Comma Dot Comma

I am tired of people insinuating (This means you, Franklin Graham), or even stating flat out, that President Obama is not a real Christian. It is true that he was not raised a Christian. (Incidentally, he was not raised Muslim, either). However, he has described his conversion experience and some of his faith walk in his autobiographies; he has professed his faith in Jesus publicly, including in an appearance at Rick Warren’s Saddleback Church when he was running for office; he attends church and in fact was a regular member of a church in Chicago for over a decade. (Granted, that church had a wacky pastor. But frankly, I wouldn’t want some of the things I’ve heard said from the pulpits of churches where I’ve been a member to be broadcast on Youtube. All pastors have their ill-judged moments and particular prejudices; that doesn’t mean they aren’t Christian or their congregations aren’t Christian).

This is the point in the argument where people who don’t want to accept our President as a brother bring up that scripture verse, “By their fruits ye shall know them,” and raise their eyebrows suggestively, as if to say it is perfectly obvious that Obama is a man of the world or the devil, and not God. What they usually mean by “fruits,” I think, is his political philosophy and decisions. He is a left-leaning pragmatist, while I would characterize many of the Christians who protest his bona fides as idealist conservatives. They disagree with the President on what is an appropriate role for government and what moral battles are good for the government to engage in (health care, gay rights, and abortion, to name a few).

I get that, but I would argue that a difference of opinion on what the government is good for, and should do, is not the same thing as a lack of legitimate faith. Since when do potentially wrong opinions disqualify anyone from receiving and living the power of the gospel?

It is hard for some to imagine how a man could believe the same Jesus they do, and read the same bible, and pray to the same God, and still come to such different conclusions about important issues than they themselves have come to. But that is not only possible, it happens all the time. If you actually know any other Christians well, you know that none of us walk in lockstep on the issues of the day. Not only that, but over the course of our lives, we may ourselves change our minds on some of the big ideas that we used to be so sure about. Our old selves would be astonished at the positions our more mature selves have come to.

So. If you look at our President and what the Bible actually names as “fruit” – love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control– I think we would be hard-pressed to call Obama Not of the Tree. Assuming, of course, that we do not take decisions of his with which we disagree, or which we do not understand, and start assigning hidden motives and conspiracies to them, in which case it would be pretty easy to imagine all sorts of dark secrets in his heart.

That thinking process goes a little something like this: “The only possible way he could have done/decided/said that is if he __________ (insert your favorite horrible character flaw here).” Well, guess what? That horrible character flaw is almost certainly not “the only way” someone could reach a point of view different than yours. It is a sin to judge the hearts of others, even Presidents. We don’t know anyone’s hearts except our own, and sometimes even then we are mistaken. So just stop it already.

And to the 18% of Americans who think President Obama is a Muslim: learn to do a little fact-checking, please. Just because someone you like forwards you an email, doesn’t mean the email is true. Sheesh. Probably preaching to the choir here, but had to get it off my chest.

Today I read an interesting article in the L.A. Times about young white Christians living communally: “What Chores Would Jesus Do?” The Revealer, one of my favorite (if sometimes snide or too critical) guides to Christianity in America, tipped me off. Following on my recent post about Protestant convents, this article shows some of the challenges and rewards of self-chosen religious communities, and in some ways echoes the experiences of friends I know who have embarked on similar ventures. I appreciate the honesty of the interviewees, but the story departs from the ones I know personally (for example, Sumner House, many of whose original members have since married) in its strongly negative tone. Living in community, whatever the goals of that community may be, is a mixed bag, but does allow all kinds of love to grow.
I also found the 100ish comments, mostly by evangelical Christians, fascinating. A large number of people seem to find serious doctrinal danger in the choice to pursue to personal sacrifice and service. The community members are advised again and again to not take on too much– be friendly to everyone, volunteer at the shelter once a week, anything beyond that is excessive, especially if you have kids. “we are not all John the Baptist” said one. People worried that these folks had abandoned the idea of grace. On the other hand, some people wondered what all the moaning and groaning was about– these commenters do way more to actually help people every day instead of just talking about it, so what is the big deal? A few people advised this group to check out St. Benedict’s rules for monastic life, which I thought was a good suggestion– I’d never heard of his advice book before.
Myself, I suspect that this group is having a hard time in part because they took on so many different goals at the same time: Living in community, defining and living an economically simple life, and moving out of suburbia in attempt to serve their less-well-off neighbors. Any one of those is a radical change from typical America. But I’m glad they’re trying it, and pray that God will bless them with increasing stores of love.

