Do you think Friday Night Lights is a show about football? Think again. Football is part of the story, but FNL is about relationships. A creative culture makes it happen.
FNL makes its last hurrah as a current television series this Friday night. I'm not sure I've mourned the end of a series as much as this one. I admire the show for its passion and its creative process--and how a culture was created that facilitated and encouraged the creative process. This culture inspires me as a pastor. I hope that I can facilitate such a culture in the congregation and community I serve. Creation (not the "Intelligent Design" brand) is a theological foundation for me.
For a peek into the creative culture of Friday Night Lights, check out this oral history of FNL in Grantland (and if you haven't read Grantland yet, I commend it to you for writing on culture and sport that is moving far ahead of what any periodical is offering on similar topics).
Though the church has a history of inspiring creativity, the history is also long on burying creativity. Several teachers in seminary that I respect taught me an understanding of church based on replication. I took that teaching at face value for awhile. While there are some essentials in the life of the church to be replicated (and these things have been debated since Jesus arose from the dead), I believe much is up for creative interpretation. There are numerous periods in the life of the church where creativity has been squashed for a variety of reasons. This has happened and continues to occur in Mainline Protestant traditions. Even when there are wellsprings of creativity, these wellsprings are quickly institutionalized and become their own turf wars (see "contemporary" worship).
Mainline Protestant traditions were able to spread because of replication (plenty of cookie cutter church architecture out there). What else spreads because of replication? Chain restaurants. One may be able to get survival nutrition from a chain restaurant, but can people thrive? I have great hope to encourage a congregational culture where encouraging creativity is foundational to our relationship with God and one another. To me, this seems to be connected to the Great Commission: Where Jesus said, Go! Make disciples! Baptize! I am with you.
This is a creative directive from Jesus, with encouragement to go with it.
Encouraging creativity is contagious. The motto shared by Coach Taylor with his players and supporters: "Clear eyes. Full hearts. Can't lose." Though Taylor had some "my way or the highway" methodology to coaching--he always took into account the gifts and individual situations of his players (sometimes learning the hard way), which was linked to the creative process of the series. I love thinking about this in a community of faith.
Kyle Chandler, who plays Coach Taylor on FNL, talks about how that creativity spread from the show to a basic interaction in his life:
Chandler: I was back home in Los Angeles and we wanted to put a gate up in our yard. The fella came over and said, "Mr. Chandler, how do you want me to build this?" I said, "I'm not going to tell you how to build this gate. You just look around at what's here, and you build the best gate you can. Be as creative as you want. Take your time, and just give me a good gate." That gate's probably going to stand for 400 years.
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
Creating: A Good Way To Start
Genesis poses several challenges to Bible readers.
For some, Genesis represents a lens the natural world: a 6,000 year-old Earth where the words in Genesis trump any scientific discovery. For others, the idea of a talking snake conversing with the first humans delegitimizes any claim the Bible makes. Placing these perspectives on a continuum, I imagine that many Bible readers fall somewhere in between the two aforementioned poles.
I'm reflecting on the creation stories in Genesis today because I'm beginning a ministry that is new to me. God has been here in Lakewood and at St. John's Lutheran Church long before I got here. But In Genesis, God engages humanity to join in the creative action of God. Creation is an ongoing activity, initiated and supported by God--I'm glad I get to take part.
The challenge of the day in light of Genesis is actually creating. Creating was a first person activity for our parents and their parents. It was not only part of survival, but essentially cultural: our ancestors cooked from scratch more often, created their own tools and crafts, fixed their own household items. This is not meant to glamorize the past, rather give us perspective on where we are.
In an information age, passive intake is a default operation for many cultures. I don't wish to return to glamorized days of yore, but I do want to recognize that creation takes intentional action. Any of us can execute our survival primarily on consumption. From Internet, to social media, to ordering a pizza on a smart phone, to streaming movies on a tablet, we can navigate our days without much intentional thought. I am thankful for all of these tools, but creation can easily be lost from day to day living.
Maybe the view of "be fruitful and multiply (Genesis 1:28)" can be expanded from bringing children into the world to creating in a sense that makes life better for living.
