Fishing for the Promised Land

(This post was originally published at www.kevinclouse.com)

You are watching the Fisherman’s Dance, based on Soran-Bushi (ソーラン節), a traditional song from Japan’s northernmost island, Hokkaido. The dancers in this video are some of the wonderful Japanese expat kids I’ve gotten to know over the past two years in Battle Creek.

One of the oddest things about my life right now is The Vine, an outreach I run for American high school students interested in (or rather, obsessed with) Japanese culture. Odd because I’m usually just one step ahead of the curve, and they all think I know what I’m talking about! Thank goodness for all my Japanese helpers. We’ve danced the Fisherman’s Dance together, thrown soybeans at demons, made sushi, painted calligraphy, and are just beginning a large mural project. And of course Wii play together. They tell me they love The Vine, that we’re family. For the longest time, I just couldn’t figure out why it was such a big deal for them. I thought we were offering a mediocre little program at best. But then they began to open up. Now I understand that this is a refuge for them, an eye in the storm of their messy lives.

Now in our third semester, a unique community has formed. The students who come are not your average high school kids. They’re outsiders. Sideliners. Freaks. They attend the wealthiest suburban high school in Battle Creek, but they’re from the wrong side of the suburb, the numbered streets. They idolize Japan. For some I think it’s an escape from the reality of their foster homes, broken families, internal chaos, and hungry hearts. One girl is a cutter and takes medication for depression. Another boy appears deeply confused about his gender. Japan is their personal Promised Land. I admit, Japan would be a pretty cool destination, but my anxious hope is to point them to a much better Promised Land.

My guess is that we all have our own Promised Land, though we may not be as openly obsessed with it as are my high school students. Maybe that’s why so many 20 and 30-somethings can’t stay put for very long. Somewhere, there’s something better. A better city. A better job. A better apartment. Better weather. Better food. Maybe better people. I struggle with that. If, however, we really believe in the goodness and sovereignty of God, there is no Promised Land here on earth. Or rather, wherever we find ourselves is the Promised Land God has placed us in. Staying put becomes a matter of tenacious, clinging trust, and that does not come easily.

Emerging Thoughts on Emergent

I’ve read lots of books and listened to lots of of podcasts by many of the cutting edge Emergent front runners. This stuff used to get my blood pumping. Emergent buzz words seemed fresh and alive and full of hope. Conversation. Community. Missional. Authenticity. Ancient-future.

But I’ve become frustrated. I flip open a magazine, I click on a website, I browse the shelves at Barnes and Noble, and I’m bombarded by the hip and cool, the now and cutting edge in Emergent Christianity. I know their haircuts, their quirks of speech, their style. I know who’s hot, who’s relevant, and what conferences (or theaters) they’re speaking at. We’ve got a glut of rock stars. Even Anglican bishop N.T. Wright has acquired superstar status among emergents. These are the ones I should be listening to and talking about, I’m told. And I do listen to them and talk about them, because some of them should be heard. I fully realize that Emergent is not just another fad. It is about a dramatic shift in culture and the church’s response to it. I’ve just gotten tired of all the frenetic hoopla. Rob Bell is a great guy and an awesome preacher, but I’m tired of seeing his face everywhere, even in secular media. Time recently named him the Hipper-Than-Thou Pastor. Brian McLaren has given us some significant insight, but does his name have to be attached to every other book on the subject? Let’s face it, his own writing is torture to read.

The problem, really, is not with them so much as it is with the rest of us who seem to idolize them, need them, depend on them, and expect our own pastors and churches to be like them. When we hold them up as our models, aren’t we bound for disappointment? Most pastors and most churches will never be as exciting or “relevant” or recognized as theirs. Ministry is usually unglamorous, sometimes boring, often frustrating. It feels as though the Emergent cast has forgotten that. Emergent buzz words suddenly don’t seem so exciting, or perhaps even as meaningful, when you close the book and walk out the front door to deal with human beings as they are. Or when you face the realities of your own church.

I’m still chewing on this and may have more to spit out in the future. Any thoughts?

The Sacrament of a Cardinal in Winter

I crossed the bridge and asked God to tell me something new. I looked at the trees, lined white with fresh snow. The murmur of ducks punctuated the still air. My shoes were wet, my toes cold. A flash of red and I stopped. What was that? I looked at the gray all around, and there it was, tittering on a branch. A cardinal. Maybe you don’t know, but a cardinal in winter, a fury of red against a grayscale world, is a sign of grace, maybe even a sacrament. You cannot dismiss God when you see a cardinal in winter. My tight cheeks creased with a wide, spontaneous smile.

I climbed back into my Oldsmobile, the mice left somewhere back along the trail. The woods did not fail me. They never do. I saw water, and a red cardinal, and God.

A new incarnation