"The Forgetting," the PBS special I watched last Wednesday, showed a couple visiting their sister in a care facility for Alzheimer's patients. This particular patient was well-advanced in the disease and couldn't communicate verbally at all. They would try to hug her and tease her with gestures and play with her hair. The poor woman would respond unpredictably, alternating between laughter and hostility. An expert made a noteworthy comment, "communication with Alzheimer's patients has to be multisensory; you can communicate with them, but not with words and conversation. Touch is especially important."

We have attended glaringly different worship settings in the last two weeks. Last week, we went to a very big and luxurious Bible church. (Excellent banter about mega church and postmodernity here.) The polished preacher was very articulate, intelligent and God-fearing in his exposition of Mark 2. In fact, 40 minutes of the 75-minute service was designated for his Biblical rhetoric. It was actually a pretty timely message for us, about living a radical life as part of the "Jesus Revolution." I wondered how radical the hearers wanted to be. The preacher suggested (mildly) that removing ourselves to the comforts of the suburbs wasn't very revolutionary. I got the impression that hearing the preacher suggest that we should be radical was radical enough for everyone to feel like they gave radicalness a chance.

Yesterday I overheard a staff member of a local church comment on their guest speaker for Wednesday nights. "We have a very educated congregation, so when you are able to get a person in there that not only gives them the brain candy, but can also inspire them, well, you've really hit a home run." It occurs to me that speaking in this manner can do only one of two things. It can make the audience (sad word) feel better about themselves, hearing catch-phrases of Christian-ese that remind them that they already know everything there is to know about God and Truth and life. Or, far less often, it can be confrontational. It can offend the audience (sad word) by exposing sinful complacency and mediocrity.

But multisensory communication has far greater possibilities. I mentioned that the sermon portion of the Orthodox Church we attended was 10 minutes out of 105. The other 95 minutes was song, incense, mothers and fathers putting their arms around their kids, standing, moving around, tasting the Communion, touching the priest's robe, praying out loud, etc. At times I was humbled and repentant. At other times I was joyful and excited. I was fed far more Scripture in this liturgy than I was at a church whose denomination prides themselves on being Bible-saturated. I was moved anew by the Grand Story of God, man, Jesus, Satan, mission. I was challenged by a simple message that used heart-language instead of brain candy. It was the kind of communication that leads to faith in action, not the kind that leads to knowledge that "puffs up" insider arrogance.

Don't get me wrong. I am a speaker by trade and giftedness. I believe in the proclamation of truth and the need for exposition, teaching and preaching. But viewing the church as assisted living for Alzheimer's patients causes me to widen my understanding of communication methods. It reminds me that presence and touch have a way of saying more than a thousand sermons. It reminds me that Jesus' words aren't much use without Jesus' actions. It reminds me that God wants to be encountered more than He wants to be explained. It reminds me that the Word became Flesh.

Thank You, Jesus, for the richness of our senses. Make me a multisensory communicator. I'll begin with Papa.

This morning Papa interrupted me during my exercise / Celtic Daily Prayer. I was actually doing lunges. He watched me for a minute, and I thought he would understand to leave me be. But he climbed over the boxes designed to keep my 16-month-old from getting in the "Christmas Tree Room" and began a conversation. So, I sighed. And took his hand, leading him back to the kitchen where I poured him a bowl of Crispix. Needless to say, I was annoyed. But I just told myself "don't be upset with him; he doesn't know what he's doing."

This particular example is rather easily tossed aside. It's not quite as easy, though, when Papa wanders into Connor's room during his nap, turns on the light and exclaims "Hey little feller, what have we got here!" Or when you greet him with a handshake and he quickly swings your arm under his leg and jokes (?) about breaking it. That's when Jolie and I have to say it for each other: "I know you're frustrated, but he doesn't know what he's doing."

I've been using this phrase in my head for a few weeks now, but it wasn't until I resumed my lunges this morning that I realized why it sounded so familiar. "Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do."

As Jesus bleeds for humanity, it isn't rebellion but ignorance that He attributes to the problem. But I thought the whole problem of sin was strictly an issue of man's pride leading to rebellion, my alter-inner dialogue shouts. And now, come to think of it, figuring out which came first - rebellion or cluelessness - is rather chicken-and-egg-headed. Temptation and the serpent. The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Hmmm.

