Practical devotion, activism and service are distinctives of Mennonite heritage. But how can we live into these values amidst 21^st-century complexities? Too often our methods of spiritual formation become individualistic, information driven or disconnected from everyday life. Perhaps what we need is a Jesus Dojo—participatory learning spaces that are more like a karate studio than a college lecture hall! This two-hour workshop will explore how we can renew our active practice of the way of Jesus through risk-taking and collective group experiments. Participants will be invited to launch their own experiments following the workshop.

I became familiar with Willard’s work in kingdom theology and spiritual formation in 1998 during a dramatic transition in my life. Willard’s broader and more cosmic understanding of Jesus Christ and his message helped me adjust my lens on faith to the pluralist context of San Francisco. In Divine Conspiracy I discovered language for what I long thought true about the present availability of the divine life. His earlier book, Spirit of the Disciplines, became something of a primer for the journey of integration I’ve sought to experience and share with others.

As a person, Dallas became an important part of the early development of ReIMAGINE. Our team participated in forums and intensives he taught in Southern California.  Because of my cofounder Dieter Zander’s connections, Dallas spent time with our little group in San Francisco on several occasions. (Dieter took the photo I’ve included in this post).

In person, Dallas was his message: utterly calm, centered, humble, present, quietly engaging and profoundly wise. Because of this I tended to refer to him as “the buddha like one.”  As a young man of action, urgency, ego and emotion I felt like a bull in a china shop whenever I was around him. At a large conference I helped organize, I tried to convince Dallas to wear a court jester’s hat onstage. “We are going for a holy fools sort of thing,” I explained. He declined by saying, “I’m still working on the holy part.” I wanted strategy, tactics, drama and demonstrable evidence and was often frustrated by Willard’s deceptively simple responses to my agitated questions. Gradually I’ve come to understand that Willard’s radical calm and modesty came from his confidence in the absolute goodness of God expressed in this moment.

As a young man I asked Willard how a community might experience the reality of God’s kingdom. His reply became the mandate of our work over the past 12 years, “a group of people should simply look at what Jesus said and did and try to do those things.” We eventually designed a years worth of curriculum, exercises and Learning Labs based on this premise, informed by his understanding of the dynamics of spiritual formation.  In retrospect, I think I’ve put more energy into the action or method, without fully realizing the inward journey required for substantive change — the daily, moment by moment surrender to the love that is making all things new.

I understand that Willard’s theological work is largely ignored in academic circles. Though a trained philosopher, his theological writings speak more to the soul than the scholarly mind. Despite his sophistications, and though many find his writing dense, precise and difficult, he wrote and taught with the heart of a pastor. In some of his writing and teaching I detect a cultural myopathy that at times verges on antagonism towards contemporary society and culture. I am challenged by the semi cloistered and deeply private life he lived, which I believe funded his considerable and at times prophetic contributions. At times I’ve been critical of what I considered to be Willard’s “quietist” approach, though I’ve come to understand that his lack of overt social justice rhetoric came from a thorough commitment to secrecy. I am challenged not to shout about every small act of compassion I perform. I have friends who wrestle with gender identity and sexuality who interpreted his responses to their earnest questions as conventional and lacking nuance. Yet who of us is not limited in our perspective by our age, milieu and life experiences?

At times I’ve resisted formal association with “the Willard school” because so many of his most zealous “fans,” in my estimation, grasp for knowledge of his work without seeking or possessing his kind of knowing– a wisdom way of being that came from silence, solitude and quiet surrender. These are not ideas to be understood as much as realities to experience.

For me Willard serves as a bridge between the simple “biblical” faith of my upbringing, the wisdom tradition of the mystics and the challenges and opportunities of new consciousness emerging in the 21st century. I am deeply indebted to the strength of his ideas and the example of his life.

