Edited by Dorothy Bass and Susan Briehl, On Our Way is a collection of essays responding to the deep hunger of a rising generation. The writers, 12 pastors, activists, professors, and other thoughtful-types clearly write from their hearts as they plumb the depths of scripture and tradition for good words on our contemporary world. The following summary statement provides the framework for the book:

To embrace a way of life abundant requires us to be attentive. No one can live this way in isolation from others: life abundant depends upon and arises within life together. It does not lead into a fantasy future or purely spiritual realm but into the real world. There, Christian practice these practices not for our own sake but for the good of all, and not by our own power or vision but in response to God, whose own grace and call provide this way of life.

Chapters include essays on Living as Community, Care for Creation, Singing Our Lives to God, Peacemaking and Nonviolence, Knowing and Loving Our Neighbors of Other Faiths, and more. My favorite was a chapter entitled “Making a Good Living” by Douglas Hicks in which he deals with materialism, money, and intentional living. He ends by cautioning, “Do not let anyone tell you that living a relatively simple lifestyle is an easy practice of faith. it is one of the most difficult.”

I began reading On Our Way because I thought it might help me in my work with young adults. It will. Greatly. But, a few chapters into it I realized I wasn’t reading only for work anymore. The book had begun speaking to me personally as well, helping me reflect on my own way of living in the world.

The one regret I have concerning On Our Way regards its cover not its contents. The understated cover doesn’t shout “Read me: I’m an awesome young adult ministry book!” nor are hip words like “missional,” “emergent,” “curate,” or even “vocation” splashed across the cover. Without a blurb from Brian McLaren on the back, I fear it might take its time getting into the hands of church leaders. And that’d be a shame.

That said, I have a high regard for the folks at Practicing Our Faith, and I trust their judgement. And, heck, the book’s quality should speak for itself. I highly recommend it for young adult groups, pastors, educators, and all who ask questions how to live well and live faithfully in our world today.

For video conversations with Dorothy Bass, the authors, and links to a corresponding DVD resources go here. They’re great too!

In this vein, two recent popular press articles on sabbath (though they didn’t call it that) are well worth reading.

In the NY Times, Pico Iyer writes on “The Joy of Quiet,” discussing exclusive resorts that offer the allure of NO Internet or cell phone service. Particularly striking was Iyer’s visit to a Benedictine monastery where he met a MTV employee who brought his son on trips there to get away from it all.

In Slate, Katie Roiphe reflects in “Can We Really Unplug: The illusion of Internet freedom” on the popular Freedom software that locks you off the Internet for the length of your choosing.

(I’ve written on sabbath and technology in previous posts including Sabbath 2.0 and Saturday: Secular Sabbath or Christian Cop-Out?”)

Interestingly, in the church circles I observe, teaching and preaching about sabbath-keeping has gone out of style. The positive read of this is a healthy response to an over-zealous piety that can come with too much emphasis on keeping sabbath. The negative possibility, however, is that in a society where culture is about more-and-more-faster-and-faster, the church has neglected its task of preaching about the joy and benefits of practicing sabbath (and its task to acknowledge the struggles related to it as well).

So does the reflection Iyer and Roiphe’s piece (and Mark Bittman’s [here] before it) mark a cultural shift in which today’s main advocates of sabbath (or “quiet,” “rest,” “time away” whatever you call it) approach it from a spiritual but not religious perspective?

