Celebration of smallness

Today is the last day of work before Christmas for many of us here in the city. It is a cold, windy and grey day, and the streets are hardly buzzing with anticipation as they have been over the past few weeks. Oh, I'm sure the tourists are still in full mob-mode in Midtown and Union Square (where I unfortunately must travel later today to do some last- minute shopping!), but for me, the day represents less of a giddy stepping-off into celebration than a welcome rest from a long and difficult stretch of the journey. A sabbath rest, if you will.

On Sunday night we fly back to San Diego for a week, to stay at my parents' house for Christmas. We are looking forward to spending time with everyone and relaxing. New York must be escaped every now and then so that the sense of wonder remains fresh and constant. Refreshed, we plan to return and move into the next phase of this strange operation called 141-NYC.

What is that phase, you may ask? Well, the primary thing is to move forward into action, but action in a very small and personal sense. We have learned that the city defies any attempt to create static models for minstry, and it resists any attempt to build systems to bring healing. The sheer complexity of masses of human life is one thing; the fact that the city is a beast that is more than the sum of its parts is another. So instead of systems, we look for praxis and learning. We engage, step out into the flow of life and allow it to change us while remaining within our perspective. This is referred to by Miroslav Volf as "double-vision." It involves a willingness to embrace the Other, but without denying our identity (which is of course, defined entirely by the cross).

Practically, this means "getting out there" no matter what the odds or appearances say. After all, there are thousands upon thousands of homeless young people in this city, but I defy anyone to point them out among the crowds. In Portland, we talked about our friends and said that they were invisible to the rest of society, and through love they became visible. When we said "invisible," we were speaking figuratively of course. Squatters and travelers are quite easy to see in Portland. In New York, they are literally and physically invisible. They have to be, because in a city of conspicuous wealth and consumption, symbols of poverty and rejection are not allowed. Or if they are allowed, they are allowed as a token bit of scenery to add to the "urban ambiance" of the city.

So being there, for us, means being aware. It means having clarity of vision (in a very real sense). It means seeing peoples' hearts as we pass by, instead of their outer disguises. I believe that God has been training us to do this for the past five months. He has been teaching us that New York is a city with many layers, and one cannot simply remain on the surface if one wants to truly live here with significance. We have a little bit of money to get started, all that we need right now, because our plan is to ring in the new year in a celebration of smallness. We will be looking for team members, brothers and sisters, fellow travelers who like the idea of starting small and with as little fanfare as possible. We will free the captives, but only one at a time. Sorry if that seems anticlimactic, but like a grey, crappy day right before Christmas, it's perfect for New York.

Advent

It goes without saying, or even needing to be said, that we have not posted in quite some time. I have been blogging on and off for various sites over the past four years or so, and I can tell you that this is a recurring pattern for me. Great fits of activity, insights and poetry are often followed by long doldrums. It is not for the lack of motivation. I think about blogging almost every day. It may be that, for me, blogging is a less-than-ideal form of communication. My personality is such that I want things to come out polished and well thought out, and blogging is much more conducive to immediacy. Kelly, of course, is much better at blogging, and maintains a fairly frequently updated blog on her Myspace page. Anything that has appeared on this site has come from said page. But since I am the self-appointed keeper of the "organizational" (i.e. 141-NYC, whatever that means on any given day), you can be sure that frequency may be an issue from time to time.

That said, I digress, but not entirely, to my subject. We have been attending a Lutheran church for the past few weeks, and it has been quite a different experience for us. It is not so much new for me as a return to the past, as I grew up in the Lutheran church and attended a Lutheran elementary school. I have found the return somewhat refreshing. For Kelly and Luke it is a new thing altogether. Kelly has found, however, that the more structured, tradition-based and liturgical element has significance to her that she had been missing in the non-denominational settings of our past. One of those elements that seems especially relevant to our situation now is the liturgical calendar.

Following the church calendar helps us to realize that seasons are both appropriate and intentional. There are times for celebration, for mourning, and for waiting. There are times for great bustles and bursts of activity, but there are also times of quiet introspection, and all of these are divinely ordained; or at least, they are ok to practice! So we don't have to feel useless or incompetent because we cannot keep up with the manic pace of modern ministry that demands demonstrable results at all times. I realize this is not a new or revolutionary discovery, that I am in a sense discovering something simple that has been there all along. But like Chesterton said, in trying to be the best heretic I could be I ended up finding I was orthodox all along (or something to that effect).

The current season, Advent, means that now is a time for waiting, watching and preparing. It is a time for reflecting on where we are, and looking to the future. The dark blues of Advent and the candles add to the introspective mood. This mood is only heightened by the chill of late fall that quiets the city for brief moments on evening walks by the bay. It is as though our Creator has infused this season with physical properties intended to turn the mind away from activity and in to contemplation. Yes, it is the hectic pre-Christmas season, but the cold air of anticipation also heightens our senses and causes us to pause, to hear the echoes of footsteps on frigid sidewalks, and to remember the places we have journeyed from and journeys awaiting us without roadmaps or directions.