Into the White Room

So I had this dream about a week ago. The scene of it opened up like it was right out of the movie Aeon Flux. It was a city scene. Everything was white or clean, from the architecture right down to the clothes people were wearing. At first when my "eyes" opened within it, I felt like I was standing still, like a watcher, just an observer. There was movement, but nothing like I was used to seeing. There was almost a peace to the activity. It was like a rhythm, a carefully choreographed symmetry to the action. I think the word that comes to mind is order. I felt it was a contrast to the world as I know it- a chaotic world, full of hustle, rush and worry, rebounding and collision. This place was smooth.


Clean. That word comes to mind too. The air was as fresh as if I was sucking it right out of a northern pine-tree forest through a straw, each breath (definitely through the nose), feeling like a sip of glacier water. Perfect. It was almost unreal, but without feeling that way. It felt real, alive, like it was the "real" of Plato's philosophy.


As I sat in my bed, thinking that the last coffee the night before had done this, I made an observation about this place I had overlooked. There were no commercials - no billboards, newspapers, or t-shirts that were screeching at me to buy something. Brand names were not only vacant, but the furthest thing from my dreamy mind. I didn't see a single logo anywhere - not on a Tim Horten's throw-away, blowing in the wind, not on a white bus swishing by, and certainly not within view of the naked eye. I didn't see a single ad anywhere.


Have we ever realized the sort of background choir we live with everyday? Have we really seen the screaming chorus of literary voices, calling to us for brief attention, all lined up, row after row before our vision, like the little boys on the main drag of any city down in South America: Selling us something? Perhaps the money we spend responding to these ads isn't the most expensive part of the transaction. Perhaps what costs us more is the price of distraction. If you could only experience the thrill of the clean, quiet city of my dream, smell the air void of toxins and exhaust, you may also see how traffic-jammed our attention is these days.


What does that mean, that white city of my dream? How do I get there? How do I get out of this? Certainly I can't board a plane.


Then I realized I didn't have to go anywhere. I realized the city I dreamed of was this one, in which I live, but in a very different form. It was a place I would like to see become real, a place I would like to live in. Imagine that, a virgin city, that hasn't slept with anyone . . . .

Crossing Over

As I continue to read Change of Conversion I have increasingly become aware of the personal nature of this quest of mine. It pertains to me. It is not some vague, abstract notion that lieth somewhere yonder, but indeed, it first lay within me. If the early Christians were indeed sacrificial in nature, and if this was one of the chief marks of their conversion, holding that model up next to my life is a bit challenging. Sure, like many of my contemporaries and peers, I have sacrificed some, but in retrospect those choices I have held up like trophies are all superficial now. I have not even come close to the sacrifices they've made. Sure, I've quoted the trite sayings, "All for Jesus, God thank you that I live in a Land of Freedom, thank you for a lack of persecution," - all the while confused at the reports of prayers coming from the other side of the world, "God, let the Westerners see their lostness, their decedant dependancy upon wealth."

Lately, the deep poverty that my wife and I have found ourselves in has had an interesting effect on me. I admit that like others, I have been confused by the statistic that says 90% of the money given to the church and its work comes from the poorest people. Now I get it. I am near the bottom. I can't get the toys. I can't go to the latest shows. Finding work is all that lay between me and starvation, and finding work isn't automatic - there is risk there. Now I live a life of risk - one step closer to a life of sacrifice. It is only a little farther to go.

Tonight, in this snow-stormed city of Vancouver, cuddled in the apartment while it is deep-frozen outside, one more flicker of a light shone within me. I was reading the news, about the homeless, about all the Christian organizations out there, handing out sleeping bags, buying hot coffeas, and letting wanderers sleep in their buildings. For once I felt like I could be one of them. It only meant getting out of this apartment, onto the street, and meeting people. I didn't have to go very far to find them. When your eyes begin to open to the poor, you find that to not see them requires more concentration than to merely notice. What I saw tonight, let me tell you - perhaps I'm not that far away from crossing over into real Christianity after all . . . . .

Church Shopping

You learn a lot when you are out looking for a church. The Bean and I went to yet another one today. This one, unlike many of the others, we were very excited about. It had tagged itself as a "missional" church, and its lingo was straight out of Michael Frost's Shaping of things to Come.

It was a place for broken people, those tired of the mask they feel is needed in many arenas of their lives, in many sectors of society. It was a place that was welcome to those on the outside - whatever all that was supposed to mean. I don't care what anyone else says, it was still church in the modern era. The entire communities' justification for existing was still centered around the preacher's art and the music-dependant "worship." It was still entertainment-driven. The music is playing, the emotions are stirring, and to an outsider (of which for today, I was one), it was still exactly the sort of ritual a football coach takes his team through in the locker-room pep-talk. Got to rally them. Got to hook their emotions - it is the only way to make this successful. Got to play better, sing better, choose the songs better. And then we will arrive at nirvana, the confirmation of which is people walking out afterwards, nodding their heads and saying "that was really great."

Church isn't an event. It isn't something with a time and date that can be put on a bulletin, and predicatmized (sounds like victimized) onto a tight schedule. It is so void of life, of the natural rhythms and movements of the real world, to sit and "behave" for an hour, in a service that roughly still follows the outlines of Roman Senate meetings of the first three centuries: Sit now, stand now, lift praise to the diety now, go through the decisions of the body-politic, bow in reverence to the diety, and the republic it represents. Who are we worshipping anyway? God, or Caesar? We thought we threw him off at the Reformation, but it turns out we've retained more than we like to admit. Perhaps we need a new reformation . . . .

reconstructing the building

Many of us are not sure how to measure our lives because we are taught to measure it by our accomplishments, when in reality it is only our relationships that are eternal. On our jouney to identity, passion and purpose, the otherness of our lives will often require faithfulness of us with no assurance of success. Without recognizing this reality, community often becomes a means to an end, and we trample over relationships in the process to discover who we are, what we are about and what we should give our lives for, when in reality those relatonships were the end.

Todd Michael Rutkowski, Coming to Life.

Oh Grandpa

http://www.canadianchristianity.com/cgi-bin/na.cgi?nationalupdates/061101postal

well, it seems that my grandfather has drawn a line in the sand for all of us Christians. I knew we were going to have to face this debate some time or another. my grandfather wishes it to be now. some churches will be silent on the matter, until they come to take our scripture away as the ultimate hate mail. we cannot forget what it says . . . . and we cannot break our covenant to it. but, more importantly, we cannot break our covenant to love . . . .

First Baptist Downtown

follow the link, see how this particular seeker sensitive outreach approach has been recieved. interesting.

