My physical condition could be better. My doctor’s recommendations include 30 minutes of daily exercise and plenty of water. I have a stationary bike, so it is my primary go-to.
Not watching the timer on my phone is hard to do. So, this morning I tried something new. I closed my eyes and envisioned riding down a country road. The scenery (in my head, of course) was beautiful. Time indeed passed more quickly. I glanced to the side and saw Abba riding right beside me (I love envisioning God as father and friend.) He was really into the ride.
For those who know me well, visions like this happen every so often. I tend to pay more attention to the ones I had no preconceived notion of. This was one of them. It totally caught me off guard.
Not much was said. Just vigorous riding. Suddenly, our little Welsh Corgi, who sleeps in a covered crate at night, started whining, then barked, informing me that it was time to rise, hit the back yard, and have breakfast. I opened my eyes, disrupting the vision, and said, “Settle. Not yet.” He quieted down and I resumed the ride. Fortunately, the vision continued.
I glanced to the side at Abba, and he, with a half-cocked smile on his face, said in a calm voice, “I say that sometimes too.” I sighed and hung my head in silence. That was a zinger.
You see, my wife and I have a short list of things we would love to see happen. Some sooner than later. We know there are a few things that need to happen first, but our patience is waning. Yes, we need to exercise that patience.
It’s been a while since I heard such a clear message. The time is “not yet.” The encounter brought on a strange sense of peace. When I told my wife about the vision, she chuckled and said in acknowledgement, “Wow!”
Even though it was a zinger, and a bit of rebuke, I finished the ride with a smile and embraced the peace.
In the late 19th century Friedrich Nietzsche said, “God is dead, God remains dead, and we have killed him.” While this may be true of a finite manmade god, it is certainly a most illogical statement with respect to a god who resides outside our dimensional realm (e.g. heaven.) Therein lies the catch . . .
I embrace Nietzsche’s statement with respect to the god of my youth. That god was riddled with finite attributes. It walked around carrying a big stick, just waiting to catch me making a mistake. Its insecurities were threatened by any question or insult hurled its direction. It was beyond such disrespect. It was distant and unfriendly. Frankly, I’m glad it’s dead.
On the other hand, if god is beyond our confines, then it is most definitely infinite (see Slices of God, Phase 3 for a dimensional definition of infinitude.) This god is beyond our ability to understand, except for what it has chosen to reveal to us. These revelations come via its creation and through an incarnational presence. NEVERTHELESS, we still have only finite pieces to hold on to: way too little to proclaim a comprehensive understanding of God.
I have come a long way in my journey to understand God, but am still left with incomplete and finite slices. Even though I recognize my finite limits, I still vigorously pursue truth, even in its incomplete state. Some of my non-believing friends are content with the non-existence of God. They are so content that they no longer actively pursue truth. Why bother?
Such an attitude is not disbelief; it is laziness. Knowing our finite understandings (or misunderstandings) are all we will ever have is no reason to abandon the pursuit of truth. It is simply a rationalization to stick one’s head in the sand. “Sometimes it is easier to sink our heads into the sand than to go through the pain and labor of thinking outside our comfort zones. We tend to prefer sand in our nostrils to fresh air in our heads.” (Slices of God, Phase 1)
Whether you are a believer or non-believer, your set of beliefs (or non-beliefs) has no impact on the truth whatsoever. The ultimate question is, “Are you in hot pursuit of truth or are you lazily breathing sand?”
I have come to embrace my nothingness. Well, at least I am working toward that goal. I am not referring to the same nothingness that some philosophers equate with meaninglessness. It is quite the opposite.
Jesus described the nothingness I am referring to as entering a new and very meaningful paradigm. He said, “To enter this new paradigm, you must be turned inside-out.” “To become the greatest, you must become the least.” “To live, you must die.” “To be right, you must admit to being wrong and ignorant.” (SFA paraphrases)
To be reborn is to shed all the entrapments of this current existence. It is to let go of our pride, our dogmatism, our need to be right, our defensiveness, our aggression, our flesh. All of these are incompatible with nothingness. Nothingness is to give up ownership of everything, including our own soul. In this light, Jesus’ upside-down, inside-out concepts make sense. As we become less here and now, we become more in a much more important domain: God’s domain.
This nothingness also has tremendous benefits here and now. When I am successful at embracing it, I lose the need to be defensive. I do not have to prove anything. I do not have to know everything. I can let go of my pride. It is a place of incredible freedom and peace.
