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Mathetes

I feel compelled to cry with desert rumblings to my generation.  Its not as though I think or feel like I am the lone seer in the Country of the Blind.  Quite the contrary!  My own eyes have been gouged and plucked.  I too heard the call, followed the Voice, crucified my soul to the Story.  Somewhere along the way, I allowed men to define the Voice's meaning, I sold my soul to an ecclesiology measured and weighted with quantitative reasoning.  You know, "How many people do you run?"  "What was your budget last year?"  "What is the square footage of your building?" It was subtle.  At least no one ever explicitly stated this, but conversations revolved around this.  Results and numbers were the final say at the end of the day.   The church became a business.  My holy vocation bartered for a career.

Dandelion Whiskers . . .

Artists abound in our beloved community.  Thespians and bohemians creating and imagining joyful ascents of Fog City.   There are the Japanese flutes and African drums, flamenco guitars and piano bikes,  beat poetry and cotton candy melodies.   You can see old worn-brushes sticking out of torn denim pockets and tightly stretched canvases tense with waiting,  and hear the sounds of shutters and time-captured stills.  

Artists see the here.  Tricycle boy, peddling his legs into a frenzy, careening down a path of eye-opening splashes, his heart brighter than the Phoenix sun.  They feel the now.  A father's and daughter's butterfly kiss.  A mother's first dandelion bouquet.  The vanishing guilt in the Father and Prodigal's crying embrace .    Artists give us cadence and voice.  They  rub the crusty sand from our eyes and let us see.   They cause our numbness to feel again, and give our soul permission to smile. 
 
Imagine what we could see or hear if the artists were prophetic?  If their vision and art peered into the shadowy tomorrow?  The hope of a restored universe.   What if the Spirit raised up thespian Prophets and bohemian prophetesses.  Raffish seers of a different sort,  stroking tomorrow with brushes of life and sculpting a feel for future hopes.  Daughters born of the Spirit.  Sons dreaming in the Wind. Their words and visions bursting with the Sun’s corona.  
 

Go forth and fail . . .

From where i was seated I couldn't hear the sermon well.  I sat on the platform at Western Seminary's graduation listening to Dr Stiles, the monitors turned 180 degrees away from me.  Bits and pieces floated and settled in my palms where i began to reconstruct what the Spirit reconstructed to me: Jeff, you need to be a better failure in life.  It occurred to me that successes in God's society happen on the otherside of failure.

amazing stars and intentional rainbows

My son, Jed, on the dark drive home from seminary, asked me which class was my favorite, "Of aaalllll the years you have taught at Western."  (I've only taught at Western 3 years, but thats 1/3 of his life . . . )

And I said, “Tonight.” 

What made this night so special?  Seated in a circle, in an almost Greco-Roman outdoor setting, with the faint modern day whirl of cars buzzing up and down Los Gatos Blvd., a teen skateboarding through the Calvary Church courtyard, my son playing and watching God's people out of the corner of his eye, Helicon reading John 6, while Lawrence and Jerome poured Trader Joes grape juice into dixie cups and broke triangular pieces of flat bread, yeah it had to be tonight.

Missional Community Dreaming in SF

Last night I had a conversation.  It was a community conversation.  One where  we dreamed and danced around on pogo sticks.  We imagined what it might look like if the church quit buying into the lie that it is a building or a Sunday event and it started living like it was a people.  We reflected how the early church wasn't about buildings, budgets, and butts.  But was about discipleship, community, and Gospel.  We thought about what might happen in San Francisco if we started living with gospel intentionality.  If our gatherings on Sunday were times to connect with each other, worship God, recenter our hearts around the cross, and be equipped to be disciplers.  And if our Monday through Saturday was all about gospeling our world.  What if I, as lead pastor, embraced the apostolic model of shared leadership?  You know, Jesus sent them out by twos, so what if the pastorship was not a lead pastor but a shared pastorship?  What would it look like if I, as an elder, split my time between training elders and community leaders, and reaching out to my neighborhood? 

