To the inhabitants of L’Aquila, life had appeared stable and safe, calm and certain, and yet forces in the depths of the earth were shifting in opposing directions and tension that had been building for some time suddenly erupted into a massive earthquake.  Surely they thought, ‘How could such a cataclysmic event happen in our town?’

Earthquakes result from seismic waves originating far beneath the surface in what is called the lithosphere.  These waves occur because slippage at fault lines or a fault plane and these eventually manifest themselves at the surface as an earthquake.  Stress builds at the point of slippage until it “breaks” or ruptures, releasing the stored energy that travels up and into the surface, causing tremors that split the earth, shake buildings and put people on their knees.  It may take years or decades for a shift in the lithosphere to manifest itself at the surface, and yet, the potential is there whether seen or not.

Giuliani, L’Aquila, and earthquakes – What could these possibly have to do with church and mission?  Plenty!  I see at least four parallels.

First, a quake is coming.  Oh, it may not be an actual earth-shaking kind of quake, such as ones we have witnessed recently in Japan, Italy, and Chile.  Rather it may be a cataclysmic quake of the physical, social, economic, or psychological variety.  We may think that everything is stable and calm in life, and yet, slippage is occurring deep beneath the surface and stress is building.  One day, when we least expect it, rupture will occur, and everything will be shaken, everyone will be brought to his or her knees.

History gives witness to the uncertainty of status and security – stable existence.  Science has not and cannot solve all environmental and medical problems; technology has not reconciled and united people of differing races and classes; no matter what political party is in power peace and posterity allude us, and no man or woman is able to escape death and decay.  We stand, individually and collectively, on a fault line, and the rupture of life in some form is our future – jobs will disappear, friends will betray, cancer will invade, loved ones will die, unity will disintegrate, despair will overwhelm.  Events on the surface might indicate otherwise but deep within the lithosphere slippage has already occurred and stress is building.

We might think because we are Americans, or have status in the community, or identify as Christians that we are immune to quakes.  But there is no immunity from, or inoculation against quakes.  They are no respecter of persons.  To think that we can avoid quakes is an illusion, a false hope.

There is nothing wrong with hoping to avoid quakes, and yet, this is not real hope.  Real hope begins in seeing government, money, religion, sports, structures of society, and possessions for what they are – necessary but tentative, worthy of our care, participation, and investment but not our lives.  Hope is real and able to withstand seismic destruction when centered in the person of Jesus Christ and focused on the eternal purposes.

Second, an alarm is being raised.  We must listen carefully to the Giampaolo Giulianis in our midst.  Mission experts are warning us that the foundation of church and missions has shifted to the point of breaking.  They are telling us that in order for us to be the people of God in the coming quakes there must be a radical change in our outlook and practices.  For example, David Smith traces the historical course of Western, modern missions and concludes that it “has lost its credibility and can no longer survive,” unless there is a drastic and fundamental change.[ii] Smith is not alone in his judgment.  Wilbert Shenk states that “re-visioning” must take place in the “Christendom assumptions and habits of mind” that continue to “determine the conceptual framework,” especially for those who participate in the church and global mission.[iii] Douglas Hall concludes that “presumption upon the past power and glory of Christendom is perhaps the greatest deterrent to faith’s real confession in our present historical context.”[iv] David Bosch warns of a crisis in missions due to “a fundamental paradigm shift, not only in mission or theology, but in the experience of the whole world.”[v] The crisis is due to “an inadequate foundation for mission and ambiguous missionary motives and aims” that “lead to an unsatisfactory missionary practice.”  He suggests that an alternative paradigm for mission must be constructed.  Hendrik Kraemer declares, “We do not stand at the end of mission.”  Rather, “we stand at the definite end of a specific period or era of mission, and the sooner we see this and accept this with all our heart, the better.  We are called to a new ‘pioneer task’ which will be more demanding and less romantic than the heroic deeds of the past missionary era.”[vi]

These missionaries, teachers, and friends of the church and mission, who have spent their entire lives reading the signs, have decided it is time to sound the alarm.  They are saying, if we do not respond to the mounting tensions, if we neglect the ‘pioneer task’, we will soon find ourselves sitting under the rubble of worn and antiquated mission structures and means without a witness.  Heeding their warnings means refusing to rely on the familiar, comfortable, or stable.  Instead we must look to what the Spirit is doing and listen for his directives toward new ways of witness and love.  The emergency situation brought on by quakes calls for different types of structures and alliances, adjustment of rules and principles, and radicalization of our forms of witness.

