Max Lucado:
The one who wants to lead the orchestra has to turn his back on the crowd
For not being able to pray, this prayer of Edward Hirsch is one of the finest:
I Was Never Able To Pray
Wheel me down to the shore
where the lighthouse was abandoned
and the moon tolls in the rafters.
Let me hear the wind paging through the trees
and see the stars flaring out, one by one,
like the forgotten faces of the dead.
I was never able to pray,
but let me inscribe my name
in the book of waves
and then stare into the dome
of a sky that never ends
and see my voice sail into the night.
Spirituality and Autism
Posted: January 20, 2012 in UncategorizedTags: Spirituality and Autism; All God's Children
This year we launched into challenging, but important waters; we began a ministry for and with children with disabilities, many of whom are on the autistic spectrum. Our care and support is also offered to the parents and families of these children who also need spiritual nurture. We meet during one hour on Sunday morning, opposite a worship service where parents and typical siblings can charge their own batteries. Our director designs the curriculum and trains our awesome volunteers. An advisory committee of very sharp folks worked for a year to research and plan All God’s Children. They continue to advise and resource us in so many ways.
Does this really make a difference with these kiddos?
One of our parents, Lora Hinkel, recently wrote about her son, Blake, and the impact of All God’s Children on his life:
He LOVES going and asks about and looks forward to it every week! He sings “Deep & Wide” around the house now…so cool! The other day when we were driving home from All God’s Children he was looking pensively out the window and said, “Jesus. God. Love.” I cried. Thank you!!! You brought the church to my child and others. What a wonderful thing!
It was my periodic turn on the rotation at the half-way house. Ever so often I show up to bring some devotional time to our rag-tag bunch. We’re comprised of ex-cons, those just out of drug rehab, homeless guys, and some on hospice. And the staff, several who need the spiritual focus perhaps more than anyone. And Frank the dog, a plump mutt who once roamed the streets of Fulton, redirected to Columbia by some turn of canine fate. Frank used to be all bones. Now he eats scraps of pizza that fall off the table even though there are big signs all around that say, “Don’t feed the dog.” Frank is fat. People have been feeding the dog.
I’m early. I thought for sure they were to start gathering at 7:00 p.m. But no, it’s at 8. So they’ll start early, maybe 7:30. We wait. But as we wait, one guy comes in and asks if we’re really watching the basketball game on the tube. No, we’re not. Good, says he, because I bought a cheap DVD just today and want to try it out. He puts it on and I am soon to discover that it’s Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Movie. The guys wander through the living room and start guessing the names of all of them. Of course, there’s Alvin, that’s obvious. And Simon and, let’s see, what’s the other one? Theodore, that’s it. And Dave is the human. Pretty soon we’re all staring at Alvin and the Chipmunks, even Frank is glancing away from his vigilant watch of the table. Everytime Dave screams, “Alvin!” Frank the dog looks up like maybe Dave is calling his name.
One fellow, Mr. Blanket, darts back and forth into the living room to watch Alvin. Mr. Blanket talks to people we can’t see. He says things like, “NOW we’re getting ridiculous!” But he’s really preoccupied with a very neat stack of blankets. He is very protective of his blankets. In fact, he finds a cardboard box that is too small to hold them and tries to force them in. Over and over, he tries different approaches, trying to make the blankets conform to a box that is much too small. Until one of the other guys says in ear-shot of one of the staff, “I probably shouldn’t say anything.” What he shouldn’t say is that Mr. Blanket has been hoarding blankets from all over the house. When the staff brings it up to him he just frames it as a justice issue. But it doesn’t seem to be justice for everyone, just him. Someone has to be about the community with some fashion, with plenty of blankets, says he.
So we’re finally in a circle. And it’s my turn and I start by telling a story on myself that illustrates the truth, “You can’t get there from here.” In other words, all the detours we encounter along the way are essential, for unknown reasons at the time, because you have to go through them to find where you really need to go. And the Magi were like that, I said, seeking by a star and then returning home by another way, the past ways of travel barred from them. What courage and trust that takes. And every place in-between here and there is as important as the final destination; it all matters.
Mr. Blanket is packing his box the whole time. But the happy new owner of Alvin and the Chipmunks says, “Maybe you can’t know the good until you’ve passed through the bad.” And the guy with his eyes closed on the couch you thought wasn’t listening says, “Each place tells us something we need to know for the next place.”
And Frank the dog watches with his patient eye. He knows about waiting. He waited a long time in Fulton on the streets. And now he’s here with pizza on the floor and a log on the fire, people hugging on him.
Sometimes you just can’t get there from here.
