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The other day, I heard a radio ad promoting the local Powerball lottery. "All you need is a dollar and a dream!"

Especially in the context of the hard work we've been doing lately to raise funds for Huss School, I was struck by the linking of a dollar and a dream. I mean, we have something in common with the state lottery, right? We're trying to invite people to take a risk on something they deeply hope for, something with a very real financial cost. And at the same time, there's a very important difference.

We are not promising personal riches to one lucky winner, but seeking abundance for many, especially those who are poor in spirit, in power, in dollars, in influence, in imagination.

We are not asking our contributors to pick the right numbers in a carefully regulated game of chance, but to give without the expectation of reward and trust that a creative, life-giving vision will flourish where they plant the seed.

Rather than a gamble in which there are winners and losers, it's an exercise in imagination wherein we all have a role to play to the best of our abilities.

We'll continue to extend invitations for new contributors to this project through every means we have available to us. In the meantime, would it be inappropriate to remind you that you can't win if you don't play?

Monthly contributions are greatly needed to sustain the work that's been begun at Huss School in Three Rivers, as well as the ongoing publishing and educational work of *culture is not optional. Please consider becoming a monthly donor or making a one-time donation.

Saturday morning was gray and misty, but warm as we gathered to speak words of blessing and break ground for Triple Ripple Community Gardens at the Huss School property. Many denominations, ages, colors, neighborhoods and vocations were represented around our circle and each minister brought a distinctive angle to the task at hand, calling God's abundance onto the land in so many different voices.

There have been many moments since *cino's purchase of Huss School last spring that Rob and I have felt overwhelmed with gratitude at the sense that this project is being carried beyond our limited human efforts, and the garden blessing was one such moment. To be sure, God will require our practical participation in the weeks and months ahead, from recruiting young gardeners to hauling watering cans. But as Pastor Bennett reminded us all during the blessing: God provides the water. We are gifted with the raw materials and with the imagination to put them together in a new way in a new place. And in this sense, all our labor is pleasure, whether it's the welcome pleasure of a successful tomato transplant or the more difficult pleasure of trusting the Spirit to help us overcome a relational challenge.

In the moment of the garden blessing on Saturday, I believe we all glimpsed what is possible in that place beyond what we were expecting.

Watch for video footage of the community garden blessing soon. In the meantime, enjoy these photos.

Holy Saturday began as most of my Saturdays have begun since January: waking up early and driving into the country out west of town to help care for Moon, a blind horse owned by my new friend Carol. This work is part of a three-way barter, in which I obtained an icon of Christ Teacher for Rob's thirtieth birthday and the artist gifted my time to Carol. I didn't shower or change out of my work clothes when I returned home in the new light of the unseasonably warm day. Rather, I enjoyed a cup of coffee and then Rob and I headed over to Huss School to try to finish some tasks and find time for reflection before the afternoon's predicted rain.

One of our first objectives was simply to walk the back property--about three acres behind the school--and imagine where things could go and what they might look like in the future, including the community garden that our friends Brenda and Julianna have in the works. Our current plan is to mark off areas of the massive lawn that we will not mow, in order to save time and fuel and to create a more welcoming habitat for the many creatures who forage on the property when humans aren't around. From an upstairs window, I could see a flock of birds, several squirrels and a woodchuck happily searching for food, with the calls of sand hill cranes in the distance. We want to be friendly to them, but also to our neighbors, which is why we'll strive to make the wildness look lovely and communicate our intentions via letters, signage and clean edges.

While we were walking out curved lines around the trees, we heard another familiar call in the distance: our friend Jo Ann. She's been an ally in righteous trouble making for several years now, which is why I took notice when she expressed her vision for a part of the property I'd initially considered rather useless: a paved area on the side of the newer part of the building conveniently hidden by a six-foot fence where locals had gotten into all manner of trouble smashing glass and spray painting. Being right off the gym kitchenette, however, and under the shade of the neighbor's trees, Jo Ann saw a perfect party patio. Yes! Seeing the space through new eyes opened up a whole world of possibility.

