The mirror on the dresser in our guest bedroom. (Notice a "household theme" in my sketches so far???)
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
"I have called you friends."
From the Wednesday morning Eucharist today, the Feast Day of St. Matthias:
"[Jesus said,] ‘This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name." (John 15:12-16)
"[Jesus said,] ‘This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name." (John 15:12-16)
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
A confession
In the spirit of the season of Lent, I have a confession to make.
I have never really had a sense of God's abiding presence in my life.
Sure, I get flashes of insight from time to time; I've heard a "still, small voice" within that has guided me when I've prayed for discernment in my life; and there are moments when I truly feel a sense of God's presence: when I'm singing with a group of people and we finally hit that note at just the right pitch and in just the right tempo and chillbumps run down my spine; when I'm walking through the woods and I feel the wind at my back or my eyes are opened to new life sprouting forth from the earth; when a moment of deep pain turns into a moment of solidarity between fellow human beings on this planet. But I don't walk around on a daily basis feeling like God is right there with me, that God is my closest friend.
In college, I had a roommate named Susan who had a sense of God's abiding presence in her life. I could tell this just by looking at her and observing her on a daily basis. Each morning, she would wake up and read her Bible, and just the way she opened the book and fingered the pages exuded such love and devotion that I could tell that she was enraptured in a conversation with her Lord. Whenever something was really troubling me, I could go to her and ask her to pray for me, and in the deep sincerity in her voice I could hear her connection with God. When I asked her to pray for me, I knew she would do it. She was a true intercessor.
During my college years at Furman University, I was a part of some on-campus religious groups that I would characterize as "Evangelical." There were many people in these groups who had that same aura about them that Susan did. In fact, it was precisely that that drew me to them. I knew they had something I didn't, and I wanted it.
But I never got it. In fact, my feelings that I was lacking something in the spiritual department were a big part of why I had never even considered that I could be called to ordained ministry until others started to suggest it to me during my time at Harvard Divinity School (I'd gone there not to pursue ordained ministry, but with thoughts of being a religion reporter for a newspaper or a documentary filmmaker, or a high school teacher of religious studies). Compared with these people who seemed to be so in touch with God, I felt I wasn't a "good enough Christian." Certainly I could never be a leader in the faith!
Eventually I drifted away from the Evangelical communities, largely because I felt some of their views, both theologically and politically, did not jive with my understanding of who God is from the Scriptures. (Isn't that the age-old story of schism in the church??) To use the words of Diana L. Eck, who became my professor at Harvard Divinity School and my boss at The Pluralism Project at Harvard University, I did not feel I could live with "intellectual and personal honesty" within those communities.
Although I drifted away from many of the friends I'd made during those years, Susan and I remained close. Many years later, I asked her about this sense of God's abiding presence that she had. She responded that when she was growing up, she was the "odd one out" in school since she was a Charismatic and not a "normal" (for her hometown) Methodist or Baptist. Many of her friends did not understand or approve of some of her church's practices, like speaking in tongues. So Susan couldn't rely on a sense of "normalcy" or "givenness" in terms of her understanding of God. She had to turn to God as a personal presence. She talked to God and sat with God and was comforted by God. God became her friend, an "ever-present help in trouble."
Yesterday, I had a meeting with my spiritual director in which I explained to her the struggles I have had over the years with maintaining any kind of regular prayer life, and with my sense of a lack of God's abiding presence in my life. My spiritual director responded by telling me I should talk to God more as if God was my friend. "You develop a relationship with another person by spending time with them," she said. "You have to do the same with God."
As I listened to her, I was struck by how similar this advice was to what I had heard in the Evangelical communities, and realized how, despite some of our political and theological differences, we are really not so different as Christians. The bottom line is the same -- to get to know God, spend time with God. Spend time reading Scripture. Spend time in prayer.
In some ways, this similarity made me a bit uncomfortable. Here again, I was confronted with my lack of a real, deep, two-way relationship with God. I can hide this better in the Episcopal Church than I could in the non-denominational, Evangelical communities, because most Episcopalians don't walk around talking about the time they spent talking with Jesus this morning, but here it was, all the same.
