The Christian Imagination

As part of my involvement in the coffee house community that we call Everyday Joe’s Coffee House, I mix sound for about 2 concerts a month, and have done so for 3 years or so.

I love live music, and this gives me a good incentive to not only hear their music, to but serve the musicians and get to know them a little better. It also gets me outside myself, as I have to be attentive to bringing out the best sound possible for any given song, to help the musicians enjoy themselves, and to keep the audience in mind as well. It’s rather surreal, really.

And while the sound is very important, so is the human element. Caring about people, and caring about the sound, and encouraging the musicians, and learning to empathize better with all that they have been through lately (driving, touring, lack of sleep, etc). We have all sorts of musicians from all sorts of places playing all sorts of styles come through our doors and grace our stage. Some share our faith in Christ, others don’t, but every weekend, we have an opportunity to love on them, and listen to them, and hear them, and it’s wonderful. The really cool part is how we’ve been able to build an extended family with some musicians and our coffee house community.

It just occured to me today that my life as a part-time volunteer sound tech is very relevant to this blog, yet I haven’t talked much about it, so this is a start. We hear a lot of great independent and soon-to-be-more-famous musicians, and there are some great ones to know. I may share some concert experiences, and who knows, maybe eventually I’ll have an occasional interview.

And if you are a musician and would like to play at our coffee house in Fort Collins, Colorado, let us know.

Makoto Fujimura gave a talk on March 1st, 2008, and posted Empathic Creativity: Generative Transformation on his blog back in March. I finally got to read it this weekend. At first, I scanned it quickly, as I often do with blog posts. And when I got to the end, I realized I needed to read it more closely, so I did, a few times. It is the kind of post that needs to be absorbed.

I read To Kill a Mockingbird several months ago, and one scene seemed profound in its simplicity, the story of Scout walking into an angry mob. And the little girl, she begins to speak to Mr. Cunningham about things that matter to him, she empathizes.

Mr. Cunningham brought hickory nuts to Atticus in thanks for work Atticus performed in the Cunningham family in the beginning of the story. Now Scout reminds Mr. Cunningham about entailment, or a swap of one work for another, a sort of a code to unlock Mr. Cunningham’s humanity. The code worked to not only help Mr. Cunningham remember, but she taps into a greater conscience of how a human being should treat each other, with dignity and respect. And she defuses the situation, in her determined innocence.

If we are faced with an angry mob, ready to do the unthinkable horror of our days, what would be our response? To fight back with fire against fire, respond in hatred against hatred? I suggest we follow Scout’s lead in calling people to remember. Scout did not confront the bigotry by arguing for justice. What she accomplished in her naiveté was to step into the mob, to remind people that they were her neighbors. Within a culture that is full of cynicism, apathy and anger, we must remind one another to remember. Our task as artists is to remind people that they are our neighbors. Our arts should lead others to recall who they are. And by doing so, we may remind them, and ourselves, who we are. Our responsibility is to re-humanize the divide, to speak a “third language” of generative creativity that defuses the cultural war language.

Scout defused the situation by being fully human, fully a child.

There is much is our culture that dehumanizes, and sadly, we, as Christians, are sometimes guilty of it. We dehumanize sinners. We dehumanize our personal enemies and our national enemies. My friend Matt quoted Nouwen on his blog: “I am deeply convinced that the Christian leader of the future is called to be completely irrelevant (i.e. die to oneself, or give up on the idea of being ‘cool and popular’) and to stand in this world with nothing to offer but his or her own vulnerable self.” Vulnerability, accessibility, authenticity, humanity.

I love what Fujimura has to say about our first love too. I think I’ll read it a few more times…

It really started after I left college, and tried to live out my dream of starting a ministry in Erie, PA. It was an ambitious multi-year plan. After 4 months, I still didn’t have the job I needed to support myself and I missed my friends from college terribly. I ventured a trip to see my college friends, and it was too much. I decided to move back. I lined up a tentative place to live, and had no job. My parents didn’t think it wise and didn’t want me to go. I went. The place I expected to live fell through.

I was without a home, but this is where I wanted to be, and I believed myself better off. It was hard. It was disappointing. I learned a lot about hospitality, and lack of, over the 2 months I bounced around, finally landing for a month with the family that ran Issachar’s Loft. I worked a few temp jobs, and finally ended up with one that payed the bills well enough. I soon moved to downtown York with a former roommate, and we lived in the inner city for 5 months. He got married. I decided to go back to Erie to give it another go. And failed.

