Saturday night, as I was brushing my teeth, I realized that I was taking Paul's advice to the Thessalonians and Philippians to a new level. Paul wrote:
Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.
(and)
Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.
Concerned about the plot and characters in The Last Battle--the final book of The Chronicles of Narnia--and feeling very upset that lies were being spread about Aslan and damaging the characters' perception of the true nature of the literary character I'd most like to meet, I found myself saying:
Dear God, please let Aslan show up in the book. Let him defend himself.
Then I laughed at myself for praying such a silly prayer because I realized that CS Lewis wrote the books years ago and that there was no way that God was going to swoop down and rewrite the book. I think God chuckled, too.
Yet I think the exchange solidified something in my mind:
I have no idea how prayer works, yet I pray all the time. All day, every day, I find myself saying Dear God and then filling in whatever is on my mind. I pray about things within my grasp and things beyond my control. I pray about things past; I pray about things present; I pray about things yet to come. I pray for myself and my family and my friends. I pray for people I've known for years and for people I have yet to and probably never will meet. I pray for work. I pray for safe travels. I pray for Bullet. I pray for characters in movies and plays. I pray for my bowling scores. I pray for these notes and all of my Facebook pages. I pray with thanksgiving for indoor plumbing and hot water. I pray that a rest stop will come soon on the interstate. I pray for the reminder to brush my hair. I pray for the right words to say when people are hurting. I pray that I will be a good steward of my money. I pray. And I pray. And I keep on praying...even though prayer is one of my biggest theological struggles.
I suppose that Paul would be proud of me. And Jesus, too. And I suppose that they both might have written the status that was on the WMU NC page this morning and that I end with today:
Do you ever feel discouraged in your prayer life? If so, you're not alone. But keep praying. And keep believing. And keep remembering that we are on this faith journey together and that it requires the daily choice to keep choosing God because God has chosen us. Admit your discouragement to the God who loves you and trust that even you cannot see, believe, or understand...God IS.
By the way, Aslan WAS too :-).
Monday, January 31, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
A Disconcerting Cleaning
I have spent a good portion of this week sorting through and making a "library list" of the books in my office. While this task had been on my long-range to do list, I decided to do it this week because...well...I don't really know why. I think it's because I'm assuming two new (huge) responsibilities at work and I wanted to make sure that what I already had was in order before trying to do anything else.
I've worked with WMU for over a year now. I've focused on Acteens and dabbled in growth and learned more than I ever knew there was to learn about WMU. As of Monday, I reliquished my growth responsibilities to someone much more capable than me and picked up the title of Missions Link editor and Project Help I don't know what the title is. While editing/writing fits much more with my giftedness and Project Help hooks into my passion for social justice, both jobs are new to me, demand a lot of attention, are "outward" focused, and can be more easily judged than my work with growth. Performance anxiety is already setting in and my extreme fear of failure is rearing its nasty head. And so...I'm making a library list of the books in my office in order to feel a sense of accomplishment and gain some sense of control when my job responsibilities have become, once again, daunting and unknown.
I started my library project late Tuesday afternoon and made great strides. I went home that night feeling good about my progress and excited to finish yesterday. As the day wore on yesterday, though, and the books that didn't look like many kept piling up, and copyright dates and publishers weren't easily found, and the floor and all surfaces of my desk piled up with stuff, and my office became increasingly dirty, and the project seemed as if it would never end, I began to feel discouraged. Before I left last night, I tidied the floor and my desk and finished inventorying almost all of the books, yet I knew that it would all be waiting for me when I got to work today. And sure enough...it was.
Already tired from a night of restless dreams, discouraged by the mess that is my office, and overwhelmed by the reality of my new job titles, I peeled off the pages of the desk calendar that got neglected yesterday. Yesterday's message said:
The thing that is so disconcerting about cleaning is that it just never gets done. As soon as we do it, we can start all over again. Each month this year, we will look at new options for appropaching cleaning that may give us a new perspective. To fight cleaning takes a lot of energy. Perhaps everyone can be happier.
And then today's message said:
Every woman who does too much has moments of just wanting to "get away from it all." Now that we know these feelings are normal, where do we go from here? Each month this year, we will take a look at contructive ways of dealing with these feelings.
In wanting to get away from it all, I decided to clean. But cleaning takes a lot of energy and never gets done. So I suppose my constructive way of dealing with this all is to cut on some music, finish my library project, feel proud of the accomplishment, marvel in the beauty of a newly cleaned and organized office, begin my new jobs by taking one step at a time--one messy, cluttering step--and then doing it all over again...praying for God's spirit to infiltrate this process of life with light and love and purpose and everything good that's in between.
What about you? How do you deal with your feelings when you feel overwhelmed and want to "get away from it all"? And how do you handle the disconcerting endlessness of cleaning?
