the god’s aren’t angry [synopsis]

Below is my attempt to piece together my notes from Rob Bell’s talk a few nights ago.  Hopefully it provides a somewhat coherent translation of his message:

what do we do with the youth?

I’m now in the sixth year of being a youth pastor, and in that span of time I’ve thought and considered and observed quite a lot in regards to the place of youth within the greater church community.  Most of the time I have ended up completely frustrated and at a loss.

Occasionally I’ll pick up an issue of some popular magazine geared toward youth workers and ministries, and have read articles about how the youth of the church need to be integrated into the congregation, and not become some seperate entity that never interacts with the older generations of the church.  I’ve read various books by Emergent authors in which they talk about community, and how the generations needs to interact and the youth need to be valued and become an integral part of the community.  And it all sounds good.  Fantastic, even.

But exactly how does that happen?

I’ve just come on as a pastor of student ministries at a rural church and have already had multiple people approach me about various ”opportunities” for the youth.  All of the “offers” consisted of having the youth go somewhere to do free manual labor (chop wood, weed gardens, rake leaves, etc.).  And this isn’t anything new–at the previous church I served at, it was frequently the same. 

I live in a woodsy/mountainous area with lots of forests and lakes.  Subsequently there are numerous camps and retreat centers and lodges scattered throughout the area.  Yesterday after the church service, the director of one of them approached me and began by saying that a group that had planned on renting the camp a few weeks from now had cancelled, and that the lodge and cabins would be empty for that weekend.  I must admit that I was excited, and pre-emptively assumed that this person was going to generously invite the youth group to come use the camp for that weekend.  I had already thought of several things we could do up there over the weekend when they said it would be a ”great opportunity for the youth” to come up and chop wood and help clean the facilities. 

Now, I’m not at all against manual labor or getting students to engage in hard work.  In fact, I think it’s a great thing to help instill some discipline and teach them how to give of themselves and help people in need, etc.  But is that all people view the youth as good for…cheap labor?  Is that really the only place for youth within the church community, to be babysat and have their hands kept busy by raking leaves or pushing a broom?  How do we get beyond this pervasive mindset that they’re “too young” to really deal with serious matters and issues, to be an integral part of the actual rythms of the community and its gatherings?

I would love to hear from others how they have attempted this or what they’ve seen done, what worked and what didn’t.  Because I’ve heard a lot of people urging it to happen.  I’ve heard a lot of people hoping for it to happen.  But I’m not actually seeing it, and I’m having a hard time figuring out how to do it.

’tis the season

I’ve been out driving a lot lately, familiarizing myself with the various backroads and dirtroads that twist in and around this area.  Today I hopped out of my car and walked along the road for a short distance…until I came across a bunch of bear scat, dropped in various places along the roadside and full of berries.

Apparently it’s “bear season” around here.  Not in regards to hunting them…but in the fact that they are now around and more common than other times of the year.  We had some snow in the mountains last week, and with the incoming cold at higher elevations, the bears gradually make their way down to lower ones where the berries can still be found hanging on to their respective bushes. 

 So when fall arrives, so do the bears. 

a journey to be more simple…I hope.

Well, we’re moved and settled into the new community.

We’re living in the church’s first parsonage, built in 1912 and affectionately referred to by many as “the Cottage.”  Evidently they didn’t need closets back then, as the house is compltely devoid of any.  Houses were MUCH smaller, too.  But we love it.  Just moving into it was an exercise in just flat out getting rid of stuff: furniture, clothes, trinkets, junk that we’d been holding onto and didn’t need.  But it took something like this to actually go through it all and get rid of a bunch of it, because we simply didn’t have the space for it.  It’s been a really nice step toward simplicity (how appropriate that I started reading Foster’s Freedom of Simplicity just as we started the moving process?).

I hope this continues to be a new path we take in regards to how we live, and how much we live with.  For a while now I’ve wanted to have a smaller footprint in regards to the amount of waste I create, how the surrounding environment is affected by our living structure, how much and what kind of energy I use, etc.  The Cottage is a good first step…hopefully the first of MANY I hope to take.  I want to live more simply and friendly, and I’m not sure if it’s easier or harder to do in a place like this (so far, it seems that many people who live this far out in the mountains tend to be of the ‘we need to fight and subdue nature’ mindset).  Last week I was mowing our lawn with a reel mower (which I’ve used and loved for three years now), and the church groundskeeper came by and said there was a tractor/mower in the garage that I could use.  I told him I preferred the reel and didn’t the little bit of extra time and effort it took to use it.  “Alright, if you actually enjoy it,” he said.  “But it’s there if you change your mind.”

