Theology of the City

by Michael Denson

After the birth of our son in March of 2017, my wife Charith and I went into panic mode. The walls of our tiny 900 square foot historic home in downtown Phoenix, seemed to suddenly close in on us. The traffic in our concrete jungle was now impending and dangerous. Even the air we breathed became thin and choking. We didn't know what was happening. This had been our home for almost 2 years and we loved everything about living in the city. But our little 9-pound bundle introduced certain fears that reframed our view of the city and our future as city dwellers.

We ventured to find a new place to belong. We wanted space, safety, parks, good schools, diversity, and most important of all, we wanted people like us; a mixed- race, young married couple with a biracial child. People who think differently, celebrate diversity and community. People who are creative, who challenge systems, and take risks. People who love Jesus and love their neighborhood just as much. 

Charith and I have always believed that the “city” is equivalent to The Garden. Cities are teeming with life, creativity, culture, diversity, discovery, and beauty. Phoenix was a city we felt called to, a place where we felt rooted in, and a place where we were to grow and produce fruit. So our migration to suburbia in 2017 was met with anxiousness and timidity. This uncertainty was much more magnified when we finally found our new home in suburban Glendale, AZ. But soon after moving, we began to notice the very prominent dividing lines and walls that kept our new neighborhood segregated. We could see how the fixtures of our city, the roads, gated communities, proximity to highways, and expensive mountain base homes shaped the collective understanding of our lives together (Leong 27).

We quickly began to survey our new location, piecing together the physical makeup of our neighborhood and city. Very early on we were struck by what we observed on our daily commute home from work. In the 20 min drive directly west, from the I-17 freeway toward the base of Thunderbird Mountain, we notice 2 things; the houses get bigger and newer, and neighborhoods get whiter and richer. 

We were so challenged with this idea of belonging. Was this the place that we “belonged?” Not soon after we moved into our new home and began to “do life” in our new neighborhood, we found that the place where we now dwelled did not feel like a place where we belonged. Whatever belonging is, it involves belonging with and to others in a place (Leong 35). However, we felt that the people around us were not “our people.” 

There was not much diversity. Everywhere we turned we saw predominantly middle-class, white Americans. Churches had been erected at almost every major intersection, and though the denominations varied greatly, we noticed the same demographic of people coming and going every Sunday. Restaurant and grocery store workers varied in ethnicity, but the question remained, “where did these individuals live and play?” Rarely had we seen these same people dining, shopping, or communing outside of the places they worked. If God has always placed importance on the location of his people and the space they occupy, then where we are (or where we were placed) is no accident and has little to do with our desire for “sameness” as it relates to our personal preference for space, aesthetics, opportunities, and demographic of people. 

The first place my wife and I sought after was a church. Surely communing with like-minded, contemporary Christians every week we give us that “belonging” feeling we were seeking. And surely the Church is in some ways was addressing the social-economical issues of the city in which it existed, hopefully in new and radical ways. This is what we believed to be the call of the church. To seek to reconcile communities to look more like the kingdom of God by embodying the beauty, goodness, and truth of Jesus. However, our perspectives on how this could be accomplished were dramatically changed. 

My wife and I spent several months searching for the perfect church. Sunday after Sunday we tried church after church. Like Goldilocks searching for the perfect bed among the bears, we found ourselves making weekly confessions of, “this church is too big. That church was too white. This church was too boring. That church was too charismatic.” Among our nit-picking, we found no church that valued diversity, racial and gender reconciliation, social awareness and responsibility, and the fight for justice. And even still, we were hard-pressed to find a church that just valued people. At the very least, we would have hoped to walk into a church and simply be noticed, accepted, and loved just for showing up. 

  Early in 2018, we were introduced to Axiom church. Before our initial attendance, we decided to do some research. Who are you? What are you about? What’s your mission? What kind of people (Christians) are you? The church seemed to score high in all of our shallow requirements for a place we would want to spiritually root. Additionally, it proposed new questions that we would need to be answered before we would commit. Who are the Mennonite Brethren? What does it mean that you are a community of pioneers? What does it look like to “value your neighbor?”  

On March 18th, 2018 we got dressed and headed over to Axiom for the 10am service. Running a little late, my wife and I, along with our 1-year-old, walked into a small sanctuary where people were already worshiping. At the time I couldn’t quite nail down why but I instantly felt overwhelmingly relieved. I was so incredibly thankful that the song the worship band was playing was one I had never heard before. I loved that I could look across the room and almost count the number of people present. And I loved that, from what I could tell, the faces of the people present varied in race and age.  

As the band finished their third song the bass guitarist put his instrument to the side, walked up to the main microphone and introduced himself as the pastor. His retro 90’s t-shirt, sleeve tattoo, and trucker hat hinted that Pastor Gavin was someone who was consciously working against the stereotypical pastoral image I was accustomed to, even among “hipster” churches.  He had an authenticity that I had not experienced before in the role of a lead pastor. And that same authenticity was prevalent among the congregation. 

After service, before we could even exit our isle, Gavin stopped Charith and asked our names and thanked us for joining Axiom for service. After we talked for just a moment, Gavin gave us his phone number and offered us to join him for coffee. This was a radically different interaction either of us had experiences in our search for churches over the course of several months. And an even stranger experience with anyone in a pastoral role. This was truly a place that valued authentic hospitality and its importance was modeled by those in leadership. This is truly what kept us coming back.

Over the next year I learned much about the heart of the church I now call home and its mission to become a part of the surrounding community. One thing Axiom is very intentional about is, first and foremost, being good neighbors. Our church is situated among some neglected and abandoned homes, spanish speaking families, vacant lots, a few businesses and not much else. Beyond this area, moving west and north, one can see newly built 2 story homes protected by 6 to 8 foot block walls. And not far beyond that is a massive sports complex and entertainment district. It is clear that there is a disconnect in this space. There is a story here that we have not yet learned. 

This idea of practicing Christian discipleship that is more attentive to the places and patterns of exclusion that divide our communities (Leong 56) is foundational to the work of Axiom. We are one of about ten churches in a very condensed area. The place we occupy is a shared space. Between these churches and the community, we are continually seeking out ways to invite our neighbors into our physical location, as well as become a part of their space and common areas. This includes community potlucks, family movie nights, using the parks as venue space for free music events, neighborhood cleanup efforts, art walks, and simply just meeting people and asking them their story. In this, I have witnessed a new sort of Christianity. A faith that seeks to be informed by its location and not one that desires to create social homogeneity. One that is void of overspirtualizaiton and “soul-winning.” One that is closer to the church we read about in scripture. 

Axiom is considered a church for the unlikely. Those who are weird, different, forgotten about, misunderstood, and those who don’t fit into the mold of cookie-cutter suburbia. Because of this, I believe that we are a community of believers that have a keen sense of the damaging effects of “sameness” and uniformity. The church is a place where God is forming a family out of strangers (Leong 159). Welcoming and communing with “different” people necessitate patience and perseverance-this produces true kinship (161). This is the beginning of reconciliation and a clearer image of the Kingdom of God.

Jesus modeled this very character of meeting strangers with hospitality, acknowledging differences and redefining the idea of “neighbor,”  all while understanding and functioning within the framework of the local environment. Nowhere is this clearer than in Jesus’ well-known and controversial conversation with a Samaritan woman at as well (Leong 54). Jesus undoubtedly understood the history of Samaria and what kept them as “other.” However, he acknowledges the cultural conflict and reframes the story by allowing the Spirit to prompt radical neighborly interaction.  

