questions
Recently issues have been swirling around seemingly everywhere I turn. Whether it is about Dick Cheney shooting someone, the controversy over our Ports on the East Coast, theological issues, who will win March Madness … issues of division. I for one am getting tired of everyone arguing about everything (I am not claiming that I am fully outside of all the problems. I confess that I am often in the midst of disagreement). I read about people’s perspective on everything everyday, and I have begun to wonder, why are we so set on being right?
I have thought a lot about this over the last few days as I have driven between Grand Rapids and Holland to and from home. I have begun to wonder, is it really about being right? What am I really going after? So many people I know never want to be wrong, others always have to be right, put these two sides together and you have a recipe for disaster (an example of this is the Republicans and Democrats).
What if our aim was not being right, but to be people who were asking better and better questions? For sure there are some things that we can all agree on, at least I think we can. We all know the sky is blue, right? We know that blessings are not just for the ones who kneel, luckily. There are many objective things that we can agree on. There are many more things that do not fall into this category.
The other day I received an email from a friend who wanted me to look at a document that his institution was working through (yet another issue causing division). I read it, and was astounded at the claims being made. The people who wrote actually claimed to know the “right” way to read the Bible. This was supported by a theological understanding that this same group knew to be right … so they claimed we could get to the singular meaning that was in Paul’s head when God inspired him to write.
This is indeed an amazing claim. If they have found it, then why are there people who see things differently? The writers of this document believe that women should be silent in the church. There are others disagree with this. Who then is right? Is someone wrong? When we draw such sharp lines about the things like this, we invariably divide. So what if we committed to be people who asked questions of each other and the Bible?
Why does Paul say in 1 Corinthians that when women prophesy they should have their head covered, and then later command that they be silent? Why is the Hebrew word ezer (helper) used of Eve when she is created and also used of God in his relationship with Israel? Does the term helper really suggest subordinate or dominate? What affect has the suppression of women had on men, women and the church? Why do people use Genesis 3 as a support for women being inferior when that text is about the fall? Questions … Questions …. Questions …
As we wrestle with these, there will be more. Then more and more. As we work side by side through these questions of life and faith, something miraculous could happen. We may still view things differently but we would not walk away chanting, “I’m right, you’re wrong!” We may actually grow in our respect of those who think differently. We would not dismiss their beliefs as quickly, and conversely we may even understand our beliefs in a deeper way. We are showing respect for one another when we ask, in effect saying, “I think you may know something about this, and you can help me understand.”
Let’s be people of questions, not people bent on being right. There is enough division everywhere, the church should be exemplary in forging a path toward unity in all things.
this is not right
In 2003 I traveled with World Relief to Mozambique. I experienced many things while I was there. I stood in vast plains where two years earlier mass flooding had displaced 500,000 people. I sat in huts with men and women who were dying of AIDS. I watched men and women who, without getting paid or receiving pats on the back, cared for those dying of diseases. I walked through shanty towns in Maputo witnessing some of the most inhumane living conditions. All of those things moved me to my core, but none of them moved me like the boy I met who was four days older than my son.
I was asked if I would like to hold this beautiful little boy. As he was being held to me, I asked how old he was, and was told that he was four months old. I smiled thinking of my boy who also was four months old. I smiled at how my son had started to smile, and recognize me. I smiled as I thought of his cooing and giggles when I would snuggle with him in the morning. I smiled because I loved my son more than my next breath.
When his mother handed her son to me she had the same smile on her face. I knew that like me she loved her son. As I held him, an aid worker asked me if I noticed how heavy the baby felt, if I noticed the thinning hair, and the enlarged stomach. He didn’t have to tell me anymore. This child was malnourished. Without help, I was told, he would die in six weeks, just shy of living six months. I looked at his mother who was seated on the other side of the shanty-hut that we were in. She was still smiling as she looked at her son.
Six days later I walked off an airplane walking with a quick pace. I knew at the end of the terminal my wife and son were waiting for me. I could not wait to see them. As I rounded the security area, there they were. My little boy dressed in his New York Yankees outfit, and the most beautiful women holding him with a smile on her face. I had seen a mother like this just days ago.
When I held my son I was suddenly struck with my experience. I could not imagine him living for only six more weeks. I could not fathom him not being a part of my world and my life. I could not for one second stand the thought of losing my son. These rapid fire thoughts were met with hurt for this mom that I had met. I would have my son and she would not.
