In a non-Gnostic, purely illustrative way, I think people function with three layers. Superficially, our skin is what we show to the world. It’s this outer garment we cake with makeup and drape with clothes. We carry it when we walk and present it as we wish to be viewed. It is the pride of our youth, and what the simplest forms of beauty call home. But beneath it is our flesh and bones… the blood and truth of our thoughts and emotions. Our skin heals, albeit with scars, but our sinews and tendons are not so easily mended, leaving us with Jacob’s limp that asserts itself every step of the way. It is our flesh and bones that move our feet down a path, and joints and ligaments that bend our fingers in creation or destruction. Being the substance of who we are, there is no ignoring its depth. It's cut with the jagged blade of the fall, and woven together with generational sin. It’s patched with all the wrongs done to us and laced with all the wrongs we have done to others. It is, for most people, the driving winds and currents propelling our lives, in light of or in spite of our awareness. Our flesh and blood is what we attempt to escape from at the edge of sleep, what haunts our dreams in the early hours of morning, and the invasive sharp that pries our eyes awake like light from slotted blinds.
But even further beneath the rolling tumult that animates our breath lays a dark core of stillness… the center of who we are and what we truly know. In those rare moments when our flesh and blood are at ease and our skin is translucent, our soul, what the ancient Jews would call “Nephesh,” can be heard whispering its steadiness and truth.
More eternal than the broken bones and pain of bruises, my nephesh simply says, “Yes, He is worth it. His Kingdom is worth it. Greater than your past and past your future, It is worth it.” Like strings on a sitar, my nephesh resonates when it hears the vibrations of grace. It quells my shaking bones long enough for the flesh to ponder an existence beyond itself, beyond the idolatry of its own hands and mind, beyond the myopic dreams turned sour… long enough to hope that deep in my marrow, I will one day know the truth my nephesh claims.
It will innervate my tissue, forcing out the angry red poison I have known all my life. Flowing through my veins, redeeming all it gives breath to, it will not heed the threat of pain. No longer will my passions be crooked or my heart be broke. No longer will the oscillating waves throb behind my eyes or pummel my mind… my flesh and bone will be moved by the depths of what my nephesh knows. My soul and flesh and skin will align and be an unruly mustang no longer, but with its head bowed low, carry the Lord like humility once did.
Showing posts with label Kingdom of God. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kingdom of God. Show all posts
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Biting the Hand That Feeds Me
I listened to Obama's speech today. I don't think he's a god or agree with the media's messiah complex for him. I don't think he has all the right answers. I don't agree with the people who are 100% sold out on any politician, even Obama. No matter how much one pushes for change, the realities of running for government office means that one cannot alienate too many people, even if that means compromising one's own convictions. It's unfortunate, because that just means that vested interests still have their say, and the same old oppressive stories of "us" and "them" are still being appealed to as reasons for the candidate to be in office, even Obama. I didn't appreciate all of that rhetoric about how great America is, but I don't suppose you can be elected as the US President while being an unpopular prophet (unfortunately).
With that said, the truth is that I tenuously agree with those who say that by the nature of who Obama is, he is a catalyst for a sort of healing and reconciliation greatly needed within this country as well as with the rest of the world. I think the compromising that I personally am weary of is a necessity in a two party system dogged with pettiness and partisanship. (This is why I can't be president....... apart from the part that I wasn't born in this country.) I believe that despite my reservations on some of his policies, I find a large proportion of them far more palatable and in line with the ethics of the Kingdom than that of the line of the Republican party.
However, I am not an average American. I appreciate much of what I have been given here and do not want to downplay the privileges I have been afforded, but realize that it has often come at the expense of others. Nor does my appreciation and indebtedness force me to stay silent about the ways in which we have fallen short. I have a great amount of disrespect for our cultural superiority complex, both in words and in deeds. I think nationalism is folly, especially when it's used in the name of injustice and appealed to as an untouchable and unquestionable ethic. I have no issues with the idea that "chickens come home to roost," and have no illusions of God somehow being a de facto American patriot Himself, as we seem to make Him out to be. I do not hold the Constitution as holy and infallible, and see no point in pretending to walk humbly with our God when we fail to act justly or love mercy. But, in my ignorance and lack of life experience, there is much I do not know and am probably wrong about. What I do know though, is that the "American Dream," the one that says we are "free" to enslave ourselves in vapid anesthetics is neither dream nor freedom, but a nightmare that is lived in every city, ghetto, suburb, and rural corner of this country. It has spread like an infections disease, abetted by human falleness, to every city, ghetto, suburb and rural corner of the world. We are not satisfied in merely deluding ourselves, but have participated in a pandemic of death by the things we have done and left undone. The worst of it might be that our collusion with the political, social, economic (and by definition) spiritual powers and principalities have gone unnoticed by us, its very perpetrators, much to the satisfaction of the father of lies.
