The Margins

I spent Sunday’s worship service helping out in the nursery. At one point, we headed outside to let the kids play on the playground and I stayed in the covered area with Elijah. It was an unusual worship service that focused on prayer, and a few youth had opted to hang out in the back with their skateboards instead of participating. I was sitting there with my baby when I saw a group of three youth come around from the other side of the building carrying skateboards and I realized that they must be in the practice of hopping the fence to skate behind the school.

We didn’t talk much. I mostly enjoyed watching them practice different jumps, and our two boys joined in with what they were doing. The whole skateboarding culture here still cracks me up. It brings back too many of my own memories of junior high.

As I watched them skate, I thought about our friends who joined our church family as a result of meeting us in the park where we met and they slept. Warm coffee and good food shared opened the door to meaningful relationships: with us and with Jesus. I was bummed when I saw that we didn’t have any food this week after the service because I wanted to invite these boys in for something to eat.

There is something good about being a sojourning church. There is something Acts-like in moving about, colliding with people in their everyday pursuits. Mark Galli wrote an interesting post on the importance of a building from his Anglican perspective. He writes:

Every Anglican parish is an icon of Israel, a people with a unique call from God to not wander but to settle down, not to live in exile in strange places, but to gather together on a certain piece of land where Jesus will take on flesh and dwell among them, a place that will become holy.

When I consider Church of the Redeemer, and the community that makes us, it makes sense that we wander: that our “space” speaks of what it means to be aliens; that we sit outside a land of milk and honey and still we choose to worship.

This past week, Doug wrote a guest post here that received extensive comments resulting in a quality dialogue about the identity of the church. I thought I would post a few excerpts here:

I think the concept of outreach versus inreach itself strikes a dissonant chord in me. When I read through the gospels, I find no striking characteristics that necessarily made someone in or out. There are those who are in, who are also out (Judas) and those considered most definitely out, who are ultimately elevated to kin-relationship with Jesus (woman with hemorrhage). Yet even those who are healed and want to follow him are not always given “disciple” status. Troubling!

Before you became a monk/nun you participated alongside the brothers/sisters in their work. Even those who didn’t intend to join were still welcome to participate. Some things were explained outright, other things were left for later explanation when they would actually make sense. Our consumerist mentality demands getting things right now and lacks patience in learning - thus it challenges this type of learning and undercuts any type of successful mentoring. Recently I read that those working toward baptism into the faith community in the first couple centuries had a three year process. For one year they studied Mark - nothing else. For the next year they studied Matthew - nothing else. For a third year they studied Luke/Acts - nothing else. And at the conclusion of that year they were offered (or not offered, mind you) baptism into the community. Then, only after baptism, they were given the gospel of John.

I think the way outreach is conducted is crucial. Without a clear ‘mentoring’ and ‘discipling’ focus that makes use of vigorous outreach as the crucible for growth right from day one, I think ‘delivery systems’ do little to help people mature.

Seems like Jesus developed the disciples ‘on the fly’ and ‘in the midst of mission’ because He used their experiences together in mission as an opportunity to intentionally teach and develop folks.

I think the primary goal should always be out, not in. If the purpose of outreach is ultimately to get people in, then we still have the wrong focus. It is the very fact that we don’t see our purpose as going out that those who are “with us” never become devoted apprentices.

Outreach isn’t just for those who are especially gifted in evangelism. Unless we see our primary identity as disciples sent into the world, we will never reach some imaginary moment of maturity and enlightenment wherein we will be compelled out to the world.

The focus of discipleship is going out, not plugging in.

Check out the entire conversation here.

We were somewhere recently when I had Elijah with me and I was trying to keep him happy and had given him his pacifier which is normally reserved for naps and bedtime. He kept taking it out of his mouth and playing with it, so I decided to try giving him some Cheerios instead. As I laid the Cheerios out in front of him, he immediately put the pacifier back in his mouth and proceeded to pick the Cheerios up in his chubby little fingers and try to put them into his mouth. I laughed at him and told him that he was going to have a hard time eating any as long as the pacifier was blocking the way.

I thought about the many things in my life that deliver an instant gratification that I choose over a harder but ultimately more satisfying pursuit. And I reflected on how the foolishness of what Elijah was doing was so visible: laughable, even. Yet if we are honest, that is exactly how we behave. Too much of the gospel is simply incompatible with the pursuits of the world, yet how many times do we choose allegiance to some pleasure or comfort or cultural norm over commands that are not hidden or far off or incomprehensible but simply unpopular or hard? What we choose can feel good and even satisfy for a season, but ultimately our body will perish if that is all we give it. Yes, the world is there for us to gain in every way, but the cost can be the only thing we have that truly lives.

As a preacher, I take seriously the role of proclamation in the life of the church. And as I stand in front of a gathered body, hopefully declaring what is true about God, I wonder at the ways we are individually and collectively sucking on pacifiers that block us from really ingesting God’s word. We all hear often enough the increasingly popular critique that “I just wasn’t being fed” as the reason for individuals swapping one church family for another. Could it be that some folks can’t taste the food because of the big rubber stopper that they refuse to spit out?