Third, mission happens in the midst of the quake.  Sitting in a prison cell in Philippi, Paul and Silas experienced “a great earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were shaken” (Acts 16:26).  Seeing cell doors open and assuming that everyone had escaped, the jailer decided to kill himself rather than face the authorities.  Paul and Silas called out, “Do yourself no harm.  We are still here.”  The jailer “came trembling, and fell down before Paul and Silas,” and asked, “Sirs what must I do be saved?”  From within the prison cell, witness was extended.  In the midst of the quake, hope was offered.  If all we do is promote and practice church and mission as the casual undertaking of respectable people, as if all is safe and sane, then we will wake up one day debilitated and victimized by the quake rather than able to offer hope and witness.  Quakes are the stuff of mission, just as the cross is the means of salvation.  Either we will flee the tremors, or we will offer hope in the midst of falling debris.

Fourth, tremors can already be felt.  We really don’t need the experts to tell us that the ground is shifting.  As I look at the landscape of church and mission, I see structures that I thought indestructible collapsing before my eyes, powerful and stately people have been brought low, and proven methodologies now looks irrelevant and silly.  We can either turn our faces from the obvious, ignore the signs of collapse, and act as if everything will be fine, or we can call the crisis by its proper name, affirm who God has called us to be, and create new and vibrant structures, alliances, and means for witness.  Even though the quake will with certainty erupt and surely change the entire landscape, isn’t it far better, more beneficial for the church and its mission, if we take preemptive action and not just sleep through the tremors?

Our vision for church and mission must undergo a thorough and continuous transformation.  Mission structures, evangelistic methods, church programs, and theological formulations that have provided surface solutions in the good times will be no match for the coming rupture.  As with the officials in L’Aquila, a state of stability and serenity can lull us into thinking we are secure and safe.  Instead of opposing, censuring or shunning those who disturb the serenity of the church with their exclamations that the mission edifice is starting to sway and buckle, we should embrace these agitators in order that we might together re-read the Scriptures concerning the mission of the triune God, pray earnestly for wisdom and insight, and humbly seek the Spirit’s guidance and power.

The question for each of us is quite simple: When the ground shakes will we be awake and ready – will we be the people of God?

[i] See http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/apr/05/laquila-earthquake-prediction-giampaolo-giuliani.

[ii] David Smith, Mission After Christendom (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 2003), 4.

[iii] Wilbert R Shenk, Write the Vision: The Church Renewed, 1st ed. (Valley Forge, Pa: Trinity Press International, 1995), 52.

[iv] Douglas John Hall, The End of Christendom and the Future of Christianity (Wipf & Stock Publishers, 2002), 3.

[v] David J. Bosch, Transforming Mission: Paradigm Shifts in Theology of Mission (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1991), 4, 5.

[vi] Kraemer cited in Bosch, Transforming Mission, 8.

Amazing?  Yes, the journey within is amazing because a person can arrive rather quickly at who he or she is at their core and discover the weaknesses, strengths, fears, aspirations, and idiosyncrasies that reside there.  While these can be easily hidden or covered in surroundings that we control, they are now in front of us, screaming at us.  The disruption and shock of sickness, loss of identity, separation from family, strange customs, and new ways of relating push us beyond managing and controlling to just being.  Because posturing and poising, bluffing and boasting are no longer possible, all we can do is be who we really are.

From personal experience I know this journey to self can be brutal and humiliating.  Stripped of all that props us up, masks our foibles, and protects us from criticism, we stand naked, open to full inspection.  While certainly difficult and possibly even destructive, this journey holds the potential to transform us not merely at the surface level but at the core of who we are.  Whether it destroys or transforms depends on the manner in which we travel along its course.  From what I have observed, five essentials are needed for the journey.

