A Shift

I had another "vision" recently (to see why I put the word "vision" in quotes, see this blog). I was reading David Bosch's Transforming Mission while riding inside a Boeing airplane as it landed. The following unfolds my unfolding and refolding "vision."

I envisioned the end of the so-called "Christian academy," with the continuance of the church and the academy.

The idea scares me a little. Imagine the job loss, the slew of people applying for the few jobs open at the remaining colleges and universities. Hopefully the other private and public academies could hire more employees as Christians started attending other schools. The transition would take forever, if it were possible at all. Perhaps my vision is more of a way things could have been. Perhaps it is a vision of a way things could be, in some places.

Imagine towns like Boiling Springs as they writhe in the loss of their local economy. Imagine the buildings searching for purpose.

Outside the horror of this impossible transition, things would be set right.

Young Christians like myself would no longer separate themselves from the world with the invisible, permeable wall we build around our Christian institutions. Although I know people with a diverse set of beliefs, all but a few are self-proclaimed Christians. Such a situation cannot be what Paul meant when he wrote the famous statement about being in the world, but not of it. On the flip side, young Christians would be forced to create koinonia and forced to engage in a practical life of Christianity as they interact with the world.

The academy will then have a more proper separation from the church, because it will not be a schismatic event within the church. Instead of being a body divorcing, it will be natural. It will be a separation because the two are not of the kind that they can be one. Like a table cannot be a human, that Church cannot be one with the Academy.

Imagine a church that handles education--all the education. A church that teaches New and Old Testament classes with or without indoctrination, with or without possibilities, and with or without forums. A church that attempts to prepare the congregation to engage in ideas that are threatening to each Christian's private faith--or more importantly, a church that is available to engage those threatening ideas in a responsible way.

Imagine. Just imagine the possibilities and the consequences--the bad and the good, in all their (im)possibility.

Limbo

I leave so many things up in the air, I figure I can probably fly.

Nothing wrong with not planning. Nothing wrong with suspending a little judgment.

And there I am, in the air with them. One day here, another day there. One day feeling cramped and crowded, another feeling lonely and needy.

Not day to day, though. More like moment to moment.

One moment worried, the next confused. Then apathetic. Annoyed. Carefree. Loved. Excited. Comfortable. Bored. Engaged.

Sometimes about the same thing. Sometimes I switch from thing to thing to thing to ...

Just like everyone else.

No, not everyone else. But definitely others--just like many others. Everyone is unique, but we aren't alone.

Maybe no one has the exact same combination of emotions, but somewhere out there, each individual emotion is shared by at least one other.

This fact may not be comforting, but it achieves some solidarity. Or maybe it does not achieve some solidarity, but it provides some comfort.

I'll leave it up in the air

for now or forever.

With me.

I'm flying.

Evangelism Weekend

I'm uneasy about "evangelism."

I've been doing some homework lately in the area of evangelism and, for my discussion, when I say "evangelism," I think of verbally telling a person about salvation and Jesus. Note, I am not making statments about this word's meaning, but rather what it makes me think. You don't have to think the same thing.

I've had a few opportunities to 'evanglize' this weekend. When you're a divinity student taking a class called "Missions & Evangelization," it isn't like you never have an opportunity to talk about Jesus. Yesterday someone asked me what that class entailed and I was taken aback. I wasn't sure how exactly to define the class material, especially since I only met the guy an hour or so earlier.

I felt the need to be apologetic. I think I told him the class intended to get the students to create their own theory about "sharing the gospel," "other religions," and such. And without having a fully developed theory, I started to explain about different perceptions within the class. I actually said, "I'm OK, you're OK." What does that even mean? What did I mean by it? Did I evangelize?

I cussed in front of a good friend. In high school, I never cussed. I thought it was wrong. I cussed last time I was home, but not much. Today I said "the queen-mother of dirty words," as Ralphie called it. I had the opportunity to say I no longer thought cussing was morally wrong. Did I help deliver a new perception to what it means to be Christian? Did I evangelize?

