New schools

This morning we brought Foster and Ella to their new school.  It brought back memories and anxieties from the first days of new schools in my childhood.  I remember the first time I visited my classroom in Northfield, being pegged as a nerd.  O the days clinging white knuckled to the doorframe of the girls bathroom, straining against being pushed in!

On our way up the stairs to Ella’s class, she exclaimed, “This is better than my old school! We didn’t have an upstairs.” I remember the embarrassment of being in a bigger elementary school for half of fourth grade and after three or four weeks still afraid of going to the library by myself, afraid I’d loose my way.  I remember the teacher’s exasperation when I asked if my friend Dean could accompany me.  What a blessing it was to have some ready made friends from church at that new school!

I hope Foster and Ella find friends quickly and no bullies.  Foster had a substitute teacher today.  Unfortunately nothing was prepared for him.  He had no locker or desk. The substitute did her best to find to find a temporary place for him in a class of thirty.  I can only imagine how his regimented methodical mind adapted to a world with no place for him or his things.

           

The Church and all its Blemishes

We've been talking about this over on the Spring Arbor Spiritual Formation blog.

Renovation of the Church: What Happens When a Seeker Church Discovers Spiritual Formation by Kent Carlson
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I read Renovation Of The Church against the backdrop of resigning as pastor of my church. Kent Carlson and Mike Lueken brought me to much introspection and healing, in the face of that transition, with their theology of church. I identified with their struggles and could feel the pain of their transition. A few times their words stopped me in my tracks and brought tears to my eyes as they spoke straight to the wounds in my heart.

After eight years at our church it was becoming clear that our vision of a church that embraces life in the kingdom wasn’t being embraced. We faced the heartbreak of a congregation that would rather cease to be than come to new life. I struggled with my fruitfulness at this church. If Jesus said that Father is glorified in my bearing much fruit (John 15:8), I want to bear fruit! Renovation challenged me again in my struggle, was my expectation of what fruit looked like too tied to measures and metrics? Was it pride that made me want to leave when I felt rejected?

In the midst of the pain inflicted by the backlash to what turned out to be our final push to vibrancy, I held dark thoughts about the dear saints in our pews. It was a healing corrective to hear that the church was to be a messy place, that we aren’t called to make a sect of the in-crowd. They reminded me of my opportunity to bless those who curse you.

As I mentioned earlier to Rob, this reminded me of Ronald Rolheiser’s comments on Sarx in The Holy Longing. The flesh (sarx) that Jesus tells us we must eat to be his is the messy troublesome flesh of his body, the church. We must participate in the imperfect masterpiece, or as Switchfoot pens it, “the beautiful letdown” that is the church. Mike writes, “Our hearts grow bigger for God by worshiping next to they guy who hates to sing, doesn’t know the words and things the tune is lame. We are spiritually better off being in a community with both the committed and marginal” (107). Over the years I have found it difficult to worship where I don’t trust that guy next to me to be longing for intimacy with Jesus.

Last night I went to the Christmas Vigil service at an Episcopal church a few blocks from our new home. I sat behind a couple of young ladies who were clearly there because one of them belonged to the family filling that pew. Their sidelong glances betrayed their mild disdain for what was happening in the service. I remembered Mike’s words and I silently blessed them from behind. In the midst of those who might have been there only to satisfy relatives or admire music and the memorial poinsettias, we did together hear and respond to the Gospel!

I write this on the first Sunday that I haven’t been the pastor of a small church in eight years. I am still mourning the loss as well as enjoying the freedom. I greatly appreciated Kent and Mike in their honesty and transparency. In their story I know I am not alone in my pain or my joys. I rejoice to see Oak Hills as an example that what we’ve been wanting and talking about for so many years is possible. It is a great joy for those of us dreaming of spiritual formation in the church. I also can’t help but appreciate a couple of guys who have so fully imbibed Dallas Willard’s thoughts, they can’t help but spill out on the page. That makes them feel like old friends to me.

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Peter Asher Coffees

Recently, I had the opportunity to sample a couple of coffees by upstart indie roaster, Peter Asher Coffees.  I pulled some shots of their Northern Italian Espresso blend. My first impression was the lightness of the roast.  Compared with the darkness of the roast currently in the hopper,

Northern Italian on right

Peter Asher shows off an indication of its roasting philosophy.  Clearly there is an attempt here to find the peak roast for the bean, rather than going for a dark smoky flavor.  The second thing to strike my attention was the crema. Holy crap there was a lot!  High holy crema made up nearly all of the double shot by the end of the extraction.  The flavor of the shot was pretty true to its name.  It has a bright quality, perhaps a bit sweeter and less dry than its Italian counterpart.  Care has to be taken not to under-extract this shot; its sharpness is a bit offensive if the shot is sour.

Northern Italian flavor profile.

Compare the shape of the flavor profile to this one I sketched of Illy Espresso in Europe

I also pulled a shot of their Black Velvet Blend.  This was a very dark roast with a lot of oil to give luster to the bean.  It was strong in the mid and low tones with a bit of tart.

