Table Fellowship and Loving Recklessly

I was doing some work on the computer the other day when one of my housemates came in and announced:
“I just invited a murderer for dinner.”
My housemate volunteers at a drop-in for street-involved men and women in our neighbourhood (Vancouver’s oh so notorious downtown eastside) and he had decided to invite a certain fellow (let’s call him “Mike Smith”) to dinner at our place. Now Mike happens to be a man with a reputation for violence; he had just gotten out of jail, and he had previously spent a significant amount of time in jail for murdering somebody. Thus, when my housemate invited Mike over, he was reprimanded by a co-worker who essentially told him that he was too naive, and had acted too recklessly.
Consequently, when my housemate returned home and announced that he had invited Mike for dinner, he was worried a little and wondered if he had done the right thing.
Of course, inviting people from the neighbourhood for dinner is an essential part of the community house in which I live. Once a week we invite a random scattering of people into our home, we cook a big dinner, and we wait to see who shows up. Our dinners have been wonderful times of fellowship with all sorts of people from all sorts of backgrounds. One week we had a woman in the sex trade, a young homeless man, two first nations fellows who live in an SRO (Single Room Occupancy — basically cheap and dirty hotels that rent out tiny rooms for about $350/mo. There is one bathroom per floor and no kitchen included), and the pastor of my church along with his wife and two young children. It has been incredible to see the way the Spirit moves and brings everybody together. Consistently, week after week, we have found that total strangers have become close friends by the end of the night. And I feel like we are getting a tiny bit of a glimpse of what Jesus’ meals with “sinners” must have felt like. I feel like I’m glimpsing the kingdom of God breaking in around our dinner table, and I think we’re also getting a glimpse if what God’s final wedding banquet will look like. Opening our home to strangers, whoever that may be — the girl on the corner, the guy smoking crack in the alley, a fellow student at school, a new face at church — and inviting the Spirit to come and host the meal, well, this is probably one of the most exciting things I have experienced in my life. I feel like I’m finally starting to see the kingdom in the way that it was seen in Jesus’ day and I can’t wait to see where this trajectory leads us.
So, all of this leads me back to the invitation that my housemate extended to Mike. And I think my housemate did exactly the right thing. As far as I can tell, no “sinner” was so fearsome or so “evil” that he or she was excluded from eating with Jesus. As far as I can tell, Jesus ate with those who had not yet repented, Jesus ate with entrenched sinners — and by doing so he made new life possible for them. Therefore, if we are faithfully following Jesus, it seems that people like Mike are precisely the sort of people we should be inviting for dinner.
But isn’t that a little naive? After all, we still need to be at least a little safe and practical about how we go about this, right? Well, I’m not convinced. In fact, I would suggest that it is those who would not invite Mike who are being naive. This is so for three reasons. First of all, it is naive because those of us who live and work in this neighbourhood are constantly in the presence of violent people anyway. Going to work, walking the alleyways at night, these things are not any more safe than inviting a person like Mike over for dinner. We are being naive if we think that our daily routines are any more safe than doing something like inviting a murderer for dinner. Secondly, we are also being naive if we think that we faithfully follow Jesus while protecting ourselves from all forms of suffering. Following Jesus means taking risks, it means loving recklessly, and, if we do this for long enough, we will eventually get hurt. Indeed, Jesus tells us to expect suffering, it is almost as if suffering for Christ is one of the essential badges of discipleship. Thus, if we ever only act in ways that ensure that we will not suffer, then the chances are that we are not following Jesus faithfully. Thirdly, and finally, I think we are also being naive if we think that a person like Mike — or anybody else — can do anything to actually harm us. You see, the thing is that with Christ we are assured of victory one way or another. If Mike comes over, and if our meal goes the way that our meals have been going so far, then the Spirit will have come with power and triumphed. But if Mike comes over and something violent occurs then we will triumph through the cross. Sure we might get hurt but one way or another, whether in the power of the Spirit or the power of the cross, God’s kingdom will break in. It is not up to us to determine which way things will occur, it is up to us to be faithful.
Besides what’s with this thing about defining people by their actions? As far as I can tell Mike is a beloved, but broken, child of God, and he deserves to be treated as such. Indeed, if we only ever define Mike as a “MURDERER” then the chances are that we make his violent behaviour inevitable. If we treat him as a child of God we allow him the opportunity to live differently.
And so, if you think of it, you can pray for our house and our dinners. You can pray for Mike, you can pray for my housemate, and you can pray for those who are still naive and fearful. Lord knows, we all get afraid at times, but let us pray that God will raise up communities around us that permit us to travel through our fears so that we can be agents of God’s new creation, knowing both the death and resurrection of Jesus.
Oh, and if you’re ever passing through town, drop me a note and maybe we can have you over for dinner.

