~ Roger Olson

As I pointed out in the first post of this series, the center of evangelicalism is collapsing. Countless evangelical Christians are moving to the left or to the right. Namely, they are moving toward liberalism or they are moving toward high church or low church traditions. They are moving toward individualism or communitarianism.

In this post, we will briefly survey the four major streams within evangelicalism with an eye to Christians in their 20s, 30s, and 40s – often called Mosaics and Busters or Generation X and Generation Y (Millennials).

My analysis is based on what I’ve observed in my extensive travels worldwide, speaking in a variety of conferences represented by the different streams (wherein I’ve interacted with the other speakers and attendees), and corresponding with thousands of evangelical Christians in their 20s, 30s, and 40s.

Like anything else, there are always exceptions, overlaps, and sub-groups that don’t fit neatly into these four evangelical streams. So don’t regard this survey as an exact science. Yet based on my observation and experience, what follows are the four largest and most influential streams within evangelical Christianity today that are populated mostly by people in their 20s, 30s, and 40s. The characteristics I’ve outlined below represent the tendencies of most of the people within each stream.

Note that the labels I’m using are simply handles I created to communicate intelligibly about the subject. They are necessary for distinguishing each stream from one another. However, they do not represent any denomination or formal tribe. And they shouldn’t be used to denominate any particular individual.

The four streams are . . .

Stream 1: The Systematizers

* political: tend to be on the right.

* appeal: drawn to propositional truths; seek strong discipline and order in their daily lives.

* search: in quest for theological certainty. Systematizing truth in both thought and life attracts them.

* identification: populates much of the “New Reformed/Calvinist” movement. There is a great deal of theological uniformity within this stream.

* reach: very large online presence; above average on-the-ground presence.

Stream 2: The Activists

*political: tend to be on the left.

*appeal: drawn to causes.

*search: bettering people’s living conditions. Attracted to social causes like acts of mercy, social justice, helping the poor, caring for the environment, etc.

* identification: populates much of “the Emergent Church Conversation,” the “New Monasticism,” and a segment of “the Missional Church Movement.” There is a great deal of theological diversity within this stream.

*reach: above average on-line presence; above average on-the-ground presence.

Stream 3: The Emoters

* political: tend to be on the right.

* appeal: drawn to supernatural encounters.

* search: demonstrations of the miraculous; the healing of emotional wounds.

* identification: populates much of the contemporary “Charismatic Movement” in all of its forms. Strong emphasis on restoring the supernatural: signs, wonders, casting out of demons, healing, etc. and what God will do in the future in terms of revival and miracles. There is significant theological uniformity and diversity within this stream.

*reach: weak online presence; very large on-the-ground presence.

All three streams are part of mainstream Christianity. Consequently, each stream has been featured in the voices of establishment (popular) Christian magazines and e-zines.

Each stream holds conferences that receive wide publicity, being advertised in establishment Christianity magazines and e-zines.

Each stream can be viewed as emphasizing mind, will, and emotion (the three parts of the human soul) respectively in their approach to God. (Systematizers emphasize the mind; Activists emphasize the will; Emoters emphasize the emotion.)

The fourth stream flies under the radar of establishment Christianity because it is not part of it. Yet it’s just as large as the other three streams.

Stream 4: The Beyond Evangelicals

*politically: tend to be apolitical, believing that the local ekklesia (body of Christ) is the newpolis and the kingdom of God is the true government. Beyond that, their political positions are enormously diverse.

*appeal: believe that there has to be something more to Christ and the church than what the first three streams present.

*search: discovering and displaying Jesus Christ in authentic, deep, and profound ways.

*identification: Most have come out of one of the other three streams. They belong to no particular movement, tribe, or denomination. And they do not belong to any single expression of church. “Beyond Evangelicals” can be found in all church forms and structures.

“Beyond Evangelicals” are not seeking a theological system (stream 1). Concepts and ideas don’t appeal to them. They are seeking spiritual reality. They view Scripture as fully inspired and true, but approach it as a narrative rather than a system of propositional ideas.

“Beyond Evangelicals” are not seeking any specific cause (stream 2). Religious duty doesn’t appeal to them. They view “good works” as being the natural outflow of living by Christ. They regard pursuing Jesus Christ and seeking causes that are related to Him as being two different things.

“Beyond Evangelicals” are not seeking a supernatural experience (stream 3). They believe that the emotions (as well as the mind and will) can either reflect or hinder the work of the Spirit. One’s feelings are not synonymous with the Spirit’s leading. Miraculous demonstrations don’t appeal to them either, unless they supremely unveil and glorify Jesus Christ.

“Beyond Evangelicals” are in pursuit of a Person above and beyond ideas (stream 1), activities (stream 2), or feelings (stream 3). They emphasize God’s work in and throughthe human spirit, and believe that mind, will, and emotion are to be governed by the Holy Spirit.

“Beyond Evangelicals” want to know Jesus Christ in reality and in the depths. Yet they aren’t quietists or passive mystics. Outward activity is important, but it’s like fruit falling off a tree. It’s the natural result of living by the life of Christ.

Beyond Evangelicals are evangelical Christians who emphasize four key themes:

• The centrality and supremacy of the Lord Jesus Christ.
• Living by the indwelling life of Christ.
• Experiencing church as a Christ-centered, shared-life community.
• Living for the eternal purpose of God.

Despite the fact that this fourth stream is largely ignored by mainstream Christianity at the present time, it is growing and becoming more visible.

The common link that ties all four streams together is this: Each group believes that classic evangelical Christianity is inadequate. It has failed to give robust answers to their most serious theological questions and depth to their deepest spiritual longings.

More to come in the next part of the series . . .

FRANK VIOLA is a popular conference speaker and the best-selling author of numerous books on the deeper Christian life, including “Revise Us Again,” “From Eternity to Here,” “Epic Jesus,” and “Jesus Manifesto” (co-authored with Leonard Sweet). His blog, “Beyond Evangelical,” is rated as one of the most popular in Christian circles today: www.frankviola.org

If you wish to comment on this post, please post it directly on www.frankviola.org

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For any artist who produces an initial smash hit, the next work they produce is typically a yawner (few exceptions so noted).

After releasing his initial smash hit, unChristian – What a New Generation Really Thinks About Christianity – And Why It Matters: David Kinnaman honestly performs the unimaginable….he crafts a follow-up You Lost Me: Why Young Christians Are Leaving Church and Rethinking Faith that’s at least as fine as his initial release. NO KIDDING!

In unChristian, Kinnaman states: “We can’t change what we are known for unless we change how we live.” (p. 231). The thesis in You Lost Me is basically summed up in the following:

“We are at a critical point in the life of the North American church; the Christian community must rethink our efforts to make disciples. Many of the assumptions on which we have built our work with young people are rooted in modern, mechanistic , and mass production paradigms. Some (though not all) ministries have taken cues from the assembly line, doing everything possible to streamline the manufacture of shiny new Jesus-followers, fresh from the factory floor. But disciples cannot be mass produced. Disciples are handmade – one relationship at a time.” (pp.12-13).

Based upon an avalanche of significant research, Kinnaman observes on page 15, “As a faith community we need a whole new mind (emphasis is mine) to see that the way we develop young people’s faith – the way we have been teaching them to engage the world as disciples of Christ—is inadequate for the issues concerns and sensibilities of the world we ask them to change for God.”

