When I began running regularly, again, sometime mid-July, I didn’t have a specific goal in mind. Yes, I told myself I’d- maybe- train to join my brother-in-law for a triathlon. A small one. June 2012. Perhaps. We’ll see, though, if I’m still running in a month, I said. After all, it wasn’t the first time I’d tried a new exercise routine…
Well, it turns out that this time, it worked. As I write this, I’m preparing to run a half-marathon tomorrow. It’s not an organized event, mind you. Simply me and my headphones, running up and down Theodore Wirth Boulevard on my day off. I’ll run a route I planned that, Google maps assures me, is 13.1 miles. And the rest of the day, I’ll sit on my couch with ice packs nearby!
What’s funny to me, as I (nervously) anticipate tomorrow, is that this goal only came about gradually, after I began running. At first, I said, “I’ll ‘run’ to the end of the block and take a break.” Soon, it became, “Once I’ve gone 5 kilometers without stopping, I’ll buy a legit pair of running shoes.” (The initial pair was a Payless special- right price, poor for the knees). Only gradually did I begin wanting to go farther and dream bigger. My wife once ran a half-marathon, years ago. When I first heard that, I thought, “Sweetheart, you’re wonderful, but that’s crazy!” Until I found myself running too, getting farther and farther each time. The idea somehow emerged, then, “If she did it, maybe I can too!”
How do we go about setting and then achieving goals? And as Christians, do we ever set goals for growth in our own spiritual fitness? I’m sure some who’ve run marathons or half-marathons, or other such events, began with the idea itself: I’m running a marathon. They then tailored all their efforts to the task, beginning to end. But for me, it took baby steps (pun unintended). Indeed, my goal setting increased only as my endurance and confidence increased. And I wonder whether I’d be preparing for tomorrow if, from the get-go, I planned on this day.
Maybe. Certainly, that works for some. But this experience has helped me appreciate the value of incrementalism. That it’s not a failure of imagination, confidence or courage if you begin by setting a small goal, uncertain whether you’ll ever attempt more, simply content with where you’re at now and the slight progress you hope to achieve. In fact, as I reflect on, say, a challenge many small churches face, it feels similar- the pressure they feel, internal and external, to get bigger, to grow. Which isn’t a bad thing; indeed, I pray we too grow as a church! But one way many small churches respond to this pressure is taking on too much too fast. They’ll say, “We need to grow like that church down the street,” when that church down the street is 5, 10, 50 times their size. Thus, when they don’t find some magic bullet that makes worship attendance explode immediately, a tsunami of blaming or guilt can overwhelm the church, drowning their energy, deluging their confidence.
But what if, instead, they said, “We may never look like that church down the street. Nevertheless, what we do is faithful and important, and we want a few others to join the team.” Then, they set a simple goal- each member tell one person (whom they’ve never told!) about why they love their church. After which, maybe, they invite another person to join them on Sunday. And perhaps it continues, with a goal of leading just three new families to join, next year. That’s not a spiritual marathon, certainly, but momentum can build.
I suspect that same incremental goal setting might help more individual pursuits too: increasing your prayer life, Bible reading, charitable giving, your compassion. Even the greatest runners, surely, began slowly, simply, over short distances. And more to the point, even those who run a mile-a-day and will never dream of marathons are still healthier, happier, more energetic, I’d bet, than they’d be otherwise. And that’s a good goal, indeed.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Guest Voices…
Y’all know that my wife is an ordained minister too, and quite capable at that. If I do say so myself… Well, recently, a group called the “Young Clergy Woman’s Project” asked her to contribute a pastoral reflection on the impact of money on faith in modern life, and it was posted to their website last week. Personally, I found it quite interesting, and insightful. So rather than write my own letter this week, I wanted to share her work with you. I hope you enjoy it; I’ll be interested to hear your thoughts.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
P.S. - Pay close attention to final sentences. A declaration of Disciple of Christ belief if e’er I read one.
It's Just Math
by Tabitha Isner
“This is not class warfare—it’s math.”
On September 19th, President Obama proposed a deficit reduction plan that would be paid for by tax hikes for families making $250,000 or more annually, a group that makes up just 1.5% of the U.S. population. Conservative pundits expressed concerns that President Obama was either engaging in or encouraging “class warfare.” To this President Obama responded, “This is not class warfare—it’s math.”
At the same time, an “Occupy Wall Street” protest began in NYC, and now similar protests have spread around the world. Protesters at such events have made a habit of chanting “We are the 99 percent” in reference to the fact that 1% of the nation’s population is taking home a quarter of all income in the U.S. each year (a phenomenon eloquently described by Nobel Laureate economist Joseph Stiglitz’s article “Of the 1%, By the 1%, For the 1%” in Vanity Fair’s May 2011 issue).
It just so happens that I spend my days as a policy research analyst, so I’m used to thinking about the implications of what others see as mere numbers. But this particular debate – class warfare versus math – got me thinking theologically: Where does Jesus stand on class warfare?
That one is easy. Jesus does NOT like warfare. The Prince of Peace wouldn’t stand for it.
But wait…. how does Christ feel about math?
Searching my concordance, looking in the New Interpreter’s, flipping through my mental rolodex of dead theologians…. and …. Zilch. Where other sources failed, Google provided an answer:
Thank you, Google. That is, indeed, some Jesus math.
Despite the absurdity of an equation for salvation, the question is a real one: what does the Christian tradition say about the attitude we should take toward the rich in society?
The Bible has very little good to say about the rich and very little good advice for the rich. The rich are described as not allowing the poor even the scraps from their table. The rich are described as having their reward on earth and therefore not entitled to tenderness in death. It’s easier, we’re told, to get a camel through the eye of a needle than a rich man into heaven. And the only advice for a rich man: Go, sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor. In other words, stop being rich. Woe, woe, woe… to you who are rich.
