~Enigmatic Meanderings~

So, I promised on Monday that when video of this moment became available, I’d post it.  Well, here it is straight from Catalyst.  You might want to prepare yourself a bit.

Catalyst 2009 Compassion Moment from Catalyst on Vimeo.

Remember, you too can be a Compassion sponsor and be a part of changing a life like Jimmy’s.  To do so, click here.

Thanks.

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A few years ago I kinda became obsessed with Barnabas.  You know… the guy in the New Testament (particularly the book of Acts) who’s best known for seemingly tagging along with Paul on his first missionary journey.

The more I looked into just who Barnabas was, the more impressed I was with him.  I mean, his influence had huge, HUGE lasting impact on the Church.

In Reverb (our new study from SLBS), we have a course called “Living Loud” that’s basically a bunch of character studies of people who lived out the mission of God in the World.  We end it with Barnabas.  So I made this simple video to go along with it (give me a break; ok; I’m no animator/graphic designer).

Enjoy.

Be a Barnabas from Chris Kinsley on Vimeo.

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Hey, all you creatives* out there. Check this out.

It’s from the Willow Creek Arts Conference.

It can feel a little pretentious and the “movement” isn’t always that great, but the message is good.

BEHOLD THE DREAMER COMETH from blaine hogan on Vimeo.

*I think everyone is creative. Some embrace it more than others. Some believe in it more than others. Some cultivate it more than others. But we all have it, at least a little bit.

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I forgot to mention that if you’re interested in the No Excuses study I mentioned you can get it over at the LifeBibleStudy site.

Enigmatic Meanderings Blog Post – 8/11/2009 from Chris Kinsley on Vimeo.

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First, a brief (hopefully) intro to this post:

I’ve written about church before and the struggle I’ve experienced over the past few years to find a local body of believers to be a part of. It wasn’t the finding a local church that was the problem. I live in the deep South, and there are literally hundreds of churches within my area that I could have joined. The problem was finding a church that I liked. Though saying it that way makes it sound much more shallow than it is. It wasn’t that I wanted to find a preacher that I liked or music that I liked or a small group or somewhere with a cool children’s program or something like that. It was really that I had grown pretty disillusioned with church because of some experiences that I had, and every church I visited seemed to have something really wrong with it that I perceived as a reason not to go there. Anyway, you can find those other posts elsewhere.

Now, on to the post:

The good news? I have found a church. I’ve actually only been to it three times. So, I think it’s doubly good that I’m even to now say that I consider myself a part of it. I haven’t officially joined yet (I’m sure we will, soon; you know how summer is), but I’m glad we’re going there. The church is Westwood Baptist Church.

If you knew me really well, and I tasked you to find a church for me, I doubt you would have picked Westwood. Most people I tell that’s where I’m going now seem genuinely surprised. If I had just looked at it without actually going, I probably would have stayed away. This isn’t because there’s something wrong with Westwood. It’s more that you probably would have thought that I would have found something I considered to be wrong with it. And it’s not necessarily that I haven’t. So, why am I going there?

Two reasons.

1. I get a sense of genuineness and that goes a long way with me.

2. I’ve matured a bit and gotten over myself.

The past few years have been some intense times of growth for me in a number of areas. But all of that growth has constituted a season of life during which I’ve realized how much ego I have and how I have to constantly battle against that ego daily. When it comes to church this meant that I came to a point where I knew I needed a church home and where I knew that the major obstacle to me finding a church home wasn’t the churches but was actually my own ego. I was looking for things that were wrong instead of the things that were right. To expect a church to be perfect is ridiculous. To not be willing to be a part of the solutions to problems is selfish. So, I picked a church. Liza picked the same one. It only took one visit on one Sunday, and we’re in. It feels great.

It feels right.

This past Sunday, Les, the pastor, was preaching about personal responsibility. He’s been doing this whole series of sermons on “Lost Words,” which are basically character traits that are biblical and Godly but that our society doesn’t seem to value much anymore (if they ever did in the first place). Personal responsibility is one of those lost words. The sermon was good, but not like the most earth-shattering thing you’ve ever heard. He was preaching from a passage I’m familiar with, 2 Samuel 15. It’s where David and his army are fleeing from Absalom. David tells Zadok the priest to return the Ark of the Covenant to the city because he’s not going to rely on it like some good luck charm. Instead, he’s going to leave things in God’s hands and face whatever consequences the Lord deems he deserves.

