Posts filed under 'Christianity'
December 26th, 2007
A really good book isn’t comfortable. It’s probing, convicting and full of challenge without being prescriptive.
Perhaps fiction still carries this off the best precisely because it can never be prescriptive. I also find more and more that good poetry, both dark and love-soaked, from Sexton to Rumi is also revelatory and freeing. But there have always been non-fiction titles, essays, memoirs, that make the connection and move me.
Without sounding like this is the right answer to a Sunday School question, the Gospels are this for me as well. But this wasn’t always the case. Quite likely because, for me at least, Sunday School and later Church, took the story and made it a code, then took the code and made it an absolute and in turn destroyed the story not realizing that the story is the only thing capable of carrying the truth.
I now see the gospels as creative non-fiction. That is, behind each book is a single active imagination grappling with a piece of reality, trying to make sense of a jumble of events. But this imagination is embodied and is writing from within an historical and cultural frame, just as I read embodied and shaped within my own history and culture. The magic is that there can be a connection. The wonder is that there can be a ring of truth at depth. But this is the beauty of great creative non-fiction.
It happened for me again the other day. Reading the gospels in this way reached an area in my life that needs so much surgery that I fear I may die in the O.R. before being able to look back to say, yes, Steve, there, right there in that place where you spent so much time comparing yourself to others, working out ways where you might be seen as set apart from the hoy-poly, right there is where you now spend a little less time, time that you now spend listening and engaging in a bigger world around you.
When this happens I again become aware that the story that has reached me is much grander than I had ever dreamt. Because it’s a story not based on the exclusion of something or the expulsion of someone better or worse–as if I could actually judge that–but based on a love story. It’s a story of a mother and her baby. A story of a gathering community around a person who becomes a victim and who returns only to forgive. And of course there is nothing special about this community. It is not over-above or underneath anything.
December 20th, 2007
It’s early and dark. In the south-east there is a place were the sun will come up, should it choose. Indications are good. So I wait for the first signs of brightening behind the city-scape.
Winter waits too. The soil of summer-fallow waits, bulbs wait, bamboo is excellent at waiting, geese wait until the time is right. Beavers don’t abide waiting, but orb weavers don’t seem to mind. They spin and wait as long as it takes. The earth spins too, waiting for its equinox.
But light bulbs, street lights, clocks, little chips in computers, never wait and will never care to wait. And we use them and anything else we can think of to train the waiting out of our lives.
The world of industry is bringing waiting to an end. Commerce keeps company with the future. Companies race each other to see how far they can project themselves into the future, or how much of it they can drag into the present. A destruction of both.
There is madness here that we’ve normalized. We forget that this life, our second womb, has something to do with waiting. Waiting, not like Estragon and Vladimir, but waiting without excessive effort in acceptance of a serial now.
Advent is the season of specific expectation. A time for rekindled waiting. A rendezvous with a midwife.
In Advent, we wait in a commemorative way, for the birth of Jesus. But as people of the paschal mystery we are always anticipating some kind of birth and some kind of resurrection, in the knowledge that there was a birth and that the son has risen. We wait as one waits for dawn.
I can’t see it yet but soon the east will grow lavender. Behind the berm of buildings across the North Saskatchewan river, the trees high on the bank will become skeletal as behind them the light strengthens.
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Advent,
Waiting
December 9th, 2007
In a discussion about truth on a Benedictine forum I’m on, it occurred to me that I can become quite dogmatic in my belief that access to ultimate truth is impossible; as dogmatic as some who hold to the accessibility of ultimate truth. The irony was not lost on me. In any case, in trying to explain my position just a bit more, I think I may be dismissed by both fundamentalists and liberal-liberals. As follows:
What I’ve needed to do is distance myself from the category “Ultimate Truth,” because when I lifted the cover I found that it was an “ideal,” an apotheosis, a non-such, and so in the end it didn’t touch me. In other words, I believe “Ultimate Truth” is disembodied truth. And the claimed possession of this category of truth is what lies inside every form of fundamentalism.
I held to this in a kind of half-conscious way through much of my early life until it got to me in a truly existential way–over several classes and coffees with a recalcitrant philosophy professor–that as a contingent being I could have no direct contact with the ultimate ground of Being, or rather, the transcendent ideal of all Perfection.
