Yesterday I had a chance to teach Hillside again - which I enjoy - and appreciate all the kind feedback.
I called this one "Joy and the Closet Grinches", because I recognize how hard of a time Christmas is for people, with all the pressure to feel a certain way, have certain kinds of experiences, and live up to all the expectations we have for the "perfect holiday".
Have a listen here if you like:
http://www.hillsidelondon.com/sermon-series/advent-christmas-2014/
Peace to all.
David.
Monday, December 15, 2014
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Uncertainty and Advent
As a human species, our brains have a lot of trouble dealing with uncertainty.
Without getting into the biology of it, the bottom line is that our brains, and our nervous systems really struggle to cope with the experience of uncertainty.
And yet, uncertainty is all around us.
Even worse, as technology and education drive our awareness to new heights, and postmodernism calls into question the validity of all beliefs and thought systems, there is even more uncertainty for us to encounter. It's not so much that the world is becoming a more dangerous place. But rather, that we are increasingly aware of how uncertain everything about life is.
It turns out that consciousness is a big part of the problem. Most animals don't know they are going to die, at least not until perhaps their last moments. But as Tolstoy pointed out, we humans uniquely face a lifetime of both the certainty that we will die, but the uncertainty as to when, and how, and that this reality is enough to drive us to madness.
So in response, probably all of us construct false certainty in our lives. Rigid values, political views, or complete immersion in a particular interest or cause often play this role. Or more simply many of us find things to preoccupy our attention enough to keep from thinking about the bigger uncertainties of life. If we can only stay busy enough. Or, if we can create orderly little worlds in which we appear to be in control, we can stave off the dread and anxiety that comes with being human.
A typical religious response to this dilemma has been to provide a dogmatic belief system that gives humans a false sense of certainty, but at least enough "pretend" certainty that life can seem manageable again.
Sometimes the most radical and extremist versions of religion are seen in settings were anxiety and uncertainty are the highest. But whether it's ISIS or Christian conservatives, or even the seemingly more benign constructs most of us engage on a daily basis, these forms of false certainty always end up enslaving us.
As I've been reflecting on the meaning of Christmas to me personally this week, it's struck me that Jesus doesn't come to provide certainty. For faith is the belief in things unseen, the reality that isn't proven or certain. Yet many of us are given the idea that God and our version of religion are certain, undeniable truths, that will answer those deep nagging fears that come with the consciousness that humans have.
So if Jesus doesn't give us certainty, what does He bring?
I think that the meaning of Jesus' life gives us a context in which to re-frame uncertainty.
Jesus changes the meaning of uncertainty.
For merely human animals, uncertainty means danger, because uncertainty subverts our ability to avoid whatever danger lurks out there. But for spiritual humans - beings that can transcend their humanity - the very definition of danger, and the meaning of death are changed through Jesus.
We may not be certain about what lurks around the corner - but whatever it is, it is not ultimately dangerous. In Jesus, death is defeated, and we are rescued from the fear of death. In Jesus, the world is not governed by a hostile angry god, but rather one that loves it, and is rescuing it.
As Dallas Willard put it, a world governed by a loving God, is ultimately a safe place.
We can't be certain of what will happen. Likely there will be suffering, and evil, and darkness, and even times of feeling profoundly separated from God. But the meaning of suffering, evil, darkness, separation and alienation - the meaning of all of them changed in this reality that Christmas ushers in.
So may you this advent, prepare yourself to recognize and embrace this reality. May you be ready to receive the gift of having Jesus born anew in your life. May you be freed from the power of uncertainty, and from the enslavement of false certainty. May your uncertainty be transformed by this miraculous event of heaven coming to earth at Christmas.
Without getting into the biology of it, the bottom line is that our brains, and our nervous systems really struggle to cope with the experience of uncertainty.
And yet, uncertainty is all around us.
Even worse, as technology and education drive our awareness to new heights, and postmodernism calls into question the validity of all beliefs and thought systems, there is even more uncertainty for us to encounter. It's not so much that the world is becoming a more dangerous place. But rather, that we are increasingly aware of how uncertain everything about life is.
It turns out that consciousness is a big part of the problem. Most animals don't know they are going to die, at least not until perhaps their last moments. But as Tolstoy pointed out, we humans uniquely face a lifetime of both the certainty that we will die, but the uncertainty as to when, and how, and that this reality is enough to drive us to madness.
So in response, probably all of us construct false certainty in our lives. Rigid values, political views, or complete immersion in a particular interest or cause often play this role. Or more simply many of us find things to preoccupy our attention enough to keep from thinking about the bigger uncertainties of life. If we can only stay busy enough. Or, if we can create orderly little worlds in which we appear to be in control, we can stave off the dread and anxiety that comes with being human.
A typical religious response to this dilemma has been to provide a dogmatic belief system that gives humans a false sense of certainty, but at least enough "pretend" certainty that life can seem manageable again.
Sometimes the most radical and extremist versions of religion are seen in settings were anxiety and uncertainty are the highest. But whether it's ISIS or Christian conservatives, or even the seemingly more benign constructs most of us engage on a daily basis, these forms of false certainty always end up enslaving us.
As I've been reflecting on the meaning of Christmas to me personally this week, it's struck me that Jesus doesn't come to provide certainty. For faith is the belief in things unseen, the reality that isn't proven or certain. Yet many of us are given the idea that God and our version of religion are certain, undeniable truths, that will answer those deep nagging fears that come with the consciousness that humans have.
So if Jesus doesn't give us certainty, what does He bring?
I think that the meaning of Jesus' life gives us a context in which to re-frame uncertainty.
Jesus changes the meaning of uncertainty.
For merely human animals, uncertainty means danger, because uncertainty subverts our ability to avoid whatever danger lurks out there. But for spiritual humans - beings that can transcend their humanity - the very definition of danger, and the meaning of death are changed through Jesus.
We may not be certain about what lurks around the corner - but whatever it is, it is not ultimately dangerous. In Jesus, death is defeated, and we are rescued from the fear of death. In Jesus, the world is not governed by a hostile angry god, but rather one that loves it, and is rescuing it.
As Dallas Willard put it, a world governed by a loving God, is ultimately a safe place.
We can't be certain of what will happen. Likely there will be suffering, and evil, and darkness, and even times of feeling profoundly separated from God. But the meaning of suffering, evil, darkness, separation and alienation - the meaning of all of them changed in this reality that Christmas ushers in.
So may you this advent, prepare yourself to recognize and embrace this reality. May you be ready to receive the gift of having Jesus born anew in your life. May you be freed from the power of uncertainty, and from the enslavement of false certainty. May your uncertainty be transformed by this miraculous event of heaven coming to earth at Christmas.
Monday, September 29, 2014
Rest - Part 7 - The Paradox of Rest
So my last post appears to have created a contradiction.
On one hand I've discovered that rest takes work (see this post for details)
But now I've also discovered that rest is a gift (see this post for details)
I've said that rest isn't something we can achieve, but I've also said you have to work at it, and part of our difficulty is often that we expect rest to be an entirely passive thing that will happen automatically if we just stop doing.
Perhaps it's not so much a contradiction, as it is a paradox.
Remember, a paradox is something that appears to contradict itself, but captures the reality that two different propositions can be true at the same time.
So one way of thinking about this paradox is that while rest is a gift, it is a gift we have to work at accepting.
We assume that accepting gifts is passive; requiring no effort from us at all. But this might not quite be true. Most gifts require some kind of action. You have to show up at the party. You have to accept it from the giver. May you have to unwrap it. And certainly accepting a gift often means using the gift in some capacity.
This might be simple if the gift is socks, or the always classy Christmas tie (you know the ones with little LED lights that light up, or maybe even play Joy to the World)
But what if the gift is love, or authenticity, or vulnerability, or forgiveness, or even...
....rest.
Maybe in the case of gifts like rest our acceptance is not the passive, "allowing things just to happen" kind of posture, but requires a type of work on our part.
And maybe that work involves overcoming the kinds of conditions of the heart I talked about in the last post: self-sufficiency and the cult of personal achievement. Perhaps the hard work of allowing ourselves to depend on God rather than our personal efforts is a bit of pre-condition to being able to fully experience the gift.
Maybe in our daily lives the work of rest involves saying "no" to a whole bunch of things so that we have space in our schedules, our minds, and our hearts to say "yes" to the gift of rest. Saying "no" is often hard work - it exposes us to a host of anxieties. We worry about letting others down. We worry about how our "no" will appear to others. We even struggle with how saying "no" doesn't fit with the image we have of ourselves as a certain kind of person.
If only it were easier to know what we should say "no" to and what we should say "yes" to.
But we don't. We simply can't see the future, so most of us err on the side of saying "yes" to too many things, and end up struggling to be able to receive rest.
So rest is a paradox.
We work hard to accept it as a gift.
And maybe some of us have more work to do in our hearts and minds and routines before we really can receive it as a gift.
On one hand I've discovered that rest takes work (see this post for details)
But now I've also discovered that rest is a gift (see this post for details)
I've said that rest isn't something we can achieve, but I've also said you have to work at it, and part of our difficulty is often that we expect rest to be an entirely passive thing that will happen automatically if we just stop doing.
Perhaps it's not so much a contradiction, as it is a paradox.
Remember, a paradox is something that appears to contradict itself, but captures the reality that two different propositions can be true at the same time.
So one way of thinking about this paradox is that while rest is a gift, it is a gift we have to work at accepting.
We assume that accepting gifts is passive; requiring no effort from us at all. But this might not quite be true. Most gifts require some kind of action. You have to show up at the party. You have to accept it from the giver. May you have to unwrap it. And certainly accepting a gift often means using the gift in some capacity.
This might be simple if the gift is socks, or the always classy Christmas tie (you know the ones with little LED lights that light up, or maybe even play Joy to the World)
But what if the gift is love, or authenticity, or vulnerability, or forgiveness, or even...
....rest.
Maybe in the case of gifts like rest our acceptance is not the passive, "allowing things just to happen" kind of posture, but requires a type of work on our part.
And maybe that work involves overcoming the kinds of conditions of the heart I talked about in the last post: self-sufficiency and the cult of personal achievement. Perhaps the hard work of allowing ourselves to depend on God rather than our personal efforts is a bit of pre-condition to being able to fully experience the gift.
Maybe in our daily lives the work of rest involves saying "no" to a whole bunch of things so that we have space in our schedules, our minds, and our hearts to say "yes" to the gift of rest. Saying "no" is often hard work - it exposes us to a host of anxieties. We worry about letting others down. We worry about how our "no" will appear to others. We even struggle with how saying "no" doesn't fit with the image we have of ourselves as a certain kind of person.
If only it were easier to know what we should say "no" to and what we should say "yes" to.
But we don't. We simply can't see the future, so most of us err on the side of saying "yes" to too many things, and end up struggling to be able to receive rest.
So rest is a paradox.
We work hard to accept it as a gift.
And maybe some of us have more work to do in our hearts and minds and routines before we really can receive it as a gift.
