Canticles of the Unhomed
Monday, February 18, 2008
The New Monasticism and the Ancient Art of Breathing
So my wife and I voyaged, quite intrepidly, into the dark maw from which there is no escape, otherwise known as the local Christian bookstore. I know; I can barely believe it myself.
What's more, contrary to my firmly held conviction, I bought a book. In fact, I bought THREE. I know, the heaven shall surely fall. Actually, the first two doesn't really count, since I have read them before, and they are two of my favorite books: Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning and Generous Orthodoxy by Brian McLaren. These are books that I have owned before, and have lent out and never gotten back, so I didn't mind buying them again.
However, the third was the book you see to the right. Punk Monk: The New Monasticism and the Ancient Art of Breathing by Pete Greig and Andy Freeman.
The book explores the concept of building a new "post-post modern" monasticism built around the concepts of 24-7 prayer and a construct called the "Boiler Rooms." I have not gotten far into the book yet, but I have gleaned that they have their own rule of life that is built around two purposes (prayer and the practice of the Christian life), three principles (being true to Christ, being kind to people, and being missional), and six fundamental practices (prayer, creativity, hospitality, mercy, learning and mission). Their rule sums up their commitment “not to buildings but to community,” which I find extremely interesting.
Having been a monk myself, I fine that I am continually drawn to that kind of life. However, I cannot reconcile the cloistered life with Christ's clear imperative to missionalism. I have often thought if there was a way to bring the core concepts of monasticism into the 21st century. Some would say that was at the heart of the House.
I resonate withe the concept of the purposes, principles and practices. I am excited to read more. I will undoubtedly write more as I go.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Visitation
So now that everyone is gone, perhaps I should poke my head up.
Much time has past and many things have happened. When I think of where I was when last I wrote on this blog, and where I now sit writing this, the mind boggles.I wonder, though, why I write this. I am near to sure that anyone who once read this blog have well since stopped coming to check it. In fact, most of the people who once read this blog no longer have blogs themselves, and most likely the whole blog phenomena has now passed, forgotten, into some kind of internet oblivion. In fact, it is entirely likely that no one will ever read this, and I am like the archer firing arrows into the dark.
Perhaps it is better that way. I found that when I knew that people I saw everyday were reading the blog, I would naturally edit myself, because I didn't want people to be offended or think less of me. In fact, I found that I would write for the express purpose of impressing them.
In fact, I don't really know why I am even writing this, though I believe I would like to start writing on as regular a basis as possible. I haven't been writing as often as I would like in the past year or so. I find that I lack the mental space to be able to find the desire.
So we will see what will happen. I don't really know what I shall write; the idea of just creating a record of daily events is horrible, since nothing ever happens during my day... :)
So we will see what will happen.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Apotheosis
A lesser light sought God's face/
Phusis asked the lesser light/
Do you know what you are looking for>//
Imago dei answered the lesser light///
Phusis said/
Buy new shoes]///
//kwatz!//
//kwatz!//
Phusis asked the lesser light/
Do you know what you are looking for>//
Imago dei answered the lesser light///
Phusis said/
Buy new shoes]///
//kwatz!//
//kwatz!//
Friday, January 20, 2006
Politics
Okay, so I guess we have an election or something coming up, so I thought I would enter the foray. This is going to be the only time you will ever hear me wax political on this blog, at least inasfar as Canadian political parties are concerned.
My buddy Cortney passed this along...
Our Prime Minister in one of his better moments.
---
While vacationing on a ranch, Paul Martin gets thrown from his horse, lands on a rattlesnake, gets bitten and dies because the emergency room at the nearest hospital is too understaffed to treat him in time. So his soul arrives in Heaven and he is met by St. Peter at the Pearly Gates.
"Welcome to Heaven," says St. Peter. "Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a Liberal around these parts, so we're not sure what to do with you."
"No problem, just let me in; I'm a believer." says Martin.
"I'd like to just let you in, but I have orders from the Man Himself. He says you have to spend one day in Hell and one day in Heaven. Then you must choose where you'll live for eternity."
"But, I've already made up my mind, I want to be in Heaven," replied Martin.
"I'm sorry, but we have our rules. "And with that, St. Peter escorts him to an elevator and he goes down, down, down, all the way to Hell.