I think I’d rather downsize my lawn (which we rarely use, anyway) before I upsized mowers.  Something that requires so much water and care and naturally goes into dormancy when it’s hot and dry out (which is when we ironically try to keep it the most alive)…is that really the best way creatively tend and order the creation?  I actually did some research this past summer on the history of grass lawns.  Evidently, they were initially a symbol of wealth and high social status.  At the time, most people didn’t own much land, and so the gardens they grew and harvested food from were often planted right outside their doors due to the small plots of land most people could afford.  As the wealthy acquired more land and the land was turned into an estate, lush grass lawns were put in place, and the subsistence gardens for the estate were planted at great distances from the house to communicate the wealth of the person and their ability to spread out.

I really started thinking about this, and I wondered if this is still at play in modern suburbia.  I mean, how much time do people spend manicuring their lawns?  Why is it so important for so many to be the ‘pride of the neighborhood’ with a green, lush lawn in front of their house?  When it came down to it, status and attention seemed to be the only real reasons I could come up with.  But what if we chose a different paradigm, once that took into account our specific locations and watersheds and environments?  What if we tried to create islands or bridges of habitat around our houses for populations of native wildlife?  No animals I’m aware of (including many insects and invertebrates) really thrive in a monocultured swath of manicured grass.  Short of playing tag and kicking a soccer ball and playing catch (which do have their place, don’t get me wrong), lawns aren’t really useful for much, and especially aren’t complimentary to the environment.  But what if we planted our lawns with various trees and shrubs, especially native ones that are well-suited for the native climate and didn’t require that much additional water (if any)?  What if we decided not to simply be encroachers on the birds and lilies….but neighbors?  What if we used water with native fish and salmon in mind (that require decent river flows in order to spawn and ‘produce more of their kind’)? 

This summer we had a clothesline.  I used to think those were for people who either didn’t know that dryers had been invented, or just couldn’t afford one.  But one day I decided to hang our laundry on the line (after reading an article in Better Homes and Gardens about how dryers don’t always get rid of viruses and germs and whatnot…but the UV and ozone from natural sunlight does).  I don’t know any other way to put it, but the practice of putting clothes out to dry just seemed…spiritual.  There was something almost worshipful about it, about the action of light through fabric and movement of sheets in the wind.

It seems this sort of life allows a greater awareness of the presense of God, and in the end, that’s my goal.  I desire an immense understanding of the weight of glory, an understanding that compels me to become an active and incarnational tool for God’s shalom, for the healing and restoration of His creation and our relationships to it and each other.  It’s such a huge thing, yet seems to hang its peg on something so simple as putting sheets on the line.

learning to breathe

This year’s Off The Map conference (Hear. Listen. Connect.) is coming up in the next couple months (Nov 1-3, to be exact).  I’m excited to see how what the presenters and workshop teachers will have to say and what discussions will play out as a result.  I’m also interested to attend this one with a much greater sense of freedom than I did last year.

A year ago I was in a terribly frustrating place, very much having to fly underneath the radar in the position I was in.  I went to the conference alone, feeling like I had been holding my breath underwater for almost two years.  The time at the conference was like being able to come up for air and breath for a few days…but I new at the end I was going to have to grab one more gulp of air and put my head back under when I returned.

But this year, I’m going after just accepting an invitation to serve at a church where, although it may not at all be emerging and many people there still fear the word “postmodern,” the pastor and a few others understand it…and they know what’s going on.  One person from the church I’ve talked to has already bought a ticket to go, and the pastor might be going as well.  Even if he doesn’t, he’s already mentioned something about attending Brian McLaren’s Deep Shift conference that will be coming to the Pacific Northwest.  That was amazing, just knowing I’m among people who are interested and plugged-in, that I can at least have a conversation with about these things. 

A year ago, that wasn’t possible without being pegged as someone to keep an eye on.  Someone who might be losing his grip on ‘truth.’

But now I can breathe, and the feeling of my chest moving again is indescribable.

from rural to…more rural?

Look to yourselves, ye polished gentlemen!
No city airs or arts pass current here.
Your rank is all reversed; let men of cloth
bow to the stalwart churls in overalls:
they are the doctors of the wilderness,
And we the low-prized laymen.
In sooth, red flannel is a saucy test
which few can put on with impunity.
What make you, master, fumbling at the oar?
Will you catch crabs? Truth tries pretention here.
The sallow knows the basekt-makers thumb;
the oar, the guide’s. Dare you accept the tasks
he shall impose, to find a spring, trap foxes,
tell the sun’s time, determine the true north,
or stumbling on through vast self-similar woods
to thread by night the nearest way to camp?
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

A couple weeks from now we’ll be moving to a new community called Plain.  I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it’s going to be like there, what the culture is about, who the people are.