So there you have it. The rich are in big trouble.
What a relief for the rest of us! If only those rich folks on Wall Street would do as Jesus says and give their money to the poor folks. The other 99% of us would really appreciate that.
But the disciples weren’t relieved to hear Jesus’ advice to the rich man; they were “greatly astounded.” They reply, “But Jesus! Then who can be saved?” Unlike 21st century USA, the disciples assumed only two categories of people: the rich and the poor. The poor were an easy-to-recognize group: widows, orphans, slaves, beggars, lepers, anyone who was crippled physically or mentally. Everybody else was rich. By degrees, perhaps, and types – farmer, herdsman, tradesman – but rich nonetheless. And that included the disciples, a group of fishermen, religious/political activists and one tax collector – all solidly middle class professions by modern standards. They were wandering homeless with Jesus, but they still did not claim to be poor.
The Bible, I believe, is profoundly concerned about wealth. Deeply suspicious of the rich. Highly preferential to the poor. It boldly demands that the rich give everything they have to the poor. Such a stance really could be interpreted as class warfare. Woe to the 1%! Woe to Wall Street!
But such an interpretation arbitrarily draws a line at 1%, deciding on a whim which of God’s beloved children have too much and allowing those with a penny less than the magic number to join the poor in wagging their collective finger.
Mathematically, we are indeed the 99%. But we’re not just the poorest 99%. We’re also the richest 99%. (I know you’re curious where exactly you rank, so go ahead, check your global wealth rank here and your U.S. wealth rank here.) And chances are, if you start factoring in the many advantages you have had in life, you’ll find that you are scoring awfully high on the “privilege scale.” (For example, if you’re clergy, you probably have a professional degree, in which case you are more educated than 97% of the U.S. population. [1])
Now I acknowledge that if the CEOs and Wall Street bankers of the world sold all their possessions and gave it to the poor, it would be significantly more cash than would come from your or my possessions. While the amount that the top 1% could (and should) give is bigger than what you or I could give, the obligation is shared. All of us – you, me, and Wall Street – we’re on the same side of this terrifying admonition to “give it all to the poor.”
So while income inequality and wealth distribution are serious injustices that our Christian faith calls us to address, we do not need to participate in a blame game that scapegoats the richest 1% for an economic system that they did not create alone. Treating the rich as outcasts or social pariahs is not how Christians are called to respond. Blame and demonization are simply not Christ-like approaches to rectifying injustice.
Now let me be clear. I support an overhaul of the tax system. I would advocate for an even more progressive tax policy than Obama has proposed. But I would like to do so while acknowledging my own participation in the economic system that produces such extreme inequalities. I would like to do so while also suggesting that educational inequalities, health care access, sexism and racism are contributing to the problem. I would like to do so while standing hand in hand with my neighbors who grew up on welfare and never left, my neighbors whose homes were destroyed by a tornado, and my neighbors with stock options and golden parachutes. Because standing together, we are more than 99%. We are whole.
(And that’s some math I think Jesus would appreciate.)
********
Gospel postscript: Having heard that “it is harder for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to get into heaven,” the greatly-astounded disciples asked Jesus, “Then who can be saved?” And Jesus looked at them and said, “For mortals it is impossible, but for God all things are possible.” And then Jesus led his middle (upper) class disciples on to the next adventure in faithfulness. Amen, I say, alleluia and amen.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
P.S. - Pay close attention to final sentences. A declaration of Disciple of Christ belief if e’er I read one.
It's Just Math
by Tabitha Isner
“This is not class warfare—it’s math.”
On September 19th, President Obama proposed a deficit reduction plan that would be paid for by tax hikes for families making $250,000 or more annually, a group that makes up just 1.5% of the U.S. population. Conservative pundits expressed concerns that President Obama was either engaging in or encouraging “class warfare.” To this President Obama responded, “This is not class warfare—it’s math.”
At the same time, an “Occupy Wall Street” protest began in NYC, and now similar protests have spread around the world. Protesters at such events have made a habit of chanting “We are the 99 percent” in reference to the fact that 1% of the nation’s population is taking home a quarter of all income in the U.S. each year (a phenomenon eloquently described by Nobel Laureate economist Joseph Stiglitz’s article “Of the 1%, By the 1%, For the 1%” in Vanity Fair’s May 2011 issue).
It just so happens that I spend my days as a policy research analyst, so I’m used to thinking about the implications of what others see as mere numbers. But this particular debate – class warfare versus math – got me thinking theologically: Where does Jesus stand on class warfare?
That one is easy. Jesus does NOT like warfare. The Prince of Peace wouldn’t stand for it.
But wait…. how does Christ feel about math?
Searching my concordance, looking in the New Interpreter’s, flipping through my mental rolodex of dead theologians…. and …. Zilch. Where other sources failed, Google provided an answer:
Thank you, Google. That is, indeed, some Jesus math.
Despite the absurdity of an equation for salvation, the question is a real one: what does the Christian tradition say about the attitude we should take toward the rich in society?
The Bible has very little good to say about the rich and very little good advice for the rich. The rich are described as not allowing the poor even the scraps from their table. The rich are described as having their reward on earth and therefore not entitled to tenderness in death. It’s easier, we’re told, to get a camel through the eye of a needle than a rich man into heaven. And the only advice for a rich man: Go, sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor. In other words, stop being rich. Woe, woe, woe… to you who are rich.
So there you have it. The rich are in big trouble.
What a relief for the rest of us! If only those rich folks on Wall Street would do as Jesus says and give their money to the poor folks. The other 99% of us would really appreciate that.
