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Smartphones, Smart Pastor, Smart Church

WorkingPreaching.org recently published a column of mine at their site. It’s a great place for sermon prep, lectionary commentary, and church and culture discussion. Do check it out. My specific post is here, and below.

 

Next time you see a group of young adults dining together at a restaurant, take a closer look at the table. Nine times out of ten, you'll be able to glimpse at least one cell phone resting on the tablecloth or, just as likely, in someone's hand. In many cases, multiple phones will dot the table as if they were part of the place settings. One might deduce that young people today have a medical condition causing indigestion unless they eat with their phones near at hand. Come to think of it, that's dangerously close to the truth.

The dining scene hints at the fact that many youth and young adults today have a relationship with technology and social media that is core to their formation. With this access to the Internet and, through it, the world, their worldview is significantly different than that of previous generations.

In his article Preaching 2.0, David Lose explores how new approaches to preaching might address our changing cultural norms. But why stop at preaching?

Here's a list of five common phenomena among young people, and how the church might incorporate them into its worship, preaching, and communal life:

1. When young people have a question they ask it -- as a Facebook status, on Twitter, on a message board, perhaps in a text message. But, corporate worship is a time in which it is very difficult to ask questions of the people sitting beside you, let alone the leaders up front. What if worship leaders, after each scripture reading, left a time of silence followed by an opportunity for worshippers to share their questions about the passage? What if preachers invited spoken questions (and even text-messaged ones) and incorporated the questions into their sermons?

2. Social media culture invites young people to respond in some way to pretty much everything. For instance, we can "like" Facebook statuses, respond to text messages with a simple "K," and have the ability to comment on blog posts and news articles until our hearts' content. We can re-tweet a joke, share a music video, and quote a funny happening on Facebook (all while sitting in class). But then in worship, most churches shut down the sharing. The prevailing norm is to keep cell phones out of sight. What if we opened our worship culture and invited worshippers to respond with social media as well as corporate liturgy? What if, throughout our worship space, we placed art supplies that worshippers could use to respond to the Spirit's movement?

3. Young people, through the Internet, are accustomed to easily accessing huge swaths of information. Friends of mine, mid-conversation, will pull out a phone to research a curiosity. In later encounters we'll often find that each of us read further using Wikipedia and Google. But, in most worship services, it would be unusual to do something as natural as pulling up an e-Book Bible, or Googling a commentary on the scripture lesson. What if bulletins included web links and codes scanable with a smartphone (QR codes) to access more information? What if congregations posted videos of sermons on YouTube with links to further resources?

4. Young people, like us all, yearn for community. In fact, a recent Pew Study found that people who use social networking sites actually have larger social networks and more close friends than those who don't. Many of us in the church assume that church attendance and worship is a social event -- and it is -- but then we require people to sit in long narrow pews ideal for looking at the backs of people's heads. Sitting like this does not make for easy community-building or social interaction. What if we replaced our church pews with movable chairs arranged in a way that encouraged a more communal culture of worship? What if churches became a hub for intergenerational social media education, online prayer practices, and community-building?

5. Finally, young adults have a different way of assigning authority. Whereas in another age, pastors could assume a certain respect by virtue of their connection with the church, nowadays authority is more situational. Through relationships, conversation, and careful listening pastors can share wise and helpful words but, then again, sometimes a quick Facebook post will do more than an entire sermon. What if congregations made efforts to make space in their church for dialogue among the wise voices of their community? What if pastors viewed social media as a medium for pastoral care and prophetic words?

The next time you view a cell phone in front of a young diner, hopefully you'll think about its implications for the church's ministry. There are many ways to answer the questions about young adult culture today, but one thing is certain: we must start asking the right questions. What would change if we did?

 

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Adam, Have Your Say: My Brush with the BBC

Blogging has opened many doors for me over the years. That’s not the reason I blog (see “Why I Blog”), but it’s a fun perk. Last week brought a special highlight.

I received an email from a reporter at the BBC radio show, “World Have Your Say.” In light of Christopher Hitchens’ death, they were planning a show on the use of metaphorical language and cancer. Somehow — through Google, I presume — the reporter found an old blog post of mine reflecting on a book I read last year, a chapter of which was on this exact topic.

