So I'm coming to the end of my little blog series on the dangers of hypocrisy.  And today I'd like to address the fifth and final major area of our lives in which hypocrisy likes to roost:  our attitudes toward knowledge.  For us, "Knowledge" could be educational systems or simply life-experience.  Whatever the criteria, we seem to naturally elevate or put down other people based on their level of knowledge.

This was certainly the case with the Pharisees, back in Jesus' time.  In fact, the main “commodity” that separated the religious teachers from the rest of the people was education.  Religious leaders in that time period simply spent more time reading and studying the Hebrew Scriptures than anyone else.  Thus, they were literate, while most of the population was not.  Unfortunately, they didn’t use their knowledge to help other people, but actually to reinforce their class system.  Jesus noticed this and called them out on it:  "What sorrow awaits you experts in religious law! For you remove the key to knowledge from the people. You don’t enter the Kingdom yourselves, and you prevent others from entering" (Luke 11:52).

These days, there's a classic debate about what "qualifies" someone for ministry.  It just so happens that I had a conversation about this in Berlin about a month ago, together with some other pastors from around Europe.  Historically, our association of churches (Great Commission Churches) has not emphasized formal education (i.e. seminary training and theological degrees), saying that diplomas aren’t always the best criteria for determining who’s prepared to lead a church.  I’ve always kind of agreed with that.  But along the way, there’s become a different, subtle, “knowledge” filter where your ability to teach others comes from life experience.  One regional conference recently boasted that no one was permitted to take the stage and teach at that conference unless they had been leading a Great Commission Church for at least 30 years.  And while, again, there’s some wisdom in this -- and I can kind of go along with it --  it also started to dawn on us, as we were talking, that we’ve developed our own special filter to determine who’s “qualified” and who’s not.  And to be completely honest, I don’t think that filter is the same as God’s.  Even while trying to be vigilant about knowledge-based hypocrisy, we had simultaneously allowed a subtle sort hypocrisy to creep in.  Scary how that can happen, isn't it?

It really comes down to the Holy Spirit.  Not education, not experience:  simply the Holy Spirit.  Jesus explained that the antidote to hypocrisy in the area of knowledge is to rely on the Holy Spirit and not on any conventional wisdom or education.  In Luke 12:11-12, Jesus told his disciples, "When you are brought to trial in the synagogues and before rulers and authorities, don’t worry about how to defend yourself or what to say, for the Holy Spirit will teach you at that time what needs to be said."  This is really cool.  It says that our most advanced systems of knowledge and learning are far inferior to the wisdom that the Holy Spirit gives.  And what Jesus said here actually came true in Acts 4.  Peter and John were put on trial, before the Jewish Sanhedrin, and Peter gave an impassioned speech, with the Scriptures specifically noting that he was filled with the Holy Spirit.  And in Acts 4:13, it says, “The members of the council were amazed when they saw the boldness of Peter and John, for they could see that they were ordinary men with no special training in the Scriptures. They also recognized them as men who had been with Jesus.”  The most important thing for us is to stick close to Jesus, and let him teach us through the Holy Spirit.

The more we can do this, the less we'll be susceptible to knowledge-based hypocrisy.  Like rooting out hypocrisy in any of the other four major areas of our lives, it's not always easy.  But it's definitely worthwhile.

I thought this was too good to not post.  Our family hasn't been talking much about Halloween this year at all, and we're certainly not planning on having a special Halloween party.  But somehow, Elliot recently got the idea to compile a list, to remind himself of what to do on Halloween:

1.  Wear monster masks

2.  Do a monster game

3.  Light candles

4.  Use a jack-o-lantern

5.  Put out monster flags

6.  Eat a scary dessert.

I'm not sure how much of that we'll get around to doing this weekend,  but in case any of you were looking for ideas, well... there you go!

When it comes to hypocrisy, religiosity seems to be the most obvious, most stereotypical pitfall.  It's all the little rules that we make for ourselves.  They can be religious rituals, lists of “do’s” and “don’ts, or just personal values of what we consider acceptable or not acceptable (either explicit or implicit).  It happens whenever we let the means to the end take priority over the end itself -- when we let a relationship become a religion.

Back in 1st Century Palestine, the religiosity of the Pharisees was legendary.  Jesus spoke to the problems with their religiosity when he said, "You Pharisees are so careful to clean the outside of the cup and the dish, but inside you are filthy -- full of greed and wickedness!" (Luke 11:39).  And it was true.  The Pharisees had forgotten about the most essential issues of developing lives of godly generosity and goodness, and had become obsessed with making and keeping rules about cleanliness.  What you’re allowed to touch or not touch...  What you’re allowed to eat or not eat... What you’re allowed to say or not say... There were very strict expectations for how a person’s external appearances and actions would be.  In Luke 11:46, Jesus said, "What sorrow also awaits you experts in religious law! For you crush people with unbearable religious demands, and you never lift a finger to ease the burden."  Religiosity leads to legalism, shaming, and blaming.  In the end, it often separates people from the true heart of God, even though the rules had originally been intended to bring people closer to God.  And in so doing, it creates hypocrisy.

At first, when I started thinking about religiosity in my own life, I was having a hard time seeing where I might be susceptible to my own sorts of hypocrisy.  But as I thought about it, I realized that I can have a problem with being religious about not being religious!

I realize that may not make much sense.  But for instance, last week I blogged about prayer and basically inferred how silly it is when people use really formal, flowery language in talking with God.  And while I still think it’s a good point, as I was recently examining my heart I realized that this value system can sometimes result in a judgmental attitude towards people who pray differently than the way that I might prefer to pray.  A sort of religiosity against the externally-religious -- without much consideration for the true heart behind people and their ways of connecting with God.  Or for another example of this, about a month ago I was encouraging the people in our church to:  "Read your Bible, Pray every day."  And while I was trying to make the point that it doesn’t matter how much you go to church, or how many religious acts you perform -- but that the personal, daily connection with God is the most important -- I also realize that if you take my words totally literally, they become a kind of religiosity just like the Pharisees’ religiosity.  And even I can’t keep up with those religious demands!  I confess that I do not “Read the Bible and pray every day.”  I still think it's a good guideline for one's personal spiritual life, but how fair is it for me to expect that or demand a particular standard from other people?!?  That’s hypocrisy, isn't it?

So as I was studying through the middle chapters of Luke, I was refreshed to realize that the antidote to hypocrisy in the area of religiosity is to practice transparency and humility.  Jesus told his disciples, "The time is coming when everything that is covered up will be revealed, and all that is secret will be made known to all.  Whatever you have said in the dark will be heard in the light, and what you have whispered behind closed doors will be shouted from the housetops for all to hear!" (Luke 12:2-3).  Think about that for a second.  If you really believed that every little thing you whispered behind closed doors would be shouted from the housetops, wouldn’t that change you?!?  I think it would probably change us in a good way... That's partially why I'm doing this blog series, to practice the discipline of transparency.  Practicing humility and transparency may not make us the most attractive people in the world -- but at least it keeps us from being hypocrites!