Jesus said to her, “Will you give me a drink?” (John 4:7). Why would Jesus, a Jew, make this request from such an impure and immoral Samaritan woman? Furthermore, on a more intimate level, Jesus “sees” this woman, her history and her lifestyle, addresses it and provides grace in spite of her circumstance, culturally or otherwise. I believe this was (and is) the foundational work that led to the reconciliation of the Samaritan people. Leaving her water jar, the woman went back to the town and said to the people, “Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Messiah?” (John 4:28-29). I believe that Jesus’s tendency to push social boundaries and boldly engage with those who were racially, culturally, and biologically different is the rootedness of salvation and social reconciliation. It is the clearest visualization of true discipleship. 

Though, in no way is Axiom a “perfect church,” (and thank God no church is)  it is a place where we belong. I am continually affirmed, though sometimes uncomfortably so, that this is the place where we have been sewn and the place where God requires us to take root. And with a community of radically different believers who are patiently working toward reconciliation through neighborliness and hospitality, I am hopeful that the future of the place I now call home will have a growing number of scattered people. People who intentionally occupy space with whoever is considered “other” and begin to create a new city narrative through the common experience of shared space. 

Bibliography

Leong, David P. Race and Place. Downers Grove, InterVarsity Press, 2017.

New International Version. Bible Gateway, www.biblegateway.com. Accessed 20 

April 2019.

Stranger Kings

For many followers of Jesus, Advent is the start of our New Year and a joyous season of hopeful expectation. It is worth pausing for a moment to reflect on and clarify just exactly what it is that we are expecting. What implications do those expectations carry? How might those expectations manifest in our lives as we move into this next season?

Expectation is an abstract and peculiar thing. At its best, it is a well of hope we draw from as we anticipate some future event. At its worst, it may fuel feelings of disappointment or despair when things don’t play out as we had hoped. Many first-century Jews might have experienced both of these extremes surrounding the coming of the prophesied and long-anticipated Messiah. To really understand why, we might first need to rewind a bit.

Rejecting the King of Kings

About 1,000 years before Jesus’ birth, the elders of Israel came to their prophetic judge, Samuel, and demanded he appoint a king to rule over them (1 Samuel 8). Samuel, knowing this was a bad idea, brought the issue to the Lord in prayer. God, also knowing this was a bad idea, asked Samuel to warn Israel about how their lives would likely change for the worse under a human king. The people of Israel, ignoring Samuel’s warning, were insistent and God ultimately accommodated their request by anointing Saul as Israel’s first king. We don’t need to read much further into 1 Samuel before we see Israel regretting that decision. It was, indeed, a bad idea.

Original Engraving: Israel Demands a King by J. Winter (Dutch, Eighteenth Century) / Cartoon by Johnny Kerr

The thing is, Israel had always had a mighty King, one that far exceeded the best the world could offer. But they didn’t fully recognize Him as such because their perspective was compromised by their envy of other nations. Lest we be too hard on ol’ Israel, I think it’s only fair to recognize that humanity still struggles with these same issues even today. In fact, we can trace this problem all the way back to the beginning; Adam and Eve ultimately rejected God’s rule when they gave themselves over to the serpent’s temptation, subjugating themselves to another, lesser ruler.

God has always desired for humankind to live in intimate relationship with Him, to experience His care and goodness firsthand. After the Fall, He tried again to establish that relationship with humanity through His covenant with Abraham. But Abraham’s descendants insisted on a kingdom modeled after the other nations of the world. They couldn’t see that life with God in charge was real life, that the other kingdoms of the world had it upside-down and backwards.

As we fast-forward back to the time near Jesus’ birth we see a fractured nation in the wake of dozens of human kings (most of them awful). In addition to the divided kingdoms of Israel and Judah often being at war with each other, they also endured multiple external wars, conquerings, exiles, returns from exile, and dispersion. The temple of the Lord had been destroyed and rebuilt twice and Jerusalem was occupied under Roman rule.

Expecting The King of Kings

Jewish prophets had foretold the arrival of the Messiah and the faithful remnant of Israel were desperately hoping for delivery. But they still seemed to be stuck on the idea of a human warrior king—like David from the “good old days”—to march into war, conquer Rome and make Israel great again. As we now know, the humble carpenter from Galilee didn’t exactly fit the picture most of them had in mind. When our expectations are misguided, even good things can be missed, poorly received, or rejected outright.

“So we do not focus on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

2 Corinthians 4:18 (HCSB)

As we look back on the narratives of Jesus’ birth as described in Matthew and Luke, we have the benefit of hindsight that Jews in Jesus’ day did not. Even still, we can wonder at how our mighty King chose to reveal Himself to us under such humble circumstances. We can read in all four Gospels about how he lived in humility and loved boldly. These things should color our expectations for what is yet to come. Our King does not operate in accordance with any of the kingdoms of this world.

Jesus came to fulfill the law and the prophets but he came to do it on the Father’s terms, not the world’s. Because of this, Jesus’ ways often confounded the world. It is not that Jesus is a strange King, but that all of the other kings and kingdoms of this world are strange. Again, lest we pick on Israel too much, today we still find it challenging to do things Jesus’ way (loving our enemies, for example). In similar fashion to Israel, we often place our hopes in charismatic or powerful human leaders to fix what is broken. But the “wisdom of the world is foolishness” (1 Corinthians 3) and we cannot expect to right the world using its own foolish, upside-down methods.

Assuming you’re familiar with the Netflix phenomenon, Stranger Things (which the main image and title of this post playfully pay homage to), you might know where I’m going with this analogy. For those who are unfamiliar, I’ll first offer some context. The primary conflict in this sci-fi series set in the 1980s has to do with an alternate parallel dimension known to the main characters as “the upside-down.” In the upside-down, the same locations and infrastructure exist as in the human world, but it is always dark, cold, and foggy. It is a place where an evil presence reigns. It is devoid of life as we know it, instead being overgrown with ambiguous membranes and root-like tendrils with ashy spores ever drifting through the air. The upside-down is merely a shadow of what the world should be.

Much like the fictional group of main characters in Stranger Things, we find ourselves in this present age caught at the intersection of two parallel dimensions: the real world and a shadow world. Although this world in some ways resembles what God created it to be, it is presently a shadow of that, corrupted by darkness. We, like Jews in the ancient Near East, are waiting in expectation for our deliverer.

Anticipating The King of Kings

The word “anticipation” is unique from its near-synonym, “expectation” in that it carries the connotation of action. To anticipate is to prepare and take action based on the belief that what we expect will come to pass. We are in a fallen shadow world but we can still move through it acting as though Jesus is King, because He is! Jesus came to usher in a new era, establishing God’s rule on earth as in Heaven. Something actually changed when Jesus conquered death on the cross, and the world has not been the same ever since. We have been set free.

As followers of Christ we still encounter the darkness of this upside-down world, but we see it for what it is and keep our eyes focused on Jesus. To borrow an illustration from Pastor Gavin, we cannot walk a straight line without something on the distant horizon to fix our eyes upon (December 8, 2019 sermon). Paul similarly charges us in 2 Corinthians 4 to fix our eyes on what is unseen, reminding us that what we see is merely temporary, but the unseen is eternal. When we fix our eyes on Jesus, we can trust that His ways are good, and that where He is leading us there is fullness of life.

