Leadership

A Fundamentalist group, though it may not kill anyone, although it may not strike anyone, is violent.  The mental structure of Fundamentalists is violence in the name of God.

-Pope Francis, Interview with La Vanguardia

The General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (USA) is going to get down to business this week.  We're going to argue about some pretty "hot" issues: Israel/Palestine, Marriage Equality and a number of other things that will probably draw headlines.  There are liberal and conservative slants on just about any issue, and sometimes the arguments of people who disagree with you can really ruffle your feathers, and set your teeth on edge.

But honestly, one of the things that I'm most proud of in the peculiar corner of Christian faith that I call home, is that honestly we don't really have any Fundamentalists.  We have some idealogues to be sure, but the last time we had any group that really strongly identified as Fundamentalist (the early-mid 20th century), they meant something rather different by the word Fundamentalist than the sort of thing the Pope is describing above.

Back then, the Fundamentalists, in the Fundamentalist/Modernist controversy, simply wanted to hold on to a few (actually only five) basic tenants of the Christian faith in the face of what they perceived as the creeping relativism of liberal Christianity.  The argument still resonates through many of the debates that will take place in General Assembly even now.

While the movement was actually rather more complicated the "Five Fundamentals" are:

1. The inspiration and inerrancy of Scripture (emphasis mine)

2. The Virgin Birth of Christ

3. The belief that Christ's death was an atonement for sin

4. The bodily resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth

5. The historicity of the miracles of Jesus

Now you will perhaps notice, if you're a Christian of some variety, that most of these points, with perhaps the exception of that rather crucial word "inerrancy," are decidedly non-controversial, even though we have been living for almost a century under the dominance of the liberal-modernist mindset.  Sure, there are those out there that will argue against any of the above and still want to subscribe to a sort of rationalist Christianity that focuses primarily on the ethics of Jesus' teaching, over and above any of the "super-natural" elements of the story, but most Christians believe that the Scripture is indeed inspired.  That Jesus was born of a virgin, that, in some form, his death was an instrument of atonement for sin.  We certainly believe in the resurrection, and at least give a passing nod to the idea that the miracles were real, even if we don't really bank too much on the fact.

During the controversy, there were some heresy trials and a whole lot of really ugly disputation, much of of it entirely opaque to the eyes and ears of laypeople.  In the end though, the death toll was zero.  The number of people tortured in dungeons and broken on the rack: zero.  The number of people imprisoned and publicly beheaded: zero.  The number of bombs dropped, other than some verbal bombs laid down by the likes of Harry Emerson Fosdick: big fat zero.

In a rare historical moment, it seemed that human beings could argue about things, perhaps even things of ultimate importance, without killing each other.

Yes, I agree with Francis, Fundamentalism has an inherent violence to it, but that makes it all the more impressive that, in such a heated moment, the violence was restrained to the world of words.

Outside of Christianity, we have not reached this point as a species.  The situation in the world is such that Fundamentalists are rightly feared, because they are willing to kill and die for their ideals and their theology, and they do not see that it is madness.  Fundamentalism can dominate a situation, even when it's adherents are a distinct minority, because they think they have clarity and that clarity gives them passion and purpose.  Whether it is Al-Quaeda, ISIS or the NRA, Fundamentalists have a fervor that gives them power.

And we have them in the PC(USA), on both sides of most of the issues.

Of all the things that might scare me about GA, of all the things that might frustrate me about the discussions we have and the way we have them, one thing I'm not worried about: we won't be shooting,  hanging or blowing each other up.  Way to go Presbyterians!

