Wading

So many people I know right now, most of whom I'm related to, are wading through murky waters of disillusionment with institutionalized church. And while I welcome this dialogue, even thrive on the potential that such disenchantment raises, I can't help but internally get a little panic-y and rant, "No! No! Don't be done with it! Don't give up." But then those who are ecclesially frustrated begin to relay a plethora of anecdotes that have taken place in the confines of the local church over years of service and ministry. Eventually the ignorance, frustration, and poor theology that is espoused in the stories only leaves me feeling a bit nauseated and fat, i.o.w., heavy hearted and sad right along with them. Dang! Why is that?! 

On a different, yet still related note, I listened to this fantastic podcast yesterday with my ole NPR buddy Krista interviewing a mother-turned-rabbi who was advising parents about the ways of inculcating spirituality in the life of their children. We are born with an innate awareness of a spirituality or mysticism that extends beyond ourselves and is part of the greater cosmos, the rabbi reports, that eventually prompts all/most young children to begin asking questions of their origin, along with reasons for pain and injustice in the world, tempered with more specific queries like 'who is God' and 'why should I believe in God.' (Not that any of that information is really all that new, just that I loved her response.) The rabbi says the point is not so much about answering our children's questions correctly, so much as it is about cultivating a vocabulary that promotes future dialogue about things spiritual and mystical. In a similar vain, I tend to agree with her when she espouses ways in which spirituality and a spiritual language is best developed and enhanced--not so much through our words or doctrine, but through our acts. (duh!) 

Even today in my philosophy class, we were discussing speech-act theory and how postmodern philosophers finally (almost) agree that language is performative. We don't know what a word means unless we understand the act that accompanies it. So, when I want to teach my children that injustice in the world is a problem, I hope that less then hearing me drone on ad infinitum about it, they will see me treating the homeless person with dignity, or we can together mourn over the loss of one of God's creatures when we see it on the side of the road, etc. 

And back to my initial point, is this one of the reasons so many of you are done with church in the modern sense of the word? Instead of having all of your doctrine well-articulated in a rational, uniform thought pattern (with words that have lost meanings), and instead of obeying the denominational "rules" about how one ought to conduct oneself in a given worship service or prayer meeting (with actions that are void of relevance), and instead of hounding members about their time availability and whether or not they are going to tithe 10%, why do our churches not embrace more radically the mystical elements of life with God? Why do we not less about indubitable faith propositions and more about intense questions of divine immanence and intervention, or how to live as community in American suburbia, and the list goes on? I, too, am tired of churches getting lost in the translation of what it means to be church. 

And as I debate denominational affiliation these days (more to come on that later), I find myself caught in the --dare I use the word 'trap'-- of going through the motions myself, of doing church the same old way. And for what, just to call myself "ordained," or is it because ordained pastoral ministry really is an authentic representation of church, i.e. family of God representing Christ to the world? hmmm. (Sorry if this sounds too cynical; I hope my message isn't hidden too far beneath it. I'm mostly just wondering.)

Immanent God, Intervening God: A Semantic Matter or Not?

I have been so hands-off of this topic for most of my seminary career; funny how it comes up in what is one of my last three classes before graduation this June--Anglo-American Postmodern Philosophy. (and yes! you read that correctly...I'm graduating in a few months!!) How does God speak? Does God speak? Is God a being who intervenes and if so, for what purposes? Or is our universe a modern, enlightened, rational, well-oiled machine that has been set in motion by a great Creator in the beginning and only left to its own workings and happenings so many billions of years later, i.e. today? 

I sort of imagine that last concept like one of those old fashioned toy tops where a kid yanks a string with force to send the top whirling across the table on its own volition and where it stops, nobody knows...not even God. The past few months, or years maybe, I have been moving progressively left in most of my theological suppositions. The ways in which I relate to God are more and more "liberal" as I wean myself off of tidy evangelism for a more hodgepodge of practical understandings of discipleship. But the movement of God in the world is one bit that I want to keep dusting off over and over so as to keep it pristine and easy.  

