"I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read, and all the friends I want to see." ~John Burroughs
Finding balance is something people obsess over, particularly this time of year. Every television spot, magazine spread, or newspaper article on holiday plans mentions the need to attain balance. Usually, balance is to come from paring down one's to-do list, taking half an hour to oneself every day, saying no to a few things, etc. Lately I have been wondering about balance and faith.
It seems that being a faithful person adds a whole new dimension in need of balancing to one's life. If a person wants to live in accordance with her/his faith and not totally remove her/himself from the world, s/he has a major juggling act to perform. For example, Jesus tells us that we don't know the day or the hour of his return and that we need to keep a constant watch lest we be caught unprepared. How do I balance that spiritual preparation with the likelihood that I have many years of life left to me? Is it just fear that keeps me from, say, donating all I have to the poor rather than setting up a retirement account? Is what I call "being practical" really a lack of faith in God to provide for my needs?
Then there's the question of how to balance the earthly with the spiritual (something Charlie brings up in the comment to my last post). How far into "the world" can I go while still keeping my faith? Obviously, some people would answer, "Not at all." But outside of ultra-orthodox communities, the question of balance comes up again. How much does the music to which I listen, the non-Christian friends with whom I hang out, the books and magazines I read, etc. influence me? How "in the world" can I be before I am "of the world"?
Then there's Christ's call to be generous and giving. How do I balance that with self-protection--and is self-protection a necessity or a hindrance to living a Godly life? Can I deny my fellow human something because they're taking advantage of me or is such a denial a judgment I am neither called nor qualified to make? Are we really called to give everything? Is it selfish not to? I know we have to keep enough of ourselves back to ensure that we don't hit burnout (rendering us useless to anyone), but where is the line between preventing burnout and placing ourselves in Slot Number One?
Finally, acts of faith require balance. Do I choose to read my Advent devotional or make dinner with my roommate? Do I go to the midweek church service or curl in bed with a good book? Do I pick up an extra Bible study or work a holiday for a friend?
Choosing to live a faithful life while simultaneously living a secular life ensures gray areas aplenty to ponder, and a balancing act that would put any tightrope walker to shame. I know intention matters a great deal, but I am often envious of people in religious communities (like the Amish, Hasidic Jews, even sequestered nuns and monks) because it seems to me that it would be easier to live a life based on faith if you were not also trying to plan for retirement, hold down a job, maintain friendships with non-faithful people, etc. Though I know living in such a community would, I'm certain, present it's own faith issues, I often long for the ease of knowing that everyone and everything around you had the same desire of living a faithful, God-oriented life.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
The hundreth sheep
Today at work someone announced her intentions to avoid watching a particular movie because its creator is an atheist. Not because something about the movie itself offended her specifically or went completely against her sensibilities (not even because the movie held no interest or was a shoddy piece of art). Simply because its maker doesn't follow her religion. I kept to myself the observation that if Christians avoided everything that came from a non-Christian, we'd be left pretty high and dry. But the "incident" (which I put in quotes because it was really more of a passing comment than a major deal) really had me thinking about the requirements God makes of us.
It seems so many people are deeply focused on living a detail-oriented Christian life. They listen to Christian music, avoid certain movies, don't drink, don't swear, don't smoke, memorize Bible verses, and protest for the right of Macy's to wish patrons a "Merry Christmas". But such a focus on details often, I think, detracts from living a truly Christian life. Attempting to be pure and blameless in all your actions has a tendency to make a person feel superior to the "heathens" who, say, smoke. And spending so much time and effort on these details pulls us away from the big picture, from seeing the homeless or hungry, from being kind and welcoming to everyone who cross our paths, from truly empathizing with those who don't follow the riles as well as we do.
There's nothing wrong with avoiding alcohol or listening to Christian music. But there is something wrong when that becomes your faith. It limits Jesus, making him some sort of cosmic enforcer of rules, a heavenly Hall Monitor. It also places way too much emphasis on our own powers of salvation: if we do everything right and follow all the rules, we will be saved, but if we slip up and break the rules, we will be damned. There's no room left for being the one-hundreth sheep, the sinner rejoiced over in Heaven.
Not to mention that there's no room left for some really cool movies.
It seems so many people are deeply focused on living a detail-oriented Christian life. They listen to Christian music, avoid certain movies, don't drink, don't swear, don't smoke, memorize Bible verses, and protest for the right of Macy's to wish patrons a "Merry Christmas". But such a focus on details often, I think, detracts from living a truly Christian life. Attempting to be pure and blameless in all your actions has a tendency to make a person feel superior to the "heathens" who, say, smoke. And spending so much time and effort on these details pulls us away from the big picture, from seeing the homeless or hungry, from being kind and welcoming to everyone who cross our paths, from truly empathizing with those who don't follow the riles as well as we do.
There's nothing wrong with avoiding alcohol or listening to Christian music. But there is something wrong when that becomes your faith. It limits Jesus, making him some sort of cosmic enforcer of rules, a heavenly Hall Monitor. It also places way too much emphasis on our own powers of salvation: if we do everything right and follow all the rules, we will be saved, but if we slip up and break the rules, we will be damned. There's no room left for being the one-hundreth sheep, the sinner rejoiced over in Heaven.
Not to mention that there's no room left for some really cool movies.
Friday, November 30, 2007
I'm currently (among other things) reading Stars of David by Abigail Pogrebin. Even if you're not into Judaica, it's an interesting look at the vast spectrum of religious observance in America. One passage, from the piece about Leon Wieseltier, struck me:
"Generally in American Jewry, pride exists in inverse proportion to knowledge. So you will often find that the more learned or knowledgeable Jewish individuals are, the less strident and hoarse with self-admiration they tend to be. And the ones who know very little are looking for anti-Semites everywhere, because they need enmity to sustain their Jewishness...They think that the best way to express Jewishness is by fighting for it. And so in this way pride does the work of knowledge, sentimentality does the work of knowledge."
What I find so interesting is that this passage could be applied wholesale to American Christianity. It seems that a lot of people do more Bible-thumping than Bible reading. On one hand, it is sad when a person devotes so much of her or his life to a faith they know little about. On the other hand, it is absolutely infuriating to be preached at by someone whose knowledge of their faith comes from one of the latest "God Shows He Loves You By Making Your Life Comfortable and Prosperous" books. How hard is it to actually read the passages you use so wantonly?
