My wife and I share among other things, a mutual love of storms. We were at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon once in mid summer while a front was passing through. The storms were pretty small but impressive in terms of their thunder and lightning. We went out on a point below the lodge to see one of the mini-storms make it's way up the canyon toward us. The front of the storm was a lightning fireworks show accompanied by explosive thunder. We watched for a bit as the kids played in a wide place on the point we occupied. Suddenly the same thought hit us both at the same moment, "We really need to get out of here NOW." We corralled the kids and hurried back to the lodge.
In literature, storms are quite often used to foreshadow major change of some sort. Generally it's not happy change. One of our neighbors became familiar with this concept the other night when a storm carrying high winds blew Redwood branch through one of their skylights. That changed their night in a significant way and gave them a vent where their skylight used to be.
The bible contains a good many storms. I can't think of any recorded there that describe scared, storm watching couples that should know better. Still though, there are storms that get people thrown overboard, storms that wreck ships, storms that pass by without doing anything at all and even a storm that Jesus tells to be still.
Storms of one sort or another will find you wherever you are; it's the nature of who we are and where we live. It's sometimes possible to the pick the kind of storm you want but avoiding them simply isn't possible. Life has seasons and life has storms. Life even has seasons of storms. And sometimes we either wait in place too long, can't get out of the way fast enough or are just completely surprised and overcome by the onrushing fury.
Often, our first response to a storm is denial. That's a bit like the child that stands in front of you shivering, telling you they aren't cold because they don't want to stop playing long enough to come in and put on a jacket. Or maybe like imagining that the lightning storm shaking the ground, ionizing the air and almost blinding you would never actually hit you. Another common reaction is to hide the fact of the storm from others...like when our children with literally droopy eyes and slurred speech would tell us they weren't tired, bare seconds before they passed out.
The truth is, we all live through and even with storms. There's a theological word for acknowledging storms. The word is this: confession. Confession is not just a list of right and wrong, naughty and nice. Neither is confession limited to only speaking the positive. It's an invitation by the living God who spoke us to be utterly transparent with him and with each other. It covers everything, finds us where we are and invites us into the reality of who he is and who we were spoken to be.
The best we can do really in response to a storm is to believe in God. By that I don't mean believe that he exists, believe that he pre-, post-, a- millennial or believe that he's a list of attributes, or study how he's omni this or that or even memorize the Old and New Testament in the original languages. I mean instead that the very best we can do is believe and accept that God is who he says he is, "I AM WHO I AM." Because, if that's true, then we are who he spoke us to be, and the storm is what he says it is.
We've had so many people help us through our storms over the last five years it's literally impossible to call them all to mind...not to mention the people who have chosen to help us anonymously. In part, they helped us because at one point, we just laid down in imperfect part at least, our pretense that everything was OK and that we weren't scared, hurt and vulnerable. It's one of the hardest things Christy and I have done in either of our lives. We didn't know it at the moment, but in that moment we turned and started running toward safety, toward the lodge, toward the stuffed chairs and the hearth fire.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Mary
I'm writing this on the first day of Advent. The origins of Advent are a bit misty, originating in the early Catholic church. As with most things in churchianity of all types and denominations, the history and reason for the Advent observance is fraught with conflicting theories, opinions and ideas.
There's another "advent" though that has been asking for my attention lately. That is, the advent associated with the angel appearing to Mary to announce the coming of Christ. The angel's first words to Mary are "Don't be afraid..." (One reference is Luke 1:30.) I think it's also worth noting in passing that the angel says to Joseph, "Don't be afraid to take Mary as your wife..." (Matt 1:20).
There's an old joke that Mary was the perfect Jewish mother in that she was the mother of a doctor, her son was born to her while she was still a virgin and she thought her boy was the son of God.
The admonition to Mary to not be afraid though I think is both for the moment and also serves as a foreshadowing of the future. Indeed, to be Jesus' mom was a tall mountain to climb. Beginning with conception and birth circumstances, continuing on through child rearing, carpentry, at some point probably single motherhood, ministry, death and resurrection. And the opening words by the messenger of God to Mary are, "Don't be afraid." It seems that Mary takes the angel's words to heart, as she goes off to celebrate what has happened with her cousin who is experiencing a lesser yet still related miracle.
Years later, we see Jesus at the age of 12 teaching in the temple. Mary and Joseph are a little frantic at Jesus' apparently not being where they expected him to be. Eventually they find him and when they ask the 1st century equivalent of "What do you think you're doing?" he says, "Don't you not know that I have to be about my father's business?" The bible says they thought about that some. The bible doesn't say but I suspect that there was also a generous portion of, "Huh. Okay. Now...go - get - on - the - MULE!" or like construct. Because at this point our creator and God was fully manifest as one of us. Mary, perhaps of all people in history understood this then and understands this now more completely than any other human soul.
