Thursday, April 22, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
Thoughts About and Experiences of God
When I am sitting around in conversation about religious matters, at what point is it I am in conversation about thoughts, feelings, experiences, guesses about how life works, etc. What I am asking is: what exactly is our religious talk based on?
At one time and in one conversation or monologue I can be so certain that I know something of God, even from God sometimes. And, at other times, my 'knowing' seems very uncertain and to give way to Psalm 131: "O Lord, my heart is not lifted up; my eyes are not raised too high. I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. But I have calmed and quieted my soul . . . "
And, when my "knowing" gives way to this trust, I often feel I have reached the deepest level of knowing which shapes my life in a holy way.
The mystics are right: there is a way of "knowing" that arises from a deep sense of "not knowing." But, this "not knowing" is not skepticism, but its opposite. This "not knowing" trusts in another and trusts in something deep and mysterious in the self. This trust and experience of our Creator's trustworthiness is the deepest part of faith that I know.
Have you ever been with someone you loved and trusted very much, and the two of you were facing a very difficult problem? And, it was unclear what you should do. Have you ever had the feeling that even though you didn't have any idea of what to do at that moment, that nonetheless you felt absolutely confident at that moment that the two of you would figure out the right thing to do?
It is that kind of "knowing" that I am talking about when I talk about the experience of faith.
Another thought I have been having is this: when I pray many times, I am imagining myself in relation to God and imagining God. But, there are a few times, when that imagining gives way to experiencing and communing. But, isn't that a lot like our relationships with others we are close to? We spend a good deal of time imagining that relationship, imagining how we are in relation to the other, how the other is in relation to us. We have conversations with the other in which we are trying out this or that presentation of ourselves or this or that construction of who the other is. But, sometimes, these conversations give way to utter communion, when we are talking and listening to each other so much that we are taken up in one conversation, not two separate ones trying to make contact.
So, I don't want to devalue abstract theological discussions or abstract personal discussions, or any genuine attempt to move towards understanding, whether theological or personal. It is not so much the level of the discourse that matters, but the direction and intent of that discourse that matters. Where people are joined together really seeking understanding, they tend to find it together. Where a person or persons are really seeking understanding with God, within the self, and with each other, they tend to experience it.
A good, well-intentioned abstract philosophical discussion is better and more humanly meaningful than a serious effort at personal discussion of personal and religious issues that is guided by bad motives, whether those motives are conscious or unconscious.
Where the heart is turned towards God and neighbor, about any discussion can be worth having, whether it is about tilling the garden or a new grandchild or your favorite baseball team.
At one time and in one conversation or monologue I can be so certain that I know something of God, even from God sometimes. And, at other times, my 'knowing' seems very uncertain and to give way to Psalm 131: "O Lord, my heart is not lifted up; my eyes are not raised too high. I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. But I have calmed and quieted my soul . . . "
And, when my "knowing" gives way to this trust, I often feel I have reached the deepest level of knowing which shapes my life in a holy way.
The mystics are right: there is a way of "knowing" that arises from a deep sense of "not knowing." But, this "not knowing" is not skepticism, but its opposite. This "not knowing" trusts in another and trusts in something deep and mysterious in the self. This trust and experience of our Creator's trustworthiness is the deepest part of faith that I know.
Have you ever been with someone you loved and trusted very much, and the two of you were facing a very difficult problem? And, it was unclear what you should do. Have you ever had the feeling that even though you didn't have any idea of what to do at that moment, that nonetheless you felt absolutely confident at that moment that the two of you would figure out the right thing to do?
It is that kind of "knowing" that I am talking about when I talk about the experience of faith.
Another thought I have been having is this: when I pray many times, I am imagining myself in relation to God and imagining God. But, there are a few times, when that imagining gives way to experiencing and communing. But, isn't that a lot like our relationships with others we are close to? We spend a good deal of time imagining that relationship, imagining how we are in relation to the other, how the other is in relation to us. We have conversations with the other in which we are trying out this or that presentation of ourselves or this or that construction of who the other is. But, sometimes, these conversations give way to utter communion, when we are talking and listening to each other so much that we are taken up in one conversation, not two separate ones trying to make contact.
