Inch by Inch

I have been out of town for a little over two weeks. It has been a wonderful time of relaxing, entertaining family members, and enjoying the beautiful Michigan summer days near both an inland lake and Lake Michigan, The Big Lake as we on the west side of the Mitten state call it.

As I have been working my way back into the reality of responsibilities here at home, I realized I have not seen my Dad since I left. Of course I have not seen my Mom either but I have spoken to her several times just to find out how she is doing. I realized this afternoon as I plan to head to my office tomorrow and also visit with my Mom and my Dad that I have not really missed my Dad the past two weeks. For most of my adult life I have looked forward to visits with him and with my Mom so this lack of missing him seems strange. In fact, I feel a bit guilty.

The theologian in me says I have no need to feel guilty. I have not dishonored him in any way. I have not shirked my responsibility as a daughter. I have not, in fact, done anything morally impermissible with respect to my Dad.

So why have I not missed him?

I’m not sure but it seems to me that this is yet one more consequence of dementia. The Dad I go visit and interact with is not the Dad I have always enjoyed seeing, talking to, and interacting with. Oh, there are still vestiges of him there. But the full orbed person that he is has been diminished by this horrible disease.

In fact, I do miss my Dad. I miss him terribly and regularly. But the Dad I visit now is very different than the Dad I spent most of my life with. This fact not only means I don’t miss him, the physical him, in the same way. It also means that visiting him always comes with grief.

This morning as I was spending time with God I reflected and prayed for a person in our church who lost her husband suddenly in a bicycle accident this weekend. I also prayed for a young man, my son-in-law’s cousin, whose wife died suddenly this past week. She was the mother of several young children. As I prayed I couldn’t help but wonder about the ways of God. Why, I wondered, should God take someone who was still vibrant and active? Why take a young woman whose children surely need her? Why, while I and my family must watch my Dad slowly die inch by agonizing inch?

I surely do not know. In fact, where all of this is concerned that is the only thing I do know – that I do not know.

Visible Grace

This past Monday I went to a communion service our church sponsors each year for our members who live in the retirement village where my parents live. My mom wanted to bring my dad and wanted me to come along.

I didn’t want to go.

It was in the middle of a work day. My head was not tuned to worship that afternoon at 2 pm. My mind was on the seminar I was in all morning, the work waiting for me in my office, and getting home in time to stop at the grocery store.

Sometimes you do things just because your mom asks you to, just because of God’s command that you must honor your parents. So I went expecting nothing but a hug from my parents.

Dad’s dementia is such that he now is not always able to speak a full sentence. He rarely comes to church anymore. It is too difficult for my mom to bring him and too difficult for him to sit through.

Rev. Boven led worship that afternoon. I always appreciate her warm, pastoral presence as she opens Scripture and nourishes us with God’s word. This Monday afternoon service was no exception. The Spirit can work in even the most distracted souls.

And then communion, the Lord’s Supper, where Christ invites us to lift up our hearts to commune with the Triune God. There, Christ visibly offers us himself as nourishment for our Christian pilgrimage.  My Dad, the man who had offered God’s people the body and blood of Christ so many times as a pastor, wasn’t sure what to do with the tray of bread when it was passed to him. And when Rev. Boven said, “Take, eat, remember and believe…”, my mom had to prompt him to eat the spiritual nourishment offered him. My heart sank a bit and my questions of ‘why’ rose to God.

But then came our final song: My Jesus I Love Thee.

               My Jesus I love Thee I know Thou art mine.

               For Thee all the follies of sin I resign.

               My gracious redeemer, my savior art thou;

               If ever I loved Thee my Jesus ‘tis now.

Dad sang every word.

In harmony.

Just like he always had.

Time stood still. A kairos moment.

I knew then and there that God had blessed my little step of obedience. Following his command to honor my parents by attending that afternoon communion service had offered me one of those all too rare glimpses of the Dad I remember but rarely get to see. Like the Supper, God had offered me visible grace to carry me through this journey.

Benedictine Option

This past weekend my husband and I listened to the audio book version of the Benedictine Option: A Strategy for Christians in a Post-Christian Culture by Rod Dreher. We had heard a lot about the book from friends, the media, and others. We had numerous questions concerning the book and what we were told it was claiming so we were listening a bit more critically than we normally might have on our weekend jaunt to the Chicago area.

We were intrigued by some of the ideas we had heard from others. We were also concerned by certain portrayals that seemed to indicate that the Benedictine Option had to do with something akin to an Amish rejection of culture. It does not.

As it turned out, we were pleasantly surprised. In fact, we were so surprised we are fairly convinced that both the harshest critics and the uncritical fans simply have not yet read the book. They should.

While it may be the case that Dreher oversimplifies consequences of the history of thought in the West, he is also not completely off-base as some have suggested. 

Likewise with his rather pessimistic analysis of culture as a whole, especially morality in America. It is difficult to look at what is considered unacceptable in American culture today versus the sorts of behaviors that were considered unacceptable even 50 years ago and not be a bit pessimistic. 