At the wedding feast at Cana, the tide is turned somewhat. Mary says, "Jesus, they're all out of wine. Do something." Jesus says, "Now's not my time." The bible doesn't record all of the next bit exactly like this but I can imagine Mary arching one eyebrow a bit, looking God square in the face and saying to everyone else there, "Do what he says to do", all the while talking directly to Jesus. The subtext of course is, "And he WILL be doing what his mother requires that he do." And amazingly, he (that is, God) actually does as she requires in that moment. God abandons whatever concept of what "his time" is and chooses instead to honor his mom's wish of the moment. I think I'm on pretty safe ground to say he loved her and respected her...as his mom. I can't think of another time when Jesus performed a miracle in response to a demand for one.
I want to fast forward to a less pleasant occasion. Mary, was witness to the cross. John 19:27 says roughly that Jesus, knowing he was not going to be around to fulfill his duties as a son, spoke to one of the disciples to the effect of, "Please take care of my mom." It's hard to say why Jesus didn't call on his brothers but regardless, some of his last words concerned the ongoing care of his mom.
"Don't be afraid..." Truly, Mary had much reason to fear. I do not doubt that she had bad moments. I know she wasn't perfect. Still though, the bible records that she was indeed a loving, faithful and in-charge mom.
Jesus is the reason for Christmas. Those of us who are protestant though tend to overlook his mom. Those who are Catholic tend to diminish her humanity. Taken as a real flesh and blood person though, she was amazing. I don't know if there's another person in the bible who teaches more completely with the warp and woof of her very life what it means when God tells us, "Don't be afraid."
There's another "advent" though that has been asking for my attention lately. That is, the advent associated with the angel appearing to Mary to announce the coming of Christ. The angel's first words to Mary are "Don't be afraid..." (One reference is Luke 1:30.) I think it's also worth noting in passing that the angel says to Joseph, "Don't be afraid to take Mary as your wife..." (Matt 1:20).
There's an old joke that Mary was the perfect Jewish mother in that she was the mother of a doctor, her son was born to her while she was still a virgin and she thought her boy was the son of God.
The admonition to Mary to not be afraid though I think is both for the moment and also serves as a foreshadowing of the future. Indeed, to be Jesus' mom was a tall mountain to climb. Beginning with conception and birth circumstances, continuing on through child rearing, carpentry, at some point probably single motherhood, ministry, death and resurrection. And the opening words by the messenger of God to Mary are, "Don't be afraid." It seems that Mary takes the angel's words to heart, as she goes off to celebrate what has happened with her cousin who is experiencing a lesser yet still related miracle.
Years later, we see Jesus at the age of 12 teaching in the temple. Mary and Joseph are a little frantic at Jesus' apparently not being where they expected him to be. Eventually they find him and when they ask the 1st century equivalent of "What do you think you're doing?" he says, "Don't you not know that I have to be about my father's business?" The bible says they thought about that some. The bible doesn't say but I suspect that there was also a generous portion of, "Huh. Okay. Now...go - get - on - the - MULE!" or like construct. Because at this point our creator and God was fully manifest as one of us. Mary, perhaps of all people in history understood this then and understands this now more completely than any other human soul.
At the wedding feast at Cana, the tide is turned somewhat. Mary says, "Jesus, they're all out of wine. Do something." Jesus says, "Now's not my time." The bible doesn't record all of the next bit exactly like this but I can imagine Mary arching one eyebrow a bit, looking God square in the face and saying to everyone else there, "Do what he says to do", all the while talking directly to Jesus. The subtext of course is, "And he WILL be doing what his mother requires that he do." And amazingly, he (that is, God) actually does as she requires in that moment. God abandons whatever concept of what "his time" is and chooses instead to honor his mom's wish of the moment. I think I'm on pretty safe ground to say he loved her and respected her...as his mom. I can't think of another time when Jesus performed a miracle in response to a demand for one.
I want to fast forward to a less pleasant occasion. Mary, was witness to the cross. John 19:27 says roughly that Jesus, knowing he was not going to be around to fulfill his duties as a son, spoke to one of the disciples to the effect of, "Please take care of my mom." It's hard to say why Jesus didn't call on his brothers but regardless, some of his last words concerned the ongoing care of his mom.
"Don't be afraid..." Truly, Mary had much reason to fear. I do not doubt that she had bad moments. I know she wasn't perfect. Still though, the bible records that she was indeed a loving, faithful and in-charge mom.