Thanks to liberals like Schleiermacher, I'm all about God being present in the Eucharist insofar as it is a gathering of God's children, as we all are created in God's image and  bearers of the Holy Spirit. I'm fine stopping there on this trajectory. A few stops too early on the theological tracks for my conservative brothers and sisters. What is more, I tend to veer away from the idea that God's miracles come to us in trite manifestations for our own edification. (I'm going to leave that vague for now as well.) Okay, so maybe it isn't as squeaky clean as I thought. In this way, God's presence traces back to the community for me. 

On the other hand (grab your dust cloth now), I cannot forsake the idea of a God who intervenes in our lives for the benefits of others who have yet to experience life in the kingdom of God. Isn't that what the incarnation was all about--God coming down so that we might have love | joy | peace? (There is a great Mennonite chorus we sing about this.)  I want to think that we are not on a conveyor belt like at the Toyota plant where everything is set in motion and cars are built whether or not the president of the company is present. God is not our CEO, and I am not an employee in the modern company pushing my way forward to grab a seat at the conference table in order to get a word in edgewise with the director. I regret that our modern liberalism has, in effect, worked us out of our own need for a present, immanent, redeeming God who still participates in the manifestations of what it means to be human and alive. Nor do I see God, however, as this little angel on my right shoulder arranging life so that my every want will be supplied. How consumerist is that?

So I had to write a brief reflection paper the other day on how this affects my prayer life. Do I pray for cures from disease? Cessation to genocide? Quick fixes and instant satisfaction? Isn't this a rebuttal against the ideas of free will and systemic evil? If God is going to immediately interrupt the transmission of AIDS, how does this not limit our response to God? (And won't skeptics like the Brites and other atheists ascribe it to modern science anyway?) Instead, would it not be more theologically astute/correct to ask for God to give grace and presence and peace to those suffering with AIDS while also asking for people who have resources to educate others about the prevention of AIDS to respond to a "call" to the need for this education? Like joining the Peace Corps?! Instead of praying for California voters to wake up and make gay rights legal over night, is it not more appropriate to ask God to interact in ways that awaken people to the need for more protests, education, and interaction with the issue so they can see up close and personal the bigotry that our current legal system promotes? I think the difference that I am trying to articulate is this:

Rather than God intervening in our world from the high heavens above (whatever the hell that means), God immanently exists from within all of us and from within all situations. In this way, (go ahead and lambaste me all you scientists) God, through the power of the Holy Spirit, calls us, provokes us, and leads us to ministerially (is that a word) respond and be present in the world in a way that benefits the good of the whole--not just ourselves (a.k.a. poor, pitiful, me--perhaps a syndrome to which only rich westerners are subject). Anyway, this makes sense for me right now. God gets to be bigger, albeit a bit more elusive, yet at the same time, still mystically present in the mundane of life while directing the whole of the cosmos for the blessing of all humankind. It is allowing me to pray on a personal level again because I do not have to be overly consumed with seeking the results of my prayers as they only pertain to me or my family or my situation in life. I can pray for my kids to get over their colds now so that they can be a blessing to the world in the ways that God created them to be, and free from the ways in which their colds were hindering this. In this way, it's not just about them leaving snot all over the cuff of their shirt and me being grossed out by it and wanting the laundry pile to stop being so insurmountable. I think God is more concerned with things other than my laundry, but I want to believe that God is totally concerned with whether or not my children are fully engaging in the world around them. 

Is this ridiculous? Am I just hanging on to this idea of God in the world so I can sleep better at night? Am I working too hard to keep the belief dust-free? Or do I need to let go of it completely like all those other liberals out there whom I so respect? Can someone please pass the Pledge? I need to get this idea dusted off.

Only this is worthy of a blog after a six month break

Sheer Awesomeness.

Book Report 4, Part B

Chapter 4.
If the church is to fulfill its mission on the planet as a sign and servant of God's kingdom, then it must yearn for renewal not as an end in itself but in order to bear witness in the world with increased comprehensiveness, clarity, and credibility (106).

