Easter at its Best

This year I had the best Easter I have had in years...maybe ever. Starting with a sunrise service at beacon Rock with a groups of hearty Camas Friends folks (The only down side to this was that I had to get up at 4:00 am to make it too the service and I still was late).  Then later an Easter Potluck, followed by worship. The Service just happened to meet all my preferences and I left feeling I had really worshiped, not just watched a program. There was no hype, no children dressed as Roman Soldiers, no special music, just worship...a dream come true. We, of course, celebrated Easter in the singing and Scripture, and the sermon was about the resurrection, but there was a quiet reverence about Jesus' renewed life and some genuine consideration for the implications of Jesus' life and form. It occurred to me that we (the church) spend a lot of time spicing up and beautifying a dead Jesus but are scared out of our wits to hear what the living Jesus is saying or asking of us. We wrap Jesus in laws, traditions, pages of the Bible, our sectarian version of what Christ's message really was, etc. etc. The truth is that such behavior is a way of not allowing Jesus to speak for himself.  It is a lot easier to put one's own words in a dead Jesus' mouth than it is to hear Jesus' call on our lives.  In this service there was ample space to consider these things and to feel the tug of the Spirit on my soul.  Now that's what I'm talking about!

A letter to my sister before her radical sinus surgery.

Sister, I’m sorry about the upcoming surgeries.  Sounds really daunting.  I, too, am one who has undergone unpleasant surgeries.  Here are a couple of tips to add some color to the whole experience:
1. Take a whole bottle of laxatives 30 min. before surgery. Doing so will give the nurses something else to do besides commenting on the enormity of your nose. ( Oops! did I say enormity..my bad... I meant normalcy.)  And the laxative effect will keep the surgery moving right along.  No dawdling.

2. Shove some limburger cheese as far up your nostrils as you can.  It'll give the event the flavor of a treasure hunt not unlike trying to find what is stinking up your refrigerator. 

Hope those help turn the experience to a zany experience for the surgeons and staff.  Too bad you'll be asleep and won’t hear the laughter and gratitude expressed by all involved.

Now on a more serious comment, I want to share some little known Biblical facts that might be a great motivator to endure these "light and momentary" troubles. (For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. II cor. 4:17)

You see, the word sinus is really a transliteration of the Hebrew word Sinai.  The OT instance during which Moses climbed Mt Sinai is based on an incident during which Moses got drunk and pushed an olive pit way up his nose and then couldn't dislodge it.  He had an enormous nose.  No one had the huevos to mention it except the sons of Korah who were eventually swallowed by the earth. (Numbers 25: 8-10)  Anyway, references to climbing Mt Sinus (Sinai) were used (mostly by the sons of Korah) to refer to Moses' battle to get the olive pit out of his nose.  No one wanted to be around when he was in full battle mode with the pit so the people would rope off an area around him so others wouldn't get too close to the epic battleground.  Eventually (here's where it applies to your situation) Moses got so desperate that he took a shard from a broken clay pot (In his state of panic he didn’t notice that the shard was from a chamber pot) and went up Mt Sinai for the final attempt to defeat the cursed pit.  The pain was so intense that Moses began to hallucinate and believed he was talking to God.  Thus the Tem Commandments. He also shouted out the score from the 1991 Super bowl during which Buffalo lost at the last second because Kicker Scott Norwood missed a field goal. Go figure.  Anyway, Moses was always angry from then on for his entire life.  Partly at himself for using a shard from a chamber pot to dig out the olive pit and partly at everything and everyone else.  The hair in Moses' left nostril (the one with the olive pit and the stinking chamber pot shard) died and never grew back which gave him a sort of scary look.  He even wore a veil most of the time from then on whenever there were plenary sessions that required his attendance.  In his anger he broke the first set of stone tablets shouting in anger:  "This is all God has to say?  Everyone knows these; they're simplistic, open to all kinds of misinterpretation, and boring."  That very night he dreamed about American evangelicals and it became clear to him why they would need a simplistic set of commandments, commandments that wouldn't interfere with their consumerist view of life and the church.  So he had a six year old girl re-write them and he made sure he referenced them in detail in the Bible he was working on.
Moses was always angry - whacking stuff with his staff, creating snake plagues, etc., plus he looked like an idiot with that black sheave of hair growing out only one nostril.  Thus when it came time to enter the promised land, God said, "I don't want some crazy, one nostril haired, angry madman to lead my people at this time.  So he picked Joshua, who had balanced nostril hair, wasn't really angry with anyone and was really photogenic, to lead the Israelites into the promised land.

Just in case you missed the subtlety of my story here, let me make it plain.  You can't be a prophet and get favored appointments if your nostrils and Sinai are all messed up.  God doesn't want unseemly prophets.  So that’s what Paul was referring to about the light and momentary trouble (the Greek word for trouble really means excruciating pain) you have to endure to be a proper prophet.  But it’s really worth it, really.  So I am praying that you make a full recovery and are able to someday stand with other great men, prophets of God who.....oh no…wait! you're a woman, aren't you.  Oh man I'm really sorry, I totally blanked on that piece of it...you’re toast as a prophet… you'll still be blackballed from getting to lead groups anywhere of significance..I feel terrible for building your hopes...well, you’ll be able to be a terrific help meet.  That'd be sort of cool as long as you didn't have a lot of  kids...Oh there I go again...I'm sorry Sis... Still, I think it would be helpful if you got through the surgery OK, with minimum pain.  Don't get mad though whatever you do.  If you go around like an eternally menopausal crazy woman, your friends might rope you off and isolate you....Oh yeah, your elders already did that...never mind then.

I will keep praying, dear sister; I love you very much and hope these surgeries turn out to be really helpful. (This was a serious sentence, in case you were wondering.)

