Authentic Living

As a child, I worked hard to please my parents and my teachers.  As an adult, I find that I am still working hard to please others.  And as a pastor, I often feel that the way to do that is to make sure I live within the expectations of how a pastor is supposed to think and live.

On the one hand, living to please others and meet their expectations can have social benefits.  I'm currently reading the biography of Steve Jobs, a man who, despite his greatness, didn't give a shit (to use his language) about what other people thought.  Thus, he was often rude, tactless, and offensive.

On the other hand, always living to please others and meet their expectations can be incredibly confining.  It can lead one to feel trapped, captive.

A few weeks ago, I sat down and wrote a few paragraphs that reflected the real me - not the me that I feel compelled to present to the world.  I found it to be a liberating experience.  I was able to be authentic and real.  Here is some of what I wrote:

I eat, sleep, fart, feel lazy, dream, stare too long in the mirror, relieve myself, have sex.  I have questions regarding God that I doubt will ever be answered; questions about eternity, questions about sex and sexuality, questions about meaning and purpose and good and evil.  I have questions about the existence and nature of God.

I find exploring these questions to be fascinating.  The questions always lead to more questions, and yet I feel that simply by asking them, I learn more about God and more about myself.

Pastors are supposed to be better, holier, and more spiritual, but I do not feel that I am a better person than anyone else.  I am happily married, but I'd be lying if I told you that beautiful women don't cause my head to turn; or even, sometimes, beautiful men.

I'm not sure what is good or moral 100% of the time.  I sometimes recognize that both sides of an ethical debate are valid.  However, most of the time, I think I do have a pretty good idea what is good or moral.  Faith helps.  Scripture helps.  But even when I do know what is good and moral, there are times when I'm not sure I want to be good and moral....

If these words strike a chord with you, then welcome to the conversation.  Together, let us continue asking questions and exploring what it means to be human.

If what I've written here offends you or disturbs you, then I invite you to take some time to explore who you really are, deep down, and to ask some questions that you probably have never dared to ask yourself before.  And why haven't you?  Are you afraid of the answers?  Are you afraid of discovering who you really are? 

Join the journey.  It may be risky.  But that's what living is all about.

Definitions of God

I'm currently reading Speaking Christian, the latest book by Marcus Borg.  Today I read the chapter where he talks about "God," and specifically the various definitions and meanings of the word "God." 

Before reading further, ask yourself: What is my definition of "God?"

Borg and I agree that one reason a lot of people have a problem believing in God is because of the definitions that are commonly used to define God.  In his book, Borg cites these examples:

Oxford American: “Without an article: In Christianity and other monotheistic religions the creator and ruler of the universe and source of all moral authority; the supreme being.”


Random House Websters: “The creator and ruler of the universe; Supreme Being. One of several immortal powers, esp. one with male attributes, presiding over some portion of worldly affairs.”

American Heritage: “A perfect being conceived as the creator of the universe, and worshiped in monotheistic religions; the force, effect, or a manifestation or aspect of this being; a being of supernatural powers or attributes, believed in and worshiped by a people, esp. a male deity.”

In sermons, I've shared my own definition of God, which is a little different.  I've said that God is the "lifeforce or life-energy which binds all of creation."  I've quoted (as Borg does) Acts 17:28, which says that God is "the one in whom we live and move and have our being.”  These definitions define God as being more "in here" rather than "out there."  The "out there" definitions seem more common in society today, and yet I think they also present a God who people find hard to believe in.

What definitions of God are problematic for you?  What definitions do you prefer?

You're Not Alone

Note:  I posted this last Thursday, but for some reason it disappeared from the blog, so I'm reposting it again today.

Last week, a strange thing happened here at FieldOfDandelions.com. 

First, I published a post on Monday.  Usually, new posts only appear here on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  However, the fact that I published on a Monday is not the strangest thing to have occured.

Second, I mentioned my post on facebook and twitter, letting people know that I had posted my reaction to the killing of Osama bin Laden.  This, also, is not particulary strange.  It wasn't the first time I had promoted my blog this way.

Third, more people viewed that particular post than anything else that has ever appeared here.  As blogs go, this one is a tiny drop in a vast sea of blogs, but still, it was exciting (and a little scary) to discover that so many people were motivated to read what I had written.

However, even that was not the strangest thing to occur here last week.

The strangest thing was the comments I received in response to that post.  I received some comments here on the blog, and quite a few more on the link to the blog that I posted via facebook.  Comments also came via telephone from relatives who read the blog, and they came through face-to-face conversations with people in my church and community who saw what I had written.  Every person who shared their thoughts with me said that they were grateful for what I'd written.  They were grateful, because they had those same thoughts themselves, but thought that they were the only ones.

Imagine that:  a whole crowd of people, all thinking alike, but each member of the crowd believing that he or she was the only one.

Last Friday I visited my neighborhood public library and checked out a book by Tina Rosenberg called Join the Club: How Peer Pressure Can Transform the World.  I'm currently about halfway through, but so far I've read about how much better black and Latino students do at Calculus when they study in a group and realize that they're not the only ones who want to excel in math.  I've read about how a sign at Petrified Forest National Park asking visitors to not take fossils only encouraged people to do so, because it showed an image of a group of people taking fossils - apparently no one wanted to be the "only one" who didn't go home with a souvenir - and when the sign was changed to only show one person taking a fossil, the thefts declined dramatically.  I've read about how social pressure causes teenagers to smoke and how it increases the spread of AIDS, and how social pressure can (and has been) used to reduce teen smoking and the spread of AIDS.

Apparently, it's human nature to want to be part of the group and to do what the group is doing or at least what the group approves of.  When we think we're the only one, we either hide, or change our behavior so that we more easily fit in.