I love Eddie Gibbs because of statements like this. There is so much freedom here to move in creative, culturally astute ways so that the church can respond to the needs of people in ways that will freshen their experiences in life and allow God to transcend it. And with such an imperative, Gibbs also cautions and reminds us that we live in a world still awaiting its final consummation and fulfillment in the second coming (whatever that means!), and in the meantime we operate as people continually in need of redemption and reconciliation (107). As a result of living in process, so too, the church ought to always be in process, seeking out this same reconciliation as she creaks like a wooden attic with old age and morphs like a butterfly into new realities. The practical steps of resolution that Gibbs offers church leaders in this chapter exacerbate the point that nominality is present everywhere, even in extremely vibrant faith communities. (Are there nominal new monastics yet?) I loved the portion of this chapter dedicated to the commitment level of the senior pastor (122). I hurt so badly for churches without a vision, floundering along because they are either too concerned with self-preservation or because they are simply exhausted from the grind of serving the world. Gibbs highlights the importance of motivating people for service by reminding them of their God-given abilities and giftedness for such a purpose. I am glad this is addressed.

Chapter 5.
Those who are "spiritually disenfranchised" as a result of geographic relocation or the city church bearing less of a physical presence (when compared to the large mega-church out in the suburbs) does not stir up feelings of sensitivity and mercy in me (133). How is that for some good ole pastoral compassion? (Note the sarcasm I'm employing on myself please!) I found myself very curious about this chapter and those that followed on my initial read-through because Gibbs wanted to address the concerns around pluralism and secularization in urban America as they relate to nominality (133). These seem like issues that if the church could more holistically embrace, it could better minister to nominality rather than perpetuate it, at least in a post-modern framework. The conversation about rapid urban-industrialization, to suburban commodification and development (143-149), and how the church that was lost in the transitions fascinated me because of the ways in which she was constantly unable to maintain pace with her evolving society. So again, the church misses many opportunities to minister to people because it could not translate the gospel message into a modern dialect. As a result, the churches fled to the suburbs with the workers and families. For this reason,

Inner-city ministry demands an incarnational approach by people who are prepared to identify long-term with the community...the most effective years of a person's ministry do not begin until the fourth to seventh year. That figure is extended to ten years in the case of those pastoring in the inner city. And not infrequently it takes ten years in order to begin to make a significant impact...credibility has to be established by making it clear that the leader is there as a matter of calling and choice and is committed for the 'long haul'" (153).

Yet the possibilities are endless if this commitment is made and achieved. This is why movements like New Monasticism, the New Friars, and intentional communities are so invigorating and "successful."

Chapter 6.
The process by which Christians have become a "cognitive minority," that is, a marginalized, theistically thinking group of oddballs, is as follows: 1) relativization, 2) privatization, 3) marginalization, 4) trivialization, 5) commercialization, and 6) sanitization (178-182). While I will not take the time here to define each of these terms again, I will note that the consequences of these steps has encouraged evangelicals to continue with a divide between their public and private domains. So that, when we read the Beatitudes, rather than exegeting them as actual rules for a new community, i.e. the kingdom of God, instead we read them as lovely platitudes reserved for a few elite members of the faith to uphold in solidarity for the rest of us, i.e. monks and nuns. Something tells me Jesus had more of a general populace in mind when he shared his wisdom in a sermon on that particular mount one day so long ago. In this way, just as the first century Jews of Jesus' day found themselves among a transcendent guy who offered a counter-intuitive message that seemed a contradiction to their rulers and powers (197), so too, today, the same transcendent Lord gives divine experiences to those of us in search of meaning. Therefore, how much more is God willing to guide our communities as we extend grace and forgiveness to one another in the name of Christ?

Chapter 7.
This section of the book deals sympathetically and effectively with concerns regarding American religious pluralism. How do churches who have turned inward and grown into a private enclave of like-minded people open themselves again to new people and ideas in such away that promotes a kingdom agenda? Gibbs affirms that this change must take place if the American church hopes to survive amongst so much spiritual fanfare (200). Multiculturalism seems a huge area that many churches struggle to embrace (205). I hope to research more, at some future point, how churches can better embrace their own urban, American, (fill-in-the-blank) identity, yet still seek to incorporate and warmly welcome new cultural traditions and expressions of following Jesus into their overall identity in Christ. So, to answer my earlier question at the start of this post, in my opinion, Gibbs does well to highlight the ways in which pluralism has contributed to nominality, in so far as it is a reason that churches have grown introverted and fearful. This traces me back to my original thought as well, that if congregants could be taught and offered a vision contrary to this fetal position of protection and learn to open their hands of inclusivity, without denying their Jesus-label, then pluralism seems like it could minister greatly to nominality. I do not think I am being too naive here, or too liberal. And while I still want to uphold Gibbs' idea that we need to promote absolutes in the church (chapter 6), I also appreciate and affirm his idea that just as all religions have elements of Truth, so too, they come to us with elements "of a human...nature" (236). If we could readily embrace this, we would be forced to see the gray areas of spirituality, the ambiguity of faith, the mystical parts of God's character, with greater depth. I hope to continue moving in this direction without losing Jesus' impact as I move forward in ministry.