But the disciples weren’t relieved to hear Jesus’ advice to the rich man; they were “greatly astounded.” They reply, “But Jesus! Then who can be saved?” Unlike 21st century USA, the disciples assumed only two categories of people: the rich and the poor. The poor were an easy-to-recognize group: widows, orphans, slaves, beggars, lepers, anyone who was crippled physically or mentally. Everybody else was rich. By degrees, perhaps, and types – farmer, herdsman, tradesman – but rich nonetheless. And that included the disciples, a group of fishermen, religious/political activists and one tax collector – all solidly middle class professions by modern standards. They were wandering homeless with Jesus, but they still did not claim to be poor.
The Bible, I believe, is profoundly concerned about wealth. Deeply suspicious of the rich. Highly preferential to the poor. It boldly demands that the rich give everything they have to the poor. Such a stance really could be interpreted as class warfare. Woe to the 1%! Woe to Wall Street!
But such an interpretation arbitrarily draws a line at 1%, deciding on a whim which of God’s beloved children have too much and allowing those with a penny less than the magic number to join the poor in wagging their collective finger.
Mathematically, we are indeed the 99%. But we’re not just the poorest 99%. We’re also the richest 99%. (I know you’re curious where exactly you rank, so go ahead, check your global wealth rank here and your U.S. wealth rank here.) And chances are, if you start factoring in the many advantages you have had in life, you’ll find that you are scoring awfully high on the “privilege scale.” (For example, if you’re clergy, you probably have a professional degree, in which case you are more educated than 97% of the U.S. population. [1])
Now I acknowledge that if the CEOs and Wall Street bankers of the world sold all their possessions and gave it to the poor, it would be significantly more cash than would come from your or my possessions. While the amount that the top 1% could (and should) give is bigger than what you or I could give, the obligation is shared. All of us – you, me, and Wall Street – we’re on the same side of this terrifying admonition to “give it all to the poor.”
So while income inequality and wealth distribution are serious injustices that our Christian faith calls us to address, we do not need to participate in a blame game that scapegoats the richest 1% for an economic system that they did not create alone. Treating the rich as outcasts or social pariahs is not how Christians are called to respond. Blame and demonization are simply not Christ-like approaches to rectifying injustice.
Now let me be clear. I support an overhaul of the tax system. I would advocate for an even more progressive tax policy than Obama has proposed. But I would like to do so while acknowledging my own participation in the economic system that produces such extreme inequalities. I would like to do so while also suggesting that educational inequalities, health care access, sexism and racism are contributing to the problem. I would like to do so while standing hand in hand with my neighbors who grew up on welfare and never left, my neighbors whose homes were destroyed by a tornado, and my neighbors with stock options and golden parachutes. Because standing together, we are more than 99%. We are whole.
(And that’s some math I think Jesus would appreciate.)
********
Gospel postscript: Having heard that “it is harder for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to get into heaven,” the greatly-astounded disciples asked Jesus, “Then who can be saved?” And Jesus looked at them and said, “For mortals it is impossible, but for God all things are possible.” And then Jesus led his middle (upper) class disciples on to the next adventure in faithfulness. Amen, I say, alleluia and amen.
[1] http://www.census.gov/hhes/socdemo/education/data/cps/2009/tables.html
Read more!
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Lashing out…
I wrote recently about my emerging interest in running, and the exciting day I finally learned “to pace myself.” Well, like most serious new pursuits, my growth as a runner has included negative moments too. And I want to share something today that inspired neither pride nor pleasant feelings!
It’s about my dog, since I bring Fawkes on most runs. Which is good theory: Exercise for me and the puppy, all in one fell swoop. I’m healthier; she’s happier, and so eats fewer sofa cushions. It’s become where now, when I reach for running shoes, her tail begins wagging mightily in anticipation.
But the downside of Fawkes-the-canine-running-partner is her great, big lack of self-control. Especially around squirrels. Like in the movie Up, when a squirrel enters view, my dog stops everything to focus all attention on that little beasty. But rather than simply stare, Fawkes runs after the squirrel, initiating an unsolicited game of chase. In our backyard, that’s cute and funny. Indeed, the one time she actually caught a squirrel, Fawkes was so surprised/confused, it wiggled out and ran away before Fawkes decided what to do. But when I’m running, with Fawkes on her leash, every squirrel she chases means another strong pull against my arm and shoulders. Thus, I must stop my regular stride and breathing, restrain her, tell her no, then tug her along.
Mostly, this behavior’s just a nuisance, one I hope to train away. But I’ve learned that the longer the run goes (i.e. the more tired we both get), the worse her attention span becomes. And…the worse I respond. I recognized this dynamic soon after we began running together. Early in runs, she’ll go for squirrels, and I’m like, “No big deal.” Later on, though, when I’m sweating hard and breathing heavy, I’ve found myself yelling at my dog, aggressively and angrily- No! Stop!- trying to intimidate her into obedience, or whatever. I’ve made scenes in the middle of the street even- awkward dog owner screaming at pet. Not that anyone’s ever watching, but still, we use positive reinforcement with her as much as possible, since dog trainers claim that’s most effective. But apparently, when I’m tired, my patience plummets, and at least in this instance, I act in ways I don’t approve.
As I said, I’m learning about myself though running, even lessons I’d prefer to need! But at least, since I identified the tendency, I’ve become less controlled by it. Now, when I’m tired and Fawkes tugs, I restrain both her and myself! But I haven’t eliminated the instinct entirely. It’s still present, alas, and waiting to lash out.
Have you ever felt something similar? Not to avoid blame, but I suspect this whole “reacting poorly when I’m tired” phenomenon isn’t unique to me. Consider parenting. Since this happened, I’ve thought, “God bless my parents!” For not acting ridiculous when I was bratty and they were super tired. Sure, I remember times when they’d snap or lash out irrationally. But they did so much less frequently than I suspect they felt the urge, given how often I pushed and how tiring life can be! And never in abusive or damaging ways. Or how about schoolteachers? I remember some who seemed arbitrary with their punishments or emotionally fragile, even though they faced similar circumstances as other, more effective teachers. Perhaps they simply hadn’t learned to cope well with fatigue.
