Inspiration

I have never claimed to be inspired, and have never really considered what it would be like to be divinely inspired. However, there are moments when i wonder what it would be like to be God and wander around seeing the city through His eyes. What would He see?

How would He view the obviously homeless guy who asks for money when you only have enough for parking? How would He view the struggling congregation with the gorgeous building and no money? In other words, what would Jesus build? Would Jesus feel disoriented with the vast historical and cultural distance, or, being God, would He somehow find it strangely human? Would He love this world we inhabit, and enjoy 2012?

I often wonder this as I look at the bygone memorials to the faith of long departed parishes. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, the faithful built reminders of home. The churches in the German, Polish and Italian neighborhood, especially, were copied from the parishes back in the Old World. But over the course of the twentieth century, the people moved out. Now the churches stand deserted, among the silent neighborhoods, still pointing towards heaven but hollowed out from the inside.

Where are the people? Why are they gone? Or are we walking the apocalypse, the death of religion in the West? How can you have universal, or even majority, but individually chosen religion in a post Christian West?

Long Way Back

It has been a crazy week. The first two days were sort of blah, almost boring, I just went about the same old routine, to the point where I was becoming complacent. My paper was finished, my internship was progressing, and life seemed strangely normal. I was even acclimating to a new city and getting used to living in a place my father avoided like the plague becaue of the snow drifts.

On Sunday, I had even gone to a liberal Presbyterian church that was openly affirming of gay couples. That called upon the presbytery to ordain gay couples. And I did not run out of the room screaming and making the sign of the cross. I didn't even sneer. I was simply perturbed walking out, not sure if I bought the biblicist arguments put forward by the church, but amazed by biblicism reaching a very different conclusion from that which I adhered to. I was that cosmopolitan and sophisticated and diverse.

Then Wednesday came, like a plague from the Orient. It started normally. I drove in to my internship like a normal adult. I came into the office, greeted everyone, made rational decisions. I was a capable, functioning adult.

Then I got in the car to go to Houghton. Maybe some stars crossed. Maybe some was doing voodoo on me. Certainly, I was about to learn about humility and embarrassment and grace. I got on campus without incident. Then I parked, met someone I had never met before...actually, I stared at her because I had a headache from driving until a mutual friend introduced us.

Things only got worse. I went to my office on campus, only to find my friend whom I was supposed to meet had gone charging up the hill by another path. Ten minutes of tense phone communication and cartoon-like crossing of the paths ensued. Once that was cleared up, i had to get food.

Instead, I walked into a pingpong table. In front of Dr Meilaender, a friend and mentor who was really enjoying watching me walk into the table. He was doubled over in laughter, which is very rare for him.

Things only got worse until, at nine forty, I ended up with three people mad at me for various reasons. I also was supposed to pick up a package, but it was missing. Which I realized in Arcade, halfway back to Buffalo.

So the next day I went through the routine again, including an internship day, a visit with a pastor and some home rebuilding. Then I got in my car and drove back to Houghton, and frantically tore the campus apart trying to locate it. Meanwhile, it started to snow. And I ended up not finding the package until the next day, in the campus post office of all places. I was up to three in the morning talking about anabaptism, I don't know why.

I was also apparently hysterical and talking about all sorts of nonsense. I told a friend some things, which I don't remember, but they shocked her. Embarrassed, humiliated, weirded out are all equally valid ways of describing that experience.

But God was good. I found everything I had to, in the end, and got back in time for class and everything was fine. Dandy. But I learned that my rushing about and being frantic does nothing, I learned that I am an ant, carrying more than I should, but unlike ants it is not always for the common good. I learned that God can be relied on when I cannot. It was a verg important, life-forming week,

Progress Meeting

Yesterday, I had a progress meeting. It was terrifying, to be honest. I had invested a lot of time in the project, and now it was subject to review. In the end, I was congratulated and advised and told to widen my scope. It was too easy, to be honest, since they let me have discretion and then didn't take it away after my review. I think this is usually called growing up.

