Lessons from a Killer Cat

The cat came downstairs while I was writing the other evening. I was busy typing so I didn’t bother to look up, but heard her whining, like she was sick or something. When I finished my sentence I looked over to see that she had some sort of creature in her mouth. The huntress had conquered and she was displaying her prey! She spit it on the ground and begin to purr, proud of her capture. Somehow though, the ‘beanie baby’ tag around the neck of the miniature Canadian goose took some of the fun out of the kill for me. She was prancing and purring as if she’d actually done something worthwhile, but the reality was that she’d used all her cunning and courage to capture a few patches of clothe stuffed with peas. Indeed, our cat, now nearly 4 years old, has been fully domesticated. I offered her some fish this evening from my dinner plate and she turned her nose up at it like is was just so much junk food. She prefers ‘kitty mix’ or whatever is the name of the sterile cereal nonsense we buy from the store.

This domesticating process is at the same time both comical and sobering. Comical because her finely honed instincts for survival have become so tamed that she gets and adrenalin rush from ‘killing’ a beanie baby; sobering because this ball of fur sleeps as a living reminder of how easily we adapt to creature comforts and in so doing, forfeit the adventures that ought to be ours in Christ, if we’ll be say yes more often.

Jesus spoke of this when he said, “I have come that you might have LIFE”. He’s talking about walking on water, and going into the world to bless and serve friends, neighbors, and enemies. He’s talking about living with arms and eyes wide open to receiving all that God has to give through honest conversations, creation, confession, and celebration. He’s talking about living generously and watching our own provision come in unmistakably powerful ways; going places we’d not go without His prompting, and doing things that are to the edges of our comfort zones, and just a little bit more.

It’s this kind of living that creates in Paul the apostle the clear sense that he’s not adequate to live the life to which he’s called. He needs the strength of another to be in and through him what he knows he’s unable to be on his own.

It’s too bad when, because of our creature comforts and addictions to security, we choose instead to eat cereal and hunt beanie babies. We’ve settled, I’ve settled, for far less than the life Christ intends me to embrace, more times than I care to mention. I’m not sure how we know when we’ve ‘settled’ in this way. For me, reading through the gospels and seeing both Jesus’ invitation to the disciples and their responses to him usually shakes me awake, and rekindles a desire to ‘really live’ rather than fall passively into the conformist, comfortable ways that society, yes even Christian society, imposes. It’s His life and story that pushes me out – into relationships with neighbors, into an investment of time into my city, into the challenge of engagement with those whose world and story are different than mine. This is stuff of which real life is made.

No Different than a bottle of wine...

Contemplatives (like me) are people who find a great deal of joy in being alone with God. Solitude, silence, and the prayers that unfold in those contexts have a sweet way of nurturing our souls. But it's easy to hide behind this pious looking posture. Our love a contemplation may be nothing more than an addiction to the more comforting parts of life with Christ, and an avoidance of the hard work of truth telling, the messiness of relationships, and sacrifice of service. Thomas Merton speaks of this very accurately when he writes:

Sometimes contemplatives think that the whole end and essence of their life is to be found in recollection and interior peace and the sense of the presence of God. They become attached to these things. But recollection is just as much a creature as an automobile. The sense of interior peace is no less created than a bottle of wine. The experimental 'awareness' of the presence of God is just as truly a created thing as a glass of beer. The only difference is that recollection and interior peace and the sense of the presence of God are spiritual pleasures and the others are material. Attachment to spiritual things is therefore just as much an attachment as inordinate love of anything else. The imperfection may be more hidden and more subtle: but from a certain point of view that only makes it all the more harmful because it is not so easy to recognize.

God help us to realize that the point of meeting with Him is so that we can go out into the world and offer the gifts He's given us, freely giving because we've freely received. These are notions I'll be discussing in a book that I've written, due out in July. We need to allow our relationship with God to take us places where we don't want to go. For some of us the challenge will be in getting our hands dirty. For others, the challenge lies in sitting still, at the feet of Jesus, and receiving His healing, nurturing touch.