During this season of Advent we may find it helpful to look back in reflection on the birth of Christ, but we also look forward to His promised return. As we look forward in expectation, let us ask the Spirit to continue revealing to us the eternal unseen. Let us listen to the voice of our true King so that we do not become distracted by lesser kingdoms and their upside-down ways. Let us anticipate the arrival of our King, knowing His rule is already established, and that we can trust His promise to return. May our anticipation move us into action, making the ways of our good King manifest, on earth as it is in Heaven.

by Johnny Kerr

The Vaporizing One

by Tiffany Heath

As a child, fear plagued me. Being alone in any room caused me to tremble and long for escape. I prepared for bedtime as a soldier entering battle. Flashlight, socks, nightlight, radio, stuffed animal bodyguard, cordless phone, and a spray bottle. Blame the active imagination. It is as much a curse as a blessing. Did you know that there was an actual creature who lived beneath my bed and lurked when the lights went out? He persistently loomed over my thoughts. If a foot slipped out of the covers for more than five seconds, I would be pulled below and gnawed to pieces by his thrashing teeth. Fact. Luckily, my wandering feet always found redemption under the covers in four seconds or less. Wearing socks to bed ensured safety. Creatures don’t touch blankets or clothing—only human flesh…pretty serious creature business. Keeping the socks on your feet all night was a true act of God, though. He always had his hand of protection over my tiny feet. Triumphantly, the creature vanished (although I choose to believe he was eventually vaporized) after I learned to recite Psalm 23. Creatures pale in comparison to scripture. 

For years at night, I was battling creatures and nightmares. During the day, my vaporizing scriptures didn’t always vanish what I feared. In totally real life, I hadn’t met a slimy green beast who stalked me in pursuit of dining on the delicacy of my toes, but it certainly felt that way after moving and beginning anew in a different city and school. I was always prepared with my “vaporizer” and “socks.” Metaphorically speaking. SoCal kids wear flip flops, even in wintertime.

Through thick and thin, I trudged through life as my own superhero, vaporizing junior high bullies, failures, breakups, moves, health problems, disappointments, the prolonged loneliness of solitude, and even normal seasons that brought reluctance. As you age, your fears become more complicated and interwoven in the fabric of your identity and independence. That which could not be defeated would henceforth be avoided. Fun coping mechanisms for adults. Weeeee! 

Eventually, I understood that avoiding a fearful situation will not dissolve it but prolong it instead. In my experience, it also intensifies fear. My heart became hardened and I was weak from preparing for battle constantly. I didn’t interact without my “vaporizer” and personal superhero cape. Always ready to save myself. Not surprisingly, family and friends notice the figurative vanishing techniques that keep you at arms distance. They will refer to this as “too many walls.” As empowering as courage and bravery are, always being your only hero is sad. What happens one day when you are not strong enough anymore to defeat the creature on your own, but you don’t know how to ask for help? Fear conquers when pride is your protection.

Two years ago, I met my greatest foe, and fear, face to face. My family, the greatest piece of my heart, separated. I wasn’t figuratively alone anymore. I was physically alone. The pain of extreme loneliness amidst the chaos of conflict shattered my life into pieces. Worse yet, I could not vaporize the creature of divorce. I could not fix anything. This loss coupled with the passing of my beloved uncle and a friend left me breathless. I grappled to the social safety of workaholic syndrome and the completely secure world of dating. Filling the void of grief is never that easy. Simultaneously, my career imploded and each relationship that began rejected me. I always knew there would come a day when I wouldn’t be living in the fear of being alone again…but would physically be living it.

When I faced the giant of loneliness, I trembled. I shook, bargained, avoided, ran, suffered from the depression of isolation, and eventually realized that I could not take away the pain of my fear. No matter how hard I tried. I was not going to escape it and would not be able to vanquish this creature. Anger boiled up within me at the lack of control I had and life continued to bring further loss.

Losing what I valued most humbled me. Facing my fear reminded me that I am still the child hiding under her covers with a spray bottle and layers of socks on her feet. Just as I needed my vaporizing Psalm once upon a time, I needed to acknowledge the promise of that Psalm.

God is my shepherd. I am not without when he is beside me. He leads me, protects me, provides for me. He REFRESHES my soul and leads me on right paths for his glory. EVEN WHEN I WALK THROUGH THE DARKEST PLACES, I WILL NOT FEAR. GOD IS WITH ME, PROTECTING ME. He welcomes, blesses, and gives me provision in the presence of my enemies. I have everything I need in him and more.

His goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will live in his home forever.

We will never be alone because God is always with us. The promise of Psalm 23 vanquishes all fear.

Facing my foe allowed me to see how great God is. It taught me to set aside my pride and ask for his help. I pleaded, “Help! I am lonely. Send me friends.” He sent friends. In spades. “Send me responsibility. I need motivation and purpose.” He sent a stubborn puppy. “I miss my family. My heart is in pain without them.” He provided me with the wisdom, compassion, and love to reach out to them. With humble hearts, he is teaching us how to forgive and support each other. “Send me a job that provides and encourages.” He led me back to a job in a loving community. “God, I need a support system that will keep me close to you.” He sent friendships that anchored me and pulled me out of the pit of depression. He sent me a lighthouse, a guide, a place of safety, full of his love for others, and connection with him. He sent me Axiom Church.

I don’t believe that God wants us to stop vanquishing creatures. In fact, I believe he blesses this and I choose to believe that he is a mega-fan of this! May we always do what we are afraid to do (with him). But when our fears are completely demolished, we should rejoice that we weren’t holding the vaporizing spray bottle on our own. A strong and powerful God has his hands of protection over us.

Even when life smacks us in the face, we can call him, beep him, if we wanna reach him (Kim Possible reference). He’ll be there, one step ahead, and *pew pew pew* (vaporizer noises).

The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. (Deuteronomy 31:8)

The Gift Of Hope

by Johnny Kerr

I find that my Creator often speaks to me when I am engaged in the creative process. Photography has helped me to be more aware, to see metaphors everywhere. Those metaphors often become a conduit through which the Spirit speaks to me. Psalm 66 says, “All the earth worships You and sings praises to You.” I suppose practicing photography has helped me listen more attentively to these songs of praise, allowing creation to teach me about it’s Creator.

Initially, in capturing and reflecting on this image of a small boat grounded on dry land, I became stuck on the obvious imagery of an ark. But that seemed too obvious. I felt a nagging urge to spend time looking deeper for a more profound meaning. During my reflections, I found myself writing a haiku to help figure out what this image had to tell me. I am not a poet, and don’t typically attempt poetry, but I followed the impulse:

I dreamed of a boat

A captive, held from the sea

The rain comforts me

To some, this poem may sound dreary. But for me, it is an expression of hope. What I see and feel in this metaphor is the tension between my renewed identity in God’s covenant family versus my limited perception of the present age. On one hand, the Gospel says we are alive in Christ. He invites us into the fullness of life here and now. On the other hand, we still find ourselves in this fallen world, struggling with the difficult reality that, while God’s Kingdom is here, it has yet to become fully realized. Life can be pretty good. Yet we still face harsh realities like tragedy, disaster, and death.

In wrestling with that apparent contradiction, this image of a boat stranded on dry land began to really speak to me. We are, if you’ll indulge my metaphor, boats that were designed for water, sailing freely through a vast ocean, above the guiding sway of mighty waves. And yet, sometimes we might feel more like boats who are out of our element. stranded on dry land.

But, just when we are about to lose hope, the rain comes! We feel that life-giving water again! It’s not the fullness of the ocean we were made for, but it’s enough to stimulate our senses and remind us of what will one day be again. We are called out of despair and into hope.

The funny thing about hope is that we wouldn’t need it if all was well. We sense that things aren’t quite right with our current world, precisely because God created us for something better. We need hope because things are not as they should be. That’s why my poem has elements of despair in it. It’s okay to feel that tension, but we don’t want to live there. We need the lifeline that hope offers, but what we place our hope in matters. We might even go as far as saying that misplaced hope is what got us into our current predicament in the first place.

