For three years, I politely asked Lindsay to write a blog post. I suggested topics: A CD review. A poem. A humorous, tell-all anecdote about how great being married to me is. But she passed on them all, brushing me off with excuses like "You're more into music right now than I am," "My writing's not polished enough," and "HA HA HA HA!"

I was forced to resort to more subtle methods, utilizing the tools of underhanded coercion and trickery. And guess what? It worked.

One day, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lindsay reading my review copy of Captivating (by John & Stasi Eldredge), and seized the moment.

Me [thoughtfully, as if struck by a new idea]: "Hey... Since you're reading that book, why don't you write a short review when you finish it?"
Lindsay [absorbed in book]: "OK."

Just like that, I had her. Of course, she protested. She tried to back out multiple times, said things like "I can't do it" and "If I try to write that thing, I'll die"--typical evasions, if I've heard 'em once, I've heard 'em a thousand times. Mercilessly I held her to her word.

"This feels like high school," she said. Well, if the shoe fits... But things turned out very well.

This afternoon, I watched her typing up her thoughts with that glassy-eyed look known as the "blogger game face." And when Aidan came running over to let her know that unless he had some chips RIGHT NOW he would DIE IMMEDIATELY, she replied in that distracted, blogger tone of voice that she sometimes accuses me, wrongfully, of using. I felt warm and happy inside, just thinking about the new solidarity this could bring, of the wonderful effects this could have on our marriage. Greater sympathy, better conversations, more friendliness after dark...

I read Aidan multiple books, raced him around the apartment, pacified Asher, watered the Christmas tree, washed some pots, and unloaded the dishwasher (tasks that I do, of course, on a daily basis anyway) so that Lindsay could keep blogging. The keyboard kept quietly clicking and I kept the boys occupied: Keep the collisions and puking unobtrusive. Let the artist keep working.

About a half hour later Lindsay pushed back the computer chair and said she was done. But she kept staring at the screen...then she scooted the chair back up to the monitor... Ha!

Ten minutes later she declared that she was done, really. When I pointed out that she had been kind of absorbed in the blogging process and had not, in fact, shriveled up like a turnip and died, she rolled her eyes, smiled a guilty smile, and suggested that we order pizza for dinner.

Wow!

Coming up, Lindsay's review of Captivating. Be kind to her, OK? Make very witty, complimentary comments. Praise her skills. She needs this. We need this. I need this.

Like what you read? Don't forget to bookmark this post or subscribe to the feed.

I'm a sucker for aesthetics, and I love candles, music, and the smell of a basalm fir--and that's not even touching the deepest reason for joy as Christmas approaches. I love Christmas, but I've sometimes wondered if people who come late to the deeper joy of Christmas might love it even more. Hard to say, but C.S. Lewis was one of those people. His slow journey from atheism via mythology to Christianity made Lewis a man who almost missed out on Christmas entirely.

Lewis' perspective on Christmas is first acerbic, then reverent. He criticizes the materialistic excesses of the season scathingly, but this is like cleansing the palate so that one can enjoy the feast that follows. Here's Lewis lampooning "Christmas" materialism in a little known satirical essay, “Xmas and Christmas: A Lost Chapter from Herodotus.” (It can be found in God in the Dock.) He's writing about his own country, Britain (Niatirb), taking aim at Exmas cards in this exerpt:

In the middle of winter when fogs and rains most abound they have a great festival which they call Exmas and for fifty days they prepare for it in the fashion I shall describe. First of all, every citizen is obliged to send to each of his friends and relations a square piece of hard paper stamped with a picture, which in their speech is called an Exmas-card. But the pictures represent birds sitting on branches, or trees with a dark green prickly leaf, or else men in such garments as the Niatirbians believe that their ancestors wore two hundred years ago riding in coaches such as their ancestors used, or houses with snow on their roofs.

And the Niatirbians are unwilling to say what these pictures have to do with the festival; guarding (as I suppose) some sacred mystery. And because all men must send these cards the marketplace is filled with the crowd of those buying them, so that there is great labour and weariness.

But having bought as many as they suppose to be sufficient, they return to their houses and find there the like cards which others have sent to them. And when they find cards from any to whom they also have sent cards, they throw them away and give thanks to the gods that this labour at least is over for another year.

But when they find cards from any to whom they have not sent, then they beat their breasts and wail and utter curses against the sender; and, having sufficiently lamented their misfortune, they put on their boots again and go out into the fog and rain and buy a card for him also. And let this account suffice about Exmas-cards.

Sound familiar? (And Lewis is just getting started. Read the whole Xmas and Crissmass essay here.) Lewis goes on to contrast the Exmas participants, who are victimized by the holiday they're purportedly celebrating, with another group of celebrants.