Brother Stan

Do You Speak Kingdomese?

At the end of Mathew 26, Peter disowns Jesus completely with a string of curses that would have made a sailor bow in awe. Peter was in a fix and wanted to hide the fact that he was one of Jesus’ disciples. Of course it was a lame idea since his homeland was written all over him, in his clothes, mannerism, and especially his accent. Galileans' heavy accent resulted in a distinct way of pronouncing (or mispronouncing) common Jewish words. Their speech was seen as definitely low brow. In spite of his protests, everyone standing around the campfire knew he was Galilean. Galileans were seen as tool belt jockeys – uncouth, unlearned, and good for blue collar work and/or ultimate fighting. In fact there were no teaching synagogues in Galilee and the learned rabbis from Jerusalem made guest appearances only rarely. That’s one reason the intellectuals from Jerusalem were so bewildered with Jesus’ authority. It would be like Rocky Balboa stumping Richard Dawkins from Oxford in a debate over the existence of God. “Where’d you learn this stuff?” they kept asking Jesus, “to what school of thought do you belong?” Jesus kept saying, “I learned this stuff from my Dad.” which was not a very satisfactory answer.

As I was reflecting on this passage, it occurred to me that even though we who follow Jesus claim that we are not from the Kingdom of the World but instead, we are of the Kingdom of God on earth, it’s really easy to hide our faith from folks outside the church – in fact we have to manufacture circumstances under which to surprise them with the news flash that we are actually people of Jesus. Would it be fair to say that Peter was more obviously Galilean, than we are Christian? Wouldn’t it be cool if followers of Jesus had a clearly distinguishable “accent” that made the fact of our choice to be such followers a dead giveaway?

When I was a teenager we were challenged to carry our Bible on the top of our books. The adults were challenged to attend worship every Sunday so our neighbors would see us backing out of our driveways and thus witness our commitment with their own eyes. The Bible thing never worked out for me – maybe I needed a bigger Bible – maybe a Jerry Falwell Drive-thru Bible would have done the trick. Also the car we backed out of the driveway every Sunday morning was a 1953 Plymouth Sedan – not a real attention grabber. A cooler car like a white 58 Chevy impala with four on the floor and tan tuck and roll leather seats would have made people more likely to want to be Christians.

Even as a young man I saw how shallow a “witness” such behavior actually was. I wanted to say, “Really?” “Do you really think that seeing me carrying a Bible or seeing a neighbor back out of the driveway the same time every Sunday morning, is a compelling case for our faith? Will people see these surface behaviors and cry out, “Woe! Woe! We’re slime sucking sinners from Hell, we need and want to be saved…Please Someone help us!”?

As sincere as these believers were, they never really had the will to break with the culture, join God in God’s business, and take Kingdom values and paradigms as their own. And because of that Christians became just another part of the culture. We spoke with the same “accent” as everyone else.

This cultural buy-in wasn’t so in the practice of most Christians prior to president Truman’s signing of the “Employment Act of 1946.” which made “propensity to consume[i]” Federal policy. So the church joined the consumerist movement out of patriotism, countering its historical message of asceticism and moderation. Indeed, the whole country seemed to drink the Kool-Aid of materialism. Larry Rasmussen asks some pointed questions aimed at the outcome of this change within the church.

" Has "getting and spending"—consumerism—so laid waste our powers, sent our hearts packing, and alienated our souls that we no longer belong to nature and see ourselves in it? Has the commodification of all things so deadened the living world, so leeched away the sacred, that even plaintive winds and open seas don't wash over our spirit and move it to mystery and wonder? Are we this bereft, this "out of tune," this unmoved?"[ii] It seems that we were unmoved by much except the frenzied race to realize our American Dream.

“ Global consumer classes produced and consumed as many goods and services in the mere half- Century from 1950-2000 as throughout the entire period of history prior to that date.[iii]

Most Christians lost their accent which reflected life in the Kingdom, and its values and priorities. Many Christians lost the intimate connection with the each other and nature and these vital connections became just tools to use as they wished – eventually they seemed blind to the environment and, even worse, became the earth’s enemy. Recently, care of the earth is making a comeback among Christian politics, but seldom has it become an integral part of Christian spirituality. Our Native American friends have a lot to teach us about loving the earth as a major step in loving its creator.

Does our “accent” clearly show that we are people of another Kingdom? Does our accent remain prominent in our conversations with or about our Gay, Lesbian, Bi-sexual, and/or transgendered friends, or other minorities? Do we speak clearly with our Kingdom accent when we deal with with the poor, the oppressed, the diseased, and the lonely? Does our accent smack of inclusiveness as we encounter folks of other faiths or rituals?

The church could be a powerful force in turning this horse around (OK, I don’t really know what horse this saying talks about or why it is going in one direction or the other but I’m on board for turning it around.) and begin to use our common voice to help our country see how healing it is to value things, people, and the earth for who they are, not as fodder for our voracious appetite for more and more.

What if Christians across our nation could speak with one accent about the values of the Kingdom and love for each other, God, and the created order? Our country is lacking in Spiritual leadership because the church is so divided. What if we laid down our political swords and simply gave witness to Jesus’ teaching and the presence of God’s Spirit in everyone? After all, Regardless of what the New Apostolic Revolution would have us believe, we are not called to take over the government, we are called to simply obey Jesus’ way of peace and invited to adopt God’s world view?

Imagine that we are in the circle around the fire with Peter and others and we are spotted as followers of Jesus. “Saaaaay, aren’t you one of this criminal Jesus’ followers?” “Oh no!” we reply, “We never knew him!” After a tense moment the accusers say, “Yeah, OK. We can buy that, but why do you carry a Bible there on top of your books?”

