I’ve just started teaching a class at Trinity on “Issues for Men in Ministry.”  I’m taking the angle that really it is manhood that is the mystery here, not not ministry.  That unless men learn (maybe for the first time) what manhood is then it is impossible to function as a man in ministry.  Indeed, many pitfalls and failures in ministry come from this lack of male initiation. But before I get into all this I wanted to start things off with a brief talk by Richard Rohr.  Do you think Rohr goes too far?

(Disclaimer: for those who don’t know me as well, I’m very supportive of women in ministry and breaking male dominance, but I’m not dealing with that now not because I’ve forgotten, but it’s just not what I’m thinking about right now).

The Catch 22 of Male Initiation
by Richard Rohr, O.F.M.
February 1, 2008

Catch-22 is a term coined by Joseph Heller in his novel Catch-22, describing a paradox in a law, regulation or practice in which one is a victim regardless of the choice one makes.  It has become rather clear to many of us that both top leaders in the church and leading politicians in society are largely made up of men who wanted to get there.  They pursued roles and positions of power for any multitude of reasons, some of which are even praiseworthy.

At the second level of “management” you find priests, ministers, civil employees, and corporate bureaucrats who have rightfully sought their own career goals, but unless there has been some influx of wisdom, suffering, or mentoring from life itself, their ego structures tend to be pretty well intact and self serving. “My personal upward mobility, but for the sake of the kingdom of God” is the best we can hope for!  They have done even good things, but the underlying motivations of self image, security, status, and self aggrandizement have never been looked at or seriously questioned.  In fact, they assume this is what life is all about.  This creates a major spiritual blindness at both levels of leadership, and of course in all men who have not stumbled, fallen, and been raised up (the central paschal mystery).

What is lost to our society, however, is much needed wisdom and the common good, and often just basic spirituality.  Such patriarchy becomes a self perpetuating machine at an arrested level of consciousness.  Uninitiated men appoint, affirm, and promote other men at their same level of moral development, because their own ego standards are all that they have to judge by.  In other words, the water never rises, levels of consciousness do not naturally proceed by attraction and promotion from the top, which is what we all hoped for. This is the meaning of eldership, seniority, and mentoring, but it only really works in “wisdom based cultures”, which we now have very few of (Tibet, Bali, and small, hidden pockets, especially in remaining native cultures still found on all continents.)

So wisdom often has to come from the outside, the bottom, or the edge.  Is it any surprise that Jesus was not a priest, a scholar of the law, or a leader in his society?   He was an uneducated layman.  The systems of this world do not evolve from the top down, as we expected, except in rare cases like Abraham Lincoln, John XXIII, and Nelson Mandela (but who originally came from the edge and the bottom in all three cases).

The only way to break into such a watertight and self perpetuating system is through the failure, suffering, and humiliation of those on their climb upwards or those who begin their climb downwards.  Initiation rites were preparing a society for such leadership, by encouraging, allowing, and guiding the wisdom and necessity of falling—either from your high perch, or before you make the mistake of climbing too high in the first place.

Thus, it is alright to climb into social position and to seek power.  But you better know: That is what you are doing, it is merely a “first half of life” concern, why you are doing it, be honest about your real motivations, who you still are, and really are (Your True Self) all of its many and specific dangers, listen to both Jesus and Buddha here, so you had better compensate for these dangers in very practical ways,  and know that it does not mean anything in and of itself anyway!

Such is the significance of the central and necessary wounding at initiation time.  It repositions the male inside of real success, and takes away his love affair with false success.  That is why we say that a man is not initiated until he has seen through the illusions and pretenses of his false self, and has had at least one enlightening encounter with his True Self.  Without such initiation, we have societies built almost entirely on illusion, arrogance, and ignorance.  No wonder we have the problems we do with war, greed, ambition, and pride at every level.

So the reason I call it a “Catch 22” is that you have to build your tower of success, even though it is the every thing that can destroy you, and will destroy you if we do not see through it.

