The real challenge of Darwinism

by Jason Byassee

“Darwinism is a lie.” Not the sort of comment one would expect in the guestbook of an exhibit on the greatness of Charles Darwin’s life and influence. What did the complainer expect?

Chicago’s Field Museum has presented Darwin in an effort to stem the rising antagonism toward evolution embodied in the Intelligent Design movement and in the high percentage of Americans who report to disbelieve his theory of origins. But why would someone who thinks Darwin is a lie have bothered to attend?

The exhibit, which closed January 1, strolled through Darwin’s life, focusing especially on his five-year voyage on the Beagle, after which he spent the rest of his life as a homebody, studying his finds. The exhibit’s brief attention to Darwin’s faith suggested that his discovery of natural selection was not responsible for his disbelief so much as the premature death of a beloved child—theodicy was a greater existential trial than the challenge to the biblical account of creation. The exhibit spent little time on the issue of social Darwinism—the reason for Marilynne Robinson’s ferocious attack on Darwin in her The Death of Adam—despite comments in Darwin’s late work that point in Herbert Spencer’s direction.

The designers were keen to show the possible synchronicity between faith and evolution. The exhibit included a running video with professing Christians testifying to the way evolution aids their faith, featuring Francis Collins, director of the Human Genome Project, whose book The Language of God (Free Press) details his evangelical conversion by way of C.S. Lewis; and Kenneth Miller of Brown University, a practicing Catholic and prominent witness in the Dover trial against Intelligent Design. A third presenter said the sheer contingency of creaturely existence on this planet furthers his faith by leaving him humbled and awed.

The professing scientists annoyed another guestbook signer who called the video “truly pathetic” and a clear sop to the exhibit’s “donors” (a strange conclusion, as the Field Museum organized the exhibit itself, in collaboration with several other museums). Presumably the signer wanted the exhibit to make plain that Darwin vanquished God, and the museum only lacked the courage to do so for funding reasons. Not to worry, gentle atheist: reading selections from Richard Dawkins and Daniel Dennett in the exhibit’s bookstand will strike the fatal blow to the deity for you (apparently the bookstore’s manager failed to get the memo about placating the donors).

The glimpse into Darwin’s life was unlikely to convert any Darwin haters who might wander in. The most interesting difficulty Darwinism raises for Christianity is felt not only by fundamentalists or six-day creationists. All Christians are challenged to articulate how the sheer unlikeliness of our existence here—amidst countless species who did not survive natural selection—is a witness to the goodness of a creator God. That’s tough to do. But it’s easier to take on this challenge than to ignore the bones that Darwin dug up.

Blogging toward Sunday: On height, Torah, time & glory

by Edwin Searcy

Exodus 24:12-18; Psalm 2 or
Psalm 99; 2 Peter 1:16-21: Matthew 17:1-9

Sunday, February 3

On height, Torah, time & glory

Transfiguration Sunday is the highpoint between Epiphany, when the mystery is suddenly transparent, and the resurrection, when the ultimate epiphany breaks through what we had imagined was the full stop of death. Last year on Transfiguration Sunday our congregation hosted the Rivercity Gospel Jazz band. The service was an explosion of song and prayer and bold preaching that transfigured worship for a Sunday. Something like that seems called for this week.

• The texts are about a longing to know God’s way. With Peter in the lead, the disciples are confounded when Jesus leads them down into a world of suffering (Matt. 17:21ff). They imagined that the church was a place of ease rather than a community that bears pain. Jesus takes them up the mountain in the midst of their perplexity about the cruciform way of the Messiah.

Moses and Joshua were also once in search of God’s way of life in the Torah. In their absence, Moses leaves Aaron and Hur in charge. They are left to adjudicate disputes in the absence of Moses’ wisdom and of God’s law. They have only their own wits to sort out the inevitably messy legal disputes and sordid family arguments that are brought to them.

No wonder Psalm 1 speaks of God’s law as delightful. Without it there is chaos and confusion. With it, “law” is “gospel.” Our habitual theological framing of law over against gospel can cause us to forget that while legalism is not gospel, being given a way to live—what Paul calls “the law of Christ”—is very good news.

