Wonderings & Wanderings

Save Us - The Search for Generous Dialogue

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Overheard at "Bean Traders" - the coffeehouse that connects to my office:
"Some Christian just tried to save my soul. Don't those fools know they're the ones who need to be
saved!"

After the Derek Webb concert on our deck behind 9th St, Sam, one of the other tenants in the building and a practicing Hindu, asks...
"Was this a 'no pagans allowed' event?"

Tim's pithy reply...
"It was BYOP. I would have invited you, but I think I was already someone's guest!"

From the film "Saved" — Mary, a senior at American Eagle Christian High School, fearing that she's pregnant and hoping for another explanation for her morning sickness:
"Oh, please, please, let it be cancer!"

Also from the film "Saved" — Tia to Mary while inviting her to a prayer circle for Mary's boyfriend:
"I'm sorry about your boyfriend's faggotry."

That might have been the point when the film's dialogue went over the top. I don't know many teens who liberally use the terms "faggotry," "fornicators," and "perverts" like the in-crowd at American Eagle High School. Or do I? When our group watched this movie on Saturday night, many us freely admitted that we are expatriots from the school of harsh religious dialogue. "Saved" is stereotypical, overly stylized, and entirely predictable at times. But the humor and the power of the movie resides in its stereotypes and the frequency of these heinous offenses in the dialogue between church and culture in the present.

The reactions to the film were varied. A few were offended and felt the need to defend the portions of Christian theology that were manipulated or skewed. Others wondered if anyone was that self-righteous and hypocritical. Sadly, I would have to argue against the latter point. Most affirmed, with no small measure of disappointment the accuracy of many of the stereotypes of the film.

Saved is certainly a religious remake of the genre of teen comedy that made John Hughes famous. The outsiders become the insiders. The insiders are publicly punished for their transgressions. The morally self-righteous are shown to be at best inconsistent, at their worst morally bankrupt. Friendship is sufficient to overcome the injustices of the teen social world without challenging the sacred value of personal autonomy. And, of course, the "right" couples get together at the end.

For our viewing crew, we lamented the state of the dialogue between the Christian community and our culture - morally, socially, artistically, and politically. If anything, this teen spoof is one more reminder of the desperate need to fashion a new dialogue between these parties.

Several asked on Saturday evening what this dialogue would look like. I have many opinions on this.

•A new dialogue between Christians and our culture would have a strong sense of "shared place" and "sacred place." By shared space, I mean that we cannot see ourselves as the rightful owners of our cultural values and cultural idioms. This sense of ownership drives us to not only inhospitality to those with whom we disagree, but to intentional efforts to eradicate these voices. Often the church's language and posture with its surrounding culture is militaristic. We dream of beating our "adversaries" with the bare minimum of marginaliziong and colonizing those who don't admit defeat. A sense of sacred space would acknowlege own ideological space while also acknowledging the ideological space of others. Sacred space calls us act respectfully while in the living room of another. Stanley Hauerwas and others have written powerfully and persuasively that we should see ourselves as aliens and strangers in this land. Such a recognition frees us to authenticity in our space, respect in the space of others, and collaboration in shared space.

•This new dialogue should be driven by the collaboration of needs and urgencies that we find in the shared space of our world. We have so many shared needs - the environment, the global impact of poverty and injustice, human dignity, and primary human needs. The urgencies of the shared space are so great that it makes little sense to spend all of our time in arenas of philosphical/ideological disagreement.

•This new dialogue would blur the lines between "in" and "out" from the vantage point of the church. This boundary has always been the province of God yet we have appointed ourselves as exacting stewards of this decision. In reality, the lines are deeply blurred. This does not mean that one cannot have a sense of inclusion in God's community nor allow for the most obvious exclusions. But so much of our efforts in clear definition are idolatrous demands for definition and control.

•A new dialogue would affirm that neither God's voice nor God's love is not confined to that which we call "church."

•A new dialogue would not water down the essential path of following Christ or the essential realities of Jesus' way. On the contrary, this dialogue would free us up to express this path rather than to defend it against intruders.

•A new dialogue would be guided by hospitality, humility, the fearful acknowledgement of the limits of our understanding and abilities to make boundaries, activism on the essential needs of humanity, love for all of God's creation, striving to embody the characteristics of Yahweh and the fruits of God's Spirit, trust in God's sovereign ability to manage the story, and a worshipful thankfulness for being included in these plans.

Such a dialogue would merit the grand title of salvation.

"Saved"

I just saw last year's Christian parody, "Saved." Given my fundy/evangelical roots - a couple scenes provoked audible laughter and stoked numerous memories.

My favorite: The "Christian Jewels," the "A group" of sanctimonious, self-righteous girls at the American Eagle Christian School are enlisted by the Headmaster (Pastor Skip - every youth minister or former youth minister on the planet has to grimace with an ounce of confession at the portrayal of this character) to "arm themselves for spiritual battle" and intervene in the life of Mary, a wayward member of their "posse" (Pastor Skip again). It's Halloween, so the Jewels are dressed perfectly for the scene in fluffy, white angel's wings. The intervention includes a roadside abduction of Mary into their van for a quickee exorcism. Mary flees in a rage and reminds the "jewels" that they don't know anything about love. This prompts, Tammy- er, Hilary Faye, the group's leader, to throw her Bible into Mary's back while boldly claiming that she knows all about God's love.