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/Page/document/v4/sub/MarketingPage?user_URL=http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20061026.wxbcmason26/BNStory/National/home&ord=1161933919799&brand=theglobeandmail&force_login=true

Till Death Do Us Part

"Why do the Christians - male and femails, well-born and common, slave and free -in extremis, just before being killed, exchange the kiss of peace (Passio Perpetuae 21)? How different were they from the rest of the population" - Krieder

There was one disturbing trait in the early church that is vacant in Christianity in North America. Their beliefs carred them to death. Some will say that we do not have the opportunity to demonstrate that we would do the same, for we live in peace and freedom. However, it has been said (although I don't know by who), and well-said, that if you can't live for Christ, you certainly shouldn't expect to find the strength and courage to die for him. The argument of spiritual fervency in martyrdom must therefore be tightly related to the argument for spiritual fervency in the Christian life. Those who sacrifice much to follow Christ are better prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice. Those who carry many attachements into the Christian life, be they relationships, ambitions, materials, etc. often are just that: attached. One may wonder at what the big deal is with martyrdom and being willing to die for what one believes. To that I'll just quote Christ: "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me . . . ." (Mt. 16:24)
Luke 14:2626 "If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters-- yes, even his own life-- he cannot be my disciple.(NIV)

Strong words. Can we live up to them? Or better yet, if we cannot, what does that mean for us? Obviously, there are many examples of Christians who could. What does that mean for us? Are we a different breed? Perhaps we should find the personal answer to that question.

Reach: I Surrender All

Reach: I Surrender All

I Surrender All

So there you are. You've been invited by a friend, and you weren't exactly sure what you were getting into. "Come check it out, it is awesome!" Awesome sounds good. Better than sitting at home, eating cheetos and watching reality TV. The preacher stands up, and he convicts you. What just happened? Wasn't expecting that. His words are sizzling, stabbing, and confusingly stirring, as they touch themselves upon your ears and wind their way down your cerebral stem, heading down into your gut. You can feel it down there. Something about Jesus, and that he isn't just a picture on a wall anymore. There is some kind of power there. He loves you. Really? Just like that, Jesus loves me? That sounds good too, but what does that mean? He died for you. Ouch, I think if someone jumped in front of a train for me, I would feel guilty for the rest of my life, because that train was meant for me. Why would he do that? He created you, formed you, commanded you, and then let you go. Go? Where did I go? I didn't go anywhere. I'm right here! You went into sin. I did? Okay, I'm not going to dispute that. But what in particular are you referring to, preacher? Draw a card, because if a card is a sin, I have at least fifty-two. Before you were born. What? You sinned in Adam. Stinker. That is not my fault. But you are Adam, and Adam is you. If you were there, in that Garden, you would have done it too. You were there, in Adam, and therefore you did it too. That is not fair! Wait-maybe it is - somehow I know it is true. Ok, it is true, but I don't know how. Do I have time to think about this? How am I going to understand this? An invitation is given unto you. And, oh, you want it. You don't want to be Adam anymore do you? Categorically no. I don't want that. Jesus has something in his hand. Will you not take it? Um, sure. Give it to me. It is forgiveness.

And then the famous song plays, "I surrender all, I surrender all." The organ is going, the piano is playing, the song leader's eyes are dreamy and serene. It is so beautiful. And it is coming into my ears, working its way down my throat, winding itself around that lump in my chest, that numb pain, that little voice that is saying, You want this. But what is it that I want? If I go up to the front, if I get on my knees, if I extend my hand to that of the preacher, will I get it? Do I believe? Do I understand the Gospel? It felt like a high-pressure sale. I just got here, I don't even know these people, but they have something I want. Do I have it? Did I believe enough? Do I really want to turn away from my sin? I mean, I don't want to be Adam, but I sure still like to . . . . nonetheless. There are all these sticky emotions. They tell me it is the Holy Spirit. But I just don't know.

Repentance isn't a used car sale. It is something you do, not feel. It is a well-thought out commitment, based on an established conviction and a thorough understanding of the Gospel of God based on the accepted authority of the words of the Apostles. When someone comes forward to the words of a song, a service carefully constructed and choreographed to lead to this very moment, why have they come? If the window-dressing is so strong, how do we know what is inside? Out of all the people coming forward, singing I surrender all, how many are still singing it two years later? Are you? What is real?

If you can speak the gospel without knowing someone, telling them a string of words, linked together by one common theme called the Gospel, and then walk away without getting into the sticky, dirty lives they lead, have you done anything? Can they even know if they are "saved"? Do they really believe? Shouldn't we know the answer to that question before we get them dunked in the water, all baptized and shiny? Maybe Philip in the Acts of Apostles was an anomaly. Maybe most of those in the New Testament were baptized, literally right after they confessed, because they were mostly Jews, who already new plenty about sin. It was no coincidence that, in the centuries that followed, the time between belief and baptism was extended to three years, for the purpose of training and instruction, and for the trainee to make good and sure he was willing to be baptized into the church. It could cost him his life, so he better really believe.

In North America we no longer have a Christian culture to draw people from, already convicted about their sin, ready to make a commitment. Most people singing I surrender all nowadays don't have a good picture of what it is they are surrendering. Saying the words, singing the song, praying the prayer, doesn't make one a Christian. People can jump through all those hoops and not know what it all really means. Having the right information no longer works like magic.

Crucifix

Hang me on the wall in chains
Oh my screams and oh my pains
Hang me upon the wall in bleeding
All my rage and all my seething

Let them come and look on me
I am the martyr, let them see
Feel the heat flows through me there
Come close to me if you dare

Contemplate my tortured soul
As I hang to make you whole
Spiritual Truth bleeds through my veins
Stains and pains, life's truthful soul

I have your sin within my system
Circulation from the start
I have your sin like poisen flowing
Heads straight through me to my heart

And I am dying on my tree
Make you stand there, forced to see
Think about your final fate
As I walk through this death's gate

Don't mourn for me and do not cry
I like being here, I chose to die

But bring them here to this wall
To this room, down the hall
Museum of me for them to look
Make them shattered, get them shook

Linger here and think of love
Think of Jesus, God above
How vile it looks when it pays
How beautiful it is, when it stays

Come to me you weary soul
Drink my blood and be made whole.

The Change of Conversion and the Origin of Christendom

The Change of Conversion and the Origin of Christendom, by Alan Kreider.

Money, Sex, and Power. I have heard it said that these three reasons can be tied to the subconcious motivations for the majority of people who become pastors. At first, like many who would hear this, I thought it to be the most absurd statement I've ever heard. But I've been thinking about it ever since. If you think back to the previous articles, Money and Power, themed big in the modern church. Where does sex play into it? Just pick up 100 recent popular newpaper articles on the church, and you'll find a disturbingly high amount of articles about sex.