So, I don't want to devalue abstract theological discussions or abstract personal discussions, or any genuine attempt to move towards understanding, whether theological or personal. It is not so much the level of the discourse that matters, but the direction and intent of that discourse that matters. Where people are joined together really seeking understanding, they tend to find it together. Where a person or persons are really seeking understanding with God, within the self, and with each other, they tend to experience it.
A good, well-intentioned abstract philosophical discussion is better and more humanly meaningful than a serious effort at personal discussion of personal and religious issues that is guided by bad motives, whether those motives are conscious or unconscious.
Where the heart is turned towards God and neighbor, about any discussion can be worth having, whether it is about tilling the garden or a new grandchild or your favorite baseball team.
Monday, March 29, 2010
A Reflection on the Meaning of Lent
Many Christians observe "Lent" and practice "giving up things" for Lent. Some give up chocolate, others give up t.v., others give up soft drinks or coffee or wine or beer.
I don't ever give anything up for Lent - at least not voluntarily. But, this Lenten season, I ended up pretty much giving up two things: coffee (which I love, but which was hurting my stomach) and blogging (which I just lost the desire to do).
It occurred to me tonight that Lent is the voluntary practice of giving up things, because in life we have to undergo and survive the experience of involuntarily giving up things. We have to learn to give up so much that is so important. We have to learn to give up our health eventually, our ability to control this and that, and even our loved ones. It is actually a pretty solemn spiritual discipline, learning to give up things in preparation for giving up what is most precious in life and even life itself.
Life is a joy, and life is a struggle. As OCMS sings: "Walking a line between faith and fear." And, though we have each other to travel with, there is something deeply personal that each of us has to bear. There is a moment when you just plain have to bear it by yourself.
In worship this Sunday, we sang: "Jesus Walked this Lonesome Valley."
"Jesus walked this lonesome valley. He had to walk it by himself. Nobody else could walk it for him. He had to walk it by himself."
When we come to understand this, then we can help each other out, not necessarily by taking the load off of each other, but by understanding something about the load each other is bearing. In that way, we really do help each other bear the load.
These two thoughts are before me: one, about learning to give things up and reflecting on that as being a central learning of life, and two, about the deeply personal nature of that learning process. But, giving up what is most precious can strike us at the depths of our souls. And, what is most precious are those we love.
At some point, even those with faith cry out to God: "My God, my God why hast thou forsaken me!?" Faith outlasts that cry in the end, endures it. Or, maybe that very cry is at the heart of faith - completely pouring out the deepest heartfelt experience of life and death before God. And, that painful question gets an answer - someday, it gets an answer, not in words, but in the shocking appearance of God in our midst, the life-giving presence of the Holy. I guess that is what Easter is all about.
I don't ever give anything up for Lent - at least not voluntarily. But, this Lenten season, I ended up pretty much giving up two things: coffee (which I love, but which was hurting my stomach) and blogging (which I just lost the desire to do).
It occurred to me tonight that Lent is the voluntary practice of giving up things, because in life we have to undergo and survive the experience of involuntarily giving up things. We have to learn to give up so much that is so important. We have to learn to give up our health eventually, our ability to control this and that, and even our loved ones. It is actually a pretty solemn spiritual discipline, learning to give up things in preparation for giving up what is most precious in life and even life itself.
Life is a joy, and life is a struggle. As OCMS sings: "Walking a line between faith and fear." And, though we have each other to travel with, there is something deeply personal that each of us has to bear. There is a moment when you just plain have to bear it by yourself.
In worship this Sunday, we sang: "Jesus Walked this Lonesome Valley."
