For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven… Ecclesiastes 3:1
I just returned from what has become an annual post-Easter retreat to Las Vegas. Actually, Sin City is not really the destination. It ‘s just that the airport there is conveniently located for anyone who enjoys the Southwest and might be open to spending time away from crowds and air conditioning.
This year, my acting spiritual director led us on a 3-day odyssey that included hiking, climbing and mountain biking. It was demanding on the legs but it was worse on the sinuses. The desert is, of course, a challenge on the spirit as well…But in a good way. Exerting ourselves, whether it be in physical rigor, thoughtful consideration or prayerful exertion almost always leads to some kind of blessing provided we are willing to suffer whatever price being asked of our body, mind and spirit.
This year, my price came by way of an age old enemy, time. I have always struggled with time, especially the singular direction in which it appears to move. The desert was a constant reminder of time. From the petrified sand dunes and scarred mountains to the images of animals and symbols that had been etched upon them, the desert seemed a chorus with a compelling refrain...“this too will pass.”
I was especially surprised by a walk through what’s left of a ghost town at the far end of Lake Mead. In 1938, the people of St. Thomas were forced to abandon their homes and community for the sake of Hoover Dam. For many years, the town was covered by the waters of Lake Mead but because of increased pressure placed on the reservoir, the remnant of the town is now visible again. Except for the occasional dish or bottle, little is left beyond the concrete foundations and its rusting rebar. Two of the foundations were considerably larger than the others and my friend and I tried to figure which one had been the church. Walking through the ghost town, it initially seemed only depressing—a forgotten town now largely reclaimed by the sand and sage. Yet, in the midst of the ghostly refrain, there also seemed to be a distinct voice of hope. It was a hope that seemed connected to the challenge of the desert itself. I tried to imagine making a home in such a place. It would have been hard but this somehow seemed encouraging.
The town of St. Thomas is no more. Time and change have seen to that. Yet, it is still very good that these people once lived there in that valley. Looking at the foundations and trying to imagine how things once might have looked reminded me of the petrified dunes and petroglyphs that also remain and bear testimony to time gone by.
I believe that whatever lies ahead—whatever God has planned for eternity—it will somehow preserve the good of the past. Beholding the beauty of the desert, a beauty that challenges our mind, body and spirit… it makes me wonder. Perhaps we are wrong about that age-old enemy. Perhaps, time is actually our friend.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Keeping it real on the way to the Cross
As Easter approaches each year, I often get sense of anxiety. I worry that I will not be able to preach a sermon that is worthy of the mystery and joy of the season. After all, the Resurrection is really the high holy day of the Christian calendar, if we preachers don't have something to say on Easter Sunday, then we might as well hang it up.
Of course, theoretically, the pressure really isn't on us. It sorts of boils down to whether or not God gives us something to say. Or, perhaps more accurately, whether or not God can break through all my blocks and distractions to get out whatever message needs to be proclaimed. This is sort of rule #1 in preaching and ministry generally. It's either God's work or its not. And if its not, its pretty hard to justify, at least over any length of time. Yet, even though preachers should know this, it is still easy to forget. It is easy to sort of buy into the ole cliche' "if it's to be, it's up to me."
One helpful aspect of all this is that Easter comes at the end of Holy Week. So by the time we are expected to be "real," we've already had a fairly substantial dose of reality. Thursday and Friday help pastors and congregations alike remember that Sunday isn't so much about us. Except to the extent that we are surprising beneficiaries.
Coming to understand ourselves as a sinners is both a burden and a blessing. It is a burden to the extent that we aren't necessarily the people that we imagine ourselves to be. It is a blessing to the extent that we realize that no one else is much surprised by all this. It can be tough to live with though. We want to be good. We want to avoid the betrayal. We understand the nails and the thorns, we would just prefer to imagine that they have been placed for the sake of someone else.
Of course, theoretically, the pressure really isn't on us. It sorts of boils down to whether or not God gives us something to say. Or, perhaps more accurately, whether or not God can break through all my blocks and distractions to get out whatever message needs to be proclaimed. This is sort of rule #1 in preaching and ministry generally. It's either God's work or its not. And if its not, its pretty hard to justify, at least over any length of time. Yet, even though preachers should know this, it is still easy to forget. It is easy to sort of buy into the ole cliche' "if it's to be, it's up to me."