But the target of his book is not culture at large. That the pundits at outlets like NPR are offended by Dreher's assertion only goes to demonstrate his point. Judeo-Christian morality is out of fashion in America. Dreher isn't happy about this but his main problem is with the church.

At it's core, Dreher's book is a call for the church to start being the church. The church is to be in the world not of the world according to St. Paul. But Dreher thinks the church has compromised. Instead of a counter-cultural movement the church has become just another cultural artifact. Instead of being a light challenging the darkness around it, the church is asking the darkness what it wants and capitulating to it not just in behavior, but even in worship.

Is Dreher right? Well, I am old enough to remember when the church I am a part of did look significantly different from the world. I was not like my classmates in school and I was painfully aware of that. But it was good. Kids didn't reject me and I knew clearly who I was.

If you go back another generation you can hear stories of the church supporting people in the depression. I hear stories like that of my Grandpa who cut his house in half - yes literally - so his brother who was immigrating could have a good start in America. I hear stories about people for whom personal happiness was secondary to living a life centered around love of God and neighbor.

Is Dreher right? At the very least he's not completely wrong in his analysis of the church. Could it be that what is really going on is, as one article suggests, that American Christians are just afraid of actually sacrificing cultural conformity and acceptance for the call to conform to their true identity in Christ? 

Lord, If you had been here.....

Three times this past month I have heard the story of the raising of Lazarus (John 11). Each preacher has offered a different angle on this story and each one has opened the Word of God in this text for me so that I have heard what I don’t recall hearing before. This, of course, is part of the miracle of preaching.

It is hard to hear this text repeatedly however and not wonder about a few things. First, although I know the end of the story, and I know Jesus’ stated reasons for not heading to Bethany straight away to heal Lazarus, the characters in the story don’t know anything of what I know. And the characters that intrigue me most are Mary and Martha.

They send for Jesus to come and heal their brother. The text says that Jesus loves them. Then the English version I am looking at today then says this: “So, when he heard Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was.” What a strange verse! If I put it into my own terms it sounds something like this: ‘So, when she heard that her child was ill, she stayed away.’ It makes no sense.  Even his disciples can’t make sense of what he is doing. The next thing we are told is that Lazarus has died.

So the second thing I wonder about is his arrival in Bethany. Twice we hear this line: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” First from Martha’s lips (v. 21) and then from Mary’s (v. 32).

I read the words so easily. But the simple sentence belies the painful reality. It is likely the words sounded much more like this: Martha or Mary sobbing…Lord….more sobbing….if you had been here….more sobbing, grabbing Jesus’ robe…..my brother….choking back more sobs….would not have died…..completely breaking down.

I can imagine this, because at a certain level I have lived this. More than twenty years ago now, I received a phone call early in the morning that my older sister had died. This was completely out of the blue. Unlike Lazarus, she had not been ill. In fact, she had gotten married just four months earlier. She apparently had suffered a major seizure at home while her new husband was at work. He came home and found her dead.

When the shock finally wore off, my question was a variation of Mary and Martha’s. “Lord where were you? You could have saved her, couldn’t you?”

I heard lots of answers from lots of people. None of them mattered. In fact, I could find a hole in every reason people attempted to give me for my sister’s death. It made no sense to me and most of the time it still doesn’t. Like Martha, I could say I believe in the resurrection of the body. But like Martha, I wanted her back – then and there.

Ultimately, I had to learn to hear and believe those astounding words of Jesus. “I am the resurrection and the life.” Gradually I came to understand that this was no idle promise. This claim was the reality that interprets all other realities. If I couldn’t embrace this claim – that Jesus is life, the very embodiment of life – then as Paul writes, my faith was in vain.

In an age where salvation is under constant threat of being watered down to public activism, there is nothing more important than remembering this core of the Christian faith. Christian conceptions of salvation cannot be wrested from the necessarily eschatological framework in which the Christian faith is embedded. The promises are ours now, but await a future time for their fulfillment. As long as we live between Good Friday and Easter, we live as people of hope, longing for the day when our faith will be sight.

In memory of Judith Rae DeJong-Clousing

Who Is My Neighbor?

This has been a discouraging few months as far as politics goes. First there was the campaign. Clearly civility is not a priority in the U.S. Then there was the election. I still find the outcome difficult to believe. Then there was the post-election reaction. More incivility. With excuses. Now, several weeks into the new administration, my disappointment continues on many levels.

My biggest disappointment throughout all of this, however, is with the Christian community.

It has been hard for me to understand how Christians could support a man who so clearly did not affirm anything vaguely resembling the historic Christian faith and whose treatment of others seems to be at odds with the basic teachings of our faith. I have heard a variety of reasons by now but remain unconvinced that supporting such a person was the best option.

But I have been almost as puzzled by Christians who seem to find it ok not just to disagree with those who support the current administration, but also to attack and demean those with whom they disagree through everything from name-calling to condescending attitudes.