I've worked with WMU for over a year now. I've focused on Acteens and dabbled in growth and learned more than I ever knew there was to learn about WMU. As of Monday, I reliquished my growth responsibilities to someone much more capable than me and picked up the title of Missions Link editor and Project Help I don't know what the title is. While editing/writing fits much more with my giftedness and Project Help hooks into my passion for social justice, both jobs are new to me, demand a lot of attention, are "outward" focused, and can be more easily judged than my work with growth. Performance anxiety is already setting in and my extreme fear of failure is rearing its nasty head. And so...I'm making a library list of the books in my office in order to feel a sense of accomplishment and gain some sense of control when my job responsibilities have become, once again, daunting and unknown.
I started my library project late Tuesday afternoon and made great strides. I went home that night feeling good about my progress and excited to finish yesterday. As the day wore on yesterday, though, and the books that didn't look like many kept piling up, and copyright dates and publishers weren't easily found, and the floor and all surfaces of my desk piled up with stuff, and my office became increasingly dirty, and the project seemed as if it would never end, I began to feel discouraged. Before I left last night, I tidied the floor and my desk and finished inventorying almost all of the books, yet I knew that it would all be waiting for me when I got to work today. And sure enough...it was.
Already tired from a night of restless dreams, discouraged by the mess that is my office, and overwhelmed by the reality of my new job titles, I peeled off the pages of the desk calendar that got neglected yesterday. Yesterday's message said:
The thing that is so disconcerting about cleaning is that it just never gets done. As soon as we do it, we can start all over again. Each month this year, we will look at new options for appropaching cleaning that may give us a new perspective. To fight cleaning takes a lot of energy. Perhaps everyone can be happier.
And then today's message said:
Every woman who does too much has moments of just wanting to "get away from it all." Now that we know these feelings are normal, where do we go from here? Each month this year, we will take a look at contructive ways of dealing with these feelings.
In wanting to get away from it all, I decided to clean. But cleaning takes a lot of energy and never gets done. So I suppose my constructive way of dealing with this all is to cut on some music, finish my library project, feel proud of the accomplishment, marvel in the beauty of a newly cleaned and organized office, begin my new jobs by taking one step at a time--one messy, cluttering step--and then doing it all over again...praying for God's spirit to infiltrate this process of life with light and love and purpose and everything good that's in between.
What about you? How do you deal with your feelings when you feel overwhelmed and want to "get away from it all"? And how do you handle the disconcerting endlessness of cleaning?
Goosebumps and Tears
I knew that WMU had had a huge influence on my life, but I didn't realize just how much it had formed me until I began worship preparations for a retreat over the weekend. I think the biggest--and most humbling--thing that I realized is that it is because of WMU Camping (specifically Camp Mundo Vista for me) that I love to lead worship. The worship leadership bug bit me while I was on staff, and thankfully the bite has stayed (unlike the many red bug bites that I have received over the years!).
My roles in leading worship have been vast over the years, and the number of services that I've planned is numerous. Sometimes the planning comes together nicely. Sometimes it does not. Sometimes ideas come quickly. Sometimes they take hours--or days--to come. And every once in awhile God's voice speaks so clearly that I'm left with nothing but tears and goosebumps...but that doesn't happen very often.
The first time it happened was over ten years ago while I was planning a staff worship service. I was reading the gospels when I noticed that Jesus served communion, sang a hymn with his disciples, went to the garden and prayed his heart out, was crucified and resurrected, and then served his disciples breakfast. As I read, I wept because I realized that we could, to a certain extent, take that same journey from communion to the cross and beyond. And we did. And the service was very powerful.
As I was preparing for this past weekend--taking in information, thinking of songs and choruses, looking through books for litanies and prayers, imagining how the parts of worship would flow--I didn't expect goosebumps and tears to show up like they did. Yet each time I heard a song or read a scripture or found a story or prayer that was right, I was overwhelmed by God's presence and my eyes swelled up with tears just as the hairs on my arms stood up straight. For all three services, God's direction was clear, and I was taken aback by how perfectly everything fit together. When I sensed that a reading would flow nicely into a song into a story into a prayer (or something like that), I had no idea just how tight the fit would be. But the fit was snug--and warm--and comfortable--and seamless--and I dare say that it paved the way to true worship.
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by God's guidance over the weekend. And I'm not really. But I am surprised at how obvious God's guidance was--and not just once--but over and over again. If I read something that wasn't right, nothing happened inside me. But as soon as I came across it, the right thing spoke to my tear and goosebump makers and I knew I had to look no more.
As I sang, "Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart; Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art. Thou my best Thought, by day or by night, Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light," God must have been saying, "Okay, Deanna. I'll do that. I will answer that prayer like I am answering all prayers. And I will speak to you...through goosebumps and tears."
My roles in leading worship have been vast over the years, and the number of services that I've planned is numerous. Sometimes the planning comes together nicely. Sometimes it does not. Sometimes ideas come quickly. Sometimes they take hours--or days--to come. And every once in awhile God's voice speaks so clearly that I'm left with nothing but tears and goosebumps...but that doesn't happen very often.
The first time it happened was over ten years ago while I was planning a staff worship service. I was reading the gospels when I noticed that Jesus served communion, sang a hymn with his disciples, went to the garden and prayed his heart out, was crucified and resurrected, and then served his disciples breakfast. As I read, I wept because I realized that we could, to a certain extent, take that same journey from communion to the cross and beyond. And we did. And the service was very powerful.
