J.R. Briggs
Attempting to behold the miracle long enough without falling asleep
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There are no successful churches
I needed this reminder this morning. One of my favorite quotes from Eugene.
“The biblical fact is that there are no successful churches. There are, instead, communities of sinners, gathered before God week after week in towns and villages all over the world. The Holy Spirit gathers them and does his work in them. In these communities one of the sinners is called pastor and is given a designated responsibility in the community. The pastor’s responsibility is to keep the community attentive to God.”
-Eugene Peterson
The magnetism of healthy community
I’m re-reading Jean Vanier’s Community and Growth – the second-best book I’ve ever read on the concept of community (Bonhoeffer’s Life Together takes the cake). Vanier started the L’Arche communities around the world, homes that minister to and live among those with handicaps and disabilities. The L’Arche community in Toronto is the basis for much of Henri Nouwen’s experiences in his books. His perspective on community is rich with wisdom, humility and experience. (Click here to read more about Vanier and Nouwen.)Here’s an excerpt from his section titled “Signs of Sickness and Health in Community” (emphasis in bold in the quotation below is mine).
“When a community is healthy, it acts like a magnet. Young people commit themselves; visitors are happy to come there. When a community starts to be frightened of welcoming visitors and new people, when it starts to lay down so many restrictions and ask for so many guarantees that practically no one qualifies to come, when it starts to reject its own weakest and most difficult members – the old and the sick – these are bad signs. Then it is no longer a community; it is becoming an efficient place of work.
“It’s a bad sign too when a community tries to structure itself to ensure total security for the future, when it has a lot of money in the bank. Gradually, it will eliminate all possible risk. It will no longer need God’s help. It will cease to be poor.
The health of a community can be measured by the quality of its welcome of the unexpected visitor or someone who is poor, by the joy and simplicity of relationships between its members, by its creativity in response to the cry of the poor. But it is measured above all by the ardor for and fidelity to its own essential goals: its presence to God and the poor.“ (143).
Informal learning in seminary
One of the things I love about seminary is the opportunity for informal relationally-centered learning.
When most people think of seminary they think mostly of the formal, official learning spaces that exist (lectures, class time, paper writing, book reading, etc). But I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the personal interaction with my classmates before, during and after class. It may sound ironic, but I’ve learned quite a bit at Biblical Seminary in the 10- and 15-minute breaks that happen during class times. Some people learn best by themselves, but I’ve grown to realize that I learn best in community. I learn the rhythms and context of my classmates by talking with them by the vending machine, in the hallway and yes (dare I say it) at the urinal.More specifically, I learn a lot from my classmates through in-class discussion. When students share their thoughts, ask questions, push back on the professor and/or other students or say, “tell me more what you mean…” Its not to minimize what the professors are saying, but its to realize that facilitation and discussion – learning from each other – is just as important. When this happens, seminary education is extremely rich, deep, experiential.
I learn by the large percentage of minorities in my class (mostly Korean and African). I wished they shared more of their experience and thoughts with the class because its important – for me, for us, for the body of Christ – to learn about the various expressions and approaches to God and the Kingdom.
I learn from other pastors and ministers – leaders who work in various settings (downtown Manhattan, on college campuses, in secular environments and in their own homes) in full-time vocational ministry. One campus pastor asked me to go out for a beer with him after class to hang out and learn more about our stories. These opportunities enhance seminary immensely.
But I also learn a great deal from people in my class who are not in – nor do they plan to be – in full-time paid vocational ministry. Some are full-time students. One of my classmates is a mechanic, I believe.
In fact, the person I’ve enjoyed getting to know the most this semester is the guy who sits next to me. He’s in his early 30s, lives an hour and a half away from campus and is a full-time licensed funeral home director. Much of his week includes embalming corpses, preparing for viewings and helping grieving families pick out caskets and grave plots for the funeral…and complete a reading on Calvin and submit a two-page paper on his interpretation of Scripture. Talk about someone who has some rich perspective on trying to join with what God is already doing in the world in order to seek the kingdom! I could talk with him for hours. He’s a great thinker – very articulate – who is trying to write a book on his thoughts on faith through the perspective of the death he sees as a funeral home director. He’s even sent me the manuscript. The thing needs to be published. We’re trying to set up a time for he and his wife to come over for dinner before class one evening.
My seminary education is solid with the formal spaces of learning. But the informal spaces – the friendships, the conversations, the hallway chats – are the elements that form me deeply.
When the Spirit takes you to unique places
“Don’t suppress the Spirit, and don’t stifle those who have a word from the Master. On the other hand, don’t be gullible.” – 1 Thessalonians 5, The Message
In this season of my life, I’ve been growing to become more accessible to the work of the Spirit. This has been quite a process for me. [More on this in future posts]. I’ve always been a bit leery of being fully accessible to the Spirit’s work (due to personal experiences where I’ve seen the misuse, abuse, sensationalization of the Holy Spirit. And late-night religious television programming). Not to mention the fact that I am a recovering Presbyterian. I feared that if I was open to the Holy Spirit working powerfully in my life I might do crazy things that gave my friends the spooks or I might conduct church services where people ran around the auditorium naked during worship.
