Weighing In

Even before 9/11, as a conscientious Christian, I had always tried to be accepting of the negative views of the faith caused by its harsher acts throughout history.  I have been very aware of the failings of Christ's followers and the damage we have wrought throughout the centuries, and tried not to defend the indefensible.  Post 9/11, as well, I have  heard even more often the assertion that, essentially, most of the violence and wars in the world have been, and are, caused by religion.  For the most part, I have, unreflectingly, taken that to be true.  At times, I have been embarrassed and ashamed, not of Christ, but of those of us who claim to be his followers.  I know there are others who have felt, and still feel, the same.  I do not wish to dismiss any of the horrible things that Christians have said and done through the years; however, I would like to share a few things I was reminded of recently that have caused me to examine my willingness to take on unfettered guilt. The majority of my reevaluation has been because of reading a book by David Bently Hart.  I had previously read another of his books, that I will probably write about someday, and had had recommended to me as well the title, Atheist Delusions: The Christian Revolution and Its Fashionable Enemies.  With the popularity of books such as Christopher Hitchens', God is not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything, I thought it might help me articulate a response to those who ask me my opinion, especially as a pastor, about such arguments.  I was more than amply supplied with material for such a response from Hart's work.  As one instance, Hart notes the type of assertion I alluded to above - that religion is the cause of most of the violence in the world.  He recalls the answer of Peter Watson, author of a history of invention, to a question in an interview by the New York Times:

When asked by the New York Times to name humanity's worst invention, [Watson] blandly replied, 'Without question, ethical monotheism...This has been responsible for most of the wars and bigotry in history."

Hart does a masterful job of pointing out exactly how incorrect Watson is on numerous points; but he also brings up one of those facts that make me ask why I hadn't seen it before.  He writes:

"The broader, even more general, and more pertinent truth is that men kill...Polytheists, monotheists, and atheists kill - indeed, this last class is especially prolifically homicidal, if the twentieth century is to be consulted." (p.12)

Hart, himself, cites Hitler as one of the immediate examples who underscore his assertion about the destruction wrought by the non-religious.  Yet, Timothy Snyder, a historian at Yale University, has recently published a book that is even more specific on this point.  In a review of Bloodlands: Europe Between Hitler and Stalin, for the Seattle Times, Douglas Smith, noting Snyder's research, writes, "Between 1933 and 1945, 14 million civilians and noncombatant soldiers were murdered in the greatest frenzy of mass violence ever before seen."  Even more horrifying is the fact that, as well as specific ethnic groups, "...most [victims] were women, children and the aged."  Smith's review contends that the time frame should include Lenin's Bolshevik Revolution in 1917.  Having lived in China, I would add the 10's of millions killed and starved to death in the name of advancing communism in Moa's China - the Great Leap Forward of the 1950's and the Cultural Revolution of the 1960's being the prime examples.  With all of these atrocities set before us, even granting all of the atrocities committed in the name of God, it is patently absurd to blame even the "majority" of violence and war on religion.

Of course, it's no great claim to fame to say, "Well, at least we aren't the worst."  What Hart does even more brilliantly is make the argument for the astonishing goodness and humanity that has swept the entire Western world, at least, because of the influence of the followers of Christ.  In one paragraph towards the end of the book, he alludes to just the skimpiest of highlights of this Christian influence.  Referring to the subtitle of Hitchens' book, How Religion Poisons Everything, Hart questions:

Does he really mean precisely everything?  Would that apply, then - confining ourselves just to things Christian - to ancient and medieval hospitals, leper asylums, orphanages, almshouses and hostels?  To the golden rule, 'Love thine enemies,' 'Judge not lest ye be judged,' prophetic admonitions against oppressing the poor, and commands to feed and clothe and comfort those in need?  To the music of Palestrina and Bach, Michelangelo's Pieta, 'ah! bright wings,' San Marco's mosaics, the Bible of Amiens, and all that gorgeous blue stained glass at Chartres?  To the abolitionist movement, the civil rights movement, and the contemporary efforts to liberate...slaves?  And so on, and so on?  Surely it cannot be the case that, if only purged of the toxin of faith, these things would be even better than they are; were it not for faith, it seems fairly obvious, most of them would have no existence at all." (p.219-220)

Perhaps the most profound argument Hart makes for the benefit that Christ has brought to earth, through his followers, is the following:

It required an extraordinary moment of awakening in a few privileged souls, and then centuries of relentless and total immersion of culture in the Christian story, to make even the best of us conscious of (or at least able to believe in) the moral claim of all other persons upon us, the splendor and irreducible dignity of the divine humanity within them, that depth within each of them that potentially touches upon the eternal.  In the light of Christianity's absolute law of charity, we came to see what formerly we could not: the autistic or Down syndrome or otherwise disabled child, for instance, for whom the world can remain a perpetual perplexity, which can too often cause pain but perhaps only vaguely and fleetingly charm or delight; the derelict or wretched or broken man or woman who has wasted his or her life away; the homeless, the utterly impoverished, the diseased, the mentally ill, the physically disabled; exiles, refugees, fugitives; even criminals and reprobates.  To reject, turn away from, or kill any or all of them would be, in a very real sense, the most purely practical of impulses.  To be able, however, to see in them not only something of worth but indeed something potentially godlike, to be cherished and adored,is the rarest and most ennoblingly unrealistic capacity ever bred into human souls.  To look on the child whom our ancient ancestors would have seen as somehow unwholesome or as a worthless burden, and would have abandoned to fate, and to see in him or her instead a person worthy of all affection - resplendent with divine glory, ominous with an absolute demand upon our consciences, evoking our love and our reverence - is to be set free from mere elemental existence, and from those natural limitations that pre-Christian persons took to be the very definition of reality.  And only someone profoundly ignorant of history and of native human inclinations could doubt that it is only as a consequence of the revolutionary force of Christianity within our history, within the very heart of our shared nature, that any of us can experience this freedom."

This truth certainly doesn't wipe away the stains of blood shed, heretically, in the name of Christ; but I do find myself thinking of our past with a lot less guilt.  On balance, it seems as though far more good has been done in the name of Christ, than harm.

Tears of Joy

The Indigo Girls have a line in one of their songs that has stayed with me since I first heard it.  Emily Saliers sings, This world falls on me with dreams of immortality.  Everywhere I turn, all this beauty just keeps shaking me.  What surprises me a bit about this line, what resonated with me, is the way beauty becomes a sort of "weight" on the soul; or, maybe it's that beauty has an impact on the soul that almost hurts to feel.  I think we experience this in part when we see, or hear, or read something so beautiful that it brings tears to our eyes.  Those experiences that elicit the classic question from children, "Why are you crying if you're happy?" I think I found the answer to that question, at least for me, in a passage from Frederick Buechner in his memoir, The Sacred Journey.  It comes at a point when Buechner is an adolescent living in Bermuda.  He and a girl his age have gone for a walk and stopped to prolong the moment.  I will quote at length because I find his words so thoughtful:

We were sitting side by side on a crumbling stone wall watching the Salt Kettle ferries come and go when...our bare knees happened to touch for a moment, and in that moment I was filled with such a sweet panic and anguish of longing for I had no idea what that I knew my life could never be complete until I found it...It was the upward-reaching and fathomlessly hungering, heart-breaking love for the beauty of the world at its most beautiful, and beyond that, for the beauty east of the sun and west of the moon which is past the reach of all but our most desperate desiring and is finally the beauty of Beauty itself, of Being itself and what lies at the heart of Being."

I believe that those moments when we watch a miner surface from the dark and embrace his little boy after both thought they would never see each other again, or we stand face to face with the one we love, pledging our lives to one another and the words are hard to get out over the lumps in our throats, or we overhear a conversation of such sweet tenderness between two little kids that our hearts well up within us, those moments of beauty are the closest we come to being united with God on earth.  They are a taste of the world to come.  And yet, while we are still here in this life, while we are still not "there" yet, there is an "anguish of longing", a "fathomless hungering" that is not yet filled.  And so the tears flow, for both the exquisite experience of the glory of God in that moment and a quiet, but deep, yearning for the fullness of the experience yet to be.  Though it may hurt a bit, here's hoping that we may experience such heart-breaking joy at least a little bit each day.

From Ashes to...Astroturf!?

