Help the Nuba people of Sudan

So I was contacted late last year by Jessica Dotta, who is working with an organization called Media Change which (in Jessica's words) works "with non-profits that serve orphans, widows, the hungry and thirsty, the persecuted, and those who are counted as the 'least of these.'" Jessica's been rounding up bloggers and asking us to be on a mailing list to post occasional features that get out the word about folks in need, and what God is up to via the non-profits trying to serve them. This post is my first one from Media Change.  (Fellow blogger friends, if you want to participate, here's where you can sign up!)

So, please read on for an opportunity to help the Nuba people in North Sudan.  (The rest of the blog post is taken directly from Jessica's version, 'cause she said it better then I could.)

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Have you ever wondered what you would have done had you been alive in 1940 and were one of those who knew about the Holocaust?

Would you have been a person of action or a person of silence?

It is perhaps one of the most important issues to wrestle with. More than once in our lifetime we will find ourselves at a crossroad, one where the decision we make will reveal as much about our character as our convictions.

There is a genocide happening right now in Northern Sudan. The government is eradicating their own people. If we don’t speak up and help, no one else will. Each time North Sudan launches an attack to kill their own people, and we in the Western world remain silent, we give our permission to continue.

It is easier to overlook what is happening to our brothers and sisters in Sudan because the task feels overwhelming and thinking about it can make us feel helpless.

The truth of the matter is that one person alone cannot save the Nuba People. But a community of people acting in unison can.

One of the most extraordinary acts found in mankind is when a member of the human race deliberately goes out of his way to help another. It is love in action. It is loving your neighbor. It is doing unto others, as you would have them do unto you.

This month, The Persecution Project Foundation has launched a campaign called Save the Nuba. In order to prevent another genocide, they need the help that only a community can offer.

For those who can afford it, the need for food and medicine is desperate.

For those who have little to give, they’re asking for petitions signed, for awareness to be spread through social media (Facebook, Twitter and blogs.)

For those who are passionate about this cause, they need your help raising awareness.

Will you join us in speaking up for those who cannot speak for themselves?

Please visit www.SavetheNuba.com to learn ways you can help.

9/11 and the emerging church

I haven't been through what Fred Burnham's been through, but I found his story moving in the extreme. Please watch this video and listen to the story.

This is why I'm a part of the "emerging church" movement. It's why I'm passionately and whole-heartedly committed to a particular community within that movement.

There are communities that embody the loving relationships and self-organizing faithfulness that Fred describes. If you're not a part of one, brother or sister...find one.

(Embedded video below.)


9/11 and the Emerging Church from Steve Knight on Vimeo.

Good theology and other idols

I've been mulling over a thought for (at least) a couple of weeks, since a friend said to me, "The theology behind 'X' is sound." The "X" she was referring to happened to be something that had caused people I love (and me too) some not-inconsiderable pain, in the real world. But she was right. The theology behind it is very sound. It's excellent theology; right and good and joyful theology. Which makes it all the sadder, from my point of view, that we turned it into a damned idol.

So here's my thought. It's not all that original, but it's been taking up space in my head:

GOOD theology, when codified, legislated, and ossified, can very easily shackle, choke, or smother the gospel. This is idolatry, and the devil finds it delightful.

This happens all the time. Allllll the time. In "liberal", "mainline", "high church", etc. contexts, the ossification is typically in the realm of structure and practice (but also doctrine). In "conservative", "evangelical", "low church", etc. contexts, the ossification is typically in the realm of doctrine (but also structure and practice). Charismatic-types typically have a mix of practical/doctrinal idols, and all kinds of permutations occur all over the Church (including the "emerging church".)

In so many of these cases, the underlying theology is good. It was good, contextual, appropriate God-talk driven by sound, faithful interpretation of scripture, tradition, and Spiritual inspiration in a particular place and time.

But then we dumb monkeys did what we always do: we made an idol. We started thinking not like Christ, but like Caesar, and decided to do our fellow members of (some segment of) the Body, present and future, the enormous favor of deciding stuff on their behalf, and putting in place structures to guarantee that they would not have to bear the burden of re-thinking that stuff. (Of course, we spared them not only the burden, but the freedom to do so.)

So we made doctrinal statements, and confessions, and canon law, and constitutions, and books of [prayer/discipline/whatever], ensuring that the firm foundation of our real, good, wise wisdom (or, more likely, that of the generation or two just preceding us) would not just be available to future generations, but constrain them. Like the grasping stone hands of a centuries-old graven image.

