Well it's been a week since my last post...so much for the promise of writing more often. I have, however, been extremely busy this last week. Packing and getting ready to move have occupied the majority of my time, and I spent the entire day today actually moving things over to the new apartment.

The new apartment is like a breath of fresh air. It is in a four-plex in a very old building (built around 1910). It has hardwood floors throughout, lots of built-ins (shelves, bookcase, etc.) and a wonderful balcony that looks out on downtown Portland. The historic feel of the place is very visceral; it is certainly a place that will inspire my writing craft. It is also a symbol to me. It marks the end of my long-planned escape from suburbia.

Not that I have anything against the suburbs. If you like them, good for you. But I grew up in the suburbs and have always longed to move to the city, into a place just like the one I will soon be occupying. The little inconveniences of living in such an old building present themselves like challenges for my creativity, opportunities to craft an individual living space that reflects our personalities. There's no counter space in the kitchen (where to put the microwave?), hardly any electrical outlets throughout the apartment. The closets are miniscule by today's standards. And yet, the rooms have a quiet elegance that speaks of a simpler, more picturesque time. They are challenging us to simplify our lives, to choose beauty over function.

Just some late night musings from someone who has been lugging boxes up stairs all day...

It's a dark, gloomy and beautiful day today. The Northwest is back to looking like it should, instead of trying to do some kind of California impression. Someone once told me that the grey skies are like a blanket -- they make you feel safe and secure. I agree with that. The grey insulates you. It pulls you inside yourself, almost forces you to wonder about who you are, who you are becoming.

I had to miss church today because Kelly had to go to work early. That makes four weeks in a row, since either Luke or I have been sick for the last three. I miss the community, the love, the closeness. I am starting to realize that it is not really possible to know God outside of his people. We can only know God through Christ, and the church is Christ's body. The work of the Holy Spirit takes place within the church (now of course I mean the people, not the building or the institution).

This is an idea that runs against the dominant mode of religious thought in Western society. Religion and belief are person things, relegated to the inner realm. But I think it is foolish to think we can just wander, and figure things out for ourselves. All truth is God's truth, but the truth that really changes us is hard to recognize. Perhaps it is impossible to recognize. We need the enlightenment that comes from the Holy Spirit, and that brings us back to -- the church. The Temple of the Holy Spirit.

Ex-hostage: "I wanted to gain his trust"

This article recounts the story of a woman held hostage in her own home, told by the woman herself. It is one of the most amazing examples of evangelism I have ever heard.

What Ashley Smith did in a very short period of time is what we are trying to do all the time -- really reach people's hearts with the gospel. She did this by sharing herself, by exposing her weakness -- to an armed, escaped killer, no less -- and truly caring about the person she was speaking to. Hers was not merely a negotiation technique used just to save her own life. I think she just had a story to tell. If it was the last thing that she ever did in her life, she would tell that story.

As the Christianity Today weblog observed, this is putting the oft-neglected idea of love for enemies into very real practice.

A church shooting in Wisconsin. A string of church robberies in Oregon. A church arson in Washington. The question in these situations inevitably gets asked: where was God? How could a loving God allow this to happen to his followers? Is God not our protector?

The funny thing is, similar questions were asked at another event in history. A man who claimed to be the son of God hung on a Roman cross, bleeding and suffering. Those who stood around observing mocked him, asking "Where is your God now? If you really are the son of God, why isn't he protecting you?" For many people, that was the end of the story -- the claims to divine sonship refuted, a ministry of reconciliation brought to ultimate failure. The weakness of God was demonstrated, placed on a cross, up on a hill for the whole world to see.

Jesus told his followers that they could expect persecution. No servant is greater than his master, he told them. If the master is going to get beaten, tortured and murdered, what could the servants expect? A common thread runs through the epistles that make up the New Testament: expect persecution. If you are going to identify yourselves with the crucified Lord, you can expect the world to crucify you as well. The precedent had been set.

In America, where our religious freedom is protected by law, we have a dim and distant view of persecution. We consider ourselves persecuted when the culture opposes our claims to truth. We consider ourselves oppressed when immorality becomes legally sanctioned. We consider ourselves persecuted when people make fun of us, when they ridicule us for our "intolerant" beliefs. We shore up against the opposition and attempt to fight it. God is on our side.

Yet, when forms of persecution that would be more familiar to the early church creep into our sheltered lives, we begin to ask, "where was God?" When God's weakness becomes manifest, we become afraid and disoriented. We search in vain for explanations. When the cross becomes reality, we start to sound like the mockers who stood at the foot of Christ's cross.

