If you remember from a couple week ago, or if you read my previous post, I am taking a vow of silence this month of August for many reasons. I am writing this post to update where I am with it.
I want to add a goal to that initial list: to subvert the culture of "mindless talk" in the embodiment of my person. Of course, I have tried this before: to subvert the culture of lazy, air-polluting, lung-destroying car-driving, I walked (and later biked). I don't think many caught on, and I'm okay with that. When time comes such that we can't drive our cars from high gas prices or future debt-ceiling apocalypse, or when poor health demands we do something, I'm here to talk about good shoes, safe paths, staying strong, etc. So while subversion is not my only goal, it is a goal, and I will own up to it.
I must also express my disappointment in not being able to take a full vow of silence. I see some inherent flaws in doing this half-heartedly, the reason being mostly that I must keep up with communications with professional contacts as I start working again. And I can't go a whole month without talking to my family or my husband. Also, being able to talk to some but not others allows my extroverted self to be appeased and quite comfortable. It also comforts my introverted self that I can shut out everyone when I want, because I have a decent excuse (though I think simply being introverted should be good enough). Therefore, I still wish to find a time to stay present but totally silent in the future. It might be a week-long project at some point in the future. But the point is not just silence, or not-talking. The point is learning to listen deeply. For this, I think I am learning quite a bit so far.
On the prayer/fasting-from-words front, I have been begging God for some way to bring people together- not in any uniformity of opinion necessarily, but a way for people to see that we are inherently tied together. When one suffers, we all suffer. When one rejoices, we all rejoice. The more I pray about it, the more I realize how much we already have that brings us together. It's actually quite amazing that we pretend we can individualize our entire lives and ignore whole groups of people, and in a way, ignore everyone but ourselves for most of our lives. It's all about us. Our society encourages that, yes, but our broken humanity does as well.
I drove through a subdivision yesterday where every house looked alike. The color was the same, the patterns in the brick were the same- I had to look hard for the house numbers (all located in the same place on each house with the same font) in order to know where I was going. I came home and told my husband about this, and we joked how even patriotic Americans act like Communists sometimes. This also comes to mind in our traffic patterns- many people like to take vacations around the same days and times, and we often go to the same places. Yet we so often care not for the common good of those people...who seem to do things pretty much exactly like us. How similar must we be before we consider each other friends or neighbors? Is it coincidence that we develop relationships? Random meeting? Circumstances? How much time does it take getting to know someone before we start caring for their welfare? Does it only take one commercial of sad-looking children in a developing country? Or a commercial of sad-looking kitties? Is it just easier caring for strangers, or for innocent animals (in juxtaposition to guilty humans)? Why do we care so little for each other? It's easy to answer with one little word, but I resist such simplification. I am going through my mind every face I remember seeing in my life, and questioning why things worked out the way they did. If they came to me now in need of help, how would I respond? Thinking of their circumstances (i.e. unemployment, child-birthing/maternity leave, food stamps, tax breaks), I question how my vote makes their lives easier or more difficult. Is there a stronger implication about their care if they are unemployed and facing poverty, over situations of abundance? Does our current definition of poverty in this country, particularly as amount of income in relation to family size, really reflect the reality of poverty or the response we should make? Is education really an asset? I want to say yes, but I know some really well-education musicians and professors with doctorates who make very little money. This will take more investigation- perhaps more communally than individually.
On a personal note: I learned two things about myself so far this month.
1) I am a bit of a gloomy preacher. I already knew this. But I looked over my past sermons and I read their accompanying scripture readings, and I see that the Bible has a lot of gloominess. The Bible really isn't all unicorns and puppies and rainbows (to quote Dr. Anna Carter-Florence). I was a little worried that I was simply pessimistic, but the Bible isn't really all that optimistic or falsely-upbeat. I still think I'm a much better pastor in the face of death than in the face of new life though. I wanna learn to dance in reckless abandon like David before the sight of the Lord, and then I want to teach it to others. Recklessly-dancing Presbyterians? Now that might really be a sign of the end times.
