Blogaloguing Janzen, Part Two

My friend Jay Howard and I are participating in a blog dialogue—i.e. a "blogalogue"—discussing David Janzen's new book, The Intentional Christian Community Handbook. Jay has already posted on Parts One, Two, Three, Four, and Five of the book. You can read my previous post on Part One here. If you're interested in joining the conversation with your own blog, send me an email with a link to your posts and I will assemble a list of everyone's responses.

Part Two of Janzen's book is subtitled, "Is Intentional Community Your Calling?" The driving idea behind the chapters in this section is the need for practical experience in living intentionally, and how a person called to community might go about meeting and experimenting with various established communities.

Reflections on "Chapter Four: Seeking the Community Where I Am Called"

Chapter Four presents the personal stories of several young people whose deep conviction and vocation led them to seek out community in different settings. Each story offers its own unique perspective as a sort of personal laboratory for "doing community," for what Gandhi called "experiments with truth." For Christians called to intentional community, faith is the catalyst of this experimentation. "The gift of faith," says Janzen, "is always a mysterious thing. It is like a hypothesis for life in which one experiment leads to another with more insight and cause for wonder as you go" (p.66).

Reflections on "Chapter Five: The Gospel Call to Discipleship in Community"

In this chapter, Janzen reflects on the historical and social motivations that led to the individualistic Christendom often promoted from American church pulpits today. On p.68, Janzen laments, "One way to observe how the Good News has been straitjacketed by the individualism of our culture is to pick up any collection of contemporary Christian music and count how many songs are about 'me' rather than about 'us' as the objects of God's love. 'Mine, mine, mine, Jesus is mine.'"

•   I enjoyed the fact that Janzen frequently points out throughout Chapter Five the New Testament inclination toward togetherness, especially in the social ethic teachings of Jesus. The Lord's Prayer does not say, "Give me my daily bread," but "Give us..." Furthermore, Janzen illustrates how communal and monastic living has, from its earliest Christian implementation, been a method for expressing distaste with Christendom: "During Anthony's [Anthony of Egypt, the founder of Christian monasticism] lifetime the emperor Constantine made Christianity the imperially favored and fashionable religion, and multitudes of citizens became nominal Christians. A minimal version of Christianity emerged, focused on personal salvation, assured by participation in the sacraments and belief in officially sanctioned doctrines. At the same time thousands of aspiring spiritual athletes flocked to the desert in imitation of Anthony to recapture a more disciplines way of following Jesus" (p.75).

•   In my opinion, the best part of this chapter was Janzen's treatment of a question I hear all the time: "Does every Christian have to live in community?" Rather than attempt to "answer" the question, Janzen instead suggests that it is an inadequate question from the start—it shares a lot in common with the juvenile attempt to bargain with one's parents: Do we have to? "Let's not despise the question," Janzen says, "but note, rather, that it represents a certain stage of life. The question begs a legalistic answer from an authority that one is already itching to resist and to leave behind. The question does not have a good answer at the level where it is asked. But let us step back and look at the question from a more adult or discipleship point of view. Let's move the question from fear of damnation to love of God…" (p.78). Janzen next offers the parabolic image of God the Source, the Son, and the Holy Spirit leading multitudes of people in a circle dance right in the center square of an ancient city. Those outside the city are welcome to join in, provided they are willing to die to their selves and pick up the self-sacrificial cross of Jesus. However, Janzen points out that legalistic questions like Do we all have to do it? are insufficient and miss the point of the dance to begin with: “We enter into the freedom of the circle-dancing God (perichoresis) by way of a discipleship community where our character is transformed into the likeness of God (theosis). This is the shape of our journey, our home, our hope for a world made new" (p.80).

Reflections on "Chapter Six: Searching for Your Community"

In Chapter Six, Janzen again turns the narrative over to the stories of several young people who began looking for community but were unsure of a good starting point. 

•   The purpose of the chapter is to attempt to answer the question, "How do young people go about testing [their] call to community, what are their experiences, and what counsel can we offer in their search?" (p.81). I found it interesting to consider that at this point, the intentional Christian community movement is so large and diverse that different people have the luxury of sharing different callings to different types of community. Vocations toward intentional community are now as diverse as the vocations to be found within the institutional church.