Richard Rohr, in his book Simplicity: The Freedom of Letting Go, has been very helpful in this journey. He outlines nothingness painfully, but beautifully.
“The words of the Gospel never allow us to live in self-satisfaction. Rather they always make us empty. They always make us repeat the truth of Mary’s “Let it be done to me according to your word.” They allow us to keep our wounds open so we can receive Christ in us. It seems we’re quite incapable of welcoming Christ because we’re so stuffed full or ourselves. The real thing we have to let go of is our self. We aren’t really free until we’re free from ourselves.”
The goal to embrace nothingness is easily thwarted. Pride rears its ugly head in a heartbeat. Two evenings ago, on my homeward commute, I was tired and not focusing well. While glancing down at my phone, I did not notice the cars in front of me had stopped. I slammed on the brakes too late. It was the first time in my life that I came face to face with an airbag. After a few seconds of disorienting fog, all I could think was, “What am I going to tell people?” Such a response is anti-nothingness. It is pride at its best. It bound me up and my freedom went out the window with the airbag exhaust.
I closed my eyes and said, “I am nothing; it’s not about me,” and got out of the car to check on the others involved. Fortunately, no one was hurt.
My pride was deeply wounded. However, according to the nothingness of Jesus, it was a good thing.
I see a lot of banners flying high these days by Christians resisting losing their rights. If you read the Gospels, Jesus made it clear that the only rights we have in this life are to lose our rights and carry crosses.
Jesus had been teaching a crowd by the lake all day. When evening came, he asked his disciples to get into the boat with him and go to the other side of the lake. Being quite tired, Jesus crawled into the stern of the boat and fell asleep on a cushion. Part way across the lake a squall erupted, and waves began filling the boat. The disciples were terrified and convinced they were going down.[1]
Thanks to their screaming, Jesus woke, stood up, and said, “Quiet! Be still!”[2] The sea became still as glass. Moreover, so did the disciples.
Every teaching I have ever heard on this encounter focused on two things: the disciples’ disbelief and Jesus’ ability to calm the sea. I believe these lectures missed something very crucial.
The souls in the boat were in upheaval. Minds were full of noise. The present overwhelmed any awareness of a future. How could Jesus be sleeping when they were sure they would all perish? Nevertheless, Jesus used the situation to teach yet another lesson. He was not just speaking to the wind and sea: he was speaking to the disciples. “Be still . . .”
Our lives are battered with noise, motion, stress, worry, facts, news, and doubt. Insecurities prevent stillness from birthing peace in our souls. Furthermore, the lack of peace accentuates these insecurities. The downward spiral drills deeper and deeper as the boat sinks.
The spiral can be reversed. The boat can be saved. It takes time and discipline. It is a choice to give up the noise we are addicted to and allow quiet stillness to enter our minds and bodies.
I started practicing stillness about 20 years ago. I had mixed motives for the venture. Firstly, I wanted to quiet my mind, hearing less of my repetitive voice. Secondly, I have a mild case of Tourette syndrome and wanted to experience calmness instead of continuous muscle contractions. It was difficult at first, but over time, I have come to revere and cherish my sessions away from the din and motion of life. Sometimes it is so quiet that God’s still small voice penetrates my dimensional barriers. I find that my insecurities are fading. They are not gone, but have less and less of a voice. Prayer has become silence. Silence has become prayer.
I wish for you a stillness that births peace, quiets insecurities, and brings a knowledge of who God is and who you are in God. As God said via the Psalmist, “Be still and know that I am God . . . “[3] Be still. In the midst of the storm, be still.
Our country is experiencing an enormous mixed bag of rejoicing at one end of the spectrum and mourning at the other. Strong and biased opinions permeate the media. Social media is over the top! I have read more proclamations from would-be prophets in the past few weeks than I care to recall. Some simply make predictions while others “decree” what is going to happen, promoting their will and imagination as perfectly in line with God’s thoughts.
The strangest thing of all is that at both extremes there are devoted faith-espousing people who have ironclad, yet contradictory perspectives. At one pole, it is impossible to be a person of faith, and in particular a Christian, and promote a political party that endorses the right to abort an unborn child. At the other pole, it is impossible to be a person of faith and not care for the sick, the poor, the wayfaring immigrants and the children yanked from their parents at our boarder. Both sides have scripture and theologians galore to back them up.
