The few of you that read this post have probably woken up by now on Saturday morning or will pretty soon. And, for about all of you "it's Saturday morning and you're not preaching tommorrow." I have spent 20 years waking up on Saturday morning, and turning my thoughts towards the sermon I am going to preach the next morning. Some weeks, I was about ready; some weeks I hadn't even gotten a start. But, I have always gotten up and worked on the sermon on Saturday morning. Normally, I think on it during the week; even writing out notes on two or three prospective sermons. But, Saturday is when it has to start coming together (not to say I haven't started from scratch on some Sunday mornings).
This process of sermon preparation is a very personal process and a process that I realize has helped my life over the years. But, over the past twenty years, I didn't really think much about what preparing a sermon was all about, I just did it. It wasn't until I started having Sundays off from preaching that I realized what it was about. And, I have to admit that I really miss preaching when I am not preaching. I don't miss it too much on Sunday morning as much as I miss it on Saturday morning. Like I am missing it this morning. But, what is it I like about knowing I will preach the next day?
Part of it seems to be that there is something about it that is just deep down who I am, and when you are involved in doing something that is deep down who you are, it renews your life. When you are involved in something you feel is in a sense part of your good destiny, then it takes the burden away from you, and makes you feel like you are floating on the current of something much greater than you.
Part of it has to do with the challenge of "making sense of life" to yourself and to others every week, by looking to ancient scriptures, seeking an experience of the Holy One in the present, and trying to put that into words. Sometimes what I am putting into words in the sermon is simply the experience of trying to make sense of life in this process, even if I am not too successful in "making sense of life" that week. The struggle to do it, to understand and experience the deepest in life, is a holy and good struggle, even when you seem to come up empty. So, part of it is that the process of working towards a sermon is a deeply human struggle for meaning in a world that often drains us of meaning. It is like going home each week, and the way back to home each week is never too easy or direct, and I never know which way I will get there, and sometimes I don't really get there. More Sundays I am standing before the congregation talking about the dark and twisting path of faith and the hope of getting back to a place where there is energy and peace and purpose. But, there are those Sundays, when I find my way - when it all comes together - just every once in a while. And, when you get there in a sermon, people get there with you. It's hard to describe it unless you have been there in a service. And, believe me, it is not very often at all when I seem to get there. And, I don't know it ahead of time; it is just like somehow, our struggle together is blessed by a gracious and beautiful presence - it is like for a few minutes, sometimes only a few seconds, we experience together that God is completely beautiful and gracious and good - sharing a goodness with us that awakens the joy in living that we thought had died 100 times over.
As I look towards tommorrow, I wish there was some way that others who are not preaching could share in this experience of preparing for the sermon that I have gone through for the past couple of decades. There have been times, when I was so empty that I just had nothing at all to say, and sometimes a word came and sometimes it didn't. There have been times when I have just thought it was crazy that I was going to stand up and try to say anything about God and life and faith. At the depths of my experience has been the experience that whatever has come to me in life, I have to make sense of it all again week by week, and that the sense I made of it in the past is never enough, and that the only real sense I can make of life comes from beyond me, comes from a word that I can never hear until everything in me is at an end, in silence, in confusion, or in peaceful nothingness. There is an experience of disorientation at the heart of true orientation in life - the disorientation comes of our human struggle, the orientation comes as sheer grace - true orientation comes in ecstatic joy at just being alive, sometimes it comes in the most difficult of times. It comes from God.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
Worship, Responsibility for Others, and the Search for Meaning
Worship, responsibility for others, and the search for meaning: I guess those are why I am part of a church. There is something primal, deep down about worshipping in a service with others. Of course, often worship services get too far away from these raw depths, but there is something deep down that wants to worship the Creator and to do so with others. And, deep within, for me, there is this conviction that is very basic - that one basic reason I am alive is to help others out in their living. And, another yearning that won't be silenced within me is the desire to make sense of things, to find a meaning in life, and even in death.