Monday, September 22, 2014
Rest - Part 6 - Rest is a Gift
"You have made us for Yourself O Lord, and our hearts are restless until we rest in You"
-Augustine
Rest is a gift.
Which of course seems like a good thing...
...after all, who doesn't like gifts?
If something's a gift, than all I have to do is accept it. What could be hard about that?
But some gifts are difficult to accept, and in this case it probably has to do with our illusions of self sufficiency, and our achievement oriented culture.
Accepting a gift can mean that others can provide for me things that I can not or have not provided for myself. It opens me to needing other people. It exposes my finiteness and my personal limits...my dependency on others.
Which, as I have acknowledged here before, my ego does not particularly like.
Now considering rest as a gift to be accepted from God brings me into these same conflicts with wanting to preserve the illusion of self-sufficiency.
I am forced to acknowledge that I am not the source of all things in my life.
The source of true rest is God....and...it is a rest I cannot provide for myself, no matter how clever or knowledgeable I become about the topic. As Augustine points out in the quote that begins this post, all other rest will be insufficient until I find my true rest in God.
In this quest to find rest, I'm becoming increasingly aware that I cannot strive too hard to find it, or else it becomes...another exhausting activity.
It might seem stupid, but I think lots of us actually would prefer the exhausting pursuit of rest to accepting it as a gift, not just because of our claims to self-sufficiency, but also because we are so habitually formed to achieve everything for ourselves.
North American culture is a cult of personal achievement.
We've come to define ourselves in terms of our "profiles" (facebook, linked in, twitter, even our resumes). And if you've escaped the incredibly dangerous thinking about "personal branding", consider yourself lucky, and sane. But it's not just what you've accomplished that defines us in this culture, it's also who you should become. Our media is saturated with content that suggests all sorts of ways you can improve yourself. If you just follow the right steps, the right program, if you just had the right information....you can fix anything you don't like about yourself...at least, that's what they tell us.
So learning to accept rest stands squarely in contradiction to the prevailing ethos of our culture, where everything gets sucked into the vortex of our personal achievements, even to the point of attempting to re-create who we are.
But the gift of rest says: "you are not able to do all things for yourself, you must come in dependence on a higher power to receive this restoration from all of your other frantic efforts".
Acceptance, not achievement.
Dependency, not self-sufficiency.
Gift, not possession.
These are ideas we intellectually ascent to, but because of our embeddedness in our culture they are much more difficult to embrace and live out.
But accepting the gift of rest is therefore something with the potential to transform us beyond just the experience of being restored, but also in re-aligning us into our proper relationship to God and creation.
When we receive the gift, we are forced to move back into role of dependency on God, and out of the slavery of self-sufficiency and achievement.
And perhaps this is the wisdom of Augustine's opening quote - that we cannot find rest until we find rest in God, because any rest outside of God allows us to stay in our self-sufficiency, and the restlessness it creates.
-Augustine
Rest is a gift.
Which of course seems like a good thing...
...after all, who doesn't like gifts?
If something's a gift, than all I have to do is accept it. What could be hard about that?
But some gifts are difficult to accept, and in this case it probably has to do with our illusions of self sufficiency, and our achievement oriented culture.
Accepting a gift can mean that others can provide for me things that I can not or have not provided for myself. It opens me to needing other people. It exposes my finiteness and my personal limits...my dependency on others.
Which, as I have acknowledged here before, my ego does not particularly like.
Now considering rest as a gift to be accepted from God brings me into these same conflicts with wanting to preserve the illusion of self-sufficiency.
I am forced to acknowledge that I am not the source of all things in my life.
The source of true rest is God....and...it is a rest I cannot provide for myself, no matter how clever or knowledgeable I become about the topic. As Augustine points out in the quote that begins this post, all other rest will be insufficient until I find my true rest in God.
In this quest to find rest, I'm becoming increasingly aware that I cannot strive too hard to find it, or else it becomes...another exhausting activity.
It might seem stupid, but I think lots of us actually would prefer the exhausting pursuit of rest to accepting it as a gift, not just because of our claims to self-sufficiency, but also because we are so habitually formed to achieve everything for ourselves.
North American culture is a cult of personal achievement.
We've come to define ourselves in terms of our "profiles" (facebook, linked in, twitter, even our resumes). And if you've escaped the incredibly dangerous thinking about "personal branding", consider yourself lucky, and sane. But it's not just what you've accomplished that defines us in this culture, it's also who you should become. Our media is saturated with content that suggests all sorts of ways you can improve yourself. If you just follow the right steps, the right program, if you just had the right information....you can fix anything you don't like about yourself...at least, that's what they tell us.
So learning to accept rest stands squarely in contradiction to the prevailing ethos of our culture, where everything gets sucked into the vortex of our personal achievements, even to the point of attempting to re-create who we are.
But the gift of rest says: "you are not able to do all things for yourself, you must come in dependence on a higher power to receive this restoration from all of your other frantic efforts".
Acceptance, not achievement.
Dependency, not self-sufficiency.
Gift, not possession.
These are ideas we intellectually ascent to, but because of our embeddedness in our culture they are much more difficult to embrace and live out.
But accepting the gift of rest is therefore something with the potential to transform us beyond just the experience of being restored, but also in re-aligning us into our proper relationship to God and creation.
When we receive the gift, we are forced to move back into role of dependency on God, and out of the slavery of self-sufficiency and achievement.
And perhaps this is the wisdom of Augustine's opening quote - that we cannot find rest until we find rest in God, because any rest outside of God allows us to stay in our self-sufficiency, and the restlessness it creates.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Rest - Part 5 - To Rest is Divine
By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work. Then God blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because on it he rested from all the work of creating that he had done. (Gen 2:1-4)
Did God need a break?
Why does God rest?
Does God get tired?
Why does the Hebrew story of creation make such mention of a God who not only rests, but makes resting "holy"? While all the other "days" of creation are described as "good" or "very good", the day of rest is sacred.
The Hebrew word the Torah uses to describe the seventh day is "Kadosh", which was generally meant to indicate being "set apart", or referring to the distinction between the divine and the created. Things that are Kadosh have the character of the divine, they reflect those higher things that transcend this world and its ways.
I think the point in this passage is that rest is a reflection of God's character. God doesn't rest because God needs it. God rests because God is God...it's just something that God does. God's resting isn't about fatigue or limits or boundedness, it's about God's own essence expressing itself.
Which may not seem very earth shattering at first, but if we consider ourselves to be people who imitate God, who try to live lives that reflect God to the rest of the world....
It seems we have some resting to do.
And not because resting is utilitarian, and maybe not even because we need it.
Essentially we should rest because resting is divine. To rest is Godly. To rest is to imitate God. Or for those of us who describe ourselves as Jesus followers; part of following Jesus is resting.
Now maybe that doesn't seem very new to you. But it is to me.
I always thought following Jesus was about doing.
Maybe it's not just doing the kinds of things that Jesus does, but being the kind of person Jesus was...a person who rests.
Think about all of the times Jesus pulls away from the crowds: all the missed opportunities to heal and teach. Maybe if he'd spent a little more time giving sermons, our theology could be a little clearer today. But he doesn't. I always just assumed he was being strategic, or at least wise...you know, resting so that he could get back out there and really do his thing. I never thought that resting for Jesus might just be a part of who he is. He isn't frantic, or restless, or perpetually busy, or driven - even though that would seem to be the best way to maximize the outcome of cramming his life ministry into three short years.
So today I encourage you to imitate God in both ways: work hard, create, be productive just like God was for 6 days. But then also imitate God in resting.
Not because you want to,
not because you need to,
but because to rest,
is divine.
Did God need a break?
Why does God rest?
Does God get tired?
Why does the Hebrew story of creation make such mention of a God who not only rests, but makes resting "holy"? While all the other "days" of creation are described as "good" or "very good", the day of rest is sacred.
The Hebrew word the Torah uses to describe the seventh day is "Kadosh", which was generally meant to indicate being "set apart", or referring to the distinction between the divine and the created. Things that are Kadosh have the character of the divine, they reflect those higher things that transcend this world and its ways.
I think the point in this passage is that rest is a reflection of God's character. God doesn't rest because God needs it. God rests because God is God...it's just something that God does. God's resting isn't about fatigue or limits or boundedness, it's about God's own essence expressing itself.
Which may not seem very earth shattering at first, but if we consider ourselves to be people who imitate God, who try to live lives that reflect God to the rest of the world....
It seems we have some resting to do.
And not because resting is utilitarian, and maybe not even because we need it.
Essentially we should rest because resting is divine. To rest is Godly. To rest is to imitate God. Or for those of us who describe ourselves as Jesus followers; part of following Jesus is resting.
Now maybe that doesn't seem very new to you. But it is to me.
I always thought following Jesus was about doing.
Maybe it's not just doing the kinds of things that Jesus does, but being the kind of person Jesus was...a person who rests.
Think about all of the times Jesus pulls away from the crowds: all the missed opportunities to heal and teach. Maybe if he'd spent a little more time giving sermons, our theology could be a little clearer today. But he doesn't. I always just assumed he was being strategic, or at least wise...you know, resting so that he could get back out there and really do his thing. I never thought that resting for Jesus might just be a part of who he is. He isn't frantic, or restless, or perpetually busy, or driven - even though that would seem to be the best way to maximize the outcome of cramming his life ministry into three short years.
So today I encourage you to imitate God in both ways: work hard, create, be productive just like God was for 6 days. But then also imitate God in resting.
Not because you want to,
not because you need to,
but because to rest,
is divine.
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
Learning
Back from vacation and soon back to writing....
In the meantime you can check out my second message at Hillside Church here:
http://www.hillsidelondon.com/sermons/learning/
In the meantime you can check out my second message at Hillside Church here:
http://www.hillsidelondon.com/sermons/learning/
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Rest - Part 4 - Restfulness as a posture of the mind and heart
I think that I have re-discovered, that in part, restfulness, is a posture of our minds and heart.
What stresses us, what feels demanding, is heavily influenced by our interpretations, our ways of thinking about the world, and the things we love and desire.
I've noted before that my exhaustion is in part caused by an overwhelming sense of responsibility. I even constructed a list that seems like good solid objective evidence that I have big responsibilities.
But as I meditated this morning, the question that came into my mind is, "what are you actually responsible for?"
In my practice, am I responsible for outcomes? I think I know better than to try "fixing" people, but do I still expect myself to produce changes in people through my skills and determination? Do I have to accept all the pressure from others to accomplish certain things in my professional work?
In my role as a father, am I responsible for ensuring my kids turn out a certain way?
What about life in general; is it my responsibility for how things turn out?
How much of the responsibility I feel is unwarranted, unhealthy, unachievable, and unnecessary?
Everyday we're surrounded by messages of expectation about creating our own little personal empires, about setting goals and making them happen.
What is my true responsibility to others... to my self... to God?
How much of my stress, my restlessness, my chronic angst is a product of responsibility run amok?
How much of my sense of responsibility is in actuality an idol, a place where I worship my own illusions of independence, competence, and desire to transcend human limitations?
