Author: Bob Francis

Having just emerged from Christmas weekend, the idea of religious diversity is on my mind. Each year at this time, it seems like some of the classic “culture war” bug-a-boos raise their heads.  Is it “Happy Holidays” or “Merry Christmas?”  Where exactly can one set up a nativity scene?  Is Kwanzaa now among the set of occasions included in this season of “holidays?”

Answering such questions is one of the challenges we face in a religiously diverse society.  I’m guessing that most folks can see the value of separating church and state and practicing religious non-discrimination and tolerance in the civil sphere of our shared life.  It makes sense to me, and as someone who works in an interfaith context, it also seems important to err on the side of inclusion in my public expressions of holiday cheer.

However, nativity scene placement and proper holiday greetings aside, I’m more interested in what we do with religious diversity in an existential sense.  I certainly want us all to get along, but how should we understand the different truth claims of different faith traditions?  Are all religions equal, or is one more “right” than another (or even the right one)?  Is each religion just a different cultural expression of the same basic human impulses for meaning, or are some gods true while others are false?  Do all paths lead to the same end?  Is there any external standard against which truth claims can be measured?

Over the holidays, I had a great conversation with some friends about these questions.  Needless to say, we didn’t reach any consensus, but the conversation was better than a second viewing of the stop-action animated Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer (good as the first viewing was). Some among us, seeing how religious dogmatism has lead to intolerance, oppression, and even bloodshed, were very hesitant to concede that any religion should claim exclusivity or superiority.  Isn’t that just arrogance?  On what basis can any of us claim that one religion is right while all others are wrong?  I had a friend once say that any truth claim is an act of violence, a sentiment with which some in my conversation might agree.

But others, while acknowledging past wrongs in the name of religion, also had trouble with the alternative of there being no basis for making any distinctions between different religions at all.  After all, we all have values’ systems – whether religiously grounded or not – and make truth claims that we think should be valid for more people than just ourselves.  In that sense, aren’t we all guilty of the same “arrogance” of which religion stands so often accused?  And what do we do when religions (or non-religions) make competing claims?  Can all beliefs, even ones that seem in direct contradiction, be equally correct at once?  If not, on what basis can we decide between competing claims?  And besides, aren’t those who claim that no religion is universally valid making a universal claim about truth and reality themselves?

Hopefully, when we wish people “Happy Holidays,” we’re not just offering a generic, politically correct greeting, but we’re wishing others a fruitful and meaningful celebration of their holy days, whatever they may be.  For me, that greeting also prompts some of the deeper questions above, as well as the quandary of how one might make religiously-grounded truth claims in a diverse society while still seeking respect and peace.

I know it’s weighty, but maybe you’ll find that few moments pondering these questions this season is a nice diversion from family chit chat and deciding whether or not you have room for one more cookie.

Oh… and Happy Holidays!

image by zizzybaloobah (rights)

Author: Robert Francis

Every Monday night, I gather with some friends for dinner. This weekly ritual began a couple of years ago at the suggestion of a friend who was interested in sharing food, fellowship, and some sort of spiritual practice. As a collection of transient, mostly single 20- and 30-somethings, many of the faces in our group have changed since the first gathering, but we’ve never lacked a critical mass committed to getting together. Recently, we decided to add a book discussion to our weekly routine. Our first book has been The Shack by William Paul Young.

Have you heard of The Shack? Written by an Oregon salesman and self-published by two former pastors with a $300 marketing budget, The Shack has gone from pet project to New York Times Bestseller.  It now boasts over 5 million copies in print, at least according to the front cover of my copy. That doesn’t seem hard to believe, given the fact that I got my copy courtesy of a couple earnest members of a local community church, who were handing them out for free by the stack at our local Metro stop. Like The DaVinci Code, The Shack seems to be part book and part cultural phenomenon. Even though some of us in the group had some misgivings about reading something so “popular” and not-so-veiled in its proselytizing posture, given the book’s popularity, we thought we may as well see for ourselves what all the hype was about.

The Shack tells the story of Mackenzie “Mack” Phillips, a married father of four, who endures an unspeakable tragedy when his youngest daughter is abducted and apparently brutally murdered. After four years of grief, Mack finds himself invited back to the scene of the tragedy, apparently by God.  What ensues – and what comprises most of the book – is Mack’s encounter with God, who takes on forms one might not expect.  Not surprisingly, this encounter centers upon Mack’s trauma and the age-old question of the problem of evil.  As the book jacket asks, “Where is God in a world so filled with unspeakable pain?”

