I am not an apologist for Brian McLaren.  I have one of his books, which I thought was pretty good, but I could pretty much take or leave much of what he says.  I do have an issue though when people dismiss outright - or cry heresy on - a person or idea based on their preconceived notions.  Virgel, below, gives a good story on this:

by Virgil Vaduva
There is a perception I have that smoking cigars and discussing theology is a mix that God is somehow present in; the smoke of premium, hand-rolled cigars rolling up to the heavens must be reminding God of the good aroma of temple sacrifices, prompting him to descend and participate in the conversation. There is a verse somewhere supporting that, isn’t it?

Today I walked into the cigar store to spend some time reading and meditating, but after about an hour someone sat down close by and started discussing with someone else the book I gave to the storeowner earlier which was likely laying on the counter, A New Kind of Christianity by Brian McLaren. As I was also reading the same book, I interjected and asked what his objections were – I couldn’t understand how a 200-page book could be critiqued after a minute of examination.

Sam, the older African-American man explained to me that the chapter on Who is Jesus? was way off, and that McLaren is not teaching solid, biblical theology. He was clearly familiar with who Brian was so I did not want to wander in a debate over Brian McLaren. Instead I started talking to him trying to find out what really is the source of his antipathy; but despite my efforts, I could not connect with Sam at all. I found that everything I was saying was subjected by Sam to an If/Then conditional analysis, in that I would make a statement, Sam would compare it with his paradigm, then say that he agrees or disagrees with it. The truth is that I really was not interested in whether or not this man agreed or disagreed with what I was saying – I was simply interested in talking to him.

After about 30 minutes, the nicotine finally kicked in, and after being grilled on what I believe about the Bible we finally sort of connected; I shared with him my story, I told him about the problems I see with western Christianity and I encouraged him to look at me based on what we have in common rather than where we differ. Sam shared with me some of his story, his love for John MacArthur, and his previous hate of white men telling him about Christ. I asked him if he sees the arrogance and the imperialism in western evangelical Christianity, and he said he does. I even told Sam about the wonderful news of the Kingdom of God being a reality, something within his grasp, but he rejected it in favor of a depraved present world but a positive future judgment and bodily resurrection, which he told me, is the good news of the Gospel.

We ended up having a great conversation and exchanged some opinions, but somehow I still felt disconnected; I never really, really connected with the guy. I realized that Sam and I operate on two completely different levels. Sam’s world is that of modernity, the world of John MacArthur, one of neatly organized doctrinal points where a person either is in or out, saved or damned, where very little happens outside of the well-established game rules, the world where Sam feels the need to tell me how things are, or at least how things should be. My world is a bit more chaotic, a world where everything is questioned, re analyzed constantly, where anything goes and very little stays the same, where I don’t really feel the need to convince Sam that he is right or wrong, or that he is saved or damned to hell for eternity, where I don’t subject someone to a set of questions before conversing with him.

Today’s conversation with Sam really opened up my eyes to how far off I have walked from evangelical Christianity, and my friends, that makes me very happy; but it also makes me sad. Sam is obviously a good man, his love for God was tangible and real, he had passion about his faith and about what he believed; I can no longer connect with someone like Sam, at least not well – even if we try, we end up talking past each other more than to each other. And that is sad and frustrating; despite the embrace I gave him when he left.

I am not writing this to claim that I am better or superior in my approach than Sam, that is far from it; I am just writing about it to illustrate the generational shift taking place within the Church, something which perhaps confirms Phyllis Tickle’s claim that we are in the middle of a Great Emergence, a new reformation or perhaps self-assessment of the Church, where we sit back, sifting through what we’ve accumulated over the past 500 years, deciding what to keep and what to toss out. One thing is for sure; we cannot continue the way of Sam and expect our message to be viable; note that I said, our message, not Christ’s message.