2) I have a love-hate relationship with the church. To be more specific, I really love many, many things the church does, and I hate a few of the decisions that people have made on behalf of the church in the past. I won't list my grievances, other than to note crusades (old and new) against people who don't fit into the local culture of the church [which might have more to do with loving certain cultural aspects- we'll call that "Justin-Bieber-ism," as in, Justin Bieber might have little or nothing to do with God and the church, but if you dare forget or choose not to proclaim your undying love for (enter cultural element here, such as Bieber) in the local congregation, then there is no place for you at all in the church]. So my revelation is that my disdain for the church that comes up occasionally is actually the flip side of my love for it. They are one in the same. They are both part of my deep affirmation that the church is important. What we do as the collective body of Christ has massively important implications for other people and for ourselves. I don't just love the church because it makes me feel good about myself- I love the church because it is a witness to the kingdom of God in this place. It is the hands and feet of Christ in this place. It points to God, who is love. When the church lives out its mission well, it is nothing short of connection-making with the divine and each other. When the church starts axing people and drawing lines in the sand about who's in and who's out, it stops pointing to God and starts pointing to itself (and maybe Justin Bieber). It takes on idolatry, and sometimes even self-idolatry. Yes, I know it's part of this broken life; yes, I know that all of us (myself included) do this often in our own lives. But also yes, as a response to this we should keep our eyes open and remind each other that God is our focus, and what that means. So a love-hate relationship with the church is actually a good sign- it means we still care. It means the church is still important. It means that change is coming.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Sunday, July 31, 2011
A month of silence (mostly)
For the next month, I'll be attempting a special Sabbath of sacred silence. A total vow of silence will not be possible, mostly because I will be in numerous situations that require basic communication: Bible studies, volunteer situations, and more notably, I'll be preaching. However, since this is probably my last chance to even come close to a life of intentional silence for a while, since it seems that employment is looming near, I will take the month of August as a special time of reflection.
The purpose is simple: I want to be open to seeing the in-breaking of the kingdom of God in this place in a way I have not seen in months. Marcus Borg describes sacred silence in his book, The God We Never Knew, as this: "Silence may be understood as the appropriate response to the presence of the sacred, or as waiting and listening for the Spirit, or as the experience of the communion with the Spirit. By stopping the flow of words and sounds, silence invites us into a wordless world. It also conveys the sense that something is present that is worth attending to" (119).
I also have a long history of taking intentional time for silence in my life, a fitting reversal of the many hours of practice and non-stop sound that punctuate and frame my life as a musician. Now as a preacher, I find my many and endless-flowing monologues and dialogues to be as empty sometimes as the many scales and etudes and concertos that once took up my time. Perhaps I've simply talked myself into a corner, into a place of dimness that desperately seeks vision. I know my tendency to criticize- I know what it looks like to see the powerful put unending burden on the poor, to turn away from the suffering of the poor, the ignore the deaths of the poor. I criticize because I hear so few other voices speak on behalf of the poor, who are now officially called "the entitled" in this country by our wealthy politicians. Because my heart can hardly break any further, I commit the next month, and indeed the rest of my life, to finding those places of the in-breaking of the kingdom, those people, who cry out with prophetic voice- those people whom God has ordained to speak truth to power.
My hopes:
-to find a new spirit, a new heart of compassion for all God's children
-to find the humanity in all people
-to remember how to listen deeply
-to find the Sacred in the ordinary
-to meditate in silent prayer
-to cultivate a sacred imagination
-to see the kingdom of God
-to relearn how to speak
-to learn the art of quiet and embodied subversion against the powers that separate us from God
Marcus Borg, in the same chapter, also discusses compassion in a way I've never really considered: "Compassion is not just a means of spiritual transformation but an end in itself. It is the central ethical value of the Jesus tradition, as well as the central quality of God" (126). Therefore, compassion- as informed by the triune God- is the central goal of this month, and indeed my whole life.
While I will still preach and volunteer and mildly participate in groups, as I have agreed to do, I will otherwise remain silent in this time. My only writing and online presence will include reflections about this sacred silence. My hope is that by September, I will see God (everywhere around us) and live.
The purpose is simple: I want to be open to seeing the in-breaking of the kingdom of God in this place in a way I have not seen in months. Marcus Borg describes sacred silence in his book, The God We Never Knew, as this: "Silence may be understood as the appropriate response to the presence of the sacred, or as waiting and listening for the Spirit, or as the experience of the communion with the Spirit. By stopping the flow of words and sounds, silence invites us into a wordless world. It also conveys the sense that something is present that is worth attending to" (119).