So, to all those who believe that the words "killed" and "celebrate" do not belong together, I tell you:  you're not alone.  To those who believe that God's love extends even to our worst enemies, I say:  you're not alone.  To those who long for a more peaceful, compassionate Christianity, I say:  you're not alone.  To those who believe there is a greater deptgh to our faith than the soundbites that appear in the media, I say:  you're not alone.

Churches like mine are small, perhaps because we think that we are alone in wanting a deeper, more peaceful and compassionate spirituality than what we see in the world.... and because we feel that we are alone, we keep quiet.  However, there are many others who long for that same genuine faith.

Perhaps our message to the world should be:  "You're not alone."

Tragedy in Tucson: My Confession

[Note: after I wrote this today, I didn't want to wait until Thursday (when I usually publish my blog), so it is appearing one day early...]

Following the tragic shooting in Tucson last week, it was so easy to jump on the bandwagon pointing to the causes of such violence in society.  Friends on Facebook immediately began pointing fingers at folks like Sarah Palin, whose website featured gun sights targeting a number of progressive/liberal politicians, including Representative Gabrielle Giffords.  I had not known about Sarah Palin's "targets," and was horrified enough to post my own status update condeming her and her website.

It's so easy for me to condemn and blame those who (like Palin) are so obviously wrong think differently than I do.  Even as I did so, however, I heard a small voice in the back of my head challenging me to think differently.  Over the next several days, that voice got louder and louder until I could ignore it no longer.

I was utterly annoyed.

I was annoyed, because I didn't want to think differently.  I was certain that my thinking around this issue was right.  Yet the voice told me I needed to look at the words and actions of Sarah Palin and others from a more compassionate, Christ-like point of view. 

The problem was, I didn't want to look at Palin from a Christ-like point of view.

As I read more and more of my fellow progressives indirectly blame Palin for the massacre, it seemed to me that they (we) were "targeting" her in a way that wasn't so different from the way she had "targeted" politicians who disagreed with her.  The voice said that, therefore, we really weren't that different from Palin. 

The problem was, I didn't want to think of myself as being not so different from her.

But as I listened to the voice, I realized that it was right.  Despite her offensive rhetoric and actions, Palin - like the rest of us - got caught up in the ongoing war of words.  Palin - like the rest of us - had been fired upon, and fired back in return. 

Who, you may ask, fired the first shot?

Just today, I happened to read that some of the earliest written language, coming from Mesopotamia thousands of years ago, included trash talk.  Back then, there were two kinds of people:  farmers and herders.  The farmers trash-talked the herders, and the herders trash-talked the farmers.  In the book of Genesis, we see the result of all this trash-talk:  Cain (the farmer) killed his brother Abel (the herder).  Apparently, things weren't so different, even then.

63 years ago today, Gandhi began a fast to convince Hindus and Muslims in New Delhi to work for peace.  Instead of getting caught up in the conflict and the trash-talk, he searched for - and found - a better way.

Instead of blaming the other side, perhaps we need to spend some time praying for peace.  Perhaps we can, each of us, confess our own participation in the ongoing wars of rhetoric.  Fasting might even be a good idea, as a way of focusing our thoughts.

It is true that when verbal bullets fly, real bullets are more likely to follow.  I, for one, am going to work harder to ensure that none of those verbal bullets come from me.

Being Present

In my life, I have hiked thousands of miles and spent hundreds of nights sleeping in a tent or even outside.  I will admit that, sometimes, when I'm preparing for another venture into the wilderness, I wonder if perhaps I'm a little crazy for leaving the comforts of home:  soft bed, warm shower, a roof to keep me dry if it rains.

I never wonder this when I'm in the wilderness.

So what compels me to spend so many days outdoors, in nature?  This is a question that has come to me every so often, and the answer wasn't always clear.  But I think I'm starting to figure it out.

Being in the wilderness allows me to be "present" in a way that is difficult under normal circumstances.

At home, the calendar shows events for months to come.  I'm always anxious about money.  Usually the anxiety is not about meeting today's needs, but tomorrow's.  My mind is often fixated on things that are days, weeks, months, or even years away.

As a pastor, I've been thinking about Christmas for many weeks now.  Indeed, I've moved beyond Christmas, and am already anticipating programs and ministries for 2011.

Planning ahead is necessary and important, of course.  However, too often it takes place at the expense of being present.  Hours go by, and we're not even aware of their passing, because our thoughts are elsewhere.  What did you have for breakfast this morning?  What did you do last evening?  Sometimes it's hard to remember such simple details, because while we were eating breakfast, our mind was somewhere else; while we played a board game or had a conversation last evening, our mind wasn't really present.

The weekend before Thanksgiving, I went camping with Troop 29 (my church's boy scout troop, which my son is in) to Joshua Tree National Park.  While there, I found myself watching the clouds, and watching the rocky cliffs change color as the clouds passed in front of the sun.  Climbing (well, "bouldering," actually) one of those rocky peaks, my thoughts were fully present as I contemplated how to safely navigate to the top, where to put my hands and feet, feeling the rough texture of the rocks on my hands, feeling the cool breeze and warm sun on my face, and keeping alert lest I surprise a rattlesnake as I climbed.

With thoughts like these, there is no room in one's mind for worrying about the future.  One cannot always live in the present, of course, but most of us hardly ever live in the present.  We need to find some balance.

Some call it mindfulness.  It is, I think, an overlooked spiritual practice, at least in the West.  I've been told that meditation involves shutting out sights, sounds, and distractions, and emptying one's mind.  I'm not so sure.  For me, meditation is more about opening the mind to the world around me, and recognizing the sacredness of it all.

The view from the top of my climb.

The Way of Jesus: Bigger Than Any One Religion

It was one of the strangest moments I've ever experienced in sermon preparation.  The words flowed easily, effortlessly, from my mind, through my fingers, and on to the page.  I almost didn't even think about it, until a voice in my head said, "Whoa.  Do you realize what you've written?"

