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soul - ache  - ideas, sounds and images between the already and the not-yet

giving 'til it hurts (or shopping for a theology of shopping)

It's 6:30 in the morning on "Black Friday". I'm awake (sort of) and the News tells me the stores are already teeming with shoppers, and if there is a recession happening, you couldn't tell by the live feed from the helicopter circling the mall.

There's all sorts of ways to try and process this, and I think on the drive home from Thanksgiving dinner last night I ran through them all, almost like the stages of grief.

H. Richard Niebuhr said that when considering culture, there were basic ways to understand the relationship between followers of Christ and "the World".

Under the "Christ against Culture" category would be "Buy Nothing Day" http://www.buynothingday.org/. This is an initiative to reject a culture of consumerism. And I like it. I wish I could buy a t-shirt that says that. Oh wait...that's consumption. In truthfulness, I do find something compelling in the idea, and even the folks who created it say "Don't take this too far." but I know my tendency for legalism and I feel like I would be falling into an old pattern just with some new ideas.

There's "Christ of Culture" but I think somewhere between the light-up baby Jesus yard tackies and the Bobble-head Savior we've commodified the holy right out of it. So much for thinking a little Light of the World would leaven the whole thing. 

"Christ and Culture in Paradox" is a view I'm tempted to take, but I feel the Charlie Brown-ness of it all. It's something of a resignation to age-old wishy-washy-ness. Like saying "I love hearing 'Silent Night' in the stores, but I hate it that I missed the $3.88 doorbuster on toasters. Oh well, at least the Salvation Army takes debit cards now!"

"Christ above Culture" sounds really, really good. From this firm ground I can say "Shop all you want, do what you want, but you're missing the main thing." This makes for GREAT Advent sermons. You can even come up with slick marketing packages or buy an entire strategy to re-direct folks to the "reason for the season."

But I think I'll be sticking with "Christ transforming Culture." I need to desperately believe that we've still got a shot. I need to know that behind our rabid, wide-eyed, Americonsumerism that there is something pushing through the discarded toys and gadgets to a deeper reality. 

Yes, we will give less this year, at least to each other, but super-imposing that worldview on those we love who still communicate in tangible gifts isn't the Jesus-way either. (I can't imagine  the disciple Matthew being thrilled with $50 given to UNICEF in his name--"Thanks JC, you shouldn't have!")

Then there's that whole Mary anointing Jesus feet with the bottle of $36,000 perfume. Judas wanted it for the poor (though John said his motives were suspect.) Jesus said it was a beautiful thing, an extravagant gift. Come to think of it, he got the loot in the first Christmas too.

Maybe He's trying to tell me something. Maybe it's not about money, but it is about cost. If I don't flinch a little when I'm at the register or writing the contribution check. If I don't have to give up a Latte or a Chick-fil-A biscuit--maybe I'm not really giving. Maybe I'm just throwing money or the first thing I could grab at someone and saying "Return it if you don't like it."

Generosity requires thought, and work and tracking things down. It requires some measure of sacrifice, because after all, there is a sacred thread between Christmas and Easter. Yes, I think I like that idea best.

'Tis the Season!

Now off to the mall...

 

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Filed under  //   giving   shopping  
Posted November 28, 2008
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thanking thee (or expansion vs. contraction {or "we are family"})

We Thank Thee
Lord, behold our family here assembled. 

We thank Thee for this place in which we dwell; 
for the love that unites us; 
for the peace accorded us this day; 
for the hope with which we expect the morrow; 
for the health, the work, the food, and the bright skies, that make our lives delightful; 
for our friends in all parts of the earth. 
Let peace abound in our small company. 
Purge out of every heart the lurking grudge. 
Give us grace and strength to forbear and to persevere. 
Offenders, give us the grace to accept and to forgive offenders. 
Forgetful ourselves, help us to bear cheerfully the forgetfulness of others. 
Give us courage and gaiety and the quiet mind. 
Spare to us our friends, soften to us our enemies. 
Bless us, if it may be, in all our innocent endeavours. 
If it may not, give us the strength to encounter that which is to come, that we be brave in peril, constant in tribulation, temperate in wrath, and in all changes of fortune, and, down to the gates of death, loyal and loving one to another. 
As the clay to the potter, as the windmill to the wind, as children of their sire, we beseech of Thee this help and mercy for Christ's sake.
--Robert Louis Stevenson

I received the poem above in an e-mail earlier this morning. I was struck by the simple poetry of it--I tend to use far too many words, so I'm learning to appreciate those who can speak volumes in simple yet beautiful phrases. What really fascinated me though was something that, growing up in  the Southern US, I had never once considered.

I remember driving across Bulgaria last year with Paul and Judy Ridgway and three other folks from our church when somebody asked Paul what he missed about the States. He thought for a minute and eventually said "Thanksgiving. We don't have that here, of course, but that idea of gathering the family around to celebrate the goodness of God. That's something very special."

And then I read the poem in an e-mail update from Judy Ridgway this morning and I remembered that conversation. then I remembered that though I know precious little about Robert Louis Stevenson, I knew that he was Scottish, and it was highly likely that the prayer cited in the e-mail had little to do with turkey, much less Pilgrims and Native Americans.

