As if I had nothing else to do this week of Christmas, I have devoted a great deal of time on this issue -- and have never done anything that has drawn so much attention, and so much fire. I've given interviews for about a dozen media outlets, and was contacted by the Keith Olbermann show on Current TV... Here's my synopsis of the events of Tuesday. I welcome your comments.
I spent most of my day Tuesday wrapped up in the delivery of a box of signed petitions to the headquarters of Lowe’s, Inc. As a representative of Mecklenburg Ministries, I was part of a 5-member clergy delegation who visited Mooresville, signatures in hand. The signatures were from six organizations around the country and ended in my hands through some cyber-miracle and laser printing. The signatures represented petitions protesting Lowe’s decision to withdraw advertising from the show “All-American Muslim,” and asked Lowe’s executives to reconsider their decision.
If I have a “soap box” it’s that we have lost the ability to communicate in this country. No one listens. We’re just obsessed with talking points. And lobbing grenades toward the other side. So, we didn’t know what to expect from Lowe’s. They didn’t know what to expect from us. But both parties were pleased.
I’m not afraid of differing viewpoints, nor even of ideas I consider wrong-headed. I am afraid of the future of a nation that cannot dialogue. But in a second-floor conference room at the Lowe’s headquarters in Mooresville, NC, dialogue happened. They talked, and we listened. We talked, and they listened. In the end, we didn’t necessarily agree – but we walked out understanding one another’s positions, with a real sense of respect and trust, and with hope for the future. Chalk one up for dialogue.
The dialogue was healthy and respectful. We delivered a message from 200,000 Americans, frustrated that Lowe’s had made a decision that seemed biased against the Muslim American community. Baptists, like all true Americans, have always stood for religious freedom (our nation was founded on this principle, and so were Baptists), so as a Baptist minister I stand against any decision discriminating against any religion. And as a Baptist minister with Muslim friends who are All-American: hard-working and honest, peace-loving and God-fearing, who have the same dreams for their children and the same hopes for our country – and who hold as central many of the same religious imperatives that I do, I was sorry to hear of one more event that further divided us.
In that board room, though, four executives told us that the decision was not based on intolerance or discrimination, and it was made before they ever heard from the Florida group that has now taken credit for pressuring Lowe’s into withdrawing its ad. Lowe’s has an impressive policy and record regarding diversity and holds commitments to pluralism, tolerance, and respect. The decision to pull their advertising was made as all of them are made – based on the rules governing advertising decisions. This was just a business decision. The wisdom of advertising experts and the numbers influenced the decision. They make these decisions, based on these same rules, every day. I trust that report. Dialogue will do that for you. And I understand making business decisions. Our country was also founded on this principle.
So, as a Baptist minister I support my All-American Muslim friends, and sympathize with their frustration, feeling once again stereotyped and alienated, and I support my new friends at Lowe’s (who should be old friends by now, given the money I’ve spent there in a decade!), and I sympathize with the predicament they are in, being a company founded on values such as diversity and integrity, yet embroiled in controversy over a business decision.
We went to Mooresville because we thought this was a teachable moment for all. The clergy learned the perennial lesson that things are not always as they seem, that people should listen more carefully, be sure of the facts, before they speak. It’s not my place to assume what Lowe’s learned, though they freely admitted they made errors in this, and wish they had done things differently. But perhaps there is a lesson for us all in being aware that the bottom line shouldn’t always be the bottom line, and a reminder that real people often get caught in the wake that business decisions always leave. Life is about relationships. And no business decision can ever guarantee a real relationship.
We’ve got to have dialogue for that.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Nothing Has Changed About Israel. Except Everything.
This was my first post from Israel during my recent visit.
r
I was here 26 years ago and everything is the same. Nothing has changed in 2,000 years, in fact. Except, well... everything...
Let me back up. I'm in Israel, sitting at a computer in the library of the Scots Hotel, St. Andrews Galilee. The window in front of me overlooks the Sea of Galilee. In the morning the sunrise is spectacular (not that I've actually seen the sun, actually rise), but the water glimmers as daylight breaks over the Golan Heights, visible on the eastern shore. After a fabulous breakfast we board the bus and head out. Our Palestinian Christian guide, Claudia ("cloud-ia"), who was raised in Germany and has a Jewish husband and two beautiful Hebrew-speaking, Palestinian-Roman-Catholic children, is our guide. As that last sentence might hint, her insight is fascinating. She speaks as we drive... Kafer Nahum (Capernaum), the Mount of Beatitudes, the traditional sight of the feeding of the 5,000 and the site of Jesus' breakfast with his disciples (on the shore of the Sea following his resurrection), Magdala (home of Mary Magdalene), the Jordan River, Nazareth (the cave which was Mary's home and the spring where she undoubtedly drew water)... So far...
26 years ago I saw many of these same "traditional" sites. Archaeologists and biblical scholars recognize that many of the sites hardly even purport to be authentic locations – it was not until the conversion of Constantine in the 4th century (and especially the "Holy Land" pilgrimage which his mother, Helena, took) that these sites began to be venerated. But for the 16 centuries since, churches have marked virtually every miracle, every significant moment in Jesus' ministry, and Christian pilgrims have visited these sites, paying homage, saying prayers, making commitments, reflecting... wondering... doubting... genuflecting... offering the whole range of spiritual responses you might expect to come when you stand in the shadow of such (sometimes gaudy) edifices, built on some "holy ground." Nothing has changed. And for 26 years one of the lasting impressions left me not remembering a trip to the "Holy Land," but remembering a quite unholy place – a land marked by bitter divisions, between warring factions of Jews and Christians and Muslims (and warring factions within each of those religions, themselves), and the trinkety excesses that commercialism has made of some of the sites. (You should just see "baptismland," as one of my traveling companions dubbed the amusement park which honors Jesus' baptism by John! And I'm sorry that we couldn't stop at the "First Miracle Souvenir and Wine Shop" in Cana – I was hoping they might actually have one final bottle of that original wedding wine left on a shelf – just for me!) No, it hasn't changed. In 26 years. Or in 2,000...
But I have.
Strange, you know... with the journey that has been my life since 1985, I approach Israel much less devotional in my piety than when I traveled here as an enthusiastic, ministry-bound college junior. I would have expected to have trembled with more excitement, "walking today where Jesus walked," 26 years ago. But even looking at the whole world with a more critical eye, a product of what scholars have called a "hermeneutic of suspicion" (come on, did this really happen...), as the pastor of a progressive church and one who now possesses a distinctly interpretive understanding of scripture (I read virtually none of it now as "just black and white")... I stood in the excavated town of Capernaum, which the gospels say became Jesus' hometown during his ministry in Galilee, walked in and out of the synagogue which he undoubtedly knew, stood over the site which even skeptical archaeologists agree may very well have been the actual home of Peter... and I had a sense of the old song, which betrayed me 26 years ago: "I walked today where Jesus walked – and felt his presence there."
All I can tell you is that my experience is common with millions who have sought to follow that strange and challenging and life-changing "man of Galilee." What I need most is precisely what he gives me – when I need it.
The land is the same. So are the sites. And so is Jesus, after all this time. Strangely, though, I've only been here four days, and think I'll be coming home changed.
That's still my prayer...
r
I was here 26 years ago and everything is the same. Nothing has changed in 2,000 years, in fact. Except, well... everything...
Let me back up. I'm in Israel, sitting at a computer in the library of the Scots Hotel, St. Andrews Galilee. The window in front of me overlooks the Sea of Galilee. In the morning the sunrise is spectacular (not that I've actually seen the sun, actually rise), but the water glimmers as daylight breaks over the Golan Heights, visible on the eastern shore. After a fabulous breakfast we board the bus and head out. Our Palestinian Christian guide, Claudia ("cloud-ia"), who was raised in Germany and has a Jewish husband and two beautiful Hebrew-speaking, Palestinian-Roman-Catholic children, is our guide. As that last sentence might hint, her insight is fascinating. She speaks as we drive... Kafer Nahum (Capernaum), the Mount of Beatitudes, the traditional sight of the feeding of the 5,000 and the site of Jesus' breakfast with his disciples (on the shore of the Sea following his resurrection), Magdala (home of Mary Magdalene), the Jordan River, Nazareth (the cave which was Mary's home and the spring where she undoubtedly drew water)... So far...