Stop Shopping!

I know that I'm told it's my patriotic duty to shop. I know that I'm told 'the terrorists win' if we don't keep the fuels of the economy burning. I know that people's livelihoods are ostensibly at stake if I don't get into the malls today and buy all things that, prior to today, I've lived without but which will undoubtedly make my life so much fuller and richer as soon as I purchase them.

And yet I'm not buying anything today, except perhaps food. I'm trying to make a statement that there is an alternative view to the patriotic shopping and the paranoia of what will happen to the world if we don't buy things we don't need. Our addiction to things has a pretty dark underbelly:

1. our things pollute the earth, both in the production, their use, and their demise. If you still the earth is doing fine while we pump carbon into the air, you're living in a dreamland. One person writes, on the Buy Nothing Day website: Driving hybrid cars and limiting industrial emissions is great‚ but they are band–aid solutions if we don’t address the core problem: we have to consume less. This is the message of Buy Nothing Day

2. while we max credit cards to buy things we don't need, the majority of the world lives in abject poverty. Wouldn't it be more fun, and more meaningful, to invest our wealth in alleviating poverty, both locally and globally. In fact, why not go crazy, and contribute to a water project in Africa this Christmas instead of buying stuff. The growing gap between the rich and the poor is, according to Jimmy Carter and many others, the largest problem on earth. And of course, let's not forget that caring for the poor was the one thing that the apostle held dear as a practical expression of the gospel.

3. the economic model upon which we all depend is, if the truth be told, unsustainable. If you must buy something, maybe invest in a book like Deep Economy, and ponder how we can, both individually, nationally, and locally, change our ways, and what you can do to contribute to that.

4. it's a pity that our shopping habits, and the retailers frenzy to be 'first' now has shops opening at midnight. You're pie not yet digested, you propel yourself into the mall to save $50 on your new flat screen. Wouldn't it be nicer if everyone got enough sleep?

I don't want to sound self-righteous. I'm going to the movies today to watch a prince escape cartoon land, and live out his adventures in New York City. Consumption isn't a zero sum, all or nothing game. It's also not invitation to guilt or stoicism. Rather, it's worth considering, as Chesterton writes, that thrift is joyful, creative, better for the environment, and leads to opportunities to live generously. This is what he says: "Thrift is the really romantic thing; economy is more romantic than extravagance...thrift is poetic because it is creative; waste is unpoetic because it is waste...if a man could undertake to make use of all the things in his dustbin, he would be a broader genius than Shakespeare." --Such living is of course, closer to the spirit of the Jesus whose coming we're intending to celebrate!

Is there anyone else planning a less consumerist Christmas?

Ranting about the caricature

I find it annoying that the artists of our world pick on fundamentalists. For an illustration of this you can watch "Driving Lessons", a British movie about a young by raised by what the cover of the DVD calls an 'evangelical Christian'. This evangelical mother wears a plastic smile, is rude, manipulative, fearful, deceptive, and clearly cruel. So once again, pop culture presents the fringe fanaticism at the wacky edge of the evangelical movement as 'normative'. It is from her oppressive regime that the son must break free which, of course, is the main theme of this coming of age film. He finds an alternative reality in the wild adventures of a burnt out alcoholic actress who, we are led to believe, is the one who really understands life as it's meant to be lived: a mystery which you celebrate when you can, and escape from through binge drinking when you can't.

So here's my rant: I completely understand how easy these fringe elements are to pick on. I'm as frustrated with them as anyone (did you read the previous post a few days ago about the convention in Everett?). But because the arts community paints people of Christian faith almost universally with this fanatic, fringe brush, many in our world lump all people of faith into this category. It's why sometimes, when I travel, I don't want to tell people what I do until after I've had a good bit of conversation with them. I want them to know that Christians can enjoy poetry, be politically informed, care about environmental degradation, and read the NY Times. More than once, people have said, "you don't fit my notion of a pastor", which has sometimes led to conversations about where they got their notion of what a pastor is, of what a Christian is. That's when it comes out; the parody portrayed in mainstream media has become 'the norm' in people's minds. Books like the Poisonwood Bible, the Brothers K (one of my favorite books), well written books by authors I respect, paint pictures of the faithful that reinforce this sorry caricature. Film, literature, television, the vision of Christianity as boring, petty, controlling, is relentlessly reinforced.

