Should our worship go digital?

Should our worship go digital? That's the central question behind my latest post for the Lutheran Church Extension Fund's (LCEF) "Leader-to-Leader" blog. 

Integrating my own experiences worshipping online with recent research about tech trends and church I suggest FIVE REASONS you or your church should consider "digital worship."

Here's an excerpt:

“However, there are those who remain skeptical. There is a fear that in our “cyber sanctuaries” digital worshippers will miss the authenticity of face-to-face interaction. There is a concern that virtual ritual lacks real substance, presence, or legitimacy.”

I am here to suggest that there are FIVE REASONS these fears may be overblown. Read the rest of the piece at LCEF's Leader-to-Leader blog to learn more...

Preaching, Diversity, & Hybrid Churches

Recently, I had the honor of posting two blogs on the FiveTwo.com site. FiveTwo is all about sharpening sacramental entrepreneurs to start new spiritual communities. I've been working with FiveTwo at the local and national level since 2010 and enjoy being a regular contributor to their blog. 

My two blogs covered the very important topic of how to work with, and preach in, a multi-ethnic setting. My proposals were to aim for hybridity -- in our understanding, preparation, methods, and delivery. 

I offered, "Hybridity doesn’t begin in the pulpit. It starts with deliberate efforts to build “third spaces” where the multiple cultures, backgrounds, and ethnicities in your community can come together to mix socially, borrow culturally, and learn from one another spiritually. Hybridity, at its best, should not favor one culture over the other, but instead should emphasize equilateral exchange. This should be evident not only in your pulpit (we will get to this later), but in our staffing, our programming, our discipleship, our outreach, our choir, our altar guild, or our Monday afternoon social sports teams. We have to build hybridity into our churches from the ground up, together."

Here are the links for the two blogs:

• Preaching, Diversity, and Hybrid Cultures
• Remixing the Pulpit

There was some significant pushback on this article. In fact, there were three specific critiques. While I hope to address these criticisms in subsequent, unique, blog posts, I want to take a moment to identify and briefly address them here:

• One commenter challenged that the liturgy (as conceived by confessional Lutherans) is universal. To this, I openly wonder -- is the liturgy truly universal? Has it not been adapted? Changed? How does it exclude and create boundaries? Furthermore, is a universal liturgy the goal? Should there not be a certain degree of contextualization? In the end, my discussion of hybridity is about contextualization, not universalization. Thus, the commenter and I are talking cross-purposes and aiming at different ends. 
• Another interlocutor accused me of undermining the "office of preaching" and Article XIV of the Augsburg Confession. For my non-Lutheran readership, I am sorry; this is particularly pedantic for you. I started to address this challenge on Twitter and intimated that hybrid preaching does not necessarily undermine the "office of preaching" as conceived in AC XIV. Having a creative team to help plan a preaching series, community exegetical work, and multiple preachers can all be guided and directed by an ordained and properly called pastor. Just as we have (LC-MS Lutherans and others) built upon the pastoral office to include commissioned positions (DCE, DCO, Deacon, Deaconess, teacher) so too we can invite multiple people into the process of preaching under the auspices of the regular call of the pastor who leads the process and not undermine that office. 
• Finally, another commenter asked me to provide an "ideal hybrid service." Again, in reference to the first point above, I think this is missing my point. Hybrid services are inherently contextual. They are based in interpreting your local community and applying Scripture and confessional theology into the neighborhood you find yourself called to bless and serve. I can't give you a "ideal" hybrid service. That's the work I propose you do. You'll have to be the one to "keep your look in the book and your feet in the street." (Thanks Rev. Greg Seltz for that one!) In my article I put forward particular postures that can aid this process, but that's about as far as I can go. One of the beauties of our synod (again, the LC-MS here) is that we walk together as a synod, holding to central theological postures, but we are locally diverse (at least, at our best). We do not need, and indeed are reticent, to enforce conformity from the top-down. This call for contextualized, hybrid, structures, services, and preaching is an extension of the heart of our synodical, congregation-based, polity. Furthermore, it also underlines our sacramental, tangible, and flesh-and-blood-here-and-now-faith-in-the-streets theology. 

With all this said, I invite you to read the original pieces (HERE and HERE), share them, comment on them, and become part of the conversation. 

Momentary Vocations - Serving Your Neighbor Every. Single. Day

The word “vocation” may make us think of a relatively narrow realm of responsibilities, but it should mean so much more.

The Latin word vocatio, or ”calling,” was long used to refer to religious orders and priestly ministry, Today, we use the term all the time to talk about someone’s profession (think “vocational training”). Martin Luther was the first to use “vocation” in reference to seemingly mundane and profane offices and occupations. Behind the semantics of Luther’s heritage is the idea that every station in life that is, by nature, helpful to others, is a calling, a vocation, through which the love of God is made manifest. 

In the words of Gustaf Wingren vocation is “anything that involves action, anything that concerns the world or my relationship with my neighbor.”

Not only is the idea of vocation expanded beyond our occupations, but it is also bigger than any one station we occupy. Not only are we called to serve others, and extend God’s creative care for earth and humanity, through our vocations as farmers or faculty, plumbers or priests, accountants or artists, husbands and wives, daughters and sons, fathers and mothers, aunts and uncles, cousins and godparents, friends and competitors, etc., but we can also serve others in momentary vocations.

Momentary vocations are those brief moments wherein we may be called to serve a person in passing, an “extra” in our lives who would otherwise go unnoticed, but for some reason has been brought to our attention, thrust into our hectic schedule, or appeared at our doorstep. Whether it be a beggar on the street, a teller at your grocery store, or the person visibly upset in the hallway at work or school, too often, we pass up these momentary vocations and miss the opportunity to participate in God’s care for the world.

*Read about these THREE WAYS YOU CAN SERVE YOUR NEIGHBOR EVERYDAY via "momentary vocations" at the LCEF Leader-to-Leader blog.

Philosophy at the Oscars: What is true, good, and beautiful?

Each year the notable sages of the 21st-century gather to ruminate on, and decide, one of the greatest conundrums of our time: who should win ‘Best Picture’ at the Academy Awards? Too silly of a question for you, the matchless metaphysician? Perhaps you should ponder the other consequential inquiry of the day — who is the best, and worst, dressed on the red carpet? 

All sarcasm aside, these questions really are akin to the fundamental questions that philosophers, theologians, and people on the streets have been wrestling with for ages. Indeed, the question “what is true, good, and beautiful?” (the trio often called “the transcendentals”) is serious, important, and multifaceted. Philosophers from the Bhagavad Gita, Plato, Aristotle, Aquinas, Kant, Nietzche, and Balthasar have all mulled over this question, to differing results.

*Read more at the Abbey West Blog (February 16)...

Fifty Shades of Ash

Here’s a funny story. A church I was on staff with once had a “white elephant gift exchange” party. Apparently, there was this rule that if you touched a gift it became yours. As I was clearly not paying attention, I did not hear this crucial regulation. When my turn came up I started by perusing the gift options that had already been opened before heading to the table with all the still-wrapped gifts and bobbles. That’s when I came upon E.L. James’ Fifty Shades of Grey and an accompanying small whip. This is the moment when remembering that “you touch it, you bought it” rule would have been important. Attempting to ever be the jester, I reached for the book and sealed my doom. 

The book, the bullwhip, were mine. And, as added benefit, I was the butt of all jokes for the rest of the evening. 

That whip proudly hung in my office over the next couple of years, resplendent with a red bow. I never read the book. But, from what I gather it’s about a virginal college student (Ana) who falls for a billionaire (Christian Grey) with a kink for BDSM (bondage, domination, sadism, and masochism) relationships, and he wants the unspoiled Ana to play the submissive to his dominant.

There’s, well…how do you put this…been a lot of opinion whipping around the internet this last fortnight as the book came to the big screen on Valentine’s Day (how sweet). 

Not wanting to throw comment and critique to the way side (which is a nice way of saying I am going to) I am not about to weigh the merits and/or debatably deplorable nature of the book/film. Instead, I’m going to do what any normal person would do and make a clear connection between Fifty Shades of Grey, Ash Wednesday, and the forty days of Lent. 

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See the whip in the background? See the ambivalent look on my face? This is awkward. 

Today (February 18, 2015) is Ash Wednesday. Millions of Christians across the world -- Catholic, Lutheran, Anglicans, others — will commemorate the commencement of Lent, a 40-day penitential season of fasting and preparation preceding Easter, the celebration of Jesus' resurrection from the dead — with the "imposition" or "infliction" of ashes on their foreheads.

