It never ceases to amaze me how people can read the Scriptures and find so much to hate.
I'll give you the fact that there's a lot of sex and violence in there.
I see that the depravity of humans in the grip of lust for power, lust for money,
or just good old fashioned lust can really mess of things.
And I can see why that mess really causes God's nostrils to flare
(a great Hebrew metaphor for being super-ticked off).
But I don't get why people think that God is going to act like a toddler who doesn't get his way and just start breaking stuff.
After all he promised one time (and once is all God usually needs to promise something) that he wouldn't do that again.
The first time just made him feel icky, and God doesn't like to feel icky.
So, for a Holy, Righteous and Loving Creator to somehow give us freedom to mess up,
must have been a pretty hard choice.
Because when things you love get hurt, you get hurt.
Giving people the choice to mess up must have been an incredibly nervous moment for God.
Like that time I gave my son a pocketknife, except a lot more so.
When I read the Bible I think of that.
And I think of all the ways I've messed up and gone against God's will.
And all the times he hasn't smote me into ashes, or gouged out my eyes, or tied me to a rock so vultures could eat my liver over and over again every day for eternity (sorry wrong gods).
And I have a hard time feeling really mad at other broken people who are messing up pretty much the same way I mess up, maybe just with slightly different shades of stupidity.
If I want to be mad, which honestly sometimes I do, I can find all sorts of really good things to hate with a righteous hatred: injustice, poverty, exploitation, greed, arrogance, even hatred itself.
Negative feedback loops can be fun for a minute, as long as you keep an eye on the way out.
And the way out is love.
Love keeps you from turning that righteous indignation on some poor sinner that is every bit as much a child of God as you are.
Another person, in whom God has invested a lifetime of forbearance, forgiveness and grace.
Grace is usually what we miss.
God has been patient for billions of years, working to make you who you are.
Maybe you're not perfect, yet.
But you're here and that's pretty amazing.
Do you think that God is, all of the sudden, just going to give up on you?
That just doesn't make any sense.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
The Complexity of Persecution
So I saw this yesterday, and I had this strange feeling of deja vu, like I had seen it somewhere before. And I probably had, because it was posted in September, but as I read through it, I got this rather too comfortable feeling of being right. I am regularly alarmed at how many Americans think they are being persecuted, and I'm not just talking about my eight year old daughter.
But I have learned to be suspicious whenever I feel the warm embrace of smarmy self-righteousness, which sort of oozes out of these 10 questions. I'm not one to write off valid points if they are made in a snarky tone, but the tilt of these question is so obviously against the more conservative forms of religious paranoia my moderate alarm started going off. Let's be honest, we are all prone to feeling persecuted when we run into people who do not agree with us. Liberals do it too, and it usually results in some version of "political correctness," which forces us to banish some previously acceptable word into the realm of insensitive language. This in turn feeds the persecution fantasies of conservatives who remember the good old days when you could call a spade a spade, (I am aware that the word spade was also a derogatory racial term, that is a pointed example (and that was a pun, ain't words great?)).
But all of this really doesn't amount to persecution, and it certainly doesn't amount to religious persecution. What it amounts to is the fact that the human race has relatively recently emerged from pre-technological feudalism/tribalism, and we're still learning to use our words instead of our sticks and stones.
I'm talking about America here, not elsewhere. There is enough religious persecution to go around: Christians persecute Muslims when they have the numbers, Muslims persecute Christians when they have the numbers, the Chinese (who always have the numbers) persecute Christians and Buddhists (or perhaps more precisely Tibetans), Jews persecute Palestinians, and pretty much everyone persecutes Jews if given half a chance.
And this is the problem with American people running around shouting persecution: we live in one of the most persecution free countries in the entire world. Freedom from persecution was a MAJOR issue for the strange chaps in powdered wigs who wrote our constitution. Primarily because they were doing their thing at the end of almost three centuries of Christians of various sorts persecuting EACH OTHER. First it was the Catholics persecuting the Protestants, then it was the Protestants persecuting each other. So a bunch of guys who didn't agree on a whole lot said that the government that they were putting together wasn't going to favor one particular religion, no way, no how, just not gonna happen.
I know it's kind of a bummer when the authority figure doesn't make you feel extra special. I know it feels like tolerating folks that are different from you is just too much to ask, but let me tell you it doesn't amount to persecution.
I read this morning that a group of Islamic militants attacked a college in Nigeria, killing enough people that if it had happened in America it would be a cause for a national day of grieving, ala Columbine, Sandy Hook or 9-11. Read that article, because that is what persecution looks like. The name of the group that committed this atrocity: Boko Haram, which means, "Western education is sinful."
I had a friend in seminary who was from Nigeria, and he asked me to pray for the election that was going on there. If the Muslim candidate one, it meant that Sharia law would be enacted and Christian communities would be persecuted. The election narrowly went in favor of a Christian, which meant that there would be no enactment of Sharia law, and that my friend would be able to return to Nigeria and continue to pastor his churches without fear of the government turning against him.
But that does not mean the persecution and the violence ended, if you read the article above, you will see that Boko Haram is displeased with the Christian president of Nigeria, Goodluck Jonathan. The President is guilty in their eyes of sanctioning excessive force in an attempt to halt the attacks of groups like Boko Haram. Violence breeds violence, and innocent people usually end up suffering.