These are some basic reasons I am part of a church. Of course, these are also basic yearnings that I carry out in my daily work and living that are not specifically tied to church. Many weeks I worship God more clearly, more intensely in my inner world, and when away from church, than when I am gathered for worship with others. Some days, I just look out at the mountains and am filled with a joy and a praise for God. Many days I discover and carry out my responsibilities to others better in my so-called "secular" job than in my work as a minister of a church. And, I sometimes find great meaning in reading an essay or a poem or listening to a song. Sometimes I turn to these "secular" sources more than to "sacred" sources like scripture or theology or other books written to encourage religious faith. Lately, I have been drawn back into the strange world of the Bible, particularly Paul's letters. And, I have gone a step back down to the primary level of the New Testament by looking at the Greek. Even though my Greek has slipped, reading in the Greek somehow just opens up new connections, new ways of meaning. It is like getting back to where the meanings are being formed and understanding that the step of "translation" from Greek to English is actually a decisive step of "interpretation." It is like getting back a step closer to something real and raw and true. When that happens you come to the point of not-knowing before you begin to experience any real knowing. I am amazed as I look at Paul again. How could he have been hijacked by Western categories - he is so thoroughly Eastern!
O, what was I talking about? About basic reasons I am part of a church, which are yearnings basic to being human as well. At the bottom, church is about reminding us of what is essential to human life, because we tend to forget in the give and take of life. Church is to be about reminding and restoring those deep yearnings that make us human: the yearning to celebrate the goodness of life and praise the giver of life; the desire to share life and bear life with others; the drive to understand and find meaning.
Many people have come to church needing reminding, needing restoring, and finding that these deeply human yearnings were not only not encouraged in church, but discouraged or even manipulated to bad end. But, people also come to church to escape from these deep human needs. And, some churches provide large doses of what Marx called "the opiate of the masses," by which Marx meant a way of deluding people into accepting the frustration of their deepest longings on earth through assuring people that they would have all their longings satisfied in heaven.
This reference to Marx raises some complicated issues about human longing and religion. Because, for many on this earth, life is an unending struggle to survive burdened with horrible suffering. Consider life in Somalia, or Darfur, or the genocide in Rawanda. What about the history of horror for Jews in Germany and in Russia? How is life for citizens of Afghanistan now or Palestinians? Or, what about a mother who just lost her child in Knoxville last week? Or, a father of four young children who has just found out he has an inoperable brain tumor? What I am getting at is the truth that many people in this world seem to have their deepest desires crushed by the course of their sufferings and the injustices they experience in their lives. Everyone, to some extent, suffers the disappointment of deeply good desires and hopes in life.
Marx central point was this: "You workers who are living in misery, dying young, are suffering because of the greed of your factory owners who care nothing at all for you. It's time to get up off your knees (in prayer) and revolt against this corrupt economic system. How dare they tell you to wait until you get to heaven while they enjoy their's on earth!"
And, that part of Marx is good and holy and deserving of not just respect but celebration and hopeful action - whether revolutionary or reformist.
But, even the most fortunate lives in this world always bear a heavy residue of pain, unresolved conflicts, unrealized dreams, and unreasonable results. Marx didn't set out to address this. What he wanted to counteract was the bad faith of a system that had disproportionately placed the heavy residue, conflict, suffering, pain and misery on one segment of the population who served as a barrier against such suffering for another segment of the population. True religion appreciates Marx. False religion is scared to death of him. He gets too close to the truth, and, as Jesus said: "the truth will set you free," free from false religion.
These are some basic reasons I am part of a church. Of course, these are also basic yearnings that I carry out in my daily work and living that are not specifically tied to church. Many weeks I worship God more clearly, more intensely in my inner world, and when away from church, than when I am gathered for worship with others. Some days, I just look out at the mountains and am filled with a joy and a praise for God. Many days I discover and carry out my responsibilities to others better in my so-called "secular" job than in my work as a minister of a church. And, I sometimes find great meaning in reading an essay or a poem or listening to a song. Sometimes I turn to these "secular" sources more than to "sacred" sources like scripture or theology or other books written to encourage religious faith. Lately, I have been drawn back into the strange world of the Bible, particularly Paul's letters. And, I have gone a step back down to the primary level of the New Testament by looking at the Greek. Even though my Greek has slipped, reading in the Greek somehow just opens up new connections, new ways of meaning. It is like getting back to where the meanings are being formed and understanding that the step of "translation" from Greek to English is actually a decisive step of "interpretation." It is like getting back a step closer to something real and raw and true. When that happens you come to the point of not-knowing before you begin to experience any real knowing. I am amazed as I look at Paul again. How could he have been hijacked by Western categories - he is so thoroughly Eastern!
O, what was I talking about? About basic reasons I am part of a church, which are yearnings basic to being human as well. At the bottom, church is about reminding us of what is essential to human life, because we tend to forget in the give and take of life. Church is to be about reminding and restoring those deep yearnings that make us human: the yearning to celebrate the goodness of life and praise the giver of life; the desire to share life and bear life with others; the drive to understand and find meaning.