Last night I had a dream that I could fly. I was flying over my house, my workplace...I was completely euphoric. It didn't take me very long after waking up to understand what it meant. I'm constantly trying to live in excess of my human limits...like living a life that involves flying. And I revel in my illusions that I'm more than human.
Perhaps I'm not the only who does this? Perhaps others join me in going too fast, expecting to much, and never being okay living inside the boundaries of human limits?
Maybe this is why the curse Adam suffers for trying to be like God in the creation story, is that he'll have to toil and labor the rest of his life. Is the story telling us that our efforts to be more than human end up dehumanizing us in the form of bondage to work?
Is that quality of restfulness that I'm seeking, at least in part to be found in submitting to being human, and not trying to take God's place in the world?
If restlessness in part is a product of idolatry, how much more restfulness is to be found in a proper relationship between myself and the Creator? A relationship in which my sense of responsibility is always viewed through the lens of what God asks of me, rather than keeping up with my own grandiose sense of what I should be able to do?
What if I stopped expecting myself to be super-human...and became satisfied with just being human...just being who God created me to be, and wants me to be in this particular moment?
If my ego wasn't driving me so hard, could I be restful, even in the midst of circumstances which seem demanding and stressful, because I could recognize what is truly expected of me?
If the posture of our minds and hearts were right, could we find restfulness without changing very much of the other external elements of our lives?
What stresses us, what feels demanding, is heavily influenced by our interpretations, our ways of thinking about the world, and the things we love and desire.
I've noted before that my exhaustion is in part caused by an overwhelming sense of responsibility. I even constructed a list that seems like good solid objective evidence that I have big responsibilities.
But as I meditated this morning, the question that came into my mind is, "what are you actually responsible for?"
In my practice, am I responsible for outcomes? I think I know better than to try "fixing" people, but do I still expect myself to produce changes in people through my skills and determination? Do I have to accept all the pressure from others to accomplish certain things in my professional work?
In my role as a father, am I responsible for ensuring my kids turn out a certain way?
What about life in general; is it my responsibility for how things turn out?
How much of the responsibility I feel is unwarranted, unhealthy, unachievable, and unnecessary?
Everyday we're surrounded by messages of expectation about creating our own little personal empires, about setting goals and making them happen.
What is my true responsibility to others... to my self... to God?
How much of my stress, my restlessness, my chronic angst is a product of responsibility run amok?
How much of my sense of responsibility is in actuality an idol, a place where I worship my own illusions of independence, competence, and desire to transcend human limitations?
Last night I had a dream that I could fly. I was flying over my house, my workplace...I was completely euphoric. It didn't take me very long after waking up to understand what it meant. I'm constantly trying to live in excess of my human limits...like living a life that involves flying. And I revel in my illusions that I'm more than human.
Perhaps I'm not the only who does this? Perhaps others join me in going too fast, expecting to much, and never being okay living inside the boundaries of human limits?
Maybe this is why the curse Adam suffers for trying to be like God in the creation story, is that he'll have to toil and labor the rest of his life. Is the story telling us that our efforts to be more than human end up dehumanizing us in the form of bondage to work?
Is that quality of restfulness that I'm seeking, at least in part to be found in submitting to being human, and not trying to take God's place in the world?
If restlessness in part is a product of idolatry, how much more restfulness is to be found in a proper relationship between myself and the Creator? A relationship in which my sense of responsibility is always viewed through the lens of what God asks of me, rather than keeping up with my own grandiose sense of what I should be able to do?
What if I stopped expecting myself to be super-human...and became satisfied with just being human...just being who God created me to be, and wants me to be in this particular moment?
If my ego wasn't driving me so hard, could I be restful, even in the midst of circumstances which seem demanding and stressful, because I could recognize what is truly expected of me?
If the posture of our minds and hearts were right, could we find restfulness without changing very much of the other external elements of our lives?
Monday, August 18, 2014
Rest - Part 3 - Confusing Restlessness with Ambition
I've always associated being restless as just a synonym for agitation, boredom, or under-stimulated.
When I started thinking deeply about rest, I realized that rest-less-ness is more than agitation. It's that state of not being rested, or perhaps even, unable to rest.
And I always considered myself ambitious - which I thought was a good quality. But I'm starting to wonder if I've sometimes confused ambition with restlessness. I've put a positive spin on the difficulty of finding rest by labeling it in my own head as ambition; a quality our culture admires and praises. I'm even pretty good at appearing to make it not about myself, by making my "ambition" a spiritual quest to do good in the world. If there's a real danger to our thinking about living God's mission on earth, I think it's that we can quickly take the theology and make it a justification for trying to be spiritual superheros.
But I'm not just ambitious, I'm restless.
Chronically restless.
My conscious mind may not always recognize it, but clearly when I listen to the clanging of my semi-conscious thoughts, the truth is, I'm restless and revved up. When I sit and try to be still, I'm inundated with all the things I should be doing instead.
These things I should be doing?...usually they fall under the heading of "responsibilities".
I have lots of things I'm responsible for. My chosen profession puts me in place of high responsibility for the care of lots of people. I have a business to manage. I have kids. I have a mortgage. I have retirement to save for. I'm trying to change my lifestyle and prevent health issues down the road. I have friends and neighbors I take care of. I have a church that wants to see me use my gifts to bless them. I have a deep conviction that the way most of middle class folks live is unsustainable and problematic for the 2/3 rds world and future generations...and a profound sense that I should be doing something significant about that.
It became crystal clear to me after being away from my normal life for two weeks this winter that things in my world have become too complicated and involve too much responsibility. Or at least, it feels that way.
And yet at the same time I have this compulsion to take on more. Even to take on new responsibilities. I say no to lots of requests...I'm not that guy who feels guilty for turning people down (usually). But I am the type of person bursting with creative energy, always wanting to take on new projects, start new things, and, if I haven't admitted to it already on this blog, save the world.
So it seems that a part of my difficulty resting is having too much responsibility. There are too many demands on my time, energy, resources...and admitting that I need a break from some of it is hard to do.
In the last few months, I've taken some steps to simplify, to shed unnecessary projects, to slow down.
But the tension I struggle with is an inward drive against my efforts to simplify and slow down.
Every time I try to stop doing and allow myself to just "be", my mind kicks in with a new set of efforts and ideas that I want to pursue.
Even just reflecting on rest has me thinking about how to elaborate these ideas into writing a book. Which ends up making my pursuit of rest into a project filled with activity.
So I think I've realized that part of my journey is making some structural changes to my life, including adding some practices that promote rest. Some of it might require me to pull back even more and allow myself to just be a person, rather than all of the other roles I perform.
But I'm also becoming aware that resting will require some internal changes. Changes in my own inner world, and this apparent compulsion I have to activity. Restlessness, not Ambition.
When I started thinking deeply about rest, I realized that rest-less-ness is more than agitation. It's that state of not being rested, or perhaps even, unable to rest.
And I always considered myself ambitious - which I thought was a good quality. But I'm starting to wonder if I've sometimes confused ambition with restlessness. I've put a positive spin on the difficulty of finding rest by labeling it in my own head as ambition; a quality our culture admires and praises. I'm even pretty good at appearing to make it not about myself, by making my "ambition" a spiritual quest to do good in the world. If there's a real danger to our thinking about living God's mission on earth, I think it's that we can quickly take the theology and make it a justification for trying to be spiritual superheros.
But I'm not just ambitious, I'm restless.
Chronically restless.
My conscious mind may not always recognize it, but clearly when I listen to the clanging of my semi-conscious thoughts, the truth is, I'm restless and revved up. When I sit and try to be still, I'm inundated with all the things I should be doing instead.
These things I should be doing?...usually they fall under the heading of "responsibilities".
I have lots of things I'm responsible for. My chosen profession puts me in place of high responsibility for the care of lots of people. I have a business to manage. I have kids. I have a mortgage. I have retirement to save for. I'm trying to change my lifestyle and prevent health issues down the road. I have friends and neighbors I take care of. I have a church that wants to see me use my gifts to bless them. I have a deep conviction that the way most of middle class folks live is unsustainable and problematic for the 2/3 rds world and future generations...and a profound sense that I should be doing something significant about that.
It became crystal clear to me after being away from my normal life for two weeks this winter that things in my world have become too complicated and involve too much responsibility. Or at least, it feels that way.
And yet at the same time I have this compulsion to take on more. Even to take on new responsibilities. I say no to lots of requests...I'm not that guy who feels guilty for turning people down (usually). But I am the type of person bursting with creative energy, always wanting to take on new projects, start new things, and, if I haven't admitted to it already on this blog, save the world.
So it seems that a part of my difficulty resting is having too much responsibility. There are too many demands on my time, energy, resources...and admitting that I need a break from some of it is hard to do.
In the last few months, I've taken some steps to simplify, to shed unnecessary projects, to slow down.
But the tension I struggle with is an inward drive against my efforts to simplify and slow down.
Every time I try to stop doing and allow myself to just "be", my mind kicks in with a new set of efforts and ideas that I want to pursue.
Even just reflecting on rest has me thinking about how to elaborate these ideas into writing a book. Which ends up making my pursuit of rest into a project filled with activity.
So I think I've realized that part of my journey is making some structural changes to my life, including adding some practices that promote rest. Some of it might require me to pull back even more and allow myself to just be a person, rather than all of the other roles I perform.
But I'm also becoming aware that resting will require some internal changes. Changes in my own inner world, and this apparent compulsion I have to activity. Restlessness, not Ambition.
Monday, August 11, 2014
Creation Care
I'll be getting back to writing about rest shortly....I've been busy prepping talks for Hillside Church, but plan to get back to writing soon.
You can hear my first talk on Creation Care, here:
http://www.hillsidelondon.com/sermons/creation-care/
Peace.
David.
You can hear my first talk on Creation Care, here:
http://www.hillsidelondon.com/sermons/creation-care/
Peace.
David.
Friday, July 25, 2014
A Lament for Gaza and Israel
I can hardly imagine what's it like to have your neighborhood shelled.
I can hardly imagine what's it's like to have loved one's and neighbors killed by rockets.
I can hardly imagine what it's like to live under a persistent threat of violence and destruction.
I can hardly imagine what it's like to live in a place where neighbors are at war.
I can hardly imagine a solution to the whole bloody mess.
But,
I can imagine what it's like to be angry with a neighbor and wanting to take revenge.
The details of my incident really are unimportant. It's the common interior experience I'm interested in. As soon as we feel wronged, it's so easy for us to enter into the myopia of vengeance.
It's amazing how our minds can simmer and plot, coming up with all kinds of ways to hurt those we feel hurt by.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not comparing the the small kinds of first-world suffering I go through with my neighbor, or other people who have been outright jerks to me in the past, with the long historical acrimony and suffering of those in Gaza or Israel. But I can recognize that I am prone to that same condition of the heart that wants to settle a perceived injustice.