At the end of the day, I will probably vote for Obama despite my reservations. I'll vote, because I want someone to prove me wrong and show me that we are not as hopeless as my rhetoric makes us sound, that it is still possible to have a country rooted in compassion, justice, and reconciliation, where the poor, oppressed and alien are not completely trampled upon by the rich and powerful (eg, us). As much as I instigate, I would like America to stop doing so. My hope is not quite as teary-eyed as some of those I saw in the convention, but it's there, holding out for a possibility.
Today is a historically monumental day, no matter how you cut the pie. Cheers to America for being a place that has taught me how to think critically and a place that allows me to speak. Cheers to Obama for how far he's gotten, and cheers to McCain for being a good sport in this big game, at least for a day.
With that said, the truth is that I tenuously agree with those who say that by the nature of who Obama is, he is a catalyst for a sort of healing and reconciliation greatly needed within this country as well as with the rest of the world. I think the compromising that I personally am weary of is a necessity in a two party system dogged with pettiness and partisanship. (This is why I can't be president....... apart from the part that I wasn't born in this country.) I believe that despite my reservations on some of his policies, I find a large proportion of them far more palatable and in line with the ethics of the Kingdom than that of the line of the Republican party.
However, I am not an average American. I appreciate much of what I have been given here and do not want to downplay the privileges I have been afforded, but realize that it has often come at the expense of others. Nor does my appreciation and indebtedness force me to stay silent about the ways in which we have fallen short. I have a great amount of disrespect for our cultural superiority complex, both in words and in deeds. I think nationalism is folly, especially when it's used in the name of injustice and appealed to as an untouchable and unquestionable ethic. I have no issues with the idea that "chickens come home to roost," and have no illusions of God somehow being a de facto American patriot Himself, as we seem to make Him out to be. I do not hold the Constitution as holy and infallible, and see no point in pretending to walk humbly with our God when we fail to act justly or love mercy. But, in my ignorance and lack of life experience, there is much I do not know and am probably wrong about. What I do know though, is that the "American Dream," the one that says we are "free" to enslave ourselves in vapid anesthetics is neither dream nor freedom, but a nightmare that is lived in every city, ghetto, suburb, and rural corner of this country. It has spread like an infections disease, abetted by human falleness, to every city, ghetto, suburb and rural corner of the world. We are not satisfied in merely deluding ourselves, but have participated in a pandemic of death by the things we have done and left undone. The worst of it might be that our collusion with the political, social, economic (and by definition) spiritual powers and principalities have gone unnoticed by us, its very perpetrators, much to the satisfaction of the father of lies.
At the end of the day, I will probably vote for Obama despite my reservations. I'll vote, because I want someone to prove me wrong and show me that we are not as hopeless as my rhetoric makes us sound, that it is still possible to have a country rooted in compassion, justice, and reconciliation, where the poor, oppressed and alien are not completely trampled upon by the rich and powerful (eg, us). As much as I instigate, I would like America to stop doing so. My hope is not quite as teary-eyed as some of those I saw in the convention, but it's there, holding out for a possibility.
Today is a historically monumental day, no matter how you cut the pie. Cheers to America for being a place that has taught me how to think critically and a place that allows me to speak. Cheers to Obama for how far he's gotten, and cheers to McCain for being a good sport in this big game, at least for a day.
A White Line in the Sea Grass
I fixed my crab traps last night, and decided to watch the tide rise today. It sounds just about as interesting as watching the grass grow, eh?
