I shared recently about getting more involved in church to call us as a church to get less involved, and as I thought about this point, I recalled my participation in the InterVarsity Christian Fellowship during my undergraduate days at PENN. IV is an interdenominational parachurch organization that has student groups in colleges and universities around the world. The one I was a part of was significant in my spiritual and leadership formation.
It was also one that valued outreach, having an outward focus, meeting people in their circles and not demanding they come to ours. We shunned big events and preferred to have Christian influence via authentic relationships -- in the dorms, in the classroom, and even at frat parties.
With such an orientation, you would think we would have never struggled with this notion of getting bogged down in seeing Christian ministry and group involvement as distinct activities. And yet we did. The very nature of any entity, however decentralized or fluid or outwardly-focused, requires a certain amount of meetings, planning, and administration. And those things took time. Combine that with the rigorous academic environment of an Ivy League school like PENN, and pretty soon you had a new term coined by some of the group's more active members: "IV nerd." An IV nerd is someone who has time only for IV events and studies.
There was some good in this winnowing of activities: too many college students of that day were involved in so many activities that they couldn't really have authentic relationships or experiences in any of them. It was a Biblically-based call that compelled those of us in the group to prune down our schedules to make time for the ones we did keep, and ultimately for the people we were to invest in and reach out to; I don't regret that I and others heeded that call.
And yet, many of us, in uncommitting to various clubs and activities outside of IV and books, lost those genuine points of contact to those outside our circle. Whether it was a formal group like a frat, a sport, or a performing arts team, or just the casual friendships that develop on one's hall or floor or suite, the more we got involved in the leadership and administration of the fellowship, the more we lost those outside opportunities for friendship and influence and witness.
Those that did choose to devote their time in these ways found themselves on the fringe of our fellowship, partly because they weren't as connected to the formal structures of our group and partly because they were people who tended to be more independent and cavalier in disposition. Rare, unfortunately, was the situation in which a committed member of the fellowship was able to engage deeply and authentically in relationships outside the fellowship AND have that aspect of their Christian influence affirmed and supported and nurtured by their brethren within the fellowship.
Again, while I can't speak for others, I don't personally criticize my experience in the fellowship. I do want to point out just how hard it is to foster a group that desires to be the kind of gathering of Christians that the Bible invites us to be: on a mission, having influence outside the circle, having our numbers added to by newcomers on a daily basis. It seldom happens in churches, or even in dynamic and mission-oriented parachurch entities like IV. Really, the best examples I've seen have been in organizations that most people would consider cults, and of course, while they might get the outreach part right, they're very wrong elsewhere.
So are we to just give up? Try our best and settle? Circle our wagons and be thankful for the more inwardly-oriented positives we're living out? Or do we push, ever pushing forward and stretching outward, even to the point where we always feel uncomfortable? For the sake of souls, ours and those whom we can influence, and ultimately for the sake of the Kingdom and the Kingdom's King, may we ever push and stretch.
7.31.2006
Get Less Involved
(originally posted on July 29, 2006)
I served on our church's leadership body from January 1998 to December 2004, and then, per our denomination's rules, stepped down (you can't serve for more than six consecutive years without taking a break). It was a good time to step down, as I was at that point juggling a very demanding job and grad school, and was preparing to finalize the adoption of our first child. That child came in October 2005, and of course that transition kept me quite busy.
So for the last year and a half, I haven't been that involved in church activities. I'll go to the Sunday morning service and have also been attending a Wednesday morning Bible study, but with the church's many other activities, from prayer walks to covered dish suppers and even some congregation meetings, which I really ought to have attended, I've been pretty sporadic.
So it's a little ironic that as I'm finally getting more involved, via a personnel team that will among other roles provide support and accountability to our staff, I'm convinced anew that what our church needs, and what many churches in America need, is for its members to get less involved.
Come again? To be sure, I'm sure you haven't heard this message from the pulpit: "Brothers and sisters, be less involved in church." So let me explain.
It has often been said that the church is the only institution that exists for the purpose of its non-members. I don't fully agree with that statement, but I appreciate its sentiment: that church is less about nurturing a safe and steady community for its members as much as it is about reaching out to non-members with compassion, truth, and ultimately the invitation to be in relationship with God through Jesus.
And yet this outward focus, this organizational mission -- a mission that first created the church, preceded the church, unifies the church, and compels the church -- is too often relegated to some committee, some subset of a church's activities, some tangible activity that is meant to represent a church's effort in this area. We Presbyterians are particularly guilty of relegating mission to committees and functions, to distinct events rather than ongoing and all-encompassing mindsets. Combine this with our natural desire to be with others like ourselves, and church can very quickly become a place "where everybody knows your name," and where being active in a church means sitting on lots of important committees and attending lots of important events.
And in this sense, then, I believe we congregants ought to be less involved. Jesus, after all, whose body we as a church are supposed to be in this world, spent His share of days teaching in synagogues and interacting with the religious leaders, but He was also out and about, teaching His disciples as they walked from place to place, touching the lives of children, women, and the infirm, and (gasp!) socializing with a town's shadiest characters who were employed in the most prominently sinful professions.
This pattern continues in the book of Acts, our best insight into what "church" should look like. Here we see great community, but we also see God impelling His people outward, as witnesses, to testify. Philip shares the gospel story with a Ethiopian eunuch. Peter eats with and converts a Gentile, for crying out loud, a provocative act to a first-century Jewish Christ-follower; indeed, many of these Jews chastened Peter for doing such a thing, only to be convinced by Peter that this was God at work. Paul, of course, travels the entire Mediterranean region in his quest to make Jesus known throughout the entire Roman Empire.
In this sense, church members ought to get more involved: having over for dinner unchurched families on their block, or getting to know the moms and children at the local park, or engaging co-workers and fellow students and teachers in meaningful spiritual discourse. And indeed, many of our congregants are getting more involved, in this regard.
Very little of this involvement is in our church building or within a sanctioned church function. And so it may look as though our members are getting less involved, even as we are more robustly living out what it truly means to be a church. Paradoxically, this replacement of church by always meeting together with church by always reaching outward can and does lead to greater community and higher intimacy and richer fellowship, not less. And so if it takes me getting more involved to get people less involved, so that we can better fulfill our mission and enjoy true community, let it be so.
(originally posted on July 29, 2006)
I served on our church's leadership body from January 1998 to December 2004, and then, per our denomination's rules, stepped down (you can't serve for more than six consecutive years without taking a break). It was a good time to step down, as I was at that point juggling a very demanding job and grad school, and was preparing to finalize the adoption of our first child. That child came in October 2005, and of course that transition kept me quite busy.
So for the last year and a half, I haven't been that involved in church activities. I'll go to the Sunday morning service and have also been attending a Wednesday morning Bible study, but with the church's many other activities, from prayer walks to covered dish suppers and even some congregation meetings, which I really ought to have attended, I've been pretty sporadic.
So it's a little ironic that as I'm finally getting more involved, via a personnel team that will among other roles provide support and accountability to our staff, I'm convinced anew that what our church needs, and what many churches in America need, is for its members to get less involved.
Come again? To be sure, I'm sure you haven't heard this message from the pulpit: "Brothers and sisters, be less involved in church." So let me explain.
It has often been said that the church is the only institution that exists for the purpose of its non-members. I don't fully agree with that statement, but I appreciate its sentiment: that church is less about nurturing a safe and steady community for its members as much as it is about reaching out to non-members with compassion, truth, and ultimately the invitation to be in relationship with God through Jesus.
And yet this outward focus, this organizational mission -- a mission that first created the church, preceded the church, unifies the church, and compels the church -- is too often relegated to some committee, some subset of a church's activities, some tangible activity that is meant to represent a church's effort in this area. We Presbyterians are particularly guilty of relegating mission to committees and functions, to distinct events rather than ongoing and all-encompassing mindsets. Combine this with our natural desire to be with others like ourselves, and church can very quickly become a place "where everybody knows your name," and where being active in a church means sitting on lots of important committees and attending lots of important events.
And in this sense, then, I believe we congregants ought to be less involved. Jesus, after all, whose body we as a church are supposed to be in this world, spent His share of days teaching in synagogues and interacting with the religious leaders, but He was also out and about, teaching His disciples as they walked from place to place, touching the lives of children, women, and the infirm, and (gasp!) socializing with a town's shadiest characters who were employed in the most prominently sinful professions.
This pattern continues in the book of Acts, our best insight into what "church" should look like. Here we see great community, but we also see God impelling His people outward, as witnesses, to testify. Philip shares the gospel story with a Ethiopian eunuch. Peter eats with and converts a Gentile, for crying out loud, a provocative act to a first-century Jewish Christ-follower; indeed, many of these Jews chastened Peter for doing such a thing, only to be convinced by Peter that this was God at work. Paul, of course, travels the entire Mediterranean region in his quest to make Jesus known throughout the entire Roman Empire.
In this sense, church members ought to get more involved: having over for dinner unchurched families on their block, or getting to know the moms and children at the local park, or engaging co-workers and fellow students and teachers in meaningful spiritual discourse. And indeed, many of our congregants are getting more involved, in this regard.
Very little of this involvement is in our church building or within a sanctioned church function. And so it may look as though our members are getting less involved, even as we are more robustly living out what it truly means to be a church. Paradoxically, this replacement of church by always meeting together with church by always reaching outward can and does lead to greater community and higher intimacy and richer fellowship, not less. And so if it takes me getting more involved to get people less involved, so that we can better fulfill our mission and enjoy true community, let it be so.
