“Sometime in the early life of the world, something happened to shatter the light of the universe into countless pieces. They lodged as sparks inside every part of creation. The highest human calling is to look for this original light from where we sit, to point to it and gather it up and in so doing to repair the world.”
That’s how Krista Tippett tells the Jewish legend behind the idea of “Tikkun Olam,” or “repair the world.”
Tippett goes on to talk about how Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen sees this legend not as just some far off fantasy, but as hopeful and empowering: “It insists that each one of us, flawed and inadequate as we may feel, has exactly what’s needed to help repair the part of the world that we can see and touch.”
Living in a clearly broken world, as clearly broken people and individuals, what is more hopeful than realizing that despite the darkness around us, that there are sparks of light lodged everywhere. And that we can find those sparks, help point others towards them, and gather the light to help diminish the darkness.
This week we looked at Tippett’s calling to “Expose Virtue,” which is a wonderful way to think about the ability and power of conversation, journalism, communication–to show the goodness in the world, one story, one life, one conversation at a time.
Tippett talks about kindness:
“Kindness–an everyday by-product of all the great virtues–is at once the simplest and most weighty discipline human beings can practice. But it is the stuff of moments. It cannot be captured in declarative sentences or conveyed by factual account. It can only be found by looking at ordinary, unsung, endlessly redemptive experience.”
Krista Tippett
Kindness can’t be abstract. It has to be seen, practiced, experienced in the world. It’s not a stretch to connect kindness with repairing the world–it is one of the most needed tools at our disposal.
Tippett talks about “ubuntu,” an African word that points to humanity. “It says, I am through you and you are through me. To the extent that I am estranged from another person, I am less than human.” We can look at this as connected to Jesus telling us to love our neighbors as our selves and/or the Buddhist way of thinking about interdependence.
Something that becomes clear to Tippett as she talks to people is that any notion of kindness, of ubuntu, only start to mean something through telling stories.
“Stories of children changed by adults who care, of groups of colleagues making a difference in a particular corporate culture; of role models and teachers and friendships that altered perspectives and lives. Human relationship–which begins with seeing an “other” as human–is the context in which virtue happens, the context in which character is formed.”
“Speaking of Faith,” as a book is filled with these stories. “On Being,” Tippett’s radio show and podcast is all about sharing these conversations, telling these stories.
Studying the book as a group has made me want to seek out, listen to, and tell the stories that are around me. Our community, and every community is full of people, stories, and kindness, if we shine the light on them. Four Sisters Kabob and Curry and their generosity is a recent one that comes to mind.
But it also makes me want to be a part of more stories, connected to more moments and experiences. Like not missing the opportunity to come together to socially-distanced serenade, with accordion, one of the kindest, most giving, light shiners I have ever encountered, for his 80th birthday.
Tippett talks about a “clear-eyed faith” that–
“asks me to confront my failings and the world’s horrors. It also demands that I search, within all wreckage, for the seeds of creativity, wisdom, and strength. It frees me to see the contours of virtue come alive in the world–of ‘thick’ religion, grounded and refined in practice and thought, text and tradition, and responding in differentiated ways to human reality.”
Despite our failings, we have a chance. Despite my failings, I have a chance.
Especially when it is so easy to be overwhelmed by darkness, our highest calling is to look for light where we sit, where we live, where we work, and share it with others. And in so doing, repair the world.
There’s a good chance that a whole lot of people are feeling stuck at the moment. Stuck at home, stuck in a rut, stuck in the time warp of several weeks known collectively as blursday.
And this won’t do. We are far too busy, we have too much to do to be sitting at home. We believe Tom Cochrane when he tells us, “Life is a highway, I want to drive it all night long.”
Of course, if you are like Holly, Michael, and Daryl from “The Office,” or me, or a lot of people, you realize how old that song gets, how old that way of thinking gets, and how easy it is to get “stuck” and restless with that approach to life.
I say this frequently, but Merton has been one of the most influential thinkers in my faith walk; he not only speaks to my soul, he often speaks my soul, and sends me into wonder and awe and connection and helps me find my own words for my own journey.
In the film, Merton talks about the metaphor of the journey.
“Going off where God leads you… We’re all on a journey, we’re all going somewhere… The geographic pilgrimage is the symbolic acting out of an inner journey. Every moment and every event of every person’s life on earth plants something in their soul.”
Thomas Merton
In the photo, Merton and company have pulled over. They are out of the car. I think that’s significant. Journeys aren’t always about traveling physical distance; you run the risk of missing what’s going on around you.
Pilgrimage is one of my favorite words. It has been since the first time I heard it–it imprinted on me in a deep way, like it was already waiting in me, just to be woken up, and it may end up as part of a tattoo. Pilgrimage is equal parts an interior word as it is exterior/geographic.
There was a great deal of care and thought given to the house where I live by people who lived here before me. There is a winding path of stepping stones from the back deck, around the yard, to what has become my writing shed/sanctuary. The stones sit above the puddles when rain collects in the yard and it also makes a meditative, mindful, intentional walk in any weather. There are days when I try to make each stone a prayer. Among the stepping stones, there are two with pottery, stones, sea glass, rocks and found objects incorporated into them.
