I asked her to guest post here, and she also sent me a couple of books to give away! I’m going to be honest and tell you, I’m reading one of them, and I’ll give it away, when I’m ready. I really enjoy Sarah’s writing.
She is also the author of Dear Church: Letters From a Disillusioned Generation, a high school teacher, frequent speaker, wife to Mr. C, mom to Justus, the wonder baby, and keeper of a frenetic (aren’t they all) Jack Russell terrier, Wrigley. This is among many other accomplishments, but I only have so much space, and time, before you click away, with that short attention span of yours. Read here, to learn more, at her site.
If you would like to try for a copy of Picking Dandelions, here’s what to do.
1) Click the link to her website (above).
2) Learn 3 new things about Sarah.
3) Post them in the leave a comment section.
Rules/Tips: You can’t repeat anyone else’s item. (So, hurry, because the first people will get the good ones.) The person with the best eye for detail may be selected, but whimsy will give you bonus points. Go for it!
Sarah Cunningham
Guest Post from SARAH:
On Change
Dear readers of the lovely Lisa Colon Delay.
I’m going to let you in on a little secret.
Just because I wrote a book on change doesn’t mean I’m good at changing.
You might even say I’m bad at it.
Resistance to change is not necessarily a good quality when it comes to faith.
But sometimes I’m lazy.
Not changing just seems easier.
Its easier to view conversion as an event frozen in time, tucked away with Shrinky Dinks, glow worms, and other relics from the 1980s (or whatever decade you came to the faith).
Its more convenient to leave conversion there, during that one shining moment when we turned to God, than to continue to lug the light around where it might inadvertently illuminate things that still need changing.
This is what we tell ourselves anyways.
That its easier to let ourselves off the hook when our flaws rear their heads.
Its easier to protect our pride.
To keep being a little bit controlling.
To insist losing our temper is just the “way we are”.
Changing those sorts of things takes too much energy.
It costs too much.
Not changing is just cheaper.
Or is it?
It sorta depends on how you calculate the cost.
After all, our lack of change is probably costing someone.
Like the people who have to smack into the wall of our pride on a daily basis.
Like the family or friends or co-workers we manipulate.
Like the wounded left in the wake of our temper tantrums.
There is also, of course, the cost to ourselves.
The damage to the life God intended for us.
A life that is a little more scarred, a little more strained, a little more convoluted.
A cheapened version of the life-to-the-full Jesus said he came to bring.
So we sidestep the cost of personal reflection and hard work to confront our flaws.
But do all those times when we cheap-skate change end up being more expensive in the end?
What do you think? Can Christians afford the luxury of unchanged living?
Today’s Featured Writer has something to say about the future of the church. But, he has an altogether different perspective, than our previous guest writer, John O’Keefe, and actually, most people. And this, in a nutshell, is Doug Jackson. But you could ever squeeze him into a nutshell, so never mind. He is a thoughtful and gifted thinker, a searching pilgrim, a devoted Christian, and a baking whiz. And, he’s topped with more than a modest dollop of wisecrackiness.
Please enjoy and interact with Doug’s contribution.
B.A. – English Literature, Grand Canyon College (1982)
The Church with a Future
-Doug Jackson
John O’Keefe is a futurist. I find that intimidating as heck. Personally, I’m a traditionalist. I can quantify the difference. Tramping through the jungle, a futurist and a traditionalist happen on some tiger tracks. “You track him,” suggests the traditionalist, “and find out where he’s going. I’ll backtrack and find out where he’s been.”
There isn’t even a cool name for the preferred direction for my arrow of time. “Futurist” conjures up images of, well, guys with shaven heads and soul patches. “Traditoinalist” calls up images of guys with bald heads (which is SO not the same thing) and no soul at all. This part I can at least work on. I think from now on instead of “traditionalist,” I’ll call myself a “past-er.”