7.28.2006
A Rising Tide That Does in Fact Lift All Boats
In his book, Laboratories of Democracy, David Osbourne shares about innovative governors from the 1970's and 1980's who had some success catalyzing economic growth and ensuring that there was a broad experience of it across socio-economic classes. He emphasizes the importance of and difficulty in doing both, and I wholeheartedly agree. Too often, we try to do one or the other, and don't take the time to figure out how we can do both.
And too often, we do this because we are stuck on our political agendas. The left is loath to put their trust in "trickle-down" economics, even though a rising tide does in fact lift all boats. The right is loath to put their trust in direct services to the poorest among us, even though a rising tide doesn't in fact lift all boats equally. And both the left and the right would have you believe that any gain by the rich must mean a loss by the poor, and vice versa.
And while that is often the case, it doesn't have to be. But to bring about economic growth AND a broad participation in it by all socio-economic classes takes some thought, some patience, and some consensus. Osbourne talks at length about social programs that don't meet needs as much as make investments, arguing that government initiatives shouldn't consume money but rather produce results: training people, developing communities, and transitioning industries rather than propping them up.
Fundamentally, though, governments are led by politicians who are elected every two to six years. Large corporations, their usual partner in such efforts, are accountable to quarterly results. Large non-profits are too often poorly led and inefficiently run. Small businesses and non-profits have neither the scale nor the sway to make a dent on a macro-economic level. Who's left who can lobby for a BOTH-AND approach to economic growth and the equitable distribution of its fruits?
There is no one savior here, although universities (because of their relative longevity in and commitment to specific neighborhoods and regions) and churches (because of their concern for the poor and their eternal/Kingdom perspective on life) obviously come to mind. Rather, it will take a subset of each of the aforementioned groups who can see past the limitations of their respective agendas and constraints and advocate for the kind of long-range and far-sighted actions that will work our economy towards robust growth and the inclusion of the poorest and most marginalized among us in its benefits.
And too often, we do this because we are stuck on our political agendas. The left is loath to put their trust in "trickle-down" economics, even though a rising tide does in fact lift all boats. The right is loath to put their trust in direct services to the poorest among us, even though a rising tide doesn't in fact lift all boats equally. And both the left and the right would have you believe that any gain by the rich must mean a loss by the poor, and vice versa.
And while that is often the case, it doesn't have to be. But to bring about economic growth AND a broad participation in it by all socio-economic classes takes some thought, some patience, and some consensus. Osbourne talks at length about social programs that don't meet needs as much as make investments, arguing that government initiatives shouldn't consume money but rather produce results: training people, developing communities, and transitioning industries rather than propping them up.
Fundamentally, though, governments are led by politicians who are elected every two to six years. Large corporations, their usual partner in such efforts, are accountable to quarterly results. Large non-profits are too often poorly led and inefficiently run. Small businesses and non-profits have neither the scale nor the sway to make a dent on a macro-economic level. Who's left who can lobby for a BOTH-AND approach to economic growth and the equitable distribution of its fruits?
There is no one savior here, although universities (because of their relative longevity in and commitment to specific neighborhoods and regions) and churches (because of their concern for the poor and their eternal/Kingdom perspective on life) obviously come to mind. Rather, it will take a subset of each of the aforementioned groups who can see past the limitations of their respective agendas and constraints and advocate for the kind of long-range and far-sighted actions that will work our economy towards robust growth and the inclusion of the poorest and most marginalized among us in its benefits.
MBS 4ever
Over fifteen years ago, all of my twelve closest guy friends were gathered together at someone's house, shooting the breeze on a Friday night, when I announced, "I hereby call to order the first meeting of the Male Bonding Society." And thus began the Society's first Male Bonding Session. Both the Society as a group and the countless individual sessions we had would ultimately be shortened to "MBS."
MBS was organized to give us guys a safe outlet to share our innermost thoughts with complete, brutal, and vivid honesty. Oh sure, most of our content centered around girls; after all, we were high-school boys. But there was a surprising depth to our discourse as well: one member shared how he had held a grudge against another member since junior high, another talked through a recent death in the family, and many weighed in on issues of spirituality and eternity.
I can't begin to tell you how awesome a feeling it was to have a group of solid guys with whom you could pour out your soul, who you trusted enough to heed -- without wavering -- the one real (though rarely repeated) rule of MBS: nothing leaves this room. It was like confessional, only if your priest was your best friend who you egged on about girl trouble and cackled over fart jokes with. And when you didn't have to sugar-coat or censor or hold back, it was quite a liberating thing.
I believe that most of us go through most of our lives not totally being ourselves. Some of this is appropriate: learning the social norms of different settings is part of being an adult and a professional. And some information is "too much" at some times and with some people. But some of our inauthenticity is because of a lack of comfort with ourselves and a lack of trust in those around us. We're afraid of letting others, even those closest to us, see who we really are, and are suspicious that if we did, they'd use that knowledge to hurt us or think less of us.
When we live with these constraints, we're not fully ourselves and we're not fully living life. And so I wish for more openness and liberation. And I'm thankful for the close friends in my life, and of course my wife, where I can and do experience this kind of honesty and acceptance. And I smile with a grateful heart at those MBS's I had over fifteen years ago, when thirteen young men mixed into their high-school hijinks and hormonal erraticness some meaty portions of deep sharing and meaningful encouragement and iron-clad discretion. And maybe, 15+ years later, we might figure out a way to reunite, share old stories and tell new ones, and have one more MBS just like back in the day. MBS 4ever!
MBS was organized to give us guys a safe outlet to share our innermost thoughts with complete, brutal, and vivid honesty. Oh sure, most of our content centered around girls; after all, we were high-school boys. But there was a surprising depth to our discourse as well: one member shared how he had held a grudge against another member since junior high, another talked through a recent death in the family, and many weighed in on issues of spirituality and eternity.
I can't begin to tell you how awesome a feeling it was to have a group of solid guys with whom you could pour out your soul, who you trusted enough to heed -- without wavering -- the one real (though rarely repeated) rule of MBS: nothing leaves this room. It was like confessional, only if your priest was your best friend who you egged on about girl trouble and cackled over fart jokes with. And when you didn't have to sugar-coat or censor or hold back, it was quite a liberating thing.
I believe that most of us go through most of our lives not totally being ourselves. Some of this is appropriate: learning the social norms of different settings is part of being an adult and a professional. And some information is "too much" at some times and with some people. But some of our inauthenticity is because of a lack of comfort with ourselves and a lack of trust in those around us. We're afraid of letting others, even those closest to us, see who we really are, and are suspicious that if we did, they'd use that knowledge to hurt us or think less of us.
When we live with these constraints, we're not fully ourselves and we're not fully living life. And so I wish for more openness and liberation. And I'm thankful for the close friends in my life, and of course my wife, where I can and do experience this kind of honesty and acceptance. And I smile with a grateful heart at those MBS's I had over fifteen years ago, when thirteen young men mixed into their high-school hijinks and hormonal erraticness some meaty portions of deep sharing and meaningful encouragement and iron-clad discretion. And maybe, 15+ years later, we might figure out a way to reunite, share old stories and tell new ones, and have one more MBS just like back in the day. MBS 4ever!
7.27.2006
Philadelphia International
Yesterday, Houston and Philadelphia were axed from the USOC's short list of potential US bid cities. I'm hugely disappointed, especially since the main reason proferred was that we weren't in the same leagues as the survivors (LA, SF, and Chicago) when it came to international cache.
Don't get me wrong: we've got a lot to celebrate on this issue. From Live8 to Dali to the bike race, we're getting ourselves out there in positive ways to the international community. For goodness' sake, National Geographic Traveler called us the new "it" city on the cover of a recent issue. We're reaching that place of metropolitanness that is taken for granted in world cities like New York and Toronto.
But we still have a ways to go, as the USOC snub so painfully points out. We're not a very welcoming place for immigrants: witness the recent media ado over Joey Vento's "speak English" sign in front of Geno's. We still cast a leery eye at tourists who sound, smell, or look "different" than us. We're doing well but can do better in the kinds of high-tech industries that tend to attract cosmopolitan workers.
We have nothing to be ashamed of in our bid. Our effort was an A+, even though we got flunked. Like a bad grade to a good student, this experience can instruct us as to where we can improve. I only hope we can have that kind of attitude, and sustain the momentum that was built around this campaign. Let's hope so. In the meantime, if you live in Philly and have friends or family who live outside the US, sell them on our city . . . and be nice to strangers.
Don't get me wrong: we've got a lot to celebrate on this issue. From Live8 to Dali to the bike race, we're getting ourselves out there in positive ways to the international community. For goodness' sake, National Geographic Traveler called us the new "it" city on the cover of a recent issue. We're reaching that place of metropolitanness that is taken for granted in world cities like New York and Toronto.
But we still have a ways to go, as the USOC snub so painfully points out. We're not a very welcoming place for immigrants: witness the recent media ado over Joey Vento's "speak English" sign in front of Geno's. We still cast a leery eye at tourists who sound, smell, or look "different" than us. We're doing well but can do better in the kinds of high-tech industries that tend to attract cosmopolitan workers.
We have nothing to be ashamed of in our bid. Our effort was an A+, even though we got flunked. Like a bad grade to a good student, this experience can instruct us as to where we can improve. I only hope we can have that kind of attitude, and sustain the momentum that was built around this campaign. Let's hope so. In the meantime, if you live in Philly and have friends or family who live outside the US, sell them on our city . . . and be nice to strangers.
7.25.2006
Get the Bus Going
One of my very favorite business books of all time is Jim Collins' "Good to Great." Every one of the main points he makes is counter-intuitive, clear, and correct. One of those points is this notion of getting the right people on the bus, the wrong people off the bus, and then and only then figuring out what direction to drive. This flies in the face of what most of us think about good leadership: that you have to cast a compelling vision and then recruit people around that vision. On the other hand, it confirms what most people have figured out about success in this day and age: that it's all about having the best talent.
