Last night, I had a nightmare. Not one of those vague anxiety dreams about too many papers to write and an endless drive-thru at McDonalds, where I work. No, last night was truly horrible: I am-- in the dream-- pregnant. I am a Truman student as I am in real life, with no husband, without even a boyfriend. I am panicking as I have never panicked before; how could this possibly be happening to me? My friends' reactions range from disappointment to embarrassment to anger. My body aches and my belly feels as though it will burst. I tell my professors I am dropping out of college to raise my baby, and they look back with shock and sorrow. I quit my church out of shame, unable to look anybody in the eye, my dreams of ordained ministry shot. I am on the floor in front of my father, groaning, "Daddy, Daddy, can you believe that I'm a virgin?" My father laughs mirthlessly, shakes his head silently, seemingly unable to speak. I run throughout Truman's campus in desperation, begging God to take this baby away from me...
And then I woke up. For one horrifying moment I felt my stomach, full of Christmas sugar cookies my mother had baked, and thought it was true. Reality set in and I knew I had a lot of plates to spin, but a pregnancy was not one of them. But the dread, the physical terror, remained vivid. I love babies. But being pregnant now, at twenty one, would be devastating. Psychologically, relationally, educationally, physically, vocationally... I would be devastated.
(I don't mean to offend people who became parents young. I know things happen, and I applaud anyone who can shoulder that sort of responsibility at such a young age. I am simply saying for me, and for many of my fellow Truman students, a pregnancy now would be terrible.)
As I lay in that twilight between sleep and wakefulness, it hit me: Two thousand years ago, give or take, for a teenager named Mary, my nightmare was reality.
What did Mary's friends say? What about the people at synagogue? The neighbors? How did she tell her grandparents, her parents? How did she tell Joseph? One day, she was daydreaming about their wedding, plotting their new life together. Then, she had to bear a dangerous secret and the scorn of everyone she knew and loved.
But Mary had a choice. God always gives people choices. She could have told Gabriel to go fly away. She could have asked God to pick some well-off, married lady instead who could better provide for this little bundle of joy, whose life would not be marred by scandal.
Instead, Mary said, "Here am I, the maidservant of the Lord."
Being the Lord's servant can lead to a lot of heartache. Mary could have been stoned, as she surely knew when the angel approached her. She nearly lost Joseph. Christmas tell us plainly that sometimes God asks us to risk everything.
We so often sentimentalize Christmas, whitewash a rather harrowing story. God used my nightmare to make me think about the shame and fear and desperation Mary must have gone through. But Christmas doesn't stop there, of course.
Christmas promises that God asks ordinary people to do extraordinary things for his kingdom, even though it might involve extraordinary danger.
Christmas promises that God wants to partner with people to accomplish God's tasks.
Christmas promises that God rewards radical faith like Mary's.
I don't want to have a baby like Mary did now. Or ever, really-- the giving birth video in sixth grade health class achieved its goal of scarring me for life, thank you very much. But I pray for the faith like Mary's to keep saying, Here am I, Lord, even when the going gets tough.
(And P.S., in case anybody reading this takes my dream seriously-- I am in absolutely no danger of getting pregnant now or in the foreseeable future!)
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Thursday, December 19, 2013
A Month of Sundays
I just finished A Month of Sundays, John Updike's at once haunting and hilarious novel composed of journal entries by the wayward Rev. Tom Marshfield. This married Episcopal priest carries on a months-long affair with his organist and soon moves on to sleep with women of all ages in his congregation. The organist is upset he is cheating on her and spills all. Tom's bishop sends him to a rehab program in which he must write a journal entry every day. By the end he has reflected upon the whole story with some soberness, but plenty of snark, and in the final entry he examines his tryst with his therapist at the rehab program!
I'm embarrassed to say I devoured the book. I couldn't stop reading late into Saturday night, knowing I would be tired for church in the morning but Updike had sucked me in! The book is definitely R-rated, but pornography this is not. Instead, it's a fascinating work of art that traces the psychological and spiritual path of a dramatic fall from grace. What does this book mean? More than I can figure out. But I have some ideas.
Tom has some fantastic lines, words I want to wrench from the context of this lurid book and misattribute and use in sermons or something else because they're just so wise. Like this one: "Compassion is not simple. That is where you so heretically condescend. You give your simple compassion to those whom you imagine to be simple." What a great insight into so much flat, paternalistic, "Christian" "charity." Or, "Irony is the style of our cowardice." Or, "Our body looks up at us as from a cloudy pool, but it is us, our reflection." So good!
And I suppose that's partly Updike's point. People can say wise things without being wise themselves. Smooth words are not necessarily indicative of an unstained soul. Jesus says that at the end people will say "Lord, Lord!" and Jesus will reply, "Go away; I never knew you." As soon as we're lying to God we're in huge trouble. That kind of empty, insincere piety can't fool Jesus, but it sure can fool people, like Tom's congregation.
And Tom himself. He seems unaware of the consequences of his own actions. He insists he doesn't want to separate from his wife, yet continues to blatantly sleep with more and more women. In a bizarre scene, while in bed with a deacon's wife Tom practically coerces this stunned woman to recant her belief in God and howls that Christianity is just a fairy tale. Yet he stubbornly clings to his profession and is surprised to face disciplinary action even though his harem has swelled to alarming ranks. Tom is out of touch with reality; he sees himself as untouchable. That blind, relentless pride is a major factor in his moral decay. If normal rules no longer apply to me, I am free in the most dangerous way possible, free to destroy myself and everyone around me.
And I say I because I could do it too. Bed a third of the congregation? No, fornication isn't my style. But I think massive pride, though, and an ego of soul-crushing proportion is an omnipresent danger for most people, myself included. A lot of clergy and leaders in general seem susceptible to that sort of egoism. And it can lead to a whole host of sins, of which Tom's sensational serial adultery is but one.
Another thought: Tom was no longer accountable to anybody. Having ceased believing in God, he was certainly not holding himself to the Spirit's refining fire of examination. And he disengages with his wife, disdains his associate pastor, and never makes mention of colleagues in ministry or any sense of participation in community. His mistress the organist makes some apparently salutary suggestions about improving his preaching and cutting back on music-- all during their trysts! And the final journal entry's description of his sleeping with the therapist highlights that he isn't being challenged by her, either. Without anyone to lovingly question us, inquire how much sleep we're getting, take us out to dinner and refuse to budge until we divulge what's really on our minds... we lose the Spirit's movement in the community. Everybody, especially pastors, is in doubly big trouble when they've isolated themselves. Tom has become an expert in adroitly cutting off this kind of sacred intimacy, barters it away for cheap sex, which resembles but ultimately avoids the kind of intimacy Tom desperately needs. I think Updike wants us to ask ourselves if we're guilty of the same sin, perhaps committed in smaller, less grandiose ways.
I can't quite explicitly recommend this book since it is so explicit in parts-- body parts. Detailed body parts. But it's such a fine literary work and a thought provoking study in the anatomy of sin for anybody over eighteen, I'd say. Updike's choice to make A Month of Sundays a series of journal entries makes us feel awfully close to Rev. Tom. Which is a good thing, because most of us aren't that far from becoming, in one way or another, like him.
I'm embarrassed to say I devoured the book. I couldn't stop reading late into Saturday night, knowing I would be tired for church in the morning but Updike had sucked me in! The book is definitely R-rated, but pornography this is not. Instead, it's a fascinating work of art that traces the psychological and spiritual path of a dramatic fall from grace. What does this book mean? More than I can figure out. But I have some ideas.
Tom has some fantastic lines, words I want to wrench from the context of this lurid book and misattribute and use in sermons or something else because they're just so wise. Like this one: "Compassion is not simple. That is where you so heretically condescend. You give your simple compassion to those whom you imagine to be simple." What a great insight into so much flat, paternalistic, "Christian" "charity." Or, "Irony is the style of our cowardice." Or, "Our body looks up at us as from a cloudy pool, but it is us, our reflection." So good!
And I suppose that's partly Updike's point. People can say wise things without being wise themselves. Smooth words are not necessarily indicative of an unstained soul. Jesus says that at the end people will say "Lord, Lord!" and Jesus will reply, "Go away; I never knew you." As soon as we're lying to God we're in huge trouble. That kind of empty, insincere piety can't fool Jesus, but it sure can fool people, like Tom's congregation.
And Tom himself. He seems unaware of the consequences of his own actions. He insists he doesn't want to separate from his wife, yet continues to blatantly sleep with more and more women. In a bizarre scene, while in bed with a deacon's wife Tom practically coerces this stunned woman to recant her belief in God and howls that Christianity is just a fairy tale. Yet he stubbornly clings to his profession and is surprised to face disciplinary action even though his harem has swelled to alarming ranks. Tom is out of touch with reality; he sees himself as untouchable. That blind, relentless pride is a major factor in his moral decay. If normal rules no longer apply to me, I am free in the most dangerous way possible, free to destroy myself and everyone around me.
And I say I because I could do it too. Bed a third of the congregation? No, fornication isn't my style. But I think massive pride, though, and an ego of soul-crushing proportion is an omnipresent danger for most people, myself included. A lot of clergy and leaders in general seem susceptible to that sort of egoism. And it can lead to a whole host of sins, of which Tom's sensational serial adultery is but one.
Another thought: Tom was no longer accountable to anybody. Having ceased believing in God, he was certainly not holding himself to the Spirit's refining fire of examination. And he disengages with his wife, disdains his associate pastor, and never makes mention of colleagues in ministry or any sense of participation in community. His mistress the organist makes some apparently salutary suggestions about improving his preaching and cutting back on music-- all during their trysts! And the final journal entry's description of his sleeping with the therapist highlights that he isn't being challenged by her, either. Without anyone to lovingly question us, inquire how much sleep we're getting, take us out to dinner and refuse to budge until we divulge what's really on our minds... we lose the Spirit's movement in the community. Everybody, especially pastors, is in doubly big trouble when they've isolated themselves. Tom has become an expert in adroitly cutting off this kind of sacred intimacy, barters it away for cheap sex, which resembles but ultimately avoids the kind of intimacy Tom desperately needs. I think Updike wants us to ask ourselves if we're guilty of the same sin, perhaps committed in smaller, less grandiose ways.
I can't quite explicitly recommend this book since it is so explicit in parts-- body parts. Detailed body parts. But it's such a fine literary work and a thought provoking study in the anatomy of sin for anybody over eighteen, I'd say. Updike's choice to make A Month of Sundays a series of journal entries makes us feel awfully close to Rev. Tom. Which is a good thing, because most of us aren't that far from becoming, in one way or another, like him.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
A Certain Kind of Afterlife
A couple weeks back, in my Death and Dying class, we watched a documentary entitled, "A Certain Kind of Death." It was probably the most frightening movie I have ever seen. It follows coroners, autopsy people, and basically all the government services that process dead people. They were following people who had no living family or friends nearby to make the phone calls, do the cleanup, go to the funeral, right to the crematorium. Unflinchingly honest, this documentary showed even severely decomposed bodies. At multiple points I nearly lost my breakfast and at other times I could only watch through trembling fingers.
Thank God, and knock on wood, I have never seen a dead body up close and personal. Rotting, black flesh, eyes and nose caving in, maggots in their orifices... it was extremely disgusting. And at the end, they showed bodies at the crematorium, with blood and other fluids dripping everywhere. The technicians put the body in the oven like a pizza, then open it and with a rake break up pieces of bone. Then the bone pieces get ground up in a blender. And if the remains go unclaimed for years... they have to make room for new boxes, and dump them all into a hole in the ground. Clouds of ashes, pieces of people floating through the air... this movie was nothing short of horrific. And yet, it is reality.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Everyone I know, their heads will one day be black and maggots will crawl from their shrinking lips and their orifices will ooze body fluid into the earth. My friends. My professors. My brother and sister. My parents. Me.
