In the Wilamette Valley, according to the best estimates, there are 2000 homeless people every night. This number fluxuates and there are a lot of varieties of homeless people, but the number is a fair estimate.

Is this coincidence?

If this is correct, then if each church, on average, just ministered to and assisted just one– ONE– homeless person, then the whole outlook of poverty and homelessness would change for the whole Wilamette Valley– for all of Portland and Salem.

I wonder if this statistic could be replicated throughout the United States? If every church in the U.S. would take poverty seriously and just take one one– just one– homeless person per congregation, then the whole landscape of poverty in the nation would change.

And the nation might actually recognize that the church is here to create a positive impact, and not just to suck resources into the personal egos of religious ideologies.

After attending the “People’s Summit for Faithful Living,” in Winnipeg a few weeks ago, I’ve been thinking about the reasons we gather.

~ ~ ~

Some fine reports were written on the summit, here and here. The only things I would add or highlight would be…

In addition to Canadians, white people were also over-represented. (Out of 570 participants, I’d estimate around 550 were white.) Not to say that such numbers preclude valuable interactions or prove tokenism – I greatly appreciated some the learning tracks that connected indigenous traditions with relating to our creator and caring for creation – but I think it’s important to notice.

I also had a notable conversation with a young pastor who’s drawn to working with suburban youth – creating vibrant alternatives to our destructive culture and showing them there can be more to life than what we consume. I’m glad to know those conversations are happening.

~ ~ ~

So as a participant I got some ideas and resources, met some cool folks, and ate off compostable plates. But I’m still not sure that conferences like this are justifiable in their current form.

For me, three big factors stand out as troubling:

Impractical. I realize theology is important, but I get frustrated when I leave a gathering without much of practical value for living more faithfully. (The PAPA meet-up seems like a refreshing change.) Are my expectations too high?

Over-representation of white people. This gathering isn’t unique. (For example, before I attended the Mennonite Church USA Delegate Assembly in San Jose 2007, a friend encouraged me to count how many of the 150 Hispanic Mennonite churches had sent their youth groups. Looking for the whole week, I saw two. Also the conference theme was translated in Spanish on all the promotion materials, but when I was ushering for a worship service, no one could find any translators.) From what I can tell, these gatherings basically serve white people who speak English.

Use of environmental resources. The Mennonite Creation Care Network’s “Nonference” – deciding not to hold a long-anticipated conference – spells out a lot of the specifics.

Learning from one another is certainly valuable. But I think many people like me (educated middle-class white Mennonites) know what’s right and healthy to do, and the challenge is learning how to implement it. And focus our energies locally. Or maybe we should have criteria about when to hold a conference and when not to?

~ How will this gathering advance liberation with marginalized people? (i.e. build anti-racist institutions, resist imperialism, challenge homophobia and promote healthy sexuality, support the poor in ending poverty, etc.) What is the accountability so that this will happen?

~ Understanding that most long-term and sustainable work is based in communities from which participants would come, to what extent will this gathering enrich the work of these communities?

~ Would this gathering still be “worth it” to us if we were traveling by more sustainable transport to attend? (bike, train, cargo ship, etc.)

I believe that gathering can be enriching, delightfully complex, and holistic. What gatherings would stack up the best?

How can we have less tiring, status quo gatherings and more joyful, liberatory ones?

—————————————————————

Title: Spirituality from Prison
Date: July 20, 2008
Texts: Gen 32:22-32; Matt 11:25-30

Alone.

It was night, and Jacob was alone. He left his family and possessions behind on the other side of the stream; now he was alone, surrounded by darkness. And the wrestling begins.

Jacob isn’t a spiritual superhero. He hasn’t mastered the spiritual disciplines; nor has he celebrated them. He isn’t known for fasting. Nor for meditating on Scripture—obviously, since it wasn’t written yet. And he isn’t a prayer warrior.

Jacob isn’t known for any of those spiritual practices. Instead, he’s known for his trickery and tenacity. He will get what he wants no matter what. His name, Jacob, Ya’aqov, means heel catcher and deceiver. His name remembers his struggle with his brother, Esau, in Rebekah’s womb (Gen 25). And his name remembers his trickery and deception later when he steals Esau’s birthright blessing. Jacob, his very name, testifies to his devious ways.

Now his past catches up with him. Due to his deceptions and trickery, Jacob is no longer welcome in the land of his father-in-law, Laban. As Jacob is on the verge of returning to his homeland, he must meet his brother, Esau, again. Jacob knows this won’t be a pleasant reunion since he stole Esau’s blessing when they were young.

His suspicions are confirmed when he hears how Esau is preparing for Jacob’s arrival: “When the messengers returned to Jacob, they said, ‘We went to your brother Esau, and now he is coming to meet you, and four hundred men are with him’” (Gen 32:6). That’s not exactly a welcome home party to look forward to. Esau is coming to meet his brother with a small army! And Jacob foresees the mass slaughter of his people.

Jacob is now alone, feverish, his head swimming with images of the death of all he has. The night is haunted with his ghosts. Tomorrow he will face his brother-turned-enemy. But for now, he is alone, it’s dark, and the wrestling begins.

Jacob proves true to form. He’s tenacious. He won’t let go. God and Jacob, struggling, caught in each other’s embrace, two bodies bound together, flesh upon sweaty flesh. They wrestle through the night.

(pause)

When I was little, I would spend a lot of time with my grandparents on weekends. They took care of me when my parents worked. Despite my mom and dad’s protests, my grandfather would let me watch boxing matches with him on the television. My scrawny grandfather loved to watch these big men beat one another to a pulp. And he was very good at picking the winners.

Now, if my grandfather was watching this fight in Genesis 32, I’m pretty sure he’d put all his money on God. It’s not even a match. But Jacob does pretty well for himself, fighting against all odds. He takes God to the last round. Daybreak is approaching, and God strikes Jacob below the waist and wounds his hip. He tells Jacob to let him go. “But Jacob said, ‘I will not let you go, unless you bless me’” (v. 26).

