As a Christian, I allow the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ to be the measure of my beliefs. I try to be challenged by scripture and the work of God’s Holy Spirit to align my life (my actions) with the life (and actions) of Jesus. The struggle comes in exploring the distance between those beliefs and my reality (both my actions and the actions of others that impact me).
But you don’t necessarily need a “faith” per say, to engage in this exploration. I’d argue no one has a choice. Willful ignorance or obliviousness might minimize the tension or limit your discomfort, but you can’t ever eliminate it entirely.
Even an extreme nihilist, driven by the belief that nothing matters will, on occasion, encounter some experience, some moment of meaning, that challenges this core assumption. Life will give you pause to doubt its ultimate meaninglessness the same way it will give a person of faith and belief pause to doubt its purposefulness.
I’d argue Jesus’ life and teaching were not intended to start some new religion, but to challenge the concept of religion. He deftly illustrated that a system of beliefs and practices cannot be the solution to our existential angst. We may ultimately come to find ourselves within a particular religious tradition, but that only happens because we’ve come to believe those beliefs and practices are worthwhile in our search to reconcile the truth in our heads with our reality.
This is why I can say our “church” is a gathering of people with no required set of beliefs. If whatever Christian perspective on life and belief I happen to have is actually true, others will be convinced on the merits, on its practical value in making life bearable (if not enjoyable), not because of some inherent authority or coercive fear.
I’d argue those religious leaders who appeal to authority or fear as the basis of belief don’t really believe in anything except power. They are religious leaders, but theirs is not the religion they claim to represent.
This is the perfect example of how a “church” built on this tension between belief and reality can be beneficial. It allows us to think about our own beliefs and our own actions and the relationship between them without the shame of having to live up to some imposed religious standard. The very religious standard, I’d argue, Jesus came to topple.
The twin questions of “Why do we do what we do?” and “What do our actions say about our beliefs?” allow us to examine this gap in ways that lead to growth. It doesn’t require us to have the same answer to questions like “What is true?” or “What is right?” in order to be supportive and helpful to each other.
I know this all sounds very relativistic, as if all beliefs are equally valid, but that could not be further from the truth. It’s merely a recognition that our beliefs can only truly change when we’re convinced they need to change. It’s a belief that truth wins out in the end. If my beliefs are right, that will become apparent. If my beliefs are wrong, that will become equally apparent.
The job of the “church” is then not to convince someone to change their mind, but to help people explore that gap between belief and action.
That gap gets exposed in two ways. The first is when we’re made aware of a gap that exists. It’s quite likely we’ve got beliefs that aren’t reflected well in our actions, but we simply don’t notice them because they aren’t supper impactful or they’re so commonly accepted as to never be questioned.
The “church” should be a place where we’re sometimes awakened to belief-action gaps we never knew existed. “The way I treated my co-worker this morning does not reflect the value I believe she possesses.” You may not have been aware of that gap at the time – she messed up, you got angry, it seemed appropriate – but when that awareness comes, either through your own self-reflection or the loving words of a friend, the “church” can be a place that helps you work through it.
The second way our belief-action gap is exposed is through a challenge to our beliefs. Ideally this wouldn’t be a direct confrontation – “Your belief is wrong” – although that happens all the time in life, but a realization that our belief just doesn’t add up. This is the stereotypical mid-life crisis: “I thought job success and money were supposed to make me happy and they don’t, am I missing the point of life?” It’s a question you need to work through for yourself, but a process you shouldn’t do alone.
Where “church” has failed in the past is where it’s heaped shame and scorn on the recognition of these belief-action gaps, rather than comfort and acceptance. We feel a natural shame when we recognize our beliefs and actions don’t match-up. We feel inadequate, guilty, sinful, even though what we’re experiencing is both deeply human and deeply healthy. Until and unless we face up to these belief-action gaps we’re never going to be able to grow.
Too often the “church” adds to the guilt, making us feel like these gaps, these tensions and discomfort are wrong. Let’s say you believe generosity is important, but find yourself saddled with debt and obligations that making giving generously impossible. Recognizing that gap brings with it a sense of failure and hopelessness. Too often the “church” compounds this with guilt and feeds a cycle of regret that prevents us from addressing the gap.
What if “church” were a place of comfort? What if the “church’s” response to this generosity gap was mourning and reassurance. “I’m sorry you’re feeling this discomfort and tension, but it’s an opportunity to grow. There may not be readily available solutions, but we’ll walk through this tension with you, and support you as you try to find balance.” What if “church” were the place you could go when you’re feeling lost and find assurance that you’re not lost alone?
This requires us recognizing the difference between internal and external pressure. It’s easy, especially in a religious setting, to feel pressure to change beliefs we’re not ready (and maybe don’t need to change). If everyone else thinks drinking alcohol is wrong and you don’t; it’s easy to feel an imposed shame, a challenge to your belief that is entirely external. This is bad and unhealthy.
At the same time, we pay feel a tension between our beliefs and the beliefs of others that is genuinely real within us. We might be convinced that our belief really does need to change – maybe it’s because we’ve been exposed to the alternative beliefs of others, but not because they’re imposing those beliefs upon us.
It’s a tricky thing to parse, of course, whether your tension is real or imposed. The “church” should be constantly policing itself in this regard. This could easily lead to a timidity that finds to discussion of beliefs at all out of fear we’ll make someone uncomfortable. The problem, of course, is not the discomfort, but the source of that discomfort.
There’s a real difference between saying “violence is evil and must be avoided at all costs,” and saying “I must avoid violence; I don’t like what it does to me.” When we can consider a belief outside of ourselves, it gives us the distance necessary to maybe consider it for ourselves. Does Ryan’s rationale for this belief make sense in my life? A healthy “church” is one where either answer to that question is genuinely acceptable.
I keep using quotations around the word “church” and I do that for a very specific purpose. We have a lot of ideas that come into our heads when we hear that word “church.” It means vastly different things to people. Usually it has some specific religious context. “Church” is the Christian version of the word; other religions use different terms: temple, mosque, gurdwara, etc.
I think, at their heart, all of these are attempts to be communities of care and concern. You don’t need to be affiliated with any particular religion to do this, either. As human beings we’re all searching for communities of radical acceptance, where we can be loved and valued regardless of our actions and beliefs. To me, this is what “church” means. I don’t think it has to be a place of songs and pews and preaching, although I don’t think we should necessarily throw those things out either.
If Jesus came to show us and call us to radical love – a love that is willing to die for its enemies – than any community can be a “church,” if it has this practice as its goal. Honestly, you don’t even really have to be willing to love your enemies; you really just have to be willing to love the people in front of you.