But the few among the Niatirbians have also a festival, separate and to themselves, called Crissmas, which is on the same day as Exmas. And those who keep Crissmas, doing the opposite to the majority of the Niatirbians, rise early on that day with shining faces and go before sunrise to certain temples where they partake of a sacred feast. And in most of the temples they set out images of a fair woman with a new-born Child on her knees and certain animals and shepherds adoring the Child.

Clearly, the question to ask is, Are you celebrating Exmas (complete with the dreaded Exmas Rush), or Crissmas--a yearly sacred "feast," inspired by a "true myth" which has changed the world forever? The adherents of Exmas are exhausted and overextended but the Crissmas worshipers are joyful, with shining faces. Are you rushing or feasting? Are your eyes cloudy or bright?

If you're ready to hear it, Lewis will give you the secret of Crissmas in a single sentence. It's the truth we're all dying to hear, the mythic fact that brings light to all our tired stories. What was it that happened on Crissmas, or Christmas? Lewis writes:

The Son of God became a man to enable men to become the sons of
God. - C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

If we understand the enormous joy of our newfound state as God's children, we can celebrate Christmas instead of draining our bank accounts and wailing. Have you grasped the truth at the heart of Christmas? If not, you're doomed to the drudgery of Exmas. Don't let this season go down that way. Be a worshipper, not merely a card-sender or shopper. C.S. Lewis can help.

For more on C.S. Lewis' Christmas perspective, take a look at Surprised by C.S. Lewis, George MacDonald, and Dante, which has a whole chapter on the topic. See also The Complete C.S. Lewis Signature Classics.

Like what you read? Don't forget to bookmark this post or subscribe to the feed.

In the debate caused by The Golden Compass hitting theaters, you may have forgotten that an altogether better fantasy series is also in production: C.S. Lewis' Narnia series will return to the screen in May '08, with Prince Caspian. (I'm not a Philip Pullman hater, but Lewis heads up the pantheon of great "children's" fantasy writers, hands down.)

Caspian is typically considered the fourth book in the seven-book series, but since it features the Pevensie children from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, it makes sense to film it asap. Check the trailer here. I had to download it to make it play seamlessly, possibly because the site's getting a lot of traffic?

Lindsay and I were discussing casting decisions. I'm pretty happy with all four of the critical parts (Peter, Susan, Edmund, Lucy) but Lindsay isn't sure she approves of the way Peter was played--"kind of snippety, whiny," she says. "He didn't capture me as someone who could go to battle, wasn't boyishly strong. He didn't convince me as a counterpart to Edmund." I think she's being a little hard on Peter.

Woah, and get this. Now, after thinking about it, she has revealed that she's not too fond of Susan either. "I didn't dislike her...I just didn't think her acting was that amazing. The two younger characters had more passion and intrigue in their acting. Edmund was very good. Lucy was cute."

In case you are wondering, this is what happens when a theater diva sounds off on casting decisions. Linsday has about 15 years of experience playing lead roles in about every play known to man. (Her career began in middle school--unless you count a single gig as one of the Three Little Pigs in elementary school--and ended when she married me...[hangs head]) When we talk about actors, I'm like "he was pretty good." And Lindsay says something like the above...

Anyway, the trailer looks promising. Just be sure to read the book(s) first.

Like what you read? Don't forget to bookmark this post or subscribe to the feed.

The last semester of seminary will be next spring, and as those final classes draw near, my tolerance for work is plunging dramatically.

When I started at Midwestern about four years ago, I was that proverbial fresh-faced kid, wide-eyed, ready to read about 200 books and make at least that many friends. I was baffled when I entered classrooms and found upperclassmen sitting there wearily, dispassionately taking notes, as if they'd just walked off a graveyard shift and into Theology 1 (the most thrilling of classes). Now, sad to say, I understand their predicament. Sometimes, for whole hours at a time, I'm afraid I've become them (God, no!).

My youthful enthusiasm has become, well, not aged skepticism, but--guarded interest? Four years ago, I knew that every class I took would be vital and fascinating and that all my professors would see that thirst for wisdom gleaming in my eye, and make room by their podiums so I could sit at their feet...

More to the point, when I started seminary, learning was a fun game of one on one, me versus my books and tests. Sometimes I was playing against the fat, slow kid, and had to complicate the game to amuse myself. Sometimes I was playing against the fast, cagey veteran, and had to rain in three-pointers to gain the edge. The competitive allure was always there though, back in the day--but not so much now. My coursework has become more like shoveling snow. It falls, I clear it away, then more falls. And so on.

That's why my finals will be different this year. You can check the archives and see how it used to be. Exam days used to be displays of raw firepower, the ability to destroy questions with rapid-fire knowledge, to dominate subjects utterly. But no longer.