September Books

Well, I managed to finish of the last of my summer books at the start of the month and then I dove into Wittgenstein. Expect to see a lot more of him, as well as Barth and Paul, over the next little while. Sorry that some of these reviews are so obtuse and that most of them are altogether too brief. This is the best I can do for now.
1. Colossians Remixed: Subverting the Empire by Brian J. Walsh and Sylvia C. Keesmaat.
Within this book Walsh and Keesmaat read Colossians in light of postmodern philosophy and counter-cultural voices and practices. In essence they wrote a whole new kind of commentary. Consequently they focus on issues of empire (then and now), truth (and truth as it relates to imagination, improvisation, and performance), and ethics (in particulare the ethics of secession, community, liberation, and suffering). For those within the sphere of biblical studies who are unfamiliar with counter-cultural voices, well, this book is nothing short of explosive. And for those within the realm of biblical studies who are familiar with the counter-culture, well, we find ourselves thinking, “It’s about damn time.”
2. The Bible in Politics: How to Read the Bible Politically by Richard Bauckham.
Although a little more dated than the book by Walsh and Keesmaat (1989 vs. 2004), and although Bauckham’s perspective is quite different, this book is an important read because it gives the biblical voice priority over all other voices. Instead of reading the bible through the lenses of various other political paradigms, Bauckham tries to let the bible speak on its own terms (of course, the extent to which Bauckham succeeds in this effort will be left to the discerning mind of the reader). Because of his desire to give the biblical texts priority Bauckham ends up espousing positions that end up making both ends up the spectrum uncomfortable. Too radical to be wholeheartedly accepted by mainstream Christianity, and too conservative to be wholeheartedly accepted by the radicals, Bauckham’s is a voice that deserves to be heard.
3. Evil and the Justice of God by N. T. Wright.
Another work of biblical, political theology (or, better yet, theopolitical exegesis), this is Wright’s latest offering within which he begins to wrestle with issues of evil in light of the cross of Christ. Wright begins by critiquing the efforts that the Western philosophical tradition have made to resolve the problem of evil. Instead of treating evil as some sort of epistemological puzzle, Wright argues that it is better to examine what God does about evil. Thus, he traces the biblical narrative in light of this theme and settles on the cross as the point where evil (of all sorts) hits rock bottom. Thus, stressing the Christus Victor model of the atonement, Wright argues that God decisively defeats evil on the cross of Jesus (as the resurrection so powerfully reveals). Therefore, Christians are those called to be shaped by the cross of Christ and thereby “implement the victory of God in the world through suffering love.” This implementation is one that must take place at a corporate, political level and (somewhat secondarily) at an individual level. Consequently, Wright explores issues relating to empire, war, the criminal justice system, and art. Wright argues for a Christian approach rooted in prayer, holiness, reconciliation, restorative justice, and education of the imagination. Ultimately, Wright argues the people of God should be a people defined by forgiveness (and here he draws heavily from Miroslav Volf’s Exclusion and Embrace, L. Gregory Jones’ Embodying Forgiveness, and Desmond Tutu’s No Future Without Forgiveness — and, IMHO, these three books are exceptional, some of the best written on the topic of forgiveness).
4. Sex, Economy, Freedom & Community by Wendell Berry.
This is my first time actually reading Berry (I was lead to this book by some references made in Colossians Remixed) and I must say that I quite enjoyed him. There is a great blend of poetry and academics, gentleness and force, and humour and brokenheartedness in his writings. I especially enjoyed two essays: the first on the joys of sales resistance (his comments on education and the trajectory of Western culture were both hilarious and bang-on) and the last on sex and economics in which he argued that sex and economics are intimately related to one another and one cannot be discussed, or addressed, apart from the other.
5. Civilization and Its Discontents by Sigmund Freud.
This was Freud’s follow-up to The Future of an Illusion and this is the place where Freud’s reflections on agression and the opposition between the death drive and Eros really come to the fore. Really it’s a summary of Freud’s reflection on culture from his rather interesting psychoanalytical perspective. Freud continues to posit the opposition of the individual’s desires with the demands of civilization. This opposition leaves us all trapped in an unresolved (and unresolvable) tension. Hence the batle between the culturally influenced “superego” and the radically independent “id.” This battle is what occurs when the conflict between the individual and civilization is internalized. This book was quite fun to read and it is good to read Freud in light of his (lasting?) influence on Western civilization.
6. On Cosmopolitanism and Forgiveness by Jacques Derrida.
This book is composed of two separate essays by Derrida, the first on cosmopolitanism and the second on forgiveness (surprise, surprise). Within the first essay, Derrida wrestles with the immigrantion issues that France, along with much of Europe, faces. He explore the notion of establishing “cities of refuge” that are independent of nation-states, and thus he revisits the role that the city places within the (inter)national realm of politics. I found this essay to be interesting, although the topics explored were pretty much completely off my radar right now. The second essay, however, was one that I found quite interesting. Within the second essay, Derrida argues that forgiveness really only applies to that which is unforgivable. Over against corporate and political functions that cheapen forgiveness (i.e. Korea forgiving Japan for War Crimes… as if a State can forgive another State for crimes certain individuals committed against certain other individuals), and over against other (related) approaches to forgiveness that simply make forgiveness the appropriate and required response within an economic exchange (i.e. when a person repents and performs the appropriate penance they are said to merit forgiveness), Derrida argues that “forgiveness forgives only the unforgivable… It can only be possible in doing the impossible.” Thus true forgiveness must be unconditional, which really means that forgiveness is a form of “madness” (this is not a term that Derrida uses perjoratively, for he embraces this model of forgiveness) that cannot be reduced to any of these other forms or to “the therapy of reconciliation” (i.e. any way of expressing the approach that treats forgiveness as a means to an end). However, in the day to day reality of life one must deal seriously with issues of penance, repentance, and reconciliation and thus Derrida finds himself with two indissociable, irreconcilable poles: unconditional forgiveness, and conditional “forgiveness.”
7. Wittgenstein by G. H. von Wright.