I’m kidding.
Sort of.
But I am slowly growing and maturing, trusting this third person of the Trinity and grappling with the true essence of what it means to grieve the Holy Spirit, especially when I ignore him. I have friends, mostly other church planters, who are sensitive to God’s Spirit in ways that I long to grow into. They’ve challenged me, asked me questions, shared stories of God’s evident work of His Spirit and the wisdom that is duly present. Slowly, I’ve been asking “Jesus, what do you want to say to me today?” and “Holy Spirit, what is your intent with me today?”
Maybe I was becoming a charismatic with my seatbelt firmly fastened.
With that being said, something happened Sunday that I am not sure would have happened had it not been for this growing season of openness to the Spirit in my life.
Sunday morning before the Renew gathering I read an article online that a dance team from Temple University was traveling to a dance contest in North Carolina and was involved in a terrible car accident. One of their team members was killed. The article mentioned the girl’s name and that she lived in Lansdale. My heart broke for this family. I was trying to imagine just how horrific it would be if I just found out the tragic news that I’d lost a child this way. For whatever reason, there was this subtle yet clear prompting as I read the article.
Do something. Bring healing. Go introduce yourself to this family.
I looked up the name of this girl’s family (from what I could tell, it seemed like an Indian family from the last name), searched for the corresponding address and wrote it down in my notebook. For some reason on Sunday afternoon after our gathering I found myself feeling prompted again to do something. I now had the address of the family and knew which apartment complex – and number – they lived in.
So I did something that surprised me: I drove over to the apartment complex and parked outside the leasing office. I went inside and introduced myself to the manager, saying I was a pastor in the area who had read about the news of one of her tenants who had lost a daughter yesterday. I said that I had never met the family, but that I wanted to go introduce myself, offer my sympathies, leave my card and tell them that if there is anything they needed to give me a call.
The manager (who seemed startled at first and then grew to be pleasant and grateful throughout the conversation) gave me the key to the front door of the apartment building of this grieving family and told me to just bring the key back when I’m done. She mentioned to me that the father of the girl had just been laid off last week from his job and the family was really hurting.
And she asked if I would do her a favor while I was there: the elderly woman that lives right below this family was having a difficult time as well. She was old and sick, had no family and was very lonely. Her only friend was her dog, who passed away recently. And she knew the girl upstairs who just passed away, too, and was taking it very hard and feeling very lonely. She asked if I’d knock on her door and offer her my card as well, asking if there is anything we as a church could do for her.
No problem, I said.
I walked over to the apartment building thinking with each step. My mind and heart were racing: “What am I doing? This is crazy. I haven’t met this family before. Why would they want to hear from me? They’re grieving terribly. They don’t need me to get involved in this situation. Leave them alone.”
I almost turned around and went back to the car. Fortunately, I had enough nerve to unlock the front door to the building and climb the stairs to their apartment door. With heart racing, I knocked. I was greeted by one of the sisters. I was nervous. I introduced myself to her and told her I was so sorry to hear of the news. I told her that I’m a pastor and I wanted to help – our church wanted to help her family – however we could. There were about 20-25 family members and friends sitting around talking, grieving, sitting stunned and drinking from their Coke cans. I told her I didn’t want to interrupt or take much of her time, but to offer help, to offer hope.
Her mother then came to the door and I went through the same information again. The pain on her face was heart-wrenching. The look of bloodshot eyes and sagging shoulders and wet tissues in her hands. What do you say to a mother who was told just 24 hours prior that her daughter had been killed? I sat with her briefly and told her that if she needed anything – big or small – to give me a call on my cell phone, the number which I had jotted down on the back of my card. She thanked me. Then a neighbor across the hall came over to give her a hug and say he was sorry. I left.
Before leaving the building, I went downstairs to the apartment directly below this family – the apartment of the elderly woman the manager told me about. With my heart racing again, I knocked. An African-American woman in her mid-seventies came to the door with her cane. She had that unmistakable look on her face that said, “Who are you and what the heck do you want?” (which was actually quite understandable at that moment).
I stammered out the same thing I had said upstairs – I’m a pastor in the area who heard about the news and wanted to come over and offer my sympathies to the family upstairs. But while I was here, the manager had told me that I should stop down and say hello to her and find out how she was holding up and if there was anything I could for her.
After a moment, she invited me in. And she matter-of-factly showed me her collection of carved elephants. As she did, I could hear the creaking of the ceiling, creaking created by the shuffling and walking around of all of the grieving family members and friends directly above us.