One helpful aspect of all this is that Easter comes at the end of Holy Week. So by the time we are expected to be "real," we've already had a fairly substantial dose of reality. Thursday and Friday help pastors and congregations alike remember that Sunday isn't so much about us. Except to the extent that we are surprising beneficiaries.
Coming to understand ourselves as a sinners is both a burden and a blessing. It is a burden to the extent that we aren't necessarily the people that we imagine ourselves to be. It is a blessing to the extent that we realize that no one else is much surprised by all this. It can be tough to live with though. We want to be good. We want to avoid the betrayal. We understand the nails and the thorns, we would just prefer to imagine that they have been placed for the sake of someone else.
Monday, March 30, 2009
I Haveta Laugh
I like sunshine and coffee. I like a good conversation and I really like to laugh...
Oops, can I say things like this during Lent?
We worry about this stuff sometimes, don't we? Even those of us who are not so mindful of the Christian calendar. We want to make sure that we strike that critical balance between elation and sorrow... That the projection of our inner spirit fits the environment into which it is spilling.
Of course, this makes sense to a degree. It's really not helpful to be giggling at funerals or singing dirges at weddings. But at the same time, it can be hard sometimes--keeping pace with all those limits and expectations.
For example, not long ago I had a conversation with a woman who has had a fairly difficult stretch. Pretty much every area of her life has been tweaked or twisted in the last year or so. She has suffered some level of dislocation or pain in just about every meaningful aspect of her life including the triumvirate of health, work and relationships.
As we were talking, I was struck by how well she seemed to be handling all this. On the one hand, she didn't want to burden anyone with her hardships but she also sensed that she needed someone to talk to. It turned out to be one of those unique moments when I actually got to feel like I was doing my job--not because I had some great answer to her problems but because I had the time to listen to her story and share a cup of coffee on a sunny day. We also had the opportunity to laugh. Of course, part of what we were laughing at were the circumstances--the challenges that this woman was facing and some of the ways that she has been coping with them.
As we continued to talk, I became more and more aware of how nice a day it was outside. At one point, I literally had to move my chair because the sun was shining so brightly through the window next to our table. This seemed like a perfect metaphor--not only for our conversation but for so much of our lives. A lot of the time, it's both, isn't it? We have elements of pain and elements of joy around us. The blessings do not necessarily deliver us from our circumstances but they remind us that life is wonderful though not necessarily perfect. Of course, another way to put this is to say that God is near us even when it feels like we are alone.
As a pastor, who believes firmly in the Christian calendar, I work hard to invite people to embrace, experience and feel the seasons of the faith. But sometimes there are things going on in our lives that may or may not perfectly fit the season. And even when they do, it's still a challenge to maintain a perfectly somber Lent and then magically wake up joyful come Easter morning.
This doesn't mean that the seasons are unhelpful or that we should not try to embrace them. It rather means that we need to be mindful--both of what is going on inside of us as well as beyond us. Moreover, if we've had a particularly difficult stretch, we might want to take those moments of joy where we can find them... After all, we lift up The Great Thanksgiving every Sunday, even in Lent. So it really is a good and joyful thing to give our thanks and praise...
BTW, the picture above is from The Tokyo Laughter Club. How cool is that?
Oops, can I say things like this during Lent?
We worry about this stuff sometimes, don't we? Even those of us who are not so mindful of the Christian calendar. We want to make sure that we strike that critical balance between elation and sorrow... That the projection of our inner spirit fits the environment into which it is spilling.
Of course, this makes sense to a degree. It's really not helpful to be giggling at funerals or singing dirges at weddings. But at the same time, it can be hard sometimes--keeping pace with all those limits and expectations.
For example, not long ago I had a conversation with a woman who has had a fairly difficult stretch. Pretty much every area of her life has been tweaked or twisted in the last year or so. She has suffered some level of dislocation or pain in just about every meaningful aspect of her life including the triumvirate of health, work and relationships.
As we were talking, I was struck by how well she seemed to be handling all this. On the one hand, she didn't want to burden anyone with her hardships but she also sensed that she needed someone to talk to. It turned out to be one of those unique moments when I actually got to feel like I was doing my job--not because I had some great answer to her problems but because I had the time to listen to her story and share a cup of coffee on a sunny day. We also had the opportunity to laugh. Of course, part of what we were laughing at were the circumstances--the challenges that this woman was facing and some of the ways that she has been coping with them.
