Deported, again and again...

Pat Conroy and I are from the same home town.  I regret he never had the pleasure of meeting me, though; we came from different neighborhoods. Pat (I use his first name because of home-town solidarity) said in his new book, My Reading Life, that self-doubt is his country of origin.  I discovered his state, town, and neighborhood by reading all of his books.  It didn’t take long to realize we were neighbors. We never met, because we lived across town from one another.  But we are, indeed, from the same home town, and we’ve tried to leave it many times.

In fact, I’ve spent thousands of dollars trying to buy my way out of my corner of the country, state, county, and town called “Self-Doubt.”  Therapists, pastoral counselors, and spiritual directors have tried their best to deliver me from my origins, but, like an old mule at the end of the day, I turn toward the barn to munch on the same old bread of toil and settle down in the comfort of the familiar, because I just can’t seem to find a place in the land of certainty.

Each time I try on my own to leave my hometown, I pack my bags and strike out in a new direction determined to settle down in a new place.  But this baggage is so damned heavy.  It’s stuffed full of empty confidence, a weak ego, low self image, feelings of unworthiness, and fakery.  I just can’t drag my luggage very far.  So, I usually just lug the baggage back to Self-Doubt and plan another escape.

Sometimes, though, I buck up and haul my stuff as far as I can get, right up to the edge of the new world.  But I usually get caught at the border.  My documentation is examined and found to be false.  My credentials are incomplete. My disguise is detected. My cover-ups are exposed.  The authorities see through the façade, and all agree that I need to be sent home.  Deported, again and again…

I’ve worked hard on the cover-ups—the proofs that I can amount to something.  I found some measurable ways to prove myself and get the attention off my past.  Eight marathons.  A black belt and Master status in the martial arts.  Five completions of the Assault on Mt. Mitchell, one of the top-ten toughest one-day cycling events in the country.  How can one who doubts himself accomplish these feats?  If I can’t be strong on the inside, then by God I’ll show you how strong I am on the outside.

Go to your strengths.  I’ve heard that bit of confidence-building wisdom.  But I couldn’t claim, much less depend on, my strengths, so I went to my weaknesses.  Martial arts taught me that.  I never could kick very high, which takes strength and flexibility.  So, I went to my weakness and kicked low.  There are lots of vulnerabilities below the belt, so I was able to survive.  But I never could kick quite high enough to suit me or to look like a real martial artist.

However, there are strong fronts to every weak side.  If you baptize a lack of assertive self-confidence, you get humility, and that’s a Christian virtue most people admire.  Self-doubt can be seen as being shy, and being shy can be cute and endearing.  Not wanting to be around people because you feel inferior may be interpreted as being an introvert, and, clinically speaking, introversion can be transformed into an appealing life position, because introverts are thought to be thoughtful, sensitive, and creative.  One with a low self image doesn’t feel worthy enough to look out for— much less promote—oneself, but this self-deprecation might be taken as being self sacrificing, another Christian virtue.

But at the end of the day or accomplishment or season of life, I usually retreat to familiar comfort of my home town of Self-Doubt, where the best I got for the best I could do was “that was pretty good.”  And whenever I thought I might be able to succeed at something and receive desperately-needed approval, I retreated under the fire of “you can’t do that.”

Maybe I can slip past the border to escape the country of self-doubt if I let down my defenses and not try so hard to look like a defector.  But the border guards are too perceptive.  They can see through false fronts and fakery.  No matter how convincing the documentation looks, the authorities will find me out.  They can spot a humble heretic. Fake self-sacrificing can’t slip by their seasoned gaze.  Unnatural bravado gathers too much attention from those who detect it right away.

Thomas Wolfe’s George Webber is right.  You can’t go home again.  But…who wants to, anyway?  Or who needs to?  Home is always with me.  My country of origin tracks me like a drug-sniffing dog.  So, I’ve finally decided to be at home with my frequent deportations.    

One God...

When I was a kid growing up in church, I was taught that there is one God.  My pastors and teachers helped me learn this worthy lesson.  We called God “He” because of the convenience of language rather than its accuracy.  We all knew then as we know now that God made us in His image, male and female, He made us.  That’s what it says in the opening pages of the Bible.  So, even though we knew God is both male and female, we were okay with calling God “He.”

Later, as I went through school, I learned that my belief in the one God, whom I’m comfortable in calling the “Heavenly Father,” is called monotheism.  I learned that “mono” means one and that “theos” and its derivatives mean God.  I learned that since I believed in monotheism, I was a monotheist. 

Also, I learned that believing in more than one God is called polytheism and not believing in God at all is called atheism.  I knew back then what I know now.  I’m a monotheist.  I’m not an atheist, and I’m not a polytheist. 