To cover up for my lack of a sense of God's abiding presence, I had begun to scoff at people who said they had one -- especially if they used the "friendship" language. "Jesus is not your FRIEND," I would think. "He's GOD -- transcendent, majestic, etc." I laughed condescendingly at the lyrics to one of my favorite songwriter's takes on the Lord's Prayer -- "lead us not into temptation / and deliver us from those who think they're You," she sings. One of the verses pleads to God to "deliver us from the politicians / who drop your name in every speech / as if they're your best friend from high school / as if they practice what they preach!" The song is indeed very clever, and I think makes a good point -- but a lot of the reason I identified with that verse was the bit about "as if they're your best friend from high school." "Hummph. Please! Right!" I'd say condescendingly, thinking about "those people" who say God is their "best friend" and how "silly" that is.
But then I found myself in an Episcopal priest's office, confessing my lack of sense of God's presence, and she was telling me to think of God as my friend.
Um.... whoops. As usual, God was serving me up a nice dose of humble pie. Why does God have to be so good at that???
When I explained my background, a lot of what I have just shared here, my spiritual director backed away from the "friend" word. "If that bring up bad memories for you, don't think in terms of that language. Find an image or a metaphor that works for you."
So this is my task this Lent. How can I develop a deeper sense of God's abiding presence? How can I spend more time with God? How can I just "be" with God, have a conversation with God? I'm exploring ways that this might work for me. I hope to be able to share some positive results. Your prayers would be appreciated.
I have never really had a sense of God's abiding presence in my life.
Sure, I get flashes of insight from time to time; I've heard a "still, small voice" within that has guided me when I've prayed for discernment in my life; and there are moments when I truly feel a sense of God's presence: when I'm singing with a group of people and we finally hit that note at just the right pitch and in just the right tempo and chillbumps run down my spine; when I'm walking through the woods and I feel the wind at my back or my eyes are opened to new life sprouting forth from the earth; when a moment of deep pain turns into a moment of solidarity between fellow human beings on this planet. But I don't walk around on a daily basis feeling like God is right there with me, that God is my closest friend.
In college, I had a roommate named Susan who had a sense of God's abiding presence in her life. I could tell this just by looking at her and observing her on a daily basis. Each morning, she would wake up and read her Bible, and just the way she opened the book and fingered the pages exuded such love and devotion that I could tell that she was enraptured in a conversation with her Lord. Whenever something was really troubling me, I could go to her and ask her to pray for me, and in the deep sincerity in her voice I could hear her connection with God. When I asked her to pray for me, I knew she would do it. She was a true intercessor.
During my college years at Furman University, I was a part of some on-campus religious groups that I would characterize as "Evangelical." There were many people in these groups who had that same aura about them that Susan did. In fact, it was precisely that that drew me to them. I knew they had something I didn't, and I wanted it.
But I never got it. In fact, my feelings that I was lacking something in the spiritual department were a big part of why I had never even considered that I could be called to ordained ministry until others started to suggest it to me during my time at Harvard Divinity School (I'd gone there not to pursue ordained ministry, but with thoughts of being a religion reporter for a newspaper or a documentary filmmaker, or a high school teacher of religious studies). Compared with these people who seemed to be so in touch with God, I felt I wasn't a "good enough Christian." Certainly I could never be a leader in the faith!
Eventually I drifted away from the Evangelical communities, largely because I felt some of their views, both theologically and politically, did not jive with my understanding of who God is from the Scriptures. (Isn't that the age-old story of schism in the church??) To use the words of Diana L. Eck, who became my professor at Harvard Divinity School and my boss at The Pluralism Project at Harvard University, I did not feel I could live with "intellectual and personal honesty" within those communities.
Although I drifted away from many of the friends I'd made during those years, Susan and I remained close. Many years later, I asked her about this sense of God's abiding presence that she had. She responded that when she was growing up, she was the "odd one out" in school since she was a Charismatic and not a "normal" (for her hometown) Methodist or Baptist. Many of her friends did not understand or approve of some of her church's practices, like speaking in tongues. So Susan couldn't rely on a sense of "normalcy" or "givenness" in terms of her understanding of God. She had to turn to God as a personal presence. She talked to God and sat with God and was comforted by God. God became her friend, an "ever-present help in trouble."
