We all have things we worry about. If we don't, we worry about not having things to worry about. Sometimes we worry about things that no one else would understand or believe. It's probably easier though if we actually have universally accepted things about which we can worry. Then we can just pony up and worry about them and no one questions our furrowed brows and raised shoulders.
A lot of times our worry will send us off to the web or even a bookstore to research worry, hoping to find help, self help. We might pick up books on peace and contentment, we might pick up books on worry or we might even pick up both. If we do pick up both, we worry about which one we should read first. At some point in our self-help reading, we're likely to stumble over the pronouncement that worry is bad for us. Then of course, we start worrying about worrying about worry.
The universally recognized worst time (or best if you're a fan of worry) for worry is the middle of the night. Something brings you awake and suddenly, almost reflexively the pressing problem du jour is the only and biggest thing in the world. This might be the result of hormones or dreams or even a spiritual attack. It really doesn't matter because regardless of how big or real or small or irrelevant the issue might actually be, the worry is very real, heart attack real.
Over the years I've tried all manner of responses to this sort of worry. I've had varying degrees of succes, well actually failure I guess, with everything from watching TV, reading, praying and thinking about fun things. What's interesting is that for all that might be wrong with worry it has one huge characteristic that makes it unique in it's strength and purity. Namely, it's as persistent as hell, literally.
Lately I've added a Catholic radio station to my car radio buttons. In the mornings they play a segment in which the Lord's Prayer (the Our Father in Catholic parlance) and the Hail Mary are recited over and over. I've heard this practice demeaned a good bit over the years by well meaning people who imagine that because something is repeated that it's necessarily done mindlessly or even soullessly. That's probably not true. For myself, I've decided that it's probably a bad idea to criticize people for praying scripture, even if they repeat themselves in profound violation of our tastes.
I've spent the last year adding a substantial component of rhytmic practice to my life with Christ. This centers around the church calendar and the Anglican Liturgy. (Liturgy used to be something I'd worry about. To wit: Is it right? Is it boring? Is it hip(ster) enough? When I realized it's about 85% scripture, I stopped worrying. I wouldn't apply those standards to scripture, so why worry about it?)
Some place in all this, I was reminded of something I was taught decades ago but had long forgotten. Namely, the Psalms aren't just another book of the bible. The Psalms are a book of prayers. They were the prayers of an ancient people. A people who loved God. These are prayers born from the total spectrum of human emotion including joy, desperation and even loathing. They were written to be repeated. They are passionate, beautiful, fierce and frightening. I heard Dallas Willard make an off hand statement once to effect that if you want to understand the heart of God, pray and meditate on the Psalms. Yes; I do think so.
These days when I wake up in the middle of the night and the real or imagined crisis of the day threatens to rob me of sleep, one thing comes to mind. "The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want..." It seems that the 23rd Psalm is where worry goes to die. "...He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters..." And many nights I can't even remember the entire Psalm or get the order right. But I don't worry about it. "...He restoreth my soul:..." The night noises both outside and inside my head might seem more real for the deep dark of the late night but so does the peace and completion of salvation. "he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake..." And if you aren't yet asleep, here's the rest of it:
4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;
thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:
thou anointest my head with oil;
my cup runneth over.
6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:
and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.
Good night. Sleep well.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Of Roller Coasters and Have You Seen My Keys?
Wouldn't you think you'd get better at most everything over the course of your life?
After living a half century I think by now I should be over losing things. Whether it's socks, shoes, keys or whatever the critical component of getting out the door is, it seems like I ought to have mastered it by now. However, while I have generally gotten better at putting things where they go and reaping all the benefits that implies, somehow life always seems to object to my organizational aspirations.
When something new gets added to my schedule, particularly something that requires me to carry a new piece of hardware out the door in the morning, the apples all seem to spill from the organization cart. When I focus intently on the new thing, then my old routine suffers.
About a month ago, I locked myself out of the house. I had a new thing to take with me that day. I had the thing in my hand but as a result had forgotten to check my pockets to make sure I had my keys. We have a contingency at our house for this sort of error. Since I hadn't used it for years (the good news), I wasn't altogether clear on where all the parts were. Eventually I found them. Of course I was late to my appointment...revealing my disorganization.
I'm finding it clearer than ever that time doesn't offer any guarantee of improvement. If you're like me, you're probably thinking something profound right now, like "DUH." However, consider how you think about the future. You assume your kids will get older, better, nicer. You assume your financial situation will improve. You assume your health will either remain as it is or you'll get everything fixed in short order. This is a very short list when compared against the real possibilities and yet look at all the potential for derailment.
Here are some contrary and ugly realities to consider. Over the next few years, you and people you love are going to experience varying degrees of sickness. Over the same period, you or your spouse will likely incur a financial set back. Then there's the kids... The possibilities here are almost endless. However, since I don't want you to think I'm trying to get even with you because you dismissively said "DUH" earlier, I'll stop. You can fill in your own gaps if you like. Just be advised though, the word for that is called "worry" and it is seldom helpful.
When we think positive thoughts about the future, we usually refer to those kind of thoughts as hopeful or optimistic. Hope and optimism are good and helpful. However, they can quite often fall prey to the bad things that eventually come to all flesh. Then of course, we resort to worry. Over time, if we're really dedicated to "doing better," we wrap ourselves around optimism and hope. Eventually, something or even a few somethings positive happen. Then we go back to assuming that good things will always follow. Wash, rinse, repeat.