Which is why it's really a pretty good idea to not have the government taking sides in matters of religion. There are enough political and economic reasons for people to hurt each other, why on earth would we need to add God's name to the list of reasons we have to hate others?
Listen humans, we're all guilty of getting itchy trigger fingers around folks who are different from us. Add a little paranoia and fear into the mix, which too many of our media outlets are only too happy to provide, and you've got a volatile mix. Our Constitution may not be perfect, but the "establishment clause" is a major step forward in the creation of a "more perfect union." It gives us a way out of the quagmire of constant violence and reprisal in the name of gods.
The next time you feel persecuted because the ACLU wants the nativity scene off the lawn of the town hall, or because they want to build a mosque down the street from your house, stop. Stop right there and pray for Nigerians, Sudanese, Israelis and Palestinians, anyone who disagrees with the Taliban, or any non-Muslim living in a place where there is Sharia law. Pray for the people, and pray for the oppressors, because that's what Jesus told us to do. Pray that somehow, someway, we humans will find our way out of the violent darkness, see if that doesn't take the edge off of your righteous indignation.
But I have learned to be suspicious whenever I feel the warm embrace of smarmy self-righteousness, which sort of oozes out of these 10 questions. I'm not one to write off valid points if they are made in a snarky tone, but the tilt of these question is so obviously against the more conservative forms of religious paranoia my moderate alarm started going off. Let's be honest, we are all prone to feeling persecuted when we run into people who do not agree with us. Liberals do it too, and it usually results in some version of "political correctness," which forces us to banish some previously acceptable word into the realm of insensitive language. This in turn feeds the persecution fantasies of conservatives who remember the good old days when you could call a spade a spade, (I am aware that the word spade was also a derogatory racial term, that is a pointed example (and that was a pun, ain't words great?)).
But all of this really doesn't amount to persecution, and it certainly doesn't amount to religious persecution. What it amounts to is the fact that the human race has relatively recently emerged from pre-technological feudalism/tribalism, and we're still learning to use our words instead of our sticks and stones.
I'm talking about America here, not elsewhere. There is enough religious persecution to go around: Christians persecute Muslims when they have the numbers, Muslims persecute Christians when they have the numbers, the Chinese (who always have the numbers) persecute Christians and Buddhists (or perhaps more precisely Tibetans), Jews persecute Palestinians, and pretty much everyone persecutes Jews if given half a chance.
And this is the problem with American people running around shouting persecution: we live in one of the most persecution free countries in the entire world. Freedom from persecution was a MAJOR issue for the strange chaps in powdered wigs who wrote our constitution. Primarily because they were doing their thing at the end of almost three centuries of Christians of various sorts persecuting EACH OTHER. First it was the Catholics persecuting the Protestants, then it was the Protestants persecuting each other. So a bunch of guys who didn't agree on a whole lot said that the government that they were putting together wasn't going to favor one particular religion, no way, no how, just not gonna happen.
I know it's kind of a bummer when the authority figure doesn't make you feel extra special. I know it feels like tolerating folks that are different from you is just too much to ask, but let me tell you it doesn't amount to persecution.
I read this morning that a group of Islamic militants attacked a college in Nigeria, killing enough people that if it had happened in America it would be a cause for a national day of grieving, ala Columbine, Sandy Hook or 9-11. Read that article, because that is what persecution looks like. The name of the group that committed this atrocity: Boko Haram, which means, "Western education is sinful."
I had a friend in seminary who was from Nigeria, and he asked me to pray for the election that was going on there. If the Muslim candidate one, it meant that Sharia law would be enacted and Christian communities would be persecuted. The election narrowly went in favor of a Christian, which meant that there would be no enactment of Sharia law, and that my friend would be able to return to Nigeria and continue to pastor his churches without fear of the government turning against him.
But that does not mean the persecution and the violence ended, if you read the article above, you will see that Boko Haram is displeased with the Christian president of Nigeria, Goodluck Jonathan. The President is guilty in their eyes of sanctioning excessive force in an attempt to halt the attacks of groups like Boko Haram. Violence breeds violence, and innocent people usually end up suffering.
Which is why it's really a pretty good idea to not have the government taking sides in matters of religion. There are enough political and economic reasons for people to hurt each other, why on earth would we need to add God's name to the list of reasons we have to hate others?
Listen humans, we're all guilty of getting itchy trigger fingers around folks who are different from us. Add a little paranoia and fear into the mix, which too many of our media outlets are only too happy to provide, and you've got a volatile mix. Our Constitution may not be perfect, but the "establishment clause" is a major step forward in the creation of a "more perfect union." It gives us a way out of the quagmire of constant violence and reprisal in the name of gods.
The next time you feel persecuted because the ACLU wants the nativity scene off the lawn of the town hall, or because they want to build a mosque down the street from your house, stop. Stop right there and pray for Nigerians, Sudanese, Israelis and Palestinians, anyone who disagrees with the Taliban, or any non-Muslim living in a place where there is Sharia law. Pray for the people, and pray for the oppressors, because that's what Jesus told us to do. Pray that somehow, someway, we humans will find our way out of the violent darkness, see if that doesn't take the edge off of your righteous indignation.
