Posts Tagged ‘2010 Jr. Review’

God has been doing some amazing things in the past few weeks! To save myself the trouble of spelling it all out here, I’ve included the timeline that you have a link to below. Click on it for an outline of what I and a group of friends and fellow ministers been up to. Unfortunately, this bare bones outline (started after the fact, even) is all we’ve got so far when it comes to telling about what’s been happening, but it’s better than nothing. What you really need to do, though, is sit down with Josh Kirby and have him narrate it. He’s an amazing storyteller!

Timeline

Now that you’ve had a chance to get the basic idea of what we’ve been up to, here’s a chance to orient yourself a bit to the facilities we’re currently looking at and praying about. Here are some photos that I’ve taken around St. Ann’s. And click on the link or the photo below of St. Ann’s (and the illustrious Kent Smith) to watch the ten-minute “Sights and Sounds” video that I put together for Dr. Johnson’s Contexts of Ministry class.

Of course, as you can tell, this endeavor is still in its beginning stages. God has given us a dream, a dream which we believe is God’s dream for this group, for this building, and especially for this community. It’s a dream of restoration of people and things to their intended beauty and function. It’s a dream of holy and purposeful covenant community. It’s a dream of community development, not just in economic resources but in relationships. It’s a dream of reminding people that they are allowed to dream. It’s a dream of reconciliation, a dream of wholeness and unity, a dream of harmony, peace, and joy. It’s a big dream. But that’s why it’s important to us to remember that it’s God’s dream, not our own. And God’s definitely been the one in charge of leading us this far. We take no credit for that ourselves. In fact, we know that, more often than not, we’re struggling just to stay caught up and not get in the way of the awe-inspiring things that God is doing.

Again, it’s difficult for me to take something of such great beauty and attempt to analyze it, especially when it’s something that is so obviously not of my own doing. Still, even if I can’t take much of the credit myself, this whole adventure does demonstrate developing maturity in my identity as a minister. In fact, because it incorporates so many different aspects of my life, it seems to demonstrate some growth towards a great number of the expected outcomes of the MDiv program. Here I’ll talk just a bit about Outcomes 3ace, 4acd, 6abcfg, 8abcde, 9abcd, and 10abc.

One of the most immediate aspects of the dream for St. Ann’s is that of a covenantal monastic community of sorts. Our group hopes to renovate the two-story section of St. Ann’s first and live there under the rule of life that we are even now beginning to formulate. We are preparing ourselves through prayer, through individual and communal discernment, through relationship building, and in various other ways for the challenges and blessings that will come with living together in such an intense community. These kinds of practices which we’re involved in as a group now (and plan to continue to be involved in) are a demonstration of the Christian spiritual disciplines (8abcde), a challenge in developing Christian character (9abcd), and mutual collaboration to lead our group forward in discerning and following God’s call (6abcfg). The experience thus far has also been one which has confirmed and intensified my own clarity in my personal ministerial identity, allowing me to more fully explore my talents and desires in ministry and see  how they line up with the mission which God has set before our group (10abc).

At the same time, we are not wanting this vision to be limited to just our group. We are planning to form strong, meaningful relationships with our neighbors from the College Heights community. One of our greatest desires is to live out the gospel among our newfound friends in such a way that they will be attracted to our God. We are also greatly looking forward to the ways in which we will encounter God already at work among the people we meet, for God is surely there among them in powerful ways already! This vision that God has planted within us and that God is drawing us to is one in which the Christian faith and theology are in dialogue with this local cultural context, with each making the others stronger and more purposeful in the kingdom of God (3ace, 4acd).

I have been continually amazed over these past few weeks by what God has been doing. It is a blessing to be a part of this process and to humbly follow and take part in the process as God is at work to reach the world with the good news of redemption and restoration. Redemption and restoration. Of buildings. Of neighborhoods. Of people. Of relationships. Of community. Of families, both physical and spiritual. Of all people and all things towards God. All to the praise of God’s glorious grace!