Jacob wins by hanging on. He doesn’t put God in strangle-hold, or some painful, arm-twisting pin. No, Jacob wins by hanging on. If we want to talk about spirituality, that’s the best picture we’ve got—it’s about hanging on to God.

(pause)

The stories of Mennonite beginnings are all about what it means to hang on to God no matter what the cost. If there’s anything unique about Mennonite or Anabaptist spirituality, it’s that it is born in prison. We are entrusted with a spirituality of the tortured, passed down through the centuries. Our songs and prayers come from places of darkness and loneliness, from dungeons where people sang to sustain their souls as they awaited the next round out beatings. Our confessions and theologies come from places that look more Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay than our universities and seminaries.

There’s a hymnal called the Ausbund. The core of that hymnal are songs composed by imprisoned Swiss Brethren, who were later called Mennonites. While in the dungeon of Passau, Austria around 1535, they put their faith to words and music—the songs were called, “songs of the cross.” They would pass them along to their sisters and brothers in the faith on the outside who would then sing them as an act of solidarity. These songs were their spiritual union. The “songs of the cross” spread from community to community and formed the substance of faith for a people who couldn’t read, but were gifted with musical memory. Our current Mennonite hymnal still has a few of these hymns; we still sing their prison songs.

Let me read from a few of these Ausbund hymns. This first one if from George Blaurock—a Catholic priest turned Anabaptist, later tortured and burned as a heretic (Song #5):

God the Father through his faithfulness
Will never forsake us
Renew us daily, O Lord
In our everyday living

Through Christ we call on you
As through your tender suffering
We know your faithfulness and love
Along this our pilgrim’s way

Here’s another hymn. This one from a young woman, Annelein of Freiberg. They first drowned her then burned her. She was probably 17 years old (Song # 36):

Eternal Father in Heaven
I call to you from deep within
Do not let me turn from you
Hold me in your eternal truth
Until I reach my end

O God, keep my heart and mouth
Watch over me, Lord, always
Do not let me part from you
Whether in anguish, fear or need
Keep me pure in joy

To walk in your strength in death
Through tribulation, martyrdom, fear and need
Keep me in your strength
That I may never again be separated
From your love, O God

These are bits and pieces of the spiritual gifts we receive from our martyrs, the songs of the tortured, our spirituality from prison. (Hymns taken from Early Anabaptist Spirituality: Selected Writings, ed. by Daniel Liechty).

These songs were central for Anabaptist and Mennonite spirituality. A century later, some Dutch Mennonites complied another kind of spiritual literature: a huge book called The Martyrs Mirror—nearly 1,200 pages, story after story of martyrdom. In the early 17th century, a Dutch Mennonite, Thieleman Jansz van Braght compiled stories of Christians dying for their faith, starting with the death of Jesus and moving through the centuries. Mennonites raised their children on these stories of martyrdom. It was their devotional literature, what they read before going to bed, what they read to sustain their spiritual lives.

I’ll read a short excerpt from one of the entries. It’s toward the end of the book when we finally get to the Anabaptist martyrs. This is a prison letter from Elizabeth, a Dutch Anabaptist martyr. She wrote it before her execution in 1573 to her infant daughter whom she calls “my dearest lamb”:

“My young lamb, for whose sake I still have…great sorrow; seek, when you have attained your understanding, this narrow way, though there is sometimes much danger in it…. My dear child, if we would with Christ seek and inherit salvation, we must also help bear His cross; and this is the cross which He would have us bear: to follow His footsteps, and to help bear His reproach… He went before us in this way of reproach, and left us an example, that we should follow His steps… O my dearest lamb, that you might know the truth when you have attained your understanding, and that you might follow your dear father and mother, who went before you…. Follow us my dear lamb, that you too may come where we shall be, and that we may find one another there.” (from The Protestant Reformation, ed. by Hans J. Hillerbrand, chapter 14).

(pause)

What kind of spirituality is this? It’s much easier to confine spirituality to our prayer life. But what kind of spirituality takes these stories, these songs, these prayers, these letters—what kind of spirituality takes them seriously? I have two thoughts.

This first one might make you think I’m crazy. Since our spirituality comes from the faith of prisoners, we should develop a spirituality that will sustain us in prison. Spirituality is our preparation for prison. What will sustain our faith when we are tortured and imprisoned? I know, that’s hard to imagine. It’s practically impossible to imagine people around here putting us in prison for our faith. Sure. But remember: the nature of governments can change in an instant, and our history books tell us story after story of how political powers can change over night, or over a few years. A few weeks ago, we heard the story of Joseph and Israel in Egypt. They were happy to live peaceably in Goshen; but they became Egyptian slaves in an instant. Our situation can suddenly change as well, and this could throw us in work camps or prisons.

So, we need to ask a question: what sustained the tortured faith of the martyrs? Well, they knew their bibles. Their hymns penned in prison testify to their biblical knowledge; the lines of the songs are quotations from Scripture sown together. They sang the bible from memory. We also have the notes from their torturers and interrogators–they kept decent records. And in those records we find the prisoners constantly quoting Scripture in response to interrogations, or as they were beaten. Their biblical knowledge was their source of comfort; memorized Scripture sustained their faith.

So, study Scripture, memorize it, struggle with the Word, listen and engage our Sunday sermons. There’s a chance that you may need those stories and words to sustain your faith in prison.

Here’s my second thought. It’s easy to dismiss stories of martyrs as irrelevant to our spirituality. We just aren’t in the same situation. They are a world away from us, and don’t have much to offer as we think about our lives. But this is why the Martyrs Mirror is so interesting. It was compiled and published in 17th century Holland, where the Dutch Mennonites definitely weren’t persecuted. In fact, their situation was quite the opposite. The tables had turned. Mennonites were enjoying the good life in Holland during the Dutch Golden Age. They lived comfortably among the most prosperous people of Europe at the time. And van Braght, a cloth merchant and minister, thought their prosperity was dangerous, so he gave his people the gift of the martyrs in book form.

