Yesterday, we heard your heartbeat again. It sounded like a locomotive. And, funny enough, you were moving around. The nurse-technician had to follow you around your mother's belly to keep us hearing your heartbeat. You will remember none of this.
I can't express the wild range of feelings and thoughts that came when we finally heard your heart beating rapidly. Reassurance mainly. A collective sigh of relief to hear that you are still there growing daily. It will still be several months before we finally get to see you face to face. Yet you are already existing. You have already fallen into this world of finitude. Your journey has already began as you claim your place in space-time.
I marvel at that - that you and I already share this commonality. You are a new tendril on the giant tree that is existence. Maybe that will make more sense when you are older and see for yourself the rebirth of plants after a long winter, when you see the bright green of a bud unfold and open and spread. I look forward to that - to you experiencing things for the first time. It occurs to me the duty I have toward you. To protect you. To nourish you. To help you grow. And I feel, more pressing now, the need to work for the betterment of the world you will inhabit. I hope that I don't fail you in this. I hope that the searching and struggles I am undergoing now will assist toward that end. I hope that I can provide you a proper base from which you will spring into your own experiences and judgements.
We are already sharing existence. And we are both struggling right now - myself with the issues that come from aging and experience - you with the impetus towards life and growth. Maybe that is exactly what you are right now: the purity of the struggle for growth and continued existence that we often become numb to after we are birthed and grow older.
I hope that I am a good father to you.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
The need for the other
This past Sunday I went to a friend’s bachelor party. It wasn’t the characterized “let’s hit every strip club and bar” type of deal. Instead, it was held at a cabin in southern Indiana that belongs to his fiancée’s relatives. The invitation said to “bring your own gun” as there would be a clay pigeon shoot. I don’t own a gun and I had only shot a shotgun once before on a hunting trip back in college. I had gone to church earlier in the day and from there to work. Leaving a bit early I drove down, farther and farther off the beaten path until I finally found the party location, hidden down a gravel road between deep woods and a large open field.
I was nervous as I pulled up to where everyone was gathered. First, my car has a couple of bumper stickers on it that wouldn’t jibe well with more conservative people (one of them is for a church in Indianapolis that ministers to the GLBTQ community). Second, I was still wearing my church clothes which made me stick out amongst a bunch of guys toting shotguns wearing boots, blue jeans, and t-shirts – at least one featured a collage of a monster truck, a girl in a bikini, and several Confederate flags.
As the late afternoon and evening wore on though, I felt guilty at my earlier nervousness and apprehension. I couldn’t have been among a friendlier or more welcoming group of men. We drank beer together, took turns shooting, played poker, and ate with one another around a camp fire. Jokes and stories were told, some more lurid than others. And as I sat and took everything in, I couldn’t help but feel that all of this was o.k. And I felt a love towards the people gathered. I recalled how in the gospels, people accused Jesus of being a drunk and a glutton. And I imagined Christ being among the fishermen of Galilee. I bet Peter, James, John, and the other disciples knew some pretty good dirty jokes. I imagine they knew the pleasure of getting together to eat, drink, and yes even get drunk together. I know I’ve had some of the most meaningful and deep conversations with people when we’ve knocked down a few rounds together. I left the party that evening having felt welcomed and accepted.
I write all of this because I think it hits upon a vital point to any conversation about the problems we face today. It is far too easy to write off the other, whether we disagree with them regarding politics, religion, the war, etc. Today I had lunch with a fellow student and we were discussing the difficulties of talking to fellow Christians whenever there is a disagreement about certain theological points or beliefs. What came to mind is a quote of Teilhard de Chardin’s (sorry, I can’t reference which work of his it comes from) that says “We are one, after all, you and I. Together we suffer, together exist, and forever will recreate each other." And that is true. Progressive Christians, such as me, will never get anywhere, properly address any issue, or resolve any crisis unless we do so with our Conservative or Fundamentalist Christian sisters and brothers. We must move forward together. Together we will fully realize the salvation of the world – that is the entire world and all beings and creatures that inhabit it.