But too often, leaders falls short in the implementation of this simple tenet. Note that Collins' imperative has three actions to it: 1) get the right people on the bus, 2) get the wrong people off the bus, and 3) figure out what direction to drive. We've already spoken above about how often leaders get this sequence wrong, trying to do #3 while #1 and #2 aren't yet set. But sometimes leaders fail to do #2 and/or #3 completely.
We all understand the importance of #1, and most good leaders are good leaders because they attract the right people to themselves. But then they let the wrong people hang around; they don't take care of #2. Maybe it's loyalty or lack of courage or bad judgment, but too often leaders don't get the wrong people off the bus. And the organization is thusly impaired in being great.
Even those leaders that get the right people on the bus and the wrong people off the bus can still fail, at not doing #3. A lot of leaders are self-initiating mavericks. Having chafed under bureaucracy and micro-management and structure, they've loosed themselves to their heart's content, and assume that everyone else is like them and that any semblance of bureaucracy or micro-management or structure is anathema to a work culture where people can thrive.
But you can't expect even the best people, having gotten on the bus, to then know what to do and how to succeed if you don't set at least a general course of direction for them. To use a sports analogy, you could get all the best players but you can't just put them on the field and expect them to automatically win championships. If anything, more talented people require more structure, not to make sure they're being productive but to thoughtfully and strategically put them in the best positions to work their magic. After all, as in sports, there are very few completely individual competitions: the best shooter, for example, still needs to get to his or her spot AND have someone else get them the ball, in order for them to make the shot.
And yet, all too often a leader, having surrounded himself or herself with great people, then assumes that these great people can take things from there. Why, any sort of directive from him or her would feel too much like the kind of stifling work environment that everyone's trying to escape, right? Alas, this kind of chaotic and structureless environment, far from releasing people to do great, too often frustrates people who have no guidance to know what to do, no evaluation to know if they're doing it right, and no accountability to know if what they're doing is synching with what others are doing. When this happens, you can easily have a situation in which the whole is LESS than the sum of these magnificent parts: people are either off doing their own thing, and no synergy is happening, or people are rudderless, expending energy wastefully with no one making sense of all the activity and creativity.
Whatever you're doing, that thing deserves to be done at peak efficiency. Be a leader that makes that happen, work under leaders that do the same, and find people to work for you in the same way. Otherwise, yours isn't a bus trip, it's just a stalled bus with a bunch of really great people in it that isn't going anywhere.
But too often, leaders falls short in the implementation of this simple tenet. Note that Collins' imperative has three actions to it: 1) get the right people on the bus, 2) get the wrong people off the bus, and 3) figure out what direction to drive. We've already spoken above about how often leaders get this sequence wrong, trying to do #3 while #1 and #2 aren't yet set. But sometimes leaders fail to do #2 and/or #3 completely.
We all understand the importance of #1, and most good leaders are good leaders because they attract the right people to themselves. But then they let the wrong people hang around; they don't take care of #2. Maybe it's loyalty or lack of courage or bad judgment, but too often leaders don't get the wrong people off the bus. And the organization is thusly impaired in being great.
Even those leaders that get the right people on the bus and the wrong people off the bus can still fail, at not doing #3. A lot of leaders are self-initiating mavericks. Having chafed under bureaucracy and micro-management and structure, they've loosed themselves to their heart's content, and assume that everyone else is like them and that any semblance of bureaucracy or micro-management or structure is anathema to a work culture where people can thrive.
But you can't expect even the best people, having gotten on the bus, to then know what to do and how to succeed if you don't set at least a general course of direction for them. To use a sports analogy, you could get all the best players but you can't just put them on the field and expect them to automatically win championships. If anything, more talented people require more structure, not to make sure they're being productive but to thoughtfully and strategically put them in the best positions to work their magic. After all, as in sports, there are very few completely individual competitions: the best shooter, for example, still needs to get to his or her spot AND have someone else get them the ball, in order for them to make the shot.
And yet, all too often a leader, having surrounded himself or herself with great people, then assumes that these great people can take things from there. Why, any sort of directive from him or her would feel too much like the kind of stifling work environment that everyone's trying to escape, right? Alas, this kind of chaotic and structureless environment, far from releasing people to do great, too often frustrates people who have no guidance to know what to do, no evaluation to know if they're doing it right, and no accountability to know if what they're doing is synching with what others are doing. When this happens, you can easily have a situation in which the whole is LESS than the sum of these magnificent parts: people are either off doing their own thing, and no synergy is happening, or people are rudderless, expending energy wastefully with no one making sense of all the activity and creativity.
Whatever you're doing, that thing deserves to be done at peak efficiency. Be a leader that makes that happen, work under leaders that do the same, and find people to work for you in the same way. Otherwise, yours isn't a bus trip, it's just a stalled bus with a bunch of really great people in it that isn't going anywhere.
7.24.2006
Worshipful Worship
It will be the irony of ironies when my daughter Jada is all grown up and, when she has her hands raised high as she praises God at a worship service and is asked where she learned to do that, will answer, "At the Presbyterian church where I grew up." After all, it's not for nothing that our denomination is known as "the frozen chosen."
But worship at our church is quite lively. And so it is not unusual for congregants, including me, to raise our hands in worship. And as I raise my left hand and hold Jada in my right hand, she has also taken to raising her hand up high. It is the cutest thing.
I used to think that she was just trying to be like me, or that maybe she thought I was reaching for the lights up high and wanted to do the same. But Amy believes that she is truly worshipping, that she understands the presence of God in her own way and is responding with her body.
My pastor agrees, reminding me that this notion that adults are somehow more able to worship God than children because we know more is not necessarily Biblically grounded. After all, when told by His listeners perturbed by the many kids interrupting a good sermon, Jesus told them they ought to be more like the kids.
I think this is what makes worship at my church so, well, worshipful. Because I can look around and see a whole myriad of worshippers, worshipping in different ways and with different mental capacities. In fact, what is perhaps most stirring is the worship of those who the world might say would have the least capacity to worship, whether because of age or mental illness or physical handicap.
We aren't worshipping willy-nilly, completely lost in emotion and devoid of rational truth. But neither are we closed off to those who may not have seminary degrees or college degrees or any degrees, but who are stirred in their hearts by God and for God, and who respond with reverent dancing and vigorous clapping and, like my daughter, with raised hands.
But worship at our church is quite lively. And so it is not unusual for congregants, including me, to raise our hands in worship. And as I raise my left hand and hold Jada in my right hand, she has also taken to raising her hand up high. It is the cutest thing.
I used to think that she was just trying to be like me, or that maybe she thought I was reaching for the lights up high and wanted to do the same. But Amy believes that she is truly worshipping, that she understands the presence of God in her own way and is responding with her body.
My pastor agrees, reminding me that this notion that adults are somehow more able to worship God than children because we know more is not necessarily Biblically grounded. After all, when told by His listeners perturbed by the many kids interrupting a good sermon, Jesus told them they ought to be more like the kids.
I think this is what makes worship at my church so, well, worshipful. Because I can look around and see a whole myriad of worshippers, worshipping in different ways and with different mental capacities. In fact, what is perhaps most stirring is the worship of those who the world might say would have the least capacity to worship, whether because of age or mental illness or physical handicap.
We aren't worshipping willy-nilly, completely lost in emotion and devoid of rational truth. But neither are we closed off to those who may not have seminary degrees or college degrees or any degrees, but who are stirred in their hearts by God and for God, and who respond with reverent dancing and vigorous clapping and, like my daughter, with raised hands.
7.21.2006
Tax Policy Blog Not a Yawner
(originally posted on the morning of July 20, 2006)
My father-in-law likes to joke that for most people, all you have to do is spell the first few letters of the word, "prune," and it'll make them run to the bathroom. Well, I think that for most people, all you have to do is spell the first few letters of the phrase, "tax policy," and it'll make them yawn.
Maybe it's just me (it probably is), but the Tax Foundation's tax policy blog is anything but a yawner. You can find it at www.taxfoundation.org/blog , and what you'll find there is interesting posts on obesity taxes, gas tax holidays, and even a tax policy podcast.
At first, I detected a Republican and even Libertarian disdain for taxes. But the more I read, the more I saw a desire not necessarily for less taxes, but for less complexity in taxing. Sometimes that comes across in a partisan way, but all the times the message is consistent.
Tax policy may be a yawner of a subject, but with the exception of death, it's the only certain thing in our lives. And probing the who's and how's of taxing do make for interesting political and philosophical discussions. So check it out when you get a chance. And stifle that yawn!
(originally posted on the morning of July 20, 2006)
My father-in-law likes to joke that for most people, all you have to do is spell the first few letters of the word, "prune," and it'll make them run to the bathroom. Well, I think that for most people, all you have to do is spell the first few letters of the phrase, "tax policy," and it'll make them yawn.
Maybe it's just me (it probably is), but the Tax Foundation's tax policy blog is anything but a yawner. You can find it at www.taxfoundation.org/blog , and what you'll find there is interesting posts on obesity taxes, gas tax holidays, and even a tax policy podcast.
At first, I detected a Republican and even Libertarian disdain for taxes. But the more I read, the more I saw a desire not necessarily for less taxes, but for less complexity in taxing. Sometimes that comes across in a partisan way, but all the times the message is consistent.
Tax policy may be a yawner of a subject, but with the exception of death, it's the only certain thing in our lives. And probing the who's and how's of taxing do make for interesting political and philosophical discussions. So check it out when you get a chance. And stifle that yawn!