This is what he wrote in his preface:

“‘It is certainly more dangerous now than in the time of our [mothers and] fathers who suffered death for the witness of our Lord Jesus Christ.’ Before ‘Satan came through his servants openly like a roaring lion,’ seeking to destroy the body; now Satan comes ‘as an angel of light,’ seeking to kill our faith through ‘the desire of the flesh, desire of the eye, and the pride of life.’” (taken from Brad S. Gregory, “Anabaptist Martyrdom: Imperatives, Experience, and Memorialization,” p. 501 in A Companion to Anabaptism and Spirituality, 1521-1700, ed. by John D. Roth and James M. Stayer).

Isn’t that interesting? Van Braght thought it was easier to be a Christian during times of persecution. The right thing to do was very clear back then. It’s harder now, and more dangerous, he says. That sounds true to our lives as well. I mean, what does it mean to be faithful? What does it mean to honor the faith of the martyrs? It’s not so clear. It’s a struggle; the struggle of spirituality. The best we can do is struggle together.

And our model is Jacob, struggling with God, in the dark–he can’t see so clearly. And through this struggle, Jacob gets a new name: Israel. No longer will Jacob be known as a deceiver. He and his people will be called Israel, which means “those who struggle with God.” And that’s who we are. We are people who keep the struggle alive. We keep on struggling with God, wrapped up in a wrestling match with the Lord. Spirituality is the name of this intimate embrace, holding onto God no matter what.

And the good news is that this way of life frees us from sin—all that stuff van Braght talked about: the desire of the flesh, the desire of the eye, and the pride of life. The good news is that this struggle with God liberates us, it’s the struggle of freedom. As Jesus says in our passage from Matthew: “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Matt 11:29-30).

Benediction (paraphrased from Elizabeth’s 16th century letter to her infant daughter) :

May it be to God’s glory that I did not die for any evil doing, and may you strive to do likewise. Never cease from loving God above all, for God will never cease from loving you. And now go and follow that which is good, and seek peace, for you shall receive the crown of eternal life—the crown of our Lord: the crucified, bleeding, naked, despised, rejected and slain Jesus Christ, our faith and our hope.

Last week Charletta and I spent 5 days at the Cornerstone Music Festival promoting Christian Peacemaker Teams. For me, it was an inspiring awakening to the "Revolution in Jesusland" as Zack Exley calls it. That is, the increasing openness of young American Evangelicals to God’s vision for shalom. It’s an awareness that Jesus’ redemption is not just an individual soul thing, but an invitation to transformation of relationships, communities and creation as a whole.

Charletta and I joined Jim Fitz at a booth that he has been staffing for the past 5 years. When Jim first started out, no one at Cornerstone had ever heard of CPT. Furthermore people were openly hostile. "Are you really Christian?" was the frequent challenge. Over the years, responses have begun to change. Even the one person who sat down and argued for half an hour about the efficacy of nonviolence told us he gets our newsletter. Part of the reason for this is Jim’s persistant witness. Many people come by with a familiar greeting for Jim. His beard and his hat are well known. But Jim’s perseverence is not the only influence on changing attitudes.

A week ago, Zach Exley posted the story of a young man titled Put one back in the Mennonite column. It’s a story that resonated with many readers of the post (see the comment from Tyler for example). And judging by the conversations I had at the CPT booth, it’s an increasingly common story. One young man told me that he used to thing CPTers were hippies and peaceniks and then he read the The Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborne and now he really thinks we’re doing great work. We talked for 20 minutes and he told me about the challenge of discussions about pacifism with his middle-aged Republican friend.

At least among Cornerstone Evangelicals, Shane seems to be having a major impact. We sold more then 30 books from Jim’s peacemaking/justice/reconciliation library which is about 27 more then he’s ever sold before. We were also able to see the Jesus for President tour first hand. Haven’t heard about it? Read the CNN story. I’ll admit I was a bit skeptical myself. Haven’t I heard this all before I though. It took me only a few minutes under the big red and white tent to realize that this was something special. Chris Haw and Shane took turns telling excerpts from biblical story interspersed with music from the Psalters. They brought God’s shalom vision alive in a vibrant, engaging presentation. The central question was: "What is a Jesus-follower to do when the empire gets baptized?" You can see a good summary here. I would call it an Anabaptist reading of the Christian story. Others might call it unpatriotic, anti-imperialist or just “the message of Jesus, put within its actual cultural and political context”.

Whatever label you choose to describe the Jesus for President, I think any one who was there would feel the spirit of revival at work. The gathering concluded with a 4th of July sparkler liturgy as we sang "When the Saints Go Marching In." These are the heroes we should be celebrating rather worshipping the flag. The tour has two more weeks to go. You can catch them in Albuquerque, Lubbock, Dallas, Atlanta, Orlando, Durham, Richmond and Philadelphia. See the their tour page for more details.

Mennonites should be paying attention. We can’t affort to sit this one out.

P.S. You can read Shane’s own account of their Cornerstone performance on the God’s politics blog.

Here are more photos from Cornerstone:

So, if this is something you have heard before or there is some technical term for what I am describing, then just bear with me.

I found an interesting trend in the way that some folks interpret scripture. It seems to me that there are two ways of evaluating scripture that I hear often and both approaches a troubling.

The framework generally goes like this:

1) This passage of scripture says “x,y,z”, I agree with it, therefore it is true.
Here’s an example:

” Genesis 9:6 states that a man who sheds anothers blood shall also have his blood shed. Therefore, the death penalty is ethical from a Christian standpoint.”

2) This passage of scripture says “x,y,z,”, I don’t agree with it, therefore, we must look at the context.
Here’s an example:

(someone retorts to the above)
“John 8’s account of the woman about to be stoned demonstrates that Jesus is against the death penalty”
(guy for the death penalty retorts)
“We must look at the context. The woman was an adulteress, not a murderer. Therefore, the death penalty is still ok.”