If my prison is this house, with its beige walls, wireless bars that chain me to everywhere at once, and walk-in closets of man-made junk, then my salvation comes to me through my backyard bay with its deep unmistakable fragrance, in the vehicle of an aluminum boat and a 5 HP motor. However, if my imprisonment consists of this empire, with its oppressive meta-narratives that have us purchasing lies that keep us subservient and docile, then watching the tide rise is radical enough to be part of my salvation.
I’ve been reading a lot. (Not being employed allows for that.) Writers that insist on something more, something different then what is, or has been in place. Thoughtful and articulate Christians who look at Scriptures, peer through history, at church and our lives, and fearlessly accuse us not only of complacency, but also of idolatry and heresy. Thinkers who do not think for an ivory tower’s sake, but for the sake of our wholeness and a complete Gospel. Farmer-turned-poets who write manifestos in a mad attempt to reignite our imprisoned and emaciated imaginations. Ascetics who, in their unique experiments, have attempted to know the fullness and presence of God through the still and silent whispers of solitude. Broken healers who embrace, and in the process are simultaneously broken and healed by their communities.
A friend and I recently engaged in a discussion on “being,” the idea that our doing can only be authentic if it proceeds from our being. He talked about how there is far too much striving and faking, of chasing after and appeasing false gods, no less idolatrous than ones made of wood or stone. One writer claims that we have become turncoats towards God’s Kingdom. Whereas we should be living the lordship of Christ and the reality of His Kingdom, we have wholeheartedly embraced and whored ourselves to the Empire instead. If this is true, who are we to be? Another claims that our conclusions of the world going to hell in a hand-basket is full of old pagan philosophies and tenuous misreadings of proof-texts. If this is also true, what then are we to do? Old desert fathers gave it all up to hear a Voice in the silence, and ended up fighting against bad theology (See Anthony the Great and Athanasius vs Arius). People today give it up to fight a dehumanizing consumerist theology that allows for blind complicity in worldwide abuse and slavery, and end up hearing a Voice in the stillness of what’s left.
Now is the time to be. Silent, aware, and in awe. “Be still, and know that I am God.” As I sat in a creek and watched the tide rise, I realized that simply reading about all of creation moaning for redemption isn’t quite the same as partaking in it, since it is not only we who worship the Creator, but all of His good creation who sing as co-worshippers with us. It is as different as merely reading about babies, and finally participating in the joy and birth of your own child (not that I would know the latter...). The solitude gave volume to the silence, filled with sounds we have lost the ability to hear. For a moment, I believed that if people would stop fearing silence, stop inundating their senses with noise, stop their repression of questions and doubts, to live life as it comes, with a simplicity dictated by need and not excess, there would be a much smaller market for psychologists.
There is something intangible to being still. Perhaps stillness allows us to listen, to both the discord in our own hearts, and to God’s response and assurance that His love is greater than our fear. Perhaps the stillness allows us to see the fluidity and beauty in His created order, as well as how abusive and oppressive our dealings are to that peace. And if adage “time is money” is a creed of the empire Jesus came to overthrow, then reclining in a boat, watching the wind and listening to the tide rise for no particular reason on a Wednesday afternoon may just be the first step in seceding from and subverting the powers and principalities.
For once, I marveled at how everything fit together so well. It’s like getting pulled out of the Matrix and freed from its pervasive illusions, but instead of finding the real world to be full of gunmetal grey, tasteless slop and burlap rags, it was right here, all along, and beautiful, if only we have eyes to see, ears to hear, and One who will make things clear if we are willing.
I have so much to learn and live. (I believe. Help my unbelief.)
If my prison is this house, with its beige walls, wireless bars that chain me to everywhere at once, and walk-in closets of man-made junk, then my salvation comes to me through my backyard bay with its deep unmistakable fragrance, in the vehicle of an aluminum boat and a 5 HP motor. However, if my imprisonment consists of this empire, with its oppressive meta-narratives that have us purchasing lies that keep us subservient and docile, then watching the tide rise is radical enough to be part of my salvation.
I’ve been reading a lot. (Not being employed allows for that.) Writers that insist on something more, something different then what is, or has been in place. Thoughtful and articulate Christians who look at Scriptures, peer through history, at church and our lives, and fearlessly accuse us not only of complacency, but also of idolatry and heresy. Thinkers who do not think for an ivory tower’s sake, but for the sake of our wholeness and a complete Gospel. Farmer-turned-poets who write manifestos in a mad attempt to reignite our imprisoned and emaciated imaginations. Ascetics who, in their unique experiments, have attempted to know the fullness and presence of God through the still and silent whispers of solitude. Broken healers who embrace, and in the process are simultaneously broken and healed by their communities.
