Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

As I headed out today for an extended ride on the trusty motorcycle (my favorite form of social distancing) I asked myself one question and it circled inside my brain through the entire trip: In light of this social liminality through which we are now passing, what’s going to change forever when we get to the other side?

The thing about liminality is that the former structure has disappeared or flattened or been suspended during the time of confusion, ambiguity and lack of coordinates. We’ve never been here before. The gift of the liminal period is the revealing of a future, or at least a glimmering of what a future could be. Interruptions provide enforced pause. And transitional pauses often hold the clues as to what’s next.

No one really knows, of course, unless we could travel to the future and back. But some prognosticators guess. If visionaries know human nature and discern large patterns well, the guesses are often on the mark, or at least close.

Back in 2006 Tom Friedman wrote a worldview busting book entitled The World is Flat. It was mostly about how the changes of globalization were sending everyone back to zero, leveling the playing field. In so many ways he was right. He discerned the big patterns and where they were heading.

The year is now 2020 and we are barely into this liminal period of the Coronavirus. People are just now getting over the shock of the changes imposed upon us. We are preoccupied with survival and dodging the bullet. But for those so inclined, it’s not too soon to wonder how we will become different as a result. Though I have no crystal ball, I do have some inklings. And inklings often become true.

It’s my guess, according to the way things have changed and revealed certain things about ourselves, that we will see some of these things in our future:

The continuing trend of urbanization and the rush to the cities may reverse, with people choosing to live in decentralized, smaller communities, towns and rural places. The presence of online communication and broadened transportation will allow many to work from home or partially from home and businesses will accommodate. Certain cities will still remain the center of commerce and the arts, for example, but not everyone needs to live there. More and more we will structure ourselves as networks of smaller living communities.

Education on all levels will diversify, including face-to-face interaction and growing online learning. The present crisis has forced adaptation and this forced change will be reflected in continuing use of those tools. In the future that will include projected holograms in real time virtual classrooms. We will be there and be together learning differently. The tools are already there. They will be extended and refined.

Our politics will become increasingly pragmatic, searching for solutions beyond the ideological. The more that the society moves away from ideological motives and toward the practical, leaders will be chosen for expertise in accomplishing ends and creating governance to serve the entire populous. Constitutional democracy will wage a battle for existence as pan-national movements of autocracies will attempt to remove them.

Meta-threats to planetary existence will move us toward international cooperation again. The recent pandemic reminds us that certain challenges transcend national solutions. Worldwide health challenges and addressing the environment are only the most conspicuous things that require international response. A new effort at collaboration will address multiple factors that affect all of the earth’s inhabitants, including food security, health, and education.

Access to health care will not be seen as optional but rather necessary for all citizens. What the pandemic revealed in stark relief was what happens to people in urgent times without health care or health insurance. For those whose health insurance was tied to employment and lost their jobs, they suddenly lost their health insurance as well. In the future, access to healthcare will be provided to all citizens through a variety of ways.

The economy will balance out into a combination of free market/common good programs. We in the United States already have a hybrid economy. What the crisis revealed was that there is a place for muscular government to step in when needed and that some needs in our time for a country our size are best met in the free market and others are best met in programs for the common good.

People will rediscover the importance of government, its servants and expertise. A responsive, skilled, and robust government will partner with all levels of the society to pursue common ends: Federal, state, municipal government; not-for-profits; the private sector and corporations. All working together, each functioning where is is most effective and efficient.

Religion and Spirituality will continue to shift, change and express itself differently. This recent crisis only solidifies the process that has already been in motion. A diversity of faith and non-faith expressions will multiply outside of traditional communities, beliefs and practices. The information explosion as set loose a planetary, timeless, geographically boundless access to the expression of our deepest aspirations. Much will take place in cyberspace and in micro communities of common cause.

Commerce will expand its online ordering and shipping capacity. Face to face services will continue but in different forms. With ready acceptance of online reality – including the arts – the public will adapt to paying for what has been assumed to be free; fees or contributions for online concerts, lectures, services. This will multiply and grow.