Seth Godin's book Linchpin has challenged me to reconsider my participation in creation. What am I sharing with the world? What steps am I taking to give life in the world? In encouraging moments, Godin encourages me with all the gifts and talents I have, at other times reminds me how often I waste time spinning my wheels on social media and Web surfing.
Today provided me one of many choices; writing provided me a good path to start a ministry that is new to me. Creation is a good foundation for any day of life.
For some, Genesis represents a lens the natural world: a 6,000 year-old Earth where the words in Genesis trump any scientific discovery. For others, the idea of a talking snake conversing with the first humans delegitimizes any claim the Bible makes. Placing these perspectives on a continuum, I imagine that many Bible readers fall somewhere in between the two aforementioned poles.
I'm reflecting on the creation stories in Genesis today because I'm beginning a ministry that is new to me. God has been here in Lakewood and at St. John's Lutheran Church long before I got here. But In Genesis, God engages humanity to join in the creative action of God. Creation is an ongoing activity, initiated and supported by God--I'm glad I get to take part.
The challenge of the day in light of Genesis is actually creating. Creating was a first person activity for our parents and their parents. It was not only part of survival, but essentially cultural: our ancestors cooked from scratch more often, created their own tools and crafts, fixed their own household items. This is not meant to glamorize the past, rather give us perspective on where we are.
In an information age, passive intake is a default operation for many cultures. I don't wish to return to glamorized days of yore, but I do want to recognize that creation takes intentional action. Any of us can execute our survival primarily on consumption. From Internet, to social media, to ordering a pizza on a smart phone, to streaming movies on a tablet, we can navigate our days without much intentional thought. I am thankful for all of these tools, but creation can easily be lost from day to day living.
Maybe the view of "be fruitful and multiply (Genesis 1:28)" can be expanded from bringing children into the world to creating in a sense that makes life better for living.
Seth Godin's book Linchpin has challenged me to reconsider my participation in creation. What am I sharing with the world? What steps am I taking to give life in the world? In encouraging moments, Godin encourages me with all the gifts and talents I have, at other times reminds me how often I waste time spinning my wheels on social media and Web surfing.
Today provided me one of many choices; writing provided me a good path to start a ministry that is new to me. Creation is a good foundation for any day of life.
Location:82nd St SW,Lakewood,United States
Monday, May 23, 2011
Another Untimely Review: The Fighter
Working class hero films tend to draw me in.
I appreciate watching someone driven by passion and overcome adversity to achieve a goal. The storytelling can even be mediocre; whenever I watch Rocky films I see the melodrama and weak dialogue. Yet I still get charged by the adrenaline rush because I see what has challenged my own family members and me. Though we aren't working-class heroes or win boxing matches in my family, the victories cause me to raise my arms in joy, and kneel in thanks to God. Such displays of humility represent the faith, ritual and athleticism of "Irish" Micky Ward in The Fighter.
The Fighter is a film that doesn't hide the fact that that it's a boxing film, and Mark Wahlberg and his production crew don't gloss over the boxing details. The ability to suspend any disbelief and completely lock-in to the story results from execution of the boxing details--the sweat, blood, broken bones, and mind-numbing blows (though not a gratuitous display of violence). If boxing is a sport that you can't tolerate, this film may not be for you. In its entirety, the film is about relationships. If you're on the edge about boxing, hang on to the film for the relational story telling. Each major character wrestles with both their gifts and demons and each with a web of relationships. Whereas many sports films rely on adrenaline to carry the story, the adrenaline ultimately overpowers anything that could be a story. As one of the producers, Wahlberg and his colleagues executed a balance in this film that rises above the stereotypes and cliches of sports and boxing.
Through the attention to detail in film making in The Fighter, the story joins a rare group of film plots: we see an authentic depiction of forgiveness. Too often forgiveness is seen as a minor detail to tie up the story. Since The Fighter is based on a true story the forgiveness aspect rings true, but there are no guarantees a screenplay will render accurate the emotional toil of forgiveness rather than a trite pronouncement.
I gave this film a lot of leeway because I love sports and working-class hero stories. What I didn't expect was such a tight and well-crafted story and screenplay. I forgot I was watching a film and realized I was closer to the drama than I ever imagined, and forgiveness carries the day.