This past week I could not help but think about the approach that the Book of Revelation takes to address such inconsistencies within the faith community. In chapters 1 through 3 of Revelation, we find Jesus asking the Apostle John to write a letter to each of seven churches: to Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia and Laodicea. John was asked to explain to each church what he witnessed in his mystical encounter. The predominant pattern in these letters was to start by congratulating each church for the positive and faithful actions they exhibited and the witness they were being. However, these congratulatory comments were not the end of the story. Most of these letters ended with, “But these things I hold against you . . . “
None of the churches had the whole story right. They each had deficits that were, according to some, casual mistakes, and to others, mortal sins. I am sure you can see the parallel that is coming . . .
“To the church that endorses the Democratic Party: I congratulate you for your social concerns, for putting the needs of the poor, the sick, the imprisoned, the immigrants and their children ahead of your personal prosperity. Your focus on international relations and care for the Earth are to be commended. But, these things I hold against you: you recklessly murder unborn children, placing your personal rights over the sacredness of life. You forsake me when you bow to self in idolatrous worship. You are not God.”
“To the church that endorses the Republican Party: I congratulate you for your convictions about the sacredness of life, abortion, and the rights of the unborn child. Your desire to be faithful in interpretations of scripture, living Godly lives, and promoting a Godly nation have not gone unnoticed. But, these things I hold against you: you commit the same sins that brought Sodom to its destruction: you are arrogant, unconcerned, and haughty, ignoring the orphan and stranger while fighting for personal rights (Ezekiel 16:49-50). You exalt a government that bullies the world.”
Do you get the picture? None of us adheres to the whole story. What does God want from us? Scriptures, both Old and New, tell us to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God, exercising compassion/love as we go. Elections, human institutions, violently strong opinions, and intolerance of divergent views will come and go. Only love is everlasting. Love never fails.
These are challenging times, to say the very least. Daily we are bombarded by disease, political upheaval, hatred, arrogance, and righteous deception. Righteous deception?
I have friends at extreme ends of these spectrums. These are well-intentioned, God fearing, and scripture-believing people of faith. The strange thing is that none of them is seemingly susceptible to deception. Of this, they are convinced: vehemently so.
I will not pretend to point out which ends of these spectrums are in error. I will not defend positions that are somewhere in the middle. Instead, I have one simple message: none of us will ever know in the moment that we are deceived. If you argue you are absolutely, without any doubt, correct and are not deceived, then you do not understand deception. I can at least state that you are deceived about deception.
Deception is the strangest of all disfunctions. While others happen knowingly and willfully, deception is unique. We will never know in the present if we are deceived. We will only know in retrospect if we were or were not deceived. That is the nature of deception.
There is a good reason we lean toward deception. Our existence is limited in perspective. Not only do we see dimly through the “veil,” but the views are flat views of expanded entities. It is very much like arguing which perspective of the architect’s drawings is the correct one! For more on this subject, the book Slices of God illustrates very simply how it is possible to hold contradictory positions on such issues, be correct, but also be in error due to our limited perspectives.
The message is simple . . .
I do not know everything (I am finite).
Since there are deficits in my knowledge bank, I am most likely deceived.
Arrogance is evidence of deception.
Humility is the only antidote.
For the past 20 years one of my daily prayers has been, “Show me today the lies I hold dearly.” I pray this for you. I pray it for the world.
When I was in high school, my family visited a small museum in the quaint little Ohio town of Dover. It was the home of “The Master Carver.” Until then, I had never heard of the man who had become world famous for his carvings of locomotives. He used primarily walnut, ebony, and ivory to create the most accurate, lifelike replicas of some of America’s early trains. The details were incredible, down to the miniature nuts and bolts with threads! His precision was unparalleled. Some of his carvings are now in the Smithsonian Institute. (They can be easily found online. I encourage you to look them up!)
I had started woodcarving as a small boy and remember being overwhelmed as I gazed at his work. I knew I could never achieve such perfection. Nevertheless, I pushed on, developing my own technique with the crude, flat, and dull chisels we had at the time.
My interest in carving has continued over the years, though my talent will never be what Ernest Warther’s was. Thanks to the internet, I have found and read numerous articles on woodcarving techniques. Recently, as I remembered the Master, I looked up a few articles on his work. As I was reading one of the articles, I zoomed in on a picture of his face. It was hauntingly familiar. The article explained how he often carved miniature pliers for children. They were his signature. He even carved a pair for Johnny Carson on the Tonight’s Show. My eyes began to leak as I read. It was then that I realized I had met the Master.