We will develop enlarged and focused government instrumentalities to respond to pandemics and disasters. In the same way that the Department of Defense is prepared to fend off national military threats and Homeland security addresses security threats, so we will establish a more coordinated office and network of states to forecast chaos events, collaborate with other countries, activate response among the states, and establish and maintain stockpiles of needed equipment and reserve personnel for such emergencies.

Neighbors will rediscover neighbors in micro-communities and come to one another’s aid. One of the great learnings from disasters is that the best impulses of human community are often released during times of greatest threat. Caring for one’s neighbor in times of great threat is part of the herd’s natural inclination for survival. Moving into close care in smaller communities makes that more available. Combined with national responsiveness during overwhelming disaster, micro communities provide maximum coverage.

Because we had to slow down we discovered what slowing down will give us. If there is one thing that has contributed to American angst and depression and overwhelming stress that has led us toward un-health, it is the frenetic, driven, crazy pace of life. It is by slowing down that we will catch up. Doing less with more is therapeutic. Slow shops, slow church, slow family, slow urban markets, slow and unhurried education – will create more good than anything we could have chosen for ourselves. Ironically, through the worst, it was chosen for us.

There is a difference between information and wisdom. The information explosion has saturated us through infinite web pages and unending streams of social media. We have not become wiser by drinking through this fire hose. We have become overwhelmed. Our children do not know how to discern the difference between timeless truth and temporary opinion. And we have been entertained to death. We have become sensory junkies. The coming of the slow quiet reminds us of the “deep down things.” Slow down. Listen. Go deep. Love. Make justice in ways that matter. Don’t confuse the secondary with the primary. Embrace neighbor. Wonder at the spectacular beauty. Praise your God.


All good rides come to an end sometime and this one did as well. How beautiful it was. How free and fresh. What a world we temporarily pass through. Worry not about tomorrow. Tomorrow will worry for itself. But rather seek the reign of the Spirit in and among you. And it shall appear.

My hard-working electrician dropped by today to work on an outside project. Mindful of our distance, we chatted each other up, especially as regards the pandemic and who we know that has been affected. He has family in the health care sector working directly with patients. They are lacking the most basic resources for handling the demands of the Coronavirus. At the moment, his family who are medical personnel are being rationed one protective mask a day. Respirators are far and few between. At the moment, tests are unavailable..

We have no idea what the political leanings of the other is and it didn’t seem to matter. Two guys in the driveway talked about the future and what we could learn from all this. He smiled and said,

“People are funny, they usually don’t change unless they have to. Well, now we have to.”

Nothing truer could have been said. And in the span of twenty minutes we talked about what seemed to be obvious. The summary is something like this:

Pandemics are threats that equal and probably exceed national military threats. The only way to deal with them in the future is preparedness. It’s not acceptable to wait for the worst to come and then scramble to pull together a response. If our military preparedness at home and abroad includes personnel, weaponry, bases, ships, planes, and the intelligence and command apparatus to coordinate it all, why in the world would we not have a standing system of equal power to address pandemics?

We need a national command center vested with pandemic vigilance. This command center would not only be connected to a network of response centers across the nation, but also with international partners. Viruses are no respecters of national borders. An effective response must be an international one – with monitoring and collaboration. The US could lead the way by forming a kind of NATO for pandemics in our own time.

It needs to be enacted and funded by Congress so that it can’t be neglected, ignored or disbanded by any future administration.

It needs to be lodged in a reasonable organizational home. The Pentagon comes to mind. In relation to national health services. Related to national homeland security and intelligence services.

In the same way that the National Guard is on standby, distributed through all our states, ready to activate and deploy when needed, so a Pandemic Guard or Reserve must be ready, equipped and empowered to respond in a moment’s notice. We need relevant and current stockpiles of needed supplies throughout the country. They can deploy military-type portable hospitals when necessary.