---

[i] Brink Iindsey, The Age of Abundance: How Prosperity Transformed America's Politics and Culture (Collins/HarperCollins Publishers, 2007)

[ii] Rasmussen, Larry ,” God Honoring Asceticism and Consumption”, CrossCurrents - The Journal of Addiction and Mental Health, January 1, 2008.

[iii] Alan T. Durning, How Much Is Enough? (London: Earthscan, 1992),

Do You Like Lifesavers?

“Do you like Lifesavers?” He asked me. “Thanks, but no thanks”, was my reply.

Floyd, (not his real name) was leaving the hospital where he had been my roommate for a few days and was going home. Trouble is that he was leaving with four big tumors in his liver, a failing immune system, and many more problems.

Floyd stood there awkwardly, dressed in flannel shirt with cut out sleeves, sweats that showed he was familiar with car repair - truly a “man’s man”, very reluctant to show emotion yet filled with fear and showing an obvious desire to somehow “connect”. I know the signs in People who are desperate for a sense that God exists and that God loves them despite their rough and obnoxious exterior and/or, ( in Floyd’s mind at least) a huge pile of sins.

My encouragement to him had been to simply get himself in God’s presence and pray the prayer of the father in Mark 9: Lord, I believe, help my unbelief!” “Your part is just to get there, God will do the rest.” Recognizing that God was already in his heart and that his lifestyle had not fully separated him from God, was a great relief to Floyd.

“Do you like Lifesavers?” He asked me. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

How badly I wish I would have just said, “Floyd, I love Lifesavers,” and received his gift with grace. I was too distracted to notice…I never ask, “What would motivate a man like Floyd to give a near-stranger a somewhat worn out pack of Lifesavers?”

I believe whatever motivated Floyd was far more profound than a few words of encouragement I spent on him. I believe absolutely that God, who knows our hearts and minds had created an “opening” to this man’s soul through which he was reaching out to almost anyone who could help him find a connection to the Divine. He would have been proud to have given me the lifesavers but even more proud to feel he was worth my attention.

“Do you like Lifesavers?” He asked me. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

I also believe that it would have been pure arrogance to have kicked myself and felt guilty for neglecting to “hear” Floyd’s heart, as though everything depended upon me. God offers us opportunities, we probably miss a high percentage of them. For me, the sadness that accompanies the realization that we missed such a gift from God (…”blessed are those who mourn”) is sufficient to motivate greater vigilance.

Often others don’t see the pain behind our smiles when we show up at church feeling brokenhearted, or defeated, or sinful. It’s painful for us and sometimes hard to believe we are loved. At other times we gather together in worship with deep pain from a new divorce, or a financial disaster that sinks us from “well off” to bankrupt. We need each other to be ready to watch and listen for the nuances that would key them into our pain and brokenness. We need to pay attention to each other and try to discern the hidden message embedded in small gifts: kindness, or a smile, an extra firm handshake, or a pack of Lifesavers.

“Do you like Lifesavers?” He asked me. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

31st day in the hospital

Here's a report from my brother, Kent, after today's procedure:

Today was a good day for Stan. His procedure went well without any
serious mishaps. The doc who did the work was a technical genius. Time
will tell regarding how much it will help his condition. For me, I have
high hopes that he will experience substantial improvement.

Kent is the most cautious in his reports...I'm a bit too positive. Here's my additional comments:

They were able to find two veins leading to the esophagus which they believe are causing the high pressure and resulting aneurysms in my esophagus. They tied those veins as they did the vein that they believed was most dangerous around the bile duct. Took 5 1/2 hours but seems well worth it.

Ok you have to hear this exchange between me and the recovery room docs. I had just gotten into the recovery room and opened my eyes for the first time and saw a half dozen anxiety ridden faces peering down at me. They ask almost in unison, "Do you have pain?" Lacking my normal inhibitions, I starting laughing uncontrollably and couldn't stop. Finally, "Pain? You've been literally digging around in my liver for 5 1/2 hours, I have an unhealed wound to my liver from the last procedure...Pain? Yes, I have nothing but pain. Not a smile from these docs. Me: "Is this an irony free zone or something...doesn't anyone see the irony of your question? (me laughing and them blank stares.) I went on, "There's not a spot on my body that doesn't have pain and if I had one, I wouldn"t tell you where it is because you'd go right there and do a procedure. Yes, I'm in excruciating pain." Still not a smile. Wow! very tough crowd. I'm still laughing about it. I hope that when they get home and are brushing their teeth they finally get it, "Oh yeah, that was irony, we don't get much irony in these parts." (line from movie - can't remember.) I hope you are laughing with me. You are aren't you??? uh oh.

Comments overheard from the nurse's station (directly across from my room.)

1. "Mr. Thornburg is writing again. I wonder what this is about. (I've shared some articles I'm working on..."Honesty vs truthfulness", "How do we create a safe environment so our young children feel free to ask us anything - a working title" - article includes some of your comments, "Unconditional Compassion" - the article about Andy from my first ICU experience -, "A Quaker Experience of Advent" - kindly edited by Jon Holt Friends Journal to publish it next year, Untitled article on spiritual transformation, etc.

2. "What do Quakers believe, anyway? Are they Christians? Whose Got the guts to ask him?" Carl got the short straw on that one.

3. "I can't tell if he's sleeping or praying...how do you know.?" Chad's answer, "If there are several pages of the letter K across his screen...he's sleeping." (Lots of laughter)

4. I think he's a Mennonite.

5. He rides his bike to the wineries. (what I actually said was that I like to ride in wine country because of the beautiful vineyards.... really.)

