Here’s something I wrote a while back when dealing with the meaning of community in Scripture:

Every Tuesday morning, I sit in a circle of other pastors and discuss and debate (and sometimes yell and point) the Bible for our weekly sermon. We call it the Teaching Pool, a fancier name than “study circle”. Still, for the last four years or more, this same group of 10 or so has taught chapter by chapter through the Bible, crafting our sermons together and challenging each other.

So this week, I was the one challenged. We’re teaching through Colossians and I had studied in advance for our meeting, ready to point out the tremendous insights I had already gleaned from the text. I was discussing one of these finer points, when my friend pointed out something in the Greek text which changed everything: “That you is actually plural.”

That simple five word statement changed quite a bit about what I was espousing on. My basic point: That Jesus was the fulness of God (the deity in Col. 2) and we are the fulness of Christ. I was going on and on about the value of each of us to be the fulness of Christ on earth, which is certainly true to a point. But then he said that statement. “That you is actually plural.” I sat down and shut up.

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We recently finished our Advent series and took anothe week to finish up the book of Mark, taking a closer look at the death and resurrection of Jesus before we head into 1 Timothy after the new year. Of course, the accounts of the Passion are most likely the most striking of all Scripture passages - the death, the torment, the sheer blasphemy of the moment. It’s the most glorious, scandalous moment in history unfolding word after word.

But one character struck me this time around that I’ve never really thought much about - the words uttered by a certain centurion who stood witness to this event. It’s in Mark 15 that a Roman centurion is convinced of the Lordship of Christ after seeing the punishment endured by this man who lived a certain way that defied typical cultural, social, and natural methods for a higher, kingdom-oriented way.

What gets me about this man is this: he has certainly witnessed the death of many. Dozens? Hundreds? Either way, it’s his job. A gross one, but a paycheck and place in society all the same. And it wasn’t when Jesus was preaching, it wasn’t a miracle performed, it wasn’t anything but watching the slow death unfold in the life of “yet another” that allowed this man his place in eternity. In other words, this man found God not beacuse of the life of Christ, but in the way he died.

How true is this everywhere else! Jesus kept trying to get his followers to understand this, but they (we) never did. I struggle with this still. But it’s right there in front of me. I don’t want to die to my wife, but it’s only when I give up my own life for hers that the glory and witness of Christ becomes evident in my marriage. I could chase every fun ministry dream in every large, culture-filled city around the globe and yet it’s only when I choose to die to the wanderlust of this world and find a home in Anderson that God becomes glorified in what we’re doing. When the world sees us die, they are forced to do something with the presence of God in that moment.

Just a few verses prior, the masses choose Barabbas over Jesus. They want the radical zealot, the insurrectionist, the guy who will murder for the sake of rioting and uprooting the inherent oppressive power of the Roman Empire. We always choose the way of control, of seeing something tangible, of manipulating the situation to try to steer the ship. And Barabbas is usually set free in that process.

But the centurion didn’t find life because Barabbas did his job. He found life because someone died to give it. And the witness when we follow Christ into his sufferings, when we also deny ourselves, when we pick up our cross… when we die, that’s when people will see the glory of the only one who gives life.

Santa was good to us this year. Of course, I thought I won a bunch of money via the lottery (scratch off tickets in stockings sort of thing), although that fell through when I misinterpreted the stupid symbols on these things. But nevertheless, the old fatman’s bag was quite full down my chimney. Along with other odds and ends came an XBox 360 and the famed Rock Band game.

I now have an iPhone. An Xbox. A Macbook. Games for everything - real life and virtual. Lots of friends and things to do. I can get into almost any concert free and almost every CD or movie released on DVD comes across my desk (via the writing/editorial hats I wear). It’s also Oscar season which means I want to see more movies now than any other time of year. I just watched The Wrestler, Benjamin Button, Slumdog Millionaire and can’t wait to get to Milk, Doubt, Defiance and many others. In other words, I am a distracted soul.

I should be very excited and satisfied for all of these things. I should feel happy and blessed. And in many ways I do. We’ve had fun playing these games already. I’ve long been in love with my phone and laptop and they are tools, believe it or not, for the things I have before me on a daily basis. But I wonder what the cost is of all of this media.

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We’ve been knee-deep in Advent at The Mercy House this Christmas season for the first time. In years past, we’ve been too haphazard, too unorganized to pull off something as big and drawn out as Advent and to do it right. Yet here we are as a church, all grown up, with a fully decorated gym, coordinated readings, themed weeks, a sermon series, poems, official wreath plus candles, etc. And I think I can safely say we’ll never go back.

For me, this season has been much, much richer than any I can remember. Once growing up, I remember my mother reading the Christmas story before I could open presents - a forced attempt at meaning. Funny that as much as I hated the idea at the time, it’s the one Christmas I truly recall from my childhood. Ritual and tradition aren’t things that a working mom and latchkey kid pull off too well, so I’m new to this whole game.

