Noah's Ark: fact or fiction?

The Noah's Ark story is quite a significant story in my personal journey of faith. You know how in movies or books you have the real character and then you have the evil doppelganger and the characters in the story are left to figure out who is who? Usually the cunning look-a-like will eventually do or say something so out of character, it will become clear who is real and who is fake. I don't know exactly when it dawned on me, but at some point I read this flood story and realized I wasn't seeing God in this narrative, but rather God's evil doppelganger. I don't have many bedrock, unshakeable truths left at this point, but one that has survived is the belief that God is the ultimate force of love. You hold that definition of God up to this flood story and it becomes clear this deity isn't God, but rather some poorly conjured human replica. I am astounded the most popular nursery decor seems to be Noah's Ark themed, based on the one story in the Bible where "God" murders all the babies and children in the world.

So I put this Bible story down in the myth category. Actually, there is a whole genre of legend simply called, "flood myths." In all these stories, a great flood is sent by some sort of god to destroy humanity as an act of retribution.

For example, included in the ancient Hindu opus, the "Epic of Gilgamesh," we find this flood myth. Quoting now from wikipedia, "[The character], Utnapishtim, explains that the gods decided to send a great flood. To save Utnapishtim, the god Ea told him to build a boat. He gave him precise dimensions and it was sealed with pitch and bitumen. His entire family went aboard, together with his craftsmen and 'all the animals of the field'. A violent storm then arose which caused the terrified gods to retreat to the heavens. Ishtar lamented the wholesale destruction of humanity and the other gods wept beside her. The storm lasted six days and nights, after which 'all the human beings turned to clay'. Utnapishtim wept when he saw the destruction. His boat lodged on a mountain and he released a dove, a swallow and a raven. When the raven failed to return, he opened the ark and freed its inhabitants. Utnapishtim offered a sacrifice to the gods who smelled the sweet savor and gathered around. Ishtar vowed that just as she would never forget the brilliant necklace that hung around her neck, she would remember this time."

There are different theories as to why so many of the ancient cultures had flood myths. Some speculate these stories were attempts made to explain the presence of sea shells and fish fossils on local mountains. Others believe there must have been some sort of catastrophic flood event that gave birth to such a universal myth. I have my own theory which I'll come back to.

Here's the scary thing though, once you decide one story in the Bible is a myth, it opens a door and you begin to get a little more suspicious about literal Biblical interpretation in general. When I entered seminary, I believed the creation stories in Genesis to be literally true and I accepted creation science without question. By the time I left seminary, I viewed the creation stories as myth, albeit myth steeped in rich truth.

For awhile I worked to try and reconcile the striking differences between the Hebrew God of the Old Testament and God as made manifest in the person of Jesus. I even toyed with the idea that maybe the Old Testament version of God was an adolescent form who finally came of age in the New Testament. But in the end, the idea of a changing God just didn't ring true. Because I believe God is love, then the God that is revealed in Jesus, a person who said to love your enemies and do no harm to those who would hurt you, seems to be a more accurate portrayal of God than the capricious and vengeful deity so often portrayed in the pages of the Old Testament. Today I believe the Old Testament to be a vast array of different cultures' attempts to try and pin down God, though inevitably God seems to come off more as an inflated projection of each Hebrew culture in time - a divine Super Hebrew Man, if you will. With that said, I still revere the Old Testament because it's stories are marbled with truth.

Last week I wrote about using fantasy as a gateway to better understand God (see Worshipping a God who lives larger than our imaginations). The Elisha/Elijah story and the Transfiguration were my jumping off points. So do I believe these stories to be literally true? Probably not. The Bible is full of supernatural stories. I believe story...fiction, can capture mystery better than fact. In story, you aren't trying quite so hard to pin truth down, rather you're playing with it and teasing it out. Biblical literalism is a fairly new development in human history. Certainly the Biblical characters we hold so dear recognized all the stories and myths in the Bible as such and valued them for their unique and rich contributions.

Let me be clear. I love the Bible. I treasure it. It is an anchor and guide for my life. But more and more as I approach Biblical interpretation, I try and use the written words to help guide me down to the more elusive truth that resides in the place beyond words.

So back to the Noah's Ark story. Honestly, this story doesn't really teach us much about God, but it does have a lot to say about people. I think it reveals that in many ways, we haven't changed a whole lot. The movie, "2012", from a few years ago is based in part on the Noah's Ark story and is the most recent flood myth put out there for us to engage with. I think people have always been preoccupied with their own destruction. A commonly held ancient worldview believed that before creation, primeval waters covered the world representing chaos and darkness. So just as presently we often use the scepter of nuclear holocaust to portray humanity's end, it's not surprising that in an earlier time a worldwide flood was the image most terrifying as people contemplated the possibility of their destruction. And just as in our most cataclysmic movies, the hero always survives against all odds, so too do Noah and his family survive.

Life is full of moments, both large and small, beyond our ability to control. Insects or drought destroy crops. A person texting on their cell phone runs a red light and crashes into our vehicle. People die prematurely of cancer. Over the course of human history we have wrestled with the apparent randomness of catastrophe and with the meaningless suffering it produces. In an attempt to wring some sort of purpose from these events, we try in all manner of ways to tug God into the middle of it all so that we might, through God, begin to wrest at least the illusion of control from the stuff of life.

So, an apocalyptic flood either threatens to or actually does wreak havoc in our corner of the world. If we belong to an ancient culture with an equally ancient worldview, how do we make sense of this? How do we regain a sense of meaning and thus, control? Well, when we compose our narrative, we say the survivors were the good guys. We say God was in charge all along. We say God is also sorry for God's actions and promises never to do it again. Then we walk away from the nightmare, with our false security won, hopeful we have bound God's hands....with catastrophic flooding anyway!