Getting Houses in Order

I read this.
It broke my heart.
I went to my daughter's school to watch her get some awards.
My heart broke open even wider.  Seriously, I was almost weeping in an elementary school awards ceremony.  I was so glad, even with all the stupid things that we do as a country, that the room was full of little girls who are going to get an education, and grow up without ever having to wear a burkha or feel like they are inferior to boys.
I have a problem though.  I can't be happy about my daughter and her friends without feeling terribly guilty about all the little girls in Afghanistan who are going to grow up without a snowball's chance in hell.  I can't help but feel my stomach knot up when I hear about those women who have suffered so much and come so far to gain a foothold on what we would consider "basic" human rights, and who are now about to be thrown back to the savagery of the Taliban.
Yes, I said, "savagery," and yes, I know it's judgmental, and no, I don't care if it's judgmental.  Someone needs to judge.  More people need to judge about the kind of despicable evil that grips large segments of the world's population.  As a white, middle class, American male, I am actually the last person who needs to judge, I'm the one whose best solution involves, bombs, Marines and drones.  I'm the one whose sense of liberty and justice can be and often is, imposed at the point of a rifle.  I'm a dangerous judge.  I'm also a father, who is generally opposed to war, but when I read stuff like what I read above, I'm fighting mad.  It actually makes me think that we shouldn't leave Afghanistan, not because of terrorists or national security, but just because someone needs to protect those women from their own men.
I hear all the time about how Islam is a religion of peace, and I've tried really hard to trust that statement, and I understand how extremism can turn even the best foundation violent (Lord knows Christianity has been used that way from time to time).  I also hear quite a bit about how Islam treats women, with the possible exception of the most modern, westernized forms. I remember that women are also made in the image of God.  I understand that Muslims don't want western "christians" imposing our way of things on them.  I get that they are the ones to put their own house in order, I believe that's how it should be, but the stench of this sort of evil is wafting out.  Honor killings, child brides, women denied their basic humanity in so many different ways, all in the name of some god?
I guess what I want is the people who have standing in the situation, namely the men of Islam, to stand up for their mothers, wives, sisters and daughters, and stop allowing them to treated as pawns and property.  It is profoundly dishonorable to allow the vulnerable to suffer in these sorts of ways.  I would really appreciate it if we could figure out another way to go about tackling this problem, a way that doesn't involve guns and bombs, and Americans trying to play hall monitor to the world.  That's just not working out too well, but neither is letting the Taliban, kidnap, rape and kill teenage girls.  Neither is keeping 50% of the world's Islamic population completely oppressed.
I'm going to do what I can to keep my house in order, I'm going to vote, I'm going to work, I'm going to do my best to raise my daughter in a world where she has every opportunity to live fully and equally with her brother.
I just want to let you know that what is happening to girls on the other side of the world breaks my heart.
Stop it already.
Happy Father's Day.

Connections

So God created humankind in his image,

in the image of God he created them;

male and female he created them.

-Genesis 1: 27 (NRSV)

Spoiler alert: I'm going to step all over the sermon I'm writing for Sunday, so if you like a surprise, and you're going to GSPC on Sunday, stop reading.

I was mulling over the connection between Genesis 1 and the Gospel according to Matthew's "great commission."  It seemed like there should be something, but I just couldn't figure out what it was.  Then it hit me: it's me, or rather us, humankind.

For better or worse, Genesis is an unavoidably anthropocentric account of creation.  This is the primary reason why people who want to hold on to a literal interpretation of Genesis have so much trouble with the theory of evolution.  Because in evolutionary theory, humans aren't really that special, we're just higher primates who have developed language and technology to their advantage in the survival of the fittest contest that is natural selection.

In Genesis though, we are made in the image of God, we are extensions of the being of the Creator, God's signature.  To me this carries some weight. After all what good, evolution wise, does it do us to write poetry or create works of art?  How does it help us survive predators or fight off disease if we write sweeping and beautiful poems about what happened, "In the beginning?"

We do that you know.

If you know me, or if you've read my blog during the Ham on Nye debates, you know that I have deep problems with those who want to read Genesis as a science text.  But I love Genesis 1, it is actually one of my favorite parts of the Bible because it sets the stage for everything else, not in a literal: this actually what happened sense, but with a very important concept: God has made us for a specific purpose, to be a part of, and actually to be caretakers (stewards) of the Creation.

To look at Genesis as simply an explanation, rather than a creative expression, is probably going to lead you to miss the point.  I love to lean on God's sovereignty when things get tough.  I love to put my faith in the reality that God will not let me go, when I feel utterly inadequate.  It is actually a little bit scary to think that God made everything that is and then put it in our hands.  But that's what God did.  Everything was very good, and then he called us in to give it all a name, and he put us in charge!

Sheer madness.

I think we've adequately proven that we can't be trusted.  We allow greed and selfishness to run us, we constantly create new idols and go running back to old ones, we even make up stupid rules for ourselves and then break them.