This is a collection of essays that von Wright put together based upon his research and his friendship with Wittgenstein. I found his biographical reflections (“Ludwig Wittgenstein: A Biographical Sketch” and “Wittgenstein in Relation to his Times”) to be both useful and interesting, and I found his essay entitled “Wittgenstein on Certainty” to be the most useful academic essay within the book. The two essay tracing the origins of the Tractatus and the origins of the Philosophical Investigations (along with the essay that documents Wittgenstein’s papers) were extraordinarily boring, and I had a helluva time understanding the essay entitled “Wittgenstein on Probability.” So this book was a real mix, but when it was good it was really good.
8. Wittgenstein’s Tractatus: An Introduction by Alfred Nordmann.
Nordmann’s purpose in writing this book is to resolve the most basic and lasting problem of the TLP: how can it be both nonsensical and persuasive? If philosophy is nonsense, and if the TLP is nonsense (which it admits to being) then why should we be persuaded by its argument? Well, we should be convinced because the TLP actually identifies four types of language. Over against those who only see three types of language in the TLP (descriptive language that is both grammatical and significant [Sinnvoll]; logical language that is grammatical but senseless [Sinnlos]; and philosophical language [ungrammatical/nonsensical and senseless]), Nordmann adds a fourth type: language that is ungrammatical/nonsensical but significant. It is this fourth type of language that is used by the TLP. Thus, employing the subjunctive mood (which is the definitive form of this fourth type of language since it uses hypothetical terms [i.e. “if this is the case then this…”) the TLP follows a reductio ad absurdum argument (which is itself a form of argumentation that is nonsensical and yet not senseless). Of course, in order to make this claim Nordmann must posit an hypothesis that must exist before the first statement of the TLP. This hypothesis is that “anything whatsoever is expressible in speech” and this is precisely what is denied at the end of the reductio ad absurdum argument when Wittgenstein concludes that “there is indeed the inexpressible in speech.” Along the way, Wittgenstein limits language to the descriptive mode — language is a contingent picture of contingent reality, and it is true or false if its various elements align with one another in the same way in which the various elements of reality align with one another — any attempt to do anything else with language is nonsense (although there is useful, and un-useful nonsense, as should now be clear). Because the TLP is a useful form of nonsense (i.e. because it makes sense) it is best to undestand it as a thought experiment which is itself a gesture — precisely like the other gestures which cause other nonsensical expressions like “I love you” to make sense. In this way we prompt expressions to show what they cannot say. Consequently the final words of the TLP are not a command to say nothing, rather they require us to speak acknowledged nonsense, realizing that speaking nonsense it a way of staying silent. This, then, is how Nordmann reads the TLP. I find his reading to be quite intriguing.
9. Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations: An Introduction by David G. Stern.
Well, I knew reading some secondary lit on the PI would be useful… but I didn’t realize how much of the PI I really didn’t get (at all) until I got into this book. Stern basically deals with the first 268 sections of the PI and argues that Wittgenstein’s argument traces a number of paradoxes: the paradox of ostension (an ostensive definition can be variously interpreted in every case) which reveals that ostension presupposes knowledge of how language games work, and it thus cannot be the foundation for learning a first language, although it is quite useful for learning any second or third languages; the paradox of explanation (an explanation can be variously interpreted in every case) which reveals itself because every explanation requires another explanation; the rule-following paradox (a rule can be variously interpreted in every case) which is basically the sum of the first two paradoxes; the paradox of intentionality (a sign can be variously interpreted in every case) which follows from the previous paradox; the paradox of rule-following (which argues that a rule, taken in isolation, can never determine all its future applications because a change in the context in which the rule is given will create a change in the application) which then leads one to examine the circumstances within which the experience of “understanding” occurs, and not examine the experience itself, in order to say whether or not a person understands how to follow a rule or system — this then makes Wittgenstein a “holist” about rule-following: rules can only be understood aright if we place them within their proper whole; in particular this is a “pratical holism” which argues that understanding “involves explicit beliefs and hypotheses [that] can only be meaningful in specific contexts and against a background of shared practices”; and the paradox of private ostension (a private ostensive definition can be variously interpreted in every case) that Wittgenstein uses to deconstruct the notion of a “private language” because there is no such thing as a truly “private” language. As Wittgenstein traces these paradoxes he also refuses to allow the reader to escape by “subliming” names, logic, or rules (this fits well with what Wittgenstein does with the linguistic limits set by the Tractatus). Thus, throughout all of this, Wittgenstein develops his theory of “language games” which are the interweaving of human life and language — the term highlights the fact that speaking itself is an activity, a part of a form of life. What is especially interesting about Stern’s reading of the PI is that he refuses to identify Wittgenstein’s position with the position of any of the voices found within the text (the PI exists as a dialogue between [at least] two voices: the narrator and the interlocutor). Commentators have traditionally identified Wittgenstein with the narrator but Stern urges the reader not to do so, and thus argues that the tension between the Pyrrhonian approach to philosophy (which argues that all philosophy is nonsense) and the non-Phyrrhonian approach to philosophy (which argues that much of traditional philosophy is nonsense but philosophy itself can be saved) must remain [holy hell, writing some if these reviews is draining… does this make sense to anybody?].
10. The First to Throw The Stone: Take Responsibility for Prostitution a Policy Paper by Samaritana Transformation Ministries, Inc.
Samaritana is an agency that works with prostitutes in the Philippines. Within this policy paper its members (very briefly) sketch out the situation of prostitutes in the Philippines, the conditions of women in prostitution, the factors the reinforce prostitution, and then they provide their own perspective along with some recommendations. Although the situation may seem rather different from the North American context (for example, the airing of public ads that search for GROs [Guest Relation Officers!]) I am struck not by the differences but by the similarities. Perhaps prostitution is “the world’s oldest profession” because many of the conditions for prostitution are universal (i.e. the vulnerability of women and children, the vulnerability of the poor, the stigmatization of prostitutes which adds to the economic exploitation and psychological distress they experience [by the way, post-traumatic stress is more common in prostitutes than in Vietnam war veterans!], the inadequte government response, and the corruption that exists within governments, businesses, and law enforcement agencies).