I moved to Colorado after that. It wasn’t a wise move, in terms of preparation. I had $200. No job in Colorado, but did line up a place to live, with a fam who’d help me get settled. Again, not everyone thought I should go. I went. There were difficulties, but the risk paid off. I ended up with better jobs than I would ever had had in Erie and found a church that was good for that season.

I never planned to stay in Colorado, and decided to move back East, to explore living somewhere in Pennsylvania, most likely Pittsburgh or Harrisburg, or possibly go overseas for the first time. I looked at Americorps, applied to some jobs, and really nothing opened up. I lived with my parents for 5 months, and moved to the other side of the earth, otherwise known as New Zealand…by myself.

With a working holiday visa in hand, I arrived in Auckland, and made my way over the course of a week to Wellington. I attended The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King World Premiere with 100,000 other people. I stayed in the hostel there, meeting a number of people, stayed with some new friends for a few days, and went hunting for a job and a flat. That was quite the experience.

Now, let me tell you about how I move and travel. I don’t plan all the details. But I do my research. I prepare. I have maps, an idea where to head, what to look for. Before I went over, I created a website to store copies of documents, and read lots of travel websites. It’s that kind of preparation that enabled me to plan on the fly, as needed. I found a flat with some great flatmates very different than myself in many ways, none of whom shared my faith, which was a first for me, and a good experience. When my money was about to run out, I got a job, a 10 minute walk from my flat, and it carried me for 5 months, at which time I turned down a permanent job offer (which some people think me crazy for doing).

My final month I traveled the South Island solo, taking my time, absorbing all the incredible scenery, meeting interesting people. It got lonely though. There were people to hang out with, but it wasn’t the same as having a companion with me. Again, I was prepared, but flexible. I prefer it that way, leaves room for serendipity. Such as I found at Fox Glacier, as I walked to Lake Matheson on a cloudy day. The mirror lake is a famous photo spot. The clouds parted just as I arrived, and it was one of those moments when I was in awe of God and felt His love. Even on the other side of the world, God is able to sustain.

I returned to Colorado after, where I have been the past 4 years. I’m very different from Chris McCandless, but there’s plenty I can relate to in his journey. I don’t always understand this thing called life. It’s much more untamed than people think it to be, and at the end of the day, that’s the way my heart likes it.

As you may have already heard, we had a few tornadoes in Northern Colorado. We don’t have tornados, and really aren’t used to dealing with them. One of the areas hit the most hard was a residential area in Windsor, Colorado, about 6 miles south of where I live.

On Thursday, I was home, and heard the wind blowing hard. Soon after, it started raining, then hailing. But that was it up here. I didn’t even realize there was a tornado till my boss emailed me about it. And even then, it didn’t effect me right away. Till I realized my pastor’s house was hit, and then, I didn’t know what to think.

I’ve been through a tornado before, in Albion, Pennsylvania, many years ago, one that destroyed the downtown area. It was equally unexpected. Today, some of us from church went to help clean up our pastor’s house, and some of the surrounding area. Tornado’s are wierd, in that, a few miles away, all is fine, but in the epicenter, there is devastation. I heard about the recent devastation in Myanmar, in China, but that’s far away, distant. This is here. This suffering is here, in an area with lots of good people where it’s too easy to be complacent. Not today, not for me.

Our pastor preached today about pain, suffering, hurting, need, and how people rise up to respond to big disasters. They do. The photo at the top is of free wood given to help people bolster their houses and rebuild. Some give away water and Gaterade. Some come from cities 30-60 miles away to lend a hand. And neighbors, neighbors before only somewhat known, they help each other. This isn’t new, of course, we do help each other in situations like this, and it’s touching, as the local newspaper says, Volunteer spirit overwhelms Windsor.

But as our pastor said this morning, we respond to big things, but people suffer everyday, often unknown, sometimes not, and the outpouring of love, it doesn’t always happen. We need reminders, and sadly, it sometimes takes tragedy to remind us how fragile life is, and how much we need others.

I’ve been talking and thinking a lot about serving the poor and broken lately. My heart was affected as I served this afternoon, for I too am broken, and am not always sure what I have to offer. Today, I was there, and in the days that follow, I hope to be there again.