Anyway, like I said, it was good and Liza and I were listening intently, but at the end, there was just a brief moment that I’m sure many other people paid no attention to, where Les slapped me in the face (obviously, not literally). In fact, I have a good sense that God prompted him to say this in particular just for me. Here’s what it was.

Les was pretty much finished with the actual sermon part and was leading a kind of decision time so that people could respond to what they had heard. He was challenging all of us to take personal responsibility for things in our own lives and then he began asking what those things might be. Were there things we blamed coworkers for or our spouses for or our children for or the economy or the government or our culture, etc.? Then came the clencher when he said:

“Is there something in your life that’s your responsibility but for which you’ve been blaming the church?”

Talk about hitting home. I realized in that moment, sitting there in this church I had decided to become a member of, the journey that God had been taking me on to heal me and change me and transform me. I’ve been so pissed at Him and so many others along the way because things weren’t going like I thought they should when all along I was the one not going the way I should. But He never gave up on me or abandoned me.

For that I’ll always be thankful to Les and to Westwood and, ultimately, to God, Himself, Whom I’ll be worshipping on Sundays with my new church family.

This may not make a lot of sense to you. I realize that. But it makes perfect sense to me.

So there you go.

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During college I had the privilege to serve as an intern and associate youth minister for the senior high ministry at FBC Jackson, MS.  During the four years I was there my pastor was Dr. Frank Pollard.  I just learned that Dr. Pollard passed away this past weekend.  He had been battling a number of illnesses, and knowing him, I know he’s much, much happier where he is now.  You can read a brief story from the Jackson newspaper here.

To honor the passing of this great man of God, I’d like to share two particular memories of Dr. Pollard.

He was one of the most humble, gracious, godliest and friendliest human beings you could ever meet.  Nowhere was this more evident than in his preaching.  However, if I’m honest, I can’t tell you anything specific about any sermon he ever preached except that he often liked using Dr. Seuss to close.  One of the things I do remember, though, is where he parked.  FBCJ is located in the heart of downtown Jackson.  It looks a bit different now than when I was there, mainly because across the street from the main building is a large multipurpose/education/youth building and parking garage.  For years, especially while I was there, this building did not exist.  Instead, there was just a parking lot with a tower connected to a skyway that you could take to the main building to avoid having to cross the main street, since it was often busy.  Because I was in school at the time, I rarely worked in the mornings.  I usually showed up after lunch.  For the entire time I was there I would often be in the tower waiting on the elevator or something and looking back at the parking lot.  Whenever Dr. Pollard arrived, he would park at the far end of the lot and walk the whole way across.  It was a little thing, but a lot of the churches I’ve been to have assigned spots close to the church for the pastor.  Dr. Pollard always considered it more important for other people to be able to get close.  For some reason that’s always stuck with me.

A second thing I remember about Dr. Pollard is something I heard second hand that he had said, but eventually got him to confirm it.  You see, Dr. Pollard could have been a really big deal in the SBC (Southern Baptist Convention) but all of the politics of it seemed to never really be for him.  Well, there’s this story that Dr. Pollard was at the convention one year and was cornered by a group of the SBC leaders including some people that were presidents of seminaries some of you attended.  They were confronting him about taking some stronger political stances within the convention, as this was still during the time that the fundamentalists had come to power and were fighting to get rid of all of the moderates and liberals, or at least to shut them up.  Anyway, one of them finally got frustrated enought that he said, “Frank, when are you going to get in the ballgame?”  Dr. Pollard simply replied, “I’ve been in the ballgame, but you guys have been too busy fighting under the bleachers.”

We stand on the shoulders of giants.  There is a generation of them that we are beginning to lose.  This is the nature of things.  I pray that the rest of us will have the strength, wisdom, humility and passion to follow their examples.

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You guys need to check out what my friend, Crystal, and the rest of her crew I lovingly refer to as “the Birmingham girls,” did recently.