Jesus is the reason for Christmas. Those of us who are protestant though tend to overlook his mom. Those who are Catholic tend to diminish her humanity. Taken as a real flesh and blood person though, she was amazing. I don't know if there's another person in the bible who teaches more completely with the warp and woof of her very life what it means when God tells us, "Don't be afraid."
Monday, November 14, 2011
Fire
I've been spending some time with the past lately. TV has finally worn me down and I now find it unbearable much more often than I used to. There's a line in a David Byrne song that says "Fighting fire with fire." In context, I think he might be talking about quenching our imagination with the "fire" of T.V. That's not a good thing.
As a result, I've gone off to Google images to review some of the images from my younger days that I haven't seen in a great many years and that I very much miss.
There are a few of these but I think the one that has drawn me in to the greatest extent is the Owens Valley section of U.S. 395. During most of my growing up, this area was a gateway to other places, as well as being an end in itself.
In terms of it's own destination, it was a way station. Lone Pine, Independence and Bishop all saw us stop for food, ice cream or to spend the night. In terms of a gateway, it was pure magic. After the valley, which includes Mt Whitney on the Western side, you run into the Bristle Cone Pines, Mammoth Lakes and surrounding area, Tioga Pass, Bodie, Mono Lake and eventually the eastern slope of the Cascades.
We never stopped at what is probably the southernmost point in the valley. This is a place called Little Lake. There was an old hotel and restaurant there that burned down in 1998. It had been there since the 30's and showed the signs of age. It was always fascinating to drive by though because it had a little tower structure on top of it...for absolutely no discernible reason. The owner couldn't get any of the fire departments in the area to respond to his call. Gotta be a story there.
One night, we went to dinner at the north end of Bishop at the VFW. The VFW was right off of 395, plainly visible from the road. (I've never understood the fraternal/commercial dynamic of the VFW.) My mom was married then and the VFW had band playing. It was actually quite a nice restaurant. I remember that my mom and her husband danced. I was about 10 at that point and I remember thinking how wonderful everything seemed.
Years later after the divorce, we went through that area again and the saw that the VFW had burned. The burned carcass of the building hung around a couple years until it was bulldozed. It's now impossible to see where it was. Fire's taken a few Owens Valley landmarks.
Fire's also an illuminating and cleansing thing. I have an old picture for which I'm keeping an eye out for. When I was a teenager, I saved my shekels and bought a 35mm SLR. In experimenting with the camera while we were camped at Mammoth Lakes, I used a self timer and a timed exposure to take a picture of my mother and myself staring into a camp fire. (I'd have included it here if I could find the thing.) In the picture, the fire is quite bright and we appear as colored shadows.
Fire can be either destructive, purifying or both. Fire takes much of our past but that's a good thing. If our past is bad, it's great that it's in the past and done. If our past is good, it's a springboard to what's beyond. Ultimately, it's who we're riding with through time that determines whether the effect of the fire on us is destructive or beautiful. The short version of this is that if we let Christ drive and throw a bunch of other people in the car that think he's going to take us someplace amazing, then the fires of time and circumstance destroy our broken pasts are wonderful.
These are the fires that can light our nights, defining us in their reflection and warming us. The past is gone. Camp fires and sweeping forests streaming down off high mountains wait for us up ahead.
As a result, I've gone off to Google images to review some of the images from my younger days that I haven't seen in a great many years and that I very much miss.
There are a few of these but I think the one that has drawn me in to the greatest extent is the Owens Valley section of U.S. 395. During most of my growing up, this area was a gateway to other places, as well as being an end in itself.
In terms of it's own destination, it was a way station. Lone Pine, Independence and Bishop all saw us stop for food, ice cream or to spend the night. In terms of a gateway, it was pure magic. After the valley, which includes Mt Whitney on the Western side, you run into the Bristle Cone Pines, Mammoth Lakes and surrounding area, Tioga Pass, Bodie, Mono Lake and eventually the eastern slope of the Cascades.
We never stopped at what is probably the southernmost point in the valley. This is a place called Little Lake. There was an old hotel and restaurant there that burned down in 1998. It had been there since the 30's and showed the signs of age. It was always fascinating to drive by though because it had a little tower structure on top of it...for absolutely no discernible reason. The owner couldn't get any of the fire departments in the area to respond to his call. Gotta be a story there.
One night, we went to dinner at the north end of Bishop at the VFW. The VFW was right off of 395, plainly visible from the road. (I've never understood the fraternal/commercial dynamic of the VFW.) My mom was married then and the VFW had band playing. It was actually quite a nice restaurant. I remember that my mom and her husband danced. I was about 10 at that point and I remember thinking how wonderful everything seemed.
