Now I'm in Toronto, the city of layers and contrasts. One of the few places where I welcome the concrete beneath my feet and the steel and glass structures around me. I've seen a fair chunk of the northeastern states since I wrote last from Gloucester City, and experienced hospitality from a good many friends. And I had a refreshing visit with my family in Nova Scotia, feasting daily at my mother's table, and partaking in the pleasantries of her company and habitat.
In my absence from posting I have been reading (and sometimes listening to) good books (and an occasional poor one). So as a maneuver of reentry I offer an assortment of abstracts and some subtle recommendations.
Have read:
The Bible: A Biography, by Karen Armstrong -- It is just that, a biographical look at the Biblical canon. Armstrong addresses the stages of development behind the various books that were compiled to make the Bible as it is today. She gives special attention to the individuals who were catalytic in that development, as well as those who influenced the progression of how the Bible (in its final form) has been and is perceived and interpreted. In light of the distorted and toxic ways in which the Bible is frequently used (whether as a justification for the violence of war or of attitudes of sexism, entitlement or intolerance, amongst other things) Armstrong suggests a compassionate hermeneutic. She references the approach espoused by Augustine, the church father, and Hillel, the Jewish rabbi, that "any interpretation of scripture that spreads hatred and dissension is illegitimate; all exegesis must be guided by the principle of charity."
Teacher Man, by Frank McCourt -- McCourt is an Irish man who immigrated to the United States and taught literature in the New York public school system for 30 years. I listened to (most of) the audio version, performed by McCourt himself. "Dead Poet's Society" meets an Irish accent. On his first day of class one student threw a bologna sandwich at another student, in response McCourt ate the sandwich. It's not so much that he was committed to his unconventional approach to education and crowd control tactics, as it was that he knew no other way. The book is an account of his improvisational career, a delight and, for those of us inclined to the possibility of becoming educators, an inspiration.
We Are Extremely Very Good Recyclers, by Lauren Child -- Meet Charlie, the warmhearted and amicable British school boy, and his little sister Lola, who is articulate in her own way and very funny. "Veggie Tales" quivers in the shadow of Lauren Child's creation. "Baby Einstein" needs to get up or move over. Here comes a multi-media sibling duo with enough charisma and charm to, quite possibly, actually make the world a better place.
Man Without a Country, by Kurt Vonnegut -- The man earned the right to write this book. A collection of final rants, complete with the unabashed honesty and raw humor that Vonnegut is loved, nay followed, for. If you want a gentle nudge toward the appreciation of socialism, or if you're tired of war and gas guzzling SUV's, then you might find a handy bit of solidarity from the beloved chain-smoking, sci-fi writing, cultural commentating Hoosier. God (whom Vonnegut seemed to have a strained but working relationship with) rest him.
Cry, the Beloved Country, by Alan Paton -- Set in South Africa just shy of the institution of apartheid, Paton's novel follows the unlikely story of two men whose sons have a tragic chance encounter. It's a story about family and home and the struggle of faith. But the setting somehow carries the plot beyond itself, and superimposes it onto any and all occasions, historical and contemporary, of segregation. It is a plea for hope, that humans might overcome or outlive our tendency toward segregation, replacing hierarchy with mutuality. It is also a sincere acknowledgment of the suffering that has occurred and is inevitable along the way.
Reading:
Runaways, by Brian Vaughn & Adrian Alphona -- It reminds me of "Newsies" in a way. The Marvel version, without any music. The parents turn out to be super villains. The offspring run away, discover their own unnatural gifts and abilities, and unite with super-angst to set right the world's wrongs. There's also a velociraptor from the future.
That's Not What I Meant, by Deborah Tannen -- A little paperback psychology book about the linguistics of conversations. With this book I am attempting to acquire and fine tune my very own superpower.
Jesus Wants to Save Christians, by Rob Bell & Don Golden -- A good use of the biblical narrative, the way it should be done: as a progression, as good literature, with themes and irony and complex characters. Part way into the audio version and already I'm applauding.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Saturday, August 08, 2009
Crossings
Currently we're in New Jersey, here to celebrate (and participate) in our friends' wedding. Yesterday while Lauren was performing bridesmaid duties I had the opportunity to shadow my new friend Nate as he trouped around town. Nate had to pick up some dry cleaning and check his PO box, but en route he swung me past a few establishments to check in on some friends of his, all the while he offered me a crash course, entry level education regarding the social, racial, and economic situation of some of the neighborhoods east of Philadelphia.
Gloucester City and Camden, New Jersey function (or disfunction) as a sort of microcosm of some of the macro-issues in the world at large; including attitudes of prejudice and racism, habits of drug abuse, and the gentrification of select areas corresponding with the neglect of others. What I find most striking from the exposure to these areas and their demographics is the distinct border that Nate pointed out to me which separates Gloucester City (97% White) from Camden (53% Black or African American and 38% Hispanic or Latino). It's a simple bridge. On one side is Gloucester City and on the other is Camden. It takes about three seconds to cross it in a car.
The issue, of course, is not the geographical border.
As a peacemaker and an architect for unity (some people call him a pastor) Nate considers it his task to prod people toward crossing borders. Certainly the geographic ones, so that we can be in the same place, eating with one another, playing with and living along side of each other; but also the many borders that we establish in our hearts and our ideologies toward others.
And if perhaps we are quite sure that we have established no such borders, let's consider that perhaps there are borders we have inherited that must be crossed even before we can recognize them as debilitating to the pursuit of a healthy humanity.
To see a bit more of what Nate and his cronies are up to in the greater Philadelphia area you can go to http://circleofhope.net/blog/
And if you are in or interested in the Indianapolis area I have some cronies who are doing similar border crossings in the Fountain Square vicinity. Their web-presence is on the horizon.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
quotes: in pursuit of an us
At the heart of all authentic, healthy, life-sustaining religions, one always finds this clear requirement. Whatever religious people may say about their love of God or the mandates of their religion, when their behavior toward others is violent and destructive, when it causes suffering among their neighbors, you can be sure the religion has been corrupted and reform is desperately needed. When religion becomes evil, these corruptions are always present. Conversely, when religion remains true to its authentic sources, it is actively dismantling these corruptions, a process that is urgently needed now. Unlike generations that have gone before us, the consequences today of corrupted religion are both dire and global.
Charles Kimball in When Religion Becomes Evil
The challenge today is to seek a unity that celebrates diversity, to unite the particular with the universal, to recognize the need for roots while insisting that the point of roots is to put forth branches. What is intolerable is for difference to become idolatrous. When absolutized, nationalism, ethnicity, race, and gender are reactionary impulses. They become pseudoreligions, brittle and small, without the power to make people great. No human being's identity is exhausted by his or her gender, race, ethnic origin, or national loyalty. Human beings are fully human only when they find the universal in the particular, when they recognize that all people have more in common than they have in conflict, and that it is precisely when what they have in conflict seems overriding that what they have in common needs most to be affirmed. Human rights are more important than the politics of identity, and religious people should be notorious boundary crossers.
William Sloane Coffin in A Passion for the Possible
The traditional form of Western scholarship in the study of other [religious traditions] was that of an impersonl presentation of an "it." The first great innovation in recent times has been the personalization of the faiths observed, so that one finds a discussion of a "they." Presently the observer become personally involved, so that the situation is one of a "we" talking about a "they." The next step is a dialogue where "we" talk to "you." If there is listening and mutuality, this may become that "we" talk with "you." The culmination of the process is when "we all" are talking with each other about "us."
Wilfred Cantwell Smith
Charles Kimball in When Religion Becomes Evil
The challenge today is to seek a unity that celebrates diversity, to unite the particular with the universal, to recognize the need for roots while insisting that the point of roots is to put forth branches. What is intolerable is for difference to become idolatrous. When absolutized, nationalism, ethnicity, race, and gender are reactionary impulses. They become pseudoreligions, brittle and small, without the power to make people great. No human being's identity is exhausted by his or her gender, race, ethnic origin, or national loyalty. Human beings are fully human only when they find the universal in the particular, when they recognize that all people have more in common than they have in conflict, and that it is precisely when what they have in conflict seems overriding that what they have in common needs most to be affirmed. Human rights are more important than the politics of identity, and religious people should be notorious boundary crossers.
William Sloane Coffin in A Passion for the Possible
The traditional form of Western scholarship in the study of other [religious traditions] was that of an impersonl presentation of an "it." The first great innovation in recent times has been the personalization of the faiths observed, so that one finds a discussion of a "they." Presently the observer become personally involved, so that the situation is one of a "we" talking about a "they." The next step is a dialogue where "we" talk to "you." If there is listening and mutuality, this may become that "we" talk with "you." The culmination of the process is when "we all" are talking with each other about "us."
Wilfred Cantwell Smith
Monday, June 29, 2009
my recent reading list
A Short History of Myth, by Karen Armstrong
I read this already. It's accessible (perhaps even more so than her other books, due, if nothing else, to the length -- it is short and concise and informative). It's contents resound harmonically with what I wrote about in my "follow up (part two)" post. I recommend it especially for people interested in stories of origin, sacred stories/parables, history, art and literature. I recommend it for anyone who is a story teller; whether a parent who story tells to a child at bedtime, or a preacher who story tells from the pulpit.
When Religion Becomes Evil, by Charles Kimball
I'm bouncing toward the finish as I turn the pages of the final chapter. Almost literally bouncing, it's been such an exciting read for me. I was caught by the title while browsing the library shelves, because I have this thing: I value religion. As one who values religion I am sensitive to the instances in life when religion is discarded. The title of Kimball's book struck me in such a way that I assumed its contents to be in keeping with such a message -- religion is a fertile breeding ground for malevolent conduct, therefore be rid of it. On the contrary however, Kimball writes out of his vast experience in the realm of religious study and practice, indeed about when religion becomes evil, when it is manifested in corrupt form (and we'd do well to heed the reality of such forms of religion). But he approaches the topic with a hopeful, rather than cynical, bent suggesting that an authentic understanding of religion, an accurate examination of the heart of the major religious traditions, is both helpful and necessary in our globalizing world today. What I appreciate most about this book is Kimball's tone, which is gentle, fair, and compelling.
The World's Religions, by Huston Smith
(Sort of, it's the illustrated version, abridged a bit.) I haven't begun yet. As I continue to read in this field I intend to offer some posts that might help with the process of what I mentioned above: pursuing an authentic understanding and accurate examination of the diverse religious traditions worldwide (and, like it or not, next door).
It is not necessary for us to agree with our neighbors or to have the same experience as our neighbors. What is important is that we put forth an honest effort at understanding our neighbors, this is the first step toward loving them well. In order to understand our neighbors the surest approach would be to live alongside of them -- to eat and work and play and talk with them, to listen to their stories and share our own. Yet one of the obstacles many of us face today is the wall of religious (mis)understanding. We do not know how to (or if we should) entertain relationship with those (individually and often communally) who seem so starkly different from us. The exposure that we get from the media regarding religion is almost exclusively honed in on the corrupt manifestations (religiously motivated violence and conflict and war). Yet there is much more to be gleaned from religion than corruption and misunderstanding.
It requires energy, humility, and, more than anything else, courage to enter into the process of pursuing mutual understanding and reconciling relationships -- whether the table we're sitting at is explicitly religious, or political or ethnic or economical (or as is most often the case some assortment of each of these elements). But it's worth the energy -- because these people are your brothers and sisters. And we don't need to feel threatened by each other -- because each of you have a voice that can not be silenced. And there's nothing to be afraid of -- because diversity is at the heart of the dynamic peace that is God's intention and plan for our world.
Now some of us don't believe in God, some of us think we are gods, most of us who do believe in God don't agree on God. My point isn't to suggest one scheme of divinity over another. What I'm pointing at is the possibility beyond the plight that is far more evident and proximate than any of us are comforatable with. That possibility of peace (whole peace, shalom and shanti peace) will require everything: more than our honest efforts alone, and more than our fervent prayers alone, and more than our deepest hope and strongest faith alone. It requires everything of us and everything of everything.
I read this already. It's accessible (perhaps even more so than her other books, due, if nothing else, to the length -- it is short and concise and informative). It's contents resound harmonically with what I wrote about in my "follow up (part two)" post. I recommend it especially for people interested in stories of origin, sacred stories/parables, history, art and literature. I recommend it for anyone who is a story teller; whether a parent who story tells to a child at bedtime, or a preacher who story tells from the pulpit.