“Living is the constant adjustment of thought to life and life to thought in such a way that we are always growing, always experiencing new things in the old and old things in the new. Thus life is always new.”
Thomas Merton, “Thoughts in Solitude”
If I think about it, a walk across the yard can be a symbolic pilgrimage. It can take me somewhere new, even while taking me to the same place each day.
If I take each step as a prayer…
“God utters me like a word, containing a partial thought of himself. Let me seek then the gift of silence and poverty and solitude, where everything I touch is turned into prayer. Where the sky is my prayer; the birds are my prayer; the wind in the trees is my prayer. For God is all, in all.” (Merton, Emergence video)
At the door to the shed is the second art-dazzled stone. It puts creativity right at the doorstep. The kind of journey, the kind of art we need right now, maybe the kind we always need is the kind that connects us. It’s the art where we can see another and be seen by another, in the truest sense. And it’s a journey into and from our own solitude that shows us how we are connected.
Into our solitude…
“What can we gain by sailing to the moon, if we’re not able to cross the abyss that separates us from ourselves? This is the most important of all voyages of discovery and without it all the rest are not only useless but disastrous.” (Merton, Emergence)
And back out…
“Our task now is to learn that if we can voyage to the ends of the earth, and there find ourselves in the stranger who most differs from ourselves, we will have made a fruitful pilgrimage. This is why pilgrimage is necessary, in some shape or other. Mere sitting at home and meditating on the Divine presence is not enough for our time. We have to come to the end of a long journey and see that the stranger we meet there is none other than ourselves.” (Merton, Emergence)
Pilgrimage, really faith is about transformation. It’s both about finding ourselves, which we have to do first, and then seeing ourselves in others and them in us.
Whether we are at home or when we can get back out into the world, we are on the same journey. And if we want to get the most out of it, we are going to have to get out of the car. We’ll want to meet the strangers. And meet ourselves. Maybe we will come out of this pilgrimage at home finding ourselves more connected than when we started.
We all bring something to the table. And what each person brings is necessarily different from what anyone else brings. And if you subscribe to the notion of life taking a village, a community, part of what makes everything work is each of us adding our own gifts.
This week in our Lent small group, we read Matthew 25 in N.T. Wright’s “Lent for Everyone,” which includes the parable of the talents. In the story Jesus tells, the master goes on a journey and leaves a sum of money (talents) with three different slaves. He gives the first slave five talents, the slave turns it into 10; he gives the second two talents, he turns it into four. The master is pleased and rewards them. The last slave is given one talent, is scared, buries the talent, and just gives it back to the master when he gets back. The master is not happy and wants him thrown out into the dark where bad stuff goes down.
The things about parables, about stories, if they aren’t memorable, they aren’t worth much. Some of them are harsh, and each of the stories Jesus tells are meant to get a message across. Whereas a talent in the story is currency or money, it is a word that works for us in our time as well: talking about our own talents.
Wright breaks it down for us in his commentary after the reading:
“…each of us has been put here with a particular purpose and calling, which only we can do. Our task is to find out what that is and to do it. That remains true whether the purpose is playing the trumpet, cooking meals, planting trees, performing heart transplants, or even preaching sermons. Sometimes, of course, it’s a struggle to discover what our calling is.”
N.T. Wright
We could stand to listen to Jesus, and to Wright, during this time of pandemic with COVID-19 calling for so many different responses from all of us. Some of the shining talents that have come to light at Christ Church Easton during this time, are the musical and video editing skills of members of the church’s music ministers, bands, and choirs. “Hold Us Together,” “Stand in Your Love / Chain Breaker,” and “Be Still My Soul,” have each become Facebook phenomena going far beyond anything the church has recorded or media that it has created. The comments about the hope and connection people are feeling from them have had hearts overflowing all over. I still have a hard time getting through any one of the videos without breaking down.
None of this happens if contemporary music minister Ray Remesch doesn’t step up and say he can direct, record, and edit videos; if Alive @ 5 music minister Bruce Strazza isn’t using his technical expertise, above and beyond his musical talent, to make sure the staff and the band have the systems and equipment they need to work remotely; if the musicians and singers don’t make the time to bring their skills to the table; and Tracy Kollinger doesn’t research and figure out the best ways to upload and stream live videos. We’ve had different staff and volunteers who have stepped up and into different hats in both subtle and profound ways.
Obviously these aren’t front-line jobs. The talents of doctors, first responders, school systems and community volunteers working to make sure kids and families are fed; grocery store and restaurant workers coming up with new ways to stay open and feed people; there are so many people offering and stretching their talents in so many ways, that it is nothing short of remarkable. People are stepping up with the gifts they have been given and are increasing their talents, not burying them.
There are also those of us that are waiting, maybe unsure what gifts we bring to the table, and unsure about the timing and way we might use them. In his commentary on the parable of the talents, Wright has some thoughts:
“…each of us is called to exercise the primary, underlying gifts of living as a wise, loving human being, celebrating God’s love, forgiving, praying, seeking justice, acting prudently and courageously, waiting patiently for God’s will to be done.”