Years later after the divorce, we went through that area again and the saw that the VFW had burned. The burned carcass of the building hung around a couple years until it was bulldozed. It's now impossible to see where it was. Fire's taken a few Owens Valley landmarks.
Fire's also an illuminating and cleansing thing. I have an old picture for which I'm keeping an eye out for. When I was a teenager, I saved my shekels and bought a 35mm SLR. In experimenting with the camera while we were camped at Mammoth Lakes, I used a self timer and a timed exposure to take a picture of my mother and myself staring into a camp fire. (I'd have included it here if I could find the thing.) In the picture, the fire is quite bright and we appear as colored shadows.
Fire can be either destructive, purifying or both. Fire takes much of our past but that's a good thing. If our past is bad, it's great that it's in the past and done. If our past is good, it's a springboard to what's beyond. Ultimately, it's who we're riding with through time that determines whether the effect of the fire on us is destructive or beautiful. The short version of this is that if we let Christ drive and throw a bunch of other people in the car that think he's going to take us someplace amazing, then the fires of time and circumstance destroy our broken pasts are wonderful.
These are the fires that can light our nights, defining us in their reflection and warming us. The past is gone. Camp fires and sweeping forests streaming down off high mountains wait for us up ahead.
Friday, October 28, 2011
What Happens Next
If you're going to talk about living in the moment, living for the moment or even tell someone "in just a moment," it's a good idea to know what a moment is. Cheap definitions of "moment" are, well, cheap. One time back in school, a teacher asked me to define health. I said, "Freedom from disease." The teacher blinked at me approximately 5 times and said in response, "That's the worst correct definition I've ever heard."
Moments are where we live. They're an address we have in time and space. Example: "I'll meet you at Starbuck's at 10."
You also have to add in that moments are an artifact of human consciousness. Without people there would be no time as we like to think of it, only the order in which things happen. It's true that seconds, minutes, hours et al reflect our world but really they reflect our relationship to our world. Dividing up the day into 24 equal segments at one point served someone's purpose. The rest of us picked it up because our parents enforced it.
I'll assert that most of our moments seem to be spent pondering or worrying about other moments. We often fret about the unchangeable past in the hope that our fretting will help us control our future.
One exception to this is entertainment. Entertainment happens in time and space and pretty much requires us to at least pay some attention if it's going to serve the purpose we implicitly assigned to it by sitting down and watching or listening. It pulls us into the current moment.
I would submit that the invention of writing first made entertainment repeatable and made it such that other people weren't required to be present for us to experience entertainment. Before writing about all you had were traveling poets and minstrels and when they left, so did your entertainment. With writing, you could pick up a tablet, papyrus or scroll anytime you wanted and read all the silly stuff that the great kidder Euripides wrote. Actually, he wasn't much of a kidder. We know that because even though he's been gone for a few millennia, we can still know at least something about him by his writing. I never had a relationship with Euripides but I do know he wasn't particularly funny.
Entertainment requires less and less immediate relationship all the time. I think it's safe to say that everyone who reads this space has some sort of relationship with me. That's unusual. Most people who blog don't know most of their audience and never ever will look them in the eye. I have at least a couple friends that I wouldn't know at all if it weren't for the internet. That's good. It would be better to go to a meal with them but I'd much rather know them digitally than not at all.
As information becomes more and more accessible, the need for relationship as an information transport mechanism becomes less and less important. And as we become more and more dependent on information, we tend to value it correspondingly over relationship. That is, we'd rather fill our moments with information of our own choosing or in maintenance of our needs and wants.
I think this necessarily leads to the point where fewer and fewer of our moments are spent in relationship and more moments are consumed by entertainment in all it's forms. And I think that is a kind of narcissism...of which I might personally be a bit guilty.
I have been working for awhile in the direction of opening myself to more and better relationships. And even though everyone's moments seem pretty consumed, I'm going to keep chipping away. And that's because in the end, the best moments for all of us are the one's that we share with each other and with our God. Relationships feed us and give us the fellowship of others. Information is just information.
Moments are where we live. They're an address we have in time and space. Example: "I'll meet you at Starbuck's at 10."
You also have to add in that moments are an artifact of human consciousness. Without people there would be no time as we like to think of it, only the order in which things happen. It's true that seconds, minutes, hours et al reflect our world but really they reflect our relationship to our world. Dividing up the day into 24 equal segments at one point served someone's purpose. The rest of us picked it up because our parents enforced it.