"Reputation" is a very interesting concept to me.  It seems to be different from culture to culture, and from one historical time period to the next.  In our culture, it might be like being considered “cool.”  But it's more than this, too.  It's all about the ideas of respect, honor, and having other people think well of us.  It's one of the most natural traps for practicing hypocrisy:  wearing masks that make it difficult to sort out truth from fiction.

Honor was very important back in the time of Jesus and the Pharisees (as it still is in most Eastern cultures).  I would venture a guess to say that one of the main advantages to being a Pharisee in those days was gaining a good reputation in the community -- being naturally considered to be respectable, moral, and learned.  Jesus, however, was not so impressed by the reputation of the Pharisees.  He actually said, "What sorrow awaits you Pharisees! For you love to sit in the seats of honor in the synagogues and receive respectful greetings as you walk in the marketplaces.  Yes, what sorrow awaits you! For you are like hidden graves in a field. People walk over them without knowing the corruption they are stepping on" (Luke 11:43-44).  Basically, if anyone looks “too good to be true,” he probably is.  We're all sinners, who have all fallen short of the glory of God.  Of course, there is hope for regeneration and renewal... but we'll never be perfect.  We need to be careful not to let our reputations get ahead of us, lest we become hypocrites.

It's funny.  For me, you'd think that my problems with this would be most obvious in ministry settings, since I am “the pastor” and involved in full-time ministry.  But our culture doesn’t seem to care about ecclesial responsibility too much these days, so this is less of a temptation for me than it would have been for the Pharisees.  No, for me, my main struggles with this are in the areas of “career” and “accomplishments.”  The best example of this conflict comes with my writing group.  I've been a part of the group for almost two years now, and the other members of the group have become great friends... But they still intimidate me sometimes!  They're all way more educated than me (several with multiple degrees from elite Ivy League schools).  They all make way more money than me (not as writers, but as business people in their “day jobs”).  And they all seem to be way more cultured -- and especially more well-read -- than I am!  They seem to devour 10 to 20 books a month and are very adept at discussing the various works that are out there.  But even though I'm nowhere near their league, when I'm with the others from my writing group I can feel very tempted to try and pretend like I'm the same as them.  I talk about myself as being the “director” of a “non-profit” (which is correct, but perhaps misleading when it comes to figuring out what I actually do).  I pretend like I know the books that they’re discussing amongst themselves, even if I’ve only ever heard a title or something (and I happen to get through an average of one or two books per month).  I use my choicest vocabulary when I’m with them... I'm sure you get the picture.

But the truth of the matter is that I’m a pretty regular guy, who went to a very mediocre university, who pastors a church and just tries to squeeze in a bit of reading and writing for fun, whenever I can!

Maybe this scenario doesn’t sound too hypocritical to you.  But I know my heart, and I know that I’ve got issues here!  That's where I need to remind myself that the antidote to hypocrisy in the area of reputation is to find one's identity in Jesus (not in external circumstances or cultural codes).  Luke 12:8-9 says it beautifully:  "I tell you the truth, everyone who acknowledges me publicly here on earth, the Son of Man will also acknowledge in the presence of God’s angels.  But anyone who denies me here on earth will be denied before God’s angels."

Now, I’ve never been one to deny Jesus.  But I haven’t exactly been deliberately acknowledging either.  I'm learning.  I’m growing... so help me, God! 

I've previously blogged about our family's embarrassing misconceptions of the Dutch tradition of "putting out one's shoes" for the Sinterklaas holiday -- mistakenly mixing and matching cross-cultural traditions in a kind of unintentional syncretism...

Well, it was good to find out today that such holiday-related cultural misunderstanding is a two-way street.

After school this afternoon, Marci and the kids got to take part in a jack-o-lantern carving workshop at a neighborhood gardening center.  Pumpkins and carving implements were provided by the store, along with free lemonade and candy -- a nice little event.  But as Elliot and Olivia finished carving their jack-o-lanterns -- just like the real American Halloweeen tradition -- the helpers running the workshop came over and helped them to bore small holes on each side of the jack-o-lantern, so they could run a small length of rope through the pumpkins, forming a loop above the grinning faces.

As she observed this interaction, Marci commented, "Oh, that's a neat idea!  You put a handle on it so you can hang it in a window or something!"  In Ohio, most people just set their jack-o-lanterns on the front porch as a decoration.  But in Amsterdam, where front porches aren't so common, maybe hanging a jack-o-lantern in the front window was just the trick.

But the workshop helper looked at Marci with a puzzled expression.  "Well, I guess you could hang it in a window."  Her tone suggested that this possibility had never even crossed her mind.   "But of course you could also use it for carrying the jack-o-lantern."

It was Marci's turn to be puzzled.  Carry it where?  To the parking lot?  Back to the house?  But then it dawned on her... They were thinking that the jack-o-lanterns would be used in trick-or-treating!  Just like the paper lanterns from Sint Maarten's Day!   And why wouldn't they think this?  The Dutch may be only vaguely familiar with the American Halloween holiday.  But they very well acquainted with Sint Maarten's Day -- the nearest cultural equivalent, in which Dutch children travel from house to house in late autumn, soliciting treats from neighbors while carrying paper lanterns to light the way.  So of course, the misunderstanding about the jack-o-lanterns makes total sense.  It's a home-made lantern, too, right?  And it goes with that holiday around this time of year, right?  It makes perfect sense to a Dutchman!

Except that nobody in America celebrates it that way.

Like I said, it's just nice to see that the door to cultural misunderstandings swings both ways.  Marci decided not to tell the workshop helpers at the garden center about the gaffe -- choosing to simply accept their gracious attempts to celebrate a unique American holiday in their own special ways.  And when they all got home around suppertime, they headed straight for the front window to hang their jack-o-lanterns there for all to see.

Those of us who live in Europe and North America have unprecedented resources at our disposal.  Relatively speaking, we are incredibly wealthy.  And yet, our abundance of financial resources does not typically seem to result in a corresponding abundance of generosity.  If anything, wealth often seems to create more materialism, hedonism, and narcissism!  Why is that?!?  I think it has to do with greed.  But what's crazy about greed is that it doesn't always mean compulsive hoarding or embezzling or stealing.  Our greed can often be very subtle, and this lies at the heart of our hypocrisy, when it comes to our finances.