The symbol of ashes on the forehead are meant to serve as a reminder of the contrite believers' physical return to dust (accompanied by a ritualistic repetition of "ashes to ashes, dust to dust" or "from dust you came, from dust you shall return") and their spiritual condition as sinners in need of mourning over their sin, confession, and repentance. 

Here’s a sampling of a prayer from an Ash Wednesday liturgy, or rite of worship:

Savior, prostrate I fall at thy feet this day…to ponder upon thy passion….In spirit I appear before thee in sackcloth and ashes, in true repentance. Let not the pleasures of life….crowd thee out of my heart and out of my thoughts. Draw me to thy wounded side, and cleanse me with thy most precious blood….By thy grace let me crucify my sinful afflictions, lusts, and desires….I am dust, and to dust I shall return…chastise me, break my sinful will, restore me, cleanse me, O Lord. Amen. 

So, to recap: mourning, ashes, down on your knees, prostrate, no pleasure, sinful lust and temptation, wounds, blood, sinful afflictions, chastising, breaking. Are we talking Ash Wednesday here or Fifty Shades? 

Or, let’s put it another way, as an atheist friend of mine once asked me in Houston. After reading through the crucifixion narratives in Matthew, Mark, and Luke, she asked me, “does it ever appear to you that y’all have a ‘masochist Messiah?’ Really, with all the blood, pain, and sin payments you have a pretty sadistic spirituality. 

Do we Christians worship a "masochist Messiah?” Do we practice some sick, sadistic, 'Fifty Shades of Grey' spirituality? 

A lot of the censure that came out about the Fifty Shades book/film is that it denigrated women and promoted a myth of healthy violence. Indeed, in his book The Powers that Be, Walter Wink (excellent name, sir) called out religion’s role, Christianity included, in furthering the cause of “the myth of redemptive violence” which he saw as a literary/mythological tool that impacts modern culture and its role in maintaining oppressive power structures. Crucifixion as myth of redemptive violence anyone? 

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It’s true that Ash Wednesday, Lent, and other liturgical moments in the Christian church tend to invite us to the dark side of life, spirituality, and our relationship with the Creator of the cosmos. Yet, I don’t believe there is any good reason to say we worship a masochist Messiah or engage in a particularly sadistic spirituality replete with soul bondage and deistic domination. 

Instead, I contend, Ash Wednesday and Lent are times for us to collectively reflect on the very potent and omnipresent realities of suffering, pain, and death. It is a communal opportunity to acknowledge that there is misery, affliction, and slaughter in this world. 

Of course, we may not need to go to church to see this. We may need only look at the headlines. 

We look out on a world where a jihadist group is terrorizing its way across the Middle East and North Africa; planes fall out of the sky nearly every week; civilians are perishing in Israel-Gaza, the Ukraine, Somalia-Kenya; innocents are gunned down in our city streets, and others are wasting away under the threat of Ebola. The world, we feel, is collapsing around us. Closer to home, we are struggling with financial stress, cancer, broken relationships, piss-poor body image, binge drinking, or deeper personal pains. The world, our lives, are in such a mess that we might be tempted to cry out with the teacher from Ecclesiastes, “Meaningless, meaningless…everything is meaningless!” (Ecc. 12:18).

In truth, there is something to observing, and calling out, the wretchedness of this world. Rabbis from the early part of the first millennia said that after Adam and Eve fell in the garden that God did not assign the curses in Genesis 3, but he observed them. He said to our progenitors, “this is how it’s going to be now guys, this is the situation as it is — there will be pain, there will be sweat, there will be toil, there will be death. All because of sin.” 

Our ritual reading of the headlines, or the imposition of ashes, acknowledges the pain of the world and reminds us that we live in limited bodies, in a limited world, with death as its inevitable end. 

Bummer. Dude. 

Yet, while the headlines roll on in seemingly measureless melancholy and rancor fills our social media feeds over books, religious groups, or movies, Ash Wednesday and Lent remind us not only of the pain, but of the succor of our Savior. 

You see, there is not only one, single, shade to Ash Wednesday or Lent. It’s not just about death black and penitential purple. Sado-masochistic moods of repentance and anguish are not the sole shade of this season. Instead, the “fiftieth” shade of this season is one of heavenly hope, one of corporeal compassion, one of redemption. 

Indeed, the message of Ash Wednesday and Lent is not only that we are all going to die someday, but also that we will rise and be restored. How? Why? 

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Max Ernst's "Crucifixion" captures the pain, the agony, the violence, of the cross. 

The message of Ash Wednesday, Lent, and the Gospel is that Jesus lived amidst the pain, the suffering, the death and he felt it personally, in his body. He was touched with the same feeling, able to sympathize with our weakness (Heb 4:15-16). He knew our pain. He did not revel in it or celebrate it. He was a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief, stricken, smitten, and afflicted (Is. 53). 

Instead of inviting us into the myth of redemptive violence this season and the liturgical rhythms invite us to embrace the reality of redemptive suffering. 

More than simply going through the motions of Lent, or even endeavoring to fast our way through the forty days, the call of this penitential season is to let those forty days transform, and even transfigure, us. 

And what is the transformation? Turning from an elitist, escapist, and illusory understanding of the world as all glory and growth to a redemptive, real, and tender understanding of the suffering in our world. But we mustn't stop there. We must see the redemptive value of suffering. 

South African anti-apartheid hero Desmond Tutu wrote, “When we are able to see the larger purpose of our suffering, it is transformed, transmuted. It becomes redemptive suffering.” When we see what Christ did with suffering, sin, and death on the cross by defeating them, today’s suffering is put in its place, in its rightful perspective. And we can suffer it, knowing it does not have the final word. The pain is transformed, it is transfigured. 

Richard Rohr, a Catholic contemplative, added that pain, if not transformed, will be transmitted. Think about that. If we do not allow our pain, our suffering to be transformed by Jesus, it will be spread out to others or, in the very least, other parts of our own life. Think of all the untransformed pain and how it has spread – in bitter fights in our home, in passive aggressive rage at work, in friendships spoiled, in massacre, rape, thievery, jealousy, and acidic anger. 

But when our pain is transformed it contributes to the healing and re-creation of the world. So then how we decide to respond to the pain & suffering in our life is a very serious matter.

Just as Jesus’ life has this rhythm to it, so does our spirituality: Redemption involves suffering; transfiguration involves pain; resurrection always involves the cross. We follow in his suffering, because we follow Him in redemption. They are connected. No cross, then no crown, it would seem as Claude Nikondeha put it.

It is my prayer for you, for me, this Ash Wednesday and Lent that we may, in the smearing of ashes across our foreheads, in the hunger pains of fasting, or in the simple prayers of repentance and reminders of everyday suffering, see see the strange, mystical, and miraculous connection between suffering and redemption.  

Or as, the novelist Fyodor Dostoevsky put it, I pray “you will burn and you will burn out; you will be healed and come back again.” 

You see, as we suffer, and allow that pain to be redeemed we contribute to the transfiguration of the world in some mystical way. We are partnering with Christ in the restoration of all things. We are letting Christ do his work, and have his way with us. In this season we are not only living the forty shades of Lent or the fifty shades of ash, but embodying the many shades of God’s redemptive work in the world through suffering, pain, and death. 

And that is a thought to dwell on today, and throughout, I think, the season of Lent to come.

You will burn & you will burn out, you will be healed & come back again: a message for Transfiguration Sunday

Ever had a really bad day? Ever had a really good one? What if they were the same moment? The same episode. What if instead of trying to gloss over life's chaos and bypass pain, we instead confronted our suffering face-to-face and came to see the redemptive lining in every situation?

The line in the title above, from Fyodor Dostoevsky, captures the themes of glory hidden in suffering, transfiguration hidden in pain, and the resurrection hidden in the cross that are central to both our celebration of Transfiguration and our remembrance of the season of Lent, which is to come this Wednesday (February 18). It is also central, I contend, to our understanding of life. 

The message of Transfiguration is that we should "put off our tents" (2 Peter 1:10-19) and pick up our cross (Matthew 16:24) to follow Jesus from this Sunday through Lent and in the everyday good and bad we face. This time is an invitation to regain a redemptive understanding of suffering and not be caught up in the false hopes of our own glory, progress, and personal growth. 

Here is the full audio of my sermon at First Lutheran Church in Gainesville, FL (February 15, 2015), which explores these themes alongside a helping of Jon Stewart, ash, and more:

Ever find yourself asking, "who am I?" Here's your answer

Go Eagles!

Not how you thought a blog on identity and ultimate questions would begin, huh? Neither did I, but it happened...so let's go with it. 

I am an Eagle. A Concordia Eagle to be exact. All of my degrees, thus far, come from Concordia University Irvine, CA where I studied education, theology, and culture. Best of all, that's where I met my wife. I owe a lot to CUI.

