Holy Books and Holy Hands

I have been following with interest the furor caused by the burning of the Koran and other Muslim materials by the U.S. military in Afghanistan. It is only logical that such furor would erupt; given the chaotic, even abysmal conditions in Afghanistan its people are an eruption waiting to happen. I have no interest in placing blame on our military personnel who say the disposal was unintentional, or in condemning the Afghan people who have protested violently for four days and counting. Instead I would like to reflect on the way the attitudes involved in this crisis reflect on the life of faith.

I understand full well the spiritual inclination to honor holy books. Living faiths around the globe have long recognized and encouraged it, and many delineate appropriate methods to use when disposal becomes necessary. It strikes me as peculiar, however, that we (we in general, no specific we intended) demand such respect for paper, print, and binding, when we ignore and therefore disrespect the wisdom and profundity inscribed therein. Wouldn’t the most profound expression of respect be actually living the spiritual life as prescribed in our holy books?

A similar dynamic is evident in the ongoing debate in American Christianity about belief vs practice. Beliefs about God are much like the paper, print, and binding of holy books, and the practice of faith is… well, it is the same in both instances. Beliefs about God are a dime a dozen; while practices modeled on God seem few and far between. Beliefs about God have significant value, but that value is not intrinsic. They have value when they foster understanding that can bring light to a darkened spirit and pull a life out of chaos, and – especially – when they point beyond themselves and make possible a lived experience of God. In the end I say let’s respect our holy books …by living out their wisdom; and let’s respect beliefs about God …by letting God be a part of our lives day by day.

The Tasks Entrusted to Us (Jan 22 in worship)

The tasks that have been entrusted to us are often difficult.
Almost everything that matters is difficult, and everything matters.
- Rainer Maria Rilke

Every time you turn around Jesus is calling somebody, and the invitation is always the same, “Follow me.” There is a good reason for both the frequency of the call and the repetition of its invitation. Jesus is always calling, both those who have never heard, and even those of us who have begun to respond. And the invitation is always the same. The call is simple, “Follow me.”

Of course, what it means to follow Jesus is not simple; or, at least, we Christians have made it complicated. At any rate, on Sunday we will reflect on what it means for our faith community, the Overland Park Christian Church, to follow Jesus. In order to be the community God wants us to be, we must see clearly to the heart of our mission; the reason behind the tasks entrusted to us, because they do matter and, yes, they are often difficult. We have chosen obedience to a new call from God that will ask a sacrifice of us all in one form or another, and to bring it to completion will require one thing above all, a glimpse of the Christ. There we will find our motivation, encouragement, and empowerment. Let’s seek that glimpse together on Sunday.

Colorless Children… and Adults (from the RELĀT blog)

I watched her go uncelebrated into the second grade, a colorless child, gray among the orange and yellow, attached too much to corners and to other people’s sunshine. She colors the rainbow brown and leaves balloons unopened in their packages. Oh, who will touch this colorless child? Who will plant alleluias in her heart and send her dancing into all the colors of God? Or will she be left like an unwrapped package on the kitchen table— too dull for anyone to take the trouble? Does God think we’re her keeper?
- Ann Weems (adapted for worship)

I love the poetry of Ann Weems, so I want to be forthright and tell you I adapted the poem cited above for our worship needs this week. In short, I changed the word greenless to colorless. I did so to compare colorless children (of any age) to all the colors of God, which are vibrant, rich, bright, and shimmering. To be sure, her image is deeper and richer than mine. Greenless points both to colorless and to the lack of fecundity or fertility; like a wasted, withered tree  incapable of bearing fruit. Nevertheless, for good or ill I simplified the image for our use this week.

That being said, I would like to comment on Children’s Sabbath, which we will celebrate this Sunday. When I read (and reread) the above cited poem, it’s difficult to decide where to focus. It was written, of course, to raise our awareness of (and pique our conscience concerning) the plight of children in our world who are abandoned and bereft of opportunity; opportunity for the colors in life represented by love, joy, creativity, self esteem, education, health, home, nutrition… need I continue? I pray with Marian Wright Edelman of the Children’s Defense Fund that we will recover the courage to stand for and with these colorless children.