This idea is not new. The earliest developed version I know of is found in the biblical book, Ecclesiastes. In fact, entire systems of thought and value have been built on this conundrum. I would add that so has much of Western Civilization. We assume that more information has made us smarter and better able to handle life. While I do think information and learning has improved our physical lot considerably, I think we might actually handle the business of living not quite as well as we have in times past.
I think the fallacies in this construct are found in focusing on the wrong things and looking too far ahead; all this driven by the vain imagining that all those "things" are out there (i.e. separated from us). The truth is this, while you might make small and/or temporary differences in what's going to happen next through carefully made plans, tomorrow is going to take care of itself with or without you, one way or another.
The worst part is that the pessimistic/optimistic construct hides the beautiful truth at the center of it all. You. You're not detached from the roller coaster. You're on it. You're not the tracks, the wheels or the cart but you are definitely riding, hanging on and leaning into every turn. And even more, you're the reason the ride is there at all. You can't hide from it, control more than your own place or jump off. As long as your alive, you ride. And by the way, we are only given as much control of the ride in any moment as God allows.
Sometimes I ask for changes in the ride. Sometimes they are granted. However, even then it's not my will being done. It's someone else adjusting there's to mine even as I work to adjust mine to theirs.
I am slowly learning to go with the ride God gave me and to see his reality in all of the roller coaster. It goes up and down and makes stupid, wild turns. It goes really fast sometimes and sometimes it's just the clunk clunk clunk up the long grade. The g-force, turn angle and even the speed don't matter. Still, how I engage it all counts for everything.
Now you'll have to excuse me. I have to go find my keys.
After living a half century I think by now I should be over losing things. Whether it's socks, shoes, keys or whatever the critical component of getting out the door is, it seems like I ought to have mastered it by now. However, while I have generally gotten better at putting things where they go and reaping all the benefits that implies, somehow life always seems to object to my organizational aspirations.
When something new gets added to my schedule, particularly something that requires me to carry a new piece of hardware out the door in the morning, the apples all seem to spill from the organization cart. When I focus intently on the new thing, then my old routine suffers.
About a month ago, I locked myself out of the house. I had a new thing to take with me that day. I had the thing in my hand but as a result had forgotten to check my pockets to make sure I had my keys. We have a contingency at our house for this sort of error. Since I hadn't used it for years (the good news), I wasn't altogether clear on where all the parts were. Eventually I found them. Of course I was late to my appointment...revealing my disorganization.
I'm finding it clearer than ever that time doesn't offer any guarantee of improvement. If you're like me, you're probably thinking something profound right now, like "DUH." However, consider how you think about the future. You assume your kids will get older, better, nicer. You assume your financial situation will improve. You assume your health will either remain as it is or you'll get everything fixed in short order. This is a very short list when compared against the real possibilities and yet look at all the potential for derailment.
Here are some contrary and ugly realities to consider. Over the next few years, you and people you love are going to experience varying degrees of sickness. Over the same period, you or your spouse will likely incur a financial set back. Then there's the kids... The possibilities here are almost endless. However, since I don't want you to think I'm trying to get even with you because you dismissively said "DUH" earlier, I'll stop. You can fill in your own gaps if you like. Just be advised though, the word for that is called "worry" and it is seldom helpful.
When we think positive thoughts about the future, we usually refer to those kind of thoughts as hopeful or optimistic. Hope and optimism are good and helpful. However, they can quite often fall prey to the bad things that eventually come to all flesh. Then of course, we resort to worry. Over time, if we're really dedicated to "doing better," we wrap ourselves around optimism and hope. Eventually, something or even a few somethings positive happen. Then we go back to assuming that good things will always follow. Wash, rinse, repeat.
This idea is not new. The earliest developed version I know of is found in the biblical book, Ecclesiastes. In fact, entire systems of thought and value have been built on this conundrum. I would add that so has much of Western Civilization. We assume that more information has made us smarter and better able to handle life. While I do think information and learning has improved our physical lot considerably, I think we might actually handle the business of living not quite as well as we have in times past.
I think the fallacies in this construct are found in focusing on the wrong things and looking too far ahead; all this driven by the vain imagining that all those "things" are out there (i.e. separated from us). The truth is this, while you might make small and/or temporary differences in what's going to happen next through carefully made plans, tomorrow is going to take care of itself with or without you, one way or another.
The worst part is that the pessimistic/optimistic construct hides the beautiful truth at the center of it all. You. You're not detached from the roller coaster. You're on it. You're not the tracks, the wheels or the cart but you are definitely riding, hanging on and leaning into every turn. And even more, you're the reason the ride is there at all. You can't hide from it, control more than your own place or jump off. As long as your alive, you ride. And by the way, we are only given as much control of the ride in any moment as God allows.
Sometimes I ask for changes in the ride. Sometimes they are granted. However, even then it's not my will being done. It's someone else adjusting there's to mine even as I work to adjust mine to theirs.
I am slowly learning to go with the ride God gave me and to see his reality in all of the roller coaster. It goes up and down and makes stupid, wild turns. It goes really fast sometimes and sometimes it's just the clunk clunk clunk up the long grade. The g-force, turn angle and even the speed don't matter. Still, how I engage it all counts for everything.
