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| 1 Introduction Conceptualizing Emerging Evangelicalism “This is the way it’s supposed to be,” Larry averred from the top of the stairs. I turned to offer an appreciative nod. His face was beaming, framed by a neatly kept white beard. It was 4:30 p.m., mid-June 2009, and I had just finished a three-hour interview , preceded by two hours of talk, food, and coffee. The day had started with no anticipation of anything unexpected. I was to interview Aaron, a campus pastor in his late thirties. We had arranged to meet for lunch in Newport, Kentucky, just across the state line from Cincinnati. Aaron suggested a change of plan via email late the previous day, which I received the next morning: James, Not to throw a wrench in our plans, but I got to thinking about our topic of conversation and thought it might be a good idea to meet at a place that embodies what I think we might be discussing more than a restaurant. Can we meet in Norwood instead of Newport? There’s a great place [called] 1801 Mills . . . Along with the change of venue, he added that others might join us. And so it was: instead of interviewing one individual about the Emerging Church movement, I interviewed four. The typical two-hour event became five. 1801 Mills is in Norwood, Ohio—a Cincinnati neighborhood that is both struggling and lively. It is struggling because the local economy still suffers from the 1987 closing of a General Motors automotive factory. The outward aesthetic bares this impress. Houses are run down: crooked and broken fences, chipping paint, cracked windows, few attempts at outward beautification . Streets are uninviting: trash scattered along curbs, rusty and bent road signs, potholes, and eroding asphalt. Cars are categorically tattered, modest, 2 | Introduction and older; nothing glitzy or ostentatious. It is lively because Norwood is a lived-in place. Children play on sidewalks when days are not dampened by rain. Mothers push strollers. Older men and women sit in expired lawn chairs, idling or observing. Men congregate on corner pub stoops to smoke and talk. Norwood is home to St. Elizabeth’s cathedral, property of Vineyard Central since 1995. “VC” is a congregation of house churches and they use “St. E” as a multipurpose venue. Built in 1880, the former Catholic church has its own problems: leaking roof, outdated wiring, crumbling plaster, decaying wood, and plumbing that emits high-pitched screeches in between clanging jolts. Yet it is lovely. Its towering steeples make the surrounding buildings appear slight. The stone exterior is prominent and handsome. The broad entry stairs are backed by intricately engraved columns. If you harbor even the meekest curiosity for what occurs inside, it beckons. Directly across the narrow neighborhood street from St. E is 1801 Mills. “1801” is Larry’s creation. He completed renovations on the battered structure and opened it for use in 2007. He calls the nonprofit venture a “Third Place,” somewhere to gather and be in community that is not home or office. It has hosted numerous groups: VC house church meetings, neighborhood film showings, and exhibits by local artists. Group and event facilitators are furnished with keys and security codes, encouraging a come-and-go-as-youplease attitude. I arrived at 11:40 that June morning. It was a gorgeously sunny day. I had been to 1801 once before, and knew the way through the back metal gate, up the red wooden stairs, inside, and up the steep, narrow staircase to the third floor. Four floors in all, 1801 is a thin, deep rectangular building with ample windows. It is not particularly attractive from the outside, an assessment amplified by the neighboring St. E. When I arrived Larry was concluding a casual chat with a middle-aged woman. He was expecting me. Several hours earlier he had accepted Aaron’s invitation to join our interview. D.G. and Becky, he informed me, would also join us. Larry looked delightfully disheveled. His hair, also a thick white and gray, was slightly sloppy with stray curls. Smaller, tightly curled white locks snuck out the top of his navy summer linen shirt, which stayed half-tucked into baggy khakis, an arrangement to which he seemed gleefully oblivious. The third floor is corridor-like, with four rooms separated by open door frames. The walls are painted with light pastels, each room a different hue. Candles are scattered generously along window frames. There are couches and chairs, most...

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