A.W. Tozer said, “What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.” The Gospel teaches us that God is good. Unfortunately, throughout history the church has picked up and taught some pictures of God that make His goodness difficult to accept.

Most Christians would agree, at least on an intellectual level, that God is good. But our practice doesn’t always align with our ideology. Many of us also carry pieces of the mixed-up narrative of an angry God kicking Adam and Eve out of the garden for breaking some seemingly arbitrary rule. Generations later, He is still so angry with humanity’s wickedness that He has to vent His wrath on someone, so God sends Jesus to take our place of punishment on the cross. Thank you, Jesus, for saving us from your angry Dad!

I don’t know about you, but I have a hard time finding hope in that story. Hasn’t the time come that we divorce ourselves from this ugly narrative and replace it with the good news that God is as good as Jesus reveals Him to be on the cross? Here’s another look at that story, this time through a Jesus-centered lens:

God created us out of love. He desired for us to experience His love first-hand, to share that love with His creation, and to love Him in return. He gave us freedom so that our loving relationship would be authentic; a mutual choice, not mindless or coerced. He only asked that we trust Him and His goodness (i.e., eat from the Tree of Life). But we allowed our picture of God to become sullied by deception. We misplaced our hope in the lie that we could know better than God (i.e., we ate from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil). We chose to see God as withholding some secret knowledge from us rather than trusting Him as the source of all good things. We gave away the power and fullness of life He had given us. Despite us having rejected Him, God continued to pursue a loving relationship with us, even to the point of entering into our humanity in the person of Jesus to overcome death, to save us from captivity by laying down His own life.

Not only does God recognize our need for hope, but He also gives us Himself to place our hope in. Jesus built us a bridge back to the Father using His own body. He offers us the opportunity to once again eat from the Tree of Life. We are, however, still faced with the unfortunate ramifications of our own rebellion. The good news is that Jesus is our manna in the desert, our living water in a seemingly impossible drought. He gives us the gift of hope.

I feel the painful realities of our fallen world, our separation from God, our stubbornness and habits of destruction. It hurts in a tangible way, and it takes me to some dark places at times. In our postmodern world, the idea of hope is often dismissed as a form of head-in-the-clouds self-foolery or Pollyanna naïveté. Our cultural narrative is that we just need to try harder, to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps. But the attempt to be self-reliant is to continue choosing the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil instead of the Tree of Life. Instead, we need to entrust ourselves to the One who truly sustains life and is the source of all good things.

We desperately need hope. But what we place our hope in matters. We can’t put our hope in the ways of the world; in possessions, people or politics. We also can’t place our hope in a culturally misguided picture of who God is. Our hope is in a good, loving God who is actively working to reconcile His creation to Himself; a God who is still inviting us to partner with him in that loving relationship. We need to place our hope in The One who gives us the gift of hope, who can actually fulfill our hope. Our hope is in a God that looks like Jesus. Our hope is Jesus.

Not Created To Be Alone

by Johnny Kerr

In the Western world, America in particular, the notion of self-sufficiency has been idealized to a potentially unhealthy degree. We have countless examples of “self-made men” who overcame adversity and fought their way to wealth and influence. Professionals who work 50+ hour weeks—often sacrificing physical and mental health, personal leisure, social life and family—are lauded as hard workers committed to their careers. People who silently endure immense suffering are revered for their strength and perseverance in made-for-TV movies. The market for self-help books has been booming since the 1970’s. 

None of these things are inherently bad. But their emphasis has made our culture sick. Loneliness, depression and suicide rates are reporting at an all-time high. Although we live in relative abundance and security compared to much of the world, our model of individualism has significantly reduced our quality of life. Despite the vast potential for virtual connection via the world wide web and social media, many are experiencing real life in isolation. We have traded the benefits of community thriving for a romanticized caricature from a dime-store cowboy novel. We’ve become convinced that all we need is ourselves and some good old-fashioned grit.

The postmodern church has not been immune to these ills, even with a rich history of community going back to ancient Israel. We’ve become pretty good at using buzz words, pretending to be in community without really going all-in. Our church buildings have names like “fellowship hall” and our volunteer committees have names like “hospitality team.” Unfortunately, many times these efforts amount to little more than providing donuts and coffee for people to grab as they rush in before service starts, or a quick handshake during a worship invitation. When the service is over, many of us go home and live our separate lives until next Sunday.

Again, it’s not that fellowship halls, hospitality teams, donuts, and handshakes are bad things. But they are incomplete. They are lacking the wholeness we see exemplified in God’s desire for the nation of Israel, or the early church as recorded in the book of Acts (ex: Acts 2:42-47). Just as predators in the animal kingdom try to isolate potential prey from the heard to increase the chances of a kill, the Enemy knows that isolation weakens both the individual and the body. Our modern myths of self-reliance are hindering us from experiencing Heaven on Earth. We are missing out on the richness of life in God’s Kingdom which He has called us to usher in, here and now, together as His body of co-laborers.

Orthodoxy recognizes God as a triune being, a community of Father, Son and Spirit. From the very beginning of our creation account God reveals Himself as inherently relational. Genesis depicts God in the act of creating saying, “Let Usmake man in Our image…” (Genesis 1:26, emphasis added). Humanity’s need for relationship is immediately recognized (“It is not good for man to be alone.”) and fulfilled through Eve, a suitable co-laborer for Adam (Genesis 2:18-25).

In Exodus we see, laid out in excruciating detail, a list of guidelines given to help Israel navigate the conflicts that arise in community life (Exodus 20-23). Later, Jesus sums up that entire code of law with two simple, relational commands: love God and love your neighbor (Matthew 22:34-40). When Jesus began His ministry of reclaiming and establishing God’s Kingdom on Earth, one of His first actions was to build a community. He called the disciples together and began teaching and living life with them. Scripture is replete with themes of relationship, community and covenant.

God’s Kingdom is based on community relationship. Community is not possible without humility, vulnerability, a degree of transparency and accountability. It may feel like we are dying many small deaths as we rip ourselves out of conformity to the patterns of our modern world. It will be uncomfortable as we lean into vulnerability, allowing others to see who we are beneath the surface. It will get messy as we navigate the challenges and uncertainty of life together in community as God’s family.

Lest we swing the pendulum too far in the opposite direction, it is worth noting that, when implemented appropriately, boundaries are also a healthy part of communal living. Although vulnerability and transparency are necessary in a thriving community, they come with their own limitations. Researcher and author Brené Brown makes this important distinction:

“Oversharing is not vulnerability. In fact, it often results in disconnection, distrust, and disengagement.”

— Brené Brown

Vulnerability without boundaries is unhealthy. There are personal matters that are appropriate to share with a spouse or an accountability partner but should not be casually mentioned to a stranger as you shake hands over donuts in the foyer or fellowship hall. Some personal struggles might be appropriate to share with a small, closely knit home group but not with the whole church body (or on social media, for that matter!).

As the images accompanying this article playfully portray, there are things we can (and probably should) do on our own. A degree of independence is certainly healthy. However, there comes a point for all of us where we meet the limits of our physical ability, skill set, cultural perspective, spiritual maturity, etc. As I looked at the next number painted on the asphalt, spot number 5, I knew I had run out of limbs to continue this picture series on my own. Similarly, there are times in life when we need to rely on others in the larger church body to come alongside us and lend a hand. There should be no shame tied to needing and asking for help. We were not created to be alone. We need to do life in community.

Finally, as we begin to shed the Western notion of going it alone, don’t make the mistake of thinking about community only in terms of receiving. Receiving can be a great act of humility, and a great blessing. But giving, sacrificial giving, is also at the heart of Jesus. Live a life rooted in deep love for God and your neighbor. Take care of each other and be proactive instead of just reactive, always looking for opportunities to be ministers of reconciliation. 