It's so easy to pick a side, decide who's wrong and who's right, and see one side's actions as justified. It's so tempting to see one group of people as evil and the other as good; to fit the world back in our simple categories.
It feels so natural, so right to get payback, and then to go a little further to make sure they won't mess with you ever again. It's the logic of escalating violence: we think we're defending ourselves.
But it's lie. Whenever we act in violence towards another, it doesn't defend us, it strips us of our humanity. For whatever gains we perceive ourselves to have made in our "protection" of our selves, our land, our people, our principles, - we have lost something much more. Jesus says "what does it profit a person if they gain the whole world but lose their soul?" I think we could extend it to say "what does it profit a person if they protect their whole world but in the process of trying to secure things lose their soul?"
I once heard the Dali Lama say that he felt a great sadness for the Chinese occupiers of Tibet because their actions had cost them much more than anything he had lost by being exiled. He explained that the occupiers, by clinging to violence, hatred, and oppression had harmed themselves far more than he himself could ever be harmed by having to live away from home.
So as I prayed this morning I was tempted to despair about Gaza. What can be done?
But as I write this I realize that the perhaps small but profound thing I can do is to forgive and not take vengeance on my neighbor, or anyone who does me wrong. If I give in to my urge to get payback, I am merely perpetuating the same conditions that lead to violence throughout our world.
I cannot with integrity pray for peace elsewhere, but hold hatred and vengeance in my own heart.
So I lament your losses Gaza and Israel. My heart is moved by your suffering and pain, and by the sheer terror that has come to dominate your lives.
But even more I lament the loss of your humanity as your powerful leaders unleash these atrocities in the name of self-defense.
I don't judge your actions, I lament them, because I know that I am equally capable of participating in such warfare given the state of my heart. And as I lament, I will try today not to add to the suffering of the world by seeking vengeance in my own life.
In the words of the old song, "let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me".
I can hardly imagine what's it's like to have loved one's and neighbors killed by rockets.
I can hardly imagine what it's like to live under a persistent threat of violence and destruction.
I can hardly imagine what it's like to live in a place where neighbors are at war.
I can hardly imagine a solution to the whole bloody mess.
But,
I can imagine what it's like to be angry with a neighbor and wanting to take revenge.
The details of my incident really are unimportant. It's the common interior experience I'm interested in. As soon as we feel wronged, it's so easy for us to enter into the myopia of vengeance.
It's amazing how our minds can simmer and plot, coming up with all kinds of ways to hurt those we feel hurt by.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not comparing the the small kinds of first-world suffering I go through with my neighbor, or other people who have been outright jerks to me in the past, with the long historical acrimony and suffering of those in Gaza or Israel. But I can recognize that I am prone to that same condition of the heart that wants to settle a perceived injustice.
It's so easy to pick a side, decide who's wrong and who's right, and see one side's actions as justified. It's so tempting to see one group of people as evil and the other as good; to fit the world back in our simple categories.
It feels so natural, so right to get payback, and then to go a little further to make sure they won't mess with you ever again. It's the logic of escalating violence: we think we're defending ourselves.
But it's lie. Whenever we act in violence towards another, it doesn't defend us, it strips us of our humanity. For whatever gains we perceive ourselves to have made in our "protection" of our selves, our land, our people, our principles, - we have lost something much more. Jesus says "what does it profit a person if they gain the whole world but lose their soul?" I think we could extend it to say "what does it profit a person if they protect their whole world but in the process of trying to secure things lose their soul?"
I once heard the Dali Lama say that he felt a great sadness for the Chinese occupiers of Tibet because their actions had cost them much more than anything he had lost by being exiled. He explained that the occupiers, by clinging to violence, hatred, and oppression had harmed themselves far more than he himself could ever be harmed by having to live away from home.
So as I prayed this morning I was tempted to despair about Gaza. What can be done?
But as I write this I realize that the perhaps small but profound thing I can do is to forgive and not take vengeance on my neighbor, or anyone who does me wrong. If I give in to my urge to get payback, I am merely perpetuating the same conditions that lead to violence throughout our world.
I cannot with integrity pray for peace elsewhere, but hold hatred and vengeance in my own heart.
So I lament your losses Gaza and Israel. My heart is moved by your suffering and pain, and by the sheer terror that has come to dominate your lives.
But even more I lament the loss of your humanity as your powerful leaders unleash these atrocities in the name of self-defense.
I don't judge your actions, I lament them, because I know that I am equally capable of participating in such warfare given the state of my heart. And as I lament, I will try today not to add to the suffering of the world by seeking vengeance in my own life.
In the words of the old song, "let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me".
Monday, July 7, 2014
Rest - Part 2 - It takes work
The first thing I've come to discover about rest is counter-intuitive.
It takes work to rest.
Resting isn't just stopping activity.
At least, the kind of rest that actually restores (notice how the word restore has "rest" in it? Oddly I never had until recently) seems very often to involve some kind of practice or activity that engages us differently than our usual work does. If we think about rest as being a fundamental biological need, it logically follows that obtaining it will often require an effort on our part. To feed ourselves, to find and maintain adequate shelter, to stay close and sustained by our tribe, even to love and be loved; they all require effort or work on our part.
And maybe this is one of the reasons why so many of us crash, burn-out, or struggle so hard with resting: by the time we choose to rest, we're already too exhausted to engage in the kinds of things we need to do to rest.
It's a little like depression. Most people caught in a full depressive episode lack the energy to engage in the activities that will help them get out of the depression. That's often why they're stuck and need some kind of intervention beyond their own efforts and knowledge.
When I first started noticing this exhaustion I've been having, I knew I needed to get more physical exercise. But when you're trying to drag your tired butt off the couch to work out, you experience that counter-intuitive reality about rest and effort. It just seems so natural when you're tired to lay on the couch. The idea of intense effort seems so impossible that most us choose to wait until we have more energy to exercise....and hence we have a multi-billion dollar gym industry that makes its money off unused gym memberships.
So if rest takes work, and that's not only counter-intuitive, but requires us to act with energy we don't seem to have, how do overcome this hurdle?
I think the truth is we must establish rhythms in our life that draw us into the kinds of activity we need for restoration. I've know this be true from a few sources:
1) The most successful way of helping people out of depression is by developing routines of activity that push them over the hurdle of low energy and motivation.
2) The people I know who are the most rested, calm, purposeful, and present in their lives all have established routines and rhythms that they stick to. Rather than reinventing the wheel, I started looking at people's lives who emulate restfulness.
3) The great wisdom traditions all teach and have elaborate rituals (rhythmic practices) to assist disciples in their path of learning and transformation.
4) There is an overwhelming importance placed on rhythms, particularly Sabbath rest, in God's instructions to His people in the Hebrew scriptures. Some of the endless detail of the rituals and rhythms is what makes the Torah such a difficult read at times. (I'll get back to Sabbath in future posts)
5) Our biology is rhythmic. From sleep-wake cycles, to heart beats, and the variety of homeostatic mechanisms that establish balance in our bodies, there are rhythms that seem crucial to human flourishing.
The thing is, all this talk about routines and rhythm and ritual, about practices woven into the fabric of lives is a pretty counter-cultural way of thinking. It's not that our culture doesn't have rituals or rhythms, or even sort of liturgies. But most of them are based on the activities of consumption and production. Holidays are about shopping and eating. Sometimes we add obligatory closeness with family, although even this is mostly a nostalgic experience to be consumed. Our leisure activities, which our culture confuses with resting, are expressions of the dominant modes of consumption and production. (much more on this in later posts)
But what if you or I made it a regularly scheduled practice to engage in the kinds of activities that bring about restoration?
What are the practices that bring about restoration? Are they are certain set of things laid out for all time and people? Or, are the practices fundamentally about the mind-set (or heart-set) that we have when entering those practices?
And while establishing practices, routines and rhythms also requires work I suspect that once established they become less strenuous and helps enter into restorative activity with less dependency on personal willpower or discipline. Even if it requires us to swim upstream in current of our culture, perhaps theses routines will offer us the venue to be practiced in art of resting, and eventually require less effort in our attempts to rest.
It takes work to rest.
Resting isn't just stopping activity.
At least, the kind of rest that actually restores (notice how the word restore has "rest" in it? Oddly I never had until recently) seems very often to involve some kind of practice or activity that engages us differently than our usual work does. If we think about rest as being a fundamental biological need, it logically follows that obtaining it will often require an effort on our part. To feed ourselves, to find and maintain adequate shelter, to stay close and sustained by our tribe, even to love and be loved; they all require effort or work on our part.
And maybe this is one of the reasons why so many of us crash, burn-out, or struggle so hard with resting: by the time we choose to rest, we're already too exhausted to engage in the kinds of things we need to do to rest.
It's a little like depression. Most people caught in a full depressive episode lack the energy to engage in the activities that will help them get out of the depression. That's often why they're stuck and need some kind of intervention beyond their own efforts and knowledge.
When I first started noticing this exhaustion I've been having, I knew I needed to get more physical exercise. But when you're trying to drag your tired butt off the couch to work out, you experience that counter-intuitive reality about rest and effort. It just seems so natural when you're tired to lay on the couch. The idea of intense effort seems so impossible that most us choose to wait until we have more energy to exercise....and hence we have a multi-billion dollar gym industry that makes its money off unused gym memberships.
So if rest takes work, and that's not only counter-intuitive, but requires us to act with energy we don't seem to have, how do overcome this hurdle?
I think the truth is we must establish rhythms in our life that draw us into the kinds of activity we need for restoration. I've know this be true from a few sources:
1) The most successful way of helping people out of depression is by developing routines of activity that push them over the hurdle of low energy and motivation.
2) The people I know who are the most rested, calm, purposeful, and present in their lives all have established routines and rhythms that they stick to. Rather than reinventing the wheel, I started looking at people's lives who emulate restfulness.
3) The great wisdom traditions all teach and have elaborate rituals (rhythmic practices) to assist disciples in their path of learning and transformation.
4) There is an overwhelming importance placed on rhythms, particularly Sabbath rest, in God's instructions to His people in the Hebrew scriptures. Some of the endless detail of the rituals and rhythms is what makes the Torah such a difficult read at times. (I'll get back to Sabbath in future posts)
5) Our biology is rhythmic. From sleep-wake cycles, to heart beats, and the variety of homeostatic mechanisms that establish balance in our bodies, there are rhythms that seem crucial to human flourishing.
The thing is, all this talk about routines and rhythm and ritual, about practices woven into the fabric of lives is a pretty counter-cultural way of thinking. It's not that our culture doesn't have rituals or rhythms, or even sort of liturgies. But most of them are based on the activities of consumption and production. Holidays are about shopping and eating. Sometimes we add obligatory closeness with family, although even this is mostly a nostalgic experience to be consumed. Our leisure activities, which our culture confuses with resting, are expressions of the dominant modes of consumption and production. (much more on this in later posts)
But what if you or I made it a regularly scheduled practice to engage in the kinds of activities that bring about restoration?
What are the practices that bring about restoration? Are they are certain set of things laid out for all time and people? Or, are the practices fundamentally about the mind-set (or heart-set) that we have when entering those practices?