Obviously, this is a major source of anger for me, and I am trying to practice some of the love and compassion that Jesus guy talks about. I don't claim to be a Bible scholar (far, far from it), but I make an attempt to read the Bible and read commentaries so I understand, at least in part, some of the amazingly complex and beautiful book upon which my faith rests. And if a person does that and leaves her or his heart open to new ideas and interpretations, I am honestly OK with most things they will use the Bible to support. I am much more comfortable with the most conservative person who has read and fought with the Bible and arrived at their position after much thought and prayer than I am with a much more liberal person who casually shrugs off Bible verses that contradict her or his positions.
I also had to chuckle at the pert of Mr. Wieseltier's quote about people defining their religion based on opposition. Especially this time of year, it seems that my more vocal brothers and sisters are up in arms over the "War on Christianity". Now, I fully understand that there are places in this world where practicing any religion other than that the sanctioned by the government will land a person in a lot of trouble. But doesn't it seem insulting to a person who practices her or his faith in the face of possible torture and execution to be up in arms about the "discrimination" of retailers saying "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas"? And doesn't it strike anyone that the more accepting a country is of a multitude of religious expression, the better it is for everyone? How does religious tolerance hurt Christianity? And when did a religion have to be fought for in order to be valid?
I think I'm done soapboxing for now. I was just very excited to read a passage that so succinctly described the situation of and problems with American evangelism-style Christianity.
"Generally in American Jewry, pride exists in inverse proportion to knowledge. So you will often find that the more learned or knowledgeable Jewish individuals are, the less strident and hoarse with self-admiration they tend to be. And the ones who know very little are looking for anti-Semites everywhere, because they need enmity to sustain their Jewishness...They think that the best way to express Jewishness is by fighting for it. And so in this way pride does the work of knowledge, sentimentality does the work of knowledge."
What I find so interesting is that this passage could be applied wholesale to American Christianity. It seems that a lot of people do more Bible-thumping than Bible reading. On one hand, it is sad when a person devotes so much of her or his life to a faith they know little about. On the other hand, it is absolutely infuriating to be preached at by someone whose knowledge of their faith comes from one of the latest "God Shows He Loves You By Making Your Life Comfortable and Prosperous" books. How hard is it to actually read the passages you use so wantonly?
Obviously, this is a major source of anger for me, and I am trying to practice some of the love and compassion that Jesus guy talks about. I don't claim to be a Bible scholar (far, far from it), but I make an attempt to read the Bible and read commentaries so I understand, at least in part, some of the amazingly complex and beautiful book upon which my faith rests. And if a person does that and leaves her or his heart open to new ideas and interpretations, I am honestly OK with most things they will use the Bible to support. I am much more comfortable with the most conservative person who has read and fought with the Bible and arrived at their position after much thought and prayer than I am with a much more liberal person who casually shrugs off Bible verses that contradict her or his positions.
I also had to chuckle at the pert of Mr. Wieseltier's quote about people defining their religion based on opposition. Especially this time of year, it seems that my more vocal brothers and sisters are up in arms over the "War on Christianity". Now, I fully understand that there are places in this world where practicing any religion other than that the sanctioned by the government will land a person in a lot of trouble. But doesn't it seem insulting to a person who practices her or his faith in the face of possible torture and execution to be up in arms about the "discrimination" of retailers saying "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas"? And doesn't it strike anyone that the more accepting a country is of a multitude of religious expression, the better it is for everyone? How does religious tolerance hurt Christianity? And when did a religion have to be fought for in order to be valid?
I think I'm done soapboxing for now. I was just very excited to read a passage that so succinctly described the situation of and problems with American evangelism-style Christianity.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
I was hoping we could find a way
Part deux of "Places I find truth other than the Bible":
In high school I dated a Taoist and I also had a very good Taoist friend*. I had honestly never heard of Taoism before I met D and J, so my relationships with them were also a sort of religious education course. So at seventeen, I read the Tao Te Ching and was floored by it. To a kid who is really starting to chafe against a childlike "just because" ideology ("I believe this just because I do"), Taoism's simplicity and seeming lack of dogma was very appealing**. Instead of worrying about lists of rules and requirements (which is how I saw Christianity at the time), Taoism calls for us to be in harmony with the flow of the universe, practice wu-wei (non-action; being still until the right path is revealed rather than actively seeking the path), and stop struggling against the inevitable and constant tide of change. Cool; I could handle this religion.
Of course, Taosim is one of those philosophies that seems exceedingly easy and yet takes a lifetime or more to master, something it holds in common with Christianity. It is easy, for example, to nod in agreement when Matthew 22:39-40 is read in church; it is very hard to practice Jesus' teaching with the co-worker you cannot stand or the driver who splashes you with dirty slush as s/he speeds by. In the same way, it is easy to intellectualize the benefit of "active passivity"--waiting patiently for the right moment instead of trying to force it. How much simpler could our lives be if we went with the flow more often instead of trying to shape events to our desires? Not so easy is the actual practice of this passivity in a world that is constantly telling us, "Go, go!"
Wu-wei is usually translated as "non-action" (though it should be noted that there are dozens of translations of the Tao Te Ching, which makes choosing one translation as iffy a process as choosing one translation of the Bible), though it's a little more complex than simply sitting still. It requires watching the flow of things and going with them rather than fighting against them. Instead of a person running in circles and trying to make events fit her/his desires, s/he should shape her/his desires to the flow of the universe. I think of wu-wei when I think of Jesus' exhortation to always watch for his coming (Mt 25:13, Mk13:32-37). We can't make him come and we don't know when he's coming, so we should be always watchful and ready. It's not a call to complete inaction but rather to one of more thoughtful action.
I can always count on a reading of the Tao Te Ching to soothe my mind, especially when I find myself flustered about what God wants me to be doing in my life. Far too often I become overwhelmed trying to discern the direction in which God is trying to lead me and I wind up spinning my wheels, paradoxically upset that I'm not going anywhere and yet unable to make myself go anywhere. Spending a bit of time on the Tao Te Ching helps me remember wu-wei and its passive action. Just as Elijah did not hear the voice of God in earthquakes and thunder but rather in stillness, I am frequently unable to hear God until I stop running after him and let him come to me.
