This morning I found the bravery to admit that I like smoking cigarettes. I know that there is an entire cultural conversation about why I like smoking cigarettes, the nicotine, and why I shouldn't like smoking cigarettes, the cancer. I agree that both exist in every pack and puff.
But I've watched a lighted cigarette whisper and wind its way around my fingers. I imagine it, beautiful, winding its sinister way through my lungs like a dark Russian novel. There's something about the act of smoking, the way it accompanies my pensiveness and my coffee.
I have discovered that you can smoke and still successfully train for a half-marathon. This past fall, I answered a company-wide challenge at the publishing house where I work to run my city's half-marathon. Since leaving college, I've been singing a gradual lament about my sagging ability to burn calories without exercising. I thought the half-marathon would be a perfect double whammy. I'll kick smoking and get in shape. I even signed a pledge to this effect.
For months things were fine. But you walk through some second-hand smoke, you hang out at a bar with friends, you grab coffee with some smokers. My life, it seemed, was never more than one or two degrees removed from bumming. It did me in; my self-discipline is very selective.
This morning, after months of training and resistance, I've decided that I can't keep my pledge. I'll be emailing HR in a moment to tell them.
It's not that I'm throwing in the towel on better life habits. But when there's an institutional expectation, I live with more guilt than I care to. I need to get my own institution in order rather than bullying myself with another. I know I'll keep training--the half-marathon is next weekend. And I know I'll continue to struggle with not smoking. I say "not smoking" rather than "smoking" because I'm still on the "not" track, but I need to go at my own pace.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Pulling Weeds
I’m white, middle class, and work in a cubicle. Put this way, some would say my life is part of the problem. I’m propelling this thing we call “the man.” I’m a perfectly well-intentioned guy, but the façade of my life could be reduced to a carbon copy of so many other lives, a window on a condo high rise gentrifying the grittiness and goodness of life.
That’s why, whenever I get the chance, I find reasons to sweat and get dirty with manual labor. I don’t do this as a character building activity but for the sake of joy. I love a day of hard work, soreness, something accomplished when dusk comes. So, this past weekend, when my grandfather asked me to help him in the garden, I gladly accepted.
It would be sloppy if I tried to capture all the complexes and issues this man has passed down the generations to me and others in my family. He singularly makes me believe in the concept of generational sin and the desperate need of Christ’s power for redemption from the things encoded in our genealogy.
Here’s a quick look at his more amazing accomplishments.He has completely shattered his wife’s sense of self through a lifetime of verbal abuse. He bosses her around in every task, menial or otherwise. Then he berates her for not having any gumption to do a damn thing on her own. He sends soft porn to me and other men as jokes, objectifying women mercilessly. (Seriously, think about your grandfather sending you soft porn.) He tries to lasso me into his misogynistic, women-bashing jokes in front of my wife. A dandy yesterday in front of her, my grandmother, and my niece: “Women are a necessary evil, hey Bry?” To add insult to injury, my niece’s mom, my sister, is going through a divorce. I wonder how that comment mixed with my niece’s utter confusion about why she’s moving, why her dad hasn’t been around for weeks, why her world is falling apart. Am I the necessary evil that made this happen? I imagine her young psyche synthesizing from that comment and her life’s circumstance. God have mercy.
If you have a sensible picture of this man, now imagine this: my brief paragraph is a snapshot from last Saturday only.
I love G. K. Chesterton’s thought about the family, that they’re the only people in life we don’t choose. I have relished the thought of a grandpa swap. It could be a nationwide, flea market affair. But I wonder who wouldn’t offer their family members in the transaction? It would be one crowded event.
Because of all this, I’m always looking for redemptive bonding moments with my grandpa, something to offset the lifelong narrative of his asshole-ness. Gardening seemed like it had potential. In side-by-side silence, with the occasional faint humming of songs that clearly shows our age-influenced preference for music, I get to share his love of this plot of ground, the arrangements of this garden he loves, that he built from scratch. It's quite extensive, his green-thumbed venture. Beds all around the house with fruit-bearing trees, annuals, perennials, creeping vines, steeple-like miniature pines, fallen palm fronds, and a few pieces of garden art. And weeds. A helluva lot of weeds. For two hours we pulled them, sweated together, and drank beer.