After Jo Ann left, we proceeded with the next agenda item: measuring an upstairs classroom and brainstorming possible arrangements for second floor living space. Then, it was on to finishing the weeding of one of the front flowerbeds. And finally, we set to work clearing the aforementioned patio area of leaves, sticks and the debris from cleaning the roof during the spring break trip. The supreme find of that work was some completely composted leaf mould that was loaded with worms! I scooped up as much as I could and, with apologies to the worms, relocated them to the front flower beds to continue their good work there.

By 12:30 pm, the rain was coming down pretty good and turning much of what we were trying to move into mud. Remembering the spring break trip rule that had been so life-giving of stopping our tasks at 12:30 for lunch, we decided it was quittin' time and headed home to dry out and eat. We'll finish the patio another day, but it already looks much better than it did.

The afternoon was filled with chatting and waiting until Terry arrived. Terry's a new acquaintance whose name first popped up during our initial campaign to purchase Huss School, though he'd been a classmate of my parents' in high school. He was passing through and wanted to take the opportunity to see the school. It was wonderful to show him around--another set of new eyes.

But his wouldn't be the last tour of the day. Around 3:30, student friends from Grand Rapids started to arrive for a simple dinner to mark the end of Lent, followed by participation in the annual Easter vigil at St. Gregory's Abbey. We were absolutely delighted that the interest of a few in coming down for the vigil had turned into a caravan of eight. I made a triple batch of Zero Soup from one of my Moosewood cookbooks with a bunch of vegetables we'd frozen last summer, along with whole wheat rosemary focaccia. It was joined by Natalie's delicious french bread and one of the biggest, most beautiful fruit salads I've ever seen.

Before dinner, we headed to the school. One of the students who came down had been part of the spring break trip, but the others had never seen the building before. It was so refreshing to walk through accompanied by their questions and ideas and laughter. At the end of our tour and from an upstairs window again, I noticed another critter in the yard--this time of the young human variety carrying some sort of gun and beckoning to his friends. Back at the patio for the second time that day, I caught the three of them and introduced myself. I don't think I was too intimidating, but poor Isaiah could barely spit out his name. Brandon and Ryan were a little more relaxed, though still very talkative about all of the troublemakers they'd seen around the school. I learned about the guy who spray painted "I love Chelsea" on the brick and about the kids who party in the back courtyard when we leave. It was a very non-linear conversation, but I did manage to tell them a few things about what we hope to do at the building and to invite their help in watching over it (albeit without pointing their "toy" guns at anyone). I'm looking forward to being able to greet them by name and meet their parents, who have wisely taught them not to run around with their guns loaded and to always point them at the ground.

Back at our apartment, ten of us gathered around the table and read Stephen Mitchell's translation of Psalm 90, a poignant reminder of how brief our lives are in the history of the world and in the context of eternity. But it finishes with a prayer for gratitude and purpose:

Teach us how short our time is;
Let us know it in the depth of our souls.
Fill us in the morning with your wisdom;
Shine through us all our lives.
Let our hearts soon grow transparent in the radiance of your love.
Show us how precious each day is; teach us to be fully here.
And let the work of our hands prosper, for our little while.

And then we ate our humble feast, and then we headed out toward the Abbey.

The Abbey's Easter vigil begins at 11:00 pm on Holy Saturday with the lighting and blessing of a new fire and the lighting of the Paschal candle. Then we process into the church for the reading of key stories from the Hebrew Bible, all building toward the transition of midnight. At precisely the right time, the bells ring and the room is illuminated and we remember our baptisms and we sing and we commune. And then we party, resurrection style. Brother Abraham made some delicious snacks, graciously considering the vegans and vegetarians among us, to accompany the wine. I enjoyed good conversation with the Abbot and with our friend Margaret, who was home from college on spring break. And finally, I thanked Brother Abraham for the hospitality of the Abbey, with a promise to continue our conversation about potential points of connection between the Abbey and the Huss School project. At 2:30 a.m., Rob and I finally collapsed into bed, full of surrender and hope.