When Religion Becomes Evil, by Charles Kimball
I'm bouncing toward the finish as I turn the pages of the final chapter. Almost literally bouncing, it's been such an exciting read for me. I was caught by the title while browsing the library shelves, because I have this thing: I value religion. As one who values religion I am sensitive to the instances in life when religion is discarded. The title of Kimball's book struck me in such a way that I assumed its contents to be in keeping with such a message -- religion is a fertile breeding ground for malevolent conduct, therefore be rid of it. On the contrary however, Kimball writes out of his vast experience in the realm of religious study and practice, indeed about when religion becomes evil, when it is manifested in corrupt form (and we'd do well to heed the reality of such forms of religion). But he approaches the topic with a hopeful, rather than cynical, bent suggesting that an authentic understanding of religion, an accurate examination of the heart of the major religious traditions, is both helpful and necessary in our globalizing world today. What I appreciate most about this book is Kimball's tone, which is gentle, fair, and compelling.
The World's Religions, by Huston Smith
(Sort of, it's the illustrated version, abridged a bit.) I haven't begun yet. As I continue to read in this field I intend to offer some posts that might help with the process of what I mentioned above: pursuing an authentic understanding and accurate examination of the diverse religious traditions worldwide (and, like it or not, next door).
It is not necessary for us to agree with our neighbors or to have the same experience as our neighbors. What is important is that we put forth an honest effort at understanding our neighbors, this is the first step toward loving them well. In order to understand our neighbors the surest approach would be to live alongside of them -- to eat and work and play and talk with them, to listen to their stories and share our own. Yet one of the obstacles many of us face today is the wall of religious (mis)understanding. We do not know how to (or if we should) entertain relationship with those (individually and often communally) who seem so starkly different from us. The exposure that we get from the media regarding religion is almost exclusively honed in on the corrupt manifestations (religiously motivated violence and conflict and war). Yet there is much more to be gleaned from religion than corruption and misunderstanding.
It requires energy, humility, and, more than anything else, courage to enter into the process of pursuing mutual understanding and reconciling relationships -- whether the table we're sitting at is explicitly religious, or political or ethnic or economical (or as is most often the case some assortment of each of these elements). But it's worth the energy -- because these people are your brothers and sisters. And we don't need to feel threatened by each other -- because each of you have a voice that can not be silenced. And there's nothing to be afraid of -- because diversity is at the heart of the dynamic peace that is God's intention and plan for our world.
Now some of us don't believe in God, some of us think we are gods, most of us who do believe in God don't agree on God. My point isn't to suggest one scheme of divinity over another. What I'm pointing at is the possibility beyond the plight that is far more evident and proximate than any of us are comforatable with. That possibility of peace (whole peace, shalom and shanti peace) will require everything: more than our honest efforts alone, and more than our fervent prayers alone, and more than our deepest hope and strongest faith alone. It requires everything of us and everything of everything.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
hermeneutics in a different discipline
I'm not particularly savvy when it comes to political matters. So I don't mean to open up a discussion that I'm not personally able to engage in. However, I sensed some similarities in a brief article I read about interpretive theory as it pertains to the USA's constitution (http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=105439966&ft=1&f=1001), and the art of interpretation (hermeneutics) as it pertains to sacred scriptures.. in my experience specifically: the Hebrew Bible and the Christian New Testament.
I feel strongly that there is a lot of value in considering any authoritative document as a living thing, not static or fixed, but adaptable, active, and alive. This is a tradition of thought that I was exposed to early in my education regarding the Bible, through passages that actually came from the Bible (such as 2 Timothy 3.16 that compares sacred scripture to the breathing of God or the wind that God blows into our lives to propel us along the good route of living right) and from the influences of my teachers and mentors who read scripture and applied it (adapted it to relate) to personal matters, things that mattered to them or me or us.
As a dear friend of mine pointed out during a recent stint of camping and exploring amongst the elements of the natural world: while much around us seems to be fixed and established and still from our perspective (such as the ground we walk and sleep on, the rocks we lean against, the words we read) they are actually in perpetual motion. A sort of momentum or current carries them along, with us, in a frightening-comforting cosmic chaotic divine dance.
I feel strongly that there is a lot of value in considering any authoritative document as a living thing, not static or fixed, but adaptable, active, and alive. This is a tradition of thought that I was exposed to early in my education regarding the Bible, through passages that actually came from the Bible (such as 2 Timothy 3.16 that compares sacred scripture to the breathing of God or the wind that God blows into our lives to propel us along the good route of living right) and from the influences of my teachers and mentors who read scripture and applied it (adapted it to relate) to personal matters, things that mattered to them or me or us.
As a dear friend of mine pointed out during a recent stint of camping and exploring amongst the elements of the natural world: while much around us seems to be fixed and established and still from our perspective (such as the ground we walk and sleep on, the rocks we lean against, the words we read) they are actually in perpetual motion. A sort of momentum or current carries them along, with us, in a frightening-comforting cosmic chaotic divine dance.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
follow up (part two)
I want to offer a revision to one of my recent posts. In "VI. Jesus" I said that I don't believe in the ascension of Jesus. That's not entirely true, and I apologize for the misleading that such a statement could cause.
It's a fact that I don't believe that the historical Jesus actually levitated into the sky and broke through the stratosphere en route to the heavenly corner of outer space.
But I do believe that the Bible's story (referenced in Mark 16, Luke 24, and Acts 1) about the ascension of Jesus is true.
To say that something is true is more than (not less than) saying that something happened.
The story of Jesus' ascent expresses his "new level of spiritual attainment", his "transcendence and liberation from the constraints of the human condition", and his always-presence in our explorations of what it means to become fully human, fully alive, eternally alive. (quoted words borrowed from Karen Armstrong, the italics are my addition)
I am compelled and encouraged by this story that I believe tells the truth.
This sort of approach raises questions for some people.
For instance, "If you do away with the story of the ascension [or in a lot of similar conversations the story at hand is that of creation as contained in both Genesis 1 and 2, but the point is...] what's to keep you from doing away with Jesus' resurrection? or miraculous birth? or his divinity? or the sending of the Holy Spirit? or the promise of heaven after life as we know it has come to an end?"
In response I ask that it be considered once again whether such an approach does indeed do away with the story? Does the truth contained in the story require that each event happened in a literal fashion? If your answer is "yes" then please hold to that truth, hold to it in the fashion that your heart and conscience necessitates. And if mine is "no" please understand that you and I have a hold of the same truth, though our grip may differ.
Another question is, "Who are you [insert my name, or someone else perhaps] to decide what is to be taken literally and what isn't?
Indeed, point well made, I completely agree and readily refrain (and hope that anyone else would do the same) from assuming such authority.
The task of seeking understanding and direction from one's sacred scriptures belongs to the community that holds those scriptures as authoritative. That community must use both scholarship and common sense, must heed the voices of academic experts, qualified clerical leaders, and committed believers. It is also the responsibility of the community to corporately heed the voices of those who are often marginalized and silenced.
Only as part of such an ongoing conversation will scripture become alive with its full potential to guide in the way of love and truth. Only then will it silence the chatter of the minority that uses religion as a justification for violence, and the babble of those who sell certainty as a synonym for faith. Only then will it equip and enable its followers to live in a manner corresponding with the hope available in its words.
It's a fact that I don't believe that the historical Jesus actually levitated into the sky and broke through the stratosphere en route to the heavenly corner of outer space.
But I do believe that the Bible's story (referenced in Mark 16, Luke 24, and Acts 1) about the ascension of Jesus is true.
To say that something is true is more than (not less than) saying that something happened.
The story of Jesus' ascent expresses his "new level of spiritual attainment", his "transcendence and liberation from the constraints of the human condition", and his always-presence in our explorations of what it means to become fully human, fully alive, eternally alive. (quoted words borrowed from Karen Armstrong, the italics are my addition)
I am compelled and encouraged by this story that I believe tells the truth.
This sort of approach raises questions for some people.
For instance, "If you do away with the story of the ascension [or in a lot of similar conversations the story at hand is that of creation as contained in both Genesis 1 and 2, but the point is...] what's to keep you from doing away with Jesus' resurrection? or miraculous birth? or his divinity? or the sending of the Holy Spirit? or the promise of heaven after life as we know it has come to an end?"
In response I ask that it be considered once again whether such an approach does indeed do away with the story? Does the truth contained in the story require that each event happened in a literal fashion? If your answer is "yes" then please hold to that truth, hold to it in the fashion that your heart and conscience necessitates. And if mine is "no" please understand that you and I have a hold of the same truth, though our grip may differ.
Another question is, "Who are you [insert my name, or someone else perhaps] to decide what is to be taken literally and what isn't?
Indeed, point well made, I completely agree and readily refrain (and hope that anyone else would do the same) from assuming such authority.
The task of seeking understanding and direction from one's sacred scriptures belongs to the community that holds those scriptures as authoritative. That community must use both scholarship and common sense, must heed the voices of academic experts, qualified clerical leaders, and committed believers. It is also the responsibility of the community to corporately heed the voices of those who are often marginalized and silenced.
Only as part of such an ongoing conversation will scripture become alive with its full potential to guide in the way of love and truth. Only then will it silence the chatter of the minority that uses religion as a justification for violence, and the babble of those who sell certainty as a synonym for faith. Only then will it equip and enable its followers to live in a manner corresponding with the hope available in its words.
follow up (part one)
I have finished my project of episodic posts pertaining to myself and the Christian paradigm(s). Chipping away at a theology of sorts, by no means managing (or trying) to find the final word on theology's subject, who is mystery beyond all else, and who does more crafting on us than we on her or him.
I've had the opportunity to dialogue with some of my readers who have felt confused, and some who have felt concerned, by portions of some of the posts. And that's ok, some confusion is to be expected, partly because this stuff goes deep in us, but also because my chisel here is language. Not facial expression or vocal inflection. Not situational or direct relational context. Just English words wrapped around images and ideas.
I enjoy language, all it's nuances and capabilities -- it's un/subtle tools that enable us to communicate with one another -- yet I also have a lot of respect for the limits of language. The ways it allows for and contributes to mis-communication.
The ideas I've shared lack context for many of my readers. They lack the history in which they've developed -- both outside of me (by way of books, classes, trips, conversations, poems, prayers, sermons, speeches, interviews, and essays) and inside of me (the pace at which these ideas have come to me, or I to them, personally). The full story of my experiences with these sources of influence and their place in my life isn't something that I can recount completely. And since the story of where I've been is incomplete, so to is the communication of where I am.
I would like to offer a clarification nonetheless -- again, not for the sake of agreement or consensus, or even for the sake of understanding in and of itself. But for the process of trying, and simply because I'm having a great time writing.
My clarification has two parts: (part one) some back ground thought, a canvas, and (part two) a revision to one of my posts...
(part one)
To believe that a thing is true does not necessitate a corresponding belief in the literal, actual, historical occurrence of the thing.
That truth requires something to be verified as historical or believed in as literal is a relatively young concept, and by no means universally practiced. It's sort of the brain child of the age of enlightenment and the era of modernity. A result of the incestuous coupling of scientific method with religious or existential concerns.
To apply scientific methodology to our endeavors in biological or psychological study is entirely appropriate and yields good and informative fruit. To apply it to historical and archaeological study, to ecology and neurology, to chemistry and physics is good.
Our use of observation, forethought, and reason is as old as our earliest inventions. Our first tools and the discipline of agriculture resulted from these qualities, so have moon landings and photographs and our ability to purify water.
To address things of a religious, moral, or relational nature with the methods of science, however, is not helpful in the end -- square hole, triangle block -- it doesn't fit.
Both are about life. About what's around us and what comes at us through our senses. And sometimes about what's beyond us, which can't be directly sensed. Both are about happenings.
"Why did that happen?" -- Science wonders what sorts of causes led up to a certain event.
"Why did that happen?" -- Religion wonders what purpose there is, or can be found, in a certain event.
"How did we get here and where are we going?" -- Science assumes that the ball is already rolling, that we can measure the ball, we can decipher where it has rolled from by examining the trail it has left, and we can predict how and where it will continue to roll depending on various influential factors.
"How did we get here and where are we going?" -- Religion also assumes that something or someone got the ball rolling, and it crafts, compiles, and sustains narratives and rituals that help us to cope with and celebrate the rolling of the ball.
We could try to do away with science, but we'd be cutting out an important innovative and inventive portion of our nature as humans.
We could try to do away with religion, but we'd be severing ourselves (if not personally then collectively) from a part of us that is thoughtful, feeling, and imaginative.
These two are not at odds within us, neither do they need to be at odds externally. Rather than going to the extreme of ridding ourselves completely of one of these important elements in the human story, or trying to marry two things that are not meant to be married (though they make great friends), we'd do well to commit our energies to a couple of other tasks.
One: being rid of the corrupt forms of religious expression that manifest themselves either ridiculously (best case scenario) or violently (worst case scenario).