And while establishing practices, routines and rhythms also requires work I suspect that once established they become less strenuous and helps enter into restorative activity with less dependency on personal willpower or discipline. Even if it requires us to swim upstream in current of our culture, perhaps theses routines will offer us the venue to be practiced in art of resting, and eventually require less effort in our attempts to rest.
Friday, July 4, 2014
Rest - Part 1 - I don't know how
Does anyone out there know how to rest?
A few months ago I realized that I don't...or at least I don't know very much about resting.
I came back from a vacation and realized just how exhausted I was, and ever since one of my preoccupations has been with trying to understand and practice resting.
The next few posts on this blog will be my current journey into learning to rest - but it's something I'm still very much in the middle of. If anyone reading this has anything to add or teach me about it
please tell me, maybe even add to the comments section so we can all learn.
So, I've been trying to slow down...which is hard...and it only seems to make a little difference.
I tried Googling it, I tried Amazoning it, and I'm really surprised that there isn't much out there (at least in the standard ways we access information these days) about rest and resting.
Perhaps it's a sign of the times.
Perhaps we've been busy and tired for so long that we've forgotten what rest even looks like. If you look at a lot of the advice that's out there about resting - it tends to focus on engaging in certain practices mostly for purpose of being able to squeeze more out of life and be more productive.
I haven't been entirely sure how to even define "rest".
Before this, I assumed resting was just cessation of activity, but I'm learning that's not quite right, or at least, it fails to capture the complexity of tiredness and rest. There isn't just one kind of fatigue, so it probably makes sense that there isn't just one kind of rest.
I'm starting to think that rest isn't just about activity levels, it actually has something to do with the demands we experience in our inner and outer worlds. That rest and fatigue depend heavily on how much we or others are requiring ourselves to do and be responsible for.
But more on this later.
For now, I invite you who read this blog to journey with me. To search and hopefully find rest in our lives. To find the kind of "rest" that "rest-ores" us.
Now back to work :P
A few months ago I realized that I don't...or at least I don't know very much about resting.
I came back from a vacation and realized just how exhausted I was, and ever since one of my preoccupations has been with trying to understand and practice resting.
The next few posts on this blog will be my current journey into learning to rest - but it's something I'm still very much in the middle of. If anyone reading this has anything to add or teach me about it
please tell me, maybe even add to the comments section so we can all learn.
So, I've been trying to slow down...which is hard...and it only seems to make a little difference.
I tried Googling it, I tried Amazoning it, and I'm really surprised that there isn't much out there (at least in the standard ways we access information these days) about rest and resting.
Perhaps it's a sign of the times.
Perhaps we've been busy and tired for so long that we've forgotten what rest even looks like. If you look at a lot of the advice that's out there about resting - it tends to focus on engaging in certain practices mostly for purpose of being able to squeeze more out of life and be more productive.
I haven't been entirely sure how to even define "rest".
Before this, I assumed resting was just cessation of activity, but I'm learning that's not quite right, or at least, it fails to capture the complexity of tiredness and rest. There isn't just one kind of fatigue, so it probably makes sense that there isn't just one kind of rest.
I'm starting to think that rest isn't just about activity levels, it actually has something to do with the demands we experience in our inner and outer worlds. That rest and fatigue depend heavily on how much we or others are requiring ourselves to do and be responsible for.
But more on this later.
For now, I invite you who read this blog to journey with me. To search and hopefully find rest in our lives. To find the kind of "rest" that "rest-ores" us.
Now back to work :P
Monday, June 30, 2014
Hurried - Part 2 - Looking for God on the Moon
So the morning after my last post - a post about hurrying - I resolved not to hurry so much.
I took it slow with my kids in getting them ready for school.
And something kind of weird happened. In the middle of applying sun screen on my oldest daughter we had a conversation. She started telling me about how she wished she could go into outer space and see the moon someday. Instead of the usual "that's nice", and because I was really listening, I asked her why she wanted to go out into space.
She told me that she thought maybe we could see and hear God out there.
Does anyone else find themselves at loss when trying to talk about the mysteries of God with a 6 year-old?
I tried to explain to her that we can talk to God right here right now because we're surrounded by God's presence...and that we can learn to see and hear and be more aware of God's presence, but we don't need to "go" anywhere for it to happen. The thing is that I do believe this, but...
Our separation from God (however self-imposed) is a painful reality to confront, and most of the time I avoid it. I probably even try to go places (maybe not the moon, but other places) hoping that I will find God there, instead of facing the reality that God appears to be so entirely absent at times.
And maybe they're not even physical places I go to "find" God sometimes, but places in my own mind. They're mental places that involve being good enough, or happy enough, or spiritual enough, or right enough; places that I think God will finally release me from exile if I just do a certain thing.
But in a sense we are in exile in this life, and perhaps we need to embrace our exiled status and be honest with ourselves and each other. I think my efforts to locate God in a specific physical place or state of mind leave me disappointed and feeling more isolated. Perhaps that's one reason why so many of us find church services so difficult. God is there, but He/She/It is not something we can conjure up whenever it suits us.
I told my daughter that seeing and hearing God is a mystery to me. I don't think we need to go into outer space, but we do need to keep wrestling with the mystery. Waiting to experience, but not straining so hard that we create something false or miss God altogether.
Searching, listening, looking, being open...
and of course,
not being in too much of a hurry.
I took it slow with my kids in getting them ready for school.
And something kind of weird happened. In the middle of applying sun screen on my oldest daughter we had a conversation. She started telling me about how she wished she could go into outer space and see the moon someday. Instead of the usual "that's nice", and because I was really listening, I asked her why she wanted to go out into space.
She told me that she thought maybe we could see and hear God out there.
Does anyone else find themselves at loss when trying to talk about the mysteries of God with a 6 year-old?
I tried to explain to her that we can talk to God right here right now because we're surrounded by God's presence...and that we can learn to see and hear and be more aware of God's presence, but we don't need to "go" anywhere for it to happen. The thing is that I do believe this, but...
Our separation from God (however self-imposed) is a painful reality to confront, and most of the time I avoid it. I probably even try to go places (maybe not the moon, but other places) hoping that I will find God there, instead of facing the reality that God appears to be so entirely absent at times.
And maybe they're not even physical places I go to "find" God sometimes, but places in my own mind. They're mental places that involve being good enough, or happy enough, or spiritual enough, or right enough; places that I think God will finally release me from exile if I just do a certain thing.
But in a sense we are in exile in this life, and perhaps we need to embrace our exiled status and be honest with ourselves and each other. I think my efforts to locate God in a specific physical place or state of mind leave me disappointed and feeling more isolated. Perhaps that's one reason why so many of us find church services so difficult. God is there, but He/She/It is not something we can conjure up whenever it suits us.
I told my daughter that seeing and hearing God is a mystery to me. I don't think we need to go into outer space, but we do need to keep wrestling with the mystery. Waiting to experience, but not straining so hard that we create something false or miss God altogether.
Searching, listening, looking, being open...
and of course,
not being in too much of a hurry.
Monday, June 16, 2014
Hurried
My children seem to have no capacity to hurry.
I ask politely. I get frustrated. I explain the reasons to them. I appeal to their empathy. I model the behavior I'm asking for. I give them encouragement. I threaten them with consequences. I promise rewards. And sometimes...gasp...I even yell at them when they still don't hurry like I've asked them to.
It seems so simple to me. I know they can move their bodies faster because I've seen it.
But then I got to thinking: Is hurrying really such an important thing to teach them?
While they seem to have no interest in hurrying - I seem to be entirely enthralled by it.
Or maybe, enslaved by it, is a more accurate way of describing it.
I can certainly be that guy who gets frustrated whenever everyone else isn't moving as fast as I am. Slow drivers, people who take their time at the grocery check-out, waiting on hold for customer service, an internet connection that takes more than a second to load a page...
What am I in such a hurry for? Why is it so important to me? Why do I think my kids need to take on this of all my habits? Maybe their lack of hurry should be teaching me? Maybe their lack of hurry isn't a deficiency to be remedied, but the actual default mode humans should function in?
Am I hurrying towards anything in particular? Or has hurrying just become a chronic state of frantic activity that serves some other purpose in my life other than accomplishing any particular goal? In other words; is it hurry just for the sake of hurrying?
Rollo May (a thinker who's wisdom was lost on me when I read him in my twenties, but now seems brilliant and profound), said that society's proclivity for frantic activity is indicative of just how much anxiety it's people are trying to cope with. He suggested it's not that we sit around consciously thinking through our deepest fears of death, meaning, responsibility, and isolation, but rather that we keep them at arms length by creating a lifestyle so busy that it gives us the sense we must be doing something important. Even if the things we're busily pursuing aren't particularly meaningful or important, the pace of our activity gives us the illusion of importance and meaning. So it becomes, hurrying for hurrying's own sake.
Even the truth of this is something I'm eager to hurry past and move on to the next "super important" thing I "should" do tonight. Maybe as you finish reading this you'll be tempted to hurry on to the next thing.
I wonder what would happen today if we all slowed down, at least just a little?
I ask politely. I get frustrated. I explain the reasons to them. I appeal to their empathy. I model the behavior I'm asking for. I give them encouragement. I threaten them with consequences. I promise rewards. And sometimes...gasp...I even yell at them when they still don't hurry like I've asked them to.
It seems so simple to me. I know they can move their bodies faster because I've seen it.
But then I got to thinking: Is hurrying really such an important thing to teach them?
While they seem to have no interest in hurrying - I seem to be entirely enthralled by it.
Or maybe, enslaved by it, is a more accurate way of describing it.
I can certainly be that guy who gets frustrated whenever everyone else isn't moving as fast as I am. Slow drivers, people who take their time at the grocery check-out, waiting on hold for customer service, an internet connection that takes more than a second to load a page...
What am I in such a hurry for? Why is it so important to me? Why do I think my kids need to take on this of all my habits? Maybe their lack of hurry should be teaching me? Maybe their lack of hurry isn't a deficiency to be remedied, but the actual default mode humans should function in?
Am I hurrying towards anything in particular? Or has hurrying just become a chronic state of frantic activity that serves some other purpose in my life other than accomplishing any particular goal? In other words; is it hurry just for the sake of hurrying?
Rollo May (a thinker who's wisdom was lost on me when I read him in my twenties, but now seems brilliant and profound), said that society's proclivity for frantic activity is indicative of just how much anxiety it's people are trying to cope with. He suggested it's not that we sit around consciously thinking through our deepest fears of death, meaning, responsibility, and isolation, but rather that we keep them at arms length by creating a lifestyle so busy that it gives us the sense we must be doing something important. Even if the things we're busily pursuing aren't particularly meaningful or important, the pace of our activity gives us the illusion of importance and meaning. So it becomes, hurrying for hurrying's own sake.
Even the truth of this is something I'm eager to hurry past and move on to the next "super important" thing I "should" do tonight. Maybe as you finish reading this you'll be tempted to hurry on to the next thing.