WOW! Read the excerpt in the paragraph above AGAIN….This is Earth shaking stuff…this is an 8.0 on the established religious landscape Richter Scale. Kinnaman’s book reveals that a wholesale readjustment – if not outright reinvention of the way disciples of Jesus Christ are formed in North America! Holy religious industry tsunami Batman!

Yet the fault lines that Kinnaman uncovers effect a far broader population than simply those who inhabit the terra-firma above the chasms – they require a wholesale relocation from each and every generation who claim the name of Christ….no matter how comfortably you might find your current abode. Translation: You cannot avoid the essential change by simply moving to some higher, moral or spiritual ground. No, the essential changes Kinnaman defines are going to require courage to ask new, bold and challenging questions regarding discipleship, youth ministry and gauging ongoing, authentic spiritual transformation in Christ. They are going to threaten the foundations of established programs, power structures, processes – as well as the people who currently have a vested interest in “maintaining things just the way they are.”

This is NOT a book that simply focuses on what I refer to as “the ship-wrecked” – the obvious deficiencies that inhabit Christian leadership, relationship, apprenticeship, fellowship, eldership etc. No,  this book is focused solidly on the quality of Christian craftmanship – the ability to form disciples of Jesus – whose beliefs and behaviors are deep, enduring, and transformational throughout the lifetime of the disciple – and the positive, biblical impact they are capable of imparting to others and the world around them.

This book is about  ownership – owning up to the fact that our workmanship  on behalf of the God we claim to worship – is in need of evaluation and change. It’s going to require that Christendom re-read the instruction manual, examine long-held assumptions, assess resources, delivery systems – and personnel. As Kinnaman says, it’s going to require a “whole new mind” regarding discipleship. Translation: Change is desperately needed at this time.

The veracity of the facts laid out in You Lost Me are unassailable. The changes outlined by Kinnaman are informed and should provide the basis for essential reparations to an apparatus whose output of “more of the same” does not honor the God we worship.

It took a lot of guts and angst to write this book. It’s going to take the same to implement the reality that its prophetic message requires.

Take ownership – for the sacred quality of the craftsmanship of those we have the privilege to be a part of forming – with the God we claim to worship.

Your first step is to BUY THIS BOOK!

Bill Dahl and Reggie

Bill Dahl is a freelance writer and award winning photographer. He is the Author, Creator and Editor of The Porpoise Diving Life (dot com). He is a commentator on faith and culture in America. He is published in numerous professional publications, journals, magazines, e-zines, websites, newspapers and newsletters.   His bio link is here.

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As I was reflecting on this idea recently, I thought of the line below from a 1973 episode of Sanford and Son. It’s an exchange between “entrepreneur” (a.k.a., junk dealer) Fred Sanford (played by Redd Foxx), and his bible-thumping, purse-slinging sister-in-law, Esther Anderson (played by Lawanda Page) that takes place when she comes to bail Fred out of jail.¹

Esther: Fred Sanford, I’m glad my sister didn’t live to see the stain you’ve bought on this family.

Fred: Esther, I didn’t put no stain on your family. Your family was stained when I met y’all… Every time a baby was born, they had that ugly stain on them. That’s right! That ugly stain! Even AJAX couldn’t do nothing for it.

It struck me that Fred’s sentiment, while somewhat irreverent, could be describing our annual preparations for Christmas. This time of year we get out our “AJAX” (whether literal or figurative) and “scrub and scrub” and try to get everything looking pristine and perfect for Christmas. But no matter how hard we try, we can’t attain the perfection we seek. By the end of the season we are exhausted in every way and we may very well have missed the whole point of the Holiday that bears Christ’s name.

As an example of the unattainable and unrealistic images of Christmas we have in our mind, think about the nativity scenes depicted on many Christmas Cards. They have an almost surreal quality to them, don’t they? Have you noticed the snow in some scenes? Did you ever stop and think about what’s wrong with this picture? How often does it snow in the Holy Land? I’d say, rarely, if ever. Yet somehow, we’ve projected the weather in Peoria onto Palestine!

But even if we succeed at suspending our disbelief concerning the weather, many other things seem “out of place” in these pictures. Mary and Joseph are usually positioned directly in the center of the image with the newborn Jesus looking serene and content. Have any of these artists ever actually been parent to a newborn?! The shepherds stand nearby looking remarkably well-dressed for men who have just come in from the fields where they were “tending their flocks by night.” The angel’s luminous presence hovers overhead and no one seems to give them a second thought. (Normally, when angels show up in the Bible, folk’s first response was one of sheer terror.) The three wise men approach the newborn baby in an orderly fashion, each offering their gifts. The presence of strangers intruding into the manger in the middle of the night doesn’t disturb the new parents just a little?! Even the animals seem well-groomed and well-behaved. Would cattle and sheep really lay down?

The nativity scene is a ubiquitous image of Christmas in our culture. It’s the Kodak moment, the perfect photo at the end of every church Christmas pageant with all the characters in the drama neatly arranged around the manger smiling. I enjoy that moment as much as the next person. But while it makes for a perfect photo on Christmas Eve, I would argue that it is only loosely based on reality. The circumstances surrounding Jesus’ actual birth were a whole lot messier and complex—anything but perfect. I think it’s important to keep that fact in mind as we go about our various Christmas traditions.

The fact is, we can “scrub” all we want, but we’ll never get the stains out of the Christmas story—nor, I would argue, should we.

Consider the historical² context of Jesus’ birth. By the first century AD, the Jewish people have been oppressed for centuries. It’s the only reality that they have ever known. Rome is the latest in a long line of world powers that have marginalized and exploited the Jews. Long have they waited for their Messiah—a great king who God promised would rise up and throw off the yoke of oppression once and for all. But God has been strangely silent for 400 years. After so many years with no fulfillment of the prophecy, many Jews have probably given up hope of things ever being different.

But then suddenly, quite unexpectedly, out on the fringe of the known world, God moves. A young Jewish girl and her fiancé are thrust into the epicenter of God’s story and human history. An angel brings them an incredible message. The young girl—Mary—is chosen for a remarkable privilege and responsibility; she will give birth to the Messiah. Imagine this young couple trying to comprehend this? Imagine all the questions and doubts they had? And yet there could be no denying one fact: Mary was pregnant! A baby was growing in her womb and would soon be born. Somehow, despite so many challenges to overcome, Mary and Joseph respond in faith and obedience and become the earthly parents of Jesus the Christ.

Although we sing: “All is calm; all is bright. Round yon virgin mother and child,” on Christmas Eve, I suspect the reality of the night “Christ the Savior was born” was anything but peaceful.

Mary was a teenager about to give birth to her first child after what had to have been a scandalous pregnancy for everyone involved. She and Joseph (who was probably a little older than Mary) have been on what must have seemed like a surreal journey the past nine months, culminating in a literal journey to Bethlehem just prior to Jesus’ birth. The grueling trip late in pregnancy was necessitated by the whim of Caesar Augustus in Rome, who decreed that, “all the world should be counted”. It’s hardly a convenient time for them to travel, but when the Emperor speaks, ordinary people like Mary and Joseph have no choice but to respond. The couple returns to Joseph’s ancestral home in Bethlehem. They aren’t alone on their journey and when they arrive the city is crowded, and it’s nearly impossible to find lodging. And so it comes to pass that Jesus is born in a “manger” in Bethlehem.