This is not right.
What troubles me most is that it does have to be this way. This one experience profoundly shaped me. I had done some work on behalf of Africa before that time, but now have dedicated to moving as many as possible to join the fight against extreme poverty.
listen
I recently read the book by Jim Wallis called
God's Politics: Why the Right Gets It Wrong and the Left Doesn't Get It. If you have not read it, I think you should, but I am not a book reviewer, and that is not what this blog is about, only where it starts.
So the other day I someone asked me, “So what books are you reading lately?”
I said to her, “God’s Politics.”
She said, “I don’t like that guy, he’s a liberal.”
I said, “Oh.”
I walked away and was really curious about why people (especially in the evangelical world) so quickly dismiss opposing ideas by name calling or insulting the one with the ideas. My wife and I were talking about this the other day. She said, “If you call someone a name then they cease being a person that has credible ideas” (yes, I am fully aware that I married over my head).
Why do we do this? It drives me crazy. I have friends that when the hear the name “Bill Clinton” they spaz out like someone just fired a gun at them. I have friends that when you bring up most any moderately controversial idea they dismiss the thought by saying, “well she’s arrogant” or a “what an idiot!” (Maybe I should just stop talking about faith and politics). Why? Even if the person is arrogant, or possibly an idiot, does that mean that we really can throw out everything they think and believe without giving it a second thought?
Maybe we should stop all of the name calling, insulting, and cheap shots and do something groundbreaking … listen to one another (if you just called me a name, you may have missed the point). When someone says they are against the war or for the war … listen. When someone says she is a democrat or a republican … listen. When someone says he is a Buddhist or a Christian … listen. It is amazing the amount of understanding that can happen when we simply listen to each other in an attempt to understand.
Have you ever watched someone make a complete fool of themselves by becoming entirely too angry? You know what I mean … cursing, yelling, red face. Everyone around him becomes really uncomfortable. Often, if you witness something like this you think that person is an ass. What if, however, you could sit and understand that person? A friend of mine one time freaked out on a golf course, and took a swing at another golfer … long story. What an idiot! Oh yeah, two weeks before he did this his mother died, and he had bottled all of it up inside, and not yet grieved.
I do not think that all thoughts, faiths and behaviors are correct. However, all faith, thoughts and behaviors generally have very good reasons behind them. The reasons do not excuse the behavior; the reasons however help make sense of the faith, behavior and/or the ideas. So when you see someone thinking or acting one way or another … should you really call names? Or should you seek to understand that person, enter their world, and see things as they see?
For those of you calling me names and saying something like, “You idiot I do listen!” Could you listen some more? Some have said things like, “Just like a doctor needs to listen to her patient so that she knows what to fix, so we need to listen to others.” This presumes that the listener has the answers … this presumes that the listener has something to fix … this presumes that the listener is only listening so that she can speak.
What has happened to the art of listening and understanding? I have learned a lot about selflessness from listening to my Buddhist friends. I have learned a lot about acceptance from listening to my “pagan” friends. I have learned a lot about faith from listening to my atheist friends (think about the faith it takes to believe there is nothing there). I have learned a lot about dealing with hurt and rejection from listening to my gay friends. I have learned a lot about serving the poor from listening to my “liberal” friends.
I have learned how to listen from these people too. I have learned how to listen because they listened to me, and they were patient with me. For a time I would try to “fix” them, and argue with them … thankfully they were patient with me, and stayed the course, and through their example I am learning how to listen.
authenticity, part 3
So what about us? Why do we struggle so? We want authenticity in others, but are unwilling to give it ourselves. We need come to the place where we are realistic with ourselves first. Maybe the reason so many people feel others are not authentic, is they believe that others are like themselves.
I realize there is a lot to this whole “authenticity” thing (especially as I sit and write this to a general audience as a faceless person who may just be full of crap). I think some of it however can be seen in the story of Paul. I love his story, not only because he sees himself for what he is, but also because of the way he is received.
The story tells us that some are suspicious about this guy who all of the sudden is a “good-guy.” They realize soon after, that he is the real deal. He has realized who he is, and the community accepts him and celebrates his uniqueness. Wouldn’t it be great if it was like that now?
