Church Redux: How do we build better schools of compassion?

I just finished reading The Book of Joy: Lasting Happiness in a Changing World, which documents a conversation between the Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu. There was much about the book I appreciated, but I was also struck, again, and again, by how well-worn the teachings they set forth are. Compassion. Gratitude. Seeking to serve others rather than fixating on oneself. Three quarters of the way in, I felt a little desperate for something I hadn’t heard, in church or life, thousands of times before.

Ashamed of myself, I honestly thought of these good and holy men: come on, guys -- at your age there has to be a deeper secret. But in the end, this IS the gift of wisdom human beings have been given. The most spiritually sage, like these wonderful octogenarians, simply know these things more deeply, practice them more fully:

  • Pray or meditate each day.
  • Practice compassion.
  • Cultivate Gratitude.
  • Seek to love and serve others, especially those who suffer.

But if we know all these wise things, if we’ve heard them hundreds of times before (in or out of church), why are we ... well, you know. The way we are. Not particularly joyful as a planet right now. And if, as the Dalai Lama believes, the hope for humanity lies in education, how can the church do a better job at being a school for these virtues?

Speaking of old things, this is not a new question. But each generation might need to answer it anew. How are we going to form communities in Christ that are at least semi-effective schools of discipleship, schools of compassion?

As a parent, I think about these things with more urgency. As a person who would like to grow in love for God and neighbor through these practices but need a lot of help, I yearn for structures that would support me. I’m guessing I’m not alone.

As globalization and information / bad news overload keeps our heads spinning, we need communities that will help ground us in these age old truths. This week, will hear these two jarring passages from scripture:

“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.”   (Isaiah 9:2; Matthew 4:16)

For Christians, this light is Jesus. All those practices mentioned by the Dalai Lama and Archbishop Tutu? Jesus said we should do these things, showed us the way, asked us to follow. (Like 2,000 years ago. Other major religious leaders have said the same. I credit the Holy Spirit.)

We’re still working on it, right?

But how can the church support EVERYONE in these well-known, if not well-worn, paths to joy and justice?

Not everyone is yearning to engage in this spiritual strength training. We don't have to look far to find examples of men and women who are not so interested in humility, healing the poor and suffering, discovering unexpected power through vulnerability.

"For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God."   (1 Corinthians 1:18)

“To us who are being saved:” Whoa. Big baggage. But I translate this in my head as “to us who are being made whole.” 

The message about the cross --  about power in and through humility and self-sacrifice, and a God who loves us so much there’s nothing we can do to shake that love (even, say, trying to put God to death) -- there’s a lot there to spark prayer, compassion, gratitude, service. And, I should say, I am (maybe literally) eternally grateful for the way the church has carried that torch, that story, through the ages. 

Yet practically speaking, how can the spark of that story, the spark of that truth, shape our lives more fully, light the fire of our days and not just represent the votive we look at each Sunday? We are being saved; we are going made whole; it is our work, alongside God, for however many days and weeks of life we are given.

If the church, the gathering of those who seek to follow Christ, is (in part) a school, how can we better train and support one another, and our children, in these daily practices of discipleship, of growth, of being made whole, of being saved? Ideas welcome.

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Evangelism without the Megaphone

In Sunday's Gospel lesson we witness the world's first evangelical act.  It wasn't that scary.  In fact, it was probably kind of funny.

John the Baptist is catching up with two of his disciples when out of the blue he exclaims, "The Lamb of God!" and starts pointing wide-eyed at Jesus off in the distance.  I imagine this was similar in effect to Dug the dog's startling cries of "SQUIRREL!" in Pixar's movie Up.

Their curiosity piqued by John's conviction and enthusiasm, his two disciples saunter over to Jesus, who spends the day with them.  And then Andrew grabs his brother Peter to meet Jesus.  Philip brings Nathaniel.  A pattern emerges: one's experience of Jesus' divinity leads that person to tell a friend, who becomes curious enough to seek out Jesus for him or herself.  Experience then leads to testimony then leads to curiosity.  Experience. Testimony. Curiosity.