I know all of this requires some underlying beliefs that not everyone will agree with: a belief in radical love, in the ultimately victory of truth, in the importance of other people, etc. Someone who specifically disagrees with those things might not be capable of participating in “church” as I see it. That’s regrettably true.
Of course, if beliefs in love and truth and ultimate reality are in fact real and true and ultimate, those people incapable of participating won’t necessarily always be incapable of participating – in the very same way none of us are really capable of participating and never will be. That doesn’t mean we don’t try.
After all, we’re stuck with that gap between our beliefs and our actions whether we like it or not. Whether we embrace love and community or self-interest and individuality, we’re all going to face doubts and challenges and discomfort. If you want to do that alone, it’s fine by me. I’d rather do it together.
I sang a song with a similar line this weekend. It wasn't the old hymn, but it spoke of God not having "failed me yet," or something along those lines. With the space of decades, a theological education, and some real-life experience, it seemed a lot more profound. The 'yet' seemed incredibly important.
I'd still claim God does not and will not fail us. I don't have an theological or intellectual doubts about the direction in which my life is pointed precisely because I believe in the steadfastness of God. I do, however, like how the 'yet' speaks to the immediacy of the moment. More and more I like the AA analogy for faith and Christian life - with the gatherings of the Church being the place where we can say, "I'm Ryan and I'm a sinner." Some people are in permanent recovery and they earn their chips every year; others have to make the same confession each meeting. It's a much better model than the congregations where you can only say it once, and anything more is met with shame and disappointment.
I don't know if it's practical or healthy or "correct," I've found it quite helpful to meet temptations with delay tactics. I'll indulge that vice tomorrow, but for today, I'm going to stick to my principles. Most of the time it works for that extra bowl of ice cream and sometimes even for anger or laziness. It's the same model AA uses - one day at a time - it's why they tell you to go to as many meetings as possible, because the more often you get up in front of a room of people and admit your weakness, the less time you have to indulge it in between.
I sat listening to the song, after the first time through the line with "yet" at the end, just enjoying the moment. I thought of our childhood jokes and how much more I appreciated that "yet" today. There are plenty of reasons to doubt the love, good will, and grace of God - the world is pretty awful much of the time - but we can save that doubting for tomorrow. God's good enough and close enough and trustworthy enough for today -let tomorrow worry about itself, because today, today is all we really need.
There had been a wave of immigration following the Civil War, which only increased at the end of the century. Most immigrants at least began their lives in the US in the cities, a fact that continues to be true today. There are just better support networks for immigrants in largely populated places. Part of the reaction to this fact in 1910 was a retrenchment from the cities. There was an intellectual rejection of science, education, and global engagement. The suburbs didn't explode until after WWII, but the movement out of the cities (largely by white folks) began earlier.
This is the same period that produced radical, protectionist, conservative politics and the fundamentalist movement in Christianity. New ideas, in general, were rejected because they challenged a largely homogeneous culture that develops when people spend a lot of time with each other. Rural places were familiar and predictable and it brought comfort.
In reading that development, I couldn't help but think about today's US culture. Immigration and "the other" have once again become bogeymen, scapegoats for the plight of white, working-class, largely rural citizens who've been left behind by economic and political changes in the last decade. I've been saying that's it's not really the fault of immigrants, but I've struggled to really articulate an underlying problem.
I don't know the data for our current situation, but I suspect that with the rise of technology and communications, it's becoming easier and easier for immigrants to survive in more rural and suburban areas. Cities are still a big draw, but no longer are a required jumping off point for a new life in the US. Perhaps the encroachment of new ideas, customs, and cultures into previously homogeneous and isolated areas is creating the same kind of fear-based backlash we saw a century ago?
Obviously, it's not really about immigrants, but the new and unpredicatability they present to largely settled communities with accepted ways of life. It's not an issue of "good" and "bad" or "right" and "wrong" so much as it's a necessary struggle to deal with "different." Fear is a natural reaction to different, especially when we're used to accepted and predictable habits - like when our house guests don't put silverware in the dishwasher in the right direction.* There's a real tension that needs to be resolved. It can only be ignored or endured for so long before a conversation needs to be had and an arrangement worked out.
It's the same kind of issues every community goes through, but for rural areas, where population hasn't changed much (in number of composition) those conversations are relics of the past with no immediate memory in the present. We need to get passed the surface fears of change and otherness and see the infusion of new people, ideas, and customs as not a "problem" at all, but a challenge that requires attention. Religious fundamentalists discovered you can only put off dealing with modern science and thought for so long. Yes, the communities and ideas persist, but they bleed off population with each generation, as some adherents fail to escape the necessity of navigating the larger world.
I've never, ever met or experienced anyone who genuinely and openly encountered an "other" with an open mind and ears, who didn't soften their stance on the person or their ideas, even if they continued firmly in their own beliefs. Different people might not (and need not) change our minds to truly change our hearts.
I hate change as much as anyone. I like to have a long runway and lots of time for preparation to do or think anything different, but even I know you can't give in to your fear of change. Other people might have to patient, but we also have to be willing. Change is scary and difficult, but it can't be avoided. If others are willing to give us time, we have to be willing to consider the possibility. All it takes is a little trust and a little grace.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that if I can change, and you can change, everybody can change!
*Knives and small spoons facing down, forks and large spoons facing up, obviously.
It's been a week since the election. The first day or two were terribly emotional - that's how people react, both positively and negatively. There's been a lot of negative. People aren't coming together the way the United States typically does in these times. I've spent a sizeable chunk of the last week talking with upset people, hurting people, angry people. What I have to say are my words and they are knowingly filtered through the reality that I am an educated, straight, white man. While I can't understand all of what many around me are going through, I do see what they are going through and feel the need to say something.
If you think it's the wrong thing or the wrong time or I'm the wrong person, I apologize; you are very likely correct.
With regards to this election, there are real two levels of upset that don't seem to be speaking to each other. People who held their noses and voted for Trump (those who did so happily and with glee can really stop reading; this is not for you) have often said, "he's not going to do the things he said he would," but that misses the point. That statement is one of policy and policy is not at the root of the anger and discontent.
Don't get me wrong, people who don't like Donald Trump's ideas are apoplectic. He wants to build a wall, perhaps limit who can enter the country in ways some find unconstitutional. He has a tax plan that benefits the rich over the poor and expands the deficit with some vain hope that the third time's the charm for disproven economic theory. People don't like his suggestions for the Supreme Court, for the Cabinet, for how to handle his own personal conflicts of interest.
