Here is what I've been doing instead of blogging...
3.15.2009
11.10.2008
Reconcilers of Northern Indiana
Check out the Reconcilers of Northern Indiana blog. It is hosting a conversation regarding the faith-based reconciliation seminar we hosted on Oct. 31 - Nov. 1.
10.15.2008
Blog Action Day: Poverty and Christian College Students
I have chosen to participate in “Blog Action Day,” an effort to raise poverty awareness. Because each participant in this effort has been asked to write about poverty within the context of topics typically discussed on their blogs, I am choosing to ask, “How should a Christian college discuss poverty?”
Too often I think poverty (or social justice) is presented as an isolated commandment from God. In fact, we’re really good at talking about isolated commandments. We tell students that God wants them to remain sexually pure, be good stewards of their time and money, serve the poor, etc., pointing to a selection of Bible verses to support our case. Don’t get me wrong, these are all good things and I do believe they are commandments, but we fail to place them within the context of God’s story.
As we discuss poverty I think we should go beyond the question of “Does God want us to serve the poor?” Instead, we should dig a little deeper and ask, “Why does God want us to serve the poor?” We answer this question by seeing how poverty is woven into the grand narrative of scripture. We need to explore how poverty fits into the big story of creation, fall, covenant community, redemption, and consummation (I am borrowing this story sketch from Scot McKnight’s Blue Parakeet, which, by the way, is the best book I have ever read on the Bible!).
This fall I am teaching a group of fourteen freshmen. The class is the discussion component of “Foundations of Christian Thought” which explores and compares several worldviews to the Christian worldview. In class, we have attempted to reframe our understanding of the gospel according to the story of the Bible. As we have done so, we have seen that our call to serve the disenfranchised and the poor is not an isolated command, but rather is a call to be coworkers with Christ. We are redeemed personally so that we can participate in the redemption of the world around us.
After discussing these ideas, I asked the class why the bridge-diagram (shown below) does not suffice as an explanation of this more robust gospel. We then discussed how the gospel is more than being personally redeemed so that we receive the reward of heaven, but we also are called to participate in the redemption of the world around us as we call people to follow Jesus as Lord and restore dignity to the poor and marginalized.
I then asked the class to break up into groups and create their own diagrams to illustrate this understanding of the gospel. I have provided one of those diagrams below. Sorry for the quality, they drew it on the chalkboard and I took a picture of it with my phone. But notice how they have expanded upon the bridge diagram. People are in need of redemption on the left side, the cross gives them life, but the story doesn’t end when they reach the other side of the chasm. When people reach the other side they are called to draw close to Christ, follow his as Lord, and serve the world. You might also notice that, for some reason, when the guy moved from the “Death” side to the “Life” side he miraculously gained ears!)
This diagram isn’t perfect, and it doesn’t capture the whole narrative of God. But these are the tasks that I think students at Christian colleges need to grapple with. Let’s challenge them to creatively discern how the story of God is calling them to interact with the world around them. Let’s help them discover how the story of God has implications for all of the isolated commandments we hear about so often. Students need a theological context for obedience that is developed in response to the grand narrative of Scripture. From here we can talk about sexual purity, proper uses of wealth, and, of course, justice for the poor and oppressed. From here we move beyond the borders of our campus to submit ourselves to the Lordship of Christ and participate in the redemption of the world around us.
10.05.2008
Walking the Labyrinth: Trusting in God’s Spirit
[Sorry for the long post, but I feel strongly about posting it as one idea, rather than dividing it into 3 or 4 different posts. In any event, it should make up for not posting in several months.]
Entering the Labyrinth: Historical Wounds
As I have been preparing for “Finding the Moral Center” and also a Christian Caucus on Racial Reconciliation on Taylor’s campus, I have been forced to think about the concept of historical wounds—the painful memories of a group of people that continue to impact relationships and interactions. Perhaps the most prominent example in America is the enduring impact of slavery and segregation on the African-American community.
As I have been encouraged to identify the historical wounds that influence the manner in which communities interact, I have also looked within myself to reflect upon my own woundedness. I have asked myself, “How do my own wounds influence my thoughts, behaviors, and relationships?” This is a difficult question to ask, so you can imagine that the process of dealing with the results is even harder to swallow. But that is what I am attempting to offer here. Beginning with this large concept of historical wounds, I hope to explicate a labyrinth of sorts.