That day we watched the movie, I had already planned to go to the nursing home to visit some people from church. I already knew I needed to go, but I felt even more sure about the decision after this chilling documentary. But the whole time, in the back of my mind, I thought: one day these gnarled hands gripping mine will go pale and ghostly and then rot away. And the rest of my mind suppressed the thoughts, knowing that my contemplation of death would show on my face, that people in the nursing home need hope and life, not death, spoken to them.
And as Christians, we have the greatest hope in the world. We do not deny our bodies will become ashes and dust. We know that isn't the end. The clouds of ash, the clouds of people will turn to flesh. The rotting corpses will turn to fresh, shiny life. We believe, as the creed says, in the resurrection of the body.
What must that mean to my old people, whom I love, whom I pity, who stand on the precipice of death so far away from me in my naive youth? The ones with wheelchairs and walkers will run again. The ones who can't hear or see anymore will behold the face and voice of God.
A physical, literal resurrection of the body, not a spiritual heaven but a coming new heavens and new earth... after watching that documentary, I think I understand a bit better. Death is horrible, it's disgusting, frankly. I thought of Martha, who told Jesus Lazarus' body would smell. In that culture, death was more frequent and more public without hospitals and coroners and funeral directors. But death is always unsanitary. Belief in a certain kind of afterlife, the biblical one, in which we will live a perfect, embodied, healed existence, means we can have hope even as we look on the grisliness of death.
And after that horrible Friday, Jesus' body turned that awful translucent, pale color, his tongue lay askew, the hands that healed the blind were like rancid meat...
All so that won't be the end for me. Or for you.
If you can stomach it, it was a good documentary. But keep some tissues and a trash can and a Bible handy.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Rethinking Thanksgiving
My belly is still full and I am about to pass into rich, dreamless sleep, the kind that comes from tryptophan and good memories. However, I've been thinking a lot lately about Thanksgiving. It is a quintessentially American holiday, a fixture of our civil religion. Civil religion isn't necessarily a bad thing. But I think Christians have a responsibility to critically reflect on the ways in which civil religion mingles with their faith, and possibly hinders it.
I am considered about some of the language I hear around Thanksgiving. I squirm a little inside when I hear people give thanks for their possessions, health, affluence. At its worst, an American Thanksgiving becomes a celebration of affluence. And I don't think that pleases God.
That oldie-but-goodie hymn, "Give Thanks," says:
Give thanks with a grateful heart
Give thanks to the Holy One
Give thanks because he's given
Jesus Christ, his Son
We are supposed to give thanks for God's gift of Jesus Christ ( Christmas and Thanksgiving can go together!). Jesus is our ultimate gift, not our shiny cars and big houses. Jesus, after all, had no place to lay his head.
Or another great hymn, "For The Beauty Of The Earth"
For the beauty of the earth
For the beauty of the skies
For the love which from our birth
Over and around us lies
Lord of all, to thee we raise
This, our hymn of grateful praise
God's creation and love received from others and all around... that's why we praise God.
But I know it's hard. I know that even though I'm a college student, I'm extremely rich by global standards, and even by some American standards. I think God wants rich people to acknowledge the spiritual danger of wealth and to feel a moral imperative to give it away.
I am thankful for God's grace. I am thankful for every family member around my Thanksgiving table, and for all of my friends. I am thankful for the hard work my dad does so we can afford Thanksgiving dinner, and my mother's loving labor over our turkey, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie, etc. I pray that day by day I can witness the ways God is at work in my life and the lives of others around me and give thanks. And that I'll be too distracted by grace to be worrying about money.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
An Accidental Field Trip
Because I injured my neck when a box fell on my head at McDonald's, I am taking muscle relaxers. Because I am taking muscle relaxers, I accidentally slept until noon this Sunday morning. Because I accidentally slept until noon, I could not attend church this beautiful morning. Because I couldn't go to morning church, I looked up churches with Sunday night services and landed upon Our Lady of Presentation Catholic Church and Grace Baptist. Because the Catholic Sunday night Mass is in Spanish, I went to Grace Baptist. And that is how a young female liberal Methodist ended up at a King James only, thoroughly Calvinist, all male-led Baptist church tonight.
I walked in and immediately noticed a huge American flag and the flags of every branch of the military on the wall perpendicular to the altar. I was immediately annoyed. I'm very patriotic and I respect the military with all my heart, but that doesn't belong in the sanctuary. One American flag, fine, but church should be about God. The bulletin prattled on about eternal security and getting saved. I immediately thought of the old response to the door-to-door evangelists' query, "Are you saved?"-- "Yes, I was saved on Friday two thousand years ago." And as a PowerPoint connoisseur, I can tell you their PowerPoint was quite amateurish.
In other words, I felt I was entering the buckle of the Bible belt. (All right; that sounded weirder than I meant it to. Perhaps the sterility of the sanctuary stifled my sexual-connotation-radar.) Looking back, I can see I was being snooty, sniffing at their conservatism and dismissing their very real faith.
We sang two simple hymns, "Take My Life" and "Give Thanks." And then, Pastor Pete said we were going to go around the room and each person would say what he or she is thankful for. The results were stunning. Husbands and wives, parents and children thanked God for one another. Grown men were moved to tears by what God has done for them. And nearly every person showed a deep, organic understanding of the ways God has moved in their lives; they were thinking theologically, and it was impressive. Luckily, I was sitting in the far back corner of the sanctuary and I was one of the last people to say what I am thankful for.
I said I am thankful for the ways God calls each one of us. I knew I could not thank God for calling me into the ministry there because these folks would think I am damned for being a woman called to be a pastor. But when I said I'm thankful for my calling, these far right folks nodded heartily. I continued, "And thank you God, for bringing me here tonight. I've learned a whole lot."
And I meant it. Then, Pastor Pete said we were supposed to get in small groups and pray together. Every person in my group thanked God for me. These strangers talked to God about me. It was quite moving.
I am truly thankful I went there tonight, or rather that God led me to Grace Baptist. Of course I'm as Methodist as ever, but I think we liberals can learn some stuff from the right-wingers. And more importantly, so many right wingers are devout disciples. I really want to try the going around the circle and giving thanks thing. Not in worship; I feel strongly that worship needs to be more engaging than that. Maybe in a small group or Sunday School class I'll lead one day. I pray the church God gives me to lead, if that's his will, will be red hot with Holy Spirit fire like these KJV-only Baptists. I guess the Holy Spirit really does go wherever he wishes, like Jesus says in John 3. And sometimes, it's the "open-minded" who are actually trying to close doors. I'm thankful this Sunday that the Holy Spirit isn't bound by my prejudices.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Liturgy with John Lennon
L: Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup
C: You give abundant showers, O God; you refreshed your weary inheritance (Psalm 68:9)
L: They slither wildly as they slip away across the universe
C: Your loyal love extends beyond the sky (Psalm 108:4)
L: Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my open mind
C: We are sorrowful, yet always rejoicing (2 Corinthians 6:10)
L: Possessing and caressing me
C: We are your children through faith in Jesus Christ (Galatians 3:26)
L: Jai garu deva om
C: Victory to God, Divine.
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: We are more than conquerors through him who loved us
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: Neither death nor life, neither angels nor rulers
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: Nor things present, nor things to come
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: Will separate us from the love of God (Romans 8:37-39)
L: Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes
C: You answered us, Write the vision, make it plain on tablets (Habakkuk 2:2)
L: They call me on and on across the universe
C: Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening (1 Samuel 3:10)
L: Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box
C: Then you spoke out of the whirlwind, and answered (Job 38:1)
L: They tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe
C: The wind blows where it will. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit. (John 3:8)
L: Jai garu deva om
C: Victory to God, Divine.
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: And we also were included in Christ
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: We heard your word, the truth of our salvation
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: We were marked with a seal, with the Holy Spirit
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: We are your possession (Ephesians 1:13-14)
L: Sounds of laughter, shades of life are ringing through my open ears
C: Your joy is in us, and our joy is complete (John 15:11)
L: Inciting and inviting me
C: You invited many guests to your banquet; you said everything is made ready (Luke 14:17)
L: Limitless undying love which shines around me like a million suns
C: Your word is a lamp to our feet and a light to our path (Psalm 119:105)
L: It calls me on and on across the universe
C: You have said, "Here am I, here am I," all the day long (Isaiah 65:1)
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: You keep us strong until the end
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: We will be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: You have called us into fellowship
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: And you are faithful (1 Corinthians 1:8-9)
L: Jai garu deva om
C: Victory to God, Divine
L: Jai garu deva om
C: Victory to God, Divine
L: Jai garu deva om
C: Victory to God, Divine
L: Jai garu deva om
C: Victory to God, Divine
C: You give abundant showers, O God; you refreshed your weary inheritance (Psalm 68:9)
L: They slither wildly as they slip away across the universe
C: Your loyal love extends beyond the sky (Psalm 108:4)
L: Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my open mind
C: We are sorrowful, yet always rejoicing (2 Corinthians 6:10)
L: Possessing and caressing me
C: We are your children through faith in Jesus Christ (Galatians 3:26)
L: Jai garu deva om
C: Victory to God, Divine.
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: We are more than conquerors through him who loved us
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: Neither death nor life, neither angels nor rulers
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: Nor things present, nor things to come
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: Will separate us from the love of God (Romans 8:37-39)
L: Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes
C: You answered us, Write the vision, make it plain on tablets (Habakkuk 2:2)
L: They call me on and on across the universe
C: Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening (1 Samuel 3:10)
L: Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box
C: Then you spoke out of the whirlwind, and answered (Job 38:1)
L: They tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe
C: The wind blows where it will. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit. (John 3:8)
L: Jai garu deva om
C: Victory to God, Divine.
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: And we also were included in Christ
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: We heard your word, the truth of our salvation
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: We were marked with a seal, with the Holy Spirit
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: We are your possession (Ephesians 1:13-14)
L: Sounds of laughter, shades of life are ringing through my open ears
C: Your joy is in us, and our joy is complete (John 15:11)
L: Inciting and inviting me
C: You invited many guests to your banquet; you said everything is made ready (Luke 14:17)
L: Limitless undying love which shines around me like a million suns
C: Your word is a lamp to our feet and a light to our path (Psalm 119:105)
L: It calls me on and on across the universe
C: You have said, "Here am I, here am I," all the day long (Isaiah 65:1)
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: You keep us strong until the end
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: We will be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: You have called us into fellowship
L: Nothing's gonna change my world
C: And you are faithful (1 Corinthians 1:8-9)
L: Jai garu deva om
C: Victory to God, Divine
L: Jai garu deva om
C: Victory to God, Divine
L: Jai garu deva om
C: Victory to God, Divine
L: Jai garu deva om
C: Victory to God, Divine
Thursday, October 31, 2013
A Preaching Slam
Last night I went to a poetry slam, and it was really, really cool. It was my first time in bar, which was nice, although I didn't have anything to drink because I had a huge paper to finish. And some of the slamming poets were pretty attractive and others I'm friends with, but that wasn't it, either.
I think poetry slams can teach me something about preaching. See, a lot of the slams were laugh out loud, uproariously funny. We were guffawing at times, and yet pierced by the stinging barb of their observations. One slammer shouted fiercely: "Don't write!" and proceeded to explain in hilarious detail why everything good that will be written has already been, and if you haven't conquered Derrida, why should the likes of you bother writing a thing? Another slammer howled that his refusal to capitalize and use proper punctuation in text messaging is actually a political statement-- and went on to explain the war between grammar Nazis and commie comma splicers. I'm making it way more boring than it was!
Humor and truth go together. And they go especially nicely with performance.
Sort of makes me think of the prophets, and the best prophet, Jesus. I think their jibes and stinging wit get a bit lost in translation sometimes, excessively softened by our sickening sentimentalism that sees Jesus as meek and mild, cosmic Santa who walks on eggshells to never offend anybody and gives us everything we want. A good poetry slam will shatter that idol, as will even a cursory glance at the gospels or prophets. Well, cognitively shatter it, anyway; these idols remain stubbornly entrenched in our hearts without the saving grace of the living God. Sometimes that grace comes through slam poetry.