There is no reason that a country of our capacity cannot do this. And though one never defeats a pandemic virus like a conventional enemy, we can protect ourselves in meaningful and quick ways, minimizing the damage and returning to ongoing life in reasonably quick ways.

This is one of those legitimate and necessary functions of a government. We can do it and in a bi-partisan way. And strangely enough, an initiative like this might be the kind of unifying thing that pulls nations together in common cause, a mutually beneficial international thrust that is more worthy of our time, personnel and resources than wasting those same things making war on one another.

At least, that’s what my electrician and I think.


  1. People often deny there is a problem
  2. It’s often worse than you thought
  3. Many people will panic
  4. Some people will jeopardize others with their negligence
  5. People are often more afraid of dying than they knew
  6. Self-preservation leads some people to hoarding
  7. Many become self-sacrificial in ways that defy the survival instinct
  8. There will always be people who exploit suffering to their own benefit
  9. Disaster can pull people apart
  10. Disaster can pull people together
  11. Some adopt as their operational motto “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die”
  12. Some people discover their own deepest spirituality
  13. Boredom can lead to experimentation and novelty
  14. Feeling helpless often leads to depression
  15. People can obsess over statistics like death rates
  16. The poor always suffer the most
  17. Emotions are contagious
  18. When great interruptions arise new models are often created
  19. Confining people can lead to growing closeness
  20. Confining people in dysfunction often leads to abuse
  21. Isolation is not the same as solitude
  22. People become aware of what they take for granted
  23. Shortages often bring about sharing and thriftiness
  24. The world is surprisingly interconnected
  25. Viruses seem to have a life of their own
  26. Interrupting the mad rush to acquire and own can be redemptive
  27. Sharing communal meals are important
  28. Some people have no social network
  29. Pandemics represent a margin out of which change takes place
  30. People never know what they can do until they have to
  31. Great threats cause the tribe to temporarily table secondary conflicts
  32. Leadership is always tested to the max
  33. New leaders often arise in times of crisis
  34. Disasters often destabilize regimes that are faltering
  35. Charlatans, soothsayers, and end-times prognosticators abound in dire times
  36. Fear is the emotion that creates most of the other negative emotions
  37. Our elders who have previously lived through hard times often give the best council
  38. Rigid social roles often become more fluid
  39. Resilient people find ways to grow, change, and help others
  40. Spirituality is a real and sustaining force
  41. People redefine their relationship to the larger natural world
  42. Illusions of permanence and security are often shattered
  43. Sex and prayer often increase
  44. Children are most traumatized by the terror of their parents
  45. We are not in control
  46. Now can be terrible, but now is not forever
  47. People who thrive are centered, trusting and hopeful before the crisis hits
  48. When people share urgent circumstances they form a special bond
  49. Virus and bacteria life forms have always inhabited our planet
  50. Hard choices have to be made that are often not comfortable
  51. People of the future will remember this time by the way we live it
  52. Faith, hope, and love abide, these three, but the greatest of these is love.

Death smiles at us all and all a man can do is smile back.
— Marcus Aurelius


In the late 1800s a man named Captain William Fowler determined that he had to remove the lingering superstition surrounding the number 13. To do so he decided to found an exclusive society called the Thirteen Club.

The group dined regularly on the 13th day of the month in room 13 of a place called the Knickerbocker Cottage. Before sharing a 13-course dinner, members walked under a ladder and a banner reading “Morituri te Salutamus,” Latin for “Those of us who are about to die salute you.”

That’s one way to do it. Head on. The hair of the dog that bit you. When death smiles your direction smile back. Get familiar with the distinguished reaper. Make friends. If you have fears or reservations, let them not be for the wrong reasons. Like the number 13.