Ok, enough of this Tom foolery. G'night

Stan

21st day in hospital

I was pretty down last evening and this morning. I began to question the value of my little conversations up here - how petty and insignificant they seemed. Then two things happened to lift my spirits again. First, a young woman walked in to my room today - she is a woman I have seen every day I have spent in ICU in every hospitalization - I have always said "Hello, good to see you," but she had never made eye contact or spoken back to me - she just restocks the medical supplies and walks out - OK, today she saw me and broke into a big smile and said, "Stan, how great to see you!" - she was literally beaming. I said, "Nice to see you too, but I'm sorry you have never spoken to me so I don't even know your name." She ignored my statement and said, "I love coming in the rooms where you are because it always feels good and I feel loved." I was speechless. Then after putting her supplies away, she said, "What kind of Christian are you anyway." I didn't even know she knew I was a Christian. I ask, "What do you mean, what kind of Christian; if you are asking what denomination I am I'm Quaker." She introduced herself and then proceeded to tell me a version of her life story and some of the places she is struggling. We talked for almost a half hour before she left.

I quickly saw that Jesus was undermining my little self pity party, and I began to regain my sense of mission and call that I know is solid no matter what the circumstances. Then later today Steve Fawver (pastor at NVFC) posted some quotes from Evelyn Underhill (wonderful chrstian writer and woman of great power in prayer). Here's the part of his post that so moved me.

"The Church is in the world to save the world. It is a tool of God for that purpose. Every one of its members is required, in one way or another, to co-operate with the Spirit in working for that great end: and much of this work will be done in secret and invisible ways. We are transmitters as well as receivers. Our contemplations and our actions, our humble self-opening to God, keeping ourselves sensitive to his music and light, and our generous self-opening to our fellow creatures, keeping oursleves sensitive to their needs, ought to form one life: mediating between God and his world, and bringing the saving power of the Eternal into time"

This reminded me that my delight is to open myself to others, keeping their needs in mind and seeing myself as a mediator between them and the divine. What calling could be more of an honor than that? Then my mind flashed to that wonderful passage in 2 Cor. 2

14 But thanks be to God, who always leads us as captives in Christ’s triumphal procession and uses us to spread the aroma of the knowledge of him everywhere. 15 For we are to God the pleasing aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. 16 To the one we are an aroma that brings death; to the other, an aroma that brings life. And who is equal to such a task?

"OH God, may I be the aroma of life through you while I am held captive here by my own body." A few days ago I proclaimed triumphantly that Jesus is always here. Always. That is so true, but its true that Jesus is always here for everyone, not just me...for this woman with all her struggles...for my roommate who was dying of aids...for everyone. And the witness (aroma) of Jesus is obvious whether we speak or not. It is not us who are charged with saving the world but Christ in us. Cool eh?

Thanks be to God for God's wonderful grace and power...for God's relentless pursuit of the heart and soul of every living being...for the Divine Light by which we order our worship, or business, our ministry, our very lives.

8th Day in Hospital

God is really blessing my time here. Like last stay, I am having many opportunities for deep, spiritual conversations. Its uncanny. I wish they came this often and easily in the real world. Several of the folks who I spoke with during my last stay have heard I am here again and have dropped in, including the Buddhist nurse who taught me so much about compassion. I spend a good time of the day wiping tears of joy from my eyes because of God's obvious deep work in the lives of folks with whom I talk. I really like that about God. God seems to know that the only way I can faithfully live out my faith in the midst of these discouraging circumstances is to be involved in ministry and have to depend on the Spirit for guidance and discernment. God gives me new eyes through which I can see (like "the condition of all people." I get a glimpse into their hearts and seem to know where their longing lies. It's just a wonderful experience...all God's doing.

7th day in Hospital

Today I was making my “laps” around ICU, pushing an IV pole ahead of me, when I passed a room and heard the sweet words of Scripture being read, words from Psalms 96:
1 God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
2 Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
3 though its waters roar and foam etc.
That passage was followed by these words from Psalm 121
1 I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
where does my help come from?
2 My help comes from the LORD,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
3 He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;
4 indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
5 The LORD watches over you—
the LORD is your shade at your right hand;
6 the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.
7 The LORD will keep you from all harm—
he will watch over your life;
8 the LORD will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.
I froze in my tracks as the words of those Psalms washed over me, bringing such a rush of joy and gratefulness. Obviously, the man to whom the words were addressed was in a coma and his family and friends had gathered to minister to him just in case he could “hear” them from that distant place in his soul. Shortly after the reading ceased, the family began to sing these wonderful old hymns that for many of us carry rich memories and deep meaning. The words from “Blessed Assurance”,” Rock of Ages”, “Tell me the Old, Old, Story” etc. wafted from their room into the hallway where I was held captive, drinking them in to my own soul, and feeling their healing effect on my own despair.
I know I was just a bystander, but it seemed as though those hymns and Psalms were meant for me and that somehow God had guided my steps to be at the door of that particular room at that particular time. I walked on with a sense of praise and joy and new hope, knowing that the One who inspired those instruments of worship was the same One to whom I had given my life, and the One in whose hands I have placed all my hopes and dreams.

16th Day in Hospital

Something very profound happened last Wednesday when I was on the operating table, ready to have a much anticipated procedure and heard the Dr. say, "I can't do this; there's too much fluid in his abdomen." I was crushed with disappointment, almost to the point of tears. But then almost as if he had appeared in person, I was aware that Jesus was there. Jesus was there and it made all the difference. I know It’s nothing new or profound to say that Jesus was there but, for me at least, it is an entirely new and profound experience of Jesus. I have always believed and given testimony to the fact that Jesus is always with us; its one of the bedrock beliefs sustaining Christian hope and engendering courage to be faithful. But I have to say that God has moved me to a far deeper experience of Jesus' presence than I had even imagine existed. And that presence brings with it such profound peace and deep joy that one can hardly contain oneself.