How can Christians — pastors and others alike — add their voice to the conversation in ways that welcome others? Off the top of my head, this process of dialogue comes to mind:

1. for Christians, and all, to acknowledge the challenge of today’s fast-paced uber-connected life and with it a desire by many to find periods of shelter from the hubbub
2. for Christians to listen to those who seek and find this sabbath rest from non-Christian perspectives including those that are totally secular, and those from other religious traditions
3. for Christians to plumb the depths of their own tradition and find a clarity as to what sabbath is all about (from the commandment to Jesus’ nuanced disregard for it)
4. for Christians to claim — in humility and while admitting the challenges — how living out their notions of sabbath is both faithful and life-giving for them

My instinct is that, when it comes to finding breaks from digital life — time to realign our lives towards what is good and right — the church has a lot to learn from those who practice “sabbath” without much notion of religion. I hope the conversation starts soon.

image by ivanmarn

My friend wrote, “[Weiner] seeks a new, entrepreneurial religion, one that allows doubt and skepticism (yes please) but one, it seems that we control, create and manipulate (no thanks).”

Read Wiener’s piece for yourself: “Americans: Undecided About God?”

It hit home for me in that:

• I agree that Americans’ are not taught — and, so, rarely learn — how to speak about religion in the public square in ways that don’t jump to judge and stigmatize (the recent ridiculousness over ads and the “All-American Muslim” TV series is a great example)
• I know it’s a pipe dream, but I’d love to consider ways to teach basic religious education in public schools. I believe that would help understand our neighbors, not to mention dozens of Shakespeare’s Biblical references and better nuance Tim Tebow conversations.
• Dovetailing with my experiences with The Project F-M, a huge interest of the young adults I know is speaking about God in ways that are open to questions.
• Weiner’s search for a faith that is both “true” and “good” reminds me of a Theology Pub session on salvation in which those around the table described salvation as “deliberative living, achievable, a balanced life, love.”
• Brian McLaren has written that, in today’s culture, we need to show not that the Christian faith is true but that is it beautiful. When folks see the beauty, the truth follows.

On the other hand, Weiner’s conclusion did leave me scratching my head. I didn’t quite understand the operating system metaphor, and Steve Jobs (God love him and my Apple products) was fraught with many troublesome traits I wouldn’t want in faith leaders. But, I also heard in Weiner’s final paragraph, a call to action for mainline church leaders. So, I’ve slightly re-worded his paragraph for the mainline context.

We need more transformative leader of religion. Someone (or ones) who can claim not a new religion but, rather, a deeper and richer way of being religious. Like the best user-friendly technology, this new way would be more straightforward and unencumbered, while also confessing that serving God often feels unintuitive. Most important, it would be highly interactive and relational. I imagine a religious space that celebrates doubt, encourages experimentation and allows one to utter the word God without embarrassment. A place to serve God and neighbor that welcomes the Nones among us. And all of us.

So that’s my response to my pastor friend. Others?

Churches often have their own Christmas (or, really, Advent) decorating traditions. I’ve happily participated in several, and I was sad not to this year. So, though I’ve been known to be a scrooge, know that I am not anti Christmas decorations. I am, however, firmly against Christmas trees in sanctuaries.

In many Christian churches, the symbols associated with worship are prominently displayed: communion table, baptismal font, pulpit/Bible, and often a cross. Each of these symbols has a deep meaning and clear connection to the faith.

Christmas trees, in the current-day United States at least, do not have a clear connection to the Christian faith. So why put them in the sanctuary with the other symbols?

Yes, I’ve heard many try to connect Christmas trees to Christian faith. Yes, there is plenty of history there — Norwegian, German, French, you name it — but it’s confused and from many divergent traditions. For me, the issue is less that there’s no historical precedence for cut evergreen trees sometimes having Christian significance, and more that any remnants of significance are lost today on the vast majority of the population.

Christmas trees adorn Times Square, my local bank office, mall atriums, and the White House. That’s fine and dandy. They are lovely to look at with their pretty colors and shiny lights. But those trees, certainly, are not Christian symbols. So why insist on stretching to make Christian symbols out of something that’s almost exclusively understood as secular?

Many years ago, Christians co-opted the Roman December 25th celebration of the sun god to be the time they would celebrate Christ’s birth (handy for the true Son of God, light of the world, and all that). So, indeed, Christians can be sneaky about the whole “whose symbol is whose?” thing. But I’m willing to give this one up without any fight, because I think we’ve already lost.

