Aj Schwanz

I’ve been reading the New Testament in chronological order this year, currently I’m winding things down with the opening of the Revelation seals of DOOM (nothing cheerier to read over a bowl of Bob’s Red Mill Oatmeal w/cinnamon and homegrown cherries!).  And I’ve found out:  things make so much more SENSE!

I’ve never been a big fan of Paul.  Yes, I’m stepping aside before the heavenly lightning bolt strikes.  He’s just so … wordy.  I know I’m wordy as well, but at least I throw in a bit of self-depricating humor here and there, and somehow his “I’m the King of All Sinners” just doesn’t strike my funny bone.  But reading about a) the history of the early church, 2) the history of Paul interacting with the early church, iii) seeing the typical process of things fall into place (everyone on board, times get tough, people start to doubt, people are persecuted, people start to doubt, heretics infiltrate trying to take power, people start to doubt), it just makes so much more sense.

Some of his writing is proactive:  urging readers on to the end goal.  And some of his writing is reactive:  correcting muck that’s around.  But when I didn’t know about the muck, I thought Paul was just being really micromanaging, perfectionistic, and judgmental (and wordy).  When I “walked” with Paul, through not being liked by many early Christians, through being in jail for no real good reason, through being shipwrecked with people who probably were a little on the “savory” side, through house arrest, through seeing the people he worked with and loved go through tough times (sometimes self-inflicted), it just made so much more sense.  And the words carried so much more meaning.

Not so much with Revelation, though.  John’s coming off a bit manic:  boy, he loves, and boy, he pours on the doom.  And redemption, I’m sure, but he certainly is Image-Full.

Yesterday my family and I stopped at our town’s farmers’ market after church.  It’s a very, very small market which my husband always has to say (in such a kindly tone, of course), “You mean The *Artisan* Market?”  Because they sell more arts and crafts goods than produce, at least in my blip of a town.  On Saturday the neighboring town has their *artisan* market, and although the town is larger, the market is smaller.

I love the idea of a farmers’ market.  A neighboring town has a much bigger, more diverse, well put together market that gathers on Thursday afternoons – you know, right in the middle of naptime.  The only time I’ve attended was twoish years ago when I had a toddler and an infant who refused to nap, and I refused to stay in the hot house with them.  It was a lovely experience:  great, fresh produce; whole grain, locally made breads; meats and cheeses – I came home with a quality dinner.  Plus everyone oohed and ahhed over my smallest tyke, reminding me that it might not have been a mistake to choose to procreate again.

Yesterday I read an article about a farmers’ market that was located in the poorer section of a large city (can’t find the link this morning:  here’s one similar).  For the most part these markets are in nicer areas of populations, places where folks live who already have access to fresh produce (maybe not local, but still).  This market also spent time and money being able to accept electronic benefits transfer for those on food stamp programs:  it’s costly, but this was something important to them.

How cool would it be to have that in my town?  Right now the markets seem to be such a novelty, something to stop at on the way home from the beach or from wine tasting.  What if the ginormous empty field in the middle of the southside of our neighboring town had a quality farmers’ market with quality produce?  It may not draw in the passers-by, it may not be as easy to get to, but what if it helped the economically-diverse populations mix?  We live in an area with easy access to quality agriculture as well as a technology-proficient area.  Oh, to dream dreams …

My neighbor across the way has a drum set.  He likes to practice in his garage, with the garage door open.  During the time that I’m fading in and out of consciousness on my couch while the boys are contained in their rooms for Quiet Time.  Today it sounds like he’s hitting a little old school U2, or at least I’m choosing to hear that.  When he breaks out the electic guitar, it’s a bit harder to be selective in my interpretation.

Oh, how I love Rattle and Hum Bono.  Fling my hair Bono.  Strut around like the proud Irishman that I am Bono.  Not care that my pants are almost up to my mid-chest Bono.  Take everything so seriously and piously Bono.

I wonder how he looks back on himself.  I rarely let photos be taken, and especially never video, because I just cringe.  Really?  I wanted to wear that?  I said that?  I acted that pompously?  I was that self-assured?

I rarely reread my journals, and I often even wonder about obliterating my blogs someday just because:  oy, it’s just so much.

Right now I’m facilitating my Sunday School class.  They didn’t have a specific topic in mind, so I picked something that’s been on my radar as of late:  how is the church called to respond in these economic times?  But it’s intimidating because it’s a) my sort-of peers (some used to be youth leaders of mine, some are my parents’ friends) and 2) I am a humanities major who often runs from things involving “finance” and “economic” and “projected” or just “numbers”.  I have no answers to this topic, but “like a splinter in my mind, driving me mad”, I can’t ignore it.

So I started reading, because that’s what I do.  I read a How to Budget/Finance Christian-style book.  Then I read Ron Sider’s “Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger” followed by Arthur Simon (founder of Bread for the World)’s “How Much Is Enough?“  Apparently that was enough, and yet not enough.

My first sharing on Sunday went …. enh.  I was just really scattered.  Even if I can find time to pull my thoughts together, my brain doesn’t focus lately.  And there’s just so much to share.  And how to share my journey in a way that’s an invitation for others to explore their own journeys through crises and what helped, rather than a “we should…” or “we shouldn’t” nagging/OT prophetic kind of presentation.  I have an idea of where I want people to go … but is that where God wants them to go?  How to let go of that control stick ….

Then during Sunday morning worship we were reflecting on our time in James.  You know, James, where there’s this doozy of a passage.  Also after finding out that a sort of church plant, right across the street, that we thought wanted “independence”, is in need of help.  And the typical thoughts are, “Oh, well, they must need financial help in this time, because they don’t make much:  giving must be down.”  It’s true:  their congregation is made up of folks who struggle for most of the income they make.  And yet their giving is *UP*.  2 Corinthians 8 was SCREAMING in my head.  And yet I didn’t know if I should share that in Open Worship.  Why?

Because I might look pompous.  I might come across as idealistic and passionate.  I might look like Bono Bulleting the Blue Sky.  I might look like a boob, but such a self-righteous boob.

So I cop out:  I come home, mull it over, and throw it up on my blog where maybe it won’t come across so intensely, or at least be heard by so many people.

But sometimes I wonder if this intensity that’s in me is really going to drive me mad.  Maybe a good rock-out to the neighbor’s drums is truly a God-ordained thing, or a quick YouTube education for the younger tykes in the house on Uncles Bono, Edge, Adam, and Larry in their classic years:  ‘well, the God I believe in isn’t short of cash, mister.’ (screaming fans).