Introverted Church

Introvert Saturday: In Review

2012-02-11T07:00:00.000-08:00

I know a lot of people are new to the blog, so welcome! Come and get away for a while. For the last 6 months I have been posting guest posts on Saturday, in a series called "Introvert Saturday." Unfortunately, I have run out of guest posts. So, consider this an invitation to write about your experiences as an introvert. I would be especially interested to hear about how introversion interacts with world cultures. It seems like for a while I was getting a lot of emails from Canada, then from the UK, and now from Australia. I would love to read posts about introverts in Africa, in Hispanic countries, and in Asia, and from pretty much anywhere else. I'd also be curious to hear about the experience of introverts in black, Hispanic, and Asian churches. Please write me a post! 500-600 words emailed to adamsmchugh at gmail dot com.

For now, for those of you who are new, I want to post a few of my favorite reviews of my book, Introverts in the Church. What's great about them is that they are not just book reviews, but they also include stories about the experiences of introverts in our culture.

Popular blogger Rachel Held Evans asks if you are Extrovert or Introvert? A review of Introverts in the Church.

Mark D. Roberts posts a 4 part series: Introverts in the Church: An Interview and Review.

From a Reformed perspective, check out Steve McCoy at Reformissionary (still my all-time favorite review) and Trevin Wax at The Gospel Coalition.

And last, check out Internet Monk on Introverts in the Church.

Dealing with Criticism

2012-02-09T17:22:00.000-08:00

Christian writers like myself almost never get mainstream media coverage. But, thanks to Susan Cain and her instant blockbuster Quiet my name is getting thrown out in all kinds of venues. It has been gratifying to get my work recognized, especially more than two years after my book was initially released.

Unfortunately, my new-found notoriety comes with some downsides. In the past couple of weeks I and my intentions have been misrepresented in a couple of places, which has happened in the past, but is particularly hurtful when it happens in publications with such large market share and lofty reputations. You spend 5 years carefully honing a message, trying to present it in the most balanced and helpful way, and then it gets caricatured and dismissed in a paragraph by someone who will be writing about something completely different the next day.

So I want to talk a little about how I deal with criticism, and I would love your input and suggestions for how you deal with criticism. This post is a lot of self-talk, to be honest, as I'm trying to work this out for myself.

Here are some of the guidelines I have come up with. They are enumerated but not necessarily because I move through them chronologically.

1. Avoid the knee-jerk reaction. This is the first thing I do. This is where I try to stay as far away from a computer as I can. No Twitter, Facebook, or blogging. 99% of the time the quick-hit reaction is unhelpful. There is a reason why the word "reactionary" has such a negative connotation - it describes someone who speaks from a raw and angry place. These reactions do not help the conversation and usually only come across as immature and insecure.

In dealing with critics of my work, I actually almost never respond at all. I have responded one time, after a couple of days of cooling down, but if I had the chance to do it again, I would stay silent. In the case of a personal relationship, a response may be necessary, but a knee-jerk response is even more destructive. This is why marriage counselors pretty much universally encourage couples to do "time-outs" when the emotions in the room become so high that constructive conversation is impossible.

2. Listen to the feelings. One response for coping with criticism is to pretend the feelings aren't there, but they are, and if you don't acknowledge them they will only fester and come out in unhealthy ways. People will usually feel angry at first but anger is usually hiding the deeper feelings: hurt, rejection, shame, fear. Say hello to your feelings - they are there for a good reason and they are meant to help you. And then listen to those feelings. What are they teaching you? What are they revealing about yourself? Are these feelings reminiscent of feelings you have had at other times?

3. Remember your identity. The reason why some criticism burns away at us so much is because they bring into question our identity. It's one thing to be corrected for something you did that was wrong, but it's something else entirely when "wrong" is a way that you have subconsciously defined yourself or others in your past have defined you. Sometimes a small criticism can tap unintentionally into a raging river of self-hatred and inadequacy. When you believe something about yourself to be true then the smallest critique can set that off. On the other hand, if someone says something about you that you don't truly believe to be true then it won't affect you much. Criticism is a good opportunity to learn what you truly believe about yourself, in your heart-of-hearts.

This is where, if you are a Christian, it is helpful to review all the words the scriptures say about you: image of God, son or daughter of the Father, brother or sister of Christ, redeemed, justified, beloved.

4. Ask what's true. There is this funny little story in the life of David in 2 Samuel 16, in which this random guy named Shimei starts throwing rocks and cursing David. David's army wants to do away with him, but David orders them not to respond, because, as he explains, the Lord may have instructed him to curse the king. I believe that some criticism comes our way as a helpful corrective, even if it is not said in the most ameliorating spirit. This is why, after I have let me emotions settle, that I will ask "Is there anything true about was said?"

5. Get out of your head. I purposefully put this one last, because I do not want people to think that this means not to acknowledge the emotions. After I have done all the internal work, I have gotten out of the experience what I can. If I keep stewing at this point, the criticism burns away at me like an acid. I find that in directing my attention elsewhere - and usually to a non-intellectual or emotional end - that the effect will quickly wear off. A conversation with a friend, a round of golf, a movie, doing something with my hands, and I'm usually okay.

How do you deal with criticism? What would you add to this list?

Guest post on Internet Monk

2012-02-06T11:34:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite blogs, Internet Monk, has posted a blog of mine called "A Matter of Motivation."

A few years ago, when studying the neurology of introversion, I realized that in Christian communities we often mistake brain chemicals for love. The people we say have the most love or passion in the church are often those who thrive on the dopamine that is released in social activity, i.e. extroverts. In this post on Internet Monk I talk more about these misnomers and finish with what biblical love actually looks like.

Networking allergies

2012-02-02T08:36:00.000-08:00

My undergraduate degree comes from a school that placed a large emphasis on networking. I spent those four years mingling, small talking, and smiling. My face still hurts. And while I love my college, it was there that I developed an allergy to networking, or more accurately, to the way some of the students practiced it. My group of close friends gathered around our mutual disdain of shmoozing.

So imagine my shock when a writer from my alumni magazine recently contacted me about an article on networking. She contacted graduates from the political realm, consulting, and uh, me. Primarily she wanted out to find out how in the world I got this gig as a guest chaplain in the House of Representatives, but we ended up having a good discussion about introverts and networking. The question underneath the discussion was "Can only gregarious, aggressive people who excel in small talk network effectively?"

As you may have seen already, introversion has become a big topic in our society recently, and it's possible that we're even approaching a tipping point in the discussion. Articles, posts, and books about introverts in an extrovert society are showing up everywhere. David Murray recently turned me on to a recent article by Lisa Petrelli on the Harvard Business Review blog, "An Introvert's Guide to Networking."

Petrelli boils down the lessons she has learned as an introverted networker in three main points:

1. I learned to appreciate my introversion rather than repudiate it.
2. I stopped being afraid to be the one to reach out.
3. I learned to prioritize time to re-charge.

I commend the article to you, because I think she does an excellent job of balancing how to use our strengths as an introverts and also how to stretch out extroverted muscles a bit. If you want to know more specific techniques I have employed in networking check out my post The Necessary Evil of Book Promotion.

What I want to say today is less about specific techniques and more about perspective. When I dig to the root of why I have a emotional resistance to networking (even the word makes me cringe), it is not because of my introversion. It is because shmoozing often has a whiff of inauthenticity to it. So often it seems like people approach it with the intention of trying to get something out it, to manipulate a situation or conversation to go how they want it to. And so it becomes a game, and other people become players on your chess board who must be moved into the best position so you can win.

If you approach networking in that light, you will likely find it unsatisfying, even detestable. I want to propose different questions for networking. I think the questions that ought to drive us are not "What can I get out of the situation?" or "How can I work people to my advantage?" but "Who am I meeting?" and "What can I learn?" The people that you talk to have dreams, hopes, and passion - that's how they got to the position they are in the first place. They have succeeded, and they have failed. They have families and marriages and children, that provide them all kinds of delight and all kinds of pain. And people that are worth meeting can teach you things about work, relationships, and life. They can usually spot a game-player from a mile away - they may even have played those games - but they will also be receptive to someone who has a genuine curiosity to learn from them. If you focus on being interested rather than interesting, people will remember you.

One authentic, meaningful conversation in a social event is far more satisfying, human, and less exhausting than 10 conversations that you try to play to your advantage.

Overwhelmed by Quiet

2012-01-31T14:23:00.000-08:00

I'm struggling to know how to respond to this media storm that is surrounding Susan Cain's book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking. I am feeling overwhelmed by the attention, so I can't even imagine how Susan is handling it. It's been featured on or in NPR, CNN, Time Magazine (the cover story), the New York Times, Forbes, O Magazine, and about 500 other huge media venues.

What are introverts to do when we become the center of attention?

As I write this, Quiet is #4 on Amazon. NUMBER FOUR.

I was interviewed by the author of the Time Magazine cover story, which was exciting, but I did not make it into the article, which I feel sad about. But, it's clear that Introverts in the Church is getting a second wind as a result of Quiet's release and coverage.

The subtitle of page 64 in Quiet reads: "Does God Love Introverts? An Evangelical's Dillema." That "introvert with a dilemma" turns out to be me, and for the next 6 pages Susan discusses the time that she and I visited Saddleback Church together, to see what it was like for an introvert. This book is already reaching a wide audience, and I know it will be the beginning of a new conversation about introversion in our outwardly-oriented culture. I also hope it's the beginning of a new conversation about introversion and Christian community.

Here's a quick excerpt with a quote of mine:

"The evangelical culture ties together faithfulness with extroversion," McHugh explained. "The emphasis is on community, on participating in more and more programs and events, on meeting more and more people. It's a constant tension for many introverts that they're not living that out. And in a religious world, there's more at stake when you feel that tension. It doesn't feel like 'I'm not doing as well as I'd like.' It feels like 'God isn't pleased with me.'" Cain, Quiet, p. 66.

You'll have to read pages 64-69 to get the full story of our time there. Suffice it to say that I have great admiration for the mission and community of Saddleback, but that I can feel overwhelmed by the social expectations of church culture.

It is also great to read that experience from several years ago and to realize how far I have come. I am so much more confident now - in my God-given temperament, in my leadership, in the gifts I bring to others -than I was then. And that is my prayer for the hundreds of thousands of introverts who will be reading Susan's book. And maybe my book too.

Your Prayer for Congress

2012-01-30T11:37:00.000-08:00

I do not think it is presumptuous to say that one of the greatest honors of my life will be happening on February 28th. I have been asked to offer the opening prayer in the House of Representatives, a practice that goes back to the very beginning of this country. If you are interested in the tradition, here is a brochure that the office of the chaplain puts out. I had the honor of interviewing the current House chaplain, Father Patrick Conroy, last summer, and through his help along with the help of my congressman, I have been invited to be a guest chaplain.

I'll be live on C-Span at noon EST that day if you want to watch (along with the 6 other people who watch C-Span. Okay, maybe 8 that day, if you include my parents). But for now, I would really like to solicit some input.

What would you include in your prayer for Congress, at the start of a day's session?

Keep in mind that I'm not giving a speech, directed at Congress, but I'm offering a prayer, directed toward God and overheard by Congress (well, mostly staffers). And let's also avoid partisan rants and attacks.

This is not a vanity exercise - I really want help! I'm going to take your thoughts very seriously as I craft my prayer.

The "Real Work"

2012-01-26T13:07:00.000-08:00

One of my all-time favorite quotes comes from Henri Nouwen's book Reaching Out:

While visiting the University of Notre Dame, where I had been a teacher for a few years, I met an older experienced professor who had spent most of his life there. And while we strolled over the beautiful campus, he said with a certain melancholy in his voice, "You know . . . my whole life I have been complaining that my work was constantly interrupted, until I discovered that my interruptions were my work.

In 2008, after being laid off from my hospice chaplain job, I had the opportunity to spend a summer doing nothing but finishing up my manuscript for Introverts in the Church. It was a glorious summer. Not only did I have the opportunity to recover emotionally and spiritually from a very demanding ministry, but I was able to live "the writing life." For the first time in my professional life I felt completely at home, like I had found what I was put on this earth to do.

Ever since then I have tried to work the rhythms of my life to revolve around writing. The problem, as everyone warned me but I refused to believe, is that writers just don't make any money. So I took a late-night chaplaincy position with my old hospice, which has brutal hours but enables me to write during the day. I'm trying to book more speaking gigs, which I enjoy but take up a lot of time and energy. I accept other writing assignments that pay well, and I participate in many other professional and educational activities. And I write blog posts, though not as often as I'm "supposed" to.

What I find myself struggling with is defining my book writing as my "real work" and everything else as interruption. I get frustrated when I spend a day in meetings, responding to emails, writing a blog post, even doing a radio interview but don't do any of the real work. Or sometimes I will have a hard night of hospice ministry and will just have no motivation when I wake up (usually around 11AM) to do any writing. I can even spend a whole day doing necessary things yet feel "unproductive" if I don't write at least 1000 words in my book project.

I'm not sure where I get this definition of what comprises real work and what counts as unreal work. Why is it that good, important work can often feel like mere distractions to me? I wonder why I have developed such a hierarchy of work value. Perhaps it's because I'm most passionate about book writing, but I have a suspicion that I have a persistent, internal divide between sacred and secular. The message of the Reformers, that we must not restrict "holy ground" to particular places and activities, has not yet seeped all the way into my heart. I think I have grasped the fact that "ministry" is not to be divided from "normal work" but I have not yet accepted that "creative work" is not to be divided from normal work.

No matter what our sense of call, I think our true life-call is to experience God in all our "interruptions" and in all the ordinariness of daily life, from the profound to the profane. The creativity of God is not that he is injecting extra beauty into the most sublime aspects of human life. The creativity of God is such that he is able to shape all the necessary and boringly human aspects of this existence into works of beauty.

Quiet

2012-01-24T13:45:00.001-08:00

I'm at the Sundance film festival in Park City, Utah this week, attending the world premier of LUV, a movie my brother-in-law wrote. I've been able to mingle with some fascinatingly creative people, including some big-name actors. I'm a total poseur here, if you hadn't guessed that already.

I'm typing this on my phone, so I'll keep it brief. I have talked up Susan Cain's book, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking, quite a bit, and today it finally releases! I absolutely love the book. Its vision is large, as Susan covers the extroverted bias in the corporate world, in education, and even in megachurches.

I'll tell you one thing: Hollywood types talk A LOT. Which is why I'm hiding out with a copy of Susan's book this afternoon.

Introvert Saturday: Writing the Words, Living the Story

2012-01-21T03:00:00.000-08:00

About the author: Adele Konyndyk is a freelance writer and INFP based in Hamilton, Ontario. When she’s not at her desk she’s probably eating cheese or browsing a used bookshop. You can follow her on Twitter.

I’ve had an introverted personality all my life and loved to write stories since I started putting sentences to paper. I’m an introvert. I’m a writer. And these are aspects of identity that I own up to openly, happily, and even proudly.

Well. Most days.

And I certainly didn’t at first.

I learned the word “introvert” while writing a short story for a high school English class on archetypes—universal images, plots, and characters used in literature across the ages—and their root in the gospel story. We read Steinbeck’s Cain-and-Abel-ish novel East of Eden, studied Greek myths and Shakespearean plays. I loved that stories could be both current and classic—that people could be paradoxes of unique elements and universal characteristics.

Not that I wore this love loudly. I talked little in class, already sure then I could articulate much better in writing than verbally But, as friends and family knew, it was one of my favourite classes. I was thrilled, also, that our final project could be a creative piece instead of an essay.

Somewhere in my story research into psychologist Carl Jung’s archetypes I rustled up his theories on introverted and extroverted personality types.

And they stuck. My story’s main character was a by-the-book INFP—opinionated but soft-spoken, intuitive but misread by others, creative but insecure. His name, was an allusion to the prophet who, to me, seemed to me the perfect example of an introverted ‘hero,’ and one scene between him and his mother was even modeled after Jeremiah’s calling.

This teenage creation was, of course, a completely unselfconscious literary masterpiece that led me, henceforth, to confidently share my writing with the world. It also caused me to proclaim myself “an introvert!” and glory in the very traits that had made me feel awkward or misunderstood.

Or…not.

Back then I couldn’t yet admit an upside to being one who often prefers to listen rather than speak or ponder rather than comment. I was stalled in my own fears and anxieties—my own attitude of “Alas, I do not know how to speak.” And it would be years before I’d admit that writing was more to me than the ability to embroider an assignment for a decent grade, but a gift of vocation.

This high school story did show me, however, that writing was a way for me to stay alert to joy. My teacher highlighted metaphors he liked and observations he found vivid. He also—and I think more importantly—pointed out places where he sense play, adding comments such as “you’re having fun, here!” beside inventive turns of phrase. I had to admit that I was having fun, here—and, in the process, somehow also speaking to larger truths about living authentically out of our differences.

Over the years, I’ve been blessed to encounter many individuals with this same gracious attitude toward my work—and toward my personality. I’ve had—and continue to have—teachers, mentors, and friends who encourage me to live into and serve out of all elements of my identity. They don’t make me feel odd, for example, on nights I prefer solitude over a visit or one-on-one conversations over chatter in a crowded room. They understand when I want to express thoughts and feelings in writing (are patient, even, with oddly-long emails!). They remind me that I write because I like it. I suppose I could call them the notes in the margins of my life that help keep me alert to joy and affirm my God-given personality.

They’re also the much-needed voices of warning. When I wimp out, they call me on it. Some days I still act as if being an introvert and bring a writer are two burdens to endure. I diminish their delights and shirk the discipline they deserve. I fritter away time set aside for writing or contemplation because I’m too afraid to do real interior work. I refuse to share myself with new people, or my writing with anyone. I don’t set out to. I know it’s silly—cowardly. But, it happens

I am continually grateful for those who, in such times, talk me back into the fullness of my identity—not just as an introvert or a writer, but as a child of God. He is the very Father who told Jeremiah to stand up, go, and speak the words he had been given—who assured him, and assures us all, the he will be with us as we testify to the true story we have all been lovingly designed to tell.

The Why Questions

2012-01-20T11:26:00.000-08:00

A common criticism leveled against Christianity is that religion is for the weak. Christians are people who don't have the intellectual and emotional strength to stand up on their own, so they need a crutch. I've heard this accusation answered in a few ways. Some would answer we don't need a crutch, but a stretcher, because not a single member of humankind can actually stand on their own. We are all dying, fragile, broken, sick, and we must all fall on the mercy and life-giving power of God through Christ. Another one I've heard is that being a Christian is more like jumping off a cliff, because the life that Jesus calls us to is far from safe and sheltered. He calls us to a life of adventure and risk and it actually takes a very strong person to jump off a cliff, hoping to be caught by the arms of a loving God. It's a leap of faith, said Soren Kierkegaard.

Yet the critics persist and claim that Christianity is for the weak-minded. Over the past few years, I have come to believe that the opposite is true. The scientific mindset focuses on questions of "what" and "how"- what can we observe with our five senses and what chains of causality can we discover to explain how "what" has come to be. If it is not observable with our senses, say those who focus exclusively on the scientific worldview, then it does not exist or at least is not worth speculating about. Those with a spiritual mindset are not content in stopping with those questions, but they want to progress to the "who" and "why" questions. They don't reject the scientific questions and explanations (or at least they shouldn't) but they want more. They want to know why things have come to be, and who, if anyone, is behind the reasons, if they can indeed be discovered.

I'm convinced that the scientific questions are the easier ones to answer, whereas the spiritual questions are the harder ones. The scientific questions deal with what can be seen and touched, but the spiritual questions deal with the invisible and the elusive. I would argue that the spiritual questions require a tougher mind.

In my on-call shift yesterday I attended the death of a 39-year-old man. He had been perfectly healthy until one year ago, when he started feeling back pain, and two weeks later he was given the diagnosis of untreatable cancer. He went on hospice a few months later. When I arrived at his home, his mother and his 2-year old daughter answered the door. His father, sister, and girlfriend were all sitting at his bedside - shocked, angry, tearful.

The scientific mindset could easily answer the how and what of this situation. Normally healthy cells became damaged and cluster, then metastasizing to other parts of the body, eating away at healthy cells and his body's natural defenses, leading to death. The "why" questions are much, much harder. The easy out is to say there is no "why" - life is an arbitrary result of a cosmic accident and so searching for reasons is futile. People live and people die and that's it.

To sit with the "why" questions is to sit in mystery and ambiguity. We do not shelter ourselves from grief and heartbreak, but we enter into it. We do not know where it will take us but we know life and death must not be dismissed as a mere accident. It takes real strength to acknowledge emotion, to cry out in pain and despair, and to search for hope when surrounded by hopelessness.

One of the marks of emotional maturity is the ability to hold things in tension, to move away from a black-and-white mindset and to acknowledge ambiguity. The why questions take us right into the heart of ambiguity. The why questions are for strong people.

The why questions are not often answered specifically, I've found, but if we sit with the whys long enough, we may find ourselves entering into the mystery of one who bears the marks of death on his hands and feet.

Hearing from God with Martin Luther King

2012-01-17T11:16:00.000-08:00

I'm a day late to the Martin Luther King Jr. party, but it's a raging party that is still going strong. I'm a huge admirer of Dr. King. As I was reflecting on him and his impact yesterday, I realized that a theme in his life intersects with a point I am making in my listening book.

To elaborate on this theme, I will quote from page 59 of an MLK biography called Bearing the Cross, by David Garrow. On January 27, 1955, King had just come out of a temporary stay in the Montgomery, Alabama prison. Later that night he received a threatening phone call, one of hundreds he had received, but this one got to him. The caller vowed that if he and his family were not out of town in three days, he was going to shoot him and blow up his house. In despair Dr. King considered giving up his work.

I sat there and thought about a beautiful little daughter who had just been born....And I started thinking about a dedicated, devoted and loyal wife, who was over there asleep. And she could be taken from me....

Something said to me, you can't call on Daddy now, he's up in Atlanta a hundred and seventy-five miles away....You've got to call on that something in that person your Daddy used to tell you about, the power that can make a way out of no way...

And I bowed down over a cup of coffee. I never will forget it...I prayed a prayer out loud that night. I said, 'Lord, I'm down here trying to do what's right. I think I'm right. I think the cause that we represent is right. But Lord, I must confess that I'm weak now. I'm faltering. I'm losing my courage. And I can't let the people see me like this because if they see me weak and losing my courage, they will begin to get weak.'

Then it happened:

And it seemed at that moment that I could hear an inner voice saying to me, 'Martin Luther, stand up for righteousness. Stand up for justice. Stand up for truth. And lo I will be with you, even until the end of the world.' I heard the voice of Jesus saying still to fight on. He promised never to leave me, never to leave me alone. No never alone. No never alone. He promised never to leave me, never to leave me alone.'

'Almost at once my fears began to go. My uncertainty disappeared.'

It is a remarkable story, and the night that Dr. King called the most important night of his life. What I want to draw attention to is the fact that this profound encounter with God that he had actually did nothing to change his circumstances, yet changed everything.

The more I talk with people, and reflect on my own experiences, the more I discover this theme in the way God works. Yes, God provides guidance and specific direction, but more often the indwelling Voice does a work on our fears, our doubts, and our perspectives. He removes the veil on our hearts and shows us that he is near, he is powerful, and he is merciful, and so often that is all we need to know. We are still weak and fragile, and have no more control than we did prior to his revelation, yet somehow that doesn't seem to matter anymore. Our eyes have seen the glory of the Lord and it doesn't matter whether we make it to the Promised Land.

What's your experience with the inner voice that strengthened Dr. King that night?

Introvert Saturday: The Rise of the New Groupthink

2012-01-14T03:00:00.000-08:00

Is creativity fostered best in a group or alone? Companies, schools, and churches have been practicing group brainstorming for decades, as well as steadily increasing public space and decreasing private space in their architectural designs.

But Susan Cain, author of the forthcoming QUIET, has a different perspective, which she expresses in Sunday's New York Times:

SOLITUDE is out of fashion. Our companies, our schools and our culture are in thrall to an idea I call the New Groupthink, which holds that creativity and achievement come from an oddly gregarious place. Most of us now work in teams, in offices without walls, for managers who prize people skills above all. Lone geniuses are out. Collaboration is in.

But there’s a problem with this view. Research strongly suggests that people are more creative when they enjoy privacy and freedom from interruption. And the most spectacularly creative people in many fields are often introverted, according to studies by the psychologists Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi and Gregory Feist. They’re extroverted enough to exchange and advance ideas, but see themselves as independent and individualistic. They’re not joiners by nature.

I highly, highly recommend the whole article, called "The Rise of the New Groupthink," to you, and if you read far enough, you'll find a quote from some guy who wrote a book called Introverts in the Church.

What is your experience? Do you find that group interaction and conversation sparks creativity or kills it?

Friendliness is not a fruit of the Spirit

2012-01-11T10:32:00.000-08:00

In Galatians Paul lists what he calls "the fruit of the Spirit" - love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, and faithfulness. You'll notice that the fruit of the Spirit does not include "friendliness."

I saw an old college friend at a party over the holidays. In some ways we have a lot in common. We went to the same college, are both pastors in southern California, both care deeply about the mission of the church. But our personalities are polar opposites. He is incredibly charismatic and extroverted and the sort of person that all kinds of diverse people are drawn to. He is the guy who knows ALL his neighbors, to the point that someone might wonder whether he is a mob boss. I am introverted, quiet in new settings, and not all that motivated to make conversation with people I don't know well. Someone might wonder whether I'm a drug dealer, since I tend to lurk in shadows.

While I have mostly come to terms with my personality, the encounter with my old friend resurfaced many of the feelings that I had in my younger days: wondering whether I was spiritually inadequate or a bad witness to the hospitality of the gospel. The moments that were particularly painful for me in the past were when nonbelievers would praise my charismatic friend as "someone who really lives out what he believes" because he was friendly and warm and magnetic. It's hard not to hear a subtle jab being thrown my way, with the subtext: "You're quiet and guarded, and you are not a good example of your faith."

It is bad enough when people in the church criticize our introversion as unfaithful or closed, but it is extra painful when the extroverted bias of our culture leads nonbelievers to consider believing introverts to be bad models of faith, even to be turned off to the gospel because of our temperaments.

Yet, extrovert or introvert, we're not called to friendliness, we're called to kindness. Kindness is what God is working in us through the implanted seed of the gospel. Of course friendliness is a wonderful quality and I would never criticize my friend for it, but some people got it and some people don't. Kindness is our stance before people, no matter what our temperaments. The apostle Paul uses the word kindness a few times to describe God's action in sending a Savior and showing mercy to humankind. We show mercy on people, rather than judging and condemning. We extend ourselves beyond our tribes to help and support and listen to people in need.

Kindness is what draws people to the Savior.

Introvert Saturday: Introverts and Hospitality

2012-01-07T03:00:00.000-08:00

About the author: Julie Andreen is a mother, wife, professional freelance writer and recovering semi-professional monk who is learning to serve rather than be served. She lives in Phoenix.

When I was young and single I made a hobby out of traveling to foreign countries at the drop of a hat – alone. When I was 25, I flew to the French Polynesian island of Bora Bora for a week’s vacation. My only companions on the near-deserted white sand beach were some grapes, a loaf of brioche and a stack of magazines. If there were any discos or nightclubs, I wasn’t aware of their existence. I ate alone, I traveled alone and I went snorkeling alone. And I loved every moment of it.

So it won’t shock anyone when I say that I’m a dyed-in-the-wool, confirmed, no-doubt-about-it, introvert. But here’s the kicker: I also have the spiritual gift of hospitality – the one that revolves around making friends and strangers feel comfortable, connected and safe. The one that people like Rahab – who welcomed spies into her home at the risk of her own skin – are lauded for.

Since it’s unlikely that I’ll ever be in a situation like Rahab’s, what does the 21st century version of hospitality look like, particularly for introverts like myself? It’s less about hiding spies on a roof and more about being willing to answer the knock of a lonely or distraught friend at 5:30 p.m., when there are crumbs strewn about on the floor, the dog is whining to be let out, a pot is overflowing on the stove and the baby is crying. Romans 12:13 includes no “introvert clause” when it commands us to be ready to help God’s people when they are in need, and to be eager to practice hospitality.

