Cultural Refugees in Gay Nightclubs...

Sometimes things don't work out exactly as I plan. I idealize super-spiritual events and pray for ground-shaking God-moments... they don't always come.

Two weeks ago I went up to Portland for a friend's birthday party. I knew there would be homosexuals and Buddhists, liberals and Darwinists there – all the most interesting kinds of people I seldom encounter in my church.

I planned on bringing up an assignment I was working on for a seminary class: designing a postmodern church plant. In my mind I envisioned exciting, stimulating conversation – delving into the very nature of faith and community. I wondered about the fascinating perspectives I might encounter…

Little of the spiritual talk I had hoped for took place. Whether led by fear, complacency, or the Holy Spirit, I couldn’t find the proper time to introduce my class project. After cutting up a cake, we went out for drinks and somehow ended up at a gay nightclub.

And when I say "gay," I mean really gay!

We made our way through a large, open bar area that connected to a dance floor. Men were everywhere, dancing, laughing and drinking; an occasional woman stood out prominently in a few of the groups. We entered a lounge area in the back that was fairly well lit, comfortable, with couches, cushy chairs and even a Christmas tree.

What struck me sitting there with my three straight friends (our gay companions stayed on the dance floor) was the unspoken aura that filled the room. It wasn't happiness or fun or even sadness. It was more like partial relief. A tense undercurrent still seemed to permeate the air. These men looked and acted like distrustful refugees.

As we talked, I watched two young men enter, glancing around the room. They said nothing to each other as they carefully sat down in two overstuffed chairs facing one another. I thought I caught a brief look of ease as they began to adapt to their surroundings, and if I could have put words to what I witnessed they would have said, "I think it’s okay. We're safe now."

I was in a bomb shelter. A refugee camp. A place where the wounded and broken came to hide and confide - to find solace or escape.

You can say what you want to about the theology or legality of homosexuality. I’m initiating no-such discussion. Instead, I raise the question: if not a gay bar, where could these men go to be broken, wounded and imperfect? Again, regardless of theology, can the church be a place for solice? Can we let these hurting souls recoup in a safe, respectful, gentle atmosphere? Or must we break down their walls of sin before we allow any relaxation or decompression to occur?

I don't think a gay nightclub is a good place for a gay man to find healing, wholeness or safety. Yes, he can be gay without fear of judgment in such an environment, but no one can be transparent in a meat market - gay or straight. No one can put down the facade when they're being checked out and sized up by potential suitors (one of the reasons I think many church youth and young adult groups are so dysfunctional - but that's a whole separate can of worms).

Maybe we could take a little break from the gay topic in church. Maybe if we let people come in and feel safe, the Holy Spirit would do some amazing, powerful things. Maybe we jump the gun on the Holy Spirit. Maybe we don't trust the Spirit to speak without our vulgar voices chiming in at a whim.

I don’t think this issue is simple or black-and-white. I don’t even think it’s ready to be resolved in our Christian culture yet. I also don’t think it would be appropriate for every Christian to walk into a gay bar – maybe it wasn’t appropriate for me. But right or wrong, I’d rather take chances to discover these refugees in hiding than stay so safe that I never meet the people I once called “lost.”

Buddhists, Homosexuals, & Fresh Perspectives...

Tonight I'm off to Portland for a birthday party. I'm looking forward to it because my final project for this semester at Seminary is to create a proposal for a new Church Plant. I know that plenty of Christians have plenty of ideas about how a progressive church could or should look, but I wonder how many actually take the time to discuss possibilities with the unchurched. I remember reading that Rick Warren undertook such a "door-to-door" venture before his megachurch came to fruition.

Tonight I'll have the pleasure of spending time with Buddhists and homosexuals and socialists and atheists and all kinds of other interesting people! I'm looking forward to asking THEM what THEY would like to see in a church... even if they didn't personally attend! What kinds of virtues would they like to see touted, modeled and embodied by professed Christians? Under what circumstances or in what environments could they handle setting foot in a Christian church?

More to come!

Prostituted Love...

My sister just caught her boyfriend soliciting a local prostitute online.

Now don’t go judging me – she gave me permission to write this; her vengeance becoming my socio-theological goldmine! But all joking aside, how far has common morality slipped? Is the Internet Age to blame? Has easy access to e-smut pushed us further and further toward the brink of
depravity? Was the world always this bad or is Original Sin merely as American as hot apple pie?