Now you'll have to excuse me. I have to go find my keys.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
The Space Between
O God, Creator of heaven and earth: Grant that, as the crucified body of your dear Son was laid in the tomb and rested on this holy Sabbath, so we may await with him the coming of the third day, and rise with him to newness of life; who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
This day 1980 years ago (i.e. 2013 - 33) was a quiet day in Jerusalem. After three years of challenge, change and upset most all believed the matter settled. Jesus had been put to death.
It had been an exciting week. The preceding Sunday, crowds in town for the Passover celebration had been treated to huge demonstrations of support and love for the teacher called Jesus. The intervening week had been punctuated with a near riot at the temple, plotting in the councils of the leaders, the usual controversial teaching, manifestations of the supernatural reported both by Jesus' followers as well as more that were reported in at least one contemporary history of the day. You didn't need network news to get you worked up about all that was going on.
All that had ended suddenly yesterday with the whisper, "It is finished." In that moment, things had for a bit, taken a bad turn. The sky turned black and there was extreme thunder and lightning. Some people (possibly shaken by the severe weather) reported people long dead showing up and talking about the death that had just happened on Golgotha. Even in the context of all that had happened the previous week, that had to be weird. Someone had even vandalized the temple, tearing a particularly heavy temple curtain multiple stories high in half.
Today was a pretty quiet day. There were a few followers of Jesus here and there, obviously shaken, running from their own shadows and rethinking their career choices. Most people concerned themselves with their usual Passover Sabbath observations. Jesus' followers would not even go to his tomb out of respect for the Sabbath. In any case, the body would keep until Sunday.
In what would later come to be seen as perhaps the single greatest miscalculation in the history of mankind, the current Roman Governor Pilate, ordered the tomb sealed with an official seal and a platoon of troops guard the body. This was a response to rumors that Jesus' followers would try to steal his body and make people think he'd risen from the dead. Of course later the guards went running around telling everyone that they fell asleep and when they work up the body was gone. Odd that was the best they could come up with since that particular story carried the death penalty.
I think there were other guards there too by the way. They however were actually in the tomb, with the body. There's a kind of picture of the guards I'm talking about. It looks like this:
In this picture, the guards are waiting to do the job of guarding Jesus' body. This is an approximation of the Ark of the Covenant. Inside is a sort of scrap book of the intersection between God and his nation Israel. For one thousand years, most people who knew about this box thought the angels were representations of guards guarding the stuff in the box. Actually, they were a picture of waiting. They were waiting for the completion, the filling of the space between. Notice, they wait on the outside where we all live...but their mission is somehow accomplished on the inside of the tomb, away from all eyes. Inside...outside...interesting.
Technically, these aren't angels at all. Whatever the resemblance, these aren't anything like TV angels. These are terrible and terrifying creatures, here rendered beautifully and simply. Suffice to say, you don't want to be on the wrong side of whatever they've been sent to do.
At some point in time before time, I think there was a combination of great sadness, wild anger and infinite determination on the face of God when he commanded these beings, explaining their mission. In that thoroughly intimidating conversation there was something like this: "And no one...no one...no one touches or even approaches my son's body. No one but me."
On the next day of course, everything would change. The resurrected Jesus would start appearing to a few people, then a few more and eventually to thousands. His followers who had scattered like a flock of birds from a pack of running dogs stopped running away. Instead, they followed him to messy deaths, forever putting to death the lie that they carried on as they did for wealth and power. As a result they spread the life of his truth in a way that changed eternity. (They were always part of the design exactly like the cherubim...but that's another story.)
Tomorrow's coming but on this day we remember the moment between then and now. On this day we remember the day the cherubim had been waiting for; the moment the space between was finally, forever and completely closed. This day is the day of the Father with his Son.
Each of us will watch and live out our own space between. This is completely true whether we follow Christ diligently, hold him at arm's length or are utterly oblivious to him. For those that follow Christ, we will slowly and surely come to see the space between filled with something quite complete, beautiful and resurrected that is completely us, completely other and completely new. Hallelujah. Tomorrow is almost here.
Monday, March 11, 2013
You Might Have Invented Your Own God If...
I heard a quote yesterday. I view it as a theological type of "You're probably a Redneck if."
“You can safely assume that you’ve created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.” (from Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott; on page 22 of Bird by Bird she attributes this quote to “my priest friend Tom”)
I think this is a wonderful idea...as far as it goes. However, since there's an underlying thread in my life that pulsates with the idea that "nothing exceeds like excess," I think this idea can be taken in a whole bunch of other directions with equal or even greater relevance.
Here are some candidates:
You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image if you imagine that your aspirations for yourself are the same as His aspirations for you. The corollary: He's got a lot more in mind for you than your imagination will entertain, or even allow.
You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image if you imagine that everything that feels right (and maybe confortableto you is actually right. The corollary: Everyone is welcome as they are but everyone will be invited and even mightily challenged to change. You shouldn't look for core theology to change so that you will feel more comfortable.
You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image if your righteous indignation carries with it an unnatural degree of logical justification. The corollary: The core concepts of Christianity are the core concepts of Christianity and neither benefit nor mutate based on new translation or interpretation.
Honestly, the potential in this construct is probably endless. The thing I find sad in this is that all such attempts to cast God into something he isn't will be limited by our respective, individual brokenness...and we have enough of that without playing it back to ourselves dressed in a warped image of God.