I also have a long history of taking intentional time for silence in my life, a fitting reversal of the many hours of practice and non-stop sound that punctuate and frame my life as a musician. Now as a preacher, I find my many and endless-flowing monologues and dialogues to be as empty sometimes as the many scales and etudes and concertos that once took up my time. Perhaps I've simply talked myself into a corner, into a place of dimness that desperately seeks vision. I know my tendency to criticize- I know what it looks like to see the powerful put unending burden on the poor, to turn away from the suffering of the poor, the ignore the deaths of the poor. I criticize because I hear so few other voices speak on behalf of the poor, who are now officially called "the entitled" in this country by our wealthy politicians. Because my heart can hardly break any further, I commit the next month, and indeed the rest of my life, to finding those places of the in-breaking of the kingdom, those people, who cry out with prophetic voice- those people whom God has ordained to speak truth to power.
My hopes:
-to find a new spirit, a new heart of compassion for all God's children
-to find the humanity in all people
-to remember how to listen deeply
-to find the Sacred in the ordinary
-to meditate in silent prayer
-to cultivate a sacred imagination
-to see the kingdom of God
-to relearn how to speak
-to learn the art of quiet and embodied subversion against the powers that separate us from God
Marcus Borg, in the same chapter, also discusses compassion in a way I've never really considered: "Compassion is not just a means of spiritual transformation but an end in itself. It is the central ethical value of the Jesus tradition, as well as the central quality of God" (126). Therefore, compassion- as informed by the triune God- is the central goal of this month, and indeed my whole life.
While I will still preach and volunteer and mildly participate in groups, as I have agreed to do, I will otherwise remain silent in this time. My only writing and online presence will include reflections about this sacred silence. My hope is that by September, I will see God (everywhere around us) and live.
debt-ceiling news coverage
Reading the play-by-play news on CNN about the debt ceiling is a little like getting to the end of a B-movie involving an American (good-guy), a Soviet Russian (bad-guy), and a bomb. We all knew back at 20 minutes that the bomb would be down to 4 seconds, 2 seconds, a half-second, before the good guy manages to cut the red wire (or is it the blue wire?) and averts the disaster....because that makes for intense movies, right? But in this analogy, I'm finding out that the traincar/bus/whatever housing the bomb is actually the US economy, and the good guy has voices in his head saying, "maybe if we let the bomb go off, it won't be so bad!"
Or maybe the media is playing this whole thing up too much as a B-movie and less like...the...weather channel. And why is the Soviet Russian always the bad-guy in these B-movies? I preferred Despicable Me, where the Russian villain (Steve Carell) turns out to be the hero.
Or maybe the media is playing this whole thing up too much as a B-movie and less like...the...weather channel. And why is the Soviet Russian always the bad-guy in these B-movies? I preferred Despicable Me, where the Russian villain (Steve Carell) turns out to be the hero.
Friday, July 8, 2011
performance anxiety
As a musician and perfectionist, I really struggled with performance anxiety in college, and now I think I know why: it was all tied up with my theology. I admit now that I am a recovering musical fundamentalist.
I once felt horrible guilt for all the usual things: not practicing enough (not reading my Bible enough), not performing as well in public as in the practice room (not "walking the walk"), not treating my teacher with enough respect (more focused on myself than on God). Much of this observation was going on just in my head, but sometimes other people took noticed and were happy to inform me that I was not a good musician (Christian). Sometimes other fundamentalists who pretend they have it altogether make themselves feel better by putting others down. "I'll pull the splinter from your eye while I neglect to acknowledge the plank in my own eye." The real downside of guilt is its cyclical effect of self-hatred and cynicism. Set low expectations, and one will always manage to make it to the end of the day and feel just enough comfort to make it to tomorrow. Still, it seems that contempt would hold one to seek a higher level, a better standard for oneself. Without contempt and guilt, afterall, we'd all just become lazy and then "anything goes."
