Share a Meal, Share Your Life: Eating as Bridging

What is it about eating? Eating with others around a table?

During the practice of meal-sharing, eating a common meal, there is something in us that folds down; it's that barrier that's placed aside making *real* community (not merely "being together") more accessible. A meal brings real community (i.e. laughter, honesty and vulnerability, empathetic listening, etc.) within reach. It truly is odd in a sacred way.

I have often heard people talk about this phenomenon. People say that a common meal "brings people together." Brings people together? Does it really? I mean, it makes sense. I've experienced it.

If this is true, a common meal, than, is like a bridge to another person. It gives you a kind of accessibility that is hard to come by, a peculiar proximity. I'm not sure what it is. Maybe sharing good food acts as an appetizer for the main course: sharing your life. Food is (hopefully) packed with nutrients and other good things and is an experience of (again hopefully) tantalizing delight. A life, on the other hand, as vague as that is, is stuffed full of stories, laughable and cryable moments, wisdom and perspectives with the potential to nourish the soul. Think about how you feel after an inspiring conversation with someone you highly respect or an intimate exchange with a growing friend. These are truly transformative moments; the types of experiences branded into the memory.

Today in service, the Martzs were officially given pastorship of Lifehouse Foursquare Church. Rad indeed. After, we had a potluck. I was 30 minutes late to service and the potluck was the big-time motivator for me to get out of bed (not sure whether I should have admitted that). Are there other groups or communities that have potlucks that actually called them "potlucks"?

Anyways, the point to all this is I had a great time fellowshipping with those around my table (and a "great time" at church service, for me anyways, is a little strange). Chantal and I talked awhile about graduation, the summer and the future's future. I always want to connect with people like this, but often don't know how to. I get shy. I often need something to bring me to people. I need a meal!

Afterwards, Leighah Darnell and I were chatting about how every Sunday would benefit from such eating-experiences, not just special days. Isn't every Sunday special? Potlucks, being the people-briders they are, should be conducted weekly, no? And if not, then why? Isn't church (service) for Church and isn't Church a community and if something "works" for the sake of the community then why stop? Why postpone it? Plus, if it was every week I would probably remember to actually buy/make (probably buy) something. Just sayin'.

Since I'm not the most inviting and welcoming person, especially in the morning, it would be nice to have something, a potluck or whatever else might work, to bridge me to the lives within my own community.

I Don’t Wanna Wait, I Wanna Read!

I have been waiting for an opportune time (most likely summer…) to sit down and start chipping away at four books I've recently purchased. They have been, sadly, buried in my trunk under heaps of dirty clothes for weeks now. I bought them with an Amazon gift card I got for Christmas. Mothers sure know best, don't they? Thank you Sweet Lord (for mothers… and Amazon gift cards)! In no special order, they are:

Metaphors We Live By by George Lakoff and Mark Johnson

Dostoevsky: Language, Faith and Fiction by Rowan Williams

The Evolution of Adam: What the Bible Does and Doesn't Say about Human Origins by Peter Enns

And…

Silence by Shusaku Endo

Soon, very soon, I will properly devour each one; probably something like this:

Caveman

Caveman "Great Life" is Yourstru.ly from Yours Truly on Vimeo.

There is something good, something mesmerizing about the slow, steady brew of Caveman's "Great Life." Fluid vocal harmonies laid over light-picking and a catchy bass line all embedded in the booms and clicks of a sea of percussion. Ah, yes. Just take it all in, maybe with a good pair of headphones.

I can't help but think, this is surely how good theology sounds. Easy to take in. Smooth, not rough or forceful. Simple yet hard to pull off because of the chemistry with all its members. Yes, mmm, do enjoy.

The Year of King Uzziah's Death: An Application of Isaiah 6:1

Below is the final step to my first Isaiah project (for my Isaiah class): 6:1-13, Isaiah's commission. Certain sections of that project were unfortunately rushed because I underestimated the time required for quality work. But not to fret! I would like to share the application, looking at 6:1 in particular, since I was generally pleased with it. Much, much more could and should be said about this passage. Maybe over summer—the next time I foresee myself actually having some spare time—I'll return to it. Please enjoy.

"It was in the year of King Uzziah's death…" (v 1). This verse strikes me. Not because of what it means, but because of what it stands for. The year of the King's death was a time of uncertainty. Things were unpredictable and the future unknown which meant fear and anxiety loomed. Judah had impending threats stirring, making things extremely difficult to manage and control.

This is often how life is on earth isn't it? People die, leaving us with massive gaps psychologically and politically. Family members, religious congregations and national communities lose leaders, an idol, their grounding and their identity. What does this mean? What happens now? We become fearful and anxious about the future, about what could be, about possibilities. Our imaginations run wild so to speak. But the fact of the matter is this—our stress and fearful worrying of earthly matters—does not shake heaven's foundations. According to Isaiah's vision, only the voices of the seraphims, roaring their praise of YHWH back and forth, do that. And such a worshipful choir can only be produced by creatures who understand the throne and who sits there.

It is all too easy, like I am sure it was for those living in Judah during Uzziah's disheartening death, to have a narrow vision and shallow imagination, to cast our eyes on things seen and tangible only. But what would happen if we adjusted our gaze to the sky? What would take place if we were able to "see" him who sits on the throne, high and lifted, whose glory fills the earth? Could worry and fear, stress and anxiety stand among the council of God? Would our trust, again, be fanned to brighter and hotter flames?