• The texts take note of time. Moses is on the mountain for 40 days and nights—evoking the long days of the great flood and the long years of the wilderness wandering and Jesus’ long wrestling with the Tempter. Reception of God’s way did not happen overnight, and it does not happen overnight now. Recall the early church’s long process of catechesis—often three years of preparation before baptism. It takes a long time for God to transfigure our lives.

Moses is called out of the cloud on the seventh day. Jesus takes the disciples up the mountain “six days later,” which suggests that the sabbath, or seventh day, is also the day when life is transfigured and God’s way is revealed with clarity. Given the name of our congregation—University Hill—we often imagine that every time we gather to worship we embark on the journey up the Mount of Transfiguration to see clearly what is shrouded from Monday through Saturday.

• The texts take note of glory. Given all the fire and brightness and dazzling clothes in these texts, God’s glory apparently has to do with transcendent luminosity. Our culture often equates glory with fame, and with glory in winners of all kinds. But in Hebrew “glory” (kabod) means “weight” or “heaviness.” God’s glory is God’s gravitas. To be in God’s presence is to experience the massiveness, the immensity of God. When God’s glorious voice tells Jesus’ inner cabinet of three to “listen to him,” there can be no lingering uncertainty. This is a glorious exclamation mark.

In speaking of this announcement Peter reflects, “We have the prophetic message more fully confirmed.” One might expect him to say that because of the Transfiguration the message has been guaranteed, but he hedges. Yes, the message is more fully confirmed, but it’s not proven. Even the most incredible divine intervention cannot prove that God’s way is revealed in Christ. Peter says that the transfiguration is like the gift of a small flashlight in the midst of a power outage, like a lantern in the deep darkness—useful in the meantime “until the day dawns and the morning star rises in our hearts” (2 Peter 1:19).

Edwin Searcy is a pastor with University Hill Congregation of the United Church of Canada in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada (www.uhill.net).

Public servants and poor media

by Lillian Daniel

Many newspaper readers had a shock when they opened Parade magazine in the last weekend of December and saw a glowing article touting Benazir Bhutto as the brave answer to terrorism. The article read as if the former Pakistani prime minister were alive, when in fact she had been assassinated more than a week earlier.

In the outcry over that article, I was reminded that public service is a sacrifice.

When the 54-year-old Bhutto was asked whether she had healed from the trauma of her father's execution when she was 25, Bhutto cited her father's parting words: "You can walk away. You're young. You can go to live in London or Paris or Geneva." She responded, "No, I have to keep up this mission of yours, of democracy."

There is much to criticize in Bhutto's political regime, but as the primaries take place and our own presidential election heats up, I am saying a prayer of thanksgiving for all the candidates who are willing to throw their hats in the ring. I am praying for every one of them, for their safety, for their sanity and for their communities.

These candidates could do any number of things, easier and more lucrative, but they are choosing to run for election and serve in our democratic government. Amidst the strong feelings about political parties, and the cynicism that creeps into every race, let’s not forget that each of these candidates is a real person, with family, friends and feelings. We are blessed to live in a country where we may cast our vote and, in that way, engage in public service ourselves. We have much to be grateful for.

Lillian Daniel is senior pastor of Glen Ellyn First Congregational UCC in Glen Ellyn, Illinois.

Worthless physicians

by Kevin Baker

In times of tragedy, death or suffering, people have a tendency to talk too much. Perhaps we’re afraid that if we stop talking at such moments, our Christian faith will be rendered mute and impotent just when it should be shining forth with great insight, purpose and meaning. Yet it is often our verbose religious defenses that chip away at a robust faith, not the awkward silences.

We make comments like I understand what you are going through. . . .I know it seems hard to believe right now, but everything happens for a purpose. . . .Well, I guess God needed an angel.

You’ve probably heard or spoken these words—we say them with only good intentions. But we don’t need more words; instead, silence may be one of our best theological responses. Yes, it may be insufficient or inappropriate if wielded for too long or for the wrong reasons—but silence can also be the rich and fertile soul of insight, reflection, consolation and discernment.

