Missives from the Edge

‘Wrongthink’ from the Pacific Rim for the Christ-curious and the churchy-jaded

Image used with permission

“I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things, Sam.”

—Frodo, The Return of the King

Growing up, one of my favorite stories was called The Apprentice Juggler. It is part of a small volume called Tales of the Kingdom, a book that has experienced a recent revival as it reaches its 30th anniversary.

So, here at the beginning of this Substack, in the tradition of storytellers everywhere, allow me to recount the story.

In the mystical kingdom of a distant land, an apprentice juggler is struggling to learn how to juggle. His troupe has been called upon to perform for the king, but his juggling is holding them back.

The problem isn’t that this apprentice juggler is a poor juggler—though he thinks he is. The problem is he can’t seem to keep in time with the rhythm of the other jugglers. When he practices alone, he juggles to his own rhythm and makes the balls fly. However, when he joins the troupe of jugglers, his own inner rhythm sneaks out, throwing off the troupe’s performance, with disastrous results. Chaos and anger ensue.

Embarrassed and feeling like a failure, the apprentice decides to give up. He will not attend his troupe’s royal performance, knowing that his presence will throw off the group’s rhythm and ruin the show. He will never be like the other jugglers. Dejected, he wonders what will become of him. He has no desire to do any other kind of work, nor would he be good at anything else. He loves to juggle and perform. This is what he is made for.

As he walks away, defeated, a beggar watching from the sidelines pulls him aside. “Keep to your own count and listen to the rhythm of your own timing,” he whispers, before melting away into the crowd. Later, when the beggar is revealed to be the king in disguise, the apprentice juggler is emboldened to try one more time and he joins in the performance for the royal court.

(Yes, it’s perhaps a bit predictable, but remember, this is a children’s story—they’re allowed to be predictable.)

This time, the juggler follows his own rhythm with confidence. Instead of throwing his troupe off, his performance augments their show and amazes the crowd. The king is delighted.

Afterwards, the Juggling Master congratulates the apprentice. “You are a juggler with the instinct of a clown,” he says, “Oh they are rare! They are rare indeed!” He is delighted to have him in the troupe.

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It’s a simple story, but this parable struck me again as I was preparing to make this platform live.

I realized that for most of my life, I have been trying to fit my writing into someone else’s “rhythm.” When I wrote for a mainstream audience, I was subtly (or not-so-subtly) told that I shouldn’t be too overtly “Christian.” This comment was about who I was as a person, and therefore aimed at my credibility as a journalist—never mind my writing, which was neither preachy, nor moralistic, nor overtly Christian in content. I personally was neither preachy, moralistic or in-your-face either; it was the fact that I was a Christian that was apparently an offense.

Yet, when I wrote for Christian outlets, I was encouraged not to be too “outside the box.” Often, my intellect was disparaged in Christian circles—especially as a woman. I received thinly-veiled messages that I should tone it down—something I was unwilling to do.

I found these excursions into Christian media too constrained, too “inside-baseball”—suffocating, even. Yet, I didn’t fit within the narrowing scope of what was acceptable within mainstream media and the journalism for which I’d trained throughout my life. In either scenario, I was guilty of wrongthink: being on the fringe of acceptable thought.

Like the apprentice juggler, I nearly gave up on public writing—or gave into one of these two false dichotomies of the audience to whom I was “allowed” to speak. Since my sense of calling in writing began in childhood, I was left wondering what else there might be for me to pursue. It seems I’ve spent most of my media career shuttling back and forth between one side of this false dichotomy or the other.

However, like the juggler, it’s recently occurred to me that I may have a rarer internal rhythm.

My authentic voice speaks into the heart of this intersection of thoughtful society and deep faith. Missives from the Edge therefore draws together two audiences: the Christ-curious who won’t settle for easy answers, and alongside them, people familiar with Christian culture who find themselves labeled “wrongthinking.” Though often construed as being on “opposing” sides, my conviction is that these groups have more in common than they realize. Both these groups know something is deeply amiss in the world today—and that the vocal majority are afraid to acknowledge this.