Do you see what I’m trying to get at here? In the first example, the interpreter jumps past the rest of scripture to make a claim that is totally out of the context of all of scripture, but then when challenged, he appeals to the context.

And yet, some things from scripture must stand as independent truths. They may be enriched by the context, but certainly the context doesn’t need to be a necessary component. “Blessed are the peacemakers” comes to mind as a possibility.

Anyone else run into similar struggles with biblical interpretation along these lines? Or is it just me?

My name is Matt and I have been checking out your blog for a while now and decided that I wanted in on the action.

I am a Mennonite born and bred – in fact a Canadian Mennonite (so the y’all that I used above is put on). You can’t get much more particularistic than that can you? I am what is known as an ethnic Mennonite – quite an odd concept and all but there you go. I grew up in a church that was deeply conscious of the problems inherent in an ethnic definition of the term Mennonite and dealt with it by trying to do everything it could to get rid of anything distinctively Mennonite/Anabaptist. Maybe we were embarrassed about being Mennonite – God knows it was awkward to be associated with horses and buggies all the time. So we just tried to fit in with all the evangelical churches in town.

But the fact that we were just like all other churches meant that there was no good reason to go to our church (unless you liked Mennonite food!), so when I moved away for college I went to all kinds of different churches. Not until I worked for a Canadian Chinese Mennonite Church (OK, the category of Canadian Chinese Mennonite is even more particularistic than Canadian Mennonite!) did I find myself becoming committed to Anabaptist theology.

While I am Canadian, I find myself in the US of A. I am doing graduate work in the South. I attend a fantastic Mennonite church that nurtures and disciplines me in ways that continually astound me.

 I want to think of myself as a radical but it is pretty difficult since I am at a school that runs on pretty dirty money and I rent in a rather gentrified neighborhood. And while I still try to dress like I am 21, I am really 31. So I guess I am a wannabe-young, wannabe-radical Anabaptist – a WYWRA. Not nearly as catchy as a YAR.

But I look forward to being a part of this blog and learning from everyone.

I wish I read this book more slowly. It’s a very accessible read, but that doesn’t mean it should be read quickly. Heuertz wrote a vulnerable book, one that puts his heart on display, and I couldn’t help but want to let his words do work on my soul–but that takes more time. Heuertz doesn’t claim to offer any secrets to spiritual success. Instead, he shares what God is teaching him through his friends, who happen to be the poorest of the poor. Through the ministry of Word Made Flesh, Christopher and his wife Phileena have discovered God’s love poured out in the poor, God’s presence in brokenness. Heuertz is on a wandering journey, learning to see God among the hungry in Brazilian favelas and the children sex slaves in Thailand. Can we see what he sees? As Jesus asks, Do you have eyes to see?

The book is organized around 5 virtues, each of which are chapter titles: Humility, Community, Simplicity, Submission, and Brokenness. The threads that bind these together are Heuertz’s engrossing stories about his friends. They are the context. His spirituality isn’t a call to close your eyes and think about God; instead, friendships with the poor make friendship with God possible. Solidarity is primary: “We literally live among the dying as an act of solidarity with our neighbors and our God” (20).

But Heuertz doesn’t start there. His beginnings are steeped in American evangelicalism. He writes, “Growing up in an evangelical Christian home, I was introduced to a very familiar, very informal God. I was culturally conditioned to perceive God as ‘on demand’ and at my beck and call” (36). But the beauty of God and God’s deep longings for the poor saved him. Scripture introduced him to “Someone beautiful… this God who cares for those in need–I mean, really cares for them” (37). And Heuertz began to fall in love with this God of the bible, a God who has a special place in his heart for the humiliated.

When we usually talk about humility, it’s something we can do in the privacy of our thoughts–something we can decide to do if we only have the will power. We pray and think to ourselves, Well, I’m going to work on being humble today. But this sounds like a ‘pull yourself up by your bootstraps’ spirituality. For Heuertz, we learn humility from the humiliated. He writes, “Perhaps those on the margins, the unrighteous and the people who live in poverty–those familiar with humiliation–can see purity more clearly through their unpretentious ‘impurity’… Perhaps we have something to learn from their humility” (34). There’s no privatized technique for mastering a spirituality of humility. Humility isn’t a possession. We learn humility from those who re-present the humiliation of Jesus. We receive the gift of humility when we sit at the feet of the poor; they infuse us with the virtues of Christ. They are the ones who can save us from our domesticated Jesuses. Here’s Heuertz in his own words (37):

It is in our intimate relationships with people who are poor, or more accurately our friends who happen to be poor, that our tainted views of God are transformed. It is our intimate relationships with our friends on the streets or in red-light districts that open our blinded eyes to really see Jesus for who he is. Through their desperation and forced vulnerability, they help us see what intimacy with God looks like. We are compelled to follow our friends who are poor to God’s heart.”

Our parents were right: we are who we hang out with. Our friends shape who we are. That’s not something to run from. Humans are relational animals. There’s no such thing as autonomy; it’s a delusion. The fibers of our being, Heuertz notes, “are made for relationships” (54). But we can choose with whom we form these friendships. Our hope is that the church may be a place where those friendships can happen. But what does it mean when our churches don’t welcome the poor? Or, to put it more strongly, what does it mean when we aren’t begging the beggars to worship with us? Heuertz doesn’t mince words: “If our community makes no room for those who are poor, our community loses all credibility” (58). While Jim Wallis is trying to fight for justice on the national scale, Heuertz offers a much more intimate vision, one that transforms our daily lives: “We work not for justice for everyone but instead to ensure that we’re on the ‘right’ side of the poverty line” (58). Are we on the side of the poor? That’s his question. This isn’t a political platform for a lobby group. Rather, it’s about what side of town we live on. Who are our neighbors, who are our friends, who sits next to us when we worship, who eats at our table? These questions mess with our lives. They haunt our everyday decisions. But these questions also send us to the poor, who offer us intimacy with God. And typically God shakes up our lives so he can offer us an unimaginably better one. Jesus: “I have come that you may have life, and have it abundantly.” But overflowing abundance gets really messy. “We want to let God in,” writes Heuertz, “but usually on our terms. We want to make room for Christ to reign on the thrones of our hearts, but only a clean Christ who doesn’t make a mess of our lives” (63).