What was more surprising was that this phrase was originally coined by Justin, the early church father. As re-appropriated by Kreider, "Justin urged the Christians to resist the demon's power in three areas to which across the centuries pastoral theologians have been attuned - money, sex, and power . . . " (Pg. 5 of his book). It seems these three themes are closely attuned to the trade. This quote is in the context of a discussion about Justin's view of Christian conversion.
And so the church most therefore be weary of these three things, for they seem to be married each to the other.

My quesiton is, has the modern church fought these shore-line sirens or embraced them? Yes or no, the next question is, how can the church move to a position where these themes are no longer such a threat? Is it possible? Can you imagine a church where the statistics of pastoral infidelity are actually decreasing? Where churches don't increase in wealth and size, while at the same time surrounded by communities who remain poor and oppressed? Where a pastor's average income is not significantly more than the average income in the parish, on par with that of a CEO?

2 Cor 8:13-1413 Our desire is not that others might be relieved while you are hard pressed, but that there might be equality.14 At the present time your plenty will supply what they need, so that in turn their plenty will supply what you need. Then there will be equality,(NIV)

1Thes 2:5-105 You know we never used flattery, nor did we put on a mask to cover up greed-- God is our witness.6 We were not looking for praise from men, not from you or anyone else. As apostles of Christ we could have been a burden to you,7 but we were gentle among you, like a mother caring for her little children.8 We loved you so much that we were delighted to share with you not only the gospel of God but our lives as well, because you had become so dear to us.9 Surely you remember, brothers, our toil and hardship; we worked night and day in order not to be a burden to anyone while we preached the gospel of God to you.10 You are witnesses, and so is God, of how holy, righteous and blameless we were among you who believed.(NIV)

Gal 2:1010 All they asked (the apostles) was that we should continue to remember the poor, the very thing I was eager to do.(NIV)

But Justin goes on to describe what conversion means to him: "We who once took most pleasure in the means of increasing our wealth and property now bring what we have into a common fund and share with everyone in need." Imagine that! Ha! I can picture the people of "my" church, each with their debit card, walking to the front of the alter, and DRAINING it, into a green machine, while on the other side, there are poor single moms, also with a debit card, making withdrawls for groceries that week. The reason why our nation has welfare is because the church stopped taking care of the poor in the modern era. The reason why the nation doesn't talk to us about the poor anymore is because the state is doing what we used to. Why should they? The Salvation Army collects more in shopping mall lobbies for the poor than the average Sunday morning offering. We have, after all, to pay for all that brick and mortar.

Defining what Modern is

Let’s engage in an exercise together. I am going to create a list of underlying philosophies that drive the practical manifestation of the Modern Church vs. the Missional Church. The following is taken from a chart in Michael Frost's book, The Shaping of Things to Come. It is found on Page 9:


Apostolic and Post-Apostolic Mode (A.D.32 to 313)
Didn’t have dedicated sacral building. Often underground and persecuted.
Leadership operating with a fivefold ministry-leadership ethos (? I’ll find this)
Grassroots, decentralized movement.
Communion celebrated as a sacralized community meal
Church is on the margins of society and underground
Missionary, incarnational-sending church.


Advance and Triumph of Christendom Mode (313 to current)
Buildings become central to the notion, and experience, of church
Leadership by an institutionally ordained clergy operating primarily in a pastor-teacher mode
Institutional-hierarchical notion of leadership and structure.
Increasing institutionalization of grace through the sacraments
Church is perceived as central to society and surrounding culture.
Attractional / “Extractional”


(Emerging) Missional Mode (past 10 years)
Rejects the concern and need for dedicated “church” buildings
Leadership embraces a pioneering-innovative mode including a fivefold ministry leadership ethos. Non-institutional by preference
Grassroots, decentralized movements.
Redeems, re-sacralized, and ritualized new symbols and events, including the meal
Church is once again on the fringes of society and culture. The church reembraces a missional stance in relation to culture.
Missional, incarnational-sending church

When I think of the Modern Church, particularly that represented by what I see today, there are a number of thoughts that come to mind. These are underlying philosophies that are, well, controversial to talk about. Which says I'm barking up the right tree.

1. Philo-Culture. The modern church has become very comfortable with the Western world that it finds itself in. From the time of the Renaissance, the Reformation (yes, those two words are interchangeable) the culture and the church have been operating by the same principles. These are lifted out of McLaren's Shaping of things to Come. For an in-context explanation of these points, go to Chapter 2, pg. 16-18.

1. Modernity was an era of conquest and control. Think about the following words. Columbus. Colonization. Slave-Trade. Religious representatives on the same boats as Conquerors. Culture wars. Militaristic Economic Capitalism, enculturation, assimilation.

2. It was the age of the machine. industrialization. reproducing nameless replicas. the dissolution of individuality. automatic. remote control

3. It was an age of analysis. we took everything apart. no wonder, no awe, no myth. everything in the universe was dissectible.

4. It was the age of Secular Science. Science outside of experience. cold rationalizations. deductions made about broad religious beliefs based on the accumulation of facts gathered over a few hundred years. the assumption that all the universe was knowable, understandable, and conquerable.

5. It was an age aspiring to absolute objectivity. the arts have no place in reliable knowledge.

6. It was a critical age. fight. conquer. control. resist. what withstands that is all that is worth keeping. Social Darwinism

7. It was the age of the modern nation-state and organization. need I say more. governments that operate like the pathological corporations that fill their lands. priority number one is what is good for the state/corporation. self-preservation. oppression of others for the political, economic, and material benefit of the organization. the only rule is winning. morality is second place to the acquirement of power and success.

8. it was the age of individualism. john wayne. "i did it my way" (I like that commercial). a breakdown of family. a breakdown of the community. isolation. divorce. denominationalism. competition.

9. It was the age of Protestantism and institutional religion. organization for the purpose of numerical success, financial "stability," increased manouverability, exposure, elevation to influence-level of Government and Big Business.

10. It was the age of consumerism. increasing. acquiring, conquering. getting more stuff, bigger building, better name brands, status, image, success. Power. debt. in past days, you flew the flag of the Lord or king that ruled you. now you wear the colors of the corporations who own your money. what Lord to you swear allegiance to? What corporation are you a citizen of?