But other things develop. There were inevitable tensions in the group, between the Niagara Falls people and the Buffalo people, the architects and the preservationists and the historians, so many people with so many view points. I felt like look up a good computer program and forcing it to analyze all of this complexity.

But that is what we humans are best at. Complexity and making sense out of chaos. Perhaps this is what is meant by "the image of God"? That somehow, the production of order out of chaos mimics the operation of God in creation. Or, perhaps, the redemption of order from disorder mimics His salvific role. Is it possible to create a theology of complexity?

Hopelessness

Hopelessness is not something I understand. I am rarely hopeless, in fact, I tends towards the stubborn side of hopeful. Which is why endemic poverty makes so little sense to me. How can you give up fighting for survival and advancement so much that you cannot support yourself?

But, consider the following situation. You have a fought childhood. You have no father figure at home, so when you are about twelve you start looking for someone to look up to. You find that someone in a twenty year old drug peddler, who personifies cool with his iPod and his car and his bravado. At age fifteen, you get caught peddling drugs. While in JV, you make the extremely mature decision to try to work yourself out of this lifestyle.

But where are you going to get a good job, with a rap sheet? Who is going to hire a convict? You don't have a high school diploma. The jobs available in the inner city are mostly downtown or from the same lifestyle you are trying to live. You have to scrape by.

I know about this story because of people I have met, not only this semester but so many others. People who realize life is hard, and envy my spoiled upbringing. People who would kill just to have my high school diploma, let alone my college degree.

Very well, so what are we going to do? The first is stop complaining about how long it takes to find a parking space or other such irrelevant nuisances. The second is stop feeling bad for people, and go out, and help people. Help them refurbish their dwelling space. Form relationships, and then give references for jobs. Start a business and hire poor people. Take risks. You might get hurt, true, but you might also change a life.

Automobiles

The truth is, automobiles are a metaphor for 21st Century America. They are big, fast moving, dominant and annoying. Oh, and the gas required to run them is expensive, at least when compared to historical averages. We worry that the fumes from cars will kill us, either through global warming or forgetting to turn off the engine at the gas station.

Very well, but what about in cities? Rush hour is the eighth circle of hell, it is true. And finding parking is almost impossible. I searched for a good fifteen minutes today, only to park five blocks over, pay two dollars and leave my car next to a demolition site. And that is in a smaller city like Buffalo. Try to park in Philly sometime...

It often seems we should just ban automobiles, or force people to carpool, or enlarge the public transit system. But top down bans rarely, if ever, succeed at their intended object and often have unintended consequences. What, then, is to be done with the automobile?

The first thing that must be recognized is that the automobile is not a perfected product. It is a work in progress, and bright minds can still try to improve it. We can build better fuel injection systems to increase gas mileage. We can tinker with the chemical formulas for gasoline, or find a cheap substitute altogether. We can invent a whole new power system altogether.

The point is that this will not happen in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere, in some city, whether on this continent or not I do not know, someone will come up with a solution to carbon emission. Someone else will come up with a solution for traffic congestion. Intelligence and ingenuity will prevail. So stop being so downhearted by the problems of the city. Figure out a solution.

Where The Heart Is

I hate awkward conversations. Not the faux sort of conversations, like when random guys and random girls have to discuss the weather because said something a bit presumptuous. I am talking about the hard conversations in which you have to disappoint people, or admit you were wrong, or admit you are embarrassed.

Of course, interactions in a high density area like a city are more common. So are awkward interactions, simply as a function of a statistical formula. You realize the fellow standing next to you doesn't speak English, and things become awkward. Someone asks you out to dinner, and you have already made plans. Someone cuts you off, and then steps out of the car and reveals herself to be a hassled mother with four children.

But this is surely where grade and forgiveness should be most often exercised. Surely it is in the Christian's line of duty to relieve that awkwardness, to take the socially painful route and be kind and be generous.

