In the waning hours of this day, the longest, yet sweetest day, I am beginning to see how God has been preparing my heart and soul to be a father by moving me spiritually in examining that my faith is based on a relationship as God my Father not just an intellectual or emotional exchange of ideas. And it is today I am proud to say that many of the doubts, questions, wonders, experiences, hopes, dreams, desires, and faith have been revealed to me in my baby. As I held her for the very time, I instantly became aware that my faith in Jesus will (and should) never been the same. This new relationship that I have, which will require a great amount of love, grace, mercy, forgiveness, discipline, and teaching will also require that I experience and depend on each and every one of those same things from God Himself first. Praise God for such a blessed gift!

Amelia Jayne was born today on September 26 at 6:48AM, weighing 7 pounds 2 ounces and measuring 20 inches long. She is a beautiful babe, created in the image of our God.

Not at all like Jesus says to the disciples that the first shall be last and the last shall be first, but A* and I have been making statements over the past week like "This could be the last time we do [this]" or "This could be the last time we get to sleep in" or "Sometime next week could be the first time we do [that]". Please do not mistake any of these statements as a lack of excitement for the joy we know we will experience as new parents, but there is a clear sense of an ending just as much as a beginning.

In that mindset I started reading A New Kind of Christian by Brian McLaren. With all of the energy wasted recently reading and commenting on a certain website known for its critical commentary on Christian ministries, I was very excited to jump into this book and see what all the hoopla was about! I also know that a friend of mine is reading it and I would like to discuss it with him someday. I had briefly heard one place compare it slightly to C.S. Lewis's The Great Divorce, which is of my all-time favorite books. I think that C.S. Lewis's moral that heaven and hell will be very much like what we have made our faith-walk here on earth is quite an alarming idea, one that personally made me take much more notice of what my priorities should be.

But I don't want to put ill-conceived pressure of McLaren to do the same in his book. Instead, I want to see what a new kind of Christian looks like to McLaren, for I am sure interested. The kind of Christian I have been throughout my life certainly seems old, uninspired, and desperately human-driven. There has been a sense in my soul for quite a long time that what has been missing in my faith-walk is the spiritual. I have seen glimpses of that in certain points of my life, much more often in college than the past years.

I have the intellectual down, and I've unfortunately seen the spoiled fruits of that effort in the above-mentioned site, as well as in my responses to it. I have experienced many highs and lows of the emotional, neither of them supportive enough to push or pull me in the right direction consistently. No, what is missing is the spiritual, the mysterious, and often mystical, daily dependence on Jesus, that what I read in scripture, what I read from other followers of Jesus, what I hear and discuss with the community of followers will all fit, will drive my soul closer to the Son. It is the gravity in which causes my life to be grounded, it is the light in which I can see, and the passion through which I desire.

It seems to be clear that the spirituality of our faith is not linear like the intellectual, the logical, or the apologetical. It is also not a wave like the emotional, up and down, like a roller coaster, or a sound burst. Rather it is all-encompassing, all-enriching, and all-inspiring. I can only imagine, like MercyMe penned and sung, what it would be like if and when I stop being motivated by my own desires, and make room for the Spirit to complete the spirituality of my faith.

I am a musician at heart. It is what I eventually came to study in college, but most importantly, it is what I desire to study as an extension of life. Whether it be music used in worship, a background to reading or relaxing, a movie or tv soundtrack, or in concert, I identify most closely with music than any other element we use to communicate. I can talk a good game, but talk for me is cheap. Music is multi-dimensional, with or without lyrics, but with the right lyrics -- lyrics that only add to the music and not take away from the music -- music can overcome any communication barriers.

Last night I re-watched the season finale of Grey's Anatomy, which begins its new season tonight. Grey's Anatomy is very good television show and one which includes a lot of really good music as a soundtrack through the episodes. The last song of last night's episode was called Chasing Cars by a band named Snow Patrol. The song has a haunting, yet safe presence, floating and lingering around the words sung by Gary Lightbody in a breathe-like manner. The repetitive musical elements draw you in to a relaxed state of mind, mindful of your soul, as if you really are lying down, as the singer asks if you would do, listening to the song while gazing at the clouds.