The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a lush golf course; the sun is shining in a cloudless sky, the temperature a perfect 72 degrees. In the distance is a beautiful clubhouse. Standing in front of it is his Dad, and thousands of other Liberals who had helped him out over the years---Pierre Trudeau, Jean Marchand, Pelletier, St Laurent etc. The whole of the "right" was there, everyone laughing, happy, and casually but expensively dressed. They run to greet him, hug him, and reminisce about the good times they had getting rich at the expense of 'suckers and peasants. 'They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster and caviar.
The Devil himself comes up to Martin with a frosty drink, "Have a Margarita and relax, Paul!"
"Uh, I can't drink anymore; I took a pledge," says Martin, dejectedly.
"This is Hell, son. You can drink and eat all you want and not worry, and it just gets better from there!"
Martin takes the drink and finds himself liking the Devil, who he thinks is a really very friendly guy who tells funny jokes like himself, and pulls hilarious nasty pranks, kind of like they pulled on the GST and Free Trade promises. They are having such a great time that, before he realizes it, it's time to go. Everyone gives him a big hug and waves as Martin steps on the elevator and heads upward.
When the elevator door reopens, he is in Heaven again and St. Peter is waiting for him. "Now it's time to visit Heaven," the old man says, opening the gate. So for 24 hours Martin is made to hang out with a bunch of honest, good-natured people who enjoy each other's company, talk about things other than money, and treat each other decently. Not a nasty prank or frat boy joke among them; no fancy country clubs and, while the food tastes great, it's not caviar or lobster. And these people are all poor, he doesn't see anybody he knows, and he isn't even treated like someone special!
"Whoa," he says uncomfortably to himself. "Pierre Trudeau never prepared me for this!"
The day done, St. Peter returns and says, "Well, you've spent a day in Hell and a day in Heaven. Now choose where you want to live for eternity."
With the 'Jeopardy' theme playing softly in the background, Martin reflects for a minute, then answers: "Well, I would never have thought I'd say this -- I mean, Heaven has been delightful and all -- but I really think I belong in Hell with my friends."
So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down, all the way to Hell. The doors of the elevator open and he is in the middle of a barren scorched earth covered with garbage and toxic industrial waste, kind of like Sudbury. He is horrified to see all of his friends, dressed in rags and chained together, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags. They are groaning and moaning in pain, faces and hands black with grime.
The Devil comes over to Martin and puts an arm around his shoulder.
"I don't understand," stammers a shocked Martin, "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a clubhouse and we ate lobster and caviar, drank booze. We lazed around and had a great time. Now there's just a wasteland full of garbage and everybody looks miserable!"
The Devil looks at him, smiles slyly, and purrs, "Yesterday we were campaigning; today you voted for us!"
---
[snicker]
Paul Martin in hell...
[snicker]
My buddy Cortney passed this along...
Our Prime Minister in one of his better moments.
---
While vacationing on a ranch, Paul Martin gets thrown from his horse, lands on a rattlesnake, gets bitten and dies because the emergency room at the nearest hospital is too understaffed to treat him in time. So his soul arrives in Heaven and he is met by St. Peter at the Pearly Gates.
"Welcome to Heaven," says St. Peter. "Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a Liberal around these parts, so we're not sure what to do with you."
"No problem, just let me in; I'm a believer." says Martin.
"I'd like to just let you in, but I have orders from the Man Himself. He says you have to spend one day in Hell and one day in Heaven. Then you must choose where you'll live for eternity."
"But, I've already made up my mind, I want to be in Heaven," replied Martin.
"I'm sorry, but we have our rules. "And with that, St. Peter escorts him to an elevator and he goes down, down, down, all the way to Hell.
The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a lush golf course; the sun is shining in a cloudless sky, the temperature a perfect 72 degrees. In the distance is a beautiful clubhouse. Standing in front of it is his Dad, and thousands of other Liberals who had helped him out over the years---Pierre Trudeau, Jean Marchand, Pelletier, St Laurent etc. The whole of the "right" was there, everyone laughing, happy, and casually but expensively dressed. They run to greet him, hug him, and reminisce about the good times they had getting rich at the expense of 'suckers and peasants. 'They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster and caviar.
The Devil himself comes up to Martin with a frosty drink, "Have a Margarita and relax, Paul!"
"Uh, I can't drink anymore; I took a pledge," says Martin, dejectedly.
"This is Hell, son. You can drink and eat all you want and not worry, and it just gets better from there!"