Labyrinths are ancient walking paths that look like mazes. While they have roots in Greek philosophy and have been used for a number of purposes, Christians have historically used them as a symbol of pilgrimage. The path of the labyrinth slowly leads the pilgrim
from the outer perimeter to the center, symbolizing the journey into the soul—a journey of self-reflection. Then, as the pilgrim confronts her fears, doubts, sinfulness, and woundedness, she slowly moves out from the center and back to the perimeter, symbolizing the pilgrim’s call to engage the world with the gospel.
I begin on the perimeter with historical wounds and journey toward the center, unearthing the wounds of my own life. Then, as I begin to work my way back from the center, I will rely upon John Howard Yoder’s (1992) Body Politics to help me make sense of my wounds and ultimately point me toward the ministry of the gospel as I walk back toward the perimeter and re-engage the world.
The Journey Inward: Wounded by Church
I became a Christian when I was 14 years old. Neighbors invited my parents to attend a comedy show at their church—a suburban mega-church known for its seeker-sensitive services. When my mom came home she suggested that we attend the following Sunday. We did, and we immediately felt comfortable. In the months that followed, I made a decision to follow Jesus.
Once making that decision, I jumped into the trenches of evangelical sub-culture, unable (or unwilling?) to distinguish between the life of faith and the cultural norms of evangelicalism. I bought Christian music, started reading Christian books, and wanted to be involved in as many churchy things as possible. My friends thought I was absolutely crazy… and they were probably right.
I started helping out with the four-year old Sunday school class. I served as a greeter two Sundays a month. I was a small group leader in my youth group. I sang in the choir. If there was an opportunity, I took it. I remember a lady saying to me, “If we ever need somebody to talk to the congregation about being involved, we should ask you. You really love your church.” And she was right. And youth group was at the top of the list of reasons why I loved my church. I made good friends, interacted with adults that I admired, and, of course, I got involved.
At the beginning of my senior year of high school, I attended a meeting for student leaders in my youth group. At the end of the meeting our youth pastor read a statement from the church leadership (senior pastor) notifying us that the assistant youth pastor and worship leader had been fired.
And you’ve heard this story before. Worship leader commits sin and church fires worship leader. But that’s not the case here. Here’s the story:
Church fires worship leader.
That’s it. There was no moral failure, no story, and no explanation. We were crushed and confused. And these feelings continued without any acknowledgement from the senior pastor or the elders that this decision had wounded the community. As time passed, I learned that there was a disagreement between the worship leader and the senior pastor regarding ministry methods. His termination was based on a disagreement with the leader at the top. His relationship to the community he served didn’t seem to matter.
My love for this church was shattered. How could a community that says it loves Jesus operate like a cruel business? How could church leaders that I admired make decisions like this without acknowledging that their choices impact the community?
These questions remain unresolved and seem to be the essence of my woundedness. These questions have fostered a cynicism toward evangelicalism that continues to influence my thoughts and behaviors. Last year I wrote a series of blog posts about my objections to this mega-church and my eventual decision to join the Episcopal Church. These posts were structured around several arguments concerning consumerism and the lack of depth in the gospel message that was preached. I stand by these critiques, but my journey inward is revealing to me that these cognitive critiques are merely the walls I have erected on a foundation of woundedness.
As I write these words, I am wondering how I could go so long without realizing that this episode from my past in still a source of hostility in my life. It seems so obvious. Like I mentioned earlier, this realization is hard to swallow. My cynicism and hostility are ugly and need to be resolved.
Turning Around: Perspective and Hope
How can I channel this sense of woundedness and my hostility into something of gospel significance? In this sense, Yoder has helped me understand the frustrations of my past and offers a way of hope. He begins with a broad principle:
Based upon this assumption, Yoder calls the church to reclaim (from the early church) political practices that will influence the political realities of society. Among these, he proposes the church practice “open meetings” rooted in 1 Corinthian 14: “For you can all prophesy one by one, so that all may learn and all be encouraged, and the spirits of prophets are subject to prophets. For God is not a God of confusion but of peace” (vv. 32-33, ESV).