Historians now think that the manger may not have been a barn as we might think of today, but more like a cave. Maybe Joseph’s family owned it³? In any case, it would have been a place where there was minimal shelter from the elements and a place where animals would have been—and all the things animals bring with them. Think about what animals tend to do in their bedding. You can cover it with a layer of fresh hay, you can “scrub and scrub,” but you will never totally remove those stains—and that says nothing of the smell.

So as we sing about, “the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay,” we should keep in mind that it was most likely stained hay that Mary laid her newborn son upon.

Even by first century standards, a manger was far from the ideal place to bring a new baby into the world—much less the Son of God. And yet, when God decides it is time to come and be with us in the flesh, this is precisely where he chooses to make his entrance. God could have chosen anywhere in the world, but God chose a manger.

Likewise the “resumé” for the Mother of God seems a little questionable if not downright scandalous—a Jewish girl from a virtually unknown village, a teenager, an unwed mother, a virgin. God could have chosen any person on the planet, and for some reason God chose Mary. Couldn’t God set up a better scenario than this for the birth of his Son?

What if the whole point God is trying to make in doing it way it happened is that things don’t have to be perfect for them to turn out very good? What if the presence of a few stains in our lives or our dwelling places doesn’t bother God nearly as much as they bother us?

Notice that when God came to Mary, he didn’t say: “Now, Mary, I’m considering choosing you to give birth to my Son, but before I can implant Jesus in your womb, you’ll need to work on the following character flaws… I’ll come back in a year and see if you’re worthy of being the Mother of God”.

No, God sees what Mary is capable of becoming—perhaps precisely because of the adversity and hardship she will have to face and overcome during this pregnancy and beyond. Mary says, “Yes,” to God’s initiative and embarks on a risky journey with God and God uses her to give birth to a miracle. God knows that Mary is not perfect… but God also sees that Mary has a good heart, and this makes her ideally suited to the task of bearing Immanuel.

Mary didn’t have to “scrub and scrub” in some vein pursuit of perfection—really an unattainable state—before God could use her. All she had to do is be open and willing to be part of what God was doing right now.

It’s been said: The perfect is the enemy of the good; I think it’s true. If we get caught up in trying to make something perfect we might very well miss out on something that has the potential to be good. For example, we can become consumed with trying to have a perfect Christmas and fail to appreciate what is so good about the Christmas story.

If we try too hard to scrub Christmas clean, we might end up scrubbing Christ out of the holiday that bears his name.

There is an old hymn called There is a Fountain Filled With Blood whose chorus says: “sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains”. This line of theological thinking maintains Jesus’ blood does what no amount of our own scrubbing can do. Because of what Jesus did on the cross—and only because of that—we are now cleansed of our stains and made perfect before God.

But I’m not sure I believe that exactly. I’ve been a follower of Christ my whole life (41 years) and there are some stains that are just as stubborn as ever! I think perhaps reality is actually closer to Fred Sanford’s “theology”: “You can scrub and scrub but even AJAX won’t get rid of those stains.” That is to say, I think maybe we’re meant to keep some of our stains for eternity. (If that sounds strange, consider that Jesus, after the resurrection, still bore the marks of the nails that held him to the cross. Why weren’t those wounds healed?)

What if the blood of Jesus doesn’t remove our guilty stains altogether, but rather redeems them? What if the real Christmas story—not the sanitized nativity scene version—is meant to remind us that stains are an inescapable part of life on Earth—and that’s actually a good thing. What if stains are actually the flipside of giftedness⁴? What if the only way we can become all that God created us to be is to fully accept and embrace our stains?

No, you and I aren’t perfect people, and we never will be; but the good news we celebrate at Christmas is that by God’s grace, we are good people! We are fearfully and wonderfully made in the image of our Creator and there is much good God can accomplish through us if we will simply follow Mary’s example and say, “Yes,” to God’s initiative in our lives. If we open ourselves, God can use us—stains and all—to “birth” our own unique Christmas miracle just like he did with Mary.

———–

1^ For those unfamiliar, this URL gives some context: www.youtube.com/watch?v=6sccCzX8twg&feature=related.

2^ There are some (e.g., Marcus Borg) who question whether the birth narrative stories contained in the first two chapters of Matthew and Luke should be viewed as history. They suggest we should view these stories more like parables. For purposes of this article, however, I am viewing the birth stories as history.

3^ Thanks to Adam Hamilton for this insight. See The Journey: Walking the Road to Bethlehem, Chapter 4.

4^ Thanks to Parker Palmer for this idea—see Let Your Life Speak

Alan Ward lives in Baltimore, MD and his writing can be found at Alan’s Corner.

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The standard celebration of Advent revolves around four themes: hope, love, joy and peace. These are addressed in different ways, as there is ample room in the Christmas story for examining each one from different angles. The point with Advent is to slow the pace and ponder, to meditate on the One who came, and why, and what it means for us.

Hope

It is prophetic work to establish hope. Prophets denounce, predict, assist—but they always and must like heralds in the square announce hope. Prophets have an array of tools for doing this. A surprising technique is literature, specifically apocalyptic literature, where fantastic images, cosmic disturbances, numeric schemes and epic battles give us accounts (today we might call them ‘graphic novels’) of what is sure to take place.

Interpreters have gone to these apocalyptic sections and treated them as allegory: this is that, and so on. But there is more to these stories, as apocalyptic lit is a way of telling a specific story, namely: the world has set up a most impressive way of life which oppresses or woos us—but, the world, for all its sounds and furies, will not prevail, since God—the true God—is on the move and about to emerge triumphant. To boil it down, apocalyptic insists that there is something strong in which the beleaguered may hope, and something better with which the distracted can be satisfied. In using apocalyptic (as well as other forms), the prophets say: look here.

Hope, they tell us, is as real as a doorknob, but more lively. The only problem is that we cannot see this hope; we see instead the way of the world in all its glory or decay (depending on one’s perspective). So the prophets offer us new eyes—eyes of faith.

We have known this, known that the life of faith is one typically bereft of sight. But we rise against this; we want so desperately to see. This is why so many of us settle for the tangible, for a house at the beach now rather than a room in the Christ’s big house later. We have vision problems, and refuse glasses held out by the prophets.

Without vision, people perish, we are told—from a text casually and commonly applied to business (or business-like) applications. This text becomes the linchpin for developing ‘vision statements’ for churches, small groups, families and individuals, encouraging them all to express what they’d like to occur—what they can envision. But read the statement more literally, as if it were said by a prophet, and refers to what a prophet does (remember, if this helps, that in the old days—Samuel’s days—prophets were first called ‘seers’). Using this lens, to mix a metaphor, it sounds different. It sounds like we need what prophets see.

Which is hope.

And having seen this, and then calling us to look, these prophets call us to a life of faith—because (here it gets a little strange once more), the hope which is so sure is still invisible to our human eyes. Thankfully, though, it is not imperceptible to hearts tuned by the Spirit toward the way of Jesus. Such hearts see quite well—and seeing, they welcome hope.

So this is our program, while we live for a time among people—in a world—hostile or indifferent to the one true God: we affirm that the hope He promises is every bit as real as linoleum, and even more durable. And even when we cannot see it as such, we hold that it is true, good, and worthy of our pursuit and longing. This takes faith, but then what of merit doesn’t? It takes faith to believe my wife loves me, that the sun will rise, that the food I eat won’t kill me. But I think so little of these things, in large part because so far, they’ve all worked out pretty well. There’s a track record for my spouse, the sun and the grocery store which establishes confidence and allows me to live without fretting.