In the deep disappointment after the procedure was canceled, Jesus was there; I was not alone. Addressing the feelings of anger at the staff's oversight that left me with a bellyful of fluid, was Jesus - forgiving, loving, reaching out to them in their embarrassment and regret. Jesus' response to them translated into my own feelings of compassion and empathy for them.
Jesus' promise in Matt. 28 "And surely I am with you always, even to the end of the world," has become a tangible reality in these days as have the many promises in John that Jesus will never leave us alone. So, if you are still reading, I'd like to just give testimony to what we all know is true, but sometimes in the chaos of everyday life, lose sight of: Jesus is always there. Always! Jesus is always there. Whether one as been faithful or unfaithful, Jesus is there. Whether one is full of praise or anger at God, Jesus is there. When the doctor gives the scary prognosis, Jesus is there. When the letter from the IRS comes demanding money, Jesus is there. When the notice of foreclosure is given, Jesus is there. When the police call with tragic news, Jesus is there. In the midst of conflict with a co-worker, Jesus is there. When relations break down in a family, Jesus is there. When one feels bitter regret, Jesus is there. When one cannot forgive, Jesus is there. In the heat of temptation, Jesus is there. Jesus is always there - always - always. In times of conflict among one's faith community, Jesus is there. In a frustrating meeting for business, Jesus is there. When one is at a loss as to what to do next, Jesus is there. And, more easily believed, Jesus is there in all the good times as well. Jesus is always there. Always.

I'm sure I have said nothing new, but I felt compelled to share this new sense of Jesus' presence with you. If you are discouraged, be heartened, Jesus is there. If you are afraid, Jesus is there. If you are filled with joy, Jesus is there. If you feel abandoned, Jesus is there. If you are brokenhearted, Jesus is there. Always.
Stan

Advent, in the Manner Of Friends (Quakers)

Advent, In the Manner of Friends


The celebration of Advent by Quakers (mostly pastoral meetings) is a comparatively recent departure from Friends' traditional avoidance of the rites, liturgies, and language marked by the Liturgical Calendar. This tension between non-liturgical and liturgical expressions makes us ask if there is a way to think about this wonderful season that is uniquely Quaker and that draws upon Friends faith and spiritual practice.

I have a suggestion as to how this might look for Friends. The following article tries to articulate that suggestion by starting with a personal story and then winding its way via the Friends practice of “Speaking Truth to one's condition” to a newly formed understanding of Advent. You are invited to follow this labyrinth from its beginning to its climax in hopes that you will also discover a new way to rejoice in the ongoing miracle of Truth becoming flesh.

I'm alive to write this because a liver specialist listened to me. After he had listened just a few minutes, he called an ambulance without consulting me, and procured the immediate care I needed. Did he listen because he cared about me? Maybe a little, but he listened mostly because he cared about my brother, Kent – a respected colleague – and he knew Kent cared for me. Kent had asked him to listen to me because Kent loves me deeply, profoundly, unconditionally. The physician had the skill and insight to see my condition and “spoke to my condition” in that phone call.

Isn't that how the Kingdom is supposed to work? It is a chain of caring beginning with Jesus' love for us – a love that draws us into a deep love relationship. In turn we care about others even though they are relative strangers because we know Jesus loves them deeply, profoundly, unconditionally; we care about them because we want to care about those whom Jesus loves. So we listen to others and care for them on behalf of Jesus. Because Jesus' love for us is deep, we listen to others with all our hearts. We listen past their sometimes obnoxious exterior; we listen past their shallow ramblings, or their political narrowness; we listen past their masks; we listen through their anger, hurt and resentment, as well as their joy; we listen until we get a sense of their hearts; we listen until we, in George Fox's words, “know their condition.”

Then we "speak to their condition." This may or may not mean that we address their condition directly, it may or may not mean that we share profound insights regarding their lives, but it always means that we speak in response to their condition, and that we speak words insinuated to us by revelation not by cognition. We have no words of our own, just words engendered by Love, words that speak truth and love into their very souls. It may be true that we don't speak directly to them at all, perhaps we just call an ambulance. Perhaps we speak on their behalf to some oppressor or someone who, with cruel intent, has spoken razor blade words meant to shame, belittle, or crush them. We may speak directly to their flagging spirits in discouragement, to their despair in great loss, to their paralysis in great fear, to their ego in its lost esteem, and/or to their souls in their seeking. This is the work that God asks of us as our part of God's mission.

This Truth spoken is not fashioned from our theological formulations, it is formed in the heart of God in much the same way as we were formed in our mother's womb. We give birth to it through our obedient speaking, and the Truth becomes a living thing. It is Advent, the coming, it is the Word incarnate – Christ with us – born of God – in the speaking of Truth.

Advent celebrates the birth of Truth in the form of a living being – Jesus. It is a joyous remembering of the greatest event in human history. But to leave the celebration there, is both to miss the point and, even worse, to miss the joy of sharing in a new Advent born of our obedient delivery of the Living Truth spawned by God and spoken in Love. It is a saving, healing,Truth. It is Truth that, having been born in our speaking, becomes flesh and Like the “Word” in John's prologue, shines into the darkness, and the darkness can neither comprehend it nor overcome it.

Rejoice, for unto us, a savior is born...again...and again...and again.

Redemption

I was looking away, not paying any attention to my soul, my self of myself, my being of my being. I had always been looking away. Then, unannounced, it washed over me like a sweet and cleansing tide, sweeping away all that had accumulated to bury my center and hide my soul.

Redemption.

Such peace, such joy, such freedom - engulfed by Grace and Truth so deep and so instantly transforming-unmistakably a movement of Divine love.

How wrong I had been about who I was, why I was or wasn't loved, and what it would take to see again. How freeing to lose sight of theological formulae and myths about good and evil dealing in blood to buy my soul.