It was a hot and humid Texas evening in July. I had been traveling the country in an RV with two other authors promoting our books through a wildly conceived 32-city tour sponsored by our publisher. After our18th show in Fort Worth, two young men approached me and said they had a few questions to ask. During the show I had told a story about my unlikely friendship with an eccentric 63-year-old homeless transgendered addict who called himself the Emperor. The two young men asked me why I hadn’t “witnessed” to the Emperor. I explained that the focus of my story was on what I had learned about my heart motives and the unconditional love of God. “But why didn’t you tell him the truth–that because of his sexual sin, he was going to hell?”

I was taken off guard by their accusing tone, but managed to offer a simple response, “In the gospels Jesus didn’t seem to spend time trying to convince vulnerable people that they were wrong, but instead restored their sense of dignity, worth and hope.” They persisted in questioning me about my views on scripture, salvation and theology. Finally I stopped them by saying, “I thought you were sincere in your questions, and I’ve tried to be truthful in my responses, but it seems like you have an agenda that is beyond the story I told.”

A week later, a google alert I had set up for my name, notified me that one of the young men had posted a scathing account of our conversation on his website. The site also mentioned that they were in the process of writing a book exposing the danger that I and others pose to the church. I spent hours crafting and posting an appropriate response for the comments section of the website. Eventually I decided it would be more constructive to have a private conversation, so I emailed him We exchanged several long and detailed messages over the following weeks and months. I tried to be gracious and personal and they softened a bit in their approach. But at a certain point the dialogue no longer seemed productive, so we discontinued communication.

In many of the churches I attended and served in my early life, certain public figures were regularly condemned from the pulpit and through forwarded emails and gossip around the church office. We were warned about religious leaders who associated with the wrong people or causes. We were afraid of what we didn’t understand. We wanted to be right and that meant that other people had to be wrong. I often didn’t find evidence for these accusations, but to be safe, I stayed away from certain authors and groups that were on those watchdog lists.

So, it was quite a shock when my name began to appear on those lists and heresy hunting websites. In my early thirties I began receiving angry letters from former congregants and church leaders accusing me of being “new age,” legalistic, unorthodox, or, worst of all, following “the social gospel.”  One person said they’d heard a rumor that I ascribed to the false teachings of Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code novel, which, in reality, I had not read. Others said that it wasn’t my beliefs that concerned them, but the fact that I associated with questionable characters and organizations. Churches I had served and partnered with dropped their support and forbid their members from volunteering with me in the inner city. Pastors and leaders who heard a recording of one of my talks or read an article where I was quoted condemned me from the pulpit and in print and sent letters of warning to their networks. As a result I’ve been disinvited from speaking engagements– though often because of the vocal opposition of just one person. Friends from my younger years stalk me on facebook apparently just to see if the rumors they’ve heard about me are true.

Every negative letter, comment or cold shoulder cuts me like a knife. I am notoriously thin skinned when it comes to public criticism. My stomach clenches up. I can’t eat and I lose sleep over every slight, even when the comment is anonymous or I know that the person is a mentally disturbed ex convict. There is always the possibility that their assessment of me is valid and then I should really pay attention.

It hurts to be misunderstood. It hurts to be misrepresented. It hurts when someone is talking about me instead of with me. It especially troubles me when the person accusing me is not open to further dialogue. It pains me most when that person is a friend, former associate or relative. My natural reaction is to become angry and defensive. I’ll hash over their comments with my wife or a close friend. With the mind of an attorney I’ll craft a letter of rebuttal to every point they’ve made– and then, if I’m lucky, press delete before it’s been sent.

I’ve had to ask myself why it bothers me so much to be criticized or misrepresented. My reaction perhaps reveals something about my own disordered attachments– that I care too much about what other people think of me. I’m humbled that my sense of belovedness can so easily be called into question by the smallest comment. I’m also reminded of how often I’m tempted to speak ill of people I don’t understand or anyone who would dare to disagree with my opinions. I have to admit that I am eager to believe the worst about people who offend my sensibilities. It’s the same black and white, us versus them, scapegoat thinking that I’ve often been wounded by.