I was about nine years old. We were having a potluck dinner after church, as we often did. Our church was a small, inner city, multi-ethnic gathering. Frequently we had guests for special events. I have no recollection why these guests were there that particular Sunday, but I ended up sitting next to a white-haired elderly man who didn’t say much during the meal. Then, right after desert, he turned to me and said, “I want to show you something.” He pulled a piece of wood and a pocketknife from his blazer pocket and began to carve.
I was in awe when he handed me a working pair of miniature pliers carved from that small piece of wood. Moving, interlocking parts from a single piece of wood! I am amazed, even as an adult. Imagine the wonder I felt as a child. I can see his face so clearly: it was Ernest Warther.
After he was gone, I went to my bedroom to fetch my pocketknife, scurried out to the garage to look for a small piece of wood, and began carving my own version of working pliers. They are a poor imitation, though not bad for a nine year-old. It took the Master less than a minute to carve his. It took me hours to carve mine.
While visiting his museum years later, I did not realize who the Master was. Now, I feel like the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, who begged Jesus to stop and eat with them. Even though they sat at the dinner table next to him, they did not realize with whom they spoke . . . until the Master carved the bread.
My love of woodcarving was a gift from the Master.
Our nation is living in chaos. What is more, we the people argue incessantly which chaos is the correct chaos.
Regardless of your opinion (or lack thereof) of Jonathan Rauch, he addresses this issue, speaking truth in an article in The Atlantic:
“Chaos syndrome is a chronic decline in the political system’s capacity for self-organization. It begins with the weakening of the institutions and brokers—political parties, career politicians, and congressional leaders and committees—that have historically held politicians accountable to one another and prevented everyone in the system from pursuing naked self-interest all the time. As these intermediaries’ influence fades, politicians, activists, and voters all become more individualistic and unaccountable. The system atomizes. Chaos becomes the new normal—both in campaigns and in the government itself.”
He goes on to say . . .
“Like many disorders, chaos syndrome is self-reinforcing. It causes governmental dysfunction, which fuels public anger, which incites political disruption, which causes yet more governmental dysfunction. Reversing the spiral will require understanding it.”
This “new normal” is tearing us apart. When I say “us,” I mean as a planet, as nations, as communities, and as individuals. The present chaos has wreaked havoc on our relationships with friends andenemies. It is splitting our very souls into chaotic fragments. You know it is bad when you see, read, and eat chaos for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and as a bedtime snack. Our political digestive systems have gone septic.
This infection is not one sided. “’It’s important for people to understand that extremists on both sides of the political spectrum are exploiting this latest situation for their own causes to recruit and radicalize,’ explained Daryl Johnson, a former domestic terrorism analyst at the Department of Homeland Security and founder of DT Analytics.” (Sinclair Broadcast Group) We are all caught up in the chaotic spiral. I hope you notice in the picture below that even though the clusters on the left and the clusters on the right are pointing fingers at each other, they are all traveling down the spiral.
One point, however, remains clear and indisputable: God is not chaotic. In a New Testament passage we read, “For God is not a God of disorder but of peace . . . “ (1Corinthians 14:33a NIV) Chaos is disorder. Regardless of our polarized religious positions, chaos is Not-God. If our religion promotes chaos, then it is not of God.
So what do we do? Where do we go? Once again, I find hope in scripture. In an Old Testament text we read, “Ifmypeople, whoarecalledby myname, will humble themselves and pray and seek myface and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.” (2 Chronicles 7:14 NIV) How do we flesh this out? I propose the following processes.
Admit that none of us sees the whole picture. Einstein supposedly claimed to know about one half of one percent of all there is to know (0.5%). Given weknow nothing about the other 99.5%, is it possible we do not know enough to cling to and argue for just a few pieces of chaotic knowledge?
Admit that chaos, regardless of its spiritual and religious affiliations, is still chaos. God is truth and expects us to approach him and life in orderly truth. If what we cling to promotes discord and violence, and shatters peace, then it is chaos. Reject chaos.
When we argue which side of the spiral is the correct side, we admit we are on the spiral. When I argue that I am not being defensive, I am being defensive. When we argue we are not caught up in the spiral, it is because we cannot see the spiral while in its midst. Recognizing the spiral is a step in the right direction.
We must distance ourselves from all sides in order to grasp the nature of what is transpiring. When we are in the thick of the chaotic swirl, we cannot see the vortex itself. Step back, observe, listen, and contemplate.