A friend and I recently engaged in a discussion on “being,” the idea that our doing can only be authentic if it proceeds from our being. He talked about how there is far too much striving and faking, of chasing after and appeasing false gods, no less idolatrous than ones made of wood or stone. One writer claims that we have become turncoats towards God’s Kingdom. Whereas we should be living the lordship of Christ and the reality of His Kingdom, we have wholeheartedly embraced and whored ourselves to the Empire instead. If this is true, who are we to be? Another claims that our conclusions of the world going to hell in a hand-basket is full of old pagan philosophies and tenuous misreadings of proof-texts. If this is also true, what then are we to do? Old desert fathers gave it all up to hear a Voice in the silence, and ended up fighting against bad theology (See Anthony the Great and Athanasius vs Arius). People today give it up to fight a dehumanizing consumerist theology that allows for blind complicity in worldwide abuse and slavery, and end up hearing a Voice in the stillness of what’s left.
Now is the time to be. Silent, aware, and in awe. “Be still, and know that I am God.” As I sat in a creek and watched the tide rise, I realized that simply reading about all of creation moaning for redemption isn’t quite the same as partaking in it, since it is not only we who worship the Creator, but all of His good creation who sing as co-worshippers with us. It is as different as merely reading about babies, and finally participating in the joy and birth of your own child (not that I would know the latter...). The solitude gave volume to the silence, filled with sounds we have lost the ability to hear. For a moment, I believed that if people would stop fearing silence, stop inundating their senses with noise, stop their repression of questions and doubts, to live life as it comes, with a simplicity dictated by need and not excess, there would be a much smaller market for psychologists.
There is something intangible to being still. Perhaps stillness allows us to listen, to both the discord in our own hearts, and to God’s response and assurance that His love is greater than our fear. Perhaps the stillness allows us to see the fluidity and beauty in His created order, as well as how abusive and oppressive our dealings are to that peace. And if adage “time is money” is a creed of the empire Jesus came to overthrow, then reclining in a boat, watching the wind and listening to the tide rise for no particular reason on a Wednesday afternoon may just be the first step in seceding from and subverting the powers and principalities.
For once, I marveled at how everything fit together so well. It’s like getting pulled out of the Matrix and freed from its pervasive illusions, but instead of finding the real world to be full of gunmetal grey, tasteless slop and burlap rags, it was right here, all along, and beautiful, if only we have eyes to see, ears to hear, and One who will make things clear if we are willing.
I have so much to learn and live. (I believe. Help my unbelief.)
Monday, August 4, 2008
NT Wright Smacked Me and I Asked For More
A friend shared an experience with me once. He was staying in a home of a Christian couple, and had just finished a can of soda. Upon asking for the recycling bin, the couple’s response was, “As Christians, we don’t recycle. Jesus is coming soon anyways.” When all attempts at detecting some sort of sick humor failed to turn up any results, my friend stood speechless and dumbfounded at such a remark. Their comment sounds absurd, but is a safe conclusion if many Christians take their beliefs of the afterlife to the logical end. Why bother with the environment or social issues if it's all going to hell anyways? Why not just spend our time saving souls for heaven instead? Didn't we have enough of those mainline liberals and their Social Gospel in the past? The question of why sweep the deck of a sinking ship is often a response to the way we understand the progression of history into the "End Times." (Cue thunder cracks and dramatic orchestral music.)
I haven’t really written a book review in a while, and don’t intend to do so here, but there are many books and experiences that push me towards the river, and a few books that have been the Rubicons of my faith. I give credit to Lee Strobel (Case for Faith/Christ) in my early days, Mark Noll (Scandal of the Evangelical Mind) and Philip Jenkins (The Next Christendom) during my college years, and now, NT Wright for his work “Surprised by Hope.”
