Where We Come From: The Institution and The Reformation

Jen posted this question to our group of friends yesterday and invited us to respond:

WHY IT IS COOL TO LOVE THE INSTITUTION OF THE CHURCH AND TO STAY COMMITTED TO IT EVEN WHEN THINGS SEEM DIFFICULT.

Forgive me that this is a much longer post than usual. My attention span isn't usually long enough for me to sit still to write such a long piece, but I was stuck on a plane for half of this. This is a culmination of thoughts from several years of a love-hate relationship with the institution of the Church. It might as well be time for me to share the nerdy-side of why I still choose to be committed.

Preface:
Most folks who know my story know that a big part of who I am today is a result of several years of wrestling with the institution that we as “Christians” call “Church”. As much as I’ve felt let down by the institution, there are reasons for why I’m still sticking around. Admittedly, a small part of that reason is a foolish loyalty to this highly dysfunctional family that I cannot seem to work past.

It began some time in 2005. My picture-perfect understanding of the Church as an institution had just begun crumbling, but there was always something that said, “Hold on, this is family. Don’t quit.” Over the years, the more I got involved in the Church, the more I felt let down by its structures. At times, “This is family. Don’t quit,” no longer stood as strong enough reasons for me to not leave. I needed something more.

By 2010, my disgruntlement with the Church as an institution had hit its peak. That was when I got involved with a ministry project in Berlin. Maybe it was being in Germany where some of the theologians I had the most respect for came from. Maybe it was having the time to step away from the institution for a bit. Whatever it was, the 3 months in Berlin caused a seismic shift in the way I understood "The Institution". This is the story.

Definitions:
First, a few definitions:
Institution – a system that provides lifestyle structure, law, boundaries and/or guidance that are socially accpted by a specific group of people.
Reformation – a time period dedicated to questioning the identity, vision, mission, values, and structures of a specific group of people, specifically addressing its relevance to the current culture and context.

Why Institutions Part #1:
Even as children, structures, rule books, boundaries or guidance help groups of people feel safe. In a social science experiment, children were put in a compound where there were no fences surrounding their play area. The group of children played close together. When fences were put in later to surround the same play area, the group of children spread themselves out to the limits of the fences. There was safety in having structures in place.

Whether we are looking at churches, schools, corporate organisations, politics or international relations, some form of institution is necessary to help groups of people navigate what it means to work or live together. We might say that institutions are necessary evils, but I think that is only because even the most free-spirited human being need some form of institution—even if it’s as simple as, “I will not hurt any living organism.”

So if those assumptions were true, (and for the purpose of this piece, let’s assume they are) how do we explain the increasing disgruntlement toward institutions, and specifically toward the institutionalized Church? To begin, I’m not convinced this disgruntlement is anything new. It might be helpful to examine what institutions looked like through history.

While I’m fairly certain the ideas presented in this piece are relevant to most institutions whether religious or not, because my academic background focused mainly on the sociological and religious fields, it is through these lenses that I present these ideas.

The Early Church:
For most church historians, the beginning of the institutionalized church is often defined by “The Early Church,” or “The Acts 2 Church”. Jesus had just been on the cross on Golgotha and been raised. The spiritual morale was on an all-time high even while persecution continued. Believers gathered together to share their belongings, break bread and fellowship. All was nice and rosy, right?

But “The Early Church” institution didn’t last for long. Barely a few chapters later in Acts, that institution was falling apart. Yet even today, we paint idealistic pictures of what it must have been like to live in the times of “The Early Church”. We look to that model to figure out how to create Church institutions today, perhaps because we choose to only remember the moments of the spiritual high reflected in the early Acts chapters. It is much easier to idealize what community life can be like if we default to some historical structure.

Historical Perspective:
Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against the study of history, or Scripture for that matter. In fact, I think there is much we can learn from the overall historical narrative of Scripture—and not just because I'm a history buff.

For the purpose of this piece, let’s begin with Moses—not because there’s nothing that can be said or learnt between the time of Adam and Eve up to the story of Joseph, but because it is during the time of Moses that the idea of institution really began to become clearer. Prior to Moses, the collective identity of the people of Israel had been exactly that: they were the people of Israel. It was as if because they wore the last name, “Descendants of Adam and Eve,” they knew exactly how the household ran.

Fast forward to the time between Joseph and Moses. By this time there were so many of them, and the “Descendants of Adam and Eve” last name no longer held water as they now lived under Egyptian authority. The Egyptian institution of making them all become slaves was put in place to help create some sense of order by an authority that felt threatened by their presence.

