I can still feel the breeze tickling my face.My ears echo with the low, constant hum of the flat bottom rowboat cutting through the glass-like water.I can hear the metronomic rhythm of the oars breaking into and tearing through the water, so perfectly that an orchestra could keep time with their waving and beat.We are breaking the halfway point; the far side shore is now closer than the little gravel dock we used to launch the little, Army green vessel.The little trailer that has been our home for the past two nights now looks more like something from a Matchbox set than last night’s bed.From here the wildly verdant woodland, just inland from the small, sandy beach, looks tame, almost placid and inviting.But then, somewhere deep inside, I start to hear the beat.Boom…boom…boom-boom…boom…boom…boom-boom…boom….The sounds of drums, of frenzied, native tribesmen begin to fill me ears.As the bushes move and branches shift, I try in vain to blame it on the brisk gusts of wind that just ushered in the ominous clouds overhead.I remember the stories he told me the night before, the “bedtime” tales around the campfire.“Do you think they see us?”His voice pierces the nervous silence and cinches the vice grips that are already locked onto my stomach.As the oars continue to turn, the little dinghy creeps closer to the sand and rocks.“Turn around!Don’t take us to the shore!”My voices cracks in desperation, knowing what lurks in the shadows on the land ahead.And he knows.He was the one who told me about the frenetic natives on this side of the lake.He thumped out their devilish drumbeat on the empty Maxwell House can.How can he not be afraid?How can he not be paralyzed by fear?But his arms keep rowing the oars with a methodical confidence.He rows with the confidence of one who knows that his imagination dictates our fate, that the final chapter of this saga is yet to be penned.He is the storyteller.
I can’t help but think about memories like these at this time of year.Today, November 1, would be my grandfather’s birthday.It was five years ago this Thanksgiving that, just a month after arriving in Michigan, Natalie and I headed to Wichita, Kansas, to say goodbye to my grandfather, the greatest storyteller I have known.But a long battle with Parkinson’s and dementia had taken a heavy toll on my grandfather, not to mention the chronic mouth pain the forced him to retire from the pulpit far too early and muted his stories when we were together at the holidays.As I sat alone watching him struggle toward eternal sleep in the hospice unit, I realized that after a life full of imagination the storyteller had lost his story.
There is something about knowing and telling a story that instills confidence and hope.As I sat in that dinghy with my grandfather, bewildered by the unknown on the other side of the lake, I was anxious, frightened.My grandfather was calm, cool, collected.As the storyteller, he knew what was ahead, what was waiting on the approaching shore.As I sat by his bed that November night, I realized that we had exchanged places.This faithful servant of God had lost his story, but he had helped teach it to me.I spent that night fumbling between prayer, reminiscence, and storytelling.As he lay unresponsive in bed I retold him story of God that he’d been faithful to live and proclaim to people for so many years. At that moment, I had to have confidence for him, trusting that his real story, which was really God’s unfolding story, was true and that together we could continue to row with a methodical confidence to the other shore.
The church is a story-formed people.We believe that we have been written into the unfolding story of God that began at creation and is moving toward new creation.That story must give shape to our lives, give us hope, instill courage, liberate us in the freedom of faith. Everything that we do, both in worship and in our lives in the world, must be a faithful reflection and embodiment of God’s story. Sometimes, though, when I listen to our conversations over pattern, form, and preference, I wonder if the church has lost her story, exchanged its adventure and engagement for a defensiveness that seeks to preserve past forms rather than the story that gives them meaning. For the church to row faithfully and confidently through the seas of our times, we must recapture the imagination of God’s story, moving steadily with the master storyteller as the final chapter of this saga is penned in and through us. May God give us the adventurous courage to jump into God’s boat.
It's been a busy and frustrating week. I am swimming in doctoral deadlines, have lots of things happening at work, and have been fighting a bronchial infection. But, I heard this piece this morning on StoryCorps on NPR and thought, "That's Gospel!" That is what a community of hope and new possibility looks like. I'm not sure if it was the story or the stresses of this, but listening brought tears to my eyes. Hope you enjoy.
I live life wandering around an area that is in a lot of pain, longing for hope but feeling mostly despair. Unemployment rates were updated recently and the numbers for Michigan top the national chart, for Detroit they are astounding. At 15.2% the state is 2 full points ahead (not sure if I like that word) of Nevada, which holds the penultimate position on the list. Detroit currently sits at an umeployment rate of 28.9%, a truly astronomical number.
A gospel that does not take this seriously, that does not somehow proclaim "good news" to and in this situation is a wanting gospel. A gospel that only pats the suffering on the back and promises "spiritual blessing" is an escapist and Gnostic gospel that has little connection with the God made manifest in the incarnation, the God who met and bore the world's suffering in the cross.
If that last paragraph is right, what is the message that we proclaim? What stories do we tell? How do we chose to live? How do we comport ourselves to proclaim and embody a bigger gospel? What news is good today? How does the "horizon of hope" begin to intersect the horizon of our despair? (Ala Moltmann?)
(This is me, seeking the wisdom of my virtual CIJ.)
I hope to post more on this later, but I am pressed for time right now. I do want to point any of you out there to a couple of thought provoking articles, especially as the church thinks about its life in the world.
