Oikos and Polis: Some continued thinking...

This morning I was reflecting on some recent discussions around Bernd Wannenwetsch’s Political Worship, and came across Geoff Holssclaw’s post: “Church or Family”:  http://geoffreyholsclaw.net/church-or-family/, where he describes the unsuspecting visitors at his church walk in expecting a “church,” but find a “family” instead.

They hit on some similar themes. Wannenwetsch explores the relationship between Household (Oikos) and Politics (Polis). His primary contention is that the Household of God (born into through Baptism= the church) lives life in the Spirit and is the true picture of what the Kingdom looks like, or what is breaking into the Polis and what the Polis needs to hear proclaimed.

It is interesting to think of the Household then as the ideal. So long we have thought of the Polis as the ideal. We import ideas of the culture into the Household--Ideas of identity, self-image, of how reality operates, of the hierarchy of importance, of the hierarchy of people or acts, etc.  We interpret our worship gatherings through the lens of our world. We sit down on a Sunday morning expecting the same things as we expect on Tuesday at work, on Saturday at the movies, or Thursday for lunch. And then, we judge our experiences through the lenses of our Tuesdays, Saturdays, and Thursdays. (Tuesday) How effective is this “business” we call church? What do the numbers tell us? How can we be more efficient? (Saturday) That worship leader was a little off-key there. I really liked that Pastor’s sermon. How can we make this service more appealing to more people? (Thursday) This service really needs to fit into my hour time slot. I can just sit back and consume this service; I shouldn’t have to work at it. Can I just write you a check instead? Could you just give me three life-application points?

Instead, Wannenwetsch is proposing that the liturgy of the Sunday morning gathering is the kingdom of God. This is where we are proclaiming, in word and ACTION, the kingdom come—through the power of the Holy Spirit. The kingdom is a proclamation to the Polis. It is a picture of the world as it should and will be. It displays the hope and faith of the restoration of the world not merely through words, but by the actions of its community members—the way they treat one another, the way they order their lives and participation, the way the church understands her role in the world.

So, here’s where Geoff’s post comes in (I knew you were starting to wonder…). The supposition made by Holsclaw is that the Sunday morning gathering not only factually (for his congregation) feels like a family, but I would contend that it should feel that way. It should not only feel out of place from the ebb and flow of “the world” (as I know we’ve all been taught to interpret that passage), it should start turning our lenses inside out. The worship gathering allows us to form our understanding of the world-- our vision for what “reality” really is, the priority of the polis, the value of humanity and their hierarchy, and the hope for the restoration of the world.

In our gathered communities of worship, we get to live the story we long to live every waking moment. For the story of-- the world, the kingdom, each other, and how things should be—is hidden as a political proclamation to the world every Sunday morning (or Saturday night, or Sunday afternoon—whatever your ecclesial fancy). The spirit-inspired liturgy is reality where the polis fails. And that is the relationship between the two. They are not separate spheres. They are not opposed. One proclaims fullness to the other which is yet missing the pieces.

So the disconnect of people’s lives is a stark contrast to the familiarity of the Spirit-filled people of God. The discord of broken relationships is harmonized in the breaking of bread with one another in Christ’s name. And the hopelessness of a worn-out, cracked and damaged world, seemingly circling the drain is shattered with the creator God’s passionate embrace to restore and lavishly love creation—and claiming a people for God’s name. For this is not the story where God sits back and says, “impress me,” but sends of God’s self, Jesus, into the world to reclaim what was trampled by death—by trampling death itself.

My our Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, and for that matter, our Wednesdays, Sundays, Mondays, and Fridays anamnesisly-remember the story of the God who call us.

Guest Post at Patheos

Scot McKnight, one of my professors at Seminary, was nice enough to post my recent review of Teresa Berger's Gender Differences and the Making of Liturgical History: Lifting a Veil on Liturgy’s Past.

Check out my guest post on his blog here: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/jesuscreed/2013/05/18/saturday-book-review-teresa-berger/

Against the Other

Against the other.
For myself.
Draw my boundaries
for everyone else
to see, to wonder,
to toe the line.
Against the other
they’ve silently signed.

