Beliefs

Preach it, Rufus.*

In case you can't read the image above, it's a quote from Chris Rock's character Rufus the Apostle from the movie Dogma.  Says Rufus: "I think it’s better to have ideas. You can change an idea; changing a belief is trickier. Life should be malleable and progressive; working from idea to idea permits that. Beliefs anchor you to certain points and limit growth; new ideas can’t generate. Life becomes stagnant."

I think Rufus is right on.  I've been thinking about it a lot lately, and I really want to work hard to not have beliefs.  This might sound strange from someone who identifies fiercely with the Christian Church - and it may well sound strange to some of my friends within the Church.  But upon much reflection, I really just don't think that "beliefs" are a very good idea.  I'm trying to do my darnedest to avoid them.

So, for example, I'm not interested in saying, "I believe there is no god", as an atheist would (though I will have to confess a lack of belief in any concretely-imagined concept of a divine being).  But nor am I interested in saying, "I believe God is One in Three" (though I find very rich and helpful symbolism in Trinitarian thought) or "I believe that Jesus of Nazareth was the Son of God" (though I remain a devoted disciple of Jesus as the ultimate - for me - image of Love in human form).

So you're probably saying - well, it sure sounds like you have beliefs.  And maybe I (along with Rufus) am just arguing semantics.  But to me, "belief" means something like "coming to a conclusion about something for which there is insufficient evidence to decide".  That just seems unwise to me.  So instead, I try to have other things instead.

I have ideas, like Rufus suggested.

I have conclusions based on scientific evidence.  Due to the nature of science, these are of course provisional.

I have opinions.  I support marriage equality (even though I think that "marriage" as we know it is a hot Constantinian mess) and I think the indefinite detention provisions of the 2012 NDAA are a horrific idea.  For example.

I have heuristics.  Rules of thumb.  Things that I think work well a lot of the time.  The Sermon on the Mount, for example, is full of those.  I'm a fan.

I have hunches.  For example, I have a hunch about the thing that happens when groups intentionally seeking discernment have moments of clarity that lead them to helpful and healing action - which Christians often attribute to the Holy Spirit.  I have a hunch that that's a real thing.  Perhaps "Jungian collective unconsciousness" or "adaptive social sensitivity" or something is a better interpretive construct for that sort of thing than "the Holy Spirit".  I'm not super-concerned about interpretive constructs.  I think that for many phenomena that we don't understand very well, there's a wide variety of interpretive constructs/images/symbols that might be productively used to talk about them.  I think when we latch on to those constructs and make them "beliefs", they can (but don't necessarily) become harmful.

(Another example might be mental illness.  As someone who suffers from bipolar disorder, I actually think that the ancient interpretation of some forms of mental illness as "demon possession" was not as ridiculous as it may seem.  That's a pretty apt image for what it's like sometimes.  But when you take that too seriously - and morally judge someone for "dealing with demons" - or prescribe exorcism instead of psychiatry - then it becomes harmful.)

I have hopes.  For example, I have a hunch that there's no continuity of consciousness that survives death.  But I have a hope that I'm wrong.  I also have a hope that the human race's future might be characterized by lots more love and grace (what Jesus referred to as the Kingdom of God), rather than by various forms of human-made apocalypse.  I don't expect God to just take care of that for us while we sit back and keep screwing things up...nor do I believe that the "myth of progress" will inexorably march us to that outcome.  Yet I persist in this hope.

All these things, I have.  All these things are provisional.  My dear friend Deanna once described belief as a "stake in the sand" - something you put down in order to function in the world, but could pull up easily when appropriate.  Something provisional, in other words - like Rufus's "ideas".

I suppose many of my "other things" described above could be called "beliefs" in this sense.  Maybe I am just quibbling about language.  So be it.  But I guess "belief" is just not a word I'm finding very helpful right now.

*The above image is credited to The Interwebs.  I don't know who made it, and since they amusingly credit it to Chris Rock a line that was written by Kevin Smith, I'm not too concerned about the image creator chasing after me for lack of attribution.

Live Lectio/Flash Fiction - Exodus 12

This is a fictional response to a reading of a passage of scripture during Common Table's Sunday morning worship service on retreat at Shrine Mont on 4 September, 2011.  It's also a cross-post from our shared Common Table blog; please see the first post in this series for context, as well as the biblical passage being responded to.

Disobedience

It was only an hour before the appointed time, when the Lord would send his angel of death - the angel with the flaming sword that would cut out the heart of each Egyptian family.  Rachel snuck out while her father was bundling their few possessions, and her mother was cleaning the remains of the tiny leg of lamb they’d been given by their next door neighbor.

She moved quickly down the street, careful not to slosh the blood in the bowl she carried.  At each Egyptian home she reached, Rachel dipped her rag into the bowl, and hastily dribbled blood on the doorframe.