Jesus insisted the only way to live is to eat his flesh and drink his blood, with the humorous hard hitting dead serious style of slam. Isaiah proclaimed our righteousness is like filthy rags. And he didn't mean the kind you use to wash your car; he meant the ones that start off clean in the feminine hygiene aisle.
I'm sorry if I offended anybody. But Isaiah isn't, I am sure.
Some religious people take a perverse joy in offending people, and those people are really obnoxious, ironically as bad as the Pharisees whom they claim to hate. I don't think the slammers last night were like that. They were caught up in their message and would use any means possible to rattle us, but they didn't annoy for the sake of annoying. This subtle distinction was clear in their sweaty, sincere, raw faces. And the humor helped, too. It's easier to get the point when we're all laughing or stricken by the absurd. Like when Paul says he counts it all scubula compared to the all surpassing gain of Christ-- scubula is Greek for a word for excrement also beginning with "s" in English. That probably rolled a few heads... but in laughter, in clarity, towards Jesus Christ.
Does that mean I'm going to be a cussin' preacher when/if I get a pulpit? I remember being very young but old enough to know I loved to write, and my mother telling me when (for her it was always a when) I got published, she didn't want to see any swear words and would cross them out if there were any.
So don't freak, Mom, and all the surrogate mothers and grandmothers I will gain by virtue of my ordination. I won't cuss in the pulpit, not aloud, anyway. Those slammers I saw last night would do nothing to distract from their point, from their art. And I will try my utmost to do nothing to distract people from the good news. But sometimes we get the good news best when it comes through jokes, through the absurd.
The kingdom of God is a slam poetry night. And I pray God will make me half as good a slammer in the pulpit as the folks on the Dukum stage.
I think poetry slams can teach me something about preaching. See, a lot of the slams were laugh out loud, uproariously funny. We were guffawing at times, and yet pierced by the stinging barb of their observations. One slammer shouted fiercely: "Don't write!" and proceeded to explain in hilarious detail why everything good that will be written has already been, and if you haven't conquered Derrida, why should the likes of you bother writing a thing? Another slammer howled that his refusal to capitalize and use proper punctuation in text messaging is actually a political statement-- and went on to explain the war between grammar Nazis and commie comma splicers. I'm making it way more boring than it was!
Humor and truth go together. And they go especially nicely with performance.
Sort of makes me think of the prophets, and the best prophet, Jesus. I think their jibes and stinging wit get a bit lost in translation sometimes, excessively softened by our sickening sentimentalism that sees Jesus as meek and mild, cosmic Santa who walks on eggshells to never offend anybody and gives us everything we want. A good poetry slam will shatter that idol, as will even a cursory glance at the gospels or prophets. Well, cognitively shatter it, anyway; these idols remain stubbornly entrenched in our hearts without the saving grace of the living God. Sometimes that grace comes through slam poetry.
Jesus insisted the only way to live is to eat his flesh and drink his blood, with the humorous hard hitting dead serious style of slam. Isaiah proclaimed our righteousness is like filthy rags. And he didn't mean the kind you use to wash your car; he meant the ones that start off clean in the feminine hygiene aisle.
I'm sorry if I offended anybody. But Isaiah isn't, I am sure.
Some religious people take a perverse joy in offending people, and those people are really obnoxious, ironically as bad as the Pharisees whom they claim to hate. I don't think the slammers last night were like that. They were caught up in their message and would use any means possible to rattle us, but they didn't annoy for the sake of annoying. This subtle distinction was clear in their sweaty, sincere, raw faces. And the humor helped, too. It's easier to get the point when we're all laughing or stricken by the absurd. Like when Paul says he counts it all scubula compared to the all surpassing gain of Christ-- scubula is Greek for a word for excrement also beginning with "s" in English. That probably rolled a few heads... but in laughter, in clarity, towards Jesus Christ.
Does that mean I'm going to be a cussin' preacher when/if I get a pulpit? I remember being very young but old enough to know I loved to write, and my mother telling me when (for her it was always a when) I got published, she didn't want to see any swear words and would cross them out if there were any.
So don't freak, Mom, and all the surrogate mothers and grandmothers I will gain by virtue of my ordination. I won't cuss in the pulpit, not aloud, anyway. Those slammers I saw last night would do nothing to distract from their point, from their art. And I will try my utmost to do nothing to distract people from the good news. But sometimes we get the good news best when it comes through jokes, through the absurd.
The kingdom of God is a slam poetry night. And I pray God will make me half as good a slammer in the pulpit as the folks on the Dukum stage.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Classy Quotes
Quotes from readings in my creative nonfiction, Native American lit, and Japanese religion classes that captured my attention lately:
"I also have a commanding stare, large sad brown eyes that can either be read as gentle or severe"
"Many times, my ironic smile is nothing more than a neutral stall among people who do not seem to appreciate my 'contribution.'"-- Phillip Lapote, "Portrait of My Body"
"We gather at the shore of all knowledge as peoples who were put here by a god who wanted relatives.
This god was lonely for touch, and imagined herself as a woman, with children to suckle, to sing with-- to continue the web of the terrifyingly beautiful cosmos of her womb.
This god became a father who wished for others to walk beside him in the belly of creation.
This god laughed and cried with us as a sister at the sweet tragedy of our predicament-- foolish humans
Or built a fire, as our brother to keep us warm
This god who grew to love us became our lover, sharing tables of food enough for everyone in this whole world"-- Joy Harjo, "Reconciliation, A Prayer"
"I'm not afraid of love
or its consequence of light"-- Joy Harjo, "A Creation Story"
"For Christ's purpose is not for us to fathom. His love is a hook sunk deep into our flesh, a question mark that pulls with every breath. Some can dull themselves to the barb's presence. I cannot."-- Louise Erdrich, Tracks
"Listening to the old stories and reading books are for the purpose of sloughing off one's own discrimination and attaching oneself to that of the ancients"
"The highest Way is in discussion with others"-- Yamamoto Tsunetomo, The Book of the Samurai
"I also have a commanding stare, large sad brown eyes that can either be read as gentle or severe"
"Many times, my ironic smile is nothing more than a neutral stall among people who do not seem to appreciate my 'contribution.'"-- Phillip Lapote, "Portrait of My Body"
"We gather at the shore of all knowledge as peoples who were put here by a god who wanted relatives.
This god was lonely for touch, and imagined herself as a woman, with children to suckle, to sing with-- to continue the web of the terrifyingly beautiful cosmos of her womb.
This god became a father who wished for others to walk beside him in the belly of creation.
This god laughed and cried with us as a sister at the sweet tragedy of our predicament-- foolish humans
Or built a fire, as our brother to keep us warm
This god who grew to love us became our lover, sharing tables of food enough for everyone in this whole world"-- Joy Harjo, "Reconciliation, A Prayer"
"I'm not afraid of love
or its consequence of light"-- Joy Harjo, "A Creation Story"
"For Christ's purpose is not for us to fathom. His love is a hook sunk deep into our flesh, a question mark that pulls with every breath. Some can dull themselves to the barb's presence. I cannot."-- Louise Erdrich, Tracks
"Listening to the old stories and reading books are for the purpose of sloughing off one's own discrimination and attaching oneself to that of the ancients"
"The highest Way is in discussion with others"-- Yamamoto Tsunetomo, The Book of the Samurai
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Zen and the Art of Fast Food Service
This crazy busy-ness of this semester is testing, among other things, my blogging ability. But it's okay. I keep reminding myself: It's okay. All manner of a thing shall be well, to say it the religious way.
As I've gushed to many people less religiously nerdy than myself, I'm taking Japanese Religions this semester, and it's absolutely fascinating. Right now we are studying Zen Buddhism, a tradition that especially intrigues me in part because it seems to defy the gospel and yet hint at its promises. Zen is all about discovering your real self and getting rid of your old self. Sound like a certain Jew we all know and love? "Whoever loses his life for my sake will find it." As the old hymn says, quoting Hebrews (I think?), "My life is hid with Christ on high." And yet Zen dismisses notions of a personal deity, or any deity at all, obsessed with inner enlightenment and attainment of Buddha nature.
Zen dismisses the mind body dualism, along with the Hebrew thinkers from Genesis straight down to Revelation. The idea that my body and my personality/soul/mind are separate is not a Jewish one. That's what we mean when we recite the Apostle's Creed: "I believe in the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting." We profess in saying the Creed that life everlasting ultimately requires restoration of our bodies, a latter day resurrection which will come when Jesus returns to set all things right. That dualism comes from Greek, gnostic, and finally Cartesian thinking.
Anyway, Zen says the goal is to make your mind and body one. They sit in zazen or meditation for hours on end, right foot on top of the left thigh and vice versa, spine perfectly straight. They discipline their bodies. As Paul said to the Corinthians centuries before, "I beat my body and make it my slave." You must perform zazen in the proper physical position because of the oneness of mind and body. A disciplined mind needs a disciplined body.
Christianity can get so abstract. We are caught up in thinking about the Trinity and heaven and lots of other things, while ignoring the bodies God gave us.
My best prayer lately has been happening at McDonalds. (Seriously.) I work there a couple nights a week, and while putting on my uniform that has permanently locked in the stench of mingled grease and old ketchup, I think of Wesley's question for candidates for ministry: "Are you in debt so as to embarrass yourself?" And then I wear my hot fudge stained pants and man's sized polo that goes down to my thighs with pride.
But as I mop, sweep, take orders, get drinks, there is a kind of calmness inside. I don't know why. I just shut out everything else. You might think you're standing in front of my counter, but really it's just me and God there, and sometimes my coworkers if they feel like chatting. I'm not thinking very much about you, though, the customer. In the act of tiring out my body by running all over the store and performing menial tasks, my body is sufficiently disciplined to get my mind to shut up. And then God and I, we talk.
I'm not bragging. Really-- for somebody who's going into the ministry, I'm not a good pray-er at all. (I know, I know: there are no bad prayers, just like there are no bad coloring book pictures and no bad Mother's Day crafts.) I struggle to concentrate, to focus. An intellectual, I snobbishly see prayer as beneath me. Or I just don't care. But when I really put my body to work, God and I connect. McDonald's is a kind of zazen. Or, to put it the Christian way, I'm like Brother Lawrence, finding the Lord in fry baskets and sauce buckets. Because he's there.
We Christians could learn a few things from the Zen folks. Like putting our bodies to work in the great work of prayer.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Man, Wanted
Man, wanted
Who will walk me every Sunday down the aisle.
But first you will pray for me, hold my hands, then gently
Zip up that long, black preacher's robe.
You will have more in-laws than you ever dreamed.
My mom and dad, yes-- and the church organist and the
Patriarchs, matriarchs, old timers and youth--
All wondering if you're good enough for me
Good enough to join the family.
You know that I am wedded to another.
The Builder is my husband. First.
And my ordination-- I thought that would be
The wedding.
So I don't know quite what to do with you
And you know it. And you love it, better
Love me, love the crazy life we live
Together.
Man, I am waiting for you, but please don't
Be hurt when I say I don't really know if you're
Out there somewhere; or just in here.
Man, I know you love me and Jesus big enough
To know. To know first a congregation
Crowded my heart but I saved a place
For you.
Who will walk me every Sunday down the aisle.
But first you will pray for me, hold my hands, then gently
Zip up that long, black preacher's robe.
You will have more in-laws than you ever dreamed.
My mom and dad, yes-- and the church organist and the
Patriarchs, matriarchs, old timers and youth--
All wondering if you're good enough for me
Good enough to join the family.
You know that I am wedded to another.
The Builder is my husband. First.
And my ordination-- I thought that would be
The wedding.