Too often our churches are havens from the real world of death and oppression. Thus Heuertz asks, “The world is a place marked by suffering and poverty. Where is the church?” (65). Too often our churches are clean drugs that make everything better in our heads–an opiate, as Karl Marx once said. We worship because we like to close our eyes; we want to remain blind to how our lives are in bondage to sin. And this blindness keeps us from seeing the light of Christ. Heuertz quotes Jean Vanier, “We can even hide in various groups of prayer and spiritual exercises, not knowing that a light is shining in the poor, the weak, the lonely and the oppressed” (61).

Jesus didn’t hide from the harsh realities of life. Jesus didn’t outfit worship spaces with the comforts of middle-class culture. He didn’t make sure his followers had seats with cup holders for their coffee. Jesus didn’t buy the best sound equipment so the wannabe rock-star worship team could jam for the Lord. No. Heuertz writes (69),

Jesus’ ministry was not to the upper class, the educated, the elite or the most influential social figures. Jesus came and ministered among those who were poor, with the poor and as a poor man. His ministry was to the children, those who were begging, victims of leprosy, the woman at the well, the woman caught in the act of adultery, the tax collectors, the fishermen communities and those on the margins. Jesus came to the common people and lived alongside them. As a church, we must learn new ways to celebrate our faith inclusively so that those on the margins of society will feel welcome–and so that our love and acceptance of the other will aid in our paths to holiness. Jesus’ ministry was marked with a distinctive compassion for the oppressed poor.

Has the church followed this way of Jesus? Not really. It’s more often the case, Heuertz says, that “the church…isolates the poor” (72). The poor have their place in the world, and we have ours. “Do our multi-million-dollar sanctuaries in North America send the same message?” Even if they did stumble into our worship services, could we hear their silent cries over the cool music and the soothing voice of the preacher? “As the statistics of poverty grow, the church only sings louder so as not to hear the staggering numbers and the cries of the victims” (71). Heuertz makes me wonder if most of our churches make us immoral.

What we are desperately missing is what Heuertz calls “the prophetic presence of the poor” (82). Our churches look and feel different when we worship alongside someone who doesn’t know where they will sleep that night, or a parent who has to prostitute themselves so they can put food on the table. How much does that cordless microphone cost? How much we eat and what we waste takes on new meaning if we’ve seen what Heuertz sees: “my waste was offensive…. My poor friends became a prophetic presence” (83). “We would often invite local friends (many of them extremely poor) to join us, their presence a constant reminder not to waste” (86).

At the heart of Heuertz’s book are these friendships with the poor. And it sounds like his life is all the more rich because of them. Our lives are possessed by our possessions; we are slaves in need of Christ’s redemption. The call to a simple spirituality is the possibility of making those friendships that liberate us. The gift of God’s grace doesn’t baptize the lives we live; instead, grace sets us free for a new way of life, Christ’s abundant life, freedom. But this freedom can’t be enjoyed without the ones to whom Jesus gave his Father’s kingdom: “Blessed are the poor, for theirs is the kingdom of God.” All we can do is open ourselves to receive. We beg from the beggars. That’s how we learn simplicity. “This is not simplicity for the sake of simplicity of lifestyle”–which is what Real Simple magazine is all about. Instead, this is “simplicity for the sake of relationship–relationship with God and relationship with each other” (97). The simplicity Heuertz describes begins with submitting our lives to the prophetic presence of the poor. They will teach us what humility and simplicity looks like. We start with submission; we submit the lives we’d rather keep private to the gaze and advice of the poor. We enter into those intimate and messy relationships that provide “the opportunity to submit to the cries and the needs of my friends who suffer” (120).

Some may find all of this a hard pill to swallow. We may want to separate our love of God from our love of the poor. But Heuertz holds them together in a single vision of following after God. It’s all about God. He’s deeply evangelical. He’s simply sharing with us the Jesus he’s learning to see. And this Jesus is resurrected flesh that still bears the marks of suffering. That’s the profound argument of his closing chapter: Brokenness. “It’s terrible to imagine how to remove a dead body form a cross,” Heuertz writes (137-138):

I can only guess that they would have had to either pull the nails out, aggravating the wounds even more, or pull the body off, leaving the nails embedded in the cross. Either way, the holes in the corpse of Christ, those in his hands or wrists and feet or ankles, must have been gaping, atrocious. I wonder what happened to such gaping holes in the corpse over the course of the forty hours Christ’s body was dead.

And what happens to these holes when Jesus is resurrected? John’s Gospel tells us that Jesus appears to Thomas with open wounds. “[H]is resurrected body still bears those open wounds–those still-fresh lacerations, cuts, gashes and holes” (138). So, Heuertz asks us, “where do we find his open wounds today?…. Unless we have the courage to put our hands into the hurting places of Christ’s body–the hurting places of the world–the world won’t have reason to trust that God is good” (140).

I am now haunted by this wounded Jesus. Heuertz’s friendships have given him eyes to see this Jesus. After reading his stories of profound sorrow and joy, I don’t know if I’ve seen the same Jesus. But I want to. And I am grateful to Heuertz and his friends for showing me that such an abundant life is possible. I can’t begin to do justice to Heuertz’s storytelling; that’s what makes the book a must read. Read it for the stories of real life, of real friendship, of people we can never meet because they are dead now. And also read it for the joy of abundant life, the joy of Christ’s resurrected life, a life broken open for us.

Note for YAR contributers: The publishers of Simple Spirituality, Intervarsity Press have offered to send YAR contributors free books from their catalog for review here on the blog. If you’re interested, you can start by taking a look at their new releases or upcoming books. If you see a book you’d like to review email admin@young.anabaptistradicals.org
with the title and your mailing address.