This past Sunday our pastor preached about the Good Samaritan. The expert in the law asks Jesus “who is my neighbor?” Jesus offers a story about a man who gets attacked on the dangerous road from Jerusalem to Jericho. A priest and Levite walk by without helping. Some time later a Samaritan stops to help.

Jesus then turns the question back to the expert in the law – so who was a neighbor to this man? The Samaritan. Hmmm….a problematic answer for the legal expert who by nature and nurture would hate the Samaritan. Go and do likewise, Jesus tells him.

While there are as many ways to interpret this parable as there are theologians to weigh in, it seems quite clear that at the very least our neighbor is someone in need, and someone we might have to take a risk to help. If we look at this parable in the context of Jesus’ teaching overall, the neighbor might also be an enemy given that we are to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us (Matt. 5:44).

So the answer to who is my neighbor turns out to be rather surprising. In fact, it turns out to be everyone, even those who disagree with us, wish to harm us, and hate us.

Given this, what does it look like to love that “uneducated white male” who seems to be the brunt of jokes, criticism, and general dislike?

Or what about that “coastal liberal” or “educated elite?”

Or how about the “evangelical soccer mom?”

Or the African-American? Or Muslim? Or Hispanic?

Perhaps one place to begin loving our enemy is to stop posting demeaning statements about groups of people on Facebook, Twitter, or some other impersonal form of communication and find someone within the group you are sure you know so much about and TALK TO THEM! Listen to their story. Listen to their fears. Listen to their hopes and dreams for themselves, their kids, their grandkids, and the people they love. If possible, share your story with them so they hear the same from you.

Pray for them, as Jesus commanded. Seek their welfare.

Listen with a critical ear to your favorite news sources. Recently, when the news was reporting on a person quite well known to many in our area it became apparent how much even my most trusted news sources get wrong. If they could not get even the simple personal facts about someone correct, facts that were widely available, what else might they be overlooking in their effort to get the latest news to the public? It’s a question worth asking in part because how you listen to the news affects how you love your neighbor.

Loving your neighbor is not an option. Even the neighbor who is your enemy. How, in this contentious time in history, will Christians make themselves known by their love?

Flourishing

Flourishing: growing or developing successfully

(from dictionary.cambridge.org/us/dictionary/english/flourish)

Theologically, it conjures up thoughts of the biblical notion of shalom, that blessed state of living in the presence of God that results from living righteously and doing justice. Psalm 1 offers of picture of this life showing the righteous one flourishing like a tree planted by streams of water.

In my circles, this word – flourishing – is thrown around often, so often in fact that it has lost most of its biblical connotations. Most often, it is not associated with joy, that deep-seated peace that passes all understanding that comes from fellowship with God and neighbor. Nor does it sound the least bit eschatological which is the biblical thrust of the idea. Often it has to do with one’s vocation. And most of the time it sounds more like a question of one’s temporal happiness than a biblical vision of flourishing.

As I travelled up to rural northern Michigan this past Thursday I couldn’t help but wonder how many of the rural poor, most not educated beyond high school or trade school, have the luxury to wonder if they are flourishing in their careers, working in their “sweet spot” as one person called it. And I wondered if this is not one more example of the sort of thinking that divides America between the educated or coastal “elite” and the rest.

Many of these people are those who clean my hotel room, serve me food, and check me out at the grocery store. They make the parts that go in my car and computer, those that have not been outsourced that is. They deliver the packages containing my online purchases. They work third shift and are generally paid overtime for working more than forty hours. Likewise, if there is not enough work in a week, they work less than forty hours and get paid less. In general, their lives, especially economically, have considerably more uncertainty than the lives of myself or my highly educated peers.

Some of these folks would tell you they would prefer to do something other than what they are doing to make a living. Some would simply shrug if you asked and say, ‘well, it’s a job.’ Talking about a ‘sweet spot’ or flourishing in their work would sound like nonsense. They are thankful they have a job at all.

Are they happy? Probably no more or less so than those of us who spend our time discussing whether a potential employee will be working in her sweet spot.  

What’s my point? It is that while those of us with advanced degrees, particularly those of us in the academic world, sit around and discuss whether or not we are flourishing in our work, most of the rest of society simply goes to work. They do their jobs without thought of recognition, or awards, and certainly not with any thought to whether they are flourishing or not. Mostly, they hope that they will continue to have a job to do so that they can provide for themselves and their families.

Does this mean that we shouldn’t discuss vocational flourishing? Well….no. It is a worthwhile topic.

However, we seem to assume that flourishing means feeling good and being happy. That is certainly the case from an eschatological perspective. But exactly how that comports with one’s current vocation is not all that clear. What is clear biblically, is that to follow God’s call on one’s life is no easy task. Take a look at the prophets who were called by God to their task or what Hebrews 11 says about those prophets.

And take a look at what Jesus says about following him - our primary vocation. He talks about taking up crosses, suffering, and counting the cost. The trick in all of this seems to be flourishing in spite of one’s calling, not necessarily because of it. At least in this life. It is living out our lives before the face of God. That sort of life flourishes even in adversity.

