"In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God." John 1:1
Something physicists wrestle with constantly is "If we agree that it all started with the Big Bang, then what preceded that? What stuff existed to create the Big Bang? And who or what created that? How can we say it 'began' with that unimaginable explosion if something already existed?"
In a mathematical word problem equation "is" equates to =. In an equation the = means that everything on the left side of the equation equals everything on the right side of the equation. That's why you can use mathematical slight of hand to move the numbers and letters back and forth across the equal sign and it's the same equation; everything still equals on both sides.
For the sake of this argument let's agree that "was" is the same as "is" in a word problem.
John 1:1 presents a fabulous word problem. The Word=God. There is no difference between "the Word" and "God". With that being said (a pun) all we have to do is define "Word" and "God". We intuitively know that "Word" can't be "God's Word", i.e. the Bible. The Bible has existed less than 2000 years. The word problem (another pun) states that "the Word" has been with us from "the beginning". "The beginning", of course, presents another huge set of problems (third pun), but for this discourse let's just agree that it was longer ago than 2000 years.
So what is "the Word"? The Greek uses the word "Logos" meaning "indwelling logic" or "the rational order of things." The Chinese substitute "the Tao" (dow) for Logos. The "Tao" is undefinable. We are told that if you can define it, then it's not "the Tao". The definition, however, includes "the natural order of things".
Now all that's left to do is to define "God". In the Judeo-Christian Bible alone there are dozens of names for God. Outside of the Bible there are thousands. Let's choose one. When Moses asked God "Who should I tell Pharaoh sent me?" God answered "YHWH" meaning "I exist" or as some interpret "the source of everything without beginning and without end."
So now our original equation becomes extremely complicated. "In the beginning was the 'rational order of things'." Or, "The rational order of things" was "the source of everything without beginning and without end." Then , "the rational order of things" = "no beginning and no end". Or "the beginning" = "no beginning." Wrap your head around that. Now scientists and mystics have arrived at the same place. "I consider the ambition of overcoming opposites, including also a synthesis embracing both rational understanding and the mystical experience of unity, to be the mythos, spoken or unspoken, of our present age." Werner Heisenberg, one of the fathers of quantum physics (quoted in The Quantum and the Lotus by Mattieu Ricard and Trinh Xuan Thuan). Read that several times. In the same sentence the father of quantum physics uses "rational understanding" and "mythos" regarding the way things work.
To restate the equation:
"In the beginning was the Word and the Word was God."
Since, The Word = God
Then, "The rational order of things" was "the source of everything without beginning and without end."
Or "the rational order of things" = "no beginning and no end"
"the beginning" ="no beginning"
When our son was about seven years old, he became fascinated with the idea of "where did God come from?" It is a question he pondered, apparently to himself, and to me quite often. One day while riding in the car he was uncharacteristically quiet. All of a sudden he said, "Dad, I think I've figured out where God came from." "Oh? Let's hear it" "That is a mystery man will never solve." And I never heard the question again.
Monday, June 29, 2015
Saturday, June 27, 2015
Singing for No Particular Reason
"Sometimes from sorrow, for no reason,
you sing. For no reason, you accept
the way of being lost, cutting loose
from all else and electing a world
where you go where you want to.
you sing. For no reason, you accept
the way of being lost, cutting loose
from all else and electing a world
where you go where you want to.
Arbitrary, a sound comes, a reminder
that a steady center is holding
all else. If you listen, that sound
will tell where it is, and you
can slide your way past trouble.
that a steady center is holding
all else. If you listen, that sound
will tell where it is, and you
can slide your way past trouble.
Certain twisted monsters
always bar the path—but that’s when
you get going best, glad to be lost,
learning how real it is
here on the earth, again and again". William Stafford
always bar the path—but that’s when
you get going best, glad to be lost,
learning how real it is
here on the earth, again and again". William Stafford
I have long since lost the poem. I really wish that I had kept it, but I didn't. I wrote the poem from a depth of love and of great pain. The poem was about life, only it was about life in its most basic forms. It included the word "primordial". I know I used the word primordial.
When I read the poem to friends at the bed and breakfast in New Bloomfield, Pennsylvania, Molly's mother said, "How could you have known?"(since I had never met her daughter). And I asked how could I have known what? And she said, "That Molly had a thing for amoebas and hydras and stuff like that". I told her that I had had no idea, the poem just bubbled up and I wrote it.