1. The journey is to be made with hope.  It is not just a matter of just ‘gutting it out’ in order to endure or get through something.  Rather, the journey must be made in the belief that something beneficial, good or right is to be gained.  Hope propels us beyond the twists and turns, the difficulties and pain.
2. The journey is to be made with humility.  Our natural reaction when pressed and pushed is to defend and push back because of the threat to our ways of coping and functioning.  Our willingness to yield to the stripping and refining processes makes all the difference in the journey’s outcome.
3. The journey is to be made with resolve.  Rather than a sprint quickly completed, the journey is a marathon that takes time.  Once begun, it moves from stage to stage.  Without resolve, we will not arrive at the destination; we will stop short of transformation.
4. The journey is to be made with love.  In the midst of culture stress and loss, rejection of the culture and people around us as dirty, stupid or even evil is our natural reaction.  However, rather than griping, belittling, and complaining, we can choose to love.  Love is a conscious and continual choice.  Love does not mean uncritical acceptance of everyone and everything, but it does mean that our default is to embrace all that we can.
5. The journey is to be made with gratitude.  When we are thankful for the opportunity to see ourselves as we really are and confront the things that are ugly and sinful, we can find joy in the life-change the journey brings.  Without gratitude, we loose this perspective.

Any of us can find ourselves on this journey whether we live cross-culturally or not.  As life comes undone and we are stripped of all that holds meaning, gives stability, and feeds our sense of well-being, we set off on a journey of discovery and potential that can be amazing.  It can be truly life changing, if we respond in hope, humility, resolve, love, and gratitude.

It is quite easy these days to travel to amazing places and see the wonders of the world, such as the Great Pyramids of Egypt, the Taj Mahal in India, the Great Wall of China, the Colosseum in Rome, or the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul.  And yet, none of these compare to the journey my friends are on.  Already, they have more than pictures to post on Facebook or a tee-shirt to wear.  They are more aware than ever before of who they are, what needs to be changed, and who God is.  What an amazing journey!

“… fear weakens and paralyzes us … hopelessness is a kind of death; one is immobilized by the dark and threatening visage of the future.  But hope enlivens us.  When viewed with hope, the way ahead is open and inviting.  Hope draws us into the future and in this way it engages us in life.”
- Glenn Tinder, The Fabric of Hope: An Essay (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999), 13.

Thank you Katie.

Being in control is good, isn’t it?
-When I am in control, I am able to make sure that what is best actually happens.
-When I am in control, I am able to effect the most beneficial outcomes.
-When I am in control, I am responsible and productive.
-When I am in control, I am able to effectively lead others.
-When I am in control, I able to prepare and execute plans.

Being out of control is not good, is it?
-When I am out of control, I cannot predict or anticipate what will happen next.
-When I am out of control, the outcomes are not always the best.
-When I am out of control, I look irresponsible and lazy.
-When I am out of control, others do not benefit from my leadership.
-When I am out of control, my plans come undone.

Most everything is beyond my control, isn’t it?
-When things around me fall apart, I realize I really do not control what happens.
-When my controlled outcomes hurt others, I see that I don’t always know what is best.
-When I fear looking irresponsible and unproductive, I am overly concerned with image.
-When I have to control others in order to lead, I am manipulative and scheming.
-When my plans come undone, unintended and uncontrolled forces take over.

Human nature and cultural conditioning constantly enforce within each of us the will to control.  The will to control is not just found in the high and mighty but among everyone.  Even the lowest persons in social structures and family systems seek to control someone else.  The will to control is not just in the dictator or tyrant but in me.

Because of my will to control, I obsess over each and every detail, make sure that things are done in just the right manner.  I do all that I can to ensure that nothing can possibly go awry.  I calculate each move in a conversation and every turn of the decision-making process.  I ask myself – “How can I possibly let go of the reins or release situations, when so much depends upon and is determined by my will to control?