Being such a believer in monotheism, I really don’t understand when I hear someone say, “Well, they (referring to another faith group) worship a different God than we do.”  I get a little confused when I hear another preacher say something like,  “Other faith groups don’t believe in the same God we do.”  If other faiths worship other Gods, then does that mean there is more than one God?  No one ever taught me that way.  I just can’t be a polytheist.  There is only one God.

So, if there is only one God, I suppose that means that all peoples of all faiths believe in and worship that one God.  Obviously, all the different people of faith understand God differently, create different systems of beliefs or theologies about God, have different sacred writings about God, worship God in different buildings, and experience God in various ways.

It really gets complicated and sometimes ugly or even deadly when people of different faiths start arguing about their version of the one God.  “My God is better than your God” kind of thing.  I’ve often wondered how God feels when he hears those He created arguing about Him—even killing each other over Him.  I think God must get really, really sad.

I’ll always be a monotheist. I think what that must mean, for me anyway, is that since there is only one God who created everyone on earth, then all these people, regardless of how they understand or experience the one God, are my kinfolk. And I was always taught that it’s better to love your kinfolk than to argue with them.

A Case for Vexation...

  

One definition of “vexation” is…the state of being provoked to slight annoyance, anxiety, or distress.  I get vexed when I read Ecclesiastes 1:18.  For in much wisdom is much vexation.  And those who increase knowledge increase sorrow.  I’ve heard others say, “Well, I guess I’ll just be dumb and happy…”  And I remember hearing, “Back then, I was young and dumb.”  If wisdom comes with age and brings vexation, keep me young and dumb.  If the more I know the sadder I’ll be, keep me dumb and happy.

But I’m not young, and I still like to learn.  In fact, popular wisdom encourages aging ones to keep minds active, and active minds are minds increasing in knowledge.  Yet, the Bible says that my rewards for gaining wisdom and knowledge are being vexed and sad.  No wonder the Bible is the least-read best-seller.

But it’s true.  The wise person, having gained wisdom mostly from experience, gets slightly annoyed by the “young and dumb” know-it-alls.  Arrogant ignorance which spouts opinions not cluttered with information saddens those who have studied well to increase knowledge

There’s another level of vexation and sadness, however.  There are times when my wisdom (again, gained mainly because I have experienced sixty-three and one-half years of life) intensifies personal vexation when I do or say something stupid.  “You know better…” my parents used to say.  And I do.  I am wise enough to know better than unwisely to do or say something that results in vexation over my own stupid behavior. So, it is true…in much wisdom is much vexation.

When I increase self-knowledge, I increase the possibility for sorrow.  I’m saddened when I realize I’m not as wise and smart as I think.  When I know that I know better but do stupid things, my awareness of stupidity intensifies because I really do know better…and I know it!  Self-sorrow is a sad state.  Yes, I agree that those who increase knowledge increase sorrow.

Given the choices…well…I really don’t have a choice.  I’m not young and dumb any more.  I’m vexed and sorrowful.  But the good thing is that since I’m vexed and sorrowful, I’m also wise and smart.                                                               

Weak Knees...

Many years ago, I visited the sanctuary of the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama.  You may remember that on September 15, 1963, a racially-motivated bombing took the lives of four innocent black youth as they prepared their Sunday School lessons on a Sunday morning at the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church. 

High on the back wall of the sanctuary I viewed a dramatic stained glass window (pictured above). The dedication plaque informed me that the window was a gift from the people of Wales, replacing the window that was shattered during the bombing.  In an expression of sympathy and concern, the people of Wales raised the funds and commissioned artist John Petts to design the window.

The leaded-glass window is in various shades of blue and is a somewhat abstract rendering of the Crucifixion.  The dark-skinned figure of Jesus, with a burdened head bowed toward his right shoulder, is superimposed on what is obviously a cross.  At the bottom are the words, “You Do It To Me.”

As I looked more closely, I noticed that several sections of the stained glass were bulging at a particular place. I had learned that this bulging happens when the heat of the sun softens the lead between the panes.  Also, the horizontal bracing of stained glass windows sometimes doesn’t bear the weight of the sections. 

The bulging was at the knees of Jesus.  I stepped back and saw the body of Jesus stretched out in the form of the cross.  His bulging knees seemed to be giving way under the burdens Jesus bore. I almost felt the weight. It was the weight of racial hatred and violence. It was the weight of the vulnerability of Jesus, who gave himself fully and completely to God.  It was the weight you and I feel when we try to live like Jesus did.

Are your knees sagging? Under what burdens do you feel you are giving way? Personal concerns or stresses?  The heaviness of grief or sadness or guilt?  Missed opportunities or bad decisions or broken relationships? 

The writer of Hebrews admonishes “…lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet” (Hebrews 12:12). People of faith have the resources of their faith to strengthen weak knees. Maybe we should ponder those mysteries—the weight-bearing resources of faith.