I appreciate watching someone driven by passion and overcome adversity to achieve a goal. The storytelling can even be mediocre; whenever I watch Rocky films I see the melodrama and weak dialogue. Yet I still get charged by the adrenaline rush because I see what has challenged my own family members and me. Though we aren't working-class heroes or win boxing matches in my family, the victories cause me to raise my arms in joy, and kneel in thanks to God. Such displays of humility represent the faith, ritual and athleticism of "Irish" Micky Ward in The Fighter.
The Fighter is a film that doesn't hide the fact that that it's a boxing film, and Mark Wahlberg and his production crew don't gloss over the boxing details. The ability to suspend any disbelief and completely lock-in to the story results from execution of the boxing details--the sweat, blood, broken bones, and mind-numbing blows (though not a gratuitous display of violence). If boxing is a sport that you can't tolerate, this film may not be for you. In its entirety, the film is about relationships. If you're on the edge about boxing, hang on to the film for the relational story telling. Each major character wrestles with both their gifts and demons and each with a web of relationships. Whereas many sports films rely on adrenaline to carry the story, the adrenaline ultimately overpowers anything that could be a story. As one of the producers, Wahlberg and his colleagues executed a balance in this film that rises above the stereotypes and cliches of sports and boxing.
Through the attention to detail in film making in The Fighter, the story joins a rare group of film plots: we see an authentic depiction of forgiveness. Too often forgiveness is seen as a minor detail to tie up the story. Since The Fighter is based on a true story the forgiveness aspect rings true, but there are no guarantees a screenplay will render accurate the emotional toil of forgiveness rather than a trite pronouncement.
I gave this film a lot of leeway because I love sports and working-class hero stories. What I didn't expect was such a tight and well-crafted story and screenplay. I forgot I was watching a film and realized I was closer to the drama than I ever imagined, and forgiveness carries the day.
Friday, May 20, 2011
The Interpretive Challenge of Unconference11
Human life in this age places value on experience. Each experience elicits a degree of response. A television program can be watched with varied responses. The responses can be laid out on a continuum. Some responses offer a short shelf-life: "can you believe that American Idol vote last night?" Each episode will only be dissected for so long for some. For others, the episode may accumulate with others and inspire a vocal performance career.
Any experience offers an opportunity for interpretation. I have attended numerous continuing education events over the years. Each learning experience, though varied in content, offered a very similar structure. A speaker/teacher of great repute travels and meets traveling participants for a provision of information. It's like I back my empty informational truck into a dock for a load of information. Though the content may be complex, the transaction is simple. I pay money. I receive information. I receive a binder or folder full of notes and handouts I will not likely crack open again. I receive a Power Point file attached to an email that clogs a memory stick or sits on my hard drive. I may have more information, but the information nourishes my body as if I attempted nourishment by swallowing a palm full of vitamins without eating any food. The intake at a conference may hold nutritive qualities, but the information isn't sticky. The typical workshop/conference/symposium in church circles fails the stickiness test. My library is a testimony to this observation. I store many binders with hope of using the material again, yet I often don't. This failure doesn't speak to the quality of the information, but the context in which it was delivered. Every educational experience challenges the participant to interpret the information to their own context. Conference hosts over the years have recognized that more people from each context increases the stickiness of the information (Bring a group! Save money! Broaden the application!) but the methodology still lacks the stickiness necessary for integration.
Unconference11 was a powerful experience for me. Not only because it represented a spiritual milestone for me, but because there was something incarnational about it. Fleshy and sticky. There was not only information shared, but relationships were graciously hosted with God and others. Every participant was given the opportunity to contribute and be respected. This is not what usually comes out of a conference. The ethos of a typical conference resembles a rock concert. If only you can get close to the star, get a backstage pass, some of that star quality might rub off into your context.
Last night I ate dinner with good friends who, like me have attended numerous conferences and workshops. They know the routine. Talk about the greatness of the speaker, the cutting edge discovery or technique, the idea that will change our contexts. I realized last night that I couldn't explain the experience in the same way that I have explained other learning events covering about 20 years of my life.