Subsequently, my heart’s attraction to St. Benedict was his earthy, fleshy, communal, faith. This, and his sign-off humility that if I find a better way, a practice that corresponds to reality more fully, and therefore holds more fruit, well, then, I should seek it out.
(Intermission: Upon exiting the show pavilion in the Muttart last weekend we were informed that all the multi-coloured poinsettia’s, with of course the exception of the red and white ones, were painted. So some silliness here. Is the statement: ”This is a blue poinsettia,” true or false? )
To my mind it’s better to drop the adjective and simply talk about truth. Jesus never said, he was the “ultimate” truth, as if ultimate was somehow more “truthy” than regular truth.
When Jesus says he is the truth, he is making truth accessible. He is saying that truth is found, discovered, learned, in relationship, and specifically in a relationship with him, and therefore profoundly and mysteriously, in relationships with our neighbours.
He is saying–by virtue of relational not relative truth–that truth has a shape, has contours, and so may look different from different angles but that this doesn’t make it false. What’s more, he is saying that we will continually be lead into truth if we keep our ears open to the Spirit he sent. But that this truth is still always mediated truth. And, in this he is disassociating himself from the “Greek” or “Platonic” notion of truth–from where the idea of “Ultimate Truth” sprang.
“Ultimate Truth” is, again, not accessible because its claim is that it is beyond the personal. Which, unless one has received some kind of unmediated emanation, would make it the most untrustworthy sort of “truth.” (If “Ultimate Truth” was accessible, other people would not be required.)
Some years ago and someplace in here I had to hold up a mirror and see that my marching banner of “Ultimate Truth” was not only a phantom, it was also effacing and condescending and that it effectively relativized other truths and ways of understanding and so broke off any dialogue before it began. I had to recognize my own part in creating, if not hostility, a profound indifference to the Church and the Christian faith.
November 20th, 2007
They’re playing James Taylor in Starbucks these days. Always good to be reminded that “You’ve Got a Friend.”
Yesterday I bought a hot chocolate for a young man who obviously spent the night outside. He was in Starbucks occupying himself with a glass of water. Beyond the obvious incongruity of looking like you live outside, try sitting in Starbucks without a drink and see if you don’t stick out?
He sipped the hot drink through the topping then retrieved a straw to spoon the whipped cream into his mouth. When he spilled a few drops of chocolate he instinctively bent to lick it off the table top.
This morning I read about a place where everyone will have a home. A place where, we are promised, “there are many dwelling places,” and that, “if it wasn’t so we would not have been told (G-of-John).” A promise kept, regarding housing. How refreshing is that?
The day before that I read Jesus’ comment that we would always have the poor among us. Charge me with heterodoxy but remember who Jesus was talking to when he said this. It was of course the fastidious Judas. The cunning keeper of the books. Is it any wonder with people like Judas keeping accounts that poverty flourishes, that the poor remain?
It has started to snow. I watch as headlights round 109th and see a sudden swirl of luminous flakes brought into relief and mirror-ball the entire intersection. It’s early Tuesday morning but Taylor is singing “Steamroller” and I can almost imagine a dance breaking out under the new incandescence of Jasper and 9th.
What say?…one cold snowy December morning we beg or steal all the patio gas heaters, set them up on their poles all along the downtown streets and avenues, then call all the libidinous young men who always have sub-woofers in the trunks of their cars, give them only Taj Mahal CD’s to play, and take a conga-line to work.
(By the way, you can blame the snow on me, I wore sandals today.)
November 19th, 2007
Saturday, at the cabin, I listened to two Blue jays argue. They broke off only to fly to a new tree and a new perch where they took up the quarrel anew. Blue jays, or Western-scrub jays, which these could have been, are territorial and so I considered their argument exactly that. Eventually, on one tree, the argument resolved itself. A bilateral agreement was birdally enacted.
I share this little patch of ground with occupants I didn’t invite but were here long before I was. I take comfort in knowing they are welcomed here. I take comfort in the growing squirrel midden under the spruce and beside the old wooden-spoked wagon wheel. I take comfort and am warmed by the circle of fire built from the Black poplar that have changed form and now lie on the floor of the woods.
The smallest of arachnids as landed on my page. Smaller than print, the brown spider fits nicely inside a lower-case “o.” I lower my book and let her float to the ground.
It’s hard to imagine from my chair by the embers that the world is bleeding over unresolved territorial quarrels. But then, perhaps not. I have blood on my own hands. How often have I peered through hooded eyes to reach out and grasp a centrepiece or a moment not meant for me?
