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Here is the metta, chant/prayer we'll offer up together to transition from sitting practice to sharing and learning. It comes from Michael Stone's community in Toronto, center of gravity sangha. Two parts seem to be from Dogen, and a simple metta chant.
I ran across this quote from Merton and wanted to share it. It encapsulates much of my journey, and hope for the future. The photo was taken of Merton and his holiness the Dalai Lama when they met many years ago. Sometime after Merton’s death the Dalai Lama was asked if believed in God. To the interviewers surprise he said yes. Asked how he a Buddhist could believe in God, his holiness replied “I believe in the God of Thomas Merton.”
Friendship, is the beginning of grace as it moves in us and through us.
“Des Hommes comme Saint Seraphim, Saint Francois d’Assise et bien d’autres, ont accompli dans leur vie l’union des Eglises.”
This profound and simple statement of an Orthodox Metropolitan, Eulogius, gives the key to ecumenism for monks, and indeed for everyone.
If I do not have unity in myself, how can I even think, let alone speak, of unity among Christians? Yet, of course, in seeking unity for all Christians, I also attain unity within myself.
The heresy of individualism: thinking oneself a completely self-sufficient unity and asserting this imaginary “unity” against all others. The affirmation of the self as simply “not the other”. But when you seek to affirm your unity by denying that you have anything to do with anyone else, by negating everyone else in the universe until you com down to you: what is there left to affirm? Even if there were something to affirm, you would have no breath left with which to affirm it.
The true way is just the opposite: the more I am able to affirm others, to say “yes” to them in myself, by discovering them in myself and myself in them, the more real I am. I am fully real if my own heart says yes to everyone.
I will be a better Catholic, not if I can refute every shade of Protestantism, but if I can affirm the truth in it and still go further. So, too, with the Muslims, the Hindus, the Buddhists, etc. This does not mean syncretism, indifferentism, the vapid and careless friendliness that accepts everything by thinking of nothing. There is much that one cannot 'affirm' and 'accept,' but first one must say 'yes' where one really can.
If I affirm myself as a Catholic merely by denying all that is Muslim, Jewish, Protestant, Hindu, Buddhist, etc., in the end I will find there is not much left for me to affirm as a Catholic: and certainly no breath of the Spirit with which to affirm it.”
-Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander (143-144)
Why does the news bother me so much?
Why does it make me sick to my stomach to hear
the back and forth,
give and take,
of attacks and fear mongering?
How could anyone in their right mind vote for him/her?
It’s the lesser of two evils…
Any vote for “so and so” is a vote against the other “so and so” etc.
November 9th will come… I keep telling myself, like a mantra
Lord have mercy, may November 9th come with peace
We live in a world of binaries and polarities. There’s nothing essentially wrong with this, the differences hidden within our languages help us navigate the world around us. All language does is help us navigate this mysterious and majestic globe we call home. We need binaries to survive. As children we need these differences to show us wrong from right, up from down, darkness from light, etc. The problem, I fear, is when we forget to grow beyond these essential functions to deeper and truer understandings.
A couple of weeks ago my wife and I had some friends stay a few nights with us. They were in town for a concert and we looked forward to catching up. In the evening, I took one of our dogs out for a walk and shortly thereafter rushed back in the house exclaiming, “Come on, come on! Stop what you all are doing and come quickly!”
We all rushed outside and after a brief pause I said, “There it is, can you feel it? Fall is finally here!” It was the first evening it had been “cold” for months, and in the heat of Memphis I thought it would never come. My wife smiled and said, “And don’t forget to look up, too, the stars are beautiful here at night!” We all just stood around for a minute gazing into the night sky, shivering ever so slightly.
It was a wonderful moment, and the language, the binaries helped us understand and name our experience in those moments. Cold, hot. Up, down. Day, night. All these polarities helped us laugh and enjoy the moment.
But they’re also not the whole truth.
The stars are always there, but the country sky makes them more visible, because there's less light pollution, and there happened to be no clouds. But regardless of what city you live in, the stars are always there, always above the atmosphere we call sky. They’re still there even in the day when the light of our star the sun makes it impossible to see and appreciate their beauty. What we call day and and what we call night are useful fictions. The same goes for “fall finally” coming. It had officially been fall for days, but only that evening was it beginning to feel that way.
Words…language…helpful for understanding and naming our experiences, but in essence they are place holders for deeper realities. Useful fictions.
The same concept carries over into how we relate to other people. Labels like child and adult are helpful, sure, but they can never carry the deeper truth. A loving mother looks at her grown adult son of forty-five years of age and still sees him as her 'child'.
I bring this up because in this world of binaries, there is always a deeper truth. Right now in my life that deeper truth, that deeper unity and wholeness is what I long for, and the binaries are starting to weigh my mind down. And they appear to be weighing our country down. Like adults who are all still children in someone's eyes, this election cycle is revealing (not causing) how little we ever really grow up, how we still cling to our binaries, our useful fictions.
The deeper truth, the deeper truth I believe the gospel points toward, is that there is no “us and them.” There is no divide between the sacred and secular. These are useful fictions that help us for a time, but enslave us if we do not let them go.
We are all one.
We are all one tragic and exquisite family called humanity. Or as the author of Galatians puts it: “In Christ there is no slave or free, no Jew or gentile, no male or female.” In the first century, those are the most essential binaries you could think of! In this new reality, this new way of seeing the world, in the Kingdom of God, there is no Jew or gentile. There is no exclusive "in group" over here, defined by a “them” over there. Religious and social barriers are small, useful fictions compared to the whole of humanity. The same goes with slave and free, rich and poor, the 99 and the 1 percent. No male or female? Really? That’s the most basic binary humans have been aware of since the dawn of consciousness! But in Christ, in this new view of the world we have here, even those most simple biological differences do not change that we are both humans, both beloved, and essentially one. Diverse, beautifully complex in our expressions, but still underneath, or above the binaries…
We are one.
I think that’s why this election is so painful right now. Why the division in my own denomination's approach to human sexuality grieves me so. Because the useful fictions, the binaries that are helpful at first, have become the only thing we can see or talk about. Thomas Merton, my conversation partner this year, talks about this prophetically in his book “Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander.” He says that when we cling to these useful fictions, claiming they are the only truth, they become lies…“The mother of all other lies is the lie we persist in telling ourselves about ourselves.” These labels we cling to hinder us from seeing our own deeper truth. And once we are convinced we have the truth, everyone else must be wrong, or evil, or the enemy.
The deeper truth lies within us, yet we cling to the lie of separateness, of our own truth over and above all others (the favor of which is of course returned). This lie brings violence and hatred into ourselves. Merton goes on to say
“From this division hatred and violence arise. We hate others because we cannot stand the disorder, the intolerable division in ourselves. We are violent to others because we are already divided by the inner violence of our infidelity to our own truth. Hatred projects this division outside ourselves into society.” (85)
We are one.
And that’s the only way forward. To see in Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton our own humanity. Our own struggle. There is no us and them, we are one. This election season has clearly shown how deep the lie of division has really gone in our society. Merton hopes that we can hold the tension in ourselves. To know ourselves and our own propensity to cling to lies and useful fictions. And through that self awareness, through that honesty with our own depths, we can see the so called “other” as our own self.