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That right there is a one perty lil' campus!

So, when Rev. Quinton Anderson, the campus pastor at CUI, contacted me about blogging for their series, "One God. One Question. What Would You Ask?" I jumped at the opportunity. 

On Mondays and Fridays at the start of their Spring semester students are being asked to reflect on BIG questions of identity, purpose, and faith including, "Who am I?" "Why do bad things happen?" and "What is good, true, and beautiful?" Alongside the chapel messages that address each question the students, faculty, and staff at CUI are invited to explore the questions via blog posts on the same topic. 

I am excited, and honored, to write two blogs for the series:

• Who am I? 
• What is good, right, and beautiful? (on the minds of many freshman who are embarking on CUI's Core Curriculum)

I invite you to check out the blog series and read my first post -- "Who am I?" -- at the Abbey West blog. 

And, yeah, go Eagles! 

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Why we all need a prayer labyrinth - review & interview with Travis Scholl

My first experience with the labyrinth wasn’t, um…traditional. For those of you unfamiliar with prayer labyrinths, they are paths which lead, via a circuitous, unicursal (only a single path) route, to the center of an intricate design and back out again. Walking a labyrinth is a means of praying with the body along with the mind and soul. Often installed near, or inside, churches and cathedrals they are meant for spiritual journeys, or, as Travis Scholl wrote in his new book Walking the Labyrinth: A Place to Pray and Seek God, a labyrinth is “a path of pilgrimage and prayer, a living symbol of the journey of faith in a sinful, broken world.”

*Follow Ken on Twitter - @kchitwood

But again, my first experience with a prayer labyrinth wasn’t of stone and grass, intricate designs or holy architecture…it involved TVs, trash-cans, and staring at a mirror. No, it wasn't an odyssey into the strange world of David Bowie's "Labyrinth" film (though, that is a trip). Designed as an “interactive installation for spiritual journeys” the one I first walked was a contemporary twist on an ancient tradition, aimed at a digital, and distracted, generation. You can even explore the labyrinth online HERE.

Since that first experience at a Lutheran youth gathering in Palm Springs, CA I have since explored labyrinths in Nelson, New Zealand, Paris, France, and in Houston, TX. Each one took me on its own particular path toward “the unknowable center of life, its mystery, unseen and unheard in the babble and hustle of our everyday existence.” Indeed, as Scholl intimates, we living in a hurried, inundated, and constantly connected world “need the labyrinth.” 

More than anything else, walking a prayer labyrinth is engaging in a physical-spiritual discipline with ancient roots. To understand the labyrinthine ins-and-outs of prayer labyrinths, and to invite readers into a journey of curiosity, discovery, and even divine encounter, Travis Scholl — managing editor of theological publications at Concordia Seminary in St. Louis, MO — wrote this new book with a foreword from Walter Wangerin Jr. 

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Designed to serve as a 40-day devotional exploration of prayer labyrinth reflections this text is a perfect resource for the season of Lent. Bringing together historical context on the labyrinth, first-hand biographical transparency, creative and intricate writing, and weighty devotional commentary on the crossing of the labyrinth, and indeed the crossing of life, I highly recommend Scholl’s work.

*You can purchase it HERE.

To learn more about the man, his journey, and the book itself read the in-depth interview below:

Tell me a little bit about what got you initially interested with the labyrinth…

My first introduction to the labyrinth came through literature. As an undergrad English major, I read Argentinian writer Jorge Luis Borges’ Labyrinths, which is a collection of his short stories, parables, and various fictions. Borges’ stories got me very interested in the labyrinth as a literary symbol of paradox and mystery. A passage from Borges is one of the epigraphs to my book. I should also add that I liked playing with maze games as a kid, including Rubik’s Cube, which is, in its own way, a labyrinth.

Why did you decide to interweave your journey with, and through, the labyrinth with a devotional expedition through Lent?

After I discovered the church labyrinth in our neighborhood, it just seemed like an interesting daily discipline to use during Lent. Nothing more, nothing less. As I approached Ash Wednesday, it occurred to me that I could also use it as a daily writing exercise. I actually wrote about that initial experience in my St. Louis Post-Dispatch blog. The book arose from there.

Now, you're Lutheran and the labyrinth, well, isn’t (at least historically). At the very least, you don’t see labyrinths at Lutheran churches and there is some censure that comes from conservative Lutheran circles about practices like this. What kind of blowback do you expect, or have received, and what is your response?

I knew going in that the labyrinth has been coopted by various, for lack of a better word, New Age-y type mysticisms. But I also knew that its roots in medieval Christianity were strong (I had studied the architecture of Chartres cathedral in France during undergrad too). So, as it developed, I saw my book as an attempt to recover the labyrinth as an authentically Christian practice. I don’t know if I really expected “blowback,” but I guess it didn’t surprise me when people misconstrued the labyrinth’s history or what my book is trying to accomplish. No, the labyrinth is not typically “Lutheran.” But then again, 50 years ago, the last thing you’d see on a Lutheran pastor is a chasuble. So, what I’ve always found refreshing as a Lutheran is our tradition’s ability to recover practices from Christian history and re-energize them with a Gospel-centered focus.

You move back-and-forth between history and present, walking the labyrinth and moving through the Gospel of Mark. What does this unconventional approach bring to the readers’ enjoyment of this book and contemplation of its themes?

I hope it does for readers the same thing it did for me: it brought me face-to-face with Jesus Christ in the Scriptures. And it showed that the path Jesus walks in the Gospel of Mark is very much its own kind of labyrinth, the way he moves back-and-forth, around and around Galilee, the way his steps lead inescapably, like a vortex, to the cross.  And, finally, the way the empty tomb leads us back out of the vortex, into “our” Galilee.

Have you gone back to walk the labyrinth since you finished the book? What’s different, the same, with this discipline for you now?

After my Lenten discipline, and while I was working on the book, I intentionally stayed away from the actual labyrinth I walked. Mainly because I wanted to get some distance from the experience, the kind of critical distance any writer needs to be able to finish a book. Since then, I’ve walked it a time or three, and what strikes me is how the physical grounds of the labyrinth have changed. There’s a community garden there now, among other things. That may sound trivial, but that’s to me a key component of the labyrinth as a discipline, the way it awakens us to what is happening right in front of our face, which we often don’t see because our mind is somewhere else or our nose is buried in a smartphone. I guess in that sense I see “labyrinths” in a lot of different places now, being attentive to the world around me anytime I walk from one place to another.

When you touch on the Gospel narratives you bring a certain humanizing touch to the narrative (e.g. Jesus laughing p. 175). What does this bring to the story of the Gospels?

I don’t know if it’s something I “bring” to the story of the Gospels as much as it’s something I see or hear happening within them as I read the Gospels. I’m very much drawn to the biblical idea of midrash as a way of reading the Bible, that when we read closely between the lines of texts, we can see something that illuminates the whole of them. It is a way of living in the text rather than simply looking at the text.

Walking the labyrinth is a discipline of the body, the soul, the mind. How does such a practice augment lived Christian spirituality in the 21st century?

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Travis Scholl, author. 

This is a great question, because it points to the way that the labyrinth, as one among various Christian practices, involves the whole body, the whole self (similar to, for instance, the Stations of the Cross). For a faith that is centered in the incarnation, I think this is essential to Christian living, especially now when so much of our life and culture pulls us away from the body, from the stuff of earth, which I think is really just another form of Gnosticism, the heresy which simply says the body is “all bad” and the soul is “all good.”

You mention that walking the labyrinth makes you more attentive to the world around you. What did you, by walking the labyrinth, notice about the world that you didn’t before?

I touched on this a little bit already, but one of the things I noticed is that there are so many interesting things we can notice, even on a little patch of grass in the middle of a bustling city, if we just stop for a moment. We miss so much of it. I talk about it in the book, but I remember one day when I could smell warm maple syrup from the café across the street. Or the way the leaves broke open the trees at that particular time in spring. This is life happening before our very eyes, all over the place, so simple but so profound.

What do you hope people get out of this book?

That’s a difficult question for me to answer, because I don’t want to preempt people into a certain way of reading the book. I do hope people can themselves become more attentive to the world around them by reading the book. I certainly hope it gives readers a window into the literary labyrinth we call the Gospel of Mark. But, honestly, I would be incredibly flattered if people simply found a few well-written words in there, words that stick with them for awhile.

Anything else you want to share?

Thanks much for the opportunity to talk about Walking the Labyrinth. I welcome feedback on Twitter (@travisjscholl). Grace and peace in the walking.