26 years ago I saw many of these same "traditional" sites. Archaeologists and biblical scholars recognize that many of the sites hardly even purport to be authentic locations – it was not until the conversion of Constantine in the 4th century (and especially the "Holy Land" pilgrimage which his mother, Helena, took) that these sites began to be venerated. But for the 16 centuries since, churches have marked virtually every miracle, every significant moment in Jesus' ministry, and Christian pilgrims have visited these sites, paying homage, saying prayers, making commitments, reflecting... wondering... doubting... genuflecting... offering the whole range of spiritual responses you might expect to come when you stand in the shadow of such (sometimes gaudy) edifices, built on some "holy ground." Nothing has changed. And for 26 years one of the lasting impressions left me not remembering a trip to the "Holy Land," but remembering a quite unholy place – a land marked by bitter divisions, between warring factions of Jews and Christians and Muslims (and warring factions within each of those religions, themselves), and the trinkety excesses that commercialism has made of some of the sites. (You should just see "baptismland," as one of my traveling companions dubbed the amusement park which honors Jesus' baptism by John! And I'm sorry that we couldn't stop at the "First Miracle Souvenir and Wine Shop" in Cana – I was hoping they might actually have one final bottle of that original wedding wine left on a shelf – just for me!) No, it hasn't changed. In 26 years. Or in 2,000...
But I have.
Strange, you know... with the journey that has been my life since 1985, I approach Israel much less devotional in my piety than when I traveled here as an enthusiastic, ministry-bound college junior. I would have expected to have trembled with more excitement, "walking today where Jesus walked," 26 years ago. But even looking at the whole world with a more critical eye, a product of what scholars have called a "hermeneutic of suspicion" (come on, did this really happen...), as the pastor of a progressive church and one who now possesses a distinctly interpretive understanding of scripture (I read virtually none of it now as "just black and white")... I stood in the excavated town of Capernaum, which the gospels say became Jesus' hometown during his ministry in Galilee, walked in and out of the synagogue which he undoubtedly knew, stood over the site which even skeptical archaeologists agree may very well have been the actual home of Peter... and I had a sense of the old song, which betrayed me 26 years ago: "I walked today where Jesus walked – and felt his presence there."
All I can tell you is that my experience is common with millions who have sought to follow that strange and challenging and life-changing "man of Galilee." What I need most is precisely what he gives me – when I need it.
The land is the same. So are the sites. And so is Jesus, after all this time. Strangely, though, I've only been here four days, and think I'll be coming home changed.
That's still my prayer...
Learning to Pray in Jerusalem
I just returned from the Holy Land. This post comes from last week, a reflection I sent in for our church newsletter. Love to have your comments...
r
The Jews were "greeting the Sabbath Bride" at the Western Wall – which means something of a religious party at the world's most sacred Jewish site. Young men and old come to the wall to pray on Friday nights at sundown. Many are dressed in orthodox garb. The hats are a sight to behold, all shapes and sizes. All are wearing their fringes (which hang below their shirts), and many have "ear locks" (hair just in front of their ears that grows long, sometimes hanging down below their shoulders, twisted fashionably-religiously). Their praying takes many forms. Some stand quietly. Some approach the wall and place a hand on it. Some bend to kiss these ancient stones. Many practice prayer through '"davin" (bending at the waist, mildly or wildly). Some read from Hebrew prayer books. Many gather in circles and sing happy songs, laughing and dancing excitedly. (The women are there, too... only, on their side of the fence. I'm assuming their party looks about the same as the men's side.) It really is an amazing, beautiful, moving sight. Though this kind of Jewish worship is foreign to me, I was moved by the piety, the excitement, the reverence with which they approach this 2000-year-old retaining wall, which once supported the Temple. Last Friday night we stayed for more than an hour. We offered our own prayers and enjoyed the spectacle (I mean no disrespect by the word spectacle, but for our un-initiated eyes, it was something to see!) Several men walked by our small group, excitedly reaching out to embrace three American strangers, and offering "Shabbat, Shalom" (Sabbath peace). We returned the greeting with enthusiasm, and were impressed with their hospitality – being there for the "spectacle" and all – the enthusiasm for this weekly observance just seemed enough to overcome any offense they might have otherwise experienced.
When our small group of pastors re-convened outside the enclosed area of the plaza, we stood, viewing the whole panorama. It was a beautiful Jerusalem night. The moon was rising behind us over the stone structures in the old city. The lights on the Western Wall and the sights and sounds of that Sabbath prayer filled our senses – when high above that wall a new sound emerged. The Al Aksa mosque, the third holiest mosque for the world's Muslims, sits within a few hundred feet of the top of the Western wall – and from the mosque the call to prayer was wailing through the city. Here we stood, American, Christian pastors, experiencing the worship of God, now in two foreign languages, and the mix of that beautiful, nasal Arabic cry along with the hushed and shouted Hebrew prayers is a sound I will not soon forget. I can only imagine it pleases God's ears as well.
As we made our way back through the city, to the Notre Dame Center, our home for the week, as we attempted to enter one of the narrow intersections our progress was completely halted by the mass of Muslim pilgrims heeding the call of prayer, and making their way to the Temple mount, which contains the Al Aksa mosque and the Dome of the Rock (the spectacular gold-domed shrine which is the visual centerpiece of the old city of Jerusalem). It was like a stampede – the beginning of the holy month of Ramadan – so there was no way to cross that mass of bodies. We waited. The Jews behind us. The Muslims in front of us. Leading us all to pray...
Speaking of this experience later that evening, one of my colleagues mused in amazement that there is no more violence here, given the close proximity of these conflicting children of Abraham and their religious holy sites. Our Wake Forest Divinity School leader, however, reminded us that since the Muslim conquest of Jerusalem, 1400 years ago, the Jews and the Muslims have gotten along amazingly well. Sharing this city. Sharing these holy streets. Virtually sharing the sacred ground on which their faiths call them to pray. There's a sermon in that. You'll probably hear it soon!
I’ve done my own share of praying this week, remembering you... remembering Jesus... reflecting on my life as his follower and your pastor, and as a parent of two and a husband of one and a joy-filled (if sometimes still confused!) wanna-be-disciple. But I'll have to tell you that it's not the Christian pilgrims to this city that have inspired me the most this week – though we've also encountered thousands of Christian pilgrims from around the world. Ironically (and when we open our eyes to God's amazing presence around us, "irony" may become a more and more frequent encounter for us!), I'll leave the Holy Land in 10 hours with the inspiration of Muslim and Jewish followers, leaving their busy lives, herding through crowded city streets, singing and dancing and praying quietly, in that discipline that is as old as human self-consciousness. Among the many things I have learned on this trip... I think I'll come home a better pray-er.
And maybe that's what this pilgrimage was supposed to do for me – even if I learned it in a very surprising way!
r
The Jews were "greeting the Sabbath Bride" at the Western Wall – which means something of a religious party at the world's most sacred Jewish site. Young men and old come to the wall to pray on Friday nights at sundown. Many are dressed in orthodox garb. The hats are a sight to behold, all shapes and sizes. All are wearing their fringes (which hang below their shirts), and many have "ear locks" (hair just in front of their ears that grows long, sometimes hanging down below their shoulders, twisted fashionably-religiously). Their praying takes many forms. Some stand quietly. Some approach the wall and place a hand on it. Some bend to kiss these ancient stones. Many practice prayer through '"davin" (bending at the waist, mildly or wildly). Some read from Hebrew prayer books. Many gather in circles and sing happy songs, laughing and dancing excitedly. (The women are there, too... only, on their side of the fence. I'm assuming their party looks about the same as the men's side.) It really is an amazing, beautiful, moving sight. Though this kind of Jewish worship is foreign to me, I was moved by the piety, the excitement, the reverence with which they approach this 2000-year-old retaining wall, which once supported the Temple. Last Friday night we stayed for more than an hour. We offered our own prayers and enjoyed the spectacle (I mean no disrespect by the word spectacle, but for our un-initiated eyes, it was something to see!) Several men walked by our small group, excitedly reaching out to embrace three American strangers, and offering "Shabbat, Shalom" (Sabbath peace). We returned the greeting with enthusiasm, and were impressed with their hospitality – being there for the "spectacle" and all – the enthusiasm for this weekly observance just seemed enough to overcome any offense they might have otherwise experienced.