When we look at Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s vision of the Beloved Community, or Jean Vanier’s L’Arche communities we can see that God’s Kingdom is indeed established, and being established, on Earth. These are not merely lofty ideals or Utopian fantasies, but pictures of what it really looks like when Jesus is at the center of all that we do. Cultivating community with Christ at the center doesn’t guarantee perfection. It will still involve navigating conflict and pain, just as in family life. But it will also lead to flourishing, a richness and fullness that can only be experienced when we fulfill our roles as image bearers and ministers of reconciliation in God’s family.

The Beatitudes of Creativity

by Michael Denson

Blessed are

those who create and recreate and recreate until the unseen is seen.

Those whose agony is the birth of something new;

something different, something good and true.

Blessed is

the one who captures life in stone and iron.

The one who shapes and reshapes the world around us.

The builder of shelter and space.

Blessed are

those whose bodies fill space with extended arms and swift feet.

Those covered in international silhouette.

Those who personify the thoughts that remind us how to move and

feel and find our freedom.

Blessed are

those whose voices become notes, become harmonies, become ballads of a people.

Those who make noise that echo throughout our bodies, and deeper still,

And deeper still

Blessed are

those who shape lines and curves into words and stories.

Those who imagine fantastical worlds of beings and being.

Blessed are

those whose flickering frames reveal to us the wisdom of yesterday

and give us the wonder of tomorrow.

Blessed is

the one overcome by color and light; whose eyes dance around form and shadow.

The one who etches paper with wood and pressed stone.

Blessed are

The ones who mirror the image of the Maker.

Those who plunge hands deep into soil and find humanity.

Those who inhale life and breathe out beauty.

Ars Moriendi in the City of Angels (a meditation)

by E. Lundin

[God said:] For dust you are, and to dust you shall return.

-Gen. 3:19

[Jesus said:] Wherever there is a carcass, there the vultures will gather.

-Mt. 24:28

But God remembered Noah…

-Gen. 8:1a

Then the criminal said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

-Luke 23:42

I remember living in the City of Angels.

Old Los Angeles. Land of silver screen. Screenland. Hollywoodland. Mecca for dreamers.

Wide swaths of suburban housing inlaid with a webwork of sidewalks and dead asphalt. Skies disrupted by the constant rumble of jets entering and exiting hive-like LAX. The great ashen “Hollywood” sign presiding over things like the ghost of some dead avatar. Eighteen million dreamers gathered around that avatar. Eighteen million, approximately. Acting out their lives there. Dreams intersecting dreams…

When I lived there the thought of life and death happening on such a scale was unnerving.

Eighteen million. Approximately.

But it was the murders that really unsettled me.

At the time there was this killer driving around to 24-hour donut shops near Culver City, the so-called “Heart of Screenland.”

The killer would stop folks in the early morning hours with their donuts and end their dreams with a single shotgun blast. I forget how many people he killed exactly, but it was more than one.

Other murders happened in the city too. Each one made the city feel more and more forsaken to me. Like it had been abandoned by God. 

Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?

At night I’d sometimes stay up reading homicide reports online. I thought that by absorbing every hideous detail of every hideous act to occur in the city I’d suss out some greater kind of meaning in it all. As though God would be underneath all the dead bodies, laying out an elaborate groundwork that I could begin to comprehend. 

Of course, I didn’t find Him beneath the bodies. Not in any literal sense, anyway. I didn’t find anything. Only more dead. 

I couldn’t stop thinking about those reports. My dreams became tainted by their poison, so I’d end my nights walking the streets, aghast by the apparent emptiness and futility of everything.

I’d walk and walk until I came to this one hilltop neighborhood. From there I’d stare down at the City of Angels and shiver, scared by the thought of dying and being forgotten. Memento mori.

I’d circle around the empty cul-de-sac there at the top of the hill like some brooding vulture, smoking and wandering. I kept returning to the view of the city and its pulsating rhythm of lights and traffic. That “Hollywood” sign hovering in the distance…

Eighteen million local angels beneath me…

Lives wending their myriad courses through time’s vanishing landscape…

Life and death. Dreams flourishing. And expiring. 

Seeds rooted to the soil; seeds scorched among the rocks. 

On those nights I became a kind of urban mystic. Shuffling through the midnight streets of Screenland in my flannel shirts, like some hipster mendicant, listening idly to The Weeknd and waxing philosophical over a flask of expensive whiskey…

What could you do with death?

At the funeral of his young son, 19th-century pastor and theologian Friedrich Schleiermacher called those gathered at the grave to love mightily, ever mindful of the fact that those they love may soon be gone. For dust thou art, and to dust thou shall return.

Schleiermacher found conciliation in the fact that those we love are never lost. That they are preserved. Forever. In what he called “memory.” 

This thought has always struck me. A father saying this at the funeral of his child…

“Memory” is an interesting word. One often relegated to the same space as “fiction,” “fantasy,” and “dream.” “It was only a memory,” someone might say. Only a dream. Only.

But the truth is that anyone who has experienced trauma, or love, knows that memory is no fictive thing. It has a life. Memory can be physical and invasive. Moving up from the past, thrusting itself into the present.

A single memory can crumple you with the unnerving force of a concussive blast. 

What happens in memory can be visceral. Real. You feel it in the body. And the body responds. It’s possible for a person to die from the shock of memory.

God made human beings to be remembering creatures. He made them to wander about in time, remembering time as they moved through. And being made in His image, they were called to remember their God, even as He promised to remember them.

Yes. Our God is a God who remembers. And that Divine Memory has power. One that reveals God’s Truth to the world.

Christians rely on memory to process and to understand Truth. We know Jesus and the Resurrection of the dead, in part, because we remember them.

Did Jesus conquer death? Yes. We remember.

Is Jesus more than memory?

Certainly.

But He is also Memory. Memory of mind, of body, and of Spirit.

And in His death, Jesus is reshaping our memory to conform to His Divine Memory.

So that we might be transformed…

Into what?

Into a kingdom.

An Eternal Kingdom.

But isn’t death still a tragedy?

Yes. Emphatically. Yes.

If there’s one thing the Book of Job teaches us, it is that we should definitely doubt the goodness of death and of suffering. But in doubting we mustn’t lose sight of the whole picture. The greater story. That death is just a single moment in the midst of time’s elaborate unfolding. It is not time’s end. It is a piece, a single piece of Divine Memory.

Its power will not prevail.

Now as I look back on those nights in the City of Angels, I feel the presence of Jesus and His Divine Memory there. Presiding over everything. Experiencing it all. And preserving it.

He remembers everything. Every dead child. Every victim in every homicide report. Every light. Every vulture. Every jet rumbling through the Los Angeles sky.

Even amidst the city and its noises, amidst the donut shop shotgun blasts, and amidst the tragedy of it and every other heinous thing that has ever befallen this world. Every local angel. Those who live and die in this strange landscape called time. He remembers every dream whose moment has come. And gone. Eighteen million. Eighteen zillion. Name your number. He remembers them all.

Hey Schleiermacher, hey you City of Angels…

He remembers all of you.

Every single one.

Now, and Forever.
Amen.

3 Easter Poems

by Ross Bentley

Sonnet of the Cross

What causes God to want to die for man?

What moves Him to such passionate display?

That Christ Himself would orchestrate this plan?

That He'd endure the darkness of this day?

And who are we to warrant this kind grace?

Why should He show us any love at all?