Yesterday, I had a meeting with my spiritual director in which I explained to her the struggles I have had over the years with maintaining any kind of regular prayer life, and with my sense of a lack of God's abiding presence in my life. My spiritual director responded by telling me I should talk to God more as if God was my friend. "You develop a relationship with another person by spending time with them," she said. "You have to do the same with God."
As I listened to her, I was struck by how similar this advice was to what I had heard in the Evangelical communities, and realized how, despite some of our political and theological differences, we are really not so different as Christians. The bottom line is the same -- to get to know God, spend time with God. Spend time reading Scripture. Spend time in prayer.
In some ways, this similarity made me a bit uncomfortable. Here again, I was confronted with my lack of a real, deep, two-way relationship with God. I can hide this better in the Episcopal Church than I could in the non-denominational, Evangelical communities, because most Episcopalians don't walk around talking about the time they spent talking with Jesus this morning, but here it was, all the same.
To cover up for my lack of a sense of God's abiding presence, I had begun to scoff at people who said they had one -- especially if they used the "friendship" language. "Jesus is not your FRIEND," I would think. "He's GOD -- transcendent, majestic, etc." I laughed condescendingly at the lyrics to one of my favorite songwriter's takes on the Lord's Prayer -- "lead us not into temptation / and deliver us from those who think they're You," she sings. One of the verses pleads to God to "deliver us from the politicians / who drop your name in every speech / as if they're your best friend from high school / as if they practice what they preach!" The song is indeed very clever, and I think makes a good point -- but a lot of the reason I identified with that verse was the bit about "as if they're your best friend from high school." "Hummph. Please! Right!" I'd say condescendingly, thinking about "those people" who say God is their "best friend" and how "silly" that is.
But then I found myself in an Episcopal priest's office, confessing my lack of sense of God's presence, and she was telling me to think of God as my friend.
Um.... whoops. As usual, God was serving me up a nice dose of humble pie. Why does God have to be so good at that???
When I explained my background, a lot of what I have just shared here, my spiritual director backed away from the "friend" word. "If that bring up bad memories for you, don't think in terms of that language. Find an image or a metaphor that works for you."
So this is my task this Lent. How can I develop a deeper sense of God's abiding presence? How can I spend more time with God? How can I just "be" with God, have a conversation with God? I'm exploring ways that this might work for me. I hope to be able to share some positive results. Your prayers would be appreciated.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Today's sketch
A jar of marbles, given to me by one of my professors at Harvard, who was in charge of the Program in Religious Studies and Education (PRSE), in which I participated (a program that trained teachers how to teach about religion in a public school context). She gave these jars of marbles to everyone at the end of our course of studies, saying that she had one on her desk to remind her that all her students are unique (the marbles are all different colors, although you can't tell that from my sketch).
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Lenten discipline
As part of my Lenten discipline this year, I am going to revive a tradition that my husband and I started this past summer. We would spend 15 minutes twice a day writing -- me journaling, and he working on his songwriting. It was a way of creating a framework to support the things we wanted to be doing but didn't always find the time for.
I've decided I want to revive this tradition during Lent, since we slacked off from it after I started school. Instead of just journaling, though, I'm thinking I could also use the 15 minutes for some time of creativity -- sketching or perhaps even trying my hand at some poetry (something I don't usually do!).
Here's a sketch I made this morning of our cat.
I've decided I want to revive this tradition during Lent, since we slacked off from it after I started school. Instead of just journaling, though, I'm thinking I could also use the 15 minutes for some time of creativity -- sketching or perhaps even trying my hand at some poetry (something I don't usually do!).
Here's a sketch I made this morning of our cat.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Ash Wednesday
"Ash Wednesday"
A poem by T.S. Eliot
Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the agèd eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?
Because I do not hope to know
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is
nothing again
Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessèd face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice
And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us
Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.
Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.
Click here to read the rest of the poem.
A poem by T.S. Eliot
Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the agèd eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?
Because I do not hope to know
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is
nothing again
Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessèd face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice
And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us
Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.
Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.
Click here to read the rest of the poem.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
I'm Sensitive
My sister, Ashley Wells, is about to release her debut album, "Mama's Skirt." Tonight I was listening to some of her music from the past four or five years, since she first started performing and making amateur recordings of herself playing in her bedroom and emailing them to her biggest fan -- her sister. ;o)
As I was listening, I came across a version of her singing "I'm Sensitive," written by singer/songwriter Jewel. I really resonate with the lyrics to this song and think there's something of the Gospel in this...
I'm Sensitive
by Jewel
I was thinking that I might fly today
Just to disprove all the things you say
It doesn't take a talent to be mean
Your words can crush things that are unseen
So please be careful with me
I'm sensitive, and I'd like to stay that way.
You always tell me that it's impossible
To be respected and to be a girl
Why's it gotta be so complicated?
Why you gotta tell me if I'm hated?
So please be careful with me
I'm sensitive, and I'd like to stay that way.
I was thinking that it might do some good
If we robbed the cynics and took all their food
That way what they believe will have taken place
And we can give it to people who have faith
So please be careful with me
I'm sensitive, and I'd like to stay that way.
I have this theory that if we're told we're bad
Then that's the only idea we'll ever have
But maybe if we are surrounded in beauty
Someday we will become what we see
'Cause anyone can start a conflict
It's harder yet to disregard it
I'd rather see the world from another angle
We are everyday angels
Be careful with me
'Cause I'd like to stay that way
As I was listening, I came across a version of her singing "I'm Sensitive," written by singer/songwriter Jewel. I really resonate with the lyrics to this song and think there's something of the Gospel in this...
I'm Sensitive
by Jewel
I was thinking that I might fly today
Just to disprove all the things you say
It doesn't take a talent to be mean
Your words can crush things that are unseen
So please be careful with me
I'm sensitive, and I'd like to stay that way.
You always tell me that it's impossible
To be respected and to be a girl
Why's it gotta be so complicated?
Why you gotta tell me if I'm hated?
So please be careful with me
I'm sensitive, and I'd like to stay that way.
I was thinking that it might do some good
If we robbed the cynics and took all their food
That way what they believe will have taken place
And we can give it to people who have faith
So please be careful with me
I'm sensitive, and I'd like to stay that way.
I have this theory that if we're told we're bad
Then that's the only idea we'll ever have
But maybe if we are surrounded in beauty
Someday we will become what we see
'Cause anyone can start a conflict
It's harder yet to disregard it
I'd rather see the world from another angle
We are everyday angels
Be careful with me
'Cause I'd like to stay that way
Sunday, February 14, 2010
An Irish woman in Cambridge
On Sunday, Nov. 20, 2005, I placed a cross necklace around the neck of an Irish woman living on the streets of Boston, and my commitment to serving the poor took an unexpected turn.
For the past nine months, I had been volunteering with The Outdoor Church of Cambridge, a spiritual community for the homeless in the Boston area, which takes the church to people who either cannot or will not enter traditional churches. Each week, we met in a large public park and held an outdoor Eucharist, followed by a community lunch, provided by the “indoor” churches of the area. We would then journey through the streets of Cambridge on foot, offering lunch and Communion to whoever looked like they might need it.
Although I had been struck by Jesus’s solidarity with the poor and marginalized from the very first time I began to read the Bible for myself during high school, it had taken many years before I was able to muster the courage to respond to Jesus’s call for his followers to do likewise.
The first time I attended the Outdoor Church, I had to bite back tears as I stood around the rickety metal push-cart that held the simple altar linen and wooden cross, while the minister recited these words as part of the Eucharistic prayer: “Out of your desire to draw us into your infinite love, Jesus was born into the human family and remained with people who were outcast.”
