In this presidential election year, I am reminded to check my assumptions.
The population of the United States is approximately 313 million people. If I take in any report about the campaign, little time elapses between each utterance of the title "American People."
The American People expect, The American People demand, The American People deserve, The American People want. I am calling for a diet for "American People." Occasionally a generalization illuminates a point. I try to use them sparingly, because I hope that I respect the uniqueness of individuals. We are all made in the image of God, yet with many idiosyncrasies.
American People is not a precise title. Maybe we should assume that politicians and pundits mean the United States, but Canada is in North America. Mitt Romney is probably not speaking to the people of Montevideo (Uruguay, not Minnesota). Barack Obama is not likely looking for commentary from Ascuncion.
To go along with my cover bands Lenten Journey and The True Meaning of Christmas, my next band will be called The American People, each band a living satire, reminding me to check my assumptions when I speak, write or tweet.
Showing posts with label pop culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pop culture. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Baseball, Church, and Writing
Just because I haven't posted writing on the blog recently does not mean I haven't been writing. I've been writing a lot lately. An opportunity arose to audition for one of my favorite baseball blogs, thinking I could make the leap from mostly church stuff to baseball. Waiting patiently for future vocational turns is not my strong suit. The time may come to share some of my baseball writing on this blog, but I'm not sure about the direction this writing is taking. Your average pastor will never become a baseball blog, but I am curious about what I have learned in my processes in writing about baseball and church.
The writing process in baseball is surprisingly similar to writing about church--preaching, congregational development, and biblical scholarship. Over the past decade, baseball has gradually developed new methods of research to understand truths about baseball. For about 100 years, baseball used very specific methods for understanding the game that did not change much. As baseball revenues and salaries have reached new heights and computer/electronic analysis moved into the game some questioned the assumptions and validity of older methods. Those who held control over the older methods of baseball knowledge struggled and still struggle (to the point of hatred and vitriol) with the new methods.
For some, the new methods of baseball analysis come with great ease, especially those who work well with statistical analysis. Information about baseball is not dependent on newspaper beat writers with large travel budgets or national commentators, or even sports networks like ESPN. Anyone with internet access and a desire to execute extensive research can make compelling arguments about many facets of the game, and I find their arguments quite persuasive. The validity of any measurement, whether qualitative or quantitative should be a priority. Are we actually evaluating what we say we're evaluating?
Sound familiar?
The church, biblical scholarship and preaching have changed because of access to information. Some people whose livelihoods or power status were based on older knowledge methods have challenged newer methods of research and analysis. Seminaries have had to change their methods some (though not all too quickly) and ordination tracks and sacramental access has shifted (though not too quickly). The common thread in developing new hierarchies and authority matrices is that control over information is crumbling (or has crumbled). It affects both the baseball world and the world of the church. Luther and his followers, colleagues and adversaries saw it with the dawn of the printing press. The authority structures are crumbling again. Feel free to deny it, or even decry it--I'm not sure it will do you any good.
What I have learned is that for all the doctrinal purists in both baseball and the church, they are still about relationships. Though it will always help to keep certain skill sets up to date and develop new knowledge bases, the world needs people who can navigate these changing times by managing their own anxiety and stay connected to people of different viewpoints. I haven't even touched on politics--and I think this is a primary issue in the current American political climate.
The fun part for me is that the opportunity to write about these topics and stay connected with you does not flow through a publication like The Christian Century, a local or national newspaper, or even a book that I write. I can connect with you--now. I am gladdened by our shared creative energy. I think that is God at work in the Spirit.
The writing process in baseball is surprisingly similar to writing about church--preaching, congregational development, and biblical scholarship. Over the past decade, baseball has gradually developed new methods of research to understand truths about baseball. For about 100 years, baseball used very specific methods for understanding the game that did not change much. As baseball revenues and salaries have reached new heights and computer/electronic analysis moved into the game some questioned the assumptions and validity of older methods. Those who held control over the older methods of baseball knowledge struggled and still struggle (to the point of hatred and vitriol) with the new methods.
For some, the new methods of baseball analysis come with great ease, especially those who work well with statistical analysis. Information about baseball is not dependent on newspaper beat writers with large travel budgets or national commentators, or even sports networks like ESPN. Anyone with internet access and a desire to execute extensive research can make compelling arguments about many facets of the game, and I find their arguments quite persuasive. The validity of any measurement, whether qualitative or quantitative should be a priority. Are we actually evaluating what we say we're evaluating?
Sound familiar?
The church, biblical scholarship and preaching have changed because of access to information. Some people whose livelihoods or power status were based on older knowledge methods have challenged newer methods of research and analysis. Seminaries have had to change their methods some (though not all too quickly) and ordination tracks and sacramental access has shifted (though not too quickly). The common thread in developing new hierarchies and authority matrices is that control over information is crumbling (or has crumbled). It affects both the baseball world and the world of the church. Luther and his followers, colleagues and adversaries saw it with the dawn of the printing press. The authority structures are crumbling again. Feel free to deny it, or even decry it--I'm not sure it will do you any good.
What I have learned is that for all the doctrinal purists in both baseball and the church, they are still about relationships. Though it will always help to keep certain skill sets up to date and develop new knowledge bases, the world needs people who can navigate these changing times by managing their own anxiety and stay connected to people of different viewpoints. I haven't even touched on politics--and I think this is a primary issue in the current American political climate.
The fun part for me is that the opportunity to write about these topics and stay connected with you does not flow through a publication like The Christian Century, a local or national newspaper, or even a book that I write. I can connect with you--now. I am gladdened by our shared creative energy. I think that is God at work in the Spirit.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose--for the church. An ode to Friday Night Lights
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.
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.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Classic Sports Discourse, Revisited for the Church
I am currently working on a series of blog posts in the coming week or two using a framework often used in sports, but I am trying it with the life of the church. What is overrated? What is underrated? Sports people in radio and in the business attempt to stay away from overvalued athletes (unless you're the New York Yankees or Boston Red Sox) and maximize undervalued athletes. The church should probably stay away from looking at people and ministries as commodities, yet it is important to understand the dynamics of public discourse and what receives our attention.
What do you think? When it comes to the life of the church: what is overrated? What is underrated?
Here are the examples I am currently addressing in my thoughts that will turn into blog posts in the series:
Overrated: Office space. Mission statements.
Underrated: Grace. Accountability.
I would not pin this framework on Jesus' thought processes and ministry. However, Jesus is doing something to this effect during the "blessings and woes" teaching in Luke 6. It's overrated to be full and rich. It's underrated to be excluded and hated because of an association with Jesus. It's underrated to be hungry and weeping. What do these statements mean? What does it say about human aspiration? What does it say about who we value as people? The underrated/overrated framework is a discussion piece about where we put our attention in public and congregational discourse.
If you are interested in writing a guest blog post, let me know. Or, if you have some input on possible topics, let me know! What do you think?
What do you think? When it comes to the life of the church: what is overrated? What is underrated?
Here are the examples I am currently addressing in my thoughts that will turn into blog posts in the series:
Overrated: Office space. Mission statements.
Underrated: Grace. Accountability.
I would not pin this framework on Jesus' thought processes and ministry. However, Jesus is doing something to this effect during the "blessings and woes" teaching in Luke 6. It's overrated to be full and rich. It's underrated to be excluded and hated because of an association with Jesus. It's underrated to be hungry and weeping. What do these statements mean? What does it say about human aspiration? What does it say about who we value as people? The underrated/overrated framework is a discussion piece about where we put our attention in public and congregational discourse.
If you are interested in writing a guest blog post, let me know. Or, if you have some input on possible topics, let me know! What do you think?
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.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Another untimely review: Conviction
What am I willing to sacrifice in order to pursue a life passion? Does a life passion take on a different scope if that passion is a family member?
At one point in the film Conviction, Betty Anne Waters (Hilary Swank) has been advocating and fighting for her brother (Sam Rockwell), convicted of murder for nearly two decades. She sacrificed her marriage (it ended in divorce) and nearly gave up her relationships with her children in order to prove her brother was wrongly convicted. Waters graduated from law school and passed the bar in order to serve as her brother's council for his murder case. She went through well over a decade without a friend, except for a fellow law student (Minnie Driver) who doggedly befriended Waters and endured Waters' tireless work and persistence in obtaining anything that could help her brother. In a conversation with her two teenage sons, one of the sons states that Betty had given up her live to save Uncle Kenny. Waters paused, looked at her son incredulously, as if the concept of sacrifice never crossed her mind.
The title of the film is a perfect play on words and a deep reflection on the nature of passion. Surely, it is a good story about the pitfalls of any justice system, but for me this was a film about the relationship between conviction and passion. Waters was depicted as someone who did not see herself as passionate or one who sacrificed. The other question that came up in conversation about the story with my wife was whether Waters' relationship with her brother was unhealthy. This was a sibling pair who could be analyzed in psychological parlance as "fused," rooted in growing up together in an abusive household. I wonder if Waters (as she is depicted) is a Christ-like figure. Christians for centuries have written, taught and preached to fellow Christians and the world that we should reflect and embody Christ's "sacrifice" for humanity. I am not a Christian proponent of a sacrificial Christology. The sacrificial nomenclature is hard to escape in the Bible and Christian theology, and I though I don't wholeheartedly reject it, I don't embrace it.
Looking into the character of Waters and her (loving? obsessing?) pursuit of securing the freedom of her brother, I can't help but think of Jesus. In my limited knowledge of the Bible and theology, I can't recall anyone who bothered to ask Jesus whether he believed that his death was a sacrifice to him (and I would be glad to learn from my readers where I could find further reading on this topic) or whether theology has bothered to ask the question about the nature of sacrifice as it relates to love. In addition, how is a sacrifice beneficial (or even loving) to a relationship if the person who made the sacrifice for the "sake of the relationship" has to constantly remind the other person that they made the sacrifice in the first place?
Over the years in my life of Christian faith, I've been asked to accept the idea of Christ's sacrifice at face value, that I had better appreciate it and think about it to the point of guilt and shame. Only then will I have faith. Until my work with my theological education teachers (mostly Pat Keifert and Walter Sundberg at Luther Seminary) I had not considered the multiple dimensions of sacrifice in the Christian faith and theological discourse. Conviction serves as a reminder of the multiple dimensions of understanding sacrifices and relationships. There's plenty of guilt and shame to go around in the world, and I am thankful for the love and grace I have received in the body of Christ. Many have lovingly given in more ways than I can count so that I may have a better life (did they always see it as a sacrifice?). Watching Conviction offered me some new questions and insights to the interplay of love, justice, sacrifice, guilt and relationships. It wasn't a sacrifice for me to give up four dollars and two hours to watch the film.
At one point in the film Conviction, Betty Anne Waters (Hilary Swank) has been advocating and fighting for her brother (Sam Rockwell), convicted of murder for nearly two decades. She sacrificed her marriage (it ended in divorce) and nearly gave up her relationships with her children in order to prove her brother was wrongly convicted. Waters graduated from law school and passed the bar in order to serve as her brother's council for his murder case. She went through well over a decade without a friend, except for a fellow law student (Minnie Driver) who doggedly befriended Waters and endured Waters' tireless work and persistence in obtaining anything that could help her brother. In a conversation with her two teenage sons, one of the sons states that Betty had given up her live to save Uncle Kenny. Waters paused, looked at her son incredulously, as if the concept of sacrifice never crossed her mind.
