In Defense of the Easter Bunny

This morning at my house we had lengthy conversations about the physical improbabilities of the Easter Bunny and his (her?) delivery tactics.

It seems my girls have reached an age where they are struck by the seeming logistical impossibilities of a bunny delivering chocolate eggs to our house, and they are more ruthlessly logical and scientific in their questioning than I would have expected them to be.

I keep explaining to them that there is a certain magic to the whole process, a magic we simply can't understand or explain. I liken it to the magic of Santa and the Tooth Fairy, but alas, they are already wary of such answers.

Now some would say I'm doing them no favors by continuing the charade. Teaching them to believe in such fantasies is considered unhealthy by some, and unchristian by others. But I've decided I disagree.

I'm sticking up for the Easter Bunny and his other seasonal associates because I believe there is something important about all of us learning to believe in magic, in mystery, in wonder, and in things we simply cannot explain.

There will be plenty of years for them to be immersed in scientific rationalism. But for all my education as a scientist I've found an empirical world-view to be sorely lacking when it comes to deciding how to live a life worth living. In my thirties, learning to encounter and embrace mystery has been crucial to my sanity. (some may object to this...the part about me being sane that is....)

It turns out, that to live in acceptance that there are things I cannot explain or understand has far more integrity than the false certainty of religious or scientific dogma.

So I'm going to let my kids believe in magic for as long as they choose. They'll get more than enough materialism in their lives in due time. I think it's more important to nurture their sense of wonder than for them to know exactly who or what is "real" and who isn't.

And next year they may not believe in the magic of a bunny who stealthily hides treats in our house. But I want them practice living with magic, mystery, and uncertainty in this thing, so that they can learn to live with the other great mysteries we wrestle with at Easter.

As we read in 1 Cor 15:51:

"For behold, I show you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed"

Their questions about the Easter Bunny are just a precursor to the questions that I, and hopefully someday they, raise about this mystery of resurrection.

It's good to ask questions, but I don't have to understand it. It's historical details and scientific feasibility are becoming less important to me as I learn to witness resurrection.  Things die and new life springs forth. People see parts of themselves die, and new life emerges. Old habits, old ways of seeing things, old fears, old grudges, old sadness, old selfishness, old destructive patterns...all of them can be put to death and new life emerge in their place.

May you this Easter practice the mystery of resurrection in your own life....

....and may you witness this mystery of resurrection all around you.

The gates of hell

A few months ago I had a day in my practice as a psychologist that felt like I had spent the day sitting at the gates of hell...

I was inundated by stories of brokenness and destruction. It's the kind of darkness that feels like it can only come from hell (or in the scripture "Hades" - which translates literally into "the realm of the dead"). There was no light, no redemption, no rescue; only the kind of brokenness that enters into individual lives and ruins them. And it's not that I'm easily surprised by any of this darkness. It's a regular feature in my line of work. But sometimes when you sit right up against the gates of that realm and are utterly submersed in the darkness... words fail, only images like "gates of hell" really capture it.

So while I contemplated an early retirement from my profession, it was redemptive for me to have an entirely different experience the following day.

I witnessed an event that marked the culmination of seven years of work in the life of one of my patients. She has had more than her share of darkness...not just tragedy and suffering, but almost a seeming conspiracy of the universe to crush her, to silence her, to prevent her from bringing light into the lives of others. And I've had the great privilege of walking alongside this person through much of it. But for many years she has been unable to sing because of all that has transpired. Her voice is one of those voices that moves people in that mystical way that only music can. After much work and healing, she was able to perform again, and there weren't too many dry eyes in the house I can tell you.

And as I witnessed this heroic individual overcoming her tragedies and bringing joy to the lives of others again, I had this passage from Matthew 16:18 pass through my head, "...and the gates of hell shall not stand against it". (Thanks to Peter Jackson, I also get those images from the movie version of Lord of the Rings - the gates of Mordor - and Gandalf yelling "you shall not stand")

There is terrible darkness in this world. But it cannot overcome us.

Easter echos through time like a distant thunder clap, reminding us here and now that this world is being redeemed.

Death, and all that it brings into the world with it, cannot stand against the power of a world reclaimed by God. Jesus speaks these words in Matt 16:18 to Peter, and the "it" that He's referring to the gates of hell not being able to stand against is, the church. It's actually the first use in scriptures of the word "ecclesia" which we now translate as "church".

That's a pretty wild thing to say about the church isn't it?