I put down my pencil (yes, I write with a pencil) and read:  "The way of Jesus is bigger than any one religion.  The kingdom of God is bigger than any one religion."

Yikes!  I thought.  I can't say that, can I?  I might as well say that one doesn't have to be a Christian in order to follow Christ.  I might as well say that anyone can come to the Father without being a Christian.  Is that really what I meant?

Where on earth did such a thought come from?

I began reviewing my train of thought.  I had been discussing about how Jesus was the Jewish messiah, returning to his hometown, explaining how God has always shown favor to not only the people of Israel, but people from other nations and religions as well (cf. Luke 4: 22-30). 

Immediately, I searched my memory for other examples, and to my surprise, I found plenty.  Even though Jesus' religion was Judaism, he welcomed and ministered to Samaritans, Roman officers, and a Syrophoenician woman. 

I thought of the Ethiopian eunuch, returning home from a visit to Jerusalem, where he was most likely turned away from the temple because he was not Jewish enough (Acts 8). Nevertheless, he was baptized by a faithful follower of Jesus.  Baptized!  Who among us today would baptize someone who wasn't really Christian, who didn't worship the right way, or who didn't have all of the right beliefs? 

And yet, I don't see much difference.  In the first century, the followers of Jesus considered themselves Jews, followers of the Jewish messiah, but they were willing to welcome non-Jews.  Today, the followers of Jesus consider themselves Christians, but rarely are they willing to follow the example of first-century followers and welcome non-Christians.  Indeed, we often find ourselves leary of non-Christians and even downright fearful of those who don't worship the "right" way or have all of the "right" beliefs.

Paul and his companions welcomed Gentiles into the Jesus movement.  They didn't even require them to be circumcised first.  They understood that the way of Jesus was bigger than Judaism, that the kingdom of God was bigger than any one religion.

What does that mean today?  It means that the way of Jesus is bigger than Christianity as we understand it.  The way of Jesus is bigger than Christianity as we've made it.

I think it's safe to say that Gandhi, for one, considered himself a follower of the way of Jesus, even though he certainly did not consider himself a Christian.  (More on this.)  I think a good number of those who consider themselves "spiritual but not religious" consider themselves followers of the way of Jesus, but not necessarily Christians.  This leads me to wonder:  Would the first-century followers of Jesus welcome them and accept them?  Would Jesus welcome them and accept them, accept their desire to follow, even though they might not have all the "right" beliefs?

I think he would.

Perhaps it's not a coincidence that these thoughts have come to me as I've become more involved in interfaith dialogue in my community.  I hope that my friends who are Muslim, Jewish, Buddhist, etc., are not offended when I say that I am learning to see them as followers of the way of Jesus.  Probably they will not be as offended as some of my fellow Christians will be.

My statement concerning people of other faiths has nothing to do with a desire to convert them to Christianity.  After all, even though I am a Christian, I know that the way of Jesus is bigger than that.  Instead, it is a recognition that the way of Jesus is actually the way of God, and it is open to all.

The belief that "the way of Jesus is bigger than any one religion / the kingdom of God is bigger than any one religion" has since become a recurring theme in my preaching.  Clearly this is because it is a belief that I myself am still growing into.  (Sorry, church, but my sermons are as much for me as they are for you.)  Other recurring themes include:  understanding the kingdom of God as a present reality; our call to be a movement for wholeness in a fragmented world; finding a life of meaning and deep satisfaction through generosity and simple living.

These themes are all related.  A search through my blog posts will probably reveal that they occur here as well.  They are all themes that I have come to gradually, through prayer, study, and reflection.  None of them startled me as much as the idea that the way of Jesus is bigger than any one religion.  All of them, I believe, are true.

Saved from Bitterness and Anger

Sometimes, I wonder how it is possible to keep a positive outlook on things, or even to keep sane in this crazy world. I realize that I can't speak for other pastors, or even other humans. I can only speak for myself. Yet, as I consider the state of the world, I wonder how we've let it get to this point.

The U.S. has 5,113 nuclear warheads. Just 5,113? That's a lot fewer than we used to have. And yet, each one is capable of death on a massive scale. It's 5,113 too many.

We suffer from an addiction to fossil fuels. The lives of coal miners in West Virginia, an ecological catastrophe (and more lost lives) in the Gulf of Mexico, and explosions at refineries are the cost of our addiction, not to mention smog-choked valleys and stressful, traffic-clogged freeways.

Two blocks from my home, people without homes sleep in the bushes next to a freeway onramp, where people drive by in their air-conditioned luxury cars and SUVs, talking on their bluetooths.

Shall I go on? As a follower of Jesus, and as a person called to help others follow Jesus, it is a challenge to not become discouraged and lose hope in this world. And yet, I know people who have lost hope. Their bitterness and sadness, present in sermons and status updates, only adds to the despair.

There is also, of course, personal stress: lying awake at night, praying that my son's blood sugars are normal, and that we can afford the next round of medicine co-pays; lamenting the strengthening grip of electronic media on my family; struggling to uphold the commitments I've made despite challenges of time and money; wondering what more I can do for the church I pastor, and worrying about whether or not it will be able to afford a full-time pastor next year.

One after another, the thoughts fill my mind. Worries and anxieties abound. Save me, O God, from bitterness and anger. Save me from hopelessness. Show me some comfort, something to sing and laugh about.

And then...

Then I walk past a garden filled with beauty -- just for me, it seems -- and my heart leaps in joy and gratitude for the wonderful display that delights my senses, a gift from God and gardeners...

Then I see two friends greet one another with a hug, and I think back to my own friends and loved ones, and remember that companions make the journey possible, bearable, worthwhile, and even enjoyable...

Then I hear a melody sung by a bird, a choir, or a child getting ready for school, filling my ears with a sound of delight that lasts all day long.

