Moving again

No, we're not moving from Chicago, but the blog is moving once again. By my count, this is the third move so for those of you have kept moving with me, thanks.

All these posts will still be up here.

The new blog is at: http://christiancoon.tumblr.com/

I hope to add a few new things (maybe a podcast) in 2012.

Blessings to you this Christmas season!

Staying put at the Field

I was a sophomore when I made my second trip to the Field Museum. My high-school choir made the 4-hour trip to Chicago for a couple of performances and one of our side trips included a visit to that venerable institution with the woolly mammoths and mummies. I can't remember how much time we had, but I know I raced from this exhibit to that exhibit trying to take in as much as I could while also trying to impress a girl who was a junior. When we were done, I was talking to one of our chaperones (a science teacher) and asked what his favorite part of the museum. It turns out he never left the ancient Egyptian area. I couldn't believe it. He only stayed in one exhibit? I felt kind of sorry for him.

As the years have gone by, however, I now appreciate his attentiveness and wisdom. He was perfectly happy to stay with one section of the museum and learn, explore, and wonder. I'm sure he was interested in other parts of the museum, but he saw the benefit of digging deeper.

This Sunday, we'll be reflecting on one of the ways we live out our faith at Urban Village: growing. Exploring the Christian faith can be daunting: The Bible can be hard to comprehend, theological terms can make little sense, traditions can seem odd. One way to start, though, is to simply start somewhere and stay there, be it a Bible verse or a term or a tradition. Start somewhere and, even more importantly, start with a companion (like in a small group or retreat). You won't cover it all in a day (or even a lifetime), but you will start to discover glimpses of glory and joy that make the process well worth the trip.

Simple faith

I received an interesting text from my cell phone provider last night. Feeling overwhelmed by the number of applications out there? it asked. Go to this web site to help sort it it out. So I did. And felt even more confused. On the left of the page, I could "Browse by Category" (there were 17 categories). In the center, one block offered "Recommendations" and another "Apps in the News" and another "Hot Apps" and another "Price Cuts" and there were at least five other blocks I could have perused. So much for simplicity. So many of us feel overwhelmed by life in general and our culture continues to give us an endless amount of opportunities to stay connected, learn more, improve ourselves. It's easy to feel that way about faith, too, especially if we're just starting out or renewing our search after time away. Where do we start? One of my mantras in recent months consists of three words: I breathe deeply and tell myself, "Slow down. Simiplify." Every morning when I wake up, I focus on this particular day and give thanks for it. God has given me, for example, October 26, 2011. I will never again have the gift of this particular day. And I am thankful. When I feel a wave of anxiety about all the things I have to do during the day, I break it down even more. I have been given this hour between 9 a.m. and 10 a.m. I can handle focusing on this hour. This is a gift. And I am thankful. I've been known to then break that down into 15-minute increments sometimes! For me, this is more than just a simple time management skill. It's prayer. It's a way for me to be reminded of the abundance of life and the strong and constant presence of God. One moment at a time.

Warming up to teaching

Preaching and teaching are often two of the things cited in a pastor's job description. When congregations are asked what they want from a pastor, "a good preacher" is often the number one answer. I really enjoy preaching. I enjoy the crafting of it, the creativity of it, the presentation of it. Teaching, though, has been something I've been lukewarm about. I'm not sure why that is, but I think it has something to do with my sometimes unhealthy need to feel like I should have the answer to any question that's asked.

"You're the pastor," someone might say to me and then ask, "what does this particular passage mean?" If I draw a blank, can I just shrug my shoulders? And if I do that, will the questioner think less of me? Not the best attitude to have. I'm feeling more comfortable, however, with the things I don't know, which isn't to say that I don't prepare or at least have some grasp of what we're discussing.

I'm currently leading a small group that's billed as an introduction to faith/Christianity. These are often the most rewarding and most challenging groups because participants sometimes ask the biggest and most penetrating questions, but they're also sponges for any piece of information that I can share.