This Noah's Ark story is most often lifted out as a still relevant example because of this covenant God makes with humanity. This is problematic as well. Many people are uncomfortable with inclusive language, though if you press them, they will usually acknowledge they don't actually think God has a gender. I take things further. I no longer image God as a personal being. And this can be tough because it's easier to relate to God if we assign God human attributes. We feel closer to someone when we have more in common. But for some time I have felt God to be more of a force or an essence, something that goes way beyond words' ability to reach. Jesus, then, is the human form in which God's essence was most fully revealed. Jesus is the personal part of the equation for me.

Of course, this is just me. Everyone experiences God differently and I think that's beautiful. I mentioned one of my core beliefs earlier, that God is a pure force of love in our universe. Another of my core beliefs is that God and who God is, always has been and always will be. This belief brings me into conflict with the idea of covenant. Covenant implies a fresh start for the parties making the agreement. Because I believe God's nature to be unchanging, I can't conceive of God ever needing a fresh start. The idea of covenant is also a very human concept, another handle we use to get a grasp on God. But I'm not sure how you make a covenant with essence. And forgive me, essence is a totally inadequate word, but I can't find an adequate one!

Humans are a different story. We require fresh starts. We got the kids a little hand-held game for our trips last month. It's called, Bop-It. Basically, this little machine instructs you to pull, twist, speak or bop in a random sequence. If you hesitate just a bit, you lose. In order to beat the machine, you must enter into a period of intense concentration, blocking out all distractions to focus exclusively on this little machine's commands. We've all figured out how to do this, but after you've won, it is exceptionally difficult to turn around and win again, right after. In fact, usually the more you play, the worse you do. You need a break to regroup and gather up your powers of concentration again. You need a fresh start.

We humans are a highly distractible species. We can't hold our focus for too long before we're off chasing down tangent tracks. Even our conversations meander in interesting ways. At a family supper last week, we all shook our heads a little when we realized in the course of minutes our meal time conversation had taken us from New Orleans to 3rd graders picking their noses. In the course of conversation, the rabbit trails are kind of fun. But in life, all too often we get sidetracked by the trivial. We expend enourmous energy on the mundane. We take our eyes off the ball and forget our real life priorities. As I continue to talk with people about what they need from church, this seems to be a quiet but consistent refrain. We need church to ground us on a weekly basis in what is truly important.

We have just entered the season of Lent. Lent is our annual invitation to take things a step further. This is a season all about intentionally setting time aside to reorient, refocus, re-evaluate. It's a fresh start. It's kind of a one-sided covenant we make with God to reprioritize our life around God's love and purpose - with faith that this divine love and purpose dwells within us always.

One of the Ash Wednesday texts is Psalm 51 and embedded in this deeply moving psalm are a few verses which seem to encapsulate the spirit of Lent. "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me. Do not cast me away from your presence, and do not take your holy spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and sustain in me a willing spirit."

This is a season of refection. As I approach Lent this year, I frame it as a time to refocus my energies, a time to covenant with myself to make good on this fresh start and engage with our unchanging and ever present God of love and life. What does Lent mean to you?

Honoring Soldiers and Breaking Stereotypes

I have been reading "A Persistent Peace" by John Dear, SJ.  John Dear is a peace activist who has dedicated his life to nonviolently resisting war and economic injustice.  Some of the book I find inspiring.  Some of it I find troubling.  One thing occurred to me as I read: if we want to struggle against injustice in a nonviolent way, our main task is to change people's minds.  True nonviolence does not coerce others into doing our will but works to open hearts and minds so that others will be moved to fight injustice too.

After this revelation I began pondering how one goes about changing the minds of others.  One way of doing this might be by surprising people.  When we break stereotypes of "liberal hippies", for example, then sometimes people might think, "Hey, these people aren't who I thought they were."  That might give them pause to listen.  Finding common ground is another way we can work to open the hearts of others.

So here is my attempt at stereotype breaking and common ground finding: I am liberal, I have pacifistic leanings, and I believe very strongly in supporting our military personnel and veterans.  When I have had occasion to talk with our soldiers I have most often found they have a deep sense of duty and pride in serving our country.  Sure there are other reasons for joining the military and sure this doesn't preclude soldiers from being jerks anymore than anyone else.  But, I believe that the majority of soldiers hold within their hearts valuable traits such as a desire to protect, a desire to serve, a desire to make a difference and a love for country.  All of these are valuable traits that should be honored.

I find it appalling that our veterans and soldiers are sometimes ill treated, faced with financial challenges, unemployment or jobs that disappeared or changed while they were serving their country.  Our soldiers give their lives for the sake of our country and should be treated accordingly.

Now here is where I ever so gently attempt to stretch minds in a different direction:
I think part of honoring that sacrifice is making sure it is not squandered on unnecessary wars.
Further, I find it concerning when we parade our veterans in front of our children multiple times a year.  It's not that there shouldn't be times when we honor our soldiers and teach our children about them.  But there are many heroes in the world.  There are people in the world who, unarmed, put their bodies between victims of violence and the weapons directed their way.  There are people in the world who dedicate their lives to finding cures for diseases.  There are people who work to feed the hungry and clothe the naked.  When we choose to honor one type of heroism over the others, no matter how worthy of honor, I worry that our children will grow up thinking that the only way to be a hero in this country is by holding a basketball, a football, or a gun.

Wouldn't it be great if all our soldiers had opportunity to put their desire to serve to use in a way that didn't necessitate violence and risk wounding their hearts and souls with PTSD and the like?  Wouldn't it be great if our soldiers spent more time with the many peaceful ways that they help our country and less time with weapons?  Wouldn't it be great if we honored all the heroes in our midst and took the time to teach our children a variety of ways they can grow up to be heroes?  Wouldn't it be great if when soldiers are called off to war, upon their return they are given jobs, good health care and practical support rather than parades and lip service?

Together we can make such a world happen.

Worshipping a God who lives larger than our imaginations

NPR put out its "Best Novels of the Year" list in December and so as we set out to do a lot of driving in January, I went ahead and picked up several of these books at the local library. The last in the pile was, The Leftovers by Tom Perrotta, a great read. The novel opens with a rapture. Millions of people around the world vanish in an instant. Only the selection seems entirely random - all ages, all religions, all walks of life, all ethical codes from good to terrible are represented among those who disappear.