I know that the ancient prophets lamented the state of their world, which seemed to them so at odds with God's intentions. This discrepancy gnawed at them until they found life almost unbearable.

I wonder if they were able to see the beauty and the joy that existed side-by-side with the injustice that tormented them. I think they must have. How else could they have written their critiques of society in such beautiful poetry?

It is a spiritual practice, to take care to notice the many blessings and sights of beauty in our world, a practice that is essential for me and for anyone who works to bring wholeness to a fragmented world. The gardens, the hugs, the songs ... these are the things that keep us sane. These are the things that keep us joyful.

These passings resurrect
A joy without defect,
The life that steps and sings in ways of death.
--Wendell Berry

Time Among Trees

Hiking through the forests of Santa Anita Canyon, I passed through groves of different types of trees.  Most of the trees that grew in the moist soil of the shady canyon I didn't know well:  oaks, willows, dogwoods (I think those are dogwoods in the photo), and something that my friend David called a bay leaf tree.  I wondered if it had other names.  I'd heard of bay laurel trees.  Was that a different name for the same tree, or a different species or variety?  I didn't know.

Four miles into the hike, we came to Spruce Grove campground, and as I looked through the forest of oak trees, I saw some taller evergreens that I assumed were the namesake Spruce.  However, I do not know spruce trees very well, so I couldn't be sure.

A few days earlier, I had read a description of the trail that mentioned one area on a dry hill above the canyon, where jeffrey pines grew.  I was looking forward to seeing the jeffrey pines.  I know jeffrey pines.  I also know ponderosas, red firs, incense cedars, white firs, lodgepole pines, joshua trees, chinese elm, japanese zelkova, and fruitless mulberry.  I even remember when and where it was that I first got to know each of these trees.

I first met jeffrey pines at a campground near Green Valley Lake in the San Bernardino mountains, where my family went camping several times when I was young.  It was there that I first stuck my nose into the ridges of its bark and smelled its sweet sap.  It was there that I first noticed how the bark broke off into little jigsaw puzzle-shaped pieces.

I got to know Jeffrey pines a little better at Bethany Pines, a church camp I attended for three summers while I was in elementary school.  At Bethany Pines, I noticed how incredibly long the needles are on a Jeffrey pine -- about ten inches long -- and how they always grew in bundles of three.

I was looking forward to seeing jeffrey pines in Santa Anita Canyon because meeting a jeffrey pine is like meeting an old friend.

When I arrived on the ridge where the jeffrey pines were supposed to be, I looked for them, but all I saw were tall, dark trees with short needles.  They didn't have long needles in bundles of three.  They didn't have jagged, jigsaw puzzle bark.  They didn't have that sweet jeffrey pine smell.  In fact, they looked a lot like the spruce trees I had seen earlier.

They were very beautiful, but they weren't the trees I knew.

For a long time, I have recognized the fact that it is difficult for me to remember the names of people I meet.  However, my hike among the spruce trees made me think that it is probably more accurate to say that, as an introvert in a fast-paced world, it is hard for me to find the time to get to know people.  Once I take the time to know someone, I don't forget their name, in the same way that I can't forget the name of a tree that I've gotten to know. 

But that's the thing, isn't it?  Who among us has the time for such things?  In her book An Altar in the World, Barbara Brown Taylor writes:  "No one has time to lie on the deck watching stars, or to wonder how one's hand came to be, or to see the soul of a stranger walking by.  Small wonder we are short on reverence."  Barbara Brown Taylor then quotes the artist Georgia O'Keefe, who explained her success in painting flowers by saying, "In a way, nobody sees a flower, really, it is so small, we haven't time -- and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time."

Near the end of the hike, I sat on a rock and ate a snack that I had brought along.  Suddenly, a tree on the hillside across the stream caught my eye.  It was a young evergreen that was unlike any other in the canyon, with shaggy red bark covering its long, slender trunk that wasn't much thicker than a light pole.

"Hey, I know that tree!" I said out loud.  However, I doubted, because the location didn't match.  Seeing this tree here, I felt like a child who runs into his kindergarten teacher at the grocery store.  "What are you doing here?"

I climbed down from my rock, crossed the stream, and scrambled about ten feet up the hill on the opposite side to get a closer look.  Sure enough, it was a redwood -- the only redwood in the forest.  "It is you!" I thought to myself.

I got to know redwoods at several church camps I worked at in northern California.  They can get much taller than this particular tree, of course.  I figured that someone must have planted this tree here, probably a resident of one of the historic cabins that line this canyon.

After greeting this redwood, I finished my hike, grateful for the opportunity to see at least one arboreal old friend, and thankful for the opportunities I've had to spend some time getting to know at least some of the trees I've met in the world.

Conservative Values, Liberal Values, and Social Justice

Rarely do I allow myself to get involved in political debates.  Even more rare are the times when I get engaged in such debates online, through email and social networks.  Almost always, my involvement in such conversations can be summed up in two words:  "delete" and "ignore."

However, I found it hard to ignore one such conversation that took place last week.  It took place on the Facebook page for the Boy Scouts of America.  It began with a "status update" in which the BSA mentioned that several scouts presented the BSA's annual report to Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi.  (BSA operates under a congressional charter.)

The comments that followed were mixed.  Many were negative, expressing condolances for the scouts who had to interact with someone who, in the commenter's opinions, stood against Scouting's values.  Others were even more harsh; had it been a court of law rather than a facebook page, some of the statements would have been deemed libelous and slanderous.

Meanwhile, other comments appeared, insisting that the presentation of the report wasn't about politics, that politics don't even belong in Scouting, and that the values Scouting teaches are neither conservative nor liberal values;  they're Scouting values.

This led to a comment by someone named Tony who said that of course Scouting is, and always has been, based on conservative values.  As proof of this, he cited the fact that "duty to God" has always been a part of the Scout Oath.