I wonder what would happen today if we all slowed down, at least just a little?
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Writer's Block
So aside from the usual excuses blogger's make about the huge gaps in time between blogs, I'm sticking with the honest one - writer's block.
It's been hard for me to write lately. It's not just the exhaustion and my related attempts to learn about resting, although that certainly contributes.
I have things to write about but the words just seem stuck. I used to think of writer's block as a monolithic mystery - but now I'm thinking I have a specific kind of writer's block.
It's the kind of writer's block that comes from wanting to like what I write.
I do. I really want to like it. I want it to do justice to the ideas. Sure I want other people to like it too...but right now it's more about my own sense of not being able to articulate or communicate ideas in any sort of beautiful way.
Even as I'm typing this my inner critic is telling me that this is a boring, overly specific, and slightly self-indulgent post that gives the impression I must fancy myself as some kind of writer, when in reality...
...sorry. Sometimes I find I can manage that inner critic best if I just put it on paper and be honest about it.
Maybe we all experience some form of writer's block in our lives, even if we're not "writing" in the classical sense. We are all telling a story in some sense. We are creating a narrative with our lives. Even in the mundane "small" decisions of life, we are telling a story, we are authors (probably co-authors) in some mysterious way: of the story of our life.
And maybe a lot of us get blocked in our daily lives in the same way I've been getting writer's block.
It feels like the way our lives are going is far less than perfect, far less beautiful, or strategic, or goal-accomplishing than we would like. And maybe the temptation is to stop writing. To stare blankly at the screen. To avoid the computer altogether. To opt out of authoring. Even to opt out of authoring our lives.
You've probably seen it in others if you haven't experienced it in yourself. It's that cold but subtle despair that tempts us to just cruise, just survive, and let life pass by instead of actively participating in our own stories.
My very wise brother once told a crowd that our stories really don't mean much until the point they intersect with the bigger story of God. The story that God is actively involved in redeeming and restoring our world.
So that's just our problem isn't it? We're trying to make our stories mean something by our own efforts. I'm trying to write something good. You're trying to write a life that lives up to your expectations of who you're suppose to be. All of us trying to live up to some imaginary standard that we think will gives us value, meaning, and significance.
But my writing, my life, your life, they are not "good", or "meaningful", or even "beautiful" because we reach our own or others' expectations. They are of importance in so far as they intersect that bigger story unfolding in the universe if only we have eyes to see it.
Boring post? Maybe. Inadequate expression of the content? Perhaps.
But to the degree that I write intersecting with God's story, it is beautiful, meaningful, and good.
Hmmm. Not feeling so blocked anymore.
It's been hard for me to write lately. It's not just the exhaustion and my related attempts to learn about resting, although that certainly contributes.
I have things to write about but the words just seem stuck. I used to think of writer's block as a monolithic mystery - but now I'm thinking I have a specific kind of writer's block.
It's the kind of writer's block that comes from wanting to like what I write.
I do. I really want to like it. I want it to do justice to the ideas. Sure I want other people to like it too...but right now it's more about my own sense of not being able to articulate or communicate ideas in any sort of beautiful way.
Even as I'm typing this my inner critic is telling me that this is a boring, overly specific, and slightly self-indulgent post that gives the impression I must fancy myself as some kind of writer, when in reality...
...sorry. Sometimes I find I can manage that inner critic best if I just put it on paper and be honest about it.
Maybe we all experience some form of writer's block in our lives, even if we're not "writing" in the classical sense. We are all telling a story in some sense. We are creating a narrative with our lives. Even in the mundane "small" decisions of life, we are telling a story, we are authors (probably co-authors) in some mysterious way: of the story of our life.
And maybe a lot of us get blocked in our daily lives in the same way I've been getting writer's block.
It feels like the way our lives are going is far less than perfect, far less beautiful, or strategic, or goal-accomplishing than we would like. And maybe the temptation is to stop writing. To stare blankly at the screen. To avoid the computer altogether. To opt out of authoring. Even to opt out of authoring our lives.
You've probably seen it in others if you haven't experienced it in yourself. It's that cold but subtle despair that tempts us to just cruise, just survive, and let life pass by instead of actively participating in our own stories.
My very wise brother once told a crowd that our stories really don't mean much until the point they intersect with the bigger story of God. The story that God is actively involved in redeeming and restoring our world.
So that's just our problem isn't it? We're trying to make our stories mean something by our own efforts. I'm trying to write something good. You're trying to write a life that lives up to your expectations of who you're suppose to be. All of us trying to live up to some imaginary standard that we think will gives us value, meaning, and significance.
But my writing, my life, your life, they are not "good", or "meaningful", or even "beautiful" because we reach our own or others' expectations. They are of importance in so far as they intersect that bigger story unfolding in the universe if only we have eyes to see it.
Boring post? Maybe. Inadequate expression of the content? Perhaps.
But to the degree that I write intersecting with God's story, it is beautiful, meaningful, and good.
Hmmm. Not feeling so blocked anymore.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Angry at Snow
Anyone else have this experience yesterday?
I woke up angry. Angry, because 3 inches of snow had fallen while I slept.
Now I know it's not entirely rational to be pissed off about lousy weather.
I feel a little justified when I think of how awful it's been for five, going on 6 months, when we first got 18 inches of snow in mid-November, that never, went, away.
But it's actually totally irrational to be angry about it. Just who am I angry at?
I find myself feeling rage towards those little "low pressure" icons that come on screen during the weather forecast. I feel as though some unseen cosmic force is punishing us for now reason.
It seems unfair that our weather is so oppressive, whilst the good people of San Diego live in constant 70 degree tranquility.
But as soon as the word "unfair" comes to mind, it tells me a little more of the back story that's taking place in mind.
You see, that assumption that I "deserve" certain kinds of weather and that the world's failure to deliver on said expectations is "unfair", really betrays the sense of entitlement I have about how the universe is supposed to treat me.
At the same time I've been having these weird (but apparently not serious) health issues, which may be related to a genetic predisposition. As I sat in the doctor's office waiting room surrounded by patients much older than me, I had that same sense of unfairness. "Why is this happening to me? Why did I lose in the genetic lottery on this trait?"
And like 2 x 4 to the head it hits me. I expect to be treated better than other people. I think I'm special and deserve the best.
Now that might surprise those of you who know me. It sure surprises me. I'm no valley girl who thinks daddy owes her a BMW...but somewhere deep in my subconscious... I still have this sense that I'm entitled to a better life than other people.
If I really just stop for moment and think, it would appear that I did very well in the genetic lottery. The truth is, it's probably closer to fair that I should have bunch of predispositions to health issues to make up for all the undeserved priviliges my genes have afforded me in 36 years. Not to mention the astounding good fortune to be born in a country with access to clean drinking water, education, health care, safety, loving parents...
And even if the weather has been a struggle, I have the good fortune to not live in a desert, or have my home wrecked by tsunami, hurricane, earthquake, tornado, monsoon, or any of the other extremes that cause terrible suffering. I can even mitigate the suffering my snow-hell causes with a furnace and clothes and all the conveniences of middle class life.
So I feel angry and entitled, but I also feel ashamed.
It's not to say that I haven't had some suffering...but my response to the suffering, anger, the expectation that I should not suffer in any way, shape, or form...that's what I'm ashamed of.
The attitude that God's done me wrong for allowing me to suffer....
... I guess I'm just more deeply infused with the thinking of my culture than I'd like to admit.
I woke up angry. Angry, because 3 inches of snow had fallen while I slept.
Now I know it's not entirely rational to be pissed off about lousy weather.
I feel a little justified when I think of how awful it's been for five, going on 6 months, when we first got 18 inches of snow in mid-November, that never, went, away.
But it's actually totally irrational to be angry about it. Just who am I angry at?
I find myself feeling rage towards those little "low pressure" icons that come on screen during the weather forecast. I feel as though some unseen cosmic force is punishing us for now reason.
It seems unfair that our weather is so oppressive, whilst the good people of San Diego live in constant 70 degree tranquility.
But as soon as the word "unfair" comes to mind, it tells me a little more of the back story that's taking place in mind.
You see, that assumption that I "deserve" certain kinds of weather and that the world's failure to deliver on said expectations is "unfair", really betrays the sense of entitlement I have about how the universe is supposed to treat me.
At the same time I've been having these weird (but apparently not serious) health issues, which may be related to a genetic predisposition. As I sat in the doctor's office waiting room surrounded by patients much older than me, I had that same sense of unfairness. "Why is this happening to me? Why did I lose in the genetic lottery on this trait?"
And like 2 x 4 to the head it hits me. I expect to be treated better than other people. I think I'm special and deserve the best.
Now that might surprise those of you who know me. It sure surprises me. I'm no valley girl who thinks daddy owes her a BMW...but somewhere deep in my subconscious... I still have this sense that I'm entitled to a better life than other people.
If I really just stop for moment and think, it would appear that I did very well in the genetic lottery. The truth is, it's probably closer to fair that I should have bunch of predispositions to health issues to make up for all the undeserved priviliges my genes have afforded me in 36 years. Not to mention the astounding good fortune to be born in a country with access to clean drinking water, education, health care, safety, loving parents...
And even if the weather has been a struggle, I have the good fortune to not live in a desert, or have my home wrecked by tsunami, hurricane, earthquake, tornado, monsoon, or any of the other extremes that cause terrible suffering. I can even mitigate the suffering my snow-hell causes with a furnace and clothes and all the conveniences of middle class life.
So I feel angry and entitled, but I also feel ashamed.
It's not to say that I haven't had some suffering...but my response to the suffering, anger, the expectation that I should not suffer in any way, shape, or form...that's what I'm ashamed of.
The attitude that God's done me wrong for allowing me to suffer....
... I guess I'm just more deeply infused with the thinking of my culture than I'd like to admit.
Monday, March 10, 2014
On Anxiety and Gratitude
I've been thinking and writing a lot about anxiety recently (offline for now...but today a little sneak peak).
Because anxiety is so unpleasant, we often wonder how to make it go away. And while I don't think that our primary focus should be on removing anxiety, I do think that we as humans can do things to reorient our relationship to the anxiety that is an essential feature in all of our lives.
One of the key ways to do this is cultivating the practice of gratitude.
I don't mean just being thankful, or communicating appreciation to others, or even summoning up a warm fuzzy feeling after binging on turkey.
Instead I'm talking about gratitude as an entire perspective, perhaps even a world-view, that recognizes that all that we have in our lives are gifts.
This computer to write on.... a gift.
These words and ideas to share with others... a gift.
This meal to enjoy and be nourished by... a gift.
This friend who calls to unburden themselves because life is hard... a gift.
This house to live in and create a space of hospitality... a gift.
This sinus cold that forces me to slow down... a gift.
This breath... a gift.
When we immerse ourselves in this way of thinking, it reminds us that our belief that we possess so much of what we cling to is an illusion. It shows us that these temporal things were given to us, and will be taken away at some point even if only by death. We can be grateful for their presence in our lives today, and in doing so we remember our correct place in relationship to the universe.