The challenge of interpreting Unconference11 remains. What will matter in these weeks ahead? First of all, I gathered with a small group of folks passionate about subversive and new ministry developments. I hope to resource this group of people as I enter into a trajectory of ministry new to me. I am thankful for that opportunity. Most of all, the interpretive challenge of Unco11 will not be whether I can share what exactly I learned and experienced among friends. I was respected. I was valued. I was given the opportunity to contribute both truth and beauty. I was healed and loved. No "conference" I have ever attended has done that. My inclination is that though my work and life in the church looks a lot like the conferences I have attended for 20 years--a lot of vitamins, but no nourishment. The interpretive challenge is not that I can replicate Unco11 in my context, but whether in my context I can share in the work of healing, respect, love and creativity. This sounds a lot like Jesus to me.
Any experience offers an opportunity for interpretation. I have attended numerous continuing education events over the years. Each learning experience, though varied in content, offered a very similar structure. A speaker/teacher of great repute travels and meets traveling participants for a provision of information. It's like I back my empty informational truck into a dock for a load of information. Though the content may be complex, the transaction is simple. I pay money. I receive information. I receive a binder or folder full of notes and handouts I will not likely crack open again. I receive a Power Point file attached to an email that clogs a memory stick or sits on my hard drive. I may have more information, but the information nourishes my body as if I attempted nourishment by swallowing a palm full of vitamins without eating any food. The intake at a conference may hold nutritive qualities, but the information isn't sticky. The typical workshop/conference/symposium in church circles fails the stickiness test. My library is a testimony to this observation. I store many binders with hope of using the material again, yet I often don't. This failure doesn't speak to the quality of the information, but the context in which it was delivered. Every educational experience challenges the participant to interpret the information to their own context. Conference hosts over the years have recognized that more people from each context increases the stickiness of the information (Bring a group! Save money! Broaden the application!) but the methodology still lacks the stickiness necessary for integration.
Unconference11 was a powerful experience for me. Not only because it represented a spiritual milestone for me, but because there was something incarnational about it. Fleshy and sticky. There was not only information shared, but relationships were graciously hosted with God and others. Every participant was given the opportunity to contribute and be respected. This is not what usually comes out of a conference. The ethos of a typical conference resembles a rock concert. If only you can get close to the star, get a backstage pass, some of that star quality might rub off into your context.
Last night I ate dinner with good friends who, like me have attended numerous conferences and workshops. They know the routine. Talk about the greatness of the speaker, the cutting edge discovery or technique, the idea that will change our contexts. I realized last night that I couldn't explain the experience in the same way that I have explained other learning events covering about 20 years of my life.
The challenge of interpreting Unconference11 remains. What will matter in these weeks ahead? First of all, I gathered with a small group of folks passionate about subversive and new ministry developments. I hope to resource this group of people as I enter into a trajectory of ministry new to me. I am thankful for that opportunity. Most of all, the interpretive challenge of Unco11 will not be whether I can share what exactly I learned and experienced among friends. I was respected. I was valued. I was given the opportunity to contribute both truth and beauty. I was healed and loved. No "conference" I have ever attended has done that. My inclination is that though my work and life in the church looks a lot like the conferences I have attended for 20 years--a lot of vitamins, but no nourishment. The interpretive challenge is not that I can replicate Unco11 in my context, but whether in my context I can share in the work of healing, respect, love and creativity. This sounds a lot like Jesus to me.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Escaping the Tyranny of the Urgent: Opportunity for a Grounded Life
What makes a fulfilled day for me (in no particular order)?
1. Exercise
2. Prayer
3. Reading
4. Writing
5. Connecting with loved ones
6. Organizing
7. An additional intentional, thoughtful creative act
Sometimes these acts are dovetailed together. For example, sometimes I pray while I exercise. Sometimes I connect with loved ones through reading or writing. Outside of leading in congregational life (I am currently without a congregation), I have no excuses not to do each of these seven things each day. I don't have an excuse to not do these even when I'm working outside the home, but sometimes the tyranny of the urgent takes my focus off these things that ground me. This time in between congregations for me is a time to get grounded (in the positive sense).
What are your actions for a fulfilled day?