I asked her if there was anything our church could do to help her. She asked a lot of questions about our church (Are you guys non-denominational? Where is your building? What’s the name of your church again? Now tell me again: how did you find me?)
After about five minutes her face softened and she began to smile.
This is what churches should be doing more, she said, her volume and inflection rising while she shook her cane out in front of her as if she was jousting.
“Well,” I said, “we believe that if Jesus were here in Lansdale today and if he read in the paper this morning about the death of a Temple student who lived in town he’d probably drive over and offer his sympathies and ask if there is anything he could do to help. And so, here I am. Here we are.”
“Will your church really be open to helping me?” she said.
Sure.
“Well, I am lonely. I was a foster child. I have no family anymore. It’s just me. Could someone come over and just read me the Bible and keep me company every now and then?”
Yes.
I gave her my business card where I had scribbled my cell number and also wrote down her phone number in my notebook.
After about 15 minutes – and a few more elephants she wanted to point out to me – I left. I returned to the leasing office to give the key back to the manager. She asked how the family was doing and we chatted for another 10 minutes or so. She thanked me repeatedly, enough times that it was a bit awkward. I left her my card as well and said that if she heard of any needs from these residents – or if she had any needs – to give me a call.
I’m not exactly sure what happened. The whole visit just seemed so surreal. A newspaper article I read yesterday morning. But as crazy as I thought it was initially, I’m grateful that I was open to something as unorthodox as introducing myself to strangers who were grieving deeply and managing an apartment and recovering from pneumonia surrounded by elephants.
The Spirit showed up. Imagine that.
It makes me wonder what other promptings I’ve missed in my life where the Spirit was inviting me to join with God in bringing healing to the world, but I thought were too weird, too stretching or too subtle to hear it in the busyness of my life.
Maybe with enough stories of God confirming these promptings with evidence of connection, I’ll be reminded, challenged and inspired to listen more intently – in order to sense more of what the Spirit’s intent is for my life in the coming days and weeks as an ambassador and an advocate for the kingdom.
doubt::night – tonight!
Join us for doubt::night tonight. 730pm.
Third and Walnut Bar and Grille near the Lansdale train station. (See map here).
Never been to doubt::night? This conversational space is open to everyone 18 and older.
It’s a safe place to ask dangerous questions about faith. (Yeah, we’re serious). We provide the appetizers. You provide the questions. You’re on your own with drinks.
For more information click here.
Paralyzing fear and the Olympics
Yesterday I read Mike Lopresti’s column in USAToday about Edwin van Calker, a Dutch Olympian, who couldn’t compete a few days ago in the bobsled event in Vancouver. Why? Because he was too afraid. With the speed of the track, the death of a Georgian luger earlier in the Olympic Games and pressure from his family back home, he backed out. So, he pulled out, disqualifying his team from competition. His brother – and teammate – backed up his decision. His coach did not.I can’t remember the last time a sports column made me pause to reflect as much as this one did.
- What are your thoughts?
- Is Edwin van Calker wise or a coward?
- How do you think he will be received when he returns home to the Netherlands?
Affirmed in my craziness
I’m continuing to re-read process and reflect upon my notes from the Ecclesia National Gathering from several days back. When Dallas Willard and Bob and Mary Hopkins are your speakers, there is a lot to try to wrap your brain around!
I’ve been to a lot of conferences over the years. I’ve got dozens of conference notebooks filled with my scribbled notes that are now collecting dust somewhere on my shelves. I’m growing to realize that what I want in conferences and/or gatherings is to be formed rather than simply be informed. So recently I’ve tried to slow down, revisit, ask questions and let the statements and implications I scribbled down on the paper to spill into and saturate my head and my heart. (If anyone would like a copy of my notes for the week email me).
The speakers at Ecclesia were top notch (Dallas Willard: need I say more?) But one of the reasons I enjoyed the National Gathering so much is because its small and intimate (200 people) and the format and size cultivates natural opportunities for relationships to be formed and deepened.
This is important for church planters, because when you plant a church there is part of you that is absolutely convinced that you’ve lost your mind. That you’ve gone mad. And you begin to wonder if anyone will think you’re legitimately crazy.
I feel that about once a week.
I mentioned to a group of 6 or 7 leaders/church planters before the gathering officially started (and I think I mentioned it earlier either on the blog or on Twitter) that – selfishly, I believe – I want to come to these events hoping that people will assure me that I’m not crazy. But actually what I hoped to find at the Ecclesia National Gathering just the opposite of that: I want to be affirmed that I am crazy – and I want to be reminded that God uses crazy people to impact the kingdom by calling some of them to plant churches.
After I shared this desire with this smaller group of leaders I quietly excused myself to use the restroom while someone else shared. I left my notebook on my chair and returned a few minutes later.