His work for me, was the pulling together of the Gospel that I’ve been trying to understand these last four years. Drawing together history, theology, ontology, spirituality, and a plethora of other related things ending in ‘y’, he synthesizes why the mainstream Christian understanding of the afterlife is wrong at worst, or misplaced at best, and how a corrected understanding of the crucial doctrine of resurrection is key in how we are to reorder our lives around the Kingdom and why it brings us hope. In it, he explores why the common held notions of dualism (separation between soul and body or spiritual and material) are weak in light of Christ’s resurrection and the greater picture of redemption, and why sentiments shared by the Christian couple above are completely misguided. It beautifully exposes the shoddy Biblical foundations of many mainstream versions of the end times (*cough* Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins), and how damaging such theology is to the witness of the Church.
Basically, it’s frickin awesome.
It’s not a difficult read, though the concepts are heavy and mind-blowing, especially to those who have grown up in a Western dualistic Christian culture. I hear it’s an abridged and compiled version of a few of his other works. Any way it happens, READ IT. If you understand the points he tries to make, it will change things from the way you read Scripture to the way you understand yourself and God’s interaction with world.
I haven’t really written a book review in a while, and don’t intend to do so here, but there are many books and experiences that push me towards the river, and a few books that have been the Rubicons of my faith. I give credit to Lee Strobel (Case for Faith/Christ) in my early days, Mark Noll (Scandal of the Evangelical Mind) and Philip Jenkins (The Next Christendom) during my college years, and now, NT Wright for his work “Surprised by Hope.”
His work for me, was the pulling together of the Gospel that I’ve been trying to understand these last four years. Drawing together history, theology, ontology, spirituality, and a plethora of other related things ending in ‘y’, he synthesizes why the mainstream Christian understanding of the afterlife is wrong at worst, or misplaced at best, and how a corrected understanding of the crucial doctrine of resurrection is key in how we are to reorder our lives around the Kingdom and why it brings us hope. In it, he explores why the common held notions of dualism (separation between soul and body or spiritual and material) are weak in light of Christ’s resurrection and the greater picture of redemption, and why sentiments shared by the Christian couple above are completely misguided. It beautifully exposes the shoddy Biblical foundations of many mainstream versions of the end times (*cough* Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins), and how damaging such theology is to the witness of the Church.
Basically, it’s frickin awesome.
It’s not a difficult read, though the concepts are heavy and mind-blowing, especially to those who have grown up in a Western dualistic Christian culture. I hear it’s an abridged and compiled version of a few of his other works. Any way it happens, READ IT. If you understand the points he tries to make, it will change things from the way you read Scripture to the way you understand yourself and God’s interaction with world.
Orthodoxy: Coming to a Church Near You!
As much as I love critique and deconstructionism, and have an inherent distrust of the powers that be, I have to remember love and hope in a world that desperately needs it. It might be true that there are lots of legitimate things to criticize about western mainstream Evangelical Christianity. We’re so busy pointing fingers at other people, at post modernism, at evolution, at those baby killers, liberals and homosexuals that I’ve felt the need to point the fingers back at ourselves for all the things we do wrong according to our own standards. I get excited when I hear someone thoughtfully articulate, attempt to explain, and critique our own actions and beliefs in a theological and historical context without abjuring the possibility that we could actually be wrong, as opposed to simply propping up platitudes to legitimize what exists. I shake my head and agree with the “enemies” when their observations about us are keener than our own. I hear stories of our churches, our sanctuaries and lighthouses, and am hardly surprised when people don’t want anything to do with us. It’s a much needed in-house sweep and challenge when an entire guard of thoughtful, prayerful and contemplative brothers and sisters are standing up to say that all is not right within the family.
And perhaps it is true; certain things must be torn down before they can be replaced or rebuilt. How do we preach a gospel we ourselves fail to grasp? How can we be transformed holistically when dualism, individualism, and anti-intellectualism are the lenses through which we view the world?
But the difficulty, for me at least, is how one does the critiquing not only in a way that is humble, but is done in faith, filled with love and gives hope. For me, there is an arrogance that I pray will be removed with intentionality and age. There is an inexperience that presents my convictions as untested and hollow, and a naivety that forgets the inevitable suffering of prophets. However, beneath it all is a desire to see God’s kingdom lived out as it should, in my own life, in the life of His saints, and in all of creation.