But there was a beautiful thing that happened in my life: I went to seminary and embraced my depravity. As a Christian and as a person, I grew in stability, but as a musician, I did the unthinkable- I completely stopped practicing (gasp!) and almost never played for my first year. After having sometimes 5 performances a week the year before, rehearsals like crazy, and not enough time in the day to keep up with all the practice, I dropped almost all of it. I still taught lessons and played occasionally in chapel, but really I embraced all the negative stereotypes we musicians place on ourselves. I became "the quitter" who couldn't make it. In fundamentalist terms...I gave God the finger.
So did I end up being a lazy, sloppy, good-for-nothing musician, the way fundamentalist Christians think they will become if they let their guard down for one millisecond and dare to question God? At first- kinda. My left hand forgot where it was supposed to go for a while. When I did play for chapel or community orchestra, I would tell my left hand where to go and it would go somewhere else sometimes. But truthfully, by embracing the total depravity of being the worst kind of musician, I learned to accept who I am- human, flawed, beautiful in a special way, God's own beloved musician. I stopped looking at these "rules" of perfectionism as a sort of oppressive law that might just save me from hell, and I started seeing them as a compass for how to show God's love to other people. Because I love God and I am learning to love myself, I want to do what is right and up-building for the community. Think of it as Calvin's "third use" of the law.
Some days are good and some are still bad. However, bad days aren't ones where I have it out with God and demand to know why bad things happen to the people I love- bad days are when I fall back into the pattern of fear and guilt, and I attempt to retreat into the practice room of shame and hatred. Good days are when God and I are in active relationship, whatever that may look like. Increasingly, the bad days are fewer and less common.
Since moving to Iowa, I have been practicing violin once a day, everyday, for a few weeks. It's an exercise in calmness and meditation. I fix things, I work on technique, but it's in an environment of peace, rather than of war and pain with myself and God. Calvinism has not only shone light on the myths of guilt for me, but it's also allowed me to see that sometimes I don't have choices in life. Knowing that some things are predestined helps me to see where I do have choices. It's empowering. It's Good News. While I did not start playing violin at a young age with the best teachers, I do have this time now to practice technique, to cultivate the love for music that is already there, and to express that love to God and neighbor. Thanks be to God!
I once felt horrible guilt for all the usual things: not practicing enough (not reading my Bible enough), not performing as well in public as in the practice room (not "walking the walk"), not treating my teacher with enough respect (more focused on myself than on God). Much of this observation was going on just in my head, but sometimes other people took noticed and were happy to inform me that I was not a good musician (Christian). Sometimes other fundamentalists who pretend they have it altogether make themselves feel better by putting others down. "I'll pull the splinter from your eye while I neglect to acknowledge the plank in my own eye." The real downside of guilt is its cyclical effect of self-hatred and cynicism. Set low expectations, and one will always manage to make it to the end of the day and feel just enough comfort to make it to tomorrow. Still, it seems that contempt would hold one to seek a higher level, a better standard for oneself. Without contempt and guilt, afterall, we'd all just become lazy and then "anything goes."
But there was a beautiful thing that happened in my life: I went to seminary and embraced my depravity. As a Christian and as a person, I grew in stability, but as a musician, I did the unthinkable- I completely stopped practicing (gasp!) and almost never played for my first year. After having sometimes 5 performances a week the year before, rehearsals like crazy, and not enough time in the day to keep up with all the practice, I dropped almost all of it. I still taught lessons and played occasionally in chapel, but really I embraced all the negative stereotypes we musicians place on ourselves. I became "the quitter" who couldn't make it. In fundamentalist terms...I gave God the finger.
So did I end up being a lazy, sloppy, good-for-nothing musician, the way fundamentalist Christians think they will become if they let their guard down for one millisecond and dare to question God? At first- kinda. My left hand forgot where it was supposed to go for a while. When I did play for chapel or community orchestra, I would tell my left hand where to go and it would go somewhere else sometimes. But truthfully, by embracing the total depravity of being the worst kind of musician, I learned to accept who I am- human, flawed, beautiful in a special way, God's own beloved musician. I stopped looking at these "rules" of perfectionism as a sort of oppressive law that might just save me from hell, and I started seeing them as a compass for how to show God's love to other people. Because I love God and I am learning to love myself, I want to do what is right and up-building for the community. Think of it as Calvin's "third use" of the law.