You can find it here.

What are the rest of us doing?

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I’ve decided to make the first “‘Church’ Is Not A Palindrome” post the first part of an at least two part series. Why? There were things left unsaid. Maybe I would have let it be but Jen offered a nice comment and Neil dedicated an entire post on his own blog to me and others who have found themselves mired in similar sin. You can find his post here.

What I want to write about now isn’t really in direct response to something either of them has said, though they both have some thoughtful, interesting, insightful things to say. Rather, their responses actually reminded me of what I was initially thinking about when I first wanted to write about me and my struggle to find a church. I didn’t get to it in the first post because what I write here not often thought out completely. I kinda do that as I go along. Plust, I was getting sick (which I now am, officially), so I was pretty much coming in and out of it as I wrote. So, anyway, what I forgot is what follows.

I grew up attending a very traditional Southern Baptist church in suburban Jackson, MS. I loved it. I really did. That might surprise some of you who know my struggles with those kinds of churches as of late and with the SBC in particular. But I really only have good memories of those years. Sure it had its problems (I won’t hash them out here; it’s beside the point) but the people of that church instilled in me values, theology and a knowledge of God that has shaped who I am today. I was baptised at that church. I attended VBS every summer and dreamed of when I’d get to be in the youth group. My best friend’s dad was on staff at the church. It seems like I was there all the time.

Now that church is all but dead, another mostly-empty church building (though this one of more traditional church architecture; it has a steeple and stained glass and everything) in a declining part of town. What happened? Any number of things, probably. I don’t know. My family had moved by the time it really had to try to weather some real problems, not the least of which was staying traditional and fundamental in the midst of the changing church culture in America.

But as I think back, that tradition is something that I miss the most.

Every Sunday morning we would close the service by all standing and singing together “The Doxology,” which is really just the last verse to another hymn called “Awake, My Soul, and with the Sun.” If you were raised in a church like mine (and so many of us were) then you probably know the lyrics already. But if you weren’t and, therefore, you don’t, I’ve printed them for you below.

Praise God from Whom all blessings flow;

Praise Him all creatures here below;

Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;

Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost;

Amen

Every Sunday from as long as I can remember until we moved our church membership when I was in the eighth grade, we sang that song, loud, boisterous and triumphant to the accompaniment of a piano and a huge pipe organ. For the longest time I wasn’t even sure what the words were. I never saw them printed or was told where to look in the hymnal. Everyone just seemed to know them and eventually I did too. There was a mystery to it. It felt completely different than anything else I did during the week. It felt more sacred. Older. Other.

Just after Thansgiving we would dedicate a Sunday evening service to the “Hanging of the Greens” where we decorated the church for Christmas and officially began the Advent season that we would celebrate for the following four Sundays. During this service we would decorate two Christmas trees that flanked the pulpit. Only, they weren’t called Christmas trees. They were called Chrismon trees because they weren’t to be decorated with mere ornaments, but rather with chrismons, symbols from the life of Christ and His Church. You can google “chrismon” if you’re completely unfamiliar with what I’m talking about but these would be ornaments in the shapes of shepherd staffs or chalices or mangers or crosses or flames, etc. The list could go on.

I remember there were hundreds of them. There would be tables in the lobby of the sanctuary covered in chrismons. On your way into the service, everyone in attendance would pick one up. And there was an unspoken rule amonst the adults that they were to never take the grapes. You see, all of the chrismons were decorated in white and gold… all, that is, except for the grapes, which were covered in purple and green sequins. These were left for us kids to try to get to first. If you were one of the lucky ones to get a bunch of grapes as your chrismon then you were the shiz.

The highlight of the service (well, the highlight for me and everyone else I knew) was when the pastor would go through the chrismons one at a time, carefully explaining to all present what that particular symbol represented and meant. If he was talking about your chrismon, then it was time for you to go and hang it on one of the two trees. You have no idea how much my knowledge of the story of Jesus was reinforced by hearing about those symbols year after year.