Sometimes it takes something simple and physical to sweep you away from the historical and internal. I could fill a very sad book with all the things I wish were different about my grandfather and myself, with wonder about how life would be different, how happy my grandmother could’ve been. But for now, we’re just pulling weeds, getting our hands dirty with life, together.
That’s why, whenever I get the chance, I find reasons to sweat and get dirty with manual labor. I don’t do this as a character building activity but for the sake of joy. I love a day of hard work, soreness, something accomplished when dusk comes. So, this past weekend, when my grandfather asked me to help him in the garden, I gladly accepted.
It would be sloppy if I tried to capture all the complexes and issues this man has passed down the generations to me and others in my family. He singularly makes me believe in the concept of generational sin and the desperate need of Christ’s power for redemption from the things encoded in our genealogy.
Here’s a quick look at his more amazing accomplishments.He has completely shattered his wife’s sense of self through a lifetime of verbal abuse. He bosses her around in every task, menial or otherwise. Then he berates her for not having any gumption to do a damn thing on her own. He sends soft porn to me and other men as jokes, objectifying women mercilessly. (Seriously, think about your grandfather sending you soft porn.) He tries to lasso me into his misogynistic, women-bashing jokes in front of my wife. A dandy yesterday in front of her, my grandmother, and my niece: “Women are a necessary evil, hey Bry?” To add insult to injury, my niece’s mom, my sister, is going through a divorce. I wonder how that comment mixed with my niece’s utter confusion about why she’s moving, why her dad hasn’t been around for weeks, why her world is falling apart. Am I the necessary evil that made this happen? I imagine her young psyche synthesizing from that comment and her life’s circumstance. God have mercy.
If you have a sensible picture of this man, now imagine this: my brief paragraph is a snapshot from last Saturday only.
I love G. K. Chesterton’s thought about the family, that they’re the only people in life we don’t choose. I have relished the thought of a grandpa swap. It could be a nationwide, flea market affair. But I wonder who wouldn’t offer their family members in the transaction? It would be one crowded event.
Because of all this, I’m always looking for redemptive bonding moments with my grandpa, something to offset the lifelong narrative of his asshole-ness. Gardening seemed like it had potential. In side-by-side silence, with the occasional faint humming of songs that clearly shows our age-influenced preference for music, I get to share his love of this plot of ground, the arrangements of this garden he loves, that he built from scratch. It's quite extensive, his green-thumbed venture. Beds all around the house with fruit-bearing trees, annuals, perennials, creeping vines, steeple-like miniature pines, fallen palm fronds, and a few pieces of garden art. And weeds. A helluva lot of weeds. For two hours we pulled them, sweated together, and drank beer.
Sometimes it takes something simple and physical to sweep you away from the historical and internal. I could fill a very sad book with all the things I wish were different about my grandfather and myself, with wonder about how life would be different, how happy my grandmother could’ve been. But for now, we’re just pulling weeds, getting our hands dirty with life, together.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Anne LaMott's Traveling Mercies
I bought Radioheads’s OK Computer in 1999, three years after it was released. I traded my white trainers for hip Steve Maddens in 2004. In so many words, my habit: to arrive fashionably late to fashionable trends. At least three years late.
So, in good form, I’m just now reading Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies, nearly a decade after her copyright. Her message: God’s pursuit of humans is in the muck of living. Anne’s story shows that there’s nothing laudable in us to prompt God’s interest. And that’s not to say she’s despicable. Her writing is so beautiful, you could only imagine she is the same. The way you’d imagine Tom Hanks if you met him, consistent. Or Don Miller.