One of the things I'm learning about doing ministry with young adults these days is that I have to assume they know absolutely nothing about the Bible. The other day I was in a meeting and someone said turn to the book of Matthew and the woman next to me whispered, "I have no idea where to look for that." I appreciated her honesty and it reminded me that we're really working with clean slates. Which can be kind of exciting.

We had our second small-group gathering last night and we were pondering the different passages that address the question, how should I treat my enemies? We looked through the Old and New Testaments, talked about the differences and discussed what do we do when the Bible seems to contradict itself. Everyone was engaged and at times it looked like lights were going off in their heads ("Oh, that makes sense!") and I got a brief sense of what it must be like for a teacher who really connects with a student.

I've been leading small groups for years and I think I may finally be getting the hang of it.

Figuring each other out

We spent three hours in our staff meeting yesterday figuring each other out. One could argue that we do that every day, but we were led in thinking through our Myers-Briggs types.

Myers-Briggs is what's known as a "type indicator," a way of beginning to ascertain your personality and what makes you tick. Once you begin to figure that out, though, you also have to take into consideration that you deal with other personality types and, well, how in the heck to you deal with all that? That was our task yesterday.

I enjoy these types of exercises and I've had some experience with Myers-Briggs in the past. My indicator is INFJ (Introvert, intuitive, feeling, judging). I won't go into what all these mean (you can do that here), but here's what the little box says about INFJs: "Insightful. Inspiring. Exert influence quietly. Work toward mutual trust. Organize people, processes so all benefit. Articulate team values, vision. Sensitive to group dynamics. Seek meaning, connection in ideas, relationships. Conscientious. Committed. Values driven. Creative." These are all positives, of course, and there are certainly negatives. One of those negatives has to do that that J/judging. Judging doesn't really mean that J's are judgmental, but rather that they tend to like organization, timelines, structure. The opposite of a J is a P (perceiving), who tends to be more easygoing, casual, go-with-the-flow.

One of the biggest learnings for me yesterday was that the "pastors" (myself; Trey, our other lead pastor; and Brittany our associate pastor) are all J's and most of the other staff are P's. Our consultant said that we really need to listen to the P's more because that may fuel creativity and risk-taking. That's hard for J's, who tend to want to control.

But as I was praying this morning, I realized just how controlling I tend to be. It's hard to let go of stuff. But isn't that what faith is all about? Lord, have mercy.

Does it stay or should it go?

Do they have a show on TLC or HGTV that focuses on redecorating your garage? Maybe, but I’m guessing it wouldn’t be as popular as transforming your kitchen or bedroom. Popular or not, that’s where my wife and I were on Monday, in our garage with a lot of hardware from The Container Store contemplating the possibilities of creating more space. One of the first tasks in this process, of course, is taking stock of what we have and deciding what to keep, what to donate, what to trash. Snorkeling gear we bought for our honeymoon? Keep, because you just never know when we’ll go to the Cayman Islands again. Guitar I bought more than 20 years ago? Donate, as much as I’d like to think I’ll play again in the near future. Old intercom? Trash. Why were we keeping that around anyway?

Not all of the decisions are easy. We have sentimental attachments to our stuff and it’s hard to let go. As we got to work, it didn’t take long for me to to start reflecting on other kinds of stuff I store in my head and heart (when you’re a professional religious person, you tend to see metaphors in lots of places).

There are more than a few things I wish I could let go of, donate, or trash. I sometimes hold onto grudges way too long. I wish I could more easily trash petty annoyances that eat at me. Of course, there are other things I’m happy to keep. The days when I’m able to slow down, be attentive to each moment, and take in the wondrousness of God’s creation. The instances when I’m aware of a holy courage that enables me to overcome fear.

It’s helpful to take stock of this stuff in our souls—even on a daily basis—and ask for God’s help to have the wisdom to know what to hold onto and what to let go of. It’s not easy. We can become attached to our shortcomings (or, in more theological language, our sins). But when we say good-bye to these behaviors and attitudes, it leaves more room for things like love, forgiveness, grace, and kindness. And that’s a reorganization worth going through.

