Matt Boswell Writes Things Here

Well That Got Crazy (Snowpocalypse 2012)

2012-01-24T20:30:00.000-08:00

My English students keep journals, which are submitted to me every Monday for reading, correction, and commentary. There was a fairly standard sequence from last Monday to this past Sunday; something like: hopefulness, bliss, disillusionment, annoyance. Or, in outbursts: “Snow! Maybe class will be canceled!” Then, “No class! So much snow!” Then, “No power! Not so fun anymore!” Then, “I’m cold and miserable!”

For a storm that started out much more wondrous and spectacular, the aftermath was a bit less satisfying for many. I can recall only one storm that was of this caliber in my lifetime and locale—the flood of 1996 in my hometown of Woodland, WA, in which we had to leave our home for a few days because of floodwaters and also earned a visit from then-president Bill Clinton, whom I met (“met” meaning he walked by and shook my hand in a crowd without looking me in the eye).

The scene on Wednesday was spectacular (pictures below, with credit as always to Joann for her brilliant artistry). On Thursday, around 10am or so, we lost power. After spending the day at the mall, including seeing separate movies (we couldn’t agree on one, so we peacefully split, her seeing “The Iron Lady” and me “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo”…any other couples ever done this?), we returned to a cold apartment.

After moving all our fridge and freezer food to the porch and encasing it in bags of snow, we started a fire, lit copious amounts of candles, and enjoyed an evening of reading and card games. And smoke. (I think our fireplace may be clogged; we’ve never previously had problems, but our apartment still smells slightly smoky today, five days later.)

We listened throughout the evening to branches breaking outside, collapsing under the weight of snow and ice, threatening to fall onto rooftops and windshields. We actually left town on Friday, primarily for an appointment in Portland that weekend, though we didn’t mind moving to a warmer home.

On our way out of town last Friday, we stopped at Starbucks, finding a packed café, a long line, a scarcity of breakfast food and no available outlets; people were seeking warmth, food, and a place to charge their phones. Panera Bread, our second destination in search of breakfast, felt like a giant living room as it was also packed with in-use laptops and charging phones.

Apparently our power came back on Friday evening. But many in the area are still without power. Earlier today, many of our students who live at Evergreen were without electricity; teachers were prepared to host students for a night, until just a few hours ago when the power was restored—news met with cries of jubilation among the students.

It was a mess…accidents, messy roads, cold houses, falling trees. But…what a memory, and what an adventure. I know a lot of people were miserable, and I don’t want to diminish that. But I get the sense from some of those who suffered (or are still suffering) that it was (and perhaps continues to be) a welcome interruption. It forced people to slow down, to stop. It forced people to live simply. It forced people to talk to one another.

It provided a challenge, a test of character. Some likely failed such tests, including me. A driver across the intersection was visibly frustrated with me at a powerless traffic light, probably because he thought I should have gone earlier than I did. I get annoyed when people are annoyed with me; it's a fault, a deficiency, I'll confess. It certainly doesn't reveal a peaceful spirit. As I eventually passed him, I threw my hands up in mockery of him, as if to say, "I know, I'm an idiot, aren't I? Feels good to call me an idiot, doesn't it?"

Fail. Silly right? Doesn't make me look awesome, at least. My wife rightly put me in my place, suggesting I probably just looked angry and my attempt to “educate and pastor" this angry driver was misguided and ultimately a failure. Shame on me, truly. Attempting to live virtuously is not without challenges and frequent missteps.

But many others passed these tests, acting with wisdom, care for others, a sense of right action, hard work, and great patience and endurance. It was one of those moments that can bring out the best in people. And even those who suffered a bit, I suspect many of them secretly (or openly) enjoyed and are enjoying the adventure of it all. I think people often complain about things that they really don’t mind all that much; I sense this was one of those “miserable” experiences that brought a secret delight to many.

But I’m glad it’s passing, as more and more people seem to be getting their power back and returning to school, work, and warmth. But what a week! We won’t forget it.

Some pictures, from Wednesday, before things got out of hand:

A more serene, beautiful glimpse of the storm.

"The snow's this deep."

The road.

The post-apocalyptic wasteland of the mall, on our walk to Starbucks. Which was closed.

Snowpeople.

Baby snowperson. That third twig is supposed to be an umbilical cord.

I'm adorable!

Peaceful Snow and Peaceful Protest

2012-01-18T11:11:00.000-08:00

We’re in the midst of what is for the low elevations of Washington State a significant snow storm. Both my wife and I are at home, as our respective schools are closed. Given the amount of people she saw at Safeway yesterday stocking up for “the big one" (one person bought five gallons of milk...really? really???), I’d say most people are staying inside today. We plan to venture out soon for some snowman building.

I’m sure others share my love of the peaceful, calming nature of the snow. The forced break that comes with school closures and nasty roads brings peace. The sound (or silence) during snowfall brings peace. Putting my book and laptop down and sitting in a chair, staring out the window, mesmerized…brings peace. There is a stillness in nature and in my soul brought on by the falling snow.

One of my scheduled elective classes today was going to involve discussion and activities focused on MLK. I think my number one association with MLK is “civil rights activist.” Probably the second is “non-violent activist.” This is, I tend to think first of his affect upon our attitudes about race and equality, and second about his methods. But a third consideration is also of interest to me: his interfaith vision for peace and protest.

Jesus, Thoreau, and Ghandi all played a significant role in the shaping of King’s vision of peaceful, non-violent protest. And while Christianity, Transcendentalism, and Hinduism all may conflict in some ways, such as how we discover the true nature of reality, they share a common interest in how we should live life well and work for the good of all.

I sense some who identify with a particular tradition might feel that the resources of their own tradition are sufficient for understanding the world and navigating through the challenges of life. I don't really share this sentiment. I think this problem is part of the reason Christians have been historically so anti-science at times; we have the Bible to help us, so why do we need to listen to biology, astronomy, sociology, etc?

I love the way such a “high view” of the Bible acknowledges its timeless applicability to our own life situations. But I don’t think we should forget the particularity of the Bible. We have four spectacular theological documents that seem to capture the essence of what Jesus said and did; but they are not neutral, agenda-free documents; each was written for particular reasons to particular audiences from a particular authorial voice. But even where they get close to the actual words of Jesus (or perhaps capture his statements verbatim), did Jesus say more of importance? And, would he have said things in the same way had he lived in 21^st century USA?

I guess my point is something like this: Jesus may be my Lord, my goal, my inspiration, my hope; but he’s not my only teacher. MLK knew this, and I have joined him on a similar quest in recent years to discover the riches of insight from these various traditions as to how to be, think, speak, move, and live.

Why isn’t Jesus enough? Because the spirit of Jesus is ubiquitous, present in many more places than simply 1^st century Palestine. Because others have said things in a way that Jesus didn’t, in a way that adds to, complements, or supplements what Jesus said and did. That’s my take. I guess as a Christian I start with Jesus; I just don't end there.

-----

From Jesus:

Matthew 5: 38-45- “You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,’ but I say to you, do not resist him who is evil but whoever slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also, and if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, let him have your coat also. And whoever shall force you to go one mile, go with him two. Give to him who asks of you, and do not turn away from him who wants to borrow from you. You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy,’ but I say to you, love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you in order that you may be sons of your Father who is in Heaven, for He causes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and unrighteous.”

Matthew 5:9- "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.”

From Thoreau:

“If a thousand [citizens] were not to pay their tax-bills this year, that would not be a violent and bloody measure, as it would be to pay them, and enable the State to commit violence and shed innocent blood. This is, in fact, the definition of a peaceable revolution, if any such is possible”(from “Civil Disobedience”)

“Be not simply good; be good for something.” (Source)

Explanation of “Satyagraha” (Hinduism), which influenced Mahatma Gandhi (taken verbatim from here: source)

I. "Sat" --- which implies openness, honesty, and fairness: Truth

Explanation: Each person's opinions and beliefs represent part of the truth; in order to see more of the truth we must share our truths cooperatively; this implies a desire to communicate and a determination to do so, which in turn requires developing and refining relevant skills of communication; commitment to seeing as much of the truth as possible means that we can not afford to categorize ourselves or others.

II. "Ahimsa" --- refusal to inflict injury on others.

Explanation: Ahimsa is dictated by our commitment to communication and to sharing of our pieces of the truth; violence shuts off channels of communication; the concept of ahimsa appears in most major religions, which suggests that while it may not be practiced by most people, it is respected as an ideal; ahimsa is an expression of our concern that our own and other's humanity be manifested and respected; we must learn to genuinely love our opponents in order to practice ahimsa.

III. "Tapasya" --- willingness for self-sacrifice.

Explanation: A satyagrahi (one who practices satyagraha) must be willing to shoulder any sacrifice which is occasioned by the struggle which they have initiated, rather than pushing such sacrifice or suffering onto their opponent, lest the opponent become alienated and access to their portion of the truth become lost; the satyagrahi must always provide a face-saving "way out" for the opponents; the goal is to discover a wider vista of truth and justice, not to achieve victory over the opponent.

-----

May we—all people, from every tribe—be peacemakers, people interested in achieving great ends without the use of harm…people who subvert the violent with non-violence…people who avoid not just physical violence and societal, large-scale violence but the violence and harm we do to those we love with our words (or silences)…people who practice ahimsa and tapaysa, out of love for others and for the sake of truth and justice, not personal gain or victory.

I hope it doesn’t contradict anything I’ve said that when Joann and I go outside in a few minutes, I will likely attack her with snowballs. We’ll see if she non-violently resists. J

Something's Growing Inside My Wife

2012-01-13T16:25:00.000-08:00

And it looks something like this, or at least it looked like this a few weeks ago:

It's kind of a big deal.

A(n) (un)Holy Ramble On Suffering and Love

2012-01-12T19:20:00.000-08:00

This is a post about suffering, but only one kind of suffering. I didn’t sleep very well earlier in the week and “suffered” a bit because of it, so I guess it's been on my mind.

Sometimes the degree to which people suffer seems the result of blind chance. People suffer around the world, not because they've made bad decisions, or because they deserve it, or because God wants them to suffer. They seem to suffer because of something like luck—where they were born, to whom they were born, when they were born, the environment that nurtured them, the body they acquired, the genetic history preceding them, someone else’s suffering that unfortunately intersected with their own, oppressive social structures, and so on.

Actually, I feel a bit unqualified to talk about suffering in light of how relatively little I've suffered. I’ve endured a number of challenging things, I suppose: health issues, lost loved ones, repeated broken hearts, frequent disappointments. But I get to self-actualize! So many of my basic needs are met that I actually get to focus my energies on self-improvement, vocational success, and a variety of other ambitions. I don’t have to worry about where my next meal is coming from, nor whether or not I’m loved.

This makes me think I don’t really suffer all that much. I do legitimately suffer, I don’t deny it; but to lament as the Psalmist often did as a representative of the suffering, exiled community of Israel, or as a mother struggling to feed her children might? This seems slightly ungrateful or just misguided.

But that’s not really the kind of suffering on my mind. This kind of suffering is not self-willed; it comes into our lives without being invited. But what about willful suffering? Specifically, does love—love of family, friends, neighbors, and enemy—involve a willingness to put ourselves in situations where we are bound to suffer?

Perhaps this sounds like a kind of masochism. But perhaps God is the "Great Masochist." Traditional Christian theology says that God willfully submitted Godself to the finitude of a human, accompanied by many if not all of our limitations as humans. Assuming God had a pretty good idea of what it meant to be human simply based on God’s ability to know all that is, I’d assume God knew that suffering would accompany this miraculous act. I think Jesus' life and death are a testimony to how love can require one to put oneself at the mercy of others, out of respect and honor and compassion for them, with the potential to be hurt, to suffer.

I think of Paul’s attempt to capture the significance of Jesus in Philippians 2:3-8:

³ Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind let each of you regard one another as more important than himself; ⁴ do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others. ⁵ Have this attitude in yourselves which was also in Christ Jesus, ⁶ who, although He existed in the form of God, did not regard equality with God a thing to be grasped, ⁷ but emptied Himself, taking the form of a bond-servant, and being made in the likeness of men. ⁸ And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. (NAS)

Paul affirms that self-imposed limitations of God that come with that reality expressed in the Christian doctrine of the incarnation. I think there is a great model here for “incarnating” oneself into another’s “space” in a similar manner as God…to be with others in a way that opens us up to harm, but for the sake of love.

Three more snapshots, now from the gospel writers:

Matthew 26:50-53 Then they came and laid hands on Jesus and seized Him. ⁵¹ And behold, one of those who were with Jesus reached and drew out his sword, and struck the slave of the high priest, and cut off his ear. ⁵² Then Jesus said to him, "Put your sword back into its place; for all those who take up the sword shall perish by the sword. ⁵³ "Or do you think that I cannot appeal to My Father, and He will at once put at My disposal more than twelve legions of angels?

Matthew 26:67-68 They spat in His face and beat Him with their fists; and others slapped Him, ⁶⁸ and said, "Prophesy to us, You Christ; who is the one who hit You?"

Luke 23:33-34 And when they came to the place called The Skull, there they crucified Him and the criminals, one on the right and the other on the left. ³⁴ But Jesus was saying, "Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing." And they cast lots, dividing up His garments among themselves.

Jesus reprimands Peter, unable to grasp the nature of Jesus’ approach and mission. Jesus is spit upon by mockers. Jesus recognizes the lack of awareness among the crowds and his killers, having the insight and great compassion to not hold their wrongdoing against them.

I suppose if you believe Jesus was simply a tragic hero, a person of great ideals and great character, this might look like a pathetic, hopeless end...unless you find redeeming value in his sheer, determined, unfaltering devotion to his mission. But if you believe in the resurrection and the future hope of humankind—if you believe God loves humankind and that this love was brilliantly displayed in the birth and life and death (and resurrection) of Jesus and that this love "wins"—then this scene becomes one of great power and great hope.

I suspect there might be situations in which love—love as an active choice, not as a feeling—demands a willingness to suffer. Maybe you can think of a friend, family member, co-worker, some acquaintance who makes it hard for you to be the best you at times. In theory, you are a very kind, warm, gentle, patient, compassionate human being; but then, in practice, all your theorized virtues seem non-existent as you become irritated and maybe act unpleasantly toward others.

Maybe you don’t like how being with those people can make you feel. Maybe they are disrespectful, rude, patronizing, self-centered, overly emphatic in their opinions, insensitive, ignorant, whatever. Rather than be in their presence, it might just seem easier to avoid them, ignore them. You can be a better “you” if your character was not being constantly tested by them.

Jesus’ example shines brightly to me. Would anyone disagree, regardless of how wonderful you think human beings are, that we are nonetheless lesser beings than God, certainly more prone to be wretched than God? Yet God, as the Apostle Paul articulates it, made himself nothing. God put Godself in a vulnerable place to be mocked, ignored, hurt, misunderstood, betrayed, and even killed. Yet it seems that even on the cross, even after Jesus' sincere prayer to have his “cup of suffering removed," he persisted with love toward those incapable of honoring him in the way he deserved.

I feel like Jesus didn’t love people from a safe distance, but put himself in situations, in relationships, where suffering was likely to occur. Jesus was not interested in self-preservation. I’m challenged by his example to not neglect the people around me, be they those I love or those whose names I do not know, but to love them with respect, honor, attentiveness, compassion, and sacrificial action. Even if that means opening myself to suffering, to feeling unpleasant for a few moments, to feeling unappreciated, to risk my good deeds going noticed...whatever.

This kind of suffering, for me at least, can’t be as bad as the sufferings of countless others throughout history, including those of our Lord.

Christmas Break in Review (With Pictures…and Words!)

2012-01-05T10:45:00.000-08:00

I have been thoroughly enjoying Christmas vacation and a three-week break from work—a very full and satisfying three weeks. I share here some highlights (thanks to Joann for the photos) as my extended holiday winds down:

Prior to our departure from Olympia to go stay with family in SW Washington, Joann worked fervently to complete several of her crafted gifts for family and friends. During her periods of creation I did most of the cooking and cleaning, so I like to think, as I told some of the recipients, that I helped make their gifts, albeit indirectly. And Joann, bless her heart, laughed every time I turned this fact into a tired joke for said recipients.

A shot of Brad (friend) and I in Pioneer Square (Portland). Along with Joann and Heather (Brad’s wife) we ventured into the city for pizza and wandering, absorbing the Christmas atmosphere while meandering through the streets of downtown. A couple weeks after this, Brad and Bryan (friend) and I “rebooted” an old tradition started over a decade ago of heading to Cannon Beach on New Year’s Eve (for the day). We enjoyed a rain-free day of Frisbee, hiking, renowned pizza, and a coffee shop game of “Settlers of Catan” that drew the attention of many (puzzled) customers, including a reporter for the local paper interested in tourism to their town and intrigued by our tradition. And what a good tradition it is!

Joann got to see her best friend Sarah (top left), I enjoyed a nice nap (good picture, though kind of ruined by the baby…thanks for thwarting a perfectly good "sleeping picture," baby), and we attended perhaps the most structured (yet still fun) Christmas party I’ve ever been to, complete with a gingerbread house construction contest and an interpretative-dance-to-awful-Christmas-songs competition. My team didn’t win either of the competitions; but I did get to repackage a snowman “thing” for the white elephant gift exchange that I’d obtained at my work’s recent Christmas party a couple weeks back.

Joann and I enjoyed a two-day rain-free trip to Seaside just before Christmas. We stayed at a Victorian-style Bed and Breakfast Hotel (which no longer serves breakfast …so I guess we stayed at a Bed) only a block from the beach. The pictures show the end of the day and likely mid-day, with early afternoon “energizers” in our right hands. I enjoyed long jogs along the water, time spent reading through my textbook-like ethics book, plenty of seafood, and also some down time devoted to doing absolutely nothing productive, nothing directly tied to other pursuits, projects, or ambitions. Is that a significant feat for anyone else?

I hope I don’t regret condoning my wife’s posting of this photo on her facebook; I include it here because I’m just “going with it.” On the right is the view out my Grandma’s window on Christmas, where we enjoyed our traditional family Christmas dinner. We spent several days in Woodland, enjoying time with family, sleeping a lot, exchanging gifts, and introducing my Grandma to confounding movies (Inception) and more accessible ones (Wall-E). As for the doll; well, Christmas morning at my parents included the revelation of my childhood doll to my wife. Would she have still married me had she known? Hard to say. This doll, now dysfunctional likely due to rust, makes a sort of crying sound when you tip it too quickly or spank it. Her (his?) eyes also close when she/he is laying on her/his back. I swear, I also had Legos, baseball cards, and teenage mutant ninja turtles.

I met with several friends throughout the break, though failed to take pictures with them all. Though I did get a picture with the most ravishingly handsome of them, Dan, seen in this picture. Apologies to Trevor, Ian, Mark and Jake (other Portland dates) for my failure to capture the moment. I blame my wife. For not being there to take the picture.

A shot with Ron, Matt (Boyd), and Larry at Ron's for enchiladas and margaritas. I met Ron and Larry in September as fellow groomsmen in Matt Boyd’s wedding in LA. Fun to have a bit of a reunion. And to laugh...a lot.

Joann’s parents’ Christmas tree. We’re back in Olympia as I write this, though we haven’t yet truly celebrated Christmas with Joann’s side of the family. The plan was to do so on Jan 1, with her massive extended family ("massive" relative to mine, at least…I am after all an only child), but it was postponed until this coming weekend, due to widespread sickness among Joann’s siblings, nieces and nephews, parents and grandmother, and Joann herself. One of the few who emerged unscathed? Myself, which I told somebody recently was probably due to my steady diet of jogging and microbrews, neither of which I think any of the infected really partake. Though Joann’s mom also didn’t get sick, and she doesn’t jog or drink, so maybe my theory is inadequate.

And maybe more important than any events, people, or wisdom acquired over the past three weeks was this: I got new shoes. I can tell the difference; my feet don’t hurt like they used to.

Here's (actually raising my coffee mug) to 2012 and new goals and experiences. To the fulfillment of some hopes and the likely, necessary abandonment of others. To acquiring that elusive six-pack that always seems more realistically attainable at the outset of the year. Sculpted abs: a hope to be fulfilled? Or abandoned? My optimism runs wild and untamed at the beginning of a new year…

A Drawing: Why Pa Pham Wasn’t Paying Attention in Class

2011-12-18T13:30:00.000-08:00

I had to share this bittersweet piece of art with a wider audience. Sam (Pa Pham), a Vietnamese student, was evidently not all that engaged in the lesson during her last day in class. Though, she seemed like it, so maybe it’s more generous to assume she is just an excellent multi-tasker. I can’t relate, I guess; when I try to multi-task I do stupid stuff like slice open my finger.

The drawing below (the second picture is a zoomed-in version of part of the larger) contains the faces of the Fall C-1 (Pre-Advanced) English class. There’s really no such thing as a “Fall C-1” class, given the way the system works at EF Olympia. Students arrive and depart frequently, creating a substantial amount of turnover in class organization. Teachers are generally not with a specific group for long.

But this particular group was intact for several weeks, until one-by-one they started leaving, perhaps heading off to an American university or back to their home country to study or work. Of the twelve students portrayed here, only four remain at our school today.

Isn't this the sweetest? No, probably not…many of you probably have baby pictures you think are sweeter. Everybody things pictures of their baby are the sweetest. Well these students—and I don’t mean to patronize any of you EF students who visit this blog, many of whom are my age or maybe older—are my “babies.” In my classes I feel responsible not only to offer a better grasp of what verbs most commonly pair with infinitives and which are better suited to gerunds; I feel responsible for their well-being and so attempt to be attentive, supportive, respectful, and compassionate.

Goodbyes are hard. Their coming often feels abrupt, without warning, and their happening often feels a bit lacking, unsatisfying, like they should be more cinematic or complete.

Life at EF involves a great deal of change, of coming and going, and demands flexibility from teachers and students. From my time here and from previous goodbyes from the many countries I’ve visited, I think I'm improving in my ability to accept the reality of this flux...while also gaining an ever-greater gratitude for the gift of remembering.

My dear, sweet C-1 students, from Korea, Japan, Vietnam, Turkey, Norway, Germany, Columbia, and Brazil: I hope you seek, as I have been seeking, to cultivate the virtue of remembrance. To a certain extent, I suspect that my memories are as real and present as those very real and present things which can be touched.

In my own faith tradition, remembering is essential. Remembering grounds me in what I believe to be the great narrative of God and humankind. It is in remembering that I am centered, empowered, given direction and given hope.

And through remembering the people and communities with whom my life has intersected, I am given an extraordinary sense of joy. In the end, it is these people and my experiences with these people that clarify for me whether or not I'm enjoying life to the full, more than any personal ambitions and interests I may have. To open oneself to others in love may be to open oneself to suffering; but suffering, too, has meaning.

May all of you, and myself, while recognizing the necessity of letting go and the inevitability of losing the immediacy of physical presence...may we nonetheless make the effort to bring to consciousness from time to time the people whose paths have crossed our own, people who may have shaped our identity in some small way and perhaps enhanced our enjoyment of life in some small way as well.

And may you not hesitate to spy on one another through facebook. J

Thanks, Sam, for capturing so wonderfully the special community that formed through several weeks together. There are many such communities at EF Olympia, I'm sure. But I’m honored to have been a part of this particular one.

When Sweet Potatoes Force You to Slow Down

2011-12-07T21:41:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I move too quickly, I think. I enter into on-a-mission mode, trying to be as efficient with my time as possible, cramming a lot into a little. It comes from a good place, maybe—I do want to manage my time well, after all.

But sometimes tunnel vision takes over, and my current pace becomes the last word, and any person or persons who would deter me from fulfilling my task at my current pace become enemies. The driver who’s clearly talking on her phone and thus less aware of the traffic situation; the guy crossing the street at a snail’s pace; the person with poor line or crowd etiquette who is clearly disrupting the flow; even my wife, who just wants to get the milk out of the fridge and intends no malice by entering into the path I’ve apparently determined is my own.

So when God slash the universe slash needless haste slash inevitability decided to slash open my middle finger last week, I guess I should have seen it coming. The rapidly moving vehicle that is me probably needed a flat.

I was cutting sweet potatoes last Tuesday night…we’re on a bit of a SP kick lately. Those suckers are hard to cut! And I still can’t figure out how it happened, but somehow because of an inadequate knife or because I was slicing too quickly, the serrated knife must have slipped...and sliced right into the inner portion of my middle finger.

I ran to the bathroom, trying to both cleanse and bandage the wound before I had to sit down, as I nearly passed out. Shortly after that, I became extremely cold. Several people have since asked me if I have difficulty with blood (assuming my symptoms indicated shock), to which I responded that if I do have a problem with blood, I’m not conscious of it.

Besides the pain and a little bit of fear (is a bandage sufficient, should I be going to the hospital in case stitches are needed, etc.), there was some upside. I had a lot to do that night, or so I felt. I always have something I need to be doing; at least that’s how I tend to operate. I need to be working toward some future goal, need to be preparing for my morning classes well ahead of time, need to be doing something purposeful. But I spent the rest of the evening curled up in a blanket on the couch, my wife attending to me, both of us knowing that remaining still and relaxed was probably the best thing for me. I did nothing; it was lovely.

It has been a bit of a wake-up call. That sounds a bit hyperbolic, so maybe I can soften that by saying it at least got me thinking, made me aware of a very basic, much-needed discipline that I often neglect—slowness. It’s not a Richard Foster/Dallas Willard type of discipline, I don’t believe, though I’m sure there are elements of “slowness” in those other spiritual disciplines.

The wound appears to be healing, though I imagine it will leave a scar. Which is fine with me; scars seem a humbling, clarifying reminder that we’re fragile, delicate, capable of being hurt, limited, and finite.

I have a scar on my lower right leg from falling off wooden stilts in the first grade. I love it; it’s like a tattoo, but a permanent mark that reminds me not simply of a personal value (as a tattoo might) but of the fact that there’s more to my life than the present moment, that I have a whole history, and that I have a future; it keeps me connected to my life narrative, which is important. It’s easy to get shortsighted and assume that things won’t get better or change; or, oppositely, that they haven’t gotten better or changed.

I’ve bandaged my finger in a way that keeps the knuckle from bending (to maximize healing speed…is it contrary to my goal here to want the wound to heal as rapidly as possible?). It’s necessitated a much slower pace; I have to be more deliberate about things I’m doing, like cooking, doing dishes, packing bags, opening doors, etc. I cannot say without grossly exaggerating that it’s opened my eyes to the depths of beauty in every facet of life; but I guess I at least have faith that’s it’s in some way making my life richer, deeper, better.

And it hasn’t been without humor. I tried to give a co-worker a thumbs-up with my left hand earlier this week, but couldn’t bend my bandaged finger correctly and so flipped her off. That story got told and retold a few times that day.

I don’t think moving at a high speed is sinful, evil, ungodly. But I do find that when I get fixated on one thing, other things can get tuned out, including people. When my plans get thwarted, I sometimes suspect that those plans or momentary goals had become a bit of an idol, to put it strongly—something demanding way more of my focus and attention and time than it should.

That can be anything from cutting sweet potatoes in an arbitrarily chosen short amount of time, to how quickly I expect to get through the grocery line, to larger, career-like ambitions that can be quite consuming. My "great" character doesn’t shine as much as I’d like it to when my trajectory is interrupted.

Here’s a fun experiment that you might join me in. Try to catch yourself moving quickly at something and then…deliberately slow down, paying attention to everything that is happening in you, around you, every little detail, every step…everything.

Or if speediness is not your vice…pick up the pace and see how that feels. J For me it’s the “doing” that needs to be restrained; I could use a little more of what Taoists call “wu wei”—literally “not doing.” Or maybe still “doing” it…just in a lower gear. (And surfing the internet in a comfy chair does not qualify as wu wei for me.)

Oh, and we didn’t end up having sweet potatoes that night. We ordered a pizza.

Forming New Traditions

2011-12-02T11:31:00.000-08:00

I’m presently sitting in the red chair, which is not where it has been for nearly the entirety of our life in Olympia; it has been relocated to accommodate our Christmas tree.

Rearranging furniture is a pastime developed in my childhood, one that has been somewhat stifled in my marriage, except for the office/second bedroom, where my other half permits me to do pretty much anything I want with the furniture. It’s a nice compromise. But with the acquisition of our second (third?) annual Christmas tree, I was given free rein in the living room.