People react in predictable and completely unpredictable ways. Some work to throw themselves back into "normal" life. They try to resume their daily routines. A national hippie group forms called, "The Barefoot People." They encourage and celebrate any act that brings enjoyment - so lots of drugs and sex. College age kids swarm to this movement. National cults emerge including one called, "The Guilty Remnant, " with chapters in most communities. Their members take a vow of silence, wear all white, live in group homes, smoke incessantly and trail local people in an attempt to keep the rapture event uppermost in everyone's minds at all times.

The main characters in the novel all respond differently to the rapture, but no matter their response, there is a discomfort with and a rejection of the trivial. The future in uncertain. No one knows if and when a next rapture might strike. People begin to live more in the moment. And even those who work hard at re-establishing a new normal in their outer life are always at work within, trying to make sense of their world....post-rapture.

This calls to mind the glass observatory deck at the Grand Canyon - a destination high on my "must see" list. This floor intrigues me. From what I hear, it is very disconcerting to walk out on the deck, look down and see the dizzying drop below, knowing only this sheet of glass stands between you and death. A lot of people can't even get themselves onto the platform.

The characters in this book I've described are like people who've suddenly had the floor rolled out from under them. They look down and realize just a thin sheet of glass is separating them from a world totally unlike anything they've ever imagined. I'm guessing John, James and Peter could maybe relate.

Story 1: Jesus lead his three disciples up a high mountain by themselves, for what reason, the three men could only guess. They were hiking along, savoring the day, the rare taste of privacy. They had enjoyed good conversation at the outset, but exertion soon crowded out talk and so they simply took pleasure in the easy camraderie. Nothing alerted the three friends to the nearing presence of the supernatural. Then again, nothing could have prepared them for the sight of their friend, Jesus, glowing in the pathway ahead of them with a holy and white-lit, blinding radiance. They clutched each other in shock and disbelief, using one another to keep upright as first Elijah and then Moses materialized out of thin air to stand on either side of Jesus. Only later did they stop to wonder at how each intuitively knew the identities of the men who flanked Jesus' sides in a mysterious communion. Overwhelmed at the vision that refused to clear no matter how many times he shut and opened his eyes, Peter felt prompted to do something, anything. He opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, and was predictably abashed at his idiotic suggestion to build dwellings for the three unearthly creatures.

Just when the disciples thought their minds sufficiently blown to pieces, a bright cloud descended upon them and from the cloud a voice rang out, "This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!" The men fell to the ground, terrified. They covered their ears with their hands and shut their eyes tight to blot out any reminders of this otherworld they were so wholly unprepared to face. Sometime later, maybe seconds, maybe hours, when one of them finally screwed up the courage to peek, all was as it had been before. Only their friend Jesus stood there, looking down on them with a curious smile.

My family has been enjoying the fantasy genre for the last little bit. We listened to Gregor the Overlander by Suzanne Collins on our first trip to Canada last month and now my son and I are deep into the series. We also listened to The Spiderwick Chronicles by Tony DiTerlizzi and Holly Black as well as The Pinhoe Egg by Diana Wynne. In these books, people ride atop giant bats, witches cast spells, trolls live under bridges, fairies are real. In each case, just a thin veil exists between our "real" world and the world of fantasy. Most often the two worlds are interwoven together with only humans ignorant of the greater reality. In each of the books, a handful of humans are allowed a glimpse into wilder realms and are forever changed by their experiences. You might say they are given the ability to see what is always there, but not normally visible...to human eyes.

That is precisely what is happening, both in the Transfiguration story (recounted above) as well as in an interesting narrative from the book of 2 Kings (retold below). According to the commentaries I consulted, these stories take place outside of the normal chronological structure of time as well as in a place mysteriously set apart. And within these narratives, the characters are given eyes to see that which would not normally be perceived by human eyes.

Douglas Hare, New Testament scholar and author of the Interpretation commentary on Matthew writes, "Matthew refers to what occurred on the mountain as a 'vision'. By this, of course, he does not mean to collapse the event into an inner 'psychological' experience, since four persons are presented as independent witnesses. What is meant is that the 'seeing' is not a natural function of ordinary human eyes but is God-given; God grants the disciples the power to see what otherwise would have been invisible to mortal perception."

Story 2: A beloved and devout prophet and mentor, Elijah, is preparing himself to be taken up to heaven by a whirlwind. His loyal student and friend, Elisha, is unprepared for his teacher's imminent departure. Elijah tries to persuade Elisha to stay behind as Elijah goes to meet his fate. Elisha will hear nothing of it. And so they carry on. Upon their arrival in the next town, Elijah again works to detatch his student. Even the town's prophets come out and suggest to Elisha that maybe he should stay behind so God can take Elijah away in privacy. Elisha tells them to "Shut up" and sticks like glue to Elijah's side. They carry on. At the next town, the scene is replicated. And so again, they carry on.

Finally, they reach the River Jordan. Elijah takes his mantle, strikes the water and it parts, allowing the two men to cross over to the other side on dry ground. After their crossing, Elijah turns to Elisha and asks him if there is anything he can do for Elisha before he is taken away. Elisha requests a double share of Elijah's spirit. Elijah gives a cryptic response sayings, "If you actually see me being taken, your wish will be granted." Elijah is taken and Elisha does see. End of story. Kind of.

Fantasy is the creative and unrestrained imagination. As I read these texts it seems to me God's reality is just as fantasmic as any fantasy novel we care to read. This Elisha story is taken from the second chapter of 2 Kings. In its entirety, the chapter also includes: a region's water made clean by a handful of salt, wild bears which do a prophet's grisly bidding and of course, chariots and horses of fire provided to accompany Elijah to heaven.

Probably most people are more than happy to omit most of these supernatural accounts from their own personal canon. These stories are a bit embarassing, reeking of fable and myth as they do. They can't be explained, can't be tamed, better just to ignore them. This is a mistake.

