Lately, we’ve been spending some time at the park downtown. One day, I walked around with R for a while with cookies to share. On another, we were spreading the word about an emergency shelter, because it was to be very cold that night. Most recently, it’s been showing up with pizza on Saturday evenings, because Saturday is the one night that dinner is really hard to come by, if you’re broke.

One thing I’ve learned from this is that helping isn’t hard. Showing up isn’t half the solution. It’s, like, 100% of the solution.

But the real work we’re doing is an experiment in grace. We don’t know how to love God, our neighbors, or even our selves. We struggle, are scared, pray for peace in our hearts, all the while working on our own doubts about wealth and poverty. Can we “afford” to give? Will we lose our own home? Sometimes we interrupt our sharing with others to go and hold each other while we cry.

This experiment, the Radical Love Project, is about turning toward God, toward love, in each moment. There aren’t easy answers. Jesus didn’t say to be sure all your neighbors have at least three pair of socks, or give only if you have a house, but not if you have a tiny apartment. He said to love, fully and deeply, without reservation. So that’s what we are trying to do.

Learn more

If you’re curious about this idea of radical love, I’d suggest watching Ordinary Radicals, a documentary about some folks who are trying to live out the vision, or reading The Irresistible Revolution, by Shane Claiborne. (We have it, and would love to plan a showing if folks are interested.)

mach-zehnder

You can play too

We’re a disorganized band of ragamuffins, but you can probably find us at Washington/Jefferson park at the stage around 6 on Saturday nights. You are welcome to join us in whatever state you find yourself in. We invite you to come and be loved exactly as you are. What to bring? Whatever you have enough of to share. If you have lots of loving attention, bring that. If you’re scared, but you have material resources, bring food or new tube socks. It will all work out.

(If you think you have nothing at all to offer, then you really should come. Please, come hungry!)

One night recently, I woke up four or five times with anxiety, and I did some combination of meditation and prayer each time. The anxiety began to lift by morning. I am so grateful that, instead of being alone on my zafu (meditation cushion), I am in the loving arms of my Brother. It makes it easier to remember that everything is, in fact, just fine. Just as sparrow is fed and the lilies in the field are clothed, I have all I need.

Tracy and I have been spending time with folks who live outdoors. We’ve made a lot of friends, discovered things within ourselves. Kind of strange, though, because forming the intention to walk among this group of people, that in itself paints them as “other”, doesn’t it?

It feels almost like cheating to go among people, many of whom really do live like sparrows and lilies, trusting every day to bring what’s needed. Some of my friends who live outside have faced what they thought was un-survivable, and discovered that they did, in fact, survive. Losing everything turned out not to be the end of the world. The world keeps turning, and the sun keeps coming up.

This place of brokenness can — though it doesn’t always — wake us up. I remember an evening, years ago, when I in a real panic, realizing that some horrible fate was about to come down on me. The details are gone, but I remember that it was financial: maybe the rent was due, and I didn’t know how I was going to pay it. I was freaking out, and then suddenly I realized that I’d had moments like this in the past, and the world hadn’t actually come to an end. I knew that this moment would pass, and it was pretty likely that I’d find myself on the other side of it, going on with my life. This was just a moment, an experience. It was like I woke up. Of course, I had much more to learn, but this was a good start. (I’ve had more freak-outs since then, but — with God’s help, if you’ll pardon the expression — they get milder and farther apart.)

I ache more for the people snug in their houses than for the people who are cold. Their fear gets in the way of love; they think they aren’t secure enough in this world to be able to afford to give to people with less. I imagine they have that same anxiety that wakes me up at night.

I’ve thought sometimes about how the people who stood watching Jesus on the cross (or looked away), or even those taking a more active role in his crucifixion — those were the ones who deserved pity, weren’t they? (Aren’t they?) Jesus knew what he was doing. He was choosing something beautiful in the face of the not-so-beautiful. The ones who needed the love, the Grace, were the ones on the ground who couldn’t “afford” to speak up, couldn’t risk starting a riot and putting a stop to the horror. Instead, they did what felt safe.

I am often able to comfort someone who is “homeless,” with a hug, a pair of socks, or a slice of pizza. But how do I bring comfort to someone who looks away in fear? How do I help them — or myself — through the eye of the needle?

Dear Brian McLaren,

I woke up this glorious inaugural morning–when he-who-must-not-be-named is leaving the white house, and a man who is beloved, who offers hope and change, takes his place–I woke up to your invitation to the Mobilization to End Poverty. And I was sad.