The Fiction of our Objectivity
Posted: January 18, 2012 in UncategorizedTags: You Are Not So Smart by David McRaney
I’m enjoying a provocative read now, David McRaney’s, You Are Not So Smart (Gotham Books, 2011). The book shares insights from the cognitive sciences and brain research having to do with the assumptions we make, biases we hold, and the choices that result. The intro goes this way:
Misconception: You are a rational, logical being who sees the world as it really is.
Truth: You are as deluded as the rest of us, but that’s OK, it keeps you sane.
The book explores Cognitive Biases, predictable patterns of thought and behavior that lead to incorrect conclusions, Heuristics, or mental shortcuts, that make us jump to conclusions, and Logical Fallacies in which we make judgments absent crucial information or by missing an essential step.
All of us participate in this all the time.
We have habitual forms of thought that keep us from actually seeing situations for what they are; we screen out the data we don’t want and focus on the data we already agree with. If you subscribe to this blog you are evidencing, in part, a cognitive bias. You are admitting these thoughts but screening out the thoughts of that other blog you don’t want to read. I treasure your bias, thanks for being here!
As a preacher I experience that every Sunday at the back door of the sanctuary.
“Thanks preacher for your inspiring sermon on A, B and C.”
“Well, thank you, but I said D, E and F.”
No matter, whatever was said was redirected by the brain to conform to what the listener already wanted to hear. Words triggered already existing associations. Any information that contradicted any cognitive bias was either screened out or immediately labeled as wrong and omitted to keep the bias in place.
Ever wonder why no matter the subject at hand some people come up with the same conclusion with the same idea and even the same words? Cognitive bias. Habitual thought admits only selected data and reshapes it to fit the preoccupation that’s already there.
I like the mental shortcuts, or Heuristics. They help us survive. Half of what we do in life we do with shortcuts because we don’t need to go through a diagnostic process to walk to the car, put the key in the ignition and drive away. We do that with lots of shortcuts. And we do that with ideas and communication. I bet you know what I’m going to say next, what all this is going to lead to, don’t you? You could just interrupt me and say, “Get to it, I know.” That’s because the life short-cuts we normally make for survival are inappropriately applied when we should listen very carefully to the logic from beginning to end. Therefore we miss it.
Ever been in a study group, reading some provocative thinker, and someone says, “I just don’t get so-and-so, why they think that?” And then that person proceeds to state an opinion which is almost identical to the author’s position. They made a shortcut, went to the end and drew conclusions before reading it all. Everyone else in the group, saving their short-cuts for some other grand occasion, look up and say, “Well, that’s exactly what the author said.” The person is baffled. They made a heuristic leap and don’t know how they could have missed what everyone else and their dog saw.
Most common are the logical fallacies which come as the result of lack of information. “There are weapons of mass destruction.” That is said, that conclusion drawn, with inaccurate information. Then the conclusion is defended with vigor. And then when the missing information is presented the ego will not allow it to be admitted, which leads back to or results from cognitive bias, that a decision has been made before the information is in. An ideology is often blind to the truth of things.
We all do it. I do it. But more than being comforted by the idea that our number is legion, perhaps our slowing down, becoming attentive to the moment, to ourselves, to the hum of the mind, we will begin to notice. Some of it comes with our hard-wiring, our survival instinct, ways to make it through life without exhausting ourselves. But other habitual thinking, decisions and actions become fatal and destructive.
Religious doctrines can be like that. A doctrine crystallizes a belief, making it a normative way to see God, humanity or the world. Doctrines may, however, become cognitive biases and even function as heuristic short cuts. They may actually miss what was first absent, what has developed since, or maintain a distortion as though a truth. And if held too tightly they may actually screen out what God is up to in the rest of the world. I’m guessing that the scripture about Jesus healing the blind man is about more than 20-20 vision. It may be about healing the cognitive biases that keep us from seeing God and neighbor, seeing ourselves as God might.
At least I think so, or want to think so, or don’t have time or energy to think anything else, or would just rather not admit any other options for consideration at this time. That’s logical, isn’t it?
When the first few notes are sounded
the tune recognized, recalled
memory stands its post
then transports the listener
to the first place heard
And the words, if there are any
point elsewhere, to storehouses
where ideas are locked in the keep
cataloged and sorted
by title, date and author
The tune or the words
travel corridors of mind
bumping neurons
touching familiar edges:
Ah, that!
Until one day
the same sound that once captivated
becomes its own distraction
and we gasp for freedom
from such pleasure become master
It’s been a recent phenom – Bronco’s young quarterback Tim Tebow. People are enamored of several things. First, he makes public display of his faith, “Tebowing” after a touchdown, dropping to one knee in tribute to his maker. Second, off the field he is squeeky clean, spending most of his time with family and friends, supporting his charitable foundation, avoiding the limelight. The self-avowed virgin says he stays clear of leading the ladies on. Here’s a memorable Tebow quote:
“Athletic ability can be taken away like that. It can all end in a heartbeat.”