This extends to churches. A vibrant, healthy congregation is one that accepts the awkwardness and pain of being forced to live near and worship with very odd people. White people, black people, rich people, poor people, educated people and illiterate people must all somehow populate the church.

Some churches, of coure, try to limit this interaction. A part of the reason behind the White Flight was a desire to be away from the awkwardness. However, this created an ossified church culture. The white, wealthy suburban churches stayed out in the white, wealthy suburbs. The inner city, poor churches, of all races, stayed isolated in their original neighborhoods. Only recently have reformers stepped in to fill this gap. Some, such as the Wesleyan Church, are acting entirely out of character. What had been a rural and small town denomination known primarily for entire sanctification and teetotaling is now reinvesting in the inner city. This is a sign of the changes happening within the church. We are bridging the divide, at last, but there is still so much to be done,

Save My Schul

No I did not spell school incorrectly. It is a word for synagogue, Yiddish I think, I heard the above title tonight at a meeting of well connected preservation people and Jewish leaders. Our mission: to save the oldest synagogue in Buffalo from demolition. It is a gorgeous building, built in 1905 and with a very distinctive onion shaped dome. The building has been abused, unfortunately, and by my own coreligionists. A rather sobering desecration, with looting unchecked and eventually the City of Buffalo declaring it unrepairable.

We accomplished a lot and nothing at the same time. We formed a committee, developed a methodology and prepared to save the Schul. But we were divided on what to save. Just the Schul? Or all the endangered religious buildings? Or the world? Even grown up, respected people disagree and squabble, which is sad. Even when we agree on ninety-nine percent of the material, we still disagree.

Why do buildings matter? This was a question we had to wrestle with tonight. What is in the building? We struggled for words. It is an anchor of the neighborhood. It is a cultural memory. At heart, we were all trying to articulate one belief. The building is sacred. God was worshipped here. We shouldn't tear it down, because God was worshipped here. But what do you do afterwards? Reuse it? For secular purposes, like an artist's studio? Or keep it in the religious family, so to say?

And this seems the purpose of civilization,or at least of Christian civilization. To renew, to keep alive, to make alive again, to resurrect things. Cities can be populated again.a. Rivers can be cleaned, skies cleansed, and the wild places tamed. This is the world renewed, and it will happen one day.

Back on My Feet

Finally, sickness is over. It is like a shower after a particularly nasty outdoors job, to know I'm working inside like I'm supposed to. The human body is an incredibly adaptive, resilient little bugger. We suffer a slight setback, a flash of sickness, a little trace of the flu. Then we come back, stronger than before. And to the Christian, if we don't come back, then we have gone to something better.

And so it is with the cities of mankind. The Roman legions leave and the cities depopulate, but in time the Middle Ages arises from the cluster of parish houses and the cathedral. In time, we enter the Industrial City, all smoggy and horrid. We rebound from that by cleaning up the smog, by enforcing labor legislation, by creating police forces. The millions of immigrants build themselves gorgeous churches, in order to remind themselves of the glory of home. The natives built still grander churches to show the power and prestige of their city.

Then industry moves out and the city slows. Is this the end of Cities? Has civilization failed? Are doomed to a life of suburbs and privacy? Will China eat our babies in the middle of the night? No, humanity has a habit of rebounding. Apocalypse will happen, but necessarily now. And it is to this moment of transition, of cultural vulnerability, of dynamism, that the church must speak to if it is not to be marginalized.

But how does the church do this? The truth is, I don't really know. I can tell you what churches are successful, but can't really figure out how to measure success. Membership counts? Political power? Transformed lives? How do you measure the amount a life has been transformed? Especially if you don't want to fall into legalism, or vapid amorality?