Viewing the church as assisted living for Alzheimer's patients allows me to view people in need of knowledge. This is much more hopeful than isolating ourselves from the "world" and assuming they've all given God the finger. This is much less scary when I approach the Throne of Grace to confess my wrongs. Rebels don't come boldly to the authorities. But clueless people do. Papa will go anywhere boldly.

The Prodigal son was a rebel without a clue. He obtained knowledge the hard way. But I'm not sure if his older brother ever obtained it at all.

In the Gospels, it seems that Jesus has compassion on the clueless, the sinner, the outcast. It was the "knowledgeable" elite that Christ cornered as rebels. Yet even to these brood of vipers, Jesus bears His wounds. "Dad, forgive them. They just don't get it."

I want to thank gypsy traveler for giving me the heads-up to watch a PBS special about Alzheimer's Disease last Wednesday night. Jolie and I shed many painful tears identifying with the hurting families that were profiled on the show, and even more just missing the Papa that will always remain my hero. That man is "gone" until the Days of Glory.

With your indulgence, I would like to continue unpacking this word picture a little longer -- for myself, for my Papa's honor, but also prayerfully in the spirit of describing the Kingdom of Heaven in culturally accessible ways. Not many of us are farmers or subjects of Roman rule like the hearers of Jesus' parables were. Our access to His word pictures is indirect at best, and removed of immediate impact by the sterilization of historical-critical interpretation. But, we all know something about the plight of the elderly. If Alzheimer's hasn't effected one of your loved ones by now, just hold on, because this dignity-stripping disease will increase exponentially in the next 20 years. This is now everyone's burden to bear.

Imagining the church as assisted living for Alzheimer's patients might help us with our treatment of the gospel. More specifically, how we treat others in our lived-out presentation of the gospel. For instance, I was trained in seminary to help people understand their need for repentance as "sinners" as the first and all-important step in preparing them to understand the message of the gospel. "Everyone knows they're a sinner deep down. Start there." Or "you can't receive salvation without understanding 'the wages of sin is death.'" Even "there's nothing else you can do for a person until they choose to repent." This is an effective technique (Houston, we have a problem when we speak about soul-winning techniques) when the entire culture has some working knowledge of Christian terminology and ideology. But our present world responds to phrases like "get saved" with puzzled retorts like "from what? I don't need a lifeboat." There is simply not enough knowledge (of self and Christian worldview) to work in this manner.

Just this evening Papa had great difficulty eating his chicken. He would invariably try to cut through the bone and gristle, while ignoring the tender white meat. It was not necessary for us to convince my grandfather at this moment that he was afflicted with a degenerative brain disease. We did not wait for him to confess to us that he is "legally incompetent" and in need of assistance with his food. Jolie simply cut up the chicken for him and threw away the inedible part. Frankly, he never really knew what the problem was. But he did thank Jolie for her help. And he was able to eat successfully. You could even say (it's a stretch, I know) that the meal was saved.

If a person is ready to repent (means doing a 180 from your current life) in order to inherit God's Kingdom life, that's wonderful. But it's not very likely. Even us old Christians are pretty ignorant of our true sin condition at any given moment. How much more unaware is an unbeliever! So define the words "repent" and "sin" if you want to. But don't stop there. Love people into belief. Recognize that self-awareness and surrender just might come along the way, rather than being the first of many chronological hurdles. Paint beautiful and moving pictures of what the Kingdom is really all about. Let Jesus LIVE. There will be plenty of time for contrition. Theirs. And ours.

Stay tuned for part 3...

From now on, when I refer to "modern" or "postmodern," this is what I mean:

Moderns have the right answers to the wrong questions.
Postmoderns have the right questions for the wrong answers.