Truth be told, we have lots of symbolic stand-ins for our fear of death. Friday the 13th is but one of them. We have designated certain “boogy men” to represent our deepest fears. The Day of the Dead functions similarly in Latin cultures. For a barely endurable moment the curtain is pulled back and we look old death in the face. But our glance is fleeting, for only as long as we can stand it. Most of the time we live in an illusion of immortality. Until, that is, something cracks that illusion open.

As real a threat as is our pandemic du jour, and as important as it is that we all be proactive and vigilant to mitigate its damage, this current visitation of the dark angel is but its most recent iteration, a temporary appearance in a long line of appearances. Pandemics, symbolically speaking, act as the number 13. They rattle the cage of our daily routines with a chilling reminder.

And they are more than direct harbingers of their own potential destruction. They remind us that something, somehow will get us, that each person, no exception, owes one death. That unvarnished truth is the kind of thing that the great world religions never shy away from. They all recognize the impermanence of life, its limits, the mortality of this human flesh, and our very brief tour on the planet.

In the Christian tradition this is epitomized by Ash Wednesday, which even the faithful avoid like the plague because, well, the observance gazes straight into the jaws of the plague. And if you ever wonder what the symbolic function of the cross is in the Christian mythos, this is one of them: There’s no getting through this life alive. And even the best of us, the superlative souls, must pass this same way.

Pandemics – like the Corona Virus – are truth-tellers, the breakers of illusion. They say in one way or another, “I may or may not be the one. But something else will get you, now or later.” People know what they mean on an intuitive level.

We are much more likely to perish as the result of cancer, heart disease, a vehicle accident, slipping on the soap in the shower, collapsing mowing our lawn in the heat of summer, being shot in a school shooting, squatting in a refugee camp, a natural disaster and so on and so on. Whatever the Corona fails to accomplish will be taken up by another member of the team.

So no matter how irrational is Friday the 13th, it is a day that reminds us of something else, of other fears that linger barely beneath the surface. Whenever the next pandemic circles the globe on its world tour we are reminded. We are reminded of the big fear that lurks behind all other fears and makes the current threat larger than life.

That’s why our response in the face of threat – other than reasonable survival instinct precaution and practice – requires a kind of existential courage. We must indeed smile back when we are smiled upon. And the answers to our fear of death – in whatever mask it presents itself – are love, hope, faith and trust, all of which transcend that which threatens our existence. Forcing us to dig deep for those again is the one of the collateral gifts that Friday the 13th and the Corona Virus unintentionally visit upon us.


The best chip ever

Posted: February 20, 2020 in Uncategorized

It’s not easy to make the best guacamole dip in the universe. Even if you have the perfect avocado and limes. Because there’s stiff competition out there. Just remember those transcendent moments when the chef brought the fixings right to table-side and smashed up all the perfect ingredients right before your eyes. You could barely restrain yourself from snatching the mixing bowl right out of his hands. Now that’s competition.

So maybe the guacamole I made from scratch recently was not the best in the universe. But it was good enough. When the time came to plunge in I opened the chip bag and peered inside, searching for a volunteer. Which one would step forward and say, “Private Dorito, Sir!”

I had my eye on one, thickly cut, perfectly curved chip. This chip was just bred for durability. I reached in and retrieved the one to the exclusion of all others. It felt good in the hand. Like the feel of a perfectly shaped pencil or baseball or flute, the touch revealing as much as anything. I knew in a micro-second that the chip was made for plumbing the depths of guacamole splendor. As the edge of the chip broke the semi-slimy surface all was proceeding as expected. But then, upon extraction, when reverse tension exerted itself on the chip, it buckled and broke in two. And fragments were left drowning in the green swamp, left to fend for themselves.

What began in such a promising way ended in Dorito shame. Of course, there was no point in cursing the gods for this moment of dashed hopes. The gods had not ordained the outcome of the chip disaster because, well, they have other more important things that preoccupy them. What did determine its outcome was a slender and hidden fault-line beneath the surface of the chip. This is the Achilles heel of chipdom; little hairline fractures undetectable to the naked eye.

