It's been one of the best Novembers that I can remember in a long time.  Though it's typically one of the hardest months of the year for me in Amsterdam, this year I was really able to enjoy it in all its glory:  warm drinks in brown cafes, oliebollen from the streetside vendors, holiday celebrations with friends (see above photo), putting on my warm winter coat to protect myself against the cold winds... I know it's just little stuff.  But it all came together to make a great month.

I will confess that the last week of the month has been the most difficult:  some inevitable pangs of homesickness on Thanksgiving Day when observing the Facebook statuses of friends and family back in the United States,  the hassles and costs of a stolen bakfiets, and three children now suffering from persistent fever, coughing, and congestion (which I've been told are some of the hallmarks of H1N1)... But even in the midst of these trials, I've been able to find joy.

Thanks to any of you who might have been praying for me throughout the month.  It's meant a lot.

We had just finished a visit to the Rembrandthuis Museum, me and the kids.  We were getting our coats and gloves and hats out of the lockers and preparing to go home.  But then Elliot grabbed my cap and quickly put it on his own head, proudly pronouncing, "Hi there, I'm Daddy!"

His voice was low and gruff.  His face took on a more serious aspect.  And what he said next -- his knee-jerk characterization of who I am and what I would say in such a situation -- was fascinating to me.  He said, "Hey there kids.  I get to stay up late and watch movies.  I like to eat popcorn."  And that was it.  He busted up laughing, and then I snatched the cap away from his head.

But I almost wished I had left it there longer -- to hear what he would have said.  Is that really the first thing my son thinks about me, when he puts on my cap, when he pretends that his head is my head?!?  Movies and popcorn?!?  I'm sure he would have had more to say, but I thought it was incredibly interesting (and amusing) to hear his initial thoughts.  It made me realize how we are constantly perceiving one another, catching imperfect, incomplete reflections of each other's personalities.

So what would someone say if they tried on your cap for awhile?  Someone from your work?  Someone from your church?  Someone from your family?  Or what would you say if you were to try on my cap for a moment?  I wonder...

Someone stole our bakfiets (the minivan of bicycles) last night.  This means a lot of inconvenience, a significant financial loss, and that yucky feeling that comes whenever someone helps themself to your personal property when you're living right on the other side of the glass from the "crime scene."  But as the day wears on and the emotions are processed, I'm realizing how much sentimental value had also come to be tied up in that big ol' bakfiets.

We got it within the first week after Olivia was born (see lower-middle picture).  She turned five in September.

We used it to haul furniture and building supplies for our home.

We used it to carry big Christmas trees home for decorating (see top-left photo), for witnessing several different Sinterklaas parades (see lower-right photo), for picnics in the park, for two different bridal couples' wedding-day transportation... and, of course, for countless trips to school, church, grocery stores, and all that.  It's been the mode of transportation for our family over the last five years.

Friends have made the bakfiets a special part of their experiences in the Netherlands (see pictures above of my Mom, Allison, Lindsay, and Emily).  And the bakfiets parked out in front of the dining room window has just come to be one of those signs of "Home."

And now it's gone.

We're doing OK with the loss, but it's definitely a loss.  We still have to do some paperwork with the police and the insurance company, to see if any of the losses can be recouped.  But that notwithstanding, we're dependent enough upon a bakfiets for daily life that we already went to the shop to place an order for a replacement bakfiets (for which they were kind enough to give us a significant discount).  It should be ready within days (not weeks, like the last time!) -- and in the meantime we're making do with walking and using our regular bicycles.  God is good.  Even in times of loss.

I found out late last night that Ira Glass was going to be in Amsterdam this weekend.  He's the host of a radio program called This American Life -- and in the last several months, since my wife first introduced me to the weekly podcast of the program, he's passed Garrison Keillor as my favorite radio personality on the air.  I realize, of course, that public radio personalities don't exactly draw rock-star adoration from most folks -- but for me, to hear that my favorite radio personality happened to be in my city, with scheduled events to interact with the public at the International Documentary Festival of Amsterdam (IDFA)... well, it was pretty exciting.