Fast forward a few more years to the period of exodus. We find a group of people whose institution was once defined by a common last name, then by an authoritarian figure now wandering in the wilderness without a sense of direction or common identity anymore. Enter the Ten Commandments and the other Mosaic laws as an institution to help navigate forty years of wandering.

Fast forward a few generations. This same group of people now live in the Promised Land and have been guided by judges. But it was no longer enough for them. They got disgruntled (sound familiar?) and asked for a king. And so King Saul became a part of their institution. And then King David. And Solomon...

Fast forward to the New Testament. We find Jesus himself saying that he came "not to abolish the law, but to fulfil it." (Matthew 5:17) And soon we begin to find more practices that help define "institution". Like Passover or Communion, baptism and footwashing.

Institutions. These things that help us function together as a people group. They're necessary even if we don't always agree with everything about them.

The Problem With Institutions:
The thing is, these all happened even before "The Acts 2 Church" developed as an institution. And yet when we default to the "Acts 2 Church" whenever we look for guidance on how to create new institutions today. Maybe it's because the Acts 2 model is the beginning of life after Jesus' death and resurrection. We understand that things had to be different after the first Easter, so we take on the first "radical" institution that came into existence as the main/right model for doing Church as an institution.

So what went wrong? Why are more and more people having issues with the institutional Church as we understand it today?

Maybe it's the simple reality that we don’t live in Acts 2 days. The first apostles probably had to tell themselves the same thing, that they didn't live in Exodus days either. Too often we get caught up in trying to keep things the same according to "the original version" of our institutions that we lose track of the spirit behind these institutions in the first place. If Jesus had been as caught up with the "original version" of the law of Moses as we sometimes can be today, fulfilling the law would not have led him to Golgotha.

Yet as frustrating as they might be, we as humankind default to institutions for various reasons. It might be that institutions provide safety, or because we love organizing things, events or people, or simply because we crave structure. Even for those of us who want to break away, it usually isn’t because we don’t want structure, as much as we have become disillusioned by structures that are not working. The reality is that as frustrated as we can get with institutions, breaking away from structure isn't going to solve anything. Why? Here are my reasons:

1) Humankind defaults to structure. We may try to break away from one structure, but we still end up swinging toward another structure. Migrants leave political structures of one nation, but they end up in another institution. Corporate workers who leave their jobs to set up their own businesses find that they have to create their own institutions as well. Radicals revolutionise only to eventually set up another governmental institution. Folks who want to, or have left institutionalized Church find themselves in other institutional structures as well--even home churches need structure: where are we meeting, what time and what are we doing when we meet?

2) We are made for community. The major world religions can differ greatly in theology, but there is a common thread through them all: the betterment of the community we live amongst. We may have differing opinions of Buddha, Allah, Jesus or Brahman, but we all know that we don't push each other on the playground, and we share our pencils to those in need. As followers of Christ, particularly, we do not, and cannot exist alone. And where there are folks gathered, a way of doing life together is formed.

The Reformation Response:
So if institutions are necessary, how do we make them work? How do we move forward together, and where do we go from here? Allow me to share with you a little bit about the heritage I inherited as a daughter of a reformation movement.

The Church of God Reformation Movement, through which I inherited my Christian heritage, has had a history of priding itself as a progressive movement. In a time where the universal Church struggled with denominational differences, we prided ourselves for preaching the message of Holiness and Unity, in an effort to restore Christian unity.

The problem is that too often, as sons and daughters of a reformation movement, we assume that the work is done. We assume that DS Warner and his kindreds did all that there is and can be to do for the cause of the gospel message in their reformation work. As a result, we simply settle into the institutions of those who have gone before us. But we don't live in the days of DS Warner anymore, nor do we live in the time of the Acts 2 Church. And we forget that even before the Church of God Reformation Movement came into being, the fathers and mothers of our Christian heritage had already been a part of this reformation work.

Jesus himself set out to reform the institution of the synagogue.
Martin Luther saw the great disparity between the institution of the Catholic church and the community they were supposed to be living with, and helped plant seeds for the Protestant reformation.
And after Warner, Nora Hunter reformed the missionary sending institution of the Church of God.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, through his writings, reformed the institution of the Church that had been corrupted by war.

What makes us think it ever becomes time to stop living and breathing our reformation heritage? I don't mean that we need to hold on to all "the original versions" of Luther, or to all of DS Warner's original teachings. I mean we continually seek to live out our reformation heritage.