For years, I had run from my sense of calling to solidarity with the marginalized, while verses like, “If you love me, feed my sheep” (John 21:17) and “Whatever you did to the least of these, you did it to me” (Matthew 25:40), rang in my head. As I stood at the Outdoor Church that day, I knew I was where God had been calling me to be for quite sometime.
But it wasn’t until nine months later, in one particular encounter with a woman on the street, that I began to suspect that there might be more in store for me than lay ministry in this field.
On the afternoon of Nov. 20, we were making our rounds through Harvard Square as usual. A woman approached us as we were speaking to one of our “regulars” and we offered her a sandwich. She was totally blown away. “You’re giving these away? For free? Are you for real?!? Why are you doing this??” Two of the other volunteers explained that we were part of an outdoor church. She still kept asking why we would do such a thing – apparently the word “church” doesn’t automatically conjure up the image of four people wandering the streets with coolers full of sandwiches, cookies, and juice.
I was reminded of 1 Peter 13:15, “Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.” I spoke up and said to her, “Because Jesus tells us to feed those who are hungry, and to give to those who are in need. That’s why we’re doing this.” She was completely amazed, utterly thankful, said she and her husband were “starving,” and called him over to get a sandwich from us as well.
As I watched them eat, suddenly I felt drawn to give her one of the cross necklaces that was the symbol of our ministry. I approached her, explained that the necklaces were worn both by the ministers and the parishioners of our outdoor church, and said that I would love to give this one to her.
And then she did something I didn’t expect. She asked me to place the necklace around her neck for her. As I did so, something stirred deep within me. Many months later, I realized that there had been a sacramental nature to that act. I would come to feel similar stirrings when I offered a chalice to someone at the Communion rail, saying, “The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation.”
I cannot overestimate the significance this one encounter had on my sense of calling. Seen in the larger context of my work with the Outdoor Church, it was the catalyst that moved my lay volunteerism into a life’s vocation. While teaching me valuable lessons about coordinating grassroots ministry, my time with the Outdoor Church also solidified my sense of what it means to be the church in the world and deepened my experience of Christ’s presence in my own life.
For the past nine months, I had been volunteering with The Outdoor Church of Cambridge, a spiritual community for the homeless in the Boston area, which takes the church to people who either cannot or will not enter traditional churches. Each week, we met in a large public park and held an outdoor Eucharist, followed by a community lunch, provided by the “indoor” churches of the area. We would then journey through the streets of Cambridge on foot, offering lunch and Communion to whoever looked like they might need it.
Although I had been struck by Jesus’s solidarity with the poor and marginalized from the very first time I began to read the Bible for myself during high school, it had taken many years before I was able to muster the courage to respond to Jesus’s call for his followers to do likewise.
The first time I attended the Outdoor Church, I had to bite back tears as I stood around the rickety metal push-cart that held the simple altar linen and wooden cross, while the minister recited these words as part of the Eucharistic prayer: “Out of your desire to draw us into your infinite love, Jesus was born into the human family and remained with people who were outcast.”
For years, I had run from my sense of calling to solidarity with the marginalized, while verses like, “If you love me, feed my sheep” (John 21:17) and “Whatever you did to the least of these, you did it to me” (Matthew 25:40), rang in my head. As I stood at the Outdoor Church that day, I knew I was where God had been calling me to be for quite sometime.
But it wasn’t until nine months later, in one particular encounter with a woman on the street, that I began to suspect that there might be more in store for me than lay ministry in this field.
On the afternoon of Nov. 20, we were making our rounds through Harvard Square as usual. A woman approached us as we were speaking to one of our “regulars” and we offered her a sandwich. She was totally blown away. “You’re giving these away? For free? Are you for real?!? Why are you doing this??” Two of the other volunteers explained that we were part of an outdoor church. She still kept asking why we would do such a thing – apparently the word “church” doesn’t automatically conjure up the image of four people wandering the streets with coolers full of sandwiches, cookies, and juice.
I was reminded of 1 Peter 13:15, “Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.” I spoke up and said to her, “Because Jesus tells us to feed those who are hungry, and to give to those who are in need. That’s why we’re doing this.” She was completely amazed, utterly thankful, said she and her husband were “starving,” and called him over to get a sandwich from us as well.