As Job reminds us, words can do more than just fill space. They can be weapons. In the midst of great suffering, he is visited by his "friends.” To their credit, Bildad, Zophar and Eliphaz observe silence with him. But then, when Job breaks the silence and vents, rages and bemoans the day he was born, his friends take issue with his speech. They believe his words require a theological response. How can they just sit there and let him curse his own existence? As good religious folk, how can they sit by idly while Job draws erroneous theological conclusions? So they offer platitudes, exhortations and explanations.

If their speech teaches us anything, it’s that we need to exercise discernment for all speech in such circumstances. When Job responds to them, he minces no words: But I would speak to the Almighty, and I desire to argue my case with God. As for you, you whitewash with lies; all of you are worthless physicians. If you would only keep silent, that would be your wisdom! (13:1-5)

Job illuminates several problems with his friend's counsel: an air of theological and spiritual superiority in their tone and content; a faulty Deuteronomic theology that is flat and overly simplistic; their false impression that their friend Job's speech is anything but faith giving expression to the deep groaning of his spirit. This last point is especially important for those of us who can't wait to defend God against all doubts, questions and existential quandaries. God needs no defense. Sometimes such questions and doubts are not the result of impending apostasy, but the stuff of a deep, abiding faith that engages God with all of one’s human emotions. To ignore Job's insights is to join those "worthless physicians" who speak first and reflect on it later.

Kevin Baker is pastor of Reconciliation United Methodist Church in Durham, North Carolina.

Blogging toward Sunday: The land of deep darkness

by Edwin Searcy

Matthew 4:12-23
Sunday, January 27

We expect Jesus to emerge from John’s shadow in a public way, to take on the establishment and lead the charge for God’s reign. Instead, when John is arrested Jesus withdraws (Matt. 4:12). He slips away to the margins, to the territory of Zebulun and Napthali, off the radar of popular consciousness.

Jesus’ strategy runs counter to the inclinations of the mainline church. We habitually locate in safe neighborhoods, keeping the troubles at bay. Jesus goes to the land of deep darkness, the place where despair overwhelms easy optimism.

Pastors stumble into this land from time to time. It is a fearful place, just beneath the veneer of the everyday, that is revealed when we find the courage to host the ragged ache of frightened, wounded lives. In this region of the soul the tired clichés and well-worn illustrations from our preaching files have no effect. It takes courage to be hospitable to untended pain here, because this is a dark place for the pastor too.

Matthew tells us that the gospel of God’s kingdom come begins when Jesus survives the wilderness temptations and travels to the land of deep darkness (Isa. 9:2; Matt. 3:16). This must be good news to preachers and congregations who find themselves in the dark these days, for Jesus is close at hand. Admitting that we’re in the dark is a truth-telling turn that enables us to glimpse the nearness of the kingdom of heaven. We’ve been imagining that it us up to us to fix everything, to develop the right programs, to turn things around, to make a success of the religion business. We’ve pretended that we know what needs to be done and said. We’ve covered up our fear of the foreboding future with tips from the latest book or seminar. We find it hard to tell the truth, to give honest testimony, to say that we live in a land of deep darkness. And yet it is truth-telling that turns preacher and congregation away from a preoccupation with saving the church and towards Jesus.

In the darkest places, the gospel comes first among the last and least. To our continuing surprise, the kingdom of heaven is closest to those who face the fact that they are not capable of lighting the darkness. Jesus does not begin his ministry with a church that is confident in its capabilities but with a people who know that they are in trouble. It makes one wonder. Might the troubles and losses caused by the sidelining of the mainline church be Jesus’ doing after all? Is Jesus seeking to call his church out of the land of deep darkness and cure it?

Edwin Searcy is a pastor with University Hill Congregation of the United Church of Canada in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada (www.uhill.net).

Martin Luther King Jr. and me

by Jonathan Marlowe

Martin Luther King was 39 years old when he was assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee. This January, I am turning 39 years old. What have I done with my life, compared with what Martin Luther King did with his?

Well, not much. But that’s OK.