It is easy to say this, but how exactly is it done? To be honest, I’m not sure. I am certain though that it must incorporate the spirit of leaving no one behind. Those who disagree with us, even to the extent of disdaining or hating us, should be central and vital to us. I draw you closer to me because you are the antithesis of me, not in a spirit of deception or cleverness, but in a recognition of me in you and you in me. We need each other.
I was nervous as I pulled up to where everyone was gathered. First, my car has a couple of bumper stickers on it that wouldn’t jibe well with more conservative people (one of them is for a church in Indianapolis that ministers to the GLBTQ community). Second, I was still wearing my church clothes which made me stick out amongst a bunch of guys toting shotguns wearing boots, blue jeans, and t-shirts – at least one featured a collage of a monster truck, a girl in a bikini, and several Confederate flags.
As the late afternoon and evening wore on though, I felt guilty at my earlier nervousness and apprehension. I couldn’t have been among a friendlier or more welcoming group of men. We drank beer together, took turns shooting, played poker, and ate with one another around a camp fire. Jokes and stories were told, some more lurid than others. And as I sat and took everything in, I couldn’t help but feel that all of this was o.k. And I felt a love towards the people gathered. I recalled how in the gospels, people accused Jesus of being a drunk and a glutton. And I imagined Christ being among the fishermen of Galilee. I bet Peter, James, John, and the other disciples knew some pretty good dirty jokes. I imagine they knew the pleasure of getting together to eat, drink, and yes even get drunk together. I know I’ve had some of the most meaningful and deep conversations with people when we’ve knocked down a few rounds together. I left the party that evening having felt welcomed and accepted.
I write all of this because I think it hits upon a vital point to any conversation about the problems we face today. It is far too easy to write off the other, whether we disagree with them regarding politics, religion, the war, etc. Today I had lunch with a fellow student and we were discussing the difficulties of talking to fellow Christians whenever there is a disagreement about certain theological points or beliefs. What came to mind is a quote of Teilhard de Chardin’s (sorry, I can’t reference which work of his it comes from) that says “We are one, after all, you and I. Together we suffer, together exist, and forever will recreate each other." And that is true. Progressive Christians, such as me, will never get anywhere, properly address any issue, or resolve any crisis unless we do so with our Conservative or Fundamentalist Christian sisters and brothers. We must move forward together. Together we will fully realize the salvation of the world – that is the entire world and all beings and creatures that inhabit it.
It is easy to say this, but how exactly is it done? To be honest, I’m not sure. I am certain though that it must incorporate the spirit of leaving no one behind. Those who disagree with us, even to the extent of disdaining or hating us, should be central and vital to us. I draw you closer to me because you are the antithesis of me, not in a spirit of deception or cleverness, but in a recognition of me in you and you in me. We need each other.
Monday, August 20, 2007
prayer 1
God who cannot hear me, hear me.
You give both darkness and light. And now it feels like darkness, even though I can tell the light is just behind it, not really hidden.
God who cannot see, see these people.
They are good people. They struggle and they laugh. They seek pleasure where they can find it, where it is allowed to them in small doses, or force-fed to them by those in power. They are not bad people, God. They are caged. Please let them sense the cages. Please make them aware.
God who can do nothing, create.
Create this spirit of awareness and of vision among the people. Let them long for nothing less than this. Let them sense their own beauty and the beauty of their lives and of all life and of all creation. Awaken them God before it is too late.
God who can do nothing, destroy.
If there be no other way, then bring the cataclysm. Hasten its arrival. Tear down the powerful and make all things level. And in the turmoil of the upheaval, of the whirlwind, fashion order out of chaos as you once did and are still continuously doing.
God of nothing, help me let go.
God who plagues me with maddening questions, give me clarity.
God who provides nothing, provide me with knowledge.
Help me to speak what must be said. Move the creative spirit within me. More than anything else, let me help others. Let me commune with them. Help me to love myself so that I may love others just as deeply, because right now I feel lost and powerless and hopelessness is breaking me!
Let the wave smash the mountain and break it down. Let the mountain crack and fragment and break into small pieces. And in the spaces between let your creating and creative spirit work out wondrous things.