I'm never quite sure what to make of days like this and I think that's a good thing. Like the mysteries of the Easter vigil, a highly liturgical ritual from a tradition I'm just beginning to know, the patterns of my life lately are filled to the brim with mysteries. How and why were we able to raise the money for *cino to purchase Huss School? Why are these college students, who have so many amazing gifts and ways of seeing the world, interested in visiting our humble little town? Why are friends of my parents from several states away popping up into the story? What's going to grow in that little flower bed in front of the school this summer, much less on several acres ten years from now? How will our connections to Brandon and Ryan and Isaiah develop over the next few years as their neighbors? Some days can be such inscrutable gifts, when I can hardly keep up with all of the ways the past, present and future are mingling together into an epic story in which we, ephemeral candleflames and dust and grass that we are, have roles to play.

Let us proclaim the mystery of faith:
Christ has died. Christ has risen. Christ will come again.

And we do proclaim it over and over again, don't we? Not just in the words of an Easter vigil or of a communion liturgy, but in longing and gratitude, we seek to do so every day, and in all things.

When I'm at the Abbey, I don't understand why we kneel when we do or when to bow or what tune to sing or even when I should add my female voice to the lower intonations of the monks. And when I'm at Huss School, I feel equally in the dark, but the smell of damp leaves and the feel of cool cinderblocks and the sounds of sand hill cranes remind me: I am here. I am here for my little while and I have good work to do. I am here, where many others have been and will be in the presence of One who sustains us all. "Behold I am doing a new thing," says the book held by Christ the Teacher in the icon painting that sits in our living room. "Now it shall spring forth."

If you haven't read the book Culture Making: Recovering our Creative Calling by Andy Crouch yet, we highly recommend it. Through stories, biblical exegesis, examples and cultural analysis, Crouch explores how the only way to change culture is to make more of it. Christians have become experts at certain "postures" or strategies toward culture--condemning, critiquing, copying and consuming--but none of these postures actually helps create more of the Kingdom-oriented culture we long to embody.

Admittedly, *cino leans toward the posture of critique. We believe it's important to analyze what stories are informing our practices, be they the stories of modernism or capitalism or individualism or Christianity or any combination of these and other stories. What foundational ideas cause us to behave as though single family homes are and should be the norm? What invisible intersection of beliefs guides our transportation or grocery shopping or parenting habits? Do these practices tell a story other than the Christian story we profess as our central narrative? Unearthing the answers to these questions about our practices through critique is essential for understanding where we've come from and where we might be going.

However, it's not enough to sit around and think about things, even if that thinking is insightful and wise. In order to change where we're going, we need to do something. In that spirit, the Imagining Space project is about culture making, about changing culture by making more of it. Surely our efforts will overlap and intersect with good work that's already being done and we plan to form many partnerships in the course of working out our vision. But we also plan to pull threads together in a new way, weaving possibilities into a tapestry that will delight, inspire, challenge and reveal in order to change people's ideas and actions for the loving benefit of themselves and others.

We're not out to change the world, and Crouch warns against such overstatement of purpose and potential. But we are out to be stewards of our small sphere of cultural influence and to offer our cultural power in the service of others. In his insightful analysis of power, Crouch writes,

Stewardship means to consciously take up our cultural power, investing it intentionally among the seemingly powerless, putting our power at their disposal to enable them to cultivate and create. This is different from charity, which is simply the transfer of assets from rich to poor. It is closer to investment.

Think, for example, of the community gardens we'd like to cultivate on the Huss property. As charity, we might grow or purchase food to donate to the local food bank. As a culture making investment, we'd teach and learn, water and weed alongside people in the neighborhood in the hopes that kitchen gardens will start popping up all over the city, sprouted from saved and shared seeds. These seeds won't grown on account of our own willpower or cleverness, but out of the rhythms of nature God mindfully created. Likewise, our best hope is that in the process of such stewardly and collaborative investment, we might actually become agents of what God is doing on the streets of Three Rivers and in the hearts of those we serve, expanding people's imaginations to hope for more than they thought possible of their city or themselves. Again from Crouch:

Culture making is needed in every company, every school and every church. In every place there are impossibilities that leave even the powerful feeling constrained and drained, and that rob the powerless of the ability to imagine something different and better. At root, every human cultural enterprise is haunted by the ultimate impossibility, death, which threatens to slam shut the door of human hope. But God is at work precisely in these places where the impossible seems absolute. Our calling is to join him in what he is already doing--to make visible what, in exodus and resurrection, he has already done.