Now, this kind of "seeing" may call for a redeeming and resurrection of the imagination. Because chances are we aren't being caught up in a chilling scene of YHWH himself. Such an event would leave an unshakable memory. So unfortunately we aren't afforded such a luxury, or terror. We are left with having to "work up" images to remind ourselves of earth's true king. If our imaginations can be applied to ill purposes (i.e. worrying), than surely—maybe through the pressing of the seraphim's purifying coal—the application toward godly ends is not only justifiable but good.

So what is this to me? What represents the year of king Uzziah's death in my life? What is it that causes me to worry, fear and become undone so much so that lifting my eyes to heaven's throne takes all the energy I have? To be quite frank, life for me in this season has been incredibly enjoyable. But this does not mean that I do not sense fear looming as I think about the future. I am after all graduating from college in May.

This means that in a few short months my life, my identity—since Fall of 2005—will be utterly removed from beneath my feet. The anxiety of separating from friends and nourishing community often springs up in my heart. The fear of the unknown and what could be roots itself deep in my being. This is my year of king Uzziah's death. But, with courage, I lift my eyes to the hills of heaven. I no longer stare into the eyes of the tangible and earthen, but instead the unseen. By faith I "see." I orient myself around YHWH, who remains, in being and essence, unmoved by the "massive" events and changes in my life. I gladly give my life over to him whose glory fills the earth, like his robe in the temple. Amen.

Ben Myers for the New Year

January 1^st seems like the perfect day to write a blog-post. Too bad I depleted any and all creative magic and intellectual muscle while writing my Action Project for Hebrew Prophets (ew!). So, go instead to Ben Myers blog and enjoy his latest, Why pray?

Praying seems like a good way to start off the new year, no?

Embracing Bianca: Christian Hospitality (or lack thereof)

So there’s this movie called Lars and the Real Girl. Have you heard of it? In it, Lars, a socially-awkward young man, imagines and lives out an elaborate relationship with Bianca, a sex doll, purchased on the internet. Lars’ brother and sister-in-law have a difficult time adjusting. Ya no duh! But over time, by attempting to help and understand Lars, his family, co-workers and even church members all come around to accept Lars and his girlfriend and the shenanigans that entails.

Obviously it’s just a movie, but I was struck by the depth of hospitality and care that Lars’ community extended toward—yes, Lars, but more profoundly—Bianca. Eventually Bianca was being taken out to live her own life, presumably. This weirdly-attractive, awkward (to stare at, at least), plastic sex doll was a part of the community, completely accepted, loved and looked after. A doll! How strange right?

After recently visiting some friends at their church’s youth Christmas party and mingling with some of the church’s employees beforehand, I can’t help but wonder if they would greatly benefit from having Bianca around. Besides the pastor and a volunteer youth worker, no one welcomed me. In fact, most seemed unfriendly, disinterested and too busy to care. This is somewhat understandable. Working for a church can be a lot of work, especially when preparing for a big youth event or whatever else!

But hospitality and welcoming the stranger are important, no? If people who work for churches and other Christians like me don’t embrace a fellow Christian, what are the chances we’ll ever embrace a stranger or, better yet, an alien? Maybe Christians just need to practice and if this is the case maybe Bianca could help us.

It seems absurd, right? But really think about it. Would accepting, embracing and loving a doll help Christians accept, embrace and love people? Could welcoming Bianca be Christian practice?

I'm not sure whether or not I am actually advocating practicing Christian hospitality on a doll, but I am convinced humans deserve to be welcomed, embraced and understood, just like Bianca.

Knowing Darkness: quotes & a brief reflection

I was curious (and obviously daydreaming), as I study in the library, wondering about whether or not the library had the books of one of my favorite living theologians: David Bentley Hart. I searched his name. Immediately I read the intriguing title: Knowing Darkness and the even more intriguing subtitle: On Skepticism, Melancholy, Friendship, and God written by Addison Hart. After retrieving it, checking it out and delving in, I began referring to it as a God-send, though reluctantly. I don't care for that spiritual language normally. I didn't seem to mind this time since I actually felt that way.

Addison Hart is Parochial Vicar for the Newman Center at Northern Illinois University and has written a m

arvelously pastoral exploration into melancholy which he defines as "thoughtful sadness." I appreciated how he put melancholy in the title since I probably would of never discovered it. My interest in this has been increased lately upon finding out, after taking a personality test in psychology, that I am deeply melancholy. I always viewed this as one of the worse personality types since people with this type seem consistently sad and emotional, which I had been nearly all semester. Because of Hart's work on the subject I am learning to work with and in it, even appreciating it. Here are some quotes from chapter one:

"There is room for both skepticism and deep melancholy, for 'darkness,' in the life of faith. Christians who find these perplexing and troublesome things occupying a place in their minds should not be ashamed of them" (5).

"It [melancholy] should never be too easily dismissed as utterly invaluable to us, something only to be escaped. It may 'hurt,' but it also may in fact teach us wisdom, and its causes may be real, objective, and impossible to write off. To say it bluntly, there may be real reason why we sometimes feel like hell and want our life to end" (6).

Melancholy should never be shamed or viewed as invaluable. It can be a great teacher, as I am learning, if one is willing. Knowing darkness can even yield beautiful and nourishing fruit. More quotes and reflections to come.

this blog?...

I've done a horrible thing. This wonderful blog, where I used to engage my thoughts and friends' intentionally, I have neglected sorrowfully. But, this is not a day for mourning but of celebrating, for I here by declare that I am resurrecting/kickstarting this blog... right now!