It strikes me, however, that the poem refers equally to adults who have lost their color; that is to say, that somewhere along the way they lost the spontaneity, sense of wonder, simplicity, openness, and joy that mark the unique spirituality of children. And how can we help the colorless children if we, too, have lost our color? I propose that we take the time to explore this notion, and make the effort to recover our childlike spirit and dance into all the colors of God, taking all God’s Children with us.

The Quest for Peace and Healing

“We look for peace, but find no good;
for a time of healing, but there is terror instead.”
- Jeremiah 14.19c

Sunday is the tenth anniversary of that infamous September tragedy usually referred to in shorthand simply as 9/11. In its immediate aftermath it became clear that ours would be a long quest for peace and healing. We went to war in Iraq and Afghanistan, lashed out at all things Arab, and have now executed Osama bin Laden. Nevertheless it seems we have never  quite understood how to seek peace and healing, because I still see a fractious and divided people, continued calls to hold Islam responsible for the tragedy, counter terrorism profiling on the rise, and contentious attitudes about the role of faith in the upcoming commemoration. I am reminded of the prophet Jeremiah’s words cited above, which seem to describe our situation. Why have we not found peace? This is the question we will ponder on Sunday. I tend to think that fear holds our hearts in a profound sleep – one that Hildegard of Bingen calls the ancient sleep of the heart – keeping us separated, withdrawn, cocooned, isolated even while walking in the light of day; unable to embrace the beauty and goodness of life, or to fully engage others in relationships based on compassion and good will. I will share more of my thoughts on Sunday; in the interim I am interested to know what you think…

Life as a Parable (from the Relate Blog)

We had a stirring discussion last Sunday (July 24) about “why” Jesus taught in parables. We often ask about the “what” of parables, e.g. “What in the world do these things mean?” but we seldom wonder about the “why.” I think this is a very important question. Think about it. If anyone is qualified to describe God and provide precise theological statements, it would be God incarnate, aka Jesus. Yet Jesus never describes God, and never really talks about things like doctrine and religious beliefs (except to criticize narrow and rigid beliefs). His best known teaching, the Sermon on the Mount, makes no statement at all about what to believe, but offers lots of suggestions about how to live a spiritually vital life.

I think the parables do the same thing. Jesus tells stories for two reasons. Firstly, as a sign of respect for the mystery of God. Jesus knows that we can neither comprehend nor describe God in any adequate way. God is always “more” than any words can convey. So Jesus tells stories that convey hints about what God is like. Secondly, Jesus tells stories of everyday life because that, he knows, is where we will find God. We don’t find God in a statement of belief, in a creed, or in some other written word. We find God in an incarnate word; that is to say, in our experience.

This, I am convinced, explains the significance of story in the ministry and teaching of Jesus. He does not counsel us to sit around talking “about” God in statements of belief, but rather to pay close attention to our lives, and to discover the many ways God becomes present to us. We may not be able to know and describe God intellectually; but we can choose to feel God’s presence – God’s real presence – in the forgiveness of a parent or a friend, in the compassion of a stranger, or in the experience of a sunrise.

Rainer Maria Rilke, my favorite poet, understands the difference between talking (always inadequately) about God, and feeling the touch of God in our lives. He says as much in the following poem:

Why am I reaching again for the brushes?
When I paint your portrait, God, nothing happens.
But I can choose to feel you. At my senses’ horizon you appear…
- Rainer Maria Rilke (adapted)

Once upon a Time (from the Relate blog)

I was raised in the Deep South and, as everyone knows, southerners are nothing if not courteous. We weren’t allowed to use any language that came within a country mile of profanity (cussin’ we called it) so we used euphemisms of all sorts to get our point across. For example, I would never call my older sister a liar, but I often accused her of “tellin’ a story.” I regret that very much, not so much because of the abuse of my sister (which many would say just goes with the territory… I love you Bren!), but for the abuse of the wonderfully profound word story. Once upon a time, the stories begin, and they speak to our lives and their meaning in powerful and entertaining ways. Many would argue, and I would agree, that in the end all we have to tell is our story, all we are is our story; and this is a good thing. Let me give you an example.