But in the end, those are just policy decisions. It's not like he's the first politician to suggest any of them. He's not. Not even close. People are upset about that, the same way those on the losing side of any election rue the future their now-empowered opponent will bring about. If this were a typical election, "get over it" would be the call of the day - and it would be appropriate. In a Democracy, the people speak, even if a majority of them spoke in a different direction. The system is not fair, but it is universally unfair.
People might be upset about the things Trump said he would do (even if you believe he won't do them), but people are hurt by the things he said - about women, about minority groups, about the disabled: about people. Trump took aim at all sorts of people and even if he was singling out one woman or one disabled reporter or one particular group of immigrants, many, many, many people saw themselves in those abusive remarks.
People did not see Donald Trump as just some guy with policies they dislike (in fact, a surprising number of hurt people I've talked to this week don't much mind many of his policies), but as a guy who's a mean, abusive, cruel, sexist bully - not a person they can respect, even if they agree with his policies. Too many times I've heard someone say, "I can't believe my mom/brother/friend would choose the Supreme Court/abortion/taxes over me." For the hurting people out there, this election was not political, but personal (even beyond the ways proposed policies might personally impact people).
I understand that those people who voted for Trump did so largely for reasons of policy. Whether is was the Supreme Court or abortion or taxes or corruption, most of the Trump votes were votes for some policy that is more likely to happen with him than with Hillary Clinton. I think those angry friends and relatives out there understand those things, too (even if they disagree with you on them) But, as I said, this is not the issue. In the end, I don't really care what you think about any of these things; I might disagree with you on some of them, but they're not worth getting angry about or damaging friendships over.
What is more difficult to stomach, though, is that people I love and care about found these things, particular issues, policy, so important that it was worth overlooking the vile nature of Trump's words and actions - and, perhaps worse, his patent refusal to apologize for them. Even after the election his justified those words with his victory - as if any means of achieving a desired end are good if they succeed.
No ends, no matter how good, righteous, holy, or important, mean enough to justify the means, if the means are Donald Trump.
That's the quandary. That's the divide which people must now bridge if there is any chance in calming the storm or finding unity. It is NOT about what policy you might approve of that I don't - it's about the guy you voted for to get those policies enacted. As I said, I'm the educated, white male in this room - the outrage is only mine by proxy.* I don't have the deep seated personal hurt that so many women and people of color feel right now.
To me this great pain is a sad illustration of what I've been saying and writing all along - we take this process far too seriously. It's not that elections and governments can't be avenues for us to live well in the world and take care of each other, but they MUST NOT become the only way by which we see paths to do this. Real relationships are in jeopardy - both because some people overlooked serious moral and ethical deficiencies in the name of progress, but also because some people have put such (false) hope and faith in the goodness of this nation that their worth was wrapped up in election results.
That is not to say people shouldn't be mad or hurt, that relationships shouldn't be strained by this election, but that we must be committed to working through them with honesty and humility.
There is an argument that Hillary Clinton is no paragon of virtue - and that may be true - but I don't see people upset that someone didn't vote for Clinton, simply that people did vote for Trump. Whether those votes were in spite of his nasty rhetoric, they enabled it and piled hurt upon the people hurt by it. God may have no hierarchy of sins, but the consequences of such are simply not the same. Lying and corruption are not the same as misogyny and assault - they're just not. They have a different bearing on our relationships with each other.**
Another response is that Clinton's policies would be so corrupt and morally bankrupt that she had to be stopped at all cost. That argument is one of policy and while it might be a good one on its own merits, it skirts the real issue of hurt and harm - because we've seen what "at all cost" actually costs. It costs the emboldening of the alt-right and their white supremacist brethren. It costs fear and abuse for women and minorities across the country. While we can be unified in our opposition to such results (and, as I've said, Trump voters especially need to be more vocal and more frequent denouncers of such things), there is hard work to overcome the very real (if unintended) support a Trump vote gave to these people. "At any cost" has a face and it's a familiar one to many of us: wives, mothers, daughters, friends.
That hurt is real and it's not going away.
It's perfectly acceptable to say "wait and see" or "give him a chance" when it comes to policy. That's the rhetoric we're hearing from all sides and, honestly, I think most of your friends and family who are upset can come around to that idea. The policy stuff hurts, but it'll pass. But those hatemongers showed up within minutes of the election - emboldened by the words of our President-elect (not to mention his subsequent appointment of one of their champions to his White House staff). Donald Trump may say, "stop hurting people," but he's yet to denounce the views represented in these hateful crimes, the same views he espoused on the campaign trail and refused numerous opportunities to take back.
I get that people can't be entirely divorced from policy, 1) because policy is intrinsically linked to words and attitudes, and 2) because people really believe in the ultimate value of the policies they support. I do make the distinction, though, because we must understand each other if there is any hope of peace and reconciliation.
If there's anyway forward we must be able to listen to each other - to hear why some policy was worth electing Trump and to hear why no policy could ever be worth it. As much as we don't like it, we should probably also admit how easily we could be on the other side of this divide, how utterly simple it is to overlook personal failings for what we believe to be a greater good, and how easy it is to demonize someone for it.
That doesn't remove responsibility, though. Its not that your friends and neighbors think you're a racist or a sexist, but people felt personally attacked and when the people they loved had the opportunity to defend them with their votes, they didn't; they chose policy over people. There are consequences to our actions that cannot be covered up with good intentions. When we've hurt people we love, we cannot minimize those feelings. We can't say, "I didn't mean to" or "I meant something different," because even if those things are true, the hurt still happened and it has to be acknowledged in order to heal. I suspect the President-elect will be learning that lesson along with his supporters in the weeks and months to come.
I hope the cost of this victory is not too much for our society and our relationships to bear.
*I'm disappointed in this election for sure - and I resonate with many of the things I outline here, but I'm not surprised by this election. I'm saddened that my tribe, evangelical Christians turned out with a record percentage for Donald Trump, but I've spent my adult life dealing with theology and studying scripture. It's no surprise that the people of God choose power over patience; it's always been that way. What breaks my heart are the people, many of whom I love, for whom this reality is just now dawning. This post is not about me, but I feel I have to say something.
**And if you need proof: ask yourself if you feel towards your Clinton-supporting friends the way they feel towards you. It's not just a personal failing that correlates perfectly with voting record or results. Both sides of the comparison may be rotten, and they may be equally bad when it comes to policy, but with regards to people, it's rotten apples vs rotten oranges.