I think the confusion often surfaces here that God's peace is not at all the same thing as peaceful circumstance. In this life there's no guarantee of "And they all lived happily ever after." Instead, the promise is more along the lines of "And they all lived abundantly, lovingly and eternally."
I hope this makes you uncomfortable. It makes me uncomfortable. But that's OK because the invitation in discomfort is the realization that peace isn't a function of circumstance. It's a function of Christ's redemption and the unique and beautiful wonder you were spoken to be.
“You can safely assume that you’ve created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.” (from Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott; on page 22 of Bird by Bird she attributes this quote to “my priest friend Tom”)
I think this is a wonderful idea...as far as it goes. However, since there's an underlying thread in my life that pulsates with the idea that "nothing exceeds like excess," I think this idea can be taken in a whole bunch of other directions with equal or even greater relevance.
Here are some candidates:
You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image if you imagine that your aspirations for yourself are the same as His aspirations for you. The corollary: He's got a lot more in mind for you than your imagination will entertain, or even allow.
You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image if you imagine that everything that feels right (and maybe confortableto you is actually right. The corollary: Everyone is welcome as they are but everyone will be invited and even mightily challenged to change. You shouldn't look for core theology to change so that you will feel more comfortable.
You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image if your righteous indignation carries with it an unnatural degree of logical justification. The corollary: The core concepts of Christianity are the core concepts of Christianity and neither benefit nor mutate based on new translation or interpretation.
Honestly, the potential in this construct is probably endless. The thing I find sad in this is that all such attempts to cast God into something he isn't will be limited by our respective, individual brokenness...and we have enough of that without playing it back to ourselves dressed in a warped image of God.
I think the confusion often surfaces here that God's peace is not at all the same thing as peaceful circumstance. In this life there's no guarantee of "And they all lived happily ever after." Instead, the promise is more along the lines of "And they all lived abundantly, lovingly and eternally."
I hope this makes you uncomfortable. It makes me uncomfortable. But that's OK because the invitation in discomfort is the realization that peace isn't a function of circumstance. It's a function of Christ's redemption and the unique and beautiful wonder you were spoken to be.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Advent, What's the Point?
When I was a child, the Christ in Christmas was pretty hard to miss. We attended a denominational church and I went to a Protestant parochial school so pretty much all I had to do was wake up in the morning to be greeted from all sides by "the reason for the season."
We attended a midnight Christmas Eve service regularly. I remember that I once burned my fingers on the hot wax that dripped from the candle. We'd go home afterward and because it was now officially Christmas, I was allowed to open one present that had to be approved my mom.
Sometime in elementary school, I had to write a report about where Santa Claus came from. Looking back now and given my Christian school context, that hits me as a brilliant assignment. I was then and to some extent remain puzzled about how the giving of gifts to those we love became the central focus of Christmas. I suspect it was Charles Dickens that ratified the idea for us moderns but it had clearly been in play for centuries before.
The explanation given to me at school and home was that we give gifts to each other because of the gift God gave us of his son. I remember that connection hitting me as odd and even jarring. What possible connection was there between my Screaming Meemee rifle/grenade launcher and the 2nd chapter of Luke? What was the point?
The point was hinted at in the traditional, seasonal entertainment of the day. Movies like "It's a Wonderful Life" and "Miracle on 34th Street" pointed in the direction of transcendence with a quivering finger. It was as if they were more than just a little afraid to embrace the idea that a loving and just God might be more than just a deus ex machina plot device. Even the much older story of "A Christmas Carol" was oblique on the ultimate point. Still however, these stories recognized something that provided a hope for people in hurt and need. Hope and faith were somehow understood to be necessary even if their correct target was lost.
I've minimized the name of Christ in the preceding with a bit of hope that you,the reader, who I now address directly in the occasional style of Dickens, will have experienced a bit of the jangling that happens in me when I watch and read these stories of incomplete completion. The fact that George Bailey comes to recognize his value through revelation is...wonderful. Not meaning to be a Grinch but I think there's more to redemption than the restoration that happens to George. Come Monday, George Bailey will still have Potter and Uncle Billy to deal with. George has discovered that people surely love him. I hope though that doesn't represent anything like the sum of George's value. If it does, then all depends on George always being nice and doing the right thing. Not even Jimmy Stewart can pull that off.
This year I'm experiencing Advent in a form most similar to what I remember in my childhood. I've been attending morning prayer at an Anglican church as part of the fabric of Christmas observance. The season of Advent and it's core cause have supplanted morning news in my life. Tonight I will attend a service that contains only hymn singing and bible reading. I will attend Christmas Eve prayers tomorrow, anticipating a bit what the Book of Common Prayer, penned about 350 years ago has to say about that day. Much so far has been aimed in the direction of preparing myself through submission, confession and reflection for the observance of the Epiphany. This preparation is perhaps the primary point of the Advent season.
No "naughty and nice" lists have appeared and reindeer are conspicuous by their absence. This I find wildly refreshing. I also find it an invitation to smile a bit sadly as I respond to greetings of "Happy Holidays" with "Merry Christmas." At least I'm able to offer the Merry Christmas response these days without first clenching my teeth.
After a half century of life, I find less and less time for the pale substitutes that have invaded our culture, masquerading themselves as "the Christmas Spirit." They all fall short and leave me wanting for the reality of the one who gave everything imaginable each of us, yea verily, every one.