Humanity who just spit in his face

His lowly creatures suddenly so tall

They stand o'er Him with clenched fists in rage

'Who hit you, Christ?!' they shout in mocking tones

And strike the whip across his bare rib cage

Thus ripping tender flesh off of His bones

With mad vengeance we nailed Him to that Tree

Incomparable Love's own destiny 

Silent Saturday

A dark despair has overtaken me

I've lost all valid reason to go on

I'm in a place I thought I'd never be

I simply can't believe the Master's gone.

He talked of Kingdom turning over kings

I had such promise built up in my mind

I didn't understand so many things

And in a darkened haze they're left behind

We argued who was greater, who was best

We spoke of things with such an arrogance

We thought that we were better than the rest

He cautioned us to serve when giv'n the chance

He said he'd suffer and that trials would come

He warned us we were drawing near the end

That we who loved Him would deny and run

Betrayers kiss his cheek and call Him 'friend'

Oh run I did until I could no more

And crumbled weeping, gasping for a breath

I rose and made my way back to my Lord

And watched in horror Him succumb to death

I can't stop thinking 'bout the loaves and fish

And treasures lost and found and sons restored

Was all of this to dissipate like mist?

Just dashing all my trust, and nothing more?

This dark despair may be my only friend

As I consider what is left for me

Where once a way now only lies an end

Then hopeful joy now faithless misery 

Hope Springs

Out of the darkest night this world has known

While souls resigned to sleep eternally

The seed of Life the Godhead previous sown

Has sprouted to a new reality

For Love had come to show a better way

And humbly Man's methods to defy

But soon enough His kindness we'd betray

And vi'lently demand Him crucified

He silently endured blasphemous calls

Man's blinding hatred swearing death's decree

He took upon Himself the sin of all

And bore those scars through death upon a tree

He plunged into Death's darkest catacombs

Securing for those gone a sweet release

And surfacing from far beneath the tombs

His pierced hand was clutching Hades' keys

The Son dispels all shadows on this morn

Where once we cowered in mortality

And Darkness' grip is vanquished by the Dawn

And Death is swallowed up in victory

Hope In Resurrection

by Lance Linderman

“The Church should be a resonant of hope, an alternative narrative that derives its power not from fear, but from resurrection.” —Gavin Linderman

It feels super silly to quote my brother at the top of my thoughts here, but it summarizes so well our current condition and potential. I like sentences like that. One doesn't have to look very far to see how true it is, too. Christians everywhere are turning to powers other than the power of the Spirit and we do this in every way imaginable. We tell stories of men making their homes in the bellies of whales, the dead being raised to life, talking donkeys, and virgin births and yet our worry prevails. Why? Why so much worry and fear? Could it be that our current system of church and our culture of ease and instant gratification have usurped our exercise of making viable the very power of God? My guess is that you might agree. If true, then we must wrestle with the fact that we have lost the ancient practice—the art of closing the mouths of hungry lions—and instead have grabbed onto something horribly subpar. Alarmingly, in the face of danger, we turn to our pistols and fists (could be a good band name, by the way) before our Rod and our Staff. Is the Spirit not enough?

I don't write this to cast guilt or shame, but instead to awaken our inner source of strength—to make tangible the power of God in our lives once again. In order to proceed, though, we must first call into question everything. We have to see how our locked doors, loaded guns, military might, dollar bills, isolation, drugs, alcohol, denial, anger, borders, theology of who's in or who's out, occupation, and having “nice things” have become our means of taking control in the face of fear rather than a reliance on God.

I like how David sings the words in Psalm 20:6-7: “I know the Lord will help his anointed; he will answer him from his holy heaven...Some take pride in chariots, and some in horses, but our pride is in the name of the Lord our God.” David is free of his enemies' threat because he is wholly held in the protection of the Christ. This kind of song can be ours, too. Imagine for a moment a world where your bank account nears zero and rather than lighting your cat on fire, you give the rest away and sleep with ease knowing the Lord will provide. Imagine being attacked and seeing your attacker as someone you love deeply rather than being your enemy. How might you respond differently? Imagine renovating your spare room into a replica of a Motel 6 suite. You hang a vacancy sign on the window for the homeless and as a result, they take turns finding rest. Imagine serving those who take advantage of you and doing it with joy because you can't be taken advantage of while doing the Lord's dirty work.

When we realize that resurrection is real, suddenly we have the power to do the things that God has placed in our dreams. We no longer grind through life under the thumb of fear, but instead, we freaking levitate with love and everyone, every place, and every circumstance becomes fair game for resurrection, too.

A Rule Of Life And Learning How To Swim

by Gavin Linderman

The concept of the “rule of life” was formed within the early monastic communities. Most well known would be that of the Rule of Saint Benedict from the 6th century, which includes vows of poverty, obedience, and chastity. Often when thinking of rules, a person is tempted to assume traits of restriction, oppression, or some form of legalism. That is, doing something that you don’t want to or doing it for the wrong reasons. However, a rule of life is intended for freedom, not denial.

A rule of life is an ally to help shape and form a person or community into the vision of intimacy to which God calls them. In this framework, we can see that the “rule” really serves more as a guideline for flourishing. If one is to make their rule of life “honesty in speech, decisions, and being,” you can imagine how that would begin to shape each part of their life. The beauty of this life then becomes not the rule itself, but the way the rule creates space for greater intimacy with Jesus. Understanding it in this way protects us from legalism or making the disciplines that the rule requires the object of our affection instead of the life with Jesus it helps to create. 

Jesus really is our teacher and primary guide for flourishing. In fact, He has already given us many “rules of life.” Consider His command to “let your ‘yes’ be ‘yes’ and your ‘no’ be ‘no’ ” (Matt. 5:37). Submitting ourselves to such a guideline frees us from the trappings of commitments and promises that we can't really keep. But it’s more than that—it allows our word to truly be our word and we begin to live in a reality in which we don’t have to promise or create contracts. Here we can ensure that what we say is accomplished because we have become, in our freedom, the kind of people who always do what we say. In doing so, the “rule of life” has created the space for trust instead of the enslavement of distrust.

In the beginning, any “rule of life” will feel like voluntary restriction—but only temporarily, for ultimately the grace of God supersedes. Eventually what is always found is that the rule is no longer necessary—not because it's no longer a rule, but because it has become a way of being. Transformation has taken place through Jesus and the life He gives. This is the same reason Jesus can say, “I didn’t come to abolish the law but to fulfill it” (Matt. 5:17). It doesn’t have to serve as a guideline anymore, for you have become the guide because you have now been where Jesus has been Himself. It’s much like having a fence around your pool while your children are young. The fence serves as a guideline for a time so that they may flourish and not drown. But the intention is not to leave the fence there forever, but instead for your children to become the kind of people who no longer require the fence because they can now swim themselves

The First Question Jesus Asked

by Gavin Linderman

Turns out, Jesus wasn’t much of an answer man, but He did like questions—in fact, He loved them! He was the Question Master. 307 questions are recorded in the Gospels and only three answers from King Jesus. Only three answers from the One who had all the answers. AMAZING! Paul wrote, “All the treasures of wisdom and knowledge are hidden in Him” (Col. 2:3). “Hidden” is a good word. But still, why must it be hidden? Why not answer more?

Ironically, the answer to our question is found in a question. The first question Jesus asked also happens to be the first words spoken by Jesus in the book of John: “What is it that you seek?” Now, take a moment and reflect on how you would respond. What is it that you seek? Most of us, if we're being honest are simply seeking answers or solutions to whatever challenges or mysteries lie before us. But Jesus, in asking us what we seek, invites us into something different—a space where He is no longer reduced to our genie in a bottle. A place where He is asking the questions instead of us. It is here, in the examination of our desire that Jesus is able to guide us and give us the truth we really need—the truth that we really seek deep down. In this space of reflection, we are given the freedom to be exposed. Before, we came expecting answers—specifically, answers that allowed us to carry on as we were. Now we come expecting questions—specifically, questions that shape us and connect us to Jesus by creating the space for us and Him to gently navigate the jungle in our soul.