Lately I’ve been reciting the Lord’s Prayer in the morning when I first wake up. Hit the alarm, sit up, start the prayer. The effect is something like putting into gear a car that is slowly rolling backwards down a hill. Lots of inner grinding and groaning as all the machinery aligns to head a new direction. In the space of a few seconds the inner litany has already begun and is picking up momentum. Even the first vestiges of my thoughts are eager to head to self-as-center-of-the-universe Land, and “hallowed be thy name” is about the best redirection a girl could hope for.

My favorite line in the prayer is, “thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” What a lovely thing to ask. I cherish the presumption in the request: that such a thing is possible, now, in the near-darkness of morning and in the many hours that stretch ahead. Today could be a perfect day.

Tara, a new wife and soon to be new mother, wrote a great post about taking care not to elevate certain life experiences (childrearing and marriage) above others, particularly in their ability to teach commitment, cooperation, and selflessness.
Although I have been married ten years, I have no children. The question of kids always comes up, and with new acquaintances I answer simply: “No, I don’t have any. You?” Often this statement causes an awkward pause. In my Uncharitable Mind Reader moments, I interpret the pause as a mental process wherin the person tries to decide if she should feel sorry for me, or question my priorities. Once a stranger, after the pause, cheerily corrected me: “Yet!” she said. “You mean you don’t have any children yet.”
Yowch! Motherhoodisthepinnacleofwomanhoodism creates some major cultural minefields for me, despite my desire to raise a few mini-mes.
Tara’s post reminded me of some thoughts I’ve had on women’s experiences, and in particular, the experiences of christian women in the protestant church setting. The old strategies of discipling women by preparing them for marriage and motherhood have become inadequate. The reality is that marriage and motherhood are becoming smaller and smaller portions of womens’ lives. We are marrying later, postponing children longer, and having fewer children. We are also living much longer, and often outliving our husbands. An 85-year-old woman may have spent 45 years as an adult without children in the home. She may have spent 40 years or more of her adult life without a marriage partner. In the meantime, she may have travelled the world, earned multiple college degrees, led a nonprofit, patented a magic trick, started a business, taken up gardening, and helped raise a few grandchildren.
Limiting our support of women to mid-day Bible studies and Christian parenting classes just won’t cut it. My current church does not provide any gender-specific ministries as far as I know, which is one solution. But the protestants might could learn a thing or two from the Catholics on how to support single or childless people.
I have always loved, in principle, the idea of convents and monasteries, because they so unequivocally value the lives and experiences of those who do not marry. Convents in particular have the potential to create a community that is as nurturing as a family for women, while still giving them the opportunity for leadership, meaningful careers, and spiritual guidance. Because the religious communities are under the official umbrella of the church, their members are accorded as much or more respect as married women.
Contrast this with the (gradually becoming less?) typical protestant view of singleness or childlessness as a temporary situation to be waited out. Well, many women are “waiting” for decades. In the meantime, real life is happening, important decisions being made, and characters being tried and forged. The organized church is missing some wonderful opportunities.
Now. Caveats, as usual. The reality of some of Catholic organizations is that people abuse their authority, both within the walls and without. There can be secrecy, oppression, extremism, and abuse. The stories in the paper and from family and friends illustrate it over and over. That said, if religious communities for unmarried people worked the way they were supposed to (and I expect that some do), existed in much larger numbers, and were supported out of church budgets, people would flock to them.

In these two videos, which I found in the archives of Killing the Buddha, Woody Allen interviews Billy Graham. Other commentators place the interview in 1969, the Summer of Love. I find it funny and delightful. The two men are so different, and yet seem to enjoy one another’s company, trading quips and making deals.

