Seeking Truth

"Keep the company of those who seek the truth - run from those who have found it."  - Vaclav Havel

As a person of faith, I hear the word "truth" kicked about not infrequently.  Depending on the context, it bears a range of meanings, which in turn carry their own baggage and freight the conversation to varying degrees.  Two perspectives on truth, in particular, have challenged me to think through my own understanding.  "Truth," as many postmoderns have it, is an archaic and manipulative power construct.  Truth, in the language of many Christians, is the foundational expression of reality, the absolute "what is."  Small wonder, then, that so many postmoderns abhor religion.  Or that Christians respond to postmodern claims of subjectivity with anger and fear.

Havel suggests, however, that truth is something much more grand than these [admittedly abbreviated and caricatured] polar perspectives.  To those who claim there is no such thing as truth, Havel issues an invitation:  "Seek truth!"  "Join up with others who seek it!"  To those who claim "There is truth, and this is it!" Havel cautions that truth is not something to be found.  It is not a solid construct, not a destination, not an endpoint.

Rather, truth becomes something vibrant and living.  It is something more elegant and intricate than we might imagine.  It is infinitely profound, inviting us to go ever deeper.  It is dark and painful, and never allows us to settle for long.  It calls us to know ourselves when we'd rather avert our eyes.  It summons us to know others when we'd prefer to dismiss them.  Truth sometimes screams to us in pain; in our confusion, truth might show itself elusive.  Yet Truth is also often revealed as hope; truth is found in beauty and friendship, in abundance and in love.  

Truth is simply not static - nor does it allow us the luxury of a passive response.  Truth strengthens but does not indulge.  Truth demands our attention, but never fully satisfies.  Truth will likely never make us comfortable.  Truth will challenge us and perhaps evade us and, when all is said and done, capture our hearts.  Hearts cannot deny or dominate, but they can follow. Relentlessly.

At this point, I believe, the dissonant perspectives on truth come as a gift.  A Christian perspective assures us that there is, in fact, "something big" out there.  Beyond us, beyond what we can see, there is something that calls us outside and beyond ourselves.  A postmodern view beckons us past any temptation to settle with an easy answer about that "something."  It reminds us that beyond any answer or meaning we might find, lies yet another.  And another.  

This, I think, is the quest to which Havel invites us:  the quest to live in constant pursuit of the truth, a truth we can know only in active response, truth revealed in the act of seeking.     

Awaiting Joy

"The people that walked in darkness

have seen a great light:

and they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death,

upon them hath the light shined."

These words, penned by an ancient Hebrew prophet, set to music over 300 years ago by a German composer, still hold tremendous power.  What a magnificent promise - offering a vision for which I am not only willing to wait, but to work.  

As we begin the period of waiting and preparation that is Advent, these words articulate the hope that awaits us - that invites us into active expectation.  We learn in these days to wait for the coming of the Christ, and of His Kingdom.  And as we wait, we also prepare - hoping to become the kind of people who will recognize and welcome Christ upon his arrival, and who will work with him to see this promise come to pass.

Wishing you the peace of Advent - the peace of resting in the assurance of this promise.  And as you rest, may you also find ways to work and prepare for the earth-shattering arrival of the Prince of Peace.  

What's emerging in (& from) the church

As I've thought about participating in today's synchroblog, I've riffled through a variety of ideas--and I've finally landed on a devastatingly stereotypical theme. I'm a woman, a full-time mom, and I'm going to write about what's emerging in the younger generations, and especially among children. I landed on this [potentially cliche] theme with a tentative boldness for two reasons: 1) I'm thrilled at the hope and beauty I find in the lives of our young ones, and 2) Within what's emerging, I've found my voice welcome in broad variety of contexts. Ironically, not being strictly confined to the role of motherhood has freed me to embrace it with deep joy and confidence.