If there was ever any question in mind about whether I had this particular spiritual gift, it was when I realized that for me, having people “drop by” unannounced is a joy, not an annoyance. I felt happy, rather than indignant, when guests would go rifling through my kitchen drawers in search of a utensil. I was actually disappointed when I realized that my husband didn’t want to “babied” when he was sick.

It may seem incongruous that a person with my monk-like tendencies could also possess a God-given talent that revolves around – gasp – people. But introverts are engineered for hospitality. We want to listen to others, and have them listen – really listen – to us, without distraction or meaningless chit-chat. We want the deep, real, authentic stuff. Those things, by and large, tend to emerge within a home, where people feel safe to share their lives. Having people in my home means that I have the floor (pun intended). I can focus on you, and you alone. Warts and all.

Practicing hospitality also helps me express feelings that I would otherwise never manage to squeak out with actual words. In spite of the fact that I’m a writer, telling people that I care about them anywhere but on paper or via a Facebook page doesn’t exactly come easily. In fact, it’s almost a form of torture. Making someone a meal or letting them hang out and tell me their problems conveys those feelings in a way that I couldn’t otherwise express, or at least it helps grease the “I love you, you love me” wheels just a little bit.

But as the old cliché goes, the gift of hospitality is both a blessing and a curse, at least for an introvert. A blessing, because I tend to have fewer, yet deeper relationships, but also a curse, because as a sinful human being, I know that my reluctance to move outside the comfortable confines of my home means that I am severely limiting the work of God in my life and others – a sin. To truly serve God, I have to be ready and willing to step out of my ‘comfort zone’ once in a while, serving others where they are, instead of where I want to be.

With that in mind, I’m off to whip up some dinner. Feel free to drop by. And bring a friend. No RSVP necessary.

New Years Rule of Life

2012-01-05T16:16:00.000-08:00

Like most of the American population, I write New Years Resolutions every year, but unlike most of the American population, I am pretty good at keeping them. My secret is that I make them manageable - instead of say, resolving to lose 50 pounds, I resolve to take several long walks a week and walk 18 holes of golf at least twice a month. These are natural exercises for me. I enjoy them and look forward to them.

This year my New Years Resolutions were pretty thorough - I broke them down into several categories. As I was telling my wife about them she pointed out that my "resolutions" actually sounded a lot more like a rule of life. I had the pleasure of teaching on a rule of life last summer at Laity Lodge, and I was glad to learn that at least one person listened. There are a number of ways that people have defined a rule of life throughout the centuries:

Structured arrangement of spiritual practices
Pattern of attitudes, behaviors, and practices that is regular and routine
Systematic arrangement of life so that one is becoming more like Jesus
Commitment to certain pattern of living that helps reinforce habits in the long term.

Saint Benedict created the most famous, and archetypal, rule for the communities he led in the 5th century He wrote up a thorough, and surprisingly detailed, plan for the monks who lived together in community, which has been called The Rule of St. Benedict. The word "rule" means norm or baseline, and thus his rule became the standard for behavior and practice in his monastic communities.

The way I defined rule of life last summer was this: A rule of life is a way of arranging the rhythms of your life - all aspects of your life - so that you can best embrace God's gifts. I then said "out of all the historical definitions of a rule of life, mine is the best." No one laughed. Shaking that off, I helped people break down their rules according to the categories Jesus gave us in the great commandment: "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul and strength."

So, even though we're a few days into 2012 let me propose that you make a New Years Rule of Life instead of New Years Resolutions. This will be particularly helpful for those of you who have already broken all of your resolutions. A rule of life is as personal as resolutions, but more changeable and more manageable. If you are failing regularly at your rule of life, then you have a bad rule of life and you'll need to revise it. The disciplines you include should be natural and desirable - they can and should stretch you some, but not to the point that you likely won't keep them.

By way of example, let me give you a few aspects of my new rule of life, broken down into the 4 categories of the great commandment:

Mind
Finish the manuscript for The Listening Life
Always have a fiction or biography book going, not only theology or history.

Heart (Relationships)
Cultivate friendships with the following people.....x, y, and z.
Make Sunday nights with my wife sacred - make a good dinner and have a good bottle of wine

Soul (Spiritual disciplines)
Pray The Divine Hours every weekday morning
Practice the appropriate spiritual disciplines of the chapter I am writing in my book
Practice the Ignatian examen every night with an emphasis on gratitude for God's work in that day

Strength (Physical)
Take long walks several times a week
Walk 18 holes of golf at least twice a month

These are a few of the disciplines I am incorporating into my rule of life. If it turns out that they are oppressive or impossible to keep, then I will change the rule of life. It is good to start with disciplines that come easy to you and then maybe include in each category one that will stretch you a bit more. It is not meant to be legalistic or guilt-inducing. You must be ruthlessly honest with yourself about your own life situation, abilities, time, etc. If you are a single mom, your rule of life will be very different than a retired man with the kids out of the home.

What do you think about a New Years Rule of Life? What disciplines or attitudes would you like to incorporate into your 2012 pattern?

Quietly Easing into 2012

2012-01-03T13:04:00.000-08:00

Happy new year everyone. I'm slowly easing into 2012 today, even though it's already the 3rd of January. I blame the television producers who put bowl games on the 2nd. Truth be told, 2011 wasn't my favorite year, so I'm looking for 2012 to come on strong. I'll write a full post in the next couple of days, but for now I want to share an article that was on the New York Times website this holiday weekend. I think the title alone will be enough for many of you, but if you want to read the whole article I highly, highly recommend it.

The Joy of Quiet - New York Times, December 29, 2011.

Oh, and also my friend Susan Cain's book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking is finally coming out in about three weeks, but oh, it's already in the top 1000 on Amazon! I endorsed the book and I'm also in the book, which is fun. It's going to be huge and it deserves all the kudos it receives.

The Top 10 Posts of 2011

2011-12-27T13:09:00.000-08:00

I'm pretty sure I'm the first one to ever come up with the idea of doing a Top 10 list at the end of the year. I'm hoping it catches on. But, it's been a remarkable year here at Introverted Church, and I do want to revisit the highest visited posts of the 2011. This was the first year I started inviting guest posts and it is been an unmitigated success. So I want to post the top 5 posts that I wrote and the top 5 posts that others wrote.

First, the highest visited posts written by yours truly:

5. Pastors and Honesty This was my response to my friend Rachel Held Evans, who, on behalf of "the congregation" asked pastors to be more honest. My post is a friendly critique of her post and a discussion about some of the hard lessons I have learned in my years in ministry.

4. Why You Can't Express The Most Important Things. I wrote this when I was stuck at home with the flu, watching TED talks. In this post I discuss why it is that the things we feel most deeply are often the hardest things to express. Hint: It's neurological.

3. Why Pastors Should Get Their Heads Examined. This is my appeal for pastors to be in therapy. Our work can tie us in some complicated knots and we need help to unravel them.

2. The Introvert Brand. You might guess that labeling yourself an introvert in such a public way can lead to some caricatures and pigeonholing. So I thought the best way to respond to that is through satire. I think this one will make you laugh.

1. The Writer as Madman and Mystic. There are pretty much two options for writers - either you find spiritual meaning in your work, or you go insane. There is no middle ground.

And now, for the top 5 guest posts of 2011:

5. A Christmas Snapshot. This is Anne Bogel's post from two weeks ago. You know it's a significant post when it can make the top 5 in that amount of time. Don't miss this one. A picture taken at Christmas reveals a flaw that no one could have anticipated.

4. Ten Tips for Parenting an Introverted Child. This one is by Susan Cain, author of the forthcoming (and fantastic) Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking. This was part of our "Introverted Parenting" week. Lots of insightful, practical tips for nurturing your child's introversion.

3. Conflicted at Catalyst. Introverted campus pastor Guy Chmielski reflects on his experiences at a BIG Christian leadership conference.

2. Parenting as Spiritual Discipline Introverted moms Shelley Batdorf and Sarah Winfrey reflect on how parenting opens them up to the transforming work of God, especially in relation to community and hospitality. This post got some major love from Ann Voskamp.

1. Introvert Fantasy Camp. Exhausted from another extroverted camp, future star Aubry Smith envisions the perfect conference for introverts.

Thanks for an amazing year everyone. The blog's readership doubled in the last year. I really appreciate your visits, comments, and loyalty.

Happy New Year! See you in 2012.

A Quiet Peace: In the Middle of the Mess

2011-12-24T03:00:00.000-08:00

About the author: The author is a mother of three who continues to be surprised by God's grace. This Advent she is counting down the days till she can move to be near her fiance.

Some years it feels like my life is falling apart. Last year was one of those. The holidays were coming, Advent was upon me, and I couldn't focus, couldn't celebrate. It was all I could do to breathe.

My ex was in jail, awaiting trial for molesting one of our children. At the pretrial hearing he pled not guilty. The county attorney wanted to put two of the children up on the stand to testify against him, children who were already hurting from his abuse, children who couldn't even talk to me about what he had done. If they got up on the stand and refused to testify, chances were good that he would walk. A year and a half of effort would be gone, just like that. There was the possibility that he would try to take the kids and run when he got out of jail. My head was full of worry and my heart was full of fear. I felt as if I were in a thousand tiny pieces, each one in danger of spinning off separately and becoming lost forever.

But Advent came anyway.

I observed Advent by turning off electronics. Movies, TV, music, nonessential computer time, all of these were silenced. I had time to think, time to feel, time to spend with my kids...time to experience the anguish that existed inside me. I was supposed to be getting ready for Christmas. But there was no joy in my heart, no eager anticipation. All I could think was that my life was a mess, and I wasn't ready for the holidays to happen. I wasn't ready for Jesus to come. I didn't have anything for Him, only bleak, dark chaos.

Midway through Advent, more news came. It was mixed, both good and bad. My ex took a plea bargain, which meant that the kids didn't have to get up on the stand, but due to the terms of the agreement, there was a good chance he would be walking out of prison in six years or less, and I had three kids under twelve. There was a real possibility that either he or his family would attempt abducting the children. I was still terrified. The sentencing hearing was set for sometime in January.

Christmas was coming, the passing of Advent marking the countdown. I didn't want Christmas to come. Not yet, not while I was such a mess. I wanted to have my head clear and my life together. I wanted to be able to celebrate the joy of Christmas. I wanted to observe Advent. But it was all I could do to face another day, to put on a brave face for my kids and not sit down and fall apart.

One night I sat in the dark, staring at the tree. It was late enough that my mind was running more slowly than normal. The quiet began to seep into my soul, the very same quiet that I had been attempting to avoid all Advent. And then, in the darkness and the quiet, realization slowly dawned. I didn't have to have my life together for Christmas to happen. God came down in the middle of the mess. Jesus was born into a stable, a dirty, smelly place. It was a messy, bloody birth. He came down into my world, my mess, my chaos, and into that disaster He brought Himself. He would be the one to make things right, not me. I didn't have to have everything perfect first. What I needed to do was to open my arms and my heart and welcome him into the mess. I didn't have everything together, but Christmas and Advent were about God coming down to me, not me having a perfect life.

It turned out to be a beautiful Christmas after all, an island of peace in the middle of all the turmoil. The holiday didn't go perfectly, but God was there.

If you're wondering, the judge's ruling the next month took us all by surprise. My ex is in prison for a long enough time for my kids to grow up before he gets out. Life is still messy, but it's peaceful knowing that God is here with me. He's not waiting for me to clean up my mess first. He's here in the middle of it. After all, His name is Immanuel, God-with-Us, not God-waiting-for-me-to-clean-up-my-messes.

A Quiet Peace: Christ with Skin On

2011-12-23T03:00:00.000-08:00

About the author: Alissa Goudswaard is an introverted 20-something Episcopalian living in Indiana who, when she is not busy with graduate studies in rhetoric and composition (and even when she is), blogs about her experience as a churched Millennial at episcotheque.

The day Frederick Buechner’s father died was, for Buechner, “the first tick of the clock that measures everything into before and after,” when his “once-below-a-time ended and [his] once-upon-a-time began”—when he began to live with the knowledge that everything, even he himself, at some moment ceases being.

My own story lacks such an eloquent or piercing divide, or I don’t yet have the perspective to see it, but I first brushed with mortality, mine and others, as a nine-year-old child. Lake effect snow and slick pavement sent a car careening into the Honda carrying my parents and I home from a visit with friends. A fraction of a second separated safety and normality from disaster.

I remember the smell of burning plastic, of metal, of blood. The confusion of waking up in a cold and broken car with little idea of what had just happened. The kind passers-by who let a little girl stay warm in their car while waiting for the police and EMTs to arrive. The long and uncomfortable ambulance ride with my semiconscious mother, unable to move in my backboard and neck brace as we careened around icy corners, sirens blaring.

At the hospital, my critically injured mother was brought into emergency surgery and my father taken for examination and treatment. For a few minutes I was the center of a flurry of activity—questions and exams, a pair of pliers to bend straight my cockeyed glasses, a glass of water and children’s Tylenol. Apart from my headache and the sharp tang of blood from a cut lip, I was uninjured, but soon left alone. After settling me in a children’s room with overwhelmingly cheery decor, and someone paged an on-call chaplain to come in to work and sit with me.

I don’t remember much about the chaplain, his age or appearance. I don’t remember the register of his voice, though I know it was kind. I can’t recall his affiliation, or whether he wore a collar. I don’t know if we talked about God, or about what I was feeling.

I do know we talked about my purple junior bridesmaid’s dress for my brother’s spring wedding, because I was astounded to learn that the chaplain was colorblind, unable to distinguish purple shades from blue. I’d never met someone with this sort of affliction, and lover of color that I was (and am), I felt sad for him, sad that he was missing so much. What I didn’t see then was that, colorblind or not, he saw more than most. On a dark and tumultuous December night, this flesh-and-blood chaplain was, for me, Christ with skin on. There, in the hospital, my very own Incarnation.

The chaos didn’t end that night. My brother came to the hospital and, in the wee hours, drove my father and I home, but my mother was slow to heal. My grandfather’s health took a dive and less than two weeks after the crash, I witnessed his final breaths on another floor of the same hospital that treated my family. Christmas must have been chaos—days after my grandfather’s funeral, my mother’s hospital bed in the living room. I can’t remember if we had a tree, or gifts, or our traditional Christmas-morning waffles. I imagine my child’s world was utterly shaken, yet as I look back, even all the chaos and confusion and pain can’t dim the warm light of the kindness of strangers.

Like Mary, who amidst the chaos surrounding her son’s wild and painful birth and its resounding aftershocks “kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart,” I keep that quiet moment and return sometimes, rolling it in my hands like a smooth pebble. When all was shadow and chaos around me, I found peace in the most unexpected place. I met Christ seated beside a hospital bed, warding off the dark.

A Quiet Peace: Waiting for Peace

2011-12-22T15:00:00.000-08:00

About the author: Sarah Plowman does campus ministry at the University of Iowa with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship.

For most of 2011, God has been taking me on a wild ride of inner healing and transformation. Although it has been painful, I've felt more alive this year than I can remember ever feeling before. The work he has been doing is hard, but oh so good. Which is why I was puzzled when the crucible-like experiences all but faded away this fall. In a way, it was as if God went suddenly quiet and still in my personal life. I didn't understand it, but when a co-worker suggested perhaps he is giving me a season of rest after such deep soul work, it made sense.

What also began to make sense was that a pause from the pain in my own life allowed me to be present to the pain in others. This fall, several of my friends have been experiencing real, raw brokenness and pain in their lives. In the last two weeks, Jesus has allowed me to walk side by side with one of these friends, and in the process, I've learned new things about "quiet peace."

My friend has battled anxiety for a number of years, and this fall has been particularly hard. I feel small and powerless in the face of years of unanswered questions, confusion, and dead-end paths of possible solutions and cures. I've listened, mostly in quiet and silence, as my friend has shared about trying again and again to find a way out, and yet still remains trapped.

I know the only true answer is Jesus, and the peace that passes all understanding that guards our hearts and minds in his name. And I fully believe that ours is a God of resurrection, of rescue, a God who, as my favorite Christmas carol says, comes to "...ransom captive Israel, who mourns in lonely exile here...". Emmanuel, God with us. Jesus' sweet Spirit, the antidote to all the mess in this world. My head knows the answers, and my heart believes them, and yet it's been a challenge these weeks to stand up time and time again in the face of fear, anxiety, and confusion and continue to confidently offer God's peace.

I've needed to practice a bit of personal rest and retreat in these weeks, too, to ensure that the anxiety my friend experiences doesn't make its home in me as well. I've always loved Advent, and it's been a sweet delight and peaceful refuge to quiet myself in time spent with Jesus next to the fireplace, in the soft glow of the Christmas lights, listening to instrumental piano and guitar music. Or in time spent at night before I fall asleep, sitting on my bed in silence, composing a few lines of poetry in my journal about the nature of stillness and God's peace.

I long for my friend to experience that peace as well. Like the psalmist, I find myself asking, "How long, O Lord?" ...until this friend is granted the rest and peace found only in you? ...until confusion and anxiety has to flee? ...until you will ransom this captive mind, soul, heart?

I don't have answers to those questions either. And so I continue into advent, in this my own unique season of waiting on behalf of several friends and their pain. Waiting for the peace Jesus brings. And grateful for the ways he is faithful to continue to complete the good, hard, transformative and healing work he begins in my life and in their lives as well.

A Quiet Peace: Advent Anxiety

2011-12-22T03:00:00.000-08:00

About the author: Rhett Smith is a Marriage and Family Therapist at Auxano Counseling in Plano, TX, and he is on staff as a therapist at The Hideaway Experience (marriage intensive). He is the author of the forthcoming book The Anxious Christian (Moody Publishers, March 2012). He lives in Frisco, TX with his wife, daughter, and son.

There has been an anxious disquiet stirring in my soul the last 10 years as I have approached the Christmas season. I used to enjoy the busy shopping malls and the congested roads signifying that Christmas was upon us. But something began to change in me after I spent three and half months living in Guatemala in 2001. What changed was that I was brought into the mystery of the Lent season, something that was almost a bad word in my Evangelical church upbringing. For many Evangelicals the word Lent hinted too closely with that of the Catholic faith and its practices, so instead, we rushed to Easter Sunday with no thought of the journey that led to the Cross. But after experiencing Lent that Easter in Guatemala I began to feel that I was robbed of something valuable. But it did not end with Lent, as I too began to feel like the “real” meaning of Christmas was now being lost to me in the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season.

In his book, Be not Anxious: Pastoral Care for Disquieted Souls, author Allen Hugh Cole Jr. talks poignantly about the “hurry sickness” that pervades so much of our society, as we anxiously run from activity to activity, drowned in the busyness that we create in our lives. As I continually busy myself in the days leading up to Christmas, I’m afraid that I eventually lose out on the “true” meaning that I so desperately am looking for and wanting to embrace in my anxiousness. In the last few years I have come to see my anxiety as a useful reminder that something is amiss. It is God’s way of speaking to me, bringing awareness to the aspects of my life that need more careful attention. So as I enter into the Christmas season, the anxiety that I experience tells me that I am not to speed my life up and become more and more busy, but rather, I am to slow down and give attention to what is truly important. And what is important is that “God with us” calls me to slow down and partake in the quiet peace that He offers.

Advent has served as a helpful correction in my life, bringing into focus the central message of Christmas. That message is that a little over 2000 years ago, God ushered into our anxious lives a quiet peace. It is in that quite peace that I experience the salvation that He has brought. It is an abundant life that is not drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season.

This Advent I am working to slow down and enjoy the quiet peace that God offers. And as I slow down and bask in this quiet peace I find that I am much more aware of the truly important things that God wants to offer me this Christmas…time with family…the pure joy on my children’s faces as they anticipate Christmas…the peaceful time with my wife as we talk about life over a cup of coffee. These are just some of the life giving details of my life that I can only experience when I enter into Emmanuel’s quiet peace this Advent.

A Quiet Peace: Be Still and Know

2011-12-21T15:00:00.000-08:00

About the author: Emily Norman serves as a Director of Christian Education in the Lutheran church, specifically she is currently serving at Grace Lutheran Fellowship in Romeo, MI.

I really love the Advent and Christmas season, but I really dislike what our culture has dubbed “the holidays.” What I mean, is that I really have an aversion to all the hustle and bustle that comes with the holidays and the insistence that it is all about big, extravagant gifts and being insanely busy. For me, as a leader in ministry, I dread it because the church is not exempt from this consumerism. As an introvert, I dread it even more because it feels loud and chaotic.

Being a leader in the church, there are many activities that happen during the Advent season. There are Wednesday meals and Advent worship, along with classes for the junior and senior high, as well as children’s church. The big event for the children comes in the preparation for the annual Christmas program. For the last several years, our church has also participated in an event called “A Night in Bethlehem.” As you can imagine, this is not a quiet preparation for Christmas celebration, but rather it’s busy and stressful on all those involved. I find irony in this, because although it brings excitement to our Christmas celebration, it causes chaos rather than peace and only blinds us from a focus on Jesus.

This year, however, things have changed. Many of the normal activities were cancelled due to the busyness. While in some ways, this is unfortunate, it is a blessing because we can focus our thoughts and prayers on the quiet peace that does exist, though is often hidden, in our Advent preparation.

More specifically, I have faced some turmoil this Advent season in a relationship, which has caused me to seek God’s peace more fervently. It’s inevitable that we are sinful beings, and in any relationship, tensions will arise. A difficult situation occurred just this week and brought me to the point where all I could do was lay the burden at God’s feet and ask for His peace.

“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 4:7

Every year, I long for an opportunity to sit in the quiet and enjoy the coming of Jesus, which is what Advent is all about. This Advent, through a series of unexpected happenings, I was able to participate in worship and really seek not only God’s peace, but the message of hope that comes with it! Just last night the message was entitled, “His peace for our turmoil”. God’s timing is not by chance.

Psalm 46:10 is churning often in my mind: “Be still and know that I am God.”

“Be STILL…” What does that even look like? How can I do that, when everyone around me is doing the complete opposite?

It’s always a challenge to not get wrapped up and swallowed by the demanding schedules, shopping lists, party planning, etc…But, it’s amazing to me what happens when I stop and just take in the stillness God provides in the midst of all the hurry.

“…AND” Well, as least there is more! God could have stopped at us stopping, but then what do we do? We live in a culture where we need a reason for our actions. I’m sitting quietly, but now what? God desires us not just to stop, but to stop and turn to Him.

“…KNOW that I am God.” Oh, ok! He is in control. But the world around me tells me to “Take control!” How do I combat that mantra? The gods we are worshipping are in the stores and sales and wish lists. But the one true God is bigger and knows us better than anyone can. Our true peace comes from God’s love, not the love of material things.

I need God’s quiet peace this season. I need to sit in His presence and enjoy the Advent of our Savior. I need to get to know more fully this God that loves me so much that He sent His son into my world.

The provider of peace has come to us in the most unexpected way: a baby born in Bethlehem.

“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” – Isaiah 9:6

A Quiet Peace: In the ICU

2011-12-21T03:00:00.000-08:00

About the author: Alina Sato is a pastor's wife and a nurse in a pediatric intensive critical care unit. She finds her solace in quiet days on the sofa with a good book, long walks with her dog, or behind her camera lens. She brings together her love for photography and writing at A Pilgrim's Lens.

When I first found out I’d not only have to work through Thanksgiving but also work Christmas Day, I almost cried. And then I felt oddly relieved. And then I just felt really confused. What exactly do I want out of the Christmas season, and why?

I am a nurse in a pediatric ICU. Spending Christmas Day with a critically ill child connected to feeding and breathing tubes is a vastly different picture than spending it with family members inhaling a Christmas feast. The sounds of monitor alarms or the eerie, somber quiet of a hospital room would replace the sounds of holiday cheer, Christmas bells, and Christmas Day football. My initial thought in hearing I was working Christmas Day was, “But that’s not how Christmas is supposed to be spent.”

And then the relief came.

The relief had to do with more than just realizing that this introvert wouldn’t have to try to keep up with all the chit-chat and over-stimulation that comes with family holiday celebrations. I’ll be honest and vulnerable here. It also had to do with the fact that I wouldn’t have to immerse myself with everyone else in the Christmas Day hustle and bustle, in order to temporarily drown out some of my family's underlying struggles that do not really disappear during the holidays. Rather, I could actually sit with my patient and his/her family in a very real and honest day of reflection about their family’s current struggles, and work with them to find a quiet peace on Christmas Day – for not only themselves, but also for me. Brokenness and all.

Perhaps our struggle in finding a strong and quiet peace during the Christmas season has something to do with a common misunderstanding that peace requires us to live either in avoidance or denial of our brokenness. After all, do we not have a strong aversion to thinking too much about sad topics during the holiday season? We are uncomfortable with people who are grieving for various reasons during the holidays. Our highly indulgent and self-centered American culture feeds and shapes this to a profound degree. As a result, we often fall into the trap of doing what everyone does during this season, and sometimes we struggle to find another way. We eat too much. We shop. We fill our days with activities, but our souls are so often left wanting, and we cannot understand why peace feels so elusive. We are good at throwing holiday parties. We are not so good at providing safe, healing, quiet spaces for those who cannot escape their brokenness. As a result, we, with all our holiday activity, unintentionally and at times unknowingly exclude many friends and family members who are hurting deeply. Sometimes, we exclude our very selves.

This Christmas season, I hope to allow my brokenness and the brokenness of others to be my guide, and not my barrier, to peace. My guide to our Savior who would bear a cross in order to bring about new life, to bring that strong and quiet peace.

A Quiet Peace: The Wordless Word

2011-12-20T15:00:00.000-08:00

About the author: Brian Marsh is co-pastor at First Presbyterian Church Missoula, in Missoula, Montana.

‘Peace is not the absence of conflict, but the presence of Love.’ ~Frederick Buechner

it was not a silent night. nor a holy night. all was not calm. all was not bright.

it was a freezing winter’s night in Princeton, NJ. i had moved my family 3000 miles east…far away from the only home i had ever known…uprooted from a community of faith that we loved and a vocational calling in which i thrived. and there i sat huddled in my old La-Z-Boy recliner, clutching a blanket that was failing in its attempt to shield me from the cold that was drifting into our tiny apartment, and through my shivering skin into the cavernous voids in my heart, my psyche, my soul.

the deep darkness of depression that had become an old friend had re-awakened within me…in grieving the loss of all i had left behind in my life in California…in struggling with my sense of self in the absence of any ways of performing professionally, and thereby proving my worth as a person…in wrestling with the old voices of shame and self-recrimination that re-emerge from the depths of my being in times of transition and uncertainty.

but i hadn’t come to talk with my old friend again…my old friend was holding me hostage, ranting and raving at me with a force that shook the old chair in which i was sitting and the battered foundations of the world in which i was living. the tears streaming down my face were the only semblance of warmth to comfort my shaking self, and they turned cold within second of leaving my eyes.

my sobbing must have been quite loud, because after a few minutes, I heard a door from down the hallway gently creak open and the soft patter of footsteps coming towards me. it was my son, Ian, who was four years old at the time. he peered around the corner wondering what was making that strange and sad sound. and seeing me in my disheveled state, he raced over to me, jumped in my lap, wrapped his arms around me, and silently enfolded me in pure, unconditional love.

he didn’t say a word to me…not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he literally couldn’t. Ian has autism, and at that time had no expressive language. but I didn’t need words…i just needed a comforting, accepting, loving presence. and that’s what i got from Ian (and what i get from him every day). his presence to me in that moment was a beautiful and powerful reflection of the One who came to us as a silent, vulnerable little child…a crying comforter, a helpless healer, a language-less lover, a wordless Word that became flesh so that our flesh could become Word.

and so, in the arms of my little living reflection of the wordless Word, the night grew silent and holy…my body and soul were calmed…the darkness was illumined by a tiny shaft of Light…and we drifted off to sleep in heavenly peace.

A Quiet Peace: A Peace That is Coming

2011-12-20T03:00:00.000-08:00

About the author: Aubry Smith is a freelance writer and a stay-at-home mom to her two boys in North Carolina. She and her husband, Brady, are currently training for missions among Muslims at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary. She also blogs at MyOfferings to edify, challenge, and encourage the Church.