Open meeting, then, is trust in the spirit-led community. “Yoder envisions a community with Scripture at its center. Authority does not lie in a singular interpreter, preacher, or writer but rather in the collective wisdom of the community guided by the Spirit” (Rowell, 2008, p. 46). Yoder’s vision is inspiring and appeals to my deep dissatisfactions with the hurtful and authoritative leadership of my former pastor. He helps me to understand that my frustrations are valid and even echo the eschatological reality that all earthly kingdoms and man-made hierarchies will fall in submission to the resurrected Christ. It’s in this that I find hope—that our church communities don’t have to function like corporations and that egalitarian communities are possible. The way we function politically, as a body, can be part of God’s future kingdom encroaching upon our present reality. Even though this practice as enormous implications, the practice itself is simple:
Emerging from the Center: The Need for Personal Change
At this point, I’m on board with Yoder. Yes, we desperately need a discernment process that relies on the Spirit and is practices with open conversation. Yes, we need to find ways to overcome our many divisions. But as I agree with Yoder’s principles, I find myself deeply convicted of my own need to lead and control communities. I am completely aware of the irony. As I uncover my own wounds resulting from controlling leaders, I see my own drive to be the very thing that has caused me pain.
I have led a small group of college men for the past three years. As I think about achievements during my college and graduate career, the success of this group is at the top of the list. But as I reflect upon the structure of the group and my own leadership style, the group was anything but an “open meeting.” My approach has always been didactic. I have decided the direction, the content, and even the membership of the group.
This year, prior to my experience with Yoder (or this labyrinth), I decided to take a step back from leading and focus on the leadership development of a few of the men in the group. When we sat down at this fall to pray, discern, and plan together, I proposed three structural models from which we could choose. The first was didactic (my default), the second focused on a few members deciding the direction of the group, and the third was a completely dialogical approach that would allow the full membership to direct the group.
During our meeting, I warned them that a dialogical approach could be dangerous. I openly questioned whether every member of the group was capable of determining a proper path. At the root of my warning was my need to control and a deep fear that the group might agree upon a direction that conflicted with my own ideas. Yoder helps me see that this arrogance is a lack of trust in the Holy Spirit to govern and guide a community. These young men look up to me—and I have led them astray. They hear me telling them that the only effective way to lead is by exercising control over others when I should be helping them discern the voice of God as a community.
Nearing the Perimeter: How Does an Episcopalian Practice “Open Meeting?”
In the same way that I need to grapple with “open meeting” in my own leadership, I also find myself questioning how Yoder’s principles can be practiced institutionally. If I were leading a church community, or even thinking of starting one, the implications for Yoder’s recommendations would be pretty clear. But what do I do with them since I’m already deeply committed to an evangelical institution and the Episcopal Church? Both groups have strong (though radically different) hierarchical structures. The irony thickens here: I’ve just finished explaining how strong evangelical hierarchies have led me away from evangelical mega-churches and eventually to the Episcopal Church, which has a more highly structured hierarchy and a host of resulting political problems.
I suppose one option would be to leave. I could find a nice Mennonite congregation, or perhaps an Emergent church (been there, done that), but this doesn’t seem like a realistic option. I’m not dissatisfied with the Episcopal polity and I’m honored to be a participating member in the congregation of my own parish.
Diana Butler Bass (2006) offers some examples of how mainline churches are tackling the concept of community discernment. She quotes one interviewee: “‘People are searching for meaning,’ she says; ‘they want to connect with spirit…We are opening the congregation to a greater experience of the Holy Spirit. We are asking more of people than just coming to church on Sunday’” (p. 101).
Perhaps there is a way to practice “open meeting” in my parish. As I serve on the Vestry, I can point the group back to a process of discernment when we face difficult financial situations or interpersonal conflict. We can hold our own opinions with humility when we disagree with other and turn our attention to the still, small voice of God.
Re-entering the World: The Need for Reconciliation
Of the five practices Yoder writes about, I did not expect the simplicity of “open meeting” to unearth wounds and convict me of anti-communal habits, but I am grateful for the process. At this point, both my wounds and sin are unresolved. I am deeply aware of my need to reconcile myself to the church toward which I harbor hostility and my need to talk about “open meeting” principles with my small group. I pray that I will be able to rely less on my own intellect and desires and more on the Holy Spirit, and, as I do so, I pray that it would send a message to the watching world—Jesus Christ is Lord of all and by his Spirit we are governed and led.
Thanks for reading this far.
Entering the Labyrinth: Historical Wounds
As I have been preparing for “Finding the Moral Center” and also a Christian Caucus on Racial Reconciliation on Taylor’s campus, I have been forced to think about the concept of historical wounds—the painful memories of a group of people that continue to impact relationships and interactions. Perhaps the most prominent example in America is the enduring impact of slavery and segregation on the African-American community.
