something to identify as


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I heard a song on the radio this evening by Patrick Stump featuring Lupe Fiasco called, “This City.”  It’s a new single, it has an okay beat and the lyrics are kind of lame.  As one listener texted in, it sounds like a song that should be on high school musical.  Teen pop, whatever.

But as I sat there thinking about the lyrics, I thought, here are two guys who are totally proud of their city, in spite of all of the bad things that happen in it.  They mention corruption and gentrification and racism and even the weather, but they love that city (Chicago) anyways.

My emergent cohort read this month Tony Jones’ new book “The Church is Flat.”  He describes a relational ecclesiology that he finds within emergent theology and emergent congregations across the United States.  Being his doctoral dissertation, it is a bit heavy, but was a good mental exercise to explore.

As I drove in the car listening to this new song playing on the radio, running through my head was the conversation I had only an hour before about identity and belonging and authority.

Pulling from new social movement theory and characterizations, Jones claims that the emergent church movement helps people to claim a “new or formerly weak dimensions of identity.” In the process, the “relation between the individual and the collective is blurred.” The actions, behaviors and identity of a person become all wrapped up into the movement and your very participation in that movement gives you an identity.

Think about it like this:  50 years ago when a couple introduced themselves to new neighbors, one of the first sentences they might have shared was, “We go to the Methodist church.”  Their very identity was wrapped up in the church.  They raised their children in the church.  They belonged on the church softball team.  But then came the 60’s and 70’s and that communal identity started to be questioned.  The next generation would go back to the church only to raise their kids, if at all.  And then the GenXers who followed were either not brought up in the church at all, or it was a background institution that had little to no bearing on their personal identity.

As an offhand comment, there was a mention somewhere in the book about how that dillusion of identity also has come from parents marrying outside of their denominational upbringing.  A child of Lutheran-Methodist parents might have far less denominational loyalty as someone whose whole family has come from a particular tradition.
If we look at the religious landscape today, there are few who proudly claim their denominational identity as one of the primary markers of their personal identity.  I have a friend or two with a “John Wesley is my homeboy” t-shirt, but they are few and far between.  I am much more likely to encounter someone who tells me that they are a farmer or a vegetarian or a Marxist than I am to find someone in my daily walk who will tell me, I am a Presbyterian. Our churches do not form the core of our identities.

The claim that Jones makes in his book is that this is not true in emergent congregations.  In these communities, the life of the individual is tied to the life of the movement. They claim it as a part of who they are.  It impacts where they eat and what they buy and who they spend time with.  And that is a conscious action based upon their identity.

I am torn at many times in my life between denominational loyalty and faithfulness to the Wesleyan understanding of community.  While at times I hope and pray that they can be the same thing, there are many days when it is not so.  I want to belong to and lead a church that lives out their faith every single day, that is committed to the virtues that community cultivates, and that deeply seeks to follow Jesus Christ and the promptings of the Holy Spirit.  Sometimes, the institutional church just doesn’t do it for me.  Sometimes, I see glimpses and I’m energized once more.
I guess what I’m saying is, I want to write a song called “This Church.”  And I want to proudly proclaim to all the world that I love this church, in spite of its flaws.  I found my faith in this church, it raised me to know and love God, and if I have my way I’m going to stay here. You can burn it to the ground, or let it flood, but this church is in my blood. And I want to be a part of a community that every day in small and ordinary ways, seeks the will of God in all that they do. I want to be a part of a community that has the gospel in its blood… whose very identity as individuals is predicated on their participation in the body of Christ called the church in this place.

Is that so much to ask?

potluck worship


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A colleague of mine recently forwarded an email about potlucks and banquets.  It was written by  Dr. Ed Robinson, the president of MidAmerica Nazarene University in Olathe, KS.

photo by: Gözde Otman
Dr. Robinson asks us if our worshipping experiences are more like banquets or potlucks.  And by that he means: do you come to worship and wait to be served, or do you bring something to the experience and try what is offered by others?  (You can read the full article here)
I think it is a fascinating metaphor for both our worshipping life and our experience as the church.  Is the church a place and a program that meets your needs or are you an active participant with something to contribute?  Are you being served or are you serving? Are you a person in a pew or a part of the body of Christ?

I happen to love food.  And I love potlucks even more.  I’m not sure that you can be a good methodist withoutloving these two things!  So, it’s probably obvious where I fall and where I encourage you to land in the choice between a banquet church and a potluck church.