January 17, 2011, marks another remembrance of the life and message of Martin Luther King, Jr.  His knees, weakened by the burdens he bore, buckled for the last time on April 4, 1968, when he was murdered for his stance against racial violence.  He had a dream…

Guardian or Steward...

It seems that people of faith generally position themselves in one of two groups.  One could be called the “Guardians of Orthodoxy.”  The word “orthodoxy” means “right belief,” so the guardians of orthodoxy guard or protect what they consider right belief.  Call the beliefs doctrines, distinctives, creeds, or statements of faith.  Whatever else they may be, they are theological lines in the sand beyond which the guardians and the adherents will not step.

            Sooner or later emerge those who are chief among the guardians of orthodoxy.  They might be called theologians, dogmatists, popes, bishops, or the ordained.  These chief guardians station themselves along a precept perimeter to defend the doctrine. Those inside the prescribed perimeter who begin to inquire about issues beyond the perimeter are quickly corrected.  If they, in fact, step over the theological line in the sand, they might be called heretics, apostates, extremists, or unbelievers.  Persistent inquiry beyond the perimeters of orthodoxy might result in expulsion from the group.   Such expulsion has been called excommunication, “churching,” or “turning out.”

            Persons who are outside the guarded fence lines of “right” belief may be called pagans, infidels, the unchurced, or the unsaved.  If they agree to the right belief of those on the inside, they are allowed to become adherents; if not, they are doomed.

            While guardians of orthodoxy might be needed, the big question is this: Who defines what is right belief?  A fundamentalist Baptist in south Alabama would draw her lines in the sand very close in, while a liberal Episcopalian from Boston might draw his lines in wider, more inclusive arcs.  A modernist believer from California will have vastly different belief perimeters than a traditionalist believer on the East coast.  Who defines orthodoxy?  Who sets up the belief perimeters?

            Well, I don’t know who defines orthodoxy.  I know how I define it for me, but another’s faith statements will be different.  The danger and the temptation is that we begin to argue about the orthodoxy and miss a deeper relationship with the One about whom we formulate our beliefs.  Or, worse, as we debate orthodoxy, we forget orthopraxy—right practice.  In other words, we behave badly while arguing about what is right and wrong belief.

            While I don’t have a final answer to the dangers of being a guardian of orthodoxy, I have found a more satisfying way to live my faith.  I choose to be among the second group of believers.  Rather than being a guardian of orthodoxy, I’m trying to be a “Steward of the Mystery,” as the Apostle Paul admonished the Corinthian Christians.  

The Mystery is…well…I don’t really know, because if I could define the Mystery, the Mystery would no longer be a mystery. I can say that I have experienced the Mystery.  I can say that I have particular beliefs about a special revelation of the Mystery whom I try to follow.  I can also say that I feel my calling is to be a good steward or manager of the Mystery.  I confess that I often fail what I perceive my calling to be, but part of the Mystery is the wonder of grace.

            Stewards of the Mystery do more gazing than guarding, less mastering of the Mystery and more musing about it.  You won’t find a steward of the Mystery standing guard along a fence line of doctrine.  You might find him or her sitting on a hillside gazing at a sunset.  Rather than protecting a precept perimeter, you might find a steward of the Mystery pondering the questions of suffering or wondering about the miracles of life.  A steward of the Mystery may be found looking into the face of another human being and finding there a hint, a slight reflection, of the Mystery itself, so that the other person becomes one who teaches rather than one who needs to be informed and then corralled into the perimeters of orthodoxy.

            A guardian of orthodoxy tries to protect “right” belief, while a steward of the Mystery pays attention.  A guardian of right belief stands guard in fear of encroachment into or escape out of the perimeter, while a steward of the Mystery ponders the obvious.  Maybe the Mystery doesn’t draw lines in the sand but draws persons into the Mystery’s presence in order to give joy, strength, courage, and hope.

            The Mystery will provide the protection, do the drawing, decide the doctrine, and guard the Mystery’s own.

There is hope...

The symbol says it all.  Last Thursday, January 6, Coptic Christians in Egypt celebrated Christmas Eve.  Just days before on New Year's Eve Islamic militants killed twenty-one Christians in a brutal attack on Saints Church in Alexandria.  

As Coptic Christians, referred to in Egypt as "Copts," gathered for their celebrations of mass in churches across Egypt, they were joined by thousands of Muslims. The Muslims were offering their bodies as human shields in a witness of protective solidarity.

Mohamed El-Sawy, a Muslim arts businessman, is credited with the idea of human shielding. His words have become a slogan.  "Either we live together, or we die together."  Among other shields were popular Muslim televangelist and preacher Amr Khaled and the two sons of Hosni Mubarak, president of Egypt.

Millions of Egyptians changed their Facebook profile pictures to the symbol above.  The symbol expresses the sentiment "Egypt for all."  