I’m chewing on the ideas of her coming to faith, wrestling with the messiness of it, finding myself more willing to admit my own addictions and favorite sins because she’s so unconcerned with my thoughts of her life. Maybe I should be less concerned too. She knows who she is—or is okay with not knowing—and I’m just a spectator invited to engage in, as the subtitle says, her thoughts on faith. Through the first hundred pages, her emotive power has been the most moving part of my experience. There are lines where I felt so strong a desire to weep, my chest would tighten and my lungs draw close to each other. I felt short of breath and inwardly convulsing, like what I suspect would happen if you applied a heart defibrillator to someone in no need of it. I wouldn’t be upset if everyone on the planet read the scene where the black woman held the AIDS victim like a crow, sang, and wept, this after a year of lifelong stereotypes about gay people. But don’t skip to it. Let her take you there. So beautiful.
So, in good form, I’m just now reading Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies, nearly a decade after her copyright. Her message: God’s pursuit of humans is in the muck of living. Anne’s story shows that there’s nothing laudable in us to prompt God’s interest. And that’s not to say she’s despicable. Her writing is so beautiful, you could only imagine she is the same. The way you’d imagine Tom Hanks if you met him, consistent. Or Don Miller.
I’m chewing on the ideas of her coming to faith, wrestling with the messiness of it, finding myself more willing to admit my own addictions and favorite sins because she’s so unconcerned with my thoughts of her life. Maybe I should be less concerned too. She knows who she is—or is okay with not knowing—and I’m just a spectator invited to engage in, as the subtitle says, her thoughts on faith. Through the first hundred pages, her emotive power has been the most moving part of my experience. There are lines where I felt so strong a desire to weep, my chest would tighten and my lungs draw close to each other. I felt short of breath and inwardly convulsing, like what I suspect would happen if you applied a heart defibrillator to someone in no need of it. I wouldn’t be upset if everyone on the planet read the scene where the black woman held the AIDS victim like a crow, sang, and wept, this after a year of lifelong stereotypes about gay people. But don’t skip to it. Let her take you there. So beautiful.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Closure
I packed some caregiver kits this morning. You know, the soap I mentioned as I started this blog? World Vision, as it turns out, has partnered with Lister and her group to provide the tangibles they need. It didn’t happen this weekend, but has been in motion for a little while, I discovered. As an act of solidarity, I worked my tail off packing those boxes. I was almost maniacal. Box after box, stuffing: I notepad, 9 bars of soap, 1 jar of Vaseline, 4 washcloths, 1 bottle of anti-diarrhea medicine, 1 of aspirin, 1 of anti-biotic ointment, 4 pens, and a handwritten note of encouragement.
The box-packers wrote the notes, and I was getting antsy while people were writing five, six sentences. Keep it simple! I thought Let’s keep the line moving! My note said, “May God bless your kingdom work. Your brother, Bryan.”
In all I packed about thirty boxes. (I hope there not in contiguous villages and can’t compare their notes since they're all the same.) I perspired a little bit. I thought about the human act of caregiving. But here’s what I can’t do: Allow any energy I gave to abate a guilty conscious. Or even allow guilt to enter the picture.
To answer my own question from the beginning, I value hand soap very little. But I cherish the comfortable opportunities to serve—at a distance—those in need. Q showed me there are unique and God-tailored ways to enter the service of humankind for His name’s sake. I doubt I’ll be a Chris, a Lister. But I am a Jesus. Or, at least, that’s how God sees me. My response for His unmerited grace should be obedience, in whatever manifestation he deems. I’m excited to calibrate my radar a bit to discern what those acts of obedience might be. I’m also excited to have met so many whose radar bleeps of Christian service, people with whom Thomas Nelson might have the opportunity to empower to share their message more broadly.
The box-packers wrote the notes, and I was getting antsy while people were writing five, six sentences. Keep it simple! I thought Let’s keep the line moving! My note said, “May God bless your kingdom work. Your brother, Bryan.”
In all I packed about thirty boxes. (I hope there not in contiguous villages and can’t compare their notes since they're all the same.) I perspired a little bit. I thought about the human act of caregiving. But here’s what I can’t do: Allow any energy I gave to abate a guilty conscious. Or even allow guilt to enter the picture.