But God has doubled down on trusting us.

Jesus came and did some things, for a very short period of time.  He taught a handful of people, who were, quite frankly, not the best and brightest, about the kingdom of heaven, and what it's actually supposed to be like; then he left.  He said, "Go therefore and make disciples of all nations..."

As much as we would probably love it for God to show up and take charge of this mess, it doesn't seem like that's the plan.  Acting as though it is, keeps getting us into trouble.  We think that we can go on pretty much as we have been, acting in self interest, destroying our world and stepping on our neighbors, and we think that having faith means believing that someday, God is just going to ride to the rescue.

That's destructive.  It's why the early church fathers really didn't want to even put Revelation in the book in the first place, not because it's bad, but because if  you read it the wrong way, it gives you some really bad ideas.  Like: just sit back and wait, don't worry, Jesus is coming back soon!

Don't bother trying to work for a better world, sin is too big a problem, you'll never fix it, you just need to wait on God.  Where on earth did we get this idea?  It certainly wasn't from the Bible.

Sure, there are moments where there's a deus ex machina (hand of God) moment.  Sometimes the Red Sea was parted or a crucified man was resurrected, but for the most part the story arc is in the awfully precarious hands of some pretty flawed people.

When we pray: "Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven," we should stop thinking that's the future tense.  It's not wishful thinking, it's a call.  It's the object of our prayers, our deeds and our very lives.  We are the Body of Christ, we were made in God's image, and we are the ones chosen to do this thing.

Too often, we have used the notion that the world is not our ultimate home as a justification for sitting on our hands while it all goes to pot.  I know it seems like a big job, and there are just so many problems.  God is not impressed with our excuses, instead he rather insistently asks that we get to work.

The covenant with Abram was to be a blessing to the nations.

The commission of the disciples was to bring the good news into all the world.

Whether you think that this plan just happened 6000 years ago or whether you believe, as I do, that it has been in the works for billions of years, it still tells us that God is pretty good at sticking to a plan.

I wouldn't look for him to change it any time soon.

Way Over Yonder in a Minor Key

There ain't nobody that can sing like me,

Way over yonder in the minor key.

-Billy Bragg and Wilco, Mermaid Avenue songs by Woody Guthrie

I've noticed a peculiar thing: sad things catch on.  It's not really a surprise.  People are always more honest in hospital rooms and funeral parlors.  I suppose there's something in me, with my Scotch-Welsh ancestry that gets rainy days and funeral dirges.  I know that some of my best work has been at funerals.  Maybe I'm just one of those people that sings best in a minor key.

It's not the worst talent in the world to have.  It may not get you invited to many gala cocktail parties, but it does get you into some very vulnerable places in the lives of people who are sometimes complete strangers.

Just out of curiosity, I looked back over the page view statistics for my blog over the past three years, every one of those blogs that has a high count is about something tragic.  Random observations about church and kids do fair to middling and no one pays much attention the ones where I get all theological, unless there's an emotional punch to it somewhere.

It would appear that y'all out there on the old interweb, like a good gut-punch.

Truth be told, I do too.  I want to read about things that have gravitas, things that make you feel something.

Glib observations are easier, but they just don't do much but bubble over the tongue like diet soda.

Angry tirades can be entertaining too, but chances are the things that make you mad and the things that make me mad are just a little too different.  And anger tends to make folks communicate poorly.

But I just can't stay that deep all the time.  Sometimes you have to write about normal things so that you don't become one of those cliches, the writer who just can't deal with actual life.

The hunger is out there though.  Maybe it's because so much of what we deal with in life is trying to keep us shallow and focused on things, instead of on relationships and the inevitable pain that comes with being vulnerable enough to care about other people.

It's been years since I enjoyed a mindless comedy of the variety that Hollywood turns out en mass.  Why?  Well they're mostly vulgar and they consist of people having misadventures.  Even if I don't give a hoot about the character, especially if I don't particularly like them, I have a hard time laughing at their mishaps.  It's actually made worse by the way that most of these pieces of so-called cinema, have incredibly predictable, formulaic endings, where everyone learns how not to be such a big jerk.