In a nutshell, this is why I get excited about the field of quantum physics. In that disciple, fantasy is acknowledged as potentially real. These scientists are devoting their lives to pulling back that veil between worlds, encouraging us to believe in the improbable: wormholes, time travel, alternate realities, black holes.

If we're going to make the flying leap and believe in God, than it doesn't seem that wacky to open the door on all sorts of other possibilities too.

What I really like about the Elisha story is how Elisha hangs onto Elijah, knowing full well he is about to be doused with a dose of the supernatural he may or may not survive. He is asked to stay back. Many times he is asked. But Elisha turns a deaf ear, determined to see for himself a dimension of the world and God he has only brushed up against in his dreams. When Elijah's moment of departure finally comes, Elisha is given the gift of special sight and he begins shrieking unchecked, over and over, "Father, father! The chariots of Israel and its horsemen!" He doesn't cower on the gound with his eyes closed. He has no one there to lean on for support. There's not a lot about Elisha that I like. (Read all of chapter 2 to see what I'm talking about.)
But I do admire his courage.

I think it's telling how Elisha emerges from his experience in contrast to the disciples. Elisha, who faces into the supernatural realm and accepts it, immediately begins performing truly amazing miracles and becomes known as a great prophet and healer. Peter, James and John, on the other hand, fall to the ground and cover their eyes when it gets to be too much. The transfiguration account appears in Matthew, Mark and Luke and in all three, the exact same story follows the transfiguration. It's a story about the disciples' failure to heal - their inability to believe in what is truly possible. Isn't that interesting? Most of us, most of the time, have feet of clay. Our imagination, our abililty to truly believe in what seems unreal, is very limited. But this unreal, fantastic, out of the world, mysterious dimension is a very real part of God. And so it behooves us to get out onto the glass deck and take a long, shaky look as often as we are able.

When we do, something interesting will happen. How we look at life will be radically altered because the trivial will begin to burn away. That's what was most striking about that novel I read. After the supernatural rapture event that changed everyone's life in a way that could not be denied, people could suddenly see how trivial so much of their life's focus had been to that point. In the new reality, who cares if the living room furniture matches? Who cares about getting into a prestigious and expensive college when the local community college serves just as well? Who cares who wins the Super Bowl or the Oscars? Reality TV bites the dust.

Even after the Transfiguration, James and John can still argue over who will sit at Jesus' right and left hand in glory (Mark 10). I think they didn't face into or seize hold of the Transfiguration in the way they might have. But by the time we reach the Ascension, a.k.a. Jesus' departure for heaven, a.k.a. another spooky, supernatural event; all the disciples are there, watching, staring up into the sky until suddenly, two men in white robes interrupt their reverie. From that moment on there is nothing trivial in the actions of the disciples. Mistakes are still made, certainly. But they are about their ministry and calling with courage and purpose.

We tend to try and tame our images for God - shepherd, parent, friend. In each of these, there is a face of truth. But God is so much greater and more terrifying than our inadequate images allow for. And it's important to avail ourselves of that truth regularly as well. It is the wild and mysterious God that helps sharpen our focus. It is the fantasmical God who holds the promise of answers for all our most heart-wrenching questions and doubts - a God who reigns not only in the limited bounds of our comprehension but also beyond our realms of understanding, a God who holds us and loves us but who remains veiled, just beyond the limits of our mortal ability to see and know. I am so thankful for a God who lives larger than my imagination!

A Call for Valiant Politicians and an Update on Lent and Luxuries

I have been reading C.S. Lewis’s Narnia books to my children.  I think I am enjoying it more than my kids.  I love those books.  My children love the movies and my oldest loves the books.  The youngest finds them a bit long, I think.  Anyway, as we were looking at a book about Narnia, I noticed that the character Lucy was referred to as Queen Lucy the Valiant.  I like that word, “valiant”.  Not one I hear very often.  I wasn’t even sure I knew what it meant.  I looked it up.  The definitions were always something about courage or bravery but I was thinking valiant had a little different sense than that.  I kept looking and eventually found some references to courage for the sake of a good cause.  There is a sense to Valiant being something more than the courage to go bungie jumping.  Valor is courage with a purpose.  

It occurred to me that this is what I want and what is missing in our politicians these days.  They may uphold some good causes.  They may want to do what is right.  Or maybe not... but I hope this is true with at least some of them.  But they do not have the valor to do what is right if it costs them their political career.  Most often they are not even valiant enough to do what is right if it might cost them a few points in the opinion polls or a few dollars in their campaign funds.  I would like to challenge the candidates to prove me wrong.  Let’s call on the politicians: show us times when you did what was right and it hit you in your political or financial pocket book.  Prove your valor.  I dare say it is rare when there is anyone whom we could call Senator or Congressman or Congresswoman or President whomever The Valiant.  

On a different topic, I mentioned I would provide an update about what I am giving up for Lent.   As I wrote last week, I have decided to give up some luxuries for Lent.  One thing I have realized as I reflected on the many luxuries in my life is that when it comes to food, where you live determines what is a luxury.  At least this is true when one considers all the costs of an item: financial, environmental, and so on.  For example, living on a farm where we raise beef cattle, beef is not a luxury item for us.  The financial and environmental costs are lower because it is right here.   Another example might be oranges, a luxury in Kansas (when all costs are considered) and not so much in Florida.  

Therefore, it makes sense to try to give up things that don’t come from around these parts.  Admittedly, this time of year fresh vegetables would fall in this category but it doesn’t make sense to me to have a Lenten diet that is actually less healthy for me.  So, I will concentrate on eliminating things that don’t grow here any time of the year like avocados, oranges, bananas, and chocolate (it pains me to say).  As I reflected last week, food we don’t have to cook is also a luxury so I will try to limit pre-prepared foods like mixes, frozen dinners (neither of which I use much anyway), boxed cereals (gasp, sob), store-bought crackers, and I will even try to make my own bread.  Yes, I realize I will likely snarf chocolate with even more enthusiasm come Easter but that is not the point.  I am giving these things up for a time to increase my awareness of the luxuries I experience in my everyday life.  