Jesus could—and sometimes does—answer our questions, but it is out of character for Him to give us something we can't be trusted with or aren’t ready to receive. To do so would be to give in to an inappropriate image of who He is. He is not our genie—He is our Lord. So in character with who He is as Lord, He leads and guides us in such a way that doesn’t disrupt the journey of transformation by wrecking it with answers. Eventually, we will get to a place where we can “ask and it will be given,” but that’s a place of intimacy and trust—not a place for genies and their masters. So, what is it that you seek?

A Shared Journey For Peace by Gavin Linderman

The famous Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still, and know that I am God” has a more literal translation, “Stop your fighting, and know that I am God”. The entire Psalm 46 is littered with what God does in our trouble. It is an ancient call for what is ours in God, peace. “God our refuge and strength… the ever-present help in trouble …God is with us… we will not fall… He makes wars cease….He breaks the bow and shatters the spear, the Lord Almighty is with us… He is our fortress”, all we are asked to do is “stop fighting”. But we just can’t, can we?

“Choose your battles”, is something I hear a lot of these days. In a world full of conflict and in a society that seems to always be brimming with tension, what choices do we have? By the looks of things, at minimum we are guarded, at best wounded left feeling backed in a corner.  We live in the world of the teeter-totter. Ready to react because we don’t know how to respond. In some forms we celebrate the battle, in others we look for it, and for some we simply live in avoidance of it. But who is winning? What is winning? Perhaps, the war of words is not the answer. Its interesting that the easement of disagreement and argument seem to come quite natural to us and yet, they are not our nature. They are learned, practiced and entertained. Even more interesting is that we struggle to do what comes most natural to us, that which is most fundamentally our asset, to listen. 

I am a father of two kids with one on the way and I am relearning this for myself. My children were born unable to speak but they knew how to listen and when they did speak they could only mourn. Both are good. And yet, with my kids, I am quick to yell and argue but in doing so I loose their ears. And even if I yell load enough and look at them authoritatively enough, I can get their attention but it comes at a cost. For what they learn is how to battle, not how to live. I may even get the outcome I desire but it does not come through their desire but my force.  This is a loss not a victory. But the truth is, as it is with God, us fathers desire that our children will come to a place where they listen and make good decisions on their own. That they will, what we will intuitively.  This is the beautiful union of John 5:19, “Very truly I tell you, the Son can do nothing by himself; he can do only what he sees his Father doing, because whatever the Father does the Son also does.” While our will and the will of our opponents might be quite different my hope here is for us to see that fighting is by nature enemy occupied territory. It is not our intended nature, so what are we to do about it? Here are three things that might take you off guard. 

A few considerations for a shared journey for peace.

1. Listening is Loving: Listening is the capacity to put aside our preoccupations in exchange for being present with the other. When we listen we build room to speak. In fact, I have found that when I hear a person out, they no longer want the last word but instead are now open to dialogue.  
2. Mourning is Understanding: Mourning allows us to feel. In mourning we cripple our tendency for judgment by acquainting ourselves with sorrow. We learn to rely on greater truths and in doing so are able to lie down our trivia in exchange for profound understanding. Morning disarms us from our fear that causes us to fight in the first place. 
3. Were In This Together: The best kind of love breaks down the “us verse them” mentality we live by. Love teaches us to see ourselves in those we don’t like to see. Some have suggested we dislike those most like us. Perhaps we really just dislike our selves. What if next time we find our self in dispute with someone we choose to look past the speck in the other person’s eye and instead pull the plank out of our own eye (Matthew 7:3)? In doing so, we might find the humility needed to listen and gain a friend. 

Personal Revelation by Gavin Linderman

It is good and wise from time to time to take note of the revelations that God has helped you see and piece together. This is not an exhaustive list, nor does it reflect the totality of the greater truth, my experience with God, or His revelations. It is simply a survey of epiphany in short form. I will make my best attempt to place these in chronological order and only list some majors as there are many minors that are far more personal.  The beauty that I wish to note in advance of this, “List,” is how obvious these have become. That is, I believe, the beautiful nature of God-speak. Thankfully, “The hearing ear and the seeing eye-- the LORD made them both.” (Proverbs 20:12)

1) “Seek and You Shall find,” does not mean when you find, stop seeking.

    Our appetite for endings should never outweigh further exploration. Our remedial culture and childhood games, God is certainly amongst and within, but also beyond the hide and seek.  “Permission to land,” so to speak, should only be granted on the 7th day or when its time to feast. Therefor, we become increasingly weary of the inflated life or any spirit of arrival. Such folk don’t need to wear shoes.  I would rather be lost and thirsty than in the illusion of foundness without need for living water. (Luke 11:9) 

2) “He’s Got the Whole World In His Hands,”- really He does. 

    We sing it, but we do not believe it. At some point early on, I started singing this again.  It was given back to me amongst a glimpse of my own ornery spirit, unsettled by my lust for worry while the trees danced on in the storm. Concern and struggle always say they long for peace, but what they really love is more worry and less dancing. (John 14:27)

3) The Kingdom of God is already NOT yet

    Notice the NOT. For some time, I was always drawn to the mystery of the, “Yet,” and missed the, “NOT.” I loved to think about what would be one day, and never enjoyed what was, “Already.” The Kingdom of God is already. Say it out loud. The part that is, “Not yet,” does not have a place in the now, does it? Let us focus on the now, not the yet.  (Luke 17:20-21)

4) Truth is Truth

     Far too much of my focus and energy has been caught up in reserving the truth. An odd thing now, but it once was normative. I was concerned about, “Compromising the truth.” Is such a thing even possible? Certainly, there are half truths and lies, but truth has never spent a day compromised, or so Jesus tells me. Truth is truth no matter what, and no matter where you find it. (Philippians 4:8) 

5) My Bride is beautiful, not ugly. 

     You can tell if you are loved. Words are not the way we judge qualitative love. Instead, it is sensed in how we are cared for and how we place others appropriately in our attention and care. Jesus is masterful in his capacity to see the beauty in you, His bride. He does not find it ugly, and so we must see His bride as he sees it.  Catch your fire when it seeks to steel your capacity to see what Jesus sees as beautiful. Take care of your treasures and look for them in others too.  (1 John 3:18) 

The Election, Women, and Tangled by Kendall Linderman

There are three recurring themes in my life right now:

The election
Women in society
Disney's Tangled

Yes, Tangled. Any parent of a toddler girl can attest, fairytale Disney movies can consume all aspects of life. We sing the songs, listen to the songs in the car, buy the toys, watch the movie over, and over, and over again... 
Fortunately, the movie is quite delightful and I do not mind it, especially because it provides some empowering messages to my child. 

Last week, I listened to a podcast (as I frequently do when I workout at the gym) about Women. That seems like such a broad topic, how could they hone it down into an hour and a half single podcast? The hosts had a variety of friends and family join them and share their experiences of womanhood in America. Some specifically in the church, but even those stories reflected what transpires in the daily lives of Christian, other faiths, and non-religious females. One particular part that tore at my heart was when a guest eloquently spoke a poetic recount of her life in the female form, from birth to present- how she once ran naked and free in her body, loved, unashamed, perfect... and as she grew older, words of shame, angst, and male advantage took over her story. This is, unfortunately, a common narrative in (and dare I say) the majority of women in America. 
Not even three days after listening to the podcast, as I am still processing and mentally relishing in it, my Facebook feed and television were blowing up with leaked audio of Donald Trump. He was boasting his celebrity, and how that provides him a free pass to make advances on women without consent. He was speaking on the things that I literally had listened to days before: men taking advantage of women, belittling women, sexually abusing women... I was obviously disgusted by this, but not surprised at who it was coming from. He later, "Apologized," for his words, passing them as, "Locker room talk."