Monday, February 24, 2014
What Are We Missing?
The interweb is a big and sometimes wonderful place. You find things, other people find things and can share them with you instantly. I find that having friends who share your interests, particularly in churchy type stuff, is at least as good as subscribing to a magazine (for you younglings, magazines were like paper versions of the internet, that you actually had to buy or have mailed to you). Some of the sharing is funny, some of it's thought provoking, on occasion it can actually get annoying, but when it works, you really get something to chew on. A few days ago, I got this:
A Kodak Moment
Like so many things on the web, it has an agenda, and makes a prescription, which is probably at least somewhat helpful, but ultimately leaves you with an advertisement for their church growth strategy. To which I say, "Meh."
I agree with some of the postulations of the article, I think they have identified some of the barriers to change, and so it's worth a couple minutes to read.
The most important thing that has arisen out of this little blurb-o-blog is a question that has gripped me as the pastor of a congregation in a mainline, postmodern, American, Christian church: What is the equivalent of a digital revolution that we are missing?
I am at least a little bit uncomfortable with the notion that the only problem the church is facing is finding and embracing a new "technology," which is why I usually find most church growth/re-vitalization plans somewhat lacking. They are, at the core, technological solutions: learn something new, do something different, change something about the way you're looking at the picture, change the way you're managing and/or interpreting your data.
A few years ago, I learned about the difference between technical and adaptive problems/solutions. A technical problem is solved by invention, ingenuity and/or modification of behavior. Technical problems usually have technical solutions: the car doesn't run because the battery is dead, therefore replace the battery, bam, no existential crisis involved.
Adaptive problems require a new vision, because there is no clear and present solution: a church is facing declining attendance and membership because? Most often there is not a clear-cut answer. There is a lot of speculation as to what it might be, maybe even some evidence to support a reason or several reasons, but what inevitably follows is a chain of technical solutions, rather than a concentration on a new vision.
For Kodak the adaptive problem and the technical problem were related. They needed to embrace a vision where their primary purpose was not selling film, because film was becoming obsolete. They were already well positioned to market photography in the digital age, but they could not see the forest for the trees.
So the question that I have is whether the relationship between God and humanity, as it has been supported and nurtured in the Christian tradition, is on the road to obsolescence.
You hear ominous signs that perhaps it is:
"I'm not being fed here."
"This style of worship just doesn't do IT for me."
"I've got better things to do with my time."
"I'm already so busy, I just don't have time for church."
And of course, everybody's favorite:
"I'm spiritual but not religious."
Churches, bless their hearts (my favorite southern phrase to express a benighted state of being), are actually trying to adapt to these conditions. And, like someone struggling to escape from quicksand, are sinking all that much faster. I have heard it compared, in rather entertaining fashion, to that clingy boyfriend/girlfriend who is having a hard time accepting the reality of a breakup.
It is no secret to anyone who has studied family systems, that differentiated people are more attractive. This is true to such an extent that dissociated people, who have separated from the system to an extreme, are actually seen as romantic. That's why the prom queen mysteriously falls for the bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks instead of the head of the debate team, or even for the alpha-male captain of the football team. (Okay, so that's an extreme, Hollywoodish example, but it reflects a real-life phenomenon). Differentiation is attractive, someone who knows who they are and what they're about is more attractive than someone who is needy and always seeking affirmation.
But differentiation, while it is a desirable personality attribute, must be balanced by some sort of connection. Enmeshed families can be bad news, but so can dissociated ones. The shining goal is a system where individuals are free to be themselves and pursue their own good, while voluntarily maintaining a healthy connection to the system. That is the goal for healthy families and healthy churches.
In other words, we cannot cater to every little personal foible, or enable dysfunction out of codependency and misguided love. But neither can we simply fold our arms and say, "here we stand, take it or leave it."
This is particularly difficult with the church because we are dealing with matters that people hold very dear. For instance, we cannot simply "stop making film," because there are some people who will indeed cling to the good old days, the same way people still buy vinyl albums and antique furniture. There is certainly an aesthetic value to religion that we underestimate at our peril. Particularly in most established congregations, where the ones who are most invested in the way things used to be, are also the biggest supporters of the church, financially and otherwise.
I'm not shooting for an answer here, because any answer would be a technical fix to an adaptive problem. I'm raising the question that has been on my mind: what is the "digital revolution" that the church is missing?
Can we get on board or is it too late? Can we even really identify what it is?
A Kodak Moment
Like so many things on the web, it has an agenda, and makes a prescription, which is probably at least somewhat helpful, but ultimately leaves you with an advertisement for their church growth strategy. To which I say, "Meh."
I agree with some of the postulations of the article, I think they have identified some of the barriers to change, and so it's worth a couple minutes to read.
The most important thing that has arisen out of this little blurb-o-blog is a question that has gripped me as the pastor of a congregation in a mainline, postmodern, American, Christian church: What is the equivalent of a digital revolution that we are missing?
I am at least a little bit uncomfortable with the notion that the only problem the church is facing is finding and embracing a new "technology," which is why I usually find most church growth/re-vitalization plans somewhat lacking. They are, at the core, technological solutions: learn something new, do something different, change something about the way you're looking at the picture, change the way you're managing and/or interpreting your data.