So, why do I bring those two things up? Because, in many ways, they epitomize “tradition” and have all but been abandoned in most modern churches (at least the ones I’ve visited). I mean, who sings “ye” in a song anymore? Yet they are representative of some of the things I miss the most. Sure, absence makes the heart grow fonder, but the memories I have about my practice of church in those years goes way beyond simple nostalgia.

Now, my problem isn’t that I can’t find a church that sings the doxology or decorates with chrismons at Christmas. If you remember, the main reason I gave for my recent absence in church attendance was that I have struggled endlessly to find one that I like. Yet when I think back the things that I “liked” are not things that I would be looking for now or that, if I encountered them, I would say that I did like.

My point is that my perspective is skewed. I’m looking for the wrong thing. A lot of us are. Neil’s 100% correct. Of course, I hope Jen is too in that we are now far enough removed from the “worship wars” to recognize that thinking it was a war in the first place is ludicrous and that we can now have a greater appreciation for all expression and practice of worship of the one true God.

I wanted to write all this to basically say that I’m wrong. I’ve been doing it wrong. I want to fix that and do it right. It’s just not that easy, though maybe it should be, but I’m working on it.

Though, if the next church I walked in had a table covered in styrofoam grape-bunches decorated with colored sequins it would make my deicision about which church to attend a lot easier.

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Can I be honest with you for a second? Because I’m not sure I can. I’ve been thinking about writing about what I want to write in this post about for awhile now, and the more I think about you reading it, the more nervous I get. What will you think of me? Will you take it the wrong way? Will you judge me? Will you write me off? Will you brand me a pagan?

Of course, I’m really not even that sure about who “you” are. So, since you can’t answer me very well anyway, I’m just going to go ahead with this post and deal with the consequences. I mean, this is a blog, right? Not the inquisition. (Though I’m sure it could be.)

It can be really tough for me to go to church. In fact, (moment of confession and transparency here) lately (and I’ll let you define “lately”) I haven’t gone at all. Why? Well, honestly, I don’t really like it. There. I said it, and I’m still here. God hasn’t struck me down… at least, not yet.

Let me expound on this.

First, there are a number of questions about what it means that I haven’t been to church in a while. Does it mean that I don’t worship, both individually and coporately? Does it mean that I don’t sing hymns or praise songs? Does it mean that I don’t pray or meditate or read Scripture or study the Bible with other believers? Does it mean that I don’t listen to sermons or give of my money to the greater body of Christ? Does it mean that I don’t fellowship with other Christ-followers? Does it mean that I don’t celebrate communion? Does it mean that I don’t tell others about Jesus? Does it mean that I don’t participate actively in the mission of God around the world? Does it mean that I’m not being challenged by saints of greater maturity than my own or that I’m not investing in those who haven’t been following the Way as long as I have? Does it mean that I’m not producing spiritual fruit in my life or excercising the gifts with which the Spirit has equipped me? Does it mean that I am not contributing the furthering of God’s kingdom? Does it mean that I don’t Sabbath? No. It doesn’t mean any of those things. In fact, I would argue that I actively engage in all of these activities on just as much a regular basis as I would if I confined my participation in them to weekly church activities that I participated in withouth fail.

Then what does it mean? Well, I don’t often go to a particular church building. I don’t support the denomination of my local congregation. I don’t contribue to my church’s budget. I could go on, but you probably get the idea.

Now… so far it probably appears as if I’m going to make a case to validate my lack of church attendance. But I’m not. You see, if you asked me if I think I’m sinning by continuing to participate in the first list while withholding my participation from things that could go in my second list, I would say “yes.” Even though I still regularly practice the spiritual and essential aspects of church and just conveniently avoid all the trappings of an institution, I still believe it’s sin. I’m not proud of it. I’m no justifying it. I’m just telling you how it is. I hope that there is never a day where George Barna is right and that the “true” Christians are out on the golf course on Sunday mornings while dying congregations stare blankly ahead in their half-empty conference-center-style cathedrals. Firstly, because I sold my golf clubs in a garage sale to rasie money to go to Africa (plus, I suck at it anyway) and secondly, because I don’t think that’s what God desires.

What am I saying, then? I think God wants me (and you) to go to church. The little “c” kind. Some local congregation, whether it meets in a really nice building or in your neighbor’s house.

