buzz kill

I have cut back on my drug of choice. This past weekend, I went cold turkey from caffeine. My headache was tremendous, and nothing I took could get rid of it. Then after 48 hours of excruciating, throbbing pain, I awoke this morning feeling just fine.

Still, with a big, important meeting today, I did succumb to a half mug (yes, I know that a half mug for me is a regular mug for the rest of you). But I am definitely decreasing my caffeine intake. Sleep is a good thing. And I haven't been getting much lately.

otherwise engaged

He asked me. I asked him. We both said, "Yes" or "Whatever". Rings were exchanged.

["What does a guy's engagement ring look like?" Hilary asked. "Just like mine, a simple band. No diamonds." "Yeah," she says, "I think Craig would look strange with a big diamond on his hand." "That he would, but both of us have issues with the diamond industry, so lucky for him, no diamonds."]

It's all very egalitarian, mutual, reciprocal. And what does it all mean? I guess it means that we're engaged. Or whatever. See, we are avoiding terms like "engagement", "wedding", and "marriage" and we haven't quite found other words to use in their place. Actually, I think I avoid them more than he, but he does respect my neuroses opinions about patriarchy, heterosexism, etc. He gets me. I'm lucky.

How did I find such an amazing man - a sensitive, brilliant, kind, passionate, compassionate, articulate, opinionated, well-read, justice-oriented, progressive activist/pacifist/scientist who despises the diamond industry (and other forms of oppression)? Oh, yeah, on match.com. Searching specifically for "very liberal" "vegetarians" with "master's degrees".

So anyway, our big ceremony will be sometime in 2008 (winter or spring). Exact season will be dependent on my brother's deployment schedule. Let's end this war soon!! Craig and I want to get hitched. Or whatever.

thoughts on the Bush-commuting-sentences business

Actually, I really don't know how to respond to this whole corrupt, Nixonian, slap-in-the-face-to-our-judicial-system, Scooter Libby scenario.

And Bush just seems to be on a commuting rampage. Now he's commuted Pluto's sentence, too? This I take personally, as I happen to know a member of the "jury" that handed down that sentence to the planet-wannbe.

Christy Loves Jeanne

This past weekend, my dear friends Christy and Jeanne wed. I was fortunate enough to attend their ceremony, to witness these two amazing women (both colleagues in ministry) commit their lives to one another. They promised to love each other, to be faithful to one another, to laugh together, to play together, to cry together, to pray together.

Oh, what a blessed and joyous day it was!! The love that Christy and Jeanne share radiates from them, permeates any room they walk into, and indeed, inspires all who meet them. Yes, their union inspired many. At least two people popped the question to their significant others during the celebratory weekend.

35

Today I celebrate my 35th birthday. Thirty-five. 3-5. Somehow that sounds as if I am supposed to be a grown-up now. Is this true?

The other day, I mentioned that this birthday would be my 35th, and one of my housemates, a youngun, all of 24-years-old, said, "Shhh. We can say you're 29!"

"Hell, no, " I thought, "I am not going to lie about my age. Besides, 35 seems like a perfect age." But you see, I know something he doesn't. At 24, 35 seems old to him because he can't imagine life after 25, thus there is no way he can possibly know that it really does get better after 30. At 24, he's is where so many of us were in our 20s, full of existential angst and desperately trying to figure out this thing called life. Or maybe I am just thinking about me at that age.

At 24, I was so self-conscious, uncomfortable in my own skin. At 24, I was trying to discern what I was supposed to be doing with my life, where I needed to be, what I needed to be doing. At 24, I still wanted desperately to fit in, to find a home in a group or a community. At 24, I longed for this thing called confidence, and while I professed a self-reliance, a fierce autonomy and independence, I wanted nothing more than to belong.

Somewhere around 30, I eased up on myself.

And here at 35, I am still trying to figure out this thing called life. But I realize life is something that unfolds as I go along. I don't have to have all of the answers right now. And it's kind of fun making them up as I go. At 35, I am still trying to discern what I am supposed to do with my life, but only the next chapter. I have realized that all of the best plans transform on me anyway, so all I can do is take this next step in faith and trust that I will have the wisdom (and the courage) to figure it out beyond that. And at 35, I have become comfortable with myself. I am no longer searching for "home", because I have learned how to be at home in myself. And this way, I get to carry my home with me wherever I go.