We will lose if we do not find our power.  But we will also lose if we find our power and then do not “unfind” it!

So you must let go of the very thing that you have supposedly found.  But the trouble is you are very identified and attached to it by then!  So someone must warn you ahead of time, or it is often too late.  That is initiation.

The first finding is not the real finding.  The letting go is not losing at all.  This is the utter counter intuitive nature of Jesus’ teaching and of Buddha’s practices, and what has been modeled by all those we call saints and mystics and holy men.

This is surely what Jesus meant when he said, “Anyone who finds his life must lose it, and anyone who loses his life will find it.”  (Mark 8:35)  It was his own Catch 22, and most of Christianity has never named, accepted, or lived this central paradox.

No wonder many do not take Christianity seriously.  What a wonder it could still be if we did!

An essential failure in disciple in our church, and perhaps in evangelicalism, is dawning on me.  Not only a failure to follow Christ in his radical discipleship, in his self-giving love, in his calls from/against the world, for the sake of the world.  This failure of discipleship is of course the great omission of which Dallas Willard speaks.

I’m thinking of the failure to understand discipleship as becoming a child of the Father, of knowing the Father that Jesus knew.  The Fatherhood of God is the most distinctive aspect of God of Jesus’s teaching.  The Old Testament refers to God as father only a handful of time while Jesus teaches/refers to God as the Father over a hundred times (just in the Gospels!) and the rest of the New Testament picks up this thread.

In the evangelicalism that I come from, and the missional churches I know, the hard calling of following Christ is rarely linked to the high calling of being a child of the Father.  Our discipleship is rightly based in seeking the Father’s will just as Jesus did, of learning to say with Jesus “Take this cup from me.  But not my will, but your will be done” (Mark 14:36).  But this picture of selfless abandon in the Garden of Gethsemane, as right as it is, is incomplete because we often exclude the first part of the verse (“Abba, Father…”) and the relationship of trust and love that flows between Father and Son.

Jesus knew, in everyway, that the Father loved, valued, and rejoiced in the Son, and it was only from this place that Jesus could obey, live, suffer, and die according to the Father’s will.

I fear that we too often call ourselves, and others, to live, love, suffer, and die for the mission of the gospel of the Son, but do it without knowing the Father’s love for us.  And I’m not talking about the general-generic love that God has for the world, that God loves us and died for us, that God’s love saved us.  I’m talking about the specific knowing, rejoicing, celebrating, and protecting of me, of you, of individual people that our Father wants to pour out on us.

Of course I understand how an overly sentimentalized, even therapeutic, or health-n-wealth view of God in many evangelical or charismatic churches has caused this reaction and shift to radical discipleship in Christ, but we must learn again to balance being disciples of the Son and being children of God.  As one in our congregation said, “The radical calling of Jesus is a call to be children of the Father rather than children of the world.”

Whose child are you?  If we labor under the banner of Jesus, but not also of the Father, I fear we will most often end in despair and dejection or legalism and triumphalism, rather than the joy and peace available to us.

Here is an interesting piece by NPR on Evangelicals, spurred on my McLaren’s book.  Listen to it below, or read it at NPR.

When I say mercy is for mission,  I’m not talking about the mission of mercy and justice in the world as a witness to all of the power of the gospel (at least, not right now).  Rather, I’m talking about the mercy God has poured out on all sinners in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ Jesus.  For “Christ has become a servant of the Jews on behalf of God’s truth, to confirm the promises made to the patriarchs so that the Gentiles may glorify God for his mercy.” (Rom. 15:8, 9)

The mission of God has always been to pour out his mercy on all peoples, first to the Jews and then to the Gentiles.   This had always been the purpose of God’s promise to Abraham that through him “All nations will be blessed” (Gen. 22:18).  But this mission causes church conflict. In fact, you should expect and welcome conflict in your church.