To answer my own question from the beginning, I value hand soap very little. But I cherish the comfortable opportunities to serve—at a distance—those in need. Q showed me there are unique and God-tailored ways to enter the service of humankind for His name’s sake. I doubt I’ll be a Chris, a Lister. But I am a Jesus. Or, at least, that’s how God sees me. My response for His unmerited grace should be obedience, in whatever manifestation he deems. I’m excited to calibrate my radar a bit to discern what those acts of obedience might be. I’m also excited to have met so many whose radar bleeps of Christian service, people with whom Thomas Nelson might have the opportunity to empower to share their message more broadly.
Shane Hipps :: The Power of Electronic Culture
Shane Hipps is positing an interesting social theory based on his book The Hidden Power of Electronic Culture. He opens with the notion that the linear construction of the printed word in mass-produced books ratified the nature of the human imagination. Assembly lines, symmetric city blocks, and even church pews, he argues (though somewhat loosely), are the results of the ability to mass produce books. And his resulting question is, what happens in the digital age with content? Coupled with this question, Shane folds in the proliferation in our culture of the image, which usurps the power of the word.
The sentence "The boy is sad" is usurped by an image of a crying, malnourished African child. "The reason this image is more powerful than the sentence is the same dynamic that my presentation can't be done with smoke signals." The sentence, for anything powerful to occur, requires the abstract thought of the reader to extrapolate. But the image appeals to the right brain. This reduces, Hipps argues, the need for abstract thought, whether you think it's a tragedy or not. Because image is driving culture primarily through our advertising and media, it's fundamentally changing the expression of our religion. Linear has been replaced by circular. Big institutions have been replaced by organic communities. In other words, the medium becomes the message.
As Christians, Hipps calls, we need to be more nuanced about our medium as we clarify our message. They are one, and culture expects them to be one.
The sentence "The boy is sad" is usurped by an image of a crying, malnourished African child. "The reason this image is more powerful than the sentence is the same dynamic that my presentation can't be done with smoke signals." The sentence, for anything powerful to occur, requires the abstract thought of the reader to extrapolate. But the image appeals to the right brain. This reduces, Hipps argues, the need for abstract thought, whether you think it's a tragedy or not. Because image is driving culture primarily through our advertising and media, it's fundamentally changing the expression of our religion. Linear has been replaced by circular. Big institutions have been replaced by organic communities. In other words, the medium becomes the message.
As Christians, Hipps calls, we need to be more nuanced about our medium as we clarify our message. They are one, and culture expects them to be one.
Babette's Feast at Q
Ruth Pedilla DeBorst President of the Latin American Theological Fellowship, spoke on the importance of the table and Jesus' model of giving lavish feast to the fringes of society. Though she read directly from what felt like her graduate work at Boston University, her prose style was compelling, playful, and strong. Her arguments were not new to me. But any time Babette's Feast is mentioned, I feel compelled by my friendship with Megan Hyatt and my marriage with Suzanne to mention it.
The Central Park Model, Some Thoughts on Nashville's Shelby Bottoms
I took a "green economics" tour of central park yesterday to explore the importance of green space to civic well being. The tour, unfortunately, bored me to tears. But nature shone all the more brilliant because of it. Eight hundred and forty-three acres of some of the world's most expensive real estate stands preserved for the use of New Yorkers. It's benefits are too great to recount. And I don't want to linger in New York. My mind is on Nashville.
Shelby Bottoms park is the largest green space in the downtown area. It's either the first or second largest in Davidson county (Percy and Edwin Warner is the other). Driving through Shelby bottoms is like encountering an afterthought of the city. There are some ballparks, a nature trail, a golf course. But little traffic. At least, no significant traffic to speak of. Citizens of Nashville do not use the park in the daily-ness of life. Central Park showed me the contrast. Bike teams, runners, mothers with strollers, teams, readers, chess players, couples, schools. Cross sections of civic life congregate in the park.