A reminder from Glee

I know I'm late in jumping on the "Glee" bandwagon, but, thanks Netflix, my wife and I have been making our way through Season 1 this summer (I think we're through eight episodes so far).

I've had numerous reactions to the show including (a) wondering how can they get a piece of music and immediately be able to sing on key and have such great choreography and (b) enjoying watching the great mix of characters interact with each other. Glee Club seems to be slowly growing in popularity at the fictional William McKinley High School with each episode, but the original members of the small group included a student who's in a wheelchair, a student who's black (by the looks of it, one of the few at the high school), a student who's gay, and a student who's Jewish. Surviving in high school often depends on one's popularity and these Glee Club members don't seem to have it. At first. I'm eager to catch up with the series to see what happens as a greater diversity of students join Glee.

Our culture (and many a high school) loves people who look great, ooze coolness, exhibit strength, and seemingly have it all together. Sometimes Christians make the mistake of thinking that's what following Jesus is all about, too. But time and again, God seems to favor the unhip and uncool and unpopular. 1 Corinthians 1:27 notes, "But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong."

Is God stupid?

That's the first question that crossed my mind when I read the parable of the wicked tenants yesterday (Mark 12:1-12). I've never spent much time with this parable because it's never made a lot of sense to me, but as I'm making my way through Mark during my devotion time, I couldn't escape it.

Every time I've read this text in the past, my first reaction is, this vineyard owner must be stupid. A quick synopsis: Jesus tells this parable about this man who planted a vineyard and then leased it to tenants. The vineyard owner left the country and then sent workers ("slaves" as the text says) back to the vineyard to collect his share. The tenants, though, kept beating the slaves up and the slaves would return empty handed. The vineyard owner, not to be deterred, would continue this process. He'd send slaves. Tenants would beat them up and sometimes even kill them. The owner eventually sends his own son and they kill him, too. First reaction: Why would you keep sending slaves? Clearly this tactic isn't working!

Of course, this parable isn't about commerce and that finally clicked for me yesterday. I haven't read the commentaries to see if this interpretation is "right," but it seems to me that God keeps sending people our way (prophets, teachers, priests, even, as I believe, his son) and we keep ignoring, rejecting, even killing them. And yet God doesn't stop the process. When you first think about it, that's kind of stupid. Why would you keep sending them? Because, simply, God loves and every once in a while we receive the prophet/teacher/Jesus and begin to clue in.

This parable also has a pretty harsh warning for the tenants: "(The owner) will come and destroy the tenants and give the vineyard to others." So there's that and I don't want to simply ignore that part of the text either, but yesterday, I found it comforting that God continually does "stupid" things like bestowing love even when we ignore these entreaties.

Missing cornfields

At our staff meeting on Tuesday, we were reflecting on our comfort soul food--those books, places, spiritual disciplines that we fall back on when we're in need of a faith boost. Brittany, our associate pastor who's heading up our Andersonville launch and who also grew up in downstate Illinois, said that one thing that she misses is cornfields. I knew exactly what she meant.

It may seem odd that cornfields would be a place for spiritual sustenance, but we all have our holy ground, and wide open spaces with crops growing as far as the eye can see are in short supply in the city. I miss that.

I'm often asked how we've adjusting to life in the city and I usually answer that it's unlike anything I've ever experienced. In just about every other place I've ever lived, I'd always say that the town/suburb I live in is "good" or "fine." I don't think I'd have used adjectives much greater than those. Now I say that about 75 percent of the time, the place where I live is "exciting," "energy-giving," and "unpredictable." The flip side, of course, is that 25 percent of the time, I'd use adjectives like "draining" and "difficult." Which would you choose? Living in a place that's "good" all the time or a place that's usually "fantastic" but the other part of the time is "draining"? (Of course, option c is a place that's fantastic all the time!) Obviously we're opting for the 75-25 option, but there are days I wish I could plop myself down on a country gravel road with corn as far as the eye can see and just listen to nothing.

