Christmas Truce in Seattle

Being back in Seattle, I thought I might start organizing peace and justice concerts and events again - my little votes for a more assertive peace church personality for my local congregation (and denomination). I was playing songs for my daughter about the incredible "Christmas Truce" on the Western Front of World War I in 1914, when I realized that this year is the 95th anniversary of that belief-defying night.

On Christmas Eve, 1914, soldiers on both sides along the trenches from Flanders to the Swiss Frontier spontaneously and almost universally negotiated with each other an informal "truce" for the night. In the night, soldiers from both sides came out from their trenches and met each other in No Man's Land, exchanged greetings, cigarettes, and trinkets. Carols were sung, improvised Christmas Trees decorated, contraband liquor shared. The next morning, the truce miraculously held, and each side gathered the dead from the battlefield and buried them together side-by-side. In many places, the truce lasted past New Year's Eve, by when of course Generals and Colonels had heard about this treasonous truce negotiated without their consent - and were taking steps to stop it (replacing and moving regiments about that had participated in the truce so that they were facing troops along the trenches that they hadn't met and comisserated with over the holidays). And WWI went on. But not without a profound note of the possibility of Peace being heard across a continent mobilized for war.

I am organizing a celebration of the 95th anniversary of this momentous event, and it seems the stars are aligned, because so much is coming into place so quickly. West Seattle Neighbors for Peace and Justice is on board for helping with promotion and logistics. The Seattle Labor Chorus has eagerly agreed to participate. The Seattle Peace Chorus is considering amending their already-busy holiday schedule to include the event. I have a readers theater piece about the event almost fully cast with fine readers. I have a sound system lined up to use. Organizations and other local events are very cooperative in advertizing and promoting the celebration. People are coming out of the woodwork to help. And just today I received a cd of a singer who performs one of the best songs about the 1914 truce - and he wants to play at the event.

I am giddy with excitement and amazed that this event is coming together with so little time to be put together. Somebody must want us to celebrate peace, I tell ya!

The event, if you'd like to come, will be at the Highland Park Community of Christ (8611 11th Ave SW, Seattle), at 7PM, December 24th (Christmas Eve). It will tell the story of the Christmas Truce in narrative, letters, songs and images from the period. There will be an opportunity for other local peace and justice organizations to set up tables for people to look at and learn more about them. There will be no charge for the event.

I'll try to post updates as the event develops. Needless to say, I am thrilled to death about this, and can't wait until Christmas Eve! :-)

Back in the Saddle Again

Well, that didn't take long...

Our old home church in Highland Park was short a "guest minister" for this coming Sunday, so they scraped the bottom of the barrel and asked me.

Ridin' the range once more

That's right, fans, I will be preaching this Sunday, in West Seattle. The theme: Speak Boldly. Oh yes... yes, I will.

Totin' my old .44

The Old Testament has 44 books in it (well, almost). The scripture for this Sunday? The story of Esther, a daring heroine who saves the Jewish people from disaster in Persia!

Where you sleep out every night, and the only law is right

Esther is practically a Marxist dramedy (seriously!). It is one of the only books in the Bible not to mention God at all (really!). It is fraught with tension, irony and humor (no, really!). The collaborationist bourgeoisie get their comeuppance (well, they get hanged), and the ruling class is a pawn of their own vanity and the conspiracies of capitalist climbers, and in the end the workers come out on top (well, they survive at least).

Back in the saddle again.

Yeehaw! That's right, folks, the greatest show on earth is BACK! (And, besides the Puyallup Fair, I'm preaching, too!)

Seriously, if you have any inkling, you're more than invited (I mistyped "incited" just now... hmmm) to come.

Show starts at 11AM at 8611 11th Avenue SW, Seattle WA 98106.

And who knows, afterward lunch buffet at Maharaja?!

Palmzondag 2009

Mijn Predikatie voor de Gemeente Rotterdam

Hij kwam in een optocht terecht. Overal waren er mensen die juichten, zongen, gilden, marcheerden – sommigen hielden zelfs boomtakken omhoog. Pelgrims, koopmannen, vrienden, families, vreemdelingen, dieren voor transport en offers. Kan je de drukke straat zien? Kan je het geluid horen – muziek en conversaties en beesten, schreeuwen en lachen en verwarring? Kan je de hitte van de zon aan je armen voelen? Kan je het stof in de lucht ruiken – kamelen en hun mest, oud zweet van jou of van diegene naast je? Kan je het allemaal in je mond proeven – zo dik in de lucht dat je niet weet of het je doet stikken of dat je het uit wilt spuwen? En overal om je heen zijn er mensen in beweging – een enorme massa die naar de heilige stad gaat.

En daar in het midden zat hij op een ezel, de enige stilte in de storm van chaos en verwachting. Het zou helemaal gek lijken.

Later zou Johannes de evangelieschrijver zeggen dat die boomtakken palmtakken waren, omdat het die tijd van het feest van tabernakelen was, en mensen gewoonlijk feesten in kleine veldhutten die van palmtakken gemaakt waren. Matteüs, Lukas en Johannes allemaal voorstelden ze dat de massa van pelgrims en plattelanders daar voor Jezus waren. Dat die mensen Jezus als hun redder zagen, de Messias – zelfs als ze de verkeerde soort Messias verwachteden. En wij – Christenen – houden van dit beeld: hier is ons koning, met de intocht die hij verdient. Misschien denken wij dat het een beetje zoals het de dag van Sinterklaas is – onze intocht van de goede heiligman – duizenden krioelende kinderen in de straat, iedereen zingt liedjes van vreugde, en dat de heiligman langzaam door de straten gaat om elk kind en ouder te ontmoeten. Zelfs Beatrix komt om de sint te begroeten. Dat zou het zijn – de intocht van Christus.

Maar vandaag lezen wij niet van Lukas of Johannes, maar van Markus – en Markus verteld en andere verhaal. Misschien is het niet de verhaal dat wij verwachten.

Laat ons vanaf het begin beginnen. Jezus heeft twee van zijn leerlingen vooruit gestuurd, om een ezel naar hem te brengen. Hoe zouden ze het uitleggen dat ze niet betalen voor de ezel? Ze zouden alleen zegen de Heer heeft het nodig.

Een klein vraag – wie is de Heer? Is de Heer God? Misschien. Is de Heer Jezus? Waarschijnlijk denken we automatische zo – maar Markus noemt Jezus in zijn evangelie nooit “de Heer”. (Misschien is het nu de enige keer, natuurlijk, maar het is niet zo duidelijk dat wij dat hier zo zeker kunnen zegen.) Misschien is het een woordspeling, omdat in het Grieks het woord kurios ook “de eigenaar” kan betekenen. Misschien hebben die mensen op straat het niet goed begrepen! Ze dachten dat de eigenaar de ezel nodig had! En de leerlingen hebben van het misverstand voordeel gehad.

