C.R.E.A.M.

Where I live has been termed "Rockford ghetto" by a friend.  It's not the poorest neighborhood in town, but it's near the bottom.  Everybody around me needs money as bills and rent come due.  The jealousy and anger constantly build in people (and I am no exception) until they pop.  Recently, Rockford has been highlighted as one of the most dangerous cities to live in.  It's not surprising really.  Every day, I am reminded of the reality that is C.R.E.A.M. ("Cash Rules Everything Around Me").  Living in downtown Rockford has changed me.  I'm surprised to see how much.  I think living among "the least" in Rockford has made me hypersensitive to the extent to which "ethics" is little more than a lie.

Around the turn of the millennium, I discovered deconstructionist John D.  Caputo's Against Ethics.  An ethical system is set in place to give us answers to difficult situations.  Against this, he pits "obligation."  Contrary to ethics, obligation is not a grand power, force, or narrative.  When we encounter someone who is powerless, a sense of obligation lays claim to us, this new feeling drives us to action.  In the world of ethical ideas, there is right and wrong.  It's clean, tidy.  But people aren't clean and tidy.  They are sweaty, messy, messed up, one and all.  When we look upon another who is powerless (and everyone is powerless to some degree), there is a sense of connection, identification.  Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone.  And deep down we can feel what it means to say, "I am my brother's keeper."

That was more than 10 years ago.  I was working as a student pastor in a medium church, then in a small church, then ordained in a large church.  I got it.  I could see the dynamic all around me.  I watched people appeal to ideas and ideals to argue for agendas.  I did so myself.  I preached the "story" of Jesus, a story in which light triumphs over the darkness, a story of hope, for in the end love wins.  From the pulpit and through conversations, I repeatedly said divine love was nothing short of an other-centered, justice-oriented, and self-giving love.  I got it.

Since then, I've entered into the world of the full-fledged tent maker.  I've moved to the "Rockford ghetto" where people have very little.  Pain is the name of the game.  Drugs and alcohol offer temporary escape.  People cling to what little they have.  It's a world of defensiveness, jealousy anger, resentment despair.  Everybody knows that tomorrow is coming, and it won't be any better than today.  Same song, different verse.

I didn't get it.  I thought I did, but working in the church insulated me.  I saw people after they had showered away the grit.  The atmosphere had a professional, business-like tone ringing through it.  Be proper.  Be nice.  Don't offend.  It was a sterile environment.  Ethics works well in a sterile environment.  Ethics helps to sterilize issues.  But I don't live there anymore.  Fuck ethics.

No, I didn't get it (or at least I didn't get it as much as I do now).  I see more so the extent to which ethical systems are really about power.  Ethics is the story that the powerful tell to keep the powerless in their places.  Stealing is bad (unless maybe if it is an emergency).  Therefore, people who steal are bad, and you should avoid them.  Really?  Is stealing really all that bad?  When people have little to nothing and others have more than enough, is it wrong for the poor to steal from the rich?  If so, what about banks who allow people to get home loans for more than they can afford, only to take their money for a while, then take the house when they can no longer pay?  Isn't that a form of "stealing"?  Oh, no, that's not stealing; that's business.  If the powerful work within the system that is set up to support them and take from the poor, it's business.  That's how ethics works.

My childhood hero, Robin Hood, taught me well.  Still, I think I have recently come to know him more than I ever have.  Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor isn't really about the money.  It's about turning one's back on the powerful and embracing an obligation to human, all too human, brothers and sisters, come what may.

C.R.E.A.M.  Yes, it's all about the money.  Cash rules because of what it does.  It doesn't just feed, clothe, and house people.  It liberates them.  It liberates them to not have to be afraid of losing that which they have.  it liberates them from not having to worry about whether they can pay their bills.  It liberates them to do things they want to do in life.  In short, it delivers them from fear and despair, and opens the door to a more fulfilling life.  People who have money can go do things, experience things that those who don't are not allowed to.  They can support families and other relationships.  Recently, I've come to realized the extent to which money is more than a symbol of freedom.  It actively frees; it gives life.