And God’s track record? For this, I examine the prophets, and note how many of them are exonerated by Jesus’ first advent. A wide chorus of voices from different epochs and cultures sing in unison and by this build faith in the hope they see. This hope is a stake for us, a firm point around which we can turn with confidence and joy. Not a blue sky possibility, nor a vaporware promise, but real, good, worthy, true hope.

Peace

The little we know of Mary comes mostly from Luke, who secured records about her encounter with an angel, her brief stay with her cousin Elizabeth, the way she “treasured” comments made about her new son, and her receipt of blessing and warning from two denizens of the Temple. For Matthew, Mary stays in the background; for Mark, who offers no birth narrative, she is even further removed from the picture. John has a role for Mary, but not until Jesus has entered the public phase of His earthly ministry. And so, it is to Luke we owe a debt, for providing at least a little information about the early life of this extraordinary woman.

In a way, the lack of interest in Mary is in keeping with the Biblical record, where few individuals are singled out for extended treatment once we leave the OT. Jesus, of course, receives a great deal of attention. And several of the apostles appear with some frequency. Paul is one of these, but even then, it is clear that biography is not a prevailing Biblical interest. Despite our own desire for further detail, Luke, for instance, can quite easily close the curtain on Paul’s story once the apostle arrives at Rome.

Still, the few moments Mary occupies center stage impress us. Take her dialog with the angel who comes to inform her that she will carry the Lord. “How can this be?” she asks, not out of doubt as much as to indicate her commitment to purity, and her wonder at God’s work. And once she grasps the plan, she is completely, perfectly at peace: “May it be to me as you have said” (Luke 1:38).

Then, there is her ‘magnificat’, which Luke incorporates with special care. Mary’s is the first of three songs associated with the miracle of Jesus’ birth; it precedes that of the high priest Zechariah and also the chorus of angels. Now, while many others heard the angels and the priest, we have no indication concerning Mary’s audience. What has inspired so much subsequent poetry and song originally played out, it would seem, for only one or two. Perhaps Elizabeth was there to listen in; perhaps Mary sang much as Jonah prayed in the fish: fervent, but alone.

She is not often among crowds, this woman. In Nazareth, she would have been shunned following the news of her illicit pregnancy. In Bethlehem, pressed by throngs of people coming in for the census, she went with Joseph to a stable removed from all others. Soon after the birth, she fled to Egypt in order to keep out of the public eye. As Jesus grows, we hear a bit more. There is a journey she took with relatives to Jerusalem (but is it because she is not among them that she does not hear for some time that her son has gone missing?). She also attends a wedding shortly before Jesus goes public, but in this story Mary stands off to one side, in hushed conversation with her eldest. Our final scene shows Mary at Jesus’ cross, with John and scant others. If there is a consistent idea from these brief encounters, it is that Mary is routinely close to the Lord.

It is generally accepted that John took her with him to Ephesus where she settled. And what became of Mary? Once again, we want to know more than text or tradition conveys. Did she guide the emerging church there as a worship leader, or teacher or wise counselor in spiritual matters? Perhaps. And perhaps it was the case that her heart was so fully subscribed by the Lord that she simply had little room left for any other.

Joy

Joy is a common theme for Christmas carols, but it is not nearly so frequent in the stories surrounding Jesus’ birth as, say, fear, anxiety or uncertainty. Joseph had been afraid to take Mary as his wife, Zechariah was terrified by the messenger who came to him, Herod, like all Jerusalem with him, “was disturbed” (Matt 2:3), and Mary was troubled.

For joy, we must go to the shepherds. Or, more precisely, to the angel who spoke to the shepherds, for the former, upon seeing this angel, “were terrified” (Luke 2:9). The angel has no sympathy for this fear. Get over it, he says (a loose translation of “Fear not!”). Something far greater than your petty insecurities is going on right under your noses. The Savior has come, born just over that hill in Bethlehem. A Savior? Yes! The Christ, the Lord. The news I bring—this news—is a source of great joy for all, starting with you. So get up, get going.

“This will be a sign,” the angel promises (Luke 2:12), indicating that he expects action on the part of these shepherds, and not just rapt attention. “You will find,” the angel affirms, emphasizing the promise. But before they can gird up their loins and corral their woolly charges, a “great company of the heavenly host” appears, “praising God.”

Luke’s verb is in the present tense, suggesting that this concert might have taken some time. So it appears that while the angel has encouraged action, he is not demanding haste. The shepherds can spend time listening to this praise. Time to get over the fear, perhaps. Time for joy to transmit from angel to shepherd, perhaps.

The only people we know to be full of joy from the outset were the Magi. Matthew reports this, telling us how they “were overjoyed” (2:10) by the star leading them to the King they sought. When we realize that such news meant they would be leaving home for an extended trip (our carols turn these fellows into kings, but their journeying suggest they were more like knights) and face an uncertain future, the contrast between these people and others in Judea who were dealing with the same situation is all the more stark.
Part of the explanation for their reaction comes from the very ‘foreignness’ of the Magi: living in Persia they would have had few preconceptions about the Messiah’s advent. So when the star appears (mention of the Christmas angels and their musical program for Judean shepherds brings to mind a comment from Job—a wise man of the far east—of stars that sing), instead of being suspicious or indifferent, they are open to its message and set off to follow its lead. Their joy is a response to this heavenly sign.

Lives untouched by, indifferent to or leery of stars and angels can be happy, but they do not readily experience this sort of joy. Fear, anxiety, uncertainty and the deep desire to feed selfishness are far more natural, and thus easier to access and more quickly expressed. Still, we have the potential for joy, and Scripture suggests this is realized in response to God’s words and deeds; joy flows from the heartfelt embrace of revelation. The Magi (those knights before Christmas) show us this. There will be others, too—like the shepherds, eventually—to whom angels come, encouraging the shift from a natural to a more spiritual key. This advent, as these messengers attest, is meant to be a time of great joy.

And what of us: how do our hearts handle this news? The appearance of angels might terrify some, but those accustomed to spectacle and excess would probably not be sore afraid so much as stifle a yawn, or grab a snack, or return to a computer screen. Still, the angelic message is for us, too, inviting us to embrace revelation that unmakes our human inclinations toward fear and bauble, and tumble across the landscape with joy.

Love

One fine Sunday afternoon I found myself on a college campus, sitting at a high table in the student center. I had preached that morning in a church I had never before entered, had spent the previous night in a motel I’d never visited. There were people every place I went that weekend, but I felt very alone.
Through no fault of their own, these people did not know my story, did not intersect with my life in a significant way. We shared a meal, but I could talk with them only about incidentals. They were rooted to a place I was merely visiting; we occupied little common ground. After lunch, we parted ways—they to their homes, and me to hunt for a place to plug in my computer.

Some of this aloneness is self-imposed: it takes me considerable time to grow easy enough with people before I’m ready to talk about more than the weather with them. But some of it stems from how relationships tend to be closely guarded. New people do not easily fit in.

This is what makes hospitality so wondrous. Persons who extend it with sincerity and grace have a way of enfolding strangers and setting loneliness aside by making space for new ones to fill. My travels take me to places where I meet such people; they are rare, but welcome.