Lest that sound too critical, I believe that there is ample evidence as well for churches and preachers offering brightly colored, sweet-flavored soothers in place of the real flesh and blood food of the gospel. The critique absolutely goes both ways.

“I am the bread of life,” declares Jesus, and all are invited to come and eat. The table is set and the host delights in his company. But if we come to this table, it does not suffice to simply pick up the food and try to shove it in on top of something else. Whatever we have been sucking on to satisfy our heart’s longings must first be spit out if we want to receive this food. My own list is long of what these things are in my life. But that image of my son and the futility of what he was doing pushes me to pray.

“It isn’t often that I can make God and George Bush happy at the same time.”

From a comment at Out of Ur by Ethan Magness discussing a young person’s plan to buy a washer and dryer for a family in need as a Christian response to spending the Economic Stimulus check.

Last Saturday I had the privilege of spending the morning with Aaron Smith, the coordinator of Servant Partners’ internship experience in Manila. I have heard enough times from interns how deeply impactful the weeks spent with Aaron and his wife, Emma, in their slum community of Balic-balic are, so I was very excited to meet Aaron and hear more of his story.

Aaron is a gentle soul, and as he spoke of his community, I found myself fighting tears on more than one occasion. There was his description of babies who die because they don’t receive treatment for easily treatable illness; or the fathers who steal money from their children that was intended for school expenses; or the little girls whose life ambition is to go to work as strippers in Japan so that they can send money back to the family (a pursuit that is heartily encouraged by many parents).

I was struck too by the general economic despair that hovers of a community where the vast majority of men cannot find work, and where jobs that are given are by contracts that rarely last more than six months (the time period at which an employer must begin to offer benefits). This ensures a constant stream of needy unemployed who will work for low wages and without benefits under false hope that a job that is temporary just might become steady employment. In a word: oppressive. Aaron spoke of the ways an entire population of men copes with this reality, ranging from liberal unfaithfulness in their marriages to robbery and drug sales to abuse of their children and wives.

As I sat in comfort in our friends’ apartment across the street and listened to Aaron describe his and Emma’s life with a six-month old infant, I was reminded of the ease and security I live with here. I have never treated Elijah for cockroach bites; Mercy or Aaron have never been scratched by rats.

Aaron also told the story of visiting a family from their church in the community with some of the interns and seeing the interns moved to tears by the living conditions they saw there. Later, when Aaron spoke with the family about the interns’ visit, the mother replied: “They shouldn’t cry for us. We know Jesus. They should cry for the others who do not know Him.”

As I walked out of the apartment that day, I couldn’t help but think that everyone should spend at least one Saturday morning with Aaron Smith, or others like him who are seeking first God’s kingdom in the slums of our world.

This past weekend, the Haub family had the very fun experience of being extras for a short film. Mercy and Aaron were excited to tell their friends at church on Sunday about “playing action”, and they actually did exceptionally well for the duration of filming. Of course Elijah spit up all over me (and poor Karla), Mercy charmed the crowd and Aaron required a spit bath (yes, I am now that mother) between every take due to his uncanny ability to cover himself with dirt. Oh, and the final takes did require some form of bribery involving small bite-sized pieces of red vines. But overall they exceeded my expectations in how they handled the whole thing.

It was fun to experience a very tiny piece of an industry that touches so many lives here in Los Angeles. It was great too to contribute in a very small way to the sincere artistic endeavor of some very talented friends. And as always, it was touching to see strangers become friends through playful engagement with my children.

One of my favorite moments of the day was when Mercy walked past the lead actress for the first time and, looking down at her turquoise and white pumps (her wardrobe was intentionally awkward and 80’s-esque) looked up with wide-eyed admiration and said: “Pretty shoes…”

Nicole burst out laughing and went out of her way to engage Mercy for the rest of the afternoon.

I was reminded throughout the day of the ways Dick Staub has reminded me over the years about the role of art and beauty and creativity and storytelling in the life of a people of faith. It was great to see, from the inside, how a group of friends are passionately and joyfully pursuing those things.

Matt, Matt and Aaron: we wish you all the best in bringing your vision to completion. Thanks for letting us be a part of it.

The other night I went to take the trash out down the two flights of stairs behind our house to the big cans out back. The kitchen trash was very full: it should have been taken out days earlier and I could barely lift the plastic handled bag out from the trash can. As I managed awkwardly through our back porch and out the back door, I realized that the handles were stretching out so much that I was afraid the whole thing was going to pull apart.

By the time I was half-way down the first set of stairs, the handles had pulled to the point where the bag was now dragging, or bumping actually, down each stair. I had the thought that maybe this was not a good idea, but honestly in the moment I could see no other way of getting the bag to the bottom.