What I’m trying to communicate, however crassly, is that common ethics appear to be on the decline just as personal spirituality is exploding into everyday life. The 21st Century looks to offer more potential for Christian evangelism than, perhaps, any period in the last two hundred years. Today, even vocal anti-Christians believe in God and respect Jesus, but such spiritual openness hasn’t translated to the kind of Kingdom Jesus came to
establish.

This is the central challenge posed to postmodern Christianity: how does one introduce a higher ethic, an absolute Truth, in the midst of exalted relativism? We approach this question when we talk about “relevance” or “emergent Christianity,” but too often the relevant issues at hand are lost in theological rhetoric and pop-philosophy that has little to do with practical living. My
views of hell and creation may be changing (and they certainly are thanks to postmodern literature) but if my love doesn’t grow then my Christianity is just as stale and marginalized as it’s always been.

Conclusion: theology, per se, isn’t the solution.

So if intellectuals can’t save Selfish Me or my spurned sister or her philandering ex, where do we go from here? How does Christianity redeem a world where Christian virtues are trivial to the point of social incompatibility?

The Apostle Paul boiled it down to this: “and if there is any other commandment, all are summed up in this saying, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’” (Romans 13:9) Jesus lived and breathed this kind of self- negating, rights-surrendering, community-altering agape. It got Him killed.

If we are to embrace a brand of Christianity that truly alters our lives and the world in which we inhabit, it will require more from us than throwing out our secular music and wearing kitschy t-shirts bearing memorable Jesus-ized slogans.

First, we have to rediscover the unsexy unselfishness inherent in Biblical ideas of love. We have to remind the world (and ourselves) that love involves sacrifice. Somewhere along the way we lost the “otherness” that love demands. In a generation where self-gratification reaches new levels through erotic mass media and a dangerously casual dating culture, the idea of abstaining from indulgence sounds almost puritanical. Yet such an attitude is completely contrary to a 1 Corinthians 13-kind of love that is defined, not by feelings or emotions or sensuality, but by matters of will, of choice and of sacrifice.

It doesn’t sound very erotic, but it may be the only prescription for healthy, transcendent relationships.

Next, we have to expose and defy the capitalist attitude that blindly tells us, “More is better – even relationally.” This lie convinces my frat brothers back in college that quantity is better than quality – that bedding four women in a week is perfectly acceptable – that there is plenty of time to settle down and be domestic later on. Years later, this lie convinces a man that his wife may have been adequate when his salary was 40K a year, but now that he’s reached Junior Vice-President, it’s time to think about image.

“More” has been defined as a certain shape of body and a certain social inclination; a plastic replica of happy living. After all, how could something so pedestrian as love survive the rigors of corporate appearance?

Finally, love must be removed – with a scalpel, if necessary – from the romantic entanglements lauded by pop-culture’s generic TV-archetypes. Ironically, this aspect of false love may be the most difficult to rid ourselves of. Because it is seemingly benign (almost adorably innocent) it escapes the critical lens of truth. Who could deny the life-changing love that grew and blossomed between Justin and Brittany? Brad and Angelina? …Kevin Arnold and Winnie Cooper?

Who would want to?

The truth nobody likes to admit (but everyone knows deep-down) is that love can be quite unimpressive, even boring: my parents have watched British comedies every Saturday night for fifteen years! Before that, they square danced. God save us from such fates…

Or perhaps: God redeem us through such simplicity.

I live next-door to a woman with schizophrenia. Her husband left her last month – tired of the sickness, I would imagine. For the last four nights, she has danced to blaring country music in her driveway, silhouetted by the empty glow of her parked pickup’s headlights. She’s out there as I write this paragraph, lost in some blurred reality that few will take the time to care about. I wonder what facets of love are lacking in her life. I wonder which parts of “ever after” fell by the wayside as her husband walked away for the last time.

Love is a lot of work - gut wrenching at times - which means that Christianity is inevitably hard, no matter what the televangelists say.

In cautious reflection, I guess there must be a rush in making e-mail contact with a real life prostitute – the adrenaline of “what if” must excite the baser instincts in a man. Perhaps my sister’s ex isn’t so vile. I suppose I can almost see how something so empty and meaningless could provide a tempting escape from the responsibilities of a real, deep, give-and-take
relationship…

But prostituted love isn’t real. Neither is empty, self-help Christianity, which promises far more than any religion could deliver: the simple life, the good life, the American Pie.

I don’t really think the world is getting worse. I think we’ve always been a mess. What’s different, at least in America, is that today’s Christianity offers to do more than redeem lives and communities. It has offered to provide the same sexy highs that the world desperately runs after.