The title of the film is a perfect play on words and a deep reflection on the nature of passion. Surely, it is a good story about the pitfalls of any justice system, but for me this was a film about the relationship between conviction and passion. Waters was depicted as someone who did not see herself as passionate or one who sacrificed. The other question that came up in conversation about the story with my wife was whether Waters' relationship with her brother was unhealthy. This was a sibling pair who could be analyzed in psychological parlance as "fused," rooted in growing up together in an abusive household. I wonder if Waters (as she is depicted) is a Christ-like figure. Christians for centuries have written, taught and preached to fellow Christians and the world that we should reflect and embody Christ's "sacrifice" for humanity. I am not a Christian proponent of a sacrificial Christology. The sacrificial nomenclature is hard to escape in the Bible and Christian theology, and I though I don't wholeheartedly reject it, I don't embrace it.
Looking into the character of Waters and her (loving? obsessing?) pursuit of securing the freedom of her brother, I can't help but think of Jesus. In my limited knowledge of the Bible and theology, I can't recall anyone who bothered to ask Jesus whether he believed that his death was a sacrifice to him (and I would be glad to learn from my readers where I could find further reading on this topic) or whether theology has bothered to ask the question about the nature of sacrifice as it relates to love. In addition, how is a sacrifice beneficial (or even loving) to a relationship if the person who made the sacrifice for the "sake of the relationship" has to constantly remind the other person that they made the sacrifice in the first place?
Over the years in my life of Christian faith, I've been asked to accept the idea of Christ's sacrifice at face value, that I had better appreciate it and think about it to the point of guilt and shame. Only then will I have faith. Until my work with my theological education teachers (mostly Pat Keifert and Walter Sundberg at Luther Seminary) I had not considered the multiple dimensions of sacrifice in the Christian faith and theological discourse. Conviction serves as a reminder of the multiple dimensions of understanding sacrifices and relationships. There's plenty of guilt and shame to go around in the world, and I am thankful for the love and grace I have received in the body of Christ. Many have lovingly given in more ways than I can count so that I may have a better life (did they always see it as a sacrifice?). Watching Conviction offered me some new questions and insights to the interplay of love, justice, sacrifice, guilt and relationships. It wasn't a sacrifice for me to give up four dollars and two hours to watch the film.
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.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Using the tools of the communication trade
My father was never much of a fix-it guy. We didn't have many tools lying around the house. Not much tinkering with cars or small engines or household appliances in my boyhood home. No spare bolts, wires or springs. I've used enough hand and power tools in shop class and through experimentation to get by. I don't necessarily enjoy using tools, but I appreciate the ability to use them.
My stocked tool box relates to congregational ministry, and I love to find tools to help me navigate, learn, and connect relationally. I've been picking up as many tools as I am able since 1998. Some tools I use more than others. My favorite tools recently relate to social media--blogging, Twitter and Facebook. I'm encouraged about what is possible through these tools. What is different about these tools is the open access--so many of the other tools I've used over the years require significant amounts of hours and resources of training and other start-up costs. Then the materials sit on a shelf, to be used rarely again, if ever at all.
I've been frustrated to see that the use of social media to connect is in limited use--at least in comparison with some of our Full Communion partners in the ELCA. I especially find PCUSA folk all over social media: Rev. Bruce Reyes-Chow, while serving as Moderator of the 218th General Assembly, offered important leadership concerning the use of technology for the church. I am in full agreement with him about blogging as a spiritual practice, appreciate his presence on Twitter, and his thought-provoking work with Carol Howard Merritt on their podcast God Complex Radio. I'm looking forward to gathering with many of these folks who take seriously their communication methodology of many different backgrounds (and hoping for a few more ELCA people) at Unconference 2011 in May.
My contention is not that the church will be "saved" by technology (I'll stick with Jesus), but these tools are as important to connecting people with God and one another as much as the telephone, sound amplification, and the printing press. Communication tools provide access and make the priesthood of all believers a more tangible reality than mere words. Social media encompasses several useful communication tools. Social media also happens to be where the Digital Natives communicate and congregate. Jesus went where the people were; he made few references to going to the house of worship. So I'm going to go where the people are.
I'm not making any revolutionary statements here, but it's what I've been thinking about, sometimes keeping me up at night. I'm reaching out to my colleagues and sisters and brothers in Christ (especially in the Pacific Northwest and the West Coast) in 20th Century-Brand Protestant churches (formerly known as Mainline Protestants) to gather our congregations out here to help teach the tools of communication. A conference, a webinar, a podcast, a traveling road show, a workshop--I don't care. I want to partner with some of my colleagues in the Pacific Northwest and serve others and use the tools available to all of us. I look forward to your ideas and feedback.
Not only are these tools for communication building the new front door to being church, but in many ways, they already are church.
My stocked tool box relates to congregational ministry, and I love to find tools to help me navigate, learn, and connect relationally. I've been picking up as many tools as I am able since 1998. Some tools I use more than others. My favorite tools recently relate to social media--blogging, Twitter and Facebook. I'm encouraged about what is possible through these tools. What is different about these tools is the open access--so many of the other tools I've used over the years require significant amounts of hours and resources of training and other start-up costs. Then the materials sit on a shelf, to be used rarely again, if ever at all.
I've been frustrated to see that the use of social media to connect is in limited use--at least in comparison with some of our Full Communion partners in the ELCA. I especially find PCUSA folk all over social media: Rev. Bruce Reyes-Chow, while serving as Moderator of the 218th General Assembly, offered important leadership concerning the use of technology for the church. I am in full agreement with him about blogging as a spiritual practice, appreciate his presence on Twitter, and his thought-provoking work with Carol Howard Merritt on their podcast God Complex Radio. I'm looking forward to gathering with many of these folks who take seriously their communication methodology of many different backgrounds (and hoping for a few more ELCA people) at Unconference 2011 in May.
My contention is not that the church will be "saved" by technology (I'll stick with Jesus), but these tools are as important to connecting people with God and one another as much as the telephone, sound amplification, and the printing press. Communication tools provide access and make the priesthood of all believers a more tangible reality than mere words. Social media encompasses several useful communication tools. Social media also happens to be where the Digital Natives communicate and congregate. Jesus went where the people were; he made few references to going to the house of worship. So I'm going to go where the people are.
I'm not making any revolutionary statements here, but it's what I've been thinking about, sometimes keeping me up at night. I'm reaching out to my colleagues and sisters and brothers in Christ (especially in the Pacific Northwest and the West Coast) in 20th Century-Brand Protestant churches (formerly known as Mainline Protestants) to gather our congregations out here to help teach the tools of communication. A conference, a webinar, a podcast, a traveling road show, a workshop--I don't care. I want to partner with some of my colleagues in the Pacific Northwest and serve others and use the tools available to all of us. I look forward to your ideas and feedback.
Not only are these tools for communication building the new front door to being church, but in many ways, they already are church.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Why I joined Facebook (finally)
I was never going to join Facebook because my friends said I should. I find it challenging enough to strengthen my primary relationships. I don't need Facebook telling me every time I log on about connections I need to be making. This introvert is overwhelmed by those thoughts.
I think an introvert, non-Digital Native makes reflective choices about how they are going to be present in public through social media, and I took a long time reflecting on what it meant for me to participate on Facebook.
What drove me to make the move? I think it's been over two years since I began receiving invitations. I don't expect my joining Facebook is a big deal to anyone else, but it had to make sense to me.
1. As a pastor, I am a communicator. That is my job. Jesus went to the people, and I am attempting to follow that example. Communication is also part of what makes me who I am. As a steward and student of communication, I can make choices about how I communicate (how frequently, the kinds of things I choose to post, etc.). However, I was persuaded that I could no longer afford to make the choice not to communicate in some ways at all.
2. The Social Network film inspired the sociology and communication student in me.
Seth Godin gave me a Facebook caveat reminding me to be a good communication steward, which my brother stated much more succinctly, "Facebook is a time suck." I don't need to contribute to the noise in the world, but make my communication count. Godin doesn't spend time on Twitter or Facebook. He puts out the only blog in which I read every entry.
I'll still enjoy seeing my friends on Facebook. It was fun to shock some of them by joining.
I think an introvert, non-Digital Native makes reflective choices about how they are going to be present in public through social media, and I took a long time reflecting on what it meant for me to participate on Facebook.
What drove me to make the move? I think it's been over two years since I began receiving invitations. I don't expect my joining Facebook is a big deal to anyone else, but it had to make sense to me.
1. As a pastor, I am a communicator. That is my job. Jesus went to the people, and I am attempting to follow that example. Communication is also part of what makes me who I am. As a steward and student of communication, I can make choices about how I communicate (how frequently, the kinds of things I choose to post, etc.). However, I was persuaded that I could no longer afford to make the choice not to communicate in some ways at all.
2. The Social Network film inspired the sociology and communication student in me.
Seth Godin gave me a Facebook caveat reminding me to be a good communication steward, which my brother stated much more succinctly, "Facebook is a time suck." I don't need to contribute to the noise in the world, but make my communication count. Godin doesn't spend time on Twitter or Facebook. He puts out the only blog in which I read every entry.
I'll still enjoy seeing my friends on Facebook. It was fun to shock some of them by joining.
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.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Remembering Dave Niehaus
This post is not meant to imply that I can't distinguish the difference between baseball and faith. I would never preach a sermon series on Dave Niehaus (though I have a sneaking suspicion some of this reflection will appear in my Sunday sermon). However, the death of Dave Niehaus and recognizing his impact on my life and thousands of people across the Pacific Northwest and baseball lovers across the country stirs reflection on similarities between what Dave Niehaus embodied and what I imagine the pastoral life to be.
For 34 seasons in games that spanned 6 months of the year, from spring training to the painfully infrequent, yet jubilant playoff appearances, Dave Niehaus shared with his listeners what I seek in myself as a pastor. Dave's signature voice was both the backdrop and forefront of my family's life since I was 6 years old. It is not a token statement to say that Dave radio depictions of a simple game taught me hope, joy, belief, wisdom, encouragement, storytelling, camaraderie, teamwork and passion.
I began to hear Dave's voice sitting in front of the console radio at my Grandparent's house in Renton. My parents attended the opening game, my father thrilled that baseball had returned to Seattle. He told me stories about the Seattle Rainiers and Seattle Pilots--his stories and memories of heroes, woven with stories of his own father, a man I never met. Beginning with my evenings in front of the console radio, I began to hear stories of my Gram, who listened to Portland Beavers baseball games with her father at their home in Camas, Washington, along the Columbia River. I was attached to Dave's voice almost instantly, developing my own heroes through his story telling. They weren't great players in those early years, but they were still my heroes: Ruppert Jones, Bob Stinson, Bill Stein, Diego Segui, Craig Reynolds, Enrique Romo, Rick Honeycutt. I wanted them to do well, just as Dave did. Dave even made food sound better with his distinctive voice--Darigold dairy products, and Langendorf Old Fashioned White Bread. Dave's voice was everywhere in our lives: as we participated in life's daily activities, travel, yard work, play, family gatherings of all kinds, and the frequent visits to my Grandparent's house. Dave's words became the words of my brothers John and Jimmy as we played wiffle ball wherever we could.