"Jesus walked this lonesome valley. He had to walk it by himself. Nobody else could walk it for him. He had to walk it by himself."
When we come to understand this, then we can help each other out, not necessarily by taking the load off of each other, but by understanding something about the load each other is bearing. In that way, we really do help each other bear the load.
These two thoughts are before me: one, about learning to give things up and reflecting on that as being a central learning of life, and two, about the deeply personal nature of that learning process. But, giving up what is most precious can strike us at the depths of our souls. And, what is most precious are those we love.
At some point, even those with faith cry out to God: "My God, my God why hast thou forsaken me!?" Faith outlasts that cry in the end, endures it. Or, maybe that very cry is at the heart of faith - completely pouring out the deepest heartfelt experience of life and death before God. And, that painful question gets an answer - someday, it gets an answer, not in words, but in the shocking appearance of God in our midst, the life-giving presence of the Holy. I guess that is what Easter is all about.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Freedom from force and compulsion
One thought continues to arise in my mind and heart, more and more strongly. And, that thought is: FORCE AND COMPULSION OF ALL KINDS, AND AT ALL LEVELS OF HUMAN LIFE, ARE AGAINST THE MOVEMENT OF GOD'S SPIRIT, AND AGAINST THE NATURE OF GOD'S SPIRIT. And, against everything that is good and deep and beautiful in human life.
Whether it is a personal compulsion that I have to exercise three times a day, or a personal compulsion that I have every part of the house clean before a guest can visit, or that I have to make everybody happy before I can relax (which means I can never relax), or more dark compulsive thoughts, these bind our hearts and minds, keeping us from the freedom of God's Spirit. Whether it is a parent reverting to threats and physical force - not as some last, desperation attempt to get control when it is lost - but, as a normal part of child-rearing; whether it is a teacher using shame and blame techniques to motivate students; whether it is governments passing more and more laws to try to force citizens into a certain mold; whether it is launching military campaigns whenever we feel a little threatened; whether it is using violent, abrasive language to try and "win" every debate with another, all of these practices are in a sense the choosing of violence over seeking understanding.
It seems to me that the great difference between God and the way religious people have portrayed God so often is that the real God is averse to using force, whereas religious people like to portray God as if he is all about force. The Gospel accounts in the New Testament about Jesus really agree on one thing very, very much, and that one thing is: Jesus did not try to compel people to follow him (rather he warned them how hard it would be); Jesus did not use force against anyone to get them to do anything; Jesus opposed the coercive teachings of the religious leaders of his day. And, well, there is God and who God is shown to be through Jesus. God was shown to be the opposite of violence; the absolute opposite of a coercer. For, "even though humanity was opposed to the ways of God," God didn't declare war on humanity, conquer us, and then put us in training camps to reprogram us. No, God bore our sicknesses, and evils in his very self, breaking the hold of compulsions and violence and oppressions of all sorts. God sought to reach humanity at the depths of our darkened hearts with a love that went deeper than our pain, deeper than our hatred, deeper than our pettiness, calling out from the depths of God's Spirit, to the depths of our spirits, Creator to creature, from the goodness and dignity and glory of the Creator to the goodness and dignity of the creature.
And, yes, it is a powerful and resounding call that comes to us from the heart of God, and when we hear it in our depths, we can't help but respond. But, this response is not some compulsion, but is the greatest release and joyful liberation. As we understand that the center and power of all reality is this overwhelming joyful love, our hearts rejoice and we become more alive than we have ever been before.
Whether it is a personal compulsion that I have to exercise three times a day, or a personal compulsion that I have every part of the house clean before a guest can visit, or that I have to make everybody happy before I can relax (which means I can never relax), or more dark compulsive thoughts, these bind our hearts and minds, keeping us from the freedom of God's Spirit. Whether it is a parent reverting to threats and physical force - not as some last, desperation attempt to get control when it is lost - but, as a normal part of child-rearing; whether it is a teacher using shame and blame techniques to motivate students; whether it is governments passing more and more laws to try to force citizens into a certain mold; whether it is launching military campaigns whenever we feel a little threatened; whether it is using violent, abrasive language to try and "win" every debate with another, all of these practices are in a sense the choosing of violence over seeking understanding.