*Interestingly enough, I met them both at Catholic school (which could be the subject of many posts in its own right), where I also had Muslim, Wiccan, Jewish, Seventh-Day Adventist and atheist friends. Needless to say, our theology classes could get very interesting.
**For a religion whose main text is short, direct, and based on yielding and simplicity, Taosim has a lot of commentary devoted to it. The only two books I actually remember reading aside from the Tao Te Ching itself are Benjamin Hoff's The Tao of Pooh and The Te of Piglet. This is perhaps one of the more telling things about my approach to religion.
In high school I dated a Taoist and I also had a very good Taoist friend*. I had honestly never heard of Taoism before I met D and J, so my relationships with them were also a sort of religious education course. So at seventeen, I read the Tao Te Ching and was floored by it. To a kid who is really starting to chafe against a childlike "just because" ideology ("I believe this just because I do"), Taoism's simplicity and seeming lack of dogma was very appealing**. Instead of worrying about lists of rules and requirements (which is how I saw Christianity at the time), Taoism calls for us to be in harmony with the flow of the universe, practice wu-wei (non-action; being still until the right path is revealed rather than actively seeking the path), and stop struggling against the inevitable and constant tide of change. Cool; I could handle this religion.
Of course, Taosim is one of those philosophies that seems exceedingly easy and yet takes a lifetime or more to master, something it holds in common with Christianity. It is easy, for example, to nod in agreement when Matthew 22:39-40 is read in church; it is very hard to practice Jesus' teaching with the co-worker you cannot stand or the driver who splashes you with dirty slush as s/he speeds by. In the same way, it is easy to intellectualize the benefit of "active passivity"--waiting patiently for the right moment instead of trying to force it. How much simpler could our lives be if we went with the flow more often instead of trying to shape events to our desires? Not so easy is the actual practice of this passivity in a world that is constantly telling us, "Go, go!"
Wu-wei is usually translated as "non-action" (though it should be noted that there are dozens of translations of the Tao Te Ching, which makes choosing one translation as iffy a process as choosing one translation of the Bible), though it's a little more complex than simply sitting still. It requires watching the flow of things and going with them rather than fighting against them. Instead of a person running in circles and trying to make events fit her/his desires, s/he should shape her/his desires to the flow of the universe. I think of wu-wei when I think of Jesus' exhortation to always watch for his coming (Mt 25:13, Mk13:32-37). We can't make him come and we don't know when he's coming, so we should be always watchful and ready. It's not a call to complete inaction but rather to one of more thoughtful action.
I can always count on a reading of the Tao Te Ching to soothe my mind, especially when I find myself flustered about what God wants me to be doing in my life. Far too often I become overwhelmed trying to discern the direction in which God is trying to lead me and I wind up spinning my wheels, paradoxically upset that I'm not going anywhere and yet unable to make myself go anywhere. Spending a bit of time on the Tao Te Ching helps me remember wu-wei and its passive action. Just as Elijah did not hear the voice of God in earthquakes and thunder but rather in stillness, I am frequently unable to hear God until I stop running after him and let him come to me.
*Interestingly enough, I met them both at Catholic school (which could be the subject of many posts in its own right), where I also had Muslim, Wiccan, Jewish, Seventh-Day Adventist and atheist friends. Needless to say, our theology classes could get very interesting.
**For a religion whose main text is short, direct, and based on yielding and simplicity, Taosim has a lot of commentary devoted to it. The only two books I actually remember reading aside from the Tao Te Ching itself are Benjamin Hoff's The Tao of Pooh and The Te of Piglet. This is perhaps one of the more telling things about my approach to religion.
Friday, November 16, 2007
What if you did?
What if we gave up and started living lives of joy in Christ? What kind of revolution would it cause? What kind of things would be done?
What if we stopped running from committee to committee and started to work in the world? What if we stopped debating the best way to bring people to the church and just walked down the street saying hello to our neighbors? What if we stopped agonizing over how much money we needed to bring in to meet operating expenses and actually followed Jesus' teachings regarding selling all we have for the poor? What if we spent less time nitpicking the meaning of the smallest word and more time living in the Spirit of all the Word?
What if we remembered the Gospel every moment of our lives? What if Jesus occupied a prominent place in our hearts and minds, even while we wait in line at the grocery store, even while we interact with our insufferable co-worker, even while we ride the bus? What if the Gospel implicated all of our actions and choices? What if we devoted less lip-service to Jesus and to our churches and gave ourselves over to acting in Christ? How much louder would those actions be than our words?
What if the Bible brought us joy? What if we didn't slog through its pages in an attempt to get through our assignment and move on to real life? What if the Bible was our real life? What if we tried to really and truly understand it instead of flippantly declaring the words on the surface as all there is*? What if we decided to spend our lives living with and wrestling with the Bible in the knowledge that true understanding was an impossible goal to be made for a single lifetime? What if we recognized this and decided not to care and saw the Bible not as a dried-up set of riles but as the Living Word, always changing and showing us different things based on where we were in our lives?
What if we decided to stop calling ourselves Christians and start acting like Christians? What if we lived our lives in the joy of being Christ's followers instead of the drudgery of serving a judgmental, vengeful God who was waiting for us to mess up?
Just a thought.
*I'm really bothered by the use of the Bible as some sort of straightforward handbook, like it's a car-repair manual or the instructions that come with a DVD player. I don't think the Bible is meant to be read like a series of directions which, if followed, will guarantee a certain outcome. I see it more like one of those "Choose Your Own Adventure" books--a little convoluted, every passage leading off to others which lead to others which lead back to the first passage.
What if we stopped running from committee to committee and started to work in the world? What if we stopped debating the best way to bring people to the church and just walked down the street saying hello to our neighbors? What if we stopped agonizing over how much money we needed to bring in to meet operating expenses and actually followed Jesus' teachings regarding selling all we have for the poor? What if we spent less time nitpicking the meaning of the smallest word and more time living in the Spirit of all the Word?
What if we remembered the Gospel every moment of our lives? What if Jesus occupied a prominent place in our hearts and minds, even while we wait in line at the grocery store, even while we interact with our insufferable co-worker, even while we ride the bus? What if the Gospel implicated all of our actions and choices? What if we devoted less lip-service to Jesus and to our churches and gave ourselves over to acting in Christ? How much louder would those actions be than our words?
