Blacksoil

A guy that I used to work with once gave me this article about the coffeeshop phenomenon and how foolish my generation is for spending $3 a day on lattes and mochas. The article had a bunch of math that demonstrated that if the average 25-year-old took all the money that he or she would spend on coffee and muffins and put it into a mutual fund or some such thing that he or she could retire a millionaire.

Now, I’m all for delayed gratification and for any kind of curbing of the consumeristic tendencies most of us Americans have. But I think that there are really good, maybe even ethical, reasons that people are willing to drop $3 on a cup of coffee. And, as someone who spends a good chunk of his work-week in coffeeshops, I feel qualified to explicate them:

1) The quality issue. A foundational tenet of our culture is that more is always better. Our automatic impulse is to get as much as we can for our money, without thinking about what a good amount to have is or what the true cost of cheap products is. The creation story in Genesis says that everything that God made was “very good.” If that’s true it seems that those of us trying to participate in God’s redemptive work should value quality over quantity and appreciate things that are made well. Rob, the owner of the Caffe (where all my mutual fund money is going), is a craftsman. He knows every detail of every aspect of making a good cup of coffee. I’d rather my money went to him than whatever machine fills the 5-lb. cans of coffee at Meijer.

2) The justice issue. The higher the quality of a coffee bean the more likely that it was produced and traded justly and sustainably. Many of the roasts at high-quality coffeeshops are actually certified by independent agencies as Fair Trade, Organic, and/or Shade-Grown. The Scriptural mandates to defend the oppressed and not exploit the poor are innumerable. And the bible also makes it clear that God loves his creation and expects us humans to steward it well. So I’m willing to pay more for coffee that I know was produced without exploiting the workers who made it or damaging the land that yielded it.

3) The community issue. As our culture has become more and more commercial, there has been a reduction in what sociologists call “third places,” places to be that are neither home nor work/commerce. There is no more concept of a commonwealth, a social gathering place that belongs to everyone. Coffeeshops are places where one can go and, for minimal “rent,” spend several hours in a public place talking, working, or relaxing. At Rob’s Caffe people actually introduce themselves, the regulars invite newcomers into existing conversations, and the baristas literally hug people when they leave. There are few other places left where this kind of interaction happens.

(Side note: Churches were once considered part of public space–Google “the Nolli plan” to see a map–left unlocked and open to all. Now they are the private property of religious organizations. It’s interesting that many emerging churches are choosing to meet in coffeeshops and other third places.)

So, I’m sure if I were drinking Folger’s from Wal-mart at home alone, I could have stashed a few more dollars in my mutual fund, but for now at least, I’d rather invest in quality, justice, and community.

Posted by Jeremy

In our neighborhood group we have been exploring and discussing Scripture and other resources to help each other get a handle on our five values. The one we’re talking about right now is Community.

My friend Emily (who is a part of the group) gave me an article by Henri Nouwen, entitled “From Solitude to Community to Ministry,” that I really appreciated. In it Nouwen sites Luke 6, in which Jesus spends the night alone in prayer, then calls the 12 apostles, and then goes out healing people and sharing the good news. The pattern that Nouwen is advocating for being a Jesus-follower is one that begins with solitude moves to community and culminates in ministry.

Though he uses different language, Nouwen hits on three of Blacksoil’s five values (Transformation, Community, & Mission), and does a wonderful job of drawing out the connections between them.

I was especially struck by his comments on Community. He jokes, “Community is the place where the person you least want to live with always lives.” My own experience of community–in marriage, parenting, and church–is that it is hard. It has nothing to do with our idealized images of monasteries and communes. (I sometimes fantasize about living in an intentional community that, in my head, is something like The Real World meets a sustainable farming co-op. It’s sexy, socially-conscious, and everyone who lives there always wants to listen to music from my CD collection.) The reason it’s so hard, of course, is that people are sinners. And the closer our relationship is with someone, the more their sin can hurt us.

At the end of the day though, I think community is so difficult not because of other people. In fact, I think that “the person you least want to live with” is actually yourself, and community is hard because it make the real you inescapable. Nouwen notes that the people who live in his community know him so well they cannot be impressed by the fact that he is a famous author or that he has several degrees. Because when you engage in real community with someone, what really impacts them is your quality as a human being. Your ability to give and receive love. That is the real you and you must face up to the real you every time you wound or disappoint the other. To combine a quote from Sartre with one from my wife: “Hell is other people, because other people are a mirror.”

This is, of course, why forgiveness and grace are so important. And that brings us back to the beginning of Nouwen’s chain: solitude. When we get alone with God we soak up the good news he has for us that we are forgiven and loved. And when we do that, we can reengage in community, bringing that grace to our own shortcomings as well as others’.

Posted by Jeremy

My four-year-old had his tonsils and adenoids removed this week and his recovery from the surgery has been pretty rough. (Not like on the Brady Bunch, where they looked forward to getting their tonsils out so they could eat ice cream for a week.)

It’s been tough for me to heed my own words in the post below, as I have watched him suffer day after day. However, I think that something of the heart of God and the mystery of the Trinity has been revealed to me through this experience.

1) I have wanted to take his pain away, to somehow literally suffer in his place. This must be something of what God’s fatherly love caused him to feel that resulted in the incarnation and Jesus going to the cross in our stead.

2) I have thought several times that to watch my son suffer is worse than suffering myself. (Now, if I ever get my tonsils removed you can ask me if that’s true!) But I glimpsed something of the meaning of “God so loved the world that world that he gave his only Son.” A hint of the gravity of the “so.” How much of a sacrifice it was for the Father to offer up his Son to the suffering of the cross.

Of course, it is a great mystery how God is on all sides of this interaction (Father, sacrifice, punisher), but I feel that having lived the father’s part, I’m a tiny bit closer to understanding “the love of Christ that surpasses all understanding.”

Posted by Jeremy

This weekend Blacksoil finished our exploration of the story of Jonah by looking at the final chapter, 4. One of the things I taught about was the meaning of the plant that God provides Jonah and then takes away from him.

The funny thing is, it never says that God takes the plant away from him. It says that God “provides” him with a worm to kill the plant, and then “provides” him with a scorching east wind to make him so hot he feels faint. Even the subtraction of the plant is told in terms of addition. Taking it away is something that God gives Jonah.

This morning, I was talking with my uncle, who is a substance abuse counselor, and he was saying how part of his job as a counselor is to let people experience their pain. Sometimes in group sessions people will share until it starts to get painful and then they will tell him to go on to the next person, and he will say, “I’ll move on to the next person when I’m good and ready.”

In our culture, which is so focussed on consuming and aquiring things and avoiding or anesthetizing pain, it is difficult for us to see loss and pain as something good, as coming from God. One of the things I appreciate about the Reformed tradition is that its emphasis on the sovereignty of God means that it relativizes other causes (Satan, human sin, nature, etc.) in relationship to the agency of God.

Now, I know that this is a complex issue (I’m mindful of the questions Bill Mallonee poses in his song “Resplendent”: “How much of this was meant to be? How much the work of the Devil?…How much of this is failing flesh? How much the course of retribution?”) and we get on very thin ice when we get too close to “blaming” God for evil.

But, most of us American consumers need to be more willing to see the pain and loss in our lives as God’s provision, a gift from God, and to do that we need to allow ourselves to see God as being ultimately responsible. Pain can be cathartic, it can be a natural part of healing, it can alert us that something is wrong, it can motivate change, it can increase our capacity for compassion. In a word, it can be redemptive. Remember that next time something hurts, and thank God.

Posted by Jeremy