A part of our family.
A part of the one whole unity on this little planet that is always surrounded by infinite stars, always shining, whether we see that unity or not.
From the last post... like roots pushing through the concrete... Unity and diversity all within me
Within me...
This year has been a journey into tension. A year of highs, lows, moves, and the unexpected. I’ve started a new job, and my wife is applying for a new one as we speak. We live in a new house and are busy establishing the new normal with our grocery routine and where we walk our dogs. In this season there is tension.
There’s tension of being grateful for where we are, and missing our old house and church family. There are the added responsibilities of new jobs and opportunities alongside the dissonance of missing the energy our previous jobs held. There's the added five pounds from stress eating and the gym now being seventeen minutes away instead of three.
There has also been a growing tension in my mind. A tension between what I think, what I believe, what I think I believe, and what I do with the time I’ve been given. I read Buddhists, Muslims, Jews and conservative Christians all seeking to understand 'the other.' I preach every Sunday now, which is a gift and a privilege, but at times a struggle. "The struggle is real," as they say, between where I feel led, and where my congregation is. There is a great balance of respect for who my “flock” is, where they are, and where I find myself most days, and it’s not just the political season of polarization and demonization that sparks this tension.
The real tension I’m realizing is within me. Within my mind and my heart, within my hope and my pessimism. Within the believer and the skeptic that both reside in my mind. The lifelong Christian, and the mystic who wants to find commonality and unity in all people, places, and things. I’m reading The Happiness Hypothesis and listening to the new Gungor album, both existential trips I’m happy to go on…
but I wonder sometimes if I’ll ever recover…
or if I even want to.
I live a divided life. A life of tension, of my new favorite word: dissonance. The gap between what is and what should be. The square peg that won't slide into the circular hole. Keeping the plates spinning… choose your own metaphor.
Merton writes,
“If I can unite in myself the thought and the devotion of Eastern and Western Christendom, the Greek and the Latin Fathers, the Russians with the Spanish mystics, I can prepare in myself the reunion of divided Christians. From that secret and unspoken unity in myself can eventually come a visible and manifest unity of all Christians. If we want to bring together what is divided, we can not do so by imposing one division upon the other or absorbing one division into the other. But if we do this, the union is not Christian. It is political, and doomed to further conflict. We must contain all divided worlds in ourselves and transcend them in Christ.”
Finding peace out there, starts with peace in here…
Finding unity isn’t conforming all parties to think like we do. It isn’t eradicating those opposed to us, or chasing away fear and anxiety with another TV show or cup of coffee. It isn’t shaping a congregation into my own progressive Christian image. Rather, it’s found in recognizing the tension and embracing it. Seeing the conservative and the liberal in me. Seeing the faithful and the atheist in me. The sinner and the saint. Seeing the joy and peace, as well as the fear and anger within myself. By bringing the tensions of the world into my heart, loved and honored for what they are, unity can start within me.
Tension then isn’t the enemy of peace. It is the only way forward.
The only way forward for my family, my mind, our church, this country, and our world. May there be peace on earth, and may it begin with me.
“Please tell me how I can love you better.” — Thich Nhat Hanh
“Something magical and beautiful happens when we ask each other this magical and loveliest of inquiries. Here is the part about this question that I find so touching: the asking. The vulnerability to ask. The openness to not only put another heart before us, but to put the way that our beloved would like to be loved ahead of our own sense of what that loving has to look like.”
Read more of Omid Safi’s reflection on Thich Nhat Hanh’s powerful question.
It’s a funny thing, coming to take the bread and the wine. We all bring different levels of understanding, or of not understanding. We all come with different strengths of faith or lack of faith. Different Christian traditions have different limits on who can receive Holy Communion, The Lord’s Supper, The Eucharist. That’s because they each have different understandings of what it means. My favorite summary teaching on the Eucharist comes from St. Augustine of Hippo, who taught catechumens on the meaning of communion by saying, “Be what you see, receive what you are.” What happens in the Eucharist always requires some sort of translation, some kind of imperfect metaphor to help a person begin to grasp this incredible mystery.
This comic is not meant to cover all the breadth of theology surrounding the Eucharist, nor is the punchline some culmination or summary of Eucharistic theology. Rather, I wanted to convey the beauty of the communion of saints who gathers at the table, the variety of theology that enriches our understanding. Perhaps in one of these saints you hear echoes of how you tend to understand this Holy Mystery. As I youth minister, it’s always a joy to help a person find Christ in translation.
Come, sinners, to the gospel feast; let every soul be Jesus’ guest. Ye need not one be left behind, for God hath bid all humankind.
-Charles Wesley
This is a wonderful take on the mystery of Eucharist
Grace & Responsibility Review: A John Cobb Tangent
This semester I spent a lot of energy diving into a Wesleyan Theology. Reading John Wesley’s sermons and countless articles and books on his perspective. Although this course was required for my pursuing ordination, I took this course not as a requirement but as an opportunity to own a new theological heritage. Theology for me is about becoming. It’s not a static list of beliefs to hold but about a process of learning who we are and who we know and understand God to be. So questions of theology aren’t just about complex Greek words, but also about asking “what kind of universe do we live in?”. Again studying Wesley isn’t about owning his beliefs but about knowing him as a person and who I am becoming as a follower of Christ with many “friends and guides”. Wesley is now one of these friends. Continuing to learn my new found Wesleyan heritage I turned to process theologian and UMC pastor John B. Cobb. Reading his book on Wesleyan theology “Grace & Responsibility” was illuminating for me because he wasn’t afraid to criticize Wesley or engage his thoughts, but took him as an incredible man and one we can learn a lot from. Even in looking back at Wesley or “being a Wesleyan theologian,” doesn’t mean a static, stuck in the past, theology, but one that is still becoming.
Wesley in Cobb’s understanding was a product of his time. Highly influenced by the protestant reformation and the streams that grew out of that event. But he was also in numerous ways ahead of his time. So to be Wesleyan we don’t have to “go back” and agree with everything he did. Rather to follow his footsteps is to take on his worldview and methods in pursuing theology and faithful living. Wesley was progressive for his time, but still many of his beliefs would seem old hat today. What made this book so powerful was the acceptance that to think progressively today, may actually be more Wesleyan then to agree with everything he said over a hundred years ago. This is good news to me today as I struggle to own my calling to the Methodist Church today. It from time to time appears along with most mainline churches to be dying. But I don’t think it will. I think we are in the midst of changes that like any reformation or birth that is full of tears and labor pains. So along with Cobb I say stick with Wesley, stick with this amazing man who himself evolved in his faith, struggled and embraced his doubts, and was radically progressive for his day.
For Cobb, Wesley and myself there are a few things that will push us toward the future God is calling us too. “God is present and active in the entire creation”. This statement alone could change your life. Where is God? What is God like? John Wesley affirms that God is present and available, loving all of creation. This means every particle every person or plant is loved by God. Salvation for Wesley was not escapism, it was not somewhere else some time else but a present reality to be engaged in here and now. To say it another way: for John Wesley, Salvation is broad and encompassed all of our life. The love and grace of God goes before us and sustains us, and woos us to fuller life, wholeness and healing. Salvation is not about accepting or assenting certain beliefs but about experiencing the love of the present, active, living God. Cobb says that for Jesus the Kingdom of God is a state of the world in which God’s will is done universally- where all are healed and liberated as well as freed from sin. This affirms Wesley’s views as well. Salvation in the Wesleyan tradition then is big. It is as intimate as your heart knowing that you are loved as an individual by the creator of the universe, but as broad as the social justice movement fighting for peace and wholeness of different people groups.