When our small group of pastors re-convened outside the enclosed area of the plaza, we stood, viewing the whole panorama. It was a beautiful Jerusalem night. The moon was rising behind us over the stone structures in the old city. The lights on the Western Wall and the sights and sounds of that Sabbath prayer filled our senses – when high above that wall a new sound emerged. The Al Aksa mosque, the third holiest mosque for the world's Muslims, sits within a few hundred feet of the top of the Western wall – and from the mosque the call to prayer was wailing through the city. Here we stood, American, Christian pastors, experiencing the worship of God, now in two foreign languages, and the mix of that beautiful, nasal Arabic cry along with the hushed and shouted Hebrew prayers is a sound I will not soon forget. I can only imagine it pleases God's ears as well.
As we made our way back through the city, to the Notre Dame Center, our home for the week, as we attempted to enter one of the narrow intersections our progress was completely halted by the mass of Muslim pilgrims heeding the call of prayer, and making their way to the Temple mount, which contains the Al Aksa mosque and the Dome of the Rock (the spectacular gold-domed shrine which is the visual centerpiece of the old city of Jerusalem). It was like a stampede – the beginning of the holy month of Ramadan – so there was no way to cross that mass of bodies. We waited. The Jews behind us. The Muslims in front of us. Leading us all to pray...
Speaking of this experience later that evening, one of my colleagues mused in amazement that there is no more violence here, given the close proximity of these conflicting children of Abraham and their religious holy sites. Our Wake Forest Divinity School leader, however, reminded us that since the Muslim conquest of Jerusalem, 1400 years ago, the Jews and the Muslims have gotten along amazingly well. Sharing this city. Sharing these holy streets. Virtually sharing the sacred ground on which their faiths call them to pray. There's a sermon in that. You'll probably hear it soon!
I’ve done my own share of praying this week, remembering you... remembering Jesus... reflecting on my life as his follower and your pastor, and as a parent of two and a husband of one and a joy-filled (if sometimes still confused!) wanna-be-disciple. But I'll have to tell you that it's not the Christian pilgrims to this city that have inspired me the most this week – though we've also encountered thousands of Christian pilgrims from around the world. Ironically (and when we open our eyes to God's amazing presence around us, "irony" may become a more and more frequent encounter for us!), I'll leave the Holy Land in 10 hours with the inspiration of Muslim and Jewish followers, leaving their busy lives, herding through crowded city streets, singing and dancing and praying quietly, in that discipline that is as old as human self-consciousness. Among the many things I have learned on this trip... I think I'll come home a better pray-er.
And maybe that's what this pilgrimage was supposed to do for me – even if I learned it in a very surprising way!
Saturday, April 9, 2011
More on Obama's Libya Campaign
This is the dialogue from my Facebook page that followed my article on Obama and a new military offensive in Libya:
Russ: So, my latest newsletter article (that I'm posting on the church blog) drew some praise, and more than a touch of ire! No great surprise, when you bring politics and theology together. (But what choice do we have? Read the Bible lately!?) I'm glad to post your response if you're intrested... http://amy-russ.blogspot.com/
Don Polaski: Beyond expressing disappointment, what does this piece *do* actually.
Russ Dean: I don't know that this piece "does" anything -- any more than any sermon (or lecture for that matter!) -- unless it changes someone's mind, open's someone's view, inspire's someone's heart... that's all words can do. From Don Flowers (in re...sponse to the article): "This is one of those times when I am grateful that I am not the president. I cannot imagine the moral quandary of deciding when and when not to intervene… But that isn't your job. Your calling is to raise the religious/theological question -- and you did it well. But know that prophets are without honor in their hometown, and often get thrown off cliffs, or worse!" Those of us who traffic in words for a profession can only hope the people who hear them will end up being the "doing" of our own words.
Don Polaski: I still think you're being really vague -- what then should we do, beyond adopting a pose of a world-weary superiority?
Russ Dean: I'm not intentionally being dense, Don (that's just a natural state)... help me with this. What are you suggesting I might have said that was more "doing" oriented?
Don Polaski: I think when we write we implicitly or explicitly do so for a reason, and well-crafted writing will move an audience in some way (even if that audience is us and the writing is an attempt to bring us some clarity). In my view, this piece (...unlike other stuff you've written) just sort of lies there -- I see the disappointment, but I don't sense productive grappling that might lead the way out of disappointment to somewhere. Right now the "somewhere" is a vague notion (and WB is vague as well) of an alternative consciousness and (pace Don Flowers) I think you have come back around and say explicitly that weapons, etc, are not the solution to Libya, but rather something else is. At some point you have to take on the responsibility of fleshing out what that consciousness looks like and how it relates to world we live in. That's where your work here is heading -- you might was well say so.
Shosha A Capps: This is beautiful and brave, Russ. It does everything it should.
Russ Dean: Thanks, Shosha... great to hear from you. As you might expect, I've had mixed response. But at least I've made a few people think! Hope you're well...
Jeff Rogers: If I focus on the first four paragraphs, I am left with the impression of the world-weariness of Russ's perpetual Groundhog Day experience (Is it 2003 or 2011? I'm old enough to add 1988 and the Reagan air attack in retaliation for the 1986... bombing of a discotheque in Berlin, which in turn resulted in Libya's retaliation by downing of Pan Am 103. What year is it? What difference has it all made?). However, if I focus on the last two paragraphs, I hear a call to formulate a counterscript to the prevailing narrative of U.S. military intervention as the solution to everything that ails the world, especially in the predominantly Arab portion of it. I hear Don P. saying, "Don't just call for a counterscript, write it!" Russ wrote heart&soul; Don wants him to write hands&feet: what the alternative actually looks like in a world of Gaddafis and Saddams and Ahmadinejads and bin Ladins--and Reagans and Bushes and Obamas--and us, us, us, because we are as complicitous in this as they are. While I do understand the arguments of each and why they are compelling to their adherents, neither the impulse toward "Bombs away!" on the one hand nor to toward all joining hands and singing, "Give peace a chance," on the other hand moves me. That's the hardest part to write, I think, not because it's "in the middle" but precisely because it must be predicated on an entirely different rationale than either the typical pro-military or predictable anti-military responses.
Craig Zello: I loved the last newsletter! It was my 2nd favorite ever (any guesses on my favorite?).
I owe so much to my time spent in the Army. It paid for my college which landed me a good job. That has taken around the world. All thanks to 4 years in ...the Army. I was in during the 1st Gulf War and came very close to going. Recently, I have questioned if we should have been involved then. I don’t know. I’m not saying we should be isolationists, but why are we doing what we are? What are the true motivations. I still believe in supporting our soldiers in a conflict. But, am tired of the same bad decision being made! I’m gaining more apathy toward politicians. Keep up tackling tough topics like this!
Russ Dean: Thanks for this, Craig. I've had some interesting comments. Most positive, but not all. I know that politics and theology and military are all difficult subjects, and I threw then all in together. I'm grateful for your military service, and stand with you that we should suport our troops. I can do so, even standing as I do against many of the missions they're called to serve... Thanks for the comments.
Chris Ayers: Great piece Russ!
Kathy Capps: What we do is to change our life, step by step, to be less dependent on Arab oil and to harass our representatives even when it feels so futile on a regular basis, letting them know that we do not support these unending wars. What we do is support with our finances things like Mercy Corps and Three Cups of Tea building schools for Muslim girls. What we do is pray and change our little piece of the world into a place of grace in as many ways as we are able to. What we do... is whatever we can to bring about peace.
Russ: So, my latest newsletter article (that I'm posting on the church blog) drew some praise, and more than a touch of ire! No great surprise, when you bring politics and theology together. (But what choice do we have? Read the Bible lately!?) I'm glad to post your response if you're intrested... http://amy-russ.blogspot.com/
Don Polaski: Beyond expressing disappointment, what does this piece *do* actually.