This past winter we had some pretty big snow, and at one point some lines went down under the weight.  Plain was one of the communities that lost power because of it.  I was at a local Starbucks and heard a local lineman talking about the incident and how it took two days to fix the lines, primarily because they had gone down in a such a remote and hard to reach area in the mountains.  For two straight days the people in Plain were without power in the middle of winter…and there wasn’t a single phone call made.  They didn’t complain.  They didn’t freak out.  They just got through it.  Contrast that with a windstorm this last spring and some lines that went down in one of the biggest cities around here (and large sections of town remained with power) and the near countless phone calls the power company received.

It seems this new community has a sort of rugged independence about it.  I’m told that people live there because they want to.  They made a conscious decision to live there in semi-isolation from the larger towns and communities of the area.  I’m not sure how or if this will play out.  Will it be a helping hand in forming community, or a hindrance?  Will relying on other people (or even accepting help) be seen as a weakness, an affront to their very DNA? 

In previous entries I’ve talked about trying to create a center, a common space.  Even in the confines of my small town it seemed hard…but in a place like this?  How does that happen?  And does it need to?  Do you need to get everyone together regularly under one roof, or is a nebulous network of relationships enough?

I’m looking forward to serving with the pastor of the local church there (there’s only one, so it is very much a non, or should I say multi, denominational church) as he is really about community.  He doesn’t want to create a church community within the community…but a community.  To to live and work and serve in such a way that everyone benefits, and hopefully, many are drawn to follow the way of Christ and help in bringing about healing and restoration and new creation.

a shift in the way things were

I recently came across the following article at ePodunk:

World More Urban Than Rural

The world passed a big demographic milestone this week. On Wednesday, May 23 [2007], the earth’s population became more urban than rural. From now on, the average human will live in a city instead of a farm or village.

While the date is symbolic, the trend couldn’t be more important. Sociologist Ron Wimberly at North Caronlina State University and two colleagues began with United Nations estimates predicting that the world will be 51.3 percent urban by 2010. They calculated the average daily rural and urban populations from 2005 to 2010 and the tipping point came last Wednesday, when an estimated 3,303,992,253 people lived in urban areas and 3,303,866,404 lived in rural areas.

This transition happened in the United States between 1910 and 1920. Our growth since then has been almost completely urban. Between 1950 and 2000, U.S. cities gained 127 million people, while rural areas gained just 4 million.

The lesson in all of this is interdependence. In the US and around the world, small towns and open spaces provide cities with clean air, water, food, and other natural resources. In return they get urban garbage, air and water pollution, and have higher rates of poverty. “Cities must depend on rural resources,” said Wimberly. “The question is, what can the urban majority do for poor rural people and the resources upon which cities depend for existence?”

If all of this makes your head hurt and you just want to get out into the country to think it over, the majority of the U.S. population is still rural in Vermont, Maine, Mississippi, and West Virginia.

well, that was quick.

“I may not have gone where I intended to go,
but I think I have ended up where I intended to be.”  
- Douglas Adams -

I recently came on staff at a local DTS that is trying to open its doors, but even within the short amount of time that I’ve been there, I’ve had quite a few reservations about my decision.  I’ve been wondering if maybe I made too impulsive a decision, trying to just get out of the frustrating situation I was in at my previous church as youth pastor.  Maybe I was just so excited about the possibility of getting out of there that I didn’t see some of the things I should have paid more attention to.  Or maybe they are things I couldn’t have seen beforehand and had to just be in this new situation to see them.  The director and I have a very similar notion of ministry and discipleship and the Kingdom, but when it comes down to putting an infrastructure in place and the regular work of getting something like this off the ground…well, things just aren’t jiving.

A couple weeks ago a local pastor and I got together.  We’ve gotten together quite a bit over the last year, but it’s been a while.  I figured he just wanted to catch up, see how things were going, etc.  But it turns out that he is looking for a ministry partner, and that the church at which he pastors is looking for someone to focus on the youth in the community (a few of the students there actually came to the gatherings that I held while a youth pastor).  In having conversations, and me just laying out where I’m at and how I now go about youth ministry and what I’d like to do…it was all fine.  Actually, he was looking forward to how I would fit in and begin to interact with students.