A little while later, I found this page in my Moleskine notebook where I had been taking notes during the gathering:
We all need people who will affirm us in our craziness.
YouTube :: random links worth watching
Random YouTube links to start your day off on the right foot…
1. DEADLINE – post-it notes: These guys have too much time – and too many post notes – on their hands. This is incredible.
2. Orin Lavie’s “Her Morning Elegance” – this is pretty creative.
3. The Missional Church made simple.
4. 40 Inspirational Speeches in 2 minutes
5. Pastors and Church Leaders: You have to watch this by Skye Jethani
6. It doesn’t matter how many times I watch David from Santa Anna (the second guy in the orange shirt) dance I am always left in awe by this video.
Ecclesia National Gathering thoughts
Last week I was at the Ecclesia National Gathering and had a fantastic and rich time. To me, this is the high water mark of the ministry year for me. So much formative and shaping moments during these few days.I told someone that selfishly I’d like to come to the National Gathering to be assured that I’m not crazy for planting a church. But what I find is that when I come I am affirmed that I am crazy – and that the kingdom of God needs cray people to step out and risk it all in planting churches.
Last week I, once again, had my craziness affirmed.
I’m still processing and downloading it all – there’s just so much good stuff that happened (and I’ve got a few other things on my mind at the moment!).
But here are a few initial words I’ve used to describe the time together:
deep, life-giving friendships
kingdom discussions
spirit-sensitive time
challenging and prodding
diverse (among age, gender and types of churches – but we still have a long way to go in the area of diversity)
participatory and collaborative – lots of voices speaking into our time
not flashy or programmatically perfect – which made me love it even more
freeing (nobody is trying to impress other people)
There are a few other fellow journeyers who are sharing their reflections with greater thought and thoroughness than I can offer at the moment.
[1] Fellow Ecclesia board member David Fitch had some great reflections from two talks by Dallas Willard – one on Missional Evangelism and the other on Preaching.
[2] JR Rozko (there are three JRs in the network which, yes, can be very confusing at times) posted his reflections on his blog.
[3] Ben Sternke from Ft Wayne, Indiana shares his reflections as well.
[4] You can also check out other voices in the network – both through personal blogs and Twitter – here.
UPDATE: Here are some good (and provoking) thoughts from Todd Hiestand.
I’m already excited about next year’s gathering.
If you’re a church planter – or you are thinking about planting a church – consider checking out Ecclesia.
Baby update
Many of you all know that we’re in the exciting and exhausting process of adoption a second child (for context read this). We’re excited/overwhelmed/numb/thrilled/scared to death. Which means we’re pretty normal for adoptive parents.
Or at least that’s what we’re told.
We received a text message from the birthmother a few days ago after her most recent checkup. The doctor told her that he believes she will go into labor within the next seven days. So, when birthmother has dilated 4 cm she will call us – and we will frantically throw all our stuff into our car and drive 9.5 hours to the hospital to meet our son.
We’re swimming in a pile of to-do lists right now. Talk to the attorney. Get the oil changed. Write birthmother a letter (how do you possibly write something that expresses fully the gratitude you have for a gift like your son?) Write (another) check for more adoption service fees. Print off Google map directions to the hospital. Who will get our mail? Try to explain to our three year old about adoption and the impending arrival of his baby brother (he thinks babies are manufactured in hospitals). Get the guest room transformed into the baby’s room. Give our guest bed away to make room. Have we called the health insurance company to add the baby to our policy, honey? Buy diapers and formula. Talk to the adoption agency director in PA. Overnight papers FedEx to Michigan. Talk to the adoption agency director in MI to confirm the papers have been received…
And then we’ll get a call; one which will be both shocking and expected, a call will come way too soon and yet one that couldn’t come soon enough…
After the hospital visit we’ll have to stay almost two weeks in Michigan for all the legal papers to be signed and processed in court. Two weeks of bonding with our son and adjusting to being a family of four and waiting for all paperwork to clear and papers to be notarized and (hopefully) resting a bit – and maybe getting a little bit of work and seminary homework done when the boys are napping… whew.Sometimes these things can be exhilarating. But sometimes the thought – and the pace – of it all sends us over the threshold of normalcy to a foreign and scary land that is beyond feeling overwhelmed.
Smiles and tears.
Emotional labor pains.
It’s a jolt to the emotional, mental and physical system when you have just six weeks’ notice to prepare to invite another family member into your home! But we keep on – processing and praying and breathing and trying to beat our to-do lists into submission.
And then remembering to breathe again.
It’s a complex thing trying to process something like this.We’d appreciate your prayers in this area. Above all else, we know that it’s worth it. And despite the myriad of emotions, the dominant one is excitement. We are so excited to meet our son!
Who knows what this week ahead will hold.
But we’ll keep you posted!
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