Twelve years ago this week, I stood before the church Advent wreath beside my mother. Diagnosed with malignant brain tumors and given mere months to live, she had been asked by our pastor to light the candle of Peace. Clearly undergoing an internal struggle with peace, my mother asked me to do it instead.

So there I stood, shaking with this candle before hundreds of piercing eyes, full of pity. Pity for this young, dying mother of five children. Pity for the weeping, trembling teenaged acolyte. Pity for the cruel irony of a suffering family lighting a candle of Peace.

Miraculously, my mother survived the cancer and lives to this day. But the delay of her death did not bring peace. She is not whole. Her personality radically changed, and my father engaged in a string of affairs before leaving her. She now suffers from dementia. She often forgets the names of my children, or that I have children. She is rude and abrasive. Her skull has been riddled with infections and much of the bone has been removed, so that her head is caved in on one side, posing a constant danger from falls. Her finances are a mess, and she is bound to a nursing home. She is constantly in surgery or in the hospital.

She is no longer the mother who once stood with me before that candle of Peace.

Sometimes I ask the Lord whether it might have been easier if she had gone with the cancer, as she should have. I wonder whether we would know more peace had she died. No divorce, no heart-wrenching dementia, no back-taxes, no more life-threatening surgeries. Would the pain of a quick death be more bearable than this insufferably long death?

We pray for peace this Advent because we are a people ignorant of peace.

It took many years, but I realize now the wisdom in the pastor’s decision to have us light this particular candle. As we celebrate the first coming of Christ, we remember why He came – to make right what sin had broken. Because of Christ, we have the in-breaking of a Kingdom of Peace, which will come to fullness at the Second Coming of the Son. Advent is a season of remembrance, but also a season of anticipation.

We assume all the wrong things will bring peace. All our lives, we have known death. Betrayal. Lies. Divorce. Insufficiency. Poverty. Suffering. War upon war. We are hopeless, helpless, unable to do enough or be enough. We reach for peace through ceasefires and negotiations, vaccinations and surgeries, generosity and trying harder. But our reach cannot go far enough. We need the Prince of Peace to come to us.

And He has.

Advent is a time of quiet peace as all the hope for restoration lies bundled and squirming in a manger. This Immanuel has come to live among us and suffer for us – a people who know suffering well. He has left His Spirit to groan and cry out with us for peace, to empower us to be peacemakers, to be our deposit for perfect peace.

So if you’re crying out for peace and wondering whether you can truly celebrate the coming of the Christ during a season of suffering in your life, please light that candle of Peace. Be still and wait. He is coming again, bringing life and resurrection.

“Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!”

A Quiet Peace

2011-12-19T10:36:00.000-08:00

12:20AM Saturday morning.

I hate the sound of my beeper. It's my least favorite sound in the world. I would listen for days to a band called "Fingernails on Chalkboards" if it meant I never had to hear my beeper again. Most people don't even know that beepers exist anymore, but I assure you that every couple of days at least one hospice chaplain has his sleep interrupted by a screaming beeper.

Telecare: "A patient's family is requesting a chaplain visit. The address is..."
Me: "What? Sorry, can you repeat that again? I zoned out for a minute."

I change out of my flannel pajamas, a 30 minute drive upcoming. The winter winds of Southern California are raging again, gusting at about 50 miles an hour. Semis are struggling to stay in their lanes. The local radio station, playing Christmas music 24/7, spins out "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" for perhaps the 700th time this season.

"They'll be scary ghost stories and tales of the glories of Christmases long long ago."

What does that mean anyway? Who tells ghost stories during Christmas??

It is a steep and dark driveway. At least they could've put a streetlight out here. I am greeted at the door by a a middle-aged man, the patient's son. He is an only child and his mother is dying. She has Alzheimer's and has been in bed for 4 years. His father is still around, but he has emotionally checked-out as a way to cope. There is a hired caregiver who has been with them for the last 4 years, who is also having a hard time watching her die.

I walk back with him to the bedroom to meet his mother. She is propped up in bed, snuggling with a large stuffed monkey, asleep but breathing unevenly. There is a small Christmas tree on the nightstand next to her and a picture of Jesus on the wall behind her. Silent, we watch her sleep for a couple of minutes. I ask the son if he would like me to pray for her. He looks a little uncomfortable but says it's what she would want. Now the caregiver has come back in the room and she looks eager to pray with me.

We gather around her bed and each place a hand on her.

"Father we entrust your servant into your loving hands. We know that you are in charge of life and death, that you have numbered her breaths and the steps she will take. Would you be preparing a place for her with you. Please be speaking into the places of her soul that only you can touch. We don't always understand things about this life. We don't know why death has to come. But we ask for peace. Would you be comforting the family as they keep vigil with her. I ask for the peace that transcends understanding."

Peace. If you call a chaplain in the middle of the night when I'm on call, you're gonna get a prayer about peace. "My peace I give to you," says Jesus. It is as if the future world - the world of shalom - has invaded the present world, and we can live as though it is true already. The experience of the world of no-death is brought to bear on the world that can feel like all-death. But let's not kid ourselves. So much of it isn't true already. We grasp it...but it still slips out of our fingers. We can experience a peace in the midst of grief, but death still comes. Things still aren't right when we watch our loved ones die, when the holidays, supposedly a testament to joy and celebration and comfort, forever become a symbol of loss and emptiness and bittersweet memories. The future world is still mostly in the future.

2:45 AM Saturday morning.

Wearing my pajamas again, back in bed. Listening to my wife breathing softly. A cat sleeping against my side.

3:00 AM Saturday morning.

Are you kidding me??? I will go outside and skip this freaking beeper across the pool. We'll see what sound it makes then.

Telecare: "We have a death visit for you."
Me: "....."
Telecare: "Chaplain?"
Me: "mmm yeah okay."

I'm taking graveyard shift to the next level. 60 minute drive on a different freeway. The winds are stronger. Debris and branches are everywhere. I think about how Jesus somehow managed to have peace in a boat in a raging storm while the disciples panicked. He could not only still the storm; he could rest in the storm.

God I miss my bed. When I get home again I'm going to hug it and tell it how much I love it. I'll promise I'll never leave it again.

I end up in the exact same neighborhood that my wife's office Christmas party was the night before. What are the odds? I knock on the side door of the nursing home, startling the night nurse. The family of the patient has just arrived and we are waiting on the mortuary.

The family is Korean and I greet the son and the wife of the patient. The wife doesn't speak much English. They are anxious and they pepper me with questions about the arrangements and what to do next. But they have taken care of everything. The son pauses long enough for me to ask how he is holding up. He chokes up for a second, eyes becoming red. He composes himself and tells me that he feels mostly relieved.

"I've been coming here every day for the past few weeks and my father was in pain. He was struggling to breathe. It was so hard to see. He just wasn't himself anymore. I'm so relieved he's not suffering anymore."

"Don't get me wrong. I've just lost my daddy."

There is a cross, with a heart in the middle of it, sitting by the patient's head. The family is Christian. We pray together, I pass on my condolences, check in with the charge nurse to make sure they have everything they need, and then I get in my car once again.

It is common for family members to feel relief when someone in pain dies. To sit and watch someone you love suffer is sheer agony. But that relief is temporary and is quickly replaced by sadness. That relief is not true peace.

People often define peace by the absence of other things - of war, strife, internal conflict. But if we wait for the absence of those realities in order to have peace, we will be waiting a very long time. My whole profession is built on the hard reality that the emptiness will come and the storms will rage. We will experience tremendous loss. The caverns in our souls will be so wide that we will wonder how anything could possibly fill them.

No, peace is not the absence of things. Peace is what fills the absence.

A Quiet Joy: Waiting with Mary

2011-12-16T03:00:00.000-08:00

About the author: Peter Stevens is a seminary student and adjunct teacher at at Lincoln Christian University where he's finishing his Masters in Christian Education. He interns in the Community Group ministry at Jefferson Street Christian Church. He blogs about books and life at his blog Life, the Universe and Everything.

When I hear the word joy, I don’t always think of quiet. Rejoicing does not bring to mind pictures of serene settings or quiet nights by the fire. I think of the excitement of making the grade, the winning team rushing the field, or friends singing a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday. Joy around the Christmas season is no exception: there are carolers, flashing lights, TV specials, children ecstatic about gifts, commercials, etc. On the surface, a person could easily get the idea that joy in the season of Advent comes through shopping, exchanging gifts, parties, music, and a little bit of eggnog. The Advent season has been packed so full of celebrating the joy of Christmas, that the quiet joy of Advent doesn't get to see the light of day. There is no time for reflection, quiet, or rest. By the time Christmas actually roles around, the introverts like me are hoping to be snowed in for twelve days just to recuperate.

The joy found in Advent is different the joy of Christmas. Advent is a time of anticipation. It builds over time until it finally is able to come to fruition on Christmas morning. As the youngest of four and the uncle of 14 nieces and nephews, I know what it is like to have a house full of family during the holiday season. It is a wonderful time with a lot of eating and celebrating, but my wife and I typically spend the majority of Advent waiting to see them because we live far away from most of our family. Each Advent season is filled with the anticipation of the time when we get to go a celebrate Christmas with our family. We spend the season reflecting on the memories of the past Christmases and anticipating the joy of the upcoming celebration with family. Gifts are bought and made with the anticipation of what kind of joy they will bring.

It reminds me of Mary's joy that Luke describes in his Gospel. When she saw her little baby boy being worshiped and honored by shepherds, she treasured it in her heart. I’m sure that this memory also reminded Mary of what Gabriel said when he appeared to her. He told her that her son would sit the throne of David and that his kingdom would never end. Even though Mary did not know exactly what this entailed, I think we can assume these memories were a joy to her in the quiet moments when she thought about her son and waited for the fulfilling of Gabriel’s prophecy. In this time of Advent, I think that we ought to take the posture of Mary.

The quiet joy of advent anticipates that time when we will be in the presence of our King. It reminds us of the time when we will see the prophecy of revelation come to pass with our own eyes. For now we spend time in the spiritual presence of God. Even though we are not able to be in the physical presence of God like we can be in the presence of our family, we still live in the presence in his spirit. Like Mary, we have opportunity to fill our hearts with moments spent with God as we too wait for the final revealing of the same kingdom promised by Gabriel. These will become a storehouse of Joy that will one day overflow into joyful celebration at the return of our savior knowing that Advent is finally over.

A Quiet Joy: Inwardly Expressive

2011-12-15T03:00:00.000-08:00

About the author: Cynthia is the mother of two little boys, an inquisitive preschooler and an energetic toddler. She blogs at The Hippie Housewife, where she shares her thoughts on attachment parenting, natural living, life as a Jesus-follower, and more, all tied together through her journey towards a more intentional life.

I remember being sad. I was so unbearably sad, and yet there were no tears. I berated myself for the lack of visible emotion; what was wrong with me? Everyone else at the funeral was crying.

I remember being happy. I was blissfully happy and felt at peace with the whole world. My blissful calm was shattered with a single comment from a random stranger: "Cheer up, love, it can't be that bad!"

I remember being excited. Oh, I was excited. I tried to show it, but it felt forced, fake. The bearer of good news noticed as well. "I thought you'd be excited about this."

Always the refrain: What is wrong with me? Why am so woefully inexpressive? I feel so deeply on the inside but it just doesn't show on the outside. A fault, a flaw, a personal shortcoming. How hard can it be to just show what I am feeling?

Fast-forward several years. Time has, as it so often does, brought both perspective and a sense of peace with the way God has created me. There is no need for me to force an outward expression of what I am feeling on the inside. I have discovered that the more I acknowledge this, the more free I am to feel fully, not concerned with convincing others of my feelings but simply embracing those feelings as they come. This is how I feel, and I need not prove it to anyone.

And then - greater discovery, greater joy! - those around me stopped questioning. The fullness of my inward emotions radiated outward, not in the usual expressive manner but in a quieter, gentler way. I am not crying but you can feel my sadness. I am not giddy but you can feel my peace. I am not squealing but you can feel my quiet joy.

This is how I will be observing my Advent. There will no loud fanfare, flashy holiday trappings, or crowded parties. Instead I will seek, as I do each year, to keep Advent focused, simple, and intentional. There will be joy - oh yes, great joy! - but it will my own God-graced brand of quiet joy.

I am, at long last, at peace with this. There is no shame in this quiet joy of mine, no reproof necessary. My joy is known by God and it brings Him pleasure and glory. I will never be the expressive one, wearing my emotions on my sleeve, but I have my own gifts to offer others: a soothing calm, and inward peace, and yes, a quiet joy.

A Quiet Joy: Quiet Church

2011-12-14T03:00:00.000-08:00

About the author: David Hansen is a Lutheran pastor at a rural congregation in Brenham, TX. This year he started the Occupy Advent movement, using social media to encourage people to slow down and simplify during the season of Advent. Follow his personal twitter account @rev_david.

A crowd cheering in a stadium.

My daughter, jumping up and down and squealing with happiness.

A raucous worship service, full of energy and enthusiasm.

The images that come to mind when one thinks of “joy” are generally quite loud. It is easy to imagine being quietly hopeful, or quietly peaceful – but the idea of being “quietly joyful” seems to be an oxymoron.

As we enter into the third week of Advent – traditionally the week of “Joy” – images of loud celebrations surround us. But even in joy, we can find a place for quiet and introspection – a space for Quiet Joy. In fact, perhaps quiet ways of savoring joy would allow us a fuller experience of this third week of Advent.

Five and a half years ago, I was ordained as a pastor. I had spent years preparing for this day, all my family and many of my friends had gathered to take part in the celebration. Few moments in my life match that one for sheer joy.

In the moments before the service was to begin – the local clergy who were taking part were gathering together, laughing and sharing stories. Joining with them would have been one way to express my joy – but that was not where I went. My family was in the parish hall, gathered from all over the country, greeting one another after long journeys. Yes, spending time with my family as they talked and laughed also would have been a great way to express my joy – but that was not where I went either.

Instead, I went to my office – away from the noise of the sanctuary, the laughter of the parish hall, and the conversations of the sacristy. I found the one quiet place in the church, the one place where I could turn down the volume. And there, in the quiet of my office, I simply let the joy of the day wash over me. No distractions from others, no background noise, no interruptions. Just me, and the joy of that day.

I’m sure I said a prayer of thanksgiving while there alone – I don’t remember exactly. What I do remember is being there in the quiet, and how wonderful it was to simply allow that joy to wash over me.

As we draw close to the Christmas, there are certainly examples of boisterous joy in the Nativity story. Angels singing from the heavens. Livestock providing a background soundtrack. Shepherds running in from the fields.

And there in the midst of it, there is one who quietly stops – perhaps the one who has the best idea of what this birth truly means. In midst of the rush and noise of the Christmas story, Mary listens to the story from the shepherds, watches her child, and as Luke tells, “Mary treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart.”

No shouts of joy. No words of wisdom to share. Unlike when she visits her cousin Elizabeth and bursts into spontaneous song, Mary simply stopped and pondered all these joyous events.

In this holy season of Advent, we too are called to quiet joy. As the world around us erupts in loud celebrations – Christmas parties, holiday songs, and shouts of joy – we are called with Mary to tune out some of the noise of life; to slow down and let quiet joy wash over us. As we prepare for the coming of Emmanuel, we too treasure all these things, and ponder them in our hearts.

A Quiet Joy: A Christmas Snapshot

2011-12-13T03:00:00.000-08:00

About the author: Anne is an I NFP and total Christian education nerd, and she muses about the complexities of being a woman in the modern world over at her blog Modern Mrs Darcy. You can find her on twitter at @ModernMrsDarcy.

It was springtime when I started to feel the stirring: a building sense of expectation, excitement. I felt like I was getting ready for something. I felt foolish to say the words—even to myself--but I felt like God was preparing me. For what? I had no idea.

That summer, I sheepishly confided this to my husband. To my surprise, he said he felt it too. It was exciting time. We were so hopeful about what lay ahead.

Soon I was pregnant with our second child—was it the baby in my womb lending a special weight to this time? We were in the midst of a hard season—was God leading us to sunnier days?

The weather turned colder, and we were still … waiting. As Christmas drew near, we eased into the rhythms of the church calendar. I have always loved the Advent season, with its hushed waiting, contemplation, pondering. Oh Come, Oh Come, Emmanuel has always been my favorite carol, with its beautiful, haunting longing, and its call to “Rejoice, rejoice!”—but in a minor key.

Our little boy—our firstborn—was nearly two that Christmas, chubby and towheaded and absolutely giddy at our Christmas celebration with the whole extended family. Nearly-two is such a fun age at Christmastime: climbing into the cardboard boxes, happily playing in piles of torn-up gift wrap, oblivious to expensive toys.We snapped a million photos to remember the day, because they grow up so fast….then we drove home, exhausted, and plopped our spent baby into bed.

The next morning, we got a phone call: A family member had already begun photoshopping the Christmas photos, and his camera had captured something in our son’s face the naked eye couldn’t see. Plenty of his photos looked perfectly fine, but there was one that concerned him. He wasn’t sure what it meant, exactly, but he knew it wasn’t good.

I called my doctor, feeling a bit foolish. I thought he’d tell me I was crazy: it’s just a Christmas photo.Instead, he said, “I’ll get you in right away.”

This can’t be that big a deal…right? Not necessarily.

At least we caught it early… right? Not necessarily.

Several days later, we hear the words: Cancer. Stage five.

How many stages are there? Five.

Several days later we’re sitting post-op with the world-class oncologist in the far-off city, who tells us it’s nothing short of a miracle that we caught the cancer when we did. It presented so unusually that the odds of a routine check-up catching it were slim.

She asks again, “It was a photo?”

I tell her again, "a Christmas photo."

“Sounds like a Christmas miracle to me. The odds look very good for your son.”

Nearly seven years later, he’s doing well, with no signs of recurrence. Cancer has its complications, of course: there are secondary cancers and scars and nuisance side effects. But he’s doing great, living the life of a normal 8-year-old. And yet, the Christmas season is tangled up with cancer in my mind.

We now have four kids and the joy, excitement and anticipation of a coming Christmas can be overwhelming, at least to your ears. And this year we have another nearly-two-year-old and it’s just as much fun with our fourth as with our first. But there’s more to our Christmastime now. There’s a shadow. Our old Christmas photos leave us with lumps in our throats and new ones are closely inspected, not just looked at. And I continue to struggle with the daily realities of my son’s medical history—the constant reminders that cancer sucks and it’s a fallen world. They remind me that I am still waiting.

Christ was born on Christmas Day—Rejoice!—but he is also coming back. And so we wait.

Oh Come, Oh Come Emmanuel isn’t just a song for the Advent season. It’s a song for today. For everyday.

Come, Lord Jesus. Come.

A Quiet Joy

2011-12-12T14:01:00.000-08:00

Of all the themes of this series on "A Quiet Advent," the one that would seem the loudest is joy. It is not hard to capture peace, hope, and love in quiet terms and images, but joy feels like an explosive quality, one that would cause you to throw your arms in the air and shout, laugh out loud, jump in the air. There is something about joy that wants to move outward.

I wonder, though, if the proper understanding of joy in the Christian life, is less like the explosion of a volcano and more like the steady heat of lava flowing underground, invisible yet unstoppable. Yes, there are the mountaintop moments, but most of our rejoicing is a steady, bubbling, subterranean reality.

The reason I am a day late in writing this post is because I just returned from my wife's grandmother's funeral in Virginia. There family members reassured one another that the death of a 91-year-old woman was not only a time of grieving, but also a time of rejoicing. If that is true, it is certainly not an outward rejoicing, because this woman's death has left a gaping absence. She was a truly wonderful woman, steadily optimistic, generous, and kind, and always crackling with one liners that would startle you with their raw humor. Any true joy at her funeral was quiet, reflective, and incomplete.

The book of James continues to shock us with this line: "My brothers and sisters, when you encounter trials of various kinds, consider it all joy." The imperative to look at suffering and rejoice just seems absurd. James proposes that pain and joy are not opposites; they can co-exist, but joy is the more powerful. And when I think about it, I realize that all joy takes place in the context of suffering. Suffering may not always be the immediate context of joy, but anytime we rejoice we declare ourselves as malcontents in a broken and dying world, protestors of a humanity that wars against itself and against the earth. Joy's life always seems to pulsate in death's grip. Because true Christian joy must take the reality of suffering seriously, it would seem that the nature of our joy in this life would be quiet, streaming beneath the surface, waiting for the opening when it will finally swell up and overflow.

In the northern hemisphere we celebrate Advent as the darkness of December encroaches, the days becoming shorter and shorter through the month. We reflect that the entrance of the Christ-child came into a dark world. We are reminded that the world, and our hearts, are still dark places. But joy slips quietly through the dark evenings, unseen but always moving forward, rushing toward the climax of the season. If we press our ears to the ground, we might be able to hear her.

A Quiet Love: Busy Hands, Quiet Heart

2011-12-09T03:00:00.000-08:00

This is the fourth guest post in A Quiet Love, the second week of the A Quiet Advent series.

About the author: Ellen Painter Dollar is a writer, editor and mother of three living in West Hartford, CT. Her forthcoming book on the ethics of reproductive and genetic technology, titled No Easy Choice: A Story of Disability, Parenthood, and Faith in an Age of Advanced Reproduction, will be published by Westminster John Knox Press in January 2012. She writes primarily about faith, motherhood, disability, and ethics, and blogs at Choices That Matter and Five Dollars and Some Common Sense.

Confession: Every time I come across advice from a fellow Christian urging us to slow down during Advent, I am tempted to do an exaggerated, teenager-ly eye roll. Sometimes I actually do the eye roll. And throw in a heavy sigh for dramatic effect. To me, admonitions to shun holiday season busy-ness in favor of quiet and stillness, while well-intentioned, communicate a willful ignorance of just how much preparatory work even a relatively simple Christmas requires. I assume that most Christians today, unlike the Puritans, think that the birth of our savior merits a celebration. I assume that most Christians enjoy a special Christmas meal, treats made from cherished family recipes, gazing at a twinkling tree in a firelit room, a few thoughtful gifts under that tree, a few more gifts purchased for those who can’t fund their own Christmas, maybe a pageant populated by adorable angels and sheep. I wonder how all that celebrating is supposed to happen if we’re also supposed to spend Advent pruning our to-do lists and slowing down.

My friend and editor Jana Riess describes a similar phenomenon when writing about her attempts to keep a traditional Jewish Sabbath in her excellent new book Flunking Sainthood. Jana writes:

"As I live through the month of Sabbaths, I have a bone to pick with Rabbi Heschel. I find his book The Sabbath beautiful, but…nowhere does Rabbi Heschel write about practical things. Like, say, eating. Food is a huge part of a lovely Shabbos celebration, but the book takes it for granted that such feasts are effortlessly prepared by unseen kosher elves…So either: 1) Cooking is not work…,or 2) Someone else is shopping, planning, chopping, stirring, baking, and cleaning up afterward. Now, I’m no rocket scientist, but I’d be willing to wager that this someone’s name is Mrs. Heschel."

I am unapologetically busy during Advent—busy, but rarely frantic or pressured. My hands are busy, but my heart abides happily in the expectant hush of Advent. That’s because nearly every Christmas preparation I undertake points toward (in Charlie Brown’s words) “what Christmas is all about.”

I string lights on our shrubs because, when I come home after a tedious afternoon of carpooling weary kids, I get a little zing of joy upon seeing my same old street transformed into a cheerfully lit wonderland. I’m reminded that God is not only our light in the darkness, but also has a way of transforming what is ordinary (a baby, a cattle stall, a weary heart) into something unexpected, delightful, extraordinary. I bake dozens of Christmas cookies to offer to my family and give as gifts, because preparing and sharing food are fundamental acts of community and care. I cheerfully shop for gifts for a limited number of people (children, husband, parents) because I see lavish, thoughtful gift giving as a reflection of God’s most lavish gift to us—himself. My careful (and OK, slightly compulsive) planning of who gets what arises from the idea that loving people well requires knowing them well—what they love, what they hate, what they need, what inspires them, what bores them silly. The link between love and knowledge is a theological notion: God’s love is intertwined with God’s intimate knowledge of who we are, the good and the bad, because God created us and chose to became one of us. So I don’t troll the aisles of Toys ‘R Us impulsively throwing toys into my cart, or wander the “gift” displays at chain stores hoping to be inspired. I choose gifts deliberately based on what I know of the recipients.

Sometimes the work of making room for God is internal and still—silence, prayer, study. And sometimes it is outward and active—preparing the sanctuary for worship, preparing the home for Sabbath, and preparing for Christmas. One of my favorite lines in the Book of Common Prayer is in the prayer after communion: “Send us now into the world in peace, and grant us strength and courage  to love and serve you  with gladness and singleness of heart.” When I decorate the tree with Christmas carols blasting on my iPod, pack a box of homemade cookies for a child’s teacher, and go from store to store searching for a particular gift that my child didn’t ask for but that I know she will love, I do so with gladness and singleness of heart. I know why I’m doing it, and I choose to do it out of love, not obligation. These practical preparations are just as vital to my Advent observance as early-morning prayers and the lighting of Advent candles.

There are no Christmas elves to perform the many tasks that precede a joyfully observed Christmas. There is only us—our busy hands, our expectant hearts, both preparing to welcome the long-awaited, incarnate love of God, both necessary for knowing that love more deeply and sharing it more widely.

A Quiet Love: Lovely Christmas

2011-12-08T03:00:00.000-08:00

This is the third guest post in A Quiet Love, the second week of the A Quiet Advent series.

About the author: Jen Justice enjoys a simple life in Atlanta with her husband Josh and little dog Ammy. She writes about faith at To Be a Gazing Soul, about simplifying gluten/dairy free food and other things at A Simple Home, and about everything above and more on Twitter @jen_justice.

I live in Georgia where the winters are mild, but there is still a chill in the air during this season. And when that chill comes, it brings with it a change in my emotional climate. I admit it: I love Christmas time. It's cliched, but at Christmas time everything seems a little more lovely. We become a little kinder, a little less self-absorbed, a little more generous. It's become fashionable to be cynical about Christmas. But I still see such beauty, hope, and love in the season.

Right about now you might be thinking, "Wow, she is naive." But stick with me for a moment. I know that modern Christmas "love" is known for being showy and commercial, stressful and chaotic—anything but quiet, anything but peaceful, and quite contrary to the Silent Night we sing about. And yet, under all the commotion, I see hearts and minds quietly being drawn to the true way of love.

This week, my husband and I were discussing our ignorance of the meaning of Boxing Day, a Canadian holiday. I guessed it referred to the sport of boxing and my husband guessed it related to boxing up Christmas decorations. We discovered that the boxing was actually boxes of goods to be given to charity or service people. Today, in Canada and a few other countries, Boxing Day is much like the U.S.'s Black Friday. A day that used to be designated for giving to those in need is now used for shopping sprees.

Our nature is to turn any occasion into a benefit for ourselves, but somehow—by God's grace—at Christmas, many of us spend on our efforts on giving rather than only getting. For a season the other person becomes more important than ourselves. The Red Cross reports that the majority of Americans plan to give to charity this holiday season, even during a slow economy, just as they did last year.

This might not seem like much, and in comparison to what Christ has done for us, it is indeed a weak, small type of love. And yet, I find it beautiful that during the season that we celebrate God coming to earth as a man, He gives us the grace to step a little closer to being the loving men and women He created us to be—all of us, believers and unbelievers. To me, considering the true nature of humanity, this is nothing short of a miracle.

It's my hope that in the midst of the busyness of shopping and parties and performances this advent season, we will be able to take a second look at the whirlwind and find glimpses of the love that this season draws out of those around us: The hostess who cheerfully shares her home with friends and family, the teacher who spent hours helping children learn a play, the family who is out buying toys for children in need, the hands that decorated your world so beautifully for the season. Small acts of love surround us during this merry season and give us a glimpse of the world of love to come.

As we turn our eyes to see the love that surrounds our Savior's birth, I pray that we would grow in our love toward humankind. Instead of growing in bitterness and cynicism because sinful humans still act greedy and selfish, I pray that we would rejoice in every act of goodwill. As we await the coming of our Savior, may we be a people marked by love—not only giving love but having eyes that see love in unexpected places.

