Confessions of a Religious Tourist

by | September 23, 2011

Two international trekkers from our community had recently returned from hiking in the Himalayas and brought home gifts they had acquired on their adventure. They presented our community with a shiny “singing bowl” (which rings out for minutes when you ding it) and a strand of multicolored Tibetan prayer flags.

Throughout the season of Easter our community had been writing prayers on small colored papers and pinning them to twine strung throughout our worship space. The result of the growing prayer installation closely resembled the flags brought by the world travelers. All we were missing was the wind to blow the papery rows of petitions about, and Pentecost could not have been a more perfect culmination of this season.

The children led us in procession from our worship space to the community garden out back, where we tied the prayers of our community from one bean teepee over to a sweet pea trellis and then finally over to an arch. The plan was to hang the Tibetan prayer flags alongside the prayers we had created, but before we did this, a member of our community, Christa, pulled me aside. “Ryan, I don’t think you know what’s written on these Tibetan prayer flags. It’s not simply ‘peace, love and harmony.’ They are prayers to other deities that are not the Trinity. I don’t think it’s right to do this.”

Christa had lived in Northern China before moving to Edmonds and joining our community and knew a lot about Tibetan Buddhism and Hinduism. I felt unprepared to care for her concern while also honoring the people who had brought the gift, so in my insecurity and anxiety I deflected by inviting her to share her experience and perspective with the two trekkers. Which she did, respectfully, while I made myself busy barbecuing. I checked in with the trekkers later on. “Oh, I wasn’t offended at all,” one said. “Actually, if you remember, you were the one who had asked us to bring back the prayer flags.”

How could I have forgotten?

The next day, I wrote an confessional and apologetic e-mail to Christa and the trekkers:

I was being a ‘religious tourist’ who intended to remain superficial. Then, when I got scared of being exposed, I passed the buck. Obviously, this is terrible leadership. I’m sad about that. If any conversations occurred yesterday about ‘what might it mean to be a Christ follower in a pluralistic world,’ or if anything positive resulted, it was because the Spirit of God is with us. Please forgive me.

All three individuals were gracious to me, and generous conversations did follow.

Our community may not have seen tongues of fire rest on our heads during the Pentecost service, but the Spirit moved in ways I didn’t expect – through a fumbled liturgy, open communication, and forgiveness. As curators of worship, we don’t get everything right all the time, especially the more we are willing to risk, and yet, Lord willing, something beautiful still emerges.

Words and Image © Ryan Marsh

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When ‘Call the Pastor!’ Doesn’t Cut It

by | September 20, 2011

With global weather disasters, regional famines, and local terrorist atrocities, we live in an age during which religious cooperation has become more a necessity than a nicety.

One gets the feeling that our age is more heavily laden with bad news and trouble than previous eras. Certainly, this is untrue. But it is true that we have never been so connected, and in this connectedness – through email, Twitter, Facebook, Google, the ease and speed of travel, etc. – the Japanese are able grieve for terror victims in New York, while New Yorkers lament for tsunami victims in Japan. I’m pretty sure this has not happened before our time. The downside? This proliferation of information has turned our blissful ignorance to horrific awareness. It’s allowed us access to the pain of others, whether we want to or not.

Our horrific awareness begs for some spiritual relief. If we were only speaking of a 19th century American frontier settlement tragedy, spiritual relief would be a no-brainer. “Call the pastor!” someone would shout. The clergyman from the local church – situated in the center of town and some flavor of Christian - would preside where presiding was necessary and intercede when the people could no longer pray for themselves in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost.

Today it’s a different story. No longer is spiritual disaster response solved with a single call to the local pastor. After all, there might be Hindus trapped in that building. It’s possible there are Muslims with homes underwater and relatives lost just off-shore. The mayhem of airplane hijackers takes the plane down even with Zen-Buddhists in coach.

The pressing question raised by our interconnectedness is: How do address deep spiritual needs when a diversity of faiths are represented in the fray?

Taking a step back, there is actually a question that logically precedes this one. It is the question ‘why?’ Why figure it out? Why do the hard work when even some of the greatest leaders of our time shun the opportunity?