Martin takes the drink and finds himself liking the Devil, who he thinks is a really very friendly guy who tells funny jokes like himself, and pulls hilarious nasty pranks, kind of like they pulled on the GST and Free Trade promises. They are having such a great time that, before he realizes it, it's time to go. Everyone gives him a big hug and waves as Martin steps on the elevator and heads upward.
When the elevator door reopens, he is in Heaven again and St. Peter is waiting for him. "Now it's time to visit Heaven," the old man says, opening the gate. So for 24 hours Martin is made to hang out with a bunch of honest, good-natured people who enjoy each other's company, talk about things other than money, and treat each other decently. Not a nasty prank or frat boy joke among them; no fancy country clubs and, while the food tastes great, it's not caviar or lobster. And these people are all poor, he doesn't see anybody he knows, and he isn't even treated like someone special!
"Whoa," he says uncomfortably to himself. "Pierre Trudeau never prepared me for this!"
The day done, St. Peter returns and says, "Well, you've spent a day in Hell and a day in Heaven. Now choose where you want to live for eternity."
With the 'Jeopardy' theme playing softly in the background, Martin reflects for a minute, then answers: "Well, I would never have thought I'd say this -- I mean, Heaven has been delightful and all -- but I really think I belong in Hell with my friends."
So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down, all the way to Hell. The doors of the elevator open and he is in the middle of a barren scorched earth covered with garbage and toxic industrial waste, kind of like Sudbury. He is horrified to see all of his friends, dressed in rags and chained together, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags. They are groaning and moaning in pain, faces and hands black with grime.
The Devil comes over to Martin and puts an arm around his shoulder.
"I don't understand," stammers a shocked Martin, "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a clubhouse and we ate lobster and caviar, drank booze. We lazed around and had a great time. Now there's just a wasteland full of garbage and everybody looks miserable!"
The Devil looks at him, smiles slyly, and purrs, "Yesterday we were campaigning; today you voted for us!"
---
[snicker]
[snicker]
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Thoughts on Evolution
I know - two posts in as many days - inconceivable. (No, I'm sure the word means what I think it does.)
So I posted about Christmas a few days ago, and having received some interesting comments, I feel I must respond.
First, here is the anonymous comment in full:
"as a family member that loves any time that a busy family can take the time to be together i really take offense by what you said i really beleive it is what you make of it.too bad all the xmases that we did give you the love,the thought of making you happy and all that bullshit was for not. i am really glad dad is not around to read this bullshit.as it is i am so deeply hurt i dont know how to feel"
Many of you who know me know of my less than stellar relationship with my family. There was a big blow up a few years back, I left, and I really haven't looked back since. There was a lot of anger to deal with. I went through a number of ugly anger cycles until I was able to get my head around it. Eventually, I ended up in counseling - a number of counselors in fact, something, until now, that was not common knowledge. Some of them were better than others - the best was a priest reccommended to me by my friend Jacquie. Again, my regular consultation with these counselors was something that I kept fairly quiet. I realized that this family thing was something that I could not deal with by myself; there was too many years of too much pain. Eventually I was able, with one counselor's help in particular, to learn that I was responsible for my own evolution. I had the power to choose to surround myself with people, circumstances and relationships that contributed positively to the kind of person that I wanted to be. I didn't have to live with what I was taught. I could have healthy relationships, I could have good communication skills, I could deal with my anger properly, I could talk to and about myself properly. But I had to choose, and I had to be ruthless. I lived in a world that was hostile to me, a world that would not hesitate to destroy me if I let it. I had to choose how I would live. During this process I learned many things about myself. I learned about how I communicate, how I emote/feel/process emotions. It was here that my ideas/thoughts/feelings/wishes/dreams of community was born, and my desperate hatred of broken relationship.
I learned that I could not give my family access to me. I had to be ruthless. There were some exceptions to that, but largely, I had to remove myself from that. I fully realize that my family probably did the very best they could; I don't begrudge them that. Looking back on my history with my family, I saw patterns and cycles that played themselves out again and again that I just could not be part of. Of course I saw honest people just trying their best to make do, but I couldn't risk myself buying into those patterns and cycles.