The red chair sits next to the Christmas tree, facing the fireplace. I’m thinking back to last night and the multisensory satisfaction experienced. I sat reading James Wm. McClendon’s Ethics, roaring fire warming my bare feet, rum and coke to my left and Christmas tree to my right, from which I’d occasionally pick needles and stick them partially in my nostrils, breathing in the evergreen-y goodness. Comprehensively satisfied.

The advent of the Christmas season and the obtaining of our tree has left me thinking again about the meaning of traditions, as I’m sure it does for many. I shared nearly a year ago some of my favorite traditions over the years: “Top Ten Favorite Christmas Traditions." But I’ve also been thinking about the significance of those new traditions being formed.

Theologically speaking, “tradition” is a concept whose depths and importance I did not really understand as a younger Christian. Tradition mostly had negative connotations for me, probably associated with the stubbornness of some who held too tightly to rituals that became idols in themselves, not means of leading one to something deeper...be that connectedness to God, more excellent moral character, fuller enjoyment of life, or deeper unity with others.

But despite what I judge as its misuse, I know how much tradition and/or ritual can be centering, life-giving, life-shaping. The Christian tradition is that—a tradition. At its best, it is a history of individuals and communities attempting to carry on the tradition of Jesus. It’s like a story we retell, but not simply with words but with what we prioritize and value, how we spend our time, the things we do.

And despite the value of spontaneity, creativity, fresh expression, individuality, and attempts at cultural relevancy, there’s a significance to simply doing what’s been done before: looking to “saints” who’ve best embodied what our tradition values, singing songs we know, practicing ancient disciplines, etc.

Perhaps some traditions need to be abandoned over time, either because they’ve lost their usefulness (e.g., a particular way that tithes/offerings are taken on Sunday) or because our understanding has evolved (e.g., women’s capacity for Christian leadership). But other traditions continue to endure, perhaps for their ability to comfort, center, connect, unite, or connect us with the mystery and sublimity of life, with God. They are profound, and also, maybe more simply, are just plain fun.

For Joann and I, depending on your reckoning, this is either our tenth, fourth, third, or second Christmas. She was my “backup date” (I humbly accept your "boo's" here) to a dorm event at George Fox our freshman year, joining me at Zoolights in Portland after my original date bailed (neither of us can still remember who that was…if you’re out there, confess). That event, ten years ago, was in a way our first Christmas together.

Fast forward eight years to 2009 when my then-girlfriend Joann flew to China to spend 2 ½ weeks with me during the Christmas season. Some things were different then—we didn’t share a bed, for one. And I sense some discontinuity between Christmas in a foreign country with my girlfriend and Christmas in the US with my wife. But we did have a small albeit fake tree; we did exchange gifts, and we did watch Charlie Brown and LOTR.

Creating new traditions with Joann has been fun, and I think this year, our second married Christmas together, I’ve begun to sense how tradition is slowly replacing (though not wholly eradicating) novelty—a change I enthusiastically welcome.

I once again, mid-November, permitting the unrestrained playing of Christmas music in the house...a monumental event, mind you. We again went to a Christmas tree farm and thoughtfully chose our Christmas tree, Joann being much more strategic and thoughtful than I (me: "How's this one, it's fine right, good, let's go.") We’ve been surprising each other with holiday Starbucks drinks. Joann again did most of the tree decorating while I only marginally helped, because everybody wins that way.

Like last year, we’ll be spending a couple days around Christmas at the Oregon coast, sandwiched by stays with our respective families. We again found “Candy Cane” tea, a seasonal drink we’ve missed all year, and purchased an ample amount. We again visited the tree lighting ceremony last Friday in Portland, which was fortunately not interrupted this year by a terrorist plot (read “The Few Who Give the Many a Bad Name”). We’ve even added our newest, yearly ornament (obtained in Disneyland this past September) to our tree, adopting the tradition of both our families.

It is a wonderful and unique place I’m at as a still-relatively-newlywed, where I still value and relive my family- and self-created traditions but am also in the process of forming new ones with Joann.

But I do hope that I keep these and any traditions in perspective; I’m not sure I view traditions as ends as much as means. There is comfort in rehearsing again a cherished tradition, like the comfort of crashing onto your favorite chair or couch spot after an exhausting day at work, or the comfort of indulging in a dinner in which cheese is the prominently featured source of nutrition.

Some traditions unite us and focus us, reminding us of our connection to narratives greater than our individual lives: the narrative of our family, our community, our religious tradition, or of the history of humankind. But some traditions inevitably die or must necessarily die, either because they’re no longer helpful or because in the interest of loving our partners or communities, we must sacrifice what we’ve held dear for the sake of something new that will bring life and joy and direction to others. Traditions are not the goal, but they can lead us there, I’d say.

Must return now to the fragrant bliss of needle-picking; maybe I’ll count this as my workout for the day.

Embodiment

2011-11-22T21:03:00.000-08:00

One of the vocabulary words that came up in my English class today was “embody” or “embodiment.” Embodiment, as my fellow native English speakers know, involves making tangible and visible something that is invisible, something which perhaps exists only in the realm of ideas. When something is embodied, it is given a “body”—something which can be touched and seen.

I put a couple students on the spot. I suggested that (student) was a very sweet girl, and gathered support on this point from other students. I told them that if one wanted a concrete picture of what “sweetness” meant, they should simply look at (student). “She is the embodiment of sweetness,” I suggested.

I also suggested that (other student) was a person filled with love—admitting to his classmates in jest that I could be wrong but to just go with it and give him the benefit of the doubt. J “Let’s say (other student) is kind, compassionate, thoughtful, generous, self-sacrificing; if we really wanted to praise him, we might say he is the embodiment of love.” I told them that to understand what love looks like, we should look no further than (other student) for a glimpse of such love.

Now I was being a little overdramatic to make a point. But the concept I was driving at while glorifying two of my students is actually a key concept and reality of my religious faith and thus a very natural thing for me to talk about.

First, I understand Christ to be an embodiment. Jesus is for me the clearest picture of Love that human history has known. I know many of my non-Christian but spiritual and/or religious brothers and sisters would probably not agree with me. But essential to my choice to be a Christian—other than that it’s all I’ve ever known, thanks to my mother raising me in the church and to a religious experience that just sort of “stuck” and has always made sense as the most meaningful way to orient my life—is the fact that when I look at Jesus I see the embodiment of Love.

Love takes on human form, and is made relatable, clear, tangible, and even to an extent imitable in the person of Jesus. If you want to know what real love looks like, from a Christian perspective, you look at the Jesus narrative—birth, life, death, and resurrection, as well as all of his words, inclinations, actions, and promises.

I also think of Jesus as the embodiment of God. Jesus made and makes clearer than any other source what God is really like. I read the Old Testament and can’t help but think that there were some major misconceptions about God. I know many don’t resolve the tension of Old and New Testaments in this manner, preferring to let the Old Testament God be a sort of "God of Wrath" as a way of keeping a sort of "ying and yang" feel to the holistic, Biblical view of God (we’re more Taoist than we realized!).

But I tend to assume, without intending to take anything way from the sacredness of the Old Testament witness to God's relationship with the people of Israel, a bit of human error in their understanding of God, especially considering how violent God seems to be portrayed at times. I’m intrigued with the God of “process theology” (based on Whitehead’s philosophy), a God who changes over time; but I’m not sure God dramatically changed from violent to peace-loving in the span of a few hundred years.

I think perhaps Jesus was a way of God shouting more clearly than ever: “I am first and foremost love, a love that is peaceful and gracious! This is the real me!” Jesus embodies God.

I also think of Jesus as an embodiment of the Kingdom of God. Jesus shared through teaching and demonstration a vision of a world marked by peace, harmony, love, unity, and inclusion, among other things…which has been called "heaven" by some, the "new, coming, future creation" by others, and the “Kingdom” or “reign” of God by still others. It’s something invisible—at least at this point in the human story—that God, through Jesus, made visible.

There are two final, less Jesus-centric ways I think of embodiment in connection with religion—both connected to the ways people embody the person of God, Love, and the Kingdom of God. It seems like “embodiment” is more often used with the most ultimate, supreme, most accurate demonstrations of ideas. McDonald’s is the embodiment of fast-food culture, we might say, more than “Ned’s Burgers” down the street from our house. Ned’s just doesn’t capture the fullness of the concept like McDonald’s does.

Nonetheless, I tend to find embodiment of “the way of God” everywhere around me, even if it's not embodied to the extent it is in Jesus. The more I discover the richness of the spiritual practices and the devoutness of the saints of other religious faiths, the more evident to me that the Christ I’ve come to follow is somehow present in these faiths, even if he is not named as such.

When I think of a devout Hindu’s deep sense of tolerance for all living things or sense of selfless service to all, I see the embodiment of the way of God. When I think of a godly Muslim’s sense of submission to God’s will or sense of humility, I see the way of God. When I think of a serious Buddhist’s mindfulness and attentiveness or desire for right speech, right action, right effort, and so on, I see the way of God. When I see an atheist spill herself for the hungry, poor, or dejected because she instinctively knows this is right and good, I see the way of God.

I also—and here’s the hardest for me to express and not feel a bit sheepish and misguided—look at myself and fellow Christians and see, in theory at least, the embodiment of the way of God. At least that’s how I understand our call, our purpose.

I believe Christ, in recruiting men and women to follow him, was setting up a community that would embody the way of God, would make tangible and visible to people the character of God. Ideally, one should be able to look at the Church and say “wow—what a spectacular glimpse of Love, of God (or however they might name it).”

I feel a bit uncomfortable putting it that way. I worry those who aren't Christians will accuse such claims as self-aggrandizing, insane, or maybe just insensitive. On the other hand, I worry some Christians will accuse such claims as an overestimation of our capabilities and a dismissal of God’s grace to our wretched selves, no matter how much we credit the Spirit of God for helping us more fully embody this “way of God.”

But, despite the inherent challenges in such a view of our Christian identity, I believe it to be true. I want the way of God to be made visible, tangible—embodied—through the way we live, the way we love. Any lesser goal feels a bit like what Bonhoeffer called "cheap grace."

I also believe that I’m ready for dessert. I’m going to go grab some of my wife’s chocolate chip cookies, and then go hug her. Both—the sweets and the sweetheart—are the embodiment of wonderfulness. J

A Response to a Response to "Embodiment"

2011-11-22T21:01:00.000-08:00

Note: I would have just posted this in the comment section of the above post, but my response wouldn't fit, as anyone who reads on shall soon see. J Here's a link to the original post, with comments: "Embodiment."

Here's my response to an anonymous commenter, whose invitation to dialogue I accepted with some reservation (his/her comments in bold):

To "Scared of Ducks"...I guess, anonymous ye shall remain. J As you probably know, if you’ve been reading my blog for some time, you and I fundamentally disagree about a number of matters. Your opinion is not unique; if I understand your meaning right, your perspective generally aligns with much of conservative evangelicalism, one way of “being Christian.” Though many such Christians might disagree with your conclusions and methods, you for the most part don’t stand alone. J

Because I don’t know you, I don’t know if you are open and searching, or generally settled on what you believe. But if I may push back on a few things you said...

Your open-mindedness is to be commended, for it most certainly comes from a heart that seeks to accept people. And while I agree with your eventual motive, I can’t seem to rectify the fact that God is present in many different faiths. Jesus said in John 14:6, “I am The Way, The Truth, and The Life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.” For me, it seems to stress that Jesus, God, or Christianity is the only way that one can get into Heaven.

When you suggest that God is not present in non-Christian faiths, I hope you recognize that you are going against a long tradition of Christians who acknowledge God’s activity in other religions, such as missionaries who “found God” when they assumed they were bringing God to the “receiving culture.”

Your exclusivism, not surprisingly, makes me uncomfortable. It’s one thing to say people are wrong about God; I’ve been wrong about God. I used to think God made women for my benefit; now I’m absolutely sure that’s not God’s intention. It’s one thing to be particular about Christ as the one who saves; it’s another to discredit the religious experience of millions and say they are not in fact worshipping or being changed by the One, the Creator God, but by figments of their imagination. It just seems irresponsible to say that.

Regarding John 14:6. Forgive me for putting words in your mouth, but, to me, your interpretation suggests you understand the human predicament as being this: all humans are destined toward eternal hell because we are deserving of it for how horrible we are; by consciously articulating the reality that Jesus satisfied God’s need to punish someone for our wrongdoing, we avoid this awful fate. Should one fail to “get it” and say "yes, that's how it is" in this lifetime, one is eternally “screwed.” Because this is your perspective it forms a starting point for how you interpret passages, and thus you assume that John’s version of Jesus’ lengthy sermon suggests that one needs to be aware of Jesus’ significance (aka, confess him as Lord, accept him into your heart) to “go to heaven when you die.”

Ok, but do you know that there are other ways to understand this passage? Here’s a sampling:

1) Jesus is a responding to a specific question, as Thomas densely (in my opinion) asks Jesus about the way to what appears to be God’s future Kingdom, the new creation (not necessarily “heaven” as a place where souls go the minute one dies), to which Jesus essentially responds: “Thomas! It’s me! Look at me! I’m the way!” Jesus is not necessarily making universal pronouncements so that people in the year 2011 will have “a Bible” of theological lessons. He was answering a question, one which he might have answered differently in a different context.

2) In light of Jesus’ preaching on judgment and end times, and the possibility that everyone will one day recognize Jesus as Lord (Phil 2:10-12), I suspect that if one is to really “get” who God is, one will have to admit, even if they were wrong in this life, that Jesus is Lord. Jesus is thus the way to the Father. Some theologians give space for the possibility that this recognition could take place postmortem.

3) Christ, John’s preexistent “logos,” is present in all people, and his way is especially noticeable where the kind of character and actions evident in Jesus are demonstrated. So people who don’t know who Jesus is or have rejected the “Jesus” of preachers and missionaries are actually connected to this Christ. This one especially doesn’t jive with your theology as I understand it, as Jesus acts as more of a ticket to be punched than a means of more fully being united with God right now in this life, not just in the next…am I right?

This brings me to my next topic. God is love, yes, it is also said in the Bible that if one does not know love, they do not know God, because He is love. But I also find that He is so much more than that. He is just, He is grace, and He is holy. Love and justice are not mutually exclusive- as we have experienced from our parents.

God is more than love: I agree. God is both just and loving; I'm fine with that. I’m not sure what you’ve heard me saying here and in other posts about what justice is—you seem to understand God’s justice as punishment for ignorance about God; you might call it punishment for sin or rebellion or whatever, but I don’t think that’s really what you mean.

You would probably say that I’m “going to heaven” because I know Jesus, no matter how wretched of a person I am, whereas Ghandi (or pick your non-Christian saint) is not going to heaven because he wasn’t a Christian. So Ghandi will be punished for not realizing he should have spent more time reading a Bible than fighting injustice. Maybe you wouldn’t say this, but your words, as best as I understand them, point that direction.

Also, what kind of justice did you experience from your parents? My parents were just and used punishment as a means to help me grow, fix me, help me mature; it served a greater, constructive end, not to give me unrelenting consequences for being bad. That kind of restorative justice doesn’t sound like your version of justice.

And in His inherent justness, I can’t believe that He would put everyone in heaven.

So, first I think you should consider other ways of thinking about life in God’s Kingdom and the new creation (or heaven) than a place you "get put.” I might be nitpicking your language choice, but language reveals a lot about our assumptions. First, a thought experiment: what if God did “put” all in heaven? If you get to heaven and realize everyone is in heaven, would that annoy you? Would you think, “wow, I’m not so sure about this God…this doesn’t seem fair!” And why would that feel unfair or unjust, if it did? An innate sense of how justice works? Maybe a sense of entitlement?

If He was to send everyone to heaven, whether they had accepted His Sacrifice or not, that would be unjust and contradictory to the entire reason why Jesus was on the cross. Jesus died to set us free from sin, so that God, in His holiness, could stand to be with us. Because He is so holy, His very nature repulses Him from anything evil. With the Lamb’s death, all wrong-doing ever done and that would ever be done was wiped out—no other method would have accomplished this.

“All wrong-doing was wiped out?” Okay, fine, but what does that even mean to you in light of your whole argument? I think what you actually mean is not “with the Lamb’s death” but with your personal acknowledgement of that death, exclusively your sin is overlooked as an obstacle to heaven. Right? You're using a lot of Christian language that I too heard growing up, but in what seems a slightly inconsistent manner. There’s room for paradox and contradiction in the life of faith—there’s plenty of that in Scripture—but I wonder if you've considered all the implications of what you're saying here.

“…contradictory to the entire reason Jesus was on the cross?” Really? Is this the only conclusion to be reached? Maybe coercion is not consistent with God, forcing people to do what they don’t want (though maybe coercion is an act of mercy?); but a Muslim woman who has been faithful with what has been revealed to her, who at the day of judgment sees God and—like the experience many Christians may have, perhaps—has her illusions and misunderstandings about God removed, as the scales fall from her eyes and she experiences the love and greatness of the God she’d experienced all her life, but in a richer and more profound way because now she sees “in full” and no longer “in part” which includes seeing Jesus…would this scenario contradict the reason Jesus was on the cross?

I think Jesus was on the cross partly because powerful people hated him and wanted him dead, but also as a means of reconciling the world to God, as a demonstration of the relentless love of God for people who may want nothing to do with God, as a sign that the way of peace trumps the way of violence, and as a mysterious cosmic defeat of death as the final victor. I also think the cross is incomplete without a focus on the birth, life, and resurrection.

Also, I think I understand the traditional line of argument about God’s holiness and its incompatibility with evil…but…it this really a helpful way to think about God? To me, God, in Jesus and his engagement with “sinners,” was saying that he can stand to be with the worst of people, that he is not repulsed by things that are evil. I don’t think God is repulsed by me, though I’m pretty evil at times; nor do I think Jesus was repulsed by the prostitutes he spent time with. Maybe I’m coming at this from a more pragmatic than philosophical angle like you, but I hope you aren't telling people who aren’t Christian that God is repulsed by them and can’t stand to be with them until they change their minds about God.

It would also be unjust in that those who hadn’t accepted His gift might not have wanted to be with Him, and it would be torture to be in His presence for eternity. Additionally, it would also be unjust if He sent everyone to hell, especially after Jesus died for everyone. So there has to be some sort of middle ground- and that would be acceptance of His Sacrifice.

I don’t really follow you here, I’ll admit…maybe I’m tired and need more coffee. J I get “The Great Divorce” idea of heaven being unpleasant for some…but I don’t really know why your logical conclusion is that a “middle ground” of “acceptance” must be reached.

I do agree that the Church should be the embodiment of love—like Christian couples, or any other Christian. So that when others look at us, they think, “Wow, they seem to me what Jesus might have been like.” But I think that there is a way to be loving, without making excuses and embodying the culture as well.

I’m not sure what you’re getting at. Does “making excuses” and “embodying the culture” mean being less exclusive about where God can be found, or about how exclusive salvation is? I’ve reread your sentence a few times and can’t figure it out…sorry…unless you’re just expressing angst over Christians who are afraid to stand up and say that God hates sin. In which, case, yes, I agree! But let’s call out sins like greed and exclusion and hatred and fear of “the other” as well as the sin of “ignorance about Jesus' significance.”

Also, I believe that our purpose is more than to just embody Christ—as He says in 1 Corinthians 4:16—it’s also to glorify Him through anything and everything we do.

I agree…and our purpose is more than Corinthians 4:16 too…we’ve got lots of ways (and verses) to express our purpose, which is great as articulating our purpose in different ways helps different people think creatively and practically about how to love God or be faithful to God or however you want to put it. I assume 1 Corinthians 4:16 is a helpful verse for you…and good! It’s a great verse and applicable to many aspects of life.

Just my thoughts. :)

Feel free to respond or not respond. I have a feeling some of what I’ve said may sound odd, because I think we’re just coming at things from two very different angles. And sometimes I'm not as clear as I could be. :)

Also, here is some Scripture that might be helpful in thinking further about some of the concerns you’ve raised. Of course, don’t consider them as “nuggets” to be understood on their own…read them in the whole scope of the Scriptural witness: Matthew 25:31-46; John 1:9, 12:31-32; Acts 10:1-25; Phil 2:10-12; 2 Cor 5:19; 2 Peter 3:7-9

And pay attention to experience. I read Scripture, which helps me understand my world, my experience. I also “read” experience, which helps me understand Scripture. It’s a dialectical relationship, a two-way street, two books that inform one another. Biology, psychology, sociology, literary criticism, and conversations with real people—these are not things to be feared but embraced as ways God reveals Truth. They can be used when reading Scripture and don't need to be seen as enemies.

Hope this helps…I write not “to win” but to encourage creative thinking about theology and the search for Truth. Sometimes such a search can be painful; my choice of quote under the heading of my blog (Volf) is intentional.

What's the Goal? Um, uh, well, I, um...

2011-11-15T15:00:00.000-08:00

Working with non-native English speakers has many perks, one of which is being in a quotable misspeak factory. You can't blame students for slips; that’s part of the learning process. I emphasize to students that, in the interest of language learning, it’s more important to be outspoken and make mistakes than to remain silent.

My recent favorite was actually a written comment from a student, expressing his gratitude to me: “You are the kind of person who I would love to do.” The mistake is of course one of do versus be; he wasn’t actually coming on to me, but trying to show his admiration for my character, lifestyle, job, and family, which I gathered. It was very sweet. But now his comment is forever etched in my mind, both for its sincerity and its comedy.

But not all resonating comments are light. I recently was approached after one of my lower-level classes by a student who didn’t seem all that engaged in the lesson that day. With limited English, he asked me, “what was the goal?” He went on to express confusion about the purpose of the lesson, what objectives I had in designing it the way I did. He felt like he just spent over an hour doing an activity for which there was no discernable goal, and was clearly disappointed (though kind about it).

Now, to be fair, one can’t always please every student. Some students are more vocal about their displeasure than others. And not all students appreciate the same kinds of activities, emphases, lessons, etc. But students rarely challenge me in this way. My first response was to explain what value the lesson possessed, the ways I observed learning happening in the classroom, what my method for teaching was.

But—he was absolutely right. He caught me. I had no real thought-out goal. Typically my lessons involve one or several goals, helpful in ensuring that students are getting the most out of the lesson. Sometimes my goals are less structured and more general, such as in a more organic lesson where I spend more time responding to student questions and curiosities that arise from the topic than presenting detailed requirements or expectations.

But I believe even in these more fluid classes that at least knowing why I’m doing what I’m doing is important. But I failed that day, and he rightly called me on it. I felt the defensiveness stir in me, which I may have successfully hidden from him (though language learners can be pretty intuitive and can often see through my words). In the end, I felt at peace with my response to him. But the fact that the question lingered in my mind the rest of the day and week tells me that both the shock and sincerity of the challenge as well as the truth of his words carried some weight.

This student was sensitive to the necessity of goal-setting. And I am too, I think, generally. This particular lesson was prepared fairly haphazardly. Learning did take place, I’m sure. But that’s not the point. Even if I was successful in some ways, I failed to embody an important personal value—knowing my goal, my telos, my purpose, my end—in a very particular situation. This is of course a key element in virtue ethics, on which I’ve shared a bit in recent posts: possessing a clear vision of where one is headed or what one is aiming for that gives direction to how one should live and be and function now.

My mind goes to the Church as well, notably how our Christian goal is understood—by Christians and non-Christians alike. Part of our denominational plurality—as well as diversity in worship style, doctrine, ministries of the church, and “feel” or “culture” of various churches that aren’t necessarily linked to denominational differences—arguably means a plurality of goals as well.

That is, if I asked several Christians what the goal of the Church is, as well as their personal Christian goal, I’m sure that despite some overlap there would be differences in the way these corporate and individual goals are expressed. Some would probably give a concise phrase that they feel warrants no further explanation. Others might give me a multifaceted verbal outline.

Some would state their goal, but acknowledge that this is just one way of saying it; others might recite a Bible verse with confidence that there’s no better way to think about the matter. Still others might dismiss this “goal talk” altogether, feeling it sounds too business-minded, too restrictive, too focused on bottom lines, too "purpose-driven."

I guess I’m curious to hear from anyone stopping by: what do you think about the Church’s goal, or goals? What one central aim, or set of priorities, should direct how we speak, act, prioritize, or determine our values? Or, what ultimate goal should or does compel a Christian to act “Christianly?”

For Christians, how do you articulate the Church’s goal? I guess that could be answered regarding “little c” church (e.g., the church located at 2^nd and Main) or “big C” (all who identify as Christians). What is your goal as a Christian? Does having a goal help you? Does it shape you? Is your goal kind of vague and general, or more clear and specific? Is the language of “goals” even helpful for you in living your Christian life, or unnecessary?

For those who aren’t Christian, what do you think the Church’s goal is? What do Christians seem to say their goal is? What appears to be their goal in practice, as in, what can be inferred about the goal of Christians based on what you see them doing and hear them saying? Do you admire the goals of the Christian Church? Do they bother you? Would you consider becoming a Christian if their goal (or goals) was different?

Thoughts welcome…

Being Good Can Be Fun (or, Virtue Project Update #1)

2011-11-01T15:15:00.000-07:00

I recently shared my desire to experiment with the virtues of the various world religions (Link: “A Bumbling Pursuit of Virtue”). I recommend reading that post before proceeding; I think what follows will then make more sense.

The short version of the above-linked post is this: it’s worth it as a Christian to try to be good. I’m not saying it’s easy. But I am disinterested in embracing as my own any religion which encourages purposeless obedience to rules as well as any religion which belittles and misconstrues any effort to “be good" as an attempt to “win salvation.” I think both these notions miss the point of what God is trying to do within the human community and the story God is trying to tell.

I’m also interested in acknowledging the virtues of other traditions, which I believe can be helpful in my own personal goal of becoming who I could be and living the full, abundant life which John identified as central to Jesus’ mission (John 10:10). My motivation in this interfaith approach is partially formational; I need all the help I can get! Part of it is reconciliatory; I try not to polarize faith traditions, preferring to recognizing our commonalities and identifying where God’s Spirit is at work in all traditions, whatever they might call (or not call) that Spirit.

Here’s a sample from recent weeks of some of the virtues I’ve been attempting to live out each day, through simple choices and constant awareness of that day’s particular goal or virtue. I acknowledge and name the faith/ethical tradition partly because where virtues are shared they are usually nuanced by differing traditions, and partly to emphasize the shared human struggle for wholeness, for goodness, for God.

10/12: Temperance (Classical). It’s difficult at times to take criticism without defense or to bite my tongue when I want to show someone why they’re wrong. But restraint, like giving in, can be rewarding.

10/13: Altruism (Hinduism). I’m noticing how much routine can blind me to the needs of others, who often seem like obstacles rather than people to serve.

10/14: Sacrifice (Islam). If everyone is scratching each other's backs, then no one's back itches. But it's much harder to scratch without guarantee of reciprocity. I like to think that in Heaven our itches don't last all that long.

10/15: Mindfulness (Buddhism). I “see” much more when I stroll than when I scurry.

10/16: Joy (Christian). I don’t remember what happened that day, but I’m sure I smiled a lot.

10/17: Peace (Hinduism). I like the Hindu focus on peace as something not just sought for your own sake but to be cultivated for the benefit of those around you. A violent, restless spirit can do a lot of harm to others.

10/18: Justice (Classical). Didn’t punish any killers that day. But I did seek to be equitable in my classes, including all and favoring none.

10/19: Submission to God (Islam). My desire to control my life—which brings much anxiety—was challenged that day.

10/20: Right Effort (Buddhism). No half-assing anything this day; I tried to seek quality in my work performance.

10/21: Honesty (Hinduism). Honesty with others comes a little too naturally for me at times; honesty with myself is another matter.

10/22: Peace (Christian). Christian peace is multifaceted; I believe I primarily considered my relationships on this day. Unfortunately, some kinds of peace can’t be attained by one person alone. My un-reconciled relationships haunt me.

10/23: Humility (Islam). There’s a time for self-confidence, but also a time for self-forgetfulness.

10/24: Sense of Shame/conscious of actions (Taoism). A bit objectionable to the Western mind perhaps, and a bit overly emphasized in the East, in my opinion and experience. But there’s something to be said for owning up to your mistakes and feeling great sorrow for them.

10/25: Hope (Christian). It’s hope, in ways, that motivates this whole pursuit; I have hope that my efforts have eternal importance and are pleasing to God.