It seems to me that the great difference between God and the way religious people have portrayed God so often is that the real God is averse to using force, whereas religious people like to portray God as if he is all about force. The Gospel accounts in the New Testament about Jesus really agree on one thing very, very much, and that one thing is: Jesus did not try to compel people to follow him (rather he warned them how hard it would be); Jesus did not use force against anyone to get them to do anything; Jesus opposed the coercive teachings of the religious leaders of his day. And, well, there is God and who God is shown to be through Jesus. God was shown to be the opposite of violence; the absolute opposite of a coercer. For, "even though humanity was opposed to the ways of God," God didn't declare war on humanity, conquer us, and then put us in training camps to reprogram us. No, God bore our sicknesses, and evils in his very self, breaking the hold of compulsions and violence and oppressions of all sorts. God sought to reach humanity at the depths of our darkened hearts with a love that went deeper than our pain, deeper than our hatred, deeper than our pettiness, calling out from the depths of God's Spirit, to the depths of our spirits, Creator to creature, from the goodness and dignity and glory of the Creator to the goodness and dignity of the creature.
And, yes, it is a powerful and resounding call that comes to us from the heart of God, and when we hear it in our depths, we can't help but respond. But, this response is not some compulsion, but is the greatest release and joyful liberation. As we understand that the center and power of all reality is this overwhelming joyful love, our hearts rejoice and we become more alive than we have ever been before.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Who Causes Evil?
There are good things and bad things that happen to us. Sometimes we have a large role in creating the good and bad we experience, but sometimes we don't. And, even when we largely give shape to what comes to us, we have been formed by so many things that went before us.
We are certainly agents that can affect our environment, even shape it, as we are shaped by it. But, we never have the chance to extripate ourselves from our environment: social, psychological, spiritual, physical, political, and make decisions without being pushed and pulled by forces we cannot fathom or control.
In thinking on things like this, I invariably think about God's relationship to what happens in this world. I feel that God is in about everything, but not "in control" the way God is often presented in Western Christianity. To hear many preachers, you would think that God just sits back at the switchboard and causes this and that to happen. And, though it may seem bad to us, it is all good in the end as it is all part of God's masterplan. Well, I just don't see things that way, nor do I experience them that way. And, not too many of those who wrote the Bible seemed to either.
Presbyterians are afraid to give too much credence to evil, and we are also afraid to punch any holes in our doctrine of providence. But, Jesus suffering and crucifixion, might be understood to reveal just how much in rebellion this world is and just how much evil lurks on earth in defiance of the goodness of God. In the resurrection, God says "NO" to the evil in this world, especially because of Jesus suffering and obedience to God as Jesus defied the powers of evil. But, the evil is strong. So strong, that though God struck a blow against its power over humans, the victory has not yet come. Sin still covers the earth, and stirs humans to twisted and distorted and violent living. Death follows in the wake of sin.
I really like the realism of the last book of the Bible. Most mainline Christians really hate Revelation. But, that's because they think things are really pretty good and we are just going to step right off of the earth to heaven through the passageway we call death. And, I guess things are at times pretty good for mainline Protestants in the U.S. - if they can pretend through the pain. But, things aren't good at all for many other people around the globe, as they watch their children die from starvation or civil wars. As they find their daughters raped and beaten during wars. No, for many, many people, life on earth can be a hell. And, the answer to all this comes not in heaven, but in God's coming to earth - fully and finally, bringing judgement and redemption.
To many people my talk probably sounds like science fiction. Yes, it is like science fiction. That's why I love science fiction, because it is one of the closest portrayals of the way things really are that we have in our imagination and writing. Life is really a lot more like "The Lord of the Rings"than contemporary understanding makes it out to be. And, life for me is a lot more interesting than it is for good, solid people that never stray from "common sense." I really like to think that God blesses us with "uncommon sense" so that we can see the glory that is hidden in the present.