We Live in a World of Buffet-Style Religion: Highlights from SENT Conference

Back in July I traveled to Detroit for the Lutheran Hour Ministries Global SENT Outreach Conference where I was invited to speak on the topic of Christian encounters with the world's religions and sundry spiritualities. 

I remember a few things from the trip: 1) I loved Detroit, its food/beer culture, its waterfront, and its people; 2) I spent the night in the airport with a guy who talked about Dungeons & Dragons at 2am in the morning (lovely); 3) it gave me an opportunity to share my "theology of religion" with a wider audience. 

*For more on religion & culture, follow @kchitwood.

The conference was organized by Lutheran Hour Ministries who shared in their conference report:

More than 1,000 people gathered on July 24-27 in Detroit, Mich. to hear speakers, musicians, and entertainment...these photos, quotes, and videos tell an abbreviated story of how God worked through the Lutheran Hour Ministries SENT Outreach Conference...

Along with Rev. Gregory Seltz, speaker of the Lutheran Hour, Rev. Dr. John Nunes of Valparaiso University, Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann of Concordia Seminary St. Louis, Rev. Dominic Rivkin of LINC Los Angeles, Jon Acuff, Jon Dansby, and others I was included in LHM's Storify highlights.

Reflecting on the feedback provided to me from conference participants and from the Storify, I want to ruminate on the major takeaways from my approach to a "theology of religion." Here goes. 

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I love this. Why? Because I stole it. Author and interfaith activist Eboo Patel gets all the credit for this one. In his book Sacred Ground: Pluralism, Prejudice, and the Promise of America Patel wrote of the need for us to flip the script in our theology from one of antagonism and conflict to one of affinity and compassion. His quote was in reference to the need for Christians to befriend Muslims. While mine referenced Hindus in this presentation the point is the same -- inspired by Christ's actions in John 4 with the Samaritan woman at the well we must endeavor to befriend the "religious other."

Indeed, we must cease thinking of the "religious other" as "other." Instead, recognizing the imago Dei -- image of God -- within each of us, we must see others as part of the same human story, unique in their formation, important in God's creation. In the words of Lesslie Newbigin, it is recognizing that "no human life can be rightly understood apart from the whole story of which each life-story is a part." This posture can lead to mutual understanding, bonds of friendship and solidarity, and common efforts toward peace. 

Of course, this can, and will, be hard. Why? 

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People often ask me what the fastest growing religion in the U.S. is. Is it Islam? Mormonism? Evangelicalism? Which "-ism" is it Ken? 

It's Me-ism. 

Due to forces of individualization, "normal nihilism," and a general belief in the supernatural and the importance of the spiritual we are all on our own spiritual journeys, mixing-and-matching our religious sentiments like patrons at a Sizzler buffet. 

Because, as Paul W. Robinson wrote, “the assumptions, attitudes, & understandings that lead to the practice of mix-and-match religion surround us" we tend to pick-and-choose what we like, and what we want, from each and every religion and/or spirituality. A little bit of Hindu meditation? Sure. Some Buddhist prayer beads? Heck yeah! Christianity's Jesus? Bring it on. Sufi poetry for meditation? Two helpings please! 

While I make light, the truth is that it is difficult to navigate the religious landscape we encounter because it is so stunningly diverse. Not only do we live in a pluralistic context outside of us, but we also wrestle with pluralist tendencies and tensions within our own spiritual journey as we choose between various spiritual perspectives, orthodoxies, heresies, and practices delivered to us on websites, podcasts, apps, sermons, and publications. 

Despite the stunning diversity, our challenge remains the same. Again, Patel wrote, "The question is how to have a vertical relationship with one’s own understanding of the divine and a horizontal relationship with the diversity of the world." We must not only ascribe to truth as we know it, but be comfortable enough with a plurality of truth-claims to hold peaceable conversations with others and together work toward the resolution of conflict and the blessing of our communities. 

Although we may struggle with our own journey and others cannot quite explain their "spiritual-but-not-religious" perspective, we must still lean into these relationships with mercy, truth, love, patience, and grace. 

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The U.S. is suffering from a case of multi-generational and multi-cultural  religious illiteracy —what Stephen Prothero calls, “religious amnesia.” The United States, in spite of its established secularism, is a thoroughly pluralistic nation with robust expressions of myriad world religions everywhere from the wheat fields of Iowa to the buckled asphalt of Los Angeles. Yet, we are simultaneously “a nation of religious illiterates” who flunk the most basic of quizzes on religion — even our own. 

To the rescue come “world religion Bible studies” that attempt to help Christians navigate their world’s stunning religious pluralism.  The problem is, most “world religion Bible studies” are terrible. 

While most of the leaders of these studies start with the intention to help their parishioners learn more about the world’s religions, the way they go about it usually leads to nominally increased religious literacy. Even worse, these studies often exacerbate pre-existing prejudices or presuppositions about studied worldviews. 

Instead of informed, generous, and balanced studies most devolve into bullhorn-style, biased, polemic, opinion-infused and horribly misinformed misadventures into religions and worldviews. 

Still, there is a need for Christians, and others, to study the world's religions -- to listen and learn, to dialogue, to work together, to dine with one another, and build bridges of understanding, friendship, and common cause. 

*To read more on how to fix "the world religion Bible study" approach, click HERE. 

These are the highlights that LHM shared. There was other feedback as well and I could spend days writing about it, but if you want to dig deeper into my "theology of religion" and the approach I advocate for Christians to take toward other religions and worldviews please take the time to read, and respond to, my recent paper, "Building Bridges: Toward Constructing a Christian Foundation for Inter-Religious Relationships in the Shift from Religious Privilege to Spiritual Plurality."

I want to thank LHM again for inviting me to come and speak. I pray that this conversation is both compassionate and constructive, building upon the church's theological foundations to construct a common path toward reconciliation and peace-making in the world today. 

*For more on religion & culture, follow @kchitwood.

O Emmanuel, come make us human

O Emmanuel, our king and our Lord, the anointed for the nations and their Savior: Come and save us, O Lord our God. 

O Emmanuel, Rex et legifer noster, exspectatio gentium, et Salvator earum: veni ad salvandum nos Domine Deus noster.

There is freedom in community. There is liberty in communion. There is deliverance in the covenant. That is the message of Christmas. That is the sign of Emmanuel -- God with us. 

Greek theologian John Zizioulas vigorously argued in his work Being as Communion that human freedom -- indeed, the fullness of humanity itself -- can only be found in community. He proposed this thesis as the antidote to the rampant individualism omnipresent in our current culture.

Western culture’s embrace of individualism stems from its embrace of reason because, as we shall see, the individual — and only the individual — has the ability to reason. Emerging from a Christian-Protestant background and because of the heritage of the Reformation and the Enlightenment, Western society came to apperceive the social, political, and moral worth of the individual. 

A group of people, then, does not have the ability to reason or enjoy freedom, strictly speaking according to this philosophy. Only the individuals comprising the group do because all perception and thought takes place within the individual mind. There is no group mind or any submission to group mores. The individual sets the agenda.

Today, individualism is at its peak. Everything that makes human life secure and enjoyable—from achievements in medicine, music and engineering to breakthroughs in transportation, literature, arts, and government—we believe was, and is, ultimately the creation or discovery of one: the individual using his or her power of reason. The individual, therefore, is the hero of humanity.

Sadly, even at Christmastime we can forget about others and only serve ourselves -- wanting the best presents, purchasing gift cards only to benefit ourselves, or giving to charities only to benefit from a personal tax break.

As author Heather Davis shared on her Facebook feed the other day, "when individualism is taken to an extreme, individuals become its ironic casualties." (a quote by David G. Myers, excerpted from Man Turned in on Himself: Understanding Sin in 21st-century America - coming January 2015).

In contrast to our culture's idolatry of the individual Zizioulas retools Greek, and postmodern, philosophy to read Scripture through a communal lens. From this perspective, he argues that full humanity is achieved only insofar as a person participates (koinonia) in the Trinitarian life of God. 

This participation is only made possible in and through the incarnation, the birth of Jesus -- Emmanuel, God with us. 

Indeed, Jesus' taking on of human flesh -- the merging of humanity and divinity -- makes possible a deep fellowship between humanity as it was meant to be and divinity as it really and truly is, in communion. 

Incarnation signals the re-unification of humanity and divinity, the restoration of community, the re-creation of communion and the opportunity for us to truly say, for the first time, "I am." However, we do not say this as individuals on our own believing in Jesus, but as part of a community, a cathedral of humanity, a divine communion that says, "I am because we are." 