Two: refraining from the contemporary compulsion to deify our rational abilities at the cost of sacrificing our emotional abilities, which has the potential to (best case scenario) lead to a biting skepticism and (worst case scenario) create a context for... you guessed it, violence.
I've had the opportunity to dialogue with some of my readers who have felt confused, and some who have felt concerned, by portions of some of the posts. And that's ok, some confusion is to be expected, partly because this stuff goes deep in us, but also because my chisel here is language. Not facial expression or vocal inflection. Not situational or direct relational context. Just English words wrapped around images and ideas.
I enjoy language, all it's nuances and capabilities -- it's un/subtle tools that enable us to communicate with one another -- yet I also have a lot of respect for the limits of language. The ways it allows for and contributes to mis-communication.
The ideas I've shared lack context for many of my readers. They lack the history in which they've developed -- both outside of me (by way of books, classes, trips, conversations, poems, prayers, sermons, speeches, interviews, and essays) and inside of me (the pace at which these ideas have come to me, or I to them, personally). The full story of my experiences with these sources of influence and their place in my life isn't something that I can recount completely. And since the story of where I've been is incomplete, so to is the communication of where I am.
I would like to offer a clarification nonetheless -- again, not for the sake of agreement or consensus, or even for the sake of understanding in and of itself. But for the process of trying, and simply because I'm having a great time writing.
My clarification has two parts: (part one) some back ground thought, a canvas, and (part two) a revision to one of my posts...
(part one)
To believe that a thing is true does not necessitate a corresponding belief in the literal, actual, historical occurrence of the thing.
That truth requires something to be verified as historical or believed in as literal is a relatively young concept, and by no means universally practiced. It's sort of the brain child of the age of enlightenment and the era of modernity. A result of the incestuous coupling of scientific method with religious or existential concerns.
To apply scientific methodology to our endeavors in biological or psychological study is entirely appropriate and yields good and informative fruit. To apply it to historical and archaeological study, to ecology and neurology, to chemistry and physics is good.
Our use of observation, forethought, and reason is as old as our earliest inventions. Our first tools and the discipline of agriculture resulted from these qualities, so have moon landings and photographs and our ability to purify water.
To address things of a religious, moral, or relational nature with the methods of science, however, is not helpful in the end -- square hole, triangle block -- it doesn't fit.
Both are about life. About what's around us and what comes at us through our senses. And sometimes about what's beyond us, which can't be directly sensed. Both are about happenings.
"Why did that happen?" -- Science wonders what sorts of causes led up to a certain event.
"Why did that happen?" -- Religion wonders what purpose there is, or can be found, in a certain event.
"How did we get here and where are we going?" -- Science assumes that the ball is already rolling, that we can measure the ball, we can decipher where it has rolled from by examining the trail it has left, and we can predict how and where it will continue to roll depending on various influential factors.
"How did we get here and where are we going?" -- Religion also assumes that something or someone got the ball rolling, and it crafts, compiles, and sustains narratives and rituals that help us to cope with and celebrate the rolling of the ball.
We could try to do away with science, but we'd be cutting out an important innovative and inventive portion of our nature as humans.
We could try to do away with religion, but we'd be severing ourselves (if not personally then collectively) from a part of us that is thoughtful, feeling, and imaginative.
These two are not at odds within us, neither do they need to be at odds externally. Rather than going to the extreme of ridding ourselves completely of one of these important elements in the human story, or trying to marry two things that are not meant to be married (though they make great friends), we'd do well to commit our energies to a couple of other tasks.
One: being rid of the corrupt forms of religious expression that manifest themselves either ridiculously (best case scenario) or violently (worst case scenario).
Two: refraining from the contemporary compulsion to deify our rational abilities at the cost of sacrificing our emotional abilities, which has the potential to (best case scenario) lead to a biting skepticism and (worst case scenario) create a context for... you guessed it, violence.
Friday, June 05, 2009
VI. Jesus
My trail mates and I have returned from the Paria Canyon. Her curves were intoxicating, aquatic and feminine. Her touch luminous and chilling. Her presence was a grip and it calmed the core with soothing tones. I feel great.
And now it's time again for some of my ink to spill into the internet, the web, that unknown expanse of nothingness that somehow holds all of these words and interactions we have.
Jesus of Nazareth.
A miracle baby with a big story: the carpenter turned rabbi, the rabbi turned revolutionary, the revolutionary turned religious icon.
I wonder at times if, as a religious icon, Jesus wishes he might have avoided that last stage of his evolution and remained a revolutionary? Inspiring change and rebuking indifference in the lives and hearts of the men and women who gathered around him.
I wonder, in his revolutionary days, if Jesus may have thought fondly back on the simplicity of his teaching days? A rabbi telling stories and offering anecdotes pertaining to matters of living in a harsh and humorous world.
And as a rabbi might Jesus have reminisced about his father's workshop? Where with his hands busy and tongue still he experienced the luxury of practicing a craft.
It's no wonder Jesus often withdrew to lonely places. We have overwhelmed him with our demands: "Teach us." "Inspire us." "Save us."
What is a wonder is that Jesus comes around any more at all, that Jesus ever returned from the lonely places. He must have loved doing what he did: incarnating love, befriending the friendless, touching the untouchables, partying with the partiers; amongst other things.
I believe in Jesus' resurrection, but not his ascension. I don't think heaven is a place in the sky that Jesus could or would have ascended to. I don't like the idea of a satellite Jesus, an outer space Jesus, a Jesus in orbit.
I like the idea of a shekinah Jesus, a Jesus who wandered off in the midst of the scandal of his return from the dead, and who has been amongst us in one way and another ever since. Yes in spirit as a teacher and revolutionary and religious icon. But with his body as well. Biting his tongue and using his hands and still making friends, loving humanity, loving life.
And now it's time again for some of my ink to spill into the internet, the web, that unknown expanse of nothingness that somehow holds all of these words and interactions we have.
Jesus of Nazareth.
A miracle baby with a big story: the carpenter turned rabbi, the rabbi turned revolutionary, the revolutionary turned religious icon.
I wonder at times if, as a religious icon, Jesus wishes he might have avoided that last stage of his evolution and remained a revolutionary? Inspiring change and rebuking indifference in the lives and hearts of the men and women who gathered around him.
I wonder, in his revolutionary days, if Jesus may have thought fondly back on the simplicity of his teaching days? A rabbi telling stories and offering anecdotes pertaining to matters of living in a harsh and humorous world.
And as a rabbi might Jesus have reminisced about his father's workshop? Where with his hands busy and tongue still he experienced the luxury of practicing a craft.
It's no wonder Jesus often withdrew to lonely places. We have overwhelmed him with our demands: "Teach us." "Inspire us." "Save us."
What is a wonder is that Jesus comes around any more at all, that Jesus ever returned from the lonely places. He must have loved doing what he did: incarnating love, befriending the friendless, touching the untouchables, partying with the partiers; amongst other things.
I believe in Jesus' resurrection, but not his ascension. I don't think heaven is a place in the sky that Jesus could or would have ascended to. I don't like the idea of a satellite Jesus, an outer space Jesus, a Jesus in orbit.
I like the idea of a shekinah Jesus, a Jesus who wandered off in the midst of the scandal of his return from the dead, and who has been amongst us in one way and another ever since. Yes in spirit as a teacher and revolutionary and religious icon. But with his body as well. Biting his tongue and using his hands and still making friends, loving humanity, loving life.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
(intermission II.)
I'll be carrying my journal with me during the next week, along with all of life's other essentials, and a handful of luxuries (pipe, dark chocolate, Sierra Designs' down moccassins). My lover and I, along with two other couples, and a single guy who is comfortable enough in his own skin to make the journey with we three pairs, are flying to Vegas in the morning, and by various means making our way to Wire Pass -- a trail head in Utah that points us toward the Paria River which we'll find and follow for five days or so until it shoves us into the Colorado near Lee's Ferry in Arizona.
The wireless signals are just weak enough in the canyon that I'll not be bothering to bring a lap top with me. I'll complete my "Christian Enterprise and I" series of posts upon my return with a word or two on Jesus. But I'll be writing in my journal, real inky words, while I'm away, and eager to continue to share the words I'm finding that express my way of being in this very diverse and beautiful, often troubling, and more often surprising world of ours.
I'll be walking with some dear friends, listening for Creator's rhythms, noting the expanse of desert and sky. Not missing the keyboard or screen. It's going to be good. You should let me show it to you some day. Let me know when, I'll put together a trip for you.
Peace to you. Shalom.
The wireless signals are just weak enough in the canyon that I'll not be bothering to bring a lap top with me. I'll complete my "Christian Enterprise and I" series of posts upon my return with a word or two on Jesus. But I'll be writing in my journal, real inky words, while I'm away, and eager to continue to share the words I'm finding that express my way of being in this very diverse and beautiful, often troubling, and more often surprising world of ours.
I'll be walking with some dear friends, listening for Creator's rhythms, noting the expanse of desert and sky. Not missing the keyboard or screen. It's going to be good. You should let me show it to you some day. Let me know when, I'll put together a trip for you.
Peace to you. Shalom.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
IV. b.
"Sin" is missing from the list of Christian particulars that I presented in my "Christian Enterprise and I" post, but I guess I have something to say about it.
It's like this: I have a friend, he is a homosexual and he worships with a conservative evangelical Christian congregation, he is in a monogamous relationship, the father of two, and a self-identified sinner. But homosexuality is not his sin, any more than heterosexuality is mine.
Hypothetically let's say that pornography is a sin. Straight porn will get you a spiritual time out every bit as much as gay porn, won't it?
We've got ourselves all tangled up in the pre-fixes (homo-sexuality, hetero-sexuality) and we're having a hard time finding common ground. But it's there, right after the "o" in both terms, and it's something we can all relate to. Libido and lust, expression and repression, we've all tapped in, to some extent, to the realm of the sexual. We have to, we're bodies, we have sexual things built right into us. (If you're having trouble relating to this, maybe you're in the repression category, that's ok, been there; go ahead and say it, "I am sexual." Excellent now say what the things are, say them both loud and clear, "PENIS," good, the other one too...don't be shy...starts with a "v" and it's not a dirty word...v...v...V, "VAGINA," there, that's a good start.)
Our sexuality, as an essential part of our humanity, has the potential to unite us, but we've done with it what we do with pretty much everything else: we've figured out a way to make sexuality divisive. And that's a sin.
Sin is an addiction to a substance, any substance will do. It is an attitude more than an item on a list. (Our Catholic sisters and brothers, however, do have a good list of attitudes and addictions that's worth a moment or two of your contemplation, as are their corresponding opposites.) The addiction that I see as the linchpin in most of what ails us (most scenarios of violence, hatred, and fear) is our addiction to the comfort we find from the cliques that bolster our identities. You see what I'm saying? This can be racial or religious (resulting in lots of violence and hatred, affecting our history and global relations), or it can originate from something else, like our idea of what's fashionable or our areas of giftedness (resulting in lots of meanness and locker-stuffing, affecting our middle schools, high schools and global relations).
I'm not dogging diversity, not in the least. As far as I'm concerned our various identities are as essential to our humanity as our sexuality is. (Say it, "I'm a Christian." "I'm a Jew." "I'm Hindu." "I'm Hispanic." "I'm gay." "I'm an athlete." "I'm a businesswoman." "I am Canadian.") I am for diversity. I am against the tendency we have to cushion our reality; to build a wall that isolates us and allows us to ignore our neighbor. The way to break down the wall is not by relinquishing our identity, but by exploring it to it's very source. If we all do that we'll probably find a thing or two in common -- humans, residents of the earth. If we begin there we might learn something valuable from another person's very different experience as a resident of the earth.
So sin is anything that allows us to utterly disregard the ubiquitous other.
P.S. The idea that homosexuality in all of its manifestations is a sin, that needs to be dropped. It needs to deteriorate and become a part of the soil of our past, a history out of which we can grow and flower and become more beautiful and fragrant.
I'm aware of the cases within various articulations of Christianity that have been made against homosexuality, and I find them unconvincing. I'm also aware of the biblical passages that reference homosexuality and I consider it obvious that these passages are not referencing a lifestyle of homosexuality that is based on commitment and love. The homosexuality that was known by the biblical authors and their contemporaries primarily existed in the realm of prostitution, ritual sex, and sexual abuse -- this is what they would have felt compelled to address. They would have had little or no reason to concern themselves with addressing committed and loving homosexual relationships. And if you bring up Leviticus you automatically loose. If you want to use Leviticus you have lots of explaining to do.