You’ll have to read The Shack to best judge for yourself the author’s take on this question.  However, since the book’s self-description makes no secret of its intentions, it isn’t playing spoiler to tell you that the author thinks that the existence of God – and even an infinitely loving, good God – isn’t incompatible with the evil we see around us (or in ourselves). In fact, it might be the one thing that helps make sense of all this pain. Mack, though resistant, ultimately finds God’s presence at the center of the most painful loss in his life.

The problem of pain may seem like heavy dinnertime conversation (and maybe we’ll choose lighter fare for our next book), but it isn’t as foreign for most of us as one might think.  Despite the somewhat younger age of our group, we bear our share of scars. One of us is a cancer survivor; a couple of us have already lost parents; we have seen divorces, suicide attempts, and other traumas among those we love; and we all have any number of our own hidden hurts, insecurities and uncertainties.

You’ll get wildly different answers among our group as to whether or not The Shack’s answers to the problem of pain are compelling.  But maybe more important than whether or not we all agree is the fact that we get together to talk about such things, including sharing some of those hurts and pains. While we all have much for which to be thankful, pain and trauma will also continue to also be part of our lives – it’s an unavoidable part of the human condition.  But it’s nice to know that every Monday I’ll be cracking open some wine, sitting around a dinner table, and sharing this journey with friends.

image by Professor Bop (rights)

Author: Phil Hirsch

If the music you heard playing while riding an escalator at a Metro station was performed by one of the worlds best violinists playing one of the most beautiful instruments ever made, do you think you would notice?

A Washington Post reporter suggested the idea to Joshua Bell, one of the world’s premier violinists, while interviewing him. Would people in the middle of their morning commute stop in awe or pass right by a talent so rare and music so beautiful that people would pay him $1000 a minute at a concert hall? On the morning of January 12, 2007 they set up at the top of the escalator and he played some of the more difficult and beautiful pieces he knew.

More than a thousand people passed by Joshua Bell playing his $3.5 million dollar Stradivarius at L’Enfant Plaza, few paid much attention (or gave much money, except one who recognized him from the concert the night before.)

It turns out that context matters when appreciating beauty and, I think, life.

If we saw a real Monet hanging at the Starbucks, would it draw our attention the same way it does in the museum? What other beautiful things, miracles of creation, do we pass every day and pay no mind to because they are in the context of the ordinary? If God where present in the person riding next to us on the escalator, would we notice? All around us are incredible, beautiful things but we risk seeing little of them if we don’t see the big picture.

One of the ways we have to help us slow down and examine our lives in context is the practice of worship. When we gather together with others for this purpose, we are seeking to understand life in a broader view than our own. We listen to the ancient story of how people have seen themselves as a part of a movement of God over the centuries. It is a movement that involves truth and goodness and beauty and us.

Living in the context of that bigger picture allows us to better appreciate all that is around us and even the music we ourselves create.

Photo courtesy of m-c (rights)

Author: Sarah Scherschligt

Last night the Minnesota Twins won a playoff game against the Detroit Tigers.  For all the Minnesota fans, it was a thrilling night.  The Twins had been marching soundly in the last month toward what seemed an impossible goal: catching Detroit.  Last night in the twelfth inning of a one-game tie-breaker, they did it.

I’m headed to the garage after I write this to see if I can find my ’91 homer hankie packed away.  For all you who think “homer hankie” is a dorky term, you’re right.  But part of the ritual of being a Twins fan is that when they go into the playoffs you wave a handkerchief during the game.

Do you ever wonder what aliens would think if they landed in your life?

Certainly, they’d think something strange about last night.  My housemate – also a Minnesotan with fond memories of past Twins victories – texted me during my church meeting to give updates.  I raced home and we huddled around our TV to watch the final innings.  Here’s the thing – neither of us has seen a Twins game for YEARS, but we are now rearranging our schedules to watch the playoffs.

There was something familiar about the hand signs, the fielders shifting with each new batter, the long waits, the nervous managers spitting their chew, the voice: “a swing and a miss,” and the field.  Both of us grew up watching the Twins play in the Metrodome and though it’s hardly an ideal stadium for baseball (one commenter said: you’d like hell too if you grew up in it), it’s familiar. Last night could have been the last Twins game in the Metrodome because they have a new stadium.  I didn’t want to miss it.

Baseball became part of my identity when I was very small.  My dad always had the game on.  My folks took us kids to baseball games waaay before we could really enjoy it (I was more fascinated with watching the mascots and ballboys than the score). Going to the Metrodome wasn’t just about what was happening on the field.  It was the whole experience.