As I was preparing for this past weekend--taking in information, thinking of songs and choruses, looking through books for litanies and prayers, imagining how the parts of worship would flow--I didn't expect goosebumps and tears to show up like they did. Yet each time I heard a song or read a scripture or found a story or prayer that was right, I was overwhelmed by God's presence and my eyes swelled up with tears just as the hairs on my arms stood up straight. For all three services, God's direction was clear, and I was taken aback by how perfectly everything fit together. When I sensed that a reading would flow nicely into a song into a story into a prayer (or something like that), I had no idea just how tight the fit would be. But the fit was snug--and warm--and comfortable--and seamless--and I dare say that it paved the way to true worship.
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by God's guidance over the weekend. And I'm not really. But I am surprised at how obvious God's guidance was--and not just once--but over and over again. If I read something that wasn't right, nothing happened inside me. But as soon as I came across it, the right thing spoke to my tear and goosebump makers and I knew I had to look no more.
As I sang, "Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart; Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art. Thou my best Thought, by day or by night, Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light," God must have been saying, "Okay, Deanna. I'll do that. I will answer that prayer like I am answering all prayers. And I will speak to you...through goosebumps and tears."
Monday, January 17, 2011
A Day's Reflection (and Confession)
When I taught music, one of my favorite units to teach was on Martin Luther King, Jr. During the month of January, especially with my kindergarten through second grade students, we learned about MLK, Jr. and talked about his dream of equality. We sang songs, learned sign language, read books, listened to sound clips of speeches, watched video clips, learned vocabulary, had discussions, and, in general, had a very good time learning.
When I told my students that "colored" people used to have to drink from different water fountains and go to different schools than "white" people, they were appalled. They did not understand the big deal about skin color nor did they think it fair to treat people differently based off of who they are. In my heart, I agreed. And in my heart today, I wonder why we, as the body of Christ, aren't appalled at the unfairness that we show people who are different from us or that we do not understand. I, for one, AM appalled...and I will be the first to confess that it is I, myself, who appalls myself more than anyone else.
You see, I have good intentions. With everything that I am, I believe that God created humankind in God's image and that God called us good. I believe that each person should be treated with dignity and worth and that each child deserves a chance to play. Yet, I give in to the convenience of superstores and companies that are bound to use child labor or exploit natural resources to produce their products, and I remain silent when I hear slander against "those people" for fear of oppression should I take a stand for what is right. I let broken relationships remain broken because I don't know how to begin to mend them. I let individuals live in loneliness because I do not know what to say or because I have too much to do to stop and truly listen. I drive by the homeless man on the corner because I have nothing but a $20 bill in my pocket. I buy plastic bottles of water, cans of soda, and fast food because they are convenient. I do not know who my political representatives are, nor do I contact them on issues of public policy. And I remain comfortable in my white privilege even though I have a passion and desire to give more back to this world...
I posted two songs on my Reverbnation Page today (www.reverbnation.com/deannadeaton). One of the songs, "If I Could" speaks to this struggle that is myself, and honestly confesses that I'd do all of the things that I know I should do if only I could. Yet. I should be able to, right?...
And the other of the songs is one of my favorites from my MLK, Jr. unit--from the 1st grade textbook--and it speaks the simple truth on which we should all stand: Everybody ought to know what freedom, justice, friendship, and happiness are...regardless of race, ethnicity, socio-economic level, stage of faith, occupation, weight, height, sexual orientation, religious affiliation, level of education, openmindedness, closedmindedness, tactfulness, age, type of shoe, type of clothing, medical status, or any other category in which we can classify humanity.
If we believe that God is love and that love transforms this world, then we must believe that it is Love that will transform what needs to be transformed in those from whom we are different and that love will honor that which can and should not be changed. And if we believe that, then our actions should follow that which we believe and our lives should be the first to lay evidence of the transforming work of Love.
As I have confessed, I am far from having it right. Yet, just as MLK, Jr. was by far not a perfect man, I believe that this imperfect girl with her imperfect life can hold to the dream and passion for healthy equality that lies within me...and that somehow, in some way, God can work with and create something alongside and within me that can--and will--make a difference. I believe that God can do the same with you. Will you hold to the dream with me?
When I told my students that "colored" people used to have to drink from different water fountains and go to different schools than "white" people, they were appalled. They did not understand the big deal about skin color nor did they think it fair to treat people differently based off of who they are. In my heart, I agreed. And in my heart today, I wonder why we, as the body of Christ, aren't appalled at the unfairness that we show people who are different from us or that we do not understand. I, for one, AM appalled...and I will be the first to confess that it is I, myself, who appalls myself more than anyone else.
