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!
Friday, July 31, 2009
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.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Providence and Problems Continued
Is the universe really set up so that the Creator/Sustainer of all things is like a puppet master while all creatures/creative forces in the world are simply like puppets on a string? Surely not.
The way many religious people talk about providence views God as in control of every little happening. "It is all part of God's plan," people say. "Everything that happens?" I ask.
One strange thing I've observed is this: many conservative Protestants talk as if human beings are completely free to choose whether to believe in God and trust in God, as if God is not even influencing that choice much at all. But, then, the way these same people talk about the rest of life is as if God rules it completely so that every thing that happens is completely determined by God and not any other forces, including human choice.
Something about that is badly out of touch with reality: with the reality of how we experience life in this world and life with God and each other.
I like the way Tolkein portrays the struggle between good and evil, as if it is a real struggle. He leads you to "believe" and to "hope" that good will overcome. But, it is a real fight, a real struggle - not simply the unfolding of a predetermined plan. It is about the real relationships between the seen and the unseen powers, the real trust or distrust between human and divine. In Tolkein's Lord of the Rings, it is of real and ultimate importance whether Bilbo completes the task he is given. It was of real and ultimate importance that Jesus complete the task he was given, something he had to figure out a step at a time. And, Jesus' purpose was not finished when he was no longer seen in flesh and blood. His purpose was to be the pioneer of a new humanity, to be the first-born of a new creation. And, to fulfill his ultimate purpose, human beings must take part in this movement towards a new humanity, towards a new creation. Though the initial creation was unilateral: "God spoke," this new creation "needs" human cooperators. That's the real point of Jesus' life, death and resurrection. That God might recover humanity as the covenant partner in this creative work. Certainly, humanity is a very junior partner to the Creator, but nonetheless the human being has a real and ultimately important role in the destiny of the earth.
And, it is a struggle. It is a struggle for God, I believe. My experience leads me to say that God is continuously involved in the living of our lives, the dying and the celebrating and the ups and downs of peoples and nations. But, God is involved not as one who determines in a mechanistic way, but as one who is in relation to his creation and who determines by influencing through the divine presence. But, this influence may or may not have an effect. Like when Jesus was in his hometown, and he couldn't do any great things, because of their "lack of faith." Just as then, God needs the human partner. That just seems to be the structure of reality - how God created it, willed it to be.
And, I guess the most simple way to say this is to say: "THIS WE ARE GOING THROUGH IS REAL, AND IS REALLY AND ULTIMATELY IMPORTANT." The Divine Spirit is near and far, is close and distant. God is present in this world, as that creative presence, that reconciling presence, that judging presence, that SANE AND GRACIOUS PRESENCE in the midst of a world that can be so insane and ungracious.
But, because God is in relation to this creation and its creatures, and because God really participates in this history of the world, God's wishes do not always get realized. The Bible seems clear enough on that point. There is a lot going on that is against God's will, and God surely suffers great pain at the cruelty with which humans beings treat each other. Children who are murdered and thousands of children who are orphaned because of the rage of warfare and disease in certain areas of the world. Does anybody really think that is God's will? Surely, that is the opposite of God's will.
If so, then why does God let it happen? That question presumes that God can simply influence any event to go the way God wants it too. I don't believe that. God has not created a world in which God can rule it mechanistically. A real God works by influence (not by calling this shot and that), but human beings have to cooperate with the divine for things to go well on earth. Where human beings are receptive to God, and come under the grace of God's presence, amazing things happen - like they did in Jesus life, and through Jesus.
As I have experienced some horrible things at times in life - seeing others in terrible pain and grief, and experiencing deep loss - I have often felt very strongly that God was that pain and that grief that I experienced in that somehow there was a meaning at the core of the meaninglessness, a love at the heart of the suffering. But, God was right there in it, not way up in heaven sending down messages of consolation and wisdom. And, I sensed that God was at work in that darkness creating life out of death, some hope out of hopelessness - but, often there was a long painful presence before light came, or hope came. I have also felt very deeply that God protests with us in the face of death at times. I have felt a holy protest rise up within my soul in the face of injustice and cruelty. But, sometimes God's causes suffer defeats for a time. But, even in defeat, I experience something that is not defeated. Even in grief, I experience something that can't be lost. I experience that God is closer than can be expressed, and goes to the depths of life and death with human beings. What I find at the depths of my experience is not that everything always works out fine, or that everything happens in accordance with God's well-ordered plan. What I find at the depths is an overwhelming sense that God is completely beautiful and pure and good and gracious and full of mercy and trust and perserverance.
And, this experience makes me want to serve God and honor God and work for God's cause on earth until I have no more days left to serve and honor and praise God. I believe in the absolute and wonderful goodness and beauty of God, and something deeper than I can understand tells me that that goodness and beauty will have the last word in this world. But, it feels a lot more like the life and death struggle of the Lord of the Rings than the nice little journey of faith spoken of in churches.
The way many religious people talk about providence views God as in control of every little happening. "It is all part of God's plan," people say. "Everything that happens?" I ask.
One strange thing I've observed is this: many conservative Protestants talk as if human beings are completely free to choose whether to believe in God and trust in God, as if God is not even influencing that choice much at all. But, then, the way these same people talk about the rest of life is as if God rules it completely so that every thing that happens is completely determined by God and not any other forces, including human choice.
