On November 25-26, my newsfeed was filled with updates from friends living in the USA and Canadian border towns. These updates weren’t about their thoughts on international events (e.g. the NATO attack on the Pakistan border, or new elections in Egypt); they weren’t about what they were thankful for as they celebrated with their families; and they mostly weren’t about local or personal events either. As far as I could tell from my news feed, the only thing happening those two days was a massive shopping spree spurred on by super-low prices on brand name goods mostly made with cheap labour from somewhere else.

My go-to news media weren’t much better with CBC, the New York Times and even the BBC joining in on the fun of “analyzing” which stores had used the best advertising strategy, which consumers had the “best approach” to snagging the best and hottest deals in the largest quantities, and what effect this all might have on our “lagging economy.”

Indeed. What effect might this have on our lagging economy? Can you tell me more about how I might do my part to turn this shit around?

Am I the only one confused? Because depending on the news story, commentator or economics-savvy blogger, the problem is either that we’ve all spent too much and are too heavily indebted, or that we’re not spending enough and we should be more indebted.

(And can I just say, if the stock market was a real person – a friend, a family member, perhaps – we would have long ago turfed his ass for being an unreliable, manipulative waster. The whims of his opinion seem not to depend on fact, or intention, but rather on his mood, or what “investors are saying.” Why hello schizophrenic, ever thought of treatment?)

In the midst of all this noise, I used to be able to count on a seasonal reminder that I have a choice. That I can opt out of the crazy. That I can Buy Nothing. But this year, the voice of Buy Nothing Day (compliments of Adbusters Magazine, of Occupy fame) was strangely…convoluted. This year, it wasn’t about buying nothing on the weekend North America looses its mind and is completely governed only by wants and desires for more random shit. This year, it was suddenly about #occupyxmas.

“Make a vow to yourself: sometime this Xmas season I’ll join a local credit union and leave the big banks behind.”

“Organize a whirly mart, santa sit-in or Jesus walk.”

“If you buy presents pay the extra few dollars to buy from a local merchant or ‘mom and pop’ retailer.”

This is different than Buy Nothing Day. Buy Nothing Day was a political and economic statement against hyper-consumerism on a day that symbolized the annual saving grace of the retail economy. Choosing to abstain on such a day was a powerful reminder that my Saving Grace is found some where other than new stuff. Choosing to abstain was an act of resistance against the supremacy of the idea that trickle down economics works, and that it’s all not a façade to keep the money trickling upstream to (ok, I’ll say it) the 1%.

On the other hand, the missing voice of Buy Nothing Day reminded me that I am responsible, amidst all the noise, to make room in my head and heart for a still small voice to awaken a desire. To awaken my desire to prepare my heart for the birth of the Saving Grace we all need.

So here is my vow, and it has nothing to do with banking

I vow that amidst the other preparations I do – the baking, the holiday party hosting and even the buying of gifts – I will remember, prepare for and look forward to a Grace that came to earth in the form of an unexpected baby born to an impoverished young couple.

If someone asked you where you’d place yourself on the income spectrum from low to middle to high, what would you say? The reality is that most of us – most of the readers of this blog, and most people in Canada would likely say, “middle.” Perhaps all of us would. In countries like ours, almost everyone – except for the poorest of the poor or the richest of the rich – places themselves in the middle.

We all identify as “the middle class.”

With that in mind, it should come as no surprise that most of the election promises are targeted towards “the middle class.” From income-splitting and tax credits for the arts or for volunteer firefighters, to incentives for Registered Education Savings Plan (RESP) contributions, and increases in the amount individuals can save in their tax-free savings accounts, it’s all for “the middle class” – it’s all for us.

But is it really? Is it really for the middle class?

Or maybe the question is, are we really the middle class?

Because, let’s be honest, we can’t all be the middle class. Since we know with certainty that we don’t all have exactly the same income, we know that there’s a distribution. Somebody is – or, rather, some people are – poorer than me, and some people are richer than me.