That's like saying that all baseball players are Barry Bonds, all female pop-starts Britteny Spears. Jamie Moyer is more common than Barry Bonds. And Christians who pray, love their neighbor, care for the poor, and interact with their culture are... what do you think? Common? Rare? Love to hear your thoughts! And would love to learn of good film and literature providing an alternative view!

Whatever we think though, it seems that our calling should include word recovery, so that words like church, Christian, and believer can be recovered from the trash heap upon which they've been thrown.

Gratitude...

I realize that if you live in North America, you're somewhere just after, or just before, the big Thanksgiving holiday. However, I was just meditating this morning on a passage in Romans 1 that addresses the critical link between gratitude and relationship, revelation, wholeness, calling, and so felt it worth sharing. Here are some observations from the text:

1. ingratitude is the headwaters of the stream that, if left unchecked will become a mighty river of destructive maladies, leading us to hurt ourselves, those we love, our enemies, and our earth. If I fail to acknowledge and thank God for the goodness that is all around me, I'm part of that ugly stream.

2. gratitude can and should range from the mundane (this coffee I had this morning, French Press, Trader Joe's organic fair trade, was remarkable, especially as the sky was growing light) to the profound (that Christ would love me in my ignorance, rebellion and sin, and that such love would find expression in the depths of suffering on the cross...no words!).

3. Our task oriented, driven natures, provide little time for gratitude. We consume without tasting, travel without seeing, converse without hearing, read our Bibles without pondering, worship without encountering, all because we're rushing to the next thing. Our Buddhist friends who invite us to learn how to be fully present in each moment are providing us a portal through which true gratitude can find expression. Only then will we escape the mighty river of destruction.

4. The litany of sins addressed here has often been preached and taught through a deeply distorted lens. With this distorted lens, sexual sins, particularly those of homosexuals, are elevated to a higher sin status than other sins. (no matter your view of homosexuality, all who take the scriptures seriously must agree that casual and promiscuous sex in any form, heterosexual or homosexual, is a departure from God's plan. Many think that Paul's concerns in Romans 1 are solely such promiscuous sexual liaisons, which were so typical of his day) But look! We're also told that ingratitude, because it places us in this destructive river, leads to other things too: greed, envy, strife, deceit, arrogance, gossip, and lack of mercy are just a few. WHY THEN, are these things so rarely addressed with the same scathing indictment as sexual sins?

5. Like the other recent entry, any discussion about the ethics of homosexuality in this blog entry misses the point. I've spoken on the subject and will try to get that mp3 posted here within a few days, so you can podcast it. But I kind of hope you don't, because for many evangelicals, that issue is the speck that's preventing us from dealing with the log. Instead of pondering sexual ethics... think about the extent to which greed (are we all tithing, all caring for the poor, all living w/in our means?), envy (are we all immune from advertising, impulse shopping, body image issues), strife (are our relationships consistently characterized by honesty, humility, forgiveness and truth telling? Is there no divorce among us?), gossip ("I heard someone gossiping just the other day, and they have a bad marriage... let's pray for them right now, poor things, and she with her weight issues and all...blah blah blah") are present in our midst, and yes, in our own lives and hearts. Jesus is writing in the dirt, inviting us ALL to repentance.

6. Viewing the text through this more holistic lens, rather than fixating on sexual ethics, perhaps we all can see our need for repentance. I know I can. But what's vital is that I not simply repent of my 'presenting problem', but that I cultivate a heart that is aware of God's glory all around me, and then become active in my expressions of gratitude.