I also have this thing about my temporary diet decisions not being a huge pain in the rear for other people.  I will not hold the rest of my family to my Lenten plan, much to the relief of my chocolate loving husband.  And, if someone else treats me to a meal I will abide by the above as much as I can in the context of their hospitality but I will consider that the feelings of my host take precedent.  

So, don’t be afraid to invite me to dinner.  


Not that I am hinting or anything. 

Searching for common ground

As we neared Canada for our second time in January, returning for my mom-in-law's funeral, I sat thinking about what might be most helpful for my husband and his siblings as they prepared to write their mom's tribute. I envisioned us around the kitchen table that evening, sharing favorite stories...laughing....crying too, but fully immersing ourselves in a rich time of remembrance with the hope that these reflective threads might provide the material for a beautiful tribute. I didn't really think I was going out on a limb with this suggestion. Not only could I not imagine a better way to do this, I couldn't imagine another way, period. Todd was quiet for a few moments and I began to squirm. In those circumstances I would never have shared my reflections if I had thought Todd might not agree. But he shook his head at me. Caught off guard, I offered an argument rather than grace. Undeterred by my logic, Todd stated very plainly that the cozy scenario I was imaging was not going to work. Feeling comfortable speaking on behalf of his siblings, he said that kind of sharing time would be too painful for all of them. He told me they would most likely use a chronological structure as a starting point and that they would work simply to get their thoughts on paper together, without inviting a whole lot of participation. And he communicated all this to me gently. I argued a litte bit more, but then decided to stop, knowing that most likely what I had envisioned would simply happen naturally.

That evening around the supper table, I asked the kids to share some of their special memories of Grandma. Everyone appreciated what they had to say and some of the kids' reflections found their way into the tribute, but Jonathan and Becca's reminiscences didn't prompt anyone else's. Later that night, after the kids were in bed and the in-laws had retired, Todd and his brother and sister worked hard to put their vision of their beloved mom to words in exactly the manner Todd had predicted they would. And together, they wrote a truly beautiful tribute to their mother.

It often takes me by surprise how differently Todd and I think, especially when I make this mistaken assumption that we'll agree. This is alternately frustrating, enlightening, funny and scary. We are surrounded by so many commonalities. And yet how we look at our common view is uniquely our own. So then I think about someone who comes with a different educational background or from a different socioeconomic bracket or a different religion or culture and I'm staggered at how differently we all must see and experience this life.

I used to think it would be cool to sit in someone else's head for a day. Now I tend to think that an hour alone would thoroughly traumatize each of us. Inside my head, my mind is firing constantly, sending me down rabbit trails I don't quite get much of the time, popping up embarrassing or uncomfortable thoughts - everything clamors loudly for attention, so much so that my thoughts alone often make me weary. How then would it feel to experience someone else's inner chaos? How would you attempt to make sense of another person's randomness? How would you respond when you realize how vastly different they perceive the very same realities that surround you? In this mental exercise, I begin to realize how precious common ground is and how lucky we are every time two or more climb ashore on the same sandbar.

I think most of the narrative passages in the Bible would illustrate this point, but for whatever reason, I didn't find it striking until this last week as I read through Naaman's story (2 Kings 5:1-14). Naaman, commander of the army for the king of Aram, was afflicted with leprosy. Naaman's wife had a serving girl, a captive from Israel. The girl happens to mention that she knows a guy from home who could heal her master. Naaman decides it's worth looking into and so he gets permission from the king to head on over to Israel where he comes before the king of that land. This king nearly tears his hair out under the false impression that the king of Aram is trying to pick a fight with him. Meanwhile, the healer, Elisha hears what is going on, calls his leader a bit of a drama king, and requests that Naaman come see him. However, before Naaman can even approach Elisha, Elisha sends a messenger to him, telling Naaman to go bathe in the dirty, stinky Jordan River seven times. Naaman gets all huffy and insulted and refuses to follow the instructions until his servants bridge the gap and convince him to do otherwise. When Naaman emerges from the river fully healed, he tries to pay Elisha back for his good deed, but then it's Elisha's turn to take offense since he gives all credit to God. Between all the hurt feelings, unintended slights, and communication blunders, it's a wonder anything at all gets accomplished in this story.

I pastor a tiny and ever declining rural church in its final stages of life. As we face into our uncertain future, we have needed to be very intentional about time set aside for ongoing conversation and reflection. As part of this process, a few months ago I began having conversations with people centered on two questions. What do you need from church? And, what would your ideal church look like? We're a fairly like-minded group. We don't have the extremes of diversity you would find in a larger congregation. Despite our similaries, it soon became clear that we come with a wide variety of needs and there are as many different notions of the ideal church as there are people who attend. We all understand and approach church differently. So where do we begin?

Interestingly, a starting point may be tradition. Tradition is a double-edged sword. It has a way of sweeping us along under a cloak of comfort and security until we're so far away from the original point of the matter we can't really even remember why we began the tradition in the first place. And yet, we love our traditions. They feed us and give our lives needed structure.

Tradition plays another crucial role as well. Traditions help make sense of our world by standing as common ground, as an equal starting point. We do certain things the same way, maybe for completely different reasons, but we do it and therefore can relate to everyone else doing it, at least to a degree.

In our church, a favorite tradition is our Christmas Eve service. Some of us most enjoy singing our cherished Christmas carols together. Others most appreciate listening to the Christmas story read aloud in the context of community. I suspect a few of our members most anticipate the light-hearted, joyful time of food and fellowship in the church basement afterwards. For myself, the most sacred moment is singing "Silent Night" together in a circle with lights turned off and candles lit, a circle of relationship and inspiration that lights the dark. But it is our over arching Christmas Eve tradition that binds all these different perspectives together into something we can all take part in and share. No matter what happens to our church, no matter if the Christmas Eve service soon lives on only in our memories, it will always be common ground for all of us who have ever taken part.

