Sunday, May 29, 2011
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Evoke
note: this post is longer than my usual one-minute special. Worth the read, I hope. :)
If you read my post from last week you'll see that high school and college students have a lot of questions about God and faith, but there's one catch:
They don't know what their questions are.
Wait, there's a second catch:
Even if they're aware of their questions, they're not likely to talk about them very easily.
Part of the problem is that evangelical culture is not conducive to questioning.
A culture that is truly conducive to questioning doesn't give answers impatiently. Rather, it provides an extended process for working through issues, gives multiple sides of the story, suggests possible solutions, involves students in the process of reasoning and research and challenging and deciding.
In short, a healthy "questioning" environment does the one thing that evangelicals find almost impossible to do: refrain from giving answers.
Seems counter-intuitive, I know. But if we want students to truly embrace their own faith (rather than their parents' faith), we have to ease up a little, stop "telling" them what to believe.
Here's an approach I have practiced many times on the topic of religious pluralism:
I figure almost every evangelical student (and their nonChristian friends) have questioned the claim that Christ is the only true pathway to God, while all the other religions are supposedly false.
But if I take on that issue directly, it won't stick.
But it might stick if I work through an interactive process of discovery.
So I draw a proposal on the board from John Hick, the world's most famous religious pluralist. Hick's proposal, roughly speaking, is that the "Real" (god) revealed itself to all the world's major religions, each getting a slice of the pie.
Differences in the religions can be attributed to the different cultural contexts in which each revelation was received. There's more to it than that, but I'll move on for brevity's sake.
After I draw (and explain) a diagram similar to the one at the right, I simply ask students, "This is Hick's proposal. What's kind of cool about it? And what's screwy about it? You tell me."
Then we go at it hard for about 45 minutes.
Students poke and ponder, speculate and critique. If they get stuck, I give them another piece of information so they can move ahead.
Eventually they start to see that Hick's proposal doesn't hang together. The cracks and flaws become evident.
And students themselves start to articulate the problems.
There's your golden moment, right there.
Now, for the very first time, I am in position to do a little teaching. My job is to affirm what they've discovered, then take it just beyond their horizon.
They got us 90% of the way to our destination. Hopefully I can add the last 10% that they could never come up with.
But friends, please hear this: If I try to do 90% of the work, most of the time students can't even carry that last 10%. And probably, they did not buy my 90.
The moral of the story: Don't tell, ask. Don't declare, prompt.
Teach at the end, not the beginning. That's the only time they can hear us.
If you read my post from last week you'll see that high school and college students have a lot of questions about God and faith, but there's one catch:
They don't know what their questions are.
Wait, there's a second catch:
Even if they're aware of their questions, they're not likely to talk about them very easily.
Part of the problem is that evangelical culture is not conducive to questioning.
A culture that is truly conducive to questioning doesn't give answers impatiently. Rather, it provides an extended process for working through issues, gives multiple sides of the story, suggests possible solutions, involves students in the process of reasoning and research and challenging and deciding.
In short, a healthy "questioning" environment does the one thing that evangelicals find almost impossible to do: refrain from giving answers.
Seems counter-intuitive, I know. But if we want students to truly embrace their own faith (rather than their parents' faith), we have to ease up a little, stop "telling" them what to believe.
Here's an approach I have practiced many times on the topic of religious pluralism:
I figure almost every evangelical student (and their nonChristian friends) have questioned the claim that Christ is the only true pathway to God, while all the other religions are supposedly false.
But if I take on that issue directly, it won't stick.
But it might stick if I work through an interactive process of discovery.
So I draw a proposal on the board from John Hick, the world's most famous religious pluralist. Hick's proposal, roughly speaking, is that the "Real" (god) revealed itself to all the world's major religions, each getting a slice of the pie.
Differences in the religions can be attributed to the different cultural contexts in which each revelation was received. There's more to it than that, but I'll move on for brevity's sake.
After I draw (and explain) a diagram similar to the one at the right, I simply ask students, "This is Hick's proposal. What's kind of cool about it? And what's screwy about it? You tell me."Then we go at it hard for about 45 minutes.
Students poke and ponder, speculate and critique. If they get stuck, I give them another piece of information so they can move ahead.
Eventually they start to see that Hick's proposal doesn't hang together. The cracks and flaws become evident.
And students themselves start to articulate the problems.
There's your golden moment, right there.
Now, for the very first time, I am in position to do a little teaching. My job is to affirm what they've discovered, then take it just beyond their horizon.
They got us 90% of the way to our destination. Hopefully I can add the last 10% that they could never come up with.
But friends, please hear this: If I try to do 90% of the work, most of the time students can't even carry that last 10%. And probably, they did not buy my 90.
The moral of the story: Don't tell, ask. Don't declare, prompt.