10/26: Right Speech (Buddhism). I sought that day to speak highly of others and criticize no one. Criticism, especially in a group, can be alluring.

10/27: Courage (Classical). I don’t know how well I did on this one. I did dance with a Saudi young man in front of everyone at the school Halloween party, play "air bass" as part of a rap ensemble for my recently-resigned boss, and give a slightly-influenced-by-wine, brief speech to my fellow teachers at our boss’s going-away party about how much I enjoy being with them. But I think I would have done these things anyway, regardless of the attempted practice of “courage.”

10/28: Universality/Tolerance (Hinduism). I find that trying to respect and tolerate those who don’t initially seem like they deserve it can lead one to see a truer version of the person behind the unpleasantness.

10/29: Faithfulness (Christian). I had a good, prayerful walk this evening in contemplation of my goals and priorities in this season of life and the importance of fidelity to such goals.

10/30: Oops. Forgot to pick a virtue this day. So much for faithfulness. How ironic.

10/31: Compassion (Christian). So important as a teacher, I find. Students will inevitably thwart my attempts to facilitate learning from time to time, maybe by lack of study, lack of trying, laziness, interrupting each other or myself, or some other reason. But often there's more going on than is obvious; a sense of compassion is a handy tool in the teacher tool belt.

11/1: Right livelihood (Buddhism). While I didn’t really consider the harmful consequences of my vocation or country on others (perhaps the full application of this virtue), I have been seeking a sensitivity and attentiveness today that might diminish the amount of harm I do in anyone’s life.

In the spirit of today: I hope this post did no harm but only helped. J

Leave These Poor Sick Monkeys Alone

2011-10-28T15:44:00.000-07:00

“Is good news bad news?” My English students recently debated this question, some arguing that the only interesting (and lucrative) news was that which tended toward the tragic and shocking, with others making a case for the value of more positive, uplifting, hopeful news.

But it sure does seem like there’s an overwhelming amount of bad news, doesn’t it? From the bullying of gay teens, to corruption and scandal, to oppressive regimes and violent death, to job loss, the bad news just keeps coming.

And, sometimes I don’t want to be hopeful, optimistic, or eager to emphasize what beautiful, creative, good, compassionate things are being done by people and communities everywhere. Sometimes, I just want to lament. Sometimes I need to lament. The Psalms of the Old Testament contain much celebration but also many cries of mourning, angst, and confusion.

When I want to mourn the the seemingly sorrowful state of the world, I often turn to one of my favorite modern day songs of lament. Here’s a link to the video: "Think About it"; I encourage all to watch. The lyrics are below. Come and mourn with me awhile.

---

There's children on the streets using guns and knives
They're taking drugs and each other's lives
Killing each other with knives and forks
And calling each other names like dork

There's people on the street
Getting diseases from monkeys
Yeah that's what I said
They're getting diseases from monkeys

Now there's junkies with monkey disease
Who's touching these monkeys?
Please leave these poor sick monkeys alone
They've got problems enough as it is

A man is lying on the street
Some punk's chopped off his head
I'm the only one who stops to see if he's dead…
…Turns out he's dead

And that's why I'm singing
What, what is wrong with the world today?
What's wrong with the world today?
What, what is wrong with the world today?
You gotta think about it…think think about it

Good cops been framed and put into a can
All the money that we're making
It's going to the man

What man? Which man? Who’s the man?
When's a man a man? What makes a man a man?
Am I a man? Yes, technically I am

They're turning kids into slaves
Just to make cheaper sneakers
But what's the real cost?
'cause the sneakers don't seem that much cheaper

Why are we still paying so much for sneakers
When you got them made by little slaves kids?
What are your overheads?

At the end of your life you're lucky if you die
Sometimes I wonder why we would even try
I saw a man lying on the street half dead
With knives and forks sticking out of his leg

And he said "can somebody
Get the knife and fork out of my leg please?"
"Can somebody please remove
These cutleries from my knees?"

And then we break it down…

(Words and Music by Bret McKenzie and Jemaine Clement.)

Diversity Among Diversity

2011-10-25T16:30:00.000-07:00

I read an excellent article yesterday morning that others of you may also have seen. Here’s the link: “Battling for Gay Rights, In Allah’s Name.” You may gather from the title the thrust of the article, though it’s worth reading. Most illuminating were the strikingly similar challenges Islam faces regarding diversity of belief to those challenges within the Christian Church.

I found the advocacy for and inclusion of the LGBTQ community from a Muslim voice to be quite novel (perhaps it shouldn’t have been). Among Christians you’ll find many passionate about LGBTQ inclusion and affirmation, and many passionately opposed; there are others who aren’t really “passionate” either way but feel conflicted and perhaps “lean” to one side of the spectrum.

But I guess I’d never considered this similar range of opinion to exist within Islam, though I’m not entirely sure why. Perhaps the minority expressions in Islam—fundamentalist/extremist and progressive—are just outliers, much smaller than various minority opinions within the Christian Church.

Though at my English school, this range and diversity is visible in women's attire, from conservative to progressive: some women cover all but their eyes; some reveal their entire face; some women reveal their face and also wear form fitting clothes (as opposed to baggy robes); and I remember two women who very noticeably didn’t wear a head covering at all.

I do feel like anytime homosexuality has come up in my classes, most Muslims generally act extremely conservative in their response to the topic. But nonetheless, I probably should have realized that Islam, like Christianity, is diverse. I suppose this is a “sin” I often commit: I make assumptions about what I don’t know, or make generalizations based on my assumptions or on the actions of a few.

This happens to me sometimes within my own faith. People will assume, as a Christian, a similar level of interest in or excitement from me about something as their own. For example, I’ve had multiple people in the last year recommend Mark Driscoll’s (Mars Hill) church to me, because, well, I’m not totally sure why—young, “hip” people attend this church? He has a potty mouth? (Actually, I think the people who recommend him to me don’t know he has a potty mouth.) When this happens, I politely thank them for the suggestion.

I also found the reference to Muslim Scriptural interpretation in this article surprising because it’s markedly similar to the way Christians use Scripture to condemn homosexuality. They apparently, according to the article, use the same Sodom and Gommorah story that Christians use as a refutation of homosexual practice (among other verses, I’m sure). Also acknowledged in the article is a similar explanation from other scholars of that particular passage’s irrelevance to the matter of monogamous homosexual relationships.

Primarily, I appreciated the article for its reminder that, as in Christianity, not all Muslims are the same. Now I do assume (perhaps wrongly) there to be a much larger “norm” in Muslim belief and practice, as opposed to the multifariousness of the Christian faith seen in our seemingly endless denominations (and "non" denominations).

But is there such a thing as a "true" Islam, a way of being a Muslim that is most in line with true Islam? Is there such a thing as a "true" Christianity, in the same sense? It seems like there's too much diversity in our faith to conclude that any one denomination is the "truest." It seems as though we're stuck with plurality, even if we may hold convictions about what way of being, seeing, understanding, and acting is most correct or true.

I’d tentatively define true Christianity as religion in which Jesus is the centerpiece. Any more specific than that gets tricky. There are many Christians who probably wouldn’t ever talk about being “born again." Others would never speak of the “beauty of the liturgy.” Some are gay Christians; some believe "gay Christian" is an oxymoron. It seems like "true" Christianity must be defined broadly in a way that acknowledges its diversity, or else we have to admit we have no clue what constitutes "true" Christianity.

The article quotes several Islamic leaders who find being Muslim and gay inherently incompatible, while others like Zonneveld (focus of the article) are pushing for an alternative perspective that sees their coherence. As in Christianity, Islam seems to call for faith: making a choice about what to believe and how to live based on insufficient data or confirmation.

I’ll end with a couple standout quotes. First, an alternative (but more Scriptural) definition of “jihad,” from a song written by Zonneveld: “In the…song, she calls on the ‘Ummah’ — roughly ‘community’ in Arabic — to take up a jihad, which to her means an ‘internal struggle to be more godly, more merciful, more forgiving, more like God is.’”

Jihad means “struggle” or “striving,” despite its more negative connotations in the media with violent sects of Islam, and sounds a lot like the Christian pursuit of virtue, the fruits of the Spirit, or the way of Jesus.

And finally, also from Zonneveld: “Just because I’m critical of the Muslim community does not mean I’m interested in being anti-Islam.” It’s easy to be critical of the Christian Church; we all have our different ideas about what the Church should be doing more of or what constitutes right doctrine or what elements a Sunday worship gathering should include. But criticism motivated by love is different than that motivated by judgment, I think.

I respect Zonneveld for her commitment to Islam, when it seems like it would be very easy to just disassociate with her religion, and experience God outside of religious institutions. Her fidelity is an inspiration to me and reminds me of how important it is to—in contrast to the common refrain—not just be spiritual but religious too, participating in religious traditions that can shape our character and purpose.

I believe the Church to be, as I suspect Zonneveld believes Islam to be, at its best a gift to the world. I have no intention of abandoning it, no matter how much fodder for criticism it may yield, nor how much I disagree with some of my spiritual brothers and sisters on various matters.

Beauty and Fall

2011-10-19T19:18:00.001-07:00

When I could first sense the recent seasonal change, I was not initially acquiescent. The warm, outdoorsy life of summer passed too quickly. But now that I’ve embraced the season (and the fact that seasons aren’t all that concerned with my will), I’m enjoying the moment.

It might have been today in particular, as the cloudy sky and cool, crisp air made for a peaceful, sublime day. This perfect weather brings to mind a few of my favorite aspects of fall...

Pumpkin Wheat Ale. New discovery this fall. Thought it might be a good concept that didn’t work for me in practice (like Pumpkin Spice Lattes...maybe I just need to add another shot), but I love it.

World Series. I would care significantly more if my team was in it, but it’s still the last bit of baseball for several months.

Candy Pumpkins. No fat! But they are candy and feel slightly nutritionally naughty. Consequently, a ritual has developed in the Boswell household. Joann and I inform one another every time we eat a pumpkin, I guess partly as accountability, and partly because we like quirky rituals.

Fireplace use. Before work today I spent some time out in the small forest adjacent to our apartment complex, using my saw to cut up fallen limbs and trees (no living trees were harmed) into fireplace-sized logs. This process has a way of making me very aware, very mindful of nature, my needs, and of what I take for granted. Turning on the electric heat is effortless, costly, and abstract compared to entering nature, strenuously cutting and gathering wood, waiting days for the wood to dry, and lighting and tending a fire over the course of the evening. But I find the involved process rich, the natural warmth comforting, and the sweet, smoky smell fragrant. Totally worth it.

New episodes of favorite TV shows. Favorite standbys: Community, Parks and Rec, Modern Family, Office, Big Bang Theory. Favorite newbies: New Girl, Person of Interest. (Does this point seem odd, considering the previous?)

New students. Summer is a chaotic and exciting time at EF, with lots of student turnover due to shorter stays at the school. Many more of our current students will stay for much longer, which partly excites me for their sake; the community that develops among students during the regular school year is deeper with more time spent together, which is fun to watch. It’s also fun as a teacher to have more time with students, for the sake of classroom productivity and for relationships with students, in and out of class. (But I love and miss you, summer crowd!)

Fall scented candles! (said with Zoolander “Orange Mocha Frappuccinos!” enthusiasm). I’ve got “spiced pumpkin pie” burning next to me, with “cozy fire” and “warm cider” occupying two other rooms. SO good.

Colors. What a beautiful parallel the cycle of nature is to the human story, individual and collective. What a magnificent spectrum of color among the leaves—those fallen, falling, and still clinging to branches, not quite ready to accept that their time has come. It's a nice built-in reminder of several facets of the human experience: the inherent beauty of those on the backside of life; the beauty and rightness of death and the need to embrace and not fear or desperately try to avoid its inevitability; and the hope that our impending “sleep” is not the end but a predecessor to new life. The gift of fall is a gift not only of beauty but of hope.

Church (s)Hopping II: A Visit to a Non-denominational Church

2011-10-16T17:24:00.000-07:00

As mentioned in a recent post, I’m trying to make a stronger effort to find a church I can at least temporarily treat as something like a “home.” I also see this as a good opportunity to get a feel for what is happening in Olympia-area churches. Today I visited an evangelical, non-denominational church near our apartment.

My goal in these assessments is to avoid criticism as much as possible and focus instead on the strengths and positives. I admit subjectivity, knowing that my own journey influences how I reflect on my experience, what I “see” and experience in a given worship service. It would be easy to point out such things from this morning as (deleted, inconsistent with goal of post); but I’d rather celebrate than disparage.

To the bullets:

The service was entertaining. The Episcopal church experience (which I loved) was not entertaining; I don’t believe this was its goal, nor my expectation. This service was definitely a production. I haven’t really been to a service like this in a while, so I think I’d kind of forgotten what it was like. It may sound like an implicit critique, but I was truly entertained. And maybe there’s nothing inherently wrong with that. I go to the movies to be entertained; why can’t a gathering like this be similarly produced to captivate with sound and light, aimed to produce an emotional response from me, sitting in the pew? I enjoyed myself. If the church’s partial goal was to make Christianity seem exciting, then I imagine for many this “entertainment” factor is truly meeting a need.

I appreciated the outright “battle” visible among the church between worship styles. I only noticed this because I visited the website this morning. In what appears an obvious reply to the morning services, the evening service is billed as “more natural, raw, and organic” and that the music is “nothing you would hear in a typical, Top 40, Jesus-my-boyfriend church atmosphere.” That seems an obvious means of distancing itself from the morning crowd, and kind of a surprising statement to make on your own website. Still, I was more interested in the “uncool” morning service. At one point the worship leader, in his worship leader voice, said something like “we’re not a top 40, Jesus-my-boyfriend church here.” Fight! Fight!

The pastor took about ten minutes to interview two women involved in a non-profit that took the angle of “sustainable development,” helping people in Haiti and Liberia (among a couple other places I can’t remember) have both proper water and proper cooking equipment while also setting up local non-profits in these countries to continue the mission after they leave. It seemed like a very creative type of service/ministry, and I appreciated the way it was used in the service—seemingly to stimulate the imagination and inspire people to challenge themselves to find ways to help others. At least that’s the message I received; I don’t think one has to start a non-profit to do some good with what abilities and resources one has.
The highlight was probably when the worship band played “Gotta Serve Somebody” by Bob Dylan. It was meant to be a setup to the message. It was fabulous! The congregation sat and listened to the performance, complete with backup singers, very talented guitarist, and a tenor saxophone. People sort of clapped afterwards, I think a little unsure as to whether they were supposed to clap or say “amen.” I clapped.

Actually, I take it back. The real highlight may have been when a grandfather and granddaughter read the morning's scripture passage, which was from Matthew 24. It was hard to not laugh out loud when the gentleman, in a very warm, kind, grandfatherly voice, read “beating his servants,” followed by the girl in her sweet voice saying “cut him to pieces.” Oh Jesus, you and your confrontational, blunt language.
The pastor used an iPad for his Scripture and sermon notes. Steve Jobs' fingerprints can be seen not just in the wider culture but in the Church too. An iPad. I will probably get an iPad one day, but it will be when iPads are as relevant as audio cassettes and Tom Cruise are today. Which reminds me: While at the theater recently, a trailer was playing for some sort of action movie. For several moments, the plot wasn’t clear and the actors unrecognizable; then we saw a shot of Tom Cruise, saying something like “then I’ll have to catch him myself” or “looks like an…impossible mission!” The audience replied with a mix of laughter and groans, simply at the sight of Tom Cruise. I think we all forgot that Tom Cruise did movies.
This is more about me than the church, but...am I the only one who changes verb tenses of songs/hymns from time to time? I purposely changed an “am” to a “will be” at one point. Nobody looked at me funny; it was a large, loud congregation.

I appreciated the pastor's message. It may have, in brief moments, been (deleted, inconsistent with goal of post), but it had a centering effect for me, and I imagine it challenged and redirected and comforted many present. Also, the pastor had a mustache.

The church seems very good at what it does. Though, I really can’t see myself there. Other than when I want to listen to a little Sunday morning blues.

A Bumbling Pursuit of Virtue

2011-10-12T18:28:00.001-07:00

There are plenty of methods out there for those who want to better themselves. I’ve decided to tentatively pursue such betterment through engagement with the virtues. The reason? Simple: I desire to—as role-model-to-many Barney Stinson might say—be more awesome.

By this crude and facetious way of putting it—“awesome”—I mean a person of great character, the kind of person that strives to live something like the kind of life Jesus lived and called his hearers to seek.

By character, or virtue, I don’t mean someone who obeys rules well or is extremely religiously devout. I mean, rather, one who has learned, maybe through discipline, practice, and the aid and grace of God, how to live excellently. To do what is good and right, almost without thinking.

I want this because I believe it to be my responsibility as a Christian. I believe that if I’m going to identify as "Christian," I don’t want to do so simply based on past history and experience alone, nor on my doctrinal stances, nor on religious, church-y behavior.

For me, to be a Christ-follower means to have accepted Jesus’ invitation to—excuse the melodrama if you feel it in my word choice—join an adventure. I’ve long thought of the Christian life as adventure, fuelled by past encounters with the “epic life” portrayed in stories like LOTR or by authors like John Eldridge. (LOTR still inspires me today; Eldridge and his understanding of gender roles does not).

And I think adventure, then, meant something like “sucking the marrow” out of life, feeling my experiences deeply, refusing complacency, engaging with beauty, seeing the world, being caught up in something larger than myself, a sense of movement. It still does mean those things.

But while I think the virtuous life includes a certain attentiveness to and participation in this kind of rich, abundant, "epic" life, I think it also involves the painful work of making adjustments to my character, of being transformed. The adventure is also one of spiritual, character formation.

Does God love me as I am? I think yes. Does God want me to stay the way I am? I think no. I think there is a feeling of resistance among many of my fellow Christians toward anything that has hints of “effort” or “works.” And, frankly, I find it a bit tragic the way “grace” can be used as an excuse to do nothing, or at least very little, when grace (I believe) is meant to ignite a fire for holy and radical living in the lives of those who encounter it.

And by radical living, I don’t mean becoming “louder.” There’s a place for passionate expression of your belief, but that’s not my interest. I don’t want noisier faith, I want deeper faith, faith that trains me to become—with blood, sweat, and tears perhaps—a little more like Jesus.

This is my journey, my conviction. It’s not about earning salvation. If you know me, it’s definitely not about that, since I think “salvation” in the sense that we usually talk about it happened a long time ago, and extends far beyond the boundaries of the Church. But that’s another matter.

I believe I am free in part, but not in full. I’m bound to bad habits, bad inclinations, bad thought patterns, wrong understanding, poor motivations. These things limit my freedom. When I think of Jesus, I think of a free human being, one so right and good in thought and action that he was free to live excellently—to “be awesome.”

Aristotle saw “telos” as central to this conversation. How we understand our purpose, our end goal as humans, informs the kind of people we should be now. I think Jesus thought of it this way too, inviting people to demonstrate the future Kingdom of God now—to be “Kingdom people” whose lives anticipate what we hope and believe is our future destiny as God’s creation.

These are the philosophical and theological underpinnings of my desire to better myself. I think this is best done in community, be it face-to-face in a church or monastery or through “contact” with others throughout history or through the global community found online. And, of course, being a Trinitarian—with a little help from the Holy Spirit.

The great world religious have their own understandings and lists of virtues. Many of them overlap. As much as we at times want to polarize and differentiate, I think one finds a lot of similar goals and ideas of virtue among these various traditions. That’s not to say all religions are identical; but it is to say that they aren’t worlds apart.

As I told Joann last night, “a virtue a day keeps the devil away.”© J So I’m trying an experiment. My goal for the near future—which I may abandon if it becomes unhelpful or if I simply become lazy (I hope not)—is to pick one virtue a day. This could be virtue defined by Aristotle or Aquinas, or by Jesus or Paul, by Muslim, by Hindu, and Buddhists writers and leaders...whoever.

I hope to pay attention to when I’m tested. Hopefully, conscious of my “virtue-of-the-day,” I can make small choices to combat indulging in these vices and failing these tests. My hope is that such basic choices in various moments of testing will over time have an effect on my character, making such action more natural in the future and less of a choice.

I’m not advocating this as the best method, nor the only method. My approach may be nuanced in ways that differentiate it from other effective approaches, but it's nothing new to seek with discipline a more virtuous life.

Also, while I’m a Christian, I find in other faiths wonderful expressions of what it means to live life well, in a manner that can be illuminating as to how pursue and better live the kind of life I think my own faith demands of me.

But I also believe that the more we engage with other’s viewpoints, other faiths, the better off we’ll all be, and thus it’s worth the effort to understand how others are seeking holiness, betterment, or to more fully fulfill their purpose. (What strikes me as tragic is when any sense of overarching purpose is lost—all too common today in our world, I think.) Where others' pursuits intersect with or enhance my own, I’m eager to absorb their wisdom.

Today’s arbitrarily chosen virtue is temperance—or self-control, restraint, moderation. As I look back on the day, I’ve had some successes thanks to my intentionality, but also a few missteps; perhaps I will report more on this in the near future.

So I press on, “beating my body into submission,” as the Apostle Paul writes (1 Cor 9:27). I imagine, depending on the particular virtue and my quality of character (or lack thereof), some days will involve more self-flagellation than others. All part of the adventure, I suppose.

Occupy Sesame Street

2011-10-07T09:33:00.000-07:00

From an anonymous source:

Participants in the ever-spreading Occupy Wall Street movement have yet again expanded the reach of their protests. Following their most recent demonstrations in Portland, OR, protestors have taken their movement to another famed street: Sesame Street.

Home to such beloved characters as Big Bird, Oscar the Grouch, and, unfortunately, Elmo, the renowned street was flooded yesterday with a slew of child demonstrators.

But in contrast to their adult counterparts, children were not directly critiquing the greed of Wall Street. Their concern is not the withholding of wealth from the majority of the nation, but with a crisis much more immediate to their situation: the withholding of dessert.

“My parents continue to refuse me dessert, just because I don’t finish my greens…I’m sick of it!” remarked an angry nine-year-old. “What right do they have to dictate my eating habits?” When asked the meaning of “dictate,” the child shrugged his shoulders.

Children marched down Sesame Street, expressing their frustration in relatively non-violent ways, save the occasional pinching of a Muppet’s nose.

“Too long have we been oppressed by parents interested in our ‘health’ as they say,” asserted a three-year-old girl, before quipping sarcastically, “‘yes, mom, that makes a lot of sense…I should definitely finish my pepperoni pizza…what good habits you’re teaching me, to eat more than I’d like of such healthy main courses. Gosh, mommy, I can’t figure out why the obesity rate in this country continues to rise.’ I mean, come on!”

Cookie Monster witnessed the procession. When asked for comment, Cookie Monster characteristically shouted: “COOKIES!!!”

His retort captured the sentiment of many participants, who, like Cookie Monster, want to believe in a world where anything really is possible—not merely the reality of a just economy that gives hope for every individual to pursue his or her dreams—but of a world where if one wants a cookie, one may have it, without all the preliminary hoops to jump through.

“I remember one time that I wept and wept because my parents didn’t let me have dessert,” an eight-year old girl somberly recalled. “They sat in the other room, feasting on strawberry shortcake, laughing, talking about the great taste, all while I sat in my room alone, sent there dessert-less because I wouldn’t eat my damn lima beans. They could have at least been quiet about it; they didn’t have to gloat.”

A five-year old boy, when asked what oppressive actions by his parents drove him to join the protests, remarked: “Oh, nothing really. When I want something I just throw a fit and usually get what I want. My parents are pretty accommodating. I’m just here because I heard there was free tiramisu.”

Free tiramisu. And with all the free dessert at the OSS rally, there is sure to be a significant amount of waste covering the streets. One local excited about this? Oscar the Grouch.

“Oh I don’t mind the kids,” Oscar told us. “They have a right to express themselves. I don’t care much for dessert myself, but I do love leftovers! And by leftovers, I do of course mean: TEEERRRAAASSSHHH!!!”

Elmo was also asked to comment on the protests, but rambled incoherently for about two minutes, the only intelligible words being “parfait” and, of course, “Elmo.”

Dr. Ping, professor of sociology at Boston College, was present, eager to observe the phenomenon of an organized child protest. When asked to what extent the demonstrations would impact parents’ attitudes toward dessert, Ping chuckled. “Um, not at all. This whole ordeal is a joke. I’m not sure why I came. I’m actually extremely confused.”

A joke to some, perhaps. But to children eager to make a statement, the protest was anything but funny. A child summed it up: “Parents, if you’re listening, we’re not going to take it anymore. We’ll get our dessert, and we’re not going to eat kale or asparagus to get it.”

But while their mission is very serious, they are children, and know how to laugh and have fun. “Cake and ice cream, get your cake and ice cream!” shouted Ernie at one point. “But only if you’ve eaten your dinner,” he said, deadpan. After a moment of silence, the entire street erupted in laughter. The children have gained a sense of purpose, without losing their sense of humor.

(Source: Me and my imagination, killing time between classes yesterday afternoon.)

Church (s)Hopping: A Visit to an Episcopal Church

2011-10-02T17:06:00.000-07:00

We’ve been in a season for several months now where we haven’t been connected with a particular church. We’ve occasionally attended churches in the area and have often returned to “home” churches in Portland and in Woodland for visits.

But since our church planting endeavors fell through last Fall, it’s been hard to find the motivation to find a new church to call home. I think the reasons are many.

Part of it is a tinge of disillusionment. Part of it is laziness. Part of it is what feels like the difficulty of breaking in to a church, assessing whether it’s a place we’d want to call home in a single visit. Part of it is my (our) being guilty of the vice of cynicism.

Part of it is uncertainty about where I “fit” denominationally and what elements of a church are essentials and what are secondary, non-essentials. Part of it is uncertainty about how long our Olympia season of life will last. Part of it is a lack of urgency, feeling like I’m living a rich life of faith without being connected to a church family, even if I don’t believe this is the healthiest long-term solution for a Christian.

This is just where we’ve been at, the season we're in. However, I’m hoping to do a bit of hopping around in the coming weeks, feeling like I might be ready to put more effort into finding at least a temporary home.

I here share only the positives. While I value criticism, I also know the allure and addictive nature of it. It can be energizing to critique those things I find imperfect and lacking, sometimes leading to deeper insight and right action but at other times simply leading to indulgence, pride, cynicism and negativity.

So...some bright moments from my visit to an Episcopal Church this morning:

There were dogs in church. Apparently, today is a day for honoring St. Francis of Assisi, partly known for his friendships with animals. Church members had been invited to bring pets into the sanctuary for the entire worship service, to receive a special “pet blessing” immediately after the service. I only saw dogs, and what I think might have been a pet spider. Awesome.
Loosely related, I appreciate the church’s posture toward children in the service. They seem to really emphasize that kids and their noisiness are a welcome presence and not to be seen as a distraction to the worship experience.
I’ve long appreciated liturgy. I cared less for it at one time, feeling like it stifled spontaneity and freedom or lacked freshness and relevance. Now I’ve come to appreciate the structure and tradition of it, feeling like within this pattern of prayers and songs and practices that I do find a certain freedom and connectedness. The Holy Spirit can work through structure and pattern and repetition just as much as through spontaneity.
I appreciated the boldness of the giver of the homily, who appeared to be a Franciscan monk. He talked a lot about peace and the inherent goodness of others. At one point he made a remark about Troy Davis—executed last week for a murder of which many claim he is innocent—being "probably innocent." Now I know the Episcopal church generally opposes the death penalty. But this was an assertion about a particular person's culpability, and I was shocked by his confidence. Yet I suspect part of the ethos of this church involves a freedom to disagree and that the speaker did not expect his opinion to be blindly accepted by his listeners as truth. I can appreciate that kind of provocation from a Christian preacher.
He told a great story about St Francis and his interaction with a sultan during the time of the Crusades and how the two came to discover their common love of and devotion to God—one using the term "Allah" and one "God." We have many ways to divide Christians into categories (most notably denominations). I sometimes think that there really are just two kinds of Christians—those who emphasize their differences from other religious expressions and those who emphasize the commonalities. I believe both are extremely important—identifying where we agree and where we differ. But it does seem like one is usually given precedent over the other, which I think can often tell you a lot about the whole of a person's theology.
The choir sang a couple songs, and it was beautiful. Absolutely sublime. It was very simple, not showy. But hauntingly gorgeous.
The quote of the morning, from the monk/speaker, went something like this: “When I’m driving, sometimes I get a peace sign from others; sometimes they give me half of a peace sign.” Picture it. I laughed. I wonder if the joke was original. Witty monks.