This is a reflection I wrote  after listening to a podcast episode for Dr. Johnson’s Contexts of Ministry class. The podcast (from a series called “Dispatches from the Trails End”) focused on Don, a man whom the Buffalo Gap church has been able to reach out to and minister to (as well as being ministered to by him). Though I have not changed anything, the original post can be found here: http://blogs.acu.edu/1020_BIBM64001/2010/02/04/beall-dispatches-from-the-trails-end/

I’m not sure exactly of all the reasons I wanted to include this reflection in my portfolio. In many ways, it doesn’t do much to exhibit specific outcomes which are expected in the GST. I could make an argument that it fits outcome 7 (especially 7ad), as it might be considered an indication of my intuitive ability to see into people and read them, therefore allowing me to exercise compassionate soul care. And I’m tagging it as an indicator of outcome 11d because I feel that it does demonstrate my facility with words, even though I’m sure outcome 11 is generally meant to apply to critical, formal arguments rather than this more subjective, artistic creation.

As a bit of an aside, I think it would be amazing to emphasize the beauty and necessity of creative and artistic expression in some of these expected outcomes. Music, drawing, creative writing, acting, photography and so many other creative acts are poignant expressions of who our God—THE CREATOR—is. I believe that we shortchange not only ourselves but also our God when we emphasize our strictly “intellectual” and “ministerial” abilities while neglecting our creative ones as an indicator of God at work in and through us. But back to the point…

Like I said, I’m not sure of any official reasons I should include this in my portfolio. I can’t (or don’t want to!) analyze, evaluate, synthesize, and make application from this piece of my artistic expression, yet I think it says important things about me and my identity as a minister of the gospel of Christ. So I leave it to those of you who read it to infer what you will…

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I know it’s a small thing in the scope of the entire set of podcasts. Just a few words, painting a mental picture. But those few words and that mental image are what really remain with me, even days after listening to the stories of the Buffalo Gap Church of Christ and their friend Don.

I can just see him. Don, leaning against his gate, feet planted firmly in place, willing to chat for a few minutes with these strangers who have come to see him, but unwilling to open the entirety of his life to them. Suspicious of their motives and aims, Don keeps his distance, clearly marking with his gate the boundary between their world and his. This far you may come, and no further, he says with his stance. Visit after visit, week after week, month after month. This far and no further.

Several months pass. The small talk over the top of the gate continues. But one day things are different. Things change. One day, Don, seeing his now-familiar visitors approaching, reaches down, unlatches the gate, and swings it wide open. This far you may come, and further. I am overcome by the magnitude of this particular moment, this simple yet immensely significant invitation. It is an invitation to a chair, to coffee, to conversation, to companionship. This far, and further.

Why does this unpretentious sequence of events catch my eye, catch my heart? Why are Don’s actions, seemingly self-explanatory, so important to me? It’s just a gate, right? No big deal, right? Somehow I don’t think so.

“I know a man who lives in a bus.” A man who lives in a bus? A bus? He lives in a bus?

I can only imagine this as the beginning of the series of questions that follow when someone learns of this “man who lives in a bus.” I can also imagine that Don can imagine this series of questions. To the general world around him, Don must know, he is “the man who lives in a bus.” He is an oddity at best, a cause for bewilderment or even scorn at worst. For what kind of person lives in a bus, anyway?!

Somehow along the way, in the telling of the story, in the relating of the facts of Don’s anomalous existence, the identity of this man, this person who is the created image of the living God, has been reduced to that of the man who lives in a bus. And the emphasis is not even so much on the fact that he’s a man or that he lives. It’s the bus we’re concerned about.

It’s no wonder that Don eyed his visitors with suspicion. Why were they there? Who was he to them? Was he merely the freak show of the quiet little town of Buffalo Gap, his life a spectacle to be gawked at? I wouldn’t have opened my gate either. No one needs that kind of attention. There’s a line that’s got to be drawn somewhere. This far and no further.

But something was different about these guests. They came back. And not only that. They came back and even seemed to enjoy the conversation, seemed to want to get to know him. They came back, and instead of staring at the novelty of his makeshift home, they looked at him, into his eyes, into his soul. Again and again. Visit after visit, week after week, month after month. Don’s wall of “this far and no further” began to crumble, until one day it was no longer insurmountable. The gate swung open wide. This far, and further.