Mostly I just realized that I could not fit in. I knew from the beginning, and everyone reminded me of it constantly, that I was different. I was adopted, and the youngest. Of course I didn't fit. I know that I still don't, and never will. I remember well angry, older siblings yelling that at me. Remember, I have learned to be ruthless. I must be. There was a time when talking about this made me angry. There is no anger anymore. Some sadness, some regret. But I was taught to be ruthless, determined and dogged. The fact is that I have so little in common with my family that I am sure that they don't even know who I am anymore. They are certainly strangers to me.
To the anonymous family member who commented: I am really, truly glad that you enjoy family Christmases. You are right when you say that they are what you make it. I don't want to offend you, or belittle your feelings, memories or your beliefs. I am glad that you felt those things; that you wanted the best for me, or that you loved me. Those are the best things about family. I do not for a moment believe that it was all bad. Not by a long shot. But please understand that it cannot undo so many years of hurt and negative reinforcement. Its not about forgiveness - that was done years ago - its about consequence. This is the cost of those years. There is no way to say this without it sounding like judgement, so I won't even try. I need to take care of myself. I will not - cannot - risk the goals I have for myself.
I am nowhere near perfect. I am still stunted, emotionally constipated, and generally fucked up. I am like an alcoholic walking by a string of bars. I know myself; I know what I can risk and what I cannot. I know where I can walk and where I cannot. I have to be ruthless. You can call me unforgiving, uncompassionate, unChrist-like, hateful, selfish, retributionary, an asshole, whatever. The truth is that I am done being hurt by this. The only person who can hurt you are those that you give permission to, and that permission was revoked long ago.
But I am sorry that I have hurt you, hence the sadness and regret. It is not right. Perhaps you even have an intention to reconcile and restore. That is so right, noble and godly that it makes my heart hurt. And its not right that I cannot go there. The truth is, there is nothing right in this whole mess. Someone once told me that after a messy relationship there some you can have dinner with, and some you can't. As much as I hate it, as much as I want to be one of those people that you can have dinner with - the person is right.
Some would say that this is the very worst context to have this experience, and they're probably right. This is the only context that I can open. I don't know what the right answer is - I don't think there is one.
So I posted about Christmas a few days ago, and having received some interesting comments, I feel I must respond.
First, here is the anonymous comment in full:
"as a family member that loves any time that a busy family can take the time to be together i really take offense by what you said i really beleive it is what you make of it.too bad all the xmases that we did give you the love,the thought of making you happy and all that bullshit was for not. i am really glad dad is not around to read this bullshit.as it is i am so deeply hurt i dont know how to feel"
Many of you who know me know of my less than stellar relationship with my family. There was a big blow up a few years back, I left, and I really haven't looked back since. There was a lot of anger to deal with. I went through a number of ugly anger cycles until I was able to get my head around it. Eventually, I ended up in counseling - a number of counselors in fact, something, until now, that was not common knowledge. Some of them were better than others - the best was a priest reccommended to me by my friend Jacquie. Again, my regular consultation with these counselors was something that I kept fairly quiet. I realized that this family thing was something that I could not deal with by myself; there was too many years of too much pain. Eventually I was able, with one counselor's help in particular, to learn that I was responsible for my own evolution. I had the power to choose to surround myself with people, circumstances and relationships that contributed positively to the kind of person that I wanted to be. I didn't have to live with what I was taught. I could have healthy relationships, I could have good communication skills, I could deal with my anger properly, I could talk to and about myself properly. But I had to choose, and I had to be ruthless. I lived in a world that was hostile to me, a world that would not hesitate to destroy me if I let it. I had to choose how I would live. During this process I learned many things about myself. I learned about how I communicate, how I emote/feel/process emotions. It was here that my ideas/thoughts/feelings/wishes/dreams of community was born, and my desperate hatred of broken relationship.
I learned that I could not give my family access to me. I had to be ruthless. There were some exceptions to that, but largely, I had to remove myself from that. I fully realize that my family probably did the very best they could; I don't begrudge them that. Looking back on my history with my family, I saw patterns and cycles that played themselves out again and again that I just could not be part of. Of course I saw honest people just trying their best to make do, but I couldn't risk myself buying into those patterns and cycles.
Mostly I just realized that I could not fit in. I knew from the beginning, and everyone reminded me of it constantly, that I was different. I was adopted, and the youngest. Of course I didn't fit. I know that I still don't, and never will. I remember well angry, older siblings yelling that at me. Remember, I have learned to be ruthless. I must be. There was a time when talking about this made me angry. There is no anger anymore. Some sadness, some regret. But I was taught to be ruthless, determined and dogged. The fact is that I have so little in common with my family that I am sure that they don't even know who I am anymore. They are certainly strangers to me.