That's why ethics is so important to the powerful.  Ethics protects them from a level playing field that would empower others, thus disempowering them.  Stealing is bad.  It's an ethical statement.  It's for everybody.  After all, would the poor want to be stolen from?  Of course not.  That shows that the ethic is fair and impartial, as much for the poor as it is for the rich.  So the plea on the part of power to be ethical  is also an attempt to sell the blue pill to the powerless.  Yes, the blue pill is part of the purpose of ethics.

I know people who are losing their homes.  I know people who are sick and in need of medication.  I know the anger that ensues.  I know the hopelessness around me.  I know the pain.  The ethical system is not fair.

I have changed.  I still preach (in my own way) an other-centered, justice-oriented, self-giving divine love.  It's what I feel.  I have an obligation to those around me.  They are sweaty smelly, sticky, dirty, and violent.  I don't love them in spite of this.  I love them because of it.  Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone.  They are my brothers and sisters.  I won't buy the little blue pill of ethics.  Now, I can never go back.

Is it wrong to slash tires?  Is it wrong to beat the shit out of someone?  Is it wrong to have sex with someone else's significant other?  There are no longer any easy answers to day to day questions like that for me.

Living among the least is overwhelming.  I can't keep up with it all, and sometimes I just shut down.  Still, I have hope, and I find it in the strangest places.  While recently playing pool with a guy who carries significant burdens, he cleaned the table.  Something actually went right.  He lit up.  It was as if heaven had touched him and he was free, even if it was but for a moment.  Times like that rekindle something in me.  They open my eyes to possibility.  A lot of his pain can be traced back to cash flow issues.  Yes, cash rules everything around me.  But who knows, maybe someday compassion can take it's place.  I want to be right in the middle of things if it does.

A Response to "Why I Hate Religion but Love Jesus" Video

While reading Nadia Bolz Weber's blog, Sarcastic Lutheran, I was introduced to this video.  The poet, Jefferson Bethke (who self-identifies as "bball1989" on YouTube), has crafted a beautiful expression of his faith.  In it, he identifies well the perspective of many on the outside of the church regarding Christianity.  And that depiction isn't entirely inaccurate.  The church deserves this rant: "Religion is just putting perfume on a casket."

I wholeheartedly agree with Bethke as he asserts that Jesus "finishes" religion (and in this context I mean "put an end to").  Religion promotes a religious identity, whereas Christ calls us to enter into a fully human identity, a state of being in which we identify with all those around us through their humanity.  When religion gets in the way of this (as it often does), it only invalidates itself.

A quick caveat though.  There is a lot of beauty, compassion, and transformation that happens within the structure of religion.  For those who are open to it, a well-done worship service can take them into new levels as human beings growing into God.  When this happens, religion has served its divine purpose.  Despite its flaws (and there are many), I would argue that religion isn't necessarily bad.

My concern with this video is that its criticism of "religion" rings hollow to me.  I don't know the poet personally, so I'm not going to say that the hollowness that I hear is actually coming from him (though I also can't say that it isn't).  The hollowness I hear in this reflects what I've heard in others who basically say the same thing.  They believe in Jesus, they believe in the Bible, they go to church, but they don't see themselves as "religious."  Their concern over "sin" and what we "should" and "shouldn't" do dominates religious conversation.  I hear the gospel transformed into the recitation of religious formulas guiding us through a divine morality tale that calls people away from sin and into a more sanctified life, despite the rhetoric of "freedom" and "grace." In short, people suck, but God accepts us, and in response we grow into behavioral conformity (with or without a church as part of the equation).  As a result, they end up becoming billboards for the oft-scoffed at "religious but not spiritual" (or, perhaps more accurately, "decidedly more religious than spiritual"), and don't even know it (and if they do, they actually don't understand why).

Even though I'm a pastor, I consider myself to belong in the "spiritual but not religious" camp (or, perhaps more accurately, "decidedly more spiritual than religious").  Perhaps this is because I didn't grow up in the church.  I don't think that religion is hopeless (though sometimes I wonder).  It's just that modern, organized religion doesn't seem to function well within current cultural organizational and social models.  Its emphasis on hierarchy, control, and conformity (the propagandist term is "unity") are antithetical to liberation into diverse ways of living.