For to stand has meant to
be pursued
by anger, and hatred,
and rude, rude, rude,
belligerence and speech,
like my person isn’t there,
but only the facts,
would you dare
to include yourself?
your fortune?
your road?
into this dialogue
or leave in tow?

May our living be together
may our love be explicit
may the joy of our lives be in each little visit
May the way we speak about event, love, and living
honor each other,
and give joy in the giving—

of one life to another
to share each other truly
to offer ourselves in the mutuality of living
and to take as our foremost prize
the submission of me
for you, and your eyes.
may I see and embrace
the lines that encompass
as ways to be boldly
FOR you…and your rumpus.

Imagination of the Spirit

Reading a book called, The Sacrifice of Africa, by Emmanuel Katongole. One word-- Excellent. (Review to come)

I'm mulling over a central theme of his-- the imagination. As he addresses the weaknesses, in particular, of the social and political imagination of Africa, I noticed that my imagination for the celebration of Pentecost is so wrapped in the images of the church receiving the gift of the Holy Spirit, that I'm not sure I have left space to imagine new ways that the Spirit reveals himself and inhabits the world around me.

A helpful way Katongole addresses this in his book is to provide stories of how he's seen successful re-imagining. Perhaps the comments section will provide space to explore some stories.

Regardless, may your day and mine be filled with the Spirit, and an imagination open to seeing him at work in preparation for the celebration of Pentecost this week.

To wear faithfulness

To wear faithfulness in front of others
was to go completely rogue.  
It wasn’t my style,
nor was it in vogue.

But in the midst of my closet of shame,
faithfulness and vulnerability
were calling my name.

They did not fit,
in my eyes they did not flatter.
But my taste in style
didn’t seem to matter.

It called me out,
it claimed my pride.
The chic I sought
inevitably turned tide.

What I saw on them
was not really fitting for me.
My body shape
was not meant to be
a thing for those clothes
it was for me
to be a place of humility.

A place to restore,
a place to be home.
No more wrestling,
no more to roam.

To claim independence
and tranquility,
I lay my pride,
and hurt to thee.

You name it as a thing of stone,
and tailor it to be your own.
A dress with pearls,
a sackcloth with ash.
In each light,
it’s can’t be matched.

For the clothing you design
never goes out of style.
Wrapped in love,
it does beguile.
It swoons the hardened heart to be
a soft and precious purity.

Mesmerized by its truth,
it honors, sanctifies, and moves,
us to a rich and sweet perfume.
It drapes across our bod in ways
that could not, should not, be imitated.

For this fine fabric
of vulnerability,
kindness, and modesty
in truth is strength
in its entirety.

Only made by
one in three,
a weaver great,
the trinity.

And while faithfulness
is not the rage,
indeed to wear it in any age,
is to be a trend setter,
an example be,
for others, for self,
for all authority.

"For my deepest fear is for them to look at me, and only see what God is not using me for."

The Table-- a balance

When I was 16 everything was exciting. Every moment of worship was complete surrender. It was easy then, as I had every hardship to surrender and yet not a whole lot in my control. And it was all so mundane-- starting at a youth conference in Southern Illinois on a college campus, with a “rocking” band, great speakers, and an acting group called “One Time Blind”. Fond memories to be sure. Typical, though. As I look back on it, I sometimes conceal that time because of the archetypal nature of it all—teen, youth convention, music, emotional highs, etc.

But tonight, I understood those moments anew again. I was caught up in the complete surrender of myself to God. And I realized that no matter the circumstance, no matter the formula—I am in control of my surrender. And if, in those moments as a teen, I surrendered so completely because of circumstance—I still made the commitment. It was still my choice and I made it. No one else.