God Beyond Language?

In the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, Ludwig Wittgenstein argues that there are significant limitations as to what language can actually say. Language, Wittgenstein argues, is only meaningful when it is used descriptively, as a model of reality. Any attempt to say anything beyond such things is nonsensical (i.e. lacking in meaning, having no sense). Consequently most of philosophy and theology is revealed as just that sort of nonsensical language. What we say when we speak theologically cannot be described as true or false, it simply lacks meaning altogether.
Naturally, this seems to strike the Christian reader as a disturbing conclusion. Surely we want to be able to say something meaningful about God, or about ethics, or about metaphysics, or whatever. However, just as we must wrestle with Wittgenstein's argument, and his conclusion (part of which is: “whereof one cannot speak, about that one must remain silent”), we must not also be too hasty to suggest that Wittgenstein intends his argument to be an assault on Christianity or on faith. Wittgenstein actually has no desire to limit human imagination, yearning, feeling, or thinking, he is simply suggesting that there are limits on the meaningful expression of thought.
In this way, it could be argued (indeed, it is argued by Alfred Nordmann in his introduction to the Tractatus) that Wittgenstein is following the trajectory of critical philosophy established by Kant in his Critique of Pure Reason. Kant argues against the ability to gain certain knowledge about God because knowledge is always knowledge of objects or appearances. Thus, to attempt to gain knowledge about God would transform God into just another object. Consequently, Kant draws the limits of knowledge so narrowly that God is beyond them. Kant concludes: “I had to deny knowledge to make room for faith.”
Wittgenstein does not deny knowledge of God per se, but he does deny that any such knowledge could be expressed meaningfully. Nordmann aptly summarizes Wittgenstein's position when he writes: “Those who believe that they can talk just as sensibly about absolute or ethical value as they can about cars an cookies are actually conflating them.” The problem, according to Wittgenstein, with taking an absolute (whether that be an Absolute Being, or an absolute Value) and making it “just a fact like other facts” is that everything absolute is then drained from that Being or Value, because all facts are necessarily contingent. Therefore, Wittgenstein denies meaningful expressions of the absolute, not in order to deny faith, but in order to make room for faith. Therefore, by drawing a line which language cannot cross, Wittgenstein situates God beyond language, and allows God to exists as God.
Of course, the notion of situating God beyond human speech should cause the reader to think of another major influence on 20th century thought — Karl Barth. Writing at the same time as Wittgenstein, Barth described God as God who is “distinguished from men and from everything human, and [who] must never be identified with anything we name, or experience, or conceive, or worship, as God.” God, he went on to say, “is that which lies upon the other side.” Consequently, when God is encountered, he is always encountered in his hiddenness, breaking forth like “a flash of lightening, impossibility and invisibility.”
Of course, there are some significant differences between Barth and Wittgenstein but it is interesting to begin by exploring where they overlap. Indeed, the differences only gain their proper significance once we understand the similarities (actually, it's pretty interesting to note the biographical similarities of these two men, but I'll save that for another time).

