Baptism

I don’t want to lose the thread of exclusivity, but I have to get this out there. Pedro and I were hashing some things out yesterday, talking about the difficulty of really working with and from the poor—the way it grates on you, wears you out, aggravates you, tears at your relationships with the people who help in the work, etc. We’re conscious of this great need for those of us doing some hard-core work to simply just decide to love each other. Anyway, we discussed some joys and some validation. A particular family we are working with has started coming to the church, and after the first visit asked if we would baptize their babies.

It’s a powerful thing, infant baptism. The congregation is saying that we stand by the family in raising the child. There was a family who came to the church in Winchester and wanted me to baptize their baby. They did not live in the state, they were not believers, just wanted it done in a church they had attended as a child. I said I would baptize the baby if they would leave it with me when they went back home. Of course, they were shocked. I explained to them that this was not some magic ritual, but an entry point into the faith community, and I could not do this and let the child go back into the world. As my friend Charles Brockwell has said, “Baptism [adult or infant] is not our individual vote for Jesus. It is entry into the covenant community.” This is hard for us individual westerners to take—we think we make the decision and then we get baptized and then… so many adults baptized and where are they now? Fallen back, because the Church does not understand what God does through water and the Spirit! But I digress.

Anyway, I said to Pedro that this could be a huge moment for the church, to say that this family struggling to faith is giving us their babies while they figure it out. Peter’s comment was classic: “at that point, baptism is the only appropriate response.”

Ah yes, life in the fourth century is good!

Half-Asleep in Frog Pajamas

When I was in Vegas, I spent an afternoon reading Matthew Mark and Luke, with one eye: what do the gospels, what does Jesus say about his exclusivity? That is, is He the only way to salvation? This is a hard question for modern Westerners. We feel strange saying that Jesus is the only way. We want to say, “there are many ways to the same place,” or some such. I suppose that in my mind, exclusivity rested largely on His words in John, “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life, no one comes to the Father except through me.” I did not bother going through John, because John’s gospel is clearly exclusivist in its claims.

When I read the others, tho, I was amazed. When you read it with an eye for only one thing, seeing if Jesus expresses that there are other ways, you find that on almost every page there is no other way, no other one. Jesus has committed a terrible sin in modern eyes: He does not allow for other options.

I suppose one would not die on a cross if you sort of thought you were onto something. You’d want to be real sure. And you definitely don’t want to tell Peter, “Hey dude, it’s all good—Me, Mithraism, Isis cults, as long as they’re good people, they’re in dude. And by the way, be prepared to die in a gruesome manner for my particular way that’s no better than any other.”

Here’s where my new friend was challenging me the other day, the point of our disagreement. She wondered if I was a relativist, which hurt bad! I know Baker is losing it at this point—Mansfield, a relativist?! Her question was there’s a Muslim who does not believe in Christ. Is he going to heaven or hell? My answer is from Romans 1 and 2, that those who do not have the Law sometimes live as if they know it naturally, “their consciences now bearing witness, now accusing them.” I have a difficult time thinking that if by accident of history and geography you do not have access to Christ, you’re going down. That is, did the Indians have to wait for Europeans to kill them all before they could be saved from Hell?

Well, we didn’t agree there. She is pretty persuasive and intensely logical, so I came away with a lot to think about. I don’t have any problem with the exclusivity of Christ—He is the only way to salvation. I know some people can’t even go there with me. But the question of the moment is: when does that exclusivity kick in? What is the place/condition of responsibility for accepting or denying Christ? And if there is such a place, does evangelism and mission not mess things up? I mean, if you could just be someone on some remote mountaintop, worshipping whatever however, no knowledge of Christ, why intrude if God is going to judge?

And then, one of her original questions is related to that: why try to witness to someone in a repressive culture where to confess Christ means death? Just let them be and see how things shake out. My answer felt (was) pretty hollow: I look back on my life without Christ, and suppose somehow God would have let me in not knowing Christ, all I can say is that my life with Christ now is way better than that one of ignorance. Not exactly a mindset for the martyrs… I have been feeling for a couple weeks that I really need to be formed by some Third World Christianity, because this comfortable American crap is killing me. Which is pretty much what she said, in a nicer, more constructive way: “You need to spend some time in a Syrian village, to learn Jesus’ context.”