You see, I have good intentions. With everything that I am, I believe that God created humankind in God's image and that God called us good. I believe that each person should be treated with dignity and worth and that each child deserves a chance to play. Yet, I give in to the convenience of superstores and companies that are bound to use child labor or exploit natural resources to produce their products, and I remain silent when I hear slander against "those people" for fear of oppression should I take a stand for what is right. I let broken relationships remain broken because I don't know how to begin to mend them. I let individuals live in loneliness because I do not know what to say or because I have too much to do to stop and truly listen. I drive by the homeless man on the corner because I have nothing but a $20 bill in my pocket. I buy plastic bottles of water, cans of soda, and fast food because they are convenient. I do not know who my political representatives are, nor do I contact them on issues of public policy. And I remain comfortable in my white privilege even though I have a passion and desire to give more back to this world...
I posted two songs on my Reverbnation Page today (www.reverbnation.com/deannadeaton). One of the songs, "If I Could" speaks to this struggle that is myself, and honestly confesses that I'd do all of the things that I know I should do if only I could. Yet. I should be able to, right?...
And the other of the songs is one of my favorites from my MLK, Jr. unit--from the 1st grade textbook--and it speaks the simple truth on which we should all stand: Everybody ought to know what freedom, justice, friendship, and happiness are...regardless of race, ethnicity, socio-economic level, stage of faith, occupation, weight, height, sexual orientation, religious affiliation, level of education, openmindedness, closedmindedness, tactfulness, age, type of shoe, type of clothing, medical status, or any other category in which we can classify humanity.
If we believe that God is love and that love transforms this world, then we must believe that it is Love that will transform what needs to be transformed in those from whom we are different and that love will honor that which can and should not be changed. And if we believe that, then our actions should follow that which we believe and our lives should be the first to lay evidence of the transforming work of Love.
As I have confessed, I am far from having it right. Yet, just as MLK, Jr. was by far not a perfect man, I believe that this imperfect girl with her imperfect life can hold to the dream and passion for healthy equality that lies within me...and that somehow, in some way, God can work with and create something alongside and within me that can--and will--make a difference. I believe that God can do the same with you. Will you hold to the dream with me?
Friday, January 14, 2011
On Choosing to Believe
*I just read this letter after it was suggested to me by a friend. It struck deep parts of me...so I decided to repost.*
Fri 14 Jan 2011
January 2011
Posted by Admin under The Walnut Hills Fellowship
No Comments
http://thewalnuthillsfellowship.org/?p=144
Dear Friends,
The other day I met a young woman whose entire life was built around her identity as an urban minister, and whose entire life was in shambles. She was burned out from her work and, in the aftermath of a failed romance, suddenly aware that most of her other relationships were unhealthy as well. The more we talked about her path and the key decisions she had made along the way, the more evident it became that something was deeply wrong.
At first I thought it might be some combination of the usual suspects: religious legalism, a broken home, an addiction of some kind, clinical depression, or a history of abuse. But as our conversation wore on, and each of those possibilities was ruled out, I began to suspect a different kind of wrongness. Eventually, I asked. This may sound strange, I began, given what you do for a living, but I want you to think very carefully before you respond: At the core of your being, do you really believe that the personal God you’ve been serving even exists?
She looked up from the patch of floor between her feet, maybe to make sure she had heard me right or maybe to see if it was a trick question. In any case, she held my eye as she shook her head. No, she said quietly, I don’t think I do. After a moment of silence, she asked a question of her own: That’s pretty sad, isn’t it?
It was all I could do to keep the grin off my face as I answered her. Actually, I said, that’s the most hopeful thing you’ve said all day.
I wasn’t out to undermine that young woman, of course. The reason I was happy was that the root problem of her faith—of her whole life, really—was one I knew we could work around. You see, two days out of three I don’t believe in a personal God either.
I used to think my lack of credulity had mostly to do with living in this ghetto, but over the years I’ve discovered that you don’t need to be surrounded by ignorance and brokenness to begin wondering about the likelihood of a benevolent, all-knowing, all-powerful creator. You don’t need to be a bad person, either, or a stupid one for that matter. In fact, many of the best and brightest people I know find it difficult, if not impossible, to believe that Someone is actually listening to their prayers.
Honestly, I think whichever psalmist wrote “Only a fool says in his heart that there is no God” must have been an arrogant fool himself, unless he was simply fronting like the rest of us. Or, better yet, unless he was misquoted. Perhaps what he really said is that only a fool hopes in his heart that there is no God. In that case, you and I may be doubters, but we are no fools.
Regardless, it seems to me that what we hope for is ultimately more important than what we believe, anyway, partly because our hopes better reflect our true selves, and partly because those hopes so often determine what we believe in the end. That is good news for those of us who often doubt the existence of a good and loving God. Why, after all, would we even notice those doubts, let alone lament or defend them, if we weren’t so deeply attracted to their object in the first place?
Certainly my young woman friend (let’s call her Marian) is attracted to the possibility of such a God. Indeed, as she puts it, she is “absolutely desperate” to remain a believer. Beyond her understandable fears of losing her job, alienating her family and friends, and perhaps going to hell if it turns out she’s wrong, Marian is desperate because she is virtually addicted to the everyday experience of living by faith. She’s hooked on the comforting routines of discipleship, on the easy camaraderie of spiritual fellowship, on the purpose and identity she draws from openly following Jesus. Also, on a more existential level, she’s terrified of being alone and adrift in an uncaring Universe, with no meaning but that which she can fashion for herself. Really, she needs the assurance she’s on a divine mission like a junkie needs a fix. I can relate, of course. I’m a faith addict, too.