As I have been encouraged to identify the historical wounds that influence the manner in which communities interact, I have also looked within myself to reflect upon my own woundedness. I have asked myself, “How do my own wounds influence my thoughts, behaviors, and relationships?” This is a difficult question to ask, so you can imagine that the process of dealing with the results is even harder to swallow. But that is what I am attempting to offer here. Beginning with this large concept of historical wounds, I hope to explicate a labyrinth of sorts.
Labyrinths are ancient walking paths that look like mazes. While they have roots in Greek philosophy and have been used for a number of purposes, Christians have historically used them as a symbol of pilgrimage. The path of the labyrinth slowly leads the pilgrim
from the outer perimeter to the center, symbolizing the journey into the soul—a journey of self-reflection. Then, as the pilgrim confronts her fears, doubts, sinfulness, and woundedness, she slowly moves out from the center and back to the perimeter, symbolizing the pilgrim’s call to engage the world with the gospel.I begin on the perimeter with historical wounds and journey toward the center, unearthing the wounds of my own life. Then, as I begin to work my way back from the center, I will rely upon John Howard Yoder’s (1992) Body Politics to help me make sense of my wounds and ultimately point me toward the ministry of the gospel as I walk back toward the perimeter and re-engage the world.
The Journey Inward: Wounded by Church
I became a Christian when I was 14 years old. Neighbors invited my parents to attend a comedy show at their church—a suburban mega-church known for its seeker-sensitive services. When my mom came home she suggested that we attend the following Sunday. We did, and we immediately felt comfortable. In the months that followed, I made a decision to follow Jesus.
Once making that decision, I jumped into the trenches of evangelical sub-culture, unable (or unwilling?) to distinguish between the life of faith and the cultural norms of evangelicalism. I bought Christian music, started reading Christian books, and wanted to be involved in as many churchy things as possible. My friends thought I was absolutely crazy… and they were probably right.
I started helping out with the four-year old Sunday school class. I served as a greeter two Sundays a month. I was a small group leader in my youth group. I sang in the choir. If there was an opportunity, I took it. I remember a lady saying to me, “If we ever need somebody to talk to the congregation about being involved, we should ask you. You really love your church.” And she was right. And youth group was at the top of the list of reasons why I loved my church. I made good friends, interacted with adults that I admired, and, of course, I got involved.
At the beginning of my senior year of high school, I attended a meeting for student leaders in my youth group. At the end of the meeting our youth pastor read a statement from the church leadership (senior pastor) notifying us that the assistant youth pastor and worship leader had been fired.
And you’ve heard this story before. Worship leader commits sin and church fires worship leader. But that’s not the case here. Here’s the story:
Church fires worship leader.
That’s it. There was no moral failure, no story, and no explanation. We were crushed and confused. And these feelings continued without any acknowledgement from the senior pastor or the elders that this decision had wounded the community. As time passed, I learned that there was a disagreement between the worship leader and the senior pastor regarding ministry methods. His termination was based on a disagreement with the leader at the top. His relationship to the community he served didn’t seem to matter.
My love for this church was shattered. How could a community that says it loves Jesus operate like a cruel business? How could church leaders that I admired make decisions like this without acknowledging that their choices impact the community?
These questions remain unresolved and seem to be the essence of my woundedness. These questions have fostered a cynicism toward evangelicalism that continues to influence my thoughts and behaviors. Last year I wrote a series of blog posts about my objections to this mega-church and my eventual decision to join the Episcopal Church. These posts were structured around several arguments concerning consumerism and the lack of depth in the gospel message that was preached. I stand by these critiques, but my journey inward is revealing to me that these cognitive critiques are merely the walls I have erected on a foundation of woundedness.
As I write these words, I am wondering how I could go so long without realizing that this episode from my past in still a source of hostility in my life. It seems so obvious. Like I mentioned earlier, this realization is hard to swallow. My cynicism and hostility are ugly and need to be resolved.