WOODY: I’ll tell you what. If you come to one of my movies, I’ll come to one of your revival meetings.
BILLY: Well, now, that is a deal! (They shake hands) I would like to come back and report on that. …
WOODY: You could probably convert me because I’m a pushover.

Like other bloggers before me, I must remark on how good natured and honest they are with each other, and how unlikely such a meeting seems in this day and age. And what a mix of character and charisma that Billy Graham has! He was something else in his day.

Let’s say there’s a small town somewhere in the Midwest, with a parade of homemade floats and the reigning princess of the region, the lovely and kind Miss Okra. All the townspeople line up along the route to see her pass by on her okra throne, fashioned in just seven hours by her three brothers, who used a nail gun, a chicken wire and plywood frame, and seventeen hundred and nine fresh okras.

Miss Okra loves to throw out candy to the crowd as she passes by. She has buckets and buckets of it at her feet, more than enough for everyone, and she waves with one hand and tosses with the other. People love to catch the candy, though some get more than others, based on where they are sitting or how good their hand-eye coordination is or how large a person is in front of them or if they happen to be sitting in a pause between throws. I myself catch a milky way dark, my favorite kind, and I feel a rush of excitement and gratitude. I doubt that Miss Okra picked out that flavor just for me and aimed it directly my way, but that doesn’t diminish my pleasure one bit.

Some of the people by the road have ten pieces, and others have none. Though some of us are disappointed, none of us feels that Miss Okra, in her lovely green dress and ceramic okra-shaped earrings, was unfair. She was giving steadily all down the block. It is up to us to share our own bounty with the little ones and to use our authority to influence those who have, by luck, ability, wiles, passion, or force, acquired more than they need and are reluctant to share it.

It’s a different story when Miss Okra descends from her now slightly squished and oozy chair to personally choose candy for each member of the crowd. For some people she grinds the candy under her heel first; others she refuses altogether, and even takes their water bottles away. Still others find their open palms heaped with candies as she dumps scoop after scoop into them. What kind of an Okra princess is this? She is passing out just as much candy as before, and the distribution is about the same, but now the ordinary townspeople who had thought of her as kind find they don’t much like her, nor her fancy earrings, nor her way of doing things. People down the route who catch wind of what is happening get up and leave, candy or no candy; they want no part in it.

Miss Okra’s handlers leap out of the backs of police cars and surround her. The handlers are dressed as giant okras. They publicly apologize for having engineered this stunt. Miss Okra climbs back up on the float and beams at the crowd, foil candy wrappers glistening in her gloved hand. The ordinary townspeople do the wave.

Looky! Three posts in one day. Pace yourself– they have to last all week since we (yes, that’s the royal we, plus Dr. G) will be on vacation. We will be near jungles, volcanoes, reefs, and beaches. We will also be near ceviche and coffee plantations and bad roads. If you guess the location, I will bring you some cooled lava for a prize.

This post is devoted to strange yet wonderful out-of-print Christian-themed music from the 70′s. Our first entry is from a band called Daniel Amos. It’s the title song from their 1977 album, Shotgun Angel. It’s a country tune about a lonely trucker. Jesus talks to him through the CB radio and makes his truck fly through the air instead of driving on the road like regular trucks.

The second is from a family band called the 2nd Chapter of Acts. The start of their musical career is very sad– their parents died and they sang around the piano to share their grief. This song from 1975, “The Devil’s Lost Again,” ROCKS. And the women make chicken sounds repeatedly in the bridge and the fade-out.

I don’t think you’d get either of these beauties on Family Life radio today.

Shotgun Angel

The Devil’s Lost Again

Well I’ve dropped the ball a bit this week on ye olde blog. Mostly because I felt the need for a long, serious follow-up to my previous long, serious post. And that just didn’t seem fun. Some people are excellent at churning out long and serious. I need to work up to it. At the bare minimim I must march around the house with my fists to my temples shouting “A HUM INNA HUM INNA.”

