As Anderson Cooper and friends continue to propagate our televisions with discussion around the cause of Jackson's death, his relationship with Bubbles the Chimpanzee, and his strange relationship with the media I am stuck on a simple sentence shared at today's memorial service.

In a prerecorded voice over Michael Jackson said, "But I must confess, it feels good to be thought of as a person and not a personality."

Michael was a man objectified by many, known by few, and understood by fewer. Strange. Eccentric. Greedy. Haunted. Perverted.

And maybe some of those "personalities" are true of Michael. That is not for me to judge. But it's odd how often we play into these personalities. As we are objectified. We get defensive. We isolate. We act out. We play into the names thrown at us. I believe Michael did just that.

And yet today at the memorial service there was story after story sharing the beauty of this man's life. Today his friends talked about the person. The generosity. The smile. The child like laugh. Today we saw the person, minus the personalities.

I believe that San Francisco, like Michael, is a place fighting its own personality (or personalities). Objectified as liberal, gay, and obnoxious. Named disrespectful, greedy, crude, and weird. Yet appreciative of beauty in both nature and humanity. Home of new ideas. A city full of generosity. San Francisco, I don't know your person yet. But I want to. I want to know more than your personalities. I want to hear more than your protest and frustration. I want to know where the passion comes from. The story that birthed this desire in you. SF, I can't wait to get to know you.

“When people see themselves in zero-sum relationship with other people — see their fortunes as inversely correlated with the fortunes of other people, see the dynamic as win-lose — they tend to find a scriptural basis for intolerance or belligerence...When they see the relationship as non-zero-sum — see their fortunes as positively correlated, see the potential for a win-win outcome — they’re more likely to find the tolerant and understanding side of their scriptures.”

- Robert Wright, The Evolution of God

In January, while Taryn and I were in NYC, I was miserable. I hated my job, the weather, and being so far from friends and family. At work, during those difficult evenings, I opened a word document and scribble down some dreams. Dreams for my family. Dreams for my city. Dreams for my career. During one of those evenings I wrote this:

I think I am supposed to be a pastor. Not pastor as you may know pastor. Not the guy in the suit beating his Bible and taking your money. Not that there is anything wrong with that person, I am just not that guy. I think I am called to create positive environments that bring people together so that they may feel loved by God and one another. I believe that I have a God given ability to call/send/direct people towards intimacy. That sounds like a pastor, doesn't it?

But then there are moments, days, even months where I think I have "more" to offer. I think there is more to my calling then the church I have known. More than meetings about sermon series. More than arguments over worship style and theological position on natural disasters. More than the building, the strategy, and the marketing materials. More than membership policies and small group sign up sheets. More than efficiency and numbers.

I hope for a room full of people. All in love with one another. Knowing that they can ask anything of anyone and it will be done. I imagine honesty about our pain and 199 person-sized shoulder to cry on. I imagine mourning with them and knowing their death so that they may better understand life. I imagine a faithful group. Faithful to one another and the convictions inside themselves. I imagine this to be a welcoming place. A place that invites others to relationship without coercion, indoctrination, or violence. I imagine something new and infectious. I imagine art on the walls and ideas fueling our conversations. I imagine risk and yet safety. Boldness yet humility. I imagine both social and personal change. In short, I imagine redemption for many through a love for all.

Tomorrow I put the hypotheticals to rest. No longer can I just prose about what I hope for. Tomorrow I begin the hard work of organizing a community of people to serve the city of San Francisco.

I don't believe that vocational ministry is something you choose. It often chooses you. This has been one of those instances. I am humbled, thrilled, and scared to death of beginning this work but know that it is the grand experiment that I am supposed to be a part of at this time.

"In other words, an action, or for that matter a decision, is simply unintelligible separated from the rest of one's life/story narrative and one's cultural context because its not capable of being mad sense of. Apart from a context, a decision will appear to be an arbitrary act made on the spur of the moment for short-term immediate gain with little long-term consequences. Decisions all alone, therefore, isolated from our stories carry dubious value. They are unintelligible."

- David Fitch

Three months ago we had no idea where we were going to live.

We had it boiled down to Chicago and Los Angeles. One had our friends. The other a place that we could start careers. We stayed in this binary decision for a loooong time with no hope in site. LA most days. Chicago some others. Cubs. Dodgers. Sunshine. Seasons. Friends. Brother. Cosmetic surgery. Chain smoking. Traffic. Face chapping wind. We just couldn’t decide. Nor did we feel like there was one that we were “called” to.

It was at this time that we made some very desperate calls for others to intentionally engage this decision with us. We called mentors in Seattle. Friends who know our dreams and desires. Family members who were willing to offer opinions. We prayed. They prayed. We asked questions. They asked questions.

