I just got back from a five day retreat that we like to call Spring Break Camp. Intense scripture study, awesome community, good food, a zip-line -- it was quite a week. This year, I and 13 other students walked through a series of scriptural texts, documentaries, and conversations in order to learn about the history of gender relations. To say the least, it was emotionally intense. I had my heart broken for the sheer breadth of the chasm between how men and women should interact and how they actually do interact. Sometime soon, I hope to collect some of the lessons from this past week into a post, but for now I want to share a poem written in the midst of emotional distress. My heart was broken after watching a film called Miss Representation, and in the midst of my tears, I asked God to help me write something to distill the emotion of that night. This collection of thoughts is what came out, and to me it is a way for me to re-enter the emotions I experienced that night.
When did innocence die?
Not the bend of the bough
Nor the snap of the branch
Nor the bite of the fruit.
No
It was a gleam in the eye and the silence of a man
The first crack in the glass
He looked into the mirror
The reflection gazed back
And together they whispered:
"I am like God."
When did innocence die?
There's a monster in the glass
But I am like God!
He has a scar on his face
But I am like God
His smile is crooked
I am like God?
A hammer in his hand
I am like God!
I am like God...
I am like God
This cry, his plight, his protestation
Through rotten teeth, with forked tongue
He whispers still.
When did innocence die?
Bright paint over broken glass
A holy charicature
hides the ghastly corpse
Ready for show-and-tell
But when the lights turn off, fearful tears betray
"I am not like my god"
From deepest depths, He calls back
"You are not like your demon"
Friday, March 29, 2013
Friday, March 15, 2013
Insights from a Dream
I really like dreaming. Generally speaking, I'm a pretty inhibited person. We all have inhibitions and filters, but I don't really know how to turn mine off. I'm not simply talking about our verbal filters that occasionally keep us from saying stupid thoughts aloud. There are feelings and thoughts that I've taught myself not to notice. Quick example: I was taught to never say anything bad about someone else. I internalized that lesson to the point that I seldom allow myself to think negative thoughts of another. On the plus side, I tend to see the good in people and it helps me to empathize. On the other hand, there have been times when I've turned a blind eye to problems in relationships that have needed attention.
All that to say, when I dream, I don't have the mental capacity to live with the same inhibitions that I carry with me in life. Thus, my actions and words in a dream often hold insight into my heart that I can't get anywhere else. Of course, looking at dreams for meaning is nothing new, I guess I'm just explaining to you and to myself my reasoning for looking for meaning in dreams.
I don't remember the context, but last night there was a young man in my dreams who I've never met. I doubt that he exists outside my dreams, but when I woke up this morning, I realized that I he has been in my dreams multiple times. He is tall, dirty blonde hair, and almost always smiling. He speaks often of the Holy Spirit, and is defined by passion and zeal. The way he talks and prays is always somewhat airy, as though he lives more in a lofty world, barely tied to this physical one.
In sharp contrast to all of that, his eyes are piercing, sometimes blue and sometimes a disconcerting red. In my dreams, I'm always afraid of him.
Who is this man, and why do I fear him?
I think there are a few things that can be taken from his presence in my dreams. I grew up in a church called Faith Community Chuch, under the evangelical-free denomination. Though I consider myself a generally open person, I think this young man, we'll call him Joe, shows that I still harbor misgivings about more charismatic walks of Christianity. When I recall how I felt about Joe in my dreams, I recognize that I did not trust him. I felt afraid partially because I wasn't sure how to respond to his expressive nature, but I was also afraid that his loud and exuberant worship was only an outward act, a poor replacement for honest worship.
Strange, I am more willing to accept soft singing, hands raised, eyes closed as honest worship than I am willing to accept dancing, off-key singing, and a wide smile. Intellectually and theologically, I do not value one over the other; I know that there's beauty in the diversity of how we worship God. But when the rubber meets the road, I still find it hard to trust those who are different from me. If I limit the way that God interacts with others to the same way that He interacts with me, I place a limit on God Himself. Such a limited god is an idol, and an idol that looks a lot like me. When I project my own form of worship, my own walk onto others, I create the gospel in my own image.
Shoot, that's a scary thought. My misgivings about those who I might consider charismatic are an indication of my own self-worship. By taking a closer look at someone I dreamed about, I stumbled upon my own deep brokenness (again). There are so many stones to turn over in my head and in my heart, how much brokenness is hidden underneath?
Thank God, that God is God. I need Him desperately, because without Him, I'm worth nothing. It's at times like this that I can see most clearly that without the redemption and love of God, I truly have nothing of value to offer.
I think there are a few things that can be taken from his presence in my dreams. I grew up in a church called Faith Community Chuch, under the evangelical-free denomination. Though I consider myself a generally open person, I think this young man, we'll call him Joe, shows that I still harbor misgivings about more charismatic walks of Christianity. When I recall how I felt about Joe in my dreams, I recognize that I did not trust him. I felt afraid partially because I wasn't sure how to respond to his expressive nature, but I was also afraid that his loud and exuberant worship was only an outward act, a poor replacement for honest worship.