Now What?

Christmas is over. The presents are unwrapped, the wrapping paper thrown away or recycled, the family and guests have all gone home. We have even passed Epiphany, the commemoration of the wise men arriving to worship Jesus.

If you are like me, sometime in the past week or so you began taking down the Christmas decorations, packing them carefully away for next year. I hope to finish that up soon.

I happen to have several nativity sets that I put up every year. One is merely to look at. The other two are for children to play with. As I was putting the pieces away yesterday I of course came to the baby Jesus. For the past number of weeks, the focus of our devotions and worship has been on the incredible mystery of the incarnation – God taking on human flesh, that of a helpless infant no less.

And now, with all the celebrations over, I was packing up the baby Jesus until next year. That struck me as odd.

As I packed away the symbol I wondered about the person of Christ, now risen and seated at the right hand of the Father. What would I do with Jesus this year?

For that matter, how do I even know what to do with him? There seems to be a lot of confusion about this. You see, its fairly easy to worship the newborn king. The infant Jesus seems helpless and tame, his omni-attributes veiled beneath the chubby baby cheeks.

But what about the Jesus who rebukes evil spirits, tells the woman at the well to sin no more, and accuses his followers of being an “unbelieving and perverse generation”?

And what about the Jesus who instead of proclaiming peace on earth as our Christmas cards and carols proclaim, tells the people: “Do you think I came to bring peace on earth? No, I tell you, but division.”

Or how about the Jesus who reminds us that the cost of following him is rejection by the world? (Luke 9:23-24; John 15:18-19)

What will I do with all of Jesus – not just the warm and fuzzy parts – this year?

Advent Reflections, part 3

Last Sunday, the third Sunday of Advent, my pastor preached on Matthew 11 focusing in on verses 1-4. In this story, John the Baptist is in prison. We can suppose he has heard about the teaching and miracles of Jesus from his followers. These followers of John are in the crowd that day and they ask Jesus a question on behalf of John: “Are you the one who was to come, or should we expect someone else?”

My pastor reminded me that morning that just a few chapters earlier, John had been preaching in the desert “Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand.” He had also told his followers not to get too enthralled with his message because there was one coming after him whose sandal straps he was unworthy to untie. And of course, John baptized Jesus.

So why this question? Didn’t John know?

My pastor suggested that John’s circumstances made him doubt even what he had seen with his own eyes.

That not only made sense to me it also made John seem utterly human, a lot more like many of us than some spiritual giant. And isn’t that the case with many of the so-called giants in Scripture? Particularly the prophetic giants?

Just consider the first Elijah who, after courageously standing up to the prophets of Baal and watching the power of God soundly defeat them, descends into utter despair. Jezebel was not happy about the slaughter of her prophets and was out for blood. Elijah runs to the desert outside Beersheba, sits down under a broom tree, and tells God he is done, asking God to take his life.

Answering God’s call to speak God’s word and plead his cause to the people – the essence of prophecy – is hard work. It is generally thankless work. And discouragement lurks around the edges of this task waiting for the chance to pounce.

It’s easy to forget the mighty works and faithfulness of God in the past when you are sitting in a prison of discouragement. Hope can look more like a fairy tale.

Advent is a season that reminds us of God’s work in the world in the past, his continuing work today, and his promised faithfulness for the future.

God is King: Let the earth be glad!
Christ is victor: his rule has begun!
The Spirit is at work: creation is renewed!
Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!  (Contemporary Testimony, art. 2)

Advent Reflections, part 2

Yesterday in the mail I received the alumni magazine of my college alma mater. In addition to the usual sorts of articles, this particular issue included the distinguished alumni. These are indeed people who have done some pretty impressive things. But it got me thinking….

I wonder if Mary would have made the distinguished alumni list; or Joseph; or Jesus. Don’t get me wrong. I have no bone to pick with these sorts of honors. I have no doubt they are well-earned. My own institution does this yearly as well. I’m not sure how to get around such things.

Nonetheless, it is the case that Scripture consistently points out the honor of those who are dishonored by societal standards. It consistently urges us to take notice not of the strong, but of the weak and marginalized. We are prompted to consider those who the world would never consider; who will not make the pages of Forbes or U.S. News; who may not be known by anyone other than those closest to them.

It may have been the juxtaposition of receiving this alumni news with sharing dinner with three of my closest friends last night that prompted my thinking about this. None of the three will ever get an award. But all three are more than award worthy.

All three spent a good portion of their lives as homemakers, making sure their homes ran well, tending to the children and their needs, giving others a place to be welcomed. One invested herself in a profoundly handicapped child, working eventually to begin a home for other children whose parents were now aging and finding it difficult to care for these special-needs kids. One has served her four children tirelessly, making sure they had the education and opportunities that she longed for but did not have access to. One recently gave up the peace and quiet of the empty nest to take on a needy teenager whose adoptive family treated her more like an indentured servant than a beloved daughter. This child’s grades have gone from D’s last spring to A’s and B’s this fall. But not without a lot of effort. All have been fully invested in their churches.