These two ideas alone I would gladly explore the rest of my life. That God is close, available, as near as your next breath, and that salvation is as intimate and broad as God is. For Wesley to be alive is to be held and loved by the spirit of the living God. So again to look at theology it’s about becoming. It’s about asking those questions that help us know who we are and who God is. For Wesley God’s very nature was love, and God’s spirit was the breath in our lungs. That’s the kind of universe we live in. That’s who we are. Before we put on tribal or cultural identities and classifications we are known and loved by the divine creator of the cosmos. That’s good news.
Baptism, Don’t Hate!
Baptism has always been a do not touch topic for me. Growing up in the Southeastern United States as a Catholic up until high school is a different experience than say a Southern Baptist, United Methodist, or Assemblies of God. They can all jive together. However, as a Catholic, you were different. I can honestly remember being told I was going to hell because I was Catholic once at a lunch table. It was incredibly confusing for me who just assumed they worshiped the same God I did just in a different manner. A big thing about being Catholic in the majorly Conservative Evangelical South is that I was baptized as an infant. It’s just what happened. If you know anything about doctrine of my Conservative Evangelical brethren this is a big no-no.
When I left the Catholic Church and took a brief hiatus from the Christian faith in my very intellectual 8th grade year (hint of sarcasm), my parents took me to a couple of different churches. The only thing I could remember thinking other than this place is weird and not what I’m used too, was that I didn’t want to be baptized again. I just didn’t. It happened and why do I need to do it again. Finally the day I decided to join a church once again the first question I asked my youth pastor was, “Do I have to be baptized,” to which his response was, “No, you did it once, no need to do it again.” Since then many times I’ve been reprimanded by others of different Christian flavors that I needed to re-up, and every time I smile at them and thank them for their concern.
This leads me to express that I have absolutely no problem with someone choosing a believers baptism. I also do not believe you should be baptized again. The only reason for doing that has everything to do with “you” and “your” actions, which completely undermines the idea of GRACE and God’s action. God’s love is steadfast and God’s promises endure and the baptismal covenant made with you either at your infant baptism or the baptism of your choosing still holds the same weight and merit today as it did then.
Now as a former Catholic and now a United Methodist I affirm infant baptisms. Before you freak out, here is why. Baptism marks our infants as children of God, followers or Jesus, and members of the Christian church all before they’re able to understand what it means. It declares God’s grace, which we believe to be prevenient (working in our lives before we understand it) and intent. Baptism of on infant affirms that even as helpless and dependent upon others as they are they are still fully loved and accepted by God and they are welcomed into this community called the church. With this in mind baptism is the beginning of the lifelong process of growing and conversion in Christ and it is done in front of the faith community of which welcomes and makes a covenant with this child and their family to be ever committed to their growth and development in faith and love. Here is what we say in our church:
“With God’s help we will so order our lives after the example of Christ that (child’s name), surrounded by steadfast love, may be established in the faith, and confirmed and strengthened in the way that leads to life eternal.”
Clearly this is a different view of baptism than some and that’s OKAY. God’s grace is bigger than any of our understandings about how that grace works. So whether you’re a baby or adult, you’re sprinkled or dunked, you are welcomed in God’s family and invited to participate in God’s economy. Now go out and be God’s people in the world!
Fun post from Andrew about practicing baptism...
grace: our way of life
Recently upon wrapping up a sermon series at church I got to preach on grace. Grace is quickly becoming the center of my theology. So for the next few posts I’ll be exploring my evolving understanding, experiences, and practices centered around grace.
First, this week I want to look at two key passages of scripture in understanding grace and how we relate to God’s work in our lives. James 2:14-19 reads…
“What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you? If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,” and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.
But someone will say, “You have faith and I have works.” Show me your faith apart from your works, and I by my works will show you my faith. You believe that God is one; you do well. Even the demons believe—and shudder.”
And Ephesians 2:8-10 fleshes this somewhat harsh text out…
“For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God— not the result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life.”
Grace is the center of my theology and practice. Grace is the love of God toward us and active within us, meeting us, blessing us and transforming our lives. It turns out that long before we decide to follow Jesus, accept Christ, or go to an altar, God has already decided that we are God’s beloved children. God loves us and is drawing us all to Godself long before we decide to cooperate. I’m not saying God is coercive, like the overbearing parent who demands their way. Instead, God is patient, and ever wooing us and all things to fullness of life.
This grace that goes before us also meets us where we are. This grace then begins to work in us and through us. The love of God for each one of us is not just a status report or a decree from on high. It is a dynamic and active reality that works its way into our hearts, making us new creations and inviting us to participate in God’s great salvation. As the author of Ephesians puts it, Grace becomes our way of life. I love the way the NRSV translates this: “Our way of life”. In the scriptures grace is not just what God thinks about us, grace is the love and presence of God that transforms the way we live every day!
This is where the James text is so helpful. We can easily think of ourselves as saved, good to go, we’ve checked the box and said 'yes' to grace. We’re good. We have faith in Jesus, we're all set. But James reminds us that if grace hasn’t changed our way of life, then we’ve not really said yes to anything but the idea of it. Faith, as just an idea, (“Yeah, I believe in Jesus...Yes, I accept Him as my Lord and Savior”) without letting it transform us isn’t faith at all. James goes so far as to say that faith without works- without evidence - is as good as dead.
In the early church to which the letter of James is written this was a serious issue. The letter leads us to believe that even early on in church history there were Christians who believed in Jesus with their mouths, but did not show this through their actions. The example given in the text today are those who see someone hungry and say, “Oh, I’ll pray for you,” and then go about their business, as if they don’t have a responsibility to act on their faith. This is a startling challenge for me and I think it’s a wake up call for the church at large. If our faith hasn’t changed the way we live, given us a new way of life, then is it even worth having?
There is a hurting world out there. There are hungry children in our own towns. And the people of this hurting world aren't just hungry for some good ideas or even nice prayers. They are hungry for food, for shelter, for love, for friendship, and for compassion. They are hungry for the people of God to start following Jesus and let grace shape our way of life! And before we get too comfortable, it’s not just them, the “they” out there. We are hungry. The church is hungry for real and full life, that is found in the midst of grace and vulnerability.
This way of life is what Christians call discipleship. A life open to the grace of God to lead us, shape us, and call us into the world to offer ourselves in love. This is hospitality and this is the church's mission. When the church opens its heart to receive those who come into our doors, and when we go out into the world to offer the grace we’ve received, grace is moving through us. James and the text from Ephesians remind us that the grace we have received is the same grace we offer others. We become means of grace in the world when we remain open.