The email asked if I’d be willing to be a guest on the live show which, by the time I read the email, would be taking place in under 3 hours. Obviously, I couldn’t make it to their NY studios as they had queried. The local MPR studio in Moorhead wasn’t an option due to staffing constraints, so after speaking with someone at the WHYS office in London, we agreed I could be a guest via Skype.

For the next 2+ hours, I was a nervous wreck. I scanned several chapters on Google books addressing language, cancer, and pastoral care. I read Hitchens’ essays on his cancer in Vanity Fair. I perused several obituaries and remembrances of Hitchens. By the time that was done, I had five pages of notes and it was showtime. But, no call. The show started without me.

The host welcomed several guests from around the world, so I figured I hadn’t made the cut. Perhaps a midwestern Presbyterian minister’s perspective wasn’t quite what they wanted after all. And then, 15 minutes into the show, my cell phone rang. A very British-sounding producer quickly explained I’d be joining them after the news break.

So that’s how I found myself upstairs in the study, listening to a BBC Radio show on my cell phone, too nervous to breathe. After the news break, indeed the host welcomed “Adam from North Dakota” to the conversation. I said my two cents exploring the non-violent metaphor of “journey” or “walk” language for those living with cancer, trying to keep things short and sweet. I attempted to jump in with a question later, but then one was asked of me, concerning cancer diagnoses and faith struggles. Thankfully, I had anticipated I might get asked something like that, and had a few notes at the ready. I also tried my best not to bumble the next follow-up as much as I might have.

Then, 55 minutes were up, and the show was over. After the credits rolled and the news began, a producer came on the line and thanked me for appearing. “Oh, sure, no big deal, I do this all the time,” I said. As if.

The show is archived here: World Have Your Say, Dec 16, 2011: “The Topic of Cancer: Following the death of Christopher Hitchens, we ask ‘can you ever fight cancer with a positive attitude?’”

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Bookstore Confession

I bought a book, then 5 minutes later found an identical cheaper one online using my smartphone, so I returned it. Was this wrong?

I recently found myself at Barnes and Noble with quite the conundrum. The parking lot was crazy busy. The Nook booths up front were heaving with rabid present-seekers. The coffee shop bustled with students cramming for finals.

I was there, however, for a reading by an author friend of mine. The reading area was, well, quieter. I can say I wasn’t the only audience member since the poet’s mom came too.

After the reading—which was great—I perused the stacks as I considered the wisdom of making a purchase for myself so close to Christmas. But, with great speed, books destroy my powers to delay gratification, so before long I had two in my hands. Thanks to a herculean effort I narrowed it down to one by Neil Gaiman, but I wasn’t certain about it.

So, I brought out my iPhone. No, I didn’t scan the bar-code quite yet, I simply Googled the title, Anansi Boys. After a few flicks, I learned the book was the story of a character from a Gaiman’s previous novel, American Gods. So, I went to find American Gods on the shelf.

They had one edition. Hard cover. $26.99. Tenth Anniversary Author’s Preferred Text Edition. I swithered, but then walked it calmly to the register. A minute later, I had purchased the book for $29.01.

As I sat in the car warming up — this is Fargo, remember — I felt deep regret. $30 is our household’s monthly book allowance (not including school books). I just blew it in one fell swoop. I did really want to read American Gods, but it was mostly an impulse buy. So, on another impulse, I whipped out my phone and brought up the Amazon app. I scanned my just-purchased book’s barcode, and its Amazon page popped up in two seconds.

Amazon price: $17.60. No sales tax. I have a student Amazon Prime account, meaning I have free two-day shipping on most purchases. I bought it one tap. One tap. Then I opened the car door, walked back in to Barnes and Noble, stood in line, returned the $29.01 copy, and drove away with more money in my pocket and a very confused conscience.

Novelist Richard Russo recently published a NY Times Op-Ed piece lambasting Amazon‘s smartphone apps.

Then, Slate’s Farhad Manjoo responded to Russo quite wisely it seems to me, complicating matters entirely.

Loyal readers will know I’m a sucker for small independently-owned book stores. I miss living in bigger areas like Decatur boasting places like Little Shop of Stories with it’s wonderfully curated collection, friendly staff, smart book groups, and glorious story times. (And, get this: Neil Gaiman has visited Little Shop.)

Often, in Fargo, I buy used books from Red Raven, and I’ve purchased several from Zambroz. I try to buy work books through The Thoughtful Christian.com, usually at great discount, but certainly not with two-day shipping. But I do buy a lot of books via Amazon. Most, even. And I’m still wrestling with my Barnes and Noble return.