Thanks to the wonders of Google and Wikipedia, I learned a great deal this morning about one Robert Louis Stevenson, and I must admit, I'm fascinated. By most accounts he was raised in a fairly strict Scottish Presbyterian upbringing, though his early faith-life was primarily influenced by the Nurse that cared for him as a boy. He had horrible dreams as a result of the stories she would tell--of souls condemned to eternal damnation, not set apart for glory from the foundations of the world. Reportedly she read The Pilgrim's Progress to him while he was nursing a virus. In later life, he chafed against the narrow world view of his parents, rejecting faith at one point to join a club of fellow thoughtful bohemians.

The latter part of his life was spent in great travel to Hawaii and other Samoan Islands. He eventually settled there and built a house, though he took great measures to make sure the local people employed were paid and treated fairly. His estate was called "Vailima", "five rivers" in Samoan, and the hospitality was limitless. One anthology of his work describes it thusly:

"The house became a center for spirited hospitality. Stevenson was known for his impulsive dinner invitations and was an engaging host...These were far from exclusive, invitations issued "without regard of social station...wives and daughters, white, half-caste, or 'wholly Polynesian.'" They played tennis and robe horseback paper-chases, all with the same social and racial mix...It took generosity and enlightened race attitudes to create a community like Vailima from scratch in the 1890's. Communal rituals played an important role in this, satisfying needs on both sides, especially meals and weekly prayers. Stevenson wrote many of the prayers himself, and delivered them in his role as head of the family. They thus linked the life of the house, family and staff, with his inner life as a writer."


It was from the balmy paradise of Vailima that Stevenson wrote the prayer above, one which he shared, undoubtedly, across a table surrounded by Samoans and Scots, Americans and 'half-castes", all at a time when America was entering the shadowy era of Reconstruction. Simply put, Thanksgiving was, by all accounts, an everyday affair at Vailima, and not a singular holiday. That's apparent when looking at the "family" gathered on Stevenson's porch.



And that makes me wonder about things. A class I took once at Emory featured readings on expansion and contraction as a result of globalization. It spoke of the significance of people of all different background learning to work and live in shared space. 

As we prepare to "give thanks" I'm reminded that our table should be as open as the kingdom--wide and sprawling.

Our excess is not a gastro-intestinal challenge, but one of hospitality--there's more than enough, so why not ask others to join us?

Stevenson challenges my understanding of family, but so do a lot of things--divorce, marriage, blended families, nuclear families, families that get nuclear when gathered in one place. Ultimately, it reminds us that in God's great banquet of the kingdom, the table is always open.

Open.

for me

you

and

everybody.







 

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Filed under  //   family   robert louis stevenson   thanksgiving  
Posted November 26, 2008
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thoughts on judgment (or the black robe disease)

There's something that's been kicking around in my head for a few days and just now has begun to wind it's way out in a way that I think I can make some sense of it. 

   
Click here to download:
thoughts_on_judgment_or_the_bl.zip (140 KB)

The daily lectionary readings have been working their way through the prophets for the last couple of months and there is a pattern, a certain view of God that persists, namely that of "judge". This particular aspect of the "divine nature" troubles me a great deal and as such, I've resisted it, though what I hope to express here is my meandering way to coming to grips with that idea.

I was raised Baptist in a fairly conservative church. From a young age, I understood this kind person of Jesus, who looked somewhat cartoonish, with flowing brown hair and something of a perpetual grin. As I grew older I began to understand that Jesus had died. As years went by and I was emotionally capable of empathy, I was told that it was my sin--the sins of an 11 year old--that put Jesus on that cross. In this economy one wrong thought or action was tantamount to the greatest atrocities of history--little white lies and the Holocaust--all was equal because Jesus had to die for it all.

It's tempting to wax poetic on the atonement here, and the implications of a blood-thirsty God that would only be pacified by the blood of his first-born, but I'll resist that temptation for now, because the reality is most of us weren't allowed to sit with that thought long enough before we heard the upside.

That this blood had bought us freedom
that all sins heretofore and in the age to come were expiated by a glorious flow of blood from Emmanuel's veins
(I don't remember asking what that hymn meant growing up, but I should have).

I commenced to enjoying the fullness of this freedom, even taking every opportunity to immerse myself more fully in something that was, existentially, quite real to me at the age of 16.

Secretly I had done something else. What appeared to be a baptismal robe I mistook for a declaration of rank and status. What I read and heard of as "the kingdom" was now a moral code, that mysteriously seemed to have a lot to do with killing babies and people with "agendas". In truth, I exchanged one system for another--one that condemned me as an outsider for one for which I was respected and embraced as an insider. This was the place to hone all those skills--to out-debate, out-talk those who didn't know that the world was out to get us--to argue for God and morality in the face of the godless heathen.
This was the place. I wore an invisible robe, presiding at a mental bench of morality and justice, ready to dispense wisdom under the guise of discernment and prophecy (at least that's what my spiritual gift inventory said). 