As we continued to talk, I became more and more aware of how nice a day it was outside. At one point, I literally had to move my chair because the sun was shining so brightly through the window next to our table. This seemed like a perfect metaphor--not only for our conversation but for so much of our lives. A lot of the time, it's both, isn't it? We have elements of pain and elements of joy around us. The blessings do not necessarily deliver us from our circumstances but they remind us that life is wonderful though not necessarily perfect. Of course, another way to put this is to say that God is near us even when it feels like we are alone.
As a pastor, who believes firmly in the Christian calendar, I work hard to invite people to embrace, experience and feel the seasons of the faith. But sometimes there are things going on in our lives that may or may not perfectly fit the season. And even when they do, it's still a challenge to maintain a perfectly somber Lent and then magically wake up joyful come Easter morning.
This doesn't mean that the seasons are unhelpful or that we should not try to embrace them. It rather means that we need to be mindful--both of what is going on inside of us as well as beyond us. Moreover, if we've had a particularly difficult stretch, we might want to take those moments of joy where we can find them... After all, we lift up The Great Thanksgiving every Sunday, even in Lent. So it really is a good and joyful thing to give our thanks and praise...
BTW, the picture above is from The Tokyo Laughter Club. How cool is that?
Friday, March 27, 2009
Did you hear that!
I just finished listening to the sermon preached by Matt Smith at St. Francis on March 14th. If you were not able to hear it, you can go to http://www.stfrancischarlotte.org and click on the multimedia link. Beware of the irony here though because the action will be an employment of electronic media--the very subject that Matt addresses in his excellent sermon. Matt's sermon is remarkable on many levels and I will let it speak for itself. As for the challenge that electronic media presents, I imagine that it is far greater than we can yet perceive.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Mixed Metaphors
Last night I saw the film "Knowing." I had seen the previews and, as a Sci Fi fan, there was little chance that I was going to miss a movie like this. However, before I committed to buying the tickets, I consulted Rotten Tomatoes [http://www.rottentomatoes.com] The site is sort of a clearinghouse for all things movie. Specifically, it gathers reviews, compiles the commentary and declares a particular film either "fresh" or rotten." At the time of my consultation, the fresh-o-meter was weighing Nicolas Cage's latest movie 24% fresh. That is, 3 out of every 4 expert had judged "Knowing" not really worth seeing.
In addition to a general distaste for science fiction, several critics were put off by the inclusion of divergent worldviews to tell the story. The critics resisted the director's employment of scientific and mathematical explanations along with religious and spiritual elements. They seemed offended by what appeared to be a crossing of borders. I found this a curious criticism for a science fiction film but I was not altogether surprised.
There is a common assumption within our society. It is the misguided belief that science and religion are diametrically opposed--that one can either have a scientific view of the world or a religious view of the world. The assumption probably has its roots in the early modern era when some philosophers and scientists believed that it was possible for human beings to discover and know external truth. The movement, commonly called, The Enlightenment, promoted a path to knowledge that was based not on existing authorities (such as the Church or culture or various governments) but through "objective inquiry." This model continues to be the prevailing methodology for human knowledge today. However, most scientists now understand that there is a significant problem with the initial assumption of The Enlightenment. Specifically, there is a problem with objectivity. As long as human beings remain part of the very world that they are seeking to know, true objectivity is simply impossible.
This is not to say that science is wrong. It is rather to say that any claims to truth that we make, even those based on scientific inquiry, are bound by our human condition and the languages that we use to describe the world in which we live. For example, atomic theory or quantum mechanics are not really definitive explanations for the universe. These are rather helpful--and currently the most helpful--ways for us to explain the world around us. Some scientists rightly call them "best guess." In this way, science is actually a religion--not in the traditional sense of worshiping a deity but in terms of it's basic purpose of supplying meaning to the world.
Now some people find this offensive. Curiously, they find it offensive in exactly the same kinds of ways that some Christians once found the The Enlightenment offensive. This is because we build our lives upon the beliefs we hold. We engage the world through the metaphors that we trust. It is only when we perceive them to be under attack that we typically bother to consider the foundations upon which we are standing. In this way, hearing about the limitations of human knowledge always feels at least a little threatening. This is true for traditional religion. But it is also true for modern explanations of the world such as secularism, atheism and even modern science. The irony here is that most of the Church has already gone through this. Our universal claims have long since been relegated to one, now very small, corner of the room. So it's sort of funny to watch the people who stuck us there come to grips with that demeaning refrain, "well that's just religion."