To be sure our religious predecessors (the scribes of this holy book that we scribble all over) would not have been free of prejudice. We've sanctified the book, not the authors. Let's read the book through the lense of infallible love, thus accessing its sacred direction for our lives and interactions, and avoiding the prejudices of its fallible authors. If our ancestors (religious, national, and familial) are anywhere, regarding us from where they are, I don't imagine they'd be too upset if we do away with their bad ideas and replace them with handshakes, hugs, and high fives. That's the best way to do combat with sin.
It's like this: I have a friend, he is a homosexual and he worships with a conservative evangelical Christian congregation, he is in a monogamous relationship, the father of two, and a self-identified sinner. But homosexuality is not his sin, any more than heterosexuality is mine.
Hypothetically let's say that pornography is a sin. Straight porn will get you a spiritual time out every bit as much as gay porn, won't it?
We've got ourselves all tangled up in the pre-fixes (homo-sexuality, hetero-sexuality) and we're having a hard time finding common ground. But it's there, right after the "o" in both terms, and it's something we can all relate to. Libido and lust, expression and repression, we've all tapped in, to some extent, to the realm of the sexual. We have to, we're bodies, we have sexual things built right into us. (If you're having trouble relating to this, maybe you're in the repression category, that's ok, been there; go ahead and say it, "I am sexual." Excellent now say what the things are, say them both loud and clear, "PENIS," good, the other one too...don't be shy...starts with a "v" and it's not a dirty word...v...v...V, "VAGINA," there, that's a good start.)
Our sexuality, as an essential part of our humanity, has the potential to unite us, but we've done with it what we do with pretty much everything else: we've figured out a way to make sexuality divisive. And that's a sin.
Sin is an addiction to a substance, any substance will do. It is an attitude more than an item on a list. (Our Catholic sisters and brothers, however, do have a good list of attitudes and addictions that's worth a moment or two of your contemplation, as are their corresponding opposites.) The addiction that I see as the linchpin in most of what ails us (most scenarios of violence, hatred, and fear) is our addiction to the comfort we find from the cliques that bolster our identities. You see what I'm saying? This can be racial or religious (resulting in lots of violence and hatred, affecting our history and global relations), or it can originate from something else, like our idea of what's fashionable or our areas of giftedness (resulting in lots of meanness and locker-stuffing, affecting our middle schools, high schools and global relations).
I'm not dogging diversity, not in the least. As far as I'm concerned our various identities are as essential to our humanity as our sexuality is. (Say it, "I'm a Christian." "I'm a Jew." "I'm Hindu." "I'm Hispanic." "I'm gay." "I'm an athlete." "I'm a businesswoman." "I am Canadian.") I am for diversity. I am against the tendency we have to cushion our reality; to build a wall that isolates us and allows us to ignore our neighbor. The way to break down the wall is not by relinquishing our identity, but by exploring it to it's very source. If we all do that we'll probably find a thing or two in common -- humans, residents of the earth. If we begin there we might learn something valuable from another person's very different experience as a resident of the earth.
So sin is anything that allows us to utterly disregard the ubiquitous other.
P.S. The idea that homosexuality in all of its manifestations is a sin, that needs to be dropped. It needs to deteriorate and become a part of the soil of our past, a history out of which we can grow and flower and become more beautiful and fragrant.
I'm aware of the cases within various articulations of Christianity that have been made against homosexuality, and I find them unconvincing. I'm also aware of the biblical passages that reference homosexuality and I consider it obvious that these passages are not referencing a lifestyle of homosexuality that is based on commitment and love. The homosexuality that was known by the biblical authors and their contemporaries primarily existed in the realm of prostitution, ritual sex, and sexual abuse -- this is what they would have felt compelled to address. They would have had little or no reason to concern themselves with addressing committed and loving homosexual relationships. And if you bring up Leviticus you automatically loose. If you want to use Leviticus you have lots of explaining to do.
To be sure our religious predecessors (the scribes of this holy book that we scribble all over) would not have been free of prejudice. We've sanctified the book, not the authors. Let's read the book through the lense of infallible love, thus accessing its sacred direction for our lives and interactions, and avoiding the prejudices of its fallible authors. If our ancestors (religious, national, and familial) are anywhere, regarding us from where they are, I don't imagine they'd be too upset if we do away with their bad ideas and replace them with handshakes, hugs, and high fives. That's the best way to do combat with sin.
(intermission)
I'm trying to figure out if it's possible to do what I've been doing here recently (share my ideas about Christianity) without creating distance between myself and you the reader. I know for many readers what I'm sharing and thinking about functions to bring us closer together, you find solidarity in what I'm writing. And some readers (one time readers) are entirely unaffected, unscathed, uninspired -- they move right along, never to shed a click on my blog again. Yet there are those who are affected by what I'm sharing in a way that causes: 1. them to question me (you are confused by what I'm saying, that I'd be saying it, perhaps concerned), or 2. them to question themselves (you feel threatened by my ideas, you feel insulted or judged or shoved in a corner).
To those readers,
Please pardon me if my tone has affected you in the manner of option 2. It is not my intent to inspire self-doubt or to berate the dignity of any individual by casting judgement.
Nor is it my intent to inspire Aram-doubt. Please understand (regarding option 1.) that here, in this blog and particularly this series of posts, are my ideas, some statements, expressions, articulations. My heart (my self, my me) is involved in this expression, but not contained by it.
To all my readers,
I'm going to keep writing because I feel compelled to, I feel strongly about the issues I bring up and I think I present valuable things for your consideration. But not for your conversion. So keep reading and let's keep talking, I value your comments.
To those readers,
Please pardon me if my tone has affected you in the manner of option 2. It is not my intent to inspire self-doubt or to berate the dignity of any individual by casting judgement.
Nor is it my intent to inspire Aram-doubt. Please understand (regarding option 1.) that here, in this blog and particularly this series of posts, are my ideas, some statements, expressions, articulations. My heart (my self, my me) is involved in this expression, but not contained by it.
To all my readers,
I'm going to keep writing because I feel compelled to, I feel strongly about the issues I bring up and I think I present valuable things for your consideration. But not for your conversion. So keep reading and let's keep talking, I value your comments.
Monday, May 18, 2009
IV.a. the other
We are afraid of our differences. I'm tempted to write that we, humans, are inherently afraid of our differences, but I don't think it's true that we have to be that way. Fear is certainly an inherent sensation, but I think we're more or less socialized to fasten it to diversity. Consider children, the sort of humans that still have a good portion of the innocence they were born with. Children are inherently intrigued with our differences. All the little fingers on my contrasting white skin at an orphanage in Jamaica taught me this when I was 12. The children in the life skills class at the elementary school I worked at with their little fingers tangled in my beard. Differences in appearance and aptitude drew the attention (and incidentally the touch) of these uncontaminated examples of humanity.
What do differences (in appearance, in expression, in belief, in orientation) do to the rest of us? Often they tense us up, bother us, frighten us. And that's ok, there's no shame in the sensation of fear. It's actually quite healthy to acknowledge our fears, so we can encounter them straight on and confront them. There is hope in that. But fear denied, fear masked, fear avoided will be (has so often been) our downfall.
Let's say that we are indeed afraid of our differences, put simply: diversity threatens us. And say we're brave enough to acknowledge, encounter, and confront our fear. There are a couple of ways we can advance in that face to face confrontation.
One option is to advance with violence. By superimposing our fear on those whom we are afraid of (which we do quite naturally) we can attack our fear in its personified form. With physical or verbal force we can drive our fear into submission. If we make our fear tangible we can hold it down, and if we convince ourselves that it is low enough then we'll no longer feel the sensation of our fear, we'll have sufficiently numbed ourselves to it. But really what we'll have done is numbed ourselves to those whom we were afraid of, and done nothing to the fear itself. The fear will still be there, its sensation replaced by a silent infestation. Bad things happen when that happens. Violence toward our differences will continue to result in factions and feuds, more bloodshed and more borders.
If, on the other hand, we advance with love (or curiosity, if love is too abstract an approach) there will be a more beautiful outcome. Our fear (naturally) will take the shape of the others we are afraid of and we'll bravely approach them with love, housed in genuine curiosity: "What's it like being you?".
It's really that simple. We've been experimenting with this for ages. Asking that question and listening to each others responses and devising ways to live which take it all into account. We've been dreaming of success for quite some time now, our dream finding a variety of forms of expression: the Republic, democracy, socialism, free love, anarchy, the Kingdom of God. Our ideas tend to fall short as realities, but that doesn't mean that we should stop dreaming, or quit devoting our lives to the realization of our dream.
Jesus was one of the dream's primary dreamers.
"What is the greatest command [i.e. life's greatest instruction or the world's greatest need] ?" he's asked. "Love the Lord your God with everything you are; your emotions, your body, your intellect, your very breath. And the second greatest is like it: love your neighbor like you love yourself."
Who is your "the Lord your God"? Jesus was talking to Jews, theirs was Yahweh -- the I Am, the Isness, the One, the God that ignores and transcends tribal and national identities, the God that brings together tribes and nations, the creator and unifier, the Ground of all Being, the Real. Maybe when you hear Jesus' words about loving God you attach it to something similar to all of this, it's hard to say, God's a touchy intangible subject, yet worth some looking into.
The second answer illuminates the first for us considerably. It is like it. Love your neighbor, that's like loving God. And who is your "neighbor"? Not much room for fancy talk or hermeneutical gymnastics here. Your neighbor is each and every person who is other than you. The "thou" in the I/thou relationship. "Next door neighbor" means the other who lives next door to you. A neighborhood is a collection of others, others who all live in the same hood. Earth is a big hood, it's a global neighborhood, it always has been, but we're more aware of it now than we ever have been (thanks to the internet, air travel, photos from outer space, etc.). And since a certain sense of awareness to the other is necessary (at least helpful) before love can happen (I loved Lauren as soon as I met her) then perhaps the instruction to love our neighbor reaches farther now than it ever has.
Maybe now that our world is global in scope, now that everyone is officially our neighbor, we can have another go at our dream. And maybe now that our hood is so huge we can actually simplify our approach to the other; we don't need a political or religious or social idea to unite under, for these are no longer big enough to contain the world that we're aware of. Our humanity is, and perhaps even more binding than that is our common home. A home that we are free to explore as our hearts feel fit, asking each and every other we encounter, "What's it like being you?". If we do this, and if we listen to each other's reply, good things will happen.
What do differences (in appearance, in expression, in belief, in orientation) do to the rest of us? Often they tense us up, bother us, frighten us. And that's ok, there's no shame in the sensation of fear. It's actually quite healthy to acknowledge our fears, so we can encounter them straight on and confront them. There is hope in that. But fear denied, fear masked, fear avoided will be (has so often been) our downfall.
Let's say that we are indeed afraid of our differences, put simply: diversity threatens us. And say we're brave enough to acknowledge, encounter, and confront our fear. There are a couple of ways we can advance in that face to face confrontation.
One option is to advance with violence. By superimposing our fear on those whom we are afraid of (which we do quite naturally) we can attack our fear in its personified form. With physical or verbal force we can drive our fear into submission. If we make our fear tangible we can hold it down, and if we convince ourselves that it is low enough then we'll no longer feel the sensation of our fear, we'll have sufficiently numbed ourselves to it. But really what we'll have done is numbed ourselves to those whom we were afraid of, and done nothing to the fear itself. The fear will still be there, its sensation replaced by a silent infestation. Bad things happen when that happens. Violence toward our differences will continue to result in factions and feuds, more bloodshed and more borders.
If, on the other hand, we advance with love (or curiosity, if love is too abstract an approach) there will be a more beautiful outcome. Our fear (naturally) will take the shape of the others we are afraid of and we'll bravely approach them with love, housed in genuine curiosity: "What's it like being you?".
It's really that simple. We've been experimenting with this for ages. Asking that question and listening to each others responses and devising ways to live which take it all into account. We've been dreaming of success for quite some time now, our dream finding a variety of forms of expression: the Republic, democracy, socialism, free love, anarchy, the Kingdom of God. Our ideas tend to fall short as realities, but that doesn't mean that we should stop dreaming, or quit devoting our lives to the realization of our dream.
Jesus was one of the dream's primary dreamers.
"What is the greatest command [i.e. life's greatest instruction or the world's greatest need] ?" he's asked. "Love the Lord your God with everything you are; your emotions, your body, your intellect, your very breath. And the second greatest is like it: love your neighbor like you love yourself."
Who is your "the Lord your God"? Jesus was talking to Jews, theirs was Yahweh -- the I Am, the Isness, the One, the God that ignores and transcends tribal and national identities, the God that brings together tribes and nations, the creator and unifier, the Ground of all Being, the Real. Maybe when you hear Jesus' words about loving God you attach it to something similar to all of this, it's hard to say, God's a touchy intangible subject, yet worth some looking into.