It's not really a secret. And I wish I could share this with my housemate, tell him all of the wisdom I have gleaned from these last eleven years of my life. But I won't. Because these are things that he'll have to figure out on his own. So I just laugh and say, "Ah, 35 is not that old."

And really, it's not that old. Unless of course I am to believe my birthday horoscope in The Onion, which reads, "This is an important birthday for you, especially considering how very, very few of them you've got left." Ah well, I guess I better enjoy my birthdays while I can.

resigned

Last week, I resigned as the Visionary Pastor for Wind of Peace Church. My decision came after much prayer and reflection. In my resignation letter to the region, I wrote,

This past year, I have been exploring the South Loop, discerning ways in which God’s Spirit is moving in that community, and envisioning a new church there. What an amazing and blessed year it has been! And I know that God can and will do amazing things in this neighborhood which Chicago Magazine describes as “the hottest neighborhood in the country”. I feel a tremendous loss knowing that I will no longer be a part of what God is doing here. However, life, love, and family commitments call me away. And I must pursue another path.

The new path I am pursuing involves moving away from Chicago with my Beloved. My heart is brimming with wonder and excitement as I envision our future together, heading first to Virginia (for a year), then immigrating to Canada.

At the same time, I am grieving. I had such hopes and dreams for a faith community here. And I have fallen so deeply in love with this city and the people here. Oh, it will be hard to move away from the friends and family I have made.

But I am committed to this Love. And so I have reconciled myself to the loss that comes with this decision. I guess you can say that I have not only resigned from this ministry, but I am resigned to the ending of this season of my life. Yet even in this resignation, there is a hopeful resolution.

I am so excited for what lies ahead...

the sun stands still

Yesterday, for just a brief moment, the sun stood still. Did you notice? Our planet, tilting on its axis, held those of us in the northern hemisphere up to be kissed by our sun. It's the closest we'll be to the sun until this time next year.

Summer has officially begun. And so has the shortening of days. The earth spins, carrying us away from our star.

Yesterday was the solstice, from the Latin sol, meaning sun, and sistere, to stand still. Too bad I didn't stop, stand still, and bask in the solar embrace. I hope you did.

Crazy Notes: Lessons on Singing in Community

[a belated Father's Day post]

I love to sing. I was singing before I was talking. At least that is what they tell me. Even before I could form words, I was able to make melodies.

Maybe it's in the genes. Or maybe it was growing up surrounded by music. But which ever, the love I have for music and my propensity for it are things I inherited from my dad. He is one of those folks who can pick up an instrument and learn to play it. He plays guitar, banjo, mandolin, bass, piano, and myriad other instruments. And he sings. His voice is a bright, warm tenor. It's a voice that brought me so much joy and comfort as a child.

When I was little, Dad used to bring his guitar into our pink bedroom and sing us to sleep. He sang "The Yellow Rose of Texas" for my sister; that was her song. "You may talk of Clementine or sing of Rosalee / but the yellow rose of Texas is the only girl for me" except Dad would change the last line to "but the yellow rose of Texas, her name is Hilary".

"Sing a song about me!" I begged. I wanted a song that was my song, like Hilary had hers. So Dad thought a moment, then sang, "You Are My Sunshine". It didn't have my name (Rachel is a hard name to rhyme), but it sufficed.

I learned early on that if I wanted to stay up later than my bedtime, I would just request another song. So we sang and sang. "Puff the Magic Dragon", "Rock Island Line", "The Titanic", "Blowin' in the Wind", "The Butterfly Song", the list goes on. It took Mom a while to catch on. Soon her, "Bill, let the girls go to sleep," became, "Rachel, that's enough. This is your last song." She knew who was calling the shots there. Yes, she knew I had figured out how to get my way.

My voice was strong. And I was really young, probably no older than three, when Dad wondered if I could carry a melody on my own. So one day, as we were singing a song together, Dad broke into harmony. (Family legend tells that) I stopped singing, put my hands on my hips and asked, "Daddy, why are you singing those crazy notes?!?"

Dad laughed first. But then he began to explain to me the wonders of harmonics. He encouraged me to keep singing the melody as he sang the "crazy notes", his harmony dancing around the tune I sang out. Well, I wanted to learn how to sing "crazy notes" (it was probably a decade before I actually learned the word "harmony" because Dad had liked "crazy notes" so much that was the phrase he used). So Dad began to give me my first lessons in music theory. I learned how the warm, rich major third comforted me with soothing consonance, while the haunting minor sixth pricked my skin with goose bumps. Soon I moved to passing tones and dissonances. I began to love holding onto the tension of a minor second or a major seventh only to find resolution in the unison. Eventually I discovered the joy of counterpoint, and Dad and I would delight in singing together our independent tunes and rhythms, while remaining in harmonic communion.