As I’ve been studying Buddhism I’ve come across a koan that illustrates this well. The koan tradition usually involves a teacher whose student comes to them and ask questions to be encouraged or led on their journey. We can see a similar pattern happening all the time in the gospels; some disciple or a seeker will come up to Jesus and ask a question. Much like Jesus who was known for telling vague parables or asking another question, our story involves a young student who comes to his teacher and has a question. But not just any question. He has whittled all of his questions down to the question, the one that can solve all his other riddles. And so the student comes to the teacher and asks, “What is the essence of wisdom?” He wants to know what is the sum total, the heart, the core of your teaching?
The teacher pauses and lifts his head, smiles and says simply: “The oyster swallows the bright moon...” If you or I were the student, I’m sure we’d be scratching our heads, leaving more than slightly confused, trying to pull back the layers of this riddle until we see the truth. But if we have a little knowledge of the ancient eastern folk lore, we’d know where pearls come from.
In the east there was this idea that on the night of the full moon, once all the waters were still, once all the fisherman have all gone to sleep, the oysters would come out. They would swim up from the bottom to the surface and float on the top of the water. There, as the moon light hit them, they would open up their old, hard shells and swallow the moonlight. Now we don’t need modern science or mythbusters to tell us this isn’t how pearls are made. But it is a helpful story. According to the story, the essence of wisdom is to open ourselves up.
We, like the oysters, can develop some pretty hard and calloused shells. When life hits us or knocks us down a few times we get back up, but if we're not careful we stop opening up. To open up, to pull back the hard shell, is to be vulnerable. This is the essence of wisdom, and I offer it as the key to a grace shaped way of life. God’s love is always with us, toward us, wooing us to live a grace shaped life. But If we’re not careful we can miss it. If we don’t open up, grace could just be an idea, never moving down into our hearts, never developing or producing in us the treasure like the oysters pearl. The true blessing of the pearl, the treasure that God grows in us, is that it isn’t just for us. It’s for others; it’s for the whole world.
Since working in the United Methodist Church I’ve had a growing hunger for the Eucharist. So when I finally found a good Episcopal congregation near my house that offered Wednesday healing and communion service I set out to make it a part of my weekly practice. The first week I went I found myself nervous. Here I was, an associate pastor of one church, going to another for their services. It’s just an awkward moment for me sometimes when I introduce myself. So I snuck in and sat down conveniently a row behind the other seven people who were there. I smiled, nodded and fumbled my way through the prayer book in the spacious but mostly empty room with a handful older women, a young man my age and a little girl who looked like she got drug in here with her grandma.
As the service continued I became more at ease, until we came to the time of prayer and healing. Everyone stood up and huddled together in the center of the aisle. One by one, each person stepped forward, shared a prayer request, and was anointed by the priest. After each person shared, the others intuitively reached their hands out and placed them on the shoulders of the one being prayed for In this moment, my awkward hesitation crept. “Do these nice folks want a stranger praying for them, touching their backs? I’ve clearly stepped into a community with a more intimate prayer life…” But in the midst of my hesitation the little girl I had seen earlier, no more than 4 or 5 years old, reached out and grabbed my hand, as she placed her other hand on the back of the person being prayed for.
I was floored… before I could even realize what was happening the next person stepped forward, shared, was anointed and the group placed their hands on their shoulders as they had done with the first. But this time before I could even think to extend my arm, the little girl beside me grabbed my hand again, and - much to my wonder and amazement- lifted it up and placed it on the back of the person in front of me.
At this point I was beginning to weep. This little girl who I had at first thought probably shouldn’t even be there had just led me in prayer! Before I knew it or could rationalize what was happening it was my turn to step forward and I did. I shared that I longed for healing in my heart. Then, as the priest anointed me, and blessed me, I felt the strong hands of this small group cover me with grace and hospitality. Then I felt the small hand of my new friend touch my back as well.
As I the prayer time ended and we were led to approach the Lord’s table, I, who used to be a fully formed man was now a puddle of emotion and tears. I stood and was served the elements of communion. The practice of this small group was to serve each other the host, and somehow from the prayer circle to the table the little girl and I had gotten switched around, to where now it was my honor and great blessing to bend down and through tears touch her sweet little head and say. “This is the body of Christ, to show that Jesus loves you so much!”
After the service was over and before I could sneak out to gather myself, it came time to do the passing of the peace, the time where everyone usually extends a hand of fellowship and says “peace be with you” followed by the classic line “and also with you.” But these folks just hugged each other and to my surprise, offered each other signs of real peace and love. During this time I extended my hand to the little girl who promptly denied it to instead wrap her little arms around my waist in a hug that once again broke any hope of composure that I had left. Through tears, I said that my name was Kyle and asked what hers was.
To my amazement she smiled and sweetly said, “Oh, my name is Sophia.”
Which in the greek means wisdom.
The essence of wisdom is to stay open. To open ourselves up to light of God that shines on us and in us to produce a great treasure. The precious pearl of grace that begins to shape our way of life, by which we offer ourselves to others in signs peace and love. May you this season be open to peace and life all around you. May you open yourself like the oyster to the light of love that transforms you and the wherever you find yourself. And may we all let grace become our way of life.
Hunger Pains
So I’m hungry. For the last several years this hunger has been growing in my heart. It’s not a hunger in my stomach per se, although I feel it deep within my being (which I think is directly behind where my appendix used to be). The pangs come and go with varying degrees of intensity, but the hunger is always there lurking in my depths. See, I’m hungry for Eucharist.
When I started working in a Methodist church several years ago, I was slowly, painfully and sweetly led into the sacramental and liturgical life of the church. I was introduced to the church's seasons like Epiphany and Lent in new ways, as well as liturgical acts of worship like having acolytes and saying the Lord’s Prayer with the communal parseltongue that only happens weekly when a hundred people try to say “trespasses” at the same time. During this time of new life I was introduced to the Eucharist in refreshing ways. Eucharist, Holy Communion or the Lord’s Supper was always a part of my life growing up, but like Baptism, it was shrouded with questions and uncertainty. It was offered so infrequently - once a quarter - and taught on so rarely that I had more fear than anything else during the moments of taking the sacrament. I’ve since learned that the fear I felt isn’t uncommon.
When looking at my current church's attendance records, every week that we offer communion, we average 20% less people in the pews. It seems if we wanted to boost attendance we’d just offer Eucharist less often! Maybe people are just always busy the first Sunday of the month, or maybe folks are afraid like I was. Growing up, I thought communion was a moment of the utmost seriousness, where if I didn’t confess all of my sins I’d be eating and drinking my own damnation, (which is pretty serious language, and a pretty serious misreading of the New Testament). I certainly want to honor the communion table as a serious place, but it is at its core not a place of fear. It is a joyous place of grace. The word Eucharist even means "to give thanks".
John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, talked about Holy Communion as the chief means of grace, by which we encounter the presence and power of Christ. At the table we find comfort, conviction, and converting grace. In these simple elements of bread and wine Jesus is with us, and His presence is one of love; love that meets us just as we are and transforms our hearts. Wesley wrote a famous sermon called 'The Duty of Constant Communion' where he argues the need all Christians have not just to partake in the sacrament, but a constant need and responsibility to attend the Lord’s Table. Simply stated, this is one of the concrete places where Jesus said we would find Him. "When two or three gather in My name..." (Matthew 18), "among the poor and the powerless..." (Matthew 25), and "in the breaking of the bread" (Luke 22 and 24). Since Jesus has explicitly instructed His followers how and where to find Him, why would we not pursue these channels of grace? And so it was that week after week I became more and more hungry.