The second answer illuminates the first for us considerably. It is like it. Love your neighbor, that's like loving God. And who is your "neighbor"? Not much room for fancy talk or hermeneutical gymnastics here. Your neighbor is each and every person who is other than you. The "thou" in the I/thou relationship. "Next door neighbor" means the other who lives next door to you. A neighborhood is a collection of others, others who all live in the same hood. Earth is a big hood, it's a global neighborhood, it always has been, but we're more aware of it now than we ever have been (thanks to the internet, air travel, photos from outer space, etc.). And since a certain sense of awareness to the other is necessary (at least helpful) before love can happen (I loved Lauren as soon as I met her) then perhaps the instruction to love our neighbor reaches farther now than it ever has.
Maybe now that our world is global in scope, now that everyone is officially our neighbor, we can have another go at our dream. And maybe now that our hood is so huge we can actually simplify our approach to the other; we don't need a political or religious or social idea to unite under, for these are no longer big enough to contain the world that we're aware of. Our humanity is, and perhaps even more binding than that is our common home. A home that we are free to explore as our hearts feel fit, asking each and every other we encounter, "What's it like being you?". If we do this, and if we listen to each other's reply, good things will happen.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
III. salvation
Substitutionary atonement: Salvation means the atonement of ones sins, by way of the sacrifice of ones pure and blameless savior, for the sake of the well being of ones soul.
I don't find that description inaccurate or ineffective, however, neither do I consider it exhaustive of the potential of what salvation might fully mean. I think there's another route the word "salvation" can travel.
The saviour most frequently referenced in accordance with the atonement theory above is Jesus. And the sin (or bondage or anti-salvation habit or thing that we need to be saved from) that I see most harshly rebuked by Jesus in the Bible stories is divisiveness between neighbors, the establishing of factions, the excluding of oneself from the other.
Salvation then, modeled expertly by Jesus' lifestyle and final moments of breath, isn't so much in the mechanics of a sacrifice but in the coming together of those who suffer.
Salvation is the Hebrew shalom, the Sanskrit shanti, that precedes and transcends all of our factions and prejudice. Salvation is the possibility (the hope) of unity -- a united array of all our diversities -- on all levels. Unity globally, unity in communities and neighborhoods, unity in our families, unity in our relationships, unity in ourselves.
Salvation is peace so far as peace is whole and complete, meaning not simply the absence of war between nations, nor even the absence of conflict in general, but the willingness of men and women to love and listen to one another.
Salvation, from this perspective, isn't purchased with the blood of violence or sacrifice, but is hoped toward and realized in accordance with the way of love. Salvation comes to an individual when love attains lordship in his or her heart, comes to a relationship when love carries it, comes to families and communities when they are united in love, comes to the world in the message of love.
For God so loved the world that God gave God's only son, Jesus, so that whoever believes in Jesus won't cease to exist but will have the fullest and most extensive existence imaginable, eternal life!
God's love is universal. And to believe in Jesus isn't to believe certain things about Jesus (though we're all welcome to do that) but to believe in the essence of Jesus, what Jesus was/is about: the coming together of people, love of neighbors and enemies alike, a thoughtful unity with the divine by way of a careful caring for the fragile and marginalized.
Salvation, on some accounts, has come. On many accounts, is coming. And on all accounts, is yet to come. There is hope/work for us all.
I don't find that description inaccurate or ineffective, however, neither do I consider it exhaustive of the potential of what salvation might fully mean. I think there's another route the word "salvation" can travel.
The saviour most frequently referenced in accordance with the atonement theory above is Jesus. And the sin (or bondage or anti-salvation habit or thing that we need to be saved from) that I see most harshly rebuked by Jesus in the Bible stories is divisiveness between neighbors, the establishing of factions, the excluding of oneself from the other.
Salvation then, modeled expertly by Jesus' lifestyle and final moments of breath, isn't so much in the mechanics of a sacrifice but in the coming together of those who suffer.
Salvation is the Hebrew shalom, the Sanskrit shanti, that precedes and transcends all of our factions and prejudice. Salvation is the possibility (the hope) of unity -- a united array of all our diversities -- on all levels. Unity globally, unity in communities and neighborhoods, unity in our families, unity in our relationships, unity in ourselves.
Salvation is peace so far as peace is whole and complete, meaning not simply the absence of war between nations, nor even the absence of conflict in general, but the willingness of men and women to love and listen to one another.
Salvation, from this perspective, isn't purchased with the blood of violence or sacrifice, but is hoped toward and realized in accordance with the way of love. Salvation comes to an individual when love attains lordship in his or her heart, comes to a relationship when love carries it, comes to families and communities when they are united in love, comes to the world in the message of love.
For God so loved the world that God gave God's only son, Jesus, so that whoever believes in Jesus won't cease to exist but will have the fullest and most extensive existence imaginable, eternal life!
God's love is universal. And to believe in Jesus isn't to believe certain things about Jesus (though we're all welcome to do that) but to believe in the essence of Jesus, what Jesus was/is about: the coming together of people, love of neighbors and enemies alike, a thoughtful unity with the divine by way of a careful caring for the fragile and marginalized.
Salvation, on some accounts, has come. On many accounts, is coming. And on all accounts, is yet to come. There is hope/work for us all.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
II. Hell, and Heaven too
I ceased grappling (or even dabbling) with the concept of hell quite some time ago. I got to a point where the term seemed so laden with the glorification of our tendency to cast judgement on others and our insatiable propensity for personal guilt, that I simply let go of it. I think that was a necessary and positive thing for me to do. And I think it is a healthy thing for anyone to do to at least try and work off the beer belly that adorns the doctrine of hell. There is some excess to it that we'd be better off without.
Ideas often (always?) spring board off of other ideas on their way to becoming their own thing. There's no shame in that, and no harm in dissecting an idea, acknowledging it's sources, as a means of better understanding its meaning. Today's most prevalent Christian concept of hell is a hodge-podge concept that has borrowed from the images of various traditions and sources. Hades is where the dead go in Greek mythology upon passage of the river Styx. Gehenna (the Valley of Hinnom) was the location of a trash dump in the middle east with powerful metaphorical potential. Sheol is the Hebrew image of "the grave", the leveling place, the state of death that comes to us all. These words aren't synonymous with hell. They are each complex images in themselves that have lent portions to the development of Christianity's idea of hell. Hell is an idea that has evolved and developed, with purpose that is not strictly harmful. Hell is not a place, but an idea of a place, a powerful one. And bloated by our fears and prejudice the idea of hell has grown, in some articulations, into a means of ridding our eternal experience of those with whom we disagree, a sort of final crusade, genocide to the farthest extreme possible.
I don't believe in the eternal torment of sinners (or, for that matter, of the innocent). It seems plain to me that sin is nothing short of torment in and of itself, whether doing it yourself or having it done to you. If hell is in any way essential to the Christian enterprise then, as I understand it, it is like this: all of the happenings contained in the Christian message and metaphors happened in order to be rid of hell; not in order to provide a means of avoiding hell and bidding for a lot outside of it. Most heroes of the Christian faith saw hell for what it is, and the most inspiring of them waded waist deep into it and did what they could to extinguish it.
Hell, if anything at all, is what many people experience everyday and what all people experience at least some days. Humans experience hell when they are disregarded by others around them. We create hell by our failure to evenly distribute food and water, shelter and dignity to one another. Making heaven the realization of ones dignity, the satiation of hunger and thirst, the remedy of malnutrition and illness (whether that malnutrition has to do with a scarcity of meals or not). Indeed, and remember this, for some heaven does not find them until death does.
I'm a believer in the quiet rest and the holistic realization of contentment that comes, in one way or another, one day to us all. My left-column friends would perhaps call me a universalist. Maybe "hopeful" according to the right-columnists.
Ideas often (always?) spring board off of other ideas on their way to becoming their own thing. There's no shame in that, and no harm in dissecting an idea, acknowledging it's sources, as a means of better understanding its meaning. Today's most prevalent Christian concept of hell is a hodge-podge concept that has borrowed from the images of various traditions and sources. Hades is where the dead go in Greek mythology upon passage of the river Styx. Gehenna (the Valley of Hinnom) was the location of a trash dump in the middle east with powerful metaphorical potential. Sheol is the Hebrew image of "the grave", the leveling place, the state of death that comes to us all. These words aren't synonymous with hell. They are each complex images in themselves that have lent portions to the development of Christianity's idea of hell. Hell is an idea that has evolved and developed, with purpose that is not strictly harmful. Hell is not a place, but an idea of a place, a powerful one. And bloated by our fears and prejudice the idea of hell has grown, in some articulations, into a means of ridding our eternal experience of those with whom we disagree, a sort of final crusade, genocide to the farthest extreme possible.
I don't believe in the eternal torment of sinners (or, for that matter, of the innocent). It seems plain to me that sin is nothing short of torment in and of itself, whether doing it yourself or having it done to you. If hell is in any way essential to the Christian enterprise then, as I understand it, it is like this: all of the happenings contained in the Christian message and metaphors happened in order to be rid of hell; not in order to provide a means of avoiding hell and bidding for a lot outside of it. Most heroes of the Christian faith saw hell for what it is, and the most inspiring of them waded waist deep into it and did what they could to extinguish it.
Hell, if anything at all, is what many people experience everyday and what all people experience at least some days. Humans experience hell when they are disregarded by others around them. We create hell by our failure to evenly distribute food and water, shelter and dignity to one another. Making heaven the realization of ones dignity, the satiation of hunger and thirst, the remedy of malnutrition and illness (whether that malnutrition has to do with a scarcity of meals or not). Indeed, and remember this, for some heaven does not find them until death does.
I'm a believer in the quiet rest and the holistic realization of contentment that comes, in one way or another, one day to us all. My left-column friends would perhaps call me a universalist. Maybe "hopeful" according to the right-columnists.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
I. the Bible
For me it seems dull (rather stuffy and cooped up) to think of God dictating divine words to human receptors, thus making the Bible an inherently divine product wherein one can find answers to the hard questions. In other words I don't consider the Bible a divine response to human dilemmas.
Rather, I consider the Bible as genuine human response and reaction to the experience of God in life; sometimes by individuals, sometimes by a community. I think the Bible is more or less an acknowledgment of the the hard questions, wherein solidarity and guidance can be found.
Consider the history of the Bible itself. The process of its compilation: generations and generations of people reporting and eventually recording their experiences of life and worship and conflict and celebration and identity. So many authentic and uncensored statements and questions about the matters that mattered to them. The process of its canonization: how gradually a series of councils, by judging its utility and wisdom, bestowed authority to the collection of books that we hold in our hands when we hold the Bible. It is powerful to think of the rich history of the Bible. I think the Bible's rich history marks it with significance in a way that our personal statements about it (i.e. inspired, inerrant, infallible) can not.
I don't think of the Bible as the Word of God, but as an assembly of words (stories, accounts, songs, letters, forecasts, social commentary, history, and poetry) that are of God as often as an individual or community uses them in a God-worthy (loving!) way. The Bible is read, interpreted, and used. And that can be done to the benefit or detriment of "the other" (our neighbor, whom we're meant to love as ourselves). I believe the Bible is meant to be used to benefit, to encourage, admonish, and guide. Not used to back up our prejudice, fears, and judgments, as it so often is.
In school I was encouraged to acknowledge that the (Christian) scriptures were insufficient when separated from us, specifically from our ability to reason or interpret, our culture and traditions, and our experience of life. And I believe that these four things (scripture, interpretation, culture, and experience) do indeed need to be in constant dialogue (quadralogue?). More than need -- they are unavoidably interlaced and interdependent for the religious person. And even for the non-religious person, this dynamic foursome has played such an extravagant role in our history and has a still lasting effect in our politics and social interactions, it would be wise to understand "that" if not "how" this is.
I don't believe that the Bible does much, nor is it sacred, on its own; even though I do consider it sacred. Which is not to suggest that we bestow upon it it's sanctity (authority, yes, but sanctity is something different). In the hands and heart of a community or individual that does consider the Bible as authoritative, that does embrace its history, teachings, and stories, it has a weathered and reputable power and wisdom. There is in it a sacred theme that, partnered with human understanding, imagination, and action, has the potential to affect today's world in extraordinarily beneficial ways.
I think that makes the Bible a sacred book, able to guide a person or community in the way of love.
Rather, I consider the Bible as genuine human response and reaction to the experience of God in life; sometimes by individuals, sometimes by a community. I think the Bible is more or less an acknowledgment of the the hard questions, wherein solidarity and guidance can be found.
