Yesterday we made the adventurous journey from Michigan to Chicago. Our eight week sabbatical begins with a stay with the Community of The Holy Trinity, an intentional community living in a Lutheran parsonage lovingly called the 'Nidge. Packing for several weeks is an exercise in the discipline of simplicity. We packed sparingly but we were still cramped. Before leaving Michigan we bought groceries to bring with us, so that everyone besides the driver (*me) was buried in.
We are trusting God as we embark on this adventure. We trust God will provide our every need and meet the needs of our congregation as we are gone as well. We have no money. Yet we trust God to make a way. It will be exciting to see how God provides.
As we prayed and prepared to leave during the first week of our sabbatical, Elaine felt that we needed to trust God for $5000! That is crazy. (God is crazy.) We feel sure God directed us to take this sabbatical and believe that God will provide for it. Not only that, but as Elaine was praying she felt God didn't want us to worry about money and that having $5000 would make that possible. We shall see how God works it out. We have been blessed with a few hundred so far.
Showing posts with label Provision. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Provision. Show all posts
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Monday, February 02, 2009
Master's Residency Retreat Reflection
I want to get arrested. I have always resonated with the actions of the apostles. “The apostles left the Sanhedrin, rejoicing because they had been counted worthy of suffering disgrace for the Name.” I want to be on the frontline addressing social justice, but at the same time I live in rural Michigan among working class people. I have to come to terms with what it means to engage in the fight for justice here.
While my community doesn’t see many homeless on the streets (if there are any I am blind to it) in many ways the people are subject to injustice. There is one factory that sits empty most of the time and struggles to stay open when a new owner takes it over. The last owners made good on a threat to close the plant if the workers unionized. The majority of people in my congregation are retirees receiving pensions from GM. The status of the auto industry and concessions the UAW allow affects their health insurance and incomes. A few of my parishioners are ex-cons faced with the difficulty of reintegrating in to society with the added strain of a jobless market. Our downtown is empting out, as business after business can’t make it. Our young families are either moving away or work in another town and don’t connect with the community or local churches. In very real ways some the work of social justice involves the people sitting in my pews and the people living on my block. How can I address these issues? Is there a time when I might be persecuted for making a prophetic stand against injustice?
Community
Reading Shane Claiborne’s book, Becoming The Answer To Our Prayers, I resonated with the new monastic concept of community. When my wife and I were first married, we ran across and article on theooze.com about singles and married couples with children living in community . We were intrigued and drawn to the idea. It has long been a goal of ours to live in community in a big house with people and start micro-churches. A number of years back I wrote a story and play for families based on 1 John 5 that was set on a moon colony. The moon colony was what I called a neo-monastic commune. My ideas about how that would work were surprisingly close to what Shane and the new monastics call the twelve marks of new monasticism.
In Acts just after the first account of Peter and John being released from the clutches of the Sanhedrin, the young church prays for boldness, the house is shaken and they are again filled with the Spirit. It is in that context Luke notes something interesting. “All the believers were in one heart and mind. No one claimed that any of his possessions was his own, but they shared everything they had.” I’ve always been able to almost feel the camaraderie of the community in the early church. I long for the relationships, the closeness, and the generosity that the family of God had then. It has been said by many that this kind of communism couldn’t be sustained. But couldn’t it really? Not as a social system but as the outflow of love and commitment?
There is an intimacy to worship. In a gathering that lacks community, lacks intimacy and the shared journey of faith, I have found myself distrustful of sharing my worship with others. I almost feel jealousy toward these others claiming to love my Jesus. In our retreat I did not have any of these feelings. I was surrounded by like seekers. Our journeys had brought us together on parallel tracks for a time. I could worship in true freedom and with an intimacy that comingled with the others in the room. This I think is the family of God!
My own cohort is especially a dear example of what the church is to be. Our love for each other is unfeigned and without condition. As much as I may cherish my worries about how cool or un-cool I am, how annoying or foolish I may come across my cohort expressed love for me that denied these concerns. This concern for each other extends in our sharing and praying for each other as we in real ways bear up one another’s burdens (and continue to do so as we are home).