I probably should have ignored this comment and the debate as a whole, but I've become tired of having voices I don't agree with speak for me on issues of faith.  So I posted my own comment in which I said that, as a Christian pastor, I believe that it is insulting to God to define God as either conservative or liberal.  God is neither.

Tony then posted another comment, accusing me of insulting him, and arguing against my statement that God is a liberal.

I looked back at what I had written.  Nowhere did I insult Tony.  Nowhere did I say that God is a liberal.

See why I usually try to stay out of these debates?

Meanwhile, in Washington, Congress is currently debating health care.  It seems that one of the sticking points in coming to an agreement over health care is abortion.  Conservatives, generally, will not vote for any health care plan that provides coverage for abortions, because doing so would violate their pro-life values.

I admire their pro-life values.  But I wonder:  Do they realize that the lowest abortion rates in the world are found in countries that provide access to health care and social services to all their citizens?  Do they not know that outlawing or restricting legal abortions does little to affect abortion rates, that the highest abortion rates are actually found in countries where abortion is against the law?

Unfortunately, not everyone is willing to listen to or consider facts like these.  If you try to understand the issue at a deeper level, they accuse you of complicating things.  If you advocate improving social services for the poor, even if it's an effort to lower abortion rates, they might go so far as to accuse you of being a Nazi or Communist, as Glenn Beck did this week.

Improving social services and providing health care will reduce abortions.  But what kind of value is it that uses a "liberal" method to achieve a "conservative" goal?  Some people just have to see it defined as one or the other, rather than engaging in a conversation that can lead to us accepting it as a common value.

I have no problem calling myself a "social justice" pastor.  I have no problem referring to my church as a "social justice" church.  Maybe I'll even put that on my church's new website!  And I would love to have a conversation about what that means.  I have, in fact, been able to have many such conversations over the years, with both "liberals" and "conservatives."

Fortunately, not everyone is a Tony or a Glenn.  Most are, in fact, willing to be reasonable, to listen, and to share their views without name-calling or misrepresenting the views of others.  I have found these conversations to be among the most meaningful in my life.

If we are to make any progress on addressing some of the most important issues we face today, these are the types of conversations we must have.

A Way of Life

In preparation for next Sunday's sermon, I was drawn to my file cabinet. No, I wasn't looking for a past sermon to recycle; instead, I wanted to find a report I wrote in seminary. Of all the papers I wrote in seminary, I've only kept two of them: a 30-page "Credo," and the one I was looking for, a report on Navajo spirituality that I did as part of an independent study course.

My idea for this independent study course arose when I found myself taking part on a two-week trip to Dzilth-na-o-dith-hle, a small Navajo town centered around a boarding school and a health center in northwest New Mexico. I was an adult counselor on this trip, which included 53 youth and adults from various Disciples congregations in Indiana.

We drove for two days, spending a night in Okalahoma City on the way, and arrived at Dzilth-na-o-dith-hle late on a Tuesday evening. We were greeted and welcomed by Johnny Henderson, who ran the dorm at the school and who served as our host for our stay. His first words to us were, "the Navajo don't have a religion. We have a way of life."

Prior to the trip, I had done quite a bit of research in preparation for both the trip and my course. What Johnny told us confirmed what I had read. I had read that it is difficult to find Native American words for "religion." I had read that the Navajo would not recognize the dichotomy that exists in our culture between what is spiritual and what is material. And, I had read that "the Navajo Way" means the totality of life, both spiritual and material. There is no separating the two.

However, despite my preparation and despite Johnny's comment to us, I became frustrated in the days that followed. I knew that when I got back to Indiana, that report would be waiting for me; but so far, I was finding it hard to learn about and experience Navajo religion.

Then, about halfway through our stay, it dawned on me: everything that I had experienced so far on the trip was related to Navajo spirituality. I had not recognized it as such, because I was searching for a separate component of Navajo culture that would fit the concept of religion with which I was familiar. This, despite my research, and despite Johnny Henderson's comments that first night, all of which should have prepared me for this realization. I was, in fact, surrounded by--and immersed in--Navajo spirituality, and I didn't even realize it.

What I had been looking for was a system of belief, because that's how my religion, Christianity, had been defined to me. I had been told that Christians are people who believe certain things. Believe this, believe that,... and you're a Christian.

Navajo religion, on the other hand, is not a system of belief. It is, as Johnny said, a way of life. It cannot be separated from other aspects of life, because it encompasses everything.

There is a deep spiritual hunger among people today; but what most people are looking for is not a system of belief. They're looking for a way of life, one that gives life meaning and purpose; a way of life that connects them to the universe and to the creator.

This Sunday, I am introducing a sermon series that will last through Easter. Each Sunday, I will present one of the ancient practices (aka "disciplines") that have helped Christianity be a way of life for people throughout the centuries. The series is inspired in part by my own experiences, and in part by resources like the current "Ancient Practices" series of books edited by Phyllis Tickle. I'm looking forward to it.

Solviture Ambulando

In Yosemite Valley, there are many trails for walking and hiking. The most popular ones lead to the bases of waterfalls; Bridalveil Fall and Lower Yosemite Fall in particular. They are wide, paved, and lined with trees.

The paths are engineered in such a way that builds anticipation: first you hear the roar of the water; then you catch a glimpse of the falls through the trees; finally, the trees open up, and you are presented with the full majesty of some of the world's highest waterfalls.

For the most part, these are trails with a purpose, and that purpose is to bring visitors to the falls. On these trails, it's all about the destination. The point of walking on these trails is to reach that destination, and see the waterfalls up-close.

The waterfalls are indeed beautiful, even in winter when their flow is diminished by cold temperatures that keep much of the water frozen solid. However, there is another trail that does not lead to a waterfall. By myself, I walked this trail Sunday afternoon, after we had worshiped at the Yosemite Valley Chapel, in a window of time before the late afternoon ice skating session in Curry Village, where we were staying.