Molly LaRue and my best friend Geoff Hood were engaged. They were celebrating their engagement by through-hiking the Appalachian Trail. At the official halfway point near Duncannon, Pennsylvania, on September 12, 1990, they were murdered. New Bloomfield is the county seat of Perry County, Pennsylvania. The murders had taken place in Perry County, so the trial was held in the courthouse there. The week of the trial in the spring of 1991 was simultaneously one of the most wonderful and horrible experiences of my life. It was wonderful to be with Molly's and Geoff's families. It was wonderful to meet so many officials of the trail and to meet so many of the hikers who had known Geoff and Molly along the way. It was wonderful to sit outside in the cool spring evenings with the hikers over Rolling Rock and laughter, and to hear their stories of the trail - to hear their stories of Clevis and Nalgene. The courtroom was horrible. It was agonizingly painful in many different ways. So all week I felt like a two headed monster. One head filled with the beauty of life and human love, and the other confronted daily with the reality of cruel death and human evil. And there was little relief from the pain of the survivors--parents, siblings, friends and acquaintances all dealing with their losses in their own way.
One way I dealt with the stress of the courtroom and my own pain was to get up early and go jogging before breakfast. My running introduced me to some marvelous countryside. I made friends with some horses and goats along the way as well. One morning, the third day of the trial, as I was running, a small puddle in the weeds got my attention and I stopped for a closer look. The puddle was beautiful as puddles go. It wasn't a mud puddle; it was fairly deep and as clear as crystal and looked like someone had lovingly created it. There was water, of course, and green grass and weeds surrounding it and growing in it. In a flash I realized the the puddle was teeming with life. That small puddle contained billions time billions of life forms. It was like I felt their presence, like they were trying to tell me something. The puddle also contained a few empty beer cans. My poem included a line about "the cans of Saturday night laughter."
It was a really good poem. It ended with "there is more life in you than all the death in all the world." As I wrote those words in April of 1991 I did not mean them as a metaphor. I meant it then and I mean it now that there was more life in that puddle than all the death in all the world.
It's not important that I don't remember the words of that poem. It is important that I remember its meaning. I have lost many more family and friends to death since 1991. But in every loss I never forget that life survives. Life will always find a way. And that "sometimes from sorrow, for no reason, you sing."
One way I dealt with the stress of the courtroom and my own pain was to get up early and go jogging before breakfast. My running introduced me to some marvelous countryside. I made friends with some horses and goats along the way as well. One morning, the third day of the trial, as I was running, a small puddle in the weeds got my attention and I stopped for a closer look. The puddle was beautiful as puddles go. It wasn't a mud puddle; it was fairly deep and as clear as crystal and looked like someone had lovingly created it. There was water, of course, and green grass and weeds surrounding it and growing in it. In a flash I realized the the puddle was teeming with life. That small puddle contained billions time billions of life forms. It was like I felt their presence, like they were trying to tell me something. The puddle also contained a few empty beer cans. My poem included a line about "the cans of Saturday night laughter."
It was a really good poem. It ended with "there is more life in you than all the death in all the world." As I wrote those words in April of 1991 I did not mean them as a metaphor. I meant it then and I mean it now that there was more life in that puddle than all the death in all the world.
It's not important that I don't remember the words of that poem. It is important that I remember its meaning. I have lost many more family and friends to death since 1991. But in every loss I never forget that life survives. Life will always find a way. And that "sometimes from sorrow, for no reason, you sing."
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
Blog test
This is a test to troubleshoot a problem. You do not need to respond. Feel free to respond, but you don't need to.
Is the right wrong and the left right?
"Christian is a great noun, but a poor adjective." Rob Bell
"I still have the pain. I still have the scars, but my heart is healed." Kim Phuc
"Christian" as an adjective is a mixed bag for me. One of my most pressing issues with "Christian", the adjective, is the "Christian" right. These are the politicians and their devotees who will tell you that America is a "Christian nation." They lay their Bibles right on top of the American flag. They tell you that "America was founded on the Bible, on Christian principles." They insist on posting the Ten Commandments at public government buildings, especially court houses. They get the words of the Bible all scrambled up with the words of the Constitution and make them inseparable, as if God inspired them both equally. They work tirelessly to 'bring America back to the Bible' and , therefore, "to the America of the Founding Fathers."
The problem that this presents for me is that no amount of history seems to thwart their enthusiasm. It doesn't matter that America was founded by people fleeing religious persecution. It doesn't seem to matter that those early colonists were escaping a totalitarian system where the government (the state), and the church were one and the same. Under that regime in Europe, if people went against the teachings of the church, they were at the same time subject to discipline by the state. In some cases, the penalty was torture and even death. Because of all this, our founding fathers built into the fabric of America the separation of church and state. Those laws were not only to protect the church from the government, they were also enacted to protect the state from the church. The Constitution is very clear on this.
Many on the "Christian" right believe that the "freedom of religion" clause in the first amendment to the Constitution is the freedom of the Christian religion. They honestly believe that no other religion in the United States is protected by the Constitution (because it is "founded on the Bible"). And yet, if you actually read the Constitution, the words are clear that it protects all Americans regardless of their profession, even those who profess no religion at all,
In 1972, forty-three years ago, nine year old Kim Phuc was seeking shelter in a Vietnamese temple. When she heard the planes overhead, she ran into the street to find shelter. The planes rained napalm, liquid fire, on her head. Her hair and her clothes were burning. She tore off her clothes and ran down the street naked. An Associated Press photojournalist saw the moment and instinct took over. Right after he snapped the iconic photo, he put his camera down to help her. Many believe that this famous photo shortened the Vietnam War by several months and saved thousands of lives.