Two-thousand years ago, the Pharisees were some of the most disciplined people ever, when it came to their material resources.  They followed -- literally -- all the Old Testament laws about tithing:  giving 10 percent of everything (and I mean everything) to God.  Land, income, livestock, crops -- even each little herb and spice!  Their commitment to these principles of financial management was admirable.  Awe-inspiring, even.  But even though they kept immaculate books on their tithing, their hearts were not always in the right places.  In fact, when Jesus talked to the Pharisees about their financial hypocrisy, he said, "What sorrow awaits you Pharisees! For you are careful to tithe even the tiniest income from your herb gardens, (the Greek here actually says, “you tithe the mint, the rue, and every herb”) but you ignore justice and the love of God. You should tithe, yes, but do not neglect the more important things" (Luke 11:42).  Apparently, tithing does not automatically cure you of selfish motives.  Later on, Jesus also says, “Beware! Guard against every kind of greed. Life is not measured by how much you own” (Luke 12:15).

Reading all of this got me to thinking.  Like the Pharisees, I’m actually very methodical about my generosity.  I'm a regular tither (and have been for the last 10 years).  I even give above and beyond my tithe to support other “worthy causes.”  But if I really stop to examine my heart about this, I realize that my “generosity” is really more motivated by a sense of religious obligation (knowing what I “should” be doing) more than an actual heart of generosity.  If I'm really honest about it, I feel like I'm not a very merciful person at all.  I don't really care all that much about the homeless or the poor.  My heart isn't really affected by those problems at all (or, if it is, it's more out of repulsion than empathy!).  My wife helps to balance me out in this a little bit, so I'm glad for that.  But the truth is that any appearance of generosity on my part is largely a mask:  an act of hypocrisy.

I realize that this is kind of a tricky balance.  It's good to be disciplined, even if you don't feel like doing something.  But as I thought about it, I felt God challenging me in this area.  A good example of how I miss the bigger picture is my attitude towards my Cherry Coke (or Coke or Dr. Pepper).  You see, I try to limit myself to two liters of soft drink per week -- so I don't get fat or get rotten teeth or anything like that... Thus, my cola is a very precious commodity to me, maybe even more valuable than money, in certain ways (it's so dumb, because it's just sugar and water and bubbles... but that's my heart, if I'm being perfectly honest).  So if we ever have guests come over, I’ll always play the role of the good host:  “Can I get you anything to drink?  Water, coffee, tea?”  But... You guessed it:  I won't offer my cola!  At times, I've even gone so far as to hide my precious bottle of Cherry Coke in the back of the refrigerator or in a different part of the house altogether!  It's ridiculous, but it's true!  So it's hard to escape the fact that I'm a hypocrite when it comes to my resources.

That's where it's good to remember that the antidote to hypocrisy in the area of finances is to focus on a rich relationship with God, depending on Him (instead of our material resources) for our every need.  Luke 12:21 says it so simply, but so eloquently:  "Yes, a person is a fool to store up earthly wealth but not have a rich relationship with God."  Luke 12:29-31 adds, "And don’t be concerned about what to eat and what to drink. Don’t worry about such things.  These things dominate the thoughts of unbelievers all over the world, but your Father already knows your needs.  Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and he will give you everything you need.

This isn't so tricky, in theory.  But then again, it's very tricky, in practice.  I want to trust God more and more in this area of my life, developing true generosity... So next time you come over to my house, ask if I've got any soft drinks on hand, and we'll see how I'm doing with that one. :-) 

Why do we seem to be so naturally geared towards categorizing ourselves?  It seems to be an inborn human trait, expressed whenever three or more people get together (I can say this so confidently because I am the father of three children!).  In our society, we have so many artificial divisions of people or people groups -- clubs, cliques, or categories signifying who's “In” and who's “Out.”  It's hard to say exactly why we do this, but our little factions seem to be some of the main places where hypocrisy often sets in.

In Jesus' day, the Pharisees were classic at this.  In Luke 11, people were criticizing Jesus and calling him a tool of the devil.  He was doing a good thing -- bringing freedom to people who had been spiritually enslaved -- but they were criticizing it because of their own jealousies and insecurities.  Jesus responded to them by saying (in Luke 11:17), “Any kingdom divided by civil war is doomed. A family splintered by feuding will fall apart."  A little bit later (in verses 47-49), Jesus went on to talk about how their ancestors had historically mistreated prophets because of their factional thinking -- though, ironically, later generations would use these same prophets to create their own new factions:  from A to Z (Abel to Zechariah)!  Suffice to say: factions were a big part of the Pharisees' hypocrisy.

But as I was recently considering Jesus' challenges in this area of hypocrisy, I realized that I have this problem with factions sometimes too.  As a matter of fact, I have issues with this in a lot of different areas of my life:  mild forms of nationalism, intellectualism, classism, racism, etc.  It's embarrassing to realize, really.  But as I kept thinking about it, it occurred to me that Christian denominations are perhaps one of the most obvious, most appropriate, and most ironic examples of this.  You see, I grew up Baptist:  no drinking, no swearing, talking about being “born again,” practicing believer (adult) baptism, etc.  We had our own views of what was most important.  But what's strange is that we Baptists had all kinds of jokes about the Lutherans and the Catholics, and other denominations of Christians... And though I can't say that this is a major part of my life or ministry today, I realize that some of those images of these other Christian denominations have stuck with me and still plague my thinking about other groups.  There are still times today when I will be talking to another Christian, and I think to myself, “Ahhh, I see.  You like to sing those types of songs... Aha! You wear those types of clothes when you go to church... You think that particular kind of worship experience is the most important.”  And in my heart, I put up these walls that separate me from these others.

As much as I don't like to admit it:  I'm a hypocrite, when it comes to factional thinking.

It's wonderful to see, though, that Jesus offers hope for those of us recovering from hypocrisy in this area.  Basically, he says that the antidote to hypocrisy in the area of factions is to fear God instead of fearing people.  I think this has to do with the fact that most factions seem to be based on fear and insecurity.  We separate ourselves from others because we don't understand them, or we're afraid of them, or we feel less secure about ourselves when we're around them.  In contrast to this way of life, Jesus says, "Dear friends, don’t be afraid of those who want to kill your body; they cannot do any more to you after that.  But I’ll tell you whom to fear. Fear God, who has the power to kill you and then throw you into hell. Yes, he’s the one to fear." (Luke 12:4-5).  Jesus offers another beautiful example of alternative thinking in Luke 11:27-28, where the text notes "As he was speaking, a woman in the crowd called out, 'God bless your mother -- the womb from which you came, and the breasts that nursed you!' Jesus replied, 'But even more blessed are all who hear the word of God and put it into practice.'  And in that interaction, I notice that it doesn't help for us to set up a cult around a particular denomination or personality, putting the priority on the spiritual (or physical) wombs that bore us or breasts that nursed us.  More important than setting up our own clubs to ensure who's in and who's out, we need to simply hear the word of God and put it into practice.