My mom is, and has been, an attorney by profession as long as I have known her. She has never made a secret about her desire to one day be a judge. Her sense of fairness and decency is impressive, and she would serve well, but she has often mentioned the internal battle of not getting the "black coat disease". This is a condition where newly appointed judges mistake responsibility for power and tend to wield the gavel as a scepter and not a voice of moderation. Well, I had it. I had it before I think I ever knew who Jesus really was. And it would take me a few more years to ever get rid of it.

I was already in college and coming back for Thanksgiving and Christmas when I reconnected with an old friend. He had rediscovered his faith recently and we had coffee and talked. he invited me to a Bible Study where I went and made sure to talk more than anyone else and quote a lot of C.S. Lewis so they would know how smart I was. We talked about that stuff and what it meant to carry the Gospel. He told me he had been listening to some Keith Green, to which I clearly remember responding "My parents have some of his albums." I knew enough to know he was old, that he had died tragically, and that he was an artists/actor/musician who had been "radically saved" and was still pretty radical--enough so that his blunt speech had raised the ire of the "established church" but he was too preachy for some of the remaining folks of the "Jesus movement". I borrowed a couple of CD's and heard his version of the Sheep and the Goats. It's long, but you should check it out if you have time. 

It was a huge idea. I knew about the Sheep and the Goats, but I missed the criteria. I genuinely thought Jesus said something like "Whoever confesses me before men" but that's not what it says.

Jesus only talks about judgment once--In Matthew, chapter 25. And he says it all hangs on how we treat "the least of these, my brothers". Jesus says that ALL of humanity are his brothers (and sisters) and that we will be judged by how we did by them. 

Not Sunday School attendance, 
not walking aisles, 
not praying prayers, going to youth camps, singing songs, getting baptized, betting re-baptized,
getting rebaptized at youth camp in the ocean,
crying at youth camp,
crying cause your friend is crying at youth camp--NONE of that.

It's about how I treat the people I'm too busy, too self-involved to notice. It's the people on the margins. It's the fact that my salvation is not mine alone--it's bound up in the conditions of all those around me.

But that wasn't all Jesus said about judgment. There's that stuff in Matthew 7--"Judge not, lest ye yourself be judged" as my Pharisee former life memorized in the King's English. He went further than that. He said "You see a speck in your brother's eye, but you can't see the plank in your own.

"Don't you dare judge his lifestyle while you're watching porn."
"Don't you question her faith while you gossip and call it a prayer request."
"Don't say 'in Christian love' when Jesus would have nothing to do with what you said."

There are those who are uncomfortable with this, and I, on occasion, am one of them. Judgment is easy because when you are the judge, noone's asking you the questions about your home life, your selfishness, your junk. Judgment takes the eyes off me long enough to deflect. And we are masters of it.

There are people right now writing books and letters to attack people made in God's image, and they think they're doing it in Jesus' name.

There are people right now planning sermons on how to tell their audience what's wrong with them without hearing it themselves.

There are people right now (like me) wanting to judge them (whoever "them" is today) and Jesus says it has to stop (right now).

There is one judge, one Lord, one faith, one Baptism, one God and Parent of us all.

There cannot be room for judgment from those touched by grace.

 

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Filed under  //   jesus   judgment   salvation   sheep & goats  
Posted November 25, 2008
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bring on the wonder

won·der 
Pronunciation:
\ˈwən-dər\
Function:
noun
Etymology:
Middle English, from Old English wundor; akin to Old High German wuntar wonder
Date:
before 12th century
1 a: a cause of astonishment or admiration : marvel <it's a wonder you weren't killed> <the pyramid is awonder to behold> b: miracle2: the quality of exciting amazed admiration3 a: rapt attention or astonishment at something awesomely mysterious or new to one's experience
It seems like the last week or so there has been a bit of a recurring theme in my life. I've tried to sort out how to be aware of the holy-ness around me on a daily basis, and yet I still find myself having to will myself to do it. It seems ridiculous to have to tell yourself to focus on others, the world around you--basically, everything that's not oriented around me, or my own plans. Then I wake up this morning to read this in my Inbox--the daily lectionary, fresh from Luke's Gospel: 

Luke 18:15-30
   [15] People were bringing even infants to him that he might touch them; and when the disciples saw it, they sternly ordered them not to
 do it. [16] But Jesus called for them and said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these
 that the kingdom of God belongs. [17] Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it."


And then I tried to think about how a child sees the world. I thought about the kids in an orphanage in Bulgaria, whose eyes lit up at the sight of a cheap plastic pinwheel, or the curiosity of my fifteen-month old nephew. Children have a limitless capacity for wonder. They never cease to be amazed, surprised, shocked or excited to learn something new. And somewhere between adolescence and adulthood we beat it out of them. Dreams and curiosity are exchanged for facts and mastery of information. Once we've mastered the information (or at least know how to consult the right sources, people, or the internet) there's no room left for wonder. 
A few years ago I heard a quote from the great Jewish writer and teacher Abraham Joshua Heschel:"I did not ask for success. I asked for wonder and You gave it to me"

I need wonder. I need to be stirred from my slumber by something so out-of-the-blue, so beautiful, so unexpected, that it reminds me of the kingdom of child-like faith. 
   
