Here, read this.
There is so much good here: gathering young people to take part in exciting worship (the liturgy-loving part of me is fascinated), raising awareness of a serious issue, donating items to local homeless shelters, and raising money. Whether you like the evangelical overtones of the Passion Conference or not, it gets young people excited to be actively part of the kingdom of God in a way that is tangible and life re-orienting. As someone who was raised evangelical before going mainline, I see the same kind of passion and fire out of people who go to these events as I see in Presbyterian youth and college students who spend time on the "mountaintop" at camp.
What I wonder, though, is if these super-large gatherings are not examples of fresh ideas thrown into old models. What I see in this sort of event is an updated version of a revival for young people. I can just hear the old Southern Baptists I grew up with, saying they know exactly what this country needs, and that's a "good ol' hellfire revival." (I cannot attest to the presence or absence of hellfire at Passion, though I might guess there's not too much of that going on with people who are discussing human trafficking).
The thing I specifically wonder about is how best to empower and implement such a huge crowd of young people and how to inspire a passion for the kingdom of God here in this place. It's an honest question: what all could be done with so many passionate young people?
Is the main drive of this conference to raise money, and should young people really be targeted and fed the very powerful worship experience of a modern-day revival in order to convince them to give money? Fundraising and young people put together concerns me. They're not exactly sitting on huge inheritances, and I wonder how many of those young people are about to finish college and not have work for many years. I understand the importance of cultivating financial stewardship among young people, and I know very well where that money is going (having spent 3 years involved in homeless/hunger ministry in Atlanta with exposure to the system that upholds human trafficking in that city). But if raising money is the goal, or one of several specific goasl, for such a conference, is there a line of exploitation and is that line being crossed? Again, it's an honest question and not rhetorical. I really want to know.
Secondly, I wonder if these young people are being prepared and equipped with what they need for successful ministry after they learn about/become aware of the issues. Education is a great first step. Empowerment is equally important though. The first without the second leads to cynicism and hopelessness, a sense of knowing what's wrong with the world and not really knowing what on earth we can do about it.
I have a great (glowing, ecstatic) appreciation for the culture shift this conference represents. I cannot imagine any of my childhood preachers talking about human trafficking in those terms. They would talk about the evils of prostitution, but they would never dare to ask why she/he is being prostituted in the first place. The cultural shift is monumental, and it might be the very thing that will change entrenched laws for the better. As a pastor, I can't help but imagine the theological shift this also represents. It's enough to make me cry with joy.
But if you had that many young people educated and fired up about such an important issue, what would you call them to do? I feel like we in the church must have more structured ways to get young people into hands-on work. Mission years have long filled that need for structure, but the mission field is changing drastically right now. It's becoming more local with less overhead and more long-term commitment. Many young missionaries I've spoken with tell me they loved every minute of their mission experience, but they often come away with a feeling of having done a disservice- they came, had a life-changing experience, and then left. The children they were teaching to speak English fell in love with the missionary, worked out all the kinks in the relationship, and then a new missionary came in. That one will leave soon too. Many missionaries have inadequate training for what they are doing. There is little stability for those who were receiving services. Many missionaries say they wouldn't do a year-long mission trip again. If they go again, they go for life. No more transient relationships, no more half-commitments, more investment in long-term goals.
So, how do we help empower these young people to meaningful mission when they are in a transient period of life? Are we preparing them for later, when they have steady jobs and can take on long-term relationships with non-profits, agencies, churches, missions, work programs, etc? Does the Passion Conference necessarily need to be a mountaintop experience that fuels these young people before they return to their everyday studies? Does the passion outsize the capability of commitment in the immediacy?
Overall, I feel the tangible good outweighs my concerns, no matter how my questions are answered. I'm still wondering how this fits into a larger view of economics and law, and the work of the church. I watched the college students across the street return to campus today, with moms and dads helping carry loads of (clean) laundry in baskets and new gadgets from Christmas. It brought me back a little, to a time when I could fit everything I owned in the back of my Ford Taurus Station Wagon, back when life was centered around this one goal of "getting a good education." What a bewildering time of life! I've since gained huge respect for the students who tell me they have no idea what they will do in life, that they are still figuring everything out. Maybe these are the folks who need some Passion and empowerment.
I'd love to hear about the Passion Conference from someone who attended. What were your impressions? Do you think it was big on hype and low on commitment? Do you think it really inspired those present to the work of the kingdom of God?
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Shifting Perspectives
I haven't written much here lately, and it's because my life has become very secretive. I've never liked secrets- they create pockets of control and manipulation. Transparency and honesty are two of my favorite things. I feel that my role as pastor-preacher is "to tell the truth." My favorite genre of reading is non-fiction. I spend a lot of my day reading the news. You get the picture.