And the identity of the message is really the key here; the modern church is slowly losing viability over the requirements it places on those walking in, while the “emergent church” (whatever you want that to mean) doesn’t object to being full of hypocrites, liars, adulterers, prostitutes, homosexuals and degenerates – yes, with people like me. It’s message before change, not change before message – embrace of all men, not conditional interaction.

His name is Sam; I hope I see him again – next time I’ll start with the embrace.

via Planet Preterist

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I read a post today about Deitrich Bonhoeffer and his thoughts on "religionless christianity".  I had never heard of such a topic, so I looked it up.  Towards the end of his life, while in a German prison, Bonhoeffer wrote a series of letters to a friend on his ponderings of what it meant to be a Christian in a day when absolutes could not be expressed absolutely (post-modernism anyone??).  When a man has no choice but to life a secular life.  But how would such a man consider himself a Christian?  

Does God require Christianity, a religion, a supposed level of piety?

From Bonhoeffer:

To Eberhard Bethage, April, 1944:

What is bothering me incessantly is the question what Christianity really is, or indeed who Christ really is, for us today. The time when people could be told everything by means of words, whether theological or pious, is over, and so is the time of inwardness and conscience--and that means the time of religion in general. We are moving toward a completely religionless time; people as they are now simply cannot be religious anymore. Even those who honestly describe themselves as "religious" do not in the least act up to it, and so they presumably mean something quite different by "religious."

Our whole nineteen-hundred-year-old Christian preaching and theology rest on the "religious a priori" of mankind. "Christianity" has always been a form--perhaps the true form--of "religion." But if one day it becomes clear that this a priori does not exist at all, but was a historically conditioned and transient form of human self-expression, and if therefore man becomes radically religionless--and I think that that is already more or less the case (else how is it, for example, that this war, in contrast to all previous ones, is not calling forth any "religious" reaction?)--what does that mean for "Christianity"? It means that the foundation is taken away from the whole of what has up to now been our "Christianity," and that there remain only a few "last survivors of the age of chivalry," or a few intellectually dishonest people that we are to pounce in fervor, pique, or indignation, in order to sell them goods? Are we to fall upon a few unfortunate people in their hour of need and exercise a sort of religious compulsion on them? If we don't want to do all that, if our final judgment must be that the Western form of Christianity, too, was only a preliminary stage to a complete absence of religion, what kind of situation emerges for us, for the church? How can Christ become the Lord of the religionless as well? Are there religionless Christians? If religion is only a garment of Christianity--and even this garment has looked very different at different times--then what is a religionless Christianity? 

The questions to be answered would surely be: What do a church, a community, a sermon, a liturgy, a Christian life mean in a religionless world? How do we speak of God--without religion, i.e., without the temporally conditioned presuppositions of metaphysics, inwardness, and so on? How do we speak (or perhaps we cannot now even "speak" as we used to) in a "secular" way about God? In what way are we "religionless-secular" Christians, in what way are we those who are called forth, not regarding ourselves from a religious point of view as specially favored, but rather as belonging wholly to the world? In that case Christ is no longer an object of religion, but something quite different, really the Lord of the world. But what does that mean? What is the place of worship and prayer in a religionless situation? 

The Pauline question of whether [circumcision] is a condition of justification seems to me in present-day terms to be whether religion is a condition of salvation. Freedom from [circumcision] is also freedom from religion. I often ask myself why a "Christian instinct" often draws me more to the religionless people than to the religious, but which I don't in the least mean with any evangelizing intention, but, I might almost say, "in brotherhood." While I'm often reluctant to mention God by name to religious people--because that name somehow seems to me here not to ring true, and I feel myself to be slightly dishonest (it's particularly bad when others start to talk in religious jargon; I then dry up almost completely and feel awkward and uncomfortable)--to people with no religion I can on occasion mention him by name quite calmly and as a matter of course. 

The transcendence of epistemological theory has nothing to do with the transcendence of God. God is beyond in the midst of our life. The church stands, not at the boundaries where human powers give out, but in the middle of the village...How this religionless Christianity looks, what form it takes, is something that I'm thinking about a great deal, and I shall be writing to you again about it soon. It may be that on us in particular, midway between East and West, there will fall a heavy responsibility.