•   I appreciated Celina Varella's criticism of Shane Claiborne's Irresistible Revolution, a book that has inspired an entire generation of young people inclined toward communal living (including myself and some friends of mine currently living in community!). The book she says, "is very attractive and has inspiring stories. But it tends to leave out some of the difficult realities, so some young people come with grand hopes that living in community will be the quick solution to every social ill” (p.86). When I first read Claiborne's book back in 2006, I was indeed greatly inspired by his stories, and spent the next several years sorely frustrated by friends and communities that failed to live up to my expectations of what a community should be like, per Claiborne's descriptions. The Irresistible Revolution, unlike Janzen's book, did not speak to the gritty details and spiritual pain that comes with cultivating a mind and spirit tuned to living intentionally.

•   Janzen also provides a bit of commentary about our societal norm of delayed adulthood leading to a general unwillingness to commit to a specific community. He likens many people from my own generation to the spiritual wanderers (gyrovagues) mentioned in Chapter 1 of Benedict's Rule for Monasteries. These gyrovagues, which Benedict calls the most detestable kind of monks, are "always on the move, with no stability, indulg[ing] their own wills."

•   Finally, Janzen offers some good advice for people who want to explore their vocation within a community setting, including seeking out a mentor, visiting a wide range of different communities, “giving yourself fully” to each experience, and stepping out into unfamiliar territory to listen and share with unfamiliar people.

Reflections on "Chapter Seven: Novice Membership"

In this chapter, Janzen offers a series of questions that might be helpful in discerning one's place and purpose in community. These are basically "interview questions" that a community might ask a potential new member, and are therefore useful in examining one's own vocation before seeking out a community to join. Rather than reprinting the questions here, I would highly recommend reading Jay's succinct paraphrase of the chapter.

•   Janzen's critique of the self in this chapter is very insightful. He criticizes religious practices that find the self at their center (like many New Age meditations, etc.), and reveals just how counter-cultural communal living can appear in our current context: "Given the hypermobility of our society and the high virtue it places on 'keeping our options open,' making an open-ended commitment to join an intentional Christian community sets off alarm bells in friends, family, and one’s own individualized soul" (p.94).

•   Jay dislikes the phrase mutual submission, and prefers instead Janzen's language of "mutual love and care" (p.96). "It is just not in me to 'submit,'" says Jay, "even to authority figures (unless they have pepper spray) but I do have it in me to 'commit' to a person or group and do what I can to care for their needs." I appreciate Jay's thoughts here. The concept of mutual commitment is absolutely central to any intentional community. However, I am a fan of the term mutual submission. The word "submit" has a lot of ugly baggage these days, and has been used in the past to justify the subjugation of women, minorities, and pretty much anyone who is not a straight, white male. But the very definition of submission also carries with it an intrinsic connotation of self-sacrifice. Add the word mutual to that, and you have a deeply community-oriented phrase that seeks limitation of the individual and puts emphasis on concern for one's neighbor. The abdication of personal power in favor of the needs of one's sister or brother means not always "looking out for number one," and being willing to lay aside one's own concerns for the good of the whole community. When members of a community live in mutual submission, then, ultimately no one carries an authority above anyone else. It is the very premise behind Chapter 3 of Benedict's Rule for Monasteries.

•   Importantly, Janzen notes: "Neither the novice nor the community is a finished product" (p.96).

Blogaloguing Janzen, Part One

My friend Jay Howard and I are participating in a blog dialogue—i.e. a "blogalogue"—discussing David Janzen's new book, The Intentional Christian Community Handbook. Jay has already posted on parts One, Two, Three, and Four of the book. If you're interested in joining the conversation with your own blog, send me an email with a link to your posts and I will assemble a list of everyone's responses.

One of the first things you learn when you become interested in intentional community is that there are a lot of crazies out there—especially within the category of self-identifying Christian communities. A quick browse through the Fellowship of Intentional Communities online database turns up all kinds of different community enthusiasts, from King-James-Onlyists searching for pious perfection to Revelation Literalists holed up in the mountains awaiting the end of the world. Small wonder that when Alyssa and I try to talk about our passion for intentional living with our families, we are often met with confusion or misinterpretation—So...you're saying you want to join a cult? or Wait...you mean you want to start a church?

David Janzen's book is brilliant precisely because it illustrates the thoughtfulness with which one might enter into the intentional Christian community discussion. According to Janzen, intentional Christian community offers an radically alternative third way—neither fundamentalist fanaticism nor comfortable complacency—for living out the Reign of God on earth as it is in heaven. Below are my thoughts, presented chapter by chapter, on Part One of The Intentional Christian Community Handbook—a book that I hope you will pick up and read, regardless of your interest level in intentional community.