None of them had high-powered careers although all were fully capable. And none of them resent that they poured their lives into their church and family in place of such a career, although they could.

As I read about those who were marked out as distinguished and thought about my friends, it seemed to me that their lives look much more like the lives of Mary than most of those we typically call attention to. And like Mary, I think that God regards these women as ‘highly favored,’ perhaps because their work here on earth goes unnoticed by most.

Advent Reflection

This past weekend, wedged between the hype and indulgence of Black Friday and Cyber Monday, the first Sunday of Advent quietly arrived.

The days surrounding this Sunday and the Sunday itself have at least one similarity: all are forward-looking, steeped in anticipation. But that is where the similarities end.

The consumer holidays look forward to increasing the amount of stuff we or others have purportedly to increase one’s happiness quotient. Advent looks forward to the coming of Christ, the only one whose coming will deliver true happiness once and for all.

The consumer holidays look forward to parties and food and family gathered together in all of their imperfect relationships. Advent looks forward to the wedding feast with the Lamb, the ultimate party where broken relationships will finally be healed.

The consumer holidays look forward to symbols of abundant life that moths and rust most surely will destroy at some point. Advent looks forward to the abundant life promised by God that nothing – not even death – can destroy. In fact, Advent points us forward to the day when death itself will be destroyed.

After an election year filled with strife, where insults and promises filled the air, Advent reminds us yet again that the Prince of Peace came not with power and prestige and wealth, but as a tiny baby of unknown, poor parents. The promises of this Prince are the only truly trustworthy promises and they come to us in a power that is displayed as weakness.

God – the Creator and Sustainer of all there is – taking on human flesh, indeed that of a baby born of a woman just like you and I. The great theological reflections of Chalcedon barely scratch the surface of this mystery.

And so we enter this season once again. Filled with hope we pray “O come O come Emmanuel.” Indeed, come quickly.

5,539 Miles

13 days, 13 states, 5,539 miles, Hoover Dam, 3 National Parks, and 1 wedding with family = an awesome vacation!

A few weeks ago, on the day we returned, I posted this line on my Facebook page. I’m still high on the trip my husband and I took. We drove and camped our way to California, stopping along the way at a few places we had not been before and revisiting others.

We are not landscape snobs. Our family has generally driven cross-country to our destination. We have learned to ignore people’s remarks about places like Iowa, Nebraska, and the Dakotas. We have camped in all of those places, stopped along the road, and found that if one takes a little time in this “fly-over zone,” there is much to be appreciated. Each area of the country has its own peculiar beauty.

I admit that we were not exactly thrilled with the idea of driving through Nevada on our way home. But it turns out that beginning with the peculiar salt formations at Mono Lake all the way up to the northeast corner where it meets Utah, Nevada is a strangely beautiful place.

I am also not particularly fond of the dry southwest. I brought plenty of lotion on this trip! But there too, the stunning colors that layer the land and the odd vegetation that is able to survive there have a beauty that is unmatched.

It is not uncommon to hear people quote Psalm 19 when thinking about the creation: “The heavens declare the glory of God.” Or Psalm 8: “When I consider the heavens, the moon and the stars that you put in place, what is mankind that you are mindful of them?” The direction of the gaze is always up.

But while the night sky at Homolovi State Park and Death Valley National Park was stunning, so were the rocks, one of which is represented below.

If we did not praise God for the beauty of this world and his glory that was so evident in every place we traveled, I am certain that the very rocks would cry out, as Jesus indicated at his triumphal entry into Jerusalem.

O Lord our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth.

Just Kidding

So, just in case you were all excited about my move to the WordPress address and format that I mentioned in my last post, I have decided to put that off for a while. 

It turns out that it is difficult for folks to get notices that I have posted. I am also not familiar enough with the mechanics of the pages to have it work the way I would like it to. I have to ask a colleague to help with background and other issues.

In other words, for now, I am remaining here so any of you who follow (I know there are a few) can continue to get notices when I write. I do plan to put up two recent posts in the next day or two. 

Thanks for hanging in there with me as I explore other options. For now, the more familiar is better for me. If I change my mind again, I will let you know :)

Moving Domains

Dear Friends,

You may have noticed over the past year that I have not posted as regularly to this blog as I once did. I have struggled with finding the time to keep this up with my other responsibilities. After discussing this with several of my colleagues, I have decided to try again rather than give up. To that end, my technical support person at Calvin Seminary has advised that I move this blog to a different format. I anticipate making that move within the next week and to begin writing regularly again.

I hope to not only comment on various theological topics that seem timely, but also to begin to include a few more personal anecdotes and stories  (some of which I have done in the past), and maybe even some practical ideas related to life in general, as the title suggests.

Thank you for reading this over the past number of years. I do hope you will sign up to continue to read my thoughts, comment on what I am sharing, and wonder together with me about Life, God, and Other Mysteries.