Four Days in LA

2011-09-27T18:27:00.000-07:00

Here are a few images of our recent trip to Los Angeles. The reason for the trip was our participation in the wedding of Matt and Larissa Boyd (Joann did some of the photography, I was the best man).

These are all products of my creative and skilled wife. Check out her Facebook page for more. Shameless promotion completed.

The timing of the trip was interesting (14^th-17^th), with what felt like a distinct seasonal change occurring while we were gone. It was summer weather when we left and fall weather when we returned. Joann’s happy. I’m trying to be.

Here are some things I learned (or truths I had reinforced) from this brief vacation, about others and about myself...

I learned that Disneyland has not lost its “magic” for me. This was my sixth visit, first since my friend Dan and I won a free trip in a drawing at George Fox our sophomore year. The fact that the Blue Bayou restaurant and Pirates of the Caribbean were closed (among others) was not magical. But the “splashy” story of Brer Rabbit and Co, the simplicity of Mr Toad’s Wild Ride, the snarky tour guides of the Jungle Cruise, the sublimity of the Riverboat Cruise, the sightings of wandering Disney characters—all these and more contain that mixture of aesthetics, excitement and nostalgia that give Disneyland its mystique. Can’t wait to return.
I learned that animatronic people kind of scare me.
I learned that I’m not so sure Disneyland is the “happiest place on earth.” For me and Joann, yes, perhaps. For others, I'm not so sure. We saw (and heard) a lot of unhappy, whiny, complaining children. And, consequently, a lot of irritable parents of said children. The rush to escape the park after closing was comical. I watched one woman chew out the guy behind her for accidentally bumping her with the stroller he was pushing for the second time. He looked at his buddies, seemingly a bit shell-shocked but also angrily defensive. One’s true colors come out at the end of a long day of child management and appeasement at Disneyland.
I learned that I love the thrill and challenge of the unknown. Most of my travels through Europe, China, and South America involved some structure, but a loose enough structure that left room for flexibility and spontaneity. I also don’t always enjoy planning, often preferring to figure things out when there is a greater sense of urgency. It is this “bent” that led to us leaving Disneyland at 8pm and arriving in Glendale (Boyd’s home) around midnight, after a free bus ride (I gave a dollar to the guy in front of me who didn’t have exact change, a gesture which the bus driver witnessed and seemingly decided to reward with free tickets for Joann and I), followed by the befriending of a Korean mother and daughter with limited English, who were also heading to Glendale and so led us to a bus stop downtown where we waited for a long time for a bus that never came, followed by the arrival of the Korean mother’s neighbor, who picked us up in a white van and took us home to Glendale, for a fee cheaper than a taxi. It all worked out. It often does.
I learned that I can do fried chicken and waffles about once every ~~ten~~ twenty years. One of our stops during the bachelor party (sandwiched in between two pubs) was a visit to Roscoe’s. The meal consisted of fried chicken, waffles (w/maple syrup), and sides of Mac and Cheese and cornbread. My stomach did not feel great, and I tried to appease my angry body with a veggie omelet and fruit the next morning. I’m still so sorry, body.
I learned that I have a place in my heart for SoCal. I love the Pacific NW...Portland, Olympia and everything between, for many reasons. But there’s just something about the excitement and feel of LA, after spending some time in Anaheim, downtown, Hollywood, Ventura and Carpenteria (the wedding site). That "something" is certainly not the cost of living, whatever the "something" is.
I learned that Matt Boyd has the funniest friends. Or at least they laugh at my humor. Wait, does that make them funny or me narcissistic? No but really, they cracked me up, and the melting pot of our combined comedy made for a funny week.
I learned that when you choose to cut costs to stay in a Motel 6 with your wife instead of the more glamorous Marriott next door (where most of the wedding party was), you get what you pay for.
I re-learned what makes Matt Boyd an exceptional man and sure to enjoy a thriving marriage. As I said in my very sincere best man toast (which was seemingly amusing, though the drinking had started way before I began) and now say again here, directly to you, Matt: you’ve got a great sense of humor and ability to laugh at everything, which I’ve discovered in my 13.5 months of marriage makes a huge difference in dealing with personality clashes and various conflicts when they arise; you have an obvious sense of beauty, evident in the way you enjoy the arts, but which I think also will enable you to deeply enjoy your wife and life with her, as that beauty, when present to the mind, will likely often overshadow that which may not, at times, seem beautiful; and you possess great character and a willingness to continue developing that character, never becoming complacent but striving for the deepening of your already existing qualities of thoughtfulness, faithfulness, and kindness. You’re a good man. And despite my opening, tongue-in-cheek remark (“Marriage is awful”), I have no doubt your marriage will be the opposite. Okay…tribute finished. (Ron Cox, you’re cool too. But that’s all you get. You were just a groomsmen, after all, not the groom.)

Fun trip…thanks to Matt and Larissa Boyd for the excuse to come down. Quack! (You had to be there.)

Execution or No Execution

2011-09-22T15:50:00.000-07:00

Unrelated—I’m still recovering from the rush of four days in LA for Disneyland and a friend’s wedding…more on that soon!

I feel compelled to weigh in with a Christian perspective on the Troy Davis execution and drama. I don’t think it’s fair to say I speak for all Christians, but maybe some.

I’ll admit that I too was swept up in the drama surrounding the delayed execution. I probably heard fairly late about the ongoing news story and the push for yet another delay in his trial, due to belief that the evidence convicting him was inconclusive.

I was captivated by the reaction at the scene and on the internet. It’s remarkable how an event like this stirs up passions in everyone, many who hold differing viewpoints.

There was the crowd who insisted he be killed as soon as possible, for whatever reasonable points—trust in the legal system, financial burden on taxpayers, a need or respect for the principle of vengeance, or “justice.”

Then there were those who were freaked out, terrified that an innocent man might be put to death, convicted that if there is even a shred of doubt about this man’s culpability, such an irreversible action should not be taken.

What I didn’t hear much of, though I’m sure it was there, were those suggesting we permanently cancel his execution and push for the sustaining of this man’s life, until natural causes take him. His life and the lives of all violent criminals.

Whenever my English students get a bit passionate in our occasional class debates on controversial issues, I often tell them the same thing I tell those arguing over the viability of belief in God (or many religious arguments, for that matter).

And that is that brilliant people, all throughout human history, have made intelligent, coherent, articulate, persuasive arguments for both sides, whatever the issue.

Often, if you’re looking for the inherently “better” argument, you’re not going to find it. Sometimes you simply have to weigh the evidence and make a choice that might look something like a leap of faith. Maybe you’ll even choose to be open to change, to the other side—not a sign of weakness or doubt, in my opinion; just intellectual honesty.

That said…I know very little about this man who ultimately was executed last night. But I know I can’t support his execution. Pure and simple, the death penalty is inconsistent with my brand* of Christianity.

I can’t support it because I’m uncomfortable with humans taking life and death into our own hands. I question whether our agency in death reflects a high or low view of the value of life. While I’m aware of the occasional ethical dilemma that tests such a principle—especially when faced with a challenging decision between two evils—as a rule I don’t like placing such responsibility in our hands.

I can’t support it because I don’t think Jesus would support it. People who talk about grace often get accused by fellow Christians of ignoring the Old Testament version of God. This is a complex issue, one not easily resolved. Though there are some ways to ease the tension enough to find some clarity.

You might argue that “eye for an eye” mattered only in its context of keeping the Israelites in harmony, united in a covenant relationship with each other and their God and that Jesus significantly modified this old guideline. You also might argue that the violent picture of God you see in the Old Testament is—gulp—a projection of people’s expectations of God onto God.

You could argue that the OT is a glorious, horrifying, brilliant portrayal of how much God hates sin, evil, injustice…but not a portrayal of God’s quickness to end human life, nor a mandate for us to freely take life. Or you can just admit defeat and give up, left with no clues as to what's really happening with God in the OT. But I don't think that resignation is the only option.

“Starting points” are normal and important in theology and Bible study. That is, the assumptions that you bring to the text and use to make sense out of everything else. People usually have a verse that they prioritize over others, and so if the meaning of a second verse is unclear, people might interpret it in light of the "clear" or "sure" meaning of the other.

I start with Jesus being the ultimate picture of God, and thus, find a God who values forgiveness, second chances, peace, reconciliation, going the extra mile for our enemies. I understand the Old Testament picture of God in light of the radical love of Jesus, a Jesus who I believe chose not to retaliate against his persecutors not simply because it would interrupt his master plan of salvation, but because it was against his character, what he instinctively knew to be the right way to act.

I can’t support it because it seems the easy route, of which I'm often suspicious. I'm probably a bit ignorant about the economics and politics of the death penalty. Does not executing people mean a greater tax burden on me to keep someone alive who did something horrendous? (or is it just a matter of restructuring where our taxes go?) I don’t mind donating what little taxes I do pay to the government. After all, this is the land that provides me Starbucks whenever I want it. I guess I owe them something for that.

Rehabilitation, forgiveness, patience, endurance, restraint...these are demanding qualities and goals. But my intuition tells me they're worth pursuing.

I can’t support it because it contradicts my belief in justice. I find in the Old Testament a God who seeks justice, yes—but justice as a means of fixing and healing. God’s justice restores, not punishes. In the context of the death penalty, I see two stumbling blocks.

One, there is a permanent emptiness and sense of loss when you’ve lost a loved one. Killing the one responsible does not make things right, because your loved one is still dead. Worse, you may have now harmed another family by taking the life of the killer. It’s the ones left behind who suffer, right?

Two, I believe God loves to fix things, like a man (or woman) with his projects out in the garage, cleaning, finding the right parts, working until the old piece of junk works like new. I think this is a quality we’re called to emulate, a "God-like" way to do things that we can seek to make visible here on earth in how we deal with one another.

The death penalty does not seem like a commitment to fixing things to me; it seems like giving up, taking the easy route. Restorative justice versus retributive justice. Whatever deterrent to crime retributive justice may be (is it?), it too greatly contradicts with the way of God, as I see it.

Finally, I can’t support it because of what is probably my suspicion of personal responsibility and free will. This is a tension I try to hold. I believe I’m a free being and responsible to make choices, and believe my choices can have consequences for others. BUT…I think everything from genetics to neuroscience to sociology has taught us that who we are is largely formed by factors out of our control.

I'm not saying that Troy Davis—if indeed a killer—should not at all be held responsible for his action. But I am saying that I feel very fortunate (blessed? graced? lucky?) to be who I am today, and can imagine I might be an entirely different person had I been born to different parents, in a different country, in a different historical era, in a different socioeconomic situation, etc.

When faulting people for their actions, I get nervous about finding an individual deserving of death for such actions. I believe we are much more linked and united as a human race than such a high view of personal responsibility suggests to me. I see the human race (and the Church) as a unit, with many interwoven, interdependent parts. Something like that is probably how I would try to make sense of the Trinity to someone (or to myself).

We are in this human situation together. I'm not so sure Troy Davis deserves any worse than I do. But praise God—who loves the mess of humankind enough that God, as the apostle Paul believed, has in Christ reconciled all humankind to himself, not counting our sins against us. (Colossians 1:20, 2 Corinthians 5:19)

Please hear sensitivity in my tone here, and forgive me for any lack of it.

*While I don’t solely understand how I arrived at my beliefs as something akin to a visit to the supermarket, I do find the market metaphor helpful here in stressing diversity of opinion with Christianity.

Too Many Answers

2011-09-09T16:00:00.000-07:00

I had a fun, unplanned conversation with two students (both from Asian countries) at lunch yesterday in the cafeteria at Evergreen. In response to their inquiry about a book I had with me, we talked at length about our respective religious experiences—good and bad.

One of them was intrigued by my interest in theology, though made a comment that has stuck with me. It was something like (paraphrased): I like philosophy more than theology. Philosophy just asks questions; theology gives too many answers.

Whether or not one agrees with that assessment—perhaps you have a rather answer-less theology or have resolved most of your philosophical questions—I think I understand the sentiment behind it.

In listening to her talk a bit it seems that, not surprisingly, her ambivalent opinions about religion and theology are colored by past experience. Such as others' dogmatic rebukes of her own shortcomings, presented with a certainty that left little room for doubt and pressured her toward acquiescence instead of giving her the space to think, inquire, wonder, search, and wrestle.

Does theology seek to resolve too many mysteries of life? I don't really think so. I'd say that it’s not theology but the individual or community who is responsible for that.

Theology seems to provide the right language, the right framework, the right questions, and a whole host of examples throughout history of those who have individually and corporately tried to articulate life’s mysteries to the fullest extent they could, in a way that brought some clarity to questions of meaning and purpose but also gave direction for how to rightly live life, day-to-day.

In my experience, it is people who often give too many answers, to others and to themselves. Sometimes I think people can even be a little dishonest with each other, thinking they aren’t prepared to live with uncertainty and mystery—and faith?—so they convince themselves and others that things are a little more spelled out then they are.

“Heaven is exactly like this. Paul without a doubt meant this. The Bible ‘says’ you shouldn’t do that. Prayer always works this way, if you just do it right. That happened for a reason, don’t worry. God can’t be found in your religion. There’s only one way to be a Christian, it looks like this.” And so on. And I’m not sure those things are said as often as they are implied.

I think one of the more freeing (maybe anxiety-producing for some) elements of postmodernity is an awareness of our subjectivity, of our limitations as knowers, and the need for engagement with others to move closer toward grasping Truth. We can be at peace with not knowing everything. We can be honest about our doubts. We can more deeply discover the value of faith and trust. We can find meaning in leaning on others.

Of course some have responded to such an intellectual and cultural climate with an agnosticism that says it’s impossible to make truth claims about anything. Others have reacted and asserted their beliefs more strongly, feeling like it’s a sign of weak faith to do otherwise, or maybe afraid if they’re wrong about one thing, they’re wrong about everything. That’s an all-or-nothing approach I don’t find necessary.

I’m at least trying to be comfortable with the tension, living with something like a humble boldness in how I express my theology (trying). I told my student that I’m probably somewhere in the middle of her spectrum. I have a lot of questions that I don’t yet have answered, some that I maybe don't need answered, but enough things I’m fairly certain about that I’m willing to put my trust in them and count on their truthfulness.

I don’t really feel like I use “I’m sure” or “I’m certain” that often in my religious life. Phrases like “I hope” and “I have faith that...” or maybe even “I haven’t found a better explanation, so, why the hell not?” have more of a place in my spirituality.

And I find that sufficient. I can live with the things I feel strongly about: God is good; love is the key; evil is real; Jesus’ way can transform; the future is bright and hopeful; peace is God’s way; Paul wrote in a culture with very different views about women; the Jewish people have a long history of homelessness and wandering; Jesus’ disciples ate a lot of fish.

And I can live with mystery and unresolved questions. How present is God in your religious tradition, relative to my own? How do judgment and hell and heaven really work? Who will be saved? What’s the best way to apply Jesus’ way to the ethical quandaries of today, which often aren't easily solvable with quick references to Scripture? How will the suffering of so many innocents find any redemption or justice or meaning? And, what was Ruth really doing that night in the tent to Boaz?

To some of those questions I’m working at finding answers. For others, the answers seem to change. Some of them I realize don't demand answers, because the answers are not necessary for my living of a full, abundant life in harmony with others, with the earth, and with our Creator.

But some of the answers might be pretty important, because they might help us find ways of stopping so many people from hating and killing one another. Even if we can only answer them more fully—not completely—well, that’s a start…and a worthy pursuit.

As I departed, I wished my student friend well on her religious quest. I hope she finds some answers. But not too many answers. Then she’d be a know-it-all. Nobody likes a know-it-all.

I Love You But I Don't Really Like You

2011-09-06T19:58:00.001-07:00

I don’t like pickles. It's not that I wish God had never inspired the creation of the pickle; I see their inherent beauty, their appeal. I respect that they are a staple of the hamburgers of many. I just don't care for them. I wonder if I can feel at peace about not caring much for a particular person.

The question was inspired by a recent short video featuring a prominent Evangelical. Though bashing him is not my goal here. I’m simply interested in the difference and interaction between “like” and “love.”

If a friend says something that makes me uncomfortable—perhaps he or she espouses a philosophy that I think is unhealthy or, by my interpretation, wrong—I do not dislike that person. But what if the person not only makes offensive statements, but seems to have a general way of being that I find abrasive, rude, and egotistical; and what if this person has a significant influence over a large number of people? Am I allowed to dislike that person?

If liking people is comparable to how we feel about a particular food, then it seems like yes—disliking someone is a natural thing that requires no repentance. If the flavor and texture of asparagus is displeasing to a person, one might say that he or she simply doesn’t have a taste for it, doesn’t prefer it. One is not required to like asparagus, nor do we question somebody’s character for not liking it (I like asparagus, in case anyone was beginning to question my character).

As a Christian who wants to replicate as best I can the character and spirit of Jesus, is it then inconsistent to dislike certain individuals? And can I “love” someone but not like them?

I was initially (but no longer) surprised to discover that many of the Asian students I’ve worked with in the last couple of years don’t really say “I love you” to family. They feel it is unnecessary, pointless. I often hear, “we show our love through doing things…we don’t need to say it. They know we love them through our actions.”

I don’t think this means Americans don’t give tangible demonstrations of our love to one another. But it does make the phrase “I love you” sound a bit odd to me at times. If love is a feeling, then “I love you” seems appropriate. Isn’t that what we often mean? I feel affection for you? Not, “hey look, I’m currently loving you through this particular action!” It seems either representative of something (like our commitment to those we love) or is something more akin to happiness, which is fleeting.

But that doesn’t mean it’s not important. I still want to hear my wife say “I love you”…it is affirming, comforting, reassuring to know she feels drawn to me, impressed by me, grateful for me. And I will continue to tell her I love her. But I do wonder if I’ve often depended too heavily on the words and not enough on the demonstration of that love.

The point is that it seems like one might say “you don’t have to like them, but you can love them.” I guess I’m not sure what that means. Or I have one idea of what it could mean, but I’m not sure what people mean when they say it.

Maybe they mean that, despite the rage or repulsion they feel toward an individual, they would show hospitality toward that person, would give them money if needed, maybe would even sacrifice their own safety or well-being or even life for the sake of the other. That seems something like love doesn’t it—being willing to submit one’s own good to the good of another?

Or maybe people don’t know what they mean when they talk about loving people with whom they are not intimate (family/friends). Maybe it’s just a slogan, a meaningless saying people throw out there, thinking they are full of love for everyone when they are really kidding themselves. They feel they’re supposed to love people, so they think they do.

I certainly don’t adore the person who inspired this question. But would I “wash his feet” and act in similar, subservient ways that demonstrate a humble, hospitable, compassionate kind of love toward him? I hope so. I think so.

But should I adore him? If we believe people are generally good, beautiful, holy creatures who are simply broken, hurting, misguided, offensive, or needy people whose actions at times negatively affect others…maybe if we try to see this goodness, we can forgive the ugly parts of them and come to “like” what we see. Is any creation of God really beyond liking?

Or is liking just a matter of taste, and, just as some will never like soccer, some will never like that annoying neighbor or that co-worker or that classmate or whoever.

And I wonder if it’s fair to say there were people Jesus didn’t like. People he just didn’t have a taste for. Perhaps those he watched oppress the poor and vulnerable, the arrogant, the greedy, the violent, who so contradicted in their words and actions everything Jesus was about. I certainly wouldn’t want to hear Jesus tell me he didn’t like me all that much.

Although, perhaps part of why we dislike people is that they feel like a threat to us in some way, to our way of thinking, our way of life, and it’s out of our own insecurity or defensiveness or angst that we feel dislike for others. Maybe disliking people is about our own weakness as people, and not a matter of taste. If so, I’m not sure Jesus ultimately disliked anyone.

Or maybe we dislike what feels unjust or wrong or offensive, like a visceral response to something we don’t enjoy (pickles for me).

So I guess I haven’t yet made up my mind. Perhaps I can dislike something and love it—love in the sense of sacrificial, self-giving love. Maybe I won’t feel love toward something I dislike, but maybe the feeling isn’t that important.

But I wouldn’t want my dislike of someone to be simply an unhealthy reaction, nor be a barrier to giving them a godly sort of love if actually tested in such a situation (e.g., the disliked comes to my house and wants a meal or some company or a listening, open mind).

So maybe some people are like pickles; we shouldn't feel obligated to like them. Or maybe my commitment to love others demands I also “like” people, regardless of the obstacles to such liking.

Maybe I just need to give pickles a chance. Try harder to like them. (Matt gets a sick feeling in his stomach.) Though I'm not so optimistic I ever will.

August in Review

2011-09-01T17:15:00.000-07:00

What a busy summer! While Joann has been on vacation, I’ve been working (the international school grows significantly during the summer, though our student population is finally waning). And with so many friends to see and events to attend and places to visit and goals to accomplish, we’ve been on the road nearly every weekend.

But the result of being active has been a flurry of great moments and memories. I’ve blogged about some of them from earlier in the summer (e.g., skydiving and reunions). But here are a few glimpses of what made August memorable...

Blackberries! They have been ripening on many of my walking, running, and biking routes. Last night I finally went and picked some, making for a wonderful evening dessert. But lesson learned: shorts and flip-flops were a bad idea. Most of the good berries were a bit hard to reach, demanding I trample deeper into the bushes. My legs and feet currently bear the battle scars. But...so worth it.

Goodbyes. Every week there are students leaving EF because their program has come to an end. It's a bit sad, but I'm getting used to it. A Korean student whom I’ve taught for three months leaves this week. She remarked that once she finished the program, we could be friends. And that she would start stalking me.

The bad thing here is the sometimes unfortunate but perhaps necessary distance between students and teachers, where any sense of friendship needs to be balanced with a certain professionalism. It’s healthy, I recognize; but I often find myself wanting more connection with my students, who aren't really that much younger than me.

The good thing here is that it always feels affirming to be stalked…so that’s something to look forward to.

Mad Men. Since being married Joann and I have watched several TV shows on Netflix or DVD. Our most recent escape of choice has been Mad Men. We just finished the final existing episode last night. I won’t say when we began the four-season series because, well, you might judge us.

It’s a brilliant show. Never have I been so captured by and emotionally caught up in a show that at times seems to move at a snail’s pace. Nor have I been so captured by a man’s smile as that of Don Draper, toward whom I feel much ambivalence. He’s so fallen, though maybe arguably a product of the fallenness preceding and surrounding him. And yet glimpses of goodness keep one rooting for him. Glimpses of goodness and that smile.

What is the What? I started this semi-biographical novel while I was in China, and just now finished it. I got distracted by so many other good books and my perpetual need to feel like I’m “studying” and making progress toward some of my academic goals. But “all work and no play” or something, so I went back to fiction.

It’s a story set partly in the U.S. and partly in Africa, told as a recollection of the childhood of a man who was one of the “Lost Boys” of Sudan. Amidst the recalling of his adventures and often-horrific trials and tragedies, a constant thread is this question of trying to figure out what exactly the “what” is.

The question comes from a creation myth of the particular peoples discussed in the novel, which as far as I can tell has to do with the unknown, possibility, and hope. Though, like the main character, I'm not sure that I know what the "what" is. I think my "what" is probably not the same as your "what"...or something like that. Maybe.

Though I think that’s the point—the "what" is mystery, unpredictability, what is beyond control, what awaits us, and demands hope, faith, and risk...rather than what is in front of us, tangible, certain, risk-free, manageable. The story seems to leave what appears to be a tension about how to approach one's life and future unresolved.

Mariners, new hope. We attended another Mariners game and another blowout loss. I blogged in April about the opening day Mariners game and about the significance and necessity of hope. Well, I suppose this latest loss helped me see that there are two different kinds of hope.

There is unrelenting optimism. When disillusionment or the foiling of plans or unmet expectations or tragedy strikes, one may simply, after some readjusting, find new cause for hope about what is to come. I suppose this is true for a Mariners team that was generally awful this year but had some bright young stars emerge that will undoubtedly make the team better going forward.

Then there is hope based on what has been revealed to us or is (or at least seems) guaranteed, which also informs the present. I look forward in hope to the end of the work week, to dinner time, to future academic and professional goals, and the vision of these things gives me joy and meaning now while also helping me consider how I should act now in preparation for those goals (e.g, do quality work I can be proud of, don’t spoil my dinner with a snack, study a lot).

I think the latter might be something like how I understand Christian hope, hope for what I believe our Creator has revealed and promised—a hope that should bring some sense of excitement and peace but also give direction to the character of our lives now.

Summer smells. Most notably, the smell of evergreen trees on a warm day. I’ve been biking a lot lately, and recently discovered the Chehalis Western Trail, a 20+ mile paved trail mostly through forest and countryside. There’s just something so invigorating, so calming, so healing, so clarifying about exercising in such a setting. I feel like every inhale of the fresh, sweet-smelling air adds a day to my life. A day which I then lose that same evening after a pizza and beer dinner. And least I’m breaking even.

One-year anniversary! Joann and I celebrated with a trip to the Oregon coast—one night of camping in Pacific City, two nights at a hotel in Lincoln City. One particular day was spent nearly entirely, save mealtimes, lying on the beach. I can’t recall a beach visit with such perfect weather as this one. Good food, good rest, good beach time. Bad experience getting “cannonballed” by a kid while relaxing in the hot tub.

And an odd experience camping that felt like a “Lost” episode, including a mysterious park ranger, a country-western performance at a strange lodge in the middle of the woods, and the threat of a bear sighting. All shared with my beautiful bride, Joann...whom I love more than blackberries or the smell of dry pine or Don Draper's smile.

My wife’s delectable creations. During the school year, I do slightly more of the cooking. But this summer the balance has shifted a bit, and with Joann’s more frequent cooking have come some new “experiments.” Some August successes were Pad Thai, quiche, tortilla soup, and the return of an old standby, cranberry pumpkin bread.

Olympia. While we’ve been gone a lot, we’ve also savored summer in Olympia. Long walks into downtown, greeted by the smell of salt water (love it); reading on a blanket at Capitol Lake Park; taking the children of other family and friends to splash around in the fountain; frequent and bittersweet visits to Borders to check on falling book prices; seeking refuge in air-conditioned Batdorf and Bronson’s; and my own bicycle explorations of before-undiscovered (by me) parts of town. It’s been a gorgeous late summer here; I’m not quite prepared for the cold and rain.

Portland. What would a month be without getting our Portland fix? Made the rounds one weekend and saw three-fourths of my wedding party in a day in three separate dates (breakfast, afternoon coffee, dinner/movie), along with the usual visits to the waterfront, downtown, cafes, pubs and Powells.

Thanks August. You were good to us.

A Benedictine Nun’s Version of John Lennon’s Dream

2011-08-21T11:29:00.000-07:00

I thought I’d share a few words from an inspiring book I’m reading for the second time. It’s called Wisdom Distilled from the Daily by Joan Chittister, a Benedictine sister. The book is about spiritual formation, using the rule of St. Benedict as a guide for encouraging spiritual and character growth.

The book was written twenty years ago and preceded books like The Divine Conspiracy (Willard) and After You Believe: Why Christian Character Matters (Wright) which also speak to what seems a growing conviction among many Christians, as Wright captures in his subtitle: why Christian character matters.

I don’t think a focus on character—or, how we live or the kind of people we are—is necessarily a new thing in the Church. I certainly remember from childhood and now know a lot of really nice, good, warm Christians, and I’m sure my parents and grandparents and so on could say the same. The conviction that God wants us to be good people is not new.

But the kind of disciplined focus on character growth I find in Chittister (and others) seems different. It feels like a slightly different brand of Christianity than the message of “grace alone” that, for me at least, encourages deep reverence for God and great humility in me but doesn’t necessarily offer a guide for becoming more like Jesus.

A version of “being Christian” that doesn’t emphasize trying to better yourself falls short for me, leaving me feeling like I’m not holding up my end of the bargain or “covenant” with God…like I’m missing out on a fuller, freer, richer experience of life…like God’s asked me to be something—an ambassador to use St. Paul’s language—and I’m not doing it.

Or like I haven’t really been captured by a vision of Heaven that I’m eager to point people to now…not just by telling them about it but by choices and gestures and habits and acts that might give people hope of what life could be now in part and what (I believe) it will be one day.

