And Don't Forget To Tip Your Waitresses...

You know I am really passionate about a topic when I never run out of metaphors or illustrations to get my point across. And here's the second one in a row in the food service category.

Last night Christina and I were having dinner with another couple at a restaurant downtown. The table we sat down at was a bit grimy, so we asked our waitress if she could clean it up. She acquiesced, but none too enthusiastically. When it was time to order, Christina and I ordered a single entree, to split, and the other couple ordered the same entree, to split. The waitress didn't seem too excited about that either, and I wondered if it was because she knew our check, and thus her tip, would be minimal.

All in all the service wasn't terrible, but it was painfully austere. Until she brought the check, that is. That's when she started joking around about who's bill was whose, and suddenly acting like she was one of those fun and friendly waitresses. I wanted to ask her who she was... because our waitress is the one without that smile on her face. But I didn't say that. I just played along, since I was more concerned about our conversation with the other couple than with our waitress' behavior.

But when Christina and I talked about it on the way home, she made me realize that our server had intentionally waited until check time to put on her happy face, so as to supplement her tip. And why not? After all, it's a lot of work being a good server. It's exhausting to be friendly and helpful all the time. And according to the primacy/recency effect, people only really remember the first thing, and the last thing, and not necessarily even the first thing if the food is good. So why not save your energy, and simply make a good last impression to boost your bottom line? Makes sense.

But, as Christina said, it also makes one feel used. It makes it painfully obvious, upon reflection, that your server is only interested in one thing: him- or herself. Even most good servers probably don't actually care about you, the customer, as a person, but at least they believe in serving you well, and doing a good job from start to finish. That way you're free to believe they care about you and like you. But when they make it so obvious that they're fishing for tips, it's hard to want to tip them at all.

But here's the payoff... this is often the impression that evangelism makes on the world. We have an agenda: to boost our numbers, to earn our badges, to seek out the prospects and expand the army of God. This is our sacred duty, and we'll do anything to accomplish it, by gum! Even pretending we like you! Whatever gets the job done...

Come on, world... just look how hard we've worked to serve you well, and all the time with a big, toothy grin on our faces. And we ask nothing in return, except a paltry tip of 10%.

And we better get it, too, or you never know... one of us might just spit in your communion cup.




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Rock the Vote - Coming in November

This is just a sneak preview for you blog readers. The Front Porch is teaming up with Randy Bacon and Springfield Music to bring you the local music event of the year on Saturday November 1: Rock the Vote 2008!

As you can see from the poster prototype, there will be (at least) three stages, the Front Porch, Randy Bacon Studio, and the studio next door to Randy Bacon, called Figment. Each stage will host its own style of music, and no matter where you are, there will be opportunities to register to vote, and to learn more about the major candidates in an informative, even-handed way.

The plan is to have at least two dozen bands, mostly local, but also to include several touring acts, and hopefully one big-name draw from outside the area. All proceeds will go to the continuing work of the Front Porch, but the main idea is to get people excited about exercising their right to vote the following Tuesday.

I'll definitely be keeping you up to speed on the details. If you know of any bands who would like to contribute to this effort, ideally for free, you can contact Ben Johnson at music@thecoredowntown.com. or if you'd like to help out in any way, please e-mail Christina Wiksell at christina@thecoredowntown.com. But in the meantime, just put it on your calendar and I'll plan to see you there!


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La Comunidad Autentica

Several weeks ago, my boss hired a new employee named Diana to help out with the increasing workload. She is from Mexico, and has been a legal resident of the United States most of her life. Fortunately, she's happy to answer our questions about her home country, and her first language.

A week or two after she came on board, Andy (my boss) asked her if there were any truly authentic Mexican restaurants in Springfield. At first she said no. But then she changed her mind and said there's a place called Tamale King that's pretty close.

Christina and I actually ate at the Tamale King once. It's remarkably bare-bones, with linoleum floors, fluorescent lighting, and cafeteria-style tables and chairs. Two clues as to its authenticity were its wall of Latino grocery items, and the TV suspended over the counter playing Univision non-stop.

I'm not sure how many Mexican restaurants there are in Springfield, but there's at least several dozen. Of course the majority of them aren't even trying to be authentic: Taco Bell, Taco Bueno, Chipotle, Qdoba, Carlos O'Kelly's, etc. These are the franchise eateries that have stuck to the formula for success... put a lot of fattening American food in a tortilla, dip it in cheese, and give it a Spanglish name.

After that you've got your independently-owned places that are shooting for authentic... Tex-Mex, that is. It's still pretty Americanized, but closer. These are the joints that are always trying to convince you they're authentic. It's a great PR word. They play canned Mariachi music over the speakers, they hang ponchos and sombreros on the wall, and they may even sell funky sodas you've never heard of.

According to Diana, we've now described every "Mexican" restaurant in Springfield but one. And that one, Tamale King, doesn't seem to care if anybody thinks they're authentic. No wacky red-green-and-yellow decor, no trumpets and giant guitars, not even a fully Spanish name. Nevertheless, the proof is in the Mexican Bread Pudding.