But how do we turn our churches into potlucks?  How do we encourage folks to bring something to the table? (or the sanctuary?)

First, I think we need to create opportunities in worship for folks to be active.  Participation in a responsive liturgy is not enough.  We need to ask people to get up, move around, think, respond, speak, and do things in worship.
This can be scary for churches that are accustomed to stand and sit worship.  But what I have found is that people are hungry for the chance to be stimulated mentally, physically, and spiritually.
In my own congregation, we have interactive worship every so often.  It is never something that is forced upon folks; people can stay seated if they want to. What is important is that whatever we are doing directly is related to the message for the day.
One of the first pieces of interactive worship we used related to the Lent 1 text from Genesis in cycle B.  As we remembered God’s promise to Noah after the flood – we affirmed, as a congregation, that we are blessed by God.  We proclaimed that God desires not the death of a sinner, but that we all repent and live. We celebrated that God promises  to be, and has been, with us through the storms of our lives.
Our youth group prepared the canvases by painting them red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple.  Then, following a brief mediation on the texts, I invited people to come and paint on these canvases signs of God’s promises to us.  We remembered how God has shown us grace and mercy.  We wrote words of hope and life.
Those canvases still hang at the front of our sanctuary.
Second, worship needs to connect with the congregation on a deeply personal level.  It is not enough to simply preach a sermon that talks about the world around us – it needs to apply to what they are daily struggling with.
I have borrowed and adapated resources from a number of different locations, but one of my favorite sites is creativeprayer.com.  One Sunday for worship, we talked about the sins in our own lives and used this idea for confession with sand. All around the room we place 2 gallon buckets filled with sand and handed each person a brown paper lunch sack.  As we wandered around the room, we read the questions above each bucket and if that applied to us, we put a scoop of sand in our bag. They got heavy.  It was a personal journey for each of us – and yet no one could see how much we were carrying.  It was between me and God.
Near the end of worship, we took those heavy bags and we laid them before the cross.  It was one of the most powerful worship experiences we have had in our church, because the message hit you personally.  You carried the weight of your sin to the cross and left it there.  Literally.

Third, the voices of the congregation need to have a space to be heard in worship.You cannot participate if you are not allowed to speak, to sing, to respond, to question.

While we don’t do this every Sunday (and sometimes I wonder, why not!), every so often our worship takes on a form of lectio divina.  We ask folks to reflect on the scriptures and to share with one another what they think.  There are other days when I ask folks to respond with their own questions.  Even hymn sings provide the opportunity for individuals to share their favorite music and why it is a meaningful selection from their own experience.

I have also realized that there are some people who will never speak up during church.  They don’t feel comfortable in front of large groups.  I have attempted at various times to engage in The Roundtable Pulpit: Where Leadership & Preaching Meet sessions where a small group of folks help me to reflect on the text for the coming week.  Those questions and ideas are then woven into the sermon.  It provides an opportunity for voices other than my own to be heard and included.  I love the concept, I have just had a difficult time getting a diversity of people to show up for the weekly gatherings.

Just as we have fantastic cooks in our local congregations, so too do we have people who are gifted in word, song, dance, creativity, passion, experience, and dedication.  Just as we celebrate the good eats that come to the table when we feast together, so too should worship be a feast to God with all people offering together.

Ezra and Nehemiah… rewriting history


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In my local emergent cohort, we have been reading Phyllis Tickle’s Prayer Is a Place: America’s Religious Landscape Observed.  As this book has been in the back of my mind, I have been thinking about how we look back and view history.  As my carpool buddy Tim put it, we are always rewriting history and every history has a slant.

As I dove into Ezra and Nehemiah then this week with our Disciple study, I have been wrestling with how they, too, are rewriting history.  They come parading back into the land they were so visciously torn away from and suddenly begin setting themselves apart, above, against those who are already in the land.  They are so terrified of being punished again by God, of being sent back into exile, of having all of this tenuous peace destroyed that they immediately begin talking about righteousness and what makes them righteous.  All of the foreign wives they fell in love with and the children of those marriages have to go.  This is about purity, this is about a common identity, this is about trying their darndest to not make the mistakes of the past.