Gone are the days of maximum carnage. Gone are the smoking barrels of automatic weapons, the brass shells cascading to the ground like metal rain. Gone are the twin swords of memory and eloquence, wielded like Russell Crowe in Gladiator, decapitating the foe with a scissor-like chop. Dramatic revenge killings are no more. I no longer get a kick from the splattered blood of my exams. This time, a quiet knife between the ribs will do the trick.

It may be a little quiet around here next week, as I dispatch my finals. There won't be a lot of hoopla, just cold, hard efficiency.

A new season is coming, with better battles. I have learned about all I can here. It is time to move on...

Like what you read? Don't forget to bookmark this post or subscribe to the feed.

I'm playing catch-up as I post this interview with Hunter Beaumont, the founding pastor at Fellowship Denver in...right, Denver. I had a phone interview with Hunter midway through the semester, and appreciated his energy and honesty. He's an upbeat guy, but I never had the impression that he was doing anything less than shooting me straight. (Thanks, Hunter!) Here's what he had to say.

Can you tell me a little about yourself (biographical stuff), and how you got interested in church planting?

I developed a love for Denver while I was commuting there for my job with Arthur Anderson (before the company fell apart). I noticed that there weren't any churches having a major impact on the city, and thought, "Someone should do something about this." Later, a friend from school, Dallas Theological Seminary, said, "We should plant a church together." I said, "I have the place."

This was a casual conversation: "Church planting would be fun." "Why don't we do it now?" The main reason not to "do it now" was that we didn't know what we were doing. So I attended a church planting residency program in Little Rock, Arkansas for a year, to avoid flying blind. [Fellowship Associates] I moved to Denver two years ago, spent a year getting to know the city and gathering people, then launched the church in September '06. [See Hunter's blog for more.]

What has been the greatest challenge of church planting?

Just one? Well, it's very spiritually difficult...you make slow, incremental progress. The first year can be very lonely--go with a partner, don't do it on your own. That first year you need a big skill set. You have to be a leader, but you have to be able to do grunt work as well. The second year you need a whole different set of skills.

How do you deal with the financial needs?

We raised money like missionaries, primarily raising funds from individuals. Our goal was to gain some financial independence within a year or two, not only to be on support.

How do you deal with the "people" needs? (finding the right people to back you)

Mostly by networking--asking friends if they knew anyone in Denver. We arrived with a list of 150 people from personal recommendations. And that was my job for four months--calling and introducing myself, meeting people for coffee...our group grew incrementally.

How did you (or would you) put together a core group? (What type of people did you look for, how did you get them on board, how many did you want to have before you launched...?)

At the beginning, you don't choose, you just take whoever will come! Every warm body. With 150 people involved at this point, I now have the luxury of not babysitting high-maintenance people. Before, I did whatever I could to make them come. Invitations were casual--not real firm commitments--just invite them to come check it out.

Thirty, forty people met in a coffee shop pre-launch, then most stayed for the church launch. A lot depends on what your starting point is. You may have a really solid core group...or, if you just move somewhere, you have to develop it slowly. I think we're starting to get our legs under us. We've reached critical mass, and credibility skyrockets when people start showing up.

What was or is the role of your mentor or role model? How did you find your mentor(s)?

There are a couple guys at the Little Rock church [Fellowship Associates] who act as consultants, coaches. I used to talk to them frequently about my church and people issues or leadership questions, structuring questions. At the beginning, I leaned on my coaches like crazy, especially to figure out staff issues. I talked to them once every two weeks then. Now it's once every two months.

What is the role of sponsoring/partner churches? What has worked? What would you change and why?

We didn't really have a sponsoring church. The Little Rock church backed us informally, not with money, but with their endorsement and credibility, which helped raise money--and with counsel. Having an established church's approval helps with credibility.

Anything else you want to add?

There's no right or wrong way to plant a church. Sort through them all... What are your strengths? Your situation? Money? People resources? There are all kinds of ideas. Sort through your life and figure out the best fit for you. For example, for a skilled preacher, not very relational--why not start with a small core and pick up guys who would fill in your weak spots? Take a picture of yourself and ask, "What kind of church do I want to plant?"

Also, there were previous church planting interviews with Kevin Cawley and Pete Williamson.

Like what you read? Don't forget to bookmark this post or subscribe to the feed.

Asher buys the lie that has doomed millions of middle-aged Americans...

Like what you read? Don't forget to bookmark this post or subscribe to the feed.

Seriously, this blog would like to know.

I'm not a big fan of blog polls, because they usually attract about 7 voters, so you don't feel like the people have actually SPOKEN. However, I just broke down and made up a poll for the sidebar (and then Blogger broke down and wouldn't display it right, so it's halfway down the page).

But heading into Christmas and New Year's, we at the Vanderhorst urban domicile of wedded bliss and boyish madness are thinking about some big changes, next-phase-of-life stuff, and I may rework the blog to reflect those.