The Importance of Documenting
(originally posted on the evening of July 19, 2006)
Through the end of the year, the National Archives is doing an incredible exhibit on letters and transcripts that capture historic moments. I was lamenting that it is harder for me to zip down to DC for this kind of thing when I found the National Archives' online version of the exhibit. God bless the Internet! Without leaving my desk or jostling with other tourists, I could read up on the two dozen or so items, including George Washington's take on a bioterrorism threat from the Brits, a slave's loving correspondence to his wife, and Lady Bird Johnson's eyewitness account of the JFK assassination.
I love history -- who doesn't? -- and such first-person angles are even juicier. It makes me appreciative of all the letter-writing and real-time memoiring that people did, that we might be privy to such important events from such intimate perspectives. And for all the bashing of modern culture -- that we don't write personal letters anymore -- how much more spontaneous and unfiltered can it get than all the blogging that's going on? (Speaking of which, why hasn't anyone published a book of first-person accounts of the biggest news stories from the first half of this decade? Like you wouldn't buy that book?)
So if you blog, blog some more. And if you don't, start. Who knows who will benefit from your account?
(originally posted on the evening of July 19, 2006)
Through the end of the year, the National Archives is doing an incredible exhibit on letters and transcripts that capture historic moments. I was lamenting that it is harder for me to zip down to DC for this kind of thing when I found the National Archives' online version of the exhibit. God bless the Internet! Without leaving my desk or jostling with other tourists, I could read up on the two dozen or so items, including George Washington's take on a bioterrorism threat from the Brits, a slave's loving correspondence to his wife, and Lady Bird Johnson's eyewitness account of the JFK assassination.
I love history -- who doesn't? -- and such first-person angles are even juicier. It makes me appreciative of all the letter-writing and real-time memoiring that people did, that we might be privy to such important events from such intimate perspectives. And for all the bashing of modern culture -- that we don't write personal letters anymore -- how much more spontaneous and unfiltered can it get than all the blogging that's going on? (Speaking of which, why hasn't anyone published a book of first-person accounts of the biggest news stories from the first half of this decade? Like you wouldn't buy that book?)
So if you blog, blog some more. And if you don't, start. Who knows who will benefit from your account?
Prepared for the Worst
(originally posted on the evening of July 19, 2006)
Philadelphia recently published its report of the Mayor's Emergency Preparedness Review Committee, which you can find at http://www.phila.gov/pdfs/EPRC_Final_Report.pdf . A lot of us have pointed fingers at all levels of government for the disaster that was the response to the disaster that was Hurricane Katrina. I'm not saying that the finger-pointing wasn't justified -- in fact, I believe it was -- but let's also look to where our other three fingers are pointing when we point: ourselves. Do we know the relevant details of our own city's disaster plan? Have we done our part to participate in its formation? And are we ready if, God forbid, we should need to participate in its implementation, particularly as it relates to making sure the most vulnerable among us are OK? I consider myself a pretty responsible person, and while I'm happy about some of the prep I've done in this area, there's still a lot I can do to protect myself, my family, and others in my community.
I hope you'll join me in reading Philadelphia's (and/or your own city's) disaster plan, and in making appropriate preparations for the worst. We don't wish for the worst, of course, but we know that if we are ready, the worst can bring out the best in us. Let's prepare accordingly.
(originally posted on the evening of July 19, 2006)
Philadelphia recently published its report of the Mayor's Emergency Preparedness Review Committee, which you can find at http://www.phila.gov/pdfs/EPRC_Final_Report.pdf . A lot of us have pointed fingers at all levels of government for the disaster that was the response to the disaster that was Hurricane Katrina. I'm not saying that the finger-pointing wasn't justified -- in fact, I believe it was -- but let's also look to where our other three fingers are pointing when we point: ourselves. Do we know the relevant details of our own city's disaster plan? Have we done our part to participate in its formation? And are we ready if, God forbid, we should need to participate in its implementation, particularly as it relates to making sure the most vulnerable among us are OK? I consider myself a pretty responsible person, and while I'm happy about some of the prep I've done in this area, there's still a lot I can do to protect myself, my family, and others in my community.
I hope you'll join me in reading Philadelphia's (and/or your own city's) disaster plan, and in making appropriate preparations for the worst. We don't wish for the worst, of course, but we know that if we are ready, the worst can bring out the best in us. Let's prepare accordingly.
7.20.2006
My Country Club
I've been having a fair amount of conversations with a good friend of mine from college about the church in which he serves in Texas. It's an ethnic church that has a generation of parents for whom English is not their dominant language, and a second generation of kids, some of whom are old enough that they have kids themselves. It is certainly not spiritually dead by any stretch of the imagination -- worship is vibrant, the community looks out for one another, and membership is going up and not down.
And yet there is tension, which my friend vents to me when we talk. Tension that signals to me that this church could go in one of two directions: forward or backward. The core members of this congregation have been there long enough for their kids to have kids, and while they are not outwardly inflexible or reactionary, they show signs of settling into a rut. They would be the first to tell you that church is not meant to be a country club, and yet their body language informs my friend that what they're thinking inside is, " . . . but this church is my country club." It's a comfort zone, as another friend of mine put it, "where everybody knows your name." There is a familiarity -- the same people sitting in the same pews, the status of being in the inner circle from a leadership and social standpoint, the good feeling of being an active and busy member -- that people are loath to have shaken from them.
But there's some shaking going on. My friend is part of a group that is seeking to push the church's focus outward -- mercy ministries and diversifying the ethnic mix of Sunday attendees and supporting people in their influence to their circles outside the church. As a result, there are a lot more new faces on Sunday morning, as newcomers are invited in; and a lot less old faces at other sanctioned church activities, as my friend and others are opting out of the church's picnics and covered-dish suppers to do the same things with their unchurched friends. And so you add to the natural language barrier and generation gap these opposing understandings of what the church is to be. For one group, it's a place where you're bound by shared beliefs and a shared sense of looking out for one another. For another group, it's a place where you're bound by a common mission to look and reach outward, which may lead to associating with people who don't share your beliefs and who might not look out for you.
The church as described in the book of Acts was ever bring pushed outward by the Holy Spirit. In fact, just as this motley assemblage of pilgrims to Jerusalem are starting to get comfortable in their meetings and in their sharing of possessions, a wave of persecution impels those not originally from Jerusalem outward, where, like seeds blown by the wind to pollinate new places, they witness to the things they've seen and believed.
We deal with enough chaos in our lives. The world is a mean place, our jobs put more and more pressure on us, and many of us deal with dysfunction from our families and/or our pasts and/or our own poor decisions and bad behaviors and nagging addictions. It is easy to look to our churches as our country club, our place where everybody knows our name, our comfort zone of familiarity and stability and serenity. Certainly, church -- even as a human institution -- can and should be a place where we can be ourselves, where we can count on others, where we can laugh when others laugh and weep when others weep, where we can together celebrate life and marriage and baptism and mourn death and loss and suffering.
But church is first and foremost a divine institution that is bound by a common mission: to look upward and outward, to do acts of mercy and to befriend the lost and to be salt and light in a bland and dim world. In my opinion, my friend has been prayerful and humble in his effort to influence his church in Texas. He has instigated without being offensive, he prods but also listens, and wants God's will for the church and not just his own way to prevail. He prefers unity and reconciliation and the respecting of those older and wiser and more experienced than he. But he knows that the Bible is all too clear about what God thinks of "country club" Christians, and like a prophet calling out to what ought to be, he seeks to shake those who don't want to be shaken but most need to be shaken. I pray for him and his church, for my own church, for all churches, that we won't just assent to a head knowledge of what church should be but examine our own hearts for ways we seek a security there that shouldn't be sought.
And yet there is tension, which my friend vents to me when we talk. Tension that signals to me that this church could go in one of two directions: forward or backward. The core members of this congregation have been there long enough for their kids to have kids, and while they are not outwardly inflexible or reactionary, they show signs of settling into a rut. They would be the first to tell you that church is not meant to be a country club, and yet their body language informs my friend that what they're thinking inside is, " . . . but this church is my country club." It's a comfort zone, as another friend of mine put it, "where everybody knows your name." There is a familiarity -- the same people sitting in the same pews, the status of being in the inner circle from a leadership and social standpoint, the good feeling of being an active and busy member -- that people are loath to have shaken from them.
But there's some shaking going on. My friend is part of a group that is seeking to push the church's focus outward -- mercy ministries and diversifying the ethnic mix of Sunday attendees and supporting people in their influence to their circles outside the church. As a result, there are a lot more new faces on Sunday morning, as newcomers are invited in; and a lot less old faces at other sanctioned church activities, as my friend and others are opting out of the church's picnics and covered-dish suppers to do the same things with their unchurched friends. And so you add to the natural language barrier and generation gap these opposing understandings of what the church is to be. For one group, it's a place where you're bound by shared beliefs and a shared sense of looking out for one another. For another group, it's a place where you're bound by a common mission to look and reach outward, which may lead to associating with people who don't share your beliefs and who might not look out for you.
The church as described in the book of Acts was ever bring pushed outward by the Holy Spirit. In fact, just as this motley assemblage of pilgrims to Jerusalem are starting to get comfortable in their meetings and in their sharing of possessions, a wave of persecution impels those not originally from Jerusalem outward, where, like seeds blown by the wind to pollinate new places, they witness to the things they've seen and believed.
We deal with enough chaos in our lives. The world is a mean place, our jobs put more and more pressure on us, and many of us deal with dysfunction from our families and/or our pasts and/or our own poor decisions and bad behaviors and nagging addictions. It is easy to look to our churches as our country club, our place where everybody knows our name, our comfort zone of familiarity and stability and serenity. Certainly, church -- even as a human institution -- can and should be a place where we can be ourselves, where we can count on others, where we can laugh when others laugh and weep when others weep, where we can together celebrate life and marriage and baptism and mourn death and loss and suffering.