What did I find most meaningful from the Preface?
On p.4, Janzen says “Unless we let go of our ideal community, we will end up hating the sisters and brothers who, inevitably, do not live up to our expectations, and so, Bonhoeffer warns, we become the destroyer of that very real community God is already growing up around us," and then on p.8, "I discovered that others experienced me as a judgmental, principle-driven idealist who had a lot to learn about listening and extending grace in relationships." As I read the preface, I quickly recognized many of these traits as my own. I spent years grumbling about the lack of genuine community in my college town while failing to recognize the community in which I spent much of my undergrad career as a "real" community. The same was true of later communities I became a part of, as well. Because each of these settings failed to match up to my rigid idea of what an intentional Christian community should be, I in turn failed to see the community for what it was—a genuine expression of togetherness for that particular moment in time. And when others failed to live up to my expectation of purposeful community, I judged them harshly. Today, as a person not living in community for the first time in about 6 years, I deeply regret my criticism of the friends and families I have had the pleasure of living and working alongside.

What did I find most meaningful from Chapter One?
The first chapter featured several stories from people who have experienced community firsthand. I enjoyed reading Luke Healy's account of helping to establish a community in the attic of a Missionary Baptist church in Kansas City, Missouri. I met Luke (who has recently left the community) and the other members of Oak Park back in May, right before Alyssa and I left for Israel, and became deeply impressed by how much they had accomplished in their neighborhood in such a short period of time. If you're ever in the Kansas City area, I recommend looking them up and spending some time (maybe a board game or two!) with this wonderful little expression of the Kingdom of God in one of the toughest parts of town.

What did I find most meaningful from Chapter Two?
Chapter Two (written by Brandon Rhodes) is largely a critique of 21st century capitalist Western culture and the concept of Christendom (which Rhodes refers to as "Constantine's captivity of the church," and defines as "the historical monolith that assumes church/Christianity and Western culture are basically one entity, that church membership and [national] citizenship constitute the same circle" (p.34). Intentional Christian community, says Rhodes, offers an alternative lifestyle for those fed up with the images of Christ and Christians most recognizable in today's society. In a culture that worships individualism and consumerism as idols, values the Constitution more than the Sermon on the Plain, living in mutual submission is extremely countercultural. I also appreciate that Rhodes fully recognizes our current context as "post-Christian" (p.35)—while institutional churches struggle to boost membership and woo potential seekers with glitzy offers in hopes of maintaining cultural relevance, Rhodes says that we should instead embrace the fact that the Church no longer rules the social and political roost. Rather than mourn the fall of Christendom, we should happily embrace a truth known in the Anabaptist tradition for generations, "that, like the early church, [Christian communities] are to be pockets of an alternative politics, an alternative society within a crumbling empire" (p.36).

Included in Chapter Two is a nifty table featuring various categories of intentional Christian communities (see below—sorry about the spelling/grammar-check lines in the image). This helped me to visualize for the first time the incredible diversity among Christian community charisms and purposes. When Alyssa and I attempted to form Anavah House, I think one of the biggest problems we ran into was trying to cover too much ground—we wanted to be like the Simple Way, Rutba House, Reba Place, and Koinonia all rolled into one. But this neat chart shows the vast array of community types, and treats them all (for the most part) as playing an equally important role.

What did I find most meaningful from Chapter Three?
Part One of the book concludes with a chapter featuring common cultural pitfalls that lead to difficulties within communal settings. The author refers to these as cultural contours, and following each critique offers a consideration for how each contour might be overcome. My favorite contour Janzen mentions is the general suspicion of anything "structured," "traditional," or "organized," and the favoring of the "authentic," "genuine," and "organic." Janzen argues that this is both problematic and unnecessary:

"We’re sick of religion, man, and just want spirituality. We push the biblical vision of church as 'people, not programs,' and 'relationship, not religion' into a needless contention between schedule, faithfulness, and shared practices on the one hand and spontaneity, relationship, and freedom on the other" (pg. 49). 

Instead, we should recognize that both structure and spontaneity have their place in the common life. An organic garden can only be cultivated after years of careful preparation of the soil.