I have had the opportunity to "get out" a little bit in the past few days. Jolie and I visited an Antiochene Orthodox Church in North Austin for worship Sunday morning. Not only was the liturgy refreshing and educational, but I was thoroughly moved by the Spirit in the place. There was a surprising sense of warmth and life. The service was about an hour and forty-five minutes long, and we stood for all but ten. There were no instruments; only corporate and individual chant-singing. I especially enjoyed the chant-reading of the Scriptures. Someone read from Hebrews, and then the priest (Father Aiden) announced that he was going to begin the gospel reading. At this point, the congregation (especially the children) huddled up closer - as if they were gathering around Jesus Himself when the words were first spoken. Hearing Scripture in a musical fashion was enchanting. The words had a more notable sense of life and creativity to me. The homily was also excellent. The priest spoke eloquently and with soul, but he didn't have to pace and animate himself with exaggerated gestures. He would bow himself towards the children and speak in a manner that validated their presence. Yet his message was mature and life-giving. The center of the worship was, of course, the Eucharist. In the Orthodox tradition only those who have completed their training are allowed to participate in the Lord's Supper. As Jolie and I watched, we noticed that Father Aiden addressed every person by name as they came forward to receive the elements. Along with Eastern European immigrants, there were many native Texans - ex-Baptist deacons, "country boys," even an African-American chaplain training to be an Orthodox priest. Father Aiden called us Monday night and we had a good chat. I'm looking forward to spending more time with him, learning about some of the oldest roots of Christianity and their dedication to what we evangelicals call "discipleship."

I also met with the guys from ECN (Emerging Church Network) yesterday for coffee. I left that conversation very encouraged. These people are going to be my friends. The road suddenly doesn't seem as lonely.

We've just go to "get out" more.

We've only lived with my grandparents [affectionately "Mama" (ma-maw) and "Papa" (pa-paw)] for a week and a half, but the transcendent aspects of the experience are already begging for expression.

The initial response to Papa’s jabberwocky and perpetual wanderings is amusement and laughter. The second reaction is a fluid scale of mild to pronounced irritation. The third stage is heartbreak. Once you've reached this third stage, you claim the right to harbor the first stage – so you can deny, or at least minimize, the second before it grows bitter. This has been my reality for 10 days, but it’s been Mama’s 24-7 for too many months to recall.

I’m beginning to believe that every person has something deeply akin to Alzheimer’s syndrome. What I mean is that we all live the majority of our lives perceiving things that aren’t exactly real, and talking about things that aren’t exactly true.

From what I can gather, Papa sees people and objects as they are; but his mind superimposes a different setting on top of it. If you’ve ever worked with publishing software, you understand the concept of “layers,” with varying degrees of transparency. I think Papa sees reality through a layer, which is usually an old memory from his past. That’s how he can interact with Connor, for instance, but call him “Paul,” or even “she.” That’s how he can come into my room and attempt communication, but only by asking me if I want to go to New Orleans and hear some live music. Or something about flying airplanes, boxing or fishing.

I try very hard sometimes to listen to what Papa is muttering. It reminds me of some Lewis Carroll (or psychedelic-era John Lennon) poetry. The words sound good together, the rules of grammar are intact, but it’s complete nonsense. It’s utterly fascinating, really. Sometimes I try to role play. I try to be the person he seems to think I am. Other times I try to correct him: “No, Papa. That’s not a girl. Connor is a boy.” But most of the time I try to look him in the eye and listen until he is finished, and I simply offer a grin of affirmation. Usually that option seems to be the most loving thing to do, even if it is the most exhausting.

I believe the current state of human nature is Alzheimer’s-esque. I believe that apart from Christ, the nature of man is in permanent “disconnect” from Reality. I believe that Christ offers a remedy, that it is possible through Him to reconnect to Reality. But even through Him the moments of connection are rare. Plato’s Parable of the Cave is actually too optimistic in one sense. Just because one guy turns around to see the light, doesn’t mean that he is then forever enlightened. No, even those who realize the world is shadow still have difficulty seeing things as they truly are. In Christ, we are offered a slow process of connection, of making sense to God, of seeing bits of Reality. This process is regenerative if, like Alzheimer’s patients, we eat and exercise properly. Many call this “living in the Way of Jesus.” It’s taking ownership and responsibility to apply the remedy.

I recall Jesus’ announcement that He was interested in the sick sinner. I have heard many people use this verbiage to describe the church as a hospital. When I saw the movie Patch Adams, I was really moved by his vision for a clinic where everyone is both doctor and patient. In the same way, I am now seeing the idea of “assisted living” as a visionary metaphor. The gathered local community of Christians live life together. They walk and talk together. Many times they role play in and out of each other’s dementia together. More than anything, they listen and love one another.