I opened the email with a tiny little spark of hope, that you would ask us to look into our hearts and find ways we better love one another. Maybe you’d ask us to take note of how we have so much more than we need, and invite us to voluntarily share it in the spirit of our Lord Jesus Christ. Maybe you’d remind us that a single moment of real human connection between two people is worth more than gold. Or maybe you’d encourage us to develop traditions like setting an extra place at the dinner table for a stranger, like befriending the scared, the lonely, the hungry and tired.

But instead, I found that I’m being invited to “hold President Obama accountable.” Apparently, it’s an event to “call the new president and members of Congress to take immediate steps to address extreme poverty.”

Is this what you think Jesus would be doing? Leading a crowd of thousands to the capital to appeal to Caesar for kindness? To hold the machine “accountable”?

After reading Keith DeRose’s post on hell (a guest post on Tony Jones’ BeliefNet blog), I couldn’t stop thinking about Richard Dawkins. Talking with my husband later, I realized why, and how it’s intimately related to the post I wrote recently on not being “post evangelical.”

After reading Keith’s post, I realized that I just had no clue how much healing is involved in being post-evangelical. To grow up really believing that somebody could burn in hell for all eternity because they didn’t jump through the right hoops… ouch.

So I got to be a little less sanctimonious about being a freethinker. That was an improvement. A little healthy remorse.

But then it hit me that there’s more. I got a glimpse into what it must be like for my emergent friends to see old-time Christians bible-thumping. Because when I see Richard Dawkins’ book (The God Delusion), my stomach knots up and I want to vomit, or scream. (I feel like screaming right this moment, as I write this.)

See, he’s my people. I’m way into philosophy and science, and he has written some beautiful things on those topics. He’s popular with my circle, at least the rationalist parts of it. He’s *supposed* to be a good guy.

Let me digress. When I was a little girl, I was completely freaked out by the scientistic worldview, that the universe is a cold, dark place, with no God-love holding it together. Determinism was a literal nightmare. I found the idea of hell silly, but the idea of a god-less, cold universe seemed very plausible, and I was terrified of it. I thought if that were true, I should kill myself. Life became a quest for a reason to live.

Since I know that rationalistic “post-atheists” like me are rare in these circles, I want to be especially clear: I am in tears writing this. I was truly traumatized by this “cold-universe” theory. I spent nights sobbing about it, and years battling depression. I sought after God all along, but sometimes lost hope, especially when all the “smart” people (like Penn Jillette and Richard Dawkins) seemed so sure.

So, while I can work up empathy for almost anyone, I haven’t got there yet with Richard Dawkins. He published a book intended to destroy people’s faith, get people to teach their children about the hell he thinks the universe is. I am so angry. So damned angry.

I write this partly as an apology for not getting how much it sucks to be post-evangelical. And partly, I write it because I know there have to be at least a few people who suffered this other kind of hell as a kid. And I want to say it’s ok, it’s not true, there is a loving force in the universe–a loving God–and you are safe in God’s arms.

I’m going to post when I run across a group that seems to be me to be doing beautiful things. I’d invite you to do the same. We may not have the same vision for what a church/community should do, and I’d love to learn about yours!

My favorite thing to read on church/community websites is the “who we are” part. It says so much! Here are a few of the most exciting gatherings I’ve found so far.

Epic, South Florida

When examining what we believe about our faith, we soon
discover that God has been writing a story from the
beginning of time. An epic story of hope and redemption
for all the world; a story where God is restoring all that
was lost to the way He intended it to be. And it becomes
evident that we ALL have a role to play in this story.
Epic is a Christian community devoted to living out God’s
story the best way possible, led by the Spirit that God gives
us. It’s a journey that we can not make alone.

In a world where Christians are divided and labeled as
protestant, evangelical, emergent church, fundamentalist or
liberal, we seek to simply live out our lives as followers of
Jesus Christ without labels.

At Epic, we are committed to live our lives connected to the
Lord, with each other, and with the world around us.

We don’t see Epic as a typical church, but as a way of life
together celebrating faith, Jesus, uniqueness, diversity,
change, unity, and rest. It’s a journey that is constantly
changing us, and on that we believe can change the world.

The Refuge, Front Range region of Colorado

On their main page, The refuge describes itself this way:

an eclectic faith community, all equal, love jesus, pretty messed up, lead, follow, laugh, cry, serve, co-pastors, stories of brokenness and healing, smoker friendly, the refuge

If you go deeper, you find this:

is the refuge for you?

the refuge might be the church for you if you are weary and tired of…
* doing life all alone
* feeling like you don’t belong
* trying to keep it all together
* church feeling more like a corporation than a family
* secrets & hiding
* watching instead of being and doing

the refuge might be the church for you if you are restless and you want….
* more of God
* more purpose
* deeper connection with people
* a new way to worship
* to be challenged and pushed out of your comfort zone
* to experience Jesus’ hope & healing

the refuge is definitely not for you (sorry, we’re just being honest) if you like…
* predictability & routine, never a spontaneous moment
* observing more than participating
* certainty more than mystery
* comfort & enjoyment over growing
* rules and conformity
* being spoken to instead of invited to discover with

Home PDX, Urban Portland, Oregon

Their headline says:

There is no us and them, only us.