"whatever is lovely...think about such things." Philippians 4:8

I wish you all a lovely Christmas.

A Quiet Love: A Difficult Decision

2011-12-06T03:00:00.000-08:00

About the author: Letitia Tappa is a blogger, graphic designer, and soon-to-be veterinary assistant. She lives in Edmonds, Washington with her husband, 2 teenaged kids, and an ever-changing assortment of animals. She blogs about parenting teens for Examiner.com, and about her life surrounded by animals.

We live in a loud society. There is little space for peace and quiet unless you live in a rural area. In the suburbs, there is the atmospheric noise of an overhead jet, the traffic on a nearby street, or the neighbor’s dog. People too, seem to have developed the habit of loudness. Maybe it’s because we feel unheard, or because we live in a noisy world. We have what I call “yelling shows”, where what starts as a civil discussion ends up in yelling, usually all participants at once. Talk shows from all political angles are equally guilty of this behavior. Is this the love that Jesus asked us to show one another? And is love a loud feeling or behavior?

Everyone has heard… Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another (John 13:34, NIV), but what does this mean? Is Jesus talking about people who do not share our political viewpoint? Is Jesus talking about North African dictators and serial killers? Perhaps Jesus’ point in all this is that we humans are all flawed sinners. He left us many parables illustrating how sin is human and forgiveness is what is expected of us if we are to expect forgiveness for ourselves. This forgiving love is not a loud, boastful behavior, as Paul tells us ("If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal" I Cor. 13:1, NIV). It is a quiet pause of the soul, a decision to love instead of hate and to take the higher road, the narrower path. So how exactly does one love the dictator or serial killer? Perhaps by praying for the person’s soul, and remembering that they like we, are a flawed human being, maybe more so than ourselves. Perhaps we do not cheer when s/he is executed, but rather pray for the victims and their loved ones. Perhaps we quietly show love instead of a vengeful celebration of another person’s death.

This is easier said than done. How would you possibly do this if your loved one was the victim of the dictator or killer? Most of us would certainly choose revenge, injuring ourselves too in the loud bitterness and anger that would most certainly wash over a person in that situation. But we are taught that love can quiet the heart and soothe the soul. I don’t know how the Amish community chose love instead of revenge when 10 little girls were gunned down while at school, in cold blood (5 survived the shooting). It seemed almost super-human to the rest of us, but the Amish have it right: it is what God requires.

But what happens when there is injustice in the world? Shouldn’t we speak out? I’m thinking recently of the Occupy protests taking place around the world. Do these exhibit quiet love? People will disagree about this. But nonviolent protest certainly can exhibit quiet love. It means not berating the police officers. It means that you are choosing the loving way to point out injustice, similar to the way a parent would correct a child, with discussion and by example. It means not engaging in yelling matches and name-calling with the opposition. It means understanding that your quiet presence and your quiet refusal to leave can be as loud as any other behavior you might exhibit. But this also comes at a cost, as nonviolent protestors of the past have discovered. It may require your own sacrifice to pain and suffering, or the indignity of being arrested and mistreated, sometimes to the point of death, as Jesus and many others throughout history have discovered.

This advent season, consider: what is quiet love? What does it mean to conduct yourself as a human sinner among other human sinners? Who have you seen exhibiting this quiet love, even in the midst of strife? There are many examples. It is not our natural way, by any means. But it is the better way, the required way as God teaches us repeatedly. To Christians this advent season, God’s most memorable lesson in quiet love came by way of an infant boy, born quietly in a stable into our loud and calamitous world. It’s a lesson that I’m not sure we have learned yet.

A Quiet Love: Quiet Witness

2011-12-05T03:00:00.000-08:00

This is the first guest post in A Quiet Love, which is the second week of the A Quiet Advent series.

About the author: Chris Brown is an organizing co-pastor of The Upper Room , a PC(USA) new church development in the Squirrel Hill neighborhood of Pittsburgh, PA. He's also a barista at the 61C Cafe and an STM student at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary. He blogs at Poiesis Theou and for the House of St.Michael the Archangel.

The first evangelist I ever encountered was my grandmother, Catherine, but I didn’t recognize this fact until years after she passed away. Gram, as I called her, was a quiet and strong woman, widowed only a few months after I was born. She was also an introvert, I’m fairly certain, a trait that showed itself in her early life’s vocation as an English teacher and her enduring love of reading. Much of my childhood was spent at her house, playing wiffle-ball with friends her backyard, practicing for my piano lessons on her piano, and watching television on her big TV. My games with friends and music practice delighted her, no matter how loud we were outside or how many sour notes my fingers struck on the keys. I remember learning to play a simple version Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” on her piano. One change in notes kept sounding wrong to me and I became more and more frustrated, to the point that I started crying. Patiently and gently she reassured me that I was playing the right notes and encouraged me to keep trying. She was simply grateful that I was learning to make music, and was more than willing to overlook any mistakes.

Gram was a woman of faith, the daughter of a Presbyterian pastor. For many years she served my hometown church as an organist, a choir member, and a Sunday school teacher. This explains her shock one day when she learned that I, her then middle-school-aged grandson, had never memorized Psalm 23. I rarely went to Sunday school, and my parents rarely spoke about faith at home, so it never occurred to me as a child that there was any reason to memorize scripture. I just thought church was what we did for an hour on Sunday mornings. But in her quiet way Gram was always bearing witness that there was more to faith than that.

I’m sure Gram prayed, and I believe that my present faith and vocation now are fruit of her prayers. She never preached to me, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t proclaim gospel. In fact, she was a remarkable example of the way God uses the gifts he’s given introverts to share the good news of Christ. In her home, she created an environment of hospitality which made room for others to encounter God and each other. As she was losing her sight in her later years, she opened her home to host a support group for others with age-related macular degeneration. When I was a child, I was always welcome at her house after school, and cookies (homemade meringue and chocolate chip) were always available in plenteous supply.

Holidays, however, are the clearest memories I have gospel hospitality at Gram’s house. Every Christmas Eve, our family would gather at her home after the evening service at our small town’s Presbyterian church. Once situated in her living room, we would listen to a recording made in the 1950s of my great-grandfather (Gram’s father) reading the Christmas story from Luke 2. Those evenings were my first hint that the birth of a tiny baby in Bethlehem was cause to sing “Joy to the World.”

Gram passed away in November of 2002. At her funeral, I read John Milton’s sonnet, “When I Consider How My Light is Spent”. The poem expresses Milton’s frustration with his own blindness by asking whether God will require the same work of him as someone who possessed full sight. But then comes the turn, speaking truth and reassurance: “God doth not need / Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best / Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state / Is kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed / and post o’er land and ocean without rest: / They also serve who only stand and wait.”

Gram never tried to force faith upon me, but she did quietly plant many seeds in my life that bore fruit much later. At times she appeared only to “stand and wait”, but she stood in faith and waited with the same hope we celebrate each Advent. God used her patience and grace to show me proof of the story of Incarnation we heard recited every Christmas Eve. And I will forever be grateful for the grace shown to me through her quiet love.

A Quiet Love

2011-12-04T11:25:00.000-08:00

"But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; my soul is like the weaned child that is with me."
- Psalm 131

Even though my wife and I don't have children, my Advent reflections continually turn to the themes of pregnancy and parenthood. After all, the Christmas season centers on a birth, and we can read the Advent season as the birth pangs of waiting for delivery, and deliverance. My friends with children have testified to the exhilaration, the hope, and the anxiety of such a time. Life on the outside becomes quiet, as the mother-to-be becomes less mobile, but life on the inside is deafening, as anxious parents anticipate the first wail of their newborn child and the new life that will change theirs forever.

My mind this week turned to Psalm 131, especially the line above. The verse moves us a couple of years beyond pregnancy and birth to the image of a young child, nestled in the arms of her mother. My Old Testament seminary professor suggested that this Psalm was written by a woman, the "me" of the verse who holds her child and finds a metaphor for her quieted soul. As her child rests on her, contented and at peace, so does her soul rest in the motherly compassion of the Lord.

What a peaceful scene, you say. What a beautiful display of intimacy, you think. That is what I want my soul to resemble this Advent, you vow. But there is another thing you need to know about this Psalm. It is a "Psalm of Ascent," which is a song that was sung by pilgrims on their way up to Jerusalem. In a post-exilic reality, faithful Jews who lived outside of the land would caravan to the city on the hill for festivals and celebrations. As they went they would sing the ascent songs - Psalms 120-134 - anticipating their homecoming, distracting themselves from their sore feet and legs, staving off boredom, warding off wild animals and potential thieves.

This picture of a satisfied and beloved child is not situated in front of the Christmas tree, illuminated by a crackling fire, the aromas of turkey and pie wafting through the air. The woman and her child are in the elements, exposed, on a journey. This is quiet love on the move, intimacy with places to go and people to see.

It turns out that the picture is even more fitting for our Advent celebration than we thought. Even as we seek to reduce the clutter of the season, there is still much to do, but our souls need not mirror the external anxiety of the culture. Our challenge is to find the quiet place in our souls, carried by the Lord, as we move through the season.

A Quiet Hope: Hard Won Hope

2011-12-02T03:00:00.000-08:00

This post is the fourth guest post in "A Quiet Hope," which is the first week of our season-long series called A Quiet Advent.

About the author: Melissa Anne Wuske (melissaannewuske.com) is a freelance writer and editor in Cincinnati. She's also the introverted wife of an extroverted youth minister.

Kathy's been teaching me about hope for years. She's a few decades older than many of the women in our Bible study, so she quickly became our unofficial matriarch. Her voice always reassures us when we were lost in the uncertainty of bad bosses, singleness, and starting families. She tells us assuredly, over and over—"God is using your lives."

Over time she's become more to me than just our group's mom. We're friends. We share hope together. As I dated and married my husband and she watched he children take hold of godly adult lives, we've marveled together at God's work. Through our doubts and frustrations, she shows me how to look ahead with hope. Without fail, she senses my weary weeks, when I would've rather stayed home from church. She can see through the facade I put up—and she simply offers me a hug.

Kathy's hope has taken a quieter, more urgent turn this year. She's been battling brain cancer that has taken away much of her sight and hearing, and at times, her ability to walk. In her sensory deprived world, she seeks the coming of Christ with an earnestness that astounds me.

She's braved radiation, chemo, numerous hospital stays, and every X-months-to-live ultimatum doctors could throw at her. She is always smiling—always. For a while she was in a nursing home bearing burdensome weeks of rehabilitation, but every time I visited she managed to cheer me up, asking about my life and what she could pray about for me—"I have lots of time to pray." My mom even walked in one day to find her reading her large print Bible one word at a time with a magnifying glass. Even now, back at home, her vision and hearing won't allow her to identify people coming into the room, but she just smiles, waves, and says hi when they walk in.

She speaks boldly about her future. She's talks about days post-chemo when she'll go to her daughter's and son's weddings next summer. She's eager for the day when she'll be well enough to go back to work. She speaks even more brazenly of the power of her God. I know few people who are as sure as Kathy is that their prayers are heard. She trusts unwaveringly in God's healing power. She's sure of God's work here on earth and she's even more sure of his power in the next life. Sometimes my instinct is to temper her hope, to tell her it's okay not to fight so hard, but who am I to try to rob her of her drive, to tell her that her Christ-rooted hope is just too audacious. (I don't think it'd be possible anyway.)

Her brand of quiet yet intense hope speaks to my introverted way of seeking Christ. She reminds me of my dependence, even when I try to choose isolation. My need for others should increase my hope in Christ instead of causing me to mourn the loss of my independence. She teaches me that quiet time alone is a resource that can bear a harvest, not just a delicacy to be relished. She shows me the grit and vulnerability necessary to live by hope.

Her hope resonates with the Christmas story, too. The hope of this season isn't a fluffy hope. While its end is a savior born and a people redeemed, there are days and years of desert between here and heaven. The hope felt by generations of Israelites waiting for the Christ wasn't a light, airy feeling. It was the force shoving them forward each step through the desert sand—a determined trudge toward the full knowledge of Christ.

It's a heavy lesson, no doubt, but it's refreshing to me because I'm not one who often feels a frolicking-through-the-daisies hope, but I know the tired, questioning, one-foot-in-front-of-the other kind of hope. Most days, if I'm honest, I'm fighting a feeling of dark unknowing, crowded with fear. I'm trying to figure out how to take just the next step in a deliberate walk toward the promised light. Kathy shows me how.

Last week Kathy was given another prediction from the doctors: two more weeks. While her body struggles, her heart quietly waits for Christ's coming, either in her healing or her homecoming.

A Quiet Hope: Darkness Overload

2011-12-01T03:00:00.000-08:00

This post is the third guest post in "A Quiet Hope," which is the first week of our season-long series called A Quiet Advent.

About the author: Sherri Edman is an introvert who processes verbally. She talks to herself a lot. She blogs about home schooling at A Thick and Dreadful Darkness and very occasionally about other stuff at Recovering Sociopath. She is most active on Twitter as SKEdman.

How long can you spend at a party? I finally understood why parties exhausted me when I realized I was an introvert. Engaging with people is hard: they are under my gaze, but that gaze is reflected, returned. I feel searched. It takes about two hours for the sensory overload of relating to shut me down.

Suffering does that, too. Not my own suffering, so much. For all the struggles, my life is not terrible and I’ve been given the grace to cultivate gratitude.

But seeing friends and family suffer debilitating illness? Following yet another mommy blogger’s link to a story of a terminally ill child? Reading yet another article about a local apartment fire or a distant genocide? Registering the sheer numbers of women and children trafficked into sexual slavery as I type this? Perusing—until the nausea hit—the Penn State grand jury presentment? Sensory overload comes quickly.

The world’s sufferings are so overwhelming it is hard to see a way out. How can we possibly hope to overcome so much darkness and pain? We certainly can’t on our own. And frankly, it rarely looks like God is doing much to restrain evil. My faulty perception, I’m sure. But facing the darkness while still cultivating hope is hard work.

That's why my favorite liturgical seasons are Advent and Lent, the penitential times before Christmas and Easter. Every year they remind me that I am neither the first nor the last to long for rescue.

In our Anglican parish, the Sunday Advent liturgy gives thanks to God,

Because you sent your beloved Son to redeem us from sin and death, and to make us heirs in him of everlasting life; that when he shall come again in power and great triumph to judge the world, we may without shame or fear rejoice to behold his appearing.

I grew up in churches that taught salvation as a singular individual event: once saved, you are delivered from the punishment for your sins. The wages of sin is death. Salvation, as it were, inoculates against hell.

In January a friend—one of the sufferers of chronic, debilitating illness—reminded me how incomplete this view is. We had heard a horrific story about a college student who committed suicide. He had grown up in an abusive family and he felt trapped by a darkness so oppressive that he called it “he” and “him.”

The presence of such darkness caused my hair to stand on end just reading about it. It caused one man to decide death was preferable to living with it. And that is another of the ways, my friend pointed out, that the wages of sin is death—sin calls down death on more than the sinner. The consequences grab on to everyone around the sinner with long, strong fingers that hold and crush and tear.

We need redemption from that kind of sin and death, too. The walking wounded are all around us—they are us. The perpetrators are, too.

But like people at a party, the gaze isn’t one-directional. I can’t search out the world’s sufferings for long before the sufferings search me out. As an introvert I have a tendency to live inside myself, and there are some dark places in here. “The heart is deceitful above all things,” says Jeremiah, “and desperately wicked: who can know it?”

Just as I have been graced with gratitude, I have come to recognize as grace the times when I recognize that I’m not only wounded and afraid: I am also a perpetrator and ashamed. I know Jesus loves me, and the Spirit is at work in my life to transform me. I’m not yet out of the murk. It’s still too easy for me to display selfishness, contempt, and arrogance, to wound—casually—the people around me, the neighbors I should be loving.

So it is a double rescue I long for: the rescue of the world from suffering and the rescue of myself from my own desperate heart.

Even in the dark—the dark outside and the darkness within—I grit my teeth and hold on to that hope. Especially in the dark.

Without shame or fear, we will rejoice to behold his appearing.

A Quiet Hope: Liminality

2011-11-29T03:00:00.000-08:00

This is the second guest post in "A Quiet Hope," the first week of our season-long series called A Quiet Advent.

About the author: Christy McDougall describes herself as a 30-year-old female Pentecostal introvert from Montana. She has graduate degrees in theology and plans to teach continuing education to pastors and missionaries in Europe.

My memories of Advent from my childhood involve being given Advent calendars with chocolates behind each of the little doors by my Catholic relatives and being terribly excited about opening each day’s little door. That is the extent of my exposure to Advent for nearly thirty years. Though I was raised in a Christian home, we were Pentecostal and didn’t celebrate the Christian Year, except for the normal Christmas and Easter. As an adult, I simply didn’t think of it, because it wasn’t part of my culture.

Until two years ago, that is, when I read a short editorial about it in the Religion section of the Sunday paper, and suddenly Advent took on a great deal of significance. The very theological concept of it intrigued and excited me, because theological concepts do intrigue and excite me. My soul is enlivened when my mind is stimulated by some lovely theological idea, and the idea of Advent certainly did that. But it’s also become significant over the last two years because of the current situation I find myself in, a kind of perpetual Advent.

Advent is a state of waiting. It’s a short amount of time that symbolizes the whole history of the Jews waiting for their Messiah, the whole longing of creation for a Redeemer. This is the time where we sit back and wait as if we were old Anna and old Simeon, recognizing God’s promises that He is going to change everything for the better and yet not seeing how or when. The Jews waited for thousands of years, and we Christians join them during Advent in waiting for Christ, the Messiah, to be born and turn the world right-side-up again.

Advent is a state of liminality, and that is where I find myself these days. Liminality is a term used in anthropology to describe a state of in-between-ness, and I have in a way reframed it to my own context. To me it means the state of waiting between the promise and the fulfillment, the period of time that stretches out for seemingly eternity while you wait for something to happen. It’s Christmas Eve night when you were a child and couldn’t sleep all night for anticipation of the next day. It’s sitting in the hospital waiting to find out whether your loved one is going to make it or not. It’s the time of numbness between a death and the funeral, of waiting backstage for your cue to go on, so nervous you think you’ll throw up, of the hundreds of years between Isaiah prophesying that the virgin would conceive a son and name him God With Us and the time when Jesus was actually born. It’s Christians for the last two thousand years saying, “Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus” and not yet seeing it. It’s me, stuck between a call to missions and that undefined, tantalizing time in the future when I will be financially in the position to go do it.

Tantalizing, aggravating, frustrating…just waiting. Waiting and hoping. It’s a time for hope, this liminality, and for trust. Liminality gives us room to learn a quiet trust in our Father, who is not slow in keeping His promises. Isaiah, the prophet we quote most when it comes to Christmas, says, “You shall triumph by stillness and quiet; your victory shall come about through calm and confidence” (Isaiah 30:15, Jewish Publication Society version). We’ve been given promises by the God whose nature we trust; I’ve been given a call to missions by a God who has never broken faith with me. I think of this little piece of Hebrews, in between two verses: “Yet at present we do not see everything subject to him. But we see Jesus…” (Hebrews 2:8c-9a). We see what God has already done, and that gives us room to grow in faith, hoping for a promised future we cannot yet see.

I am in a state of liminality, and Advent reminds me to hope that more is coming.

A Quiet Hope: Hopefully Waiting

2011-11-28T03:00:00.000-08:00

This post is the first guest post in "A Quiet Hope," which is the first week of our season-long series called A Quiet Advent.

About the author:

Melanie Springer Mock is a Professor of English at George Fox University, Newberg, Oregon. Her essays and reviews have appeared in Christian Feminism Today, The Oregonian, The Chronicle of Higher Education, and Mennonite Weekly Review, among other places. Her most recent book is Just Moms: Conveying Justice in an Unjust World, published this year. She blogs about (and deconstructs) images of women embedded in evangelical popular culture at Ain’t I a Woman?

The story in Luke 1, narrating the angel’s announcement of Jesus’ birth to Mary, begins the Advent season of waiting. As we wait, we recognize as well our need for God to rescue us from what enslaves us. The angel’s announcement to Mary brings hope and expectation into that need and reaches across the dark December days until the celebration of Christ’s birth.

Before I had children, I thought I understood what such hope and expectation and waiting meant. That is, until we adopted Samuel Saurabh—my second son, who made me wait two years to meet him.

Two years after we adopted our first son, Benjamin, we saw a picture of Saurabh, staring at us mournfully on an agency waitlist, wearing an orange t-shirt. This, we knew immediately, was our son. Sixteen months old. Barely standing. A troubling medical history. A cerebral palsy diagnosis. But. Still. We said yes to Saurabh in India, and began to wait.

Our agency promised six to eight months until traveling—a length of time I felt bearable, but only barely. Eight months slipped into a year because of agency error, orphanage problems, the Indian government. A million times and more, I replayed the three-minute video of a son I hadn’t met, mourning a year together we did not have. Watching that video became an incantation of sorts, a ritual of prayer. Please God, be with that boy there, the one kicking the ball, and hitting his friend, and hamming for the camera. Please make something happen so that we might know our son.

Not my will, but yours, I wanted to add. But could not.

Several more months passed.

Finally, news: our adoption had cleared its first Indian hurdle, and the process could grind forward. Then that summer, in 2005, our wait for Saurabh was delayed, again and again: first, by a month-long closure of the Indian courts that made hearing our case impossible; and then, only days before we were to travel, a record-breaking monsoon in Mumbai cancelled our trip. But also killed thousands, leaving even more homeless.

Please God, I prayed through disappointment, give me perspective.

And then, 20 months after first seeing Saurabh’s picture, over two years after signing with an agency, our longest wait was over. We first held Saurabh on a sultry Mumbai morning, though it was immediately clear our son had not been waiting for us. Saurabh spent his last morning at the orphanage sobbing, wiggling out of my arms, crying for his caretakers to save him from the big white folks who had come to take him away.

During our two year wait, people kept telling me the moment I held my son, I would immediately forget the deep sorrow that accompanied our yearning for Samuel, the sense that time was passing—that our son was growing older—without us. Yet our wait was so long, and so painful, so filled with anxiety and mystery and sadness, I knew I would not forget, even as I cradled my boy for the first time. This expanse without Samuel would be part of his own life story, and part our family’s story as well.

On Christmas Eve, shortly after Samuel’s arrival home, we took the boys to our church’s candlelight service. The children’s pastor stopped us at the door, wondering if we could help her. A little later, as I watched from the balcony, Ron walked down the center aisle of the crowded church, holding hands with each son. Benjamin skipped and Samuel ran beside him, trying to keep up with Ron’s long stride. At the crèche, Ron and our sons situated wise man statues next to the manger, the whole nativity made askew by my sons’ small hands.

And there the holy family stood with shepherds and kings and donkeys—seeming a little crazed, a little off center—waiting for their world to be transformed.

After placing the figurines in the nativity, Samuel climbed on my lap and nested against my chest. He sat silently for the remaining service, listening to scripture, humming along to carols. When the homily finally ended, Sam cupped his hand in mine to receive a lighted candle from his father. Sam’s brown eyes glinted bright in the flame, witness to this ritual of fire in church and of light glowing in the darkened sanctuary. As I sang “Silent Night” into the nape of Sam’s neck, I sighed at the miracle of my newest son.

Our waiting was over.

A Counter-Cultural Quiet in Advent

2011-11-27T03:00:00.000-08:00

For some people, the Advent season on the church calendar is one of the most anticipated times of the year. For some, there is no other time in which their love of God is stronger, there is no other time in which they are more aware of God's mercy in their lives and in the world, there is no other time in which their hearts go out to others with such affection, and there is no other time in which their joy is more profound.

I am not one of those people.

For me this time of year has always been a spiritually dry time. There is a line in a Counting Crows song that says "You can see a million miles tonight, but you can't get very far." That is my experience during this season. Every year I anticipate it with everyone else, hoping that this year will be different. Maybe this year the earth-shattering experience of God will take place, and I'll be able to take in the seismic joy that should result from the knowledge that God entered the course of human history to reclaim it as his own. But by December 26th, I'm left with disappointment, another year of not getting very far.

I experience a deep division within myself during Advent. My inner world stirs with longings for deep experiences of grace, for moments of pregnant silence, for times of candlelit reflections on the fullness of deity wrapped in a child. But my outer world is harassed by the rampant activity, the hurried crowds, and the consumeristic clutter of the season.

I think my personal division reflects a broader cultural division. I'm willing to suspend my cultural cynicism for a moment and speculate that at the root of American consumer Christmas is a deep-seated desire for meaning. I may be way off on this, but I suspect the decorations, the music, the saturated social calendars, the capitalistic flurry, and the caloric overload are attempts at finding something true, something significant. Hopes for discovering community and transcendence. There is a neighborhood near my own that puts on an unbelievable show of lights, music, and decorations for the weeks leading up to Christmas. Cars line up for blocks to meander through the illuminated streets and residents sit in their driveways around firepits and chat with the passersby. Aside from laying a carbon footprint likely visible from outer space, it is a powerful display of community spirit.

The problem, I think, is that our culture doesn't know how to truly celebrate. Overconsumption and overstimulation are the only ways we know how to mark a special occasion. Even though most of us implicitly know it doesn't work and that we're going to wake up with a hangover, it's all we know how to do. When there is a significant event, we commemorate it by scurrying around, spending absurd amounts of money, gathering a crowd, and turning up the volume. If we're not weighed down by anxiety and insomnia, then it must not be a very important occasion. Our holiday "celebrations" therefore seem destined to only get bigger and bigger, because we have built up such a tolerance.

Many of us in the church live in the tension of this religious and cultural ambivalence. Our Christmas Eves are often a confusing recipe of ingredients like these: the onslaught of relatives, massive food preparation, stressful and boisterous dinners, hurrying everyone into the car, attending a hot, packed Christmas Eve worship service in which we light candles, and sing lyrics like:

Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon Virgin Mother and Child
Holy Infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace

Then we rush home, hustle the kids into bed so we can finish wrapping gifts and stuffing stockings, because they'll be up in five hours. Sleep in heavenly peace indeed.

I was originally asked to write about this topic because I have written a book about Christian introverts, those in the church who prefer a quieter, slower, more contemplative lifestyle and who, for those reasons, often find themselves on the fringes both of the culture and of Christian community. I saw a blog post recently that called January 2nd "Happy Introverts Day" because of the notorious nature of the holiday season for those of us who find social interaction tiring and sometimes stressful. But the truth is that the need for a quieter, less cluttered, more reflective Advent season is not restricted to introverts. The clatter of the holidays has caused people of all temperaments to turn from the inner places of our souls, contributing to the superficiality of our spiritual practice during this season. We need to find a new way to celebrate.

In the early centuries of the Church, celebrating Christmas was a counter-cultural activity. It's unclear whether the church fathers chose December 25th to co-opt the already entrenched pagan festival of the Unconquered Sun, or whether the pagan holiday was established to rival the Church's celebration of the birth of Christ. What is clear is that Christmas was a subversive event, providing an alternative to the mainstream culture's celebration.

In our world, quiet is counter-cultural. I'm not only referring to quiet on the outside, but also quiet on the inside. In fact, it may be easier to shut out the external voices than it is to silence the internal noise. It's often those inner voices, especially the unacknowledged ones, that compel us to fill our lives with movement and agendas and spending and eating. Our behaviors and hurry are echoes of our inner doubts about our worth. Sadly, in many ways the nature of our holiday celebrations reveal how incompletely we have embraced the actual message of Christmas.

In contrast to the dizzying nature of our cultural celebrations, the biblical narratives about Jesus' birth speak in hushed tones about simple, unsophisticated scenes. The baby of prophecy, the King of kings, is born in a quiet town in an inconsequential region to unremarkable people and placed in a trough in a barn. Yet by the grace of God this spot becomes the center of the universe, the matrix of hope and redemption and salvation. The quiet, ordinary place becomes the beginning of the dramatic climax of the great Story. The birth of Jesus incarnates the promise that we are not alone and that we are loved beyond measure, recipients of a love that brings peace and stillness to our souls.