Appearances can be deceiving and they do deceive with some regularity. What seems to be strong is actually weak. A popular preference for shape and size proves to be disappointing. One cannot always trust one’s eyes because what is false is often presented as trustworthy. The first round draft chip may not survive the day.

People, groups and even nations are that way. Invisible fractures break when they are placed under just the right pressure. Appearances fool us because we can’t see the end of a story sleeping beneath its surface in the present. Political candidates and elected leaders buckle, sometimes under their own tension. And like the camel, something as light as a straw may finally, one day, break the hidden fault-line.

Part of our problem is that we expect a world that is always firm, always sturdy, like a fortress never failing. But except for the mighty fortress of the eternal, most of that expectation is misplaced; there’s not one thing that isn’t about to move from chip to crumbs.

So the next time you choose your first-string chips, don’t expect them to be perfect. Make sure you have a deep bench. And don’t neglect the rather ordinary fellow in the back of the bag, the one that isn’t the biggest or doesn’t appear the strongest. This free agent may end up being the star. Because in the divine economy of the universe, the most humble and ordinary chip may actually be the greatest and the one that seems to the greatest is really the most flawed and destined to crumble. Regardless of whether the guacamole is or is not the best in the universe.

How to Read a Book

Posted: February 5, 2020 in Uncategorized

When I say that I’m going to talk about reading a book I have to full stop and remember to define:

A book is the thing developed throughout the cultural process as oral story become translated into physical symbols, scratched on a parchment or velum with ink or a clay tablet with a stylus so that it could be passed from one person to another, one generation to another. People have been etching their stories into rocks and cave walls for as long as their brains were big enough for it to matter.

Soon enough the parchments were bound into codexes and books with spines. After the printing press came around the process got much easier and faster. Today, electronic transference of files sends manuscripts to printers thousands of miles away and whips out copies that are shipped anywhere.

People still hold these odd compilations of paper with writing on them in their hands. Even though our minds are being twisted to think in electronic, chopped up fragments and characters, many people still enjoy the experience of reading books. Not just a newspaper or magazine. Entire books. Against all odds, people want to open a cover and start a story, read the poetry, discover the history, explore their faith, fly with the fantasy that one or more people thought should be confined to several hundred pages. Something with a beginning and an end. People still do it.

After children’s books, I remember the first novel I read as a young adult. The first one. At the time it seemed like I was hiking around an unknown lake through the mist. But then I finished it. And started the next one. That, I suppose, was the beginning of an addiction and the reason a pile of to-be-read books always stares at me from my side table. And what I discovered later is that you cannot write a word unless you’ve read a word, lots of words.

So, on to reading a book. After you’ve passed the several hundred mark of books you’ve read you realize that you approach a book like a curious detective. No matter if the book is fiction, non-fiction, poetry, an anthology of several authors, you want to know what this thing is. You want to know the author or authors. If it’s historical you want to know just where that history is set. If it’s fiction you want to know what realm you are investigating.

Because you’ve done it before, you have an idea how long it will take, but not always, because books can fool you. Some are ponderous and you spend hours musing on imponderables. And then again there are the breeze-right-through books that take you on a wild ride and they are done before you started, leaving you wanting for more.

Some books will wait for you. By that I mean you can impolitely walk away, take a break, return and pick it up and start in where you left off with hardly any effort. Other books require your soul and they become resentful when you put them down. They are jealous of your time. They demand you make a choice; it’s either them or nothing. Like temperamental lovers, they are often the best ones.

Don’t become too impatient too fast. Really good storytellers warm you up at the beginning. No rush. Lay it out one piece at a time. Don’t hurry the punch line. And just when you think you might lose interest and wonder where it’s going the strings tie together and you are in the clutches of the spider who wrapped you in her web. Just wait.

Of course you have to be willing to enter the mind of the author, the character, the reader that is you in that world. It’s a form of surrender to story time. And when someone looks at you reading and suggests that you might do something really important, that’s when you should refrain from killing them on the spot. That’s an impulse that should be controlled.