Anyhoo. Got some interesting feedback on my essay. I liked Eun’s comment about not making God our “personal genie.” She also suggested a personal history of disillusionment that came through in my writing. True. I can’t complain a bit about my own life– quite the opposite in fact. Most of my sadness has come from comparing my life to others that have, in my estimation, a much harder time of it, both in this country and around the world. One’s lot in life seems so determined by an accident of birth, and that just don’t seem fair to an American girl with the whole “created equal” thing ingrained in my head. But that whole line of thinking is a maze of a journey with no answers, so I’ll just assign it to the “beyond my ken” category and leave it aside.

Speaking of which, if I got appointed Bible Editor I’d take out the “God’s deal with the devil” part of the book of Job, because it totally messes up the big showdown at the end. in which God most eloquently shuts down Job and his friends for having neither the right nor the capacity to know why things happen the way they do. It’s so funny that Job doesn’t get to know the reasons, but the anonymous omnicient narrator does.

Another friend mentioned that my point of view, while sensible, requires us to give up a “God is my buddy” perspective, which is scary. In some ways you do have to give it up (there are a few people in history who have been called friends of Jesus or God but that is not the primary relationship we have) and on the other hand, I think we can still look for evidence of divine care in other arenas without treading on God’s sovreignty. More below.

Kate wondered how prayer fits in with this hands-off view of life. An excellent question, and one that I haven’t thought much about. All I know is that we are invited and encouraged to pray as a way of participating in God’s work, entirely apart from any results. I pray for circumstances and situations quite a bit, but I don’t go so far as to say a certain outcome must be the result of my prayer. If something in a neutral or negative circumstance begins to shift inexplicably toward the positive, then I often suggest that people somewhere must be praying. Who knows how all that stuff works. Probably the real theologians have better ideas.

I’ve found some new thinking habits that help me stay out of the “unequal circumstances” maze.

1. Keep a sense of perspective. I remind myself of the many generations it often takes for God to fulfill his promises, and that He is concerned with groups as much as or more than individuals. I wrote more about this a few years ago in Salt. Also, the people who make it into the bible stories are the exceptions, not the rule. Their interactions with God are so out of the ordinary that they are worth recording for posterity.

2. Focus on the New Testament. The promises God makes in the old testament are attractive because they often include what I call “the good stuff”– family, wealth, health, and so on. But they are mostly historically particular, and tied to specific people, times, and places. It is tricky to treat them as eternally and universally applicable. I must not use them as guidelines for what to expect in my own life or the lives of those around me.

3. Practice valuing what the New Testament, especially the recorded words and acts of Jesus, values. This is harder than it sounds. There are few, if any, promises in there about getting awesome spouses, healthy children, good jobs, and excellent deals on personal property. In fact, the contrary: persecution, divided families, and giving all we have to the poor are some things I remember reading more than once. Yet what fills my mind most these days are thoughts of building my family, buying a house, and fulfillment at work. Default attitude, I value the usual ideas of “the good stuff” more than the kingdom of God.

4. Look everywhere for, and testify to, signs of Gods care according to the values and promises of the New Testament. What do Jesus and his early followers describe as signs of God’s grace and care? I’ve got no plans to do a detailed topical survey here, but the following come to mind:

The grace of salvation. Salvation, as a term, comes with a lot of baggage. And yet, the ongoing rescue and restoration of human beings to God is the most important evidence of His care.

The promise of nearness and attention. Jesus promised that he and his father would be with us always. Often, though not always, we can feel that presence and attention, especially in the community of believers. This is evidence of care, though by itself it cannot sustain me– sometimes my awareness of that presence fades or disappears altogether.

True community. Jesus founded and promised to nurture a community of people eager to serve God together in a new way, and that community is the primary way that God reveals love and care. I am a strand in a net of shared hope and love that extends backwards and forwards in time and around the world. Wherever words of encouragement and deeds that bring

The Holy Spirit. The renewing and lifegiving force that shapes my character, helps me to resist temptation, brings wisdom in decision making and interpreting situations, guides my actions, and allows me to impact others with hope and healing. This is a subjective sign as well, and not always detectable, and yet I can claim that any choice I make to do good against my strong desires is evidence of God’s care for me.