Wright
In this case, God’s will has nothing to do with the pandemic virus sweeping the world, but everything to do with how God’s people are called to respond. It’s up to us, to use the talents God has given us to give back to the community, our neighbors, and thereby the world.
It could be praying; it could be reaching out to a friend or family member; it could be supporting local businesses who are going through an unprecedented time; it could be feeding people; it could be staying home and being available when ready; it could be giving hope and humor and peace to someone who needs it.
What’s asked of us is not to bury our talents, but to be open, to increase them, and to share them. There is hope there.
Sometimes it’s there, just below the surface. My mind is distracted, looking for the familiar, but knowing it won’t come from there. It’s something new.
A beautiful morning, or evening, outside, smelling cut grass, swooning in the start of spring. It seems like normal. But go to grab groceries and it hits: it’s eerie. Off. Something is not right. You can feel it.
We are all called to respond in our own ways. To stay home, yes, but also called to look differently, think differently, maybe to live and be differently. I’ve been trying to get my head around it.
Before COVID-19 arrived, Fr. Bill Ortt put out a Lenten challenge at Christ Church Easton: 1) Find a word that speaks to you; 2) choose a Bible verse that uses your word; 3) Memorize your verse and pray, meditate, reflect on your word/verse as a Lenten mantra of sorts; 4) Write your word on one of the small, wooden crosses the church gives out. And if you are inspired to, take a picture and share your cross-verse.
There have been some wholly wonderful responses. “Heal,” “light,” “love,” “pray,” “faith”–it’s been inspiring to see and read how people came to their word (or their word came to them) and what they are doing with the experience.
My word wasn’t there at first. Or it was, but I wasn’t listening.
As a church, when it was clear that we weren’t going to be gathering together for a time, we had to figure out what that meant; what it looked like; how to stay relevant, be there for people; how to continue to shine a light; how to connect; how to help people be hopeful. We had to do things differently.
We had to create something new. Or at least new to us. We moved our meetings, small groups, and prayer gatherings to ZOOM. Worship services (what would worship look like now?) to Facebook Live. And our music ministries became video artists–I stop every time I hear/watch “Hold Us Together,”“Stand in Your Love / Chain Breaker,” or “Be Still My Soul.” These are videos that have been viewed tens of thousands of times now on Facebook and shared widely. They strike a chord, they speak to hope and faith and love and connection. They weren’t a priority before social distancing, until they became one of the key ways to communicate. This is a time that is teaching us how to create, how to be differently, how to look at what’s important. And it’s not about adapting to a temporary predicament–it’s about moving toward, embracing something new.
I am fascinated by stories. As a writer, I read them, listen to them, think about them, and hope to share and tell them in new and interesting ways. But with between work, two teenage daughters, life, it’s not always easy to make time to write.
As I sat, prayed, reflected, my word, both professionally and personally was there all along: CREATE. And when I started looking through Bible verses, Isaiah practically smacked me upside the head:
“For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind.”
Isaiah, 65:17
In this time, our time, maybe we are called to look at our lives with an eye towards creating better lives.
Maybe we are called to look at our personal and collective stories, and tell new ones.
If our world is necessarily knocked off its axis, perhaps we can look at how to get it spinning around love, kindness, community, sustainability, and creativity.
If I stay home, simply waiting, doing things as I’ve always done them, and at the other end of this pandemic, just shrug, and go back to business as usual, what have I learned or gained from the experience?
This isn’t meant to be some Pollyanna motivational speech. I know my shortcomings. I know I will be lazy, I will fall short, I will miss opportunities. I try to own my humanity, my flaws, and my mistakes. But the idea behind a word, a mantra, a verse to think, pray, reflect on, is what I set my eyes to–what I aim towards, what I strive for. And in the face of a global virus the world is responding to in ways that none of us have seen in our lifetimes, it is a legitimate time to look at our lives and think about where and how we are and where we want to be.
Each spring, I go back to Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass.” It’s become a way to enter the season of rebirth, of resurrection. And this year I am hit especially by his “O ME! O LIFE!” in the same space and way that Robin Williams quoted it in Dead Poets Society.
We are here. We exist. It didn’t have to be, but it is. And in life’s powerful play, we may contribute a verse. That is what we create. But it’s up to us.
I want to wake up open to what it is God is creating in the world and creating in me.
“Create in my a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me. Do not cast me away from your presence, and do not take your holy spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and sustain in me a willing spirit.”
We build community by coming together to share meaningful experiences. It’s the same with friendships–it’s by spending time together, doing things we love, or helping each other, creating memories and shared stories together is how we grow closer.
Having church be a part of all those things is still fairly new to me, just a few years old. Over the years, I’ve formed friendships and stories through running and trail running, writing and reading, skateboarding, paddleboarding; through kids and mutual friends; through hiking, and sometimes through coffee houses, book stores, or bars. And of course through work, which is where we spend most of our time.