So many are scared to be real and talk about their dirty little secrets because of what might be thought of them. And God only knows what could happen when a “good Christian” finds out about what you are doing wrong. They have to tell someone else, not because it is gossip, but because it has to be told. Then people whisper about you when you walk into church, because you, you chose to make an attempt at authenticity, you chose to look at who you really are.
Some of the reason people whisper, and roll their eyes at truly authentic people is they are threatened because their goes someone who knows themselves well. In some ways this knowledge in and of itself is a threat to others who are faking their way through life. It is a vicious cycle, isn’t it?
People are not authentic, because they feel like no one is. Then they try, and they see people who are judgmental, and shallow, and they hate it, so they go back to inauthenticity. Then someone else comes around, they see that person being inauthentic …
Who do others expect me to be? Do I really want that?
Who do other think I am? Do I really care?
Who do I see myself as? Is this real?
Who do I try to act like? Is this really me?
Who was I created to be? This is what I am to capture.
Maybe these are the questions we should be working through, and stop thinking about the authenticity of others ... or the inauthenticity of others. This is ancient wisdom ... Socrates said it ... know thyself.
authenticity, part 2
Paul, on his way to Damascus, was still named Saul. He is going there to persecute those following Jesus. On his way up there he sees a vision from Heaven, and Jesus is speaking to him. “Why are you doing this to me?” Jesus asks him. He falls down, and loses his sight.
What made him blind? Did Paul, who saw such a bright light, scar his retina? Maybe then his healing that occured days later was a retinal miracle of sorts. Did this all happened because Paul was imprisoning people due to the heresy revolving around one called Jesus? Was this his great shortcoming? Paul looks at his persecuting as a good thing when he speaks of his faultlessness. He says of his faith, “as for zealousness, I was persecuting the church.” Paul as a Pharisee was so committed to the Text and the Tradition of the Fathers, that his passion for God led him to be one who wanted to punish those in disobedience. So what was Paul’s grave sin? Was it his punishment of perceived heresy or something deeper?
The beginning of Acts 9 states that Paul was breathing out “threats and murder.” His speech alone was about taking life, the most sacred of things. In this context Jesus confronts him. He falls to the ground, and is helped back up blind. A little while later it says that upon his being healed scales fell from his eyes. Curious.
I can’t help but think that Paul was reminded of Number 12 when all this occurred. In that chapter Aaron and Miriam are complaining about Moses. They want credit for who they are, and they speak against him. God becomes angry and Miriam comes down with a serious case of leprosy. What does all this mean?
Jewish tradition, of which Paul would have been a student, teaches that leprosy is a direct result of an evil tongue. The rabbis have taught that when one speaks against their brother the evil tongue murders three people. It kills the one speaking, it kills the one listening and it kills the one being spoken of. In this case, the evil tongue of Miriam resulted in a death of sorts of Moses, Aaron and herself. In the case of Paul, it resulted in the death of those with him, the disciples of Jesus and himself.
So when was he diagnosed with leprosy? Paul is speaking out against these people, and is confronted by it, and then becomes blind. Days later he is healed, and scales fall from his eyes. The word used for “scales” is connected in its root to the word for leprosy. Something that was like leprosy fell from his eyes. Paul would not only have understood the implication from Numbers, that he no doubt had studied, but he would have known that Jewish people believe that God alone can heal leprosy.
So what was going through his mind when he realized what happened? Did Paul have a deep understanding of who he was because of his evil tongue? I am constantly impressed with Paul as I read his writings, with the fact that he had a deep understanding of who he was. I feel as though his understanding of who he was came about because he realized for the first time his own faults. He had a real encounter with the King of the Universe.
authenticity, part 1
Authenticity. In my time with people this is what I seem to hear the most from them. “I want a community with authentic people.” “I want to hear authentic teaching.” With authenticity comes this idea of being vulnerable. Being someone who recognizes their imperfection. Being someone who uses his or her own shortcomings as teachable moments. Being someone who understands who they are, and are honest about it.
So I was wondering, why do I struggle with this? I can definitely speak about broadly about the fact that “I struggle.” But why can I not muster the strength to speak openly about arrogance, lust, materialism, selfishness and anger? Why do I not want to recognize who I am? Honestly, why do any of us? If true introspection were to take place would any of us think more highly of ourselves than we should? I find myself asking my critics for criticism only to hear it and feel like I am being scrubbed with steel wool. Has everyone always been this way?