To the anonymous family member who commented: I am really, truly glad that you enjoy family Christmases. You are right when you say that they are what you make it. I don't want to offend you, or belittle your feelings, memories or your beliefs. I am glad that you felt those things; that you wanted the best for me, or that you loved me. Those are the best things about family. I do not for a moment believe that it was all bad. Not by a long shot. But please understand that it cannot undo so many years of hurt and negative reinforcement. Its not about forgiveness - that was done years ago - its about consequence. This is the cost of those years. There is no way to say this without it sounding like judgement, so I won't even try. I need to take care of myself. I will not - cannot - risk the goals I have for myself.
I am nowhere near perfect. I am still stunted, emotionally constipated, and generally fucked up. I am like an alcoholic walking by a string of bars. I know myself; I know what I can risk and what I cannot. I know where I can walk and where I cannot. I have to be ruthless. You can call me unforgiving, uncompassionate, unChrist-like, hateful, selfish, retributionary, an asshole, whatever. The truth is that I am done being hurt by this. The only person who can hurt you are those that you give permission to, and that permission was revoked long ago.
But I am sorry that I have hurt you, hence the sadness and regret. It is not right. Perhaps you even have an intention to reconcile and restore. That is so right, noble and godly that it makes my heart hurt. And its not right that I cannot go there. The truth is, there is nothing right in this whole mess. Someone once told me that after a messy relationship there some you can have dinner with, and some you can't. As much as I hate it, as much as I want to be one of those people that you can have dinner with - the person is right.
Some would say that this is the very worst context to have this experience, and they're probably right. This is the only context that I can open. I don't know what the right answer is - I don't think there is one.
Friday, December 30, 2005
My Talisman
A talisman is, by definition, an object marked with magic or arcane signs and is believed to confer on its bearer supernatural powers or protection. Or, more generally, something that apparently has magic power.
While I was researching my grad thesis I ran into them all the time. They could be literally anything, but usually was either a relic of a dead person that was thought to have great power, or a small piece of stone or wood carved in the likeness of some diety or patron. It was thought that by carrying or "invoking" the talisman you could share in the power of the person or diety to which the talisman referred. For example, a priest of certain animistic religions would often carry the dessicated finger bone - usually the right ring finger - of their dead master. It was believed that the power of the dead wizard would be transferred, at will, into the living apprentice. This is of course, related to habits of cannibalism and head-hunting in several primitive cultures. The way it was explained to me was that the power is deep in the earth, like a resevoir, and that the user of the magic, ie the wizard/priest/etc is like a wick in a lantern. For the magic to work, the user had to provide a "spark" that would release the power of the magic. The purpose of the talisman would be to provide that spark and to add the dead person - or god's - power of control to the release of the magic. You would often prefer the talisman of your dead master over to the totem of your god, since your master's energy is already more keyed to your own, and gods have a reputation for being notorious capricious. In short, the talisman was an extremely powerful item, if you knew how to use it, and if it was procured in the correct way. If it was a relic of the person, preferrably the best way to collect it was in the final moments of life, and preferrably after YOU kill your master. Also, the more the relic was essential to life, or symbolized the connection of the person to the magic, the more powerful it was, and the more powerful you had to be to use it correctly. The most powerful relics were the heart and penis, though the finger bone was considered an appropriate compromise.
The point of it all was that in using the talisman, for all intents and purposes, you became that person. Ostensibly they were already very powerful and accomplished, and the more you could appear to be that person the better, when you had to trick your god into interceding for you.
I offer all that as prologue. Consider the emergent church's use of Brian McLaren as a talisman. I recently read an article written by him that addresses this issue. Check out the pdf here. He talks about not really knowing the person that people talk about when they use his name/books/etc to support their ideas.
Now, I really like McLaren. In my experience he has been an excellent bridge between emergent practioners and theoreticians. As well, I really resonate with his missional focus.
However, I must admit to using his name like a talisman. Anytime that I needed to add a little weight or authority to my ideas, I would whip out Generous Orthodoxy, or whatever equivalent text and say that the legendary McLaren agrees with me. The name "McLaren," previously only referred to stupidly fast and expensive cars in my brain. Now it has taken on a mythic quality, almost to the point that you could add "the" to the beginning. "THE McLaren." Sounds like a totem to me.