I found myself greatly disliking these two books as I read them through this time.  I lamented the fact they were so exclusionary, so focused on works and rightousness and reclaiming what was theirs.  I had never seen the texts in that way before, and it troubled me.
But I realized that we also have a group of people who grew to experience God very differently in the land of exile than their brothers and sisters who were left behind in Israel.  And so when they come back, they find folks who did not sit by the waters of Babylon and weep.  They find folks who managed to go on worshipping God in the land without the temple.  They find folks who are now complete strangers to them… adversaries.
Having this revelation about Ezra and Nehemiah helped me to see how difficult it is to lay claim to a space in the world without pushing others away.  In any attempts to define ourselves, we inevitably also say what we are not.  We tell our stories in such ways that show how we have arrived at a certain place and that might mean that others must be written out of our histories.  Is this a good or a bad thing?  Is it simply reality?
Alongside these two accounts, we also find the prophet Haggai who tells this story without such an exclusionary tone. We find the story of Esther who was in the diaspora and who saved her people by her relationship with the gentile king.

What a wonderful thing it is that our sacred texts can hold these contradictions together.  That we can witness to both our struggle to self-identify and to include, to be a people among people and to be a people set apart.  What it means to be faithful in this world is not a black and white story, but it is a complicated interweaving of telling our stories, saying who we are and who we are not, working to make the best of our lives in a given place, our attempts to be faithful, our mistaken journeys down wrong paths… and through it all, God is still God.

And thanks be to God that in each of our readings of these sacred texts we are lead deeper into a realtionship with God.

my very own cohort… #reverb10

Still catching up on the 31 reverb10 prompts from the month of December.  Little by little, I will get through them all!!!
So tomorrow, we start with our first monthly gathering of 2011.  We are looking at Carol Howard Merritt’s “Reframing Hope.” (I wrote some about it yesterday)  I can’t wait to continue the conversations and to meet some of the new folks who will be joining us for the first time!  Plus, Fusion has this Maccu Piccu Mocha that is absolutely to-die-for.  Totally yummy. (just saying.)

December 7 – Community. Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011? (Author: Cali Harris)

In the last year, a new group of conversation partners have begun meeting in Eastern Iowa.  In some ways, it started with connections made at the JoPa Theological Conversation with Jurgen Moltmann back in 2009.  A few of us realized – hey, there are Iowa folks here! And we committed to gather more locally and chat.

I also recieved an email from a guy who wanted to start talking about emergent theology/church themes near the beginning of that year.  We live nearby and a coffee shop conversation began.

Since those initial plans, the Eastern Iowa Emergent Cohort was rebirthed.  I’m not sure who started it, or who was involved, but the conversation had gone silent for a while.  But we have some new faces, some new energy and last year planned three face-to-face conversations.

It has been so strange for me to enter these emergent conversations, because I am what Carol Howard Merritt calls a “loyal radical.”  I am firmly planted in the tradition and I wouldn’t leave it for the world, but there are facets of the emergent movement that so speak to me. The deep sense of community, the diffusion of authority, the importance of communal discernment, the focus on a rule or way of life, the place for questions, etc.  There aren’t a lot of places to talk about that either in the hierarchical church (although I am making those connections) or in the local congregation I serve. And to be honest, I have not come into the community through traditional venues like blogs and books either.  I kind of just discovered it on my own and then sought words to explain what I was thinking/feeling.

You see, I first was introduced to the entire idea of emergent theology and postmodernism back in Nashville, Tennessee.  I can still remember walking down the sidewalk with Kay Hereford Voorhees and learning all about postmodern theology on a sunny afternoon.  I was working at a large, very traditional, uptown church that had this little quirky group of folks who were exploring other ways of being faithful.  We began an emergent worship service before we even quite realized what we were doing.  We had an intimate and holy community of faithful folks who weekly walked with one another.  I miss that group of folks VERY MUCH!!!

As I prepared to move back to Iowa, I knew what a gap would be left in my life, and so this blog was an attempt to fill that gap. But I also longed for the types of conversations having through cohorts meeting at the Flying Saucer in Nashville, or the Emerging UMC (version 1) event we had. Iowa seemed like a barren landscape, void of partners.  Boy was I wrong.

This new community is a breath of fresh air.  It is a chance to ask questions and wrestle with folks who think the way I do… and find themselves in congregations like mine.  Some of us maintain contact on twitter or facebook, but these three gatherings have turned into a desire to have a more frequent relational contact.