A few years ago, I learned about the difference between technical and adaptive problems/solutions. A technical problem is solved by invention, ingenuity and/or modification of behavior. Technical problems usually have technical solutions: the car doesn't run because the battery is dead, therefore replace the battery, bam, no existential crisis involved.
Adaptive problems require a new vision, because there is no clear and present solution: a church is facing declining attendance and membership because? Most often there is not a clear-cut answer. There is a lot of speculation as to what it might be, maybe even some evidence to support a reason or several reasons, but what inevitably follows is a chain of technical solutions, rather than a concentration on a new vision.
For Kodak the adaptive problem and the technical problem were related. They needed to embrace a vision where their primary purpose was not selling film, because film was becoming obsolete. They were already well positioned to market photography in the digital age, but they could not see the forest for the trees.
So the question that I have is whether the relationship between God and humanity, as it has been supported and nurtured in the Christian tradition, is on the road to obsolescence.
You hear ominous signs that perhaps it is:
"I'm not being fed here."
"This style of worship just doesn't do IT for me."
"I've got better things to do with my time."
"I'm already so busy, I just don't have time for church."
And of course, everybody's favorite:
"I'm spiritual but not religious."
Churches, bless their hearts (my favorite southern phrase to express a benighted state of being), are actually trying to adapt to these conditions. And, like someone struggling to escape from quicksand, are sinking all that much faster. I have heard it compared, in rather entertaining fashion, to that clingy boyfriend/girlfriend who is having a hard time accepting the reality of a breakup.
It is no secret to anyone who has studied family systems, that differentiated people are more attractive. This is true to such an extent that dissociated people, who have separated from the system to an extreme, are actually seen as romantic. That's why the prom queen mysteriously falls for the bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks instead of the head of the debate team, or even for the alpha-male captain of the football team. (Okay, so that's an extreme, Hollywoodish example, but it reflects a real-life phenomenon). Differentiation is attractive, someone who knows who they are and what they're about is more attractive than someone who is needy and always seeking affirmation.
But differentiation, while it is a desirable personality attribute, must be balanced by some sort of connection. Enmeshed families can be bad news, but so can dissociated ones. The shining goal is a system where individuals are free to be themselves and pursue their own good, while voluntarily maintaining a healthy connection to the system. That is the goal for healthy families and healthy churches.
In other words, we cannot cater to every little personal foible, or enable dysfunction out of codependency and misguided love. But neither can we simply fold our arms and say, "here we stand, take it or leave it."
This is particularly difficult with the church because we are dealing with matters that people hold very dear. For instance, we cannot simply "stop making film," because there are some people who will indeed cling to the good old days, the same way people still buy vinyl albums and antique furniture. There is certainly an aesthetic value to religion that we underestimate at our peril. Particularly in most established congregations, where the ones who are most invested in the way things used to be, are also the biggest supporters of the church, financially and otherwise.
I'm not shooting for an answer here, because any answer would be a technical fix to an adaptive problem. I'm raising the question that has been on my mind: what is the "digital revolution" that the church is missing?
Can we get on board or is it too late? Can we even really identify what it is?
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
How do you "like" a punch in the gut?
Normally, I would just share it and move on. There are thousands of things like it on the interweb. My first reaction is, "yeah, that's pretty powerful." My second reaction is that feeling you get when someone punches you in the gut, and you're totally not expecting it, you can't brace yourself, you can't try to avoid it at all.
There are so many people who battle addictions of various sorts. What the small caption at the beginning says is really true, "everyone has been affected in one way or another."
I want to like this because it gives hope to people who are struggling through it, and it helps those who may have never understood what addiction is about to see addicts as people who are valuable and unique, who have stories and families and people who love them.
I really am happy for all those hopeful smiles at the end.
The gut-punch is the fact that I know there are some people who never get to flash those smiles.
The reminder is that, while there are many who pull though, and see a brighter day, there are many who do not. The addict that I cared the most about did not get there.
By now I know that addiction is what survivors of trauma call a trigger for me. Stories about people battling addiction, even hopeful stories about people who are long into recovery, still shake loose all sorts of unpredictable emotional responses: like feeling gut-punched at something that is supposed to give you hope.
So I can't just "like" this and move on. I can't just share it without comment, because the reason why I really like this is complicated.
Hope is most valuable when you know that it doesn't always end with knowing smiles.
Hope is most necessary when your not sure if the door is going to open again or the sun is ever going to shine on your face.
Hope is something that pulls you through when it's clear that the battle can easily be lost.
Yeah, sometimes hope does feel like a gut-punch, but I guess it's worth taking.
Monday, February 17, 2014
Picking and Choosing
My admiration for Bill Nye grows and grows. Last night he was on Realtime with Bill Maher, to talk about, among other things, his recent debate with Ken Ham. Maher is about as hostile to religion as they come, he is a gleeful atheist who jumps on just about any chance he gets to bash the "superstitions" of religious folks. Maher was giving Nye every opportunity to bash Ham, but Nye was not taking the bait. It's a comedy show, he could have indulged and vented some of the frustration that he clearly felt about his evening at the Creation Museum, and nobody would have blamed him.