The Dying Seeds

Recently I have found myself returning again and again to the parable of the sower and the seed in Mt 13 and Lk 8. I have been struck by how the odds are stacked against being the sort of seed that bears fruit. The seed that falls on the road (lacks understanding), the seed that falls on the rocky soil (too afraid of suffering), and the seed that falls among the thorns (too much money and worldly concerns), all of these seeds die. It is only the seed that falls on the good soil that bears fruit. It worries me that the absence of understanding, the fear of suffering, and an overabundance of money and worldly concerns seems to define much of the contemporary Western church. No wonder our churches are dying. However, this is a tangent to the point that has recently struck me, so I'll turn to that point now.
For the longest time I read this parable as though it contrasted abundant life (the seed that falls on the good soil) with the sort of life that is destroyed by the powers that are pressed into the service of death (all the other seeds). I have only just realized that this is a false dichotomy. I began to understand the parable differently when I began to read it in light of Jesus' words in Jn 12.24:
Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.
The seed that falls on the good soil has not escaped death. It too will die, just like the other seeds! The contrast between the seeds in Mt and Lk is not a contrast between life and death, it is a contrast between fruitful dying and fruitless dying!
Of course, as the context of Jn 12 makes clear, Jesus himself is the good seed, and his death produces many more seeds, it produces the crop that is “a hundred times what was sown.”
If we, then, are to live as those rooted in the good soil, we too must live a life that is oriented towards death. We too must set our faces towards Jerusalem. This orientation has nothing to do with morbidity, rather it is the inevitable outworking of the love commandment. Because we are so committed to loving God, and loving our neighbour, we choose to die to ourselves. Furthermore, this orientation is normative for Christians because those who are “in Christ” share in his death. To be in Christ is to be crucified with Christ (Gal 2.20). As Jimmy Dunn says, “[Paul's] gospel is not that the trusting sinners escape death, but rather that they share in Christ's death.” Naturally, the only way we can live with this orientation towards death is in the power of the holy Spirit that provides us with hearing, understanding, a true heart, and the ability to persevere (the characteristics of the seed that fell on the good soil).
Thus, the supposed contrast between abundant living and suffering death, that I first imagined existed in the parable of the sower, is revealed as a false dichotomy. All seeds will die. All of us will die. The question is what sort of dying we will experience. And we must remember that our type of dying determines whether or not we will bear fruit or remain fruitless.

"We have no king but Caesar": A Manifesto of Christian Relevance?

In his latest book (Evil and the Justice of God), Tom Wright spends some time addressing how the crucifixion of Jesus is the climactic revelation of evil. The story of Jesus' death is the story of “how the downward spiral of evil finally hit the bottom.” As a part of this event, Wright also argues that the cross is the climactic expression of corruption within Israel. The Israel that has longed to become “like all the nations” (1 Sam 8.5, 20) is now reduced to declaring that it “has no king but Caesar” (John 19.15).
This movement from longing to be “like the nations” to declaring “no king but Caesar” is quite troubling. It seems to suggest that if one longs to be like the nations, one inevitably ends up so much like the nations that one now lives in a way that completely contradicts the true identity of the people of God (which is rooted in the proclamation that “there is no king but God“).
This movement should cause us to reconsider many of our contemporary desires for “Christian relevance.” I wonder: to what extent is our desire to be relevant simply a desire to be like the nations? If this is the case then we may have deceived ourselves into thinking we are living faithfully when we are actually decarling that we, too, have no king but Caesar. Indeed, I suspect that our scramble for relevance has lead us to serve the same lords as those around us, instead of leading us to proclaim the “there is one God, the Father almighty, and one Lord, Jesus Christ” (1 Cor 8.5-6).

The Power of Shopping (and is it really all that bad?)