Maar er is nog een mogelijkheid. Misschien had Jezus alles al geregeld met de eigenaar van de ezel. Misschien waren er al mensen in Jeruzalem die Jezus kenden en hem wilden ondersteunen. Misschien was er al een ondergronds netwerk van mensen die wachten op een moment om Jezus te helpen. Misschien wisten de leerlingen zelfs niet hoeveel mensen of wie hen wilden helpen, wie aldoor de heilige geest voorbereidt waren.

In dit verhaal, zouden wij ons met de eigenaar identificeren; de stille maar essentiële karakter van de onbekende ezelmeester als onszelf zien? Zijn wij een deel van een ondergronds ondersteuningsnetwerk, altijd zoeken we mogelijkheden om de Geest te helpen, altijd voorbereid Jezus binnen onze stad te brengen?

In de middeleeuwen kreeg een andere karakter van de verhaal veel attentie. In de middeleeuwen was de ezel de focus van het verhaal – en de ezel was in tekeningen en gedichten herinnerd. In deze tijd dachten de mensen de ezel symbool stond voor gewone mensen, gemiddelde Christenen – rekruteerde tot dienst zonder toekomstplannen of kennis wat of waroom. De Heer heeft ons nodig, dachten de middeleeuwse mensen, we weten niet wanneer of voor wat, maar we zijn geroepend. Wij moeten Jezus’ persoon binnen de wereld houden. Wij, nederig en stoom, doen onze best. Wat voor een symbool. Zoveel over een ezel naar gedacht, waarover alleen in een paar verse is gesproken. Misschien is dat ook wat – we spelen een kleine rol in het verhaal van Jezus, een kort moment, maar belangrijk.

Daar zit Jezus op een ezel, en iedereen om hem heen zingt en juicht. Wat zeggen ze? “Hosanna! Gezegend hij die komt in de naam van de Heer. Gezegend het komende koninkrijk van onze vader David. Hosanna in de hemel!” Het is geen wonder dat Matteüs, Lukas en Johannes dachten de mensen juichten voor Jezus. Natuurlijk! Is het niet duidelijk? Voor wat anders konen ze juichten? (Aha… zelfs wanneer we Markus lezen, horen we de andere evangeliën! Laat ons naar Markus luisteren zoals hij bedoelde te spreken.)

De mensen zijn op de weg naar Jeruzalem. De feesttijd van tabernakels en Pascha nadert – ‘n heel grote feesttijd, wanneer duizenden mensen naar Jeruzalem komen om offers te brengen, hun geschiedenis te vieren, en ook – weten de Romeinen wel – te genieten van hun nationale trots. Pelgrims komen vanuit heel Israel, en ze zingen allemaal dezelfde liederen – ’n series van liederen vanuit de psalmen en profeten. Van heel ver beginnen ze dezelfde liederen te zingen, en wanneer ze Jeruzalem naderen zijn er meer liederen voor elk deel van de weg – zodat iedereen dezelfde woorden zingen. De eenheid van de volk begint veer weg in zang. Dit lied dat Markus schreef was voor het laatste stuk van de weg. Mensen zingen dit lied als ze in de buurt van Jeruzalem komen – het was echt de intocht van het volk!

Elk jaar zongen ze dezelfde liederen, honderden jaren voor Christus en tientallen jaren na hem. Zongen ze over hun hoop, hun redder, hun Heer, de koninkrijk van David. Ze zongen “Hosanna!” Hosanna is ’n Hebreeuwse woord dat “redt ons” betekend.
“Redt ons nu,” zingen ze. Voor Markus is hierin ’n sterke ironie. Overal om Jezus heen zijn er mensen die zingen “redt ons,” en willen het koninkrijk van God zien. Overal om Jezus heen zijn er mensen die hopen op ’n nieuwe wereld, ’n antwoord tegen de pijn en lijden in de wereld, ’n nieuwe Heer die hun nog een kans geeft de wil van God te doen. Om hem heen zijn duizenden mensen – voor hem, achter hem, naast hem – verenigd in zang en devotie. Maar niemand van hen weet dat hun antwoord met hen meerijdt, binnen hun kring.

Ze zingen en aanbidden het beste dat ze kennen, doen het beste dat ze weten, maar zien niet dat hun dromen en hopen naast hen loopt. Ze zingen de juiste lieden, bidden de goede gebeden, maken foutloze offers, maar ze missen het punt als ze niet weten wie in hun midden rijdt. Voor Markus is dit een suprême toneel van ironie. Hun liederen zijn juist maar ze weten het niet. Hun gebeden zijn beantwoordt, en zij zingen over het antwoord, maar zien het niet. Het koninkrijk is gekomen, maar het is net begonnen.

Kan het dat ook wij het punt missen? Is het mogelijk dat wij ons best doen maar de ironie missen? Of zijn we gelijk als de ezel, Jezus onwetende houden voor de wereld? Of zouden we zoals de leerlingen, die naar het komende dorp gingen om daar het werk van de Geest te zoeken, meer mensen zoeken om de Heer te dienen?

Maar te vaak verwachten wij Jezus zoals Sinterklaas komt, en zoals een Koning of General het regelt. Wij houden ons palmtakken om hoog en juichen. (En zo snel vergeten we het lijden dat komt.)

Jezus kwam niet om te beginnen met alles te regelen. We moeten ons herinneren wat er vervolgens gebeurde. Avondmaal herinnert ons – zijn laatste avondmaal, zijn lijden en kruisiging. Te vaak willen we naar de overwinning gaan – van de intocht onmiddellijk naar het paaswonder – van overwinning naar overwinning te springen. We willen niet aan het lijden denken, over het angstgevoel, de onzekerheid.

Maar Jezus, het middelpunt van alles dat zou gebeuren, deed het wat kalmer aan, en nam de tijd voor een maaltijd met zijn broers en zusters. Hij gaaf hen wat stille tijd om over de komende dingen na te denken. Zeker te zijn dat wij niks zouden missen. Avondmaal is voor ons ’n gift van Jezus.

Jezus zal sterven, nog en nog eens. Maar onze hoop en geloof hoeft ook niet op het kruis te sterven. Jezus’ leven en werk gaat verder. En als wij leerlingen zijn, aantwoorden wij op Jezus’ roeping; of zijn we een deel van ’n ondergrond die wacht om liefde in de harten van mensen te slaan; of zijn we een ezel die Jezus naar onze stad brengt, de vraag voor ons is als wij wel of niet deelnemen aan dit grote werk. Jezus offerde persoonlijk zijn leven voor jou. Kan jij er aan deel nemen?