Strange, I am more willing to accept soft singing, hands raised, eyes closed as honest worship than I am willing to accept dancing, off-key singing, and a wide smile. Intellectually and theologically, I do not value one over the other; I know that there's beauty in the diversity of how we worship God. But when the rubber meets the road, I still find it hard to trust those who are different from me. If I limit the way that God interacts with others to the same way that He interacts with me, I place a limit on God Himself. Such a limited god is an idol, and an idol that looks a lot like me. When I project my own form of worship, my own walk onto others, I create the gospel in my own image.
Shoot, that's a scary thought. My misgivings about those who I might consider charismatic are an indication of my own self-worship. By taking a closer look at someone I dreamed about, I stumbled upon my own deep brokenness (again). There are so many stones to turn over in my head and in my heart, how much brokenness is hidden underneath?
Thank God, that God is God. I need Him desperately, because without Him, I'm worth nothing. It's at times like this that I can see most clearly that without the redemption and love of God, I truly have nothing of value to offer.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Crash -- an adendum
Just finished watching the move Crash for the second time. And let me tell you, it's just as poignant the second go round; I'm still reeling. For those of you who haven't seen it, it's available on Netflix, and I highly, highly recommend giving it a watch. Just log in on your own account or steal a buddy's login info, whatever you need to do.
Based in Los Angeles, the movie does an incredible job of showing the intertwined stories of at least 8 characters. They're characters are the astounding part. The movie seems defined by complexity. The way the characters are presented, you find yourself able to identify with every one of them. You see the good and the bad of nearly every character, and by the end of the movie no one is idolized and no one is demonized. People are just people.
The events of the movie are heartbreaking and at times horrifying, and they carry the weight of reality. Scene after scene, we see displays of injustice and racism and we're forced to see that as much as these exist in the fiction of the film, they are reflections of reality. The audience is left with a greater awareness of the depth of the world's brokenness, but without concrete answers or concrete resolution.
When the credits begin to roll after the last scene, I feel a deep need for more. It's a feeling that I recognize as God's invitation to be a part of the resolution that is still happening. The movie is left unresolved, because the reality is that the issues of racism that it portrays are still unresolved in our world. In my mind, the response that this movie demands lies in God. As broken people, we are constantly inflicting our brokenness upon each other. Despite redemptive acts of kindness and compassion, we cannot simply undo the brokenness around us, nor the brokenness in us. What this world needs is beyond us; this world needs God.
Without a God who is beyond limit and without fault, the cycle of brokenness that Crash portrays will continue. I hope that you will join me in recognizing that we are being invited to meet this brokenness, and by God's power to be part of the work of healing our broken world. I have yet to find a more compelling reason to live this life.
I feel as though I'm being redundant, but apparently this is the best I can do at 2 a.m.
Based in Los Angeles, the movie does an incredible job of showing the intertwined stories of at least 8 characters. They're characters are the astounding part. The movie seems defined by complexity. The way the characters are presented, you find yourself able to identify with every one of them. You see the good and the bad of nearly every character, and by the end of the movie no one is idolized and no one is demonized. People are just people.
The events of the movie are heartbreaking and at times horrifying, and they carry the weight of reality. Scene after scene, we see displays of injustice and racism and we're forced to see that as much as these exist in the fiction of the film, they are reflections of reality. The audience is left with a greater awareness of the depth of the world's brokenness, but without concrete answers or concrete resolution.
When the credits begin to roll after the last scene, I feel a deep need for more. It's a feeling that I recognize as God's invitation to be a part of the resolution that is still happening. The movie is left unresolved, because the reality is that the issues of racism that it portrays are still unresolved in our world. In my mind, the response that this movie demands lies in God. As broken people, we are constantly inflicting our brokenness upon each other. Despite redemptive acts of kindness and compassion, we cannot simply undo the brokenness around us, nor the brokenness in us. What this world needs is beyond us; this world needs God.
Without a God who is beyond limit and without fault, the cycle of brokenness that Crash portrays will continue. I hope that you will join me in recognizing that we are being invited to meet this brokenness, and by God's power to be part of the work of healing our broken world. I have yet to find a more compelling reason to live this life.
I feel as though I'm being redundant, but apparently this is the best I can do at 2 a.m.
Friday, March 1, 2013
The Question of Theodicy: From the Head to the Heart
In
my last post, I mentioned some difficult times that I've gone
through. It's a little weird to say that, because there was no great
tragedy, no single life-crushing event that made life hard.
Nonetheless, my struggles and the pain I experienced were real.
Throughout the past two years, I've been on a journey that has
significantly changed my worldview and self-view. I've grown so much,
and I can't imagine who I would be without these experiences, but the
journey to get here was honestly a difficult one. But that's the way
it is: you can't build a new and healthy worldview without
sacrificing your old one.