I can think of several reasons why it is healthy, helpful, and spiritually responsible (from the Christian perspective) to figure out how to pray and worship together with those holding different beliefs, especially in times of trial:

God made everyone. As far as I can tell, we are all descended from Adam. Whether one takes this literally, or as myth (in the truest sense of the term), we are taught that all are persons are created by God. This basic fact lays a foundation for all other reasons.

We are similar. Each person is unique. True. Unique personalities. Unique opinions and points of view. Unique cultural biases and religious practices. Also, true: Everyone is the same. Everyone loves. Everyone hates. Each person has to do something with that sense (or lack of sense) of the spiritual they perceive. Though our conclusions vary, as children of the same Parent, our common humanity should outweigh our disparate preferences. This is why early on, the Spirit expanded the bounds of the Church beyond Jewish believers in Jesus. God’s chosen people would have to share God, whether they liked it or not.

We need each other. Our similarities include our needs. At any moment, we may find ourselves in need. At any moment, there is someone that can meet that need. Whether we are thirsty, hungry, lonely, fearful, saddened, perplexed, in shock, desperate, beaten down, abused, abandoned… relief has been pre-programmed into the scheme of the universe. That relief is called “you.” Sure, God parted the Red Sea, but Moses had to stretch out his hand. Someone (likely not a Christian) needs your hand – and the rest of what’s connected to it. And you just may need that non-Christian hand yourself one day.

Worship is witness. It might seem uncouth to raise evangelism when talking about interfaith cooperation. Must be my Baptist roots coming to the surface. Uncouth or not, my faith tradition says “faith unaccompanied by action is dead.” If I’m to bring my faith to the table with those of other religions, I must do more than quote scripture. I must do more than recite doctrine. I must do. Possible actions include more options than feeding the hungry and quenching the thirsty, though these are quite en vogue. I should also be asking God to act on behalf of others – whether Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, or atheist for that matter. Does anything speak more of my love (and God’s) for another than the prayer sincerely, humbly, and indiscriminately offered – with and in the presence of others? Especially when that prayer is answered, for real.

Can you come up with some more reasons why we ought to worship and pray with those of other faiths?

Image © iStockphoto

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Leadership Lessons From the Netflix Queue

by | September 16, 2011

This post was written by Darren Fink.

One evening, perusing the “thriller” genre on Netflix lead me to the title, Frozen. Understanding that my family – who enjoys comedies – would be back from their trip to Texas in three days, I persuaded myself to watch this movie, a movie that promised to make my body come alive with suspense-filled adrenaline. The promise of suspense won the night and I was soon being taken into this adventure of Joe (best friend #1), Dan (best Friend #2), and Parker (best friend #2′s girlfriend, at a ski resort.

The financially challenged students coerce Parker to flirt with the chair lift operator to give them access to the lift. She is successful and the character development begins. Joe is immensely upset that Parker is taking all his buddy time away from Dan. Parker slowly, over the course of the day, begins to pick up on this aggression toward her coming from Joe. Dan, who plays the role of leader, attempts to be “Switzerland” during the whole day to keep both parties satisfied.

The resort is beginning to close down. The students persuade the same lift operator to let them do one more run. Through a series of random and quick events the operator is called away from his station and the chairs are eventually shut down along with the entire resort, which is not scheduled to reopen for five days. The students’ conversation on the halted chair slowly goes from annoyance to pure terror at their situation.

The aspect of this tale that made the biggest impression on me was the fact that the student’s did NOT band together in their crisis. Instead, the friction between their personalities – which was small at the beginning of the film – caused them to bicker even more as the day went on. Each tried in their own way to escape into their private world to console themselves: the girlfriend reached for a cigarette, Joe actively recited the phone number of a girl he met on the slopes. Everyone attempted to keep themselves individually sane until Dan notices the start of severe frostbite on Parker’s face. The crisis then spins into a new level of chaos, causing Dan to jump from the elevated chair in an attempt to save his crew. Impending doom ensues as there are broken legs, tourniquets, and an issue with a wolf pack.

Pause.

How many times as a leader do you see this situation play out? You are among a group of phenomenal individuals that are passionate about connecting people with God. However, sometimes the Joe’s and Parker’s personalities in the group begin to grind on each other. As a leader, like Dan, you attempt to smooth over the situation and keep the group moving forward toward the common goal.