But I’m in the middle.

Right?

Wrong.

The average annual income of individuals in Canada is about $31,000. The median annual income (i.e. the income exactly in the middle) is about $25,500.

Do you earn more than this?

Yes? Well then, hello big spender! You – yes you, big spender – are who many of the election promises announced thus far will benefit.

You who’s married to a partner who makes greater than $90,000 could save $1300 each year with income splitting.

You parents who can afford arts programs for a child can receive $500 back in tax credits.

You who can afford to have an investment banker can benefit from $1000 annually in matching funding for contributing to RESPs.

You who have an extra $5000 available each year can benefit from an increased threshold for the tax-free savings account.

And maybe this is you.

Maybe you can benefit from programs like these. But let’s be honest about one thing. If you can benefit from such programs then

You

Are not

The middle class.

Hey big spender. How are you going to vote?

Advent is a season of beginnings.

Of newness. Of first steps, and first phases. Of expectation. Of waiting. I imagine a young Joseph, concerned his wife-to-be may be unfaithful. And not just unfaithful, crazy! Certifiably insane – who gets pregnant from talking to angels, or being “favoured” by God?

But he shows up at her door.

Reluctantly?
In faith? In forgiveness?
In hope?
In trust?

Do you think he held her hand as they started to walk?
I imagine the scene, peeking into a story not mine.
Then again, we’re part of the vine.

The community, the followers, following 2000 years behind,
Opening the story one scene at a time.

For now, we wait.

Advent is a season of beginnings.
Of newness. Of first steps, and first phases. Of expectation. Of waiting. I think of the many I know who are expecting babies of their own.
Beginning families. Preparing to welcome little hands and feet.

Preparing for no sleep.
For chaos. For new love.
For a beginning.
But now, they wait.

I imagine the scene, peeking into a story not mine.
Then again, we’re part of the vine.

The community, the followers, following the story,
Written one scene at a time.

For now, we wait.

Advent is a season of beginnings.
Of newness. Of first steps, and first phases. Of expectation. Of waiting. And also a time of ending. Of last steps, and final phases. Of expectation. Of waiting. I think of those I know who are unsure of what the future holds, counting days until death, knowing healing is out of reach.

Leaving homes.
Lying in beds.
Taking pills, doing what doctor says.
But knowing that this is waiting.

I imagine the scene, peeking into a story not mine.
Then again, we’re part of the vine.

The community, the followers, following the story,
Written one scene at a time.

For now, we wait.

This season is Advent.
It’s beginnings and endings. It’s waiting for birth, and waiting for death. It’s holding in tension the now and the not yet. It’s tears of joy, and tears of sorrow.
This year, I want to welcome God when God shows up at my door.

Willingly.
Faithfully.
In hope.
With trust.

I know this scene, the story is mine.

Then again we’re part of the vine.
The community, the followers, following the story,
Written one scene at a time.

For now, we wait.

I just started Lisa Graham McMinn’s book, Sexuality and Holy Longing: Embracing Intimacy in a Broken World. I hope to post a full review when I finish the book, but wanted to comment on the concept of celibacy.

McMinn approaches the topic of sex from (what I’d call) a traditional Christian perspective. Namely, that sex within marriage is good, but sex outside of marriage is sin. McMinn acknowledges that adolescence is a time when young people begin to have feelings of sexual awakening. But more and more young people are waiting years to get married (the average age for women is 26.5, the average for men is 27.5)! So what to do about the fifteen plus years of awakened sexuality, minus an appropriate sexual outlet?

Celibacy.

But McMinn’s concept of celibacy seems, frankly, lacking.