The song has really affected me since I heard it again last night, evidenced by my falling asleep to it running through my head. As I told A* this morning, there's something it in really grabbing me inside. I'm still trying to process what it is that is grabbing me, as I listen to it over and over in my earphones now; I can feel emotions sliding up my throat, moisture forming behind my eyes. I identify with the simplicity of the lyrics, the minimalism of the music, seeking to connect to something deeper.

If I lay here, if I just lay here
would you lie with me, and just forget the world?
Forget what we're told, before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life.

I think that as I move into this new stage of life (fatherhood), I am, and have been, longing to appreciate a more simple life, breathe deeply the breathe of God, and rest in the blessings He has given me. I have been seeking to return to the Garden, where my spirit can once again simply connect with God, devoid of all human distractions. But there is also a bit of hesitation in my desire because I cannot fathom the magnitude of what being in that Garden will be. So I pray for a minimalist view, one that I can handle, a glimpse for now, until God knows I am ready.

I believe that part of that glimpse is my wife and soon, very soon, my child. Around us are the shade of friendships with fellow believers rooted in the soil God has prepared for us all. And we hope that more trees of community will be planted soon. But if I lay here, if I just lay here, I long to forget the world and gaze into the Son. Forget what I've been told, the human distractions, and be shown the garden that's bursting into life.

In Searching for God Knows What, Donald Miller describes the lifeboat theory and how it has been applied to our culture, and even in some ways, extends into our church culture. There is an economy system of love and redemption in which we must meet criteria setup by the those in the lifeboat, out of which we are desperate not to be thrown. The criteria is subjective - how do you fit with us? - might be a question the captains of the lifeboat may ask. Or maybe one starts asking too many questions about the criteria and how that criteria was discovered. Maybe another found the supposed source of the criteria and investigates that there are other interpretations of the criteria which maybe should be considered. But if you are to remain in the lifeboat, it is clear, you should not rock the lifeboat.

In some ways, I am reminded of Steve Taylor's song "I Want to Be a Clone." Written in 1983, it's clear the same problem still exists. In certain denominations, specifically fundamentalist and conservative, if you aren't a clone of others in the church, then you probably aren't really a Christian. (Here's the video - caution: large file). Coicindentally, Steve Taylor also wrote a song called Lifeboat (video - again caution: large file). But if Steve Taylor's relevancy on the 80s wasn't enough, his satire on churchianity is still needed today. My most favorite song of his is called "Jesus is for Losers". In an interview that I saw from the first ever Christian music video program, filmed in Pittsburgh, the host Tom Green (not the MTV guy) asked Steve Taylor how he came up with the song. Steve responded, as only Steve Taylor could, that he was sitting on the toilet reading a magazine about how a porn star became a Christian, and his initial reaction was "Great! That's just who we need representing..." and he stopped himself realizing that if Jesus isn't for the people who are living completely opposite of what God wants, and if Jesus isn't for the people at the end of their rope, and if Jesus isn't for the poor, the hungry, and so on, then who is Jesus for? He wouldn't be for me because I have it altogether, right? Unless I recognize that I, too, am a loser (aka sinner).

Back to the lifeboat... a few weeks ago I stumbled onto a site called the Slice of Laodicea while searching for articles on Donald Miller. I found an article on this site that critiqued not Miller's work, but his character based on an interview and a few quotes. I challenged the author of the post with some questions. The responses were either labeling of me or further name-calling of Miller and the church community with whom he lives and worships. Pressing the point further did not motivate the author to return to the actually questions I ask, simply to walk away saying we wouldn't agree so what? One commentor chastised me for being disrespectful, which was quickly refuted by another saying: "Tim has presented the most coherent, and I think respectful, critique of Ken Silva, a man who regularly disrespects and maligns "ordained pastors" himself, that I've seen on here in a while. Give him a break."

I decided to stick around the site over the next few weeks to get a better idea of the topics and the philosophies. It can be clearly seen quickly. Those ideas are that those in the Emergent conversation are leaders of cults, Veggie Tales takes scripture too lightly and lies to children, to name two examples, and lots of name-calling and rejections of followers of Jesus who do not fit into the orthodox mold. It appears now that I fit in the last category as I have been banned from posting comments. I did not receive notice that I have been banned, just that when I try to post, I get an error saying that I am not allowed to comment. So just as there is an avoidance to constructive challenges or dialog, there is also an avoidance now of any dialog.