It's obvious by the sincere attempts at authenticity in the restaurant industry that customers care about getting "the real thing". But why? It seems like a perfect world for an epicurean white guy like myself. Dozens and dozens of restaurants, all lined up to give me something spicy and exotic, but catered specifically to my caucasian sensibilities. What could be better?

So I think the restaurants in the Tex-Mex category have discovered something significant. White people don't really want authentic Mexican food. They just want to think they're getting authentic Mexican food. Why else would they go to all the trouble to dress it up, instead of just calling it what it is? You know... Spicy Burger Chopped Up Inside Taco Shell. (Not that there's anything wrong with that...)

Where am I going with this, you ask? Authentic is not just a buzzword in the culinary arts, it's practically a movement within the Church. Indeed, it's become a veritable silver bullet. "Let's all be seeker-sensitive, I mean let's have a revival, I mean let's be postmodern, I mean let's be missional, I mean let's be authentic! That's all we really need!"

Check me out, I'm guilty too. What's the unofficial slogan of the Front Porch? "Arts, Culture and Authentic Community." Not even a complete sentence, is it?

I am not writing this post to say that we are the Tamale King of churches (there's a slogan for you.) We are not a lone reed of integrity in a sea of spiritual pretenders. But if I can blow the horn in my sleep, perhaps I can give the whole Church a wake-up call.

Whether people really want authenticity, or they just think they do, the fact is that they need it. We need it. The temptation, as a church leader, and especially as a church planter, is to get a focus group, figure out everybody's preferences, and then create an experience especially for them. Just like the Taco Bells and Qdobas, it's a proven success strategy, and everybody wants to be a winner.

But what does it cost? Yes, the Chalupas are cheap, but the identity crisis is out of everyone's price range. Because the most fundamental human need is to know who you are... whose you are. And what you're worth. And every step we take toward a plastic spiritual utopia is a step away from that ultimate goal. It's a concealing, not a revealing, and down the road I get to find out just how many layers I've managed to wrap around the real ME... the person God created me to be.

So the question is out there... Do you really want Authentic Community? Because you have to take the sides that come with it, namely Repentance, Transparency, Intimacy, Forgiveness, even Awkwardness... ew. All concepts which can be pretty hard to swallow.

So... no room for dessert? Check please!



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The Church Is a Whore, and She Is My Mother

Augustine said it.

Every generation is prone to certain superlative assumptions about itself. We are always...

the most enlightened, most advanced, most creative, most civilized...

AND/OR

the most wicked, most degenerate, dumbest, laziest, voted-most-likely-to-usher-in-the-end-of-the-world generation in history.

So naturally it surprises us when we look back and see the same attitude in history. Is it possible that a 5th-century Bishop, prior even to the Dark Ages, could be as jaded against the church as our own breed of postmodern critics?

But yes, Augustine said it. "The Church is a whore, and she is my mother."

Last night at the Front Porch, I slipped into one of those conversations. Somebody mentioned the alleged $50,000 that a particular church happened to have spent on speakers for the youth center. Not a speaker system... not human speakers, just speaker cabinets. And one of our more idealogical Wednesday night regulars became, shall we say, livid.

"How... hm... HOW MANY LIVES DO YOU THINK COULD BE SAVED BY $50,000!?!"

Whether the statistic was correct or not was beside the point. The fact is that we Christians are famous for finding ways to collect large amounts of money, and spend it on something that many others deem utterly irrelevant.

I wonder what the underground Christians in China or Indonesia or the Sudan might think. These churches seem to be growing spiritually and numerically, under far-less-than-ideal conditions. Of course, it would not be original of me to point out the way Christianity tends to thrive under oppression.

Last night my wife and I were wondering out loud if American Christianity was headed in that direction. "Sometimes, in a very weird way," I said, "I actually long for that."

"You do???" She exclaimed.

"Well... sort of. I mean, it's a hard thing to say. But it's as if someone is out to destroy us either way. If we're being oppressed, others are destroying us physically. If we're being validated by society at large, we inevitably start destroying ourselves spiritually. Only, in the first instance we are drawing closer to God in our adversity, and in the latter, we're wandering away from him."

"I never thought of it that way," She said. "I think that's true."

In my other conversation, with the Front Porch idealogue, I seconded many of his concerns about the way we Christians use and abuse the gifts of God. But I also tried to convince him to give even the most suspect church the benefit of the doubt. The fact is, we don't always (and actually we hardly ever) fully understand the underlying motives, and the heart behind the decisions that are being made in other churches.

"I actually know people in that church who really have an earnest heart after God," I said.

"But do you know someone in leadership?" the idealogue demanded.

"As a matter of fact, I do." He gasped. You might think he was being over-dramatic. I might think you'd be right.

"Or was, anyway," I continued. "He was in leadership. If you're right about this church, and that it needs change so badly, I believe he would have been one of the people there longing to bring it about. But he's not there anymore. Maybe he gave up. I haven't talked to him about it."

"Well... yes... maybe," he stammered.

There is so much to hate about what they've become. What we've become. Reminiscent of Rahab, or Gomer, or Israel at large, we have been unfaithful. We've forgotten our first love, and chased after everything else that moves, looking for what we've already found, but lost. The Church has become, by definition, a whore. With a long and proud tradition of corruption and, well... pride.