* * *

A frequent criticism of the "emerging church" is that we're too critical: we're too much about what we're against, not what we're for. We live too much in reaction to the past, not in hope for the future. Frankly, in my experience with this "emerging" conversation, that is sometimes, but not generally, a fair critique.

But quite honestly, I do feel like this is a needed calling within the Church: Pointing out these idols we've created, gently opting out of their grasp, and by that example showing that they are indeed idols, not "real" gods, however good and true and helpful the theology that birthed them.

And, paradoxically, I think it's hopeful. Freedom from these calcified statues of theologies past is a good thing. It opens up all kinds of possible futures for the gospel and the kingdom. And, it doesn't have to mean abandoning the richness, the wisdom, the goodness of the theology at the core of these artifacts. It gives is the freedom to build on those theologies, or to cultivate new growth from their soil. It's not just hopeful, it's, like, giddy-hopeful.

But it's painful, too. We love our church-idols. They make us feel safe and secure. A lot of the time, we don't even know they're there, but they are; they surround us. Breaking free of them seems almost always to be a cause of suffering. It takes a lot of love and grace. A lot. More than we've got. Loving God, help us.

And Loving God, please guard us "emerging" monkeys from the idol-making that we too find ooooh-so-tempting.

Amen.

Image credit: zen (rights)

Success is not an option

This is something I've been thinking a lot about for the past week or two. My thoughts are still quite preliminary, so maybe there will be more of them later.

The question on my mind is this:

Is failure - i.e., critical crisis; death with optional resurrection - a necessary and unavoidable step in authentic emergence - at least in the realm of human social institutions like the Church?

I'm not talking about setbacks - I'm talking about major, life-torpedoing failure that makes it blatantly obvious that if life can go on at all, it will go on in a radically different fashion than before. I wonder about this in the journey of the individual, but even more right now I wonder about it in the shared journey of a community.

My wondering has been shaped by a number of high-quality nodes, including some recent good stuff from Grace, but much more from conversations with genius friends like Dee, P3T3, and Amy, and reflection on the journey-stories of various people and communities I know (including my own). For some theoretical/practical reasons why I fear this might be the case when it comes to communities, see here: The Practices Must Support Each Other.

If this is true (and I have no way of knowing whether it is or not - but I have to tell ya, I have a strong intuition that it's at least mostly true) - if this is true, then several other questions follow, it seems to me:

1. Are "emergent" books, conferences, etc. leading folks to believe that they can shortcut this process - this death and resurrection? That it's possible to read some books and say "Yeah, baby! That's where it's at!" and then just go thou and to likewise?
2. If so, is that necessarily a bad thing? Or is that setting folks up for the failure which is, perhaps, a necessary stage in the journey?
3. This, to me, is the biggie. Unlike the others, it's not the least bit rhetorical. To the contrary, it's extremely concrete and personal, and it's one that I sort of feel like every person who feels called to "emergence" needs to seriously wrestle with (like, don't walk away without a dislocated hip and a blessing):

If I feel that God is calling me and/or my community (present or future) to emerge into a radically different way of being and doing Church, what am I willing to lose?

Season of resurrection

One day after managing to remain mostly dry-eyed while delivering Dad's eulogy at his memorial service, I was driving back home from central New York today, and finally listening to the podcast of the Easter service at my church, The Common Table. And as I drove and Tina slept, the tears flowed freely down my face - tears of joy at the breathtaking beauty of the liturgy, the prayers, the music (ah!), the sounds of dear friends gathered in worship and community, and the good news of resurrection and abundant life.

Thank you, CT family, and thank you, Amy and the other musical geniuses who were assembled on that day.

He is risen - he is risen indeed! Alleluia.

Easter 2008

Yesterday was Easter
We didn't go to church
My family aren't church people
And besides
It's hard for Dad to travel
Not because of the cancer
In his head
But because of the steroids
Drugs they gave him
To keep his symptoms at bay
Drugs that make him
Too weak to stand up without help

We didn't go to church
But we did participate in a liturgy
A ceremony called holiday dinner
With ham, and dinner rolls, and pie
With Mom and Dad, Sean and Anna, Tina and me
Around the table
I said grace
And rambled on too long
As I do
Which earned me a "Get on with it"
Gesture from Dad
Which in turn made me think
How much I love him

Our liturgical color was pink
Pink like Mom's Easter table cloth
And placemats
Pink like glazed ham
Like Peeps and jelly beans
Pink like Tina's shoulders
And my forehead
After weeding on Saturday
We all sat at the table
Even though it's easier for Dad
To sit on the stool at the bar
Where he can stand up on his own