What if the Bible brought us joy? What if we didn't slog through its pages in an attempt to get through our assignment and move on to real life? What if the Bible was our real life? What if we tried to really and truly understand it instead of flippantly declaring the words on the surface as all there is*? What if we decided to spend our lives living with and wrestling with the Bible in the knowledge that true understanding was an impossible goal to be made for a single lifetime? What if we recognized this and decided not to care and saw the Bible not as a dried-up set of riles but as the Living Word, always changing and showing us different things based on where we were in our lives?
What if we decided to stop calling ourselves Christians and start acting like Christians? What if we lived our lives in the joy of being Christ's followers instead of the drudgery of serving a judgmental, vengeful God who was waiting for us to mess up?
Just a thought.
*I'm really bothered by the use of the Bible as some sort of straightforward handbook, like it's a car-repair manual or the instructions that come with a DVD player. I don't think the Bible is meant to be read like a series of directions which, if followed, will guarantee a certain outcome. I see it more like one of those "Choose Your Own Adventure" books--a little convoluted, every passage leading off to others which lead to others which lead back to the first passage.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Wrapped up in books
Places I find truth other than the Bible, attempt number three:
I have a love affair with Judaism. For some reason, the religion has always called to me. The rituals, the rich tradition of ceremony, the emphasis on books and learning, the poetic language of prayer, the importance of the home and of home-based ceremonies, and the emphasis on community and culture are all important to me in my own path. I celebrate the major Jewish holidays (albeit in my own bastardized ways, which may or may not insult some people)--Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Passover. I love Jewish history, books about the Tanakh and Torah, Jewish commentary on Biblical and current issues. Though I am a Christian and attend a Christian church, Judaism has deepened my spiritual life and colored the way I see the world.
A lot of people would say that this is a variety of "cafeteria Christianity" (a term I despise). These people maintain that a person cannot call him/herself a true Christian unless s/he believes every last item on a certain list of tenets and not a single word otherwise. These people have bumper stickers declaring that a pro-choice person is not a Christian; they practice yoga under another name so as not to leave themselves open to heathenism; they have no room in their spiritual lives for anything that doesn't come directly from the Bible. But I think that there is wisdom to be found in the writings and mythology of people and cultures who have also had experiences with the Divine. Maybe it means I'm gliding through some cosmic cafeteria--but I can't help having the mental capacity to believe some things and not others.*
I find that understanding Judaism deepens my ability to understand Christianity. A basic knowledge of Jewish history, culture, and law explains why the Pharisees and scribes were so freaked out by Jesus and his teachings. Learning the prayers and holiday practices adds dimension to the images of Joseph and Mary dedicating Jesus in the Temple, taking him to Jerusalem for Passover, and to Jesus' later Passover celebrations. It helps add dimension, flavor, and texture to the passages about Jesus teaching and reading in the synagogues. Christians were Jews before they were Christians (and Jesus was a Jew all of his life), and Judaism influenced many aspects of Christian worship.
I'm sure my religious pluralism would be offensive to a lot of people. Many Christians would surely see my belief structure as a diluted Christianity, accuse me of being wishy-washy, and pray for my soul. Many Jews would certainly see me as a dabbler in the easy or trendy parts of Judaism, or see me as another Christian who points out the similarities between our religions in an attempt to convert. Maybe I am a dabbler, a person who skims from other religions instead of getting more deeply involved in my own. But I don't understand my faith that way. I prefer to recognize the similarities and common origins of different religions. And if reading the holy books of other religions helps me to better understand God, where is the wrong in that? I don't skim and I don't flit. I am a Christian and I am faithful to that. But I also see the value in other religious practices and I don't believe it is wrong to use them as vehicles on my path to God.
OK, we'll call this part one. At least I finally managed to stick to my topic.
*To me, "cafeteria Christian" applies to people who decide what parts of Christianity apply to them based on ease of applicability to their current lifestyles rather than a person who, say, reads the Biblical passages about homosexuality and decides, after much thought, research, and prayer, that they don't refer to loving, mutually-affirming, committed relationships. In popular parlance, though, it's thrown around to describe a Christian who supports gay rights or who is divorced or who supports keeping abortion legal (as opposed to simply "supporting abortion", which I've never of heard anyone doing). Very few people follow every single word of the entire Bible, and I find it interesting that we have terms used to describe those who don't follow the parts we ourselves follow as though we were one of those few.
I have a love affair with Judaism. For some reason, the religion has always called to me. The rituals, the rich tradition of ceremony, the emphasis on books and learning, the poetic language of prayer, the importance of the home and of home-based ceremonies, and the emphasis on community and culture are all important to me in my own path. I celebrate the major Jewish holidays (albeit in my own bastardized ways, which may or may not insult some people)--Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Passover. I love Jewish history, books about the Tanakh and Torah, Jewish commentary on Biblical and current issues. Though I am a Christian and attend a Christian church, Judaism has deepened my spiritual life and colored the way I see the world.
A lot of people would say that this is a variety of "cafeteria Christianity" (a term I despise). These people maintain that a person cannot call him/herself a true Christian unless s/he believes every last item on a certain list of tenets and not a single word otherwise. These people have bumper stickers declaring that a pro-choice person is not a Christian; they practice yoga under another name so as not to leave themselves open to heathenism; they have no room in their spiritual lives for anything that doesn't come directly from the Bible. But I think that there is wisdom to be found in the writings and mythology of people and cultures who have also had experiences with the Divine. Maybe it means I'm gliding through some cosmic cafeteria--but I can't help having the mental capacity to believe some things and not others.*
I find that understanding Judaism deepens my ability to understand Christianity. A basic knowledge of Jewish history, culture, and law explains why the Pharisees and scribes were so freaked out by Jesus and his teachings. Learning the prayers and holiday practices adds dimension to the images of Joseph and Mary dedicating Jesus in the Temple, taking him to Jerusalem for Passover, and to Jesus' later Passover celebrations. It helps add dimension, flavor, and texture to the passages about Jesus teaching and reading in the synagogues. Christians were Jews before they were Christians (and Jesus was a Jew all of his life), and Judaism influenced many aspects of Christian worship.
