IVP - Strangely Dim

Coerced by Pizza

I'm feeling the social pressure to help decorate the IVP office building for Christmas. The problem is, I HATE decorating for Christmas. But now there's pizza on the table.

Decorating together isn't just a task, it's a cultural endeavor, in much the same way that eating together is a cultural endeavor. The idea that we at work should eat together and decorate together emulates what will happen in my house and many other houses this weekend, in what's become part of the Thanksgiving ritual as much as asking the question "What are you thankful for this year?" So my work is asserting itself as a kind of family, which I can certainly affirm. But consequently, this new family obligation only adds to my internal sense of responsibility to participate.

I've been running across the concept of "creating culture" a lot lately. Andy Crouch did a whole workshop on it, and I've seen a few authors hint at it in their writing, and it's percolating in my brain as I think about my job as an editor for a particular community of people. And I guess it boils down to the simple fact that if I want to feel at home at my work, I need to treat work like a second home, which means I GUESS I should treat my coworkers like brothers and sisters and honor my family obligations.

Or, I could be the whiney family member who gets out of everything. Tough call . . .

Where Has the Time Gone?

I can't believe it's been three weeks since I've posted anything. In my defense, I've been gone a lot.

I went to Alaska on retreat with a youth group, which was awesome.

I went to Indiana for a conference on urban community development, which was cool.

I went out of my mind trying to do everything I've decided it's really important for me to do.

All of which is fertile soil for endless blathering, which makes the fact that I haven't posted in three weeks even more curious. And now this provisional post is the best I can come up with on short notice.

It's like that almost across the board in my life lately. I worked out today for the first time in weeks; I've missed church several times; I haven't talked to my mommy and daddy in ages.

I hope to return to some life rhythms in the coming weeks. Maybe Advent will help--Advent is all about establishing rhythms, persisting in our fervent hope that soon our God will be with us in the flesh. Today I'm listening to Sufjan Stevens sing me Christmas carols and I feel a bit better. Tomorrow I'll stuff my face with turkey and feel sleepy. Friday I'll face Advent square on and see what I can do about making a habit of fervency.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody. Don't get it on you.

Dave

Scavenger Culture

For three years now I dutifully woke up early every Monday, Wednesday and Friday (unless I could come up with a decent excuse) to drive to a local gym. For that same three years, whenever I was asked by machine or muscle-bound consultant what my goals are for working out, I replied “Losing weight” or “Burning fat.” And for that same three years I lost no weight and, so far as anyone can tell, burned no fat.

Then, for two weeks, I reluctantly cut carbohydrates and sugars out of my diet. No Oreos, no Nutter Butters. No ice cream, no cream cheese. No instant oatmeal, no sugary cereal. I lost sixteen pounds and found three more holes in my belt.

I share this story reluctantly, in part because I don’t want to be taken as poo-pooing exercise or endorsing a particular diet. But I find it interesting that I so willingly embraced a major lifestyle change—joining a gym and working out regularly—that yielded none of my desired results, while for three years fighting hard against a discipline that ultimately delivered beyond my best hopes.

My best guess is that for me, and I suspect for most Americans and perhaps most humans, it’s easier to take something on than to let something go.

I think it’s fair to say that I live in a scavenger culture. In fact, I scavenge for a living. I do a fair bit of editorial acquisitions, which means I go out looking for books for IVP to publish. In that respect I’m the poster boy for scavenging. My business card shouldn’t say “Editor,” it should say “Book Scavenger.”

We start scavenging for fun when we’re little kids: “Here’s a list of worthless junk; whoever is able to come up with the most junk from the list wins even more junk!” Suggest to me that I should go get something—a portable CD player, for example, or an iPod, or an iPod Nano—and odds are I’ll rearrange my life to fit it in. It works in other ways too: I know of a magazine that markets the simple life through page after page of high-end purchasing opportunities—spend $500 to be more simple, the logic goes. I’ve bought books and videos on working out, step aerobic equipment, dumbells and gym bags, and even a stairmaster in my drive to drop a few pounds. If there’s something we want to happen, chances are there’s something we can acquire to make it happen.

But ask us to forgo something—dessert, perhaps, or political power or 10 percent of our income—and we’re distressed. Saying no is infinitely more challenging than saying yes.

Something supremely self-evident evades the understanding of a scavenger culture: Sometimes scavenging is the enemy of desire. Sometimes what we need is found not in groping after but in letting go.

Jesus saw that in a rich young ruler who had everything but wanted more—assurances that he was on the right track, that when he died he’d go to heaven, that he could have everything and still be a good person. Jesus confronted his consumerism head on: “One thing you still lack,” he said, in language that sets any scavenger to drooling. “Go, sell all your possessions and give the money to the poor. Then come, follow me.”

No stuff. No money. No home. Just Jesus. Yikes. I need some comfort food—fast. If anybody needs me, I’ll be hiding out at the gym, eating Nutter Butters and “burning fat.”

***

Next Friday I fly out to Alaska, the land of the rising sun, or something like that. I'll be speaking to a group of high school students, which should be a lot of fun. I seem to be encountering a lot of giants in the field of youth ministry lately--and by giants I mean highly accomplished and creative youth ministers who happen to be big, athletic guys with perfect teeth who could crush my spindly, geeky spine in a heartbeat. Pray for me.