When I left the Pacific Northwest to pursue my own vocation and baseball life in the Midwest, I didn't realize how much I missed Dave Niehaus until I listened to broadcasts in other cities. The other cities had their signature broadcasters and calls, and were endearing to their fans--Herb Carneal and John Gordon in Minnesota, Bob Uecker in Milwaukee, Denny Matthews in Kansas City, no one I heard outside of Vin Scully in Los Angeles and Ernie Harwell of Detroit was in the league of baseball story tellers extraordinaire like Dave Niehaus. I appreciated the broadcasting craft, but the stories and telling of the game inspired in me a love for baseball and a passion for engaging life. Dave's words became a way that my family and friends brought some poetry and passion to our conversations. My friend Bret and I sometimes greeted each other with Dave-isms. I was thankful to have Dave's voice ring through my house in South Dakota once I could lounge on a summer day, with my wife Melanie joining my daughter in the backyard with a Mariners game streaming on my laptop from mlb.com. I was ecstatic to return to the Pacific Northwest in 2009 and reacquaint myself with more regular Niehaus contact. After hearing that the Mariners had traded for Cliff Lee during the 2009-10 off-season, I started to spout off Dave-isms in the car with my daughters on our daily commute.
"Ninety-eight mile an hour, high octane, GAS!"
"Swung on and belted!"
"Get out the rye bread and the mustard, Grandma, it's GRAND SALAMI time!"
"Diabolical. That stank!"
"Loooooowwwwwwwwwww, ball 3"
"Fly, fly, away!"
"My, oh, my!"
My 4-year old daughter sometimes echoed my exclamations, but sometimes she had to tell me to stop.
My family and friends imagined what it would be like if the Mariners ever won a World Series. I stated Dave Niehaus would spontaneously combust or die joyfully on the spot. Even if the Mariners staged a dramatic win 34 games out of first place, Dave shook the broadcast booth with his jubilation. He might not be able to contain himself.
In 1995, I thought the Mariners might get to that point of collective ecstasy. I was serving a congregation in Copenhagen on my pastoral internship. In the age before widely available Internet, I had to scour any piece of news to get my hands on the daily work of the surging Seattle Mariners. I lamented that I couldn't connect with Niehaus' words, but well over a decade of listening to Niehaus produced imagined descriptions in my mind's eye. My mentor and friend Steve Bain invited me to his home to spend the night so we could watch the playoff broadcasts in the wee hours of the morning, trying to contain ourselves just enough so that we wouldn't stir his sleeping family. We watched the national/international broadcast, all the time wishing or imagining we could hear Dave. Bleary eyed, yet joyful, I went to my work after watching the games, having slept maybe 2 hours. Good thing I was young at the time.
For the years 1995-2003, the Mariners often shaped the discussion of baseball excellence. They were the only example of "glory years" for the franchise, and even then, only about half of those years they were playoff teams. But Dave had a special lilt and enthusiasm in his voice during those years, and in some ways, I was most happy for him, because Dave was always present for the public and the Mariners, I felt he deserved some actual joy instead of hopeful joy (if those can be distinguished).
It was the other years of baseball that I learned more from Dave Niehaus. The Mariners have often been a bad baseball team. But my family has always been willing to listen, because Dave was always willing to lead the team and share the stories in his signature way. Listening to Dave in spring training and throughout the year, he always told a story of hope. He lived a life that said passion matters. Learning the facts matters. Encouraging the team matters. Seeing the best in people matters. Celebrating victories matters. He anticipated something good happening in every pitch or swing of the bat. It didn't matter that Dave's judgment of a batted ball was sometimes completely off, believing a lazy fly ball had home run potential. His hope and belief in what was possible for the Seattle Mariners was often endearing, yet on the whole, inspiring.
In some way, Dave Niehaus gave me a sense of interim ministry through all of those losing seasons. Dave gave me insight on how to go into a place and tell stories of hope in the midst of what appears bleak. That is part of my job in interim ministry, things that Dave did as a baseball broadcaster. To celebrate the daily joys of life. To offer wisdom and encouragements to teammates. To report on the context and goals of the organization. To live a life of thankfulness when many are tempted to dwell on the negative aspects of collective life. Jesus is my ultimate example of this kind of life. I do not know Dave Niehaus' faith, but he reminded me and highlighted to me some of what I am called to do in life.
Today I need to visit my 87-year old Gram and tell her that Dave Niehaus died. For 34 years his voice filled their house. That voice was second only to my Granddad. I remember during a baseball pilgrimage with my friend Cameron in 1991, we visited Tiger Stadium in Detroit. I knew my grandparents were listening, so I sent a message to the press box for Dave to greet June and Jerry Zubrod in Renton listening to the game. I knew he was glad to do it and my grandparents were thrilled to hear their names said by Dave. My mother saw Dave just a few weeks ago and shook his hand. He was gracious and hospitable, full of smiles and looking well. I'm glad she was able to show him some level of appreciation for his place in our family's life. It seems fitting that connection was made.
Thanks to Dave Niehaus and his family for sharing his gifts with the Pacific Northwest for 34 years. My life has been inspired and made better because of his gifts. I am sad, but I am thankful. This has been said many times over the past 18 hours, but fly, fly away, Dave. Thank God and thank you for the memories.
For 34 seasons in games that spanned 6 months of the year, from spring training to the painfully infrequent, yet jubilant playoff appearances, Dave Niehaus shared with his listeners what I seek in myself as a pastor. Dave's signature voice was both the backdrop and forefront of my family's life since I was 6 years old. It is not a token statement to say that Dave radio depictions of a simple game taught me hope, joy, belief, wisdom, encouragement, storytelling, camaraderie, teamwork and passion.
I began to hear Dave's voice sitting in front of the console radio at my Grandparent's house in Renton. My parents attended the opening game, my father thrilled that baseball had returned to Seattle. He told me stories about the Seattle Rainiers and Seattle Pilots--his stories and memories of heroes, woven with stories of his own father, a man I never met. Beginning with my evenings in front of the console radio, I began to hear stories of my Gram, who listened to Portland Beavers baseball games with her father at their home in Camas, Washington, along the Columbia River. I was attached to Dave's voice almost instantly, developing my own heroes through his story telling. They weren't great players in those early years, but they were still my heroes: Ruppert Jones, Bob Stinson, Bill Stein, Diego Segui, Craig Reynolds, Enrique Romo, Rick Honeycutt. I wanted them to do well, just as Dave did. Dave even made food sound better with his distinctive voice--Darigold dairy products, and Langendorf Old Fashioned White Bread. Dave's voice was everywhere in our lives: as we participated in life's daily activities, travel, yard work, play, family gatherings of all kinds, and the frequent visits to my Grandparent's house. Dave's words became the words of my brothers John and Jimmy as we played wiffle ball wherever we could.
When I left the Pacific Northwest to pursue my own vocation and baseball life in the Midwest, I didn't realize how much I missed Dave Niehaus until I listened to broadcasts in other cities. The other cities had their signature broadcasters and calls, and were endearing to their fans--Herb Carneal and John Gordon in Minnesota, Bob Uecker in Milwaukee, Denny Matthews in Kansas City, no one I heard outside of Vin Scully in Los Angeles and Ernie Harwell of Detroit was in the league of baseball story tellers extraordinaire like Dave Niehaus. I appreciated the broadcasting craft, but the stories and telling of the game inspired in me a love for baseball and a passion for engaging life. Dave's words became a way that my family and friends brought some poetry and passion to our conversations. My friend Bret and I sometimes greeted each other with Dave-isms. I was thankful to have Dave's voice ring through my house in South Dakota once I could lounge on a summer day, with my wife Melanie joining my daughter in the backyard with a Mariners game streaming on my laptop from mlb.com. I was ecstatic to return to the Pacific Northwest in 2009 and reacquaint myself with more regular Niehaus contact. After hearing that the Mariners had traded for Cliff Lee during the 2009-10 off-season, I started to spout off Dave-isms in the car with my daughters on our daily commute.
"Ninety-eight mile an hour, high octane, GAS!"
"Swung on and belted!"
"Get out the rye bread and the mustard, Grandma, it's GRAND SALAMI time!"
"Diabolical. That stank!"
"Loooooowwwwwwwwwww, ball 3"
"Fly, fly, away!"
"My, oh, my!"
My 4-year old daughter sometimes echoed my exclamations, but sometimes she had to tell me to stop.
My family and friends imagined what it would be like if the Mariners ever won a World Series. I stated Dave Niehaus would spontaneously combust or die joyfully on the spot. Even if the Mariners staged a dramatic win 34 games out of first place, Dave shook the broadcast booth with his jubilation. He might not be able to contain himself.
In 1995, I thought the Mariners might get to that point of collective ecstasy. I was serving a congregation in Copenhagen on my pastoral internship. In the age before widely available Internet, I had to scour any piece of news to get my hands on the daily work of the surging Seattle Mariners. I lamented that I couldn't connect with Niehaus' words, but well over a decade of listening to Niehaus produced imagined descriptions in my mind's eye. My mentor and friend Steve Bain invited me to his home to spend the night so we could watch the playoff broadcasts in the wee hours of the morning, trying to contain ourselves just enough so that we wouldn't stir his sleeping family. We watched the national/international broadcast, all the time wishing or imagining we could hear Dave. Bleary eyed, yet joyful, I went to my work after watching the games, having slept maybe 2 hours. Good thing I was young at the time.
For the years 1995-2003, the Mariners often shaped the discussion of baseball excellence. They were the only example of "glory years" for the franchise, and even then, only about half of those years they were playoff teams. But Dave had a special lilt and enthusiasm in his voice during those years, and in some ways, I was most happy for him, because Dave was always present for the public and the Mariners, I felt he deserved some actual joy instead of hopeful joy (if those can be distinguished).
It was the other years of baseball that I learned more from Dave Niehaus. The Mariners have often been a bad baseball team. But my family has always been willing to listen, because Dave was always willing to lead the team and share the stories in his signature way. Listening to Dave in spring training and throughout the year, he always told a story of hope. He lived a life that said passion matters. Learning the facts matters. Encouraging the team matters. Seeing the best in people matters. Celebrating victories matters. He anticipated something good happening in every pitch or swing of the bat. It didn't matter that Dave's judgment of a batted ball was sometimes completely off, believing a lazy fly ball had home run potential. His hope and belief in what was possible for the Seattle Mariners was often endearing, yet on the whole, inspiring.
In some way, Dave Niehaus gave me a sense of interim ministry through all of those losing seasons. Dave gave me insight on how to go into a place and tell stories of hope in the midst of what appears bleak. That is part of my job in interim ministry, things that Dave did as a baseball broadcaster. To celebrate the daily joys of life. To offer wisdom and encouragements to teammates. To report on the context and goals of the organization. To live a life of thankfulness when many are tempted to dwell on the negative aspects of collective life. Jesus is my ultimate example of this kind of life. I do not know Dave Niehaus' faith, but he reminded me and highlighted to me some of what I am called to do in life.
Today I need to visit my 87-year old Gram and tell her that Dave Niehaus died. For 34 years his voice filled their house. That voice was second only to my Granddad. I remember during a baseball pilgrimage with my friend Cameron in 1991, we visited Tiger Stadium in Detroit. I knew my grandparents were listening, so I sent a message to the press box for Dave to greet June and Jerry Zubrod in Renton listening to the game. I knew he was glad to do it and my grandparents were thrilled to hear their names said by Dave. My mother saw Dave just a few weeks ago and shook his hand. He was gracious and hospitable, full of smiles and looking well. I'm glad she was able to show him some level of appreciation for his place in our family's life. It seems fitting that connection was made.