The birth of a child is both a time of poignant gratitude and a time of quiet anticipation. I remember how friends of mine described the day they brought their first child home from the hospital. They placed him in his crib, in the room they had been preparing for months, and watched him sleep. For hours they sat in contented silence. My friend said, "It was unlike any other moment in my life. It was the greatest moment of love we'd ever experienced, more intimate than even our wedding night. There was nothing else in the world we needed that day -- we had everything." Yet he also said that as he looked into his son's eyes, he was full of anticipation. Who will my son be? What will he do in his life? Who will he marry? What will be his gifts, his calling? Like Mary the mother of Jesus, my friends stored up these things in their hearts and silently wondered who their child would become.

Advent is not only a season of reflection on events past. It is a season of quiet hope, as we await the second advent of our Lord Jesus, who will come and complete his reclamation project. Our celebration during this time of year is necessarily incomplete. In this season we must prepare small, quiet places in our individual souls and in our communities, still longing and waiting for the fulfillment of Jesus' work and the rebirth of creation.

I'm still struggling with Advent, still reaching for something that I haven't found yet. I do know that if there is any chance for deep experiences of God's grace and love in this season, we need to open spaces for hope and attentiveness in our hearts. We can't compel God to move, but we can clear away what distracts us from hearing his gentle voice. We can reduce the external clutter of the season by simplifying our celebration. We can slowly savor the biblical prophecies of the coming of the Messiah and the narratives about Jesus' birth. We can devote time to silence and solitude as well as to corporate celebration. We can learn to say "no" when we find ourselves spinning from all the invitations and seasonal stimuli. We can listen to the voices of people who are not often heard over the cultural shouting -- the poor, the hungry, the suffering around the world. We can prepare a quiet place for God to renew his love and rebirth his hope in us.

Preparing for Advent

2011-11-26T12:10:00.000-08:00

Today we are preparing for the season of Advent in the church, and here on the blog we are preparing for a promising series entitled "A Quiet Advent." Tomorrow I will post an article of mine that will kick off the series, and then each Sunday I will write a reflection on the Advent theme of the week. During the week we will hear from guest bloggers who are reflecting on Advent and what it would mean to celebrate this season in a quiet way. It will break down like this:

11/26-12/3 A Quiet Hope
12/4-12/10 A Quiet Love
12/11-12/17 A Quiet Joy
12/18-12/24 A Quiet Peace

For today, my good friend Mark Roberts poses these questions for us in his excellent ebook introduction to Advent, "Discovering Advent: How to Experience the Power of Waiting on God at Christmastime"

Might it be a good thing for you to set aside a special time in the year to focus more on God so that you might grow in your relationship with him?

Might it be good for you to get in touch with just how much you need a Savior? Would it helpful for you to learn to wait on the Lord more consistently and faithfully? Would it be helpful to remember your hope in God and to be refreshed in that hope?

Might it be a valuable thing in your life to prepare yourself for a deeper celebration of the coming of Christ at Christmas? Would you like to experience more of God’s peace and presence during the hectic weeks prior to Christmas? Would your faith be enriched if you were to read, study, and meditate on biblical texts that speak of the first and second “advents” of Christ?

I don't know about you, but Mark's questions stir up a longing in me to go deep with the Lord during this season. The Savior is coming, and let's meet him, even amidst the clamor of the cultural celebration, in the quiet of our hearts.

I commend Mark's book to you (only $3!), whether you are new to Advent or would like a refresher. If you don't know Mark, he is a remarkable combination of pastor, scholar, and devotional writer. And he's an introvert too.

Today we will prepare our hearts for Advent, and then tomorrow we will start preparing for the coming of Christ.

The Pastor's Fantasy Job

2011-11-21T15:58:00.000-08:00

It seems like every pastor I know has a fantasy scenario for what they would do if they weren't a pastor. "Fantasy" might not even be the right word for it, because the jobs they envision sound far from fantastic. My chaplain friend Jason wants to get a job at Costco. My pastor friend Kirk dreams of selling shoes at Nordstrom. I know another guy who wants to be an accountant. Me? I want to work at a winery.

What do these less-than-fantasy jobs have in common? They require little intellectual or emotional expenditure. Jason says that he just wants to be somewhere where he doesn't have to enter into someone's pain everyday and listen intently. Kirk wants a job where he doesn't have to think and yet can make decent money. I want to retreat into the back of a barrel room and never be heard from again.

If you were to really press us about how happy we would be in that job, we would probably admit we would make it about a month before we were miserable. But that first month would be sweeeet. I think that people who do not work in helping professions (not a criticism) have a hard time understanding just how exhausting and painful it can be for those of us who do. Sometimes it feels like we never get to leave this raw, emotional place, where there are more questions than answers (if we're good at our jobs) and where hope, faith, and love seem quieter than pain. When that happens over a long period of time, we get what's called "compassion fatigue," which is a condition marked by deep sadness, lethargy, and callousness. Compassion fatigue is a inevitable by-product of our work, and it strikes all of us from time to time.

I would never advise anyone to make a career or a big life decision in a time of compassion fatigue. The Ignatian word for compassion fatigue is "desolation" and the spiritual masters always caution against changing courses while in desolation. That period of desolation could become a lot longer if you did find yourself selling shoes at Nordstrom.

The fact that pastors all have their fantasy jobs locked and loaded might point to a few ideas for caring for ourselves in ministry:

1. Take regular vacations, and when you do get away from all communications with church members. Also, set yourself up for success on vacation. For example, don't vacation with people who regularly create more tension in your life than peace.

2. Seek counseling or spiritual direction. You need people who will pour into you, who will be present with you regularly who do not seek anything from you.

3. Find things in your life that are mindless. Find the Costco job of your mind. Vacuum every square inch of the house. Take naps. Take your mindless dog for a walk. See how many times you can bang your head against the wall before it really starts to hurt.

4. Do things that aren't ministry. There is more to you than being a pastor. No, seriously, there is more to you than being a pastor. Put yourself in a place where people don't look to you as a pastor, and don't even care that you are one.

Pastors, what is your mindless fantasy job? What do you think it says about you and your ministry?

Introvert Saturday: Grace in the Silence

2011-11-19T03:00:00.000-08:00

About the author: Sarah Markley is a mother, a wife, and a believer in radical grace. She is a writer and speaker and lives in Southern California. She is a monthly staff writer for Dayspring's (in)courage and for A Deeper Story and especially loves to shake things up once in a while at People of the Second Chance.

I seem to have good thoughts at 35,000 feet. Even in the midst of absolute exhaustion.

I have flown on three different planes today and aside from the flight attendant who told me I looked like someone in a recent movie (but-I-don’t-know-which-one) I haven’t had a single conversation with one single person.

22C seems like an oasis for me. I’ve made my final connection and I’m actually really truly on my way home. I’m working my way home from a conference where for the past 4 days I’ve been surrounded by 250 other women, some of whom are extroverts and some who are introverts pretending to be extroverts (like me) and with that as a context, I plop down in my seat.

I’m tired. Like really tired.

I’m not tired from my 4am wakeup call (although that and a lack of proper caffeine can have something to do with it). And not even tired from my dashes through both Washington Dulles and Chicago O’Hare because the airline-who-shall-remain-nameless rebooked my flights on a bad weather weekend forty-five minutes apart with no time to use the bathroom, grab the much needed cuppa or even find a suitable meal.

It was from the time I spent with people.

I love people. I do. One of my favorite things in the world, besides cuddling my daughters or sharing a glass of wine with my husband after the girls have gone to bed, is to sit across the Starbucks table from people like you. I love to laugh, to eat dark chocolate and to engage in smart female conversation with the friends of mine who help to rub off my rough edges and make me a better woman. And to be honest, the women I met this last week are among some of the most amazing i have ever met.

However, that defined, people also exhaust me.

And now, as I am in the middle of this once in a lifetime collection of people with stories and families and lives and jobs, and we are all traveling southwest headed for home (at least for me), I am so tired that I don’t want to talk to a single one of them.

Without reservation, despite recent trepidation and not counting the 7-plus minutes it took a friend and me to shove ice and snow off of the windshield of my rental car using only a DVD case and a credit card, I loved every single minute of last week.

But right now I bury my face in my kindle and now monopolize my fingers on the keyboard because I really just need to be alone. I need to focus on the hugs and squeals that will come from my girls and the life that they can give me with their laughter and their drawings and their skinny arms around my neck. I need the life that my husband can offer with his strong arm pulling my suitcase for me as I arrive to my own family in my own car. I need the life that I can only get when I sit in silence.

Home makes me ME again only because I feel as if I have given so much I no longer have anything of my own left. Maybe that makes me weak. Or maybe that makes me honest. I’m not sure.

So I sit, surrounded by people in seats all facing the same way and I have decided to release myself from making conversation to 22B.

I am giving myself the grace to be silent.

Which is also the grace not to always speak up and not to always know what to say. It is the grace to be okay with shutting my mouth and receiving that life that both silence and solitude brings.

We often forget that not only is it okay to be quiet, but sometimes it is right and good. And for me, it might be the only way to find an oasis in a sea of people.

Do people energize you or exhaust you? Do you ever give yourself the grace to be silent?

Meals That Change Your Life

2011-11-15T12:15:00.000-08:00

Some meals can change your life. Every Thanksgiving I find myself reflecting on how significant the act of eating is to our lives and even how central it is to our faith. Sometimes it seems odd that we celebrate a holiday that centers on a meal, but then I remember how many unforgettable scenes in the Bible revolve around the table—Moses and the elders eating in the presence of the Lord on Mount Sinai, Peter shocking the Jewish world by eating with the Gentile Cornelius and, of course, Jesus presiding at the Last Supper as the head of His new family, a sacramental meal replicated countless times throughout the ages.

The meal that changed my life featured an oversized helping of pre-packaged lasagna. Truth be told, I don’t like lasagna. But 15 years ago, lasagna became for me the very embodiment of hospitality, to the point that I can’t see a piece of lasagna without being taken back to that meal.

It was three weeks before the start of my junior year in college, and I was spending the summer in Los Angeles. I had joined a team of students who were living at an African-American church in a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood. My teammates were Korean and Indian, and I was the only white person for miles in every direction. It was my first real experience of cultural displacement, light years away from anything that felt like home, and I had often felt like I was drowning in multicultural confusion.

It is incredible that I associate that time with hospitality, not only for personal reasons, but also because the history of the interaction between the church and the neighborhood was marked by an unfortunate lack of hospitality. Fifty years earlier the neighborhood and the church had been predominantly white, but an influx of African-Americans led to what’s called "white flight," with the bulk of the residents moving north. The church became a black church, with only a handful of white families commuting on Sunday mornings. Two decades later, there was an Hispanic migration into the same neighborhood, and the resultant "black flight" affected everything but the church. The church remained almost exclusively black.

There was little to no relationship between the church and its neighbors. Crime and suspicion were high, which I learned firsthand the time I set off the alarm in the church sanctuary and found myself at center stage in a police helicopter searchlight. Our team was asked to help facilitate relationships between church members and the surrounding residents. As you might imagine, four college students from a local liberal arts college were not terribly effective at bridging the divide.

After a largely unsuccessful summer, full of team conflict and lukewarm relationships with church members, I lived by myself at the church for two weeks. I was sleeping on a shabby couch that was eight inches too short, sweating through 85 degree nights with no air conditioning. I couldn’t open the windows because of the crime risk, and when I turned on the lights cockroaches would scatter, leading to many sleepless hours imagining I felt them crawling on me. I was just learning how to cook, and most of my meals involved some combination of pasta, red sauce, beans, crumbling tortillas and overripe tomatoes.

Needless to say, when Stephen invited me to dinner at his house, I greedily accepted. Stephen was a pastor working part-time at the church while attending seminary. He was from Kenya, and he had moved to the United States for his theological education, bringing his wife and two children with him. He was joyful and affable, with a deep, contagious laugh, just like every other Kenyan person I have ever met.

I anticipated that dinner for several days. Stephen picked me up from the church, and my hopes for a home-cooked meal in a comfortable, climate-controlled setting were high. But my spirits fell when we stopped at a budget grocery store on the way to his house, and he bought a large pre-packaged lasagna and salad-in-a-bag. To be honest, I felt angry. This is what he is going to serve? He knows I’ve been eating horribly all summer and that I’ve lost about 15 pounds. He knows I’m living alone in a sparse, uncomfortable setting, and he can’t even cook something from scratch? I don’t even like lasagna!

We arrived at his simple apartment—with no air conditioning—and I sat down at his rickety kitchen table while Stephen cooked the lasagna. When it finished baking, he cut me the largest piece I’ve ever seen. Plate-sized is an understatement, since its juicy corners were dripping over the edges. But he only cut a bite-sized piece for himself, as small as mine was big. He explained he had eaten a big lunch.

I didn’t think anything more of it as I dove into my piece, my distaste for lasagna temporarily overwhelmed by my ravenous, 20-year-old hunger. During the meal, while picking at his food, Stephen asked me about my family, my major, my friends and my future plans. I remember how genuinely interested he was in my life and how he encouraged me to consider seminary.

Halfway through dinner, his wife crashed through the front door, in tears, and immediately retreated to the bedroom. After returning from comforting her, Stephen explained that she had started a telemarketing job that morning but had been fired after just a few hours because no one could understand her thick accent. This was the third job she had lost in a month.

Later, after she recovered, she came out into the living room and we shared a wonderful conversation, with much laughter. Some of their missionary friends stopped by, and they all told stories, from their narrow escapes from thieves in the middle of the night to Stephen’s tale of praying for a wife and then meeting her two days later. I lingered as long as I could that night, relishing those hours of feeling at home.

Looking back on that night, I am astonished at how long it took me to put all the pieces together about that meal and about their situation. It wasn’t until I was in seminary, three years later, that I realized the full truth. That store-bought lasagna, the one I complained about, was their family’s food ration for the entire week. Two adults and two children, living on a part-time income and meager savings, were going to eat what was left for the next six days. Stephen had served me an overflowing portion of something he couldn’t afford to give.

A life-changing meal is not defined by what you eat, but by whom you eat it with. Tax collectors and prostitutes ate meals with Jesus the Messiah and received acceptance, Gentiles ate meals with the apostles and gained salvation, and I, a self-absorbed, naïve, entitled college kid ate a meal with a Kenyan pastor and his wife and received a gift of extravagant, sacrificial hospitality.

Stephen and his family still live in the area. I think it’s time I buy some lasagna.

This article originally appeared on RELEVANT magazine online.

Introvert Saturday: Sunday Mornings Are Draining, but They’re Worth It

2011-11-12T03:00:00.000-08:00

About the author: Ryan Haack is a husband, father, writer and the Associate Pastor at The Journey Community in Madison, WI. He has created more blogs than one person ever should, which you can read at RyanHaack.com. You can also follow him on Twitter @RyanHaack.

Sunday mornings are exhausting for an introverted pastor. I know, because I am one. The expectation is that we’ll be outgoing, incredible conversationalists and energized by visitors. That isn’t naturally true for me. When visitors arrive, I tend to walk the other way. It’s not because I don’t like them, though. It’s because I’m nervous. And I’m terrible at small-talk. Even with friends. Even good friends. So, even when I “escape” to them it can stress me out. I start to worry that I’m offending the people I’m not talking to or that I’m dominating the one conversation I am having. Then I end up going to the bathroom or taking a walk just to settle down.It sounds totally crazy, right? That a pastor would have such issues with their “biggest morning of the week.”

Here’s the deal, though: For as nervous and uncomfortable as it makes me, I do it every week because it’s worth it. It’s absolutely worth it. It’s frustrating because I love people. I love Jesus and I want to share him with people who don’t know him. It bothers me to no end that my introversion gets in the way of that so often. Sunday mornings, then, have to become a time where I “become extroverted” for a little while. Taking five minutes to sit at a table of strangers and ask them about themselves is not going to kill me. Shaking the hand of a visitor and telling them I’m glad they’re here isn’t going to, either. It’s not always easy, but I can do it.

My friend George, on the other hand, is the epitome of all things that are good about extroversion. If you come to our church, you will not escape the kind and joyful arms of George. Literally. He will hug you. He will also ask you about yourself and will be genuinely interested in your response. He will also ask you how you are doing and really want to know. A couple years ago this caused friction between George and me. He was not willing to accept my “I’m fine” response; he wanted a real answer from me. “George! Seriously! I’m FINE. Just accept that! Sometimes people are just ‘fine,’” I said. Ok, I didn’t really just say it. At the time, I don’t think I understood how my introversion affected me, so instead of having a good conversation with George, I lashed out defensively. Thankfully, we worked through that and now serve on our elder team together. I’m not good at a lot of the things George, as an extrovert, excels at. I’m so thankful for him. He’s an excellent example for me.

I know I make it sound like I’m miserable on Sunday mornings. That’s not the case. There really is no place I’d rather be. I love the people in my community, and the leaders I get to work with are inspiring. Please hear that. And even though my introversion can make Sunday mornings exhausting, it can also make them incredibly powerful. As I walk around, I’m looking, and listening. I’m noticing who’s there and who’s missing. I’m watching people interact and hearing tidbits of conversations. I see smiles and frowns. It’s incredibly fulfilling to notice when someone seems “off” and to ask them how they’re doing and really look into their eyes, awaiting their response. And I love hugs. A hug says a lot of things an introvert might fumble through if they tried to actually say it.

One of my favorite things to do, though, on a Sunday morning is to just sit and be thankful. To look around at all the amazing people I get to call my friends and thank God for them. To be amazed by the kindness and love the people in my community show each other. And to be humbled by it all.

Ultimately, Sunday mornings are not about me anyway. They are about Jesus. All I can do is be there and do my best to serve Him and love others. And I’ll continue to do so, no matter what.

-----
If you want to read more about introversion, leadership, and those people who get tired on Sunday mornings, check out Adam's book Introverts in the Church.

Advent is coming up

2011-11-11T14:53:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago I sent out a call to guest bloggers to write for my series "A Quiet Advent," starting on the first Sunday of Advent (November 27th). The response has been great, but I could use a few more guest posts. I am especially looking for posts on A Quiet Love and A Quiet Peace, and I would also accept a post on A Quiet Joy. No more Quiet Hope though! We don't want to be overly hopeful during Advent. After all, January is coming.

Here's the post on the series:

A Quiet Advent

If you're interested email me at adamsmchugh at gmail dot com.

This is going to be an awesome series. Can't wait!

Why Christian Books are Boring

2011-11-10T14:13:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago I dreamed about pioneering a new genre of Christian literature, which I'm calling "nightstand theology." I'm in the midst of writing my second book, which I'm trying to convince InterVarsity Press to call The Listening Life. Mark your calendars for fall 2013, when the book will drop like a bomb on the Christian world. Or, more likely, like an anvil on Wily Coyote's head after he missed the Road Runner, again.

One of my points in that previous post was that many Christian books are well, boring. I even get bored with my own writing. To elaborate on that point, I think one of the reasons reading Christian books can be heavy slogging is because many authors feel the need to reassure people that they fall within the historic orthodox faith. They do that by saying the same things over and over. It feels like you can't write even a single chapter without mentioning the cross and sin and salvation through Jesus and the authority of the Bible and the sovereignty of God and the Trinity and the bodily resurrection and the eschaton. It always feel like you have to get all Nicene Creed on everyone. And so Christian books gets repetitive and wooden and formulaic.

I heard N.T. Wright lament that every time he gives a lecture, several people come to him and ask him questions about what he didn't address. If he didn't talk about the resurrection, people will say "Are you saying you don't believe in the resurrection?" And so on with the Trinity and the virgin birth and the judgement, and so on and so on. Dallas Willard once said, at the beginning of a talk, "As usual, if I spent all my time saying what I'm not saying, I wouldn't actually say anything at all."

I am feeling this pressure as I am writing my current chapter, on listening to God. I'm trying to write no more than 20 pages on this subject, but I fear that if I don't qualify everything and wrap up everything up neatly into a little orthodox package, then I will be nailed for it. I think too many Christian authors are writing out of fear of being labeled a heretic, which not only makes for a bad writing process but also makes for a lot of unnecessary books. If you are just repeating what you have read 5,000 times, then why are you writing a new book?

Many authors who aren't Christians don't feel this pressure and I think feel more freedom to push thresholds and to share genuine insight, even if it doesn't match up with what has come before. That is why it is so refreshing for me to read non-Christian literature and why it can be so boring for me to read Christian books. I am convinced that if I want to write a genuinely interesting, truly different sort of book that I need to let go of this pressure to constantly remind people that I'm not a heretic.

Contemplatives

2011-11-08T16:14:00.000-08:00

It's strange to the think that two years ago, when my book was published, people were using the term "emerging church" pretty regularly. My friend Jim Belcher's book, Deep Church, had just been released, seemingly initiating a new conversation between the emerging faction and the neo-Reformed community. That conversation didn't last as long as I had hoped. The term emerging, at one time, connoted a broad swath of the church, but nowadays, the word has largely disappeared, and the community that still employs it seems to fit into one particular wing of the church.

It seems that the emerging church has fully emerged, or more accurately, diverged. The river has branched into a number of streams that flow in different directions. Some have taken the conversation further and continue to push the thresholds of the modernist understanding of truth. Some grew disenchanted and returned to classical evangelicalism or went deeper into the Reformed tradition. Others have focused on the missional aspect of the church's calling.

I haven't heard anyone else articulate this (though I would guess that others have), but I think there is another community birthed by the emerging church, one that I fall into: the contemplatives. The main reason I am so grateful for the emerging church is because it re-introduced the ancient spiritual disciplines into the evangelical church. The candles and the darkness and the tapestries and the trappings of spirituality may have become a little cliched, but the emerging church introduced a generation of evangelicals to contemplation. We learned something that monastics and Catholics and Orthodox believers have known for centuries: preaching and talking and words are not the only ways to connect to God. We learned that we can meet God in silence and wordless communication, that the "sound of sheer silence" that woke up Elijah to God's presence in his midst, is not empty but intimately full.

A common accusation leveled against contemplatives is that we are passive and alienated from the real world. Ronald Rolheiser in The Shattered Lantern said that contemplation, however, is about "waking up" to what is truly happening, to all the spiritual realities that fill our lives. It's about respecting each moment for all that it has to offer, not only focusing on the visible but on the invisible, listening for the unspoken realities of God.

Would you consider yourself a "contemplative"? What is attractive to you about the contemplative life? Where do you get tripped up?

I Know Where the Wild Things Are

2011-11-04T12:19:00.000-07:00

Henri Nouwen couldn't sit still.

One of the great spiritual masters of the 20th century, one of my heroes, the writer who has illuminated the spiritual life for millions of people, couldn't sit through a sermon without tapping his foot and squirming in his seat. He once described the noise of our inner life as akin to monkeys jumping around in trees, and I'm willing to bet that he was primarily describing his inner life. He also said that in order to profit from our internal worlds we must be willing to go into our room, close the door, sit in silence, and wait for the pounding of beasts on the door to stop. Richard Rohr observes that when the Spirit thrust Jesus into the isolation of the desert, the first thing to show up were the wild beasts.

One of the problems of being a writer is that we live in the world of the wild beasts. The wilderness has become our zoo. There are days and weeks when we not only can't bear the incessant pounding on the door, but we invite the beasts in and make them tea.

For me, the beasts usually take the form of accusing questions, and the hairy one that shows up the most is this: "Who are YOU to write this?" Who do you think you are, addressing a topic that is way over your head? Who are you to write at all? What do you have to share with the world?

For a while I had no answer, which guaranteed one thing: procrastination. I realized a few years ago that I procrastinate out of fear of failure. When I'm finding a hundred other things I could do besides working, it means I'm afraid that when I sit down at my laptop that I will have nothing worthwhile to say. At least if I procrastinate then I don't have to face that reality, and better, if I do write something and people don't like it, then I can excuse it by saying I didn't spend that much time on it.

At other times I have responded boldly to the demon-beast of rhetorical questions. I have slapped him with my qualifications, my talent, my education, my past successes. And for a while he would retreat back into the woods and I would get some writing done.

When I was writing Introverts in the Church, and the interrogation beast would come and snarl "Who are YOU to write a book about introversion? You don't have a degree in psychology. You're not a professor. And, for that matter, who are you to write a book about the church? You just got out of seminary 6 years ago, and you've been ordained for 3 years. What do you know?" And I would retort, "I went to good schools and I'm smart and I have insight that others don't have! I have lots of ministry experience! People tell me I'm a good writer!"

But I never won that argument. The beast would come back with some sharp-teethed friends and overpower me. I tried to convince myself that I was the only one who could write that book, but I, and he, knew that I was lying.

There has only been one answer I have ever given that has kept the beast at bay. I had to admit that yes, there are people out there who are more qualified than I am to write this book. There are people who have more insight into the topic and who know more than I do. There are people who could write a better book than I will. That is all true. But I am the one who is writing it. I am the one who is getting up every morning and writing for 4-6 hours. I am the one glued to my desk chair pounding out junk.

After the book was released, I encountered at least 50 people who said they had often thought about writing a similar book, but they never got around to it. Some had even started it but never finished it. And I don't doubt that some of them could have written a better book than I did. But do you know what the difference between a writer and a non-writer is? Writers write. We put in the work. We do the sweating and the bleeding and the crying and the demon-battling.

Do you want to be a writer? Then write. A musician? Then play. An artist? Then create. A leader? Then lead .

The beast can't tell you you're not a writer when you shove a manuscript in his face.

Introvert Saturday: The World-Traveling Introvert

2011-10-29T10:01:00.000-07:00

About the author: Kati Woronka defines herself as a world-traveler, an academic, a woman who loves Jesus, and an introvert who loves people. You can follow her at her blog CultureTwined and on Twitter.

I don't know how an introvert like me ever came to be a world traveler, moving to a new country every couple of months. Every move means meeting a new set of people, making new friends, going to a huge number of social events in the hopes of finding a few people to connect with. That was a fun adventure the first time, still rather exciting the second and third times. After half a decade, though, it's come to feel a little pointless. I love people and I want friends, but it costs so much energy to go out and find them.

As a Christian, I wrestle with my introversion. Part of why I took a job that sends me all around the world is to be a blessing to the people I meet and to learn from different cultures, to build bridges of respect and understanding and love in parts of the world where, sadly, those attributes have fizzled away under burdens of war and repression. So for a while I kept trying to get out and meet new people, but found myself increasingly playing the role of the freak at the party who stands at a corner and stares at everyone else, or the shy girl at the dinner table who everyone's worried about because she doesn't say a word.

More recently, I've withdrawn into a social scene that includes lots of skype, facebook, and blogging - relationships that do not depend on my geography. It sometimes feels a bit pointless, because how am I being a bridge of faith in a place where I have not one single friend?

A few things I've learned about moving to new places as an introvert who is passionate about Jesus:

- I've re-learned a lifelong lesson: I am never actually, truly alone. My relationship with Jesus is the most important one to invest in, and contrary to some misguided idea I learned somewhere along my journey through Christian communities, time spent with no one other than Jesus is not wasted.

- Online community is real. I take issue with those who scorn facebook for moving people into a virtual world rather than face-to-face interaction. Facebook and skype are how I keep in touch with friends of many years, and while it's not as fulfilling as sharing a cup of coffee with someone, they can be great tools for long-term investment in people. I joined a blogging community, Imperfect Prose (http://canvaschild.blogspot.com/), and the other writers I've met in that space have become a church in its own right.

- Never underestimate the ministry that is relationships with colleagues. When I've had a strong church community, it's been easy to focus on friendships at church and maintain superficial-at-best connections with co-workers. But while I rarely stay somewhere long enough to build inroads at a local church, I go to an office every day that I'm posted somewhere. Colleagues become friends. I've worked with some amazing people who I would never have met if not for being thrown into an office together, and I try to love them as Jesus loves them.

- I can't keep up this job forever. Moving around has become an excuse to avoid anything that is socially uncomfortable (that's a lot for an introvert like me!). So it's time for me to plop myself down somewhere for as long as it takes to make some face-to-face long-term friends, while hopefully still finding the energy to spend time online with friends around the world.

Why I wrote Introverts in the Church

2011-10-28T08:35:00.000-07:00

If you are new to the blog, and are just hearing about my book, Saddleback Church's leadership website, Pastors.com, has revisited an article of mine that explains why I wrote Introverts in the Church. It really comes down to one story from my pastoral ministry at a Presbyterian church in Orange County. It involves a scowling old man who wasn't exactly enamored with the "friendliness" of our church.