Its true.  St. Paul says as much in Romans 15.  Verse 7 says that we should “welcome one another just as Christ welcomed you,” and the act of Christ welcoming us is the act of God’s mercy.  But how each person receives God’s mercy is based in exactly how it is they have been astranged from God.  For me, my pride and arrogance kept me far from God, but the humility of Christ finally overwhelmed me.  But for someone else living in fear, it might have been the love and power of Christ which expressed God’s mercy most potently.  Now, as I reflect and live in the the grace and mercy I’ve come to know, it is usually through a lense of pride because that is where I came from .  But for others it will be different.  Now extend this to entire cultures.

This is exactly what happened when Jews and Gentiles began worshipping together.  God’s mercy extended to the Gentiles and some Jews began wondering if they needed to be circumscribe and needed to follow the Jewish food laws, etc, etc (Read Acts 15 and Gal. 1 for more details, also Romans 14 and 1 Cor. 8 and 10).   God’s mission caused all sorts of church conflicts, the conflict between cultures, but also between individuals.

But often times we end up using God’s mercy against others, we use our faith history as a weapon against others who have experienced God’s mercy differently.  Some want to preach the gospel through social action, some through street preaching.  Some want to save the poor, others the environment.  Some see a besetting sin, others a disputable matter.

And these naturally cause conflicts.  But we must remember that God’s mercy is for mission, and the mercy we have received should help us to build up our neighbor (15:2) and our freedom should not become a stumbling block to a brother or sister (14:13).

It is often claimed that the missional church might be loosing the high standard of expository preaching.  And often we don’t exactly help to clarify this when we rail against individualized, overly rationalistic, disembodied information dumps which masquerade as the worst of expository preaching (love ya Dave).  And when we claim that interpretation is a communal activity not reducible to a grammatical-historical method, many think we, the missional church, have given up on the Word of God.  Well…we haven’t.  In fact, we do the real expository preaching!

In our worship gathering the question is not if exposition happens, but where exactly it happens.  Someone new to our gathering, steeped in the traditions of expository preaching, commented to one of our co-pastors that while biblical exposition didn’t happen in the sermon (as classically understood), it instead happens throughout the entire service. I think this is absolutely correct.  Let me explain by walking us through last week’s worship gathering.

Our preaching text was Romans 8.1-8, 12-13, celebrating that for those in Christ there is therefore now no condemnation.  The rest of the lectionary was Isaiah 43.16-21, Psalm 126, and John 7.53 – 8.11 [the woman caught in adultery].

The Life on the Vine Liturgy (03/21/10):

• Before the service, at 9am, we have a teaching class which lays out the basic framework of the morning text to be preached.
• In the service, after the time of silence and invocation we sang the call to worship, Wake Up, (which we recently wrote based in the text of Roman 13), calling us to attend to the work of Christ.
• Then comes the Scripture readings, read from the four walls of the sanctuary symbolizing that we are being surrounded by the words of God, ending with a reading from the Gospel of John and how Christ did not condemn the woman caught in adultery. .
• Between the readings and the sermon is what we call the Liturgion (a litany and motion icon), which in this case was a guided meditation on the painting, “Christ and the Adulterous” by Jan Brueghel, focused on Christ’s non-condemning spirit.  The questions asked were: why is Jesus the lowest in the painting?  Who is at the center of the painting?  What is the significance of that?  Why is the crowd fading into darkness?  Notice that man who dropped the stone…notice that he is the second lowest.  What does his posture resemble?  Notice the shape of the woman’s hands.  What does all this tell us about Jesus?
  