Tonight was different. It was on my terms, in my home, and amidst only me and my closest friend. And this time, it was a surrender to give up some of the most planned moments of my life. And in exercising my abandon, I remembered those freeing moments of my youth. And I realized, though I have been their most ardent judge and critic, I yearned to continue the honesty and unadulterated authenticity found there. In employing abandon, I used the most unused part of me—my full reliance on God. It cannot be taught outside of these experiences. And I realized that I had not used, what others would call recklessness and I name as faith, in so complete a way since my youth.

And it felt beyond belief.

It was so beautiful I cried.

And perhaps it was emotional, or circumstantial. But I realize that emotions and circumstance should have every reason to sit at the table with reason and diplomacy. They have a voice, too. And they have been mute too long. They awakened a part of me that has long been silent in this world of academia.  Too silent to be an honest reflection of myself. So, welcome back one and all to the table. May you speak with freedom, and may grace abound.

Still I Rise

Still I Rise
By Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness off end you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise

I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise

Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
-------------------------------------------

This week, I am taking an intensive class about Christian Community Development.
We're reading a book called, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness by Michelle Alexander. And the more I hear from my African-American brothers and sisters, the more I am inspired by Angelou's poem.

Forgiveness and Redemption

I listened to another great story this week published by "This American Life". It described individuals whose lives changed in a flash, but the impact of a community's perseverance for setting something right.  It reminds me that no justice system can replace the wisdom and grace of your community.

Where have you fought for justice in someone else's life lately? Would you stick it out for 20+ years?

Food, liturgy, and physicists-- a quest for understanding

Waiter, There’s a Physicist in My Soup! (Part 1) | Freakonomics Radio

I attribute a great deal of my curiosity of "How things work", the basis for the Freakonomics Radio show I podcast, to my mother, the science/math teacher. Physics experiments were a regular part of everyday life, as well as "BrainQuest", Tanagrams, and riddles in the car. So, it may come as no surprise to you, friend, that I seem to connect and find patterns in things that seem to be completely unrelated. I tell and apologize to you now, it's due to the ever pressing quest to find out just-- how things work.

This particular week on Freakonomics Radio, they showed two different ways of pursuing the next era of cooking. The first-- Nathan Myhrvold an advocate for molecular gastronomy, pushing cooking forward into the next age with new methods of scientific exploration in physics-- food science. The second-- Alice Waters, represented in the podcast by Debussy's Clair de lune. She argues for the "Slow-food" movement of   seasonal fruits, vegetables, and nuts, organically grown allowing ourselves to delve into the fabric of succulent taste just waiting to be enjoyed in their natural elements.

About 17 minutes into the program, these statements are made: (Dubner is the host of the program)

Dubner: I asked her (Alice Waters) what she thinks about Molecular Gastronomy.

Waters: I can’t say that I, uh, care a lot about it. I can’t say that.  …I’m trying to get back to a kind of taste of food for what it is.

Dubner: And molecular gastronomy is trying to accomplish what in your view?

 Waters: In my view, it’s to, you know, make it into something you can’t imagine—to surprise you. (laughter) And it’s not to say I haven’t been delightfully surprised. It’s not that. It’s that I’m so hungry for the taste of the real that I’m just not able to get into that which doesn’t feel real to me. It’s a kind of scientific experiment and I think there are good scientists and crazy old scientists that can be very amusing. But it’s more of a museum, not a kind of way of eating that we need to really live on this planet together.

Dubner:…Alice Water’s idea of the way we eat is to reconnect with the past, not only how our food is prepared, but how it’s grown, or raised, or caught. What she’s after, above all, is simplicity. Nathan Myhrvold, for his part, loves Chez Panisse, Water’s restaurant, but he also loves complexity. And he loves bringing science into the kitchen because, he says, it’s already there.

Nathan: Well, like it or not, physics happens. So, it turns out when you heat a piece of meat, there’s a set of physical principles that are at work. Wishing doesn’t make the food hot, it’s the way molecules bump into each other that makes it hot. And if you can understand that in a reasonable way, I think, it informs how you do cooking. Now is it possible to cook without understanding? Of course it is. And for people that want to just, in a rote way, repeat exactly what they were told to do without understanding why it works, hey go for it! You don’t need me. If all you want to do is repeat the recipes of the past and you have no curiosity as to how or why it works, then you don’t need to have this physical understanding.