I really like "The Hobbit" and "The Lord of the Rings," because - to me - Tolkien's portrayal of Middle Earth is just "so realistic." The outcome does seem in doubt at times, but something deep within, something so good, just convinces you that the good will triumph - even though everything seems to point the other way. The simple goodness of little Hobbit trying to fulfill his destiny. The truth that it is only one so humble that has a chance really taking on the powers of evil that break humans.
O, yeah, I was going to talk about who causes evil. Well, in the deepest part of me, I think that God does not. I think that God is fully good, not good and bad. We traffic in evil; God does not. But, God's way of overcoming evil is not too easy to understand. We want God to be like the military and come and force evil out. But, problem is evil has grown within us along with our good, so the eradication of it would mean the eradication of us. We have to learn to live with it in God's patience and God's Spirit. And, to overcome it in time as the good becomes ever stronger.
We are certainly agents that can affect our environment, even shape it, as we are shaped by it. But, we never have the chance to extripate ourselves from our environment: social, psychological, spiritual, physical, political, and make decisions without being pushed and pulled by forces we cannot fathom or control.
In thinking on things like this, I invariably think about God's relationship to what happens in this world. I feel that God is in about everything, but not "in control" the way God is often presented in Western Christianity. To hear many preachers, you would think that God just sits back at the switchboard and causes this and that to happen. And, though it may seem bad to us, it is all good in the end as it is all part of God's masterplan. Well, I just don't see things that way, nor do I experience them that way. And, not too many of those who wrote the Bible seemed to either.
Presbyterians are afraid to give too much credence to evil, and we are also afraid to punch any holes in our doctrine of providence. But, Jesus suffering and crucifixion, might be understood to reveal just how much in rebellion this world is and just how much evil lurks on earth in defiance of the goodness of God. In the resurrection, God says "NO" to the evil in this world, especially because of Jesus suffering and obedience to God as Jesus defied the powers of evil. But, the evil is strong. So strong, that though God struck a blow against its power over humans, the victory has not yet come. Sin still covers the earth, and stirs humans to twisted and distorted and violent living. Death follows in the wake of sin.
I really like the realism of the last book of the Bible. Most mainline Christians really hate Revelation. But, that's because they think things are really pretty good and we are just going to step right off of the earth to heaven through the passageway we call death. And, I guess things are at times pretty good for mainline Protestants in the U.S. - if they can pretend through the pain. But, things aren't good at all for many other people around the globe, as they watch their children die from starvation or civil wars. As they find their daughters raped and beaten during wars. No, for many, many people, life on earth can be a hell. And, the answer to all this comes not in heaven, but in God's coming to earth - fully and finally, bringing judgement and redemption.
To many people my talk probably sounds like science fiction. Yes, it is like science fiction. That's why I love science fiction, because it is one of the closest portrayals of the way things really are that we have in our imagination and writing. Life is really a lot more like "The Lord of the Rings"than contemporary understanding makes it out to be. And, life for me is a lot more interesting than it is for good, solid people that never stray from "common sense." I really like to think that God blesses us with "uncommon sense" so that we can see the glory that is hidden in the present.
I really like "The Hobbit" and "The Lord of the Rings," because - to me - Tolkien's portrayal of Middle Earth is just "so realistic." The outcome does seem in doubt at times, but something deep within, something so good, just convinces you that the good will triumph - even though everything seems to point the other way. The simple goodness of little Hobbit trying to fulfill his destiny. The truth that it is only one so humble that has a chance really taking on the powers of evil that break humans.