Hospitality is another Christmas word. We talk and sing of how Jesus came to an inn where there was no room; under our breath, we snicker, and chide these professional hospitaliters for turning folks away. But look to another offer of hospitality that does shine through. Consider how Jesus extends it.

In the Greek lexicon, hospitality implies a love for strangers. We are inclined to think of Jesus as that stranger at Christmas, as He arrives on foreign soil, deserving the milk of human kindness. But it is also possible to turn this picture on its head and consider Jesus as the source of such a mercy. After all, we to whom He came were the ones estranged from God. That Jesus would think to welcome people like us is a breathtaking example of hospitality. He puts Himself out on behalf of those who commonly treat Him badly; we who are so in need of love and kindness find just that.

It is a good lesson for Christmas, during a season that often evokes a measure of wistfulness. Counselors tell us it is a sad and lonely time for people bereft of loved ones, but even the most secure and surrounded among us can detect internally a certain melancholy. And we are not only lonely at Christmas. Quiet hearts know this pain far more often; many of us frequently feel alone.

We are built to belong; we long to be included, known, embraced. We stand outside glowing windows and want to go in; we plan for and dream about good meals with close friends. We travel far from home and think of those we’d like to be with; then, ironically, we arrive and even they are somehow sometimes not quite enough. What is the source of this ache?

It goes back to the Garden, when the Lord who made all sought fellowship with the crowning glory of His creation. But they demurred, and as a result, found themselves at odds with Him and even each other. Since then we have been trying to tie off a bleeding artery with little success. In theological terms, this is sin, playing out its life-robbing effects: in sin, we miss the mark of God’s standards. But more to the point, we simply miss God.

Jesus comes to give us another try at finding the One who loves us. He does this quietly—at least in His first advent. He calls, invites, beckons, makes room. He is wonderfully tolerant and inclusive in this; He makes room at His table for many. And what He shows during that advent He expands with the promise of a many-roomed house, where all may come, as friends.

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My youngest son, Benjamin, was born on Thanksgiving day, 2002. He celebrated his birthday that year on the road. Today is his birthday. He’s nine years old. We celebrated as a family with bowling and lunch at Red Robin where Ben loves the mac and cheese. Last Sunday we had an early Thanksgiving at my Dad’s house as we celebrated his 81st birthday.

This is the time of year in Southern California when snowbirds come to Palm Springs and we remember why we live here. Moderate weather and clear skies in November are something to be thankful for.

I would like to develop an attitude of Thanksgiving that I can carry with me every day. I don’t mean I want to eat left-over turkey and cranberry sandwiches every day. I want to learn to be grateful for the daily blessings that come our way, the things that money can’t buy, love for my family and love for my God. In some ways this “learning” hasn’t been that easy this year. But each day brings a new lesson.

With feel-good gurus urging us to find the secret and live in the moment, I want to learn to get rid of anxiety through an attitude of prayerfulness and thanksgiving. It seems like I am making this one of my New Year’s resolutions. I frequently remind my clients that they can survive their financial and other legal troubles.

Give To KidCare

My friend, Larry Kapchinsky, runs a great relief organization, KidCare International. From one of his newsletters: “For many families, celebrating the holidays… will be an extraordinary challenge…Locally, (in San Bernardino and Riverside County, California) many poor children depend on KidCare International’s educational enrichment, food, shelter, and clothing, but there are thousands of children in South Africa, Haiti, Tanzania, Russia, and Sri Lanka that would have little or no hope without the help of humanitarian agencies like KidCare International. Thousands of children die each year in these countries from a lack of the most basic human needs—food, shelter, clean water and sanitation.” If you are looking for a worthy non-profit for a year-end charitable gift, I highly recommend KidCare.

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But why should you listen to me?

I’m just some guy who’s now an outsider to organized religion. It’s true that I have a Masters of Divinity degree, was trained for ministry at the largest Christian church in North America, and was a successful Senior Pastor of my own church for many years. But that was all before I walked away from corporate Christianity and took my place among all the nobodies of the world, no longer one of the religious somebodies running a church.

Why should you listen to me? I’m just a former pastor-turned-author who receives disapproving emails from Christians after discovering my latest blog post about my friendships with people of different religions or those with no religion at all. Even in a society that supposedly promotes free speech, my voice is shut out of certain Christian circles under the accusation of my being a “universalist,” which is a dirty word to those Christians who draw a religious line in the sand and insist you are either for Jesus or against him, which makes accepting people of different faiths fraternizing with “the enemy.”

This was the same mentality motivating Anders Behring Breivik in the Oslo massacre, who was found to have ties with a U.S. religions group Knights Templar. The Knights Templar trace their origin back to the 11th century Crusades, which were Christian sanctioned military campaigns to rid the Holy Land of Muslims. A 1,500-page manifesto believed to be authored by Breivik speaks of carrying out brutal attacks to stop “the ongoing Islamic Colonization of Europe.”

But again, why should you listen to me? I’m just a guy with a conviction, a conviction that Jesus stands with all humankind and equally affirms the divine worth of every human being, whatever their religion. My most recent book is about Jesus as a unifier. After submitting this manuscript to a major orthodox Christian publisher with whom I was signed to write 2 books, my contract was canceled because the book’s message did not “lie within the bounds of biblical, orthodox Christianity.” This in spite of being signed with this publisher because they had expressed a desire to reach a non-traditional Christian readership, which I had succeeded in doing with my first two critically acclaimed books.

The hallmark of Christianity seems to have become who is excluded, which can include anything from a theological litmus test to what you wear to church on Sunday mornings. Since leaving institutional church and writing about my journey of shedding religion to find God, I have received hundreds of emails from other nobodies who feel judged and marginalized by Christianity, including Wanda the Waffle House waitress who’s only crime is having tattoos and wearing her Waffle House uniform to church, where people stare at her like she’s a whore and avoid talking to her after the service.

I wish I could tell Wanda and every person that they are born into this world as complete and whole human beings with equal worth to God as Jesus of Nazareth. In the eyes of the religious establishment we might be nobodies but we are divine nobodies, as much a child of God as that nobody Nazarene carpenter. This is the message I would like to get through to fellow survivors of childhood abuse. It’s the message I would have wanted to express to the 10-year-old girl sex slaves I encountered in brothels in Southeast Asia in my work as a human rights activist. As an ordained minister, it’s the message I wanted to deliver to a Christian friend who said, “I am a piece of shit to God, which is why I need Jesus.” It is very difficult to convince people that they are good and beautiful human beings when religion has sufficiently convinced them that they are “sinners” and despicable to God. It’s also difficult to deliver this message when institutional Christianity has convinced us that acknowledging the divine in every human is a betrayal of God.

But once again, why should you listen to me? The last few years off the grid and under the radar of institutional Christendom, I have been unpacking Jesus’ divine nobody message in my own life. I began thinking of myself as Jim of Nashville, and set out to “be Jesus” for the world where I live. Time and time again I saw how the greatest need among people was to simply know of their inherent goodness and worth as human beings and feel the stamp of God’s approval.

So, I became the stamper! Whether it was my next-door neighbor, my car mechanic, Facebook friends, or the homeless in Nashville, I began relating to everyone as if they were Jesus just like me, complete and whole in God’s eyes just as they are and who can be instruments of love and peace in the world. It became common for me to encourage people to see that their own names could be written into Christianity’s most popular Bible verse, John 3:16, “For God so loved the world that he gave… Jim of Nashville… Dara or Oakland… Byron of Brooklyn… Abdul of Abilene… Mei-Ling of Shanghai… and Fabian of Oslo.