As I look back on my upbringing, the lessons of the "crazy notes" went deeper than singing pretty or music theory. It actually had a lot to do with my evolution as a citizen, as an activist, and as a member of my community. Dad always stressed the importance of faithful, thoughtful citizenship. Dad sought to raise his kids to be highly independent, opinionated, self-reliant individuals. He encouraged us to form our own thoughts, beliefs, opinions, and he empowered us to speak out, to share our ideas with others, with the world around us. Yes, we learned how to hold together independent ideas and opinions while remaining in community.

Dinner time at the Frey household was filled with lively banter and often heated discourse. We would share our thoughts on God, on government, on literature, on love, on politics, on personalities. Dad wanted us to be strong-willed, opinionated, articulate, passionate people. And for better, for worse, he got his wish. And our dinner conversations served as rehearsals for our singing our hearts and minds in the wider community's chorus. We learned to hold our own in a debate. And we learned to stay in dialogue with others, even when we disagree. Call it harmonics. Call it "crazy notes". We call it relationship. And for the most part, it works.

I love to sing. And even more so, I love to share what I believe and have a lively conversation with those around me.

Sometimes when I lift my voice and speak about what I believe, proclaim what I know to be true, I find I am singing in unison with my friends and neighbors. We are united in our opinions, in our beliefs, and we lift our voices together.

Other times, I sing out, and find that while I am not singing the same notes as those around me, it sounds pretty damn good, and there is room enough in our little song for my points and your counterpoints.

But still, so very often, I feel as if every note I sing clashes in harsh dissonance to society's melodies singing the praises of consumerism, vanity, hatred, intolerance, and war. Recently, I feel as if I have been that lone voice in the wilderness, singing out, calling for peace, calling for justice. But I keep singing my song. And I hold onto that dissonance, waiting for harmonic resolution.

But oh, the hope I experience when I hear other voices singing the crazy notes, the songs of peace with me, even against the discordant voices of the world around us. And oh, what joy and comfort I feel when I hear Dad's bright, warm tenor voice joining in the chorus.

make a wish

Last Saturday was a glorious afternoon, a perfect day for taking a book to the Point and chillin' with my 'mates. It was lovely. I was there with Scott, Pam, Adam, Mercedes, and Irv. We didn't talk much - I don't think we exchanged more than a dozen lines between us - but the afternoon of quiet company was nourishment for my soul.

At one point, I climbed down the limestone "sea"-wall to dip my feet into the chilly waters of Lake Michigan. Very near where the wave were splashing and crashing, I saw a solitary dandelion, already gone to seed, with the tenacity to grow in a crevice in the rock. I felt inspired.

So I snapped a photo.

Then, as I joined my breath to the wind off the lake and scattered the seeds of the dandelion, I made a wish: for courage, for the tenacity to grow and to flourish in precarious places.

What about you? What do you wish for?

Note: I believe this photo captures a glimpse of the lake through a cleft in the rock wall.

the fortunate ones

What is a cajun restaurant doing in a place like Edmonton, Alberta, Canada? Serving up dee-lish-ious food that's what.

But what is this same cajun restaurant doing serving fortune cookies? Don't know the answer to that. But not long ago, after enjoying an amazing meal of etouffee (accompanied by an outstanding chili lager brewed by a local Albertan brewery), these were the fortunes that awaited us:

• His: You will make a change for the better within the year.
• Mine: Prepare yourself for a change of events in your personal life.

hmm...

transportation issues and inconsistent grace

Just so you know, I hate driving. Actually, it's not the physical act of driving I despise so much as it is other drivers. I swear, the roads are packed with idiots who won't let you merge and who cut you off in traffic!!

And you know what else, I don't like myself so much when I am behind the wheel. I yell. I curse - sorry Mom - like a sailor. You know, when people accidentally swear in front of me and then they get all nervous because I'm a minister and everything, I try to assuage their guilt by saying something like, "Well, obviously you've never heard me in traffic." Yeah, I can really cuss.