In the video, the criticism of religion, especially the heralding of the end of religion, is to be lauded, and even echoed.  But that which takes its place can't be another version of the same thing.  We need to move beyond cosmic morality tales.  We need to move beyond "shoulds" and "should nots."  As we move forward, we need to move in a way that honors and celebrates our humanity, with its unique beauty and potential, all the while drawing us into deeper dimensions of life.  We need to reject the idea that we are the enemies of God, and embrace the idea that we re partners with God in life together.  This is not something we can do if we carry a "people suck and need fixing" attitude, which naturally leads us to what the video calls "behavior modification."  But I believe this is something we can do, because I suspect God is calling us down a different path than we've ever known before.

Edit: I found the poet's name and added it.  

Becoming Christ-Like

Years back, I read a book called The Celtic Way of Prayer.  The highlight for me was when Esther De Waal talked about the importance of feeling comfortable in your own skin.  That means feeling comfortable with who you are.  Yes, we all have our shadow sides.  We all have those personality quirks that tend to derail even our best intentions, and even our relationships.  Part of her point was that the shadow side of me is simply a part of what it means to be me.  That's what I have to come to terms with.  

Frederick Schmidt just wrote a good article on the difference between "leaders" and "hacks."  In my reply, I argued that spiritual leaders were able to listen deeply to divine calling and guidance.  The hack, on the other hand, was primarily concerned with self-preservation and self-image.  I then drilled that down to what I believe it the key difference: self-awareness.  Because the hack is unable to recognize and face her or his own shadow side, it prevents deep spiritual listening.  

While replying, it made me think a bit about not just spiritual leadership, but also what we are called to as Christians.  It seems to me that the Christian calling may often be misunderstood by many Christian leaders.  I suspect that the stories about Jesus are portrayed in many churches as if we are to aspire to become "Jesus" in our own stories.  How Jesus lived, how Jesus felt, how Jesus interacted becomes the ideal.  I've come to conclude that this may not only be wrong, but misleading when it comes to a spiritual walk.

Simply put, I am not called to become Jesus.  Only Jesus was called to become Jesus.  I am called to become me.  That means my lifestyle, my demeanor, my habits, my curiosities, my concerns, indeed my life will be vastly different.  While Jesus was meant to live his story, I am meant to live mine.  Not only is that okay, but that's my divine calling.  

We have to be careful how we use the gospels.  We live in a different context.  What was "appropriate" back then would not necessarily be "appropriate" today, and vice-versa.  This is not to say that the gospels are bad for us.  Although I will say that I believe using the gospels in such a way that we try to become who Jesus was will can actually hinder us from growing in our own spiritual becoming.    

The Christian Testament teaches us that "God is Love."  From a trinitarian perspective, the spirit that animates Jesus (the Spirit of Christ) and the Holy Spirit are the same love.  So, when we come to the gospels, it's important not to get caught up in the particulars of Jesus life and personality.  Rather, we should be asking ourselves, "What does love look like?  Why is this love?  What is love, anyway?"

As Christians, we are called to become "Christ-like."  This means we are to be the bearers of divine love for all those around us.  Love will look different in different times and in different places.  As we live our lives, we will not look like Jesus (who lived in a different time and a different place as a different person), and we shouldn't.  Instead, we will look like ourselves as we grow into a deeper love.  

I am me.  I am meant to be me.  I need to be comfortable being me.  I need to befriend and embrace my shadow side as an important part of myself, recognizing my quirks as a form of self-expression.  And while I do this, I am called to continually grow into an ever expansive love.  This I believe is is my personal calling, because I am called to be a Christian.

New Feature: Disqus Comments

Disqus is a commenting network, and I've just added it to the site.  Unfortunately, in the process of switching over, I seem to have lost all of my past comments.  I'm going to talk with them to find out how to get them back.  Until then, we're starting with a clean slate.  Also, I may have to figure out how comments are moderated.  I need responders to please be patient while I figure this out.  Despite the speed bumps, I expect the new feature to be an improvement.

Edit: It looks like the comments are back.  *whew*

Aikido as Divine Liturgy

Founder of Aikido,
Morihei Ueshiba ("O'Sensei")

For half my life (about 20 years) I've been fascinated with the martial art Aikido (which can be translated as "the way of the spirit of harmony").  I was introduced to it in my mid-20s.  At first, it confused me.  I thought martial arts were about taping into one's inner animal, unleashing it, and overpowering one's opponent, thus winning the fight.  Aikido turned all of that on its head.  In class, I heard things like, "You want to take care of your uke (the person you are throwing)," and "Don't do that, because you could hurt someone.  Do this instead."  I was confused, yet enthralled.