If you have ever tried to define God, or just understand some of the abstract descriptions offered by theologians, you know how distant these notions feel. The aseity of God is a self evident truth. Ok… I guess? God can only be described by remotion. What? The Trinity is never confused but always a unity? Huh? Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not anti-intellectual; not by a long shot. I live to pose the great questions of life and to seek a glimmer of their truth without holding anything back. But if I want to convey to you what God is and means in my life, I can only tell you a story…

Like the story of the last time I saw my dad in hospital before his death. I had to leave to fly back to KC, and didn’t know if I would have a chance to see him again. How could I say goodbye? How could I make sure he understood how much I loved him? I couldn’t. But as I sat paralyzed on the edge of his bed, God was the sudden assurance that if he didn’t understand at that time, he would in the near future. In that moment God was the peace I seek in life yet seldom find, God was the vanishing distance between my dad and me that allowed me to hold him close, say I love you, and walk out of the room. We can talk about God for a long, long time. But if you want to know what God means in my life, you’ll have to listen to my story. Once upon a time…

Waiting Is Not Always a Bad Thing… One Week before Pentecost

There have been too many examples throughout history of a church too independent and too hasty to wait on the Spirit’s discernment. Do you think the medieval church waited on the Spirit before marching to Jerusalem to mount the crusades? Do you think the church waited on the Spirit’s guidance before purging itself of perceived heresy through inquisition? Do you think the American church waited for spiritual discernment before tacitly accepting and in some cases endorsing slavery? And in our own day, do you think the church waited on the Spirit’s illumination before tolerating the oppression of minorities and the denial of their civil rights?

There have been too many examples throughout history of a church too independent and too hasty to wait on the Spirit’s discernment. In their light perhaps we should reconsider, perhaps we should conclude that waiting is not always a bad thing. It’s not necessarily a sign of indecision or cowardice; of confusion or procrastination. Sometimes- as in the church- waiting is intentional; an intentional waiting, listening, and yearning for the discernment of the Spirit; listening for that still, small voice of God to give us discernment in our vision. Oh, yes; there will be times when the Spirit will nudge us beyond our comfort zone and possibly into dangerous waters requiring unpopular and courageous stands. But the Spirit will also empower us with wisdom, courage, and hope that only God’s presence affords. Should we choose to wait on the Spirit; should we choose to abandon our hectic life styles, take time for spiritual formation and prayer, and listen for God’s voice; should we choose these things the ascended Christ will embrace us in blessing.

Where Is Jesus… the Sequel (from the Relate blog)

For some time we have been considering the question of how and where to look for Jesus. Our best advice from the New Testament, and the wisdom gleaned from our discussions, has been to look for Jesus in others, and to remember that whatever we do for (hopefully not “to”) others we do for him. On this basis we sorted through supplies last week in preparation for their delivery to Joplin to help victims of the recent and tragic storm. That ‘s all well and good, until you note that this Sunday is the celebration of the Lord’s ascension into heaven. Luke says that he “withdrew” from them and was “carried up into heaven.” So what’s the deal? Is Jesus with us, or has he withdrawn to the heavens to watch our comings and goings from a safe distance?

I can’t help but wonder if we can trust this talk about withdrawing, leaving, absence, and all that. Jesus promised too many times that he would not abandon us, that he would, indeed, be with us. So we must ask ourselves where the Lord could ascend that would not take him away from us. Where he could “go” and still be available to touch our lives and the lives of those around us. Do you have any ideas?