Kim was in the hospital for over a year. She was subjected to a multitude of painful surgeries and grafts. Now, at the age of 52. she lives in Canada with her husband and children. They have created a foundation to help children scarred by war. By her own confession, Kim is now a Christian. She says that she became a Christian ten years after the photo at age 19. "When I became a Christian, I have a wonderful connection--the relationship between me, and Jesus, and God." Because of this relationship she was able to forgive. Forgive who? She didn't say, but I would think it was that "Christian nation" who rained fire on her head. She forgave those people who were fighting in her country for freedom, for justice, for democracy, for the Bible, for the American way.
By her own confession, when Kim Phuc became a Christian, she embraced not a doctrine, but a relationship. Because of that relationship she was able to forgive. Jesus said, "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." Not everyone who forgives calls themselves a Christian. But everyone who forgives demonstrates the love of Jesus.
"Christian" as an adjective is a mixed bag. In my opinion America has never been a "Christian nation." And never should be,. Who knows? Maybe I'm wrong about the right. But I can read the Constitution. The way I read the first amendment it gives every American citizen freedom of religion and freedom from religion. It authorizes no official government sponsored religion, including Christianity. If the right is not wrong about the first amendment, then regarding the Constitution of the United States, what's left?
"I still have the pain. I still have the scars, but my heart is healed." Kim Phuc
"Christian" as an adjective is a mixed bag for me. One of my most pressing issues with "Christian", the adjective, is the "Christian" right. These are the politicians and their devotees who will tell you that America is a "Christian nation." They lay their Bibles right on top of the American flag. They tell you that "America was founded on the Bible, on Christian principles." They insist on posting the Ten Commandments at public government buildings, especially court houses. They get the words of the Bible all scrambled up with the words of the Constitution and make them inseparable, as if God inspired them both equally. They work tirelessly to 'bring America back to the Bible' and , therefore, "to the America of the Founding Fathers."
The problem that this presents for me is that no amount of history seems to thwart their enthusiasm. It doesn't matter that America was founded by people fleeing religious persecution. It doesn't seem to matter that those early colonists were escaping a totalitarian system where the government (the state), and the church were one and the same. Under that regime in Europe, if people went against the teachings of the church, they were at the same time subject to discipline by the state. In some cases, the penalty was torture and even death. Because of all this, our founding fathers built into the fabric of America the separation of church and state. Those laws were not only to protect the church from the government, they were also enacted to protect the state from the church. The Constitution is very clear on this.
Many on the "Christian" right believe that the "freedom of religion" clause in the first amendment to the Constitution is the freedom of the Christian religion. They honestly believe that no other religion in the United States is protected by the Constitution (because it is "founded on the Bible"). And yet, if you actually read the Constitution, the words are clear that it protects all Americans regardless of their profession, even those who profess no religion at all,
In 1972, forty-three years ago, nine year old Kim Phuc was seeking shelter in a Vietnamese temple. When she heard the planes overhead, she ran into the street to find shelter. The planes rained napalm, liquid fire, on her head. Her hair and her clothes were burning. She tore off her clothes and ran down the street naked. An Associated Press photojournalist saw the moment and instinct took over. Right after he snapped the iconic photo, he put his camera down to help her. Many believe that this famous photo shortened the Vietnam War by several months and saved thousands of lives.
Kim was in the hospital for over a year. She was subjected to a multitude of painful surgeries and grafts. Now, at the age of 52. she lives in Canada with her husband and children. They have created a foundation to help children scarred by war. By her own confession, Kim is now a Christian. She says that she became a Christian ten years after the photo at age 19. "When I became a Christian, I have a wonderful connection--the relationship between me, and Jesus, and God." Because of this relationship she was able to forgive. Forgive who? She didn't say, but I would think it was that "Christian nation" who rained fire on her head. She forgave those people who were fighting in her country for freedom, for justice, for democracy, for the Bible, for the American way.
By her own confession, when Kim Phuc became a Christian, she embraced not a doctrine, but a relationship. Because of that relationship she was able to forgive. Jesus said, "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." Not everyone who forgives calls themselves a Christian. But everyone who forgives demonstrates the love of Jesus.
"Christian" as an adjective is a mixed bag. In my opinion America has never been a "Christian nation." And never should be,. Who knows? Maybe I'm wrong about the right. But I can read the Constitution. The way I read the first amendment it gives every American citizen freedom of religion and freedom from religion. It authorizes no official government sponsored religion, including Christianity. If the right is not wrong about the first amendment, then regarding the Constitution of the United States, what's left?