I only studied the art a few months before life changes made it too difficult for me to attend any longer.  But it was enough to for me to realize that this was the art I wanted to study.  So I didn't study anything else until I found a class in my area a little more than a year ago.   It has been a great joy to return to the martial art I love most. 

When practicing Aikido, techniques begin with an "uke" attacking a "nage".  In contrast to many arts, the nage's mindset is not one of defensiveness toward an enemy.  Even though uke's attack is (theoretically) that of malice, nage perceives the relationship as one of mutuality and partnership.  When the attack comes in with its malicious energy, the nage accepts the energy as a gift by absorbing it in some way (or at least not impeding it).  The nage then blends her energy with the aggressive energy, thus redirecting it into her center to make it her own.  Once the energy is her own, her concern for the well-being of her aggressor cleanses the energy of malice.  After her perspective and intent have transformed the energy into that of compassion, she returns it back to her uke, her own life-giving gift to him. 

Of course, my life has taken many turns since I first encountered Aikido, one of them being ordination.  Those years of experience have led me to look at this martial art differently. In the early days, I thought of Aikido as merely a non-violent martial art.  Now, I look at it as a magnificent form of liturgy. 

Liturgy, when done well, is far more than "mere ritual."  It is about participating ritualistically in a story of becoming.  In basic Presbyterian liturgy, we begin with an opening call to worship in which the leader calls out to the people, and the people respond.  It's story that begins with a divine word that creates, in this case, a people.  But then we have the confession of sin and assurance of pardon, through which we act out the fall and restoration.  Having been restored, we now listen to the Word of God (the scripture and sermon) with new ears, ears informed by the experience of our fallen/renewed lives.  Having heard our calling, we are then sent out into the world as expressions of the grace that we have received. 

Attentive liturgy has a shaping effect upon our lives.  When we intentionally participate in a story repeatedly, that story helps to shape how we see things and how we respond to them.  Christian liturgy is a story of redemption, a story in which the power of divine love draws in the darkness to itself and transforms it, sending it out again as new light.  Or, to put it another way, it is a story of transforming malice into compassion, of transforming sin into grace. 

What does it mean to become more "human"?  What would the world look like if we were to transcend our bestial drive to survive and the ensuing need to conquer?  It seems that a worship service that relays our calling to become agents who redeem malice through compassion and a martial art that nurtures an attitude of caring for one's neighbors are both wrestling with the same question.  As they wrestle, they tell their stories.  And in their ends, they present new visions of human possibility in which we can all participate.  Whether I partake of cup or twirl people around me, I experience both as liturgical expressions of the Divine. 

Fundamentalist Snake Oil May be Hazardous to your Financial Health

Original image at The Daily Dose.

It has been months since Harold Camping decreed that the rapture would come on May 21, 2011. For those interested, here's how he knew.  Of course, it didn't happen. The rain date is October 21. Well, actually, the rain date was May 21, since the original prediction was for 1994. So, October is really the rain date for the rain date. Math is hard.

I've made mistakes. Everybody has made mistakes. When the well being of others is involved in the decisions I make, I try to be a bit more diligent in my discernment. If I screw the pooch and others suffer, I try to make it up to them somehow. It's my own sense of what it means to be responsible.

In fact, I would argue that a sense of responsibility is one mark of what it means to be an adult. It's an internal motivation that naturally flows from empathy and compassion. It leads me to recognize that my actions in this world affect others. I do not go plowing through life like a bull in a china shop.  I am able to act in a way that "responds to others," which is to be "response-able."

For those who cannot act responsibly, there is accountability. This is the external force that says, "you have done wrong to others; you owe it to them to make amends." The idea behind accountability is not just to promote reconciliation founded upon a justice, but also (and more importantly) to prevent the damaging acts from being repeated.

I've already discussed why fundamentalism deserves to be treated differently than other religious stances.   In short, it is actively dangerous as it engages in a form of emotional and spiritual abuse. This whole scenario of predicting the rapture reveals a new layer to the problem. Harold Camping has done harm, more than once, and will continue to do harm.