Now an outsider turned divine nobody, I’ve discovered a message that could change the kind of religious objectification that precipitates a tragedy like Oslo as easily as the disenfranchisement of a waitress at the Waffle House. But who am I?

Oslo is the latest call to start listening for a message that is bigger than one self, bigger than one tribe, bigger than one nation, and bigger than one religion. That’s the difference between propping up some abstraction called “Christ” versus learning to be Jesus in your own community, in your own nation and in the world. What would the world you live in look like if you were being Jesus in your neck of the woods?

Some say that I am preaching that Jesus came to “end” religion. But, Jesus was not trying to end religion; he was out to eliminate what doesn’t work about religion for all humankind, not just Christians…or Jews, since he was one. Jesus was both divine and human. That translates into the oneness of humanity not division, power for some, and hatred.

Whatever the fulfillment of religion, it is no more than what Jesus demonstrated during his lifetime. As my friend Steve McSwain recently argued, when Jesus said “I am the way and the truth” he did not mean Christianity is the only way. When Jesus of Nazareth walked the earth, there was no Christian church and Jesus wasn’t a Christian. Jesus had followers of his message not some propped-up, holier-than-thou, figure head divining hatred towards others.

The inflated sense of personalized religious power being expressed not only by extremists but also, subtly and insidiously, by everyday Christians here and abroad only serves to make others the enemy. The real enemy is within; the journey is inward. When will we attack that feeling that we are not whole, complete and perfect just the way we are?

How many more Oslos will there have to be before we finally get, “when you push the demonization of populations, you often end up with violence,” as Heidi Beirich, the research director of the Southern Poverty Law Center said of the tragedy. And what happens when the pusher is Christianity…in the name of some abstract idea of Christ? Oslo gives us a vivid example.

At least, it was inspiring to read a quote passed around Twitter from Fabian Stang, the Mayor of Oslo. It said, “We shall punish the terrorist, and this will be his punishment: more democracy, more tolerance, more generosity.” In that statement Fabian of Oslo was being Jesus.

Sometimes we have to disentangle God from religion, yes even disentangle Christ from Christianity, to find a way and a truth that allows us to fully experience and express with others the divine worth in each and every one. In John 17, Jesus himself said we share the “same glory” given him by God and that this is the basis for all humanity to be “one” with God. I was told in my religious training that it was sacrilege to view myself on equal footing with Jesus. But even Jesus said in John 14:12, “I tell you the truth, anyone who has faith in me will do what I have been doing. He will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father.”

Here’s a thought: What if we could all be Jesus for one another in Oslo and in Tennessee? Jesus was special, but not because he was more divine then the rest of us, but because he was courageously more human than most.

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I recently attended a college-age gathering, and after the time of musical worship ended (I personally try to always say “musical worship” ), the person up front who announced that the offering would be taken referred to it as a time of sacrifice as we give our finances as an act of worship. The word sacrifice really stood out to me as being defined with worship.

I also fully am aware that there are times when “worship” occurred without any actual physical sacrifice. but when you study the whole of the Bible, you will see that worship so often involved the sacrifice of something. Romans 12:1-2, after the first 11 chapters teach on the act of Jesus and His sacrifice for us, tells us to “offer our bodies as living sacrifices.” This kind of sacrifice includes all areas of our lives, and it is costly. We choose to refrain from something we may otherwise want to but is could be sin, so we sacrifice aligning ourselves our ways to God’s ways. The Old Testament was filled with times of coming to worship and sacrificing something. Generally something that was costly with animals or grains – as it showed that worship was a sacrifice of something worth something to the worshiper, but offers it back to God who owns everything anyway. You read in 2 Samuel 24:24 “I will not offer burnt offerings to the Lord my God that cost me nothing.”

What is intriguing is that as we primarily define worship as singing, in terms of sacrifice – singing doesn’t cost us too much. We mentally and emotionally bring ascent to our thoughts as we sing and focus on God. But we aren’t really sacrificing something. Are we? Maybe I am wrong and would love to hear other thoughts. But it is pretty easy to come into a room and sit and then “worship” by singing (which is worship). I am super glad in our church we have worship times of singing. So I am not saying at all that I don’t thoroughly believe we worship in major ways as we sing. But what I am saying is that worship through singing doesn’t involve much sacrifice or cost us. It is probably one of the least sacrificial ways we do worship. Worship it is of course when we sing. But I can’t say it is too much sacrificial worship.

As you look at sacrificial worship, in today’s world what are the two most sacrificial things that do cost us something as we worship? It seems to be our time and most of all, our finances.

At the college-age gathering I attended, I watched the bags being passed around for the offering, and maybe one out of every 20 people put anything at all in the offering bags. I fully understand that people give online, and people may give bi-weekly or monthly, so this isn’t an accurate representation of how much actually was given that morning. Still, this interesting to watch response to the request for financial sacrifice served to illustrate how easy it is for us to worship God when all that is required is singing a few songs, and how difficult it is for us to worship God by giving financially or giving up some of our precious time.

In  hyperbole way, I have been thinking about why we use the title of “worship pastor” or “worship leader” to designate the person who leads an area of worship that doesn’t cost us to much to participate in with our singing songs. So why don’t we switch the title to the person who does lead or oversee the area that people generally sacrifice the most – is finances – so shouldn’t the title of “worship pastor” or “worship leader” be the person who oversees the finances of the church?  Usually the church accountant. Isn’t that person the one who truly oversees the most sacrificial worship of the people of the church, not the person who leads the music when people sing?

Now in our church, we don’t do this. Our bookkeeper is called the bookkeeper. It would be confusing calling the accountant the “worship leader”. We actually try not to use too many titles for people and on our bulletin we don’t even distinguish between paid staff and key volunteer leaders in our church leading major areas of ministry.

But I am curious about whether anyone also has thought of this? Whether we unintentionally have reduced the power and true meaning of the word worship by generally assigning the title to the person who leads the music? Have we incorrectly and unintentionally taught youth, young adults to think of worship primarily as singing by how we title roles and use the term? Try listening in your church gatherings to how the word is used during the gathering. I know in our church we try our best to always say what aspect of worship we are doing. “Let’s now worship God as we sing” “We are now receiving our sacrificial worship of giving finances” etc.  Even on our actual offering envelope it says “Sacrificial Worship” instead of just giving or offering. Try paying attention to how you generally see the word “worship” used in the Christian world in general. It is fascinating. Words matter. Definitions matter.

Dan Kimball is the author of numerous books, including They Like Jesus But Not the Church. He is also the pastor of Vintage Faith Church in Santa Cruz, California. This article originally appeared on his blog – www.dankimball.com. He is part of the creative team launching the Origins Project.

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This little dictum is attributed to Francis Bernadone, later known as St. Francis. And if you are like most, your first response is a rational one.

“All very nice, Francis – but who will hear the message if there are no words?”

Psalm 19 leads off like this,

“The heavens are telling the glory of God,

And the firmament declares his handiwork.

Day to day pours forth speech,

And night to night declares knowledge.

There are no words – their voice is not heard -

Yet their sound has gone out through all the earth…”

Hmm. A paradox. It is possible to be “heard,” according to this Psalm, without using words. But this is poetry; surely we aren’t meant to take it seriously?