Willfully hiding information from people is not part of my persona, but it has become that way. I don't know how I could be honest and tell the truth, even though I wanted to tell the truth with all my being.
The truth is: I am pregnant. At this moment, I'm 20 weeks pregnant. There is nothing controversial or terribly unexpected about my pregnancy. My husband and I were trying. We are both overwhelmed with excitement. This baby is already very loved- by us, by his family, by my family, by our friends, by perfect strangers.
Why the secret then? Why was I so unwilling to share the news before?
1) I was terrified I would miscarry and it'd be everyone's business (or worse, some 30 weeks after a miscarriage getting asked by a distant friend how the pregnancy is going); over and over, telling everyone that I miscarried, like beating my head against a wall. Supplementing my own sense of guilt over something I did or didn't do with the whispering of others that I push myself too hard, implying that I'm unfit to be a mother.
2) Every friend who has miscarried silently and out of public view would get to watch my beautiful, healthy pregnancy go perfectly well, with daily facebook updates about how great I feel and how perfect my child will be. And then I'd post all these darling photos of a healthy little baby, a contrast to their keepsake footprints made shortly after their baby was stillborn.
The secret is over. If something happens now, it'll be everyone's business. No, it's not fair that I have a healthy little baby swimming around and other women never got to have their own. I grieve with you, even when I don't know your name. I do not mean to rub your tragedy in your face. I may still know your grief in the months or years to come. I am acutely aware of that. I know it feels like everyone in the world is pregnant right now.
***
Apparently our baby is a boy. He'll be born the 4th living generation of men- to his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather (who is now 97). His great-grandfather was an engineer, a Soviet officer who served in WWII, a rugged outdoorsman and gentle reciter of poetry. His grandfather is an acclaimed cellist who tours and performs in great halls around the world, who was friends with Mstislav Rostropovich, and who will cross all manner of cultural boundaries to have a conversation with another human being. His father is a professor and a fantastic violinist and conductor, a gentle caretaker whose first language is empowerment and love. What stories our son will create and share with his grandchildren! How beautiful and blessed and broken are the stories of all his foremothers and forefathers. How beautiful and blessed and broken will be my son's life.
Here is this child of my womb, a stranger to whom I am closer than anyone. Tied together as one, we are not yet separated into our distinct beings yet. He cannot be passed off to his father yet (though I sometimes wish D. could take a turn being pregnant for a while); he cannot sit in his grandmother's arms for hours yet, staring into her eyes and learning who she is and how much she loves him, this baby a part of her too.
He may not know what it means to be distinct and autonomous yet. He will one day learn. But I know what it is to be distinct and autonomous, and now here is this baby that is part of me, connected, dependent, in need of nurture and care. I have known interdependence before- it is one of my favorite parts of life. But this is distinctly new. I don't know if I've ever known birth or rebirth as much as I know it now, here in this new perspective. In a way, I always have. I have always loved people in a sense that was deeply connected; I've always been a mother in that way.
But to suddenly find myself carrying a beautiful mystery in my womb with a future and a past, who is shockingly present right here and now in that face on the ultrasound and that dancing movement I feel at night...I suddenly understand this transcendent love that I knew only in part before. And I do know only in part still.
How do you describe this great mystery of love? Such a thing is so great, we save it for poets and musicians and preachers to describe. I am a couple of those things, yet I am struck silent in approaching so great a mystery. Like the priest Zechariah, I am mute in the face of a miracle.
This son of mine is a life out of the midst of death. Truth be told, had my husband's plane not returned on the day it did, had my mother-in-law not died the day she did, had one of a number of things changed, my son would not be kicking around in my womb now. Even while I have grieved my mother-in-law's death, I have been the bearer of new life.
One day recently, while walking an outdoor labyrinth in prayer, longing to be with my mother-in-law again, praying for resurrection, aching for the kingdom of God to come, I reached the center of the circular path. I looked at the winding journey that brought me there. I realized I was in the womb of the labyrinth, carrying the seed of new life in my own womb. The resurrection of the dead is somehow inside me, growing, sleeping, moving, preparing, waiting to burst forth into this world. What better way to think of the coming kingdom of God?
