Mr. Bill and Mrs. Boorman cover each of the senses, taking each in turn.  The major divisions are Taste, See, Touch, Hear, and Smell.  Underneath each subheading, Bill and Boorman alternate meditations, offering at the conclusion a practical exercise that can be undergone in light of their meditation.  For example, Mrs. Boorman directs the reader in an exercise called "Tasting Words".  The reader is instructed to reflect on their day, and the words chosen in each conversation.  By carefully considering what has been offered and consumed, Boorman connects the sense of taste with the concrete nature of our words.  She then offers questions, "How do these words taste?" and more.  Bitter, or sweet?  Healthy, or debilitating?  Quite simply, this is another way of evaluating our speech-acts in light of Christian discipleship.  In addition to the practices, each section is front-lined by a work of art depicting each sense, and accompanying questions that serve to guide the viewer as they contemplate the work.

Charity is a personal policy.  When I review books, I always try to strike the balance between honest critique and careful encouragement.  There are books that I enjoy I am certain others would not, and there are books that I do not enjoy I am sure others most definitely would.  This book is the latter.  The aim of Mr. Bill and Mrs. Boorman is clear--they wish for their readers to engage their world with all of their senses, and learn from these experiences something new regarding the God who made all things, including the faculties by which we perceive our world.  Through their sensory experiments, they also hope to instill in the reader a sense of an embodied faith.

My disappointments, personally, had to do with the depth of biblical and theological engagement.  Though Mr. Bill and Mrs. Boorman do make connections to Scripture and to certain elements within the Christian tradition, I would describe those interactions as cursory, not substantive.  The primary thrust of this book was personal narrative, as is the case with a number of resources on offer in the area of Christian spiritual formation.

It may be the case, then, that I am asking too much.  Mr. Bill and Mrs. Boorman are dealing in the gentle avenues of grace, and that may be exactly what the bulk of their readers will need--a soft introduction to a new way of thinking, or a gentle invitation to a more embodied way of thinking about life as a child of God in this world.  I have no doubt that such people will be helped by reading this book.

Glad I caught this on Twitter via FastCompany.  To see the entire series, go here.

This week I'm giving away a copy of Brian Hardin's book Passages: How Reading the Bible in a Year Will Change Everything for You.  Here you will discover a helpful and practical guide to reading the Bible, and a few hints concerning how the reading of Scripture can bring about transformation in your life.

I'll choose a winner on Friday, as always.  If you'd like to be considered for the drawing, answer this question:

What Bible translation do you use?  Any particular reason why?

I rely on the NRSV and the NIV.  I occasionally read The Message, and right now I am working through The Voice translation of the New Testament.

Leave a comment!

Two weeks ago on a Thursday afternoon I stopped by the local branch of my public library.  The clock read seven minutes till one.  In my hand were two books, clutched to my chest.  Since the doors of the library did not open for another few minutes, I took a seat on a nearby bench.

As I sat, patiently waiting for the library to open, a man approached the library.  He stared at me intently.  His expression hinted at a slight bit of anger.  He had graying hair and glasses, wore jeans and a sweatshirt.  As I looked up and locked with his gaze, he said, "Are you Tom Cruise?"  His tone hinted at sarcasm, even condescension.

Befuddled, I said, "No."  Looking down at my chest, I then realized that one of the two titles I was returning was Janet Reitman's Inside Scientology: The Story of America's Most Secretive Religion, a fascinating read.  If you're a Scientologist, you may want to navigate away from my blog, as it may be regarded as entheta.  Nevertheless, the cover of my book faced toward the man.

I held up the book.  I said, "Oh, this!  No, no.  I'm just interested in religion," a curt reply meant to dispel any controversy and divert conversation in a different direction.

The man asked, "But not Christianity?"

I held up the second book, a Christian spiritual formation volume by Leighton Ford, The Attentive Life: Discerning God's Presence in All Things.  "Yes, of course," I said.

Before I could say anything further, I was cut off.  "But Christianity is not a religion," he said.  I immediately recognized this trope.  Continuing, he said, "Religion is man reaching up to God, but Christianity is God coming down to man, freely offering the gift of salvation."  He made the appropriate hand motions.