Monday, June 15, 2015
Just Being Myself
"I do not have to pretend that I am better than others and that I have to win in all the competitions. It’s okay to be myself, just as I am, in my uniqueness. That, of course, is a very healing and liberating experience. I am allowed to be myself, with all my psychological and physical wounds, with all my limitations but with all my gifts too…. Experience has shown that one person, all alone, can never heal another. A one-to-one situation is not a good situation. It is important to bring broken people into a community of love, a place where they feel accepted and recognized in their gifts, and have a sense of belonging. That is what wounded people need and want most." Jean Vanier
I'm about to celebrate my 62nd birthday and only in recent months do I feel that I am "being myself." The biggest problem I have had with that for as long as I remember is that "myself" is all tied up in "yourself." I was raised in an environment that made me think that offending another person is perhaps one of the worst things on earth. In order of offenses, the worst were drinking beer, offending someone, infidelity and murder. Consequently I have spent a lifetime trying to please and to not offend.
I don't brag too much about my progress, because in my almost two thirds of a century of living, I still want very badly to please people. This is not totally a bad thing. But it is certainly not totally a good thing either.
The way some people deal with this is to learn to not care about anybody but themselves. Well, I've tried that and it doesn't work for me. I will always care about other people. It's just part of my DNA. Ask anyone involved with genetic testing and she will tell you that you can never run from you DNA. Like goodness and mercy, it will follow you all the days of your life.
The main reason that I, this "wounded people," is becoming himself is because of my community. I'm in a church full of people who seem to like me. I unleash a good bit of "myself" on them and they seem to be okay with that. I'm a leader in a group of business men and women who meet every week. They too seem to enjoy my company, when I'm just being me. They see a side of me that I seldom unveil and in big and small ways say, " We enjoy this person. We want to see more of this person".
"I do not have to pretend that I am better than others and that I have to win in all the competitions. It’s okay to be myself, just as I am, in my uniqueness". That, of course, is a very healing and liberating experience. "I am allowed to be myself, with all my psychological and physical wounds, with all my limitations but with all my gifts too…."
Read that last sentence and ponder on it. I often think there is some other version of myself that would be better-- a version devoid of "psychological and physical wounds." The truth, however, is that it's because of these wounds, these scars, that I am the person that I am. I can't be me without them.
The truth is this business of "being ourselves" is a fluid and not a static thing. Don't think that the "self" we are comfortable with today will be the "self" we want to trot out tomorrow. Change is inevitable. But how we change and who we become is mostly up to you and me.
I'm about to celebrate my 62nd birthday and only in recent months do I feel that I am "being myself." The biggest problem I have had with that for as long as I remember is that "myself" is all tied up in "yourself." I was raised in an environment that made me think that offending another person is perhaps one of the worst things on earth. In order of offenses, the worst were drinking beer, offending someone, infidelity and murder. Consequently I have spent a lifetime trying to please and to not offend.
I don't brag too much about my progress, because in my almost two thirds of a century of living, I still want very badly to please people. This is not totally a bad thing. But it is certainly not totally a good thing either.
The way some people deal with this is to learn to not care about anybody but themselves. Well, I've tried that and it doesn't work for me. I will always care about other people. It's just part of my DNA. Ask anyone involved with genetic testing and she will tell you that you can never run from you DNA. Like goodness and mercy, it will follow you all the days of your life.
The main reason that I, this "wounded people," is becoming himself is because of my community. I'm in a church full of people who seem to like me. I unleash a good bit of "myself" on them and they seem to be okay with that. I'm a leader in a group of business men and women who meet every week. They too seem to enjoy my company, when I'm just being me. They see a side of me that I seldom unveil and in big and small ways say, " We enjoy this person. We want to see more of this person".
"I do not have to pretend that I am better than others and that I have to win in all the competitions. It’s okay to be myself, just as I am, in my uniqueness". That, of course, is a very healing and liberating experience. "I am allowed to be myself, with all my psychological and physical wounds, with all my limitations but with all my gifts too…."
Read that last sentence and ponder on it. I often think there is some other version of myself that would be better-- a version devoid of "psychological and physical wounds." The truth, however, is that it's because of these wounds, these scars, that I am the person that I am. I can't be me without them.
The truth is this business of "being ourselves" is a fluid and not a static thing. Don't think that the "self" we are comfortable with today will be the "self" we want to trot out tomorrow. Change is inevitable. But how we change and who we become is mostly up to you and me.
Saturday, June 13, 2015
Eat, Fly, Love
The Brown Pelican
This time of year my thoughts always drift southward. My maternal grandfather, who died before I was born, left a legacy to our family that was rich beyond words. He bought a small house at Laguna Beach, Florida from two sisters who were eager to sell. This house is situated right on Highway 98 across from the beaches of the Gulf of Mexico. Technically not "on the beach" but close enough. Although the family added to the house, annexed a small house to it and could comfortably sleep four families, it was always affectionately known as "the beach cottage."