I realize fully well that this blog is a bit on the schitzophrenic side. I guess I can't seem to decide why I'm doing this. There is a bit of envy that gets me every time a take a look at my fellow bloggers' pages -- ah, I wish I could post more often. The main reason that I don't do so is that I view my blog in a sort of journalistic light. Therefore, I take the time to research my sources and make sure that whatever I write is accurate and relevant, and not just a knee-jerk reaction.

That said, I'm not satisfied with just making this a page for me to post articles. The joy of blogs is the ability to look inside the experience of someone else -- someone who you may know well, or maybe don't know at all. It's like reading a diary, but I don't think the attraction is voyeuristic. It's more like an opportunity to step inside someone else's journey, and perhaps reflect on your own. Truth comes out in the practice of real life. Discoveries are made. Theories and ideologies are put to the test. We don't come out of each day the same as we went it. Being able to share that is like reading into history being made.

I'm going to try to get a little more personal, writing about things that matter to me, reflecting on actual experience instead of just abstract theory. I have to have the humility to admit that I don't always have a coherent or logical answer to the questions I pose. That's why there is a comments section...so that we can go on the journey together.

So a final disclaimer: the things I post here really are me. But you can't use them to categorize or define me. My thoughts are, like my own being, a work in progress. Please understand that I stand behind what I say, but I never say the final word. If you're looking for doctrine, please go elsewhere.

Last Wednesday night I walked down to Pioneer Courthouse Square in downtown Portland and happened upon a tense situation in progress. A small group of street kids were surrounded by police officers who were questioning them. One particular young man was being accosted rather severely by the cops. Of course, the exchange was not congenial on either side (both parties seemed to be shouting back and forth at each other). In the midst of the conversation, the young man stood up and put the cigarette he was smoking out in the planter behind him. No less than three cops proceeded to jump on him, grab his arms and slap handcuffs on him in the blink of an eye. They had big grins on their faces as they remarked, "Now you're going to jail for offensive littering."

After they had the kid in cuffs, one of the cops kicked the kid's legs out from under him, causing him to fall to the ground. Then they dragged him off and stuffed him into the patrol car. One of the officers came back and had a lovely conversation with the remaining kids. Essentially, he told them that they do not deserve to live in America and need to leave.

It turns out the officers were accusing the young man they arrested of violating an exclusion order from Pioneer Courthouse Square, which they claimed was given to him on February 22nd. This is interesting, because I have met this young man before and I'm not sure he's even been in town that long. Plus, street kids who get excluded from parks tend to not hang around in them in broad daylight.

The action of the police was nothing more than intimidation and a flexing of power. The cops at the scene obviously hold a great deal of disdain for street kids. I'm not saying that the kid was innocent -- he did break the law by littering. But does that necessitate being kicked to the ground? Interestingly, the young man was out of jail and back on the street within about an hour. The whole incident took place just for the purpose of causing him inconvenience.

Some of you may think that I'm some kind of rabble-rouser, trying to spread some kind of anti-cop anarchist message here. The truth is, I have had no experience with the Portland Police before this date and really held no opinion one way or another. But this incident makes my blood boil. How can this be considered justice? Is this what we are paying the police to do? How, in any way, does this provide for the safety of the community?

I could get into analysis but I'll just leave it at this. This is where your tax dollars are going, citizens of Portland. Perhaps you (I guess I should say we since I'll be a Portland citizen in a few weeks) need to take greater steps to hold our officials accountable.

One of the responses to my previous post, "Duty and Fear," quoted a very popular scripture, John 8:32:

Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.

This got me thinking about the issue of freedom. What is freedom for a Christian? What are we set free from? There are many quick answers to this question: sin, death, Satan, etc. I think these are more symptoms of that which enslaved us. Our freedom is composed of freedom from these things, but there is more.

Paul speaks about freedom extensively, especially in his letters to the Romans and the Galatians. He hammers the Galatians for rejecting their freedom and re-subjecting themselves to slavery. Slavery to what? To the law. To a system of works righteousness, to a manmade "system" of justification apart from the grace of God. Christ has given us freedom from this system.

But is freedom really free? In Romans Paul contrasts two types of slavery - slavery to sin and slavery to righteousness. Yes, we are freed from slavery to sin (enforced by the law), but in turn we become slaves to righteousness. This slavery, however, is of a different kind: it is a kind that inspires Paul to call himself a "bondservant." In other words, we are freed from slavery to sin only to willingly and lovingly return to our true master.

So then I must return to the idea of my original post. If we act lovingly toward our neighbor out of only duty (and therefore fear), can we call ourselves obedient slaves of righteousness? If our sense of duty comes from love for our master, then I would say yes. But if the duty comes from the law, then we, like the Galatians, are re-submitting ourselves to a cruel slavedriver in whom exists no mercy or grace, only punishment.