My prayer for myself this Advent is that I can be an overflowing vessel of the love of Christ and a witness to the reality of the presence of Christ in the lives of those with whom I am present. And one other thing, I hope desperately as those of us who know Christ shop, watch TV and get over tired with Christmas observances that we start to feel like something very very important might be missing. I pray that because our lives are the living Advent invitation to those who we meet. When we are present in Christ and in the season, it is Merry Christmas. When we are absent to our calling, it is only a well lit, tinsel covered happy holiday.
We attended a midnight Christmas Eve service regularly. I remember that I once burned my fingers on the hot wax that dripped from the candle. We'd go home afterward and because it was now officially Christmas, I was allowed to open one present that had to be approved my mom.
Sometime in elementary school, I had to write a report about where Santa Claus came from. Looking back now and given my Christian school context, that hits me as a brilliant assignment. I was then and to some extent remain puzzled about how the giving of gifts to those we love became the central focus of Christmas. I suspect it was Charles Dickens that ratified the idea for us moderns but it had clearly been in play for centuries before.
The explanation given to me at school and home was that we give gifts to each other because of the gift God gave us of his son. I remember that connection hitting me as odd and even jarring. What possible connection was there between my Screaming Meemee rifle/grenade launcher and the 2nd chapter of Luke? What was the point?
The point was hinted at in the traditional, seasonal entertainment of the day. Movies like "It's a Wonderful Life" and "Miracle on 34th Street" pointed in the direction of transcendence with a quivering finger. It was as if they were more than just a little afraid to embrace the idea that a loving and just God might be more than just a deus ex machina plot device. Even the much older story of "A Christmas Carol" was oblique on the ultimate point. Still however, these stories recognized something that provided a hope for people in hurt and need. Hope and faith were somehow understood to be necessary even if their correct target was lost.
I've minimized the name of Christ in the preceding with a bit of hope that you,the reader, who I now address directly in the occasional style of Dickens, will have experienced a bit of the jangling that happens in me when I watch and read these stories of incomplete completion. The fact that George Bailey comes to recognize his value through revelation is...wonderful. Not meaning to be a Grinch but I think there's more to redemption than the restoration that happens to George. Come Monday, George Bailey will still have Potter and Uncle Billy to deal with. George has discovered that people surely love him. I hope though that doesn't represent anything like the sum of George's value. If it does, then all depends on George always being nice and doing the right thing. Not even Jimmy Stewart can pull that off.
This year I'm experiencing Advent in a form most similar to what I remember in my childhood. I've been attending morning prayer at an Anglican church as part of the fabric of Christmas observance. The season of Advent and it's core cause have supplanted morning news in my life. Tonight I will attend a service that contains only hymn singing and bible reading. I will attend Christmas Eve prayers tomorrow, anticipating a bit what the Book of Common Prayer, penned about 350 years ago has to say about that day. Much so far has been aimed in the direction of preparing myself through submission, confession and reflection for the observance of the Epiphany. This preparation is perhaps the primary point of the Advent season.
No "naughty and nice" lists have appeared and reindeer are conspicuous by their absence. This I find wildly refreshing. I also find it an invitation to smile a bit sadly as I respond to greetings of "Happy Holidays" with "Merry Christmas." At least I'm able to offer the Merry Christmas response these days without first clenching my teeth.
After a half century of life, I find less and less time for the pale substitutes that have invaded our culture, masquerading themselves as "the Christmas Spirit." They all fall short and leave me wanting for the reality of the one who gave everything imaginable each of us, yea verily, every one.
My prayer for myself this Advent is that I can be an overflowing vessel of the love of Christ and a witness to the reality of the presence of Christ in the lives of those with whom I am present. And one other thing, I hope desperately as those of us who know Christ shop, watch TV and get over tired with Christmas observances that we start to feel like something very very important might be missing. I pray that because our lives are the living Advent invitation to those who we meet. When we are present in Christ and in the season, it is Merry Christmas. When we are absent to our calling, it is only a well lit, tinsel covered happy holiday.
Friday, December 7, 2012
Santa Claus the Easter Bunny and Social Justice
Generally, the idea of Santa Claus is said to have had its origin in the life and work of St. Nicholas.
St. Nick it seems did a good many things but none of them had anything
to do with reindeer, presents and chimneys. As I write this, it is the
feast day of St. Nicholas. Probably as a result, I've heard the
following factoid regarding St. Nick about a half dozen times in the
last couple of days: "He slapped Arius." I think Arius probably
deserved it (you can Google it and discover why). In any case
though, that clearly doesn't have anything to do with him being kind to
Rudolph on Christmas Eve.
As a society, we've removed a lot of the reason and much of the heart and depth of Christmas. We've made it about shopping, presents, the "right" gift and of course Black Friday and Cyber Monday. The Christians among us (me for example) still observe the holiday as the observed birthday of Christ and perhaps even celebrate Advent. There is an ongoing, much ballyhooed "culture war" that involves whether we as a society will continue to remember the reason we celebrate Christmas or whether we will find the observance (now more than 2000 years old) so offensive that we must avoid mentioning the word Christmas because it contains the religious word Christ. Although I hate to admit it, this is likely a case where if you have to have the debate, you've already lost the point.
This only applies to the public forum of course. What we do personally we are free to hold. This is true even when holding to that which is unpopular costs us and even costs us dearly.