I grew up in Enterprise, Alabama, 90 miles north of Laguna Beach, but in very many important ways that stretch of beach to this day feels like home. The house has not been in our family for many years, but I still feel like I have part ownership in that beach. Of the many amenities that the sand and the water provided, I always enjoyed watching the birds. Of the dozens of species of birds that inhabited the area, the three I saw the most were the sandpiper, the seagull and the pelican. It was the pelican that intrigued me the most. I love the attached description, "a comically elegant bird." If you've watched a pelican for any length of time, these words need little explanation.
One thing about pelicans that interests me is that they seem so intentional in their destination. They fly low and slow, flying under the radar along the beach just above the water. They flap when they need to and then effortlessly glide along. I have often seen pelicans meeting each other going in opposite directions. Let's call the pelican flying west Jonathan and the one flying east Livingston. Livingston seems just as intent as Jonathan to reach some distant point. Where could they be going? If there's something of interest and importance in either place, why can't Jonathan stay where he is and Livingston stay where he is and both save themselves a lot of time and effort? Is the water always greener on the other side?
According to my sources, the pelicans are headed to their favorite fishing hole. The reason they are flying so low in the first place is that they are ready to pounce on any fish they deem suitable for a meal. But apparently, like any fisherman worth his salt, they have their favorite spots to fish. Jonathan just doesn't care for Livingston's fishing hole and vice versa.
Pelicans don't just enjoy flying, they also love to just stand. They stand as centuries atop the pilings of piers. Pelicans were into mindfulness eons before the Chinese made it an art form and a way of life. I assume again that these birds are waiting for a fishing opportunity, but it looks like they just enjoy standing and watching. I know I enjoy watching them.
I can be envious at times of the animal kingdom, birds in particular. All they do is nest, eat, fly and mate. That's it. One could do worse than nest, eat, fly and mate.The brown pelican, once almost extinct, is now thriving on the Atlantic and Gulf coasts. The signs on the paths to the beach at Laguna now read "Private Beach. Owners Only". The pelicans can spend as much time as they like there; I can only drive by and remember.
I can be envious at times of the animal kingdom, birds in particular. All they do is nest, eat, fly and mate. That's it. One could do worse than nest, eat, fly and mate.The brown pelican, once almost extinct, is now thriving on the Atlantic and Gulf coasts. The signs on the paths to the beach at Laguna now read "Private Beach. Owners Only". The pelicans can spend as much time as they like there; I can only drive by and remember.
Monday, June 8, 2015
The Communion of Saints
"The wound is the place where the light enters you". "Where there is ruin, there is hope for a treasure." Rumi
The fellowship consisted of a group of seven ministers--one Lutheran, one Episcopalian, a Presbyterian, a United Methodist and three Southern Baptists. When I joined there were then four Southern Baptists.
After abruptly leaving a church position with nowhere to go, I was in a particularly difficult stretch of emotional road. The Methodist minister invited me to join his "group". This fellowship of saints met every Thursday morning from 8:30 to 10:00. It was somebody's job to make the coffee and another to bring the donuts. Just plain glazed donuts. There was no agenda, but there was a format. The rule was this--if you have an issue pressing on your heart and mind, then you have the floor. If more than one person needed to talk, we decided who got to go first. If there was time for the second, then ok. But there usually was not.
Over the two years we met before life sent us in separate directions, we sorted though a multitude of personal issues. We coached one through an affair and helped him to salvage his marriage and family. We saw another through his depression and a total emotional meltdown. Another of our group went through a divorce and we helped him through the worst of that. One minister at one point was dealing with serious financial issues, especially after paying money he didn't have for his daughter's wedding. One of the things that was most significant to this Southern Baptist is that no matter how serious the situation, no matter what emotional shape someone was in, no one quoted scripture and there were no prayers uttered. No not one. This was an encounter of compassionate human beings. Divine intervention is such a good thing, but it was never needed.
With that many ministers in one room we certainly dealt with many church issues, but we mostly discussed deeply personal matters of the heart. And what did I talk about? As well as I remember those faces, that youth Sunday School room on the second floor of the First Baptist Church, the coffee and donuts and many of the conversations, I don't remember specific things I talked about. What I remember is the warmth in that room and that I had the rapt attention of seven men of the cloth, men who had not only been through the fire, but had the ability to help me through mine. I also learned that God was not a Southern Baptist. I had been raised and educated in the Southern Baptist world and had to come to view the world through Baptist tented glasses. All of a sudden grace, mercy and love were finding me through different doors, with different liturgical colors.
That was thirty-two years ago this week that I met those men. I have lost touch with all of them except two. I talked to one of those Southern Baptists a few days ago. And that United Methodist who invited me to join? He retired to the United Methodist church where I attend and I talk to him quite often. Instead of coffee and donuts, we meet over a meat and three to discuss issues we hold in common. But we do as much laughing as talking. Thirty-two years ago I was seeking salvation. Now I'm just seeking a friend.