We speak for injustice as Martin Luther did.
We break down barriers that hinder Kingdom work as Nora Hunter did.
We refuse to sit with status quo and easy answers as Dietrich Bonhoeffer did.
We uphold the essentials of all that is sacred as Jesus did.

Why Institutions Part #2:
As a part of the Church of God Reformation Movement, we become inheritants of a reformation heritage, but no just because of DS Warner. We don't worship DS Warner because of what he stood up for, but uphold his spirit of continually living out that reformation heritage. We call ourselves a "reformation movement" because that is exactly who we are supposed to be--reformers that keep moving forward with the times to create new institutions that continually remain relevant to the culture and context in the world we live in. I don't mean that we need to tear apart all that has been established by those who have gone before. I simply mean we need to continually exegete our culture and context to continue building on the foundation they laid.

So maybe you don't claim the same reformation heritage that I do. And maybe you don't have the same foolish loyalty to a highly dysfunctional family institution that I do. But I think we owe it to each other to keep speaking into the institutions that have become a part of our communal heritage as followers of Christ--not simply for the sake of keeping these institutions alive, but because these institutions are what feed our sense of community.

My friends, Joe and David have become very important people who have helped me be a better person in spite of my frustrations with the institution. They have each written separate pieces about how these institutions feed our sense of community, so rather than try to re-write what they have done, I invite you over to their posts.

Click here for Joe's thoughts
Click here for David's thoughts

Table Talks: Behind the Camels

This week at Table Talks, we got to talking about Joseph. Somewhere between all those discussions and my conversation with Amber on Monday, I got to thinking about prevenient grace.

One of the questions the book we're using asked what kinds of tension there might be in our household. As we discussed the question, I looked around the room and realised that none of us lived in a traditionally-defined household of Mum, Dad, kids and pets. The skeptical self chuckled inside. Cookie-cutter programmes don't cater for non-cookie-cutter groups.

But that's when I realised that by the time Joseph had to confront the household tension again, he actually was at a pretty good place in life. Pharaoh loved him, and he probably had servants to take care of all his dishes so there was no need to fight over who loaded the dishwasher, or leaving toothpaste stains in the sink. Just like each one of us in the room who had moved away from the families of origin where the household tensions were the strongest.

No, the tension came from a long time ago when he was the arrogant little brat bragging about his dreams. At one point in our discussion, Sylvia asked, "When do you reckon it was that Joseph decided to forgive his brothers and make peace with them? Was it when he was walking behind the camels as a slave that that transformation happened?"

I guess I never really thought about it like that. I mean, I guess I always knew that Joseph would probably have to work through some forgiveness issues, but I had always imagined him to be a humble, long-suffering man. But for the arrogant little brat that bragged about his dreams to turn into a humble, forgiving man, I couldn't help thinking that "soul-searching" process must have been more drawn-out than I ever spent time thinking about.

Which reminded me of my favourite poem by my #1 Dead Man Crush, Deitrich Bonhoeffer. "Wer bin ich" or "Who am I?" was written while he was imprisoned for being a part of the conspiracy to assassinate Hitler. If you've read any of my previous theological rants, you would know by now that Bonhoeffer and Luther are the two theologians I have most respect for as far as spiritual formation and reformation is concerned, and no, it has nothing to do with them being German (although I won't deny that just gave me an extra reason to love all things Deutsch). Sure, they wrote impressive stuff, but that's just stuff. At the heart of what caused me to respect them this much was their struggle with their "self," or what Freud calls, the ego.

I remember watching the film on Luther's life in German class. The scene that stuck out to me most was the one of him prostrate on the ground crying out to God to deal with him. Something broke in him that day. And I'd hazard a guess that a similar process happened with Bonhoeffer. That process of wrestling with injustice had led them to a place where they realised aside from the Creator and prevenient grace, we were really a bunch of nothings.

An acquaintance made an observation that I looked like something happened some time ago that broke me. I don't know what it was he saw that warranted that observation, but I smiled, remembering all those times growing up that the grown-ups would say that God deals with us in our brokenness.

For a long time, I had assumed it was Keren's death that led me to my breaking point. But as we were talking about Joseph's experience behind the camels, it dawned on me Keren's death was only one of the markers of what I've come to call "All the Crazy".