My new site (which is in the final stages of construction) is lifegodmysteries.com.

Thanks again!

Mary

Let Everything Praise the Lord

This past weekend my husband and I were treated to a visit to the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago thanks to my daughter and her husband. The highlight was the National Parks movie that was playing at the Omnimax theater.

Over the years, our family has visited and camped at many of our National Parks so many of the scenes were familiar to us. We enjoy being outdoors and love the quiet beauty of hiking and camping in the various parks. Although our love for the outdoors began with the mountains, we have come to enjoy the variety of landscapes, wildlife, and vistas that different regions and habitats offer. Personally I would have a very hard time identifying one particular park as my favorite. The swampy Everglades have very little in common with the semi-arid Badlands or the snowy heights of Glacier, but each has its own beauty and wonder.

As the movie began in this museum that celebrates human curiosity and achievement, I quickly recognized the instrumental music as Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah. As scenes of parks like the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone, and Yosemite swept by in this gigantic domed theater, my emotions overwhelmed me. It was as if I was witnessing the words of Psalm 148, a psalm that calls the entire creation to praise the LORD.

 

And this is as it should be. In a setting where it was likely that if they knew the word at all the majority of persons considered ‘hallelujah’ as merely an expression of joy, the creation itself seemed to pick up what those made in the image of the Creator were unable to do saying “praise the LORD.”  On this Palm Sunday weekend, it was as if the very rocks were crying out.

Cloudy Days

Living in the Northern part of the United States near the west shore of a Great Lake can be rather depressing this time of year. Those inland seas, as they have been called, affect our weather yielding a disproportionate number of cloudy days. Add to that the fact that we are on the west edge of the Eastern time zone, and sometimes it feels like somewhere around early December we descend into darkness until sometime close to May.

My sister’s family lives in Colorado; my brother’s in California. They rarely experience cloudy days. And in the darkness of January and February I often envy them. I don’t envy the weather, mind you. I love four distinct seasons where each moves relatively smoothly from one to the next. But I do envy their sunshine.

The past two days have been those rare but delightful days where the sky was blue and the temperature was spring-like. The first of this two-day run I s delighted. Ah…..sunshine! Yesterday I was nearly giddy. But as I anticipate the cold and clouds returning I couldn’t help remembering spending two weeks in the southwest some years ago.

We were camping, enjoying the vistas that an arid and mountainous climate offer. But sometime after the first week, I found myself getting up in the morning and wishing for clouds. The monotony of the piercingly hot sun, cloudless blue sky, dry dirt, and coniferous trees was beginning to wear on me. As I think back, in some ways the monotony of the dry, hot sun was as bad as the monotony of clouds.

I was reading about Julian of Norwich yesterday in a fascinating new book called Christological Anthropology by Marc Cortez, a theologian at Wheaton College. I have not read her myself but Cortez does a fabulous job outlining her ideas.

One thing that Julian apparently speculates about is the origin of sin. She wonders why God would allow his first creatures to sin and the pristine world to devolve into its current state of misery. She doesn’t really come to a firm answer.

But I wonder along with many others throughout history whether human free agents need to experience misery to fully appreciate glory. If God had not allowed the possibility for sin, could we really have understood the gift a relationship with God offers us?

It’s a little like living in a sunny climate, I think. If you never experience ongoing clouds and darkness, do you really appreciate the sun?

Mystery

In my profession, and in the academic world more generally, there is nothing that is more important than careful thinking. Clear thinking. Sound thinking. Reason. We like our ideas lined up, put in rows, fit together neatly like a good puzzle. We like systems with ones and zeros that always lead to the same end.

 In fact, if you hang around folks like me long enough you could easily come to the conclusion that there is no greater sin than a refusal or inability to think. A well-reasoned blasphemy may well be more respected than a poorly reasoned statement of faith. After all, aren’t we to love God with our minds?

My own Reformed tradition is perhaps especially plagued by this reasoned snobbery. When Mark Noll published his book, The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind, with the conclusion that the scandal was that there was no evangelical mind, many in my circles chortled with laughter, winking and nodding in the agreement that of course, this was something they had known all along and was clearly unfortunate.

Unfortunately, these same people never stopped to consider whether their own emphasis on intellect and reason wasn’t equally problematic. Tim Keller says that an idol is a good thing that has become an ultimate thing. I wonder if that is what has happened in my profession – that we have taken a good thing and made it an ultimate thing.

One of my favorite authors when I was a child and even today is Madeleine L’Engle. She has a wonderful way of pondering, asking questions, and imagining that goes beyond reason. She appreciates mystery and paradox. She isn’t afraid of unanswered questions.

I wonder if L’Engle is closer to the vision of Christian scholarship than most of us involved in it. I wonder if being a Christian scholar isn’t really something like an invitation to study what’s in front of us, whether biology or theology, in a context where mystery and paradox and humility are central categories, not fall-back positions.