She kept on running into the dark, painting hope on as many doors as she could reach, until the dawn broke, and Rachel heard the first wails of anguish from the homes further on down the street.

image:  Some rights reserved by panavatar

Role-a-Scriptura

In Phyllis' Tickle's The Great Emergence, Phyllis identifies the death of Sola Scriptura - that great rallying cry of the Protestant Reformation - as one of the major factors ushering in what she calls "the Great Emergence" in the Western Church.

"What's this about death?" you might ask. "Sola Scriptura is alive and well - just ask the folks I grew up with." (And, obviously, some readers of this blog are probably committed to it as well - no problem! Phyllis and I are talking about a wider cultural/ecclesial trend which is far from universal.) But Phyllis notes the parade of cultural changes - from the abolition of slavery to women's rights to the acceptance of divorce to civil rights to gay rights, and more - which have been resisted using Sola Scriptura as a primary weapon ("The Bible is clear!") - and those resistance attempts have, on the wide cultural stage, ultimately and decisively failed. (Some - if not all - of those battles are, of course, still raging, but it's clear where Western culture is going.)

The combined weight of these has led to most of the Church either explicitly abandoning Sola Scriptura, implicitly abandoning it among the seminaries and clergy while letting the pew-warmers go on thinking it's the church's teaching, or ending up in rather indefensible paradox-positions on the issue (such as divorced-and-remarried pastors and bishops stridently condemning acceptance of gay leaders). There are, of course, plenty of fundamentalist holdouts for whom all of these issues (with the probable exception of slavery) are still non-issues and forever decided in the traditional manner - but even the vast bulk of the conservative evangelical churches bend a little on, say, racial equality, or divorce, or women speaking in church - despite the fact that it used to seem that "The Bible is clear!"

Anyway...Phyllis says that probably the biggest question for the Western Church in the Great Emergence is this: "Where, now, is the authority?" Before the Great Reformation, in Western Europe, it was clearly in the tradition and hierarchy of the Catholic Church. Before the Great Emergence, in Protestant churches, it was (supposedly) Sola Scriptura. But where now?

Good question. But I've been thinking about a corollary question. If Scripture is no longer to be considered our Sole Authority, what is the Bible's appropriate role in our lives, our faith, our communities, our worship gatherings? Of course, this is hardly a new question. Eastern Orthodox folk and Roman Catholics never signed on to Sola Scriptura, and have ancient answers to how they approach Scripture in these contexts. Same for many Protestant traditions, such as Quakers. Anglicans have had the three-legged stool of Scripture, Tradition, and Reason for centuries, and Methodists added the fourth leg of Experience long ago as well. And as my friend Ben detailed to me recently, it's never been as simple as Sola Scriptura for Lutherans either, despite the fact that Uncle Martin is credited with the phrase.

So I guess, after all that weighty preface, all I'm really wondering is: what is the role of the Bible in your life, faith, community, etc.? Does it look like Sola Scriptura? Or like the Anglican, Methodist, or Lutheran model? Or would you articulate it differently?

For me, the basis of my faith is Jesus, and my major witnesses to Jesus are Scripture, Community, and Experience. Scripture is my my main primary source for Jesus, and for me the Canon is made holy by its 2000 years of veneration by the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church (and, for the Hebrew Bible, going back much further among the people of Israel).

Therefore, the Bible is of great importance to my faith and life - but it's not at the center. Jesus is at the center, surrounded (in my mental map) by the witnesses to him in Scripture, in the lives of my friends, in the lives of Jesus-followers through history, and in my own life. Scripture is important to me, and carries with it authority (probably roughly equal to the authority of my dearest and wisest spiritual friends, or of my most profound personal experiences of faith) but it's not inerrant, it's not infallible, it's usually not literally historical. It doesn't need to occupy a central place - every single day - in my personal spiritual practice, my idea of worship, or my idea of the shaping of Christian community. It's appropriate that it be central a lot of the time, but it doesn't need to be all the time. (On the other hand, the Jesus whom I know from the Bible should be central, all the time - and there are probably few better ways to encourage this than to constantly return to Scripture.)

Anyway, that's what I think. What do you think?

image by Wonderlane (rights)

We ain't entitled to jack

I'm not sure this is a theological insight. It's sort of a personal conviction. I've referred to it before, but I just feel like stating it, as clearly as I can. Here's what I think.

We - you and I, any human beings - are not entitled. We are not entitled to anything.

Anything, that is, except God's love, to whatever extent we can manage to receive it. But that's it. Really. That's it. Nothing else.

So, for example: your health? Not entitled. Your loved ones? Not entitled. Your natural gifts, talents, intelligence, sanity? Not entitled. Your job, your house, your money, your stuff? Not entitled to a lick of it. (But I've worked for those - they're mine! Sorry, no.) Human rights? Not entitled. Food, water, shelter? Nope. Freedom from oppression, imprisonment, war, torture? Uh-uh. Your next breath? Sorry, no guarantees.