And then she did something I didn’t expect. She asked me to place the necklace around her neck for her. As I did so, something stirred deep within me. Many months later, I realized that there had been a sacramental nature to that act. I would come to feel similar stirrings when I offered a chalice to someone at the Communion rail, saying, “The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation.”
I cannot overestimate the significance this one encounter had on my sense of calling. Seen in the larger context of my work with the Outdoor Church, it was the catalyst that moved my lay volunteerism into a life’s vocation. While teaching me valuable lessons about coordinating grassroots ministry, my time with the Outdoor Church also solidified my sense of what it means to be the church in the world and deepened my experience of Christ’s presence in my own life.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Alaska!
I received a phone call today letting me know that I have been accepted into the Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) program at Providence Medical Center in Anchorage, Alaska, for summer 2010. So, if all plans fall into place accordingly, we will be spending the summer in Alaska!
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Praise the Spirit in creation
We sang this hymn this morning at our community Eucharist (Wednesdays are our "Sundays" here at the seminary). It's a truly beautiful hymn, #507 in The Hymnal 1982 (the official Episcopal hymnal).
Praise the Spirit in creation
Breath of God, life's origin
Spirit moving on the waters,
Quickening worlds to life within
Source of breath to all things breathing
Life in whom all lives begin
Praise the Spirit, close companion
Of our inmost thoughts and ways
Who, in showing us God's wonders,
Is himself the power to gaze
And God's will, to those who listen,
By a still, small voice conveys.
Praise the Spirit, who enlightened
Priests and prophets with the word;
His the truth behind the wisdoms
Which as yet know not our Lord
By whose love and power in Jesus
God himself was seen and heard.
These are just the first three stanzas (not "verses" -- as I'm learning in my "Singing the Word" class, hymns have stanzas, not verses, because they are poems) -- I loved the opening stanza and also the third one that acknowledges that even the "wisdoms which as yet know not our Lord" are inspired by the Spirit.
Praise the Spirit in creation
Breath of God, life's origin
Spirit moving on the waters,
Quickening worlds to life within
Source of breath to all things breathing
Life in whom all lives begin
Praise the Spirit, close companion
Of our inmost thoughts and ways
Who, in showing us God's wonders,
Is himself the power to gaze
And God's will, to those who listen,
By a still, small voice conveys.
Praise the Spirit, who enlightened
Priests and prophets with the word;
His the truth behind the wisdoms
Which as yet know not our Lord
By whose love and power in Jesus
God himself was seen and heard.
These are just the first three stanzas (not "verses" -- as I'm learning in my "Singing the Word" class, hymns have stanzas, not verses, because they are poems) -- I loved the opening stanza and also the third one that acknowledges that even the "wisdoms which as yet know not our Lord" are inspired by the Spirit.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Biblical ethics?
It seems that my Basic Christian Ethics class will be giving me the most food for thought this semester. This week, in the first part of a section on "The Bible and Christian Ethics," we considered the role of the Old Testament in Christian Ethics. As part of our reading for Monday's class, we were assigned the following passages of Old Testament texts for reading:
Exodus 20-23 (The Ten Commandments and other laws)
Leviticus 20:6-26 (the "purity laws," including the infamous anti-homosexuality passage)
Deuteronomy 5:1-21 (The Ten Commandments again)
Deuteronomy 6:4-9 (Israel's instruction to teach the law to their children)
Deuteronomy 10:12-13 (Summary of the law: What does the Lord require of you? To love and serve him.)
Deuteronomy 13:6-11 (Commandment to kill your children if they lead you astray from the worship of the one God.)
Deuteronomy 20:10-20 (Guidelines for war against other nations, including an injunction to kill all the people in the towns they conquer, but not to kill any trees!)
Deuteronomy 22:13-30 (Laws about sexuality, particularly about the importance of women being virgins when they are married -- the penalty is death if they are not.)
Isaiah 1 (The prophet denouncing the empty ritual of the temples as having no meaning because the people have turned away from God.)
