Return of the Brick House

Thoughts on Grace Agenda, Church & Culture, Boring Pastors

Last week Lindsay and I took a trip to Moscow, Idaho. We would never have dreamed that Moscow, Idaho existed, yet alone that we would go there…were it not for the Grace Agenda conference. On these grounds, we backed up our six-month baby Miles, boarded four flights and drove four hours to get there. Why?

Douglas Wilson, N.D. Wilson and Mark Driscoll in the same room.

Douglas Wilson is a wide-ranging thinker who founded a college, pioneered the fun, cerebral theology mag, Credenda Agenda (the conference sponsor) and debated Christopher Hitchens. N.D. Wilson, his son, is a best-selling writer of fiction and the author of Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl, one of my favorite books in recent memory. Mark Discoll, founder of Mars Hill Church and the Acts29 Network, is a lightning rod for criticism and remains one of my favorites. So all three of these dudes are influences, all three were at the Grace Agenda conference, and this was storm perfect enough to drag us all the way to Moscow…Idaho.

Something I like to do after a lot of input, other than blowing up my Twitter feed (sorry), is to consolidate what I heard by writing about it. Our oldest kid, Aidan, is five, which means I haven’t done this much in the last five years, so we’ll see how this goes.

Church & Culture

One eye-opening thing about the Grace Agenda conference was the dramatic change in cultural scenery. Theologically, Lindsay and I felt right at home with the Reformed tone of things. What we weren’t expecting as much were the suit-and-tie attire and hymnbooks.

This felt more old-school than I was expecting–not because tradition has no place in church culture but because Moscow, ID is a college town, a place which seems ideal for expressions of faith that engage current culture.

As a church planter, I can’t imaging starting a new church within a model that seems to lean so heavily on church tradition rather than exploring and speaking to current forms. I can assume that church’s relationship to culture is a closed question, since I spend all my time in an urban arts community, but this is not a dead issue for churches, especially traditional denominational churches, in the West.

Interesting to have the script flipped unexpectedly. Of course, Mark Driscoll represents a line of thought that loves the same theology while also working hard to speak his culture’s language. Seeing Driscoll juxtaposed with the brainy but culturally-distanced Credenda Agenda crowd was fascinating. For what it’s worth, I line up in Driscoll’s camp on this one and I think it’s a vital issue for those who want to see new churches started.

Bored & Boring Pastors

Douglas Wilson made a comment to the effect that the real question we face as Christians is not, Why is the world languishing? but, Why are the pastors & preachers languishing? (Wilson is a throwback in a classy G.K. Chesterton-like way, and uses words like “languishing” a lot.)

Question is, why have we, the Christians, especially the pastors, surrendered the “good old times” of wild parties, chasing girls, what-have-you, for what appears to be a mediocre, settled-down life? What a bad trade.

But of course, church should not be the place where you get settled down. Church is where you get infused with a new mission that culminates in nothing less than the transformation of the entire earth. Church is where the Holy Spirit gets rowdy, does unexpected things, and sets people on fire with passion to see lives restored. Church is the party.

Great point. I feel like if I, as a pastor who’s ostensibly working with Jesus to start a church in a city I love, slip into a pattern of settled, monotonous spirituality, my grip on grace has been broken and my view of the world is pitiful.

The vision of the church as the place, of all places, where things happen, is dead on.

That’s it for today, someone’s crying in the background. I just noticed but this may have been going on for awhile…hope to process some more thoughts later.

Still Life with Espresso Machine

The space reserved for my espresso machine is on our second floor mini bar…which isn’t complete yet. I do plug it in & fire it up from time to time, since man cannot live on coffee alone. But mostly it’s motivation to keep renovating.

N.D. Wilson on Resenting God

Thought I’d lay some more N.D. Wilson on you. I’m tying this in with the passage I’m preaching on this week, Mark 8:34-38:

Do you resent this world, this art? Do you hate Him for cancer, for car wrecks, and for the sudden shocking sleep of the young? Do you hate Him for those waves that break too high, for those hours when far more than six thousand die? Do you resent your story? Your height, your baldness, your itchy feet and unstable lower intestine, the forest fire sunsets and your own mortality?

Buy cream for your wrinkles. Whiten your teeth. Have doctors staple back your scalp until you die and decompose and only the staples remember you.