So even though IDFA's internet site didn't make it seem very likely that I'd be able to get a ticket to his afternoon presentation today, I went down to the Rembrandtplein to see for myself.  When I showed up at Club Escape, where the presentation was to be held, I was flatly told that the show was completely sold out.  I was not given much reason for hope.  But I went to the main box office and stood in line, hoping to figure out a clever way to score a ticket.  While standing in line, I struck up a conversation with an IDFA volunteer and asked if I had any hopes of fineagling a ticket, and my hopes were boosted when she said that all unclaimed reservations are released for sale 15 minutes before the show.  When it got to be my turn in line, I asked about the Ira Glass presentation with pretty low expectations and was delighted to find that I could get into the presentation after all!

I'm so glad I did.

In a very intimate setting -- with perhaps 200 or 250 other festival-goers -- I got to hear Ira Glass talk about Storytelling.  Sculpting plot and scene and narrative, to create the most effective story possible.  Stripping away pretension and phony packaging in journalism.  Making the news entertaining as well as informative... All the things that I love about This American Life!   It was fascinating stuff.  Entertaining stuff.  And very educational stuff, too.  If I ever notice that they've posted the content of the presentation on the IDFA website, I'll have to link to it so you can watch it, too.

I sometimes wonder if This American Life should be required listening for all preachers.  It's simply excellent storytelling.  One of the intriguing things that Ira Glass said during his presentation is that he recently discovered that the "formula" he uses for producing his radio program is basically the same "formula" that preachers have been using for centuries.  In fact, he said there was one point when he (an atheist from a culturally Jewish background) realized that he was basically copying the format of many of Jesus's sermons from the Bible!  And yet Glass does it so well, week-in, week-out, on his radio program that I think we all really have something to learn from him...

I've also noticed that many recent shows have offered a highly valuable mirror of Evangelical Christianity -- not so much from a vindictive, angry, antagonistic, attacking point of view (which seems to be so common in the secular media today), but from a place of genuine interest, curiosity, and seemingly neutral, third-party objectivity.  Just this last week, the program entitled Starting From Scratch featured an provocative adaptation of the Bible's Creation story which, though not entirely theologically correct, was nevertheless fascinating and insightful to hear.  The week before that, the show was called Bait and Switch -- with several different stories about the classic bait-and-switch phenomenon, including one whole story about Evangelical Christianity's tactics for sharing the gospel with non-believers.  And other recent shows have featured extensive quotes of C.S. Lewis (on the topic of the Devil on my Shoulder) and other invaluable perspectives on how the rest of the world sees Evangelical Christians.

So anyway -- all that to say this:  I was excited to see Ira Glass in Amsterdam today.  And I would highly recommend you check out the program (broadcast on National Public Radio in America or available for weekly download on their podcast) sometime for yourself.

Marci and I went to a concert yesterday evening.  We didn't understand a note of it.

It was our first time ever visiting the Muziekgebouw aan 't IJ, a beautiful modern theater situated along Amsterdam's harbor.  It was one of the rare occasions that we opted for a more high-brow form of entertainment on our night out.   After a lovely dinner together in Zeeburg, we made our way to the theater with high expectations.  And those expectations were totally dashed against the rocks.

When I had bought the tickets -- last-minute deals at half-price from the Uitburo on the Leidseplein -- I had specifically mentioned that I was looking for something light, something fun.  Nothing too experimental or dissonant.  I mentioned the fact that we had never gotten the opportunity to visit the Muziektheater aan 't IJ before, and that the tickets for that show were marked at a very reasonable price -- but I didn't want to experience anything too "out there."  The ticket lady looked at the vaguely worded description paragraph about the evening's performance -- the Nieuw Ensemble, playing works by Francesconi, Pesson, and Bellon grouped under the heading "Europe Today" -- and smiled at me.  She noted that the performance was categorized, "Contemporary Classical Music" and assured me that it would be a lovely evening, not at all experimental or dissonant or "out there."