Thanks to Dave Niehaus and his family for sharing his gifts with the Pacific Northwest for 34 years. My life has been inspired and made better because of his gifts. I am sad, but I am thankful. This has been said many times over the past 18 hours, but fly, fly away, Dave. Thank God and thank you for the memories.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Movie Reflection: Get Low
As a called and ordained minister of the Church of Christ, and by his authority, I therefore declare to you the entire forgiveness of all of your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the +Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
For 10 years of my young life, The Brief Order of Confession and Forgiveness, page 77 (coincidental to Mt 18:21-22?) in the The Lutheran Book of Worship (aka The Green Hymnal or the LBW) was my regular contact with the concept of forgiveness. I knew the page well, considering how the page curled from regular use, my ink-pen stained finger prints dotted the page, and the growing fuzzy edges prevented paper cuts. The LBW provided tactile reminders of sins committed and assurance of God's love in Christ, like a nun kneels and rubs her fingers along beads of a rosary. The "Brief Order of Confession and Forgiveness" was usually the first act of public worship each Sunday morning. Alongside the sermon, the confession had the most impact on me in early Christian life. This practice suited me not because it's fun, but because I am a naturally reflective person. Where have I been? Where am I going? What is my relationship with God? I could ponder those questions for years, but in the span of a few minutes, my reflections and redemption took shape. Even though I have felt the impact of sin and the liberation of redemption, the power of confession and forgiveness can still be elusive.
Imagine reflecting upon haunting sins and the elusiveness of forgiveness for a span of 40-plus years. Though I could only imagine that kind of torment, the storytelling of the film Get Low took me inside one man's understanding of love, sin, forgiveness, penance and redemption--and how his thoughts and actions influenced others' views and actions. The film is a 1930's period piece from the Bible Belt with an interesting connection to my own faith tradition in the Evangelical Lutheran Church In America. The film made me realize the gift of confession and forgiveness in the life of the church and my own faith, but it also made me realize how the church's rituals and teaching can be deficient in people's real lives. The confession and forgiveness practice can be programmed and sometimes rote, and life in between the rituals and proclamations is much messier than people (clergy included) care to often times understand.
Though forgiveness is the driving theme, the story telling is well crafted and the character development, cinematography, and top notch Bluegrass music (Jerry Douglass and Alison Krauss, to name a few) maximize the theme's impact. Because the film is based on a true story, some details could not be fictionally created (you can't make this stuff up!). After 40-plus years living the life of a hermit, Felix Bush (Robert Duvall) comes to town wanting to throw a funeral party, his own, before he dies. The meaning of this funeral party is revealed through his interactions with a local funeral director Frank Quinn (Bill Murray), his assistant (Lucas Black), two preachers, and an old friend (Sissy Spacek), and other town folk. For Frank Quinn, the funeral is unorthodox, but an opportunity to revive his sagging funeral business. For his assistant, his sense of right and wrong is constantly challenged.
A few sub themes worth noting in "Get Low" include the understanding of vocation in the world and how it is shared. Another sub-theme deals with how little people really know about one another--even in a small town. Another involves reflections upon integrity in the midst of personal identity and promises kept. It's one thing to teach, preach or discuss themes of sin, confession, forgiveness, redemption, vocation, relationships, promises, integrity and peace. Video is a special medium--and film story telling is a unique opportunity for impact, with the cinematography, music, and acting interpretation. Not only is the story and it's themes powerful because of the film making quality, but the humor is prevalent and disarming, but not distracting or trite. I can only tell you so much. Go see the film. Take adults. Take teenagers. Take someone you love. Talk about the film with one another. Journal about the film. Blog about the film. Tweet about the film.
For readers in the Puget Sound area, my wife and I viewed the film at Grand Cinema in Tacoma. This was our first trip to the Grand, and it represents all that is good about a trip to the movies--a non-profit cinema with lower prices and smaller concessions, staffed by friendly volunteers in a well-cared for setting both inside and out. We will go back because of the mission and the experience at the Grand.
For 10 years of my young life, The Brief Order of Confession and Forgiveness, page 77 (coincidental to Mt 18:21-22?) in the The Lutheran Book of Worship (aka The Green Hymnal or the LBW) was my regular contact with the concept of forgiveness. I knew the page well, considering how the page curled from regular use, my ink-pen stained finger prints dotted the page, and the growing fuzzy edges prevented paper cuts. The LBW provided tactile reminders of sins committed and assurance of God's love in Christ, like a nun kneels and rubs her fingers along beads of a rosary. The "Brief Order of Confession and Forgiveness" was usually the first act of public worship each Sunday morning. Alongside the sermon, the confession had the most impact on me in early Christian life. This practice suited me not because it's fun, but because I am a naturally reflective person. Where have I been? Where am I going? What is my relationship with God? I could ponder those questions for years, but in the span of a few minutes, my reflections and redemption took shape. Even though I have felt the impact of sin and the liberation of redemption, the power of confession and forgiveness can still be elusive.
Imagine reflecting upon haunting sins and the elusiveness of forgiveness for a span of 40-plus years. Though I could only imagine that kind of torment, the storytelling of the film Get Low took me inside one man's understanding of love, sin, forgiveness, penance and redemption--and how his thoughts and actions influenced others' views and actions. The film is a 1930's period piece from the Bible Belt with an interesting connection to my own faith tradition in the Evangelical Lutheran Church In America. The film made me realize the gift of confession and forgiveness in the life of the church and my own faith, but it also made me realize how the church's rituals and teaching can be deficient in people's real lives. The confession and forgiveness practice can be programmed and sometimes rote, and life in between the rituals and proclamations is much messier than people (clergy included) care to often times understand.
Though forgiveness is the driving theme, the story telling is well crafted and the character development, cinematography, and top notch Bluegrass music (Jerry Douglass and Alison Krauss, to name a few) maximize the theme's impact. Because the film is based on a true story, some details could not be fictionally created (you can't make this stuff up!). After 40-plus years living the life of a hermit, Felix Bush (Robert Duvall) comes to town wanting to throw a funeral party, his own, before he dies. The meaning of this funeral party is revealed through his interactions with a local funeral director Frank Quinn (Bill Murray), his assistant (Lucas Black), two preachers, and an old friend (Sissy Spacek), and other town folk. For Frank Quinn, the funeral is unorthodox, but an opportunity to revive his sagging funeral business. For his assistant, his sense of right and wrong is constantly challenged.
A few sub themes worth noting in "Get Low" include the understanding of vocation in the world and how it is shared. Another sub-theme deals with how little people really know about one another--even in a small town. Another involves reflections upon integrity in the midst of personal identity and promises kept. It's one thing to teach, preach or discuss themes of sin, confession, forgiveness, redemption, vocation, relationships, promises, integrity and peace. Video is a special medium--and film story telling is a unique opportunity for impact, with the cinematography, music, and acting interpretation. Not only is the story and it's themes powerful because of the film making quality, but the humor is prevalent and disarming, but not distracting or trite. I can only tell you so much. Go see the film. Take adults. Take teenagers. Take someone you love. Talk about the film with one another. Journal about the film. Blog about the film. Tweet about the film.
For readers in the Puget Sound area, my wife and I viewed the film at Grand Cinema in Tacoma. This was our first trip to the Grand, and it represents all that is good about a trip to the movies--a non-profit cinema with lower prices and smaller concessions, staffed by friendly volunteers in a well-cared for setting both inside and out. We will go back because of the mission and the experience at the Grand.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Giving Credit Where Credit is Due to my ELCA Sisters and Brothers
Yesterday I highlighted some missed opportunities and future possibilities for my ELCA friends and colleagues regarding connections, learning and conferences. Today I learned via Twitter about an ELCA-sponsored conference: Follow Me: Sharing The Gospel in a 2.0 World. It's time to give credit where credit is due. I am thankful that my colleagues are using the resources available to them for evangelism and relationship building.
The promotional page for Follow Me is laid out well, offering opportunities to connect with Twitter hash tags, a Facebook event page and an invitation to blog. I think the event is worthy of its own Twitter account--and probably its own web page (linked to the ELCA site, but not necessarily embedded in its own brand). As of 1130am Pacific Time August 12, I read about 30 tweets from participants. I added each tweeter whom I was not already following to my own follow list and look forward to further connections, even though I am not attending the conference. I did not know about the conference until I saw the tweets this morning. Having a separate Twitter account for a conference creates expanded opportunities to attract participants--using those who are excited about the conference to expand publicity. What the Follow Me conference has offered is more of what I hoped for when I attended the Rethinking Stewardship Conference through Luther Seminary in July.
The conference target audience "communicators, campus ministry chaplains/staff, and college/university students" leaves me a little puzzled. I can understand the energy generated for those involved in campus ministry and young adults involved in higher education. "Communicators" is the hook that opens up the conference to many more than the other targets. "Communicators" is a continual growing identity edge for ELCA congregations. I'm not sure that congregations see themselves as shared communicators of the Gospel--they often look to the pastor for this communication. All congregations have a story to tell and now have many tools at their disposal to tell that story. My current congregation, First Lutheran Community Church in Port Orchard, WA, is learning that they have a story to tell, and how we can tell that using the tools available. The scope of public congregational presence is a flattening enterprise, and I see my current season of interim ministry at FLCC to help the congregation embrace that they all have a role in sharing the God's story through FLCC to the public and that they desire connection.
I find the Follow Me Conference hopeful--I wish I could be attending--and I'm glad I can connect with the material later. I wonder how the folks attending will connect with ELCA Presiding Bishop Mark Hanson. I wonder how expanding ministry tools will be embraced. I usually wonder what God is up to, and I am glad that the Spirit has expanded my wondering.
The promotional page for Follow Me is laid out well, offering opportunities to connect with Twitter hash tags, a Facebook event page and an invitation to blog. I think the event is worthy of its own Twitter account--and probably its own web page (linked to the ELCA site, but not necessarily embedded in its own brand). As of 1130am Pacific Time August 12, I read about 30 tweets from participants. I added each tweeter whom I was not already following to my own follow list and look forward to further connections, even though I am not attending the conference. I did not know about the conference until I saw the tweets this morning. Having a separate Twitter account for a conference creates expanded opportunities to attract participants--using those who are excited about the conference to expand publicity. What the Follow Me conference has offered is more of what I hoped for when I attended the Rethinking Stewardship Conference through Luther Seminary in July.
The conference target audience "communicators, campus ministry chaplains/staff, and college/university students" leaves me a little puzzled. I can understand the energy generated for those involved in campus ministry and young adults involved in higher education. "Communicators" is the hook that opens up the conference to many more than the other targets. "Communicators" is a continual growing identity edge for ELCA congregations. I'm not sure that congregations see themselves as shared communicators of the Gospel--they often look to the pastor for this communication. All congregations have a story to tell and now have many tools at their disposal to tell that story. My current congregation, First Lutheran Community Church in Port Orchard, WA, is learning that they have a story to tell, and how we can tell that using the tools available. The scope of public congregational presence is a flattening enterprise, and I see my current season of interim ministry at FLCC to help the congregation embrace that they all have a role in sharing the God's story through FLCC to the public and that they desire connection.
I find the Follow Me Conference hopeful--I wish I could be attending--and I'm glad I can connect with the material later. I wonder how the folks attending will connect with ELCA Presiding Bishop Mark Hanson. I wonder how expanding ministry tools will be embraced. I usually wonder what God is up to, and I am glad that the Spirit has expanded my wondering.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
The Parchment on Ye Olde Participante Liste Turns To Dust: On Twitter and Ministry Conferences
In the days of yore attending church conferences, one of the most curious handouts I received in a packet included a participant list.
The participant list provided copious amounts of contact information: name, home address, church address, home phone, work phone, cell phone, home email, work email, and website (whew!). I remember thinking the compilation of these lists represented good networking theory. I have a list of new colleagues, and possibly friends. If I had a question of praxis, boom! I could write, call, email and I had a colleague with a shared language. We drank deeply from the well of shared experience with hope of transformation, a quiver of learning arrows ready to target the ministry ogres that we had jousted before and lost.