After dinner, we drove back home
As Tina napped, I thought
And prayed
And I searched and asked
For new life
I asked God for some resurrection trajectory
When things seemed to be going
The other way
I asked God to teach me to pray
And to show me what to pray for
I asked God to put words in my mouth
Because I didn't know the words myself

So this thought came to me:
You, God, you have such...
And the next word, I thought,
Was supposed to be "power"
But that wasn't the word
The word that came instead
Was "joy"
God, you have such joy...
Joy to share with all of us
Joy that looks like sunlight after winter
Joy that sounds like children's laughter
Joy like the weight of a newborn baby boy
Joy that feels like a friend's embrace

You have pain, too
And so do we
You share in our suffering
And sometimes we share in yours
Sometimes we watch the people we love
Wither and become less
We watch our loved ones, pillars of strength
Become weak
We watch our beloved, who have lived lives of caring
Become those in need of care
We watch like Mary and John
At the foot of the Cross

But your joy is real too
I know this
I know it
Knowing this, I know also
I need to orient my life now
I need to create the conditions
For accessing that joy
And if I access it
I need to pray
Pray for the courage and wisdom
So share it with those I love
Pray for the discernment
To know how to bless

I know it won't look like joy
(Or maybe it will,
Like laughter 'round the dinner table
Like laughter at Tina's frizzy hair
Curled and enlarged by Mom's long-dormant
Beauty culture skills)
Maybe it won't look like joy,
But I know (I know) that your joy is real

Water, grace, love

It's too late (in the day) to start this blog post, and I'm too tired. There's too much to say, and I won't be able to say it tonight. So I'll be brief. Today I was baptized in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, by my dear friend, in the presence of my beloved community, including my beloved wife. Two other members of our community were baptized today as well. It was a joyful celebration of God's grace on a hot, sunny morning, and when we had shared the other major sacrament of the bread and the wine, the body and the blood, the service was brought to a close by many of us spontaneously jumping into the consecrated waters, fully clothed. :-) I find myself constantly amazed by how much I love these people. Thanks, God, for the unfathomable gift of each one of you, fellow Commoners.

I've been baptized before, as an infant. I've also been confirmed, and in 2003 I formally reaffirmed my (original) baptismal vows. I really want everyone to understand: I certainly don't want to minimize the beauty and value of any of these rites, whether in general or in my specific case. And I didn't have a long-standing plan to do this - in fact, the idea was first mentioned this past Tuesday, and only really became a sure thing on Friday. It was sort of a big surprise to everyone, including me. But in the back of my mind, I've wanted to do this for a long time.

I'm a sacramental kind of guy, and it just seems to me that this is the sacrament as experienced by everyone in the early church - heck, even Jesus himself: full-immersion, performed by someone deeply significant to one's spiritual formation, as a celebration of a free-will commitment of one's life to the way of God in Jesus. (Also, I'm in good company.) I can't begin to say how much this meant to me, to make that commitment, surrounded by my the love of my friends. To my friends and loved ones who couldn't be there (if only because I pretty much didn't tell anyone this was happening!), especially by family and my dear friends from my other beloved faith community - you were very much on my mind today, and with me in spirit as you have been along this journey that brought me to a suburban pool, listening to the symphony of gorgeous hymns and heartfelt words of faith combined with the drone of a neighbor's chainsaw, being dunked by my friend and vowing to keep walking this path with my Lord and with my friends. Amen, and amen, and thanks be to God.

Something like surrender

Today, my community worshiped God together through an ancient contemplative practice called the labyrinth. It's been used in Christian cathedrals and churches for centuries as a practice for prayerful meditation and centering oneself on God, and began as a safer alternative to pilgrimage to Jerusalem. My parents, who are visiting for the long holiday weekend, were with us, and they participated in the labyrinth walk too, as well as the picnic afterward celebrating our church's sixth anniversary. Between the labyrinth walk and the picnic, many of us shared some of what we experienced while walking and quietly praying together. I was surprised and deeply moved to hear my mom speak up during this time, and say how pleased and touched she was to see me being a part of such a community - such a group of loving friends. I really, really love my mom. :-)

This morning was also moving for me because of my own experience, journeying through the labyrinth. As I began, my thoughts and prayers were very, very heavy. Lately I've been feeling a lot of weight on my heart regarding a situation in which I've felt powerless, but at the same time felt that I shouldn't be powerless. The situation in question is a broken relationship, to which I am a party. I'm used to the concept of turning a situation over to God when there's clearly nothing I can do except pray. For example, if someone I know is suffering from cancer, there's no way I can cure that. All I can do in a case like that is rely on God.