In my mind, I thought that if this was this man's best attempt at evangelism, his tone and manner did more to alienate me, rather than to bring me near.  I looked at him and simply replied, "I'm not going to disagree with you."

Thinking he had won the victory, he stepped toward the door of the library.  As he moved that way, he went on to make a remark about the godlessness of The University of Kansas, a place he believed had rejected God's truth.  He reached for the door and pulled.  No movement.  The doors remained locked.  He was stuck.  With me.

There happened to be room on the bench.  He came to sit down.  He told me stories of the declining economy.  He asked if I had work.  I told him I drove the school bus.  He said, "Kids have to go to school."  He worked at a local grocery store.  He continued to report on the negative.  The conditions, he believed, matched well with stories his grandmother had told him of The Great Depression.  He had once worked for a prominent hotel chain, but was let go when the economy crashed.  I listened.  I asked questions.  No more talk of spirituality, but there was no doubt in my mind that his perception was greatly effected by his form of Christianity.

To his relief, the librarian shortly arrived.  He rose and said to her, "I haven't gotten used to these new hours."  We parted ways.

He did not ask what I believed, but he did give me a lecture.  He revealed his heart.  He passed judgment, but did not ask me to pray the sinner's prayer.  But I'm not a Scientologist.  I'm a Christian.

The moral of the story: if you want to start a conversation with someone about Jesus, the best way to begin isn't by asking if the person you are looking at is Tom Cruise.  I mean, I'm a handsome fellow, but it has been a long time since I looked this ripped.

It happened on a Sunday afternoon.

I had left my home and headed east to the nearest coffee shop, but prior to settling in for a drink, relaxation, and some reading, I pulled in to the parking lot of my bank to make a deposit.  I had received my first paycheck for my first completed book project.  Naturally I was excited.  It was my first payday, and the largest sum I had received for any work I had ever done.  I had plans for the money.  As a writer, you could guess that it was designated toward paying down some debt.  You would be partly right.

As I turned left to pull in to my parking spot, an older woman quickly approached my vehicle.  Wearing a large overcoat and some oversized sunglasses, she had shoulder length, dark hair. It was her jowls that revealed the years.  I had no idea what she might need, but her cause seemed to be urgent.

Marching toward me, I began to crack my window.  Again and again, I heard, "Quit following me!  Quit following me!"  Bewildered, I repled, "What are you talking about?"

She shot back, "I know you were following me, you and your friends over there!  I saw you turning after me at the intersection"  She pointed at two other cars in the line for the ATM.  I had not seen her car before.

I had bypassed the ATM line and pulled to the front of the bank, where with a swip of my banking card I could enter a small lobby and complete my transaction.  I told her that I had come to use the ATM.  Dubious, she shouted, "Oh sure!  You came to the front of the building to use the bank!  Too bad they are closed!"

I tried to explain that I was confident I could gain entry to the lobby.  She turned to walk away.  Over her shoulder, she yelled, "Quit following me, you bastard!  You have nothing better to do than to follow an old lady!  Quit following me!"

When I was parking, I noticed the woman had a Jesus bumper sticker on the rear of car.  After she called me a bastard, in a moment of Christ-likeness, I said, "Hey, nice Jesus sticker on the back of your car!"

Launching a brilliant return volley, she screamed, "Yea, you should follow Jesus!  Quit following an old lady!"

At that, she turned to a small white truck pulling forth from the ATM.  She told the gentleman behind the wheel, "Quit following me, you bastard!"  He looked at her quizzically, but when the reality of what she had said settled in his mind, he unleashed a barrage of profanity in her direction, and slowly rolled along, cussing loudly.

I entered the bank and made my deposit.  The woman continued yelling at other drivers at the ATM.  She even took the time to circle the building and yell at one of the drivers--for good measure--before leaving the bank.  She met that same driver as they approached the exit, though they circled the building in different directions.

If this was your grandmother or mother, please tell her I am following Jesus.  You might also want to get her some help.  I promise, I wasn't following her.  And sorry for being a smartass.