As Director of Art and Technology at my church, I once had a volunteer that did not respond well to criticism. When a church member with a perfectionist personality tried to give weekly advice to my volunteer, I had to provide encouragement to calm this individual. For the most part, this kept everyone overlooking differences and we had great worship services where guests were able to meet with God. This approach kept everyone in their own world and sane until a crisis came along to magnify the problem. My volunteer was having problems at work that were threatening his job. The complaints about getting weekly critiques became louder, the encouragement no longer consoled, and I ended up losing this particular volunteer.

Replay.

The turning point of the movie was actually when Dan was no longer in the position of leadership. This threw the group into a greater crisis but also allowed them to speak openly about each other. Once feelings were out in the open, forgiveness took place in order to close the gap that was hindering the teamwork of the group. The group began to function as one instead of as three separate parts.

Pause.

As a leader, I’m now inclined to ask myself: Am I fostering an environment where people can be vulnerable with each other? How vulnerable should I be as a leader with my team? Am I allowing an atmosphere where it is okay to be a recovering sinner? Are the members of the group worried about the team or themselves?

© Darren Fink

Image © iStockphoto

Darren Fink’s great, great grand-dad was a poor and illiterate man in Germany who was once asked to pick his family name. That man drew a picture of a finch (Finke) to communicate his idea. Like his great, great grand-dad, Darren has always had a passion to communicate concepts through other means besides talking and writing. As the director of Art and Technology at Christ Community Church, in Murphysboro, Illinois, it’s Darren’s job to ensure that God’s message is presented visually to compliment the spoken message.

Darren and his wife Margie are currently fostering four children.

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Locating Music and Expanding Our Musicality

by | September 2, 2011

This post was written by Tracy Howe Wispelwey.

My friends in Burundi approached their local worship team and asked if they would start to incorporate traditional Burundi drumming and song into the music being used in liturgy. Burundi has a rich tradition of drumming and song. However, that expression never found its way into liturgy as colonialism physically overtook the great lakes region of East Africa and colonial ideology wove Western culture into Christianity. Moreover, indigenous and native cultural expression was systematically extinguished as the violence of colonialism permeated physically, culturally and spiritually. Now there are many who cringe to find the top ten CCLI songs being sung in a small village in East Africa, because it points to a continuing dominance of Western cultural export, as well as a decline of native expression and the stifling of promising, new and unique voices. There are many in Africa (and in the West) who long for a restoration of indigenous and unique expression throughout Christianity, but especially where colonialism perpetuated/s creativity’s destruction.

However, the young people in the worship band simply loved to play guitar. They countered that being pressured to use instruments and sounds they did not want to use would be to wield the same kind of colonial methods that the older generations lament. Many liturgists and pastors I know in the United States resonate with this – there is a desire to move beyond commodified music, to explore the depth of many different traditions of music and song in liturgy. Yet, there are also reasons a song becomes mass-produced – many might honestly cling to it, but that connection is incorrectly codified and distributed as normative for everyone. Is there a way to use and share music without letting our call to creativity atrophy in our communities?

I love global connectivity, and the fact that a song can travel like worldwide sonic wildfire these days. But something is wrong when there are just a few sonic fountains, or if current economic privilege allows a single culture to dominate the global distribution of worship and liturgical resources.

I offer two suggestions. First, we can locate our music and songs. To know the fullness of a person’s story deepens the testimony of her or his life. Can you culturally and historically locate all of the songs you use in worship gatherings? Can you give a song new depth by offering your community a reason for why it will be sung in your context? African-American spirituals continue to inspire myriad Christian traditions, and are enjoyed outside of faith communities in part because the songs evoke the strength, perseverance and hope of very specific people in a very specific place and time. Locating music reminds us that we are part of a global community and it connects us to legacy and history beyond our lifetimes. I also hope it reminds us of the power and longevity a song holds, and therefore the tremendous call and responsibility we possess to continue writing and creating!

Second, we can expand and enrich our musicality. I am both a songwriter and composer. The genre I work in is electroacoustic composition, which gathers field recordings (the sounds of life, a city, nature) and uses them like instruments in the composition of a particular piece. Recalling the young worship band in Burundi that wants to play the popular Christian music on guitars – what if we expand our musicality to include the sounds and textures of their community as well? Can we actively expand our musicality as a spiritual practice in our own spaces? Regardless of where we gather – Can we really know and listen to the songs we sing, the music we play, and then open our ears to the breath of our neighbors and the sounds of the cities in which we live?