I'm also used to asking God for help in a situation in which it seems clear that on my own, I could do little or nothing to help - but with God's help, maybe I could make a difference. I've gone around and around and around this particular situation in my mind and prayers, because this has seemed like one of those latter circumstances: this is a relationship issue, and I'm a party to the relationship. With God's help, if I'm any good at all, I should be able to do something to make the situation better, instead of worse, right? And I've gone around and around and around, and not been able to come up with a way to do that.

So I walked the path into the labyrinth, thinking and praying about the weight of this on all of us who have been hurt by it. I got to the center and sat down, still heavy. After a little time, my friend sat down next to me, and I served her the communion bread and wine that we'd put in the center, and then she served me. The sacrament felt like a great, beautiful gift to me, to an extent that it rarely has (sacramentally-inclined guy though I am). Just then, the music that the service planners had chosen to accompany our walk switched from a slower, contemplative tune to a joyful, funky, reggae song from the Hasidic reggae artist Matisyahu. Many of us started to smile. At least one of us started to dance, boogieing her way along the spiritual path in a contagiously joyful manner. That song, that dance, felt like great, beautiful gifts to me too, and as I began my journey back out from the center, I was weeping a little, but it was mostly tears of relief. I felt like God was saying something to me, and the weight was lifting a little more with each step.

What I felt like I was hearing was this: Mike, shut up. You think that if you're any good at all, you should be able to find a way to bring some healing to this situation, that you should be able to give that gift. Well (like all humans beings), apart from me, you aren't any good at all - but at the same time, you're my finest, most beloved creation. So shut up. Follow me. And I'll use you to give gifts. Maybe even some beautiful ones. But: you don't get to choose which ones you can give.

As I made my way into the prayer silo at the lovely Benedictine monastery where we were worshiping and picnicking, I was asking myself: am I OK with that? After some time, I lay down on the cool stone floor, looked up at the clear blue sky, and felt like it was OK with me.

I'm still going to pray for healing of this wound - probably every time I pray, as I have in the past. (Please don't read this to say that I pray with great frequency - my prayer life is not something I have reason to be proud of.) And I'll still pray for God, or the other people involved, to show or tell me some way that I could make it even a little better.

But I think I may stop obsessively churning my own brain cells, searching for such a way. I've felt like there must be an answer - even a tiny partial answer - that I can find, if I just try hard enough. But maybe for now the only answer I get is: wait on God. Rely on God. And I think I'm learning to be OK with that.

He is risen! He is risen indeed!

In liturgical churches (like, say, Anglican ones), it's common practice to avoid the use of "Hallelujah" (Praise the Lord!), at least liturgically, during Lent. I'm not sure if I followed that practice myself this year or not, but it's probably safe to say that God didn't receive an overflowing of Hallelujahs from me this Lenten season.

Well, Lent is over.

Hallelujah! Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!

Praise our amazing God for the amazing, unanticipated, impossible yet real reversal of Resurrection! Praise God for this day - the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it!

Another "liturgical church" thing is that Easter isn't just a day - it's a season. The 50 days from now until Pentecost is Easter Season. So let's keep on living in joyous celebration of Resurrection through this season - and beyond. Maybe it's cliche, but we're Easter people. He is risen. He is risen indeed! Hallelujah!

MONDO-formidable!

OK, I admit that this is not a very profound way to get back in the saddle after a month of blog fasting. (The correspondence with Lent is purely coincidental - except maybe I don't believe in coincidence.) However, this has gotta be said:

BUFFYSEASONEIGHTINCOMICS!!!
BUFFYSEASONEIGHTINCOMICS!!!
BUFFYSEASONEIGHTINCOMICS!!!
BUFFYSEASONEIGHTINCOMICS!!!
YAAAYYYY!!!! OMG!!! YAYYY!!! SQUEEE!!! YAAYY!!! :-D

Second issue came out this week. It is SOOOOOO good! Only Joss Whedon could write such ridiculous dialogue for such beloved characters and totally, thoroughly, unquestionably pull it off. And the FX budget is unlimited! :-D

With the Easter season of new Life and renewal only three dark days away, this is one little early gift of resurrection I'm thoroughly thankful for.