Click here to download:
bring_on_the_wonder.zip (1865 KB)

This morning there was an article on CNN about a piano that was mysteriously found, perfectly in tune, in the middle of a Massachusetts forest. The picture of the policeman inspecting this out-of-place piano was about as close as our rational "adults" come to wonder. But why not? Where better to play piano than in the middle of a forest in autumn? 
I need to be more awake, more aware.I need to have my eyes open to the glory that's all around us.I need wonder--primarily because I've "pushed you down deep in my soul for too long."

Bring On The Wonder by Susan Enan  
(download)

Dear Lord, grant me the grace of wonder.
Surprise me, amaze me, awe me in every crevice of your universe.
Each day enrapture me with your marvelous things without number.
I do not ask to see the reason for it all: I ask only to share the wonder of it all.

Rabbi Joshua Abraham Heschel

 

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Filed under  //   abraham heschel   kingdom   piano   wonder   woods  
Posted November 24, 2008
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what's left behind

I was sitting in the doctor's waiting room, furiously hitting the arrow keys on my cell-phone as I tried to break my high score on Pac-Man. The man-sitting-in-the-next-row-over's cellphone suddenly rang. His six-year old daughter looked at him with confusion. Morally conflicted on which waiting room rule to break, the man quickly ran outside to answer the call, but maintained eye contact with his daughter so as not to raise the ire of watchful nurses, lest a child be left unsupervised in the waiting area.


The two twenty-somethings sat behind me with their high-end purses and North Face fleeces that reeked of Marlboro Country. Sometime after they called Jen back and before the grandparents came in with their incredibly vocal grandchildren, the wheelchair passed by.

Pushing it was a man in his late 50's, his brownish gray hair tucked haphazardly under a bright white LSU hat. His shoulders hunched over like he had pushed that chair a thousand times before, only he seemed to labor as if it carried the weight of the world, an invisible presence in what seemed to be an ordinary, empty wheelchair.

My eyes followed him to the counter as the ghosts killed my dream of a new high score. 

"Is Dr. Depew in?" he asked.

"Yes, he is, but he's with somebody." the nurse replied

"Oh, alright." said the man, with a smile and a bit of longing. "My wife was a patient of his...for a number of years. She died...and he told her she could use this wheelchair as long as she needed it. I just wanted to bring it back to him."

"I'll get Dr. Depew sir, just wait one minute."

My primary care physician opened the door previously known only to nurses calling patients to vitals and a weigh-in. 

"Bob, I'm sorry to hear about Ann."

"Well, you know..." he said, a little bewildered but still smiling.

"Come on back."

I don't know what they talked about. It was maybe ten minutes, and the man re-merged, still smiling--in a hopeful way--the kind of smile that belies all superficiality. An expression of joy, maybe even gratitude, in the midst of genuine sorrow.

I had stared at that wheelchair before the doctor opened that door. I tried to think of everything it represented. Of a life that was no more. I swallowed real hard and tried to keep from losing it (perceptibly, to the waiting room crowd, over losing my game of cell-phone Pac-Man.) 

And I wondered what was left behind. What memories lie beneath that brown-gray hair and baseball cap? What stories of love and laughter were behind those sunken, watery eyes?

For a moment I mourned for someone I didn't even know. I couldn't see her or even visualize her sitting in that empty chair, but I could see what she had meant to him, and that was enough.

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Filed under  //   death   grief   life   waiting room   wheelchair  
Posted November 21, 2008
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life (in pictures)

Yesterday I found out via Google's Official blog that LIFE Magazine is in the process of converting its entire image archive into digital format, all of which will be searchable on Google Images. 

 

Though its heyday was well before my time, I knew about LIFE Magazine because of my grandparents. Both sets were subscribers and they said that LIFE was made of images that captured the spirit of what was going on in the world at that time. I knew of a few of them, but I started to browse through the collection. You can do your own browsing here: http://images.google.com/hosted/life

         
Click here to download:
life_in_pictures.zip (371 KB)


I couldn't believe how a single photo could capture the essence of a single moment in time and space. Whether it's the scarred back of an escaped slave turned Union Soldier in 1863, the Dust Bowl of the Great Depression, a post-apocalypse Hiroshima or a lonely janitor mopping up the blood of Martin Luther King Jr. on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis--images can encapsulate a moment. 

A few years ago when I was scoping out seminaries I went to visit Candler School of Theology at Emory University. Noel Erskine, a noted theologian, professor and friend of the King family was speaking. He talked about how he sat at Martin's Funeral and watched Coretta Scott King as one tear slowly dripped down her cheek. At that moment, he said, a photographer seized his camera, took the shot, and as the flashbulb went off, she slumped over in grief. "In that moment he shot her, killed her dead in a moment of acute grief and pain."

The truth is most times we don't think of images as being that powerful. Most of our cell-phones have cameras built in, but we rarely use them. We forget that the image before us represents a single moment in time and space when something happened.

I spent most of this morning cleaning and wiping off pictures in our bedroom. Some are from our wedding (which hardly seems like it was almost 7 years ago), others are pictures of my grandmother in the 40's, or Jen's grandfather's WWII draft card. The last picture above doesn't even have a frame--it just sits on my bookshelf. It's my Great-Grandfather Raymond Brown baptizing my Great-Grandmother in Lake Allatoona, about 20 miles from where I sit typing this.