This is, for the initiated, the phraseology of the ubuntu philosophy derived from the Nguni proverb umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu, which means "a person is a person through other persons." Now ubiquitously recognized and respected throughout sub-Saharan Africa among Bantu people groups, the theology of ubuntu reflects that of Zizioulas' "being as communion" theology insofar as it affirms that full humanity is only possible through communion with others. Our very existence and well-being is grounded in the lives of those around us. This flies in the face of our predominant culture's slavish devotion to the self above all others. It's downright revolutionary. 

Scripture goes one step further and reveals that true community, and thus true humanity, is only possible in the fellowship of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Fellowship with this eternal communion is only possible in Christ -- Emmanuel, God with us. 

Amidst this heady theology I pray you can begin to sense just how significant this turn is. Emmanuel, the presence of the Eternal Trinity with us, is the causeway for us to become fully human. Don't miss that this Christmas. Hear the invitation to true communion and through God's Word and Sacraments come to enjoy the fellowship that fosters freedom and true being. 

Of course, I must warn you, in entering into this communion, there is a certain ethic that emerges as well. Living life in communion with Christ leads to a certain lifeway and set of postures toward others. As Claude Nikondeha said to a gathering of leaders discussion post-colonial African theology/ministry in Krugersdorp, South African in 2009, "'We are set in a delicate network of interdependence with our fellow human beings and all of creation,' Tutu states. This is a foundational understanding for our humanity, as one connected to others. In African we call this ubuntu. We are persons through other persons. Our humanity is all bundled up together -- yours, mine, those outside this camp, even those across the world. We are interconnected, and we are affected by the wellbeing of one another. When someone is humiliated, I am humiliated. When another is going to bed on an empty stomach, I am not satiated. When you are broken-hearted, my joy cannot be complete. I am diminished when you are not well. We are connected." 

Likewise, Martin Luther wrote on 1 Corinthians 11 in the 16th-century that not only do "we walk in the fellowship of [Christ's] benefits and He in the fellowship of our misfortune," but also, "we Christians also do with each other, take upon ourselves that of another, so that one person bears the sin and failings of another and serves the other with his piety."

Christmas is an invitation into humanity as it was meant to be, restored in the coming of Emmanuel. First, Jesus invites us to take on his humanity in fellowship with the ultimate Communion of the Cosmos -- divine and profane, fleshly and holy, perfect and physical. Second, we are called to live in communion with one another, to be fully human by serving, loving, and bearing one another in compassion and community. 

As you share gifts, break bread, sing together, watch movies, or just enjoy one another's presence this Christmas I invite all of you to see this as a foretaste of all God intends for humanity itself. All of it is good, right, and salutary in that Emmanuel, God with us, is ultimately a celebration of humanity itself. So, Merry Christmas, Christ -- Emmanuel -- has come and now we are invited to enjoy his fellowship and commune with one another from now unto the not yet of the Kingdom yet to come. 

Merry Christmas! 

*Follow @kchitwood on Twitter for more religion, theology, and culture

O King of the nations, uniting all people

O King of the nations, the ruler they long for, the cornerstone uniting all people: Come and save us all, whom You formed out of clay. 

O Rex gentium, et desideratus earum, lapisque angularis, qui facis utraque unum: veni, et salva hominem, quem de limo formasti.

Let's get political. 2014 was another year of political tension, turmoil, and terror. 

Surprise, surprise. 

*Follow @kchitwood on Twitter.

I'm not sure if you know this about me, but I once dreamed of a career in politics. During the 1996 elections I drew political cartoons of Clinton & Dole, I was president of my 5th grade class, I reveled in the opportunity to be part of a mock party convention in junior high, travelled to D.C., joined the Student Youth Council for my city, was Associated Student Body Vice President, and applied, and was accepted to, Pace University's combined BA in Political Science/JD in Law program. 

And then I dove head first into religion world. 

I'm glad I did.

Other than never being able to have a discussion at the dinner table, between my interest in politics on one hand and religion on the other, I have enjoyed studying religion and eschewing politics. 

Why?

Because I am ever more convinced that political platforms, government programs, & nation-states are not the answer. While they may prove some earthly good, they are not the ultimate solution. Whether it's government shutdowns in the U.S., "dirty politics" in New Zealand, coups in Egypt, persecution of minorities in Myanmar, or bloody sectarian violence in Syria we are all longing for something more. Sure, a candidate comes along that brings hope, a promise of change, a new look for the future...but then reality sets in, hairs gray, and promises and policies lose their luster.

God institutes the so-called "Left Hand" kingdom of earthly powers and authorities for our own, temporal, good. But he does not put them in place for our eternal good. He does not intend for them to speak to, or realize, our deepest longings for peace and prosperity. Only one King can fulfill those yearnings. 

Rex Gentium is his name, King of the peoples - Jesus. 

He is the one, the antiphon acclaims, we long for. And why? He is the "cornerstone uniting all people." 

My dreams of political prowess were one part personal excitement and other part utopian vision. I saw racial division, injustice, calamity, and infrastructural mayhem growing up in Los Angeles and I wanted to do something about it. I wanted to fix it. The truth is, I can't. We can't. No one can. 

I know, what a Debbie Downer. 

While we can work toward change and good, beautiful, restorative things can be done as we unite around a common purpose and transform hate into compassion, injustice into equality, and marginalization into agency our work is never complete, it is never universal, it is never what we truly yearn for. 

That is why we call for Jesus to come. He is the one piece we are missing from this world. As we vote for leaders, as we suffer political change, as we march in the streets, and launch into political diatribes on Facebook we are all longing for the same thing, the same person - Jesus. 

He is the stone that will unite all of us into one. One building. One people. One Kingdom. The Kingdom of God. That Kingdom has come near in Jesus once (Mk 1:15) and will come again to bring the world together in hope, joy, love, and peace. For now, we wait and we work realizing that we are but dust, and to dust we, and our feeble efforts at kingdom building, shall return (Ps 103). 

Yes, as we see the political strife and the worldly injustice, as we seek to make a change and work together toward peace, we pray together "Come, Lord Jesus, quickly come." Amen. 

O Dayspring; splendor of light everlasting

O Dayspring, splendor of light everlasting; Come and enlighten those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death. 

O Oriens, splendor lucis aeternae, et sol iustitiae: veni, et illumina sedentes in tenebris et umbra mortis.

It shouldn't be like this. I'm about to write on the "Dayspring, splendor of light everlasting" and its dreary, overcast, and dull outside. 

What happened to the Sunshine State, Florida? 

Oh well. No bright dawn for us this morning. But in this O Antiphon for December 21st, the verse builds off the metaphor of the turn of the dawn. It's a beautiful picture and one we can appreciate, especially as we turn the page of the calendar on the Winter Solstice, the day of long darkness. We yearn for light to shine. 

I'm a morning person. When Elizabeth and I lived in South Africa I used to get up before dawn, make coffee, and sneak out the back door to our patio before light broke over Mabola, Mpumalanga. Mpumalanga literally means, "the place where the sun rises" and one of my favorite memories of living there was watching the mist and smoke rise to mix with the tendrils of early morning light breaking over the golden grassy mounts, mud brown huts, and red dirt roads. One of my other favorites was the birds. Crested barbets. Sacred ibis. Weavers. Red-headed cisticola. Starlings. 

*Read "A Mabola Morning" by my wife, Elizabeth Chitwood.

Even before dawn broke and Mabola awoke the birds would sing softly, begin flitting between branches, going about their waking hours as if it was already day. 

Bengali poet Rabindranath Tagore wrote, "faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark." 

We are the people who "sit in darkness," the ones who dwell in the shadow of death yearning for light to break. And so it has. So it will. We are the people on whom light has, and will, dawn. As Charles Spurgeon penned, "the light which will come...lies all in Christ; and...(joyful news!) that light has already sprung up all around [us]: they have but to to open their eyes to delight in it."

I don't know your situation. It may be one of great darkness, one of serious sadness. I grieve with you, truly I do. But light has dawned and will dawn. Tomorrow, or the "tomorrow" after that, Christ will come and night will break forth into glorious day (Is 58:8).

Let us take confidence in the promise of the light to come this Advent, let us take heart in the dawn to break this Christmas, let us, with faith like birds, feel the light that has sprung up around us and sing, and dance, and get to work while dawn is still yet dark.

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus, come. 

*Follow @Kchitwood on Twitter

O Clavis David; open the door

Ever heard that cliche "when one door closes, another door opens?" 

Ugh. Give me a break. 

It's not that the phrase in and of itself is worthless and perhaps this cliche has delivered you some relief in the past. But I know for me, and others I've talked to, this little limerick comes rolling off the tongue of some well-meaning friend or interloper right when you've received a dump truck's load of rejection, missed opportunity, or some other bad news. It just rings hollow. 