Now, I am not a road-rager. I do get frustrated and yell a bit. But I don't let it build up. One second, I am screaming, "You $#*$% jerk!!" and the next, I am wailing along with Gladys. "I'll be with him (I know you will)...on that midnight train to Georgia (leaving on a midnight train - woo woo!)". Nah, I don't carry the anger with me. No racing to pass the @#$% who cut me off in order to cut him off. I like reciprocity but not revenge. And no tailgating the slowpoke going 45 in a 60 zone. That's just a useless waste of energy. I yell. I swear. I damn them to hell* (maybe not an eternal sentence, but at least some immediate condemnation). And then I move on. Back to singing with the Pips.

So no, I don't like driving. I much prefer mass transit, my bike, or my very own little feet.

But sometimes, I just have to drive. Like yesterday. I had to retrieve Craig from the airport. On our drive back into the city, I was continually pissed off by other drivers. We weren't even on our way back, we were still at the airport, when I first got irritated. You see, I was just about to pull away from the curb when this car (a Beemer) stops in the lane next to me to let somebody out. So I was trapped. Idiot!! With a few choice expletives, I wished damnation upon him.

Then on the highway, I needed to get over to the left lane to prepare for my exit. So I signaled and checked my mirrors. Which was when I noticed that the car behind me pulled into the left lane and sped up, so I couldn't get into that lane. After the car passed me, the driver pulls back into the lane ahead of me. Now, if that person wanted to continue in her original lane and go faster, why couldn't she have just stayed in the lane and let me pull into the left hand lane, which is what I wanted to do anyway? I guess she was just oblivious. Or mean. Take your pick. Either way, I issued a curse upon her.

When we arrived at Craig's home (after attending the baptism of his friend's daughter, hopefully saving her from the fiery pit and thus making her a good driver) I discovered that the back tire of my bicycle had been stolen. I had left my bike locked to a parking meter after our last bike ride. And somebody had stolen the back tire. Oh, this was upsetting. I had just spent some major bucks getting my bike fixed and I don't know how much new back tires cost, but it is certainly more than I can afford.

But interestingly enough, I wasn't angry. I was sad. And hurt. And shocked. But not angry. And then I became very philosophical, inquiring into the reasons why people steal, contemplating injustices in society, both actual and perceived, that people use as reasons to take something that is not theirs. This led to a discussion about privilege and oppression. Now, I don't want to excuse people for taking the possession of another or to imply that theft is justified (and I doubt that stealing my bike tire ensured that some impoverished children didn't go to bed hungry that night). But still, I just felt a sadness that we live in a world where people feel the need or the desire to steal from another.

So, we were having this conversation about the injustices in our society and a culture of taking from others, etc. And it was in the midst of this discussion when I suddenly realized an inconsistent absurdity about myself: if you steal from me, I will try to understand where you are coming from and what made you do it. But if you cut me off in traffic, I will extend no such mercy; you are damned.

I guess we all must live with such strange contradictions within ourselves. I just recognized another of mine.



*Note: I do not believe in some fiery-furnace, afterlife concept of hell. But perhaps that is the subject for another post.

Contradiction

What do you do with contradictory messages? I have been getting lots lately. And I am just not sure what to do with them. And on top of that, I have been reading Paul, which always makes me uncomfortable. As if I didn't have enough contradictions in my spiritual and vocational life.

I really struggle with the writings of Paul, because his stuff is chock full of contradictions. He seems to the eminent politician who, in his own words, is trying to "be all things to all people" (1 Corinthians 9:22).

On one hand he asserts, in Christ, there is neither male nor female (Galatians 3:28), and his "all are one" statement seems pretty egalitarian. Then he claims that women are to submit to their husbands (Ephesians 5:22) and that no woman shall have authority over a man (1 Timothy 2:12). Not so egalitarian after all.

In the same Galatians passage, Paul claims that in Christ there is neither slave nor free (3:28) But no, he won't go so far as to proclaim liberation for the slaves. Instead, he says they, that slaves should give honor to their masters (1 Timothy 6:1)

You know, Paul does this so often that it's hard for me to give much stock to anything that he writes. That's right, you read it here: I do not profess a Pauline faith! There I said it.

But the Church seems to put so much credence to the writings of this man. And maybe that's why the Church is in such a state. The church cannot figure out what it is, who it is called to be, and and ends trying to appeal to everyone and bowing down to the the culture around us. [The church doesn't look a whole lot different from corporate America, with the exception of the liturgical garb. We use their gimmicks for marketing, and we are just as obsessed with numbers.] Like Paul, we try to be all things to all people. And we fail to be anything authentic or real. And we fail to be agents of change, we fail to allow ourselves to truly participate in something new that could emerge, if we only let it.