The Emerging Church Stigma

One of two common charges made about the "Emerging Church" movement, articulated by writers such as Brian McLaren and Leonard Sweet, is that it is deconstructionist in its nature, without any reconstruction as a counter-balance. I agree with this. It is true that it is in vogue today to deconstruct the modern church, criticize, and recommend a renovation. But while many do this - there is an increasing chorus of voices in this choir - the alternative has been quiet. If we do not want the modern church, what is it that we do want? There are a few who attempt to answer this question in varying degrees of depth. But how many churches do we see practicing an alternative model to the modern church? Michael Frost, in his Shaping of Things to Come, provides a much needed theological and philosophical foundation to the movement. But a holistic practical manifestation of this framework, is still yet to be seen. I am making a statement, that, while many neo-churches out there contain elements of a cohesive Missional church, there are none to my knowledge that incorporate what can be said as a holistic philosophy of ministry. For any out there reading, if you have some recommendations to counter this statement, please mention them in a reply.

I would like to differentiate between "emerging church," and a "missional church." I feel that the Emerging church now has associations and conjures up assumptions that I no longer wish to deal with. Either people write them off as rebellious, or lacking in a theological framework for their statements. That is an argument that I no longer wish to engage in, not because I'm lazy, but because I'm not sure I can - it would take a lot of work that I don't want to do! What I have found, is that many of the popular Christian criticizers express opinion on these Emerging church writers, without actually doing an in-depth reading of their works. How can we express opinions on something without reading it? It is nothing short of literary gossip, just as ignorant, and I come across it on almost a daily basis.

One of the philosophies that does come out clear in these writings is the idea that information can no longer be delivered in large chunks of objective thought. Commentaries and Christian books, therefore, must be taken as "fodder," or loose material to be sifted through, picking out the tasty parts, while barely noticing the distasteful. I have turned that advice against writers such as McLaren. There are many things that are "tasty" in what he says. There are many parts that are not, for many people. Take what is tasty. Leave the rest. Surely if you love olives, but hate the salad, you're not going to throw the whole salad out. Pick out the olives. Leave the rest.

When I say "missional" I believe I am talking about a rising (because I can no longer use the word emerging) ecclesiastical philosophy that may, for the first time in an era, be a serious challenger to the modern church movement. By the modern church movement, I mean something perhaps more broad than you think:

1. philosophies that began with the renaissance era
2. are trans-denominational
3. are linked back to a time when church and state were closely intertwined, and therefore retain structures that mirror government and its value systems (denominations that behave like political parties towards each other, or, "them over there")
4. have morphed and varied over the centuries of the modern era, but nonetheless maintained the true, inner core of the philosophy
5. is ending with the American (and Canadian) Evangelical Religious Right movement, and the Mega Church / Purpose Driven model for ministry.

When I say "beginning" and "ending," I mean all things loosely. Surely there is no fault-line between the Reformed Church and the Medieval Church, but there is a smudge. One color is the Medieval church, while the other color is the Reformation. Surely there are traces of each color in the other. Therefore, I am talking generally. It is the same now. There is no fault line between the missional church and the Mega church. But they are two different colors.

Happy Thanksgiving

You know who you are. Let these words grasp a stranglehold on that numb, mindless pain, that which you have lived with for so long now. It really has been that long, hasn't it? Like a finger, dipped into the dish, into the stew that lay undisturbed, forgotten in the rear of the fridge, for a few too many days. On the surface it appears much like it did the day it went in. It has a crusty layer, glazed over and hardened. But underneath, oh wow, the stink and the rot that lies within. It is blocked from the air, the cool preservation that is openness. But within the heart that is the fridge, it festers, until one day you dip a spoon in, to see what kind of stew it is. Were you surprised at what you found? It is not the yummy recipe it was long ago. I don't think you want it in your fridge any longer. Will you not take it out? It is so repulsive that great effort is needed even to reach in, stick your nose in there, to smell the rot and get near it. Grasp a hold of it, draw it out, take it to the counter, and prepare that pain for burial. I know you don't want to, but now that the reminder has been delivered, now that you know about the rotting stew, how can you leave it back there? Reach out. It is not very far away. It lies just beneath the surface. We are broken vessels. To say it is very cliché, but to know it, as Adam knew Eve, is ever evasive. We wake up Sunday mornings and go to our closet. We take our clothes, all carefully folded and creased, and dress them upon our unflattering bodies. We hide our skin because our skin hides the rotten stew in our tummies. And we put our game face on, grab our keys, ride our plastic toys to the Steeple, and enter in. We sit in rows, lined up like toy soldiers, with pasted smiles on our faces. Stand up now, sit down now, sing it now, hear it now. And then we go. We wander home, regretfully leaving the chit-chat of the lobby, the spiffy clothes, the glib compliments. What were we looking for back there? Did we find it? On the drive home, like an uncomfortable little splinter, we remember the fridge of our heart that we return to. Yes, there will be hot, steamy turkey on the table, but in the fridge there is rotting stew. Are you tired of the pretentious religion? You want to throw it out, as do we all. But something keeps drawing us back, like a creature-instinct for survival, we draw near to the Steeple time and again. We are searching. We are reaching. Maybe the church isn't the place for all the plastic toys and the spiffy clothes. Maybe the church is the place where we should bring our rotting stew. Perhaps we all should just coordinate one day, you know? We'll all show up with our stew in our hands, and we'll have a good old cremation, right there, before the alter. We know we are full of brokenness. We grow, in the Spirit of Jesus Christ, and we find peace in the changing of our hearts. We like to talk about that. We like to pretend it is the end of the story. I fear sometimes we believe the illusion that there is no other reality. We ought to cease the pretending. The stew won't go away. We think that being "Saved" is like a bank-account that Jesus took out in our name. Grace is a currency deposited within us in staggering amounts. However, we believe there is interest attached. We think that our bad dept, if not managed by us, will accumulate against the capital of Grace. We fear that one day we'll find our bank account depleted by the dept. The fridge is empty of anything but stew, and we're terrified. How broken are we? Does He know? Does Jesus know about my rotting stew? It went into the fridge, even after we met. It has been rotting there ever since. What will he do when he finds out? What will the people of my church do when they find out? Surely I can't bring my stew to church - but I don't know where else to throw it out.
The Apostle Paul says we have treasures in our hearts, and we “have this treasure in jars of clay” (1 Cor.4:7). In other words, it is ok to be cracked, dry pottery. It is ok. The bank account is full of Grace. The one who made us and loves us has no illusions. He is not uncomfortable with us. He will still come near.
The church is the place for a broken people. It is for the hurting to experience love. They come broken, no matter what shrink-wrap they come packaged in. If they are rich, then they are broken. If they are poor, they are broken. If they smile, they hurt inside. Jesus has his dinner plate. He sits there, in the church, eyes wide, in anticipation of a meal. He is so beautiful. He smiles. He has a spoon in his hand and he is hungry. Bring Him your stew. He is in the church. Bring Him your stew. While you eat turkey, He'll eat your stew. Happy thanksgiving. "The mass of men live lives of quiet desperation." – Thoreau

Good Friday

I saw a man get crucified
His arms not hanging at his side
His eyes not looking straight, but high
His waist is shaking above his thighs.