Many people have come to church needing reminding, needing restoring, and finding that these deeply human yearnings were not only not encouraged in church, but discouraged or even manipulated to bad end. But, people also come to church to escape from these deep human needs. And, some churches provide large doses of what Marx called "the opiate of the masses," by which Marx meant a way of deluding people into accepting the frustration of their deepest longings on earth through assuring people that they would have all their longings satisfied in heaven.
This reference to Marx raises some complicated issues about human longing and religion. Because, for many on this earth, life is an unending struggle to survive burdened with horrible suffering. Consider life in Somalia, or Darfur, or the genocide in Rawanda. What about the history of horror for Jews in Germany and in Russia? How is life for citizens of Afghanistan now or Palestinians? Or, what about a mother who just lost her child in Knoxville last week? Or, a father of four young children who has just found out he has an inoperable brain tumor? What I am getting at is the truth that many people in this world seem to have their deepest desires crushed by the course of their sufferings and the injustices they experience in their lives. Everyone, to some extent, suffers the disappointment of deeply good desires and hopes in life.
Marx central point was this: "You workers who are living in misery, dying young, are suffering because of the greed of your factory owners who care nothing at all for you. It's time to get up off your knees (in prayer) and revolt against this corrupt economic system. How dare they tell you to wait until you get to heaven while they enjoy their's on earth!"
And, that part of Marx is good and holy and deserving of not just respect but celebration and hopeful action - whether revolutionary or reformist.
But, even the most fortunate lives in this world always bear a heavy residue of pain, unresolved conflicts, unrealized dreams, and unreasonable results. Marx didn't set out to address this. What he wanted to counteract was the bad faith of a system that had disproportionately placed the heavy residue, conflict, suffering, pain and misery on one segment of the population who served as a barrier against such suffering for another segment of the population. True religion appreciates Marx. False religion is scared to death of him. He gets too close to the truth, and, as Jesus said: "the truth will set you free," free from false religion.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Looking Through Some Old Papers Today
It's about 4 p.m., and I'm tired of looking at legal cases and tired of preparing for next week's cases, and for some reason I start looking through one of the drawers of my desk. And, this is a drawer that contains lots of old "church stuff," like handwritten sermon notes from the past 10 years or so (earlier notes have gotten lost in the moves). And, I come across this sermon that has somehow survived from the early days. In fact, I remember that I preached this before I was even ordained as a minister. My passage is Romans 6:1-11.
I remember that my great aunt Thelma was there, my parents were there. I can't even remember whether I preached it before or after Jimmy and Lisa were born, but I am fairly sure it was after they were born.
And, then I come across the bulletin from the Sunday in 1989 when I was ordained as a minister. August 6, 1989. And, the insert in the bulletin is scribbled on, and I'm pretty sure I recognize this scribbling as that of little Lisa who was a little over one at the time. My Mom remembers Jimmy reciting the Lord's Prayer word for word at the service, and remembers that he pronounced temp-ta-tion as "temp-a-ta-tion." I remember that my father-in-law was there even though he had been going through a hellacious round of chemotherapy, and I remember how happy he was to be there. I remember my seminary professor and advisor, Charlie Cousar, preaching a wonderful sermon about glorifying God as being the first thing in life.
Well, this afternoon took me back a few years. On next Thursday, I will have been an ordained minister for 20 years.
I also found this really funny set of drawings entitled "The Many Faces of Dad" which was done by my daughter, Lisa. There is a drawing of: "Dad confused," "Dad grumpy," and a couple of more. These drawings were made when I was in the middle of law school and also pastoring a church - the combo of which was fairly unpleasant. It made me think two things: I was worried a lot over finding a way to make a living when my kids were young, and my daughter was pretty perceptive when she was young.
You never know what you are going to find when you open up a drawer!
I remember that my great aunt Thelma was there, my parents were there. I can't even remember whether I preached it before or after Jimmy and Lisa were born, but I am fairly sure it was after they were born.
And, then I come across the bulletin from the Sunday in 1989 when I was ordained as a minister. August 6, 1989. And, the insert in the bulletin is scribbled on, and I'm pretty sure I recognize this scribbling as that of little Lisa who was a little over one at the time. My Mom remembers Jimmy reciting the Lord's Prayer word for word at the service, and remembers that he pronounced temp-ta-tion as "temp-a-ta-tion." I remember that my father-in-law was there even though he had been going through a hellacious round of chemotherapy, and I remember how happy he was to be there. I remember my seminary professor and advisor, Charlie Cousar, preaching a wonderful sermon about glorifying God as being the first thing in life.