1. Exercise
2. Prayer
3. Reading
4. Writing
5. Connecting with loved ones
6. Organizing
7. An additional intentional, thoughtful creative act
Sometimes these acts are dovetailed together. For example, sometimes I pray while I exercise. Sometimes I connect with loved ones through reading or writing. Outside of leading in congregational life (I am currently without a congregation), I have no excuses not to do each of these seven things each day. I don't have an excuse to not do these even when I'm working outside the home, but sometimes the tyranny of the urgent takes my focus off these things that ground me. This time in between congregations for me is a time to get grounded (in the positive sense).
What are your actions for a fulfilled day?
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Music as pastoral care and building the community of faith
The battle over worship in this congregation started in 1967 when _________________ played a guitar in worship. The war has gone on ever since.
That was a statement of an elder member of a congregation I served as an interim when I asked about the stories related to conflict over worship. One might call it the Thirty Years' War. The "Worship Wars" don't have the acrimony they once did even five years ago. I never understood the approach of the Worship Wars in "Mainline" Protestantism. Arguing over preferences produces no clarity, no mission, no deeper connection with the Divine.
I am not a worship scholar. I wouldn't even call myself gifted in worship methodology or theology. But I ponder the effects of music on my soul and my longing for God, desiring healing and wholeness, and where I see Christ. I have to provide the musical connection with God for myself, because the church for 30 years has been more interested in arguing about style preferences than offering to build my relationship with God and others in their spiritual growth. Recently I've been thinking less about my musical preferences and HOW I am connected to God and others by a particular song.
1. The role of testimony. Preachers and other deliverers of the Gospel can appropriately share their personal stories about the activity of God in their lives. I find meaning in that connection--why can't it be done with music? Case in point--a pastoral care song for me is from Melody Gardot's Who Will Comfort Me. The song is good in and of itself, but it means even more in light of Melody's own path of healing. Gardot faced brutal injuries and the healing setbacks and triumphs in her life come out in this particular song. Testimony brings out a tradition of the Psalms. Sometimes lament, sometimes victory. Sometimes confidence in God's presence, sometimes longing questions and frustration. Who will comfort me?
2. Songs of confession and songs of intercession. Years ago I had numerous opportunities to preach for the St. Dysmas prison congregation in the South Dakota State Penitentiary. I had some great conversations with the worship band. Though they loved playing worship music and praise songs, the jam sessions revealed more about their walk with God. What saddened me was that they thought their jams had no place in the worship service. One band member and I had a discussion around Molly Hatchet's "Flirtin' With Disaster." The song provided an entry point for this young man's story, his crimes and sins, his incarceration, and his relationship with God. I always thought it was a good song, though not a favorite. The song is now a favorite because it is an opportunity for me to pray for this young man--for healing, for forgiveness, for a newness of life each day, and a new start when he gets out of prison.
Unfortunately, my work with the Worship Wars of the past 30 or so years has been more about addressing conflict and congregational dynamics. In this season of my life, I hope for articulation of music as pastoral care and faith community building.
Excuse me--while I commute home tonight and listen to tunes from my iPhone, I will be in a place of worship. Through Christ, creation (music) and relationship--God heals.
That was a statement of an elder member of a congregation I served as an interim when I asked about the stories related to conflict over worship. One might call it the Thirty Years' War. The "Worship Wars" don't have the acrimony they once did even five years ago. I never understood the approach of the Worship Wars in "Mainline" Protestantism. Arguing over preferences produces no clarity, no mission, no deeper connection with the Divine.
I am not a worship scholar. I wouldn't even call myself gifted in worship methodology or theology. But I ponder the effects of music on my soul and my longing for God, desiring healing and wholeness, and where I see Christ. I have to provide the musical connection with God for myself, because the church for 30 years has been more interested in arguing about style preferences than offering to build my relationship with God and others in their spiritual growth. Recently I've been thinking less about my musical preferences and HOW I am connected to God and others by a particular song.
1. The role of testimony. Preachers and other deliverers of the Gospel can appropriately share their personal stories about the activity of God in their lives. I find meaning in that connection--why can't it be done with music? Case in point--a pastoral care song for me is from Melody Gardot's Who Will Comfort Me. The song is good in and of itself, but it means even more in light of Melody's own path of healing. Gardot faced brutal injuries and the healing setbacks and triumphs in her life come out in this particular song. Testimony brings out a tradition of the Psalms. Sometimes lament, sometimes victory. Sometimes confidence in God's presence, sometimes longing questions and frustration. Who will comfort me?