When the the children grow up, try to keep them busy. Try to see that they become addicted only to legal substances. That's about it.
~ Wendell Berry, “The Joy of Sales Resistance”
I have often wondered about this:
Within social services, shopping is often offered as the way in which one can overcome the power of drug addictions. This may sound odd but it makes a lot of sense and it seems to actually work more than some other approaches. Thus, the addict, who is often coming from a fairly rough and poor environment, is taught the joy of buying and owning nice things — nice clothes, nice music, nice electronics, and so on and so forth. When addicts are first coming out of addiction they are encouraged to quickly spend their money on other things so that they cannot spend it on drugs. Then, whenever the urge to use comes up, the addict is encouraged to go out on a bit of a shopping spree. Now I've seen this approach work quite well (at least for certain periods of time). It seems that shopping is actually more powerful than crack or crystal meth. Odd, Bush tells us to go shopping so that we can win the war on terror… and social workers tell us to go shopping so that we can win the war on drug addiction.
However, I find this a little unsettling (not least because it seems that the Christian gospel is weaker than the power of shopping! Am I totally off base to wonder if shopping is more powerful than drugs simply because it is a bigger idol in our culture?!). Here is my issue: it seems to me that what we have done is simply transition people from a socially unacceptable addiction (consuming crack or meth or whatever) to a socially acceptable addiction (consuming clothes or electronics or whatever). And, while we have perhaps raised their standard of living, we have not addressed the root causes of their addictions. Because, based upon my experiences, I quite emphatically believe that addiction is almost always a symptom that has arisen from a deeper issue — addictions are those things which allow people to survive in states of brokenness even though they then go on to perpetuate that state of brokenness. Thus, by engaging in the movement from drugs to shopping, we are simply teaching people how to hide their brokenness and survive in their brokenness in a more socially acceptable manner — we're not doing much to address the brokenness in and of itself. In then end, moving people in this direction can lead them to simply embrace their brokenness as their natural, or normal, or only possible, way of being.
Now I'm probably going to sound crazy to suggest that this movement is disconcerting — after all isn't being a shopaholic with a nice house, a nice car, and a nice family infinitely better than being a junkie with no home and no clean clothes sharing needles down on the corner of Main and Hastings? Well, to be honest, I'm not sure that one is any better than the other. Certainly one is more socially acceptable than the other but this is precisely what I am challenging. The first addiction is more insidious, and the second is more immediately vicious, but both are overwhelming and trap us in a less than human state. Indeed, it seems to me that the first is actually more difficult to overcome than the second, in part because it is so acceptable and because the harm it causes isn't immediately apparent on our own bodies. If I go on a speed run, I'll end up breaking out in sores. If I go on a run at the GAP, I don't have to see the bodies of the children that were broken when they made my clothes. If I shoot heroin I feel great… but I remember my brokenness when I come down and I can't accept my state as “normal”; but if I go shopping I feel great… and somewhere along the way I tend to normalize my brokenness and just accept my state as “the way things should be.
So, at the end of the day are we doing our addict friends any favours by turning them into shopaholics? Sure, I suppose we are, but it might not be much of a favour. It's sort of like offering somebody a slow death instead of a quick death. It's not really offering any sort of genuine transformation or new life. But isn't it at least a step in the right direction? A stage along the way that we can later discard? Maybe. I don't know… but I suspect not.

Where the Wild Things Are

Homo Homini Lupus.
~ Plautus (translation: “man [sic] is a wolf to man”)
But I send you out as sheep among wolves.
~ Jesus, Mt 10.36
The other night I was walking down one of the streets by my house and a group of crack dealers asked me if I was looking for anything. I said, no. One of the dealers wasn’t convinced so he followed me for a block or so holding a few crack rocks out in his hand where I could see them. He really thought I was an addict.
I have been struck lately by the fact that Jesus sends his disciples out to the places where the “wolves” are. Jesus does not send his disciples away to form their own safe little community nestled away somewhere isolated from the rest of the world, nor does he send his disciples back to the lives that they once knew — he does not send the tax collectors back to being “better” tax collectors, he does not send the fishermen back to practicing a “more moral” form of fishing. Instead, Jesus sends his disciples out as “sheep among wolves.” They are sent, in the words of Maurice Sendak, to the places “where the wild things are.”
If such a call is still applicable to Christians today it would carry two implications: (1) we are to be sent out of the Christian bubble; and (2) we are to be sent out of the comfortable lifestyle to which we are accustomed.
So how does all this relate to the episode I narrated at the start of this post. Perhaps not in the way in which we first imagine. You see, in my neighbourhood one probably thinks that it is easy to spot the “wolves.” The wolves are the dealers, the pimps, the johns, the collectors and maybe even the cops who, collectively, are all of these things at one time or another. But I’m not convinced that this is so. I think Plautus got it wrong, I think that the real wolves are the drugs, the illness, and the evil powers and principalities that maintain a stranglehold over my neighbourhood. The man who followed me offering me crack held a wolf in his hand, and that wolf would have devoured me if I had stopped to smoke it.
We are sent out as sheep among wolves in order to find the lost sheep and ensure that they are not devoured. And the lost sheep are not only the prostitutes and addicts, the lost sheep are also the pushers and the gang-bangers. Our battle is not with flesh and blood, for all those who are flesh and blood have been bought by the broken body and spilled blood of Jesus.
All I ask is that a few more Christians would consider taking Jesus seriously and coming to journey with all the sheep who live (and die) in the presence of these wolves. After all, these wolves are strong and they’re vicious — and they will only be defeated when the Church, as a corporate body, is roused to action. Because I’m tired of hearing Christians say, “sure that’s one way of following Jesus… it’s just not my way.” Well, great. I’m glad your way is that much more comfortable, but know that my friends are dying because this way is not your way. Know that these scattered sheep are the ones who are paying the price for your comfortable living.