Postmodern Church and the Farmlands of Iowa… Part 3

In this installment, I want to talk about some of the “best practices” that I see coming out of emerging, missional, and postmodern churches. Some of these practices are mentioned in Diana Butler Bass’ book, Christianity for the Rest of Us, but they also come from Kester Brewin’s, Signs of Emergence. A few of the “best practices” are ones that I have been introduced to as I have been in conversation with pastors across the country.

First, I think in emergent churches there is a deep shift towards becoming a community of practitioners. Rather than offering services to be consumed, these congregations invite individuals to become a part of a communal pilgrimage. Or as Dan Kimball claims, the emerging church will have to teach people “that they are the church and that they don’t simply attend or go to one.”

Faith becomes “a craft learned over time in community,” according to Bass, as she describes the Seattle Church of the Apostles which takes seriously this communal pilgrimage. Realizing that many in the community had no experience whatsoever with Christianity, they developed a process called The WAY, focused on creating pilgrims rather than members. In the year long journey, “the goal is to help them at their own pace to come into a living relationship with Jesus Christ that takes over the center of their life.”

As I have seen this lived out, on the ground, many emergent faith communities are actually small groups that are connected to more institutional churches.  In some ways, I think of them as that magic 10% of the people who get it and who really want to live out their faith.  As Taylor Burton Edwards has talked about Wesleyan missional groups and accountability groups and class meetings – in some ways he has encouraged people to focus on those people who want to take the deeper plunge. Their journey and witness can become a catalyst for other transformations in the lives of your congregation members and in people completely unconnected to the church. Praxis rather than doctrine rules this shift.
Another “best practice” is that these churches take seriously their location. Kester Brewin describes these churches as adaptable systems that resist standardization. While the modern scientific perspective took something from one context and directly applied it to another, the postmodern realizes that cookie cutter ministry will not work and that each church needs to be authentic to its own location.

For example, Bass describes an Episcopal church that began a Hispanic congregation for new immigrants. In their worship practices, and especially in communion, they felt they needed to pay attention to what it means to be “home”:

Think of the joy of going home to the house you grew up in, with the smell of your mother’s cooking in the kitchen, the tastes of food, the sounds of family. Here, like your mother’s table, the Lord’s table welcomes you home. Here we are an extended family in the Spirit through communion. You are all members of God’s house.

That might seem comforting to us who fondly remember what it is like to be gathered around a parent’s dinner table.  But how much more welcoming is it for a community of people who are far from the homes they grew up in.  How much more inviting is that statement for a people who are creating a new home in unfamiliar territory.  When you are disoriented and alone, the reminder that God welcomes us into a wider family is powerful.  The goal is not to market to a specific audience or offer a product; rather the church must look seriously at how the gospel comes alive within the experiences of the people.

In Indianapolis last year, I was able to immerse myself in the Earth House Collective and Lockerbie Central United Methodist Church.  They recognized that their neighborhood was quickly changing and that their dying congregation needed to adapt.  So they transformed their basement into a restaurant and their fellowship space into a coffee shop and they tore out the pews and in addition to Sunday night worship, they host plays, dance performances, movies, and concerts.  Their church became a community center and thousands of people come in through their doors each year. That is not something that I can just transplant into a rural community – but it authentically came from their location near the Indy arts district.

The third thing that I find imporant in these churches is their spirit of discernment. Brewin describes this as creative waiting:

So against our hasty judgment, and in God’s scientific wisdom, before we can experience the transformation that is vital to our survival, we will be required to wait. To be acted on gently, gracefully, and peacefully. Shaped, not crushed; guided, not dragged.

The Church of the Epiphany in Washington, D.C. has adopted the more traditional Quaker practice of open worship.  They are asking what God wants for them as a church by listening together in small groups. They gather to hear the truthfulness of God. There are no speeches, no panel discussions, and no debates here, only the deeply countercultural act of silence… When ready, someone shares… the speaker, who is never interrupted by the group, tries to focus the presentation on God’s presence in the midst of these concerns.

This practice is about deep openness to change rather than the modern church’s resistance to it. Just imagine if a congregation was able to say, “just because we’ve never done it that way before, doesn’t mean we can’t.” Bass reminds us that the Christian story is about metanoia or “the change of heart that happens when we meet God face-to-face.” To deny this, is to deny our calling.

Finally, these congregations live with “both/and.” This is the postmodern notion of being comfortable with paradox and contradiction, yet it is also deeply Christian. When asked what he had learned during his long life about the Christian journey, Elton Trueblood responded with the word “and”:

It is good and bad; it is made up of life and death; it is being close to God and sometimes distant… It is the task of the Christian to live in the ‘and,’ in the ambivalence of life.