Maybe I'm not the only who finds it hard to match up my experience of church with this extraordinary claim. I'm going to have to think about this a bit, maybe come back to it in a future post.

But for now, I am grateful for these moments in life when God works so clearly and shows us that evil is not the final word. That God is moving, and working, and transforming, and using even people like you and I in overcoming the darkness which seems so strong.

Snakes on a Post (...not on a plane)

Today in church we heard that interesting little story from Numbers 21...here's the important excerpt:

⁶ Then the Lord sent venomous snakes among them; they bit the people and many Israelites died. ⁷ The people came to Moses and said, “We sinned when we spoke against the Lord and against you. Pray that the Lord will take the snakes away from us.” So Moses prayed for the people.
⁸ The Lord said to Moses, “Make a snake and put it up on a pole; anyone who is bitten can look at it and live.” ⁹ So Moses made a bronze snake and put it up on a pole. Then when anyone was bitten by a snake and looked at the bronze snake, they lived.

Now I'm not quite sure what to make of a story like this...but I think a there's truth that lies within the text, hidden, waiting to strike (like a snake?).

What does putting a bronze snake on a pole do that saves people from venom? 

How does looking a representation of the thing that hurt you produce healing?


Is this just some divine magic? Is God just providing a random ritual? Could he have told them to do just about anything (like get down on the ground and slither while making hissing noises) and the outcome would have been the same?

Maybe so, but maybe not. 

One of the principles of healing that I've learned over the years, is this:

 People often need to be able look at the thing that hurts them before they can be healed from it. 

In fact, some of us believe that one of the key elements of good psychotherapy is the process in which people take their internal torment, and by talking about it with another caring human, are able to place the things that are causing torment outside of themselves. It's a kind of psychological distancing. Writing often plays a similar function in people's lives (which is perhaps part of the reason why some of us blog). 

To be able to distance oneself, to observe and reflect upon things that are "poisoning" us, appears to offer a valuable source of healing.  

And it turns out this isn't just true for psychological issues. There's an interesting bit of scientific literature documenting the effects of people "seeing" their illnesses, or at least being able to visualize them. I'm admittedly skeptical about claims of people imagining themselves "killing" their own cancer cells as a cure. The truth is I (we) don't fully understand very much about mind and body connections in disease. But something is there. Something in this ancient Hebrew text echos through history into our own context, reminding us of the value of looking at, and contemplating the things in our lives that poison us.

The snake is often associated with evil or the devil (although they are not synonymous; the Genesis creation story never says it's the devil who tempts Eve, just a serpent) 

So when this story in Numbers 21 tells us that we should look closely at the "snakes" that bite us, perhaps the metaphor is even richer. It's not just that we need to look at our illnesses in order to heal. The truth is that we need to look carefully at the evil within us, the poison in our blood, before it destroys us. 

I think I'm mostly done with deciding what particular bible stories "mean".  This one leaves me with plenty of questions about the idea that God would send venomous snakes. But this morning as I listened, the story stirred within me a reminder to look closely at the poison inside me, to recognize that I'm snake bitten along with the rest of humanity. I prefer the idea that I could just avoid snakes and avoid getting bit. But it seems that there's far greater healing to be found in learning to recognize the source of my torment, my brokenness, and to look closely at it.

Losing the close ones hurts.

Don't skip out on this post too quickly...it's not really about football, it's about something bigger.

So on Sunday my beloved Packers lost an excruciating and crucial game. They had a 16 point lead. There just didn't seem near enough time for the Seahawks to come back. A series of critical errors would have to unfold for them lose. A trip to the Superbowl was within their reach... and yet they managed to snap defeat from the jaws of victory.

Why do close games that we lose hurt like they do?

On one hand it seems silly to even use words like "hurt" when talking about being a fan of a professional sports team. Isn't it just a game? A game played by strangers, who's only really affiliation and allegiance is one I willingly (and somewhat arbitrarily) give them by choosing to consider it of any importance in my life?

Isn't it just another form of entertainment?

Yes. It is. But...

I wonder if our emotions in response to watching games (just like theater or movies) pulls for something deeper? Doesn't it pull for something in the emotional dramas of our own lives?

Actually, I don't wonder, I'm pretty convinced this must be true because how else can we explain the compelling and consuming force that professional sports are in our culture (and have been throughout history so far as I understand it)?

The dramas, the stories, the intense feelings we (okay, some of us) experience when watching sports, are likely so captivating because they parallel a different set of dramas, stories, and feelings in our own lives.