O, yeah, I was going to talk about who causes evil. Well, in the deepest part of me, I think that God does not. I think that God is fully good, not good and bad. We traffic in evil; God does not. But, God's way of overcoming evil is not too easy to understand. We want God to be like the military and come and force evil out. But, problem is evil has grown within us along with our good, so the eradication of it would mean the eradication of us. We have to learn to live with it in God's patience and God's Spirit. And, to overcome it in time as the good becomes ever stronger.
When You are Trying to Help
If you would help someone deal with her bad characteristics/practices, you do best to encourage that person in her good characteristics/practices. That way, the person who is strengthened in her goodness gains leverage over against the evil in her, whereas if you directly criticize the bad, all you do is call attention to it without helping her marshall the good resources within her. By calling atttention to it, you may strengthen its power as well, causing a person to think that is what defines her.
It is only in a very trusting relationship that direct criticism can have a good effect, and even in those relationships, it is best to try strengthening the good as the first strategy in helping.
It is only in a very trusting relationship that direct criticism can have a good effect, and even in those relationships, it is best to try strengthening the good as the first strategy in helping.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Figuring Out What You're Responsible For
It takes some real thought and experience to decide what you are responsible for in life. In fact, it is something that I guess is never really settled in life. We figure and refigure about this.
If my friend is in trouble, how much responsibility do I feel to take their side. What will I do practically to help, if I can. If a stranger is in need, how much responsibility do I feel and what will I do? Will I just think of their trouble and walk on, or will I perhaps, stop, and talk to them, and then decide whether to take any further action.
Or, say I have caused somewhat of a conflict. Should I just move on and let everybody deal with it however they choose to, or should I try to smooth things over?
I know someone who is really struggling. Should I just think kindly of them or actually contact them? When I pray for someone, when does my prayer become false because as the 'Housemartins' used to sing: "It's time to end the prayer. Listen what I'm saying. Get up off of those knees!"
Clearly, the answer varies from situation to situation. In some ways, I am responsible for everything - for all my fellow humans in this world. Or, at least I owe others something, whatever that may mean in this situation or that. But, I am also limited. How I define my limitations in relation to my fellow humans' needs determines my character.
To feel some burden or responsibility for others troubles, even when you haven't caused them, is to feel some of the Spirit of God in your soul. But, as Paul says, we "bear this heavenly treasure in earthen vessels." How to bear this holy love and burden in pots of clay, that is the question.
But, for this post, I want to conclude by saying that looking out at others' trouble and walling yourself off from it by saying: "it's not my problem," just seems against the Spirit of God in this world. In the next post, I want to get a little farther into this question about what it means to live with concern for others while coming to terms with your own personal limitations/needs.
If my friend is in trouble, how much responsibility do I feel to take their side. What will I do practically to help, if I can. If a stranger is in need, how much responsibility do I feel and what will I do? Will I just think of their trouble and walk on, or will I perhaps, stop, and talk to them, and then decide whether to take any further action.
Or, say I have caused somewhat of a conflict. Should I just move on and let everybody deal with it however they choose to, or should I try to smooth things over?
I know someone who is really struggling. Should I just think kindly of them or actually contact them? When I pray for someone, when does my prayer become false because as the 'Housemartins' used to sing: "It's time to end the prayer. Listen what I'm saying. Get up off of those knees!"
Clearly, the answer varies from situation to situation. In some ways, I am responsible for everything - for all my fellow humans in this world. Or, at least I owe others something, whatever that may mean in this situation or that. But, I am also limited. How I define my limitations in relation to my fellow humans' needs determines my character.
To feel some burden or responsibility for others troubles, even when you haven't caused them, is to feel some of the Spirit of God in your soul. But, as Paul says, we "bear this heavenly treasure in earthen vessels." How to bear this holy love and burden in pots of clay, that is the question.
But, for this post, I want to conclude by saying that looking out at others' trouble and walling yourself off from it by saying: "it's not my problem," just seems against the Spirit of God in this world. In the next post, I want to get a little farther into this question about what it means to live with concern for others while coming to terms with your own personal limitations/needs.
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