Orthodoxy (correct belief), I think, is a prerequisite for orthopraxy (correct practice). I wonder if it is possible to have all the faith, hope, and love in the world and be useless, even doing damage, without orthodoxy. I don’t know. Perhaps it’s possible, as I believe much has done as a fervent church with stray beliefs (it always amazes me at how God redeems things). But what I do know is that orthodoxy that does not manifest itself in faith, hope and love is no orthodoxy at all. As I strive to see the world as God sees it and desire to see the Gospel alive in today’s world and context, orthodoxy needs to be inseparably wed with faith, hope and love, as inseparable as our “souls” are to our bodies, even as inseparable as Christ is with His church.
And perhaps it is true; certain things must be torn down before they can be replaced or rebuilt. How do we preach a gospel we ourselves fail to grasp? How can we be transformed holistically when dualism, individualism, and anti-intellectualism are the lenses through which we view the world?
But the difficulty, for me at least, is how one does the critiquing not only in a way that is humble, but is done in faith, filled with love and gives hope. For me, there is an arrogance that I pray will be removed with intentionality and age. There is an inexperience that presents my convictions as untested and hollow, and a naivety that forgets the inevitable suffering of prophets. However, beneath it all is a desire to see God’s kingdom lived out as it should, in my own life, in the life of His saints, and in all of creation.
Orthodoxy (correct belief), I think, is a prerequisite for orthopraxy (correct practice). I wonder if it is possible to have all the faith, hope, and love in the world and be useless, even doing damage, without orthodoxy. I don’t know. Perhaps it’s possible, as I believe much has done as a fervent church with stray beliefs (it always amazes me at how God redeems things). But what I do know is that orthodoxy that does not manifest itself in faith, hope and love is no orthodoxy at all. As I strive to see the world as God sees it and desire to see the Gospel alive in today’s world and context, orthodoxy needs to be inseparably wed with faith, hope and love, as inseparable as our “souls” are to our bodies, even as inseparable as Christ is with His church.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
1/Midas
What we are called to, I don’t fit in.
My dreams have cataracts,
And deflated noise
Reverberates with far too much meaning.
I cheapen all that I touch.
There is a Kingdom closer than the hands in front of my face
And I can almost smell the grace it’s built upon
But my eyes, my eyes,
Cedar forests grow therein
And who needs demons when I have thoughts?
There has got to be more than hunches
Because premonitions have no grip.
Glimpses last as long as my eyes remain closed.
I’m here, but not yet.
You’re here, but not yet.
It’s here, but not yet.
What am I to think,
For surely,
Someone must be to blame for what is not.
My dreams have cataracts,
And deflated noise
Reverberates with far too much meaning.
I cheapen all that I touch.
There is a Kingdom closer than the hands in front of my face
And I can almost smell the grace it’s built upon
But my eyes, my eyes,
Cedar forests grow therein
And who needs demons when I have thoughts?
There has got to be more than hunches
Because premonitions have no grip.
Glimpses last as long as my eyes remain closed.
I’m here, but not yet.
You’re here, but not yet.
It’s here, but not yet.
What am I to think,
For surely,
Someone must be to blame for what is not.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Hello, Memorial Day.
I find it a great irony to be sitting outside enjoying the sun around a place named “Patriot Lake” on Memorial Day writing this, given my disgust for blind nationalism and unaccountable patriotism on account of belonging to a different Kingdom. I question the premises and pride upon which patriotism and nationalism are based, which are often ones of superiority and exclusivity, ones that draw artificial lines between “us” and “them” and divide rather than unite.
Turning onto my street the other day, an oversized pickup truck drove in front of me with two boisterous American flags obnoxiously flapping themselves behind the cab. I about vomited in my car, as every negative association of American consumption, arrogance, and over-indulgence found itself carrying the official representation of what countless millions of people worldwide find oppressive.