But somewhere there is liberty. Somewhere there is a fascinating freedom. But it is not within my self. It is in another. I am only and always set free by another. Someone outside of my rivalrous self. Someone moving beyond rivalry.
The Blue jays’ migration remains a mystery. One will stay far north and another will fly. Some will stay one year and leave the next. One will migrate on que–in season, and another will arrive. I like to imagine the jays’ migration mystery an elaborate system to keep themselves free of damaging ongoing territorial disputes.
October 31st, 2007
Credit PM Stephen Harper for officially welcoming the Dalai Lama, a first for Canadian politics. Leaders of the past Liberal government, hyper sensitive over Chinese opposition, met the Dalai Lama in the back of a Roman Catholic church. Also credit Jason Kenny (Multiculturalism) for speaking without reservation against Chinese oppression. And credit the Dalai Lama for acknowledging the Canadian overture.
But also credit the Dalai Lama for chastising Harper over the Afghanistan war, as he had done with Bush over Iraq.
The Dalai Lama, in his characteristic low-key charismatic way, cautioned Harper that violence begets violence, and said, “I always believe non-violence is the best way to solve problems.”
There’s little ambiguity about the Dalai Lama’s pacific stand regarding national conflict, and his non-violent message in general. So, as a Christian, I ask myself, who better represents and reflects the life and teachings of Christ, the Dalai Lama or our current (evangelical) Christian leaders?
September 25th, 2007
A couple of blind men, siting on the curb, hoping to be heard by someone rumored to be an itinerant healer, yelled, waved, flailed, and in spite of being told to shut up, brayed all the more, shouted for mercy. And as the story goes: “Moved with compassion, Jesus touched their eyes. Immediately they regained their sight and followed him.”
Our moments of faith and grace don’t come to us in these biblical ways. Not mine anyway. I’ve seen no burning bushes, witnessed no angels buzzing. Nor have I seen healing in New Testament ways. I’ve not seen crippled people leaping out of their warped frames, or eyes blind from birth suddenly open.
But like you, I have seen “conventional miracles,” or graces. This year, in two operations separated by a couple months, my mother had cataracts removed from both her eyes. In her generation’s way of stoically managing things, she had lived with them for too long. Almost becoming accustomed to the dulling of her sight. But the pain and growing shadows finally moved her to seek help. That and some persistent nudging from her children.
There was no yelling or shouting for healing, unless my mother did this inwardly–something I’ve personally turned into an art form. But knowing her, no, I don’t think so. But I know she would have prayed before her operation, as we all did.
After the first operation my sister-in-law chauffeured mother to her check-up. Beth said, “She almost had a bounce in her step!” (Which I think is great for a somewhat arthritic 85 year old.) “She has no pain at all, and was quick to relate to me that when she looks with her right eye closed things appear kind of yellow. But when she closes the left eye and looks only with the right eye–the one that was operated on–things look much brighter, no yellow tinge, things are not cloudy, edges are sharper and colours are much more natural. She rather enjoyed looking at the scenery en route.”
Conventional grace is still grace.
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Grace,
Miracles,
Sight
September 13th, 2007
I have no doubt that Dr. Charles Stanley is sincere in his desire to encourage the U.S. troops fighting in Iraq. But his “Messenger” struck me as, well, a garish idea.
It’s not so much the smack of self-promotion in the guise of “filling a great need” by providing the army with “spiritual nourishment.” It’s the aura of pronouncement, of the square-toed Sunday school teacher who tells you what it’s like, what you need, when you know he has never been where you’ve been.That is, it’s “In Touch’s” envelope of safe and willing ignorance of what really goes on and what happens to the psyche of soldiers in war, specifically this sad and detestable war. (Here I would implore Charles Stanley’s ”In Touch” readers to go out and pick up Chris Hedges’, “War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning.”)
Now, I’ve disagreed sharply with Stanley on a couple of previous posts–over his Biblical justifications for war, which in effect is a Christian sacralizing of war–so maybe I’m over-reacting, or maybe I’m reacting to him, personally. I’ll let you decide. If you’ve a moment (to squander) here’s what’s on his site:
Thousands of U.S. troops are now stationed around the world. Far from their families, friends, and churches, they have a tremendous need for encouragement and truth from the Scriptures. But their missions often carry them far from a chapel and chaplain.