I guess that’s why I’m so drawn to works like this one that focus on our character and actions. I think of the Church as a sort of gift that God has given to the world. And to be a gift to the world feels to me like it demands more than personal convictions about who God is; beliefs alone don’t help the people around me very much, I don’t think.

I think to be a gift means giving something, contributing something—giving people a taste of the love of God and the reality of the-world-as-it-could-be-and-will-be (can I get away with using that many hyphens to make a single word like that?)

One of the ways the Church can do this is through living peacefully with one another. Here are some excerpts (from pp 188-190) from Chittister's book in which she encourages gentleness in our relationships with ourselves, each other, and the earth, painting a vision of nonviolent ways of living that rival John Lennon’s vision years ago.

She of course doesn’t encourage the absence of religion, though I’d imagine (sorry) Lennon might feel differently about Chittister’s brand of religion than the kind he was questioning. Perhaps not. But I think it’s evident that, for her, Christianity is not simply about right belief but about right action.

I think whether you are Christian or Muslim or Buddhist or atheist or whatever, this beautiful vision can speak to all of us:

“Imagine a world where children are not jerked down the supermarket aisle in the name of discipline.

“Imagine a world where young people are able to find good jobs without having to be a part of a war machine designed to destroy the earth in the name of defense.

“Imagine a world where other races and nations and peoples are not demonized to justify our militarism.

“Imagine a world where differences are resolved by force of character than by force of arms.

“Imagine a world where the peace of Christ with its prophetic honesty and reckless compassion and nonviolent resistance to evil is the rule of the country.

“Imagine a home where the members of the family do not shout at one another or steal one another’s possession or restrict one another’s movements or slap one another into subjection or bully one another into compliance or intimidate one another into domestic slavery.

“Imagine a home where being a little girl did not make a child a less promising being or giver her any less to hope for.

“Imagine a home where being a little boy did not mean having to prove himself with his fists or his muscles or his willingness to give and take pain.

“Imagine a home where both its women and its men could cry.

“Imagine a home that taught its children to evaluate the laws and actions of the country according to the laws of God: thou shalt not lie…steal…kill…covet…make false gods.

“Imagine a home where all these Benedictine values began to ooze out into the neighborhood and nation around it, and nonviolent resistance became a way of life. Imagine a nation where we would help one another to struggle for truth and justice but never, never with murder in our hearts or blood on our hands.

Also, I like this wrap-up comment: “nonviolence is not passive; nonviolence is simply nondestructive.”

If you are an optimistic, idealistic, romantic, lover of would could be (like me), maybe this moves you and causes you to wonder how you could be a part of making the world at least a little more like this.

And if you'd describe yourself as pessimistic, realistic, practical, or resigned to what is…maybe you too can find this vision compelling in some way, attainable in some part.

An addendum: out my open window I just heard my elderly neighbor get violently and vulgarly chewed out by some young adults over something to do with their dogs, calling him nearly every name in the book to the point that the insults were kind of laughably contracting each other. Except that it wasn’t funny, just sad and confusing. I don’t know the situation, but man…there’s got to be a better way. The vision above seems particularly relevant to me this morning...

Evergreen is Not George Fox

2011-08-15T19:52:00.001-07:00

Before I explain the “why”, I should be clear that I’m not talking about the international school at which I teach English, which shares the campus with official Evergreen students. These two groups are different entities, and my international students are often a bit perplexed by some of the characteristics and activities of Evergreen students.

There are a few less Evergreen students around right now, being summer break and all, and lots of construction is happening, thwarting many of my regular routes. I do miss a bit of the normal chaos of Evergreen culture, though I’m sure with the Fall rapidly approaching that this culture will soon return.

And in being here for nearly eleven months now, I’ve been reminded often how very different of an experience I had as an undergraduate compared to the life of an undergraduate here at Evergreen. Here are just a few snapshots:

The primary non-cafeteria dining option at GFU was the “Bruin’s Den.” The primary non-cafeteria dining option at Evergreen is “The Flaming Eggplant."
Some GFU students would scandalously scan their student ID card at chapel and walk away, getting chapel credit without actually attending. Some Evergreen students smoke weed.
Apparently a transgender Evergreen student was protesting the way the hippie, eco-conscious students on campus use the term “Mother Earth,” I assume because of the exclusive femininity of the name (talk about out-liberaling liberals). At George Fox University, I can’t quite remember what we protested—that every day wasn’t omelet day in the school cafeteria? Being required to attend morning chapel services? Floor hours that prevented us from hanging out in the girls dorms beyond 10pm?
Greeners, on sunny days, get out their tribal drums and jam in the main square on campus; I’ve also seen jugglers and hula hoopers. GFU students, on similar days, got out their guitars and “did” worship.
I recently saw a Greener raising funds for a sort of Christian mission/humanitarian trip to Africa; her sign read “4 the Clit.” Her goal in going is to give aid to women affected by genital mutilation. At GFU our mission trip signs were much less provocative.
The GFU mascot was a big bear (can’t remember if he/she was more cuddly or more angry). The Evergreen mascot is a geoduck (pronounced gooey-duck). Do you know what a geoduck is? Or more importantly, do you know what it looks like? Click on this link for a page of images: Geoducks
At Evergreen, students grade themselves; there are no set grades. I’m not familiar enough with this system and its success to know if it is a good motivator for students or not. Maybe for a certain type of individual. But man that would have been nice, to have chosen my grades. I had to work hard to get an A in Dr. Jolliff’s literature classes…and such A’s were rare.
Evergreen has several designated smoking spots, where smokers congregate together. GFU had designated DTR spots, where you told each other you thought God wanted you and your romantic interest to fool around a bit.
When I think of smells associated with Evergreen, I think of trees and of body odor; there are a lot of people who don’t believe in deodorant, for well-thought out reasons. When I think of smells associated with GFU, I think of fresh cut grass, Grandpa Roy’s roses, and I think of my hair gel, which I only quit using about a year ago. I don’t really enjoy looking at old college pictures of my hair. I guess hair styles often look dated in old pictures, don’t they?

In the end, I wouldn’t trade my GFU experience for anything. But I do enjoy getting a taste of a much different kind of college experience, if only as an observer.

Highway 101 Musings

2011-08-11T11:27:00.000-07:00

Joann and I just enjoyed a fabulous extended weekend at the Oregon Coast to celebrate our one-year anniversary. We enjoyed a night of camping in Pacific City, two nights at a hotel in Lincoln City, amazing, sunny (but not too hot nor cold) weather, good food, and lots of relaxation on the beach while reading or watching sunsets.

During the drive home, we had kind of a meandering discussion about various facets of Christian culture that prompted some good reflection in both of us. I don’t know that we reached many solid conclusions about anything, but it was a good reminder of the concern we share for our corporate Christian witness as well as our own capacity to emulate and represent well “the way” of Jesus and the historical, ancient community of which we are a part.

I share some of our discussion, assuming some of you have wrestled with similar matters (and maybe come to more solid conclusions than we did.)

Distinct language. A lot of Christian communities seem to have a unique vernacular. Some people talk about “the Lord” all the time. Certain denominations pray with incessant repeating of “Lord God” and some with “Jesus.” Some take every opportunity to attribute any pleasant occurrences to God: “The weather is gorgeous…God is so good to us!” Is this a good thing?

Joann and I thought there was something nice about continual mention of the person and work of Jesus or of God’s presence and activity in our lives—almost like it has a way of centering us, keeping us accountable, reminding us of who we are.

On the other hand, we worry about such language becoming meaningless with overuse. Does one need to attribute every fortune circumstance or every thing of natural beauty to God? Can’t a rose be beautiful, or must God be beautiful upon our seeing the rose? We want to enjoy the richness and depth of God’s creation…but must we verbally declare everything to “be God?”

Maybe the gift can be enjoyed without constant credit to the giver. On the other hand, maybe the gift is not nearly important as the giver.

Does God bless YOU? And, do we pray for the right things? We talked about the way people ask for specific things from God, as well as assume, when they feel a prayer has been answered or that something fortunate has occurred, that God has “blessed them.”

I’ll admit I don’t ask God to give me specific things that often, for what I think are well thought-out reasons connected to my understanding of the purpose of prayer, the character of God, and my own personal significance. Regarding that last point, I think my holdup is that sometimes I feel like I’m assuming I’m more important than I really am, that the events of my life carry greater significance than those of others.

For example, what about those prayers where, if we are being blessed, others are being cursed? If I pray for financial gain, does someone else experience financial loss? I don’t necessarily think of economics as a zero-sum enterprise where some must lose if others gain (mostly I don’t understand economics), but it seems like there are times when our being blessed or getting what we want would mean indirectly asking God to “curse” or “reverse bless” someone else.

It’s one thing to pray that God would help foster your ability to show compassion for people, especially if you believe that God or specifically the Holy Spirit is actively trying to transform your character. Such prayer has a way of centering us, focusing us, sensitizing us to the presence of God in us and in others. But to pray for sunny weather might be an unfortunate outcome for another person hoping for rain for whatever valid reasons.

I guess that’s what discourages me from those specifics in prayer. Plus the fact that, as I said to Joann yesterday, I’m not always sure I know what’s best for me, what path is most right, what kind of occurrence would really be beneficial for me. Being wrong often has probably shaken my confidence in telling God what God should probably do for me.

Correcting Christians. Is it okay to correct another Christians? I strive to be respectful of other points of view and to be tolerant of those whose lifestyle and beliefs differ from my own. But what role do I have in offering correction, rebuke, guidance, teaching, whatever you want to call it, to fellow Christians?

One could say no one ever has any right to offer guidance to another, unless they ask you for it. I see some validity in that; I think I receive guidance from others better when I ask them for it, because of the state my heart is in when I ask versus when I don’t ask.

I also don’t think I’d offer moral or lifestyle correction to, say, a Muslim, for example. If they asked my opinion, I’d kindly give it, sharing everything from my beliefs about who God is to the status of women to alcohol to whatever. But I think I’d feel it wasn’t my place to call them out, nor would I call out an atheist for their behavior. I don’t really think it’s fair to hold them to the same standards, since our beliefs about spirituality and morality differ significantly.

But what about other Christians who express their Christianity different? We’re all claiming to be a part of a community that is associated with Jesus and, unless you’re very liberal, believes Jesus is unique among other “messengers” of God.

Isn’t this part of what makes us cringe when a pastor intends to burn the holy books of other religions…or when Christian leaders are caught in affairs and deemed hypocrites…or when Christians use very harsh language and images to judge and tear down certain kinds of people?

I think I, though not claiming to be perfect, want to distance myself from such people. But I wonder if it is okay to call people out when I think they are in error, at least according to my own perspective. To say to another Christian any number of things: your views are misguided; your actions are harmful; you are in danger of some serious judgment from God; you’re making the Christian life less appealing to others; you look silly. Is that okay?

Maybe it’s easy to say yes to the obvious errors; if someone is physically abusing their spouse, it’s probably okay to say something to them, right? (Or at least report them to the authorities). But what about some of those more subtle differences? That’s what’s hard for me.

If someone has a very strong view of the authority of men and submissiveness of women in a marriage, and I think that despite their best intentions to “love” their submissive wives they are actually oppressing them, should I say something to them, or simply respect their divergent views on men and women? I’m not as sure about my views on men’s and women’s “roles” as I am about the matter of full-on domestic, physical abuse that I would want to treat my opinion like fact and boldly express it in all cases.

Or what if someone says “the Lord” all the time around non-Christians, and I think that their unique way of speaking is turning people off...or coming across as pushy...or revealing an inability to be aware of other people...or making them seem crazy...or misrepresenting what it is (not simply language or emotions) that should make a Christian different from others...maybe these are just my own biases? Should I encourage such people to be less cavalier or gung-ho or to express themselves differently?

Or should I see their way of speaking as valid, even a sign of someone so filled with devotion and faith that they can’t contain themselves? Maybe I’m the one who needs to mention God’s name in my speech more often so as to reveal the importance of God in my life to others.

Happy Christians? We were talking about a particular denomination of Christians that seem to be perpetually happy. They have strong faith, and while their theology may or may not have depth, we wonder: does it matter, in light of how happy they are?

One can easily (and often unfairly) critique certain segments of our faith for being intellectually shallow or use terms like “naïve” or “surfacy” or “sheltered” or “deluded” to describe certain followers of Christ.

But I wonder, for those that aren’t Christians—is this a negative thing? I would imagine it’s the angry, politically outspoken, vocally condemning segments of Christianity that are more problematic to those outside of Christianity. Or at least compared to them, happy Christians are maybe more, as Joann put it, “endearing” to non-Christians than anything.

It seems there’s a subculture in Christianity that is more laid-back and cool but critical and serious, rather than cheery and upbeat. But what’s wrong with being happy? Don’t you know some of these people who you know are Christian and just seem to never be angry or down or stressed about anything? Aren’t they kind of inspiring?

I guess some might call me a “happy Christian,” though I’m not sure I’d agree, based on the kind of person I think I'm describing. But I am happy quite often. And I’m a Christian. So…

Just some thoughts from our coastal trip up 101 yesterday. It wasn’t all serious conversation. Plenty of enjoying the scenery and laughing at suggestive restaurant names.

Jumping Out of a Plane and Other Things I Didn’t Expect to Have Done This Early in My Life

2011-08-02T17:44:00.001-07:00

A little over a week ago I jumped out of an airplane. My wife, about half an hour later, did the same. This was the redeeming of a nearly year-old wedding gift from Joann’s cousin Heather, a frequent skydiver who does jumps for a company in Toledo, WA.

Joann was the one pushing it all along, with me acting a bit reticent every time the topic came up. But we finally decided to go for it, as you can see from the picture in a previous post below (7/24/11).

What you can’t see from the picture but can probably intuit from other clues is that we both lived. J In reality, I had gathered beforehand and can in retrospect testify that the perceived risk is much greater than the actual risk. It’s a relatively safe experience.

Maybe not as safe as sitting on your couch (unless that’s all you do), though perhaps safer than driving to the grocery store, buying a bag of potato chips, and driving home. Not sure how to quantify the level of danger, though the perceived risk involved is probably an important part of what makes skydiving so thrilling and exhilarating.

Only two things really made me nervous. One was the impending departure from the plane, as I was a little concerned I’d do something wrong, put my foot in the wrong place, bonk my head on the wing as we exited, something like that. I did fine, though my tandem partner kind of manipulated my body when necessary and gave very clear directions, so he helped me do “fine.”

The other was when I was following Joann’s plane on its ascent (we took separate flights…was more practical for different reasons), and lost it in the clouds for two minutes or so. It was irrational to be worried yes, but those were a long two minutes, ended with a sigh of relief upon seeing the plane again, knowing it hadn’t crashed somewhere or gone through a portal into another dimension.

The flight up—packet tightly with three others into a tiny plane—was gorgeous. The view of the significant peaks of the Cascades. Watching evergreens look increasingly less like trees and more like a large bed of moss on the distant ground. Round hay bails looking like marshmallows or organized pimples on the ground. The square patches of land distinguishing property lines or differing crops. All so picturesque.

I think I am a very trusting person, sometimes too much so (i.e., gullible, or sometimes overly optimistic about people and their intentions). So it was easy to trust my instructor and tandem partner; I never really felt in danger while falling. And I guess it felt like falling. I have never fallen like that for such a sustained amount of time (30-40 seconds), so I don’t really know what to compare it to.

So many fascinating aspects of the experience. The feeling of air pounding against me. The novelty of what was happening. The rapidity at which my mouth kept drying out and needed re-salivating. Trying to scream with delight (I was smiling the whole time, I think) and being unable to hear myself under such circumstances. The view. Feeling like I better understood the life of a bird.

The rush of moving so quickly and not really concretely knowing, without the aid of a time machine or fortune-teller, whether or not my parachute would open and the falling would end...this was exhilarating, especially combined with the feeling accompanying that moment when the chute finally did open and all the jerking around ceased.

The slow glide down to the ground—in which I was able to steer the chute myself for a while—was also kind of a rush in its calming nature, after the perceived danger of the fall had passed.

I believe the moment I touched down and was removing my jumping equipment I told Joann that I was ready to do it again. About an hour later I had lost a little interest, as I thought more about what I’d just done. A few days later I was interested again. Now I don’t know.

But I did it once, and can cross skydiving off my non-existent bucket list. I wouldn’t have thought a year ago that this would have happened, at least so soon in my life. Actually, in the last twelve months, I’ve experienced many things that, two or three years ago, I don’t think I really anticipated. I didn’t expect to have…

1) Run a marathon.

2) Become something like a “fringe Evangelical” and be unwelcomed in a Christian ministry role because of my beliefs.

3) Gotten married. I knew it would happen, especially after I found a gal so lovely in so many ways and also a fabulous fit for me. But I had a run there of going after girls who weren’t really interested for whatever reasons. I may be remembering wrongly (or guessing wrongly), but I think some of the reasons were that they…

Didn’t have “a peace”
Wanted to save the world before getting in a serious relationship
Were disappointed my love for the Matrix Trilogy did not match their own
Felt they were too old for me
Were interested in someone more awesome than me
Were interested in someone less un-awesome than me
Were disappointed my love for the TV show Friends did not match their own
Wanted someone with more piercings and a better beard and a stronger love of bands only “hip” people have heard of

Thanks for leading me to Joann through your rejections, ladies.

4) Started preparing for a PhD program. I’m early in the process of studying, researching, networking, but it’s in motion.

5) Watched more than 80% of the Twilight, Harry Potter, and X-men movies combined.

6) (Censored, inappropriate for younger readers)

7) Shared experiences and conversations with as many cultures as I have. I didn’t know ESL teaching would be such an enriching season for me, and the opportunity to daily rub shoulders with the entire world has definitely made me a better human being.

The past year—also my first year of marriage—has been a year of surprises. Looking forward to more in year two!

Music with Matt: My Latest "Culture Series" Presentation

2011-07-29T20:56:00.000-07:00

Just when I thought my disdain for “My Heart Will Go On” couldn’t be any stronger—it weakened. A chorus of 200+ voices has redeemed—at least temporarily—this song which I can attest from my travels is popular everywhere.

I recently gave my second “Culture Series” presentation. My first was a lecture on the history of religion in the U.S., which I delivered about three months ago. This recent presentation was of a much lighter nature, which I advertised as “Music with Matt: An Acoustic Adventure Through Five Decades.”

The format was fairly repetitive, the content varied. For 75 minutes or so, I walked students through recent world history, picking a year based on a song I wanted to perform, and first offering a quick snapshot of significant historical events that year.

I then offered a few questions for reflection and discussion, usually based on either the meaning of vocabulary used in the song, the meaning of particular lyrics, or on a theme or message the song or songwriter was conveying. After that I put up a picture on the screen and called for guesses as to the upcoming band and even song. After revealing the answer, I proceeded to play on my acoustic guitar the song itself.

The set list looked as follows, with year, focus of the discussion, and some highlights.

“Let it Be” (Beatles, 1970)

Discussion focus: Meaning of “hope”, “reconciliation”, “ “brokenhearted”, “hour of darkness.”

Highlight: I wasn’t sure if the whole presentation would be a solo performance or a sing-along, but was hoping for the latter; I was delighted with how many joined in singing this song, hands even waving in the air.

“Fire and Rain” (James Taylor, 1970)

Discussion focus: Shared personal stories with one another about losing people close to us, about romances ended, and about being depressed or sad for a long period of time.

Highlight: This was the saddest and most low-energy song of the presentation, and fortunately students were quietly attentive throughout the whole thing. For a large room of students in a weekly gathering where off-topic conversations are rampant and language barriers make it easy to lose focus, I was pleased with the students' attention level.

“Freebird” (Lynyrd Skynyrd, 1974)

Discussion focus: Students talked about break-ups and excuses they’ve given or received from their former significant others. I'm increasingly less surprised by some of the English words and phrases my students know, especially expletives. I think movies and music have a big influence.

Highlight: This is a song that can’t be done justice only on an acoustic guitar. So, I cued up the beginning of the five-minute guitar solo, then asked for volunteers to come join me on stage for an air-guitar session. Most didn’t know what that meant, and I wouldn’t tell them…I just told them to trust me.

But either shyness, coolness, or self-consciousness inhibited anyone from joining me, until I told a few students who were late who didn’t get their ticket (which ensures they are credited with attending the lecture and thus helps their grade) that if they air guitared with me I'd give them one.

The three students who came up pretty much just watched me rock out for a while, revealing some of my best moves, including throwing my air guitar into the air and catching it on beat. The students seemed quite entertained. My “street cred” went way up after that stunt.

“Billie Jean” (Michael Jackson, 1983)

Discussion focus: Nothing really, other than my "clever" joke connecting Neil Armstrong with Michael Jackson.

Highlight: Probably my moonwalk. Or the movements that I chose to call a moonwalk. I unfortunately could not get anyone to join me. They did cheer for me though. They're so kind and gracious to me.

“We Didn’t Start the Fire” (Billie Joel, 1989)

Discussion focus: Despite being, in the opinion of some, one of the worst songs ever written, it makes for a fun U.S. historical survey through the last few decades. I threw up a few of the people mentioned in the song (e.g. Nixon, Kerouac, Stalin, Dimaggio) and quizzed students knowledge of these figures.

Highlight: Probably the groans after I shouted out “one more verse!” after previously singing four verses.

“Wonderwall” (Oasis, 1995)

Discussion focus: Talked about what it means “to wonder” at something or to call something “a wonder.”

Highlight: The ubiquitous singing! I didn’t expect so many people to know this one.

“Time of Your Life” (Green Day, 1997)

Discussion focus: Though the song is actually about a breakup, it’s used enough as kind of a farewell song (half of you under 33 probably had this played at your high school graduation). I had students discuss what they’ll miss most about our school upon leaving.

Highlight: Looking out and seeing one of my Taiwanese students asleep in the front row, in the seat closest to me. Can’t please everybody.

“My Heart Will Go On” (Celine Dion, 1997)

Discussion focus: No discussion; I just confessed how much I disliked the song, and that I was making a sacrifice to play the “crowd-pleaser” for them, knowing how loved it is all around the world.

Highlight: Two highlights. First, two Venezuelans boys standing up and holding each other, doing the “king of the world” pose. But the real highlight was when I stopped singing at one point to listen to everyone singing back at me—it was seriously one of the more beautiful, sublime musical experiences in recent memory.

It sounded like a lullaby, with their soft and calming voices singing to me, singing like they were at an evangelical Christian worship service. I told them afterwards that they had totally redeemed the song for me. I wish it had been recorded so I could re-listen to it again and again. I also had several students write in their journals (which they hand in to me weekly) about how touching the experience of that song was for them.

“I Will Follow You Into the Dark” (Death Cab for Cutie, 2006)

Discussion focus: We talked about some of the meaning of various lines in the song, exploring in groups the meaning of such lines as the title line, as well as “fear is the heart of love” and “if heaven and hell decided that they both are satisfied.”

Highlight: Maybe a student from Spain who was so annoyed with himself for not guessing from the picture that the upcoming song was by Death Cab. They don’t really have a stand-out, flashy, memorable look, so I don’t know why he was so frustrated.

Probably that feeling of pride and hipness that comes from impressing others with your extensive musical knowledge, especially of who’s popular but maybe not too mainstream. I like to talk about my love of Sufjan Stevens, Modest Mouse, or Arcade Fire whenever I want people to like me more.

“Raise Your Glass” (Pink, 2010)

Discussion focus: Talked about the meaning of several idioms used in the song (e.g. “lose our minds”, “party crashers”) while also reflecting on experiences of being included or excluded and being an insider versus an outsider.

Highlight: Everybody standing and joining in. I’ve gathered that this song’s pretty big outside of the U.S and would be well-received. It was a nice finale, and nice to hear afterwards and in the following days how much fun students had. Students are quick to complain about Culture Series for different reasons; so...partial mission accomplished!

Experiences like this are some of the brighter moments in a job I feel very fortunate to have for this season of my life. I find there is much more opportunity here for both me and my students than simply the teaching and learning of a second language.

Guess What My Wife and I Did Today?

2011-07-24T21:15:00.001-07:00

On Being Stupid (and Sensitive): A Story in Four Acts

2011-07-23T14:02:00.000-07:00

Act One: A Misstep

I had an unsettling exchange with a woman at Target a few days ago. It was one of those moments where I feel like the kind of character I’m trying to develop or let be developed in me is being tested. I’m not sure whether or not I passed the test.

I was standing in the checkout line, waiting to pay for my bottle of contact solution. The woman in front of me was almost finished, but had left her basket on the conveyer belt. No problem, really, although I noticed the woman behind me had a bit of stuff, and could probably benefit from increased space on the belt. So I lifted the basket off the belt and set it at my feet.

This action was met with something like, “well don’t put that there, someone will trip over it.” It was the woman behind me, whose face I recognized from a few minutes before. We had one of those "traffic jam" moments near the cart area by the entrance where you usually make eye contact or gesture or utter something like “go ahead" and let the other person pass. She had seemed annoyed by the inconvenience created by my “thwarting” of her trajectory.

When she said those words in line to me, I must have looked really confused, and don’t think I said anything for a couple seconds. She spoke again, “now I can’t get my cart around it” and repeated “someone will trip over it!”

Act Two: Surprising Words

I calmly told her I thought it was probably okay there. I’m not sure if she thought it was my basket (which it wasn’t, remember), or if that even mattered to her.

She still looked very flustered. “Just give it to her (the checker), she’ll take it.” But the checker was busy with something. So I bent down, and without saying anything, moved the basked around to the other side of the stand, out of her way.

Not good enough. “Well someone can still trip over it there!” she said. Then the money quote, mutter under her breath but loud enough for all nearby to hear: “I don’t know how some people can be so stupid.”

I was shocked. By now I was scanning my debit card to pay, and was a bit silent at first, not sure what to say. Then something maybe reflecting my failure to bite my tongue came out. “I’m stupid. Wow.” She then mumbled something else that I didn’t hear.

I considered the silent route. I’m often challenged by Jesus’ example of silence in front of his tormentors; the great character it took to say nothing when (I assume) Jesus knew that his words would fall on deaf ears, that no superior logic or reason or persuasion would capture his mockers, who weren’t ready to hear, receive, be converted, or be humbled. Jesus level of discernment and humility is astounding to me.

Act Three: Pleading

But instead of silence, I tried to reason. I often try to reason with my four-year-old nephew Donny, which doesn’t always work. Sometimes despite my sound logic, he doesn’t always see it my way. He’s in a phase where he believes love is limited, that he can only love a certain number of people at one time.

A couple weeks back I tried to convince him that he could love Mama, Daddy, Uncle Matt, AND Auntie Jo. But he didn’t think he could love Auntie Jo, because he already loved the other three of us. I couldn’t convince him. Though he may very well not love me today…hard to tell.

Back to the story. I said to the woman: “You know, they have employees that come by and pick the baskets up. And also, I saw that your cart was full and that you could use the space on the belt for your stuff…that was the reason I moved it. I was trying to help you out. I didn’t mind it there.” I felt a little defensive, I know it. But I also was reminded by this episode of how important harmony is to me.

Disharmony is hard for me to handle. When I feel like my relationship with someone is in a bad place, an unreconciled state, it eats at me. I’m sure I’m not alone. But I know I’m really sensitive about this. I have some relationships at the moment that I feel need some kind of reconciliation or at least closure, and it nags at me that I can't just fix it, or at least haven't figured out how yet.

But it’s not just relationships; it’s isolated interactions too. When I have an exchange with a friend or stranger that is "off," I want to “right” things, to end well, to make sure I haven’t offended, to make sure we understand each other. I felt angst right away in this interaction at Target, the angst of desperately trying to appeal to reason and understanding so that we would leave the store at peace. But that didn’t happen.

“Just go home,” she said to me. “You’ll feel better, and so will I.” It wasn’t really an apology, but it seemed she was embarrassed about the whole thing by now, becoming self-aware of her abrasiveness. By now the basket was gone; a Target employee had picked it up. I said something like, “actually, I don’t really feel all that bad, to be honest.” I saw the checker with a big smile, as I think she’d gotten the gist of the whole interaction but had just observed, amused at it all.

And my final words weren’t entirely true; I didn’t feel like I did something wrong, but I did feel anxious about this exchange that was not going to end well. I walked out feeling very unsettled, and feeling very bad for this woman. I think she’s probably just one of those people who has a very set idea of how people should act in situations, and I hadn’t acted consistent with her schema. And she is very comfortable voicing her distaste for such behavior in others.