This practice alleviates anxiety because we no longer have to worry in the same way about losing things or people…or the uncertainty of losing them…because we recognize that they were never ours to begin with, and that they will certainly be taken from us at some point. In our anxious moments we often create a false sense of uncertainty...."what if someone I loves dies", or "what if I die?" But there is no real uncertainty here - people you love will die and someday you will die too - the only uncertainty is how and when. To cling to others and own lives is deeply human. It is engrained in the architecture of our biology. To seek self-preservation and deny the reality of death is also deeply human. But we are more than human animals, we are creatures with consciousness and the capacity to transcend our humanity. We can overcome our clinging and denying by recognizing and living the higher truths of the universe. In this case, the truth that all that we experience is passing, temporal, and limited, and that to cling to anything is futile.
My daughter found a wildflower at a park and was captured by its beauty. Naturally she wanted to continue enjoying its beauty, so she picked it in order to keep it. On the ensuing walk home, she realized that she might drop it and lose it, so she grasped it tightly in her hands. By the time we were home it was crushed, dry, and in pieces, no longer a thing of beauty...and she too was crushed with the sadness of losing something precious.
When we recognize and experience the futility of clinging, the desperate attempts to protect, hoard, and secure things that can’t be kept indefinitely, we can learn to stop clinging so hard. But because letting go is so counter-intuitive for us as humans we must have a higher principle and practice that can allow us to transcend our instinctive grasping. It is gratitude that reorients our perspective, diminishes the illusions of permanence, and allows us to begin again the process of not anxiously holding on to things that we can’t hold on to.
So we must cultivate gratitude, like a garden that we attend to each day. It is not enough to make a mad dash to be thankful once a year, because gratitude at its heartfelt level is a perspective that extends far beyond a feeling of thankfulness.
It is that perspective of being a receiver of gifts.
Some of the gifts we freely welcome – prosperity, health, children, happiness, strength, skills. Others seem less welcome or even unwelcome; suffering, sadness, anxiety, pain, limitations, difficult people, bad weather. But each of these, in spite of our desire to avoid them can be experienced as gifts if we do the hard mental work of recognizing their temporal nature and opportunity to be redeemed for something good.
And as it turns out those gifts we heartily welcome and pursue can bring with them their own share of suffering. As I've written about before, sometimes the things we desire end up enslaving us, and the things we avoid offer freedom.
In spite of our culture which teaches us that we are entitled to everything our heart desires, we can learn to refuse that deception and recognize our true identities as receivers of gifts. When we cultivate gratitude, we become increasingly able to view these things in our life for the gifts that they are, even those things which seem negative.
Try this. Ask yourself:
What do I fear losing in life these days?
How do I think losing that will affect me?
How did I get the thing I'm afraid of losing...did I really get it all by myself, or did certain things outside of my control occur first to bring it into my life?
Is it something I can actually hold on to forever?
What might happen if instead of clinging to it, I loosened my grip, gave thanks for it, and truly enjoyed what it brings to my life today?
How can I use this gift to make life better for others?
Because anxiety is so unpleasant, we often wonder how to make it go away. And while I don't think that our primary focus should be on removing anxiety, I do think that we as humans can do things to reorient our relationship to the anxiety that is an essential feature in all of our lives.
One of the key ways to do this is cultivating the practice of gratitude.
I don't mean just being thankful, or communicating appreciation to others, or even summoning up a warm fuzzy feeling after binging on turkey.
Instead I'm talking about gratitude as an entire perspective, perhaps even a world-view, that recognizes that all that we have in our lives are gifts.
This computer to write on.... a gift.
These words and ideas to share with others... a gift.
This meal to enjoy and be nourished by... a gift.
This friend who calls to unburden themselves because life is hard... a gift.
This house to live in and create a space of hospitality... a gift.
This sinus cold that forces me to slow down... a gift.
This breath... a gift.
When we immerse ourselves in this way of thinking, it reminds us that our belief that we possess so much of what we cling to is an illusion. It shows us that these temporal things were given to us, and will be taken away at some point even if only by death. We can be grateful for their presence in our lives today, and in doing so we remember our correct place in relationship to the universe.
This practice alleviates anxiety because we no longer have to worry in the same way about losing things or people…or the uncertainty of losing them…because we recognize that they were never ours to begin with, and that they will certainly be taken from us at some point. In our anxious moments we often create a false sense of uncertainty...."what if someone I loves dies", or "what if I die?" But there is no real uncertainty here - people you love will die and someday you will die too - the only uncertainty is how and when. To cling to others and own lives is deeply human. It is engrained in the architecture of our biology. To seek self-preservation and deny the reality of death is also deeply human. But we are more than human animals, we are creatures with consciousness and the capacity to transcend our humanity. We can overcome our clinging and denying by recognizing and living the higher truths of the universe. In this case, the truth that all that we experience is passing, temporal, and limited, and that to cling to anything is futile.
My daughter found a wildflower at a park and was captured by its beauty. Naturally she wanted to continue enjoying its beauty, so she picked it in order to keep it. On the ensuing walk home, she realized that she might drop it and lose it, so she grasped it tightly in her hands. By the time we were home it was crushed, dry, and in pieces, no longer a thing of beauty...and she too was crushed with the sadness of losing something precious.
When we recognize and experience the futility of clinging, the desperate attempts to protect, hoard, and secure things that can’t be kept indefinitely, we can learn to stop clinging so hard. But because letting go is so counter-intuitive for us as humans we must have a higher principle and practice that can allow us to transcend our instinctive grasping. It is gratitude that reorients our perspective, diminishes the illusions of permanence, and allows us to begin again the process of not anxiously holding on to things that we can’t hold on to.
So we must cultivate gratitude, like a garden that we attend to each day. It is not enough to make a mad dash to be thankful once a year, because gratitude at its heartfelt level is a perspective that extends far beyond a feeling of thankfulness.
It is that perspective of being a receiver of gifts.
Some of the gifts we freely welcome – prosperity, health, children, happiness, strength, skills. Others seem less welcome or even unwelcome; suffering, sadness, anxiety, pain, limitations, difficult people, bad weather. But each of these, in spite of our desire to avoid them can be experienced as gifts if we do the hard mental work of recognizing their temporal nature and opportunity to be redeemed for something good.
And as it turns out those gifts we heartily welcome and pursue can bring with them their own share of suffering. As I've written about before, sometimes the things we desire end up enslaving us, and the things we avoid offer freedom.
In spite of our culture which teaches us that we are entitled to everything our heart desires, we can learn to refuse that deception and recognize our true identities as receivers of gifts. When we cultivate gratitude, we become increasingly able to view these things in our life for the gifts that they are, even those things which seem negative.
Try this. Ask yourself:
What do I fear losing in life these days?
How do I think losing that will affect me?
How did I get the thing I'm afraid of losing...did I really get it all by myself, or did certain things outside of my control occur first to bring it into my life?
Is it something I can actually hold on to forever?
What might happen if instead of clinging to it, I loosened my grip, gave thanks for it, and truly enjoyed what it brings to my life today?
How can I use this gift to make life better for others?
Thursday, March 6, 2014
War in my head...
Tonight I left to go to work with a lot of anxiety. It was nothing to do with work itself, it was a deep sense of dread that nothing matters in life. It's hard to believe I could walk out the door from a wife and daughters I adore and cherish and still even question life's meaning. But I'm a complicated guy and my intellect and my work as a psychologist have led me to some dark spaces. I have a strong theology of suffering, but the hellish thing I heard this week...well...it reminds me of all the other torture stories I've heard in the past 10 years, and it sucks me into those powerful questions I have about human life being anything more a terrible mistake of evolution. Consciousness allows us to do some amazing things, but it's also an enormous burden.
And at the risk of sounding like I'm coming unglued, I think I heard a voice tonight.
I had a patient cancel at the last minute, and in the mean time I decided to confront my angst with silence.
In the silence I heard that voice I've so rarely heard - probably because I'm such a terrible fucking skeptic.
Oddly, it was a voice that reminded me of something my friend wrote about church.
My friend said that a church is a group of people trying together to learn to have their hearts beat like God's beats. That we learn the rhythm of God's heart, and try to have our hearts beat in time with His.
Beautiful.
If the spiritual metaphor is too vague, what I'm saying is that I think we have to learn to love the things that God loves, in the ways that God loves. That life's meaning is to be found in emulating Jesus...not by being religious...but by loving in those radical ways that overcome darkness and torture and death. We defy the horror of this life and that sick empty feeling that chases a lot of us whenever we slow down, by choosing to love extravagantly.
And as I tear myself away from my own internal battle long enough to realize that I am not the sole decision maker about whether my life is ultimately meaningful or worthwhile, I'm captivated by the thought that those whom I'm bound to in life - my family, my community, the patients I serve, the God that I wrestle with - also have something to say about whether or not my life is meaningful. It makes me realize that I need other people - that any question about existence is not for me to work out as a private intellectual enterprise - but can only be resolved in the context of who I am in relationship to others. And hesitantly I acknowledge that for me this must include others who believe and doubt this story of Jesus.
But I have a lot bad feelings and thoughts about church. These days fewer of those thoughts are judgemental angry ones, and most are just despair because I can't find an enduring or satisfactory answers about who we are to be as a church.
Yet maybe it really is so simple (not easy, but simple) as learning to pattern our own hearts after God's, and learning to do this together in the context of community. As much as I struggle with Christians, I need them. I need to have them in my life to learn how to love...and they need me...with all my selfish, critical, over-thinking, brokenness. They aren't just the blue section on my Google calendar, they are a part in God's invitation for me to learn how love as God loves. They are God's invitation to a life saturated in meaningfulness, redemption, and hope.
And at the risk of sounding like I'm coming unglued, I think I heard a voice tonight.
I had a patient cancel at the last minute, and in the mean time I decided to confront my angst with silence.
In the silence I heard that voice I've so rarely heard - probably because I'm such a terrible fucking skeptic.
Oddly, it was a voice that reminded me of something my friend wrote about church.
My friend said that a church is a group of people trying together to learn to have their hearts beat like God's beats. That we learn the rhythm of God's heart, and try to have our hearts beat in time with His.
Beautiful.
If the spiritual metaphor is too vague, what I'm saying is that I think we have to learn to love the things that God loves, in the ways that God loves. That life's meaning is to be found in emulating Jesus...not by being religious...but by loving in those radical ways that overcome darkness and torture and death. We defy the horror of this life and that sick empty feeling that chases a lot of us whenever we slow down, by choosing to love extravagantly.
And as I tear myself away from my own internal battle long enough to realize that I am not the sole decision maker about whether my life is ultimately meaningful or worthwhile, I'm captivated by the thought that those whom I'm bound to in life - my family, my community, the patients I serve, the God that I wrestle with - also have something to say about whether or not my life is meaningful. It makes me realize that I need other people - that any question about existence is not for me to work out as a private intellectual enterprise - but can only be resolved in the context of who I am in relationship to others. And hesitantly I acknowledge that for me this must include others who believe and doubt this story of Jesus.