But she is ours. She is us. She is the true body of Christ that stands by his power and grace despite so many stumblings.

She is our mother.

Walking on Eggshells

Last Sunday morning one of the things I talked about at The Core was some of the things we can learn from other religions. I know this thought sends shivers down the spines of many Christians, and to others it's too little, too late.

If you know me at all, I don't have to assure you that I haven't gone soft. When it comes to the Bible, Jesus, etc, I still believe basically the same things I have believed most of my life. But even if we Christians are right about the most important aspects of spirituality, do we really need the arrogance that often comes along for the ride? Is it right to treat all other religions as if they are full of morons (no... not Mormons. There is actually one religion which is full of Mormons.) who managed to get everything wrong? Or do we have the humility to learn from our "enemies"?

It made me think of (surprise!) a metaphor. Namely, holding a belief is a lot like holding an egg. (You may have heard this metaphor used with parenting.) If you hold it too loosely, it will roll off and break on the floor. If you hold it too tightly, it will bust in your hand.

My point to the post-modern crowd is, there's nothing wrong with a little certainty. And to the modern crowd that there's nothing wrong with having an open mind. Because the danger of rejecting certainty is that, rather than validating all beliefs, it actually refutes all beliefs... considering all of them unworthy of really believing in.

And the danger of rejecting open-mindedness is that you can come to protect your beliefs so savagely that you actually weaken them in the process. Let me explain.

A true belief is able to stand up to scrutiny and skepticism. When we shield our beliefs from all such attacks, we insinuate that they cannot endure the onslaught, and thus, may not actually be true.

Either way, your egg is a goner. The only question now is... do you want it scrambled or fried?

Starbucks: A Follow-up

This post is a continuation of Starbucks: Keeping a Tight Lid on Freedom of Speech.

Following is the overly tactful and judicious e-mail I received from Starbucks Customer Relations:

Ryan,

Starbucks is committed to contributing to our communities and to the environment. We provide our support through monetary contributions, product donations and through The Starbucks Foundation.

Starbucks provides donations and sponsorships to nonprofit organizations in the following areas: the work of young social entrepreneurs, literacy, the environment, local communities, and programs in coffee-growing communities.

We believe our partners (employees) are the best resource we can offer, therefore we also support organizations in which they are active volunteers. This ensures that our investments touch the neighborhoods where Starbucks partners live and work.

Please note that as a rule, Starbucks does not donate to individuals, programs that promote or endorse a specific religious affiliation, political candidates, or for-profit organizations. This includes the donation of space inside of our store locations (ie: community boards).Sincerely,

Julie S.
Customer Relations
Starbucks Coffee Company

And here is my response:

Julie,

It is obvious that Starbucks is trying to make a positive impact in the communities it occupies. However, I am very sad to hear that you consider the usage of your community board as a "donation of space" and therefore something that cannot be extended to religious or political entities.

Although this type of policy is certainly within your right as a private corporation, it is nevertheless an attempt, in my opinion, to homogenize the atmosphere of dialogue within your restaurants, and avoid anything which might run counter to the beliefs or loyalties of your customers. The only possible result is a bland environment which insults people's intelligence by assuming that they cannot co-exist with ideas which are not complementary to their own.

I say this not for my own benefit. (There are plenty of other places to put up my harmless and extremely unoffensive posters. In fact, not only have I lost interest in promoting our worship gathering at Starbucks, I've lost interest in your company at every level.) I say this because I believe the public deserves better, and that Starbucks has failed to live up to the culture of insightful and challenging dialogue that has characterized the coffeehouse environment for centuries.

Sincerely,
Ryan Wiksell.

Starbucks: Keeping a Tight Lid on Freedom of Speech

Two Saturdays ago, I had to be at the Front Porch at 8 am to let a friend of ours in, so he could do some work on the interior doors.

I'm never buying anything from Starbucks again.

Or at least not from a certain location, depending on how things pan out.

Last night I was driving around putting up posters for the Front Porch, at a few non-downtown locations for a change. Three Panera restaurants, a Borders bookstore, and... Starbucks.

As you may know, every Starbucks store has a magnetic board for community fliers and announcements. I went to the South Campbell location, and found that there was plenty of space for my poster... if I moved a few things around. It took me a minute, and business was slow, so one of the baristas asked me in a friendly tone if I was having fun. I said sure. I got my poster put up, and I headed out.

But I had a different experience altogether at the East Sunshine location, near Bass Pro. It was even slower there, and the situation was the same with the magnet board, so I started moving things around.

I was almost done when an employee behind me (presumably the manager) bluntly informed me that if I put up my poster, he would have to take it down immediately. Why? Because it's corporate policy that nothing religious be placed on the community board. Nothing religious or political, he said. I could be wrong, but I sensed a smirk on his face.

Frankly, I was stunned. Religious and political censorship? In a coffee house? How many alliances and visions and revolutions have been birthed in coffee houses over the centuries? Paris... London... Boston... the coffee house was the community heartbeat for intellectual dialogue and sociological progress. Can you imagine if all these historic conversations had been interrupted by 19 year-old baristas with a warning not to cross corporate policy?