I’m fortunate and grateful that work and church get to be the same thing for me right now. And that has led to building some wonderful friendships through small groups, Bible studies, and worshiping together. Our stories overlap and intertwine in trying to deepen our connection to God and to each other; in trying to get a better understanding of Scripture; in trying to continue our spiritual journeys collectively and in community (we recently read N.T. Wright telling us, “there is no such thing a solitary Christian”). I especially dig that groups that meet at a church don’t look or act like you might have in your head. There is deep laughter and relevance in Bible studies, groups that have gone kayaking and paddleboarding, and hiking and bonfires at retreats. And there is frequently food.
An afternoon hike and high wire act during an Alpha Retreat in Buckeystown, Md.
Gathering intentionally each week is a great first step. For church, that time is for worship, which is a time to recharge our spiritual batteries; to get inspired; to pray with and for each other; to be lifted up by incredible music; to be united in body and spirit by sharing communion. And then we are sent out “to do the work (God) has given us to do.” Though for so many of us, that is wrapped up in running errands, getting or keeping things straight at home or with our families, doing our jobs.
It’s hard to make time to be intentional about our spiritual lives or formation. What would it look like if we did? And how would we do it. I am biased, but I’ve found small groups–whether at church, a running or hiking group, a workout group, a writing group, a book club, a group of friends–to be such a key way to make things happen. And Lent is a perfect time to start. Make Lent a time for renewal; a time for clearing out habits that aren’t serving us. And a time to begin some practices to enhance our sense of community, our spiritual friendships, and our relationship with God.
A small group from an Alpha Retreat at Camp Arrowhead in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware.
The Alpha Course has been a community-changing and relationship-building program at the church. It is a program designed for people who aren’t sure what they think of church or Christianity, but it can also enliven those who are farther along in their faith walk. Alpha asks questions, including, “Is there more to life than this?” and provides groups to have discussion without judgment or preaching to get a sense of what people think. And Alpha is known for feeding people, so dinner is included as well. We will be starting Alpha on Saturday, February 29 (that’s not a typo, it’s leap year!) after our Alive @ 5 service. Alpha is a free program. There will be a weekend retreat in the spring, which has a cost, which the church can help with if need be. There are a number of people at Christ Church and around the world who will tell you to “Try Alpha” if you can. You can sign up here.
For anyone who is curious about Bible study, or who would like a daily devotional practice during Lent, Christ Church will be offering “Lent for Everyone, Matthew Year A,”where scholar and former bishop N.T. Wright leads us through Matthew’s Gospel from Ash Wednesday to the week after Easter. The group will meet once a week on Wednesday evenings at 6:30 pm (beginning March 4) to discuss the week’s readings. This is a great way to get a feel for the Gospel of Matthew. It is uncanny how relevant it is to our daily lives. Two years ago, we offered the Mark year version of this study, and almost everyone in those classes has gone on to further and deeper Bible study and become a part of groups that meet almost year-long.
“Walk in Love” is a series of talks that focus on listening, compassion and empathy, and walking with someone who is grieving.
The “Walk in Love” Series has been in the works for some time now at the church and folks are excited for how it might help us each to walk in love with each other, through listening, empathy, and being with those who are grieving. It’s a three evening event that will take place on Thursdays of March 19th, 26th, and April 2nd at 6:00pm in the church’s Parish Hall. All three presentations speak to our call to give humbly of ourselves to those we love and those who need our loving compassion, by bringing greater awareness to how we listen, love, and walk with courage with our family, friends, and neighbors. You can come to all three sessions, or whichever ones you can make. The series is free.
Life is tough to do alone. Faith might be even harder, with how easy it is to get distracted or knocked off our paths. Thankfully, there are ways for us to connect, to each other, and to God. Spiritual friendships, small groups, and community, created by time together, by shared meaningful experiences and practices can help us form bonds, memories, and stories to keep us going.
Eighteen is a gut punch and a privilege. Anna is 18 today and it feels like time travel back to her birth as well as a look at my own white-bearded face in the mirror of mortality.
I don’t know what I thought life would look like when your oldest child turns 18, but I’m pretty sure whatever it was got derailed somewhere. There are sure a lot more tears, yelling, and questions than I thought there would be. Then again, I can attest to parenting karma being real, with fatherhood feeling both incredible and helpless at the same time.
We get pictures in our minds of what life will look like in the future and maybe how it’s supposed to look and feel now. When we want things for our children, they are often what we want versus what they might want at a given time.
Anna’s on her own timeline, with her own thoughts and feelings; I was (and am) the same way, so it shouldn’t surprise me. But letting that sink in goes against some of what we think we should be doing as parents.
If we’re lucky, we get to walk the road with our kids, we can’t walk it for them.
Over the past couple months, I’ve started to learn something experientially that has been a game-changer. Anna and I have had some deep conversations that made me stop and take stock. I was at a workshop recently where our group discussed, “moments of conversion:” those experiences that stop us, make us see differently, and change us. And that’s what listening to Anna gave me: I had to stop, realize I was completely missing things she was saying, and start from square one.