Black Velvet as espresso extraction

It makes a decent espresso, but how is it as a drip coffee?

In drip form the Black Velvet blend really shines. The sharp peak mellows to a caramel drizzle. The mouth-feel and body are satisfying, supporting the deep richness of the smoky dark roast. The dark roast does not, however, eliminate all the distinctiveness of these beans. The tart experienced in the espresso extraction becomes a playful dance on the tongue in the brewed form, and the mid-tones still possess a woody quality.  This cup tastes like fun: rich, satisfying and yet playful.  There is a definite nostalgia that is evoked in me by this flavor.  It tastes like an emotion—happiness.  I have tasted this quality before. In fact I am reminded of a good peaberry Harar.

Dossier of a coffee spy: Chicago

While on sabbatical, I made it a point to sample all the espresso at as many shops as I could.  My many trips to Metropolis Coffee earned me the moniker Coffee Spy by the staff there. Here are my findings

In the many shops I tried in Chicago, I only found three different espresso blends: Metropolis “Red Line,” Intelligencia “Black Cat” and a blend by Coffee and Tea Exchange, a Chicago company.

A pour-over at Metropolis

Metropolis

Metropolis Coffee was perhaps the most impressive shop I visited.  Metropolis’ roasting operation extends to many shops and retail locations.  Yet Metropolis has but one location, fiercely committed to the Edgewater neighborhood, without the common aspirations to franchise. Their commitment to detail makes me as happy as a giddy Quixote gazing on his peerless Dulcinea.  I so enjoyed my experiences here, I returned many times in spite of there being so many coffee shops and so little time. Whether it’s starting an iced coffee with a bit of velvety steamed milk, or putting five minutes of attention into a pour over drip coffee, it is the preparation excellence that makes this shop shine. Their Red Line espresso, named after the train line that takes Edgewater downtown, is intensely mid-toned, chocolaty and resinous with bright tart sparkles in the end. I think modern day vampires might also find this exquisite espresso a nice substitute, as it reminds me a little of the sanguineous flavor for which they so pine.

New Wave Coffee

New Wave Coffee

While at the Milwaukee Ave arts festival, I went to this shop a couple times.  They served Metropolis espresso in a festive and artsy atmosphere so appropriate to the neighborhood.  The hipster vibe was pleasant and their treatment of Metropolis’ offerings was nicely done. 

On afternoon a walk down Clark Street brought me to a couple more coffee shops, Koppi and Coffee Studio.

Koppi a Traveler’s Café

Walking in this shop transported me some mid-oriental market place. In the front windows were low tables with cushions to recline by. They focused on their world food offerings and their espresso from Coffee and Tea exchange was on the upper end of adequate. The atmosphere was so killer there, however, that I can see why it is an area favorite.

Coffee Studio

Back up Clark toward Edgewater I found Coffee Studio. They were serving Intelli’s Black Cat espresso.  I had a friendly conversation with the barista about my espresso experiences so far in Chicago.  We both agreed that the Black Cat was strangely mellow that day.  Black Cat has a deep low end and usually has a tobacco smokiness.

Today that earthy quality was muted.  We could only speculate that it was because of the extraordinary humidity that Chicago was subjected to during that heat wave. The atmosphere was more refined here than most of the other shops I visited.  Clean lines and modern finishes gave it an upwardly mobile feel.

Caffe Streets

My doppio and cortado at Caffe Streets

On our way home from Minnesota, I was able to hit one of the many shops I missed during our stay.  I chose to go to Caffe Streets, which is the progeny of Barista Champion Mike Philips. This is the most refined coffee shop I have ever visited. Rich woods are layered on every surface from the counters to the ceiling. They serve Black Cat along with one or two single origin coffees as espresso every day. I sampled the El Salvadoran Santa Anna from Handsome Roasters as a single origin espresso.  While lacking the roundness of a blend, it held up quite well to the extraction. It produced a tart flavor in the mid to treble range. I also tried the Black Cat in a cortado.  The Cortado is a Chicago standard that I haven’t run across elsewhere.  It is about half espresso and half steamed milk (espresso cut with milk or a very short and strong latte).  Caffe Streets uses a local low-temperature-pasteurized milk steamed into a velvety micro-foam that melds exquisitely with Black Cat’s harsh sweetness.  It is served in a short breakfast tumbler with beautifully wrought latte art.

Caffe Streets bar with drip tower

A specialty I didn’t have time to try, the Neat, is a cold slow drip iced coffee produced in a tower of beakers and tubes the sight of which geeked my poor heart out.

Next time I’m in Chicago I need to remember to try Wormwhole (the home of Mocha Puffs), Chava, and Ipsento.  Have any others I need to try?  Leave a comment.

Sleepless nights

During the three weeks we spent in Chicago, our sabbatical was restful. We focused on enjoying community life and learning how it works. Now that we are staying with my parents, it seems that the weight of our responsibility for the church is upon me again. I feel like now is the time for us to work on dreaming and planning.

