Taking Another Look at Community

I'm talking with someone about living in community again. Dreaming, hoping, but with a sense of reservation. I'm trying to protect myself.

I feel like I'm trying to ask a girl out for the third time. I almost expect the rejection.

I don't claim to know a lot about community, except for the fact that it's hard to make a cultural shift like that happen. There aren't that many people around me who want to make a shift like that, and if they do they have other obstacles like a house payment or such that keeps them from realizing that shift that this point in their life.

I press on with reserved ecstasy.

Even if this time doesn't work out community still remains as the filter for most of my thoughts and conversations about the Kingdom of God.

I'm longing to start the day with believers, to have genuine relationships with unbelievers, to endure the hardships of life, to find the beauty of it, and to share it with a close circle in deep communion as we follow King Jesus.

I'm a pervert, so I need accountability... real accountability.

I'm arrogant, so I need humbling relationships.

I'm selfish, so I need to continually serve.

I'm prone to wander, so I need spurring on... and not just once or twice a week while I politely present prayer requests about enduring a toe fungus problem (though that may be too vulnerable).

I'm scared of moving beyond my home to the dying world beyond, so I need others to be scared with me.

I don't want to 'catch a trend', I was thinking about community a couple years before Claiborne wrote his book. I just want deep, vibrant, committed, communal, relationships in contrast to the actual trend of relationships that emphasize self-serving, emotional reservation, maintaining individuality, and committing while things go well. I don't want a hokey religion, or structured traditions, I want life bringing relationships that offer hope and beauty, to an ugly dying world, through the messiah.

Why does what is healthy have to be so counter cultural.

I'm back... is anyone there?

I suppose I'm not even sure how many people followed my blog before, I only knew of a couple, but I spose they've all moved on to greener pastures in my absence. Cha, I act like I have some sort of a following here. Anywho, whether you checked this baby out before, or you stumbled upon it, I'm back... I hope.

It's hard for me to write when I'm emotionally dysfunctional, or at least more dysfunctional than usual. I was on the road for Rosedale Bible College for a few months, travelling all over the place. I think I put about 15,000+ miles on since I went home to Oregon for Christmas back in December. Host families' living rooms & rooms of 20 somethings off at college are not good environments to write in. I need either something familiar, or exotic and extraordinary. 

For my triumphant return I would like to humble myself by talking about a topic I know very little about. Gardening. Courtney and I planted a garden, we're sort of flying blind. I think we both expect that sometime next week our weed free garden will produce perfect plants, including some we didn't even expect. I'm enjoying the utopian delusion for now.

Whether or not our wildest gardening dreams come to pass, I already consider this garden a success. It has produced relationships that have enriched my life and hopefully spreads the kingdom of God.  Forgive me for throwing out aspects of my dating relationship all over the web, but a couple of weeks ago Courtney and I were having a little misunderstanding. She went to work on the garden a bit while I stayed on my porch and thought about life. While she was there, the neighbor brought by some chicken wire for us to put around our garden to fend off the millions of illegitimate children of bugs bunny. He invited the two of us over that night to sit around the fire and catch some fish out of the millrace. 

After settling our little dispute we took them up on the offer. There was a small crowd gathered when we arrived. There was Steve, an electrician in his fifties with a deep love of good southern moonshine, his daughter Carrie and her boyfriend Aaron, the neighbor Jeremy and his wife Nicole, and their daughter Stevie (yes their daughter Stevie). For the last few years they have spend their weekends with each other, laughing, drinking cheap beer, fishing, swapping stories, and enjoying more community than many Christians have.

We haven't talked about anything serious, but after showing up two weeks in a row, I feel like I'm one of the gang. Courtney and I were out working on the garden yesterday. Steve came up and started chatting with us, he let me use his shovel, gave me some gardening tips, we talked about his apple trees. After a bit, Nicole and Stevie came over and started chatting as well, they gave us some tomato plant starts and some cups to transplant them in. They have accepted us. 