To my eyes, this amounts to history's use of Calvin, Luther, Wesley, AB Simpson, and so on. Those men became symbols for movements that were largely outside their control. Now, we have a different pantheon. Now, there is McLaren, Newbiggin, Sweet, etc. I can see why some are considering the emergent movement in the context of a denomination. We are following the pattern fairly closely.
It was my understanding, and granted I am no emergent guru, that we have no set rules, no strictures, no forms. I thought that the emergent conversation was concerned with the incarnation of mission, the integration of faith and lifestyle and the desire to live in harmony with God in a reality that is hostile toward God. I thought that we were not so much interested in adopting new "presbyters" like McLaren/Sweet/etc, but rather in seeing Christ. Allowing them to inform our conversation, not guide it.
Of course I could be wrong. I have avoided much of the reading and minutia of the emergent movement, for exactly that reason. I have become familar with some of the basics, but largely I want my own personality, my own thoughts to guide me, instead of becoming another Paggitt rip off.
But i could be wrong; I often am.
While I was researching my grad thesis I ran into them all the time. They could be literally anything, but usually was either a relic of a dead person that was thought to have great power, or a small piece of stone or wood carved in the likeness of some diety or patron. It was thought that by carrying or "invoking" the talisman you could share in the power of the person or diety to which the talisman referred. For example, a priest of certain animistic religions would often carry the dessicated finger bone - usually the right ring finger - of their dead master. It was believed that the power of the dead wizard would be transferred, at will, into the living apprentice. This is of course, related to habits of cannibalism and head-hunting in several primitive cultures. The way it was explained to me was that the power is deep in the earth, like a resevoir, and that the user of the magic, ie the wizard/priest/etc is like a wick in a lantern. For the magic to work, the user had to provide a "spark" that would release the power of the magic. The purpose of the talisman would be to provide that spark and to add the dead person - or god's - power of control to the release of the magic. You would often prefer the talisman of your dead master over to the totem of your god, since your master's energy is already more keyed to your own, and gods have a reputation for being notorious capricious. In short, the talisman was an extremely powerful item, if you knew how to use it, and if it was procured in the correct way. If it was a relic of the person, preferrably the best way to collect it was in the final moments of life, and preferrably after YOU kill your master. Also, the more the relic was essential to life, or symbolized the connection of the person to the magic, the more powerful it was, and the more powerful you had to be to use it correctly. The most powerful relics were the heart and penis, though the finger bone was considered an appropriate compromise.
The point of it all was that in using the talisman, for all intents and purposes, you became that person. Ostensibly they were already very powerful and accomplished, and the more you could appear to be that person the better, when you had to trick your god into interceding for you.
I offer all that as prologue. Consider the emergent church's use of Brian McLaren as a talisman. I recently read an article written by him that addresses this issue. Check out the pdf here. He talks about not really knowing the person that people talk about when they use his name/books/etc to support their ideas.
Now, I really like McLaren. In my experience he has been an excellent bridge between emergent practioners and theoreticians. As well, I really resonate with his missional focus.
However, I must admit to using his name like a talisman. Anytime that I needed to add a little weight or authority to my ideas, I would whip out Generous Orthodoxy, or whatever equivalent text and say that the legendary McLaren agrees with me. The name "McLaren," previously only referred to stupidly fast and expensive cars in my brain. Now it has taken on a mythic quality, almost to the point that you could add "the" to the beginning. "THE McLaren." Sounds like a totem to me.
To my eyes, this amounts to history's use of Calvin, Luther, Wesley, AB Simpson, and so on. Those men became symbols for movements that were largely outside their control. Now, we have a different pantheon. Now, there is McLaren, Newbiggin, Sweet, etc. I can see why some are considering the emergent movement in the context of a denomination. We are following the pattern fairly closely.
It was my understanding, and granted I am no emergent guru, that we have no set rules, no strictures, no forms. I thought that the emergent conversation was concerned with the incarnation of mission, the integration of faith and lifestyle and the desire to live in harmony with God in a reality that is hostile toward God. I thought that we were not so much interested in adopting new "presbyters" like McLaren/Sweet/etc, but rather in seeing Christ. Allowing them to inform our conversation, not guide it.