Well, this afternoon took me back a few years. On next Thursday, I will have been an ordained minister for 20 years.
I also found this really funny set of drawings entitled "The Many Faces of Dad" which was done by my daughter, Lisa. There is a drawing of: "Dad confused," "Dad grumpy," and a couple of more. These drawings were made when I was in the middle of law school and also pastoring a church - the combo of which was fairly unpleasant. It made me think two things: I was worried a lot over finding a way to make a living when my kids were young, and my daughter was pretty perceptive when she was young.
You never know what you are going to find when you open up a drawer!
Some Thoughts on Middle Age
Middle age is when you realize that many of your dreams are not going to be realized and when you begin to understand that most of your dreams were really expressions of self-rejection. But, there are always one or two dreams that are just the essence of life, that affirm your life and the life of others. If you come out of the process of mid-life reflection with one or two of these dreams intact and say good-bye to those dreams that were nothing more than wanting to be someone you are not, well - then, life is good. You should be able to live out whatever years you have left with peace and with your concerns focused off of yourself and onto others.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Quotes from William James' "Is Life Worth Living?"
These passages come from the closing sections of a speech by William James
James speaks of the most essential aspect of our being, which he says is that region within "where we dwell alone with our willingnesses and unwillingnesses, our faiths and fears." "Here," he says, "is our deepest organ of communication with the nature of things; and compared with these concrete movements of our soul all abstract statements and scientific arguments - the veto, for example, that the strict positivist pronounces upon our faith - sound to us like mere chatterings of the teeth. For here possibilities, not finished facts, are the realities with which we have to actively deal . . . "
"I confess that I do not see why the very existence of an invisible world may not in part depend on the personal response which any one of us may make to the religious appeal. God himself, in short, may draw vital strength and increase of very being from our fidelity. For my own part, I do not know what the sweat and blood and tragedy of this life mean, if they mean anything short of this. If this life be not a real fight, in which something is eternally gained for the universe by success, it is no better than a game of private theatricals from which one may withdraw at will. But it feels like a real fight - as if there were something really wild in the universe which we, with all our idealities and faithfulnesses, are needed to redeem; and first of all to redeem our own hearts from atheisms and fears. For such a half-wild, half-saved universe our nature is adapted.. . .
"These, then, are my last words to you: Be not afraid of life. Believe that life is worth living, and your belief will help create the fact. The scientific proof that you are right may not be clear before the day of judgment (or some stage of being which that expression may serve to symbolize) is reached. But the faithful fighters of this hour . . . may then turn to the faint-hearted, who here declined to go on, with words like those with which Henry IV greeted the tardy Crillon after a great victory had been gained: 'Hang yourself, brave Crillon! We fought at Arques, and you were not there."
William James, "Is Life Worth Living?" Address at Harvard University from 1895.
James speaks of the most essential aspect of our being, which he says is that region within "where we dwell alone with our willingnesses and unwillingnesses, our faiths and fears." "Here," he says, "is our deepest organ of communication with the nature of things; and compared with these concrete movements of our soul all abstract statements and scientific arguments - the veto, for example, that the strict positivist pronounces upon our faith - sound to us like mere chatterings of the teeth. For here possibilities, not finished facts, are the realities with which we have to actively deal . . . "
"I confess that I do not see why the very existence of an invisible world may not in part depend on the personal response which any one of us may make to the religious appeal. God himself, in short, may draw vital strength and increase of very being from our fidelity. For my own part, I do not know what the sweat and blood and tragedy of this life mean, if they mean anything short of this. If this life be not a real fight, in which something is eternally gained for the universe by success, it is no better than a game of private theatricals from which one may withdraw at will. But it feels like a real fight - as if there were something really wild in the universe which we, with all our idealities and faithfulnesses, are needed to redeem; and first of all to redeem our own hearts from atheisms and fears. For such a half-wild, half-saved universe our nature is adapted.. . .
"These, then, are my last words to you: Be not afraid of life. Believe that life is worth living, and your belief will help create the fact. The scientific proof that you are right may not be clear before the day of judgment (or some stage of being which that expression may serve to symbolize) is reached. But the faithful fighters of this hour . . . may then turn to the faint-hearted, who here declined to go on, with words like those with which Henry IV greeted the tardy Crillon after a great victory had been gained: 'Hang yourself, brave Crillon! We fought at Arques, and you were not there."