Then I heard him say that the reason he had gone there and entered into that debate was that he expected to uncover Ham as a charlatan, who is exploiting the seething cauldron of American religion in order to become rich and famous. It was a nuance that was entirely lost on Maher, who pressed forward in order to mock and scorn the whole notion of faith, but Nye was not on board.
Nye seemed, as usual, thoughtful. He still fundamentally disagrees with the premise that the earth is only 6000 years old, but I think he understands and consequently has a little more empathy for his fellow humans. Which illustrates the true value of dialogue, even with people who hold so tightly to dogma they will never let go, regardless of something as trite as "data" or "evidence."
What do you really do with people who feel persecuted by facts?
What can you say to someone who feels that carbon dating and fossil evidence challenges their faith in a Creator God?
Not much more than you can say to cynical atheist like Maher.
I have been crashing into this notion of false certainty a lot lately. To me it is no more intellectually honest to absolutely deny God's existence than it is to absolutely insist on it and swear that no amount of evidence to the contrary will change your mind. In both cases, you are really giving into your fear that such evidence exists, and you will suddenly be confronted with it.
I know that I do not take Scripture literally, and I know that almost no one does, including Ken Ham, because I don't know any people with only one eye. Jesus said, "if your eye causes you to sin pluck it out." I know my eyes have been deeply complicit in many sinful acts, pretty much on a daily basis, I'm pretty sure Mr. Ham's eyes are also involved in sin of various sorts, yet here we are both with our optic organs in full working order.
I know that there are places where we pick and choose what is sacred communication, and what is stuff to just write off. Leviticus 19: 9-10 reads as follows: "When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap to the very edges of your field or gather the gleanings of you harvest. You shall not strip your vineyard bare, or gather the fallen grapes of your vineyard; you shall leave them for the poor and the alien: I am the Lord your God." That sounds like a welfare state to me folks, where you purposefully leave some valuable profits aside for those who are living in the margins. And that's Leviticus, a book with a bad reputation for being all kinds of mean and nasty and calling all sorts of things abominations.
The same chapter says you shouldn't get haircuts, or trim your beard, or get tattoos. All of which I do or have done. Yet I do not feel at all in danger of the wrath of God when I go to the Hair Cuttery, or trim my beard, or when I go get ink, not even a little, not even a quiver of remorse or any sense that God is even a little bit upset with me.
I worry if I feel like I'm participating in unjust systems, which I feel like I do a lot more than I would like (Lev. 19: 11-16). I worry if I'm holding a grudge that I just can't seem to let go of (Lev. 19: 18).
How is it that I can feel so absolutely peaceful about breaking some of the rules in Leviticus 19, while simultaneously thinking that not only I, but our society in general, is really testing God's mercy with our willful disregard for other things that are written there?
The answer is that I have resources for interpretation that come from somewhere besides the book. I have experience, reason, tradition and indeed I have other parts of Scripture, that tell me what is really important to hold. We all do. Because those three other parts of the "Wesleyan Quadrilateral" necessarily vary from person to person, we all have different opinions. The reason why it's important to approach Scripture with reverence, is that it has the ability to challenge you. When you stop reading it as a challenge you lose it's power.
It challenges those who grieve to have hope.
It challenges those who would see justice done to have mercy.
It challenges those who are sure of themselves to be humble.
It it doesn't challenge you in some way, put it down, it's not the right time for you to read it.
Then I heard him say that the reason he had gone there and entered into that debate was that he expected to uncover Ham as a charlatan, who is exploiting the seething cauldron of American religion in order to become rich and famous. It was a nuance that was entirely lost on Maher, who pressed forward in order to mock and scorn the whole notion of faith, but Nye was not on board.
Nye seemed, as usual, thoughtful. He still fundamentally disagrees with the premise that the earth is only 6000 years old, but I think he understands and consequently has a little more empathy for his fellow humans. Which illustrates the true value of dialogue, even with people who hold so tightly to dogma they will never let go, regardless of something as trite as "data" or "evidence."
What do you really do with people who feel persecuted by facts?
What can you say to someone who feels that carbon dating and fossil evidence challenges their faith in a Creator God?
Not much more than you can say to cynical atheist like Maher.
I have been crashing into this notion of false certainty a lot lately. To me it is no more intellectually honest to absolutely deny God's existence than it is to absolutely insist on it and swear that no amount of evidence to the contrary will change your mind. In both cases, you are really giving into your fear that such evidence exists, and you will suddenly be confronted with it.
I know that I do not take Scripture literally, and I know that almost no one does, including Ken Ham, because I don't know any people with only one eye. Jesus said, "if your eye causes you to sin pluck it out." I know my eyes have been deeply complicit in many sinful acts, pretty much on a daily basis, I'm pretty sure Mr. Ham's eyes are also involved in sin of various sorts, yet here we are both with our optic organs in full working order.
I know that there are places where we pick and choose what is sacred communication, and what is stuff to just write off. Leviticus 19: 9-10 reads as follows: "When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap to the very edges of your field or gather the gleanings of you harvest. You shall not strip your vineyard bare, or gather the fallen grapes of your vineyard; you shall leave them for the poor and the alien: I am the Lord your God." That sounds like a welfare state to me folks, where you purposefully leave some valuable profits aside for those who are living in the margins. And that's Leviticus, a book with a bad reputation for being all kinds of mean and nasty and calling all sorts of things abominations.