I saw a man get crucified
I saw him beaten, I saw him tied
I saw the man upon the tree
Break sweat as he gazed down on me.

I saw a man get crucified
I know his words; I know his life
I walked down roads right by his side
But alone I saw him crucified.

And as he hung there on that tree
I thought his life, his words, were me
I thought he mixed pure soul with mine
Come off your tree, and enter thine.

I saw the man get crucified
I saw him leave; I saw him die
I knew his soul began to glide
I knew his soul rested on high.

And as he stood by heaven's side
His gaze, the one beside him, stares down at me
The two there standing, glancing down
To Calvary's tree, where I now cry.

Watch them regarding that body
Watch me see death hung on a tree
I think it's moving, I think it sees
I think it's coming after me.

I saw a man die in shame
And now his body calls my name
Seems to reach, to 'scape its binds
Crawl to my soul, pulls back the blinds

I saw a man get crucified
And now my soul to his is tied
Not just him, it is I who died
Bound to his fate, we three abide.

7 Days till Christmas

Seven days till Christmas
Have I got a gift for you.
A tethered rope all tough and spiky
And a journey's worth of donkey poo

Six days till Christmas
Have I ever got a present -
A bit of cheese the texture of rock
and a stinky, sweaty peasant

Five days till Christmas
why don't you extend your hand?
In it I'll place a manger board
and a musty bed of sand

Four days till Christmas
What more have I got for you?
How about a dusty desert town
and a garbage pit for a loo?

Three days till Christmas
and I know you want some stuff.
A close-up view of a horse's rhinde
And a pillow of lamby fluff.

Two days till Christmas
and do you want a token?
How about a dangerous town
in a country clearly broken?

One day till Christmas
And you have an extended hand
Can you smell the blood and dirt and tears?
Can you hear the fearful land?

Now is the day of Christmas
Have I ever a pretty toy.
A bloody mess of swaddling clothes
and a mucous-filled little boy.

It is so wrong, this Christmas song
It has no flow, it doesn't go
It is not clean and is not neat
It hurts to touch and it smells like feet

But we have a holiday,
all clean and pristine,
and it is all wrong and it won't be long
before we see

It is not real.

How the church says sorry

I am the church. I have heard a lot of gossip lately, a lot of chatter on the wire, and it has been increasingly coming accross my radar screen. At first it was just a few blips in the distance, but now almost covers the graphic before my eyes. There has been a lot of talk about me, the church, and much of it goes on behind my back. Say it to my face! Fortunately, there are some who love me, who have tried to sit me down and have a good talk. I feel sorry for them, because that can't be easy. I'm hard of hearing.

But if you think I'm a jerk, you should meet my husband. When we go to parties, often people don't notice him, because I'm on the table, lifting my skirt, dancing the hula. I hate it when they judge him based on my behaviour, but I feel like I can't help myself. I'm always screaming my head off about some crap, while he's in the corner, whispering quietly to a few. I'm drinking too much, and then yelling at everyone else about their behaviour. I'm shooing people out of the club, begging them to stop chasing a false sense of romance, while rubbing my hips on a stranger that I just met. I'm on the corner on Saturdays - yelling at people to change their lives - but when they come closer, I run inside, and when I come out the next day, I've changed my clothes, uplifted my speech, and spoken a language they do not understand.

Some people have been saying I am pretentious. I find money too important, always talking about it, making my decisions based on the accumalation of it. I sit among my posh friends, Government and Big Business, talking about all the things I can do with my money, and how I have earned a right to speak and sway the great and the mighty. I know that I started out in Social work, taking care of the poor and the orphan, and I hear my early words still ringing in my ears. But I didn't ask for all this success - I earned it with my blood and my sweat. Perhaps my husband regrets teaching me how to work. Am I corrupted? Do I really have too many toys? Just think of what I could do with them!

People say I think I'm smart too. I use words I've just learned, and sit in classrooms I've just joined, and talk about sciences that I haven't even read the text books on. I do my own book reviews too. There was a book written about me recently. It had lots of people paying attention to me (it has been a while). Ha! It was for all the wrong reasons. I just did a book review on the Da Vinci Code, glazed over it after hearing all the other people discussing, and then declared my opinion. I didn't even read it! Why should I? I already know what it is trying to say. Because I know in my heart that not everything it says about me is true, I decided none of it could be true. Then that night, I took a good look in the mirror, and remembered my ways. I remembered what I did back then, the trail of destruction I've left in my wake, as I have travelled this world. I've hurt a lot of people, and because of my marriage, brought shame on the In-Laws.

So it is true. I am a hyporcritical, snobby, money grubbing, arrogant, fearful person. If you suddenly found yourself in the sort of marriage that I'm in, don't you think you would act like me too? I was so young! I didn't even know what I was getting into! I was swept off my feet - He just sort of dazzled me. I mean, no one has ever payed attention to me like that. I was a prostitute, a thief, and an unfaithful person. I wasn't even allowed in the market. I never thought somebody from that side of town would ever fall in love with me. He took me places I never dared to go on my own. He treated me like I always had clothes on that I could never afford. He had me over for dinner and I ate things I didn't even know existed. He had all these people at the table that I had only seen in pictures.

He held my hand when we walked down the streets. People would stare, and I would just wither inside, but he would hold his head high. The anger he would direct at them has never come my way. What I saw in his eyes would make gold rust - but he would look at me like I was made of gold. We would walk down the street every day, and the stares never stopped coming. He never stopped walking.

And he knew what I was! He wasn't blind. He could smell the streets, the unwashed flesh, the crust of emotional backage, surrounding my heart and conversation - all that I had picked up on my directionless wandering. He was not stupid. He knew I was ornery, arrogant, snobby, pretentious, fearful, angry, and depressed. But it was as if he didn't know. It was like he didn't see it. Sometimes it makes me forget that it's there. I am, after all, the Church.

I know he saw it because he was teaching me to treat others like that. Like a toddler on training wheels, I waverd and stumbled, working on loving the world, as the quivering legs of a baby find their first steps. You'd think after 40 days of it I'd learn to walk, but I guess we're not all naturals!

I've lost my way, sure, it is true. But you should meet my husband. If you can get past my behaviour, only for a moment, and listen to who I'm talking about, maybe you'd stop throwing out my invitation with the junkmail. Because I'm allowed to invite people over for dinner, and I'm telling you, you'll never taste food like it. I don't get many accepters, but hey, here's to trying.