Interviews with those who've committed themselves to his movement (I call them "victims") have been very telling.  The financial damage distinctly stands out.  Some have spent their life's savings because they truly believed that nothing else mattered. Some maxed out credit cards and will pay on the debt for years to come. Before we say, "it's just finances," I should point out that financial damage is still real damage, and in some cases it has been crippling.  People who bought his theological bullshit spent and lived as if there were no tomorrow. And then tomorrow came. The irreversible damage had been done.

Thusfar, I haven't come across any pledge on Camping's part to reimburse his victims for the effects of his behavior. In fact, it appears that he stands by his words, even to the point of saying it really did happen, but not finally.  Obviously, he is not going to accept responsibility for his beliefs-in-action and the damage they have caused. Will there be any accountability? Apparently not. In fact, he's going to do it again in but a handful of months. Rinse and repeat.

Charlatans are a dime a dozen. Buyer beware. In this case, we see lots of harm done, and still no foul called. We don't want to cry foul. To do so would be the equivalent of belittling someone for their religious beliefs. We generally don't approve of that in our culture. Maybe it's best to be silent, lest we make religious people feel bad.

This is exactly what the fundamentalists want.  When people are being victimized, victimizers hope for silence from bystanders. Without it, they couldn't abuse people as they do. Indeed, we need to cry "foul" when people's beliefs manifest harm in the lives of others. To portray Camping's belief system as having possible merit--as being something other than a dangerous, irrational delusion--is to encourage theological predators as they work to ensnare their prey.  No, we can't hold Camping accountable.  We don't have that kind of power.  But we can speak up and decry the lie.

Classic Joke: A Rabbi, Priest, and Minister Walk into a Bar

A rabbi, priest, and minister walk into the bar. They sit down at one end, and the rabbi says, "Want to hear what I did this weekend?" The other say, "Sure."

The rabbi, whose name is Abraham, continues. "I talked with my congregation about the importance of circumcision. Our God is a God of the Covenant, and we are the people of that covenant. When we circumcise, we are literally 'cutting a covenant' in the flesh. This physical mark reminds us of who we are and to Whom we belong. It's about personal and communal identity. I am part of the divine Covenant. We are part of the divine covenant together. We are not, and never will be, alone."

The priest and minister nod together and say, "very nice." Then the priest says, "Do you want to hear what I did this weekend?" The others say, "Sure."

The priest, whose name is Peter, continues. "I talked with my congregation about the importance of liturgy. Liturgy isn't just 'meaningless ritual.' When we participate in liturgy, we are participating in an eternal story. In the beginning God calls us into being as a people. It is in community that God transforms us. It is in community that God nourishes and empowers us. It is out of community that God sends us to become enfleshed grace for others as we live out the story of Jesus in the world."

The rabbi and the minister nod together and say, "very nice." Then the minister says, "Do you want to hear what I did this weekend?" The others say, "Sure."

The minister, whose name is Paul, continues. "I preached about the importance of Scripture. The Bible is the Word of God, inspired by God to grant unto us real guidance in this and every age. It is a timeless book that bears witness to an eternal truth. And the most important thing that it does as the Word of God in text is to point us to the Word of God enfleshed: Jesus Christ, the Son of God, Savior of the World. It is the Bible, filled with divine prophecy and wisdom, that leads us to take Jesus into our hearts so that we do not find ourselves ultimately lost.

The priest nods and says "very nice." The rabbi shrugs and says, "Meh, whatever."

The bartender walks up the the three religious leaders. He asks the rabbi, "Abraham, need anything?" The rabbi says, "Yeah, I'd like a brandy." The bartender pours some brandy into a glass and slides it to him.

Then the bartender looks at the priest and asks, "Peter, need anything?" The priest says, "Yeah, I'd like a glass of wine." The bartender pops the cork on a bottle and pours out a glass of wine and slides it to him.

Then the bartender looks at the minister and asks, "Paul, need anything?" The minister says, "Yeah, I'd like a beer." The bartender pulls the tap and fills a mug full of beer and slides it to him.

The bartender then takes all their plastic and places it by the register, for at the end of the day they will pay whatever tab they run up.

Then the bartender goes down to the other end of the bar where another man sits. The bartender slides him a shot of Jameson's alongside a rum and coke, and they begin to talk.