As I have struggled through this wrestling match of the ego, I come to St. Paul. How can a man say, “Oh, what a horrible man I am… of all sinners I am the worst.” How can he say that when he also speaks of the way he was? You know a prized student of Gamiliel, one who had flawless knowledge of the text, a Hebrew of Hebrews, etc. Paul, one who seemingly had such great stature, considers it all a waste in light of what he has gained. And what did he really gain? Shipwrecks. Beatings. Imprisonment. Beatings. Danger. But this is not all. He gained a sense of who he really was in that day when Jesus spoke to him as he was heading to Damascus.
a rant
I wrote this email a few years ago to a friend of mine who had left the church years before ... he finally decided to attend a church gathering again, and in his words, "was treated like someone who had just vomitted all over himself." He wrote me to tell me about it, and I wrote this reply. I confess it is angry, so keep that in mind ... but I hope it will provoke thought.
I have some spare time and wanted to share with you a little bit about where i am in my understanding. Not with Jesus. With church. With the church.
The unattractive buildings with irrelevant clever rants plastered on their sign in big letters such as
"Death is just a promotion to the home office."
The too tight suits complimented and accented by a tie that neither matches or was made before 1984. The guy annoyingly jingling change in his pocket as he sways ever so slightly backward and forward in his boots while singing all five stanzas of God's oldest hymn. The dimly lit, poorly decorated, musty smelling sanctuaries with uncomfortable pews designed so to keep the parishioners awake. The oversized Bible at the end of a long aisle that has been opened to the same passage for seventeen years. It was only changed when someone accidentally knocked it off the table while dusting. The slow droning songs containing old English words that none understand, like "here I raise my Ebenezer." What is an Ebenezer and why am I raising it? The brass offering plate that has been worn green from contact with hand after hand proudly plopping in dollar after dollar. The wide wooden pulpit, with shelves behind it that are never used, that serves only as a buffer for the insecurities of the pastor who is losing touch with the world around him. The library, better called, "the room in the basement with a few books that Sister Hanbury donated when she died in '88." The plastic colored windows made to look like stained glass, but mush cheaper, not to mention uglier than what it was created to imitate.
It is funny. I think can handle all of what I described previous. I cannot handle the people that have made those things what they are. I cannot handle the people who live only to manage their sin into neat little piles that are easy to clean up. I cannot handle the people who think that spirituality is measured by what you don't do. I cannot handle the people that say they are pro-life, and then say "let's bomb the hell out of Iraq." I cannot handle the people that talk of love and create division. I cannot handle people who ask you a question and just wait for you to finish answering so they can speak again. I cannot handle the people who preach compassion and attend a gay rights rally to tell gay people how hot hell is. I cannot handle the people that place the label Republican over or next to the label Christian. I cannot handle the people who see Jesus as white to make it easier to be racist. I cannot handle people who look on the outside and pretend to be speaking to the inside. So I guess I cannot handle the church.
Why, if this western institutional construct is truly what Jesus came to start, do so many within it have so little faith? Why do those without the church hate it for its bigoted judgmental attitude? When I look at Jesus. Prostitutes ate dinners with him. He hung out with the social elite who were crooks. He hung out with "the pagans." they loved him. They accepted him. They listened intently to his stories. They came to him. And he changed their lives. Hmmm. This does not sound like the separatist, inclusive, bureaucratic machine that we have created today.
Why? Why do I say all of this? Because I do not want you to lose sight of the fact that the Jesus that lived is not the one who is spoken of or lived out in many churches today. Because I think the church has messed-up the image that he gave to us. We have taken his long haired, tunic wearing, ancient near eastern Jewishness and turned it into a flat-top, blue blazer and khaki wearing, Modern Western Christianity.
Know Jesus. Find him in his world. I have found myself saying often as I look at the church. "Is this it?" I think. "There has to be more than this." I am starting to believe there is. It is about reading the teachings of Jesus. Hearing his heart. Following after what he said was good. Not being weighed down by the trappings of this world. Finding meaning and fulfillment. Connecting deeply with other humans. Loving those who do not deserve it. Laughing. Crying. Singing. Dancing. Living. Maybe there is a reason why I do not understand the church. Maybe the church does not understand Jesus.
I am sorry that this diatribe went so long. I just wanted to tell you where my heart is. This is why I am not passionate about “winning you to the lord.” I am passionate about telling you about the person I follow. I am telling you about what I have given my life to. That is living. Living life to its fullest.