Years ago, I heard a Martin Luther quote that basically said, “I pray one hour a day. When I’m busy, though, I can’t survive with less than two.” I always thought that goofy, but this experience has shifted my perspective. I wonder if Martin also became less kind or patient or focused when fatigue, stress and busy-ness threatened to overwhelm. I know prayer, especially when done ahead-of-time(!!), helps me moderate the exhaustion factor and endure difficult times. That’s true for running with my dog, but also work, relationships, paying bills- whatever threatens emotional tranquility. But the key, perhaps, is simply learning what triggers you to lash out, and committing to responding better when they’re set off. That helps me, at least. And Fawkes, I’m sure, is grateful.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
It’s about my dog, since I bring Fawkes on most runs. Which is good theory: Exercise for me and the puppy, all in one fell swoop. I’m healthier; she’s happier, and so eats fewer sofa cushions. It’s become where now, when I reach for running shoes, her tail begins wagging mightily in anticipation.
But the downside of Fawkes-the-canine-running-partner is her great, big lack of self-control. Especially around squirrels. Like in the movie Up, when a squirrel enters view, my dog stops everything to focus all attention on that little beasty. But rather than simply stare, Fawkes runs after the squirrel, initiating an unsolicited game of chase. In our backyard, that’s cute and funny. Indeed, the one time she actually caught a squirrel, Fawkes was so surprised/confused, it wiggled out and ran away before Fawkes decided what to do. But when I’m running, with Fawkes on her leash, every squirrel she chases means another strong pull against my arm and shoulders. Thus, I must stop my regular stride and breathing, restrain her, tell her no, then tug her along.
Mostly, this behavior’s just a nuisance, one I hope to train away. But I’ve learned that the longer the run goes (i.e. the more tired we both get), the worse her attention span becomes. And…the worse I respond. I recognized this dynamic soon after we began running together. Early in runs, she’ll go for squirrels, and I’m like, “No big deal.” Later on, though, when I’m sweating hard and breathing heavy, I’ve found myself yelling at my dog, aggressively and angrily- No! Stop!- trying to intimidate her into obedience, or whatever. I’ve made scenes in the middle of the street even- awkward dog owner screaming at pet. Not that anyone’s ever watching, but still, we use positive reinforcement with her as much as possible, since dog trainers claim that’s most effective. But apparently, when I’m tired, my patience plummets, and at least in this instance, I act in ways I don’t approve.
As I said, I’m learning about myself though running, even lessons I’d prefer to need! But at least, since I identified the tendency, I’ve become less controlled by it. Now, when I’m tired and Fawkes tugs, I restrain both her and myself! But I haven’t eliminated the instinct entirely. It’s still present, alas, and waiting to lash out.
Have you ever felt something similar? Not to avoid blame, but I suspect this whole “reacting poorly when I’m tired” phenomenon isn’t unique to me. Consider parenting. Since this happened, I’ve thought, “God bless my parents!” For not acting ridiculous when I was bratty and they were super tired. Sure, I remember times when they’d snap or lash out irrationally. But they did so much less frequently than I suspect they felt the urge, given how often I pushed and how tiring life can be! And never in abusive or damaging ways. Or how about schoolteachers? I remember some who seemed arbitrary with their punishments or emotionally fragile, even though they faced similar circumstances as other, more effective teachers. Perhaps they simply hadn’t learned to cope well with fatigue.
Years ago, I heard a Martin Luther quote that basically said, “I pray one hour a day. When I’m busy, though, I can’t survive with less than two.” I always thought that goofy, but this experience has shifted my perspective. I wonder if Martin also became less kind or patient or focused when fatigue, stress and busy-ness threatened to overwhelm. I know prayer, especially when done ahead-of-time(!!), helps me moderate the exhaustion factor and endure difficult times. That’s true for running with my dog, but also work, relationships, paying bills- whatever threatens emotional tranquility. But the key, perhaps, is simply learning what triggers you to lash out, and committing to responding better when they’re set off. That helps me, at least. And Fawkes, I’m sure, is grateful.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
A Good Life…
Last month I had a “milestone” birthday: on October 9, I turned thirty. If you weren’t in service that morning, you should know they called a surprise “congregational meeting.” The one item on the agenda was presenting me with gifts- Depends, Geritol, reading glasses and a Gift Card. For the generous gift card, I want to say Thank You! For the other stuff, I’ll get to gratitude in a few decades.
Anyway, the expectation with birthdays that end in -0, so it seems, is that you ‘reflect’ on “what it all means.” Honestly, I think that’s overdramatic. Turning 30, 50, or 90 means whatever you choose to make of it. Nevertheless, in recent weeks it’s sunk in that I’m approaching the day I must officially drop ‘young’ before self-describing as an ‘adult.’ I’ve still got a few years, but it’s coming, I realize now. Thus, some might say, “Panic!” But it’s alright by me.
I mean, I’ve never fully understood why some folk fear aging as much as they claim. Sure, our culture nurtures some deeply hostile attitudes toward old age. Youth is idolized while many older adults are encouraged to live segregated from much society. Perhaps many young folk, then, never spend time with their elders; never learning their wisdom, understanding their struggles, realizing that we’ve all got a lot in common. Who knows?
One distinction worth thinking about, though, between people at different stations in life is the amount of time spent looking forward or looking back. I’ve never seen any studies on this, so I’m just guessing here. But I imagine that the older one gets, the more one’s mix between reminiscing and ‘dreaming about the future’ changes. If for no other reason then you have more memories to ponder the older you get! I know some who’d say all that’s dangerous, that we must always strive to live “in the present”, not muse over days gone by or fantasize about what might come. Which is an alright idea, in some regards, but I’m not convinced it’s always the best goal.