When traditions are torn away, whether it is lilfe or us doing the tearing, we begin to lose some of our common ground. In the church, people traditions are most dear. You sit beside the same person every week. You "shoot the breeze" with the same people after worship each Sunday. You look forward to the special potluck dish that a certain person makes. You enjoy hearing certain people sing. When these people, key to your experience of church, move away or pass away, these traditions die too. But people traditions are always in flux, always changing. Knowing we have very little control over our people-focused traditions maybe makes us hang even tighter onto our time-honored rituals, sacraments, our traditional schedules and unspoken ways of doing things.

It is no wonder the institutional church dislikes change so much. What sane community would look to voluntarily surrender any bit of its precious common ground. But the idea that tradition can somehow build up a dam which staves off change is a dangerous illusion. Tradition serves an essential role in its unique ability to bind us together. But if tradition becomes the most celebrated common ground of the church, we're left with an insidious form of idolatry.

God's Spirit is always moving, always breathing new life into our tired structures. Most of the time we hear these words on a surface level and find them refreshing and inspiring. But in practice, the implications are terrifying, at least for an institution that thrives on keeping things the same. God's Spirit is always pushing us beyond tradition, beyond our comfort zone to a place where common ground hasn't yet been established.

Naaman is a very good example of someone pushed beyond his comfort zone. At first he resists the call to look at things from a perspective other than his own. But in the end, he is able to make that leap of faith and rely on others to lead him in a right direction. He is scared. He is embarrassed and frustrated. He is confused. But in the end, he is also transfomed. He is healed.

Traditions are of great value. We need common ground. But the common ground tradition provides is transitory. When we cling too much to our traditions, the church begins to lose it's grip on what is supposed to be our unwavering and holy common ground - God. I'm still working through what all it means to be church, but I know the common ground is our common desire to know God, to understand God better, to worship God, to be in relationship with God, to discover new faces of God in each other. May we have the courage to nurture new ways of being and doing, confident in an unshakeable common ground that will outlive all our most treasured traditions.

Letting Go Of Luxuries For Lent

Ash Wednesday is right around the corner and with it comes the beginning of Lent.  Usually, since I am no longer working as a pastor, the season of Lent sneaks up on me.  This year it has been much on my mind. I began thinking about Lent as I was pondering the multitude of luxuries we have in our lives.  In this country we enjoy so many foods, goods, and services that would be unthinkable luxuries in other parts of the world.  One that comes to mind right away is chocolate.  Chocolate, more accurately cocoa, is not a crop native to the United States.  Cocoa is grown mostly near the equator and is shipped thousands of miles before we buy it for a ridiculously low price (considering all that) and pop it in our mouths.  

This led my wandering mind to Lent, since chocolate is something people often give up for Lent.  It occurred to me that seeing chocolate as a luxury might be a decent reason to give it up for the season.  There might be some real spiritual value in considering the luxuries we have and giving some of them up for a season, recognizing the relative abundance in which we live.  It could be really powerful to get in touch with how materially blessed we are.  We might even find out that giving up some of these luxuries is doable if it might benefit our neighbors who have less.  Or maybe we will find out that some luxuries are immensely difficult to live without and find a greater appreciation for the challenges of daily life faced by many people around the world.  

As I thought more deeply about this topic I realized that luxuries are present in every aspect of my life.  My house is luxuriously large and luxuriously climate controlled by the world’s standards.  Although my wardrobe is not a priority in my life and is therefore much less luxurious than some, still I have the luxury of multiple sets of clothing enabling me to do wash less frequently and toss away clothes with holes or stains, etc.  Well, I could toss away clothes with holes.  I just realized I am writing this while wearing a sweatshirt covered in holes.   Again, clothing not a priority in my life.  But, the point is I can eventually throw this shirt away rather than carefully mending it and I have other things to wear.  I have indoor plumbing and an abundant water supply.  Luxuries.  Then there is the food.  

We have access to foods from all over the world, in any season.  We can enjoy tropical fruits in the middle of Kansas.  We can get fresh vegetables in the middle of January.  There are other exotic luxuries like the afore mentioned chocolate and the much desired coffee.  And we don’t even have to cook it ourselves.  We can eat at restaurants or have them deliver prepared food to our homes.  We can buy prepared food in boxes and cans, frozen or fresh from the deli.  Certainly all of this costs money but the cost is not too great to keep most of us from partaking with some frequency.  

This is decadent luxury.  It is worth taking a few days to let go of a few of the luxuries and ponder the injustice of a world where some can partake so greatly and others partake in starvation.  It is worth making a small sacrifice that might move us toward greater sacrifices for the sake of those in great need.  That sounds to me like a worthwhile commitment to undertake as we journey toward the cross of Good Friday.  

I think I might give something up for Lent this year.  Probably not my house, or heat, or my washing machine but there are many other options.  Stay tuned to find out what I decide... and how many times I cheat.  Strengthen my commitment by joining me in this.  What luxuries could you give up?

Shaking up the institution

I came across a really interesting article by Alexander Abian, a professor of mathematics at Iowa State University. He opens writing, "There is an eternal battle, struggle and clash between the two primordial Cosmic adversaries: the Space and the Mass." I mean, how can you not continue reading with a hook like that?! Abian points to a concrete example to explain his point. When a glass rod (mass) rubs on wool, negative and positive electric charges (space) are produced to attract each other and stop the rubbing process, or to maintain the pre-rubbing status quo.

Abian then makes an exciting leap, applying physics to human nature. Quoting now, "It is not unreasonable to attribute to any object some qualities which are generally attributed to animate species and, in particular, to human beings. After all, all objects (animate or inanimate) are built from the same basic particles: electrons, protons, neutrons, etc.

"Thus, it is not unreasonable to expect that the basic instincts of the animate species are shared (sometimes to the smallest and almost undetectable degree) by all objects, be them space, particles, galaxies, clusters of galaxies or even the entire Cosmos.