A Prayer for 9/11… Nine Years Later

It hardly seems possible that nine years have passed since that fateful morning, September 11, 2001. The sense of emptiness and devastation I felt then remain so vivid, so real. But the years roll by one by one; now nine have passed and much has changed in our world… or has it? Recent events have underscored the fact that the initial reaction of rage against all things Muslim – however misplaced – was no fear driven, emotional interlude soon replaced by a more reasoned assessment of the events. It seems that the insistence on viewing Islam as seamless and unleashing hatred on all is, if anything, stronger in our day. This breaks my heart, especially when the rage is unleashed under the guise of faith. Pastor Terry Jones of the Dove World Outreach Center in Gainesville, Florida, for example, has vowed to burn hundreds of copies of the Qur’an in commemoration of 9/11, and will relent only if instructed to do so by God. Here’s a news flash, God issued those instructions 2,000 years ago in the life and teaching of Jesus of Nazareth who showed us how to follow the Spirit into light, life, and creativity and to leave the darkness – with its anger, hatred, judgment and vilification – behind. Jesus advised us to seek the light of God shining in the eyes of the other before determining how we will approach her or him. Jesus advised us to practice compassion, understanding, and cooperation with others so different from us in belief and practice that we can’t imagine how there could be common ground. Yet Jesus insisted that there is common ground – we are all children of God – and only when we choose understanding over prejudice, compassion over hatred, and cooperation over confrontation will we see that Jesus was right. I pray for that day, and offer the following prayer for 9/11, nine years later:

It was in large part the freedoms we enjoy in our blessed country that instilled such fear in a band of terrorists that they were driven to rage and destruction on September 11, 2001. On this ninth anniversary of our loss, God, grant us those very freedoms; grant us those freedoms not as an ideal we hold high like a torch, but as a lived experience each day of our lives that we hold out to others. God, grant us freedom from the fears that turn us against each other; fears that move us to demonize those we don’t understand and seek retribution for our loss. Grant us freedom from the hatred that burns away at our hearts, its billowing smoke shrouding our vision of anyone beyond ourselves. Grant us freedom from the need to judge, vilify, and condemn others. And grant us freedom to care for others even as we care for ourselves; the freedom to live in true community, dismissing the misplaced sense of autonomy and independence that drives a wedge between us and those Jesus calls the least of these, neighbor, outcast, stranger in our midst, friend. For in his eyes they are all one and the same… in his eyes we are all one and the same… in his eyes we are all one. God, grant us freedom and we will be truly free. Amen.

The Chasm Widens

At long last a broad swath of the Christian community has found something on which to agree. I speak, of course, of the reaction to the ludicrous attack on the Christian gospel by Glenn Beck. Widespread consternation and outrage have been expressed by conservative evangelicals, mainline protestants (many of whom are also evangelical, by the way), and Catholics alike. I have been reluctant to add my voice to the fray, primarily because I deem his unfounded yet highly imaginative assault beneath contempt, rising nowhere near the level of deserving a response. I suspect that most Christian leaders who have responded have felt such a tension, and were left, as I am now, with a bad taste in their mouth.

The anger will quickly subside, Beck’s allegations will not gain traction – this is, after all, just a flash in the pan – and (unfortunately) the widespread Christian response will not result in newfound passion for ecumenism. Thus, I am not overly concerned by his remarks. I am deeply concerned, however, because the exaggerated, irrational, and baseless nature of his comments reflect a widening of the chasm – euphemistically called a polarity – that exists between conservatives and liberals in our day. Such comments can only be made in such a caviler manner when the “other” has been objectified and dehumanized. When they no longer matter, one has no obligation to show constraint, or try to stay within the parameters of civilized discourse. If Beck is any indication, and I think he is, we are in need of serious bridge building.

What can we do? In my estimation only one thing. We can refuse to take the bait, continue to respect each individual – including Glenn Beck – listen across the chasm, and invite dialogue. Jim Wallis has taken this tack toward Beck, and it has been a breath of fresh air. There is no guarantee it will work, but at some point someone has to say to the widening chasm, “This far, no further.”