Russ Dean: I don't know that this piece "does" anything -- any more than any sermon (or lecture for that matter!) -- unless it changes someone's mind, open's someone's view, inspire's someone's heart... that's all words can do. From Don Flowers (in re...sponse to the article): "This is one of those times when I am grateful that I am not the president. I cannot imagine the moral quandary of deciding when and when not to intervene… But that isn't your job. Your calling is to raise the religious/theological question -- and you did it well. But know that prophets are without honor in their hometown, and often get thrown off cliffs, or worse!" Those of us who traffic in words for a profession can only hope the people who hear them will end up being the "doing" of our own words.
Don Polaski: I still think you're being really vague -- what then should we do, beyond adopting a pose of a world-weary superiority?
Russ Dean: I'm not intentionally being dense, Don (that's just a natural state)... help me with this. What are you suggesting I might have said that was more "doing" oriented?
Don Polaski: I think when we write we implicitly or explicitly do so for a reason, and well-crafted writing will move an audience in some way (even if that audience is us and the writing is an attempt to bring us some clarity). In my view, this piece (...unlike other stuff you've written) just sort of lies there -- I see the disappointment, but I don't sense productive grappling that might lead the way out of disappointment to somewhere. Right now the "somewhere" is a vague notion (and WB is vague as well) of an alternative consciousness and (pace Don Flowers) I think you have come back around and say explicitly that weapons, etc, are not the solution to Libya, but rather something else is. At some point you have to take on the responsibility of fleshing out what that consciousness looks like and how it relates to world we live in. That's where your work here is heading -- you might was well say so.
Shosha A Capps: This is beautiful and brave, Russ. It does everything it should.
Russ Dean: Thanks, Shosha... great to hear from you. As you might expect, I've had mixed response. But at least I've made a few people think! Hope you're well...
Jeff Rogers: If I focus on the first four paragraphs, I am left with the impression of the world-weariness of Russ's perpetual Groundhog Day experience (Is it 2003 or 2011? I'm old enough to add 1988 and the Reagan air attack in retaliation for the 1986... bombing of a discotheque in Berlin, which in turn resulted in Libya's retaliation by downing of Pan Am 103. What year is it? What difference has it all made?). However, if I focus on the last two paragraphs, I hear a call to formulate a counterscript to the prevailing narrative of U.S. military intervention as the solution to everything that ails the world, especially in the predominantly Arab portion of it. I hear Don P. saying, "Don't just call for a counterscript, write it!" Russ wrote heart&soul; Don wants him to write hands&feet: what the alternative actually looks like in a world of Gaddafis and Saddams and Ahmadinejads and bin Ladins--and Reagans and Bushes and Obamas--and us, us, us, because we are as complicitous in this as they are. While I do understand the arguments of each and why they are compelling to their adherents, neither the impulse toward "Bombs away!" on the one hand nor to toward all joining hands and singing, "Give peace a chance," on the other hand moves me. That's the hardest part to write, I think, not because it's "in the middle" but precisely because it must be predicated on an entirely different rationale than either the typical pro-military or predictable anti-military responses.
Craig Zello: I loved the last newsletter! It was my 2nd favorite ever (any guesses on my favorite?).
I owe so much to my time spent in the Army. It paid for my college which landed me a good job. That has taken around the world. All thanks to 4 years in ...the Army. I was in during the 1st Gulf War and came very close to going. Recently, I have questioned if we should have been involved then. I don’t know. I’m not saying we should be isolationists, but why are we doing what we are? What are the true motivations. I still believe in supporting our soldiers in a conflict. But, am tired of the same bad decision being made! I’m gaining more apathy toward politicians. Keep up tackling tough topics like this!
Russ Dean: Thanks for this, Craig. I've had some interesting comments. Most positive, but not all. I know that politics and theology and military are all difficult subjects, and I threw then all in together. I'm grateful for your military service, and stand with you that we should suport our troops. I can do so, even standing as I do against many of the missions they're called to serve... Thanks for the comments.
Chris Ayers: Great piece Russ!
Kathy Capps: What we do is to change our life, step by step, to be less dependent on Arab oil and to harass our representatives even when it feels so futile on a regular basis, letting them know that we do not support these unending wars. What we do is support with our finances things like Mercy Corps and Three Cups of Tea building schools for Muslim girls. What we do is pray and change our little piece of the world into a place of grace in as many ways as we are able to. What we do... is whatever we can to bring about peace.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Sharing a Little Poetry
I've asked several folks in the church to help me to share poetry. This one comes to me from Ron Pelt. I love the phrase "a stretcher will come from grace to gather us up." Sometimes I need just that. Thanks for sharing, Ron...
r
Zero Circle,
by Rumi
Be helpless, dumbfounded,
Unable to say yes or no.
Then a stretcher will come from grace
to gather us up.
We are too dull-eyed to see that beauty.
If we say we can, we’re lying.
If we say No, we don’t see it,
That No will behead us
And shut tight our window onto spirit.
So let us rather not be sure of anything,
Beside ourselves, and only that, so
Miraculous beings come running to help.
Crazed, lying in a zero circle, mute,
We shall be saying finally,
With tremendous eloquence, Lead Us.
When we have totally surrendered to that beauty,
We shall be a mighty kindness.
r
Zero Circle,
by Rumi
Be helpless, dumbfounded,
Unable to say yes or no.
Then a stretcher will come from grace
to gather us up.
We are too dull-eyed to see that beauty.
If we say we can, we’re lying.
If we say No, we don’t see it,
That No will behead us
And shut tight our window onto spirit.
So let us rather not be sure of anything,
Beside ourselves, and only that, so
Miraculous beings come running to help.
Crazed, lying in a zero circle, mute,
We shall be saying finally,
With tremendous eloquence, Lead Us.
When we have totally surrendered to that beauty,
We shall be a mighty kindness.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Seeing that New Day
I had as much comment from my last blog as anything in a long time. I'm in the process of gathering all the responses, from email and facebook, and will post them. The dialogue has been very interesting.
Today someone sent me a copy of this prayer -- I'm told Romero prayed it just moments before he was assassinated. He speaks to the future vision that my last blog accused the President of not having. Nor should I expect this to come from the President -- but I believe the Church must keep demanding it.
Praying with Romero, and all the other prophets among us... alive and dead.
Archbishop Oscar Romero Prayer
It helps, now and then, to step back and take the long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,
it is even beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God's work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the church's mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.
It may be incomplete,
but it is a beginning, a step along the way,
an opportunity for the Lord's grace to enter and do the rest.
We may never see the end results, but that is the difference
between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own.
This is what we are about.
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted,
knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation
in realizing that. This enables us to do something,
and to do it very well.
Amen.
r
Today someone sent me a copy of this prayer -- I'm told Romero prayed it just moments before he was assassinated. He speaks to the future vision that my last blog accused the President of not having. Nor should I expect this to come from the President -- but I believe the Church must keep demanding it.
Praying with Romero, and all the other prophets among us... alive and dead.
Archbishop Oscar Romero Prayer
It helps, now and then, to step back and take the long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,
it is even beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God's work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the church's mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.
It may be incomplete,
but it is a beginning, a step along the way,
an opportunity for the Lord's grace to enter and do the rest.
We may never see the end results, but that is the difference
between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own.
This is what we are about.
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted,
knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation
in realizing that. This enables us to do something,
and to do it very well.
Amen.
r
Thursday, March 31, 2011
What Preachers Should Say About War
The following article, printed in this week's newsletter, generated some passionate reponse (for and against). I invite your response as well (and glad to post if you're interested).
***
In the 1993 comedy “Groundhog Day” the lead character, played by funnyman Bill Murray, wakes up each day to find that it’s February 2nd – again (and again, and again). Every day, more of the same, in a mind-blowing, insanity-producing cycle. In the movie, it’s funny.
But two days ago I listened to the President of the United States give justification for bombing an Arab country. He was addressing a country spiraling in confusion and frustration and its own pain. I had to look at the calendar to check the date. Phrase after phrase, justification after justification, I heard a Republican President assuring the American people that in this case, bombs are ok… in this case, we’re protecting innocent people… in this case, it’s a deranged lunatic we’re protecting from his own people… in this case Presidential powers allow… in this case, the intelligence tells us… in this case, American integrity and compassion and character call us to… Oh, wait, no, that was 2003, this is 2011… this is a Democratic President now, who campaigned against the wars?… But the language was virtually identical. Did you hear it? Am I losing my mind? Or is it just Groundhog Day, all over again?