Rowan Williams once said that when he gets to heaven, God will not ask him why he was not Martin Luther King; God will ask him why he was not Rowan Williams. I figure when I show up at the pearly gates, there’s a good chance that God will ask me, “Why weren’t you Jonathan Marlowe?”

God will ask: why didn’t you do the things I called you to do? Why didn’t you do the things that I uniquely equipped you to do?

I may not lead a civil rights movement, but I can help one person find a job. I may not win a Nobel Peace Prize, but I can live peacefully with my neighbor. I won’t give a speech on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, but I can do my best with next week’s lectionary. We sometimes focus on the great movers and shakers of history and forget that God usually works through ordinary people like you and me.

I know that faith isn’t private—God works through communities and churches and even nations. But Martin Luther King Jr. did not set out to be a great American hero. He set out to be faithful to God one day at a time, and found himself the leader of a nation-wide movement for freedom and equality. We too should begin with the little things—being faithful to our spouses, patient with a friend, gracious with an enemy, merciful with those who need our help, and generous in giving.

I doubt I’ll ever spend the night in a Birmingham jail, but I can visit someone in a Salisbury jail. I will never organize a bus boycott, but I can make a friend of one of the school bus drivers here in Rowan County. I won’t integrate a school system, but I can be a big brother to a child who needs a kind person to eat lunch with at the school. I need the church to help me be faithful in these ways, so that God won’t have to ask me, “Why weren’t you Jonathan Marlowe?”

Jonathan Marlowe is pastor of Shiloh United Methodist Church in Granite Quarry, North Carolina.

The Internet and Trinity UCC

by Jason Byassee

The email threads started coming in after the Iowa Caucus. “Barack Obama is a secret Muslim, ready to destroy the country if elected.” “Obama refuses to cover his heart for the pledge of allegiance.” These and other charges surfaced early in 2007, when it became clear Barack Obama would be a serious contender for the Democratic nomination; and each charge was quickly refuted. But they reemerge occasionally, because they conflate two primal American fears: that of the black bogeyman, and that of the Muslim bogeyman.

When his victory in Iowa gave him a boost, one email thread read: “Obama’s Christianity is cultish, separatist, and racist.” This one is harder to refute: if you are determined to look for signs of reverse discrimination, you can find them at Trinity. But if you are sensitive to America’s racist history, and attentive to what the black church generally and Trinity specifically are trying to accomplish, the claims are as ridiculous as the lies about Obama.

Trinity’s email in-boxes and phone lines have been crammed with hateful messages. “The ‘N’ word is the nicest thing they say,” says pastor Otis Moss. Church staff could simply delete every message, but genuine and honest inquiries about the church’s theology are nestled between the tidal wave of venom. “The office opens at 9, and by 10:30 or so we’d have 500 new messages.” One hundred fifty thousand emails came from two computers that have since had their IP addresses blocked. As the attack messages keep coming, the church has devised an automated email response because, as Moss says, “I don’t want my staff reading this stuff.”

Trinity’s experience raises profound questions about the Internet and the new age of media. Is the Internet the new yellow journalism? Whoever pens these lies in hopes of affecting an election needs a job, Moss says. The slanderous claims are given publicity by such “fair and balanced” journalists as Sean Hannity and Tucker Carlson. Millions more forward the emails—diffusing culpability by sheer numbers. Moss says, “Strategists know of this fear of people of color, with different-sounding names, and it’s easy to play on that.”

Moss has even received the threads from friends who “thought you should know.” “I tell them to track down the original sender. . . .[The Internet] allows anonymity, you can be destructive without repercussions for yourself—you don’t have to worry about it.” But it takes only a small percentage of those millions to believe something, forward an opinion, vote accordingly—and change an entire political culture.

When I received these emails, I sent them a link or an article that refuted the claims. I don’t normally respond to any forwarded emails, but in this case I couldn’t let the lie go unchallenged. None of us have the time for the email follow-up, with its ensuing disagreements and general unpleasantness, so perhaps it’s better to let venomous emails go unchallenged. But lies have consequences, not only on the body politic, but in this case, on one local church and its ministries.