When I admit this fact about myself I get asked “Don’t you like it?”, “Are you not into chicks?”, “What’s the deal?”. Honestly, I never thought porn was good thing. I became a Christian at 19 so I had plenty of heathen years to look at this shit but I never thought it was right. Yeah, I’d probably like it. I’d probably like crack too.

I consider myself lucky. I’ve never met a guy who is in my position; who by 28 has been so “clean” of the stuff. Women might not know it, and maybe I’m letting the cat out of the bag here, but nearly all guys, universally, look at porn. Sorry to blow your cover fellas.

Anyway, an old Pastor of mine moved out to Arizona a couple years ago to start yet another church. He met this girl who used to be a very successful porn star. She comes to his church and is very vocal about her past. I’d post her myspace and what-have-you but I don’t feel like it’d be appropiate. So my old Pastor likes to make movies and they thought it’d be cool to make sort of an “inspired on a true story” type flick about this girl. They posted a “making of” online.

What got me, what really shocked me, were the negative responses people placed in the comments section. Not stuff like “Christian movies are dumb” or “The acting is so bad” or anything like that. No, what happened was nothing short of a full-fledged personal attack on Chrissy with some very vulgar things said. It seems to me that the online porn community found out about Chrissy’s little indie-movie and decided to wage war against her.

Maybe I’m wrong, I hope so.

The types of things said reminded me of something you’d say in a drunken rage after finding out that your girlfriend slept with your best friend. It seems as though that since Chrissy is unwilling to do porn anymore her fans feel like she is cheating on them. Now she is a “whore” that still likes “cock”. Funny how once a girl leaves the porn industry she becomes a “whore”. Funny how it seems like some of these fellas are genuinely jealous of a girl who won”t take off her clothes in videos anymore.

It seems that modern thought has left us in a bit of a quandry. On the one hand women wanted equality, a fine and fair thing to want. But with that sexual equality. This meant that women, at least some of them, wanted to become as sexual as men. Probably to the detriment of both genders this has happened to a large degree. Women though were left perplexed, how can you overcome male oppression by giving men more sex? And is a woman expressing her sexual side through a pornographic magazine a blow to or for women’s rights?

The problem that I see is that such a thing is not “for” anyone. Men seem to objectify women more so than usual and women seem hurt, not edified, through this “sexual revolution”. Call me crazy, but these guys who saw Chrissy’s videos seemed to think that she was theirs. And Chrissy, probably at the time, thought she expressing herself through her sexuality. The whole thing appears to be a lie to everyone.

Well, I guess that’s it. I’ll be beating my wife and reading Guns and Ammo if you need me.

Much of the ideas in his book are not new to the faith-based peace activists I know. However, there is a lot we need to face in the inconvenient truths of environmental issues, and crises connected to humanity’s overconsumption. When activists talk about these issues, people are put off by the stark realities we expose them to, those realities being hard enough to face as it is.

McLaren talked about these painful issues in a way that was easily understandable for mainstream evangelicals or folks on the fringe of the church. He applied the example of Jesus and his relevance to our times, naming the social and political backdrop of Jesus’ life during a period of Empire, inequality, and injustice.

What was so important for me, was the chance to go deeper than intellectual discussion of crisis scenarios, deeper than fix-it mode. It was an opportunity to feel, to grieve and to struggle with hope through worship and the arts.

I joined Tracey Howe in worship leading from Songs for A Revolution of Hope an album based on the themes of McLaren’s book. I bought a whole box of the CDs because the themes are so fresh and the music so ecclectic. Linnea Nilsen Capshaw, of Deep Shift led us through meditations, journaling and artwork to process the themes of the conference at a deeper level.

I needed this space for worship, repentance, grief, remorse. Like many other Americans, I am a fixer. But we need to let it hurt so bad that we let it change not just our light bulbs, but also our stories that got us here. We need to change our living narratives from society’s message of individualism, to community; from consumption, to creativity.

Without this journey of grief, I might change things on the surface. But without going deeper, I’ll burnout, or become passive aggressive in my changes. Living Green might be life-or-death important one day, and a lesser priority the next day when I’m worn out. We need to go so much deeper than fix-it mode.

We need to understand the stories society tells which got us here in the first place, how we’ve come to over-identify with energy consumption, believing that is the sacred American way of life, as President Bush says. We need to go deeper to grieve and unpack those stories. McLaren’s conference helped me along the way.

Check out the Wiki-based website for sharing practical ideas about how Everything Must Change.

On Tuesday evening, July 22nd, we will celebrate the political campaign that has lasted 2,000 years. But this movement of the people is quite different from what the current American democratic parties are up to. It all started in a Palestinian village: a woman from the wrong side of the tracks birthed someone who would change the world. This boy grew up and started a campaign that ignited a revolutionary fire of love across the land. Sure, the empire killed him, like they do all revolutionaries. But the rumor is that his followers are still at it; they have kept the memory alive. Come hear the good news; and maybe pledge allegiance to a very different king. It’s free, so show up early if you want a seat.

Jesus for President: 7pm, July 22nd, Raleigh, First Baptist Church (101 S. Wilmington Street)

Spread the word.

Here’s their website: Jesus for President

** Update **

CNN just did a piece on the Jesus for President campaign. Look here

I’ve written here before about America’s view of the gun as holy. So I shouldn’t have been surprised by Senator McCain’s response:

“Unlike the elitist view that believes Americans cling to guns out of bitterness, today’s ruling recognizes that gun ownership is a fundamental right — sacred, just as the right to free speech and assembly.”

But it made me wonder. What other things does McCain see as a sacred? A little hunting on Google news turned up only two other recent invocations of the term by McCain:

“As a father, I believe there is no more sacred responsibility in American society than that of protecting the innocence of our children.