So what can a past-er say to the church’s future? If there is, in the words of T. S. Eliot’s J. Alfred Prufrock, “time for a hundred visions and revisions” of the people of God in community, how much time do we have (and should we allow) for a rear-vision? Not too much, I don’t guess. Accordingly, I want to state a thesis and offer three theories. My thesis is that, whatever the church OF the future looks like, the church WITH a future will be the one with a past.
To speak of the church OF the future is simply to make a chronological observation. It means “the church that isn’t here yet.” It doesn’t tell us much about what this church will do or how long it will last. By the church WITH a future I mean the local community with staying power. And this church, I believe, has a future precisely because it has a past. Which leaves my three notions of what such a church looks like.
First, I believe that the church with a future cares less about the draft of its craft than the depth of its ocean. In his eightieth sonnet, Shakespeare admits to his chick that other poets can praise her better. So why should he keep scribbling? Then the bard continues:
But since your worth, wide as the ocean is,
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear,
My saucy bark inferior far to his
On your broad main doth willfully appear.
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat,
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride.
In other words, what matters is that her merit can bear the burden of grand praises and meager ones. I come from a generation of ministers who learned that good meant big so bigger meant better. I think the church with a future looks back on the mighty acts of God in history and realizes that the Queen Mary of the megachurch and the rowboat dinghy of the corner congregation all float on the vast sea of God’s greatness, and that plumbing this depth, not scaling our own impressive rigging, is what counts.
Second, I believe that the church with a future cares more about reading its story than writing its narrative. “Narrative” seems to be a big word in church these days. As far as I can tell, it has a lot to do with composing our own future in a compelling way that attaches single acts of worship or service to a greater purpose. I’m all for that, but I think it is important to remember that, at best, we’re writing one chapter in a very long book whose plot is already clearly laid out. This even works at the local church level. Eugene Peterson warns us in The Contemplative Pastor that, “the cure of souls takes time to read the minutes of the previous meeting, a meeting more likely than not at which I was not present.”
We find those minutes recorded in church history and church hymnals, two documents which have fallen from favor in my own denomination, where we seem to believe that the church poll-vaulted from Pentecost over several regrettable centuries until she landed safely in our own generation. That’s why we jettisoned a songbook that came to us polished by millennia of theological mulling on the part of the worldwide body of Christ and opted instead for toe-tappers and hand-clappers that can give us no idea of who we are.
I’m not knocking contemporary music, nor do I believe the Spirit quit inspiring songwriters somewhere around the time Fanny Crosby died. But because more recent music has not had the advantage of the filtering years, I would like to apply C. S. Lewis’ dictum about books to the business of congregational singing: “After (singing) a new (song), never allow yourself another new one till you have (sung) an old one in between. If that is too much, you should at least (sing) one old one to every three new ones.” (I should admit here that Lewis disliked ALL hymns because he thought the poetry was bad. He’s probably right, but to me it seems that their theology is rather good.)
Finally, I believe that the church with a future cares more about present faithfulness than future viability. Because the church of the future will be a mess. Do what we will (and I hope we will), she will remain a morass of carnality and littleness and arguments over service times and carpet samples for the new fellowship hall. And she will be the Body of Christ, the one institution Jesus ever promised to care about, and one which he said would sit on an unshakable foundation.
So the church with a future doesn’t spend too much time reading the chicken guts of the changing culture and dealing a Tarot deck of trends. She doesn’t cross with sliver the grasping palms of earringed “consultants” ensconced in dark tents of occult insider info.
Lewis’ Screwtape rightly warns his protégé Wormwood that the proper focus of human endeavor is the junction of Right Now and Forever which leads us to ask what we need to do in the former in order to serve the latter. But “the future is, of all things, the thing least like eternity.”
The beauty of futurists like John is that they won’t let us rest in Merlin’s tower forever gazing at some ecclesiastical zodiac; they keep demanding that we do something about this stuff. They refuse to let us fall into Screwtape’s trap of forgetting that the future is not (Screwtape again) “a promised land which favoured heroes attain,” but rather “something which everyone reaches at the rate of sixty minutes an hour, whatever he does, whoever he is.”