All the vital congregations Bass studied lived in this tension. They were “creative and traditional, risk-taking and grounded, confident and humble, open and orthodox.” The church I interned with in Nashville, Tennessee was large enough that some of those tensions were felt.  We were a fairly diverse group of folks – liberal and conservative, traditional and yet also willing to try new things.  A small and powerful worship service began on the fourth floor of the building in an old theater space and I think for a year and a half – the folks who gathered there really lived in that tension of the “both/and.”

These four characteristics are what have inspired me about the praxis and theology of the emergent church.  I find in each of them deep biblical roots and have seen the transformation that occurs when they are allowed to take center stage in communities and congregations. But for the most part – that happened in urban contexts, in population centers, with resources like money and talent and time to help foster them.

What happens when the theology and practice are transported to a small county seat town in Iowa?  Stay tuned…

Postmodern Church and the Farmlands of Iowa… Part 2


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So, the first thing I want to tackle is some semblance of a definition.  What on earth are we talking about when we say “postmodern” and “emergent.”

The simple answer is that there isn’t a simple answer.

In The Emerging Church, Dan Kimball describes the post modern world as:

An emerging and developing worldview and culture pursuing what is beyond modernity. It holds there is no single universal worldview. Therefore, truth is not absolute and many of the qualities embraced by modernism no longer hold the value or influence they once did. It can still be defined as we like, since it is still forming and developing. (The Emerging Church, 58)

Fundamentally, postmodernism is a reaction to the modern world.  And the modern world was itself a response to a premodern world (something we quickly forget). The main thing we want to consider is the idea that the modern person believes that reason leads to universal truths and that power and faith can be placed in both reason and science. Now, the words reason and science don’t sound like terms we throw around a lot in rural congregations… but the fact that we organize our thoughts into universal truths absolutely appears.

The main way that modern people do this is through metanarratives, a term coined by Jean-Francois Lyotard. These are overarching stories that make sense of the world and place everything in context. Whether this is the notion of Progress or Communism, Democracy or Christianity, these narratives claim to be objectively true for all people.

That sounds mighty nice.  But the problem, as Heath White points out is:

Modernism, with its emphasis on reason, insists on resolving or eliminating the differences between people. But this leads eventually to coercion, oppression, domination, cruelty, and abuse of one form or another. Anyone who believes in One True Culture – one right way of doing things – is, knowingly or not, a closet tyrant. (Postmodernism 101 , 43.)

The postmodern person is someone who has lost faith and trust in reason and these metanarratives precisely because they have failed. They have become aware that these conflicting metanarratives cannot all be “True” (note, that was with a capital “T”) and they recognize that other narratives, cultures and peoples have been suppressed by them. Thus, postmodernism is the rejection of absolute, objective moral, social and political claims.

A great example of this is the theory that claims if we spread democracy abroad, then conflicts in areas like the Middle East will be solved.  However, we fail to take into account that democracy evolved out of a specific Western religious and cultural context.  Simply implanting that metanarrative onto another context has proved to be next to impossible. And that doesn’t even get into the question of whether it is moral or ethical to impose one way of doing government onto another people.

The problem for people of faith is that the Judeo-Christian worldview is precisely one of the metanarratives that is called into question through this deconstruction of modern thought. And here the church folk run screaming away from anything labeled “post-.”  What we have to remember, however,  is that this critique of metanarratives does not mean that we are flat out rejecting God or the faith that we have carried.  Instead, what the postmodern Christian is aware of is that their narrative is not alone in the world, nor does it have a monopoly on the truth, nor is there a single, universal way of being Christian in the world.
Of course, the first obstacle that pops up into my mind, and the first response of my folks in the pews is: What about Jesus – doesn’t he say he is the Way, the Truth, and the Life?
Yes, Jesus does.  But what it means for Christ to be “the truth”… that’s exactly what we are trying to figure out. Is it capital “T” Truth?  Is it truth for me?  Is it a rational truth that I must assent to or a truth about a way to live my life? Is it the only truth? Are there other truths? And if so, is Jesus a part of them, also?  (If you have ever heard the story of the five blind men and the elephant… you get the idea of where this can go)