Go to Him or go to Hell.

Those are the only two choices, because Hell will be wherever he is not. – N.D. Wilson, Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl, 178

Windblown Baby

Belatedly, here’s a photo of Miles on our drive home from Colorado AFTER our electric window ate itself.

Still Life with Washer

Still Life with Washer, a photo by AjVan on Flickr.

Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl by N.D. Wilson

Carnival rides & optimism re: death

I’ve been reading a lot of N.D. Wilson lately, which is to say, as of five minutes ago, I’ve read everything he’s written: The 100 Cupboards trilogy, Leepike Ridge, and Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl.

The author who forces you to read everything he or she has written is a rare find. Talking to Andrew about this, I reflected that PD James was the last such find for me…that was about six years ago, and those wondrously haunting, psychological, bloody murders got me through seminary.

Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl is the book I just finished, and Wilson’s only nonfiction work to date. What I like about Wilson? His irrepressible, G.K. Chesterton-like happiness in the created world, a faith that inspires humor (all too rare), his optimism about death.

Christians should be happy, even when we’re beat up. We should find a lot to joke about, starting with ourselves. If you follow Jesus, then you’re in the camp that states unequivocally, Death is already the punchline of God’s comedy, death has been had, death poses no real threat.

Wilson:

This world is beautiful but badly broken. St. Paul said that it groans, but I love it even in its groaning. I love this round stage where we act out the tragedies and comedies of history. I love it with all of its villains and petty liars and self-righteous pompers. I love the ants and the laughter of wide-eyed children encountering their first butterfly. I love it as it is, because it is a story, and it isn’t stuck in one place. It is full of conflict and darkness like every good story. And like every good story, there will be an ending. I love the world as it is, because I love what it will be.

Other reasons I like Wilson: He has five kids. Renovates his own house. Has a high tolerance for risk, reasons outlined above, and…he writes. All said, this guy does my heart good.

Our sleek, modern, urban compost system

the best composting system you've never seen

Actually, it’s just some treated lumber with chicken wire wrapped around it. But I’d be happy to make YOU one for, say, $300?

This is one of those instant gratification projects I tackled for kicks when I was tired of painting and sheet rock. We had wanted to start composting for a long time, and I couldn’t bring myself to pay $100 for a pre-fab compost system. That seems to fly in the face of everything that composting stands for…right?

Instead, I bought 2×2″ and 1×2″ treated lumber and a roll of chicken wire for maybe $20 total. This project took me a couple hours. Throw in the trip to Home Depot and we’ll make it three.

the naked compost box frame, minus one slat

Principles like “level,” “plumb,” and “90 degree corners” are reserved for interior work, so this thing almost built itself. I used my table saw to cut the lumber to size, notching the dirt ends at 45 degrees. Then I drove the 2×2″ pieces into the ground, adding the slats to top and bottom as I went.

I drove each corner piece approximately a foot  into the ground, keeping the tops visually aligned (no precise leveling allowed). I fastened the cross pieces with galvanized screws and a driver, which was a little lazy, since it caused some splintering. However…this was an outdoor project.

With the wooden box structure in place, I began wrapping the chicken wire, staple-gunning one side at a time. I began using heavy duty staples, but this was actually overkill, so I finished with lightweight clips. A little excavation at the base of the box allowed me to keep the wire at the same level all the way around.

Aidan's photo reveals that I was quite proud of the finished product

And there you go, more than you ever wanted to know about how to build a composting box that should withstand the elements just fine for a few years, providing my kids don’t try to play inside. They are, for some reason, pretty pumped about dumping their leftover food into it. Now that I think about it…given their propensity for food-related accidents…this could shorten the compost box’s lifespan. Oh well.

Aidan could hardly wait to throw stuff in the–I mean, initiate the compost system sequence–& let nature take over

The final thing I did, with encouragement from Lindsay, was plant a honeysuckle vine and Russian Sage at the front corners of the box. Both are fast growers and will reduce the visibility of this glorious creation. Its good looks were more than we could handle for long periods of time.

soon this compost box will blend into its surroundings like a chameleon

Why the heck did we buy this house?

The second floor, current theater of war

Well it seemed like a good idea at the time. No, actually I can do better than that. I have to. Here’s why.