Consider this: We Christians are approaching Advent; it begins November 27, in fact. So from then until Christmas, we’ll spend time remembering the past, one particular set of events even. And we do this annually; talk of angels and shepherds, Magi and the baby Jesus, trusting that somehow we’ll discover something new, enriching and meaningful in the same ole stories. Is that the same as ‘living in the past’? Maybe. I know some churches for whom every Sunday, but especially those around the holidays, are excuses to dwell in days gone by; better times, they tell themselves, simpler and serene.
To those churches and their members I would absolutely say: Stop remembering, and start living- Now, in the present! But I don’t think that describes Plymouth Creek. I hope that whenever we look back- to the birth of Jesus, the founding of our denomination, the good and difficult times this congregation has faced- we do so expecting to rediscover God’s presence, and thus get a better sense of what to look for in days ahead. That’s how faith works, when it’s working well. The people of God remembering what good things God’s done, so we’re better prepared for the exciting mission to come.
It’s with that double sense of time- of what was and what will be- that I hope we enter this Advent/Christmas season together. In fact, taken from the lyrics of a gleefully infectious pop song by the band OneRepublic, I’ve decided to give the 2011 season the following theme: “This Could Really Be a Good Life”. It applies, obviously, to the birth of Jesus, and our remembering what great things that baby would do for the world one day. But I hope that as we celebrate all the wonder and joy of his good, good life, we’ll re-claim those things for ourselves, our families and our church. For truly, in the life of faith, what was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be. And as the birth of the baby Jesus reminds us, what that is is good. Very good. For all the world.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Anyway, the expectation with birthdays that end in -0, so it seems, is that you ‘reflect’ on “what it all means.” Honestly, I think that’s overdramatic. Turning 30, 50, or 90 means whatever you choose to make of it. Nevertheless, in recent weeks it’s sunk in that I’m approaching the day I must officially drop ‘young’ before self-describing as an ‘adult.’ I’ve still got a few years, but it’s coming, I realize now. Thus, some might say, “Panic!” But it’s alright by me.
I mean, I’ve never fully understood why some folk fear aging as much as they claim. Sure, our culture nurtures some deeply hostile attitudes toward old age. Youth is idolized while many older adults are encouraged to live segregated from much society. Perhaps many young folk, then, never spend time with their elders; never learning their wisdom, understanding their struggles, realizing that we’ve all got a lot in common. Who knows?
One distinction worth thinking about, though, between people at different stations in life is the amount of time spent looking forward or looking back. I’ve never seen any studies on this, so I’m just guessing here. But I imagine that the older one gets, the more one’s mix between reminiscing and ‘dreaming about the future’ changes. If for no other reason then you have more memories to ponder the older you get! I know some who’d say all that’s dangerous, that we must always strive to live “in the present”, not muse over days gone by or fantasize about what might come. Which is an alright idea, in some regards, but I’m not convinced it’s always the best goal.
Consider this: We Christians are approaching Advent; it begins November 27, in fact. So from then until Christmas, we’ll spend time remembering the past, one particular set of events even. And we do this annually; talk of angels and shepherds, Magi and the baby Jesus, trusting that somehow we’ll discover something new, enriching and meaningful in the same ole stories. Is that the same as ‘living in the past’? Maybe. I know some churches for whom every Sunday, but especially those around the holidays, are excuses to dwell in days gone by; better times, they tell themselves, simpler and serene.
To those churches and their members I would absolutely say: Stop remembering, and start living- Now, in the present! But I don’t think that describes Plymouth Creek. I hope that whenever we look back- to the birth of Jesus, the founding of our denomination, the good and difficult times this congregation has faced- we do so expecting to rediscover God’s presence, and thus get a better sense of what to look for in days ahead. That’s how faith works, when it’s working well. The people of God remembering what good things God’s done, so we’re better prepared for the exciting mission to come.
It’s with that double sense of time- of what was and what will be- that I hope we enter this Advent/Christmas season together. In fact, taken from the lyrics of a gleefully infectious pop song by the band OneRepublic, I’ve decided to give the 2011 season the following theme: “This Could Really Be a Good Life”. It applies, obviously, to the birth of Jesus, and our remembering what great things that baby would do for the world one day. But I hope that as we celebrate all the wonder and joy of his good, good life, we’ll re-claim those things for ourselves, our families and our church. For truly, in the life of faith, what was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be. And as the birth of the baby Jesus reminds us, what that is is good. Very good. For all the world.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Blurry vision…
I don’t often read poetry. No reason; just don’t. But when I do, some verse may catch my attention, and occupy it for awhile. Like, in the case of the following poem, about ten years:
I- How wisely Nature did decree,
With the same eyes to weep and see!
That, having viewed the object vain,
They might be ready to complain.
II- What in the world most fair appears,
Yea, even laughter, turns to tears…
Yet happy they whom grief doth bless,
That weep the more, and see the less…
III- So Magdalen, in tears more wise
Dissolved those captivating eyes,
Whose liquid chains could flowing meet
To fetter her Redeemers feet.
IV- Ope then mine eyes your double sluice,
And practice so your noblest use.
For others too can see, or sleep;
But only human eyes can weep.
V- Thus let your streams o’erflow your springs,
Till eyes and tears be the same things:
And each the other’s difference bears;
These weeping eyes, those seeing tears.
It sounds old, right? Because it is; written in 17th Century England. Nevertheless, when I first read it, I was struck by how contemporary the idea felt; specifically that tears could somehow supplement the data eyes pass along.
That’s not how some folk talk, after all. Think of ‘eyes’ in the poem as a metaphor for reason and information, and ‘tears’ another metaphor for feelings and emotion. In which case, what ‘eyes see’ is commonly thought not assisted, but impeded by ‘tears.’ Indeed, the mature adult, some say, ought separate such things. Feel your emotions, but don’t let them infect your thinking.