Our images remind us that we come from somewhere. We didn't stumble into this thing on our own and, as the author of Ecclesiastes knew well, there's nothing new "under the Sun." 

The same hatred that scarred the slave's back ran through the rifle that took Martin's life. 

The same water that I baptize our church members in flowed around my Great-Grandfather and Great-Grandmother.

Our pictures remind us that we are not alone. 

We are part of a bigger story that is still unfolding.

Life always goes on.

 

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Filed under  //   martin luther king jr.   narrative theology   pictures  
Posted November 20, 2008
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stars and satellites (or backyards, Fomalhaut and divine creativity)

         
Click here to download:
stars_and_satellites_or_backya.zip (9995 KB)

Stars And Satellites by Steve Jones  
(download)

Preface: Hit "play" on the song above--it makes a nice soundtrack to this post!

"He took him outside and said, "Look up at the heavens and count the stars—if indeed you can count them."--Genesis 15:5


One of the best parts of living out in the sticks is the lack of "light pollution" at night. The stars and planets seem to jump off the purple-black dome of sky. Every time you look up, it seems like there's something that wasn't there before. You have to stand there for a minute to make sure it's not a plane or a satellite in orbit. Somewhere, somehow, you secretly know it has a name, but it's probably something like Zorbalflax 13 in the Aquinarius region. It's new to me, and for the moment that's all that really matters. I can't even take a picture of it, but the first one above is what Google Sky tells me my backyard looks like at night, and it looks pretty familiar. I can at least get Orion's Belt out of it.

Last week I heard a report that a recently observed star from another galaxy called Fomalhaut appears to have a planet orbiting it. The Hubble space telescope has noticed it's movement from 2004 to 2006. It's barely a reflective speck in the "star dust" on the image. If you look at the pictures above, you can barely see it. NASA did a whole write-up on it here: http://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/hubble/science/fomalhaut.html

I love looking at the stars. There's something powerful and ancient about staring into the heavens, and knowing David did the same when he wrote about "He who brings out the starry hosts and calls them each by name." And every human being since the dawn of time has, at one point, considered them.

And as I stood there barefooted on my patio, freezing through my t-shirt I remembered it was 30 degrees. And somewhere in my head I heard a taunting echo from Genesis 15. Yahweh, the God of Israel has just promised Abram that he will be the father of many nations when he declares "Count the stars, if you can! So shall your offspring be." 

God dares us to count them, if we can. Ten-thousand years later we've built multi-million dollar satellites, theorized and conjectured on what still appears to be a limitless universe. 

Yesterday I was writing someone a message when I was reminded of something I'm still learning--"Our vision of God should always get bigger, not smaller."

To the infinitely creative God
who gives worlds their form,
galaxies their place and stars their radiance,

To the One who brings out the starry hosts
and is able to do exceedingly, abundantly
beyond all that we could ask or think-

To God be glory in the Church, in the Universe
and in Christ our Lord forever and ever.
Amen.

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Filed under  //   creativity   Psalms   spaces   stars   steve jones   universe  
Posted November 19, 2008
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like a broken record (or Beyonce, Sonseed and a Psalm)

I'm getting sick and while I'm still trying to get out from under the NyQuil hangover, my evening was bookended by a common theme--repetition.


Jen and I were catching up on our TiVo last night and finally got around to watching Saturday Night live from this past week.I'm tempted to talk about how Kenan Thompson for a split second reminded me of the great Chris Farley or how funny Justin Timberlake actually is, which thwarts my loathing of him for being so freakishly good at many things. Somewhere in between Beyonce "performed" songs from her new album, the curiously idiosyncratic "I am Sasha Fierce". ( I hope this identity crisis doesn't go down the way the whole Garth Brooks/Chris Gaines thing did, but now I'm rambling.)

She did one song that she half-sang, half-danced that was something along the lines of "ringtone pop" but it was so catchy that I went to bed with the melody firmly implanted in my brain. Like a broken record, it just kept repeating, on and on and on and on...

Then this morning, while checking my facebook (the 21st century equivalent to walking out and getting the paper) I find a friend has posted this video:


I had heard of this video and resisted watching it, but resistance is, as they say, futile. I DARE you to watch it and not have the infectious bass line in your head. Wait until you check e-mail after lunch and catch that pre-ska rhythm and curiously adorned back-up singers running through your head.

Repetition, supposedly, teaches us things. I can sing every word off the DC Talk "Free at Last" album (seriously, Jen and I quizzed each other on the way to church Sunday). I can do this because I listened to the tape (and CD, once I got my CD player) approximately 38 quadrillion times. Beyonce and "Sonseed" are memorable because the hook-i-ness of their songs repeat so often that you can't get it out of your head without replacing it with another, equally annoying song. (Poe got this--even if you kill "The Raven" there will always be something else)

All these things were running through my mind when I sat down to read my Daily Lectionary readings. I get them by e-mail, which is an awfully lazy way to do any kind of "spiritual discipline", but I like to think it's like having a home gym--it's there, but you still gotta do the work. Anyway, for some reason I don't understand, the Revised Common Lectionary loops through the latter half of the Psalms this year. I've been in Psalm 140-150 the whole year and I've almost got the dang thing memorized because I keep reading it. Today was Psalm 146 (again)

 

DAILY LECTIONARY

Morning: Psalm 146:1-10

[1] Praise the LORD! Praise the LORD, O my soul!
[2] I will praise the LORD as long as I live;
I will sing praises to my God all my life long.