Their “about” page is a FAQ, located, appropriately enough, at a URL called /wtf, says this:

We are a hodge-podge of squatters, travelers, hipsters, middle class, gutter punks; not one cookie cutter person in the bunch. Old, young, living indoors or out, with jobs or not, educated or just life educated. Also, you can find us under a bridge on Sundays six months of the year.

These folks make “missional” scary. And very, very real. This is all they offer as a statement of faith:

Many of us choose to follow Jesus. That looks pretty different to each person. I (Ken) am betting my life that the Jesus found in the bible and who, I believe, lives today has and actually is the answer for humans.

I never lied to my kids about Santa. They asked me if Santa was real, and I said Yes! They asked who he was, and I said he was a pretend guy, an idea that inspires us to be kind and generous and give people presents on Christmas. Those kids are grown now, so the subject hasn’t come up for a while.

But we have a new kid now, who’s just four this year. When he announced to me that Santa would be bringing presents and putting them under our tree, I was a bit surprised. (Turns out he learned this from the internet.) Once I recovered from the shock, though, I said “Ok, but since Santa’s pretend, Mama and Papa will have to help.”

You might be noticing here that there’s a similarity between Santa and Jesus. We are his hands and his feet. We are inspired by his model, and his love flows through us. That might be because when I came up with this story, my heart was longing to see Jesus, and couldn’t.

In fact, the other day that same kid asked me “What’s Jesus Christ?” I said he’s my invisible friend. “You know how you have Cubix? Jesus is like that, except I think Jesus is real, and not pretend like Cubix.”

But really, I don’t have a clear idea that Jesus is “real” and Cubix–let alone Santa–is “pretend”. In a sense, they’re all pretend, and in another sense, they’re all real. Each of them has various factors on both sides.

And I enjoy spending hours in contemplation, reading complex theological stuff. But he doesn’t have that to lean on. He just wants a straight answer from me. So the best I could come up with is that Jesus is my real, invisible friend and brother, who I love very much, and he loves me in a way that no other invisible friend does.

The Stories

So here I am, a post-secular-humanist, post-modern follower of Christ, trying to decide what to tell the kids.

Last night (Christmas Eve), the kids stayed at home while we attended a beautiful service. We listened to stories about how Jesus was born in Bethlehem (which I understand is almost certainly not true) of a virgin (questionable) under a moving star (nonsensical!). We talked about the old-fashioned (that is, “modern”) stories instead of talking about the real beauty, from my perspective, which is God’s light coming into the world to heal us.

I don’t oppose myth and metaphor; I just don’t find the old ones encouraging anymore. They don’t help me connect to God.

I know this sounds crazy. Maybe unchristian. This is part of what I meant when I talked recently about what it’s like to be coming to Christianity from the outside. It makes sense to me that someone who grew up with these myths might want to relive them, and squeeze out every drop of metaphor. But the stories don’t speak to me, and they don’t speak to my kids.

The older ones are simply uninterested in Christian mythology, and can’t see what looks to me like the truth of Jesus Christ because of that. The younger one? Well, I could bring him to Sunday school, but I won’t lie to him about Jesus any more than I will lie to him about Santa. He lived, he brought us love, he was killed for his beautiful message. He lives today, in our hearts, and God is with us always. Where can I find a Sunday school that will teach him that?

Emergent Christianity is amazing and wonderful–it allowed me to come in. I was a non-Christian for my whole life, doing my best to follow God without Jesus’ help. Why? Because Christianity appeared completely insane. (I won’t specify… I assume you know what I mean by “insane.”)

So I’m a very happy “emergent” but I’m not emerging from anything remotely fundamentalist or evangelical. I think there might be other folks like me who are “emerging” from

• atheism
• paganism
• agnosticism
• spiritual-but-not-religious-ism
• humanism
• buddhism (which I still dearly love)
• anything-but-Christianity

… not from evangelicalism.

From here, the emerging conversation is looking like a private party where folks talk about where they are coming from. It’s like I’m hanging out with people who all used to live in the mountains, and they say, “Oh, remember how in the mountains it was so cold?” and “I am beginning to think it might be safe to wear shorts.” To tell you the truth, it’s getting kind of boring. I’m tired of hearing about how somebody used to think this or that, but now they are beginning to wonder…

I am much more interested in talking about the experience of God, about theology as Rob Bell paints it, about what it means to love my neighbor and how are the “least of these” than I am about who used to think what, and which church they’ve left, and why.