On the other hand, I’d say, why does it ruin the experience to understand how and why it works? …I think that informing people, whether its chefs or its foodies or it’s the average person,(informing them some of the ways that some of this stuff actually works) I don’t see how that is a problematic notion.

Dubner: Nathan Myhrvold and Alice Waters both have an obvious passion for the future of food, but radically different ways to realize that vision.

…and is there a chance that all his (Myhrvold) scientific inquiry might trickle down to you and me?
I'm currently in a class at the CTU about Liturgy that has me thinking about the liturgy in our church in fabulously new ways, under critical examination and appeal. And one of the things I continue to come back to in my mind is the difference between so much intricacy and detail-- complexity, you might say, in some liturgies. And in opposition, some of the most simple liturgies, advocated especially by the Anabaptist tradition. I see both as a pursuit after the appreciation and furthering of the faith, and yet, one seems to mutually exclude the other.
I hear the same yearning in the voices of these two interviewees. One is desperate to get back to the root of why we love food-- to understand and experience it the way it is and came to us, pure and unadulterated. The other persists that the understanding must lead to exploration and complexity.

Their questions about food help me find new modes of looking at liturgy--
-Are we trying to merely make something we can't imagine? And if so, why? And is it good?
-Are we creating for creativity's sake, "a museum", and not for a "way of" practicing that we really need on this planet for living together? 

-Is reconnecting with our past ignoring the future? Or does it truly represent something to be regained? Is it merely "going back to the sources" or "reclaiming the historical Jesus"?

-Or is there something in the liturgy that is "already there" asking us to delve deeper to understand and appreciate in order to create something new? (or is there not?)

-And if so, what is our responsibility in that? What level of participation is true engagement?

-And for what sake or provocateur are we creating?

-Nathan has also gone a step further in asking, not "why don't you want to know the depths of this?", but instead-- What about knowing this would ruin your experience, instead of enhancing it?

Interesting stuff. And the analogy only goes so far. The purposes of our gathered community's ritual is not quite the same as freeze drying a hamburger, of course. But for the sake of conversation and friendly banter, I'd love to hear your thoughts. (It's helpful to listen to the whole podcast to get the background. It's something like 27 minutes.)

Who knew food could ask me so many questions about liturgy?

No, love.

I know I'm not the best pianist, or the best vocalist, and I'm sure I won't be the very best mother in the world (someday in that distant future). But when I listen to things like this, I remember the way God has woven His story in my life, with my passions and joys and strengths and weaknesses. And I hope I get to share all those things in a way as wonderful as this. 

Sara Groves- You Cannot Lose My Love by INORecords

Advent wreath

Don't have an advent wreath? Be creative!

More deals

So, I think I'm about finished with this month's ConAgra deal. Here is my takeaway...

Total out of pocket expense? $17.97, and that's not counting the $10 I have on my next purchase at Jewel.

Now, what will it be....

Truth and Peace

I rabbit-trailed upon this video today. I had seen a video of the man on the left (Ravi Zacharias) talking about the Bible amidst other holy books. The panel seem to be modern (and I mean that in the utmost sense of the word) experts in theology. They talk briefly about post-modernism and the questioning of a culture. It’s worth a view.



One of the last comments made is this: “Truth is too important to kill it in the streets for the sake of peace.”

What do you think? Truth or peace? Is that what it comes down to? Must we forsake truth for peace or peace for truth? I have seen a lot of division in churches and fewer attempts for peace. I've seen people taking a stand for being right, and completely destroying relationship. They emphasize knowing the right answers at the cost of both dialogue and continued growth with a friend of different opinions. But I know truth is important. We stand for truth, amidst the lies of satan.

In the Iconography I am studying at the moment, there is this concept of “Floats”. It is the layering of highlights that are accenting and accentuating the colors and meaning below. They are not covering up the original layer, but instead revealing. Each layer and float have respective meanings, but none surpasses the other in worth. They are there to fulfill a joint purpose and to bring a fullness to the Icon.