(Hartstikke bedanken naar Geesje voor haar hulp met het Nederlands.)

Easter Bullettin Inserts

Now available from the Peace Support Network!

Easter Bulletin Inserts - Six weeks of inter-generational, print-ready bulletin inserts are now available here - http://www.peacesupportnetwork.org/papers4.cfm Tell the story of Jesus' ministry while promoting peace and justice. Please download and use these wonderful resources in your services. (Thank you to volunteer Marge Nelson for creating these positive resources which follow the World Church weekly themes, beginning March 1.)

My Ancestor Was Here

While cleaning out the attic here at my new residence, I must sift through layers of junk and treasure left behind by so many previous residents. The other day, I came across a pile of old books - bound periodicals of church history from the turn of the 20th century.

Thumbing through the 1910 volume, I saw a familiar name: Joseph Burton - my great-great-great-uncle. It was a biography of Captain Burton (he was a merchant ship captain) written by his wife, Emma. Surprised to see my own relations mentioned, I started to read, following the serialized biography into the 1911 volume.

Being a merchant sea man from Nova Scotia and New England, it isn't surprising that Joseph sailed all over the Atlantic - from Europe to the Caribbean and all along the Eastern United States. What was surprising - at least to see it in print - was the brief reference to Joseph making a trip to Amsterdam in 1867. Then, not too much later, another trip from the US to Rotterdam. My great-great-great-uncle was in Rotterdam more than a hundred years ago.

This was, of course, before he had joined the church, and some thirty years before he would captain the missionary boat Evanelia from California to the Society Islands. But still, to have such a random and concrete connection with Rotterdam - to imagine my great-great-grandfather walking the downtown streets (or approximately, since the whole of downtown R'dam was destroyed in World War II) - touches me deeply.

I am, truly, just following in others' footsteps.

(The painting above is something of the scene Joseph Burton might have seen approaching Rotterdam. Johan Barthold Jongkind, The Schie Near Rotterdam, 1867.)

Why Religion At All?

I was having a discussion with a friend recently - a friend who has been reading a lot of books in the "New Atheism" movement. (I don't know why they call it "New Atheism" - except that perhaps it's a new movement, a resurgence or renaissance.) And perhaps it's the fact that we share so many sympathies on the subject that I found it difficult to answer her questions the way she seemed to want me to. None of my answers were apparently getting at her fundamental question. So she sent me away from the discussion with something to think about: why have religion at all? Wouldn't our efforts and energies be more constructively placed elsewhere?

It got me to thinking.

Even if we take the most natualistic definition or description of "God" - God being the experience of neurons firing in our heads and our brains being bathed with certain chemicals as a result (as some recent articles have suggested, our brains might be hard-wired to come up with the idea of God) - that doesn't mean that the experience isn't valid or even helpful. It is much the same thing as love - our brains doing certain things with certain data, causing emotional and intellectual reactions, moving us to do (or avoid doing) certain things. Even knowing this, the most convinced neuroscientist doesn't give up on Love.

But the question is not about "God" - whatever that is or how it is experienced. The question is about religion: is it necessary or helpful for people to become the best they can be - as individuals and as a communal whole.

Obviously, this critique (in part) is reacting to the enormous and horrific narrow-mindedness of various fundamentalisms and the religiously-infused history of the 20th century. The Holocaust was committed by Christians as Christians, capitalizing on centuries of Christian anti-semitism. World War I saw every country - on each side - declaring God on their side, with the attendant implicit divine blessing on unthinkable death and destruction. The New Atheist critique is also laying claim to the Human Rights culture that has been growing since the 18th century and has oftentimes been explicitly beyond religious distinctions in its call for fair treatment of all people. (Curiously, the New Atheists don't lay much blame for the horrors of the past at the feet of nationalism, capitalism, imperialism or colonialism. But that might just be too broad a front to engage the world on. And, it must be said, the New Atheists are English-speakers from the Northern Hemisphere, whose nations and cultures are steeped in capitalist rhetoric of "freedom" being equated with "buying power.")

I will have to save a larger discussion of this for another post - or perhaps a book - but I do believe that American Christianity deserves this New Atheist critique. Religion in the Western world (Christianity, Islam and Judaism) has been astoundingly complicit in (if not outrightly encouraging) nationalism, prejudice and violence. We have directed enormous resources at our own comfort while neglecting (if not capitalizing) on the suffering of others - most horrifically when our comfort comes at the expense of others. New Atheism raises some profound and legitimate questions that Christians (my community) should take seriously - searching inside and among ourselves for a Christ-like response rather than reacting in fear and offense, and continuing to ignore the fundamental premise of their complaint. (Recognizing that the Christ-like response might be to change the way we are acting, speaking or thinking.) With American Christianity the way it is, I can't blame anyone for wanting to be an atheist. The questions resonates inside me deeply: why be religious at all?

To begin an answer, let me start with the analogy I mentioned earlier: love. Is it necessary for love (both the neurological "happening" and the experience of love in people's lives) that we have ritualized behaviors and communal expectations? Of course not. People can feel love without dating or marriage, monogamy or... whatever. I must admit that my partner and I decided to get married (almost five years ago now) without knowing precisely why - but that I have found our marriage to be profoundly moving and formative for me. I have been made a better person by my marriage in ways I never imagined or was aware of - and part of that was, honestly, giving myself over to the convention of the ritual relationship, and exploring my new personhood within it. But my partner and I certainly don't begrudge any of our friends or family who don't get married, who only date or live together, or have even decided against romantic relationships for the present. We also don't begrudge our friends and family who have gotten married - and for most, marriage has served them well, while others not quite as well. I can imagine a person who has neither the need for nor would be helped by "marriage" or even monogamy - who can have healthy, honest, full relationships with people in ways that I am unaware or incapable of. My way of being in relationship is not the only right way. I don't think for a moment that "marriage" is necessary for love, or for a person to fully actualize themselves, or to grow in compassion toward others, or for a thousand other virtues that flower from healthy intimate relationships.

Is it necessary for people to participate in an organized religion in order to find fulfillment and become healthy individuals? Of course not. I can imagine someone being healthy and dynamic, self-aware and challenged, compassionate and sensing a call to profound generosity and vulnerability, without being taught or encouraged to within a ritualized framework. Those people, I would probably find enviable.

