Table Talks: John Wesley part #1

Last Tuesday, we began a new series in our small group focusing on the life and teachings of John Wesley.

As our last sermon series was concluding, I had asked the ladies what they wanted to discuss next. Since there were so many questions raised about Wesleyan teaching as we were going through our last series, it made the most sense to do a study on John Wesley.

So that the discussions don't get completely dry and boring, we have been reading "John Wesley: The World His Parish" from the Christian Heroes series by Janet and Geoff Benge. It's written as a novel for young readers (intermediate/junior high age) so it's a very pleasant read for our small group. But what I've appreciated about the five chapters I've read so far is that it doesn't avoid getting into the deep theological terms just to keep it appropriate for young readers. Instead, the writers use those terms and go on to explain what they mean in language that is reader-friendly for its audience.

We had just gotten the books last week, so we read the first two chapters aloud during small group. Since we have been trying to tailor our children's ministry to be more family-focused (families doing Church together rather than parents do grown-up church stuff while the Kids' Church teachers babysit their kids), I was stoked that this book would be accessible for all age groups since it's an easy read-aloud book. Of course, it provides only the introductory material to John Wesley's life, but it works for our small group.

In addition to the book we're reading together, I also managed to borrow a few other books from the WMCNZ (Wesleyan Methodist Church of New Zealand) library as my study resources.

An Introduction to Wesleyan Theology by William M. Greathouse and H. Ray Dunning
Holiness for Ordinary People by Keith Drury
What a Time to be Wesleyan! by David L. McKenna

I know, this isn't a very conventional way to do small group. But I don't really know how to do "conventional," so I guess I should just be glad the ladies are happy to go with the flow.

I'm excited about this study. And even more so because after our read-aloud session last week, we all wanted to keep going. But since the point of the study isn't to zip through John Wesley's life as much as to reflect on what we can learn today, we stopped after two chapters. I'm pretty eager to get back to our discussions tomorrow.

Hey, if you're interested in reading the book with us, I know they have it on Kindle and probably at your local Christian bookstore as well. And if you want to join in the discussion with us, feel free to jump in the conversation online. I'll post a brief reflection of our discussions each week, and you can join in the conversation.

Where We Come From: Holiness and Unity Part #4

One of my first lessons on ecclesiology came not from a textbook or lecture, but from a conversation with a dear friend. Caldwell Manners was a first year student at the School of Theology back in 2004 when I was starting my freshman year at Anderson University. He was the first friendly face I met on campus. I had come knocking on Uncle Mac and Auntie Jean's home the day I arrived in Anderson. They weren't home, but this Indian kid came to the door. I didn't know what to make of it except that he was friendly, and I was awkward. By the time we had a second conversation, I knew we were going to be friends.

I don't remember how it started, but one evening, we found ourselves having a lengthy discussion about denominationalism. At the time, I had no interest in theological education because as far as I was concerned, theologians were either dead white men or nerds who buried themselves in books and didn't know how to interact with the real world. But Caldwell simply asked if I thought that God's ideal was for everyone to camp under the same church roof and sing Kumbaya (granted, those weren't his exact words). I felt like the right answer was to say, "Yes, of course that's God's ideal," but something in Caldwell's tone of voice hinted that he had expected something different.

And I don't remember how he explained it, but I remembered that conversation for a long time. It wasn't until years later that I understood that it was ok for us to claim Wesleyan, or Church of God, or Nazarene, or even Calvinist or Baptist--as long as we could leave each other on the common ground that we all love Jesus and each other. I began to understand that we are story-formed people, and that the variety of denominations created space for all stories to be embraced.

There are traditional churches with pipe-organs and sanctuary choirs, and there are the hipster churches with their cafes and praise bands.
There are country parishes with the pianos that accompany every hymn, and there are gospel choirs.
There are house churches and underground churches, and there are churches that meet on the streets.

These styles of "church" came into existence because story-formed people came together under different contexts, each bringing their own God-woven story and deciding to share them in a particular manner that was comfortable to them. And they all simply display the creativity of the God we worship.

The beauty of the Church of God theology I embrace is that there CAN be unity in all of the differences. We don't all have to interpret baptism the same way or use the same word to describe communion or the eucharist. But we all believe Jesus died for us, and wants us to choose life with God. And we all live under the "Love God, and love your neighbour as yourself" rule, which means we should all be able to work side by side for the Kingdom.

Over the past couple of weeks, I had the privilege to spend a significant amount of time with the Wesleyan Methodist Church in New Zealand. The thing I love about spending time with the Wesleyan Methodist Church is that I get to interact with the Pacific Island and Asian communities, and to hear songs and prayers in different languages. And we get to sit around the tables with our Nazarene and Salvationist brothers and sisters, talking and learning from each other.

One of the questions raised in our conversation was this: What impact does context have on our understanding of holiness? Should it have an impact?

The conversation around the table was lively, and I was intrigued by the question so I brought it back to our small group yesterday and asked the ladies the same question.