Here's the link to the story on Pastors.com:

Introverts in the Church

What is Your Church's Personality?

2011-10-27T13:37:00.000-07:00

Over the last 5 years I have focused on one aspect of the Meyers-Briggs Inventory - introversion - but there are obviously many different categories the MBTI employs to evaluate a person's personality. If we spend too much time focusing on just one or two letters, we can miss the forest for the (introverted) trees. I continue to find the MBTI to be a very helpful resource in describing what people are like, what tendencies they have, and what ways they can stretch. Admittedly, sometimes we can get carried away with personality categorization and reduce people to a few capital letters, and we need to remind ourselves that human beings are infinitely complex and only truly comprehended as beings made in the image of God.

That said, I also enjoy trying to diagnose the personality of a group or body. That raises today's question: What is the personality type of your church?

Of course this will require some generalizing and speculation, and it would be interesting to have several people from the same church diagnose the personality type of the congregation.

In addition to answering the first question, I wonder if some of you could also mention how you arrived at your conclusion? Did you base it on the personality of the senior pastor? How much of a role do you think the leadership of a church has in shaping the personality of the church, or drawing people that already share the leaders' personality traits?

And last, how much of a role does the personality of a congregation (or a person's perception of that congregation) play in a person's decision to attend?

It's a Confusing Time to be a Man

2011-10-25T13:26:00.000-07:00

I find it a very confusing time to be a man.

I have an amazing group of guy friends from college, all of whom very much fit into the "Renaissance Man" category. They are kind, compassionate, gentle, creative, and sensitive, and those that are married are very supportive of their wives' careers. Most all of them not only know how to cook but are incredible chefs. Four of them are fathers, or on their way to being fathers, and some of those fathers will be the ones to stay-at-home, doing their jobs remotely, while their wives are out in the workforce. My friends are going to be ridiculously good fathers.

Every time we all get together we eat copious amounts of red meat. I realized this recently, and I can't escape the suspicion that there is something very primal about this - the 21st century version of men on the hunt, gathered around a fire telling inflated stories of heroism and laughing loudly. Honestly, it's glorious. The highlights of my year. Kings discussing their exploits while ripping meat off the bone with jagged incisors and yelling at chariot races.

Yet I have no problem writing that first paragraph, but the second paragraph makes me feel guilty, self-conscious, and chauvinistic. That's because I live in a culture that exalts the first definition of manhood, but is highly suspicious or critical of the second definition. Or at least that is the culture that I have internalized.

What happens when a generation of men have been raised to view the first definition as true masculinity and the second definition as a distortion, a cultural display of sexism? The women's liberation movement of the 60's was responding, among other things, to a kind of masculinity that oppressed women, that subordinated them both in value and role, a kind of masculinity that overpowered and stereotyped. And we celebrate that there has been much progress in that movement, even if there is more work to be done. But what if we are now living in a culture (okay, this is probably white, upper-middle class culture I'm talking about) in which "sensitive" and "feminist" and "in touch with their feelings" have become the norms of masculinity?

Many men in late Generation-X and the millenial generation have all been raised to believe that that is who they are supposed to be. That is what the men in their lives have modeled and the women in their lives have praised. What happens when the "traditional" understandings of masculinity have been lost? And the big and probably unanswerable question, is this: is there something about the traditional understanding of masculinity that transcends culture, that can be preserved while shedding the sexism that so often accompanies it?

I'm just gonna say it. I think a lot of men deny parts of themselves because they are are afraid of their wives. They may not label it as fear, or admit it, but I think it's true. They let themselves be controlled because they are afraid of standing up for themselves. They spend too many hours at the office, they lie, they hide things, they get into pornography because it's a fantasy that they control - all because they are afraid. They act like boys before their mothers rather than men before their wives.

Unfortunately, when some men realize this fear they react badly. They get angry and they try to seize what they feel like they have lost by overpowering women or blaming them. Is there a way for men to name the fear and confront the fear without resorting to destructive, sexist tactics? Can we change some of the gender dynamics in our culture without just oscillating back to the gender roles of another era?

I don't have a lot of answers at this point, which only adds to the tension. And the tension that I'm most feeling at this point boils down to this: I want to support my wife's career and her leadership abilities and yet I want to feel strong and powerful. I am happy to play the stereotypically feminine role of cook but I call my grill "PROMETHEUS GOD OF THE FIREBOX!!!" I eat wine and cheese at home and beer and ribs with my friends. I want to be sensitive and compassionate and yet I want everyone to know that if they threaten my wife they will have to answer to me.

My best Sunday school answer at this point is....Jesus. We must find our definitions of masculinity not first in what our culture dictates but in who Jesus is. The man who wept at Lazarus' grave and showed incredible compassion on people that others cast out, and the man who tied up a whip of cords and turned over tables in his Father's house, because you don't mess with the worship of God.

It's a confusing time to be a man. Who's with me?

A Quiet Advent

2011-10-24T12:20:00.000-07:00

(Addition, 1PM - Given the eagerness people are already showing, I will extend the offer to multiple bloggers for each week of Advent)

Sorry to displace you out of fall into Advent for a moment, but I am searching for guest bloggers for a series I'm calling "A Quiet Advent." The holidays seem to belong to the extroverts out there, but I've always considered Advent a quiet season. So here is my proposal - for the four Sundays of Advent I would love to have 4 people write up reflections on the theme of their Sunday of choice. So it would go:

November 27 - A Quiet Hope
December 4 - A Quiet Love
December 11 - A Quiet Joy
December 18 - A Quiet Peace

You don't have to be an introvert to write one of these reflections, but it should be a reflection on the quieter side of Advent and the Christmas season. And while biblical, theological, and spiritual reflection is welcome, the more personal you can go with these, the better. Imagine that you are sitting with your family and friends on a cold night in December around a firepit, talking about what the season means to you.

If you are interested, email me with your idea at adamsmchugh at gmail dot com. I would need your reflection a week before the Sunday it posts and it can't be more than 750 words.

And now you may return to autumn.

Introvert Saturday: The Size of the Soul

2011-10-22T03:00:00.000-07:00

About the author: Jim Miller is the Pastor of Glenkirk Church, author of the book God Scent and blogger at http://pastorjamesmiller.com/. He and his wife Yolanda have 2 children.

The Medieval soul was cavernous. Free from the diluting forces of media and mobility, the great voices of the Middle Ages produced works of contemplation that are unparalleled in the modern Church. It was said of Bernard of Clairvaux that he once traveled around Lake Geneva and didn’t notice that it was there, lost in reflection as he was. After four years in his monastery, Bernard could not account for whether or not the ceiling in the dining hall was vaulted, which it is, or how many windows were in the chapel (there are three). Lives such as Bernard's were made possible by the new alliance that the church had with the political systems of the day, which ended persecution. Zealots who had once declared their loyalty through martyrdom turned to the monasteries to martyr themselves inwardly rather than physically. And from the monasteries we discovered how deep the soul goes.

If the Medieval soul is a Hummer, the modern American soul is a Yaris. Let's be honest: a lot of this has to do with money. In the book-publishing industry, publishers want to bank on a winner, so they look for popular voices who have built-in audiences. This usually mean speakers who have a large following already, and speakers with large followings tend to be self-publicists. They tend to know how other people are thinking and pay close attention to what people are thinking of them. And they tend to be extroverts. The management of a large fan base takes time, and many celebrity Christians who are maintaining fan clubs don't have much time to retire to the cloisters. So publishers are unfortunately, by necessity, after authors who don't have much time, or motivation, for reflection.

The reality is that social media, modern publishing, and even many churches will be unlikely to reward the fruits of introversion. There will be few pats on the back, and probably fewer and smaller paychecks, for those whose greatest contributions are made through months of introspection.

Yet, I would argue that introversion is what the modern Church needs more than anything else. GK Chesterton once observed that the saints are the ones who offer the age its opposite. St. Francis offered asceticism to a culture of burgeoning materialism. Martin Luther offered passion and individualism to a culture of formality and hierarchy. The modern soul, more than anything else, needs quieted meditation without a 2 o’clock appointment to get to on the other side of town. It needs day retreats rather than day planners. It needs to say “no” when everyone else is saying “yes.” And the church-going introvert has the makings of a modern saint.

If you want to read more about introversion, spirituality, and the history of the church, check out Adam's book, Introverts in the Church.

Care about what you care about

2011-10-20T16:46:00.000-07:00

The Internet is at its best when it brings together like-minded people who can combine forces and create something great. I don't know about you, but I never want to live in a world where flash mobs don't exist again. The downside is when like-minded people become parrots, echoing the thoughts and concerns of a few leaders of their tribes. Still, this is understandable and on some level, unavoidable. It seems like the way that people express their sense of belonging to a particular community, in an internet age, is by tweeting and updating and blogging their responses to whatever topic or event or controversy that has controlled the day's news cycle.

Think, as a broad example, about Osama bin Laden's death. When he died just about everyone in America with a Facebook account felt the need to comment, which was our way of participating in a significant world event, but unfortunately it came across to other parts of the world as triumphalistic and bloodthirsty.

So in the Christian world, in North America anyway, when Rob Bell or John Piper or Mark Driscoll or Brian McLaren says something, people in their tribes or people who define themselves as the anti-tribe of that particular person, feel like they need to express their thoughts in as many social media forums as possible.

Here's my thought. The reason that those people have the media power that they have is twofold: 1. They have followers, and enemies, who hang on their words and comment on whatever they say, and second and more importantly for this post: 2. Those leaders are out there pursuing their own callings and caring about what they care about, rather than mostly commenting on what other people care about.

I don't know about you, but I want to be the person that is trying to find what it is that I truly care about, rather than borrowing from the passions of others or worse, trying to discredit their passions because I haven't found my own.

And here is my encouragement to all of you (and myself): care about what you care about. And if you deeply care about the issues that are being raised by the power-players out there, then give it all you've got. But if you don't, and you find yourself commenting on those topics mostly because you feel like you should, then think about letting them go. It doesn't make you less of a person; it's actually make you a unique person, trying to pursue what God has put in front of you. That's the beautiful nature of God's diverse kingdom.

Pay attention to the "shoulds" that keep sounding in your brain, because odds are, they're not authentic. Gordon Smith in a terrific book called Courage and Calling talks about those instances when we "overhear" the calling of another person. It's when you come across someone who is passionate about something - whether it's urban ministry or church planting or the local food movement or preaching or music - and you feel like it should be something you are devoting your life to. Those are all noble callings, all reflections of the glory of God, but it might not be your calling.

I think this happens for a lot of people when they spend time with pastors. A pastor is out there teaching the Word and caring for those in pain and gathering a missional community, and people feel like if they're not passionate about those things then they are not truly passionate about the gospel. But that is the pastor's calling and it may not be yours. And that's okay. Could you imagine a church that was full of pastors? It would be skewed, narrow, and well, weird. And that's why our churches must encourage all the gifts of the Spirit and not just a few.

Care about what you care about friends. For all our sakes.

Leadership, by Dead Poets Society

2011-10-18T14:58:00.000-07:00

Every October I re-visit my all time favorite movie, Dead Poets Society. In part, my annual fall viewing is a trip down memory lane. In October 1997 my college friend Sean and I were thinking about calling it a night when we remembered that the next day was daylight savings. Clearly, we couldn't waste the extra hour by sleeping, so we broke out the movie he was borrowing from a friend. Even though DPS had released in the 80s, I had never seen it.

The movie first gripped me because it depicted a group of friends that reminded me of my own group of college friends. The boys in the movie, inspired by their English teacher, were trying to live counter-culturally, rebelling against the rigid conformity preached in their conservative private school. My group of friends in college had formed in large part as a reaction against our college's prevailing ambitions toward wealth and status.

In the end what has stuck with me, year after year, is a profound picture of leadership. In the movie's climactic scene, the students, reeling from a tragedy that has divided both the school in two and the boys themselves in two, make a decision between the man who is the leader in the room and the man who is a leader in their hearts.

And here's the lesson* that I have taken with me: A true leader is not someone who is appointed by the powers-that-be; a true leader is always given authority by the community that follows him. You do not become a leader just by assuming a position or by being offered a job. You can call yourself a leader, you can read all the leadership books and use all the leadership jargon, but you are not a leader until you have won the hearts of people who would follow you.

A fake leader can even get people to call him "boss" and do what he tells them to do. The tactics of the fake leader are fear, intimidation, and manipulation. If I fear losing my job or being publicly humiliated, I will do what I am told to do, for a while and to a point. But the tactics of the true leader are inspiration, compassion, and self-giving service. A true leader listens to his followers, so that he knows how he can serve them and treat them as individuals. A fake leader does not because he would risk losing his position over a person, and that status relationship is the only leverage that he has.

Leadership is not something that you can seize. You can't grab the crown and call yourself king. Even if people conform or relent at first, eventually they will see through you. But once someone had demonstrated, over time, that they are trustworthy, reliable, and out for my good, then I will call them their leader. And then I will do pretty much anything for them.

Leadership is always a gift that is given.

*Hat tip to Kenda Dean, Princeton Seminary professor for helping me clarify these leadership lessons from DPS.

Introvert Saturday: Abba Father

2011-10-15T03:00:00.000-07:00

About the author: Dan Cruver is the primary author of Reclaiming Adoption: Missional Living Through the Rediscovery of Abba Father and the director of Together for Adoption, an organization that provides gospel-centered resources to mobilize the church for global orphan care.

” . . . when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into hearts, crying, ‘Abba! Father!’” ~Galatians 4:4-6

I both love and hate being alone. As an introvert, I need and enjoy time alone everyday. Along with sleep, of course, it’s what I need to recover, recoup, and recharge each day. But as an introvert, I also hate being alone . . . too much, that is. My inner voice can knock me around pretty hard. The voice inside my head can easily forget to remind me of the good news of the Gospel. Instead of encouraging me by repeatedly reminding me that I am God’s beloved son in the Beloved Son, it can discourage me by relentlessly rehearsing all the ways that I have failed to love the Lord my God with all my heart and with all my soul and with all my strength and with all my mind, and my neighbor as myself. Rehearsing failure without remembering Jesus’ success on my behalf does not lead to confession and the pursuit of holiness. It leads to more failure.

Recently, I’ve been thinking quite a lot about the word our in Galatians 4:4-6. I think it is critical that we modern-day Bible readers don’t allow our individualistic mindset to cloud our understanding of what Paul is doing in these verses. He’s writing “to the churches of Galatia” (Galatians 1:2). Yes, these churches in Galatia were full of individuals, but Paul was not so much addressing individuals (though he was) as he was addressing the corporate bodies of believers that were living in Galatia. ”So,” you may be asking, “how should the corporate focus of Paul’s words guide how we understand and apply Galatians 4:4-6?”

My tendency is to read and understand these verses primarily with reference to myself personally. For example, when meditating on Galatians 4:6, I naturally remind myself, “Because I am a son, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into my heart, crying, ‘Abba! Father!’.” Although this truth is certainly true of me (and you), Paul is not so much addressing me as an individual as he is addressing the corporate body of believers with whom I am united (and the corporate body with whom you are united): “And because you [plural] are sons [plural], God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts [plural], crying, ‘Abba! Father!’” When my focus is primarily me and not our, I lose one of the major benefits of these verses.

As I mentioned earlier, one of the downsides of my introverted tendencies is that my inner voice can relentlessly rehearse all the ways that I have failed God and my neighbor. Often, even when I realize what I’m doing and begin to remind myself that I am God’s child, it’s not enough to pull me out of my downward spiral. I need other voices speaking the truth of what Jesus has done into my head—and I suspect you do, too (whether you’re an introvert or extrovert). One reason Paul tells us that we are God’s children and that God has sent the Spirit of His Son into our hearts is so that we realize that we need each other to remember the good news of the Gospel. As Sinclair Ferguson has written:

Despite assumptions to the contrary—the reality of the love of God for us is often the last thing in the world to dawn upon us. As we fix our eyes upon ourselves, our past failures, our present guilt, it seems impossible to us that the Father could love us. Many Christians go through much of their life with the prodigal’s suspicion. Their concentration is upon their sin and failure; all their thoughts are introspective (Children of the Living God, p 27).

When I’m spiraling downward, I tend not to believe the good news I’m telling myself. But I do tend to believe others when they remind me of the good news of the Gospel. That’s why, even as an introvert, I treasure being with the people of God.

Yes, I still enjoy and need my alone time. But what I have found is that I need other believers regularly reminding me of the Gospel more than I need to be alone. After all, Jesus lived and died for both for me and you. For us.

If you want to read more about introverts and their inner lives, check out Adam's book, Introverts in the Church.

Why You Can't Express the Most Important Things

2011-10-13T11:47:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been deeply moved by a sermon or talk and then tried to explain it to someone who wasn't in attendance? Did you find yourself stumbling for words and even struggling to remember the content, much to your embarrassment? Were you only able to summon pedestrian, cliched words like "wow!", "amazing!" or "awesome!" Did you face and your eyes say so much more than your mouth?

I want you to know that your response actually confirmed how deeply the message hit you.

A few years ago, after I told my wife I loved her, she asked "what do you love about me?" I paused. It was more than the introvert pause before speaking. It was long enough of a pause to transform a positive interaction into an uncomfortable one.

If that has ever happened to you, I want you to know that your lack of a response actually indicates how deeply you love.

I recently watched a profound TED talk by Simon Sinek, called "How Great Leaders Inspire Action" and even though my first responses to watching it were "Amazing!" and "Wow!" I have had time to reflect and think on it further so I sound a little smarter.

I highly recommend his entire talk, but the point that I want to emphasize is what he does with neurology. I find neurological studies fascinating, even though I generally understand about 5% of what is conveyed about the human brain. What Sinek said is that the human brain is broken up into three sections, and one section, the neo-cortex, controls language and reason and logic. This part of the brain is unique to humans. But the other two parts of the brains, called the limbic brain, is responsible for emotions and motivations.The limbic brain controls human behavior and choices but it has no language capacity. We speak from from neo-cortex but we decide from the limbic brain.

Sinek explains that when we talk about "deciding from the gut" or "choosing with the heart" we are actually referring to the limbic brain, that center of emotion and choice. And so, returning to my earlier points, when a talk or a sermon strikes us deeply it lands in the limbic parts of the brain, which has no power to speak. That's why we fall back on simple, demonstrative words or facial expressions. Rather than demonstrating that we weren't very good listeners, our inability to articulate what the talk was about actually might indicate how fully we actually listened. And by that logic (using my neo-cortex now), a person that can very clearly delineate the points of a sermon, may not have actually fully listened. It may have stayed on the surface and thus has no power to change a person.

And, when your wife asks you what you love about her, and you can't answer well, that means (well, in most cases) that you love her in the limbic part of your brain, the center of emotion and choice and behavior. Your limbic brain has no ability to express what you love about her. That's why you show your love best through action and why even the most beautiful words can fall flat.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to do some preparation for when she asks you that in the future.

Nightstand Theology

2011-10-11T14:19:00.000-07:00

I have dreamed of starting a new genre of Christian literature for a while, and even if I don't have the writing talent for it, I'm hoping I can inspire some of you who do. I know many people decry the state of Christian literature in our country, and when they do they usually describe it as light or insubstantial or touchy-feely. Christian cotton candy.

When I get frustrated with the Christian books I read, I use another word: boring. Too often I find myself reading a book - about what should be an utterly fascinating, life-changing topic - and it feels like chopping wood. Sometimes it's because authors spend too much time exegeting scripture and the book reads more like a commentary. Sometimes it's too research-heavy, or too academic, or too complex. The best writers, and listeners, are people who can take a complex topic and see the simplicity through the complexity, rather than highlight the complexity.

I dream of pioneering a genre that I am calling "nightstand theology." You know that feeling you get when you're reading in bed and you just can't put a book down? You look ahead a few pages, determine to put the book down and go to sleep at the end of the chapter, but when you reach it your eyes involuntarily move to the next chapter? Do you think it's possible to write a book that's both strong on theology and the beauty of the spiritual life and impossible to put down?

I'm not talking about a systematic theology book written for laypeople - Jesus for dummies - I'm talking about a book that has the pace of a narrative, with the characters and plot developments and twists that keep you reading and foregoing sleep. A book with a biblical backbone, an intoxicating presence of God, a sense of humor, and a page-turning story?

Have you ever read a theology book like that? Is nightstand theology possible?

Introvert Saturday: Conflicted at Catalyst

2011-10-08T00:00:00.000-07:00

About the author:
Dr. Guy Chmieleski is the University Minister at Belmont University in Nashville, TN. He blogs regularly at FaithONCampus.com. You can also connect with him on Facebook, Twitter and Google+.

It's Friday evening and I have a headache. I'm pretty sure that it's a people-induced headache... If that's possible. You see, I've spent the last 3 days at the Catalyst conference in Atlanta.

With 12,999 other people.

And I don't think that number includes the dozens, if not hundreds, of volunteers that it took to pull off this grand event. Nor does it account for the dozens of vendors that lined the hallways, on both levels of the arena, and in tents out on the grounds.

I'm peopled-out. And I hope that's not an offensive thing to say...so I apologize if it is. But it's how I feel right now.

For the past three days I have had the privilege of getting to hear from some great leaders, thinkers, authors and activists. And it’s been great. It really has. I’ve been inspired, challenged, convicted, encouraged, blessed… and worn out. No, I didn’t have any leadership obligations, speaking requirements or even any students to keep up with. I simply got to be “present” and participate in the conference. But that grew increasingly difficult as each day passed.

The first day wasn’t so bad. The morning pre-lab sessions were attended by roughly 400 to 500 people. A large group by some standards… but it was doable. There was room to move and to breathe.

But by the afternoon that number had increased by approximately 1500. And it was as almost as if – like Superman coming into closer proximity to kryptonite – I sensed my strength starting to fade. And truth be told, I had expected something like that to happen, but I chose to attend Catalyst anyway. The opportunity to hear from so many leading thinkers and ministry practioners was too attractive to pass-up.

However, by the start of Day 2, and the addition of 11,000 more people to our gathering, I was starting to wonder if I had made the right choice. The speakers were no less fantastic than they were on Day 1, but it seemed that with each passing hour I was being zapped of more and more of my strength. Each long line, inadvertent brush or bump, awkward attempt at small talk, verbal chase-down (by well-intentioned vendors) and human traffic-jam (that could be found around just about every corner) wore me down.

By Day 3 I was content to arrive a little late to the opening session (late enough to miss the morning crowds), sit in the upper-level – behind the lighting racks and main stage back drop (where I could still see and hear; but where open seats and room to move more freely was more easy to find), and then leave a little before sessions were over (as it meant avoiding the masses).

Some may call me a Catalyst party-pooper.

I guess I’d prefer to be understood as an introvert, who doesn’t care for big crowds (let alone multiple days within them), but was willing to put myself in a less than comfortable position for the sake of taking in some great wisdom and encouragement – and even meeting some new friends. I don’t doubt that I have learned a lot over my past few days at Catalyst… and will continue to do so as I slowly regain mental strength and capacities.

For now, however, I will soak in the silence and solitude of my hotel room. I will trust the Lord, and my 5-hour drive back to Nashville tomorrow, to renew and refresh me.

If you want to read more about introversion, leadership, and church life, check out Adam's book, Introverts in the Church.

Too Deep For Words

2011-10-06T11:09:00.000-07:00

There are some couples out there who can articulate all their successes and failures and habits. They have all kinds of insight into the dynamics of their relationship. When you ask them how their relationship is going they have a thoughtful answer prepared, and they will make you think about your relationship too. They can impress individual and couples counselors with their ability to describe their marriage.

But there is little joy in their relationship.

And that's because they haven't learned how to just be together. They can sit and have a well-articulated conversation about the intricacies of the budget or the tendencies that the other person has that frustrates the other, but they can't take a walk and hold hands and simply enjoy one another. Their eloquence belies an emotional distance between the two of them.

There is recent evidence that the people who are least "successful" as therapy patients are the most articulate about their lives and therapy experiences. They can tell a therapist all their problems and describe their childhoods and family of origins with accuracy and insight, and yet they are destined for a life of sitting on a therapist's couch because they're not actually getting any better. But the people who are most successful actually over time become less articulate about their experiences in therapy. Healing for them takes place on a deep level, on a level too deep for sounds except for the Spirit's groan, and though they don't necessarily understand what is happening for them, they know that they are changing.

In his new book Sanctuary of the Soul, on the value and experiences of meditative prayer, Richard Foster counsels people who have sat in silence beholding the Lord not to share much of their experiences with others. He explains that hearing the whispers of the Lord is an intensely personal experience, and that if you try to express too much, you will first have a hard time putting your experiences into words, and second, sharing these things has a tendency to trivialize them.

I wonder if sometimes those of us who can talk articulately about our relationships - our marriages, our experiences in therapy and spiritual direction, our life in the Spirit - are distancing ourselves from what we really want?

Open

2011-10-04T15:14:00.000-07:00

I took the month of September off from all social media and blogging, from all writing of any kind, from reading any non-fiction, from even thinking about my writing projects, and from participating in any theological and intellectual conversations. The first week was confusing, as I struggled to know what to do with my brain. It was like completely changing your diet, say from going from carnivore to vegetarian. But at some point in the second week of my brain fast, I started to like the taste of vegetables.

I started getting up in the morning with a glorious feeling of emptiness, like I had freed parts of my life to see, taste, hear, and experience different things. The word "open" kept recurring, but instead of thinking about what openness is, I let my body and my heart feel open. Just saying the word open would cause me to breathe a deep sigh, to let the tension fall out of my neck and shoulders, and to almost feel like a hole had opened inside of my stomach. But it wasn't the feeling of lack, it was a feeling of presence. It was a presence that didn't require complex theological thought or even many words. I began to realize how much my constantly pounding brain can cause me to be closed to what is right in my midst. How I can have an experience or a "sense" of something true and then immediately shelter myself off from it by analyzing it and dissecting it and theologizing it.

In September, when I had moments of illumination or the warmth of the heart touched by the Holy Spirit, I would open myself fully to it and bask in it. I relished it and wouldn't let it go until it decided to go. And it stayed a lot longer than I thought it would.

Introvert Saturday: On Bellies, Babies, and Unwanted Attention

2011-10-01T06:00:00.000-07:00

About the author: Laura Ziesel is a seminary student at Azusa Pacific University and a freelance writer and editor living in southern California with her husband. She blogs on matters of faith, gender, church culture and more at LauraZiesel.com. She is also a contributing writer for The Redemptive Pursuit, a weekly devotional for women. She and her husband attend Glenkirk Church in Glendora. You can find her on Twitter @lziesel.

This year my husband and I embarked on a new adventure: trying to create new life. We are pursuing parenthood because we believe that children are blessings, gifts from God worth every hardship. But to be realistic, a lot of negative baggage comes with this journey toward parenthood, some of which is heartbreaking and some of which is just annoying.

As I'm not currently pregnant, I tend to focus on the hardships of trying to get pregnant. But I know that becoming pregnant and carrying a baby to term will only be the beginning of a new set of challenges. Among all of the changes that might come into my life once I do become pregnant, do you know which one stresses me out an inordinate amount? Suddenly attracting a lot of attention in public.

You see, I'm an introvert. I'm an INTJ to be exact. Being an INTJ, I dislike attention, sentimentality, and unnecessary drama. I remember feeling very frustrated as a bride because I became the center of sentimental drama. But bridal attention was only paid by the people who knew I was a bride. Being a pregnant woman, new mom with a cute baby, or less-than-new mom with four kids in tow? All of these things bring loads of attention, even from strangers.

I'm easy to miss in public and I like it that way. My hair has never been dyed and my clothes are from Old Navy. When I go to the grocery store or to church, I don't want to stand out. The relative solitude I have in public spaces brings me a lot of joy.

Once I become noticeably pregnant, I fear I will lose the solitude I am able to experience in public places for a long, long time.

I'm the first to admit that I am more likely to look at a pregnant woman (and her belly) than the average person I pass in town. I can't help it sometimes. Pregnant women are quite beautiful. But once I become that pregnant woman, I know I am going to hate the extra eyes, hands, and unsolicited advice directed at me and my belly. And it won't get better once I give birth; I've heard that walking around town with a baby is just as bad, if not worse. Lord have mercy on my introverted soul!