Chapter 8.
At the risk of sounding more critical and negative than I intend, this chapter is perhaps the most out-of-date. However, I still think there is much to glean from it as well. For example consider, "Many leaders are still unable to hear and face up to [the] challenge to rethink their strategies to engage an unchurched culture" (241). Won't this always be true regardless of extenuating, cultural circumstances? Gibbs goes on to underline the danger of church leadership focusing too heavily on programs to the neglect of felt needs (245-246). Again, this will always be a relevant caution, even for those communities who live together, serve together, and raise their kids together. Right?

Finally, Gibbs notes that we need to not be obsessed with an increase in membership more than we are with growing people into more mature disciples of Christ (247). He surmises that a focus only on numbers is detrimental because it refuses to acknowledge that we no longer live in a "churched-culture" (247). I agree. However, (and warning, here comes feminist-Lauren, not that I am apologizing for it), I want to add to that idea that perhaps it is because most of American evangelical and mainline churches up until recently have been led by white males on a quest for power in a country where bigger is always better. I wonder if this temptation to judge our ecclesial success by membership quota and sanctuary size would not so much be the case if the church would have been hearing from women longer? (Perhaps this conjecture is unfair seeing that we will never know the answer. On the other hand, female pastors today are still pulled in more directions than men with all of the familial, vocational, and social hats they must wear in order to do all of their jobs well. So there is little time for touring, book writing, marketing, and church growth workshops that so many men attend. Is this too genderfied...maybe? I realize there are always exceptions.)

In closing, this work has empowered me to confess that nominality still exists in the twenty-first century, and it is enough of a concern that we ought to address it. In order to respond, I hope to continue searching for a rhetoric and new language pieces that will help me articulate the elements of nominality that I hope to address in my own parish ministry as God leads.

P.S. I love Barbara Brown Taylor.

Book Report 4, Part A

Eddie Gibbs' book, In Name Only: Tackling the Problem of Nominal Christianity was originally published in 1994. In other words, it is a bit dated. However, there is somewhat of a void in more recent publications on this issue in the church, one that seems to be for various reasons. Even in the first sentence of the introduction to this weighty work Gibbs notes that any discussion of nominality comes with "hesitancy, recognizing at the outset that it is a subject fraught with problems" (13). He defines nominality as those people who "identify themselves with a cause, but without becoming actively involved" (13). They are associated in name only. One problem I foresee with this as it relates to both the definition and the date of publication is that it assumes a cultural standpoint that no longer exists. Many individuals who may have experienced a connection with God or the church at one point or another in their lives may return to church as a member at a later date out of obligation, in search of a moral authority, or for another reasons like their children, since attending church is a cultural practice. On the contrary, this does not seem to be the case anymore (unless you live in the Southern United States). Many people, many of my friends actually, have decided that regardless of their parents' involvement and/or their own childhood involvement with a local parish, regular church attendance is no longer relevant or necessary for them to live out any sort of faith expression authentically. Now, the power of choice and whether or not an individual wants to go to church trumps cultural obligations which state that a spiritual person should attend church. Having stated that, for the sake of conversation with the text, I will assume that nominality is a relevant concern. (In fact, it is still an issue; I am just in search of new language to talk about it...one of the reasons I signed up for this class.)