If someone ever writes "the story of my life", they must include those twenty-four months and how they helped shape the person that I am today. The title of that chapter could be "The Wounded Healer." If the wound is the place where the light enters, then there is a very bright spot in my soul.
The fellowship consisted of a group of seven ministers--one Lutheran, one Episcopalian, a Presbyterian, a United Methodist and three Southern Baptists. When I joined there were then four Southern Baptists.
After abruptly leaving a church position with nowhere to go, I was in a particularly difficult stretch of emotional road. The Methodist minister invited me to join his "group". This fellowship of saints met every Thursday morning from 8:30 to 10:00. It was somebody's job to make the coffee and another to bring the donuts. Just plain glazed donuts. There was no agenda, but there was a format. The rule was this--if you have an issue pressing on your heart and mind, then you have the floor. If more than one person needed to talk, we decided who got to go first. If there was time for the second, then ok. But there usually was not.
Over the two years we met before life sent us in separate directions, we sorted though a multitude of personal issues. We coached one through an affair and helped him to salvage his marriage and family. We saw another through his depression and a total emotional meltdown. Another of our group went through a divorce and we helped him through the worst of that. One minister at one point was dealing with serious financial issues, especially after paying money he didn't have for his daughter's wedding. One of the things that was most significant to this Southern Baptist is that no matter how serious the situation, no matter what emotional shape someone was in, no one quoted scripture and there were no prayers uttered. No not one. This was an encounter of compassionate human beings. Divine intervention is such a good thing, but it was never needed.
With that many ministers in one room we certainly dealt with many church issues, but we mostly discussed deeply personal matters of the heart. And what did I talk about? As well as I remember those faces, that youth Sunday School room on the second floor of the First Baptist Church, the coffee and donuts and many of the conversations, I don't remember specific things I talked about. What I remember is the warmth in that room and that I had the rapt attention of seven men of the cloth, men who had not only been through the fire, but had the ability to help me through mine. I also learned that God was not a Southern Baptist. I had been raised and educated in the Southern Baptist world and had to come to view the world through Baptist tented glasses. All of a sudden grace, mercy and love were finding me through different doors, with different liturgical colors.
That was thirty-two years ago this week that I met those men. I have lost touch with all of them except two. I talked to one of those Southern Baptists a few days ago. And that United Methodist who invited me to join? He retired to the United Methodist church where I attend and I talk to him quite often. Instead of coffee and donuts, we meet over a meat and three to discuss issues we hold in common. But we do as much laughing as talking. Thirty-two years ago I was seeking salvation. Now I'm just seeking a friend.
If someone ever writes "the story of my life", they must include those twenty-four months and how they helped shape the person that I am today. The title of that chapter could be "The Wounded Healer." If the wound is the place where the light enters, then there is a very bright spot in my soul.
Thursday, June 4, 2015
When consideration isn't all that considerate...
A friend of mine asked me recently if it's possible to be too sympathetic or empathetic. I think for kind and caring people, this is an ongoing issue.
On the left is the sociopath, the one who is incapable of an ounce of empathy for anyone. This person feels no pain or regret in inflicting pain and misery on anyone. Just to the right of the sociopath is the narcissist. This person is totally wrapped up in himself with no concern for the feelings and preferences of anyone else. Then in the middle is a caring person who experiences with other people their feelings and even their pain. They know how to maintain their own personal space while expressing concern and care for the other person. But to the far right are people that actually enter other people's emotional space. This person emotionally and even physically absorbs the pain and struggles of another. There is very little separation between the emotions of one or the other. This type of person will usually have many more emotional problems than the people for whom he is so concerned.
This is a silly example for such serious issues, but maybe it applies nonetheless. All of us know the rules of a 4-way stop. The rules are very few and quite simple. As traffic approaches the stop signs, the one who stops first has the right of way. If two vehicles arrive at the stop at about the same time, the person to the right has the right of way. That's it, sum total of "the rules".
This morning as I approached a 4-way stop, several vehicles were coming to the stop at about the same time. I always watch carefully to take my turn. The driver to my right arrived at the stop sign before I did. It wasn't a tie or even close. This driver had the right of way. I waited a few seconds and she just sat there. Then she waved for me to go ahead. Instead of feeling like she had done me a favor, I felt annoyed that I had to wait on her to make up her mind about proceeding. My point is that if she had not tried to be "considerate" and just followed the traffic rules, it would have worked better for both of us.
As a teenager I learned the same lesson when I tried to be "considerate" of a stranger. I was at a roadblock taking up a collection for a local charity. A man rolled down his window and dropped some change in my bucket. He then asked directions to somewhere in town. I had a vague notion of his destination and provided vague and rambling directions. I really wanted to help him. He interrupted me and said, "Why didn't you just tell me you didn't know?" and he quickly drove away. I've never forgotten that.