“That there is a judge anywhere in America who does not believe that the rape of a child represents the most heinous of crimes, which is deserving of the most serious of punishments, is profoundly disturbing.” responding to the Supreme Court’s rejection of the death penalty for child rapists

See any interesting parallels? Once you get past the rhetoric, McCain’s view of the sacred seems to mainly revolve around the right to kill people, either by the death penalty or by fire arm. It is a devastating indictment of what our country’s understanding of spirituality has come to.

To be fair, the other use of the term by McCain in my news googling in which he used the term when criticizing Obama’s promise to renegotiate NAFTA. Apparently free trade is sacred too.

From Thursday through Saturday of last week, Charletta and I attended PAPA festival. This is the People Against Poverty and Apathy festival that is a "convergence of communities and movements coming together to share, dream, and create." The gathering has happened twice before, first in 1997 and then again in 2006.

Plow Creek Mennonite Church and Fellowship hosted the event on their. I’ve visited Plow Creek a number of times over years, but the PAPAfarians had trasnformed the place. When we arrived on Thursday morning, the stubble on the oat fields was still visible between the veggie fueled bus campers and the 500 gallon water tank. But by that evening, the fields had sprouted tents like mushrooms in warm manure. Over 750 people showed up for the four day gathering that all told. Our entrance fee was on a donation basis since the event was run completely by volunteers, including most of the attendees themselves.

On Thursday afternoon we gathered to watch the opening festivities on the main stage, two hay wagons pushed together in a field. The welcome events which included an address by Tony Campolo (via cell phone) and an anarchist beat poetry band from St. Louis. More eccentric musical combinations were to follow in the ensuing days with musical acts ranging from a celestial harpist to a wild concert by the Psalters, a traveller/tribal/punk band that played hymns, folk songs and very loud worship songs.

The highlight of the gathering for me were the break out sessions. Each morning there were two slots for learning workshops and in the afternoon two for skill shares. The learning workshops topics included ideas for building communities ("Leadership Designs and Practices in Christian Community"), socio-political analysis ("Dismantling the Empire: Exploitation and War"), spirituality ("Emotional Healing Through Relationship With Jesus") and many more ("Farming as Ministry").

I attended "Community in Times of Upheaval" which was a wide ranging and enthusiastic discusison facilitated by folks from the Bruderhof. "Nurturing Spiritual Rhythms in Community: Becoming an Uneventful Church" was led by Mennonite pastor and submergent organizer, Mark Van Steenwyk. He did a good job of balancing deconstruction: "I’m holier then you and will oppress you with my spiritual meta narratives" (as he described one dubious discipleship tactic) and practical ideas for building a community spiritual practice: learning to listen to your neighbors, survive the chaos and move beyond event-based spirituality (if I just go to one more prayer meeting…).

I also sat in on "Cultivating Goodness: Creating Environments Where It’s Easier to be Good" led by Shane Claiborne. Shane shared stories from the the Potter Street Community (formerly known as the Simple Way) and talked about useful tricks they’ve discovered over the years for sustainable community living. A number of Plow Creek veterans (30 years in community and counting) shared words of wisdom and encouragement with the younger generations of community builders. Once again, participant participation was high and wisdom filled.

As the name implies, the skills shares focused on offering participants practical advice. The topics were even more eclectic then the workshops including crafts (knitting, pie baking and fiber crafting), agriculture (animal husbandry, CSA and weeding), nature skills (mushrooms, edible wild plants and herbs), performance (drumming, circus skills and henna) and the Chauceresque (pilgrimage, hydrotherapy and midwifery). In short, it was a very very creative bunch of people. I did two peaceamaking skill shares with role plays based on CPT’s work. I was very impressed with the enthusiasm of participants and the wisdom they shared from their own life experience.

I only managed to attend one skill share aside from the two I led, but it was well worth it. The "Purpose Driven Circus" offered folks the chance to learn juggling (clubs or balls), slack rope walking, unicycle riding, Poi, devil sticks and Diabolos. With an introduction grounding the whole thing in a theology of clowning, fools and play. I tried juggling for a while, but mostly took lots of photos.

Amidst this delightful, energetic and faithful gathering, I ran into lots of friends and made a few new ones. In case it hasn’t become obvious from my description, PAPA festival serves as the unofficial convergence space for the New Monasticism movement. The movement is gradually coming of age and the number of kids running around was one concrete manifestation of that. There were at least 70 kids running around and hanging out in the Children’s village. Their presence alongside many dreadlocked heads contributed to a carnivalesque collision of counterculture and family friendly feeling.

A fun time was had by all.

P.S. I took lots and lots of photos:

The Declaration below, coming from “Envision: the Gospel, Politics, and the Future” at Princeton University June 8-10, 2008, began with an online dialogue of approximately 100 participants on June 2 about religion, social change, and politics. On June 8, a diverse panel of scholars discussed the results of the dialogue.

After attending the conference and hearing reports about the conversations that occurred throughout many aspects of the conference, the panel met and created the declaration. You can sign it if you want.

Envision the Future: A Declaration on the Common Good
Princeton, New Jersey
11 June 2008

We are at a critical moment in the history of the United States. The common good has been seriously compromised. Perpetual war, rampant poverty and inequality, environmental crisis, and the narrowing of the possibilities of human life and cultural flourishing imperil our future.

In this moment of crisis, we have an important opportunity to reclaim the common good; to enact a robust vision of a common life that moves away from a world where resources and responsibilities – whether economic, political, or social – are held in the hands of a few to a global community in which they are held by all and all are benefited. Envision is a theologically and politically diverse movement of Christians committed to following the way of Jesus. Our movement includes Evangelicals, Pentecostals, mainline Protestants, Anabaptists, emerging church members, and others who profess that the call of Jesus includes struggling for peace, social, economic, and racial justice, and a flourishing creation.

For three days in June 2008, over 500 of us gathered – across our divisions – in Princeton, New Jersey to critically and creatively discern a new vision of the common good. We came together and listened to one another and learned from one another. We were enriched and transformed by our conversations as we worshipped, sang, and broke bread together.