Turning Around: Perspective and Hope
How can I channel this sense of woundedness and my hostility into something of gospel significance? In this sense, Yoder has helped me understand the frustrations of my past and offers a way of hope. He begins with a broad principle:
Church and world are not two compartments under separate legislation or two institutions with contradictory assignments, but two levels of the pertinence of the same Lordship. The people of God are called to be today what the world is called to be ultimately (Yoder, 1992, p. ix).Yoder expects the church to function as a political organization—in fact, Jesus’ word for church (ekklesia) was a Greek political term. But Yoder calls the church to a different polity than the world. The church should not function like a Fortune 500 company, a marketing firm, or Congress. In contrast, the church’s politics should foreshadow the day when all worldly kingdoms are finally subjected to Christ’s Lordship.
Based upon this assumption, Yoder calls the church to reclaim (from the early church) political practices that will influence the political realities of society. Among these, he proposes the church practice “open meetings” rooted in 1 Corinthian 14: “For you can all prophesy one by one, so that all may learn and all be encouraged, and the spirits of prophets are subject to prophets. For God is not a God of confusion but of peace” (vv. 32-33, ESV).
Open meeting, then, is trust in the spirit-led community. “Yoder envisions a community with Scripture at its center. Authority does not lie in a singular interpreter, preacher, or writer but rather in the collective wisdom of the community guided by the Spirit” (Rowell, 2008, p. 46). Yoder’s vision is inspiring and appeals to my deep dissatisfactions with the hurtful and authoritative leadership of my former pastor. He helps me to understand that my frustrations are valid and even echo the eschatological reality that all earthly kingdoms and man-made hierarchies will fall in submission to the resurrected Christ. It’s in this that I find hope—that our church communities don’t have to function like corporations and that egalitarian communities are possible. The way we function politically, as a body, can be part of God’s future kingdom encroaching upon our present reality. Even though this practice as enormous implications, the practice itself is simple:
Consensus arises uncoerced out of open conversation. There is no voting in which a majority overruns a minority and no decision of a leader by virtue of his office. The only structure this process needs is the moderating that keeps it orderly and the recording of the conclusions reached (Yoder, 1992, p. 67).But some may worry about how a body can operate this way when the individuals are so diverse. How can a congregation ensure that they are staying true to God in their decision-making? Is this a slippery slope toward secular relativism? Yoder’s insights here are perhaps the most profound to me. He writes that because God is unified and unchanging, “any procedure that yields sovereignty to the direction of his spirit will have ultimately to create unity” (p. 70). In fact, trusting in the spirit’s leading can overcome the types of diversity that divide our communities such as ethnicity, politics, and sexuality. “A Christian practice of diversity is not secular relativism. Rather, it is the active construction of a boundary-crossing community, a family bound not by blood but by love, that witnesses to the power of God’s healing in the world” (Bass, 2006, p. 148).
Emerging from the Center: The Need for Personal Change
At this point, I’m on board with Yoder. Yes, we desperately need a discernment process that relies on the Spirit and is practices with open conversation. Yes, we need to find ways to overcome our many divisions. But as I agree with Yoder’s principles, I find myself deeply convicted of my own need to lead and control communities. I am completely aware of the irony. As I uncover my own wounds resulting from controlling leaders, I see my own drive to be the very thing that has caused me pain.
I have led a small group of college men for the past three years. As I think about achievements during my college and graduate career, the success of this group is at the top of the list. But as I reflect upon the structure of the group and my own leadership style, the group was anything but an “open meeting.” My approach has always been didactic. I have decided the direction, the content, and even the membership of the group.
This year, prior to my experience with Yoder (or this labyrinth), I decided to take a step back from leading and focus on the leadership development of a few of the men in the group. When we sat down at this fall to pray, discern, and plan together, I proposed three structural models from which we could choose. The first was didactic (my default), the second focused on a few members deciding the direction of the group, and the third was a completely dialogical approach that would allow the full membership to direct the group.
During our meeting, I warned them that a dialogical approach could be dangerous. I openly questioned whether every member of the group was capable of determining a proper path. At the root of my warning was my need to control and a deep fear that the group might agree upon a direction that conflicted with my own ideas. Yoder helps me see that this arrogance is a lack of trust in the Holy Spirit to govern and guide a community. These young men look up to me—and I have led them astray. They hear me telling them that the only effective way to lead is by exercising control over others when I should be helping them discern the voice of God as a community.
Nearing the Perimeter: How Does an Episcopalian Practice “Open Meeting?”