So I don't know quite what to do with you
And you know it. And you love it, better
Love me, love the crazy life we live
Together.
Man, I am waiting for you, but please don't
Be hurt when I say I don't really know if you're
Out there somewhere; or just in here.
Man, I know you love me and Jesus big enough
To know. To know first a congregation
Crowded my heart but I saved a place
For you.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Of Mormons and Methodists
For my Religion and American Culture course, I spent a lazy Sunday afternoon watching a four hour documentary on the Mormons. It came out on PBS some years ago, around 2008, I think. Anyway, the Mormons are awfully fascinating. To be clear: I think there are plenty of great Mormon people. In junior high my best friend was a devout Mormon.
But. There is a but, for me. With the lack of evidence for the historicity of the book of Mormon, the unorthodox theology of the Trinity (God the Father, God the Son, and God the Spirit are separate according to Mormonism), and the expansion of the cannon orthodox Christianity has known as closed for centuries... I have some problems with the Mormon faith.
That said, there is a lot milquetoast Methodists and other mainlines can learn from Mormons. For one, the Mormons see themselves as a thoroughly separate people. As John says, they love not the world, nor the things that are in the world. To the point Broadway makes a great musical about them. Too many mainlines are, like Kierkegaard complained of the Danish Lutherans, inoculated with just enough of the Christian virus to be immune to the searing fever of the gospel. But Mormons have a distinct identity in the faith. To be not an employee, not a brother or sister or mother or father, not a student, not even an American-- but a Christian first. That is what Jesus meant when he said give up everything and follow him.
Mormons also know persecution. Mormons living today have grandparents who were killed for the faith in Jackson County, not far from where I sit typing this. (I'm home this weekend.) And in Illinois. They know ridicule, know the stinging loneliness of being in the world, not of it. I think we Methodists have gotten too comfortable. When was the last time I was persecuted for my faith in Jesus Christ? (Actually, I have been lashed for my convictions in the church, not the world. But I'm no martyr, except occasionally in the worst, psychological sense.) What would it look like in today's society to be a martyr with the awesome intensity of Joseph Smith?
Well, doing missionary work is certainly one way. (I'm getting to that later.) Beating the gay and abortion issues to death achieves the goal of distinction from the world, while also making Jesus look wrathful and obnoxious. I'm not really sure how martyrdom can be achieved in America. I think it starts with adopting a Mormon consciousness of separation from the world and dogged determination to live out the faith.
One thing I love about Mormonism: no clergy! Yes, if I were born Mormon (I don't think any white clad hunks at my door could ever get me to convert; I think I'd end up Jewish first), I would not be contemplating professional ministry. Of course, as a woman I couldn't be in Mormon church leadership at all, but I digress.
There is something really cool about the church being run by laity. The pernicious cults of personality around a single charismatic pastor that dissolve the bonds of community, the abiding sense ministry is for the professionals... Mormons sidestep it all. The twelve disciples began as poor fishermen, but Jesus unleashed them for the sacred work of the kingdom. As surely as we are all member of the body of Christ, we all have a job to do. And when clergy start horning in on the laity's work, ceasing to equip them for ministry, the clergy are no longer fulfilling their jobs and the laity haven't gotten to, either.
And get this-- they go on missions! From age eighteen through twenty, every Mormon man has to go on a mission. Not with a bunch of pals on a bus to go do some good work in the day and play Sardines at night-- but they actually go together with one partner to spread the gospel to everyone they find. In the documentary a church leader wept softly, explaining how he was ready to give up the faith, but went on this mission and felt the Holy Spirit draw him in. I think that if the Methodist church did something like this, we'd have so many more young adults and win so many people to Christ. Young, bright people my age want to make a difference in the world, and they'll go anywhere they can to do that. Teach For America and the Peace Corps and the whole bit... and those are great organizations and certainly sincere Christians participate in them and do God's work there. But as Methodists we believe the church must make disciples for the transformation of the world (which can and should be done by laypeople employed in a variety of ministries.) But do we believe it? Do we commission our young men and women to go on a dangerous task, the greatest adventure they've ever known, to find their identity in the church's mission? By and large, no.
We milquetoast Methodists and other mainlines have a lot to learn from Mormons. Don't get me wrong; I like toast. Sometimes the world, wounded by the spear of Pharisaical zeal, needs some toast type Christians. But we have to ultimately be the salt of the earth, and the Mormons are doing a pretty good job.
But. There is a but, for me. With the lack of evidence for the historicity of the book of Mormon, the unorthodox theology of the Trinity (God the Father, God the Son, and God the Spirit are separate according to Mormonism), and the expansion of the cannon orthodox Christianity has known as closed for centuries... I have some problems with the Mormon faith.
That said, there is a lot milquetoast Methodists and other mainlines can learn from Mormons. For one, the Mormons see themselves as a thoroughly separate people. As John says, they love not the world, nor the things that are in the world. To the point Broadway makes a great musical about them. Too many mainlines are, like Kierkegaard complained of the Danish Lutherans, inoculated with just enough of the Christian virus to be immune to the searing fever of the gospel. But Mormons have a distinct identity in the faith. To be not an employee, not a brother or sister or mother or father, not a student, not even an American-- but a Christian first. That is what Jesus meant when he said give up everything and follow him.
Mormons also know persecution. Mormons living today have grandparents who were killed for the faith in Jackson County, not far from where I sit typing this. (I'm home this weekend.) And in Illinois. They know ridicule, know the stinging loneliness of being in the world, not of it. I think we Methodists have gotten too comfortable. When was the last time I was persecuted for my faith in Jesus Christ? (Actually, I have been lashed for my convictions in the church, not the world. But I'm no martyr, except occasionally in the worst, psychological sense.) What would it look like in today's society to be a martyr with the awesome intensity of Joseph Smith?
Well, doing missionary work is certainly one way. (I'm getting to that later.) Beating the gay and abortion issues to death achieves the goal of distinction from the world, while also making Jesus look wrathful and obnoxious. I'm not really sure how martyrdom can be achieved in America. I think it starts with adopting a Mormon consciousness of separation from the world and dogged determination to live out the faith.
One thing I love about Mormonism: no clergy! Yes, if I were born Mormon (I don't think any white clad hunks at my door could ever get me to convert; I think I'd end up Jewish first), I would not be contemplating professional ministry. Of course, as a woman I couldn't be in Mormon church leadership at all, but I digress.
There is something really cool about the church being run by laity. The pernicious cults of personality around a single charismatic pastor that dissolve the bonds of community, the abiding sense ministry is for the professionals... Mormons sidestep it all. The twelve disciples began as poor fishermen, but Jesus unleashed them for the sacred work of the kingdom. As surely as we are all member of the body of Christ, we all have a job to do. And when clergy start horning in on the laity's work, ceasing to equip them for ministry, the clergy are no longer fulfilling their jobs and the laity haven't gotten to, either.
And get this-- they go on missions! From age eighteen through twenty, every Mormon man has to go on a mission. Not with a bunch of pals on a bus to go do some good work in the day and play Sardines at night-- but they actually go together with one partner to spread the gospel to everyone they find. In the documentary a church leader wept softly, explaining how he was ready to give up the faith, but went on this mission and felt the Holy Spirit draw him in. I think that if the Methodist church did something like this, we'd have so many more young adults and win so many people to Christ. Young, bright people my age want to make a difference in the world, and they'll go anywhere they can to do that. Teach For America and the Peace Corps and the whole bit... and those are great organizations and certainly sincere Christians participate in them and do God's work there. But as Methodists we believe the church must make disciples for the transformation of the world (which can and should be done by laypeople employed in a variety of ministries.) But do we believe it? Do we commission our young men and women to go on a dangerous task, the greatest adventure they've ever known, to find their identity in the church's mission? By and large, no.
We milquetoast Methodists and other mainlines have a lot to learn from Mormons. Don't get me wrong; I like toast. Sometimes the world, wounded by the spear of Pharisaical zeal, needs some toast type Christians. But we have to ultimately be the salt of the earth, and the Mormons are doing a pretty good job.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
You Owe Me
What thoughts I have of You tonight, God.
You protect me and You make giant waves
And wash people away. You owe me.
You make the tornados that suck
Up the people and move them to another dimension.
You lift every rock in the whole wide universe and throw them
At the people who try to hit me.
God, I see You playing video games in my room.
You're young, with shiny eyes like mine.
You have a little beard and You play the
Games without using controls
Because You can. Because You
Can fly without wings. You
Can use magic and make balls of fire and lightening.
God, You are powerful and I am a cell
Compared to you.
This is one of the most beautiful poems I've ever read. It was written anonymously by a ten year old boy dying of cancer and preserved in Miah Arnold's moving essay, "You Owe Me," about her work as a creative writing teacher in a juvenile cancer treatment center. It reminds me of the psalms. So arresting. I want it, I want it in a sermon someday.
"What use," I whispered, cried for no one in the world to hear, for no one but my soul, as though the words would rid it of the final burden of guilt, and I found myself a child agin, the years shed as a snake sheds its skin, and I was sanding over the awkward tangle of clothes and limbs. "What use, what use, what use..." and no one answered, not the body in the road, not the hawk in the sky or the beetle in the earth; no one answered.-- James Welch, Winter in the Blood
"The more he talked to the floor the more he nodded. It was a though the floor were talking back to him, grave words that kept him nodding gravely"-- James Welch, Winter in the Blood
"I at length became ambitious to find a family whose cabin had not been entered by a Methodist preacher... I traveled from settlement to settlement, but into every hovel I entered I learned that the Methodist missionary had been there before me"-- ca. 1800's Presbyterian missionary
"Nobody was out but crows and Methodist preachers"-- ca. 1800's popular saying
You protect me and You make giant waves
And wash people away. You owe me.
You make the tornados that suck
Up the people and move them to another dimension.
You lift every rock in the whole wide universe and throw them
At the people who try to hit me.
God, I see You playing video games in my room.
You're young, with shiny eyes like mine.
You have a little beard and You play the
Games without using controls
Because You can. Because You
Can fly without wings. You
Can use magic and make balls of fire and lightening.
God, You are powerful and I am a cell
Compared to you.
This is one of the most beautiful poems I've ever read. It was written anonymously by a ten year old boy dying of cancer and preserved in Miah Arnold's moving essay, "You Owe Me," about her work as a creative writing teacher in a juvenile cancer treatment center. It reminds me of the psalms. So arresting. I want it, I want it in a sermon someday.
"What use," I whispered, cried for no one in the world to hear, for no one but my soul, as though the words would rid it of the final burden of guilt, and I found myself a child agin, the years shed as a snake sheds its skin, and I was sanding over the awkward tangle of clothes and limbs. "What use, what use, what use..." and no one answered, not the body in the road, not the hawk in the sky or the beetle in the earth; no one answered.-- James Welch, Winter in the Blood
"The more he talked to the floor the more he nodded. It was a though the floor were talking back to him, grave words that kept him nodding gravely"-- James Welch, Winter in the Blood
"I at length became ambitious to find a family whose cabin had not been entered by a Methodist preacher... I traveled from settlement to settlement, but into every hovel I entered I learned that the Methodist missionary had been there before me"-- ca. 1800's Presbyterian missionary
"Nobody was out but crows and Methodist preachers"-- ca. 1800's popular saying
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Notable & Quotable
My new life goal is to start blogging lists of notable, quotable quotes I run across in my studies as an English and Philosophy and Religion major. I read so many great quotes and think, "Yeah! That'll preach!" Metaphorically and literally. But I never write them down or collect them in any organized way. That is changing now. Hopefully.
