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A Tale of Two Books

Although I've mentioned various books I've read here from time to time, I'm pretty sure I haven't taken the time to review any of them here to any degree. But a couple new ones I picked up recently have dovetailed neatly together to blow my mind - one set me up, and the other knocked me down. Or, one knocked me down and other picked me back up. I'm still trying to figure it out.

Anyway, a few words (for me, at least), if I may....

Skye Jethani -- The Divine Commodity. For the uninitiated, Skye's managing editor for Leadership magazine, as well as the bloginator for the reasonably well-known Our of Ur (and, as it turns out, an Alliance guy, so I have a soft spot for him there too). This is his first book, and in it he uses Vincent Van Gogh as a fixed reference point to tear the modern American church a new one. Trust me, it works. (If y'r not familiar with Vinnie's bio, it's worth recollecting that he was a missionary before he became the world's most successful unsuccessful artist. Thus, Vinnie's theology gets a significant amount of play here, especially as it affects his art and the symbolism within.)

Anyway, Skye's stated appeal here is to bring the imagination -- and especially a sense of wonder - back into the church. And how the commoditization - or the Disneyfication, if you will (and I'll coin whatever I danged well want) -- of the church has largely destroyed sense of imagination and wonder. (Dang, T-Bone Burnett's "Hefney and Disney" was a good 25 years ahead of the curve on that one -- and one should well recall that T-Bone's grandfather was general secretary for the Southern Baptist Convention.)

Anyway-er, for me that cut both ways. Emphasis on "cut." My copy of the book's out on loan right now, for reasons that will be revealed soon enough, so I may come back and add to this later. But for now let me say that I find a lot of his accusations dead-on. There's a lot of talk about the use of "branding" here, and how that has not only seeped but become a full-blown flood in the church today. Chapter 3, where this is dealt with most explicitly, actually made me feel physically sick at times.

This conflictedness only got worse as I went on. Particularly as Skye launched into his invective about how much of the modern church -- or at least its best-known sectors -- have become preoccupied with "creating an experience." Megachurches are an easy target, and he takes his fair share of shots at them, but he doesn't hesitate to point out that the emerging church (and smaller churches copying certain popular "growth models," for that matter) is largely just as guilty and only gets off easier because it appeals to a smaller (yet no less targeted) market share.

OK, so let's come back to where this hurt personally. I work at a place where "experience" is a HUGE word. And in fact I think Skye's sense of imagination wouldn't object to and would probably very much advocate experiential learning (our very deliberately stated objective - and one I go out of my way to focus on in my own stuff). When Skye returns my e-mail, we'll know for sure.

That said, we HAVE often been guilty of trying to "create an experience" here. I know of projects right now entirely dedicated to that, in fact (and am thankful to not be involved with them). It doesn't help that Skye actually calls out one of our existing (albeit older) products by name.

Hopefully the above is evidence that, as Billy Martin used to say, I feel very strongly BOTH ways. Thus, I felt compelled to circulate this book at the executive level. While the jury's still out (it's still being read), the reactions so far have been both somewhat predictable and to an equal degree discouraging. And to the degree my suspicions turn out right, that's a shame.

That doesn't mean that Skye gets everything right here. Like the emergents he sometimes takes on here (and dialogues with to a much greater extent on Out of Ur), Skye's long on well-placed criticisms but a bit short on solutions. I won't give away the epilogue, besides saying 1) he nicely brings the book full-circle with it, and 2) I really wish he had brought more of that sensibility and attitude into the rest of the book, rather than pounding away at the problems, however justifiably and pointedly.

Nonetheless, even though it's way more arrows than healing balm, these are well-shot arrows. I came away both convinced and convicted. And wanting to do something about it. But WHAT?

And thus, The Divine Commodity only set the table. I needed the next book to deliver the meal. More than a little literally.