While, I don’t call myself a follower of Brian McLaren, I am among a generation that is questioning how much of faith is called upon to be fact, and how much is called upon to be relationship. And why is it that they have to be mutually exclusive? I don’t want to “abdicate Christian responsibility/conviction” nor be a “cave-in of Christian courage”. However, I think there are places for truth to be told from the highest mountain and places for peace. And there are places for truth to exist with a highlight or "float" of peace, so that we understand theology and Christianity in a living way. Must these questions be answered in a lecture hall, or stage, or can they be answered in a relationship, a lifestyle, or a conversation?
I'd love your thoughts.

I write like...

I'm sure you've heard about the site: www.iwl.me ("I write like")
I first heard it on NPR and thought it would be fun. Using mostly posts from this blog, I write most like...
-Dan Brown
-H.P. Lovecraft (eek!)
-Gertrude Stein

Others of mention:
-Ernest Hemingway (I'm pretty sure most poetry is defaulted to him)
-Douglas Adams
-James Joyce
-Cory Doctrow

Try it out! Who do you write like?

To know and be known.

Losing a loved one has been on my mind since last night. Hubby and I were reminiscing about the past three years of marriage (our anniversary is today) and we starting talking about the things we wished we could get as anniversary presents, but would be absolutely impossible. After Thomas threw my “Kitchen Aid mixer” into the category, he had a more serious moment and said, “I wish I could talk to my Grandparents.” All of his grandparents have passed away over the past couple of years and were an especially central part of Hubby’s life. We both sat in silence, lost in memories for a few minutes, honoring and missing their special connectedness to him. And though we let the moment pass, and moved on to other things, I’ve been letting it linger in my thoughts since.

I have amazing grandparents who are still living--who have been married to each other their entire adult lives. And in combination with my reflection this anniversary day, I wonder about the breadth of knowing someone. You know your friends and family in different ways. I knew my childhood best friend in a way that no one else will ever know her. We grew up together and spent countless hours doing nothing at all and at the same time-- everything in the world we could get our hands on. I’ll know my grandparents and parents in their unique ways of being known, of idling and productivity, of baking and cleaning, of sitting and gaming. And I’ll know my present and future friends in other unpredictable ways.
But when I think of the breadth of knowing people, I often think of the chasm that would inhabit me if they left. How would I be different if “so and so” hadn’t been in my life? Married women are notorious for pondering these things about their husbands. But, today riffed on this traditional pattern and started to consider how I would be different, not if they hadn’t left their mark on me, but if I hadn’t let myself be known to them.

To know, and be known. And as I thought about that eventual day when I will be confronted with the loss of my mother, I realized that no one will ever know me in the way she does. And the thought of losing her is not only the thought of her presence and her smile, and her spontaneity (with all its quirks), but it’s the sobering thought of losing who she allows me to be, how she changes me by expecting boundaries to be torn down. In losing someone else, we lose some of ourselves.

So, for me, this anniversary, I am thankful for the years approaching, and the years behind us, where we allow ourselves to be known and to grow in our knowing of each other in those special ways in which we will entrust no one else.

I love you always, dearest husband of mine.

Sweet Irony

I burned my cookies...

Position Vacancy

Up until now, it’s been no big deal. Even the paperwork, the essays, the interviews, the countless emails to the Registrar’s Offices and Admissions teams, even the trips (well, trip) to California to visit a school, and, yes, even the acceptance letter and two letters following, granting complete and utter funding for my education. None of it hit home like receiving a “position vacancy” email for my own position while I’m busy doing the exact job in the description.

I’d like to think I handle things like this well, but to be completely honest,  at 10:26am as the email arrived in my box, I freaked out a bit and quite literally, Brandon accused me of “being a girl, right now”. I’m a little nervous about all the newness and change in my life recently. We’ve moved in to a new place, and haven’t really seen anybody. And between unpacking and vacation, we’ve been unable to “put our roots down”, so to speak in our new community. And since I started this blog by talking about community, I think I should point out right about here, that moving out of community has challenges of its own, as well.