Teach at the end, not the beginning. That's the only time they can hear us.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Student-speak
 |
| Me trying to say something helpful to college students at Cedar Campus, MI |
And it always comes just when I'm being released from winter-time prison in MN, so it's a little tough on my golf game.
But holy cow, them students gots tons a questions.
Questions about ministry and theology, and of course about their personal lives. In fact, these three topics run together and overlap with each other so much that half the time I don't know if I am acting as pastor, counselor, or theologian.
Nor does it matter, I guess.
Folks, NOW HEAR THIS: The church must find ways to engage the questions of their high school and college students. They are starving for answers.
But here's the tough part: They don't appear to be that curious.
Just try asking them what their questions are. They won't respond. They won't tell you.
Why?
Because they don't know what their questions are.
That means the sensitive evangelist or discipler must know how to evoke their questions, draw them out, get them talking. That's the art in all this.
Students are more interested in the great questions (and the small ones) than they think they are.
So how do we draw them out?
Next week I'll unveil the grand secret.
Or maybe it will just be a meek suggestion :)
Sunday, May 08, 2011
The Time Diet
Assumption #2: My wisest moments happen in advance – that is, during the planning phase of life.
When I skip planning and just ad lib “in the moment,” things fall apart. I make bad decisions on the fly.
Note: I married a person (Sharon) who is naturally organized inside her own head. She goes from one thing to the next, efficiently, without getting sidetracked.
Not me.
Thus, I present to you: The Time Diet.
It’s how I cut the fat from my schedule and actually do what I’m supposed to be doing (well, mostly):
Step 1: Make a list of all the things I need to do in the next few months. This is a rolling list that I update every day.
Step 2: Choose the things I must do this week and write them into my calendar.
Step 3: Choose the things I must do today and make a detailed schedule of my time for the day, including:
Step 1: Make a list of all the things I need to do in the next few months. This is a rolling list that I update every day.
Step 2: Choose the things I must do this week and write them into my calendar.
Step 3: Choose the things I must do today and make a detailed schedule of my time for the day, including:
- When I will start and stop each task.
- Exact time I must leave for appointments. Otherwise, I'll be late, guaranteed.
- Fudge time. Add some extra time here and there for interruptions.
- Rest and fun. Can’t work all the time!
If I have big tasks, I make an appointment with myself at an exact time this week to get it done. Example: Wednesday 3-5pm, create proposal.
The whole thing seems a little crazy, eh? A little extreme?
That’s because I’m crazy and extreme.
I don’t have the gift of internal organization. Rather, I’ve got the gift of daydreaming -- the floaties.
The Time Diet helps me lead a more balanced life . . .
. . . and maybe even clean the bathrooms on occasion for Sharon, who feels the love vibe from her husband through acts of service.
That reminds me: Sunday 9pm, scrub shower stall.
That reminds me: Sunday 9pm, scrub shower stall.
Sunday, May 01, 2011
The Drifter
I'm a drifter.
No, not a vagabond. Different kind of drifter: I daydream, float, meander.
If you know me fairly well this might surprise you. Outwardly, I appear highly organized -- maybe even "focused."
But if you know me beyond "fairly," to REALLY well, you know that my head is in the clouds most of the time.
Yes, I can tell you what I read on page 37 of a philosophy book ten years ago. Just don't ask me where my car keys are. Or where I left my new track jacket.
The magic solution to my severe case of the floats?
Systems.
Systems don't seem very spiritual to some, but in my case they're my only hope for showing up at my appointment with you at the correct coffee shop on the correct date, maybe even arriving five minutes early.
Furthermore, systems are my only hope for telling Sharon, my wife, that I love her. Yeah, I confess, I actually create a plan for taking out the recycling and fixing the mower and maintaining the vehicle. Sharon "hears" these chores as true love.
Highly motivating for me.
What's my system? Next week I'll tell you. If you're a bit of an airhead like yours truly, I think you'll be blessed.
No, not a vagabond. Different kind of drifter: I daydream, float, meander.
If you know me fairly well this might surprise you. Outwardly, I appear highly organized -- maybe even "focused."
But if you know me beyond "fairly," to REALLY well, you know that my head is in the clouds most of the time.
Yes, I can tell you what I read on page 37 of a philosophy book ten years ago. Just don't ask me where my car keys are. Or where I left my new track jacket.
The magic solution to my severe case of the floats?
Systems.
Systems don't seem very spiritual to some, but in my case they're my only hope for showing up at my appointment with you at the correct coffee shop on the correct date, maybe even arriving five minutes early.
Furthermore, systems are my only hope for telling Sharon, my wife, that I love her. Yeah, I confess, I actually create a plan for taking out the recycling and fixing the mower and maintaining the vehicle. Sharon "hears" these chores as true love.
Highly motivating for me.
What's my system? Next week I'll tell you. If you're a bit of an airhead like yours truly, I think you'll be blessed.
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