At least, that used to be the standard. In recent years, however, philosophers and scientists have challenged such notions, suggesting that we’d be better decision-makers, analysts, even spectators if we integrated hearts with minds. Or, in the poem’s language, let ‘eyes and tears be the same things.’ Imagine detachedly assessing your child, listing pros and cons, in order to determine whether to invest in her/his future. Ridiculous, right?! You’d miss a key ingredient- love. In other words, a thoughtful person must also be an emotionally developed person. And vice verse for those who feel deeply, but think little about it.
Why does this matter for Christians? Well, I’ve been wondering recently how y’all understand the Holy Spirit. You know, that part of the Trinity many find uncomfortable, or embarrassing… It comes to mind because, during a recent worship service, I found myself holding back tears. And this wasn’t the first time; in fact, it happens regularly. During sermons, listening to prayer, singing a moving song. All these experiences and more can induce my eyes to well up.
Strange? That’s what I thought at first too! Until I realized (after hearing another Christian I admire admit the same) that this may just be how the Holy Spirit does Her work in me. Maybe that’s over-dramatizing something I should talk about in therapy… But assuming not, I truly believe that when the Spirit moves in my life, S/He often starts at my tear ducts.
Or to put it differently- Perhaps, during those times when all my typical distractions, doubts and frustrations fade away and I’m finally focused first on God, my spirit touches something, connects with someone divine. And the way it informs me is tears. Doesn’t happen always at church or in prayer, or even often, but when it does, it usually feels the same. Not like I’m about to break down; just the beginning of tears. But it’s enough, apparently, to entice me to ‘open my eyes wider’, to ‘look’ more closely at what’s happening.
I admit- I could be weird, but I suspect it’s a bigger phenomenon than me. So I wonder if maybe the Holy Spirit sometimes uses our emotional lives to tell our rational minds when to pay better attention. Which isn’t the same as hearing God speak clearly, like with a British accent! Simply God utilizing our whole selves- spirit, mind, heart- to bring awareness to God’s wondrous presence, and teach God’s Holy ways. “Those seeing tears,” indeed…
Does that make sense? How do you “feel,” “sense,” “hear/see/experience” the Holy Spirit?
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
I- How wisely Nature did decree,
With the same eyes to weep and see!
That, having viewed the object vain,
They might be ready to complain.
II- What in the world most fair appears,
Yea, even laughter, turns to tears…
Yet happy they whom grief doth bless,
That weep the more, and see the less…
III- So Magdalen, in tears more wise
Dissolved those captivating eyes,
Whose liquid chains could flowing meet
To fetter her Redeemers feet.
IV- Ope then mine eyes your double sluice,
And practice so your noblest use.
For others too can see, or sleep;
But only human eyes can weep.
V- Thus let your streams o’erflow your springs,
Till eyes and tears be the same things:
And each the other’s difference bears;
These weeping eyes, those seeing tears.
It sounds old, right? Because it is; written in 17th Century England. Nevertheless, when I first read it, I was struck by how contemporary the idea felt; specifically that tears could somehow supplement the data eyes pass along.
That’s not how some folk talk, after all. Think of ‘eyes’ in the poem as a metaphor for reason and information, and ‘tears’ another metaphor for feelings and emotion. In which case, what ‘eyes see’ is commonly thought not assisted, but impeded by ‘tears.’ Indeed, the mature adult, some say, ought separate such things. Feel your emotions, but don’t let them infect your thinking.
At least, that used to be the standard. In recent years, however, philosophers and scientists have challenged such notions, suggesting that we’d be better decision-makers, analysts, even spectators if we integrated hearts with minds. Or, in the poem’s language, let ‘eyes and tears be the same things.’ Imagine detachedly assessing your child, listing pros and cons, in order to determine whether to invest in her/his future. Ridiculous, right?! You’d miss a key ingredient- love. In other words, a thoughtful person must also be an emotionally developed person. And vice verse for those who feel deeply, but think little about it.
Why does this matter for Christians? Well, I’ve been wondering recently how y’all understand the Holy Spirit. You know, that part of the Trinity many find uncomfortable, or embarrassing… It comes to mind because, during a recent worship service, I found myself holding back tears. And this wasn’t the first time; in fact, it happens regularly. During sermons, listening to prayer, singing a moving song. All these experiences and more can induce my eyes to well up.
Strange? That’s what I thought at first too! Until I realized (after hearing another Christian I admire admit the same) that this may just be how the Holy Spirit does Her work in me. Maybe that’s over-dramatizing something I should talk about in therapy… But assuming not, I truly believe that when the Spirit moves in my life, S/He often starts at my tear ducts.
Or to put it differently- Perhaps, during those times when all my typical distractions, doubts and frustrations fade away and I’m finally focused first on God, my spirit touches something, connects with someone divine. And the way it informs me is tears. Doesn’t happen always at church or in prayer, or even often, but when it does, it usually feels the same. Not like I’m about to break down; just the beginning of tears. But it’s enough, apparently, to entice me to ‘open my eyes wider’, to ‘look’ more closely at what’s happening.
I admit- I could be weird, but I suspect it’s a bigger phenomenon than me. So I wonder if maybe the Holy Spirit sometimes uses our emotional lives to tell our rational minds when to pay better attention. Which isn’t the same as hearing God speak clearly, like with a British accent! Simply God utilizing our whole selves- spirit, mind, heart- to bring awareness to God’s wondrous presence, and teach God’s Holy ways. “Those seeing tears,” indeed…
Does that make sense? How do you “feel,” “sense,” “hear/see/experience” the Holy Spirit?