The school rejected you. He dumped you. The job promotion got passed to her instead of you. I know, it sucks. And the last thing you want to hear? Some cream-puffy, cloud-fluffy, nonsense about your life being a series of doors or windows...or whatever...that some heavenly being is fatefully opening or shutting on you as you try each door, test each lock, jiggle each handle in wave-after-wave of dejection, denial, and seemingly divine deception. 

What kind of God plays that stupid game anyways? Is that really what God is all about? Closing doors and opening others? Prompting us through some celestial cheese maze? Maybe, maybe not. 

At least in this antiphon, he's about opening doors. Wide. That's what we are going to focus on today.

O Key of David and scepter of the house of Israel, You open and no one can close, You close and no one can open: Come and rescue the prisoners who are in darkness and the shadow of death. 

O clavis David, et sceptrum domus Israel: qui aperis, et nemo claudit; claudis, et nemo aperit: veni, et educ vinctum de domo carceris, sedentem in tenebris.

Yes, God closes doors. He shuts them. But this verse ends on liberation. It's denouement is divine pardon. The lock clicks in favor of the captive. The gate swings wide open. Freedom. 

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Merry Christmas everyone! 

I can't help but think of my dog Pepper at this moment. When we take her to the dog park or we let her outside she sits in a mix of anticipation and longing...waiting for the moment the door opens and independence is hers. When the sliding glass door runs its course backwards or the chain link fence gate creaks on its hinges and provides the open pathway she's gone. Zoom. Like a flash of white lightning across the grass. She barks. She jumps. She chases squirrels. We call out to her as she pushes the boundaries, tests the limits of her rein. She's free and she loves it. 

My favorite moment? When she has run her course a bit and she comes trotting back up to us, tongue laggard and panting, with a smile that says, "Thank you guys. I love you." 

Is it just me or is there a picture of a divine covenant here? The Key of David opens the door that no one closes. He permits us to go free. He unleashes us. We push boundaries. We chase the metaphorical squirrels of this life. He calls out to us, in love and reprimand, but we always run back in gasping adoration to the one we know has set us free. 

I pray that is what this Christmas is for you. For me. That in the freedom that the Key of David has given us we might circle back to enjoy the presence of the Master - "to thank the Lord and sing his praise" (Ps 92). 

Amen. Come, you peoples of the earth, come. 

O Root of Jesse; standing as an ensign

O Root of Jesse, standing as an ensign before the peoples, before whom all kings are mute, to whom the nations shall do homage: Come quickly to deliver us.

O Radix Jesse, qui stas in signum populorum, super quem continebunt reges os suum, quem gentes deprecabuntur: veni ad liberandum nos, iam noli tardare.

*Catch up with other O Antiphon posts: O Wisdom & O Adonai

Ensign, there's a word you don't hear very often. Simply, it means "flag" or "banner." In old military ranks the "ensign" was the second left tenant, or second lieutenant, who would bear the banner as the army corps marched forward. While most armies have done away with the rank of "ensign" it is still the most used junior officer rank throughout the Star Trek Universe (it's also still used in the U.S. Navy, Coast Guard, & elsewhere). 

In this O Antiphon, Jesus is both the "root of Jesse" and the signum populorum, the "ensign before the people." He not only lies below the earth, but stands tall above the people. He reaches into the past, but leads us bravely forward. He is grounded and yet he flies. 

The message in this O Antiphon is one that promises that destruction is not eternal. Death is not the end. What is laid deep will rise. 

David's lineage, given to him by his father Jesse (hence "root of Jesse") seemed to have died off only to be resurrected in Jesus - the Son of David by Mary (as foretold in Is 11:10). So too, his kingdom. In Jesus, both the line and the kingdom are restored and now the people who are gathered under this banner march forth.  

What of death? Many who march forth in battle are only destined to die. To not survive. To suffer mightily at the hands of the enemy. The verse from the hymn "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" reads, "O come, Thou Branch of Jesse's tree, free them from Satan's tyranny. That trust thy mighty pow'r to save, and give them vict'ry o'er the grave!" 

This is the promise - that with Christ's advent, his coming then, now, and still one day, is one that looses the bonds of death, that breaks its brutal hold on beauty, that destroys decays' despotism over life. 

The root that lay dormant for thousands of years now bursts onto the scene, into glorious day to lead his armies before the evil foes of sin, death, and Satan himself. To what end? That the ensign before the people shall be hoisted over even the gates of hell, which shall not, cannot, prevail before the Radix Jesse, who has come forth from of old. 

So "we peoples" march under the banner of the Root of Jesse. We battle death, we fight for life. As we cry out, "O Root of Jesse" we also proclaim with Paul, "O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?" (1 Cor 15:55)

It is hard to muster a rebuke of death when it stares us in the face. When children are taken from us, when spouses shrivel before us, and when loved ones depart from this life. In these moments it is right to mourn life lost. To weep. To rend our garments. Good weeps with us. His purpose was, and is, life. 

But we cannot dwell there forever, we must remember the battle fought, the skirmish won. The Root of Jesse is victorious and so we can rebuke death, we can admonish it, and reprimand it to keep silent before radiating, pulsing, everlasting life itself. 

To all of you who have lost those dear to you this year or to those whose souls are still tinged with the dank depression of loved ones who passed years ago; hear this -- death is not the end.

We who march under the Ensign can join in the unending chorus of the hosts of God and with the band Gungor sing, "This is not the end; This is not the end of this; We will open our eyes wide, wider....We will shine like the stars bright, brighter." 

Amen, come Lord quickly come.

*To hear more, follow Ken on Twitter.

O Adonai; come with an outstretched arm and redeem us

O Adonai and ruler the house of Israel, who appeared to Moses in the burning bush and gave him the law on Sinai: Come with an outstretched arm and redeem us. 

O Adonai, et Dux domus Israel, qui Moysi in igne flammae rubi apparuisti, et ei in Sina legem dedisti: veni ad redimendum nos in brachio extento.

Ten years ago I stepped into Karlskirche and felt a chill go down my spine beholding the masterful altarpiece conceived by Johann Fishcher von Erlach and completed by his son, Joseph Emmanuel Fischer von Erlach. Backlit by natural light with marble statues surrounding and gold rays emanating from the center, the tetragrammaton - YHWH - is inscribed en absentia for light to pour through (see above).

*This post is part of a series on the #OAntiphons. To read part one, click here. 

Yahweh. The unutterable name of G-d. Over time, the rabbis would conceive of ways to convey, but not to speak, the name of G-d. They placed various "vowels" - breathing marks - to bring about various pronunciations, including Jehovah. To distinguish YHWH from adonai, another name for master, or lord, they used all capital letters - LORD. 

Still, both words LORD (YHWH) and Lord (Adonai) express the unspeakable power of God, the awe of his presence before Moses in the burning bush, and his sheer holy charisma. 

That presence is what imbues this Antiphon today.

With the cry, "O Adonai," the antiphon recalls God's potency, his immensity, even his wrath. Yet, it does not imagine him as some transcendent deity, some far removed master. Instead, Adonai (Lord) is imminent, close at hand, present. 

But not just present, present in powerful ways. In a burning bush and "with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm." (Ex 6:6; Deut 26:8; Ps 136:12) 

This antiphon speaks not only of God's might, but his power to save. It testifies to the Lord's willingness to flex his might according to his promise, on behalf of his people. It confesses, and calls upon, the Lord's forceful intervention to liberate, deliver, and redeem.

It coyly alludes to the exodus of the Hebrew slaves from the hands of Pharaoh, the contest between the God of the Hebrew people and the Pharaoh, the Lord, of Egypt and master of the cosmos. It hints that the hand of God not only neutralized the natural forces of the cosmos in the plagues, but even smote the greatest power known to humankind at the time - the Pharaoh and his family. 

This narrative is the central story of the Jewish people. The line alluded to, "with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm" is of great value in Judaic tradition and is a symbol used as part of the Passover Haggadah - the Seder meal. Rabbis reflect that the liberating power of the Lord on their behalf is twofold - with a strong hand he snatches them from their enslaved past, with the outstretched arm he delivers them out of evil and into a peaceful future. 

Our prayer today might be the same. Whether we call out "O Adonai, come with an outstretched arm and redeem us" or simply, "Lord, deliver us from evil" as we look around and scour the headlines we see much evil to be redeemed from.

Children massacred in Peshawar, innocent hostages murdered in Sydney, injustice in our homeland, Ebola wreaking havoc and killing thousands in West Africa, cancer attacking those too young, marriages rending at the seams, and the list goes on...