[3] Do not put your trust in princes,
in mortals, in whom there is no help.
[4] When their breath departs, they return to the earth;
on that very day their plans perish.

[5] Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob,
whose hope is in the LORD their God,
[6] who made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them;
who keeps faith forever;
[7] who executes justice for the oppressed;
who gives food to the hungry.

[8] the LORD opens the eyes of the blind.
The LORD lifts up those who are bowed down;
the LORD loves the righteous.
[9] The LORD watches over the strangers;
he upholds the orphan and the widow,
but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin.

[10] The LORD will reign forever,
your God, O Zion, for all generations.
Praise the LORD!

I find myself saying "Okay God, I get this one--can we move on? Some new material perhaps? I know--I bet this Habakkuk reading will have something good!!"
And today I noticed the repetition. not just of the Psalm in my inbox, but the phrase "the LORD". 

Truth be told, this has quickly become a "new favorite" passage for me but it was, after all, once a song. Maybe even one with an annoying tune that gets stuck in your head. And it reminds me that when I'm tempted to think I'm the one doing all these things--opening blind eyes, watching over strangers, widows, the oppressed and the down-trodden--well, I've seriously lost the plot. 

It's a holy thing to join God in the restoration of all things, but it can wear you down. The vicious cycle of use and abuse is enough repetition to drive anyone mad. 

Maybe we just need to be reminded that God is working it out with and without us.

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Posted November 18, 2008
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on sacred space(s) (or when God leaves the building)

       
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when I was in high school I was always fond of driving somewhere to sit and read my Bible in the morning. A lot could be said about how legalistic I was then and how I genuinely believed that level of my discipleship was proportionate to how long said "quiet time" was.
 
fortunately, nature has little perception of motive, and I found myself routinely staring at yet another sunrise from my 1985 Jeep Cherokee, scarfing down a Chick-fil-A biscuit as I opened my duct-taped Bible, which is sort of a portable white-washed tomb for a High-School Pharisee.
 
Every day I felt that I met something of the Divine in the sunrise. Frequently I drove to my church and parked in an obscure parking lot overlooking the ballfield--right where the sun was brightest. In the fall I could drive to a near-by park where we used to walk a trail down to throw rocks at the train cars after Sunday night church. The colors were lush, and in their death seemed to speak more verdantly of life then the spring.
 
By the time I went to college it was clear that I would have to stake out new territory. Berry College is still the largest college campus in the world with well over 10,000 acres. Even though I went to Shorter College, and Berry was a bitter rival, the campus held more of Creation than the ark. (There's a long-standing joke that there are more deer than students at Berry, which is cruel, but wholly accurate).
 
On the "Mountain Campus" down a three-mile paved road the only police to stop speeding were the frolicking deer which are prone to colliding with your car at any given second. Perched atop a quiet hill was a small building called Frost Chapel. Everyone knew about Frost. There was a deep and abiding sense of the holy in that place. Even though everyone knew about it, I only found another person there once--it was my own private place to read, sing, play my guitar and reflect. I can't think of it without feeling a deep sense of nostalgia. The above picture is the wall-paper on my cell-phone, just to remind me of the times when I felt the presence of God in that place.
 
After college I headed to Texas, I thought, for seminary. More could be said about that too, but suffice it to say that I was miserable. My oasis in the spiritual desert was a cross-shaped Baptist church that looked mroe like an Episcopal cathedral than the brick-Georgian buildings I'd grew up calling "sanctuaries". I longed for Sundays. I couldn't wait to enjoy the full-ness of worship in that space. The pastor at the time later told me that when he was called there he asked a prestigious former pastor of that church why he went there and was shocked when he said "I took it for the room." It seems shallow at first but once you sit in it, light beaming through stained glass, choir singing "Alleluia", bread and wine broken and passed between homeless men and PhD's--there aren't words to describe it.
 
And today I sit typing this blog from the "computer lab" of the seminary I attended. Jen and I are at a preview weekend as she prayerfully considers pursuing all that God's doing in her life (and ours). To be frank, there's not much attractive here. No stained-glass windows or ancient wooden timbers, though the Dean says there are plans in the works.. No remote hill-top locations that make me want to talk to birds and creatures like St. Francis.
 
Just cinder-blocks and concrete, a few bricks and geometric patterns. The "chapel" space looks ostensibly like a spaceship from afar, just waiting for the right "movement of the Spirit" to beam us all to somewhere far, far away. There is very little here that is aesthetically pleasing at all, and yet I'm flooded with the same emotions I feel when I glance at my cell-phone or here the word "Texas".
 