So how do we care for people without getting emotionally involved in their issues? It's all about personal boundaries, that stuff that separates any one of us from the rest of the world. It's okay to feel what other people are feeling as long as you maintain your own personal emotional health and identity. If we empathize to the point of dysfunction, then we have a boundary issue. So how do you know when to say when? You have to test your own emotions -- do I like the way this feels? Am I able to move back into my own space and my own preferred emotional state at will? It the answer to either question is "no" then you have allowed your boundaries to be violated. It's not the other person's fault you're feeling this way, it's a choice that you made.
So whether you're approaching a 4-way stop or talking to a troubled friend, assess the situation, take your turn ( to drive or to help) and move on. This gives the other person the opportunity to move on as well.
On the left is the sociopath, the one who is incapable of an ounce of empathy for anyone. This person feels no pain or regret in inflicting pain and misery on anyone. Just to the right of the sociopath is the narcissist. This person is totally wrapped up in himself with no concern for the feelings and preferences of anyone else. Then in the middle is a caring person who experiences with other people their feelings and even their pain. They know how to maintain their own personal space while expressing concern and care for the other person. But to the far right are people that actually enter other people's emotional space. This person emotionally and even physically absorbs the pain and struggles of another. There is very little separation between the emotions of one or the other. This type of person will usually have many more emotional problems than the people for whom he is so concerned.
This is a silly example for such serious issues, but maybe it applies nonetheless. All of us know the rules of a 4-way stop. The rules are very few and quite simple. As traffic approaches the stop signs, the one who stops first has the right of way. If two vehicles arrive at the stop at about the same time, the person to the right has the right of way. That's it, sum total of "the rules".
This morning as I approached a 4-way stop, several vehicles were coming to the stop at about the same time. I always watch carefully to take my turn. The driver to my right arrived at the stop sign before I did. It wasn't a tie or even close. This driver had the right of way. I waited a few seconds and she just sat there. Then she waved for me to go ahead. Instead of feeling like she had done me a favor, I felt annoyed that I had to wait on her to make up her mind about proceeding. My point is that if she had not tried to be "considerate" and just followed the traffic rules, it would have worked better for both of us.
As a teenager I learned the same lesson when I tried to be "considerate" of a stranger. I was at a roadblock taking up a collection for a local charity. A man rolled down his window and dropped some change in my bucket. He then asked directions to somewhere in town. I had a vague notion of his destination and provided vague and rambling directions. I really wanted to help him. He interrupted me and said, "Why didn't you just tell me you didn't know?" and he quickly drove away. I've never forgotten that.
So how do we care for people without getting emotionally involved in their issues? It's all about personal boundaries, that stuff that separates any one of us from the rest of the world. It's okay to feel what other people are feeling as long as you maintain your own personal emotional health and identity. If we empathize to the point of dysfunction, then we have a boundary issue. So how do you know when to say when? You have to test your own emotions -- do I like the way this feels? Am I able to move back into my own space and my own preferred emotional state at will? It the answer to either question is "no" then you have allowed your boundaries to be violated. It's not the other person's fault you're feeling this way, it's a choice that you made.
So whether you're approaching a 4-way stop or talking to a troubled friend, assess the situation, take your turn ( to drive or to help) and move on. This gives the other person the opportunity to move on as well.
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
Zen for Dummies
"You don't shoot the arrow. The arrow shoots itself." Zen and the Art of Archery by Eugin Herrigel
Years ago when I was a young youth director in Jasper, Alabama, a group of my young people invited me to join them on a rope swing one Sunday afternoon at a nearby creek. I knew about the creek, but I didn't know about the swing or a place deep enough for jumping. When the time came for me to take the plunge, I grabbed the rope, pushed off and swung out as far as I could. As I let go of the rope I decided to turn a back flip. Then something happened. The flip was absolutely effortless. My body flipped itself and and I fell into the water in true Olympic form. I felt the flip as it was happening as if it was in slow-motion. When I landed in the water time sped back to normal speed. When I swam back to the bank, one of the teenagers commented on my flip. He said it was stunning, or some such teenaged equivalent. I don't know what it was. I just know that it was as if my body was possessed by some power from beyond that flipped me without my help.
Years later, there was a golf game at Lake Lanier Islands in Gainsville, Georgia. In all the years I played golf, this was the only game when this happened. I played my normal golf on the front nine, but when we made the turn to the back nine, something was different. Most would say that I was "in the zone". It was the most effortless and enjoyable golf that I ever played. My clubs connected with the ball perfectly with every shot and the ball soared where I wanted it to go. My friend was dumbfounded. When I tallied the pars, birdies and bogies, I scored two over par on the back nine of a very challenging course. It was by far the best nine holes I had ever played. I wasn't quite ready for the tour, but it felt really good to play that well.
But did the arrow shoot itself, and did my body flip itself, and did that golf ball really fly by itself?
All of it required effort. The arrow might have shot itself at the instant it left the fingers, but the fingers ha pulled it back and held it until that moment. I may have been in the zone during those nine holes of golf. The game may have felt effortless, but I bent and placed the ball on the tee, pulled my driver back around my body and swung it forward. The flip may have seemed to have happened all by itself, but I grabbed that rope and flung myself as far as I could swing before letting go. My effort propelled my body into its backward flip.