Shelby Bottoms, however, is "water locked" by the Cumberland and buttressed deep into urban neighborhoods. Getting there takes a special occasion. What civic planning should take place to not only make more inroads to the park for people but make the park something more frequently used by Nashville?
I have always loved nature, and my love for it has grown over the last years as my love for camping and hiking has grown. I've learned from this conference that Christians need to take an active interest in civic life in a way that uniquely reflects the giftings and passions God plants in them. I think Shelby Bottoms park might be one of mine. Now I need to find the organizations, the legislative bodies, the neighborhood associations, and the like-minded with whom I could add my vision and desire. It occurs to me that my interest, like NYC's Central Park impact on New Yorkers, will most likely lead me to a cross section of bikers, runners, mothers with strollers, schools, teams, and the like of a diverse Nashville. The vision for the park enables what the function of the park should be: integration, well being, service. And if a future vision for a better park is realized, one that engages Nashville's citizens and visitors, multiply the well-being of the few into the hundreds and thousands. The result, a more fully integrated--hopefully more empathetic, charitable, and compassionate--citizenry, the attributes of Christ in civic life.
Shelby Bottoms park is the largest green space in the downtown area. It's either the first or second largest in Davidson county (Percy and Edwin Warner is the other). Driving through Shelby bottoms is like encountering an afterthought of the city. There are some ballparks, a nature trail, a golf course. But little traffic. At least, no significant traffic to speak of. Citizens of Nashville do not use the park in the daily-ness of life. Central Park showed me the contrast. Bike teams, runners, mothers with strollers, teams, readers, chess players, couples, schools. Cross sections of civic life congregate in the park.
Shelby Bottoms, however, is "water locked" by the Cumberland and buttressed deep into urban neighborhoods. Getting there takes a special occasion. What civic planning should take place to not only make more inroads to the park for people but make the park something more frequently used by Nashville?
I have always loved nature, and my love for it has grown over the last years as my love for camping and hiking has grown. I've learned from this conference that Christians need to take an active interest in civic life in a way that uniquely reflects the giftings and passions God plants in them. I think Shelby Bottoms park might be one of mine. Now I need to find the organizations, the legislative bodies, the neighborhood associations, and the like-minded with whom I could add my vision and desire. It occurs to me that my interest, like NYC's Central Park impact on New Yorkers, will most likely lead me to a cross section of bikers, runners, mothers with strollers, schools, teams, and the like of a diverse Nashville. The vision for the park enables what the function of the park should be: integration, well being, service. And if a future vision for a better park is realized, one that engages Nashville's citizens and visitors, multiply the well-being of the few into the hundreds and thousands. The result, a more fully integrated--hopefully more empathetic, charitable, and compassionate--citizenry, the attributes of Christ in civic life.
Two Acquisitions Editors
During my time at Q, I've had lengthy conversations with acquisitions editors from Baker and Zonderzan. They were here trolling for new talent, making new connections. As a senior editor, I had a slightly different mindset. My acquisitions radar is almost nearly on, but with me there wouldn't be a direct route to real talks about book opportunities. I'd have to connect potential authors with the right people. Perhaps it was that we weren't actively competing for the limited authors here, but both the editors I met opened their "playbooks," so to speak, on how they generate good leads and relationships with new and established talent.
Like so many others I've encountered in publishing, both of them boiled down their style to an intuition-driven, relationship-reading gut check. But they also had practical tactics. For instance, Chad Allen from Baker will email presenters and attenders of conferences from out of the blue two weeks before the event and invite them to meet. His invitation is basic, brief, friendly, and upfront. He said that it's typical that 60 percent of his emails aren't returned, but that the others turn into good conversations, seeds planted.
To put it plainly, acquiring is about perceiving potential and passion, estimating the impact of a certain message or person, and being yourself in order to make a natural connection. Chad insightfully said, authors or potential authors are still just people, and most anyone is flattered when you express genuine interest in their work and genuine desire to create an authentic, meaningful partnership.