Recognize that the vortex is a downward spiral. It is not part of an evolutionary advancement. It is a degradation of humanity. It is the wide road, not the narrow one.
Repent of our pseudo-omniscience and arrogant perspectives. God calls us to humble ourselves by truly admitting we know so very little. The Chronicles text quoted above calls us to humble ourselves: to shut up our arrogant voices and turn on our spiritual ears.
Pray for our nation and its leaders. I pray mostly for those leaders I tend to despise. Every one of us, including me, needs grace. None of us is beyond the grasp of grace.
Lord have mercy on planet Earth. Lord have mercy on its countries. Lord have mercy on our leaders. Lord have mercy on us. Lord have mercy on me.
Two years ago I posted this piece, calling for compassionate theology. It is even more relevant today: we desperately need compassion to fill this land. So, here you have it . . .
The Koran calls God the merciful and the compassionate.[1] The Bible says, “The Lord is compassionate, abounding in love.”[2] Fractally, we are called to be followers and imitators of Compassion: we are called to be compassionate.[3] Jesus said the two greatest commandments are to love God and love our neighbors (albeit an expanded definition of neighbor!)[4] It is a call to live compassionately, to empathize with sufferers, to be caretakers of those unable to care for themselves, to go the extra mile. It comes from a transformed heart: one full of compassion. If you want to know how to change the world, scripture makes it perfectly clear: “Love never fails.”[5]
To seek the truth is to be filled with compassion. The Dalai Lama understands this. In his book The Art of Happiness, he says, “I would regard a compassionate, warm, kindhearted person as healthy. If you maintain a feeling of compassionate loving kindness, then something automatically opens your inner door.” Such behavior creates openness and facilitates communication, enabling us to relate to each other more easily.[6] This is how we are to live. When we have and express compassion toward all beings, then, and only then, is God fully expressed in us. There is no greater truth than compassion.
It is also through compassion that we extend truth in grace to others. Karl Barth said, ”By this we shall be judged, about this the Judge will one day put the question, ‘Did you live by grace, or did you set up gods for yourself and perhaps want to become one yourself?’”[7] Living by grace means more than accepting it. Compassion opens the valve for grace to flow to others.
What does compassion look like? Perhaps we need to start by looking at Jesus’ description of what it does not look like. In a paraphrase by Richard Stearns, in his book The Hole in Our Gospel, Jesus said, “For I was hungry, while you had all you needed. I was thirsty, but you drank bottled water. I was a stranger, and you wanted me deported. I needed clothes, but you needed more clothes. I was sick, and you pointed out the behaviors that lead to my sickness. I was in prison, and you said I was getting what I deserved.”[8]
In very revealing words, as reported by Jim Wallis of Sojourners magazine, a Native American at a New York conference on social justice, attended by theologians, pastors, priests, nuns, and lay leaders, said, “Regardless of what the New Testament says, most Christians are materialists with no experience of the Spirit. Regardless of what the New Testament says, most Christians are individualists with no real experience of community. Let’s pretend that you were all Christians. If you were Christians, you would no longer accumulate. You would share everything you had. You would actually love one another. And you would treat each other as if you were family. Why don’t you do that? Why don’t you love that way?”[9]
Our focus has turned on itself. We have lost sight of the two greatest commandments: love God and others. Without compassionate living we are chaos to God. Fractally, when we ignore the needs that surround us, we ignore God. When we ignore God, we ignore our own souls.
God is love.[10] In a very real sense, theology is the study of love. If our theology is built on compassionate truth, it is true theology. If we love all humankind in word and deed, we are a part of God and his domain.
All the theological debates may be waged, all the academics may argue and publish, all the strange, dimensional, and fractal books may be sold, but if none of it is filled with compassion, it is nothing. Theology that is of God is not complex; it is simple: love God and love all humankind. That is it. If you want to be sure your theology never fails you: be compassionate. The details will take care of themselves.
– Sam Augsburger
[1]Sura II:158.
[2]Psalm 103:8.
[3]Ephesians 5:1.
[4]Mark 12:29-31.
[5]1 Corinthians 13:8.
[6]Lama, The Art of Happiness: A Handbook for Living, 40.
[7]Barth, Dogmatics in Outline, 152.
[8]Richard Stearns, The Hole in Our Gospel(Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2010), 59.
[9]Wallis in Augsburger, Dissident Discipleship: A Spirituality of Self-Surrender, Love of God, and Love of Neighbor, 200.