Consider the history of the Bible itself. The process of its compilation: generations and generations of people reporting and eventually recording their experiences of life and worship and conflict and celebration and identity. So many authentic and uncensored statements and questions about the matters that mattered to them. The process of its canonization: how gradually a series of councils, by judging its utility and wisdom, bestowed authority to the collection of books that we hold in our hands when we hold the Bible. It is powerful to think of the rich history of the Bible. I think the Bible's rich history marks it with significance in a way that our personal statements about it (i.e. inspired, inerrant, infallible) can not.
I don't think of the Bible as the Word of God, but as an assembly of words (stories, accounts, songs, letters, forecasts, social commentary, history, and poetry) that are of God as often as an individual or community uses them in a God-worthy (loving!) way. The Bible is read, interpreted, and used. And that can be done to the benefit or detriment of "the other" (our neighbor, whom we're meant to love as ourselves). I believe the Bible is meant to be used to benefit, to encourage, admonish, and guide. Not used to back up our prejudice, fears, and judgments, as it so often is.
In school I was encouraged to acknowledge that the (Christian) scriptures were insufficient when separated from us, specifically from our ability to reason or interpret, our culture and traditions, and our experience of life. And I believe that these four things (scripture, interpretation, culture, and experience) do indeed need to be in constant dialogue (quadralogue?). More than need -- they are unavoidably interlaced and interdependent for the religious person. And even for the non-religious person, this dynamic foursome has played such an extravagant role in our history and has a still lasting effect in our politics and social interactions, it would be wise to understand "that" if not "how" this is.
I don't believe that the Bible does much, nor is it sacred, on its own; even though I do consider it sacred. Which is not to suggest that we bestow upon it it's sanctity (authority, yes, but sanctity is something different). In the hands and heart of a community or individual that does consider the Bible as authoritative, that does embrace its history, teachings, and stories, it has a weathered and reputable power and wisdom. There is in it a sacred theme that, partnered with human understanding, imagination, and action, has the potential to affect today's world in extraordinarily beneficial ways.
I think that makes the Bible a sacred book, able to guide a person or community in the way of love.
The Christian Enterprise and I
A couple of posts back I mentioned a sensation that I couldn’t shake, the sense that I needed to express myself regarding what I believe, me and faith.
Additionally, and more specifically, I feel a steady need in my inner life to address how I relate to and perceive of Christianity. Having been born and bred into the whole enterprise it is a matter of personal importance, there’s no denying that. But I also have relationships with many people who are active in the Christian faith, who are, in fact, self-proclaimed Christians, and these relationships contribute to the need I feel to make this address. I cherish both my heritage and these friends. And seeing as it is no secret that I have changed considerably, since my days as a pious youth and a collegiate bible student, in the way I think about religious matters – my convictions have been adjusted, my paradigm tweaked – I intend, with a series of posts, to give an account of my current relationship with Christianity. I’m going to do this by writng some monologues that pertain to a handful of Christian particulars.
By sharing these posts my intention is not to establish distance between myself and others who hold to a more conventional Christian articulation, anymore than it is my intention to distance myself from those who find no value whatsoever in the Christian experience or Christian metaphors. What I want to do is make myself known, I want to be understood and appreciated just like most of the rest of you.
But, should we end up one or two doctrines shy of mutual understanding, or should my idea of lucid expression turn out to be your idea of ambiguity (and a source of frustration) then I would be glad to either continue the exploration on a more personal-conversational level (to the extent that it might be possible) or simply agree that there is a heap of potential for good relationship to be had in the shared art of lovingly disagreeing. Maybe in the end what we’re disagreeing about isn’t religion at all, maybe we’re just wired differently (remember the columns?), and maybe you’re just as important in the swirl of life (and dialogue) on earth as I am.
What you can expect from me in the next week or so (so long as I consistently find a source of internet) is something about:
I. the Bible
II. Hell, and Heaven too
III. salvation
IV. the other (aka: our neighbor, whom we’re meant to love as ourself)
V. God
VI. and Jesus
Keep reading, share your comments, be nice, and enjoy these efforts of mine at being e-vulnerable and e-honest.
Additionally, and more specifically, I feel a steady need in my inner life to address how I relate to and perceive of Christianity. Having been born and bred into the whole enterprise it is a matter of personal importance, there’s no denying that. But I also have relationships with many people who are active in the Christian faith, who are, in fact, self-proclaimed Christians, and these relationships contribute to the need I feel to make this address. I cherish both my heritage and these friends. And seeing as it is no secret that I have changed considerably, since my days as a pious youth and a collegiate bible student, in the way I think about religious matters – my convictions have been adjusted, my paradigm tweaked – I intend, with a series of posts, to give an account of my current relationship with Christianity. I’m going to do this by writng some monologues that pertain to a handful of Christian particulars.
By sharing these posts my intention is not to establish distance between myself and others who hold to a more conventional Christian articulation, anymore than it is my intention to distance myself from those who find no value whatsoever in the Christian experience or Christian metaphors. What I want to do is make myself known, I want to be understood and appreciated just like most of the rest of you.
But, should we end up one or two doctrines shy of mutual understanding, or should my idea of lucid expression turn out to be your idea of ambiguity (and a source of frustration) then I would be glad to either continue the exploration on a more personal-conversational level (to the extent that it might be possible) or simply agree that there is a heap of potential for good relationship to be had in the shared art of lovingly disagreeing. Maybe in the end what we’re disagreeing about isn’t religion at all, maybe we’re just wired differently (remember the columns?), and maybe you’re just as important in the swirl of life (and dialogue) on earth as I am.
What you can expect from me in the next week or so (so long as I consistently find a source of internet) is something about:
I. the Bible
II. Hell, and Heaven too
III. salvation
IV. the other (aka: our neighbor, whom we’re meant to love as ourself)
V. God
VI. and Jesus
Keep reading, share your comments, be nice, and enjoy these efforts of mine at being e-vulnerable and e-honest.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Columns
I was prompted by a conversation with a dear friend of mine (while putting down mulch and piling up ideas about God, faith, culture, life, the whole gamut) toward some ponderings on the differences between "modern" thinkers and "postmodern" thinkers. My friend falls significantly into one category and I in the other, there's no denying it, but I am trying to open up to an approach to these two approaches that doesn't make one or the other out to be the villain.
First off let me withdraw from the words "modern" and "postmodern", not wanting to get trapped in the act of misnomer-ing and out of respect for those who have done much more in the way of research on these terms/philosophies/phenomena. "Post/modern" were the two words that sparked the columns below, but any deviation is my own, and I'd like to be welcome to go wherever I may.
Left Column -------------------- Right Column
Idea---------------------------------Drama
Belief--------------------------------Experience
Quantitative-------------------------Qualitative
Methods-----------------------------Metaphors
Statements---------------------------Stories
Define--------------------------------Describe
A to B (destination)------------------a TO b (journey)
I want to be careful not to portray this as a conservative vs liberal thing, or a close minded vs open minded thing, or an anything vs anything else. I'm trying to point out that this is, and that the one is as valid a way to be wired (or conditioned) as the other.
A couple of elucidations.
*Quantitative says, "We tend to be real crystal clear about who we are. We say, 'I am such and such,' whether it be a Democrat or a Christian or the Tooth Fairy. We quantify things with labels of affirmation. 'He is a Democrat/Republican.' 'She is a Christian/Atheist.' 'They are the Tooth Fairy.' 'I am...' Qualitative usually thinks we're stuck in our ways."
Qualitative says, "We tend to be elusive when it comes to titles and labels. We say, 'I am not that sort of Democrat, not that sort of Christian, not that sort of Tooth Fairy.' We qualify labels by way of negation. Quantitative usually thinks we're dodging the question."
*A-to-B and a-TO-b go on a backpacking trip together, say to the Paria River in Arizona/Utah. They take a shuttle (with Betty of course) to Wire Pass (A/a) and hike for five days to/TO their rental car at Lee's Ferry (B/b).
By being too focused on the destination A-to-B can miss out on the beauty of the journey and the formative elements therein. A-to-B might fail to enjoy the trek. a-TO-b, however, can miss out on the sense of accomplishment upon completion of the trip. a-TO-b might feel discouraged rather than rejuvenated upon "arrival".
(To put arrival in "..." is something an a-TO-b would feel compelled to do.)
I encourage my reader to try not to be intimidated by either column. What the left column and the right column have in common is that they are both approaches to life, both attempts at understanding truth. And if we're honest most of us will acknowledge some of each column in us, though we probably have a definite leaning, which is totally okay.
What isn't okay is when we become insistent that one approach ought to be able to encompass and satisfy us all. It's not okay to suggest that our favored approach is absolute. That doesn't benefit ourselves or anyone else. It only betrays our fear of being wrong, of being on the losing side. We don't need to fret about that. We're in this together.
One of the most important things might be to recognize the destructive manifestations of either column at work in a person who has an unhealthy heart and a lot of influence. (Heart = where the parts of a person, body/spirit/intellect/imagination/emotions, intersect.)
It is dangerous, for instance, when a dogmatic and dictatorial person is addicted to the left column. Certain things will turn up in such a coupling: exclusivism, judgementalism, narrow-mindedness, abrasive indoctrinating -- and these all disguised in cloaks of martyrdom, and freedom-fighting.
Equally dangerous is the convincing fatalist and pessimist who is entrenched in the right column. This combination leads to relativism, relentlessness, despairing and uncaring -- disguised as realism, honesty, and truth telling.
Most people you come across aren't either of these two people. These two are exceptional. Most people, like Wiggs Dannyboy says in Jitterbug Perfume, "[just] want somebody to tell 'em they have a chance at the i-n-g of life and not just the e-d." Most of us want to make a living, one that has nothing to do with currency or bank accounts, we want life in the fullest possible sense. If it's life we want, let's make sure we're listening to people with healthy hearts, helping people with unhealthy hearts, and considering the value and validity of our own heart, whether it leans to the left or the right.
First off let me withdraw from the words "modern" and "postmodern", not wanting to get trapped in the act of misnomer-ing and out of respect for those who have done much more in the way of research on these terms/philosophies/phenomena. "Post/modern" were the two words that sparked the columns below, but any deviation is my own, and I'd like to be welcome to go wherever I may.
Left Column -------------------- Right Column
Idea---------------------------------Drama
Belief--------------------------------Experience
Quantitative-------------------------Qualitative
Methods-----------------------------Metaphors
Statements---------------------------Stories
Define--------------------------------Describe
A to B (destination)------------------a TO b (journey)
I want to be careful not to portray this as a conservative vs liberal thing, or a close minded vs open minded thing, or an anything vs anything else. I'm trying to point out that this is, and that the one is as valid a way to be wired (or conditioned) as the other.
A couple of elucidations.
*Quantitative says, "We tend to be real crystal clear about who we are. We say, 'I am such and such,' whether it be a Democrat or a Christian or the Tooth Fairy. We quantify things with labels of affirmation. 'He is a Democrat/Republican.' 'She is a Christian/Atheist.' 'They are the Tooth Fairy.' 'I am...' Qualitative usually thinks we're stuck in our ways."
Qualitative says, "We tend to be elusive when it comes to titles and labels. We say, 'I am not that sort of Democrat, not that sort of Christian, not that sort of Tooth Fairy.' We qualify labels by way of negation. Quantitative usually thinks we're dodging the question."
*A-to-B and a-TO-b go on a backpacking trip together, say to the Paria River in Arizona/Utah. They take a shuttle (with Betty of course) to Wire Pass (A/a) and hike for five days to/TO their rental car at Lee's Ferry (B/b).
By being too focused on the destination A-to-B can miss out on the beauty of the journey and the formative elements therein. A-to-B might fail to enjoy the trek. a-TO-b, however, can miss out on the sense of accomplishment upon completion of the trip. a-TO-b might feel discouraged rather than rejuvenated upon "arrival".
(To put arrival in "..." is something an a-TO-b would feel compelled to do.)
I encourage my reader to try not to be intimidated by either column. What the left column and the right column have in common is that they are both approaches to life, both attempts at understanding truth. And if we're honest most of us will acknowledge some of each column in us, though we probably have a definite leaning, which is totally okay.
What isn't okay is when we become insistent that one approach ought to be able to encompass and satisfy us all. It's not okay to suggest that our favored approach is absolute. That doesn't benefit ourselves or anyone else. It only betrays our fear of being wrong, of being on the losing side. We don't need to fret about that. We're in this together.
One of the most important things might be to recognize the destructive manifestations of either column at work in a person who has an unhealthy heart and a lot of influence. (Heart = where the parts of a person, body/spirit/intellect/imagination/emotions, intersect.)