Seemingly effortless things require effort on our part. And yet it's the things that seem to be effortless that we enjoy the most, that bring us the most pleasure. So maybe the mystical moment is when our effort is overtaken by something beyond us, something we can't see, feel or control. We give it our best, and then let this power complete the task.
It takes effort to get out of bed, brew the coffee and begin the day. Then inertia takes over. The body that was at rest is now in motion. The day takes on a life of its own. At this point it would take effort to keep the day from fulfilling its appointed course. Why would you want to stop it?
"Go with the flow" they say. But you can't go with the flow if you're not even in the water. Grab the rope, swing as far as you can and let go of the rope. The rest will take care of itself.
All of it required effort. The arrow might have shot itself at the instant it left the fingers, but the fingers ha pulled it back and held it until that moment. I may have been in the zone during those nine holes of golf. The game may have felt effortless, but I bent and placed the ball on the tee, pulled my driver back around my body and swung it forward. The flip may have seemed to have happened all by itself, but I grabbed that rope and flung myself as far as I could swing before letting go. My effort propelled my body into its backward flip.
Seemingly effortless things require effort on our part. And yet it's the things that seem to be effortless that we enjoy the most, that bring us the most pleasure. So maybe the mystical moment is when our effort is overtaken by something beyond us, something we can't see, feel or control. We give it our best, and then let this power complete the task.
It takes effort to get out of bed, brew the coffee and begin the day. Then inertia takes over. The body that was at rest is now in motion. The day takes on a life of its own. At this point it would take effort to keep the day from fulfilling its appointed course. Why would you want to stop it?
"Go with the flow" they say. But you can't go with the flow if you're not even in the water. Grab the rope, swing as far as you can and let go of the rope. The rest will take care of itself.
Monday, June 1, 2015
Long Ago and Far Away
"and in between what might have been and what has come to pass." Long Ago and Far Away, by James Taylor
I think we all know at a rational and cognitive level that "what might have been" never existed and never will exist. And yet we spend an inordinate amount of time and energy trying to conjure it up. We often actually try to live there.
The truth is, and we all know it very well, "what has come to pass" is the only past tense that is real.
But then the mystics tell us, and they are right about this, "what has come to pass" doesn't exist either. The memories of "what has come to pass" exist but "what has come to pass" does not exist. And it never will exist.
But even the memories of "what has come to pass" do not exist. Our memories aren't perfect. We remember things the way we choose to remember them. Some of us choose to only remember the good parts. Many of us choose to only remember the painful parts. So which memory is the real "what has come to pass"? The good memories or the bad ones? None of them. You are not remembering "what has come to pass" the way it actually came to pass. You only remember certain parts of it. That then disqualifies you from saying truthfully "I remember what has come to pass."
So if there is no way possible to find "what might have been" and we can't even find "what has come to pass" then where does that leave us? Are we all hopelessly lost?
You know this too. It leaves us with the only possible reality --"here and now", the chair where we sit.
Life has always been and always will be in the present moment. Zoa, Jesus called it. The Tao, others call it. And still others The Eternal Now.
But you don't like the present moment? You don't like it here, where you are? Then learn to like it here or go somewhere else. But I'll warn you. When you get there, you'll find it to be much like it is here. So you might as well just learn to like it here. Once you learn to like it here, you can like it anywhere. Just trust me on this.
I think we all know at a rational and cognitive level that "what might have been" never existed and never will exist. And yet we spend an inordinate amount of time and energy trying to conjure it up. We often actually try to live there.
The truth is, and we all know it very well, "what has come to pass" is the only past tense that is real.
But then the mystics tell us, and they are right about this, "what has come to pass" doesn't exist either. The memories of "what has come to pass" exist but "what has come to pass" does not exist. And it never will exist.
But even the memories of "what has come to pass" do not exist. Our memories aren't perfect. We remember things the way we choose to remember them. Some of us choose to only remember the good parts. Many of us choose to only remember the painful parts. So which memory is the real "what has come to pass"? The good memories or the bad ones? None of them. You are not remembering "what has come to pass" the way it actually came to pass. You only remember certain parts of it. That then disqualifies you from saying truthfully "I remember what has come to pass."
So if there is no way possible to find "what might have been" and we can't even find "what has come to pass" then where does that leave us? Are we all hopelessly lost?
You know this too. It leaves us with the only possible reality --"here and now", the chair where we sit.
Life has always been and always will be in the present moment. Zoa, Jesus called it. The Tao, others call it. And still others The Eternal Now.
But you don't like the present moment? You don't like it here, where you are? Then learn to like it here or go somewhere else. But I'll warn you. When you get there, you'll find it to be much like it is here. So you might as well just learn to like it here. Once you learn to like it here, you can like it anywhere. Just trust me on this.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)