In other words he keeps it all in perspective. In the end his faith and humanitarian concern is what lasts. His athleticism is a gift and has a shelf life.
Ok, so I’m not penning a column on the virtues of Tebow, though I think there are many things to admire. He really does care what kind of example he sets for younger people. Every objective observer sees his humanitarian work as heart-felt and genuine. He’s humble when someone in his position could be anything but that.
The question is this: Why a frenzy about someone who is living the “good” life in as normal a way as a high figure sports figure could?
Answer: He stands out from the pack.
Why?
Answer: Because there have been so many bad boy sports heros as of late, living the fast life, the dangerous life, the rebelious-take-this-and-cram-it life. For many, their stardom, they believe, is a ticket to recklessness. The fame and money is a drug, a moral tranquilizer, a grandiosity pill. They hit the news now and we shrug. Oh, another one on suspension. Oh, another one headed to rehab.
And then there’s Tebow. We are jarred and shaken in the face of normal virtue. There can only be one explanation. It’s because of the context in which Mr. Tebow lives. That’s why he stands out, which is as much a commentary on everything that surrounds him as on himself.
Because he is young, and beceause he is mortal like everyone else, Tebow will pass through all the ups and downs and challenges and failings as other human beings. Like all of us he will integrate all the shadows that make up the strange human creature. But he has a leg up on it all. There is a foundation there that will ground all that humanity. Which may be why people are enamored. The secular city looks on in envy and some embarrassement and says under its breath, “How is that possible, this way of being in the world?”
When it’s not seen elsewhere the life of Tebow becomes a phenomonen. And that tells the story about everything that’s not Tebow.
Birth of the (Un)Cool
Posted: January 9, 2012 in UncategorizedTags: Rachel Held Evans: Un-Cool Worship
Years ago, in 1957, a jazz classic was born: Birth of the Cool, a compilation album of jazz trumpeter, Miles Davis. It broke all kinds of ground. It’s still one of the gold standards in the jazz world.
Not too long ago Rachel Held Evans – writer and blogger evolved out of the evangelical world – wrote an blog post that is, I think, a new gold standard for a new album. It’s a worship album, or album about worship. And it’s about the virtue of, yes, the Un-Cool. So it’s Miles backwards. I don’t often quote other people’s work en-toto, but … this deserves air time. If you want to visit Rachel’s page it’s http://rachelheldevans.com
Here are excerpts from her post. I’ve spent time in some places where form and excellence outweighed Gospel and people, and it wasn’t just in new contemporary church either. Traditional Worship elites do the same thing, just from a different angle:
“People sometimes assume that because I’m a progressive 30-year-old who enjoys Mumford and Sons and has no children, I must want a super-hip church—you know, the kind that’s called “Thrive” or “Be” and which boasts “an awesome worship experience,” a fair-trade coffee bar, its own iPhone app, and a pastor who looks like a Jonas Brother.
While none of these features are inherently wrong, (and can of course be used by good people to do good things), these days I find myself longing for a church with a cool factor of about 0.
That’s right.
I want a church that includes fussy kids, old liturgy, bad sound, weird congregants, and…brace yourself…painfully amateur “special music” now and then.
Why?
Well, for one thing, when the gospel story is accompanied by a fog machine and light show, I always get this creeped-out feeling like someone’s trying to sell me something. It’s as though we’re all compensating for the fact that Christianity’s not good enough to stand on its own so we’re adding snacks.
But more importantly, I want to be part of an un-cool church because I want to be part of a community that shares the reputation of Jesus, and like it or not, Jesus’ favorite people in the world were not cool. They were mostly sinners, misfits, outcasts, weirdos, poor people, sick people, and crazy people.
Cool congregations can get so wrapped up in the “performance” of church that they forget to actually be the church, a phenomenon painfully illustrated by the story of the child with cerebral palsy who was escorted from the Easter service at Elevation Church for being a “distraction.”
Really?
It seems to me that this congregation was distracted long before this little boy showed up! In their self-proclaimed quest for “an explosive, phenomenal movement of God—something you have to see to believe,” they missed Jesus when he was right under their nose.
Was the paralytic man lowered from the rooftop in the middle of a sermon a distraction?
Was the Canaanite woman who harassed Jesus and his disciples about healing her daughter a distraction?
Were the blind men from Jericho who annoyed the crowd with their relentless cries a distraction?
Jesus didn’t think so. In fact, he seemed to think that they were the point.
Jesus taught us that when we throw a banquet or a party, our invitation list should include “the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.” So why do our church marketing teams target the young, the hip, the healthy, and the resourced?
***
Some of us wear our brokenness on the inside, others on the outside.
But we’re all broken.
We’re all un-cool.
We’re all in need of a Savior.
So let’s cut the crap, pull the plug, and have us some distracting church services… the kind where Jesus would fit right in.