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Nicholas Kristof had an intersting op-ed in the NY Times yesterday on the religious wars.  Traditionally, these wars have been fought with swords, but in the past few years they have been fought with the pen.  I've found that the pen has a greater power to inflict pain than the sword would.  The sword inflicts a temporary pain, while the pen harms feelings - and relationships - for a long time.

I don't know if I think that things are calming down.  Being involved with many conversations on spirituality (emergent church, Islam, life issues, GLBT issues), I've seen a lot of anger expressed.

Are the religious wars calming down?  What do you think?

Just a few years ago, it seemed curious that an omniscient, omnipotent God wouldn’t smite tormentors like Richard Dawkins, Christopher Hitchens and Sam Harris. They all published best-selling books excoriating religion and practically inviting lightning bolts.

Traditionally, religious wars were fought with swords and sieges; today, they often are fought with books. And in literary circles, these battles have usually been fought at the extremes.

This year is different, with a crop of books that are less combative and more thoughtful.

Read more...

Z9NEQ7SPXEY2 

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Dear Peter,

Look, I know Phoenix, AZ. does not seem like the first place that would foster the thinkers you're looking for.  We're an ever-stretching suburbia dotted by the occasional megachurch and Mormon ward.  Which is why we'd welcome you all the more.

There are many in Phoenix who are looking to experience God outside of our traditions.  People who are serving selflessly, engaging each other, and reaching out to the outcasts.  There are people who are refugees from other faith communities who need encouragement and a call to action.  

This is why Phoenix needs to be a stop on the Insurrection Pub Tour.

If it's about pubs, we certainly have our share.  Rula Bula, Fibber McGee's, George and Dragon, and a host of bars.  All of which need business lately.

Even more, there are people who desire what you have described:

A decisive act that will strip everything from us, incinerate everything we hold dear and inaugurate a new year zero.

Come on out here.

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The Tall, Skinny Kiwi has posted six (well, seven) different types of house churches that we see emerging into the faith landscape.  I believe the group I'm involved with, EmDes, would likely fit into the first category. 

1 Off-the-grid house churches that intentionally do not want to be known, listed or be on anybody's radar. We find out about them by accident or through opinion polling or sampling, the kind of research George Barna does.

These OoCC (out of Church Christians) gatherings contain a lot of the God-yes-church-no crowd out there.

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Do postmodernists believe in no absolutes?

Absolutely not!

Brian McLaren writes on a question recently posed to him by a student and give some background to the common beliefs about a postmodern society, namely the rejection of any truth.

Of course I believe that some things are morally good and others are morally evil. Of course!

Here's my concern: If a person or group pushes the "we've got moral absolutes absolutely figured out" button too fast or too often, they run an increased risk of behaving in immoral ways, and they are the last to know it because of their excessive self-confidence.

[Continued...]

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Shane Claiborne recently wrote an article for Esquire Magazine which basically says everything I've wanted to say - which he has a penchant for.  Shane offers an apology for Christians for all the ways we haven't acted like the Christ we claim to love, and offers people a love without limitations.  Read below:

What If Jesus Meant All That Stuff?

This radical Christian's ministry for the poor, The Simple Way, has gotten him in some trouble with his fellow Evangelicals. We asked him to address those who don't believe.

By Shane Claiborne

The Simple Way

To all my nonbelieving, sort-of-believing, and used-to-be-believing friends: I feel like I should begin with a confession. I am sorry that so often the biggest obstacle to God has been Christians. Christians who have had so much to say with our mouths and so little to show with our lives. I am sorry that so often we have forgotten the Christ of our Christianity.

[Continue...]

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I recently mentioned Joy's experience during EmDes' trip to Flagstaff.  She also wrote up a different version of this blog post for the Communitas Collective.  It's beautiful.  Check it out!