"In a corner, looking over our shoulders, was a statue of the crucified Savior, all bloody and beaten up. Charlene looked up and said, 'Look at that poor Indian. The pigs sure worked him over.' That was the closest I ever came to seeing Jesus," Mary Crow Dog, Lakota Woman
"He wore black like a cleric; he had the voice of a great dog," Scott Momaday, House Made of Dawn
"Conviction, caricature, callousness: the remainder of his sermon was a going back and forth among these"
"He has diluted and multiplied the Word, and words have begun to close in upon him"
"He stepped back from the lectern and held his head, smiling. In his mind the earth was spinning and the stars rattled around in the heavens. The sun shone, and the moon. Smiling in a kind of transport, the Priest of the Sun stood silent for a time while the congregation waited to be dismissed. 'Good night,' he said, 'and get yours"
"There was such pain in the priest's eyes he could not bear to look into them. He was embarrassed, humiliated; he hated the priest for suffering so"
"Even at fifteen, in Idaho, I hadn't written from within my despair until after I was safely over it, and now, all the more so, the stories that mattered to me were the ones told-- selected, clarified-- in retrospect" Jonathan Frazen, "Farther Away"
"In the summer before he died, sitting with him on the patio while he smoked cigarettes, I couldn't keep my eyes off the hummingbirds around his house, and was saddened that he could, and while he was taking his heavily medicated afternoon naps, I was studying the birds of Ecuador for an upcoming trip, and I understood the difference between his unmanageable misery and my manageable discontent was that I could escape myself in the joy of birds and he could not"
"How easy and natural love is if you are well! And how gruesomely difficult-- what a philosophically daunting contraption of self-delusion love appears to be-- if you are not! And yet one of the lessons of David's work (and for me, of being his friend) is that the difference between well and not well is in more respects a difference of degree than of kind"
"As long as we have such complications, how dare we bored?"
"I like to play chess. I moved to a small town, and nobody played chess there, but one guy challenged me to checkers. I always thought it was kind of a simple game, but I accepted. And he beat me nine or ten games in a row. That's sort of like living in a small town. It's a simpler game, but it's played to a higher level" Peter Hessler, "Dr. Don"
"In a corner, looking over our shoulders, was a statue of the crucified Savior, all bloody and beaten up. Charlene looked up and said, 'Look at that poor Indian. The pigs sure worked him over.' That was the closest I ever came to seeing Jesus," Mary Crow Dog, Lakota Woman
"He wore black like a cleric; he had the voice of a great dog," Scott Momaday, House Made of Dawn
"Conviction, caricature, callousness: the remainder of his sermon was a going back and forth among these"
"He has diluted and multiplied the Word, and words have begun to close in upon him"
"He stepped back from the lectern and held his head, smiling. In his mind the earth was spinning and the stars rattled around in the heavens. The sun shone, and the moon. Smiling in a kind of transport, the Priest of the Sun stood silent for a time while the congregation waited to be dismissed. 'Good night,' he said, 'and get yours"
"There was such pain in the priest's eyes he could not bear to look into them. He was embarrassed, humiliated; he hated the priest for suffering so"
"Even at fifteen, in Idaho, I hadn't written from within my despair until after I was safely over it, and now, all the more so, the stories that mattered to me were the ones told-- selected, clarified-- in retrospect" Jonathan Frazen, "Farther Away"
"In the summer before he died, sitting with him on the patio while he smoked cigarettes, I couldn't keep my eyes off the hummingbirds around his house, and was saddened that he could, and while he was taking his heavily medicated afternoon naps, I was studying the birds of Ecuador for an upcoming trip, and I understood the difference between his unmanageable misery and my manageable discontent was that I could escape myself in the joy of birds and he could not"
"How easy and natural love is if you are well! And how gruesomely difficult-- what a philosophically daunting contraption of self-delusion love appears to be-- if you are not! And yet one of the lessons of David's work (and for me, of being his friend) is that the difference between well and not well is in more respects a difference of degree than of kind"
"As long as we have such complications, how dare we bored?"
"I like to play chess. I moved to a small town, and nobody played chess there, but one guy challenged me to checkers. I always thought it was kind of a simple game, but I accepted. And he beat me nine or ten games in a row. That's sort of like living in a small town. It's a simpler game, but it's played to a higher level" Peter Hessler, "Dr. Don"
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Holy Confusion
It has been way too long since I have blogged. Over a month. I suppose I haven't been feeling very creative lately. It's been a number of things-- transitioning, classes, working on my freelance ghostwriting Bible guide (which I finally finished!). A big reason, though, is my growing realization I have less than a year left of childhood.
Really, I'm still a kid in so many ways. Yes, I'm old enough to drive and join the military and (gasp!) marry and be a mother. But I lost my room key on Sunday. I still like to watch junky TV and look at cute boys and eat ice cream right out of the container. And ten months from now, I'll probably be a pastor.
Are pastors allowed to find certain guys attractive? (For the record: tall, dark, handsome, facial hair.) Isn't that just being a fisher of men?
Sigh. I have a lot to think about.
If you asked me to tell you my "call story," I could give a number of defining events, important Bible verses, and nice things people have said to me. But no bush burnt before me. An angel did not touch my lips with hot coals. In short, I don't know if I'm supposed to go into the ministry. And I don't know how well it will work out. Jeremiah was called to ministry and nobody listened to him and he almost got killed.
I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I would hazard a guess lots of other people don't know what the hell they're doing, either. (Pardon my French. Oh, I guess pastors aren't supposed to say "hell" either unless they're talking about the place. So if you're Methodist-- never.)
There's that wonderful story about the walk to Emmaus at the end of Luke. Jesus joins two disciples walking to the village of Emmaus after Easter. They are thoroughly confused about Jesus, about the cross, about their place in it all. And Jesus comes to them, gently rebukes them for not believing, and shows them who he really is. But tellingly, "they were kept from recognizing him."
Why? Luke doesn't say. I wonder if that's the point.
One night, the summer before my freshman year of high school, I went for a run. (That was back when I exercised regularly!) I got back and, exhausted, sat before my open window, cool air rushing in, and began reading my Bible. I decided suddenly I wanted to read the entire Bible, one chapter per day, because surely everything about God I could learn from reading Bible if I tried hard enough. I don't regret that failed experiment, although it caused me a lot of heartache as I quickly discovered the vanity, the naiveté and hubris behind that plan. God brought me back, though. He always, always does.
And he gave me the gift now, five years later, of reading the entire Bible and even writing a book about it without going crazy or losing my faith.
I wonder if I am learning the same lesson again as I struggle to understand my calling. My calling is not really mine. It belongs first to God, and if God doesn't want to fully reveal that calling to me-- well, he's perfectly within his rights. Even if it annoys the living you-know-what out of me. My calling also belongs to the church universal, the body of Christ, to which I am giving my life by entering ordained ministry. I have had the church recognize in a number of beautiful but ultimately unremarkable ways a calling within me. Or, a better way of putting it: the church calls me to ministry by the power of the Holy Spirit.
I sense "graces and gifts for ministry," to use the Wesleyan jargon, in me. But I don't know for sure. I really don't know. Maybe I, like those poor confused disciples, am walking the right path with Jesus beside me, my traveling companions at my side, and am simply kept from recognizing, in certainty, this call.
Maybe God, who knows fully and yet loves en telois (John 13:2)-- to the end, to completion, as much as it possible to love, knows me well enough to do this to me. Certainty might become an idol for me, the way books and academics have been and are for me at certain points. Left in the dark, I have to trust my God and his church. I have to stop navel-gazing and get on my knees.
I suspect-- like I said before-- everyone feels some uncertainty. Maybe God leaves us in uncertain spots in direct proportion to our hunger for certainty. Then, like the disciples on their walk to Emmaus, we can feast on his bread of life.
Really, I'm still a kid in so many ways. Yes, I'm old enough to drive and join the military and (gasp!) marry and be a mother. But I lost my room key on Sunday. I still like to watch junky TV and look at cute boys and eat ice cream right out of the container. And ten months from now, I'll probably be a pastor.
Are pastors allowed to find certain guys attractive? (For the record: tall, dark, handsome, facial hair.) Isn't that just being a fisher of men?
Sigh. I have a lot to think about.
If you asked me to tell you my "call story," I could give a number of defining events, important Bible verses, and nice things people have said to me. But no bush burnt before me. An angel did not touch my lips with hot coals. In short, I don't know if I'm supposed to go into the ministry. And I don't know how well it will work out. Jeremiah was called to ministry and nobody listened to him and he almost got killed.
I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I would hazard a guess lots of other people don't know what the hell they're doing, either. (Pardon my French. Oh, I guess pastors aren't supposed to say "hell" either unless they're talking about the place. So if you're Methodist-- never.)
There's that wonderful story about the walk to Emmaus at the end of Luke. Jesus joins two disciples walking to the village of Emmaus after Easter. They are thoroughly confused about Jesus, about the cross, about their place in it all. And Jesus comes to them, gently rebukes them for not believing, and shows them who he really is. But tellingly, "they were kept from recognizing him."
Why? Luke doesn't say. I wonder if that's the point.
One night, the summer before my freshman year of high school, I went for a run. (That was back when I exercised regularly!) I got back and, exhausted, sat before my open window, cool air rushing in, and began reading my Bible. I decided suddenly I wanted to read the entire Bible, one chapter per day, because surely everything about God I could learn from reading Bible if I tried hard enough. I don't regret that failed experiment, although it caused me a lot of heartache as I quickly discovered the vanity, the naiveté and hubris behind that plan. God brought me back, though. He always, always does.
And he gave me the gift now, five years later, of reading the entire Bible and even writing a book about it without going crazy or losing my faith.
I wonder if I am learning the same lesson again as I struggle to understand my calling. My calling is not really mine. It belongs first to God, and if God doesn't want to fully reveal that calling to me-- well, he's perfectly within his rights. Even if it annoys the living you-know-what out of me. My calling also belongs to the church universal, the body of Christ, to which I am giving my life by entering ordained ministry. I have had the church recognize in a number of beautiful but ultimately unremarkable ways a calling within me. Or, a better way of putting it: the church calls me to ministry by the power of the Holy Spirit.
I sense "graces and gifts for ministry," to use the Wesleyan jargon, in me. But I don't know for sure. I really don't know. Maybe I, like those poor confused disciples, am walking the right path with Jesus beside me, my traveling companions at my side, and am simply kept from recognizing, in certainty, this call.
Maybe God, who knows fully and yet loves en telois (John 13:2)-- to the end, to completion, as much as it possible to love, knows me well enough to do this to me. Certainty might become an idol for me, the way books and academics have been and are for me at certain points. Left in the dark, I have to trust my God and his church. I have to stop navel-gazing and get on my knees.
I suspect-- like I said before-- everyone feels some uncertainty. Maybe God leaves us in uncertain spots in direct proportion to our hunger for certainty. Then, like the disciples on their walk to Emmaus, we can feast on his bread of life.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Salvation History at Kum N Go (At Present Casey's)
The Lord approacheth, the Lord passeth by
The Lord confronts that counter
And Tommy the tired old cashier starts to
Ask "what can I get you today--
But the words break
That countenance shatters them
"Give me some scratchers, sir please, the dollar ones"
Thus sayeth the Lord
Thus sayeth him whose
Way was by the sea, whose gait in the first garden
Was the first gamble, the right gamble
The wheel of fortune spinneth
The center does not hold--
"Thank you, Tom"
And the Lord leaves that store
But he was kept from recognizing him
Whose mysterium tremendum
Still goes boink! in the night still
Incarnates: mangers and lotteries and the whole bit
What will he find, he who scratcheth
Me by blinding lights in somber nights?
A million, or just a thousand, small fortune
Greatness, such inventiveness is man?
Or ten dollars for a quarter tank
Two bucks for a Coke or
One free ticket, my hour has not yet come?
Could be it's a loser: can't be redeemed
Gathered up for the fire to be burned
Tomorrow's trash day?