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Friday, October 21, 2011
Settling in…
After a long hiatus, I began regularly exercising again mid-July. And as you might expect, it’s been a blessing. The break in my previous workout routine wasn’t planned, or even desired, but then again, they never are, right?! It started around the time we bought a puppy, I’ve noticed, but I’ll try not to blame Fawkes. Anyway, the point is I’ve rejoined the ranks of the regularly exercising. Yeah!
It’s different this time, however. Rather than lift weights, now I’m running. I find this funny, since running has always seemed like torture to me. And thus, for the first few weeks , I ran regularly, but I haaaated it! Part of the issue was that those days were wickedly hot. Plus- of course- was the fact I was wickedly out of shape. But mostly, I’ve learned, was that I’d never accepted something a good runner must: you can’t win the race if you burn yourself out on mile 1.
This lesson hit me one morning early August, when for whatever reason, I decided to go slow. Typically, before then, I wouldn’t allow myself such sluggishness. I’d always “push myself,” go faster, trying to keep up with, well, who knows! But that morning I felt tired or entitled, since I’d run the previous four. Regardless the cause, I started running and settled into what felt like a snail’s pace. And what’s more, I kept at that pace despite frequent feelings of needing to speed up. But what do you know: When I finished that run, I’d gone farther, faster, with fewer stops than ever before!
Which makes sense, theoretically, Slow and Steady wins the race and all that. Still, it’s one thing to know what works, and another to feel it, in your bones. After that run, I felt it, and it was a milestone for me. Suddenly, running was no longer torture, but a legitimate exercise activity. Strange, my friends, but true.
Well- surprise, surprise- I have since spiritualized the experience, figuring that what works for distance running might have other applications too. Like, say, prayer, and especially developing a daily pattern in one’s life. Have you ever tried doing this after a time of not praying much? I have, and like my first experiences of jogging this summer, I began way too fast. I’d expect of myself, say, thrice daily for significant minutes each time. Or I’d get three prayer books and ‘commit’ to reading from them all, every day. Unsurprisingly, that created burnout, and it settled in quick. Thus, the daily prayer experiment ended before it really got going.
Other times, however, I’ve treated prayer (and this applies to most spiritual practices, really, like meditation, scripture reading, fasting, journaling, cooking…) much like my body. I’ve recognized it can be disciplined, trained, built up and strengthened. But it takes time to move from one level to the next, as your spirit get more used to strenuous, lengthy exercise. Like my body while running, my spirit while praying is susceptible to fatigue and burnout. And this comparison works particularly well when you think about God’s reaction.
Do you think God expects us all, already, always, to be marathon-trained prayer athletes? Or is it God’s desire to simply hear from us, be with us in prayer more regularly? Answer: B. Which you know as well Read more!
It’s different this time, however. Rather than lift weights, now I’m running. I find this funny, since running has always seemed like torture to me. And thus, for the first few weeks , I ran regularly, but I haaaated it! Part of the issue was that those days were wickedly hot. Plus- of course- was the fact I was wickedly out of shape. But mostly, I’ve learned, was that I’d never accepted something a good runner must: you can’t win the race if you burn yourself out on mile 1.
This lesson hit me one morning early August, when for whatever reason, I decided to go slow. Typically, before then, I wouldn’t allow myself such sluggishness. I’d always “push myself,” go faster, trying to keep up with, well, who knows! But that morning I felt tired or entitled, since I’d run the previous four. Regardless the cause, I started running and settled into what felt like a snail’s pace. And what’s more, I kept at that pace despite frequent feelings of needing to speed up. But what do you know: When I finished that run, I’d gone farther, faster, with fewer stops than ever before!
Which makes sense, theoretically, Slow and Steady wins the race and all that. Still, it’s one thing to know what works, and another to feel it, in your bones. After that run, I felt it, and it was a milestone for me. Suddenly, running was no longer torture, but a legitimate exercise activity. Strange, my friends, but true.
Well- surprise, surprise- I have since spiritualized the experience, figuring that what works for distance running might have other applications too. Like, say, prayer, and especially developing a daily pattern in one’s life. Have you ever tried doing this after a time of not praying much? I have, and like my first experiences of jogging this summer, I began way too fast. I’d expect of myself, say, thrice daily for significant minutes each time. Or I’d get three prayer books and ‘commit’ to reading from them all, every day. Unsurprisingly, that created burnout, and it settled in quick. Thus, the daily prayer experiment ended before it really got going.
Other times, however, I’ve treated prayer (and this applies to most spiritual practices, really, like meditation, scripture reading, fasting, journaling, cooking…) much like my body. I’ve recognized it can be disciplined, trained, built up and strengthened. But it takes time to move from one level to the next, as your spirit get more used to strenuous, lengthy exercise. Like my body while running, my spirit while praying is susceptible to fatigue and burnout. And this comparison works particularly well when you think about God’s reaction.
Do you think God expects us all, already, always, to be marathon-trained prayer athletes? Or is it God’s desire to simply hear from us, be with us in prayer more regularly? Answer: B. Which you know as well Read more!
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Then I’m strong…
Last March, I tried making a “poor man’s green bean casserole.” And it was bad. Very bad. Desperately terrible. Multiple things went wrong- substandard ingredients, haphazard planning. But the biggest issue was, I realized latter, my overcompensating for weak sauce.
Here’s what happened. I gathered stirred everything together and let the casserole bake. After pulling it from the oven, I dutifully dipped in my tasting spoon. But it didn’t taste like I’d expected; indeed, it barely tasted at all! So to ‘spice things up,’ I added extra ingredients, then seasoned the concoction with (way too much) salt. When the next tasting revealed I’d overdone the saltiness, I added more extra ingredients and tasted again. This led to another round of seasoning, then another round of spices, until the flavor profile became more muddled than my fifth grade band practice.