So, dear Internet, I confess it. But, to be honest, I’m not sure whether I have sinned or not. If so, my penance will be donate the $11.41 difference to a good cause. But, maybe, I was just a savvy shopper with a smartphone and the good sense to take advantage of my student free two-day shipping when I can.

Am I an Amazon app sinner destroying my local economy, or a smart shopper saving $11.41 I can now spend locally?

Discuss.

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Responding to Weiner’s “Americans: Undecided About God?

A pastor friend wrote me this weekend wondering my take on Eric Weiner’s recent NY Times Sunday Review Opinion piece.

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?

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Don’t take “Christ” out of Christmas, but get the tree out of the church

It’s a wonderful tradition in my house: putting on Christmas music, lugging the tote full of Christmas decorations up from the basement, making hot chocolate, getting the blasted tree straight enough, and placing the ornaments procured over many years onto the bare tree. Afterwards, color fills the house and the fresh evergreen scent welcomes all. This year we decorated our wee house for Christmas just after Thanksgiving. It was great.

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

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Two Bits on American Exceptionalism

As I got a haircut this week, my stylist asked, “So, would you want to live abroad for a few years?” We had a lovely, fairly nuanced chat ranging into aspects of American exceptionalism. I love discussions of American exceptionalism because, if they are managed well, they get into some tricky issues rather quickly (much better than discussions of patriotism).

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.

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Beyond Mashed Potatoes: Giving Thanks Together

This week at Theology Pub we discussed Thanksgiving from various angles. I found it an interesting topic because giving thanks — and gratitude in general — is certainly not unique to people of faith. Apparently, the religious origins of the first Thanksgiving(s) are debatable, but in later years Thanksgiving certainly took a more religious tint. Abraham Lincoln’s Proclamation calling for Thanksgiving to be celebrated by all states on the same day (as opposed to previous practice) is filled with religious overtones.

I’m struck that giving thanks, as a concept, is perfectly well and good (it’s what our mother taught us, after all) but complications come with the follow-up questions, the second part of the sentence, the: so what?

Giving thanks….to whom?

Giving thanks…for what?

Giving thanks…by oneself or together?

Giving thanks…our of obligation, or out of true gratitude?

Shirley Guthrie’s Christian Doctrine is the most accessible and thorough introduction to Reformed Theology that I know. I go back to it often. Like the other theology texts I consulted in preparation for Theology Pub, neither “thanksgiving” nor “gratitude” is in Guthrie’s index. I did, however, find this glorious passage that’s stopped me short this Thanksgiving week:

 Everything we have said about satisfying our creaturely necessities and enjoying creaturely pleasures is true only to the extent that we remember that God is not only our Creator but the Creator of all human beings, and that God’s good gifts are given not just to us and our kind of people but to all people. To deny these gifts (necessities and pleasures) to any person or group, or to support any political or economic system that does so, is rebellion against the Creator who said that the physical-bodily life of every human being is good. Christian Doctrine, Shirley Guthrie, p. 160

Thanksgiving, after all, is an act. It’s action, but in our normal cultural parlance it seems as if it’s all about stopping, looking back, reflecting with our kin. At Thanksgiving, many of us end up asking that question, “What am I thankful for?” But Guthrie seems to want to broaden our thinking from “I” to “we.”

What if Thanksgiving is not about what God gives me, but about God’s gifts to all the world, now and forever? Thinking of Thanksgiving in this corporate manner then pushes us further to consider Thanksgiving as action, as call to discipleship. It becomes more than about feeding the homeless turkey and mashed potatoes on Thursday, but about making sure all my brothers and sisters — all those whom God created and loves — have equal opportunities to enjoy God’s gifts. Or, further even, we follow our call beyond making “opportunities available” for all to perhaps enjoy God’s gifts, and instead we don’t stop until all are resting in the promises of God, not just possibly doing so, but actually doing so.

For me, the Advent season always takes on a wonderful sense of justice-seeking. As I prepare for Christ’s birth, I’m reminded every year that our world looks all too un-Christlike. This year, however, I’m getting that feeling a little early through the more secular Thanksgiving holiday. For that, I’m grateful; to that, I hope to respond.

image by bromundt

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