My cohort shocked me with their love. I was embarrassed to tell them (as I am embarrassed to admit now) that I came to Philadelphia with empty pockets. The only transportation I could afford was catching a ride with the SAU team and committed myself to the added cost of eating and an extra night in the hotel. Elaine gave me her Christmas bonus from work, which we had picked up on our way, which paid for my food. When we got to the hotel I swiped my debit card knowing that it would cause and overdraft back home. I had to tell my crying wife that I was too ashamed to ask for help from one of my friends.
As we talked about the frustrations we had with our attempts at social justice, I related to my cohort that I was ashamed that my family was on food stamps and I couldn’t provide for them. Then I found myself telling them what coming to Philly had meant for my family. They prayed for me and that was all I wanted. It was a beautiful prayer that delved into the real concerns of my heart, the church and family I left at home. They didn’t stop there, however. They took up a collection! They provided me with over $300 and paid my way back home. I am humbled. As I write this tears well up at the realization of the love of the family of God.
It has been said at every residency retreat, “this is what the body of Christ looks like.” This is true.
The abandoned places
Whispered echoes keep coming back to me from the places the new monastic communities find a home – the abandoned places. Setting up shop as disciples in the abandoned places of the world seems dear to me. I think about my friends Steve and Roderick buying an abandoned house for a dollar in the desolate lesser cathedral district of Saginaw. As they fix it up and inspire others to move into the neighborhood, they are transforming the community.
I think about the abandoned downtown Sebewaing. Could fighting for social justice in my little town mean bringing life back to the downtown – life and hope? For a few years we (the local ministerial) have been working with the school district to better meet the needs of teens. We have started what has been called a movement to start a coffeehouse and restore a movie theater in downtown Sebewaing. The coffeehouse has been located in my church basement for the last couple years, but now, as we look to move it out into the public, it is exciting to see how God is moving. Could God be so interested in this project because moving downtown will somehow free the poor and oppressed in my village? I am excited to see that we are already engaging in the social justice fight and it has been just because we have been trying to follow the leading of God.
What about the abandoned factories and the abandoned houses? Is there any way we can begin to extend our household here? Can our church family begin to share resources, tables and lives in a culture that is so individualistic and independent? Can we share a garden? Tools? Food? How about sharing our spiritual journey? These are the questions that are fire to my mind this month, I pray the fire does not die but is fanned by those who ask the questions with me.
While my community doesn’t see many homeless on the streets (if there are any I am blind to it) in many ways the people are subject to injustice. There is one factory that sits empty most of the time and struggles to stay open when a new owner takes it over. The last owners made good on a threat to close the plant if the workers unionized. The majority of people in my congregation are retirees receiving pensions from GM. The status of the auto industry and concessions the UAW allow affects their health insurance and incomes. A few of my parishioners are ex-cons faced with the difficulty of reintegrating in to society with the added strain of a jobless market. Our downtown is empting out, as business after business can’t make it. Our young families are either moving away or work in another town and don’t connect with the community or local churches. In very real ways some the work of social justice involves the people sitting in my pews and the people living on my block. How can I address these issues? Is there a time when I might be persecuted for making a prophetic stand against injustice?
Community
Reading Shane Claiborne’s book, Becoming The Answer To Our Prayers, I resonated with the new monastic concept of community. When my wife and I were first married, we ran across and article on theooze.com about singles and married couples with children living in community . We were intrigued and drawn to the idea. It has long been a goal of ours to live in community in a big house with people and start micro-churches. A number of years back I wrote a story and play for families based on 1 John 5 that was set on a moon colony. The moon colony was what I called a neo-monastic commune. My ideas about how that would work were surprisingly close to what Shane and the new monastics call the twelve marks of new monasticism.
In Acts just after the first account of Peter and John being released from the clutches of the Sanhedrin, the young church prays for boldness, the house is shaken and they are again filled with the Spirit. It is in that context Luke notes something interesting. “All the believers were in one heart and mind. No one claimed that any of his possessions was his own, but they shared everything they had.” I’ve always been able to almost feel the camaraderie of the community in the early church. I long for the relationships, the closeness, and the generosity that the family of God had then. It has been said by many that this kind of communism couldn’t be sustained. But couldn’t it really? Not as a social system but as the outflow of love and commitment?