The clearer vision of what's going on with St. Nick and Christmas is found in the Easter Bunny. In this case, the Christian church deliberately co-opted a long standing pagan tradition. The problem with the Easter Bunny as opposed to St. Nick is that the "co-opting" had nothing discernible to do with the death and resurrection of Christ. Thus, once the reason for the holiday is forgotten as a matter of societal practice, the Easter Bunny continues without even an echo of its intent to reinforce the life and work of Christ. Even the faint echo of the original cause is lost, to society at least.
I've saved the most egregious example of this kind of distortion of purpose and intent for last. The greatest heathen in the pantheon of linguistic blasphemy is this: social justice.
Note that Christianity survived approximately 1,807 years without benefit of that phrase but somehow during that time, managed to far surpass anything the concept could hope to express. It was cooked up by the Jesuits sometime around 1840. During the years before we were all saved by the shiny new word, missionaries carrying the truth and love of Christ, healing and economic aid and every manner of good and sacrifice (sometimes unto death) were sent out. It was (and always has been - even absent special new words) a holistic Gospel that encompassed both the physical and spiritual well being; exactly as it was when Christ taught and lived it. And even as it still most often is now in the post social justice revelation era in which we find ourselves.
I've known a Jesuit or two and I suspect that if those boys had kept the phrase to themselves, we'd all still be OK. By OK, I mean we'd have a common understanding of what the goal of a social mission is...And we'd have that sort of clarity of mission because we'd recognize the love of Christ in those that sent us, those that traveled with as and those we eventually served.
Of course, this being a broken world, there have been many failures and abuses in the carrying forward of Christ's mission, regardless of the language used to describe it. However, any complete tally of virtue vs. trespass in this regard will result in only one conclusion. Namely, Christians have been stumbling along in their brokenness for 2000 years trying to live out the love and and care of their namesake. In that time, God has worked miracles large and small to bring the love of Christ to all mankind in both physical and spiritual realities.
It's not enough to address physical need but not embrace the broken in your best imitation of Christ's love. Both are necessary. Mother Teresa said this: “Today it is fashionable to talk about the poor. Unfortunately, it is not fashionable to talk with them.” On that path lies the point. Social justice is a legal and moral concept. It is fine as such. However, person to person, man to God and God to man it ignores the fundamental reason for any virtue of service. Namely, it ignores the healing, love and wonder of Jesus Christ. It ignores the reality and hope of redemption and completion implicit in the gift. The thing is, that kind of giving has to include an element of the self of the giver.
When I raise this point, I usually get a few different things played back to me: "Well it's just a word and we all know what it means." Actually we don't. It's been co-opted by everyone from Protestants to the Libertarians to the Green Party and virtually every other assembly of humanity that might ever have interest in helping someone else.
Another playback is: "It's just good to do something regardless of the reason." The problem here is that where the presence of man is, there also is his heart. When the heart of man is involved you don't just do something. You do it for a reason. In the kingdom of God, the heart of the individual always trumps the shadows dancing in front of us.
When I told my wife what I was going to write about today she said something to the effect of, "Oh, that's very efficient. You'll make everyone mad all at once and then you can just have one big apology for everyone." I have to say, that right there is a wise woman. You don't need to be afraid if you run into me when you're on a social justice mission or errand though. I don't correct grammar or spelling either any more unless asked and then I try to let it be a gentle thing.
Still though, my aspiration for this Christmas and Easter and always is that the great body of Christ can carry forward the present reality of his love and Spirit. My prayer is that we can communicate the reality that man doesn't live just by bread, but by the breath, will and love of the God that spoke us. I pray that I can carry that message in the warp and woof of my soul and my deepest inner being. And finally I pray that the love and nature of Christ so consumes me that its presence in me is unmistakable, even for those closest to me.
As a society, we've removed a lot of the reason and much of the heart and depth of Christmas. We've made it about shopping, presents, the "right" gift and of course Black Friday and Cyber Monday. The Christians among us (me for example) still observe the holiday as the observed birthday of Christ and perhaps even celebrate Advent. There is an ongoing, much ballyhooed "culture war" that involves whether we as a society will continue to remember the reason we celebrate Christmas or whether we will find the observance (now more than 2000 years old) so offensive that we must avoid mentioning the word Christmas because it contains the religious word Christ. Although I hate to admit it, this is likely a case where if you have to have the debate, you've already lost the point.
This only applies to the public forum of course. What we do personally we are free to hold. This is true even when holding to that which is unpopular costs us and even costs us dearly.
The clearer vision of what's going on with St. Nick and Christmas is found in the Easter Bunny. In this case, the Christian church deliberately co-opted a long standing pagan tradition. The problem with the Easter Bunny as opposed to St. Nick is that the "co-opting" had nothing discernible to do with the death and resurrection of Christ. Thus, once the reason for the holiday is forgotten as a matter of societal practice, the Easter Bunny continues without even an echo of its intent to reinforce the life and work of Christ. Even the faint echo of the original cause is lost, to society at least.
I've saved the most egregious example of this kind of distortion of purpose and intent for last. The greatest heathen in the pantheon of linguistic blasphemy is this: social justice.
Note that Christianity survived approximately 1,807 years without benefit of that phrase but somehow during that time, managed to far surpass anything the concept could hope to express. It was cooked up by the Jesuits sometime around 1840. During the years before we were all saved by the shiny new word, missionaries carrying the truth and love of Christ, healing and economic aid and every manner of good and sacrifice (sometimes unto death) were sent out. It was (and always has been - even absent special new words) a holistic Gospel that encompassed both the physical and spiritual well being; exactly as it was when Christ taught and lived it. And even as it still most often is now in the post social justice revelation era in which we find ourselves.