What do y’all think? What does Jesus being the only Way mean? How does it work itself out in and for people who have never heard?

Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates

Someone (you know who you are!) was pressing me on the exclusivity of Christ. The question she asked was basically this: in some parts of the world, to confess Christ means a death sentence. What do you say to them? Is He the Way, the Truth, and the Life or not?

There's a lot to answer here, at least from my perspective. My good friend Bill Hughes has been on me to go with him to Russia, to teach in the seminary. That's fine, but what I really want to do is preach. My conversations with Norbert Itoula and Cedrick Lukonga have really been working me over about Africa, about the possibilities of connecting the refugees here with work back in Africa.

If Jesus is one way among many, why bother with evangelism, much less missions? It's not even a life or death question at this point. It's a motivation question. We'll see. I guess one thing that surprised me was that someone would give me some challenging thoughts on the exclusivity of Christ-- if you remember my time in Vegas, you'll recall I read the Gospels and found over and over again that Jesus takes His exclusivity for granted on almost every page.

Some of y'all are going to get to listen to me hash this out. Lucky you.

Pastor Libre

I'm getting the boys ready for school.
My friend Misty Clark's dad is a Methodist preacher in Western Kentucky. He and some other guys do this thing called tag-team preaching. One of them gets up and preaches and when he can't go anymore or another preacher gets worked up, they tag and the next guy comes in and wears it out. This is a country Methodist, a Pentecostal, and two Baptists, one black, one white, so you know there is some real roof-raising preaching going on. Anyway, I have wanted to do this ever since Misty told me about it. If I really let myself go, I dream of wearing a mask and calling myself "Pastor Mysterio," after my favorite wrestler, Rey Mysterio. Anyway.

So, I cooked breakfast for the boys. We sit down and it is clear these ain't Mammaw's eggs. John says, "Daddy, you cook like Nacho." Nacho being Jack Black's character in Nacho Libre, a monk who dreams of being a luchador (Mexican wrestler) but is relegated to cooking for the priests and the orphans. He's no good at it, of course. We got to laughing about all the funny things we remember from the movie. John asks, "Why can't we just have salad?"

Sick

I am a big baby when I get sick. I have strep, something I am prone to and get repeatedly unless I can convince the doctor to go after it with everything they have. There’s a shot that knocks it out, but they never give it to me first thing. I dread not getting the shot because I almost always have to go back after the pill antibiotics don’t work, and the strep comes back. Like I said, I am a big baby, laying around feeling sorry for myself.

They say that the hardest things to do after a loved one dies are the first times you do something that would have been together, something like that. First Christmas, birthdays, etc. I don’t think anyone has on their list first time puking your guts out all alone. Pretty miserable. But I had to laugh because all the times I puked, Melissa would say something like, “Dang, son, what’d you eat?” or “That doesn’t look like dinner did.” And inevitably the commentary on how did I keep that much inside me.

I think, finally, that the first things will be ok because there was always a lot of joy in what we did. So while it will be rough, it’ll also be good, because I can’t think of anything that I don’t remember with a smile or a laugh.

About the only thing that makes me feel better is a hot shower. Well, I am in the shower and Joe comes in and says there’s someone at the door. “Do you know who it is?” No, he didn’t so I told him to go look out the window. He said, “it’s a man and a woman.” “Do you know them?” “No, but she’s smiling and I think she’s nice.” So we had to have a quick talk about not opening a door or going with someone just because they’re smiling. He wouldn’t let it go, so I came to the door and it was Kim and Andy Newman with some beef stew.

First Day of School

The first week of school for the boys has gone really well. Remarkably well. The transition to Lexington has been smooth. They miss Mammaw pretty badly, but they are making it. The amazing thing has been school. Generally, one or both of the boys will cling to me, say they don’t want to go, beg to not have to, whatever. So far, none of that. They run right in. The school has done a really good job of making them welcome, of taking care of them.

