God on Stage: Open Mic at Kwantlen

Tonight I'm hosting what I hope will be the first of many open mic events at Kwantlen. When I was a college student I loved playing music at open mics, so when I started thinking of fun community events to put on at Kwantlen this was an obvious choice for me. People of a wide variety of experience and skill all gather around and enjoy each other’s music, poetry, and art. Music achieves one of its many levels of greatness simply by grabbing a guitar from the closet and singing “blowing in the wind” to a crowd of classmates avoiding their homework.

At a chaplaincy meeting yesterday we went over the chaplain's job description and the very first line says something to the effect of “being a Christian presence on campus”. I think that events like this open mic is part of that Christian presence. It’s certainly not explicitly evangelistic (depending on how you interpret that term, little to none of what I do is), it’s not even overtly spiritual or “Multi-faith,” but I think it certainly is part of God’s activity here on campus. God is the creator of beauty, the creator of artistic expression, and so to celebrate that and give others a chance to share their art is part of God’s redemptive act in the world because that act is beautiful, is beauty itself.

So opening up a stage and microphone to anyone who wants to share their gifts and talents, whether they are honed to perfection or not, whether they identify with the Christian faith or not, is an opening, and window, into who God is: a God who is beauty, most abundantly in the person and life of Jesus Christ in whom we live and move and have our being. 

Among Atheists

It’s been a long time since my last blog post! No real excuse, but I've been fairly occupied by a Postmodern Philosophy and Religion discussion group that has been going on through November. It’s been an exciting and interesting set of conversations; a mix of students with different backgrounds and different assumptions. It’s been particularly interesting dialoguing with students who are rigorous atheists. Our dialogue has been respectful but not lacking in passion or debate, which makes for a really lively and (I think) fruitful discussion. The topics are wide-ranging: the existence and reality of God, politics, ethics, knowledge, personal development, and others. As I've learned from the Christian Reformed tradition, there isn't one sphere of life untouched by God, and so that means no sphere of life is off limits when discussing philosophy and religion.

It’s really helpful to rub shoulders in this way, with people who hold entirely different assumptions about the world. In these discussions I have tried to enter in with a willingness to be changed by the encounter. This doesn't mean I hold my beliefs lightly, ready to toss them out with a moments notice. Rather, it means that my beliefs are (hopefully) brought into a non-defensive dialogue with very different positions.

What I've been struck by as I've enjoyed these conversations is how compelled I am by the Christian vision of the world and the gospel. As I stumble over words trying to articulate the mystery of God I feel myself being drawn into that mystery. The materialist or atheist disagreements have done very little to shake that experience. I don’t feel as though I'm being defensive with the Christian faith. Even, and perhaps especially, when that faith is exposed to rigorous critique I have a deep experience of it being beautiful, somewhat terrifying, and utterly true (in a way that far exceeds mere propositional truth).

Whether or not it becomes so attractive to others is the work of the Holy Spirit. For myself, while I claim a certain limited competence in articulating the Christian faith I strive to allow my voice to be silenced in two ways: by others who want to express a deeply different opinion but also by the experience of the gospel itself, which challenges me more than any atheist position ever has. Rowan Williams has said it elegantly:

“The greatness of the great Christian saints lies in their readiness to be questioned, judged, stripped naked and left speechless by that which lies at the centre of their faith” (The Wound of Knowledge).

It is this sort of submission to the cross of Christ that I am attempting to live out on the Kwantlen campus, whether in a conversation with an atheist or a deeply committed Christian. Everything, even our own articulation of the Christian faith, is subject to the beauty of Christ. And Christian faith does not so much give us perfect knowledge of God as put us on our knees in awe, terror, worship, and love. 

St. Anthony and Kwantlen (The Desert in the City)

Kwantlen is a frenzied place to go to school. Students are often in a rush, running from class to tutorial to study session before getting a “break” when they get to stand in line at Tim Horton’s for 15 minutes during lunch hour. And a major reason for such a hectic education is the goal (and perhaps the pressure) of getting a degree which will launch a solid career path. Not only are that, but a huge percentage of students, one of the highest in the country, also work part- or full-time while attending Kwantlen. So in addition to feeling hectic at school, many of these students might have to drive across the city to get to a job that starts half an hour after a class ends. And if to all of this we add external commitments to a spouse, family, religious community, or friends, then we might conclude that “frenzied” is putting the situation rather lightly.