After much patience and the use of some roll over minutes we decided to chase our dream.

Three years ago, two dear friends and I sat at Macaroni Grill and discussed what it may look like to live the gospel in the context of San Francisco. While both of them have fallen in love with their own city, Taryn and I have remained transient and with a vision for living life in San Francisco. When we talked about where we saw ourselves in 20 years we both said San Francisco. Our dream was to be in SF.

After a brief visit to SF and some networking efforts things began to come together. Within a 72 hours span I was offered a job, Taryn received two interviews, we had affordable housing for the summer, and someone to split a moving truck with. We were moving to San Francisco!

Over the next two weeks I hope to unpack some boxes and some of the lessons that Taryn and I have learned through this formative decision making process. We are thrilled for what is next and I hope that our story will somehow connect with yours.

"I watch so few movies. I didn’t get into this because I love movies. I got into it because I love putting myself in other people’s shoes and investigating."

- Christian Bale in this month's GQ

Taryn is done.

We are done.

We now sit in Phoenix, Arizona while our belongings travel just north of us in Colorado somewhere. We have been asked if we are sad. Yes we are sad. We have been asked if we will miss New York. Yes we will miss it.

But we are excited for the future. More to come on that...

Today, as I sit among boxes, I stumbled upon this excerpt from the Economist.

Anecdotal evidence has long held that creativity in artists and writers can be associated with living in foreign parts. Rudyard Kipling, Pablo Picasso, Ernest Hemingway, Paul Gauguin, Samuel Beckett and others spent years dwelling abroad. Now a pair of psychologists has proved that there is indeed a link.

As they report in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, William Maddux of INSEAD, a business school in Fontainebleau, France, and Adam Galinsky, of the Kellogg School of Management in Chicago, presented 155 American business students and 55 foreign ones studying in America with a test used by psychologists as a measure of creativity. Given a candle, some matches and a box of drawing pins, the students were asked to attach the candle to a cardboard wall so that no wax would drip on the floor when the candle was lit. (The solution is to use the box as a candleholder and fix it to the wall with the pins.) They found 60% of students who were either living abroad or had spent some time doing so, solved the problem, whereas only 42% of those who had not lived abroad did so.

I was told that when I moved to NYC I would see a drastic change in my wardrobe. I was told that my clothes would get tighter and that all of the color would magically disappear.

That's exactly what happened.

Moving to SF will require that I add some color.

New York has helped me better identify that there is a difference between understanding and believing.

New York is a place where people are willing to listen to what life has taught you. People want to hear the highs and lows. The peaks and valleys. The scraped knees and photo finishes. They will celebrate your future and mourn your past. They want to know what life has taught you. People want to know what you have come to understand through the uniqueness of your life.

However they are not interested in hearing what you believe. They don't want to know your position on Obama's newest policy. They don't care what you think about the new Yankee Stadium. They could care less about your theology of homosexuality. If you read it in a book, went to a conference for it, or heard it on NPR chances are that no one here cares.

Why? Because beliefs are often absent of relationship. And New Yorkers can smell that from the Hamptons...and to them it smells like New Jersey (New Yorker joke!!! and SNL reference!! Double points!!).

I imagine if we took time to ask ourselves what we have come to understand we would realize that our understandings are formed when we come into relationship with someone or something. Only in relationship, with a flesh-to-flesh experience, do our beliefs grow traction and become understanding.

I am grateful to NYC for this reminder.

“This economic recession and the unsteady job market provides the perfect storm for you to chase the career of your dreams”

“If you don’t love your job, quit. The money’s not worth it.”

“You have been created to be the best at something. You are uniquely you and you can make millions of dollars being just that.”

“Never do it just for the pay check. That’s shallow and cowardly.”

“In our world today, you really can be anything you want to be”

The voices of New York are loud. These are all quotes from major periodicals or recent conversations with people in the city. I do not contend that they are incorrect or wrong. I just wonder if my age’s obsession with “career” (heightened by unemployment levels and increased debt) should be more often coupled with conversations of our character or with the quality of relationships in our lives.

In New York it is not irregular to introduce yourself by saying what you do, what part of town you do it in, and who you know that does it best. That’s how we define ourselves.

In my current position (at a doctor’s office) I had to create a welcome letter for the new facility that is opening in midtown. Each doctor was responsible to get me a 4 to 5 sentence biography. Each doctor e-mailed me a biography that was 6 to 7 sentences in length and without any personal narrative. They had so much professional career that they wanted to share in those sentences that they didn’t have room to mention their families, hobbies, or community involvement.

I asked them to add a sentence. Who cares if the letter is a little long. They cannot be defined by credentials alone.