Maybe it is cold out there, outside the Church. Maybe you haven't smelt roast turkey like this before, all hot and steamy, wafting out of the candle-lit windows of Our house. On a drizzly bleak night, out there, will you not come in to meet my husband, because I'm at the table? If only you would, we could finally talk a little - instead of talking about each other on the backside. You'd find out that - hey, you and I? We're really not all that different after all.

How to know when you are home

You know you are home when they do not care where you are from. You know it when they accept you, not based on what you can do, how you look, or they way you behave. You know it is home when they can put their arms around you, regardless of how dirty you are on the outside - or on the inside. You know you are home when you find the place everyone else is looking for, the place where it is not all about any one individual's ideas, thoughts, or priorities - but truly, truly, about what is important for them all. When it is about you, but just as much about the one next to you, it is then that you know. Home is when you come in and realize that it is much bigger than you, your worries, problems, dreams, and fears - it dwarfs all the inward thoughts you've had for the past 24 hours. It sweeps you away, picks you up, as if in the arms of God, and carries you along. It transcends the dusty grit of planet earth, that which crusts underneath your fingernails. It sweeps you away. And you are home. Say it. Let it sink through you, through the layers of your conciousness, touching the nerve that lies raw, as if the electricity of spiritual pain lay in a pan of water on the bottom of your heart.

When the face of God, as always, is invisible to the naked eye; the evidence that He truly lives is as evasive as the relationships you are always looking for; and all that is elusive about God takes its form and finds its evidential shape within the cumulative expressions on the faces of the gathering of God's people. You know you are home then. For sure. Because it is the one thing you do not find out there, amidst your hobbies and clubs, gatherings and movements. Aren't you tired of looking there? It has indeed been a long, long time.

Get your feet on the sidewalk and open the chapel doors. Open the eyes of the inner soul as the foyer comes into view, as the music washes over your tired being. Take the fears and inhibitions, the tired longing to belong, and zip them in your pocket for an hour, or more. You'll pick them up now and again, I'm sure. They'll be there waiting back at the door.

But for now, for this moment, go in, and see the gaze of God amidst the eyes of all those people. Why are you afraid of them? They are not God. They are broken like you. Isn't it what you are searching for - someone to share it with? The journey may just begin there, at the alter up front. You will not be on your feet by the time you get up there. It is not very far away. Now get going.

What is the Monastic Ideal? Part 2

Please note that the following are rough notes, directly spoken from, at the Emergence Young Adult retreat in August, at Algonquin Provincial Park. They will be turned into literary format soon.

Eusebius and Constantine

- church history leading up to this moment /
glory/power/victory/church meant to rule

On the other hand: Monastic movement

- rejected association with empire
With constantine came:
1. Christian freedom
2. Political benefits package - bishops / army
3. Political interferrence, both at councels and at regional positions (davinci code and Nicea) (some accepted this, some rejected it)
4. Money into church
5. Status quo, apathy, decadence
6. Theological controversy and schism
7. Centre of the marketplace
8. Rise of earthly powerful and wealthy church

The two responses to Constantine - one embraced, brought half of the church very deeply into the empire
- reaching masses, bringing them to "salvation" association with church
- other rejected, and went out to the deserts
- "salvation" stayed a deeper, more personal experience, later became not associated w/church at all

Unpack both of these
- also every shade inbetween --------------------------
- this situation is the same today
- some closely integrated in society, political, wealthy denominations
- some isolationist, separate, anti-governement and wealth
- everything in between ------------------------

Augustine - tricked out of monastic life into bishopric
Ambrose of Milan - taken from public service into bishopric
John Chrysostum - always felt pull to monastic life
Jerome - always seeking solitude away from city church

To say nothing of Egyptian desert fathers, Monastaries later came to be more linked to organized church but always remained seat of challenge

Martin luther was a monk
Q: what were they seeking out there?
What were they trying to do?
Why?

"do not be conformed any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds"

Personal devotions: Principles of power/authority/hierarchy, not appropriate in the Christian church, not because it either works, or doesn't work, but because of where it leads, or what it leads to - and where it comes from . . . .

"you are not to call each other Master or Lord . . ." Jesus Christ.

a new community

One thing that is almost certainly not promoted when one thinks of traditional monastaries is the idea of community. We have an impression that monastaries were places where people went to be alone, completely seperate from the world and its people, to pray and meditate. Sadly, the later examples of the monastary, even the more contemporary ones, have reinforced this perception. However, early on it was not like this. A monastary was an attempt to recreate the kind of "committed community" relationship that came so naturally before Christianity had any sort of power. In short, people wanted a Christianity where they were required to give their whole lives to, something much bigger than themselves. The idea of shopping around for churches that we now have, of showing up and deciding if what the church has to offer is attractive to us, treating Christianity like a buffet line (and a cheap one) - all this was a very foreign concept to these people. You gave your heart and soul to Christ and at the same time gave your heart and body to the church community. They owned you, and you were happy to be owned. A beneficial captivity. Imagine that.

What is the Monastic Ideal? Part 1

These are some thoughts I shared at the Emergence Retreat, on Day Two, and some things I thought about during my entire trip.

1 peter 4:12 "do not be surprised at the fiery trial you are suffering, as though something strange were happenning to you."

It is versus like this that cause many to believe suffering integral to the Christian faith - that when it exists in situations where suffering is not present, something central to it all is missing.

Early church and Constantine:

What the early church soon discovered was that the conditions of persecution were purifying to the faith. It was purifying in the following ways:

i. Community. The early church had an outside pressure to develop a tight-knit community and a strong support system. Obviously, this was not always the case (see Galations or Corinthians), but generally it was true, and comparatively, with the secular world, it was very true.

ii. Sacrifice / personal and corporate. The early Christians had a heightened sense of sacrifice. It seemed standard that before accepting the Christian life, one gave serious thought to the sacrifices that, at that time, would come with that decision. Becoming a Christian truly meant giving up your life as you knew it, and at times, no longer valuing it above all else.

iii. Conditions of isolation / being set apart through fire. They were truly anathama. In other words, the Christians were not exclusive by choice, but through the strangness of their message, the odity of it in the Roman landscape, and the anger brought upon them by their moral stand and montheistic belief, they were indeed "different" in the world. Their movement was not closely related to traditional Roman society, or any of the cultures in the outer Provinces. It was very different, and ran, by philosophy, in a very different manor than any other institution it found itself surrounded by. What a novel idea for us modern Christians, no? A church that doesn't operate based on the same philosophies as the institutions around it?