But sitting in the theater, listening to the first movement of the concert's first piece, I felt suddenly red-in-the face, duped, trapped.  The music was exactly the opposite of what I had hoped for and expected.  There was hardly a discernible melody, harmony, or rhythm at all.  Nothing resolved.  Instead it was all seemingly random riffs, delighting in dissonance.  I could tell that the musicians were all incredibly talented -- masters of their instruments -- but they didn't seem to play together at all.  The music reminded me of the creepy soundtracks to those scenes from the movies where insects come crawling out of every crack in the room -- or when someone tumbles down the stairs, being chased by a psychotic stalker.  Do you know what I mean?  At times, the ensemble sounded like -- literally -- fingernails being scraped on a black-board.  At other times, it was more like squeaky markers writing on a white-board -- for minutes at a time.  Sometimes, the woodwinds simply breathed air through their instruments, kind of a Darth-Vaderish sound.  The musicians were hitting their fingers against the sides of their cellos and violas almost as much as they were using the bows to scratch out eerie, contrasting notes.  It was bizarre.  Totally out there.

Seriously, my favorite part of the whole concert was the intermission, where they served everyone free Cokes in the lobby.

Fortunately, Marci and I were able to laugh about it and have fun in the midst of the whole experience.  But we got to talking afterwards, and it was really perplexing to try and figure out the method behind the madness of that sort of music.  The musicians, conductor, and composers (two of which were actually in attendance for the concert!) were obviously not morons.  They had a high degree of pride and prowess in their chosen fields.  They certainly knew what they were doing.  The music must have meant something to them.  But Marci and I didn't get it at all.  It was more "noise" than "music" to our ears.  It made us tense and uncomfortable, rather than relaxed and entertained.

We found ourselves wishing that we had someone who could explain it all to us.  What is the beauty in this type of music?  Why should we sit up and take notice?  How do we decipher the music from the noise?

And as I've thought back on yesterday evening's concert, it's occurred to me that the Church could learn a lot from the Nieuw Ensemble.  Because really we're not all that different from each other.  Most Christians get really excited about participating in a worship gathering, where we get to hear someone preach about a section of the ancient Scriptures, sing songs of worship to the invisible God who sustains us, and other things like that.  Sometimes people raise their hands in ecstasy, or close their eyes as if they were getting a spiritual massage.  Every now and then a small, muted tone of assent rises in our throats.  It all makes sense to us and feels like home to us.  But we forget a lot of times that others do not have the same frame of reference that we do.  They don't know what it all means.  It just sounds like noise to them:  a bunch of crazy hoo-ha.  And without anyone to explain everything to them, they just grit their teeth until the end, take advantage of the complimentary cup of coffee -- just to redeem the very smallest part of the time they invested in the foreign experience -- and then they get the heck out of Dodge.  That's certainly what ended up happening with me and Marci at the concert yesterday evening.  We didn't stop to ask any questions or raise any concerns -- even though one of the composers was sitting directly behind us -- because we didn't want to sound like idiots, and we didn't want to hurt her feelings by suggesting that her music was not accessible enough for us.  And how often is this exactly the experience of others who can't understand or identify with the context of Christian community?!?

I don't know exactly what all this might mean for the Church -- or for my developing an appreciation for the music of "Europe Today" -- but it definitely seems like something to think about... 

What is it about the Lady-folk?  Why and how do girls and women create such relational drama?

I apologize if the questions seem sexist -- but I can't help but wonder...

When our oldest child, a boy, entered elementary school, I have to admit that I was a bit concerned for his social compatibility with his classmates.  What with being a foreigner and all, I thought maybe he might have a hard time making friends.  To my great relief, my concerns turned out to be almost entirely unfounded.  Elliot got along splendidly with the other little boys and girls in his class.  You might even say that he managed to become rather popular among his classmates (he's had some of the girls from his class fighting over him on a few occasions!).  Now in his fourth year of public schooling, Elliot has relatively stable, steady, amicable relations with almost everyone in his class.  It's been much less dramatic (or traumatic) than I had ever expected.

But then our little girl went to school.

Olivia is now in her second year of public schooling.  She is excelling in the classroom.  Her language skills seem to be well ahead of where her older brother's language skills were at the same age.  And, as a whole, between Elliot and Olivia, I'd say that she's generally the more sociable kid.  But oh, the drama, the drama, the drama!  It seems that all the classic stereotypes about teen-aged girls -- such as their cattiness, their clique-ish behavior, their meanness, their chattiness, and their general emotional volatility -- are not traits saved for teenager-dom at all, but are in fact inborn feminine characteristics!