Move your spirit among all people, even the ones who are farthest from it, the ones who will not be moved by it. Be with the ones who can sense the darkness of the chasm, because you are both darkness and light. You are both falling into nothingness and flying into the heavens. You are so very far away and yet so near as to be imperceivable. You are powerless and earth shaking. You are destruction and creation. You are both/and. And we are likewise.
You give both darkness and light. And now it feels like darkness, even though I can tell the light is just behind it, not really hidden.
God who cannot see, see these people.
They are good people. They struggle and they laugh. They seek pleasure where they can find it, where it is allowed to them in small doses, or force-fed to them by those in power. They are not bad people, God. They are caged. Please let them sense the cages. Please make them aware.
God who can do nothing, create.
Create this spirit of awareness and of vision among the people. Let them long for nothing less than this. Let them sense their own beauty and the beauty of their lives and of all life and of all creation. Awaken them God before it is too late.
God who can do nothing, destroy.
If there be no other way, then bring the cataclysm. Hasten its arrival. Tear down the powerful and make all things level. And in the turmoil of the upheaval, of the whirlwind, fashion order out of chaos as you once did and are still continuously doing.
God of nothing, help me let go.
God who plagues me with maddening questions, give me clarity.
God who provides nothing, provide me with knowledge.
Help me to speak what must be said. Move the creative spirit within me. More than anything else, let me help others. Let me commune with them. Help me to love myself so that I may love others just as deeply, because right now I feel lost and powerless and hopelessness is breaking me!
Let the wave smash the mountain and break it down. Let the mountain crack and fragment and break into small pieces. And in the spaces between let your creating and creative spirit work out wondrous things.
Move your spirit among all people, even the ones who are farthest from it, the ones who will not be moved by it. Be with the ones who can sense the darkness of the chasm, because you are both darkness and light. You are both falling into nothingness and flying into the heavens. You are so very far away and yet so near as to be imperceivable. You are powerless and earth shaking. You are destruction and creation. You are both/and. And we are likewise.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Pregnancy as Advent
The other day, for the first time, my wife looked pregnant. I mean really pregnant. It wasn't just the maternity clothes but more the look on her face which was a combination of "Keep the f**k away from me!" and "Please pity me!" I have been thinking lately about how this pregnancy is like the season of Advent. It involves waiting - there's no rushing this thing. The baby takes time to develop. But just as my child is developing, so too am I. Or at least I'm trying to. It is a constructive waiting, a waiting that is full of movement and growth. And this is perhaps the hardest part, not the waiting itself, but the preperation that the makes up the minutes, hours, days, and months of waiting.
It has been hard to adjust to this. I've often imagined what it would be like to have a child. I've often thought to myself, "When I have my own child, I will do (insert idealistic patronly act here)." Yet more and more I look at myself and wonder, am I even the person, let alone father, that I want to be? I worked in a corporate office for many years and often in my boredom I would look at my coworkers in their cubicles and wonder who among them, when they were young, said that they wanted to be an office worker when they grew up? No, in grade school everyone wanted to be an astronaut, a ballerina, a veterinarian, a doctor, etc. And even though I find myself perhaps headed in the right direction for the career field I have chosen, a lot of times I still don't feel that I am the person that I had hoped I would be as an adult.
Giving up or letting go of things is often associated with Lent, but I think that it is also an important part of Advent, any advent that is. New birth requires the falling away of something in order that birth is possible. In St. John's Gospel, the Christ says that "unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit" (v. 24). So now I am left examining myself. What must be let go of? What must fall away so that something much better can be born? It is not just a list of bad habits that I am trying to compile here, although those, too, must be let go. It is also my outlook on life - perhaps hopes or dreams that were once important to me. And what I find hopeful about this is that I am trying to approach it in a way that appreciates the letting go as much as the hope for what is to come. The things that are let go are not necessarily bad things; I am not attempting a rite of purification here. What is being let go, so I am trying to remind myself, are the things for which it is simply time to go. It is their time to be scattered to the wind in the full appreciation of the pain of letting go and the joy in wondering onto what fertile ground they will fall.