In the past few years, I've been intrigued to watch children learning to take church "out" of church. Not that they're staying away (for the most part), but that they're discovering the reach of God's Kingdom. They understand that God isn't confined geographically (to a building) or temporally (to Sunday morning) but almost intuitively grasp that the presence of God permeates our world -- and, in fact, longs to spread ever more broadly and pervasively throughout Creation. A few examples, I think, will be the best way to make my point.

• A thirteen-year-old girl who says, "No Christmas presents, please. Just help me save up to visit the African orphans our family has been supporting."
  
• A five-year-old boy who stops the family car to buy -- and hand-deliver -- burgers to the folks living under the bridge.
  
• A teen-age boy who happily spends hours designing a creative, hands-on worship experience for a small faith community.
  
• An eight-year-old girl who holds her family to a strict regimen of recycling, expressing a deep commitment to God's creation.
  
• A home-schooled teen-age girl who is inspired by parents to reflect the image of God through her relationality and vibrant creativity.
  
• A ten-year-old girl, who observes in the middle of an amusement park, "You know, we don't have to be at home to offer hospitality. We can be hospitable anywhere!"
  

Each of these young persons represents to me a whole-hearted, whole-life commitment to the ways of Jesus. They remind me that God's Kingdom is vast--as are the demands on a citizen of that Kingdom. They remind me that the Kingdom of God is a place of hope, and that pursuing that hope is an all-encompassing, lifelong quest.

Ritualizing doubt/sorrow/lament/...

Last night Peter Rollins visited GR, as part of The (mostly) East Coast leg of the Insurrection Pub Tour. Pete & friends promised an evening of "incendiary theology" and "haunting soundscapes", among other things--and yes, they did deliver. The visuals, the music, the ideas all melded powerfully to create an event with profound impact. Flowing from story to techno beat to acoustic poetry, the genius of the performance was that it reached a very broad audience on a profoundy personal level. A poem may have connected for one person, while a parable later in the evening might have "clicked" for another.

For me, the concept with which I walked away (to wrestle) was the challenge to incorporate the darker sides of faith into our everyday practices. While I tend to be a pretty upbeat type, I've also faced my share of darkness. And figuring out how those elements harmonize in the context of faith has been a real sticking point for me. I can often do one--or the other--but learning to hold the two in tension has been an ongoing challenge. So last night's charge to bring the darkness into our experience of faith came both as liberating permission and as confounding head-scratcher.

The specific terminology that struck me was that of "ritualizing sorrow" or "doubt" or "suffering". Certainly the term "ritual" carries its fair share of negative connotations. But for my purposes here, I'll try to polish it up a bit and use it to mean an intentional, consistent practice that is designed with a specific objective in mind. In this context, that purpose is simply to shape my life in relation to God.

I'm intrigued with the idea of bringing this level of intentionality --ritualization--to my experience and understanding of the interplay of God & suffering.

Hibernation

Yesterday, out on a walk w/ my husband, I heard birds singing again. It's been months of silence--since last fall--and even still I'm worried they might be a bit ahead of themselves. But as I enjoyed the warmer weather (we're talking low 30s here!) and the hints of spring, I suddenly remebered I have a blog!
Since we moved to Michigan (over 10 years now) I've learned a great deal about myself--and one of the key lessons is that I've got more in common with the animal kingdom than I might have thought. When winter hits, all I want to do is eat and sleep. Really. "Creativity?" Gone. "Productivity?" Why? "Proactivity?" Nope. I'd really just prefer to curl up in the dark and pass out till the birds come back.
After several years of gritting my teeth and forcing my way through winter, I've decided to concede a few things to the powers of Nature. I pretty much give up on creativity during the dark months. I don't expect to accomplish anything grand. But I do expect to slow way down. If I'm lucky, I'll keep up with the basic demands of life. If I'm wise, I'll spend more time with people (who nourish me--and even at times make up for light deprivation). And if I can think clearly enough, I embrace the introspection that's guaranteed to drop in.
Then, when the birds start singing, and the sun shows itself again, and smells return to the out-of-doors, I begin to pick up where I left off in the fall. Hopefully enriched by my time of quasi-hibernation, I start edging out of my cave. Tentatively, of course--spring in these northern regions isn't a given until June, after all. But with hope, looking forward to the upcoming sunshine, and the vitality and creativity with which it infuses my life.