I'll assert that most of our moments seem to be spent pondering or worrying about other moments. We often fret about the unchangeable past in the hope that our fretting will help us control our future.
One exception to this is entertainment. Entertainment happens in time and space and pretty much requires us to at least pay some attention if it's going to serve the purpose we implicitly assigned to it by sitting down and watching or listening. It pulls us into the current moment.
I would submit that the invention of writing first made entertainment repeatable and made it such that other people weren't required to be present for us to experience entertainment. Before writing about all you had were traveling poets and minstrels and when they left, so did your entertainment. With writing, you could pick up a tablet, papyrus or scroll anytime you wanted and read all the silly stuff that the great kidder Euripides wrote. Actually, he wasn't much of a kidder. We know that because even though he's been gone for a few millennia, we can still know at least something about him by his writing. I never had a relationship with Euripides but I do know he wasn't particularly funny.
Entertainment requires less and less immediate relationship all the time. I think it's safe to say that everyone who reads this space has some sort of relationship with me. That's unusual. Most people who blog don't know most of their audience and never ever will look them in the eye. I have at least a couple friends that I wouldn't know at all if it weren't for the internet. That's good. It would be better to go to a meal with them but I'd much rather know them digitally than not at all.
As information becomes more and more accessible, the need for relationship as an information transport mechanism becomes less and less important. And as we become more and more dependent on information, we tend to value it correspondingly over relationship. That is, we'd rather fill our moments with information of our own choosing or in maintenance of our needs and wants.
I think this necessarily leads to the point where fewer and fewer of our moments are spent in relationship and more moments are consumed by entertainment in all it's forms. And I think that is a kind of narcissism...of which I might personally be a bit guilty.
I have been working for awhile in the direction of opening myself to more and better relationships. And even though everyone's moments seem pretty consumed, I'm going to keep chipping away. And that's because in the end, the best moments for all of us are the one's that we share with each other and with our God. Relationships feed us and give us the fellowship of others. Information is just information.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Us and Them
Virtually all public back and forth today is based on the fallacy known as the false dilemma. This silliness is known by various names, including but not limited to the false dilemma, false binary, either-or fallacy or any other of numerous names. Here's a bad example of it: "You don't believe in my idea! Well you're just stupid." You can substitute bad, arrogant, ridiculous, a hater, mean, greedy, uncaring, unwashed for "stupid," or any pejorative adjective you can conjure and you still have a false dilemma.
While that is kind of a broad ad hominem example, there are other more subtle forms that are based on false assertions of fact. Imagine Joe and Harry talking about oil changes:
Joe: "I use synthetic oil and you don't have to change your oil every 3000 miles when you use synthetic oil."
Harry: "What? You don't think changing oil every 3000 miles is important?? Well I can tell you that every 10,000 miles isn't often enough and if you do it your way, you'll ruin your engine!"
There are a couple things here. First, Harry ignores the fact that there are 6999 possible values between 3000 and 10000. Second, he also ignores that there might be other mitigating information that might make 10,000 a good number in this context. In short, Harry substitutes his own suppositions about what Joe is saying, ignores any possible information that Joe might have that he doesn't and leaps to a conclusion that he apparently holds dearly.
The great majority of public disagreement these days contains some flavor of the false dilemma. I think the main reason for this is that too many of those doing the blabbering rather cynically assume they don't really have to convince anyone of the efficacy of their point. Instead, they just have to have a message with sufficient personal appeal to whip 51% of the listeners into a froth.
This is how the division inherent in the construct of "Us and Them" or maybe "Us vs. Them" is made. This is how the false dilemma literally cuts "us" and "them" into pieces.
Ultimately though, I don't think this has anything to do with "Them" or "Us" or even "Us vs. Them." I think instead it has to with me. I think it has to do with "me," because to ignore what others are saying to assert what I have to say exclusively, is much more about me and my brokenness than it is about any point I might be making.
Go back a minute to the first part of one of the sentences above: "I think it has to do with 'me,'..." That sounds sort of egotistical and narcissistic and at the same time self denigrating...and that's really the point. The false dilemma in all it's forms defines so much that is wrong about all of us, both as communities and as individuals.
Still though, there's an interesting and maybe even beautiful thing in the subtext of the false dilemma swimming just below the surface of its broken form, as well as in all the ranting in the media it generates. Although it abandons logic and sense and encourages the individual to put allegiance in an idea (and sometimes a person) over a valid argument to the contrary, the false dilemma requires an unyielding allegiance to an end or person in order for it to prevail. That is, you really have to believe you're right and that you're a part of "the right" to assert the false dilemma. And to believe you're right, you have to believe in a way that's usually deeper than just knowing. You have to feel it.