I've known a Jesuit or two and I suspect that if those boys had kept the phrase to themselves, we'd all still be OK. By OK, I mean we'd have a common understanding of what the goal of a social mission is...And we'd have that sort of clarity of mission because we'd recognize the love of Christ in those that sent us, those that traveled with as and those we eventually served.
Of course, this being a broken world, there have been many failures and abuses in the carrying forward of Christ's mission, regardless of the language used to describe it. However, any complete tally of virtue vs. trespass in this regard will result in only one conclusion. Namely, Christians have been stumbling along in their brokenness for 2000 years trying to live out the love and and care of their namesake. In that time, God has worked miracles large and small to bring the love of Christ to all mankind in both physical and spiritual realities.
It's not enough to address physical need but not embrace the broken in your best imitation of Christ's love. Both are necessary. Mother Teresa said this: “Today it is fashionable to talk about the poor. Unfortunately, it is not fashionable to talk with them.” On that path lies the point. Social justice is a legal and moral concept. It is fine as such. However, person to person, man to God and God to man it ignores the fundamental reason for any virtue of service. Namely, it ignores the healing, love and wonder of Jesus Christ. It ignores the reality and hope of redemption and completion implicit in the gift. The thing is, that kind of giving has to include an element of the self of the giver.
When I raise this point, I usually get a few different things played back to me: "Well it's just a word and we all know what it means." Actually we don't. It's been co-opted by everyone from Protestants to the Libertarians to the Green Party and virtually every other assembly of humanity that might ever have interest in helping someone else.
Another playback is: "It's just good to do something regardless of the reason." The problem here is that where the presence of man is, there also is his heart. When the heart of man is involved you don't just do something. You do it for a reason. In the kingdom of God, the heart of the individual always trumps the shadows dancing in front of us.
When I told my wife what I was going to write about today she said something to the effect of, "Oh, that's very efficient. You'll make everyone mad all at once and then you can just have one big apology for everyone." I have to say, that right there is a wise woman. You don't need to be afraid if you run into me when you're on a social justice mission or errand though. I don't correct grammar or spelling either any more unless asked and then I try to let it be a gentle thing.
Still though, my aspiration for this Christmas and Easter and always is that the great body of Christ can carry forward the present reality of his love and Spirit. My prayer is that we can communicate the reality that man doesn't live just by bread, but by the breath, will and love of the God that spoke us. I pray that I can carry that message in the warp and woof of my soul and my deepest inner being. And finally I pray that the love and nature of Christ so consumes me that its presence in me is unmistakable, even for those closest to me.
Monday, November 5, 2012
A Really Really Big Tent
Technically, very technically, Hildegard of Bingen (1098 – 17 September 1179) is not a saint. While she hasn't been formally canonized she has been beatified and made a doctor of the church. I'm told that that amounts to being a saint but isn't quite there. She does have her own feast day though so that pretty much validates it for me. She wrote music, had visions and advised high church leadership among a bunch of other stuff. One source called her a polymath. That's a great word that I hope you have fun looking up.
I once saw Johnathan Edwards described as a better Calvinist than Calvin, or at least a better reasoned one. He wrote a number of blistering sermons but two of my favorites of his are, "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" and "On the Future and Just Punishment of the Wicked." I'll bet he had some great jokes to open his sermons so he could draw everyone in. I might be wrong be wrong about that though. He was a leading figure in The First Great Awakening in the United States. One contemporary said that he delivered his sermons to the bell rope at the back of his church down the center aisle from his pulpit. The contemporary said that after church, people often expected to see the bell rope charred and smoking from the intensity of his delivery.
Blaise Pascal in his early years was a curious combination of Stephen Hawking and Mick Jagger. One day, he encountered God and everything changed instantly and profoundly. It was such a huge thing for him that he wrote it down in a couple places. One of them was discovered to have been sewn inside his coat after he died. He died young, probably because he spent his money and health taking care of the desperately ill in Paris.
Joel Osteen has great hair, a TV show a smile that is hard to loathe (I know, I've tried) and is often criticized for not being complete in his delivery of the biblical message. He also has one of the biggest protestant churches in the known universe and seems to love God.
Robert Schuller built the Crystal Cathedral, the "Hour of Power" TV show and apparently a bunch of fairly unhealthy relationships. He's suing his old church right now for something like 5 million dollars. Of course, he's also had Henry Nouwen to the Crystal Cathedral, supported foreign missions and admits from time to time that he doesn't completely "get" God.
Mother Theresa was pretty much the gold standard of Christian reality in the 20th century. One of he quotes that I really like is to the effect of: "Killing a child because it is unwanted is a peculiar form of poverty." She confessed at one point to going a year, while living in poverty, caring for orphans and mentoring her staff, without being sure whether God actually existed.
I could go on like this for a very long time. I remember just enough of this stuff to be able to Google it endlessly. (Anybody want to hear the dirt between John Wesley and Zinzendorf?) However, this sort of bone jarring jerking to and fro from person to personage has a point other than winning a Red Bull off of one of your buddies after a particularly vicious church basketball game. The point is that the body of Christ covers a lot more ground than can be covered in one person, one church, one generation or even one millennium. The body of Christ because of the love and grace of Christ is about the biggest tent ever conceived. How big is it? Damn big.