My first reaction was short anger. This lasted approximately 2 seconds. My next reaction was laughter, not as in a joke, but in a realization of irony that something I said must have been too true. My third, and longest, reaction was contemplation, wondering what is was exactly that I said that got me kicked out of their lifeboat. I thought about this most of the night, and I've concluded that I don't need to be in their lifeboat - in fact, I don't belong. No one can redeem me but Jesus alone, and any group that believes they need to approve of your redemption and faith is not following the gospel. Jesus calls us to obey two things if we want to follow Him to the kingdom of God: love God and love others. Loving God means responding to His love, which is Jesus in his life, death, and resurrection. It also means to love others, who are also created in the image of God. We are to love others because we are following Jesus, because we love God, not just because people are in need. It must go together.

But when we depend on others to redeem our faith, to redeem our importance, to redeem us at all, then we are depending on the criteria of the lifeboat, which are created by people for the purpose of holding power over other people. Only when we step out of the lifeboat, focus our eyes on Jesus like Peter did on top of the water, are is our redemption confirmed, by our Savior Himself. He invites us to walk with Him, talk with Him, ask questions, seek answers, have new doors opened to us. None of that can happen if we are stuck in the lifeboat.

This past Sunday at the church that A* and I have been going to recently, the pastor preached on prayer for the second week. He was preaching about how our prayers should prayed persistently, patiently, and with expectations that God does hear us and will give us an answer, even if the answer isn't what we exactly what we were asking for or even if it a "No" answer. It was a reminder to me that my prayer life pretty much stinks. The pastor clearly stated that many of us pray something and let it drop. We don't pray always without ceasing, as Paul encourages. I sure don't, and I know that the relationship I have with God suffers from it. And this past Friday, we were confronted with an issue that showed my lack of prayer with a flood light.

The doctor discoverd a relatively minor problem that is forcing A* and I to make a choice about the birth of our baby. Either choice we make will require some sort of medical intervention, ending our intention of as natural a childbirth as possible. Both choices are safe, but one has more unknowns. On Friday evening while leaving a movie theater, I mentioned to A* that I had a desire to be more creative and musical, that I felt like I haven't been spending enough time doing something creative. In that, I felt that the decision we have to make about this issue was taking out the artistic and creative process and inserting a scientific, engineering process. While I am confident that the end result of both would result in the healthy life of our baby, my desire was for the creative, artistic process of life.

So as we were leaving church on Sunday, A* and I were discussing what our prayer should be in relation to this decision, I commented that I wasn't sure or confident about what we should ask for. Should we ask for the problem to be resolved so that everything returns to normal or should we ask for a healthy baby regardless of the process of birth? What exactly are we to ask for in faithfulness? And what do we believe God can do in this situation? If we are struggling in our belief of what God can do, do we simply pray for God to help our unbelief?

In this dilemma, this struggle, it is clear that is a relationship God wants with us. A twelve-point statement of faith has no answers; a theological list or doctrine does not fit; only a relationship with our God, listening to His voice through the Word, seeking what He desires for us - the story of God reaching out to us, and living out our lives as if we really believe it is all true. So this dilemma, this struggles, reveals my sin - my lack of taking part in that relationship with God, and my need for grace, even to ask the right question. In that I ask God to help my unbelief - pour your Spirit upon me so that I am moved to "pray always, without ceasing." I am undeserving to see the marvels of your love, God, but I deeply desire to know You, and to be known by You. Help my unbelief.

I have finished reading Who's Afraid of Postmodernism by James K.A. Smith. It was a fascinating book, a lot to digest, for sure. I was amazed at all of the misconceptions I had in my mind about what is postmodernism, and especially just how significantly the present-day church has been influenced (infiltrated?) by modern culture. And while I felt some confirmation in I my rejections or reactions of some of the elements in the church today, I was significantly challenged in what the church would look like against the postmodern culture we are moving into. It is most important to state (and accept) that Smith doesn't encourage postmodernism to be the philosophy of the church. Rather, the philosophies are the fire, the catalyst, motivating the church to recover its ancient worship and faithfulness to God. So that said, here is an excerpt of the last chapter presenting a radically orthodox church. I will admit up front that I am challenged by this church, unsure of some elements (i.e. out of my comfort zone), and excited by others. But I'm interested in experiencing God through a communal worship in this manner. This excerpt is taken from pages 144-146.