But the real reason I bring it up isn’t to complain. It’s to explore whether there really are people like me out there, and how best to meet them where they are.

I was at dinner recently with a bunch of pagans, and confessed that I have a found a way to reach for God by following Jesus Christ. What happened next amazed me. One woman said, “Oh yes, I love Jesus.” She said that she felt very close to Jesus, but didn’t like Christians. She said that she communicates with him all the time. “He holds me.”

A man at table said he thought Jesus was amazing, “hard-wired” with awareness of God. “He really got it. I could spend the rest of my life on a mountaintop,” he told me, “and never get it like he did, never accomplish what he could do naturally.”

These are people who had described themselves as *pagans*. Amazing, huh?

But while post-evangelicals are standing around talking to each other, people like that are not being invited in to experience this beautiful thing that is Jesus Christ. And *I’m* not (though I’m stubborn enough to be here anyway). I’m bored with the emergent blogosphere, and hungry for getting into the meat of this path. I don’t want to talk about how Christianity is changing, and who is happy about it and who is not. I want to sing about how wonderful he is, how grace is the most amazing thing, how following him is what life is all about.

In Tony Jones’ blog on BeliefNet, he posted a video of famous atheist Penn Gillette talking about being given a bible by a Christian man. Penn says the guy was really nice, and twice mentions that he looked him “right in the eyes.” He has a lot of respect for the guy, because if you believe in heaven and hell, he says,

“How could you not proselytize? … How much do you have to hate somebody to believe that everlasting life is possible, and not tell them? … If I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that a truck was coming at you … there’s a certain point where I tackle you, and this is more important than that.”

And I can totally see his point. The thing is, this idea is based on a very simple view of the gospel.

I know a lot of people like Penn Gillette, and Christians too, I suppose, who think that being Christian means you believe in this “bargain” theory of God: “Affirm that Jesus died in payment for your sins, and you won’t burn for all eternity in the flames of hell.” But I don’t think the gospel can be reduced that way. And I don’t think that we can turn our beliefs on and off for pragmatic reasons. Belief arises from our experiences.

This is an interesting topic for me because I’ve been puzzled about how to talk about my experience with Jesus Christ. It’s a very personal, internal thing. On the other hand, it’s exciting, and I want to talk about it. And it eases my sufferering, so I want to share with other people who suffer.

I’ve been thinking lately that it’s a gradual thing. If somebody’s hurting, and they *can’t see* God’s loving hands reaching for them (that is, they’ve bought into what I call the cold universe theory, that we’re “nothing but” molecules) then we have to do what’s necessary to help them have eyes to see and ears to hear.

I’m thinking it looks like this: we experience–through people–a decent imitation of infinite compassion and unconditional love. Only then does it begins to seem plausible. One person surrenders to God’s love, and God’s love shines through them, on to people who take it in, and find it just a little easier to believe in love.

What do you think? Do you “proselytize”? How do you share God’s love?

I should confess right off the bat that it was something of a vision. For months now, maybe a few years, I’ve been drawn to this bridge downtown. You know, the Washington-Jefferson bridge?

Well… drawn is a euphemism. I’ve felt called. I’m embarrassed to say so, but there it is.

I’d ask God, “What do you want from me?” and the answer would come like this: “Go.” One word, along with an image. It actually took a while for the image to come into focus. For a long time it was “Go” all by itself. Very confusing…

And then, a few weeks ago, I was walking across the park there with my husband, right under that same bridge, and I had—oh, this makes “called” seem almost sane—a vision. I don’t know what else to call it. A vision.

There was a table, full of food, and a banner hanging from it said “NO PREACHING,” and below that “Just food.”

I have been trying to restrain myself and let things flow as they will flow. But I admit I did come home and buy NoPreaching.org and NoPreaching.com (a coup, if I do say so myself).

This last week, the flow is starting to look something like this: I want to have a bake sale. I don’t want to sell things, but I want to bring yummy food, and give it away to people. (Well, share it with people. I’m going to eat some too!)

Well, I’m not sure “want” is the right word. But apparently I need to? I need to stand under a bridge in the cold damp, blowing on my fingers to thaw them, and looking like an idiot because nobody wants my cookies.

Doesn’t that sound like fun? Wanna come with me?

It’s a fun project. Interesting, too. I settled on one, but I think I could something very different, and it would still be true. You can see what people have said here: …twitter.com/…#tof. Mine went like this:

There is no distance between me and god, and the more I surrender, the smaller that non-distance becomes, the brighter the love glows.

If you’re on twitter (or you sign up!) come visit me (twitter.com/angelaharms), and put your own twitter id in the comments, if you want.