So it's not about changing the world or charity. Is this all just about doing something so dramatic that we'll be remembered after we die? Or about checking off some box in the effort to get to heaven some day? Well, no, it's not really about legacies or future rewards either, but about doing something that we hope is of worth here and now. Putting it in perspective, Crouch writes:

We enter into the work of cultural creativity not as people who desperately need to strategize our way into cultural relevance, but as participants in a story of new creation that comes just when our power seems to have been extinguished. Culture making becomes not just the product of clever cultural strategy or the natural byproduct of inherited privilege, but the astonished and grateful response of people who have been rescued from the worst that culture and nature can do.

In short: Imagining Space is an attempt to embody our gratitude and love. We sincerely look forward to seeing how this project might make new culture toward the faithful renewal of Three Rivers and beyond.

Only one week to go to our May 27 deadline for raising $20,000. It's way more money than we've ever raised before as an organization for a huge building that will take years and millions of dollars to renovate. We've already acknowledged that we're crazy (but hopefully in a good, faithful crazy kind of way).

In the spirit of confession, let me tell you: it's an emotional roller coaster right now. One moment we are encouraged by a friend in China who's donating $20. The next, we are looking at the loooong way we have yet to go and feeling like we'll never get there, even as we feel more encouraged and excited about the potential for Huss School.

In the midst of this anxious doing and waiting, a friend who's been involved in starting (and ending) several such big projects as this before sent us some words worth sharing (and for me, repeating):

I am so proud of what you are doing and the way you are imagining and hoping. The older I get, the more I have less and less patience for small dreamers who are proud of their predictable but I think petty imaginings. If I fail, I want to fail at something really good, really true and really beautiful in purpose, in hope and in courage. I see that in you.

And in a follow-up note:

You embody Delight-filled determination to make their lives and those around you count. Failure is not really possible in that framework, only plan changes and learning new ways perhaps to move forward with new people and renewed energies in grace. Take heart, feel the hope of glory in the rising potential in your midst. Life is way too short, this side of the banquet to live small and restrict the flow of transforming love.

Thank God for this friend and for all of you who have been walking with us, chipping in your prayers, dollars, cautions, advice, encouragement and ideas.

And now we wait. And do some things that need doing. And wait some more.

I just finished re-reading Duane Friesen and Glen Stassen's "Just peacemaking" essay in Transforming Violence and several passages seemed remarkably relevant to the Imagining Space project. They identify three theological convictions that undergird practices of just peacemaking:

1. Biblical discipleship is grounded in the life, teachings, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.


2. The church is the eschatological "sign" of God's reign in the world, embodied in a concrete gathering of persons who seek to discern together what just peacemaking means and to model peacemaking practices in our corporate and individual lives.


3. The church must be committed to seek the peace of the city where she dwells.

It seems this list is a pretty good overview of what is driving *cino to consider this project.

While *cino is not a church, we are certainly part of the worldwide body and the work we'll be doing will involve partnerships with the community of churches in Three Rivers. Additionally, we have no illusions that this project will be quick or easy. In retelling the biblical narrative with this community through ritual and worship, we can remember and hope in ways that will sustain us along the long journey ahead. Such sustenance seems the only way such an undertaking will be possible.

We hope that the programming we're imagining for this space will allow us to model just peacemaking in Three Rivers. The off-campus program we're proposing and the intersection of college students with local community partners will be a remarkable opportunity to discern together how we might go about the work of peacemaking and community development. We're still in conversation--and will be for some time--about the specifics of our programming, but the possibilities are terribly exciting!

Finally, we hope that the work we'd embody in a space like Huss School would, in fact, seek the welfare of Three Rivers. Friesen and Stassen elaborate:

When the church seeks the well-being of the city where it dwells, it will be drawn into participation with fellow citizens, from a variety of points of view, in the development of norms and practices that can contribute to the shalom of the city.

The biblical notion of shalom refers to a universal flourishing and delight, where all are able to contribute toward right relationships--relationships that allow community to deepen and grow. In seeking this ideal, we would want to work with other groups with similar interests in community development, justice, economic vitality and environmental stewardship. This kind of community growth is good for everyone, regardless of belief.

Interesting how these kinds of ideas all come together!