But church is first and foremost a divine institution that is bound by a common mission: to look upward and outward, to do acts of mercy and to befriend the lost and to be salt and light in a bland and dim world. In my opinion, my friend has been prayerful and humble in his effort to influence his church in Texas. He has instigated without being offensive, he prods but also listens, and wants God's will for the church and not just his own way to prevail. He prefers unity and reconciliation and the respecting of those older and wiser and more experienced than he. But he knows that the Bible is all too clear about what God thinks of "country club" Christians, and like a prophet calling out to what ought to be, he seeks to shake those who don't want to be shaken but most need to be shaken. I pray for him and his church, for my own church, for all churches, that we won't just assent to a head knowledge of what church should be but examine our own hearts for ways we seek a security there that shouldn't be sought.
7.18.2006
Urban Runs
I've blogged before about how running is a great way to get to know a city. As a public service to other urban runners, I thought I'd muse on some of my favorite urban runs (in alphabetical order); I would also highly recommend Runner's World's blurbs on about 80 cities around the world: http://www.runnersworld.com/category/1,5034,s6-188-193-0-0,00.html.
Atlanta -- I'm partial to Piedmont Park, which has lakes and curvy paths, and isn't far from Centennial Park either.
Baltimore -- Of course the Inner Harbor; running north-south on either St. Paul or Calvert to get there is nice, too.
Boston -- Both sides of the Charles River, with plenty of bridges so you can run as long or short as you like.
Chicago -- I once took the El way up north of downtown and then ran back along Lake Michigan; outstanding.
Cincinnati -- I like driving to Eden Park and then meandering my way from there to Fountain Square downtown.
Cleveland -- Running alongside Lake Erie ain't too bad.
Dallas -- Not a fun urban run: too hot, wide streets, nothing really interesting to look at.
Los Angeles -- The beach, of course.
Milwaukee -- Running alongside Lake Michigan ain't too bad.
New York -- I've walked (Central Park, Riverside Park) but never run in this city.
Niagara Falls -- The tourists might look at you funny, but it is awfully nice to have such a gorgeous view on your run.
Orlando -- I still haven't found a good route here, since everything's all spread out.
Philadelphia -- If I didn't live here, I'd go here just to run: where else can you see so much history along the way?
Phoenix -- See Dallas.
Pittsburgh -- Point State Park and lots of bridges to get you back and forth across the three rivers.
Richmond -- On a typical run, you might see Carytown and lots of statues of Confederate heroes.
San Diego -- My faves here are Balboa Park or the beach.
San Francisco -- Climb up Lombard or get lost in Golden Gate Park, or do both on the same run if you have a death wish.
San Jose -- Vasona Park is all connected now, so you can go as long or short as you want and still be on easy ground.
Seattle -- Though I was born here and have visited many times, I've never run here -- but I will when I go next year.
Toronto -- Funky parts are fun to run through, and the CN Tower is worth running to.
Washington DC -- You have to go with Rock Creek Park here, although I'm always nervous I'll find Chandra Levy's remains.
Atlanta -- I'm partial to Piedmont Park, which has lakes and curvy paths, and isn't far from Centennial Park either.
Baltimore -- Of course the Inner Harbor; running north-south on either St. Paul or Calvert to get there is nice, too.
Boston -- Both sides of the Charles River, with plenty of bridges so you can run as long or short as you like.
Chicago -- I once took the El way up north of downtown and then ran back along Lake Michigan; outstanding.
Cincinnati -- I like driving to Eden Park and then meandering my way from there to Fountain Square downtown.
Cleveland -- Running alongside Lake Erie ain't too bad.
Dallas -- Not a fun urban run: too hot, wide streets, nothing really interesting to look at.
Los Angeles -- The beach, of course.
Milwaukee -- Running alongside Lake Michigan ain't too bad.
New York -- I've walked (Central Park, Riverside Park) but never run in this city.
Niagara Falls -- The tourists might look at you funny, but it is awfully nice to have such a gorgeous view on your run.
Orlando -- I still haven't found a good route here, since everything's all spread out.
Philadelphia -- If I didn't live here, I'd go here just to run: where else can you see so much history along the way?
Phoenix -- See Dallas.
Pittsburgh -- Point State Park and lots of bridges to get you back and forth across the three rivers.
Richmond -- On a typical run, you might see Carytown and lots of statues of Confederate heroes.
San Diego -- My faves here are Balboa Park or the beach.
San Francisco -- Climb up Lombard or get lost in Golden Gate Park, or do both on the same run if you have a death wish.
San Jose -- Vasona Park is all connected now, so you can go as long or short as you want and still be on easy ground.
Seattle -- Though I was born here and have visited many times, I've never run here -- but I will when I go next year.
Toronto -- Funky parts are fun to run through, and the CN Tower is worth running to.
Washington DC -- You have to go with Rock Creek Park here, although I'm always nervous I'll find Chandra Levy's remains.
7.17.2006
A Bigger Gospel
One of the many things I like about the sermons at our church's Sunday morning service is that they are deliberate efforts to see Biblical truths unfiltered by our Western, post-modern worldviews. One particularly insidious way in which we can process spiritual matters is to consider everything from a personal and isolated perspective. In other words, as one of our pastors noted yesterday, if you poll the average American Christian about the meaning of the gospel, they'd tell you something related to their individual salvation transaction.
Ah, but the gospel is far bigger and God has far grander notions. Off the top of my head, there are at least four, greater aspects to what God's up to in history:
1) The church. God isn't just saving individuals, He's saving a group of individuals.
2) Relationships. God isn't just healing the rend between us and God, but between us and us.
3) Systems. God isn't just saving human souls, He's redeeming human systems.
4) Creation. God isn't just transforming humans, but also all of creation.
We have gained so much in the way of knowledge over the last 2000 years, for which I'm neither ungrateful nor dismissive. But see how much we miss out on the size and sizzle of God's work because of the blinders all this knowledge has given us. Well do we pray when we constantly seek for God's help to receive His truths and to process them appropriately.
Ah, but the gospel is far bigger and God has far grander notions. Off the top of my head, there are at least four, greater aspects to what God's up to in history:
1) The church. God isn't just saving individuals, He's saving a group of individuals.
2) Relationships. God isn't just healing the rend between us and God, but between us and us.
3) Systems. God isn't just saving human souls, He's redeeming human systems.
4) Creation. God isn't just transforming humans, but also all of creation.
We have gained so much in the way of knowledge over the last 2000 years, for which I'm neither ungrateful nor dismissive. But see how much we miss out on the size and sizzle of God's work because of the blinders all this knowledge has given us. Well do we pray when we constantly seek for God's help to receive His truths and to process them appropriately.
7.12.2006
Change
It's a shame that the phrase, "change management," seems so passe today, because I would argue it's a more relevant topic now than when it was a consulting-speak buzzword in the 1990's. After all, the only thing that doesn't change is that there will always be change. And as the rate of change accelerates, so does the importance of managing that change become all the more important.
I have noticed that, in my own life and in conversations with others, the same themes recur when it comes to change. I'm focusing my thoughts on our attitudes towards change as we are a part of three types of entities: workplaces, non-work groups (with church being the most prominent one), and neighborhoods. When we identify ourselves as the side that's having change brought upon us:
* We can express shock that someone would dare even consider messing with something so dear to us (a work division, a worship format, a local icon).
* We can tend to demonize the worst of what post-change will look like: loss of jobs, loss of community, loss of local character.
* We can tend to glamorize the best of what pre-change used to look like: "remember when," "not like how we used to do it," "we wouldn't have done it like that before."
Meanwhile, if we're the ones making the change happen, we can tend towards some of the following attitudes:
* We can express disdain that others would be so stuck in the blandness of the past that they'd be unable to see the flavor of the future.
* We can tend to equate change as inherently good, always superior to doing nothing.
* We can so assume the correctness of our agenda that we don't take the time to consider and value others' agendas.
In businesses, churches, and communities, change is inevitable. Jobs and departments will be created, consolidated, and closed. An organization's customs and norms will evolve over time. A neighborhood will have inflows and outflows of people and structures.
Jesus spoke of new wine bursting old wineskins to illustrate how the religious old guard was bursting at the seams because they couldn't accept the newness of His teaching. Jesus also went to temple, was a practicing Jew, and declared that He didn't come to destroy the established law but to fulfill it.
Freezing the status quo is impossible. So is instituting change without bumps and hiccups. We should neither assume that change is always better, nor should we rigidly fight change because we are afraid. If we are the changer, we ought to be a sympathetic listener and a respecter of current members and methods, but not compromise on change that will be ultimately good for the group. If we are the changee, we ought to hear out the whats and whys of the change, speak our mind where we are uncomfortable, and make sure our hearts are open and not closed off.
While I regret that the phrase, "change management," has gone out of style, I do have one critique of what it meant in the 1990's. Usually it was associated with a distinct transition, and managing an organization through to the end of that transition from where it started. I would argue that there is no beginning or end to transition, that while we might have seasons and campaigns of transition, we are ever changing and therefore ever in need of "change management." Would that whether we are the changer or the changee, we do "change management" well.
I have noticed that, in my own life and in conversations with others, the same themes recur when it comes to change. I'm focusing my thoughts on our attitudes towards change as we are a part of three types of entities: workplaces, non-work groups (with church being the most prominent one), and neighborhoods. When we identify ourselves as the side that's having change brought upon us:
* We can express shock that someone would dare even consider messing with something so dear to us (a work division, a worship format, a local icon).
* We can tend to demonize the worst of what post-change will look like: loss of jobs, loss of community, loss of local character.
* We can tend to glamorize the best of what pre-change used to look like: "remember when," "not like how we used to do it," "we wouldn't have done it like that before."