I am irked by our tendencies to graft the Gospel into our pre-existing comfort zones and culture, affirming our complacency and status quos instead of overthrowing it. As I sat in my old church, I watched a video commemorating the fallen soldiers, hailed as those who died to “protect our freedoms,” wondering where the prophetic voice of the church was in saying, “No, most recently, they died to protect our oil. Our foreign interests. Our culturally insensitive and ethnocentric version of ‘freedom’.” The psychology behind war and the military is interesting. It takes a construct like honor and pride and convinces young men and women that such are things worth giving their lives for. It glorifies the flag and the country that it represents, so that any criticism of the country’s policies or actions becomes an indictment upon the sacrifice of the soldiers, lives taken by the very country they fought to defend, for reasons obscured by self-serving national interests and political games. Like dogs, we are so blind to it that any critiques will illicit a violently patriotic visceral response, as such conditioning is intended to do, since we are terrified of believing that the deaths of our friends and loved ones were inane. I listened to the pastor talk about the worries of life, listing not having a “Biblical candidate” this November as one of them, as if the Bible only ever talked about abortion, homosexuality and family values, and that the poor, justice, and being peacemakers weren’t topics Christians should trifle with in politics.
It’s ironic, because as I sit here criticizing such things, if I am to be fair and honest, I cannot deny that I would be unable to post this if it weren’t for the actual freedoms we do have. I know that in many ways, the church I critiqued is doing the work of God. I cannot say such things without offending those who really have served God and lost their lives in "legitimate" wars. I can’t say that America hasn’t done good in the world, or that there isn’t support for Just War theories. I wouldn’t be writing this on my Macbook if I didn’t participate in American consumerism, and I have to admit that the car I drive contributes to this country’s selfish quest for energy, magnifying the misery of those around the world affected by our greed, just as much as the pickup truck in front of me. I do not speak as one without blame, but as one who is trying to fight self-deception.
So, “happy” Memorial Day, for what it’s worth. Things just aren’t so Bible-thumping black and white.
Turning onto my street the other day, an oversized pickup truck drove in front of me with two boisterous American flags obnoxiously flapping themselves behind the cab. I about vomited in my car, as every negative association of American consumption, arrogance, and over-indulgence found itself carrying the official representation of what countless millions of people worldwide find oppressive.
I am irked by our tendencies to graft the Gospel into our pre-existing comfort zones and culture, affirming our complacency and status quos instead of overthrowing it. As I sat in my old church, I watched a video commemorating the fallen soldiers, hailed as those who died to “protect our freedoms,” wondering where the prophetic voice of the church was in saying, “No, most recently, they died to protect our oil. Our foreign interests. Our culturally insensitive and ethnocentric version of ‘freedom’.” The psychology behind war and the military is interesting. It takes a construct like honor and pride and convinces young men and women that such are things worth giving their lives for. It glorifies the flag and the country that it represents, so that any criticism of the country’s policies or actions becomes an indictment upon the sacrifice of the soldiers, lives taken by the very country they fought to defend, for reasons obscured by self-serving national interests and political games. Like dogs, we are so blind to it that any critiques will illicit a violently patriotic visceral response, as such conditioning is intended to do, since we are terrified of believing that the deaths of our friends and loved ones were inane. I listened to the pastor talk about the worries of life, listing not having a “Biblical candidate” this November as one of them, as if the Bible only ever talked about abortion, homosexuality and family values, and that the poor, justice, and being peacemakers weren’t topics Christians should trifle with in politics.
It’s ironic, because as I sit here criticizing such things, if I am to be fair and honest, I cannot deny that I would be unable to post this if it weren’t for the actual freedoms we do have. I know that in many ways, the church I critiqued is doing the work of God. I cannot say such things without offending those who really have served God and lost their lives in "legitimate" wars. I can’t say that America hasn’t done good in the world, or that there isn’t support for Just War theories. I wouldn’t be writing this on my Macbook if I didn’t participate in American consumerism, and I have to admit that the car I drive contributes to this country’s selfish quest for energy, magnifying the misery of those around the world affected by our greed, just as much as the pickup truck in front of me. I do not speak as one without blame, but as one who is trying to fight self-deception.
So, “happy” Memorial Day, for what it’s worth. Things just aren’t so Bible-thumping black and white.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
I have come so that you might have life, life to the full...
A taste of being alive.
Alive. I recognize it when I see it. But the last place I felt it, if only a little bit, was away from civilization... away from all the ghosts that come with being with people... in the Everglades of Florida.
Being alive cannot ultimately be about place. It can't be about having the money to "get away." It can't be something that only privileged or educated people have access to.