I’ve given up my paper reading for a short spell and have not followed the recent events in the Middle East and Northern African, even the tragedy in Japan, nearly as closely as I should have. Our morning get-to-school schedule has changed, and I’ve confessed to you that I’ve never been so depressed over reading the news and never so despondent and helpless feeling about the sad state of American politics… so I figured I might give up the Observer for Lent, and then some – and we’ve quit listening to the ridiculous harangues between Fox News and Fox for Liberals. So, maybe it’s just because I’m not as closely in touch with the state of a world that seems to have lost touch, too, that the President’s remarks caught me so off guard – but I was dumbfounded.
Does power really do that to you? To everyone? Does the pressure of politics always force leaders to the same, sad conclusions? As if we have no other choice? Presidents may think we have no choice. Republican leaders and Democratic leaders may arrive at the same conclusion: no other option. But, there is a choice. Always. What is it that so blinds us that so many of us can actually believe the only solution to the world’s problems is more weapons and more violence and more death? Was it Einstein who said that the solution to a problem can never be solved by the same level of thinking that created the problem? And weapons and violence and death got us into this mess.
Walter Brueggemann, one of the world’s foremost Old Testament scholars, says, “The dominant script of both selves and communities in our society, for both liberals and conservatives, is the script of therapueutic, technological, consumerist militarism that permeates every dimension of our common life.” The Bible’s genius, why it may yet save the world, is that it offers a counterscript to this narrative that everyone seems to accept. We need to develop a creative imagination… to see the world in a new light… to imagine new possibilities… to think beyond the same old, same old, same old, same old box….
I don’t expect American Presidents to be theologians. (After all, we don’t elect them to be Pastor of the U.S.) But the Christian voice in this world needs to counter this same old script they offer. Democrats. Republicans. Bush. Obama. Groundhog Day… All over Again.
That’s what Resurrection is all about. There really is the potential for a New Day to dawn in God’s world.
Praying for February 3rd…
***
In the 1993 comedy “Groundhog Day” the lead character, played by funnyman Bill Murray, wakes up each day to find that it’s February 2nd – again (and again, and again). Every day, more of the same, in a mind-blowing, insanity-producing cycle. In the movie, it’s funny.
But two days ago I listened to the President of the United States give justification for bombing an Arab country. He was addressing a country spiraling in confusion and frustration and its own pain. I had to look at the calendar to check the date. Phrase after phrase, justification after justification, I heard a Republican President assuring the American people that in this case, bombs are ok… in this case, we’re protecting innocent people… in this case, it’s a deranged lunatic we’re protecting from his own people… in this case Presidential powers allow… in this case, the intelligence tells us… in this case, American integrity and compassion and character call us to… Oh, wait, no, that was 2003, this is 2011… this is a Democratic President now, who campaigned against the wars?… But the language was virtually identical. Did you hear it? Am I losing my mind? Or is it just Groundhog Day, all over again?
I’ve given up my paper reading for a short spell and have not followed the recent events in the Middle East and Northern African, even the tragedy in Japan, nearly as closely as I should have. Our morning get-to-school schedule has changed, and I’ve confessed to you that I’ve never been so depressed over reading the news and never so despondent and helpless feeling about the sad state of American politics… so I figured I might give up the Observer for Lent, and then some – and we’ve quit listening to the ridiculous harangues between Fox News and Fox for Liberals. So, maybe it’s just because I’m not as closely in touch with the state of a world that seems to have lost touch, too, that the President’s remarks caught me so off guard – but I was dumbfounded.
Does power really do that to you? To everyone? Does the pressure of politics always force leaders to the same, sad conclusions? As if we have no other choice? Presidents may think we have no choice. Republican leaders and Democratic leaders may arrive at the same conclusion: no other option. But, there is a choice. Always. What is it that so blinds us that so many of us can actually believe the only solution to the world’s problems is more weapons and more violence and more death? Was it Einstein who said that the solution to a problem can never be solved by the same level of thinking that created the problem? And weapons and violence and death got us into this mess.
Walter Brueggemann, one of the world’s foremost Old Testament scholars, says, “The dominant script of both selves and communities in our society, for both liberals and conservatives, is the script of therapueutic, technological, consumerist militarism that permeates every dimension of our common life.” The Bible’s genius, why it may yet save the world, is that it offers a counterscript to this narrative that everyone seems to accept. We need to develop a creative imagination… to see the world in a new light… to imagine new possibilities… to think beyond the same old, same old, same old, same old box….
I don’t expect American Presidents to be theologians. (After all, we don’t elect them to be Pastor of the U.S.) But the Christian voice in this world needs to counter this same old script they offer. Democrats. Republicans. Bush. Obama. Groundhog Day… All over Again.
That’s what Resurrection is all about. There really is the potential for a New Day to dawn in God’s world.
Praying for February 3rd…
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Are You Motivated?
Jackson was taking a hitting lesson. (When I was a kid, there was just one team bat, and the only lesson available was, “Keep your eye on the ball, son, and hit it hard!”) There’s more to it than that, now. (And the one-team-bat version was cheaper, too!)
His coach goes by “Shore,” and as he was pitching to Jackson and barking instructions faster than my keep-your-eye-on-the-ball batting experience could process, he casually said to me, “What do you think about Joel Olsteen? (“You’re long, Jackson. Shorten it up!”) Knowing I’m a pastor, and given his reaction to my response, I think Shore thought I’d be a bit more effusive in praise. Or that I’d at least have one good word to say. But the best I could offer was, “I can’t say that I’m a fan.” Maybe he thought I was jealous of the big crowds, or the full head of hair, but Shore completed my thought for me. “I go over here to (such and such) to church (“That’s what I want to see, Jackson!”), but I listen to Olsteen when I’m not there – which is a good bit of the time. I like him because, well I’d have to say he’s more an entertainer, or a motivational speaker, but he makes me feel good.”
You don’t say.
We moved from the batting cage to the pitching mound, and while I was catching Jackson (and doing my fair share of praying, given the speed and movement he’s now putting on the ball – I’d guess I’m no more than one hit pitch away from retirement!), Shore walked back by. “I’ve given a little more thought to your question, Shore. And a more complete response would be to say that I just don’t think Jesus was much of a ‘motivational speaker.’” I think Shore understood. But he and millions more will be tune in again Sunday morning at eleven.
With no sense of arrogance intended (as if I’m more like Jesus than Joel is), I do think this is part of why we’ve not yet had to add a third service and two satellite locations with a televised feed for the Sunday sermon at Park Road Baptist. It’s hardly surprising to say that more people would rather leave worship (or get off the sofa) “feeling good,” than being challenged with the difficulties of faith. But if you really want to listen to the Bible, you’re not often going to close the pages with one of Olsteen’s signature smiles on your face.
This stuff is hard.
I hate your worship – the liturgy I want is service... Turn the other cheek... Go the extra mile... The greatest will be the servant... Give to everyone who begs... Forgive (until you’re sick of it)... Take up your cross (not the trinket on your necklace), and FOLLOW ME...
Christian faith, lived, requires discipline, which has become a bad word. But without discipline, no one can hope to become a disciple. So we'll be talking during this season of Lent about discipline, not about God giving you everything you want through prayer. Our theme is “The Disciplined Life: A Journey to Easter,” and we’ll spend each week on one, three-word discipline. This week’s is “Run the Race.”
I hope it will be motivating!
His coach goes by “Shore,” and as he was pitching to Jackson and barking instructions faster than my keep-your-eye-on-the-ball batting experience could process, he casually said to me, “What do you think about Joel Olsteen? (“You’re long, Jackson. Shorten it up!”) Knowing I’m a pastor, and given his reaction to my response, I think Shore thought I’d be a bit more effusive in praise. Or that I’d at least have one good word to say. But the best I could offer was, “I can’t say that I’m a fan.” Maybe he thought I was jealous of the big crowds, or the full head of hair, but Shore completed my thought for me. “I go over here to (such and such) to church (“That’s what I want to see, Jackson!”), but I listen to Olsteen when I’m not there – which is a good bit of the time. I like him because, well I’d have to say he’s more an entertainer, or a motivational speaker, but he makes me feel good.”