Paul said that people need not be circumcised to be a part of that early Christian community (Romans 2:28-29). "Out with the old, in with the new," he proclaimed. "We're talking about a New Covenant, people!" But then he persuades Timothy, his protege to be circumcised (Acts 16:3), sacrificing the vision of what could be to the pressures of maintaining the status quo. He nods to the powers that be, instead of holding to a faith in the powers that are about to be.

Our churches today do the same thing, saying we want to do a new thing, to let God speak in amazing new ways. But when it comes down to it, we ain't gonna let it happen. We, too, hang to our old rituals, religious jargon, and ideas of what it means to be a church. And in the process we sacrifice the vision of being a truly relevant, meaningful, life-giving, liberating force in this world.

My question is this: does it have to be so?

What in God's Name?

So, watching the Republican debate last night, I kept hearing people invoke the name of "God" - to justify bad science, in this case (and in previous statements, to justify discrimination in marriage and the military and to justify an unjust war). As I watched, I just kept wondering, "Who is this God they are talking about?" Because it certainly isn't any God I know.

Aside from all of the yucky "Christian nation" implications (Romney, in defending his Mormon faith, actually said he believed as most American's believe "in God...in the Bible...that Jesus Christ is [his] personal savior"), aside from that, the candidates kept saying, "He", and referring to "Him". And my God doesn't have a gender.

And if God does, She most certainly ain't a dude.

there's no place like home

Well, I am not in Kansas. But after a two and a half month "sabbatical" away, I am back at my beloved Bowers House co-op.

It is good to be home.

My thanks and apologies

Cindy Sheehan has resigned as the "face" of the anti-war movement. You can read her resignation letter on Michael Moore's blog.

Cindy, I want to thank you. And I want to apologize.

Thank you for your continued witness, for speaking truth to power. I am sorry that we let you be our mouthpiece, and then we let you be our scapegoat. We let you speak for us, and we didn't back you up.

Thank you for fighting for peace in our world. And I am sorry that we are a nation bent on war, a country profiting from war at the cost of human life.

Thank you for trying to make our country better, for calling us to live into the values we profess. And I am sorry that we resisted such change, that we continue to play partisan politics and allow the lives of our troops and Iraqi civilians to be used as pawns in the political maneuverings.

Thank you for sharing your grief with us and for reminding us of the very real, human costs of war. And I am sorry that we as a nation, ridiculed you, accused you of being a bad mother, and mocked you in your time of sorrow.

Cindy, I understand why you must step down from this role in which you were cast. We may not be the country you love, but you represent the best of the country I love. And my hope, my prayer, is that we, as a nation, will heed your words, follow your example, and establish true peace with justice in our land.

Cosmic Wind (redux)

Craig said I was being too hard on the church. Well, he didn't quite say that, but he said that my posts did not reveal my deep love, hope, and commitment to what he knows I believe could be a life-giving force in the world.

So, let me introduce you to the galaxy M82.

This is another amazing photo from the Hubble Space Telescope, this one depicting a starburst galaxy with a supergalactic wind. The deal is, a recent encounter between M82 and another galaxy disturbed M82 and started a massive wave of star formation. The new, hot young stars are creating the cosmic wind (seen here in red) sweeping out into space.

***
Since 2001, the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) has started over 500 churches, making us the fastest growing mainline denomination in the United States. (um, actually, we are the only growing mainline denomination).

Here are just a few of the new, hot young stars, I mean, ministers creating this mighty wind sweeping our land:

• Ayanna - Family of Hope Christian Church, Blue Island, IL
• Liz - Church on the Common, Worcester, MA
• Liz - Hope Church, Boston, MA
• Amy - Milagro Christian Church, Pueblo, CO
• Molly - Table of Grace Christian Church, Elk Grove, CA
• Laura - Living Water Christian Church, Kansas City, MO

These are my friends and colleagues. And they do give me hope.

Cosmic Wind

Let me introduce you to the Eskimo Nebula.

