My worship apprentice friends will best understand the significance of this site. To everyone else, let me say that N.T. Wright’s book “Reflecting the Glory” is an excellent Lenten devotional resource. I am going to read through this blog and see how it works out in reality.
Archive for February, 2005
I miss cafes. A semester in Hungary taught me to love these places of conversation, study, and (of course) coffee. I lived on Raday utca, a pedestrian street with charming streetlights, small stores selling tea, bread, and flowers, a few restaurants and cheap student dining, and tons of cozy cafes.
In warm weather, the tables spilled out onto the sidewalks and conversations waft into the street air, bumping into enamoured couples, gregarious students, and elderly women walking their dogs. Raday street pulsed with youthful life at night, earning the name “Budapest’s growing Latin Quarter” from Andras Torok. During the day the street bustled with constant activity of delivery vans, students dashing off to classes, women pulling shopping bags, and dogs with elderly men in tow.
My favorite haunt was the Praha Cafe, nestled in the basement of a hundred-year-old apartment bulding with its four-story neoclassical facade. Outside, the sidewalk widened enough to accommodate twenty tables under a freestanding awning and the friendly shade of a tree. Tight on space, the interior design joined a dozen tables in intimate communion to the tune of ambient electronica and the barista’s magic.
My favorite waiter at the Praha Cafe served us with a gracious smile, patiently waiting while we decided what to order, especially when we applied our fledgling Hungarian skills against the menu. Never the only ones around, I often spent my time observing the neighbors. One night, a few music students were engaged in a serious discussion about music theory (I presume, not understanding a word of it), until one began playing out his words on a violin, drawing passers-by to a stop and giving us a small taste of the cafe’s vibrant past.
Cafes once formed the backbone of Budapest’s social and intellectual life. At their peak, in the first decade of the 20th century, they numbered several hundred – not a city block was without one. Cafes represented a unique social space found at the intersection of the private and the public. A gentleman might spend anywhere between five and ten hours a day at his establishment of choice. Tables reserved for regulars rooted in space the artists’ afternoon discussion, the businessman’s morning meeting, the newspaperman’s zeitgeist probe, and the students’ passionate debate. The entire editorial staff of a weekly journal was known to work exclusively out of one cafe. Waiters well-versed in literature and politics enticed writers with free ink and paper. More than one literary movement and political party started in the cafe environment. In fact, at least one revolution started from a cafe; its demonstration cascaded into the streets, gathered the masses at a square, and sparked the collapse of the government.
The sociological role of cafes and similar institutions was decisive to the development of modernity. Where are they today? A dying breed in Europe, cafes appear in North America only in the weak incarnations of multiple-choice caffeine-filling stations, where a relationship is reduced to the duration of a decision – latte? decaf? dupla? no foam? raspberry-vanilla? extra-grandi? – instead of offering the necessary social environment for significant conversation, small-group meetings, and decisive intellectual movements.
The history of social change favors small associations of passionate citizens who meet regulary in cafes and pubs to plot the rise or fall of a system. Christians or not, we must gather if we are to make a difference, whether the excuse be coffee or food, reading or music, conversation or dissent. From these intimate circles our ideas will flourish, born in the passionate intermingling of thoughts and honed by the compassionate critique of friends, then posted or printed around the globe, and incarnated in actions of faithful feet and humble hands.
Credits:
Inspiration: Gideon Strauss‘ article in catapult, “The scandal of the evangelical coffeehouse”
Budapest cafe life: John Lukacs’ “Budapest 1900″ and Andras Torok’s “Budapest: A Critical Guide“
(The following was written as a response to bethaniqua‘s post “Dirt.”)
I was struck today by Lenten dirtiness today. Prof. Witvliet talked about Israel’s sacrifices as a pattern for worship today, and the whole affair seemed messy to me. I can handle the part about chopping up an animal and burning it on an altar, but the whole deal of catching the blood and pouring it on the altar… I bet it was a pretty stinky altar after the first day of sacrifices, not to mention after a year.