It is, perhaps, easier said than done.  But I'm invigorated by the challenge!

I’m guessing that most people would agree that hypocrisy is a a bad thing.  Especially among “religious people.”  Jesus certainly thought so, and there are some spectacular sections of the Bible where Jesus goes off on the hypocrites of his day.  It’s a very real temptation to read these sections of the Bible and think to ourselves, “Yeah, this is good stuff for my parents... or the person from my home group... or the people from “that one church” or a certain “type” of church.  Hypocrisy is something that’s very easy to see in others, but not so often in ourselves, and our communities, and our churches.

The fact is we're all recovering hypocrites.  Or, to take away any sense of blame-shifting -- I am a recovering hypocrite!

There are these two moments from the middle part of the Gospel of Luke where people jump in on Jesus’ criticisms of the hypocrites among them -- and in both cases, Jesus directly leads us back to the understanding that the seeds of hypocrisy are within each and every one of us.  In the first instance, in chapter 11, Jesus’ is pointing out some of the hypocrisy of the Pharisees (a specific sub-culture within Judaism at that time).  Some of the other religious teachers (from a different Jewish sub-culture) are listening and thinking that they’re on the good side -- since they “always" disagree with the Pharisees -- but then they start to feel a little bit uncomfortable with how close the criticism is getting to their own ways of doing things.  They pipe up, in verses 45 and 46.  “Teacher,” said an expert in religious law, “you have insulted us, too, in what you just said.”  “Yes,” said Jesus, “what sorrow also awaits you experts in religious law!”  And then he goes on to list out some of their hypocrisy, too.  In the second instance, later, in the second half of chapter 12, Jesus is telling his disciples that they need to live with consistency and integrity -- not just performing in some certain way because the spotlight happens to be on them.  Instead, Jesus tells them that they need to be ready for God’s judgment at all times, like a homeowner being constantly vigilant against burglars.  But again, one of the disciples (Peter) again pipes up, in Luke 12:41, and he asks:  “Lord, is that illustration just for us or for everyone?”  And Jesus answers that question by saying that it’s an illustration for anyone and everyone who will listen to it.

So all that goes to say:  We need to seriously examine ourselves.  And we need to ask for God to open our eyes to the hypocrisy in our own lives.

I’m pretty firmly convinced that we’re not so different from the Pharisees (and other religious teachers) from Jesus’ time.  The word “Pharisee” has become almost like a synonym for “hypocrite” in our society; but that’s not entirely fair to the Pharisees.  In truth, the Pharisees were good, moral people.  They believed in a supernatural God who was actively involved with their day-to-day lives.  They represented the “Common People.”  So really, I don't think it's fair to think of them as the “Bad Guys.”  But they did have some problems with hypocrisy.  And this is one thing that Jesus would not leave unchallenged.  Regularly and deliberately, he provoked the religious leaders where their hypocrisy was most obvious and problematic.  In the middle chapters of Luke, Jesus speaks about the dangers of hypocrisy with remarkable candor and clarity, also offering something of an antidote to this poison in our lives.  In particular, he points out five major areas of hypocrisy:  (1) Factions, (2) Finances, (3) Reputation, (4) Religiosity, and (5) Knowledge.

As I studied through this section of the Bible, I was ashamed to discover some of the hypocrisy in my own life... but also kind of, well (I know it sounds strange to say this, but...) relieved.  Over the past couple of weeks, I've been opening up about my imperfections and hypocritical tendencies -- and I've found it to be remarkably liberating and healing.  So I thought I would outline some of my studies from the middle chapters of Luke in five subsequent posts about this topic (relating to the five major areas of hypocrisy).  And again, instead of making this a study about "sticking it to the Man" or calling out some particular denomination or church -- instead of pointing fingers at others -- I'm examining myself.

And if it proves to have some benefit for you examining your own life, so much the better. 

This weekend, our family had a fun time picking apples at the Olmenhorst Orchard (something of an annual family tradition) and visiting the Polder Licht interactive light-based art exhibition in our neighborhood.

In case you're interested, you can find more pictures from the Apple Orchard outing in the Family Pictures section of the website, and more pictures of the Polder Licht experience in the Amsterdam Pictures section.

I don't believe there are any photographs of the initial staff team that moved over to Amsterdam in 2002-03 to help establish Stichting GCM-Netherlands.  At least I don't have any.  The above compilation of images from a staff boating excursion (in June 2003) is the closest I can get, when looking through my own archives.  But I still remember that team well:  Steve, Chris, Todd, Lee, Patricia, and me.  Five married guys, and one single woman.  It was a good team; but it started changing within a month of when these photos were taken.

Steve (and family) left first.  Eventually Joe (and family) moved over.  Linda, too.  And we also welcomed two interns from GCM's One Year program:  Erica and Jen.  Bret eventually came on staff, too.  So in the first officially-posed Stichting GCM-Netherlands staff team group portrait (taken in February 2004), we had six married guys and three single women (Linda was also living in Amsterdam at the time, but her role was not yet related to Stichting GCM-Netherlands activities).

Well, time has passed and teams have changed.  To the point that our current staff team is as seen below:  Naomi, Patricia, Eva, Leslie, Linda, and me (photo from summer 2009).

That's five single women and one married man.  And the demographic shift is not just a staff team thing!  The original church-planting team (which also included many people who came to Amsterdam as students and professionals), started out with a total of 36 people (not counting children).  Then, over the following two years, an additional 10 "reinforcements" were sent over to Amsterdam from the United States -- thus bringing the total to 46 people (though there were never more than 35 of us here at the same time).  Of those 46 people, there were 28 women, and 18 men.  A total of 14 married couples.  So women have always been the majority -- though men have historically been the majority on the GCM-NL staff team -- and historically speaking, there have been slightly more married folks than singles.

So it strikes me as ironic that I'm now the only male left, and Marci and I are the only married couple (though Heidi, also from the original team, has since married a Nederlander).  Ironic, and yes:  sometimes a little bit sad and lonely.

But more than any kind of disappointment or disenfranchisement, I think our staff team's demographic shifts are simply a poignant demonstration of change.  In a good way.  Our ministry has changed a lot through the years.  And yes, it is possible to be sad and wistful about the changes.  The church we came to start has become a dramatically different church since 2002-2003 -- but that's simply because it's a living organism.  A growing, adapting, maturing, dynamic organism.  And our staff team changes have paved the way for these developments.  Our staff team changes have opened the way for young Europeans to take on leadership roles and develop a sense of ownership for what's going on in the church, while the staff of GCM-NL have been able to start branching out in other directions of ministry.  I have to believe that our times (and our teams) are in God's hands.  And that's a comforting thing to realize.