Understanding the need for spiritual instruction that men and women in combat areas have, Dr. Charles Stanley said, “In Touch wants to help military chaplains share the love of Jesus with U.S. soldiers. Today’s technology is providing amazing ways to share the gospel with people around the world.”
The In Touch Ministries Messenger is a nearly indestructible solar-powered audio device designed specifically for the American soldier. It holds more than 70 hours of messages from the ministry of Dr. Charles Stanley, including these powerful series:
-Facing Life’s Obstacles
-Living the Extraordinary Life
-The Ways of God
-How to Release Your Burdens
-Living in the Power of the Holy Spirit
The need is great, and the Messenger will be a vital tool to provide spiritual nourishment to members of the U.S. military. Its lightweight construction, earphone jack, and solar panels for recharging make it the ideal audio player for troops in the field.
In Touch Ministries is committed to delivering 20,000 Messengers to U.S. troops in August 2007. This initiative is powered by Dr. Stanley’s desire to share the Word of God with military men and women everywhere. But its level of success will be a direct result of the support we receive from In Touch partners.
The good news here is that this is something you can feel good about not supporting.
Just one more thing Dr. Stanley. While your helping the strafed and hunkered troops to “Face Life’s Obstacles,” and “Live the Extraordinary Life,” perhaps you take a couple minutes of those seventy hours to explain how their President, with supporters such as yourself, concluded that their lives were necessarily expendable for the illusion of containment of a terrorist element that will only grow as a result of the war and ongoing occupation, and how, again, the war has nothing to do with the control of a diminishing natural resource. And again, how the gospel endorses all this. Or is everything explained in your new book , Landmine’s in the Path of the Believer? (Yes that’s the title.)
September 1st, 2007
We once thought, in our juvenile righteousness, that loving God was enough. It was of course the greatest commandment. We even said things like, “Love God and do anything you want.” We thought the Augustinian quip clever and thought it summed up everything there was to being a Christian and a just person in the world. We had forgotten that the other command was “like it,” and so in effect, its equal.
When we became “liberal” we thought that loving the neighbour was enough. We talked long about caring for all people everywhere and we were sincere. We thought that good will toward the global village was everything that was needed, and that in spreading this good intent people would eventually wake up to their destiny as humans and live at peace.
But it turns out, I find as I age and wonder about such things, that we need both. Both equally and desperately. And that while we can understand the encapsulation of both “loves” in one or the other, both need equal emphasis.
Admittedly a generalization but worth consideration, is that Marxism, communism was the organized attempt at loving the “sister/brotherhood.” And North American capitalism, exposed nightly on most networks as clandestine expansionism, is the governed result of “One Nation under God,” and “In God we Trust.”
Loving the sister/brotherhood in the absence of a love of God leads to a dehumanizing control of a sister or brother. On the other hand, in the vacuum of fraternal love, “loving God and doing what you want” leads to raping the earth and the exploiting her people. Holding up one love command at the expense of the other is a form of idolatry. And the outcome is pretty much the same either way.
August 27th, 2007
…righteousness and peace will kiss each other. (Psalm 85)
Righteousness is a word that probably needs a reclamation project behind it. But here’s a start: Righteousness is relaxing into God. It’s relaxing into the giver of creation, the giver of earth, body and soul. It’s the kind of relaxing that you might call love. And just maybe, you do love, because you find that God is the kind of God who wants to recline with you.
Peace is a word we have a decent handle on. But let me try this for a definition: Peace is the pain you feel when you see some misguided brothers strap on bombs and walk into marketplaces. Peace is the sadness you feel for people who hate each other.Peace is the anguish you experience for both victimizer and victim, because both are your neighbours. Peace is the unexpected experience of inner travail over violence of any type. Peace is a kind of fatal freedom that dizzies you because you’ve been relaxing with God.
Righteousness and peace kiss each other in those times we love God and neighbour intently and equally. Maybe, with any luck, and a visit from grace and mercy, we might experience this kiss once or twice in our lives.
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Without sounding like this is the right answer to a Sunday School question, the Gospels are this for me as well. But this wasn’t always the case. Quite likely because, for me at least, Sunday School and later Church, took the story and made it a code, then took the code and made it an absolute and in turn destroyed the story not realizing that the story is the only thing capable of carrying the truth.
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