We buried my grandmother's body yesterday.  Rather, I should say, we gathered around the casket at the sight where her body was eventually to be buried.  I have presided at numerous graveside services already at this point in my career as a pastor; and, one of my greatest irritations is the plastic nature of most grave sites.  As was the case yesterday, it is now almost impossible to see any signs of the wound in the ground where the casket will be laid, the dirt displaced in order to fit the casket in the earth, even the grass along the edges of the rectangular opening.  Often times, the only place to find anything "natural" is in a metal pail off to the side, in case the pastor wants a "visual aide" for the moment when he, or she, proclaims "from ashes, to ashes; from dust, to dust."  Further adding to the synthetic, sanitized artificiality of it all, often the "dirt" in the bucket is sand, not even from the sight itself; and, Astroturf© covers the entire scene, including where the plastic chairs are lined up under the tent awning in case of rain. Yesterday, it was not my place to say anything.  This was the service for my father's mother, and his sister's, my aunt.  As for me, let the piled dirt and torn grass be visible.  May the gaping wound in the earth, its dark soil and stark openness be visible to all.  May it rain and get muddy and maybe even have the pastor slip and fall on his, or her, nice grey suit.  May the coffin be lowered all the way down while everyone is watching; and, may everyone grab a handful of dirt from the nearby pile and throw it on top of the wood for good measure.  Feel the grit in your hands; hear the sound the rocks make when they land on the casket.  And don't let there be Astroturf© anywhere within 100 yards.

Desperately Lonely

For weeks now, I have been haunted by the specter from an article I read in the Seattle Weekly about Leland Cobain.  You may recognize the surname.  Leland is Kurt Cobain's grandfather.  He lives, by himself,  in a trailer in a small town on the Olympic Peninsula, Montesano.  For years Leland wanted nothing much to do with the thousands of fans of his grandson who were desperate for some living connection with Kurt Cobain.  Then, Leland's wife died.  Since then, 1997, Leland Cobain has not only been open to answering emails, letters, phone calls, even requests for personal visits, he has been, essentially, the only surviving member of Kurt's family to be so providing.  Hundreds of fans have contacted him over the years.  The article notes that Leland has had some bizarre encounters along the way:  "The worst was an Australian woman who called from Olympia,...asking if Leland could pick her up.  For whatever reason, he obliged her...she turned out to be mentally disturbed, claiming to know who killed his grandson."  (Conor Christofferson, Seattle Weekly, August 18, 2010) It's not the seriously ill ones, however, who are so haunting; it's the lonely ones.  One woman, 31-years-old, from rural Pennsylvania, has been writing and visiting Leland for a couple of years now.  As the article notes, "...as time went by the letters drifted from the topic of Nirvana and began to resemble something more akin to the correspondence of a girl and her elderly grandpa."  The woman herself says, at one point in the article, "It was more of a fan thing at first, but now that we've talked and met, it's more like he's a part of my family."

In one sense, God bless 'em.  They are both, clearly, providing a touch of belonging, care, even love, for one another.  But I am also saddened by the deep longing that motivated their connection.  How desperate so many of us are to be loved and cared for.  So desperate that we would drive thousands of miles to spend time, in person, with someone who has shown us the least inkling of intimacy.  I once heard a speaker - I would love to give him due credit, but cannot remember who it was - who said, "No matter what your personal belief about homosexuality, one thing that the AIDS epidemic revealed, is that there is a whole community in our midst of people who are, literally, dying for love."  This breaks my heart.

I am tremendously thankful for the family, community and congregation I am a part of who provide me with such a sense of belonging; even more so, I am thankful for a God who is always present in a way that speaks to that soul-wearying loneliness.  I must admit, however, that when I hear of stories like those above, I wish that we, as the Body of Christ, were doing even more to reach out to those all around us who are so desperately lonely.  May it be so.

A Land Flowing with...?

For several days now, I've been pondering what the equivalent might be for me.  As Moses is preparing God's people to enter the "promised" land, he describes its beauty and abundance:

"God is about to bring you into a good land, a land with brooks and rivers, springs and lakes, streams out of the hills and through the valleys.  It's a land of wheat and barley, of vines and figs and pomegranates, of olives, oil, and honey.  It's a land where you'll never go hungry - always food on the table and a roof over your head.  It's a land where you'll get iron out of rocks and mine copper from the hills."  (Deut.8:7-9)

I'm okay with the "never go hungry / roof over your head" part.  I enjoy olives, honey, the fruit of the vine.  But I'm not so much a "streams and lakes" kind of guy.  And mining has no interest for me, whatsoever.  So, I've been wondering, off and on, for several days now, what is "a good land" for me?