Of course, I doubt little of this history went into the making of "Knowing." I suspect that it is more like the director wanted to tell an interesting story and felt free to use various metaphors to do so. At the same time, this freedom is probably a sign that things have changed. Science is no longer the iron-clad metaphor that it once was. Again, this is not good or bad. It is just a reminder that human knowledge remains an ongoing conversation.
Is "Knowing" a good film? I don't know. I like science fiction so I liked it. From a religious perspective I certainly found it engaging. What is perhaps most engaging is how well the film captures the limits of human knowledge. While this can be a threatening consideration, it can also be an insightful moment of growth for us.
The Bible consistently calls for the importance of faith. Perhaps the importance here is not so much about blind obedience as it is an acceptance of the limitations of the human condition. It is a good thing to seek and learn and know. Scientific inquiry is a critically important part of this. In the same way, it is wise and good to seek and know beyond the mechanics and processes.
Curiously, toward the end of Einstein's life and work, this became his most urgent question. Although he could not yet identify it, he firmly believed that there must be a singular, unified theory of the universe. The question remains: are human beings capable of comprehending such a thing from our current perspective? In the end, if and when we actually do come to "know," are we not likely to find that the explanation is indeed unified? That the truth finally includes the best of what we call science and religion?
In addition to a general distaste for science fiction, several critics were put off by the inclusion of divergent worldviews to tell the story. The critics resisted the director's employment of scientific and mathematical explanations along with religious and spiritual elements. They seemed offended by what appeared to be a crossing of borders. I found this a curious criticism for a science fiction film but I was not altogether surprised.
There is a common assumption within our society. It is the misguided belief that science and religion are diametrically opposed--that one can either have a scientific view of the world or a religious view of the world. The assumption probably has its roots in the early modern era when some philosophers and scientists believed that it was possible for human beings to discover and know external truth. The movement, commonly called, The Enlightenment, promoted a path to knowledge that was based not on existing authorities (such as the Church or culture or various governments) but through "objective inquiry." This model continues to be the prevailing methodology for human knowledge today. However, most scientists now understand that there is a significant problem with the initial assumption of The Enlightenment. Specifically, there is a problem with objectivity. As long as human beings remain part of the very world that they are seeking to know, true objectivity is simply impossible.
This is not to say that science is wrong. It is rather to say that any claims to truth that we make, even those based on scientific inquiry, are bound by our human condition and the languages that we use to describe the world in which we live. For example, atomic theory or quantum mechanics are not really definitive explanations for the universe. These are rather helpful--and currently the most helpful--ways for us to explain the world around us. Some scientists rightly call them "best guess." In this way, science is actually a religion--not in the traditional sense of worshiping a deity but in terms of it's basic purpose of supplying meaning to the world.
Now some people find this offensive. Curiously, they find it offensive in exactly the same kinds of ways that some Christians once found the The Enlightenment offensive. This is because we build our lives upon the beliefs we hold. We engage the world through the metaphors that we trust. It is only when we perceive them to be under attack that we typically bother to consider the foundations upon which we are standing. In this way, hearing about the limitations of human knowledge always feels at least a little threatening. This is true for traditional religion. But it is also true for modern explanations of the world such as secularism, atheism and even modern science. The irony here is that most of the Church has already gone through this. Our universal claims have long since been relegated to one, now very small, corner of the room. So it's sort of funny to watch the people who stuck us there come to grips with that demeaning refrain, "well that's just religion."
Of course, I doubt little of this history went into the making of "Knowing." I suspect that it is more like the director wanted to tell an interesting story and felt free to use various metaphors to do so. At the same time, this freedom is probably a sign that things have changed. Science is no longer the iron-clad metaphor that it once was. Again, this is not good or bad. It is just a reminder that human knowledge remains an ongoing conversation.
Is "Knowing" a good film? I don't know. I like science fiction so I liked it. From a religious perspective I certainly found it engaging. What is perhaps most engaging is how well the film captures the limits of human knowledge. While this can be a threatening consideration, it can also be an insightful moment of growth for us.
The Bible consistently calls for the importance of faith. Perhaps the importance here is not so much about blind obedience as it is an acceptance of the limitations of the human condition. It is a good thing to seek and learn and know. Scientific inquiry is a critically important part of this. In the same way, it is wise and good to seek and know beyond the mechanics and processes.