In all honesty, I think there should be a t-shirt line for those of us who want to keep the prodding questions at bay:

In all seriousness, I am a bit overwhelmed thinking about this aspect of my future. I could blame the very existence of the problem on well-meaning strangers and acquaintances, but I think that would be unfair. Most people are simply excited and want to connect on a basic human level. I don't think that's inherently bad. Sure, people could be more thoughtful with their words toward mothers, but I can't do much to change that. What I can change is my attitude.

Just before I was married I shared a bedroom with a major extravert, an ESFJ. She and I are friendly now, but at the time we had some serious conflict. Not only did we live in the same bedroom, but we worked together. It was a recipe for disaster. I was completely overwhelmed and did not know how to love her well. I pretty much failed entirely at it. One day I was meeting with my mentor, a fellow INTJ who is a wife, a mother, and a grandmother. I was talking about how difficult it was to love my roommate and my mentor said, "You know what? One day your children might be extraverts who drive you crazy, so you should probably learn to deal with this in a better way."

My world exploded a little bit at that moment. I realized that as much as I dream about children who are either like me or my husband (he is extraverted, but he is introvert-safe), I have no control over their little personalities. I can shape them, but I must love and accept them even if they aren't exactly who I have in mind, even if they are the exact opposite of who I have in mind.

So perhaps I should view this loss of peace and quiet in public as a training ground for motherhood. Perhaps I can view the annoying, repetitive questions of "How far along are you?" or "Boy or girl?" as a practice-run for the even more repetitive verbal barrages I will receive in the future: "No, Mom!"; "But why Mom?"; "Mom, I promise (yawn) I'm not tired." And perhaps the strange hands that suddenly touch my growing belly in public are training me to give me body away freely to the little hands of needy babes.

I know it won't be easy to be patient and kind toward strangers who rob me of my precious solitude in public, but neither will being a mother. While having snarky t-shirts might help in the short-term, learning to be loving and kind when I am tired and irritated is a better long-term solution.

If you want to read more about introverts, their quirks, and their relationships, check out Adam's book, Introverts in the Church.

Burnt Out

2011-09-06T09:32:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you sit down on the couch at the end of a hectic day and you realize just how tired you are. That's what happened to me over Labor Day weekend. I have been writing and creating and thinking and speaking all summer long, and I'm burnt out. With preaching at churches, my 4 day retreat at Laity Lodge, writing 4 lengthy articles, and all the intellectual and emotional work that goes into writing a book, I have nothing left.

Ruth Haley Barton talks about a "dangerous level of tired." Most of the interpretations I have heard about the infamous David and Bathsheba story usually focus on David's idleness, at home when his soldiers are fighting a war, but I would guess that the springboard to his fall is weariness. He was tired from the battle, tired of the enormous pressures of being king, and so he allowed his eye to wander and to seek a feeling of pleasure when he was in the midst of pain. That worked out badly for him and for ancient Israel.

I have not reached a dangerous level of tired, and I want to make sure that I don't. I want to pay attention to my body and my mind, which are, in unison, shouting "stop!" So for the month of September I will put away my laptop and my smartphone, and will not write, blog, or be on social media at all.

This is not a very advisable move, from a professional standpoint. The blog literally doubled in readership over the summer and even had its first sponsor for a month. I just went over 1,000 followers on Twitter. After a couple of years of hearing howling crickets in my speaking career, I have started receiving more invitations. I fear that this decision will kill the momentum that was happening and that I will lose the followers that I had gained.

But this isn't a decision based on ambition, it's a decision based on trust. I want to trust that I am not solely responsible for the growth of my writing career, and that my writing isn't based on self-promotion, sales, or numbers anyway. I thank God that he has given me a voice and has given me opportunities to use it in service of others. Ultimately I want for my readers to hear his Voice working through mine, and the great thing is that the Voice will continue to speak to people even when mine has gone silent for a time.

So, for the next month, I will be continuing my work as a hospice chaplain, taking a couple of trips, reading some devotional material (and nothing else), getting outside in the cooler weather, and spending time with family and friends. My next post will be an Introvert Saturday guest post on October 1st. See you then!

Blog Sabbath

2011-08-28T15:51:00.001-07:00

I will be taking off the next week on the blog, to write and enjoy the last week of summer. See you after Labor Day!

p.s. Leadership Journal has shared a long excerpt from Introverts in the Church on their website, in an article entitled "The Introverted Leader." I would be grateful if you shared it!

Introvert Saturday: An Introvert with a Newborn

2011-08-27T06:00:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, Rachel Stephan Simko wrote a post on doing college campus ministry as an introvert. Today her post goes even closer to her heart, as she reflects on her life as a mom to a newborn. Rachel is a former-actress-turned-campus-minister who works with her husband for the Coalition for Christian Outreach She, her husband, and their 8-week-old live in intentional community right outside Philadelphia with another young family. She writes about their experiences at Even One Sparrow and about campus ministry at 15 Minutes of Campus.

Also, if you haven't read the posts from Introverted Parenting week yet, or the post from Cynthia on mothering as an introvert, I highly recommend them. This is a topic that people are clamoring to talk about!

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Two months ago, I became a mommy.

My daughter has lived up to the newborn stereotype: she sleeps most of the day away, is somewhat nocturnal, and oozes adorableness. I myself have lived up to the new-mom stereotype: I worry too much, cry at the drop of a hat, and spend most of the day in bed.

And I've decided that, all-in-all, maternity leave is the golden ticket for introverted mothers.

However, I was recently convicted by a poignant post written by Jed Brewer at Relevant Magazine. In The Missions Field of Suburbs, Brewer cautions against the delusion of being called to complacency in the suburbs. Although God places people in all sorts of places -- suburbs (and maternity leave) included -- it is not a free ride to sit back and rest easy. Brewer writes, "If you're in a physically comfortable environment, you'll want to get on your knees twice as often and ask the Lord, 'Jesus, what exactly are you asking me to do here?'

So that's what I'm asking God right now: "Jesus, what exactly are you asking me to do here?"

Because, let's face it, I could easily while away the hours napping and nursing, checking my Facebook page hundreds of times each day, and researching all known facts about newborns. But is that what I should be doing?

It's obvious I won't be scrambling to find the nearest mommy-and-me playgroup. And although I actually live in community with another young family, it takes a lot of effort to interact with people all day, especially while I'm still in recovery. So when I am holed away alone in my room, I want to know how I can serve the Lord -- how I can advance the Kingdom -- while remaining emotionally intact.

In our community, we have a couple of guiding scriptures on which we have laid our foundations. One such scripture is Deuteronomy 6:4-9:

"These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates."

As I seek the Lord day-in-and-out for specific ways I can serve him, he has reminded me of this passage. I have been given an enormous gift, but it is also an immense responsibility. My quiet "alone" time with the Lord is now shared with a small person of barely eight pounds. Instead of reading the Bible, I now read the Bible out-loud to curious newborn eyes. Instead of praying internally, we pray together. My spiritual journey is no longer just my own.

And it's kind of ironic, isn't it? -- that a person who has spent so much of her life locked away in confined rooms, quietly reading and writing and reflecting in her own brain -- a person who gains energy from being absolutely alone -- is now never alone. Now the most personal thing -- a walk with the Lord -- is moment-by-moment shared with another human being.

So this is where I will start my ministry: with her. And as I slowly recover and as she slowly grows older, I will take it day by day -- beginning each day behind a door, steeped in the Lord's presence, and asking: "What exactly are you asking me to do here -- today?"

Prayer for the day

2011-08-26T10:07:00.000-07:00

Lord God, almighty and everlasting Father, you have brought me in safety to this new day: Preserve me with your mighty power, that I may not fall into sin, nor be overcome by adversity; and in all I do direct me to the fulfilling of your purpose; through Jesus Christ my Lord. Amen.

-Phyllis Tickle

Redux: Why Pastors Should Get Their Heads Examined

2011-08-25T15:30:00.000-07:00

I finished my piece on Father Patrick Conroy, the new chaplain to the U.S. House of Representatives, today. What an incredible story. It's for my undergrad alma mater, so it won't be completely relevant for most of you, but I'll still pass it on when it's online. Next I am writing my piece on hospitality for introverts for Conversations Journal, due at the end of the month. So let's dig into the blog archives again today. Oh, and if anyone wants to write a guest post for Introvert Saturday, you've got a good shot at getting it posted, since I don't currently have anything for this week.

From the archives:

Why Pastors Should Get Their Heads Examined

First published on Crosswalk.com 5/11

Recently I received the ultimate backhanded compliment, from a former colleague I came to know in my first church ministry job. Back then I was a 25-year-old seminary graduate plotting revival everywhere I went. Now I am a 34-year-old pastor asking her for a recommendation for a hospice chaplaincy. She expressed surprise at my interest in the job. I explained that the chaplaincy would allow me to grow as a listener and to be with people in painful but potentially sacred moments. She said, "You certainly are different from what I remember."

It was meant as a kindness. Yet it felt like receiving the "Most Improved Player" trophy, which I may or may not have won on my first-grade basketball team. The subtext of that trophy is: "You're still awful, and you will always ride the bench, but we don't feel as embarrassed to have you on the team as we once did." My colleague had just handed me the ecclesial version, the "Most Improved Pastor" trophy, on which the words are engraved: "You're not the hard-hearted, un-teachable egomaniac you used to be. You should never be a senior pastor, but we can probably trust you not to bring about the demise of Christianity in this country."

If there were an awards banquet for the Most Improved Pastor trophy, I would tell the crowd what I told my former colleague that day: "Thank you. I've been in a lot of therapy." And I would mean it.

After only the spiritual disciplines and my marriage, I would give the greatest credit for my personal and pastoral growth to the numerous therapy sessions I have received over the last seven years. Whenever I interact with young pastors or those aspiring to pastoral ministry, my first suggestion is to find a good therapist. The recently publicized statistics on pastoral burnout, depression, and job turnover have convinced me that the sooner pastors make themselves comfortable on the therapist's couch, the better it will be for them and for the churches they serve.

When I consider the effect of therapy on my life, the word "unraveling" comes to mind. I began therapy because my life was full of knots, which (although they held my life and self-understanding together) choked off my connection to my true self. When threads are tangled together, it's almost impossible to differentiate one from another. They overlap and interweave and you cannot see where one thread starts, where it stops, and what path it takes to get there. Our motivations get lost in our choices, our presents get confused with our pasts, and our conscious behaviors get entangled with our subconscious desires. It's all but impossible to identify these threads and how they interconnect when they're knotted together. Therapy has been a space for me to slowly pull apart those knots and to lay the threads down side by side. I can then identity and evaluate them with an expert who is trained in thread management.

The threads of many pastors' lives are entangled in two major areas: those that relate to their calling into ministry and those that pertain to their relationships with their congregations. In all the recent conversations about the hazardous effects of pastoral ministry, I think these threads have been under-emphasized even though they are critical to reversing the trends.

My foundational belief about pastoral ministry is that God calls us to it not only for the sake of leading others, but also for the sake of healing us in and through our service to others. The call to ministry is both a charge and a prescription. Young pastors usually dive into ministry with all the idealism and passion of youth, equipped with a master battle plan for saving the world and fixing the church, only to discover that their need to be saved and fixed is just as great. If we're honest with ourselves, those of us who are drawn to pastoral ministry are compelled by mixed motives. This is not hypocritical or contradictory. It is simply part of God's healing prescription for us. We are invited to view leadership positions as places of healing.

Near the end of my denomination's lengthy ordination process, when everything seemed to be moving in the right direction, I had an unsettling moment of self-discovery. I realized how much of my ministry was motivated by my desire for the approval and praise of others. My headlong pursuit of "relevance" in my teaching and in our church's engagement with culture was too often fueled by a need to stand out from other pastors.

I found myself tangled in the knot and knew of no way to extricate myself. That was when I first called a therapist.

Young people who are drawn to pastoral ministry may be working out of unmet childhood needs. If they have been given the message that they are not good enough, their feelings of inadequacy may play a role in compelling them towards pastoral ministry. After all, who is more worthy than a minister? If I succeed as a pastor, then I will finally be okay, right? Maybe if I can rescue others from their pain, then I will find the solution for my own. The attention and admiration in the early stages of ministry feels validating, but it cannot fuel a long ministry marked by freedom and joy, nor can it impart those qualities to others. Once you re-discover your numerous inadequacies in the course of ministry (and it won't take long), disillusionment, burnout, or worse consequences will follow. Even the most lavish praise from your congregation will never heal your wounds.

Therapy is also valuable for helping pastors unravel the complexities of relationships with people in their congregations. There is a common psychological phenomenon between pastors and church members called transference. Transference is when people re-direct emotions, desires, and expectations from their childhood onto someone else. What this can mean in a church context is that members transfer their childhood issues onto pastors, subconsciously viewing them as parents. A pastor, after all, is an authority figure who speaks to lives and hearts, much like parents, and in some traditions church leaders are even called fathers or mothers. Transference too is a result of unmet emotional needs seeking satisfaction. Even though they mentally and physically mature in a normal manner, those who experienced physical or emotional trauma as children, or were wounded by other unhealthy family dynamics, may find their emotional development arrested or delayed.

I remember the first time I realized that someone in my congregation looked to me, subconsciously, as a parent. Twenty-five years my senior, he was incredibly successful professionally, excelling in everything he tried, exuding confidence and decisiveness. Yet when he was in my presence, he seemed highly unsure of himself, unable to make eye contact, and deferential on every matter, whether we were talking about the Bible or about what kind of coffee to offer during the fellowship hour. Confused and frustrated with his lack of leadership in the church, I took this matter to my therapist, who helped me see that although this man was in his 50s, his emotional age was far younger. With this new understanding, together we worked on strategies for how I could communicate with this man and motivate him to lead in the church.

Transference is dangerous because it happens without conscious thought and it often leads churches to place inordinate expectations on pastors. People hope that their pastors can fill the emotional holes left by their old wounds. They subconsciously want pastors to make up for the mistakes their parents made, to be available where their parents were unavailable, to provide the direction or accountability or compassion that their parents never did. Transference is one reason why church members can take a pastor's failure or resignation so hard. On a primal level, it feels like a parent has disappointed or left them, and they feel vulnerable, scared, and abandoned.

Compounding the issue is the pastor's temptation towards countertransference, allowing ourselves to be caught up in the expectations that people place on us. We can give in and play the parental role, doing our best to meet all of their emotional needs, rescuing them from pain and uncomfortable situations, and masquerading as the spiritual superhero. Or else we can reverse the roles and place our congregations in the position of our parents, desperately hoping to please them and win their praise. In these complex situations, everyone is looking for a parent but everyone is left feeling orphaned.

These are just a few examples of the issues I worked through on the therapist's couch. It's easy to see how the lives and ministries of pastors can be choked by these knots of tangled motivations, relationships, and wounds. We do not have the expertise or the courage to untie these knots on our own.

I'm hopeful that if pastors would commit to unraveling these threads in the safe place of a therapist's office, we could live in the reality that we are being parented and healed by a Father who approves of us and loves us. We could learn to live and serve as we truly are, and not as the person we or others think we should be. That, to me, is the key to joy, freedom, and longevity in ministry.

Sympathy and Empathy, Part 2

2011-08-23T13:14:00.000-07:00

I don't know why I can't get this sympathy and empathy issue out of my head. Last week I shared some thoughts on the differences between the two, but I can't seem to shake the topic. Most people get songs stuck in their head, whereas I get psychological concepts playing on a loop.

I think I overstated my point that sympathy is primarily reserved for people with certain qualities of "feeling," and therefore I overstated the difference between people who tend toward the sympathetic versus those who tend toward the empathic. Sympathy is hard-wired into each human being; it is utterly natural for us. Recent neurological findings have uncovered what are called "mirror neurons," which demonstrate that we naturally "mirror" the emotions and body language we see in others. Daniel Goleman in his book Social Intelligence demonstrates how people automatically and subconsciously mimic the body language and facial expressions of others, often on micro-levels, and how that mimicking actually produces similar feelings in us to what the other person is expressing. So, if someone we talk with is sad, on a microscopic level our mouth actually curls downwards and our tear ducts are activated and that produces a sad feeling in us. That's sympathy on a primal level.

There is quite a bit of folk wisdom out there that says sympathy = feeling for someone whereas empathy = feeling with someone. What's true about that is that when you see someone in pain, and that produces a feeling in you, that is sympathy. When you encounter a homeless person and you feel pity for him, you are having a sympathetic reaction. However, the etymology of sympathy is "to feel with," which is how a lot of people define empathy, which literally means "to feel into." A sympathetic reaction is one when your emotions mirror the emotions of another person. While everyone has sympathetic reactions, there are those that feel more strongly. Recently I was a co-speaker at a retreat, and my speaking partner was one of those people that relished opportunities to sit with people in pain, literally grieving and crying with them. She was a profoundly sympathetic person. What is most remarkable about that gift is that strongly sympathetic people can feel feelings for the other person that the person can't feel themselves. I have had therapists cry tears on my behalf that I was unable to cry. That is an incredible gift, and one I don't have.

The danger with sympathy is that we turn the feelings we have in response to another's feelings into something about ourselves. Jessica Jackley, co-founder of Kiva.org, confessed that for a while she gave to the poor in order to buy herself the right to go on with her life. That illustrates how sympathy can turn in on itself and become about us, not others. When you are experiencing an intense emotion it tends to close you to the emotions of others.

Empathy, on the other hand, is what really helps us open ourselves to others. The grammatical breakdown - "to feel into" - means that we seek to enter into the world of another person. We seek to identify with them - their thoughts, their emotions, their assumptions, their questions. Empathy has more to do with understanding another person's feelings than it does feeling their feelings, though that may certainly happen to a degree as well. But in empathy we can seek to understand another person even when we disagree with them or don't relate to their experiences.

Empathy does NOT require that we have undergone the same experiences as another. In empathic response we are not necessarily bringing our past to bear on another person's situation. I can show empathy for a person who has lost a parent, even if I have not lost a parent. Again, the danger is that if you have experienced a similar thing that you turn it into something about your story and you lose the other person's grief in the process. Empathy is always moving towards the other person, going further, going deeper, seeking more understanding, fighting to keep the attention on the other.

Introvert Saturday: The Ministry of Quiet Study

2011-08-20T06:00:00.000-07:00

Saturday on the blog will henceforth by known as Introvert Saturday. I probably won't have a guest post every Saturday but I may get close. If you want to write a guest post, go here for guidelines.

Today's post comes from Christy McDougall, who describes herself as a 30-year-old female Pentecostal introvert from Montana. She has graduate degrees in theology and plans to teach continuing education to pastors and missionaries in Europe.

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The MTBI. The Enneagram. The Four Temperaments. The Big Five. What kind of ice cream are you?

When I was in college and graduate school, I met and fell in love with the study of personality. I took as many tests as I could (including the ridiculous ones—“What is your inner shoe color?”) and analyzed myself up, down, sideways, and every which way I could. I wrote reams of journal entries and read books by Myers and Briggs and Briggs-Myers. It was an absolutely fascinating and enthralling study.

But at the same time, I was concerned about this propensity for solitary self-analysis. I grew up in that most extraverted of churches, the American Pentecostal tradition, and I knew that a good Christian is not selfish, not self-absorbed; a good Christian goes out of her way to be loving and welcoming to others; a good Christian doesn’t spend all her extra time sitting on her couch thinking about herself but goes out and invites the neighbors to church and helps them mow their lawns or volunteers at the homeless shelter. Analyzing myself to death seemed merely selfish, nothing more.

That was when I realized I was wrong. There are more ways to minister in the church (or out of it) than the traditional extraverted ways we always hear about. I realized this when I found myself unexpectedly in a position to help two close friends, a father and daughter, understand why they had been struggling to have a good relationship. Because of my personality studies, I understood why the father acted in a certain way, why the daughter responded to it in a certain way, how I could explain them to each other in their own language, so to speak, and how I could begin the process of training them to understand each other. My internal study had led me to a wider understanding of people and thus to my own kind of ministry. My time alone had paradoxically prepared me to help people.

I came to see other results of my personal study over the next few years. I am a writer of science fiction, not a genre that you’d expect to have great ministry value, but I have found myself naturally infusing my theology, psychology, and personality studies into the stories and the characters. This love that I have for study and analysis, for understanding the inner workings of myself, humanity in general, and God Himself, has served to deepen my own fiction writing and turn it into a kind of ministry of its own. For now, my quiet writing life is my ministry.

This is what I have learned through my struggle with seeing my introverted traits and activities as an asset for the Kingdom of God rather than a liability: If we introverted types truly desire for God to use us, He will. Maybe at times He’ll stretch us and take us out of our comfort zones to do those extraverted things, but often times He will use the traits and loves and gifts He put in us to use. God made me an introvert who loves to study and analyze myself on purpose, and so far He has used me as an introvert who loves to study and analyze myself. I love it.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go read a blog on INTPs.

The difference between sympathy and empathy

2011-08-19T14:54:00.000-07:00

Sympathy and empathy are not the same thing. Most people use the words interchangeably, but there are subtle differences. Why is the distinction important? I'm not really sure. I needed something to write on my blog. But seriously, here is why I think it's important: sympathy is by-and-large a personality trait, mostly available to people who fall on the "feeling" side of personality tests, whereas empathy is a learned practice, which gives hope to those of us on the "thinking" side of things.

As always, the definitions are fluid and the two experiences are not mutually exclusive (that could be my blog's tag line). But here are a couple of working definitions:

Sympathy is feeling the same feeling as someone else who is experiencing distressing emotions. If you are sad, I feel sad. If you are grieving, I feel grief. The response is mostly automatic. I don't choose to be sympathetic; sympathy happens to me. This is why there is a physiological application of sympathy. Organs work "sympathetically" with one another. An action in an organ produces a reaction in another organ. If you ever watch House, you know that a condition present in one part of the body can produce unexpected reactions in other parts of the body. The human body is dependent on sympathy. My favorite sympathetic reaction? The yawn. If one person yawns, I yawn in "sympathy" with her. This is why you should never look at another woman, especially a really tired one, when you're sitting in a restaurant with your wife.

You can also experience sympathy on a belief level. If someone believes that the way to economic recovery is through debt reduction, and you agree with that position, then you are in sympathy with that person.

On an emotional level, I am not a naturally sympathetic person. Note that this is NOT a moral situation. A more naturally sympathetic person is not a better person than someone who is not. In fact, I would argue that my lack of inherent emotional sympathy helps me thrive as a hospice chaplain, because emotionally distressing situations do not naturally produce pain or distress in me. The exception is when I encounter a man who is losing his wife. I can sit for hours with a woman who is about to become a widow, and not personally experience grief, but if I spend 2 minutes with a man who is about to become a widower, I am wrecked. Game over. Place head between knees and rock back and forth. That is a sympathetic reaction. A really socially awkward one.

Empathy, on the other hand, is paying attention to and trying to understand another person's feelings. As far as I understand, empathy can happen with both painful and pleasurable feelings. I can make an effort to understand someone's grief as well as someone's joy. It's more of an intellectual undertaking than an automatic emotional response. The practice of empathy involves temporarily taking on another person's internal situation. To coin a phrase, it involves "walking a mile in their shoes."

To practice empathy will involve asking questions: "What brought on this rush of grief? Was there a trigger?" And paraphrasing and repeating back: "I hear that you feel really alone and that you feel most lonely at night."

You can also empathically understand someone on a belief level. If you are Keynesian, and you think the way to economic recovery is through government spending, you will not be in sympathy with someone who thinks big government gets in the way, but you can learn about their position and understand it from their perspective. That would involve empathizing with their position. I'm really not sure why the economy is playing the analogical role in this post. Perhaps it's because I would like to see a lot more empathy in our political system. Or maybe I'm just trying to impress people by inserting "Keynesian" into everyday conversation.

Neither sympathy nor empathy is a superior trait, but empathy is something that can be learned. I also think the practice of empathy can help us keep better emotional boundaries. At the same time, sometimes a truly sympathetic response from someone can help us feel less alone.

What is your understanding of the difference between empathy and sympathy?

Are you a more sympathetic person or empathetic person?

Youth Ministry Falsehoods: The Wisdom of Lars Rood

2011-08-15T10:33:00.000-07:00

Lars Rood is a friend of mine, a fellow Presbyterian, and what I call a "master youth pastor." He has done a ton of deep thinking about youth ministry, the character of a youth pastor, the expectations churches place on youth pastors and youth ministries, and so on and so forth. Recently he has posted a series on "youth ministry falsehoods." I recommend the entire series - it's brilliant. Here are a few of my favorite sections:

Youth Ministry Falsehood - You must be an extrovert

A few months back I did an interview with Adam S. McHugh [that's me!] for his blog the Introverted Church. In the interview I pretty much outed myself as not being an extrovert. This came as a surprise to a lot of people who have interacted with me over the years. Many of them were surprised because I clearly don’t come across all the time as an introvert. But, it’s true. I don’t get energy from being around people and I need a lot of alone time to recuperate after an event. I call myself a “Functional Extrovert” which in general just means I can “fake” it really well.

This doesn’t mean I don’t like people. I love people and being around people. I find myself at conference, camps and events sleeping very little because I don’t want to miss anything. At times I do this really well. But, you should see me in the few days after those events. I’m a wreck and really wiped out.

One of the dominate beliefs since the early days of youth ministry is that youth workers needed big outgoing dynamic personalities. The paradigm was that youth workers needed to be Outgoing Extroverts who “drew” students to them like the Pied Piper. And in many cases this model of youth ministry worked really well. The “superstar” youth worker was the leader who received all the praise, had some of the largest ministries and was invited to speak at all the conferences, retreats and events. But, this model also worked pretty horribly when that Youth Worker left, fell apart or had a life transition.

It used to be that Introverts didn’t have much place in our ministries. It was difficult to figure out what to do with someone if they weren’t a dynamic outgoing personality. But, I think things have changed.

One thing I’ve seen happen in the last 5 years is an explosion of new ways in which introverts can have larger roles. With the rise in new media we’ve had a whole bunch of people who blog, tweet, e-mail, text, Facebook etc. all of the sudden how find a place where their voices are being heard by many people yet they are not forced to try to fit into big upfront roles. It used to be that the youth workers who wrote books were only those who were also speaking, teaching at conferences and big events. Now that’s not the case. A whole bunch of new voices of youth workers are starting to write and publish amazing content independent of having to be those upfront voices or major extroverts. I think this is a great thing (says the guy who is sitting alone in his office) because it gives a voice and a place for introverts. Now we should be able to approach people in our church who might not be the stereotypical youth workers and find great meaningful roles for them to be a part of.

My challenge is to churches to really think about what the needs are for their students and ministries. I think a lot of churches think they are “one hire” away from having a great dynamic youth ministry program. In general a lot of people have still bought into the Extrovert model and believe that if they can just find that right person things will be great. But, it might be that hiring a behind the scenes master planner, organizer and thinker might actually be a better fit/need for the longer term success of the ministry.

So if you are not an extrovert you are fine. You can do great youth ministry. My advice is to do what I do and make sure to set your self up for success and have great trips, activities and retreats that you can go on and love and care for students but also make sure you have some downtime to be able to recharge in the midst of it.

Youth Ministry Falsehood - You must be a great upfront communicator

This post may seem slightly similar to my last post but I think there are enough differences that I decided to write it separately. I do a lot of consulting with churches and youth workers who all have decided that they need the same things. Many churches just feel like a great “Up front” dynamic presence who is a master communicator and story teller will likely draw students into the ministry and then they can feel successful about their youth ministry. Youth Workers in general have bought into this belief too and the most highly prized ones are those who are the most visibly gifted up front.

But the truth is this is hurting our field. Think about it for a second. How many of us have sat in a seminar or a youth ministry event and listened to a super engaging up front communicator tell story after story without really saying anything. I’ve fallen into this trap too. There was a joke at a church I worked a few years ago that I couldn’t teach without telling some sort of story about the Island I grew up on. I was really good at telling stories and keeping students attention. But, I was really bad about doing what I was supposed to do which was teach the Bible.