Working in the United Methodist Church in Murfreesboro, we would have communion twice a month, and every week it would become more precious to me. There were Sundays where I didn’t know what I wanted more- to simply receive the elements, or to have the honor of helping serve them. I would be legitimately torn. After several months, what used to be a fearful event of confession and hoping I hadn’t missed any sins, became a true means of grace in my life, and the hunger grew. Eventually I even started attending a small Episcopal church on a semi-regular basis on Wednesday mornings for their prayer, healing and Eucharist service. It was a little awkward introducing myself sometimes...“Hi, I’m Kyle. I work for another church up the road…" But I was always met with peace and welcome. It became a gift in my life to not be working, and receive the elements just as I was. Even as I’ve moved to Memphis and begun working at another church, I have still made connections around the surrounding towns and frequent Wednesday Morning Eucharist whenever I can. This is my practice: seeking to sit at the Lord’s Table as often as I can. This has almost always been a gift to me, that is until last week…
Last week I was looking at my to do list and I was stretched beyond my breaking point. As Wednesday morning approached I decided at least five times for and against going to morning Eucharist just based on what I needed to get done that day. But finally I caved in, and remembered the growing hunger in my heart. "I’ll go, I'll go.,," I told myself. I drove to the town just south of where I live and pulled up a few minutes early to the church I frequent. As I sat there letting my mind spin a little out of control as I tried to map out all that I had to do that day and the following week, I noticed a lot of cars were pulling up. Normally it’s just me and a small handful of others who attend this service; but as I walked in I realized it was Ash Wednesday.
We all filed in, quite the crowd compared to normal, and the service began. It was only right before the sermon that I noticed something was missing: the bread and the wine! In a moment of terror I thought how embarrassing it must be for the priest to have forgotten the elements, especially with a crowd of 40 people. Right around the moment I had decided someone needed to fix this quick, the Rector addressed my concern. “As you can see we’re not going to be having communion this morning…because this is the beginning of Lent, which is a season of waiting, a season of longing, and a season of penitence. I thought it would be appropriate if we went without the Eucharist today. Because in this season of fasting we need to feel the hunger.”
Touché. He got me. I had come as usual to quench my spiritual hunger and to feel the presence of Christ again as we gather around the table of grace, and here I was left with a new appreciation for the pain in my stomach. Instead I was marked with ashes and told, “From dust you have come and to the dust you will go.” As the service wrapped up, before I jumped right back into the anxiety and busyness of my life, I just sat. I sat and caught my breath. I thought back to my first time walking into the Episcopal church and fumbling through the Book of Common Prayer. I remembered sitting with my pastor in Murfreesboro learning about Communion as a means of grace. I remembered the hunger I’d felt for years. I think I realized that the hunger I’ve felt isn’t just something to fix like a craving for pizza or holiday shaped Reese’s. It was a good longing, a hunger that kept me going. It was a part of what Wesley called “all the drawings of the Father.”
May you be welcomed to the Lord’s table. May you come to experience the presence of Christ through the mystery of communion without fear. And may we all stay hungry this Lenten season.
baptism:learning to swim
After graduating from college, I took a year off to work in Pigeon Forge. While most of my friends were going to grad school or starting their careers, I was selling rafting trips in the most beautiful place in the world: East Tennessee. That summer and the following year, I stayed in God’s country working with a program called Discipleship Focus. It was a transformative year in many ways that I still look back as one of the richest seasons of my life. I left college broken and searching in many ways. There, nestled in the smoky mountains, living in grace-filled Christian community, I heard God’s voice. Over the course of that year and a half, I heard the phrase of the boy Jesus in the temple saying, “I have to be in Father's house…I had to be about my Father’s business.”
I had felt a call to ministry for a long time but I wasn’t sure what that meant. Ministry is a pretty broad category. During my season in the mountains I interpreted the Lord’s call to mean I needed to pursue work in the church. Having worked with Young Life and other para-church organizations in college, I had shifted much of my attention and energy away from institutional church work, but now I needed to heed the call to be in my 'Father’s house.' The problem was I didn’t know what that meant either.
During my time in college I had wandered around, shopping many different churches, convinced there was a perfect one out there for me. College had left me with a lot of theological questions, and I graduated wanting a church with answers. I had gone to Baptist, Church of God, Anglican non-denominational, and Presbyterian churches, and the college I had gone to was associated with the United Methodist Church; all of which left me searching. It was during the time in Pigeon Forge that I heard about a youth ministry program called the CYMT (Center for Youth Ministry Training). I like to think of the CYMT as a dating service that works with churches who want theologically trained youth ministers to pair them up with men and women interested in working in a church and getting some theological training. I applied for the program, got accepted, and then the question came up: “What kind of church would you like to work in?” I hesitated and offered up a sincere but over pious answer: “I’ll go to any church that God can use me the most in. Wherever God wants me, I’ll serve.” I meant what I said, but it didn’t seem to help the program director who was trying to place me in a church. Eventually, after a little back and forth, I settled with, “Listen, any church but a methodist one will do fine.” In my search for answers up until this point, I had found the Methodism I had encountered in college to be far too liberal, wishy washy, and Catholic for me. Little did I know that the only churches left for placement were all Methodist , and that my working in the UMC would change the course of my life.
Determined to be good to my word and serve whatever church I was placed in, I needed to learn what these Methodists believed. The last thing I wanted was to teach against the church, or cause rifts in the community. So I set out, week after week, knocking on my pastor’s door to ask why he held certain beliefs that I found troubling. Coming from a conservative, evangelical, low-church, non-denominational holiness movement, I had a few issues with… well, everything I thought these Methodists believed. The problem was that week after week I came in with my stance on a given issue settled, and left confused and intrigued by my pastor's answers to my questions. Every time I left his office, I was more convinced that these Methodists were alright. The issue that changed the game and sealed the deal for me was infant baptism.
“I mean come on. This one is easy right? Clearly it’s just some Catholic mistake passed down through history that justifies baptizing babies. I mean, they can’t make a confession of faith if they can’t even talk, much less know what’s happening to them! It’s foolish, if not just plain wrong.” After my pridefully blunt attack, my pastor quietly and humbly nodded and said, “Those are some interesting points. Overall, history will show the shift that the Church as a whole made to baptize infants, and there is a fair amount of controversy surrounding this issue among different churches and even within our own denomination. But it all boils down to grace. Baptism, whether you're 9 months or 90 years old is always a means of grace. It’s a sign and a channel of God’s unconditional love that meets us when and wherever we are on our faith journey. In that sense, all adult baptisms are really infant baptisms, because we’re never at a point where it’s not totally God’s gift given to us as those that are as helpless as a child.”
I didn’t know what to say. Luckily before I could start talking without thinking my pastor continued, “At the same time, all infant baptisms are, in a sense, professions of faith, because the family and the whole congregation are a part of the sacrament, committing to raise, nurture, and care for the child. For us baptism is something we’re all involved in, and it’s all about God’s grace”. As I quietly dismissed myself to recover back in my office, I knew I was in trouble.