Chapter 1.
The Lausanne definition of nominality that is offered presents a fascinating study from an evangelical perspective, like Gibbs notes (22). I especially appreciate his insight that it addresses the nominal individual's continued familiarity with orthodox language, while at the same time addressing the inward reality that he/she may not be able to define that orthodoxy (23). Moreover, without this knowledge then, the individual struggles to practically embrace their orthodoxy in any sort of daily living. I would go on to argue that this may account for the large disconnect that exists in the lives of many evangelical Christians between what they pray, sing, and preach on Sunday mornings verses how they live during the week, careless of the environment, dysfunctional in their relationships, and insecure about their inward commitments to God. As the diagrams and charts display the growing and waning of religiosity in a congregant's life, they are focused on whether or not that person attends services. However, is not the act of growing as a disciple more than just Sunday morning worship? (Again, this is a factor that could be addressed in a revised addition of this book, I think. I want there to be other criteria for assessing nominality outside of regular attendance to services. Then again, maybe this is more about me. I skip church frequently but do not consider myself nominal.)

Chapter 2.
This portion of the book offered me hope and insight. Identifying the insecurity that the second generation of desert-dwelling Israelites must have possessed as they awaited entry into the Promise Land (47) enabled me to locate my own insecurities on 1) a macro-level as a pastor called to serve people in the midst of our own cultural shift from one generation to the next, and on 2) a micro-level as I am called to leave the suburbs and head back to the city for ministry. Transition is risky business, and like Gibbs notes with the Israelites, unfamiliar circumstances lead to feelings of exceptional vulnerability and even isolation (47-48). The breadth of this chapter is amazing. It is enlightening to consider the myriad of ways that the biblical characters dealt with their own culturally relevant issues of nominality. For the same reason that I love my church history classes, this chapter normalized for me all the troubles of the church and the fits that come with syncretism--serving another master besides God. What is more, when Gibbs writes, "Inconsistency and hypocrisy in the life of the professing Christian do not immediately relegate that person to the state of nominality," I sighed in relief. Keeping your worship singular in focus and your vitality for service always ignited is tricky business, and one we are not prone to do successfully all the time. I like the idea that even in times of our own bifurcated existences, we can still be dedicated to the things of life that are worthy.

Chapter 3.
As if Gibbs was reading my mind and understanding the the queries that the previous chapter held for me, he writes:

When the church exists in isolation from society, there is a tendency for broader social issues not to be addressed, with the result that the church member is not adequately equipped to bear witness in the world. Furthermore, the layperson is often left to struggle in isolation, bereft of a supportive fellowship which understands the pressures he or she has to face. It is little wonder that so many people live 'schizophrenic' lives, operating by one set of presuppositions and principles in the church and home and by a different set of standards in the workplace (73).

For so long the church has taught her people that "the world" is a sinful and evil place, unworthy of our attention. It is diluted with angry people and fraught with cynicism. If we want to stay true to our Christian principles, be wary of the world. Unfortunately, this makes for a terribly bifurcated world, a place where the sacred and secular do not mingle. I believe in the opposite. I want to see God at work everywhere, and I believe that there is no place that God cannot and will not go. In this vain, should not the church be univocally promoting a message of love--love for your friends in the work place just as you love your neighbors at church? Perhaps then we would not feel such a strong us-vs.-the world mentality, and we would better be able to embrace not only those who do not share our religious convictions, but also those who at one time did, but have decided to release those once common beliefs. Gibbs accurately relies on rather caustic words when describing the rejection of church by nominal Christians: They say that churches are "cold, abrasive, and judgmental" (81), "insensitive and overaggressive" (82), along with "culturally irrelevant" (84). What would happen if instead, there was an offering of love? If I ever stop asking that question, then I will probably be done with the church myself!

Book Report 3, Part B

Bessenecker opens chapter six by delving into the parable of the sheep and the goats of Matthew 25. I have looked at this parable significantly over the last quarter or so of my education here at Fuller. I appreciate all that Bessenecker added to my thoughts on it. But what is more, it is immensely helpful in this work when he attaches personal encounters with people that are mirrors of the gospel message he is preaching. The story of St. Patrick that is interwoven into this chapter on the brokenness and frailty of the human existence, even among the new friars is inspiring and hopeful. In this way, efforts by the new friars to "embrace the messiness of community" seems realistic and possible (105).