It is dangerous, for instance, when a dogmatic and dictatorial person is addicted to the left column. Certain things will turn up in such a coupling: exclusivism, judgementalism, narrow-mindedness, abrasive indoctrinating -- and these all disguised in cloaks of martyrdom, and freedom-fighting.
Equally dangerous is the convincing fatalist and pessimist who is entrenched in the right column. This combination leads to relativism, relentlessness, despairing and uncaring -- disguised as realism, honesty, and truth telling.
Most people you come across aren't either of these two people. These two are exceptional. Most people, like Wiggs Dannyboy says in Jitterbug Perfume, "[just] want somebody to tell 'em they have a chance at the i-n-g of life and not just the e-d." Most of us want to make a living, one that has nothing to do with currency or bank accounts, we want life in the fullest possible sense. If it's life we want, let's make sure we're listening to people with healthy hearts, helping people with unhealthy hearts, and considering the value and validity of our own heart, whether it leans to the left or the right.
Friday, April 24, 2009
philippians 4.7
My wife is asleep in bed right now and I am up, awake, later than I should be because I can't shake a feeling.
I sense that some people in my life think I have given up on God and that I have devoted my thoughts and efforts to things less than worthy of a life's devotion. And that sense troubles me, it has be scrambling for an explanation -- an explanation of my own or one from one of them, except that none of them have accused me of any such thing, it's just a sense, a feeling I can't shake.
So I'm left to explain on my own.
I know there are a couple things I believe in, a couple things that make me a believer and they aren't exclusively Christian or religious.
I believe, somewhat naively, in the potential for redemption, that redemption is possible for any individual and that it's possible in any social situation. Love is more powerful than anything else, and it's confusing and complex and sometimes contradictory. Forgiveness goes out of its way to break ground for redemption -- I've witnessed all of that from beginning to end, for example, in my parents' story. And I continue to keep my eyes peeled for it elsewhere in life.
I believe in the natural rhythm of things, sometimes even mystically. The slow steady fidelity of tides and seasons and growth and reproduction, for instance. To call anything supernatural is redundant. The natural is extraordinary, and confusing and complex and sometimes contradictory -- containing struggle and regeneration, heartache and elation, death and life.
In regards to those two things, call the first "Love" and the second "Life" both with capital "L's", I am a believer. And when I write this, when I claim it, it makes me feel like I have a bold and strong faith in God. Even though I don't use the word "God" as much as I once did, or credit things to "God" as readily, I haven't turned my back on God. Consider it all an attempt to not take the Lord's name in vain, to not take "God" for granted.
By not identifying as a Christian I am not trying to distance myself from anyone. With these attempts at explanation that I continually make -- in my head, on paper, out loud, here on my blog -- I am trying to benefit (not condemn) anyone who might be interested in knowing me, it's in order to enhance (not dishevel) the potential for our relationship.
By not saying, "I am a Christian" or "I believe 'such and such' about God" I am not trying to judge those who do. The thing is I'm proud of me, and chances are I'm proud of you too. Give me the benefit of the doubt and you'll see that what you believe about God and the good life is alive and well in me. Just as I see it in you.
Nor do I desire to distance myself from my heritage. Everyone of my days as a child was tempered in the furnace of Christianity and strong family ties. Any time I bask in the memory pools of my upbringing it's a balm to my soul's skin and I get to feeling smooth, fragrant, and fresh. I like most of the influences and experiences that have helped shape who I am and am becoming. The handful that I don't like I at least appreciate and don't resent. I consider myself well crafted, and the smiths' hands are many.
Suffice it to say? I am not an atheist, not even an agnostic, though I know, love, and appreciate several of each sort. I am a believer through and through. And even if I'm not that kind of a believer, I am one nonetheless.
I'm conservative too. It just has more to do with the way I refrain from kicking around the word "God" and other religious lingo. A rose by any other name...
Which is to say that God has a distinct scent and I'm trying more and more to trust my sense of smell, even at the expense of some of my past convictions and especially at the expense of my prejudices.
Does this make sense? I feel like it should but fear it doesn't but it's important to me that it does. What I want more than anything in life is peace that involves everything, including everyone, including you and me. That doesn't imply a need for sameness between us, but does depend, to some extent I think, on understanding. So let's not hide our questions from one another, nor be eager to change each other.
I want you to be honestly you. And me to be honestly me. And trust "God" to take care of the rest.
I sense that some people in my life think I have given up on God and that I have devoted my thoughts and efforts to things less than worthy of a life's devotion. And that sense troubles me, it has be scrambling for an explanation -- an explanation of my own or one from one of them, except that none of them have accused me of any such thing, it's just a sense, a feeling I can't shake.
So I'm left to explain on my own.
I know there are a couple things I believe in, a couple things that make me a believer and they aren't exclusively Christian or religious.
I believe, somewhat naively, in the potential for redemption, that redemption is possible for any individual and that it's possible in any social situation. Love is more powerful than anything else, and it's confusing and complex and sometimes contradictory. Forgiveness goes out of its way to break ground for redemption -- I've witnessed all of that from beginning to end, for example, in my parents' story. And I continue to keep my eyes peeled for it elsewhere in life.
I believe in the natural rhythm of things, sometimes even mystically. The slow steady fidelity of tides and seasons and growth and reproduction, for instance. To call anything supernatural is redundant. The natural is extraordinary, and confusing and complex and sometimes contradictory -- containing struggle and regeneration, heartache and elation, death and life.
In regards to those two things, call the first "Love" and the second "Life" both with capital "L's", I am a believer. And when I write this, when I claim it, it makes me feel like I have a bold and strong faith in God. Even though I don't use the word "God" as much as I once did, or credit things to "God" as readily, I haven't turned my back on God. Consider it all an attempt to not take the Lord's name in vain, to not take "God" for granted.
By not identifying as a Christian I am not trying to distance myself from anyone. With these attempts at explanation that I continually make -- in my head, on paper, out loud, here on my blog -- I am trying to benefit (not condemn) anyone who might be interested in knowing me, it's in order to enhance (not dishevel) the potential for our relationship.
By not saying, "I am a Christian" or "I believe 'such and such' about God" I am not trying to judge those who do. The thing is I'm proud of me, and chances are I'm proud of you too. Give me the benefit of the doubt and you'll see that what you believe about God and the good life is alive and well in me. Just as I see it in you.
Nor do I desire to distance myself from my heritage. Everyone of my days as a child was tempered in the furnace of Christianity and strong family ties. Any time I bask in the memory pools of my upbringing it's a balm to my soul's skin and I get to feeling smooth, fragrant, and fresh. I like most of the influences and experiences that have helped shape who I am and am becoming. The handful that I don't like I at least appreciate and don't resent. I consider myself well crafted, and the smiths' hands are many.
Suffice it to say? I am not an atheist, not even an agnostic, though I know, love, and appreciate several of each sort. I am a believer through and through. And even if I'm not that kind of a believer, I am one nonetheless.
I'm conservative too. It just has more to do with the way I refrain from kicking around the word "God" and other religious lingo. A rose by any other name...
Which is to say that God has a distinct scent and I'm trying more and more to trust my sense of smell, even at the expense of some of my past convictions and especially at the expense of my prejudices.
Does this make sense? I feel like it should but fear it doesn't but it's important to me that it does. What I want more than anything in life is peace that involves everything, including everyone, including you and me. That doesn't imply a need for sameness between us, but does depend, to some extent I think, on understanding. So let's not hide our questions from one another, nor be eager to change each other.
I want you to be honestly you. And me to be honestly me. And trust "God" to take care of the rest.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
feel the rhythm, join the dance
I had a chance to talk with a couple different groups of people this week about the situation of the environment, as in the state of the natural world and the impact of humankind on it. We perused the issue as thoroughly as possible in the time we were allotted. One thing we did not do was argue whether or not there is an environmental situation at hand, a situation where the human impact on the environment has reached uncontainable levels; or for a more neutral assessment, has become more noticeable than not. I consider that to be self-evident, even for those who aren't aware of the statistics -- the rate of deforestation, the impossibility for many in developing countries to find clean water, the number of species on the planet that are ceasing to exist, the tragic amounts of plastic and garbage gathering in a large section of the North Pacific Gyre, the acidity of rain, the loss of fertile topsoil due to poor agricultural habits, the excessive amount of red meat consumed by the affluent minority of the world and the excessive amount of grain grown to feed the cattle heading in that direction -- a simple look around lends quick exposure to human impact on an otherwise sustainable planet.
I believe all of this is wrong, not the way it should be, irresponsible, sinful, disruptive, distorted, distasteful, unfortunate... and overwhelming. I don't think it's possible for this massive ship (thanks Maxwell, for this metaphor) of over-consumption, over-disposal, and maleficent eco-habits to turn around in just one generation. But I sense the ship aching to turn nonetheless. So I propose two approaches:
Approach #1
Each of us can completely minimalize the residue of our presence; by eliminating every fouling act, numbing every appetite, going strictly vegan, making our own clothes, renouncing our material possessions, decreasing our footprint to zero.
I believe this would work. In time, if every human were to take this approach, I believe that the planet would recover from the devastation it has faced as a result of our over-consumption. In time the soil would rejuvenate, forests would replant, water would reclaim it's geological path and life giving purity, animals would reproduce, the atmosphere would overwhelm the poisons it contains. Unhindered by our abusive interaction with it, the natural world would take care of itself, and regain its all-blanketing beauty.
It would work.
But we, humans, are up to our necks in us. Our livelihood is so integrated with the economic machine of consumption and mass production, in servicing one anothers' massive appetites, that with out the consumer (all of us) then the provider (all of us as well) would be out of a job, devoid of their source of livelihood. In this case, environmental rejuvenation would result in economic destruction. (Which I suspect is the fear that is behind the sad and narrow assessment of environmentalism on http://environmentalism.com/.)
The natural world is resistent -- "inventive, persistent, and sly" (please read A Conservationist Manifesto by Scott Russel Sanders http://www.scottrussellsanders.com/) -- it will take care of itself if we afford it the space to. But we would find ourselves so estranged from the natural world that we would not know how to join the rhythm of rejuvenation.
The environment cannot sustain our overindulgence. The human story could not endure complete withdrawl.
Approach #2
We continue to pursue the good life. We pool our creative energies together to reimagine a sustainable and wholistically healthy version of the abundant life. We vigorously reestablish the connection we have lost with the rhythms of the natural world that we are so a part of. We devote ourselves to the act of sharing, allowing the earth's resources to be redistributed to all who need nourishment (rich and poor, human and non-human alike). We do not merely set about switching from destructive to constructive actions, rather we embrace a posture of acceptance and trust in the earth's rejuvenative potential. (For a far more articulate and exceedingly powerful treatment of these very issues please read Environmental Linguistics on http://laurenzmitchell.wordpress.com/.)
The creative force that set the earth spinning and jostled life into being on its surface is still present and active. And fortunately for us it is forgiving and patient, it still has room for the human story.
I believe all of this is wrong, not the way it should be, irresponsible, sinful, disruptive, distorted, distasteful, unfortunate... and overwhelming. I don't think it's possible for this massive ship (thanks Maxwell, for this metaphor) of over-consumption, over-disposal, and maleficent eco-habits to turn around in just one generation. But I sense the ship aching to turn nonetheless. So I propose two approaches:
Approach #1
Each of us can completely minimalize the residue of our presence; by eliminating every fouling act, numbing every appetite, going strictly vegan, making our own clothes, renouncing our material possessions, decreasing our footprint to zero.
I believe this would work. In time, if every human were to take this approach, I believe that the planet would recover from the devastation it has faced as a result of our over-consumption. In time the soil would rejuvenate, forests would replant, water would reclaim it's geological path and life giving purity, animals would reproduce, the atmosphere would overwhelm the poisons it contains. Unhindered by our abusive interaction with it, the natural world would take care of itself, and regain its all-blanketing beauty.
It would work.
But we, humans, are up to our necks in us. Our livelihood is so integrated with the economic machine of consumption and mass production, in servicing one anothers' massive appetites, that with out the consumer (all of us) then the provider (all of us as well) would be out of a job, devoid of their source of livelihood. In this case, environmental rejuvenation would result in economic destruction. (Which I suspect is the fear that is behind the sad and narrow assessment of environmentalism on http://environmentalism.com/.)
The natural world is resistent -- "inventive, persistent, and sly" (please read A Conservationist Manifesto by Scott Russel Sanders http://www.scottrussellsanders.com/) -- it will take care of itself if we afford it the space to. But we would find ourselves so estranged from the natural world that we would not know how to join the rhythm of rejuvenation.