We are made for that kind of feeling. That's why the false dilemma works at all; for it to work you have to be and feel yourself to be a part of something bigger. That feeling was breathed into us in time before time. As misguided as it can be in a broken world, it still contains the breath, belief and wonder of who we are, of who we were created to be. It's core is so very beautiful and profound, that even when obscured by the distorted echoes of our wildest rages, the hope in it can be seen somewhere below the surface. The best, most compelling and even most righteous argument is nothing without the prescribed, necessary feeling behind it; without this feeling, any argument is a banging gong or a clashing cymbal. And the name of the prescribed feeling is love.
There's an Us in every Them and a me in all of it. The sacrifice of Christ and the presence and reality of the Spirit of God make it so.
While that is kind of a broad ad hominem example, there are other more subtle forms that are based on false assertions of fact. Imagine Joe and Harry talking about oil changes:
Joe: "I use synthetic oil and you don't have to change your oil every 3000 miles when you use synthetic oil."
Harry: "What? You don't think changing oil every 3000 miles is important?? Well I can tell you that every 10,000 miles isn't often enough and if you do it your way, you'll ruin your engine!"
There are a couple things here. First, Harry ignores the fact that there are 6999 possible values between 3000 and 10000. Second, he also ignores that there might be other mitigating information that might make 10,000 a good number in this context. In short, Harry substitutes his own suppositions about what Joe is saying, ignores any possible information that Joe might have that he doesn't and leaps to a conclusion that he apparently holds dearly.
The great majority of public disagreement these days contains some flavor of the false dilemma. I think the main reason for this is that too many of those doing the blabbering rather cynically assume they don't really have to convince anyone of the efficacy of their point. Instead, they just have to have a message with sufficient personal appeal to whip 51% of the listeners into a froth.
This is how the division inherent in the construct of "Us and Them" or maybe "Us vs. Them" is made. This is how the false dilemma literally cuts "us" and "them" into pieces.
Ultimately though, I don't think this has anything to do with "Them" or "Us" or even "Us vs. Them." I think instead it has to with me. I think it has to do with "me," because to ignore what others are saying to assert what I have to say exclusively, is much more about me and my brokenness than it is about any point I might be making.
Go back a minute to the first part of one of the sentences above: "I think it has to do with 'me,'..." That sounds sort of egotistical and narcissistic and at the same time self denigrating...and that's really the point. The false dilemma in all it's forms defines so much that is wrong about all of us, both as communities and as individuals.
Still though, there's an interesting and maybe even beautiful thing in the subtext of the false dilemma swimming just below the surface of its broken form, as well as in all the ranting in the media it generates. Although it abandons logic and sense and encourages the individual to put allegiance in an idea (and sometimes a person) over a valid argument to the contrary, the false dilemma requires an unyielding allegiance to an end or person in order for it to prevail. That is, you really have to believe you're right and that you're a part of "the right" to assert the false dilemma. And to believe you're right, you have to believe in a way that's usually deeper than just knowing. You have to feel it.
We are made for that kind of feeling. That's why the false dilemma works at all; for it to work you have to be and feel yourself to be a part of something bigger. That feeling was breathed into us in time before time. As misguided as it can be in a broken world, it still contains the breath, belief and wonder of who we are, of who we were created to be. It's core is so very beautiful and profound, that even when obscured by the distorted echoes of our wildest rages, the hope in it can be seen somewhere below the surface. The best, most compelling and even most righteous argument is nothing without the prescribed, necessary feeling behind it; without this feeling, any argument is a banging gong or a clashing cymbal. And the name of the prescribed feeling is love.
There's an Us in every Them and a me in all of it. The sacrifice of Christ and the presence and reality of the Spirit of God make it so.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Stories
Stories are everywhere. They are the warp and weft of the fabric of our lives. All stories whether labeled fact or fiction contain substantial components of both.
Scientists like to think their work and writings represent fact, to the exclusion of fiction. In fact, their science wouldn't exist without the human perspective each one of them carries and reveals to the rest of us. Sometimes this story is reflected plainly in their science. Other times, the story is better hidden but is never the less to be found plainly, at the very least in the building of the context for their flavor of science. You can never get away from story no matter how fast and hard you run.
Artists can embrace story to the exclusion of reality. This misses the fact that story cannot exist without reality. Without reality, there would be nothing to write a story about. The surest way to convince yourself of your story's need to embrace reality is to stub your tow on your metal bed frame. "WOW. THAT HURTS!" Lesson over, end of (this) story.