Chapter seven touches on a touchy subject, common possessions. He writes, "There is something about intertwining our lives with others to the extent that possessions or space or time are held in common that offends Western sensibilities" (107). His use of the verb, "offends" connotes several strong images in my mind when I make a concerted effort digest this comment. I think he is correct. How, in our fragmented, suburban, fenced in, well lit lifestyles have we become so isolated and individualistic, both in our piety and sociability that we are offended by the mere idea of community to such a degree as this? I realize the answer to that question is fairly complex, and outside the parameters of this book report; still, he raises an important question, one that other writers of Christian simplicity like Richard Foster and Ronald Sider have also asked. If the rich sacrifice their opulence, are there enough resources in the world to satisfy us all adequately (108)? The quest of the new friars to lay aside American privatization and individuality for the sake of community relationships (including the grief and loss that accompanies impoverished areas) has led them to "relational wealth"--a concept shallow suburbia will never be able to understand, much less emulate (118).

Bessenecker offers a phrase that I want to adapt, "cocoons of familiarity" (127). As Tyler and I discuss what it will mean for the safety of our family to move into the ghetto, or at least a lower-class, urban area, we recognize with Bessenecker that the "pursuit of God's kingdom is a powerfully motivating force" even as it is "fraught with discomfort, failure, sickness, discouragement, and danger...leading us out of our cocoons of familiarity" (127). I am a firm believer that it is more dangerous to ignore the call of God on our lives than it is to pave a way to make that same call a reality.

As he near the close of his book he begins a discussion about how those who minister to the marginalized are bound to set themselves up for rejection. I do not find this all that intimidating, perhaps I am merely being naive. But is this not part of my denominational past, as a current Anabaptist, and also part of the larger Christian past, especially before Constantine? Finding my place in the meta-narrative of Christianity means coming to terms with disengagement with the empire and the ruling elite. This is why this point of new monasticism is so appealing to me, I guess.

In the concluding chapter he quotes the World Bank, "the late 20th century will go down in world history as a period of global impoverishment marked by the collapse of productive systems in the developing world, the demise of national institutions and the disintegration of health and educational programmes" (157). What a time for ministers of the gospel to practice the incarnation and offer the good news that the kingdom of God is near! This is why environmental conservation coupled with sustainable farming and other green practices in our homes has become paramount in our efforts to offer resources to the poor; otherwise, we will soon rid ourselves of the resources that the rich currently take for granted. In this way, Bessenecker ushers in a call to all of us when he writes, "the poor suffer most when the earth suffers, and the earth is in bad shape at the moment" (159). So as we move forward in an effort to "embrace marginalization" as followers of Christ, let us also shake our fists at unjust regimes, share our prayers with the hurting and impoverished, and live together under the hut of God's love.

Book Report 3, Part A

Written by Scott Bessenecker, an employee of InterVarsity Christian Fellowship/USA, this book describes the ways in which a sect of Christianity is making efforts to reconnect with the world's poor by mimicking the work of particular monastic legends, like St. Francis of Assisi and St. Patrick. These Christians confess that "God's plan was to keep the gap between rich and poor small...because both [the rich and the poor] deserve the dignity of sufficiency" (43). It is an admirable feat in my opinion, to turn one's "back on the 'American Dream' and a life of conspicuous consumption" in order to turn, instead, to God's dream of "simplicity and compassion" (13). I find very interesting his readiness to admit that the church often loses her emotional vigor with the onset of new movements and subsequently dies, and has died several times throughout the ages of her past and present (16). This in part is why I have been suspect of New Monasticism, I suspect? Who is to say this is more than another bandwagon effort to renew the church and keep her relevant in a culture obsessed with improvement? But Bessenecker goes on to say that this movement is different in that it comes on the cusp of many new developments and stems not from a position of power and influence, but with a grassroots mentality appropriated through equal leadership of service. I am inspired by the plethora of organizations and churches he names who are engaged in this work of serving the poor as the poor throughout the world.