I've always been confused by endorsements. I get it in the context of a crowded campaign - if there's seven relatively identical candidates for President, I can see how the endorsement of some other respected politicians might make a difference. I don't get it in the case of successor to successee? Say my Senator is retiring and makes a big speech endorsing a former aid, say, to take the seat. Will people with an affinity for that retiring Senator genuinely transfer the love and support they have for one person to another? I imagine it's an issue of degree; there are certainly some politicians I see as more trustworthy than others, but I also can't think of a scenario in which I'd trust an endorsement like that.
I can't imagine trusting my father's endorsement uncritically. I'd certainly want to know what people think, but to assume that an endorsement brings with it a wealth of supporters seems naive at best, condescending at worst. Maybe that says more about my trust issues than it does about the general public, but I find it fascinating nonetheless.
I also suspect it's a generational issue. My generation just doesn't trust unless it's earned. I've been told there were times and places where assumption of authority carried with it automatic trust. Now respect is different. I try to respect all people equally as valuable human beings, but I am not going to immediately treat one person with more deference or respect simply because of a position they hold. That hypothetical Senator may have earned a lot of trust and honor through their service, but there's no way I'd automatically translate the actions of one person (or the dignity of an office) to another.
I'm not sure I have much to say other than making the observations I've made. Is it just me? Is it generational? How do you decide what public or authority figures to trust?
My wife gets the raw end of this deal. She's a middle school teacher. She's a bit fed up with parents believing their twelve year old over her. I suppose it is, though, the same thing. People aren't going to respect someone without them earning it. (I'd argue my wife does a pretty good job of earning it, but I also know her pretty well.)*
But I also have to wonder if we do a good enough job of allowing people to prove their trust-worthiness to us? Do we too easily project a generic untrustworthy authority on people without giving them a real chance? I mean, if the Senator making the endorsement is, in fact, a good person, that endorsement shouldn't hurt the reputation of their chosen successor. But do we give that benefit of the doubt?
I'm currently running for the local school board. I was not endorsed by the local teacher's union. This wasn't surprising to me. What was surprising was how many people find my candidacy more attractive because I wasn't endorsed by this group. That seems to reflect some negative understanding on the teachers of our community - as if their endorsement will naturally be deficient in some way. That bias likely comes from some of the very real problems (PR and otherwise) that teachers' unions have at higher levels. Is this perhaps the case of some nameless, faceless public entity reflecting, through several levels, onto individual teachers like my wife?
Maybe. Maybe not.
It sure does make me think a little bit more about how I form my opinions of people and how I decide to trust. How easy is it to project my past dealings with authority onto new people in front of me - heck, it doesn't even have to be authority. Do we transfer our feelings towards some other 6-foot, brown-haired friend with glasses onto the next person I meet who looks like them? If it happens from politician to politician or teacher to teacher, why not from person to person in everyday life?
How do we trust, and who do we trust, and when do we trust? To what degree do we trust? I imagine these are questions that deserve more time and attention than we often give to them.
*I have to admit this one really boggles my mind. Even if you're judging someone's trustworthiness on their own actions, how many of these parents have perfect children? My daughter is almost three. She may be cute and innocent and the opposite of ill-intentioned, but she's not at all trustworthy. You can't believe anything that girl says. I mean, if she weren't three I'd be very concerned about the high odds she'd end up in prison.
I've read a lot of Donald Miller's books. I read Blue Like Jazz when it got popular, along with every other Christian College student at the time. I needed to read it. It met me where I was. It was really helpful. Miller is a wonderful writer, supremely talented. He's witty and funny and, as he says in Scary Close, he works incredibly hard to make his prose seem casual and effortless. I went back to read Blue Like Jazz a year or so ago. It's not where I am anymore. It doesn't resonate with me the same way it did, but it's still damn good writing. I read To Own a Dragon, his book on growing up without a father. I have a father - a pretty good one - Miller's book was still fantastic. I have never laughed harder or more often reading a book (and that's a good thing, despite the subject matter).
So when the BookLook program offered Miller's new book, I was pretty happy.* I was less happy when I saw it was only available for review as an ebook. I've never had an ebook before. I had to download a program on my laptop even to read one. I like his writing enough and wanted to read this book enough, I did all of that. I read the whole thing on my computer today. It was ok. What wasn't ok was that thirty pages in I wanted to share it with my wife and my therapist and a million other people who all struggle or walk with people through troubles in relationships and intimacy... but I couldn't, because it's an ebook.
Scary Close is real. It's honest on a level that one wouldn't expect from another human being - even one, like Miller, known for being honest. He uses personal stories from friends (semi-famous friends) and uses their real names (presumably with permission). In its very honesty, it is a scary challenge for the reader to embrace honesty.
It's a beautiful book. The writing is superb, as always, and, as the book discusses, it doesn't feel like Miller is writing "in character" or with the mask that subtly seems to fuel his other work. Halfway through I had to stop and look up "behind the scenes" info on Miller - since this book is so blatantly up front about life. I ran across this short interview that helps as a companion to the reader.
It's tough to say this book is "life changing" since I only finished reading it 27 minutes ago, but I saw enough of myself here - scratch that, I saw myself on nearly every page, in such honest and loving and difficult ways, I'm not sure there's any response but to use it in my life. I, and hopefully everyone reading this, am always desirous to improve my relationships. I've been married ten years now and it's often tough. Even when it's good and right and awesome it's tough. I think there are a lot of tools, stories, ideas, honesty, whatever, in Scary Close, to help anyone along that journey towards health and growth and wholeness (or as close as we're ever going to get to those things).
I found myself saying, "yeah, but" to a lot of stuff and Miller certainly does come off a little bit as the "Self-help" character the interview I liked to above halfheartedly claims him to be - at the same time, the familiarity I see and feel between the words on the page and the reality of my life rings far more true than the reputation of Donald Miller could ever hope to present. It's easy to resonate with something because it's presented well and comes from a familiar source; I found a deeper resonance here.
This may be largely emotion talking and I'll be more sane and less gushing in the morning. Who knows? I hope not. I do think it's a well written book with a courageous amount of honesty that could really help all of us think through the important relationships in our lives. I won't say "everyone should read it," because that comes off less than genuine. I do think, however, that absolutely everyone could benefit from reading it. Do with that what you will.
I'll even let you borrow it... oh wait, it's an ebook.
*I didn't put my typical disclaimer on this post mostly because it doesn't feel like a typical post. Yes, I was given this book in exchange for a review. No, the publisher did not influence my review in any way. At the same time it doesn't feel like every other review I've done. This was a profound and personal experience and one I didn't want to cheapen with the standard disclaimer.