Some days are good and some are still bad. However, bad days aren't ones where I have it out with God and demand to know why bad things happen to the people I love- bad days are when I fall back into the pattern of fear and guilt, and I attempt to retreat into the practice room of shame and hatred. Good days are when God and I are in active relationship, whatever that may look like. Increasingly, the bad days are fewer and less common.
Since moving to Iowa, I have been practicing violin once a day, everyday, for a few weeks. It's an exercise in calmness and meditation. I fix things, I work on technique, but it's in an environment of peace, rather than of war and pain with myself and God. Calvinism has not only shone light on the myths of guilt for me, but it's also allowed me to see that sometimes I don't have choices in life. Knowing that some things are predestined helps me to see where I do have choices. It's empowering. It's Good News. While I did not start playing violin at a young age with the best teachers, I do have this time now to practice technique, to cultivate the love for music that is already there, and to express that love to God and neighbor. Thanks be to God!
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Amazing Grace
My thoughts have been totally preoccupied with the concept of "grace" lately. Conversations in the month of May really got it started for me again (after being preoccupied with the concept of the "Good News" for much of my last semester of seminary), and spending this time in a period of grace for me- or perhaps it's called unemployment- has really got me deeply questioning it again.
The usual question I debate about grace is the obvious and typically-American question: since we cannot earn or deserve grace, can people experience grace without a special prayer, a contrite heart, a public profession, etc? The Baptist part of me says: "you have to be humbled and willing to profess faith in Jesus before grace and salvation come." The Presbyterian part of me says: "the contrite heart and public profession come as a result of having truly experienced grace already- those things are really part of sanctification rather than justification. Finding grace is a realization, not an action, precisely because grace is something undeserved and unearned. Grace was already there and equally legitimate before you knew it was there as after you discovered it." (You can tell my Presbyterian self is far more verbose than my Baptist self!) The words: "we are saved by grace through faith," also come to mind.
Keeping those two positions a little in tension with each other, though honestly standing with the Presbyterian side, I now question a more communal aspect of grace, not that the previous paragraph is strictly an individualistic understanding. What does it mean to show grace to others, in like manner of the grace God has already shown us- and continues to show us? For the moment, we can take either understanding of grace that I mentioned above- if we are professing/baptized Christians who have experienced grace, what does it mean to show grace to our neighbors?
A trend in many churches, one that sticks out more to me in a place like the Midwest- where the Protestant work ethic is king- is the way charity is offered only to the "deserving." When I am a visitor and observer in some places of charity, I see how some people are offered charity for what seems like two reasons: 1) the server has all power and wealth and guilt, and feels the need to destroy the guilt by doing something for someone else, but 2) that receiver must do something to deserve it first. Lazy people don't get freebies and handouts. Still, the receiver can't become deserving by becoming a fellow server.
So with the obvious questions around showing grace to our neighbors in like manner that God has shown grace to us, can we call that sort of charity "grace," or is it something else? If something else, what is it?
I suppose I would be dishonest if I did not just say that I don't think this is an example of grace, particularly for the defined precondition of being undeserving while receiving grace. So if it is something else, what is it? Whatever it is, it seems to be burning a lot church people out. I feel like this is a massively common thing that holds onto many churches and holds much power, so perhaps naming it could be part of an act of liberation from it and the resulting burnout. I have already called it the Protestant work ethic, but I think it is not simply synonymous. Is it guilt? Is it the evangelism of particular society and culture upon people with a different culture, even if both are thoroughly Christian? Where is the presence of the Triune God (Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer) in all of this exactly?
I asked some of these questions while I was reading this article today, again from CNN's Belief Blog. To be blunt, are we charitable in the likeness of Ayn Rand or in the likeness of Jesus Christ? Can we be both, as some people think, or are they opposites? Is it important that Rand was an atheist, or that she used language to describe Biblical ideas in the same strain as many Americans would use to describe socialism?
My favorite Rand quote from the article: "There is nothing wrong in helping other people, if and when they are worthy of the help and you can afford to help them. I regard charity as a marginal issue. What I am fighting is the idea that charity is a moral duty and a primary virtue."
Sound familiar?
Photo credit: Scott Hill, M.Div.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Shaking an angry fist
I came across this article today on CNN's Belief Blog (which is almost always a fantastic read, if you are into American-political/religious dialogue). Today's post is entitled: "How faith can help and hinder forgiveness" and can be accessed here.