Some books live with you forever as a separate thing. They have a life of their own. You can quote them, invite a character or two to dinner. Other books are just layered into the collage of book world, added to the thousands of other insights and questions you already have. Some books can’t be understood or understood well when you are too young. Some books require that you suffer a little before they spill their guts to you. And some books require that you read other books first, crawling before you walk.

Books become your friends, enemies, lovers, wise crones, disturbers, revealers, guides and healers. And back behind the page are worlds of thought, imagination and passion that wait like predators to snag unsuspecting victims off of life’s ordinary path. Sometimes you can read too much, too many things at once, pick up the next book too quickly before you’ve fully digested the last one. Some books require space and time to ponder them before the next one demands your attention.

The reason some books become classics and are not found in the bargain book box at Sams is because they are universal in their staying power. They are written well and not all books are. They address the human themes that matter not only for us but for many generations. No matter the strange use of language, the plot rings true, the characters appear as real, and the insights transcendent. Defining what is a classic is often the product of culture or who has the power to do so. But like cream, they often rise to the top. In the Milky Way of books their brightness stands out.

Some things you know only because you do it a lot. And then, like reading a book, that becomes an art. A way of knowing, I suppose. I remember a time when I proudly proclaimed that I wanted to live life not just read about life. How stupid that was. Living life does not preclude also entering a larger world of reading alongside that living. And when we do, when we take up the next title with a sense of adventure and expectation, it is as though we sit in front of a crackling fire, introduce ourselves, and ask, “Now, what do you have to tell me?”

I recently had the pleasure of joining Jonathan Best on his Liminal Theology podcast. We had a far-ranging and stimulating conversation. Tune in and listen for yourself!

Podcast: Timothy Carson

Liminality and Life: making the most of the transitions that define us
Held on three days at the Kindred Collective, 2800 Forum Blvd, Columbia, Missouri 65203:
Feb 8 (9-11 am), Feb 10 (7-9 pm), and Feb 15 (1-3pm)
The facilitator is Tim Carson

Liminality is the state of being that individuals and groups enter when they cross the critical thresholds of life. During this three-part series participants will explore liminality and apply its insights to their own mighty passages.

You may download the brochure and the registration form and if you have any questions contact the facilitator, Tim Carson, by email.

I am now reading the exquisite book Nomadland by Jessica Bruder. She takes the reader on a wild ride she first took herself with people who have opted out of a system defined by permanent housing – owner homes with mortgages, rentals – because the American Dream betrayed them. Because they lost their houses, couldn’t afford to survive the divorce, watched their 401K evaporate after the recession of 2008, or simply couldn’t survive on Social Security alone, they opted out of the system and invested in “wheelestate” – vehicles that doubled as homes. They became nomads wandering by season and opportunity to encamp, often with many others, where the temporary work was – but with a parking pad and hookups for their RVs, cars with trailers, and vans.

The new nomads immediately let go of the single most expensive aspect of a budget – mortgage or rent, utilities, insurance and real estate taxes. They became ingenious in adaptability. They supported this newfound freedom with an online and actual community of fellow nomads – people often later in life, traditionally defined as retirement age, though retirement became an idea of the past. They now parked and worked at Amazon centers, national parks, agricultural harvests.

They became nomads. It wouldn’t be the first time in world history that such a category existed.

People have migrated with seasons, available work, enterprise and clan tradition forever. Agricultural migrants, Gypsies, river barge workers, farm and ranch hands, the help in large estates, the circus, military – all lived in provided quarters as a part of their compensation. So it is emerging again today, a repeat of previous American history. In stunning numbers people are opting out of the system, going off the grid, and leaving behind what everyone said they had to have to survive and be happy.