Friday morning a woman walked up to me and gave me a piece of paper with a kind note and a copy of this image, Eichenberg's "Christ of the Breadlines" We had been together at a session on Welcoming the Stranger at the Moltmann Conversation hosted by Emergent Village. She was not a registered conference attender, just a woman from Libertyville Presbyterian Church, where the conference convened. She listened to us, and even chimed in periodically, wrestle together to think about how to cultivate welcome and compassion in a world that treats fear as a commodity.
Eichenberg's woodcut is a powerful reminder that it is in the midst of strangers and outcasts that we are most likely to encounter Christ. If that's the case, how do we welcome strangers and cultivate compassion in a world of fear? How can we restore their broken humanity? (I think that it must be more than simply giving them handouts, but I need your help.)
How can the church, who claims to be the living presence of Jesus in the world, meet the living presence of Jesus in the stranger?
Over the past several weeks, things have been moving and changing around our household.Our family's awaiting of our next addition has been the major catalyst of it all.N is already starting some of the creative rethinking about our house.We love our condo, but it's a small space, so we are measuring rooms and baby furniture and imagining how everything will fit together into a perfect workable space, sort of like Tetris pieces as they slowly fall from the top of the screen to meet the other pieces at the bottom. It is giving us a chance to simplify even more, to bless others with items we've collected over the years, and to thank God for a space that we can call home.
The biggest changes, though, haven't been with our place but with M.Since finding out that we are anxiously expecting a new face around the house, she's been quickly trying to grow into her new role.For those of you who follow some of these Magnusson-family-moments, you know that one of the major changes has been in M's interest in potty training.Last week she went five straight days without an accident, day or night.It was such a great streak of success that N dared to forego the diaper one night and let her stay in her "big girl" clothes. Like a clutch hitter moving into October, she kept he streak alive.She was dry, the bed was dry, and there was much joy in Mudville.
That morning N posted this major feat on her wall, anxious to share the news with several hundred of her closest "friends."Jeanne Kilgore quickly commented: "Oh, how great that is. She is getting ready to be that big sister!!" I've spent a lot of time reflecting on that statement over the past week.There is so much truth there, not just about the leaps and bounds my little girl is making each day as she grows up, but about the Christian life.
Think about this. The reality of M being a "big sis" is on the horizon, but not yet a reality. Right now it's only promise that she has to trust. There are small signs on the horizon right now.She experiences our excitement.She can look at the little peanut in our first ultrasound picture.She can see the a little baby bump steadily growing on mommy's tummy.She is anxiously awaiting a new reality that she knows is on the horizon.
But, with all of the excitement, she really has very little idea what she is waiting for.She's now living into this new reality, this promise, but she really has almost no understanding of what it will look like. She watches and imitates her friend G, seeing how she lives as a big sister, but it's still hard to grasp fully the reality of the future that is on the horizon for our family. Sounds a lot like our faith in God's future.
As the people of God, we trust in God's promises to restore and reconcile all of creation.We long for new creation, a new heaven and a new earth.We anxiously await the coming of God's righteousness and justice, of a time of peace for all people, of reconciliation, of joy.Right now, though, we only see glimmers of this future.We come to Scripture to hear God’s promises again and we, like M, are getting ready for what is to come.That doesn't mean that we passively wait for heaven to come.No, it means that we actively partner with God to bring about God's promised vision for the world. That promise sets us on a road that leads to another land, to another reality. We step boldly and hopefully into the future, so that the promises of God that are on the horizon continue to move steadily closer to becoming a reality, to meet the horizon of our lives, in our community, and in our world.
I have been incredibly moved (no pun intended) by recent press about this new initiative that the Governor is piloting in the Detroit area. I hope that it takes root and grows (ok, pun intended) in the city and becomes a model for the rest of the impoverished areas in the state. I also hope that it will prove to be a blessing to local farmers who are also struggling right now.
The MNFM is an exciting possibility for the residents of Detroit and for local farmers. Something as simple as good quality and accessible fresh produce is a major step toward hope and new imagination, not to mention justice and health. I hope that this is a blessing and spreads to other hurting areas of the state.
Here's a wonderful little piece by Jimmy Carter ("Losing My Religion for Equality") on his recent decision to leave the Southern Baptist Convention after 60 years because of his disagreement with their theology on the place and role of women in the community of faith.
So, I'm full of questions and invites today. (Note: I originally wrote this post yesterday!)
I'm considering working on a piece with a couple of friends about God. See, I think I wish that gods still had names. I hear a lot of "god-talk" in churches, in the news, in pop culture, and in society, but I'm not sure all of this talk, even when it's supposedly 'Christian' conversation, is about the God who is revealed in Jesus. It think it might be easier to differentiate between these gods if gods still had proper names.
So, I would love to hear some reflections on "god." When you hear people talking about God or when you talk about God yourself, what does that God look like? What does that God do? How does that God reveal Godself to people and to the world? What does that God value or think is important? What is that God's end purpose, dream, and goal for humanity and creation?
Consider this a little language and assumption audit. Thanks for indulging me.
While you're thinking, you might think about this different definitions of "God" the Regina Spektor explores in her powerful and probing song "Laughing with":
Journeying through life to discover the way my story is woven into a grand narrative that unites all of humanity. Since 2004, I have served as a Spiritual Formation Minister at a small congregation in Michigan, but my wife is our family's real spiritual formation guru. I am in my first year in ACU's Doctor of Ministry Program.