Do we have an obligation to do as Moss says, and go out of our way to object?

Blogging toward Sunday: John testified

by Erin Martin

John 1:29-42
Sunday, January 20

John the Baptist has been our constant companion on the journey through Advent and into Epiphany. First, it was his task to make ready the way of the Lord. Next, it was his privilege to baptize Jesus in the river Jordan. Now, it is his purpose to bear witness to Jesus’ identity, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!”

Of all the duties appointed to him, testimony may be the most significant one. John’s testimony begins with a confession. Even though he had preached about one coming who was greater than he, John twice confesses, “I myself did not know him.” Only when the Holy Spirit descends on Jesus at his baptism does John finally recognize Jesus as the Son of God. With this personal revelation, the meaning of John’s ministry becomes clear to him. He came baptizing so that Jesus might be revealed to Israel. He is to point to the Lamb of God so that others like Andrew and Simon will follow.

The beauty of personal testimony is its honesty. John says, in so many words, “Look! It’s the Lamb of God. I didn’t really recognize him at first, but I will tell you about my experience, how I came to know him in my life.” As Andrew and Simon discover, Jesus will be revealed to them in completely different ways. They will have to “come and see” for themselves, and they will have their own stories to tell about how they came to know and to love the Lamb of God. Personal testimonies are powerful because they speak through the particular circumstances of our lives. They tell of the variety of ways that we fail to recognize Jesus as the Son of God, and the ways in which, despite our failures, Jesus makes himself known to us anyway.

But how can we truly testify to the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world when we don’t also speak about the ways in which he removes our sins?

The problem with personal testimony is the same as its strength: testimony must be honest. It is John’s recognition of his failure that facilitates the revelation of God in Jesus. Personal testimony is powerful because it starts with our sin, ends in our salvation, and thus facilitates the revelation of God in Jesus.

In Speaking of Sin, Barbara Brown Taylor laments the loss of the language of sin and salvation within the mainline church. “Abandoning the language of sin will not make sin go away. Human beings will continue to experience alienation, deformation, damnation, and death no matter what we call them. Abandoning the language will simply leave us speechless before them, and increase our denial of their presence in our lives.”

John the Baptist testified to the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. Therefore we are not left speechless.

Erin Martin is an ordained minister serving at Wesley United Methodist Church in Eugene, Oregon.

In defense of children's sermons

by David Heim

If you mention the topic of children’s sermons to most experts on worship and liturgy, you’re likely to get a sour face and a sorrowful shake of the head.

“They are an unwarranted interruption in the flow of the liturgy,” they’ll say.

“They inevitably degenerate into cutesiness or worse,” another might say. “Pastors can’t help exploiting kids’ naive responses in order to delight the adults.”

“Children’s sermons inevitably become an ecclesial version of ‘Kids say the darnedest things’—a little comic relief in the midst of the service.”

“Children’s sermons are an excuse for not making the rest of the service accessible to children.”

“Who says the music, ritual and the sermon are not accessible as they are? In their own way, children are taking it all in; they may seem bored, but they are growing year by year into grasping the liturgy and the sermon. So don’t try to dumb it down.”

Indeed, the experts have some awfully good ammunition when they go after children’s sermons.

The problem is: congregations seem to love them. You can see the people beam as the children come down the aisle to meet the pastor. Sometimes, if one is sitting in the chancel, looking back at the congregation, the glow of pride and love is almost tangible, as if there is some physical energy emanating from the congregants. The people seem to be thinking: What a marvelous bunch of kids. How did we get blessed with these little people? How can we help them?

OK, it is easy to get sentimental. But it seems to me that the energy and sentiment kids elicit is a good thing. In some congregations, that energy and sentiment may be one of the few healthy things going on. So why not try to do something with it in the course of the service?

Maybe the "doing something with it" helps defines the goal of a good children’s sermon—that is, make sure that the energy and sentiment everyone has toward children is turned toward the gospel, not focused on ourselves. I think it can be done. I think I've seen it done. Has anybody else?