It was fun at first, but then we started thinking of all the logistical factors and challenges. The discussion meandered down some streets with potholes and broken asphalt.  We embraced the fact that this wasn't a smooth ride. The discussion was healthy and started us dreaming and thinking.  We didn't resolve anything or form any conclusions.  We just talked about God's kingdom.  Someone suggested we post a blog and keep the discussion going.  And invite others into the discussion.  So here are some questions to interact with:  (1) From God's perspective, what should the church look like? In its relationship to the world around it?  (2) What is the mission of the church?  (3) How can we best prepare/equip our community to live the mission?  (4)  Where should we go from here?  (5) What pieces should be thought through more thoroughly and what aspects need more reflection?

Can't wait to hear from you.

SOMA School one man's experience

KataThis!

At the urging of my cousin-Vinny, I left San Francisco for a week and moved into a missional community school; SOMA.  (Thanks Vince.)    Yeah, that’s right I missed a Sunday of being in community with Lighthouse, missed my daughter’s 5th grade “Outdoor Ed” send off, Scott’s sermon on Ephesians and a date night with Julie, so that I could do life with people I had never met.   I’ve been to these conference things before, where you get a hotel room, rent a car, spend 4 hours or so each day discussing techniques, hearing motivational speeches, learning programs for the next generation MegaChurch, then retiring each evening to the privacy of your room and a sense of completing a corporate church thing. That’s not what this was.   And after this week, it will be a long time before I go back to one of those conference/seminar/selfhelp/how-to-do-church-the-new-and-improved-way.  A very long time.

I'm A Good Person What More Do You Want?!?!

The following constitutes my closing remarks from my sermon last Sunday.  It really should be taken in the context of how an apologist, skeptic, and Christian would interact with this question.  These closing remarks assume a deep conviction that all of us are a complexity of good, bad and ugly and beautiful.  We are broken pieces of the image of God. 

"Brent the Rhodes Scholar and I were sharing back and forth on this subject and he said to me, if one of his colleague informed him, “I’m a good person, what more do you want?” His reply would be deceptively simple. “If you are a good person, you do not need Jesus.” 

He says, “People should not try to convince good people that they need Jesus, because good people simply do not need Jesus.  Jesus is for bad people. 

Exclusivity: Is Jesus the Only Way? Isnt that arrogant?

WWW.IMGOOD.ME    I don’t ever remember missing a church service as a kid.  And there were weeks when we had church every night of the week.  I accepted Jesus in my heart when I was 5, was baptized.  But at the age of 19 and 20 I had a crisis of faith.  See, the relationship a Christian claims is one that comes not by culture but by virtue of a personal choice to follow Jesus Christ. "Christian ideas may be inherited within a culture, but the Christian commitment is a personal affirmation." (Crownover) I made friends with a Buddhist, at work, and he was really nice and I just couldn’t believe God was going to send him to hell.  I got really desperate for some answers, but none were forthcoming.  For 6 months we worked together, Rainbow Grocery Store, and my faith got the snot beat out of it.  I had so much anxiety and conflict I decided to take off and backpack into the Sierras for 3 weeks and fast and pray and read my Bible. 

ImGood.Me

Our sermon development team went to work about three months back asking non-Christian San Franciscans this question, "Assuming there is a God, and you could ask him one question, what would it be?"  Questions poured in.  We decided to take the most difficult questions and get gut real.

As i grated through the questions I realized a couple things.  First, my questions have drifted away from questions that really matter.  I have got all bent out of shape answering the holier-the-thou judgers within, that I forget the weightier task of responding to skeptic sons and wounded daughter without.   This led me to think about how mainline denominations and organized Christian groups walk the Jericho road in heated debates, splitting hairs over trite details, condemning the stride and dress, polity and interpretations of the 'other' groups on the road, meanwhile wounded humanity gasps for help.  Thank God for the good Samaritans.   God, help me, I know I have busied myself with the views and vindictiveness of 'others' when I should be bent over a wounded soul.   

Legends of the Crossroads and Redefining Success

Early this mornin'
When you knocked upon my door
Early this mornin', ooh
When you knocked upon my door
And I said, "Hello Satan,
I believe it's time to go."—Robert Johnson.