Amos 5:18-24 (More condemnation of empty ritual - "I despite your festivals; I take no delight in your solemn assemblies")
Micah 6:6-8 ("What does the Lord require of you? To do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.")
Among these passages, we find some real gems of "biblical ethics" -- for instance, in the passage from Exodus, we are told that killing another person is grounds for the death penalty. But killing a slave is grounds only for punishment, not death for the slave-owner, and only if the slave dies immediately. If the slave survives for a few days after being beaten and THEN dies, "there is no punishment, for the slave is the owner's property." (Exodus 20:21) How are we to apply THIS Scripture in today's world?
Or what about Deuteronomy 13:6-11, which instructs parents that they should kill their children if they worship any gods other than the God of Israel? So should modern-day Christian parents kill their children if they decide to convert to Hinduism or Islam?
At the same time, however, within this collection of sometimes horrific laws, there are also laws that I consider morally commendable, such as the prohibitions against lending money at interest (Exodus 22:25-27), and against oppression of "resident aliens" (Hebrew: gur, meaning one who is unable to be at home due to war or famine -- a modern-day equivalent would be refugees or undocumented immigrants, according to our Old Testament professor Becky Wright), since the Israelites were themselves once aliens in the land of Egypt (Exodus 22:21).
So what to do with these texts? How do we construct a consistent biblical ethic based on Scripture? Do we simply "pick and choose," throwing out the passages about killing one's children and keeping the passages about not oppressing refugees? What does it mean to say that this text is the "Word of God"?
Many of my classmates did not seem troubled by the difficult passages in the Old Testament, making comments about taking into account the time and context in which the Old Testament was written, and using analogies of human development to say that the earliest Old Testament laws were given to the people of Israel in an early state of development morally and that today we have progressed to a higher state of moral being in which we are able to understand and interpret more nuance than people were then.
But these arguments seemed hollow to me. For one thing, the idea that humanity has progressed over linear time (often associated with "modernist" thinking) was somewhat disproved by the atrocities of the 20th century, including two World Wars and the Holocaust. And it seems inconsistent to me to on the one hand talk passionately about how we should take more seriously some of the Old Testament teachings on economics (the idea of a Jubilee Year where all debts are forgiven, the practice of keeping the edges of the fields un-plowed and left for the poor to eat) while at the same time arguing that we should not pay attention to those parts of the Old Testament that seem offensive to us today.
For one thing, not everyone is agreed about which parts of the Old Testament are offensive. I find the so-called prohibitions against homosexual behavior to be offensive, but many Christians do not. The Evangelical churches I was a part of in college would criticize this kind of approach to the Bible for using "man's judgment" to evaluate the worth of "God's Word." Who are we to question God's Word, they would ask? And in some ways, I am still asking this question.
I suppose I am looking for a consistent way to read the Scriptures, and I want to be up front and honest about what standard I am using to evaluate them. If I want to say that certain passages are not in keeping with what I know about God and God's will -- well, where did I get my ideas about what God and God's will are like? I suppose I got my ideas about God from reading other passages of Scripture (like Micah 6:6-8 and many of the Gospel texts), but other parts of it come from my own inner sense of right and wrong, of what is good and just.
I guess I can be thankful that I am a part of the Episcopal Church, which approaches faith through the "three-legged stool" of Scripture, tradition, and reason -- not the "sola scriptura" (or "Scripture alone") of Martin Luther and the later Reformist (Protestant) churches. That at least gives me grounds to bring my own reasoning (in the context of the wider Church community) to bear on the Scriptures, rather than feeling obligated to take them all literally, at face value, and try to follow every law and regulation within them.
Exodus 20-23 (The Ten Commandments and other laws)
Leviticus 20:6-26 (the "purity laws," including the infamous anti-homosexuality passage)
Deuteronomy 5:1-21 (The Ten Commandments again)
Deuteronomy 6:4-9 (Israel's instruction to teach the law to their children)
Deuteronomy 10:12-13 (Summary of the law: What does the Lord require of you? To love and serve him.)
Deuteronomy 13:6-11 (Commandment to kill your children if they lead you astray from the worship of the one God.)