Last night I was agitated and stressed. Elaine didn’t seem ready to do this work and I was feeling the stress of it. I mused and fumed, dared to dream and abandoned all hope in turn. I remembered, before we left, how I recognized that it would take faith to leave the church in God’s hands. Last night I was worrying again that there might not be a church to come back to. I remembered prayer times at The Nidge. There was a sandy pot where one could leave a candle burning. I wished I had that available to me – to leave my need and prayer before God in a tangible way and put my care back in God’s hands. It was about two in the morning when I found a solution. I turned the light on in the bathroom and left that light burning as a prayer before God. Understand I know my prayer is always before God, but tonight I needed a way to walk away, leaving it there before God.

Even after the stress left me, I still couldn’t sleep. Other projects came to mind. I began redesigning a spinner ring, planning the custom pieces I would need machined. I pondered how to create an automatic bell to chime for times of prayer that would also be kinetic art. Wherever I turned, my brain wouldn’t let me sleep.

Living in Community

I am starting to get a sense of the joys of living in community as well as the work involved. My favorite feature of community so far is evening prayer, especially when followed by a community meal. This is where living together for the sake growing in Christ really shines.

Today I made porcupine meatballs. I made one batch in our normal way and tried another batch as a vegetarian dish using black beans. Apparently the rice I used was not of the par-boiled variety so they wound up kind of crunchy.  But the real joy was sitting together at a picnic table by the street curb enjoying the meal together even as the rest of the neighborhood passed by, seeing the clouds reflect the setting sun and the fireflies joining us to entertain the kids. It is an idyllic life.

It is also a lot of work. I can see already how difficult it can be to keep channels of communication open. It has been especially difficult with the intense heat this week, we spent the last couple evenings in our air conditioned room rather than chatting. Last night we had a wonderful reading of the first half of Othello, but I was strangely withdrawn not even daring to read.  It will be interesting to see how the next weeks play out and if what binds me loosens its grip.  I think three weeks may be just about right.  One is over too fast, like a vacation.  Two is comfortable. By three we ought to have gotten to the real work of living in community under a spiritual rule.

Union and Communion

The Union and Communion by J. Hudson Taylor
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This is a surprisingly mystical work from the founder of the China Inland Mission. I found it passionately written. Taylor takes a look at the Song of Solomon through the eyes of a Christian Mystic. He identifies with the bride enraptured in her bridegroom, sick with love. In her he finds the dramatic experience of the believer, at one time caught up in union with Christ, at another feeling the pain of separation because of her own heart "prone to wander."

Taylor also betrays a glimpse of his own soul. This hero of modern missions has the heart of a mystic - not one caught up in the navel-gazing which causes many to impugn the mystics, but one whose ardent love for his Beloved stirs him to action.

When she is separated from him for the second time, the bride tells the daughters of Jerusalem how lovely he is, her heart inflamed and faint with love, growing more so as she tells it. (SS 5:9-16)

The LION of the tribe of Judah is to His own bride the KING of love; and, with full heart and beaming face, she so recounts His beauties that the daughters of Jerusalem are seized with strong desire to seek Him with her that they also may behold His beauty.

This is why Hudson Taylor went to China! His heart was so full of his savior's beauty that he had to share it. In comparing the church to the bride of Solomon, he also declares that this is the experience of every Christian, to be so wholly in love with Christ that mission flows from the heart like honey from the comb.

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A mistake I often make.

I often inadvertently confuse these two words. For the record, this is a man wearing a cassock:

 

And this is a man wearing a Cossack:

A Screamo Easter

There are three Sundays in particular that cause me consternation: Christmas, Easter and Pentecost. These celebrations are so meaningful to me and the christian faith, that I struggle to communicate them with creativity and pathos appropriate to their inherent specialness.

Easter is coming in a couple days and my soul wants to scream He Lives. The music for the season communicates powerfully with their words but the tunes are reminiscent of marshmallow peeps.

The best rendition of Christ the Lord Is Risen Today that I could find is this one. It is up beat and modern, but in a smooth jazz/r&b sort of way. To communicate the joy and rapture that ought to be bursting from our hearts, the jazz should be rough and the blues sexy. I feel like if I gave voice to my soul I should scream it out half choking on the emotion - I want to hear P.O.D. or Blindside's rendition!

We cannot celebrate Easter hard enough!  Death, the grave and hell conquered by the unfathomed awful rising of the triumphant King!

The Aesthetic Thread

I have come to see an aesthetic thread running through my life. It is there in my tastes in music, art, literature, food, and drink. The spectacular thing is that this thread resonates with my passion for God like the string on a violin.

Holy Longing marks my relationship with God. I have a passionate desire for intimacy with my Divine Lover that has its root in Eros and stretches for Agape. There is a bittersweet quality to our intercourse, my God and I. When I feel surrounded by God’s presence I feel joy and comfort, satisfaction and wholeness, but I also feel tears well up and a lump come to my throat. I rest in God’s presence and at the same time I mourn that I am not consummated and consumed in divine rapture. I have chosen words that may shock the reader with erotic connotations. This is appropriate because the holy longing I am describing is wholly a function of Eros. It is the divine spark and divine madness spoken of by philosophers and mystics alike.