"I believe that the most basic instinct which motivates the behavior and actions of any object is the insatiable tendency to gain a 'feeling of security'.....

"The process of gaining a feeling of security by any object (animate or inanimate) manifests itself mainly through:
a) The tendency of maintaining the status quo
b) Reaction to provocation
c) The tendency of maintaining again (and not necessarily the previous) status quo

"With an anthropomorphic approach, one can say, that in any interaction or in any relationship between any two entities or objects (animate or inanimate), the tendency of gaining a feeling of security manifests itself through: imposition of one's presence and of one's will upon the other(s) will to power and the struggle for power."

There's a revealing story from the gospel of John (chapter 9) about a man born blind whom Jesus chooses to heal.....on the Sabbath. When the man returns to his home, his community is dumbfounded. His friends take him to the Pharisees looking for some explanation. The Jewish leaders proceed to interview the man in an attempt to figure out whether or not, based on these actions, Jesus is good or bad. He is acting outside of and independent of their institution, which poses a real threat to their authority and yet this formerly blind man can see - an act of healing difficult to label as anything but miraculously good. The healed man answers their questions openly and honestly, but gives all glory to Jesus. Frustrated, the leaders bring in the man's parents. The parents claim the son, but refuse to make any judgment on the act of healing. The leaders again interview the man, and finally, in a fit of impatience, the man basically says, "You idiots, only a man of God could have healed me and you know it!" With this, the leaders turn on the man. They accuse him of being Jesus' disciple, of being steeped in sin, and they drive him out of the village.

The maintenance of the status quo defines the work of an institution or an estabishment. In this gospel story we have a force of energy moving towards change, momentum, movement. We also have a force of energy bent on maintaining security through a rigid enforcement of the status quo. The energy straining towards change introduces provocation (i.e. the healed blind man) to the system. This in turn causes the institutional energy to gear up and impose its power in an effort to maintain status quo. The provocation bounces back and forth between these opposing energy forces before finally being drawn to the greater magnetic pull of the upstart force of energy. This is a scenario played out everyday in millions of elemental exchanges. It is also a dynamic occuring repeatedly in the gospels.

I don't know enough science to maintain an intelligent discourse here, so instead let's move towards a closer look at institutions, that unique force of energy governed by an insatiable desire for security.

What do we learn about institutions in this story from John? Quite a lot. First, they think for us. We stumble across this in the very second verse. When Jesus and his followers come across the blind man, the disciples ask Jesus if it was the blind man who had sinned or his parents. What a bizarre question. But the religious institution of the time had so efficiently taught these men how to think about those afflicted with physical or emotional maladies, they probably didn't even realize their thoughts weren't their own. This institutional rule is made even more explicit in verse 24 when the religious institution tells the formerly blind man exactly what he is to believe. "We know Jesus is a sinner, do you hear. So save your praises for God."

In exchange for doing all the hard work of thinking for us, institutions then demand in return, a strict allegiance. There isn't a whole lot of room for fence sitting in an institution. You are either in or out. The blind man has to choose. He will either embrace the institution and turn his back on Jesus. Or he will embrace Jesus and turn his back on the institution. He cannot embrace both.

Institutions also project a powerful illusion of security. And most of the time, so incredibly hungry are we for even an illusory sense of security, we're only too happy to swallow the bait. This healing scares the blind man's community. They don't understand what has happened. It seems like a good thing, but it's also an unknown and the unknown is threatening. So what do the blind man's buddies do? They haul him to the institution for safekeeping. And thus delivered, they can dust their hands off and go back to their lives with a sigh of relief, content to allow the institution to tell them what they should think about the whole affair.

How do institutions maintain such a convincing illusion of security? One of the keys is through rules and their rigid enforcement. This is true of any institution, but it must also be said that historical Judaism could teach us all a lot about making and maintaining rules.

One of my favorite novels is "The Source", by James Michener. The book, published in 1965, covered the span of Jewish history to that point in time and was set in Israel. Michener puts to words the ancient Jewish tradition of honoring rules.

"What was the Mishna? An adroit solution to a difficult religious problem. The wise men of Judaism had evolved the principle that at Sinai, God had handed Moses two sets of laws, one written on the tablets of stone and later transcribed word for word into the Torah, and a second of equal importance which had been whispered to Moses alone, the oral law, which provided specific elaboration of the Torah. For example, in the written book of Exodus, God said distinctly, 'Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy,' but He did not stipulate in writing what one must do to observe this commandment. It became the task of the rabbis, depending upon the oral law which God had given Moses, to clarify the commandment and make it specific.

"For the first fifteen hundred years this oral law had been carried only in the heads of scholars, but after the two Roman destructions of Judaea....a group of scholars had met in a small Galilean village.....to codify this inherited law. Thus they constructed what became known at the Mishna, which scholars were expected to know by heart. For example, an extention of the crisp Torah injunction not to work on Shabbat, the Mishna identified 39 principal kinds of labor which were forbidden. Sowing, reaping...baking...spinning...tying or untying knots....sewing two stitches....hunting a gazelle....writing two letters....lighting a fire....carrying anything from one domain into another.

"In this way the Mishna inspected each aspect of life and laid down the laws which bound Jews to their religion. What was the Gemara? When the completed Mishna had been used by Jews for only a short time they began to find that it was not specific enough; it prescribed 39 different kinds of work, but as new occupations evolved, new rulings were required. So the rabbis restudied each category, trying to spread its elastic words over the greatest possible number of occupations and hitting sometimes upon interpretations that were masterpieces of intellectual juggling.

"This extension would be known as the Gemara, and when their work was finished, after two and a half centuries of debate, the Mishna and the Gemara would coalesce to form the Talmud....It was this Talmud that provided the fence around the Torah, protecting God's law from unintentional trespass; God had said merely, 'Remember Shabbat,' but the rabbis had staked out their fence far from the actual Shabbat, defending the sacred day behind a multitude of laws."