The itinerant life is not new, of course. And though becoming a nomad is often the result of economic pressure, something many Americans experience because we live in an economy beneficial to some but not to all, the experience of the wanderer has ancient roots. Which brings us to this season in which we now find ourselves.

A goodly share of the Christmas story is about itinerancy – a liminal state experienced by those who live in transit, moving and visiting established communities. Mary and Joseph trek from home to ancestral origin town and receive hospitality from established residents. They are strangers, visitors and guests living under the protection of others. They will one day depart to travel again. After the birth of Jesus, the Holy Family becomes transient again, fleeing danger, and traveling to Egypt for protection and sojourning as refugees and strangers. They are nomads.

The adult life of Jesus, of course, was defined by this same wandering and rootlessness. He traveled alone and with disciples and provided teaching and healing in return for hospitality, a compact between established communities and itinerants. “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” (Mt 8:20)

In a sense, Jesus was a wanderer to this world in order to remind inhabitants of this world of their true nature as wanderers; we are simply passing through and permanency is an illusion. Don’t become attached to that which necessarily passes away.

The early Jesus people were also characterized by their wandering and depending upon the hospitality of established communities. When they were not received in a community they knocked the dust off their feet and moved on to where they might be. The Apostle Paul was one of the most conspicuous nomads. But there were also thousands of others who scattered across the face of the earth, refusing to invest themselves in the trappings of earthy dominion and traveling light, taking only a staff, bag and sandals.

We have entered yet another time in which we may have more intentional interplay between established communities and itinerant wandering. Fortunately, models for social compacts between us already exist: In spiritual communities that practice radical hospitality we are taught to welcome the stranger and look for nomads in our midst who may serve as signs and reminders of what matters most. Many of them used to be trapped by conventional ways as we are now. From their new vantage point of freedom, they know our enduring plight.

Without romanticizing the situations of present-day nomads, we may take cues from those who have found a different, simpler, freer path outside a system in which winners take all, one that is often brutal and inhumane. By entering into their stories it is possible to engender a rebirth of compassion and empathy. And when we hear the stories of the Holy Family, Jesus and the early Christian communities and take them to heart, we may actually find that their examples of pilgrimage, itinerancy and hospitality provide a way forward for us today in Nomadland.


If you have read other books by Jim Wallis, heard him speak, or followed Sojourners, this book will not be new to you. But Christ in Crisis: Why We Need to Reclaim Jesus may be a tasty consomme, the best of Jim Wallis boiled down to essentials. And it written in what he and many others consider a crisis moment for culture, country and Christians.

Based on “The Reclaiming Declaration,” which is a collective statement by faith leaders, the book falls nicely into ten chapters. The nut of the book is an insistence that Christians in general and evangelical Christians in particular have lost track of the actual sayings, teachings and examples from Jesus himself. In this polarized political time the body politic has become unhinged from its moral bearings. And Christians have defined themselves by a few wedge issues while suspending or ignoring the preponderance of everything else Jesus taught and has been practiced by the Church for centuries.

After making the a theological case for the return to Jesus himself, Wallis devotes entire chapters to questions of who is the neighbor, how are we all created in the image of God, how does one rediscover truth, how is power understood and negotiated, in what ways does fear motivate us, how can must we make decisions about ultimate loyalties when it comes to God and Caesar, what does it take to become peacemakers, and how can we once again enlarge discipleship to actually following Jesus when it comes to life and life together.

All of these questions and suggested answers are relevant and telling, especially as regards the ways in which Wallis claims that Christians have made Faustian bargains with the current political powers and principalities and lost their spiritual bearings as a result.

Reclaiming a way forward requires an ancient project, one that is perfectly suited for today: Identify who we are based on an entirely different criteria than an amoral false Christianity that compromises itself in order to be close to the levers of power.

This is good stuff. Not new, but good. And harder to do than understand.

My guess is that unless Christians embrace this ancient-future wisdom all shall be lost, not only for historic Christian communities, but for a nation that is presently stumbling blindly through a moral and spiritual blackout.