The same chapter says you shouldn't get haircuts, or trim your beard, or get tattoos. All of which I do or have done. Yet I do not feel at all in danger of the wrath of God when I go to the Hair Cuttery, or trim my beard, or when I go get ink, not even a little, not even a quiver of remorse or any sense that God is even a little bit upset with me.
I worry if I feel like I'm participating in unjust systems, which I feel like I do a lot more than I would like (Lev. 19: 11-16). I worry if I'm holding a grudge that I just can't seem to let go of (Lev. 19: 18).
How is it that I can feel so absolutely peaceful about breaking some of the rules in Leviticus 19, while simultaneously thinking that not only I, but our society in general, is really testing God's mercy with our willful disregard for other things that are written there?
The answer is that I have resources for interpretation that come from somewhere besides the book. I have experience, reason, tradition and indeed I have other parts of Scripture, that tell me what is really important to hold. We all do. Because those three other parts of the "Wesleyan Quadrilateral" necessarily vary from person to person, we all have different opinions. The reason why it's important to approach Scripture with reverence, is that it has the ability to challenge you. When you stop reading it as a challenge you lose it's power.
It challenges those who grieve to have hope.
It challenges those who would see justice done to have mercy.
It challenges those who are sure of themselves to be humble.
It it doesn't challenge you in some way, put it down, it's not the right time for you to read it.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
And the Results...
I admit that I have developed a bit of an addiction. Don't worry, it's not the unhealthy, ruin your life kind of addiction, it's an addiction to taking those online personality quizzes that tell you what movie character, or rock singer, or animal, or even what drink you would be if you were a drink (I was a glass of fine wine).
It all started pretty innocently with a simple grid that used the Myers-Briggs personality types. Since I have taken the MB about a dozen times I know my type: INTP, which on that first little made-up chart, meant that I was Gandalf the Grey, from Tolkien's Middle Earth. Myers-Briggs uses your affinities and preferences to judge your personality type. You're supposed to answer the questions based on what you want to do, not actually on what you think you would do. All of the on line tests that I have taken have been similar in nature to those affinity tests: what would you most like to be/do.
As it turns out, my affinities lead me to be like: Gandalf (LOTR), Yoda (Star Wars), Albus Dumbledore (Harry Potter), Jareth (The Goblin King played by David Bowie in Labyrinth), Oscar the Grouch (Sesame Street), Jean Luc Picard (Star Trek, The Next Generation), The Undertaker (Old school WWE wrassler), and assorted and sundry other fictional characters. As it turns out, these are fairly good indicators of my personality type, almost everyone on that list was one of my favorite characters from their particular part of the fictional landscape.
You can also see that I have a certain affinity for sci-fi and fantasy.
Most of the time, when that little box with my results popped up, I was inordinately happy. Which means, I suppose, that at nearly 40 years of age, I am finally comfortable with who I am. Either that or I am missing my calling to become a hermit-wizard.
Far more interesting to me than the fact that I should apparently be working on a much more impressive beard than I currently have, is the rather peculiar joy I feel when I get a result that I like. It makes me happy to think that I am somehow like the characters that I thought were awesome. I don't take the results too seriously, thus I easily write off the notion that I ought to live in Wyoming based on a 15 question multiple choice quiz.
What I think keeps me coming back to these quizzes is the identification with a good story. The character quizzes are the ones I really look for, specifically characters in stories that I like (I don't do the Twilight or Fifty Shades of Grey quizzes, I really don't want to know). When I took the Star Trek TNG quiz, I had some trepidation that I was going to end up as Wesley Crusher, and so I was very pleased and relieved to see Captain Picard in my result. I know that since the quizzes are affinity based, it's highly unlikely that you would ever get a result that you absolutely hated. But still... who wants to be Draco Malfoy?
I also found it interesting that with the exception of Picard, almost every character I was identified with is a supporting character, mostly a major supporting character, but never the main protagonist. I don't really want to be Frodo, Luke Skywalker or Harry Potter, they're far too whiny and clean shaven for my liking.
Apparently, I would rather be the person who shows up, says or does something cool/useful/important, and gets along on his way without all the tediousness of self-discovery.
Yet in real life I spend my time writing blogs about what character I got on a stupid facebook quiz...
What would Gandalf do about this?
It all started pretty innocently with a simple grid that used the Myers-Briggs personality types. Since I have taken the MB about a dozen times I know my type: INTP, which on that first little made-up chart, meant that I was Gandalf the Grey, from Tolkien's Middle Earth. Myers-Briggs uses your affinities and preferences to judge your personality type. You're supposed to answer the questions based on what you want to do, not actually on what you think you would do. All of the on line tests that I have taken have been similar in nature to those affinity tests: what would you most like to be/do.
As it turns out, my affinities lead me to be like: Gandalf (LOTR), Yoda (Star Wars), Albus Dumbledore (Harry Potter), Jareth (The Goblin King played by David Bowie in Labyrinth), Oscar the Grouch (Sesame Street), Jean Luc Picard (Star Trek, The Next Generation), The Undertaker (Old school WWE wrassler), and assorted and sundry other fictional characters. As it turns out, these are fairly good indicators of my personality type, almost everyone on that list was one of my favorite characters from their particular part of the fictional landscape.