I spoke a lot to various people about how culture determines our ideas of "norm" and "beauty." I mentioned long hair, gauged ear holes, colors, and finger-nail clipping is all culture. None of them are "natural" (if natural is opposed to civilized). I didn't talk about Jesus or Christianity in relation to any of these ideas. Did I evangelize?

At some point I will write a "journal" sort of response about what I think evangelism is. I don't know what I'll write. I don't even know what has happened this weekend in that regard.

Gray Re-Covers

Jamais vu is French. It describes any familiar situation which seems unfamiliar. It is a paramnesia, which etymologically means "near memory." It involves distorted or confused memory. We use a lot of French terms for instances of paramnesia. Most people are familiar with déjà vu. And even though you might not know the term, you're probably familiar with presque vu, which is used describe a time when something is on the tip of your tongue.

For me, this French term speaks to a lack of understanding of myself. Why am I where I am? Why do I enjoy what I enjoy? Do I enjoy what I enjoy? Existential questions and beyond.

Today I enjoyed without question, but not without some surprise. I enjoyed the cold wind blowing in my face. My icicle fingers. The loud roar of the waves which drowned out any nearby human noises. The familiar, but sublime look of the ocean under a thick, gray fog. No sun. No blue sky. No birds chirping. And the gray fog sucked the color out of everything, making the whole world various shades of gray. And in the mix, was gray me. Just gray me, with the gray wind running through my hair, filling my lungs, and caressing me.

Jamais vu, this French phrase, has been me responding in unfamiliar ways to familiar situations, me questioning why I am responding in this unfamiliar way and not the more familiar way. And so I suppose “jamais vu” might not be the right phrase to describe the situation, because it isn’t always a memory thing. But it sometimes is.

Reflection upon the grayness made some things make sense, made me recover from an amnesia and settled me in a nice aporia, a comfortable angst, a mastered malaise, and a je ne sais quoi that I know—a familiar unfamiliar and an unfamiliar familiar.

Jamais vu means “sad” in neither French nor English. Existential angst. Questions. Aporia. These words do not preclude good emotions. Joy. Love. Happiness. Pleasure. Peace. Well, sometimes peace, but not always that peace that passeth. Jamais vu does not mean unfortunate in French. It might conjure awkwardness, but it is not bad. For me it has produced reflection.

And the product of that reflection is still entirely unknown—unknown in its entirety—its entirety is unknown—

It is beginning to recover my prayers.

A Boring Narrative Revolving Around Trevar

Tonight I decided to write a boring narration of today's events in the world of Trevar, a world that sort of revolves around me.
So I flew to Maine today and boy are my arms tired. April Fools! I didn't actually fly, I sat in a plane.

Airports make me anxious for some reason. I felt crowded. At least I got to be anonymous. Really anonymous. So anonymous that when I used the urinal, it flushed before I had even zipped up. Apparently people find it really funny when I write about pissing and urinals, so I thought that quick story would spice up my narrative a bit.

While waiting in the concourse, a group of people flocked to the gate as their plane had just been re-assigned to the gate next to me. A worker got on the PA and re-routed them to yet another gate. I chuckled at how upset people were that they had to walk to two different gates. And not old people or people limping or walking slowly. Healthy people. Healthy people were upset about having to walk to different gates instead of impatiently waiting at one gate. I'm smiling now just thinking about it. Isn't it fun to make light of the "misfortunes" of others?

I sat in the exit row on both of my flights tonight. It was wonderful to have so much leg room. On my first flight, I had the whole exit row to myself ... three seats with all their leg room, just for Trevar. And on top of the comfort, I was pleased to know that I was expected to help people in an emergency, God forbid. The comfort and usefulness assuaged some of the anxiety.

Why are the wages of sin death? Why would God make that connection? If it isn't a bad wage, than why do we think so?

I was rushed this morning to do all I wanted to do before I left for Maine. I didn't get everything done, but I got most everything done. Rushing did not help the pre-airport anxiety. The drive did. I ate a lot of food before going to the airport. It made me wish I could have gone to the gym. Wishing I could have gone to the gym made me wish I could have seen those dirty poets at open-mic night. Making me wish I could have seen those dirty poets at open-mic night didn't make me wish anything else.