It has been hard to adjust to this. I've often imagined what it would be like to have a child. I've often thought to myself, "When I have my own child, I will do (insert idealistic patronly act here)." Yet more and more I look at myself and wonder, am I even the person, let alone father, that I want to be? I worked in a corporate office for many years and often in my boredom I would look at my coworkers in their cubicles and wonder who among them, when they were young, said that they wanted to be an office worker when they grew up? No, in grade school everyone wanted to be an astronaut, a ballerina, a veterinarian, a doctor, etc. And even though I find myself perhaps headed in the right direction for the career field I have chosen, a lot of times I still don't feel that I am the person that I had hoped I would be as an adult.
Giving up or letting go of things is often associated with Lent, but I think that it is also an important part of Advent, any advent that is. New birth requires the falling away of something in order that birth is possible. In St. John's Gospel, the Christ says that "unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit" (v. 24). So now I am left examining myself. What must be let go of? What must fall away so that something much better can be born? It is not just a list of bad habits that I am trying to compile here, although those, too, must be let go. It is also my outlook on life - perhaps hopes or dreams that were once important to me. And what I find hopeful about this is that I am trying to approach it in a way that appreciates the letting go as much as the hope for what is to come. The things that are let go are not necessarily bad things; I am not attempting a rite of purification here. What is being let go, so I am trying to remind myself, are the things for which it is simply time to go. It is their time to be scattered to the wind in the full appreciation of the pain of letting go and the joy in wondering onto what fertile ground they will fall.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Addendum to God and License Plates
Create for yourself! Do not let others do it for you. Create for yourself because this is your obligation to the creator and to the rest of creation. Do not let it be in vain that you possess the imago Dei. Be wary of all-encompassing banners which allow no room for distinction. This is also what saddens me about the license plate issue. I know the Christians displaying them are longing to proclaim their spirituality. But at what cost? That God should be American? What then does this mean when those in power decide to go wage war? How many American Christians were aware of the Christian community in Iraq prior to the beginning of this quagmire we find ourselves in now? Do we not owe a greater allegience to them than to any flag as they are our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ? Even more so, do we not owe an allegience, commanded by God, to all humanity rather than any nation or creed?
We need to create for ourselves our own expressions of identity rather than be limited to those provided by those with agendas contrary to the will of Christ, that we should love all and be known, not by bumper stickers, license plates, Jesus fish ornaments, but by our love of each other and of all creation.
We need to create for ourselves our own expressions of identity rather than be limited to those provided by those with agendas contrary to the will of Christ, that we should love all and be known, not by bumper stickers, license plates, Jesus fish ornaments, but by our love of each other and of all creation.
God and License Plates
I like to change routes going to and from work. Sometimes it’s to avoid a construction site and the usual accompanying traffic. Other times it’s just a feeble attempt to avoid the inevitable arrival at my place of work or home. I mention this because a particular route takes me past a decent sized church and its school. Recently, I noticed above the church doors, the message “WE LOVE AMERICA” posted in large red, white, and blue letters. I’m not sure of the exact date this declaration was erected, but I imagine it showed up around July 4th. I’m accustomed to seeing patriotic fervor on the part of some churches around Independence Day. It is now nearing the middle of August, however, and I can’t help but wonder what the intention of the signage is. Did they just forget to take it down after the Fourth, like a Christmas wreath left on a door until mid-March? Or perhaps their level of patriotism was in question by member of the community and they felt the need to provide proof of their devotion to the nation?
As I stated before, I’m used to seeing churches show the colors around July 4th. The churches my family attended when I was young always included a repertoire of patriotic tunes along with the normal hymns on the Sunday closest to July 4th. As I’ve gotten older I’ve become uncomfortable with the practice. Lately, though, I’ve been more alarmed since the introduction of a free specialty license plate here in Indiana that bares the motto “In God We Trust” over a blue background and a rippling U.S. flag. The license plates have become as popular as the Jesus fish car ornament.
What exactly does the phrase “In God We Trust” mean anymore? More, importantly, what does it mean to those who have chosen this particular plate? Is it a statement of faith? Of patriotism? Or of both intertwined? It is this last one that is the most dangerous. It is an expression of what journalist Matt Taibbi calls “a belief in the inherent righteousness” of the nation (see Adbusters #73, “The Iraq War: No Hangover Cure”). Christians would be wise to remember that, as Fr. Michael J. Baxter writes, “God is not American” (see his chapter on patriotism in God Is Not…, Brazos Press,2004, edited by D. Brent Laytham). I am reminded of Psalm 33 when it states that “The LORD brings the counsel of the nations to nothing; he frustrates the plans of the peoples” (v. 10 NRSV). But also verse twelve reads “Happy is the nation whose God is the LORD.”