William James, "Is Life Worth Living?" Address at Harvard University from 1895.
Remembering Seminary
Yesterday, I started thinking about Columbia Theological Seminary, Decatur, GA where I attended during 1984-87 and finished the M.Div. degree. I was remembering my professors and classmates, and started looking on the internet to see if I could find anybody.
I have returned to Columbia three times since graduation, and each time has meant a lot to me. There is something about that place that remains holy to me - formative, ground-breaking - something that I can't get behind. Sue and I moved to Decatur when we had been married six months, found jobs at a daycare center with me as cook, van driver, after school care for 1st/2nd graders; Sue as 3-4 year old class teacher. I worked there for nine months, then started seminary. And, seminary started with Greek School. I am probably one of the few seminary students who has ever loved Greek School, but I did. I wanted to be able to read the New Testament in the original language, and pretty soon I could. It opened things up in a way I couldn't have imagined.
At Columbia, I became a father (we have a great picture of little Jimmy wearing my cap at graduation), was introduced to Liberation Theology, Black Theology, devout Christians who were politically liberal; and, I was introduced to inner-city Atlanta from John-Hope Housing Project to the Grady Hospital amputee ward. I remember when I looked at the chart for my first patient for whom I was to serve as chaplain. It read: "HIV positive. Beware of contact." It was 1985, and none of us had really heard of A.I.D.S.
Among many of the crucial areas of history, theology, and experience I was introduced to, I was also introduced to myself. We had two classes in which it was very hard to avoid some self disclosure. PN 111, and the hospital chaplaincy class where you had to present verbatims before the class of your sessions with patients. The whole point of presenting your conversations with patients is for the class to help you see where you are in these conversations and how who you are influences and perhaps limits your ability to be with other people as a pastor/counselor. If you have never done this before with an experienced group leader (therapist), you probably can't understand too well how intense this verbatim process is!
Holy shit! When you start dealing with other people's diseases, impending deaths, family crises, there are certain issues you will avoid, because - truth is, you are avoiding these issues in your life because of your own personal history. And, how you use religious speech - either to open up the truth or avoid it - is very telling.
Columbia, for me, was and remains a very holy place. If I were to talk about who I am and how I got to be who I am, I couldn't leave Columbia out for very long. And, I especially remember my teacher and advisor, Dr. Charles Cousar, Professor of New Testament. He was and remains a quiet but passionate man, a kind and strong man, a just and funny man. One day in Greek School, there he was teaching as usual, when all of the sudden one of our more talkative students started complementing him on what a great job he was doing teaching. Apparently (it was the one day of class I missed that summer!) the student was really laying it on thick, when all the sudden the class noticed that Dr. Cousar was climbing up onto his desk, and as he got on top he said: "Boy, it's getting deep in here (referring to the bullshit); I was afraid I might drown!"
I'm told that the class broke up so loud in laughter that they could never collectively recover themselves, and the class was cut short.
Of course, you had to be there, I'm told. Because Dr. Cousar was that way: he communicated largely by the way he said things; by the expressions on his face. I can see the huge smile he had on as he mounted the desk. He came and preached when I was ordained as a Presbyterian minister in South Carolina in August of 1989.
He also heard me out as I wondered out loud in his office about how the powerful language and meaning we were getting from Paul's letters was just completely transformed to bullshit by the time it gets to the pulpit of our churches. He also stood next to me with homeless people at Central Presbyterian Church looking as much at home with them as he did with students - the same non-presuming presence that brought life and hope and sanity whereever he was.
Just some memories I was having yesterday and now today.
I have returned to Columbia three times since graduation, and each time has meant a lot to me. There is something about that place that remains holy to me - formative, ground-breaking - something that I can't get behind. Sue and I moved to Decatur when we had been married six months, found jobs at a daycare center with me as cook, van driver, after school care for 1st/2nd graders; Sue as 3-4 year old class teacher. I worked there for nine months, then started seminary. And, seminary started with Greek School. I am probably one of the few seminary students who has ever loved Greek School, but I did. I wanted to be able to read the New Testament in the original language, and pretty soon I could. It opened things up in a way I couldn't have imagined.
At Columbia, I became a father (we have a great picture of little Jimmy wearing my cap at graduation), was introduced to Liberation Theology, Black Theology, devout Christians who were politically liberal; and, I was introduced to inner-city Atlanta from John-Hope Housing Project to the Grady Hospital amputee ward. I remember when I looked at the chart for my first patient for whom I was to serve as chaplain. It read: "HIV positive. Beware of contact." It was 1985, and none of us had really heard of A.I.D.S.