Without encumbering belief,without a priest or Shaman, without confession, without a prescribed explanation, it came on its own from some deep place of love, directly to my soul. This cleansing, this release, defied the word packed emasculation of Divine purpose and came uninvited, undeserved, and of its own accord.

How arrogant to have believed it could be owned, understood, controlled, dispensed, or shaped it into the shape of belief. How naive to have believed it could be known how or when or to whom it comes.

It does not fall within the bounds of knowledge nor can it be parsed into planks of some far smaller sacred scheme. It is not made of stone, to be worshiped, coddled, or appeased by sacrifice. It is a living entity, active and powerful - a thriving part of the Divine Mystery.

It just is.

While I was looking away, it came. Before I could turn to look it full in the face, before I could register its presence, the source of the flood was gone. In its wake, though, is this new soul, this new heart now overflowing with gratitude that in itself is pure and without object. Indeed it is the unknowable truth that has set me free .

This is Redemption

Companions on the Lenten Journey

We’re heading to Jerusalem. We do it every year. You’d think we would learn. We know what awaits us, i.e. betrayal and crucifixion, death and darkness, suffering of all kinds. Even so, we choose this journey with joy and passion, with deep gratitude and awe, with a profound sense of mystery that surpasses our ability to understand, and an awareness of that great sacrifice – that firestorm of unimaginable love - that works our redemption and brings us face to face with the terrible holiness of the divine.

Easter mornings we rush to the grave and again and again stare in wonder at the empty tomb. We stand, mouths agape at this feat of supernatural strength, fueled by unconditional love, accomplishing what all the sacrifices, piety, prayers, and incense could not even broach. Our heads want to burst as we try to piece it together into some coherent message. Our hearts in turn want to burst as we try to entertain even the smallest notion of the love we
have just encountered. We stand helpless before it, we are unwitting victims of it, we can neither direct it nor control it though we try every theological parlor trick available to do so. Exhausted, we finally just let it go and allow it to be what it is…”For God so loved THE WORLD…”

“Oh God!” “Thank you for this awful and wonderful self-revelation.”

We are not alone on this journey. We are accompanied by hundreds of thousands of believers from every corner of the globe. We are not just sojourners we are brothers and sisters joined in solidarity for this great celebration. There is no distinction. There is no room for labels, for doctrinal snobbery, for claims of exclusivity. There is only room for gratitude for one another and joy at being part of such a great throng. We are marching to the Holy Mountain where God resides and Christ reigns. Our hearts long for justice, for peace, for healing, for a glimpse of
God’s unconditional love lived out among us.

Is this the vision of which Isaiah wrote?

“In the last days
the mountain of the Lord's temple will be established
as chief among the mountains;
it will be raised above the hills,
and all nations will stream to it.

Many peoples will come and say,
"Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD,
to the house of the God of Jacob.
He will teach us his ways,
so that we may walk in his paths."
The law will go out from Zion,
the word of the LORD from Jerusalem.
He will judge between the nations
and will settle disputes for many peoples.
They will beat their swords into plowshares
and their spears into pruning hooks.
Nation will not take up sword against nation,
nor will they train for war anymore.

Everyone is invited on this journey! It belongs to no one faith or sect. We will weather the betrayal, suffering, and sacrifice together. Come, join the throngs across our globe on this wonderful, terrible, trek. We will stand stunned into silence before the tomb. We will go crazy with celebration when death’s door makes way for resurrection power.

We will be forever changed.

Developing a male identity

Below are some notes from Randy Woodley's workshop, "Beyond Color Blindness" which I have edited to refer to gender rather than ethnicity. The fit isn't perfect, of course, but I did find the similarities strking and helpful.

Male Identity Development

Goals
1.On a personal level, the goal of Male Gender identity development is to abandon sexism and to develop a non-sexist male identity.
2.Another goal is to deconstruct the systems of oppression and sexism and reconstruct them resembling the Kingdom. For Christians, the personal and the systemic are not mutually exclusive but they are necessarily intertwined.

Outcomes of Male Identity Development

•Understand social constructs of gender and gender theory with the
implications and purposes they have served in America.

•Understand the system of advantage men have in America
and avoid perpetuating personal and systemic racism.

•Don’t just “help”victims of sexual discrimination/abuse but speak up against systems of oppression and challenge other Men to do the same.

•Understand the many factors that contribute to one’s gender identity development, including family, society, politics, history and how racial identity also influences the quality of an individual’s racial group identification.

•Develop a Biblical theology of diversity and inclusion based on Scripture and Jesus’ view of the “Kingdom.”
•Understand how particular Western pedagogies perpetuate oppression.
•Learn how Jesus’ call to meekness and humility can be
implemented on systemic, organizational and societal levels
concerning entitlement and opportunity.
•Learn the value of humor and laughing at ourselves and our racial identities.

Also read the following quote, substituting Male for White.

Excerpt: What’s a White Guy to Do? Scott Johnson
My Dad was a racist.
He never sat me down and instructed me on the fine points to White superiority, but I certainly picked it up. Dad intentionally made sure I knew how to milk the cow, drive the tractor, and shoot clay-pigeons, but he never actually taught me to hate people on the basis of cultural or physical attributes. Nor did I inherit it in my Norwegian/German genes. Rather, I acquired it by listening to the way adults acted and talked. Racism—in my case, anyway—wasn’t taught, but caught.

Making Space For The Rabbi

This post is part of a conversation on Christine Sine's blog: www.godspace.wordpress.com about "Spiritual Practice" defined as anything one does regularly as a way of connecting with God. There some very interesting posts, including one on Crying as spiritual practice. The blog is well worth the read.