It isn’t just that, like Marian, I’m already so deeply invested in the idea of God. It’s that the idea itself is so utterly fabulous. Whether or not you believe in a good and loving God who can and will redeem everything and everyone in the end, you have to admit that a God like that beats the pants off all the alternative possibilities, including all those lesser Gods whose so-called grace depends on everything from theological orthodoxy to luck of the draw. Which is all the idea of God needs to do, as far as I am concerned: Beat the pants off all the other possibilities.
Now I know there are folks who claim they can empirically prove not only the existence of God, but also quite a few particularities about his character and expectations, but I don’t know anyone who takes those folks very seriously. Even my fundamentalist friends will admit that such things are matters of faith. What they won’t admit, generally speaking, is why exactly they put their faith in the existence of this or that particular God. Then again, born as most of us are into overwhelming currents of familial and cultural rituals and assumptions, I doubt they had much choice. That kind of directional leap of faith is the unique burden—and the unique opportunity—of the true non-believer.
When I say “directional leap of faith,” by the way, I don’t mean choosing what you actually believe. Nobody gets to do that, unfortunately, just like nobody gets to choose who they are attracted to, or what they are afraid of, or if they like strawberry ice cream. Faith is a feeling, after all, and, like it or not, you don’t get to choose your feelings. All you get to choose is how you respond to them—what you say, where you place yourself, who you watch and listen to, when you start or stop trying to do the right thing. What you do get to choose, in other words, is how you live.
Until proven otherwise, I choose to live as though what I (and Marian, and maybe you) desperately hope to be true actually is just that. I can’t prove anything, but I reckon that if there was a good and loving God, that God would want me to love people—especially poor or broken people—so that’s what I’m trying to do. I figure that God wouldn’t want me to hurt myself with drugs or alcohol, so I don’t. I wish pornography and junk food were equally easy for me to refuse, but at least I am disappointed with myself when I succumb to their false promises, because I feel certain that the God I hope for would be disappointed, too.
Here at last is my point: I believe that living by faith—even on those days you don’t believe in God—is the best life possible, for Marian, for me, for you, or for anyone. You might call this my version of Pascal’s Wager, except that Pascal’s argument for taking the leap was centered on his fear of eternal damnation, and mine has nothing to do with that. My best argument for choosing to live by faith is the happiness and meaning that choice gives me right here and now. A good and loving God in the process of utterly redeeming every soul in the universe may not be the most obvious of existential possibilities, but it is certainly the most beautiful of the bunch, and even more certainly the only one I deem worthy of my devotion.
And here is my good news: The more I live by faith, the more strongly I suspect that my faith is not in vain, even here in Walnut Hills. I pray that happens for you, too, wherever you are.
Your friend,
Bart
Fri 14 Jan 2011
January 2011
Posted by Admin under The Walnut Hills Fellowship
No Comments
http://thewalnuthillsfellowship.org/?p=144
Dear Friends,
The other day I met a young woman whose entire life was built around her identity as an urban minister, and whose entire life was in shambles. She was burned out from her work and, in the aftermath of a failed romance, suddenly aware that most of her other relationships were unhealthy as well. The more we talked about her path and the key decisions she had made along the way, the more evident it became that something was deeply wrong.
At first I thought it might be some combination of the usual suspects: religious legalism, a broken home, an addiction of some kind, clinical depression, or a history of abuse. But as our conversation wore on, and each of those possibilities was ruled out, I began to suspect a different kind of wrongness. Eventually, I asked. This may sound strange, I began, given what you do for a living, but I want you to think very carefully before you respond: At the core of your being, do you really believe that the personal God you’ve been serving even exists?
She looked up from the patch of floor between her feet, maybe to make sure she had heard me right or maybe to see if it was a trick question. In any case, she held my eye as she shook her head. No, she said quietly, I don’t think I do. After a moment of silence, she asked a question of her own: That’s pretty sad, isn’t it?
It was all I could do to keep the grin off my face as I answered her. Actually, I said, that’s the most hopeful thing you’ve said all day.
I wasn’t out to undermine that young woman, of course. The reason I was happy was that the root problem of her faith—of her whole life, really—was one I knew we could work around. You see, two days out of three I don’t believe in a personal God either.
I used to think my lack of credulity had mostly to do with living in this ghetto, but over the years I’ve discovered that you don’t need to be surrounded by ignorance and brokenness to begin wondering about the likelihood of a benevolent, all-knowing, all-powerful creator. You don’t need to be a bad person, either, or a stupid one for that matter. In fact, many of the best and brightest people I know find it difficult, if not impossible, to believe that Someone is actually listening to their prayers.
Honestly, I think whichever psalmist wrote “Only a fool says in his heart that there is no God” must have been an arrogant fool himself, unless he was simply fronting like the rest of us. Or, better yet, unless he was misquoted. Perhaps what he really said is that only a fool hopes in his heart that there is no God. In that case, you and I may be doubters, but we are no fools.