Ultimately, we are listening for the Holy Spirit to reveal the fullness of beauty and life, and fully knowing and hearing our songs and music is often a great place we can start.

© Tracy Howe Wispelwey

Image © iStockphoto

Tracy Howe Wispelwey’s creative identity is The Restoration Project under which she has released multiple albums and toured to many places. She is also founder of Restoration Village, a nonprofit that seeks to facilitate and nurture creative partnership, and a member of la Fraternidad Teológica Latinoamericana through which she is working with others to build a network of theologian-artists and liturgists resourcing communities of faith. She and her husband live in Cambridge, MA.

Like The Restoration Project on Facebook and follow Tracy on Twitter.

 

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Fair Trade Worship

by | July 22, 2011

Ten Thousand Villages – one the world’s oldest and largest fair trade organizations – describes itself as a group that

… markets handcrafted products made by artisans from more than 130 artisan groups in 38 countries… [and] has spent more than 60 years cultivating long-term buying relationships in which artisans receive a fair price for their work and consumers have access to unique gifts, accessories and home decor from around the world.” (from their website)

There is a fundamental market imbalance in the global economy today. So-called “developed” countries – often called “the West” – have the capital and governmental structures in place enabling independent businesses to survive and even thrive. In contrast, artisans and entrepreneurs from “developing” countries (such as most of those who dwell in the the Southern hemisphere) possess limited governmental and financial resources, and therefore hold little to no bargaining power in the global marketplace. As a result, business owners in the developing world are often treated unfairly, especially when it comes to the price paid for their goods by others who come from more privileged markets.

Similarly, there is a fundamental imbalance in the economics of the global Church today. The “goods” are indigenous worship forms “produced” by unique cultures and traditions around the world. Just as with coffee or chocolate or crafts, which have real value, yet are devalued in the global market-place – the songs or prayers or rituals from the developing world hold real spiritual value, yet are devalued in the global worship “economy.” The devaluing of these worship forms ends up thwarting the true communion of the saints worldwide.

How has this happened? As with unfair trade in the business sense, unfair trade in the worship sense is perpetuated by real and imagined Western dominance over less powerful, less prominent world cultures.

The attitude of superiority in the West comes to life when, from the pulpit, the only mention of developing countries is in terms of aid – money, food, and supplies gathered up from the privileged “us” and sent away to the distant and invisible “them.” Why is it that so rarely the ministry is reversed, deriving from poor “them” to the privileged “us”? It is not because “they” have no means or spiritual authority to minister to “us.”

For instance, why don’t we ever hear the reading of an edifying letter written by a local pastor in religiously oppressed China? Why aren’t we connecting with our geographically distant fellow saints through sharing written prayers, composed out of the hearts of Bolivian believers? Where, in our Western churches is the recitation of unique creeds, the belief statements of sisters and brothers from different mothers? (But sharing the same Mother!)

Think about this: When was the last time you switched on your local Christian radio station and heard an indigenous song from the Dinka of Sudan? You haven’t. This is because the capitalization and subsequent standardization of worship forms in the West has limited the kinds of worship expressions to which we all have easy access.

The fair trading of worship forms, across cultures and beyond imagined borders, could only lead to greater awareness of the deep unity we share through common faith in Jesus, despite the global diversity of our cultural worship expression.

Personally, I’d like just once to discover a local church website – from Des Moines, or Baltimore, or Orlando, or Lincoln, or Sacramento – that righteously brags on its “about” page that

… our local church worships with indigenous forms created by artists from more than 130 other local churches in 38 countries… and has spent more than 60 years cultivating long-term relationships in which artists receive fair acknowledgment for their work and worshipers have access to unique songs, prayers, and rituals from around the world.

The result of Fair Trading in the economic marketplace is long-lasting, sustainable relationships between small producers and global consumers.

The result of Fairly Traded worship among the global communion of the saints is long-lasting, sustainable faith that – like the Trinity whom we worship – demonstrates simultaneous unity and diversity, reflecting life and light to a world that is crumbling under dissension, disunity, and false hope.

Fair Trade logo messed with by Eric Herron.

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