Or maybe, just maybe
The Lord riggeth, the Lord winnith
Not spinnith
And he is making all things new
Even one untimely born
Slouching once more to Bethlehem
The Lord confronts that counter
And Tommy the tired old cashier starts to
Ask "what can I get you today--
But the words break
That countenance shatters them
"Give me some scratchers, sir please, the dollar ones"
Thus sayeth the Lord
Thus sayeth him whose
Way was by the sea, whose gait in the first garden
Was the first gamble, the right gamble
The wheel of fortune spinneth
The center does not hold--
"Thank you, Tom"
And the Lord leaves that store
But he was kept from recognizing him
Whose mysterium tremendum
Still goes boink! in the night still
Incarnates: mangers and lotteries and the whole bit
What will he find, he who scratcheth
Me by blinding lights in somber nights?
A million, or just a thousand, small fortune
Greatness, such inventiveness is man?
Or ten dollars for a quarter tank
Two bucks for a Coke or
One free ticket, my hour has not yet come?
Could be it's a loser: can't be redeemed
Gathered up for the fire to be burned
Tomorrow's trash day?
Or maybe, just maybe
The Lord riggeth, the Lord winnith
Not spinnith
And he is making all things new
Even one untimely born
Slouching once more to Bethlehem
Friday, July 26, 2013
"Jerusalem" by William Blake
And did those feet, in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded in
Among these dark satanic mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold
Bring me my arrows of desire
Bring me my spear while clouds unfold
Bring me my chariot of fire!
I will not cease from mental fight
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand
Til we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land
McMinistry: What McDonalds Taught Me About Calling
I have been working at McDonald's this summer, and I believe God is forming me for ministry through this experience. My friend Aubrey said she thought everyone should work fast food at some point. I disagreed at the time, arguing that I had worked at a daycare and therefore knew what any fast food worker knows about people and small, hard earned paychecks. Now I know she was right. McDonalds can teach me as much as my Truman education-- and I'm not just talking about Hamburger University.
McDonalds is hard work. My feet and back ache on and off the clock, my ears buzz with the din of cranky voices and endless beeping of timers. My smile aches as I tire of the outrageously perky customer service act I must put on. Yes, the daycare was hard, but I could sit with the kids and give my legs a break. I could decide to pour my heart and soul into the children, therefore giving the long day some meaning. It's hard to feel passionate, though, about getting grumpy people fake food that could literally kill them.
Now I like a cheeseburger and fries as much as the next person. And I do indulge from time to time. But do I feel fulfilled when I hand that 300 pound lady who comes every day her large-sized Big Mac meal? Not really.
When the shifts start to drag, I think about the car I will buy someday with this money, or the new exciting life God and I will build together when I graduate. But many of my coworkers' paychecks nearly disappear every month into an avalanche of bills. I know some of them are on food stamps. Others live with boyfriends, parents, or friends for mostly financial reasons.
Now here's the piercing question: What is the gospel for them? What does the good news mean to the twenty-two year old single mom of three working at McDonalds, to her mother who has started working there as a janitor? To the thirty year old guy who went to college, but is still a shift manager and after years of trying has quit looking for anything else? What can we say to them about vocation and calling?
Here's a pernicious lie from Satan that has wormed its way into the church through well meaning Christians who have lived lucky lives: You are your job, and your calling is what you do to make money. For some people, that is true. A pastor's calling should be her job; what the church pays her to do and God asks that she do are the same. Scholars, artists, doctors, non-profit people, etc. are often like that, too. But not my McDonalds coworkers. I believe God created them for more than flipping burgers. To say God called them to work at McDonalds is both untrue and insulting.
1 Corinthians 7:21 says, "Were you a slave when you were called? Don't let it trouble you-- although if you can gain your freedom, do so." (And note this "calling" is not to slavery or freedom, not to any job, except to a life of following Jesus Christ.) This is why people get confused about Paul's statements on slavery. Paul is saying whether you are a slave or not doesn't really matter. All that matters is Jesus! If they can get out of slavery-- and make no mistake, minimum wage work is modern day, American capitalism-sanctioned slavery-- they should. Paul isn't saying the system of slavery is okay. The Corinthians could no more dismantle slavery than my coworkers can force McDonald's to pay them a living wage. Of course the system is evil. The Bible, when addressing people in power like in Exodus or Amos or with the Pharisees, is quite clear on that point. That isn't the point Paul is making here; he's addressing the "slaves." His point is that God calls us to a battle, a dream, a vocation, that transcends what our "job" is.
"But to each one is given a manifestation of the Spirit for the common good... Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it," says 1 Corinthians 12. To each one! To every person who believes in Jesus, even the McDonalds employee struggling to make ends meet. McDonalds strips you of your individuality-- Wear the same black uniform as everyone else, stick to approved procedures, then collect the paycheck that will barely clothe and house you. God celebrates your individuality, says-- You have unique gifts and powers from me, a special place in my family, and I need you. And I believe God says this to every single person willing to accept it. Not just the people with college degrees.
I want to be a pastor who helps people figure out the way the Spirit has gifted them, and use those gifts for God's glory as members of Christ's body, of God's family. I want to say to my coworkers--
This order taking, sandwich assembling drudgery is meaningless. It is far less than what God created you for. What God created you to be, I don't know exactly. A fiery prophet, shaking the complacent from their sin? A healer, speaking life to the sick and broken? A prayer warrior, casting down strongholds of Satan from your knees? Something else I don't yet know? Go to the church, and they will help you figure it out. You will hear God's voice through God's people, telling you that even though the world says you have a McJob, the truth is that you have a calling and a family.
But I can't say it. In part because the church is too riddled with conflict, too disconnected from God, too invested in the clergy professionals doing all to make such promises. What God created me to be, I don't know. But I think, I think, God created me to be a pastor so I can help other people find what God created them to do.
And my McDonalds coworkers remind me of how desperately this is needed.
McDonalds is hard work. My feet and back ache on and off the clock, my ears buzz with the din of cranky voices and endless beeping of timers. My smile aches as I tire of the outrageously perky customer service act I must put on. Yes, the daycare was hard, but I could sit with the kids and give my legs a break. I could decide to pour my heart and soul into the children, therefore giving the long day some meaning. It's hard to feel passionate, though, about getting grumpy people fake food that could literally kill them.
Now I like a cheeseburger and fries as much as the next person. And I do indulge from time to time. But do I feel fulfilled when I hand that 300 pound lady who comes every day her large-sized Big Mac meal? Not really.
When the shifts start to drag, I think about the car I will buy someday with this money, or the new exciting life God and I will build together when I graduate. But many of my coworkers' paychecks nearly disappear every month into an avalanche of bills. I know some of them are on food stamps. Others live with boyfriends, parents, or friends for mostly financial reasons.
Now here's the piercing question: What is the gospel for them? What does the good news mean to the twenty-two year old single mom of three working at McDonalds, to her mother who has started working there as a janitor? To the thirty year old guy who went to college, but is still a shift manager and after years of trying has quit looking for anything else? What can we say to them about vocation and calling?
Here's a pernicious lie from Satan that has wormed its way into the church through well meaning Christians who have lived lucky lives: You are your job, and your calling is what you do to make money. For some people, that is true. A pastor's calling should be her job; what the church pays her to do and God asks that she do are the same. Scholars, artists, doctors, non-profit people, etc. are often like that, too. But not my McDonalds coworkers. I believe God created them for more than flipping burgers. To say God called them to work at McDonalds is both untrue and insulting.
1 Corinthians 7:21 says, "Were you a slave when you were called? Don't let it trouble you-- although if you can gain your freedom, do so." (And note this "calling" is not to slavery or freedom, not to any job, except to a life of following Jesus Christ.) This is why people get confused about Paul's statements on slavery. Paul is saying whether you are a slave or not doesn't really matter. All that matters is Jesus! If they can get out of slavery-- and make no mistake, minimum wage work is modern day, American capitalism-sanctioned slavery-- they should. Paul isn't saying the system of slavery is okay. The Corinthians could no more dismantle slavery than my coworkers can force McDonald's to pay them a living wage. Of course the system is evil. The Bible, when addressing people in power like in Exodus or Amos or with the Pharisees, is quite clear on that point. That isn't the point Paul is making here; he's addressing the "slaves." His point is that God calls us to a battle, a dream, a vocation, that transcends what our "job" is.
"But to each one is given a manifestation of the Spirit for the common good... Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it," says 1 Corinthians 12. To each one! To every person who believes in Jesus, even the McDonalds employee struggling to make ends meet. McDonalds strips you of your individuality-- Wear the same black uniform as everyone else, stick to approved procedures, then collect the paycheck that will barely clothe and house you. God celebrates your individuality, says-- You have unique gifts and powers from me, a special place in my family, and I need you. And I believe God says this to every single person willing to accept it. Not just the people with college degrees.
I want to be a pastor who helps people figure out the way the Spirit has gifted them, and use those gifts for God's glory as members of Christ's body, of God's family. I want to say to my coworkers--
This order taking, sandwich assembling drudgery is meaningless. It is far less than what God created you for. What God created you to be, I don't know exactly. A fiery prophet, shaking the complacent from their sin? A healer, speaking life to the sick and broken? A prayer warrior, casting down strongholds of Satan from your knees? Something else I don't yet know? Go to the church, and they will help you figure it out. You will hear God's voice through God's people, telling you that even though the world says you have a McJob, the truth is that you have a calling and a family.
But I can't say it. In part because the church is too riddled with conflict, too disconnected from God, too invested in the clergy professionals doing all to make such promises. What God created me to be, I don't know. But I think, I think, God created me to be a pastor so I can help other people find what God created them to do.
And my McDonalds coworkers remind me of how desperately this is needed.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Glass Half Empty
I am a glass half empty soul. Most people come to know that about me. I remember being very small, young enough to be holding my father's hand, and him asking me how my day had been. I thought about it for a moment. "Well, it was pretty good. But it could have been a lot better." My father replied gently, "Don't be so serious. Just be happy with your day." We have had this same exchange many times since, and ironically I am sometimes the one urging him to be happier with his day. But to use a well worn cliche, good is the enemy of great. Why not be disappointed when bad things happen, disappointed enough to rise up and change them?
The syrupy, saccharine optimism effused by some Christians drives me crazy. In my opinion, it comes from full stomachs, fat bank accounts, easy living-- not from Jesus Christ. The Bible says we should be always sorrowful, always rejoicing. The gospel involves the deepest joy and most profound sadness. Not despair, but the sadness of God, when we "weep with those who weep" and "wish ourselves accursed," like Paul, like Moses, longing and toiling for the salvation of our brothers and sisters.
I believe we all relate to God differently, reflect God's image uniquely, and I can, must serve God through my pessimism. So one of my favorite passages of the Bible is Jeremiah 20:7-18. (As you can probably guess, Jeremiah is one of my favorite prophets!)
He begins-- "O Lord, you have enticed me, and I was enticed; you have overpowered me, and you have prevailed." The Hebrew words for "entice" and "overpower" suggest seduction and rape. Not the most Sunday School friendly passage! Jeremiah courageously names that he has experienced God as an aggressor, who wooed Jeremiah to his heart but now forces him to stay. It is like that ironic little line in the parable of the talents that always makes me smile, "I know you (referring to God) are a hard man, reaping where you have not sown." Sometimes that's how it feels! How dare God make me do this hard thing? How dare God not let me run my own life?! I am comforted that even the prophet Jeremiah has this sentiment, too.
For whenever I speak, I must cry out
I must shout, "Violence and destruction!"
For the word of the Lord has become for me
a reproach and a derision all day long.
If I say, "I will not mention him
or speak anymore in his name,"
there is within me something like a burning fire
shut up in my bones
I am weary with holding it in
and I cannot.
This sums up so much of what I believe about the ministry, about calling, about church. Pastors must sometimes be a lone voice crying out, "Violence and destruction!" Okay, maybe not in those exact words. But they do have to point out when things must change, to gently-- and maybe not so gently-- nudge those sheep with the rod and staff.