I began this walk at the historic Awahnee Hotel, and headed east, away from the waterfalls. Near the meadow's edge, I saw some deer grazing. The trail disappeared into a pine forest, where the brown earth was interrupted by a few small patches of ice and puddles.

For me, this trail was not all about reaching a destination. Some people did walk this trail to get to Mirror Lake, but that was not my destination. My purpose was not to arrive somewhere, but to be somewhere, to notice where I was as I walked, and not worry so much about where I was going.

A few squirrels scampered about. Occasionally, I caught a glimpse through the trees of a massive rock wall to my left. I enjoyed the smell of the pine trees, made noticeable even on this winter day by the mild, damp air. I breathed in the silence of this secluded part of the valley.

The trail crossed a creek, and brought me into a campground that was closed for the winter. I felt a few sprinkles of rain (not snow) on my face. With no umbrella, I quickened my pace, worried that I might get wet if I did not get to Curry Village quickly enough. In fact, "worried" is an understatement. A wave of anxiety swept over me, as I remembered all my admonitions to be prepared, and yet here I was without a rain jacket or umbrella. If these sprinkles became an actual rain shower ... I would get wet.

Suddenly, I unexpectedly laughed out loud. So what if I get wet? I get wet every day when I shower, don't I? I wasn't so far away from civilization that there was any danger. I wasn't in the backcountry. If it rained, I would get wet. So what? I could dry off and warm up when I reached the cabin.

I slowed down, and began to enjoy the feel of the tiny drops on my skin, each one tickling ever so slightly. I forgot about where I was going, and went back to noticing where I was. As it turned out, the real rain didn't start until long after my walk had ended.

I didn't realize why this particular walk was so meaningful to me until I got home and started reading Barbara Brown Taylor's An Altar in the World, in which she talks about noticing the world around us--and how most of us are too busy to. She asks about Moses: what if he had been too busy to notice the burning bush, or too focused on his destination to pause and investigate this strange thing he saw? If he hadn't stopped and noticed, then he wouldn't be Moses.

Barbara Brown Taylor quotes Shug Avery, one of the "wise women" in Alice Walker's book The Color Purple: "I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it."

The walks to the waterfalls are wonderful. No trip to Yosemite Valley is complete without them. But for most people, they are not that different from most of the other walks we take in life, which really aren't walks at all: walking across the parking lot to the grocery store, walking through the lobby of an office building, walking from the living room to the bathroom. We just want to get there. If we could instantly beam ourselves from one place to another as in Star Trek--and do away with the walk completely--we would. If we could get to the base of the waterfall without five or ten minutes of walking, most of us probably would.

Which is why walks that don't lead anywhere are so important. In this sense, walking the path through the pine trees was like walking a labrynth. The focus was on now, on noticing. The focus was on breathing in everything around me.

Hearing God

The church camp I am directing next week will have about 60 4th, 5th, and 6th grade kids attending. I've been wondering this week about Morning Watch, a time when campers are invited to spend a few minutes in quiet reflection before breakfast. Specifically, I've been wondering whether Morning Watch should be a part of the week, whether or not kids of this age would get anything out of it.

I remember my own experiences of morning watch when I was this age, attending church camp. I loved to watch the early morning rays of sunlight spreading across the land, turning from orange to yellow as they caused the shadows to recede. Such experiences meant so much to me, that when my own family went camping, I often got up early on my own just to watch the sunrise.

I think I'll tell the campers just to spend a few minutes looking at the camp: the mountains, the trees, the stream. I think I'll tell them to spend a few minutes listening: to birds, the water, and wind in the trees. I think I'll tell them to spend a few minutes smelling: the dew, the sage, and breakfast cooking in the kitchen.

I won't tell them to listen for God. At least, not until the end of the week. I've found that if I try to hard to hear God, I get frustrated because God never sounds the way I expect. Later, though, when I reflect on my experiences in nature, I realize that God was talking to me. It's like a two-part process: the first part is spending time in nature. The second part occurs later, when I think back on that experience. It usually isn't until the second part that I'm able to recognize God's voice in that experience.

Here's a picture of Swede Lake at sunset, where I went backpacking a few weeks ago, and heard God...

A Bigger God

There is a scene in the movie Prince Caspian in which Lucy, the youngest of the Pevensie siblings, comments on how Aslan appears bigger. In the book, which I had read to my sons in the weeks leading up to seeing the movie, the scene is a bit more played out:

He was there, the huge Lion, shining white in the moonlight, with his huge black shadow underneath him.... "Aslan, Aslan, dear Aslan," sobbed Lucy. "At last."

"Welcome, child," he said.

"Aslan," said Lucy, "your'e bigger."

"That is because you are older, little one," answered he.

"Not because you are?"

"I am not. But every year you grow, you will find me bigger."

--C.S. Lewis, The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian

As we grow older, our image of God gets bigger. The relatively simple stories about Jesus we hear as children are important, but for most of us, the image we have of God has grown and expanded since those days. There is a great richness and depth to the nature of God, and exploring that takes a lifetime.

A few years ago, I met a teenager who wasn't sure he believed in God. He was afraid to tell me this, since I was a pastor. However, I told him that a questioning faith is appropriate. Besides, I suspected that when he said he didn't think he believed in God, what he really meant was that he didn't believe in the God that existed in his mind. Maybe he had grown older, but had not yet learned how to let God grow bigger. Maybe he was struggling to let go of that small God, and open himself up to a God that is bigger.