• Only after all this comes the sermon (which for us is only one aspect of the dual apex of the service), which we conceive as a focused time of displaying the gospel of Christ and drawing everyone into the Kingdom of God.  In the sermon there of course will be information conveyed and reference made to grammar and genre.  But the true reference of exposition is always Christ himself and his saving work towards which all our preaching must speak.  This week’s sermon focused on living in the hope that while we are guilty, in Christ we are not condemned.
• After the sermon is a time of response through congregational prayer and two worship songs (Grace Flows Down, Wondrous Cross).
• Then comes the second apex of our service, the Eucharist, or Communion, or the Lord’s Table, which is itself a fully participatory exposition of the non-condemning hospitality of Christ, and a fully participatory congregational response in faith and hope.
• During this time of coming to the Table we celebrate the non-condemning love of Christ in three songs: You are My King, Kyrie Eleison (a song we wrote on Christ’s death, resurrection, and ascension), and Let us Love and Sing and Wonder.
• Finally, in the Benediction, we are sent out as the non-condemned people of God, the Body of Christ, offered for the life of the world.

Of course, reading this pails compared to experiencing it.  But for us, at Life on the Vine, exposition happens throughout the entire service, not just in the sermon.  And it is done is a fully biblical, artistic, and immersive situation.  Instead of a 30 minute exposition of the grammar, structure, and meaning of Romans 8, we have a 75 minutes exposition engaging the heart, soul, mind, and spirit, rather than just the mind.

So let it not be said that this missional church doesn’t care about biblical exposition, but rather that we care so much that we make and entire service out of it!

So, then, where does biblical exposition happen for you in your context?  Is it similar or different?

Last week I was in LA at the Wesleyan Philsophical Society.  I presented a paper on “Christ in Circulation: The Eucharist and Money.”  The abstract is below and then after the break is the paper.  If you are interested then you should definitely also check out Jason A. Coker’s post on a similar topic: The Begging Bowl, Toward a Kingdom Economy of Gifts, Power, and Justice.

Abstract:
This paper explores the convergence of the Eucharistic gift and the theory of money.  It will argue that the gift of grace enacted in the Eucharist actualizes an alternative economy to that of the dominant exchange of commodities via money, otherwise known as capitalism.  This convergence will proceed between the realms of sacramental theology and political economy, represented by the French sacramental theologian Louis-Marie Chauvet and the Japanese philosopher Kojin Karatani.  Specifically, this convergence will move between Chauvet’s ‘sacramental reinterpretation of Christian existence’ centered on the symbolic exchange of the gift of grace, and Karatani’s critique of the trinity of the capitalist nation-state and its circulation of money.  It will show how Chauvet deploys the anthropological notion of the symbolic exchange to explicate the formation of Christian identity enacted in the Eucharistic.  Through the symbolic exchange of the Eucharistic participant are transformed into graced subjects through the circulation of the historical, sacramental, and ecclesial Body of Christ.  Set alongside this circulation of Christ, this paper will offer a reading of Karatani’s understanding of the four modes of exchange and the circulation of money, and how one might practice resistance to the capitalist nation-state.  In this way Karatani’s explication of the modes of exchange will enhance, by explicitly politicizing, Chauvet’s understanding of symbolic exchange, even while showing that Karatani’s project is untenable without the gracious and gratuitous circulation of Christ in the Eucharist, forming graced and gratuitous subjects.

Paper posted after the break.

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Sin is nothing masquerading as something.  Sin merely preys on something, on anything, but itself it is nothing.  Sin produces desire for what doesn’t exist.  It takes what is good, adds NOTHING to it, nothing but disordered desire, and, BAM, now there is something new, something disfigured and ugly.  Wanton desires warp creation (what is good) and makes something less of it (which is evil).

This is the gist of the sermon on Sunday, at Life on the Vine, on Romans 7: 7-13.  Sin took the good Law and produced disordered desires, covetousness.  But of itself it could do nothing, because it is nothing.  God only created what is good.  And sin is turning away from what actually exists, for what we want to exist. It is Nothing that wants to be Something.

Sin says what actually exists is not good enough.  That God is being stingy in His gifts.  That He is unfairly withholding from us the knowledge of good and evil.  The original lie of the Serpent is not “You will surely not die,” but rather, “What exists is not enough for you.  Desire more!”  In this way the Devil is the originator of the infomercial.  But the truth of the gospel is that God is enough for us, that what exist is good, and that if we could only see what is right before us that we could indeed live with God.