I'm sure my religious pluralism would be offensive to a lot of people. Many Christians would surely see my belief structure as a diluted Christianity, accuse me of being wishy-washy, and pray for my soul. Many Jews would certainly see me as a dabbler in the easy or trendy parts of Judaism, or see me as another Christian who points out the similarities between our religions in an attempt to convert. Maybe I am a dabbler, a person who skims from other religions instead of getting more deeply involved in my own. But I don't understand my faith that way. I prefer to recognize the similarities and common origins of different religions. And if reading the holy books of other religions helps me to better understand God, where is the wrong in that? I don't skim and I don't flit. I am a Christian and I am faithful to that. But I also see the value in other religious practices and I don't believe it is wrong to use them as vehicles on my path to God.
OK, we'll call this part one. At least I finally managed to stick to my topic.
*To me, "cafeteria Christian" applies to people who decide what parts of Christianity apply to them based on ease of applicability to their current lifestyles rather than a person who, say, reads the Biblical passages about homosexuality and decides, after much thought, research, and prayer, that they don't refer to loving, mutually-affirming, committed relationships. In popular parlance, though, it's thrown around to describe a Christian who supports gay rights or who is divorced or who supports keeping abortion legal (as opposed to simply "supporting abortion", which I've never of heard anyone doing). Very few people follow every single word of the entire Bible, and I find it interesting that we have terms used to describe those who don't follow the parts we ourselves follow as though we were one of those few.
Monday, November 5, 2007
I am searching, I am not alone
I started my last entry with the intention of writing about the places I find truth other than the Bible. Then I got lost on a tangent (as is my wont) about Biblical truth itself and I ended up with a completely different entry from the one I intended to write. Let's see if I manage to stay on my intended topic this time.
I have never been able to bring myself to believe that salvation is only for people who believe in a certain thing. In middle school, I was very good at finding loopholes, much the annoyance of those who wanted to teach me moral facts. I believe in a just God and I simply could not wrap my head around the concept that a person who had never heard of Jesus would be sent to Hell for this. When I got a little older, I realized how much of a person's religious knowledge comes from her/his upbringing, culture, and life experience. I know a lot of people think that standing on a street corner shouting slogans and handing out tracts is a good way to "win souls for Jesus", but the truth is that no one is going to convert because of such an encounter unless s/he has been contemplating Christianity for some time already. Condemning a person for choosing to remain with the religion s/he was raised in and had followed all her/his life seemed about as harsh as condemning her/him for having never heard of Christianity.
So I'm not into winning converts. If someone came to me and wanted to know about Christianity, I'd share what I know. But I believe we are judged by God for who we are and how we live rather than what we believe, and so I'm not really gung-ho about preaching Christianity to every person I meet. In CS Lewis' The Last Battle, Aslan (the Jesus figure, although it took me years to see the Christian allegory in the books, thick-headed child that I was) welcomes a man named Emeth into his kingdom. Emeth protests that he did not follow Aslan but rather the god Tash, to which Aslan replies, "all the service thou hast done to Tash, I accept as service done to me...no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him." When I read this, I was struck by the realization of its parallels to my beliefs. A good person is a good person regardless of whether s/he is good in order to obey Jesus Christ, attain Nirvana, or simply to be a good person. And I cannot believe that a kind, just, and loving God would send his children to Hell simply because they go to the wrong worship services.
In high school, I started to think about religion as a social construct, a man-made entity. I know a lot of people who, equating religion with spirituality, reject God along with Church as human devices. My conclusion was that every religion evolved as humankind's effort to understand and relate to God. I still don't believe that any one religion has the whole picture down. At the time, I thought this was a marvelously original way of looking at religion (as teenagers are wont to do), but I've since learned that far wiser people than myself have come to the same conclusion. It doesn't mean all religions are the same. I think there are profound differences between the paths walked by a Jew and a Hindu, a Muslim and a Buddhist, a Christian and a Zoroastrian. But perhaps those paths are closer together than we think. Perhaps they do end at the same place. Regardless, this belief makes it even less desirable to me to drag people onto my path. I'm not arrogant enough to think my path will work for everyone, although, as I've said, if someone expressed an interest in walking my path for a time, I'd be happy to share.
When I read the Bible, passages about withholding judgment from other people always leap out at me. Jesus tells us that we will be judged in the same way we judge others (Mt 7, Lk 6:37, Jn 8:15, the Lord's Prayer). Most of his teaching focus on how we should best love God and our neighbors, not on how we should make our neighbors stop acting in ways we find wrong. In John 8:1-11 (depending on the version you look at, which is neither here nor there), Jesus gives his famous "casting stones" pronouncement, telling a group of Pharisees that whichever of them has no sin may throw the first stone at a woman they have caught in adultery (no mention of the man, who was presumably also an adulterer, but this is again neither here nor there). So who am I to declare someone in need of salvation? It's enough for me to try and live my own life in a Godly way; how can I take it upon myself to tell others how to do so?
I'm all for "preaching by example"--living a Godly life and letting that speak for my religion. Perhaps this makes me a coward. Perhaps I am breaking Jesus' command to "preach to all nations". Perhaps I ought to be more vocal about my faith. But as I fail to see the effectiveness of in-your-face proselytizing, I don't understand why I should do it. The trick for me is to balance my desire to be accepting of other people's faiths with the work of being open about my own. I tend too often to be too laid-back, to the point of not discussing my faith at all. I have no real framework for discussing my faith without feeling preachy and I have not had much experience with inter-faith discussion that focuses on understanding rather than conversion. So it looks like my work is to learn how to be open and share my faith without the goal being to make the other participants in my conversation feel preached-to.
And once again, I deviated from my intended post by about the second sentence of the first paragraph. If I didn't think tangents were an excellent way of finding unexpected truth, I might be frustrated with my inability to stay on topic. I'll try again next time.