Act Four: Trying to Make Sense of It All

But honestly, as I was getting in my car, I looked around, and did eventually see her. And part of me wanted to run up to her and give her a huge hug. Even if I didn’t believe it, I wanted to tell her I was totally in the wrong, just so we could embrace and be at peace with one another.

Who was right or wrong didn’t matter to me anymore; only harmony. I think I wanted to reassure her that I didn’t have a grudge and that she shouldn’t be embarrassed. And I think I also wanted something maybe a little more selfish from her: an awareness and appreciation of my good heart and intentions. And I don’t even know her.

It was a funny experience, looking back, but also very revealing of my own personality and expectations of myself and others. It’s one of those simple, isolated moments that I think has the feeling of a parable for me.

But I’m not sure about the main point of the parable. Maybe a parable about the value of silence versus words? The unfortunate and inevitable disharmony and misunderstanding that is present in our world? The innate human desire for harmonious relationships with all people? The futility of trying to reason with certain types of personalities, or people convinced they're right, people unable to hear and listen? Our need to defend ourselves and intentions and need to have those actions seen rightly?

And, telling about my personality. I’m just so darn sensitive, and these kinds of moments stay with me and play repeatedly in my mind. Stated positively, maybe it’s because of a very noble need to live in harmony, to make others feel good about themselves, to appreciated and be appreciated. Stated negatively, maybe it’s a people-pleasing tendency that is often met with angst when I feel I’ve displeased someone.

Though the people-pleasing move might have involved me saying something like "you're right, I AM stupid. Please think better of me." It might be more about some kind of need to "pastor" people. Or maybe it reflects a need to help people see "the truth" as I see it.

I experience a similar thing when I frustrate someone driving. I don’t get road rage as much as something more like “road insecurity.” I remember one time I treated a red flashing light like a four-way stop when it was a two-way stop. I started to pull out, forcing another driver to slam on his breaks. He yelled out: “you f***ing re***d!!!” Man that was harsh! I was working with developmentally disabled men, so I already hated (and still hate) the use of that word in that manner.

But I also said something out the window similar to what I say every time in those situations: “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, my bad, I’m an idiot, I’m sorry!” Or something like that. And I know he was just startled, and I that I’d clearly made a mistake. But man, people can be so cruel with their words! It can be hard to let something like that go. I wished I could have caught up to him, got out of the car, shook his hand and made peace.

He wouldn’t have wanted that, probably, and would have thought I was crazy. And my motivations wouldn’t have been totally about making things right, either; I think I probably wanted to, by humbling myself in front of him, expose the extremity of his yelling and make him feeling foolish and repentant. Not sure that would have been my place, nor that it would have been effective in the least.

And just two weeks ago, I honked at a woman in front of me, not out of frustration but as a way of alerting her that she could turn right at the red light, which she hadn’t done despite a lack of traffic. The light then turned green, and she stuck her hand out the sunroof and flipped me off. When we passed her eventually, she and her mother glared at us. What can you do?

I don’t know what the moral of the story is. Maybe it’s that some people will just seem unreasonable to us and no compelling argument will win them over.

Or, maybe it’s that it’s unfair to judge people’s actions because we may have no idea what’s really happening in their lives and hearts, especially people we don’t even know.

Or, maybe it’s that silence—often the harder path at times—is the better path.

Or, maybe it’s that we just have to let such misunderstandings go, living in a more care-free or gracious manner to people who may seem out of line in their words or actions.

Or, don’t take things so damn personal.

Or, maybe it’s that one shouldn’t put the grocery basket on the ground. Ever.

Rental Home Shopping, Humility, Scams, and More Humility

2011-07-14T15:30:00.000-07:00

For several weeks now I’ve been obsessively perusing Craigslist and other rental websites, looking at potential homes for Joann and I for the coming year. We’ve enjoyed our place on the west side of Olympia, but have thought there might be some cheaper options out there that might even be upgrades.

However, after multiple visits to various houses, apartments, and condos, we have decided to stay at our current apartment for another year. It wasn’t an easy decision, but all things considered—cost, size, location, moving expenses/inconvenience, etc.—it seemed to be the right one.

Decision-making does not always come easy for me. I think my personality is such that I’m excited by possibility, by options, or by the perceived freedom that not being tied down to one thing or path provides. But, as my wife has often told me, once I make a decision I’m in, I'm on board, and I don’t really look back.

I don’t really have any strong regrets, maybe because I tend to get a bit fatalistic and assume that my life couldn’t have happened any other way than it did. And when I give up the desire to change my circumstances, I can more easily embrace and cherish the moment, embracing my life as the unique gift it is rather than wishing for an alternative gift.

It’s interesting to me to look at what pulls me in each direction when I’m trying to make up my mind about something. In this case, there were a variety of factors, many so compelling that I’d wake up in the morning sure of one location as our new home, then by lunchtime have been won over to the other side.

I’m currently re-reading Joan Chittister’s Wisdom Distilled From the Daily, a book all about Benedictine spirituality, which is sort of about how to be a monk without moving to a monastery. It’s brilliant and empowering, and I really am coming to believe in the power of some sort of wide-spread monastic movement being a potentially transformational thing for the Christian Church today. I know manifestations of such a movement are popping up these days.

But in a recent chapter, I found yet another decision-making aid: the virtue of humility. Unfortunately (fortunately?), I found that different dimensions of being humble were pulling me in different directions. On one hand, a valuing of humility seemed to be telling me to live more simply, to move to a smaller, cheaper place, to avoid excess and pursue a life of simple means by living with less.

On the other hand, humility seemed to have a dimension of being content with what is, not pursuing “greener grass,” resisting the temptation to purse novelty simply for the sake of novelty but gaining a greater awareness of what makes my current circumstances beautiful and good, rather than complicating my life with other options. So even the “virtuous” choice wasn’t obvious.

Anyway, we’re not moving, and we’re both happy about it. We love our place, and I think are both feeling the rush of peace and sense of relief of knowing some aspect of the future and having the whole thing settled and done.

And on the final day (this past Monday) when we had to make our decision due to reasons of lease renewal and 20-days notice, I noticed a rental post on Craigslist that seemed too good to be true: a very large, nice-looking house for a great price, but with very little information. Surprised but curious, I emailed the poster, figuring I had nothing to lose. I thought there might be a catch, but it was worth a shot, right? Here’s the reply I received:

Thanks for your response and interest in my house. The house is very much available and it is charming 3 bedroom home for rent in Olympia WA USA. Which was formally occupied by me and my family before we left for Nigeria for a doctoral duty under a missionary, we left for a volunteer mission together with other missionaries for a development program with the aim of developing the people of west Africa physically and spiritually as God as directed us. We wanted to sell the house initially but we later changed our mind after we discovered that we wouldn't be spending more then 5 years here in Africa. So as you know well that the house is located at 3139 Horse Haven Street Southeast, Olympia WA 98501. Which my family and I have spent so much time and money to maintain it up till its standard. We have been trying our best to make the house as clean as possible, because am a clean person and we don't like dirt around our surroundings and also the Bible says cleanliness is next to Godliness. We are looking for a well-behaved, clean and honest tenant to rent out our house too. We will like you to give us your words and promise us that you will take good care of our house so that we will be happy when we come to visit you in the future.. We accept short or long-term rent and month to month also... All the utilities are included in the rent. Pets are allowed. So kindly get back to us with this information below.

PLEASE TELL US ABOUT YOURSELF

Full Name__________________________________________________
Home Phone ( )________________________
Date of Birth_________________________________
Other Phone ( )___________________
Current Address_______________________ ________
Apt#________
City__________________
State______
Zip________
Reasons for Leaving____________________________
Rent $__________
Phone ( )____________________________
Are you married____________________________
How many people will be living in the house____________________________
Do you have a pet____________________________
Do you have a car____________________________
Occupation____________________________
Move In Date____________________________
When do you intended sending me the deposit___________________________
When do you intended receiving the keys and document of the house___________________________
When do you intend to drive by the Property___________________________
Any Good Credit___________________________
Credit Score___________________________
Any Police Problem___________________________

Looking forward to hear from you with all this details so that i can have it in my file in case of issuing the receipt for you and contacting you.Await your urgent reply so that we can discuss on how to get the document and the key to you,please we are giving you all this base on trust and again i will want you to stick to your words, you know that we do not see our self's yet and only putting everything into Gods hand, so please do not let us down in this our property and God bless you more as you do this. Looking forward to hear from you. you can give us a call on our cell

Best Regards

BUCKLEY BRENT

(They did give numbers here, which I've deleted) .(call anytime)
Note: the Rent is $700 and security deposit is $700
Total Move In Cost:$1400

So obviously after I got this email I could see that what seemed too good to be true actually was. I’ve re-read this email several times, and usually laugh a little more each time. However, the first time I read this, I was actually a little angry. Not because I felt duped, necessarily, since there were so few indicators in the original post, other than a below-market price; but because I know how common these emails and offers are and that there are people out there who do get tricked.

Has anyone else ever gotten an email from a wealthy Nigerian prince who wants to give all his wealth to me because he believes in me and my life and that I will use the money for good? All I have to do is make a large deposit in his account to get the transfer process started!

Actually, my roommate in China, Will, who is from Cameroon, had a friend who almost got screwed out of a lot of money because someone hacked into Will's account and, posing as him, emailed a bunch of his friends back home and claimed to be very ill and in need of financial support. One of Will’s friends fell for it and made a transfer to the hacker. Fortunately, they figured it out just and time so that Will’s friend was able to cancel the transaction. But…yikes!

And it makes me want to do something. I debated about what to write back to this “landlord” if anything. I thought about playing along, giving him a bunch of fake information, telling him I was married to a Pterodactyl and was born in 1492. But I didn’t. More than that, I wanted to rebuke him. But I didn’t, because…what would be the point?

Choosing to say nothing, to remain silent, was and is hard. When someone is doing something that I believe is harmful to themselves or others, it’s hard to not say something, to not call them on it. And in some cases, that’s probably useful. But to others, such a rebuke will fall on deaf ears.

As many wiser than me have shown me along the way, most people have to be ready to change before they will in fact change. The soul is a delicate thing, and it seems that when some feel threatened or attacked, they put up a wall, or shut down, or live in denial, unwilling to receive correction, unable to display the kind of humility needed to know that change is needed.

So emailing someone across the world to tell them that I’m praying for their soul and for the lives of those that they and people like them have harmed and deceived...it seems kind of useless. Maybe I’m wrong and it would actually make a difference, maybe plant a seed of doubt in their minds about engaging in that kind of deception and trickery. But I don’t know them, don’t understand them, don’t understand their motives. And maybe more importantly, they haven’t invited me to correct them.

It’s not just that “they’re Nigerian” and so I shouldn’t bother, which seems to have hints of racism; they are my human brothers and deserve the same level of accountability as my American brothers, I’d think. But they haven’t asked me for correction, and so I think it’s better I don’t offer it, even if my mixed motives here are genuinely more pure and others-centered rather than vindictive (which I'm not 100% sure is the case).

Anyway, I hurt for people that harm others with their self-centered actions, and believe there is a better way to live life. Though I’m looking in the mirror, and know that I too have my own harmful tendencies—both in word and in deed—that stem from a desire for self-preservation, to prove myself, to cope with my insecurities.

So I guess I’ll just rebuke myself for now, rather than someone who may or may not be from Nigeria. And I’ll keep in mind in the future that 2,300 sq foot homes in Olympia advertised as $700 a month are probably not legitimate.

Alone For a Night (A Poem for My Beloved)

2011-07-06T19:23:00.000-07:00

While Joann and I were dating, we had a six month stretch during my 10 ½ month stint in China where we had no face-to-face contact. However, since we got married last August, we haven’t been apart for more than a few hours.

But because Joann left for Vancouver this morning to assist her sister in childcare and housecleaning in light of her sister's new baby, tonight marks the very first night in my married life that I will go to bed without Joann by my side.

Feeling a bit of inspiration as I wait for my brown rice to finish cooking, I offer a humble attempt at Seuss-esqe poetry to share my sentiments. I do this partly because I love my wife, and partly as a strategic attempt to gain “points.” I’ve been told I’m unnecessarily honest.

"Alone For a Night"

I ask you "what sounds good for dessert tonight?"

I hope you’ll say "how ‘bout raspberry delight!"

Yet my query is met with no voice and no tone

Then I sadly remember: tonight I’m alone.

Please don’t get me wrong, I sure do like my space

But not nearly as much as your beautiful face

We made vows in front of our family and friends

The streak that began that day finally now ends

I could smoke five cigars and drink five pints of beer

I could finally watch Joaquin in “I’m Still (Not) Here”

I could vulgarly fart, sing out gibberish songs

But those last two I do whether you’re here or gone

I’ll soon go on a bike ride and think much of you

Of treasured moments sweet, tender, silly and blue

I know I’ve bastardized that one worship song

But I am “lost” and “desperate”— for you dear I long

So the rice is now done, I must go start the pork

My words here show me to be a love-stricken dork

Dinner won’t be the same without two separate versions

I know you "stay home" on my spicy excursions

But with help from anapestic tetrameter

I wanted to tell you, I wish you could be here.

But don’t lament, sweetheart, I’m grieved by your sorrow

We are people of hope; I’ll see you tomorrow.

A Missed Opportunity

2011-06-30T19:26:00.001-07:00

Upon hearing a rather friendly-sounding knock at the door the other night, I opened the door to see a nicely dressed, twenty-something young man, possessing some kind of odd combination of excitement yet hip, laid-back coolness. He tapped his chest a couple times, asking me if I “knew anything about this,” pointing to the name on his nametag—the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

I said that I did know a little bit. He asked me what I knew. At that point I realized I just wasn’t in the mood, reflected in my short answers. It was only like 8:30 or so, but I was in my PJs, watching X-Men 2 with my wife for the first time (she’s getting me caught up on the series) and about to enjoy her just-made “raspberry desert,” as she calls it.

There are times where I might relish the opportunity for religious dialogue; it’s one of those things I’m “about,” I think. I enjoy learning more about others’ faiths and helping them more clearly and truthfully understand my own, and I love what potential for good there is when enemies put down their swords, so to speak.

But now wasn’t a good time. I told him I was a Seminary graduate, and a Quaker, and had studied religion a bit and had acquired some knowledge of Mormonism throughout my life. I thought it interesting that I identified as a Quaker, since I don’t usually identify with a particular Christian tribe in that way, believing myself to be more of a denominational mutt at this point, though probably more in line with something like moderate Quakerism than anything else.

Maybe I felt like “Christian” was too vague and wanted to show him I had actually thought through my beliefs and opinions and values.

He acknowledged my words, then asked me again what I knew. Really not interested in talking at the moment, I just told him again, “oh, I know a little bit.” Then I apologetically told him I really wasn’t interested in talking right now, as I was busy.

Which was truthfully what I felt and wanted. He suggested I come check out the Mormon Church some time. I kind of smiled and lightly chuckled and told him thanks, and wished him good luck in his conversations. And I meant that.

I respect what he and his buddy I could see out in the parking lot were doing, even if I’m not sure that seeking to draw others to your religious faith in a manner similar to Amway salespeople is the best approach. At least it’s not my style and understanding of the best way to live one’s faith.

But I get it. I assume, giving him the benefit of the doubt, that he really believes in this message and sees the goodness of his faith and wants others to experience it. I can’t blame him for what he is doing. If you believe that people’s lives and futures would be better off if they adhered to your religion or worldview, and that loss or sorrow or disappointment await them should they not, then perhaps you’d do anything to spread your message.

It’s possible his role as a missionary is not that rosy, and he does it because he feels obligated to. Then again, some obligations can be for a greater good, even if we are giving up our will for a time to serve the greater community or to do what we feel God wants of us. So again, I respect what he’s doing, and I get it.

Problem is—and I hate to sound closed-minded or overconfident—I really can’t see myself becoming Mormon. I believe I could learn from Mormons, more about God, Jesus, myself, humankind, what constitutes a good and meaningful life, how to love, etc. On another night, I might have been interested in such learning.

But I guess I kind of assume he was interested in teaching and not learning, which makes true dialogue difficult, and I also assume that he wouldn’t have been all that enthused about talking about God together, had I told him at the outset that I was confident I wouldn’t be “converted.” Maybe that’s not fair, and he would have loved such dialogue.

But all of that said, I haven’t even mentioned the nature of the “missed opportunity” alluded to in the title of this post. I’m not referring to a missed chance to share my faith, or to learn more about God, or anything like that. No, I’m realizing I missed a prime opportunity to make my continually nagging dream for my life to be a musical a momentary reality.

When he asked me what I knew about Mormonism I only later realized, with the help of my wife, how I truly should have responded—in song:

“I believe that the Lord, God, created the universe

I believe that He sent His only Son to die for my sins

And I believe that ancient Jews built boats and sailed to America

I am a Mormon—and a Mormon just believes.

And more:

“I believe that God has a plan for all of us

I believe that plan involves me getting my own planet

And I believe that the current President of the Church,

Thomas Monson, speaks directly to God

I am a Mormon—and, dang it! A Mormon just believes!”

For those of you like my wife who know theater, or perhaps watched this year’s Tony awards, you probably know that those are some of the lyrics from this year’s Tony-award winning musical “The Book of Mormon.”

Oh how perfect it would have been to have broken into song; when will I have a moment like that again? Maybe the missionary would have joined me in song, and we would have gone skipping around the parking lot together, grinning from ear to ear.

A missed opportunity, indeed.

Ten-Year Reunion Reflections

2011-06-28T15:19:00.001-07:00

This past Saturday was Woodland High School Class of 2001’s Ten-Year Reunion. I was so unbelievably curious, even nervously excited about what the experience would be like. I feel that, like many life experiences, my expectations were not really met, forcing me afterwards to judge the experience not by whether or not it met my expectations but by some other standard.

I’m still processing the 3-4 hour gathering at Big Al’s in Vancouver, not totally sure what to think of it. It was really a bit surreal, and I can’t quite think of the word for it at the moment, other than “odd.” But that makes it sound bad. More accurately, the night was kind of a mix of good and bad…

Good:

The waitress forgot one of my drinks, and brought me a free pint as compensation. Yay.
I recognized all but one classmate (was a little nervous about this beforehand). Percentage-wise, that’s an A! Her hair was red; it used to be dark.
I had a brief but touching (for me) conversation with a classmate who seemed to have faced a few more challenges than one often faces in their early to mid-twenties, yet who seemed to possess such a peaceful, regretless attitude about his life, able to see the value in his experiences and count his challenges as lessons learned. I'm sure many others that night, had I talked with them at length, would have displayed a similar gain in that kind of wisdom that seems to come mainly through trial and tribulation.
For the most part, I was really proud of my classmates for being friendly and kind to each other, mostly crossing old social lines that can be really hurtful for some in high school. I know not everyone’s an extrovert, but I saw several classmates eager to make others feel noticed, included, and cared for. (BUT, see “Bad” section below.)
As I mentioned elsewhere a couple days ago, the conversation between my nuclear engineer and environmental lawyer friends (Sarah and Amanda) was especially fun. I mostly listened and, with the help of best buddy Brad, playfully heckled. But it’s fun to see the paths classmates have taken and what they’ve made of their lives thus far. A lot of that discovery of self and vocation happens after high school, so it’s not always clear who people are “becoming” when they are teenagers. It’s inspiring to see people who are doing something they really believe in and love.

Bad:

I told a couple people that the person I was most looking forward to seeing was Wes Sadlier. I’m not totally sure why. We were on a lot of baseball teams together growing up and eventually golfing buddies later in high school. But Wes didn’t come. Where art thou, Wes Sadlier? You broke my heart this weekend.
The food was great…Mexican-style buffet. But I was too distracted by catching up with people and was too giddy and nervously excited to eat. That combined with bowling only one game didn’t exactly allow me to get my money’s worth in activities. But time with old friends is priceless, or something.
Despite my praise for my classmates, I could sense a little bit of discomfort for some about old groups. On one hand, it’s natural to flock to your friends, your own social group, your cliques. On the other hand, outsiders often have a hard time breaking in when established groups don’t make the effort to open wide the doors. This is one thing that often disappoints me about churches that are heavily made up of young people; my experience is that they don’t excel at greeting and welcoming new faces, often preferring the comforts of what is familiar.
There were 24 (25? 26?) of my classmates there out of (I think) 107 with whom I graduated. That was a bit disappointing. Some I’m sure couldn’t make it because of geographical distance. Some may have had babysitting issues. The cost, maybe. Some probably were just indifferent about the event (hard for me to imagine as excited as I was). Some may not have known about it, because of the use of Facebook to advertise it (there are still people not on Facebook, believe it or not). Sadly, some may have not come out of some kind of fear, shame, embarrassment, or avoidance; I hope the number of this last type of absentee was few.

Uncategorizable:

Mike Rogers’ first interaction with my wife was not a hello or handshake, but the classic tap-the-shoulder-and walk-the-other-way move that has fooled many throughout human history. Nice work, Mike.
Joanna Johnson didn’t exactly leap for joy when my wife Joann’s first comment to her was “Joanna, weather girl, right?” (in reference to her “role” in my morning video broadcast that was part quasi-news show and part outlet for my buddies’ and my humor and imagination. Apparently she doesn’t want to be remembered as the “weather girl.”)
I beat my wife and the four others in my lane at bowling. So, I’m awesome, I guess.
The experience reminded me of the “Lost” finale in ways, except I don’t believe anyone had to wait outside to face their un-dealt-with demons before being ready to enter. I didn’t see Wes Sadlier. Maybe he was outside dealing with his demons.

A Cooking Post! Dinner At the Boswell's

2011-06-21T15:33:00.000-07:00

As I sit on our patio savoring a gorgeous day, our slow cooker is at work inside, preparing tonight's dinner of some kind of stew I improvised with pork, red potatoes, baby carrots, frozen peas, onion, garlic cloves, seasoning salt, pepper, and two different kinds of Mrs. Dash. We’ve had the slow cooker for months, but this is only the second time I’ve used it; I just recently discovered how easy and convenient it is. What I’ve been missing!

And I started thinking about the ways that marriage has brought with it many new dishes for both Joann and I, each of us having obvious preferences in what foods we like to prepare as well as consume. We share the cooking load, and I’d say we do a decent job of catering to one another. As Joann usually explains it, I prepare a lot more meat and vegetable based meals, while her specialties are casseroles and "breakfast."

The following are some of the cooking “highlights” and “staples” from the past 10 ½ months of marriage (wow…about a week longer than the amount of time I spent in China).

Pulled Pork Sandwiches (Matt, highlight). This was my first use of the slow cooker a couple weeks ago. I basically just added some barbecue sauce, garlic, onions, spices, and let it sit. The result was delicious!
Burritos (Matt, staple). I would lump in nachos, quesadillas, and various Mexican bowls with this, though burritos are the most common form "Mexican night" takes. We could do Mexican just about every night actually. This is one of my dishes that requires a “Joann version” and “Matt version” be made. Joann’s typical burrito includes beans, chicken, cheese, tomatoes, olives, garnished with lettuce and sour cream. Mine includes the same but with bell peppers, Anaheim peppers, onions, and loads of salsa and pico de gallo added.
Peas (Joann, staple). This isn’t a dish, but it deserves mentioning as an obvious difference in preference between the two of us. Joann’s favorite vegetable seems to be peas, though I’m usually not satisfied by peas alone. Peas are one of those foods I eat rapidly just to get them off my plate so I can settle down and enjoy my meal. I usually steam broccoli on “pea night” to supplement the meal. Joann doesn’t care much for broccoli, except sometimes raw. She likes the way I prepare fresh green beans…cooked in oil (or often butter), seasoned and crunchy.
Waffles (Joann, staple). Waffle night usually includes bacon and eggs, which I generally leave to Joann for the prepping. She makes a mean waffle. Or the waffle-maker makes a mean waffle. Joann and the waffle-maker combine forces to make a mean waffle. Blueberries often make a nice addition when cooked into the waffles.
German Pear Puff Pancake (Joann, highlight). Keeping with the breakfast theme, Joann occasionally makes this dish which is more of an egg-based pancake. And the high amount of fruit and eggs makes us feel like it’s an extremely healthy dish. Joann says it is healthy. I’m not sure, but I want to believe it is, considering my usual portion size whenever she cooks this.
Chinese (Matt, staple-ish). I realize now that this has not been as a frequent a dish in recent weeks. It seemed like back in the Fall, we on multiple occasions had some friends over for Chinese, allowing me to really go all out and prepare some of my favorite dishes consumed during my time in China, like green peppers and pork, sweet and sour chicken, and various other veggie dishes, with rice. Chinese night has kind of morphed into some kind of Asian fusion night, usually involving chicken and veggies with peanut sauce poured over noodles. Lazy man’s Asian.
Pop-up Pizza. (Joann, highlight). “Highlight” as in memorable, not necessarily excellent. Joann probably made the best pop-up pizza—kind of like lasagna but more bread-y than noodle-y—one can find; I just don’t think it’ll ever be a favorite for me. But I think it’s a Whittaker family thing, and I’m a sucker for nostalgia, even if it’s somebody else's nostalgia.
Grilled Cheese and Tomato Soup. (Joann, staple). Joann’s comfort food. She knows to add tomato slices to mine so I’ll feel like it’s a more balanced meal.
Pasta (both, staple). I think I’ve made more of the pasta recently, though we’ve shared the load on this one. I’ve recently discovered cold pasta salad…I believe I made it with whole-grain penne, grilled chicken, olives, carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, and some kind of herb-basil dressing. Joann prefers her warm pasta with butter and parmesan; I’m a tomato sauce guy.
Chicken and potatoes (Matt, staple). Our standard, “we had Mexican last night, didn’t we?” follow-up dinner. I like to make barbecued chicken. Though we don’t actually own a barbecue; I use the Foreman grill and add barbecue sauce. So I guess it’s not really barbecued chicken, technically. Also found a hickory-bacon-onion ranch-like dressing that I like to add to the potatoes when grilling.
Cod (Matt, highlight). I don’t cook fish often, but decided to “Jabez” my meat cooking repertoire. The first attempt was cooking tilapia, because tilapia was cheap. It was bad. I may have done it wrong, and I tried seasoning it in different ways or disguising it with other ingredients (as in fish burritos)…or maybe tilapia just is bad, cheap fish. So I upgraded to cod, baking it with spices, lemon, and crumbling up some wheat thins over the top...amazing! It may have actually just been average to above average fish, but I think I was so pleased with myself for successfully cooking fish that the thrill of victory made the fish seem more glamorous.

And a couple non-dinner items:

Cheesecake (Joann, highlight). Joann made probably the best homemade cheesecake I’ve ever tasted for my birthday. It was amazing. She made too much though, and I gained some weight that week before we threw the rest of the second cheesecake away.
Pumpkin bread (Joann, highlight). Another Joann specialty. We love the pumpkin bread sold at Batdorf and Bronson’s, a local coffee shop, which inspired Joann to make her own. Which, of course, was better than Batdorf’s, especially the time she added cranberries.

So there’s a sampling. Joann, did I miss anything significant? Anything you'd add?

Also, any suggestions from others for how we can expand our “menu” this summer? Any good dish recommendations that might fit either of our styles (or expand on our styles?)

Oh...I also know how to order a mean Papa's Murphy's pizza.

Boswell Duo Makes its Theatrical Debut

2011-06-17T11:25:00.000-07:00

Some of you may have already seen some of these pics on Joann’s facebook page, but I wanted to include a few here. Last Friday night was Tumwater High School’s “Oscar Night,” the annual awards ceremony for the theater department.

Joann presented most of the awards, with the help of her able-bodied assistant, myself, finding and organizing trophies for her (reprising my role as the “Lovely Boz”…pardon the obscure reference...where art thou, Steven Keck?).

We also performed a duet together, I believe the first time we’ve both sang and acted for an audience. Though, sometimes we do converse with each other when others are around as if we had an audience. It’s the actress in her, I guess, and the needy-for-attention child in me, probably.

We did our own rendition of “He Lives in You” from the Lion King Musical. Joann played the baboon sage and did the majority of the singing, using song to explain to me, the young, confused lion, my true identity. I spent most of the time “discovering myself,” learning how to be a lion while also goofing off. It was a true straight-woman, funny man comic duo.