Crossroads. Before Rock and Jazz.  Before Rap and Hip Hop.  Before Pop and Metal.  There was Blues.   There is a story—some say legend and some swear its true.  It’s the story of Robert Johnson at the crossroads. He was pretty good guitarist, but not good enough. Son House discounted him.  He couldn’t read music, write lyrics, and just wasn’t skilled enough to be as a professional musician.  He desperately longed for fame and fortune.  He was married to his young sweetheart. And seemed happy enough.  She died in childbirth (and the baby as well).  He hated God for it. And turned to his whiskey, voodoo and song. All he wanted was to be a great. He made a decision. At the stroke of midnight, he walked down to the windswept crossroads at the junction of Highways 61 and 49 in Clarksdale, MS. He called upon Satan. In exchange for Johnson's soul, the devil tuned his guitar, thereby giving him extraordinary abilities. From then on, the young blues-man played his instrument with an unearthly flair, his fingers dancing on blue strings. His voice moaned and wailed, echoing the deepest sorrows of a soulless man.

Waterlogged Shame

I witnessed an unusual and deeply spiritual baptismal on Sunday.  Fernando and Andrea.  Fernando is from Peru and Andrea from Ecuador.  They are young.  Live downtown SF.  Both are artists.  What is it about Lighthouse and all the artists!  Artists just have the most beautiful way about expressing themselves.
 
So both of them have this incredible story, like-edge-of-the-seat kind of stuff.  Both were tired.  The had keyed in "the end" and it was.  But that was before Sunday, that was before they re-enacted Jesus' story.  I always thought baptism should be the most incredible moment in a person's life. A defining moment.  A point of reference you always look back to and say, "It happened there! And that settles it!" 

40

Since i was a 7th grader, Calvary Christian School, Indianappolis IN, i have had a fascination with the number 40.  Not as a age, but as a number that marks maturity, most often supernaturally.  I had my list never of things I wanted to accomplish by 40, but of how i wanted my 40 and beyond to look like.  But that is all too personal and intimate for this post.

Transition To Power

Change was the theme of Barak Obama.  He rode into the hopes and dreams of the majority of Americans by talking about how he would change things.   In November Obama was elected President.  In between his election night victory and his inauguration is a transition period. Hence, he is the President-Elect.  Much has been made of this dynamic this time around due to the multiple crises (Bank, Auto, War) the US is in.  He can’t initiate changes until he is authorized and inaugurated as the President.  He lives in this “Already But Not yet” phase.  He is already elected but not yet inaugurated.  He is in transit from victorious campaign to executive power. 

Serendiptuous Favor

   So you know that building that you have read about in my blog?  Well this picture is taken from the 3rd-floor-window of that building. 

   So here is the "rest of the story" you are curious about and I have been waiting to come.  If you prayed for us I pray God smiles on you richly in 2009.  Thank you.

Our bank had a meeting with upper management a several weeks back where we were the subject of discussion.  Since that time I have not had a chance to meet with our Bank's Representatives mostly due to holiday activities.   We set a meeting for after Christmas (12/29/08) for them to brief me on the meeting outcomes.  Here is what was said yesterday evening.

“Pastor Garner, after meeting with upper management it was determined that the relationship we have with you is very important to us and worth our efforts to keep.  We want to invest in this relationship with you and Lighthouse.  You should know that of all the businesses and non-profits in similar scenarios  (in our portfolio) with covenant defaults, our bank has terminated and is in the process of terminating those relationships.  You are the only one we feel strongly about keeping."

Shake the poet and the beat

When one falls-in, an understudy of the Revolutionary Jesus, life runs against the grain.  I know mine is.  Today I embraced Paul's teachings of "do not return evil for evil, but ever follow that which is good."  He takes after Jesus's cheek-turning solution. This was not some lofty ideal but a transformative solution to ending the cycle of violence.  If a first century Jew struck another on the right cheek (meaning they hit  with their left hand, a dirty  disregard for human dignity since the left hand was used for hygiene) turning the left cheek would have brought an abrupt halt to the cycle of voilence.  The assailant would be forced to face the cheek of human dignity.  Its as if the disciple would be saying, "This cheek is the appropriate cheek to hit."