Countless commentaries have been made comparing baseball and religion.  Here’s another.  If you marinate in baseball as a child, there’s a familiarity that sticks even if you aren’t really a fan when you become and adult.  Same goes for religion.

I’m sure aliens would wonder about church as much as they’d wonder about baseball.

The clothing, the songs, the handsigns, the choreography, the building, the communion. It’s strange to the outside. But if you grew up with this stuff, it’s so familiar that you feel comfortable with these complex rituals.  If you were raised in a church, even if you haven’t been back for YEARS, you can click right in provided nothing’s changed.

And there’s the rub.  Religion and baseball, they change.  The basics stay the same. But some of the trappings shift.  We get new church buildings and they aren’t filled with the same sacred memories.  We get new songs and some of them sound downright hokey.  I understand a bit more, having gloried in the Twins win last night, just why change is so hard in a church.

Ironically, change might be harder for those who’ve drifted away.  We just want to tune in occasionally to find that it’s all the same. Last night I didn’t want anything to be different, including the players!  I really wanted to be watching the ’91 Twins team that I loved.

But the homer hankie was new once too.  Kirby Puckett was a rookie.  And how often did I go inside the Metrodome on a gorgeous summer day wishing they played outside?  Regardless of what happens with the rest of this season, I’m a fan again.  Can’t wait for the next season and the new stadium.  Go Twins!

image courtesy of adwriter (rights)

I don’t normally watch commercials.

I have a Tivo unit and rarely watch shows live.  This enables me to fast-forward through the commercials.  But every once in a while I’ll catch a commercial or two and recently one caught my eye.

The commercial starts zoomed in on a kid whose mom is placing a football helmet over his goggle-clad head.  She then taps the helmet and the shot zooms out to show her reaching into her SUV to get him a tennis racket.  Once the shot has zoomed out, the viewer realizes the kid is covered in protective gear – everything from football shoulder pads, to shin guards, to a chest protector.  As the kid waddles off to play tennis, the voiceover lauds the number of safety awards the advertised car company has won and ends the commercial by saying, “So it’s okay to be overprotective.  We are.”

Even now as I watch it again on youtube, I wonder if that kid will have any fun while he plays.  I just can’t imagine he will.  He can barely walk which, I’m sure, means he won’t be able to run very quickly.  Plus, he probably can’t swing the racket and will probably wind up missing every ball hit to him.

So what’s the point of even playing?

In many ways we are a culture obsessed with safety.  We want to protect everything: our houses and cars with alarms as well as our money by putting it in bonds instead of stocks.  But mostly we want to protect ourselves – sometimes choosing to leave relationships or not getting invested too much just so we don’t have to suffer.

And perhaps I should say, I – I often feel like that kid walking around with too much protective gear on.

So then what’s the point?  Isn’t life boring (if not frustrating) if we’re wearing all sorts of safety equipment which prevents us from playing a bit?

I believe this is the sort of thing Paul was writing about to the Romans.  In 8:2 he says to them, “For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death.”

Sin and death are the very things that make us want to protect ourselves.  They stimulate the desire to wear any kind of protection at all and when we’re feeling the most vulnerable, it demands we wear enough to cover our bodies.  Sin and death weigh us down – make us overprotective.

But the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus sets us free – free from the need to wear all that gear.  And when we aren’t encumbered we are free to run and play, to swing the racket and enjoy a bit of the game, to enjoy life.

Sure, we’re pretty much guaranteed there will be some bumps and bruises along the way if we’re not wearing any protection.  We may even find that we’ll take a ball right in the gut and it knocks the wind out of us for a bit.  But those wounds will eventually heal and when they do the passion for playing, the thrill of scoring a point, and the feel of running will always pull us back into the game.

Overprotection leads into sin and death.  But the Spirit of Christ sets us free to live.

Photo courtesy of bulletproofbra (rights)

Author: Amy Thompson Sevimli

Sometimes it seems like our society gets its kicks out of putting young people down.  Among the charges leveled against “young people these days,” many claim poor behavior and a reliance on instant gratification (even if the accusers are the same people who taught us our manners and provided us with instant gratification digital cameras…but I digress).  As someone who not only spends a lot of time reading the research about the unprecedented accolades and accomplishments of 20 and 30 somethings but also works with them as well, I am repeatedly disheartened by the oft-repeated characterizations of younger generations.