Now I feel like I must say before I go further: I am NOT for/against Donald Trump OR Hillary Clinton. 

While at the gym this morning, I walked into a conversation in, ironically, the locker room. Two female Trump supporters were having a conversation...
Gal 1: "Did you watch the debate Sunday night?"
Gal 2: "No, did you?"
Gal 1: "No. I cannot even stand to look at her. People are just going to be giving me a play by play on my Facebook feed anyway."
Gal 2: "Yes for sure."
Gal 1: "I really just hope something bad happens to Hillary, or something comes out so we can get rid of her."

Whoa. I stopped in my tracks, along with another gym goer, who made eye contact with me as we both mouthed, "Oh my gosh." We ended up having a side convo about natural supplements to absorb the shock about this women's desire to share her hate in a public place. I mean, good for her for having the balls to speak her mind, but dang. It really bit me. 
My mind was swirling with questions:
How, does a woman in suburban Arizona, have such hatred to a woman she has never met, will never meet, and has never done anything to her?  
What could Hillary Clinton have done to cause this woman to wish harm and ill will on her? 
How do these woman side with a political candidate when they do not educate themselves by watching the candidate speak? 

My mind wondered further.
Because I am in ministry, I sometimes find myself imagining what I would say to a stranger if I were in a discipling relationship with them. What would they do if they heard someone say those things about them, their friends, their children? How does God feel about you saying those things about His child? In this circus we call, "An election," the animosity and hatred has grown into a monster we cannot control. We have chosen a Republican candidate for President who is known for shaming women, insulting military families, mocking people with disabilities, and speaks in a manner similar to leaders that spawned communism and world wars. Why have we gone this route we must ask. 

So, back to Tangled. 
The main character, Rapunzel, is kidnapped as an infant because her hair has magical powers of healing and youth. At 18, she finds herself in a circumstance to leave her tower and see the, "Floating lights," that she has seen from her window her entire life. This is her dream. It is so innocent, and she is so naive since she has never left her tower due to the control of her kidnapper. She is taken to a bar where ruffians and thugs retire, and they try to take her guide for reward money. She bravely intervenes and exclaims, " Okay, I don't know where I am and I need him to take me to see the lanterns because I've been dreaming about them my entire life! FIND YOUR HUMANITY! Haven't any of you ever had a dream?" The thugs then break into song about how they all have these sincere, lovely dreams instead of being these smelly, menacing men that do terrible things. 

So, a long story to get to my point...
I feel like we are all of these ruffians... we've been dealt some cruddy cards and we're all going down these hateful, ugly paths. We're doing and saying horrible things because that is who we're siding with. We're there because we're scared and angry. We think that these feelings make us strong. But in all actuality we all have the same dream: peace, love, to see the floating lights. 

When I see women hurting because they've been molested or humiliated by men, and then we have a man running for president who DOES THESE THINGS... When I hear people yearning for bad things to happen to someone simply because they are in the opposite political party... When I am observing this rat race we can the American Election...I just want to hit America over the head and say, FIND YOUR HUMANITY!!!! 

Where is our humanity? Have we forgotten what that is?  Mirriam-Webster defines humanity as, "The quality or state of being kind to other people or to animals/all people." ALL PEOPLE. Not just whites. Not just men. Not just able minds/bodied people. Not just Christians. 

Every. Single. Person.

So what do we do? Honestly, I have no idea. This whole democracy seems to be spiraling into a pit of destruction and despair. The very America that we want to be making great, seems to be imploding. Are you in the same boat as the locker room gals? I'll be the first to admit that I've had negative thoughts about political candidates, said bad things about them, heck, I carved a McCain/Palin pumpkin in '08 (two actually)... 
All I can really think to say is to look at yourself, not others, and see how that is reflecting what you really believe. Do I think Gal 1 at the gym wants physical harm to come to Hillary Clinton? I sure hope not, and I think she would feel remorse or sadness if that actually materialized. How are you reacting to this election? When you see that news feed pop up on your Facebook or newscast, what is your first feeling? Check yourself. People are chattering about the last question of the debate from Karl Becker. It was the final note to an otherwise depressing hour and a half. America latched onto that morsel of positive energy. We need more! 

I pray that we can all get it together as a nation and unite. Whoever we elect, we have to change as a society. We cannot be exuding such violence, hatred, anger... America has never had things 100% right. We are constantly evolving, learning, changing...Let us learn this one sooner rather than later. No matter who becomes our Commander in Chief, we can trust that the Father has us. Let us find our humanity, not just in the election, but all around us. 


Kendall Linderman

Part 1: The Bohemian Soul by Gavin Linderman

Online dating is weird. It’s probably a lot of things, but it is at least weird. That much is self-evident, or so my wondering ears tell me so. I sense the discomfort of the single. The sense of not knowing meets a fading hope. It's surely not like that for all, but at least for the many honest. And yet the single life, when done well, is a beautiful thing. Even worthy of aspiration, 1 Corinthians 7:8. No doubt, not all will aspire such a beautiful fidelity exclusively to the Lord. However, it must be noted that those who have, have found it to be good. 

 Our scriptures, as so often are, don’t flush out the full breath and weight of every topic under the sun, but it does give us a wonderful place to begin. For Paul, his desire is like that of the Lord's, that you, single or not, would be first, free from anxiety (1 Corinthians 7:32a). Perhaps this should be a prerequisite for dating, marriage, and yes, divorce too. Unfortunately, we have thought wrong about the second part of this passage: “An unmarried man is concerned about the things of the Lord—how he may please the Lord”. We have often taught that Paul is suggesting to the single that we should, “Have anxieties about the things of the Lord,” as if that’s a good thing. However, this is not what he says at all. He clearly states at the beginning of verse 32 that, “I want you to be free from anxiety.” He then says what is truly greater (again, single or not) that, “Undistracted devotion to the Lord,” in verse 35 should be our aim. I might add, our delight. Anxiety is many things, but, “Undistracted,” is not one of them. That is precisely his point; concern and worry distract you from the solitary soul. The paradox that snares us but not Paul is that we think the operation is to be either worried about pleasing a person for their affection, or else pleasing God for His affection. But for Paul AND Jesus, this is not an option. For them, and now for you, is to put aside the normalcy of anxiety, concern, or worry, and embrace the freedom of the undistracted bohemian soul that has fixed its eyes in solidarity to Jesus.

If I may press further, my amazement of the virtuous loner is to say that by your unconcern, your deponent is God and His rubbernecker is you. Your worship is complete, and the Soul of God raptures all that anxiety could not accomplish. You truly have all that you need and can now say, “I shall not want,” Psalms 23:1.  The allure of the endless swipes of illusion have lost their luster. They have become simply too cheap in comparison to the cross of singular fidelity. 

1 Corinthians 7:32 I want you to be free from anxieties. The unmarried man is anxious about the things of the Lord, how to please the Lord. 33 But the married man is anxious about worldly things, how to please his wife, 34 and his interests are divided. And the unmarried or betrothed woman is anxious about the things of the Lord, how to be holy in body and spirit. But the married woman is anxious about worldly things, how to please her husband. 35 I say this for your own benefit, not to lay any restraint upon you, but to promote good order and to secure your undivided devotion to the Lord.