We love the underdog sports story, because we've all been the underdog at some point and can empathize with how that feels. The victory of an underdog has a kind of therapeutic value for us because we delight in the idea that all of us who have been underdogs can overcome our struggles in life.

But what about the losses? What about the kind of loss that happened to the Packers yesterday, where everything was going so well, only to have a collapse at the very end and seemingly be unable to do anything to stop it?

For me it taps into a deep anxiety I have about the world.

It's the gnawing sense that when things are going your way, tragedy lies just around the corner.

It's about that deep sense of vulnerability that all of us experience, but many of us hide.

When life, or the tragedy of a sports team, puncture our illusions that we can construct for ourselves a world of self-sufficiency and safety, we are left to confront that terrible vulnerability we experience because the universe appears to be an enormous, chaotic, unfriendly place. And we appear to be insignificant suffering creatures who can do little to control anything, least of all our imminent death.

We are vulnerable, and it is terrifying. And it may seem like a giant leap to you that I've taken thirty lines of text to get from yesterday's sports scores to the quintessential dilemmas of existence. Maybe I am blowing things out of proportion. Maybe I go looking for any excuse to find parallels so I can talk about my own existential angst.

But the truth as I see it, is that any reminder of our human vulnerability is painful but also a tremendous gift. To embrace our vulnerability is to at least temporarily confront the illusions we live by. And while those illusions might help us live "normal" lives, we need to be aware of our own vulnerability and neediness, so that we can truly see it and respond to it in others.

No lead is safe in football. No lead is safe in life. We are vulnerable. Control is an illusion. But if are willing to engage our vulnerability rather than cover it up, perhaps we can live with clarity, compassion, and love.

P.S. After the game the Seahawks quarterback, Russell Wilson was reported to have said he was convinced that divine intervention had played a critical role in their victory. The Packers quarterback, Aaron Rodgers, later responded that he didn't think God cared at all what happens in football games, although he thinks God cares very much about the people who play in football games.

Nicely said Aaron.

Health isn't the absence of pathology

What exactly do we mean when we use the word "healthy"?

I think most of us at least implicitly believe that health is the absence of symptoms or pathology.

What if this isn't quite true? Is health more complicated than just not being sick?

My own profession tends to define health and pathology in terms of the amount of distress and/or the interference with life that are caused by a particular symptom. It's part of a reasonable effort on the part of psychiatry and psychology to distance themselves from theoretical/philosophical explanations of psychopathology (because there's just no agreement on these) and instead shift the emphasis to personal suffering and functioning as a measure of relative health or disease.

One of the problems with this approach is that we start to view suffering or the presence of symptoms as the problem, the enemy, the thing to be eradicated.

But what if suffering and symptoms are not always the problem? What if suffering is an inherent part of human existence? In earlier blog posts I've written about the avoidance of suffering being a huge problem that creates all kinds of suffering. I can't state it any better than Thomas Merton who says,  

"Indeed, the truth that many people never understand, until it is too late, is that the more you try to avoid suffering, the more you suffer, because smaller and more insignificant things begin to torture you, in proportion to your fear of being hurt. The one who does most to avoid suffering is, in the end, the one who suffers most: and his suffering comes to him from things so little and so trivial that one can say that it is no longer objective at all. It is his own existence, his own being, that is at once the subject and the source of his pain, and his very existence and consciousness is his greatest torture."

~Merton, The Seven Storey Mountain, p. 91

So I've been trying to understand how I might inform my own thinking about health using what I think I know about the Bible. If there's a health that exists independently from pathology/suffering definitions, what might the biblical narrative suggest about it?

Thankfully, Rowan Williams, the former Archbishop of Canterbury, has been an enormous help in this area. In his view, Williams thinks that health is a matter of the world being inhabited by God. In the Genesis stories, God creates the world by filling the void. God inhabits the world, and when sin enters, it is the alienation from God that causes the physical world, the world of the flesh to be no longer fully inhabited by God. Williams continues this thread with the idea that Jesus is the "supreme instance of health", having been God who fully inhabits humanity. And, in by inhabiting a physical body, Jesus not only transforms the body, but becomes a force that transforms all others.

Hopefully that made as much sense to you as it does to me.

I think what I take away from it, is that my definition of health is not about the end of suffering or the absence of symptoms. It's about God inhabiting my life, inhabiting my suffering, and transforming me and those around me through it. Health is about reconnecting to the presence of God in the world, when I'm so often detached from it.

