Category: Uncategorized

During the past six to eight months I’ve had some intriguing conversations with some very smart people about Jesus and church and religion: my friend Jason McCarty, an eastern religion-leaning therapist in British Columbia; Gwyn McVay, a buddhist poet here in Lancaster, PA; Ryan Dagen, the youth pastor at Gap Community Church. My dad, a pastor. And others.

What resonated with me the most is that, when I give people space and time to present their thoughts and ideas, I began to realize that MOST people are on a genuine search for Truth. We all have our prejudices and stereotypes and experiences, but most of these fade pretty quickly when we start conversing with someone who is open to hearing what we think about the world, someone who doesn’t condemn us or criticize us for where we are at but simply asks us probing questions.

Huh, that’s funny. That’s what Jesus did.

* * * * *

I started to wonder – what if there was a place that people could go to talk about God that was like church but without the pretense, the pressure to conform, didn’t have the baseball bat waiting to whack you back into line as soon as you suggested something different or non-traditional or perhaps nonsensical? Some recent studies suggest that less than 17% of Americans attend church on a regular basis – what if it’s because the church is more about indoctrinating people with a set of beliefs than giving people the time and space they need to genuinely explore the issues they think are pretty important?

Is there space for an environment like this, where folks from all kinds of different backgrounds can share their stories and ask tough questions out loud and disagree nicely with one another, without blood pressures rising?

We’re going to give it a try.

* * * * *

Beginning January 9th, for 8 consecutive Sundays in January and February, Ryan Dagen and I are experimenting: it’s called 8 Weeks in the Red. We’re going to explore what Jesus had to say about 8 big topics. Some of the titles to the weeks are “Theological Humility,” “Approaching Jesus During a Dark Night,” “A Changing God – The Old and New Testament,” “Homosexuality,” “Acceptance (Not Tolerance),” and “The Big Question: What Do You Seek?”

We think our generation is more attracted to authentic community and the freedom to ask questions than a once-a-week one-hour Sunday morning service. We think that you can take what Jesus had to say about the world and look at it through a postmodern lense without minimizing its affect or watering down its truth. We think that opening the Sunday morning experience at 10am and going until 2pm (including a coffee hour in the beginning and a potluck lunch) is more appealing than going to a place where you try to slip in and out as quickly as possible, without being noticed.

* * * * *

We might be totally wrong. Maybe this isn’t what people are looking for at all. We’ll let you know how it goes.

* * * * *

If this sounds intriguing, you can follow us at The Red on Facebook, or on 8weeksintheRed on Twitter. We’re going to try to keep those pages updated in real time during our meetings with questions and comments that come out, and even if you can’t make it to the actual meeting you can follow along or post questions on the page and we’ll try to address them. There’s also talk of turning the discussion times into a podcast and creating a web site, but we’ll see how things go.

I’m writing this on Tuesday night. Wednesday morning I’m having breakfast with Bryan Allain – he’s probably already ordered his healthy spinach and feta omelet, while I’m chowing down on my artery-clogging creamed dried beef on toast. That’s just how we roll.

While I’m on the subject, it turns out some of Bryan Allain’s “Truth About” videos make me laugh out loud. If somehow you’ve missed them up until now, here’s his first one just to give you a taste. Find the rest of his “Truth About” videos HERE (I can’t be held responsible if you wet yourself from laughing too hard):

By the way, for anyone keeping score, his last name is pronounced uh-lane, not allen. Seriously. I’m not joking. So if you’re ever leading a creative writing class and you invite him in as a guest speaker, don’t introduce him as Bryan Allen. Because he’ll tell you, in front of the entire class, that you’re wrong.

Last year my wife asked me if I wanted to get up with her and her brother and his wife at 3:30am on Black Friday to go shopping. I am not a shopping fan. I am not a get-up-early fan. I am certainly not a put-your-life-on-the-line-at-WalMart-for-a-flatscreen-you-can’t-afford fan.

So why did I go?

My choices were to get up early and go shopping, or stay home with the 7 grandchildren who were present. Both entailed a pre-6am wake-up call, trying to organize an unruly mob, and dealing with a lot of crap. Only the shopping option provided for the possibility for more sleep (albeit in the car) later in the morning. So, in direct conflict with everything I hold dear, I went shopping early on Black Friday morning.