Before the return of our Creator, she notes, we will be unable to truly satisfy our longing for perfect relationship with others. “Sexuality,” states McMinn, “is more than sex; it is about experiencing the world through bodies that are male and female. The exploration of relational feelings, desires, and experiences is appropriate and healthy. “…We can celebrate a choice of refraining, for a time, from pairing up sexually or romantically with another. Dare I call this adolescent celibacy? (55)”

McMinn tries to transform the choice from “abstaining from sex” to “choosing to be celibate.” I suppose part of what McMinn wants to do is empower adolescents to frame their decision according to a conception of positive liberty (i.e. I am free and choose to…) instead of negative liberty (ie. I am free from…). I get that. But McMinn doesn’t develop this idea, doesn’t speak to many benefits of adolescent celibacy.

“Celibacy may close some doors, but primarily it is about opening others. To be celibate so that one can focus on attaining particular goals is an affirmation of personhood and calling. To be celibate so that one can establish deep and meaningful friendships with both sexes affirms personhood in others. Celibacy frees people to love widely, to serve lavishly, to focus on the needs of others. Celibacy ground friendship in mutual respect and warmth. For one who chooses celibacy, there is freedom t use touch to nurture and affirm friends without fear of compromising integrity, or the future relationships of those friends, or one’s on future marriage” (p 56).

Ok, what? I’m with her on the first bits – that celibacy can be an affirmation of personhood and calling. But how does celibacy allow one to establish deep friendships in a way that non-celibacy does not? Are friendships between non-celibate men and women not grounded in mutual respect and warmth? Can men and women who aren’t married not touch each other? (And what sorts of touch, exactly, can celibate people use without compromising integrity that non-celibate people can’t?)

How do “friendships, appreciating the company of the other sex, enjoying the beauty and sexual appeal of the other sex, affirming touch that is nonsexual or asexual” somehow “recognize and validate sexuality” (p 56)?

Sexual maturation comes as young as age 10, and marriage comes, on average, 17 years later. In those intervening 17 years the messaging about sex is everywhere. Let’s face it, our young people are soaked in a culture that is ambivalent (at best) to premarital sex. It’s on tv, it’s on billboards, it’s even on radio. It’s at school, it’s with friends, it’s at the mall.

Our faith communities don’t talk about it. Our families leave it to the schools. Our schools teach condom-on-banana mechanics and statistics.

It’s high time we, as people of faith, start to have conversations about this with each other. It’s high time we prayed, conversed with our God. It’s high time we, as people of faith, armed our young people with information. It’s high time, we, as people of faith, discipled our young people to own their faith.

Because, I think, if we hope to empower our young people to make redemptive choices about their sexual lives, then we’ve got to do better than this.

As I continue to read this book, I’d like to invite you to contribute to the discussion here. What do you think about the concept of “adolescent celibacy” or celibacy in general? I’d love to hear from single Christians who are engaging with their sexuality – how does that look in your life? What about the concept of saving sex until marriage – is that God’s plan or just one interpretation? And, finally, how do we work to keep our young people safe (and by that I particularly mean safe from STIs, and teen pregnancy) while at the same time supporting them and empowering them to make their own choices?

I step into the elevator exhausted and press the button for the ground floor. The elevator is slow and creaks as it begins to move. I turn to check my hair and make-up in the mirror on the back wall. My hair is a mess; I quickly redo the loosely tied bun.

Groan, clink, clink. The door opens. I step into the lobby of the Morgenthaler Building and it is then that I see them. How could I not see them?

There are about twenty of them. A random collection of individuals, some as young as a few years, others old. Mostly women. And mostly white.

The signs are also white. White with black letters. Big. Pray for Abortion. Bold. Abortion Kills a Living Baby. Black. It’s a Sin! Letters

I take a breath.

Then I push against the door and exit the building. As I leave, one of the women raises her sign and averts her eyes from my face.

And I think, What would it be like to exit this building if I had just had an abortion? I have just spent the last forty-five minutes in a gym on the second floor of the Morgenthaler Building – a building that also, on the third and fourth floors, houses the Morgenthaler Clinic which offers abortion services.

Walking away, I feel sick. I feel judged. I feel as though I want to run across the street and show them my gym bag, prove that my messy hair and exhausted look is due to exercise.