But I have a lot bad feelings and thoughts about church. These days fewer of those thoughts are judgemental angry ones, and most are just despair because I can't find an enduring or satisfactory answers about who we are to be as a church.
Yet maybe it really is so simple (not easy, but simple) as learning to pattern our own hearts after God's, and learning to do this together in the context of community. As much as I struggle with Christians, I need them. I need to have them in my life to learn how to love...and they need me...with all my selfish, critical, over-thinking, brokenness. They aren't just the blue section on my Google calendar, they are a part in God's invitation for me to learn how love as God loves. They are God's invitation to a life saturated in meaningfulness, redemption, and hope.
Monday, January 13, 2014
If you thought December was bad...
I struggle with January.
The cold, the snow, the drudgery, the hours of darkness.
Last week when it was -25 (without the windchill) I felt claustrophobic...like the dangerous cold and darkness were keeping me closed up in my house.
I need more light.
It's rather ironic because we just came through a season that celebrates the arrival of the "Light of the world". So, I started listening to Christmas carols as a way of coping with January's darkness.
John Rutter, in his astoundingly beautiful "Angel's Carol" writes,
He is come in peace in the winter's stillness, like a snowfall in the gentle night. He is come in joy like the sun at morning, filling all the world with radiance and with light. He is come in love as the child of Mary. In a simple stable we have seen his birth. Gloria in excelsis Deo! Gloria in excelsis Deo! Hear the angels singing 'Peace on earth'.
He will bring new light to a world in darkness, like a bright star shining in the skies above. He will bring new hope to the waiting nations. When he comes to reign in purity and love. Let the earth rejoice at the Saviour's coming. Let the heavens answer in the joyful morn: Gloria in excelsis Deo! Gloria in excelsis Deo! Hear the angels singing, 'Christ is born'.
Now maybe you're like me, and don't find yourself rejoicing all that much in January. "Get through it", is more my thinking. But what if, for a moment today we dared to believe that this light that we just celebrated last month, has actually come to our darkness?
What if the physical darkness of January were a tremendous opportunity to experience the "Light of the world"? After all, we often appreciate light most when we're surrounded by darkness, not when there's already lots of light around us.
I'm realizing that Christmas is not a discrete celebration - an event to be put away with the decorations and remembered next year - but rather it is a life changing reality, intended to be at the forefront of our consciousness on an ongoing basis. God is with us! God is with us in the joyful celebrations of December, but also the icy darkness of Canadian winter. God is with us in all the seasons (not just weather) of our lives.
Light has come. New light that brings hope. Hope that warrants a celebration, even when everything else seems dark and frozen. Merry Christmas.
The cold, the snow, the drudgery, the hours of darkness.
Last week when it was -25 (without the windchill) I felt claustrophobic...like the dangerous cold and darkness were keeping me closed up in my house.
I need more light.
It's rather ironic because we just came through a season that celebrates the arrival of the "Light of the world". So, I started listening to Christmas carols as a way of coping with January's darkness.
John Rutter, in his astoundingly beautiful "Angel's Carol" writes,
He is come in peace in the winter's stillness, like a snowfall in the gentle night. He is come in joy like the sun at morning, filling all the world with radiance and with light. He is come in love as the child of Mary. In a simple stable we have seen his birth. Gloria in excelsis Deo! Gloria in excelsis Deo! Hear the angels singing 'Peace on earth'.
He will bring new light to a world in darkness, like a bright star shining in the skies above. He will bring new hope to the waiting nations. When he comes to reign in purity and love. Let the earth rejoice at the Saviour's coming. Let the heavens answer in the joyful morn: Gloria in excelsis Deo! Gloria in excelsis Deo! Hear the angels singing, 'Christ is born'.
Now maybe you're like me, and don't find yourself rejoicing all that much in January. "Get through it", is more my thinking. But what if, for a moment today we dared to believe that this light that we just celebrated last month, has actually come to our darkness?
What if the physical darkness of January were a tremendous opportunity to experience the "Light of the world"? After all, we often appreciate light most when we're surrounded by darkness, not when there's already lots of light around us.
I'm realizing that Christmas is not a discrete celebration - an event to be put away with the decorations and remembered next year - but rather it is a life changing reality, intended to be at the forefront of our consciousness on an ongoing basis. God is with us! God is with us in the joyful celebrations of December, but also the icy darkness of Canadian winter. God is with us in all the seasons (not just weather) of our lives.
Light has come. New light that brings hope. Hope that warrants a celebration, even when everything else seems dark and frozen. Merry Christmas.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
stuff white people like
A few months ago I ran into this blog / book / phenom called "Stuff White People Like".
Check it out and then read this if you still have time...
I realize I'm a little slow, apparently this peaked in its popularity a few years ago, but it bears mention nonetheless. And after being both brought to tears with laughter in reading its brilliant cultural critique, some of the ideas have stuck with me, kicking around in my head, and playing a somewhat prophetic role in looking at my life.
It turns out I'm not so original after all. That a lot of the things I value, pursue, believe in, and incorporate into my lifestyle are part of a cultural segment, whose defining characteristic is considering ourselves to be unique, free thinking, deep, cultured, special, progressive people. It may not actually have much to do with skin color, but there certainly is a segment of white skinned anglo Canadians who share the trait of thinking we're better than the other white folk. And the truth is in part, that I belong to that group.
I'm pretty proud of walking to work, and leaving our one and only car in the driveway most days.
I'm pretty proud of eating hummus, drinking local red wine, having fair trade coffee, and renovating a heritage house with a hip cafe down the street.
I'm pretty proud of having been to Europe and having pictures I took of it up on my walls at home.
I watch TED talks on a regular basis, listen to Bob Marley, and find myself strangely drawn to Prius' and Subarus.
>If you've checked out the website, or are already familiar with the "stuff white people like" books/blog, you'll start to see where I fit<
I'm pretty proud of my environmental consciousness, of composting extensively in the backyard, and growing some of our own food.
I'm pretty proud of the artsy, progressive neighborhood that I live in.
I went to graduate school, hate corporations, have a dog, treasure my friends from different cultures, and wish I made it to the farmer's market more often.
And none of these things are wrong in and of themselves...many of them are good. But what challenges me about "Stuff White People Like", is the idea that much of what I do is motivated not by genuine care about good things, but about generating an identity that allows me to be self-satisfied, special, and just a little better than other white middle class Canadians.
Is my composting motivated by true concern for the welfare of all living things, or is it motivated by feeling good about myself for being the kind of person who composts?
Likely the truth lies somewhere in the middle: I probably am motivated by both, to differing degrees at different times. And the reality that I have some less than beautiful motives for doing things should not be allowed to cause me to despair, of give up doing good things.
But I think it's an important reminder to me, perhaps to others, that even the good, the beautiful, the trendy, the socially appropriate in our lives can have a dark underside in the realm of motives. That very often we're doing things so that we can maintain a certain sense of identity, rather than doing them for entirely pure and good reasons. I may love the planet and fair trade coffee, but I also sort of love the image of myself that I'm trying to project, and sometimes I shape that image so that others will love that projection too. I feel better about myself believing that the coffee I buy costs more (a sign to myself of superiority perhaps) and wasn't as harmful to the people involved in growing it. But really I care more about how I feel as a buyer of fair trade coffee, than I do about the people involved in producing it.
As is often true of good humor, like this site, a certain amount of truth is contained, and while it's good to laugh at ourselves for being a certain kind of person - it's also painful to admit that to some degree we are not fully who we tell ourselves or others that we are. That below the surface there's a much more complex and messy person. A person who longs to be special, to mean something, to matter. But I remind myself that in my efforts to matter, I may perhaps be moving away from what really gives me value as a human being, and trading it for some stock cultural goods, attitudes, and behaviors that aren't the true source of my value as person.
Check it out and then read this if you still have time...
I realize I'm a little slow, apparently this peaked in its popularity a few years ago, but it bears mention nonetheless. And after being both brought to tears with laughter in reading its brilliant cultural critique, some of the ideas have stuck with me, kicking around in my head, and playing a somewhat prophetic role in looking at my life.
It turns out I'm not so original after all. That a lot of the things I value, pursue, believe in, and incorporate into my lifestyle are part of a cultural segment, whose defining characteristic is considering ourselves to be unique, free thinking, deep, cultured, special, progressive people. It may not actually have much to do with skin color, but there certainly is a segment of white skinned anglo Canadians who share the trait of thinking we're better than the other white folk. And the truth is in part, that I belong to that group.
I'm pretty proud of walking to work, and leaving our one and only car in the driveway most days.
I'm pretty proud of eating hummus, drinking local red wine, having fair trade coffee, and renovating a heritage house with a hip cafe down the street.
I'm pretty proud of having been to Europe and having pictures I took of it up on my walls at home.
I watch TED talks on a regular basis, listen to Bob Marley, and find myself strangely drawn to Prius' and Subarus.
>If you've checked out the website, or are already familiar with the "stuff white people like" books/blog, you'll start to see where I fit<
I'm pretty proud of my environmental consciousness, of composting extensively in the backyard, and growing some of our own food.
I'm pretty proud of the artsy, progressive neighborhood that I live in.
I went to graduate school, hate corporations, have a dog, treasure my friends from different cultures, and wish I made it to the farmer's market more often.
And none of these things are wrong in and of themselves...many of them are good. But what challenges me about "Stuff White People Like", is the idea that much of what I do is motivated not by genuine care about good things, but about generating an identity that allows me to be self-satisfied, special, and just a little better than other white middle class Canadians.
Is my composting motivated by true concern for the welfare of all living things, or is it motivated by feeling good about myself for being the kind of person who composts?
Likely the truth lies somewhere in the middle: I probably am motivated by both, to differing degrees at different times. And the reality that I have some less than beautiful motives for doing things should not be allowed to cause me to despair, of give up doing good things.
But I think it's an important reminder to me, perhaps to others, that even the good, the beautiful, the trendy, the socially appropriate in our lives can have a dark underside in the realm of motives. That very often we're doing things so that we can maintain a certain sense of identity, rather than doing them for entirely pure and good reasons. I may love the planet and fair trade coffee, but I also sort of love the image of myself that I'm trying to project, and sometimes I shape that image so that others will love that projection too. I feel better about myself believing that the coffee I buy costs more (a sign to myself of superiority perhaps) and wasn't as harmful to the people involved in growing it. But really I care more about how I feel as a buyer of fair trade coffee, than I do about the people involved in producing it.
As is often true of good humor, like this site, a certain amount of truth is contained, and while it's good to laugh at ourselves for being a certain kind of person - it's also painful to admit that to some degree we are not fully who we tell ourselves or others that we are. That below the surface there's a much more complex and messy person. A person who longs to be special, to mean something, to matter. But I remind myself that in my efforts to matter, I may perhaps be moving away from what really gives me value as a human being, and trading it for some stock cultural goods, attitudes, and behaviors that aren't the true source of my value as person.
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