I am not nearly so strong, creative, self-aware or self-challenging. To be honest, if it were up to me, I would probably spend most of my existence comfortably within my own prejudices, feeling a sense of distant concern for the poorer situation of others but that's about it, and would likely find my own righteous indignation adequate for sustaining my views about myself and my world. I would likely be quite comfortable not holding myself within a community that demands critical introspection, not being held accountable by a community, or wrestling with a tradition and the inheritance of millions of lives before mine. I feel like a pretty ritualistic person, so I'd probably come up with my own significant ritual acts - but there would be little basis for me to share these with others or invite their participation in them with me. But, if I didn't have religion in general - and progressive, peace-church Christianity in particular - I just wouldn't have the personal hutzpah or gumption to really set myself to work on these tasks. And I'd be a worse person for it.

In the end, I'd have to say that religion isn't necessary for a full and happy life. I'm just saying I couldn't do it. By being a participant (and now a minister) in a Christian community, I am opened up to challenges and ways of being that I don't think I would have were I not here. (I also think most everyone could benefit from being in a union. And, really, I probably begrudge people not being union more than I begrudge anyone being irreligious.) I also wonder if people who haven't been brought up in a religious community - or who's experiences have been markedly different than mine, even - can't know what they're missing.

I've been both religious and secular in my life, been both theist and atheist, and I like myself better as a minister in this particular Christian peace church. It isn't that I just "feel better" - sometimes being a Christian fills me with profound sadness and awareness of suffering, and being a Christian also denies me easy answers to many of life's truly difficult questions. I am constantly pushed outside my prejudices and self-centered thinking. I am pulled to engage with, feel for, and perhaps even love people that I don't like, don't care being around, and disagree with. (I don't always do very well at this, it must be said. But forgiveness and grace are also Christian tenets.)

I don't like it when religions - Christianity in particular (since it is my larger community - teach prejudice and superiority. When someone is religious, or admits to a belief in God (not necessarily the same thing), one thing that can signify is that they are confessing they don't know everything, that there is more that they are subject to than they can know or explain, but that they feel it nonetheless. To use the word "God" can oftentimes do one of two things: it can open people up or close them off, it can say 'I am seeking the truth' or it can say 'I have the truth,' it can mean 'I am open to connection and genuine growth' or it can mean 'I am right and if you don't agree with me then you are at best misguided and at worst evil.' I cannot express strongly enough my disdain for religion that does the latter - and I assume it is to this variety that the New Atheism is responding. And there's plenty of that kind of religion around - it seems they own most of the television channels and radio stations, have the biggest churches and promote retrograde politics. I wish the New Atheists good luck in their quest to break the hold of this kind of religion on people's minds and hearts.

But there is also the kind of religion that opens people up, that seeks to love and grow, and seeks to change the world not to be more like 'us', but to be more like a generous, just and loving God would want it to be. And there as many different kinds of being faithful to that kind of God as there are ways of loving. Religion isn't necessary for that to happen. But for some of us it really, really helps. For me, it is indispensible.

The Island Church

The church and parsonage building where I live in Rotterdam is - like every place in the Netherlands - virtually surrounded by water. There are canals on almost all sides, and not your rinky-dink trenches, mind you, but full on Venetian canals. Access to the church can only be had by walking one narrow strip of land.

Can you start to see the problem?

The Netherlands is already secular enough to make it difficult for anyone to want to come to even the nationally-supported Dutch Reformed Church, let alone a strange and foreign import church from America. But in addition to that, you can't actually get to the church except across an out-of-the-way spit of land.

Now, you could say that this is a metaphor for walking the narrow road that scripture mentions. But this is church, not heaven, we're talking about. As far as the church was concerned, Jesus seemed much more interested in gathering all kinds of people in, and that would require a pretty broad road, or at least multiple points of access.

Frankly speaking, the church can't afford to be inaccessible. It has enough going against it these days that it shouldn't be getting in its own way. The geographic placement of the building actually works against the church's mission to be in the world and converting the nations.

Now, I sympathize with the saints in Rotterdam. They inherited the building from their forebears. They didn't build it. Even their forebears didn't build, truth be told - the denomination leadership decided to build a European HQ, and they chose the design. The building is perfect for the 50's theology and self-image of the church then - "we are the true church; if you want to know the truth, you have to come to us. Our doors are open (over here)." It isn't so good for our 21st century ecumenical sensibilities. But it is the building we have.

It isn't so different a problem than has much of mainline Christianity these days.

How does one minister from an island? You go off-island. But what do you do with all the infrastructure anchored in the old space? Is it best to simply abandon the accomplishments, efforts and resources of previous generations just because they are inconvenient for us?

How can we get off-island - both literally and metaphorically - and build transformative relationships that could bring people into a transforming community. I think the key is to think of church differently.

Church isn't where the frontline ministry takes place anymore. The primary location of transformative ministry is in personal relationships - friendships, family ties, pastoral relationships, and even professional interactions. The actual church building and weekly (?) church service is for energizing and guiding the faith journeys of people during the week in their relationships.

Perhaps we shouldn't be measuring congregations by how many people are in attendance on a Sunday, but by how many people are being touched in transformative relationship throughout the week, directed by those who are in Sunday services. At the same time, however, attendance at church is an indicator of whether or not you are offering something that people need.

I guess, in the end, the island church has to offer something so much better than the world around it and competing interests, that people consider the extra effort worth it.

Pics from Dokkum, Netherlands

Christie and I visited Dokkum - a small city in Friesland, the Northern part of the Netherlands. It is the location of the matyrdom of St. Boniface, who famously lifted his Bible as his only defense against the axe-blows of his enemies. The museum and chapel was closed for the winter, but the city was adorable regardless.

We also toured some of "Terpeland" - where the centers of villages (usually where the churches were) were raised onto little hills ("terps") where people could flee the floods resulting from high-tides and winter storms in the days before dikes.

And finally, we visited a random memorial - a monument on the site of the first Mormon baptisms in the Netherlands, back in 1869. By funny coincidence, not five kilometers from this little monument is the largest congregation of Community of Christ in the whole Netherlands. Coincidence, or conspiracy?! (*cue dramatic music*)

All in all, a wonderful day, and a much needed break from Seminary paper writing. Many thanks to our hosts, Kees & Lukke! Enjoy the slideshow!

Upcoming Local Young Adult Event

The Young Adults of Puget Sound (YAPS) will be co-hosting a young adult activity with the Vancouver congregation Jan. 12-13. The activity will include a trip to the UBC Museum of Anthropology (small fee) on the afternoon of the 12th, and then a spaghetti dinner, games & karaoke that evening at the church. Please attend as many or as few of these activities as you like, but let us know if you plan on coming for dinner.

On the 13th, the visiting young adults will be in charge of the regular morning service, to be followed with a potluck lunch. The potluck will be a chance to show our appreciation for the service offered by this group. All young adults are invited to the activities on the 12th, and all are invited to attend the service & potluck on the 13th.