Meanwhile, if we're the ones making the change happen, we can tend towards some of the following attitudes:
* We can express disdain that others would be so stuck in the blandness of the past that they'd be unable to see the flavor of the future.
* We can tend to equate change as inherently good, always superior to doing nothing.
* We can so assume the correctness of our agenda that we don't take the time to consider and value others' agendas.
In businesses, churches, and communities, change is inevitable. Jobs and departments will be created, consolidated, and closed. An organization's customs and norms will evolve over time. A neighborhood will have inflows and outflows of people and structures.
Jesus spoke of new wine bursting old wineskins to illustrate how the religious old guard was bursting at the seams because they couldn't accept the newness of His teaching. Jesus also went to temple, was a practicing Jew, and declared that He didn't come to destroy the established law but to fulfill it.
Freezing the status quo is impossible. So is instituting change without bumps and hiccups. We should neither assume that change is always better, nor should we rigidly fight change because we are afraid. If we are the changer, we ought to be a sympathetic listener and a respecter of current members and methods, but not compromise on change that will be ultimately good for the group. If we are the changee, we ought to hear out the whats and whys of the change, speak our mind where we are uncomfortable, and make sure our hearts are open and not closed off.
While I regret that the phrase, "change management," has gone out of style, I do have one critique of what it meant in the 1990's. Usually it was associated with a distinct transition, and managing an organization through to the end of that transition from where it started. I would argue that there is no beginning or end to transition, that while we might have seasons and campaigns of transition, we are ever changing and therefore ever in need of "change management." Would that whether we are the changer or the changee, we do "change management" well.
7.11.2006
Impossible Amounts of Money
Several years ago, I was sitting in a seminar on fundraising that was being conducted by a colleague of the organization I used to work for. At the end of the seminar, this charismatic speaker reached into his bag and pulled out $100 in cash and a ceramic mug. He put the money in the mug, told the audience about my youth entrepreneurship program, and invited the attendees to make a contribution in support of my program, to see firsthand how good it feels to give. Including his $100, I left that seminar with almost $700 for my program!
A few months later, I had the opportunity to speak at the college fellowship I had participated in when I was at PENN. I had just graduated a couple years before, and was still living in a house near campus, along with several current members of the fellowship. One of them was from an Asian country; his fiancee was still there, and he didn't think he'd have the money to see her over the holidays. My talk was on money, so, emboldened by my experience from a few months past, I decided to give my listeners an immediate opportunity to respond. Like my colleague, I too reached into a bag and pulled out $100 in cash and a ceramic mug, told the audience about my housemate (whose story they all knew), and invited others to contribute towards raising the money to get him home for the holidays.
When I conceived of this idea in the days leading up to the talk, I was excited to see how much we would raise, and eager to see the look on my friend and housemate's face (I hadn't discussed this with him previous, so it was going to be a huge surprise). But once that mug left my hand on the night of my talk, I was filled with unease. PENN may have richer college students than most, but the prospect of a room of about 100 students having any significant amount of money in their pocket on a Thursday evening was slimmer than I had considered. Even as I wrapped up my remarks, my mind spun with the worst-case scenarios: what if, including my $100, we only raise another $200-$300, not nearly enough for a plane ticket and blowing a huge hole in the fanfare with which I had launched this unannounced fundraising campaign. I said a little prayer inside, and upon concluding my talk, prayed aloud, among other things that God would provide the funds for my housemate.
When I said "Amen" and we all opened our eyes, I asked someone in the back to bring the mug forward and count out the money. Including pledges, we had raised over $2000! The ensuing set of worship songs was sung with special enthusiasm, as you can imagine, especially by me -- I breathed a sigh of relief, said thanks to God, and gave a quick glance to my friend and housemate. Who knew that in a room full of college students, we could raise so much money, and so enthusiastically no less. I'll forever remember that night as the time God provided impossible amounts of money, and we celebrated it in joyous song.
A few months later, I had the opportunity to speak at the college fellowship I had participated in when I was at PENN. I had just graduated a couple years before, and was still living in a house near campus, along with several current members of the fellowship. One of them was from an Asian country; his fiancee was still there, and he didn't think he'd have the money to see her over the holidays. My talk was on money, so, emboldened by my experience from a few months past, I decided to give my listeners an immediate opportunity to respond. Like my colleague, I too reached into a bag and pulled out $100 in cash and a ceramic mug, told the audience about my housemate (whose story they all knew), and invited others to contribute towards raising the money to get him home for the holidays.
When I conceived of this idea in the days leading up to the talk, I was excited to see how much we would raise, and eager to see the look on my friend and housemate's face (I hadn't discussed this with him previous, so it was going to be a huge surprise). But once that mug left my hand on the night of my talk, I was filled with unease. PENN may have richer college students than most, but the prospect of a room of about 100 students having any significant amount of money in their pocket on a Thursday evening was slimmer than I had considered. Even as I wrapped up my remarks, my mind spun with the worst-case scenarios: what if, including my $100, we only raise another $200-$300, not nearly enough for a plane ticket and blowing a huge hole in the fanfare with which I had launched this unannounced fundraising campaign. I said a little prayer inside, and upon concluding my talk, prayed aloud, among other things that God would provide the funds for my housemate.
When I said "Amen" and we all opened our eyes, I asked someone in the back to bring the mug forward and count out the money. Including pledges, we had raised over $2000! The ensuing set of worship songs was sung with special enthusiasm, as you can imagine, especially by me -- I breathed a sigh of relief, said thanks to God, and gave a quick glance to my friend and housemate. Who knew that in a room full of college students, we could raise so much money, and so enthusiastically no less. I'll forever remember that night as the time God provided impossible amounts of money, and we celebrated it in joyous song.
7.10.2006
See Past the Present to the Future
In the midst of some conflict in our church, yesterday's worship service was a powerful one. There was talk of healing, prayer for healing, hope for healing, and I want to say that in the midst of all that, there was some healing. Most of all, there was a sense that God was present, and where He is present there is healing and hope for more healing indeed.
Biblically and historically, there is no healing without repentance. To say it without any religious words, God can't fix stuff until you start admitting there's stuff that needs to be fixed. So I wanted to do a little repentance of my own, stirred as I was by the lessons of yesterday's service.
First, I want to repent of my unbelief, my sense of resignation that things will never change. Whether it is broken relationships, unjust systems, or sin patterns, too often I have given up on progress, defeated into thinking these things must necessarily continue into the future. To doubt God's power to heal strained relationships, transform imperfect systems, and break us out of sinful habits, is to make God awfully small.
Second, I want to repent of not wanting these things to change. As one of our pastors put it, how easily we can hesitate in actually wanting to get better. For as painful as present hurts are, there is a sick yet secure sense of comfort that comes from the control we derive from it. We can wear past hurts as badges, to derive the pity or admiration of others. We can find estranged relationships safer than the messiness of being reconnected. We can find it easier to complain as victims or cry foul as activists rather than bear the responsibility of actually doing something about it.
Third, I want to repent of not being able to see past the present to the future. As much as God is still in the business of present healings, ultimately, whether we're talking about mended bodies or mended relationships, these are just temporary fixes that point to a more permanent and far more glorious wholeness. As CS Lewis said and our pastor echoed, we are shadows of our future selves, and whether God answers our cries for healing with immediate comfort or faith to endure temporary discomfort, what sustains us are these foretastes of something far, far greater. I am more future-oriented than most, but still I forget so easily what Paul proclaims amid suffering far worse than mine: "These present sufferings aren't worthy to be compared to the glory that is to be revealed to us."
Forgive me, O LORD, for making you small, for preferring the control of present pain to the wildness of the path to healing, and for not seeing past the present to a glorious future. Forgive us as a church for these things, too. Help us to exercise faith and courage to do better, and to know that glory lies ahead not on account of the size of our faith and our courage, but on account of the size of the God in whom we place our faith and find our courage.
Biblically and historically, there is no healing without repentance. To say it without any religious words, God can't fix stuff until you start admitting there's stuff that needs to be fixed. So I wanted to do a little repentance of my own, stirred as I was by the lessons of yesterday's service.
First, I want to repent of my unbelief, my sense of resignation that things will never change. Whether it is broken relationships, unjust systems, or sin patterns, too often I have given up on progress, defeated into thinking these things must necessarily continue into the future. To doubt God's power to heal strained relationships, transform imperfect systems, and break us out of sinful habits, is to make God awfully small.
Second, I want to repent of not wanting these things to change. As one of our pastors put it, how easily we can hesitate in actually wanting to get better. For as painful as present hurts are, there is a sick yet secure sense of comfort that comes from the control we derive from it. We can wear past hurts as badges, to derive the pity or admiration of others. We can find estranged relationships safer than the messiness of being reconnected. We can find it easier to complain as victims or cry foul as activists rather than bear the responsibility of actually doing something about it.
Third, I want to repent of not being able to see past the present to the future. As much as God is still in the business of present healings, ultimately, whether we're talking about mended bodies or mended relationships, these are just temporary fixes that point to a more permanent and far more glorious wholeness. As CS Lewis said and our pastor echoed, we are shadows of our future selves, and whether God answers our cries for healing with immediate comfort or faith to endure temporary discomfort, what sustains us are these foretastes of something far, far greater. I am more future-oriented than most, but still I forget so easily what Paul proclaims amid suffering far worse than mine: "These present sufferings aren't worthy to be compared to the glory that is to be revealed to us."
Forgive me, O LORD, for making you small, for preferring the control of present pain to the wildness of the path to healing, and for not seeing past the present to a glorious future. Forgive us as a church for these things, too. Help us to exercise faith and courage to do better, and to know that glory lies ahead not on account of the size of our faith and our courage, but on account of the size of the God in whom we place our faith and find our courage.