The point is that you ignore either story or reality at your great peril. Every drop of reality has to live in a story and every story is located in reality. (And by the way, what I'm saying here is actually consistent with the last hundred or so years of quantum physics. For more information, first tell your family you'll be gone for a couple years and start by googling Schrodinger's Cat. That will likely take you places that will change the way you look at reality...into something that looks a bit like human story + reality.)
We often tell ourselves stories. We tell ourselves stories about people and things we love but often we tell ourselves stories about things and people we loathe as well. These stories serve to reinforce our opinions and experiences and prop up our self esteem, among other things. I'm learning that there are a great many stories that I don't need to tell myself anymore. I'm learning that it can be much better to listen to the stories of others and respond to them than to have to constantly generate my own.
God certainly understands story. He invented it (it's pretty much automatic once you create time). Of course, it's also true that he authored us and our ability to create stories of our own. Additionally, in the Old Testament, he inserted himself into the narrative here and there and even withdrew himself on occasion. In the New Testament, he came to live in the narrative. ("...and the Word became flesh...") He introduced himself to humanity in the person of Jesus. Then bought a room in each of us, paid in full on the cross. The only thing we needed to do starting at that point was to put out a vacancy sign, announcing our emptiness. This part is a story about vacancy and filling the vacancy.
I was on the railroad tracks yesterday, near the place that's pictured above left. There I saw a guy with a sleeping bag and a tarp coming a ways off. First thing I did was tell myself a story based on my past story. It was something about, "OK, remember to keep a bit of distance to give yourself time to respond physically if you need to. Keep half an eye on his hands. Be nice." That last part was a combination of non-sequitur mixed with a generous portion of autobiographical fiction.
As I got closer, Sleeping Bag Guy (the character's name) must have told himself a story too. He put his stuff down, just outside the tracks and sat down on a rail, staring at the ground in front of him. I considered how useless my story had been when compared to the reality in which it lived. As I got closer, the "Be nice" part of the story became less fictional. When I got close I said, "Hey man. How you doing?" He continued staring at the ground, never moved his eyes, never spoke. I'm guessing he was so distracted telling himself a story of equal parts history, pain and fantasy that it crowded out reality completely. I didn't see him on my way back. The part of my story with him in it is over for now.
And that all points to the most important parts of the stories we tell ourselves. Our stories must be rooted in the deeper stories we care about, the deepest being the story of vacancy followed by residency. We have to work to make sure our stories carry healthy amounts of our own stories and at the same time, the toe stubbing reality that happens "out there." We have to remember that stories change. And we have to give God and each other the grace and acceptance to be able to tell their stories in our lives.
Scientists like to think their work and writings represent fact, to the exclusion of fiction. In fact, their science wouldn't exist without the human perspective each one of them carries and reveals to the rest of us. Sometimes this story is reflected plainly in their science. Other times, the story is better hidden but is never the less to be found plainly, at the very least in the building of the context for their flavor of science. You can never get away from story no matter how fast and hard you run.
Artists can embrace story to the exclusion of reality. This misses the fact that story cannot exist without reality. Without reality, there would be nothing to write a story about. The surest way to convince yourself of your story's need to embrace reality is to stub your tow on your metal bed frame. "WOW. THAT HURTS!" Lesson over, end of (this) story.
The point is that you ignore either story or reality at your great peril. Every drop of reality has to live in a story and every story is located in reality. (And by the way, what I'm saying here is actually consistent with the last hundred or so years of quantum physics. For more information, first tell your family you'll be gone for a couple years and start by googling Schrodinger's Cat. That will likely take you places that will change the way you look at reality...into something that looks a bit like human story + reality.)
We often tell ourselves stories. We tell ourselves stories about people and things we love but often we tell ourselves stories about things and people we loathe as well. These stories serve to reinforce our opinions and experiences and prop up our self esteem, among other things. I'm learning that there are a great many stories that I don't need to tell myself anymore. I'm learning that it can be much better to listen to the stories of others and respond to them than to have to constantly generate my own.
God certainly understands story. He invented it (it's pretty much automatic once you create time). Of course, it's also true that he authored us and our ability to create stories of our own. Additionally, in the Old Testament, he inserted himself into the narrative here and there and even withdrew himself on occasion. In the New Testament, he came to live in the narrative. ("...and the Word became flesh...") He introduced himself to humanity in the person of Jesus. Then bought a room in each of us, paid in full on the cross. The only thing we needed to do starting at that point was to put out a vacancy sign, announcing our emptiness. This part is a story about vacancy and filling the vacancy.