Language is full of trap-doors, surprise snares, pitfalls.  But I only recently figured out that the Dutch word for this type of misleading mistake -- valkuil -- is, in fact, a trap-door surprise of its own.

You see, previously, I had always heard the word valkuil as valk - uil (falcon - owl).  And I had actually come to like the connotation of a dangerous falcon-owl, catching us in our moments of weakness.  It seemed like a very vibrant word-picture:  some stealthy bird of prey sneaking up behind us on a seemingly pleasant and peaceful evening stroll and digging his talons into our unsuspecting shoulders.

But for whatever reason, it just recently dawned on me that my personal translation of this word has been incorrect.  Embarrassingly off.  The more correct interpretation of the phrase valkuil is actually val - kuil (fall - pit).  Of course, this actually makes a lot more sense, as it's basically a direct translation of the English term "pit-fall."  But, albeit more logical, I somehow find this realization disappointing.

So all that to say this:  Beware the valkuil, whether it's the talons or the drop.

This is a piece that I wrote a couple of years ago, trying to put words and images to my experiences of prayer and meditation with God.  I shared it at our church earlier this evening, as a part of a larger message on prayer (with Luke 11 as base text).  A couple of people asked if I might be posting the piece on my website... so I said I would.  Here it is:  the Story of the Ocean and the Styrofoam Cup

The ocean is filled with life, motion, color, power, and vast expanses of mysterious depths. And the styrofoam cup is filled with the remnants of yesterday's coffee -- cold, bitter, a slightly metallic aftertaste as but a memory...

The ocean is framed by rocky cliffs, wide beaches of powdered sand, glorious cities with gleaming skylines, and an infinite stretch of horizon hosting rosy dawns and amber sunsets. And the styrofoam cup is framed by dingy, dented, pressed-chemical-compound with brown stains and the indentations of anxious incisors...

And yet -- and yet... the ocean invites the styrofoam cup to submerse its tired corrugated form into the infinite, enchanted fathoms of living water. And if -- and when and as long and as often and as deep as -- the styrofoam cup dares to be immersed, a miracle of renewal is enacted.

The ancient, briny deep enters the shallow confines of the dilapidated space-age refuse. Not merely into but around, under, through, over, out, and in again. The substances and stains of the styrofoam cup are scoured and scuttled by the ebbs and flows of the salts, minerals, and microbes of the ocean water. Yesterday's coffee grounds, saliva, and bacteria are combined with the primordial depths until they are so diluted as to be indistinguishable from the hundreds of billions of molecules which hold their imprint from the dawn of time. The rolling tide reshapes the supple styrofoam into something clean, new, bright, and beautiful.

And when the styrofoam cup is lifted from the ocean, it is drenched and dripping. And filled to overflowing with infinity.

David and Charlie had been meaning to sit down for a heart-to-heart for quite some time.  They'd had some random, passing encounters over the previous weeks, but nothing really meaningful.  But finally, over morning coffee at the Salon, they had their opportunity to chat.

Charlie arrived a couple of minutes before their scheduled appointment.  He smiled warmly upon seeing his friend walk through the front door, and they briefly embraced.  They ordered two cups of regular black coffee and sat down to talk.

David was the first to talk.  "Charlie, I thank you for meeting me here this morning.  It's a beautiful day, Charlie, and I just want to say that it's good to see you again, friend."

There was a brief pause in the conversation.  Charlie opened his mouth to speak, but before any words could come out, David started talking again.  "Charlie, I ask that you would listen to me this morning.  Friend, I want to say that  Beth and I have been going through a tough period in our marriage, friend.  And Charlie, I say that we need help... Charlie, I ask that if there's any way for you to help us understand each other -- to mediate between us in our time of trial -- that you would speak to us, Charlie, and tell us how we might help one another get through this."

Charlie lifted his eyebrows, concerned for his friend, and again attempted to form a response.  But again, without any eye contact or acknowledgement of his conversational awkwardness, David again plowed ahead with his monologue.

"Oh, Charlie... I also want to lift up the topic of Zack's struggles with his learning disabilities, Charlie..."

Charlie was quite familiar with Zack's dyslexia and subsequent educational and social challenges.  David and he had talked about the situation numerous times.  Having children of his own, Charlie knew how elementary school kids could be relentless with their peers, and he knew that it also weighed heavily on David and Beth, as with any set of parents wanting nothing but the best for their child.  So Charlie leaned forward and put a hand on David's forearm, to comfort him.  He nodded sympathetically and leaned in to offer words of comfort and reassurance.  But again, David ignored the friend sitting in front of him and continued in a half-moan, "It's so hard for us, Charlie.  We don't know what to do, Charlie.  I know that you've dealt with situations like this before, Charlie, and I want to ask if there's anything that we could do to help Zack.  Friend, I ask if you could help us understand what to do in this situation.  I say that you are a good friend, Charlie, and you can help us if you want to."

Charlie sat still, listening, waiting for his moment to talk.  He knew that his friend was not trying to be rude or awkward.  He knew that David genuinely wanted his advice, which he would be glad to offer.   But he understood, in this moment, that he needed to wait for David to speak his piece.

"Well, Charlie... I'm afraid I need to get going now.  I've got to run and pick up the dry-cleaning, and then I'm meeting Beth for lunch.  Would you please wish us well in that conversation, Charlie?  I thank you for the opportunity to talk again, Charlie.  I ask that it could be a longer conversation next time, Charlie.  But for now, I close this conversation."  And without another glance at his friend sitting across the table from him, David stood up, tossed a couple of bucks on the table to cover the cost of his coffee, and darted out the front door.  Charlie didn't even get a chance to say good-bye.  He just sat at the table, smiling at the bizarre turn of events which had just taken place.   When the waitress passed by and asked if he'd like a warm-up on his coffee, Charlie just nodded with a pleasant look on his face and said, "Yes I would.  Thanks for asking."

Marci got me started with listening to This American Life.  It's a radio program, broadcast by Public Radio International (PRI).  For the last couple of months, I've been downloading their weekly podcast and enjoying the program while I bike throughout Amsterdam.  My main reasons for enjoying the program are its artistry and entertainment.  Just plain good storytelling.  But this week's episode about health care in the United States was not just entertaining and artistic (as usual), but also remarkably educational.

Health-care in the USA a very worn-out topic, but I feel that this piece covered it from some angles that I had never heard before.  You'd have to hear the whole episode to know what I'm really talking about, but I was particularly intrigued by one anecdote from "Act 2" of the program.