That being the case, we are still on the road of life and father-daughter relationship together. And reading James K.A. Smith’s “On the Road with St. Augustine,” I came across this line:
“Conversion doesn’t pluck you off the road, it just changes how you travel.”
James K.A. Smith
And I hope I can keep that up and make the most of it. Conversion is a day-to-day process and there is a lot of road still to travel. I have a lot to learn about 18 and beyond.
When Anna turned 16, I wrote her a letter of sorts. I wouldn’t change anything in it now, it all stands. But a couple years along, and maybe I see a few things. I am smitten by her gifts and her passions.
Anna is all about pets. She is the girl who disappears and turns up in anyone’s house with a cat or dog in her arms. And animals take to her (until she dresses them up). She’s looking to start volunteering at Talbot Humane this winter and I honestly wonder whether that might be the beginning of a calling of sorts. Dr. Doolitttle-in-training.
Kids are drawn to her. If it’s not animals, it wouldn’t surprise me to see her wrangling kids at a daycare or preschool. She is magnetic in a pied-piper kind of way and kids follow her. And it happens whenever she is around them.
When it comes to art and puzzles, Anna has a zen focus. I’ve never seen a teenager put together a 1,000 piece puzzle. Anna does them in an evening and can tune out whatever else is going on. She is the same way with coloring, doodling intricate patterns, or painting. They are things that brighten her days, and thereby brighten mine.
Anna is extroverted. This hit me like a rolled-up newspaper when she talked about it after a personality test in school. As an introvert raising a child similar to me in many ways, I just never thought about it, then hearing her say it, I looked back over her life with a giant “no duh” and it made sense. She recharges around people and looks for ways to be social.
She is fiercely protective of her sister. I know the older sibling protective thing, but this is something different. Anna has been with Ava step-by-step through month-long hospitalization, seizures, and her provoked epilepsy adventure. Anna frequently calls her mom or I out about making sure Ava is hydrated, not in the sun too long, and is getting enough sleep. This isn’t to say that teenage sisters don’t fight like wolverines (they do), but when push comes to punch, Anna hasn’t missed a neurology appoint, watches out for and over her sister, and worries about her constantly.
Anna feels deeply in a world where that can count against you. It’s a hard thing as a father to watch your child fall down, process, and struggle. It’s a wonderful thing when they get back up, learn, and try again or try something different. Anna has an empathetic heart (at times 🙂 where that isn’t frequently en vogue with teenagers. Sometimes it takes us a while to find our tribe and I know she’s working on hers.
If we’re lucky, we get to walk the road with our kids, we can’t walk it for them. We can’t speed them up and even if we point out rocky ground and potholes, strong-willed kids still find them on their own.
Anna has been my learning curve, my guinea pig as I try to figure out how to be a father. She has picked me up at times when I’ve failed and it’s been the biggest honor and adventure I’ve known to walk her road with her.
On her turning 18, I see next steps, new experiences, more tears and laughter, more dressed up pets, Starbucks runs, puzzles and artwork, and things even a Romper-Room magic looking glass can’t see coming. One of these days I might figure out how to be a parent. Until then, I’ll be happy when she smiles.
Most of us won’t get to everything on our bucket lists. There’s a good chance we won’t accomplish everything we hope to do in life. And some of that could be on us, but there are plenty of factors beyond our control. Does it make our lives less than?
Mary Oliver’s poem, “Praying” found me this week:
It doesn’t have to be the blue iris, it could be weeds in a vacant lot, or a few small stones; just pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try to make them elaborate, this isn’t a contest, but the doorway Into thanks, and a silence in which another voice may speak.
Maybe we spend too much time waiting for the blue iris–the extraordinary to show up, when we could make more out of a few small stones.
Don’t get me wrong–I want to savor the blue iris moments when I have them, if I have them, but not at the cost of the stones all around me. Those moments, the ones we have right now, are all we know we will get.
Two friends have died in the past few weeks, unrelated to each other. Their deaths were unexpected and tragic and they left behind kids and families. I’m sure each had more they wanted to do, to say, decisions they’d love a do-over for. But when I think of each of them, I smile for how they made me feel; for each of their smiles; their stories; the way they approached each day during the time that I knew them.
We remember how people made us feel. I know I need to be more conscious of that. We remember the time we shared with someone, the stories we told. What I know of Chris and Mike is a small section of their lives, but an intersection I am grateful for. Each of them gave me a gift in knowing them and I am glad Christ Church Easton’s Alive @ 5 service connected and/or reconnected us.
As I think about friends dying, we are reading Chapter 11 in our study of John’s Gospel, which is where Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. There is a scene where Mary, Lazarus’s sister comes out to see Jesus as he has arrived.