This morning, it dawned on me; I mean that literally.  Mornings, on my way into work, I cross north Seattle from east to west on 45th Street.  I pick up Aurora Avenue heading south right about at Woodland Park.  Just after I've merged into the flow of traffic, one of the most beautiful vistas I can think of opens before me.  To my left, the Cascades cut a blue-grey jagged edge on the horizon, giving over to the white-topped, dominating sentinel Mt. Rainier.  On my right, at this time of year, especially, Queen Anne hill flourishes with a thick carpet of green.  In the center of it all, the steel and glass towers of downtown Seattle stand like meerkats attentive to the morning sun, and Lake Union lays at the feet of the skyscrapers like a pool at the foot of a palace.

This morning, this view was spectacular.  The sky was a light, royal blue, the sun's rays just clearing the Cascades created sparkles on the Lake and a green-gold glow to Queen Anne hill.  To top it all off, Bruce Hornsby and the Range's "Mandolin Rain" filled my car with a lovely, acoustic heart-ache.  And then I knew - THIS is my "good land".

The point of Moses' preview is not only to give the people courage to endure the difficulties they will face in the process of fully receiving the land, but also to exhort them to remember.  As written in Deuteronomy, Moses proclaims, "After a meal, satisfied, bless God, your God, for the good land he has given you." (8:10)

So, after this morning's "meal", for this land flowing with cars and creativity, for this land abounding with blackberries and Blackberrys, I give you thanks, O Lord.

Grace in Odd Places

At the closing of Georges Bernanos' touching story, The Diary of a Country Priest, the young protagonist absolves a man uncertain of his actions with the lovely words, "Does it matter? Grace is everywhere." I recently read the story of a woman whose response to a devastating revelation in her life offers a glimpse of such grace in our everyday world. Some of you will be familiar with the story of her husband, Michael Fenter. He is a Puget Sound resident who was arrested on October 8, outside of a bank in Tacoma that he had just robbed. It turns out that he was also charged with several other bank robberies up and down the West Coast. The most bizarre element in all of this is the fact that NOTHING in his past would have suggested such actions; and, all the while he was allegedly carrying out these crimes, the rest of his life was that of a loving family man working on a peaceful farm.

This is where Kateen Fenter's response comes in. I want to give full credit to Maureen O'Hagan from the Seattle Times for her outstanding article covering this story in the newspaper on July 24. O'Hagan does a masterful job at setting us up for the shock it was for Michael Fenter's wife, Kateen, to hear of her husband's arrest, and the allegations against him. No one involved in investigating the crimes has any doubt but that Kateen was completely in the dark about her husband's alleged acts. Truly, as far as she knew, she and her husband were living out their dream of running a farm near Discovery Bay, "...where people could come and be fed and find a place of healing" - her own words.

Think about this for a moment, as O'Hagan points out, Kateen had known Michael for 25 years, most of which she had been married to him. His arrest left her responsible for their three teenage kids and the family farm. How would I respond to my spouse upon learning of such a secret and criminal life? Kateen's response, as reported by O'Hagan, "I'm angry at moments. But you can't live there...I get up every morning and breathe. I get up every morning and love the people around me and go to work." Even more powerfully, when asked about whether she feels her husband is guilty, Kateen responds, "I don't need answers because I've made my decision based on who I am, not on what he did. We can choose to love Michael or reject him, but he won't be a better person if we reject him."

I have no idea of Kateen Fenter's faith or beliefs, but when I heard her response, I thought of Christ. I can't think of a finer demonstration in recent days of the truth that grace is everywhere, maybe especially in the oddest of places.

The God of Outsiders

In studying for the sermon last week (Sunday, July 18), I came across a brief section of a larger prayer that caught my attention. It lies within the prayer Solomon gives at the dedication of the newly completed Temple. Solomon is standing before all of Israel, publicly proclaiming his desire for God's blessing on this glorious new building. Early on, Solomon sums up in one word his greatest desire from God, praying, "Hear the prayer your servant prays toward this place. Hear from heaven, your dwelling place, and when you hear, forgive." (1 Kings 8:30, NIV translation, italics mine)

Of all the things Solomon could have requested of God, he chooses to emphasize forgiveness. Why that in particular is the topic for another time. Suffice it to say for now, that Solomon then elaborates on this prayer with seven specific scenarios in which most require some sort of forgiveness from God. However, one scenario, in particular, does not ask for forgiveness at all. It is the one scenario involving the prayers of "the foreigner":