We’ve had a few more conversations and meetings, and my wife and I decided this would be a great move to make.  In thinking sustainably and the longterm health of a ministry relationship and partnership, it seems fantastic.  The church isn’t perfect, obviously, and it’s definitely not ‘emerging.’  It’s the only church in the town, and draws all sorts of people from all sorts of backgrounds.  But the pastor and many in the church are serious about community and the Kingdom.  This really excites me, although I must admit I am a bit hesitant about jumping back into a more traditional church role and environment.  I was feeling some real excitement and freedom to try out a new experiment in church that a few o us have been talking about for the last couple years, and this would definitely hamper that.  But I can’t shake this feeling that  I need to be workign within the institutional church right now, serving as a sort of cultural bilingual between generations and the Modern/postmodern shift I see taking place, even in a rural area like mine.  Speaking of which…

This move to a new church would require an actual move from the town we have tried to settle into, to an even smaller town.  This new town lies 15 miles outside of the nearest town.  To get an idea of the place…a hardware store is the hub of the entire community.  This place is the very definition of rural.  Podunk, if you will.

How fitting.

the mite

This whole resignation and switching to a new position thing has been terrifying.  For the most part, I have not enjoyed it.  I am excited about my new position, but this whole arena of raising personal support is humbling.  At times it just feels humiliating.  It’s always stressful.

Tonight we were invited over for dinner at some friends’ house.  When we came out and got in the van to go home, there was an envelope laying on the driver’s seat.  Inside was a card from someone we know, and inside the card was a few hundred dollars worth of grocery gift cards. 

We were stunned.

And we know that the person who gave us the card is not at all what you would consider rich or well-off.   As far as I know, this wasn’t just a handful of disposable income she was throwing our direction.  It was a chunk out of her life.  She gave what she had in order to take care of us, to bless us with something practical and tangible. 

Jesus called his disciples over and said, “The truth is that this poor widow gave more to the collection than all the others put together. All the others gave what they’ll never miss; she gave extravagantly what she couldn’t afford—she gave her all.”   (Mark 12:43-44)

[dis]connection

I spent this past weekend in Seattle.  The first night in the city I stayed with an old friend from high school, and we spent the evening catching up, hopping from one of his hangouts to the next.  My friend is single, and I asked him how the search was going for a relationship and whether it was easy or hard to meet a girl in a city.  My assumptionn was that it would be easier: with so many people coming into contact with one another, it seems logical that you would run into more people, have more opportunities for meeting people and getting together.  But my friend said that he only tends to frequent a handful of places, and a lot of other people tend to do the same…so you end up seeing the same people all the time.  In the midst of this, mini-communities tend to form around these places (even if not everyone there knows one another).

By the end of the night we ended up at an English-style pub called The George and Dragon.  My friend mentioned that this, too, was a place he frequented.  He told me that during the week there are actually quite a few older British folks that frequent the place to hang out, converse with others, watch a football (soccer) game.  During World Cup season it’s almost standing room only.  But on Friday and Saturday nights (which is when we were there), a younger crowd tends to fill the place.  As we were sitting there, surrounded by white walls and dark wood trim and a vintage poster of Winston Churchill above my head, I started thinking about what a center of community a place like this serves to be.  It’s a gathering place.  It’s a place where people show up regularly and networks of friends and people brush together and interact and sometimes interconnect.  It’s a space that allows people to come together, that encourages it.

The next day I was with some different people, and one of them made a comment about how the suburbs “kill your soul.”  They talked about how seperated people were there and how disjointed everything was. 

“It’s just stripmalls and houses.  There isn’t any culture there.”

Within twelve hours I went from a place where people were regularly coming together and creating a culture of interaction and art and music, to a place where everyone keeps to themselves in a culture of uniformity and individualism.  You might know the person living across the culdisac from you, but you don’t actually know them.  And it somehow feels empty, hollow.  It drains you.

So as I drove back over the Cascade Range to rural home and community, I thought about how that applied generally to where I live, but specifically to how the Church functions in that sort of a place.  Where I’m from, we don’t have places that you can just walk a few blocks to.  Sure, there’s a small downtown, but nothing that really creates a common space for people.  People are forced to drive into nearby towns and smaller cities to find this sorts of places.  Everyone here is spread out, distanced.  We live in a small river valley, surrounded by the same mountains, but we go somewhere else for connection.  Outside of high school sports, there isn’t really any sort of culture that people seem to be apart of.

So in this kind of culture, one of rurality and distance, both among and as one of “the hill folk”…how do we create times and spaces for connection?  How do we help facilitate the genesis of a connection culture, one that encourages and helps give birth to a shared creativity and vision of what it means to be a certain type of person in a certain type of place?