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.

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.

Take notice

I recently celebrated a birthday and while I appreciated all the birthday wishes on my Facebook wall, the correspondence that meant the most to me was a 4-page handwritten letter from my grandmother (who also sweetly included a $10 bill). We named our daughter after my grandmother, who is one of my spiritual heroes. One of the qualities I most admire about her is her ability to notice and cherish things. Here's a paragraph from that letter: "Grandpa enjoys watching the squirrels here. There are 3 gray ones & one black one. (Uncle) John brought him in some corn & they really like that. It's fun to watch them, play & eat." Those sentences may not seem like much to you, but I Iove those words because they describe the way my grandparents notice things like squirrels and then quietly observe and (I have no doubt) give thanks for them. There are so many things I miss in my life as my eyes stay glued to my iPhone. Meanwhile, the sacredness with which God has imbued this world keeps popping out. May God give all of us the awareness to notice. "The act of noticing helps you realize that your life is already suffused with the presence of God." -- James Martin in "The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything

Cafeteria Christians...in a good way

I've been noticing something lately.

I think I've read this somewhere so what I've noticed isn't exactly groundbreaking (and, who knows, may have been happening for centuries), but Urban Village seems to be drawing a few folks who claim their main membership in a church elsewhere (and are perfectly happy there), but come to Urban Village for...something. It might be a small group or a social gathering or our Wicker Park Sunday evening service, but they don't have a problem with feeding their souls in different contexts.

And it isn't just our church. I met a woman a few weeks ago who goes to worship at Moody, but goes to all the Willow Creek social stuff. I don't have deep sociological insights as to why this is, but it's something the church probably should pay attention to. The phrase "cafeteria Christians" is sometimes used in a derogatory way meaning that people pick and choose their theology based only on what they like and because of that they miss pieces in Scripture that they need to hear or pay attention to. I get that, though, of course I think we're all cafeteria Christians in some form or fashion. We all have our own canons, whether we admit it or not.

But I realize when it comes to spiritual formation, I've been a bit of a cafeteria Christian myself over the years. Obviously as the pastor of a church, I haven't jumped around a lot trying different things, but in my previous church, I would attend a weekly weekday Episcopalian service. When I need a retreat, I go to a Benedictine monastery. When I need to sense the mystery of God, I go to a Taize service at a Catholic church. I'm biased, of course, but I think it's important to stay rooted in a community of faith and make commitments there, but I also affirm a person's desire and need to explore the many ways we can experience the Spirit in our midst, whether it's high liturgy or rockin' gospel music.