We’ve been out of regular-church-going for about 5 months now, and my heart aches to be with a consistent community and to submit to a liturgy. But for one reason or another, we are temporary “heathens”, if you will. This is no secret, and my husband and I are working on checking out some churches in our area this Sunday, but until then, we crave. And I do believe that is part of the difficulty. And more than likely, contributed to my melt earlier.

We need each other. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that we don’t like to admit it. Or rather, I don’t. Whether it’s because I think I come off needy, or over-sensitive, or whether it’s just plain pride-- any way you name it, it’s there. And it may carry an extra dose because I’m an extravert, or performer at heart, but I am convinced that we all need community for all the things in our lives that whirl around us without reason—especially as things are changing. I trust my community to be God’s voice of reason and grounding in my life. I trust them to rejoice and struggle with me. And even though this was a momentary shock of reality, a few days out, I’m ready. I’m ready for the world and the plans God is carrying out. I’m ready for the questions and none of the answers. I’m ready for community through people that walk everyday in subjects that don’t matter in some abstract reality, but that change and shape who we are at our core.

So, I’m making cookies tonight. And if I don’t see someone in the hallways-- beware, Kern Hall residents, I’m coming to find you.

An unexpected gift

I read all day long, so have gotten out of the habit of reading regularly when I go home. I love to read, and so have been picking up some books as of late to prepare to for seminary this coming September. I’m easing into it, you might say. I’m doing a little bit of non-fictional reading, but on vacation this past week, sunk my teeth full-heartedly into The Crystal Cave (by Mary Stewart). 

The book’s entrance into my life is perfectly synonymous with its content. It appeared unexpectedly in my mailbox one day from a good old friend, with a note that read, “Found this at an estate sale and thought of you.” That’s it. I turned it over in my hands, feeling the weight of the over 500 pages and smelling the distinct odor paper collecting dust. It was clearly printed in the time when  uneven pages were in style, adding to its ancient look. I peeked in the cover to find that it was published in 1970, not nearly as old as its worn blue binding portrayed. But, date or not, it was a gem--an unknown surprise, waiting for that perfect moment when you can find a quiet, solitary place and snuggle up with a cup of something warm to delve into whatever treasure it is storing just for you.

So, that’s precisely what I did. And when I found a moment of peace and secrecy, I peeled back its pages to engulf myself in its world. It was the book I had been waiting for my entire life. And I knew it as soon as my eyes had breached its cover.

It’s one of those stories that starts out simple, yet wraps you in the passing wind of its everydayness. It is of a different land, a different time, and a far-different hero, with a legend much larger than life. But it is the actual life and the story behind the myth that is much juicier than the fable.

If you can find a copy, or want to borrow mine, I’d encourage you to read it. And don’t google its contents. Let it surprise and entrance you some cloudy day, in a corner, sipping your warm something and letting your imagination run wild.
Trust me, it's worth it.

StumbleUpon

For those of you who are familiar with StumbleUpon, this post will be no surprise to you. If you haven't heard of StumbleUpon, you are living a life of such efficiency that you need this precious waste of time. It is a toolbar for your browser that, essentially, is Pandora for the internet. You set preferences, you like and dislike pages, and your StumbleUpon button continuously provides new and crazy places on the internet that you've never heard of.

I found this today: http://www.incredibox.fr/

And this yesterday: http://chrismckenzie.com/

Now, these are not mind-boggling sites, but what I find most fascinating is that there seems to be an attraction, for me at least, to find what other people have created or find enthralling. And in this sense, it takes me back to the depths of a good epic book, or the memories of the old tv show "Sliders", crossing into developed dimensions. I think I start to realize just how big the world is, and consequently how creative God has made us to be, as I take the opportunity to waste my time perusing other people's developed work. I get lost in the "worlds" of the vast chasm of space, time, and interest of the net. It's discovery, not of land, or treasure, or caves, but people-- into their hearts and thoughts.