Can we have substitutionary atonement with a God who isn't bloodthirsy and juridical?

I signed up for fall classes. Dr. Robertson forgot about our meeting, but saw me exiting the div lounge as he was leaving. Good timing.

It is always weird to use a different keyboard. My mother's laptop does not have a COMMAND key. Instead, it has an, ALT, FN, and four-wavy-squares keys. I miss my COMMAND key. I do not miss being a slave to my computer.

I'm not sure people can be merciful. The other day Dr. Berry tried to describe mercy by saying a coworker forgot his or her lunch, so you share your sandwich. For his off-the-cuff scenario, "justice" would have that person go hungry, because they forgot, whereas mercy has them serendipitously sharing your sandwich. But who are you to have any say in the "justice" of someone forgetting a sandwich? They did nothing wrong to you, they made a mistake. I think justice was you sharing your sandwich. It is just, because you are kin and kin should help each other. Justice is not casting a stone when you are sinful. Mercy is not casting a stone when you aren't sinful. God shows mercy. We're engaged in justice, especially the social kind.

I love the veggie subs at Quizno's. They have guacamole and mushrooms on them. It was a ridiculous price. I also really wanted a latte, but the coffee place in councourse D at the Baltimore airport had run out of everything but coffee. I had a big layover (if you know what I mean), so I went past security to Starbucks, planning to bring my coffee back to the gate. I forgot you can't bring liquids past security. I drank my latte, but my toothpaste is gone forever.

Lacrimosa.
Marantha.
Requiem.

Lacrimosa.
Marantha.
Amen.

Urinals & Church

I was at the Broad River Coffee Company this evening. Sometimes I feel like I will do more homework if I get out of my apartment, because I let my mind wander and my emotions wallow if I stay in my apartment, my safe place. The coffee shop helps, sometimes.

About halfway through my second cup of coffee, I got up to use the restroom, probably for the third time. The floor in the bathroom had just been mopped and I was pleased to stand near the urinal thinking all the pee splatter had been mopped up, which means it was mixed with soap and water and then spread all over the floor. And I began to think about the various reasons pee could get all over a men's-room floor.

I think it has little to do with aim, because the stream sometimes comes out in unexpected directions. Other times it is partly the fault of the guy. Maybe he stands too far away from the urinal and drips a little directly onto the floor. Sometimes an attempt to shake out the last few drops can send a drop of urine on the pants, shoes, or floor. You've got to be careful with the shake. And since urine is a liquid flowing with force from a small hole, physics dictates that the liquid will splatter after hitting its destination, be it the urinal cake, the wall of the urinal, or the puddle of toilet water near the drain.

I bet splatter is the main cause of urine on men's-room floors and I also bet a lot of study has gone into this issue. You might even say there are different urinal theories based on the many styles of urinals you see. It isn't as if urinals are designed to be aesthetically pleasing. No, they are designed in order to catch as much splatter as possible while also taking up as little space as possible. Or, so I presume. I haven't taken a class in urinalology ... yet.

And then I thought of the urinal fly, which is a great idea. I was at an airport once and noticed a fly in the urinal. Naturally, I aimed for it. It didn't move, though. I was pretty sure any live fly would either fly away or fall after being hit with the force of a stream of pee. Then I wondered if the fly was dead and squished against the urinal wall. Who would squish a fly inside of a urinal? Like any man would do, I changed my aim a little, thinking some indirect pressure might free the dead creature from the wall to the drain below. As I was investigating the fly with my pee, I decided it must be some sort of sticker or image printed on the porcelain, this decision made as any more investigatory urinating would require more ammo and result in me playing with myself (I hear it falls of if you do that and I certainly didn't want it to come off, especially not in an airport urinal). When finished, a few drops shaken onto the floor, another falling on on my thigh, I noticed similar fly images in each of empty urinals.