I know that we in general have an impression that presecution in the early church was constant and huge, very dramatic. But that was not usually the case. It was more sporadic, flaring up at times and various places, growing in intensity and then dissipating. The general policy of the authorities was not to seek out Christians, hunting them through the streets. It was rather to prosecute the accused, when a fellow citizen brought forward their names. Therefore, if your neighbor had something agains't you, say a business dispute, and he knew you were a practicing Christian that would never, by the way, fail to confess it, he could solve the dispute very easily by denouncing you to the authorities as a Christian. It was only then that you would find yourself in the arena, getting eaten by a lion. This was generally the case from the time of the Emporor Trajan, all the way up to Constantine.

The verdict is still out on Constantine, and I think it always will be. People really don't know, exactly, what the makeup of his motives were. Here are the main points of his life, that you can find in many church history books:


- influenced by christian women in his family
- involved in civil war for leadership where outcome questionable
- claimed he had a dream of Christ, a commissioning of sorts to leadership
- won his war, became Emporer, and made great strides in the emancipation of Christians in his realm
- began to favor Christians, seek the councel of Bishops in important cities (and give a little councel of his own)


But he was a tricky fellow to pin down:

Why was he doing it? It is a major debate, even to this day. Was his conversion to Christianity genuine, or was he a political opportunist who could see that Christianity's wildfire expansion would soon overtake the Empire anyway? And this question is at the source of the original monastic reaction to the new church that emerged out of the darkness of persecution and stigma.

There is a politician of our day in a very similar questionable position when it comes to politics and Christianity: George Bush. The same question can be applied: Is he genuinely believing and following the faith? Or is he doing it because in the US right now, the religious right has been building its power base politically, over the past few decades, and now it is time to cash in? He did, after all, narrowly win the last election on a platform of very personal Evangelical Christian language. I think he has one thing in common with Constantine: Both the personal and the political motivations are so well mixed together, even they cannot unwind the two themsleves. In other words, they don't even know what their motivations are. All we can then do is take a look at the result of their rule . . . . .

Day 4 Winnepeg to Saskatoon

Blog day 4

Route: Winnepeg to Saskatoon via Regina - what a long, boring day!

There were many people on the roads, travelling from one place to another. I was surprised to note that, especially at this time of year, we weren't even nearly the only ones towing a u-haul with everything we own within it. We met this woman, with four boys of differing ages in tow, no man in sight, towing an equally enormous u-hual across the country. Only, she was doing it with a Dodge Caravan, something weaker than our monster of a vehicle. I could tell what the story was: the man was gone, and she was pursuing a new life, VERY far away. I've heard that story before. What a strong woman. I asked her how her van was doing with the load, and she said it had just cut out on her. After further investigation, I decided to give her the advice to turn off the AC (very nice in the hot prairies, I know), unplug the car cooler, and turn off the DVD player (probably the only thing keeping those boys from tearing apart the inside of that van enroute). She was incredulous, but hey, do you want to be broken down out in the wheat fields? I'm not nearly the scariest man you could meet out here lady. But maybe I looked scary, my beard was growing, and I was looking more like something that crawled out of the forest. Anyway, can't blame her for caution.

Blog day 3 - Ontario day 3

Blog Day 3

Thunder Bay to Winnepeg

Entering Mars

We woke up to find that we were camping in a Provincial Park built at the sight of one of the great sights of the North: Kakabeca Falls. For a Southern Ontarian, used to the boring Niagra Falls, I must admit, these were pretty impressive. I was able to get pretty close to them too. They were violent and loud, and had many layers and levels, where the water was firing back and forth.

The drive out was nice. We soon found ourselves in still more steep "hilly" country though, but not near as bad as before.

Today we crossed into Manitoba. We were dissappointed, because it pretty much looked just like Ontario, with trees and rolling hills, rivers, and lakes. Then all of the sudden, we passed all that, and we have not seen anything but wheat fields ever since. It was stunning, and very alien for me, all brand new terrain. You could see for miles in every single direction and to my left, all you could see was very dark, very stormy weather off in the distance, sort of heading towards us. I actually saw funnel clowds, and found out this morning, there was some tornados in that thing. So it was sort of chasing us, and we outran it, fleeing dark strom, for the biggest, brightest blue skies I have ever seen. It was hauntingly beautiful.

I think leaving Ontario was a milestone in our journey. As I pursue the Monastic Ideal, that thing the early church fathers sought, like Augustine and his little "monastary" on his parent's farm, and Jerome, fleeing the city for the quite of a more contemplative life. I too feel like I am leaving a place of busy-ness, of distraction, noise (although a bit of it good, in the sense of the voices of my friends and family), and just plain tumult. We are so distracted there from the Spiritual life. Leaving the Media Industry as its own separate discussion, even our philosophies of life become a great distraction from the God relationship: Bigger is better; the strong survive; more popularity means more success; success itself as a priority; the pursuit of financial "stability." According to the Monastic Ideal, these philosophies represent everything that is wrong in the world of man and everything that keeps us from holy communion with a generally quiet God.

I want to pursue in my life those things that really matter. I want to reject, therefore, that philosophy that says these things have a place in the Christian life. The early church fathers sacrificed finacial wealth, promising careers, family, and friends, in order to pursue their faith. What I have seen is that this modern Christianity has told us (me), that money, power, hierarchical church leadership, "success" in terms of numbers - all of these things are a legitamate part of the Covenant Community of Believers. I see two philosophies at conflict with each other. As Jesus says, "you are not to call one another Lord or Rabbi." You are not to be exalted over one another. My questions is this: Has the modern church ignored the spirit of what Jesus is saying here, and set up itself in a way where in essence, we have done that?

This evening we stayed at a couple's house. We didn't know them barely at all. When in the kitchen, making the necessary small talk, I looked over and noticed Brian Mclaren's book: A New Kind of Christian. The ensuing converstion proved to be enchanting, for I soon discovered this woman was another spiritual refugee from the modern church. She was burnt out from doing so many programs at her local church, that she couldn't even bring herself to go there anymore. The gospel of "do, do, do, go, go, go, work, work, work" had done a number on her, and she was finished. Isn't it funny? A woman I met in the Prairies of Manitoba had the same thing in common with countless numbers of young men I worked with back in Toronto.

Blog day 2 - ontario day 2

Blog day 2

Sault Ste. Marie to Thunder Bay

Some bumps on the road.

Who would have known there was mountains here? It certainly didn't scream out at us from the maps. You'd think with the size of the blasted things, there would be some mention. Maybe then we could have realized that, although for a normal small four-cylinder car, such a trip would indeed take 9.5 hours, with a big heavy vehicle towing a big heavy trailer, it will take a little longer. I didn't know they had slopes like that in Ontario. That Jeep does now. And then it poured rain. Barrelling down steep inclines, going blind around corners, like a big-momma with a giant slapping her behind, wacking it back and forth, (that's what the trailer feels like to tow), we went throught the mountains at a snail's pace. The rain reduced us, a few times, to 10 metres visibility. This is terrifying when the road curves around a rock face very high up on a cliff. My nerves were raw, and that beautiful woman beside me started to get on them.