There is nothing built into this universe that entitles us to anything within it. Anything. If we attain, or retain, any of these things, it is completely, 100% a free and amazing gift through the grace of God. If we lose these things, it's merely the natural end of a good thing (and as "they" are fond of saying, all good things must end.)

The nihilists are right. The universe is devoid of meaning and purpose - unless we make those. And the only way way to make those is by entering into loving relationship with God and each other. When we don't get good things, or we lose good things, it's not the universe's fault, and it's not God's fault. Neither God nor the universe entitled us to those things.

Those losses may, in fact, be our fault, but this is not about "we suck, we're totally depraved, original sin", and BS like that. That kind of thinking assumes that entitlement is a reality - it's just one that we don't deserve because we SUCK so much. That's crap thinking. Entitlement is a lie. We don't miss out on entitlement because we don't deserve it - we miss out on it because entitlement doesn't exist.

When we look at life this way, we realize that EVERY. SINGLE. GIFT we have is not ours to keep, because we deserve it - but only ours through grace, to share through grace. We give and share and love freely, sacrificially, joyfully, and with abandon - like God does. (I suck at looking at life this way.)

When we don't look at life this way, we sin. When we feel entitled to something (or someone), we fear losing it, or we fear not getting it in the first place. When we fear, we respond in anger, or in greed, or in numb avoidance. And we sin. (I'm much better at this kind of behavior.)

That's what I think about entitlement. And life. And I honestly think that if I could remember and practice it more, I would be more of a blessing to the people with whom I share this world.

image "ENTITLEMENT" by ChrisB in SEA (rights)

Faith, relationship, betrayal

"The opposite of faith is not doubt, it’s certainty." - Anne Lamott

Lately, I've been having some conversations with friends and loved ones on the subject of relationships. (Close friendships, romantic relationships, marriages, etc.) Are they worth the risk? Do they inevitably contain the seeds of deep disappointment, and even betrayal? Surely there are some relationships which can be counted on for life? Or at least ones that we will look back upon, in our old age, as being rock solid?

So I've been thinking about that, and here's a thought I have.

All close relationships - from a friendship to a business partnership to a marriage - are built on faith and trust. And as St. Anne says in the quote above (which might not be original to her), certainty is the opposite of faith. I think any faith-based relationship (the only other kind being a shallow, faith-free relationship) has risk built in, right from the get-go. There is no certainty in relationships. That's not possible, given that the other party is a person of free will, and always fundamentally a mystery to you (and, probably, to herself as well). Every relationship contains the seeds of deep disappointment, pain, and (if the relationship is close and long-lasting), probably full-blown betrayal. This is what I think.

Further, I think this applies even to our relationship with God. Before I defend that statement, let me make a claim about the nature of disappointment and betrayal. In my opinion, the only meaningful standard for disappointment/betrayal is the subjective opinion of the wounded party. In other words, if you feel that I have disappointed or betrayed you, then this is in fact the case, no matter the intent behind my actions. What other standard is possible? If you feel betrayed by my action, is that betrayal made untrue if I was "doing my best" or "had your best interest at heart"? Does that change the emotional impact of betrayal (at least initially)? Are those things even possible to determine coherently? What exactly does "doing one's best" mean, anyway? I could always have tried harder, been more thoughtful, listened more carefully to you.

So if you grant me that betrayal is determined in the heart of the betrayed, then maybe you'll see where I'm coming from when I say that we will all, certainly, be betrayed by God. No matter how humble we are, no matter how spiritual, how pious, no matter how healthy our prayer life, there will come a day when a prayer we prayed with all the depth of our being goes unanswered - at least as far as we can tell. And we will feel betrayed by God. And that betrayal will be, in my opinion, all too real. (There are many well-worn defenses of God in situations like these, and to me they all boil down to, "You know, God must have been doing God's best.")

If anyone reading this cannot recall a time when they've experienced this kind of betrayal by God, I'd be very surprised.

So this (I think) is why our relationship with God, as with others, is characterized by faith - by trust - by confidence - but not by certainty. And faith implies risk. And relationship, I believe, implies betrayal. And it's damn well worth it anyway.

A corollary to this theory goes a long way toward making up for this, if you ask me. It says that we should see every single blessing we receive - from God, from our spouse, from our family, friends, beloved, or a stranger on the street - as a gift of grace.

Loving God, you betraying bastard, please help us to live lives of risk and grace. Amen.

photo of Giotto di Bondone (1267-1337), Life of Christ: Kiss of Judas, at the Cappella degli scrovegni a Padova by Carla216 (rights)

9/11 and the emerging church

I haven't been through what Fred Burnham's been through, but I found his story moving in the extreme. Please watch this video and listen to the story.

This is why I'm a part of the "emerging church" movement. It's why I'm passionately and whole-heartedly committed to a particular community within that movement.

There are communities that embody the loving relationships and self-organizing faithfulness that Fred describes. If you're not a part of one, brother or sister...find one.

