Duel Citizenship?
Between Two Worlds Day 21 (of 40)"I certainly do hope that your pursuit of adventures to the other world don't hinder or harm your brothers and sisters who love you so."That was the ending line to the most interesting response to my blog yesterday where I asked, "How Can I Serve You?" The thoughtful response also included a reference to C.S. Lewis's The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and Edmund's attempt to maintain "dual citizenship" in two worlds later regretting his desire to have a foot in both worlds and hurting his siblings.
I have been aware of the very tricky nature of trying to live in two worlds--the world of our tried and true church institutions and the world of emerging spiritualities. In fact nearly a year ago when I interviewed for the interim position I currently hold the one question I pushed them on was, "Are you sure that my blog and writing won't become a distraction to the congregation?" That was my biggest concern.My concern and awareness comes from my work in dealing with both individual grief and organizational grief. I know that my blog is about stepping into a new world--uncertain, untested, and unchartered. I also know that when I enter a church as an interim most churches are looking to recover a once glorious past. From the pulpit I am easing people through the initial stages of grief. But my blog is for those who have completed the grief cycle and are ready for the new life unfolding before them.I believe that this is where my reader is coming from--"Are the words in my blog going to undermine the faith of the congregation where I serve?" Believe me, I share the same concern.As a pastor who genuinely cares for people I often struggle with how shocking some of my words and thoughts must be to some people in the church. Plus, I can have a bit of a mouth at times which surprises people that the Good Reverend isn't so reverent!
But years ago I had to come to terms with whether I would spend the rest of my professional life helping churches cope with loss, decline and even potential closure. I have a background in hospice work as well as many years of teaching grief theory and practice in human services. In 2011, my 4,000-mile cycling pilgrimage through the western United States was specifically about that--facing the reality that the rest of my career would be some form of "congregational hospice work". I knew then that although my livelihood would continue to be in an organization that is dissolving away like a sand castle on the beach that my soul wanted more.So here is the rub. To my faithful reader it is not that I am trying to live in two worlds, as if I want to have my cake and eat it too. It's that my soul longs to be in the emerging world where there is a hopeful future. At the same time my need for a livelihood continues to draw me back into the traditional church world where I have well-honed gifts. I do love the work of walking alongside congregations as they face the reality of losses, an uncertain future and the grief associated with the passing away of a church form that has been dear to these people for a lifetime.In many ways I have been built for this. I lost my first mother at age three and my second mother severed our relationship in my 20's. I have lived with grief and loss for most of my life and have done the hard work to face it, to embrace it, and to relish the gifts that come from abandonment and loss. I went on to work as a hospice counselor and then as a foster care director working with youth who had experienced deep trauma and loss. I am tailor-made to do this work--no doubt about it!
But I am also human. Loss has come to define my life and my career. So, is it any wonder that my soul also wants to get to other side of the bridge where new shoots are peeking through the ground promising a blanket of colorful wildflowers and a canopy of young trees. I love my work, but my heart also longs for that feeling that teachers get when working with children where the future is all dreams and promise. Most of my work is about helping people and organizations "let go." I am good at, but there is a heaviness to the work.I should also note that it isn't as black and white as I portray it--that is, the church is one world and what is out there is another world, more promising and hopeful. I believe most congregations also have the potential of entering or inviting in the new world. But here is the deal. Until you let go of the past you won't be able to enter the future. Until you are willing to die, resurrection is just a fancy window display.I make it sound like the two worlds are those who are in the church and those who are not. I actually don't believe that. What I do believe is that there are two worlds--those who are willing to die in order to embrace a new and re-imagined life and those who will hold on for dear life and will just die.Jesus said, "Whoever wants to save one's life will lose it and whoever loses one's life for my sake will save it." I think he just might have been onto something!The truth is I don't want to straddle two worlds. I am not psychologically flexible enough for it. What I do want is to help people and congregations move from one world to the other. It's been my personal story. I want to help it become your story.
How Can I Serve You?
Between Two Worlds Day 20 (of 40)HOW CAN I SERVE YOU?
That is a question that we pastors learn to ask before we even assume the mantle of a church. Of course it may be that the call to serve is what drives us to become pastors rather than the other way around. The truth of the matter is that I was never called to serve the church. From the beginning I felt called to serve a deeper purpose and spirit that we often call God. It just happened to be that the church was the best place to do that, at least for a time.I used to say that I left the ministry for a time when I was referring to the period from 1997-2006. But later I adapted my story and said, "I left the pastoral ministry for awhile." I never left the ministry. I continued to serve, but my ministry was with hospice patients and their families, adjudicated adolescents in foster care and non-profit organizations.I don't think my call to serve will ever go away. It's possible that I might end up being employed in for-profit businesses at some point, but it would only be to support my real love--serving the community and recovering the language of the Soul in our public life.
To that end I have a very practical request. I want to know how I can best serve you. Sometime in the next 9-18 months I am likely to finish the interim pastor position where I am currently employed (called). I know that I may need to transition directly into another interim position after that. But in the meantime I would like to develop as much of the Pedal Pilgrim work as I can. My dream would be to someday do this freelance work full time, but I am okay with whatever the gods have in store. Maybe I'll be able to get away with half time or three quarter time work where I can dedicate the remainder of my time to this passion that has a tight grip on me.But I need your help!Below are a few statements for you, my readers. Would you leave a comment or write me personally at brian@pedalpilgrim.com and tell me which statements or combination of statements apply to you. Or write your own little essay about whether I am going the right direction or not. Anything except staying quiet works for me! (If you want you can copy these into your comment and then check them.)I know what I can offer. I know what I want to do, but what I really need to know is how I can best serve you.How can I best serve you?___Please continue to regularly write your blog.___Please give me an opportunity to make a monthly pledge (see www.patreon.com) to support your creative work.___Please notify me of books write from your pilgrimages and soul work.___Please invite me to any retreats where you are listed as the retreat leader.___Please give me an opportunity to financially support your next spiritual pilgrimage (www.kickstarter.com)___Please invite me to attend a one or two week pilgrimage led by you.___Please offer one-on-one coaching and soul work to your readers and followers.Inviting you to take this journey with me...Brian
We Shall Not Cease from Exploring...
Between Two Worlds Day 19 (of 40)
Four years ago I took off on a slightly over-ambitious cycling pilgrimage around the West. I knew that I needed to do something to face the losses of my life. I had lost three women important to me in a short 30-month period. At the same time I was knew I was working myself out of a job as I was guiding a church through a closure/legacy process. But floating between my subconscious and my conscious mind I held out some hope that the pilgrimage would propel me into some new professional role--maybe as a writer, maybe as the foremost expert on congregational grief, or maybe as the catalyst for a new spiritual community. I had momentary fantasies of riding back into Portland with hundreds of people lining the streets ready for a spiritual revolution!That didn't happen. In fact, by the time I arrived in California after seven weeks of riding I knew it wasn't going to happen. I could tell by my blog that, even though a great conversation was ignited, dozens of people weren't lining up ready for me to return. But the big reality check was returning to speak at churches as I rode the last 800 miles of the pilgrimage. I had held out some naive hope that I would return and there would be a resurgence of energy to pick my brain and hear about my experiences. Instead I got back and discovered that the church was still the church. Over 3,000 miles of riding, conquering a number of major mountain passes, and crossing the desert in the heat of August hadn't made even the slightest dent in the energy and future viability of the church.
The theme of this 40-day Lenten blog and conversation is "Between Two Worlds". I have spent the better part of these past five years flirting between these two worlds. Much of my energy has been seeing if I can get across the bridge into the new world. But the reality has been that despite the ongoing erosion of the old world there is still more of a world left to forge a livelihood on than the new world where there is vision, but very little organization. Metaphorically, there are still more apples on the tree in the church than on the little saplings that are peeking through the ground on the other side of the bridge. The future is in the saplings, but the old trees still fill my hungry stomach.Which brings me to today. Every morning I take 30-45 minutes to do some stream of consciousness writing that helps me to clear away the clutter in my head and listen to the voice and the wisdom of my soul. On Monday this wrestling match between these two worlds started to make sense to me--or at least I felt more comfortable with my place in it. I would love to be part of the building whatever this new world is supposed to be. But if I am honest with myself the reality is that I am too old and tired. I do believe that something new is being built, but that like the forty year fight for LGBT recognition, this too won't emerge overnight. It will be one generation, maybe two, before anything that looks like a new model and structure will be recognizable.With that growing realization my stream of consciousness writing brought me to the line, "My time will limited to simply being the explorer." I will never be the builder, but someone has to be the explorer and the scout.
In fact that has been my story so far these past five years. Twice I have taken off on pilgrimage only to come back and re-settle back into church life and the pastorate for two and three years at a time. I wonder if this is supposed to be my story (and quite honestly the story of many of us in this time)--that we will spend the rest of our lives flirting between these two worlds. I wonder if our lives will be the great experiment of going out on expedition (whether to foreign places or into the inner worlds of our psyches and souls), exploring new worlds, bringing it back, telling our stories, and then going out, coming back, going out, coming back until we all have crossed the bridge together.I shouldn't be surprised that this is where I might be ending up. Two years ago as I dug deeply to name this new work and identity I was forming I came up with the tagline for my website, "Exploring the World, Discovering the Soul." Even writing those words again feels refreshing.We don't have to be the builders right now. Maybe it is enough just to be explorers for awhile.I leave you with this T.S. Eliot quote:
"We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."
The Great Estate Sale (Part 2)
Between Two Worlds Day 18 (of 40)Sharon H. asks the question, "Who are the people who would buy the estate?" referring to my blog on the The Great Estate Sale. I have decided to respond in a letter.Dear Sharon,Thank you for your question. I can imagine that that would be the question of any person or organization preparing to let go their estate in the hope that someone would carry on their legacy. The truth is I don't know exactly who these people are. I do have a hunch about what the shift is that our religious institutions are experiencing. Quite honestly, it feels so radically different than what I and we have known for decades that it is almost paralyzing. At the most basic level it seems to me that we are moving from "belief-oriented" communities to spiritualities that honor a direct experience of that which we call Sacred. If my sophomoric understanding of our religious history is right this means we may be preparing for the reappearance of religious mysticism.
You want to know who these people are. I think they are all around us. In fact, I think many of them are even in the church right now, but just haven't had their spirituality validated. Diana Butler Bass in her book Grounded says that the big change has been that the "God out there" has come home. God is no longer a distant being that we have to believe in in order to have a relationship; God is right in front us in the checkout line, out in the garden, and singing to us through iTunes. A God who is that personal doesn't need believing in; She or He only needs to be invited to share in the daily joys and challenges of everyday life. I can feel it especially in my preaching. People don't want to hear about God; they want to experience God in that short 20 minutes!But my point in my previous blog was not we should look for a good buyer before putting our estate up for sale. My point was that we may need to put it up for sale and see who decides to buy. My point is that we may be getting to the point where we no longer have control over who will carry on the legacy of the Christian tradition. We want to have some control over who carries on our name, our mission, and our buildings. But it seems the more we try to control our future the less attractive we become to those seeking a welcoming, faithful community of spiritual pilgrims.From a practical point of view it seems to me that we have nothing to lose. We either keep doing what we have been doing while our churches dissolve away. Or we do something radical like putting out a sign that reads, "Estate Sale Coming--We Want Our Treasures to Become Your Treasures!"
I write this from the place of experience. I was pastor of a church in Portland that was heading toward closing. Three years before the fateful day they made a decision. Rather than just wither away until there was nothing left they decided to spend their final months putting in place the pieces to leave a legacy on the site. They invited the community to a meeting and they told them, "We have a commitment to serve the community. We have a commitment to ministries of compassion in Jesus name. And we have a building that is 50% unused. We want to pass our spiritual and physical assets on to you."Within a year the city and a local non-profit opened up a 60-bed family homeless shelter in our extra classrooms. A earth-friendly non-profit partnered with us to build a 100-plot, 3/4 acre community garden. And another congregation that wanted to expand its social justice ministries made an offer on the building and took over the site.What made that work, however, was not trying to control their future, but by letting go the picture of their future. They named the values that were important to their legacy. The community sent those who best represented those values to us. Eastminster Church did close, but on the site is a worshiping community that is engaged and active in serving the community with programs that embody the compassion of Jesus.Eastminster, in the end, left a legacy, not by planning and manipulating their future, but by letting go of their future.Mike H. wrote yesterday about the community of AA and process of recovery. An alcoholic doesn't really "let go" until they hit bottom. I am wondering if that time is coming for us as well. I love Phyllis Tickle, but I don't think a rummage sale is going to be enough.
The Great Estate Sale
Between Two Worlds Day 17 (of 40)The late Phyllis Tickle said that the Church seems to go through a Great Rummage Sale about every five hundred years--a cleaning out of our closets and a massive purging of everything that seems to no longer its purpose. I really appreciate her image. It sends a clear message that there are periods where the institution of church has to commit to a radical spring cleaning of historic proportions.
But I wonder if the image of the rummage sale doesn't go quite far enough. I wonder if the more appropriate image would be that of an estate sale rather than a rummage sale. It's not just a matter of size--an estate sale being the larger of the two. It's more a matter of intent. In rummage sales we still hold onto the property and only slim it all down to the furnishings that still serve a purpose. In estate sales the whole property, furniture, belongings and junk get passed onto others.I write this as the themes of religious mysticism continue to ferment in my heart and soul. I am increasingly convinced that the shifts that we can feel, but can't quite name, are rooted in an historic return or re-imagining of Christian mysticism.What does this have to do with the difference between rummage sales and estate sales? I wonder if a rummage sale won't be enough. Rummage sales slim down the clutter in a home, but don't usually change the character and purpose of a home. Rummage sales usually just make it easier and more efficient to do what you already do.Estate sales, on the other hand, give the new owners permission to do whatever they like with their newfound furniture, property, gadgets, and junk. They get to put their newly acquired treasures to a completely new use and purpose. They are not confined to the stories of the past and the unspoken assumptions that accompany any family treasure.I write this with no hint of judgment or shame toward the church as it is. In fact, I write it as a message of hope. Many of our churches are afraid of closing. They fear that they will slowly erode away until there is nothing left of them. They get paralyzed worried that their mission and ministry will fade away like old ink on an exposed page.
But it is my conviction that the tradition of religious mysticism is making a comeback that propels me to want to urge our church institutions to think beyond just rummage sales; it may be time to spend the next generation readying our churches and tradition for the Great Estate Sale. It may be time to start thinking about how we are going to turn the tradition, the values, and the assets of the church over to those who are nurturing new communities and spiritual disciplines around the tradition of religious mysticism.I write this too because I have flirted between these two worlds with only little success at bringing them together. If I believed (and had experienced) that a re-introduction of Christian mysticism would re-ignite the church in a way that would sustain it into future I would be advocated for a Great Rummage, not an estate sale. Unfortunately my experience has been the more firmly rooted I am in the church the less I am able to reach those spiritual seekers who are exploring mystical forms (whether they know it or not). And the more firmly I am grounded in the language and practices of mysticism the more wary and distrustful much of the church is toward me and my writing.
None of this is personal. It's not an attack on me and my ministry. It only makes my point--that a rummage sale may not be enough. As the current incarnation of church passes away it may be time to think about passing the church estate on to those who can best carry on its legacy. And quite honestly, I would rather that we pass the assets, values and mission of the church onto those who are resurrecting Christian mysticism than to have McDonald's and Hooters bidding for our property.Would you answer a hypothetical question for me as if it was posed by the church?Dear Friend,Over the next ten years, we, First Generic Church, will be passing our ministry and assets over to the community? If you were to be named as beneficiary to our estate how would you use the proceeds to further the great tradition of Christian community? Please feel free to use your imagination!
A Little Epiphany?
Dear Friends,I am out of town and didn’t expect to have the space, resources and desire to dig into a couple of blog posts. But I found little space this morning and discovered an epiphany bubbling up within me. I will probably write more about the process of coming to this; I do know that the intention to treat this 40-day Lenten period as a pilgrimage produces fruit. It is one of the gifts that I think I bring. I have learned from my past pilgrimages that there truly is something about following the bread crumbs of the soul.My epiphany is that I am really wondering if the language of religious mysticism truly is our future. I know I have said that, but in past posts that thought has emerged more from an intuitive premonition.Today, however, it was as if I had gone around a corner and saw it clearly off in the distance. I am in Portland right now on a three day weekend (I know…does this guy ever quit working!). Yesterday as I drove toward my grandson’s house and his parents (who happen to be my son and daughter-in-law) the land that lay before me was wet and green and towering in the distance a glistening Mt. Hood, fresh with white snow, was luring me toward it despite the distance. That’s how my epiphany felt about the future of religious mysticism. I could actually taste that this was going to be the language that was large enough to make room at the table for the different extremes of religious adherence.Here is what happened. My present work is in a community where it would be safe to say that the evangelical conservative and non-denominational churches have a near monopoly. There are handful of mainline Protestant churches, one fairly active Catholic church, and a small but engaged Unitarian Universalist church. But quite honestly we are a little like that small shelf of cassette tape players in a Best Buy warehouse where music has gone to MP3’s and iPhones. We exist, but one has to really go looking for us. In addition, in meetings with religious colleagues in town the assumptions reveal that they don’t even know I exist. “Well, do you think we would allow any of the “gay liberal” churches to participate?” they ask, completely unaware that they are talking about me.But the point is not their politics. The point is that I think my evangelical conservative colleagues and friends actually get the mysticism thing even if they would bristle at the language as being too New Agey. The thing about my EC brothers and sisters is that the experience of a personal relationship with Jesus Christ and all the emotional intimacy that goes with that lands them pretty squarely in the mystical camp. Where they fall short is that they wrongly assume that their experience is and should be normative. They are not able to own the depth and beauty of their experience and at the same time allow others to have an equally intimate experience of the Sacred, but in a way that looks and feels different.I love to climb mountains on my bicycle—the sweat, the grinding and punishing pedaling, the rhythm of my breath and the pounding of my heart as I push myself to the limit to squeeze out every ounce of physical ecstasy is as good as….well, you know what I mean. But if I literalize my experience and demand that others have the same experience I have crossed the line. Others get to have their own experience of the mountain unique to them.Where my EC brothers and sisters agree, however, is that experience is central. So I wonder, if the language of mysticism will one day be the tie that binds us together. I wonder if the liberal/conservative divide may someday dissolve away. I admit that at this stage I am just wondering and musing. But today felt a little different. I could see it; I could just about taste it. Like Mt. Hood towering miles ahead of me I wondered if mysticism was an invitation to our common, healing, unified future.What do you think? What future do you see potentially coming? What are the obstacles that might get in the way?
Book Teaser...
Between Two Worlds Day 15 (of 40)Dear Friends, I am out of town for two days and have inserted these two posts into our conversation for convenience sake. Today is the first couple of paragraphs of my book that will be available in a few days.From the first chapter, "Answering the Call"In less than three years, I lost the three most important women in my life.My wife of 25 years left our marriage suddenly one night. My mother-in-law, to whom I was especially close, died a year later after a long struggle with dementia. Eleven months later my stepmother (my father’s third wife) died during a routine, though risky, open heart surgery. After such gut-wrenching loss, I had hoped I could build a successful life in Portland, Oregon, as a church minister after a nine-year detour into hospice, probation and foster care work. I took the position as minister of Eastminster Church knowing it was facing likely closure and that I could lose my job. Four years on, it was clear the end was in the not-too-distant future—Mother Church was about to abandon me as well. My personal and professional life was crumbling at an alarming rate.I was determined not to let these losses define me. I would win this war against the world by Gump’s running shoes for cycling shoes, I resolved to ride my bike. “Walter,” I told a pillar of Eastminster Church,“ I need to take a pilgrimage. It’s not a matter of ‘if’. The only question is for how long and whether you’ll let me come back.”
The Gospel According to Fogelberg
Between Two Worlds Day 14 (of 40)Off in the Netherlands I heard a soundLike the beating of heavenly wings;And deep in my brain I can hear a refrainOf my soul as she rises and singsAnthems to glory and anthems to loveAnd hymns filled with earthly delight,Like the songs that the darkness composesTo worship the light.Dan Fogelberg, Netherlands
I was singing those words on the day that I climbed up into the mountains just inland from the west coast of Greece. Eventually I wanted to end up in Thessaloniki but I had no definite route except to head east and make whatever detours were necessary to see the monasteries of Meteora and to climb as far up Mt. Olympus as a bike was allowed to go.I rode along the foggy shore of Lake Ioannina for fifteen kilometers before facing the mountains that were to my left. Three roads snaked their way up the mountain, all of them with a beautiful zig zagging pattern of numerous switchbacks. I chose the one that seemed the least frightening. For the next hour I alternated between riding my bike and walking it as some stretches were just too steep for a 54-year old man with fifty pounds of gear on his bike.
Finally, the switchbacks ceased and a whole range of mountains lay before me, much like the Rocky Mountains I had grown up in. For the next five hours I climbed and climbed. I rode through herds of goats, nervously eyed the large mangy sheepdogs who also eyed me, and relished in the psychological and physical strength that was radiating from my body. And I sang, “Off in the Netherlands I heard the sound like the beating of heavenly wings…”Many years ago I taught a class, “An Introduction to Christian Mysticism” at a church that probably had never heard the term before. I used Fogelberg’s mystical poetry as a way to bridge the experience of mysticism to the language of Christian mysticism (which can sound often foreign and esoteric). What I found remarkable about the participants is that the language of mysticism was foreign to them, but the experiences had been etched into their memories and permeated their souls. Conservative and liberal discovered that they shared common experiences and a relationship with the Divine that was often hidden from each other.I write this because last week I posed the question, “Might the church be the safe container to teach and lead others to experience of the Sacred through the language of religious mysticism?” One reader wrote, “They’d have to learn it first” which I think my only be partly true. If my experience in the last three churches tells me anything, it is that the language of mysticism is completely new, but the experience of mysticism is widespread. In fact, in my last church I preached a sermon on what a mystic was and I had a dozen people tell me, “That’s me! I’ve been a mystic my whole adult life without knowing it.”“Anthems to glory and anthems to love and hymns filled with earthly delight…” That’s the language of a uniquely American mystic.Do you think we might be on to something here?
Book announcement...
Between Two Worlds Day 13 (of 40)
GOOD NEWS! The proof from Amazon's publishing house came yesterday for my book Alone: A 4,000 Mile Search for Belonging. Wild Ginger Press will be reviewing it to make sure the layout is what we wanted, set up the ebook option, put a link on my site, and then we'll be going to press. Keep your eyes peeled. Any day now!Since we are on the theme of the emerging language of religious mysticism here is an excerpt from Part Three, Facing the Enemy Within on pages 98-99. I was riding through Yellowstone National Park this day: The riding was difficult—and blissful. One moment I’d be sailing through lush, green meadows, then sweep around a corner only to find myself upon another moon-like landscape, with steam and bubbling pots of witches’ brew escaping from the earth’s belly. Then I would test my legs again as the earth turned skyward and I climbed another steep pass, towering peaks flanking me, while a rushing fresh-water stream carved its way through narrow canyons next to the road. The highlight of the afternoon was standing on the overlook for Lower Yellowstone Falls. I nearly wept at the stark beauty and raw power of the water as gravity forced it over the rocks and sent it crashing down hundreds of feet. I had the strange experience of wanting to lean into the energy of the falls, to feel its power and soulful, violent movement, as if it wasn’t enough to observe it from a distance. Of course, I knew I couldn’t, as a few feet more toward the edge would have sent me torpedoing toward the bottom, like the water. I would have gotten the experience, but not lived to tell the tale.
I remembered the first time I had that experience, in Racine, Wisconsin. (Racine was one place I was not visiting on my pilgrimage to places lived. It was just too far and would have made my circle more of a triangle. Theologically I like the circle better, even though some would point out that the triangle represents the Holy Trinity. I believe God is found in the circle of life rather than a side of a triangle these days!) My wife and I lived in a house one mile west of Lake Michigan. I often took walks over to the lake and along its rocky beaches. When it wasn’t too cold (and it often was!), I would head over to the edge of the lake in the winter. The waves were often three, four, even five feet high, and would come crashing in against the rocks and blocks of ice that had formed. I had that same strange yearning to jump in and allow my body to be carried by the crashing waves. I wanted to experience what the waves were experiencing. At the time, my thoughts unnerved me a little. Did I have a death wish? Was my longing about wanting to die?Years later I discovered the language of the mystics that described this longing to be one with all of life—the ocean, mountains, lovers, family, food, dance, and work. I’ve had that same feeling many times since and know now that it is not a death wish, but simply a desire for union and communion in its deepest form. Now I meditated on the falls before me, felt gratitude for its sublime beauty and power—and greedily yearned for more, much more.Now...will you share with me one of your mystical experiences?!
Two Doors and One Room?
Between Two Worlds Day 12 (of 40)I remember very clearly the complaint by members of a congregation that I served over twenty years ago: "The young people are selfish. It's all me, me, me." Of course I was one of those young people and I wasn't sure that the criticism had any legs. I actually admitted to this group that I did think a lot about what "I" wanted, but that I didn't think that it meant that I was necessarily selfish.
"I really wanted to be a minister and preach sermons that brought healing, grace and inspiration to people. I really wanted to sit with people in the final weeks of their lives and walk with grieving families. I really wanted to create glue between people that honored our diversity, our common bonds and reflected the best of what it meant to live in spiritual community."It is true that there is a lot of ME, ME, ME in those statements. But there is a lot of service as well.Months later I discovered a book that talked about the difference in generational cultures. One chapter named exactly what had happened between those church members and me. They were part of the WWII generation that practiced and promoted a self-denial ethic; I was part of the Baby Boomer generation that had adopted a self fulfillment ethic.I write this because I think it has something to do with the shift toward religious mysticism that is showing up in our culture (in fact, I think much of the shift is happening beyond our religious institutions rather than in our religious institutions). I have a hunch that the WWII generation saw the "self" as competing with the common good. I mean, really, who would choose to go to war if there wasn't an appeal to put aside one's personal ambitions for the good of country? Service to a cause larger than oneself requires a little bit of self-less-ness, right?
Mystics would say, "Not so fast!" Mystics would not argue with committing to a cause larger than ourselves, but might take issue with the definition of the self itself. Mystics try to clear the clutter of the more shallow self away in order to honor a deeper Self that they believe is God-infused. Rather than try to tame the "passions of the flesh" as the apostle Paul often advocated, mystics actually trust those deeper passions. Mystics listen for the subtle yearnings, desires and wants of the soul and take those as clues that lead to honoring the Divine Presence within us.I have often wondered if that conversation I had years ago was just an inability to translate between two different languages. My friendly, but pointed accusers insisted that one had to deny the self in order to serve humanity. I didn't have the words back then, but today I would say that I serve humanity in order to satisfy and fulfill my deepest Self. One wants to deny the self in order to serve a God who exists outside of humanity; the other looks to the Self in order to discover and manifest the God who resides in humanity. Both end up believing in committing one's life and energies to a cause much larger than our "little" selves.Isn't it possible that we are just walking through two different doors to get to the same room?
From Moralism to Mysticism?
Between Two Worlds Day 11 (of 40)
I had a brief moment today as I was pondering the direction of our conversation and my post. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that part of this shift that we are experiencing is a shift from BELIEF TO EXPERIENCE. As I let the implications unfold in my mind I suddenly had this picture of the Church finding itself with no purpose whatsoever. If there is no need for belief would there be a need for church!The brief moment of panic had nothing to do with feeling "what would I do without the church" in a sort of lost fear. It was more like the feeling one has when you feel required to say "I love you" in order to keep the facade of a relationship alive before finally admitting the truth of a dying love.As quickly as the moment came it also evaporated away. Yes, if the church had to continue building itself on religious beliefs in a world that is transferring its allegiance to spiritual experience, then there would be concern about whether church would even be needed any longer. But in that momentary moment of panic I was reminded of my own experience and past posts and sermons on this topic.I have written many times of the movement from moralism to mysticism.When I think back on my experience as a child in the church and my early years in ministry it seemed that much pointed toward moralistic concerns--how we treat our brother or sister, our responsibilities to the earth, and our obligation to a Supreme God. It's not that those are not still important concerns. But if one made a commitment to a morally upstanding life in obedience to God in the past, it seems that now we do the same as an extension of having a love affair with Life, with God, with the Sacred Presence. Obedience is a dying word, but engagement is becoming more delicious.
I have just enough religious training to know that if this is true, we are talking about a return to religious mysticism. It seems that the Church goes in great cycles and I wonder if the ancient tradition of Christian and other forms of religious mysticism is recycling itself. The funny thing is that religious mysticism doesn't necessarily change our behavior. Our behavior just emerges from a different motivation. In traditional Christianity, as we have known it, we think about how we are going to serve God and neighbor. In mysticism our actions are in response to a deep and intimate love affair. God is not vertically above us, but lying in bed next to us.This is why the ancient Christian mystics used to speak of being the bride of Christ and would use language and imagery that make a Harlequin romance blush. In mysticism one feels a deep union with God or the Universe. Jesus spoke the language of mysticism when he said, "I am in the Father and the Father is in me." Christians often point to this as proof that Jesus is the unique Son of God and therefore worthy of our belief. But mystics point to it and say, "I want some of that too! How can I get it that?"
In recent years I feel like I have gotten a taste of some of the mystical honey. It is so sweet that I find myself searching for it like a bear pawing away at the hole in the trunk of the tree. Once you taste it you can't ever let it go. You will wander in the forests forever looking for it.I do wonder, "If this is the shift that is taking place will not our churches maybe find a new voice, a new purpose anda re-imagined life. Will the church be called to lead others to the mystical honey?"
Front Porch "Ecclesiology"
Between Two Worlds Day 10 (of 40)
"Front Porch Ecclesiology"That was my first thought today as I read your comments to my post from yesterday. I too yearn for that time and the type of community where folks sit out on their front porches, neighbors stop by for a short chat, a glass of tea, or just wave as they ride by saying, "Hi, Mrs. Smith--looking good today!"The word ecclesiology is just the fancy way of saying "the study of the nature and structure of the church. It comes from the Greek and Latin word ecclesia. I was first tempted to write a simplistic encouragement to the readers who still sit in the pews to adopt more of a front porch mentality rather than the "guess what our secret code is" that often gets portrayed and felt.
But I stopped short of going there. The reason: I think that whatever is emerging in our culture around religious and spiritual communities has gone far beyond the "If you build it, they will come" sort of philosophy. I no longer believe that formula works. I no longer believe that there are people waiting in the wings to see what the church might build before they decide to cross the threshold.What I do believe is that many people in the community are taking matters into their own hands when it comes to their spiritual needs. I do believe there is a need for more front porch communities--places where we can gather informally to connect, learn, grow and enjoy.
- Carley writes of how her church formed a weekly coffeehouse worship and dialogue.
- For years I facilitated a Movies and Meaning group where we retreated to a pub or wine bar following a movie to discuss its philosophical, religious, spiritual, and political implications.
- Jen speaks of a Bible and Brews group that meets informally in homes.
- Mike writes that he is being more intentional about building community in the morning coffee shop that he ritually visits.
- Literally thousands of meetup groups have formed through social networking for activities that include everything under the sun including needlepoint, Christian social singles, hiking, music jam sessions, and stargazing.
This is all just a hunch. But whatever is emerging isn't going to manifest itself by the old model where a church creates a program and the community shows up. I think the social contract that supported that model died at least one generation ago. "If you build it, they will come" is a great movie line, but not a successful motto for churches in the 21st century.
In the simplest terms I think we are looking at a new model where the greatest success won't be the result of which side of these two worlds who gets it right. I think the greatest success will be when the two can begin to work together--where our deep religious traditions can bring their resources and emerging groups can bring their wild imagination and creativity.But there is Red Sea-sized barrier that first must be acknowledged and chipped away at--TRUST!I have spent more than twenty years trying to build bridges between these two encountering mistrust all along the way. I have kept therapists in practice as I sought to integrate these two psychic worlds into one identity. And I have flirted back and forth between them often feeling like I didn't fully belong in either world.I do believe, as your comments reflected, that we need more "front porches" in our communities. In fact I think most of us, despite our varying religious dispositions, yearn for it.Questions:
- Will we be able to work together to create more "front porch" spaces in our communities?
- Will the institutional church be able to trust the new forms which appear without feeling threatened?
- Will those with new imaginations and energy be able to trust the institutional church to support them feeling censored by them?
- Are these just pie in sky dreams from an idealistic pastor who doesn't know any better?
The Parable of the Payphone
Between Two Worlds Day 9 (of 40)
In 2000 there were two million payphones in America. Last year that number had dropped to less than a quarter million--an 88% decline in less than one generation. Should we be worried? Are Americans suddenly averse to "reaching out and touching someone"? Do we no longer care about communication, connection, and conversation? Are we all going to hell in a hand basket?You must wonder if I am on another planet? I can see some of you rolling your eyes and yelling across the room to your partner, "Hey honey, this guy, Brian, thinks that the disappearance of payphones means we don't connect anymore. This dude is seriously out of touch? Hasn't he heard of cell phones!"Of course, I was just making a point. We all know that the disappearance of pay phones isn't a sign that Americans no longer want to connect and communicate. "Duh," we might say, "in fact we've made it even more convenient than ever." We just have to reach in our pocket, say, "Call Barbara," and Siri will politely inform us, "Calling Barbara now." The only downside I can see is that Superman has fewer changing rooms.I am calling this the Parable of the Pay Phone (I read a reference to this in a book once but can't remember the name. The ghost author gets credit.). This 40-day Lenten conversation is titled "Between Two Worlds" and this parable seems to speak directly to that theme.
I am struck by how this parable speaks both to the dying of one thing and the ongoing life of another thing. Payphones appear to be going away, but our human need for connection, communication and conversation has only shifted to another gadget. The form is changing, but the basic need hasn't budged a single inch.I think this is why, even with all the anxiety and wrestling that goes with being in the Church now, I have continued to serve. The underlying purpose of the Church is something I still resonate deeply with. I would much rather be working in an organization that is about transformation, compassion, grace, connection, healing, peace, justice and love than selling vacuum cleaners (even though we all know that cleanliness is next to godliness!).My struggle is not with the underlying purpose of the Church; it is with the form of the Church. Does the form still serve its purpose or is it a barrier to its purpose?If the Parable of the Pay Phone has any truth to it, it points to why I get impatient with the Church at times. The questions and comments in church meetings often sound like this to me:
- Why aren't more people using payphones (read--coming to church);
- What if we just repaint the phone booth a more attractive color (read--tinker with worship);
- Maybe we need more signs pointing to the payphone (read--bigger ads in the Yellow Pages--remember those?).
I love what the church is about and I love the people, but I have to admit my soul left the building long ago.Maybe we need an iChurch!Questions:
- Does this parable fit your experience?
- Are there other ways that you have met the same spiritual needs that were once met in and by the Church?
Daring it is not...
Between Two Worlds Day 8 (of 40)"Please continue your daring bravery."
Those were the words that reader, Renee, wrote in a brief and very supportive post on Friday in response to the "When Sunday School Faith Rules." I knew exactly what she was referring to. The words that I have written and the sermons I have preached at my current church have been stepping out beyond the comfort zone of many people. At times I too have had to take a big breath as if I was jumping off a diving board unsure of whether my landing would be beautiful and graceful or a painful and embarrassing belly flop.I knew I wanted to write in response to Renee's words. I knew the intention of her words, but I also found myself thinking, "This is not bravery you are seeing" even as I was unsure exactly what it was. In fact, I am using this post to write myself into giving it a name. This is an opportunity for me. I do know that there is some history that belongs to my response to her comment.The truth is I remember very clearly when I could tell that what I was doing was brave (maybe naive is the better word). In fact I think I even wanted to be seen as brave. Somewhere between college and seminary my writing and voice went from a growing confidence to pushing the envelope. At first I was just tickled as could be that professors were pleased with my work. The more affirmation I received the tougher the topic that I would pursue. In college it was a full year of honor's research and writing on "The Protestant Response to the Holocaust". By the time I had reached seminary I had a sort of cocky confidence that only grew stronger as I wrote papers on "The Death of God Theology" and again was given A's for my work and originality.In my early years of ministry I was able to preach theologically astute sermons that were far beyond what church members were ready for. I often had the theology right and the pastoral sensitivity wrong. But I flirted with not caring. "Didn't they know that my professors had given me A's for this stuff," I subconsciously thought. In those days I was both brave and naive. In some ways I was using the church to build a professional career and reputation.Which is why Renee's comment really struck me. I don't feel daringly brave anymore. Rather I feel a deep commitment to the truth. It is important to say this because in my early years I could rationalize that I had a commitment to the truth, but the real truth was that I had more a commitment to my ego. I wanted to be an outstanding pastor and an exemplary theologian. Today I do feel pastorally sensitive even though I know that some of what I write and say will sometimes hurt like hell, at least at first.
I do think my years in hospice and probation work tempered my ego. Both of those worlds required a purity of heart, a brutal honesty and a commitment to the well-being of each person with whom I was working. To the tell the truth to a dying patient without pastoral sensitivity is simply cruel. And to require a juvenile delinquent to face the reality of their lives without caring about them as a person is a recipe for failure. I am probably overstating my lack of pastoral sensitivity in the early years, but deep in my soul I do know that much of my work was motivated by ego. Now my motivation is feels more rooted in a radical trust in the truth.What I do does not feel like bravery. It feels like service, compassion, and sacrifice. It feels like my gift to the community, to the church, to all of you.Renee, thank you for your kind words. Believe me when I say, "The privilege is all mine. This is not bravery. This is calling."Wow...I wrote my way into clarity. Thank you for listening!Question: What do you believe Life/God/the Universe is calling you to? What things can you not NOT do?
Not Just a Pretty Face...
Between Two Worlds Day 7Wow! I could have never guessed how a random picture choice on Google would take my blog post to the next level. Yesterday I wondered out loud whether the Age of Proclamation was giving way to a new time we might call the Age of Listening. My ponderings were prompted by my own intuitive sense that we need to be creating space for people to dialogue with each other, listen, and discover the voice of God in community rather than depending on a single pulpit voice.
I randomly chose a picture of a pastor who looked like he fit in my Protestant tradition standing behind a traditional pulpit and wearing a preacher's robe. What I didn't know and what surprised a certain reader, Mary, was that picture was her beloved former pastor who had a profound impact on her spiritual life. I had tossed the picture in casually with the caption, "A generic preacher doing his thing!" But, of course, this was no generic preacher. This was Mary's preacher! It would have been like discovering that someone had used a picture of my son on the playground and said, "Just any old child out playing" and I would have shot back, "He's not just any child; he's my child!"But Mary had the depth and the patience to work through her reaction and provided the material to deepen what I had written the day before. She concluded her thoughts this way and it became the fodder to explore this topic further. She wrote:
"You know...as much as I was 'turned off' by seeing Bishop Hanson's photo...as I interpreted it as a 'negative' example of church, it did stir up within me how much I appreciate his ministry of presence...of how his very being influenced who I am today, of how he actually 'proclaims' to those around him in a meaningful and relational manner."
That was it: "how he actually 'proclaims' to those around him in a meaningful and relational manner."
It brought to mind a conversation I had on my first pilgrimage in 2011. I was less than a week into it when one of the church members of Eastminster, where I was serving, happened to be visiting family in the town I was traveling through next. I stayed at his family's home in a cushy and comfortable bed (which was far better than my broken and almost non-functional tent). At dinner I shared the experience of having met another cyclist at a campground a couple days prior. We got into a nice conversation about our bikes and bike touring when the subject turned to my profession. I told him that I was a pastor and I immediately felt the air escape from between us. Tub, the church member said, "Brian, that doesn't make any sense at all. You're one of the easiest people in the world to talk to."But it did make sense. I wasn't just any old pulpit preacher to Tub. I was his preacher and his pastor who was there for family funerals, surgeries, potlucks, and church clean up days. In other words, his respect for me wasn't because I stood behind a pulpit, but because we were in relationship and leaned on and learned from each other. My biking buddy knew nothing of me and the authority of the pulpit clearly either meant little to him or even made his spine tingle.I wonder if this is the change that is happening. The traditional symbols of authority have broken down.
It's not that there isn't a place for preaching anymore, but that the office of the pulpit no longer holds much authority. Mary named it. What still does make a difference is the person of the pulpit, not the office of the pulpit. People still want relationship, connection, authenticity, wisdom, integrity and compassion. And people don't automatically assume that those qualities will be present just because someone is in the pulpit, wears a robe, waves a Bible and has Reverend before his name.Maybe the problem isn't the pulpit, but that the pulpit needs to used and seen and re-imagined as the catalyst for the conversation. The pulpit not as the final word, but as the beginning word.Mary, thank you.So that makes me think, "With the precipitous decline of membership in mainline churches should pastors be re-imagining their pulpit presence or should they be taking their pulpits out to the people in new forms and other avenues?"
The Sky is Made of Jelly!
Between Two Worlds Day SixI nearly kicked myself this yesterday morning. My post "Trust With a Capital T" was already in the cloud somewhere. I was driving into the church office when it hit, "I didn't end my post with a question. Damn!"It was a minor oversight, but I realized that I had fallen back into the pattern of having something to say without inviting others to comment. I advertised this 40-day Lenten discipline as a "conversation" but in the rush of getting a post done before bed the night before I fell into the old preacher's mode--"Have something wise, pithy and worth mulling over to say!" You see, that's what's I do on Sunday. I get about 15-20 minutes when I can say just about anything I want and no one gets to talk back. By the time I finish my "Amen" we are already playing the first notes to the next hymn. After the service people shake my hand as they exit the sanctuary, but each person is only allowed about five seconds which limits comments to "Nice sermon, pastor" or if they didn't like it, "That was interesting today." If a person really wants to dig in on the sermon they are forced to make an appointment with me.You'd think that I would feel lucky that I have a role where I don't have to worry about any talk back. I could say that the sky was made of jelly and there still wouldn't be enough space for anyone to call me on it. But truth be told I have been going through a metamorphosis in recent years. I don't recall exactly when it started, but it seems that it's been about five years now. Increasingly I have felt, "I don't want to have to say anything. I want to listen."Which is why I was kicking myself about not ending my post with a question yesterday morning. I am much more interested in listening or, at least, facilitating a conversation. I don't think that I have gotten tired of preaching. In fact, I love preaching. There is nothing like taking a full week to think about what I might say on a Sunday. That preaching moment allows me to use my gifts for writing, theological reflection, drama, acting, singing, and inspiring. Truly, it is fun!
But my soul is telling me that the world doesn't need to hear the thoughts of just one ego-centric person orating on topics week after week. As much as I enjoy it and as good at it as I am (seriously, I had a person once tell me so!) I am convinced that the Age of Proclamation may be giving in to the Age of Listening. I am much more interested in facilitating a dialogue on a scripture or a topic--inviting in all the experiences, the wisdom, the stories of other people who have lived full, rich and complicated lives. I don't want to dig for stories of grace and transformation on the internet; I want to hear their stories of grace and transformation. Why should I do book research on topics that are glaringly alive right in the pews before me?Please accept my apology that I made this conversation a one-way affair (at least for a day). Let's make up for it. Here are my questions:Will the preaching pastor eventually become a thing of the past?Has the Age of Proclamation just about run its course?Will our new age need a new type of religious professional--more a facilitator of the people's spirit rather than a teacher of the faith?I can't wait for you to chime in. This is YOUR conversation!
Trust with a capital "T"
Between Two Worlds Day 5 (Sundays are a Sabbath Day)But I am left with the question, "What can I have faith in?"That was the final post from Patty who admitted that she "didn't believe in God exactly." She had heard a clear voice that led her to pick up her life and belongings and move from Denver to the small village of Yachats on the Oregon coast. But despite the clarity of that voice and the rightness of her decision the warnings of a potential tsunami and earthquake unnerved her. "What could she have faith in if the world was going to fall apart anyway," seemed to be her question.I found myself pondering her question.Over the years I have had dozens of church-going Christians confide in me that they can't imagine how people who don't have God deal with life. I find myself placed in a sort of awkward corner when I hear those comments. I know that they are expecting me to confirm their perception. And I do--but not because I don't believe that those who "don't have God in their lives" can't find a way to cope. I confirm their view because, despite their statements about other people, I think they are really saying, "I don't know what I would do without God in my life." Their comments are more self-revealing than really about other people.I say this because over the years in working with people I have discovered a pattern. It's not the object of our belief that seems to make the difference. When I was a counselor for hospice families I found that those who said they believed in God faced their deaths in pretty much the same way as those who didn't believe in God. A certain percentage were able to find a graceful movement through the final stages of life and death. And a certain percentage (despite their Christian belief) fought their deaths with fear and trembling.But there was a thread that seemed to tie those who lived their final weeks with grace together--it was an ability to trust. Sometimes this trust was in the arms of a loving God who they expected to meet upon their death. But not always. I had many patients who had no theistic belief but held this deep innate sense that their life was part of some greater purpose. I had other patients who simply felt that the life they had been given was a gift sort of like a box of chocolates--when it was gone it was gone!I like what Mary wrote in her comment yesterday, 'Very simply I can say that within this Mystery, within this Trust, within this Grace, I am "OK"'. I like her capital "T" in Trust. My experience is that it is not so much the object of our trust as it is our ability to trust that allows us to begin to feel OK and to walk with confidence and grace despite the uncertainties of the future.
This has been a life-long struggle for me since I am not naturally the most trusting person. But these days I find that I am relying on the lessons and the rhythms of the seasons to teach me. I find myself quoting Ecclesiastes 3 more often, "To everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven." As I have aged I am appreciating the beauty of an old tree whose limbs are starting to crack, whose leaves are a little sparser every year, and whose bark is rough and leathery. I used to look at age as something to avoid. Now I look at it with soft eyes as if I am looking into the window of heaven. I remember my daughter saying during the dying of her grandmother that "it was the saddest and most beautiful thing I'd ever seen." Having sat at the bedside of many people as they have died I know what my daughter is talking about. There is a beauty even in times of great loss, grief and even pain.Patty asks the question, "What can I have faith in?" I wished I had an answer, but all I really have is my experience. I can only say that I feel that someone invited me to this sacred journey. I know some days will bring grief, other days joy. But I am learning to be grateful for the days I am given and always grateful to the Mysterious One who offered the invitation. I don't know just who is behind that curtain, but I trust in Her and am willing to bet my life that Her intentions are good and lovely.
Tell me more, tell me more...
Between Two Worlds Day 4This 40-day Lenten conversation is a sacred unfolding. I don't know where we will end up nor do I have a plan that looks ahead more than 24 hours.After reading the blog comments today a little ditty started playing in my head (you know what I mean where a song just pops up for what seems like no apparent reason). "Tell me more, tell me more, tell me more" from the movie Grease started annoying me. But there was a reason.I whined out loud at the end my post yesterday about wanting to be with people where I could share more of the books and thoughts that make my soul sing. Two of you ended your comments saying,"You do have a place, Brian, where you can use your other books. We are here, and man, do we need you!"and"Yes, we do need you Brian and look forward to your sharing! Thank you for reaching out to a hungry group."
I want to hear more. I have known your hunger intuitively for years. As I shared two days ago, in 1993 I felt that there were probably hundreds of people in the Northern California community where I was serving who needed to hear a traditional pastor utter the words mythology. I was right and the church got more than it bargained for when dozens of people showed up. In Portland I started a "Movies and Meaning" meetup group and enjoyed five years of monthly films and conversations with a regular group of people who were Buddhists, spiritual but not religious, Christian humanists, agnostics, and progressive Catholics. We explored religious themes, spirituality philosophy, culture and even politics."Man, do we need you!" and "We are a hungry group," you called out. These words made me feel good and confirmed what I already knew inside, but needed reminding.I am a Presbyterian pastor and Presbyterians are deeply imbued with a sense of call. One of the things you may not know is that in the Presbyterian tradition you don't get ordained just because you graduate from seminary and pass your ordination exams. You can do all that, spend eight years of your young adult life and tens of thousands of dollars, but if a church or a hospital or some religious entity doesn't hire you, there is no ordination. You may think you are hearing God's voice, but without confirmation by the community, it is assumed that you are just hearing voices!
Which is why that little ditty started playing, "Tell me more, tell me more." My inner God voice has pestered me with this for nearly twenty years. I feel this call. You are telling me that you are hungry. All the elements are there. Frederick Buechner says, "The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet." I think we have the right mix. My gladness and passion are apparent and you are expressing your hunger. All that is missing is the form.So, tell me more, tell me more, tell me more.What is this hunger you have?How can I serve you?What might this look like?Following, following the breadcrumbs to something rich, something sacred.
When Sunday School Faith Rules
Between Two Worlds Day 3
I often sit at my desk while I am pondering a sermon topic and catch myself looking at the books on my shelf. A little wave of sadness often overtakes me. Probably 80% of the books on my shelves I don't dare use publicly. Part of that is because it would be too politically risky to share much on the topics of mysticism and mythology and the "Gospel According to Bruce Springsteen." Part of it is because my congregations haven't been prepared to have the religious and theological foundation to handle it. You can't give a baby a steak. Meaty matters are for those whose digestive tracks can handle it!The comments to my post yesterday, Jesus Meets Joseph, all had a thread of how to deal with literalistic belief in churches and individual relationships. Each of you have or are working on making your peace with the reality that literalism permeates our culture and religious institutions. Some of you have left the church completely and probably for good. Others of you have either stayed or come back, but have learned to co-exist in your own way either with a greater sense of acceptance or a better ability to be avoidant. But the issue is real as you all have pointed out.
I haven't decided yet if our churches are being compassionate or lack courage. One of the dynamics that I have witnessed over and over again is that the churches I have served are generally made up of a greater number of folks who use a metaphorical lens for reading the Bible (or any religious literature). But at the same time they have been protective of those who use literalistic lenses to interpret the Bible. Sometimes the pressure is subtle and sometimes it is overt--but I get asked to be careful that I don't offend those whose faith is built on a rigid, literalistic certainty.I have to admit that I appreciate these people. They would rather be quiet about their more ambiguous, open, and tolerant approach to faith than to disturb the faith (or sometimes incite the ire) of those who insist on literalistic interpretations. I appreciate their sensitivity.What I don't appreciate is being asked to preach as if I everyone had just emerged from their childhood Sunday School classes. What I don't appreciate is the tens of thousands of dollars I spent on theological education only to be told that what is taught in seminary stays in seminary. And what I don't appreciate is feeling like my books are arranged as if they belong in two separate worlds--books that fit in the church and books that feed my soul.
Many years ago I did a little consulting with government and human service agencies on how to meet the spiritual needs of the clients they served in correctional facilities, foster care, and children's services. One of the books that was extremely helpful was James Fowler's The Stages of Faith. In it he describes how faith development follows fairly predictable patterns just as psychological human development does. One of those stages is the Mythic-Literal stage where a person takes on the stories, values and morals of their community in a sort of rigid, literal relationship to them. This is a natural stage of childhood.Fowler says that a person begins to move to the next stage when those values begin clashing with other stories and values as they meet their peers, read, get educated, travel, etc. This typically happens in adolescence. Most people successfully negotiate their way through this as they near adulthood. The strange thing is that while people continue to mature in every other area of their life, some people stall in their faith development. Rather than graduating from the simplicity of Sunday School-level faith they actually work harder and harder to defend the simple literalism that naturally belongs to that stage of development.
Fowler traces the level of faith development through six different stages showing that the vast majority of people reach the fourth or fifth stage sometime in their lives. Stage Six is for those who often end up giving their life on behalf of truth such as Gandhi, Mother Theresa, Archbishop Oscar Romero, etc.I love Fowler's approach. And, quite honestly, I have found it extremely helpful in counseling people and consulting with human service agencies. My question however is, "Who gets to tell people their faith is stuck at Stage Two." The higher your stage, the more developed you are, and the less reason you have to defend your faith. Which explains all your comments. Some of you have left the church because of the literalism and others of you have quietly made your peace with it because you have no need to fight it. A sign of faith development!Personally, I too feel it's okay to have a Sunday School faith. I just wished I could use the rest of my books.
When Jesus Met Joseph (Campbell, that is)
Between Two Worlds Day Two"Rejection, loneliness, and fear." "The wild beasts of the church."Intuitive 'power, God thing, and Chakras." "The Power of Myth."
Those were a few rich phrases by you yesterday that drew an old memory that still feels surprisingly fresh in my soul. The memory could easily be titled "When Jesus Met Joseph." But before you assume that I am about to regurgitate the Christmas story two months late I need to tell I am not speaking of Joseph, Jesus' father. No, I am speaking of Joseph Campbell, the famed professor and anthropologist and subject of the 1988 Power of Myth video series.In 1993 I was nearing that sacred Christian holiday we call Christmas. I was pastor of a church that was showing some aging and had hired me to start reaching out to younger families. Being 33 years old I felt I had a pretty good handle on those younger families since I was part of one myself. A week before Christmas I was published in a local newspaper column where I retold the story of the virgin birth of Jesus through the lens and the language of Joseph Campbell's mythology. I redirected folks away from the questions about whether it really happened and pointed them to the underlying message of the story to speak to the profound and delightful dance that exists between the human and the divine.What I didn't know was that I had exposed the presence of two worlds, two separate worlds that I didn't know existed. Two things happened. First--new families flowed into the church tripling our Sunday school from 15 to 45 in a short two month window. "Wonderful," I naively thought. "I am doing exactly what the church asked me to do."But a second and more startling thing happened.
A petition floated around to have my ordination stripped for committing heresy. I had questioned whether Jesus actually, in reality, historically and factually was born of a woman who had not had sexual relations. I thought by making the mythological case I was making it clear than not only was Jesus human and divine, but that the story points to the essential nature of all humanity--that we are in God and God is in us. We are a wonderful, complicated and mysterious blend of spirits of heaven and earth. But the subtlety seemed to be lost on my accusers. I had to go back before a presbytery council and defend my faith.Twenty years later I still grieve. Not because I was metaphorically burned at the stake, but because I still hurt for all those people who responded to my creative re-contextualization of the Christian faith. I still shake my head in disbelief that a church that suffers annual decline would actually turn people away for entering the faith through another door. I wasn't even promoting a different religion or secular values. I was only describing my rather traditional Christian faith in terms that I felt my contemporaries could understand and appreciate.I don't think I have ever let go that experience. In some ways my pilgrimages have been attempts to still find a way to bridge these two worlds. Or maybe the pilgrimages have been attempts to enter into the new emerging spiritual world resigned that Joseph Campbell and Jesus will never be able to be in the same building again. What I do know is that my heart still grieves and my soul still aches for those people and for the church.What am I missing? Why are these two worlds not able to co-exist and even celebrate each other?