Attending an average of 2-3 conferences a year for 12 years, I think I used all of those participant lists a mere handful of times. The well of shared experience ran dry and the arrows lost their sharpness. Ongoing opportunities for connection are easily parched and difficult to preserve. The conferences are still valuable. The content is usually good, and the people are bright, insightful and wise. The value of the material quickly diminishes without collegial connections. Ye Olde Participante Liste is no longer effective, and it may never have been effective in the first place.
For some people who work in ministry, newer means of connecting are not news. The innovators and early adapters have found new ways to connect, catapulting over Ye Olde Participante Liste and moving into Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter and other means of connecting and sharing valuable information. Since I've been on Twitter for about one year, I regularly find Evangelical and Presbyterian colleagues using Twitter to reinforce their learning at conferences through relationships and shared learning in the months and years ahead. These connections occur at far greater speed than a phone call, an email, or snail mail. The shift is not so much about speed/effieciency (yet still important), but something educators and learners have known for years: follow up and reinforcement is necessary in order for the content to have lasting effect. I see the ELCA is living in the land of Ye Olde Participante Liste. Every gathering I attended over the past year--the connections are taken for granted. If the connections are being made--I am missing them. I hope I'm missing something and my comment box will be flooded with ELCA colleagues who are connecting and provide the path where others are gathering.
Last month I attended a fabulous stewardship conference in Eden Prairie, MN, hosted by Luther Seminary and other sister organizations. I feverishly sought connection while there. The conversation at tables during the conference were lively and insightful. However, the opportunities to connect after the conference were non-existent. I posted about 25 tweets, fishing for a connection. The only connections I made (good ones) was with a few staff people at The Lutheran magazine, one who was covering the conference. That connection provided me the opportunity to debrief about the conference while attending and a week later with Lutheran magazine intern Erin Ash. I see possibilities. Far more in one conference than the 24-36 I attended in my first 12 years of ministry. I think the content is actually getting better in many ways, but that content is lost without follow up connections.
Some of God's people have taken the opportunity to gather at a new Rounde Table for God's mission in the world. I hope more of my colleagues in the ELCA can show me where that table is, or come join me at the tables where I gather.
The participant list provided copious amounts of contact information: name, home address, church address, home phone, work phone, cell phone, home email, work email, and website (whew!). I remember thinking the compilation of these lists represented good networking theory. I have a list of new colleagues, and possibly friends. If I had a question of praxis, boom! I could write, call, email and I had a colleague with a shared language. We drank deeply from the well of shared experience with hope of transformation, a quiver of learning arrows ready to target the ministry ogres that we had jousted before and lost.
Attending an average of 2-3 conferences a year for 12 years, I think I used all of those participant lists a mere handful of times. The well of shared experience ran dry and the arrows lost their sharpness. Ongoing opportunities for connection are easily parched and difficult to preserve. The conferences are still valuable. The content is usually good, and the people are bright, insightful and wise. The value of the material quickly diminishes without collegial connections. Ye Olde Participante Liste is no longer effective, and it may never have been effective in the first place.
For some people who work in ministry, newer means of connecting are not news. The innovators and early adapters have found new ways to connect, catapulting over Ye Olde Participante Liste and moving into Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter and other means of connecting and sharing valuable information. Since I've been on Twitter for about one year, I regularly find Evangelical and Presbyterian colleagues using Twitter to reinforce their learning at conferences through relationships and shared learning in the months and years ahead. These connections occur at far greater speed than a phone call, an email, or snail mail. The shift is not so much about speed/effieciency (yet still important), but something educators and learners have known for years: follow up and reinforcement is necessary in order for the content to have lasting effect. I see the ELCA is living in the land of Ye Olde Participante Liste. Every gathering I attended over the past year--the connections are taken for granted. If the connections are being made--I am missing them. I hope I'm missing something and my comment box will be flooded with ELCA colleagues who are connecting and provide the path where others are gathering.
Last month I attended a fabulous stewardship conference in Eden Prairie, MN, hosted by Luther Seminary and other sister organizations. I feverishly sought connection while there. The conversation at tables during the conference were lively and insightful. However, the opportunities to connect after the conference were non-existent. I posted about 25 tweets, fishing for a connection. The only connections I made (good ones) was with a few staff people at The Lutheran magazine, one who was covering the conference. That connection provided me the opportunity to debrief about the conference while attending and a week later with Lutheran magazine intern Erin Ash. I see possibilities. Far more in one conference than the 24-36 I attended in my first 12 years of ministry. I think the content is actually getting better in many ways, but that content is lost without follow up connections.
Some of God's people have taken the opportunity to gather at a new Rounde Table for God's mission in the world. I hope more of my colleagues in the ELCA can show me where that table is, or come join me at the tables where I gather.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name
John 20: 1-18
An old Christian tradition states that one Christian says to another Christian or group of Christians--
"Christ is risen!"
The response is "Christ is risen, indeed! Alleluia!"
To speak these words that Jesus is raised from the dead is an important proclamation for followers of Christ. It states that Jesus Christ conquered death. What human beings think is the end of life, God's raising Christ from among the dead means that trusting in the power of God in Christ and God's claim upon our lives means that death will not conquer us, either. The resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead after his unjust execution on a cross is about as central to the Christian faith as anything proclaimed by the Christian Church.
Christ is risen, indeed.
I've never appreciated the "Christ is risen" exchange on Easter Sunday and in the weeks following. I dread speaking them. I dread hearing them.
It's not that I do not believe in the resurrection of Jesus Christ, but it is the story following the resurrection that disturbs me, even keeps me awake at night.
The story told in the gospel according to John depicts Jesus' loved ones coming to visit his grave site, not unlike you and I might visit a grave site of a loved one who has died, especially the days soon after a funeral. No one who comes to Jesus' grave and finds it empty grasps the reality or the magnitude of the fact that Jesus has been raised from the dead. Jesus even told his followers that this would happen, but they still don't get it--and they even hung around Jesus. A lot.
The resurrection of Jesus from the dead is hard for the human mind to grasp. Even with the gift of faith that God gives, resurrection is still challenging to grasp. To state that Jesus is raised from the dead is not enough. A statement didn't even work for Jesus. Jesus said he was going to be raised from the dead, and yet when his followers saw the evidence, they still didn't get it.
What changed?
Think about the power of a name. The power of a name can alter our state of being. If our name is spoken with anger, disdain or hatred, it shoots to the core of our being and can drive anyone to despair. A name spoken with curiosity, interest, enthusiasm, adoration or love can help someone experience joy and help them move mountains. In my studies related to couple's counseling and marriage care that an exercise for relationship strengthening can focus on intentionally using your significant other's name as opposed to nicknames, pet names, or randomly shouting out orders, requests, or seeking information.
The utterance of a name in love is part of our greatest rites of passage. We speak each others names during a wedding, and attach those names to promises. We take great care to choose names for children and pets. At a baptism, we say the baptized person's name and say "you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever." That name is repeated at Confirmation. A name is spoken at graduations and award ceremonies--and loved ones and fans cheer with delight. The activity attached to speaking a name carries great power--and that power can be used for good or ill.
Recently the morning "Today Show" and news outlets around the country told a story about the abuse of names--a telephone scam where elderly people are called and their heart strings are tugged, uttering the name "Grandma" as a means get to money. Saying things like "Grandma, I'm in trouble. Can you wire me some money?" The power of a name is to be used with great care.
One of my favorite utterances of a name is from an old television show from the 80's and 90's (at least it's old to this child of the 70's): I think many of you will know that name once you see his image. Once the name was uttered, some sort of lovable wisdom was shared: "It's a dog eat dog world, and I'm wearing Milk Bone underwear."
The writers of the television situation comedy "Cheers" made a powerful link to one of the show's most beloved characters, Norm Peterson, and the song that introduced the show.
I think the Cheers theme "Where Everybody Knows Your Name" is an instructive song to our understanding of the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead and what it means after the actual event. For the event to actually happen is one thing. But the event of Jesus being raised from the dead only had meaning in the context of a relationship. When Mary went to Jesus' grave site and found it empty, she didn't know what to make of it. She thought Jesus' body was taken by grave robbers. Jesus approached Mary and spoke to her. Mary didn't recognize Jesus or his voice. But once Jesus called out Mary's name--she knew that Jesus was alive, and she called him by one of the ways she knew her relationship. She affectionately called him "teacher."
The resurrection only became real to Mary when her name was spoken by Jesus and it was contextualized by a relationship. When I hear or speak the words "Christ Is Risen," it rings a little hollow for me because I know that I can do a better job of helping build relationships in the Church. I know that we can do better together. I know that hundreds of thousands of people look at Christians and don't care to hear about who Jesus is or what he has done because we haven't put a friendship, relationship or hospitality behind the name we proclaim. We may know something of the power of Jesus' name, but we have lost the sense of power of all the names of people whom God created.
I know nothing of the faith background of Scott Ginsberg--but I know that he has recognized the power of knowing a name. Several years ago, Scott decided to start wearing a name tag, all day, every day. He wrote a book, established a www.hellomynameisscott.com, and speaks worldwide about how his life has changed and the insights he has gained from wearing a name tag--how he built relationships because he was willing to put his name out there. Scott recognized the power of a name and turned it into making a living. I hear all kinds of excuses for people in a church not wearing a name tag. The truth is, we don't know as many names as we think we do, and sometimes I will avoid people because I don't want to go through the embarrassment of not remembering someone's name (has that happened to anyone else?). Name tags give people the opportunity to avoid the shame of not knowing a name, and it creates a better path to build a relationship.
I will not make a statement that the Church needs to be more like a bar, or that everyone in a congregation has to be best friends, or that everyone has to wear a name tag, OR ELSE. What I am saying is that we must recognize and act upon the power of a name and contextualize that name with a relationship. The statement about the resurrection telling the joyous event of Jesus' resurrection from the dead that ends the finality of death only means something in the context of a relationship.
There is something similar to Norm Peterson walking into Cheers and the Church. Wherever you go to encounter God, Jesus calls out your name with the same love and enthusiasm.
Christ is risen, indeed. Alleluia!
An old Christian tradition states that one Christian says to another Christian or group of Christians--
"Christ is risen!"
The response is "Christ is risen, indeed! Alleluia!"
To speak these words that Jesus is raised from the dead is an important proclamation for followers of Christ. It states that Jesus Christ conquered death. What human beings think is the end of life, God's raising Christ from among the dead means that trusting in the power of God in Christ and God's claim upon our lives means that death will not conquer us, either. The resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead after his unjust execution on a cross is about as central to the Christian faith as anything proclaimed by the Christian Church.
Christ is risen, indeed.
I've never appreciated the "Christ is risen" exchange on Easter Sunday and in the weeks following. I dread speaking them. I dread hearing them.
It's not that I do not believe in the resurrection of Jesus Christ, but it is the story following the resurrection that disturbs me, even keeps me awake at night.
The story told in the gospel according to John depicts Jesus' loved ones coming to visit his grave site, not unlike you and I might visit a grave site of a loved one who has died, especially the days soon after a funeral. No one who comes to Jesus' grave and finds it empty grasps the reality or the magnitude of the fact that Jesus has been raised from the dead. Jesus even told his followers that this would happen, but they still don't get it--and they even hung around Jesus. A lot.
The resurrection of Jesus from the dead is hard for the human mind to grasp. Even with the gift of faith that God gives, resurrection is still challenging to grasp. To state that Jesus is raised from the dead is not enough. A statement didn't even work for Jesus. Jesus said he was going to be raised from the dead, and yet when his followers saw the evidence, they still didn't get it.