(Embedded video below.)


9/11 and the Emerging Church from Steve Knight on Vimeo.

Certainty and control

I concluded a recent post with the following question: If I feel that God is calling me and/or my community (present or future) to emerge into a radically different way of being and doing Church, what am I willing to lose?

You may ask, "So, Mr. Rude Armchair, exactly what do you suppose this rhetorical 'I' might have to give up?" (No-one did ask, truth be told, but in my benevolence I'll tell you anyway.)

I think a lot of the answer boils down to two things (which may actually be one thing): certainty and control. But that works itself out very differently for folks with different stories. For a lot of folks from a more evangelical background, the biggest difference in the "postmodern" or "emerging" space is the letting go of certainty regarding our "perfect" understanding of matters of doctrine. This shift can be extremely stressful, as is obvious from the history of the emerging church conversation.

And for folks from all over the established church (but especially, I think, folks like me from a more "mainline" background), the biggest difference might be a letting go of certainty and control regarding matters of church structure, polity (church leadership), and career-related issues. Postmodern folk are frequently no too keen on stuff like hierarchy, positional authority, lay/clergy divides, and regularly scheduled stewardship beg-a-thons that are necessary to fund a model where professional clergy make 100% of their living from their job as a pastor, priest, bishop, apostle, or whatnot.

This means that if you are one of those professional clergy, and you feel called to move in an an "emergent" direction, then I honestly feel that one of the questions you must ask yourself is, "how will I feed my family and pay the mortgage?" Because the traditional answer, "From my church paycheck, of course", is going to be less and less tenable in an emerging context. I know many people who have unhappily discovered this.

There are many ways to creatively answer this question, even for folks who feel like they have no other marketable skills than those of a pastor. (I guess that's one good aspect to traditional churches expecting pastors to be omnigifted - pastors need to be able to do all kinds of things, many of which can be sources of secular income.) And there are ways for couples and communities to plan creative ways to make sure that everyone gets by - smplicity, sharing (Acts 2), entrepreurial ventures, etc.

I would also go so far as to give this advice to folks feeling the call to ministry in an emergent context, but doing something completely different now: don't plan to go to seminary, get ordained (if that's something they do in your tradition), and then expect to support your family going forward on a pastor's salary at an emerging church. I'm not saying that's impossible - it's entirely possible - but I am saying that it's hard, and will (I believe) get harder as more people step out into the wild, uncertain freedom that is emerging.

As much as I suspect that failure might be a necessary step in emergence, don't set yourself up for that kind of failure, that "OMG, my whole plan for supporting my family is totally not working - now what do I do?" kind of failure. Yes, if you step out into the land of uncertainty and having to find creative solutions to such problems, you run the risk of that very thing happening anyway - but I think it's important to expect it, as opposed to expecting that a traditional church structure, a traditional pastor's role, a full-time paycheck, etc. are a certainty, and that you can control the emergence of your community in such a way as to gaurantee the viability of those things.

So what do you get when you give up certainty and control? You get things like freedom, risk, constant change, and hope. It's not a simple either/or, of course, but it's important, I think, to pray hard about what sort of context God is calling us to.

photo by sgs_1019 (rights)

TOE jam

(Parenthetical word to the wise: I definitely do not recommend doing an online image search using the term "toe". Most of the results are really gross, in a fascinating variety of yuckness.)

So P3T3 is in search of TOE's (Theories of Everything). He says (unless I misread him): physicists know they lack one, and are seeking one fervently; fundamentalists act as if they've got one, but don't; evangelicals sort of have one, yet leave key terms undefined (kinda wise, if you ask me); and emergentingishlicalian Christians ought to be seeking one to avoid divide-by-zero errors such as classic pitfalls surrounding hell, the exclusivity of salvation through Jesus, and the (excellent) question, "Does God hate brown people?"

Now, I have to admit that I'm not a big fan of TOE's (apart from the 10 fleshy ones that most of us have - this despite having just now seen about 100 disgusting online photos of said digits). They sort of strike me as the epitome of hubris. I'd much rather just admit I don't have that level of clue, and probably never will.

HOWEVER, I do recognize that it's impossible to do really authentic, quality, high-level, big-picture thinking without edging into the territory of TOE's - and that TOE's are, by definition, theories. (You know - "just" a theory - like evolution, or gravity.) This means that any TOE, no matter how comprehensive, is by definition provisional. I'm pretty sure that the physicists burning the midnight oil trying to reconcile relativity and quantum mechanics realize that their success (should they succeed) will one day seem rather limited and perhaps even naive, however useful it might be in its time, place, and conditions.

I think Physics learned that one long about the time time the last ivory-tower holdout said, "FINE. You win. There's no such thing as aether. Are you happy now?? Gorram kraut Einstein." - and then picked up his toys and went home.

(Religion, I fear, hasn't learned that lesson yet, by and large.)