"/" Life

You've probably heard the phrase already/not yet, particularly as it refers to faith and the fulfillment of what we hope & trust for. It's a fairly routine way of describing this understanding: God is at work among us--but it's obvious to even a blind eye that God's work is far from complete.
I've come to realize recently how much I live in the "not yet" of this phrase. I have HUGE dreams and expectations for what God's kingdom must look like, and I'm inspired and exhilarated by these visions of wholeness. On the other hand, this visceral connection to the beauty and hope of these unrealized expectations creates in me a powerful sense of disconnect and pain--sometimes even panic. Our world is SO FAR from what God designed it to be! How can I sleep at night when there's this jagged tear down the fabric of reality between what is and what should be?!
On Sunday morning, I walked forward to participate in the Eucharist with the thought: "This, at least, is already." Jesus has already taken human form; his life, death & resurrection have already happened, and have already introduced us to God in a unique way. How grateful I was that, however briefly, I could rest in the already. Just as the cup came my way, however, the minister smiled apologetically and whispered, "Sorry. I've just run out. I'll be right back."
I knew there was more wine behind the altar, and I was pretty sure she wasn't taking off through the back door, so I knelt patiently and waited with confidence, knowing she'd be right back and we'd pick up where we'd left off.
Then the lightning bolt struck. Here, at the altar rail, I found myself in the midst of already & not yet. And I was calmly, patiently, and in full contentment, waiting. It hadn't crossed my mind to panic. Or to demand immediate fulfillment. The blood of Christ had already been offered, and would inevitably be given. I just needed to rest a bit on the cushions till it showed up.
A few moments later, I walked back down the aisle, tongue tingling from the sip of wine, eyes burning with threatening tears. As a hands-on learner, I know when I've been taught a lesson.
If only I could learn to rest in that "/", that place between already & not yet. The way I'm wired, there's no danger I'll ever settle in the already. But that doesn't mean I have to pitch my miserable tent in the "not yet". I have been given a vision of that middle ground, the space that honors what God has already done, as well as what God has promised to do. My place is to perch in between.

@ a conversation w/Jurgen Moltmann

Last week I attended a "theological conversation" with Jurgen Moltmann, often referred to as the "theologian of hope". One of his books helped re-orient my life several years ago, so the opportunity to hear him speak was one I couldn't miss. Turns out he's a remarkably engaging, funny and insightful man, with a quick wit, brilliant observations, and a wholehearted commitment to the ways of Jesus. What has struck me so profoundly about his work is its rootedness in God's world--as it is now, and as it will be one day yet to come. "as it is now"--a former POW, Moltmann is deeply acquainted with what is wrong with our world. He refuses to hide from it, to cover it up, or even to explain it away. Quite simply, he faces head-on the realities of suffering and evil that undermine the kingdom of God. "as it will be one day yet to come"--based on the history of God's redeeming work in Jesus' death and resurrection, Moltmann trusts that the future will continue to hold such redemption--ultimately healing all--even to the "groaning creation".

As he proposes this stance of realistic expectation, he calls us to invest our lives in "waiting and watching"--waiting for the promise to be realized, watching for ways in which we might participate. And he pulls no punches--everything is on the chopping block. For instance:

"Love your enemies!" ...Stop asking what [your enemy] has done to you or to other people. Ask what he suffers from, and what the sufferings are which are turning him ino your enemy. Ask what God wants to do for him--the God who lets his sun rise upon the evil and the good. Ask what Jesus has done for him.(from The Power of the Powerless)

In the process of presenting some deeply serious material, Moltmann wasn't all gravity--he clearly enjoys life and his own quirky interpretations thereof. I'll leave you with one of his comments related to Scriptural interpretation and the role of women in the church (this delivered w/ a twinkle in his eyes): "It's a good thing the women of the New Testament did not remain silent--or we would never have heard about Jesus' resurrection!"