Paul's Chains

Remember my chains.
~ Paul in the Epistle to the Colossians
I wonder, when I read this passage, how it is that we today remember Paul's chains. Do we remember Paul's chains and thank God that we are not persecuted for our faith or do we remember Paul's chains and wonder why it is that we fit so comfortably into the society around us? Do we even remember Paul's chains at all? Why is it that we are not struck by the oddity of the fact that Paul — who said such supposedly positive things about the state in Romans 13 and who wasn't afraid to appeal to his Roman citizenship when he found it to be useful — spent so much time in prison and ended up being executed by the Roman authorities? Sure, Jesus had to die to save the world, but what the hell happened with Paul?
Here's the thing: Jesus wasn't killed to save the world — nobody killed Jesus thinking “hey, I'll kill this guy and that way everybody who believes in him will go to heaven.” Perhaps God ended up using Jesus' death for greater things but none of Jesus' executioners were in on the plan. Ultimately, Jesus was killed because the political authorities identified him as a rebel — which is why he was crucified (crucifixion was the form of execution that Rome liked to use upon those who tried to rebel against her power). Furthermore, Paul's death, and his chains, were not accidental or incidental to his understanding of what it means to live as a follower of Jesus. Indeed, if one spends any time reading Paul, one quickly discovers that he seems to think that suffering, and specifically political persecution and oppression, is essential to the Christian identity.
Thus I remember Paul's chains and I wonder about our lack of chains. But then I remember the American Mennonites who have been jailed because they refused to pay taxes — because all those who pay taxes in America support the war in Iraq and these Mennonites felt that they could not, as Christians and as Mennonites, sponsor that war (or any war). Consequently they have been jailed. I remember the chains of Paul and I remember the chains of our Mennonite brothers and sisters and I still maintain hope for our North American church.
God, help us to remember Paul's chains. Help us to remember the chains of our brothers and sisters. Help us to remember the chains that await us if we end up faithfully following Jesus. And help us to find our current lack of chains to be shocking and odd. Convert us, Lord, to the type of life the ends up in chains. Ad majorem Dei gloriam — Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