You don’t say.
We moved from the batting cage to the pitching mound, and while I was catching Jackson (and doing my fair share of praying, given the speed and movement he’s now putting on the ball – I’d guess I’m no more than one hit pitch away from retirement!), Shore walked back by. “I’ve given a little more thought to your question, Shore. And a more complete response would be to say that I just don’t think Jesus was much of a ‘motivational speaker.’” I think Shore understood. But he and millions more will be tune in again Sunday morning at eleven.
With no sense of arrogance intended (as if I’m more like Jesus than Joel is), I do think this is part of why we’ve not yet had to add a third service and two satellite locations with a televised feed for the Sunday sermon at Park Road Baptist. It’s hardly surprising to say that more people would rather leave worship (or get off the sofa) “feeling good,” than being challenged with the difficulties of faith. But if you really want to listen to the Bible, you’re not often going to close the pages with one of Olsteen’s signature smiles on your face.
This stuff is hard.
I hate your worship – the liturgy I want is service... Turn the other cheek... Go the extra mile... The greatest will be the servant... Give to everyone who begs... Forgive (until you’re sick of it)... Take up your cross (not the trinket on your necklace), and FOLLOW ME...
Christian faith, lived, requires discipline, which has become a bad word. But without discipline, no one can hope to become a disciple. So we'll be talking during this season of Lent about discipline, not about God giving you everything you want through prayer. Our theme is “The Disciplined Life: A Journey to Easter,” and we’ll spend each week on one, three-word discipline. This week’s is “Run the Race.”
I hope it will be motivating!
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Strength From Beyond
For more than a year our church family has been praying for the 8-year-old niece of our own, Steve King. Beth had been diagnosed with cancer, and through various treatments we lent what support we could to Steve and Tammy, and we held a beautiful girl in the light of God, praying with Beth in our thoughts. We had all celebrated a notice of remission. Then came bad news. And after a few difficult weeks for those who love her, even worse news: the hand and forearm where the cancer had returned would have to be removed. That surgery is coming next Tuesday -- and Beth and her family will again be in our hearts, on our minds.
I asked permission of Beth's mother, Lisa, to share a reflection that she wrote, which Tammy had passed on to many of us. I was touched by the incredible strength of a mother and a young child, by a "strength from beyond" which came to me in these words (from beyond), which lifts us all, in moments of great need.
Thank you, Beth, for teaching us all, from your great strength. And thanks be to God for that strength that comes, from a place we cannot name, to touch the deepest moments of our pain. Our prayers go with Beth for next Tuesday...
***
Last Friday, my family gathered in a doctor's office at Aflac Cancer Center, where my three children were told that Beth's cancer was indeed back. They were then told that Beth's hand would need to be removed in order to remove the cancer. Of course, I knew ahead of time, what was going to be discussed. My children did not. I sat beside my daughter and braced for the tears, the anger, the terror. I watched as her cheeks began to flush, I held her hand as she reached for me. I stood and put my arm around her waist even as she wrapped her arm around my neck and drew my cheek to hers. I was scared to look her in the eye - I was scared what I would find.
When I met her eyes, what I found there was God.
I have always been a very logical, passive and unemotional Christian. I have come to my Faith through a lifetime of increasing awareness - baby steps leading me down my path. I have always wanted to experience an uncontainable encounter with the Holy Spirit - one that would send me crying or dancing to the alter - one that would forever banish any tiny crumb of doubt that creeps into the heart of most Christians at some time or another.
Last Friday, that all changed. I was near vomitting as I waited for the breakdown of my children that I knew was coming. This is what happened instead....
Garett walked to me and took my hands. He asked me if I was going to cry, I told him no, and he looked at me and said that we were going to be OK. He sat back down and began to ask questions of the doctors. Becky came and stood silently by her twin sister, as if to pass her strength onto Beth and to take some of her pain onto herself. And, as for Beth, the "star" of this show, when she finally looked at me, there was this peace and calmness to her that was not her own. She held me as much as I was holding her. She listened and accepted what was being told to her. She asked questions about what she would be able to do with her replacement hand, she asked if she would need chemo, she asked if she could still have a hamster. She asked if she could still have a hamster. A hamster.
Garrett told me that Luke Skywalker had a replacement hand and that he was the best Jedi Knight ever. Beth told the doctor's that she had a talent show to perform in and needed to be out of the hospital for that. Becky just said that her sister was cool and always would be. Two doctors a nurse practitioner and a child life specialtist were poised in that room for damage control and counseling. Two doctors, a nurse practitioner, a child life specialist and two parents were taught a lesson by two eight year olds, a nine year old and the presence of the Holy Spirit.
I have said before, that first Beth heals us, then we set about healing her. How profound that small statement was. Beth has made only one request since last Friday. She has asked that we remove the cast on her arm a day before the surgery. She wants to "spend some time with her arm before she loses it". So for those who think she does not understand what is going to happen, she understands better than any of us. She will lose nothing that God or any of her family cherish about her. She will lose a diseased part of her body - her soul and her spirit shine brighter than ever.
By the way, this weekend we spent time with my childhood best friend and her daughter, we saw the Justin Beiber movie (Beth made plans to marry him) and we looked at hamster cages. Beth's cast will be removed next Monday. Beth's forearm will be removed on Tuesday. Any of my lingering spiritual doubts were removed last Friday. What is precious in Beth, what is precious in ALL OF US, can never be removed.
I pray that the Grace that God has given to Beth spread like wildfire to all of us. That His peace be with us and that His strength be in my little girl as she begins her walk down the path that God has chosen for her.
***
May it be so!
I asked permission of Beth's mother, Lisa, to share a reflection that she wrote, which Tammy had passed on to many of us. I was touched by the incredible strength of a mother and a young child, by a "strength from beyond" which came to me in these words (from beyond), which lifts us all, in moments of great need.
Thank you, Beth, for teaching us all, from your great strength. And thanks be to God for that strength that comes, from a place we cannot name, to touch the deepest moments of our pain. Our prayers go with Beth for next Tuesday...
***
Last Friday, my family gathered in a doctor's office at Aflac Cancer Center, where my three children were told that Beth's cancer was indeed back. They were then told that Beth's hand would need to be removed in order to remove the cancer. Of course, I knew ahead of time, what was going to be discussed. My children did not. I sat beside my daughter and braced for the tears, the anger, the terror. I watched as her cheeks began to flush, I held her hand as she reached for me. I stood and put my arm around her waist even as she wrapped her arm around my neck and drew my cheek to hers. I was scared to look her in the eye - I was scared what I would find.
When I met her eyes, what I found there was God.
I have always been a very logical, passive and unemotional Christian. I have come to my Faith through a lifetime of increasing awareness - baby steps leading me down my path. I have always wanted to experience an uncontainable encounter with the Holy Spirit - one that would send me crying or dancing to the alter - one that would forever banish any tiny crumb of doubt that creeps into the heart of most Christians at some time or another.
Last Friday, that all changed. I was near vomitting as I waited for the breakdown of my children that I knew was coming. This is what happened instead....
Garett walked to me and took my hands. He asked me if I was going to cry, I told him no, and he looked at me and said that we were going to be OK. He sat back down and began to ask questions of the doctors. Becky came and stood silently by her twin sister, as if to pass her strength onto Beth and to take some of her pain onto herself. And, as for Beth, the "star" of this show, when she finally looked at me, there was this peace and calmness to her that was not her own. She held me as much as I was holding her. She listened and accepted what was being told to her. She asked questions about what she would be able to do with her replacement hand, she asked if she would need chemo, she asked if she could still have a hamster. She asked if she could still have a hamster. A hamster.
Garrett told me that Luke Skywalker had a replacement hand and that he was the best Jedi Knight ever. Beth told the doctor's that she had a talent show to perform in and needed to be out of the hospital for that. Becky just said that her sister was cool and always would be. Two doctors a nurse practitioner and a child life specialtist were poised in that room for damage control and counseling. Two doctors, a nurse practitioner, a child life specialist and two parents were taught a lesson by two eight year olds, a nine year old and the presence of the Holy Spirit.