There is an intimacy to worship. In a gathering that lacks community, lacks intimacy and the shared journey of faith, I have found myself distrustful of sharing my worship with others. I almost feel jealousy toward these others claiming to love my Jesus. In our retreat I did not have any of these feelings. I was surrounded by like seekers. Our journeys had brought us together on parallel tracks for a time. I could worship in true freedom and with an intimacy that comingled with the others in the room. This I think is the family of God!
My own cohort is especially a dear example of what the church is to be. Our love for each other is unfeigned and without condition. As much as I may cherish my worries about how cool or un-cool I am, how annoying or foolish I may come across my cohort expressed love for me that denied these concerns. This concern for each other extends in our sharing and praying for each other as we in real ways bear up one another’s burdens (and continue to do so as we are home).
My cohort shocked me with their love. I was embarrassed to tell them (as I am embarrassed to admit now) that I came to Philadelphia with empty pockets. The only transportation I could afford was catching a ride with the SAU team and committed myself to the added cost of eating and an extra night in the hotel. Elaine gave me her Christmas bonus from work, which we had picked up on our way, which paid for my food. When we got to the hotel I swiped my debit card knowing that it would cause and overdraft back home. I had to tell my crying wife that I was too ashamed to ask for help from one of my friends.
As we talked about the frustrations we had with our attempts at social justice, I related to my cohort that I was ashamed that my family was on food stamps and I couldn’t provide for them. Then I found myself telling them what coming to Philly had meant for my family. They prayed for me and that was all I wanted. It was a beautiful prayer that delved into the real concerns of my heart, the church and family I left at home. They didn’t stop there, however. They took up a collection! They provided me with over $300 and paid my way back home. I am humbled. As I write this tears well up at the realization of the love of the family of God.
It has been said at every residency retreat, “this is what the body of Christ looks like.” This is true.
The abandoned places
Whispered echoes keep coming back to me from the places the new monastic communities find a home – the abandoned places. Setting up shop as disciples in the abandoned places of the world seems dear to me. I think about my friends Steve and Roderick buying an abandoned house for a dollar in the desolate lesser cathedral district of Saginaw. As they fix it up and inspire others to move into the neighborhood, they are transforming the community.
I think about the abandoned downtown Sebewaing. Could fighting for social justice in my little town mean bringing life back to the downtown – life and hope? For a few years we (the local ministerial) have been working with the school district to better meet the needs of teens. We have started what has been called a movement to start a coffeehouse and restore a movie theater in downtown Sebewaing. The coffeehouse has been located in my church basement for the last couple years, but now, as we look to move it out into the public, it is exciting to see how God is moving. Could God be so interested in this project because moving downtown will somehow free the poor and oppressed in my village? I am excited to see that we are already engaging in the social justice fight and it has been just because we have been trying to follow the leading of God.
What about the abandoned factories and the abandoned houses? Is there any way we can begin to extend our household here? Can our church family begin to share resources, tables and lives in a culture that is so individualistic and independent? Can we share a garden? Tools? Food? How about sharing our spiritual journey? These are the questions that are fire to my mind this month, I pray the fire does not die but is fanned by those who ask the questions with me.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Detachment at the Dealership
The loan specialist from Wells Fargo looked at us, his eyes and knit brows conveyed something like, “you’re crazy.” I imagine he thought of us as his own kids and was offering us the help and advice he would offer them.
We had gone to our local car dealership to see what we had won. They had sent out cards to all the postal customers with a prize, we could win a car, at flat screen tv, or a gas card (we won the gas card, odds - 1:1). It was just for fun. We decided while we were there we’d price out some vehicles and see what it would take. Our ’98 Grand Caravan has 194,000 miles on it, so the thought of replacing it has crossed our minds.
As they worked hard to get us into a used Impala, the reality of our budget became clear.
“So basically your ideal monthly payment would be zero…”
“Well that would fit our budget.” Elaine replied. The loan officer shook his head.