On Being With Others

Some months ago, I got to be friends with a young woman (late teens, early twenties) who was living in a residential program — let’s call her Jane Doe (I’ve changed her name and a few other minor details in the story so that Jane — and others — can remain anonymous).
Jane was one of the ones who really break your heart. She tried so hard and so had such a tender heart for the people around her… it’s just that she was addicted to crack, and — since she was staying in a residential program that operated on something like a “three strikes and you’re out” system — her love for her drug was causing her some problems with her housing. I mean, she was trying hard to stay clean but she still enjoyed getting high too much. So, despite the fact that she cleaned up for several months, I learned one day that Jane had started going out in the evening and not coming back all night because she was using. I always worried when Jane went on her binges, she’s a young and beautiful woman and she would walk alone through the alleyways in the downtown eastside searching for her next hit. Not a good place for her to be.
One night I was at work and I heard that Jane had disappeared again. All night I waited for a call to tell me that Jane had come back but morning came and she was still missing. I decided that I would go and look for her. I figured I would do a run through the parks and alleys and down the main strip before I went home to bed. In fact, every now and again I get the feeling like the Spirit is really hassling me to do something and this was one of those times.
So, after I finished work, I headed to the park across the street in order to cut from there into one of the major alleys. Lo and behold, Jane was sitting alone on one of the benches in the park. I had been looking for less than a minute and I had found her (again, I think the Spirit was at work)! I sat down beside her and we started to talk. She told me about being robbed that night, she told me about nearly getting raped in a hotel room, she told me that she had been sitting on that bench for hours debating between going back and trying to beg for her bed (she was worried that she had lost her room permanently since she was out of strikes) or saying “forget that” and going out and continuing to use. She was unable to make any decision and so she had sat there, feeling paralysed, and watched the sun come up.
“You know, Dan, when I walk down those alleyways, the cops will roll by and they’ll lean out the windows and call to me, ‘go home, little girl, go home.’ Because, I don’t look like I belong in an alleyway in the downtown eastside. And that’s what always gets me into trouble. The guys will give me free drugs and neglect their women hoping to get with me and, because of this, the women are always looking to start things with me.”
I thought about that for a moment and said:
“It’s true, Jane, you don’t look like somebody who would be in an alley in the eastside at night. But I’ll tell you this much, if you spend a little more time down there, you’re going to start looking like you belong there and pretty soon the cops will drive by you without saying a word because you’ll no longer be that blue eyed, blond kid, you’ll just be another junkie scanning the cracks in the asphalt hoping to find a lost [crack] rock.”
We both stopped talking for a little while after that — I think we were both scared that what I had said would come true. Then the conversation started up again and Jane decided she would go back to her program after I guaranteed her that I would make sure that she wouldn’t lose her bed (and, thank God, she didn’t lose her bed). Just after making this decision, a fellow sat down on the bench beside ours, pulled out a pipe and started smoking a rock. We got out of there pretty quick. I realized that if I had come even fifteen minutes later, Jane would have been lost, there’s no way somebody in her state can resist the pull of the drug when another person lights up right beside her.
We walked around a bit, I bought Jane a pack of smokes, and then took her back to her program.
A few weeks later Jane left for a treatment program on the east coast and that was the last I saw of her. A few months went by, and then one morning I got a phone call at work. It was Jane and she was doing amazingly well. She had gotten clean and she was training to be a mentor in the program she had joined! She wanted me to know that she was doing well, and she wanted to say thanks to me for coming out and finding her that night. She told me that’s what pushed her over the edge and made her start putting her life back together. I was speechless. It did my heart a world of good to hear from Jane. It reminded me of the story in the Gospels that tells about Jesus healing ten lepers and only one coming back to say thanks. Maybe, I thought to myself, maybe there is more transformation going on here then I dared to hope. Maybe for every Jane there’s another nine who have made it that we never hear about (of course, the analogy doesn’t totally work, I’m not Jesus, and I’m not healing people like Jesus healed people — when anything good comes out of my actions it is because of the Spirit, and not because of me).
Such a simple gesture of love — going out to find a person, be with them and bring them home when they’re ready — had quite a profound impact. And here’s the thing: when I think back to my time of being street-involved, and when I think about the ways in which people tried to care for me, the one thing that stands out, far above everything else, was something my best friend “Curty” did for me. I was living with him at the time but I was pretty messed up. I couldn’t really handle being around groups of people and so, when we would have people over, I would usually wait a bit and then sneak out the door and just walk the streets. Curty would always notice that I had left and he too would sneak out and find me. He would never really say anything, he would just fall into stride with me and we would walk around all night, not really talking, just being together. I never felt more loved than I did when he caught up to me, walked with me, and eventually walked me home.
Curty found me, stayed with me, and came home with me; I found Jane, stayed with her, and walked home with her — and it seems that those events have transformed both Jane and I. Maybe if Christians started practicing a little more of this kind of love — instead of getting completely absorbed in programs, objectives, pragmatics, and goals (which aren’t bad in and of themselves, but which also are not the all in all of journey with those on the margins) — maybe then we would see a little more of the transformation for which we long. Let us become like the Father in the story of the prodigal son, let us run out on the road to meet those whom God loves so dearly. Let us go to where the wolves are so that we can find the lost sheep and help them to come back to the shepherd.

Home: A Few Snapshots

A few weeks ago, I was reading in the park two blocks away from my house and a knife fight broke out. I was reading a book and chatting on and off with a couple of older prostitutes and a few crack dealers when all of a sudden there’s a two foot blade flashing around about ten feet away from me. Nobody was too surprised and, after the business was concluded, everybody went back to talking as though nothing had happened.
Then, just last week, I was walking home past the working girls about a block away from my house. Generally the women who work the stroll in my immediate neighbourhood are older and drug-addicted. Consequently, I was a little shocked when I ran into a fresh-faced kid (maybe fifteen or sixteen years old?) working on this stroll. It’s not that fifteen year old kids are uncommon in prostitution (they’re actually quite common) it’s just that one doesn’t usually find them in low-track neighbourhoods — they work the high-track strolls, or the kiddie strolls. There were several men standing across the street watching the kid and there was another man leaning on the wall behind her (one of them was probably her pimp, there’s no way a girl like that is being left unattended in a neighbourhood like mine).
Finally, the other night I was walking to work and a woman walked out of the alley by my house… and she wasn’t wearing any pants. It was around 9:30pm. She didn’t seem to think it was a big deal.
This is the neighbourhood in which I live. It has the wonderful privilege of being the poorest postal code in Canada. It also has the highest concentration of people living with HIV/AIDs in all of the Western world. It is the home of more than 5000 active needle drug users (this stat excludes the number of users who take drugs through other means) and surveys show that more than 50% of the people who live here have mental health issues.
I live here because I think that this is where the people of God should be rooted. Not to say that we should not also be in other neighbourhoods, it’s just that our presence in those neighbourhoods should exist as branches from our roots in the groaning places of the world.