Let me just say, they blew my mind.

Sylvia began by saying, she wasn't exactly sure how or why yet, but she knew the answer had to be that context DOES impact our understanding of holiness. She went on to describe that those living on the fringes probably understand their need for holiness far better than those of us who have been living a good life. We often assume that because we have been good, we have also been holy. But holiness has nothing to do with being good as much as it has to do with realising our need for Jesus.

Nina talked about how holiness would mean something different to a Buddhist than to us, and how we don't touch the heads of Maori children because the head is tapu (holy/sacred). It made me realise that the question was actually really open-ended, but MY context as a Christian has already impacted my understanding of holiness in that I hadn't even considered how holiness might be understood by those who didn't follow Jesus.

(Seminerdian friends, I'm aware there's still a load of stuff to unpack from that question, but that isn't the point of this post.)

The point is this: We don't all have to love pipe-organs more than praise bands or ukeleles, and we don't all have to have a trim latte before church. We don't even have to understand holiness in exactly the same way, except in that holiness requires us to love God and love our neighbours as ourselves. And that is what brings unity.

And that. That is where we come from.

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!

Where We Come From: Holiness, Unity, Servanthood part #2

We recently started a new series, E100 (or the 100 essential places/readings to visit in the Bible). I'll be the first to admit I'm not a big fan of cookie-cutter programmes like these, especially Christiany programmes. I could come up with 101 theological reasons to disagree with the programme, but I forced myself to pack away the seminary cynicism and give it a chance. And I was glad I did.

As a result of this new series, I've been tremendously blessed by Table Talks, the adult small group I've been facilitating for the last couple of months. Granted, there's only the three of us that meet regularly, but that's the thing. We meet. And regularly. And of course, we go through the study questions and stuff.

But that's just the stuff that gave us a reason to start meeting together. The stuff that's really blown me away as getting to do life with these women who have become my church mums. Nina's taught me more about how to work in a western kitchen than anything Google can offer. Likewise with Sylvia's resourcefulness with children's ministry crafts and doing stuff on a low-budget.

And the questions they're asking. Nina and her four pages of loose-leaf notes complete with family trees of all the crazies in Genesis. Wrestling with God and evil questions. Stuff that make me wrestle with my own theology all over again, and coming to terms all over again with the fact that life isn't simply black or white. More than anything else, I was thankful that my seminary education managed to find a place in life outside the walls of Tallen Hall.

Then this week, Sylvia blew me away even more. Somewhere between asking questions about grace and redemption and the difference between the soul and spirit and the essentials of our faith, she said, "I want to know what our church tradition says about this."

I don't remember how I reacted outwardly, but inside, I was doing a happy dance. My gut reaction was, "Oh great, now I'm going to have to seriously review CHOG/Wesleyan Holiness theology so I can articulate it in non-nerdy language." But when I got over myself, I wanted to scream, "You're so Wesleyan, whether you realise it or not."

But this is why I appreciate these women.
Not because I have well-crafted seminary answers to throw at them, but because they challenge me to think about life.
And because they are so gracious with me and my inexperience with their children and grandchildren.
And because they don't simply write me off as a young whippersnapper, but embrace me as their nerd and their pastor.


So I've been thinking a lot about my Church of God/Wesleyan Holiness roots lately. At Table Talks, we've been discussing a lot about law and grace and what those all mean according to our church tradition and understanding of scripture. I'll admit that I've taken the community of fellow Wesleyan Holiness nerds for granted in never really having to explain where we're coming from concerning our understanding of holiness and unity. But the more I dig into those roots, the more I'm thankful for a tradition whose concern for holiness and unity is rooted in grace. Not in law for the sake of law, but law for the sake of relationship.

And I've been thinking about my church mothers. The Nora Hunters, the Ann Smiths, and the MaryAnn Hawkins. The women who have gone before me, and the communities that have celebrated their wisdom and leadership. And I wonder if they had days when they had to deal with a self-esteem so low from being told over and over again (sometimes even not with words) that they were young, or inexperienced, or simply were not the right gender for proper leadership.

And then I think of my other church mothers and the Dumbledores. My own mother who has been quietly supportive and encouraging in her own way. The Ninas and the Sylvias who have affirmed me as their pastor, even in my whippersnapper-ness. And the Arthur Kellys and Jim Hawkins and Patrick Nachtigalls, who have never tried to pack my out-of-the-box-ness into neat packages.

And then I think of the people that Emily calls my "cloud of witnesses". The people whose paths I crossed while in Anderson who believe in me. The ones that hooded me not because I wrote good papers (I really didn't), but because we're all in this footwashing business together. The ones that talk about Kingdom Come more than the number of degrees we hold or the titles we wear.


On the days that I struggle with my place in the world, this is what I come back to.
Not the current job title or the job description. Those things are temporary.
No, this is where we come from.

These are the stories of holiness and unity.
These are the stories of the footwashers.
These are the stories of my Church of God/Wesleyan Holiness roots.