So with that in mind (that this is provisional, limited, speculative, and in all likelihood simply full of crap), I'll take a stab at a vaguely TOE-like line of reasoning that has helped shape my thinking around some of Pete's emerging-church divide-by-zero errors. Here's what I think, based upon my personal "three-legged stool" of Scripture, community, and experience:

God is Love, and God is the Father of all creatures. God loves each and every creature - certainly including each and every human being ever born - to a degree that we can't grasp. Every human being: Pharoah, Judas, Nero Caesar, Hitler, Pol Pot - everybody.

I very strongly suspect that God never gives up on that love for any one of us. Admittedly, this suspicion is based largely on the third leg of my stool, "experience" - but also on my reading of the character of Jesus in the New Testament. My personal understanding of God and God's character makes it pretty much inconceivable to me that a God who is Love would ever give up that love for any child of God. Therefore, I disagree with those who interpret Scripture to say that one's eternal fate is sealed upon the moment of death: that doctrine, IMHO, places limits on God's love.

Does this make me a universalist? Maybe. Quite honestly, I don't really care one way or the other about that label. But though I don't admit the possibility of God giving up on any of us, I do admit the possibility of us giving up on God, and never repenting of that desertion for all eternity. Frankly, this seems unlikely to me, but I admit that it's possible. Just as I hesitate to place limits on God's love, it seems unwise to place limits on the extent to which we talking monkeys are capable of thrusting our heads up our asses.

So that's part of my personal TOE: I think that God is Love, and that God loves all God's creatures, and that God never, ever gives up on that love.

Which leads me another thought. I sort of feel like there's been a tendency, through the ages, of people within the Church equating "the Church" with "the set of people who are loved by God". This equation has sometimes been explicit, but often seems to be an unstated assumption. It seems implicit in the culture of consumer Christianity: churches must not expect much from churchgoers, because they must be places for everyone who has decided to say "yes" to God's love.

It's widely known that deciding to follow Jesus with one's whole life and be obedient to God's risky call is a different thing from simply deciding to give mental assent to God's loving reconciliation in Jesus Christ. But (the thinking seems to go), the Church consists of all those who love and are loved by God, whether they choose to try following in the dangerous footsteps of Jesus or not - and our churches, therefore, must be comfortable places for those who don't make that choice.

But what if the set of people who are loved by God is not the set of people called "the Church", but instead the one called "everybody"? Then what is the Church? My thought - and it's a rude one, I admit - is that "the Church" is actually the set of people who are earnestly trying to respond to Jesus' invitation, "Take up your cross and follow me." This set of people may have (and does have) a WIDE variety of interpretations of what that looks like - from the most fundamentalist to the most liberal, to mention just one possible "axis" of opinion.

But the reason I say this is a "rude thought" is that this implies (IMHO) that there are an awful lot of folks who are members of churches but who are not members of the Church, and probably never will be - because there's no expectation that "the Church" is anything other than "those who are loved by God and know it".

My suggestion is that God's love is for everyone - it's an enormous, immense, incredible gift of grace for every human being. But God has other gifts too. God's Son has a yoke that is good, and risky, and dangerous, and joyful, and surprising, and demanding, and maybe a little bit nuts. Not everybody wants that yoke - and that's OK! God doesn't love those who try to follow Jesus one iota more than those who don't. But following Jesus is an enormous gift, and when we confuse that gift with the gift of God's love, given freely to all, we do no one a service.

So I think that's how I, personally, do-si-do around P3T3's divide-by-zero.

Hell? Maybe - if we can be stubborn enough in our hatred to outlast God's love - which means holding onto it until the end of time.

Exclusivity? No way, if you're talking about the love of God - but yes, obviously, if you're talking about following Jesus. It's a matter of obvious fact that not everybody tries to follow Jesus - not every human, and not every churchgoer - and that may be because they're not aware of the option. (Though many people who have never heard of Jesus - or who have heard of him, but have been put off by Christians or their doctrines - choose to live much more like him than I do!)

God hating brown people? Well, I sure as hell hope not. I admit I'm still a little weirded out that the enormous gift of following in the way of Jesus is something that needed to spread by word of mouth from a single point in time and geography.

But that's the undeniable pattern of history, and of every historical gift from God - including so many that have come to us at times and in places where brown people live. It's weird, when you think about it - but peculiar distribution of gifts is a lesser matter, I guess, than excluding some of God's children from the very love of God.

And that's as far as my TOE's have carried me today.