As we enter the radically orthodox church, we enter a space that is organized by a certain "ergonomics" of community: an eclectic collection of chairs is arranged in concentric circles around a table bearing the sacrements, contained in pottery fashioned by a member of the local parish. This organization of space means that during each phase of worship, members of the congregation are faced by others: they see and are seen by others, which reminds them of the iconic gaze of God, who confronts us in the other (Matt. 25). The worship space is also organized by dynamics of light and darkness: surrealist stained glass cast a colored light over portions of the sanctuary, while candles flicker both light and shadow from chapel tations on the fringes of the sanctuary. Several screens display shifting digital images that function as a kind of digital glass of images drawing us into worship. Like traditional icons - which can be found in one of the side chapels - these digital images function as windows to transcendence. But it is not only the visual arts that draw us into participatory worship. Immediately upon our entering the sanctuary, the scent of burning candles conveys a difference from the concrete jungle we've just emerged from and also distinguishes this experience from the scentless passivity of MTV and film. There is also a curious ambience emitted by an unlikely ensemble playing from one of the chapel stations: a jazz combo with sax, double bass, lead guitar, harmonica, and musical saw.

We are signaled to more intentional worship by an a cappella call to worhip in the form of a chant from Afghanistan. This draws together the families around the table for the recitation of a poem by one of the congregation's gifted poets. The eclectic ensemble then leads us in worship in song, drawing on hymns of the faith, choruses from around the globe, and U2's "40," based on Psalm 40. The Old Testament reading from the lectionary is stages as a drama and liturgical dance, while the reading from the Gospel is backed up by a soulful anthem from the sax. The homily focuses on the Epistle, challenging the congregation to reorient their desires to what really matters (Phil. 1:9-10). This ultimately points us to two important communal experiences of our identity and opportunities for formation. First, this week a young family has brought their daughter to be baptized. Utilizing a beautiful baptismal formula from the sixteenth-century Huguenots, the parents express their desire and passion to see their daughter formed in the faith; but we too, as the congregation, pledge to be the village that will raise her together in Christ. Second, baby Anthea, newly welcomed into the body of Christ, pulls up to the table with her family to participate in her first meal at Christ's table: the Eucharist. Anthea, with her sibilings and parents, remain seated at the table. After the consecration of the meal (including a poem by Anne Sexton), the celebrant invites the congregation to share in Christ's body and blood by being seated at the table with Anthea, newest member of the church's family. Anthea's parents pour wine and break bread for each of us as we sit briefly at the table of fellowship and communion. As we proceed to and from the table, the ensemble has spread around the sanctuary, and the sounds of the instruments bounce back and forth across the worship space. The digital glass has shifted to images of children from around our community - the local space that is our parish. We are reminded that our commitment to Anthea is both a communal commitment and a commitment to our community.

At the conclusion of worship, we are sent out into our neighborhood as ambassadors of the King-in-waiting, reminded of Monday's meeting about the neighborhood co-housing project, and reminded of our Sabbath commitment to abstain from the economic cycle for the day. The walk home with parishioners who are also neighbors solidifies the sense that we are a peculiar people.

Every once in a while something makes me revisit important times in my past. Most of these times are spiritual, thinking back to important moments in my life that shaped me, molded me, inspired me, or flat out changed me. I'm fairly certain that the reason I am doing so today is my pending start in fatherhood. There is an anxiousness deep inside me about this new beginning, and this time it is very similar to the weeks up to my wedding. So it's a good thing, albeit still nervousness. But it's still a good thing.

The place in my past that I am thinking of today is my days as a camp counselor at Miracle Mountain Ranch. It was 12 years ago that I was a counselor for the summer, giving up at least 3 opportunities to do other things in order to spend a summer at a Christian camp. I never regretted that decision. It is a summer that I will never forget. It was challenging, not always easy, but Jesus met me on that mountain, broke me at times, yet healed me at others. I spent some time today looking at the website of Miracle Mountain Ranch. The same permanent staff people are there. Ralph, the big teddy bear camp director, who had quick wit and a funny joke that would disarm anyone's fears or anxieties. He is someone that I've always looked up in his faithfulness to our Savior, the very first person that actively sought out authenticity from us who claimed to be Christians. He didn't want fake smiles, he didn't want us brushing over a bad day. He wanted us to be open, to be seeking Jesus, and to do that in community.