Of course I could be wrong. I have avoided much of the reading and minutia of the emergent movement, for exactly that reason. I have become familar with some of the basics, but largely I want my own personality, my own thoughts to guide me, instead of becoming another Paggitt rip off.
But i could be wrong; I often am.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
The Porno Caper
Mack keeps telling me that I should come up with a better name for it, but "the porno caper" has just sort of stuck.
Here at the House, we are into doing things together. Eating, watching movies, jamming, cleaning, showering. Ha! Just kidding. We rarely clean.
So Mack has to go and buy a copy of the Ragamuffin Gospel, (an awesome book that everyone should read and study) so he had to go to that Dark Abyss of Such Unspeakable Evil that We Dare Not Speak Its Name, otherwise known as the local Christian bookstore; I would say which, but again, it is the Dark Abyss of Such Unspeakable Evil that We Dare Not Speak Its Name. So in keeping with this together philosphy, I went with him. As well, as his pastor, I couldn't very well send a young guy like Mack into the Dark Abyss of Such Unspeakable Evil that We Dare Not Speak Its Name alone. However, to get the copy of the book that he needed, we were forced to go to the store on the north side of town. This is where it gets good.
This particular store is RIGHT NEXT DOOR - same strip mall, doors are only twenty feet apart - to a porn shop. If I had a camera, the picture would be on this blog right now! It was great. One stop shopping, I guess. You stand in the parking lot (the SHARED parking lot) and on your left you have #^&*ings Christian Marketplace and on your right you have Adult Video Store. (or whatever its name was) The two stores share a wall! It was great.
So we were in the Dark Abyss of Such Unspeakable Evil that We Dare Not Speak Its Name, and the abominations that we saw will chill my soul forever. Something tells me that my soul would have been less troubled in the porno shop. I saw the "spiritual biography" of George Bush. It was called "Man of Faith: The Spiritual Journey of George Bush." Oh yeah. Check it out here. Here's a quote from the Dark Abyss of Such Unspeakable Evil that We Dare Not Speak Its Name's website about the book: "More than any other world leader in recent times, George W. Bush is a man of faith…a conservative Christian who has brought the power of prayer and the search for God’s will into the Oval Office..." OH. MY. GOD. I have no words. None.
So we were on our way out, and I just couldn't help myself. I said to the teller, "I coudln't help but notice your nieghbor," tilting my head in the direction of the porn shop. She went on to talk about glaring at people who go in, hoping to make them feel guilty, suggested that we should go outside and hand out tracts on the evil of pornography, talked about how they hoped to force them out of business, and so on. I suggested that it was an interesting commentary on society, to which she said that it was like "good and evil." The hostility was extreme, and frankly not surprising.
So Mack and I were about to drive away, and I looked at the porno shop, and said, "Mack, I'm going in. I just have to talk to this guy!" So, dutifully leaving Mack in the car, I ran INTO the porno shop.
Careful of where I direct my gaze, I walk up to the counter and introduce myself to the owner, who was working behind the counter. His name was Mark. I could tell right away that he was thrown off. Something tells me he doesn't have personal conversations with many of his customers. I ask him how he feels about working next to a christian bookstore. This was his response. I have tried to remember it exactly, but don't quote me. He said, "I have no problem with them whatsoever. They believe in what they're doing, and I applaud them for that. They seem like nice people, and I wish them all the success in the world." I was awestruck that this man, owner of a pornography store was representing Christ more to me than the judgemental employee at the christian bookstore. When I repeated the conversation that I had with the bookstore employee, Mark only laughed. He went on, "I try not to judge. I don't agree with or like some of the things that my customers buy, but that's their business." He especially liked the comment that the employee wanted to put Mark out of business. He said, "They can hate me if they want. I will still smile and say hello when we pass in the parking lot."
Don't get me wrong. Porn is hurtful, sinful and damaging to our society, our minds, and our spirits. It is growing danger. It objectifies men AND women, and builds, proliferates and promotes negative sexual attitudes. I have seen first hand the damage that porn does to families, marriages and lives.
I just found it interesting the difference in the attitudes. The one that you would expect to be loving was not, and the one that you would expect to be angry and hostile was not. As we talked, I told Mark that I was a pastor. He asked me about my church, and I hold him about the House, and he was interested, so I gave him my info. He then started to ask questions about Christianity, and morality, and we had a really awesome discussion. Something was begun there.