What a friend we have?

by Susan Olson

Several years ago, the Catholic Campus minister convinced me to give Facebook a try. She called it a “campus minister’s dream,” and she was right. It’s the best advertising tool I’ve used, and, as a bonus, the site lets me upload pictures for group members’ use, access to birthday reminders and locate recent photos.

Facebook, like most Web social networking sites, is based on the concept of friendship. Let’s say “Jerome” joins the network, and searches for his pal “Jill.” He sends Jill a friendship request message. When she accepts his request, Jerome can read Jill’s page. While perusing it he notices that his basketball buddy Kofi is listed as one of Jill’s friends, so he “friends” Kofi. “Lather, rinse, repeat” and Jerome has a long list of friends whom he can keep up with by logging on to the site.

I decided right away that I would not send friendship requests to students.

I didn’t want to put a student in the position of having to decide whether or not to accept the chaplain’s request of friendship (and consequently have his or her private information available to me). I was also well aware that pastors aren’t truly friends with their congregants—the relationship is always unequal. I did, however, decide to accept any student friendship requests that came my way.

To be honest, I was a little worried about what I might see on student Facebook pages—having heard the worst in the media. As students began to friend me, however, I discovered (I acknowledge this is a self-selecting crowd) that their pages were really quite tame. The only thing mildly disturbing to me was the sheer volume of friends they each claimed: 200, 300, even 600-plus friends. What a dilution of the word “friend”!

Lately my own peers have signed onto the program. Reading their pages, I’ve seen other friends, and requested friendship of some of them. I have been careful, though, to friend only those whom I already consider to be true friends, confidants, intimates.

One day I came upon my dearest and oldest friend of all: the user name was Jesus of Nazareth. “Finally,” I thought,” a true and forever friend.” I clicked the button to request his friendship.

Tragically, Jesus never accepted my friendship. The old hymn will never be the same for me.

Susan Olson is a chaplain at Yale University.

Redesign

We’ve spent the better part of the last year working on a redesign for our magazine. The new look appeared this month. We hadn’t done a major redesign since 1992. What do you think of it? We ask not only because we want to give you a forum to vent about it or to praise it (and because we’re proud of the result), but because there are always things we can learn from reader reactions.

Blogging toward Sunday: Baptized into submission

by Erin Martin

Matthew 3:13-17
January 13, 2008

Some of my favorite words from the United Methodist Church’s liturgy for Holy Baptism are the first ones spoken: “Brothers and sisters in Christ: Through the Sacrament of Baptism we are initiated into Christ’s holy church. We are incorporated into God’s mighty acts of salvation and given new birth through water and the Spirit. All this is God’s gift, offered to us without price.” As a pastor, what a privilege it is to announce the abundance of God’s generosity extended to us in baptism. Initiation into the church, incorporation into God’s acts of salvation, new birth through water and the Spirit—all gifts bestowed upon us, not because we are worthy to receive them, but because God is gracious to give them. Free gifts! What more could we want in this season of post-holiday sticker shock?

When Jesus comes from Galilee to be baptized in the Jordan River by John, John’s first impulse is to resist the gift. For John, it is all wrong. Jesus is the greater one, Jesus should be the one to baptize him, not vice-versa. What John doesn’t yet understand, perhaps because Jesus’ ministry is just getting started, is that what it means for Jesus to be the greater one is for him to submit to the lesser one. Soon we will hear it everywhere Jesus goes: the last shall be first, the least greatest, the humble exalted. In Jesus’ baptism, we don’t hear Jesus preach this message; we see him embody it. Jesus’ gift to John is the gift of submission. The long-awaited Anointed One allows himself to be plunged into the water by John and as a result, emerges from the water as the Beloved Son, the Suffering Servant. It is Jesus’ submission that is pleasing to God, for it “fulfills all righteousness.”

In baptism, we too emerge from the water as beloved sons and daughters whose new life, in the pattern of Christ, is one of servanthood. We too are given the gift of submission. The challenge for those of us who are baptized is to live into the gift of our own transformation.