I suspect that many of us may actually live a similar life to the average Kwantlen student. There are a multitude of pressures coming in from all sorts of places – work, family, church, friends, committees, boards, etc. In a lot of ways, it seems as though such a situation can’t be avoided. How could we possibly escape such pressures? We can and possibly should choose to take on less projects and less commitments than many of us do. But in a lot of ways, I feel like this situation of multiple pressures is sort of the air we breathe, the water we swim in. Baring a radical life-style change, we’re sort of “stuck”; if we choose to take on less commitments then we’ll either take on something else or what we already have taken on will swell and expand to fill the little breathing room we may have managed to create.

What does such a context mean spiritually? How does learning, living, and inhabiting such an environment affect our lives lived before the face of God?

In the first place, I think, it’s a spiritual challenge. It is fatiguing. It is unsettling, fragmenting, disorienting. If our hearts are truly restless until they rest in God, then it is clear that the restlessness of our contemporary life presents a challenge to that aim, that end, that final goal of communion with God. And sometimes it is not clear that such a challenge can be overcome. Where is God to be found? How can we “rest” in him? Even in times of prayer we aren’t “restful”; concerns and anxieties are often the first thing to distract me from prayer, from entering into the word of God in the scriptures.

But is there any unique gift that our fragmented postmodern lives can offer to living with God? Or are we simply doomed by our culture to have (or to want to have) successful careers, a network of colleagues and friends, excellent healthcare, a large house, long life, and all the anxieties that accompany such a life-style?

I don’t really have the answer to this question. I waver between having more despair (which this post suggests) and having more hope, where perhaps spiritual practices of prayer, worship, silence, and solitude can break into our sense of fragmentation, where these practices can create a centre rather than another piece of an impossible puzzle.

In an admittedly different context (Egypt about 1700 years ago) there was a wealthy Christian named Anthony. By this point Christians were no longer being persecuted. They had freedom to worship, they were involved in running society, they now held power a certain amount of power and influence. In that way, somewhat similar to how we might feel studying at Kwantlen: get a degree, get a job, contribute to society! Go, go, go!

In Church one day he heard the gospel reading say “Sell all you have and give it to the poor. Then come and follow me.” Anthony was a literalist – he did precisely that and went off into the desert for a life of prayer, scripture reading, and simplicity. It wasn’t long before he was being joined by others, now known as the “Desert Mothers and Fathers”: the beginning of monastic community.

Not many of us will choose or even could choose such an extreme change in life-style. But we can find some hope in this: Anthony was given a vision of his “spiritual equal”. Who could this possibly be? Anthony had given up everything to follow Christ, surrendered a wealthy life for one of poverty and commitment to relationship with God and others. This vision, though, showed a regular person in the regular city, working a regular job: plumber, lawn-mower, accountant, or what have you.

So the radical retreat and life-style change of Anthony is an important expression of a spiritual yearning for God. But that radical spiritual yearning is available to anyone, anywhere. Our contemporary life, expressed by a career driven place like Kwantlen, does indeed offer challenges. There are things that need to be refused in order to live life with God. But sometimes it feels like we simply can’t refuse the frenzied pace; it’s simply inescapable.

However, I think that Anthony’s vision tells a different story. We can live a radically spiritual life in the midst of a radically non-spiritual context. The intensity of Anthony’s commitment to God is available to us, too. How this is the case, I am not really sure. But Jesus affirms a similar point when he is addressed with the pressures of his day and age: a family that thinks he’s out of his mind. (Mark 3:31-34)

Then Jesus' mother and brothers arrived. Standing outside, they send someone in to call him. A crowd was sitting around him, and they told him, "Your mother and brothers are outside looking for you."
"Who are my mother and my brothers?" he asked. Then he looked at those seated in a circle around him and said, "Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does God's will is my brother and sister and mother."

Autumn Leaves

“Lord, you have assigned me
   my portion and my cup;
you have made my lot secure.”

                                Psalm 16:5

Outside the Multi-Faith Office the trees are blazing with colour. Their leaves range in colour from light green tinged with yellow, to deep red and orange, and everything in between as they prepare to shed their summer leaves for the winter season, though first showing off an array of colour and light.