My friend, Ric, a former seminary classmate, posted a piece on his blog this week that went Nazarene viral. He got something like 30,000 hits the first day (100 times more than his normal total). Ric's a pastor in the United Methodist Church, but his training was in the educational system of the Church of the Nazarene (my denomination). He talked about some of the struggles he had and his decision to move from one denomination to another.
It brought up one of our most difficult, unhealed divisions - namely our perspective on education. Likely as long as there have been institutions of higher education in the Church of the Nazarene, people have been skeptical of them. Professors are on constant alert for charges of heresy or the dreaded "liberalism." You can read the whole post for more detail (and likely lots of comments and explanation), but ultimately, he got an offer to work at a UMC congregation, tried to keep his credentials with the Church of the Nazarene and, when that proved near-impossible, simply moved from one denomination to another.
What fascinated me about the whole thing (and the fact that its a "thing" is exactly that Catch-22 of which I spoke) is how defensive some people have become. Ric was pretty overt in stating this was simply his experience, with no claims to larger trends or narratives. The problem is, his experience mirrors the experience of a lot of young Nazarene ministers. Whether he wants it to be normative or not, to many, it is.
From here, the responses become not responses to Ric, but to the many others in a similar situation. One comment I saw said something to the effect of "you either run from the problem or stay to help fix it." This is certainly a truism - but only if there's enough impetus to care about fixing it in the first place. Ric proclaims, right off the bat, his main reason for leaving as a lack of roots. There just wasn't enough connection to the denomination to make any sort of struggle against adversity worth the time, pain, and effort.
That makes sense. Not so much to me, but in a general sense.
I get it. I, on the other hand, have deep, deep roots. My father is a Nazarene pastor. His father was a Nazarene pastor. As best as we can figure, my daughter is likely a sixth generation Nazarene. Both of my wife's parents are Nazarene pastors and her mom was raised in the Church of the Nazarene from birth. My Dad and his three brothers all went to Nazarene schools and picked up wives along the way (with their own set of Nazarene roots), a tradition that carried on for most of my generation as well.
I can't imagine myself not connected to the Church of the Nazarene. The only way I'd leave is if they physically bar me from the building.
The problem is, what it means for me to be a Nazarene is certainly different than what it meant for my dad or my grandfather or his parents. It used to be a pretty tight-knit community where not only were people united in the basic holiness message, but lifestyle, worship, and the larger spectrum of theology was relatively uniform all the way around.
I don't think Ric is crazy. In fact, his experience resonated as much with me as anybody else. I left my ordination interview more upset than excited - which is probably not the ideal scenario. I've witnessed the backlash against professors at Nazarene institutions and I've experienced our deep-seated anti-intellectualism on more than a few occasions.
There is some lingering notion that somehow education harms faith - the more you study the less you believe. I can certainly attest that my education has led to me to believe a number of thing quite differently than I believed before, but I'm also quite certain without this education I would no longer believe at all. My educational experience showed me there's more than enough space for my questions within the larger context of the Nazarene Church.
In my case, although my education sometimes makes me feel marginalized or unwanted, it served to connect my understanding to my roots. I was able to recognize what made the Church of the Nazarene so special to those in my family who've loved it - but also discover a way to engage that rooted joy from my own perspective and context.
For Ric, it seems (and forgive me for being one of "those" people reading into things you've written), his roots were more anchored in his educational experience. When push came to shove, the people to whom he felt rooted were being marginalized and challenged by the Church of the Nazarene. If you find out your roots aren't really that connected to the larger plant at all, what do you do? It makes perfect sense to me.
My roots are in a different place, but don't think I haven't thought about the distinct possibility they won't always feel that way. If you're driving down the road and see a friend with a flat tire, you're likely to stop and help. If they begin to blame you for their having a flat tire in the first place, you might put up with it for a while. If it continues, you're going to evaluate just how good of friends you really are and whether sticking this ordeal out is entirely worth the hassle.
It's been said, and I have no idea if this is true or apocryphal, that Randy Maddox's comment when asked why he chose the UMC over his Nazarene roots, was that he'd rather defend his head than his heart. That's the sad choice a lot of young Nazarenes feel they have to make. They'd rather be seen as a sincere believers with the occasional odd idea than learned people who may or may not be a real Christians.
I've come to define holiness (the only real reason the Church of the Nazarene still exists) as an ingrained commitment to God - sincerity and passion towards living a life in imitation of Jesus Christ. Too often that doesn't seem enough for many people. I don't want this to sound like a death knell for our denomination - there are certainly plenty of supportive, welcoming Nazarenes out there, likely a majority (although who really knows?) - at the same time the issue is pervasive and real. It's a part of our past and a part of our present. It may still be a big part of our future. I don't know. I hope not.
I do know there are a lot of young people leaving because they don't feel trusted, the feel the subject of fear rather than hope. Fear will wither roots faster than anything. It is trust that will make them grow. And, if perhaps you find it difficult to trust someone so seemingly different from you - a skeptical elder or a radical youth - could it be time simply to not trust them and instead trust the God so visible in their lives?
That's how we grow roots and it's how we stick together.
We'd left her with neighbors before, for a few hours, and we always put her to bed when we got home. We did leave her with grandparents, in her own home, with her things and routines. We have wonderful neighbors who made sure to be near and familiar. She had a wonderful time and didn't even seem all that excited to see us when we got back.
It was tremendously difficult to leave though. I knew it would be awful for my wife. She'd dreaded the trip since we booked tickets last August. I didn't expect it to hit me so hard. I think we were both looking through tears out the windshield as we drove away that night towards Baltimore and then, five thousand miles away, Hawaii.
I knew, intellectually, it was the right thing to do. I worked it out. We can't cling to our daughter forever. It's not good for her and it's not good for us. Having separation like this on a regular basis is helpful and important. Once we got on the plane and there was really nothing we could do about it, I settled down. Skype is great, but I found myself pretty able to focus on the trip and enjoying our time.
Our daughter is not really our daughter, she's a child of God. That's what we said when we brought her to the church, a week into life, and introduced her to the waters of baptism. We are charged with loving and raising her, but ultimately she (nor we) does not rely on us for protection, but God. We forget that sometimes. A trip like this helps remind us.
We left Eva with her family and friends, immersed in the midst of the community we love and in which we live. These are the same people who would care for her if we were gone permanently. At some point Eva will have to live without us, it's important for her to know firsthand how possible it is and how important it is to have people around her.
We don't control our lives. Even if you don't believe in God, that statement is just as true. We can be proactive and organized and intentional, but, in the end, we're only just reacting to the world around us.