You can see our costumes in the pictures; mine featured a stuffed lion duct taped to my head, which was of course a crowd pleaser. We had a blast. The “story” we told was fun, the harmonies were solid, and our interaction was pretty darn funny...if I may boast. And the students loved it. One male student actually proposed to me after our performance. I politely declined, of course.

In reviewing our performance together, Joann differentiated for me two kinds of actors (not the only two kinds). There are actors who take direction well and when on stage adhere pretty strictly to the script, not being so lost in the moment that they forget their precisely prepared movements and cues and lines.

Then there are actors who take direction well but once on stage lose themselves and take things in whatever direction they feel like in the heat of the moment, often thwarting the director's work but being nonetheless entertaining. She tells me I’m that one.

Religious Joke of the Day

2011-06-16T08:52:00.000-07:00

I actually heard about this on sports radio yesterday, though it has nothing to do with sports. It's a conversation between an Australian interviewer and the Dalai Lama. What a magnificently, uncomfortable moment. Though it is a pretty good joke.

I would say the Dalai Lama might be one of the five living people I'd like to have coffee with. Hopefully I can come up with an equally clever joke...even if the DL doesn't quite get it. Some things get lost in translation.

Catching (Caught) Up On My 2011 Reading (Pts VIII & IX): MacIntyre, "After Virtue" (and Hauerwas, "God, Medicine, and Suffering")

2011-06-14T19:41:00.000-07:00

This concludes my “catch-up” posts, as I just finished this book yesterday. I won't comment on God, Medicine, and Suffering by Stanley Hauerwas which I read just before After Virtue because I actually wrote a Hauerwas-inspired post a couple weeks back: Would You Want To Know the Hour?

Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue, 3^rd Ed (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007)

These two books are in a way linked: I actually discovered this book through Hauerwas, who frequently cites MacIntyre in his work. This was heavy material, and I’m still digesting it and probably need to revisit the chunks I highlighted to make sure I know what on earth I just read. It is a long, deep, philosophical and historical argument filled with several words that required use of a dictionary.

The (Relatively) Short, Simplified Version

1) Historically, morality has been connected to traditions and communities. A community learns what actions are right or wrong by understanding the purpose or “telos”(end/goal) of the individual life and of the community, and by living in line with that goal.

2) When one identifies with a tradition—the way a particular community has acted throughout its history—one discovers examples of how people have acted in various situations and challenges, thus learning what is moral.

3) In the modern and postmodern ages, traditions have been shunned and dismissed as stifling or unnecessarily binding; the modern man or woman is free to determine his or her own sense of right and wrong, and pretty much has; liberal individualism seems to demand this freedom.

4) People from Kant to Marx to Nietzsche tried to find ways of justifying morality, attempts which MacIntyre argues have failed. There are constantly conflicting opinions of what is good and right action, and there are no consistent, logical means of determining what is right. Moral confusion abounds.

5) The best way forward is to rediscover "virtue"—displaying "excellence" in one's behavior/actions in a way that benefits both the individual and the community.

6) This requires gaining a “narrative understanding” or our lives which dismisses the individualism and self-made attitude of our time and sees how our lives are parts of traditions and of stories and are themselves stories that have a purpose and progression and “telos” toward which we move.

7) The most fulfilling life for ourselves and for others comes from learning to develop these virtues in our lives alongside others; virtues find their meaning in the context of a community or tradition. In other words—you don’t just not cheat on your wife "just because," but because you understand how it is both harmful to yourself and harmful to the social network or larger community and shared history of which you are a part—it affects others, affects future generations, and does not fit the framework of right actions that help sustain and enrich communities and individual lives.

Okay…I think I got the gist of what he was saying. The book disappointed me in that it didn’t give the kind of clear-cut roadmap I expected. But that’s fine, because it at least was a starting point that I think I’d like to research and reflect upon more. But I think what MacIntyre implies but doesn't outright say is that the leaders of such a movement in our time should be the Church.

Possible Implications for the Church

Now I could be misunderstanding the nature of virtue theory and of what MacIntyre is arguing for, but I’ll give it a stab. The Church, in some respects, seems like it’s already doing what MacIntyre calls for. The Church is a long tradition of morality, giving its present members guidelines for right living that have been practiced for centuries.

Well, maybe. It’s certainly a tradition of beliefs and rituals: we rehearse the Lord’s Supper, we read the Scriptures, we sings songs, we recite creeds, and we meditate on the work of Christ. And we remind ourselves, in sermons and in Sunday School, of our core beliefs. “What should we think and believe?” is a key question asked and answered. And often “how should we live?” is asked too.

But you’ll hear many people, inside and outside of the Church, rant about how Christianity is about sin-management, about rule-keeping. It’s about don’ts. If you avoid these things, you’ll be fine. I don’t think this is an entirely fair criticism as there are a lot of Christian communities out there doing wonderful things by way of service, outreach, compassionate acts, volunteering, etc.

But it’s not wholly misguided. A segment of the Church expresses much of its attitudes through negatives: “don’t sleep with anyone besides your spouse. Don’t be gay. Don’t abort babies ever. Don’t swear. Don’t get drunk. Don’t not tithe.” Much of contemporary Christianity is not like this, though maybe you recognize what I'm talking about.

But the difference I see between morals and virtues is a differences of negation and action, of don’ts and do’s, of avoidance and disciplined obedience. Being moral tends to mean that you are not guilty of a variety of sins…doesn’t it? But being virtuous, on the other hand, I think is not about what you’re avoiding; it’s about having the kind character or being the kind of person that habitually does what is good and right.

Being a person of virtue means you’re driven by whatever it is your community or tradition defines as virtuous: maybe courage, justice, honesty, maybe faith, hope and love, maybe temperance and prudence, maybe humility or charity, to name some of the classic virtues.

Why Be Virtuous?

I think a lot of people, those like Dallas Willard, Richard Foster, Phyllis Tickle, and many others who—as MacIntyre hints at—are encouraging something like Benedictine spirituality that aims at the fostering of virtues and the development of character in the context of a supportive community that encourages and gives an outlet for such actions.

I know some do react to these movements, and say that this is a sort of works-righteousness, an effort to save ourselves rather than let God save us. But I don’t think the point of virtuous living is the salvation of one’s soul from damnation. I can at the moment think of three incentives to “train” and “discipline” oneself to become the kind of person that “does justly and loves mercy and walks humbly with thy God.”

One, God calls us to it...to act like Jesus, a man who seems to have succeeded at being a pretty “good” guy. We don’t just praise the man Jesus because of the sins and temptations he avoided, though he did; we admire him for his courage, compassion, prudence, and justice, and how these virtues were evident in all his interactions. He, either by divine intervention or by rigorous spiritual training (or a mix), had the kind of character that lead to right and “moral” actions.

Two, I believe being an ambassador of the mission of God, of God’s Kingdom, of God’s will, means not just announcing that God is love and that God saves, but living a life that points to such love and salvation working itself out in my own life. And three, I can imagine that a life in which I was more filled with love, with humility, with courage, with wisdom, etc., would be more rewarding and fulfilling for me and for other people.

The task of “virtue training” in the church is not something I really know much about, nor can I imagine the practical outworking of it very well…but it intrigues me.

Discerning Morality as a Community

There’s one more thing in all this that interests me. Not only is this about virtuous actions by individuals; it’s about communities learning to make judgments together on what is good and right in a given situation. From a more moral standpoint, the Christian tradition, at least that of which I’ve been a part, has usually answered moral challenges with the response, “well, what does the Bible say?”

Many are not content with such a response, however. A lot of folks writing today talk about the need to see the Bible not as a “constitution” but as a “library.” What they mean is that the Bible should not be seen as a hard-fast rulebook in which rules from that time can simply be transposed to the present, without alteration (constitution).

Instead, they say, the Bible should be seen as a library, a wealth of resources to which we can turn to examine how people faithful to God in the past have lived virtuous lives, good lives, and have made choices and developed rules for their communities—be it ancient Israel or the early Church—that allowed them to live in the kind of peace and loving community and fulfilling life that is pleasing to both humans and to God.

So…when a community is determining right actions by virtues, I think the questions they ask become different, and sometimes the conclusions as well. Example: sex before marriage. The “moral approach” is simple: don’t do it, the Bible says so.

The “virtue approach”—as I understand it or at least as I’ve “extended” it here as I’ve interpreted its implications—might say something more like, “let’s look at how those in our religious tradition have tended to deal with this, from the Bible through the various eras of the Church to now; and let’s also consider your (our) intentions and motivations, what will most benefit the person involved, and what will most benefit others; then we can as a group of people dialogue about what right action might look like.”

Maybe it seems a complicated way to decide something. Maybe the conclusions will be the same as the moral approach: don’t have sex before marriage. But maybe there are a whole other host of issues that we might look at differently when considered from the standpoint of virtue theory (gay marriage comes to mind) or issues where perhaps actions depend on context (lying, for example).

The Gist (You Should Have Just Scrolled Down To This Part)

So it seems “recovering virtues” as MacIntyre tries to do, involves both individual and communal components: fostering character traits that transcend situations but inform how you act in a given situation (courage, love, justice); and fostering communities that discern together how to act “morally” or rightly or godly in a given situation, based on those transcendent virtues believed to be virtues either because the tradition or community decided they were, or because God has revealed to humans what qualities are virtuous, through prophets, messengers, inspired writers, and in Jesus himself.

So…there it is. Probably don’t read the book, unless you’re a nerd like me and into that kind of torture, I mean, fun. But it might be worth looking into how religious communities are exploring this topic of virtue today.

Catching Up On My 2011 Reading (Pt VII): Brueggemann, "The Prophetic Imagination"

2011-06-12T16:14:00.000-07:00

Walter Brueggemann, The Prophetic Imagination, 2^nd Ed (Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg Fortress, 2001)

The Old Testament has become so much more fascinating for me in recent years. And not the parts of the Old Testament little boys and girls learn in Sunday School growing up about arks and whales and slaying giants. Thanks in part to a spectacular Old Testament professor at seminary (Dr. Delamarter) as well as some books and articles I’ve read in recent years, I’ve discovered a lot of depth in the OT prophetic writings.

Whereas before I would often skim over these sections, either bored by the ranting and negativity, or puzzled by what seemed like an angry God, or just confused by what to do with these “future-predictors,” I have more recently found a great deal of inspiration in these writings.

Scholars like Brueggemann have helped make a lot more sense out of what it was the prophets were trying to do and have made those often ignored sections of the Old Testament seem more relevant than ever to life today. And they've helped me synthesize a bit better what at times had seemed like two different Gods in the Old and New Testaments, or maybe a God who had a sort of mid-life crisis and decided to, evidenced in Jesus, change his whole attitude toward humans.

I’ve become dissatisfied with the dichotomy of Old Testament angry God equals versus New Testament loving God. I see in the Old Testament a very inspiring vision of God’s relationship with and hopes for God’s people. I see God’s desire to bring justice. Not justice in the sense of an eagerness to punish “evildoers” or those who oppose “God’s people” but justice in the sense of setting right economic imbalances, dethroning oppressive regimes, and creating a world free of suffering and conflict...a God committed to setting things right.

I see God’s eagerness for a community that is a light to others. Not a community that is legalistic in a way where people feel bound, un-free, like life is about constant restraint, but a community with rules and guidelines set up for the good and health of the whole community, guidelines that will lead to full life, healthy relationships, and will enable that community to be a source of hope and love to the world in all its tragedy and injustice.

And I see a God who, because of such devotion to this community, does not simply tell these people, “well, it’s alright that you’re not perfect, because I love you.” I hear something much more like “you people need to get it together because your actions are such a far cry from what you could be, from what I hope for you, and you are destroying yourselves by the choices you are making…the world needs you to be better.” Yes, wrath…but wrath not as an end, but as a means of energizing people toward right living and obedience to God.

I think in the past I’ve felt a tendency to be a bit about shy about the God seen in the Old Testament (am I alone?), like I need to apologize for God. But I’ve come to see the continuity between the God of Israel and the God of the Church, even discovering more deeply how truly prophetic Jesus was.

For as tender and compassionate as Jesus was, Jesus had the fire of a prophet, willing to name sin and evil for what it is…but always out of a desire to see people become more self-aware, repentant, and eager to the live the kind of life that can truly be called good, fulfilling, compassionate, and a life that contributes to the greater community rather than harms it.

Brueggemann continues this conversation about the nature of God and the purpose of prophecy in the Old Testament. He observes that:

We don’t necessarily enjoy criticism, nor do we really enjoy “energizing,” for “that would demand something of us” (4). I think the scary thing about listening to the prophets is that one is likely to conclude that God expects a lot out of people. And that means effort on our part, a willingness to consider how our habits, commitments, preferences, whatever, might actually—though they might not seem evil—be doing harm to others or ourselves. Being criticized or “energized” means I might have to change. And that’s often not very fun, or pain-free.
Hope is essential, even if hope seems a little silly and unproductive at times in light of the reality before us: “Hope is the refusal to accept the reading of reality which is the majority opinion; and does that only at great political and existential risk. On the other hand, hope is subversive, for it limits the grandiose pretension of the present, daring to announce that the present to which we’ve all made commitments is now called into question.” (65) And later, “The hope that must be spoken is hope rooted in the assurance that God does not quit even when the evidence warrants his quitting.” (67). We hope that things can and will be better, and we base this hope in part on the fact that we believe God has not abandoned us, even if life at times might lead us to think so.
Jesus’ compassion is not just about emotions: “The compassion of Jesus is to be understand not just as an emotional reaction but a public criticism in which he dares to act upon his concern against the entire numbness of his social context. Empires live by numbness. Empires, in their militarism, expect numbness about the human cost of war. Corporate economies expect blindness to the cost in terms of poverty and exploitation. Governments and societies of domination go to great lengths to keep the numbness intact. Jesus penetrates the numbness by his compassion and with his compassion takes the first step by making visible the odd abnormality that had become business as usual.” (88) This seems relevant to a variety of “empires” over the two millennia since Jesus’ ministry. I can be "numb" at times, maybe unaware of it because I don't feel guilty of directly murdering anyone or stealing anyone’s wallet. I nervously write this as the thought of becoming more awake and less numb to the evil around me feels demanding and confusing—what can I actually do about it? What can we do about it?

Catching Up On My 2011 Reading (Pt VI): Volf, "Allah: A Christian Response" (UPDATED WITH A PARABLE)

2011-06-10T16:29:00.000-07:00

Miroslav Volf, Allah: A Christian Response (New York: HarperCollins, 2011)

The God of Muslims and the God of Christians is one and the same. There are differences, but there are similarities. One can choose to focus more on the differences, or one can choose to focus on the similarities.

Focusing on the common ground is more likely to bring about more good in the world and more likely to lead to peace between religions and nations than insisting on the primary importance of the differences.

That’s the short version. It’s a great book, maybe the most accessible of all I’ve mentioned this week. Just pressed for a time…got a High School theater awards ceremony to attend!

---

UPDATED:

A great comment made by my wonderful mother, that I assume reflects the concern of many others as well, to which I hope I've offered a helpful response:

"While I agree on focusing on what we have in common...I disagree that we worship the same God. I don't know as much as you do about Muslims. I worship a triune God, do they? And that is a huge sticking point for me. In the beginning, with Isaac and Ishmael...perhaps. Sorry. Love you."

I think you and I are thinking about this issue in two different ways. An analogy that I came up with laying in bed last night might be helpful.

Example 1: Ted and Ted (two different guys with the same name) are hanging out at a coffee shop. You have a brief conversation with Ted in the brown chair about how silly it is that people pay so much for coffee these days. He is light, witty, and humorous. I go in a few minutes later, and talk to Ted in the green chair about U.S. foreign policy, about which he is VERY critical and frustrated.

We meet be back at home and talk about our experiences with “Ted” and are very puzzled when we realize how different of an impression we have of this “person.” The problem is we’re talking about two different people named Ted.

Example 2: You bump into a man named Ted (the one and only Ted) at the post office. He is frazzled, just getting some bad news in a letter; you say hi and try to start a conversation, though he just says hi and doesn’t seem interested in talking. The next day, I see Ted at the grocery store, and he initiates a conversation with me, seemingly in a very friendly mood.

When you and I meet for dinner that night, we both talk about our meetings with “Ted.” But we’re confused by each other’s descriptions; you describe Ted as a rather introverted person, while I insist he’s much more extraverted. We think we must be talking about two different people, based on our very different impressions of this man.

I think many think about God through the lenses of the first scenario: different understandings mean different beings. The second example suggests that people can be talking about (or worshipping) the same God while having a different understanding of that God.

If I as a Christian begin my prayer with: “Dear great and holy Creator, One who commands us to love…” and a Muslim begins her prayer with the same refrain—does the same God not hear us? Muslims understand God to be more monotheistic than the Christian understanding of a Trinitarian Christian God (though I think many Christians in actuality think about God more monotheistically).

And it’s likely that one of us is more right than the other. Because I believe that Jesus is the fullest revelation of God, I obviously believe Christians have a fuller picture of God. That's probably partly why I'm a Christian and not a Muslim. That said, I think God is so far beyond my comprehension that I should be humble in claiming that I “get” who God is more than others, even believing that Muslims could help me understand my God even better than I do.

It’s not saying we share an accurate and/or common picture of God, though there are many similarities, if we can look past the caricatures of each faith (angry Jihadists and angry preachers); it’s saying we’re both talking about the same, incomprehensible being.

This is not about changing Christian beliefs, or watering down the Christian faith (or the Muslim faith) and making a “hybrid” God. It’s being willing to celebrate similarities and distinctives, creating a safe space between Christians and Muslims where dialogue is free and open, maybe even where Muslims feel free to try to “persuade” Christians just as Christians feel free to persuade Muslims of their respective views.

One can be a fully devoted follower of Jesus and believe in Jesus’ uniqueness and even believe your picture of God is more complete than others (not arrogance, just the nature of belief, I think), while admitting that despite our different understandings, we’re talking about the same being. Thus, we worship the same God, even if we’re both a little right and both a little wrong about some things.

It's one thing if I said, "I worship a being who is the Creator and Sovereign over all things" and you said "I worship a being with a core, stem, and that many often call Granny Smith or Golden Delicious." You would obviously be talking about an apple, something different than what I'm talking about. But Muslims and Christians believe they both worship the Creator and the Sovereign. I believe they do.

So in short, "do they worship a triune God?" you asked. I believe God is triune, and I believe they worship God. So, I would say, yes they worship a triune God, but don't believe that God to really be triune. I'd guess a Muslim who believes we worship a common God would probably say we worship God "who is One" and not three and that we're a bit misguided and need to be corrected.

Hope that helps. :)

Catching Up On My 2011 Reading (Pt V): Moltmann, "Sun of Righteousness, Arise!"

2011-06-09T11:29:00.000-07:00

Jurgen Moltmann, Sun of Righteousness, Arise! God’s Future for Humanity and the Earth (Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg Fortress, 2010)

This is ultimately a book about hope. Moltmann writes a lot about eschatology (how God’s promised future affects our lives now, not Kirk Cameron-style), the Holy Spirit (though I wouldn’t call him charismatic), the Trinity (I’m sure he’s influenced Franke), and creation care (not just weeding, but I’m sure including weeding).

But beyond all the brilliant theology here, it’s a book that ultimately leaves one with a great sense of hope. Optimistic enthusiasm, yes, but tempered with a realism that suffering and waiting precede relief and fulfillment. He gives me hope that God is in control.

Not “in control” as in God’s going to provide me a job or a baby or good weather tomorrow; I don’t mean it that individually. I mean “God is in control” as in God will one day blow us away when we more clearly see the rightness of God's justice, the extent of God's grace, the goodness of God's choices and actions.

God is trustworthy. And even if we can’t comprehend what could possibly happen after we die, how God could possibly make things right and honor those who’ve suffered, how God could possibly win over those who seemingly want nothing to do with their Maker...even though we see through a glass dimly, we can trust in God’s “God-ness” and know that what is best will be accomplished by God, and we’ll maybe understand why it was the best. I think that’s the kind of hope I have, only aided and deepened by Moltmann’s writing.

I share here two quotes with minimal commentary. If one’s “hope” for the future is for their own security and happiness, these statements might be lacking. But if one’s hope is for a much broader vision of a healed creation—the end of all war, conflict, oppression, suffering—these words may offer some inspiration.

It also may help to know that Moltmann is writing from the view that God is committed to the redemption of all, and so this picture is one of the salvation of the human race as a whole, not a matter of individual faith and choice.

First, a criticism from Moltmann directed toward all who preach the importance of human free will in determining our own ultimate destiny:

“The picture of God who judges human beings in wrath has been the cause of much spiritual and psychological damage. It has poisoned the idea of God instead of leading to trust in him. Among the dying it has intensified fear of death through fears of hell. The picture of God’s punitive judgment was always a threatening message. It has plunged some into profound self-doubt and has led others to incensed rejection of belief in God in general.

“As a result, modern theological interpretations of judgment have ceased to put the God who judges in wrath at the center. It is now the human being who takes responsibility for himself. No one will go to heaven or be sent to hell against his will. It is a person’s own decision, which is followed by the one or the other consequence. So the picture of the last judgment is nothing other than the final endorsement of human free will...

“If this is the case, then human beings are masters of their own destiny, and God is only the executor or accomplice of the person’s own decisions. If he believes, God will take him to heaven; if he does not believe God will send him to hell. So doesn’t this make God superfluous? Belief in the freedom of the human will replaces belief in God.” (134)

And second, a powerful, hopeful vision of healing justice:

“Israel’s psalms of lament are an eloquent witness to the conviction that ‘to judge’ means to establish justice. God’s supreme justice will ‘create’ justice for the victims of wickedness, will raise them up out of the dust, will heal their wounded lives, and put to rights the lives that have been destroyed. The victims wait for God’s creative justice, which will bring them liberty, health, and new life…

“The divine justice which Christ will bring about for all human beings and for all things will be not be the justice that establishes what is good and what is evil; nor will it be retributive justice which rewards the good and punishes the wicked. It will be God’s creative justice, which brings justice for the victims and puts the perpetrators right.

“The victims do not have to remain victims to all eternity, and the perpetrators do not have to remain perpetrators forever. The victims of sin and violence will receive justice. They will be raised up, put right, healed and brought to life. The perpetrators of sin and violence will receive a justice which transforms and rectifies. They will be already transformed inasmuch as they will be redeemed only together with their victims.

“They will be saved by the crucified Christ, who will encounter them together with their victims. They will die to their misdeeds in order to be ‘born again’ together with their victims to a new, common life. Paul expresses this transforming grace with the image of fire: ‘if any man’s work is burned up, he will suffer loss, though he himself will be saved, but only as through fire’ (1 Cor. 3:15).

“The image of end-time ‘fire’ has nothing to do with the stake or with the apocalyptic destruction of the world through fire. It is an image for God’s love, which burns away everything which is contrary to God, so that the person whom God has created will be saved.” (135, 137)

Even if one does not agree with Moltmann (and I basically do, to the extent which I’ve understood him and personally reflected on such matters), it’s a pretty compelling, exciting, hopeful vision…isn’t it?

Catching Up On My 2011 Reading (Pt IV): Franke, "Manifold Witness: The Plurality of Truth"

2011-06-08T18:01:00.000-07:00

John R. Franke, Manifold Witness: The Plurality of Truth (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 2009)

This book is a story about a young Malaysian boy who, escaping from a life of poverty and forced thievery, goes on a global quest to find the meaning of life while facing sorrow, death, love, and mystery along the way toward eventually finding himself while rising to prominence as a wealthy world leader and humanitarian.

I lied. It’s a non-fiction book about philosophy, theology, and diversity. But just as interesting!? J

Franke (pronounced Frank-ee) actually came to my seminary class a couple years ago and spoke on some of the book's themes before it was published. He encourages epistemological humility—i.e., don’t be so sure you’re right—and explores the concept of “interdependent particularity” (134)—i.e., we are parts of a whole, pieces of a puzzle, candles in a candelabra, insert your analogy here…

I found the following topics particularly important:

1) Context (35). The tradition of the Church is one in which faith has been expressed in a variety of historical and cultural situations; figuring out how to “do what’s right” requires more than just looking at how another faith community from another era or culture did it, but discerning how to live out God’s truth now in your own context.

I think means, as an example, that we don’t simply base our ethics on “what the Bible says” but discern as a community today why those Biblical laws or practices were important in their given historical and social context and explore together what practices and actions are good and right today in our situation.

And maybe some of those practices will look the same. I don’t think “thou shalt not steal” has really lost its relevance; that “principle” seems to have stood the test of time. Though maybe we are stealing in ways we aren’t willing to really label as “bad”; any wireless internet moochers out there? I was once one myself… J

2) Perichoresis (57-59). This is a very old word that tries to express the relationality of God. The Trinity is hard for me to grasp. I think it’s even harder for my Muslim friends to grasp; I’ve heard them cite this as a major disagreement with Christianity, as they can’t fathom God as being in any way “many.” While I’m usually just comfortable saying “it’s a mystery,” I’m always eager to find better ways to think about the Trinity.

Perichoresis captures it better than anything I’ve found. It conjures up an image for me of a dance, of distinct entities moving together harmoniously; they are different and unique, but so united by their love for one another that each depends on the other for its life and existence. You can't have one without the others.

I think this is why the Trinity has been historically understood as a powerful metaphor for human community—a network of distinct persons, yet somehow one single entity, united by love. Franke, like many others, suggests that it is in capturing this social, relational dimension of God that we can understand how God can be Love (59).

Only because God is plurality—not a single, monolithic being—can God be love and be thus fully “complete” on God’s own. But I know this is hard to grasp and to hold in tension—God’s oneness and God’s “many-ness.” I think I tend to think of God more often as an old dude with a long beard rather than a community of persons, because the former is easier for me to imagine, regardless of whether or not it’s more truthful.

3) Deconstruction and Plurality (70, 104). When Franke says plurality, he means we all see things a little differently, and that’s a good thing; but we need one another to better see things as they really are. I’m going to understand love, or beauty, or God, or pain, or ecstasy more deeply if I can at least partially grasp how you experience these things.

I think part of the work of deconstruction is to realize that different environmental factors inform how we think and act, so that there is a need for us to sort of see beyond our situations and know that we don’t “possess” ultimate truth as much as we can point toward it.

Perhaps the gospel writers are good examples of this. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John all had different motivations and different audiences to which they wrote their own story of Jesus; but most would say that each of the four accounts of Jesus’ sayings is essential and necessary. There’s no single authoritative account of Jesus’ life, but all four contribute something to our understanding. That’s not a bad thing; I think it’s just how life works, for people like us who aren’t God.

I think the main idea here is that our personal beliefs about God should not be free from scrutiny, since we’re human and prone to error and misjudgment. We should be comfortable always checking our understanding of God, being open to having our faith revised, lest we get too comfortable or overconfident. I don’t think this has to be scary, as if we should despair that we can’t know anything.

What I think it means is that we can, for example, claim that Jesus is our Lord, while being ever ready to revise our understanding of who Jesus really is and what Lordship really means; we can believe in the power and rightness of love but be open to finding new ways to express that love; we can believe God has overcome evil but be ready to learn more about the nature of evil, how it affects us, how it can be dealt with or overcome in our lives, and how to suffer yet persist in a world in which evil exists, even if we hope that a world will one day come where it does not.

Catching Up On My 2011 Reading (Pt III): Barth, "God Here and Now"

2011-06-07T17:00:00.000-07:00

Karl Barth, God Here and Now (London: Routledge, 2003) (First Edition, 1964)

As important of a theologian as Barth was—one of the most important of the Twentieth Century—I’d never really read his work. This isn’t Church Dogmatics, his multi-volume “magnum opus,” but it was a nice introduction to his thought. He writes a lot about God's revelation and how we know what we know, the doctrine of the Trinity, paradox in Christian theology, and God's faithfulness toward humankind.

Here are three samples: the first seems to be a dialectical for-and-against argument concerning the possibility of universal reconciliation; the second concerns the powerful effect an encounter with God’s grace can have; the third is an attempt to capture the “essence” of the Church.

---

1) “Who knows what sort of ‘last’ ones might turn out to be first? The proclamation of the Church must make allowance for this freedom of grace. The restoration of all things? No, for a grace which automatically would ultimately have to embrace each and every one would certainly not be free grace. It surely would not be God’s grace.” And then: “But would it be God’s free grace if we could absolutely deny that it could do that? Strange Christianity, whose most pressing anxiety seems to be that God’s grace might prove to be all too free on this side, that hell, instead of being populated with so many people, might someday prove to be empty!” (41-42)

I sense this sort of “playfulness” is characteristic of Barth. What I hear him challenging in the first part is the way universalism can kind of “obligate” God to do something, and I think Barth is uncomfortable making any claims that limit God’s freedom to do whatever God feels like doing.