Many of us watch real life encounters that mirror this caricature and ask with no small measure of sadness, "What prompts those of us who seek to follow God to behave so poorly at times?"

Last night at Emmaus Way, we reflected in worship on this very question. We have been reading the biblical story of Jacob. Two weeks ago, we explored the story's great moment of conversion - Jacob wrestles with God and finally accepts the blessing that God has intended for him even before his birth. He accepts the new name, "Israel," becoming the name-bearer of God's people on earth. The blessing is dramatically confirmed when he encounters his wronged brother Esau. Instead of receiving the vengeful death Esau has promised, Jacob receives a kiss from his brother and restoration to his home. If that episode was the moment of conversion and blessing, then last night's episode could be entitled, "After the Conversion."

The "After the Conversion" scene is one part tragedy and one part adult film horror story. For some reason, Jacob's caravan discontinues its journey to Bethel (literally "house of God," the place where Jacob first encountered Yahweh) and stops near a prosperous dwelling of Canaanites. In the melee that follows, Shechem, the most prominent son of the community takes Jacob's daughter, Dinah, and violates her. But he is so smitten with her that seeks to marry her at any bride price (the honorable act for any man who has violated a virgin during this era). Her brothers hatch a heinous plan of revenge. The Shechemites are told that they must be circumcised for the Israelites to consider this offer. Such is the influence of Shechem (and the greed of this people in light of Jacob's wealth) that the entire male community submits to circumcision. While the men are still in pain, Dinah's brothers, Simeon and Levi enter the village and slaughter all the men. In this moment of opportunity, the rest of Jacob's sons jump in and loot the community to their great gain.

This outrageous event finally prompts Jacob to speak. Strangely silent and passive to this point, he remarks about the shame brought upon him by Simeon and Levi. Finally God weighs in. Unconsulted, Yahweh demands that Jacob move on Bethel. A classic scene of repentence and renewal ensues. False gods are surrendered. Vows of worship are made. Memorials are constructed. But what does this season of penitence and worship mean for Jacob's tribe? Are they further blessed? Do they become free from pain and sin? Of course not. Jacob's beloved wife, Rachel, dies in childbirth. In a remarkable example of differing perspectives, she names the son she delivers as "Son of Pain." Jacob overrules with the name, "Son of Promise" (Benjamin"). These differing perspectives and names seems to summarize the essence of the life of those who seek to follow Yahweh, a vascillation between pain and promise.

As if to further accentuate this point, Reuben, Jacob's oldest, decides to sleep with Bilhah, one of his father's wives which draws the curtains on this whole shameful episode that was briefly interrupted by a revival!

There is much to comtemplate in this story. All of us who claim the name of Christ should see ourselves as heirs of Levi, Simeon, and Reuben. There is no room for sanctimonious proclamations in our lives. Or perphaps we should see ourselves as Jacob, passive observers to the vengeful plans of others. Either way, the text calls us to introspection, penitence, humility, and lives that are dependent of God's character and plans as our guide. Of course, this episode trumpets the hope of the whole story. God's grace, love, and redemptive plans are undeterred by the failures and hypocracies of those who seek to follow God.

The reality of failures does not alleviate our calling to embody God's character and grace with our lives. This story should provoke a striving toward this end by revealing the shameful potential that lies in the base of our souls. The story also stirs an acknowledgement that we often live between opposing poles of pain and promise. Embracing the promise involves embracing our potential for shameful deceit and treachery. The magnitude of this realization throws light on the magnitude of God's mercy.

The Church in Transition

I did FINALLY finish the manuscript for my book — "The Church in Transition: The Journey of the Existing Church into the Emerging Culture!"

Zondervan is publishing it and it should be out by Feb. 2006. Dan Allender wrote a wonderful foreword and many friends like Brian McLaren have written kind endorsements.

I have many modest hopes for the book. I certainly hope it will bring me into to dialogue with leaders and churches who are taking active steps to translate their ministry into the realities of the emerging culture. I also that that the book will confront some misunderstandings and establish some dialogical boundaries related to fearful conversations about the emerging church and its contribution to the future of the church.

I would also love for this book to reinforce the connections between theology and the practices of ministry in the emerging culture. I'm certainly not breaking new ground here. But this is a point that I believe needs to be continually reinforced. A point that I make in the book is that copying emerging culture ministry practices without exploration of the thought and theology behind these practices has all of the inauthenticity of a bad combover.

The timing of the book was very challenging. I had imagined taking a sabbatical to do the bulk of the writing. Instead, the first manuscript was written from December through April in the midst of the first months of Emmaus Way's existance and during a season when we managing a couple family health issues. But, in retrospect, the book is much better because of the dialogue leading up to launching Emmaus Way and the experiences of the first months of this community.