I was troubled with how humble and how beautiful this idea of baptism was. Baptism was a gift. Always a sign of God’s unconditional love, that we don’t cause or earn. It was this conversation that pushed me to borrow my pastor's copy of the United Methodist Book of Discipline, to see what other wonderful and grace-filled things these Methodists believed. It was this conversation with my pastor that started me on a path toward pursuing ordination in the United Methodist Church, and it was this conversation that changed the way I’ve thought about baptism ever since.
Growing up, I hadn’t given a lot of thought to baptism. I was convinced that one didn’t need to be baptized. I mean, think about the thief on the cross. Then there was the question of what happened in baptism. Did it wipe away original sin? Was it a metaphor for our new life in Christ? Hadn’t I already been born again at least a few times? My understanding of baptism was so unclear that I never thought to get baptized, even long after becoming a Christian and accepting a call to ministry. It was later in college that I was baptized in a camp swimming pool with one witness besides the camp chaplain. I don’t even remember what convinced me to do it. But I do know that after the conversation with my pastor years later, that simple moment in the pool meant something new to me. It was a part of my story, and a part of God’s work in my life. It was a signpost in my life pointing to the new life God had given me. It was about my identity.
Baptism has changed for me, and I don’t have answers to all the questions I’ve asked over the years, nor can I explain the metaphysics or mechanics of the sacrament. In the last few months, I’ve had the opportunity to lead a confirmation class, and early on the question of the meaning of baptism came up. "What happens?" "How is it supposed to be done?" "What if I don’t get baptized?" These questions are important and difficult to navigate, but my answer is always simple now. Baptism is fundamentally about identity. When Jesus began his public ministry he went to John the Baptist and was baptized by him in the Jordan. We don’t know why, theologians have debated this one for as long as there’s been a church. But we do know, according to Luke’s Gospel, that when Jesus came up out of the waters He heard a voice from heaven saying the truest thing about Him: “You are My beloved child, in whom I am well pleased”. In our baptism, we too hear the truest thing about us: that we are beloved children of God, and in us God is well pleased. It’s all about grace, and this dying and being raised with Christ is all about identity.
One of my favorite practices has become 'remembering your baptism.' This can be a worship service once a year that the whole church is a part of, or a moment of mindfulness in our everyday lives. Biblically, water is a sign of life, creation, promise, and refreshment. If God is never far from us, every moment can become sacramental. Touching water, perhaps making the sign of the cross, we can remember our baptism. We can remember who we are. We are all beloved children of God in whom God is well pleased. Whether we’re infants or seminary students trying to find our way, it’s always a gift of God’s grace. Whether you can actually remember your baptism like mine in the pool or not, the rest of our lives we are just learning how to swim in the waters of God’s love. May we all know the grace and peace of God, the power of the Holy Spirit. And may we all learn to swim in our baptismal waters.
Christian meditation and centering prayer are contemplative practices in doing some research and practice in. Here is an awesome podcast about meditation from a Christian perspective from Jim Finley.
Check out this cool episode: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/sounds-true-insights-at-edge/id307934313?mt=2&i=130645804
When Your God Fails Part 3...
Part 3: Prayer Doesn’t Change Anything...
At least that's what I told my mom in a fit of theological prideful angst. We’ll get there in a minute… But first a few words about what prayer is and isn’t. There are all kinds of ways to pray, each unique for different circumstances. And there are just as many questions about what prayer is and how it works as there ways to pray. In the past few years, my understanding of prayer has changed or evolved probably just as much as my view of God has. In this entry, I'd like to lay down a few thoughts about how prayer has changed my life, and how my understanding of prayer has changed in my life.
In the last couple of posts we’ve explored how God isn’t far, or distant from us, but is as close to us as our next breath. If God is that which holds all things together, never far from us, the question is: are we aware of this presence and are we acting upon that awareness? Here’s the best definition of prayer that I have: Prayer is the act of being intentionally present to the God who is always present with you. Again, prayer is any intentional act that you do that puts you in touch with the God who is always in touch with you. So prayer includes praises to who God is as well as silence, but also requests that come from deep yearnings within us. God cares about us and what we care about, that’s why scripture tells us to make our requests known to God. It's important to remember that God is not a cosmic vending machine. When I was young, I prayed to not get a spanking, not have to go to school, not have to go to bed until midnight, etc. I prayed to God as if God were Santa Claus. I no longer think this is how God intends for us to pray, at least not exclusively or even primarily. Of course, when we purposefully turn our attention to the God of the universe who is as close to us as our breath, we will naturally make requests and this is okay! After all, even Jesus says “Ask, and you will receive. Search, and you will find. Knock, and the door will be opened to you.” We express to God what is on our hearts and what matters most to us, and God honors these requests and moves in them.
Prayer at its most simple understanding is connecting to and communicating with God. I believe that God is not locked away in heaven, distant and far from us, but instead is as close as our next breath. In fact, every breath you take is a gift from God, and since it’s a grace we can put ourselves in a position to receive it as a gift. Prayer can be as simple as breathing, or taking the time to catch your breath. This is what the church fathers over the last 1800 years have come to call a breathing prayer, or what the Orthodox call the Jesus Prayer. It is a prayer not of rattling off words, requests or even praises, but of slowing down and connecting to God. If we take the time to pay attention to our breath, it can be prayer because it can turn our attention to God's grace towards us in giving us that breath! Every breath can be a reminder of grace, if only we allow ourselves to become more aware of it. One reason that I’ve been exploring Buddhist mindfulness and Christian centering prayer is because of my desire to become more aware of that grace, and these are practices inspire me to be more aware or mindful of the presence of God. By the way, you know the word inspire I used there? It literally means “to breathe into something”.
Rabbi Lawrence Kushner often tells a story like this:
The holy of holies in the temple was thought to be so sacred that only the high priest could enter, and even then, one could only do so once a year on Yom Kippur. There is even a legend of tying a rope to the man’s leg just in case - heaven forbid - he were to drop dead. Once inside the holy of holies, the high priest had to do only one thing, something he had prepared to do this for months, maybe even his whole life. He would utter the ineffable name of God, the four-letter name: yod, hey, vav, hey. This is undoubtedly a challenge to say because in much of the Hebrew language these letters function as vowels. I mean how do you pronounce a name of all vowel sounds at once? You can hear it yourself if you want to. Just take a deep breath and listen to the sound… That’s it, the ineffable name of God. The reason God’s name is unpronounceable is because the name of being is all the vowels at once… the sound of breathing. Imagine that. The first thing every baby does when it’s born, is breathe it’s first breath, the very name of God. And the last thing we all do as we before we die, is say the ineffable name of God. As we breathe and become aware of our own breath we can know the very presence of God.