One day, Olivia comes home from school on cloud nine because she was picked by Eva-Catharina to walk through the school together and bring her friend's birthday treats to all the other classrooms (a great honor in their school, typically reserved for the two closest friends of the birthday-person).  She's happy because she and Mandy figured out how to play a new game together at recess and then united against Mohammed when he pushed her on the playground...

But then the next day (I'm speaking literally here, not figuratively!), Olivia comes out of her classroom looking like Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh -- mopey and long-faced and hopelessly melancholy because Mandy said that Olivia wasn't her friend any more.  In fact, Mandy and Eva-Catharina spent all of recess playing exclusively with each other.  And Olivia's only friend in the whole world is Mohammed, who was nice to her during work-time in the classroom.

And the experience see-saws every day -- sometimes even from hour-to-hour throughout the course of the day!  Our little girl seems to be much more tied up in social dynamics than her brother ever has been; she's much more intuitive about how it's all supposed to work.  And while I realize that this can be a good thing, to a certain extent -- becoming wise to the intricacies of interpersonal communications and effectively practicing empathy in day-to-day situations -- I'm also watching with horror and amazement to see how difficult it can make the life of a five-year-old girl as well.  I'm glad that Olivia has as much spunk as she does -- enabling her to continually "fall off the horse" and get back on again.  We keep trying to parent our child through these treacherous waters, teaching her how to be kind and patient in all situations.

But man, I guess it's tough to grow up into a woman!

We stood in the cold November rains this morning and watched Sinterklaas float into the city on his steamboat.  Our seventh observance of this most revered of Dutch holidays.

The first couple of years, he was weird and offensive.

The second couple of years, he was a delightful curiosity.

The third couple of years, he was a source of unutterable joy to our children -- taking their cues from the "natives" -- and a slight sensation of cultural separation within our own family.

And now, I consider it progress that the holiday is just plain normal for us.  We've got our regular traditions, such as always going to see the steamer come in around the Hortus Botanicus.  The kids still get pretty wound up about it like good Dutch children; Marci and I just plod along like good Dutch parents.

Sinterklaas simply is what it is, and we are what we are.  And I think that's a good place to be (though I could have done without the rain this morning!).

Much love to all of you, this Sinterklaas season... Hope it's a good one!

It feels like weeks have passed since last Thursday, when I set out on my brief pilgrimmage to Bowling Green.  In just five days, I saw so many wonderful people, ate so many wondeful meals, and enjoyed so many wonderful experiences... It was a great trip.  Now that I'm back in Amsterdam, I feel physically exhausted, from all the late evening conversations and accumulated jet-lag -- but emotionally, I am totally rejuvenated.  Good quality time with good quality people seems to have that effect on me.

The reunion / 25th anniversary celebrations at h2o-BG were a very interesting (and enjoyable) experience for me.  Perhaps not quite what I had expected -- but then again, I didn't really know what to expect!  It wasn't like being back in 1999 at all.  Most people have grown / matured / mellowed / changed-for-the-better in quite significant ways.  A few have gotten weirder, their idiosyncracies more pronounced and exagerated with time.  But no one has stayed exactly the same.  Even those who seemingly "haven't changed a bit" still betray subtle signs of their changes -- be it a slight graying at the temples, a deepening of the wrinkles around the eyes, a few pounds heavier or lighter, or whatever.

As narcissistic as it may sound, I can't help but wonder how everyone perceived my own return to Bowling Green.

On some levels, I felt like some kind of out-of-place foreign exchange student.  Like the French teenager who stayed with my family for a month one summer while I was in high school.  His name was Guillaume.  He came with his uniquely European clothes and hair, bearing gifts of wine, fragrances, and European delicacies.  And he left with hundreds of photographs and several pairs of Levi's jeans (which he pronounced like "Levvies").  He talked a little bit funny and didn't always completely get how things were supposed to work in the USA, but he was a likeable guy.  Just a bit unusual.  I know, of course, that none of my American friends would say it so directly, but I can't help but wonder if some kind of comparison like that might be on their minds, too (seeing how I've now got the photographs and Levvies, just unpacked from my suitcase, now that I'm back in Europe).