Does this manager mean to tell me that announcements for peace rallies, get-out-the-vote campaigns, church charity drives, and biblical counseling are all contraband?

You should see what's left over. There was a notice of a lost dog, a certificate of thanks awarded to Starbucks for community investment of some kind, and a newspaper clipping. That's it.

I will allow the possibility that this particular manager was mistaken, in addition to being rude. I sent an e-mail through their corporate website, asking if he was correct about corporate policy. If he was not correct, I hold nothing further against Starbucks, only their East Sunshine location. If, however, the coffee giant has gone so far as to turn their entire chain into an oppressively polite family dinner table, then I will have nothing further to do with them.

You may still want to go there... that's up to you. But if you must discuss your opinions about Bush or Obama or Moses, I suggest you keep your voices down.



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P.S. Or, if you must have your say, simply have your religious or political thoughts published on their cups... like Rick Warren did.

A Puppy Has Adopted Me

Two Saturdays ago, I had to be at the Front Porch at 8 am to let a friend of ours in, so he could do some work on the interior doors.

We woke up at... 8 am.

So I was a little late. But I did make it there to let our friend in, chit-chatted with him a little, and I was on my way back home at about 8:45.

I made it about one block before I saw the puppy in the photo. She was just running down the sidewalk, in front of the Coffee Ethic. So I pulled over immediately, got out and picked her up. She didn't run or fight or anything. In fact, she seemed eager to be picked up.

If you can't tell, this is a pretty small dog. She can't weigh more than 20 pounds. I assumed she was a black lab puppy, and I carried her into the coffeehouse, and asked around. Nobody recognized her. So I carried her into the adjacent public library, and nobody recognized her. But the librarian did help me by calling the pound. The pound said that the best thing we could do for her was to keep her out of the pound. That's the last I'll say about the pound.

The next thing I had to do was figure out where to take this dog; we had been wanting one, but weren't sure if we were ready. So I was reluctant to just bring her home. Plus, I wasn't looking forward to making a bunch of posters and advertising on Craig's List or something, to find the owner. I put her in my truck as if to take her home while I figured out what to do.

On my way, I drove past City Hall and the Police HQ, so I decided to stop and see if any of them knew what to do with a stray. The Police were no help, so I decided to go across the street to a Scramblers restaurant and ask to borrow their phone book. It turned out the restaurant manager was a lab owner herself, and wanted to help. So she brought out some scraps (which looked good enough to eat myself) and some water, which the dog consumed frighteningly fast. She advised I call the Humane Society, which I did, and I found out that they accept drop-offs from 12-4 pm on Saturdays. So I took her home to wait until noon arrived.

During those few hours, Christina and I fell in love. With the dog. We were already in love with each other. Here was a remarkably well-behaved puppy, who was friendly even to our two dwarf bunnies. We thought about keeping her, but we don't have room for a lab. When we did decide to get a dog, we needed a smaller one. So noon came around, and I took her to the Humane Society.

Although the Humane Society is clearly a better place than the pound, it is nevertheless a bit demoralizing. It's very hokey, and dirty, and noisy. But friendly. Overall, I figured it was worth the $20 they charged me to leave her with them. They looked my puppy over, and decided she was about six months old. That's what I'd figured. But after a second look, they told me she'd had puppies of her own already. I was shocked. Sure, she was a little too well-behaved to be a puppy, but she had this cute-and-silly demeanor that really had me fooled.

So that meant she was full-grown already. And things changed a little in my mind. I made a comment about the way animals are euthanized, referring to the pound. The clerk at the Society exclaimed "Oh no, we don't kill them here!" "I know that," I said. That's why I'm paying to drop her off here."

And I looked at her, happily leaning into me as I held her in my arms, and said, "Your life is worth twenty dollars to me." And I teared up a little. It sounds strange, but I had very little expectation of keeping this dog. Chances are, her owner would come and pick her up during the 7-day holding period, and I would never see her again. "I can't redeem the life of every dog on death row from my own bank account, but I can save you." And in a moment it seemed wrong that this creature should whip into and out of my life so briefly.

I thought about what it must be like to work at the Humane Society. I'm sure that only animal lovers need apply. Imagine the joy for such a person at being completely surrounded by adorable puppies and kittens. But imagine also the horror at seeing these innocent creatures arrive in terrible condition, and caring for those who are not desirable enough to ever be adopted. Imagine the overwhelming desire to take them all home, especially the rejects, and imagine the sadness to admit one's helplessness to do so. The more one's capacity for joy in their job, I thought, the more capacity for sadness.

I think it's similar for those who work in hospitals and doctors' offices. An optometrist is not likely to experience great highs in his line of work, and the lows seem pretty manageable as well. But an OBGYN is privy to many tears of joy as new lives are brought into the world, and also many tears of shock and despair when things go awry.

I realized that we are often confronted with a choice: to open ourselves up to both the highs and the lows, or to remain closed and afraid of our surroundings. Do I want to live a big life, or a small life? Simon and Garfunkel express both desires in two different songs. "I am a rock, I am an island..." contrasts with "I'd rather be a forest than a street. Yes I would... if I could."