This is my secret. I am the bearer of new life. But the more I sit in my mute silence, the more I realize you are all the bearers of new life. My husband and I may have implemented the standard functioning of human reproduction, as has been done billions of times over the history of the world, but it seems we have been bearing life all along. You all- you have been bearing life all along. May the life that God bears in you show you the way of the kingdom of God. I leave you with this quote from Jurgen Moltmann, from his book, Spirit of Life:
"So the essential thing is to affirm life- the life of other creatures- the life of other people- our own lives. If we do not, there will be no rebirth and no restoration of the life that is threatened. But anyone who really says 'yes' to life says 'no' to war. Anyone who really loves life says 'no' to poverty. So the people who truly affirm and love life take up the struggle against violence and injustice. They refuse to get used to it. They do not conform. They resist."
Willfully hiding information from people is not part of my persona, but it has become that way. I don't know how I could be honest and tell the truth, even though I wanted to tell the truth with all my being.
The truth is: I am pregnant. At this moment, I'm 20 weeks pregnant. There is nothing controversial or terribly unexpected about my pregnancy. My husband and I were trying. We are both overwhelmed with excitement. This baby is already very loved- by us, by his family, by my family, by our friends, by perfect strangers.
Why the secret then? Why was I so unwilling to share the news before?
1) I was terrified I would miscarry and it'd be everyone's business (or worse, some 30 weeks after a miscarriage getting asked by a distant friend how the pregnancy is going); over and over, telling everyone that I miscarried, like beating my head against a wall. Supplementing my own sense of guilt over something I did or didn't do with the whispering of others that I push myself too hard, implying that I'm unfit to be a mother.
2) Every friend who has miscarried silently and out of public view would get to watch my beautiful, healthy pregnancy go perfectly well, with daily facebook updates about how great I feel and how perfect my child will be. And then I'd post all these darling photos of a healthy little baby, a contrast to their keepsake footprints made shortly after their baby was stillborn.
The secret is over. If something happens now, it'll be everyone's business. No, it's not fair that I have a healthy little baby swimming around and other women never got to have their own. I grieve with you, even when I don't know your name. I do not mean to rub your tragedy in your face. I may still know your grief in the months or years to come. I am acutely aware of that. I know it feels like everyone in the world is pregnant right now.
***
Apparently our baby is a boy. He'll be born the 4th living generation of men- to his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather (who is now 97). His great-grandfather was an engineer, a Soviet officer who served in WWII, a rugged outdoorsman and gentle reciter of poetry. His grandfather is an acclaimed cellist who tours and performs in great halls around the world, who was friends with Mstislav Rostropovich, and who will cross all manner of cultural boundaries to have a conversation with another human being. His father is a professor and a fantastic violinist and conductor, a gentle caretaker whose first language is empowerment and love. What stories our son will create and share with his grandchildren! How beautiful and blessed and broken are the stories of all his foremothers and forefathers. How beautiful and blessed and broken will be my son's life.
Here is this child of my womb, a stranger to whom I am closer than anyone. Tied together as one, we are not yet separated into our distinct beings yet. He cannot be passed off to his father yet (though I sometimes wish D. could take a turn being pregnant for a while); he cannot sit in his grandmother's arms for hours yet, staring into her eyes and learning who she is and how much she loves him, this baby a part of her too.
He may not know what it means to be distinct and autonomous yet. He will one day learn. But I know what it is to be distinct and autonomous, and now here is this baby that is part of me, connected, dependent, in need of nurture and care. I have known interdependence before- it is one of my favorite parts of life. But this is distinctly new. I don't know if I've ever known birth or rebirth as much as I know it now, here in this new perspective. In a way, I always have. I have always loved people in a sense that was deeply connected; I've always been a mother in that way.
But to suddenly find myself carrying a beautiful mystery in my womb with a future and a past, who is shockingly present right here and now in that face on the ultrasound and that dancing movement I feel at night...I suddenly understand this transcendent love that I knew only in part before. And I do know only in part still.
How do you describe this great mystery of love? Such a thing is so great, we save it for poets and musicians and preachers to describe. I am a couple of those things, yet I am struck silent in approaching so great a mystery. Like the priest Zechariah, I am mute in the face of a miracle.
This son of mine is a life out of the midst of death. Truth be told, had my husband's plane not returned on the day it did, had my mother-in-law not died the day she did, had one of a number of things changed, my son would not be kicking around in my womb now. Even while I have grieved my mother-in-law's death, I have been the bearer of new life.
One day recently, while walking an outdoor labyrinth in prayer, longing to be with my mother-in-law again, praying for resurrection, aching for the kingdom of God to come, I reached the center of the circular path. I looked at the winding journey that brought me there. I realized I was in the womb of the labyrinth, carrying the seed of new life in my own womb. The resurrection of the dead is somehow inside me, growing, sleeping, moving, preparing, waiting to burst forth into this world. What better way to think of the coming kingdom of God?