That doesn't mean we have to live only for the moment, but we must act, in the moment, with a mind towards how each action is shaping our future. Time away from Eva was difficult, but just about everything is at first. Ultimately, hopefully, we're teaching her things that will help her be a more well-rounded, independent, intentional person - someone who can trust God and have faith in the future. It was good for her and it was good for us. Let's just hope we have the strength to do it again sometime - a very long time from now.
Regardless, they spur heated debate over the way our society owns and handles firearms. I'm talking about guns to start with, because it was this particular issue that got me thinking today. This post is not really about guns - at least not specifically. It's more about the way society handles its own irresponsibility.
The bottom line is: people should be responsible with their guns. There is no reason guns have to be a public hazard. This is what every NRA member and hunting enthusiast says; and they're right. We may not all agree on which uses for firearms are appropriate and which aren't, but I hope we can say, at least intellectually, devoid of specific context, that guns don't have to be a problem in society.
The same is true of alcohol. It doesn't have to be a problem. There are loads of people in the world who drink responsibly. We can argue over how it's sold, marketed, regulated, and enforced, but intellectually, we can say that alcohol doesn't have to be a problem in society.
It is, though. We have massive binge drinking problems and routine DUIs that lead to destruction and death. Simply because it is not a problem for many individuals, doesn't mean alcohol isn't a problem for our society as a whole.
I am a part of the Church of the Nazarene, which has long took flack for it's unabashed abstention from alcohol (and, in it's early days, was driving the bandwagon for prohibition). I think it's safe to say our understanding of our abstention has evolved over time. Still, I think we're pretty firmly committed to it - not because alcohol is inherently evil or because people can't drink responsibly, simply because, as a society, we haven't figured out how to handle our liquor.
I suspect a lot of it has to do with our hyper-individualism. What my neighbor does is none of my business, nor is it my responsibility. Which is true right up until the point he's beating his kids in a drunken stupor or she's crashing a car into a wall of pedestrians. Then it is both our (collective) business and responsibility.
If our society could figure out how to properly interact with each other in supportive and redemptive ways that rendered alcohol unproblematic, the stance of the Church of the Nazarene would likely become irrelevant. It should be possible, it just hasn't yet been realized.
We (I'm talking society now, not my denomination) have generally recognized the real issues with irresponsible alcohol use and we've taken steps to address them. Age limits, purchase limits, accountability for bars and restaurants over-serving, the education of minors, penalties for drunk driving, etc. It can be argued we've gone too far or not far enough.
There are similar measures in place for some guns and some people at certain times. I'm hopeful that the conversation about our societal irresponsibility with guns and our collective responsibility to do something about it is moving in the direction of productive conversation. With each tragedy, it seems people are more willing to talk to each other and figure out how to bridge the gap between what should be and what really is.
In each of these cases, we have to be willing to sacrifice something valuable (usually some measure of individual freedom) for the common benefit. There's a lot of ideology mixed up in that, a lot of stubbornness and pride, but in the end, I think we'll get there. As much as we don't like it, we do (most of us) recognize that we have to live with each other.
I do think perhaps one of the biggest stumbling blocks to taking action on these two or any of the other societal problems that shouldn't be but are, is a fear that once something is sacrificed, it will never be returned. This is where the fear of big government stems from in the first place. "You take my assault rifle today, you'll be back for my hunting rifle tomorrow."
It's a fear and mistrust that works both ways.
There are plenty in the Church of the Nazarene who argue changing the alcohol stance in any way is a slippery slope to immorality. That argument isn't entirely without merit, but it does betray a lack of trust (justifiable or not).
To see this in action, at least in the US, you have to go no farther than public education. We have a long history and tradition of free public education in this country. It wasn't always universal or mandatory or even popular, but it is part of the cultural fabric.
At some point during the last century, the powers that be realized that education was vital for the next generation to succeed; there were just less opportunities available for an uneducated work force. At the very least, the minimum standard needed to be raised.
That didn't go over too well in some places. This, coupled with the economic and racial disparities across the diverse landscape led to increased control and organization on a federal level.
This was an important and needed change - a sacrifice of freedom (often unwilling) to ensure a sea change in the perception and impact of public education. Local communities should be able to educate their children effectively. It just wasn't happening.
Nowadays, though, people generally understand the importance of a basic education. There may be cultures or families or individuals who don't believe they have a chance to really receive such an education, but no one denies it's value. The movement has succeeded.
Now, instead of local communities fighting higher authorities about public education being a waste of time and money, local communities are fighting to increase and improve their educational experience.
Issues of money and equity and all that still need to be figured out, but it might just be time to give local communities control again - return the responsibility. There's a pretty good chance, at least in this instance, the thing that should be happening, might actually be possible.
This post doesn't exactly have a neat conclusion. I was hoping to illustrate the ways we do, and fail to, trust each other; the problems inherent in our society; and the need for sacrifice and interdependence. Our problems are our problems, even if they're not our (personal) problems. I think solutions work the same way.
I don't often give money to homeless people; I'm more likely to buy them lunch and sit and talk - hopefully it helps them to feel valued as a person and not an object or a charity case. This time it was different. All my training in American Evangelicalism had told me I must be efficient and responsible with my money. Giving it to a homeless person who may use it for drugs or booze was a waste of money. After all, I'm responsible to God for that twenty bucks, responsible to use it well.
Still, the compulsion was almost overwhelming. I gave the money. I gained something more. I had an epiphany. God does entrust things to us for our use - and we are responsible for how we use it. However, God was telling me to give - and that means unconditionally. Something is not a gift if it comes with strings attached. My gift to that man was God's way of entrusting him with something. Whom am I to stand in the way of that?*
In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says a lot of difficult things. Most of my teaching on these difficult things growing up was people trying to explain why Jesus didn't really mean what he seems to mean in those chapters. Towards the end of Matthew, chapter 5, we get the famous phrase "turn the other cheek" as Jesus' radical command to non-violence. It's followed by some lesser known words:
And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well. If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.
Luke's version of these words includes an admonition to "lend without expecting to get anything back," which is an awful lot like giving. The underlying theme here is that nothing is really yours, but deeper still is this response to being taken advantage of. That's what's happening. There's a bully trying to sue you for everything you've got - and Jesus says, don't fight it, give him literally the shirt off your back. The way to keep from being taken advantage of is not to bully the bully, but to refuse to be the victim. If there is no victim, there is also no bully. You're saving both parties - you and him - from being in damaging positions.