Christopher L. Heuertz -- Simple Spirituality. Forgive the ho-hum-how-many-more-books-can-we-TITLE-like-this-anyway-FCOL? title. And because of that, it didn't look that appealing when we picked it up at NPC, either. Nonetheless, Marion insisted we buy it for Amy because it's got an intro from Shane Claiborne. And as you may have already noticed, Shane has a lot of street cred in our house. (We even got him to sign Jesus for President while we were there, so we could give it to Amy for her 18th birthday.)

Anyway, Amy hasn't read this book yet, but now I have. And suffice to say, while the common adage around here is "Amy is her father's daughter," it's probably worth remembering that the reverse is true, too. I.e., I'm my daughter's father. In short, in God's twisted sense of humor, we probably DID really buy this one for me.

Basically, this book would be in near-complete agreement with The Divine Commodity, but it takes the exact opposite approach in addressing the problems. The criticisms, while occasionally underlying, are replaced by many, many stories of the author's visits to the "Majority World" (nice turning of the term "Third World" on it ear) countries, and his extensive work with his organization Word Made Flesh, which serves the poorest of the poor worldwide.

As Christopher Heuertz tells his stories, there's very little altruistic or noble in the accounts. Over and over, you see someone who's broken by what he sees - and who never gets used to the suffering he encounters -- and yet presses on, finding his own salvation in it. As he quotes Mother Teresa (whom both him & Shane had the opportunity to work side-by-side with at Nirmal Hriday), "The poor give us much more than we give them. They're such strong people, living day to day with no food. and they never curse, never complain. We don't have to give them pity or sympathy. We have so much to learn from them." This book brings that message home over and over.

Another quote of Mother Teresa's (in Shane's intro) sets the tone early on, "It is very fashionable to talk about the poor. Unfortunately it is not as fashionable to talk to the poor." This book is filled with that "talking to." In fact, despite the considerable work being done, more times than not we see more examples of the poor sharing their meals (if not giving them away) to Christopher than the reverse. And it never fails to devastate each time I read it.

And while the mission is toward the poor, it starts with the self. The overall structure of the book in fact revolves around five "simple" disciplines: Humility, Community, Simplicity, Submission, and Brokenness. And if you've already surmised that simple isn't easy, you're on the right track. This book reduced me to human rubble on a number of occasions. And hopefully that rubble can be used to build something better.

And again, this all has to start on a personal level before one can truly be of any greater use. And thus, the toughest part of all to read (but hopefully it will be obvious why I choose to reprint it openly on a personal blog) was this:

 "I would say that I'm a fairly transparent person. Ask me just about anything you want and I typically have no problem opening up the tender parts of my heart... But transparency isn't vulnerability...

For me, being vulnerable is much more difficult than being transparent. I have a hard time exposing the parts of me that can be wounded. Sure, I can share my feelings with someone, but it's tough for me to trust people with my feelings. It's not easy for me to put my needs out there and give someone a chance to reject them. And so what I usually do is work toward transparency as a distraction from my lack of vulnerability.

There's no submission in that. Submission is giving up oneself to the power of another; transparency isn't an act of submission so much as it is a preemptive strike - a self-protecting attempt to keep people at a safe distance. Transparency in this way becomes an attempt to protect and control. Submission is a celebration not of insipid acquiescence but of confident surrender. Submission is an opportunity to affirm our deep trust in God by allowing God to be in control as we resist the urge to assert ourselves as God."

Crap. (And not as in "That's a load of...." either.)

It can be easy to read all this and walk away. I don't want to do that. I think I have an idea where to go with this now. I don't want to get ahead of myself just yet, but I think things will begin unfolding big-time in the next month or so.

And I LOVE the way next month will start out. Although you've already gotten context clues on that, more to come soon. And perchance, some more music talk before then.

But right now, I'm feeling like the jerk from Jersey who couldn't wait to go on men's retreat (even though I'm heading away from the mountains this time around). I know that's not enough context, but it's enough to say that there's a HUGE sense of anticipation. And that's it's not just about recreating great music with old friends. Although I am (to employ a Dr. Cox-ism) re-he-HE-he-HEEEEEEEEEEALLY looking forward to that, too.

Posted by: burninglight at 20:31 | link | comments