It certainly cannot mean being free from stress, difficulty, or hurt, because that is the bulk of what life is for most people on this planet. No, being alive, whatever that means, must exist in the presence of the pain. It has to thrive in the midst of this fallen existence.
I know what it is not. I have lived, and continue to live lacking it. I can paint a detailed portrait of everything that makes me feel like a valley of dry bones, of barely hanging on, struggling to breath. But what it is...
Well, whatever it is, it is so attractive when I see it. I can point to the people who have it, at least sometimes. And though it evades my ability to pin it with words, it teases me with its existence and beauty.
It has something to do with God, and joy, and people. Oh, and love. Love; that which confuses, awes, and humbles me; an adjective used to complete the designation of "I AM"; that which I distort, hope in, and am hurt by.
Those have something to do with being alive, though not in the ways I have thus understood it.
Something needs to change, because all is not right with this world.
Alive. I recognize it when I see it. But the last place I felt it, if only a little bit, was away from civilization... away from all the ghosts that come with being with people... in the Everglades of Florida.
Being alive cannot ultimately be about place. It can't be about having the money to "get away." It can't be something that only privileged or educated people have access to.
It certainly cannot mean being free from stress, difficulty, or hurt, because that is the bulk of what life is for most people on this planet. No, being alive, whatever that means, must exist in the presence of the pain. It has to thrive in the midst of this fallen existence.
I know what it is not. I have lived, and continue to live lacking it. I can paint a detailed portrait of everything that makes me feel like a valley of dry bones, of barely hanging on, struggling to breath. But what it is...
Well, whatever it is, it is so attractive when I see it. I can point to the people who have it, at least sometimes. And though it evades my ability to pin it with words, it teases me with its existence and beauty.
It has something to do with God, and joy, and people. Oh, and love. Love; that which confuses, awes, and humbles me; an adjective used to complete the designation of "I AM"; that which I distort, hope in, and am hurt by.
Those have something to do with being alive, though not in the ways I have thus understood it.
Something needs to change, because all is not right with this world.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Three Stripes on a Puffy Sleave Means You're Better.
I don't mind driving from Wheaton to Jersey. It gives me lots of time to think.
I was listening to some Talib Kweli when in the middle of his song "I Try," Mary J. Blige sings about the upside down Kingdom. For some reason, those words contrasted so sharply with what I feel like Wheaton can be about sometimes. Achievement, success, degrees and graduate schools, well-dressed banquets, smiles, formalities, and hors d'hoeurvs with movers and shakers... they have their place in this world and culture. They have their purposes and necessities, but they have left me feeling grimy. I bit the hook, got snagged on things like admiring the Prof's gowns and wondering how mine will look, and now I feel like I have to scrape a layer of dirt off myself.
An upside down Kingdom, one that consists of the poor in spirit, mourners, the meek, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers and the persecuted. If that indeed is what the Kingdom will look like, why do I feel so far removed from the Kingdom, as if it were only something I could reach through books and biographies? Why do I feel my calling cede ground to comfort, status, and my own interpretation of it?
"Listen my dear brothers: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom he promised those who love him?" -James 2:5
What does it take for all my misdirected energy, tears, and efforts to be pointed back to my first love and His kingdom?
I was listening to some Talib Kweli when in the middle of his song "I Try," Mary J. Blige sings about the upside down Kingdom. For some reason, those words contrasted so sharply with what I feel like Wheaton can be about sometimes. Achievement, success, degrees and graduate schools, well-dressed banquets, smiles, formalities, and hors d'hoeurvs with movers and shakers... they have their place in this world and culture. They have their purposes and necessities, but they have left me feeling grimy. I bit the hook, got snagged on things like admiring the Prof's gowns and wondering how mine will look, and now I feel like I have to scrape a layer of dirt off myself.
An upside down Kingdom, one that consists of the poor in spirit, mourners, the meek, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers and the persecuted. If that indeed is what the Kingdom will look like, why do I feel so far removed from the Kingdom, as if it were only something I could reach through books and biographies? Why do I feel my calling cede ground to comfort, status, and my own interpretation of it?
"Listen my dear brothers: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom he promised those who love him?" -James 2:5
What does it take for all my misdirected energy, tears, and efforts to be pointed back to my first love and His kingdom?
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