Photo: "Big Toe goes to Dharamsala" by Qaanaaq (rights)

Easter 2008

Yesterday was Easter
We didn't go to church
My family aren't church people
And besides
It's hard for Dad to travel
Not because of the cancer
In his head
But because of the steroids
Drugs they gave him
To keep his symptoms at bay
Drugs that make him
Too weak to stand up without help

We didn't go to church
But we did participate in a liturgy
A ceremony called holiday dinner
With ham, and dinner rolls, and pie
With Mom and Dad, Sean and Anna, Tina and me
Around the table
I said grace
And rambled on too long
As I do
Which earned me a "Get on with it"
Gesture from Dad
Which in turn made me think
How much I love him

Our liturgical color was pink
Pink like Mom's Easter table cloth
And placemats
Pink like glazed ham
Like Peeps and jelly beans
Pink like Tina's shoulders
And my forehead
After weeding on Saturday
We all sat at the table
Even though it's easier for Dad
To sit on the stool at the bar
Where he can stand up on his own

After dinner, we drove back home
As Tina napped, I thought
And prayed
And I searched and asked
For new life
I asked God for some resurrection trajectory
When things seemed to be going
The other way
I asked God to teach me to pray
And to show me what to pray for
I asked God to put words in my mouth
Because I didn't know the words myself

So this thought came to me:
You, God, you have such...
And the next word, I thought,
Was supposed to be "power"
But that wasn't the word
The word that came instead
Was "joy"
God, you have such joy...
Joy to share with all of us
Joy that looks like sunlight after winter
Joy that sounds like children's laughter
Joy like the weight of a newborn baby boy
Joy that feels like a friend's embrace

You have pain, too
And so do we
You share in our suffering
And sometimes we share in yours
Sometimes we watch the people we love
Wither and become less
We watch our loved ones, pillars of strength
Become weak
We watch our beloved, who have lived lives of caring
Become those in need of care
We watch like Mary and John
At the foot of the Cross

But your joy is real too
I know this
I know it
Knowing this, I know also
I need to orient my life now
I need to create the conditions
For accessing that joy
And if I access it
I need to pray
Pray for the courage and wisdom
So share it with those I love
Pray for the discernment
To know how to bless

I know it won't look like joy
(Or maybe it will,
Like laughter 'round the dinner table
Like laughter at Tina's frizzy hair
Curled and enlarged by Mom's long-dormant
Beauty culture skills)
Maybe it won't look like joy,
But I know (I know) that your joy is real

What I Really Think: #1 - The Word of God

OK. This may be the first in a series in which I attempt to present, in distinctly unCroghanesque fashion, some (potentially controversial?) opinions that I've formed, which I feel secure enough about to present relatively unvarnished, without a lot of qualifying words wrapped around them. That doesn't mean I'm not open to debate or correction or accountability regarding them - quite the contrary - I'm just not going to make you wade through a lot of parenthetical hemming and hawing in order to get to the bits you might want to disagree with. Er - apart from this paragraph, that is. After this, no more hemming and hawing.

So without further disclaimer, here's #1: The Word of God.

I think that Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ, God's Son, is the Word of God. (See the first chapter of John.) I think that if we call the Bible the Word of God, and mean by that statement that it has authority approaching that of Jesus himself, then we flirt with a very bad kind of idolatry.

I think that Jesus is the best hermeneutic for interpreting Scripture. In other words, I think that the Old Testament and the rest of the New Testament must be interpreted first and foremost in light of the words and actions of Jesus in the Gospels.

That doesn't mean I think we can lay one jot or tittle of those books aside. The Bible, to me, is our primary witness to the Word of God, Jesus Christ (as well as God the Creator and the Holy Spirit) and that it's inspired by God throughout. I think it's incumbent upon every Christian to wrestle with Scripture and listen deeply for what God is telling us through every sentence - even the hard bits. (Though that message may not always be the surface-level literal meaning of the text.)

I hope and pray that followers of Jesus will be immersed in Scripture every day - but that we will not make of it a graven (or printed or pixel-lit) image. I'm pretty sure God isn't fond of those. I read that in the Bible.

HT: A certain bald wise guy, who got me thinking about this this past weekend when he blew though town, encouraging us to change everything.

If I keep this up, further installments of "What I Really Think" might address topics like, "Pastors", "Church Hierarchies", "What the Church is For", and even "Homosexuality and the Church". Stay tuned, tune out, or talk back. It's all OK by me!

Tony rox

Here's Tony Jones on the question of being "born again" (HT: The Emergent Village Blog; Tony's being interviewed by a critical pastor named John):

John: Ok, when were you born again?
Tony: But when did I really take on the Lordship of Jesus Christ?
John: Yes that’s… (indistinct)
Tony: You know what? Today, this morning.
John: This morning…every day. Daily.
Tony: Absolutely.
John: Daily, every day. And that’s what you gotta do.
Tony: That’s right.
John: Romans chapter 12.
Tony: That’s not a copout either I’m not like saying that to…“scramble your eggs” in your words, like really truly, I can’t look back on one day and go “that was the day that I took on the Lordship of Jesus Christ in my life.” I can’t. It is an ongoing battle… (indistinct)
John: Is it a daily…
Tony: But for me John, listen, for me it’s a daily…DAILY. I wonder if this whole thing’s a total crock. DAILY. I think, “Is there really a God? Is my whole life based on a hoax?” Every day I make a decision to go one day more. I mean really. I really… I’m agnostic in that sense, in that I…every day I don’t know.
John: I’m sorry.
Tony: No, no I think it’s beautiful. I think it’s a way to live as an intellectually honest person, because God is not a provable commodity. All the evidence in the world does not prove God. It ultimately depends on faith. As the Bible makes ABUNDANTLY clear.