This is my secret. I am the bearer of new life. But the more I sit in my mute silence, the more I realize you are all the bearers of new life. My husband and I may have implemented the standard functioning of human reproduction, as has been done billions of times over the history of the world, but it seems we have been bearing life all along. You all- you have been bearing life all along. May the life that God bears in you show you the way of the kingdom of God. I leave you with this quote from Jurgen Moltmann, from his book, Spirit of Life:
"So the essential thing is to affirm life- the life of other creatures- the life of other people- our own lives. If we do not, there will be no rebirth and no restoration of the life that is threatened. But anyone who really says 'yes' to life says 'no' to war. Anyone who really loves life says 'no' to poverty. So the people who truly affirm and love life take up the struggle against violence and injustice. They refuse to get used to it. They do not conform. They resist."
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Creative Destruction (with dialogue)
I feel there is a lesson for the church in this story: http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/headlines/2012/08/elderly-woman-ruins-19th-century-fresco-in-restoration-attempt/
Maybe, when we feel motivated toward "creative destruction," we should all talk about it together before one person makes a decision to "go and do something about it."
Maybe, when we feel motivated toward "creative destruction," we should all talk about it together before one person makes a decision to "go and do something about it."
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Food that nourishes the body, nourishes the soul
For when life is difficult and unpredictable:
Salmon with rice and cabbage (for 1)
-1 small fillet of wild-caught salmon
-1/2 cup uncooked rice
-a bunch of cabbage leaves
-1 tsp. white wine
-2 tsps. (divided) lemon juice
-1 tsp. olive oil
-1 tsp. (divided) "Mediterranean" style seasonings
-olives are garnish (opt.)
-water
Using a rice cooker, cook rice in water and splash of olive oil. Add whole cabbage leaves to steamer, sprinkle with 1 tsp. lemon juice, and steam for last 5 minutes of rice cooking cycle. Place small salmon fillet on microwavable plate, pour white wine and 1 tsp. lemon juice on top, and season with half of seasonings. Cook on high for 2 minutes or until it flakes easily with fork. Add rice and cabbage to plate, season with remaining seasonings, add olives.
Salmon with rice and cabbage (for 1)
-1 small fillet of wild-caught salmon
-1/2 cup uncooked rice
-a bunch of cabbage leaves
-1 tsp. white wine
-2 tsps. (divided) lemon juice
-1 tsp. olive oil
-1 tsp. (divided) "Mediterranean" style seasonings
-olives are garnish (opt.)
-water
Using a rice cooker, cook rice in water and splash of olive oil. Add whole cabbage leaves to steamer, sprinkle with 1 tsp. lemon juice, and steam for last 5 minutes of rice cooking cycle. Place small salmon fillet on microwavable plate, pour white wine and 1 tsp. lemon juice on top, and season with half of seasonings. Cook on high for 2 minutes or until it flakes easily with fork. Add rice and cabbage to plate, season with remaining seasonings, add olives.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
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.
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
Friday, July 6, 2012
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.
___________________________________________
"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.
______________________________________________
"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.
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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.
___________________________________________
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!)
___________________________________________
*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.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Newer News
If you couldn't tell, my writing energies have been funneled into sermons and liturgy lately. This occasion for writing has been a stretch and challenge for me- as now I have a very specific context for writing liturgy and sermons- and I'm not sure others would follow what I am writing. Therefore, I am not brave enough to post anything here. One day, when I am in a different place, I'll read over my material again with fresh eyes and see if there's anything useful about it for any of you, dear readers.
With summer has come eating out of the garden again. Fresh fruit, organic veggies from the CSA, fresh-baked breads on Sabbath- I love eating this time of year. This year, I am helping maintain a communal garden. This year also happens to be rather dry. There's lots of rain dancing and hardly much success. The rare rainy nights seem like small miracles.
Again, I hear a call from God to dwell with the outcasts and strangers. I still don't know what this looks like or where to begin. I see glimpses, but when I chase after them they disappear. Part of me wonders if I will look back at this time of my life and think that I was quite blind to all the signs. Blindness is hardly a condition one can overcome alone. Rural life is very isolating, but then again so is living in the middle of a big city. I will just wait and see what happens. I'm not sure what this time is supposed to be about. Patience?
Again, I hear a call from God to dwell with the outcasts and strangers. I still don't know what this looks like or where to begin. I see glimpses, but when I chase after them they disappear. Part of me wonders if I will look back at this time of my life and think that I was quite blind to all the signs. Blindness is hardly a condition one can overcome alone. Rural life is very isolating, but then again so is living in the middle of a big city. I will just wait and see what happens. I'm not sure what this time is supposed to be about. Patience?
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