This far, and further. I truly believe that that is the heart’s cry of humanity. We long to be seen, to be known, to be loved. But caught in the midst of a world of pain, derision, selfishness, hatred, and apathy, we feel we are forced to keep the gate closed, leaning against it firmly to protect ourselves from the unwelcome outsiders who come to gape at our failures, our idiosyncrasies, our vulnerability.

But what happens when someone actually sees me? When it’s not the outward appearances and circumstances which are the focus, but rather it’s the reality of who I am as a human being, as a reflection and representation of God?

What happens when I actually see him, see her? When the real stories are told, the real identities found? When each person is viewed not with the eyes of the world, but with the eyes of the Creator? When he’s not just a good-for-nothing beggar on the street but a man who has no alternatives if his wife and three kids are to eat that night? When she’s not the haughty high school slut but a lonely and scared teenage girl whose only experience of acceptance comes at a great price? When he’s not my enemy but my brother? When she’s not a “ministry opportunity” but my sister?

What happens when someone looks not at the bus in the background but at the pain and longing for companionship that are present deep within his eyes, no matter practiced he might be at concealing them in order to safeguard himself, and no matter how heavily he might lean against that gate?

When this kind of vision is practiced—visit after visit, week after week, month after month—one tiny bit at a time, the defenses are let down. The gate of the heart opens, and the invitation is extended. This far, and further.

May we go, and may we see.

This paper, an assignment for Chris Flanders’ Foundations of Missiology class, is a reflection on the issues of leadership and power in relation to missions. Beginning with a more theoretical discussion of the topic, it proceeds into a personal reflection on how my thoughts intersect my life at the moment. I believe that this paper and what it represents are a good indication of progress towards outcomes 3a, 4a, 6bc, 8ab, and 10abc.

A discussion of leadership and power is important for all of us as Christians and ministers of the gospel. While this paper is far from a complete treatment, it can be seen as a beginning foray into those issues. How does the identity of a minister relate to the mission of God and the specific context in which God has placed him or her? How is God at work? What is the relationship between the gospel, the church’s mission, and power? How does (or how should) our use of power influence the message of the gospel? And what would a revised understanding of power in leadership mean for the practices of discipleship and evangelism? Seeking initial answers to those questions, or at least seeking the further challenges brought about by those questions, this paper is an attempt to get at the indicators of outcomes 3a, 6bc, 8ab.

And while there was not nearly enough room in a 4-5 page assignment to explore all of those questions fully, I believe that this paper is good preparation for continued investigation and reflection in the years to come. As I look at the issues of power and leadership, I begin to contemplate and address how they intersect my own life, character, dreams, and plans. Therefore, this paper is also an exploration of my own ministerial identity and theological commitments, as well as an attempt to live in a way that conforms to that identity and those commitments (4a, 10).

Here is the text of the paper:

If power is “the ability to produce intended effects in the world,” as Shuster is quoted as describing it (Lingenfelter 107), then we must acknowledge that all humans have power in one form or another, whether power over their own body, power over their surroundings, or power in relationship (as all relationships entail some measure of power). Each of us undeniably has the ability to produce some intended effect. The concern, then, is not whether or not we actually have power as humans. The concern is how (or if) we can appropriately use power as Christians. This is a difficult issue for all of us to attend to, but—full of theological significance as it is—it is an especially pertinent and ever-present question in the life of the missionary and must be discerned carefully so that we as ministers might be faithful to the call of God on our lives.

Missionaries are, according to the prevailing understanding of their work, often placed in relationships of leadership and power-wielding. This dominant view of mission work emphasizes the missionary as a central figure who, because of the significance of her position, appropriately holds certain forms of power in her leadership. She is typically looked upon as the one bringing the gospel of Christ to those who are in need of it. This perception of missions places the missionary in a privileged position. She has a commodity which someone else lacks—knowledge of the gospel; with that commodity in her possession, she holds power (incomplete as it may be) over their fate.

With this understanding of the missionary vocation in place, leadership will certainly entail a purposeful use of power as well. It will be argued that power is not inherently bad; one must only be sure to handle it wisely and in a Christlike manner. Rather than being used with bad motives, to take advantage of others, hoarded, or abused, it should be employed in the humble, self-emptying, others-serving way of Jesus. Power in leadership should be used to disciple and enable other individuals, to help and defend those who are helpless and defenseless, and it should always be exerted humbly, as we seek direction and correction from God and from those around us. Leaders may use power to achieve their aims, to bring about their intended effects for their world, but it should always be benevolent power.