I'm thankful it is done and for the added space in my life. The risk in writing this felt considerable for me (putting into words my thoughts, critiques, and hopes for the church generated over the last couple decades) and thus I grew through it. Some of my thoughts are clearer. Questions that have persisted now catalyze even greater motivation for further exploration and study. Most of all, it was a true privilege to write this.

Bright Leaves

Durham, NC is a tobacco town. Bull Durham was a brand of tobacco long before it was the minor league baseball home of Javy Lopez, Joe Morgan, Andruw Jones, and so many other stars. There really was a "Crash" Davis — though I daresay that the fictional Crash played by Kevin Costner probably hit for more power. Everywhere you look in Durham, you see the evidence of the tobacco industry - huge, sprawling warehouses, fading advertisements on falling buildings, and the Gothic spires of Duke University built with the tobacco fortunes of the Duke family. Even the renewal that graces our city bears the mark (or stain) of tobacco - Brightleaf Square, the American Tobacco Amphitheatre (a beautiful downtown shopping/dining venue on the property of the largest Duke family warehouse), the American Tobacco Mueseum, the Tobacco trail that winds through Durham county, and the spacious downtown flats in formerly vacant tobacco industry buildings.

"Bright Leaves" is a remarkable documentary that seeks to come to grips with our local history. Filmmaker Ross McElwee has created an autobiographical narrative that searches for his own legacy in tobacco-stained history and economy of North Carolina. McElwee's great grandfather actually developed the "Bull Durham" brand, accumulating great wealth from the product only to see this brand wrested from him in a series of court struggles by the infamously ruthless Duke family. McElwee presents this legend and his own ambiguous feelings about his heritage with a series of humorous images. The Duke mansion is contrasted with the asphault parking lot that now stands on the site of his great grandfather's former stately home. Images of the beautiful parks and Duke Forest that are the philanthropic gifts of the Dukes to our community are compared to McElwee Park in Salisbury, NC — a couple of benches in front of deteriorating building! As he films the vast imprints of the Duke fortune, McElwee wonders aloud, with a tongue-in-cheek wistfulness, saying "All this could have been mine!"

The film also includes clever and arbitrary insertions of his family life in Boston, haunting scenes chronicling the horrific consequences of tobacco addiction, and scenes from the 1934 Gary Cooper film "Bright Leaves" which is inspired by the epic McElwee-Duke struggle. As the historical portrait widens, a distinct irony emerges. The Duke family funds the development of Duke Medical School and the world class Duke Medical Center. The next generations of the McElwee family become doctors and surgeons with an occasional filmmaker thrown in. McElwee jokes that both these families mastered the essence of capitalism, creating the "perfect" product - a product that creates an incessant demand and also creates corrollary needs such as medical treatment. Talk about working both sides of the fence.

For Christians, the film offers several disturbing, challenging, and honest portraits. We see the awe-inspiring Duke Chapel built with tobacco money. From all over Durham, one can sees its heavenly oriented spires. Yet it was also built as a mausoleum of the Washington Duke and James B. Duke. Other images include tobacco farmers whose fields surround their places of worship. One devout farmer expresses both his and his pastor's discomfort with the subject. For Southerners, particularly North Carolinians, we have long struggled with the collision of the addictions of a tobacco economy and the potential liberations of Jesus' gospel. McElwee editing of church services, gospel music backgrounds, and scenes of addiction or disease related to cancer probes this comfort and challenges our historical silence. My rural Baptist upbringing often came to mind as I watched. I have vivid memories of strong moral judgments on dancing, alcohol, divorce, and contemporary music made by cigarette smoking Deacons.

But the film's theme transcended even the moral dilemma of tobacco. McElwee expresses a deep love for North Carolina and its beauties. Our mountains, beaches, and rolling hills fill the scenes of his narrative. The hospitality and warmth of our citizens are constantly evident. This film is about the search for a legacy and the painful work required to come to grips with the moral complexities of one's personal story. Our search for legacies always transcend simple portraits of good and evil. McElwee eventually realizes that the character played by the heroic Gary Cooper in Hollywood's version of "Bright Leaves" combines the traits of his great-grandfather AND James B. Duke. His exploration of family narrative does not sustain neither a villification of the Dukes nor a wistful martyrdom of his own family.

I was constantly reminded of a great Biblical narrative as I enjoyed this documentary. The Old Testament story of Jacob also explores these same themes of a stolen birthright, deceptive and unjust economic gain, and the difficult challenge of coming home in the midst of such legacies. Jacob's journeys in the Bible includes both a great flight from home and a bold, brash return. In the second half of Jacob's story, he courageously faces his legacy and travels back to Bethel, a sacred place where he encountered God but sadly did not know it. Our own confrontations with our pasts often takes this form — deception, flight, penitent insight, renewal, and courageous re-engagement with not only our own stories but God's redemptive presence in even the worst of our stories.

In "Bright Leaves," McElwee returns home and finds his own legacy. He is honest with the residuals of his family's association with tobacco and their redemptive responses to this stain. In the midst of his clever contrasts with the fates of the McElwee's and the Duke's, he explores meanings that go far beyond wealth, power, disease, and death.