What changed?
Think about the power of a name. The power of a name can alter our state of being. If our name is spoken with anger, disdain or hatred, it shoots to the core of our being and can drive anyone to despair. A name spoken with curiosity, interest, enthusiasm, adoration or love can help someone experience joy and help them move mountains. In my studies related to couple's counseling and marriage care that an exercise for relationship strengthening can focus on intentionally using your significant other's name as opposed to nicknames, pet names, or randomly shouting out orders, requests, or seeking information.
The utterance of a name in love is part of our greatest rites of passage. We speak each others names during a wedding, and attach those names to promises. We take great care to choose names for children and pets. At a baptism, we say the baptized person's name and say "you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever." That name is repeated at Confirmation. A name is spoken at graduations and award ceremonies--and loved ones and fans cheer with delight. The activity attached to speaking a name carries great power--and that power can be used for good or ill.
Recently the morning "Today Show" and news outlets around the country told a story about the abuse of names--a telephone scam where elderly people are called and their heart strings are tugged, uttering the name "Grandma" as a means get to money. Saying things like "Grandma, I'm in trouble. Can you wire me some money?" The power of a name is to be used with great care.
One of my favorite utterances of a name is from an old television show from the 80's and 90's (at least it's old to this child of the 70's): I think many of you will know that name once you see his image. Once the name was uttered, some sort of lovable wisdom was shared: "It's a dog eat dog world, and I'm wearing Milk Bone underwear."
The writers of the television situation comedy "Cheers" made a powerful link to one of the show's most beloved characters, Norm Peterson, and the song that introduced the show.
I think the Cheers theme "Where Everybody Knows Your Name" is an instructive song to our understanding of the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead and what it means after the actual event. For the event to actually happen is one thing. But the event of Jesus being raised from the dead only had meaning in the context of a relationship. When Mary went to Jesus' grave site and found it empty, she didn't know what to make of it. She thought Jesus' body was taken by grave robbers. Jesus approached Mary and spoke to her. Mary didn't recognize Jesus or his voice. But once Jesus called out Mary's name--she knew that Jesus was alive, and she called him by one of the ways she knew her relationship. She affectionately called him "teacher."
The resurrection only became real to Mary when her name was spoken by Jesus and it was contextualized by a relationship. When I hear or speak the words "Christ Is Risen," it rings a little hollow for me because I know that I can do a better job of helping build relationships in the Church. I know that we can do better together. I know that hundreds of thousands of people look at Christians and don't care to hear about who Jesus is or what he has done because we haven't put a friendship, relationship or hospitality behind the name we proclaim. We may know something of the power of Jesus' name, but we have lost the sense of power of all the names of people whom God created.
I know nothing of the faith background of Scott Ginsberg--but I know that he has recognized the power of knowing a name. Several years ago, Scott decided to start wearing a name tag, all day, every day. He wrote a book, established a www.hellomynameisscott.com, and speaks worldwide about how his life has changed and the insights he has gained from wearing a name tag--how he built relationships because he was willing to put his name out there. Scott recognized the power of a name and turned it into making a living. I hear all kinds of excuses for people in a church not wearing a name tag. The truth is, we don't know as many names as we think we do, and sometimes I will avoid people because I don't want to go through the embarrassment of not remembering someone's name (has that happened to anyone else?). Name tags give people the opportunity to avoid the shame of not knowing a name, and it creates a better path to build a relationship.
I will not make a statement that the Church needs to be more like a bar, or that everyone in a congregation has to be best friends, or that everyone has to wear a name tag, OR ELSE. What I am saying is that we must recognize and act upon the power of a name and contextualize that name with a relationship. The statement about the resurrection telling the joyous event of Jesus' resurrection from the dead that ends the finality of death only means something in the context of a relationship.
There is something similar to Norm Peterson walking into Cheers and the Church. Wherever you go to encounter God, Jesus calls out your name with the same love and enthusiasm.
Christ is risen, indeed. Alleluia!
Monday, March 15, 2010
40 day Journey with Martin Luther (Augsburg Books) Day 13: My Favorite Commandment To Break
"We are to fear and love God, so that we do not tell lies about our neighbors, betray or slander them, or destroy their reputations. Instead we are to come to their defense, speak well of them, and interpret everything they do in the best possible light." --Martin Luther
A colleague of mine loves to say, "The Eighth Commandment is my favorite one to break." I'm not sure if it's my favorite commandment to break, but there is a certain satisfaction in breaking it. There's a certain kind of remorse I experience when I have another god in place of God. I eventually come to a realization regarding God's identity. Killing and stealing? Though I may be able to eek out a justification of the behavior that Luther says is the spirit of those commandments, I nod my head and acknowledge that these are good for not only a just and orderly society, but for a society that thrives.
There are times when I get energy from righteous indignation against another human being. I am right, after all. Not only am I right in my thinking, but how dare someone infringe upon my rightness in the world? That kind of rightness enables me to spew all kinds of vitriol to slash and burn everyone in my path. Luther's teaching is hard to swallow, because in the midst of my confidence in the rightness of my thinking and action is a call to interpret everything my neighbor does in the best possible light. This positive interpretation is hard because it is so fun to be right. Although it is not as fun when I see the impact on my neighbor of righteous indignation. Which means it is important to see my neighbor. Which also means that it's not as fun to be right as I originally thought it was. If breaking the Eighth Commandment was ever my most favorite to break, it's not anymore.
If there was ever a commandment that could be followed in the spirit of Luther's interpretation, I think following this one would really change the world. Fox News and MSNBC would go out of business or completely change format. Media outlets would be turned on their head. Congregations and places of work would change. In breaking this commandment, killing, stealing, coveting, dishonoring father and mother are born from the transgression of this commandment. Interpreting our neighbor's action in the best possible light is a reflection of Christ's mercy.
A colleague of mine loves to say, "The Eighth Commandment is my favorite one to break." I'm not sure if it's my favorite commandment to break, but there is a certain satisfaction in breaking it. There's a certain kind of remorse I experience when I have another god in place of God. I eventually come to a realization regarding God's identity. Killing and stealing? Though I may be able to eek out a justification of the behavior that Luther says is the spirit of those commandments, I nod my head and acknowledge that these are good for not only a just and orderly society, but for a society that thrives.
There are times when I get energy from righteous indignation against another human being. I am right, after all. Not only am I right in my thinking, but how dare someone infringe upon my rightness in the world? That kind of rightness enables me to spew all kinds of vitriol to slash and burn everyone in my path. Luther's teaching is hard to swallow, because in the midst of my confidence in the rightness of my thinking and action is a call to interpret everything my neighbor does in the best possible light. This positive interpretation is hard because it is so fun to be right. Although it is not as fun when I see the impact on my neighbor of righteous indignation. Which means it is important to see my neighbor. Which also means that it's not as fun to be right as I originally thought it was. If breaking the Eighth Commandment was ever my most favorite to break, it's not anymore.
If there was ever a commandment that could be followed in the spirit of Luther's interpretation, I think following this one would really change the world. Fox News and MSNBC would go out of business or completely change format. Media outlets would be turned on their head. Congregations and places of work would change. In breaking this commandment, killing, stealing, coveting, dishonoring father and mother are born from the transgression of this commandment. Interpreting our neighbor's action in the best possible light is a reflection of Christ's mercy.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
My relationship with paper and the printed word is slipping away
How is your relationship with paper these days?
Recently my aunt revealed a family artifact from the 1940's. It was a large volume of The Daily (newspaper) from the University of Washington. My Granddad in his college days worked for The Daily in various capacities. The paper itself was heavy, almost like parchment, and the ink had an emerging neon like-quality outlining the black of the nostalgic typeface. The ads depicted products and services likely departed from institutional memory.
"What do we do with it?" First things first, I had to put it down. It was heavy. I thought it might be able to be a coffee table book, assuming the table was the size of a standard door. I wondered if the U Dub would want this archival piece, but I'm sure they have their fair share of archives. "Let's keep it in the family." I appreciated the sentiment, because I will examine the volume one day. In some ways I wasn't sure it was wise to keep. This volume is big, bulky, and a lot of paper. I wondered about the value and usefulness of this paper.
Last night at a meeting, a member of the congregational Transition Team handed me a piece of paper with an article about our work together for the church newsletter. I didn't want the piece of paper. I'm less likely to read the piece if the writing is on paper. I asked her if she could email it to me. I was a little surprised by my request. I immediately started thinking about how I ended my newspaper subscription at the end of November. I like some of the tactile activity of reading the newspaper, but I don't miss it like I thought I would. My cycle of actions is beginning to disengage my life from the printed word. About the only reading I look forward to reading is a letter or card from a family member or friend, or a book I'm looking forward to reading, or for most of my Bible study. I imagine that will change soon, I can't quite get myself to direct 300 dollars toward a Kindle at this time. The iPhone I purchased in October has expedited the shift from paper to electronic communication and reading.
I know others have gone through this transition without much thought, pain or reflection. I can't say what I'm feeling with disengaging from paper is pain. I think that paper is a medium for relationships. My understanding of news and writing came through my relationship with my Granddad and paper. I still like writing and receiving cards from the people I love--especially handwritten cards. The Bible carries a bit more meaning when I turn pages and use my hands with the gentle motion of page turning and using my finger. This is my relationship with God we are talking about.
I can now imagine a day where I am not reading a printed word on paper for hours at a time. Last night I caught a glimpse of that life and the transition I am making. I'm not sure my life will be hurt by this change. That life is definitely different.
Recently my aunt revealed a family artifact from the 1940's. It was a large volume of The Daily (newspaper) from the University of Washington. My Granddad in his college days worked for The Daily in various capacities. The paper itself was heavy, almost like parchment, and the ink had an emerging neon like-quality outlining the black of the nostalgic typeface. The ads depicted products and services likely departed from institutional memory.
"What do we do with it?" First things first, I had to put it down. It was heavy. I thought it might be able to be a coffee table book, assuming the table was the size of a standard door. I wondered if the U Dub would want this archival piece, but I'm sure they have their fair share of archives. "Let's keep it in the family." I appreciated the sentiment, because I will examine the volume one day. In some ways I wasn't sure it was wise to keep. This volume is big, bulky, and a lot of paper. I wondered about the value and usefulness of this paper.
Last night at a meeting, a member of the congregational Transition Team handed me a piece of paper with an article about our work together for the church newsletter. I didn't want the piece of paper. I'm less likely to read the piece if the writing is on paper. I asked her if she could email it to me. I was a little surprised by my request. I immediately started thinking about how I ended my newspaper subscription at the end of November. I like some of the tactile activity of reading the newspaper, but I don't miss it like I thought I would. My cycle of actions is beginning to disengage my life from the printed word. About the only reading I look forward to reading is a letter or card from a family member or friend, or a book I'm looking forward to reading, or for most of my Bible study. I imagine that will change soon, I can't quite get myself to direct 300 dollars toward a Kindle at this time. The iPhone I purchased in October has expedited the shift from paper to electronic communication and reading.
I know others have gone through this transition without much thought, pain or reflection. I can't say what I'm feeling with disengaging from paper is pain. I think that paper is a medium for relationships. My understanding of news and writing came through my relationship with my Granddad and paper. I still like writing and receiving cards from the people I love--especially handwritten cards. The Bible carries a bit more meaning when I turn pages and use my hands with the gentle motion of page turning and using my finger. This is my relationship with God we are talking about.