“When Mary came to where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, ‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.’ When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed and deeply moved. He said, ‘Where have you laid him?’ They said to him, ‘Lord, come and see.’ Jesus began to weep.” (John 11:32-35)
It’s a profound thing that Jesus weeps with us in our grief. Jesus knows that he is about to raise Lazarus, that things will be okay in the long run, but he cries with his friends in their shared grief. As we are reading John, we are using N.T. Wright’s commentary in “John for Everyone.” Wright talks about this moment of grief like this:
“It’s one of the most remarkable moments in the whole gospel story… Throughout the gospel, John is telling us… that when we look at Jesus, not least when we look at Jesus in tears, we are seeing not just a flesh-and-blood human being, but the Word made flesh. The Word, through whom the worlds were made, weeps like a baby at the grave of his friend. Only when we stop and ponder this will we understand the full mystery of John’s gospel. Only when we put away our high and dry pictures of who God is and replace them with pictures in which the Word who is God can cry with the world’s crying will we discover what the word ‘God’ really means.”
God is the creator of the Universe. He’s larger than life, the spinner of the cosmos, author of the Mystery, beyond comprehension. And at the same time, He becomes human and cries with his friends. And that is a part of who God is. And it is a way we can get to know Him and draw closer to Him.
In the raising of Lazarus–John doesn’t tell us it was because Lazarus had so much more to do with his life, he doesn’t tell us what he had done up to that point or what he goes and does after–that’s not the point. God just does it. As with so many stories in the Gospels, it’s a story of hope. And hope comes in so many ways at so many different, and unexpected times.
We don’t all get Lazarus moments that we can see in this life. Not all our outcomes are how we want them, nor are we on our time. But we can find hope.
And we aren’t guaranteed blue iris moments. But we are given this moment and a few small stones. And we can build something with them, in this life, with those around us, right now. If we are lucky, those moments, those few small stones we share with those we meet, maybe, as Mary Oliver says, they can be “the doorway into thanks, and a silence in which another voice may speak.”
If you take Jesus at his word, loving our neighbors is a big deal. In the gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, they record the same to-do list from Jesus, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the law and the prophets hang on these two commandments.” (Matthew 22:36-40 NIV)
These are important. And if we take to reading, studying, reflecting and meditating on, and praying on Scripture, we’ll find new depths and heights for how to connect to and love and obey God.
I’ve got to say, the Bible is my favorite book. That is not a statement I could have made 10 years ago. And part of the reason I say that is that I’ve spent the last three years reading Matthew, Mark, and Luke’s versions of the Gospel, slowly, chapter by chapter, studying with different groups, using the help of N.T. Wright’s “New Testament for Everyone” commentaries. And we’ve prayed, laughed (a lot), cried, wrestled with things, been confused, found grace, found ourselves in the stories, found God and Christ in the Scriptures, found poetry, and soared to new heights of feeling and depths of understanding. I can’t recommend it enough and it has become one of my favorite things to do. We’re currently studying John’s Gospel and, wow.
But about this loving our neighbor thing: what if our neighbor has no interest in the Bible? And there are plenty of big reasons they might not (disdain for organized religion being one). One of the best things we can do is look to Jesus for an example. Jesus is constantly reaching out to the lonely, the outcast, the disenfranchised, the unclean, the sick, the marginalized–the people who the “church people” of the day wouldn’t have anything to do with. And when he reached out, he didn’t tell them to go to church, read their Old Testament, etc. He heard them. He met them where they were. He healed them. He loved them. He knew them and spoke to them. In the story of the Samaritan woman at the well, who society would have told Jesus he had no business talking to, Jesus talks to her, tells her things about who he is and who she is; the woman is amazed and tells others he “told me everything I have ever done!” He told her HER story.
At a time where we don’t know our neighbors, or their stories, and in many cases, maybe we don’t know ourselves the way we should, it’s our sacred duty to recognize the divine in each of us. In a 2018 sermon at the National Cathedral in Washington, DC, Brene Brown reminds us that,
“If you are a person of faith, you are called to find the face of God in every single person you meet.”
Brene Brown
Sometimes that is not the easiest thing to do. Especially when we disagree with someone, maybe don’t like them; or if they look, think, love, or act differently than we do. A key way to know someone is to hear their stories; to understand who they are. Brown shows one way of doing that in a short, narrated cartoon video about empathy. Sometimes it is no more simple, and no more profound, than just being there.
Brown says that empathy fuels connection and cites Theresa Wiseman’s four qualities of empathy: perspective taking, staying out of judgment, recognizing emotions in others, and communicating that. If we want to love our neighbor as Christ both told us and demonstrated, this is a pretty solid beginning.
Part of the problem is that this isn’t an easy thing to learn. It doesn’t come naturally to everyone. And it isn’t always easy. We need all the help that we can get.
This fall, we’ve had two evening classes reading and discussing Brown’s book, “Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead.” It’s been interesting, hearing some folks who are not church-goers, who say, “A church discussing a Brene Brown book? Wow, that’s really cool, I’d love to be a part of that.” And some folks at the church, who wonder about discussing a book that isn’t the Bible and doesn’t talk directly about the Bible or God in the way that we are used to. And both of those things are great and right and fair discussions to have.
I love the idea of thin places–places where heaven and earth are closer, or places where we are closer to God. There are absolutely physical places in the world where that space exists. But I think it that space can also be a state of mind or emotion. And when we feel vulnerable, that is one of the places–being exposed, and truly seen and heard, where we feel our need for God and for each other. Brown defines vulnerability as “uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure.”And she points out that love for us feels uncertain, incredibly risky, and leaves us emotionally exposed.