Good Friday

I was jolted awake this morning well before sunrise by a dream that involved me walking out of the Crystal Cathedral (which I've never been to, except once to drop a friend off for choir practice) and then witnessing a plane crash. Dreams like that are why I don't like flying. It took me awhile to go back to sleep, and by the time I did, it was time to get up. If I didn't get up, then no one else would either, since I'm the early riser in this family and everyone else gets up only when I make them. And even though I perform this task every day, no one ever says, "Gee, Dad, thanks for waking me up so I can get to school on time!"

The boys have to be at school, which is halfway across town, at 8:30. Ginger has to be at work, which is all the way across town, by 8:45. So at 8:15, we all get in the car, and I take them to their respective destinations. Then I return home, to do the dishes, the laundry, and surf the internet, searching for a temporary job. Except today, after dropping Ginger off, instead of turning around and coming home, I kept going straight, right out of Burbank and into Griffith Park, to go for a run.

Running is good for me. It helps me work through my anxieties. I find that there is a lot to be anxious about, like planes crashing. Or earthquakes. Or terrorists. Or why, when I write, I can't ever get my tenses to agree. On this Good Friday, it certainly seemed to me that I am living in a Good Friday world.

As I started running, I worried about whether I was helping or hurting my body, given that today's air quality was listed as "moderate," which isn't exactly "unhealthy," but isn't exactly "good," either. I thought about the war in Iraq, now five years old, and whether or not our next president will be able to undo some of the damage caused by the current president. I thought about the comment my wife made to me as I dropped her off, about how our current lack of money is my fault, and about some of the comments I've made to her.

At tonight's Good Friday worship service at First Christian Church in North Hollywood, the sanctuary was dark. The readings were read, slowly, quietly, somberly. There's not much joy in the Good Friday readings. Easter Sunday would be different, I knew; a half dozen fifth-graders are to be baptized at sunrise, and the sanctuary will be bursting with flowers and alleluias. But tonight was not about that.

I noticed that the doors to the baptistry, though still closed, were unlatched. In our tradition, we baptize by immersion when a person is old enough to make a decision to follow Christ, and the baptistry is like a little hot tub behind the wall at the front of the sanctuary, which can be seen when the doors are opened up. Tonight, as my friend Josh played his guitar and sang, with a young woman, the most beautiful rendition of "Via Dolorosa" I had ever heard, the doors to the baptistry slowly started to swing open. They only opened about three-quarters of an inch, but someone had left the light in the baptistry on, and the crack was enough to see in.

And I thought about how, even though it's Good Friday, Easter can't be shut out entirely. The foreshadowing is all too clear. Easter joy wasn't invited to this service of quiet meditation, but it slipped in anyway.

And in the time of silent meditation that concluded the service, and as the sanctuary was stripped of its decorations--and even after someone had thought to quietly turn off the baptistry light--my mind drifted back to my run through Griffith Park this morning, and the beautiful wildflowers I saw growing along the dirt road. They were so incredibly gorgeous that I had brought my camera along so I could take a picture of them, even though I don't usually like to carry anything with me when I run. Even on Good Friday, those flowers were shouting their alleluias for all the joggers and hikers and birds and equestrians to enjoy. The world may be falling apart in so many ways, and yet the flowers continue to bloom. Turns out that, even on Good Friday, there is something in this world even more powerful than death, war, and smog.

Prayer for Guidance and Wisdom

He was (I think) eleven years old when I first met him. Just a kid. He and his mom were at a weekend family camp that my family also attended. Our two families were the only first-timers at the camp. The only ones who weren't "in the know" regarding all the camp traditions. The only ones who felt so out of place at that camp.

That immediately drew me to him.

A year or two later, he was one of the campers at the youth camps where I counseled. I got to know him better as I helped guide him on his faith journey. In the years that followed, I watched him mature. His faith deepened, and his leadership skills grew.

He's in college now. He says that deciding which college to attend was a difficult choice for him. One had a high academic reputation; another, a strong community that would nourish his faith. A prayer, inspired by his decision, reads:

Lord, please walk with me through life, and provide me with guidance as I make important decisions. Please give me the wisdom to see your plans for me, and strength to stick with the path that you guide me along.

Lately, I've been praying a similar prayer, since I am at an important crossroads myself. When I resigned my previous pastoral position, I did it because I knew it was the right thing for the church I was serving. My father had invited my family to live with him until I found a new call, and I figured that I could easily find temporary work that, when combined with the money we had managed to save, would provide for my family. After all, I had done temporary work before, in the mid 1990s.

Alas, this is not the mid 90s. There are no jobs, especially in a city that is still recovering from a TV & movie writers' strike. Even if there were, potential employers wonder why a pastor with a master's degree is interested in what is considered an entry-level job.

So, the saved-up money is gone. Bank accounts are now in the red. I've stood in line at the welfare office and have had phone conversations with the unemployment office. I've told my kids, "No, you can't buy a book at the book fair. No, you can't go to the nature camp over spring break that I'd promised you." My wife has now found work at a preschool, which is keeping the situation from becoming any worse, but on the other hand, it's not doing much to make it better. And like that young man in college, I'm wondering now if the choice I'd made was the right one.

There is hope. I am now in conversation with a congregation about becoming their pastor. As far as I can tell so far, we'd be a good fit, which is good, since I will not accept any position just because I need a job. Only if I sense that this is the place to which God is calling me will I go.

In the meantime, I have that prayer to guide me.

Instructions

The book "Great Awakening" by Jim Wallis is full of scripture references. I'm currently about half way through this book, and as I was reading it this morning, one of the cited verses caught my attention.

Perfect love casts out fear.

Even though it is a verse I'm well familiar with, reading it today made me pause...

A short while later, I was reading my Lenten devotional. It talked about laying in the grass, getting instructions from God, and concluded with a reference to the very same verse that had caught my attention earlier.