“Your van has nearly 200,000 miles on it. You are on borrowed time. What are you going to do when it breaks down. It is really time to think of another car,” he said with a fatherly tone in his voice.
“Well,” Elaine started, “You’re going to think we’re crazy, but God has given us the last four cars we have had, so we figure when this one goes, he’ll give us another one.”
“God’s just going to give you a car?!” And just as if he was frustrated with his children the loan officer found a way out of the room and threw his hands up, no doubt thinking how irresponsible our attitude was.
Well, look at what we make as pastors. There is just no way we could afford a payment and full insurance on a new car. We are completely dependent on God’s provision. He got us into this mess, he’ll get us out of it too.
Mary Albert Darling in The God of intimacy and Action, writes that asceticism when done well helps us to get beyond the things that distract us and allows all the things of the world to “hang lightly on us.” Detachment is a powerful thing. I appreciate that I don’t own the house we live in, it belongs to the church, it is God’s. In a way our car is the same. He gave it to us. It hangs lightly on us. I would like to get the odometer to a quarter of a million miles, but when it finally dies we know God will provide.
Thomas A’Kempis also strikes this chord.
We are learning detachment to our things and our desires just as Father Fillaret learns it in this clip from the Russian film, “The Island”
We had gone to our local car dealership to see what we had won. They had sent out cards to all the postal customers with a prize, we could win a car, at flat screen tv, or a gas card (we won the gas card, odds - 1:1). It was just for fun. We decided while we were there we’d price out some vehicles and see what it would take. Our ’98 Grand Caravan has 194,000 miles on it, so the thought of replacing it has crossed our minds.
As they worked hard to get us into a used Impala, the reality of our budget became clear.
“So basically your ideal monthly payment would be zero…”
“Well that would fit our budget.” Elaine replied. The loan officer shook his head.
“Your van has nearly 200,000 miles on it. You are on borrowed time. What are you going to do when it breaks down. It is really time to think of another car,” he said with a fatherly tone in his voice.
“Well,” Elaine started, “You’re going to think we’re crazy, but God has given us the last four cars we have had, so we figure when this one goes, he’ll give us another one.”
“God’s just going to give you a car?!” And just as if he was frustrated with his children the loan officer found a way out of the room and threw his hands up, no doubt thinking how irresponsible our attitude was.
Well, look at what we make as pastors. There is just no way we could afford a payment and full insurance on a new car. We are completely dependent on God’s provision. He got us into this mess, he’ll get us out of it too.
Mary Albert Darling in The God of intimacy and Action, writes that asceticism when done well helps us to get beyond the things that distract us and allows all the things of the world to “hang lightly on us.” Detachment is a powerful thing. I appreciate that I don’t own the house we live in, it belongs to the church, it is God’s. In a way our car is the same. He gave it to us. It hangs lightly on us. I would like to get the odometer to a quarter of a million miles, but when it finally dies we know God will provide.
Thomas A’Kempis also strikes this chord.
When a man desires a thing too much, he at once becomes ill at ease. A proud and avaricious man never rests, whereas he who is poor and humble of heart lives in a world of peace. An unmortified man is quickly tempted and overcome in small trifling evils; his spirit is weak, in a measure carnal and inclined to sensual things; he can hardly abstain from earthly desires. Hence it makes him sad to forego them; he is quick to anger if reproved. Yet if he satisfies his desires, remorse of conscience overwhelms him because he followed his passions and they did not lead to the peace he sought. True peace of heart, then, is found in resisting passions, not in satisfying them. There is no peace in the carnal man, in the man given to vain attractions, but there is peace in the fervent and spiritual man (Imitation of Christ book 1, chapter 6).In our experience at the car dealership we tasted both of the conditions A’Kempis speaks about. We were poor and in a place of humility by the grace of God. We are also carnal, and test driving the cars felt good. The assessment of our budget left us feeling depressed - the hopelessness of ever satisfying those desires on our own power.
We are learning detachment to our things and our desires just as Father Fillaret learns it in this clip from the Russian film, “The Island”
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