It is for this reason that I have been so heartened by two media spotlights in the last week, which highlight both the positive statistics about  “young people these days” as well as what those same young people are doing in and for our world.  Michelle Obama wrote an op ed piece in the April 16 edition of USA Today, not the about the naiveté or silliness of young people’s ideals but about the necessity of their youthful idealism. She even highlighted the work of young adults in an organization close to the hearts of many right here in DC: Lutheran Volunteer Corps.  On the following Friday, Jay Matthews wrote an article in the Washington Post about 20 and 30 somethings who are in his words, “…bright and restless risk-takers…who have started charter school networks, invigorated public school systems and turned teacher unions in new directions.” He goes on to point out that even though the majority of teachers in this age group have neither much support nor many leadership opportunities in their school systems, they are still finding ways to bring change to schools, systems, and teachers. Both of these authors either cited statistics about young adults and/or gave concrete example of the multiple ways they are making our world a better place.

What strikes me about these stories is the ways in which “young people these days” are defying statistically unfounded stereotypes about their generation, and instead working for the betterment of their communities and the institutions which serve them.  Instead of seeming anti-institutional, they seem interested in working in and with institutions to make a difference in the lives of others.  Yet, when we look around one institution, which has long been a staple of communities across our country, we find that young adults are conspicuously absent.  So, what I wonder then is what’s keeping them from the Church?

I hear a lot of answers to this question from young adults: the Church is judgmental; no one listens to us; no one is interested in the suggestions we bring to the table; our questions are unwelcome. Only rarely do I hear from young adults that they are uninterested in exploring the spiritual side of their being. More often than not, their responses to the question revolve around the fact that “young people these days” want to participate in and make a difference in the institutions of which they are a part, and the Church seems unwilling to accept them.

So, what keeps you or your friends from participating? And even more, what would you like to try or suggest to the Church? We’re listening!

Photo courtesy of The Doctr (rights)

Author: Robert Francis

Move over Coke and Disney, you’ve got company during this year’s May sweeps! The Lutherans are going primetime, planning a series of TV ads to run in a variety of local and national markets. They start in late March and will air again during the middle of May. You can watch the two ads here: www.elca.org/tvads.

For as long as there has been a church, there have been church people thinking about how to reach out to those outside of their communities of faith. In one sense, most of the Bible’s New Testament is such a story, telling of the earliest growth of the new Christian movement, from town to town, family to family, person to person. Before the days of Constantine or imperial Christianity, there was a small, sometimes persecuted sect of peculiar folks who talked about loving one’s enemies, folks like peacemakers and the meek being blessed, and yes, something about how a fellow named Jesus from Palestine was at once both human and divine.

Fast-forward nearly two millennia, and we have the experiment in religion that is the United States of America. Historians and sociologists have termed America’s religious landscape a marketplace, thanks in part to founding documents that prohibited the establishment of a state church. For this and other reasons, much religious development in America has been unabashedly populist, catering to as many as will listen in a marketplace of competing religious ideas.

It is this “marketplace effect” that has created a unique place for “religious marketing” in America. Historian Randall Balmer calls America’s religious climate “always innovative and experimental,” ripe for the emergence of religious entrepreneurs and charismatic personalities in a religious atmosphere that is always open to new forms of old faith. In America, maybe more than other places, potential adherents find themselves in the role of consumers and prospective churches in the role of marketers.

The Lutheran aren’t the first denomination to put on the hats of ad executives. I know I’ve seen similar ads from the Methodists and the United Church of Christ, and I’m sure there are others. Even the American Humanist Association has gotten into the game, running the recent “Why Believe in God?” print ad campaign.

I would first like to ask, what do folks make of these ads? And maybe more fundamentally, what do we think about the fact that religion (or non-religion) is marketed at all? Is it good for churches and other groups to be marketing themselves in the same way as Coke and Pepsi? Is such an approach somehow at fundamental odds with the message itself, or is advertising a necessary feature of the American religious marketplace given our nation’s history of free (and often competing) religious exchange?

And what about the content of the ads? The Lutheran spots seem to focus on the ways the church is engaging in service in the world. To me, that seems like an appeal for relevance – “See, the church is a caring place doing good in the world! We aren’t just a bunch of judgmental hypocrites!” That is certainly a needed message, but what makes that distinct from a local United Way or social service agency? Maybe a full theology is a bit much to expect from a thirty-second spot, but a focus on service alone – while putting a different foot forward than tele-evangelists on cable – leaves some substance and particularity to be desired.