Happiness, people, and stuff

Richard Layard's book, Happiness, offers compelling and overwhelming evidence from a variety of sources to indicate that, beyond a certain threshold, instead of adding a sense of satisfaction and well-being, wealth has exactly the opposite effect. Feelings of depression, isolation, and anxiety begin to increase when we have too much stuff. The writer of the Proverbs wisely asked for 'just enough' and it's my estimation that most of us reading this blog are beyond 'just enough'.

At the same time, I don't think the point is to vilify wealth, but rather to learn how to value the right things; relationships, community, simple pleasures, enough time to connect with neighbors and be creative - in our culture, if we have these things we're rich indeed, because we already have clean water, education, and access to enough food and shelter to make us comfortable. But the reality is that we've forsaken the pursuit of relational wealth in favor of increased material wealth at a time when many, though not all of us, already have enough. The result of this: increased isolation and social pathologies, and even a diminished sense of national physical health (America ranks 27th in the world in health care/ general health, behind all of Europe).

But just crying 'simplify' isn't a true solution. How, in a city where a house close to work costs over a half-million dollars, are people to find 'enough'? I fear that young people just starting in their careers are either destined to the pursuit of vocational choices made solely by their fiscal rewards, or that they will be destined to jump on the destructive treadmill that is the present American dream - working long hours, commuting long distances, and lacking either time or energy for civic involvement and intimacy during the few free hours that remain.

Perhaps what's needed is a move away from the isolationism and individualism that is the prevailing ethos of the west, and a move instead towards more communitarian values. This could show up in co-housing, food co-ops, community gardens, and...??? and yet I'm not convinced that these changes will ever be made unless required because of political, economic, or environmental necessity. Why is this? I'm wondering what holds us back from simplifying and sharing resources if we know that happiness is diminishing even as our wealth increases?

Any thoughts?

Journals, Blogs, and Heart Conditions

Back when "blog" was a typo, I journaled. Since taking up this little bit of writing as means of sharing my thoughts on matters, developing sermons further, and seeking to generate discussions on matters of faith, church, politics, etc., I'm journaling substantially less.

Lately though, I'm feeling the need to journal prayers because blogging is a little bit like public speaking: there's only so much you can write before it becomes an unhealthy dumping ground. And the very act of limiting disclosure creates an even greater necessity for a platform where one can be honest with God. The Psalmist calls this pouring out his heart. And the Psalmists, both David and others, did it well. The full range of doubt, fear, anger, praise, rest, trust, gratitude, awareness of beauty and ugliness, pain and healing, are all expressed, directly to God. I wonder: if David had known his work would be published, would he have been as open?

The danger with blogging instead of journaling, or keeping myspace instead of having people over for supper, is that these pixel and byte sized versions of ourselves can easily become confused with our real selves. But they never are.

My real self right now is profoundly moved by the early mornings, before the sun is up, because the air is invigorating and cold, and the hints of impending autumn genuinely create joy. But I'm also profoundly aware of my own struggles and doubts right now, mostly centered around feelings of inadequacy for my calling. I know the right answers; know that God's strength is made perfect in our weakness. And yet... I just feel weak, even though I'm truly excited about the church I pastor, and love the work I do. I'm also feeling mid-life anxieties because so many people I know have died or are in the midst of dying this summer. This is affecting me more deeply than I'd care to admit, because I'm finding myself desperately wanting to make each day count. Yet its precisely because of this that I have been biting off too much that seems 'important'. When I do this two things happen: 1) I feel so overwhelmed that I'm not certain what to actually do in the next moment. Long to do lists of big projects have a paralyzing effect on me sometimes, and 2) Relationships suffer. This bothers me, and I'm in the midst of talking with God about it. In addition, there's a board meeting next week, a big budget, our youngest finishing school this year, decisions to be made about a season pass for skiing, shopping for a birthday, concerns about people, family matters, a desire to play more music and play it better, two hikes I want to complete before snows come, and many other matters much closer to the heart. But this doesn't feel like the right place to pour out one's heart - so blog entries are kind of like coffee shop conversations you wouldn't mind a stranger overhearing; "I saw this movie - what do you think of the war in Iraq? - did you hear that boring sermon yesterday?"