To this we pray "O Adonai, come with an outstretched arm and redeem us." With your mighty hand snatch us away from the painful present; with an outstretched arm deliver us from evil and grant us a peaceful future. This is the prayer of Advent. The prayer said in the waiting days before the coming of Christ.

And to this oration he responds, "Tomorrow, I will come. Tomorrow, I will come with a mighty hand to liberate all humankind. Tomorrow, I will come with an outstretched arm and deliver you from evil." And so we cry aloud, "Come, Adonai, quickly come." 

*Continue to follow along with Ken's daily mediations on the O Antiphons in the days leading up to Christmas by subscribing to the blog or following Ken on Twitter. 

O Antiphons - when Advent calls out for Christmas

From now until Christmas the O Antiphons are the Advent call for the coming of the Messiah, at Christmas and at the eschaton - the last of days. Each antiphon begins with the interjection "O," an exclamation of hope, expectance, excitement, and need. Each antiphon culminates with a call for the Messiah to come. As Christmas draws nigh, the cry beckons more urgently.

Originally composed in 7th- or 8th-century C.E. by monks who merged texts from the Hebrew Testament with the hopes of the New Testament, the antiphons were meant to help the world look to the coming of salvation in Christ Jesus - then, now, and in the future. Popular in the Middle Ages, when monastic choirs sang the antiphons in chorus with the great bells of cathedrals, the antiphons are also an acrostic. Together, the antiphons weave a rich tapestry of scriptural metaphors and images and provide a masterful mosaic of meditations leading up to the celebration of Christmas.

Yet the cries for the coming of Christ do not fall on deaf ears. There is a response embedded in the orations as well. The first Latin letter of each invocation (backwards) forms the phrase ero cras (Emmanuel - Rex - Oriens | Clavis - Radix - Adonai - Sapientia). The line is, indeed, the response of Christ to the calls of Advent, "Tomorrow, I will be there." 

With that response assured, let us together pray aloud and think upon the "O Antiphons" over the subsequent seven days. Each day until Christmas I will be posting an O Antiphon with its full verse and an image to meditate upon. 

And so, an expectant Advent and a Happy Christmas to all of you!

"O Wisdom, proceeding from the mouth of the Most High, pervading and permeating all creation, mightily ordering all things: Come and teach us the way of prudence." 

O Sapientia, quae ex ore Altissimi prodidisti, attingens a fine usque ad finem, fortiter suaviter disponensque omnia: veni ad docendum nos viam prudentiae. 

Observing Advent: from contemplation to action

I was being a bad Christian on Wednesday. Texting, Tweeting, reading articles on my iPhone during an Advent service. But what began as a bored foray into digital distraction ended up becoming a pilgrimage through the heart of Advent itself. 

As I scrolled through Twitter and clicked on articles on Facebook, these are the headlines that grabbed my attention:

• Somali Militants, Al-Shabaab Kill 36 in Kenya Border Attack
• Elephant ivory poaching 'out of control'
• Wave of Protests Slam Ferguson After Grand Jury Doesn't Indict Officer
• Ebola death toll rises to 6331 as Sierra Leone overtakes Liberia cases
• As fears rise in Myanmar, Rohingya Muslims exodus grows
• The gigantic disaster of the CIA’s torture program
• 2 Hostages Killed in Yemen as US Rescue Effort Fails

With my ears and body I heard, felt, and smelled Advent. Songs of expectation, the scent of a candle lit to remember the days and contemplate the coming King, and a sermon that spoke of a hope reverberating through the echo halls of the Old Testament narrative. 

At the same time, with my fingers I scrolled through sad stories and my eyes read despairing diaries of pain, loss, oppression, disease, decay, disaster, and death. 

In what I can only take as guidance from the Holy Spirit, the two realms of thought — that which was occurring in the physical space of my church and the digital sanctuary on my phone and in my mind — converged and suddenly the season of Advent, and its attendant spiritual posture and discipline, became crystal clear to me. 

Advent is a season of celebrating the light that came into the darkness. A season of anticipating how divine life takes on death. A season of expecting love, hope, faith, and joy to win out in the face of hate, despair, fear, and apathy. It is a season that celebrates, meditates on, anticipates, and expects the movement, the action, the coming of Jesus Christ on our behalf. In these days we are invited to dwell on Jesus’ condescension to abide with us, to treasure these things in our heart along with Mary (Luke 2:19).  

Yet, in my mixed meditation straddling the border between pew and social media, I became convicted that Advent cannot only be a season of retreat into ritual. My heart began to race as I felt trapped in my chair and imprisoned in digital detainment and detachment from the real world. My heart broke as I contemplated the pain that many went through as I sat here and did…nothing. My heart burst at the seams of my rib cage with the anticipation of action, with the idea of doing something, anything, to break the bonds of the oppressed and to give voice to, or at least get out of the way for the sake of, the voiceless. 

In this moment of heart pounding meditation I became convicted that Advent must be more than a season of expectation, but one of engagement. More than a season of anticipation, but one of action. More than a season of meditation, but one of movement. More than a season of contemplation, but one of contending. 

Much akin to Dietrich Bonhoeffer in his Letters and Papers from Prison, who said, “There remains an experience of incomparable value…to see the great events of world history from below, from the perspective of the outcasts, the suspects, the maltreated — in short, from the perspective of those who suffer.” 

Looking at Twitter, I saw "history from below" in hash-tags like #CrimingWhileWhite and #ICantBreathe. But my thoughts and empathy were not enough. As Bonhoeffer continued, “mere waiting and looking on is not Christian behavior. Christians are called to compassion and to action.”

Hence, I praise those pastors who put themselves in the places of protest to pray, and proclaim, peace amidst tension and violence. I cheer Kenyan Christians who shun xenophobia in favor of Christ-like compassion. I stand in humble awe of the many medical professionals, social workers, and missionaries who serve the sick and dying in West Africa. May I humbly tread in their footsteps. 

Yet, any of us who have been involved in this work of restoration know full well that complete transformation cannot, will not, come by our own power. Injustice lingers, disease is not eradicated, and conflicts persist. 

And so, we return to the sense in which Advent is a season of expectation, contemplation, and action centered around the incarnation of Christ and the consummation of all creation and the entire cosmos in his second coming. 

This then is Advent. A circular motion betwixt and between ritual retreat and acts of restoration. Between contemplation and compassionate service. Between Christ’s incarnation and his church’s sacramental presence in the community. 

In Advent, it is tradition to pray, “come Lord Jesus, come.” As I contemplate what is happening in places like Ferguson and New York City, Bhurma and Zambia, Kenya and Syria this prayer takes on on poignant purpose. Indeed, “come Lord Jesus, come.” 

Even so, simultaneously my prayer is “go Christ’s church, go.” For if we consider this season rightly, we cannot only pray — we must act. Even as action invariably leads us back to prayer because of our inadequacies, we cannot simply sit in a pew and drift into a digital duldrum. 

I invite you to join me in this circumambulation through the themes of Advent, between contemplation and action -- joining anticipation with the partial realization of the deep seeded desires of humanity for HOPE, LOVE, JOY and PEACE on Earth. 

Come Lord Jesus, quickly come.

Unpacking Tough Religious Words: An interview with authors Heather Choate Davis and Leann Luchinger

The church has a language problem. 

No, it isn’t because pastors are swearing from the pulpit. The issue here is with words that life long Christians may understand, but many in the unchurched, dechurched, or in-church-but-checked-out culture don’t. Indeed, whether it’s mystification, misunderstanding, or miscommunication, many of us struggle to communicate the good news of the Gospel in our preaching, teaching, and evangelism.

Heather Choate Davis and Leann Luchinger, in their new book Loaded Words: Freeing 12 Hard Bible Words from their Baggage, pay us all a favor by detangling religious words that are difficult for to understand. 

Unpacking words like “repent” and “religion,” the authors help restore truth where popular opinion and perception have threatened righteous reality. We might take their cue and try unloading emotion-laden and negatively charged words that our communities, friends, or family may simply not like to hear, or misunderstand when they do. 

The book is available exclusively on Amazon as an e-book or paperback. Having already spoke at congregations in Washington, the authorial pair will be speaking in the Phoenix area in February and headed to New York in the near future. Check out their website for more information on booking them for your church or organization. 

For now, let’s unpack Loaded Words a bit with an in-depth interview with Davis and Luchinger. 

• How can this book help the local church? 

Davis: With so many outside influences jockeying to define Christianity and its message—and not always thoughtfully or accurately—we’re not just talking about a knowledge gap that needs filling, but a vigorous and intentional reclaiming of original meaning. We hope that pastors will welcome the help with some of this much-needed translation work—both exegetical and cultural—of words that people both inside and outside of the church no longer know the true meaning of anymore.