I'm telling you this to assure you that this little poll isn't just an exercise in narcissistic bloggy navel gazing (or would that be post-footer gazing?). I'd really appreciate your feedback, actually. So if all seven of you could glance over at the sidebar...(multiple answers are fine)

Thanks!

Like what you read? Don't forget to bookmark this post or subscribe to the feed.

A couple weeks ago when Lindsay and I were transporting our offspring out of our building to the car, we noticed a strange poster pinned to the bulletin board. It was a picture of a lush, well-decorated Christmas tree. The caption read, "No live Christmas trees allowed." As if to say, Enjoy this picture of a Christmas tree, which we found online and copied, because it's the ONLY CHRISTMAS TREE YOU'LL SEE THIS SEASON!

We were indignant, than amused. We immediately began discussing how best to smuggle our Christmas tree inside. It wouldn't be easy. But then, given our current management, it wouldn't be that hard. It would be one of those mid-level dangerous tasks, like stealing the secret embassy blueprints in a spy movie: risky, but nothing like a final showdown.

We made our plans carefully. And then, yesterday, the time came. With Aidan's assistance (Asher was wrapped in blankets and was of little help) we chose a tree that was ideally built for quick, silent transportation. It was a good height, nice and full, but with a slim trunk--the stealth bomber of Christmas trees. Because of my immense upper body strength, I could lift it with one arm.

Arriving home, we quickly put our plan into action. Needless to say, with Asher and Aidan for decoys, and with the genius of our clever scheme, it came off flawlessly. We timed it just right. We parked illegally, but in a way you would never notice. Then we grabbed the boys and the tree and moved in.

There was a tense moment as I rushed the tree into the elevator, and we heard the sound of several voices approaching from around the corner. *Close door* *Close door* *Close door* The elevator almost had a heart attack as Lindsay ruthlessly punched its buttons, but the door creaked shut just in time.

Perhaps our plan's most visually impressive moment transpired as we reached our floor and sprinted down the carpeted hallway. Lindsay was carrying Aidan, who laughed hysterically, and I carried Asher and the tree. (It wasn't easy, but is anything worthwhile really easy?) The door was unlocked, it swung open, we were inside. Safe.

The scent of our balsam fir filled the air. The tree happily drank water from its stand, and we glowed with the satisfaction of a job well done. A Christmas tree well smuggled.

Like what you read? Don't forget to bookmark this post or subscribe to the feed.

Like what you read? Don't forget to bookmark this post or subscribe to the feed.

Organic Community is Brief, Intuitive, Easy on the Eyes

I read Joseph Myers' Organic Community so fast I didn't have time to add it to my "current reads" list in the sidebar. All told, I probably finished it in under three hours--three hours "on the job," which meant that part of my reading took place under very difficult laboratory conditions: 25-30 high school students collected in a small room, to test the book's accessibility and attention-holding ability. Organic Community performed well. It is very readable, is what I'm saying.

Having read a handful of books by other Emergent authors (Brian McLaren, Kester Brewin), I'd also venture to say that Joseph Myers' work is the most clear and applicable I've encountered so far. He brings a direct writing style and clarity in communication to the emersion imprint--which are good assets. I'm kind of hoping that Brian I-Am-Ambiguously-Mischievous McLaren will emulate Myers on this count, although I'm not holding my breath.

Essentially, Organic Community is an idea book for creating environments in which Christian communities will flourish, and Myers reveals a sharp, culturally-savvy mind. "Community" tends to appear on everyone's vision statement these days. Every church leader will tell you, "It's what we're about"--but Myers persuasively argues that within the milieu of American Christianity, community is usually pursued artificially. His thoughts are perceptive and, I think, accurate. "Top-down approaches [to community] are not helpful," he writes. "The day of organic order has come" (113).

The downside of Myers' book is that it's not rooted in scripture--and doesn't really pretend to be. This isn't a problem, unless you are expecting a biblical exposition on the nature of community and how to grow it. Scripture will always be central to the beliefs and practice of the church, but books like Organic Community are needed as well. Think of it as a slim Good to Great for community-building--Christians are people embedded in culture, so it's vital to understand sociological and cultural dynamics.

Myers' principles and observations are logical, intuitive, and provide some great categories and distinctions that could breathe new life into stagnant groups or help launch vibrant new ones. His book was eye-opening, and I experienced some Ah ha! moments. That's why I'm awarding Organic Community the highest grade I've yet handed to an emersion author...B+.

Yes, it has emerged on the Master Book List.

Footnote: Can people stop writing titles with "Organic" in them? I mean, can we just agree to a five-year moratorium on making "organic" pronouncements? I reviewed Organic God awhile ago, am currently reading Organic Church, and it's all getting to be a bit much...

Like what you read? Don't forget to bookmark this post or subscribe to the feed.