Additionally, I appreciated Janzen's experience with varying community commitment levels. For many years I wanted to be a part of a high-commitment community, and was frequently disappointed when others didn't appear to be as dedicated to the community as me. However, Janzen offers the opportunity to look at the problem differently. Rather than categorizing communities as high-commitment or low-commitment, perhaps we should allow people living in community to categorize themselves as high or low-commitment. To this end, Janzen offers three categories of commitment levels from his own experience: 1) Novice—exploratory, 2) Practicing—called here for now, and 3) Vowed—no longer actively looking elsewhere (p.52).

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Types of Communities chart from Chapter Two (pp.40-41)

The types of communities with which I most identify are New Monastic communities, New Radical churches, and farming communities, but I also have a special place in my heart for Catholic Workers.

Blogaloguing Janzen's Intentional Christian Community Handbook

My friend Jay Howard and I are participating in a blog dialogue—i.e. a "blogalogue"—discussing David Janzen's new book, The Christian Intentional Community Handbook. In the coming weeks, I'll be posting a few responses to Janzen and providing some general thoughts on community and sustainability. Jay's got a bit of a head start on me (see his previous posts here, here, here, and here), but I intend to engage his comments in turn along with Janzen. If you are interested in reading and blogging along with us, contact me, send me the links to your posts, and I'll try to assemble a list of everyone's responses.

A Perfect Church?

Over the last several months, I have found myself involved in a number of conversations regarding what a church service would look like if I were designing it from scratch. Part of this stems from my own disenchantment with the Church, as well as the feelings of many of my peers who have been alienated by the institution. Part of what follows also stems from my dreams of what the Church could be. These words are my own opinions, and partially the product of many of the above-mentioned discussions. I'd love to take this opportunity to encourage further dialogue.

• "Bigger is better?" Not in this house.

First of all, the church should be small. Early churches functioned within the confines of the immediate "neighborhood," with worship services often being held in houses (these house churches formed a larger community network, resulting in "the Church in Corinth," or "the Church in Rome"). In a culture that often values a super-sized McChurch over an intimate community, it is refreshing to think of the Spirit of God moving more fluidly among less institutional meetings. Additionally, churches that get "too big for their britches" often fail at adequately discipling and providing for the spiritual needs of their congregants; often, members of large churches simply have the opportunity to show up, feel good about themselves for a while, and return home without offering much in return to the community (for more on this topic, see Wolfgang Simson's 2001 book, Houses That Change the World: The Return of the House Churches). A 20-30 member church provides an opportunity for adequate, organic community without drowning the congregants in the costs of coffee bars and theater seats.
Furthermore, churches should have no business owning property (unless it serves a significant purpose other than being a house of worship—ie., a homeless shelter). The house of God is not a steepled building (as beautiful as they may be). The house of God is all of creation, and is attested to in the human heart. Why should a congregation take on the burden of a mortgage, or pay to heat/cool for a whole week a building that is mostly utilized only on Sundays?

• No creeds, no sacraments, except...

The years have not been very kind to the Church's penchant for setting beliefs and practices in stone. The Nicene Creed, influenced by the major political and theological issues of its day, is not as pertinent to today's Church as it once was. In general, creeds are no sooner set to paper before they become over-analyzed and outdated—especially in the fast-paced theological milieu of the 21st century. Though I'm sure many will disagree, I propose that the only necessary sacrament to maintain a healthy Christian community is the tradition of the Eucharist. The symbol of the table is the most spiritual element of Christian orthopraxy; it feeds the body while also feeding the spirit. It carries with it the notions of sharing, sacrifice, friendship, and social health, and I feel it should be a vital piece of weekly worship.

• Order of Worship

It is important to explore and expand beliefs and traditions. However, there must be a baseline order of worship for any regular meeting/service, or its own fluidity will cause it to fail. Granted, every order of worship is subjective, and reflects the values of its particular faith community. With that in mind, however, here is what I envisioned:

- Gathering/Greeting/Passing of the Peace/Reading of Scripture (15 minutes). I seldom experience as much joy as when I have the privilege of initiating the Passing of the Peace in the small rural church where I often preach. By beginning the service this way, a general pleasant attitude is engendered in the hearts of those gathered. Reading scripture at the start of service and before the period of contemplation gives congregants something to meditate upon.