In Romans 12:1 the Apostle Paul urges Christians to present their bodies as a living sacrifice.  I've preached this text many times.  I've never really lived it as have the thousands of Muslims who presented their bodies as human shields to protect their Christian friends.

In our faith history, as recorded in the Hebrew Bible (or "Old Testament" as many call it), God chose Cyrus of Persia, a pagan king, to free God's people from exile.  Good God.  Imagine the dismay among many of the "chosen" of God when they realized a pagan would free them.

Surely God is at work in Egypt.  Are you surprised that God has chosen Muslims to teach us lessons in peacemaking?  Would you...would I...be so willing to present our bodies as living sacrifices as did the Muslims in Egypt?

As my friend Roger Lovette says...the problem with living sacrifices is that they keep crawling off the altar.

Oops!

January 9, 2011

In the Christian Year, today celebrates the Baptism of Jesus. Thinking of baptism, I recall an “oops!” story in the history of Fernwood Baptist Church of Spartanburg, SC, where I was pastor for twenty-two years.  When I became pastor, we worshipped in what is now the William L. Ball, Jr. Chapel, a beautiful worship space. The stained glass windows are magnificent works of art designed and fabricated by the Willet Stained Glass Studio.  These windows depict the “I Am” sayings of Jesus, and the “I am the beloved son” panel, presenting the baptism of Jesus, provided the “oops!”

Dr. Billy Ball, whom we called as our Pastor Emeritus when he and his wife Bessie returned as members in 1985, told me the story one Sunday after worship.  It may have been the Sunday when I preached on the baptism window during a sermon series I called “Sermons in Stained Glass.”

Billy pointed to John the Baptist standing next to Jesus as they were gathered by the Jordon River. “Randy, look at that area of stained glass just above Jesus’ head.  Do you notice anything odd?”

In fact, I did.  There were a couple of the sections of lead between the small panels that were slightly different in color.  Also, the hues in a few of the panels were barely, yet noticeably, different.  “Tell me about that, Billy,” I said.

“I’ll never forget that afternoon after the windows had been installed.  I was in here admiring them when I saw that John the Baptist was holding a shell full of water and was pouring the water over the head of Jesus.” Billy continued, “How in the world I missed that in all the discussions about these windows, I’ll never know.  But I was horrified.  We couldn’t have baptism by effusion in a baptism-by-immersion church!”

“So how’d you fix it, Billy?” I asked.  “Obviously it’s fixed, because John is not sprinkling Jesus.”

“Well,” Billy continued, “I called Willet Studios, explained the problem, and told them to get back here and fix this window. After much protesting, the fabricator came, removed the panel, and went to work ‘erasing’ the sprinkling.  You notice that he removed the shell spilling water over Jesus’ head and brought John’s hand down behind Jesus’ shoulder as if he were leading him into the Jordon for a ‘proper’ baptism. That’s why those couple lead sections and a few of the panels look different.”

“You’d have been in real trouble with some of the local, vocal Baptists in town had you not fixed that one, Dr. Ball.”  He readily agreed.

  

I thought of that story as I was looking at the baptism panel of faceted glass in the sanctuary during worship this morning.  I remembered telling Jane Collins, the artist who designed the windows, the big “oops!” regarding the chapel window.  “Jane, you have to make it overtly obvious that Jesus is being baptized by immersion.  Lots of water, okay? It’s our tradition, you know.”  Jane, a former Sister of Mercy in the Catholic Church, did just that.  The faceted glass baptism panel has Jesus and John waist-high in water with a few fish swimming around their legs, for good measure.

All this concern about baptism by immersion seems somewhat ironic now.  Fernwood Church welcomes into full membership those who were baptized by any mode, not requiring them to be fully immersed.   It’s the inner condition and not the outward expression that matters.  So, on this day when we celebrate the baptism of Jesus, I think he’s most likely happy with Fernwood’s understanding of baptism.  John the Baptizer’s probably okay with it, as well.

Half-way there...

My martial arts teacher used to say, "When you start, you're half-way there."  Well...after all the excuses not to start a blog, I'm half-way there...whatever that means.  Anyway, I suppose one reason I'm doing this is that, while I don't have a pulpit, forum, or platform anymore after retiring from the active ministry, I still have thoughts and, I hope, a few more things to say.

I'm astounded when someone remembers what I've preached, said, taught, or written; and I'm humbled.  I will be equally humbled and astounded at any readership this blog might create.  However, I must say that this endeavor is a "me thing" right now.  I miss having a place and opportunity to say something.  When I was preaching, I used to repeat something a friend said..."Sometimes we preachers have something to say, and sometimes we have to say something."

I'll try to post random thoughts and inviting questions because I deem them worthy and not because I just need to say something.

So....I've begun something here.  I'm curious about where it will end up...