7.05.2006
The Government as Guarantor of Income Now and Tomorrow
I admit that I am generally not on the side of labor, try as I might to understand their position. I hope I could be described as "enlightened" as a managerial type, in that I get that it's just bad business to treat your workers like crap, whether work conditions or pay/benefits or supervisory interactions. So it's not like I'm evil and think labor can just be walked all over and underappreciated and all. It's just that sometimes their demands seem unreasonable to me, given how our economy works in this country now.
Let me give you a couple of examples. Earlier this summer, I attended a breakfast at Temple University that was hosted by the City of Philadelphia for private developers. Outside, union members were protesting the mayor's plan to consolidate three somewhat overlapping housing agencies into one unit. The union members were worried about people losing jobs in this consolidation, so they made their presence known as local officials arrived for the conference. Some of them even started chanting, "No Justice, No Peace!" I had to shake my head. When times change and things need to get reorganized, we can be merciful and smart in how we downsize our workforce -- that's just common sense, whether public or private sector. But it doesn't mean that laying people off is necessarily an unjust act. What seems more unjust, given that our local government exists to serve us taxpayers, is for inefficient organizations of agencies and unnecessary staff positions to be left alone. While a government job is not at-will ( i.e you can't be unceremonially fired, except for grievous offenses), neither is it an entitlement that is immune to market forces and change.
Second, in yesterday's paper, there was a picture of some New Jersey state workers protesting, as Governor Corzine has furloughed them during the state's current government shutdown to get a balanced budget passed. One was wearing a shirt that said, "Every worker deserves a secure pension." Is that really true? And is the government's job to provide that pension? (Maybe in Sweden or France.) My understanding of pensions is that they are basically deferred salary: income you get after you're done working rather than while you're working. Of course, I've grown up in an era where defined contribution plans are more prevalent than defined benefit, so the notion of a benevolent employer paying me from the day I quit working to the day I die seems odd to me. If you want to be the kind of company/country that does that, good for you and that's something that'll make your company/country attractive. But the notion that it is a right for workers to draw a pension for life is something I'm just not comfortable with. It's a good thing our accounting standards are moving us towards governments more fully fund their pension funds, as fiscally painful as that is for governments to do, or else our children would be seeing most of their tax dollars go towards workers and work that took place when they were in diapers.
Don't get me wrong: drawing an income from a job today and a pension tomorrow are good things. No one should be denied the right to earn such an income. But neither should people feel entitled for the government to automatically provide it. After all, what are we, Northern Europe?
Let me give you a couple of examples. Earlier this summer, I attended a breakfast at Temple University that was hosted by the City of Philadelphia for private developers. Outside, union members were protesting the mayor's plan to consolidate three somewhat overlapping housing agencies into one unit. The union members were worried about people losing jobs in this consolidation, so they made their presence known as local officials arrived for the conference. Some of them even started chanting, "No Justice, No Peace!" I had to shake my head. When times change and things need to get reorganized, we can be merciful and smart in how we downsize our workforce -- that's just common sense, whether public or private sector. But it doesn't mean that laying people off is necessarily an unjust act. What seems more unjust, given that our local government exists to serve us taxpayers, is for inefficient organizations of agencies and unnecessary staff positions to be left alone. While a government job is not at-will ( i.e you can't be unceremonially fired, except for grievous offenses), neither is it an entitlement that is immune to market forces and change.
Second, in yesterday's paper, there was a picture of some New Jersey state workers protesting, as Governor Corzine has furloughed them during the state's current government shutdown to get a balanced budget passed. One was wearing a shirt that said, "Every worker deserves a secure pension." Is that really true? And is the government's job to provide that pension? (Maybe in Sweden or France.) My understanding of pensions is that they are basically deferred salary: income you get after you're done working rather than while you're working. Of course, I've grown up in an era where defined contribution plans are more prevalent than defined benefit, so the notion of a benevolent employer paying me from the day I quit working to the day I die seems odd to me. If you want to be the kind of company/country that does that, good for you and that's something that'll make your company/country attractive. But the notion that it is a right for workers to draw a pension for life is something I'm just not comfortable with. It's a good thing our accounting standards are moving us towards governments more fully fund their pension funds, as fiscally painful as that is for governments to do, or else our children would be seeing most of their tax dollars go towards workers and work that took place when they were in diapers.
Don't get me wrong: drawing an income from a job today and a pension tomorrow are good things. No one should be denied the right to earn such an income. But neither should people feel entitled for the government to automatically provide it. After all, what are we, Northern Europe?
7.04.2006
Reinventing Government
I recently finished Osbourne and Gaebler's bestseller, Reinventing Government. Just an outstanding book, particularly invigorating for those of us who haven't given up on government but rather want to see it do better. I wanted to jot down a few comments about each of the ten principles the book espouses to make government better:
Catalytic -- i.e. government steering rather than rowing. This takes administrators who are about getting the job done and who aren't threatened by the fact that they might not be the best people/agencies to do the doing.
Community-owned -- i.e. government facilitating public involvement rather than doing it all for us. This has its limits -- I like that NYC in the early 1990's said no to community policing and took back the streets -- but in general, we Americans want to do our part, so far be it for the government to squelch that spirit.
Competitive -- i.e. using competition to force innovation. Monopolies are insidious in government, because what happens is that people become self-protective of their jobs and their agencies, rather than putting it all on the line on behalf of their customers, the general public.
Mission-driven -- i.e. defined by what purpose you're trying to accomplish, not what function your agency provides. See above re: getting folks to give up their role and their security to pursue a greater end, but you have to can whatever you don't have the money, mission, manpower, and motive for.
Results-oriented -- i.e. measuring outcomes and not inputs. Outcomes are messier than inputs to document, but absent the free market mechanisms businesses have (i.e. customers vote with their dollars to tell you which products are good and which are bad), you have to take the time to figure out whether you did right by your citizens or not.
Customer-drivern -- i.e. serving the public and not your own agency. Sense a theme here? -- the nature of bureaucracies is to self-preserve, but the business world will tell you the surest way to stay in the game is to take care of your customer.
Enterprising -- i.e. earning rather than spending money. Easier said than done, but everyone has to be a revenue-producer in some way, or else you have to question whether you should be doing that activity.
Anticipatory -- i.e. prevention rather than cure. The hard part about this is that cure is more immediate and makes you look good, while prevention takes longer and you might not be the one to get the accolades for your far-sightedness.
Decentralized -- i.e. working across lines rather than further drawing them. Bureaucracies are all about drawing lines, but the problems they tackle -- from terrorism to bird flu to hurricanes -- require much more fluidity, collaboration, and speed.
Market-oriented -- i.e. responding to the market rather than simply going with the program(s). See above re: solutions to complex problems don't always fit neatly into our existing program buckets, so we have to have our ear to what's coming and have the nimbleness to respond creatively.
The book is neither pie in the sky nor embittered about transforming government. It quotes an equal amount of positive and negative examples. And it's a great guidebook for people at all levels of government to put to use. It was written in the early 1990's but I have a feeling its principles will stand the test of time. One hopes that a future revision of the book has plentiful positive examples since its original publication.
Catalytic -- i.e. government steering rather than rowing. This takes administrators who are about getting the job done and who aren't threatened by the fact that they might not be the best people/agencies to do the doing.
Community-owned -- i.e. government facilitating public involvement rather than doing it all for us. This has its limits -- I like that NYC in the early 1990's said no to community policing and took back the streets -- but in general, we Americans want to do our part, so far be it for the government to squelch that spirit.
Competitive -- i.e. using competition to force innovation. Monopolies are insidious in government, because what happens is that people become self-protective of their jobs and their agencies, rather than putting it all on the line on behalf of their customers, the general public.
Mission-driven -- i.e. defined by what purpose you're trying to accomplish, not what function your agency provides. See above re: getting folks to give up their role and their security to pursue a greater end, but you have to can whatever you don't have the money, mission, manpower, and motive for.
Results-oriented -- i.e. measuring outcomes and not inputs. Outcomes are messier than inputs to document, but absent the free market mechanisms businesses have (i.e. customers vote with their dollars to tell you which products are good and which are bad), you have to take the time to figure out whether you did right by your citizens or not.
Customer-drivern -- i.e. serving the public and not your own agency. Sense a theme here? -- the nature of bureaucracies is to self-preserve, but the business world will tell you the surest way to stay in the game is to take care of your customer.
Enterprising -- i.e. earning rather than spending money. Easier said than done, but everyone has to be a revenue-producer in some way, or else you have to question whether you should be doing that activity.
Anticipatory -- i.e. prevention rather than cure. The hard part about this is that cure is more immediate and makes you look good, while prevention takes longer and you might not be the one to get the accolades for your far-sightedness.
Decentralized -- i.e. working across lines rather than further drawing them. Bureaucracies are all about drawing lines, but the problems they tackle -- from terrorism to bird flu to hurricanes -- require much more fluidity, collaboration, and speed.
Market-oriented -- i.e. responding to the market rather than simply going with the program(s). See above re: solutions to complex problems don't always fit neatly into our existing program buckets, so we have to have our ear to what's coming and have the nimbleness to respond creatively.
The book is neither pie in the sky nor embittered about transforming government. It quotes an equal amount of positive and negative examples. And it's a great guidebook for people at all levels of government to put to use. It was written in the early 1990's but I have a feeling its principles will stand the test of time. One hopes that a future revision of the book has plentiful positive examples since its original publication.