So, why haven’t I been going? Trust me. It would take way longer than you want to read to fully answer that one (most of you have checked out by now anyway and I’m only continuing to type for those of you reading simply for the sake of procrastinating from what you really need to be doing).

The simplest way for me to say it is this: I have had an impossible time trying to find a church that I “like.” I realize all of the implications (most of them faulty) that are contained within that statement, but if you want to know the reason. There it is. It ain’t pretty.

So, what is it that I have trouble liking? Any number of things. Some of them completely superficial. Like, the style (or lack thereof) of musical worship or that music is the only thing considered to be worship or how the pastor preaches or what he (or she) preaches about or how much money was spent on the building or the lack of “ugly” people in the congregation or… The reality is that if any of us sat down to make a list of all the surface-level things we don’t like about certain churches, the list could go on endlessly.

However, the main thing that I have found missing around the ‘Ham for me is a church with a theology that I identify with. I don’t want to get into attacking particular churches or denominations here (I’ve done that plenty elsewhere), but I will say that I haven’t found one whose beliefs I would say I line up with. And I don’t know that that’s completely unusual, especially when you get into parts of theology that are based much more on tradition than Biblical exegesis. However, I have a few non-negotiables that for most churches and denominations don’t really go together. I would think that they would, but evidently they don’t. I recognize I’m being a bit vague on this point, but if you know me, you can figure out what those things are, and if you don’t know me, then you’ll have to take my word that it is another thing that will take a long time to explain.

Yet, here I am, continuing to sin on the basis of these reasons. And not only that, but I also lack a true community of faith with whom I gather regularly and am never forced to encounter and overcome the differences, failings and trappings of our local churches.

This has all come up lately because of Story. I want to raise Story in a church. I want to be a part of a church that helps me to grow so that I’m a better father and spiritual leader for Story and Liza. I want to be obedient for my own spiritual well being but also as an example to Story, not to mention for the glory of God.

Yet this one thing for me (and I recognize that it’s a pretty big thing, especially for someone who’s supposedly a spiritual leader and went to seminary for goodness sake) contines to be a real hang-up, and I have no idea what to do about it.

I talk with enough people to know that I’m not alone in this, though I might be an extreme case because I just don’t force myself to go. I gave up on that tactic a long time ago.

But I’m looking for the answer. God and I talk a lot about it. A lot. Believe me.

In fact, I’d say that me sitting here and writing this and putting it out there is part of the conversation.

How big a part? I guess that remains to be seen.

In the meantime… I don’t know.

Maybe I need to go ’round again.

There are those people who ask me why I don’t just start my own (church, that is). The answer to that question is for another post entirely.

So, what?

All I can really tell you, I guess, is that I’m full of questions on this subject and not a lot of answers. But I am bound and determined to seek out those answers instead of just going with the flow. That doesn’t make me righteous or holy or anything… not anymore than my grudging church attendance has in the past. But I hope that it will lead to a better outcome.

In the meantime, does anyone have some golf clubs I can borrow?

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We’re at the new island now, and we’re a little over halfway through our trip. So, they were gracious enough to plan into our hectic schedule a day to kinda relax and take it easy. I say that to give you fair warning that this post may seem cush and trivial when considered against everything else we’ve been doing. That’s because it is. However, it’s also needed and part of what makes a Compassion vision trip so effective, but I won’t get into all that now.

I woke up this morning and went to the lobby area (it’s not really inside, so I don’t know if it is actually a lobby) so I could use the internet. I grabbed some breakfast, bought an hour worth of wi-fi from the front desk and then called Liza on Skype (which rules, by the way; free plug for Skype). I also was able to post about yesterday, though I didn’t quite finish it before we left, but it should be finished by now.