On other levels, I have to confess that I felt a bit like Harry Bailey from the film, "It's a Wonderful Life":  a war hero, returned from distant shores -- arriving to the party as a last-minute exclamation-point surprise.  I realize that this comparison may seem (and that I may actually be) a bit conceited, given that Harry Bailey was so handsome, charming, heroic, and all that.  But listening to the things that others were mentioning about me, it's not hard to see where the parallels come from.  "Church planter"... "in Amsterdam"... "the pastor"... For a lot of people, these words may not seem like much -- but in the circles of h2o-BG, Great Commission churches, and well Evangelical Christianity in general, these traits are highly celebrated (for better or worse).  And while a lot of different people reconvened in Bowling Green from a lot of different places, scattered far and wide, Amsterdam always made the list of places mentioned as derivatives of h2o-BG (while, say, Orlando or Seattle did not).  It's understandable, of course -- given the fact that alumni in Amsterdam give the overall movement a sense of an "international" influence -- and I do feel blessed to receive a "hero's welcome" when I return to Ohio.  A part of me certainly enjoys the attention.  But the fact of the matter is that the party was not about me.  Harry comes back to Bedford Falls to toast George, not the other way around.  So while I was a little bit uncomfortable (though simultaneously gratified) by all the Harry Bailey attention, more than anything I was just glad to simply be there with the rest of the crowd, raising our glasses and singing Auld Lang Syne with the rest of them.

More than anything, though, my experience of the 25th anniversary celebrations was like sitting in the auditorium, listening to the debut performance of Mr. Holland's Opus.  Have you ever seen the shamelessly emotionalized conclusion to the movie?  Where various graduates of Mr. Holland's school orchestra come together to form the orchestra that performs the piece of music that Mr. Holland had been tinkering with for decades but never got around to seriously composing?  I'm not sure if the comparison to the h2o-BG reunion would make me the awkward braced-teeth red-haired clarinetist who became governor or the punk James Dean wannabe who became the affable dad or what... I just know that I've been privileged to play a small part in a much greater work.A 25-year retrospective offers a unique glimpse of ministry that is not easily noticed in day-to-day life.  Everyday interactions which seem like no big deal at the time become powerful testimonies of God's power with time.  A little conversation about God's grace, a simple act of kindness, a well-timed question... Although these things seemed so insignificant at the time, it turns out that these were life-changing moments, long-remembered foundations to new lives and relationships.  Three or four people told me, on separate occasions, that they kept coming back to our church (some of them eventually choosing to follow Jesus) because I remembered their name.  Something as little as remembering a name!!!  And I only heard a small fraction of these stories of significance (the ones that were shared publicly or in personal conversation) from h2o's 25 years of ministry.  There were so many beautiful stories in that room of 400-some people -- and even that group was just a small representative sampling of those who have been impacted by the ministry of h2o through the years!  All these people and all these stories came together to create a magnificent, symphonic opus of God's glory.  Enough to make a grown man weep -- just like the dramatic conclusion to Mr. Holland's Opus.

I still don't know what to think about everything, but it felt so good to spend so much time laughing and crying and remembering over the course of the extended weekend.  I still don't know exactly how to interpret my own place in the midst of such a scene, but in the end it was just good to remember that it wasn't about me.

P.S. - For those who might be interested in downloading high-resolution versions of any of the photos included in the collage above or otherwise uploaded to my Facebook page, you can go to my Flickr site for easy access to all of the best photographs from the extended weekend in America:  http://www.flickr.com/photos/amsterdamasp

It was a perfectly dreadful, perfectly iconic November day in Amsterdam.  The clouds hung their heavy shoulders and sobbed cold, steady rains.  The trees were down to their last leaves, and the ones which gave up their stubborn hold on their tree branches quickly found themselves pasted to shoes, wheels, and sidewalks.  Still my heart was light and dry because I was leaving it all -- though just for the week -- on my way to reconnecting with old friends from exotic faraway places like Cleveland and Kent, Bowling Green and Orlando.

Walk, train, jog, train, walk, walk, airplane.  I'm ready to fly.