Envision offers new voices in the public square to address the complexities that confront the United States and the world. We are racially and ethnically diverse activists, clergy, lay persons, students, and scholars who are deeply informed by a faith that compels us to participate in God’s work to eradicate poverty, create peace, and build just communities and right relationships with the earth.

In recent times, some have used Christianity to divide us from one another and demonize others. They have placed Christianity on the side of the powerful against the powerless. Envision inaugurates a new relation between our faith and our politics. In a spirit of humility and hospitality, we seek to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with God and each other.

We acknowledge that we do not agree on all things. We acknowledge that we do not have all the answers, but we will seek them together. In the midst of our differences we are committed to remain together at the table that God sets for us and not demonize each other, but talk, reason, and work together for a brighter and better future.

We affirm our desire to work together and with others in a shared commitment to justice, equality, and peace. We invite all who share such a commitment and vision to sign this declaration and join the Envision movement.

Here’s the link: http://fvcommunity.org/ev08/ You have to create a username, that’s annoying, but if your computer remembers it for you after you make it, that’s cool.

How an Indigenous Community Defeated a Logging Giant
Among other things, this victory is the result of a direct action blockade campaign by the Anishnaabe people in Asubpeeschoseewagong (Grassy Narrows), Ontario. Christian Peacemaker Teams had a team in Asubpeeschoseewagong starting in 2002 that accompanied the ongoing action. There was also a parallel campaign with the Rain Forest Action Network to encourage corporations to stop buying wood from AbitibiBowater, the logging company cutting down the trees.

Florida to buy 187,000 farmland acres to preserve Everglades
300 square miles of sugar cane fields (same size as New York City) will be returned to their natural state as part of the Everglades. That’s a staggeringly large area, especially for the Eastern United States. Although I don’t know nearly as much of the back story for this deal, on the surface it appears to be a victory for the working-in-the-system folks since it’s the State of Florida shelling out $1.7 billion for the land. Among those claiming credit are Earthjustice, a legal fund that works through the US court systems to bring suits against polluters.

I bet that got your attention.

Back when we had eight candidates tripping over themselves for the Democratic nomination, I was a John Edwards supporter (Kucinich wasn’t viable). I felt that of the major candidates, Edwards’ views and plans most reflected what I wanted to see in a president - and besides, who can resist that charming North Carolina accent?

But I always had room in my heart for Barack Obama, too, ever since his stirring speech at the 2004 Democratic National Convention. The night of the Iowa caucuses, even as I mourned Edwards’ distant second-place finish, I watched Obama speak with a warm heart, daring to hope that such a man could give me, for the first time since I started watching CNN, a president I could be proud of. For the first time in my young life, I was witnessing something I had only heard about from my parents - the start of a movement.

Barack Obama continued to grow on me, wooing me with his strong speaking style and kind character, and by the time John Edwards dropped out I was more than willing to jump on board the Obama train. I smile when I see the above image on T-shirts and telephone poles. This isn’t just a political candidate - I’ve been involved in political campaigns for over sixteen years. This is a movement. My generation has its first big hero.

But hold on a second. Barack Obama isn’t a taller, older, Black version of me. He supports a stronger military, which I do not. He opposes same-sex marriage, which I do not. I disagree with him on matters that I consider to be rather significant.

What’s more, Barack Obama is a man. He is fallible. He is as capable of leading us into a disastrous war, robbing us of our civil liberties and alienating the rest of the world as our current president (if not as likely). And the more power you have, the easier it is to make bad decisions. So should we really be putting him up on this pedestal, trumpeting him as some sort of prophet? In fact, isn’t it dangerous for us to put so much faith in one man?

I know this isn’t exactly a term paper. I’m just curious to hear some other thoughts on the matter.

Admin Edit 6/24/08: Added “capable” as corrected in comment #7 below.

http://pastoralblog.blogspot.com/2008/06/teach-man-to-fish.html

Besides the fact that the proverb is sexist, it holds many false assumptions of how the poor should be helped. I have always had a problem with the proverb because it assumes that one should ignore the immediate need. But Ms. Wilson has a better overall approach.

Steve K

I guess I’m young–although my wife has discovered a recent influx of white hairs on my head. And I guess I’m Anabaptist–although my parents had me baptized as an infant. But I don’t think anyone wants to include me among the “radicals” since I’m a pastor. Everyone knows that pastors aren’t radical. They are (we are) just pastors.

My name is Isaac Villegas and I pastor a Mennonite congregation in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. As I’ve discovered from wearing name tags at Mennonite conferences, my last name is a giveaway: my family tree isn’t rooted in Europe. My blood flows from south of the border. I’m the child of Catholic immigrants from Latin America who settled in Los Angeles, California. My ecclesial story meanders through various traditions. But my first memory of church is set in a modern cathedral, with lavishly adorned priests walking down the center aisle, incense wafting through the rows, and Christ’s transubstantiated presence beckoning from the altar of eucharistic mysteries.

But my family was pentecostal Catholic at heart, and that kind of hybrid Catholicism didn’t happen in our LA neighborhoods. So we turned to the anarchic pentecostal and storefront charismatic movements. Then evangelicals took hold of me during college. But they left me high and dry when I wrestled with the need for a faithful response to 9/11. The Mennonites saved my faith; they offered a communal witness of peace that took seriously the bible and the miracle-working power of the Holy Spirit.

I moved to North Carolina to help start a house of hospitality called the Rutba House. When we discovered that lots of other folks were doing the same things, we invited everyone we could think of to Durham for a conversation on “a new monasticism.” (If you want more information, we put together a book of essays: Schools for Conversion: 12 Marks of a New Monasticism.)

While I experimented with what we were calling “neo-monasticism,” I worshiped with the good people at Chapel Hill Mennonite. They taught me how to do church Mennonite-style–granted, a grass roots (i.e., radical?) variety of Mennonite that makes most sense to me. And for some crazy reason they thought it was a good idea to call me as their pastor. Only the Holy Spirit does stuff that crazy.