I want to pray for them.

I want to pray with them.

I want to pray for the women I sometimes meet in the elevator who push the button for the third floor.

Precisely two years ago today, we were married at Trinity Anglican Church in Cambridge, Ontario. Our wedding was in many ways rooted in the community in which we met – the early morning, blurry-eyed Wine Before Breakfast community at the University of Toronto.

Our friends Dave and Sue, part of the Wine Before Breakfast band, led the music. Rev. Andrew Asbil from the Church of the Redeemer conducted the service, serving the bread and wine somewhere around 11:30, which was decidedly after breakfast.

All of this came to the relief of our guests who’d traveled from near and far to celebrate with us, and were not entirely willing to attend a 7:30am wedding ceremony – no matter how much they loved us.

We figured that’s about time that we published the sermon from that day. Preached by Brian Walsh, whose friendship continues to mean so much to us, this was by far one of the greatest highlights of our day, and for many of our guests. (You know, outside of the whole marriage vows and whatever). Thanks Brian! It’s hard to believe it’s already been two years.

You can read the full-text of the sermon here.

Continuing on the rather delightful train of thought Andrew’s been riding lately, you might want to check out this episode of This American Life from Chicago Public Radio. It does a fantastic job of walking through the current global economic situation, looking through the eyes of people involved all along the economic spectrum:

A special program about the housing crisis produced in a special collaboration with NPR News. We explain it all to you. What does the housing crisis have to do with the turmoil on Wall Street? Why did banks make half-million dollar loans to people without jobs or income? And why is everyone talking so much about the 1930s? It all comes back to the Giant Pool of Money

This American Life producer Alex Blumberg teams up with NPR’s Adam Davidson for the entire hour to tell the story—the surprisingly entertaining story—of how the U.S. got itself into a housing crisis. They talk to people who were actually working in the housing, banking, finance and mortgage industries, about what they thought during the boom times, and why the bust happene.

Be sure to take a listen.

One of the reasons social capital is academically disparaged (see my last post) is because it’s so hard to measure. I posted recently about some of the ways we build social capital (by playing sports, joining committees and clubs, caring for friends, neighbours and acquaintances, and, basically, living our lives in a way that is repeatedly local).

I also wrote about who is able to build social capital (from kids to soccer moms to geeks to corporate suits to eighty-year-olds who love to lawn bowl). Remember, social capital “happens when we get connected.”

In theory a ‘good’ or ‘healthy’ society should have a large and growing amount of social capital. But how the heck do you track that? Usually social scientists use indicators. Indicators are stand-in variables for when you can’t access the real deal.

How do you measure ‘connectedness’? The same way you measure ‘democracy’, or ‘faith’. By using stand-ins. The indicators often used by social scientists to track social capital include things like: newspaper readership and letters to the editor; number of community events and the percentage of community attendance at those events; membership and participation in organizations; church attendance; perceptions of ‘safety’ and ‘trust’; size of social networks; intensity of relationships outside the family; voter turn-out; etc. Do these things exactly measure social capital? No, but they get at aspects of it.

A lot of the time, social capital research is done at the national level. That is, these indicators are collected and then compiled to make national averages. There’ve even been continent-wide averages, which tend to show, quite impressively and irrefutably that social capital is on the decline. After proving that social capital is in decline, these social scientists inevitably turn to a model that I will (with little affection) call the Disparage the Youth model.

According to the Disparage the Youth model (aka: the Deficit Model), young people are ‘less good’ citizens. Social scientists often report finding that young people aged 18-35 are less likely to have newspaper subscriptions to a national paper, less likely to vote in national elections, less likely to volunteer for the Big Charities (eg. most diseases, United Way, hospitals, etc.), and less likely to be a part of Animal Clubs (eg, the Moose, the Eagles, etc.).