The South of England drifts below, white breakers on populated peninsulas, scattered cloud cover.  It takes about half an hour to traverse this sceptered isle, this jewel of the North Atlantic... When Ireland comes into view, it's white breakers leading directly to patchwork fields, green as photoshop-enhanced brochures... And then, the great expanse of the North Atlantic.

Somewhere south of Iceland, monotony starts to set in.  The hours between half-past one and four o'clock in the afternoon stretch exponentially.  The distance grows neither shorter nor longer.  A trip to the mid-cabin lavatory reveals yellow teeth and eyes, wan skin, the beginnings of little white-headed pimples.  My hair is wiry, greasy, opaquely covering my pale scalp.  I'm in no-man's land.

I can't help but wonder what awaits me on the far side of the Atlantic.  My heart wants it to be a return to 1999:  old friends full of innocence and idealism, no children, no mortgages, no diaspora, watching ice hockey games from the student section, more sheltered from responsibility than I led myself to believe at the tender age of 22.  Before Amsterdam, before heart-breaks and disappointments.  This is what my heart wishes for.  But in my head, I know that it cannot be this way.  Or even if we were able to pull off the requisite pageantry for the course of the reunion weekend -- "for old times sake" -- it could not continue past Sunday, Monday, maybe Tuesday... Much has changed.  Not for better or worse -- just for differenter.

I'm trying to sort out my expectations.  These are good friends, of a rare and aged vintage, that I will be seeing.  I'll be having pizza and playing basketball with men who have shaped me, spiritually, who have known me for the better part of 14 years, who knew me before (and during, and after) I became me.   And I will be visiting many of the old places that served as the scenery for some of the most magnificent times in my life.  Surely, there's something beautiful about the opportunity to be in such environs -- if only for a fleeting moment.  But I don't want to exaggerate or falsely glorify the past either.  I don't want to forget that God has done a lot in my life over the past ten years -- through people and places vastly different, unimaginable and unintelligible to the Eric of 1999.  I don't want to forget that God has blessed me with relationships and experiences, with three children -- three amazing developing people -- since those old days in Bowling Green.  How can we continually remind ourselves that today's "exile" can be tomorrow's "golden years"?!?

Don't forget.  But don't forget to stop reminiscing sometimes, too.  That's my mission for the next week. 

Ecclesiastes 7:18 – It is good to grasp the one and not let go of the other.  The man who fears God will avoid all extremes.

One of the most important lessons that I’ve learned about leadership (though it also applies to evangelism, apologetics, and relationships in general) is the importance of balance.

For me, it helps to visualize a ship at sea.  A ship never gets anywhere if it’s improperly balanced -- with all the ballast and all the power to either the port or the starboard side.  If everything on the ship is stacked to one side, it’ll just go around in circles.  Thus part of the job of the leader (or the captain) is to balance the ship, so that it can sail straight and actually get somewhere.  Now, I don’t think this means that the "godly point of view" or sense of direction is always the split mid-point of every controversy.  But I do think there’s something to be said for a leader helping to keep all the ship’s crew and cargo from bunching up on one side -- allowing for more stability and confidence in the ultimate heading that is determined.  I absolutely believe it’s possible to maintain firm convictions but also hold them loosely enough (in certain settings) to allow for better dialogue and better self-realization.

This is kind of how I envision it:  Pick a controversy, any controversy... say, Calvinism (predestination) versus Arminianism (free will).  Typically, people will set themselves up at two opposite ends of a spectrum, like this:

So in such a situation, the trick in achieving a sense of balance is to broaden the spectrum and create a sense that maybe you’re not all that far apart from each other after all.

This is basically asking the question:  "What is the extreme, unhealthy, imbalanced version of what I believe -- and how is my viewpoint different from that?"  And then asking the question:  "What is the extreme, unhealthy, imbalanced version of what my ‘opponent’ believes -- and how is his/her viewpoint different from that?"  This is related to the classical "straw man" fallacy in logic -- with its critical distinction being that a "straw man" is also set up in one’s own camp.

At its essence, this is an exercise in looking one’s "opponent" in the eye and saying, "Listen, there are whackos out there who take what you’re saying to the extreme, and there are whackos out there who take what I’m saying to the extreme.  See, we’re not as far apart from each other as it might initially seem."  It’s important to follow this up with both parties saying to each other (though it usually takes one side starting off -- even though it might have the appearance of weakening one’s position!):  "You know, I believe you’re a decent, reasonable person.  I don’t think you’re some dangerous whacko.  In fact, I respect you, and I’d like to think we could be friends, even if we don’t see 100% eye-to-eye."