It tells the story of a teenage girl who was in a minor car wreck.  As a precaution, she was brought into ER, with her neck stabilized as a precaution against potential spinal injury.  When the doctor on the scene performed some manual exams, he was able to determine that a fracture was extremely unlikely and that the girl was, in fact, not seriously injured.  When the girl's father showed up, however, the doctor was confronted with a very different situation:  "a very tall, very powerful figure who was very upset and spoke very loudly and he also happened to mention that he was a lawyer and that there would be consequences for anyerror that we made."  Basically, in spite of the physician's professional opinion, the teenaged girl's father demanded not just an x-ray but a CAT scan, which involves significantly greater cost and greater exposure to radiation.  As the doctor explained on the program, the dangers that an otherwise healthy girl would face by taking an unneccessary CAT scan could eventually result in not just trivial harm, but "important harm" (for example, a greater risk of thyroid cancer later in life).  But the father persisted in his aggressive tactics, insisting on a CAT scan.  Again, the doctor was 99.9% sure that a CAT scan would be more harmful than beneficial to the patient, but he was faced by a dilema that he was suddenly able to articulate to the patient's father, like an epiphany, as he explained to him below:

 "You know, for me it really is the right thing to do the CAT scan.  If I don't do the CAT scan, you're probably going to lodge a complaint about me; if I do the CAT scan, you're going to be really happy with me.  In addition, I'm almost certain that your daughter is fine; but there's a, maybe, one in a million chance that she isn't, that there really is a hidden factor and I'm missing it.  If that's the case, then the CAT scan will save my butt.  On the other hand, if I do the CAT scan and your daughter gets a cancer, maybe 20 years from now, no one will blame me.  In addition, I'm spending a lot of time talking to you here that I need to be going and doing other things.  If I got the CAT scan, I could do it in a second.  It would be done with; it would be easy.  Finally, the really strange thing is that I'll get paid more if I do the CAT scan.  With the way that  bills are made, you get paid more for more complex patients.  The insurance companies of the world think that it proves that the patient was more complex and more difficult if you had to do a CAT scan!  So everything about this was pushing me to do the CAT scan.  There's only one problem:  which is that when I decided to become a doctor, I made a pledge.  And the pledge was that I would put my patients' interests in front of my own interests.  In this case, my judgment was that it was not in my patient's interest to do the CAT scan, and therefore I can't do it."

Eventually, the father of the daughter from the car accident elected not to press the issue further, and the doctor's judgment stood.  But the whole situation dramatically illustrated many of the problems facing health care in the United States of America.

I've run across many of these same dilemas, first-hand, since moving to the Netherlands and experiencing a different health care system.  To be honest, the Dutch system has often frustrated me, the disgruntled American patient.   But I've been learning about how things can be done differently.  And the above-mentioned broadcast helped to make things even more clear.  Perhaps you'd be as interested in listening to it as I was.

Today was as cool and crisp as an apple, just as October should be.  I'll probably have to dig out the gloves for tomorrow's bicycling, which is kind of bothersome, but honestly I don't mind the hooded sweatshirts and breathing clouds of condensation.  True, there's something solemn and sobering about the advance of autumn.  But this is actually one of my favorite times of the year.

I realized today that this may be the first year since moving to Amsterdam in which I felt a true cycle of all four seasons:  skating on the canals back in January, watching the trees blossom and bud against electric blue skies in April, soaking up sunshine and serendipity of basketball, butterflies, and cucumbers in July, and now feeling the fall on our flushed cheeks and chilled fingers here in October.

My stereotypically assessment of Amsterdam's seasons has been clammy, cool, concrete-skied winters... dreary, drippy springs... about two weeks per year of moderately-warm summers... and slow, gray decent through the autumn months in to slow, gray winters again.

Either my perceptions are changing, or the seasons have just been more pronounced this year.  Or both.  In any event, I think that seasons are a beautiful thing.

Mr. Vermillion always wore red socks.  He was the choir director when I was in junior high school.  I remember him as being a good teacher; but even more than his teaching, I remember his red socks.  If I recall his explanation correctly, the red socks were a practical solution more than a fashion statement.  An entire collection of nothing but red socks meant no hassles in finding matches, no difficulties in deciding what type of socks to wear for a specific occasion, no danger in having one's socks mistaken for someone else's.  As a 13-year-old boy, I remember hearing his explanations about his red socks and thinking that Mr. Vermillion was one of the coolest and wisest men I knew.

I'm not as cool as Mr. Vermillion.  But after replacing an old worn-out pair of shoes with a newer set of the exact same type earlier this week, I think I'm getting there.

In fact, I've been wearing almost exclusively this same kind of shoes -- simple black-and-white Adidas Sambas -- for about six and a half years now.  I got my first pair back in my first year of living in Amsterdam and liked them immediately.  Simple design, well-made, not too expensive (at least not for name-brand shoes), very comfortable, passable as sports shoes but also great as plain old street shoes.  Adidas has been making the Sambas since 1950, and it doesn't seem like they're going to be changing their production patterns anytime soon.  So when my first set of Sambas got worn out (I consider it a good sign that it's always the soles that wear out first -- simply from getting too much mileage), I bought another pair.  And then, now that the soles of the second pair wore out, almost completely in some places, I got my third pair of Sambas.  And I still love them.  They're my normal, everyday shoes.  I probably wear them about 90 percent of the time I'm outside of the house (only opting for my other shoes when I absolutely have to look fancy or professional).

I don't know how cool it is to be so unchanging and unoriginal.  But I'm happy to have found something that works for me.  Maybe one of these days I'll graduate to red socks, too.

I was just recently noticing that the Amsterdam Pictures section of the website was down to just five pictures.  So I decided I needed to do something about -- specifically going on a photo safari in our neighborhood.

It's easy to complain about the fall rains here in the Netherlands.  They can be dreary, drenching, and depressing.  But when the sun does break through, the colors in the city are absolutely brilliant:  shockingly blue skies, yellow flowers, green grass.

It's good to remember the beautiful parts about this time of the year, too.

If you'd like to see any more pictures of "October in Oost," you can find them in the aforementioned (and now a bit replenished) Amsterdam Pictures section.

No question about it:  Cor is a tough kid.  You kind of have to be, as the youngest of three kids.  Cor never wants to be left out of anything, so he's always doing the same crazy things that Elliot and Olivia are doing -- even if it's perhaps a bit too physically-challenging for him.

Jump-dancing on the bed, to the tune of my clock-radio, is just such a case in point.  A somewhat challenging balancing exercise, even for an adult -- and especially for a two-year-old.  And this past weekend, Cor had a little accident as he was navigating the treacherous terrain of the squishy surface of the bed and the very-hard, very-sharp corner of the bedside table on which my clock-radio sits.

Ouch.

He's developed a truly magnificent shiner out of the deal -- now starting to turn all sorts of marvelous shades of black, blue, purple, red, green, gray, and yellow.  Everywhere he goes, he gets sympathetic cooing and sighs of "O, wat zielig!"  It really is quite the sight.