One junior higher goes out for the ball team, the other stays home for fear of failure. One high schooler asks his crush to the prom, the other never gets up the nerve. One college student dives into marriage, the other avoids it, so as not to end up divorced like his parents. One married couple tries to start a family, the other fears the loss of flexibility and independence.

I want to live a big life, not a small one. For a long time Christina suggested we get a puppy, but I worried about the expense, and the time it would take out of our already very full lives. So I never looked for a puppy. But apparently one puppy was looking for me.

Two days ago, on another Saturday, we made our way back to the Humane Society to finish what we'd started. I had only spent 3 hours with her, 7 days prior, but when we were directed to her cage, we remembered each other instantly. She absolutely freaked out, jumping around and licking my hand through the bars. I realized there was no lock, so I took her out to hold again, and it was obviously right.

I could worry about all the potential heartache that could be in store for me. That's the danger anytime you choose to love someone or something new. But I'd be a hopeless pessimist to ignore all the excitement and fun and sweetness and joy that comes with a new addition to the family.

We picked her up, we brought her home, we named her Abbi. But it's more like she's adopted us.

To Be Part of the Ocean

I'm sitting at the soundboard at the Front Porch, a concert is underway, and I just finished the last pages of Mitch Albom's 1997 book, Tuesdays with Morrie.

It's gotten a lot of acclaim, this book has. Everybody who reads it speaks highly of it, as a heart-wrenching account of an author's renewed relationship with a favorite professor in the midst of his ALS death throes. It's a true story, and it wants us to know that you're not ready to live until you're ready to die.

Personally, until the very end I wasn't that touched. No doubt it's well-written, sensitive, and thoughtful. But I considered putting it away several times before I reached the end, because all its platitudes about life and love and relationships and facing the end seemed a little cliche to me. A little overplayed... lacking poetry, poignancy, or both.

I think there may be a reason. Having spent my whole life in the Church, the subject of death is not entirely uncommon. Even if it's not a pleasant topic, it's nevertheless quite prescient to the church's theology. And for all its failings, somehow the Church did manage to instill in me a strong impression of the importance of love, relationships and living selflessly.

I was forced to consider the perspective of those raised without those insights. Those who may bristle at the raw consideration of death, and who have few opportunities to realign their thoughts to what is eternal. For them, I suppose I'm not surprised that Tuesdays with Morrie would be such an impactful book, and a truly beneficial one at that.

These were my thoughts at the half-point. But like I said, as it reached the end I started to feel differently. One passage that forced me to stop for a moment was a story told by the old professor himself. It was about a wave riding along the surface of the water, enjoying life. Until he notices what's happening to the waves ahead of him, as they crash violently on the shore. When the wave begins to panic, the next wave over comforts him by the notion that he is not a wave at all, he is part of the ocean.

As I said, this made me stop. Does it seem as silly to God for a human to fear the death that lies ahead, as it seems to a human for a wave to fear the shore? I've read a little about Buddhism lately, and their concept of "no-self". It is the process of getting rid of self-thoughts, to understand that "self" is an illusion, and that it is our membership in the universe, in humanity, in family, that really matter.

Don't think I'm buying into all this wholesale, but it is certainly stretching me.

And the whole topic brings me back over and over again to my nearest experience with death. About a year and half ago, just after our third wedding anniversary.

My wife Christina had an uncle who was essentially her father. Andrew Myers was brilliant, and proportionately eccentric for being brilliant. Few people have ever possessed greater potential. He was a doctor, and in his younger years gained a quick reputation in the ER for instant diagnosis. It was almost a shining. He could look at you, and tell what was wrong right away.

Although I never experienced this firsthand. My only hospital experience with Andrew Myers had him on the other end of the stethoscope.

As I said, it was about a year and a half ago. Andy's wife had just passed away six months prior, and he took a long downhill slide as a result. We all worried quite a bit about him... One might expect a bout of depression in his situation, but something else was bringing his health down drastically.

It didn't take long for his doctors to discover the cancer. Lung cancer. Our guess is that he knew he'd had it all along, but wanted nothing less than to be a cancer patient, subjected to wave after wave of destructive radiation. So he did what he could to alleviate the pain, and live his life while he could.

Fast-forward to the hospice room. When he was diagnosed, there was no doubt things would progress quickly, so there were few surprises that led us to this place... Christina and I together at Andy's side, or a fraction of Andy, anyway. The man we knew as a tall, robust individual was now a wisp of a man, with pure white hair and cheeks sunken severely beneath the oxygen tubes.

By many standards, I live a pretty colorful life. But it's also been fairly sheltered. In other words, until this point I'd never really witnessed death. Never really been there in the moment. And honestly, I could not have asked for a more precious introduction to humanity's greatest fear.

Andy had been mostly comatose during his short visit to the hospice, punctuated with short periods of looking around, or eking out a word or two. But in his final day, there was little to speak of. Christina and I stayed nearby, talking to him, holding his hands, and sharing warm conversations with friends and family who stopped in to visit.

The hospice nurse was nothing short of astounding. She was one of the most compassionate, encouraging and informative people I've ever encountered in the health care field. She told us how it would end. And we watched as it all unfolded.