This morning for morning prayer we spent time with Psalm 16. It’s an invitation to give thanks to God for what he has done. Today one of the things he has done is bless the Kwantlen campus with bursting fall colour. This is part of “my portion and my cup” that God has given.

Of course, “my portion and cup” stretches beyond these few minutes of enjoying the beauty of autumn. We are all given many good things: bodies, personalities, careers, tasks, possessions, family, friends, and community; and the list goes on.

But all these things are not always so easy to accept; our “lot” does not always feel so “secure” as the Psalmist expresses here. My job is difficult! I'm struggling with my relationships! I feel like a failure! I want a different personality! My body is failing! My car isn't nice enough!

Such concerns and anxieties can plague anyone. When I walk these halls at KPU, meet students and faculty, or when I pray by myself, there always seem to be things we aren't happy with. Always something to be discomforted by. How then can we possibly thank God for our portion and our cup? How can we claim that he has made our lot secure? Even when surrounded by wealth, blessings, and love it’s so easy to feel insecure!

That is why these fall leaves in their seeming insignificance are so important. I glance out the window and can enjoy them for a brief moment before my thoughts become anxious or unsettled. And yet the trees still stand tall, displaying all their simple beauty. And for a moment my experience of them is “my portion and my cup”. In that experience, my lot is made secure.

We cannot experience peace in the big things of our life – marriage, work, family, self-identity – if we are not willing to find peace in the moment that God has given. Your portion and cup of large-life aspirations only takes place one moment at a time. So what God has given you, what God is always giving you, is this moment. Sometimes that moment is rather easy to enjoy, like beautiful autumn colours. I can totally admit that different circumstances can make “the moment” seem more like a burden than a blessing.

But God has redeemed this person (you) in this moment (now) through his identification with creation and humankind in Jesus. 

It is in Jesus that you, God,

Have made known to me the
  path of life;
you will fill me with joy in your
  presence,
with eternal pleasures at your
  right hand.

                                Psalm 16:11

Fill us with the joy of Christ through the Autumn leaves of the present moment, now and always.

Amen

The Wings of the Dawn

“If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
    if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
    your right hand will hold me fast.”

                                                Psalm 139: 9-10

The practice of prayer is an important, beautiful, and often difficult thing in Christian life. One of the small things I am doing at Kwantlen is host a time of morning prayer on the days I am on campus, praying through scripture: the Psalms and the Gospel of Mark. It is a very humble, small beginning – sometimes I am alone, sometimes I am joined by one or two others. But in its very smallness this activity is still one which is crucial for inspiring and equipping followers of Christ to experience and prepare ourselves for what God may do in the normal moments of our day.

Prayer can be difficult, too. Particularly in busy lives where there is always something to do or something to be distracted by. When we slow down with scripture and in silence we might experience a sense of disorientation. Our doubts, fears, and anxieties love to rush to the surface. The Psalmist knows this experience: “Out of the depths I cry to you!” we pray time and time again through the psalter.

But the poetry and profundity of the Psalms is also something to take deep comfort in. The passage from Psalm 139 above is a remarkable piece of poetry; the simple phrase “the wings of the dawn” is full of imagery and power, as if the morning sunrise were a bird that our souls fly away on, rising to meet the beauty and the pain of an ordinary day, settling down in places where we might think God is far away. Yet “even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.”

So “comfort, comfort my people,” says our God. Take the time to slow down in prayer. Open yourself to the fear and anxiety that might be present with every morning, with every beautiful dawn. And trust that where ever you are – at work, at home, on the road, at Kwantlen – no place is empty of God’s guiding presence, his steady right hand. God call us to himself no matter what our circumstances, as this morning we read Jesus say in Mark: 2: 27 – “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners”. 

Learning and Walking the Unknown Path

It’s been a busy couple of weeks with the Multi-Faith Centre at KPU. Since the new semester has started we have been busy attending different orientation events, trying to raise awareness and create some student interest and energy around the MFC. We’ve also been internally working on expanding and bringing on board new chaplains and new faith traditions – the latest on that front is a new Buddhist chaplain on the Richmond campus and there will soon be a humanist chaplain joining me on the Surrey campus. Things are moving along!