The first thing Steve said to us (after having a few Milwaukee's Bests) was "Make yourself at home, if someone ever needs to sleep something off underneath the apple tree, it wouldn't be the first time, and no one will ask any questions." Sure it wasn't exactly a Christian greeting of hospitality, but I liked it. If you need to puke in my yard, it's ok I still accept you. 

We'll see how things go in the future, I hope and pray for opportunities to love them like Christ loved them, and hopefully I'll have opportunity to share the message of the good news that the maker of the universe loves us all immensely, even if we're sleeping something off under an apple tree.

Who says life has to be an organized narrative.

I'm sure God has everything figured out clearly on His side. Our side isn't so organized. Any frameworks on our part are largely guesses.

I had breakfast with a friend this morning at a French restaurant. We talked about being who we really are in front of everyone and experiencing freedom in Jesus. It made me want a glass of chilled Zinfandel to complement my "au du ja jambon" -I'm sure I butchered that French which is supposed to mean ham cheese sandwhich thingy. 

It's hard talking to people about a Bible College. Sometimes it makes me feel like I'm selling Jesus or something, then I remember it's a non-profit deal and the professors there make about as much as an overtime worker at McDonalds... so I don't feel bad anymore.

God made creation beautiful. The beach here in Sarasota is wonderful. I'm sure before we paved it all over it was a lot prettier, but had a lot more mosquitos. I still wonder why God created those little buggers. I was enjoying the sand and surf while reading Surprised By Hope by N.T. Wright and thinking about what the recreation would look like in Florida; three twenty something guys nearby were trying to impress their bikini-clad neighbors on the beach with loud obnoxious stories about all that "crazy shit" that they were doing last night. I hope the re-creation includes silence.

I promise I'm not shouvanistic but I heard that women aren't going to be in heaven (and apparently neither will these guys) because in Revelation John says that there was a half hour of silence in heaven.... don't make a big deal out of it, just laugh, it's funny. Don't worry Courtney, I like it when you talk.

I have to go back to Ohio tomorrow. I will probably spend the afternoon with Matt, Chris, Dan, Rachel, Libby, and some random person who decided to show up. I like those guys. Random theology, spirituality, polotics, and personal issues are constantly mingled with sci-fi and various eras of history.

I bought a record player a couple of weeks back. It is sitting in the trailer in Ohio. If I could completely alter my situation right now I would be sitting on a beach with Courtney listening to Bob Dylan The Freewheelin on that record player and drinking a White Russian.... extra milk. 

Mute Math -though I don't think they know Jesus- describe my life well. "You are reaching, something that is beating, I can't believe I never noticed my heart before... till I noticed you did." Jesus noticed my heart and loved it, and still does. 

Wow. My life is pretty good.

4 Minutes

What can I do with 4 minutes. Well, pretty much everything that I neglect to do on a regular basis that I absolutely love doing. Four minutes to listen to a good song. Four minutes to play my guitar. Four minutes to read at least a small piece of creative writing. 

This is obviously my first update I've done in a long time. It is unfortunate, I love to paint with words, yet I never seem to find the time. 

I'm sure I do the same with the kingdom of God. How much time would it really take for me to meaningfully love someone? Four minutes could get the job done. I don't think I'll ever 'find' the time to do all the things I love, but I know I can make the time. Make the time to laugh, love, read, write, and play guitar, maybe write my lovely girlfriend a letter.

Find the time to take in life as God meant it to be taken in. He made it for you and I to enjoy, so lets fulfill some of his purposes.

Whoops, I'm a minute over.

Happy New Year... But For Who?

This is supposed to be a time of celebration... I feel sick. Not literally, in my heart.

I'm in Wyoming recieving the hospitality of people I've never met before. I'm finishing day two of a four day journey from Albany, Oregon to Goshen, Indiana. Happy New years to me. I'll be asleep by the time 2009 passes over my head.

So why do I feel sick? 

I asked God for compassion today.

My love is so small, my compassion so petty. 

There was a party tonight somewhere in the world, someone was not invited to that party. It wasn't that that someone was forgotten, it was just agreed upon that he wouldn't be invited. He's socially awkward. A nuisance. Difficult to be around. He might be interested in dating one of the normal single girls. 