2. Songs of confession and songs of intercession. Years ago I had numerous opportunities to preach for the St. Dysmas prison congregation in the South Dakota State Penitentiary. I had some great conversations with the worship band. Though they loved playing worship music and praise songs, the jam sessions revealed more about their walk with God. What saddened me was that they thought their jams had no place in the worship service. One band member and I had a discussion around Molly Hatchet's "Flirtin' With Disaster." The song provided an entry point for this young man's story, his crimes and sins, his incarceration, and his relationship with God. I always thought it was a good song, though not a favorite. The song is now a favorite because it is an opportunity for me to pray for this young man--for healing, for forgiveness, for a newness of life each day, and a new start when he gets out of prison.
Unfortunately, my work with the Worship Wars of the past 30 or so years has been more about addressing conflict and congregational dynamics. In this season of my life, I hope for articulation of music as pastoral care and faith community building.
Excuse me--while I commute home tonight and listen to tunes from my iPhone, I will be in a place of worship. Through Christ, creation (music) and relationship--God heals.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Another untimely review: Black Swan
I would not have seen this movie had my wife not wanted to see it. That's a good thing about being in a relationship--taken to places I would not have gone on my own. I have nothing against ballet as an art form, I've enjoyed a small handful of ballets in my lifetime, but when it comes to investing my entertainment dollar, ballet remains in the recesses of my mind, and probably aided by the dearth of ballet in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.
My favorite film critic Ann Hornaday (Washington Post) once again prompted me away from resistance to Black Swan, and with an evening away from our children in Spokane, I was ready to take on a film labeled as dark.
If you have yet to see Black Swan, dark isn't the half of it. Any Saturday Night Live fan knows Natalie Portman can take on a dark side in the comedic sense. Any fan of drama/thrillers knows she can execute dark in the relational sense in Closer. Black Swan is not so much about ballet as it is about the inner battle of self. Granted, world-class ballet provides a high pressure backdrop for an inward battle, but this kind of struggle could happen in several professions. However, the contrast between beauty and ugliness in Black Swan is stark and chilling. Winona Ryder (first time I've seen her in an interesting role in years) and Mila Kunis are both up to the high bar set with Portman's performance.
What kept me thinking about this film a week after I viewed it is the presence of mental illness in the film and what a puzzle remains with mental illness. This film is not One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest in that the story operates as an expose of institutional mental illness, but an examination of triggers to mental illness and ruminations about environmental factors, namely extreme levels of competition and hyper self-image awareness.
What I enjoyed about this film also is that it seems so far away from my life in the church. But it really shouldn't be. I could not imagine knowing someone with such struggles as Portman portrays. I wonder how well the church shows grace in lives that are seen in Black Swan. For the time I watched the film, I didn't have to worry about it, but now a part of me is haunted by that possibility.
My favorite film critic Ann Hornaday (Washington Post) once again prompted me away from resistance to Black Swan, and with an evening away from our children in Spokane, I was ready to take on a film labeled as dark.
If you have yet to see Black Swan, dark isn't the half of it. Any Saturday Night Live fan knows Natalie Portman can take on a dark side in the comedic sense. Any fan of drama/thrillers knows she can execute dark in the relational sense in Closer. Black Swan is not so much about ballet as it is about the inner battle of self. Granted, world-class ballet provides a high pressure backdrop for an inward battle, but this kind of struggle could happen in several professions. However, the contrast between beauty and ugliness in Black Swan is stark and chilling. Winona Ryder (first time I've seen her in an interesting role in years) and Mila Kunis are both up to the high bar set with Portman's performance.
What kept me thinking about this film a week after I viewed it is the presence of mental illness in the film and what a puzzle remains with mental illness. This film is not One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest in that the story operates as an expose of institutional mental illness, but an examination of triggers to mental illness and ruminations about environmental factors, namely extreme levels of competition and hyper self-image awareness.
What I enjoyed about this film also is that it seems so far away from my life in the church. But it really shouldn't be. I could not imagine knowing someone with such struggles as Portman portrays. I wonder how well the church shows grace in lives that are seen in Black Swan. For the time I watched the film, I didn't have to worry about it, but now a part of me is haunted by that possibility.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)