She points out that, “vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity. It is the source of hope, empathy, accountability, and authenticity. If we want greater clarity in our purpose or deeper and more meaningful spiritual lives, vulnerability is the path.”
This is not easy stuff and it’s not necessarily a feel good book, in that it asks us to look past all the barriers we build to protect ourselves and be open with ourselves, each other, and with God. Being open to God is to be vulnerable, to put our hearts out there, which is the business God is in: the battle for our hearts.
Brown gets the title for her book from Teddy Roosevelt’s famous speech, about the “Man in the Arena:”
“The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly…”
God calls us not to be on the sidelines, but in the arena. He tells us that Jesus has come so that we may “have life and have it abundantly” (John 10:10). He wants us to get to know Him and get to know each other. And He knows it is a struggle, a journey to get there, one where we lay down our old lives to have a new life in and through Him. And that it’s worth it.
What keeps us from having that life in all its fullness? The life that we might dream of, or that God dreams for us? What, in our culture, are the things that most stand in our way? If most of us had to name it, it would probably involve fear, shame, vulnerability. We are often afraid of failing, afraid of falling, afraid of being ridiculed, afraid of being exposed. This is true in our personal lives, in our education system, and at work. And in Daring Greatly, Brown helps us to look at this, to name and understand it, and talks about how we can connect with one another and develop a resilience that could allow us to try; to dare.
In the Gospels, Jesus compares himself to a physician, who is not here to help the healthy, but here to help the sick. He asks Peter and his disciples to continue his work. He asks us to continue his work today. And when we can diagnose something that keeps people down, keeps us from knowing each other and knowing ourselves; keeps us armored up, numb, and therefore not open to God or His love for us and what plans He might have for us, maybe He asks us to reach out to people where they are. Maybe he asks us to open ourselves up and help others connect to us and to Him.
And maybe we need to use every tool, every language, every means that He has given us to help do that. It’s a sacred call, to love our neighbors. And to love them, we have to know them, and know ourselves.
There are different paths to come to faith. I know my own did not involve the Bible until it did. And that has begun one of the coolest lifetime adventures there is. And our paths also involve finding God in all of creation, in other people, and in books, some of which are obvious, some of which are subtle, but all of which are part of God.
At our best, maybe we are called to synthesize secular and sacred texts, or to view everything as sacred, seeing with the eyes of a Creator who loves his Creation. Maybe we can create a language and a vision with room for both. I appreciate folks like Rev. Arianne Rice, who in her practice is both an Episcopal priest and a certified Daring Way instructor, bringing together Scripture, faith, social work, research, vulnerability, and empathy. And who may be able to help us, and others, do the same. It’s cool to see Christ Church Charlotte offering classes, lectures, and an evening with Brene Brown; Stonebriar Church in Texas talking about healing from shame; and the Episcopal Church and United Thank Offering talking about return, practice, and gratitude, citing Brown’s work. The point here is not about Brown, but about cases where churches are looking to engage their congregations and communities by being open to new ways of thinking about connection, empathy, vulnerability, and how to be neighbors. It doesn’t change our sacred calling, it engages it on the ground.
I have so much to learn from so many different people. And so much to learn about God’s love, and grace, and Word. And I am grateful for all those in the arena, trying to do God’s work , through their unique gifts, perspective, and place in the world.
Sometimes the coolest ideas begin as a conversation. The kind where you talk about every subject under and above the sun, laugh your face off, and find yourself frequently running down paths of wonder. The kind of conversation where when it’s done, you wish you had recorded it, or at least written parts down.
I had one of those conversations with Gary Skirka this winter on our way to Third Eye Comics in Annapolis for a book signing with writer Jason Aaron (who writes the Avengers, Thor, Conan, has written Wolverine). Both of our imaginations have been and continue to be shaped by comic books; we both lead groups at different churches; we both have two quickly growing up daughters; we are both trying to read more, get ourselves back into shape. The discussion jumped from faith to favorite comics; from the Wu-Tang Clan to John’s Gospel; from cosmology to kung fu.
Jason Aaron signing books at Third Eye Comics for the release of his Conan book for Marvel Comics.
Gary mentioned that for a number of years now he’s wanted to do a podcast about comics, pop culture, faith and spirituality, with people you wouldn’t think of as the geek culture type.
Fast forward to earlier this week. Seven of us got together and laid out our own origin stories when it comes to faith and comics. We’ve got a few guys that work for churches, a couple police officers, a former Army medic. In one case, comic books had been an outlet during chemo and childhood cancer. In another comics were a bond between father and son; one found he could draw superheroes to pass the time or sell his art. In terms of faith, it was all over the map–from one-time adamant non-believers, to lifelong church goers; former philosophy students. It was a melting pot from a number of different churches and theologies, with maybe the constant being guys who wouldn’t be told what to think or do or what box they had to fit in, but who found their own path to God.