I don't know if I will ever see or hear from Mark. But at least he got to be exposed to a Christian that didn't automatically hate him.
It was a good caper.
Here at the House, we are into doing things together. Eating, watching movies, jamming, cleaning, showering. Ha! Just kidding. We rarely clean.
So Mack has to go and buy a copy of the Ragamuffin Gospel, (an awesome book that everyone should read and study) so he had to go to that Dark Abyss of Such Unspeakable Evil that We Dare Not Speak Its Name, otherwise known as the local Christian bookstore; I would say which, but again, it is the Dark Abyss of Such Unspeakable Evil that We Dare Not Speak Its Name. So in keeping with this together philosphy, I went with him. As well, as his pastor, I couldn't very well send a young guy like Mack into the Dark Abyss of Such Unspeakable Evil that We Dare Not Speak Its Name alone. However, to get the copy of the book that he needed, we were forced to go to the store on the north side of town. This is where it gets good.
This particular store is RIGHT NEXT DOOR - same strip mall, doors are only twenty feet apart - to a porn shop. If I had a camera, the picture would be on this blog right now! It was great. One stop shopping, I guess. You stand in the parking lot (the SHARED parking lot) and on your left you have #^&*ings Christian Marketplace and on your right you have Adult Video Store. (or whatever its name was) The two stores share a wall! It was great.
So we were in the Dark Abyss of Such Unspeakable Evil that We Dare Not Speak Its Name, and the abominations that we saw will chill my soul forever. Something tells me that my soul would have been less troubled in the porno shop. I saw the "spiritual biography" of George Bush. It was called "Man of Faith: The Spiritual Journey of George Bush." Oh yeah. Check it out here. Here's a quote from the Dark Abyss of Such Unspeakable Evil that We Dare Not Speak Its Name's website about the book: "More than any other world leader in recent times, George W. Bush is a man of faith…a conservative Christian who has brought the power of prayer and the search for God’s will into the Oval Office..." OH. MY. GOD. I have no words. None.
So we were on our way out, and I just couldn't help myself. I said to the teller, "I coudln't help but notice your nieghbor," tilting my head in the direction of the porn shop. She went on to talk about glaring at people who go in, hoping to make them feel guilty, suggested that we should go outside and hand out tracts on the evil of pornography, talked about how they hoped to force them out of business, and so on. I suggested that it was an interesting commentary on society, to which she said that it was like "good and evil." The hostility was extreme, and frankly not surprising.
So Mack and I were about to drive away, and I looked at the porno shop, and said, "Mack, I'm going in. I just have to talk to this guy!" So, dutifully leaving Mack in the car, I ran INTO the porno shop.
Careful of where I direct my gaze, I walk up to the counter and introduce myself to the owner, who was working behind the counter. His name was Mark. I could tell right away that he was thrown off. Something tells me he doesn't have personal conversations with many of his customers. I ask him how he feels about working next to a christian bookstore. This was his response. I have tried to remember it exactly, but don't quote me. He said, "I have no problem with them whatsoever. They believe in what they're doing, and I applaud them for that. They seem like nice people, and I wish them all the success in the world." I was awestruck that this man, owner of a pornography store was representing Christ more to me than the judgemental employee at the christian bookstore. When I repeated the conversation that I had with the bookstore employee, Mark only laughed. He went on, "I try not to judge. I don't agree with or like some of the things that my customers buy, but that's their business." He especially liked the comment that the employee wanted to put Mark out of business. He said, "They can hate me if they want. I will still smile and say hello when we pass in the parking lot."
Don't get me wrong. Porn is hurtful, sinful and damaging to our society, our minds, and our spirits. It is growing danger. It objectifies men AND women, and builds, proliferates and promotes negative sexual attitudes. I have seen first hand the damage that porn does to families, marriages and lives.
I just found it interesting the difference in the attitudes. The one that you would expect to be loving was not, and the one that you would expect to be angry and hostile was not. As we talked, I told Mark that I was a pastor. He asked me about my church, and I hold him about the House, and he was interested, so I gave him my info. He then started to ask questions about Christianity, and morality, and we had a really awesome discussion. Something was begun there.
I don't know if I will ever see or hear from Mark. But at least he got to be exposed to a Christian that didn't automatically hate him.
It was a good caper.