Among many of the crucial areas of history, theology, and experience I was introduced to, I was also introduced to myself. We had two classes in which it was very hard to avoid some self disclosure. PN 111, and the hospital chaplaincy class where you had to present verbatims before the class of your sessions with patients. The whole point of presenting your conversations with patients is for the class to help you see where you are in these conversations and how who you are influences and perhaps limits your ability to be with other people as a pastor/counselor. If you have never done this before with an experienced group leader (therapist), you probably can't understand too well how intense this verbatim process is!
Holy shit! When you start dealing with other people's diseases, impending deaths, family crises, there are certain issues you will avoid, because - truth is, you are avoiding these issues in your life because of your own personal history. And, how you use religious speech - either to open up the truth or avoid it - is very telling.
Columbia, for me, was and remains a very holy place. If I were to talk about who I am and how I got to be who I am, I couldn't leave Columbia out for very long. And, I especially remember my teacher and advisor, Dr. Charles Cousar, Professor of New Testament. He was and remains a quiet but passionate man, a kind and strong man, a just and funny man. One day in Greek School, there he was teaching as usual, when all of the sudden one of our more talkative students started complementing him on what a great job he was doing teaching. Apparently (it was the one day of class I missed that summer!) the student was really laying it on thick, when all the sudden the class noticed that Dr. Cousar was climbing up onto his desk, and as he got on top he said: "Boy, it's getting deep in here (referring to the bullshit); I was afraid I might drown!"
I'm told that the class broke up so loud in laughter that they could never collectively recover themselves, and the class was cut short.
Of course, you had to be there, I'm told. Because Dr. Cousar was that way: he communicated largely by the way he said things; by the expressions on his face. I can see the huge smile he had on as he mounted the desk. He came and preached when I was ordained as a Presbyterian minister in South Carolina in August of 1989.
He also heard me out as I wondered out loud in his office about how the powerful language and meaning we were getting from Paul's letters was just completely transformed to bullshit by the time it gets to the pulpit of our churches. He also stood next to me with homeless people at Central Presbyterian Church looking as much at home with them as he did with students - the same non-presuming presence that brought life and hope and sanity whereever he was.
Just some memories I was having yesterday and now today.
Monday, July 13, 2009
If I Could Tell the Truth
If I could tell the truth, I could get across what I really want to say. But, you can’t really tell the truth except in a conversation that you have given yourself to. In a conversation like that, you discover it right at the point that you say it, or, right at the point that you say it together.
But there is also something very important about writing down the best you can what you want to say, and giving that to another person – giving it in trust.
There are a number of reasons why we don’t tell the whole truth to each other, and several of them are good reasons. Like one of my friends said once: “I know my Dad will care so much that I just don’t want to tell him how bad things are right now.” Sometimes you are bearing it, and you know that someone else will bear it with you if you tell them, and you just don’t want to do that right now. But, this can be a piece of self-deception as well. Usually when you love someone, it is way easier to bear their trouble with them that you know about than watch them suffer incommunicado. And, when you really love someone, you usually have a pretty good sense or at least unconscious uneasiness about their suffering.
And, in the few times, when I have just put things out there for others, or when they have put things on the table to me, both sides usually do a lot better than expected. The fears we have are generally proven overstated – at least when it comes to fears about others we love knowing the truth. But, sometimes fears are justified; usually not.
Just a few things I was thinking as I try to learn how to speak truly on this blog while knowing this is not a private conversation.
But there is also something very important about writing down the best you can what you want to say, and giving that to another person – giving it in trust.
There are a number of reasons why we don’t tell the whole truth to each other, and several of them are good reasons. Like one of my friends said once: “I know my Dad will care so much that I just don’t want to tell him how bad things are right now.” Sometimes you are bearing it, and you know that someone else will bear it with you if you tell them, and you just don’t want to do that right now. But, this can be a piece of self-deception as well. Usually when you love someone, it is way easier to bear their trouble with them that you know about than watch them suffer incommunicado. And, when you really love someone, you usually have a pretty good sense or at least unconscious uneasiness about their suffering.
And, in the few times, when I have just put things out there for others, or when they have put things on the table to me, both sides usually do a lot better than expected. The fears we have are generally proven overstated – at least when it comes to fears about others we love knowing the truth. But, sometimes fears are justified; usually not.
Just a few things I was thinking as I try to learn how to speak truly on this blog while knowing this is not a private conversation.
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