On April 10^th/11^th, I attended the Faith & Culture Writers Conference in Portland, a two hour drive south. It was my first ever opportunity to engage about writing with others who also write. Trying to sort out the experience is a bit like trying to deconstruct a flavorful stew – the flavors are so intermingled and have so influenced one another that it isn’t entirely possible to label them separately. But I process things by writing about them, so I’ll put the experience through the word processor and see what emerges.

As expected, I met more than a few people whose life stories would make an interesting read of engaging plot twists in a landscape of complex characters. Other folks had simple life stories, but ideas that required significant mental gymnastics to climb. Whether like me, finding words to be ready toys and tools, or like others, for whom words come hard, there was a shared appreciation for the power of language, and for the responsibility and privilege we bear and share as Christian writers, whatever the subject of our pen.

I heard many casual references to “my next book comes out in so-many months”, some dropping as naturally as a passing comment about an upcoming summer vacation, others inserted with all the subtlety of a newly-engaged woman’s use of her left hand. Being writers, and thus delvers deep into the depths of the human soul, table topics during breaks moved almost instantly from “What’s your name?” to “What’s your worst fear, your darkest secret, the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done that you hope to goodness never shows up on YouTube?” – all answered without skipping a beat, in the presence of utter strangers. (Some of us seeming stranger than others, but none of us perfect strangers, thank goodness, or how would any of us live up to that?)

The speakers ranged from nationally known authors such as Emily Freeman (Grace for the Good Girl; http://www.chattingatthesky.com/) and William Paul Young (The Shack; http://www.windrumors.com/), to Portland-based Tony Kriz (Aloof: Figuring out Life with a God Who Hides; http://tonykriz.com/) and motivational speaker/new author Romal Tune (God’s Graffiti: Inspiring Stories for Teens; http://www.romaltune.com/), along with successful bloggers, internet article writers, and literary editors and agents. (I went to several sessions with author Terry Glaspy , and I am sooooo jazzed about his newest book coming out in July – The Prayers of Jane Austen!! He found them in collections of other works of hers and got permission to print them on their own. Since most members of my family are major Austen-philes, this is truly a Major Event!)

Another speaker was spoken word poet, Phil Long. (Cosmolyrical ; http://sacrificialpoetproject.org/poet/phil-long  Spoken word poetry is poetry written, like drama, for the purpose of being performed, not merely read, using evocative imagery, story-telling, and word play. Just watch a video or two from the website and you’ll understand.) His performance left me feeling overwhelmed with imagery pulsating with fresh perspectives, familiar phrases turning on their heels and heading in unexpected directions. Whether listening to or reading it, this poetry is a rich experience.

Not unexpectedly, I added more books to my already too-long “to read” list. It’s a good thing it’s only a list, because a stack of the actual books would be into zero gravity by now. I came away with a number of quotes that I expect will ferment into blog posts.

I learned to my dismay that if my intentions are honorable and my purpose to grow my blog readership, somewhat techno-timid me will have to subdue the brave new world of … gulp … social media.   I will have to become Twitter-pated and learn to sound retweet, become an Instagram cracker and milk it for all it’s worth, put a Pinterest in it, build with LinkdIn logs, and Facebook ‘em, Danno. I am rethinking several aspects of my blogging, as will be seen in the coming months.

I found myself uplifted, challenged, inspired, objected, overruled and sustained.

This was the first time I heard writers referred to as a class as “artists” and “creatives”, but I concluded that I am a somewhat defective creative, as I did not relate to quite a few things said of “we writers”. I don’t suffer angst about calling myself a writer or about writing. I don’t fear rejection, or worry that a publisher will think I’m crazy. (I AM crazy, so it would be an accurate assessment.) I don’t relate to ALL other art; some art moves me, while other just makes me want to move along. Still, it was interesting to ponder what I do in that light.

One thing that did seriously bother me was an attitude I picked up from some of the session speakers. There was a consistent message from most of the lead speakers that we need to be like Jesus, who sometimes flipped tables and sometimes spoke gently to the hurting. However, especially in some sessions I attended, there wasn’t always acknowledgment of the Scriptural truth that we are one body, each with its own part to play. We are not each called to look like all parts of Jesus. Some of us are table flippers, some are comforters; some of us are sandpaper, others, Kleenex. Several speakers stressed the need to respect those who see things differently, no matter how much you differ from their perspective, but other speakers seemed to apply that only to the world, not to others in the church. They freely – and sometimes with glee – condemned the “thems” who the “us” have declared to be shallow or not “authentically” Christian. At those times I found myself very thankful that many of my friends and family were not in the audience, because they would have been sorely wounded to hear their hearts judged and themselves made fun of, devalued, and dismissed, because they find have different opinions and find meaning in things those speakers find meaningless.

Having the conference close with William Paul Young was a wonderful counterbalance to that. He challenges the church, but his love FOR and identification WITH that church comes through clearly. We’re ALL at the same Table, whether we acknowledge it or not – because it’s HIS Table, not ours. I don’t interpret all life as Young does, but , unlike some of the other speakers, I would love to sit down to coffee with him, feeling that there would be no judgment from him while I was with him and no condemnation by him talking about our conversation later to others.

In the end, that is what challenged me the most from the conference, because I know I far too easily fall in the camp of those who sit on a holy high horse disclaiming on Where Other Christians or the Church As a Whole Have Gone Wrong, criticizing and, yes, even (to my shame) deriding other Christians. Yet I am struck by a phrase in Hebrews 2:11. In speaking of those who are sanctified – which is ALL Christians, not just those we like or agree with – it says that Christ Himself is not ashamed to call them His brothers and sisters. Ouch. When we begin to slam our brothers and sisters, making judgments about their hearts, criticizing their motives and questioning their intentions (which are both matters of the heart that only God sees), when we would prefer not to be known to be family members of “those” Christians because we know we’re “better”, or “wiser”, or more “spiritual” than they are, we “better” be careful. If they are God’s people, then they are His just as much as we are, and they are answerable to HIM, not to us. (Romans 14:1-4) There’s nothing “funny” about “sticking it to” our brothers and sisters. No matter how correct the criticism or valid the point about an issue, we are wrong if we venture to judge or belittle the person.

One of the analogies given for us as writers was that we are “window washers”, giving people the opportunity to see things more clearly. I think the window I better wash first is my own.