Curiously, toward the end of Einstein's life and work, this became his most urgent question. Although he could not yet identify it, he firmly believed that there must be a singular, unified theory of the universe. The question remains: are human beings capable of comprehending such a thing from our current perspective? In the end, if and when we actually do come to "know," are we not likely to find that the explanation is indeed unified? That the truth finally includes the best of what we call science and religion?
Friday, March 13, 2009
Tournament Time
"Are you kidding me!" Perhaps nothing denotes the excitement and fun of college basketball like the familiar commentary of Dick Vitale. Dick is a true lover of the game and it shows every time we hear him speak. For Vitale, it doesn't matter who's playing; if it's college basketball, something worthwhile is going to happen. And anyone paying attention is in for a treat.
Of course, this time of year, it's particularly poignant. There is nothing bigger. March Madness has become a phenomena rivaling the Super Bowl. For some of us, it's far bigger. Everyone's got a favorite team. Everyone takes some time out to watch the grace and intrigue of young men and women giving it all they got for their school. Soon it will be down to the Final Four but for now--during the conference tournaments and the first round of the NCAA and NIT, everyone's got some kind of a chance. Students, alumni and townsfolk from places like North Dakota and Northern Iowa get the opportunity to cheer for their team. [My wife and one of my best friends went to Northern Iowa by the way. They're the Panthers so it should be easy for most of us to root for them.]
Several years ago, things were kind of tough in the good ole USA. Gas was scarce, interest rates were high and there was a heavy feeling in the air. And then, the most unlikely thing happened. Herb Brooks pulled together a group of college kids from places like Minnesota and Massachusetts, Wisconsin and Michigan. These young men became the 1980 US Hockey team. I was fourteen years old at the time and I actually played hockey when I wasn't playing basketball.
I remember people taking time out for a couple of weeks that winter just to watch these kids play those games in Lake Placid. It turned out that they beat the a Russian team that was considered far and away the best in the world. The Russians were eight and ten years old then our college players and by all measure professional athletes. [Remember when the Olympics were a little more pure?] Against all odds, the US team won the gold medal in hockey in 1980. It seemed like the entire country was on that team and the experience coincided elegantly with a turnaround in our land.
Yet even if it hadn't turn out the way, it still would have been a good thing. It is always a good thing to find the joy around us--to take time out, to take our minds of our troubles, if just for a while, to enjoy something as simple and yet graceful as a bunch of kids chasing their dreams.
If you have never seen the film, "Miracle," I highly recommend it. It tells the story in a very compelling way, reminding us that athletics can still be pure. Just make sure you wait until your team's been knocked out of the tournament.
Go Duke!
Of course, this time of year, it's particularly poignant. There is nothing bigger. March Madness has become a phenomena rivaling the Super Bowl. For some of us, it's far bigger. Everyone's got a favorite team. Everyone takes some time out to watch the grace and intrigue of young men and women giving it all they got for their school. Soon it will be down to the Final Four but for now--during the conference tournaments and the first round of the NCAA and NIT, everyone's got some kind of a chance. Students, alumni and townsfolk from places like North Dakota and Northern Iowa get the opportunity to cheer for their team. [My wife and one of my best friends went to Northern Iowa by the way. They're the Panthers so it should be easy for most of us to root for them.]
Several years ago, things were kind of tough in the good ole USA. Gas was scarce, interest rates were high and there was a heavy feeling in the air. And then, the most unlikely thing happened. Herb Brooks pulled together a group of college kids from places like Minnesota and Massachusetts, Wisconsin and Michigan. These young men became the 1980 US Hockey team. I was fourteen years old at the time and I actually played hockey when I wasn't playing basketball.
I remember people taking time out for a couple of weeks that winter just to watch these kids play those games in Lake Placid. It turned out that they beat the a Russian team that was considered far and away the best in the world. The Russians were eight and ten years old then our college players and by all measure professional athletes. [Remember when the Olympics were a little more pure?] Against all odds, the US team won the gold medal in hockey in 1980. It seemed like the entire country was on that team and the experience coincided elegantly with a turnaround in our land.
Yet even if it hadn't turn out the way, it still would have been a good thing. It is always a good thing to find the joy around us--to take time out, to take our minds of our troubles, if just for a while, to enjoy something as simple and yet graceful as a bunch of kids chasing their dreams.
If you have never seen the film, "Miracle," I highly recommend it. It tells the story in a very compelling way, reminding us that athletics can still be pure. Just make sure you wait until your team's been knocked out of the tournament.
Go Duke!
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