I felt compassion for him and called him. He was just leaving some church thing at 11. 

"Where you goin now Travis? Gonna stay up for New Years?"

"Yea I might stay up. I'm gonna go home."

"No big party somewhere?" I'm hoping he doesn't ask if anything is going on. Though I'm in Wyoming and can plead ignorance... which would be a lie.

"Na, I guess  not."

By this time I decide since I'm on a back road I've never been on before at 9:30 with 40mph gusts pushing my car everywhere, I should probably go.

Travis reminds me that God will take care of me in the wind. He made all the stars and named them after all.

I understand compassion a bit better tonight, but it's surrounded by a mess of my bitterness towards those who knowingly let Travis stay home alone tonight. It's got this element of self-righteousness that makes me want to think that I'm doing better than them by calling him. I can honestly say I called him out of pure compassion, it was just all the after the call stuff that got.... disgusting. 

So which is worse. My lack of compassion or theirs... I don't think there's a difference. Lack of compassion is lack of compassion. Jesus doesn't ask me to have compassion on just a certain demographic, He calls me to have complete compassion. Jesus was called the Son of Compassion. 

This little post describes a stew of human selfishness. Mine. Others'.  Father teach us to have unbridled compassion, not just on those who we feel deserve it. Sometimes its easier to have compassion on the opressed rather than the opressor; but I have played the role of opressor many times before... many times before. You had compassion on me... teach me to extend that compassion to others.

Thoughts from Philippians 2

Do not look out for your own interests, but also for the interests of others.

Consider one another as more important than yourself.

Have this attitude in yourself which was also in Christ Jesus. The one who left perfect social interaction and comfort to come live with dysfunctional, awkward, selfish people. (My paraphrase of course).

Father give us compassion.

Do I Pray for Help or for God?

I tense up just a bit as I look out the window and fail to see anything but snow speeding by beneath us. The pilot has already placed us about twenty feet off the ground. I start thinking crazy things, like what happened in Colorado recently, then remember that it's more likely to die by getting shot than it is to die in a plane crash. I then remember that I got shot at a couple weeks ago by a hunter. I also remember it's more likely to get struck by lightening... I rest reassured that the odds are on my side. The plane lands properly, in spite of my negative thoughts. Thank goodness I am not a Scientologist, otherwise my pessimism would destroy the world. We start rolling towards the gate as the little cigarette light blinks off then on with a ding, as the stewardesses inform us that we can now use portable electronic devices. I bring my little phone to life. My next few minutes will involve reconnecting with the world after taking part in the miracle of human flight. The text message that comes as I turn on my phone tells me that I have a flight scheduled for 3:05 pm to Eugene.

At first I sort of enjoy the idea of flying to Eugene rather than being stuck in Portland Airport over the holidays. This enjoyment is soon replaced by panic when I realize that it is 2:00pm and I'm still sitting in the plane. I strike to action, forgetting the main reason I turned on my phone was to see if Courtney sent any flirtatious messages while I was airborne.

In case you have never travelled before, there are an entire list of items that make this accomplishment rather impossible. I have one hour to accomplish the following:



1) Get off of the plane and to the baggage claim 20 min

2) Get bags 20 min

3) Check in again for my newly purchased flight 20 min

4) Pass through security 20 min

5) Get to my departure gate 5 min



So that is 85 minutes. At a smaller airport like PDX or Columbus on an early morning flight it probably takes me about 45 minutes. The problem is that ice and snow are covering Portland right now. PDX was opening and closing all day, chains are mandatory (in the city), garbage pickup has stopped, and lo and behold even the "through snow through sleet" postal service is shutting its doors. As consequence to all of this there are tons of people trapped in the airport who have been waiting hours and even days to get a flight to anywhere else. I just got off the plane. By the time I get my bags and get in line at the ticket counter it's already 2:30 and the line is out and around the corner filled with people who have already been waiting for hours. This is where nothing short of an undeserved miracle begins.