While, in the modern world, symbols pointed to exactly what they represented and had one meaning, in a postmodern worldview symbols, language, and culture are all deconstructed. Postmoderns are comfortable with paradox and look for inherent contradictions, something Heath White describes as irony. Or as Dave Tomlinson puts it:

image and reality are so deeply intertwined that it is difficult to draw the line between the two. (The Post Evangelical, 75 )

What is symbolic?  What is reality?  Can we change the symbols and convey the same truth? In another culture will the same symbol carry a completely different meaning? And with this slew of questions, we look around and find Santa on a cross, Garth Brooks doing pop music, and Buddhist-Christians. Or perhaps, in the more common manifestations, we have a lack of denominational loyalty, church shopping, spiritual but not religious folks, and self-help preaching masquerading as the gospel.

In this postmodern and post-Christian climate, it is no wonder people are confused.  As he describes the effects of such cafeteria style choices, White writes:

All this borrowing, stealing, adding, subtracting, grafting, and splicing of traditions leave postmoderns without ‘roots’ in the sense that anyone raised in a premodern culture might have had them. There is no all-embracing, unquestioned and unquestionable cultural envelope that keeps them secure in one way of doing things. They have traded roots for freedom and choice because, after all, deep roots keep you stuck in one place. (White, 129)

Diana Butler Bass also describes this sense of rootlessness, using phrases like “spiritual nomads” or “strangers in a strange land.” (Christianity for the Rest of Us, 22-23.)

Okay, so we have this background of metanarratives being dismantled and people feeling rootless and not knowing quite where to turn… and we have (I fear) a church that is still stuck in a modern mindset. We are still trying to fit people into molds, we are still proclaiming metanarratives, we have five-point plans of salvation. EEEK!

This might be where some many most churches are… but this is also where the “emergent church” movement comes in. There are so many books and blogs and youtube videos out there, but one resource that really stuck out to me was the book Christianity for the Rest of Us.  In it, Diana Butler Bass points us toward the reclaimed role of the church.

Rather than proclaim a new metanarrative, she believes we are to invite one another into the life of the Christian faith. For White, we can do so through sharing and experiencing the promises we have received from God – not hoping that things will get better through natural progress (aha – there science and reason poke their heads in again), but trusting that “in the face of death, we have the promise of resurrection” (White, 155).

I stumbled across a blog post today (after this had been up for a bit) by Tom Sherwood about the postmodern critique of Christianity, which is entirely fascinating.  This section in particular caught my eye:

One of the distinct differences between the Bible and the other metanarratives mentioned that Lyotard rejects, is that the Bible is based on faith, not universal reason… It is this appeal to faith, along with the liberative character of the narrative that allows the Bible and Christianity to rise above the critique of incredulity toward metanarratives. When the Bible and Christianity become oppressive, or rely too heavily on universal reason, Lyotard’s incredulity towards metanarratives applies…

Correctly understood, the Bible is not a metanarrative. Lyotard would not reject it as a metanarrative, as it is neither inherently oppressive or self-legitimating using universal reason. Instead it is the story of how God works in communities and the history of the Christian story. The Biblical narrative is extremely important to Christianity, but Christians need to take a step back from modernism and look at what can be learned from the ancient Christians. The Bible is a story of faith, it does not rely on universal reason to prove what it says. Instead, the stories are proven true by the people that live out the continuation of the story.

For Bass, that is exactly the role of the church: to transform lost spiritual nomads into Christian pilgrims.

In order to do so, the church must hold together tradition, practices and wisdom with a keen self-awareness. It must remember Barth’s claim that the church takes no one social form and that “every institution is affected by the culture in which it lives and especially the culture in which it was born” (White, 14). The church must allow its style, practices and doctrines to change as it attempts to be faithful to God in particular contexts and  among particular peoples.

Doug Pagitt has a new book out called Church in the Inventive Age that I need to get my hands on.

He would change that list I made above of style, practices and doctrine and talk instead about our cognitive beliefs, our values, our tools/structures, and our aesthetics. He rightly points out that when you start to mess with any one of those, folks get downright uncomfortable.  But I think in some ways, he is pointing to the fact that our doctrines, our values, our styles and our structures themselves become idols.

What I am interested in are the congregations that have discovered ways to acknowledge this postmodern shift within their churches and by doing so they are not only thriving, but are transforming lives as they attempt to be faithful to the gospel. In part 3, we will look at some of what we can learn from some of the churches that “get it.”