Dean McIntyre tells a story about the greatest Christmas gift he received this year. It was a card from the singer and songwriter Ken Medema that contained a $10 bill in it along with the instructions to use the money as Dean saw fit. He writes, “I had Ken’s $10 bill in my wallet when I stopped at the grocery store on my way to work one morning. In the checkout lane next to mine was an older couple who spoke in a thick east European accent of some kind. They did not have enough money to pay for their purchases, which appeared to me to be all staples—no frills or extras. They were having to decide which of their purchases to send back to the shelves. I gave Ken’s $10 to my own checker and asked her to give it anonymously to the young woman checking out the older couple. It covered their deficit and allowed them to keep a few dollars in their pocket. They were gratefully confused as I watched them head for the door.”

Isn’t that the way our baptism works? It is a gift that contains within it the generosity of God, a gift that through us keeps on giving. We have been baptized into the submission of Jesus, the greatest gift there is to receive. Therefore, we can once again this year remember our baptisms and be thankful.

Erin Martin is an ordained pastor serving at Wesley United Methodist Church in Eugene, Oregon.

Urban ministry and Joel Osteen

by Jason Byassee

The Chicago area is graced with a long history of faithful innovation in urban ministry. From Billy Sunday to Dwight Moody, from the beloved Joseph Cardinal Bernardin to Ray Bakke, from the Methodist Chicago Temple to Fourth Presbyterian, Christians here have tried to get their hands dirty. To have church in Chicago and not be gritty is not an option.

LaSalle Street Church was founded some decades ago by students from Wheaton and Moody Bible who were interested in a more streetwise, but still evangelical, faith. Their dynamic pastor, Laura Truax, has to be one of the few women to be senor pastor at a major evangelical church in this country. LaSalle has always been out on the edge in social service ministry. Breaking Bread, their version of the “soup kitchen,” is anything but: guests eat restaurant-style, nobody stands in line, and mutual hospitality is the model. It’s a beautiful idea. The upshot is visitors on Sundays can be confronted in the bathroom with the spectacle of homeless people taking baths in the sink.

One volunteer in Breaking Bread found LaSalle Street in an unlikely way: through Joel Osteen. She watched the uber-pastor on TV, and loved him so much she wrote to his Lakewood Church to ask about whether there was a similar church in Chicago. The answer came back: LaSalle Street. So she went, and started volunteering at Breaking Bread. “The connection just seemed natural,” she said. “I felt at home at LaSalle Street from day one.”

Just a minute, I objected, there’s a world of difference between the TV anonymity and preposterously happy Osteen, whose Jesus is only there to make me rich, and the place in the city with the homeless people bathing in the sink and the woman pastor. She retorted that with Osteen she felt addressed personally and intimately, and was nourished. So too at LaSalle Street. The preaching was aimed right at her heart, without jargon, and moved her to service.

I still dispute the closeness of the association. But maybe God used the ridiculous Osteen, object of much vituperation from mainline Christians and this magazine, to draw this woman into a more authentic, embodied, service-oriented faith. Stranger things have happened.

The heart and voice combo

by Debra Bendis

Soon after Thanksgiving every year, I crank up the volume on the classical FM stations, load my Bach, Britten and Brahms cds in the player, begin “music Sunday” rehearsals with the church choir, and prepare to soak up as much high Christmas music as I can in the all-too-short weeks of Advent and Christmastide.

How explain, then, that when a member of my family was hospitalized recently, the song from worship that came to mind and comforted me was not some classical treasure or church choir anthem? Instead, the song that steadied and grounded me, reminding me of the continuity of God in all life events, was written by a praise group called Casting Crowns.

I’d heard the song in worship when two men from the praise group harmonized to simple guitar/piano accompaniment and convinced us with clear voices and direct gazes that “And Now My Lifesong Sings.”

In her Century article, “With Heart and Voice” (Dec. 25, 2007), music director and vocalist Lisa Lynne Mathis explains why certain songs stay with us longer than others. She’s convinced that “how a song is offered” is the most important thing about worship music. A song sung with unaffected sincerity may be the most powerful contribution: its lyrics and placement in the service are also important The result is an offering that may mimimize and even dissolve the conflicts over genre and style that haunt mainline Christians.