In a brief verse about the season of Advent and the incarnation L’Engle writes:

            This is the irrational season

            When love blooms bright and wild.

            Had Mary been filled with reason

            There’d have been no room for the child.

Indeed.

Sermon in a Department Store

Last week my daughter and I were standing at the cosmetic counter at a major department store in the greater Chicago area. The person helping us brought me my mascara and I handed him a coupon that I had received in the mail for a free product. He apologized that he could not accept the coupon because it had expired. No big deal, I told him, as I laughed at myself for not seeing the date.

He then told me, pointing to the huge poster behind him, that the next promotion would be of their new anti-aging product. Was I interested, he wanted to know? It was “guaranteed” to reduce wrinkles. I told him I had actually received a coupon for that product in the mail as well but really was not interested. Given my age, it was a little late to prevent wrinkles, I said, and I really don’t mind looking my age. Besides, I went on, it wasn’t worth the approximately $75 per month it would take to keep up with the stuff once the free sample was gone. No, I said, I would pass.

He smiled kindly at me, and then my daughter spoke.

 “We shouldn’t try to defy age,” she said, “we should celebrate it.” The young man paused. I’m guessing he was surprised. You see, my daughter is a beautiful young woman who tends to catch the eye of any young man within 50 yards of her.

A statement like that coming from someone like her was not what he expected.

She went on. “Age is a gift,” she said. “Not everyone receives that gift. If I am given the gift of age, I want to celebrate it not hide it. The lines around my mouth and the wrinkles by my eyes will remind me of the many times I smiled or laughed at a good joke with friends or family, or of my laughter at the antics of someone I loved, maybe a child. 

My frown lines will remind me of those times I worried about my husband getting home safely or a child’s difficulty in school, or my own struggles in grad school or with friends. The wrinkles on my forehead will remind me of the surprises in my life.”

Like the young man, I was captivated.

As she continued I heard wisdom. Wisdom that many of us don’t figure out until much later in life. Wisdom that marketers ignore and try to override in their youth-driven advertising.

The young man nodded and voiced his agreement. My guess is that in his fairly short life, he had never heard someone suggest that the processes of aging are good. Frankly, I have not heard that message much either. But my daughter is right. Age is a gift. Let’s start celebrating!

Christmas Memories

Today is Epiphany. Advent is officially over and the church moves into the season of Epiphany (or ordinary time depending on who you ask).

Although I have not begun to take down my Christmas decorations yet, it will be, as it is every year, something of a ritual. I will begin with the tree, then the mantel, etc. Somewhere near the end of my yearly practice I will pack up the Christmas cards we received. People used to send them every year but recently, with the coming of FaceBook and other such things, I find that the total cards received continues to diminish.

I miss those real paper hold-in-your-hand cards. I know posting a greeting on Facebook is faster and more efficient, but it also isn’t quite the same as the card and yearly updates we used to receive from most of our friends. They were generally more honest and more comprehensive as well.

One reason I love my cards – and still send them – is that they offer a tangible reminder of our loved ones versus several hundred “likes” on FB. We still make a practice of praying for the family or individual from whom we receive a Christmas card at dinner on the day we receive it. Its hard to do that with the mass of posted photos on FB.

I also save our Christmas cards from one year to the next. As I prepare to send out my own cards for the year, I look through the cards from the previous year. Sometimes, the card I hold is the last card I received from that person because in the intervening year, that person went to be with the Lord. Those cards are the most special to me and I keep them, remembering the person that sent the card each year. I suppose I will keep them for as long as I continue this tradition.

So I have the last Christmas card I received from a good friend, from my sister, from a beloved aunt, to name a few. Facebook greetings just can’t replace that.

In addition, as I put each card into the box where I save them until the next year, I say a prayer for the person once more. I pray that the coming year will indeed be happy for them and their loved ones.

I’m sure it is possible to adapt my practices to social media in some way. But I don’t know how. And maybe this old dog just doesn’t want to learn that new trick. Maybe I will just keep sending old fashioned Christmas cards, made of paper, sent with a stamp. And maybe some folks will keep sending them to me as well.

Thin Place in the Nursing Home

South central Iowa is the home of my people. By that I mean that both my mother and my father were raised there. Although we moved quite often and always lived some distance from the area that they called home, we visited nearly every year. As a result, that area of the country became something like home for me as well.

I looked forward to being back in Iowa most summers. And when we lived in Omaha, we were able to spend Christmas with our relatives as well. I didn’t have many cousins my age, but it didn’t matter. When we visited we were treated like royalty. Many of my uncles and aunts farmed.  For a city kid, doing some simple chores like gathering eggs or ‘helping’ in some other way was a treat. The only thing better was chasing fireflies on hot Iowa nights while the adults talked, and then having an older cousin make a firefly ring for me. If you don’t know what that is, you probably shouldn’t ask.

A few weeks ago, my husband and I had the privilege of being in Iowa again for a wedding. My elderly parents rode with us. He and I would likely make the 7 hour trip with only a quick stop for gas. But my parents needed a little longer break so we stopped for gas and a sit-down meal, joking that we had to “walk the parents.” They thought that was funny too.