I would argue, however, that we could go one step further in bettering our understanding of the use of power in Christian leadership. While the above kind of charitable implementation of power in leadership is adequate enough for the anthropocentric definition of the missionary role that it is based upon, it clashes somewhat with a more theocentric view of missions. Redefining missions by placing God—not the missionary—back at the center of power and leadership has momentous implications for how both power and leadership are interpreted and implemented by the missionary.

What would it look like to recognize God as the undisputed center of our understanding of mission work (and ministry of any sort)? It would require clearing the way for God to act by removing the missionary from that preeminent position. Humbly stepping aside and giving up his position as the supposed driving force behind the vision and the work, the missionary must confess God as the only source of vision and of power. Admitting that he is merely a disciple himself, a leader only in that he is a follower of the true leader (1 Cor 1:11), any power he does have will be understood as a gift from God, requiring responsibility back to God for how he uses it. So instead of working in his own power to bring about his own desires, he will be able to relinquish the power and control he grasps for (even if unconsciously). The missionary will surrender himself to God’s power, allowing God to produce the effects God intends in and for the world; he is merely along for the ride, acting faithfully to the call and the opportunities God places in front of him.

If mission work is understood this way, with God as both the source of power and the leadership behind the spread of the gospel, the question remains for us as Christians and as missionaries: should we, as followers of Christ, seek or employ any power of our own in our leadership? Seeking power is out of the question, in my mind. For if God himself did not seek power but instead gave it up, becoming like a slave for our sake (Phil 2), what justification do we have to seek power? Again, we cannot deny that we each already have and use some form of power. That is inherent in our relational existence as human beings. But what should our response to that power be? At the very least, I believe that it should reflect the benevolent power described earlier, with each of us acting as a power-giving leader, to use the terms of Lingenfelter. Even better, our response should reflect our acknowledgement of God as the continual source of power for the extension of the good news to the world. We should be power-reinstating servants, placing power back in the hands of our God, where it truly belongs and serving only as God calls us. Then we as missionaries will be able to lay down the immense burdens we have taken on ourselves, trusting in God to accomplish God’s purposes in God’s time and in God’s way.

So how does this all connect with my life? Why my interest in this redefinition of mission work and my insistence on God as the only source of power and leadership? Honestly, it comes from the experience of being completely humbled by what God has been doing in my life recently. I have been blessed to witness God at work in mighty ways to bring about ministry opportunities I never would have imagined. And throughout the process, it has been very clear that it is God in control, not me or anyone else. The experience has called into question some of the assumptions I had previously lived by and has necessitated a restructuring of how I think.

The story begins about one month ago, when it became clear that a group of seven people were being led by God into closer relationship with one another for the purpose of glorifying God in ministry. As we started to dream together about the possibility of living in covenant community and ministering to a neglected neighborhood here in Abilene, God’s hand was clearly at work to guide us. Very quickly, our dream—already seemingly large enough to us—was taken out of our own inadequate hands, and God began to lead us on an adventure in which we had to hustle merely to stay caught up! Placing person after person and opportunity after opportunity in front of us in perfect sequence, usually before we even knew what their significance would be, God has led us to a specific people and neighborhood in Abilene and even to a particular place within that neighborhood, the abandoned St. Ann’s Hospital. The stories of God obviously at work are too numerous to recount here, but suffice it to say that our group has been reminded over and over again that we are not in control of this process, that God is the power leading us.

The humility that has been unavoidably evoked by our experience thus far has had numerous implications. First of all, it has been a good reminder to us as individuals and as a group of our relationship to and position before God. We are continually prompted to confess that God is the only true source of power, that we are nothing but tools in God’s hands, and often inept ones at that. Secondly, given the way that God has been leading us in very definite ways very quickly, all of us are hesitant to arrogantly and foolishly run ahead of God by claiming any vision or power for ourselves. We wait on God. We place our lives within God’s hands, surrendering ourselves to God’s power and plan. And God does not disappoint. We are invariably given what we need when we need it.