You can also see that I have a certain affinity for sci-fi and fantasy.
Most of the time, when that little box with my results popped up, I was inordinately happy. Which means, I suppose, that at nearly 40 years of age, I am finally comfortable with who I am. Either that or I am missing my calling to become a hermit-wizard.
Far more interesting to me than the fact that I should apparently be working on a much more impressive beard than I currently have, is the rather peculiar joy I feel when I get a result that I like. It makes me happy to think that I am somehow like the characters that I thought were awesome. I don't take the results too seriously, thus I easily write off the notion that I ought to live in Wyoming based on a 15 question multiple choice quiz.
What I think keeps me coming back to these quizzes is the identification with a good story. The character quizzes are the ones I really look for, specifically characters in stories that I like (I don't do the Twilight or Fifty Shades of Grey quizzes, I really don't want to know). When I took the Star Trek TNG quiz, I had some trepidation that I was going to end up as Wesley Crusher, and so I was very pleased and relieved to see Captain Picard in my result. I know that since the quizzes are affinity based, it's highly unlikely that you would ever get a result that you absolutely hated. But still... who wants to be Draco Malfoy?
I also found it interesting that with the exception of Picard, almost every character I was identified with is a supporting character, mostly a major supporting character, but never the main protagonist. I don't really want to be Frodo, Luke Skywalker or Harry Potter, they're far too whiny and clean shaven for my liking.
Apparently, I would rather be the person who shows up, says or does something cool/useful/important, and gets along on his way without all the tediousness of self-discovery.
Yet in real life I spend my time writing blogs about what character I got on a stupid facebook quiz...
What would Gandalf do about this?
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Specialization
The Church, or at least the American Church, is having an identity crisis. We don't know what we should be. This manifests itself in many ways from picky disagreements about style and procedure, to misguided pharisaic zeal. There are many diagnoses of the cause and often those diagnoses are contradictory: lax morality or over-rigid morality, letting go of our roots or clinging too tightly to tradition, not doing enough or trying to do too much, worship that is too dull or worship that tries too hard to entertain. The problem is that all the diagnoses have a certain validity.
There is a Narcotics Anonymous group that meets in our church social hall once a week. They are there in force every week, rain or shine, even last night, when the snow was beginning to fall. And they can fill our parking lot like it's Sunday morning. It's tempting, as a church, to look at the 12 step programs with a bit of envy, because they seem to be doing something really valuable: saving lives, changing bad habits, helping people cope with addictions. There is a certain Jesus-ish quality to their gatherings. There is a very non-judgmental, supportive sort of ethos to support groups. You could look at these groups and make a presumption that they are doing God's work of helping the people who are broken and suffering, which they do very well. You could also envy the way they're doing it on an organic level that doesn't require membership, only commitment, that doesn't build up an institution, only a community. And you can make a pretty good argument that the church ought to be more like that.
Maybe it should.
A similar argument could be made about charitable organizations, if the church is supposed to engage in charitable work, surely there are more efficient ways of going about it. Imagine what we could do if we just did away with all the messy arguments and developed a single minded focus on charity.
Did I mention we're having an identity crisis?
We live in a world of specialists. If you go to a doctor and he or she actually finds something wrong with you, the first thing that happens is a referral to a specialist, for your heart, for your kidneys, for your stomach, for your feet etc, etc, etc.
The good old family doctor is just there to point you in the right direction and sort of oversee your care. He or she has no pretense of being capable of treating your specific problems as well as a specialist. I know that if I run into someone fighting addiction, as a pastor I refer them to AA or NA or whatever A group happens to fit their needs.
You think I'm about to say that the church should be like the family doctor, but that would just be contributing to the identity crisis. We've gotten way too comfortable with the therapeutic model, we have become way too adept at comparing ourselves to all sorts of worldly archetypes that flutter around the edges of the deep reality of what the church actually is. We are prone to classify things based on what they do, and since the church does often dabble in social work, in activism, in psychotherapy (sometimes disguised as spirituality), in education, in entertainment, in community organizing, and in any number of other good and just pre-occupations, we often identify our problems as being caused by not doing one or another of those things as strenuously as we can.
Jesus said we are Salt and Light, and sometimes, in specific circumstances being those things leads us to do things to help people with their trouble. The straight fact of the matter is that we are always amateurs and dilettantes at those things and we really can't compete with the specialists, nor should we try. As long as there are specialists to do the sort of work that, for instance, a 12 step program does, why reinvent the wheel?
The identity crisis has appeared as we cede more and more ground to the specialists and fail to refocus on what we should be. This question of identity has to hammered upon, repeatedly. Remember, we define things by their function, but what if, as Jesus seemed to indicate that following him is both a matter of who we are, (i.e. my sheep hear my voice), and what we do (i.e. bearing good fruit).
Perhaps the contradictory nature of the diagnosis is a result of the dual nature of our identity. Other groups don't have to deal with this complexity, and they are able to succeed because of it. Some would prescribe the same simplicity for the church: just pick a pill. Take one and get to work doing things to help people. Take the other and focus yourself on your own spiritual journey.
It is my conviction that true Christian discipleship only happens when you take both. It gets complicated to be sure, and it's easy to crave the simplicity of a specialist.