I appreciate more and more the honesty of the old comics, like the Marx Brothers or Abbot and Costello, they were telling you a joke, they did not require your empathy, in fact they would prefer if you didn't feel their pain, just laugh at their jokes.

The fact that people consume the sort of entertainment that they do these days is, I think, related to the hunger for significance, and also to the fact that it often requires a tragedy to produce that significance.  You can watch a lot of TV and many movies without once ever running across something that really stirs the soul.  When things do get deep, the work is touted as profound, even if it says very little of coherent value or even slight novelty.

I guess the value of the minor key, is the slight shift off of what is expected.  I suppose it is supposed to be salt and leaven, and maybe that's why works so well in the church.  Maybe we have been competing with an entertainment industry that has mastered shallow.

Perhaps we should try going deeper, going minor, going slightly off the rails.

Maybe that's the itch that needs scratched right now.

Tracking

The memory is a weird place.  You can go along for a while and not think about something, you get busy with other things and time just seems to blur out the details.  Then Michele talked about one of her co-workers going to a kindergarten graduation for her granddaughter.
For some reason or other that made me think back two years, to another kindergarten graduation, which also happened to be the very last day a certain little girl spent in this world.  And just like that, I get to remember again.  I could write about it... or not... but I feel like if I don't I'm just running away from the horror.  So I'm going again into the darkness.  If you don't want to read about it, stop here and go look at pictures of kittens or something that makes you feel good.
This is in honor of a little girl whose smile felt like a gift.
Sarah was shy.  Most of the time she hid behind her Mom, holding on to her leg and peeking out at all the strange people.  I make it a point to try and notice kids, even if I'm going about my grown-up kind of business.  I make a face or a funny noise by popping my finger in my cheek.  I do it because I remember from somewhere in the past, what it was like to be invisible, to be a nuisance, to be in the way, and I don't think kids should ever have to feel like that.
I don't get pushy about it, I just let them know that I see them.  I know, I'm big, and I have a beard and I have a official type job that puts me up in front, and all those things can seem scary to kids.
I knew Sarah had some real dark things in her little life, her Mom and Dad weren't getting along, and most of the time she was just being pulled this way and that.  And she was such a little elf that you wanted to put her in your pocket and protect her from every bad thing, but I couldn't.
I would have told her that there were no such thing as monsters, and that would have been a lie.
I would have told her that life was so big and so full of possibilities, but kindergarten was all she got.
Kindergarten and a few hours at home playing with her barbies, before the darkness in her father got the best of him, and took the rest of her life away from her.
It was one of those things that forces you to believe in evil, not just brokenness, evil.
In the end, because she was a precious thing, too precious to give up, he took her away from all of us.
And that's the real tragedy: twisted love that could not let her graduate into whatever came next... separation... divorce... first grade.
Her smile is still more haunting than the Mona Lisa.
I'm glad I took the time to notice.
Here are your balloons again, I'm sending up thoughts and trying hard to make them happy:

I Guess that I Just Don't Know

I am wiser than this man, for neither of us appears to know anything great and good;

 but he fancies he knows something, although he knows nothing;

 whereas I, as I do not know anything, so I do not fancy I do. 

In this trifling particular, then, I appear to be wiser than he, 

because I do not fancy I know what I do not know.

-Socrates, in Plato's Apology

Often the wisest answer, and almost always the most courageous answer is: "I don't know."

Not knowing is the beginning of a journey, and is therefore much more exciting and has so much more potential than any other way to address a question.  Claiming you know when you don't is hypocrisy, and has dangers to be sure.  Actually believing you know when you don't can be catastrophic.

Foregone conclusions often stand directly in the way of progress, and certainty often blinds us to the truth.

I read a lot of books, blogs, articles, tweets and tumblrs about what is wrong with our society and particularly with the societal institution called the church.  Folks these days are raising some very good questions, making some insightful observations and in the process glimpsing, here and there, what seems to be a way through this postmodern slump.

I am challenged and inspired by the questions on a daily basis.

And I am profoundly disappointed in the prescriptions and answers.

I catch myself straining forward for those answers sometimes.

When they come, I feel this sinking sensation: it's just the same old thing, the same old tired combination of institutional hocus pocus and hopeful (naive) insinuation that we're just a nudge away from things actually changing for the better.