But Cor is taking it all in stride.  Because he's a tough guy, a little bruiser in his own right.  Fortunately, everything seems to be healing up pretty well.  But I just had to get some of these pictures for posterity's sake...

It's 6:30 in the morning.  I jump out of bed, throw on some clothes, and franctically prepare for the day ahead of me.  By 6:49 I'm parked in front of the screen, hot blood pumping through my ears, stomach made queasy by a sudden wash of adrenaline.  The advertisements seem eternal.  But then, finally, the results.

And oh, the joy.  The ecstasy.  Twins win!  Twins win!  Twins win!

Yes, I know it's embarrassing -- to get that excited over a silly baseball game.  But I think it's less about this season's (and specifically yesterday evening's) triumph,  dramatically winning the American League Central Division's championship over the Detroit Tigers, and more about remembering my childhood.

Because as much as the first paragraph above describes my actions from this morning -- going on-line to find out what had happened on the other side of the Atlantic while I slept last night -- it was actually written as a recollection from October of 1991.  I was 14 years old.  Having moved to Ohio from western Wisconsin when I was 10 years old, I somehow pinned a part of my identity to the Minnesota sports teams (even while everyone else around me cheered for Cleveland teams); and my bedroom walls were covered with posters of Anthony Carter and (especially) Kirby Puckett.  And 1991 was a good year to be a Minnesota Twins fan.  The previous year, they had been the worst team in baseball, but that year they had become the best team.  They were playing against the Atlanta Braves in the World Series, and I hung on every newspaper box score and television recap (which, given the local television networks' Ohio constituencies, only allowed the most cursory coverage of Twins highlights).  CNN Headline News was the only channel which could be reliably expected to report on the Twins' successes.  So I depended on their half-hourly sports updates (delivered at 20 minutes after the hour and 50 minutes after the hour).  And that year, every loss meant depression and despondancy.  And every win represented joy, ecstasy, and (oddly enough) a sense of self-affirmation.  I would be able to hold my head high in school that day.

The World Series that year went a whole seven games.  Tied at 3 games to 3, whoever won the seventh game of the World Series would be the world champion.  But wouldn't you know it:  the game happened to fall upon a school night.  So I had to go to bed without knowing the results of the game!  I don't know if I ever jumped out of bed as quickly as that following morning, anxiously awaiting the tidings that CNN Headline News would bring me at 6:50 AM.

When I learned that the Twins had won in extra innings, in one of the greatest World Series finshes of all time, I was... euphoric -- though even that word doesn't seem to come close to describing my joy.  It was probably one of the happiest moments of my life.  I know it sounds ridiculous to say that, but it really made that big of an impression on me.  I still remember the sights and sounds of that morning vividly.  I remember strutting around school with my Twins shirt on, soaking up the glory of that October morning.

I've grown up a lot since then.  Sports have become a significantly smaller part of my life (which is probably just as well).  And even when I do check in on sports scores these days, I'm actually much more balanced in my enthusiasm -- even investing a bit of emotinoal energy in the Ohio teams that I once loathed.  But when the Twins win another division title in dramatic fashion (some of the write-ups in the on-line news sources this morning talked about it as if it was one of the greatest baseball games of all time), pulling out a win in extra innings, jumping around on the artificial kermit-green turf of the Metrodome, you'll have to forgive me if my heart strings ended up getting tugged a little bit.  I don't hold out a whole lot of hope that they'll make it much further in the post-season this year (even making it out of the first round of the playoffs would be pretty impressive)... but you can bet I'll be checking the scores each morning.

I'm a soldier, an assassin, a killer.

I'm a precision-instrument of technological warfare.

Nothing can stop me.  No thing.  No one.

The 104 triggers of my weapon are red-hot, blistering from repeated use.  A morning of clattering and clacking has, at last, subsided into a low hum.  The dust is settling.  The carnage is completed.  It was a heavy morning.  Dodging and returning incoming fire, even as I was on my own rampage.  But it's over now... at least for today.

Yes, since starting work this morning, I have sent out no fewer than 188 e-mails.  One-hundred-eighty-eight.  For real.  No mass mails either -- each one was personalized and individually sent.  I was on a mission.  I wasn't going to stop until the job was done.

Because I'm a soldier, an assassin, a killer.  You better not mess with me.

I’ve always resisted the idea of a pastor being one who simply "marries and buries."  One whose job is supposedly to perform weddings and funerals, baby dedications and hospital visitations, Christmases and Easters.  You know, that idea of the pastor being the keeper of the cultural faith, the religious master of ceremonies for certain special occasions and rites of passage... it just feels like a relic to me, something from a bygone era of "Christian" America and Europe...

I prefer to think of “ministry” in a much more holistic fashion.  It's not just about sermons and ceremonies; it's about the day-to-day grind of life.  Trying to follow Jesus in everyday existence -- simply devoting ourselves to "the apostles' teaching and to the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer" (Acts 2:42).  Something that happens not just in the "Temple courts" but also from "house to house," as basic as sharing a meal together.  In this regard, I guess you could say I've attached myself to an even more traditional (pre-Constantinian) image of the pastor as being the "shepherd," just taking care of a big ol' flock of sheep day in, day out (even though this can also be really frustrating for me sometimes).  Shepherd / friend / care-taker / utility infielder...

This is, in effect, what I originally "signed up for" when I decided to go into full-time ministry.  It definitely wasn't preaching sermons or officiating ceremonies; it was just spending time with young people, talking about life over a cup of coffee, getting to know each other while taking a walk or playing basketball or that type of thing.  It was "hanging out," interacting with people in groups of 3 or 4 or 10, talking about life and love and faith and doubt.  That's where I figured real life and real ministry happened.  And for the majority of my decade in full-time ministry, that is exactly how my ministry has worked itself out.  For that matter, I think I'd be very content for it to stay that way for the rest of the time that God may keep me in this line of work.

Even so, I'm also coming to terms with the "official Christian stuff."

Over the last six months -- probably not so happenstance, considering the coincidental departure of my co-pastor who had previously played more of the official "mouthpiece" role -- the "official Christian stuff" seems like it's become more and more a part of what I'm doing.  I'm preaching more for our Sunday worship gatherings.  Last month, I performed my first wedding.  Last week, just like the church sending out missionaries in the Book of Acts, I and some others from the church prayed and laid hands on a woman from our community who's moving to Mozambique for a year-and-a-half to work for a development organization.  Later this month, we're planning a baby dedication for some dear friends who've just had their first child.  I look back on the years here in Amsterdam and realize that I've baptized dozens of people.

Over the past months, I've spent hours talking people through various ask-outs, break-ups, and general relational angst.  I've prayed with people as they've struggled to overcome addictions and offered practical help to people confined to crutches and wheelchairs.  I've represented our church at city-wide ministry functions and in small fellowships of pastors.  In short, I've been playing the classic role of the "minister."