Contact Sean Langdon (seanmlangdon@hotmail.com) or Shannon McAdam (shannonmcadam@shaw.ca) for more information, or to rsvp for the activities on the 12th (we need to know how much spaghetti to make).

Last Gig in Seattle (for a while)

I'll be preaching next weekend in West Seattle - my last preaching gig stateside for who-knows-how-long. Come see the blowout sermon!

A going-away reception will be held afterwards (from 1-4PM) complete with cake from the El Salvadorean Bakery (yummm!).

December 16, at 10:30AM, at the Highland Park congregation (8611 11th SW), right next to Highland Park Elementary School and Playfield.

The theme is "Leap for Joy." How can you leap for joy knowing this is my last sermon in the States for (perhaps) years? Come and find out! :-)

"Mission" as Neo-Colonialism?

I spent the last two and-a-half weeks in Europe, meeting most of my staff and co-workers and beginning to become acquainted with some of the local lay leaders of our church across Europe. It was a tremendous tour, and a lot could be said about it. But there's one thing in particular... (of course).

My denomination is just starting to talk about "mission" - and has even re-named regional administrative units "Mission Centers." But the "Europe Mission Center" has consistently declined using that term in reference to itself, preferring simply "the Europe church." You see, Europe has had enough of "mission-talk."

Europe is made of of former-Empires: the Netherlands, France, Germany, Spain, Hungary, Russia, and so on. To their credit, when they look at their histories, even discussion of their respective "Golden Ages" (when they were at the peak of their imperial expanse) is trimmed with shame at the arrogance of imperialism and colonialism, embarrassment for their exploitation and oppression of other peoples, and a self-consciousness about even historical talk of military, racial or ideological superiority. To the European Christians in our church, "mission" sounds too much like a re-birth of this ancient vice.

Mission and missionaries are language that harkens to a period in Christianity (specifically European and American Christianity) where "civilization" and "European-style Christianity" were considered the same - and the spread of "our culture" went hand in hand with the gospel and the sword. Religious conversion (or corraling) was most often the first step in economic expansion, likely in the form of exploitation of labor and resources, if not outright slavery. Mission was the destruction of native sensibilities and structures, and the imposition (forced, if not voluntary) of North-Atlantic norms.

Now, don't get me wrong, there's something powerful about contemporary "missional" Christians attempting a redemption of that term - actually turning it on its head, meaning to serve those disadvantaged and oppressed, and taking place largely outside of official organizational structures. There is something powerful about converting the tools of the oppressor into ones that serve liberation. But there is also danger there that, in our eagerness, we might overlook.

Remember that even those most colonial of missionaries likely thought of themselves as serving the people they met. Civilization and the gospel, after all, were in the best interests of everyone - from the perspective of the missionary. The question we are now able to ask about that time period is did those missionaries (and armies and businesses that followed) have the right to determine what was in the best interest of another people? And is it any surprise that they determined that their own way of thinking and acting, their own values, were the superior ones that needed to be brought to those poor heathens, by carrot or stick or lash? It is easy for us to point to those years and those motives and eye them with suspicion. But are we so able to look at ourselves with the same critical eye?

Consider this. "Mission" talk has taken hold first and foremost in the United States in the last five years or so. This is at the same time that the United States has been talking about itself as an empire, even considering itself (favorably in some cases, unfavorably in others) the new Roman Empire. Is there something in imperial politics that draws the church along? Or is it simply a matter of people talking who hold both discipleship and citizenship?

Have we North American Christians unwittingly embraced a revised ("kinder, gentler") imperial theology? Are we assuming that our values are the values that should be universalized and normative? (Don't we think that, surely, the world would be better if it adopted our way of thinking?) We may not be as culturally imperialistic as our forebears, but that is something to watch out for. And could it serve as a distraction from prophetic discipleship to focus on patchwork social justice without working toward a larger, revolutionary system?

I'm just throwing these ideas out there. Honestly, I'm a missional Christian. I'm just starting this discussion in my head. So I'm less prepared than many to identify the imperialistic qualities of my theology. Perhaps in this way I actually do need Christians and people of other faith persuasions to push back against me. Perhaps, for my own sake, those whom I would convert must first convert me.

That seems to me the only way out. But again, I may be narrow-minded here.

In flight

In flight to Europe, and a preview of our future life.

We’ll be flying into Germany and catching a train to the first of several meetings in the coming two weeks. Christie and I will be meeting the staff of the Europe church, many for the first time, as well as introducing ourselves to the local church leaders of Germany and the Netherlands. Amid all this, too, there will be many discussions and reports on the state of the church in Europe, challenges and possibilities, hopes and warnings, that sort of stuff.

Particularly important, though, of course, will be the personal impression I make and the tenor of the new relationships that is sounded in these first few meetings. And that worries me a bit. You see, there have already been some misunderstandings, some cross-cultural blunders, that might have started a “reputation” for me in Europe. Plus the obvious challenges that my age, inexperience and nationality will present. It may be with just a few, or even just one, but I’m still anxious about making a good impression – flexible but confident, generous and eager to laugh, encouraging and hopeful. And, as if the way with irony, it is often when we are most anxious about first impressions that we rarely make entirely good ones. Que sera sera. Щто делать?

All the while, I’ll be trying to take a mental inventory of my job duties, personality traits and giftedness of my staff and co-workers, furniture available to us when we move to Europe, and small signs of hope and happiness. As I am now, I’m still feeling several weeks of tension and anxious anticipation regarding this trip and its manifold repercussions. I want to feel better about going to Europe – and am hoping that this trip (actually seeing the places and faces) will help me.

At the same time, I have to remember that this work isn’t entirely about me. I’m here to serve a community of people dedicated to giving themselves over to the transforming Spirit of God – to be transformed themselves and to accordingly transform their world. And really, that’s not up to me. I serve the Work. To do the work, but I don’t do the Work. (I keep reminding myself of this in hopes of relieving some of my anxiety and foreboding sense of tremendous responsibility.)

Wish me luck, dear readers. I am stepping into an unstable boat in uncertain waters, and I am far away from finding my sea legs.

I want to be heading toward something, rather than in flight away.

Back Pew Worship

Do church as if you're speaking to the people in the back pew. What are they wanting to hear from a sermon? What kind of music speaks to them? What kind of worship will not just inform but will engage them?

The people in the back pew are the last ones in the church (sometimes literally, often metaphorically), and the first ones out the door (again, sometimes literally). Don't speak to the swollen middle. Like Jesus, head straight to the fringes, the margins, the people on the edge of the community, and minister to them. Because everybody needs to hear that.