It's not about being naive, it's about placing trust in someone, perhaps someone who doesn't deserve it. It's not about being naive, it's about recognizing that no one owns anything; everything belongs to God. I don't deserve this thing (whatever it is) more because I have it and he doesn't or because I worked for it and he didn't.
Life might seem to work that way, but reality is different. It's all part of this scarcity myth. There is some idea out there that there's not enough for everyone, and therefore we must hoard and protect what we have. We might run out or someone else could hoard it all and refuse to share. You see where this is going? In protecting ourselves from the greedy or selfish, we become greedy and selfish.
I give because giving is good. I trust because trusting is good. If someone seeks to abuse my trust or to take advantage of my generosity, I give more. You can't take advantage of me if I refuse to be a victim.
It hurts, of course. Giving costs us something - usually comfort and often peace of mind. It almost always costs standing or reputation. You look weak because you're not conforming to the patterns of the world.
Today, in our town, there is a school board referendum to raise property taxes to support the school. It's become a pretty contentious issue. Most people who oppose the increase think it's too high. We all agree the school needs more money, but some think they're asking too much. They don't trust the school district to spend it wisely or to spend it in the way they think best.
This is a perfectly natural response, one that fits completely with the way our world seems to work. People with power tend to abuse it, so why give them more? I don't begrudge anyone voting their conscience and I would certainly not wish to impose my worldview on anyone.
I'm voting for it - mostly because of what I've said above. I choose to trust. It's not as if these people are nameless, faceless politicians somewhere. Our town has 18,000 people - these are our friends and neighbors. The Superintendent, someone I've known to have integrity and good judgment, said this is what they need to do a good job educating students. He may be right, he may be wrong, he may be ignorant, he may be downright lying. I choose to trust.
This money isn't my money. I didn't earn it (despite what the paycheck says) and I'm not going to prioritize it's importance over a commitment to lend without expecting something in return.
I hope and pray the funding is there to bring back some of the support structures that have been cut. My wife and her co-workers are under serious stress this year, much more than the normal stress of teaching in a public school. They're doing more with less and if it continues, it will effect her ability to teach well and our overall quality of life.
If this doesn't work out. If the funding isn't there or even if the doubters prove correct and nothing gets better - I'll be sad, but I won't be surprised. It might mean a lot of tough changes for us - but they'll be worth it.
I won't be the victim, and I won't be the bully. I'm happy to trust, not naively, but with eyes wide open.
*Quick side note: My friend and former boss, Oliver Phillips, tells a great story about relating that same responsibility to homeless man once. I can't do it justice, but he said something along the line of "God has entrusted me with this money, to use it wisely and be responsible. One day I will answer to God for how I've used it. I'm giving it to you - and now you have the same responsibility and one day you'll answer to God for how you use it." And the guy gave it back. I can't tell you how often I heard that story, but it cracks me up every time.
Any death is tragic, especially a suicide. It speaks of unfathomable hurt and loss. In this case, it was possibly a result of public embarrassment, which itself was the result of a joke gone wrong. Our immediate reaction is to cast blame. We have to find someone responsible.
I'd like to argue that there's no one to blame - this is the result of a society we created, one with priorities way out of whack in a number of ways.
Privacy is not really of utmost importance. I laugh at CEOs who have bodyguards, mostly to make themselves look important, and at celebrities who bemoan the paparazzi for following them everywhere, despite the examples of many big-name stars who are never seen. Not that anyone should be able to get your medical records without your permission, but it shouldn't be such a big deal if it happens.
I think this obsession with privacy comes from our societal push towards self-control and competition. We want others to know as little about us because it might reveal weakness. Or, perhaps we want to keep things hidden to project a certain image to the rest of the world - how accurately are you represented by your carefully crafted Facebook persona?
Somehow we think if we can control how people see us, we can actually be different. We reject our failures and weaknesses as somehow other than who we are when our sins are almost always worse in our own minds - at least to the people who love us.
It's those other people - those strangers, enemies or frenemies?, I guess. Those people who will leap on our "private" matters to put us down, gain an edge, or try to change how we're viewed (by ourselves and others). Sometimes just the knowledge that I'm self-conscious about something will make it an object of ridicule, even if objectively there's no reason for it to be.
There's a fine line between laughing at some guy who falls down the stairs and dehumanizing him. If you have to say, "I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with you," you're not, and they know it.
All of this leads us to a place of absolute guarded-ness. We think that everything needs to be secret - the results of my blood test, my salary, how much I paid for that purse, the fights I have with my spouse, etc.
I think perhaps we're better off not worrying so much about privacy as propriety. Obviously, I'm not going to put all the things about my wife that bug me in a newspaper column, or tell random strangers how much cash is in my wallet, but there are certainly times for discussing everything.
I've often said that Christians don't have the luxury of privacy - and I believe it strongly. We are accountable to each other for the way we participate in this shared life in Christ. We're responsible to others for our actions - talk about a counter-cultural idea. We have the right to ask each other just about anything.
Of course this - and every other path to escape the tyranny of privacy - requires relationship. We have to have people we trust not to abuse us, and people who will be similarly vulnerable to us. That's how we begin to find a way out, to actually become the kinds of people we'd like to think we are.
I made a vow to myself when I joined Facebook that I wouldn't censor myself - I wouldn't present a picture of myself that was any different than the me my friends and family know. I think they'd all say I've stuck to it (to my wife's chagrin, at times). But part of that was learning what things I should be saying or thinking at all. Knowing others might see it or be offended by it gave me pause to think.
Some would call that censorship, but I call it growth. I've found that the discipline of refusing privacy in that way has help shape me into the kind of person who considers others all the time. My thinking and speaking have changed. Perhaps not always in socially acceptable ways, but ways I can live with, ways I can defend, for the most part.
I do believe my life's an open book. I think there's an appropriate place to share anything - but the key is not content, but situation. Propriety.
There are still things in my life that embarrass me. There are times where I've been blind and foolish. I'd rather not everyone know about them, but I won't be upset if you ask or if they come out (at least I'll try really hard not to be with varying success), because, like it or not, they're me. I hope they aren't always me, but for now, they are who I am. They're not worth losing sleep over, let alone someone's life.
I don't think this is license to just go rousing into everyone's business and exposing the deep, dark secrets of the world. But we do live in a world where such secrets are exposed and their exposition is a favorite hobby for many. On top of watching our lives and working to become people whose secrets are less deep and less dark, we might also think about surrounding ourselves with people who won't be surprised by our secrets and won't love us any less if they are.
There's been a bit of hubbub surrounding a proposed LGBTQ club at Point Loma Nazarene University. As an ordained Nazarene minister, a fifth generation member and a graduate of two Nazarene institutions of higher learning, this has been an interesting story to follow.