I don't know that Luther would have been prostrate on the ground like that in real life as was portrayed in that movie, but I remembered carrying that image mentally to the streets of Berlin. I remembered carrying it with me to Neustart that day as I sat across from "Justin" (not his real name), listening to how he had ended up in Berlin after his parents sold him to feed their drug addiction. At 12, he was raised by druggies, and less than 10 years later, he witnessed his best friend getting shot in a drug deal gone sour. Sitting there, listening to his story and the stories of the other women who had, by the end of that very short summer, become good friends even though we barely spoke each other's language, I was struck with the realisation that if I had been born into the same home background as them, I don't know that I would have made different life choices than them.

I carried that same image the day I found out that "Justin" had decided to get cleaned up and committed to a relationship with Christ. In that same short conversation, I also found out that as a result of getting cleaned up, his medicals showed that he was HIV-positive. I think that was when I found myself prostrate on the ground. I didn't understand. He and I weren't too different, and it wasn't fair that he got dealt the cards he received, and I got mine. I could still walk away from there and go back to my clean-cut, sheltered life. It simply wasn't fair.

I don't know how long I laid prostrate, but when I eventually got up, there were only three truths I could cling on to.
1) God was, is, and will continue to be sovereign.
2) God loves. God loves me for my inability to understand.
3) Grace. Grace existed before me and will continue to exist with or without me. I only needed to jump on board with it.

When Joseph emerged from behind the camels to be sold as a slave, or whenever it might have been, the arrogance was stripped away. His dreams of greatness would have amounted to nothing if not for the hand of God on his life.

When I stood up again, when I came out from behind the camels again, I was more aware than ever that without the hand of God on my life, I was nothing. My vocation, my work, my writing, none of it would amount to anything without Grace and Agape love. I no longer needed to understand even though I knew I would continue to wrestle--simply because I'm human, and that's part of the human experience.

Who am I? In the words of Charles Naylor, "I am the Lord's, I know."

Wer bin ich? - Dietrich Bonhoeffer
Wer bin ich? Sie sagen mir oft,
ich träte aus meiner Zelle
gelassen und heiter und fest
wie ein Gutsherr aus seinem Schloß

Wer bin ich? Sie sagen mir oft,
ich spräche mit meinen Bewachern
frei und freundlich und klar,
als hätte ich zu gebieten.

Wer bin ich? Sie sagen mir auch,
ich trüge die Tage des Unglücks
gleichmütig, lächelnd und stolz,
wie einer, der Siegen gewohnt ist.
Bin ich das wirklich, was andere von mir sagen?
Oder bin ich nur das, was ich selbst von mir weiß?
Unruhig, sehnsüchtig, krank, wie ein Vogel im Käfig,
ringend nach Lebensatem, als würgte mir einer die Kehle,
hungernd nach Farben, nach Blumen, nach Vogelstimmen,
dürstend nach guten Worten, nach menschlicher Nähe,
zitternd vor Zorn über Willkür und kleinlichste Kränkung,
umgetrieben vom Warten auf große Dinge,
ohnmächtig bangend um Freunde in endloser Ferne,
müde und leer zum Beten, zum Denken, zum Schaffen,
matt und bereit, von allem Abschied zu nehmen?

Wer bin ich? Der oder jener?
Bin ich denn heute dieser und morgen ein andrer?
Bin ich beides zugleich? Vor Menschen ein Heuchler und vor mir selbst ein verächtlich wehleidiger Schwächling?
Oder gleicht, was in mir noch ist, dem geschlagenen Heer,
das in Unordnung weicht vor schon gewonnenem Sieg?

Wer bin ich? Einsames Fragen treibt mit mir Spott.
Wer ich auch bin, Du kennst mich, Dein bin ich, o Gott!

Who am I? - Dietrich Bonhoeffer
Who am I? They often tell me
I stepped from my cell’s confinement
Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
Like a Squire from his country house.

Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
Freely and friendly and clearly,
As thought it were mine to command.

Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
Equably, smilingly, proudly,
like one accustomed to win.

Am I then really that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat,
Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
Tossing in expectations of great events,
Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all.

Who am I? This or the Other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
And before myself a contemptible woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army
Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?

Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am thine!

Calling Time-Out

Most Western parents would be familiar with the phrase, "time-out". It is used when a child old enough to rationalise with continues misbehaving and is usually followed with the phrase, "go to your room."

While I don't have kids of my own, because of the nature of my job, I often find myself in discussions of behaviour management--more specifically, figuring out what we need to include in our programming to support behaviour management both at home and at school. In one of those conversations, a parent shared that sometimes, it isn't the kid that needs the time-out. It's the adult.