This portion of my journey began in Fresno, the summer between my sophomore and junior year. Through God's direct leading, I was part of a summer project called the Fresno Urban Internship(FUI). It's a 5 1/2 week program that gives college students the opportunity to learn about the inner city and poverty-related issues, to experience working and living with people from different cultural backgrounds, and to simply be challenged in profound ways to live for God. The program tends to meet people in different ways, bringing different challenges to different individuals. For me, the single most important thing I took away from FUI was an understanding that this world is deeply broken. Prior to that summer, I think I would've said that the world wasn't so bad off. But spending weeks learning about institutional injustices and interacting with the disenfranchised on a daily basis, after that how could I continue to believe that the world is OK?
I learned a lot of stuff that summer, but the realization of the depth of the world's brokenness is what set the stage for the coming year. As you might imagine, when your worldview changes drastically, so must your view of God. The God that I knew at the time didn't fit into a world of suffering. I was engaging with the age old question of theodicy in an immediate, personal way. If God is good, omnipotent, and omniscient, why does suffering exist?
Answering this question was once something of an intellectual exercise. An important question because it was part of my witness. But that year, the question went beyond the intellectual level and cut to my core. I was wrestling with the idea because I felt that I no longer knew who God was. At Urbana, I attended a seminar led by Kent Annan and Enel Angervil, called Suffering and Faith. They opened with two simple premises:
1. We do not have a God that prevents suffering, we have a God that is always with us in our suffering.
2. We ask a theological question: "Why is there suffering?" God responds with a practical and ethical answer: "Go, be with those who are suffering."
The full audio of the seminar is available here. These two truths are beautiful in their simplicity, and yet humble in their reach. I want to answer the question of theodicy in full, but it really isn't a puzzle that I can solve. There exist some theological answers, and some of them may even be right. But I believe that as long as we live on this earth, we'll never be satisfied with the existence of suffering. There's something poetic about that, right? We're never satisfied by our answers to suffering and brokenness, because deep down we know that they should not exist!
Which leads us to the punchline of our second premise: Be with those who suffer. What once seemed an order sent down from on high has become the very purpose of my life. In the face of brokenness, at first I ran and hid, looking for the safety of an OK world. By God's grace, He changed me, took me out of that world that doesn't exist. Now, with a fuller (though still imperfect) understanding of the world, God has brought me to a place where all I want to do with my life is participate in its healing. I don't always know how, and when I do know how I often don't do so well. But that's the journey as far as I can tell: as I am being healed by God, I am participating in God's healing of the world.
This portion of my journey began in Fresno, the summer between my sophomore and junior year. Through God's direct leading, I was part of a summer project called the Fresno Urban Internship(FUI). It's a 5 1/2 week program that gives college students the opportunity to learn about the inner city and poverty-related issues, to experience working and living with people from different cultural backgrounds, and to simply be challenged in profound ways to live for God. The program tends to meet people in different ways, bringing different challenges to different individuals. For me, the single most important thing I took away from FUI was an understanding that this world is deeply broken. Prior to that summer, I think I would've said that the world wasn't so bad off. But spending weeks learning about institutional injustices and interacting with the disenfranchised on a daily basis, after that how could I continue to believe that the world is OK?
I learned a lot of stuff that summer, but the realization of the depth of the world's brokenness is what set the stage for the coming year. As you might imagine, when your worldview changes drastically, so must your view of God. The God that I knew at the time didn't fit into a world of suffering. I was engaging with the age old question of theodicy in an immediate, personal way. If God is good, omnipotent, and omniscient, why does suffering exist?
Answering this question was once something of an intellectual exercise. An important question because it was part of my witness. But that year, the question went beyond the intellectual level and cut to my core. I was wrestling with the idea because I felt that I no longer knew who God was. At Urbana, I attended a seminar led by Kent Annan and Enel Angervil, called Suffering and Faith. They opened with two simple premises:
1. We do not have a God that prevents suffering, we have a God that is always with us in our suffering.
2. We ask a theological question: "Why is there suffering?" God responds with a practical and ethical answer: "Go, be with those who are suffering."
The full audio of the seminar is available here. These two truths are beautiful in their simplicity, and yet humble in their reach. I want to answer the question of theodicy in full, but it really isn't a puzzle that I can solve. There exist some theological answers, and some of them may even be right. But I believe that as long as we live on this earth, we'll never be satisfied with the existence of suffering. There's something poetic about that, right? We're never satisfied by our answers to suffering and brokenness, because deep down we know that they should not exist!
Which leads us to the punchline of our second premise: Be with those who suffer. What once seemed an order sent down from on high has become the very purpose of my life. In the face of brokenness, at first I ran and hid, looking for the safety of an OK world. By God's grace, He changed me, took me out of that world that doesn't exist. Now, with a fuller (though still imperfect) understanding of the world, God has brought me to a place where all I want to do with my life is participate in its healing. I don't always know how, and when I do know how I often don't do so well. But that's the journey as far as I can tell: as I am being healed by God, I am participating in God's healing of the world.
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