Additionally, the humble position in which God has placed us has caused us to reconsider our own roles as “leaders” within God’s vision for our group and our ministry. This is perhaps the result most directly related to mission work and ministry in general. Since we are not able to claim this vision and power as our own (for it is obviously beyond us!), we are compelled to look for God at work everywhere and in everyone. Again, we are leaders only in that we are following God, and even that is through no merit of our own. The title and practice of “leadership” are transformed in a revolutionary way, with any power and privilege attributed to God alone. Seeking no power for ourselves, we also put measures in place to ensure that we are kept accountable to the standard of benevolent power and power-giving leadership as we do use the power that we inherently have. More than this, though, we seek to be power-reinstating servants, relinquishing power back into the hands of God and allowing God to lead. And from that position of submission, we are then able to be power-recognizing ministers, seeing the power of God in each person and each circumstance that we encounter. With all this in mind, we know that the dream for St. Ann’s and the surrounding community is not our dream. It is God’s dream. We merely follow behind God as we are directed, and we welcome those whom God brings alongside us as fellow power-giving, power-reinstating, power-recognizing servant “leaders.”

The first draft of my reflection on ministerial identity, finished in November of 2009 as an assignment for Jeff Childers’ Foundations of Theology of Ministry class is an example of progress towards outcomes 8abc, 9a, and 10abc.

As you will see when reading the reflections, there is a great deal of uncertainty present about what my ministerial identity is. I feel as though God has gifted me in many ways and has presented me with a number of viable options and opportunities. That is what makes understanding who I am and where I want to go so much more difficult. This paper is, however, an attempt—and a successful one, I think—to begin to express in words who God has created me to be and what God is calling me to. This kind of focused exploration into my identity as a person and as a minister of the gospel of Christ is just what I believe is required for my own personal and vocational growth. In this assignment I am able to meditate on how God has led me to the point that I am at, how my life is a reflection of who God is, what God is asking of me, and how that call on my life correlates to the mission of God in the world through Christ and the church (8bc, 9a, 10ac). And although it cannot be completely summarized in words of any sort and must also be made evident in my everyday actions, my commitment to living out what I discover to be God’s call for me is also indicated in these pages (8a, 10b).

Writing this reflection on ministerial identity has been one of the most fulfilling assignments from my graduate education so far. Because I am already such a self-reflective person, it was not so much a challenge for me as it was an opportunity. It was an open invitation to explore and lay out—somewhat systematically and hopefully somewhat articulately as well—the many thoughts which had been swimming around in my head for years. It also focused my attention on attempting to discern some direction from the ambiguity.

Over the few months which have passed since I wrote this initial draft, God has continued to mold me and shape me. God’s definite guidance has been evident in my life and has led me to a point where this reflection on ministerial identity needs some revising. I hope to be able to take on that task at some point in the not-too-far future.

Ministerial Identity

And click the image below for a short (one-song) musical soundtrack to go along with your reading. Enjoy!

This is the first draft of my contextual theology paper for Stephen Johnson’s Contexts of Ministry class. I include it as an artifact here in my portfolio to represent progress towards outcomes 3bc, 4d, and 11d.

This paper is my beginning attempt to set forth an understanding of what contextual theology is. I start from my own definition of theology (taken from an assignment for Fred Aquino’s Systematic Theology class last fall). I then proceed to talk about how contextual theology is theology incarnate, and I discuss what exactly that means for our practice of theology. I also draw on a few assigned readings and experiences from the class, incorporating the insight I received from them into my own explication of contextual theology (4d). This paper, while not engaging a specific context, does lay the groundwork for that kind of endeavor in the future, so I believe that it shows progress towards outcome 3 (specifically indicators 3b and 3c).

While there is still more work to be done when it comes to formulating a firm interpretation of what contextual theology is and means in my life, this paper does provide a springboard for that kind of work to be done. This assignment was an extremely helpful one for me because it challenged me to define and articulate what I understand contextual theology to be. That will be helpful not only during my studies at ACU but throughout the rest of my life in ministry, I believe. It will give me a place from which to orient myself as I carry out contextual ministry and therefore contextual theology as well.