"Sometimes when there's just been so much else going on in my day, all it takes is a little bit of a whiney voice for me to snap. That's when I realise I need to send myself to time out, take a chill pill before coming back to be with my kid."

This week, I sent myself into time-out. Or in a different translation, "sabbath".

I could list the 101 ways I had snapped before I finally went into time-out, but I'd rather not remember those. I cringe every time I think, "Urgh... I did THAT?"

But no, I didn't go to my room. I didn't go out to a countryside and spend 2 days in a quiet cottage meditating. I didn't even go to a monastery as I thought I would like to do.

I went to Wellington instead.

"Wellington? Are you mad? I thought you needed time-out (read: quiet space to think)?"

To be honest, I don't know why Wellington. All this while I had been quietly researching (with some help from Helen) monasteries to go for my time-out, but yet it was still Wellington. Maybe it was the thrill of booking a flight. Maybe it was the thought of airports and being in planes. Maybe it was because Wellington was the cheapest place to fly to, and I already knew a little bit about getting around the city.

What I didn't realise was that back in the heart of the city, my very, very parched soul was about to be quenched again.

"What did you do in Wellington?"

To be honest, I don't know. All I remember was that I sat and stared. A lot. No, really. I stared so much that this guy in the next table, whose conversation about what we call Grid Iron here in Kiwi-country (better known as American Football or the NFL) I was eavesdropping on realised I was staring.

It got awkward.

No, I mean really awkward. Because I stared again, even after that awkward moment. Like I did with the middle-aged man sitting across the lounge at the backpacker moving to the music. It was the first time I actually witnessed "dance like nobody's watching," and it moved me almost to tears.

Or staring at the screen while Bilbo journeyed to his decision-point of not quitting the team--and listening to the quiet sniffles of the man in the row behind as Bilbo made his commitment to help the dwarves reclaim their home--and struggled to keep the tears in myself.

Or staring at the houses on the walk up to Mt Victoria, realising some dreams are still alive even as I continually try to shove them away into neat boxes to pretend they don't exist so I can get on with the busyness of life.

Or staring into the waters surrounding the heart of the city, remembering what a simpler life was like in the days where I loved the water--the days before I grew afraid of drowning.

Or staring at quaint dining places, and colourful personalities, and all the possible stories to collect if time only allowed and social boundaries weren't drawn so neatly and fearfully.

Or staring at the pages of history, and finally understanding how a treaty intended for peace and protection became so misunderstood in the mad rush to appease the human obsession with "the ego" (or in my very loose interpretation of Luther and Bonhoeffer's theology of sanctification: "the self").

Or simply staring at how humanity come together--perfectly strangers--to cheer each other on, to help locate a missing tennis ball, to say hello to a puppy.

But more than staring, for once in a long, long time, I listened to myself.

And I heard.
I heard those dreams again.
I heard the voices of those cheering me on again.
I heard my innermost desire for community that understands my need for wide open spaces, possibilities, and dreams again.

But most importantly, I heard the voice of the most loving Creator saying, "Just sit and stare, and watch me do my work." Anne Lamott calls that showing off. But if all that the Creator is showing off is Love, why not?

John and Jodie once said, "Once you can't simply laugh at the crazy anymore, you know it's time to take a break." Time-out isn't about being in trouble. It's about learning to sit and stare and listen to yourself and think again--and finding sacred spaces to watch the Creator at work play all over again. I wouldn't recommend colourful Wellington to just anyone needing a time-out, but those 48 hours were precious in creating that sacred, sacred space in the midst of all the hustle and bustle to find that inspiration all over again.

Special thanks to the cheerleaders from the sidelines who followed up whenever I checked in on Facebook or Twitter.
Thanks also to the ones who gave me space for minimal interaction in those 48 hours.

Most importantly, thank you to that lovely bunch of you who sent tea, a sabbath read, and comfort sugar. It made all the difference as I finally, finally allowed myself to mourn the transition away from that safe community that understood even before words were spoken or tears were shed. So thank you, Jen, and Joe and Gwynne, and Shannon and Brett, and David and Tara.

Have I reflected during this time-out? You bet.
Have I learnt anything? Definitely. (Staring can get REALLY awkward, for starters)
Have I made decisions about how to behave differently now? For starters, I will write again. Not because I have anything good to say, but because I've missed it. It's my safe place to go to. So I will write. It will not be fancy, but I will write anyway.

I think it's safe to say, time-out mission: accomplished. Ready to head back to real life.