“Church is Here” by Joy Shroeder

Posted by Kathy on Nov 17, 2009 | 1 Comment

in just a few months it will be 4 years since i transitioned out of the “institution” & we began cultivating the refuge community.  it has been a wild ride, and i keep learning more than i had ever expected.  one of the  most glorious parts of the transition has been meeting some amazing diverse people both online and face to face.  i am so thankful for these friendships & connections, the weird way we breathe life and hope into each other near and far.  one of these friends is joy shroeder.  i met her through my blog and then had the privilege of getting to know the emerging desert community face to face on a visit out there last year.  it’s a beautiful group of exiles passionate about justice, love, and hope.   i love their heart, their questions, their dedication to being together.  joy wrote a piece for communitas collective a while back & i asked her to share again (and hope she will continue to share more).  she’s in the trenches of the transition out of the box & it is wild and scary and beautiful.  enjoy, kathy escobar

* * * * *

A year and a half ago, my family and I made the intensely difficult decision to leave the institutional church. Our exodus and subsequent self-imposed exile was mind-blowingly complex, confusing, and painful. I am just now clearing the fog and learning to forge ahead, despite the lack of parameters and absolutes. Moving towards rebuilding and creating something meaningful with fellow sojourners in our Emerging Desert cohort has been a lifeline.

My family has hosted this motley crew for a weekly Sunday gathering in our home, sometimes for upwards of 30 people including nearly a dozen kids, for as long as we’ve been “outside”. We collectively strive to embody Kingdom living, together sharing meals and sacraments, stories and struggles. There’s no real format, no hierarchy, no corporate singing or children’s ministry. All we really have is our commitment to each other and a deep desire to pursue Jesus and his Gospel. But questions keep nagging me, no matter how hard I try to block them out: Does this faith community qualify as “church”? And, a darker, more insidious question: Why do I need to know?

Questions come up frequently in casual conversations with friends or acquaintances who are curious about where I’ve been, why I don’t “go to church anymore” or why we’re not available for Sunday afternoon visits. It’s a weird kind of tension for me. I’ve had many awkward conversations, stumbling over my words and rambling practically incoherently as I try to explain. I usually end up saying something like, “We’re kind of a messy collection of questioners and quitters…but…it’s really not as bad as it probably sounds…and hey, by the way, we always have great home-brewed beer.” This isn’t really an exaggeration. Our beer is really good.

I’m sure it’s a no-brainer, especially to those who have successfully conquered the hangup of “what church is or isn’t” and have readily adopted a more simplistic description. For me, it’s like I have a tiny little evangelical-mega-church-loving ‘Jiminy Cricket’ in my sub-conscience who continues to point out all the reasons why the community of faith I am invested in “isn’t really church”. Fortunately, I experienced something very recently I believe may help move me toward turning a corner on this issue.

A few weeks back, several families in Emerging Desert converged in Flagstaff, Arizona for a weekend retreat, an event I had been anticipating for several weeks. Hanging out with people I love, all under one roof for two nights, our days and evenings revolving around great food and drink as well as the uninterrupted company of each other – it promised to become one of the most meaningful experiences of my year!

Friday afternoon, several unavoidable scheduling conflicts prevented our family from leaving our home on time. Once it became evident that we’d be late, I began to feel stressed and a little stupid for not doing a better job getting us all organized and out the door more promptly. I had volunteered to provide dinner for everyone that evening and like most Type A personalities, my tardiness was freaking me out.

We finally arrived, 45 minutes later than I had planned. I apologized sheepishly to anyone and everyone while imagining the worst to be unfolding behind the doors of the enormous vacation home. Visions of grumblings about late dinner and half-starved children wailing like banshees invaded my mind. Instead, what I overheard as my family hustled inside completely changed my demeanor and the direction my evening was headed, and subtly confronted my personal struggle with what to call our group and weekly gatherings.