As I reached the last stair, directly in front of Paul’s back door, I suddenly felt the bag become strangely light. And it was then that I realized it had split on the bottom and the contents of my trash were now pouring out onto the stairs and the landing where I stood. It was totally dark outside and the sensor light had not yet been tripped, so while I could not see the mess I knew instantly that it was substantial. I am pretty sure I uttered something I would not say in front of my children.

I walked far enough down for the light to come on and then turned to address my mess. What I realized was that, while the bag was indeed overfilled, that had not actually been the problem. The issue was the broken plate that had been sitting at the bottom of the trash. Heavy and sharp, the plate had easily sliced through the already straining plastic.

As I scooped up egg shells, coffee grounds, and lots of mushy stuff I could not identify, I thought about my life. I usually think that I know what is hard about what it is I am carrying or trying to do, but it is actually quite common that there is some unknown threat, some piece of brokenness that really has the potential to create a huge mess. Relationships are certainly like this. How many times have I been surprised to find out that in the midst of the messiness of human relationships, there is a big jagged piece of something that I did not know was there doing some pretty heavy damage.

I remember in seminary we talked about the “unspoken narratives” that can exist in a congregation: stories from the past that, while they may not even be known by subsequent generations, continue to dictate what happens. These are a bit like my broken plate: hidden, heavy, powerful.

I eventually got all the trash into the trash can, and made my way in the dark to get the hose. I dragged it over to the stairs and sprayed down each stair and the landing. The whole ordeal was exhausting (it was late), and scary (I don’t like being out back when it is dark–especially with the recent driveway rapes and of course the gunman trying to evade the cops). Which is what it can be like to deal with unspoken narratives, be they in the church, in families, or in relationships.

But I can say that those back stairs are now cleaner than ever.

On Saturday, we drove down to the Long Beach Aquarium to meet up with our good friends, Steven and Jennifer and their little baby Evan. Our kids love the aquarium, and we have been members since we had Mercy.

The day was a little bit crazy. Between all of the feedings and changings and trips to the potty and time on the little playground, Jennifer summed it up well when she asked: “Did anyone see any fish?”

I confess that that is often how life feels now. For all the effort it takes to mobilize my little crew, the actual events or destinations themselves are often overshadowed by the journey. This can be exhausting and even disheartening and I am learning to accept a very different set of “results” as my definition of success.

Like the other day: it took me over an hour to get my kids changed and pottied and shod and ready to hop into the van to drive up to Pasadena to see their Dad. By the time we got to Fuller, an hour after I had planned to arrive, Doug had to run off to a meeting with our pastor. We said hello, the kids ran outside for maybe three minutes and got hugs from their pastor, we gave Daddy his cupcake and then turned around to drive back home.

Relationships are often like this too, I think. I have spent time around people for whom friendships are always productive: time spent with people is about accomplishing some set purpose. Doug and I swing to the other side a bit when it comes to relating to people: the thing that touches us the most is when people enter our little world and make themselves at home in the chaos. We rarely “entertain”, but we delight in sharing our life, with all of its rough edges, with people willing to just come and be.

When Doug was on jury duty a couple of weeks ago, we invited people over every night for dinner (because he was able to get home early because of jury duty). It was funny to see some people hesitate over the invite, thinking that to accept would mean saying yes to a long evening with us or to some set of expectations that we held about the evening. “No, really, you can just come and eat with us and leave!” we ended up saying to a few. There were those that stayed for hours, those who left soon after eating and others who came late and sat and ate on the living room floor long after the rest of us had finished. And we enjoyed each and every one.

My close relationships right now are with those people willing to lower their expectations of what will be “accomplished” when we spend time together. But the barrier I erected in my relationship with God when I felt like my chaos was not an acceptable companion to our relationship reveals my own tendency to value myself in terms of what I can produce or give. It is funny how we can hold very different expectations for ourselves…

Driving all the way to Long Beach; shelling out a bunch of cash for admission; it is natural that we expected to see some fish. But the bottom line is that we were together and maybe the things we gained were different from what we had expected but good nonetheless. And whether I go to church longing to have some spiritual hunger met and end up instead playing with toddlers, I am trying to learn to release expectations and accept what I am given. No, not just accept but appreciate and enjoy.

I happened upon a post by Eugene Cho today that speaks well to the issue of giving public testimony, as Christians, about our monetary giving (something I have mentioned here recently). Eugene and his wife, Minhee, are dedicating their earnings for an entire year toward launching a humanitarian organization to battle world poverty and one of his blog readers challenged their choice to announce that publicly, asking: “Why not just do it in secret?” I appreciated his thoughtful, honest response to that question, and encourage others to check out his post: Loudly Fighting Poverty.

My friend, Tyler, has written a beautiful piece on participating in the Eucharist as an act of “protest and allegiance in the face of death.”

For all of us dealing with recent losses of people we love, Tyler’s honest and powerful reflections offer hope.