Now, I’m certain experienced cooks would have much to critique. But what I learned from the failure was the value of incremental pacing. Especially when a sauce is weak, ‘shock and awe’ is not the best strategy for making it edible. Pinches of paprika perhaps, a miniscule measurement of marjoram…maybe. But handfuls of sodium and ounces of cayenne can put sauce past the point of no return. Quickly. I should’ve remembered my Aesop’s fables, and proceeded tortoise like- Slow and Steady. It may not have worked anyway, but would’ve given the food a fighting chance.
I mention this regrettable episode in light of something I did last week. As part of this year’s CROP Walk, I fasted for a day in solidarity with the hungry folk for whom we walked. I’ve fasted before, and each time is unique. So what struck me this time was how weak I felt as the day went on. Certainly, the feeling was relative. Skipping a few meals is far from what famine-stricken Somalis are currently enduring. Nevertheless, as I performed simple tasks or ran errands, what started with slight hunger pains become a full-bodied yearning for sustenance. And what surprised most was how distracting that was; the large disruption this emerging weakness imposed on my ability to focus or think.
Which prompted a spiritual question: When you feel weak, is it helpful to summon all your strength and try overwhelming weakness with a kind of spiritual/psychical ‘shock and awe’? Or is that counter-productive? Take, for example, the experience of starting something new (a ministry at church, workout regime, pattern of behavior, prayer routine). Almost regardless of what it is, a newbie will feel vulnerable, even ‘weak.’ Yes, you might really want to do this new thing; saw how meaningful it was for others. But it requires learning much you don’t know, building skills you don’t have, letting go of old habits and occasionally failing. Some, of course, try the shock and awe method- work at it real hard, non-stop until they no longer feel uncomfortable. But how many diets have been scuttled by pushing too hard, too soon? Getting good at something takes repetition, and so for most folk, patience.
A favorite section of mine in the Bible deals with cultivating patience as regards weakness. It may not work for everything, but it’s worth pondering. In 2 Corinthians 12, regarding an unnamed weakness, Paul hears God say, “My grace is sufficient for you. For my power is made perfect in weakness.” In other words, rather than battle what troubled him with the strength of his psychological fortitude, instead Paul practiced turning it over to God. Which wasn’t a one-time experience. But that makes sense. Ever asked for forgiveness? Or tried forgiving someone else? Didn’t happen all at once, did it? But, if you took time to cultivate spiritual endurance by regularly admitting your need for God’s grace, that may not have made things easy, but I’d bet it helped. A lot!
Certainly, when I felt weak while fasting, it was better to admit that feeling and release it to God, rather than scold myself for not trying harder to focus better. With that tactic, the weakness didn’t dissipate immediately. But as I repeated, slowly but surely I felt better.
Now if only I can replicate in my cooking…
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Here’s what happened. I gathered stirred everything together and let the casserole bake. After pulling it from the oven, I dutifully dipped in my tasting spoon. But it didn’t taste like I’d expected; indeed, it barely tasted at all! So to ‘spice things up,’ I added extra ingredients, then seasoned the concoction with (way too much) salt. When the next tasting revealed I’d overdone the saltiness, I added more extra ingredients and tasted again. This led to another round of seasoning, then another round of spices, until the flavor profile became more muddled than my fifth grade band practice.
Now, I’m certain experienced cooks would have much to critique. But what I learned from the failure was the value of incremental pacing. Especially when a sauce is weak, ‘shock and awe’ is not the best strategy for making it edible. Pinches of paprika perhaps, a miniscule measurement of marjoram…maybe. But handfuls of sodium and ounces of cayenne can put sauce past the point of no return. Quickly. I should’ve remembered my Aesop’s fables, and proceeded tortoise like- Slow and Steady. It may not have worked anyway, but would’ve given the food a fighting chance.
I mention this regrettable episode in light of something I did last week. As part of this year’s CROP Walk, I fasted for a day in solidarity with the hungry folk for whom we walked. I’ve fasted before, and each time is unique. So what struck me this time was how weak I felt as the day went on. Certainly, the feeling was relative. Skipping a few meals is far from what famine-stricken Somalis are currently enduring. Nevertheless, as I performed simple tasks or ran errands, what started with slight hunger pains become a full-bodied yearning for sustenance. And what surprised most was how distracting that was; the large disruption this emerging weakness imposed on my ability to focus or think.
Which prompted a spiritual question: When you feel weak, is it helpful to summon all your strength and try overwhelming weakness with a kind of spiritual/psychical ‘shock and awe’? Or is that counter-productive? Take, for example, the experience of starting something new (a ministry at church, workout regime, pattern of behavior, prayer routine). Almost regardless of what it is, a newbie will feel vulnerable, even ‘weak.’ Yes, you might really want to do this new thing; saw how meaningful it was for others. But it requires learning much you don’t know, building skills you don’t have, letting go of old habits and occasionally failing. Some, of course, try the shock and awe method- work at it real hard, non-stop until they no longer feel uncomfortable. But how many diets have been scuttled by pushing too hard, too soon? Getting good at something takes repetition, and so for most folk, patience.
A favorite section of mine in the Bible deals with cultivating patience as regards weakness. It may not work for everything, but it’s worth pondering. In 2 Corinthians 12, regarding an unnamed weakness, Paul hears God say, “My grace is sufficient for you. For my power is made perfect in weakness.” In other words, rather than battle what troubled him with the strength of his psychological fortitude, instead Paul practiced turning it over to God. Which wasn’t a one-time experience. But that makes sense. Ever asked for forgiveness? Or tried forgiving someone else? Didn’t happen all at once, did it? But, if you took time to cultivate spiritual endurance by regularly admitting your need for God’s grace, that may not have made things easy, but I’d bet it helped. A lot!
Certainly, when I felt weak while fasting, it was better to admit that feeling and release it to God, rather than scold myself for not trying harder to focus better. With that tactic, the weakness didn’t dissipate immediately. But as I repeated, slowly but surely I felt better.
Now if only I can replicate in my cooking…
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
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