- Contemplation (30 minutes). I love this Quaker practice, and believe that it should comprise the most significant time segment of worship. I personally feel closest to God in a room full of people together in total silence. However, even I will readily admit that a full hour of silence is taxing, and perhaps does not exactly fulfill all of a community's spiritual needs.
- Homily/Music (15 minutes). This should be the least important part of the service, and at the same time, the most malleable. Should someone desire to speak, that would be fantastic! Should the congregation happen to have a musician that could lead us in one or two songs, that's wonderful! But the service does not hinge on this portion. This is merely a time of worshipful expression, in whatever form that might take.
- Fellowship/Eucharist (As long as it takes). This should be the most important part of the service. Being the central practice of Christian tradition, the sharing of a meal helps build community and invites us to share in the same love that Jesus shared with his disciples.

Congregants would sit in a circle/square, similar to the style of a Quaker meeting house. There may be candles; perhaps not. There may be an altar; perhaps not. The focus would be on one another.

• Diversify, diversify, diversify!

I want to attend a church that is not afraid to try new things. I want to attend a church that is not afraid to reach out artistically to feel out the meaning of its own humanity. The human soul is free, and the Church should relish and take advantage of this freedom in any way it can. If a painting, song, film, or other piece of art seems particularly relevant to the worship of God, it should be used and discussed! Art and the process of creation should play a vital role in a worship service. People should be free to express themselves, and the Church should make room for them to do so! And the above-mentioned Order of Worship should be adapted to accommodate. I want to attend a church where this is as welcome as this. Or this. Or, for whatever reason, even this.
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This all sounds fine and dandy to me. But here's the great difficulty: the Church does not exist to serve the needs of one person, or even two or three. Churches—as places of worship—exist to serve the spiritual needs of the congregation; they function primarily as a place where communities can gather to experience the Other. Post-modernity has splintered any illusions of a monolithic worship service that we might have previously held to be true. The so-called "Emerging Church Movement" has given birth in the last twenty years to schizophrenic faith communities who vacillate between the desire to be grounded in tradition and the desire to be sensitive to those without a specific tradition (a stance that has erroneously been dubbed "seeker-friendly"). I suggest that a church need not be encumbered by its desire to be sensitive to others' unfamiliarity in order to make converts. Churches should be courageous laboratories of spiritual experimentation that are at the same time unafraid of seeking out their own traditions. The only way in which the Church can continue to be a place of hope in this decade and the decades to come is if we break free of what is known and begin to dream.
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For more information about house churches, check out these 15 theses by Wolfgang Simson.

Fellowship with Lotus House

Yesterday, Alyssa and I had the privilege of spending time with some new friends at Lotus House, an intentional community in St. Louis. The good folks at Lotus opened their home to a gathering of several intentional communities in the area, including a couple Catholic Worker houses. We ate and laughed and got to know one another, and then afterward a few of us stayed behind outside to play some music. It was a beautiful thing. 

Chickens!

A home for bees! (Not honeybees).

Lots. and lots. of food. Alyssa and I had grilled portobello mushrooms.

After we ate, we all gathered (about 20 of us) in the yard and prayed together, with a combination of readings from Common Prayer, a hymn, and a couple poems by Wendell Berry. Since we're in the middle of the planting season, our prayers were mainly agriculture-themed:

You care for the land and water it;
you enrich it abundantly.
The streams are filled with water
to provide the people with grain,
for so you have ordained it.
You drench its furrows and level its ridges;
you soften it with showers and bless its crops.
You crown the year with your bounty,
and your carts overflow with abundance.
The grasslands of the wilderness overflow;
the hills are clothed with gladness.
The meadows are covered with flocks
and the valleys are mantled with grain;
they shout for joy and sing.
(Psalm 65:9-13)

And a Wendell Berry poem:

The Man Born to Farming
The Grower of Trees, the gardener, the man born to farming,
whose hands reach into the ground and sprout
to him the soil is a divine drug. He enters into death
yearly, and comes back rejoicing. He has seen the light lie down
in the dung heap, and rise again in the corn.
His thought passes along the row ends like a mole.
What miraculous seed has he swallowed
That the unending sentence of his love flows out of his mouth
Like a vine clinging in the sunlight, and like water
Descending in the dark?

Spending time with such open and loving people got me to thinking about community again.

Some day, I hope to set up a coalition or advocacy group for intentional living within an institution such as the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship. We would serve as a sort of exploratory committee, doing experiments within community settings to show the benefits of community living. That may be off in the future though. For now, I just need to focus on packing--I move to Liberty a week from today (Sunday). 

Until next time.

Peace be with you.

Joshua