So here we have Jesus doing the unthinkable. He has broken through the fence of Talmud and has brushed up against the law. He has trampled upon centuries of tradition, all in order to heal a man he could just as easily have healed on any other day of the week. Even worse, Jesus is inviting others to pass on in through the break in the fence to see the view from the inside. Not only has Jesus pulled away the curtain to reveal security's illusion, he has also seriously made the institution fear for its safety. And as Professor Abian observes, when security is threatened by provocation, the institution will fight furiously to regain an old or establish a new equilibrium that is even more earthquake proof than the last.

There's a flip side here too. At the same time institutions are at work making us feel safe, they are also closing us in, trapping us. We become imprisoned by the very laws which are supposed to keep us safe. And most often the most powerful laws are the unwritten ones. We see how the institution bound the blind man's parents. They were firmly ensconced members of the institutional community. They followed the rules like good Jewish people did. But those rules, in a way no one could have predicted, now cut them off from their son.

And here's another interesting twist. The text tells us that the object of fear for the parents has actually become the institution, the very establishment that is supposed to make them feel safe. "His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews; for the Jews had already agreed that anyone who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue." Isn't that interesting? And yet, unlimited and unchecked power in the hands of an institution is almost always a very scary proposition indeed.

A final observation about institutions....as they promise to see for us, to light our way, in truth, they blind us to truth. This is what Jesus is getting at in the final verses of the chapter. In The Message bible, Eugene Peterson translates verses 39-41 thus, "Jesus then said, 'I came into the world to bring everything into the clear light of day, making all the distinctions clear, so that those who have never seen will see, and those who have made a great pretense of seeing will be exposed as blind.' Some Pharisees overheard him and said, 'Does that mean you're calling us blind?' Jesus said, 'If you were really blind, you would be blameless, but since you claim to see everything so well, you're accountable for every fault and failure.'"

Have you ever purchased something in a store thinking it was one color only to get out into the parking lot and realize it's a different shade entirely? That's the difference between institutional light and God's light....literally.

Institutions shine their light with an agenda in mind. They have tunnel vision. They approach sight with a desire to see only that which will be of benefit to see. God's light, on the other hand, in its pure form is so bright it is almost blinding in its radiance and more than a little scary, just ask Saul. This brilliance lights everything in its path. Everything. Thankfully, we don't get to see God's pure light too often. Instead we're given a warm glow that, admittedly, isn't always easy to follow. Often we can only see a few steps in front of us.

So if institutions are so horrible, why do we put up with them? Because we need them, I suppose. We need some of the order and stability they provide. But institutions only work for us when they are working for us - not us for them. At core, this is the problem with our political institution, with our military institution, with our economic institution and with our religious institution. We work for them.

There are a number of movies about artificially intelligent beings who rise up to fight against their creators, humanity. This is nothing new. It's been happening since the first human community thought to make and empower an establishment.

God is all about moving on, we are all about maintaining. We have a higher allegiance to the rules of our institutions than we do to the teachings of Christ. We are as blind as the Pharisees so much of the time. We dither about, getting upset at anything that threatens our equilibrium, our status quo, our security.

Then there's Jesus, who sets himself against institutional power. As humans, we crave security. But this life doesn't offer us security. Institutions don't have any authentic security in their purse and honestly, God doesn't offer us much security either, at least not the kind we've developed a taste for. We're striving for the wrong thing. As soon as we recognize this, institutions lose their allure and we're able to detect a divine light illuminating our path. We may not be able to see very far ahead of us, but we'll at least be sure of the next few steps. And when we step into this Divine light, we become beacons of light ourselves, lighting the way for others, shaking up the status quo, provoking change.

My Dream Church

I think I have confessed in the past that I sometimes find church boring.  If the music happens to be among my favorites or if the pastor preaches a sermon that strikes home, or if I happen to be in the right state of mind and my children or other circumstances don’t distract me then worship can be meaningful.  If none of these things happen then worship sometimes feels pointless.  Maybe that is just human nature.  Maybe we are not meant to get more than occasional glimpses of the divine.  Maybe we should make our sacrifice of praise by going to worship and never mind whether there is any other point to it or not.  

Maybe.  But, I have a hunch and a hope that church could be so much more.  Sometimes I try to imagine what a dream church would look like.  In these imaginings I see a church whose main focus of existence is service.  I see a church that lives by loving God and loving others, by doing justice and mercy.  I see a church that serves always and worships sometimes rather than a church that worships and occasionally has a special service project.  This, to me, fits better with the gospels where Jesus heals and welcomes the outcast and calls for justice. 

I see a church that wrestles with the difficulties of life together.  Discussing difficult issues and daily life with openness and honesty.  I see a church whose members take time to know each other and care about each other so that the church becomes a safe place to speak up about what concerns you, to speak up about your questions, and to wrestle with what faith tells us about the world around us and how best to do justice and mercy.  Then, if consensus is reached this church speaks up loudly, creatively and actively to make a difference in the world.  

This church would also worship through music, through hearing the Word, through moving and powerful liturgy, through the sacraments, and also (as a commenter to Lynn’s blog earlier this week reminded me) by going outside to lie down in the grass and look at the sky.  Creativity and flexibility would empower this church to worship in ways heart-filled and transcendent.  This worship would remind us to walk humbly with God as we do justice and mercy in the world.   This worship would feed us but not define us.  Our acts of love would be who we are.  

This church would be open to questioners and doubters, people who believe differently, behave differently.  Such folks would be welcomed not so that we could bring them into the fold and change them but because they are children of God with gifts and wisdom to offer and love to give and receive.  

This is my dream church.  I am still imagining and so the vision is a bit blurry around the edges.  To some this may seem radical, I fear it is not radical enough.  Perhaps you disagree.  Perhaps you think the church is fine the way it is.  But, if not, if you dream of something more, what do you see in your imaginings? I am going to let my Lutheran roots show a bit here and say: I believe the church is always reformed and always reforming.  I say it is time for a new reformation.  What say you?

"...what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?"

(Micah 6:8, NRSV)