During Jesus' life this was how word spread of his wonderful teaching and healing.  But after Jesus' death and resurrection, somehow folks kept having experiences of him.  If they hadn't, the evangelical chain would have failed: a testimony not based on experience can hardly pique another's curiosity, and curiosity without the experience of the divine will certainly not lead to testimony.  

But somehow, for days, weeks, months, years, decades after Jesus' death -- at least three decades before the first Gospel was written down -- dozens, hundreds, thousands of people had experiences of God through Jesus and told someone else about it.  They didn't tell someone about it because if they didn't they would go to hell or because they were paid to do it but because their personal experiences of Jesus changed their lives.

Evangelism is like telling a friend about a new restaurant you liked or your new favorite book -- except that you're sharing a mystical or at best hard-to-explain experience that happened to you at an incredibly intimate dimension of your life.  And people will probably think you're crazy.  Because you probably wonder if you're crazy.

So there's that understandable concern about the believability of your experience.

But here's the most important thing we need to remember about evangelism -- it happens best (only happens?) in the context of an existing relationship!  

That's why taking a megaphone to a street corner doesn't work (I'm sorry if you had hoped to employ that strategy sometime soon.)  So in talking to someone you already know, all you have to do is preface your testimony (i.e., your sharing of an experience you've had of God) with the words, "I know this sounds crazy, but . . . "

Your friend will then know you are not crazy, because according to Captain Jack Sparrow, only crazy people don't wonder if they're crazy.

Telling others about your personal experience of God is probably the most effective method of evangelism in today's postmodern, post-truth, and (appropriately) hyper-skeptical world.  The best part is that we're not in charge of someone having an experience of God.  That's up to God.  No need to try to convince someone through a sophisticated intellectual argument, or to concoct a guilt-inducing, fear-evoking, or passion-flaring event with the intent to convert.  Nope.  Rather, just invite the curious to pray.  Prayer has always been the means by which we arrive on God’s threshold and knock.  And opening the door is not our role.

Presumably, we invite the curious to church so that they may have experiences of God.  I hope they do!  But I'm not surprised if they don't -- there are a lot of things that happen in church that may be so unintelligible to the unchurched, or triggering to the post-churched, that those feelings stand in the way of a quiet and open approach to God in prayer.  That said, for someone who has never prayed before, going to church may be a helpful first start.  I do think it is incumbent on those of us who are sharing our experiences of God with others to help the curious pray if they don't know how.

Happy to chat more about any of this!  And would love to have coffee with anyone in the North Park/South Park/Golden Hill/Normal Heights area to hear what resonated with you.  Peace, Colin [email protected]

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Christmas Cheer + Eschatology

[Or, "Why do I keep hearing about the second coming when I'm trying to focus on sweet baby Jesus?"]

Like liturgical Christians everywhere, we at St. Luke’s have been pondering the meaning of Advent (the weeks leading up to Christmas) in the last couple Sundays. I should probably issue this disclaimer before you read further: Colin and I LOVE Advent, but not for the normal reasons people usually like “the holiday season.” 

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Help Us Transform Our Kitchen into a Refugee Job Training Site!

Exciting news! The International Rescue Committee is writing St. Luke's into a federal community food security grant for a three year, $400K refugee job training project that would involve growing a food product in our vacant lot and processing/packaging it for sale in an upgraded St. Luke's kitchen. 
The grant requires a 100% match, and the IRC will figure out most of it, but I've signed up St. Luke's to get $50K in pledges for the kitchen upgrade portion of the project, which would bring the kitchen up to commercial (you-can-sell-to-the-public) standards. I hope you'll consider giving to this project today by clicking here!  
Project goals include:
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Join us for a celebration of new ministry November 5!


We are thrilled to begin this new adventure with the people of St. Luke's Episcopal Church in San Diego's North Park neighborhood.  Laurel and I will serve as co-pastors and aim to strengthen this Christian community as it seeks justice and healing in this time and place.

We hope you'll join us for a celebration of new ministry at 4 pm on Saturday, November 5.  Becky Modesto, a board member of Genesis Church, will offer a sermon, and we'll have plenty of Sudanese songs to dance to and food to enjoy afterwards.

Laurel and I have two children, Robin and Jem, who are also excited to get to know all the young people of St. Luke's!


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