Perhaps it's the reason why we give care to those with terminal illnesses and disabilities. There is no aim to remove symptoms. But we implicitly recognize that health can come even to those with intractable medical pathology, when their suffering is inhabited by the presence of those who care. We know that acts of kindness, love, service, and compassion become transformative for both the giver and the receiver.  It's not health in the traditional medical sense, but it is health in the bigger sense of our story as humans. We are faced with all sorts of terrible circumstances, and health is not finding balance, or finding a perfect life that somehow appears to dodge those awful things that come in spite of our best efforts to avoid them. In a sense we are all terminally ill from the time of our birth. All of us racing towards the grave. And a definition of health that assumes the absence of physical pathology, psychopathology, or suffering, is heavily in denial of the fact that we are all on a steady course towards death.


Suffering is not the problem, alienation is. At least, that's how I'm reading Genesis these days.

Fundamentally, alienation from God, from each other, and from ourselves is the problem.

Alienation breaks us away from God inhabiting our lives and our world. Suffering becomes meaningless. The self becomes a false self created to maximize our own advantage, rather than a self defined primarily in terms of relationship to the creator. 

So what is health then?

In this view health is a reconciliation from the alienation that results in us being less than human, uninhabited; merely biological organisms detached from the life of God.

So you can be sick (biologically) but healthy in the grander sense of the term if you can be reconciled and allow God to inhabit your life.

As always I'm open to feedback on this idea. These ideas are percolating, and have had little time for refinement.

Reactions?

Health is something to do with the bridging of a gulf between flesh and spirit. And often as we look at the Gospel stories of healing, as we look at them hard and carefully, we will see how healing there emerges in a situation, whereas we look more closely at it, there is some sort of concealed alienation, some sort of bruised relationship. Much to simple to say, 'Jesus comes and heals sick people and that's wonderful and everyone is very glad.' That is very much the bottom line of the Gospel stories. But look harder and you can see how the act of healing in these contexts is, again and again, subtly connected with different kinds of isolation, different kinds of alienation. - See more at: http://rowanwilliams.archbishopofcanterbury.org/articles.php/2111/the-theology-of-health-and-healing-hildegard-lecture-thirsk#sthash.ihf1pn46.dpuf

Health is something to do with the bridging of a gulf between flesh and spirit. And often as we look at the Gospel stories of healing, as we look at them hard and carefully, we will see how healing there emerges in a situation, whereas we look more closely at it, there is some sort of concealed alienation, some sort of bruised relationship. Much to simple to say, 'Jesus comes and heals sick people and that's wonderful and everyone is very glad.' That is very much the bottom line of the Gospel stories. But look harder and you can see how the act of healing in these contexts is, again and again, subtly connected with different kinds of isolation, different kinds of alienation. - See more at: http://rowanwilliams.archbishopofcanterbury.org/articles.php/2111/the-theology-of-health-and-healing-hildegard-lecture-thirsk#sthash.ihf1pn46.dpuf

Health is something to do with the bridging of a gulf between flesh and spirit. And often as we look at the Gospel stories of healing, as we look at them hard and carefully, we will see how healing there emerges in a situation, whereas we look more closely at it, there is some sort of concealed alienation, some sort of bruised relationship. Much to simple to say, 'Jesus comes and heals sick people and that's wonderful and everyone is very glad.' That is very much the bottom line of the Gospel stories. But look harder and you can see how the act of healing in these contexts is, again and again, subtly connected with different kinds of isolation, different kinds of alienation. - See more at: http://rowanwilliams.archbishopofcanterbury.org/articles.php/2111/the-theology-of-health-and-healing-hildegard-lecture-thirsk#sthash.ihf1pn46.dpuf

Health is something to do with the bridging of a gulf between flesh and spirit. And often as we look at the Gospel stories of healing, as we look at them hard and carefully, we will see how healing there emerges in a situation, whereas we look more closely at it, there is some sort of concealed alienation, some sort of bruised relationship. Much to simple to say, 'Jesus comes and heals sick people and that's wonderful and everyone is very glad.' That is very much the bottom line of the Gospel stories. But look harder and you can see how the act of healing in these contexts is, again and again, subtly connected with different kinds of isolation, different kinds of alienation. - See more at: http://rowanwilliams.archbishopofcanterbury.org/articles.php/2111/the-theology-of-health-and-healing-hildegard-lecture-thirsk#sthash.ihf1pn46.dpuf

Joy and the Closet Grinches

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.

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.