Finally, do these ads “work?” All the ads linked above seem well-done and creative, but will they move people to darken the door of a church? What it is that moves people who are not connected to communities of faith to consider such involvement? Or maybe the intent is simply to raise awareness of the Lutheran tradition (brand maintenance, if you will), or they could be to encourage current Lutherans to be more willing to share their own faith tradition with others. And regardless of what the stated intend is on behalf of the Lutherans, I wonder what people will think the intent is when the ELCA spends thirty seconds on the screen in between Geico and Toyota.

Many questions for thought. In the end, this postmodern moment might just say that the meaning and message are in the eyes of the beholder. What do you see?

Image courtesy of:  Evangelical Lutheran Church in America

Author: Kate Murray

I love music. I often have headphones in my ears – either on the Metro or even as I work on something in my office. I rarely drive in a silent car; instead I opt for some sort of music as the ambient noise while I sit on the Beltway. And I have found that there are great songs (often those with a fast beat) to listen to while working out and some that are not so helpful (songs that would put me to sleep). Sometimes I find that I get into a musical rut and find myself listening to the same thing over and over again.

Lately, I’ve found myself listening to a lot of John Mayer. Sometime this past summer I bought his new album, Where the Light Is, and it’s been on heavy rotation through my iPod. If you’re not familiar with it, the album is a live recording from a concert in Los Angeles. In the middle of his set, Mayer plays a cover of Jimi Hendrix’s “Bold as Love.” While it is an interesting song and I like it, what captivates me every time is a brief monologue Mayer gives in the middle of the song detailing his attempts at finding meaning in life.

This is what Mayer says in the middle of the song (there’s also a video of the performace at the end of the post):

So check it out, right.

I tried every approach to living, I tried it all. I haven’t tried everything, but I’ve tried every approach. Sometimes you have to try everything to get the approach the same. But…

I tried it all. I bought a bunch of stuff, I went, no, I don’t like that. I kind of came in and out of that a couple of times.

Thought I would shut myself off. I thought maybe that’s cool, maybe that’s what you have to do to be a genius is you have to be mad. So if you can get mad before the word genius, then maybe you can make genius appear. Right? That doesn’t work either.

I’m in a good place. I’ve paced myself pretty well. I’m thirty, I’ve seen some cool stuff. Made a lot of stuff happen for myself. I made a lot of stuff happen for myself. That’s a really cool sentence when you’re in your twenties, “I made it happen for myself man.”

But all that means is that I’ve just somehow found a way to synthesize love, synthesize soothing… you can’t get that.

And what I’m saying is that I’ve messed with all the approaches except for one. And it’s going to sound really corny, but that’s just love. That’s just love. I’ve done everything in my life that I want to do except just give and feel love for my living.

And I don’t mean like a roman candle, firework, Hollywood, hot pink love. I mean like a “I got your back!” love.

I don’t need to hear I love you. You guys love me, I love you, we got that down.

Some of the people who will tell you they love are some of the people who will be the last just to have your back.

So I’m going to experiment with this love thing. Givin’ love, feelin’ love. I know it sounds really corny, but it’s the last thing I got to check out before I check out.

What Mayer says has been his journey seems to me to be a journey that many of us find ourselves on. We’re looking for something to give our lives meaning; to fill that part that just seems empty and to know that we matter. Many of us – myself included – find ourselves believing that we can buy this meaning – spending our money to acquire things we believe we need. We consume and consume – food, cars, clothing, houses, electronics – all in an effort to fill that void we feel. Sometimes it is simply out of boredom that we buy things – anything new to break the monotony.

Mayer says he’s been in and out of that a couple of times. I have too.

But what I find interesting is what Mayer then identifies as the approach to life he feels is the true approach – the one with which he will experiment: love. Not “like a roman candle, firework, Hollywood, hot pink love. I mean like a ‘I got your back!’ love.” Not those things that pretend to be love, but real, unselfish love.

And as I listen to Mayer say this, I cannot help but think the love to which he is referring is actually the kind of love God has for us. There is no more perfect, unselfish love than God’s – a love that has our best interests at heart, a love that led all the way to death. There is nothing more loving than to give up a life for the one you love – something God has done for us.

This love that God has for us is not a love that sits idly by. No, it is a love that infects us and transforms us; a love that leads directly into loving others. It is a love, that once experienced draws us in and makes us whole. It is a love that gives our lives meaning – we are worth something because we are worth that kind of love.

So perhaps Mayer has named what he needs, but without realizing that it is actually found in God – love bold enough to die on a cross. A love that is bold to take a risk, to transform our lives and our world. Bold as love.

Photo courtesy of wallyg