Believe it or not, my experience has been mild in comparison with other public figures I know–and I’ve learned a lot by watching these friends handle public criticism with incredible gentleness, grace and patience. They remind me of the radical wisdom of the scriptures:

“Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you…rejoice and be glad because great is your reward, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.” 

If we take the life of Jesus as an archetype for the spiritual life then it’s natural and perhaps necessary to move from the acceptance of the group into the loneliness that can lead to a deeper confidence in the divine presence. At times, even his own mother and brothers thought he was crazy, and eventually his best friend turned him over to be executed. So why do I believe I deserve to be loved and affirmed by everybody?

On good days, I forgive, bless and pray for those who have persecuted me. I give up my right to be right and the need to control my image. Most of the wounds I’ve endured have healed over time. I am able to see that being criticized and even slandered can be a gift that calls into question the defensiveness, ego and insecurity of my false self. As when Shimei cursed king David, I wonder if accusers are sent to humble me, purify my motives and sensitize me to the fault lines of understanding in our society. My own actions are never wholly right or wrong– and I have to live in the tension of that ambiguity which opens me up to the mystery of divine love.

I am learning to hope that my accusers can become my friends. A few weeks ago, I got a surprise note in my inbox:

Mark, 

You probably don’t remember me. To be honest, I hope you don’t. I was reading through some old articles I posted on my website and came across something I wrote about you. It was a while ago (2008). My friend and I thought we were being loving to you and being holy by “correcting you.” If you don’t remember it, all the better, because I was quite the ass. If you do, then I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry. 

I guess that in 4-5 years, my views have changed and matured. I look back at what I criticized – you simply loving a homeless man who was broken and in a hospital bed – and I really have no explanation for what I did. My views have changed quite significantly since then. 

Anyway, you came up in my thoughts and I wanted to apologize and seek your forgiveness. I hope all is going well with you and if I ever get the chance to meet you in person again, I hope it’s okay if I give you a hug and ask for your forgiveness again, even if it’s already been given. 

Best wishes

I don’t think I needed to hear from this person in order to forgive him. But his note did remind me that sometimes a person’s strong reaction to me isn’t actually about me, but about a struggle inside themselves. This note reminded me to always imagine and hope for greater understanding, reconciliation and peace.

Let’s be honest—conflict is an inevitable part of any human relationship. When my brokenness rubs up against your brokenness, misunderstandings develop, feelings get hurt, expectations are unmet and we feel disrespected or slighted. We often have a tendency to react to one another out of our insecurities and fears, or project the wounds we’ve received from others. And some people are just hard for us to like. We have disagreements with others because we see things from such different perspectives. And sometimes we do things, whether intentionally or not, that are plainly hurtful and wrong. We break promises and confidences. We make mistakes. We get angry and say things we regret. The question isn’t “will there be conflict?” but “how we will handle conflict when it arises?” Will we get angry? Retaliate? Become defensive? Ask others to take up our offense? Or seek restoration and forgiveness?

One day, my wife, Lisa, came home visibly shaken, with tears rolling down her cheeks. She had been with her friends Dawn and Stacey when Dawn had told them that her husband had recently become so angry that he threw her across the room—and it hadn’t been the first time. I, too, was saddened by this news, and even more concerned because Dawn’s husband, Troy, was one of my closest friends. If they were having these kinds of problems, I thought, surely Troy would tell me. The next week when I went out for lunch with Troy and Stacey’s husband Matt, I tried to steer the subject of conversation toward marriage, hoping that Troy would tell us about what was going on between he and Dawn. Towards the end of lunch, I  awkwardly told Troy what Lisa had told me.  . “Is it true?” I asked. Troy turned red and his eyes widened. “I think the real issue here is why your wife has been telling you what my wife told her in confidence about our personal problems. That happened months ago. I’ve apologized and we’ve dealt with it. I don’t think it’s any of your business.” I tried to explain that I was only trying to help—and that I assumed he would tell Matt and I about such a serious matter. “Then why did you wait almost a week to bring this up to me– and in a public place? Mark, you’ve really put my trust in our relationship in jeopardy today,” he said. Our lunch ended abruptly in chilling silence. With my stomach in knots, I felt like I might lose a longtime friend.