That's why entries like this one today are very rare for me. These things, it seems to me, belong in a journal. I'm thinking of the story of Moses, when the children of Israel, having been delivered from Egypt, are complaining to Moses because they think they're about to die. (Exodus 14) He speaks boldly in front of Israel, but it's clear that when he's along with God he pours his heart out, which apparently included his own doubts Moses isn't being two people - he's simply being discreet about where he expresses certain things.

I'm not even certain why I'm writing this entry, other than a desire to share with you that this isn't the platform where I pour my heart out. I am different than movie and book reviews, ideas about the kingdom, politics and economics, hiking trails. I'll still blog because I think talking points on matters where faith intersects the rest of life are important, and because I want to share what I'm learning through various experiences in hopes that others might learn too. But I am not my blog.
What are your thoughts on the limits of self-disclosure in public settings?

Regarding the Mother

Time Magazine's cover story this week is about Mother Teresa, whose private correspondences have been published in a book entitled, "Mother Teresa: Come be My Light." The book provides ample evidence that the heart of this great woman wrestled with a profound sense of God's absence during the vast majority of her days serving among the poorest of the poor. All the while, she was also an articulate spokeswoman for the joy that is to be found in serving each and every person, especially those living on the margins, as if they were Christ Himself.

The contradiction has created a weight of evidence for both the faith and the skeptical. The former point to her perseverance in faith and service as evidence of both the reality and depth of her relationship with God. The latter paint her perseverance as comical. Christopher Hitchens, author of "God is Not Great" wrote that "she was no more exempt from the realization that religion is a human fabrication than any other person, and that her attempted cure was more and more professions of faith could only have deepened the pit that she had dug for herself."

It seems that there is still a third lens through which to consider the great life, a lens that considers her story by weighing it in the light of scripture. Here are the realities:

1. There is rich blessing in caring for the poor. This is the teaching of the Bible in many places. So one must perhaps wonder what form this 'blessing' takes, if the fruit of her ministry, at least as it effects her heart, was that she lived with a nearly continual sense of God's absence. The reality of 'blessing' must be balanced with a second consideration.

2. Those who folly God fully are not exempt from deep anguish. Indeed, the vast weight of Biblical testimony confirms this, whether one looks at Abraham, David, Job, or Jesus Himself. I find it hysterical that Hitchins would site Mother T's sense of God's absence as a proof that God doesn't exist - for consistency in his argument would then demand that those who do sense God presence are living proof that God does exist. Our skeptical friend, however, chooses his evidence very selectively, and thus loses credibility quickly. But I digress...

3. Her writings highlight what I consider to be a critical distinction between much that is in Catholic theology/church history, and the convictions that are inherent in my theology, which is well articulated in the this Torchbearer doctrinal position. Because I believe this to be truth, I needn't wait for any sense of 'feeling God's presence' to confirm the reality of God's presence. This is a reality for which I give thanks, by faith, each day - thanking God in advance that as we make ourselves available to Him, He will express a life through us which testifies to the reality of God's character. Mercy, justice, wisdom, strength, joy - all not our own, but flowing out from His life, are available. Ours is simply, by faith - to give thanks.

It would seem a terrible burden to bear if I need to pray for God's presence, or for His mercy, grace, peace, joy. The reality is that it's already given, and that it is mine to simply say thank you. I'll even go a step further and say that this simple act of giving thanks may not change the outward sense of God's presence our absence, but that it nonetheless changes everything. It's what enabled the same Paul who spoke of despairing even of life, also speak of overwhelmingly conquering in all things. Contradictory? Not at all - there will no doubt be moments of darkness. But they don't mean God is absent, and more than the clouds in the above picture mean the summit has disappeared. I still give thanks - still move forward - still believe.

I'm afraid that those who speak of the dark night of the soul are sometimes waiting for a God to show up who is already there - and that's sad, because it can create great guilt or questioning, or waiting - when what he intends is the simple faith that believes in His presence... and gives thanks... and gets on with it.