Regardless, it seems to me that what we hope for is ultimately more important than what we believe, anyway, partly because our hopes better reflect our true selves, and partly because those hopes so often determine what we believe in the end. That is good news for those of us who often doubt the existence of a good and loving God. Why, after all, would we even notice those doubts, let alone lament or defend them, if we weren’t so deeply attracted to their object in the first place?
Certainly my young woman friend (let’s call her Marian) is attracted to the possibility of such a God. Indeed, as she puts it, she is “absolutely desperate” to remain a believer. Beyond her understandable fears of losing her job, alienating her family and friends, and perhaps going to hell if it turns out she’s wrong, Marian is desperate because she is virtually addicted to the everyday experience of living by faith. She’s hooked on the comforting routines of discipleship, on the easy camaraderie of spiritual fellowship, on the purpose and identity she draws from openly following Jesus. Also, on a more existential level, she’s terrified of being alone and adrift in an uncaring Universe, with no meaning but that which she can fashion for herself. Really, she needs the assurance she’s on a divine mission like a junkie needs a fix. I can relate, of course. I’m a faith addict, too.
It isn’t just that, like Marian, I’m already so deeply invested in the idea of God. It’s that the idea itself is so utterly fabulous. Whether or not you believe in a good and loving God who can and will redeem everything and everyone in the end, you have to admit that a God like that beats the pants off all the alternative possibilities, including all those lesser Gods whose so-called grace depends on everything from theological orthodoxy to luck of the draw. Which is all the idea of God needs to do, as far as I am concerned: Beat the pants off all the other possibilities.
Now I know there are folks who claim they can empirically prove not only the existence of God, but also quite a few particularities about his character and expectations, but I don’t know anyone who takes those folks very seriously. Even my fundamentalist friends will admit that such things are matters of faith. What they won’t admit, generally speaking, is why exactly they put their faith in the existence of this or that particular God. Then again, born as most of us are into overwhelming currents of familial and cultural rituals and assumptions, I doubt they had much choice. That kind of directional leap of faith is the unique burden—and the unique opportunity—of the true non-believer.
When I say “directional leap of faith,” by the way, I don’t mean choosing what you actually believe. Nobody gets to do that, unfortunately, just like nobody gets to choose who they are attracted to, or what they are afraid of, or if they like strawberry ice cream. Faith is a feeling, after all, and, like it or not, you don’t get to choose your feelings. All you get to choose is how you respond to them—what you say, where you place yourself, who you watch and listen to, when you start or stop trying to do the right thing. What you do get to choose, in other words, is how you live.
Until proven otherwise, I choose to live as though what I (and Marian, and maybe you) desperately hope to be true actually is just that. I can’t prove anything, but I reckon that if there was a good and loving God, that God would want me to love people—especially poor or broken people—so that’s what I’m trying to do. I figure that God wouldn’t want me to hurt myself with drugs or alcohol, so I don’t. I wish pornography and junk food were equally easy for me to refuse, but at least I am disappointed with myself when I succumb to their false promises, because I feel certain that the God I hope for would be disappointed, too.
Here at last is my point: I believe that living by faith—even on those days you don’t believe in God—is the best life possible, for Marian, for me, for you, or for anyone. You might call this my version of Pascal’s Wager, except that Pascal’s argument for taking the leap was centered on his fear of eternal damnation, and mine has nothing to do with that. My best argument for choosing to live by faith is the happiness and meaning that choice gives me right here and now. A good and loving God in the process of utterly redeeming every soul in the universe may not be the most obvious of existential possibilities, but it is certainly the most beautiful of the bunch, and even more certainly the only one I deem worthy of my devotion.
And here is my good news: The more I live by faith, the more strongly I suspect that my faith is not in vain, even here in Walnut Hills. I pray that happens for you, too, wherever you are.
Your friend,
Bart
Monday, January 10, 2011
The Ecclesiasties Train
Sometimes I think I could have written Ecclesiastes. Not the parts about being a great King and having wisdom above everyone else and being rich and having a harem. But the parts about questioning the point of life—if there is a point—and deeming all things meaningless—and speaking in circles of logic that can drive one mad.
I have this tendency to think too much—to pay attention to language and words and to strip them down to their raw meaning—to break down illustrations until they don’t work anymore—to make a passing statement one that spirals out of control until it becomes a permanent resident—to ponder and question and mull until either I come to a point of understanding or acceptance or make myself sick trying.
Let me see if I can give an example of what I’m talking about…
The initial statement: “Project Help: Human Exploitation seeks to bring light into darkness. Satan does not like that and is going to attack. If you are going to work in this area, be prepared to engage in spiritual warfare.”