Like so many others I've encountered in publishing, both of them boiled down their style to an intuition-driven, relationship-reading gut check. But they also had practical tactics. For instance, Chad Allen from Baker will email presenters and attenders of conferences from out of the blue two weeks before the event and invite them to meet. His invitation is basic, brief, friendly, and upfront. He said that it's typical that 60 percent of his emails aren't returned, but that the others turn into good conversations, seeds planted.
To put it plainly, acquiring is about perceiving potential and passion, estimating the impact of a certain message or person, and being yourself in order to make a natural connection. Chad insightfully said, authors or potential authors are still just people, and most anyone is flattered when you express genuine interest in their work and genuine desire to create an authentic, meaningful partnership.
Conversation: Edification
My wife knows I can’t stay up late. Nine thirty, ten at the latest, is when my biology just shuts down. And that’s after a normal day. But I’m in New York; it’s anything but normal. I’m in high-level dialogue for hours on end with very smart people, in constant, deep interaction with very mature people of faith. It's demanding and exhausting. This forum ignite a dual response from me: introspection and giving, both of which express themselves through conversation. I encounter an idea, mull it over, and communicate it to my neighbor. The volley comes back from the hearer. Together, hand over hand, we climb the idea as it grows and changes.
It’s in the act of listening and talking, hearing others ideas and working out our own, that we are changed. I shared all my meals with strangers today. I drank my coffee and took my walks with folks I may never see again. In all of this, our shared experience, in addition to the amazing city space, was talking. I’m convinced that my conversations have been prime vehicles for edification and sanctification. It’s probably the only thing that will keep me actively engaged for seventeen hours straight. I stayed up past 11:00. High five.
It’s in the act of listening and talking, hearing others ideas and working out our own, that we are changed. I shared all my meals with strangers today. I drank my coffee and took my walks with folks I may never see again. In all of this, our shared experience, in addition to the amazing city space, was talking. I’m convinced that my conversations have been prime vehicles for edification and sanctification. It’s probably the only thing that will keep me actively engaged for seventeen hours straight. I stayed up past 11:00. High five.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Thomas Nelson: A NYC Office?
Would Thomas Nelson be more successful as a company with a New York office? I'm an awful networker. Okay, maybe not awful but average at best. In one day, I've met three authors and two professionals from other publishing houses in the Christian publishing industry. I've actually given away business cards with a directly related business purpose. For those in book publishing, especially in the editorial ranks, you more typically give away cards to wannabe authors you hope never write.
I'm just wondering, from my rich experience at Q, whether Thomas Nelson could benefit fiscally by placing itself in the most vibrant content-producing center in the US and perhaps the world. If I can generate good, potentially profitable relationships, just imagine what a great networker could do. Could we raise the level of our acquisition by positioning ourselves in the middle cutting-edge ideas? Like Tim Keller said last night, proximity comes with benefits.
I'm just wondering, from my rich experience at Q, whether Thomas Nelson could benefit fiscally by placing itself in the most vibrant content-producing center in the US and perhaps the world. If I can generate good, potentially profitable relationships, just imagine what a great networker could do. Could we raise the level of our acquisition by positioning ourselves in the middle cutting-edge ideas? Like Tim Keller said last night, proximity comes with benefits.
Tim Keller
Tim Keller is paster or Redeemer Presbyterian and New York City
Grace of the city. Grace in the city. Grace for the city. This was the three-point message Tim Keller delivered this evening. With these, Tim made a compelling case for Christians moving into the city on purpose. He referenced several passages of scripture, ranging from Psalm 107 to Jeremiah 29 to the book Acts and finally Revelation showing how God’s intention for his people was life in a city.