So, enjoy your tree at home. We love ours. But, if you have any say in the matter, why not consider refraining from putting one up at church, or at least keeping it well away from the symbols of worship. Consider it an early Christmas present yours truly.

image by Graham Soult

Charles Blow, in a Nov. 18 NY Times column, shared survey results indicating Americans are somewhat less convinced of our exceptional qualities than previously. A NPR “Talk of the Nation” episode this week, featured Blow with Matthew Franck of the Center on Religion and the Constitution of the Witherspoon Institute.

My own perspective on American exceptionalism is heavily influenced by two personal factors. First, I hold both US and UK passports. I was born in the US, and my father is American, but my mother is from the UK. I’ve never thought of myself as anything other than American, but I also embrace what feels like a positive personal asterisk of having family in Scotland, visiting there regularly, and loving my mother’s Scottishness (and my 50+%).

Second, in college I studied on the Global Semester Program, a five-month term abroad taking our group from St. Olaf College to seven countries. We literally traveled around the world. Among the many formative takeaways from this experience was, about halfway through, coming to view myself as a citizen of the world rather than only an American. This understanding had a profound impact on my worldview.

By the time I returned stateside after the months away, I also embraced my Americanness with a new revelry. (Oddly, though US currency really is pretty bland-looking compared to much of the world’s, upon my return, the knowledge that I once again had US greenbacks in my wallet after so many months changing money was strangely satisfying.)

Views of America’s exceptionalsim (or not), tend to pivot on one’s definition of what it actually is. I don’t have the guts to posit a fully-encompassing or unique definition here, but I do try to bring the following lenses to all discussions of it:

• Humility — assuming one is the best only proves one is not. Hubris proves exceptional in only the worst ways. I think of the city on a hill metaphor (which, by the way, did not originate with Reagan) as a check and a burden, not something to be celebrated. If we are shining on a hill for all to see, would we truly want the world to embrace all characteristics (our rates of poverty, or healthcare access, or current political aversion to compromise)?
• Responsibility — there truly is something beautifully unique, and a gift, about America:  our welcome (when it is that) to immigrants, our religious freedoms, our work ethic, our collective narrative, our unity and diversity, our willingness to sacrifice, we could go on forever. Because of these gifts, any discussion of American exceptionalism must include a call to service, for we have been given much.

(Also, any discussion of this topic shouts for more, and this post is only the merest of nibbles. But, come one, it’s a blog.)

In response to my Thanksgiving piece last week, Andrew Whaley posted the hymn text of Lloyd Stone (and Georgia Harkness’ extra verse). I first came across Stone’s poem in college — soon after my study abroad experience — and it was a revelation, speaking what I felt so much more eloquently than I could muster.

This is my song, oh God of all the nations,
a song of peace for lands afar and mine.
This is my home, the country where my heart is;
here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine;
but other hearts in other lands are beating
with hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.

My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean,
and sunlight beams on clover leaf and pine.
But other lands have sunlight too and clover,
and skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
This is my song, thou God of all the nations;
a song of peace for their land and for mine.

The amount of time Americans spend watching TV has gone up in recent years. Studies differ, but it’s usually estimated we watch on average nearly three hours of TV a day. Since I don’t have a TV, what do I do with my time? And, what must I be missing?

Besides work, cooking, cleaning, blogging, running, and that sort of thing, I do have some leisure time. So, mainly, I read. There’s magazine: TIME, The Christian Century, Harper’s, The Atlantic and others. There’s books: mostly fiction, sometimes churchy. There’s the web: dozens of blogs, news sites, social media. There’s radio: MPR (OK, I only listen to MPR, but that’s because it’s the best). And, there’s also the TV one can stream online.
 About once a week, I’ll stream a show on Netflix (Mad Men is my current project). I’ll also sometimes stream The Daily Show with John Stewart and The Colbert Report. Netflix gives options for streaming movies (though the selection is lacking). Amazon Prime, as of very recently, offers streaming, as does, of course, Hulu.