Let me see again

I've been slowly making my way through the gospel of Mark these last few weeks and have been pretty faithful to reading a few verses a day and reflecting on them. Like many new or renewed loves, though, my response to these verse has changed.

I started this process right after I came off a retreat and was renewed and reinvigorated (as often happens when I'm on retreat). The first chapter of Mark was a revelation even though I'd read it many times before. I felt I was there at Jesus' baptism, I was intrigued and inspired by his going into the wilderness. Over time, though, the stories and verses have lost their punch. "Oh, that's the story of Jesus stilling a storm," I think to myself. "Another feeding of masses of people?" I ask. I stick with it, though, and I think this is important.

So many people come to Urban Village and are excited about this new or renewed faith, but then the luster wears off and they go to try something else that gets their spiritual juices flowing. They don't know quite what to do with spiritual boredom. And that's when I recognize how important perseverance (which is often mentioned by Paul) is.

I was reading the story of the healing of Bartimaeus (Mark 10:46-52) yesterday, a man who was blind. Jesus asks him what he wants and Bartimaeus says, "My teacher, let me see again." It's that last word that caught me. He once was able to see. And he wants to see again. That's a good prayer: Let me see again, Lord. Stir up excitement and joy that has been there in the past and I trust will be there in the future. In the meantime, give me the perseverance to keep asking.

Welcome back

There are long to-do lists when starting a new church, but some of the instructions are quite simple. One of the first "rules" is this: Join stuff.

I must confess I've never been a big joiner, but if you want to meet people and let them know about this new church you're helping to start, you've got to be a part of groups. So I started joining all kinds of groups, including a running club. Even though I've been a runner most of my life, I've never joined a running club preferring, instead, to be solitary when putting in my miles. But I showed up one Wednesday morning at 6 a.m. and stuck with it. It wasn't easy. People already knew one another so I felt like an outcast initially, but I kept showing up and people eventually started talking and getting to know me. Last summer, I started in with the group again, but a few weeks into it, I had some changes to my schedule and I couldn't go for a few weeks. Then we went on vacation. And then it just felt awkward to go back. Would they remember me? It was easier just to go back to my solitary running ways.

How similar this is to our faith lives! We get into the groove of prayer, worship, community connection, but something throws us off and other things take priority and we start wondering whether God or a church would even want us back or remember us. Frankly, we'd rather bypass the awkwardness and just put our faith on hold.

Which is why the story of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32)--as familiar as it may be to some--is always a great passage to read and reflect on. A wayward son insults his father, leaves home, falls on hard luck, debates a return, and comes home. And when he does, there are no questions from the father and, as far as I can tell, not much awkwardness. There is only embrace.

If you wonder whether you can ever return to faith or church, read that story. And hear God's resounding answer: Yes. Always.

Counting to 60

Our son is at the age where everything seems to take fooorrrreeeevvvver. When he asks how long he has to wait for something he'd rather not be waiting for and I tell him, for example, "Oh, 15 minutes," he'll reply, "How many times do I have to count to 60?" Kindergartners know their seconds and minutes. I always find it interesting that time seemingly stands still for children and yet rushes by for adults. Over and over we hear (and experience) the challenge of trying to fit everything into the 24 hours we've been given. Lately, though, I've been helped by the experience of counting to 60. It's amazing what can happen. When I close my eyes and count to 60, I can take 10 really deep breaths, which slows me down and reminds me of the nearness of God's breath. When I count to 60, I can bring forth a wonderful memory of one of our favorite places to go in the summer (Pentwater, Michigan) and hear the waves rush to the shore. When I count to 60, I can replay in my head a wonderful song I just downloaded ("The 23rd Psalm" by Bobby McFerrin). When I count to 60, I can make a good start on a list of things for which I'm grateful. When I count to 60, I can reflect on an issue that is important to me (like ending hunger). That's five minutes. After only five minutes, I've experienced a pretty great prayer. What can you come up with if you stop, close your eyes, take deep breaths, and count to 60? Even if you only do it once, I believe you may begin to see time not as something you wrestle with, but something you receive as God's gift.