We moved to New York City so Taryn could get her master’s degree. That was our purpose for being here. So my purpose? To be a great husband to my Ivy League student (fitting two years worth of classes into nine months) with a 30-hour-week-internship. I did my best. I hope she agrees. Do I feel like I wasted a year of professional opportunities? No. I would hope that my employer would be more interested in my passion for others and my heart for seeing their success than he would my year of making copies and getting coffee for someone in midtown.

Maybe you can be anything you want. But I hope we want to be more than our jobs.

While in NYC, Taryn and I attended Trinity Grace Church (formerly Origins). We went to Sunday services, did our best to attend a small group, and formed relationships with many there.

During our first few weeks there I had all kinds of nit-picky comments. The music was not very good. The crowd too churchy. The pastor long winded. I even critiqued the bulletin design. Wow.

As a former church programmer and seminary trained twenty-five year old, church condescension comes easy. And what’s up with all of my nit-picking? Is it just the evil soil of our consumerist culture? I don’t think so. I think I had a misguided idea of what church (and for those who aren’t followers of Christ, perhaps the word “community” can act as a substitute) is. I am not sure that I had a good definition (which could have been the result of two years of church shopping in Seattle) or even a definition at all. But I was living as though I thought community was supposed to be like-minded individuals seeking a common way of living while going after a common, agreed upon mission.

It may be fear or loneliness that motivates us to search for others who look like us. Now, I am not denying what seems to be natural attraction to persons with common interests and passions. My worry is that we have come to prefer not those with similarities, but our mirror images. All of us come in contact with difference. But when faced with the foreign feeling difference brings, we search for something more familiar. More us. We shop for the familiar constantly. We leave churches in search of a pastor we better agree with. We choose our friends based on the quantities of conflict. We pick our neighborhoods based on the color of our neighbor’s skin. We even pick grocery stores that are more “us”. We insulate ourselves with walls of “us”.

Church is not intended to be this ideological back scratching. It is not to be a place where you will enjoy everyone’s company. Everyone should not look like you. There should be a diversity of age, race, thought, and lifestyle. Church is the gathering of people around the story of Jesus. God crucified. Life lived in this posture of His sacrifice. And yet we often miss that as we drive 45 minutes for a church that has worship music more our style.

This is dangerous. Sorry, that is understated. This will ruin us.

We have unrealistic expectations for our churches. We expect to find life long friends, top 40 tunes, and Shakespearian preaching. Under one roof. Without hardship. Without gossip. Without power struggles. All while searching for communities, friends, and maybe even partners that uphold the fantasies of our goodness.

We were guilty of this.

There is beauty to be found in difference. Beauty to be found in having your theology challenged. Beauty in carrying others burdens and having your burdens carried. Beauty in having your ego deflated. Beauty in learning another culture. Beauty in sharing a dream and a mission with others.

And all of this can be had if we would stop looking for others that look like us and simply look at our neighbor. And love them.

New York, Trinity Grace, our small group, and our mix of friends have reminded us of this.

The home we had in Seattle was a mansion (read: coooondooo). We had stainless steel appliances, marble counter tops, a view of the Puget Sound, a microwave, and TWO SINKS! We hosted rooftops BBQs while staring at Mt. Rainer. We had a concierge who would pick up our dry cleaning. It was a palace and we really had no idea.

Our current home has no garbage disposal, no dishwasher, terrible hot water, wafer thin walls, and a toilet that screams like a prepubescent boy each time you flush it. Did I mention the holes in the wall, the slanted stove, and the refrigerator without a light? What about the heater that only works in the summer, the dislocated light switch, and the 300 pound elephant who is constantly bowling while listening to Dr. Dre only one floor above us?

I do not point this out to talk about how crappy our New York City apartment is, rather to note how grateful I am for the things that I have. I believe that gratitude is more discipline than emotional response. It is a posture we take towards life (active) rather than just a spontaneous emotional reaction (passive).

New York, and my avoidant superintendent Jimmy, has been a place that has invited me to this kind of discipline.

New York City is living proof that our food system is not just or sustainable.

Taryn and I live in an area that is commonly referred to as the "grocery graveyard". The people of Harlem have very few groceries and often have to walk a mile to find fresh produce, locally produced cheese and meat, and healthy options for their children. The alternative then? Fast food. As the southwestern portion of Harlem developed in the last 25 years, the state government gave tax exemptions for restaurants willing to open a location in the area. The result? Three Dunkin' Doughnuts and two McDonald's before you would see any kind of medium sized produce baring grocery store.

Then just three miles south, on the same little slice of land, are the world's finest restaurants.