Luchinger: To paraphrase from the back cover of the book “no one wants to be part of an old mean-sounding religion.” Loaded Words gives “seasoned” believers a new way to think about how to share, and even some words and concepts to use for themselves. For newer believers, Loaded Words can help them unpack some difficult concepts.

• My favorite chapter was “WORDS,” specifically this line: “We live in an era that is reliant on words, but our words are no longer reliable.” Unpack this for us…

Davis: We’ve essentially bankrupted the notion of a man’s word as “sacred.” Thoughtful people of all traditions recognize that this is no way to live. In the wildly popular Toltec spiritual treatise The Four Agreements, the first is “Be impeccable with your word.” Notice the choice of the word impeccable, which shares the Latin root pecco with the word sin. 

Luchinger: Semantic change/shift/drift is the more technical way to describe a word that has completely changed it’s meaning from the original definition and use. In the culture we batter words around, using, misusing, and misappropriating them because of coolness factors, or desire to have something (at least the same title) that other people have. If being “bad” is suddenly good, well then call me “bad” – or so it seems. Church words, unfortunately, seem to move in the opposite way – from good to bad. And sadly, it is the words of Christians themselves that, many times, do the most damage. These words that are meant to have a depth of meaning and emotion, offers of explanation and grace, are losing their definitions. Semantically shifting in the wrong direction. We Christians have to reclaim the Christian conversation, the Christian words, the expressions of our faith. 

• Which was your favorite chapter? Why? 

Davis: Ultimately, my favorite chapter is whichever one presents the teachings of Jesus in such a way that someone puts down the book and goes, “Ohhhhhh.” 

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Author Heather Choate Davis shares how, "[w]e are all bombarded with words/messages from culture" and some of them need unpacking and reloading. 

But, I am also fond of some of the big picture thinking put forth in the chapter on “Satan.” We use a famous scene from the movie The Devil Wears Prada to tap into the idea of “this stuff,” and how we actually need to take “this stuff” — both Jesus and His adversary— seriously. We note how ironic it is that the culture embraces psychics and tarot card readings and all forms of skull paraphernalia, but if you tell them that Satan is real they’ll just howl with laughter. I think this chapter gives people some serious food for thought about “this stuff.”

Luchinger: Given the current state of the “Church,” I think this word could be particularly helpful for two reasons: 1) those inside the church could perhaps use an attitude adjustment about what it means to be God’s gathered people. A family, filled with flawed souls, with plank-filled eyes, with pain and distress, and bad days – just like the people who share our sir names; 2) for those inside and outside the church it is a reminder that we don’t need four perfect walls to be a church. We can worship in buildings and homes, in coffee shop churches and college dorms – it is the Word and Sacraments, the body of believers, the gathering of people that make the church – not the bricks and mortar.

• Explain the way you use pop-culture references in the book…

Davis: We are all bombarded with words/messages from culture. Even if a pastor knocks it out of the park on Sunday, that brief message will likely have been drowned out in a day or two by news, work, social media, noisy children, and a thousand competing interests. The teachings of Jesus are simply not the dominant voice in the culture, but we know that He is present in all ways, in all settings, at all times through His Word and His people. To me it all comes down to the lesson of Pentecost, “that each one heard them speaking in the native language of each.” If pop culture is the native language of many people today, then we who seek to connect need to speak in their native tongue. If referencing Family Guy, Game of Thrones, or Fifty Shades of Grey, helps people understand the message of grace in a new way this does not diminish the Gospel, but rather, makes good on its purpose. 

• Wittgenstein, the famous philosophic proponent of language-game theory, argued that varying types and forms of language have different rules, which in turn determine what is meaningful. Outside of a language game a proposition or word meaning is meaningless. Wittgenstein proposed that the meaning of a word depends on its content and the rules of that context. Thus, for Wittgenstein, religious language is confessional, something that someone believes or feels, rather than consisting of claims to truth. Comment on this in light of your work…

Luchinger: I would love to understand where Wittgenstein draws the line between feeling and truth. It appears, based on your description, that feelings have no bearing on truth. Thus love, for him, could not exist because it is a feeling. It reminds me a bit of Lois Lowry’s book The Giver. In this utopian society, feelings were of no use – precision in language was modeled, practiced, and expected. The Giver, the wisest man in this society, bore the burden of holding all historic memories that might cause emotion – protecting the people it would seem, from disruptive truths. Predictably, this utopian notion eventually fell apart. As the saying goes, “better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.” Emotions give truth its vigor.

• What words did you consider and not include? Any that you thought of later or have been told you should have included? 

Davis: People kept saying “spiritual,” but I was always adamant that spiritual is not a loaded word. Spiritual is a softball word that we’ve come to use in the culture to mean we aren’t opposed to the idea of some sort of supernatural power, and it could be God, and yes, we would certainly want him on our side if it came to that, but we don’t believe we should define it too rigidly, and we don’t really practice or pursue it in any significant way. No one cringes when you use the word spiritual, which is why people use it. When we talked to pastors early on they all assumed we were going to write about words like “sanctification” and “justification” but those aren’t loaded words either. No one in the culture has any idea what those words are so they certainly don’t cause them any grief or confusion. 

• Give me an example of how you unload words in daily life…

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Leann Luchinger reflects that, "We Christians have to reclaim the Christian conversation, the Christian words, the expressions of our faith."

Davis: The Loaded Word that I unpack for people most often is Sin, because that’s what I did my thesis on. On Homo Incurvatus in Se—Man Turned in on Himself—as and entry point for the discussion of sin in the 21st Century. When I speak on the subject, I use my hands a lot to describe how we get when we are turned in on ourselves and how this connects to our modern day enslavements—anxiety, depression, a disordered relationship to technology, a broken sense of vocation/purpose. I can see people in the audience physically mirroring what I’m doing, and so I know the ideas are really resonating with them in a profound way. Icktank Press is actually publishing the thesis work now so it can be more readily available to people. Man Turned in on Himself: Understanding Sin in the 21st Century will be out by the first of the year. 

Luchinger: I recently spoke for a mom’s group and connected the time and care we put into teaching our children about our favorite sports teams to the time and care we need to give to their Christian faith. When our children are small, we dress them in jerseys and teach them to join us on the couch for the “big game.” We teach them about field positions, top players, strategy, who to root for and who to boo. We discuss and debate and learn and grow in sports appreciation. And as our children grow, they “own” their own version of fanaticism for the team. They root for the family team, they debate with their friends, decide which strategies and players they like best. Isn’t this how it should be with Christianity? When they are young we nurture and teach, as they grow we dialogue, debate and discuss – all so that our children can go out into the world and “own” their faith.

• How did working together as co-authors make this book better? What were some of the challenges? 

Davis: The strength in the book is absolutely rooted in the partnership and the hundreds of hours of conversations we’ve had about these words, orthodox theology, and the challenges of translation/communication. We aimed to put forth positions that were “clean” theologically, but also “clean” of connection to any particular political/social agenda. We both feel that this type of “noise” has been highly detrimental to the faith. 

Luchinger: Heather and I both have our specialties – or gifting – in the area of research and writing. We like to explain it this way: “Heather is the Poet, Leann is the Farmer.” I like to dig, and uncover, and mine for the original context and meaning of the words. The research drives me. Once I was satisfied that I had a strong sense of a word, or at least a good notion of how thoughtful theologians were unpacking the meaning, I would send my research to Heather and we would dialogue about threads and directions. Sometimes when things got sticky, or I thought we’d lost our way, I would go back to research a bit more to see if I could find just the right theological explanation or phrase to help us out. It is interesting, every time we really got stuck or disagreed about direction, the chapters seemed to get better.

The Church's language problem

The church has a language problem.

No, it isn’t because pastors are swearing from the pulpit. The issue here is with words that lifelong Christians may understand, but many in the unchurched, dechurched or in-church-but-checked-out culture don’t.

Take for example a recent exchange on Twitter between Pope Francis and an atheist.

Pope Francis: Advent is a journey towards Bethlehem. May we let ourselves be drawn by the light of the God made man. 

Atheist: Ummm…I read this like 5 times. What in the world does it mean?!?! #Religion is #awkward. 

*Read the rest of the post on "the three ways the church can better communicate with culture." 

From Transaction to Transfiguration

If you're involved in ministry, in a professional or lay sense, this post is for you. 

In it, I take you from supermarkets to your inner spiritual life to illustrate the ways in which we can move from a ministry defined by cold exchange to deep change, both for us and those we come in contact with. 

So read on, contemplate, connect and begin on a "trajectory of transfiguration."

*Read the post at FiveTwo.com