Have you ever known something, but not been able to express it? A lot of poets play around with this apophatic way. Two of my favorites are found in Bruce Cockburn and in U2. In “Burden of the Angel-Beast” Bruce Cockburn sings,

“Those who know don’t have the words to tell,

Those with the words don’t know too well…”

Which is to say, using more words is not evidence that we KNOW something. We can make a rational argument for God and for faith, and many do, without actually having entered into the experience. And sometimes those who can barely articulate a doctrine know it by experience. I’ve seen this true many times, in particular with folk who are mentally challenged. Their faith can be profound – I feel put to shame – yet their intellectual knowledge of God in Scripture is very limited. They haven’t even read Karl Barth (!)

Or as Bono sings it,

The more you see the less you know,

The less you find out as you go,

I knew much more then, than I do now…

“City of Blinding Lights”

And that experience I also share. While in my fifties the body of my knowledge has expanded, perhaps doubled, since my forties, I often feel that I know less than ever. The sensation is climbing a mountain in the fog. One has a sense of mastery of a small space; but mastery is the sensation. But as one nears the peak and the fog grows thinner, the vista expands. Suddenly one feels very small – and the unexplored territory dominates the horizon. And I thought I knew this place!

But back to the title “preaching without words.” Still a paradox right? Or is it?

We confess that our faith is by revelation. Apart from the work of the Spirit in a heart, words remain merely words – dead letters. We may “convince” by an argument that Jesus is alive. We may testify to the experience of the Spirit, and our testimony might be convincing. A person might even “pray the prayer” in response. Does this mean that regeneration is automatic? Or must the Spirit show up? No one is saved unless the Spirit comes as a seal on the heart.

A few years ago we had a young lady in our home and we were speaking of faith. She confessed belief; yet there was lingering doubt. We could almost sense the veil of blindness hovering over her mind. Our words were not breaking through. So we asked if we could pray.

As we did so, asking for witness of the Spirit and for him to make Himself known, we could see her visibly relax. (It’s handy to pray with eyes open in this kind of situation, while the one you pray for has her eyes closed). And as we continued to pray, it was as if we could see a light begin to shine from her face. We finished praying, and sat for a while, as did she, with her eyes closed. Finally we asked, “What is happening? Has God been speaking to you?”

She had finally met God and was at peace. It was not our words that made the difference: our words created a hunger and an openness and a desire to share our experience. But it was God who did the work and who will bring it to perfection. In those quiet moments of prayer, the Reality who upholds the Universe came into that small room, and made Himself known.

* * *

It’s funny that I hesitate to share this story. I fear being labeled “charismatic” and then written off. But worse would be for us to forget that “apart from Me you can do nothing.” The Spirit, as Francis Chan puts it, “the forgotten God,” goes before us in the world, and walks alongside us. More – he makes his home in us, and it is through Him alone that we make the connection to the Father of Life.

We live in a noisy, wordy world. Yet sometimes the Word makes himself known only when we are able to embrace the silence.

As Dallas Willard tells it, there are two broad categories for spiritual practices: disciplines of engagement and disciplines of abstinence. We are fairly capable with disciplines of engagement, not so good with disciplines of abstinence. The practice of contemplation, the practice of silence, the practice of fasting – these are difficult ones for us who know a sense of mastery with words. But perhaps those disciplines are the very ones that can give our words meaning, by creating a larger space in our hearts where the Word can make himself heard.

–

Len Hjalmarson is a a writer, pastor and missional navigator living in the fruitful and warm south Ontario region, among the fields and orchards. You can find his writing at NextReformation.com

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For a minute think about established institutions, specifically churches and governments. Think of the people who are employed, elected or supported in a multitude of ways by the currents models of these two institutions. For most it’s all they’ve experienced and known. Thousands are supported by the conventional church and our government and its spending ways. Many believe in these system — others find comfort in them — it’s all they know. Their livelihood depends on it. Change within these “bigger than life” models seem overwhelmingly impossible. But change does come…slowly. Rarely, if ever, does change happen immediately with the exception of violent coups or tragic wars. In civil societies change is achieved via a gathering conversation turned viral culminating in a movement.

The difference between a conversation and a movement is a movement’s chatter has to be sustainable beyond initial, passing curiosity. People may gather around a water cooler and discuss last night’s game but it doesn’t make these fleeting events a movement. A movement has sustainable chatter, with ebb and flow, but it’s always there. Think of it as a buzz on steroids.

It’s been ten years+ that I have been a part of the missional church conversation and it has yet to become a bonafide movement. Unlike the missional church conversation the tea party has become a movement at an amazingly rapid pace changing the conversation in the three branches of the government. But, nevertheless, changing the government’s addiction to spending will not be complete overnight or even the next two years or three. As Ben Stein said on CBS today, “Impossible.”

I love how David Bosch draws the distinction. “The difference between an institution and a movement is that one crosses boundaries the other guards them.” The Tea Party movement proved that when a movement gains momentum, it’s a hard force to ignore. But like the missional church the tea party needs to take it’s victories one step at a time. And more often than not victories comes with small gains.

Many pastors with missional persuasions have been hired by traditional established churches in the last few years. It’s not a complete take over but these are small victories taken one step at a time. The ripple effect of these missional minded pastors now participating in traditional institutional system can spread ideas and make the movement itself viral. Overreaching or rigidly pushing too soon in an attempt to gain more ground than is possible in a moments time will set a movement back rather than advance its cause as well as destroy any influence gained.

Finally, when and if a movement culminates in replacement of an institution the cycle begins anew. A conversations forms … a movement starts and another fight for change begins.

–

Fred Peatross is a Christian who lives and worships in Huntington, West Virginia. He has been a deacon, a missionary, a pulpit minister, and shepherd. Presently Fred is responsible for carrying out the Great Commission and directing a Nuclear Medicine department.

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No one’s been quite sure what to call the emerging generation. Some call them the Millennials, or Generation Next (that’s makes no sense, every generation is the next), Generation Y, Generation 13, Generation I, Generation Digital Natives… but none of these labels say what this generation is most about… Justice. They are. And that’s why we need to start calling this generation of 18 to 28 year-olds by a new name, Generation Justice.

I know this is true because I’ve watched how they live. They are most about pursuing justice for the marginalized and being a voice for the silenced and oppressed. They want to repair this world and make it beautiful like Eden. They live out the mercy of God.

The contrast to prior generations is striking. I went through college with the Yuppie Generation. We were a self-indulgent lot. Everyone wanted to drive a Beemer, wearing a Member’s Only jacket — with the collar popped on their pastel Izod.

Not this generation. They wear Tom’s shoes because Tom puts shoes on bare feet in places like Bolivia. They’ve made scooters cool again because you can ride a hundred miles on a gallon of gas. They embrace simplicity because they want to share more with people who have less. That’s the heartbeat of Generation Justice.

I say that with confidence because of twenty-something year-olds like Jennifer Preyss. Jennifer is a young, energetic reporter for the Victoria Advocate; Texas’ oldest newspaper. Last year Jennifer traveled to Malawi, Africa and spent several weeks loving and caring for orphans.

In October — still bothered by the extreme poverty and the lack of simple basic needs like shoes — Jennifer read about The Grove’s Barefoot Sunday. She was captivated, compelled, and certain God wanted her to hold a Barefoot Sunday in Victoria, Texas — then send the shoes to children in Malawi. Jennifer says she “stalked” me on Facebook until I answered. Her urgent plea read something like, “Palmer, I want to hold a Barefoot Sunday for the entire city of Victoria! Can you help me?”