In short, I should simply say that the Church is the church with a future. For two thousand years we have hijacked her with our high-handedness, betrayed, bureaucratized, bushwhacked and bamboozled her, tarted her up, sold her out, locked her in and dragged her down. We have made her impertinent, irrelevant, irreverent and irritating. We have used her to camouflage our carnality and let the slimming stripes of the martyrs’ scars hide the midriff bulge of our overfed carnality. “And for all this,” the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins reminds us (if I may take a large liberty), Christ’s church
. . . is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
10
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over Christ’s bent
(Bride) broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Each separate life of worship, whatever its outward expression, in so far as it is truly cleansed of egoism and bent upon God, is part of this one eternal Eucharistic action of the Logos incarnate in the world: and this fact strips the Christian life of prayer of all petty subjectivism, all tendency to mere religious self-culture, and confers upon it the dignity of the Real.
(PLEASE note: Not shown in the picture, but also part of the prize -chocolate-)
Shown here is a fantastic book by Becky Garrison-Oh, and it’s autographed! (See how to get this awesome prize below!)
A fitting prize combo!
Here’s a book synopsis from Powell Books:
A challenge has been issued on matters of faith and Becky Garrison meets it head on in this witty yet poignant answer to the Anti-God gurus Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, and Daniel Dennett.
Becky Garrison, religious satirist and senior contributing editor for “The Wittenberg Door,” is taking a stand. Where most Christians assume the character of the Cowardly Lion chanting, “I do believe, I do believe, I do believe,” Garrison refuses to simply thrust tracts at these self-proclaimed infidels.
Instead, Garrison steels her pen and takes on the ungodly program of the New Atheists, skewering each argument with her sharp satiric wit. Garrison turns aside the atheists’ assault without ignoring its real criticisms, namely, the church’s inadequate response to war, evolution, medical ethics, social justice, and other important issues in the post-9/11 world.
This from Becky:
I penned The New Atheist Crusaders and Their Unholy Grail at the request of Thomas Nelson, who wanted a satirical response to a select group of best selling authors, who in my view seemed to be behaving as badly as their fundamentalist counterparts. Both sides presented a black and white view of the world that reduced centuries of Christian and scientific thinking into easily digestible and often inaccurate soundbites. Such exchanges may make for entertaining cable news programming but they fail to present an faithful depiction of the Christian faith.
Since the publication of this book I’ve have the privilege of dialoguing with thoughtful freethinkers in my discussions with people like Greg Epstein, author of Good without God (http://www.harvardhumanist.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=1&Itemid=30) and the Purple State of Mind (http://www.purplestateofmind.com) guys, as well as contributing regularly to Religion Dispatches (http://www.religiondispatches.org) and Killing the Buddha (http://killingthebuddha.com). I’ve found a group of folks, who decry the excesses of religious empires that threaten to demolish the wall separating church from state by siding with my ancestor Roger Williams, who coined the term “soul liberty” to denote the freedom of all to believe according to their own conscience. In addition, we acknowledge that religion and science can live in harmony without producing some faith based pseudo-science or a scientific world consists of cold hard facts that’s totally devoid of meaning. Also, we tend to roll our eyes at the latest biblical brands du jour albeit evangelical, prosperity gospel, power progressive, emergent, or New Monasticism that end up marketing certain missional mavericks as though they were the Messiah instead of following the living Christ.
What we share in common is a quest to explore what we share in common with our shared humanity in the hopes of addressing many of the concerns facing our world. My hope is that we can turn down the white noise of the New Atheists and then tune in to each other.
How can you get this great prize?
Becky thought this one up herself. This is her photo. Give it a caption. One winner will be picked.
Also-if you have questions about the book, or for Becky, leave them here, and she’ll reply. Fun, huh?
Awkward sign from Becky's trip to Canterbury Cathedral