These social scientists go on to note that variables which, in the past, could be correlated with higher levels of social capital don’t seem to have such a strong correlation for younger generations. For example, if our parents and grandparents attended university they were much more likely to be involved in their communities and, therefore, contribute to higher levels of social capital. Now, despite the fact that education levels are rising, we see a decline in social capital.

In summary, the Disparage the Youth model goes like this: Once upon a time people were good citizens, who read newspapers, joined clubs and voted. Then they had kids. And something went wrong with those kids, because those kids read the newspaper less, participate in community less and vote less. Heck, those kids Just. Don’t. Care.

This is a narrative of social capital decline, democratic decay, and, ultimately, an unhappy ending.

But…

But what if we’re measuring wrong? What if this isn’t the case? What if we start with the Hope in the Youth model (aka: the Engagement model), and start to investigate whether or not there’s been a shift in how young people engage?

Maybe the youth aren’t reading the newspaper like Dad did because they’re reading blogs which they trust more because they’re not owned by transnational companies (TNCs) that also own stakes in the military-industrial (and I would add, entertainment) complex. So maybe you can’t count newspaper readership as a legitimate indicator for social capital.

And maybe the youth don’t attend the big denominational churches, but choose to attend small church plants and house churches, where they are challenged, used, and known by and in their communities. So maybe you can’t just count church attendance at mainstream denominations as an accurate indicator for social capital.

Maybe people aged 18-35 homeschool their kids because they have ethical problems with mainstreaming issues like disrespect and bullying, and don’t support kids getting streamed out because the curriculum is boring or irrelevant to their lives. Maybe instead these parents form small associations with other homeschooling parents. So maybe you can’t just count Parent Advisory Councils, and kids’ participation in school sports days if you’re seeking a good indicator of social capital.

And, hey, maybe youth vote less because they feel the process is not inclusive, more pseudo-interactive than interactive, because there are no good choices, or because they know that politicians will just do as they please (or as Big Business pleases) once elected.

Maybe instead they vote (or even run) in municipal elections where they have a hope of making some difference. Or maybe they just say, “To hell with voting,” and just get their hands dirty with community gardens – how’s that for H.O.P.E.? – and community, neighbourhood, and street organizations.

Maybe young people have found other (equally? more?) effective ways of engaging in their city. So maybe national and provincial voter turnouts aren’t great indicators for social capital.

What kind of narrative do these things yield? Well, for starters, it’s a narrative that tells social scientists about an academic imperative to discover and test new indicators for measuring social capital, or else their work (my work – yikes!) may soon be irrelevant. This will not be easy work. But it is important work.

But enough about stories for social scientists – this is a story that pertains to all of us! Turns out if we look through the lens of engagement, we easily find a narrative of civic optimism, and of democracy renewed. A Happy Ending.

I’m generally a fan of such academically fluid (and often disparaged) concepts of ‘civil society’ and ‘social capital’. To me it seems self-evident that our ‘connectedness’ – and the derived norms of reciprocity and trustworthiness – is important to community. Unfortunately, my research, and the research of other social scientists has been chronicling the ‘demise’ or ‘decline’ of social capital, and even of democracy for decades.

What’s all this mumble jumble mean?

Robert Putnam, author of the book Bowling Alone, describes social capital by first pointing out the agreed on value of a screwdriver – physical capital – or a college education – human capital – to increase productivity. Physical capital is made up of physical objects, and human capital is made up of the soft skills individuals have.

Social capital refers to “connections amongst individuals” that include both networks and norms such as reciprocity, neighbourliness, and trustworthiness. Why is this important to community? One reason it is important is because it is only the individuals who are networked and who share norms who are able to share human and physical capital.

Another reason is that communities seem to function “better” when there are high levels of social capital – crime goes down, kids do better in school, marriages are healthier, people self-identify as ‘happy’ or ‘fulfilled’, poverty goes down and even health indicators go up (who knew voting was so good for you?).

Social capital has even been known to cause a whole social network to quit smoking en masse! It really does appear to be some sort of cure-all for some social problems we’ve been trying to sort out for years. Best of all, there’s no contraindications, and it’s safe for all ages!