I remember bitching and moaning to Richard Foster about the disadvantage of being 2,000 years too late to actually follow Christ in the same way as “The Twelve” did. For me trying to actually be a disciple of someone behind the cloud of unknowing didn’t seem fair. The Twelve could actually see Jesus in action, ask him about what was going on, complain to him and each other about it, discuss it around the campfire, scribble pithy notes to be someday inserted in their gospels, etc. “We're at a great disadvantage!" I whined. Richard said something like, "Maybe you're just too focused on yourself and what you are doing to notice what Jesus is doing. Give Jesus a chance to act before barging in asking WWJD?" A bit of reflection revealed that no one really has a clue what Jesus would do in any given situation anyway, and to ask that question, at least for me, is an exercise in futility and/or arrogance.
After some soul searching and actual listening, I started the practice of stepping back in every daily encounter to see what Christ was about before I inserted myself into the situation. I began to ask, “What IS Jesus doing?” I tried to hold off on my own inclination to “do something” and just wait until I could see the Rabbi in action. I’ve been at it for a little more than thirty years and it has become a treasured and life changing practice. I still find it extremely difficult in many ways. It’s difficult to be patient when a situation seems to require a quick response. It’s difficult to suppress my own “wisdom” and avoid projecting it into what seem like familiar situations. It’s difficult to avoid emotional reasoning in situations that unleash strong feelings. The biggest difficulty is that Jesus never seems to really do that much at any given time. He never seems goes for the big kill, the profound answer that solves the problem or the deep insight that completely changes people right before one’s eyes. He seems to almost always prefer some small act of love or acceptance or grace that insinuates more than proclaims the depth of his love or the extent of his willingness to sacrifice. Plus, I guess if I were honest, I never really get to do much. Sometimes I get to point to what happened and say, “Yep, that was Jesus alright.” Sometimes I get to share in the aftercare, i.e. meeting the needs, sharing resources, or some act of service. Mostly though, I just marvel at all that Jesus is doing in every situation, in everyone’s life, all the time. I mean that seriously and literally, ALL the time.
I still hope I’ll get to do some serious healing sometime – even just with a sick pet or a broken household appliance. In the meantime, I feel like an authentic disciple, though. Not one of the big three or anything – maybe a Nathaniel or an Andrew. That’s plenty for me.

Theolog: Blogging toward Sunday: More rejection

Here's an interesting short that I found instructive. How much of our arrogance as Christians stems from our unwillingness to realize that we're always wrong. Our best theological thinking doesn't come even near to understanding the mystery of God nor the paradox of our living in mystery while claiming certainty.

Theolog: Blogging toward Sunday: More rejection

(More swimming) Diggin deeper

I am happy when I hear statements such as "We must value the special gifts women bring to pastoral leadership." Generally what follows, though, is a litany of stereotypical "women's qualities." Of course, there is some truth to those observations, but such responses miss the point entirely. Women are important to pastoral leadership because they are women and not men. It's really that simple. If a field of yellow flowers ask, "What could purple flowers bring to the meadow?" there could be a long list of qualities that many purple flowers might bring, but the truth is that the chief reason they are needed is because they are purple, not yellow. Yellow flowers have never been purple so they don't really "get" purpleness except in a very external way. Purple looks different. Beneath that difference is a whole different internal wiring and experiential history that really isn't accessible to yellow flowers and perhaps not entirely accessible to a purple flower's awareness either. The whole meadow would benefit if purple flowers were allowed to shape the meadow and make decisions about the meadow based on their natural inclinations rather than based on some qualities that yellow flowers assign to them. If the two colors want to collaborate in such leadership, then the structures and policies that go into meadow making and even the concept of meadowness needs to be the product of collaboration as well. And, if the meadow is not one that can support both colors in leadership, the whole idea of how the meadow is to be organized and run needs to framed by a process that includes the input of both colors.

Analogies always break down but this one just came to mind as I was seeking to put words to what's bothering me about the way we "include" women in leadership roles in our churches. Perhaps some of you have insights that will help us move forward in this discussion.

Swimming between certainties

I'm in one of those places of liminality. I'm learning faster than I can assimilate and the things I am learning are messing with my plausibility structure. I'm swimming between certainties while contemplating giving up certainty altogether.

My teachers are a variety of books, Randy Woodley, my North Valley Community, and a variety of others "too numerous to enumerate." (quote from a wonderful movie, "The 9th Configuration.")

Some soundbites from the process are:

I am learning to attempt to understand Christianity from the perspective of its victims. For example: Gender justice in Northwest Yearly Meeting is sabotaged by this problem: The dominant culture (patriarchal) is the arbiter of justice. So when things are made to be "a level playing field" it only means that Men allow Women equal access to a predominately male paradigm of leadership. We (men) assume that a level playing field is the end of gender justice. Actually justice demands that women's paradigms of leadership, and the assumptions that go with them be given equal value as men's. More than that, they should be considered essential to a full expression of God's kingdom on earth. These paradigms aren't in competition with one another, they are essential components to a single paradigm of leadership through which they inform and complete one another.

Victims of Christianity abound. More later about ethnicity, spirituality, dualisms, etc. If I get time and energy. (don't hold your breath)

I'll continue this thread in further posts. That's all for now.

An Eastertide Conversation

“Do you believe in the resurrection?” He asked me.

“That’s where I put my hope.” I replied.

“Then you’re an idiot.”

“Ok, I’ll agree that I’m and idiot, but what does that have to do with the resurrection?”

“Everything. You just told me that you center your life on something that you just hope is true. That’s why you’re an idiot.”

“No, I said the resurrection is something in which I put my hope. I’m an idiot for other reasons.”

“All the evidence is stacked against you, you know. Get your head out of the sand.”

“What evidence?”