It sounded audacious. I told her I would do my best. But her plans seemed lofty, and South Texas was a long way from Chandler, Arizona. I was a skeptic.

Jennifer kept working. Her passion was infectious. Three more reporters in their early twenties joined her cause. A date was set, February 27th. A goal was established, 1,000 pairs of shoes.

When I showed up in Victoria, the night of their Barefoot Sunday, I saw how Jennifer had inspired a city. She and her team had rallied participation from 20 churches, 4 schools, 2 colleges, and a Synagogue. An entire class of second graders insisted on going barefoot when they took their shoes off for Africa. The reporters drove around the city picking up piles of shoes in newspaper delivery trucks… after their deliveries.

On Barefoot Sunday Jennifer ended up with a mountain of more than 5,000 pairs of shoes to send to Africa.

Right now Generation Justice is flooding the U.S. Government office for Nonprofits with applications. Their aim is not to grow massive aid or charity organizations. They are far more organic than that. They are simply living their passions. They are responding to the needs of desperate people that grip their heart. A recent report on volunteering in America reveals that this generation has fueled a national spike in volunteers, “Led by teens and young adults accounting for almost half the increase, about a million more people volunteered last year.”¹

Every time I visit my son at college I’m reminded of the pervasive mercy spirit of Generation Justice. The walls of every hallway are littered with posters promoting the students’ causes. Students recently held a Live on a dollar a day week. They erected cardboard shacks in the middle of campus and slept there for a week to champion the need to end extreme poverty. The last time I was there it was Barefoot Friday, because students were giving their shoes away. A sophomore named Christian has founded Beacon of Light. On Wednesdays at 5 o’clock her student volunteers crowd into her cramped dormitory kitchen to make piles of pb&j sandwiches. Then load into cars, drive downtown, and give the sandwiches away to men and women who live hungry on the streets of San Diego.

Something very spiritual is happening.

Generation Justice has taken to heart Jesus’ kingdom-cry to feed the hungry, give clean water to the thirsty, put clothes on the naked (and shoes on the barefeet), and care for the sick — and end the pandemics.

Salad Days

Developmental psychologists refer to these years (18-28) as the critical years. Because The most important things we do with our lives are often determined by the choices we make, the values we form, the decisions we follow, the affections we develop, the allegiances we create during the critical years.

Shakespeare, Saturday Night Live writers, and Wheaton College students call them the Salad Days. These are the best days; the days in which we grow and flourish and thrive.

In the critical years you hold life by the tail. The world is yours for the taking. The doors are all open. You may live in any city you choose. You can take any career path you like. You can marry whoever you like… well, not really – but you get my point.

So much of who we you are is defined in those few developmentally important years. Think about your parents for a moment and the music they listen to. I can bet cash money it’s not Lil-Wayne or Usher. Your mom is still playing her Michael Bolton cassettes and your dad’s waiting for Kiss’s reunion tour.

In her seminal work on this formative life-stage, The Critical Years, Sharon Parks writes about the motion of faith. She argues that this period is a unique and identifiable developmental stage. Parks writes, “A Central strength of the young adult is the capacity to respond to visions of the world as it might become. This is the time in every generation for renewal of the human vision.”²

While at Harvard, Lawrence Kohlberg (considered the preeminent thinker on moral development) once taught a course on moral choice. Ethicists, who studied the effect the course had on students moral reasoning, reported that these young adults sense “a deep obligation to relieve human misery and suffering if possible.”³

This is why Jason Russel, Bobby Bailey, and Laren Poole founded Invisible Children. These three aspiring film-makers, in their early twenties, traveled to northern Uganda because they were disturbed by the atrocities taking place in Dufar, Sudan.

While looking for a way across the border they found themselves in the middle of a human tragedy. Thousands of children who feared being abducted by Joseph Kony’s Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA), to fight as child soldiers, were walking miles and miles every night from their rural villages to seek refuge in the towns of Gulu and Lira. The concrete floors of bus depots and hospital basements became their beds.

The three friends couldn’t believe what they were witnessing; literally, a flood of children filling the towns every night. Why hadn’t anyone told them? Why was the world silent?

They began to film the atrocity, produced a documentary, founded an organization, met with government officials, and called the world’s attention to the tragedy in northern Uganda. People, churches, schools, and governments have responded. The tide has turned. Kony is on the run. Children near Gulu are again sleeping in their own beds at night.

Do you see why I say it’s Generation Justice that is leading the charge to rescue children in places like Uganda — places like hell on earth?

The Rest of the Gospel

From my vantage, the Americanized version of the gospel is incomplete. We’ve focused our attention on an intellectual relationship with God, and for the most part we’ve neglected his call to live out this gospel of the kingdom – show mercy, pursue justice, love the marginalized, and free the oppressed.

I fully realize that it is good and necessary to have a mind after God. I have a PhD, I get it. But simply knowing your systematic theology doesn’t do it. Jesus flat out told the Pharisees they had no clothes. He was fed up with their pseudo-religious intellectual piety.

I think it’s the trophy hunters in Africa that got me.

I’ve spent about half my life in Africa and I can’t tell you how disenchanted I’ve become with the trophy hunting preachers. They come from churches and mission organizations to preach in villages and ask for a raising of the hands. Then they return to their country exclaiming a count of how many souls were saved.

Really?

They’ve missed it. They’ve missed the rest of the gospel! They miss the part when Jesus says, “care for them, feed them, love them, free them.” They never ask about the babies dying of malaria, why the stomachs of the malnourished swell, or who will care for the toddlers orphaned by aids.

They came to take a trophy, not to bring a kingdom.

But Generation Justice has heard the cry of the ancients like Micah and Amos and Isaiah, and they’ve started to live out the words of Jesus.

And they have begun to bring Christ’s kingdom to earth, just as it is in heaven.

That’s why as I type this sentence, eighteen year-old Allie Cestmat is in Malawi going village to village, with our team from The Grove, putting 8,000 pairs of shoes — from places like Victoria — on bare feet in Africa.

Citations:

1. Mark Hrywna, Young Adults Fueled Spike in Volunteers. Non Profit Times, July 29, 2009. Accessed at http://calservenetwork.blogspot.com/2009/07/young-adults-fueled-spike-in-volunteers.html

2. Sharon Parks, The Critical Years (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1986), 30.

3. Carol Gilligan, Moral Development: In the Modern American College. (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1981), 139, as quoted in Parks, 105.

Palmer Chinchen

A rising voice in the missional movement, Palmer Chinchen is a popular speaker and author — True Religion: Taking pieces of heaven to places of hell on earth (David C. Cook, June 2010) and God Can’t Sleep (David C. Cook, June 2011).

Palmer grew up in Liberia, West Africa, witnessing firsthand the ravaging pain of the AIDS and malaria pandemics, the atrocities of civil war, and the daily burden of extreme poverty. For many years he served as a College Pastor in California and Wheaton, IL. Today he is the Lead Pastor of The Grove, in Chandler, Arizona.

Palmer is passionate about the need for Christians to respond to the problems of affliction and injustice, and share the love of Christ. He holds a PhD from Trinity International University (TEDS) and a BA and MA from Biola University.

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