One particular sentence really struck me: “Ultimately, there’s a humbleness that comes when we realize that there’s something or someone out there bigger than myself that ultimately loves me, accepts me, cares for me, can give me grace, and in places where it’s hard for me to do that for myself,” says Richard Shaw, a marriage and family therapist in Oregon who runs Shame No More Counseling and Ministries.
The context of this statement is the "realization" of forgiveness, and in particular forgiving oneself for wronging someone else. Also, though not as explicitly stated in this article, the context is about forgiving God. Having grown up in a church where guilt was a cornerstone of life, these two things make sense together. As a new Presbyterian though, I question how forgiving myself for wronging someone else and forgiving God for not intervening become such related processes. Then I remember chapter 1 from book 1 of Calvin's Institutes and how knowledge of self and knowledge of God are interrelated. "In the first place, no one can look upon himself without immediately turning his thoughts to the contemplation of God, in whom he 'lives and moves'...indeed our very being is nothing but subsistence in the one God" (p. 35). "Indeed, our very poverty better discloses the infinitude of benefits reposing in God" (p. 36).
I wonder how faith in a God larger than ourselves, this God of love and also grace (the gift we cannot deserve but receive nonetheless), helps us learn to forgive ourselves. And actually, we come to know this God of infinite grace through our own "poverty," which in this context might reflect our self-hostage when we wrong others. I make no assumption that this isn't a complicated and delicate issue, with a huge diversity of emotions behind it, but somehow there is self-forgiveness (or our acknowledgement of God's forgiveness of us) all tied up with our forgiveness of God.
But what if holding oneself hostage with guilt does not automatically lead one to accepting or "realizing" one's forgiveness though? What if, as in the case of Laura Bush and others in this article, it simply leads to shaking a fist at God, either through action or inaction? This certainly is a common and perhaps helpful way of coping. Guilt can become unthinkable when the knowledge of self and the knowledge of God become unhinged, and we simply know ourselves as fully responsible for a terrible accident and know God as simply uninterested or wrathful and judging.
Often though, we are better at forgiving others than forgiving ourselves. While this is not a universal statement, it seems like a logical first step for many people. When I remember the works of God in the history of God's relationship with the children of God, I remember a greater story of forgiveness. Perhaps some small part of me remembers this history and I open the door to forgiving God. And if God really is a God of love, maybe God really forgives me too. Perhaps being in *relationship* with God starts and ends with the dialectical tension of knowledge of self and of God ("knowledge" is not to be confused with "brainy-ness" or "intellectualism," as knowledge includes all aspects of life, including the visceral and sensory). Still, as a musician, I see the way people with no religious affiliation come to hear the B-minor Mass by J.S. Bach, and are overcome with the Divine through the performance of that music, the Divine who is bigger than all of us and what we carry with us. I wonder if God surrounds us with God's loving presence incarnationally through the Spirit, in the special-ness of worship that is set aside to name and glorfy God, and in the ordinary-ness of the everyday (not to say that Bach isn't special!).
Another telling statement in this article: “When there’s a spiritual dimension to it, there’s a sense that there’s stuff beyond my control and someone in the universe who cares deeply about me, even in the midst of my own shame and my own brokenness," he says. "… That can be, in the forgiveness process, a healing component for some folks.”
What was that Veggie Tales song, about God being bigger than the boogy-man? Is God really bigger than our deepest pain and guilt?
In Reformed worship, not only do we confess corporately and individually in worship every week, but we have this fantastic time immediately after confession called the "assurance of pardon." A common liturgy reads this way:
Friends, hear the Good News:
In Christ we are a new creation.
The old life is gone, and a new life has begun.
Know that you are forgiven, and be at peace.
Amen.
One particular sentence really struck me: “Ultimately, there’s a humbleness that comes when we realize that there’s something or someone out there bigger than myself that ultimately loves me, accepts me, cares for me, can give me grace, and in places where it’s hard for me to do that for myself,” says Richard Shaw, a marriage and family therapist in Oregon who runs Shame No More Counseling and Ministries.