It is clear to me that there were some seeds planted in me that summer and, just as importantly, a tilling of the soil in my soul to be less rocky, less thorny, and softer than the beaten path so that good soil would be there for more seeds to be planted down the road. It was the first time and place that I could see through the legalism of Christian discipline and see people who really wanted you to experience Jesus. There were definitely people getting tripped up in the legalism, but the heart of Jesus was still in the people in that ministry.

I read chapter four last night of Who's Afraid of Postmodernism?, much of it being way over my head philosophically. But the essence of the thesis of Foucault, whom the author was discussing, was that power is knowledge. In that, Smith was discussing how Foucault showed through case studies power struggles and battles in the influence of a stronger group over a weaker group by the stronger group monitoring and manipulating the behavior of the weaker group through rules and regulations.

This was specifically true in the legalistic, fundamental churches that I've been a part of at times in my life. There were people at MMR like this, too, but they were in the margins -- or at least I didn't buy into them. But I'm starting to see this more and more in other Christian circles, both in discussions on the Internet and in the media. It's crazy to think that there are Christians who have this "I am stronger" or "I am more mature" than you and you and you, and so they are going to question your faith in Jesus because you aren't meeting the rules and regulations they think God has setup. It is just this very arrogance, this very power that turns me off from many Christian organizations and churches. This "knowledge" that they are greater than someone else has puffed them up, rather than the spirit of Jesus humbly us to serve each other. The expectation that we must all agree on what being a Christian looks like and sounds like versus being the last, taking up your own cross, and laying your life down for another.

As I step into fatherhood (and I definitely know that I'll "step in it" at times), I want lay my life down for my child, show them my heart, which is filled with the love of Jesus -- a love greater than even the love I think I will have for my child. I want them to be a disciple of Jesus, not by following my rules and regulations, but by following the love of Jesus their heart, their soul receives from my heart, from my soul. I pray that the seeds planted in the labored, tilled soil of my soul will reap a harvest in which my child will eat, drink, breathe, and live!

This morning on the way into work, a remix of "Your Love, Oh Lord" written and sung by Third Day was played, with sound clips from this terrible day in 2001. I vividly remember many, many tragic things of that day, sitting with my co-workers in our conference room, watching the events of the morning unfold on our wall-sized projection screen, life-altering events on a life-sized screen. One co-worker was absent for awhile, running into the office later to reveal that he had been flying solo training hours until he realized he was the only one in the sky, the most terrifying feeling he had ever experienced, he said. After switching into the Philadelphia International Airport frequency, he was told quickly "to get his ass on the ground" as military jets were ordered to shoot down any remaining planes in the air. A call came into our office - our co-location center which housed our computer servers was being evacuated - a plane had hit the Pentagon right across the river. And then the terrifying pictures of those towers collapsing, smoke rising and filling the streets, with people in panic running as fast and as far as they could. My wife and I heard from a friend of hers who was working near the towers. She said that she had just stepped out of the subway stairs when the second plane hit. She started running immediately, not stopping for some 60 or so blocks. One of my colleauges from Sweden was sitting next to me. He was shocked. I felt so far from home being an hour away. He was half a world away from his home.

I became inwardly emotional this morning when I heard those words of "Your Love, Oh Lord". I was shaken to my soul in memory of the awesome relationship I have with our Lord. His love reaches to all part of me as it reaches to the heavens. His love encompasses all of me, even into the depths of my sin. His faithfulness protects me from myself, His righteousness is unmoveable as the mountains, and His justice flows from the blood of the cross.

On a day in which we will hear words about the justice of man, a war against evil and religious fanatics, it is important to remember our relationship with Jesus, the only thing that will save us. As I read last night through chapter 13 of Searching for God Knows What, entitled "Religion: A Public Relations Campaign for God", Miller's words didn't sink in then as they do now. It is our relationship that save us from this terrible world, the events of men that hurt other men, and not a religion, a theology, or a doctrine. "Rather than Scripture serving as the text that explains God, it becomes a puzzle by which we test our knowledge against our friends', and the views by which we distinguish superiors from inferiors." (Miller, p. 201)

Even more stinging are the words of C.S. Lewis from Mere Christianity quoted by Miller on page 200: "Most of us are not really approaching the subject in order to find out what Christianity says: We are approaching it in the hope of finding support from Christianity for the views of our own party. We are looking for an ally where we are offered either a Master or -- a Judge."