It’s essential to say, before moving on, that “city” in a biblical context referred to any walkable, mixed-use, diverse, dense human settlement. When your civic, economic, social, and spiritual needs are all serviced in proximity, a life fabric is created that can’t happen in the suburbs where one must drive to church, to the grocery store, movies, friends, everything. A life out of the city, Keller posits, is a life of isolation. He connected this thought with Jesus’ crucifixion, which happened outside the city
When God placed Adam and Eve in the garden, he argued, the command to subdue the earth should have and would have been the building of a city. His logic here is that, when God redeems the creation and it’s exactly the way he wants it, it is characterized by a gleaming city. And the passages referenced throughout the Bible support the idea that God has an active vision for the grace of the city, the grace in the city, and the grace for the city.
The grace of the city is the indwelt blessings it brings whenever a walkable, mixed-use, diverse, and dense settlement puts people in proximity to one another. The personal growth and challenge, the fiscal benefits of networking, the spiritual depth of life interconnectedness, and the proximity of rich relationship become a sum much greater than the parts. Keller believes the city is the intended medium for bringing people up to their potential, to God's vision for them.
But if a Christian is to move to the city, there must be an active and intentional vision for grace in the city. Especially in a place like NYC, but certainly everywhere, people make their ways to cities in an effort to secure a career, make more money, make a name. The city is something to be taken from and not given to. Keller’s very quotable here: “Because we are citizens of God’s city that will be, we are free to be the best citizens of the cities that are.” We can live in a spirit of giving, of civic selflessness, for our benefit and the benefit of our neighbors.
Keller urged his hearers to consider the consequences of a suburban lifestyle and the benefit—God’s intention, even—of living in the city. But why the city and not the country? His reply to this question is lighthearted but insightful: Cities have more people than plants; the country has more plants than people . . . Since God loves people more than plants, he has more of a vested interest in the city.
Grace of the city. Grace in the city. Grace for the city. This was the three-point message Tim Keller delivered this evening. With these, Tim made a compelling case for Christians moving into the city on purpose. He referenced several passages of scripture, ranging from Psalm 107 to Jeremiah 29 to the book Acts and finally Revelation showing how God’s intention for his people was life in a city.
It’s essential to say, before moving on, that “city” in a biblical context referred to any walkable, mixed-use, diverse, dense human settlement. When your civic, economic, social, and spiritual needs are all serviced in proximity, a life fabric is created that can’t happen in the suburbs where one must drive to church, to the grocery store, movies, friends, everything. A life out of the city, Keller posits, is a life of isolation. He connected this thought with Jesus’ crucifixion, which happened outside the city
When God placed Adam and Eve in the garden, he argued, the command to subdue the earth should have and would have been the building of a city. His logic here is that, when God redeems the creation and it’s exactly the way he wants it, it is characterized by a gleaming city. And the passages referenced throughout the Bible support the idea that God has an active vision for the grace of the city, the grace in the city, and the grace for the city.
The grace of the city is the indwelt blessings it brings whenever a walkable, mixed-use, diverse, and dense settlement puts people in proximity to one another. The personal growth and challenge, the fiscal benefits of networking, the spiritual depth of life interconnectedness, and the proximity of rich relationship become a sum much greater than the parts. Keller believes the city is the intended medium for bringing people up to their potential, to God's vision for them.
But if a Christian is to move to the city, there must be an active and intentional vision for grace in the city. Especially in a place like NYC, but certainly everywhere, people make their ways to cities in an effort to secure a career, make more money, make a name. The city is something to be taken from and not given to. Keller’s very quotable here: “Because we are citizens of God’s city that will be, we are free to be the best citizens of the cities that are.” We can live in a spirit of giving, of civic selflessness, for our benefit and the benefit of our neighbors.
Keller urged his hearers to consider the consequences of a suburban lifestyle and the benefit—God’s intention, even—of living in the city. But why the city and not the country? His reply to this question is lighthearted but insightful: Cities have more people than plants; the country has more plants than people . . . Since God loves people more than plants, he has more of a vested interest in the city.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Passion Fruit
What's your stance on hand soap? I realize that in our political moment, hand soap hasn't gotten the exposure it should. But seriously, how much do you value hand soap? Think this is a silly question or some rhetorical turn? Nope. I just encountered someone for whom soap was the beginning and end of importance.