Something about that is badly out of touch with reality: with the reality of how we experience life in this world and life with God and each other.
I like the way Tolkein portrays the struggle between good and evil, as if it is a real struggle. He leads you to "believe" and to "hope" that good will overcome. But, it is a real fight, a real struggle - not simply the unfolding of a predetermined plan. It is about the real relationships between the seen and the unseen powers, the real trust or distrust between human and divine. In Tolkein's Lord of the Rings, it is of real and ultimate importance whether Bilbo completes the task he is given. It was of real and ultimate importance that Jesus complete the task he was given, something he had to figure out a step at a time. And, Jesus' purpose was not finished when he was no longer seen in flesh and blood. His purpose was to be the pioneer of a new humanity, to be the first-born of a new creation. And, to fulfill his ultimate purpose, human beings must take part in this movement towards a new humanity, towards a new creation. Though the initial creation was unilateral: "God spoke," this new creation "needs" human cooperators. That's the real point of Jesus' life, death and resurrection. That God might recover humanity as the covenant partner in this creative work. Certainly, humanity is a very junior partner to the Creator, but nonetheless the human being has a real and ultimately important role in the destiny of the earth.
And, it is a struggle. It is a struggle for God, I believe. My experience leads me to say that God is continuously involved in the living of our lives, the dying and the celebrating and the ups and downs of peoples and nations. But, God is involved not as one who determines in a mechanistic way, but as one who is in relation to his creation and who determines by influencing through the divine presence. But, this influence may or may not have an effect. Like when Jesus was in his hometown, and he couldn't do any great things, because of their "lack of faith." Just as then, God needs the human partner. That just seems to be the structure of reality - how God created it, willed it to be.
And, I guess the most simple way to say this is to say: "THIS WE ARE GOING THROUGH IS REAL, AND IS REALLY AND ULTIMATELY IMPORTANT." The Divine Spirit is near and far, is close and distant. God is present in this world, as that creative presence, that reconciling presence, that judging presence, that SANE AND GRACIOUS PRESENCE in the midst of a world that can be so insane and ungracious.
But, because God is in relation to this creation and its creatures, and because God really participates in this history of the world, God's wishes do not always get realized. The Bible seems clear enough on that point. There is a lot going on that is against God's will, and God surely suffers great pain at the cruelty with which humans beings treat each other. Children who are murdered and thousands of children who are orphaned because of the rage of warfare and disease in certain areas of the world. Does anybody really think that is God's will? Surely, that is the opposite of God's will.
If so, then why does God let it happen? That question presumes that God can simply influence any event to go the way God wants it too. I don't believe that. God has not created a world in which God can rule it mechanistically. A real God works by influence (not by calling this shot and that), but human beings have to cooperate with the divine for things to go well on earth. Where human beings are receptive to God, and come under the grace of God's presence, amazing things happen - like they did in Jesus life, and through Jesus.
As I have experienced some horrible things at times in life - seeing others in terrible pain and grief, and experiencing deep loss - I have often felt very strongly that God was that pain and that grief that I experienced in that somehow there was a meaning at the core of the meaninglessness, a love at the heart of the suffering. But, God was right there in it, not way up in heaven sending down messages of consolation and wisdom. And, I sensed that God was at work in that darkness creating life out of death, some hope out of hopelessness - but, often there was a long painful presence before light came, or hope came. I have also felt very deeply that God protests with us in the face of death at times. I have felt a holy protest rise up within my soul in the face of injustice and cruelty. But, sometimes God's causes suffer defeats for a time. But, even in defeat, I experience something that is not defeated. Even in grief, I experience something that can't be lost. I experience that God is closer than can be expressed, and goes to the depths of life and death with human beings. What I find at the depths of my experience is not that everything always works out fine, or that everything happens in accordance with God's well-ordered plan. What I find at the depths is an overwhelming sense that God is completely beautiful and pure and good and gracious and full of mercy and trust and perserverance.
And, this experience makes me want to serve God and honor God and work for God's cause on earth until I have no more days left to serve and honor and praise God. I believe in the absolute and wonderful goodness and beauty of God, and something deeper than I can understand tells me that that goodness and beauty will have the last word in this world. But, it feels a lot more like the life and death struggle of the Lord of the Rings than the nice little journey of faith spoken of in churches.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
An Essay by William James
I read an essay by William James last night. It is entitled: "Is Life Worth Living?" and is part of a book THE WILL TO BELIEVE: AND OTHER ESSAYS IN POPULAR PHILOSOPHY. You can find the essay by going to The Will to Believe and Other Essays in Popular Philosophy . . . Google Books. It begins at page 33, and all of the article appears at this site.
I have always liked reading things written by William James, but what he wrote in this essay really hit me deep down. I am very grateful to have come across it in a book I had buried on a shelf.
I am going to read it again before I take up my topic again on Providence and Problems.
I have always liked reading things written by William James, but what he wrote in this essay really hit me deep down. I am very grateful to have come across it in a book I had buried on a shelf.
I am going to read it again before I take up my topic again on Providence and Problems.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