Going to Iowa with my parents is fun. They point out landmarks and memories that we would not know to look for. They showed us where my dear Uncle James and Aunt Nelly are buried – a small, out of the way country cemetery. They pointed out where the old school house used to stand near my Grandpa’s farm. In short, they helped me remember things I had long since forgotten.

And that in itself is interesting because my Dad has dementia. There is not much he remembers these days. But he remembered ‘home.’ At least to some extent.

The most precious moment of the trip however was not what I expected. I expected it to be the wedding which was very precious. I couldn’t get through it without tears. But the most precious time was watching my Dad with his brother.

Dad’s brother, Uncle Hank, lives in a nursing home. It is actually a beautiful place. Very clean. Nicely kept. No smells. He is 92 years old and while he is quite deaf, his mind is still fairly sharp, unlike my Dad’s.

My mom had to wake my uncle up from a nap. Perhaps because he was still groggy, or perhaps because he didn’t expect to see my Dad and Mom in Iowa, he did not immediately recognize my Dad. But that was only for a minute. Soon he and Dad were chatting away and Dad looked like Dad before dementia.

The rest of us left them alone to enjoy each other’s company. After about ½ hour, it was time for us to leave. We re-entered the room where they sat and told them it was time to go. My Dad got up and turned to Uncle Hank to say good-bye. Uncle Hank held out his hand to my Dad and tenderly said to his younger brother, “the Lord bless you, Wilbur.” Still holding my uncle’s hand my Dad said, “the Lord bless you too, Hank.”

It was as if the world stopped at that moment. I felt like I had witnessed something that went beyond words. Two old men, both deeply committed Christians, saying good-bye, perhaps realizing that they may not see each other again in the flesh.  And rather than saying good-bye, or even ‘I love you’ – words so often used tritely nowadays – they bless each other.

The Celts speak of ‘thin places,’ places where the veil between heaven and earth becomes penetrable, and one can glimpse of glory of God. That little room in the nursing home on that cold November day was such a place. And I had been blessed to see it.

Re-entry

I have not written for some time. I guess that’s because I have been largely put off by blogs in general. I have wondered whether this is the best way to communicate and wonder aloud about issues related to faith, issues that are at times controversial.

The lack of civility in the blogosphere disturbs me. Dialog cannot happen when our first reaction to any idea other than our own is to attack. I was unwilling to continue to contribute to that culture of attack, in part because I see my own susceptibility to attack first and listen later, and in part because I think there is nothing less Christian than beating up on those whose opinions differ from ours.

Nonetheless, there is also a part of me that loves to ‘think in print.’ It helps me work through my ideas and reach a tentative conclusion. So I am going to try again with some clarifications about how I think.

Civility is important to me. I think it should be important to everyone. I have learned the most about civility from two of my colleagues who participate regularly in ecumenical dialog, specifically the Reformed-Roman Catholic dialogs. So my first re-entry blog is an attempt to describe civility, although excellent books have been written on this topic including Stephen Carter’s book, Civility and Richard Mouw’s Uncommon Decency.

Culture in general seems to think of civility as something like being nice. Christians fall into this same trap. Being nice, for many Christians, is to not make judgments, to not suggest that there is such a thing as truth and that we can know it, at least in part, and to not challenge someone’s belief system. It means that I cannot call something morally right or wrong because that could hurt your feelings and that I also cannot call some particular way of thinking the best interpretation because that would imply that your interpretation is not equally valid. Christian Smith gets a wonderful hold on all of this in his study of religious trends entitled Soul Searching.

Civility as niceness is not civility. True civility means that I have listened carefully to your ideas. I have weighed them based on criteria beyond my own feelings about the matter and I have found them wanting. It is to respect your process of thinking through some particular idea or issue and choosing to disagree with you. In fact, respect for the other as a person who is capable of thinking through issues using the same basic data that I am using is at the heart of civility.

When I respect your ideas, it does not mean I agree with you.Lack of agreement is not the same as attacking. Civility looks for points of commonality with you while remaining convicted that the conclusions I have reached are not substantially mistaken.

From a Christian perspective, particularly where doctrine and morality are concerned, it is not to think alone, but to think in the context of the Christian faith handed down through the ages, presumably guided by the Holy Spirit. It is to think with the church catholic. For more on this see the book Reformed Catholicity. Christian thinking should never be done in isolation or apart from the history of the Spirit’s work in the church.

Civil discourse does not call names, vilify, or point fingers. It simply points out errors in thinking while asserting a different point of view.

The best example of civility that is readily accessible are David Brooks and Mark Shields who are part of the PBS Newshour wrap up on Friday evenings. They stand on opposite sides of the political divide in America, yet dialog with grace and in a way that does not further polarize an issue but informs those watching.

So I will be writing with Brooks and Shields in mind. Daring to put out ideas now and again that oppose someone else, but doing so with a civil tone.