Deuteronomy 20:10-20 (Guidelines for war against other nations, including an injunction to kill all the people in the towns they conquer, but not to kill any trees!)
Deuteronomy 22:13-30 (Laws about sexuality, particularly about the importance of women being virgins when they are married -- the penalty is death if they are not.)
Isaiah 1 (The prophet denouncing the empty ritual of the temples as having no meaning because the people have turned away from God.)
Amos 5:18-24 (More condemnation of empty ritual - "I despite your festivals; I take no delight in your solemn assemblies")
Micah 6:6-8 ("What does the Lord require of you? To do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.")
Among these passages, we find some real gems of "biblical ethics" -- for instance, in the passage from Exodus, we are told that killing another person is grounds for the death penalty. But killing a slave is grounds only for punishment, not death for the slave-owner, and only if the slave dies immediately. If the slave survives for a few days after being beaten and THEN dies, "there is no punishment, for the slave is the owner's property." (Exodus 20:21) How are we to apply THIS Scripture in today's world?
Or what about Deuteronomy 13:6-11, which instructs parents that they should kill their children if they worship any gods other than the God of Israel? So should modern-day Christian parents kill their children if they decide to convert to Hinduism or Islam?
At the same time, however, within this collection of sometimes horrific laws, there are also laws that I consider morally commendable, such as the prohibitions against lending money at interest (Exodus 22:25-27), and against oppression of "resident aliens" (Hebrew: gur, meaning one who is unable to be at home due to war or famine -- a modern-day equivalent would be refugees or undocumented immigrants, according to our Old Testament professor Becky Wright), since the Israelites were themselves once aliens in the land of Egypt (Exodus 22:21).
So what to do with these texts? How do we construct a consistent biblical ethic based on Scripture? Do we simply "pick and choose," throwing out the passages about killing one's children and keeping the passages about not oppressing refugees? What does it mean to say that this text is the "Word of God"?
Many of my classmates did not seem troubled by the difficult passages in the Old Testament, making comments about taking into account the time and context in which the Old Testament was written, and using analogies of human development to say that the earliest Old Testament laws were given to the people of Israel in an early state of development morally and that today we have progressed to a higher state of moral being in which we are able to understand and interpret more nuance than people were then.
But these arguments seemed hollow to me. For one thing, the idea that humanity has progressed over linear time (often associated with "modernist" thinking) was somewhat disproved by the atrocities of the 20th century, including two World Wars and the Holocaust. And it seems inconsistent to me to on the one hand talk passionately about how we should take more seriously some of the Old Testament teachings on economics (the idea of a Jubilee Year where all debts are forgiven, the practice of keeping the edges of the fields un-plowed and left for the poor to eat) while at the same time arguing that we should not pay attention to those parts of the Old Testament that seem offensive to us today.
For one thing, not everyone is agreed about which parts of the Old Testament are offensive. I find the so-called prohibitions against homosexual behavior to be offensive, but many Christians do not. The Evangelical churches I was a part of in college would criticize this kind of approach to the Bible for using "man's judgment" to evaluate the worth of "God's Word." Who are we to question God's Word, they would ask? And in some ways, I am still asking this question.
I suppose I am looking for a consistent way to read the Scriptures, and I want to be up front and honest about what standard I am using to evaluate them. If I want to say that certain passages are not in keeping with what I know about God and God's will -- well, where did I get my ideas about what God and God's will are like? I suppose I got my ideas about God from reading other passages of Scripture (like Micah 6:6-8 and many of the Gospel texts), but other parts of it come from my own inner sense of right and wrong, of what is good and just.
I guess I can be thankful that I am a part of the Episcopal Church, which approaches faith through the "three-legged stool" of Scripture, tradition, and reason -- not the "sola scriptura" (or "Scripture alone") of Martin Luther and the later Reformist (Protestant) churches. That at least gives me grounds to bring my own reasoning (in the context of the wider Church community) to bear on the Scriptures, rather than feeling obligated to take them all literally, at face value, and try to follow every law and regulation within them.
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