To illustrate the gravity of the situation, here’s my current to-do list. I keep this file on my Mac and don’t delete anything. When I accomplish something, I format it with a “strike through” to bolster my sense of accomplishment.

Brick House Task List
(sequential, prioritized)

living room & bathroom
1. touch up ceilings

1st fl hallway
2. frame doorway
3. replace baseboard
4. replace crown molding
5. sand & paint bathroom, laundry door frames (innocence/off white)
6. paint baseboards

1st fl dining room
7. replace baseboards
8. patch plywood in floor
9. patch, sand & paint: green, grey

library
10. paint baseboards (off-white)
11. paint door frames (off-white)
12. paint window (innocence white)

bedroom/sitting room
12. patch, sand & paint: blue, grey

boys’ room
14. sand & touch up ceiling
15. touch up walls

Outdoors
16. build cable trellis
17. detrash/repurpose under the deck
18. caulk kitchen window
19. paint soffit in front
20. paint porches in front

See those items with a line through ‘em? THEY’RE DONE. Those projects are GONE, BABY, GONE! Pretend not to notice that I jumped to lower-priority tasks because they were easier. Also, don’t note that I haven’t bothered listing any of the projects on our second floor, the new frontier…because there are too many to count at the moment. And nada for our tenants on the third floor, because I’m going to nurse this slum lord thing as long as I can (kidding, kidding).

So, the question remains. What are we doing here?

Lindsay and I were just reviewing this question, given that we have pictures still waiting to be framed after six months, boxes that are still packed after two years, and an escalating number of bare walls waiting to be painted.

We liked this place, it’s true. The first time we walked in, Lindsay was slightly intimidated. I saw it as a challenge. I should have been scared, because within a few months I would be teaching myself plumbing and electricity with the help of Google.

Now, a couple years after we threw caution to the winds, mortgaged ourselves to the max, and started taking out walls and exposing brick, I have to remind myself that we didn’t buy this place because it could be a dream home.

Maybe it will be. So far, no dream. Some great moments, but lots of sweat, some big surprises, and 1000 trips to Home Depot. As I said over and over again back in 2009, We’re drafting on potential.

Anyone who follows the NBA knows how that can turn out. Fortunately, we weren’t just talking about ROI and transforming a dated brick behemoth into a spacious home with a secondary income stream. The reality is, we wouldn’t have looked at the Brick House seriously without further incentive. That incentive was Crossroads Church–or, more accurately, the possibility that Crossroads Church could begin to exist in downtown Kansas City.

At the time, Crossroads existed in our minds, a dream shared with a half dozen other people. We saw downtown starting to turn around and wanted to see a revitalization that would be expressed in more than dollar signs. We wanted Jesus to be part of the picture. We knew he would get a bad rap, like he always does, some people would laugh at him, and a few would discover who he really is and hear what he actually says, instead of the  religious crap that often gets dumped on him. What we needed was a staging area.

We’d lived in a downtown loft for long enough to have a couple kids and get to love our city. What we needed next was…a beachhead. A place we could sink roots into rock in the growing tide of urban restoration. We wanted a place we could raise a family and also be a doorway into downtown for a bunch of our friends, including some we didn’t know yet. A place where you show up, look around, find your footing, then go find your own niche.

That’s why, for months on end, I would tirelessly scour Columbus Park, Union Hill, and the West Side, looking for a place we could afford, with space for kids, conducive to lots of parties. We didn’t just want to be “near” downtown. We wanted to be in it.

Amazingly enough, that’s what God gave us. The story of how we ended up finding and buying the Brick House is so convoluted that I’ll save it for another post or a flow chart. But we saw all our goals, all our preconditions, and every dollar in our shaky bank account, converge on this one massive brick house. So after many agonized conversations, inspections by architects and engineers, clever negotiations, some intense arguments, and, yes, a lot of prayer, it happened.

We signed the papers, picked up a key ring that weighed 10 pounds, walked inside, and it was ours. Or at least it would be  in about 30 years, minor technicality. At the time, it felt like a miracle. At the moment, living with the accumulating chaos of kids and baby church and never-ending home repair, we need to remind ourselves of all this.

All this. It’s why we’re here. Not just because we love DIY stuff and I can swing a hammer. We need more justification than that for all this craziness and I’m thankful to God that we have it.