I have learned much about God as a Father through the first 16 months with my son, Connor. Now I am learning about God the Great Physician through my experience with Papa. I am learning that most of my inner and outer dialogue sounds like cluttered gibber-gabber to Him. The mind of the Spirit is often thinking “what are you talking about, Greg? You aren’t making any sense to Me.” The hands of Jesus are trying to take the scales off my eyes so I can see, not as in a mirror dimly, but as things truly are. Even still, I am learning that God is willing to “play along” with our game of self-deception at times. He is also willing to correct us when appropriate. But He is always willing to listen. He always stops to hear. And He always tries to give meaning to our noisy talk.

There are powerful moments of “connection” with Papa. These miracles usually occur around the dinner table when he offers the blessing. When we all hold hands and close our eyes, he begins to speak with amazing coherency and palpable intimacy: “Blessed Lord, we thank You for this meal that was prepared for us. We thank You for the family that is gathered here tonight. Now may each of us grow a little bit closer to Jesus Christ today. For we ask it in Your Precious Name. Amen.”

Roadrunner has arrived. "And there was much rejoicing...yay."

Here are some bulletpoints that represent what I would have blogged recently:

* I ain't got not rhythm! There's no "work" to leave for yet during the day. I feel guilty not helping Jolie out with Connor - who is into EVERYTHING right now. Then there's my beloved grandfather (with Alzheimer's, remember?) who is prone to wander, Lord I feel it. Not to mention technology deficits and lack of regular church community. At least Jolie, Connor and I have consistency in the a.m. That's a good start.

* More thoughts in response to A Monk in the World. Specifically, in what way(s) are mysticism, contemplation, meditation really at the heart of the beautiful life God calls us to in the imago dei of Christ? How much emphasis should be placed here? Surely there are many people who experience Christ without these practices. Do we find "Union with the Divine" through these measures, are more simply through faith and obedience? (I know these are loaded questions, but they persist nonetheless?)

* First thoughts from The First Urban Christians. I finally finished this historically sound exploration of the social setting of the early church. This will be an important reference for a long time as I begin my oikos (Greek for "house," as in "house church" in Scripture) architecture school.

* The intersection of ideas from both books. Here's a quote from First Urban Christians, in reference to Paul being classified by some scholars as a mystic:

One can call this mysticism (the union between Christ and the believer), but it is a mysticism of social relations, in which many participate. (pg. 188)

* My initial reactions to the "fun" book I'm currently reading, Faith, God and Rock'n'Roll, by Mark Joseph. This was actually an unexpected gift that awaited us when we got to my grandparents' house! I like one-point sermons, but 33 chapters with the same point, only different person / band? And entirely too many uses of the word "spawned" as a synonym for "wrote, produced, performed." Still, I feel some serious ramblings coming on. Reading this book re-ignited the oldest rant in my collection - Christians and the music business and fame and art and the Christian ghetto. I've got to be careful here. Lots of fragile friendships could be rocked (no pun).

* Any number of amusing anecdotes from the first week of life here in Austin. Seriously, from God's point of view, I think we ALL have Alzheimer's. Think about it. I'll probably unpack this one a little more later...

It's good to be back!

I wanted to blog Tuesday as a personal commemoration of Epiphany, but the whole "connecting to the internet" thang has been slow to develop here at my grandparents house (Should have cable early next week!). Still, some Protestant traditions consider the whole period from Epiphany (January 6) and Lent (February 25) the "Season of Epiphany." So maybe it's not too late...

Epiphany, of course, means "revelation" or "manifestation." The holy day is meant to commemorate the visit of the Magi to the young Christ child. The prior Sunday marked our return visit to Austin with Mitchy & Digsby. The first epiphany occurred as we were entering the city from I-35, in the form of a billboard. [Knowing that this will not be funny to any of you, I still feel the need to share it.] There's a really large picture of a cute baby wearing only a diaper. Then the word "PROPANE," followed by the phrase "Comfort for the body and soul." I still don't understand the connection of these 3 ideas. I guess you could use a naked baby and the same phrase to sell just about anything, and there doesn't have to be a connection. We spent several moments testing this theory. "KNEE SOCKS. Comfort for the body and soul." Hey, what a cute baby. I think I'll buy some new knee socks.