The group was founded in 2009 by a student leader who used an invitation for dialogue to challenge and undermine the school. They got burned and it's not difficult to see how the administration could be leery of the same group, albeit under different leadership, seeking a similar platform.
With the back story (and my lack of knowledge beyond what's been made public), I have to applaud the mission statement this group submitted:
We are aware that LGBT students are a suffering population on the campus of Point Loma Nazarene University (PLNU), and we have realized that the common exclusiveness of the Christian community can overlook the spiritual and interpersonal needs of LGBT community. Through entering this place, we hope LGBT students at PLNU can share their neglected stories, lingering questions, and increasing trials with their Christian comrades, and together, we can learn what it means to practice listening to and dignifying your political or theological enemy and actively learning to live and love in real-time. We hope to seek reconciliation not based on a change of belief system but rather from a commitment to live in relationship with opposing worldviews while seeking to understand and dignify the humanity of the “other.”
This is a pretty powerful statement of charity and reconciliation, one that dovetails pretty well with what I've often used as an ethical motivation - we have to live together. If we believe in a future of peace where the world is as it's intended to be, then we're all going to get along. We might as well start now.
I don't think this means we have to agree. I think things work better when we come to different conclusions about things. I think things work poorly when we refuse to listen and learn from one another. I happen to believe that God's Holy Spirit is at work in the world, speaking and shaping us, even if we don't know it.
I am grateful for a school (Eastern Nazarene College) that created a supportive Christian community without dictating belief. I struggled mightily with issues of faith, belief, and ethics during my college years. I am convinced that were those struggles not undertaken within the context of a Christian community, I would not be a Christian today.
I said, did, and believed a lot of things that I disagree with today - but I did so in the midst of a community drenched in a commitment to God's prevenient grace. My peers and professors, for the most part, trusted that sincere questions of faith would be answered. People prayed for me and with me.
I didn't have a lot of direct conversations with people about faith - but I have a strong group of friends and a wonderful chaplain who were merely present and provided the kind of atmosphere necessary for me and the Holy Spirit to work things out.
Mike Schutz was the chaplain most of my time at ENC, but I don't recall having very many interactions with him during those four years. I do count his influence upon my life as extremely great - mostly because of the spiritual atmosphere he fostered and the space it provided me to grow without pressure.
I'm not sure Point Loma needs a group like this - I'm not really in a position to have an opinion one way or another - I do think the conversation suggested by the mission statement is a necessity. Conversations on faith and sexuality will take place, formally or informally. I think a Christian college does a great disservice to its mission and purpose by ignoring them or limiting them.
I think there's still some perception that we send our kids to a Christian school to protect them from the dangers of the world. Those dangers are just as real at a Nazarene school as they are anywhere else. We shouldn't be fueling this idea that our schools are bastions of purity. They're colleges with a specific mission to serve God and help young people learn to think critically. Refusing a group like this, at least from my perspective, fails to represent both Christian love and our confidence that God is bigger than theological differences. It makes us look scared - and we should be exhibiting a perfect love that casts out all fear.
If we are convinced of the Truth of Jesus Christ, the sufficiency of atonement, the grace of God and the work of the Holy Spirit, we don't have anything to fear from honest (and by that I mean openness and a willingness to be affected by the other) dialogue.
We're going to lose a whole generation of young people in the Church of the Nazarene, not because of our positions or doctrines, but because we seem unwilling to allow a new generation to contribute to our understanding and actually participate.
I have said time and again that our position, at least the position officially outlined, is perfectly defensible and a responsible interpretation of scripture. I think there are reasonable and defensible positions on both "sides" of the debate (just as I think there are unreasonable and indefensible positions on both "sides"). If people who disagree (meaning both sides) are willing to have honest discussions, there is no reason why there can't be a building of respect, even if the end result continues to be disagreement.
Ultimately, I do think the problem is one of fear. We're afraid that people who accept even committed, monogamous homosexual relationships (marriages where denominations allow) might end up in hell - and if we're party to a discussion where even one person changes their mind from our position to the other, that we could be responsible for their eternal damnation.
I don't think that's an irrational fear at all.
I disagree with that line of thinking in a number of ways, certainly, but it does make sense to me. I can see were any kind of open engagement would be difficult to swallow.
I welcome this kind of dialogue because I don't share that fear - and what's more I see every day more and more young people I care about who are questioning faith altogether because of the fear inherent in that mindset. I welcome this kind of dialogue because I believe in hell - that it is full of selfishness and anger and fear all of which lead to pain - and that we experience hell when we allow any of those things to control our lives.
I cast no aspersions on anyone but myself here. I don't want this to sound like an attack. I am merely trying to illustrate the journey I've taken.
I faced down the fear I outlined above - what if I get swayed from the right path, what if I inadvertently sway others to their detriment? I've wallowed in that fear often. In the end, I had to make a choice not to let that fear or any fear - even a well-intentioned fear, hold me captive.
I believe God is in control and that God is big enough and smart enough to handle any problem we might create, but I have to move forward boldly without fear and in love.
Finally, (and I'm sorry this post is so long, but I've taken more than a month off, so you get what you get) I've been processing this alongside an investigation into why this kind of dialogue - not just about homosexuality and faith, but about anything - appears dangerous to many. I wonder if there isn't a bit of a modern-postmodern disconnect at work.
I do think the generation emerging is more comfortable with disagreements if relationship is strong - there's sort of an idea that if I can be confident you're earnestly seeking God, I can trust the Holy Spirit to work things out. It doesn't work so well for building and maintaining institutions, but then again the generation emerging doesn't care much about that either. I do think Nazarene higher education is as best placed to tackle this problem as anyone else. I have hope.
I'm not sure exactly what the solution is - beyond grace and love - but I do think it says something about the way we process and dialogue. I've been taught and value the idea that you enter every conversation willing to be changed or it isn't a real conversation. I want to hear how others have answered tough questions differently than I answered them. I want to share ideas or perspectives someone else might have missed or not considered and I want a light shined on my blind spots as well.
I'm excited about the possibilities that lay beyond the comfort and security of my decided opinions. I'm excited about people who wish to engage diversity of all kinds beyond our own labels and definitions, united solely in Jesus Christ.
Yes, the "other side" might be lying. They might not be willing to commit to the same honesty. They might be up to dirty tricks and sneaky schemes - maybe. I am willing to get burned a thousand times rather than be false myself.
*Big thanks to the community at Naznet for helping me formulate these thoughts - much of this post is adapted from my comments there.