My response train of thought (and you really don’t have to get on this train if you don’t want to; it’s not that fun):
Does Satan really attack? If so, how much power does he have? Do we give Satan more power than he deserves? Who is Satan anyway? And what about God? Does God fight back? Does God swoop down and fix things and fight battles for us at certain times? If so, why not at all times? Does it have to do with prayer? How does prayer work anyway? Can we change God’s mind? Do our prayers influence when God intervenes and saves us or heals us? If that’s the case, then why hasn’t God already eliminated human exploitation and other dark evils? After all, God is all powerful, right? And God is all-knowing? But if God is all-knowing and already knows everything about us before we’re born and has everything planned for God’s own time, then what’s the point in us praying for guidance and seeking God’s direction? Won’t the already planned things just happen?
Why does God choose to listen to some prayers over others? Are some prayers better than others? That doesn’t seem right if God is an all-loving God and we’re all seen as equals in God’s eyes. But are we all equals? If we are, the church certainly doesn’t seem to teach that—except in preschool. We teach us-against-them and that we must stand for right and wrong and in the process we perpetuate discrimination and hatred instead of God’s love. And I just want to share God’s love and redemption and the idea that God wants each of us to be whole. But why would I want to open myself up to being attacked by Satan? Why would I want to put myself in a place to feel frustrated and overwhelmed and sick all the time—which is how I feel when I hear about human trafficking?
If I’m following God and God can intervene and fix things, then shouldn’t God’s power and presence be strong enough to protect against attacks? Or is it more of a journey on which God walks with us and guides us and helps us create goodness and love and hope in the midst of a world that is broken? And is the power of prayer in the words that are spoken and the energy that is released and the relationships that are built?
Can I make a difference through praying? Can I make a difference at all? Because human exploitation has been around forever. Greed, lust, murder, the rich taking advantage of the poor, corruption, murder, discrimination, all of the bad things that we fight against today…they’ve all been around since before Jesus came…and they don’t seem to be going anywhere even after Jesus died and rose again…so making a difference doesn’t really seem to last...so…what’s the point in trying when we’re all just going to die anyway?
Yeh. That’s how my mind works sometimes. Especially late at night. If I’m not careful, then I can get stuck in the impossibilities of my thoughts and begin to sink into a funk. For a time in my life, I did get stuck in the impossibilities and life was very dark. But, for the most part, I’ve learned how to manage the downward spirals, feel through them, and come out on the other side…knowing that:
There is a time for everything. Life is to be lived one step at a time, bringing joy to one person at a time. And we really can do nothing better than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in our toil, believing that life is created by God, trusting that God and God’s love are much bigger than anything we can comprehend and understand.
I’m happy to report that after going to bed in a funk on Saturday night, I spent yesterday climbing my way out of it and today I am okay. Oh. I’m still full of the same questions and I still have no idea what I’m going to do about human exploitation…but I’m okay…and I’m going to make it…and I’m going to eat and drink and find satisfaction in my toil…even when my toil includes getting snowed in at Shocco Springs :-).
I have this tendency to think too much—to pay attention to language and words and to strip them down to their raw meaning—to break down illustrations until they don’t work anymore—to make a passing statement one that spirals out of control until it becomes a permanent resident—to ponder and question and mull until either I come to a point of understanding or acceptance or make myself sick trying.
Let me see if I can give an example of what I’m talking about…
The initial statement: “Project Help: Human Exploitation seeks to bring light into darkness. Satan does not like that and is going to attack. If you are going to work in this area, be prepared to engage in spiritual warfare.”
My response train of thought (and you really don’t have to get on this train if you don’t want to; it’s not that fun):
Does Satan really attack? If so, how much power does he have? Do we give Satan more power than he deserves? Who is Satan anyway? And what about God? Does God fight back? Does God swoop down and fix things and fight battles for us at certain times? If so, why not at all times? Does it have to do with prayer? How does prayer work anyway? Can we change God’s mind? Do our prayers influence when God intervenes and saves us or heals us? If that’s the case, then why hasn’t God already eliminated human exploitation and other dark evils? After all, God is all powerful, right? And God is all-knowing? But if God is all-knowing and already knows everything about us before we’re born and has everything planned for God’s own time, then what’s the point in us praying for guidance and seeking God’s direction? Won’t the already planned things just happen?
Why does God choose to listen to some prayers over others? Are some prayers better than others? That doesn’t seem right if God is an all-loving God and we’re all seen as equals in God’s eyes. But are we all equals? If we are, the church certainly doesn’t seem to teach that—except in preschool. We teach us-against-them and that we must stand for right and wrong and in the process we perpetuate discrimination and hatred instead of God’s love. And I just want to share God’s love and redemption and the idea that God wants each of us to be whole. But why would I want to open myself up to being attacked by Satan? Why would I want to put myself in a place to feel frustrated and overwhelmed and sick all the time—which is how I feel when I hear about human trafficking?
If I’m following God and God can intervene and fix things, then shouldn’t God’s power and presence be strong enough to protect against attacks? Or is it more of a journey on which God walks with us and guides us and helps us create goodness and love and hope in the midst of a world that is broken? And is the power of prayer in the words that are spoken and the energy that is released and the relationships that are built?