This cool photograph was taken by the Hubble Space Telescope, and depicts a glowing shell of gas around this planetary nebula, a star very much like our sun, at the end of its lifetime. You see, as this type of star dies, it runs out of hydrogen and there is no longer enough energy flowing out of the star's core to support it's outer layers. The core begins to contract into itself, and it heats up. Eventually it gets so hot that it blows (not exactly a scientific term, but it conveys the point). You see that "fur"? It looks a bit like the hood of a parka? Well, that's gas and debris being ejected by a mighty cosmic wind blowing off the outer layer of the star.

****
Yesterday was Pentecost, the day in the Christian calendar that we consider to be the "birthday of the church." It was on Pentecost that the original followers of Jesus, a bunch of scared disciples huddling together behind closed doors, exploded into a movement that changed the course of history.

What happened on that day? Well, we know that Pentecost was an obligatory feast day in the Jewish calendar, so people had made the pilgrimage, streaming into Jerusalem from all over the celebrate the feast in that holy city. Everyone was there - Medes and Elamites from the east; Romans from the west; Libyans from the south; and Cappodocians from the north. Only one group was missing, the followers of Jesus, who had locked themselves away. They were scared. Remember what happened on the last feast day, the Passover? Their leader had been arrested and executed! Their fear is understandable. And so is their reaction: they barricaded themselves in their room, believing that their safety lay in sticking together and keeping everybody else out.

Perhaps they would have continued on that way, pulling into themselves, seeking to find safety and security within their own little sanctuary, locking their doors to the outside world in hope of preserving themselves. But such was not the case. No, in Acts 2, we read that a mighty wind blew through that room, blowing off the doors and windows of their dying community, and hurling the followers of Jesus out into the world, ignited and set aflame, their lives to burn as a witness to truth and peace and justice and compassion.

We often fall into the same patterns as those early disciples. The world has become a frightening place for us, and so we lock our doors to barricade ourselves against it, believing that our safety is in sticking together and keeping everyone else out. We call our buildings freaking "sanctuaries"!! And we see Church as a place for threatened, like-minded people to get together and agree on everything that is wrong with the outside while keeping ourselves apart from the scary world in which we live. We decide who gets to join, and often that decision is based on who looks like us, who talks like us, who acts like us,who thinks like us, who loves like us. In fear, we contract into ourselves. And all this reveals that we are dying. We need a mighty cosmic wind to blow through us, to blow off our outer layers of debris, our locked doors and windows, and hurl us out into the world, into the streets, to do the good work that needs to be done: ending war, ending poverty, ending oppression...

And if we cannot let this wind blow, to let God's spirit transform us into a movement that actually participates in the healing of the planet, well then maybe it is time we finally burn out and (at the risk of mixing mythologies) see what rises from the ashes.

What if?

This weekend is Pentecost in the Christian tradition. Pentecost, though originally a Jewish festival, is held to be the "birthday of the Church" because it was during the festival of Pentecost when the original followers of Jesus received what we in the Church call "the gift of the Spirit". It was this Spirit which transformed that rag tag group of frightened disciples, bereft of a leader, into the founders of a movement which came to be known as Christianity.

So, in a few days, it's time to sing "Happy Birthday" to the Church. But I am not sure if I want to.

If you know me (or if you have read some of my blog entries) you know that I have a love-hate relationship with the institutional Church. I distrust the destructive hierarchies and I deplore the abuses of power. Yet I have such hope and vision that the Church can be so much more than it is. Which is ultimately why I stick with it. If I didn't have such love I would have left this racket ages ago.

Yesterday I was having lunch with my old friend Scott, always a bright and insightful man, but somewhere along the way, he has turned into a brilliant and reflective theologian and ethicist. Anyway, we were talking about my on-again, off-again love affair with the not-so-organized religion of which I am a part. He laughed. He has known me for a long time, and while I have grown much in the years since we first met, I still have the same love and hope for the church I have always had, along with same frustrations because the church fails again and again to be a place of love and and care and justice and compassion and peace and goodwill. [ugh! it drive me crazy! We could be so much, and yet we don't even try!!!] As we were talking, Scott posed a question to me, one he had posed to his students a few weeks back:

"What if we stopped calling ourselves 'the Church', and instead called ourselves 'a community of people who follow Jesus'?"

Now that has got me thinking. What if we did that? What would that mean? What would that look like?