There may very well be hundreds of speeches given today. Some will be in memorial of those whose lives were lost; some on behalf of the families of those lost. But many others will be given in defense of a war waged, in provocation of an evil religion, or in support of the right religion. But above all today, I will be focused on the relationship I have with Jesus, that I want to know the love in which He has for me, that I want to live out in that love. It's something that man could never give and never take away. In the midst of the painful memories many have today, I pray that healing will be found in the love Jesus has for us all.

I read chapter 3 the other day in Who's Afraid of Postmodernism? The author was presenting the claim by Jean-Francois Lyotard that postmodernism is "incredulity toward metanarratives." As I was reading this chapter, I discovered two things:

1.) I knew a lot less about postmodernism than I thought I did
2.) The VAST majority of information people give about the danger of postmodernism in the church are misinformed

As this is the second of the three major philosophies of postmodernism, I am beginning to see how the author came up with the title. Many, many of the fears of postmodernity that I read on blogs or websites are actually fears of modernity(!), not postmodernity. The watering-down of the gospel, the over-translation of the Bible, the attempt to be relevant are all modern notions of trying to appeal universally, attempting to prove that the gospel is true.

This particular chapter was very dense of philosophy and background, all very revealing and very convincing, but I could not do it justice in a short space. In a nutshell, Lyotard shows that it is modernity that produces metanarratives because modern science claims it is legitimate by universal and autonomous reasoning. But in order to prove its legitimacy, it must be narrative. So postmodernism is incredulous to modernity's metanarratives because modern science will not admit that its proof lies in narratives, which are what science itself rejects. Therefore "postmodernism, in general, can be understood as the erosion of confidence in the rational as the sole guarantor and deliverer of truth, coupled with a deep suspicion of science - particularly modern science's pretentious claims to an ultimate theory of everything. Darwin is a perfect example of this, but so are classical and evidentialist apologetics.

It is the reduction of the Christian faith to a "statement of faiths", a catalog and collection of statements of God, Jesus, the Spirit, sin, redemption, and so on, that then makes the postmodern culture become suspicious of the church and Christian faith, too! Churches have bought into this modernist value of scientific facts about our faith, and this is making it harder and harder to proclaim the love of Jesus. What follows below in blockquote are mostly excerpts from the end of the chapter. These words hit me significantly as I consider the church A* and I are thinking of attending regularly.

But isn’t it curious that God’s revelation to humanity is given not as a collection of propositions or facts by rather within a narrative – a grand, sweeping story from Genesis to Revelation? Is there not a sense in which we’ve forgotten that God’s primary vehicle for revelation is a story unfolded within the biblical canon? The Christian faith is inextricably linked to the events and story of God’s redemptive action in the world: Christian faith rests on the work of the Word, who “suffered under Pontius Pilate,” and that work can only be properly proclaimed by being narrated, by telling a story. The notion of reducing Christian faith to four spiritual law signals a deep capitulation to scientific knowledge, whereas postmodernism signals the recovery of narrative knowledge and should entail a more robust, unapologetic proclamation of the story of God in Christ. This is why the Scriptures must remain central for the postmodern church, for it is precisely the story of the canon of Scripture that narrates our faith.

What the postmodern church should look like by taking Lyotard to church is that the narrative character of our faith should affect not only our proclamation and witness but also our worship and formation. The author wants to emphasize the way in which Christian worship should reenact the narrative of the gospel week by week in order to teach us how to find ourselves in the story. Crucial for our discipleship and formation is being able to write ourselves into the story of God’s redeeming action in the world – being able to find our role in the play, our character in the story. To do that, we need to know the story, and that story should be communicated when we gather as the people of God, that is, in worship. This is why the most postmodern congregations will be those that learn to be ancient, reenacting the biblical narrative.

The role of Scripture is central to the postmodern church, not just as the Text that mediates our understanding of the world but also as the Story that narrates our role in it. Each week the worshipping community is confronted by the narrative of a God who makes a covenant with His people, who is faithful to His promises, and who acts in history to affect a relationship with His people. The narration of the Story should be in our practices, too, with communion, as it narrates the death, burial, and resurrection of our Lord, acting as the new covenant between God and His people. Because the postmodern church values the narrative, it also values the arts in general as an incarnational medium that embodies the story of God’s faithfulness.