I have never been able to bring myself to believe that salvation is only for people who believe in a certain thing. In middle school, I was very good at finding loopholes, much the annoyance of those who wanted to teach me moral facts. I believe in a just God and I simply could not wrap my head around the concept that a person who had never heard of Jesus would be sent to Hell for this. When I got a little older, I realized how much of a person's religious knowledge comes from her/his upbringing, culture, and life experience. I know a lot of people think that standing on a street corner shouting slogans and handing out tracts is a good way to "win souls for Jesus", but the truth is that no one is going to convert because of such an encounter unless s/he has been contemplating Christianity for some time already. Condemning a person for choosing to remain with the religion s/he was raised in and had followed all her/his life seemed about as harsh as condemning her/him for having never heard of Christianity.
So I'm not into winning converts. If someone came to me and wanted to know about Christianity, I'd share what I know. But I believe we are judged by God for who we are and how we live rather than what we believe, and so I'm not really gung-ho about preaching Christianity to every person I meet. In CS Lewis' The Last Battle, Aslan (the Jesus figure, although it took me years to see the Christian allegory in the books, thick-headed child that I was) welcomes a man named Emeth into his kingdom. Emeth protests that he did not follow Aslan but rather the god Tash, to which Aslan replies, "all the service thou hast done to Tash, I accept as service done to me...no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him." When I read this, I was struck by the realization of its parallels to my beliefs. A good person is a good person regardless of whether s/he is good in order to obey Jesus Christ, attain Nirvana, or simply to be a good person. And I cannot believe that a kind, just, and loving God would send his children to Hell simply because they go to the wrong worship services.
In high school, I started to think about religion as a social construct, a man-made entity. I know a lot of people who, equating religion with spirituality, reject God along with Church as human devices. My conclusion was that every religion evolved as humankind's effort to understand and relate to God. I still don't believe that any one religion has the whole picture down. At the time, I thought this was a marvelously original way of looking at religion (as teenagers are wont to do), but I've since learned that far wiser people than myself have come to the same conclusion. It doesn't mean all religions are the same. I think there are profound differences between the paths walked by a Jew and a Hindu, a Muslim and a Buddhist, a Christian and a Zoroastrian. But perhaps those paths are closer together than we think. Perhaps they do end at the same place. Regardless, this belief makes it even less desirable to me to drag people onto my path. I'm not arrogant enough to think my path will work for everyone, although, as I've said, if someone expressed an interest in walking my path for a time, I'd be happy to share.
When I read the Bible, passages about withholding judgment from other people always leap out at me. Jesus tells us that we will be judged in the same way we judge others (Mt 7, Lk 6:37, Jn 8:15, the Lord's Prayer). Most of his teaching focus on how we should best love God and our neighbors, not on how we should make our neighbors stop acting in ways we find wrong. In John 8:1-11 (depending on the version you look at, which is neither here nor there), Jesus gives his famous "casting stones" pronouncement, telling a group of Pharisees that whichever of them has no sin may throw the first stone at a woman they have caught in adultery (no mention of the man, who was presumably also an adulterer, but this is again neither here nor there). So who am I to declare someone in need of salvation? It's enough for me to try and live my own life in a Godly way; how can I take it upon myself to tell others how to do so?
I'm all for "preaching by example"--living a Godly life and letting that speak for my religion. Perhaps this makes me a coward. Perhaps I am breaking Jesus' command to "preach to all nations". Perhaps I ought to be more vocal about my faith. But as I fail to see the effectiveness of in-your-face proselytizing, I don't understand why I should do it. The trick for me is to balance my desire to be accepting of other people's faiths with the work of being open about my own. I tend too often to be too laid-back, to the point of not discussing my faith at all. I have no real framework for discussing my faith without feeling preachy and I have not had much experience with inter-faith discussion that focuses on understanding rather than conversion. So it looks like my work is to learn how to be open and share my faith without the goal being to make the other participants in my conversation feel preached-to.
And once again, I deviated from my intended post by about the second sentence of the first paragraph. If I didn't think tangents were an excellent way of finding unexpected truth, I might be frustrated with my inability to stay on topic. I'll try again next time.
Monday, October 29, 2007
How will U know the truth?
Is the Bible all there is? In a lot of Christian circles, the Bible is considered to be God's inerrant word. Yes, there are reams and reams of paper used on books discussing the Bible, parsing its words, writing about the lives and sayings of saints, and telling us how to apply the Bible to our daily lives. Any Christian bookstore carries tons of these books (on the shelves that aren't devoted to Testamints, wishy-washy Christian pop CDs and fancy Bible covers for good Christians to tote God's word in style). But no one would say that these books are greater than the Bible. Most of them derive their messages from the Bible, and their readers are likely to maintain that the Bible is all a person needs to live a good life.
Which brings us to the fork in the road at which many people stand during crises of faith. Most of my church-and-religion-eschewing friends grew up in strict Bible-believing churches. The two paths at their fork were "Suck it up and believe that the Bible is God's direct, factual word" and "Stop believing in the Bible." I have always been surprised that a third fork, "Stop seeing the Bible as inerrant and learn about interpretation" doesn't exist, but when you grow up hearing that the only options are to believe completely or not at all, it's not much of a shock that most people choose the latter option when they are no longer able to choose the former.
Many people who have moved past accepting the Bible as inerrant truth do so because of the contradictions in purportedly factual stories. Everything from the number of troops in a battle to the events of Creation has two tellings, and those tellings are rarely identical. We can call these multiple representations poorly-concealed lies or we can accept them as the consequence of compiling multiple versions of a culture's mythology in one place. And accepting that Biblical stories are mythology (and that they are based on even older mythology involving--gasp!--tons of foreign gods and goddesses) doesn't make them less truthful; it just means we are dealing with a different sort of truth.
There is scientific truth, which can be supported using stringent testing and repeated by any person with the right equipment; the slightly-less-easy-to-prove historical truth, which rests on eyewitnesses and the words of the winners but which is still rooted in an actual event that people agree happened; then there is religious truth. Religious truth rests on morals and lessons derived from myths and parables. It can be found in the emotional cry of poetry or derived from apocryphal stories speaking to universal human experiences. Even if the Bible lacks scientific or historical truth, it can still be religiously true. We can still use it and its lessons to guide our lives.