There’s a sign in my office with some monkeys, that says “prayer changes things”. It’s a silly piece of art that typically has people confused when they see it. But I keep it because my friend Jeff gave it to me. I keep it because of the kind of friend Jeff is. One day several years ago I was out to eat at Cracker Barrel in Pigeon Forge and my mother was coming to visit me. I was looking for a job at the time and honestly looking for some direction in my life, and as I told my mom this, she replied, “Oh honey, don’t you worry, we’ll get grandma and her Sunday School Class to start praying about this and you just wait and see, God will make something happen for you soon enough.” Assuming I knew more about the nature of God then my mother, I arrogantly responded, “That’s not how prayer works. God doesn’t change His mind all of a sudden once we pray. Praying doesn’t change what’s going to happen.” My mother was stunned and wounded, and as she began to lower her head in shame and confusion, Jeff spoke up, loud enough for all to hear, “Kyle, you know that’s not true. You know that prayer matters, and that Jesus tells us to pray. All throughout scripture, people pray and God moves. You know that, and you know that prayer changes things!”
And so I keep that silly monkey art to remind me of how good it is to have friends who are willing to correct you when you make a fool of yourself, but also to remind me that prayer does change things. I don’t know how that happens or what the metaphysics of it is, but I know that somehow when we intentionally turn all of who we are to all of who God is something happens. Jurgen Moltmann says that “Prayer is participating in the freedom of God.” That’s a mouthful, but I like it. I love the idea that when we pray, when we intentionally become present to the God that is freely working and moving in the world to make all things new. In this we actually participate in what God is doing. Prayer centers us on the truth all around us, and through this, God invites us to be a part of the world God is making. We become, as Shane Claiborne puts it, “the answer to our prayers.” It turns out prayer does change things. It changes our lives, and it invites us to change the world; to be the hands and feet of God in action. So whether it’s praying the Jesus Prayer with a rosary, having your quiet times at Starbucks, or simply taking the time to catch your breath and say the very name of God, may you be inspired to practice and participate in the presence of God.
When Your God Fails Part 2...
A couple of years ago before entering seminary and diving into the deep end of theological studies I thought differently about God, and myself and everything else in relation to God. Like I mentioned in the last post I have longed for an understanding of God that was not distant from me. Awareness has become a key aspect of my Christian identity. If God is never far from me, with me all day, the question becomes: "Am I aware of it?" But these waters, of the God who is near, go even deeper and into unknown places.
Soon after I had just started seminary, I was wrestling with who God was and what God was like (and still am). I found myself one day out to lunch with my pastor and his wife at a local thai restaurant. As we were just sitting down, they saw a friend they knew and asked him to join us. This man was Rabbi Rami Shapiro, the yamaka gave him away. It’s safe to say I was not ready for Rami. Rabbi Shapiro is an inter-faith guru who, as my former pastor’s wife likes to say, “sees religion and God as playful.” The lunch quickly turned into a theological conversation, but with Rami, it included language from the Jewish tradition as well as Catholic, Buddhist, Sufi, and I’m sure other references I still don’t quite recognize. Here was a Rabbi, who loved and respected Jesus as a rabbi himself, and talked of the Buddha like an old friend. I was not ready for this. I shut down and contemplated how my pastor and his wife were so gleeful in his presence. How could a Rabbi like Jesus? Didn’t that make him a Christian? My whole worldview of Christianity, God and other religions was up for grabs, and I found myself sweating, not just because of the curry!
But that was a few years ago. I have since then continued to swim in these unknown waters, and I like what I’m finding. If God is not far from me, it probably means God isn’t far from everyone else. Growing up I was given (or picked up) a version of God that was over and against everyone who wasn’t Christian. This God was wrathful and even opposed to those who hadn’t accepted Jesus. Even then this troubled me a little because I wasn’t always a “Christian”. Did God’s mind change about me when I accepted Jesus? I don’t think so. I believe now that God loves and is close to all people and all things. In fact, I want to push that language even further. If God is intimately connected to all humans and all of creation, it makes sense for different people over time in different parts of the world to express this same Spirit in different ways. This led me to want to learn about other faiths for the first time. I’d studied other religions in college and high school even, but I never went about those studies with an earnestness to genuinely learn. Instead I studied them in order to know what makes them wrong, and to understand why they are so different. I now want to learn from others on their own terms. I want my faith to be challenged and critiqued even by, especially by, those who see God, reality, and life differently than I do.
This thought process made me want to try lunch with Rabbi Rami again. I emailed him, we called back and forth and set up a time to talk on the phone to try this whole thing again. I intentionally chose a less spicy curry to eat while talking with him! Over the hour and half that we talked I apologized for writing him off initially and learned more about his own life journey. Toward the end of the time, Rabbi Rami encouraged and warned me. He told me that to be a Christian and want to really explore other faiths and learn from them is a wonderful idea, but to expect rejection. He said it’s really hard to be a Christian and be open to “the other” because so much of Christianity for so long has seen itself as the only way. This made sense to me because it reflected my upbringing. Not one of hate by any means, but simply a thought process that said we’re right, which logically makes everyone else wrong. There can only be one truth right?
At the close of our conversation, I asked about his own spiritual practice. "What does an interfaith Rabbi do anyway, I mean who do you pray to?" I inquired. He recommended his book “Minyan: Ten Principles For Living a Life of Integrity”, a guide to spiritual practice rooted in the Jewish tradition but open to learn from others. I devoured the book and was blown away. Last year I was also blessed to study Judaism with an actual Rabbi here in Memphis and it too, was a joy. The more I read Rabbi Rami’s book and the more I read and studied in class, the more I began to see Christianity as a beautiful tree with a root system twice as deep. Why have I neglected the roots for so long? After all, Jesus wasn’t even a Christian...He was a Jewish rabbi!
One of the key concepts from Minyan is that of a Jewish understanding of non-duality. For Rabbi Rami, God is different than what I was given growing up. “God is the source and the substance of all reality, and God is experientially knowable. I do not believe in God as an abstract idea, I experience God as a palpable reality.” Nondual Judaism holds that there is no real separation between God and creation. The famous Jewish Hasidic master the Baal Shem Tov says that the whole world is full of God’s glory (quoting psalm 72) and there is no place and no thing devoid of godliness.
The two words that Rabbi Rami uses to help explain this come from the Jewish tradition. Ayin (emptiness) and yesh (being). These are the two sides of the coin of reality and how we experience it. If God is in all things, if all of creation is full of God’s presence, then all of creation is connected. All that is is relationally interdependent. There is then no separation. No separate thing. This is ayin: the no-thingness of reality. The idea that all things are a part of one greater whole. You, me, the cheeseburger you ate for lunch, we are all a part of one thing. This is also a deeply Buddhist and Christian understanding. The Buddhist call this interbeing, the oneness of all things. Christians also proclaim that all things are made by, for, and held together in Christ (Colossians 1). In Ephesians the mystery of Christ is revealed that there is no real separation between peoples, Christ is our peace. Jesus shows up to announce the way things are, have been, and will be: that all things are one. This is seen most beautifully in his ethical teachings. He says love your enemies, pray for those who persecute you, and love your neighbor as yourself. To love others as ourselves is at the heart of this teaching around ayin. It reminds us that we are all connected, that our choices matter and affect those around us, and gives us grace to work toward unity. Throughout the New Testament, the authors mention the reconciliation and restoration of all things. I have to think that means peace, shalom, and unity between people and creation because we are all one already.