I was on the railroad tracks yesterday, near the place that's pictured above left. There I saw a guy with a sleeping bag and a tarp coming a ways off. First thing I did was tell myself a story based on my past story. It was something about, "OK, remember to keep a bit of distance to give yourself time to respond physically if you need to. Keep half an eye on his hands. Be nice." That last part was a combination of non-sequitur mixed with a generous portion of autobiographical fiction.
As I got closer, Sleeping Bag Guy (the character's name) must have told himself a story too. He put his stuff down, just outside the tracks and sat down on a rail, staring at the ground in front of him. I considered how useless my story had been when compared to the reality in which it lived. As I got closer, the "Be nice" part of the story became less fictional. When I got close I said, "Hey man. How you doing?" He continued staring at the ground, never moved his eyes, never spoke. I'm guessing he was so distracted telling himself a story of equal parts history, pain and fantasy that it crowded out reality completely. I didn't see him on my way back. The part of my story with him in it is over for now.
And that all points to the most important parts of the stories we tell ourselves. Our stories must be rooted in the deeper stories we care about, the deepest being the story of vacancy followed by residency. We have to work to make sure our stories carry healthy amounts of our own stories and at the same time, the toe stubbing reality that happens "out there." We have to remember that stories change. And we have to give God and each other the grace and acceptance to be able to tell their stories in our lives.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Listening
It's ironic that I'm sitting here, typing about listening. It's ironic because I'm typing (not actually listening) and it's ironic because writing is about creating something to listen to rather than actually listening. It's akin to, "Let me tell you how to listen."
Listening has so many cliches associated with it that it can be hard to not react reflexively when we hear a discussion or a diatribe about it. That is, it can be hard to listen when we talk about listening because of all the noise in our heads about the idea. It can be hard not only to listen but even just to hear.
In fairness, most of us most of the time won't have the wherewithal to really listen. Schedules, emergencies and celebrations all foster a kind of reaction that goes immediately from hearing to reacting. Listening is usually not a part of this circuit and even then happens only well after the fact.
At core, listening involves something that is very very hard for me. That is, vulnerability. To really listen, we have to quiet our cherished beliefs, tender places and even deep hurts long enough to really listen to the voice of the other soul. And it's really important to note here that the other soul in this conversation can even be God.
I think that true listening is one of the things that gives human beings their greatest value. We can listen and hear each other, the angels of heaven and even the God of creation and redemption. Of course, we can listen to the wrong things and as a result hear great evil as well.
It's worth bearing in mind that the things we speak or otherwise communicate may well be listened to by someone else, or even taken to heart. Again, another cliche: Our speaking in conjunction with someone else's listening can deliver either blessing or curse. Either of these can continue for years or even generations.
I do not mind either argument or confrontation. I used to, but not any more. That's both good and bad. The bad part is, and I can say this from personal experience, listening in the context of confrontation is possible but very very rare. Listening in the middle of conflict involves allowing yourself to be vulnerable even though your blood is up. In fact, this might be the most important time to truly listen.
In all circumstances, I aspire to greater vulnerability. I aspire to listen more.
Listening has so many cliches associated with it that it can be hard to not react reflexively when we hear a discussion or a diatribe about it. That is, it can be hard to listen when we talk about listening because of all the noise in our heads about the idea. It can be hard not only to listen but even just to hear.
In fairness, most of us most of the time won't have the wherewithal to really listen. Schedules, emergencies and celebrations all foster a kind of reaction that goes immediately from hearing to reacting. Listening is usually not a part of this circuit and even then happens only well after the fact.
At core, listening involves something that is very very hard for me. That is, vulnerability. To really listen, we have to quiet our cherished beliefs, tender places and even deep hurts long enough to really listen to the voice of the other soul. And it's really important to note here that the other soul in this conversation can even be God.
I think that true listening is one of the things that gives human beings their greatest value. We can listen and hear each other, the angels of heaven and even the God of creation and redemption. Of course, we can listen to the wrong things and as a result hear great evil as well.
It's worth bearing in mind that the things we speak or otherwise communicate may well be listened to by someone else, or even taken to heart. Again, another cliche: Our speaking in conjunction with someone else's listening can deliver either blessing or curse. Either of these can continue for years or even generations.
I do not mind either argument or confrontation. I used to, but not any more. That's both good and bad. The bad part is, and I can say this from personal experience, listening in the context of confrontation is possible but very very rare. Listening in the middle of conflict involves allowing yourself to be vulnerable even though your blood is up. In fact, this might be the most important time to truly listen.
In all circumstances, I aspire to greater vulnerability. I aspire to listen more.
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