To tell the truth, I'm not entirely sure how a person justifies these discrepancies if they claim the Bible is 100% true in all senses of the word. Do you just ignore the parts that disagree? Insist that sources disputing the Bible's scientific and historical truth are wrong? It's probably unfair of me, but I can't help but think that some degree of self-deception is involved in such a worldview. Regardless, the point is that believing in the religious truth of the Bible doesn't mean you also have to accept that every single word possesses full scientific and historical accuracy, and it doesn't mean that you can't question it or accept some parts more readily than others. I think this is probably more along the lines of what God wants--for us to use our minds to discern what is meant by the writings of the Bible, to decide what is meant by different parts, to make sense of what is being offered in its pages. And if that isn't truth, what is?
Which brings us to the fork in the road at which many people stand during crises of faith. Most of my church-and-religion-eschewing friends grew up in strict Bible-believing churches. The two paths at their fork were "Suck it up and believe that the Bible is God's direct, factual word" and "Stop believing in the Bible." I have always been surprised that a third fork, "Stop seeing the Bible as inerrant and learn about interpretation" doesn't exist, but when you grow up hearing that the only options are to believe completely or not at all, it's not much of a shock that most people choose the latter option when they are no longer able to choose the former.
Many people who have moved past accepting the Bible as inerrant truth do so because of the contradictions in purportedly factual stories. Everything from the number of troops in a battle to the events of Creation has two tellings, and those tellings are rarely identical. We can call these multiple representations poorly-concealed lies or we can accept them as the consequence of compiling multiple versions of a culture's mythology in one place. And accepting that Biblical stories are mythology (and that they are based on even older mythology involving--gasp!--tons of foreign gods and goddesses) doesn't make them less truthful; it just means we are dealing with a different sort of truth.
There is scientific truth, which can be supported using stringent testing and repeated by any person with the right equipment; the slightly-less-easy-to-prove historical truth, which rests on eyewitnesses and the words of the winners but which is still rooted in an actual event that people agree happened; then there is religious truth. Religious truth rests on morals and lessons derived from myths and parables. It can be found in the emotional cry of poetry or derived from apocryphal stories speaking to universal human experiences. Even if the Bible lacks scientific or historical truth, it can still be religiously true. We can still use it and its lessons to guide our lives.
To tell the truth, I'm not entirely sure how a person justifies these discrepancies if they claim the Bible is 100% true in all senses of the word. Do you just ignore the parts that disagree? Insist that sources disputing the Bible's scientific and historical truth are wrong? It's probably unfair of me, but I can't help but think that some degree of self-deception is involved in such a worldview. Regardless, the point is that believing in the religious truth of the Bible doesn't mean you also have to accept that every single word possesses full scientific and historical accuracy, and it doesn't mean that you can't question it or accept some parts more readily than others. I think this is probably more along the lines of what God wants--for us to use our minds to discern what is meant by the writings of the Bible, to decide what is meant by different parts, to make sense of what is being offered in its pages. And if that isn't truth, what is?
Friday, October 26, 2007
I am a man who has heard all he can
A lot of people grow up learning a lot about the divinity of Jesus. A major crux of the Christian faith is the belief that Jesus is the Son of God, a diving being in human form. He performed miracles, possessed great wisdom, and was resurrected from the dead. I think the emphasis on Jesus' place in the triune Godhead makes it difficult to think of Jesus as a person.
So what? Jesus is God--why does it matter if we see him as human? I think it matters quite a bit. We're told to call on Jesus, to pray in His name, to see him as our friend and intercessor. Many fundamentalists take this a step further and emphasize the importance of having a personal relationship with Jesus. But if we see Jesus as only divine, as only perfect, as only God, then He is distanced from us. That distance makes it difficult to envision a Christ who cares for us personally.
Theology aside, Jesus was a pretty cool dude. For starters, the man liked to party. His first miracle was, of course, turning water into wine at a wedding party (Jn 2:1-11). In Matthew 9:14-15 and Luke 7:34, we see that Jesus was thought by his contemporaries to be "a glutton and a drunkard" and that he and his disciples did not fast on the appropriate days (probably Jewish Holy days). Many of the Gospel stories start by mentioning that Jesus and his disciples were eating at someone's house.
Anger and frustration are emotions a lot of people are made to feel guilty about. I personally have a temper problem and have spent years trying to restrain my tongue. How nice to know that Jesus also had the same issues! The most memorable "Jesus gets pissed off" story is when he kicks out the moneychangers and bird-sellers from the Temple* (Mt 21:12-13, Mk 11:15-19, Lk 19:45-48, Jn 2:13-22). Jesus also tends to get mad when he is asked a "dumb question"--one he thinks the questioner should see the answer to. "How long must I be among this sinful generation!?" is a common question of Jesus, asked most often after he has been talking to the Pharisees. His frustration is not reserved only for his enemies, though--Jesus dishes out plenty of sarcasm to the disciples. Jesus calls Peter "Satan" when Peter does not understand the discussion about his impending death (Mt 16:23, Mk 8:32).
My favorite "Jesus gets pissed off story" is such because I can see myself doing it--and what a joy to feel even a small emotional link to Jesus! In both Matthew 21:18-19 and Mark 11:12-14, 20-21, Jesus is hungry and goes to pluck some figs from a tree he sees along the road. The tree had no figs because it was not fig season. He curses the tree and it withers. Many sources link this story to Jesus' discovery that the Temple in Jerusalem, like the tree, was bereft of any fruit. But I see it as much simpler--the man was hungry. Everyone has been hungry and cranky at some point. He wants some figs and the tree has none. So he pulls out the toddler in all of us and curses the tree.
Jesus wasn't just a partier with an anger control problem. Many of his miracles begin with someone asking Jesus for help and Jesus "taking pity" on them. He also heals people who are not among the Israelites who Jesus was sent to save (Mt 9:18-26, Mk 5:21-43, Lk 8:40-56, Mt 15: 21-28, Mk 7:24-30) because those people begged him for help. Often, Jesus' expressions of frustration with the disciples are followed by him further explaining what he has been telling them. He has a huge heart and cannot bear to see his people suffering in ignorance.
This isn't a comprehensive list; frankly, it's what I came up with on the fly. But it serves my point--Jesus was really and truly human and that side of him is just as important as his divinity. So many churches and lessons are so focused on the miraculous, divine, amazing nature of Jesus that they alienate us less-than-perfect people, us glitches, from feeling near to him. But Jesus isn't some remote holy being floating in the clouds. Jesus knew loss (he mourned the deaths of John the Baptist and Lazarus, his two friends), he knew loneliness, he knew anger, he knew fear (I defy anyone to read his words in Gethsemane and not feel the despair), he knew how to have a good time, and he knows what it's like to be us. And I think he would understand feeling like a glitch.