His breathing became slower and slower, degenerating into intermittent gasps. And several other symptoms of passing matched the predictions perfectly.

But one blessing came to us that we didn't expect. Despite Andy's steady and unresponsive descent into darkness, his soul found the strength right before the end to open his eyes, and his mouth, as if he were witnessing something truly amazing. We held his hands a little tighter and smiled sadly to be part of such a breath-taking moment.

Then he closed his eyes again, to finish his breathing. The gasps got more and more sparse, and began to lift his chest as the effort became more and more intense. Then his chest would collapse, his chin would rise, the air would rush in sharply, and his body would rest for five seconds before it happened again. Then it was ten seconds. Despite their intensity, the breaths were thinning, and finally one gasp stopped midway, before Andrew Myers' body descended heavily into his bed. Christina and I squeezed his hands and looked at each other with emotions that don't fit into categories.

The nurse had asked us to inform her the moment he passed away, so I gave my wife a kiss and walked out into the hallway. I didn't have to walk far, because she was right nearby. Like I said, she was a wonderful nurse. She told me that we could take as long as we wanted with him before they began preparing his body for the funeral home. I questioned her about it, and she said some people take hours.

I returned to the room, and Christina and I sat and talked gently about Andy... trying to recall some of our happier moments with him. It seemed strange, mentally, to have casual conversation while a corpse is within arm's reach, but it also felt right in a way. I think we felt his presence more now, than we did when he was alive but comatose.

We prayed, and remarked to each other how relieved we were to know that Andy was with his Savior, whom he'd trusted in life. For although we mourn, we don't mourn like those who have no hope.

As I watched, and absorbed this new experience, and as I sit here to write out the story behind it, I am still a wave on the sea. I am moving, always darting in and out, never losing sight of the rocks ahead of me. But I am also part of the ocean, part of the larger picture that now holds Andrew Myers in the depths of its peace. Sometimes my heart can accept this, and sometimes it feels overwhelmed.

But despite the chaotic, the foreboding, the unknown, I can rest assured that in Christ, no fear is necessary. The sting of death is gone.

Center-City Springfield: East Commercial St.

The second place our photographic tour of Center-City Springfield will take us is East Commercial Street. If you have not read the introduction to this tour, now would be the time for that.

When North Springfield was founded, it was located on this street, around its intersections with Jefferson and Benton Streets, which are on the east side. So this is where we find the greater majority of civic history. One example, which I don't have a picture of, is Rathbone's Ace Hardware, which has been in business continually for over 110 years, under the name Rathbone.
Here is a sidewalk shot of the more historic half of C-Street, with the Citizen's Bank clock directly in front of us. The City of Springfield has actually done a nice job with streetscaping, to make the area more desirable. Here you can see the black street lamps, and wide, fresh-looking sidewalks.

As I said in the previous post, Commercial Street is a major study in contrasts. Here we have C-Street's first fancy restaurant (in ages), called Peabody's, and a book store that's been closed for who knows how long. Peabody's is where I took my wife for Valentine's Day this year.

One thing I have not mentioned yet is C-Street's charity scene. The strip is anchored by two major institutions for the less fortunate: Victory Mission on the west, and the Missouri Hotel (pictured below) on the east. The photo here was intended to highlight the historic detailing on the building.

This is a very controversial issue in Springfield, as it is in many cities. The hub of life for many homeless and vagrant people is either Commercial Street, or Downtown proper... two neighborhoods the city would like desperately to breathe new life into. And it can indeed be difficult to get people to invest venture capital into a place where people are known to have little or no money.

Sadly, many of the city's attempts at a solution involve nothing more than moving these people around, and barring new service agencies from moving in to help. This is unfortunate, but on the other hand, when a city has a cultural and architectural heritage like this, which is wasting away, doesn't it have a responsibility to restore it? And that takes money, right? What do you think?

Another face of C-Street is the flea market/antique store scene. Here's a storefront I particularly like:

And yet another face... a Professional Massage Training Center.

Following is an "aerial" shot of Commercial Street's Farmer's Market. Obviously things have not quite ramped up yet at this point. But last summer, this is where we met the lady who would eventually be our coffee provider at the Front Porch: Julia's Java.

Probably the proudest landmark of Commercial Street history is the Jefferson Avenue Footbridge. Built in 1902, and restored for its 100th birthday, it crosses 13 sets of railroad tracks, for a total span of 562 feet. Commercial Street runs parallel to the railyard, and right up against it. Back when North Springfield was founded, there were no bridges or tunnels for getting across the tracks... everyone had to go straight across. Consequently, when rail traffic was heavy, sometimes it would take hours before passage was possible. This was the arrangement that led to the construction of large, beautiful homes south of the Commercial Street, for the business owners, supervisors, and officials. The only place the common workers could afford to live was on the less convenient north side of the tracks. It was, quite literally, the "wrong side of the tracks", and to this day, the north side of Springfield is known for being poorer than the south side.

Back to the topic: the Jefferson Avenue Footbridge was built to provide a solution to this problem, so that anyone (on foot, anyway) could travel back and forth across this wide and bustling rail terminus.