Backup Quarterback
I have a ton of respect for NFL backup quarterbacks who do their homework during the week and keep themselves physically and mentally prepared to enter the game at a moment's notice. Many years, they'll never get on the playing field, or else it'll be during garbage time when the team wants to keep the starter from injury. And yet, all it takes is one bad hit or one awkward landing, and all of a sudden, Mr. Backup Quarterback is thrust into the position of great influence on a game's outcome. So to be ready ever week like that, never knowing if or when it'll be your time to produce, that takes a lot of humility and professionalism and dedication to excellence.
I mention this because I think there are seasons in our Christian discipleship when we are called to be backup quarterback. In his book, The Making of a Leader, Robert Clinton looks at leaders from the Bible, church history, and contemporary times, to see if there are any patterns in the ways God makes leaders and in the ways leaders respond. He finds that times "on the sideline" show up in a lot of leaders' lives. He describes such times as instrumental in God's molding of the kind of faithfulness, steadiness, and humility He requires of leaders. If he was a football fan, he might even call these "seasons as backup quarterback."
I am wondering if this is a season as backup quarterback for me. I have gone from a job with tremendous and broad leadership opportunities to one that is more specialized and focused. With a small child at home and hopefully more on the way, I have less time and energy for things like church service and board membership. And, let's face it, I'm older; so the day ends for me at 9:00pm while for others it is just beginning.
For someone who is as accomplishment-oriented as I am, it is hard to be "on the sidelines." But I remember my admiration for NFL backup quarterbacks and the insights from Robert Clinton. And so I believe this is my "season as backup quarterback," and God is trying to grow in me the humility and professionalism and dedication to excellence He needs to see in me so that I will be ready the next time I'm thrust into play.
Don't get me wrong: my life right now is neither boring nor empty. My job is fulfilling, challenging, stretching. I love being a dad, being home at a decent hour to be with my family. I'm OK with getting older and needing more sleep. In addition to my job, I'm starting to dip my toe in other areas of service. I wouldn't wish for the lifestyle of my twentysomethings even if I could go back in time.
Even for starting quarterbacks, Sunday is only one day a week. The other six days are for film work, repetitions, cross training, stuff like that. All that prep pays off on Sunday. The backup quarterback has to train just as hard, but the payoff isn't necessarily seven days away. That's the thing; they don't know when they'll get on the field again. I don't know, either, but I'll try to take a cue from the backup quarterbacks and be ready when it's time.
I mention this because I think there are seasons in our Christian discipleship when we are called to be backup quarterback. In his book, The Making of a Leader, Robert Clinton looks at leaders from the Bible, church history, and contemporary times, to see if there are any patterns in the ways God makes leaders and in the ways leaders respond. He finds that times "on the sideline" show up in a lot of leaders' lives. He describes such times as instrumental in God's molding of the kind of faithfulness, steadiness, and humility He requires of leaders. If he was a football fan, he might even call these "seasons as backup quarterback."
I am wondering if this is a season as backup quarterback for me. I have gone from a job with tremendous and broad leadership opportunities to one that is more specialized and focused. With a small child at home and hopefully more on the way, I have less time and energy for things like church service and board membership. And, let's face it, I'm older; so the day ends for me at 9:00pm while for others it is just beginning.
For someone who is as accomplishment-oriented as I am, it is hard to be "on the sidelines." But I remember my admiration for NFL backup quarterbacks and the insights from Robert Clinton. And so I believe this is my "season as backup quarterback," and God is trying to grow in me the humility and professionalism and dedication to excellence He needs to see in me so that I will be ready the next time I'm thrust into play.
Don't get me wrong: my life right now is neither boring nor empty. My job is fulfilling, challenging, stretching. I love being a dad, being home at a decent hour to be with my family. I'm OK with getting older and needing more sleep. In addition to my job, I'm starting to dip my toe in other areas of service. I wouldn't wish for the lifestyle of my twentysomethings even if I could go back in time.
Even for starting quarterbacks, Sunday is only one day a week. The other six days are for film work, repetitions, cross training, stuff like that. All that prep pays off on Sunday. The backup quarterback has to train just as hard, but the payoff isn't necessarily seven days away. That's the thing; they don't know when they'll get on the field again. I don't know, either, but I'll try to take a cue from the backup quarterbacks and be ready when it's time.
7.03.2006
We're the Hot Neighborhood Now
I took my daughter to the local park this Saturday afternoon, as I often do, and met another dad there. He'd just moved to the neighborhood from Queen Village, a pretty happening neighborhood in its own right. He told me his kids were getting to school age, and hence the move. I nodded in agreement, affirming to him that the elementary school in our area is indeed a good one. But inside, I had to marvel that people are now moving into our urban neighborhood for this reason. After all, people usually move out of the city when it's time to start sending their kids to school. University City, you've come a long way.
It's All Greek (and Hebrew) to Me
I have a bunch of friends who have finished seminary or are still studying, and I always marvel at how long and arduous the degree is. One of the things that make the program so long is the Greek and Hebrew requirements. What other Masters degree do you know where you have to learn two languages?
I have to admit I have often wondered if all that studying of two dead languages (dead in that seminarians don't learn what modern people use but instead learn the Biblical versions) was worth the effort. Wouldn't it make sense, I often thought in my practical way, to shave a year or two off the program and get these pastors-in-training into the ministry more quickly? (Many of my pastor friends, no doubt recounting endless hours of Greek and Hebrew flashcards, might be nodding their heads vigorously at this point.)
But it occurs to me, as I think about it some more, that learning Biblical Greek and Hebrew is worth it. After all, for as practical as the job of pastor is in terms of the actual work you do -- counseling people and giving talks and administering an organization -- it is all based on the Bible. And, as with any literature, you lose something in the translation.
Meaning that if you can go back and read the thing in the original language, you open yourself up to some breathtaking insight. In my opinion, the Bible is best understood by modern minds when those minds can understand the original meaning, in all of its poetry and imagery and vividness. So I'm changing my tune on the practicality of learning Greek and Hebrew, however painful it is. I only hope and pray that our pastors-in-training can master enough of these difficult and old languages to have their eyes opened to the wonders of the Bible, and then to help open our eyes as well.
I have to admit I have often wondered if all that studying of two dead languages (dead in that seminarians don't learn what modern people use but instead learn the Biblical versions) was worth the effort. Wouldn't it make sense, I often thought in my practical way, to shave a year or two off the program and get these pastors-in-training into the ministry more quickly? (Many of my pastor friends, no doubt recounting endless hours of Greek and Hebrew flashcards, might be nodding their heads vigorously at this point.)
But it occurs to me, as I think about it some more, that learning Biblical Greek and Hebrew is worth it. After all, for as practical as the job of pastor is in terms of the actual work you do -- counseling people and giving talks and administering an organization -- it is all based on the Bible. And, as with any literature, you lose something in the translation.
Meaning that if you can go back and read the thing in the original language, you open yourself up to some breathtaking insight. In my opinion, the Bible is best understood by modern minds when those minds can understand the original meaning, in all of its poetry and imagery and vividness. So I'm changing my tune on the practicality of learning Greek and Hebrew, however painful it is. I only hope and pray that our pastors-in-training can master enough of these difficult and old languages to have their eyes opened to the wonders of the Bible, and then to help open our eyes as well.
7.02.2006
Can I Ask You A Question
When I was in college, I remember an incident here in West Philadelphia when I was walking down the street in the evening with a handful of my friends, maybe three women and one or two men. A guy approached us and said something to the effect of, "Can I ask you a question?" He looked sketchy, but I wanted to acknowledge him rather than blowing him off, so I responded. He and I began to talk, and he was about to ask me for something when suddenly two or three cops pulled up in their cars, jumped out, and grabbed the guy. Apparently, he was a pretty bad troublemaker, and they had gotten a report of him having done something nearby earlier in the evening.
As they were hauling the guy off and the cops were scolding me for talking to him, I felt so embarrassed. Embarrassed that I had put my friends and myself in danger, embarrassed that I was too naïve to figure out that this guy was trouble, embarrassed that my attempt to be nice and to be fearless had gone so awry.
I recall this story because I think it must have affected a more recent interaction I had, again here in West Philadelphia. It had been a few weeks since my wife and I had been able to go out on a date, and we were finally able to coordinate with a babysitter and were out of the house, enjoying our brief freedom from parenthood. Our "dates" had heretofore usually consisted of power walks and pizza parlors, but that night we decided to go to a semi-nice restaurant, so we dressed up a bit for the occasion.
We were walking down the street to the restaurant, deep in conversation, when a sketchy-looking guy came up on us and said, "Can I ask you a question?" If I was by myself, I might've stopped and heard the guy out. But given that I was with my wife, and we were itching to get to the restaurant, I brushed the guy off and said, "Sorry, we gotta go." And then we sped up our pace to get away from him. But not so far away that we couldn't hear him cursing us out for blowing him off.
Maybe the guy was trouble, like the other guy in the first story several years ago. Or maybe he was just scruffy-looking on the outside, but he really did have a harmless question, like "what time is it" or "where is the nearest subway station." No matter. In the moment, I didn't hesitate; I didn't want to talk to him, and that was that.
But I wonder if that was rude of me, snobby of me, most importantly, un-Christian of me. For people far scruffier and dubious than these two guys seemed to keep tumbling into Jesus' life, and He – as God in the flesh – had time for them. In fact, the Bible seems to suggest that Jesus Himself is tumbling into our lives, in the form of the outcasted and dirty of our society, and that how we treat Him then will go a long way toward determining how He – as Final Judge – will treat us for eternity.
When I was in college, I was a lot less snobby towards the scruffier ones in my midst. I rarely gave them money or even bought them food, but I would converse with them, learn their names, sometimes pray with them. One or two I got to know so well I cut their hair a few times. But even then, and especially now, I don't feel I have a handle on whether I ought to be more friendly or more careful. "Can I ask you a question?" I've heard it now at least twice in my life, and neither time did I feel I had the right answer.
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