On the fringes of the chaos I see an Alaskan Airlines employee with a list that I knew probably contained answers, like how long will I be stuck in this airport. I approached her and explained my situation, simply wondering if there was any way I would be able to make my flight at 3:05.

"What time is it?" She asked.

"2:35" I said, glancing at my phone.

"Come with me." She whisked me to the fringes of the crowd without saying a word. At the end of Alaskan Airlines ticket counter was a slender old woman, I'm sure at one point she was one of those smokin young stewardesses for TWA, the kind of girl that is only mythological now (at least in my flying experiences). Thousands of flights, however, had turned smooth features into wrinkles.

I tried to thank the other worker for her help the angel was already off to create another miracle on 34th street... or at least at baggage claim.

The gal at the counter asked for my I.D. As she looked at my flight time she printed my boarding pass and sent me on my way with a speed that I did not know was ever possible at an airport. I appreciated that one of the flight stopping hurdles was over with expediency I never knew possible; but I was still calling my mother to let them know how frustrated I was that they had bought me a ticket without consulting me, and that I was going to miss it anyways.

The security line was average, but still enough to keep me from reaching my flight (which I had learned from the old stewardess that it was boarding). I used my new found information to ask my way up the security line. Everyone was so gracious. No one hesitated to tell me to move on except for the Hispanic family that couldn't understand what I was saying, but let me by anyway. Hurdle number two. I still thought I was going to miss my flight.

I hate running in airports, in 90% of circumstances a brisk, unpanicked, walk is sufficient. It drives me crazy travelling with people who are freaking out all the time. This one freaked out even me, I ran through the airport. The following conversation with God is the heart of what I'm writing about.

"I can't ask God for this, that's stupid. But why not, why not just ask him to hold the plane. Hey God you can do something about this right?" I started thinking about the way I was feeling towards my brother and mother who had put me in this situation. I was blindingly bitter and ignored the fact that they were trying to help. I forgot about my flight and whether or not I was going to make it, I honestly didn't care. I had friends who I could stay with in Portland, it wouldn't be the end of the world, I would adapt to my new situation; but my bitterness. "God I'm thinking you care more about this bitterness than you do my flight." I don't remember praying anything beyond that, I couldn't concentrate enough. In this sort of haze I finally made it after running to the opposite side of the airport with a pack on my back and a full size suitcase behind me. I heard "Last boarding call for flight 4021... last boarding call for flight 4021" I made it.

I have a friend that asked us to pray about her job, she really liked it and did a good job and felt like God had opened up the door for her to be there in the first place. I believe her. I just felt weird about how we went about it. It felt like the idea was that we were battling some sort of evil, praying that a certain event would happen. I love this gal and I know she has a huge impact on the lives of students there. I do this same thing all the time too. Me missing my flight was evil and my responsibility in prayer was to pray against that evil it seemed. The good Christian thing to do would be to call up all my friends and have them pray that I make my flight, so that I can be a bit more comfortable over the next few days.

+++

I could totally see Jesus stepping into the situation (He did actually but I'm thinking physical Jesus incarnate). I would be freaking out and asking him to get my flight held. "Jesus I totally have faith in you, can you take care of this... come on... it's gonna be a bummer stuck here."

"Do not worry about tomorrow. Tomorrow will worry about itself."

This is where I would start to get pissed off, first of all because I already knew that was in the Bible, and second because I was ignoring it.

Jesus then crawls up on a chair right in the middle of the airport and says "Beware of bitterness. You all travel to your homes to spend time with relatives that you don't want to talk to, why do you keep up such formalities and avoid healing wounds."

The words penetrate my heart. I don't care about the flight anymore. Jesus seemed indifferent about it from the beginning.

Jesus gets off the chair and we start walking towards my gate. I'm still not thinking about the flight. "I'm a jerk huh?"

"There is grace. I love you. I know you love your family. All is forgiven."

We arrive at the gate when I snap back into reality. "Are you two on flight 4021?" The lady behind the counter looks suspiciously at Jesus on account that he is middle eastern.

"Yea that's us."