Postmodern Church and the Farmlands of Iowa… Part 1


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In our final year at Vanderbilt Divinity School, we work on the crowning glory of our graduate work: our seminar paper.  As I sat down three years ago to write this work, I was very interested in how I might take all that I had learned  and take it back home to Iowa.  I knew I was heading into a rural congregation and I wanted to prepare myself.

During that time at Vandy, my eyes were opened to postmodern culture and theology – particularly manifested in the emerging church movement. I am convinced that this “movement” is not a fad within the church, but a group of individuals and communities who are thoughtfully re-examining their theologies and practices in order to be more faithful to the gospel in their particular place and time. I have begun to be a part of their discussions in small group meetings, conferences, on blogs and through email and every chance that I get to explore what this might mean for the institutional church, especially my United Methodist tradition, invigorates me! I resonate with the ways in which tradition is invited to become organically connected with the present reality of our lives. I find new energy and hope in the emphasis on ritual, community and shared experience. Above all, I have discovered a new framework by which to describe the most meaningful religious experiences of my life.

At the same time, I felt a deep calling to be in ministry in Iowa… which perpetuated a small identity crisis as I tried to figure out how this integration might be possible. Postmodernism was rarely discussed in the churches I grew up in and was often seen more as a threat than a blessing. I am not like the pastors who nurtured my own faith and the “model leaders” who are uplifted and revered by the church culture. I am aware of a deeper, more authentic and communal style of leadership within me and postmodern theology has helped me to claim my own voice and calling as authentic. But the question in the back of my mind was whether the church in Iowa would see it the same way?  This seminar conversation began as I asked myself what God wanted me to bring from my own experience that would be beneficial to the church there?

The reality is that the church itself (mainline, United Methodist, Protestant, small churches, you name it) is in danger of becoming irrelevant. More and more young people are seeking their faith outside of the institutional church – not in a rejection of Christianity, but in an attempt to preserve their own best faithfulness. I have in fact been one of those people, and yet cannot escape a call to remain within my tradition.

Which is possibly why this quote by Karl Barth stood out to me:

To the distinctiveness of its calling and commission, and therefore to the form of its existence as the people of God in [the] world…, there does not correspond in the first instance or intrinsically any absolutely distinctive social form [of the church].

If the church is not authentically living out its calling and commission through its present form, then perhaps in light of postmodernism it does need to be reformed.

At the time, I was interested in how I could take my education, my experiences, and the resources I gained in an urban and academic setting and apply it to rural ministry. I have always understood that it is my duty as a pastoral theologian to help the church hold in tension its tradition and its present reality… while at the same time being faithful to the gospel.  So now, three years later, I want to return to the paper to see what has changed, what I have learned, and where I still want to wrestle. This conversation is my attempt to point to the intersection of postmodern church and rural United Methodist life I discovered, but now, with three years of ministry under my belt, I want to not only imagine what this faithful living might look like, but share what I have learned on the ground.

In the next few weeks, I’ll share some of the various contexts that are at play, some basic background on postmodernism, and what its like to be a congregation in a small town in Iowa. Then we’ll look at the role of theology and practice on the ground.  I hope you’ll join me – and if you have any questions or want to share your own insights – join in!

Why the Revised Common Lectionary is the perfect model for Emergent Church


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Random thought came to me tonight.  How it came to me is the subject of my next blog…. but in any case.

Every week, people all across the world use the exact same texts to tell the stories of scripture.  We start with the exact same thing.  And then we take those few words, those phrases, those verses and we transform them into “emergent” sermons.
As pastors, we borrow and we beg.  We look at what others have done successfully.  We rely upon the expertise of others.  But then, when Saturday night comes (yes, I’m a saturday night writer) – it’s just me and my laptop and the concerns and hearts of my congregation that I’m thinking about.  So we take all of the wisdom and advice that’s out there and we adapt and we mold and we shape and we transform what is in reality a very structured institutional thing like the revised common lectionary and we create very different, very contextual, very powerful messages for our local congregations.

That’s what we do with emerging church. we take the core of the Christian faith and the way of discipleship and we beg and borrow and wrestle and share with others – but at the end of the day it’s about how we live all of that out in our local contexts. It’s about how it makes sense for the people we work with on a day to day basis.

Just a thought.

If anyone has had it before – I would love to read more and discuss it.  If you want to borrow it – with it’s short, blinding light of brilliance – just let me know =P