Perhaps the license plate we read better “In God I trust” for if we are to proclaim that as a nation we trust in God we must first examine ourselves. Do we really trust in God? I don’t believe so. We trust in Wall Street, free market capitalism, and the dollar; in nuclear stockpiles and military buildup; in entertainment and television, in Wal-mart, McDonalds, and name brands. And the less we actually trust in God’s ways, in the ways of creation, the more we sink into a neo-serfdom, subject to those in places of power to define ourselves and our lives.
It is probably true that those who display the “In God We Trust” license plate hope that by this little measure something will occur. In this way it is similar to calls for the postings of the 10 Commandments in schools and courthouses, or the call for the return of prayer in school, as if merely by their presence or display, a positive effect will be felt. I don’t wish to condemn those who have chosen this license plate to express their hope or faith. The display of such an image is an attempt to strike against a sense of an un-namable wrong - a whiff of trouble in the air. I believe their faith is real, but I do believe it is misplaced and misguided. Trusting in God will require more than a license plate. It will require a deep examination of the values and systems that make up our culture and ways of living and seeing how they measure up against the ways of God, the God that instructed us to love and pray for enemies, to rest, to create beauty, to not shun the poor or oppressed, and to bless God through all our actions.
As I stated before, I’m used to seeing churches show the colors around July 4th. The churches my family attended when I was young always included a repertoire of patriotic tunes along with the normal hymns on the Sunday closest to July 4th. As I’ve gotten older I’ve become uncomfortable with the practice. Lately, though, I’ve been more alarmed since the introduction of a free specialty license plate here in Indiana that bares the motto “In God We Trust” over a blue background and a rippling U.S. flag. The license plates have become as popular as the Jesus fish car ornament.
What exactly does the phrase “In God We Trust” mean anymore? More, importantly, what does it mean to those who have chosen this particular plate? Is it a statement of faith? Of patriotism? Or of both intertwined? It is this last one that is the most dangerous. It is an expression of what journalist Matt Taibbi calls “a belief in the inherent righteousness” of the nation (see Adbusters #73, “The Iraq War: No Hangover Cure”). Christians would be wise to remember that, as Fr. Michael J. Baxter writes, “God is not American” (see his chapter on patriotism in God Is Not…, Brazos Press,2004, edited by D. Brent Laytham). I am reminded of Psalm 33 when it states that “The LORD brings the counsel of the nations to nothing; he frustrates the plans of the peoples” (v. 10 NRSV). But also verse twelve reads “Happy is the nation whose God is the LORD.”
Perhaps the license plate we read better “In God I trust” for if we are to proclaim that as a nation we trust in God we must first examine ourselves. Do we really trust in God? I don’t believe so. We trust in Wall Street, free market capitalism, and the dollar; in nuclear stockpiles and military buildup; in entertainment and television, in Wal-mart, McDonalds, and name brands. And the less we actually trust in God’s ways, in the ways of creation, the more we sink into a neo-serfdom, subject to those in places of power to define ourselves and our lives.
It is probably true that those who display the “In God We Trust” license plate hope that by this little measure something will occur. In this way it is similar to calls for the postings of the 10 Commandments in schools and courthouses, or the call for the return of prayer in school, as if merely by their presence or display, a positive effect will be felt. I don’t wish to condemn those who have chosen this license plate to express their hope or faith. The display of such an image is an attempt to strike against a sense of an un-namable wrong - a whiff of trouble in the air. I believe their faith is real, but I do believe it is misplaced and misguided. Trusting in God will require more than a license plate. It will require a deep examination of the values and systems that make up our culture and ways of living and seeing how they measure up against the ways of God, the God that instructed us to love and pray for enemies, to rest, to create beauty, to not shun the poor or oppressed, and to bless God through all our actions.
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