But then there’s also this. The boys have gotten a big dose of “community,” the word I exorcised from my vocabulary as too trendy and void of meaning. It’s coming back, and the boys get it without knowing the word—that strikes me as important, not needing the word, having the reality. At the end of the first day, as we crossed the street, they saw Roz. Then Ruben. Then Charlotte, Melissa, Alice, Andrew and Brent. They were really excited to think that they had so many people close by.

But before we crossed the street from the school to the church, John was holding Joe’s hand and he pointed diagonally across the street and said, “Look, Joe-Joe. That’s 12th Street.” And he began to name the people who lived there: “Laura, Jessica, Fire Queen, Our Meg, Peter, Jackie…” They know they are surrounded by people they love and who love them.

There’s something to their experience. Too often, if we use a word, we think we have understood something. And maybe we have. But better the experience of community than understanding it.

Dull Persistence of Memory

Alison Krauss does a song Shenandoah recorded some years back, “Ghost in this House.” Melissa used to think Alison Krauss’ song choices were weird at best, too depressing at worst. About “Ghost in this House,” she used to say, “How can anyone be that sad?”

I don’t care if it rains, I don’t care if it’s clear

I don’t mind staying in, because there’s another ghost here.

She sits down in your chair and she shines with your light

And she lays down her head on your pillow at night.

Yes, Sissy, you can be that sad.

Great Quote Appendix

I can't print anything Jessica said.

Great Quote

The context isn't important. And it would just ruin it.

"Eating at bw3 is a thinking man's game."
--Rosario Picardo, 2:52 p.m, August 12, 2007

Moving, Garden

Me and the boys are moved into our new place. We live in the 05 now, and we’re pretty pumped to be right in the middle of things.

We live right smack in the middle of a bunch of parishioners, and we’re hatching plans to do our own version of 12^th Street Live over on our side. My new goal: convince as many people as possible to move to different streets. Then, there’d be a party every night somewhere…

John and Joe will start school at Arlington Elementary, right across the street from the church. Steve and I were playing no limit Texas Hold’em two Fridays ago. He was out of money and had to put Steffi on the table. He lost, and now she is stuck being our nanny. The boys will definitely appreciate the stability of having her to get them on the days I can’t.

The Garden Tour was a huge success. Close to 60 people, I’d say. We saw different types of gardens: art gardens, small gardens at a neighborhood center, a really nice one at the Senior Citizen’s Center. I am partial to ours, a very practical one—that is to say, a very Methodist one! I think we made connections with a group of people who can help us with the next phase of this work: turning the gardens over to the people of the community, for them to grow their own food.

Last night, we spent a wonderful time in the garden behind Arlington and on Price Avenue. Curtis, Paul and Venus, Maggie, Jessica, Christy, Lee and Beth, Dan and Marian, Alice and Brent and Andrew, and John, Joe, and I were pickin’ and grinnin’. The beans may be worn out, but that’s ok, we got a lot out of them. The tomatoes are coming on and corn will be ready in a few days. We had a load in Paul’s truck, and I am scared to see what First Church will bring in tomorrow… I think everyone was happy to work together, to see how much came out of there.

Like I keep saying, something good and right comes out of working in a garden. Sometimes it’s giving each other a hard time (esp about my theory of weeding. But, as I predicted, the drought isn’t bothering us because the weeds keep the ground wet...) Sometimes it’s just forging a simple but durable connection over basic work. Location and fidelity are vital to our life together, but those two things cannot be taken for granted in human relationships, especially in our rootless culture (ah, “rootless culture;” you can see that such a thing is a recipe for disaster!) A fair amount of our experience tells us that we can avoid needing each other. (Dorothy Day has a phrase for this ability/proclivity to separate: “the long loneliness.” It’s the title of her autobiography. I just finished it and heartily recommend it). No, there has to be some practice, some constancy, some unconsciously paying attention to voices and hands. Just as in regular prayer together, we get to know each other’s hearts, so in regular work together, we get pulled into each other’s lives.

3 people from the community came out and picked, too.