Ruminations on Rwanda
Posted: January 4, 2012 in UncategorizedTags: genocide, human nature, Rwanda, the nature of God
Over coffee with friend Cheryl Shigaki, she told me about a recent trip she made to Rwanda. Efforts continue to bring emotional, social and financial recovery in the aftermath of the genocide. Some of the stories are too unthinkable to recount.
After any genocide or conspicuous inhumanity questions inevitably arise, and these are questions of a deep, philosophical nature. They came after the holocaust. They appear in other instances of senseless, unimaginable violence. They came in Rwanda.
The first question is about the nature of the human being, what we would call our “anthropology,” our understanding of the human creature. In Rwanda it was captured in a single question: “How did we lose our humanity?” The first recognition is that it indeed can be lost. We can be swept away by group madness, the reign of the reptilian brain, the harming of others justified by our own twisted rationales. In the face of incontrovertible evidence the human species is not “getting better every day in every way.” No, we can do heinous things, and no one is exempt, placed in the right circumstances. A genocide calls into question our understandings of the human being and therefore what is required to live as one, to live among others like us, and to transcend that evil impulse.
The second question is theological in nature. In Rwanda it boiled down to a graphic statement: “God left Rwanda for 100 days.” The only explanation of God and genocide is absence. And if God can check out in such a way then what is God, really? What really left, and for more than 100 days, is our notion of what God is or does. Old notions crumble in our hands and unless we re-define God we have few options other than to abandon the abandoning God. Genocide forces us to recognize that the ultimate reality of God is not like a great big person that controls everything, determines everything, intervenes, or limits. Human freedom – even for evil – is not limited, but rather exercised. People left the checked-out God in Rwanda by droves, and still are. And they have left a church that was seen as complicit with the political powers and principalities.
What is the nature of the human being and what is the nature of God? These are the most fundamental questions of faith. On the other side of those questions, violently revealed, lie answers that genocides will not leave sleeping undisturbed. We are not what we thought ourselves to be, not totally. And God is certainly different than and more than we imagined. Such terrible labor pains toward new birth. Some even survive it.
And I needed some matches to light a candle. In our house there is a tin can that’s full of all manner of matches – match sticks and matchbooks collected from here and there over long periods of time. And each artifact tells a certain story, if only to identify where one was when it was plucked up and carried home.
This day I fished around and reeled in a funeral home matchbook: Gerber Chapel from Webster Groves. Only a preacher would have a more than average quantity of matchbooks from funeral homes. It was a sign of the times, that a funeral home would provide matches for smoking customers, or customers to be. For me the dating was broad – somewhere between 1991 and 2006, a fifteen year interval. Close enough.
As I opened the booklet to retrieve my match and strike it, there was writing on the inside cover. It was my own writing. And what I had written at the time were simple notes, ideas, an outline for some writing, meditation or even sermon. There were three phrases and they could only make sense to the one who originally scratched them there:
Tillich – God above God
Elephant and the Blind Men
Yet the partial is more than enough
Well, well. I suppose we all have our center within the center, a theology, philosophy, ideology, psychology, sociology, cosmology – that acts as the interpreter of all else. This was, and perhaps is, mine. It takes a matchbook and its required discipline of limited space to force an economy of words and thought.
Paul Tillich’s notion of the God above God is a crucial one, and that is that whatever our notion of God, and the notions we have are important, they do not embrace the entirety of the depth of God. Our notions, understandings, perceptions are only partial. There is a reality beyond them. In fact, the best of our approximations always include the awareness that there is more than we can possibly comprehend. This instills us with humble confidence; there is something to say, it’s never sufficient. There is God beyond our understanding of God.
The second, the elephant and the blind men, is a well-known parable. It is the companion to Tillich’s God beyond God. Several blind men are escorted to an elephant and asked to describe just exactly what an elephant is. Predictably one who holds the leg describes an elephant as a tree. One who touches the side of the elephant says that it is like a wall. And the blind man who holds onto the trunk believes it is most like a snake. All three touch the elephant, partially, and describe the aspect they have experienced. Of course, the same is true of our experience of God; limited, partial, confined to our particular experience. Together, perhaps, many perceptions pooled might provide a more adequate picture.
Finally, the partial is more than enough. That’s a Timism. And it builds on what preceded it above. Though the transcendence of God is beyond our notion of God, and though, like a blind man, we only know the partial dimension of the sacred which we have experienced, and may even combine those perceptions with those of others living and dead, it is enough. It is enough because the universal is revealed in the particular. We have enough of the whole through the part. And if God infuses everything, everywhere, through all time, then touching the hem of his garment is enough. That gets to what we mean with the Christian vocabulary of grace; that through our limits the divine economy is sufficient. A part is all we’ve got and it is enough.
Matchbook theology. Sometimes it’s best.
vitalwholeness 