From all my experience, this footing is essential to constructive dialogue and meaningful relationships.  No one will respect a leader or a friend who’s not willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Some Christians might say that this is "worldly thinking" or just a clever trick to win arguments.  They might reference Romans 12:2 or 1 Corinthians 1-2 to say that we need to stand for our principles, no matter how at-odds those principles might be with what the rest of the world is saying.

Instead, I prefer to think of it as practicing the principles of Romans chapter 14.  There, we are told to "Accept him whose faith is weak, without passing judgment on disputable matters (v. 1)... Who are you to judge someone else’s servant?  To his own master he stands or falls (v. 4)... Therefore let us stop passing judgment on one another.  Instead, make up your mind not to put any stumbling block or obstacle in your brother’s way (v. 13)... Let us therefore make every effort to do what leads to peace and mutual edification.  Do not destroy the work of God for the sake of _________ (v. 19)."  In Romans 14, the argument was about food, but I believe the same principles hold true for any kind of secondary issue or argument.

And even when it comes to talking about primary issues (matters that are absolutely not "disputable"), it’s still wise to not just shut someone down without trying to empathize with their point of view.  Practicing such exercises in balanced leadership are, in a sense, carrying each other’s (intellectual) burdens (see Galatians 6:1-5).  It’s bearing with the failings of the weak (see Romans 15:1).  It’s being as shrewd as snakes in our interactions with others (Matthew 10:16).  It’s wise, and it’s Biblical!

Balanced leadership is wise and Biblical... but it's not always easy.  I've also learned through the years that in order to successfully achieve a good sense of balance, it can be helpful to learn how to develop a sense of detachment.

Detachment can sound like such a negative concept -- like a person who’s not in touch with her or her emotions, like a father who has distanced himself from his child, like someone who’s cold, methodical, and robotic... And yet, I’ve really come to see detachment as an essential leadership skill.  Not so much on the personal level -- but more on the positional level.

What I mean is that so often, when conflict comes up in a leadership setting, it has way more to do with positional stuff than with personal stuff.  I’ve often been criticized as a Christian, as an American, as an authority figure (pastor, group leader, supervisor)... But I’ve gotten myself into trouble when I’ve assumed these to be people’s issues with Eric D. Asp -- when in fact they have very little to do with me, personally, at all!  Much more often, the difficulties have to do with the mistakes, sins, hurts, and dysfunctions of others than with the individuals who may actually be involved in the situation.  For instance, if someone says to me, "You Christians are so darn narrow-minded and dogmatic.  I hate Christians!" -- it can be tempting to feel like I’m being personally attacked.  However, it could just be that this person is saying that she has had some bad experiences with Christians, or that she has noticed some points of friction with her own belief systems (more often than not, this is the case in these situations).  If we respond out of defensiveness, hurt, or a stubborn insistence on winning people to our point of view, then we run the risk of simply making the situation worse.  But if we can respond with a sense of detached care and curiosity, we can draw the other person out and build understanding.

The counter-balance to this, of course, is that we need to be careful not to blame-shift (in case there really is an issue in our own lives!).  But we also do well to remember that it’s not all about us and making people accept us or like us!  Experience has taught me that it’s usually more about people’s woundedness -- from parents, siblings, school teachers, church leaders, political figures, concepts, stereotypes, and misperceptions -- than it is about some particular argument at hand.

But, of course, you never really figure this out until you get into actual dialogue with someone.  And you may never be able to get into actual dialogue with someone if you can't figure out how to position the issues in a balance way and how maintain a certain level of emotional detachment.  I hope some of the principles that I've outlined here might be useful to some of you.  I can imagine that they might also be somewhat controversial -- but hey, I'm always willing to dialogue with you about it. :-)

I always used to hate Novembers in Amsterdam.  The month seemed to automatically equate another annual bout with depression.  But last year, my experience with November was different.  Though I regularly had to work at it, I actually discovered that there can be a lot of joy in the month of November.  And while I was glad that it worked out so well for me last year, I have to admit that I was still curious to see how my emotions would be affected this time around.