The context of this statement is the "realization" of forgiveness, and in particular forgiving oneself for wronging someone else. Also, though not as explicitly stated in this article, the context is about forgiving God. Having grown up in a church where guilt was a cornerstone of life, these two things make sense together. As a new Presbyterian though, I question how forgiving myself for wronging someone else and forgiving God for not intervening become such related processes. Then I remember chapter 1 from book 1 of Calvin's Institutes and how knowledge of self and knowledge of God are interrelated. "In the first place, no one can look upon himself without immediately turning his thoughts to the contemplation of God, in whom he 'lives and moves'...indeed our very being is nothing but subsistence in the one God" (p. 35). "Indeed, our very poverty better discloses the infinitude of benefits reposing in God" (p. 36).
I wonder how faith in a God larger than ourselves, this God of love and also grace (the gift we cannot deserve but receive nonetheless), helps us learn to forgive ourselves. And actually, we come to know this God of infinite grace through our own "poverty," which in this context might reflect our self-hostage when we wrong others. I make no assumption that this isn't a complicated and delicate issue, with a huge diversity of emotions behind it, but somehow there is self-forgiveness (or our acknowledgement of God's forgiveness of us) all tied up with our forgiveness of God.
But what if holding oneself hostage with guilt does not automatically lead one to accepting or "realizing" one's forgiveness though? What if, as in the case of Laura Bush and others in this article, it simply leads to shaking a fist at God, either through action or inaction? This certainly is a common and perhaps helpful way of coping. Guilt can become unthinkable when the knowledge of self and the knowledge of God become unhinged, and we simply know ourselves as fully responsible for a terrible accident and know God as simply uninterested or wrathful and judging.
Often though, we are better at forgiving others than forgiving ourselves. While this is not a universal statement, it seems like a logical first step for many people. When I remember the works of God in the history of God's relationship with the children of God, I remember a greater story of forgiveness. Perhaps some small part of me remembers this history and I open the door to forgiving God. And if God really is a God of love, maybe God really forgives me too. Perhaps being in *relationship* with God starts and ends with the dialectical tension of knowledge of self and of God ("knowledge" is not to be confused with "brainy-ness" or "intellectualism," as knowledge includes all aspects of life, including the visceral and sensory). Still, as a musician, I see the way people with no religious affiliation come to hear the B-minor Mass by J.S. Bach, and are overcome with the Divine through the performance of that music, the Divine who is bigger than all of us and what we carry with us. I wonder if God surrounds us with God's loving presence incarnationally through the Spirit, in the special-ness of worship that is set aside to name and glorfy God, and in the ordinary-ness of the everyday (not to say that Bach isn't special!).
Another telling statement in this article: “When there’s a spiritual dimension to it, there’s a sense that there’s stuff beyond my control and someone in the universe who cares deeply about me, even in the midst of my own shame and my own brokenness," he says. "… That can be, in the forgiveness process, a healing component for some folks.”
What was that Veggie Tales song, about God being bigger than the boogy-man? Is God really bigger than our deepest pain and guilt?
In Reformed worship, not only do we confess corporately and individually in worship every week, but we have this fantastic time immediately after confession called the "assurance of pardon." A common liturgy reads this way:
Friends, hear the Good News:
In Christ we are a new creation.
The old life is gone, and a new life has begun.
Know that you are forgiven, and be at peace.
Amen.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
The next step of the journey
While I have had every intention of writing a post on this blog lately (the "freedom of God" has been on my mind lately), I have not felt inspired to write. Sometimes, it seems, I am led more to listen and take in these new experiences than to spill out thoughts and constructions. I have not had a chance to process this whole transition yet.
Here are a few highlights of the past few weeks though:
-Packing is lovely until you realize that you don't actually see everything that needs to be packed until the very end. It's easy to skip your eyes over items that have become permanent fixtures. I was reminded of this when I read this post by Hooked on Houses today.
-Our movers in Atlanta, once they realized that I just finished seminary, took us both by the hands at the end of the day and prayed for us and blessed us on our journey. It was such a sweet, impromptu act that felt so genuine. It was a gesture of love from an unlikely place. I mean, it's nice when a pastor or deacon pulls you aside to pray for you, but it's something special when your movers want to go out of their way to bless you.
-10 hours of driving in one day is overwhelming.