The environment cannot sustain our overindulgence. The human story could not endure complete withdrawl.
Approach #2
We continue to pursue the good life. We pool our creative energies together to reimagine a sustainable and wholistically healthy version of the abundant life. We vigorously reestablish the connection we have lost with the rhythms of the natural world that we are so a part of. We devote ourselves to the act of sharing, allowing the earth's resources to be redistributed to all who need nourishment (rich and poor, human and non-human alike). We do not merely set about switching from destructive to constructive actions, rather we embrace a posture of acceptance and trust in the earth's rejuvenative potential. (For a far more articulate and exceedingly powerful treatment of these very issues please read Environmental Linguistics on http://laurenzmitchell.wordpress.com/.)
The creative force that set the earth spinning and jostled life into being on its surface is still present and active. And fortunately for us it is forgiving and patient, it still has room for the human story.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
you and god and this book i read
I recently finished reading The Amber Spyglass and so finished the story of Lyra and Will's adventures in many worlds as recorded in the series: His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman.
There is some controversy over these books because the author might be an atheist and the story might have an anti-christian agenda.
I've heard that the author is a kind and open conversationalist (and worthy debate partner), and I've concluded that the story is about Lyra and Will, their friends and their journeys, their struggles, their triumphs, and their coming of age. So if you've got the stomach for a thing or two that might not exactly line up with your personal worldview, or that might, then read and enjoy them.
To readers who identify with the facets of theism, conservative and moderate alike, but who still possess the courage of an open mind, the token of suggestion that I gleaned from His Dark Materials is not so much to abandon belief in God or even commitment to your religious expression, but to reconsider the articulation and possibly foundation of your belief and expression. And in reconsidering be open to revision where necessary.
If your belief in God is articulated in such a way that poses God as a figure of authority who provides limitations and regulations whereby life must be lived, then perhaps it isn't God you are speaking about after all, but a caricature of God created by an institution of religion as dictated by men who are/were un/consciously invested more in the pursuit of power and control than in the pursuit of the divine.
How might your belief in God be better, more accurately articulated?
Is God a monarch and a tyrant? Interested in our human concepts and experience of authority and power? Interested in motivating by the means of fear and force? (Is that the foundation of your religious expression? fear? shame? guilt?)
Or is God something else entirely? Not a being who uses force, but a force in and of itself. Not a motivating entity, but an actual sensation of compulsion.
Which sounds more like that which was present at the incipience of the world? Which sounds more like that which is present in the world's sustenance?
To readers who identify as atheists (or simply do not identify as theists), those who avoid religion and its facets, but who still possess the courage of an open mind, I think you would be encouraged by His Dark Materials, finding your stance on God and religion condoned in the pages of this story. Yet a suggestion all the same, and that is to rebel against the indifference toward life that drives so much and so many in our world (and other worlds too no doubt); and to pull at life instead, finding it active and ready for exposrure: in the corners of our relationships, in the songs and sounds of birds and animals, in the stretch of the horizon, in the very air, and in the breath that we breathe it with.
To readers one and all note that regardless of your articulation -- whether it be in favor of this God or that, whether in denial of either or all, whether in a careful disregard -- our stances can quickly become us; our articulations, if unchecked, become our idols, become the manifestation and limitation of who we are.
How tragic to be defined simply (or to define someonelse) by how one uses the word "God". What a waste to categorize and so dismiss someone because they believe in God or because they do not or because they're not quite sure. When the reality of divinity, energy, life is so readily apparent, as it is through the many struggles and triumphs of the two protaganists, in the curiosty and courage, the kindness and inventiveness, the hope with which we approach our world. To be known, and even defined, utlimately as one who loves and is loved.
There is some controversy over these books because the author might be an atheist and the story might have an anti-christian agenda.
I've heard that the author is a kind and open conversationalist (and worthy debate partner), and I've concluded that the story is about Lyra and Will, their friends and their journeys, their struggles, their triumphs, and their coming of age. So if you've got the stomach for a thing or two that might not exactly line up with your personal worldview, or that might, then read and enjoy them.
To readers who identify with the facets of theism, conservative and moderate alike, but who still possess the courage of an open mind, the token of suggestion that I gleaned from His Dark Materials is not so much to abandon belief in God or even commitment to your religious expression, but to reconsider the articulation and possibly foundation of your belief and expression. And in reconsidering be open to revision where necessary.
If your belief in God is articulated in such a way that poses God as a figure of authority who provides limitations and regulations whereby life must be lived, then perhaps it isn't God you are speaking about after all, but a caricature of God created by an institution of religion as dictated by men who are/were un/consciously invested more in the pursuit of power and control than in the pursuit of the divine.
How might your belief in God be better, more accurately articulated?
Is God a monarch and a tyrant? Interested in our human concepts and experience of authority and power? Interested in motivating by the means of fear and force? (Is that the foundation of your religious expression? fear? shame? guilt?)
Or is God something else entirely? Not a being who uses force, but a force in and of itself. Not a motivating entity, but an actual sensation of compulsion.
Which sounds more like that which was present at the incipience of the world? Which sounds more like that which is present in the world's sustenance?
To readers who identify as atheists (or simply do not identify as theists), those who avoid religion and its facets, but who still possess the courage of an open mind, I think you would be encouraged by His Dark Materials, finding your stance on God and religion condoned in the pages of this story. Yet a suggestion all the same, and that is to rebel against the indifference toward life that drives so much and so many in our world (and other worlds too no doubt); and to pull at life instead, finding it active and ready for exposrure: in the corners of our relationships, in the songs and sounds of birds and animals, in the stretch of the horizon, in the very air, and in the breath that we breathe it with.
To readers one and all note that regardless of your articulation -- whether it be in favor of this God or that, whether in denial of either or all, whether in a careful disregard -- our stances can quickly become us; our articulations, if unchecked, become our idols, become the manifestation and limitation of who we are.
How tragic to be defined simply (or to define someonelse) by how one uses the word "God". What a waste to categorize and so dismiss someone because they believe in God or because they do not or because they're not quite sure. When the reality of divinity, energy, life is so readily apparent, as it is through the many struggles and triumphs of the two protaganists, in the curiosty and courage, the kindness and inventiveness, the hope with which we approach our world. To be known, and even defined, utlimately as one who loves and is loved.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
dropping the "G" word
Imagine you (or I, or anyone for that matter) were bred from the earliest of your recollectable days to long to fall in love with a woman named Cindy.
You dreamt of a Cindy in your adolescence and chased after Cindy's on the play ground in your youth. You could imagine calling your lover by no other name. A woman's quality, apparent upon your initial interactions with her, all but vanished when she stated her name to be something other than Cindy. You were taught and tied into the endeavor of loving a woman with this name.
Flipping through the book you find her. Cindy, or in her fullness Cinderella, cinder-ella, the girl of the cinders, girl of the ashes. And -- ashes to ashes, dust to dust -- you realize that every woman you sought, those you loved and those you didn't (those who loved you and those who didn't) was Cindy, each a daughter of the earth, each human.
So you siphon your focus on the name into a more expansive focus on the experience of love. And you fulfill your destiny.
You dreamt of a Cindy in your adolescence and chased after Cindy's on the play ground in your youth. You could imagine calling your lover by no other name. A woman's quality, apparent upon your initial interactions with her, all but vanished when she stated her name to be something other than Cindy. You were taught and tied into the endeavor of loving a woman with this name.
Imagine a string of romantic experiences that you have as you wander the earth, each very genuine, each passionate and hopeful. You encounter a woman (avoid the preliminary introductions) share experiences with her, fall authentically in love with her. Then you ask her name and it is not Cindy. So you leave her -- you leave the romance, the authenticity, the passion, the hope, the experience, the love all behind. And you do it again. And again. None of them turn out to be Cindy.
So you take a different approach. You seek out women named Cindy. You find a Cindy and you pursue her, date her, kiss her, introduce her to your family -- "This is Cindy" -- move in with her, share life with her. But it is all contrived, so you leave her for another woman named Cindy and do it again. And again. None of them coax love from you (and incidentally neither do you do much for them, so don't feel too cocky).
Imagine your broken and lonely state of being. Imagine having given up true love several times over. Imagine having placed your hope in an idea so resolutely time and again, and time and again it being returned to you void. And imagine in this grim state as you travel the globe with your seemingly hopeless cause set before you that you wander into a library in Frankfurt and select a volume of fairy tales; hoping to find something to quell the sting, to find inspiration from these stories of eerily unlikely events.
Flipping through the book you find her. Cindy, or in her fullness Cinderella, cinder-ella, the girl of the cinders, girl of the ashes. And -- ashes to ashes, dust to dust -- you realize that every woman you sought, those you loved and those you didn't (those who loved you and those who didn't) was Cindy, each a daughter of the earth, each human.
So you siphon your focus on the name into a more expansive focus on the experience of love. And you fulfill your destiny.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
ufc with yhwh
i had a sweet wreck the other day. i was biking from work to meet lauren at a coffee shop, hauling downhill on 10th street. i decided to take a short cut along the pedestrian route so i glanced back to check traffic, crossed over and hopped up onto the sidewalk. it was raining and i took a sharp turn left a little too fast, my back tire slid out and my front tire buckled and i went down and skidded like 15 feet. i hopped up and had one of the moments of "am i ok? i'm ok. really? am i? i am." and then the obligatory bashful look around to see if anyone saw (no one did), unjammed my chain, hopped back on, thanked God i was wearing denim and a tough jacket, said, "that was awesome", and continued (with a touch more care) on my merry way.
it felt really good. i haven't wiped out for a while. i had a couple wrecks in college that were really sweet (one forward somersault with feet still in toe clips, took a big divot out of the woman's field hockey field at the bottom of our ski slope at houghton, i saved the divot because we had found a lizard and seth fancy and i set up a little island in a bowl of water for him, but he escaped and lived a better life than either of us ever could have given him), but it's been a good long while since i really skinned my knees. what's the appeal i wonder? it's not a desire for pain. just for contact, friction, resistance.
like the part in philip pullman's "the subtle knife" when william struggles, unbeknownst to him, with his father. like the story in the bible where jacob wrestles God. clings to God, makes demands of God, gets his hip broken by God. i don't talk about God on a daily basis anymore, not like i did when it was my homework to do so, when the community i belonged to made a practice of it. but i still like meeting for wrestling matches, smiles and dirt smeared across our faces, the two of us rolling around without much to talk about but with plenty in common. God letting me win sometimes, i letting God win sometimes.
i don't distinguish much between God and Life. like i don't hold to God as a human-like being with arms and legs that wrap around me in the fight. the events and experiences of God wrap around me, they are what i pull against or give in to. and i think that's how God likes it.. as in, i think that's how Life is done best.
i got an opportunity to sit with Life for a while a couple weekends ago, i had our little cottage to myself and i rested. sat across from Life for an evening and a morning and lingered in Its presence, feeling the surge of my own muscles for a change, rather than the push of Life's muscle on me.
i'm back in it again, wrestling again.. smiling, grimacing, struggling, collapsing. but really glad that we took some respite.
it felt really good. i haven't wiped out for a while. i had a couple wrecks in college that were really sweet (one forward somersault with feet still in toe clips, took a big divot out of the woman's field hockey field at the bottom of our ski slope at houghton, i saved the divot because we had found a lizard and seth fancy and i set up a little island in a bowl of water for him, but he escaped and lived a better life than either of us ever could have given him), but it's been a good long while since i really skinned my knees. what's the appeal i wonder? it's not a desire for pain. just for contact, friction, resistance.
like the part in philip pullman's "the subtle knife" when william struggles, unbeknownst to him, with his father. like the story in the bible where jacob wrestles God. clings to God, makes demands of God, gets his hip broken by God. i don't talk about God on a daily basis anymore, not like i did when it was my homework to do so, when the community i belonged to made a practice of it. but i still like meeting for wrestling matches, smiles and dirt smeared across our faces, the two of us rolling around without much to talk about but with plenty in common. God letting me win sometimes, i letting God win sometimes.
i don't distinguish much between God and Life. like i don't hold to God as a human-like being with arms and legs that wrap around me in the fight. the events and experiences of God wrap around me, they are what i pull against or give in to. and i think that's how God likes it.. as in, i think that's how Life is done best.
i got an opportunity to sit with Life for a while a couple weekends ago, i had our little cottage to myself and i rested. sat across from Life for an evening and a morning and lingered in Its presence, feeling the surge of my own muscles for a change, rather than the push of Life's muscle on me.
i'm back in it again, wrestling again.. smiling, grimacing, struggling, collapsing. but really glad that we took some respite.
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