The more spiritual epiphany occurred at Mosaic Austin that night. Being a new church the Sunday after Christmas, there were only a handful of people there, besides the four of us. It was definitely a different experience. Any thing new feels strange, I suppose, but there were concurrent feelings of excitement about fresh innovations in church life. After some singing and a "homily," the gathering concluded with the Lord's Supper. The "fill-in" leader explained that any professing Christian was welcome to partake of the elements after a period of silent reflection. I distinctly sensed that Jesus was inviting me to His Table in Austin. In a very real and symbolic act, I felt strongly that my participation in this particular Communion was God's way of welcoming me (and my family) into the greater unified Body of Christ that is manifested in the Austin area. An epiphanal moment.

Driving back to Moody that evening, the four of us longed for another look at "the Propane Baby." But he was nowhere to be found. He was eluding us, it seemed, for his own mysterious reasons. Our eyes were worn, our necks were tired from turning around and reading every billboard, and our hearts had despaired of ever seeing this wonder-child that had given us so much joy again. But just when we had given up the searching, behold! the Propane Baby!. This time it was north of Georgetown, near Salado. Like the Magi, our true seeking was honored. The baby was revealed.

I found this book, A Monk in the World by Wayne Teasdale, in the religion section of Border's a few days ago. All the external signs - descriptions, comments, table of contents - pushed high-wired buttons in me. If you've read much of my bloggings you know that I'm toying with this idea of taking on some of the rhythm's and practices of a monastic life while being firmly rooted in the "real life" of family, work, church and culture. I've been using "Incarnational" language to paint a broad picture of how I might begin to express this kind of life. So I bought the book and eagerly tore into it.

First if all, I'm glad I read this book. And I'm glad I read it now. There were two very vivid chapters that resonated strongly with my own journeyings. The first was about being a deep spiritual friend. I was especially interested in a phrase coined by Gregory the Great (no, not me - an old Benedictine pope) describing monastic friends as custos animi, guardians of the soul.

Custos animi does not assume the casual relationship exhibited by most modern friendships; rather, it requires a commitment to the spiritual development of your friends, the active work for their happiness and salvation, an essential and comprehensive understanding of one another's inner state - really knowing our friends' hearts. It includes committed friendship's usual intense affective power, but it also serves our friends' ultimate well-being. (pg. 81)

The second resonance dealt with his personal efforts to value homeless people in Chicago where he lives. Rather than starting some organization, he has determined to be more spontaneous and lucid in his interactions. He speaks in moving detail about several homeless people whom he has occasioned to meet and have regular contact and ministry with. I aspire to have similar encounters in the near future.

So, I was intrigued by how this particular monk would address the "in the world but not of it" mysterious tension. Granted, there was significant overlap from time to time with my own current exploration and prayer. But the further into the book I got, the more discord and bewilderment I felt towards his worldview and agenda. Here's the classic example:

Pluralism is the position that all the religions together have equal value and an equal claim on the truth. Pluralism, I believe, is the key to transforming the religions from cultures of isolation and centers of conflict to dynamic communities that can work together... Only through a pluralistic approach can there be peace on earth. (pg. 152)

Time out. This represents precisely the greatest fear that evangelical leaders of the modern world have about postmodernism as a whole, myself included. In my efforts to embrace postmodernity, I cannot embrace this. Frankly, this is scary stuff that can only be referred to as heretical from the standpoint of Scripture and church tradition.

I want to articulate my convictions about this with humility and respect. I do believe that it can be very worthwhile to study the teachings of the "great" religions. I do believe that there are emphases and practices within Judaism, Buddhism, Hiduism, and Islam that can instruct, correct and inspire true followers of Jesus. Furthermore, I believe the God of Christ can call forth people to learn and respect these religious traditions with great vigor and lifelong dedication. And I'm very much in favor interfaith dialogue. There is plenty of common ground that needs to be celebrated and discovered.

