Living in the moment

When I was in music school, one of my biggest challenges was inconsistency.  I could play exactly how I wanted in the practice room most of the time, in my teacher's studio some of the time, in studio class rarely, and in recital never.  My emotions would often determine not just my overall musical plan, but also my fingerings and bowings (this should have been easy to fix, had I been a little more mature).  Not only that, but I'd fit a lifetime of emotions into one movement.  It was enough to make everyone seasick.  


By the time I was finishing music school, I had far too many emotions to contain within just a movement, and all I could do instead was cry.  Not all the emotions were sorrow, but they were all too much for me to handle.


Seminary, and aging, slowed down many of those emotions, helped me find their roots (which ironically were mostly theological anyway), and gave me enough case studies and opportunities to talk about them when they are happening to other people.  


The rush to get to the end of the piece with as many emotions as possible is no longer a problem, I think.  I've been working on the Wieniawski Romance for a recital (that may not happen now), and it has allowed me to live in those long, held out moments with only one thing in mind.


A beloved family member of mine is facing a serious, undiagnosed illness, and another family member is facing ongoing health issues with question marks around them.  My husband is far away (another continent) and won't be with me for what seems like eternity now.  Yesterday, I was the pastor for a funeral and committal, the first such events where I've taken this role.  The woman who had died loved the violin very much, and the family asked that I play.  I played old hymns, some of my favorites ("How Great Thou Art," "In the Garden," "Amazing Grace"), and a Dvorak tune from the 9th Symphony ("Going Home").


In a place of complete dependence upon God for any amount of strength, I did not cry; I did not fit all of my emotions into these songs.  I just sat in the drawn-out phrases, in the place of waiting, in the place of hope in the resurrection.  No worries about consistency or timing.  It was beautiful.  It would have startled me if I had any proactive need to play well.  The whole event, funeral and committal, was beautiful.  


This is where my good music comes from- the quiet, drawn-out place of waiting for the resurrection.  

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits,

   and in his word I hope; 

my soul waits for the Lord

   more than those who watch for the morning,

   more than those who watch for the morning. 

O Israel, hope in the Lord!

   For with the Lord there is steadfast love,

   and with him is great power to redeem. 

-Psalm 130:5-7

Say what?!

Okay, folks.  I think it's time for a review of some of the verbs we use when we are talking about our faith in God.  I'd like to offer some examples from conversations I've had recently, with some alternatives.  They come from my particular context, and I don't expect you to adopt my "recipe," but I do want you to know what others hear when you talk about these very close, very vulnerable topics of discussion.

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"I know..."

Contexts: "I know that God is unchanging."  "I know that God is love."  "I know that God hates fags."

Here's the issue: one tends to sound less like a spiritually mature adult and more like a bitter teenager when we say, "I know..."  Example: "Honey, it's time to go to your violin lesson."  "I KNOW Mom, I know!  You don't have to tell me.  I KNOW!"  Example 2: "What, you think you can wear that tank top outside?  It's cold out there!"  "Mom, I KNOW it's cold.  I don't care!"  It's always a joke to say that if you want "to know" something, you ask a teenager, but if you want to find someone who realizes that they know very little, talk to a grad student.

So when we apply some of this context to theological discussion, you start to hear a bit of the "don't tell me, because I know this and I know everything" syndrome.  It is possible that you and others will say something like: "I know that God is love" because you believe it with all your might.  Trust me, I do too.  However, I usually say that I believe that God is love, or that God is the God of love.*  

Thus, when you say, "I know that God hates fags," you act like you have a special secret knowledge that God has revealed only to you and those of your own culture who magically believe all the same things you do.  I admit, when I am committed to the opposite, that the God of love does not "hate fags" as one might claim, that I have not cornered special knowledge and that the truth might have escaped me here.  That's a difficult thing for me to say, because then it sounds to an outsider like I don't really have my heart in it.  However, my alternative does offer something better (in my opinion):

"I think..."

Contexts: "I think God is unchanging."  "I think that God is love."  "I think that God hates fags."

Yes (I KNOW) there is a sense of weakness about our statements when we say, "I think..."  Yes, there's a sense of head-knowledge, of intellectualism that lacks heart.  I'm sorry you get that impression.  Yes, I recognize that weakness in this verb-alternative, but it also has unbounded strength in that it acknowledges the mystery of God.  In a world of black-and-white, I'm-right-and-you're-wrong, it's-either-the-truth-or-hell kind of world, I'm okay with the gray area.  My whole theology is based on a lot of paradox, which is completely heart-bound, passionate, and sincere.  I believe in and love God with my whole heart, and I know God is "there" and "here."  But the minute I start dictating to others that "I know" God is this one way (especially when the majority of Biblical witness doesn't really support what is being stated), then I've gone too far.  It's not that God is all things to all people.  In fact, quite the contrary.  We should stand boldly for truth.  However, I don't have a corner on all truth, and neither do you.  Sorry, I know your pastors have been feeding you "the Truth" since you were a kid, and you really think God is exactly what those pastors claimed He was.  Maybe we can start asking questions about your beliefs together.  I'm really a nice person, and I already let you say all those terrible things about my Jewish, Atheist, Muslim, and gay friends without screaming at you.  Let's just ask a few questions together, and see how your beliefs hold.  I have no expectation that you'll change all your beliefs right then and there, if ever.  Take these questions home and wrestle for a few days, weeks, or years.  If they hold, then please, keep believin'.  If they can't hold under the weight, it's not that everything you learned was a lie; it just means you didn't have "the Truth" in a box (with the only key being in your possession).  I meant that sometimes we are all guilty of starting with ourselves and our own contexts and then writing them into God's identity.  In short, we are all guilty of creating God in our image.  While we all might be guilty of eisegesis (reading into the Biblical texts our own images, desires, and prejudices) at times, it doesn't mean we shouldn't try to avoid it.