The postmodern church will resist the tendency to pragmatic evangelicalism, which tries to “dumb down” the sotry to make it accessible or attractive to the culture. Instead, the postmodern church affirms the timelessness (and timeliness) of the biblical narrative as it is told. Rather than try to translate the biblical story into a contemporary, more “acceptable” narrative (which ends up compromising the narrative to culture), the postmodern church seeks to initiate listeners into the narrative. Authentic Christian worship both invites outsiders into the gospel story and provides a significant means for the formation of disciples of Jesus Christ. In other words, authentic worship does not have to choose between reaching seekers and building up the saints. Worship, then, has to be inviting, characterized by hospitality, but at the same time inviting seekers into the church and its unique story and language.

Seekers are looking for something outside the culture - something our culture cannot provide. They don’t want a religious MTV experience, but the mysterious practices of the ancient gospel and community. The postmodern church recognizes that its primary responsibility is to live the Story out for the world. We, as Christians, have the responsibility to faithfully play out the love of God in the church as a community of love and justice. Our storytelling should be supported by our story living.

It is so important to me to recognize and remember that the entire Bible is a story of God's redemption, His faithfulness, to the entire world! I have no need or ability to prove this. God has layed out this story for me to either believe it or not. The moment I try to prove this is the moment I lose the narrative, the same moment I reject the authority of the narrative, and hence lose the faith in which God calls me to have in order to be a part of His covenent, His promises, His redemption.

So as I think of the church A* and I have attended the last two Sundays, so far, I see the narrative in the sermons. We are confronted with the story of God's love to us and are called to respond to that. That is good. I hope that as we learn more about this church, we learn that the community is into "story living" just as much, that we can find people to live out the gospel with as community, serving and loving each other, and telling the story to others, too.

I continued with Searching for God Knows What this weekend, reading chapter 12 called "Morality: Why I Am Better Than You". The word morality seems like one of those words that is thrown around a lot in many different mediums. In church, we hear it a lot directly related to our behavior as Christians. The second definition in the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary is:
a.) a doctrine or system of moral conduct
b.) plural : particular moral principles or rules of conduct.

Clearly, this requires a definition of moral, of which the first one in Merriam-Webster is:
a.) of or relating to principles of right and wrong in behavior : ethical (moral judgments)
b.) expressing or teaching a conception of right behavior (a moral poem)
c.) conforming to a standard of right behavior
d.) sanctioned by or operative on one's conscience or ethical judgment (a moral obligation)
e.) capable of right and wrong action (a moral agent)

But this doesn't exactly frame morality in the context of following Jesus, which is the context Donald Miller is writing. In this chapter, Miller had some very good points about morality and some that especially cut into my heart, mind, and soul. This is from page 184:

The hijacking of the concept of morality began, of course, when we reduced Scripture to formula and a love story to theology, and finally morality to rules. It is a very different thing to break a rule than it is to cheat on a lover. A person's mind can do all sorts of things his heart would never let him do. If we think of God's grace as a technicality, a theological precept, we can disobey without the slightest feeling of guilt, but if we think of God's grace as a relational invitation, an outreach of love, we are pretty much jerks for belittling the gesture.

This cuts to me as I think about myself as a generally good person who deals with nagging sins or sinful thoughts. It stings me, especially right now to admit that I don't consider my faith always as a love relationship with God. The last line using the word "jerk" resonates inside me as a number of examples of how I can be jerk in my words or (in)actions in my relationship with A*. And if that is so, which hurts A* when I am a jerk and I need her forgiveness, then how much more is this true in my relationship with God?! How often do I take the technicality route, making excuses that I have God's grace already, and fail to repent as a response to His outreach of love?

When I run a stop sign, for example, I am breaking a law against a system of rules, but if I cheat on my wife, I have broken a law against a person. The first is impersonal; the latter is intensely personal. (p. 185)

Do I recognize how personal my sin is to my relationship with God? How infrequent is my confession and repentance! How often do I take God's love for me for granted! How high do I put myself over others in thinking I am in the right, and even worse, do not care about their suffering, their need for Jesus, their need for the love of God?!