As he began chapter 2 recalling his experiences in the slums of Ho Chi Minh City, I was drawn back to my experiences in Dhaka and Rajshahi, Bangladesh. The corrugated-tin walled houses, covered with thatch roofs, stacked above sewage, stinking of stale air, and packed full of families line the city streets this country. The people are beautiful and in great need. They lack not only the resources for solid education, but frequently the ability to attend the schools or places of employment that are available to them as well. It is yet another example of the "poverty you cannot break out of" (29). I like the bold statement, "So long as there is someone desperate enough to work for a dollar or two a day, there is someone else willing to exploit that labor for those of us who just want a cheap pair of jeans" (33). This is harrowing and honest. It forces us to deal with a personal issue on a corporate level. How can changing our own behaviors in the mundane of daily living affect for better the living conditions of the poor, especially those who dwell in the developing world? I believe strongly that decisions like refusing to offer our patronage to large (and evil?) corporate chains like Walmart is a small contribution. However, this simple act still does not connect us with the poor themselves, and it seems to be Bessenecker's argument that first and foremost we must in engage with the poor on a personal level before we can fully recognize the enormous amount of changing we must do ourselves in order to lessen their plight (35-36).

The "pull forces" of poverty are those that contribute to a generational cycle of "destitution and the intractability of the most desperate forms of poverty" (44). They reside in our cultures (44), our personal approaches to the issues of poverty (49), are are being disengaged through the work of spiritual forces like the new friars (54). However, his discussion of the forces of evil that manifest themselves so readily in the lives of the homeless and poor bring to the surface a theological question that I am working through right now. He notes that issues like drug addiction, emotional resignation, greed, prostitution, and sweatshops are "things dreamed up in hell..." (56-57). Yet, I want to believe that even in the midst of deplorable sweatshop conditions, God can still find room in there to work with and minister to the young women making gym shoes for Nike in Indonesia at some nine cents an hour. If we insinuate that these hellacious conditions are only from hell, (and I am not sure if he means that literally or metaphorically), then does that negate any potential for the incarnation to be present even in such horrid spaces? Is not hell the absence of the presence of God? All this to say, while I am very willing to confess that issues and places such as these are evil and the result of systemic injustices embedded deep within our cultural milieu, I am not comfortable saying that they are from hell. I want to believe in the power of redemption, and to me, hell negates that power.

Bessenecker uses a powerful word to describe one of the purposes of the incarnation, "solidarity" (60). Simply stated he writes, "There is something about living with a group of people that changes the dynamic of a relationship" (60). As I was speaking with a friend the other day about my desire to live in an urban environment among the poor she noted that a pastor friend of hers in a similar position said that it is not difficult to give up all the stuff--the new ipod or cool jeans or flat screen tv's. The part that is difficult in living with the poor is figuring out how to minister to them. I have been pondering this heavily ever since she shared it with me. This is what Jesus mastered! He gave up life enthroned with God to take on the likeness of humanity, and he ministered to them by serving them, dying for them, and paving the way for them to receive the great paraklete. Bessenecker argues that this is what those who live in voluntary poverty are doing as well (65).

Chapter 5 discusses this concept of incarnational ministry through poverty more intimately by bringing to light the power games that are ignored when both the minister and recipient of ministry are economic equals. "When the poor see 'outsiders' [those who rejected a status of privilege] subject to the very same conditions and realities under which they are suffering, something very powerful emerges in the nature of the relationship" (76). This leads me to rethink some of my earlier critiques of new monasticism. I am negotiating the lines between living with the poor as opposed to being impoverished as well. Many members of new monastic communities continue on with their white collar jobs, which are the result of many years of expensive educations, while their fellow community members might also continue in their minimum wage paying blue collar positions barely making ends meet. Is this acceptable with the presence of a common purse? Are there not still power-plays at work? Basically, I want to practically know what this looks like. Bessenecker has helped me articulate finally some more of these questions. He writes, "Intractable poverty is evil" (80). And as a means of combating this evil, Jesus precipitated the coming of the kingdom of God, a kingdom that is present to all, even in the slums, even in aids-ravaged villages, and even to people who are plagued with mental illness and abandoned on skid row. But they can only know of this kingdom if those who bear it live with them (80). This is a very powerful statement, one that is changing my life right now as a result of reasons beyond my control. So that, when he closes the chapter with the following statement, I cannot subdue the quickening in my heart beat:

But with a compulsion to incarnate the gospel among the bottom of the human food chain comes also a quest for devotion and spirituality that is hard to achieve in a life of material overabundance. Following Christ in his example of downward mobility brings a kind of intimacy and identification with the Savior that can be experienced in few other ways (84). Wow.