The church, in many ways, has sold itself to a lurid fantasy; an accessible community prostitute, promising quick and easy thrills with no strings attached.

I must confess, I called that church once… I was lonely one Sunday morning, not relishing another ho-hum sermon… but I hung up when they asked for my credit card number.

Not to be overly political, but...

Why is the voice of peace so mocked - so offensive - to today's church? Forget Bush, forget Democrat and Republican titles. Why do we use war references to talk about evangelism? When did the plowshares of the Army of God turn into real swords and real machine guns? When will we be bold enough to lay down and die (to turn the other cheek and die) for peace, instead of killing for it? When did modern political rhetoric take priority over Jesus' own words?

Inklings at The Candlelight

Balancing Orthodoxy With Cautious Nonbelievers...

There’s a dingy Chinese restaurant called “The Candlelight” near the corner of Glisan and 72nd in Northeast Portland. The area surrounding it is dead industrial with a few unfortunate houses spotted along empty streets. Inside the aptly named diner, the lighting is dim and orangey-red. The dinner area is empty, but the lounge in back hums with activity.

Last Saturday, I couldn’t imagine why anyone would choose this venue over any other bar in Portland, but I was meeting a friend there to watch the Oregon game against USC. This was strange in the first place, because Chris never cared about sports of any kind (neither did I, for that matter) but he was there with another young man – a big Oregon fan.

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Onward Christian Soldiers?

Missional reservations in Sin City…
Sometimes I feel righteously indignant… often I feel merely sacrilegious. Usually, I hover somewhere between the two, confusing myself (and often others) with pesky questions and protests against the Christianity I have been enmeshed in all my life.

This battle came to a head last month as I stood on the outskirts of a prayer circle in the heart of downtown San Francisco - one day before the famous Pride Parade would take place.

I was there with a group of 35 Christian high school students. We worked in soup kitchens and homeless shelters, and went there in part to experience the pit of “sin city” USA.

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My Spiritual Pilgrimage

For those who do not check my other site (Emerging Christianity) I am printing this article here on worldspeak as well. Not that I can blame anyone for not checking there - I'm a pretty mediocre blogger when it comes to... well... actually blogging!

The following is part of an essay I am working on for my application to George Fox Seminary in Portland (which I'm very excited about!). Next year, I'll actually have the opportunity to take a class taught by Brian McLaren AND one by Len Sweet the following semester! Whew... it's like a theo-intellectual-brain-SPLOSION!

Ahem... moving on...

Glimpses of my Spiritual Pilgrimage
“Truth is the opposite of grace,” my pastor began this morning’s sermon. I jerked my head up from the church bulletin and looked around to see if anyone else seemed bothered by the statement. I must have said “no it isn’t!” a little too loud. The woman next to me leaned in and said, “it’s really profound when you think about it. Truth keeps grace from going too far!”

Going too far? Grace? Does God want to keep grace in check? Should we make sure Jesus doesn’t extend more than is reasonable? I bit my tongue and tried to sit still. Questions rolled through my brain all morning, and while my pastor was only trying to demonstrate the need for both in a balanced Christianity, his verbiage placed grace and truth in opposition to one another.

I attend the closest thing to a megachurch in Albany, Oregon. First Assembly of God boasts about 1,400 members and more than 2,000 attendees each Sunday. The church has a state-of-the-art sound system, dynamic PowerPoint presentations, and nine full time pastors on staff...

Every Sunday I leave that massive building filled with frustration, sorrow and an increasing sense of disenchantment.

By most accounts I’ve achieved what any church status-seeker (myself in younger years) could hope for: I’m known by everyone in our congregation, I volunteer in a successful youth ministry, I lead drama ministries for youth and adults, I sing with our praise and worship team on stage each Sunday. I am popular!

But each day brings desperation for authenticity closer to my lips. Every Sunday coaxes my frustration nearer my tongue. I fear such indignation might move me beyond balanced criticism, toward radical rebuke. One day I’m afraid my heart’s cry for genuine community will erupt and I’ll lose all the respect and esteem I’ve gained. But Jesus had little esteem in His life, and respect? I don’t think His closest friends and family ever offered the unending honor and reverence He deserved.

God, help me never come to think that I deserve respect or esteem in light of the life of Jesus Christ!