When we overemphasize the role of the upfront communicator we put that person in a position where they start becoming as important as the content/message/Bible they are supposed to be teaching. Think about some of these dynamic communicators. What has happened when they left? Is the Youth Ministry teaching time about Jesus or is about their communication style? Did we make the youth ministry about entertainment and keeping their attention or did we fail at promoting a real concept of what following Jesus will look like. It’s hard.

Now if you know me then you know I am a good communicator. It’s something I do value and for whatever reason God gifted me in it. If I wanted too though I could not study, prepare or plan a message and just get up and teach from the seat of my pants. And students would like it and keep coming back. So maybe this post is my way of telling myself to be careful.

But, I also think there are a ton of great youth workers who feel like they are constantly out of place because the expectation is that they will be great up front communicators and they just don’t know how to do that. Have we decided incorrectly that any gift is more important than others in the youth ministry world?
So if you are a youth worker who doesn’t feel like you can be up front, if you feel like you aren’t valued because you aren’t dynamic, if you feel marginalized because your church (or places you’ve interviewed) don’t value your gifts. Please know that you are valuable.

Youth Ministry Falsehood - You must be a wild and crazy kid magnet

I’ve been told over the years that I have a bit of craziness in me. It comes out in general on trips when I have an large amount of free time and am spending a ton of extended time with students. There are appropriate times for this kind of ministry. We do an event every year for our 5-6th graders which basically ends in a huge shaving cream war. A similar thing happens on a Middle School event. Come to think of it most of our fun events seem to end with me covered in shaving cream.

But there is a lot more to ministry than just being wild and crazy. In fact sometimes being crazy is what hurts your ministry the most. I’m a parent of three kids. I want my kids to have fun at church and I appreciate leaders with energy but I’m also a bit leery of leaders who sometimes clearly don’t know how to shut it down. Like I said above there are appropriate times for it but sometimes it gets in the way.

Being a kid magnet is sometimes a great thing and helpful in ministry. Who doesn’t want to feel like kids want to hang out with you and without trying to hard they come to you. But, there is also a great place in ministry for the man or woman who is consistent, regular and prepared. For someone who week in and week out has proved that they will always be there and students know that they can always turn to them.

I had a volunteer who was a part our ministry early on in California. I haven’t worked with him in 13 years. But, every year without fail he calls us on our anniversary. This year I happened to post that on Facebook and a whole bunch of people commented that he does the same thing for them. That’s an amazing testimony to commitment.

There are times in ministry that all of us need to break free of our comfort zone. For me I have to “gear up” and get ready for events. It’s literally almost like a locker room talk that I give myself before an event. I mentally think through how I need to act and the energy I need to have in order to make sure that students have a good time. Of course afterwards I’m a wreck and tired but generally it’s worth it.

The Introverted Worship Leader

2011-08-13T06:00:00.000-07:00

We have pretty much covered all church ministries here at Introverted Church, continually surprising people that introverts can thrive in virtually all roles in the church. It seems that God is much more comfortable with our personality types than some of us are. One role we have not spent much time with is worship leader. That ends today.

This post comes from Alina Sato, who is a pediatric intensive care nurse, a worship leader, and a pastor's wife. She has been leading worship for 19 years. She reports that she finds photography and writing to be wonderful outlets for her introverted heart, and you can catch up with her on her blog: A Pilgrim's Lens.

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I had been asked to lead worship for our denomination’s annual winter youth retreat. My first inclination was to say no. The idea of attending a youth retreat, much less being a leader at one, was exhausting in and of itself. But the more I prayed about it, the more my heart burned with a desire to facilitate a space for these high schoolers to truly connect with the Lord.

Being in my early 30s at the time, I was quite out of touch with the current worship songs for the younger generation. Hence, I started listening to the latest worship CDs, and so many of them were incredibly powerful and inspirational. However, there were a couple of obstacles. One was that I didn’t have a full band and choir rockin’ out behind me, and the second was… I’m an introvert. I couldn’t picture myself yelling into a microphone. I had a harder time leading the high-energy songs that the young people seemed to engage with. I really had a sense that the Lord wanted me to go to this retreat. But I didn’t know how to do this as an introvert.

Incredibly, we had a powerful weekend, and on the last day, I received some encouragement notes from a number of the young people stating how much they appreciated the times of worship. One note in particular stated, “I have never experienced times of worship like this. I’m not sure exactly why that is, but thank you for leading us.” I found myself on my knees, in tears, in awe, and in worship of our faithful, glorious God.

These were the lessons I learned from that weekend:

1. Leading worship effectively as an introvert really does not mean leading louder. In order to lead a group into worship that is in spirit and in truth, we ourselves must be free to worship-lead in spirit and in truth, out of who we are as introverts. I loved facilitating more open, quiet spaces for people to pray, repent, and receive. I think this is important for an increasingly restless, overstimulated generation. According to Isaiah 30:15, “This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says: ‘In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength, but you would have none of it.’” Perhaps we are shaped as introverted worship leaders so that we might be used to facilitate more times of repentance, rest, quietness and trust in our congregational times together.

2. Be humble as a worship leader and partner with other leaders who have the personality to lead the more upbeat songs. I ended up leading a lot of the quieter or medium-paced songs, and had my guitarist, also a gifted leader, take the higher-energy songs. The result was leadership that was more effective all-around, and a greater sense of unity among our worship team. It became less about me as “the” leader, and more about us as a team serving together.

3. I learned that there are introverts in that young crowd - more than we realize. Not all of them want to be yelled at through a microphone to be stirred up for worship. Not all want to dance, scream and form a mosh pit. Many of them have a lot of heavy issues on their heart that they want space to work through with the Lord. We as introverted worship leaders can be such a refreshing gift for them.

Who are your heroes?

2011-08-11T13:22:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite questions for taking a conversation to the next level is "Who are your heroes?" Who a person identifies as their heroes reveals much more about them than it does about their heroes. It reveals their passions, their hopes, how they identify themselves, and what they dream of for the future. It may even be an indicator of that thing we all long for: vocation.

I realized something recently. My heroes have changed. From late college through seminary into church ministry and along to campus ministry, me heroes were pretty much consistent. I may have oscillated from one person to another, but they were all teaching pastors with a scholarly bent. They had Ph.d's or were extremely well read. That was who I wanted to be. I wanted to be a senior pastor, maybe with a adjunct professor gig or two, with a breadth of knowledge, who was primarily a church educator. I went out of my way to initiate with those pastors and I sought to imitate them - their preaching and teaching, their disciplines, even their mannerisms. Most of the books I read were about doctrine and theology and teaching and leadership, and I often considered enrolling in either a D.Min program or Ph.d program. That's what you do if you want to be a scholar-pastor.

A few months ago my spiritual director called me an "artist," and something clicked. You know that moment when you arrive home after a trip or a long day, and you let out a long sigh, your body relaxes, and you know you are somewhere familiar and welcoming? That's what the word artist did for me, almost like it was some sort of password into another realm. I am an artist and my medium is the written word. It helped me make sense of some of my outlier tendencies - i.e. my dislike of meetings and overly structured days, and my need for quiet, reflective space, for beauty, and for words and sentences that dance.

Ever since, I have been on the lookout for new heroes. I have spent more time in museums in the last year than I did in the previous 10 years. It seems that I have to force myself to read theology books these days, but my heart naturally tends towards fiction, biographies about Van Gogh and Coltrane, and people who are better writers than they are theologians (except for N.T. Wright, who is a brilliant writer). And honestly, these new tendencies produce quite a bit of tension in my life, because I feel somehow that artists or writers contribute to the church less than do theologians and teachers. Once my gifts sat right in the heart of church ministry, but now I find myself in a circle of people that has sometimes felt alienated, especially in Protestant churches. Suddenly I find myself more wrapped up in beauty and story and mystery than I am in precise doctrinal categories. I am quickly bored by theological debate and discussions about detailed exegesis (and I have a Masters of Theology in New Testament), but I am captivated by poets and mystics, even though they still seem really weird. I have become far more comfortable with expansive questions than I am with capsulized answers. I still have pastoral heroes but they are pastors who can write, who can paint pictures in words, and who can capture the emotion and the transcendence and the color of the Christian vision in black words on white paper.

When your heroes change, often it signals a change in your community. It's like "home" relocates. And it's a painful transition, but even more painful is denying the changes that are taking place in yourself.

So, who are you heroes? Have your heroes changed?

Best assignment ever

2011-08-09T17:08:00.000-07:00

Occasionally I receive writing assignments for my alma mater's, Claremont McKenna College's, alumni magazine. The assignments are always interesting and usually quite different from the rest of the writing that I do, plus they pay much better than any other publication I have written for. This month I have the incredible opportunity to interview the new Catholic chaplain of the House of Representatives, an alum, and write an article about him for the fall issue.

Of course, some of the article must be reserved for discussing his college experience and how that relates to his current ministry and his path for getting there. But I can also ask him anything that I want about his position, the relationship between politics and religion in this country, the current roiling political climate, etc.

So, if you had an hour to talk to him, what questions would you ask??

Recovering Spiritual Direction

2011-08-08T14:31:00.000-07:00

From the archives:

"Oh, so you're like an astrologer?"

I had just informed a youth pastor at an evangelical conference that I was a certified spiritual director, and he, in a disarmingly curious way, linked me with people who look to the stars for mystical guidance and dating advice. In that moment, I realized I had another presentation problem.

Let me explain. It seems that I have stumbled into a less-than-dazzling vocation of label resurrection, of breathing life into once-vital terms that have in recent decades, especially in evangelical circles, turned cold and blue. I spent the last three years trying to restore the word "introvert" into the evangelical consciousness as something other than a shy misanthrope who resists community life and sharing the gospel. I even penned a book in which I attempted to correct misunderstandings about introverts and to demonstrate the gifts that introverts bring to their communities. And now it seems that my newest debate with evangelicalism's etymological coroners is over the term spiritual direction.

The conversation about introversion and the conversation about spiritual direction have some interesting points of intersection. In my book Introverts in the Church, I make the link between the two, saying that while many of our church leadership models are highly extroverted, the practice of spiritual direction may be tailor-made for introverts. Because of that, some of the misunderstandings evangelicals have toward introversion are parallel to their confusions over spiritual direction.

David Benner aptly defines spiritual direction as "a prayer process in which a person seeking help in cultivating a deeper personal relationship with God meets with another for prayer and conversation that is focused on increasing awareness of God in the midst of life experiences and facilitating surrender to God's will."

Though a new concept to many evangelicals, spiritual direction is an ancient discipline, practiced in various ways throughout the history of the church. Since its roots are in past centuries, many of its features feel unfamiliar to us.

First, spiritual direction is a slow ministry. Few spiritual directors will be described in words like "energetic" and "charismatic." It involves an almost plodding relationship between two people who are utterly devoted to paying attention to the Spirit's movements in one person's ordinary life. One of the attractions of spiritual direction is that it forces believers to slow down, to remove themselves from the frenetic activity of our culture, and to pay attention to what surfaces in the quiet. It requires a patient relationship that examines behaviors, motivations, relationships, and emotions, in the context of an individual's relationship with God and in response to God's presence.

Spiritual direction is also a quiet ministry. It centers around deep listening, prayer, and waiting on God. "Direction" is really a misnomer, as it rarely involves one person telling another what to do. It doesn't replace teaching, discipleship, or pastoral counseling, but is for the purpose of helping a person hear and respond to God's voice in his or her life. The director isn't trying to make anything happen or to elicit a particular response in the directee. The role of the director is to ask questions and to listen on multiple levels: to the directee, to God, and to what's happening inside him or herself. It's a ministry that eliminates small talk, except where that small talk relates to God's movements in the mundane, and is sparing of words in general, injecting enough space into conversations to attune people to God's subtle wavelengths.

Spiritual direction is also a small ministry. It usually involves a mere two people in an ongoing, developing, deepening relationship. Sometimes it involves a small group of people who seek to listen to God both for themselves and on behalf of the other members. It is not glamorous, and has no production value. It takes place away from the limelight and behind the scenes. Since very few churches offer spiritual direction as a part of their official services, spiritual direction tends to happen outside of the building: in retreat centers and coffee shops, or even email. Most spiritual directors work pro bono or for very modest honoraria.

Slow. Quiet. Small. Not exactly evangelical buzzwords. Yet those words describe the practice of spiritual direction -- and also the contexts in which many introverts thrive. We introverts often move a little slower, listen a little more than we speak, and tend toward deeper relationships with fewer people.

Over the past few years, as I have become more comfortable with my introverted preferences, I have found myself withdrawing from some aspects of evangelical culture -- especially where it tends toward hyperactivity and an unhealthy restlessness -- and I have discovered a quiet passion for spiritual direction. I have had a spiritual director for five years and I just completed a three-year training program to become a certified director. Of course, extroverts can be excellent spiritual directors as well, but I consider the gifts that many introverts have -- a readiness to listen, a rich interior life, and deep compassion -- to be wonderful assets of spiritual directors.

I am grateful that evangelicals in recent decades have rediscovered the benefits of spiritual disciplines, though it seems that many still conceive of those disciplines as largely individualistic. Spiritual direction combines the cultivation of the interior life with the formation of a partnership with another person who can provide an alternative voice to our own, who can help us pay attention to the Voice that continues to speak, not through the wheeling stars but through his Son and his Word.

Introverted Campus Ministry

2011-08-06T06:00:00.000-07:00

I worked for four years in college ministry - one year in a church and three years in campus ministry - and while I loved much of the work, I found it to be a quite extroverted ministry. It's no secret that college is a particularly extroverted stage of life, and those that are called to minister to people in that phase find that the social demands are high. Sometimes the energy and passion of college students are welcome; other times they are exhausting.

Today's post comes from Rachel Stephan Simko. Rachel is a former-actress-turned-campus-minister who works with her husband for the Coalition for Christian Outreach. She, her husband, and their 4-week-old live in intentional community right outside Philadelphia with another young family. She writes about their experiences at Even One Sparrow and about campus ministry at 15 Minutes of Campus.

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I never thought I'd be working in ministry with college students.

I never thought I'd be working in ministry, period.

But God has a funny sense of humor.

My husband and I work for a campus ministry called the CCO (Coalition for Christian Outreach), which challenges students to live out their faith in every area of life. When my husband initially joined the CCO, I was locked away in a little cubicle doing sales. I hated the job, but I never envisioned myself joining the ministry.

And then all of a sudden, there I was: responding to a call from the Lord to work alongside my husband. We were set up to do a five-week-long training program, and I left my introverted nature off to the side and allowed excitement to carry me through the days.

That is, until my said introversion reached a scary climax.

We were about a week and a half into training, and suddenly I was stricken with severe agoraphobia. It was not something I had dealt with before -- not to this extreme. I had always been massively introverted, and I had traces of anxiety in my life, but never before had I been gripped with uncontrollable, debilitating fear. I was in over my head.

But the worst part was that this sudden bout of anxiety only solidified my greatest fears about joining the ministry: I wasn't equipped. I would fail. An introvert like me could never make it in an extrovert-geared ministry for college students. I had to wonder...

Why did God bring me here at all?

I was fortunate that the agoraphobic attack only lasted about a month, but it was an excruciatingly long and confusing month. However, if it weren't for my intense struggle, I would have never known the root of my problem: trusting the Lord. I had been living my life on my own efforts and not trusting God with it. Even with a clear call into ministry, I didn't trust that God could use me. I thought that maybe He had made a mistake -- or maybe I misheard Him. With agoraphobia, the Lord brought me to my knees and I had to face my delusions. And once I relinquished myself unto Him -- once I acknowledged the fact that I could do nothing apart from Him, including trusting Him -- I was released from the worst of the attack.

If you've ever found yourself in a similar situation, you should join me and take solace in knowing that you are in good company. The reality is that when God chooses a person to do something for His Kingdom, He doesn't make a mistake. He has a plan, and His plans will succeed. While I was battling with my own feelings of inadequacy, God was quick to remind me of the plethora of ill-equipped people He called to do courageous things. I'll jog your memory with a select few:

In Exodus 3&4: God says, "Lead the people out of Egypt." Moses says, "But I'm not equipped to speak."
In Judges 6: God says, "Conquer the Midianites." Gideon says, "But I'm in the weakest clan of warriors."
In Acts 9: God says to Ananias, "Give sight back to Saul; I am going to use him to bring many to my name." Ananias says, "But he has persecuted the Christians."

In each case, God used these ill-equipped people to do mighty things and bring Him glory. Again and again, we see examples of God calling people to do things they have no business doing. Not only do these people feel ill-equipped, they are ill-equipped, and maybe that's the whole point. If we were always perfectly equipped to do every work, then the glory could potentially fall on us. We would miss out on witnessing the miraculous power of our Lord. 2 Corinthians 12:9 reminds us, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."

Sometimes God does call us to do things that match up well with our personalities and talents; sometimes the calling goes against the grain. In my case, God made me utterly weak in order to show His almighty strength. He called me to a position in which I had no official qualifications -- vocationally or personally. But it was as if I heard Him whisper in those dark moments, "Trust me, and see what I will do!"

The results of this trust have been surprising, but also very confirming. I have mentored so many girls who have struggled with similar anxieties and fears. I am able to identify and reach out to the introverts on college campuses -- the ones who may have otherwise gone unnoticed. God has combined the differing personalities of my husband and me in order to build an overwhelming ministry on campus. And when we reflect on the past year, we can only say it was His hand moving, and not our own efforts.

And I stand in awe of a Father who creates introverts, extroverts, and everyone in between, and I repeat the words of Paul boldly: "Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest upon me." (2 Cor. 12:9)

Hospitality for those would rather stay "in"

2011-08-04T07:40:00.000-07:00

I love that title. It's what I'm working with for an article I'm writing for Conversations Journal, which is the lone survivor of my recent magazine subscription amputation. I have been asked to write an article about introverts practicing hospitality. The audience for Conversations is made up primarily of spiritual directors, and my guess is that there are plenty of introverts in that set. I always like to solicit feedback about topics I'm working on, so let me throw out a few questions.

1. What is required in order to be a genuinely hospitable person? What are the outer requirements? The inner realities?

2. How might introverts be particularly skilled at practicing hospitality? How might they struggle?

3. How have you, as an introvert, succeeded at hospitality? How have you failed?

Thanks everyone! I've been feeling particularly grateful for this community recently. Thanks for all your thoughtful comments.

The Necessary Evil of Book Promotion

2011-07-31T15:22:00.000-07:00

You might not guess from the title of my book, Introverts in the Church, that I am a skilled book promoter. Perhaps "skilled" is not the right word, and maybe I should go with something like "plodding" or "persevering" or "neurotic." But my book is in its 6th printing (so, we can safely assume there are at least 6 copies in print) and has sold more than twice what my publisher predicted, and that owes in large part to the effort I have put into book promotion. The days are over when an author could relish the quiet days of writing a book, then pass it off to his publisher who would do the dirty work of promoting it. If you have a publisher, they will work hard for you and will help connect your book to their networks. But it has been my experience in the last 2 years that the work of promoting the book requires just as much work as writing the book, if not more so.

I realize this will be disheartening to many people, who find the idea of broadcasting their writings less than enjoyable and possibly downright detestable. It even feels contradictory to the nature of the creative process, which is internal and quiet and deeply personal. I know. So, if you have a glad-handing, charismatic, extroverted, dynamo-of-a-salesman identical twin, then now is the time to deploy him.

I don't discuss the process of book promotion because I particularly enjoy it. I discuss it because I am absolutely committed to writing and I know that if I want to keep writing, and getting book contracts, then I must dedicate myself to promotion. So if you are courageous enough to write a book and crazy enough to promote it in the marketplace, allow me to give you some suggestions. Some of what follows is based on successes I have had, some of it is based on mistakes I have made.

1. Make social media your friend, or at least your begrudging ally. Gone are the days of big banner ads in magazines and newspapers, countless radio interviews, bookstore readings, and "book tours." When my book came out people constantly asked me "Are you going on a book tour?" Unless you're a former President, a politician, a celebrity, named Rob Bell or Donald Miller, or want to rent an ice cream truck and sell copies of your book along with creamsicles, you're not going on a book tour. Even if you did, no one would show up. Except for your parents, as long as they don't have anything else going on.

Fortunately, for us, there is this newfangled thing called "the internet," which I am convinced was invented by a starving writer who couldn't sell his books the old-fashioned way. Introvert that I am, I have utilized the internet and multiple social media sites more than anything else in this process. So, if you're not on them yet, get on Twitter, Facebook, Google+, LinkedIn, Goodreads, and any other successful social media venue that is invented between now and 3 hours from now. Start with Twitter and go from there. Seriously, if you're not on these sites, stop reading this post and go join them now. Gary Vaynerchuck, author of The Thank You Economy and rabid marketer says that Twitter and other social media are here for the long haul. He called it "plumbing" for businesses, part of their basic foundation. He then ended the talk I heard by saying "And then it's on, like Donkey Kong." So consider ending all your updates, interviews, and lectures like that, as well.

2. Learn how to effectively use social media. Setting up accounts is the easy part; building a following is the hard part. Too many authors get on social media and then use their tweets and updates as a repetitive, boring monologue, just like the way I preached my first year out of seminary. They link to their books and their writings and their blog posts and they don't dialogue with people. Social media is intended to be a conversation, not a monologue. I suggest responding to most all tweets and comments, unless it's in poor taste, overly critical, or from a potential stalker. That's why I don't respond to the Old Spice Guy's tweets to me any more.

When you update your status, talk about more than just your writings. Give the occasional personal update, like "I'm watching my cat eat a daddy-long-legs right now and I'm wondering if my writing career is like that spider." Tweet a few times a day and update your Facebook status once a day. Nothing makes me unfollow people faster than too many updates.

Start a Facebook page for your book and invite people to become fans. I have built a significant online community at the FB page for Introverts in the Church, and now I have a faithful fan base who will help me promote my writings. If you interact with people in social media, suddenly you will discover you're not alone in marketing your book. You will have advocates who can reach farther than you ever could on your own. Before you know it, you will be getting sued by the Winklevoss twins.

3. Connect with bloggers. Bloggers are the new book tour guides. I went about meeting bloggers in a very strategic way. Every year this blog ranks the top 200 Christian blogs and even though it's only one meter and there are some obvious absences on it, it still is a good starting point. I went through that list, one by one, and tried to determine, based on the content of their blog, if they would find my book interesting. I even searched their blogs for words like "introvert" to see if they had ever discussed it or identified themselves as such. I was an introverted creepy stalker. "He always seemed so nice," my neighbors will one day tell the police. But it worked. If a blog seemed to resonate with my book topic, I emailed the blogger and asked if she wanted a copy of my book for potential review or interview. More often that not the person said yes and would follow through on discussing the book in their space.

Another way that I connected with bloggers who were interested in my book was by setting a few Google alerts on the subject. Google will send you a daily email when keywords that you choose appear on the internet. Then you can follow those links and leave comments on blogs or contact bloggers who are sympathetic to your cause.

4. Aim for making friends, not building networks. Regular bloggers, especially those who post everyday are constantly looking for material, and I have been regularly surprised by how grateful they are when you give them a topic to write about. I did make a few mistakes at the outset by being overly pushy, and I have learned that the tone you use in your communications with them will make a big difference. I try to connect with people in an informal, personal way and share a bit of myself when I contact them, and I ask them about their ministries and their churches, though never in an invasive way. I always give them room to say no. I follow up, but only once, respecting them and their busy lives. Writing a daily blog can be really taxing, so volunteer to do the work. Suggest an interview or a guest post in which you do the bulk of the work and they can take it easy for the day.

Reciprocate. Engage in cross-promotion. If a blogger is promoting their own book, link to it, review it, post an interview with them, or draw attention to their stuff in some other way. If they write something about your book, do all that you can to get visitors to their blog, not only to benefit your book sales but to draw more regular readers for them. By doing these things you will find that many of the bloggers you contact will become friends. I now count bloggers I initially contacted for my book - people like Trevin Wax, Rachel Held Evans, Rhett Smith and Anne Jackson - to be friends. (you see what I did there?)

5. Each book needs a blog. I stole that line from Jon Acuff, who started Stuff Christians Like and parlayed that not only into a book but a new career. I started Introverted Church in 2007 and I have slowly built a readership, but perhaps more importantly, if anyone googles "introvert Christian" or anything along those lines they will find my blog in the top 5 results. That comes from 4 years of blogging about the topic. A blog gives you a home base where people can find you, information about your book, and examples of your writing and thinking. These days many people have a need to interact with the author, even if it's just reading or commenting on the author's blog. It's amazing to me how much more people will be receptive to buying a book if they feel like they have some sort of relationship with the author. So, a blog is not only about dispersing information but about building trust and connecting directly with readers. Make sure to include your contact info on your blog, including your email address. I opened a new email account just for blog inquiries.

Share your blog. I only just started asking for guest-posts and it has paid significant dividends. The last two months have boasted record high numbers, not only because of the quality of the guest posts but also because you gain advocates in guest-bloggers who will send their regular followers to your blog. Hopefully, those new readers will stick around and buy your book.

6. Practice saying "yes." I'm one of those people that, when first presented with an opportunity, will immediately say "no." It's my default. I can always come up with a reason for why I can't or shouldn't do something. But authors who want to sell books need to practice the "yes" response. I had to resolve that I would never let fear speak or decide for me, so that when the radio stations called for interviews, I answered, and when the speaking invitations came, I accepted. Speaking opportunities are invaluable for book promotion. No matter how many billions of people around the world are on the internet for hours on end every single day, you will encounter thousands and thousands of people in speaking venues who have never heard of your book. They may even be readers of blogs that have reviewed your book, and your book will still not have registered in their brains.

Always be sure to have plenty of copies of your book when you speak in front of crowds. Have more than you think will sell. People are impulse buyers and if you don't have copies of your book right in front of them, even if it's priced higher than the internet, they likely won't buy it after they leave. That's also why you need to have a very prominent link to your book on your website. Conveniently, you'll notice mine at the very top-right on this blog. Also, include regular links to your book in the body of your blog posts.

7. Encourage people to pre-order your book on Amazon. My publisher told me that this was a "stroke of genius" on my part. My book was up on Amazon 4 months before it was released, and I asked blog readers, social media followers, and all my friends to pre-order it. The large number of pre-orders moved the book up in Amazon searches quickly and also got the attention of other distributors and book sellers.

8. Identify advocates. These people are not who you might think they are. At first, I handed copies of my book to Christian superstars whenever I met them and tried to figure out a way to get it into the hands of the most influential and visible people. That cost me a book and usually benefited nothing, aside from the initial rush. The superstars are too busy, are bombarded with hundreds of random books, and are usually promoting their own stuff and don't have motivation to promote yours. The people who have proven to be the best advocates for me are not usually the most visible members of a church. They may be youth pastors, small group leaders, or not play any specific role at all but have strong ties to influential people or networks. There is an element of mystery in this process that you need to take into account, and it should keep you constantly open, constantly listening and looking for the people whom you may be led to.

9. Maintain the author mystique. This one is intangible. It's amusing to me how much admiration some people have towards authors, even when our books are relatively unheralded. Occasionally I will comment on a small, random blog that mentions my book and the response I get from the blogger will be exuberant. They will then tell all their friends about it and give you free book advertising. The danger of being so available on the internet is that you lose this mystique. This may sound trite, but this is why I will usually take a few days to respond to emails and why I don't respond to every tweet or Facebook wall comment. Somehow we authors need to give an impression of accessibility without giving an impression of average-ness.

10. Count the costs. Now that we've reached the end, I have to close by acknowledging that putting yourself out there in this process takes a toll. Some of this pain can be ameliorated by having a clear plan and boundaries - for example, I spend no more than 30 minutes on social media a day, and I only blog 2-3 times per week. That's all I can give to the internet without feeling like it's taking more from me than it's giving. But even limited time in online interaction can, in Bilbo Baggins' words, leave you "feeling thin, stretched out, like butter scraped over too much bread."

That's why you need to PROTECT YOUR SOUL, because not only can self-promotion inflate (or deflate) the ego but the process can leave you feeling disintegrated, depressed, and tired. If you're doing most of your promoting online, I encourage you to practice regular technology fasts at least once a week and every few months to take off several days. Protect and cultivate your most important relationships, and develop a regular structure for practicing spiritual disciplines that will help connect and reconnect you to the One who put the book idea in your head in the first place.