-We had a great time visiting my college roommate and her mother (who happened to be in town)! I wish we could have stayed longer, though I'm sure Sammy (the cat) was glad to see Sophie get out of his space.
-Illinois takes too long to drive across.
-Nothing could have topped our little motel in Allison. It was a perfect place to land for a week. I knew every moment of the day that we arrived in rural Iowa, because corn fields stretched as far as the eye could see. Driving into Waverly took us by an ethanol plant and wind turbines.
-On a related note, life is different here. These people live close to the land, and they have no incentive to pollute it (outside of pesticide use and the flowing of sediment into the rivers from overfarming, which are growing issues). Much of the produce sold in stores is organic. They intentionally keep antibiotics out of the milk and meat. They started using wind power in the early 90s. As I've heard a few times, they "went green before it was hip to go green." Community gardens have been springing up all over the city, in places left abandoned after the last catastrophic flood (2008).
-People are generally quite friendly, rather simple, but very genuine. They consider themselves people of the earth, even when they aren't farmers (but their parents were farmers). Common buzz words here: community, neighbors, justice. We've been invited to numerous welcome dinners since we arrived. Apparently that's how society flourishes in a small town. Instead of big-city attractions, you have each other. Yet most people we've met are from Iowa, or other small towns around the Midwest. Generally, more people leave here to go to big cities than the other way around.
-Kati is awesome for stopping by and helping me start my garden. This place didn't feel like it could be home until she got here and helped me cultivate this new home. God bless my friends from seminary. I miss them already.
-My asthma has improved dramatically since we arrived here. I rode my bicycle the other day, and for the first time in many years, I did not have an asthma attack.
-Our list of blessings has far outgrown our list of concerns. I feel so humbled by God's providence.
Speaking of my seminary friends, how are all of you on your new and old journeys?
Here are a few highlights of the past few weeks though:
-Packing is lovely until you realize that you don't actually see everything that needs to be packed until the very end. It's easy to skip your eyes over items that have become permanent fixtures. I was reminded of this when I read this post by Hooked on Houses today.
-Our movers in Atlanta, once they realized that I just finished seminary, took us both by the hands at the end of the day and prayed for us and blessed us on our journey. It was such a sweet, impromptu act that felt so genuine. It was a gesture of love from an unlikely place. I mean, it's nice when a pastor or deacon pulls you aside to pray for you, but it's something special when your movers want to go out of their way to bless you.
-10 hours of driving in one day is overwhelming.
-We had a great time visiting my college roommate and her mother (who happened to be in town)! I wish we could have stayed longer, though I'm sure Sammy (the cat) was glad to see Sophie get out of his space.
-Illinois takes too long to drive across.
-Nothing could have topped our little motel in Allison. It was a perfect place to land for a week. I knew every moment of the day that we arrived in rural Iowa, because corn fields stretched as far as the eye could see. Driving into Waverly took us by an ethanol plant and wind turbines.
-On a related note, life is different here. These people live close to the land, and they have no incentive to pollute it (outside of pesticide use and the flowing of sediment into the rivers from overfarming, which are growing issues). Much of the produce sold in stores is organic. They intentionally keep antibiotics out of the milk and meat. They started using wind power in the early 90s. As I've heard a few times, they "went green before it was hip to go green." Community gardens have been springing up all over the city, in places left abandoned after the last catastrophic flood (2008).
-People are generally quite friendly, rather simple, but very genuine. They consider themselves people of the earth, even when they aren't farmers (but their parents were farmers). Common buzz words here: community, neighbors, justice. We've been invited to numerous welcome dinners since we arrived. Apparently that's how society flourishes in a small town. Instead of big-city attractions, you have each other. Yet most people we've met are from Iowa, or other small towns around the Midwest. Generally, more people leave here to go to big cities than the other way around.
-Kati is awesome for stopping by and helping me start my garden. This place didn't feel like it could be home until she got here and helped me cultivate this new home. God bless my friends from seminary. I miss them already.
-My asthma has improved dramatically since we arrived here. I rode my bicycle the other day, and for the first time in many years, I did not have an asthma attack.
-Our list of blessings has far outgrown our list of concerns. I feel so humbled by God's providence.
Speaking of my seminary friends, how are all of you on your new and old journeys?
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