Next-up: Downtown Proper.

Center-City Springfield: West Commercial St.

The first place our photographic tour of Center-City Springfield will take us is West Commercial Street. If you have not read the introduction to this tour, now would be the time for that.

Here is a street shot from the west end of what you might call "Historic Commercial Street", looking east:

Commercial Street is a funny character. The occupancy rate is still quite low, and there are miserable-looking vacant or neglected historic buildings everywhere. And yet... there are tons of first-class residential lofts, and numerous photography studios, design & marketing firms, art galleries, top-notch office spaces, beautiful streetscaping, and several classy entertainment establishments. Really, the best word to describe it is "weird".

The first thing we'll come to, starting from the west end, is the Belmonte, which is run by Springfield's Vineyard Church. The Belmonte started out right downtown, where it had a slightly larger space, and was known for fairly regular weekly concerts. It was, and still is, a pretty hip place... some say too hip. But they're good people, and they really want to reach out to their generation of skeptics and agnostics through the use of a common, comfortable, creative space. As it is now, I'm still trying to figure out what their goal is for the current facility. But still, I feel like I have more in common with this group than most Christians in Springfield. Here's two shots of the Belmonte:

Next is a dual shot of Lindberg's (left), the oldest continually operating pub in Springfield (over 100 years) and a future photography studio. Although it's had some straggly years along the way, Lindberg's is now beautifully restored, with wads of gorgeous hardwood. It's truly a classic pub. The only drawback is all the smoke, and the too-loud blues jam stuff they like to play live.

On the right is the up-and-coming Freedom Photography, the studio of my cousins, Matt & Heidi Giles. The upstairs is nearly finished, and ready for them to move into with their adopted son, Isaiah. If you go to the website, you'll see some stunning pictures of the work they've done. Downstairs has a little ways to go yet, but you can already tell it'll be a first-class studio space.


Here is an example of what Commercial Street is known for: Flea Markets and Second-Hand Stores... although this is definitely the classiest example: The Style.


One excellent addition to the Commercial Street scene recently, was that of a cozy coffee house. This one is called Big Momma's, and it's got great food and coffee, and is extremely cozy up front, where the coffee bar is. Fortunately, they have a big room in back where there's plenty of space for concerts, dramas, and other events. The Core has even put some thought into establishing a second Worship Gathering here.


To end our tour of West Commercial Street, I'll take you to the Firehouse Courtyard, where our friend Kelly Stevens will be marrying her German fiance, Julius, this September. Apart from all the other things I mentioned, C-Street has several funky open spaces, some elegant like this one, and others



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Center-City Springfield: A Photographic Tour

I love my mission field.

Back when I was 17 and 18 looking for the right place to re-locate and attend college, I was wary about Springfield, Missouri. First, it was too easy. It's the city where both my parents went to school (Evangel and SMSU, now MSU) and the city where most nice little pentecostal kids from my area migrated (due to the presence of Evangel, CBC and AGTS.)

Second, it was too small. I had gotten used to living in substantial metropolitan areas... Kansas City, and Tulsa before that. But Springfield is by all accounts a small city. Perhaps large among the small cities, but still.

Third, the whole city looked like Glenstone to me. For the initiated, let me explain that most of the main thoroughfares in Springfield are lined with strip malls and cluttered with their super-tall road signs. Glenstone is the worst... this description is true for a solid 7 or 8 miles, and people drive on it as if they're trying to read every word on every sign. When I looked at Springfield, I didn't see any of the urban fabric or historic significance that usually draws me to a city: I just saw strip malls and road signs.

Glenstone is also the street where Evangel's campus is located, and Evangel is where I ended up enrolling, to study music. So Glenstone was an ever-present reminder of how Springfield and I were essentially incompatible.

Another feature of Springfield that you may have picked up on already is that it is a veritable mecca of higher education. Word has it there are 11 colleges, and 30-40,000 college students, depending on how you count. This has the very advantageous effect of bringing in bright young minds from around the country, many of whom are determined to leave Springfield upon graduation. But, you know, you meet that special guy or girl, who is graduating one or two years after you... so you graduate, you get a job, find a place, make some friends, establish a routine. And by the time that special someone has graduated it's just a lot easier to stay put. So Springfield manages to hold onto some of those bright minds, and that's no small thing for such a small city.

In addition to that, it turned out the Springfield did actually have some urban fabric after all. It's just that it was torn, stained and at one point it was almost ripped to shreds.

In the 70s and 80s, the city got into its head that many of the historic buildings Downtown were a hazard and/or an eyesore. By the time anybody saw otherwise, the architectural legacy of our Center-City was in danger of fading to black, and the 90s were a time of desolation for what should be the liveliest part of town.

There are two specific districts of Center-City Springfield that are worth mentioning here: Downtown proper, and Commercial Street. The former was established as the city of Springfield in 1838, and the latter as the city of North Springfield in 1871. The two merged as the single city of Springfield in 1887. These are the two most significant historic urban districts of the city, and which I have the most stories about.