Some of you may respond – “Well, that is just the way life is.  If you want to be party to change and progress, you must be in control or wrestle control away from others.  In this there is no high road to be taken.”  And others of you counter -”Wait a minute, those who follow the Jesus Way are meant to walk another road.  We must follow the example of Jesus, who had all power, and yet relinquish all control in hope of a higher way.”  I hear both of you, and yet, I have the sense that life is lived somewhere between what each of you are saying.  Power is a given in life and control is the reality in which we live.  It is within the context of power and control that service and love happen, so while we cannot fully embrace control neither can we ignore or dismiss it.

A way forward for me has been to acknowledge what drives my will to control.  Awareness has given me reason to let go of control and the wisdom to know when I should exert control. I mention three of these motivators or drivers.

First, my will to control can be motivated by the conviction that I know what is best for me, my family, the company, the church, the project, the decision, or whatever endeavor is in front of me.  If I know what is best, then it is necessary, even responsible, that I exert my will over others.  But I am painfully aware that I have many times been proven wrong, when I thought I was absolutely right.  I must be careful that I remain open to hear, really hear, the opinions others and am willing, really willing, to change my mind.  The will to control can blind me to others, to better ways of thinking, and to more just and loving responses.

Second, my will to control has sometimes been driven by a sense that I must come through for others.  My messianic inclinations urge me to take control of the situation, make the decision, or manage things, because people are in trouble and need me.  I must control in order to rescue people, savage the situation, and be there for others.  The truth is that when I am motivated in this way it is usually because I think too highly of who I am and what I am able to do.  Or it may be that I like having people dependent upon me.  In the end, my will to control can cripple other people’s ability to think and do for themselves and actually create unhealthy dependence,

Third, my will to control can be motivated by fear of the unknown, the different or the uncomfortable.  Threats to my way of thinking, my position of leadership, my job security, my image, or my interests can cause me to exert control over conversations, processes, and decisions surrounding my life.  And yet, experience has taught me that my worst fears can come to pass whether I am in control or not.

If you are like me, default is to take rather than release control.  To release control is risky on several levels.  And yet, I know if I do not let go, I risk opportunities for growth, freedom from worry, and possibility for the unexpected to occur.  In the balancing of my will to control or not to control, I must embrace the hope for what is beyond my limited vision of what could be and the finite perspective of my creaturely existence.  Roland Allen, a missionary statesman and prophet of the 19th century, writes,“the great things of God are beyond our control.  Therein lies a vast hope” (Spontaneous Expansion, 13).  My will must surrender to God’s will.  And in such surrender of control lies my greatest and best hope.

Pat answers or simple solutions that I might recite to myself or offer others may be well intended but are usually not helpful and at times offensive. And yet, I believe that in the darkest hour there is hope to which I can cling, with both hands.

With one hand, I cling to the hope that the purposes of God are bigger than what I am facing. Call it providence or whatever you wish, but it is the hope (read: assurance, confidence) that God knows what I am facing, and its horror and darkness are not beyond him or his purposes. My hope is that in his way, in his time he will redeem the situation and me for his purposes.

With the other hand, I cling to the hope of prayer. I pray not as a way of negotiating my way out of darkness, or as a magical incantation that absolves and solves, or as a salve for my hurt. Rather, I pray because that is all I can do. I cry out in the hope that God hears me and will be with me in my anguish, desperation and brokenness. My pleas for peace, wisdom, and hope are confessions that I am at the end of myself and am desperately in need of him.

With both hands, I cling to hope. Prayer makes no sense without the hope of God’s purposes, and it is prayer that ignites within me the hope of seeing those purposes realized.

I love early morning.  It is my favorite part of the day.  I woke this morning to the spectacular New Mexico sunrise you see above.

Waking at 8:00 or 9:00 and jumping straight into busyness and demands causes me to be disoriented and muddled throughout the day.  In the rising sun, I find fresh hope and am able to anchor the rest of the day in that hope.  Whether I am on the couch watching shafts of light poke their way through the trees, or driving east toward Waco as the sky fills with hues of orange and yellow, or sitting in a hotel room with a single window that fills with light, I am looking for fresh hope.

In the early morning, before the phone starts ringing, the clock demands that I be somewhere, or the day gets hot, I am able to settle my heart in and renew my mind toward hope.  In looking eastward, I acknowledge that my hope lies in Jesus Christ.  And while I hope in his coming at the end of time, I look for him to come today, as I call aloud the names of my children and grandchildren, speak words of hope for my students and friends, and mentally walk through the approaching day.