And that-- my God!-- that terrifying question! Is it the word of the Lord? Am I doing what I'm supposed to be doing? It is the question life asks us all, the question that drives some people to greatness and others to despair. The book of Jeremiah portrays many false prophets, deemed as such by God because they spoke when God did not want them to speak. Generally it was simple, comforting words. God won't punish you for your idolatry. No worries. And here comes Jeremiah crying, "Violence and destruction!"
How did he know it was God, not his ego, not a strange new PR campaign? God forced him to do this. Raped him, burned him, made him crazy until he screamed, "Violence and destruction!"
I don't think that was in the shiny seminary brochures I've looked at lately.
Would Jeremiah pass the required psychological testing for the ordination process? Or would he be a little too high in the paranoia, anxiety, and depressive scales? (If anyone reading this is wondering whether I'm saying that because I didn't pass, you would be wrong. I did fine on the psychological test, although yes, it registered a bit of paranoia/anxiety, which makes sense given how religiously I lock my doors.)
This section ends with Jeremiah wishing repeatedly he were dead. He isn't living his best life now. He needs to change his attitude. Smile. Be positive. Except sometimes God's word is a reproach and derision, "toil and sorrow" and "shame" (20:18).
Anyway, these are just my thoughts on this passage. I don't pretend to know what I am doing. Well, sometimes I do and then wake up a few days later and think, Who was I kidding? I might end up a pastor. I might also end up joining the circus. Who knows?
Either way, this God will be with me, "like a dread warrior," seducing me, possessing me. Because the best way to sum up the Bible, to sum up the spiritual life, would be that old saying, "The Lord your God is a jealous God." He made us, died for us, and he isn't letting go.
The syrupy, saccharine optimism effused by some Christians drives me crazy. In my opinion, it comes from full stomachs, fat bank accounts, easy living-- not from Jesus Christ. The Bible says we should be always sorrowful, always rejoicing. The gospel involves the deepest joy and most profound sadness. Not despair, but the sadness of God, when we "weep with those who weep" and "wish ourselves accursed," like Paul, like Moses, longing and toiling for the salvation of our brothers and sisters.
I believe we all relate to God differently, reflect God's image uniquely, and I can, must serve God through my pessimism. So one of my favorite passages of the Bible is Jeremiah 20:7-18. (As you can probably guess, Jeremiah is one of my favorite prophets!)
He begins-- "O Lord, you have enticed me, and I was enticed; you have overpowered me, and you have prevailed." The Hebrew words for "entice" and "overpower" suggest seduction and rape. Not the most Sunday School friendly passage! Jeremiah courageously names that he has experienced God as an aggressor, who wooed Jeremiah to his heart but now forces him to stay. It is like that ironic little line in the parable of the talents that always makes me smile, "I know you (referring to God) are a hard man, reaping where you have not sown." Sometimes that's how it feels! How dare God make me do this hard thing? How dare God not let me run my own life?! I am comforted that even the prophet Jeremiah has this sentiment, too.
For whenever I speak, I must cry out
I must shout, "Violence and destruction!"
For the word of the Lord has become for me
a reproach and a derision all day long.
If I say, "I will not mention him
or speak anymore in his name,"
there is within me something like a burning fire
shut up in my bones
I am weary with holding it in
and I cannot.
This sums up so much of what I believe about the ministry, about calling, about church. Pastors must sometimes be a lone voice crying out, "Violence and destruction!" Okay, maybe not in those exact words. But they do have to point out when things must change, to gently-- and maybe not so gently-- nudge those sheep with the rod and staff.
And that-- my God!-- that terrifying question! Is it the word of the Lord? Am I doing what I'm supposed to be doing? It is the question life asks us all, the question that drives some people to greatness and others to despair. The book of Jeremiah portrays many false prophets, deemed as such by God because they spoke when God did not want them to speak. Generally it was simple, comforting words. God won't punish you for your idolatry. No worries. And here comes Jeremiah crying, "Violence and destruction!"
How did he know it was God, not his ego, not a strange new PR campaign? God forced him to do this. Raped him, burned him, made him crazy until he screamed, "Violence and destruction!"
I don't think that was in the shiny seminary brochures I've looked at lately.
Would Jeremiah pass the required psychological testing for the ordination process? Or would he be a little too high in the paranoia, anxiety, and depressive scales? (If anyone reading this is wondering whether I'm saying that because I didn't pass, you would be wrong. I did fine on the psychological test, although yes, it registered a bit of paranoia/anxiety, which makes sense given how religiously I lock my doors.)
This section ends with Jeremiah wishing repeatedly he were dead. He isn't living his best life now. He needs to change his attitude. Smile. Be positive. Except sometimes God's word is a reproach and derision, "toil and sorrow" and "shame" (20:18).
Anyway, these are just my thoughts on this passage. I don't pretend to know what I am doing. Well, sometimes I do and then wake up a few days later and think, Who was I kidding? I might end up a pastor. I might also end up joining the circus. Who knows?
Either way, this God will be with me, "like a dread warrior," seducing me, possessing me. Because the best way to sum up the Bible, to sum up the spiritual life, would be that old saying, "The Lord your God is a jealous God." He made us, died for us, and he isn't letting go.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
A McDonalds Employee Prays Psalm 23
The Lord is my shift manager.
He makes me take breaks
He leads me to unlimited Diet Coke
He refreshes my soul.
He guides me in standard procedures for his name's sake.
Even though I walk through the busiest lunch hours, I will fear no evil
For you are with me
Your headset and stock list, they comfort me.
You prepare a table for me
In the presence of cranky customers.
You anoint me with paychecks.
My debt does not run over.
Surely your watchful eye will follow me
From front counter to drink station to back booth
And I will dwell with you on crew-- unless I tell you to take this job and shove it--
Forever.
He makes me take breaks
He leads me to unlimited Diet Coke
He refreshes my soul.
He guides me in standard procedures for his name's sake.
Even though I walk through the busiest lunch hours, I will fear no evil
For you are with me
Your headset and stock list, they comfort me.
You prepare a table for me
In the presence of cranky customers.
You anoint me with paychecks.
My debt does not run over.
Surely your watchful eye will follow me
From front counter to drink station to back booth
And I will dwell with you on crew-- unless I tell you to take this job and shove it--
Forever.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
The Waking
"The Waking"
Theodore Roethke
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close behind me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk slowly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
This is a beautiful, trembling, momentous poem. It speaks elegantly of the life of the spirit, of the strange stumbling dance between sleeping and waking, despair and hope. It sort of fits where I am right now in my struggle to discern my vocation. For better, for worse, I am waking up and falling asleep and somehow learning as I am going. But in my best moments, I do feel my fate in what I cannot fear: my fate is to belong, body and soul, to God.
Theodore Roethke
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close behind me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk slowly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
This is a beautiful, trembling, momentous poem. It speaks elegantly of the life of the spirit, of the strange stumbling dance between sleeping and waking, despair and hope. It sort of fits where I am right now in my struggle to discern my vocation. For better, for worse, I am waking up and falling asleep and somehow learning as I am going. But in my best moments, I do feel my fate in what I cannot fear: my fate is to belong, body and soul, to God.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Joshua Fought The Battle of Jericho: Why The Book of Joshua Is Not About Genocide
It's been a while, sadly, since I have gotten the chance to blog. I have been writing a book. Yes, you read that correctly. In a bizarre twist of fate-- or more accurately, God's annoying sense of humor-- I am ghostwriting a guide to the Bible for new Christians. A group in Taiwan is paying me. I am grateful, I guess, for the chance to share my biblical knowledge. Understanding the Bible takes a lifetime of study, but I do know some things and I have a sort of hybrid, scholar-pastor-anxious layperson perspective. Last night, I finished writing my guide to the book of Joshua.
Joshua is the anglicized version of the Hebrew name Yeshua, meaning "YHWH saves." Jesus is the Greek version. Joshua is also my brother's name. Jesus and my brother are both pretty cool guys. But the book of Joshua is straight up scary at first. The book is about Israel's conquest of Canaan, their extermination of the people occupying the Promised Land. If you think about this story, it begins to sound oddly like the European settlers' systematic killing and driving out of the Native Americans, thinking America was "promised" by the Judeo-Christian God to them. What's the difference?
Reading Joshua again last night for the first time in years, I now see there is an enormous difference. The Israelite mission is not to kill the Canaanite people. In fact, these people had already heard of this God, who led his people out of Egypt with many signs and wonders. The book of Joshua repeats this multiple times. For six days they march around Jericho, the first city Joshua conquers. The people had ample opportunity to work out a deal, to worship God, like Rahab does. But they refuse, and God gives the Israelites victory. The Gibeonite tribes hear of God's glory and decide they want to make peace with the Israelites, but tell an elaborate lie about their actually living far away from Canaan. Even though they lied, God still spares the Gibeonites.
One might argue that not every Canaanite had a chance to strike a deal-- what of the innocent children or poor whom were killed? Perhaps Joshua also teaches evil always leads to collateral damage, always affects more people than anyone imagined. But a mature reading of the Bible makes clear that God does not punish people for lack of knowledge. We are judged by our response to the grace we have received. John 15:24 says that the Pharisees would not be guilty if Jesus had not done his works of power among them.
In the book of Joshua, the Israelites are acting as God's tool of judgment against evil. In that time, society, and place in salvation history, they did so by killing unrepentant peoples according to God's specific leading. In our secular society, in the "last days" during which we await Jesus' return, this makes no sense. Is there, then, a redeeming message in the book of Joshua? Can we say Joshua is the word of God?
Yes and yes. Joshua teaches many messages. Among them-- God wins. With God on their side, the Israelites squash the enemies like bugs, even though they are outnumbered. Lest we convert this into an obscene prosperity gospel or a blanket promise any act consistent with God's will must succeed... Joshua will not let us. The people do not finish conquering Canaan by the end of the book. They live in the already/not yet tension of God's kingdom. Already we live in the promised land, but not yet-- we are not fully there.
Joshua also illustrates the workings of divine-human cooperation. God does not just plunk the people down in the middle of the promised land and say, "Here ya go, kids." They have to work for it, together with God. Any act of ministry, any work of God, is God's doing through us. We have this treasure in clay jars.
I connect with the book of Joshua in ways that go beyond words. I love the military metaphor, and I crinkle my nose at naive liberals who crow about pacifism. They do not read the Bible properly; they understand neither Jesus' injunction to love their enemies nor Paul's cry to put on the gospel armor. Evil is real, and like Joshua we are called to fight it in the name of the Lord. Whether we wipe out the enemy like Joshua, or lose the fight like Stephen, we win with God on our side. The first readers of Joshua, living as conquered people in the Babylonian exile, understood this ultimate, perfect truth. Like Joshua, we must fight the battle of Jericho, fight as Christian soldiers, fight the good fight wherever the Great General calls us to go, knowing in the end he leads us always to victory.
Joshua is the anglicized version of the Hebrew name Yeshua, meaning "YHWH saves." Jesus is the Greek version. Joshua is also my brother's name. Jesus and my brother are both pretty cool guys. But the book of Joshua is straight up scary at first. The book is about Israel's conquest of Canaan, their extermination of the people occupying the Promised Land. If you think about this story, it begins to sound oddly like the European settlers' systematic killing and driving out of the Native Americans, thinking America was "promised" by the Judeo-Christian God to them. What's the difference?
Reading Joshua again last night for the first time in years, I now see there is an enormous difference. The Israelite mission is not to kill the Canaanite people. In fact, these people had already heard of this God, who led his people out of Egypt with many signs and wonders. The book of Joshua repeats this multiple times. For six days they march around Jericho, the first city Joshua conquers. The people had ample opportunity to work out a deal, to worship God, like Rahab does. But they refuse, and God gives the Israelites victory. The Gibeonite tribes hear of God's glory and decide they want to make peace with the Israelites, but tell an elaborate lie about their actually living far away from Canaan. Even though they lied, God still spares the Gibeonites.