When I get to that place, I usually go back and find the spot where the writer should have ended with a question mark, instead of pushing forward to a period. That's where I find the value.

It's a constant struggle though, because not knowing things is uncomfortable for me.  I have never been very happy with simple acceptance of the status quo, or "because I said so."  I have issues with "the way we've always done things."  I just don't always have the time or the energy to fight the inertia.

So I keep reading the voluminous commentary, the impassioned arguments and the surefire strategies to turn things around.  I'm really hoping that somehow, someway, somewhere, somebody has figured it out: relevance, vitality, basic survival, anything but the long slow decline.

I find myself wishing for a Pentecost or resurrection moment, where there is this radical event that changes everything.  Something may be coming, but I doubt very much if we'll see it before it gets here.  Up until the day of Pentecost the disciples were in a funk, they didn't know what to do.  Their only good ideas were tied up in an old vision of Zion and a miraculous return to the good old days.  They were waiting for answers and living with the same old questions.

What happened was rather unexpected, they could not have seen it coming.  The Spirit showed them something that did not fit their ideas of how things are supposed to go.  They began to ask new questions and perhaps more importantly started moving forward without a solid set of answers.  The who, what, when, where and why of the church were just going to have to be hammered out as they went along.  Over the centuries though we allowed "careful" thinking and all manner of practical considerations to convince us once again that answers are the key to what Jesus meant when he said, "you are my witnesses."

Do we need to get reacquainted with the phrase, "I don't know?"

An Ecclesiastes Kind of Feeling

All is vanity.

-Ecclesiastes 1:2

I sometimes wonder if folks who hold the attitude that the Bible is the instruction manual and rule book for human existence have ever actually read Ecclesiastes.  Perhaps it's some flaw in my nature, but I find that I have a lot of Quoheleth days.  Quoheleth is a transliteration of the Hebrew word that is used for the author of Ecclesiastes, it means preacher or teacher, depending on your emphasis.

Here's what a Quoheleth day feels like: you wake up in the morning and you realize that you are probably going to do the same sort of things you always do.  You might accomplish some things, and you might leave things undone, but ultimately it's not really going to matter, because the universe is a really big place, and really what can you do but simply try and handle what's right in front of your nose.  All things considered, it's better to do good than evil, but, if we're honest, we probably will get up to a little of both, and somehow, someway we're going to have to answer for that reality.

God will judge, but don't expect him to play favorites.  God's love seems to extend to everyone equally, and it doesn't really rescue us from any of our own nonsense until all is said and done and we're back to being dirt in the ground.

Knowing that fact doesn't make you powerful, it just gives you the only perspective that makes any sense, and so it's a good place to start.

Any time I hear someone claim that religion is crutch or for the weak minded, I know that they have not read Ecclesiastes carefully enough.  Anytime I hear Christians use happy little platitudes like: "If God brings you to it, He'll bring you through it," or other such bulletin board nonsense, I suspect that they have not wrestled with the notion that, "all is vanity."

There are very few three word sentences that pack such a punch.  "All," everything, life, death, love, hate, hope, despair, faith, doubt, "all," is vanity.  Vanity is empty and self absorbed.  Vanity is thinking that the universe revolves around your life.  Vanity is being too impressed with your own intelligence, talent or beauty.  Vanity is thinking that somehow anything that you do matters in the least.  It's all just "chasing after the wind."

It's startling to me that a person who believes such things, also believes there is a God who is somehow active in all this futility.

But he does, in fact, it seems to be the only thing that matters even one little bit.

The funny thing is that this Quoheleth, far from being in bondage to the crushing emptiness of nihilism seems remarkably free to engage life on some fairly admirable terms.  He is set loose in a world without false boundaries.  It is a world where suffering is expected, but so is joy.  It is a world where there is no need to get terribly twisted about all the things that happen under the sun.  They've happened before, they'll happen again... do what you can to be a person who enjoys life, and who lives in peace with others.

How does he get there?

He does somehow stay connected to the idea: even though all is vanity, we have a purpose.  It may be small, it may not always rise up on eagle's wings, but it's always there, something always matters, just usually not the thing that we think.

How does one start with the notion that "all is vanity," and end with the prescription that the really important thing is to just take life as it comes and try to make the best of it?

Because you really don't have any other options.