The main issue that causes me to repel and quicken is the issue of "equal claims to the truth." When Jesus said "I am the Truth," I take Him to mean this completely and literally. I believe Jesus Christ is the absolute embodiment of Truth. Therefore, claims to the truth are valid only to the extent that they are "in Christ." And Christianity alone is able to be specific about this. For me to say that Christianity is superior to the other religions is not meant to be competitive or warlike. In fact, these other traditions often have better systems of practice, more discipline, greater compassion and stronger friendships! No, to say Christianity is superior is to proclaim fulfillment and completion of these ancient ways - in Christ. Just as Jesus fulfills Judaism as the awaited Messiah, He stands as the completion of all things longed for and sought after in the wisdom of the East. These are not equal claims. Christianity claims a specific revealing that answers the vagueness and humanism of Eastern contemplation and awareness.

The naive "dream" that all the religions can reach global harmony and thus achieve peace on earth insults my intelligence and ignores the dreams of God as revealed throughout Judeo-Christian history! I thought this hippie ideal died with John Lennon. Yet here it is being affirmed again through the indirect suggestions of the Dalai Lama (surprise, Teasdale and His Holiness are friends). This dream ignores the depravity of man and his default category of evil and sin. It ignores Christ's reminder that we will always have poor among us. It presupposes that the chief aim of mankind is some universal ethic of nonviolence, rather than loving God and neighbor in the full knowledge that violence is inevitable. For me the day of global consciousness comes when every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord. No other dream inspires me like that one.

I look forward to any comments you may have to advance this inner monologue.

Last Sunday, Jolie and I wanted to show Mitchy and Digsby around Austin before they had to return to SC. Funny thing is, we don't really know all that much about Austin ourselves, at least not the most current version. We definitely made the most of it anyway...

Our day trip began at Stubb's BBQ, where they have a "gospel brunch" twice every Sunday. We went to the first one (reservations required) at 11:00. Only in Texas will you find breakfast soft tacos, ribs, BBQ brisket, spicy sausage, beans, blueberry muffins, fruit salad and pecan pie on the same buffet. Mark my words - I will never miss mustard-based barbecue from South Carolina! Even though we were seated in a small room away from the band, we got into the spirit of things soon enough. The whole band was dressed in matching green suits and you could truly feel the gospel spirit. It's funny to watch people sway while they talk and eat. "Are ya'll ready to get down?" the lead vocalist asked the crowd. "I mean are ya'll really ready to get down?" After so working the crowd, he began singing "Ya gotta get down on your knees and pray..." Tricky. And smooth. Awesome food and a perfect introduction to downtown Austin.

We decided to drive around 6th street and South Congress next. Not much going on the Sunday after Christmas. We ended up visiting the Capitol building for a while. The highlight here was looking at really old pictures of senators and representatives. Facial hair was a true art and science 100 years ago. So many options I'd never dreamed of. Then we cruised around the abandoned-for-holidays university until stopping by the Bob Bollock State History Museum. Here we discovered (or remembered) that Texas is bigger and better than anything else in the universe. Jason and Marcy were amused, and Jolie and I were somewhere between proud and embarrassed. Oh yeah, don't forget the Alamo!

We found a pretty cool coffeeshop near campus. Invigorated, we took a beautiful drive through the hills where the rich people live. Steely Dan's Two Against Nature made for nice subtle background music. Back on N. Lamar, we checked out Waterloo Records. While Digsby was looking up obscure indie bands, I was camped out in the local music section. I wanted to learn about every band - catch up on the nation's coolest live music scene. My education will take some time, no doubt. But our initial purchase of Los Lonely Boys was the perfect start. My fear that bluesy, guitar music had even disappeared here in Austin was unfounded. Imagine SRV, Santana and Ricky Martin as a vato!

After Waterloo, we headed to First Baptist Church to worship at Mosaic Austin. I'll blog about this experience later (I'm sorry this is so long.). Finally, the perfect finale to a day of soaking up Austin culture. The Hula Hut. Tex-Mex-Polynesian. Thai BBQ fajitas. While our taste buds savored this spicy happiness, we offered grins of contentment to each other about our day. We had experienced enough of Austin to want lots more. Can't wait to get there...