* * * * *

This was exactly one year after someone died a shopping-related death on Black Friday in New York:

Soon after the dinner party, we woke one morning to discover that V had slipped an envelope through the mail slot in our front door (no mailboxes in England, folks, just holes in your door).

“Thank you for joining us last evening for dinner. Here are the car keys. Have fun!”

We looked at each other, eyes wide.

“You’re driving,” Maile said.

* * * * *

We walked to the garage. For the first time in my life I found myself hoping it was a piece of crap automobile. Please, nothing that would match the rest of their possessions, I muttered under my breath. I didn’t want to start off my time in a new country by wrecking a Jaguar convertible or a Bugatti Veyron.

Blessing of all blessings, it was a 1995 (or thereabouts) Peugeot (yes, the little white car at the bottom).

It’s very strange, shifting with your left hand, making left turns on red, passing people on the right. We decided our first trip should be short, perhaps to the train station, so we drove to Great Missenden. All but the main roads are narrow, and I found myself hitting the ditch whenever an oncoming car approached. Once I got more skilled I would just cringe and close my eyes.

* * * * *

Weeks later, after we had purchased our own car, we made a left hand turn out of the lane, headed into the back roads of Buckinghamshire to explore some of the local villages. At one point I came cruising around a corner to find someone approaching on my side of the road!

I slammed on the breaks. He slammed on his breaks. We squealed to a halt mere feet from one another’s front bumpers, all of my stuff having flown forward on to the floor. Maile sat in the passenger seat, frozen in place, eyes wide open, as if the very specter of death had just walked out on to the road and waved a kind hello.

For one angry second I found myself thinking, “What is that idiot doing?” But in the seconds that followed, I sheepishly realized I was driving on the wrong, er, the right, side of the road.

* * * * *

“If we survive our time here,” Maile said, her voice shaking as we drove away, “we will have to consider ourselves very, very fortunate.”

* * * * *

(to read the first installment about my life in England, click HERE)

So there are a few reasons I don’t blog much anymore about our “No TV For One Year” experiment:

1 – it turned into a “No TV For One Year In Our House Experiment,” since I kind of ended up watching most of the World Cup (we were at my in-laws) and occasionally watch some football (at my parent’s house on Sunday afternoons).

2 – I don’t think about it very much. It seemed like this huge sacrifice in the beginning of the year, but once I got into the habit of not sitting down to watch it in the evenings, I just got into the habit of doing other, much more practical things (like playing on-line poker or catching up on all the blogs I follow on Google Reader)

3 – Of all the things I envisioned getting accomplished once I killed the TV (things like reading more books, writing more, playing more games with the family), the only one that has really happened has been “getting to bed earlier.”

I’ve come to the conclusion that, while giving things up is not a bad thing, it’s just as important to make sure you are deliberate about finding things that will fill the void. Otherwise, one time-wasting activity simply takes the place of another.

What am I most looking forward to about watching TV in 2011? Sports. Only three years until the next World Cup. And borrowing Bryan Allain’s complete collection of Lost and watching it from beginning to end, continually reminding him via blog and twitter that I get to experience it for the first time.

Oh, yeah, and Jersey Shore. Can’t wait for that.

Since I’ve been out of the TV loop for a year, what should I be sure not to miss in 2011?

My wife and I didn’t have to wait in the foyer for very long.

V swept toward us from what smelled like the direction of the kitchen, two glasses of champagne in her hand. A swirling vengeance of friendly German Shepherd activity surrounded her. Simultaneously apologetic and friendly, she deposited a long-stemmed glass into our hands, yelled viciously at the dogs, then turned to us again with a beautiful smile and asked about our day.

I was stunned. She looked equally at home in her beautiful silver gown as she had earlier that day when she wore work gloves and humongous boots while hefting a dead sheep into the back of her vehicle. Something about her was younger than us, even though she was in her late fifties and we were still 24 and 23. She led us gracefully into the kitchen so that she could finish the preparations while entertaining us.

Before long J made his way into the kitchen, hair still wet, showering apologies on us for not being ready when we arrived. He also exhibited this amazing combination of extreme graciousness (toward us) and complaining hostility (towards the three dogs, whenever they began thrusting their snouts into improper places).