I'm attending a conference in New York called Q (see a picture here). It's a gathering of thought leaders and culture influencers thinking about the next fifty years of life in America and elsewhere, dreaming about and devising strategies to insert a theme redemption centered on Jesus during the coming decades. And nothing is out of bounds for that redemption. Including hand soap.
Among the powerhouse list of presenters--leading genome scientists, artists, pastors, teachers, executives--a humble visitor from Zambia showed me the importance of the little things. Lister (lee-ster), a Zambian, shared about a nationwide ministry she leads that gives everyday care for sufferers of HIV/AIDS. But it has been difficult for her and others to give real care because of a dire shortage of the tangible materials to do it with. Struggling with her English, she told a simple story of one of her patients and her primary role of bathing this woman. Video footage overlaid her brief talk showing a bone-skinny arm and a soapy cloth running over it. A hollow face becoming a clean. Lister's "pitch" at the end of this story was a plea for support, for soap.
It would be easy to bound in her story and think, I need to get more serious about supporting people in need of something as readily available as soap. But something broader occurred to me. During her brief moment to share and express thanks, I realized was in a room of people singularly focused on the thing God had called them to do. Singularly focused. Eerily focused. Powerfully focused.
For Lister, the fruit of her passion was a clean woman. The genome scientist's passion, a body of Christians convinced that faith and science can be charitable neighbors. The advocate for federal legislature to reverse global warming, the largest peaceful act of activism to raise awareness for reduced carbon emissions.
Q has erected a mirror in front of me. Faced with that mirror I ask, what is the fruit of my passion? It would be easy in this forum to siphon everyone's passion and make it temporarily mine, a flash in the pan. A harder route, though, is seeking in God's wisdom in finding the passions he would have me pursue because he's uniquely gifted me to do so. Closely coupled with that challenge is the Spirit-generated belief that God intends for those expressions, those fruits, to exist if I would risk to find them in faith with joy.
So my question to me, and by extension you, is: what is your passion's fruit?
I'm attending a conference in New York called Q (see a picture here). It's a gathering of thought leaders and culture influencers thinking about the next fifty years of life in America and elsewhere, dreaming about and devising strategies to insert a theme redemption centered on Jesus during the coming decades. And nothing is out of bounds for that redemption. Including hand soap.
Among the powerhouse list of presenters--leading genome scientists, artists, pastors, teachers, executives--a humble visitor from Zambia showed me the importance of the little things. Lister (lee-ster), a Zambian, shared about a nationwide ministry she leads that gives everyday care for sufferers of HIV/AIDS. But it has been difficult for her and others to give real care because of a dire shortage of the tangible materials to do it with. Struggling with her English, she told a simple story of one of her patients and her primary role of bathing this woman. Video footage overlaid her brief talk showing a bone-skinny arm and a soapy cloth running over it. A hollow face becoming a clean. Lister's "pitch" at the end of this story was a plea for support, for soap.
It would be easy to bound in her story and think, I need to get more serious about supporting people in need of something as readily available as soap. But something broader occurred to me. During her brief moment to share and express thanks, I realized was in a room of people singularly focused on the thing God had called them to do. Singularly focused. Eerily focused. Powerfully focused.
For Lister, the fruit of her passion was a clean woman. The genome scientist's passion, a body of Christians convinced that faith and science can be charitable neighbors. The advocate for federal legislature to reverse global warming, the largest peaceful act of activism to raise awareness for reduced carbon emissions.
Q has erected a mirror in front of me. Faced with that mirror I ask, what is the fruit of my passion? It would be easy in this forum to siphon everyone's passion and make it temporarily mine, a flash in the pan. A harder route, though, is seeking in God's wisdom in finding the passions he would have me pursue because he's uniquely gifted me to do so. Closely coupled with that challenge is the Spirit-generated belief that God intends for those expressions, those fruits, to exist if I would risk to find them in faith with joy.
So my question to me, and by extension you, is: what is your passion's fruit?
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