On pages 181-183, Miller goes into detail about the shepherding metaphors in Psalm 23, specifically about how morality fits into this. I would encourage anyone to read it carefully, and it's too long to include here. But in short, Miller discusses how God leads us on the paths of righteousness for His name's sake, and as a sheep, that means we are following him on these paths through the Valley of the Shadow of Death which has rocks, ditches, crags, and thorn-bushes that will kill us. And Jesus is using the hook of His staff to pull us out of these rocks, ditches, crags, and thorn-bushes when we fall into them, and He is using His rod to scare away more scary beasts than we can realize. Miller relates the Valley to the lifeboat theory he discusses earlier in this book. He sums up his analysis on pages 182 and 183, and here are excerpts I find crucial:

It made me wonder, then, if the idea of morality is just another ramification of the Fall. Paul even says that the law was given to the Jews to show them they couldn't follow the law, to reveal to them the depravity of their nature, to show them the cancer that lived inside them so they would pay attention to the Doctor.

Morality, then, if you think about it, is the way we imitate God. It is the way we imitate the ways of heaven here on earth. Jesus says, after all, to know Him we must follow Him, we must cling to Him and imitate Him and many places in Scripture the idea is presented that if we know Him, we will obey Him.

If you look for this relational concept of morality, you see it all over Scripture. Paul connects the idea of morality to Christ in the books of Ephesians and Romans, and the author of Hebrews directly connects morality to our relationship with God in several places in the text. John the Evangelist, in all three of his short books at the end of the Bible, keeps saying if we know God we will love brother, and if we know God, we will obey.

So do I think of morality as a staff and rod of Jesus keeping me on His path of righteousness or as a code of honor that I ascribe to which gives me a certain status? If the latter is true, then I have lost contact with the relational gospel and am back to the formulaic gospel of requirements and technicalities. And if I lose the relationship context of grace, I cannot truly receive God's grace for me. And how can I love others and show them Jesus while separated from God's grace because I do not relate with Him?

Perhaps the most stinging words of this chapter come from the last sentence in this excerpt from page 190 (bold added by me):

A moral message, a message of us versus them, overflowing in war rhetoric, never hindered the early message of grace, of repentence toward dead works and immorality in exchange for a love relationship with Christ. War rhetoric against people is not the methodology, not the sort of communication that came out of the mouth of Jesus or the mouths of any of His followers.... In my opinion, if you hate somebody because they are different from you, you'd best get on your knees and repent until you can say you love them, until you have gotten your soul right with Christ.

This is the most difficult challenge, by far, that I think I've received by reading Miller. While I don't think I truly hate anyone or group of people, I must be honest and admit that there are certainly people I do not love and maybe even think I cannot love. And perhaps this is something that lingers from my fundamentalist church days when it was preached that we should preach to, yet avoid association at all costs with, people who did not believe in the same things as us, like catholics, pentacostals, homosexuals, beer drinkers, smokers, gamblers, cussers, etc, etc, etc. You might say that the list above has some ridiculous descriptions of groups, but there weren't supposed to be any of the above in our church. I distinctly remember the custodian of our church, who was also a member, not allowed to drive the church van for youth group functions because he hung out with friends at the sportsmens club, which was a local bar in town.

Just last week I posted a comment to a blogger who is a pastor wondering why he was judging Donald Miller (not just - or even - critiquing his writing) because Miller belongs to a church that might be challenging some traditions of how the Church reads and interprets Scripture, as well as Miller's favorite authors (who are secular). When he focused on Miller's use of the word asshole in an interview and his appreciation of a "potty-mouthed" writer, I commented that I have said lots of words, vulgar or not, that maybe I shouldn't have, so how can I judge another man for words? This is just a mild example of the "us" versus "them" morality we get ourselves into which completely misses the point of God's love for us all. And if I really believe that, then I also better love like it, too, which I will admit is an order that I will fail at doing without God being and moving within me every step of the way.

For the past couple of weeks, I have not been able to fall asleep. There are some nights when my body is really weary, and I know that before I would fall asleep right when I hit the pillow. There are other nights when my eyes and head are tired, and I would have fallen asleep quickly then too. But the last few weeks, it doesn't matter what state I'm in before I lie in bed, I just cannot fall asleep. My mind wanders through songs I've listen to or heard that day or just random things. Not about work, or even about what I've recently read. Just random stuff.

A* suggested to me that maybe I'm anxious and nervous about becoming a father. I don't think I am. I am really excited! I can't wait - not like when I was a kid excited about going to Kennywood or to camp or someplace really cool, but in an expectancy of deep joy and love. But as the hours past while I was still awake last night, I wondered if there was something subconsciously about this going on. I can't put my finger on it...