It reminds me of a market my mom frequented when I was younger: the first arched cement pavilion held the staples vendors on the sides, and the vegetable guys built colorful piles on tables in the middle. They would greet us like old friends, I’d barter for whatever mom assigned me, and they might toss in a free tomato for me afterward. The next pavilion over was a completely different story. My sisters refused to set foot in there, but I was fascinated by the butchers that lined the sides and the pungent spice vendors in the middle. Meat was piled high on the counters, hung from hooks in the ceiling. Blood dripped to the fly-infested floor, and plastic vats cradled their unidentifiably sketchy contents. To walk in there was an animal biology lesson, if you could handle the stench. And they cleaned the place! I can only imagine the accumulated reek of years of sacrifices.
How is it possible, then, that the Psalmist marvels at God’s power and glory as he approaches the stinky sanctuary? (Psalm 63:2) I would have held my nose with one hand while waving the other and shouting a nasal “Hallelujah!” I don’t think our noses are more sensitive than the Israelites’. Maybe I prefer our clean, sanitized, and frankly, sweet-smelling, form of worship. Last year we tried to make the chapel smell like freshly-baked bread. No luck – the ventilation system is too efficient. This Lent we should try something different. Blood dripping down the chancel? Dead rats in the brick holes? Dirty socks beside the hymnals? It’s about time we raise a holy stench with our worship!
A backlog of ideas forces me to post about something really old. A week after the previous “Things heard from the pulpit”, I went with my home church youth group to the National Evangelical Mennonite Youth Assembly, in San Juan, Dominican Republic. Unlike the annual “fun” retreat in August, this conference was about the business of electing new officials, presenting yearly reports, and networking with other Mennonite youth around the country.
In the evenings, someone brought in a guest preacher to share the word. The first night he spoke, I was amazed – not at his wisdom or effective presentation, but rather at his blatant techniques of mass emotional manipulation. Along with my friend Junior Váldez, I hastily scribbled down a list of the preacher’s techniques at the very moment he put them in action. A note of warning: this was not my church; I do not endorse most of the things he did; thanks to Junior for his help.
- If you feel like nobody is paying attention, try to make some commotion (a typical pentecostal method) (easier if you have good musicians).
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Wake up a dead crowd by playing some games: “Make a noise, and cut it off when I wave my hand.”
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Pick a random person from the audience and have her pray for another random kid. Interrogate him about personal problems, using vague, general situations to force him to admit his need for prayer in a particular area. Try to force her to speak in tongues.
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If no one else seems interested in speaking in tongues, do it yourself. For example, string a random series of syllables not normally present in your language (Spanish) into a long word: “shababaparama shabaparashabababa usalashabara pamashatara marokamitara bapapapa” (actual quote).
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When all else fails, make the musicians come back to the instruments and sing another song. Loudly.
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If at all possible, turn up the volume more! Sonic assault lulls people into submission and blind obedience.
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Don’t start your sermon (if you actually prepared one; after all, that’s the Spirit’s job) if you can make another prayer, sing another song. That way you know everyone is in the right spirit.
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If you can’t push someone over (aka “slaying in the Spirit”) because someone else has a hand behind her, spin the person around in circles until she is so dizzy she falls down.
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If the musicians try to calm the people by playing a soft song, scream at the top of your lungs over the music. Use words like fire, spirit, unción, worship! – and repeat as many times as possible. An especially useful technique if you cannot sing in tune or time.
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Extra bonus points if you have talented singers that know more songs than you.
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Start a dance party: play music so catchy that no one can stop from moving to the pulse of the bass drum.
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Recruit someone to lead a “conga line” around the church.
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Don’t worry about your lack of a sermon, because people will remember the incredible things you did more than your words.
I’m back at Calvin College, two weeks into the new semester. I’ve finally settled into my new home, the Koinonia house. I live with 8 other students, a mentor couple, and a 6-month old baby, in a grand old mansion in Eastown, Grand Rapids. We are an intentional Christian community, part of a Calvin program called Project Neighborhood that places students in houses located in city neighborhoods in order to serve and relate with their community.
Not only do I get to live in a grand old house, with 9000+ square feet of nooks and crannies, grand staircases and cozy kitchens, but I also get to live with some really cool people. We are nine students – three guys and six girls, mostly juniors and seniors – a mentor couple (Curt and Kristin Kuipers) and Emma, their cute baby. We have business meetings, where we wrangle out the details of our common shopping list; we share a weekly meal; we each serve several hours each week in the community; we have house chores to keep things running smoothly; we play games (like Settlers of Catan) and have an all-around jolly good time.
Now that I’ve introduced you to my house, please take a tour of Koinonia:
