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?
Between Two Worlds...Day 1
This is Day One of a deep and long conversation. Welcome!
If you are a religious type or a partying type you might just be recovering from Mardi Gras celebrations this Ash Wednesday morning. This is the first pilgrimage I am going to take sitting in my office chair in front of my computer. My last two pilgrimages were on a thin Italian leather bicycle seat that carried me through 4,000 miles in the Western United States in 2011 and the three countries of Italy, Greece and Turkey in 2014. This is a 40-day pilgrimage through Lent ending on Easter Sunday.Both previous pilgrimages wrestled with the theme of living between two worlds--the first where I was haunted by the anxiety of feeling like I didn't fully belong in either world; the second where I felt like I was successfully emerging from one world to the other.
This pilgrimage is an invitation to travel with me. I will blog every one of the forty days of Lent (every day minus the Sundays). Just like a pilgrimage I know that there is a destination (Easter in this case), but I have no idea what will emerge from my blogs, your comments, and our ongoing conversation. I am simply going to work with the theme "Between Two Worlds" and see where it takes us. I have an intuitive hunch that many of us are feeling this "in between-ness" and I wonder and I hope having a safe place to explore might give voice to feelings and yearnings hidden just under the surface.I am basing my hunch that stepping out like this might create its own momentum on my own experience and also the great writings of German statesman, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. I have had this quote of his taped next to my desk for over fifteen years:
"Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back...The moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too... A whole stream of events issues from the decision... Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now."
This is an invitation to be open and honest with ourselves and with each other. It is an invitation to take the risk to expose what our hearts truly desire and what our souls most deeply cry out for. This is an invitation to enter into a safe space where you can be vulnerable and question, doubt, and dream. This is an invitation to take a journey into the unknown and into the depths of our humanness.So let's begin. I will write again tomorrow. But first tell me,"Is there something holding you back? What is it? What does it feel like?"
A Lenten Invitation to YOU
BETWEEN TWO WORLDS. Those of you who have followed my blog for awhile know that this is a theme that has threaded itself through many of my posts. It was actually that lonely, not-quite-sure-where-I- belong feeling that prompted my pilgrimage in 2011 around the Western United States. (BTW, my memoir from that ride, Alone: A 4,000 Mile Search for Belonging, should finally be published before the end this month. Details coming!)If the first pilgrimage was wrestling with that nagging feeling of being caught between two worlds, my second pilgrimage from Rome to Rumi's Tomb in Turkey felt like I was coming out of the tunnel. By the time I reached Thessaloniki, Greece I felt that I had finally landed in the new emerging world of spiritual experience and expression. I felt free and ready to fly.I remember the blog post when I wrote, "I am not coming back" and quickly assured family and friends that I WAS returning to the United States. What I meant was that I felt that I reached a point where I had shaken off the heaviness and constraints of institutional religion. A new world--large, expansive, and open with new possibilities lay before me. I couldn't imagine ever turning back the clock.
But alas, a few months of unemployment, relying on food stamps, digging dirt and making trash runs for my good friend's construction company forced me back into the world of the institutional church. It is work that I am well-suited for. I have two decades of experience. I have walked with churches from the moment of their conception and I have officiated at the final service for a church closure. In between I have taught and preached and baptized, married, and buried church members. But I know that this world is dissolving away like a sand castle on the beach.This blog comes in the form of an invitation.As a pastor I am about ready to walk with my congregation through the traditional period of Lent. But I am desperately needing to find a way to reignite that voice that was so crystal clear as I rode along the Aegean Sea in Greece on my way to Turkey. I vowed during that pilgrimage that I would never let anything come between me and my voice again.
I want to invite all of you all to take a Lenten journey with me. Lent is traditionally a period of naked vulnerability and honest reflection. The period of Lent lasts 40 days (mirroring the 40 years of wandering in the wilderness by the escaped Hebrew slaves and Jesus' 40 days of temptation) which includes all the days from Ash Wednesday through Easter, minus the Sundays.I have committed to blogging every one of those days during Lent. This will be my Lenten practice. It is also my way of recovering that voice that I thought would never be squelched again as I rode the final miles into Konya, Turkey last year.But there is another reason. I know that many of you are also feeling caught between two worlds. I hear it from my professional colleagues in ministry and education. People in the church tell me that even though they still love the church they yearn for something that they can't quite see or put their finger on. And hundreds of people I have talked to outside of the church find themselves flirting with a new spiritual world yet grieve over how unformed it is.
During this period of Lent I invite you to join with me in this journey. My readers come from those in the church who are flirting with the edges. I have readers who have left the church decades ago but who still appreciate the world that religion speaks to. My readers are really a community of people who represent the place where two overlapping circles meet. I believe that you represent the emerging future of spiritual community, especially in the U.S.I will blog every day (sans Sundays) and ask you to join the conversation. Reply to me. Reply to others' comments. Let's take the journey of Lent together. Let's wander out into the vulnerable desert of Lent and see just where the Sacred face reveals herself. Let's mark ourselves with the ashes of Ash Wednesday and see just what the world looks when we arrive at Easter. Let's create something along the way!And...don't forget to look for my book!
Two Unlikely Lovers
I have discovered two unlikely lovers--agnostic and Christian.Eight years ago Facebook asked me to fill out my profile including age, marital status, political views and religion. Age and marital status were easy. A few key strokes and I was done. Political views took a little more time. I didn't want to just put down a specific party since my politics are much more complicated and nuanced than any one single party can represent. But after some hours of thought I was able to feel good about the phrase "politics of compassion and justice."
But then came the religious question. Wow! I was completely stumped. I could quickly write in Christian as if I was checking off a box on the census. But Christian can mean just about anything. If I was going to put Christian I wanted people to know what kind of Christian I was. I didn't want people to assume I was the Jerry Falwell sort of Christian. For a time I pondered liberal progressive Christian but it wasn't satisfying. That sounded more like a political view than the soulful, sensual way I feel about my spiritual identity.I wrestled with this for six full months trying on adjectives, switching words around and pondering the complexity of my faith. Finally one day I came up with agnostic Christian mystic. It felt right. It identified me as a Christian but put my own particular brand on it. I also liked that it was complicated enough that one couldn't easily go, "Oh, he's that type of Christian" and move on. It made people think, take a second thought, and look below the surface.I could have never guessed how well this little three word descriptor would serve me. I haven't changed it now for eight years. In fact I feel like I am only beginning to understand the fullness of the words as I continue to live more deeply into a spiritual life that is marked by the open uncertainty of agnosticism, the radical values of Christianity, and the yearning for the direct experience of God as reflected in religious mysticism.
While I never hid my Facebook profile I also didn't advertise it. It wasn't like I wore a button that clearly flashed the words agnostic Christian mystic. Most people knew me as a Presbyterian pastor and that was probably good enough for them and for me. It wasn't until serving a church on the coast in 2013 that my little identifier was noticed when I wrote an honest, but slightly tongue-in-cheek letter to the editor describing my label. You know what four letter word hit the fan! The word agnostic was too big a pill to swallow for many in the church. I nearly lost my job and although I was retained my ministry never really fully recovered with this congregation.
But I am convinced more than ever that having a thread of agnosticism has become vitally important to my work as a minister. I am serving another congregation now in Southern Oregon. Of the six congregations I have served in my twenty-five plus years this is the most diverse. There is a fairly strong representation of members who lean awfully close to fundamentalist expressions of faith more typical of Assembly of God, Calvary Chapel, Southern Baptist, etc. There are also a handful of members who lean in the complete opposite direction and would probably fit in a Unitarian Universalist Church.I have discovered that it is the agnostic thread in my spiritual identity that allows me listen for the God presence in each person despite their very broad diversity. I am struck by the irony that the word agnostic throws so many church-going faithful. Yet it is the agnostic, I-don't-know-for-sure, still evolving part of my faith that allows me to meet with each member and discover something new and fresh about their faith and mine. I can hear the deep sincerity in the voice of the person who insists that Jesus is the only way to salvation as I can the sincerity of the person who is just as convinced that Jesus ISN'T the only to salvation.I am convinced that religious leadership in the future will require a healthy dose of agnostic sensibility. Our culture and our congregations are becoming more and more diverse. The old style of a minister who is trained to preach and teach only one very thin and specific expression of faith will not be enough. We will need to become multi-lingual and able to speak the language of Billy Graham revivalists as well as non-theistic Unitarians. Doubt will need to be honored as much a spiritual value as faith.It's a strange paradox. I would never require my parishioners to adopt an agnostic thread if it was not comfortable for them. But as a professional minister, as one who works with a wide diversity of faithful people, as one who wants to recognize God in each person it is not my certainty about faith that allows me to sit with both fundamentalists and Universalists. It's my uncertainty, my doubt and my openness that keeps me listening, growing, and wanting to share the faith of others.Eight years ago I wrestled hard with a short pithy way to capture my religious identity for Facebook. I first thought I was putting two opposites together--agnostic and Christian. Now I realize that the two are made for each other. They aren't enemies. They are lovers.
Fear Can't Win
A little over a year ago I rode into Turkey on my loaded down bicycle on the same day that protests broke out over the country. ISIS had fought its way into the largely Kurdish town of Kobani, Syria and much of Turkey exploded in anger and frustration over the timid response from the Turkish government. I wasn't sure what I was riding into. I made the decision that I would rely on the reception that I could intuitively feel from the people of Turkey. Warm greetings would keep me pedaling forward. Cold and wary looks would have me rethinking my route.
Not two hours after watching the news of protests, tear gas, stores windows smashed by rocks, and gun-yielding police pushing back mobs I was waved over by a road crew taking a break for lunch. I have posted about this before, but it bears repeating again. Without knowing what I was getting into I had been invited to share part of the Muslim Feast of Sacrifice, Eid al Adha, that commemorates Abraham's faithfulness to Allah (or Yahweh or God for those who need translation).After the initial religious festivities of Eid al Adha the sacrificed goats and lambs are consecrated for three different purposes--one-third goes to immediate family, one-third is given to distant relatives and neighbors, and one-third is reserved for the poor and the stranger. I didn't even know that I was playing a part until later someone told me that the Muslim men were looking for opportunities to share their sacred meal with the poor and stranger. I just happened to ride by at the right moment.
We shared what was at times an awkward meal as I was already full from a hotel breakfast and they could not allow for the sacrificial goat to be wasted. Once I finished the meat portion of the meal we all lightened up, took pictures of each other, and watched as one man made a humorous attempt at riding my bike in his work boots, tar covered pants, and with a cigarette hanging from his lip. I parted with the traditional embrace and Turkish double kiss with men I had only known for an hour.I write this as America reacts to the suicide bombings in Paris and the growing number of Syrian refugees fleeing for their lives from their beloved homeland. And I am sad, very sad. I get all the rational, common sense arguments for shutting our borders to Syrian refugees in the hope that it will also close the borders to potential terrorists. But at what cost? We may save a few dozen lives or maybe even a few hundred lives. But will we have lost our soul and our way as Americans?
Will the Statue of Liberty need to be dismantled and placed in the Smithsonian as a relic of our past? On the placard it will read, "1886-2015: Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free..." Will the Statue of Liberty still stand tall in her harbor while we avert our eyes too ashamed to look directly at her proud face and torch of freedom?One year ago I had every reason to turn back from Turkey. ISIS was looking for Americans to kidnap and hold as ransom to fund their brutal tactics. Protests were breaking out in twenty cities in the country. People had warned me that it was too risky of a time. And I was as vulnerable as could be riding a bicycle in foreign territory with my Swiss Army knife my only weapon. But I decided that fear couldn't win.Were there risks? Yes. But the greatest risk was to wither up in the face of danger and live my life in fear.The greatest risk was to let terror win.We can't let terror win. I don't think this is a battle between terrorists and peace-loving people. This is a battle between liberty, freedom, compassion and fear. One year ago I was the poor and the stranger in a foreign land and a band of Muslim brothers welcomed me and shared a religious feast with me. We have to open our arms to the vulnerable and the stranger. We have to keep our borders open because that is who we are. That is who we always have been. That is what it means to be American.Fear can't win. Fear can't win. Goddamnit, we can't let fear win.
Dying to be Finished!
Good news!I sent in my final draft of the book to my editor in England over two weeks ago. I still hate to give an exact date for publishing, but the words, "just after the first of the year" are being thrown around by my small team. The "Dying to Live" title is certainly going to change as the story shifted with each edit. Here is an "unedited" excerpt from my evening east of Boise on my 2011 pilgrimage:
By early afternoon Boise was many miles behind me and the rugged mountains were staging themselves before me. After a brief late lunch in Idaho Falls I circled the town looking for a place to set up my tent for the night. There were plenty of options if I had wanted them, but I was feeling particularly choosy after my Boise accommodations. I had gotten spoiled by the luxury of a bed and my Eden-esque surroundings at Rachel and Patrick’s place. I decided to make my way up the road a little further. I knew there were long stretches of forest along this road with virtually no towns. I was feeling a little adventurous. Would this be the night when I would just have to find a flat spot off in the trees hidden from curious drivers on the road? To my surprise I happened upon a campsite at Ten Mile Campground (exactly ten miles from Idaho City). Only one other family was camped in the area and I found an isolated spot situated next to the creek and hidden from the other campers. It was as luxurious as the home I had left in Boise, but raw and wild.
I unpacked my bike, set up my tent and prepared my sleeping quarters for the night. With an eye for order I set the picnic table as if it was my little home. I pulled out my stove, cooking utensils, and the night’s meal and set up a makeshift kitchen. At the other end of the table I opened up my laptop and placed my tiny notebook within hand’s reach as I prepared to write a blog post about the day-a ritual that had become routine. I wouldn’t have internet access, but I could at least use the juice in my computer to write that night and send the post at the first opportunity the next day. Next came bodily hygiene. I can certainly ride from one day to the next without a shower, but after a day of sweating, heat, and blowing my nose farmer’s style (you know, shut one nostril with a finger and then blow leaving a trail of snot on the road, my sleeves and shorts), a shower is almost essential day to day. I had the perfect place. I walked over to the stream and put my feet in to feel how cold it was. Yes, it was confirmed. This was cold snowmelt coming off the peaks over 6,000 feet above me. I stripped down completely, got out a wash cloth and bar of soap, and sat on a rock just a few feet into the stream. There I deliciously enjoyed the fresh, frigid water as I doused myself with as much of it as my nerves could handle.
Afterwards, I felt clean again. But more than that, I felt alive. Really alive. More alive than I had felt in a long time. I had towering pine trees reaching up to the sky above me allowing intermittent ribbons of light to filter down. It reminded me of the same effect that one gets with stained glass windows in a glorious cathedral. I had my own makeshift home with a creek that served as a bath, a picnic table that was both kitchen and home office, and a tent to retreat to as darkness fell. At home I had a car, a fifth floor, two-bedroom apartment overlooking the city of Portland, a job where I was paid a decent salary, and a reputation as a particularly determined community leader. Yet I was in a simple campsite and I felt that I had everything I needed.