Lately, I've been hoping to get some instructions from God myself. I've been experiencing fear about my immediate future; the anxiety that's keeping me awake. So today, I did just what the devotional suggested. I lay down on some grass, beneath the warm California sun, on a slope overlooking the Los Angeles River. It's not the Sacramento River, I know, or even the Feather River, but it's the best we got here.

I lay there and waited. For instructions.

To be honest, I didn't expect any to come. I've been doubting lately.

However, after not very long, two words came to me. The first was love. No surprise there. The second word was understanding. That was a bit of a surprise.

I guess if I'm going to work on love, then I need to work on understanding. Specifically, understanding those I love and am called to love.

Those are my instructions for today, perhaps for this week. I'm working on them.

Words

The words are ancient. The story they tell is powerful. Every week, I stand before a group of people and recite them. I retell the story. The silent attentiveness of everyone present attests to the power of these ancient words.

I take great care in the recitation. This is not the time to rush. Each word has its own taste and texture, and I savor each one just as I'll savor the bread I will taste after all the words are said.

To speak the words is a powerful thing. However, every once in awhile, someone else speaks, and I listen. Each word then becomes a gift that fills the heart. The joy within me swells, my eyes water up a bit, and a huge, ridiculous smile appears on my face. I wonder if I appear foolish to those around me, but then I realize that I don't mind, because I have just received something wonderful.

Jesus took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, "This is my body, broken for you. Do this in remembrance of me." In the same way he took the cup also, after supper, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink of it, in remembrance of me." For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes.

What Really Happened

My son Ethan likes to categorize things. When we watch a movie or read a book, he wants to know if it's fiction, non-fiction, or "historical fiction," a category he just learned about and is still trying to figure out. He asked me yesterday if the Disney movie Dinosaurs was historical fiction, since dinosaurs really did exist. I said no, citing as my reasons that a) the dinosaurs in the movie talk, b) the events are all made-up, and c) real dinosaurs aren't historical, they're pre-historical.

For other movies, it's not as clear. I conceded that Disney's Pocahontas was historical fiction, though there's probably more fiction in it than history. Still, he wants to know which events "really happened," and which were made-up for the movie.

Once or twice, we've had these conversations about stories in the Bible; the creation story, for example. I tell him that many of the Bible stories are like the parables Jesus told: there's deep truth in them, but that doesn't mean that all the details "really happened." Sometimes he will ask which of the details "really happened," but sometimes, all I can answer is, "I don't know."

The truth is, I'm not always sure where the parables begin and end. The Creation, Adam and Eve, Noah & the Flood, the "Patriarchs," Jonah, Ezekiel...

Some see this as a deficiency on my part, that I don't always know how to categorize these stories. Some see it as a lack of faith, an unwillingness to believe. And yet, these stories are, to me, so much more meaningful than any factual account of "what really happened" could ever be.

That's not to say that I don't believe that any of it "really happened." For example, the more I ponder it, the more I really do believe that Jesus walked on water, even though that's one of the more extraordinary events described in scripture.

I guess I just haven't figured it all out yet. I'm learning to live with and even appreciate the questions that come from not knowing all there is to know. Maybe one day, Ethan will, too.

Note: this isn't really the church where I preach,
just a symbolic/metaphorical representation.

Click

It's been three and a half days, and I still can't get the story out of my head.

In Elk Grove, a city here in the Sacramento Valley not too far from where I live, there is a middle school student named Ben Underwood who lost both of his eyes when he was three to a cancer called retinoblastoma. Since then, he has learned to find his way through the world by echolocation.

According to the article in the newspaper, "by clicking his tongue and creating sound waves, he can identify objects in his path and get around safely.... He is able to play basketball, skate, ride a bike, tap dance, swim and wrestle, among other things."

I find this story amazing on several levels. It's amazing that he has this ability and figured out how to use it. It's amazing that his mother let him figure it out, instead of hollaring at him to "stop that annoying clicking!" Most amazing of all, however, is what his life demonstrates about the human potential.

It's not a superpower that Ben has. It's not a magical ability. It's just that, somehow, he has trained his ears and his mind to recognize the most subtle of differences in sound waves. Anyone can close their eyes and start clicking, and notice the difference in sound that exists when, for example, there's a wall before them, and when there is a lot of open space. (I know this, because I've caught myself testing it out all week, closing my eyes and clicking when no one was around.)

However, to do what Ben does obviously required much honing of this ability. I doubt that echolocation would allow me to walk across the room without falling over the couch ... let alone, play basketball.

Scientists say we use only ten percent of our brain during our lifetime. That implies, to me at least, that there's 90 percent untapped potential. In my mind, I "know" that there are things I can and can't do: I can speak in front of crowds; I can't remember people's names; I can run three miles in about 25 minutes; I can't dance. The list goes on.

If I could tap into even a small fraction of that 90 percent, how many of my can'ts can I transform into cans? If I can raise that ten percent to 11 or 12 percent, what could I accomplish that my mind currently tells me is impossible?

Ben's story is not over. He continues to fight cancer -- and fight for his life. Doctors say his chances of being cured are not good.

Then again, they've never seen anyone use echolocation to get around.

Ben's website.

Follow-Up

First, a couple of people left comments on my previous posts. Thanks! I love to get comments.

Second, one thing I've learned in ministry is that, no matter how frustrated I may become with certain people in the church, on Sunday morning, when I stand in front of the church and look out upon the congregation, I can't help but love them. And always, I feel at least a little bit of love in return.

Third, it is probably no coincidence that some of the ideas in my last post sound like something from The Secret. I enjoyed reading that book, and would like to see the movie. I also enjoyed What the Bleep Do We Know?, a movie & book that expresses similar ideas. However, the image of God that is presented in both The Secret and What the Bleep seems very impersonal to me. Things also seem to be rather simplified, especially in The Secret. So, yes, they've had an influence on me and my faith, but I can't quite say that they're completely true, at least for me.... If you've read these books or seen these movies, let me know what you think.