My "Leaving Church" Story

Years ago when I first started taking blogging more seriously, I gave myself a few rules of things I will not blog about.

1) Political commentary.
As it is, there are enough opinions out there to sway the crowds one way or another. I don't need, or want to, start another heated debate. Words are only of use if they compel people into action.

2) Reactionary posts.
Because the blogosphere is a public forum, I don't need to throw out a passionate reaction to an event or something I came across only to process my thoughts a little further and regret a post a week later.

3) Personal drama.
Again, the blogosphere is a public forum. Unless healing and reconciliation have taken place, dirty linen doesn't have to be aired in public.

Today, I'm breaking rules #2 and #3.
I'm treading carefully with this post today because there are episodes that I'm considering writing about where reconciliation has not taken place, so I'll throw in a disclaimer early on that these stories are only shared to give credibility to the bigger story, and not to turn this blog into a bitch-fest.

So here we go. This is my "Leaving Church" story, a response to the recent frenzy in the blogosphere.

It began in 2005, when I came across Donald Miller's Blue Like Jazz. I was on a student-leadership team in a Christian liberal arts college, and that was the book we were reading on campus that year. Miller's book articulated many of my frustrations with a brand of Christianity that I had been struggling with because it was getting too superficial for my liking, and made me want to apologise to every person whom the church had left a bad after-taste with.

A year later, as a ministry intern, I found myself watching theologians, professors of religious studies and retired ministers bickering amongst themselves about how much time our staff organist should be allowed to rehearse on the organ in the sanctuary. I realised then how broken institutions can be, and decided that if this is what becomes of theologians, professors of religious studies and retired ministers, I would never go to seminary, and never work in a religious institution (never mind that I had already "responded to my call to ministry"). I wasn't ready to completely abandon the institution--the church is family. Just because all the Big Brothers and Sisters screw up or don't play fair doesn't mean you disown them.

So instead, my first real grown-up job was at a para-church organization. Freshly graduated with the conviction that I knew nothing, I thought working at a para-church organization would still keep me involved in the local churches, but at a level where I only need to watch from the peripheries and not get tied up in the politics. That would buy me some time to work through my issues with the local church, find some healing and eventually start seminary feeling less jaded.

Maybe I only have myself to blame for getting overly-involved. But after a couple years of watching policy after policy being implemented that were quick-fixes to a more deeply-rooted problem without thorough thinking through of what long-term implications there might be to those directly affected by these new policies, one cannot help but feel even more jaded by institutions. And then I discovered more and more voices amongst my new-found community in seminary that resonated with my thoughts. Oh, I could tell you of the countless hours we spent dreaming up what Church could be like if we could just start our own church amongst our own circle of friends and not have anyone else join in--most of which happened while we were avoiding writing about sanctification and the likes of it.

But we all knew. We couldn't run away and start our own thing. Most of us who understood the history of our tradition, the Church of God Reformation Movement, started by DS Warner, knew that that was exactly how we started off. As students of Church History, we knew that it had been done before--countless times, even before DS Warner.

The summer of 2010, I had the privilege of spending a few months with a group in Berlin, Germany. This was a group that came together to figure out what Church meant in 21st Century Berlin, a cosmopolitan, global city that had moved on from the days where Luther's reformation had a significant impact on ecclesiology. The group in Berlin wasn't a sensation because they were trying to start a hip 21st-Century style of monastic-living. They were sensational because they were intentionally committed to community and to the spiritual betterment of each one in the group. But even more so, to the reality that engaging in community means engaging in each other's dirt and learning to fight fair when we disagree rather than say, I'm just going to go off and start my own thing.

Kelley Philips, my internship supervisor in Berlin explained to me that the statement, "If we would all just go back to the 1st-Century Church where everyone came together to take care of everyone else, the world would be a better place," had become a popular catch-phrase in church-language these days. But we often ignore the possibility that the 1st-Century Church probably fought all the time too, as they define what "fair share" meant. We paint idealistic pictures of what the Church should be or look like, rather than embrace it for what it is and try to work through those pieces. I could quote you one Bonhoefferian thought after another about the impact of pursuing human idealism instead of pursuing the reality of God, but the reality is, these are only words.

So what IS your leaving church story, you ask. I could tell you of the heartache of trying to find healing after that dark year in undergrad. I could tell you of the 4 years I spent defending an institution even though there were realities I faced everyday in that institution that discouraged me even more. I could tell you of how I beat up a TV in anger when this same institution told me they wanted no part in my involvement with the missio Dei since I wasn't one of them (ask my friends Emily, Ashley, Michael, Yocum and Jason. They witnessed the anger).