But back to the journey - the pilgrimage our Lord is walking me through. I think it begins and ends with more love. I guess you could call it my nonviolent battle cry. I find myself getting caught up in hyper-intellectualism and endless exegesis, and then look up from my books and notes and realize how long it’s been since I sat with old non-Christian friends over a beer at McMennamin’s Pub and listened to the stories of their lives. How long has it been since I sat in a tight circle of young men from my church and poured out my heart, in turn receiving theirs, growing and supporting and praying for one another? Sometimes it’s only been a few days. Other times, it’s been weeks, and I know I must return to more love.

Genuine community: that is where Christianity manifests this love at its best. Sharing and caring. Sadly, I often feel that Sunday mornings become the greatest enemy of authentic Christianity. It’s hard for me to get into others’ lives when their cautious response is always, “I’m fine.” Big plastic smiles, nice cars, clean homes... white-washed refrigerators filled with non-alcoholic beverages.

Now, before I come across as overzealous or unstable (is it too late for that?) I want to talk about why I love my church and why I could manage to keep attending at the same place for another ten years without having a meltdown. It’s easy and it comes back to loving people: more love.

I love the Body of Christ. On Wednesday nights I have the incredible privilege of leading a Bible Study for highschool youth. Over the last six months we’ve been venturing through the life of Jesus in four different translations/interpretations. I’ve found that it’s not so much the profundity of newer translations that give these kids a better view of scripture. It’s merely hearing things in a way their ears are not yet accustomed to. By breaking through cultural and generational walls, I’ve watched young eyes light up at the wisdom and truth canonized in the Gospel. It’s exciting and validating, and it keeps me going back to church on Sundays, just so I can maintain the privilege of leading on Wednesdays (it’s Sunday evening now, as I write this, and much of my fire from the morning has softened. Again, I’m looking forward to ministry in the coming week).

I don’t know where my spiritual pilgrimage will take me. Sometimes I expect to find myself behind a pulpit. Other times I think the monastic life looks pretty appealing (though I would desperately miss my fiancé!). Always, I am trying to run from the extremities of fundamentalism, dodge the temptations of universalism, and reach toward the pure audacity of unconditional love.

And I can never move from certainty that all the inherent fruits and textures of absolute love converge, in every way, with the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Quitting "Born Again"

There are things we have done to truth that make it… well, less truthful.

I used to explain the complexities involving a Living God dwelling inside of us as we simultaneously walk inside of Him, using three envelopes folded inside one-another. The Holy Spirit-envelope was inside the Me-envelope, which was inside the Jesus-envelop.

The problem was, Jesus was supposed to be inside my envelope too, so if I’m in His envelope, I need a duplicate Jesus-envelope to go inside of mine, along with the Holy Spirit, since they’re sort of both inside of me, and then have a larger envelope that we all go in called God the Father-envelope. The shape of the envelope doesn’t matter so much, but according to your denomination, the color might.

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Part Four: Satanism in my Front Yard...

My new neighbor across the street grew up a Satanist. I know, it sounds a little over dramatic, doesn’t it? Makes me think of all my friends back in high school who worshiped Marilyn Manson and wore black lipstick.

Not my neighbor, though. His name is Dave and I think he’s a pretty cool guy... but I should clarify: he’s not a Satanist anymore.

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Part Three: Ominous Sexuality

I met Scott in a cafe during lunch one day. I was reading another book about emerging forms of Christianity and he had been standing in line nearby. After ordering he moved toward me, appearing interested in my reading.

“Good material?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I smiled. “I can’t seem to read enough on this subject.”

“What are you studying?”

“Postmodernism and Christianity,” I answered. I offered the book for his appraisal.

“Interesting, I’ve never heard those two words used together,” he said, flipping through the pages and resting his eyes on the back cover. “I’m Scott,” he extended his hand and I shook it.

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Part Two: A Bar In Portland...

One night I drove up to Portland to visit my friend Andy. Andy went to college with me, where together we studied theatre and girls. He oozes personality so it’s always fun to go places with him. Whatever we do, he makes a point of being shocking and offensive. It’s hilarious because he makes me sound PG, while I’m rated R to lots of my church friends in Corvallis!

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Part One: Beer & Belief

Have you ever seen babies try to have serious, intimate discussions? They’re really bad at it! When one baby tries to have a meaningful conversation with another baby, they both end up gargling and spitting and blubbering about nothing. Each baby is entirely wrapped up in what he or she wants and never listens to find out what the other baby is asking for. One baby wants milk and the other wants its diaper changed and neither is interested in learning how to walk yet...

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