One might argue that not every Canaanite had a chance to strike a deal-- what of the innocent children or poor whom were killed? Perhaps Joshua also teaches evil always leads to collateral damage, always affects more people than anyone imagined. But a mature reading of the Bible makes clear that God does not punish people for lack of knowledge. We are judged by our response to the grace we have received. John 15:24 says that the Pharisees would not be guilty if Jesus had not done his works of power among them.
In the book of Joshua, the Israelites are acting as God's tool of judgment against evil. In that time, society, and place in salvation history, they did so by killing unrepentant peoples according to God's specific leading. In our secular society, in the "last days" during which we await Jesus' return, this makes no sense. Is there, then, a redeeming message in the book of Joshua? Can we say Joshua is the word of God?
Yes and yes. Joshua teaches many messages. Among them-- God wins. With God on their side, the Israelites squash the enemies like bugs, even though they are outnumbered. Lest we convert this into an obscene prosperity gospel or a blanket promise any act consistent with God's will must succeed... Joshua will not let us. The people do not finish conquering Canaan by the end of the book. They live in the already/not yet tension of God's kingdom. Already we live in the promised land, but not yet-- we are not fully there.
Joshua also illustrates the workings of divine-human cooperation. God does not just plunk the people down in the middle of the promised land and say, "Here ya go, kids." They have to work for it, together with God. Any act of ministry, any work of God, is God's doing through us. We have this treasure in clay jars.
I connect with the book of Joshua in ways that go beyond words. I love the military metaphor, and I crinkle my nose at naive liberals who crow about pacifism. They do not read the Bible properly; they understand neither Jesus' injunction to love their enemies nor Paul's cry to put on the gospel armor. Evil is real, and like Joshua we are called to fight it in the name of the Lord. Whether we wipe out the enemy like Joshua, or lose the fight like Stephen, we win with God on our side. The first readers of Joshua, living as conquered people in the Babylonian exile, understood this ultimate, perfect truth. Like Joshua, we must fight the battle of Jericho, fight as Christian soldiers, fight the good fight wherever the Great General calls us to go, knowing in the end he leads us always to victory.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
My Dreams Contain Multitudes
A call:
A piercing, silent drawl
A cliff, black ocean depths, a dizzying fall
Cold terror, like chilly meat
That murderous feat
Might live, might sleep
The gorgeous sun, as I weep
That golden ball, hangs
Just barely, hunger pangs
Sharpen with each ice cream cone
Throw on pajamas, bury the phone--
My dreams contain multitudes
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Happy Pentecost: On The Flame of Incandescent Terror
The dove descending breaks the air
With flame of incandescent terror
Of which the tongues declare
The one discharge from sin and error
The only hope, or else despair
Lies in the choice of pyre of pyre
To be redeemed from fire by fire.
Who then devised the torment? Love.
Love is the unfamiliar Name
Love is the unfamiliar Name
Behind the hands that wove
The intolerable shirt of flame
Which human power cannot remove
We only live, only suspire
Consumed by either fire or fire
"Little Gidding"-- T.S. Eliot
It's his Pentecost poem. Well, Pentecost is nearly over, I suppose, although I think you can celebrate any holiday in the church year anytime you like. I listen to my religious Christmas Pandora station year-round. And every time we recall Jesus' saving death and resurrection, we celebrate Good Friday and Easter
anew. Sundays themselves are said to be little Easters.
This poem points to the terror of Pentecost, something that gets glossed over by our calm, sleepy worship. The Holy Spirit "breaks" the air in "terror." Our ultimate fate depends upon the Holy Spirit-- our "only hope," demanding we choose "fire" or fire." Pentecost confronts us with a choice. Which fire do we choose-- the flames of the Spirit or the flames of hell? Either way, we are ultimately consumed.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
If Today Was Not An Endless Highway
As an English major and critical, occasionally cranky thinker, I think it's important to think about the language we use. Especially when talking about God and the spiritual life. Our language affects us in so many powerful, subconscious ways. Phrases and metaphors of unclarity or dubious truth need to be rejected or clarified. I'd like to suggest a metaphor frequently used by many, myself included, needs to be rethought: the idea of spirituality as a linear path.
The phrases "journey"; "farther"; "advanced"; and "path," in reference to the life of the soul, are probably not good. ("Journey" is okay as a verb, I think.) If the Christian life is a path, it is possible to easily compare spiritual maturity and say, Well, I'm farther down the path than you are. But spiritual growth just doesn't work that way. I might pray more than somebody else does. But that somebody might give more sacrificially to the needy than I do. Who's more spiritually advanced? I don't know. Did you factor in our different backgrounds and present challenges and blessings? I don't think anybody can answer these sorts of questions. We all pale before the radiant righteousness of Jesus Christ.
Generally people who use these path analogies aren't trying to compare people. But that language, especially in our hyper-competitive culture, makes comparison possible, at least in the back of our minds.
"Path" language also perpetuates the fallacy that God has one life plan picked out just for us. Unfortunately, the Bible never says, "I will be with you, and show you exactly what major, career, car, and sandwich to pick." Not to say God doesn't provide guidance. He does, all the time. But lots of times he doesn't, and we have no biblical evidence for saying God has specific destinies chosen for us. That's too easy. It eliminates the struggle that is faith, the intimacy of prayers, questions, and mistakes. But yes, I would love it if God had an itinerary for the rest of my years!
Driving along the interstate is boring, solitary, and uneventful. These are the implications of calling the Christian life a path, too. In reality, we are supposed to journey (remember, I said as a verb it's fine!) in community. And it's supposed to be overwhelmingly exciting! The exhilaration of bringing somebody one inch closer to Christ, the ecstasy of praise, the anguish of suffering beside people you love... Not boring. Not one bit. Okay, sometimes when you're waiting around for God that's boring, but I think it's better described as annoying, like when the person you're meeting is late and you're tapping your feet and wondering if they'll ever get here. Actually, normally I'm the person who is late. But I digress.
Today I heard a pretty good sermon about the Transfiguration. It talked about the mountains and valleys in life. I think those are good spiritual analogies, especially because they are biblical and intuitively correct. (A Wesleyan sermon, built from Scripture and experience!) But, if you read into these images the idea of a path-- determined, straight, perfect-- things get screwy.
I think of all the times I've missed turns, doubled back, needed a detour. I'm not on a path. This is not an endless highway. I am going on to perfection, which is my destiny as a believer in Jesus, becoming holy as he is holy, fully reconciled to God, to the world, to myself, when he comes again.
The phrases "journey"; "farther"; "advanced"; and "path," in reference to the life of the soul, are probably not good. ("Journey" is okay as a verb, I think.) If the Christian life is a path, it is possible to easily compare spiritual maturity and say, Well, I'm farther down the path than you are. But spiritual growth just doesn't work that way. I might pray more than somebody else does. But that somebody might give more sacrificially to the needy than I do. Who's more spiritually advanced? I don't know. Did you factor in our different backgrounds and present challenges and blessings? I don't think anybody can answer these sorts of questions. We all pale before the radiant righteousness of Jesus Christ.
Generally people who use these path analogies aren't trying to compare people. But that language, especially in our hyper-competitive culture, makes comparison possible, at least in the back of our minds.
"Path" language also perpetuates the fallacy that God has one life plan picked out just for us. Unfortunately, the Bible never says, "I will be with you, and show you exactly what major, career, car, and sandwich to pick." Not to say God doesn't provide guidance. He does, all the time. But lots of times he doesn't, and we have no biblical evidence for saying God has specific destinies chosen for us. That's too easy. It eliminates the struggle that is faith, the intimacy of prayers, questions, and mistakes. But yes, I would love it if God had an itinerary for the rest of my years!
Driving along the interstate is boring, solitary, and uneventful. These are the implications of calling the Christian life a path, too. In reality, we are supposed to journey (remember, I said as a verb it's fine!) in community. And it's supposed to be overwhelmingly exciting! The exhilaration of bringing somebody one inch closer to Christ, the ecstasy of praise, the anguish of suffering beside people you love... Not boring. Not one bit. Okay, sometimes when you're waiting around for God that's boring, but I think it's better described as annoying, like when the person you're meeting is late and you're tapping your feet and wondering if they'll ever get here. Actually, normally I'm the person who is late. But I digress.
Today I heard a pretty good sermon about the Transfiguration. It talked about the mountains and valleys in life. I think those are good spiritual analogies, especially because they are biblical and intuitively correct. (A Wesleyan sermon, built from Scripture and experience!) But, if you read into these images the idea of a path-- determined, straight, perfect-- things get screwy.
I think of all the times I've missed turns, doubled back, needed a detour. I'm not on a path. This is not an endless highway. I am going on to perfection, which is my destiny as a believer in Jesus, becoming holy as he is holy, fully reconciled to God, to the world, to myself, when he comes again.
The Great Dane Gives Birth
Soren Kierkegaard was a pretty cool guy. Today I think he would be diagnosed with some kind of mental disorder. But aren't we all a little bit crazy?
He was a great philosopher and theologian in Denmark in the 1800s, I think. Good old Soren wrote piercing rebukes of the lukewarm European church, of the sinful, impotent "Christendom." Fascinating stuff. And he wrestled so hard with his God. His diary compels and terrifies in its descriptions of incalculable suffering.
He wrote, "To love God and to be loved by God is to suffer." The depth of this truth grows clearer as I grow older. If loving God is easy, we aren't doing it properly. If we aren't second-guessing, pushing through hurts, crying for the pain of the world... we're doing it wrong. Of course, Soren is being very one-sided here. To love God is not constant suffering. If it were, nobody could bear it. The same God who draws us to the cross raises us from the dead, and tells us the good news ahead of time.
I feel I've earned the right to call old Soren by his first name. I think I know him pretty well.
"If Christianity were truthfully presented as suffering, ever greater as one advances further in it:doubt would be disarmed, and in any case there would have been no opportunity for being superior-- where it would have been a matter of avoiding pain." Yes. Doubt is a nice word for what happens when the living sacrifice keeps trying to crawl off the altar. A lot of the time, anyway.
"O my God, it was thou who didst hold thy hand over me so that in the long hours of anguish I should not become guilty of procuring an abortion," Soren says, and I almost chuckle at the image of him, dark-haired, skinny, in Victorian garb, pregnant. But birth is like the great drama of faith, and all of us are in labor, in some stage. He has the faith to praise God who held his hand through it all.
He was a great philosopher and theologian in Denmark in the 1800s, I think. Good old Soren wrote piercing rebukes of the lukewarm European church, of the sinful, impotent "Christendom." Fascinating stuff. And he wrestled so hard with his God. His diary compels and terrifies in its descriptions of incalculable suffering.
He wrote, "To love God and to be loved by God is to suffer." The depth of this truth grows clearer as I grow older. If loving God is easy, we aren't doing it properly. If we aren't second-guessing, pushing through hurts, crying for the pain of the world... we're doing it wrong. Of course, Soren is being very one-sided here. To love God is not constant suffering. If it were, nobody could bear it. The same God who draws us to the cross raises us from the dead, and tells us the good news ahead of time.
I feel I've earned the right to call old Soren by his first name. I think I know him pretty well.
"If Christianity were truthfully presented as suffering, ever greater as one advances further in it:doubt would be disarmed, and in any case there would have been no opportunity for being superior-- where it would have been a matter of avoiding pain." Yes. Doubt is a nice word for what happens when the living sacrifice keeps trying to crawl off the altar. A lot of the time, anyway.
"O my God, it was thou who didst hold thy hand over me so that in the long hours of anguish I should not become guilty of procuring an abortion," Soren says, and I almost chuckle at the image of him, dark-haired, skinny, in Victorian garb, pregnant. But birth is like the great drama of faith, and all of us are in labor, in some stage. He has the faith to praise God who held his hand through it all.
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