And then we had water in the trailer. But wait - don't panic - it didn't get on anything that it would hurt - except my nerves.

But after the unknown mountains of Northern Ontario, and the 14 degree celsius temperatures up there, the way down was fast and fun. The sun was hot, Melissa decided to try her hand at sticking her head out of the sunroof (she looked like a chia-pet when she came down), it turned out to be a pretty good day. But a long one. We saw wildlife! A bear cub ran across the highway - it really ran, didn't realize those things were so fast. Kind of makes you wonder how you would do agianst one in a forest with a twinky in your hand. It seemed that you would last about 3 minutes. And next I saw the biggest road-kill I have ever seen in my life - a dead moose! We blew by it going 100, and even with the windows done up, it stunk like my brother's hockey bag. Reeked. And then, just when I was getting bitter about only seeing a dead one, we saw some live ones, two of them, chomping through the mush. They sound like T-Rexes when they are running away from you through the forest, though. You can hear them crashing for like 10 minutes.

Blog day 1 friday august 18

Blog day 1 friday august 18

Ontario Part One

Toronto to Sault Ste Marie

You know, I've always wanted to do a big roadtrip. I read Don Miller and his roadtrip book, and it is just so glorified. Leaving everything that ties you down. Going to a new place that will, again in time, tie you down. But it is the space between, the roadtrip, where you are free. Free of responsibility, the chores of routine, monotony and boredom, predictability. You know, the pain of life.

Saying goodbye proved to be a lot of work. People were coming around the clock, bringing gifts and words of encouragement. It is a testament to the strength of God's community that He built around us - one that we sometimes didn't appreciate. I am emotionless when I say goodbye. No tears, no pain in the heart. It is just business, nothing personal. Goodbye. I do love you and it has nothing to do with the emotion I feel when leaving you. It is just time to go, time to create a new community with a new group of people. This is planet earth outside of God's rule. A place of goodbyes, of seperation. But we belong to something much larger.

The vehicle and the trailer worked beautifully. What an amazing machine that Jeep is. It didn't even show signs of tiredness. It took the punishment I gave it - Toronto to Sault Ste Marie non-stop, and didn't even protest.

The tie-downs my Dad and I did have worked beatifully, thus far, and nothing in the trailer has shaken loose or wrecked itself. Here are the specks on our trip.

Trip time: 10.5 hours, with stops
Gas used: approx. $220
Route: Barrie, Parry Sound, Sudbury, Sault Ste Marie.

The trip up was fairly peaceful, nothing uneventful happened. Plenty, however, happened in my thoughts. There was the usual traffic in Barrie, that loosened off the farther up we went. We entered the Muskoka region, and with it a flood of memories of my past three years as a youth pastor. Most of my most significant events happened in the context of Muskoka. Muskoka is a youth pastor's best friend. Goodbye. Past that was Parry Sound, and with that the memory of our High School snow camps - by far the most meaningful events ever. Beyond that, the memories stop, for that is where my life as I have known it stops. I have never been beyond. Until today.

You can notice the change in landscape when leaving Southern Ontario, especially in a vehicle that you can't go above 100km/h in. When the landscape changes, you truly realize how huge Southern Ontario really is, all on it's own. It is a world onto itself, with a look onto itself, and it is chalk full of people. It is a busy, bustling place, full of large cities, towns strung in between like pearls on a string. It has rolling hills, lush fields, streams and ponds. It really reminds one of the scenes of the Shire, in the Lord of the Rings. But Northern Ontario is an entirely different thing. The landscapes get much more wild, pine and granite jagging the horizon, swamps and ponds, rivers and lakes, all leaving you with the sense that if you were to venture into them, you might never find your way out again. The vehicles change from Honda Civics, to Ford Trucks, as a rule, and the people change from hard-nosed, pushy drivers, to light-hearted, talkative wanderers. I truly am in a different world.

Which is something I usually would barely notice, except that this time I have with me, in the passenger seat of the vehicle, the most precious thing I have ever owned (not that I own her). She sits there like a jewel, curled up and sleeping, like the inner core of a precious rock, and her presence here on this trip changes everything for me. I've been on roadtrips before, but always alone, and out there, amidst the strangness, all I have to worry about is me. And I don't usually worry much about me, because I have nearly died so many times now, I really don't try much anymore to stay alive. I just live on borrowed time. But with her here, it is different. My male instincts sharpen and focus. Protect, watch over, be careful. She is little - and pretty. One example is when we pulled into a rest area to gas up, eat up, and basically walk around. It was somewhere in between Sudbury and the Sault, and this truck pulls in with a trailer loaded two stories high with scrap metal. Out from the truck piles five or six of the mangiest, roughest looking group of guys I have never seen. It was like Toronto's Crack shelter on a road-trip. And I noticed the look in a few of their eyes, a look that always reminds me of a past life: The look of a sinister, thinking predator. Someone used to violence and fighting. Glancing around, taking stock of the situation, they finally notice my nice Jeep and full trailer (probably took note that we were uprooted and moving). Then they noticed my little blonde wife. Fortunately, I had sunglasses on, and I was able to stare back, expressionless, communicating strength without the need for confrontation. People hate staring at someone with Sunglasses on. Melissa shuddered and made a comment about one of them.

It was the feeling of having to protect that has changed a lot for me on this trip. All of my decisions are tainted with that motive: where we stay, where we stop, and where we eat. I must protect her. I have no problem giving my life to save her. I just have to make sure that it will do the job.

Spiritually, the journey has begun for me too. Gone, at least for the moment, is that place associated with busyness, Southern Ontario, that community of enormity, and me sitting near the top of it to receive all the phone calls, emails, and attention of others. I know that many people sit at home alone, with no phone ringing and no one coming over. Is it so wrong that I desire a little of that? I am peopled-out right to my inner core. When I turned on my phone last night, 10 hours away from Toronto, in order to check the time, I had 6 new voicemail messages. I won't check any of them until Vancouver. I'm leaving. Like Augustine, stuck preaching in the church in Hippo, all the while longing for the Monastary back on his parent's property, to pray and meditate, I long for it. Away from the busyness, from the hustle of life, I want to finally find God again. The North of Ontario wrapped around me like a blanket. Quiet and alone, my thoughts had space to turn to God. My heart, once again, began to fill with hope. He has a new place for me. And I am going there. Sault Ste. Marie to Thundar Bay, here I come.