You want a leaving church story? I don't have one to tell you because after all this time, I haven't left. And it's not because I haven't wanted to, or haven't had the guts to. But it's because the Church is family. I can dream all day about being born into my ideal family, but it is in digging through the dirt with my real family that I can truly understand "For God so loved the world..."

Beloved Church of God theologian Gil Stafford is known for his words, "Be the Church." As I was ruminating over how to articulate my "leaving church" story, I found it ironic that we're talking about leaving the church when the reality is, we ARE the Church. How can we possibly leave the church if that requires us leaving ourselves?

Or maybe that's what it comes down to. Maybe we need to leave ourselves, our ideals and definitions of what Church should be, and just simply BE the Church.

My Dead Friend Dietrich

Upon arrival in Anderson some three hours ago, I was greeted by a text message from my friend Emily that read:

"How was your dead friend Dietrich?"

I had to laugh.

It wasn't just that I was amused by Emily, but I was more amused by the fact that... I'm "friends" with a dead-white-male-theologian.

Yes, I'm giving you permission to judge me for my dead-man crush on Dietrich Bonhoeffer, German pastor and theologian (and son, brother, friend, martyr... the list goes on). After all, I was the one who, just before I started my SOT application, told the guy who eventually became my theology professor that I was no theologian, nor was I interested in ever becoming one. I will have to applaud Greg Robertson and Arthur Kelly for their graciousness in not calling me out on how little I knew about theology to even decide that I wasn't a theologian.

So yes, I just spent the last two days at a conference where the theology of Dietrich Bonhoeffer was discoursed. And yes, my brain is exhausted from trying so hard to tear apart words like pneumatology, christo-ecclesialogy, and entering into conversations with folks like Foucault, Lacoste and Heidegger. But it's also wide awake with all these new pieces of Bonhoefferian theology that I hadn't thought about before.

Now we all know that as much as possible, I avoid blogging academia because God only knows how little I know about academia and how hard I try not to bore people with it. So if this entry gets a little weird and boring, I apologise in advance.

See, here's the thing. Aside from Luther, the next closest theologian that I would "categorise" Bonhoeffer with is Henri Nouwen. Granted I haven't had much direct interaction with either of those, but the God-Self-Community interactions that Bonhoeffer and Nouwen bring to the theological table draw similar parallels to my own theology of the Trinity. This was something that I pieced together tentatively in a paper for Strege's Constructive Theology I, way back in the day, but something I still stand by. I'm excited enough about this whole thing to want to get into this now, but I also need to be at work in a few hours and sleep is kind of a necessary part of life, so ask me about this another time.

But the slight differential I see between Bonhoeffer and Nouwen is that Bonhoeffer's attempt to live out his theology of God-Self-Community (I'm choosing the word community here rather than the word "other" because community is more inclusive) is more blatant. Nouwen's theology seem more... "Cognitive" (A word I learnt from Jacob Coppess, a friend I'm coming to appreciate more and more, this weekend) whereas Bonhoeffer's writings seem to be more of an interaction between the struggles of his personal experience and the decisions he has to make.

There were moments at this conference where I found myself thinking, I wonder what Bonhoeffer would think if he were present. I'd like to think he wouldn't so much be offended by the possible misinterpretations of his writing, as much as I wonder what he would have thought about a group of academics sitting around discoursing his theology.

I also couldn't help wondering about the social lives of the theologians at the conference. What kind of person would it take to be friends with, or be married to intellectuals of this degree? Or did they have a social life outside of academic theology? I did notice that most of them had rings on their ring fingers, so that, to me, was a little bit of a reassurance that they weren't all head and no heart. But I wondered about social-hierarchy, and if their lives brought them to points of interaction with persons from a different social class.

Because as it comes down to it, I'd like to think that Bonhoeffer didn't spend all his time only interacting with his family or other theologians. Sure, Life Together seemed to indicate his commitment to the monastic lifestyle of not just physical living together in community, but the togetherness of practicing spiritual disciplines. But if Bonhoeffer's understanding of gemeinschaft only took him to the point of practising social justice and reconciliation in the conspiracy against Hitler and not beyond that, then perhaps his interaction with Lutheran theology has not done him much good.