Miracles. Here defined as supernatural events in which the chemical or physical nature of something is definitively and measurably changed for the sake of a person or group of people. Like, say, changing water into wine. A headache going away wouldn’t count. There aren’t many of these anymore, but I feel safe claiming them as evidence of God’s care.

So instead of testifying to new jobs and washing machines, we testify to the times people have reached out with kindness in the name of Jesus. We testify to the still small voice that prompted us toward one moral choice instead of another. We offer thanks for the faith that entwines our lives apart from our circumstances, and for the gentle attention of a father who, though he does not always create or intervene as we would like, always sustains our souls and promises to bring them safely through. We give thanks because no moment is a wasted moment, and we live with the knowledge that even the most painful of them contains the promise of redemption and the opportunity to love.

It’s time for the cosmic loofah to slough off some more rough spots. Shed another skin, get lost, depart from the dark proud calculus of “meaning” with its if-then statements and chains of cause and effect, all of which Jesus resisted and now calls me to resist as well.

More and more, I find it is my duty to resist the temptation to apply cosmic meaning to the events of my life and my world. The rain falls and the sun shines on the righteous and the unrighteous alike. The laborer who works an hour gets the same wage as one who works all day. A man was not born blind because of his parents’ sin but in order to reveal the glory of God.

To succeed, I must untangle an old teaching that has been with me all my life: Every good thing that happens, I must attribute to the grace or blessing of God, and every bad thing that happens, I must assign to the effects of sin or to God’s ultimate plan, which will be revealed in due time. The purpose of this thought-habit is to shore up my faith by searching daily life for signs of God’s special care for me, and to prevent me from falling prey to destructive doubts when encountering difficult events.

Thus I hear, and sometimes tell, stories of near-misses (if I had gone my normal way to work instead of stopping at the bank first, I would have been in the nine-car pile-up) or lucky breaks (I almost bought the expensive washer at Sears, but then my sister called and told me the exact one was at a garage sale across the street) as evidence of God’s protection or blessing.

But what of the rest of the rabble? I wonder what our tales of being blessed or spared communicate about God and his people. If I escape a pile-up and attribute it to God’s protection, what am I saying about the nine people who didn’t? Did God not care enough to protect them, too? Was his attention deficient in some way? Perhaps He did care, but they were somehow unqualified to receive his care. Perhaps they disregarded the voice of God telling them to turn right back at the light or sinned by driving too fast or perhaps their purposes in God’s plan were less important than mine. Is that it? And why is it that God intervened to cut the price on my washing machine so I can afford an overnight trip to the coast, when he left an equally devout family of 10 to let their car get repossessed? Does that family has more of a lesson to learn than mine does? Or is my family’s washing machine more necessary to God’s plan than their car is to theirs? Or maybe God just loves my family more than that other family? It’s problematic.

These signs we attribute to God’s favor are only possible because the good stuff is not distributed equally: Lifespan, health, wealth, freedom, joy, faith, love, family, peace, fulfillment, freedom from pain, influence. Not only is it unequal, it is not distributed according to any obvious plan or system, and no amount of praying, hoping, or doing through the centuries has changed that basic fact of maldistribution. This discrepancy left me, like the Teacher of Ecclesiastes, in frustration and despair for some time, because it does not match up with a God who declares himself to be just, powerful, kind and loving, a giver of good gifts, an attentive father.

I’ve been moving away from that mindset of cosmic moral code for some time now but I want to experience the full humility of knowing the truth: in any act or event, I do not know God’s particular intentions towards me or anyone else. Though God is good, I cannot know all the consequences of that goodness in the world. Except in rare circumstances, none of us sees fully why things do or don’t happen, whether good or bad. The plan, except in barest outlines, is hidden. To claim special favor or complain of unfairness is to presume on God.

Does tossing the tally sheets and letting go of the whys and wherefores make me an agnostic? Am I a miserable ingrate who will not give God credit where credit is due? Am I foolishly trying to divorce my faith from experience and history? Will I look down and notice that I’ve run over the ledge and out into thin air? Well, some folks might think so. Nevertheless I believe that thankfulness, hope, trust, and a meaningful life may have even more room to bloom on this clean(ish) slate. More on that later.