*An interesting side note is that the money changers and people selling animals were doing business in the Temple in order to facilitate the offering of sacrifices. I often wonder what Jesus would think of churches with gift shops or churches that hold bake sales.
So what? Jesus is God--why does it matter if we see him as human? I think it matters quite a bit. We're told to call on Jesus, to pray in His name, to see him as our friend and intercessor. Many fundamentalists take this a step further and emphasize the importance of having a personal relationship with Jesus. But if we see Jesus as only divine, as only perfect, as only God, then He is distanced from us. That distance makes it difficult to envision a Christ who cares for us personally.
Theology aside, Jesus was a pretty cool dude. For starters, the man liked to party. His first miracle was, of course, turning water into wine at a wedding party (Jn 2:1-11). In Matthew 9:14-15 and Luke 7:34, we see that Jesus was thought by his contemporaries to be "a glutton and a drunkard" and that he and his disciples did not fast on the appropriate days (probably Jewish Holy days). Many of the Gospel stories start by mentioning that Jesus and his disciples were eating at someone's house.
Anger and frustration are emotions a lot of people are made to feel guilty about. I personally have a temper problem and have spent years trying to restrain my tongue. How nice to know that Jesus also had the same issues! The most memorable "Jesus gets pissed off" story is when he kicks out the moneychangers and bird-sellers from the Temple* (Mt 21:12-13, Mk 11:15-19, Lk 19:45-48, Jn 2:13-22). Jesus also tends to get mad when he is asked a "dumb question"--one he thinks the questioner should see the answer to. "How long must I be among this sinful generation!?" is a common question of Jesus, asked most often after he has been talking to the Pharisees. His frustration is not reserved only for his enemies, though--Jesus dishes out plenty of sarcasm to the disciples. Jesus calls Peter "Satan" when Peter does not understand the discussion about his impending death (Mt 16:23, Mk 8:32).
My favorite "Jesus gets pissed off story" is such because I can see myself doing it--and what a joy to feel even a small emotional link to Jesus! In both Matthew 21:18-19 and Mark 11:12-14, 20-21, Jesus is hungry and goes to pluck some figs from a tree he sees along the road. The tree had no figs because it was not fig season. He curses the tree and it withers. Many sources link this story to Jesus' discovery that the Temple in Jerusalem, like the tree, was bereft of any fruit. But I see it as much simpler--the man was hungry. Everyone has been hungry and cranky at some point. He wants some figs and the tree has none. So he pulls out the toddler in all of us and curses the tree.
Jesus wasn't just a partier with an anger control problem. Many of his miracles begin with someone asking Jesus for help and Jesus "taking pity" on them. He also heals people who are not among the Israelites who Jesus was sent to save (Mt 9:18-26, Mk 5:21-43, Lk 8:40-56, Mt 15: 21-28, Mk 7:24-30) because those people begged him for help. Often, Jesus' expressions of frustration with the disciples are followed by him further explaining what he has been telling them. He has a huge heart and cannot bear to see his people suffering in ignorance.
This isn't a comprehensive list; frankly, it's what I came up with on the fly. But it serves my point--Jesus was really and truly human and that side of him is just as important as his divinity. So many churches and lessons are so focused on the miraculous, divine, amazing nature of Jesus that they alienate us less-than-perfect people, us glitches, from feeling near to him. But Jesus isn't some remote holy being floating in the clouds. Jesus knew loss (he mourned the deaths of John the Baptist and Lazarus, his two friends), he knew loneliness, he knew anger, he knew fear (I defy anyone to read his words in Gethsemane and not feel the despair), he knew how to have a good time, and he knows what it's like to be us. And I think he would understand feeling like a glitch.
*An interesting side note is that the money changers and people selling animals were doing business in the Temple in order to facilitate the offering of sacrifices. I often wonder what Jesus would think of churches with gift shops or churches that hold bake sales.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
This is the beginning.
So. I have decided to add my tiny raindrop voice to the giant ocean that is the blog world. Perhaps I will be the only person to ever read this, and that's cool. Mostly I need a space to discuss my religious/spiritual thoughts.
There is a conflict in my mind because I have long associated sharing the Gospel, talking about church, or even general religious discussion with evangelical fundamentalist Christians. As a result of this association, I am loathe to discuss my religious leanings lest someone think I am "one of those religious wackos." I know a great many people who associate religious emotion of any kind with fanaticism, and I've self-censored over the years to avoid being lumped in that group.
So here I am, a faithful person who is quiet about that faith. Perhaps this is the same as hiding my light under a bushel basket, equivalent to being a "Sunday-only Christian" who is content to sit in a pew for an hour each week and leave it all in the church building until next Sunday rolls around. The thought of this bothers me a lot.
I am also bothered by the fact that my religious reticence completely takes my stance out of the dialogue. I am giving my voice to the fundamentalists from whom I seek to distance myself. In handing over my voice, I align myself with them. because when people hear that I am a Christian, they will paint me with the brush used to paint the "wackos."
Hence, this blog. It may be a futile effort, never to be read by any but me. But at least it's there.
There is a conflict in my mind because I have long associated sharing the Gospel, talking about church, or even general religious discussion with evangelical fundamentalist Christians. As a result of this association, I am loathe to discuss my religious leanings lest someone think I am "one of those religious wackos." I know a great many people who associate religious emotion of any kind with fanaticism, and I've self-censored over the years to avoid being lumped in that group.
So here I am, a faithful person who is quiet about that faith. Perhaps this is the same as hiding my light under a bushel basket, equivalent to being a "Sunday-only Christian" who is content to sit in a pew for an hour each week and leave it all in the church building until next Sunday rolls around. The thought of this bothers me a lot.
I am also bothered by the fact that my religious reticence completely takes my stance out of the dialogue. I am giving my voice to the fundamentalists from whom I seek to distance myself. In handing over my voice, I align myself with them. because when people hear that I am a Christian, they will paint me with the brush used to paint the "wackos."
Hence, this blog. It may be a futile effort, never to be read by any but me. But at least it's there.
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