Haggard

I apologize for my absence. Don't take it personally. Really.

It's not you; it's me.

I've been in meetings for weeks now. Really. A week-long meeting of church leaders (one of which, apparently, I'm becoming with my new as-yet-un-assumed position), followed by a weekend Young Adult Retreat (fabulous, but still work), followed by another weekend ministers' event in Portland, and a week-long meeting of Western US ministers (of which I am, or at least used to be, or could still be considered, for a while yet). I preach this Sunday, and then I'm off for another week of meetings with my soon-to-be new boss and co-worker. Then I return to pack up my house to move, and then the annual regional church conference in Portland the next weekend. And somewhere in all this, I have to start preparing for two Seminary classes in January (and forget about November/December, as immersion language classes will take up those weeks).

I don't mean to complain... or, rather, I wish I didn't sound like I was complaining, but really, part of me is. And I worry, too, that this is the kind of life I've signed up for with my new job as the regional president of Europe. Part of me is getting worried that I will spend the next five-to-eight years of my life exhausted, and that makes me depressed. And, of course, depression isn't much of an upper in itself.

I knew I was giving up the life of a congregational minister when I first started working for the church (although I didn't realize at the time how much I would miss it). And I knew that in taking this job in Europe, I'd be giving up a large chunk of the rewards of intimate involvement in a congregation - even as a consultant or support minister. But I'm worried now that I won't even be able to enjoy congregations at all! I'll be spending all my time in meetings, or in transit from one guerrilla-ministry to another (in-and-out before they realize what hit them).

On a note of delightful self-indulgence, though, yesterday I had a full-body massage - my first in more than ten years. That was probably the most human contact I've had in months, and that long overdue. It is amazing what uninterrupted human touch can do - and occasions like this defy claims that humans are purely spiritual beings with no significant connection to embodied existence. Even thinking about it now calms me, reminds me that all is not harried or hectic, that there is peace possible in the world, in my life, in my career. It reminds me that part of discipleship is forgiveness, and that I have to practice forgiveness even (especially?) with myself. "Don't expect the world, Christian. Give yourself time - to see what is needed and what you can do. You can't honestly (fairly?) expect more from yourself."

So, you see why I haven't been blogging. It hasn't been for lack of things to say or talk about (the Young Adult Retreat needs a thousand words, itself!). I've just been distracted, away from home, with infrequent internet access, and in need of extra sleep.

It's not you; it's me.

So... I guess now would be a good time to transition. Let's see... where did I leave off?

Conversion From Critical to Post-Critical

Packing up the house. Going through boxes of old stuff.

I feel a little like an archaeologist exploring my own past. I make small discoveries- some things I can remember clearly, some things are vague echoes of a familiar past, and still others I have no recollection of. Artifacts, clothing, papers, and books. Lots of books.

I came across my small collection of books by Thomas Merton (1915-1968), a Catholic Trappist Monk, one of the twentieth century's most influential religious figures and a prolific writer. Of course, being Catholic, he is rather orthodox, even for a contemplative, and there was a long period in my life when I would have balked at the idea of my reading these books.

You see, these books belong to a searching time in my life, in my late-junior-high and early high school years. My field of vision was limited (?) to more traditional (orthodox, safe) Christian thinkers, and I thought myself very daring to be looking outside of my own denominational community for insight into God. And something about Merton's style, as well as his thoughts, provoked me. (Although Merton's most famous work is an auto-biographical confession, a la Augustine, I found his essays to be more compelling - a genre that still speaks to my heart today.)

Merton wrote of struggle, but it was always (to me) faithful struggle with theological issues, or with the nature or love or presence of God. Perhaps this was the beginning of my more skeptical years that would follow (and come to full blossom in college just four or five years thence), but what I yearned for was meaningful personal struggle. And what I imagined to be "meaningful" was reaching a preconceived end, a known result, to arrive where I wanted to be. (Looking back on Merton's writings now, I'm not so sure he would have approved of such a reading, but I was young, and Merton was forgiving.)

In those years I was beginning to doubt. I had doubts about the story I was told, the devotion I had seen around me, the certainty or truth of the things I was brought up to believe in. And though at the time I may have been adventurous in reading a Catholic, I would venture much further afield in the coming years.

My Merton books - underlined and annotated in the margins (I can still remember sitting alone under courtyard trees during lunch hours, poring over pages, meditating and wondering, yearning for insight and profundity, and feeling so out of place in the mundane and often punishing world of adolescence and high school) - represent the last and greatest genuine throes of my pre-critical years.

If personal religious development can be broken down into three stages or fields, perhaps pre-critical, critical and post-critical, might be good terms. (My thanks to Tony and Charmaine for this insight.) The "pre-critical" is a delightful naivete, a place of profound confidence in the symbols and language of religious expression. Belief in this "stage" is clear, and often literal, encountering power in the actual words or images. Someone in the "pre-critical" stage might consider those of the "critical" perspective as fallen from the faith, and even the "post-criticals" as suspect in their use of the same faithful language in strange ways.

The "critical" stage is one of rejection and vehement questioning. Nothing is sacred to the critical thinker. This perspective often expresses itself in an ardent materialism, seeing no other cause for religious feeling or fervor than psycho-physiological needs. The critical thinker considers both the pre-critical and post-critical as deluded (self-deluded?) and foolish, unable to see the natural causes for their so-called spirituality. Critical thinkers are also able to cut through the crap of theological flowery-ness and identify what is really at stake in religious discussions, and are therefore often less patient with religious expression that does not meet exacting standards for correctness, openness, ecumenism/interfaith/alternative interpretations, and admission of profound finitude. If there is subtle, underlying racism or sexism in a religious expression, criticals will find it, and point it out. If there is logical inconsistency, criticals will not let it slide. If there is fuzziness, criticals will keep pushing for clarification. Criticals are hyper-sensitive to the oppression latent in much religious language and devotion, and react allergically to it. Oftentimes, critical thinkers cannot long stand the religious company of pre-critical devotees; and just as often criticals do not see any difference in the language of pre- or post-critical thinkers. They feel they have identified the true meaning of words, and find those meanings unsatisfactory - and thus find no compulsion to explore the differences when others are using traditional language.

This "critical" stage was where I was at for the bulk of my religiously conscious life. As a young child I was clearly pre-critical. But as a youth and teenager, I was critical to the core. Even though I deeply felt a longing for connection, I found the old forms lacking and unsatisfactory, even hypocritical and false. I remembered that young boy under the trees with Merton, and longed for that ecstatic confidence and faith, but couldn't bring myself to descend into what I considered self-delusion. Criticals are, in many ways, just discovering a profound honesty with themselves, and exploring the terrifying implications of that. This exploration is tremendously important, and I wouldn't have denied myself the honest sojourn of critical thinking for the world. A key to the critical stage (perhaps both pre-critical and critical in turn) is that there is no expectation of going anywhere else - pre-critical naivete or critical rejection is the reality of one's life, so get used to it.