What's surprised me is that I've not felt "relegated" to this role at all.  On the contrary, I've found joy in it!  I still believe in a more holistic vision of "ministry" that goes way beyond the sermons and ceremonies.  But I've come to see that such a view doesn't necessarily preclude participation in classic church ceremonies.  In fact, there's something beautiful in the opportunity to help maintain an awareness of God through the rites of passage which mark significant life changes:  struggling through relationships, getting married, having babies, living life.  These occasions mark a fresh opportunity to depend on God in a new area of responsibility or commitment -- and, if anything, I've found that the participants in these ceremonies are not bothered by "token religious obligations" but actually more spiritually open and pliable during such transitions.  Not to mention the fact that such events within a Christian community also typically prove to be strategic chances to interact with non-Christian friends and family as well!  No, this "official Christian stuff" is not a burden, a liability, or an occupational hazard; it's a position of honor, to help spiritually support people through unforgettable life experiences.  It's shepherding in one of its purest forms!

I've still got a lot to learn, I'm sure.  But I felt it was helpful for me to put some of these pieces together in my own mind -- to assure myself that I'm not some kind of sell-out or corporate tool.  As a third-generation minister, I can be especially self-conscious about potential misconceptions of ministry.  Yes, I'm doing a lot of the same things that my father did, before me, and his father, before him.  It's true that the hand-book for these occasions hasn't changed a whole lot in the last hundred years (note:  the images here with this post are taken from Hiscox's "Star Book for Ministers," originally published in 1878 and reprinted in 1906, originally inscribed by my grandfather).  But that doesn't mean that the "official Christian" events we celebrate are not fresh or meaningful.  They can be fresh and time-honored at the same time!

And so, I consider it a great privilege that I can continue with the work of marrying, burying, and carrying on... so help me, God. 

Elliot has somehow gotten back into the habit of blogging again.  It's hard to say how long his interest will last, but for the time being he's writing a lot of poems on his blog.   Most of them are kind of silly, but today he wrote one that I thought was genuinely beautiful.  I thought I'd share it with you:

The Autumn Sounds
By Elliot Asp

The birds are flying in the breeze.
The leaves are shaking in the trees.

The mole
is digging his hole.

The skink
is taking his drink.

The deer
is sitting right here.

The squirrel
is going to hurl
acorns at the girl.

And I
am looking at the sky.

It's definitely getting to be autumn here in Amsterdam.  I don't mind too much -- though the prospect of imminent winter does not excite me.  And it certainly would be nice to see more of the leaves and acorns and deer and such that are actually a bit hard to come by in the city.  But even so, I'm choosing to enjoy the moment for what it is.   Autumn in Amsterdam.

This fall, our church has been going through a process of transformation (previously explained here).  And as a part of this process, we've been using part of our weekly worship gatherings to take everyone through a sort of "workshop" experience -- where we try to practically sift through the possibilities for the future in smaller groups.  The first two weeks, we focused our attention on talking about "What is?" (specifically trying to figure out what our church's overall strengths and weaknesses might be).  The second two weeks, we've turned to talking about "What could be?" (creatively brainstorming possibilities for the future).  And after one more week of "What could be?" we're going to spend the rest of the calendar year talking about "What will be?"  It's been an interesting and enlightening process, and I trust that God is using it to develop us as individuals and as a church...

At any rate, I thought others might be interested to see the list of sub-cultures with which we're connected in Amsterdam.  We came up with this listing through our workshop session this past Sunday (the 27th of September). There were a total of 114 postings (albeit some of them repetitive)
on the back wall of the "sky box." In no particular order, here's the listing:

• Ridiculously good-looking people
• Squatters
• Dwaze Vaders
• Once-Legal, Now-Illegal
• Philosophy
• Film
• Weed Smokers
• Artists
• Young Professionals
• Students
• Internationals
• Atheists
• Computer Freaks
• Wannabe Writers
• Social Workers / Refugees
• Social Workers
• IT Professionals
• Singles
• Writers
• Younger Couples
• Dancers
• Foodies / Eaters
• (True) Rockers
• Knutselers
• Arty-Farty People II
• People who would like to form for Outreach on the Streets
• Performers
• Poets / Story-writers
• Young Couples
• Artists
• Joggers
• Arts & Media
• Artists
• Students
• Social Workers
• Muslims (Families, Women, Kids); Iranians / Moroccans / Turks
• Immigrants
• Nature Lover
• Teachers
• Photography
• Expats & Drifters
• Active in Social Justice
• Basketballers
• Broken Female Hearts
• Break-dancing
• The Elderly (Please organize Bridge nights for the older folks)
• Young (un)Professionals
• Active in Social Justice
• Students
• Musicians
• Skateboarding
• Moms
• Krakers
• Tennis
• Internet Discussions
• Prayers
• Cooks
• Music Lovers
• Painters
• Ultimate Frisbee-ers
• Computer Freaks
• Musicians
• Flora & Fauna
• Graffiti Artists
• Foreigners Married to Dutch People
• Zin-geving
• Airport Ministry
• Knutselaars
• Inburgerings Studenten
• Painters
• Tuinieren / Verfen
• The Lost
• Kids Camps
• Fitness
• Student
• Surfers
• Kunst- / Cultuur Liefhebbers
• Volunteers
• Travellers
• Singer
• Grachtengordel
• Social Justice
• Young Professionals
• (Ex-)Drug-Dealers & Users
• Philosophy / Source Students
• Muziek Liefhebbers
• Youth-Culture
• Speed-Charaders
• Homeless
• Church People
• Gamers
• Composers Music Arts
• Fashionistas
• Sporters
• Young Families / Young Mothers
• Young Families
• Teacher
• Dancers
• Over-Levenden
• Students
• Young Professionals
• Young Urban Professional
• Expatriates
• Children
• Crafty / Hands-on Stuff (Scrapbooking, Cooking, Refinishing Furniture, etc.)
• X-treme Sporters
• Poets
• Poker Players
• Artist
• Bob’s Youth Hostel
• Travellers
• Fighting Prostitution / Trafficking
• Musicians / Composers
• Music

It's cool to look at our potential points of interaction with each other and with others in the city.  I've done some playing around with the list, trying to create broader categories of the sub-cultures most heavily represented within our church.  But I'm curious: Does anyone see any particular patterns among those sub-cultures? Anyone want to take a stab at listing the top 10 categories of sub-cultures within Amsterdam50?

I'll share some of my observations later (Marc La Porte and I already did a bit of preliminary sorting, in preparation for this coming Sunday's workshop), but I thought it might be helpful to put it out there as a very open-ended question to start with -- and see if other interpretations of the listing might yield useful insights... Let me know what you think.