By far the most frustrating aspect of my non-TV life is the lack of streaming sports online. My Internet Service Provider does not offer ESPN3, so I can’t easily watch ESPN-broadcast sports online. While Major League Baseball and the NFL now package some online-related programming — via smart phones and iPads — neither allows realtime streaming of in-network games, even at a price. I’d gladly pay a few bucks for the joy of watching an occasional Twins game on my iPad, or Vikings, or FSU anything. I hope television networks release their hold on the rights to distribute such games as soon as possible. I mean, come on! I’ll pay, but I just want the option to watch sports online.

This way of watching TV — streaming shows after they air, but seldom — I see as a sort of DVR TV approach, but only more extreme. If folks who DVR have the option of watching only the top shows they want, at the times they want (and with the commercials they don’t want), then I take same sort of approach, just a little more intensely.

If there’s a great show about which I hear a lot — like The Wire, and Mad Men — I can figure out a way to watch it, but sometimes it takes a few years. If John Stewart was particularly strong one night, I can go back and watch it the next day. I’ll usually only do so, however, if I hear, or see online chatter, about a high quality show. So I don’t watch much mindless stuff. My TV watching — or streaming, as the case may be — is very intentional. And, due to the limitations of TV online these days, it’s also limited to significantly less than three hours a week. Just the way I like it.

People’s reactions to the disclosure that we don’t have a TV can be put into two categories. The first, is plain disbelief. Folks sputter, ask rapid-fire clarifying questions, search our cupboards and bookshelves for a surely-hidden flatscreen. They’re flabbergasted, gobsmacked, bewildered even.

The second reaction is even more telling. Many people respond by saying something like, “Oh, well, I don’t actually watch much TV at all. I mean, I should probably get rid of it too.” As if our decision not to have a TV is intended to cast aspersions at them.

This reaction — and it is quite common — cracks me up because it turns out that my decision not to have a television is in no way an attack on all televisions everywhere any more than my decision not to make french press coffee is a rebuke of delicious beverages. I’m not a TV hater. They do not offend me. I have never smashed one to pieces (though I have turned off a few that play Fox News in public spaces).

So, believe me when I say, “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” I promise. Therefore I don’t need to hear you apologize for the little television you do watch. I don’t need to have you explain, “I only watch one show a week.” Or, “we really should get rid of it.” Come on, folks. Own it, don’t apologize. (Or, if having a TV really does make you feel guilty, get rid of it.)

Over the next while, I’m going to take some posts to reflect on our lack of TV. I do this, in a small way to “come clean” — after all, it’s hard to know what to say when people say, “Hey, you know that commercial when….” Invariably, I don’t.

Mostly, though, I’m writing this series as an exercise in self-reflection. I wonder about things. How has not having a television for 10 years shaped me? Does that fact I don’t consume much television media influence my consumption of other media? In what ways is not watching TV a “spiritual practice,” or even a protest of powers and principalities?

Any questions of your own? Do me a favor: on a commercial break, send them my way.

image by Jay Lopez

• Begrudgingly, I am becoming a NFL fan — or a Minnesota Vikings fan, to be precise. Growing up in Tallahassee, the home of the Florida State Seminoles, I had no need for pro football. Few of my friends even had a favorite team. So it’s only appropriate that my Viking fandom has slowly begun as Christian Ponder, a FSU alum, starts as Minnesota’s quarterback.

• Speaking of Minnesota, the fact that Carhartt is now hip cracks me up. Farmers don’t need a fancy “Work in Progress” brand name to know it’s quality product.

• On another regional note, I recently bought a snowblower. Did I say, “sometimes I miss Florida”?

• Review to come later, but I am very much enjoying Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy by Eric Metaxas.