Well Done, Arts Incubator

Our first workday at the AI

Well, it was a good run, Arts Incubator. We never thought we’d be starting a service in the gut of an arts building, embedded in the community, with less than 15 people, at the request of an enigmatic director who said that if we started something small and simple, he’d go.

He never did show up but a lot of other people did, and a few stuck around. We knew we were breaking every rule in the church planting books, but for our crowd, it worked.

The AI was a filter that strained out folks who weren’t urban enough or indie enough or crazy enough, trusting enough or loving enough or determined enough, to begin a risky gospel adventure. The paint-splattered floors, improvised walls and rickety freight elevator shouted, THIS IS ONE OF THOSE UNSAFE, HIGH-RISK VENTURES YOU’VE BEEN WARNED ABOUT. TAKE YOUR MONEY AND RUN!

People with an OK risk tolerance and respect for the underdog settled in. The others didn’t darken the door twice. A year and a half later, we’re still a hair shy of critical mass and I’ve quit my habit of writing down my number projections only to snicker and cross them out later. But the people who are part of Crossroads Church are part of Crossroads Church.

The questions inevitably came up. Why are we singing, why am I preaching, in the dog days of summer, without AC, with the sweat dripping off us? In the winter, why are we wearing triple layers? Those led to other questions, like Why are we acting as ushers and serving chili, Why are we cleaning gigantic plate glass windows, Why are we calling the Crossroads home, Why are we moving downtown, Why are we building a community from scratch?

Thanks, Arts Incubator. You helped us make the answers to those questions obvious. It wasn’t just for kicks. It wasn’t to be casually hip. It wasn’t those great summer parties with fiery grills and sudden cool breezes. It wasn’t even the startling joy of spinning the barrel, pulling the trigger, and laughing out loud when our choice didn’t explode in our face.

Merely saying true things is never enough, Arts Incubator, and while we said again and again that we were downtown because Jesus was downtown, you eroded a lot of the alternative explanations. You helped us be on mission. You kept us a little on edge. You made sure we couldn’t build a church in the name of loving other people that was simply a glorified way to love ourselves.

It’s been a great ride, Arts Incubator. You were a coach to train us toward Team Jesus. You kept us light on our feet. You have us a panoramic, bird’s-eye view of our city. When we looked around and said we loved Truth, Beauty, and Restoration, you helped us believe it.

You were a prophet, lots of rough edges, shoving us into a new identity as a Jesus tribe. When we shop-vacuumed cigarette butts, commented on third-floor roller derbies, and, in occasional surreal moments, glanced around at each other in disbelief, we knew Someone Else was holding this thing together. For all of this, we thank you. And in thanking you, of course, we’re thanking Jesus.

We were shocked, God, when you moved us in and we were no less shocked that you moved us out. Maybe living by faith feels a little like this. When you shoved us into that shabby-chic second floor corner with the lean-open windows and abandoned chalk board, you knew that a year and a half later you’d give us a week in the echoing, white Cocoon Gallery before you slammed the door shut.

That’s why we’re trusting your sovereignty and goodness, throwing a party, saying our prayers, and typing a goodbye letter to the Arts Incubator. We trust you, Father. Now we’re looking around at our city, cautious but curious, a little shell-shocked but very interested to see what you have in mind.

That one door with countless tape smudges and perpetually broken buzzer is closed. Felt like our fingers were in it. But we’re still here and the game is still on. Open the next door just a crack, God; if we have to, we’ll use our knuckles and knock that sucker down.

You were good to us, Arts Incubator. We loved you for it. And so, goodbye.

Now, Father. Lead us, we’ll follow. A lot of the time we know that we’re here to love Jesus, connect people and transform cities, a block at a time if need be. Help us learn that better. Guide us with your Spirit. Show us how you want this to work.

[The Arts Incubator, a landmark studio and gallery building in the heart of Kansas City's Crossroads Arts District, unexpectedly closed permanently on Friday, July 1, 2011. The nonprofit offered affordable studio space to dozens of aspiring artists (shoehorn Crossroads Church in there), won international awards for excellence, and helped the Crossroads District earn its reputation as a premiere arts community. A little more here...official press release has yet to drop.]

Crossroads Church Summer Update

I wrote an update on what’s going on with Crossroads Church KC this summer. Among other things, I explain how the 2-week closure of the Arts Incubator, our meeting place for 1.5 years, affected us.