“For goodness sakes!” V finally shouted in a shrill British accent that reminded me of the Queen in Alice in Wonderland. “Out! Out! All of you!” And while the three dogs seemed completely oblivious of J, when V spoke their tails dropped and they whimpered their way into the laundry room.

“Hm,” V said with a smile on her face. “That’s much better.”

Then the doorbell rang. Butterflies. Who were their guests? Would we add up? Feel awkwardly American? Make complete fools of ourselves?

Before the first couple made it inside the house, three more sets of headlights drove past the kitchen window and parked at the back of the driveway. Then the doorbell rang again. Soon voices flooded the house. Then V’s voice in a kind of happy shout, “Everyone to the dining room!”

Maile and I took a deep breath, then walked back down the hall, following the slowly shifting tide of humanity. Everyone chatted loudly, sipping the champagne V had similarly thrust into each of their arriving hands. The crowd bottled up outside one of the doors for a moment, then stood waiting as V directed everyone to their assigned seat.

Couples would not sit together. V arranged the seating in the order she thought would provide the most discussion among attendees. Everyone else seemed used to this, laughing with delight when they saw who V had put them beside. Maile and I were separated by a few seats. I squeezed her hand before she went to her seat. She smiled nervously.

The room was about 12 by 24. A large rectangular table, covered with 14 place settings, sat under a modest chandelier. Every square inch of the table was covered with either glasses or wine bottles or serving trays or tea pots and tea cups. Each plate was flanked by four forks, multiple spoons and varying knives. I eyed up the encoded silverware and prepared myself for what was sure to be a stressful meal.

But one of the gentlemen dispelled this myth quickly.

“My God, V, how the hell am I supposed to eat with so many pieces of cutlery? Do I use just one piece at a time?”

Everyone laughed, and the sound filled me with relief and happiness. V waved her hand.

“Just start on the outside. Besides, no one cares which fork you use.”

Everyone laughed again. I had a feeling that everyone laughing knew which fork to use, but they were all old enough to not really care about it anymore.

It was one of the most spectacular evenings of my life.

They were clearly old friends, both in age and in years spent together. The only other couple under forty  was one of V’s sons who had come with his girlfriend – he, along with J, were the two axis around which the party revolved. V, once the crowd was organized to her liking and the food was proven to be perfect, seemed quite happy to fade into the background.

Something about this group made me feel safe. They were all so friendly, so kind, as if we, too, had grown up with them, had grown old with them, had started businesses and became fabulously rich with them. Perhaps they did it just to be nice, to be polite to the guests of their hosts. But I think they did it because they saw, in us, something of themselves. Adventurers moving to England to start a new life, a new business. Young hope.

Towards the end of the night J stood and raised what was probably his 7th or 8th glass of white wine toward the ceiling. He put one hand on the table to steady himself. His words were slightly slurred, but endearingly so.

“And to our special guests, Shawn and Maile, for joining us tonight. Cheers!”

Everyone raised their glasses and toasted us, then drank. But J kept going:

“They’ve come very far. Practically deep into the jungle” (at this everyone had a good laugh). “But it’s true! It’s true. They’ve left the comforts of their home. They’ve left their families behind. They’ve come into this foreign land to introduce the savages to a new product” (more laughter). “But we wish them all the greatest success. We hope that with hard work, and perseverance, all their wildest dreams will come true.”

A more serious “Cheers!” rose up from the crowd, as if all of them, at some point in their lives, had taken a similar trek into the jungle.

The night went too quickly. Soon we were saying good-bye, walking down the dark lane, lit now and again by the headlights of other departing guests, some of whom rolled down their windows to say good-bye to their new American friends. The three German Shepherds accompanied us home, their large paws making light thumps on the grassy bank beside the lane – somehow we were their friends now, after just one night in the house on the hill.

We could hear the occasional bleating of sheep in the dark meadows. When we arrived home that night the house was finally empty – no longer filled with homesickness and anxiety and the little pangs of fear. It was simply empty. And waiting to be filled with new things.

(continued here: Driving On the Right Side of the Road)

(to read the first installment about my life in England, click HERE)