I long ago packed away my Merton books, and even left my philosophy books at home (though close to my heart), when I left for three years of Peace Corps service. I was spiritually "taking a break." I was tired of struggling, of resisting, of arguing inside myself or with others. I wanted a vacation from self-reflection. Honestly. So I told myself that for the two years (I thought then) of Peace Corps, I would focus on someone else, on something else, and put all the internal struggle aside. I'd let the silt settle, and see what patterns it makes in the riverbed. I figured leaving home, language and country would make such a departure easy, and it was, for the most part.

On about my third year in Peace Corps, I started to face the possibility of coming home, and picking up where I left off. Except that I wasn't where I had left off - or perhaps more accurately, I didn't want to pick up there. I didn't want to go back. It helped that when I did return to the States I didn't go to my hometown, or resume my old life in any way - I came to Seattle, new home, new friends, new job, new church group, new girlfriend - I could entirely recreate myself here. And I decided, for some reason, to go back to church.

Don't get me wrong - I didn't enjoy church those first couple times. It was terrible - all I remembered from my critical days. But something kept me coming back. There was something here that I wanted or needed to know. I entered a post-critical phase in my life.

(This is an on-going discussion in my life... so let me just post this too-long-already post and continue this discussion later.)

What is Most Important

The following is excerpted from a personal journal, so it is taken out of context (a little) and cleaned up (a bit). I was musing on the anxiety I feel about this change in assignment and new job approaching.

"Despite all the (mounting) anxiety - I think both Christie and I are excited about the adventure of Europe. In many ways, it is a large unknown - to everyone, including ourselves. In some ways, things are just unknown to us - surely my supervisor and fellow ministers and the Europe church have some expectations and understanding, and I have no idea where or what those are. Hopefully, that will be somewhat corrected in the next few months (and it may be an act of mercy not to burden me with those until I am free of obligation to the Northwest).

But one of my goals should be to enjoy Europe. Make that an explicit goal of my first year, too.

The minister for Hungary wrote to me earlier this week asking to hear about any ideas I have for Europe - and I'm torn. I really do feel like I need to learn what the Europe church wants for itself. I don't want to go to Europe with a cadre of pre-conceived notions, but moreover, I can't, without being egregiously arrogant and misguided. I don't say this as "I shouldn't," but as "I am not capable of going over there with many preconceived ideas."

When I started my present position in the Seattle-area congregations, I tried really hard not to impose my vision and priorities onto the congregations. But the truth was that I had my own visions and priorities. They weren't set in stone, or overriding congregational identity and initiatives, or exclusive of other ideas, even. But I had some ideas going into this what I could do. After all, I had lived here for several years already and was at least somewhat familiar with the church here by virtue of language, nationality, culture, and so on. None of these commonalities exist for me in the Europe church. I am not able to go into Europe with even a skeleton plan of preconceived notions.

In some ways this is good, surely, since I will be able to genuinely throw myself into Europe for its own sake. At the same time, however, I worry about the perception of my leadership abilities if I enter in in total obedience to the local whim of the people. (Two things come to mind: Jesus would not, I believe, condone entering Europe "proudly" and full of myself, and would himself model "servant leadership;" and part of my leadership ability may be to discern the viable priorities and initiatives, find the fertile ground, in Europe, from all the potential options.)

And, too, all this is not entirely honest. We do have commonalities. In fact, these commonalities are not merely "cultural" or "linguistic" or "nationalistic" - they are necessarily deeper, more foundational, root convictions. We are grounded in the scriptures, in shared history, in commitment to community, peace, and the worth of all persons. So perhaps there is hope there. I am going without my familiar footing, but not without grounding altogether. It may be a strange shore, but we share the same anchors. Perhaps going to Europe will be a good exercise for me in letting go of the unessential, identifying and keeping hold of what is most important.

What is most important. A tall order indeed."

Growing the Church

The last two weeks I've been preoccupied with getting our house in shape to sell - all the yard and home projects I've neglected in my eagerness to work for the church have come back to taunt and chase me.

Another point of stress is that Christie and I run our home more like a farm - which looks different than a "yard." We don't water the lawn, letting it brown in late summer and die back naturally. We compost yard waste in big bales. We grow crops instead of flowers. Generally, the beauty of urban homesteading is a little rougher than the typical suburban well-manicured yard. In fact, if you're not used to it, it might look unkempt and ratty.

So once we made the decision to sell the house, I started pulling up crops and planting flowers, laying down bark mulch instead of the homegrown compost, and watering the lawn. The problem is, watering the lawn once the grass is already brown is too late. Once the crisis point has hit, it's the watering you've already done (or not done) that matters.

And watering only the brown patches leaves what still is green to wither and die - so you have to water both the living and the dying (or the birthed and potentially re-birth-able) equally, actually watering where you hope there will be grass soon.

Ministry within congregations, it occurred to me, is much the same. If we wait until crisis to start to minister to each other, show love, mobilize for issues we believe in, or begin mission work in our neighborhoods, then it's too late. The heat of the day and the summer will burn up most of your water and care. It is the watering and attention you've done prior to this that really sustains roots, that has already penetrated the soil and is at the source of people's strength. If we wait until congregations are dying to start mission work, it is an uphill battle, and the fruits of the labor may not be seen for a long time, while the water (and precious little at that) makes its way to the roots - and we need to keep watering. Whereas, if congregations sense a call to mission earlier, and begin to cultivate their spirituality and religious devotion to include a real-life care for the world, then when crises hit (and crises will come), the roots deep below will sustain them and weather the drought.

On a more personal level, when individuals are going through a crisis like the death of a loved one, oftentimes the words and efforts right then seem superficial and un-comforting. It is the understandings that have been deeply cultivated, the convictions that are already nurtured and healthy and rooted, that carry one through, or leave one wanting. It doesn't seem much different with larger organisms like congregations or denominations.

We've been starving our roots for too long, getting by with shallow waterings and quick fixes. We want our congregations to grow, but are unwilling to invite people, or unwilling to offer dynamic worship, or unconventional worship, or meaningful, insightful, exciting preaching, or whatever. We've been unable or unwilling to open our doors to homeless or poor or immigrants or other languages. We've clung to old forms of worship or congregational identity, when the world around us has changed dramatically. We've been hoping that having kids will grow our church - a strategy that worked in the 50's when the population of the US generally was growing. We are still conflicted about our history and heritage, embarrassed at times, ashamed at others, but sensing all the while that there is something precious and worthwhile buried under all the misgivings, and not having the language to talk about it without sounding retrograde.