I'm happy to say that I am currently and enjoying and looking forward to the rest of the month of November more than I have in a very long time.

I dug out my beloved Carhartt jacket again on Sunday and found great joy in putting it on again.   I'm looking forward to Dutch holidays like Sint Maartensdag and the arrival of Sinterklaas to the Netherlands like I never have before.  And at the same time, I'm really excited about celebrating American Thanksgiving with friends here in Amsterdam (whereas previously, it's always been a bit of a bummer that I haven't been able to be with my family on that uniquely American holiday).  My kids have been begging me to take them out for oliebollen again (which I've been deliberately holding off, until the calendar turned over to November)... And all in all, I'm just savoring some of the joys of this season of the year.

It's a really refreshing change.  I realize, of course, that times of difficulty may still come in the month to come.  But I'll take those as they come and in the meantime make the most of this unique time of year...

I hope that I've demonstrated, through the past week's series on Hypocrisy, that we've all got a lot to think about when it comes to confronting this issue of hypocrisy.  It's persistent, pervasive, and often so deeply embedded that it's practically invisible at times.  It may be helpful to have other trusted friends assist in the process of uncovering the hypocrisy in our lives (granted the fact that we can have such a hard time seeing it in our own lives) -- yet I still believe that it's ultimately an issue that has to start with each one of us examining his or her own life.  As I said in my introduction to the series, we're all recovering hypocrites -- and recovery is a life-long process that starts when we stop pointing fingers at others and turn our examination inwards.

Perhaps you already picked up on this refrain from my previous posts about five of the major outworkings of hypocrisy in our lives, but the ultimate answer to hypocrisy is repentance.

When Jesus spoke to the Pharisees about the issue of hypocrisy, people immediately tried to make sense of current events in the light of Jesus' teaching.  In Luke 13:1-4 Jesus was confronted with some of the "headlines" in the news about terrible disasters that had happened in Galilee and Jerusalem -- with the people basically wondering if the people who had encountered tragedy and death were the ones who were
the most evil (such that God was paying them back for their sins).  But
Jesus emphatically replied:  No, we all make mistakes sometimes.  We all need to repent.  He said, "You will perish, too, unless you repent of your sins and turn to God... No, and I tell you again that unless you repent, you will perish, too."  Repentence is a process that needs to be taken seriously.

But repentence doesn’t have to be viewed as a negative process.  In fact, it can be one of the most liberating experiences of your life.  Acts 3:19 frames this call to repentence in especially beautiful words:  "Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord."  It's not just rhetoric either; I can personally attest to the refreshing benefits of repentence.

For each area of our life, repentence looks slightly differently:

  Repentence in the area of factional hypocrisy basically comes down to fearing God instead of fearing people...

   Repentence in the area of financial hypocrisy comes down to focusing on a rich relationship with God, depending on Him (instead of our financial resources) for our every need.

  Repentence in areas of reputational hypocrisy centers on finding one's identity in Jesus instead of in external circumstances or cultural codes.

  Repentence in the area of religious hypocrisy comes down to actively pursuing honesty and transparency.

  And repentence in the area of knowledge-based hypocrisy starts with relying on the Holy Spirit over and above any conventional wisdom or education.

But these aren't the only areas of our life in which hypocrisy can come to roost.  I focused on these five areas because they are the most directly addressed in the middle chapters of Luke (which served as the base text for this study on hypocrisy).   But I can certainly think of other areas -- also addressed in the Bible -- which also need to be examined, if one is trying to root out all kinds of hypocrisy.  Sexual hypocrisy seems to be one of the most obvious (John 8:1-11 and Matthew 5:27-30 provide some great food for thought, if you wanted to study out this subject further).  Other potential areas of hypocrisy to be examined might include our relationships, our child-rearing, and our consumption habits.  And that is by no means an exhaustive list!

In everything, though, we just need to remember to be constantly vigilant against hypocrisy (examining our own lives!) and we need to remember to repent.  That's the end analysis of this series.  I hope you've enjoyed it.  If you have any further thoughts, please feel free to interact through the comments.