So I'm going to take you on a photographic tour over the next several posts, showing you pictures of our mission field, telling the stories behind them, and giving you a sense on the map of the location of each one. To start you off, here are two maps that gives you some perspective on the location of Downtown and Commercial Street in relation to each other, and to Springfield at large. Here is a map of Springfield, with the boundaries of the following map outlined in red:

And here is the map that includes both districts of Downtown and Commercial Street:

And that brings us to the map I'll be using to show you the locations of each image on our little photographic tour. Enjoy!


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Not Alone

Despite the apparent uniqueness of the Front Porch, it is great to see that there are others out there dreaming and doing the Way of Jesus in ways we can relate to.

Back in December I wrote about one example of this located in Hamilton, Ontario, called The Freeway.

And just now I read a post on Kingdom Grace called "My Secret Fantasy" that reminded me again that we are not alone in this vision. There really is a movement afoot, and one that seems to have the stamp of Jesus on it.

It's hard not to become giddy when I read the way this vision takes on myriad variations in every cultural context, and in every impassioned heart to create a space of radical hospitality, and authentic community.

If you're reading this, and you know of any others, please speak up. It's really exciting to see continuity among so many who don't even know each other.

Peace.


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Red Letter Ramblings

One very formidable trend that has developed with Generations X and Y (for lack of better terms) is the desire to be a "Red-Letter Christian".

For the uninitiated, many editions of the Bible print the words of Jesus in red, and the rest of the words in black.

If there are any accountants or finance-types reading this, I have a question for you: Does red ink make Jesus words look better, or worse? Seems like it might be a barrier for those who fear "the red".

Aside from purely cosmetic concerns, I believe this type of thinking can be dangerous. First, whose decision was it initially to put the words of God the Son in red, but not those of God the Father? Is it not disconcerting to anyone else to read about the baptism of Jesus and see the very voice of heaven descending in ink of black? It wouldn't bother me, except in a Red-Letter Edition.

It is a magnificent truth that Christianity is not based on a set of teachings, or on a philosophy, or on a group of people or a historical event. It is based on a person; the person of Jesus. So why shouldn't we let his words stand out?

And that's the way the thinking goes... fair enough. But there's more.

I don't see this simply as a Bible-reading trend, but as a move away from a holistic Christianity, and into one that has a too-narrow focus on the person of Jesus. This has caused many people to believe that Jesus was not so much the agent of the Father here on earth, but rather a rogue liberator attempting to rescue humanity from the wrath of a Crabby Dad. Read more about that here.

A case in point: The 4th of 10 Commandments, in Exodus, commands that we keep the Sabbath day holy, and do no work on that day. In Jesus' time, the Pharisees abused this law (like every other law) and took it to extremes. As we read Jesus' attempts to correct that abuse, we begin to think that he is rescinding the commandment itself. And whatever we read in red letters seems to trump everything else. (As an aside... my trouble with honoring the Sabbath is that I can't find where God said that the Sabbath should roll over to the first day of the week, instead of the last. Still percolating on that one...)

The problem is, this approach to the mission of Christ ignores the following red letters from John 8:28: "I do nothing on my own but speak just what the Father has taught me." Does this bold assertion leave us any reason at all to lift the words of Jesus above the words of God the Father? Has anyone ever proposed putting all the words of God in red?

Because, in their red letter fervor, some people have even become suspicious of the non-gospel books. Here's my question for them: Do you believe John accurately recorded Jesus' words? Then why not read his three epistles and Revelation just as seriously? Do you believe Luke accurately recorded Jesus' words? Then why not read Acts just as seriously? And if you do, you'll see that Jesus (in red letters) appointed Paul to be an apostle. Then why not read the letters of Paul as divine scripture? And when we read the red letters themselves, we can see how Jesus honored the words of Moses and the Prophets. In our efforts to follow Jesus and be like him, should we not do the same?

We should. Otherwise we risk letting our faith run into the red.

Now Taking Questions...

Last Wednesday our QAF Sessions focused on gathering questions from participants, to be used in future QAFs. Here is the list I took down. If you are plan to participate in the QAF Sessions in the near future, please add a question to the comments. If you can't join us, feel free to add a question anyway, but I will probably be quicker to use questions from participants than non-participants.

I am not a Bible Answer Guru, and I don't know any. So conclusions and right answers are not really the point here, so please don't try to answer them in the comments. The point is that we are able to ask these questions, and able to discuss them openly, with no fear of dirty looks for being honest. So here are the questions that were asked Wednesday night.

• Is there a feminine or female side of God? Does God have a gender at all?
• The Bible seems to imply that we are judged by what we do. How does salvation by grace fit into that?
• Is it wrong to be so content with life that you don't care what happens to you after you die?
• How reliable is Scripture? Have human hands compromised it in the inscription or translation process? How perfect can our translations possibly be?
• Why does Biblical history seem absent from academic history books?
• Is it wrong to focus your education on attaining job security?
• Is it a sin to do what you want if you don't know what God wants you to do?
• Do we have to suffer in order to serve God?
• What is the point of suffering?
• Does God cause disaster, as it seems to say in Isaiah 45:7?
• How do we reckon with some of the disturbing character traits of God?
• How can we say God is good when he instigates massacres like the flood?
• How literally should we read the Bible (i.e. "Bind these words upon your head...)

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