We then went to Nice’s church (she’s one of the LDP’s that might be with us this summer). It was the 61st anniversary of the church. This means that it was founded in 1947 soon after the Japanese had been occupying the Philippines during WWII. So, the service was really centered around that, and they had pulled out all the stops. There was a lot of singing and a lot of dancing. However, it wasn’t really what I had expected. It was pretty modernized, a nice church building, a sound system, a live band, a screen and a projector. But it was still really cool to just see the people worshipping there and to hear how proud and joyful they are. And I mean really joyful. I won’t get off on a tangent here (even though I could), but I’ll just say that one of the things that has made it difficult for me to find a church lately is that people seem to have anything but joy at a lot of churches I visit or else it seems to be completely contrived (yes, I’m being judmental by saying that, I guess, but that’s not really the point). Anyway… before the service started there was a little boy running around the front just playing with a balloon. He would even run up onstage sometimes if his balloon got away from him and ended up there. I leaned over and asked Taylor what he thought would happen if a little boy was running around the stage playing before one of the services at our churches. We decided some uber-important dude, would get onto him or chide his mother for not making him stop.

After the church they had prepared food and drinks for people to hang around and spend time together to celebrate the church’s anniversary. Of course we immediate found ourselves with plates full of stuff. I sampled everthing and some of it was pretty good, like the banana chips and banana bread. However, there was also some kind of tamale thing, and it wasn’t so hot. They also gave us bottles of some red drink that they called red tea. It tasted like Kool Aid. I was hot so I drank all of mine. Later we found out they had made it. Supposedly the water had been boiled, but the bottle may have been cleaned out with who know’s what. A waiting game ensued to see if anyone would show symptoms of some horrible stomach illness. We didn’t, but it did make us feel like a bunch of pansies, like, “oh, I’m sorry. I can’t have what you prepared for me. I’m American. Our stomachs are weak. We really only eat processed foods.”

After “fellowshipping” for awhile, we hopped on our vans and came back to the hotel (Actually, to be perfectly honest, it’s more like a resort. No, it is a resort). We changed and caught a boat across to another island to a beach (I can hear your groans now). We ate lunch there and spent the afternoon engaging in various activities. I’ll spare you the details of the $10 hour-long massages by the water that had a little Filipino lady bending Graham like a pretzel or the snorkeling outing to an outlying coral reef where a sea serpent was spotted.

So, after our afternoon of nothing important, we came back to the resort, changed again, and went to a “cultural dinner.” That phrase can mean anything so we didn’t know what to expect. The dinner was good. The hotel catered it. But here’s the deal… evidently we’re the first (or possibly the second, depending on who you ask) Compassion advocate group to visit Davao City. That’s because the island we’re on (Mindalau) is known for its criminal and terrorist activity (though it’s nowhere near us). So, whenever the Filipino Compassion office suggests that groups come here, the American office in Colorado Springs says “no.” But for some reason they let us come. Hmm… Anyway, the Compassion LDP graduates and alumni association were so excited for us to be here (and for our coming to hopefully open doors for other groups to visit in the future) that they planned the whole evening for us. There was worship and singing and dancing and all kinds of fun.

One singing group consisted of four cousins who were all former Compassion children. They were amazing. Very personable and incredible singers as well as performers.

The last dance the group performed was with these two long bamboo poles on the ground that two people would slap together on every third beat. The dancers would dance in between the poles avoiding the slaps. After they were done, of course, they wanted us to join in. I was the second to give it a try, and I have to say that I didn’t do that bad.

At the end of the night, though, came the culmination of everything. The balut challenge.

Let me give some history here. There’s a show on the travel channel called Strange Foods or something like that. Basically, this guy goes around to different places and tastes of the local cuisine, no matter how bizarre it might be. Taylor saw an episode before we left where this dude was in the Philippines and ate some kind of cooked baby duck out of an egg.

On the first day we were here we asked the Filipinos about it. They lit up and said that this food had been featured on Fear Factor as well and that it really was a common delicacy around here. So, we’ve been talking about trying it all week, like really trying to gas each other up. So, Nice contacted her sister here in Davao and had her prepare two dozen of the things. Not everyone tried it and not everyone finished it, but it was great fun for all, Filipino and American alike.

Below is a video of the experience intercut with Pattie’s explanation of just what it is. Some of the audio sucks, and some settings got jacked on the camera so parts might be a little grainy, but you’ll get the idea.

And that’s that. We see our last project tomorrow, and we’ve still got a ton of filming to do. Pray for us.

Signing off.

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