I can now imagine a day where I am not reading a printed word on paper for hours at a time. Last night I caught a glimpse of that life and the transition I am making. I'm not sure my life will be hurt by this change. That life is definitely different.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Sermon for January 17, 2010: "Listen. Do you want to know a secret?"
Matthew 21: 23-32
Brett Favre, starting quarterback of the Minnesota Vikings, may play in his last game for what seems to be the 50th time in his career today. He can't seem to retire in the literal sense of the word. Any news related to the National Football League over the past 3 years has expelled a significant portion of its wind to whether Brett Favre will retire. It is for moments such as these like today's game that a football player lives. On the biggest sporting stage that American sports can offer, Favre will have the attention of his coaches, his teammates, tens of thousands of screaming fans in the Metrodome in Minneapolis, numerous analysts sitting in multimillion dollar sets in television and radio studios hanging on his words and actions, and fans all over the world will be paying attention to what Brett Favre does on the field and what he says to accompany those actions. You don't even have to like Brett Favre--even the people who hate Favre and spit on his image will be listening and watching what Favre says and does. People may end up talking about Favre's words and actions for decades to come.
No wonder he doesn't want to retire. Being heard and watched to the degree Favre is examined would be challenging to relinquish. Many athletes struggle to retire for that reason. No one really listens anymore once the jersey is removed. I'm sure Favre will struggle with retirement once again after the end of his season.
I enjoy being heard. For all of the terror associated with weekly public speaking on the matters of life, death, grace, forgiveness, love, God and the cosmos, there is a feeling of exhilaration in preaching. People are actually listening. My thoughts, prayers and reflections actually matter to people, and then in some ways, I am better understood. I think preachers also struggle to retire. There is an allure to being heard--and losing that state of living, where one is heard on a weekly basis for so many years, becomes a threat to one's own existence. Though the desire for status is universal and a great roadblock to change in life--one thing I notice about social networking sites, blogs, public figures and in any social interaction is that though status-seeking drives the success of these sites or in simple human interaction, the underlying human need behind the social posturing is to be heard.
To be heard is a matter of survival. For some it is literal. A baby needs to be heard and people must respond for that child to live. People who survived the initial stages of the earthquake catastrophe in Haiti, but buried in rubble, their survival hinged upon being heard by a rescuer. It is hard to take human focus off of being heard, when so much is at stake. Being heard is part of our social well being as well as physical. People who are not heard can end up suffering isolation, depression and sometimes be driven to suicide, hoping that in their final act, they will be heard.
This essential part of our humanity--to be heard--and once we are heard--can be quite intoxicating. The problem ends up being that the ONLY goal in life is to be heard--and our society looks quite intoxicated right now. It appears that the only relevant state of being is to be heard. The problem with so many people working hard to be heard, one thinks that the only way to be heard in the crowd is to speak as often or as loudly as possible. Talk radio and talk TV lineups feature screamer after yeller after screamer after yeller. Preachers have followed the same logic over the years. In order to be heard--there has to be some yelling (so the logic goes). Parenting has become a similar enterprise with the quest to be heard. I recently read a New York Times article that faced with limited methods (at least related to old-fashioned parenting techniques), parents have turned to shouting as a leading method to be heard. One thing that I have learned is that the more I shout, the less my children eventually listen.
Jesus in his wisdom knew about the human desire to be heard. I think the desire to be heard is a cousin to a desire for status. The interesting thing about Jesus' critique of both leaders and followers in Matthew 21 is that he doesn't give people public speaking techniques. Jesus doesn't tell his followers to get louder. He doesn't teach them rhetoric. He doesn't teach them marketing or public relations. Jesus uses this story in Matthew 21 to let his followers know that what it means to live in connection with God requires listening. Listening to God means obedience. According to Jesus, listening to God means change, especially when people are generally focused more on being heard than listening.
Listening can change the world. While I have placed countless hours of energy trying to be heard, Jesus says that truly listening to God is linked to change. Listening to God models listening to others. This is a leap, because I catch myself being intoxicated by being heard on a macro level, but also on the micro level. I've caught myself worrying more about what I am going to say next than listening to the person with whom I am having a conversation. The intense desire to be heard juxtaposed with the dearth of listening can even be seen in public discourse related to relief efforts in Haiti. There's plenty of energy surrounding what is being said by President Obama, Pat Robertson and Rush Limbaugh, but I suppose it is a lot easier to concern myself with what is said by those folks and by me, rather than listening to those who are suffering.
In anxious times, what often comes to the forefront is not listening, but more people trying to be heard because they are anxious. The world can be changed by listening. God changed the world for Moses and his people by first hearing their suffering and letting Israel and Egypt know that God's people were heard.
On a practical level, as First Lutheran Community Church faces significant budget challenges and concerns over future pastoral leadership. It is certainly more alluring to offer theories as to why things are the way they are. The world we live in can be changed by listening. How do we listen to God? One of my favorite professors from Luther Seminary, Dr. Pat Keifert, says that we tend to think that prayer is the time that we get God to listen to us. Actually, prayer is the time God gets us to listen to God.
Bertel Thorvaldsen was a famous Danish sculptor known for his massive depiction of Jesus, the original appearing at Vor Frue's Kirke (Church of Our Lady) in Copenhagen, and with copies all over the world. The story attached to this sculpture notes the forward tilted head of Jesus, which was not the original intent of Thorvaldsen. Apparently, as the carving of the head took place, Thorvaldsen and his assistant miscalculated the carving and drying of the sculpture--a massive undertaking considering that sculpture was more than twice the size of an average human. The sculptors returned to their work the next morning to find that Jesus' head had tilted downward. The assistant thought this was a major failure of the piece and that months and months of work had been for naught. Thorvaldsen reassured his assistant that this was actually how Jesus should be depicted. The only way one could see the eyes of Jesus in this sculpture is to be on one's knees in prayer. It is true--the only way to get a clear glimpse of Jesus' face at Vor Frue's Kirke is to be kneeling at the altar rail.
For the world to change, the people of God need to be changed. The people of God cannot be changed as we make our way serving our God on this earth through placing all of our energy on what we say and attempt to be heard and asserting our own authority. If we seek for the situation in Haiti to change, we need to pray. If we seek the situation with the church's budget and congregational resources to change, we need to pray. It's not necessarily that we are taking to God our Christmas list and hoping to receive gifts, but that in listening, we are changed by the Jesus who changed our lives because he was obedient to the point of death on a cross. We are changed in our words, changed in our attitudes, and changed in our actions. In that change, we become the face of Jesus in a world where that face is needed among the suffering.
Brett Favre, starting quarterback of the Minnesota Vikings, may play in his last game for what seems to be the 50th time in his career today. He can't seem to retire in the literal sense of the word. Any news related to the National Football League over the past 3 years has expelled a significant portion of its wind to whether Brett Favre will retire. It is for moments such as these like today's game that a football player lives. On the biggest sporting stage that American sports can offer, Favre will have the attention of his coaches, his teammates, tens of thousands of screaming fans in the Metrodome in Minneapolis, numerous analysts sitting in multimillion dollar sets in television and radio studios hanging on his words and actions, and fans all over the world will be paying attention to what Brett Favre does on the field and what he says to accompany those actions. You don't even have to like Brett Favre--even the people who hate Favre and spit on his image will be listening and watching what Favre says and does. People may end up talking about Favre's words and actions for decades to come.
No wonder he doesn't want to retire. Being heard and watched to the degree Favre is examined would be challenging to relinquish. Many athletes struggle to retire for that reason. No one really listens anymore once the jersey is removed. I'm sure Favre will struggle with retirement once again after the end of his season.
I enjoy being heard. For all of the terror associated with weekly public speaking on the matters of life, death, grace, forgiveness, love, God and the cosmos, there is a feeling of exhilaration in preaching. People are actually listening. My thoughts, prayers and reflections actually matter to people, and then in some ways, I am better understood. I think preachers also struggle to retire. There is an allure to being heard--and losing that state of living, where one is heard on a weekly basis for so many years, becomes a threat to one's own existence. Though the desire for status is universal and a great roadblock to change in life--one thing I notice about social networking sites, blogs, public figures and in any social interaction is that though status-seeking drives the success of these sites or in simple human interaction, the underlying human need behind the social posturing is to be heard.
To be heard is a matter of survival. For some it is literal. A baby needs to be heard and people must respond for that child to live. People who survived the initial stages of the earthquake catastrophe in Haiti, but buried in rubble, their survival hinged upon being heard by a rescuer. It is hard to take human focus off of being heard, when so much is at stake. Being heard is part of our social well being as well as physical. People who are not heard can end up suffering isolation, depression and sometimes be driven to suicide, hoping that in their final act, they will be heard.
This essential part of our humanity--to be heard--and once we are heard--can be quite intoxicating. The problem ends up being that the ONLY goal in life is to be heard--and our society looks quite intoxicated right now. It appears that the only relevant state of being is to be heard. The problem with so many people working hard to be heard, one thinks that the only way to be heard in the crowd is to speak as often or as loudly as possible. Talk radio and talk TV lineups feature screamer after yeller after screamer after yeller. Preachers have followed the same logic over the years. In order to be heard--there has to be some yelling (so the logic goes). Parenting has become a similar enterprise with the quest to be heard. I recently read a New York Times article that faced with limited methods (at least related to old-fashioned parenting techniques), parents have turned to shouting as a leading method to be heard. One thing that I have learned is that the more I shout, the less my children eventually listen.
Jesus in his wisdom knew about the human desire to be heard. I think the desire to be heard is a cousin to a desire for status. The interesting thing about Jesus' critique of both leaders and followers in Matthew 21 is that he doesn't give people public speaking techniques. Jesus doesn't tell his followers to get louder. He doesn't teach them rhetoric. He doesn't teach them marketing or public relations. Jesus uses this story in Matthew 21 to let his followers know that what it means to live in connection with God requires listening. Listening to God means obedience. According to Jesus, listening to God means change, especially when people are generally focused more on being heard than listening.
Listening can change the world. While I have placed countless hours of energy trying to be heard, Jesus says that truly listening to God is linked to change. Listening to God models listening to others. This is a leap, because I catch myself being intoxicated by being heard on a macro level, but also on the micro level. I've caught myself worrying more about what I am going to say next than listening to the person with whom I am having a conversation. The intense desire to be heard juxtaposed with the dearth of listening can even be seen in public discourse related to relief efforts in Haiti. There's plenty of energy surrounding what is being said by President Obama, Pat Robertson and Rush Limbaugh, but I suppose it is a lot easier to concern myself with what is said by those folks and by me, rather than listening to those who are suffering.
In anxious times, what often comes to the forefront is not listening, but more people trying to be heard because they are anxious. The world can be changed by listening. God changed the world for Moses and his people by first hearing their suffering and letting Israel and Egypt know that God's people were heard.
On a practical level, as First Lutheran Community Church faces significant budget challenges and concerns over future pastoral leadership. It is certainly more alluring to offer theories as to why things are the way they are. The world we live in can be changed by listening. How do we listen to God? One of my favorite professors from Luther Seminary, Dr. Pat Keifert, says that we tend to think that prayer is the time that we get God to listen to us. Actually, prayer is the time God gets us to listen to God.