As for creating a Christian community here on campus, things have been slow but relatively steady, probably to be expected in the first year on campus. I’ve made a number of positive connections with Christian students and staff, and I’ve enjoyed these first steps of developing a friendship with them; I look forward to more. But students are very busy and have widely different schedules, which makes bringing us all together something of a challenge. I continue to work on finding a common time and I trust that the Lord will provide. Morning Prayer is happening on Thursdays at 8: 40 regardless of who joins me, but I look forward to sharing the scriptures with fellow Christians as the semester and school year moves along and I make stronger and more frequent connections.

This morning for prayer I read Psalm 25: “Show me your ways, O Lord, teach me your paths; guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long.” What are God’s ways on this university campus? What paths of God can I follow as I walk down these halls? God seems often frustratingly silent on the details. But I trust that his paths run “to the ends of the earth,” and so in that spirit I can tentatively hope that as I walk down to the student café for a coffee in the morning the simple journey I am taking can become obedient to God’s divine providence, guidance, and direction. I am by no means certain or confident of what that precisely means. But I have no choice other than deep trust that my presence at Kwantlen can join in with the very action of God.

"The Spirit Blows Where it Wills"

Last week at orientation on KPU’s I was hosting the Multi-Faith Centre table as the Christian Reformed Chaplain. On the Richmond campus a few years ago the MFC created an “I believe in…” board, where students write what they “believe in” on a small card and pin it to a large board. We decided to take up that same project on both the Richmond and the Surrey campuses this year. At the end of a day of orientation we have a large board filled with objects of belief, representing something of the diversity at Kwantlen. We’ll continue the project next week during “Welcome Week”, but orientation alone resulted in lots of different answers. I believe in…: myself, opportunity, God, respect, family, food and eating, and Jesus Christ, to name a few.

What does it mean to “believe in” Jesus Christ? And especially, what does it mean to believe in Jesus Christ in the context of so many other beliefs, from the trivial examples of “food” to the incredibly vague examples of “opportunity”? Not only that, but there are certainly religious traditions at KPU and in Surrey who aren’t represented on the board; think about the major world religions of Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, and Sikhism. What does “belief in Jesus Christ” mean alongside this myriad of differing traditions?

Jesus is the one who shows us what God is like. He is the Son who is so utterly dependent on his Father that that relationship of dependence is the ultimate thing that controls his life, a life of love, compassion, even to death. And we are invited into that relationship. Jesus invites us to stand where he stands, to pray “Our Father who art in heaven”. And this invitation is so powerful, so moving, so completely reconciling, that the invitation itself has made its way into the way Christian’s talk about God: the Holy Spirit. So to “believe in Jesus” means to inhabit and dwell within the beauty and assurance of Jesus’s invitation to stand with him, beside him, and have him stand and dwell within us as we pray to the Father, the source of Life, in the power of the Holy Spirit.

But can we do this alongside other traditions? How would we do this alongside other traditions? Jesus says to Nicodemus in John 3: “The wind blows where it wills. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit”. There is a mystery about the spirit who invites us into relationship with God. God has shown us himself in Jesus, but Jesus himself wasn’t entirely predictable. He refused final definition, a figure on the move. So it is of those born of the spirit. We might be tempted to label non-Christians cleanly and easily as “wrong” or “misguided”; and as Christians we do certainly need to make judgements about right and wrong, about true and false. But an important part of that act of judging is to be open to the spirit working in us and working beyond us. 

I hope this can open us to a simultaneous posture of confidence and humility. Confidence in God’s revelation in Christ and our participation in it through the Holy Spirit, but also humility in recognizing that the very spirit in whom we have salvation also is free to work and blow where it wills. I certainly seek bear witness to God in Christ, but part of that seeking is watching and waiting for the Lord in quiet confidence and assurance.

Belief in Christ is never a “finished task” in itself, let alone face to face with other traditions. And certainly the Christian task is not to water down our faith to make it palatable for everyone and anyone; the distinctiveness of the gospel in Christ is the gospel. But the gospel is clearly so much more than the mere truth that “Jesus is God”. If Jesus himself is the truth, then the Christian task is not necessarily to convince others of our faith but to combine our words with our actions, not only actions of service, but also our acts of prayer and acts of receptivity to the life of the Spirit which blows where it wills.