I have said before, that first Beth heals us, then we set about healing her. How profound that small statement was. Beth has made only one request since last Friday. She has asked that we remove the cast on her arm a day before the surgery. She wants to "spend some time with her arm before she loses it". So for those who think she does not understand what is going to happen, she understands better than any of us. She will lose nothing that God or any of her family cherish about her. She will lose a diseased part of her body - her soul and her spirit shine brighter than ever.
By the way, this weekend we spent time with my childhood best friend and her daughter, we saw the Justin Beiber movie (Beth made plans to marry him) and we looked at hamster cages. Beth's cast will be removed next Monday. Beth's forearm will be removed on Tuesday. Any of my lingering spiritual doubts were removed last Friday. What is precious in Beth, what is precious in ALL OF US, can never be removed.
I pray that the Grace that God has given to Beth spread like wildfire to all of us. That His peace be with us and that His strength be in my little girl as she begins her walk down the path that God has chosen for her.
***
May it be so!
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
G-7b5, C7b9, F-7, Bb7, Ebmaj7
It’s easily in my top ten things to do. Things that make my blood flow. That speak to me of the goodness of life. Of the sacred wonder of creation. Of the mystery we call Incarnation (God-with-us). I’d be afraid to try to prioritize, but it would rank somewhere in there with a crystal-glass lake at dusk and the thrill of feeling your toes just above that surface, skimming at almost 40 mph… somewhere in there with a snowy, fresh-powder day, chasing two boys in and out of snow-covered pines… somewhere in there with the smell of fresh-shaven wood chips, a finished product emerging under sandpaper and a coat of polyurethane… somewhere in there with the taste of home cooked food, a gathering around a table, the natural conversation that flows among friends, and the Spirit which that setting evokes. I wouldn’t want to prioritize, but it’s in there.
The first time I played in a jazz band, I was a would-be trumpet player. A band friend had initiated me with several invitations to community concerts. Benny Goodman, the Count, Woody Herman… I couldn’t believe it. Silky strains… syncopation with unimaginably tight tolerances… screaming horns… and chords I’d never heard before. I’d later learn to call them by their names: A7, C6, Ebmaj7, G-7b5, C7#9… but when I first heard them, they were just cool. Opening a new world of music. A new world.
Harry Boughknight was an old-school band director. We marched block-band style and played everything in 4/4. I learned Sousa in marching band. But Mr. B also loved the Big Band. In the next few years, that high school jazz band would play concerts at school, dances in town, and country club bookings, every performance further engraining in me the love of bee-bop and swing and Latin and jazz waltz. I progressed through high school, and Furman’s jazz program notched it up a couple levels – you see, those guys could really play! I loved every minute of it. But life moves on, and unless you’re very diligent, keeping up your lip is nearly impossible. So the bands fell by the wayside, and a couple years after moving to Charlotte, even the all-jazz public radio station went under, diminishing my jazz exposure to a shameful dearth .
Then came Jazz Vespers…
It’s easily in my top ten things to do. Things that make my blood flow. That speak to me of the goodness of life. Of the sacred wonder of creation. Of the mystery we call Incarnation (God-with-us). Our Jazz Vespers have given me a chance to re-discover the world of jazz. This time at the piano. And it’s a thrill – because I’m not a real player, but I’m getting to back up some guys that are! In that first jazz band, 1979, John G. Franklin played first-chair trombone, and then bass. He could play then. He can play now, and he knows the world of musicians in Charlotte, and has brought some really fine players to share their chops with us.
We’re up again, Friday. 6:00 pm. The combo is practicing this week, and we’ll do some sacred jazz for you (if you don’t mind swinging a few Baptist hymns) and some standards (just to prove that “secular” music is sacred, too). We’ll meet in the Chapel. There will be no sermon, per se. We’ll serve fair-trade coffee (which you can drink while you listen). And we’ll enjoy scripture and poetry and silence, and will seek to encounter the mystery we call God, as we gather as a community of faith, around the Godly strains of Jazz. Bring a friend and join us. I think it might make your top-ten, too.
G-7b5, C7b9, F-7, Bb7, Ebmaj7 (Translation: a benediction from Errol Garner’s “Misty”)…
The first time I played in a jazz band, I was a would-be trumpet player. A band friend had initiated me with several invitations to community concerts. Benny Goodman, the Count, Woody Herman… I couldn’t believe it. Silky strains… syncopation with unimaginably tight tolerances… screaming horns… and chords I’d never heard before. I’d later learn to call them by their names: A7, C6, Ebmaj7, G-7b5, C7#9… but when I first heard them, they were just cool. Opening a new world of music. A new world.
Harry Boughknight was an old-school band director. We marched block-band style and played everything in 4/4. I learned Sousa in marching band. But Mr. B also loved the Big Band. In the next few years, that high school jazz band would play concerts at school, dances in town, and country club bookings, every performance further engraining in me the love of bee-bop and swing and Latin and jazz waltz. I progressed through high school, and Furman’s jazz program notched it up a couple levels – you see, those guys could really play! I loved every minute of it. But life moves on, and unless you’re very diligent, keeping up your lip is nearly impossible. So the bands fell by the wayside, and a couple years after moving to Charlotte, even the all-jazz public radio station went under, diminishing my jazz exposure to a shameful dearth .
Then came Jazz Vespers…
It’s easily in my top ten things to do. Things that make my blood flow. That speak to me of the goodness of life. Of the sacred wonder of creation. Of the mystery we call Incarnation (God-with-us). Our Jazz Vespers have given me a chance to re-discover the world of jazz. This time at the piano. And it’s a thrill – because I’m not a real player, but I’m getting to back up some guys that are! In that first jazz band, 1979, John G. Franklin played first-chair trombone, and then bass. He could play then. He can play now, and he knows the world of musicians in Charlotte, and has brought some really fine players to share their chops with us.
We’re up again, Friday. 6:00 pm. The combo is practicing this week, and we’ll do some sacred jazz for you (if you don’t mind swinging a few Baptist hymns) and some standards (just to prove that “secular” music is sacred, too). We’ll meet in the Chapel. There will be no sermon, per se. We’ll serve fair-trade coffee (which you can drink while you listen). And we’ll enjoy scripture and poetry and silence, and will seek to encounter the mystery we call God, as we gather as a community of faith, around the Godly strains of Jazz. Bring a friend and join us. I think it might make your top-ten, too.
G-7b5, C7b9, F-7, Bb7, Ebmaj7 (Translation: a benediction from Errol Garner’s “Misty”)…
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Seeing God... in You
I thought I'd pass along another piece from a church member. Many of you know that Chase Bengel had surgery last week. His mom, Marinn, shared this email with many supporters. I thought I'd pass it along because it speaks as a living witness to the words of Hebrews 13: "Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it." For all who have been, according to Hebrews, literal angels to the Bengels: Thanks be to God!
***
My dear friends....Gosh how blessed I feel!
One said to me this morning, "Oh Marinn, you must be so stressed?" But my answer is, "Most of the time...not...because....You literally see the best of humanity and feel the touch of God!" And I mean that from the humblest part of my heart.
Let me tell you how God showed up for us.....
During Chase's first test at the hospital, one of the assisting nurses looked down at our chart and saw that Scott worked for Shelco. Her young husband also works for Shelco...Thanks be to God!
Before surgery, lots of God (I can't name you all) sent us emails, phone called and texted to say they/God would be with us, and you were. Thanks be to God!
When we got to the hospital, God came in greeted us as the Pre Op nurse Jo Aiken who has know us for years...Thanks to God for Jo being on our team...I would have requested her if I had know. Thanks be to God!
Then God (Amy and Michael) came and prayed with us. Then God (russ, amy, michael, sue, mom, kathy) came and waited with us during the surgery and made us laugh and passed the time. Thanks be to God!
And God (kathy) drove my other children around while we waited. Thanks be to God!