Welcome home

In starting this Substack, then, I’m stepping into my internal rhythm—meaning the audience for whom my voice is intended. I’ve found who I’m speaking to—and it’s you. If you’ve made it past the “wrongthink,” past the Tolkien reference, past the “Christ-curious” and the “churchy-jaded,” then welcome! Welcome home. We’ve found each other.

I’m happy to be with you, at this time in history—here “at the end of all things,” which is often how this time in history feels. But, if you are a Tolkien fan, you likely already know that the “end of all things” is actually a eucatastrophe: a beginning of all things. At the moment of deepest catastrophe, the brightest light may shine. That’s the light I’m interested in holding out, into the encroaching dusk.

Why Missives?

“Missives” is a word we don’t tend to use much these days. It sounds like purposeful communication, such as one might have in a time of war. It also brings to mind intelligent and thoughtful writing. I hope this publication, and the community it convenes, will be both.

Together, we’ll investigate this intersection of thoughtful society and deep faith: ancient faith, hard faith, quiet faith. Not your average, run-of-the-mill, North American Christianity, which has likely had its day in the sun anyway. We’ll talk about subjects and viewpoints that are unpopular on all sides of the public square. Intellect will be welcome, but intellectualism not admired. Kindness, intimate faith, and love toward others still rule the day.

(Intellectualism, by the way, is in my definition the worship of our own intellect, always at the expense of love for others. It can otherwise be known by that oh-so-descriptive phrase, intellectual wanking. Exactly what it sounds like—ineffectual pontificating and posturing for the ego’s sake.)

I’m not sure if I’m a juggler with the instinct of a clown, but I am a Christian with the instinct for considering the other side, for perhaps taking the “wrong” point of view, for asking what is being missed. I have the instinct for “unveiling,” if you will—looking for the unseen and unspoken within public and private discourse, for mining what is at work beneath the surface.

What Edge(s)?

So this is one of the “edges” I’m speaking from in Missives from the Edge: points of view often labeled unacceptable or ‘fringe’. Voices that don’t fit into one side of a false dichotomy or another. I, for one, am convinced that we need to hear these voices in order to expand our fast-narrowing and deep-polarizing public discourse. As the Canadian bard, Bruce Cockburn, sang in Maybe the Poet (1984):

“Maybe you and he will not agree
But you need him to show you the ways to see.
…
Pay attention to the poet
You need him and you know it.”

There’s long been a link between the poetic and the prophetic voice. Hopefully, at its best, Missives from the Edge will be both.

One of the other “edges” I’m speaking from is the Pacific Rim. There is something unique to having lived here on the edge of the Pacific, in Vancouver, British Columbia for the last three-and-a-half decades. I fit with old Vancouver’s crunchy-con vibe, its green-loving altruism, its innovative and multicultural roots. However, there is a growing unease inside me that Vancouver has passed its halcyon days, and is now entering a new twilight. Its overcrowding, homelessness, expanding inter-ethnic violence and growing reputation as a playland for the rich are just a couple of the symptoms of this new twilight that I see. And I see Vancouver as very much on the forefront of where most of the world is heading.

Speaking from this other edge, then, we’ll talk about what it means to tend a place, what it means to resist the Machine (thanks, Paul Kingsnorth), and what it means to embody the King as a beggar in a society on the edge of disintegration. I hope we will find examples of modern saints quietly living as reflections of Jesus. I’ll be searching for examples of a living faith, for those rebuilding in the midst of the rubble, and also for stories of those Christ-curious who are perhaps waking up to the realization that ancient Christianity is the way forward for society.

Maybe, just maybe, we’ll become the beggar in disguise for someone else, as we each find the courage to speak from our own “rhythm.”

Join us.

Thoughtful weekly missives from the edge of society, near the ‘end’ of continents and history. At our best, prophetic voices speaking into the chaos—which means voices of love.

On that note, allow me to conclude with the sign-off with which I’m going to end all of my pieces:

Your voice is needed, and we’d love to hear it in the comments below. However, if you choose to abandon the voice of love^[1] in your comments, remember that you are abandoning all of your beneficial power.

Love is the most powerful force in the universe, alone having the ability to create change for the better. Indeed, it is the only force that ever has.^[2]

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^[1] Love doesn’t mean sloppy sentimentalism: love speaks the hard truth, yet considers others before itself.

^[2] With a nod to Margaret Mead.