Wow, what a great, honest, true answer (IMHO).

You might want to check out the complete video on the EV blog.

Thankful and hopeful

For anybody who saw my last blog post about my Dad's brain tumor, but hasn't been following our new family blog for updates on his progress, I wanted to do a quick update.

Tina and I are back home in Northern Virginia after spending about a week in Charlotte with Dad and Mom, my brother Sean and his fiancee Anna, our Aunt Joan, and (for part of the week) our Uncle Edd and Aunt Linda. Tuesday and much of Wednesday were spent at the Carolinas Medical Center in Charlotte, where our expectation was that Dad would be undergoing brain surgery to try to remove as much of the tumor as possible. The risks of this surgery were scary: Dad might lose his ability to speak, or large chunks of memory, or mobility, etc. Literally just before the surgery (during pre-op), we found out that the plan had changed: Dad's surgery was to be just a biopsy, followed by a program of radiation and low-impact (i.e., low-side-effect) chemotherapy to shrink the tumor. The steroids he's been on for two weeks have been pretty effective in treating the relatively minor symptoms he's experiencing now, so we have a lot of hope that the radiation/chemo program will be even more effective in fighting this thing. Dad was home again Wednesday afternoon, full of energy and appetite. :-)

So mostly we're coming away from this long, difficult week with a deep sense of relief and gratitude that Dad didn't suffer any of the major risks of the originally-planned surgery, and we're settling in for the long haul both hopeful and thankful, as hard as the road ahead is bound to be. Many, many thanks for your ongoing prayers, dear friends.

Praying for my Dad and my family

Hi folks,

I just spammed a whole bunch of friends with an email about this, but if you read my blog and might pray for my family right now, we'd be grateful for your prayers. We found out on Wednesday that my Dad has what his doc described as a "really big" brain tumor. The whole family (Dad and Mom, my brother Sean and his fiancee Anna, and Tina and I) have spent the weekend together - it's been a good weekend with lots of laughs and Croghanesque good food! - and tomorrow at 12:15 we're all going to Dad's first appointment with a neurologist who seems to be the very best in North Carolina for this kind of thing. We're hoping to come back from tomorrow's appointment with some idea of a treatment plan, but we don't know for sure what we'll learn. In any case, I wanted to share the URL for a blog I set up, where my Mom (and/or any of us) will post updates on Dad's progress. When we know more, it'll be on the blog!

http://thecroghans.blogspot.com/

Thanks for your love, caring, support, and prayers.

Peace, love,
Mike and Tina and our family

Waiting

Hey. It's Advent. I'm waiting. Waiting for some grace, and blessing, and glimpses of the kingdom. I'm waiting expectantly, and hopefully. I think some good stuff is coming soon.

Want to wait with me? I'll make some hot chocolate. With marshmallows.

Let's see what God has in store.

The Indolent Bystander

I'd really love to see your facile explanations for "theodicy" (the theological problem that questions how there can be so much evil in a world supposedly created by an all-powerful, all-good God) stand up to this deeply personal essay (clearly a product of long, anguished reflection) by my friend Ryan. Ryan combines the clear reasoning of a lawyer (which he is) with the heart of a compassionate friend (which he is also), and - the result is worth a read. Of course, we theists will read it and go back to our neat little mental defense mechanisms for believing around this crap. (If you're a theist, you know you have them. I certainly do. G'wan, admit it.)

Does the argument of Caputo (to whom Ryan refers) help? Thinking of God as a "weak force" as opposed to the all-powerful (yet far from all-active) "magic hand from above" that most of us grew up with? I know it's helped my friend, at least a little, but it certainly does fly in the face of what we've been taught to expect from our Deity.

Thanks

All's not right in the world - the world, my world, the world(s) of those I love, whatever. Never gonna happen, I think, in this world. It's not that sort of place.

But much is right, and a great deal is good - very good. And I am richly blessed.

So thanks. Thanks, God - and thanks, all you accomplices, aiders, and abetters to the good stuff God's doing in all of our lives.

Something I wrote during this morning's service

(By the way, the image at left is of a painting by my unbelievably talented artist friend Becky. If you like it, check out her online gallery.)