The paper seems to me, at least, to be well written (11d). This impression was confirmed by Dr. Johnson, who assigned it a 92/100 and commented, “Very well written reflection. I appreciate the care with which you have articulated a theology rooted in time, place, and practice.” Dr. Johnson pointed out a few areas for improvement as well, which I will be sure to focus on when I revise the paper towards the end of the semester.

Here is the text of the paper:

Contextual theology, to the best of my ability to comprehend and verbalize at this point in my academic and ministry career, is essentially theology incarnate. To borrow from Eugene Peterson’s language, contextual theology is theology that has become “flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood” (John 1:14, The Message).

Attempting to set aside the contextual aspect for just a moment, theology is, by my own definition, human attentiveness to mysteries pertaining to and revealed by God, entailing discernment as to what those unfolding mysteries indicate about and demand from the faithful. It follows, then, that because God is the one doing the revealing, and because the mysteries of God are always revealed to people located within specific historical, personal, and cultural settings, no “pure” form of theology exists apart from context, at least not to us as human beings. Perhaps for God, but not for those of us to whom God has revealed Godself. In that way, then, it is not truly possible to lay aside the idea of context when speaking of theology. All theology is contextual theology.

That is not to say, however, that all contextual theology is created equal. Some theology is only contextual in the limited sense of the above definition. Some of it, though, is contextual in a much deeper, much more committed way. This kind of contextual theology is theology in an earnest attempt to take on flesh. It is theology that engrosses its devotees in the amazing yet often disheveled world that God has created. It is theology that has abandoned its sheltered existence in academic isolation and has “moved into the neighborhood” of the real lives of real people. The embodiment of theology in concrete contextual settings means that theology is no longer theology in theory only, merely an intellectual exercise of systematizing knowledge about God. Rather, theology is lived out in a particular place and time among a particular people. This kind of contextual theology is also practiced in particular ways.

For one, contextual theology is just that: contextual. It takes into account and is informed by the cultures and contexts within which it is located. In their chapter entitled “Theological Thinking as Contextual Practice,” Brelsford and Senior assert that theological thinking “is not ex nihilo ideation; rather, thinking is always a project of reconstruction of preexisting assumptions and perceptions formed from the material of tradition, history, and experience” (42). Their statement applies to contextual theology as much as it does to theological thinking. Contextual theology does not emerge from nowhere, and it does not proceed into nowhere. Rather, it is birthed in the interaction of the traditions, histories, and experiences of specific individuals and communities, and it engages those same traditions, histories, and experiences even as it exists among them.

Secondly, and closely related, theology applied in context will always involve others. Brelsford and Senior also claim that theological thinking is far more of a communal pursuit than an individualistic one. Again, I would argue that the same is true for contextual theology. Although I suppose it is possible for one person to receive, interpret, and apply theological insights in his or her own individual life, even this undertaking in the limited sense of contextual theology would be a communal one insofar as no human being has lived in total isolation from the outside world for the entirety of life. More to the point, however, a contextual theology is a theology formed through interaction with a certain people and/or lived out among those certain people. So whatever way you look at it, contexts are always contexts that involve others in one fashion or another.

Furthermore, the relationship of theology and context in contextual theology is a mutual one, for the association serves two purposes simultaneously. Locating theology in context not only makes theology more contextually driven, but it also makes contexts more theologically intelligible. So while theology is challenged and strengthened by context, being focused and streamlined to reflect a particular experience, that experience can be brought further into the light of a growing understanding of who God is and how God is at work, allowing the people in that context to interpret their situation theologically. Take, for example, the Martin Luther King, Jr. Day march earlier this year. Theology shaped participation in this event in a number of ways. First of all, a certain theological understanding of human personhood and what it entails led to the crisis of extreme racial injustices that were being protested. Secondly, theology helped fuel the Civil Rights Movement and its most notable leader who was being celebrated that day. And personal theologies (ever-present even if subconscious) led to my and others’ participation in the rally and march. At the same time, however, our participation shaped our theology. Seeing people coming together to stand up for justice and claim that God supports their cause might lead me to consider the idea that justice might be something of great importance to God. And perhaps, if it really is important to God, it should also be important to me and to us as a community. Rather than existing as a set of two monologues, in which theology speaks to context and context replies with its own lecture for theology, however, this kind of contextual theological development is a dialogical process. The two resources of theology and context inform each other in a deliberately interactive way; give and take occurs between the two, and a discussion in the hopes of learning and transformation continues until a balance is struck and communion is found.