Taryn and I have tried our best to live in this balance. To buy local produce at markets and to take advantage of the fine culinary experiences of the city. Could we do better? Probably. But I now have a much greater awareness of what justice looks like in terms of food. If you are interested in this conversation at all I would pick up Closing the Food Gap and watch the soon to be released Food Inc.

Moving now to our favorite restaurants in no particular order:

Otto: Batali's cheapest NYC option. If you go here get the Stomata de Parmesan and either the prosciutto or the copa. Follow it up with the rigatoni with escarole. Great wine list and never skip dessert. Taryn and I's favorite meal in the city.
Co: Pizza is not about the toppings (Dad!). It's about the dough. Jim Lahey nails it at his modern Chelsea pizza palace. Decent wine, Blue Moon on tap. Everything else on the menu is average. Stick to pizza.
Balthazar's: The Macaroni Au Gratin is worth the impending cardiac arrest. This place is very NY-Scene. Go here when you visit. Brunch is ok, lunch and dinner are better.
Rack & Soul: This place is close by on the UWS but it was pulled straight from the South. Speaking of pulled...the pulled pork is where it's at.
Mesa Grill: Bobby Flay's southwestern cooking style is best seen here during brunch. Great cocktails as well.
Koronet: $3.25 gets you the biggest slice of cheese pizza in Manhattan. Right Jordan?
Momofuku Milk Bar: The pork belly bun with the deep friend soft poached egg is best served with a cup of Stumptown coffee. The desserts, the breads, and the frozen yogurt (they once had a fruity pebble milk flavor!!) will all blow your mind.
Corner Bistro: A great dive bar with a fantastic, cheap burger. Order it medium rare.
Shake Shack: Arguably the best burger in the city. Better than In and Out or Taylor's. ALWAYS get the strawberry shake. There is also a secret coffee flavored shake that is quite delicious (Thanks Hank).
Levain: Best cookie I have ever had. Period.
Little Owl: Best pork chop I have ever had. Ate dinner with Michelle Pfeiffer and Steven Spielberg. It's located in the bottom of the Friend's building.
David Burke's: Three words. Cheesecake. Lollipop. Tree.

These restaurants have made me very thankful that God decided to make food the primary means for our nourishment.

I apologize for the lack of original thought in this space lately. My thoughts have been muddled with all of the details of our upcoming transition. I hope to say more about that as well as reflecting on our time in NYC in the coming month.

That said, today Taryn and I spent five hours in the middle of central park. She did homework. I read some fiction and the NYT. Here is a quote that stuck with me:

“I still feel the same about guns and I know I’m right,...if I thought giving that sermon would be the end of guns in this society, I’d give it again in a second. But it won’t. That sermon was more about placating my need to be right than about preaching the Gospel. It does more to defeat my case than help it. I’m standing up on a pulpit, no one can say a thing for those 20 minutes, what I say goes. It’s the wrong kind of power. It undermines the love. You can tell people to do the right thing or you can do the loving thing and get the same result.”

- Rev Tim Ives in From a Pulpit, Peace Over Politics in today's NYT

"We've been in Morocco for two days, I think, and I just want to plant the idea in your head now: You know nothing until you're there. Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing. You know nothing of another person, nothing of another place. Nothing nothing nothing. With this knowledge-that you know nothing but what you see-things get more complicated. People want it easy, so they guess. And guessing is when the shi..."

My favorite moment from Dave Egger's You Shall Know Our Velocity

"The key is people already talk about this stuff. They already talk about things they love. Manufactured word of mouth is indeed a bad and scary thing...but that's not what we are doing. For whatever reason, we have this natural instict to tell a friend about a product - and to get them to believe what you believe. All we're trying to do is put some form around it, so it can be measured and understood. That's not changing the social fabric."

- Dave Baltar, BzzAgent CEO from Rob Walker's Buying In: The Secret Dialogue Between What We Buy and Who We Are

From the wise mind of Phil Nellis...

“But we are for the most part unaware of the sequence. We don’t really stop on Good Friday, most churches hurriedly tell that portion on Sunday morning, with the certainty of immanent resurrection. The rush to redemption, characteristic modern evangelical theology and the half-hour sitcom alike, is what flows out of a narrative that is dismissive of experiences of death and avoidant of experiences that hold the ambiguity of waiting. The implications of such a one-dimensional narrative of redemption has long reaching effects on the way we are as people, with each other, in this world. Not only does it turn Resurrection Sunday into a sacrine-like sweetness, but we begin to normalize the ideal and we diminish our capacity to meaningfully engage that which is less. When resurrection is a certain given, we exist in a false utopia that does violence to our experience and the realities of life in this world.”

May this be a reminder to all of us. Thank you Phil.