Apparently it's a lot bigger than our memories or our tastes. I hear people complain about Osteen; I hear people dis Edwards; I hear people dis all Catholics that ever lived. Confession: I used to hear myself doing some of this sort of dis'sing from time to time.
I've pretty much stopped listening to this stuff and my great aspiration is to stop talking, thinking or fretting about it. Jesus, who invented all those people mentioned up there, is in charge of them. Not me. If you know the story of the Prodigal Son, look at it this way: Do you like the idea of being the older brother? I've discovered you have to shut up to avoid the possibility and even that doesn't help sometimes.
Occasionally, I'll decide that someone isn't the best influence on me. These days when that possibility presents itself I just stop listening to them. Recently and happily, I've discovered that my mouth isn't involved in listening. I don't have to run my cake hole to have an opinion or to move on with my life. Amazing. Who would have thought?
If you want to blame someone for all these broken people calling themselves Christians or Christian leaders, you better blame Jesus. He made them. I have to say though, I've tried that (although I didn't realize for years that I was actually blaming him when I'd whine about "those people"). From my experience, I'd have to say this is a singularly unsatisfactory approach to the problem.
Jesus' tent is humongous. It's also not at all subject to the rules and theology we think it should be. I'm pretty convinced there's an inside and an outside but apart from a few who are very close to me, I wouldn't hazard any guesses as to who's standing where. It's hard to come up with language that describes the size of Christ's grace and love and his ability to include absolutely everyone in it who wants to be included. I think the best I can do is this: It's so big, it hurts.
I once saw Johnathan Edwards described as a better Calvinist than Calvin, or at least a better reasoned one. He wrote a number of blistering sermons but two of my favorites of his are, "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" and "On the Future and Just Punishment of the Wicked." I'll bet he had some great jokes to open his sermons so he could draw everyone in. I might be wrong be wrong about that though. He was a leading figure in The First Great Awakening in the United States. One contemporary said that he delivered his sermons to the bell rope at the back of his church down the center aisle from his pulpit. The contemporary said that after church, people often expected to see the bell rope charred and smoking from the intensity of his delivery.
Blaise Pascal in his early years was a curious combination of Stephen Hawking and Mick Jagger. One day, he encountered God and everything changed instantly and profoundly. It was such a huge thing for him that he wrote it down in a couple places. One of them was discovered to have been sewn inside his coat after he died. He died young, probably because he spent his money and health taking care of the desperately ill in Paris.
Joel Osteen has great hair, a TV show a smile that is hard to loathe (I know, I've tried) and is often criticized for not being complete in his delivery of the biblical message. He also has one of the biggest protestant churches in the known universe and seems to love God.
Robert Schuller built the Crystal Cathedral, the "Hour of Power" TV show and apparently a bunch of fairly unhealthy relationships. He's suing his old church right now for something like 5 million dollars. Of course, he's also had Henry Nouwen to the Crystal Cathedral, supported foreign missions and admits from time to time that he doesn't completely "get" God.
Mother Theresa was pretty much the gold standard of Christian reality in the 20th century. One of he quotes that I really like is to the effect of: "Killing a child because it is unwanted is a peculiar form of poverty." She confessed at one point to going a year, while living in poverty, caring for orphans and mentoring her staff, without being sure whether God actually existed.
I could go on like this for a very long time. I remember just enough of this stuff to be able to Google it endlessly. (Anybody want to hear the dirt between John Wesley and Zinzendorf?) However, this sort of bone jarring jerking to and fro from person to personage has a point other than winning a Red Bull off of one of your buddies after a particularly vicious church basketball game. The point is that the body of Christ covers a lot more ground than can be covered in one person, one church, one generation or even one millennium. The body of Christ because of the love and grace of Christ is about the biggest tent ever conceived. How big is it? Damn big.
Apparently it's a lot bigger than our memories or our tastes. I hear people complain about Osteen; I hear people dis Edwards; I hear people dis all Catholics that ever lived. Confession: I used to hear myself doing some of this sort of dis'sing from time to time.
I've pretty much stopped listening to this stuff and my great aspiration is to stop talking, thinking or fretting about it. Jesus, who invented all those people mentioned up there, is in charge of them. Not me. If you know the story of the Prodigal Son, look at it this way: Do you like the idea of being the older brother? I've discovered you have to shut up to avoid the possibility and even that doesn't help sometimes.
Occasionally, I'll decide that someone isn't the best influence on me. These days when that possibility presents itself I just stop listening to them. Recently and happily, I've discovered that my mouth isn't involved in listening. I don't have to run my cake hole to have an opinion or to move on with my life. Amazing. Who would have thought?
If you want to blame someone for all these broken people calling themselves Christians or Christian leaders, you better blame Jesus. He made them. I have to say though, I've tried that (although I didn't realize for years that I was actually blaming him when I'd whine about "those people"). From my experience, I'd have to say this is a singularly unsatisfactory approach to the problem.
Jesus' tent is humongous. It's also not at all subject to the rules and theology we think it should be. I'm pretty convinced there's an inside and an outside but apart from a few who are very close to me, I wouldn't hazard any guesses as to who's standing where. It's hard to come up with language that describes the size of Christ's grace and love and his ability to include absolutely everyone in it who wants to be included. I think the best I can do is this: It's so big, it hurts.
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