And then we went into our room in the hospital...10 minutes later...God walked in as the Child Life Specialist, Andrea, that is Howard Peabody's daughter, one of Scott's partners...and we haven't seen "cute her" in 5 years...there she was to check on us and take care of us..Thanks be to God!
And more God called our house to check on us and texted and called our cell phones...Thanks be to God!
And every day more God brought food and recipes and boost and biscuits, jam and a frosty and smoothie cards and movies and wine and....visits and....Thanks be to God!
So thank you God for being with our family every day....Thank you for holding our hands, whispering in our ears, feeding us and loving us...
Some will say that we never see the face of God, but I believe differently, and he/she looks like you. Thanks be to you!
Marinn
PS… Chase came home on Friday...a textbook operation and is happily and grumpily eating soft foods...3 to 6 weeks is a lot of soft food! He did end up with some pneumonia which has caused a lot of coughing and more sleeping. He is regaining strength and should be on the other side of this soon.
***
My dear friends....Gosh how blessed I feel!
One said to me this morning, "Oh Marinn, you must be so stressed?" But my answer is, "Most of the time...not...because....You literally see the best of humanity and feel the touch of God!" And I mean that from the humblest part of my heart.
Let me tell you how God showed up for us.....
During Chase's first test at the hospital, one of the assisting nurses looked down at our chart and saw that Scott worked for Shelco. Her young husband also works for Shelco...Thanks be to God!
Before surgery, lots of God (I can't name you all) sent us emails, phone called and texted to say they/God would be with us, and you were. Thanks be to God!
When we got to the hospital, God came in greeted us as the Pre Op nurse Jo Aiken who has know us for years...Thanks to God for Jo being on our team...I would have requested her if I had know. Thanks be to God!
Then God (Amy and Michael) came and prayed with us. Then God (russ, amy, michael, sue, mom, kathy) came and waited with us during the surgery and made us laugh and passed the time. Thanks be to God!
And God (kathy) drove my other children around while we waited. Thanks be to God!
And then we went into our room in the hospital...10 minutes later...God walked in as the Child Life Specialist, Andrea, that is Howard Peabody's daughter, one of Scott's partners...and we haven't seen "cute her" in 5 years...there she was to check on us and take care of us..Thanks be to God!
And more God called our house to check on us and texted and called our cell phones...Thanks be to God!
And every day more God brought food and recipes and boost and biscuits, jam and a frosty and smoothie cards and movies and wine and....visits and....Thanks be to God!
So thank you God for being with our family every day....Thank you for holding our hands, whispering in our ears, feeding us and loving us...
Some will say that we never see the face of God, but I believe differently, and he/she looks like you. Thanks be to you!
Marinn
PS… Chase came home on Friday...a textbook operation and is happily and grumpily eating soft foods...3 to 6 weeks is a lot of soft food! He did end up with some pneumonia which has caused a lot of coughing and more sleeping. He is regaining strength and should be on the other side of this soon.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
I Can Imagine
So it's been a while since I posted, but I had to share this. Not my own, thoughts, but some words that our own, Ron Pelt, sent me this morning. Ron and his wife, Carol, are newer members who have been very active in church and in our Babylon's Class. Ron writes beautifully and occasionally sends me some of his work. I read this morning's offering and had to find a way to make it available to you. I think it speaks well of our God-experience -- and may speak particularly well to those of us who enjoy the give and take of theology and its inspiring, but also bewildering questions. The Psalmist says, "Be still and know that I am God" (Ps. 46.10) -- sometimes we need to pause from our asking, our wrestling, our important-doubting... and just "know."
Thanks, Ron, for sharing. I'd love to have feedback from the church -- and other submissions, as well. Maybe we need a church-wide blog that we write together. Could this be our first entry?
***
Sometimes I can imagine myself in the future, having a conversation with God. God is somewhat puzzled and says to me,
“I gave you so much: from the amazing gold glowing orange of a peach slice (not to mention its incredible sweetness), to the taste of marmalade in the morning. I gave you the soft warmth of your puppy’s belly and the fluffy subtle cotton of the morning clouds. And yet you seemed so unhappy much of the time. And when you cried out in fear and loneliness, I was there, although your pain often blocked your awareness of my presence. I have been trying to tell you day after day, year after year, I know you. I am here for you. Come bring me your burdens and lay them here. I’ve got you.”
And God would go on to say, “When you were a young child, you knew all this. You would wake up each morning and wonder what miracles you would accomplish that day. The sun was brighter, the ice cream was sweeter, and you tasted it not just with your tongue, but with your whole face. You weren’t afraid to get your head right down into things. You jumped into mud puddles with both feet, delighting in the simplest things.”
I would be deep in contemplation and God would continue with his discourse. “Your faith in me was simple then. You saw me in the stars you looked up at on summer nights, marveled in my light from fireflies, and played with my hot orange coals in campfires. And you knew that you could do anything, because I made you that way. You could dance, sing, draw, imitate animals, and once you even tried to fly. And your dreams! Oh, your dreams! I loved to watch them at night. They were my favorite movies.
You didn’t expect too much from me in those days. Just for me to be big, really big. You didn’t question my power. That never even came up. You just assumed I was enough. And you weren’t afraid of me; that is, not until the grownups started trying to teach you about me. Then you started hearing all the lies, all the misunderstandings, and all the rules, rules, rules. Why in just a few short months I went from being a close loving warm blanket to becoming a jealous, cruel, judgmental, condemning monster, who sent people to some awful place where they burned forever and cried out in pain and loneliness.
I’m sorry for that. I knew it was happening but I couldn’t stop them, not the way things are set up. I tried to help you think about how silly all that was. And I did get through to you some. Are you listening now? Do you get it? I’m still here, and I still want to play. I love you and I want you to learn to love yourself, and marvel at what a miracle you are. If you can do that, then you can turn and look at others, and see how they are miracles too, and learn to marvel at them, like you used to a long time ago.”
Ron S. Pelt
***
Thanks, Ron, for sharing. I'd love to have feedback from the church -- and other submissions, as well. Maybe we need a church-wide blog that we write together. Could this be our first entry?
***
Sometimes I can imagine myself in the future, having a conversation with God. God is somewhat puzzled and says to me,
“I gave you so much: from the amazing gold glowing orange of a peach slice (not to mention its incredible sweetness), to the taste of marmalade in the morning. I gave you the soft warmth of your puppy’s belly and the fluffy subtle cotton of the morning clouds. And yet you seemed so unhappy much of the time. And when you cried out in fear and loneliness, I was there, although your pain often blocked your awareness of my presence. I have been trying to tell you day after day, year after year, I know you. I am here for you. Come bring me your burdens and lay them here. I’ve got you.”
And God would go on to say, “When you were a young child, you knew all this. You would wake up each morning and wonder what miracles you would accomplish that day. The sun was brighter, the ice cream was sweeter, and you tasted it not just with your tongue, but with your whole face. You weren’t afraid to get your head right down into things. You jumped into mud puddles with both feet, delighting in the simplest things.”
I would be deep in contemplation and God would continue with his discourse. “Your faith in me was simple then. You saw me in the stars you looked up at on summer nights, marveled in my light from fireflies, and played with my hot orange coals in campfires. And you knew that you could do anything, because I made you that way. You could dance, sing, draw, imitate animals, and once you even tried to fly. And your dreams! Oh, your dreams! I loved to watch them at night. They were my favorite movies.
You didn’t expect too much from me in those days. Just for me to be big, really big. You didn’t question my power. That never even came up. You just assumed I was enough. And you weren’t afraid of me; that is, not until the grownups started trying to teach you about me. Then you started hearing all the lies, all the misunderstandings, and all the rules, rules, rules. Why in just a few short months I went from being a close loving warm blanket to becoming a jealous, cruel, judgmental, condemning monster, who sent people to some awful place where they burned forever and cried out in pain and loneliness.
I’m sorry for that. I knew it was happening but I couldn’t stop them, not the way things are set up. I tried to help you think about how silly all that was. And I did get through to you some. Are you listening now? Do you get it? I’m still here, and I still want to play. I love you and I want you to learn to love yourself, and marvel at what a miracle you are. If you can do that, then you can turn and look at others, and see how they are miracles too, and learn to marvel at them, like you used to a long time ago.”
Ron S. Pelt
***
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