Emma, the precocious five-year-old daughter of one of the other families, noticed us coming through the door with overflowing armloads of food to share, and joyfully exclaimed:

“Look, Mom! Church is here!”

Her untroubled words were powerful to me in that moment, in that space and surrounded by those particular people. Her conviction was solid, unlike mine. That single innocent exclamation brought some much-needed clarity to my previously muddied thinking. For the first time, I saw what Emma saw. We are church. She recognized us as “church”. It was so simple. I was dumbfounded at that moment, finally realizing that the thing we’ve been doing and who we are as part of Emerging Desert, is in some overt way, CHURCH.

I’ve spent the past season of my life wrestling with my faith – asking complex questions of it, twisting it and holding it up to the light, demanding perfection and definition at every turn. This moment was beautiful and pure, almost instantly allowing me to let go of my need for rules, titles and walls. Why had I not been able to see that the most meaningful expressions of faith are sometimes the most simple? Church, to Emma, was someone who brings food to the hungry. Church is spending time with friends in an unhurried way. And church involves listening to the wisdom in each other, even (especially?) the voice of a young child.

* * * * *

Joy Schroeder is a recovering conservative evangelical finding new hope through an unexpected faith community.  She resides in Mesa, AZ with her husband Jim and their 4 daughters.  Her blog is Give and Take.

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Unfortunately, I didn't get to go on this trip, but Tara has shared some photos from the trip on Flickr!

I really want to talk about Joy's experience on Friday night.  Below is a copy of the blog she wrote about it:

"Church Is Here!"

Joining a few of our EmDes friends and families in Flagstaff for the weekend was an an event I had been anticipating for several weeks. Hanging out with people I love and enjoy so much...all under one roof, for 2 nights, in a climate reflecting 'true fall' temperatures...with our days and evenings revolving around great food and drink as well as the uninterrupted company of each other...could undeniably become one of the most memorable experiences of my year!
Friday afternoon, several unavoidable scheduling conflicts prevented our family from leaving the valley and arriving at our AMAZING weekend destination on time...(or at least in an acceptable time frame in my mind). Once it became evident that we'd be late...I began to feel stressed, irritated and a little stupid for not doing a better job getting my family organized and out the door promptly by 3:00pm. I had volunteered to provide dinner for everyone that evening and like all true blue type A personalities...I was freaking out. My imagination conjured thoughts of half starved children bawling for dinner...frustrated grown-ups making comments to never let 'Joy' volunteer to bring dinner 'opening night' of a retreat 3 hours away...ever again!
We finally arrived at the 'cabin' about 45 minutes later than I had planned...(totally UNACCEPTABLE...for me) I sheepishly apologized...imagining the worst to be unfolding behind the door of the enormous vacation home...BUT, what I heard as I hesitantly walked inside, followed by my husband Jim and our 2 youngest daughters...immediately changed my demeanor and the direction of the evening for me...

"MOM! Church is Here!" ~Emma age 5.

Emma's words weren't just child-like and cute...they were powerful to me in that moment and in that space. In my mild hysteria and growing anxiety, I could not have imagined hearing more endearing and encouraging words... ever! (And, these uttered by a hungry child no less?) Her statement became the buzz for the next few minutes...as the adults beamed and ribbed each other a little bit. That single exclamation captured my heart...Emma recognized us as 'church'...her church...I was dumbfounded as I realized that the thing we in EmDes collectively hope to have organically unfold in our little faith community...is that in some real and outward way we ourselves embody THE CHURCH. Sure the the grown-ups can make the connection, most of us have gone to great lengths to reconstruct what church is...but to hear such a strong affirmation from one of our kids...totally confirmed for me...that we are really and truly doing this thing...we are heading in the right direction...
I'm certain that I was offered a glass of wine at that point...a sincere effort by someone to help me 'get a grip'...but, all the previous freaking out and anxiety had already dissipated...Emma's statement " Church is here" reverberating in my head...at that moment...all was well with my soul!

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