I tried to call Troy several times that afternoon to see if we could come to a better understanding.  In the meantime I began to wonder about my motives and what the right thing to do was in this situation.about my motives.  Had I brought up the issue with Troy out of concern for his marriage or because I felt hurt that he hadn’t trusted me with his secret? Why had I waited to bring this up until Matt was there instead of just calling Troy immediately?  Are there certain situations, like the issue of someone’s safety, when it’s okay to break confidences?

Troy finally called me back later that evening and we spent a long time trying to negotiate some common ground. “Mark, You really caught me off guard. I’m going through a lot right now and the last thing I need is to have the people closest to me ganging up on me. That’s what this has felt like. I didn’t tell you because it’s an embarrassing issue I thought Dawn and I could handle on our own.” I apologized for not being more tactful and direct, but added that I considered the matter serious enough to risk offending him. “I want you to know that I still value and respect you as a friend,” I added. Troy softened, “I’ll be honest, having kids and starting my new job have been incredibly stressful. It’s brought up a level of anger inside me that I wasn’t aware of—which, unfortunately, I took out on Dawn.” Troy told me they were seeing a marriage counselor, and that he and Dawn valued our friendship. “We’re here for you,” I said. By the time we got off the phone, both of us were crying, grateful that we had been able to take a step to work through our conflict.

The next evening all six of us met together. Dawn and Troy told Matt, Stacey, Lisa and I more about the challenges they were facing as a couple. We also talked through the tensions that had developed between all of us. In retrospect, Dawn and Troy realized they hadn’t come to an agreement about who to include in their circle of trust. Lisa admitted it would have been better if she had gotten permission from Dawn before sharing confidential information with me. I admitted that if I could do it over again, I would have spoken to Troy more privately. Even though the process was messy, it widened Troy and Dawn’s circle of support and brought us all to a deeper level of intimacy and trust as friends.

Jesus dares us to imagine that we can learn to handle the challenges of our relationships in new ways. Though I’ll admit, it’s much easier to embrace “love your neighbor” as a lofty platitude than as a practical mandate. The situations we actually face are often confusing: You are misrepresented or treated unfairly; you have to be in a room with someone who molested you as a child; a romantic relationship ends and you’re left feeling hurt; a person you tried to help takes advantage of you; or every week when you drop off the kids you have to face the spouse who mistreated you and try to forgive them again. There is no perfect way to deal with these difficulties, but we can be committed to exploring how the reality of the kingdom of love can bring us into deeper belonging. Real community happens with people who know us too well, who, despite all they know and the ways we disappoint them, still see our dignity and keep believing that we are being transformed by love.

They say that Jesus rarely traveled more than thirty miles from where he was born. Some of us travel farther than that each day just to get to work. The organic kinship or “household” structures that were once the context for most people’s lives have largely vanished, having been replaced in our society by rugged individualism and the dominance of multinational corporations. And yet, committed, accountable and interdependent relationships are the enduring context where transformation takes place. The mobility and resulting fragmentation in our society requires us to become more conscious and intentional about sharing life together in the kingdom of love.

At the risk of being nostalgic, I often think of the contrast between the social reality of my life and the context in which my grandfather was raised on the prairies of South Dakota. He attended a one-room schoolhouse with the children of other farming families, and after Sunday chores many of them would gather in the school building for church, singing hymns, praying and listening to the words of Scripture together. When the passage “love your neighbor as yourself” was read, it was clear who your neighbor was—the people sitting in the pews next to you, many of whom worked in the fields beside you or were related to you by blood.

For most of us, our circumstances are quite different from what was common a hundred years ago. We live away from the families and clans we were born into. Many of us work in one place, live in another and seek friendships and spiritual support elsewhere. And we don’t live in a culture where the enduring paths for spiritual formation are widely known or practiced. To practice the way of Jesus we have to be intentional about how we “create” culture, reconnecting the broken pieces of a broken social reality. And we have to be more explicit in our contracts of accountability and support than perhaps previous generations did. A movement is afoot, in the church and society, to reestablish organic participatory systems where we can band together to create local communities of shared values and practices.