Bertel Thorvaldsen was a famous Danish sculptor known for his massive depiction of Jesus, the original appearing at Vor Frue's Kirke (Church of Our Lady) in Copenhagen, and with copies all over the world. The story attached to this sculpture notes the forward tilted head of Jesus, which was not the original intent of Thorvaldsen. Apparently, as the carving of the head took place, Thorvaldsen and his assistant miscalculated the carving and drying of the sculpture--a massive undertaking considering that sculpture was more than twice the size of an average human. The sculptors returned to their work the next morning to find that Jesus' head had tilted downward. The assistant thought this was a major failure of the piece and that months and months of work had been for naught. Thorvaldsen reassured his assistant that this was actually how Jesus should be depicted. The only way one could see the eyes of Jesus in this sculpture is to be on one's knees in prayer. It is true--the only way to get a clear glimpse of Jesus' face at Vor Frue's Kirke is to be kneeling at the altar rail.
For the world to change, the people of God need to be changed. The people of God cannot be changed as we make our way serving our God on this earth through placing all of our energy on what we say and attempt to be heard and asserting our own authority. If we seek for the situation in Haiti to change, we need to pray. If we seek the situation with the church's budget and congregational resources to change, we need to pray. It's not necessarily that we are taking to God our Christmas list and hoping to receive gifts, but that in listening, we are changed by the Jesus who changed our lives because he was obedient to the point of death on a cross. We are changed in our words, changed in our attitudes, and changed in our actions. In that change, we become the face of Jesus in a world where that face is needed among the suffering.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Follow up on Klosterman's "Eating The Dinosaur"
A few days ago I reviewed Chuck Klosterman's new book, "Eating The Dinosaur." The quality of his writing from my perspective has increased over the years because his writing continues to make me think, and I've looked for ways to continue reflection on the book's theme of reality construction.
I've been curious about his media presence. I don't think Klosterman keeps a Facebook page, and he doesn't use Twitter or blog. Some have criticized him for not being public enough with his thoughts and work. However, Klosterman does do speaking engagements and appears regularly enough on ESPN's Bill Simmons' podcast "The B.S. Report (see December 21)" for me to say that he's not a recluse, but choosy or even strategic about how he presents himself to the public. I think it would be impossible for Klosterman to be a recluse, considering his analysis of public interaction and reality construction. He is choosing to construct reality in a different way. I'm reading Douglas Coupland's new book (to be reviewed soon) "Generation A" and I have pondered why Coupland uses Twitter, but not Facebook. I think for us introverts, we are a little more thoughtful about how we construct reality, as opposed to those who prefer extroversion who get out there and make the contact, using whatever means possible. I don't want to diagnose Klosterman or Coupland, but when I think about social media and communication, I find it interesting the combination of communication employed.
I lift up the aforementioned podcast to further affirm Klosterman's implicit theological and philosophical thinking. He briefly discusses nihilism and more deeply the idiom of rock and roll. I think nihilism is an important topic for Christians to consider as we engage in conversations with agnostics and atheists in our world. My favorite contemporary nihilist is Dr. Gregory House on Fox Monday night television lineup. I still think he needs a better theological challenge from a storyline or character in the show, but I find House's atheism far more interesting than what is offered by the neo-atheist authors of the day like Harris or Hitchens. Klosterman briefly touches on the idea of a public perception of nihilism. He didn't expand upon the thought with depth, but the offering was sufficiently provocative.
The other interesting topic on the podcast interview is the discussion of what Klosterman calls "The Rock and Roll idiom." I think this is an important argument between Klosterman and Simmons with an application toward the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (RRHF), because Simmons argues for much more distinct genres of music, whereas Klosterman is much more comfortable with "the Rock and Roll idiom" reflected in the RRHF. I think this kind of discussion is pertinent to worship and music, especially in my experience with Mainline Protestant congregations--because we continue to have an oversimplified public discourse depicting a false dichotomy of "traditional" and "contemporary" music. If there is more creative discussion about worship and music somewhere, I would enjoy reading your comments, input, suggestions and leads.
If you don't have the time to read Klosterman and want an introduction to his thought processes, take a listen to the podcast and see if reading his book will be worth an investment in your time.
I've been curious about his media presence. I don't think Klosterman keeps a Facebook page, and he doesn't use Twitter or blog. Some have criticized him for not being public enough with his thoughts and work. However, Klosterman does do speaking engagements and appears regularly enough on ESPN's Bill Simmons' podcast "The B.S. Report (see December 21)" for me to say that he's not a recluse, but choosy or even strategic about how he presents himself to the public. I think it would be impossible for Klosterman to be a recluse, considering his analysis of public interaction and reality construction. He is choosing to construct reality in a different way. I'm reading Douglas Coupland's new book (to be reviewed soon) "Generation A" and I have pondered why Coupland uses Twitter, but not Facebook. I think for us introverts, we are a little more thoughtful about how we construct reality, as opposed to those who prefer extroversion who get out there and make the contact, using whatever means possible. I don't want to diagnose Klosterman or Coupland, but when I think about social media and communication, I find it interesting the combination of communication employed.
I lift up the aforementioned podcast to further affirm Klosterman's implicit theological and philosophical thinking. He briefly discusses nihilism and more deeply the idiom of rock and roll. I think nihilism is an important topic for Christians to consider as we engage in conversations with agnostics and atheists in our world. My favorite contemporary nihilist is Dr. Gregory House on Fox Monday night television lineup. I still think he needs a better theological challenge from a storyline or character in the show, but I find House's atheism far more interesting than what is offered by the neo-atheist authors of the day like Harris or Hitchens. Klosterman briefly touches on the idea of a public perception of nihilism. He didn't expand upon the thought with depth, but the offering was sufficiently provocative.
The other interesting topic on the podcast interview is the discussion of what Klosterman calls "The Rock and Roll idiom." I think this is an important argument between Klosterman and Simmons with an application toward the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (RRHF), because Simmons argues for much more distinct genres of music, whereas Klosterman is much more comfortable with "the Rock and Roll idiom" reflected in the RRHF. I think this kind of discussion is pertinent to worship and music, especially in my experience with Mainline Protestant congregations--because we continue to have an oversimplified public discourse depicting a false dichotomy of "traditional" and "contemporary" music. If there is more creative discussion about worship and music somewhere, I would enjoy reading your comments, input, suggestions and leads.
If you don't have the time to read Klosterman and want an introduction to his thought processes, take a listen to the podcast and see if reading his book will be worth an investment in your time.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Book #1 for 2010: Eating The Dinosaur by Chuck Klosterman
I have very high expectations for Chuck Klosterman. I read Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs a few years ago after reading his thought provoking pieces in ESPN The Magazine. What I appreciated was how he intelligently analyzed popular culture without making it sound like he was above it. Maybe I'm not well-read enough to know other authors who pull this off. Klosterman offers rare cultural critique. Often I have no idea what he's talking about, however, his writing still affirms my own intellectual abilities, all the while taking me to subjects I want to explore in depth. In the meantime, I laugh a lot when I read Klosterman.
Though I'm not quite sure about this yet, I think Klosterman's methodology for cultural critique is part of who I want to be as a preacher--a balance of challenge and affirmation. In the midst of my imagination and the imaginations of people in the congregation--all that we see and all that we experience during the week--God is speaking. If you're not a Klosterman reader, very rarely does he address explicitly theological themes, but I love how his mind works, and even more so, how he writes.
With that in mind, I want to tell you about his Fall 2009 release: Eating The Dinosaur. I was initially disappointed with this book, and limped through the first 50 pages wondering when I was going to enjoy his analysis again. Granted, my expectations may be too high, because Klosterman usually hits the ground running. Not so with "Eating The Dinosaur." He's setting the stage in almost a Pauline fashion, digging himself a hole that might have stopped me from reading the book if it was my first Klosterman read. While in the short term he may be lumbering in obscurity, he is setting the stage for something powerful.
Klosterman also adeptly traverses between "high" and "low" cultures without missing a beat. His chapter on ABBA was a breakthrough in the book for me because it addresses what lacks in any discussion about worship and music in most ELCA congregations I have served. What is the place of music in how we look at the world? What makes music endure and transcend? The amusing yet painful distinction about worship and music discussions in the ELCA over the years is the stance of superiority from most people who choose to make arguments. Klosterman moves beyond these type of arguments in his cultural critique and finds different angles to observe culture. Out of nowhere in the chapter comes a statement about Vladimir Putin and his relationship with the ABBA tribute band, Bjorn Again (I admit, this statement piqued my interest because my wife and I bought tickets for my parents for a double date to see Bjorn Again). In the end, Klosterman makes intriguing moves to point to a general thesis about the paths humanity takes to construct reality. I think reality construction is important to consider for the Church, especially considering what different people consider to be important tenets of theology. Christians of different stripes construct realities based on the theological idea that we are all part of a fallen, sinful humanity, or the idea that the Bible is "inerrant." In Klosterman, everyone can participate in the philosophical discussion, whether you enjoy reading Martin Heidegger or Eric Alterman, or listening to Nirvana, ABBA, AC/DC, or any combination thereof. Even viewers of the most popular sport in the United States, football, can participate in philosophical work.
Sometimes Klosterman maneuvers through various topics at dizzying speed. Have no fear--Klosterman's non-fiction titles contain indexes. If you don't remember where you read about Martin Heidegger, you can find him on page 215. If you don't remember where you read about Uncle Tom's Cabin, it can be found on page 202. Gene Simmons, page 109; FDR, page 35; barefoot punting, page 143.
Though I'm not quite sure about this yet, I think Klosterman's methodology for cultural critique is part of who I want to be as a preacher--a balance of challenge and affirmation. In the midst of my imagination and the imaginations of people in the congregation--all that we see and all that we experience during the week--God is speaking. If you're not a Klosterman reader, very rarely does he address explicitly theological themes, but I love how his mind works, and even more so, how he writes.
With that in mind, I want to tell you about his Fall 2009 release: Eating The Dinosaur. I was initially disappointed with this book, and limped through the first 50 pages wondering when I was going to enjoy his analysis again. Granted, my expectations may be too high, because Klosterman usually hits the ground running. Not so with "Eating The Dinosaur." He's setting the stage in almost a Pauline fashion, digging himself a hole that might have stopped me from reading the book if it was my first Klosterman read. While in the short term he may be lumbering in obscurity, he is setting the stage for something powerful.
Klosterman also adeptly traverses between "high" and "low" cultures without missing a beat. His chapter on ABBA was a breakthrough in the book for me because it addresses what lacks in any discussion about worship and music in most ELCA congregations I have served. What is the place of music in how we look at the world? What makes music endure and transcend? The amusing yet painful distinction about worship and music discussions in the ELCA over the years is the stance of superiority from most people who choose to make arguments. Klosterman moves beyond these type of arguments in his cultural critique and finds different angles to observe culture. Out of nowhere in the chapter comes a statement about Vladimir Putin and his relationship with the ABBA tribute band, Bjorn Again (I admit, this statement piqued my interest because my wife and I bought tickets for my parents for a double date to see Bjorn Again). In the end, Klosterman makes intriguing moves to point to a general thesis about the paths humanity takes to construct reality. I think reality construction is important to consider for the Church, especially considering what different people consider to be important tenets of theology. Christians of different stripes construct realities based on the theological idea that we are all part of a fallen, sinful humanity, or the idea that the Bible is "inerrant." In Klosterman, everyone can participate in the philosophical discussion, whether you enjoy reading Martin Heidegger or Eric Alterman, or listening to Nirvana, ABBA, AC/DC, or any combination thereof. Even viewers of the most popular sport in the United States, football, can participate in philosophical work.
Sometimes Klosterman maneuvers through various topics at dizzying speed. Have no fear--Klosterman's non-fiction titles contain indexes. If you don't remember where you read about Martin Heidegger, you can find him on page 215. If you don't remember where you read about Uncle Tom's Cabin, it can be found on page 202. Gene Simmons, page 109; FDR, page 35; barefoot punting, page 143.
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