Vinyl records are made by cutting grooves or ruts into the vinyl. The record (at this point called a lacquer) is placed on the cutting machine where electronic signals from the master recording travel to a cutting head, which holds a stylus or needle. The needle etches a groove into the record that spirals to the center of the circular disc. The imprinted lacquer is then sent to a production company, where it is coated in metal, such as silver or nickel, to create a metal master.
Our lives also operate in grooves. We operate a certain way, day after day after day. Sometimes our grooves — our habits, our ways of being — create beautiful music. Sometimes our grooves are more like ruts — they create sounds that are less inviting, even harsh.
Lent is a season in which we are invited to break out of the ruts we may have fallen into, by changing up our habits, and acknowledging that our lives, by God’s grace, do not have to fall into ruts that are etched in metal or stone.
We can be changed.
Invitation:
Grab a record, feel its edges, its grooves, its texture. Imagine the music it creates. Consider your own present practices:
— what are the grooves that create music? How can you nourish them?
— what are the ruts that you would like to get out of? Consider ways you can change your present practices. What are new grooves you could create? What space might open up if you change a current habit?
Records
Prayer:
God thank you for this life you given me.
I cherish the music you have allowed me to hear, as well as to create.
Forgive me for the ruts that increase the chaotic noise of the world.
Free me to live into grooves of grace that create beautiful music.
Music that sings of you.
In Christ, Amen.
From London to New York to Ann Arbor, people are gathering in pubs and bars to communicate, connect, and learn from one another over the topic of religion, of all things. In Pub Theology, pastor, writer, and pub theologian Bryan Berghoef draws from his own experience in one such setting in Northern Michigan. Speaking to fellow Christians, Berghoef explains how they must turn their evangelism mentality on its head: from being those who need to evangelize others to those who need to be evangelized by others. Through anecdotes, stories, and theological musings, readers will discover how to move from a place of preaching to a place of listening, from a place of teaching to a place of learning.
A few writers, thinkers, pastors, and theologians (Brian McLaren and Eric Elnes, among others) note that a new convergence is happening within Christianity. McLaren notes:
"A new coalition is already happening, as existing organizations and emerging networks discover one another and realize they have independently reached common conclusions."
Eric Elnes writes of twelve defining characteristics, which are evenly divided into three categories: Love of God, Love of Neighbor, and Love of Self.
A lot of feedback from my latest post, Losing Our Religion.
One that I found of particular interest was from Randy Buist, a graduate of Calvin Seminary and someone who grew up in the Christian Reformed Church, but a decade ago or so, decided to leave. He said much that I resonate with, and am reposting it here because his was one of the last comments made and it is worth reading to get a perspective on one person who felt that —for the sake of the kingdom— leaving the institution outweighed the benefits of staying. Give it a read and let me know what you think.
Hanging out at the pub this past year has taught me that I have a lot to learn from people who think differently than I do. One of the unfortunate tendencies of Christians, myself included, is to surround ourselves only with people who think like us. This limits our own ability to think, to learn, to ask questions, to grow. It’s hard to be objective about something when you’ve never heard another perspective. It’s also easy to start thinking that you’ve got all the answers. Or that your answers are the best answers. Or that you need to talk with non-Christians only so you can “tell them how it is.”