Can I make a difference through praying? Can I make a difference at all? Because human exploitation has been around forever. Greed, lust, murder, the rich taking advantage of the poor, corruption, murder, discrimination, all of the bad things that we fight against today…they’ve all been around since before Jesus came…and they don’t seem to be going anywhere even after Jesus died and rose again…so making a difference doesn’t really seem to last...so…what’s the point in trying when we’re all just going to die anyway?
Yeh. That’s how my mind works sometimes. Especially late at night. If I’m not careful, then I can get stuck in the impossibilities of my thoughts and begin to sink into a funk. For a time in my life, I did get stuck in the impossibilities and life was very dark. But, for the most part, I’ve learned how to manage the downward spirals, feel through them, and come out on the other side…knowing that:
There is a time for everything. Life is to be lived one step at a time, bringing joy to one person at a time. And we really can do nothing better than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in our toil, believing that life is created by God, trusting that God and God’s love are much bigger than anything we can comprehend and understand.
I’m happy to report that after going to bed in a funk on Saturday night, I spent yesterday climbing my way out of it and today I am okay. Oh. I’m still full of the same questions and I still have no idea what I’m going to do about human exploitation…but I’m okay…and I’m going to make it…and I’m going to eat and drink and find satisfaction in my toil…even when my toil includes getting snowed in at Shocco Springs :-).
Friday, January 7, 2011
Nothing To Say
There are some days
that I don't have
anything to say. Today
is one of those
days. Now that I
have said that much,
though, I will say
no more and smile
:-).
that I don't have
anything to say. Today
is one of those
days. Now that I
have said that much,
though, I will say
no more and smile
:-).
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
The Wardrobe
Most of you know that I'm not a very good reader--with my eyes. Yet I'm a very good reader--with my ears. And so...I decided that I would read--with my ears--The Chronicles of Narnia. Evidently, my mom is not a reader either (which I had somehow failed to realize until she spoke those words), so we started my earnest journey into Narnia together with "The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe" as we rode to and from Florida last week.
I had actually listened to the book once before, yet all I remembered was the voice of Aslan and how it made me laugh because it was over the top dramatic. I listened to a different recording this time, though, and opened my ears and mind to a different world--a theological world. Needless to say, this experience with The Wardrobe was much different than my first.
A dear friend and mentor once told me to pay attention to the emotional reactions that I have to the books and movies that I read and watch. She said that the places that hook us are often the places where God is working in our lives. As I drove up I-95, tears streaming down my face, I realized that just how much God had been working in my life since the first time I listened to the book six years ago. I heard:
I hope no one who reads this book has been quite as miserable as Susan and Lucy were that night; but if you have been--if you've been up all night and cried till you have no more tears left in you--you will know that there comes in the end a sort of quietness. You feel as if nothing was ever going to happen again.
I thought: I HAVE been that miserable. I HAVE been up all night and cried until I had no more tears left in me. And I DO know the quietness that comes in the end--the quietness of surrender--the exhaustion that wonders if life ever WILL begin again. And it was terrible. And it was awful. And I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Yet...life DOES begin again. Something miraculous comes in the quietness. Redemption and resurrection DO occur. Christ DID make all things possible. And I am a living testimony of the power of time and Love.
I heard:
Of course you'll get back to Narnia someday. Once a King in Narnia, always a King in Narnia. But don't go trying to use the same route twice. Indeed, don't TRY to get there at all. It'll happen when you're not looking for it.
And I thought: Yes, yes it does. Extreme adventure and joy and life's deepest, richest blessings happen when we're not looking for them...especially in the quietness after a long, dark night.
Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift of life.
Amen. And amen. And amen.
I had actually listened to the book once before, yet all I remembered was the voice of Aslan and how it made me laugh because it was over the top dramatic. I listened to a different recording this time, though, and opened my ears and mind to a different world--a theological world. Needless to say, this experience with The Wardrobe was much different than my first.
A dear friend and mentor once told me to pay attention to the emotional reactions that I have to the books and movies that I read and watch. She said that the places that hook us are often the places where God is working in our lives. As I drove up I-95, tears streaming down my face, I realized that just how much God had been working in my life since the first time I listened to the book six years ago. I heard:
I hope no one who reads this book has been quite as miserable as Susan and Lucy were that night; but if you have been--if you've been up all night and cried till you have no more tears left in you--you will know that there comes in the end a sort of quietness. You feel as if nothing was ever going to happen again.
I thought: I HAVE been that miserable. I HAVE been up all night and cried until I had no more tears left in me. And I DO know the quietness that comes in the end--the quietness of surrender--the exhaustion that wonders if life ever WILL begin again. And it was terrible. And it was awful. And I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Yet...life DOES begin again. Something miraculous comes in the quietness. Redemption and resurrection DO occur. Christ DID make all things possible. And I am a living testimony of the power of time and Love.
I heard:
Of course you'll get back to Narnia someday. Once a King in Narnia, always a King in Narnia. But don't go trying to use the same route twice. Indeed, don't TRY to get there at all. It'll happen when you're not looking for it.
And I thought: Yes, yes it does. Extreme adventure and joy and life's deepest, richest blessings happen when we're not looking for them...especially in the quietness after a long, dark night.
Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift of life.
Amen. And amen. And amen.
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