I'm not sure this (below) counts as a poem. It was sort of meant as a response to Ken's excellent homily in today's service within our Easter Season series. (Series word/image: "blooms".) We did a kind of extemporaneous poetry slam in response to Ken's content this morning. I'm hoping some of the other folks will send their stuff in to be posted on the church services blog that doesn't quite exist yet, but will soon. I'm not that impressed with my own effort, but some of my homeys' words were so sharp and fresh as to elicit gasps, as well as finger snaps. (That's a beat poet thing, or so I understand from my friends Mark and Mike, not to mention So I Married an Ax Murderer.) Anyway, here's my...whatever it is:

~~~

Open, fragile, full of potential - ?

...

God helps those who help themselves
I am the master of my destiny
The future I see - the future I WANT
For myself, my family, my community, my world
Will only happen if I MAKE it happen
It's on me to takethe bull by the horns
And steer my future toward
Well, toward something better
Fuller, richer...
Right?

We know this...right?
It's just common sense.

Right?

...

Openness...fragility...vulnerability...

Faith...

That's just crazy...right?

Patience

Well, praise God, incompetent hack though S/He may be.

The "HOPE" I mentioned in the update to my last post seems to be proving well-founded. My cousin John stood up yesterday, for the first time in a month. On both legs. He's not going to have full use of his right leg - not without a lot of PT and further surgery - but it's looking like he's almost certain not to lose it entirely. And his white blood cell count is almost down to normal, so I think maybe the Beast is finally giving up. So praise God!

In a comment on my last post, I said,

I seem to be getting one of those "tiny message storms" that I tend to interpret as a message from God. Does that ever happen to you? When, like, in the course of a day, two or three friends, my morning Bible study guide, and one or two other things I read all seem to say the same thing, coincidentally? This time, it's, "Remember that you are dust. Patience. Wait on God. God's time is not your time."

So, OK, I hear You. I'm trying. But the fact that I haven't seen an update on my cousin makes me terribly afraid that he lost his leg yesterday. And expressing that kind of anger toward You is something that the Psalmists did all the time, so I don't feel that guilty.

So I wait, and try to be patient. But I don't wait serenely. I wait with some anger, because faithful assurances that "it's all going to work out just fine in the End, when the Kingdom comes" sometimes ring pretty hollow.

Patience is hard. And it frequently is not rewarded. But, I'm thinking it's a lesson I need to learn this Lent.

Suffering and God

My cousin Cathy's husband John is in the hospital today (as he has been for several weeks now), having his right leg amputated. It's the latest blow in a horrific battle with flesh-eating bacteria. I posted the following note about it to two e-mail lists of my dear faith/church friends:

Sad news on my cousin John

He's going to lose his leg:

http://getwelljohn.blog.com/1554625/

Cathy's my first cousin, but I never really knew her and John. Now, in the context of this incredibly hard circumstance, I'm learning that they're people of amazing strength, courage, love, faith, and determination. They'll get through this, and be a strong and active family again, but - so hard. Asleep on the job *again*, God? :-(

(That's a link to Cathy's blog about their ordeal, if you want to read more about it.)

Tina read my message, and said, sadly, "But that's not God's job." And she's right, of course. It's not. God doesn't prevent us from suffering. God didn't prevent His own suffering on Calvary, and God doesn't save us from ours, either, most of the time. That's just obvious.

But we can't but keep on asking, "Why the hell not???" You could, if You wanted to, couldn't You, God? Or, You could have made us so we understand better, couldn't You? Couldn't You have come up with something better than this, You incompetent hack?"

(But answers apparently aren't God's job either, because we almost never get them.)

I'm not really despairing as that might sound. But I think it's a fair question. And if you read the Psalms, it's certainly the sort of question that's got plenty of precedent in our tradition - even Scriptural precedent.

I kind of felt like Tina was saying, "Take it easy on God." And I thought about that. But I don't think that's right. God deserves our worship, praise, and thanksgiving. God deserves our faith, trust, and confidence. God deserves for us to give our whole lives in service to God's mission and dreams. But one thing God doesn't deserve, in my opinion, is our sympathy. This is one f**ked up world, and a lot of that is clearly our fault, but from my admittedly limited perspective, a lot of that would appear to be Your fault. I got nobody else to blame, unless and until You can fix either the world, or me. 'Cause both of those colossal botch jobs are Your handiwork, you f**king hack.

So I'm not sure God deserves our sympathy. Except maybe on Good Friday. And even then, my heart breaks more for the human nature of my brother Jesus than for the Father, who, again, it seems, could have come up with something better.

Sorry, the warning at the top of this blog about rudeness and spicy language isn't usually necessary. But two posts in a row, it has been. Maybe I have some anger management issues to work on this Lent.

UPDATE: HOPE!!! Holy crap! God, you wily old bastard! Follow through, now, will you please??

http://getwelljohn.blog.com/1557397/

Healing

Tomorrow, in our Sunday morning worship service, my Christian community is going to pray together for healing. Divine, supernatural healing of 100% real ailments, physical or otherwise. If you've been following the history of our church at all over the past year or so, you might realize what an incredibly audacious thing this is for us, in this community, to do. Can we really believe in the power of God to heal? If God has that power, why the F**K does God withhold that power? Does God's healing depend on our belief? If not, then on what does it depend?

If you think of it, pray for us.