Some things seem obvious. The church must find a citywide way to take care of the poor, crazy and homeless. It must find a way to provide better housing and food than the shoddy welfare alternatives. But this is not everything. The Church has always helped the poor. It is part of our Christian lifestyle,

But in order to change things, we have to affect the movers and shakers of culture. In order to change the city, you must get the attention of those who already change the city. We must reach into the downtown, into the symphony halls and rotary clubs and university lecture rooms. And we must do it with humility and respect. The intelligentsia or elite is a culture increasingly distant from the mainstream Evangelial church. But how are we to break in there? Again, I am uncertain,

Sickness

I have a hard time thinking up titles, unfortunately. I chose today's title because half the people in the program are sick, including Dr Airhart. I am not sicki, which is good,

My internship is mostly a long, tedious process of driving around neighborhoods and photographing churches. Boring, right? No. You see, churches are monuments to the thoughts of humanity. They are a type of cultural artiact.

When I drive through neighborhoods, I ask myself why some people build their churches on main thoroughfares (Lafayette, Richmond, Elmwood, Main) and other people on little, out of the way side streets (Baynes, Bird, Calumet). Why do some churches on the thoroughfares stay healthy, and others wither despite the high visibility? Most of the side street churches are separatist or radical, including a full complement of Quakers, Brethren, Baptist, Swedenborgian and so forth. Some, such as the Friend's Meeting House on Allen, are part of a historical radical culture and are situated in the heart of the artisan/gay/hipster neighborhoods of today. Others are in run down neighborhoods that are now chock full of Pentecostals and Catholics. Why does this happen?

Speaking of Pentecostals, I have decided my best friends are Hispanic Pentecostals. They maintain, at considerable expense, any old church they happen to buy. The best thing that can happen to a church in Buffalo is to be bought out by an up and coming Hispanic congregation. They take care of their buildings. Non-Hispanics, no matter what race, tend to trash their churches far more often. It really is a marvelous thing to behold.

So live on, Hispanic Pentecostals.

Insanity

Insanity is a way of life to me. Why else do I have the irresistible urge when I see a cute little Episcopal chuch to say, "you are gorgeous, darling?". Perhaps this has something to do with my inclination towards otherworldly disciplines like theology, philosophy and history. Or perhaps it is my long repressed aesthetic coming out in strange, bizarre ways.

But, really, if you got to work with beautiful old churches every day, you would start treating them like lovers. They just sit there, paying mute but resounding testament to a God you both believe in. It is sort of like we have a shared secret, which the rest of the world may or may not know. We really do not care who knows about our secret. The secret is that in the middle of the busy, mad scramble for life and liberty that we call "civilization," there is a deeper, more elemental power at work. The church could pass away, along with the nation and the city and even humanity, but somehow God would survive the destruction of everything. I know this, remotely, and the churches know this far more deeply.

See, I am insane. Funny, it appears normal. Perhaps this internship is reminding me of things I used to know, as well as teaching me many things I had never even dreamed existed. Churches occupy a sacred space, a space for pause and reflection and transcendence in the midst of the immanent city and humanity. Even places of worship from another religion, like synagogues, give me this feeling of awe and grandeur and glory. City folk need this. Country folk have springtime lambs and budding trees and the dance of booklets released from winter. City folk notice the seasons less, so they must pause to remember their maker at some other time.

I think this is why my superiors at the preservation agency, who are mostly Unitarians, and myself, an Evangelical, are so determined to protect Catholic and Jewish places of worship. We have little desire to worship in such place, belonging to other types of religion. But we recognize that we must remember the Deity, and to remove any reminder of God seems like we are obscuring Him. It shorter sour horizon and constricts our view. Even when we disagree, deeply, with those practice this religion.

In Buffalo, there are many Halal markets. I am not Muslim, and do not practice Halalp diet restrictions. But there is something uplifting, even, about seeing some courageous soul announcing in ethnically mixed Buffalo that they are maintaining an ancient, much feared religious way of life. The effect is similar to, if diminished from, that I feel from churches. They are glimmers on the way to glory.