In last week’s news roundup on NPR, NY Times columnist David Brooks said, “I think the Tea Party is like, 11 percent of the country. My estimate is that Occupy Wall Street is 2 or 3 percent of the country in what they actually want to do.” I’m not sure what Brooks thinks “they actually want to do,” but last night a fairly mixed group of young adults — Christians, atheists, seekers, seminarians, pastors — was definitely more than appreciative of the movement. Here’s why.

First, we considered how OWS might connect to Jesus’ notion of the “kingdom of God.” (See Brian McLaren’s piece here.) Conversation hinged on what a new version of the world might look like, one in which there is less income inequality, everyone has a voice, and diminished injustice. We considered, also, how the Kingdom of God is something that is not only coming in the future, but something that we can glimpse here and now. Perhaps OWS can remind and inspire Christians to live out that kingdom mentality.

Second, since the OWS folks seem to be living out certain intentional practices such as offering hospitality, food, prayer, tearing down of golden calves, and so on, we wondered with Elizabeth Drescher how OWS might be seen as a spiritual practice. Folks were less open to this notion, as they didn’t see religious identity as a determinative aspect to most folks’ participation in the protests. Certainly there are exceptions (such as the Protest Chaplains), but I was personally intrigued how folks seemed to be willing to make a distinction like, “People do this not because they’re Christian, but because they’re fed up with injustice.” I don’t like that distinction one bit, but it seemed to drive several persons’ thinking and went over without much debate.

Third, the move of OWS to “kill the Buddhas of power and hierarchy in our society,” as Nathan Schneider considers here, was quite compelling to folks. Our young adults needed almost no time to point out different idols of wealth, power, prestige, celebrity, nationality, even unquestioned democracy that needed to be called to account. (Of course, it’s always easier to point out the false idols of others than it is to claim your own hangups.)

Finally, we ended with a brief consideration of how sin (both personal and societal) might be way to put Christian language to the brokenness OWS folks are protesting.

At the end of the night, my uneasiness about the OWS topic has subsided, only to be replaced by another troublesome reality. Our conversation went so well, tapping into much of Christian theology and the Bible, that I mourned the fact such polite, wide-ranging, political conversation would be difficult to host in many mainline churches. But then again, according to the young adults gathered last night, it’s not Christians who push this justice stuff anyway.

image by Rob Sheridan

One of my more conservative friends posted this picture on his Facebook page recently, shared under the headline, “It’s funny, because it’s true.”

I get it. Ironic, right? Maybe so. Yes, the captions make a point, but it’s not one I find compelling. In fact, it illustrates just how important the protests are, and how challenging it is to live in corporate America.

Some folks might argue, I suppose, that if you use buy something from a certain corporation (a MacBook, say), then by that purchase you declare your support for the company. In a market economy, you speak with money. The reasoning goes: if you don’t want to support Apple, don’t buy a MacBook. Simple enough.

I can appreciate the directness of this approach. I wish life were as simple as that. But, it’s not.

If it were, I couldn’t ever complain to a company after I bought their product…but I do.

If it were, I couldn’t lobby my representatives after I voted them into office….but I do.

If it were, I couldn’t both go to church, financially support its ministry, and at the same time work for change within the church…but I do.

In an NPR report by Margot Adler, Occupy Wall Street protester Jason Ahmadi acknowledged this tension. He said, “McDonalds that’s where we use the bathroom. Verizon, that’s how we, you know, give you our live stream that we’re broadcasting.”

And that, my friends, is the lovely, beautiful, challenging, tension of our times. It’s the gray. That’s how I can proudly pay taxes, and advocate the government spend them differently. That’s how I can buy Patagonia long pants, and email them suggesting they make an “extra long” variety as well. That’s how I can say, “Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.”

In short, that’s how I live: simultaneously sinner and saint.

So the image above, rather than demonstrating the silliness of the protests, actually illustrates, for me, their great importance. Long live the tension, those who shed light on it, and all who struggle with the questions of our day.