“Well, ALL the evidence. For starters, scientists say it’s impossible.”

“No they don’t. They just admit that there’s nothing within the scope of their knowledge of the world that could explain or duplicate such a thing - with the exception of Barry Manilow’s renewed popularity, of course. Resurrection hope has nothing to fear from scientific inquiry.”

“Ok, then there are the historians. They haven’t found proof either.”

“I hope they don’t give up looking.”

“They’ve pretty much debunked much of what your Bible says about it. They’ve raised serious questions about its authorship, later additions, and suspicious political motives in forming the cannon that bring the whole book under a cloud of suspicion.”

“Good historical research and scholarship, both secular and sacred, seek truth and resurrection hope does not fear truth.”

“But the Bible….”

“Sorry to interrupt, but I haven’t put my hope in the Bible. I’ve put my hope in a resurrected Christ, which predates its written accounts by close to a half a century.”

“Even so, I hear that more and more theologians are beginning to move the story of the resurrection into the category of myth or metaphor. They say that the whole doctrine of the resurrection may be just a story that illustrates deeper truths about God and God’s love for humanity. Have you heard about that?”

“Yes, very interesting reading.”

“So why do you stubbornly cling to your old myths about the resurrection, your dogma and creeds that insist you believe the ridiculous? How can you insist on the belief that Jesus conquered death, when death is all around us?”

“Oh, now I see. You think I said I put my hope in the doctrine of the resurrection? You think I’m being loyal to creeds and dogma? You think I am blind to all the evidence around me that shouts down naive beliefs such as the one that Jesus was resurrected?”

“I couldn’t have said it better. That’s exactly what I am saying. That’s why I say you’re an idiot”

“You asked if I believed in the resurrection. I said it was where I placed my hope, yet you continue to talk about my belief as though it’s the source of my hope. I haven’t put my hope in a belief, creed, dogma, doctrine or any theological structure. My hope rests in the experience of Christ in me – the Divine presence – the inner Light. Further, my hope is not some sentimental attachment to a past event, nor is it rooted in belief in life after death. It’s a response to what God is doing now. My hope is to be a person who loves unconditionally, as only God can love. My hope is that the presence of the living Christ in me will transform me into a person of moral vision and heroic faith. My hope is that the Light will open my eyes to systems of evil from which I benefit and in which I may be inadvertently participating. My hope is that I can partner with God in the creation of something beautiful – God’s Kingdom on earth. My hope is to be a reconciler, a healer, a peacemaker, and a person of grace, mercy, and forgiveness. And it’s not just me; I’m part of a faith community that longs for these same things.”

“OK, so explain how the resurrection leads to such hope…I don’t get the connection.”

“The Easter story is a story of hope and life coming out of ashes. It’s the story of evil being redeemed to play a role in God’s mission. It’s a story of immeasurable love, supreme sacrifice, and profound forgiveness. It’s a story that goes beyond itself so that even the cross, with all its cruelty, now hangs around our necks as a symbol of life. Easter is not just a thing in itself; it is a never-ending event that is as fresh and powerful today as it was two thousand years ago. Easter is always happening, everywhere, all the time. The resurrection is, not was. Easter proclaims that God is Love is God is Love is God is Love is God…and so on forever”

“Doesn’t that then, show that the resurrection story is just a myth or a metaphor?”

“A myth is a fiction meant to convey a truth, and a metaphor just represents a truth, but is not the truth itself. The resurrection is neither. It is mystical, but not mythical. It is not a metaphor pointing elsewhere, it is self-revealing and, as such, both points to truth and IS the truth. It is truth in the same way that Jesus is the truth. My hope rests firmly in that truth, though I understand neither its depth, height, nor its various manifestations. I’ve staked my life on the resurrection and am witness to its reconciling power even among those who have never heard the Easter story. Many of these other things make up my belief as well, but my hope rests on this one thing.”

“Ok, then. Your answer is that you DO believe in the resurrection?”

“That’s where I put my hope.”

Coffe Cup Church

Small talk is exchanged over steaming lattes or cups-o-Joe. It’s obligatory and comforting and brings the conversation to the point at which confession begins. Not really a “Forgive me father, for I have sinned,” type of confession…more of a “Here’s what’s going on with me,” kind of thing. A confession none-the-less. It’s rarely actual sin that’s discussed; more often it’s fear, guilty feelings, anger, job stress, marriage, temptation, parenting stuff, or some kind of relationship glitch. It’s something that bears some weight on the heart and needs to be shared – aired out to someone safe and trustworthy. It’s always spiritual, though not always about God or religion. Sometimes joy is confessed or feelings of accomplishment, moments of well-deserved attention or credit for having done well. These things cry for airing as much as anything.

As the confession finds authentic and unconditional love, it grows bolder, and risks greater disclosure. Truth spills out with its accompanying feelings and tests the capacity for mercy and grace in the listener. Finding unfettered acceptance and understanding, it pours out, full-orbed, and rises with the steam from the cups as a prayer of thanksgiving from both listener and speaker.

This dance of love continues with confession, reflection, gratitude, encouragement, question, and counsel moving to the movement of the Spirit and the rhythms of healing.
Cups empty, they rise to leave with a handshake or a hug. Eyes are dried and smiles, authentic, not forced, give testimony to the meaning of the moments spent huddled in sharing.

A miracle has occurred in the presence of the other patrons though invisible to their eyes. The promise of Christ that we would do greater things than his miracles has been fulfilled, though unspectacularly, in the confines of this tiny coffee shop.

We’ve all done this dance, either as confessor, listener, or both. It’s the ministry of reconciliation taking place as we live into our belief that all are ministers. This great joy is not out of reach for any of us who take the time to listen or muster the courage to share.
This is church at its best and its most powerful.

Stan