The other side of ayin (emptiness/unity) is yesh, which means being. We live in a unified world, but we also have culpability and identity as separate beings. The two seem like opposites, but they coexist in paradox. A simple way to illustrate this is marriage. My wife and I, along with all of creation, are one. We are more intimately connected than we ever realize. In our covenant together we have chosen to be a sign of this unity. We have chosen to work together and become one (ayin) despite our differences (yesh). The two become one. This means diversity and unity can coexist, and the only way we have one is through the other. Again, think marriage. My wife and I rarely agree. When we do, we get giddy on a whole new level. We are different people, think differently, and at times even hold different values. This is often very difficult, but when we choose to understand the other, and serve and love each other, the unity we have through our diversity is amazing. It’s life-giving and sustaining even though we don’t always see things eye to eye. Ayin and yesh, unity and diversity. This is what God is like too.
All things are deeply connected, a part of the unity of God. We are waves on the ocean that is the divine. This way of thinking is hard, because our culture tends to favor the yesh side completely. We live in an individualistic, drive-through, “don’t make eye contact with the checkout guy” world. But to be aware that we are all one invites us to see others differently. It invites me to love and respect my wife differently. It challenges us to see those who rant on our facebook feeds as human beings loved and held by the same God that loves and holds us. It invites us to see other religions not as enemies, but unique and beautiful expressions of the same unity, that same spirit of life that holds all things together.
This isn’t just an idea, it’s a way of seeing others and treating them with grace. To seek to learn from those who are different than ourselves is hard. But it is the way of love. Love is unity and understanding through diversity and sharing. Love is when, despite the apparent separateness, we see the hidden unity of all things. Now that’s a spicy curry!
When your “God” fails...
When someone uses the word 'God', the conversation is already loaded. This is because the word carries different meaning and different assumptions for just about everyone that uses it. This is an important concept that has shaped my thinking and life in the last few years. Words are important, but they are also limited and small. They are essentially everything (how we as humans understand and make sense of the world around us) and they are also nothing (only symbols or signs of that which they represent). The expression I like to use when talking with friends or folks I work with at church is that words are like suitcases packed full of meaning. We each through our experiences may carry the same words around, but what’s packed away in our bags might be quite different. A simple way to try this thought process out is to have a group of people write the word chair down, and then invite them in a limited amount of time to draw what they see in their head when they think “chair”. You’ll notice that the chairs they draw are mostly similar, but there will be some subtle differences. Then ask the same folks to write the word love down, and ask them in the same amount of time to draw love, whatever they think of. Of course artistic expression will vary in how they draw, but what’s so interesting is what they draw is also different. We carry different meaning and memories around in our suitcases even with commonly used words.
This is all the more true when it comes to the word God. A few years ago, Rob Bell wrote an incredible book called “What We Talk About When We Talk About God”. In this book, Rob explores the challenges of naming God and looks for new ways of giving shape to how this word is used. Rob’s affirmation is that God is with us, for us, and ahead of us, pulling us forward. Even as the sceptic/believer that I am, I can shout hallelujah with these ideas about God. The overall premise is a strong one that I think the church at large needs to more openly explore. The fact is that when we talk about God we aren't always talking about the same thing. Sometimes when we use the word “God” it fails to convey the meaning we intend because our audience has different meaning packed in their suitcase. While I want to respect the differences of all those who approach this timeless, tired and provocative word 'God', I also think there are good and bad ways to talk about God. In this post and the next few, I’ll explore some of these thoughts.
Part 1: Where Most of us who grew up talking about God were given an understanding not only of what God is like but also where God is. Most of us grew up with an understanding that God is somewhere else. Typically “up there” and that God occasionally shows up to do God like things. This understanding is deeply rooted in our worship services and in our prayer lives. With phrases like “holy spirit come down and stir our hearts” or even the classic “Our Father who art in heaven…” we end up perpetuating the idea that God is not here, but might show up. This is typically what scholars call a three tiered view of the universe. God is somewhere up there, we are here on earth, and we typically talk about some kind of hell down there, where we don’t want to go. This way of understanding God and reality is found in scripture but at the same time it is also subverted throughout the whole of the Bible.
My favorite story that incorporates this three tiered view and challenges it at the same time is found in Genesis 28. Rabbi Lawrence Kushner often tells this story to talk about a God who is not distant but with us. Jacob is on the run from his brother Esau and finds himself all alone in the desert. In the middle of his journey the sun sets and he sets up a makeshift camp by taking one of the stones from the place and making a stiff pillow. There he dreams of a ladder or stairway from earth to heaven and the messengers of the Lord are ascending and descending on it (very three tiered so far). The Lord appears standing beside him and tells him who he is, and promises that all the families of the earth will be blessed through him and his children. “Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go,” God says. Jacob wakes up and exclaims the words of my own heart: “Surely God was in this place, and I, I did not know it… This is the gate of heaven”. So while the story starts with a three tiered view of God up there, it ends with God standing beside him, and Jacob proclaiming that God was with him, around him the whole time, but he only now has been made aware of it. Instead of God being up there all the time, God is here, around us, with us. The key to the story is awareness.
What if we lived our lives this way? As if God was not distant, not somewhere else, but near. How would it change our worship, liturgy and prayer life if we stopped thinking that God was up there, but instead all around us and within us? The Jewish mystics offer up a way of understanding God not as up there (three tiered view) but rather all around us. The mystics believe all of creation to be deeply, intimately connected to the divine. In this understanding is the belief that all that we see and know is in God, a manifestation of God’s heart and character. We are but the waves on the ocean that is the One God. Instead of praying for God to suddenly show up, they have faith that God is with us even in the midst of our pain. Instead of praying for God to fill a place, they pray to be more aware of what is always true. That God fills all places. What if we did the same?
In John Wesley’s third discourse on the Sermon on the Mount, he centers almost entirely around the line from Matthew 5:8, “Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God”. Wesley explores this idea saying that the pure in heart will see all things full of God. He goes on to say that God is not only providing for all things, and sustaining all things, but “that God is in all things, and that we are to see the Creator in the glass of every creature; that we should use and look upon nothing as separate from God, which indeed is a kind of practical atheism; but, with a true magnificence of thought, survey heaven and earth, and all that is therein, as contained by God in the hollow of his hand, who by his intimate presence holds them all in being, who pervades and actuates the whole created frame, and is, in a true sense, the soul of universe.”
When we talk about God we each have thoughts running through our minds about what God is like, where God is, and on and on. Sometimes we pray as if God weren’t around, until we ask God to be. Sometimes our understanding of God fails. Sometimes we need better ways of understanding. For me the idea of God being with us, near us, within us and all around us is critical. But it’s not just an idea for me. It’s something I am invited to experience. Christians over the years have called this practicing the presence of God. The presence of God who is surely in this place whether I’m aware of it or not.
May you take time to see the God who is all around you. May you experience the grace that is the very soul of the universe. And may you participate in the Kingdom of God on earth, as it is in heaven.
WHEN MY STUDENTS REJECT BIBLICAL LITERALISM BUT THEN NEED TO BE CONVINCED THAT THERE IS ANY TRUTH IN THE BIBLE
I’M LIKE
Yes, Christianity claims that there are deeper truths beyond a literal reading of the Bible
Such a good line. I feel this way all the time. How did Noah build the Ark? Where did the fish that ate Jonah come from...
It’s true... but not the way we think initially