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"I believe..."

Contexts: "I believe the house you are looking for is down the road and on the left."  "I believe in grace."  "I believe in America."

Obviously, this first example of verb usage is something synonymous with "I'm pretty sure..." or "I think..." without all that pesky head-without-heart-knowledge implication.  It means that you are confident that the house really is down the road.  You've seen that house before, and you've even stopped in a time or two.  You're more sure than not that the house really is there, but if the person receiving your directions goes down the road and doesn't find it there, at least you didn't say, "I know..." and then turn out to be totally wrong.

To say: "I believe in grace," implies that it's a core aspect to your belief system, firmly rooted in your heart of hearts.  To say that you "believe in America" is to say that you have confidence in it's structural soundness, and that you also have skin in that game.  I think it's a rather compelling campaign statement too- it implies one's religious sensibilities, applied at a political and governmental level.  It might as well say: "I'm a God-fearing man, and I believe that God has a special investment in America."  Of course, we can assume the candidate is referring mostly to North America, and specifically to the United States of America, and not necessarily using it in a more universal term that might include, say, Colombia or Venezuela or Brazil, or any of those other countries that rightly declare they are part of a larger "America."

These statements: "I believe in grace" or "I believe the house is down yonder on the left", or even "I believe in America," are really fraught with weaknesses.  A strong discernment of language and implication would lead one to say, perhaps, "I think the house is down yonder..." and "I believe in the God of grace..."

"I believe..." (alternative)

Contexts: "I'm confident the house you are looking for is down the road and on the left, but I'm not totally sure."  "I believe in the God of grace."*  "I'm totally cool with America." (I know, this last one isn't nearly as catchy.)

As a candidate for ministry and seminary graduate and general theological thinker, I avoid saying something like: "I believe in grace," and offer the alternative, "I believe in the God of grace."*  I believe in God.  Grace is an abstract concept until it has an agent and an object (Ex: "God saves me through grace.")  As another example, I don't believe in the Bible, but I believe in the God of the Bible.*  The Bible is a collection of writings by faithful witnesses to the workings and doings and movings and sayings of God in this world.  It's a "unique and authoritative witness" to "the Word", who is Jesus Christ.  The Bible can't save me, but God can.  I can't even read the Bible and be illumined by the truth it contains without the help of the Spirit.  So, I'm okay saying that I believe in the Triune God, but I stop short of saying that I believe in grace or the Bible or faith or anything other than the God to whom all these things point.  I also won't say I believe in you (sorry), but I might offer instead that I know you are strong and that God is faithful (and if you push me, I might stretch to say that God believes in you, because why not?  God loves you passionately, and if it gets you through that moment of doubt about your own strength or God faithfulness, maybe it's enough to restore your confidence.  I'm not a legalist...I'm a pastor.)**

The first statement is the most common statement in discussion.  You want to say that you know something strongly, but it's not the Source of your faith and life and grace and new life.  It's not God, but you are so confident that this thing is just like this.  Say, "I think..."  As with the alternative to "I know...", you really hold strongly to it, but in reality, it has nothing to do with faith or belief.  Save your belief for God.  Having spent my time on different sides of such discussions, I think it's more important to leave these special words, "I believe" for a higher purpose. Don't use the same verb to describe your directions to someone's house.  You have alternatives: "I'm confident that..."  "I'm sure that..."  "It clear in my mind, but not totally certain, that..."  Even those who totally disagree on the whole God-thing with you will respect that you've thought about your language and that you aren't careless about it.

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Jesus said: "Are you also still without understanding?  Do you not see that whatever goes into the mouth enters the stomach, and goes out into the sewer?  But what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this is what defiles." -Matthew: 15:16-18  (Yes, it's a relevant text, but you could rightfully argue that I just committed the grave sin of eisegesis!)

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*Note: It's not that I believe in multiple gods, and that I'm pointing out that one particular god I believe in is the "God of Love."  I'm am not a polytheist.  On the contrary, this is a standard turn of phrase for many mainline Protestants, in part because people say silly things like: "I believe in love," or "I believe in America."  Sorry, Mitt.  I don't believe in love, or in America.  I believe in the God over all things (including love), and over all creation (including America).  To imply that America could be our god and that we believe in her is more polytheistic than saying, "I believe in the God who is over all creation, including America."

**Note: On a personal note, if you tell me that you believe in me, or that God believes in me, when I am in the midst of suffering, I might yell at you.  Don't give me that crap.  Give me the honest truth, and the God-given fire inside will burn enough to get me through.  If I tell you that God believes in you, and you also have the fire I have inside, please yell at me.  I'll deserve it.