Teaching in this new way, I’ve found a real beauty as these characters have come to life in deeper, more meaningful ways. Even the “bad guys” like Herod seem vivid enough for me to find myself in them. And in a quick series of posts on Advent, I wanted to mention just a few things one man is finding during Advent 2008.

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It’s a beautiful thing to be reminded of why we do what we do and why we love what we love. I recently spent the weekend in Spokane, Washington (a lovely part of the country) speaking to some high school students and young adults. The subject of the four talks I gave from Friday through Sunday was the concept of Shalom and the greater mission of God. And my time there was as fulfilling for me as it was for anyone else there.

I speak at my own church - The Mercy House - each and every week, for the most part. I’ve been doing it for over four years and we’ve built a community that I love to be a part of. It’s a creative, young, missional community and I feel lucky to lead such an amazing group of people. But it’s also true that what I have to say and how I say it is rather old hat. “Yes, Matt, we’ve heard that story before” or “Yes, Matt, that analogy was a fine one to make the first three times we heard it.”

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Jim Palmer is determined to help anyone who will listen to get deeper than the standard Christian experience of attending church and believing correct moral truths. His first book - Wide Open Spaces - became a journey and search for the divine beyond what was normal and Jim chronicles his experiences. The next step in the ‘evolution’ as he terms it is Divine Nobodies - his second book and the work we most discussed in this interview.

Jim Palmer is a passionate forthright guy and it comes across in this interview. More than anything, he describes the freedom he has to simply be his “dorky self.” Learn all about Palmer and his ministry in today’s HSP interview.

Matt Conner: What led you to write Divine Nobodies?

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I have worked in places where staff meetings were Staff Meetings. First thing Tuesday morning (or Wednesday morning or Monday afternoon). Begin with cheesy devotional. Break for coffee (usually Folgers) from the break room. Discussion on why the Committee on Committees is having issues, why the Robinsons haven’t been to church in three weeks and how we need to get flowers for Gladys, who is in the hospital for the third time this month. Prayer at the end and then we go about our business. And I mean the word ‘business.’

Then there was tonight. We had our staff meeting for the Mercy House and I just returned from some time away in the Pacific Northwest. It had been a couple weeks since I was present for one of these and, until tonight, I was pretty downtrodden at the recent state of things. It’s Seasonal Depression time, for one. For another, typical church drama, gossip and issues are taking place - even in our beloved assembly. So, needless to say, I was ready for a pick-me-up.

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Erwin McManus needs no introduction. As the author of multiple books and the pastor of the influential church, Mosaic, in Los Angeles, McManus is a highly creative and innovative personality that has changed the way many think about ministry.

Not long after his book Soul Cravings debuted, I had the chance to sit down with Erwin to discuss the role of creativity as a pastor and how to reach the innovative leaders in the cities we do ministry in.

Matt Conner: You’re in arguably the creative center of the world. What is it like to be a pastor there?

Erwin McManus: Wow. It is a different world. I guess I don’t think of myself as a pastor in this setting. I think being a human who lives a life that others might be interested in and attracted to and having a journey that others feel is authentic and really connects to God. That’s really why I’m here. I’m trying to live out the life that Jesus talks about, hopefully in a context where people will go, “Maybe this is real.”

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Twelve hours ago I wanted to be right where you are now. Better yet, I just didn’t want to be where I was. I didn’t want to be what I was or even who I was. These sort of Sundays happen for me every now and then - the ones where I feel there couldn’t be a more incompetent pastor in the history of God’s calling. There were multiple points throughout my own teaching where even I was wondering what I was talking about.

Then came the meetings. It took me seemingly forever to be able to leave the church only to have to meet up with more over an extended lunch. All nice people. All good intentions. Nothing over-the-top. But there’s this wall that you hit, really you know that it’s coming far before you hit it because it’s properly labeled “ENOUGH” in giant white letters across the brick facade.

I came home and I couldn’t have been more done in that moment. I didn’t want to write, study or talk to anyone (which in my communal house of four married couples is an achievement unto itself). And, ultimately, I didn’t want to do it again.

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I write and speak for a living. Sometimes it is my own story that I communicate while many times it is the stories of others - of friends, Biblical characters, interesting people past and present. It is honestly a fun way to spend my time and I enjoy what I do.

But every job hits a wall and I recently retreated from my own life to the wonderful countries of England and Ireland. During my two weeks there, I found myself writing and reflecting about my own job and my role as a storyteller. I began to think about the health of a storyteller and what I am finding to be true. Here’s part of what made its way into my journal:

“I’m reading in a cafe. NLA. No Laptop Allowed. This is nice. I’ve watched four movies in four days. I’ve spoken with total strangers and made new friends. Other people’s stories. It’s nice to step into them. I need to step into them. After all I am a storyteller by trade and my own story isn’t nearly enough to propel the heart of a storyteller.

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