Anyone can build social capital from kids to soccer moms to geeks to corporate suits to eighty-year-olds who love to lawn bowl. It happens on the playground, in the church, at the grocery store, in the office, or in the public square.

It happens when I meet you, and you tell me you’re interested in issues of poverty, and I introduce you to my friend Joe who works alongside low-income folks in Parkdale, and he introduces you to his friend Phyllis who works through various arts mediums to help street-involved young people, who introduces you to some guys who were streamed out of the education system and now use hiphop to get in touch with students to change mindsets…

It happens when I spend time at my fav local wine bar where I not only enjoy fantastic food and wine, but make a connection with the owner, his brother, the guy who always sits at the bar, and random Parkdalians who do really cool things. It happens when you help a local business person carry an armful of stock down the street to the store, and when one of those business people feels like he knows you well enough to act as a neighbourhood reference for you on a job application.

The point is, it happens when we get connected. It’s these connections that link individuals into, throughout, among and between community(ies).

Since moving to Ottawa I’ve realized just how connected I was in Toronto…and the converse, how unconnected I am in Ottawa. I feel this frenetic urge to ‘plug in’ somewhere (anywhere?!), to find a place where I can get connected, get my hands dirty and get to work. But where do I start? Ottawa’s so big, and I don’t know my way around, or what kinds of organizations live here and might need my help. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed.

But where did I start in Toronto? With a few small faith communities. With shopping almost exclusively at small local businesses and the local farmers markets. With eating at local restaurants. With baking, caring for, and loving neighbours. With the garden in the back yard.

It started with repeatedly living locally.

Connectedness – social capital – by its nature is best created in a small geographic area in which you can repeatedly meet the same people. One of the key proofs of this is that people in rural areas tend to have higher levels of social capital. So how should we create social capital in the city? By constraining the area in which we live, shop, eat, take walks, and, yes, go to church. Attending a local church is, I think, a key part how to effectively create higher levels of connectedness in our communities.

So don’t just do it for gas prices, do it because even in exile, you believe in the importance of seeking the welfare, peace and prosperity of your neighbourhood. Pray for it – yes! – but embrace it, join organizations in it, walk through it, buy groceries in it….

Live in it.

Happy International Women’s Day!

In honour of this special day, I have a question. In response to my last post about feminism in the church, there were a lot of great comments about Christian feminism being about seeking justice for all, and specifically for women. Liz commented that Christian feminism can be – must be – rooted in the body of Christ. She writes:

We’re called to be revolutionaries, prophets, voices of justice, activists, and even (gasp) feminists!

I certainly identify with this statement, and really feel that God made me / gave me experiences that made me a Christian feminist.

My post – and some comments – spoke to the idea that God can use anyone for God’s own purposes. As God’s children, we should be open to hearing that call, and even actively listening and looking for it. So, here’s a question: how can we ensure that we are putting ourselves in situations where it is both more probable that we will hear, and more possible to follow? What do I mean? Well, Liz writes this:

I’m concerned with areas where, as women, we allow our voices to be subjugated, where we tell people that we are meant to be seen and not heard. Why do we work in the nurseries and teach Sunday School classes but don’t host the Saturday morning theology breakfasts that our male counterparts do, or preach in the main service?

How often have you been in this position? I can’t even count the number of times I’ve been asked to make a cake instead of lead prayer. Don’t get me wrong, I love baking and cake decorating, but I don’t want to just do those kinds of things.

Of course, if you go to a church that, either by doctrine or by culture, puts women in the kitchen / nursery / Sunday School, there are things you can do. In these situations, Andrew and I have purposely remixed gender roles (eg. he works in the kitchen, I stack tables and chairs).

But here’s the thing. Andrew and I are moving to a new city in the next couple months, and have an endless array of churches we could choose from. When you’re in that position, do you consider the church structure, church doctrine, and church culture with regard to the status of women?