When I got back from the bathroom and returned to my studying--we're back in the coffee shop now, not the airport--I read about the Church. I'm sure I could make a lot of cheesy connections between urinals, the Church, and aim, but I'm afraid of being struck by lightning (or ignorance). The following sentences caught my eye:

"Throughout most of the church's history its empirical state has been deplorable. This was already true of Jesus' first circle of disciples and has not really changed since. We may have been fairly good at orthodoxy, at 'faith,' but we have been poor in respect of orthopraxis, of love. Van der Aalst reminds us that there have been countless councils on right believing; yet no council has ever been called to work out the implications of the greatest commandment--to love one another."

Bosch, the author of the text, and Van der Aalst with him probably aren't suggesting we--here come the puns--toss faith and belief down the pisser or flush the fly out with the toilet water (I couldn't resist). But can you imagine what would have been the result of a bunch of Evangelicals getting together and not writing a manifesto and worrying about identity, but rather making a plan of how to change the world, letting anyone and everyone help them. What if the Pope called for a council that was only concerned with enacting love and embodying Christ, that is, agape? What if we didn't hear sermons about doctrine, but about how we could love and these sermons were followed by groups of people--you and me included--flocking outside the church walls instead of being concerned about what goes on inside those damned boundaries--groups of people who didn't change things inside the church so that people would come, but went out and just loved on some people.

Love. Period.

You. Me.

Imagine.

That's fly.

The Glad Game 2

Being the loser that I am, I was looking at a few titles of blogs from the past. I came across "6 Happy Things--The Glad Game" and decided I would again like to list 6 things for the glad game. They aren't necessarily things that make me "happy" or "glad." Mostly, they are comforting and alleviating. They produce good feelings--sometimes they even make me happy. ;)

1. Food. I'm an emotional eater. Food maybe shouldn't be on this list, since it often makes me upset when I consider how much I eat, what I eat, and how little I exercise. But, I enjoy it. I've been on a pizza binge lately and I don't think I'm done. I've also boiled a lot of eggs. Interestingly enough, when I posted the first Glad Game blog on Nov. 6, 2007, my number was making hard-boiled eggs for the first time.

2. The Bible. For a season, I was a fine reader and studier of the Bible, in my own estimation at least. I could have been better, sure, but I did alright. Then I somehow got out of the habit. I've been reading more, but not well. The past few days, I've done a much better job. It isn't always easy--neither is the text and the reflection it brings--but it is good.

3. Reflection. This happy thought is another bitter sweet aspect of my life. Sometimes introspection is really hard. Sometimes it makes one sad, angry, guilty, anxious, or some slew of dark emotions. Sometimes it evokes lighter emotions. Either way, I am glad I do it as much as I do it. A friend recently told me he hates it when people tell him he thinks too much. Probably, he told me, other people don't think enough. I have to agree with him. Thinking is a good thing.

4. Writing. At the end of Joan Didion's essay, "The White Album," she says writing hadn't helped her handle or understand life. The statement seemed odd, since she wrote it and since she is an author and since her topic is so reflective. The process did something, because she attempted it and published it. Maybe she means writing didn't make it all clear and writing didn't make it all better. I can't help but agree, because, often, writing makes things hard because it is so reflective. But it can be so cathartic.

5. Forts & Physical Closeness.

6. I think I could lift the whole paragraph from the last number six of " The Glad Game" for this glad game number six. It is, perhaps, the most important. It is the place in which I see, hear, and feel God the most. I am so glad I can talk and be talked to; open up and be opened up to; comfort and be comforted. I still ask the questions I asked in the first number 6, but today I have more confidence in the answer. If you visit that old blog, you'll notice I have a comment and two kudos, although they have been removed from the blog (not by me). I remember what the comment said--it might as well have been straight from God. It was very short, perhaps one sentence with neither adjectives nor adverbs. It still encourages me today. In fact, it is extra encouraging with some new thoughts I'm having on faith and faith-words. I save the best for last in the glad game.

Will you play the glad game?