It's a lot harder to live with the tension, trying always to find that balanced identity, which is at the core of Christian discipleship. An identity that is only revealed when we allow God to shape us and lead us. An identity that allows us to be found because we are lost, that allows us to be forgiven because we are sinners, that allows us to be resurrected because we are dead. It is an identity that is necessarily in crisis. As David Bosch pointed out so well in Transforming Mission, the Chinese character for crisis is created by the characters for danger and opportunity together.
Come to think of it, when you look at the history of the Church, indeed the history of God's people as a whole going back to Abraham, there was always this struggle for identity, always this ongoing crisis of trying to figure out who and what we are created to be.
Support groups might help people deal with a crisis of addiction or grief, charities might help people deal with an economic crisis, doctors might help people deal with a medical crisis. While the church might dip a toe into those waters from time to time, the essential crisis that we deal with is existential: what are we? Who is God? Is there a purpose for all this mess?
There are no experts in these fields, no easy answers or simple steps, there is only faith, hope, love and a bunch of other people wrestling with the same questions. That's who we are.
There is a Narcotics Anonymous group that meets in our church social hall once a week. They are there in force every week, rain or shine, even last night, when the snow was beginning to fall. And they can fill our parking lot like it's Sunday morning. It's tempting, as a church, to look at the 12 step programs with a bit of envy, because they seem to be doing something really valuable: saving lives, changing bad habits, helping people cope with addictions. There is a certain Jesus-ish quality to their gatherings. There is a very non-judgmental, supportive sort of ethos to support groups. You could look at these groups and make a presumption that they are doing God's work of helping the people who are broken and suffering, which they do very well. You could also envy the way they're doing it on an organic level that doesn't require membership, only commitment, that doesn't build up an institution, only a community. And you can make a pretty good argument that the church ought to be more like that.
Maybe it should.
A similar argument could be made about charitable organizations, if the church is supposed to engage in charitable work, surely there are more efficient ways of going about it. Imagine what we could do if we just did away with all the messy arguments and developed a single minded focus on charity.
Did I mention we're having an identity crisis?
We live in a world of specialists. If you go to a doctor and he or she actually finds something wrong with you, the first thing that happens is a referral to a specialist, for your heart, for your kidneys, for your stomach, for your feet etc, etc, etc.
The good old family doctor is just there to point you in the right direction and sort of oversee your care. He or she has no pretense of being capable of treating your specific problems as well as a specialist. I know that if I run into someone fighting addiction, as a pastor I refer them to AA or NA or whatever A group happens to fit their needs.
You think I'm about to say that the church should be like the family doctor, but that would just be contributing to the identity crisis. We've gotten way too comfortable with the therapeutic model, we have become way too adept at comparing ourselves to all sorts of worldly archetypes that flutter around the edges of the deep reality of what the church actually is. We are prone to classify things based on what they do, and since the church does often dabble in social work, in activism, in psychotherapy (sometimes disguised as spirituality), in education, in entertainment, in community organizing, and in any number of other good and just pre-occupations, we often identify our problems as being caused by not doing one or another of those things as strenuously as we can.
Jesus said we are Salt and Light, and sometimes, in specific circumstances being those things leads us to do things to help people with their trouble. The straight fact of the matter is that we are always amateurs and dilettantes at those things and we really can't compete with the specialists, nor should we try. As long as there are specialists to do the sort of work that, for instance, a 12 step program does, why reinvent the wheel?
The identity crisis has appeared as we cede more and more ground to the specialists and fail to refocus on what we should be. This question of identity has to hammered upon, repeatedly. Remember, we define things by their function, but what if, as Jesus seemed to indicate that following him is both a matter of who we are, (i.e. my sheep hear my voice), and what we do (i.e. bearing good fruit).
Perhaps the contradictory nature of the diagnosis is a result of the dual nature of our identity. Other groups don't have to deal with this complexity, and they are able to succeed because of it. Some would prescribe the same simplicity for the church: just pick a pill. Take one and get to work doing things to help people. Take the other and focus yourself on your own spiritual journey.
It is my conviction that true Christian discipleship only happens when you take both. It gets complicated to be sure, and it's easy to crave the simplicity of a specialist.
It's a lot harder to live with the tension, trying always to find that balanced identity, which is at the core of Christian discipleship. An identity that is only revealed when we allow God to shape us and lead us. An identity that allows us to be found because we are lost, that allows us to be forgiven because we are sinners, that allows us to be resurrected because we are dead. It is an identity that is necessarily in crisis. As David Bosch pointed out so well in Transforming Mission, the Chinese character for crisis is created by the characters for danger and opportunity together.
Come to think of it, when you look at the history of the Church, indeed the history of God's people as a whole going back to Abraham, there was always this struggle for identity, always this ongoing crisis of trying to figure out who and what we are created to be.
Support groups might help people deal with a crisis of addiction or grief, charities might help people deal with an economic crisis, doctors might help people deal with a medical crisis. While the church might dip a toe into those waters from time to time, the essential crisis that we deal with is existential: what are we? Who is God? Is there a purpose for all this mess?
There are no experts in these fields, no easy answers or simple steps, there is only faith, hope, love and a bunch of other people wrestling with the same questions. That's who we are.
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