Whatever it is, we need to stop watering shallowly. Gardeners all over will tell you: water more deeply and less often to conserve water and encourage healthy root growth.

We need to water where we want grass to grow, too. That means stretching ourselves, and risking the "waste" of some resources on land that is not yet in bloom, where roots have not visibly reached, trusting that the Spirit is at work there just as it is at work where the grass is greenest. This necessitates an economy of abundance, rather than scarcity - where we water deep and wide.

Honestly, I'm not sure many of our congregations are ready for that kind of commitment.

The thing is, there are other gardeners out there. If we don't reach people, something else will. And we'll have no one to blame for our desert lawn but ourselves.

Radical Hospitality

This past Sunday I preached at the Yakima congregation - a small but lively bunch who loves to answer when I ask rhetorical questions, keeping me on my toes and oftentimes off my script. The scripture under examination this week was Luke 14:1, 7-14, when Jesus attends a dinner and points out people scrambling for the seats of most prestige. Jesus says that people should sit lower, rather than higher, so that the host can then ask them to move up - an honor indeed - rather than having to ask them to move down to make room for a more honorable or prestigious person - truly embarrassing.

But is Jesus merely being "Miss Manners" here, recommending a strategy for being publicly recognized as both prestigious and humble (if falsely)? Or, rather, is it our own egos that want to take Jesus' words about not being proud and twist them into a strategy for feeding our pride even more?

I told a story about Apostle Susan Skoor's recent trip to the church in Tahiti. While there, she was showered with gifts and honor and adoration. One of the first dinners she attended was a church potluck after a service. In typical Community of Christ style, the room was laid out with connected seating tables and one long serving table heavily laden with food and goodies. Being polite, the Tahitian congregants invited Susan, as their guest, to go first. Susan, being polite, tried to take a little bit from every dish, so as not to offend or disappoint anyone, and took her plate to the table.

Now, in the States, potluck ceremony ends about at the end of the food line, and you just sit wherever you can find a place - usually next to someone who's already sitting, so you can converse with them over the meal. So that's what she did. Susan saw some people sitting at the end of the table, went over and sat next to them. At which point there rose a tense murmuring in the crowd. Whispers of concern and confusion, nervous glances and desperate looks bounced back and forth. Blissfully ignorant, Susan continued her attempts to banter politely in her struggling French.

The financial officer for French Polynesia, Steve - an American who grew up partially in Tahiti, who knows both cultures well enough to navigate between them - came over to Susan. "Now, Susan, this seat is fine because you chose it. But just so you know, they meant for you to sit over there." It was obvious, once Steve pointed it out. The tables were arranged in a large horseshoe, with the largest chair at the top of the bend, ornate and padded, and the table in front of it festooned with flowers and crowded with food.

"Should I move?" she asked.

"No. You've chosen this seat, and that's ok."

But obviously, it wasn't. You see, Tahitian society is still very classified - that is, there are "classes" still largely present, a social hierarchy of prestige and respectability. Membership in the community of Christ hasn't completely done away with this cultural characteristic, and it manifests itself even in church. Where you sit is in clear relation to how important you are in the society, how respectable and honorable you or your place is. And these people hadn't even gotten their food yet, so they were probably at the very end of the line and had just sat down to rest while everyone more important than they went by the food-table. These people weren't even prestigious enough to be in the food line yet. And here comes Susan, unknowing, making no distinction, seeing no difference, more self-conscious about her own linguistic performance in front of these people than their social status. It was a question she didn't even think to ask, a factor she didn't even know to consider.

There she sat, at the lowest end of the table, with persons who might have considered themselves the lowest people in the room. And wouldn't you know it - a miracle happened. Slowly, people began picking up and moving the flowers and overflowing dishes, the decorations and abundance reserved for the most important person in the room, toward her end of the table. When Susan sat in the "wrong" place, they began to reevaluate where their abundance was located, re-prioritize their table-setting, re-orient their best efforts and highest honors. And the glory and honor of that congregation moved from the center of the table to the edges, from the middle to the marginal, from the pinnacle to the periphery.

Isn't that incredible?! Don't you just wish it was always that easy? Just sit in the wrong place, unintentionally, and see for one moment a holy shift in a congregation's consciousness? Wouldn't you just die for such a chance?

Last Sunday was, of course, Communion Sunday - the monthly meal where we are invited to sit at the table of Christ. The theme was "Practice Radical Hospitality." And so I asked the congregation who in their neighborhoods and city are people that could be invited if we only extended Christ's hospitality without thought of gain for ourselves. The poor. The homeless. Migrant workers. Illegal immigrants. The mentally ill. Children. Those with emotional problems. Those of political parties with whom we ardently disagree. And so on. Most of those categories were responses of the congregation, when I asked them the rhetorical question. But the Spirit moves them to answer, and I told them the Spirit will hold them accountable for their knowledge.

Radical hospitality has been extended to all of us - poor sinners and unworthy disciples of Christ. How difficult is it for us to extend that same hospitality to those sitting at the edges of our tables or neighborhoods? How much are we called to sit with those who might benefit from a reorientation of society's priorities? How lucky are we that there are so many opportunities waiting for us already?

Euro-Flannel?

Q: What do these three images have in common?
A: As of next year, they will all be associated with the Netherlands!

Last week I was appointed by my denomination as the new President of the church in Europe. In February, Christie and I will be moving to Rotterdam in the Netherlands to assume the duties and begin our new life in Europe. ... And my calendar is already packed.

What will happen when a West Seattle Peace & Justice minister goes to Europe? How will an activist fare in a larger administrative role? How will I look in a Citroёn? Burning questions that will be explored right here.

5,000th Prayer for Peace

My church is a peace church. We find one of the primary expressions of the Gospel in our lives to be working for peace - on personal, political, social and international levels. As disciples, we also recognize that peace has a national/international conflict-resolution dimension.

In addressing this, in addition to more "earthly" efforts, our denomination has for several years offered a prayer for peace at our headquarters, every single day. Typically, a particular nation is given special attention each day, offering the participants and worshipers and opportunity to learn about the special challenges and callings facing unique and diverse peoples across our planet.

Today marks the 5,000th daily prayer for peace offered by our church since we began this practice. At one o'clock, in Independence, Missouri, (that's 11 o'clock in Seattle) this landmark prayer will be offered like all the others: to the Spirit of Peace and to people to respond to It. Today, for Suriname.