The scandal of the cross is that God in Christ left the building. Veils were torn, foundations were shaken--all because the Holy now invaded the hearts of all humanity. And still I find myself looking to the sacred space(s) to kindle it once more--to ignite some sense of passion, urgency, and calling to remind me that I am a Temple.
 
There's a wonderful, eclectic sanctuary in San Francisco that I read about a few years ago. When we went to California on vacation, I desperately wanted to visit the church. St. Gregory of Nyssa's church has a simple quote over it's door--"All that is prays to You."
 
And that simple thought is coming in and going forth, invocation and benediction, invitation and commissioning.
 
May our sacred spaces remind us that God has placed eternity in our hearts.
 
Amen.

 

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Filed under  //   broadway   frost chapel   mcafee   sanctuary   spaces   st. gregory of nyssa  
Posted November 17, 2008
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a letter to my aunt (on rapture, the Beast and the not yet)

Part of the inspiration for blogging came from the random questions that sometimes find their way to my e-mail box. the following was my response to my great-aunt Ruth upon receiving a lengthy forward asking whether or not bio-chips were the Mark of the Beast. You might already know this stuff, but Jen said I should post it in case anyone's looking for a clear way to talk about the "End".


Good Morning Aunt Ruth!

It's good to hear from you! Well, clearly whoever wrote this article spent a LOT of time on it. I can't respond to everything mentioned in there, but I'll tell you some things I've learned. I took a few classes on Apocalyptic Literature (Revelation, Jude, parts of 2 Peter, 1-2 Thessalonians, etc). These may/may not be things you've heard and I don't expect you to buy them all, because in truth, I'm not sure about all of it--research of ancient cultures is still a lot of educated guesswork, so that being said, please don't feel like you (or anyone)  has to swallow all this. It's just what I've learned over the last 7 years and it does muddy the water a bit.

All of the books of the Bible were written, under the inspiration of God, by people writing to a certain group of other people in a specific context. The Gospels are good examples of this--each of the four has a different "target" audience, and although they share similar information, they present it in a unique way--Matthew is written to a Jewish audience, so it relies heavily on Old Testament prophecy (over 60 references!), Luke is written to an affluent Gentile audience so it really focuses on Jesus' relation to the poor and marginalized, particularly women, Mark is composed under extreme persecution, John is written to a group of Gentile converts from Greek philosophy--you get the idea. Paul's letters do the same thing, addressing specific problems of each church.

Revelation, therefore, is written from the island of Patmos, where historical records (Josephus, etc) tell us the Roman Emperor Domitian exiled John, the "Beloved Disciple" and leader of the church at Ephesus. John has a series of "visions" which he records in Revelation and passes back to the people at Ephesus.

Domitian was a particularly vile and arrogant emperor who demanded the worship of the people. He instituted an early forerunner of the Olympic games and called them the "Domitian games". He built a large coliseum near Ephesus to support the games, complete with seven gates and seven large lampstands, one by each gate. He also ordered that a crowd of 24 eunuchs follow him to all public events, wearing white robes and gold wreaths on their heads. They were told to sing "Worthy is Caesar, and most worthy to be praised!" at the whim of Domitian.

More than that, though, Domitian ruthlessly oppressed the people, particularly Jews and Christians. He demanded allegiance to himself--that everyone must declare "Caesar is Lord".
Other emperors had required this before Domitian, as emperor worship was common. Paul's letters to the church at Phillipi, Corinth and Colossians are full of anti-empire speech. As renowned evangelical scholar N.T. Wright puts it, "The central confession of Paul's letters is 'Jesus is Lord', which is also saying implicitly, 'and Caesar is NOT'."

The economy shifted under Domitian and the currency of the Empire collapsed. There was panic in the Agora, the famed Roman marketplace. Domitian required all people who were buying and selling goods--household goods, fruit, meat and fish, oil, everything--to buy a special permit, which was a certain kind of crude tattoo affixed to the forehead or the right hand. All they had to do to receive the mark was say "Caesar is Lord". Christians loathed the tyrant Domitian, but could not dare to profane his name publicly or in correspondence, lest they be killed. As school children might develop a nickname for a hated teacher while passing notes, the early Christians called Domitian simply "the Beast." 

With this new economic policy then, the central question for a Christian was "Will I take the mark of 'the Beast'?" If you didn't, you couldn't sell your goods--you couldn't ply your trade, you couldn't feed your family. The early church was conflicted--should we take it and cross our fingers, so God will know our allegiance is to Christ, or should we resist? And there were disagreements and the Church was starting to splinter

And when John spoke out publicly against Domitian, he was exiled to an island, where he has this triumphant vision where God asserts his power once and for all over the forces and rulers of this world. Where the seven-headed beast (Rome had seven hills) with it's twelve horns (Domitian installed 12 statues of himself in his coliseum.) meets his demise at a triumphant Christ on horseback and in glory. The choir of 24 men doesn't follow round Domitian, singing his praises, but sings to the only King--the King of Kings--Jesus, the slaughtered Lamb. Eusebius, one of the early "church fathers" tells us much of this.

If we know all this to be true, we then have to think about the implications for Revelation as a book of prophecy--that which will be, sometime, somewhere in time.