Finally, the dialogue of contextual theology follows a certain kind of procedure. While the exact details of the process will vary some from situation to situation (for what else is to be expected of a contextual theology?), the method remains basically the same: a contextual theology must engage its context, and it must interpret its context.

Engaging a context can take on various forms, some more integrated in that context than others. At the very least, engaging a context requires presence. Whether physically, relationally, intellectually, ideologically, or in some other way, one must be present to a context in order to engage it. The next step, once that necessary presence has been established, is to engage the context by devoting attention to it. This begins with simple observations about who is (or is not) there and what is (or is not) happening in the context. In her chapter on attention, Barbara Brown Taylor reminds us that “the practice of paying attention is as simple as looking twice at people and things you might just as easily ignore” (34). And beginning from this simple foundation of looking twice, paying attention can draw an observer into a context in even greater ways, leading her or him to ask the question, “Why?” It is at this point that aspects of interpretation come into play, but before moving on to those, we must look at one further aspect of engaging a context: interaction. Appropriate interaction with a context is key to engaging that context well. While in some situations, the only appropriate interaction is that of presence and attentive observation, in other settings, one may ask questions of those present or even participate in the context’s rhythms oneself. The level at which one is allowed to interact with a context in an approved of way can sometimes be sensed intuitively, but at other times the observer-participant might want to ask what would be considered appropriate.

Interpreting a context is generally more difficult than engaging it. While presence, attention, and interaction may be relatively straightforward for even an outsider, the history and meanings behind a context are often extremely complicated and are difficult to spell out without great care. Vanhoozer’s chapter, “What is Everyday Theology?” provides an excellent discussion of cultural hermeneutics that could also be applied to the hermeneutics of contextual theology. Vanhoozer admits that interpretation will be both messy and provisional, for, in his words, “Interpretation is not an exact science” (36). His categories of the worlds behind, of, and in front of cultural texts could well be applied to the process of interpreting contexts of theology. In other words, “Who made this [context] and why? What does it mean and how does it work? What effect does it have on those who receive, use, or consume it?” (48). And Vanhoozer also admits to the dialogical nature of context and theology, saying, “We don’t simply read cultural [or contextual] texts but we read through them. In short: the cultural [and contextual] texts we love best come to serve as the lens through which we view everything else and as the compass that orients us toward the good life” (36).

As we communally engage and interpret our contexts, making space to involve ourselves intricately in the dialogue between those contexts and theology, I believe that we will see a strong contextual theology developing. It will be one that allows us to observe the mysteries that God is revealing to us in a particular time and place, discerning both what those mysteries tell us about God and ourselves in that time and place and what they subsequently ask of us who live as God’s people in that time and place. This will not just be theoretical theology. This will be theology incarnate.

While I will be the first to admit the limitations of this artifact, I am proud to include it as part of my portfolio, for this document is a highly symbolic one for me. To begin with, this was the first time in the history of that particular congregation that a woman was included in the adult curriculum-writing process. I was honored and humbled to be that first woman, and even more honored and humbled when the minister who invited me to participate was willing to defend that decision to some who questioned it. Additionally, this is the first and only formal lesson plan I’ve ever written. As such, it represents both a challenge and a success to me. Because adult teaching and curriculum-writing opportunities are highly limited for women in the Churches of Christ, this was a relatively new and intimidating task for me. And although there are surely innumerable ways in which the lesson could be strengthened, for me it was an accomplishment to even complete it and have it used.

This lesson plan seems to demonstrate several outcomes required by the MDiv program. Serving as a guide to Psalm 8, this lesson plan at least demonstrates beginning growth toward competency in exegesis and interpretation of a biblical text using the resources available to me at the time (1cd). It was also an exercise in bridging the gap between theology and context (4ad, 6b), as I was able to guide the teachers and therefore the class participants through some of the implications of the text for our lives as Christians. The lesson and the entire series were prepared collaboratively for teachers of adult classes, so by my participation in this effort I was able to work with and for a variety of people, communicating clearly to them what I believed to be the significance of the psalm. (6df, 11acd).

Psalm 8