But the problem is that we can’t see what exists, and so the author of existence entered existence, and endured the Nothing of Death, so that we could re-enter the Something of Life.  And this is the great mystery of Lent, and the life of Christ, that now, after the Fall, the only way back to the fullness of life, the only way back to the abundance of all Something, is through the passage of Nothingness, the daily dying to the disordered desires and our false selves, the picking up of our crosses which make nothing out of our mis-created somethings.

He most identified with the picture to the left.  For the season of Lent, one of our artists here at Life on the Vine constructed a wall separating us from the altar, and on the top was a giant sign saying, “Separate.”  On the wall hangs four pictures indicating various ways of being separated: a storm, an abandoned woman, a shipwreck, and this painting by surrealist Rene Magrite (La reproduction interdite, French for “The Forbidden Reproduction“).

This is the picture that one of our youths preparing for baptism most identified with at this point in his spiritual journey.  He felt like he could never see himself, that he couldn’t understand himself, didn’t know why he acted the way he did.  We prayed for a while that Christ would help him to see his own face, and see it in the face of Christ.  It was really the only breakthrough I’ve had with this boys who feels abandoned and broke, struggling with Aspergers (which results in his acting out), disconnected from God.

Like this painting, the season of Lent calls us to look deeply at ourselves, but often the first step is to recognize that often we can’t even really see ourselves.  We look into a mirror and all we see is the back of our heads.  And this is frequently a result of our own choosing because we are afraid of what we might see.  Augustine says of God’s work in his life:

You took me from behind my own back, where I had placed myself because I did not wish to look upon myself.  You stood me face to face with myself, so that I might see how foul I was, how deformed and defiled, how covered with stain and sores. (Confessions, VIII, 7)

Only the Spirit of Christ can take us “from behind our own backs” and place us before ourselves.  Will you, this Lent, seek to see yourself as you really are, deformed and defiled, so that you might be seen as you are in Christ, healed and holy?

This is the missional church, simply explained. I love it. (from mshedden)

I want to add to the reflections offered by Rozko, Hiestand, Sternke, Hart, Briggs, Fitch, Chandler, and others on the Ecclesia National Gathering.  They have already offered great summaries, but I want to add my impression.  My over all impression is that while disappointed with the church, most there had yet become cynical.

It seemed that this group of people actually still loved the church even though we had all been wounded by the people in it; this group of people still worshiped though we have all been manipulated by music and technique; this group of people still preached even though we had all been merely talked at; this group still prayed even though we’ve all felt the abandoned silence; this group still sought the Spirit even though we have all been burned by those with a ‘word’.  And I could go on.

But for the most part, from what I can tell so far, the people in Ecclesia have not adjusted to what they lack or lost, but are still striving for what they hope.  Certainly we hope for what we lack, but when the lacking dominates, hope is always tinged by cynicism and ironic distance.  At some level with cynicism you begin to sneer at actual belief and practice.  Here’s an example.  Once, at another emerging/missional conference, a woman was asked (on the spot I believe) to lead a concluding prayer-slash-prayer for a meal.  She stood up and stumbled through the Aaronic blessing (equal parts uncertain of herself and how it might be received).  I felt bad for her, but more for the group because she was evidently effected by the pressure of the group and by not knowing whether people actually still prayed in this group.  The conference was so busy deconstructing everything that a cynicism toward actual belief was creeping in.  When I saw that I thought to myself, “I’m done with this.  If people can’t still pray without embarrassment then what is the point.”

But gladly, I didn’t get a whiff of that at Ecclesia, and it’s not like a fair share of the people there didn’t have reason to be cynical.  Because of all this I’m very exited for the future of Ecclesia Network, and look forward to being a part of it for a long time to come.