I think I could get behind that. I mean, that is what the church ultimately is, "a community of people who follow Jesus", we've just made it into something icky. When Jesus called disciples, he didn't say, "worship me" or "idolize me" or "commodify me with your mass marketing you call evangelism". No, he said, "Follow". I interpret this to mean, "Follow my way of living. Follow my way of loving. Follow my way of boundary breaking, of opposing systems of oppression, of calling attention to poverty, injustice, and religious hypocracy." I consider myself 'Christian' because I choose the model of living presented in the man Jesus of Nazareth as one I strive to follow.

Another aspect of Scott's question/suggestion I find appealling is the emphasis on community. The Christian faith is not something that can be lived out in isolation. It's not some personal, private affair. Rather, the Christian life is one lived within a group of people who share values and commitments and together try to be faithful to discerning and fulfilling the calling to follow.

So, here we are on the weekend of the Church's birthday, and I am wondering what you think about reframing our understanding of Church and reimagining what it means to "be Church'. I am interested to know how you would answer Scott's question. What if we did that? What would that mean? What would that look like?

What if we stopped calling ourselves "the Church", and instead called ourselves "a community of people who follow Jesus"?

gas

He was leaning to the left and burping. Not an obnoxious, I'm-trying-to-gross-you-out kind of burp, but instead a burp of the I'm-sorry-but-I-have-gas-and-it-sucks variety. The burping I understand; we had yummy Mexican at Los Nopales for dinner last night. But every time he would burp, he leaned to the left. And this puzzled me.

He saw my quizzical look and said, "I always lean to the left when I burp." And of course, there is a good scientific explanation for this. You see, our stomachs are on the left side of our abdominal cavities. And the esophagus comes down and enters the side of the stomach at a bit of an angle. By leaning to the left, one can align the body so that the esophageal junction is at the top of the stomach instead of the side and thus make it easier for the gas to be expelled.

Okay, it makes sense. But now I am concerned. You see, here I thought I had found myself a good left-leaning liberal. But maybe he's just been gassy all along.

I've been tagged

So, my friend Dawn, a poet who blogs on MySpace, tagged me in an online version of the childhood game called, well, um, tag. Actually, she tagged me over two weeks ago, but I was out of town, and then I have been so very busy being chased that I wasn’t ready to be “it”. But now I am, so here goes:

"The rules are: once you have been tagged, you have to write a blog with six weird, unique or unusual facts or habits about yourself.... at the end, you need to choose six people to be tagged and list their names and why you chose them.... don't forget to send them each a comment that says, "you have been tagged....go read my latest blog...."

So six things about me…

1. Since Dawn’s two reasons for choosing me were that we grew up together and that I am a minister, I will address both my younger years and my calling to the ministry. All in this first statement. I am a minister who was both (a) kicked out of my junior high youth group, and (b) flunked chapel not once, but twice, at Baylor University.

2. Despite having my patriotism questioned repeatedly, it is a fact that I have sung the national anthem at a major league baseball game. Solo. It was an Astros-Reds game. And my darling ‘Stros won. How ‘bout that?

3. I like to put chips in my sandwiches. I delight in the crunchy yumminess they provide. And jalepeño-flavored kettle chips are my favorite. I don’t eat very many sandwiches though. Thus not very many chips either.

4. Strangely enough, though I am an ordained minister in mainline protestant tradition, I distrust and even dislike most institutional hierarchies. In fact, I can’t think of a single one I do like. Or trust. Makes for an interesting fit in the Church.

5. I will only buy my gas at Citgo. I am all about supporting the Venezuelan government. However, I would rather bus, bike, or walk.

6. My favorite word is reciprocity. I enjoy the feeling of it sliding off of my tongue. And the meaning is pretty cool, too. It is something I strive for in my relationships. Mutual dependence. Cooperative interchange. Give and take. It’s a good thing.


Now, who will I tag?

BC – He is one of the most thoughtful (and provocative) bloggers I know. His posts always challenge me. And our society.

new north – My new online friend has such a delightful way of turning a phrase.

REFUGE – Janel, I want you to start blogging again!!! Your writing is so beautiful.

God save us… – Scott is an old friend who just happens to be a brilliant theologian/ethicist blogging on contemporary issues from a fascinating and challenging perspective.

the church down the street – Audrey is a caring pastor. And one of the funniest people I know.

All day to get there - Jason, will you use your paintings to tell us about you?

Nae-nae – Yes, I know this is seven, but I cannot leave out Shannon. This is going to be fun. I can’t wait to read what she has to write.


And the rest of you, please fell free to play along in the comments.