Grant Morrison is one of the most acclaimed comic book writers of all time. He’s written everything from Superman to Batman, the Justice League to Green Lantern, shaped the DC Universe, as well as creating new characters, universes, and books that transcend the medium. In his book “Supergods,” he looks at what superhero stories might say about our culture:
“We live in the stories we tell ourselves. In a secular, scientific, rational culture lacking in any convincing spiritual leadership, superhero stories speak loudly and boldly to our greatest fears, deepest longings, and highest aspirations. They’re not afraid to be hopeful, not embarrassed to be optimistic, and utterly fearless in the dark. They’re about as far from social realism as you can get, but the best superhero stories deal directly with mythic elements of human experience that we can all relate to, in ways that are imaginative, profound, funny, and provocative. They exist to solve problems of all kinds and can always be counted on to find a way to save the day. At their best, they help us to confront and resolve even the deepest existential crises. We should listen to what they have to tell us.”
Yeah, what he said 🙂 Add to that, graphic storytelling is currently doing some of the most creative and imaginative storytelling going, and are often just plain fun to read and experience as art at the same time.
Comics and dime detective and science fiction novels have their roots in pulp culture. Not the orange juice kind, the “Pulp Fiction” kind. Merriam Webster gives a definition of pulp as:
PULP (noun), a magazine or book printed on cheap paper (such as newsprint) and often dealing with sensational material.
Merriam Webster Dictionary
As we all got talking back and forth, we dug the ideas of podcasts, interviews with different guests, blogs, articles, videos, road trips, movie and book reviews on any and all things pop/pulp culture as well as faith, spirituality, theology, etc. And we wanted a name to go with the pulp idea. Something big, reaching, something that calls your imagination into action. And who knows, maybe something that calls “Young Guns” or Nate Dogg and Warren G. to mind.
Revelators. Why revelators? Why not! You could ask Blind Willie Johnson, or Son House, who both have stripped down, bare bones versions of the song “John the Revelator,” or you can go with the dressed up version the used in the show “Sons of Anarchy.” You get the idea.
With “Pulp Revelators,” we are starting a discussion. We hope you’ll follow along on different social media channels and look for a website to be up and running before long. We hope you’ll join in, ask questions, tell us what you think, and what topics, characters, or subjects you’d like to hear more about. We’ve got some fun adventures ahead. In a nutshell, what we hope to be doing is “surveying the sensational.” Stay tuned.
There is freedom in getting away. There is friendship in breaking bread and eating together. There is awe in exploring Creation in the rolling hills in early fall. There is joy in worshiping together. There is peace in praying with and for each other. And when you bring close to 70 adults and youth together for a weekend away at The Claggett Center in Adamstown, Md., there is ever-present laughter waiting to bust loose.
This is the fourth consecutive season that Christ Church Easton has run The Alpha Course on Saturday evenings. Alpha is billed as an adventure to explore life, faith, and meaning. It’s also an opportunity to come together with like-minded people and build friendships. In the middle of the course is a weekend away, a chance to take a break from everyday life and create space and intention to shift your focus; a time to connect with each other and with God in Christ. God works in our lives and in our hearts through the Holy Spirit, and that’s what Alpha presents us with, a chance to better understand and personally connect with the Holy Spirit. That starts with making space:
“The greatest need in our time is to clear out the enormous mass of mental and emotional rubbish that clutters our mind.” – Thomas Merton
Stepping back from daily life to step more fully into it, centered and recharged. That’s the goal. It sounds high-minded, but it’s also frequently hilarious. Some of my deepest soul/belly laughs in recent years have come on these weekends. There is a lightness of being that emanates from everyone there.
“At the height of laughter, the universe is flung into a kaleidoscope of new possibilities.” – Jean Houston
That kind of laughter, the kind that floats from the soul out to others and out into the universe. The kind of laughter that when shared, connects people, binds them together.
There is something to the setting at Claggett, the chance to hike through the woods, or walk a labyrinth, or skateboard paved trails, that puts the adventure card on the table.
“Every day God invites us on the same kind of adventure. It’s not a trip where He sends us a rigid itinerary, He simply invites us. God asks what it is He’s made us to love, what it is that captures our attention, what feeds that indescribable need of our souls to experience the richness of the world He made. And then, leaning over us, He whispers, ‘Let’s go do that together.'” -Bob Goff
That is part of what the weekend is about. Finding our own way, our own passion, making the most out of our lives by connecting, or re-connecting to our particular passions and gifts, despite what the world may say. “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind,” Paul writes in his letter to the Romans. Renewing our minds and hearts.
But a funny thing happens, as we try to do that individually, as we follow our own hearts and passions: we realize we are connected to those around us.
“There are different kinds of gifts, but the same spirit distributes them. There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but in all of them and in everyone it is the same God at work.” – 1 Corinthians, 4-6.
We are all of the same spirit. We are united by the love of God and through the Holy Spirit, a gift Christ left to all of us. The gift of time away together is the chance to realize that, to feel and see it in a community of people, who through worship, prayer, breaking bread, laughter, tears, shared experience, grace and the Holy Spirit, become the body of Christ, for a time.