"As for the foreigner who does not belong to your people Israel
but has come from a distant land because of your name - for [people]
will hear of your great name and your mighty hand and your outstretched
arm - when [the foreigner] comes and prays toward this temple, then
hear from heaven...and do whatever the foreigner asks of you."
(1 Kings 8:41-43, NIV, italics mine)

Even if Solomon had reversed the general tenor of the scenarios and had asked, mostly, that God "do whatever" the good church-going folks ask of Him, and "forgive" the "foreigner", I would still have found the prayer somewhat gracious. But, the way in which he truly prayed I find astonishing. I could fill another page qualifying this request from Solomon; but, I won't. I think we are meant to hear this in all of its audacity. In fact, the next line in Solomon's prayer reveals his own intentions for this part of the prayer. His desire is, "...that all the peoples of the earth may know your name and fear you, as do your own people Israel, and may know that this house I have built bears your Name." (1 Kings 8:43)

To know someones name, in the scriptures, is to know who they are in the fullness of their character. In this case, answering this prayer, as prayed, would reveal a God whose door is open to "all the people's of the earth", a God who hears their prayers and answers them, a God whose first concern is that they "come from a distant land" to be with Him.

Throughout the scriptures, both Hebrew and Greek (i.e., Old Testament and New), I have found these passages that reveal God's love for those outside of the circle. From Day One, literally, God's desire has been that all peoples live within the loving embrace of the Trinity. God's initial act of creation is full of grace, gift. Always, God's initial movement towards those not yet within the fold of love is gracious. Further, the persons who God is most demanding of are those who claim some special favor by being on the inside.

In a world so violent towards those who are standing on the opposite side of various lines, I find every word of God's that reveals God's love for the "outsider" both encouraging and challenging.

The Title

A word about the title for this blog. Some of you will recognize this phrase from T.S. Eliot's, "The Dry Salvages", one of the Four Quartets. The phrase is from a line that follows a passage about the difference between saints and the rest of us. Eliot writes that, "...to apprehend / The point of intersection of the timeless / With time, is an occupation for the saint." He then goes on to say:

For most of us, there is only the unattended
Moment, the moment in and out of time,
The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,
The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightening
Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts. These are only hints and guesses,
Hints followed by guesses; and the rest
Is prayer, observance, discipline, thought and action.
The hint half guessed, the gift half understood, is Incarna-
tion.

I'm not a saint. But I'm fortunate enough to have an occupation where I can focus on what Eliot calls "the rest" - prayer, observance, discipline, thought and action. My hope is that out of all of this you and I might be able to experience a few more of those "hint[s] half guessed" or "gift[s] half understood."

Here We Go...or, at least, Here I Go.

I have a bit of a quirky job. One of the things I get paid to do is ruminate. I read, study, pray, contemplate, meditate, procrastinate. Ooops, that last one just kind of slipped out. Beware unattended alliteration.

The goal of all of this rumination is to somehow find a connection, a bridge, between the dust and dirt of the ancient scriptures, and the damp earth and glass towers of present-day Seattle. I will readily admit that it's a good gig. I love the challenge and the whole process from study to sermon.

One of the only frustrations I have, though, is that I ALWAYS discover, or am reminded of, way more good stuff than I could, or should, ever share in one sermon. By Monday, I've moved on and all that good stuff gets left behind also.

And so, "Hints & Guesses". I am starting this blog that I might share some of those good things - ideas, authors, images, etc. - with anyone and everyone who cares to look in now and again. I make no claims of brilliance on my own part. However, I am often pretty good at spotting it in others. So, I will look to share only those things that might catch your breath, cause you to pause, maybe see the world a little differently going forward.

I won't restrict myself to the dirt and the dust of the ancient scriptures. I plan as well to share the good stuff I gleen from the damp earth and glass towers of present-day Seattle. One day maybe it will be a posting about the source of Solomon's wisdom; on another day, it might be a line of great wisdom from a Fleet Foxes song.

I should also beware of false advertising. I doubt I will be posting one "day" then the next; as might be inferred from the above paragraph. Realistically, I'm shooting for at least one post each week. I would love to think that I will really start rolling and be one of those bloggers who starts writing about a great idea / thought even before they've had one. But, likely not. In addition, no one may be interested in my "hints & guesses" at all. Well, if such is the case, at least I'll have a written record of some of the good stuff I have come across and be able to find it easier.