"Oh good, well we had a small delay, you guys made it not a moment too late."

Jesus smiles at me and says "I would rather have you stay here and share some hope with people; but I know you aren't ready for that yet. Don't worry, I still love you, let's get home."

+++

I think in the long run, whether I made it or not was moot. God's kingdom does not come in fixed flights, or continued employment, it comes in our hearts. God wants to heal families, cure our bitterness, make us patient and loving. I used to think that trusting God was believing that he would do whatever we wanted. I think now it's trusting that God knows what's going on, and knows what He's doing. I'm not all about New Year's resolutions; but I want to trust God more this year, go about doing His work with his peace reigning in my heart, whether He holds the flight nor not.

And this is how he taught them to pray

Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed by thy name.

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.

Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever.

Amen.

Any man can get a flight held. Only God can change the heart.

The God Who is Not me.

I've been reading Donald Miller's Through Painted Deserts. Now I'm starting on Searching for God Knows What. Good stuff. I loved Blue Like Jazz when I read it a few months ago. Mostly I love the writing, but I love his honesty. It really lays bare the very human side of interacting with divinity. He described interacting with God as a dance in which we are continually getting our toes stepped on as we learn to dance with Him. He described his own bruised feet.

I was painting a house this week, some friends helped out. We got talking about my delusions of seeking divinity.

"So maybe I should start my own cult, you know, become a divinity and all that."
The girls didn't like that much "Yea you could be a natural Charlie Manson."
"So you guys wanna have a cool-aide party later?" I chuckle knivingly.
They challenge my comment "Umm I think that was Jim Jones...."
"No maybe that guy who thought Hale-bop was an alien spaceship."
"Whatever, just go pick up some cool-aide and a bottle of arsenic." I go back to painting. "Thus says the Jason."

Thank goodness I'm not God. I read this David Foster Wallace story about this guy who was in a mental institution. He went crazy after his sexual fantasy world became bigger than he was, he couldn't fit together the logic of the entire cosmos that demanded him to control every atom. So he went crazy.

The more I've been walking with God the less understandable He has become. At one time my God was simple, in a box. At some point along the journey He stepped outside of my box, to which I responded with a bigger box, then another step, and a bigger box. I've come across all sorts of "This is God" or "If you do this then God will do this." God is good, God is wrathful, God is just, God is unchanging, God changes his mind?, God is one, God is three, God tells the Israelites to kill men women and children in Canaan, God tells his followers to love even their enemy, God cannot tolerate sin, God is tolerating sin for a time, God is merciful, God allows suffering. He's really a confusing mess really... to us. The confusion doesn't scare me, I'm not sure why. I just trust Him, I just trust that he is good. I trust Him when He says that if I accept His Son who comes on behalf of Him, and who is Him, if I walk with Him, get to know Him, I am His child, his little kid.

He is the one that holds it all together. He's the one who set up the plan of salvation. No matter how I end up looking at things, they are still his plans that will be carried out in His will. I don't have to figure out His plans, He just wants me to relate to Him and share the love and grace He gives to me with those around me. I don't have to 'prove' God exists or that He is good. I can tell them, but in the end He's the one whose gotta do the convincing in the hearts, and they have to recieve it. If God is an intellectual enterprise, then too bad for all the mentally handicapped, or uneducated, or illiterate, cause they aren't going to get all the close to God's heart right? In the end what will Jesus say? Well to some who did all sorts of signs and had plenty of knowledge He said "Depart from me I never knew you." It's about relationship with this way bigger than us, complex to a frustrating degree, unlimited, divine being. To say we are an ant farm to the human is an insult to how beyond us the maker of this material world is.

God be bigger than me, cause if you can fit in my box, you are no God at all. Teach me to trust you, experience or not, feeling or not, understanding or not. Thank you for the life you have given. Thank you for guitar, Delta Blues, Piano conciertos, molassas cookies, literature, and blazing sunsets. Oh and beautiful women... ok just one beautiful woman. Thank you for the realization of your existance, thank you for the gift of being able to trust you. Thank you for walking with me, and teaching me to dance.