Also, I've come to really appreciate the German differentiation between kirche and gemeinde. Given the way my dealings with kirche have been in the last few years, it's easy to get the two intertwined and lose faith completely. But in the discoursing between kirche (the church) and gemeinde (fellowship/community), I'm reminded again that even if the reality of the kirche doesn't quite match up to my idealism, it doesn't mean that I should compromise on my standing with the gemeinde.

Which strangely, leads me to a piece that I was working on on the three hour drive up to the University of Notre Dame for this conference...


Dear You,


You taught me we were family, and that you were the one that set the rules for the way we worked as a family. But four years ago, reality taught me that the rules you gave us only caused much hurt amongst my brothers and sisters because we all interpreted your rules differently. I found myself asking, what have you done to our fundamental value of love?


Four years later, we are back here again. In the last four years, I've tried to let go of my feelings of hurt and move toward forgiveness and reconciliation. But here we are again. All these rules, all over again, reminding me of wounds that have been tended to for a little while, then left aside so that healing can take place following the course of nature. But with this new lashing out, can you blame me for wanting to give up and walk away?


Grace. If the Greater Being in the form of the Word were to be the example for which I should live, then I confess I am inadequate for grace is something I am greatly lacking in. For the Word became Flesh, and grace upon grace for all my inadequacies. And if that Grace in its humanity can be grace and grace again for me, should it not be within me to extend this grace to another?


But the Word become Flesh is not simply Grace upon grace, but also Jehovah Rapha, the Healer that lavishes Grace upon grace to heal the broken me and the broken you.


And so, grace upon grace to you. I'd love to walk away, and if not because we were family, I would have done so a long, long time ago.



I have a feeling this might be the first of many Bonhoeffer blog posts to come. Quite honestly, I still dislike being associated with theology, but if that qualification allows me to sound like a nerd write passionately about things that I really care about from time to time on my blog, then I'm really not all that sorry. And while my sociological approach to theology may not take me to a place where I can discourse with you on the likes of Foucault, Lacoste and Heidegger, I'd rather be understood by the common people that I'm used to living life with than be dressed up to the nines to have a conversation with some big-wigs.

Almost Disneyland

This is going to be another quick entry before heading down for breakfast and another full day ahead. But I haven't written in a couple days, so here we go.

Thursday morning, we visited a local public school in a poorer side of town. We hung out with some of the kids and painted games with them out in the courtyard. Most of group spoke little to no German and the kids spoke little English. But that's the beauty of humanity that transcends language barriers. Rather than say too much more, I'll let the pictures do the talking.

Left: Aaron and Adrian entertaining themselves.

Left: Amy Froese (Dr. Walter Froese's great-niece who was in town to help us translate) entertaining the kids

Left: Sandra, Verena and Paula, the three girls I painted with.

Left: This was the game we painted.

Just before we left, we went to say goodbye to them in their classroom. Apparently Jack had been entertaining them with a rendition of Lady Gaga which pulled off a round of laughs all around mostly because our group had NEVER seen or expected that from Jack. As we were saying our goodbyes, the kids asked for our autographs. And of course, Jack had to sign off as Gaga.

We then came back and cleaned up then went out for the evening for a bit of sightseeing - mostly just the artsy side of town. That will probably one of the places I'll spend quite a lot of time at after the group leaves. Something about the quaintness of the place and the people I'll get to meet there seems strangely appealing.

Bonhoefferhaus

Then yesterday we visited the Bonhoefferhaus. This was the very same place he was arrested, and where he did the majority of his writing. In spite of what the other seminarians say, I'm really by no means a theological nerd - except when it comes to Bonhoeffer or Nouwen.

But Bonhoeffer.

Something about the simplicity of the house he lived in was kind of odd but at the same time, a true reflection that he did actually live out his thoughts and writing. It really was a simple house, and it wasn't even fenced off or given added security. And one could pass by it and not even realise this was the Bonhoefferhaus.

So much more to process about Bonhoeffer, and why he's even more of a hero to me now. But I don't want to ramble, and I'm starting to need my morning dose of coffee.

Hey if you want to see pictures, here's the link to the Facebook album. You don't have to be logged in to see the pictures.

Today there'll be a bit more sightseeing, then we'll go to the cultural festival close by. Tonight is also the Champions League finals where Bayern plays Inter. We'll be going to the US equivalent of a sports bar to watch the game and hang out with the people there. Funny how football unites the world. In case you didn't already know, I'm also looking forward to the actual World Cup season and hanging out with the local football fans. I don't care what the rest of the US thinks, football is the game you play with your foot, not your hands.

Alright, breakfast/coffee time. Love you all.