Even though we think of God as constant and reliable, not really like a moody child, I think many have this problem with Christian universalism—that it doesn’t allow for the freedom of God, nor human freedom. Then again, if God promises to do something, we tend to count on God to do it, right? Maybe it means God isn't as much whimsical as a good promise-keeper (no reference to the famous men’s movement intended).

The second part seems a jab toward those who appear to want people in hell, to prefer that not all people get the same reward or meet the same end. I’m sure for most of us this isn’t the case; many believe in hell because they think that’s the way things really are. But I suspect some do drift into that sense of entitlement or a desire for “fairness”—attitudes Jesus seemed to critique in the parable of the prodigal.

---

2) “The message of the free grace of God…is of such a nature that even when proclaimed in a stupid manner it has a way of producing, suddenly and anew, now here, now there, (people) who are in fact free, that is, nimble, humble, questioning, seeking, asking, knocking (people), and in this sense free Christians…” (53)

What I love about this is how one’s encounter with God is expressed as a beginning, not an end. I don’t believe anyone can ever really say “well there, I found God, it’s finished...glad I got that taken care of.” Rather, I think life with God means endless discovery, endless learning, endless fascination with the ways God can be discovered in all facets of our lives today and for the rest of our lives.

That God is “for us” is profound to me, and makes me eager to spend my life finding more and more about this God. Because of the imago Dei—the image of God in every person—I’d say the person next to me is a good place to start. (Not my wife…she’s not here right now…the closest person to me at the moment is probably my downstairs neighbor who always seems to cook with a lot of garlic.)

---

3) “The essence of the Church is an event in which the community is a light shining also in the world…this community, in the midst of the world, distinguishes itself from the world and thereby inevitably becomes offensive to the world in a particular way…(it is a community that should be) opening wide its doors and windows in order to truly share not in the fraud and especially not in the religious and moralistic illusions of its environment, but in the real concerns, needs, and tasks, that it may represent a calm center of lodging and reflection in contrast to the world’s idleness, and also in order to be, in this context, the source of prophetic unrest, admonition, and instigation, without which this transitory world can never endure. ” (81)

So much that is interesting in this quote. But I want to highlight the "offensiveness" of the Church. This is a complicated issue for me; I often feel like I'm navigating a fine line between being offensive to one group of people or else another. I know there are some who read this blog that don’t identify as Christians; and I would have to imagine that, as generous and gracious as I try to be, some of the exclusive claims I make about Jesus and his significance have got to be at least a little offensive, especially at a time when tolerance, pluralism, and acceptance is so valued.

Yet I'd guess that some Christians are probably offended as well by things I’ve said at times...ways that maybe I’ve seemingly (to those offended) distorted the gospel, or been an advocate for a cause they don’t agree with, or been overly critical of Christians in ways that make it seem like I either need to lighten up, or maybe chill out, or maybe just stop talking out of my butt.

I would be really curious to know—and may begin to ask some of my non-Christian friends about this to really research it—from those don’t consider themselves part of the Christian Church:

What do you find offensive about the Church?
And, do you think the Church should be offensive in those areas, or should make adjustments to be less offensive?

In other words, is there a good kind of offensiveness the Church possesses that you see as valuable for the health of the world? Or is the Church mostly offensive in that it often seems foolish, or pretentious, or narrow-minded, or judgmental, or hypocritical, or some other thing?

I also love how Barth here expresses a desire for the Church to be a place of peace and rest, while also being outspoken about the ways society and culture are committing evils or living destructively. I find the challenge of what exactly the Church should be outspoken about interesting, but one that has really been present for some time and looks different between the liberal and conservative sides of Christianity (e.g., condemning cultural greed or condemning abortion)

I do believe the Church has a voice, and should be outspoken. And I guess that, whenever you make a statement that challenges another’s way of life and presents the possibility that they might have to make some kind of change in their views or their habits and activities, you’re bound to be offensive.

Knowing what right I, or we, have to be offensive in this manner is tricky for me.

Catching Up On My 2011 Reading (Pt II): Bosch, "Transforming Mission" (With Helps for Donny Shire)

2011-06-06T17:50:00.000-07:00

David J. Bosch, Transforming Mission: Paradigm Shifts in Theology of Mission (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1991)

For being slightly old as a book trying to assess recent cultural changes, it seems relatively right on twenty years after it was published. The book traces the way the Church understood and practiced its “mission” throughout history: the early church, the Eastern Church, the Medieval Catholic Church, the Reformation/Protestant Church, and the post-Enlightenment Church. Bosch then tries to describe the emerging paradigm and some of the features of contemporary mission, offering some great insights about how the Church should think about and live out it mission in our present-day situation.

It’s a LONG book and feels a bit like a textbook. It took a while to get through, but it was worth it. But I’m into this kind of thing, so, it was fairly easy for me. But I really need to read some fiction soon.

Here are some of the book's standout ideas. Also, I realize that my almost 4-year old nephew Donny is not capable of really understanding what follows. In light of this fact, Donny—if you are reading this—I’ve tried to simplify the following ten points in a way I think maybe you might understand. Also, be extra nice to your Mama right now, and don’t worry, she won’t always be pregnant.

1) On mission in the Gospel of Matthew: “For Matthew…being a disciple means living out the teachings of Jesus…mission is not narrowed down to an activity of making individuals new creatures, of providing them with “blessed assurance” so that, come what may, they will be ‘eternally saved.’ Mission involves…making new believers sensitive to the needs of others, opening their eyes and hearts to recognize injustice, suffering, oppression, and the plight of those who have fallen by the wayside.” (81) This appears to be written with the assumption that many people don’t really believe that this is what discipleship is about. Though I feel like many communities and movements are popping up these days seeking to more seriously and actively practice virtues, spiritual disciplines, and acts of compassion and justice.

Simplified for Donny: Jesus wants you to let your little sister play with your toys, too, Donny.

2) On mission in the wake of the Enlightenment: “Advocates of mission were blind to their own ethnocentrism. They confused their middle-class ideals and values with the tenets of Christianity. Their views about morality, respectability, order, efficiency, individualism, professionalism, work, and technological progress…were without compunction exported to the ends of the earth. They were, therefore, predisposed not to appreciate the cultures of the people to whom they went—the unity of living and learning; the interdependence between the individual, community, culture, and industry; the profundity of folk wisdom; the proprieties of traditional societies—all these were swept aside by a mentality shaped by the Enlightenment which tended to turn people into objects, reshaping the entire world into the image of the West, separating humans from one another.” (294) Does it seem like there are still remnants of this mindset in how we think about our faith in relation to others, even if we are trying to or know we need to move away from it? I’m working in an intercultural community, and still struggling to train my mind and heart to be receptive toward and appreciate the way foreigners think and act.

Simplified for Donny: Donny, instead of thinking “what does Donny want?” try asking, “what does Mama want?”

3) On epistemology and rediscovering mystery and enchantment: “Neither science nor theology ‘proves’; rather, they ‘probe.’” (353) I think this is what I love most about teaching, when it happens—inspiring the curiosity of others, encouraging them to learn and inquire and wonder. I think I possess this curiosity and hope it only deepens with time.

Simplified for Donny: While adults like me often find your statements absurd, Donny, don’t stop making them…your sense of wonder and incredible imagination is a gift that many lose when they grow older.

4) On conviction and commitment: “Nobody can really survive without (conviction and commitment). What is called for is the willingness to take a stand, even if is unpopular—or even dangerous. Tolerance is not an unambiguous virtue, especially the “I’m ok, you’re ok” kind which leaves no room for challenging one another.” (362). I think I’m a fairly tolerant person, but know I often err in two opposite ways—intolerance, which often looks like being judgmental, arrogant, and closed-minded , and what I’d call indifference, meaning I don’t let others call me on my mistakes, challenge me, push me toward excellence, nor critique or challenge others where that might be appropriate. “Just accept me for who I am” seems to be one of cries of my generation and culture—which can be an opportunity to love, accept, and understand, but perhaps in some cases reflects stubbornness or laziness.

Simplified for Donny: Just because we love you Donny, doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want. We don’t tolerate your tantrums because we don’t think this is a healthy attitude. You’ll understand some day. Hell, maybe you do understand now. (Also, don’t say “hell” Donny, it’s not polite.)

5) On interdependence: “The ‘me generation’ has to be superseded by the ‘us generation.’” (362) This is Bosch summarizing his suggestion that our health as individuals and communities, Christian or not, depends on thinking more collectively and holistically. It’s not a praise of socialism and a condemnation of capitalism, but it certainly seems to endorse more cooperation than competition. Or at least more selflessness than selfishness.

Simplified for Donny: You are important, Donny. SO important. But this is not the “Donny story.” Donny is not the main character. But you are a very important character.

6) On individual, personal salvation: “In a world in which people are dependent on each other and every individual exists within a web of inter-human relationships, it is totally untenable to limit salvation to the individual and his or her personal relationship with God. Hatred, injustice, oppression, war, and other forms of violence are manifestations of evil; concern for humaneness, for the conquering of famine, illness, and meaninglessness is a part of the salvation for which we hope and labor.” (397). I really appreciate this kind of systems thinking; it challenges me to remember that I owe the character of my present life to others who’ve influenced and shaped me, and to consider in what ways I am obligated to others.

Simplified for Donny: When you’re naughty, it doesn’t just affect you, Donny. It affects Mama and Daddy and Evie, too.

7) On technological development and progress: “Even if humans could live by bread alone, there is simply no longer enough bread for all because of structures which appear to be unalterable. We have, in addition, become conscious of the real possibility that our technological and scientific know-how may lead to our irreversibly ruining the ecosystem. We are, reluctantly, arriving at the conclusion that not everything that is technologically possible should be manufactured.” (398) That includes time machines for me. I don’t think we should make time machines, even if we find we can. More than anything in life, I’m afraid of disappearing like Marty McFly. Please, no time machines.

Simplified for Donny: Just because you can wet yourself, Donny, doesn’t mean you should.

8) On not judging others “standing” before God: “I can never be so confident of the purity and authenticity of my witness that I can know that the person who rejects my witness has rejected Jesus.” (413) This makes me want to be so much more humble, so much more gracious, so much more earnest in my following of Jesus.

Simplified for Donny: It’s not that I don’t want to play with you, Donny. I just didn’t think the way you asked me was very polite. It's not you, Donny, it's how you presented it. Try again.

9) A slam on starting new churches (ouch!): “This Protestant virus (the proliferation of new churches) may no longer be tolerated as though it is the most natural thing in the world for a group of people to start their own church, which mirrors their foibles, fears, and suspicions, nurtures their prejudices, and makes them feel comfortable and relaxed.” (466). I don’t hear in this a full-on condemnation of church planting, but I do hear a challenge to the attitudes of “we can do it better, the right way, the ‘hip’ way, the truly effective” way, a mindset of which I think church planters (myself included) can be guilty.

Simplified for Donny: Just because Evie isn’t playing the way you want her to, doesn’t mean you need to go in the other room and play. You can learn to play with her. You might find you like it! (Donny generally plays VERY well with his sister, for the record).

10) On the source and scope of salvation, from a statement by the World Council of Churches: “We cannot point to any other way of salvation than Jesus Christ; at the same time we cannot set limits to the saving power of God…we appreciate this tension and do not attempt to resolve it.” (489) This reflects the spirit of many trying to express how we can hold firm beliefs and convictions in a postmodern setting that is suspicious of ultimate truth claims. Bosch uses the term “humble boldness.” Newbigin has elsewhere called it a “proper confidence.” The point is to be comfortable that we know only in part, and to not let this lead to fear but to a sense of adventure, even trust.

Simplified for Donny: Donny, I know that you’re convinced your eating preferences need no altering. But, you know, not everybody agrees with you that an exclusive diet of gummy bears is the healthiest choice. What does that do to your understanding of what is good and right? Do you feel angst?

Catching Up On My 2011 Reading (Pt I): Volf, "The End of Memory"

2011-06-05T17:59:00.000-07:00

I feel like my journey can partially be indicated by the books I read. Often what I’m reading reflects what is important to me, what spiritual, philosophical, theological, and personal reflection is happening, maybe even what is happening in my relationships with others.

Because of the possibility of doctoral work in the near future, I try to be constantly studying, seeking both breadth and depth in my understanding of all things religion. It's also a kind of soul-searching: trying to discover what I’d want to focus on if I were to spend several years with a dissertation topic. What do I most care about?

I thought I'd do some recapping of what I’ve read thus far this year. I haven’t yet read a book I didn’t enjoy, so I recommend them all! Here's the first, from way back in January...

Miroslav Volf, The End of Memory: Remembering Rightly in a Violent World (Grand Rapids, MI: Wm B. Eerdmans Publishing, Co., 2006)

The thrust of Volf’s argument can be summed up in a well-worn adage: “forgive and forget.” I think I have probably uttered that phrase a few times, while not fully believing in its value. Sure, we shouldn’t hold grudges, and being unforgiving can be harmful both to you and the one you haven’t yet forgiven. But we might not tell a victim of, as an example, childhood sexual abuse to “just forget it ever happened.”

In some ways it seems like that’s the more provocative kind of “forgetting” that Volf is talking about. And he has some right to talk: he was himself violently interrogated in his native Yugoslavia years ago and wrestles in this book with how to rightly remember these events and his oppressors.

I think Volf’s concern is with how we can often remember events in a way that, rather than subduing or ending violence, perpetuates it. Evil and pain are a part of our stories, yes; but those events can have such a stronghold on us that they inhibit our ability to live peacefully with others. And often times, rather than really seeing the truth of what happened clearly, we become more interested in how we want to remember what happened, how we want to see the truth.

Volf on seeing the truth rightly: “Claims to posses the uncontestable truth aren’t always wrong, but they are always dangerous—especially dangerous when a person’s claim to possess the truth matters more to her than the truth itself. But this takes us straight back to the moral obligation to remember truthfully. The obligation to remember truthfully, and therefore seek the truth, counters the dangers involved in claims to possess the truth. Seekers of truth, as distinct from possessors of truth, will employ “double vision”—they will give others the benefit of the doubt, they will inhabit imaginatively the world of others, and they will endeavor to view events in question from the perspective of others, not just their own.” (57)

Volf says he has sought to challenge two “cherished notions.” (231). He challenges the notion that we should remember wrongs for the sake of those victims wronged, suggesting that we should also remember out of generosity toward those perpetrators of wrongs (231). He also challenges the notion that we should “remember forever” wrongs that have been suffered so as not to “betray victims” or “endanger the wider community,” instead suggesting that “under carefully defined conditions it may be salutary to release memories of wrongs” (231).

I think it is helpful to remember that his primary goal and motivation is one of reconciliation. Volf, as is expressed in much of his work, believes the mission of reconciliation to be central to the Church; he also looks forward with hope, believing that the work of Christ assures us that humankind is ultimately headed toward a reconciled future, one in which the oppressor and the oppressed are united, and all is forgiven.

It’s a pretty profound book, one that I’m sure can cause some discomfort, because of how radical and counterintuitive it feels at times. For example, forgetting something horrific like the Holocaust (not Volf's suggestion) just seems grossly wrong, doesn’t it? Part of honoring those who have suffered and not making the same mistakes twice means that we should hold those horrors in the front of our minds. Yet I think of a more recent example like 9/11. What happened that day was awful, and we were and are right to mourn this as a nation. Yet has our memory of this event brought about more good or harm?

I’m genuinely asking this question. And what first comes to mind is the way this event fostered a desire for revenge (or “justice” as some see/saw it) for nations or peoples we sensed to be threats, and the way it has caused suspicion, fear, or even at times hatred of innocent Arab men and women. I don’t sense 9/11 launched a powerful peace movement as much as a sense of nationalism and a quest for vindication. But then, I might just be expressing my strong bias toward non-violent solutions for peace. I know not everyone agrees with that, and I don’t mean to discount any good that the American government and military have done or any peace they’ve brought about, even if many are uncomfortable with the methods.

What Volf is not advocating is being dismissive or not taking evil seriously. What I think he is suggesting is that we seriously consider what actions will make the greatest headway toward peace and reconciliation, what will allow us to function as people who are truly free, not bound to the evils of our past in a way that prevents us from fully enjoying life and fully enjoying community with others. We also look forward with hope in this way, anticipating a healed community with God, who we could probably say with some confidence “keeps no record of wrongs” (1 Cor 13:5).

It’s an interesting conversation Volf encourages in this book. He doesn’t make blanket statements that suggest one course of action in every situation. He does take seriously the danger of things like repression and foolish forgetfulness. But he also suggests that in some cases individuals and communities are better off not allowing atrocities and past harms to “come to mind” (a more accurate way of putting what he’s really suggesting than “forgetting”) (145).

This is so that people who have been harmed do not continue the cycle of violence but instead become agents of peace, doing good for others and living more freely and happily themselves. I also think Volf believes that those memories have a way of being a barrier to truly loving our enemies...perhaps the greatest challenge Jesus ever posed to his hearers.

Great book, and great challenges posed: what does true forgiveness require? What actions best encourage peace? Why are we resistant to letting things go, and are they good, healthy reasons? How do we be truthful in how we remember what really happened rather than creating our own “versions” of events to satisfy some need we have? What should our goals be as Christians seeking to be a light and source of hope?

His chapter on eschatology is interesting too, which deals with what we will remember about this life in the next. I should also say this book—in content and in style—is relevant to anyone, regardless of religious belief. The desire for peace and unity is a hunger that transcends any one religion or worldview.

Photo Highlights of the Last Two Weeks

2011-05-31T20:24:00.000-07:00

I thought it would be fun to share some images from the last couple weeks capturing how I’ve been spending my time when I’ve not been working, reading, writing, or sleeping. With the help of my wife and her brilliant photography, here are some snapshots…

Warmer weather has meant more dinners on our patio/balcony. Despite my hesitant or maybe disgusted face, I really am enjoying the experience, especially on a night with Asian food. I don’t know what was going through my head when this photo was taken. Maybe a fly on the noodles? Maybe the noodles momentarily looked like an old girlfriend? (No offense to my old girlfriends.)

A Chipotle recently opened up near our apartment, which we were both VERY excited about, as our area has been sorely lacking in Mexican-style gourmet fast-food. How much do we love Chipotle? Joann loves it so much that, to fulfill her desperate desire to be a mother that has yet gone unsatisfied, she has chosen, as a temporary child substitute, a chicken burrito. (Joann does not endorse this assessment of her desires.)

A nice up-close shot at a recent flat tire created by the stretch of 1-5 just north of Longview. Pretty gnarly, isn’t it? Speaking of parenting, when I’m a father, I’ll probably explain to my kids while they are still at that very gullible—I mean "trusting"— stage of their lives that flat tires are caused by little goblin-like creatures that jump out from the side of the road and slash your tires. My Dad used a similar type of creature in his explanation to a young me of how the refrigerator light turns on when you open the door.

My nephew Beniah and I are reading a “Thomas the Train Engine” book and are apparently displeased with a plot point and the direction in which the author took the story. Actually, I think Beniah was the one annoyed, considering his very particular literary standards; I’m just empathizing with him.

Joann and I unfortunately missed Jesus’ return; I think we were watching Bridesmaids when it happened. Sorry Jesus; I’ll make sure to make sure my calendar is cleared the next time you’re passing through. Do you like Asian food?

Embracing the rain at Evergreen State College. I went there last Friday evening to play soccer with some of the international students, but our game ended up begin canceled. The outdoor field was not an option on account of the heavy rain; the indoor field was unavailable on account of—yep, you guessed it—a trio of accordion players.

Getting emotional about the Mariners as observed on MLB Gameday, a program with live updates of every pitch and play. The shape of my mouth makes me think I’m about to mouth “FIGGINS!!!” I see Figgins has been benched for tonight’s game.

Me: “Yeah, those are my horses. Jealous?!?”

Kite-flying! To spice things up, we expanded on the classic beach activity of kite-flying, creating “kite-flying-dancing,” as seen in these shots.

A beach-town tradition: find the arcade, and find Ms. Pac-man. Jo and I expended $1.50 in quarters indulging our nostalgia. Filled with greedy ambition, I insisted on playing until I got the high score. Though based on the height of the score, I have a feeling they regularly unplug the machine at the end of the day, resetting the scores. Or, maybe I’m just awesome at Ms. Pac-man.

Joann and I, playing a little beach-wiffle-ball-home-run-derby. While these shots are posed, Joann tells me this was pretty much the look I had on my face the entire time. I guess I was a bit giddy that my wife was willing to play beach-wiffle-ball-home-run-derby with me. She’s so good to me. I wish I was as good to her; I hit a line drive at her that temporarily numbed her ankle.

Eating on the floor of our living room instead of the usual dinner table option, partly for TV viewing and partly for whimsicality's sake. There are two things I really like about this photo. One, Joann calls it a “picnic” when we eat on the floor. I think that’s cute. Two, Joann’s elegant and regal pinky position is in honor of our viewing of The King’s Speech. We’re also eating an elegant and regal plate of nachos.

Would You Want to Know the Hour? A Brain Dump on Death and Suffering

2011-05-27T17:10:00.000-07:00

My "worlds" converged this past week as my personal reading paralleled a recent discussion in my “current events/debate” elective at my English school. The topic? Death and dying well. I guess I’ve had death on the brain lately. Sorry to sound morbid. J

Knowing the Future

We discussed in class whether or not we would like to know the hour of our death in advance. The topic was based on a news story I had them read concerning a pricey blood test—about $700—that some scientists suggest is an accurate predictor of our biological lifespan. The test measures “telomeres,” a part of our DNA that controls our cell division in a way that is somehow responsible for limiting the length of our lives.

Supposedly this test is on the way to becoming more available, and many have already expressed interest in taking it and are willing to pay the amount necessary. Here’s a link to an article that can flesh this out a bit more: "Lifespan Test." Sounds like there may be related tests in existence already.

There are pros and cons mentioned in the article. Some arguing against its value suggest it could be abused by companies who would attempt to sell “life elixirs” and profit off of the fear. There is also concern for how people would react to such knowledge. Insurance could be a problem if such knowledge was available to insurance companies.

Yet many arguing for its value see the potential to gain insight into a variety of age-related disorders. Such knowledge about one’s age could also help inform choices now, as people might choose to live a healthier lifestyle if their “biological life” indicated they had a significant amount of life left, or perhaps live more indulgently if they knew the end was near.

So this is obviously not an exact measurement, like some kind of time travel device giving us a glimpse of the future. A car wreck could thwart what any test suggests about our life span. As could unhealthy eating habits that might lead to various diseases. It’s not as if gaining such knowledge gives us license to take more risks. But what value is there in knowing? This is a bit of what my class and I were trying to decide.

My students unanimously agreed “no,” they wouldn’t like to know the length of their lives. We didn’t talk much about the reliability of the test nor the science of it, nor its accessibility. We all seemed more interested in the philosophical side of the issue: the value of knowing the day of your death.

Most just felt it would be too hard on family and friends to know the time of death, something that would cause dread and sorrow in their lives. They also felt that it would be too much knowledge, power, control, to be aware of when we’d die. And while it’s not the point of this particular medical test, which doesn’t foretell events, we got caught up in the more “Back to the Future” logical conundrums of whether or not such foreknowledge leaves us with or without power to alter our “destiny.”

Death and the Point of Suffering

I just finished “God, Medicine, and Suffering” by Stanley Hauerwas. Hauerwas here looks at stories of people who’ve dealt with the death of children, the role medicine plays in our lives, and a question many if not all people have asked at some point: what is the “point” of suffering?

His answer to that last question is thought-provoking, somewhat inspiring, and kind of annoying, in ways. He essentially says there is no point to suffering. He’s not interested in explaining suffering as a way of making us better and stronger people, or making us need God; such “purpose” makes God out to be kind of cruel.

Actually, what he’s really doing is suggesting that the question is the wrong question to be asking. For early Christians, he says, “suffering and evil…did not need to be ‘explained.’ Rather, what was required was the means to go on even if the evil could not be ‘explained’” (49). And later: “Suffering (for early Christians) was not a metaphysical problem needing a solution but a practical challenge requiring a response” (51).

Hauerwas displays a part of his “narrative approach” to theology here. He is not as interested in the “why” as what we do as individuals and communities in response to suffering in our own histories and our shared human story. How do we rightly live with suffering, with sufferers, and how do we display virtue and character in such situations?

Drawing on the “Psalms of lament,” Hauerwas suggests we not deny that suffering is a part of our story, feeling instead like we’re required to be continually happy and optimistic. He writes: “Creation is not as it ought to be. The lament is a cry of protest schooled by our faith in a God who would have us serve the world by exposing false comforts and deceptions. From such a perspective one of the profoundest forms of faithlessness is the unwillingness to acknowledge our inexplicable suffering and pain” (83).

Despite what at times feels like discouragement, Hauerwas seems to be offering several encouragements. One is to experience the freedom in not denying the horrible nature of suffering, especially suffering that one doesn't seem to really "cause" like child illness (as opposed to suffering resulting from violence, systemic poverty, or bad eating habits) We should lament it and name death and suffering for the horrible things they are.

Another encouragement is to try to understand your life as not having a point in itself (individualism), but as finding its meaning in connection to the larger narrative of God’s creation of and relationship with us, trusting in this God and this story.

Yet another encouragement is to see the point of life as not being “to live as long as possible” but as having more to do with enjoying our friendships with God and with others and seeing our lives as one piece in the larger narrative of the life of God, learning to accept our deaths with grace rather than despair (this is where he is very critical of medicines whose purpose is to extend the lives of those inevitably dying).

I'm not necessarily advocating total agreement with Hauerwas, and am still contemplating what he has said myself. But he does make some provocative points.

A Connection and Relatively Lighthearted Question

I guess the common theme between Hauerwas and our class discussion—beyond simply “death”—is our ability to deal with our deaths and the deaths of others well; how accepting death might free us as individuals and communities to not think of our lives as being about building up our own empires, finding a way to defeat every illness and hindrance, or finding means of distracting ourselves from our hurt, pain, and suffering. Knowing that the “point” of life is not to live as long as possible but to find meaning in our relationships and in how our lives give glory to God and contribute to the greater narrative of God’s life might enable us to better “cope” with the reality of suffering.

The majority of my students didn’t want to know their future, even in regard to other bits of information other than their death (like what technology will be like, how much money they'll have, etc). They seemed to be disinterested in that kind of knowledge and power, preferring instead to accept life as it comes and embrace the surprises.

What about you? Would you want to know when you would die if you could, whether through medical test or through time portal? J Why or why not? (These are not necessarily rhetorical questions; comments are welcome.) Would this be valuable and helpful knowledge? Or would that knowledge do more harm than good?

A More Serious Question

I guess the other more important question in all this: can our desperate need to find reasons and explanations for suffering—which often don’t seem to really satisfy—actually prevent us from really finding a way to cope and go on in the midst of such suffering? Should we consider that as creatures of God our “meaning” comes from our connection to the story of God and not from whether or not our lives last a really long time or even from our individual ambitions?

I have experienced the tragedy of losing a loved one. My childhood best friend, bound by his depression, killed himself at the age of 16. My Grandpa, a significant part of my childhood, slowly saw abundant life disappear due to his Alzheimer’s in his final years.

The latter example is easier for me to accept as a “part of life.” The former seems a bit more unfair and offensive to me. Yet despite my frequent cries of “why” in the midst of these events, I wonder if maybe God was telling me, “no ‘why’ Matt.” Or that the "why" is not as important as the "what now" and "how do we then live?" Maybe such events will make more sense to me some day. I hope.

Until then, I think it’s right for me to cry out in rage when such suffering occurs, while finding goodness in the way such moments are opportunities for love and community, with one another and with God, who, despite our suspicions of God’s character and power that often arise when we encounter suffering, hurts deeply with us in our pain, perhaps far more deeply than we do. That’s comforting, I guess. At least I feel like it should be comforting.

Feel free to comment and indulge in hypotheticals or share some insights I might have missed in regard to the topic at hand!

(Source: Hauerwas, Stanley. God, Medicine, and Suffering. Grand Rapids, MI: Wm B. Eerdmans Publishing Co, 1990.)