Part of the reason people tend to think of Revelation in this way doesn't go back as far as you might think. In the 1820's a young British preacher who was preparing to go to the U.S. and preach to the expanding Midwest in the Second Great Awakening wandered into a "Camp Meeting" on the outskirts of London. Camp Meetings were the forerunner of Pentecostalism in Britain, and it was not uncommon for people to share visions and dreams they had of Christ, or God giving them a special message. An eight-year old girl came forward and said she had had a dream where she saw people flying through the air, from the earth, to meet Jesus in the clouds. The evangelist, inspired by this girl said "Exactly! That's exactly what the Apostle Paul said in 1 Thessalonians--"Surely we will be caught up in the air to meet him!"

The young preacher was named John Nelson Darby and he was taken by this idea. He started studying the Scriptures, but access to the New Testament Greek was not easily had in the 1800's. He looked to Jerome's Latin translation, the Vulgate and found that the word Jerome used there was "Rapturo", which means "to be caught up". As Darby came to the states--Kansas and the expanding West, he began teaching a doctrine called "the rapture". As he read Scripture, he became convinced that the rapture of 1 Thessalonians would occur before the 1,000 year reign of Christ described in Revelation. 

He attempted to look of the Bible and time chronologically and said that God had revealed himself in different ways at different times--the vengeful God of the Old Testament was the reign of God the Father, the time of Jesus was the first revelation of Christ, then the reign of the Spirit, but the "End" would begin with the return of Christ. He called these "dispensations" and there was a whole group of people who began to follow these teachings, including a man named Cyrus Scofield.

Scofield was upset that the people being converted on the expanding frontier didn't have a Bible to study for themselves, but he was also concerned that people might not know how to understand difficult passages of the Bible, like Revelation and other apocalyptic literature. He eventually produced the Scofield Study Bible, which was the first annotated Study Bible in history. It caught on like wildfire in the expanding West and millions of copies were sold. It was even used by a group of evangelical frontier scholars who decided to start a theological school in Dallas, Texas that would eventually become Dallas Theological Seminary. The doctrine, called "pre-millenial dispensation" was forever rooted in American Christianity.



From then until now, there have been debates about whether you're a "pre", "post", or "a" millienialist. In reality, these are nuanced clarifications of a theological belief that is only 170 years old. Evangelical believers in Britain and abroad don't adhere to this belief and are fascinated by our obsession with it, from the dispensationalist charts (John Hagee and others use, but they're based on a chart created in the 1860's) all the hugely successful "Left Behind" series. Of course, apocalyptic "prophecy" was amplified in the latter half of the last century, as we came towards the new millennium and many though the end was approaching.

In church history, there are always some movements that believe the Apocalypse is near, from the end of the first century, to the Middle Ages to Y2K, but none of those earlier movements had the elaborate projection or reading of "the End times" that premillenial dispensation has given us.

I think the hardest thing for folks to realize is what the Scripture does and doesn't say. Yes, Revelation speaks of an 'Anti-Christ', a charming character who deceives millions, but Paul speaks of 'anti-Christs' in 2 Thessalonians--as if there are many, not one. Jude speaks of hundreds of anti-christs going into the world, and 1 John goes the farthest when it says "many anti-christs have already come" and then goes on to talk about people who went out from them but were led astray--he calls them all anti-christs!

The books of the New Testament do not present a cohesive picture of "the End". They present it in different ways, trying to articulate it in words people can understand, but they don't all line up a certain way. They all point to a common hope, even to a point of vindication and to the eventual return (the technical term is 'parousia' in the Greek) of Christ, but they tend to use the language of Resurrection, not rapture. I clearly believe something will happen and that we are working towards and end. Jesus talks about this in the Gospels and I believe in the return of Christ.

Many things are still a bit fuzzy--though Revelation has the great "White Throne of Judgment" and the second death, Jesus says nothing of these things, nor does Paul. In fact, the only time Jesus mentions judgment is in the Parable of the Sheep and the Goats, who are separated by how they treated the "least of these", not on whether they prayed a prayer, walked an aisle, tithed or won souls. 

To put it clearly, I don't know how it all plays out, and frankly, I'm quite alright with that. The New Testament is full of words of wisdom and expectation. Jesus' own teachings on the kingdom were full of the same thing. Scholars have called it the "already-not yet" tension. We are part of something, here on Earth, as followers of Christ--this is what Jesus was getting at when he said in Luke "The kingdom of God is among you.", but there is a "not-yet"--the sense of longing in our hearts put there by our Creator. Ecclesiastes says "God put eternity in the hearts of mankind".

To answer this e-mail directly, no, I don't believe microchips are the Mark of the Beast. Previous generations have thought everything from the 1's a 0's of computer programming to UPC barcoding was the Mark. I think these have become oddities of our religious life that have created a sort of new mythology where we attempt to judge the time and date, and the one thing that is consistent in the New Testament is that "no man knows the date or the time". If I'm taking Jesus seriously about the criteria for judgment (caring for the least of these) I think I'd better be more about that then trying to read supposed signs, but, admittedly, I'm still working this thing out myself.

Take care Aunt Ruth--it's good to hear from you!

Trey

 

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Posted November 15, 2008
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