Sticks, Stones, & the Word

Check out my recent piece in the Bakersfield Californian on the public discourse and prepping the January edition of PUB(lic) THEOLOGY: Sticks, Stones, & the Word

In the wake of the shooting of 20 people in Tucson, a debate quickly emerged nationally on the public discourse. Pundits on the right and the left quickly scurried for the moral high ground, each seeking to illustrate how the other had so carelessly used words and images regardless of the consequences. Both the cross-haired image of Sarah Palin's "Take Back the 20" map and the Democratic Leadership Council's "target" map from 2004 have been plastered across the national news. In the debate each side has tried to demonstrate that they possess the right words, that they are the ones who offer words of life to a troubled country.

Within my faith tradition, we have recently entered an intentional season of reflection on the Epiphany of Jesus. In this time we struggle with understanding Jesus as the Word of God made flesh. The current public debate on the power of our words to shape the world around us resonates deeply with this time in the life of the church. And it leads me to suspect that in the midst of such a debate God probably has something to say.

God does not endorse either the red- or the blue-tinted words. But what God has to say isn't exactly nonpartisan either (God doesn't really do vanilla). What God says falls much more in line with the you-must-die-to-yourself-to-truly-live kind of party.

I imagine that left to our own devices and dictionaries, humanity will continue to stumble in our attempts to find the words that will push us forward, toward life and hope. In the midst of this season of Epiphany, it is the Word enfleshed and in deed, not in diagrams or maps, that offers the hope of a way through the shadows.

This is not to say the words we use are insignificant. To the contrary they have great power. Whoever first penned the playground phrase "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me" was wrong. In this time of Epiphany, may our words be words of humility that point to the Word made flesh. May our words point down the path where the last shall be first. May our words point toward God's Word, which is strong enough and weak enough to hold us all.

This month Pub(lic) Theology will engage in a conversation on the power of our words, to consider how our understanding of God shapes the words we use. We will discuss the tenor of the public discussion. And it is my hope and prayer that our discussion might be one small step towards a public discourse in humility and life.

Genograms & Jesus

An Advent reflection on Matthew's genealogy of Jesus the Messiah.

During my first week here at Emmanuel as I slowly unpacked the boxes in my office, I was handed a stack of directories; lists of names, telephone numbers, addresses, birthdays, and emails. Some were older, with bits of information scribbled in the margins. Some were a good deal older, perhaps ten or fifteen years old with their outfits and hair styles still held firmly by hair spray in the mid-nineties.

But as I started on the job, it quickly became apparent that these directories were not going to be enough. I decided that what I needed if I were to truly understand this congregation was a genealogy. A double sided directory on eight by eleven was nice, but what I needed was a giant family tree printed out on one of those big architectural plotters. If I had this family tree with its branches sprawled out across my office walls, I would be able to begin to see and understand how everyone is connected and how this place works.

FAME!!!

Yes, I am a big deal. Check out a reworked version of a previous post published in the Bakersfield Californian, here.

Dancing at the End of the World

An Advent Reflection on Matthew 8.14-17, 28-34 from @EmmanuelBakerSt

That's great, it starts with an earthquake, birds and snakes, an aeroplane - Lenny Bruce is not afraid.  Eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn, world serves its own needs, don't misserve your own needs.  Feed it up a knock, speed, grunt no, strength no.  The ladder starts to clatter with fear, fight, down height.  Wire in a fire, representing seven games and a government for hire and a combat site.

Left of west and coming in a hurry with the furies breathing down your neck.  Team by team reporters baffled, trump, tethered crop.  Look at that low plane!  Fine. Yes.  Uh oh, overflow, population, coming to a little doom.  Save yourself, serve yourself. World serves its own needs, listen to your heart bleed.  Tell me with the rapture and the reverent in the right - right. You vitriolic, patriotic, slam, fight, bright light, feeling pretty psyched.

It's the end of the world as we know it
It's the end of the world as we know it
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine

I know each of these lyrics to R.E.M.’s popular and apocalyptic song for one particular reason. This reason is inextricably wrapped up in an undeniable truth. The truth is that I am not a natural dancer. If you want to instantly see me squirm and lose all signs of composure you just need a strobe light, some music with a beat, and a dance floor. Assemble these ingredients and you’ll find me slowly creeping backwards, in half steps, searching with my hands out behind me, reaching for a wall to cling to for dear life. As you can imagine this truth did not make me extremely popular or active at middle school dances. I was and often still am accurately labeled as a ‘wallflower’ in any dance-related situation.

And a Shoot shall come out of the Root of the Sequoias

A sermon fragment from the 2nd Sunday of Advent on Isaiah 11.1-10 & Matthew 3.1-12 @EmmanuelBakerSt

Recently Hannah and I took a trip up to the Giant Sequoia National Monument. As we walked the trail of a hundred giants, I could not escape this week's biblical texts, full of roots and trees. An inch or so of snow covered the ground and a reverential silence fell upon everyone walking the trail woven among these towering trees. Even children could not help but to gawk in silent awe at the indescribable magnitude of these truly giant sequoias. Certainly, the divine was present in that place of biblical proportions.

Why its okay to hang a TARDIS on your Christmas[advent] Tree

an advent reflection on Matthew 24.23-35 & Isaiah 54.1-10 @EmmanuelBakerSt

Over the past couple of months the outreach team at Emmanuel has been discussing signage. We have been in discussion and conversation over how to best let people know that we are here. How do we let people know that this place is the place where the people of Emmanuel Baker Street meet and come together to worship, to pray, and to live?

Right now we have a very nice and what I would describe as tasteful sign. It’s humble enough, it’s not huge. It lights up at night, but doesn’t illuminate all of Baker Street. It allows us to put a short message up describing upcoming events, but it doesn’t have a scrolling display with pictures or videos. But sometimes, it doesn’t seem like it is enough. Occasionally the trees grow too big in front of it and it can’t be seen. Sometimes people say they have a hard time finding our church. And there is so much we want to say to the community, to the world, how can it all fit on our unassuming sign?

Why We Need Night: or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Embrace the Darkness

"Living in a glare of our own making, we have cut ourselves off from our evolutionary and cultural patrimony—the light of the stars and the rhythms of day and night. In a very real sense, light pollution causes us to lose sight of our true place in the universe, to forget the scale of our being, which is best measured against the dimensions of a deep night with the Milky Way—the edge of our galaxy—arching overhead."

-               from Our Vanishing Night

Walking the streets of Bakersfield in the evening, having just moved here from Chicago, I am struck by the lack of street lights surrounding my home. As I walk the dog or walk back from an evening spent at Dagny’s or another downtown destination, I am caught off guard and a little uneasy when I suddenly notice I am surrounded by the darkness.