The dawning of a new day reminds me that I can start again with new, fresh hope.  Whatever darkness I have lived through in the night can be chased away.  I see the majesty and glory of the Creator in the sunrise and am assured that there is hope – fresh hope for today.

If we fear, we live in the gray areas of pause and regret.  Fear keeps us from attempting the impossible, stepping beyond what is comfortable, choosing difficult paths, and loving in a costly manner.  The opposite of fear is faith.  To walk by faith means to believe the impossible can be reality, to live without what we think we must have, and to love without the prospect of returned love.  While fear paralyzes and debilitates, faith liberates us to believe in and hope for what might be.

Fear comes naturally for us, and thus is not a conscious choice but our gut reaction to difficulties, disappointments and rejection.  Faith, on the other hand, must be an intentional decision.  To choose faith instead of  fear is to live toward the hope of a better world, personal transformation, justice, love, etc.   While fear destroys our hope, faith is the beginning of hope.

Because I desire to live in hope, I choose faith over my fears.

I have to be reminded because I am so susceptible to the barrage of messages, ideas, and images that pull me this way and that. All day I am being asked to buy this, consume that, support this candidate, get behind that idea, sign up for this event, or give myself to that cause. Memory is the tether that ties my mind and heart to that which is crux or core, essential and ultimate. Without it, I easily drift to lesser stuff. Reading Scripture is a way of remembering, a way of tethering. Reading reminds me of God’s story, re-establishes faith, and restores hope.

Today, I open and read Scripture so that the Spirit might remind me, so that I might have a tether.

I am not as certain as I once was in my pronouncements about good and evil. Where once I had good and evil partitioned into distinct categories, my vision is now blurred by contradictions that I cannot explain. Where once I considered power and prestige as virtues, security and safety as essential rights, experience has taught me that sometimes the opposite is the case. Where once I assigned guilt and suffering based on circumstances, conditions, or culture, I now wince at the callousness and arrogance of such thinking.

What I have witnessed is that God shows up in the midst of terrible suffering and injustice. He cannot be relegated to one side of a dichotomy nor does he work only in particular arenas. And thus, because God demonstrates his power, and expresses his mercy, grace, and love throughout all reality, even pain and suffering, sickness and death, I cannot make simple evil/goodness declarations. If I do, I will surely miss him.

I do not believe God causes suffering, but neither can I believe is he on the outside of it looking in. I must resist and fight evil, and join the efforts to seek justice for the oppressed, care for those on the margins, and work for the liberation of those trapped in the aftermath of an earthquake. However, I must also be willing to see him in the wretchedness of life, the rubble of devastation, human suffering, and death. And more than merely observing him there, I must join him there.

Because God showed up in the midst of our evil and abusive world, suffered our shame and reproach, and died a cruel death, I can believe and hope for his goodness and grace in the worst of situations. Because I do not have an adequate explanation for hunger, human trafficking, and death, I must look for him in midst of these. This, for me, is reason to hope. Likewise, in the midst of my own rubble of greed, consumption, and evil desires, I long for him to be at work. This is my hope.

O holy Lord Christ draw near to us, we cannot follow Thee.  Give us a strong and willing spirit, and when the weakness of flesh appears, let Thy grace go on before us, accompany and follow us, accompany and follow us. For without Thee we can do nothing, least of all suffer a cruel death for Thy sake.  Grant a willing spirit, a fearless heart, true faith, steadfast hope, perfect love, that for Thy sake we may, with patience and joy, surrender our life. Amen. (cited in E. Schweinitz, The History of the Church Known as the Moravian, or the Unitas Fratrum …,1901, 70)

I am not in a prison cell this morning awaiting execution, but Hus’ prayer reminds me to have a fearless heart, true faith, steadfast hope, and perfect love in the midst of whatever is outside my door or in my heart.  Whether I die a cruel death or suffer through difficult change, perplexing relationships, or disappointments, a surrendered life and the accompanying presence of Christ is my only hope.