In the same way that I need to grapple with “open meeting” in my own leadership, I also find myself questioning how Yoder’s principles can be practiced institutionally. If I were leading a church community, or even thinking of starting one, the implications for Yoder’s recommendations would be pretty clear. But what do I do with them since I’m already deeply committed to an evangelical institution and the Episcopal Church? Both groups have strong (though radically different) hierarchical structures. The irony thickens here: I’ve just finished explaining how strong evangelical hierarchies have led me away from evangelical mega-churches and eventually to the Episcopal Church, which has a more highly structured hierarchy and a host of resulting political problems.
I suppose one option would be to leave. I could find a nice Mennonite congregation, or perhaps an Emergent church (been there, done that), but this doesn’t seem like a realistic option. I’m not dissatisfied with the Episcopal polity and I’m honored to be a participating member in the congregation of my own parish.
Diana Butler Bass (2006) offers some examples of how mainline churches are tackling the concept of community discernment. She quotes one interviewee: “‘People are searching for meaning,’ she says; ‘they want to connect with spirit…We are opening the congregation to a greater experience of the Holy Spirit. We are asking more of people than just coming to church on Sunday’” (p. 101).
Perhaps there is a way to practice “open meeting” in my parish. As I serve on the Vestry, I can point the group back to a process of discernment when we face difficult financial situations or interpersonal conflict. We can hold our own opinions with humility when we disagree with other and turn our attention to the still, small voice of God.
Re-entering the World: The Need for Reconciliation
Of the five practices Yoder writes about, I did not expect the simplicity of “open meeting” to unearth wounds and convict me of anti-communal habits, but I am grateful for the process. At this point, both my wounds and sin are unresolved. I am deeply aware of my need to reconcile myself to the church toward which I harbor hostility and my need to talk about “open meeting” principles with my small group. I pray that I will be able to rely less on my own intellect and desires and more on the Holy Spirit, and, as I do so, I pray that it would send a message to the watching world—Jesus Christ is Lord of all and by his Spirit we are governed and led.
Thanks for reading this far.
References
Bass, D. B. (2006). Christianity for the rest of us: How the neighborhood church is transforming the faith. San Francisco: Harper San Francisco.
Rowell, A. D. (2008). The ecclesiology of John Howard Yoder: Scripture, five practices of the Christian community, and mission. Unpublished manuscript.
Yoder, J. H. (1992). Body politics: Five practices of the Christian community before the watching world. Scottsdale, PA: Herald Press.
Rowell, A. D. (2008). The ecclesiology of John Howard Yoder: Scripture, five practices of the Christian community, and mission. Unpublished manuscript.
Yoder, J. H. (1992). Body politics: Five practices of the Christian community before the watching world. Scottsdale, PA: Herald Press.
7.08.2008
Finding the Moral Center
My friend Ben wrote this piece about Dobson’s recent attacks on Barack Obama. I think Ben’s frustrations are representative of many Christians. These believers want to restore civility to our political discourse and are tired of Christian leaders claiming that genuine (or orthodox) faith binds us to one political platform.
My experiences with reconciliation in Los Angeles have proven that it is possible to unite around common ground rather than fight about our differences. Also, Dan Merchant has created a film, “Lord, Save Us From Your Followers,” that beautifully demonstrates what happens when Christian focus less on being right and more on loving “the other.
This captures the principle of pluralism. I know…some of you are already uncomfortable with this word. I’m not talking about relativism here—the postmodern idea that everyone’s beliefs and ideas are equally valid. Instead, pluralism represents the idea that people with different beliefs and opinions can live in harmony without compromising their worldviews. In my own parish, I worship alongside people that will vote for John McCain and people that will vote for Barack Obama. I confess the creeds along with those who favor the ordination of homosexuals and those who don’t. Yet these differences don’t divide us. The church needs to move beyond political litmus tests as a measure of one’s commitment to Jesus.
These ideas have prompted Jim Warnock, my priest, and I to bring the reconciliation seminar we have experienced in Los Angeles to Marion this fall. We’re calling it, “Finding the Moral Center: Overcoming Political Division in the Church.” We will be seeking to answer the question: "How can Christians of different political persuasions work together to address the moral issues of our time?" The seminar will be Friday, Oct. 31 through Saturday, Nov. 1. We will present the principles and steps of faith-based reconciliations while allowing participants to practice them in a small group setting. If you’re reading this, you’re invited to attend. Check out our website (which is currently being developed) and let me know if you have any questions. You can also find us on Facebook by searching “Reconcilers of Northern Indiana.”
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