As I write, I’m flipping through pictures from our first intentional community vow ceremony six years ago. On a beautiful afternoon, among crowds of Sunday picnickers and sunbathers, we gathered on a grassy hillside at a park overlooking the city. Fifty of us sat on blankets while a few of us took turns offering songs, poems and reflections on the yearlong vows we were taking to live out the teachings of Jesus together. I can see the eager smiles on the faces in the photos, aglow with the soft light of the setting sun. It was an occasion that had the anticipation and rare mix of guests you might expect at a wedding party. Many of our parents, siblings and friends were on hand to bear witness to the promises we were making. At the conclusion of the ceremony, we celebrated The Lord’s Supper with a toast and shared a lovely table spread with flowers, homemade foods and bottles of wine. Lingering in the park until long after dark, we joked, laughed and played music together as a cool fog settled over the skyline.

Complex emotions surface now as I look back at these photos, seeing the faces of old friends and calling to mind the many adventures we’ve had—the cross-country road trips, hot-spring dips, dance parties and hours spent cooking, welcoming strangers or picking up trash. I remember our shared joys and triumphs, tears and tensions, and late nights up asking questions or praying for answers. We put much energy into helping each other through the crisis of lost loves, a lost job and shattered dreams.

I notice that my beard was less speckled with gray back then and that most of us now wear different hairstyles or clothes. And our children are much taller now. Babies born since then have learned to walk and talk and run. Some people have moved on or moved away. Marriages and partnerships have ended or begun. Over many seasons we’ve worked to give birth to one another’s dreams and mourned each other’s losses. We’ve been embraced, cared for, cherished and misunderstood. We’ve argued, fought and forgiven. We’ve risked loving and being loved, hurting and being hurt, knowing and being known.

Life in community reveals who we really are. We bring our best and worst to our relationships with one another. Our sense of belonging is where we may feel the most wounded and where the gospel of Jesus offers us the greatest hope. Jesus modeled and promised a revolutionary way of love that could transform our relationships at every level. The vision of belonging that Jesus embodied and taught calls us to a love that is far more ruthless and tender than seems humanly possible. It is a kind of love that can empower you to treat your worst enemy as your dearest friend and to keep hanging on, forgiving, believing and hoping against hope for love to win.

 RADICAL LOVE CONVERSATION. Relationships are messy and complicated. In the Sermon on the Mount Jesus invites us to be “peacemakers” (Matthew 5:9). How can we genuinely seek and offer forgiveness? Many of us embody this in certain relationships, but not in others, avoiding situations where the work of peacemaking seems overwhelming or impossible. God’s invitation into healing, wholeness and transformation includes the whole of our social realm: beginning with our most intimate relationships with our families, housemates, and coworkers; and expanding out to our larger communities and across cultural divides and extending even to our enemies. We can experience significant healing in our relationships through vulnerability, perseverance and the magic of grace. Join us for an evening of storytelling and conversation about radical love and reconciliation. Go here for details.

IMAGINE PEACE 4 WEEK LEARNING LAB. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called the children of God.” Matthew 5:9 For registration and more information, go here.Let’s be honest—conflict is an inevitable part of any relationship. The question isn’t “will there be conflict?” but “how we will handle conflict when it arises?” Jesus said that seeking reconciliation in our closest relationships is even more important than our religious rituals or “sacrifices.” The tensions we face in our relationships with family, housemates and others can feel complicated, messy or impossible. Dare to imagine the healing and restoration promised by the gospel of shalom. The solidarity of a group process can help us take steps that might be more difficult alone.Join us for this four week Learning Lab where we will support each other to take steps to:

1) Identify our social circles and most important relationships.
2) Seek reconciliation from those we have wronged.
3) Tenaciously forgive those who have wronged us.
4) Practice honest, direct and loving communication.

Expectations of participants: