influential in how I look at vocation.

I started a PhD program about 10 years ago, and dropped out after 3 years. I started because I loved learning, and had become adept at collecting degrees and certificates, so it seemed to be the next logical step.  I also found that I have a love for minutae in a variety of topics, especially sociology and geography. I stopped that trend of degree collecting because the return on investiment looked skewed. The decision wasn't merely about return on investment, but also the opportunity cost of the degree at the time. I also started the program because I had some unnamed concerns about being part of a church factory (more on that below).

Today my 4 year old daughter asked me, "Daddy, do you not go to school anymore? Are you all done?" I told her that I'm not going to school right now (I like to keep some options open), but that it's always important to learn. I strive to learn each day.

This learning variable for me is the key to joy in my life. Even though a pastor's life is in principal about learning and faith, it doesn't always turn out that way. On several occasions, I have been a part of what could be seen as a church factory. The goal of the church factory is to have a lot of meetings, meetings to plan more meetings, or lament that the church isn't having the right kind of or enough meetings, or insufficient meeting attendance. The church factory is often more about familiarity and status than God or Chrisitan discipleship. So I gave up the factory and the security of it so I could learn, build (physically and relationally) and create--some of the building blocks of creating a movement in the name of Christ. I have time to learn, something I struggled to do when living and working in the church factory. The church I serve has little status or financial security, but space to learn and create with passionate people.

The short answer to the happy clergy person question is yes, I am a happy clergy person. I have space to create, build, learn and connect. I know that this equation is tenuous, because I know clergy who are not happy, for a variety of reasons, and situations can change. But my 4-year old daughter's question reminded me where I find my joy. Thanks, Ashling.

Post script: I should add that in my experience, a church factory isn't related to size of the church. A church factory could be a small, medium or large church. Factory is a function of attitude.

God's Generosity Transforms Commodity Equation (Mt 20: 1-16)

In a parable of workers and a landowner, Jesus tells a story of transforming generosity. However, the workers would prefer something closer to what we might know as a pyramid scheme. Each of our lives have been transformed by the generosity of another. Christ was generous to the point of his own death.

Spiritual, But Not Religious: Local Differences May Apply

Lillian Daniel, a United Church of Christ pastor in Illinois, recently played a page from one of my favorite authors, Seth Godin.

She catered to the passionate.

I doubt this rhetorical approach was intentional, but Daniel's recent commentary on the segment of the population known as "spiritual, but not religious" stirred passion (including my own) across the interwebs addressing public relgion discourse. I had not seen such wide response to any topic in religion among my circles in a few years. Some topics in religion gain more notoriety, usually related to extremist postures, namely Westboro Baptist and Pastor Terry Jones on one end of a continuum, and Christopher Hitchens on the other end. These public figures tend to be the influence leaders in public religion discourse; their conversation paths are well-worn, drowning out thoughtful inquiry about the relationship between faith, religion and society. To find a wedge by catering to the passionate without extremist posturing, Daniel did exceptional work.

To be fair, Daniel has a lengthier post that is not quite as inflammatory addressing the same topic. It still caters to the passionate on a compelling sociological trend. Religion researchers for years have widely studied the demographic and sociological data related to relgious movements. With a growing fascination in more recent years are the anti-movements on the religion spectrum, people who disengage from religious participation. They have been known as the "Nones" or the "spiritual, but not religious (SBNR)." Daniel taps into some indignation about the commonly dreaded airplane conversation about religion. She let her audience know of her boredom with this increasingly common demographic, exhibiting a degree of indignation related to a lack of perseverance toward community. Daniel's use of boredom illicited two response trends--one saying "Amen!" The other was "but all people deserve an opportunity to connect with a religious community regardless of their attitude, and her proclamation of boredom with the SBNR crowd is not becoming of a Christian." I tend to side with the latter response, but I had to let my initial knee-jerk reaction settle a little bit more.

I believe that Daniel's use of rhetoric is admirable considering her audience. She's writing/speaking to Mainline/Oldline Protestants who continue to exhibit a degree of disorientation about their place in society. I believe that the crux of the message to her audience is that community is hard and takes thoughtful and prayerful work. There are no short cuts or community-in-a-box programs that will build strong Chrisitian relationships and groups. For those who have disengaged from religion, there is probably a story along the way (sometimes shared on airplanes) of a wound or two (or more) inflicted by a congregation, pastor, fellowship group, etc., which caused that relationship to fray and eventually sever. Sometimes congregational systems overemphasize peace and harmony at the expense of the difficult work of redemption and restoration. I believe it is an appropriate message to Mainline/Oldline Protestants that community is hard, but the benefits are worth the work. However, I'm not sure that the affirmation of the challenge of community should be over and against the SBNR demographic.

From a sociological standpoint, I think it is detrimental to relgious public discourse to paint the SBNR demographic picture with minimal brush strokes (God-in-the-sunset-love and fear of commitment). Many different variables come into play. Regional differences and other demographic variables can affect what SBNR means. There is a difference between the responses about Daniel's writing in Christian publications and websites and an internet journalism (Crosscut) commentary based out of Seattle. The Crosscut commentary reflects (anecdotally) the open religious marketplace that is the Pacific Northwest, which happens to be my particular context. Religion can work like politics and real estate; you can ignore local idiosyncracies, but at your own peril.

The core of what bothered me about Daniel's presentation depicts a prevalent attitude of "liberal" Christian church leaders observed by University of Washington religion scholar James Wellman in his research of Mainline/Oldline Protestants ("religious liberals) and Evangelicals in the Pacific Northwest:

"...while liberal leaders might complain that the [Pacific Northwest] had no tradition of church going and tended to discount organized religion per se, evangelical leaders would often comment whith excitement about untapped opportunities in the region." James K. Wellman, Jr. Evangelical vs. Liberal: The Clash of Christian Cultures in the Pacific Northwest p. 49.

Daniel's experience echoes some of my interaction with leaders in my Lutheran tradition in the Pacific Northwest (even though Daniel's congregation is in Illinois) that somehow the Christian church is entitled to a place in society as a beacon of example for what it means to be community (these PNW examples are for another post). Again, I think local conditions apply--that kind of trust of a congregation in a community must be earned, not assumed because a congregation has a steeple that pierces the skyline. I know the congregation I serve is not for everyone. But I also appreciate the opportunities I have to connect with my neighbors and proclaim the Christ I know with my words and actions. It's possible I may show that I'm bored with someone's faith experience on occasion, but I also appreciate the opportunity for redemption with my neighbor.

Organizational Commodity Indexes (Church Included)

Do you have a commodity index in your church or organization?

This past Saturday, my congregation hosted a booth at a large city gathering as an opportunity to say thank you to military and civil servants (Lakewood Salutes). We saw an opportunity to connect with neighbors; we set up shop and gave away microwave popcorn ("pop on over to a worship service at St. John's!"). Later in the day, with increasing daytime heat, we gave away cold water. With a box and a stack of 3x5 cards, we collected the prayers of anyone willing to share their concerns, promising St. John's would lift them up.

We were surrounded by many different kinds of vendors, many honest business people sharing what they had to offer in the public square. For some people in business, the pressure is on to collect names, give away items, persuade people to make a purchase, become a member, make a donation. These actions are inherently bad. Businesses participate in these actions, as do non-profits, clubs, ministries and congregations.

The danger for any of these organizations is than the people with whom they encounter easily become commodities. Because I work in the church, I can tell you what the commodification of people looks like in the church.

Your average Joe Smith walks in the door (tee hee) to Twelfth Lutheran Church in Medianville. Twelfth Church has a lot going on for years, but in the past few years, things have been slipping a little bit. Sunday School teachers are in shorter supply. There's a fairly small, yet slowly expanding list of vacancies on a variety of boards. The offering collection is down.

People get anxious. The mortgage has to be paid. The Sunday School classes need to be a reasonable size for the teachers. The windows need to be replaced. The staff needs to be paid fairly (but you know, maybe they're being paid too much for the trajectory of the congregation--hey, let's talk about that at the next board meeting--or better yet, let's talk about it in the parking lot, or at the café, or on the golf course).

That average Joe Smith that walks in the door starts to look like fresh meat to the congregation. He could serve on a board! Joe could mow the church lawn! Joe could teach Sunday School! Maybe he knows how to fix stuff! I wonder how much money he puts in the offering plate...

None of these ways of serving local congregations is bad. They're all good. The problem is that people know when they're means to an end. That Joe Smith knows, too. I have been reminded in many different ways over the past few months about the damage that is done to a church and organization when people are viewed as commodities than recognized and valued in that they are made in the image of God. In the church we have created institutions at the expense of the relationships--and people know it. Even though people sometimes willingly participate in their own commodification, no one finds joy in being a commodity, traded and treated like cattle. This is never the initial intent in any organization, but anxiety can turn the tables, often subtly.

What is the commodity index in your church or organization? Are people the means to an end? To what degree is this true? Are people inherently valuable for who they are as someone created in God's image? To what degree is this true? The answers to these questions will give you some idea of your Organizational Commodity Index.

Post Script: Measurements in your organization are not inherently bad, either, but as a tool to understand your relationships, or (dangerously) another way to see people as commodities.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Motor Ave SW,Tacoma,United States

Still interpreting a teacher's comment--15 years later

Last month, I started podcasting my sermons (I apologize to any regular followers this week, tech difficulties prevented last Sunday's audio). This has forced me to listen to my recorded voice, which is far from a pleasant experience. Listening to my own voice bring memories from seminary to the surface.

Both of my preaching professors had distinct senses of humor, more so than my other professors. Maybe that's why they were preaching profs in the first place. It wasn't unusual for most of the burgeoning preachers to come in as a completely unformed slab of clay, waiting to be shaped. My teacher loved to offer quips about the art of shaping preachers. He used to say that the end of each academic year, he would travel to his lakeside cabin where it was completely quiet, and stand on his head for a week. He wanted all of the student sermons swimming around in his head to flow out of his brain, and out through his ears into the earth so he could come back in the fall to take in more sermons.

I couldn't ascertain whether my teacher called me Josephus because he had hope for me as a preacher, or that he was trying to make my name a little more interesting (I know the feeling). Toward the end of the term, he looked at me after one of my sermons and said to me, "Josephus, you have a voice that can weld." To this day, I'm not sure how to take that comment. Is my voice powerful? Does my voice bring metal together? Or is my sermon delivery as such that you need protective clothing and not look directly at it, lest you singe your retinas and/or flesh?

Putting sermons further out into the public sphere creates an interesting dynamic. Churches are public places; though as my teacher Pat Keifert has often said, we often treat our worship spaces like family homes rather than public places, much to our detriment. A message seems easier to control in the confines of a family home--but what of mission and the Great Commission?

Putting my sermons even more out in public still feels risky, especially when I'm trying to figure out if this welding voice of mine is a good thing or a bad thing.




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Bridgeport Way SW,Lakewood,United States

Jesus & A Vision for Restored Relationships (Mt. 18: 15-20)

We live a life surrounded by broken relationships--in families, in congregations, in communities, between races of people. Jesus offers a vision for restoration--which is hard. Jesus' life reveals the great lengths to which God will go to restore relationships...can we see it? Can we live it (sermon from September 4, 2011)?

Staring off into the clouds (of witnesses)

Today I've been working with theory and practice related to sociology of religion. I love this stuff. Almost can't get enough of it. Especially when something happens in the daily activity of ministry, and I visualize a constructing bridge cantilevering over the chasm between academia and ministry. Three hours of thinking, posting, praying, reading. It felt like 15 minutes. I was in a zone, in a place for me where I know the Holy Spirit resides. It doesn't get much better than that for me.

Today was also the day my oldest daughter had her first day of school. I remember watching The Cosby Show as a kid and the celebration Cliff and Claire Huxtable used to have on the first day of school. I was feeling that. I love my daughter, and I will miss her while she is at school in a matter of days. A little lost in the shuffle is my 4 year old, who doesn't start preschool until next week. She kept coming in to talk to me (as she is prone to do) while I was giddy with idea flow, and I was too dismissive of her conversation. I looked to the heavens for a little insight, and I remembered a teacher of mine who spoke to me from the cloud of witnesses (Hebrews 12:1).

The cloud of witnesses are supposed to be the heroes of the faith. This was not my favorite teacher, one that often perturbed me. However, I remembered some wise words I received about how he was once taught that church life and pursuits always came first in ministry, and following that was the most significant regret in a life of ministry. The cloud of witnesses and the Holy Spirit directed me to get on my knees, look my daughter in the eye and say "Let's play a game. How about Candy Land?" I was moved to think about how she moved into the cloud of witnesses. That cloud allowed me to be thankful for the joy in the presence of God, joy in the flow of ideas, and joy in the simple connection of the moment. All in the midst of things that could have just as easily annoyed me. Thanks be to God.