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generative Christianity

[February Synchroblog] Christianity and Creativity: Why It Matters

February 8, 2011
church, conversations, generative Christianity, Living Orthodoxy, reflections, spirituality, Synchroblog
23 Comments

Years ago, I attended a church that avoided beauty. They met in a little white steepled building with a wood paneled arched ceiling within it that I just loved. However, the rest of the furnishings in there were worn and sparse, making it look like a forgotten and neglected room in an old house. I happened to mention to a friend once that the sanctuary would look so beautiful if it only had a carpet with a rich, deep color to set off the earthy tones of the wood. My remark was met with a terse, “It’s not that sort of church.”

Being new to the faith and having not yet discovered my own voice, I recoiled in embarrassment. I had obviously missed something important or perhaps I was engaging in the dreaded sins called lust of the eyes or the pride of life. I learned to believe that beauty was something that should be suspect, and that my love of beauty could be a character flaw. I learned to not trust my inner senses.

I have since come to understand that those church folks were simply afraid, for beauty can be a perilous thing. It sparks the imagination and moves it beyond safe boundaries, carrying the soul away with it to uncharted and unknown places. If we don’t protect ourselves, we become caught up in it, far beyond the mind and beyond the words in which we have always felt at home and so confident of what we know.

Many others have described to me their experiences of transcendent beauty, whether it be on a mountaintop in the Rockies or during a sunset on the beach. And so often, when they have described their sense of awe, wonder and encounter with sheer Presence, it was tamped down quickly by a well meaning Sunday School teacher who wanted to protect them from those new age-y ideas. Like my little church, they felt it best to keep this experience of beauty reined in.

However, an essay about creativity and Christianity is, in effect, an exploration of beauty. Beauty inhabits the cutting edge of creativity, says John O’Donohue. He proffers the idea that beauty speaks of things beyond words and rouses memories hidden in the depths of our hearts- memories of things both ancient and beyond time. Beauty reveals the wholeness and holy order of things. Beauty infuses our creative acts with meaning.

Frederick Turner adds that beauty enables us to go with, rather than against the deepest tendency or theme of our universe. It calls us back to something deeply ordered and good. In other words, beauty leads us to truth. It speaks of God. Therefore, the church is the right place to develop eyes for beauty; to learn to truly see. For in our relativistic world that is embroiled in either polarizing arguments or apathy in regards to what is good or true, beauty is able to transcend.

Beauty calls forth from our hearts the capacity to love and gives us sight to find the sacred anywhere on earth. It sees beyond exteriors, even the loveliest ones that tempt us to get caught in measuring a person’s worth by their physical attractiveness or charisma. It also sees beyond off-putting exteriors and actions that offend those who only have eyes to see failure or sin. O’Donohue says that beauty creates in us a reverence of approach for each other. Beauty does not allow us to see a mere human being. Instead, it gives us eyes to see sacred space, a container of the Holy in the other. We are led to draw near to one another with quiet astonishment.

Beauty gives us eyes to see God in the most distressing of disguises. Years ago there was a huge kerfluffle about Andre Serrano’s photograph, “Piss Christ.” It is a disturbing portrait of a plastic crucifix submerged in a vial of the artist’s own urine. Many people were deeply offended at this, feeling that the photo was an act of blasphemy. It became a prompt for all kinds of philosophical arguments and meanderings.

I cannot say what was in the mind of the artist when he made it. But my first reaction was “Oh my, he got it.” For isn’t this idea the essence of the gospel? On the cross Jesus submerged himself into the depths of what is dirtiest and darkest about us, plunging into our refuse, our shame. The unabashed and unhesitating descent of God into our garbage is love in its most powerful manifestation. The cross is that scandalous and it is that beautiful. Typically, our religious eyes want to claim only what is most clean and acceptable as a fitting receptacle for God. Yet God came not for those who are already well, but for those who are in most need of healing. Eyes for beauty will illuminate the presence of God in those whom we are very certain are offensive to him. Eyes for beauty may also help us to see God in ourselves.

What is probably most surprising about beauty is that it is enhanced by flaws. O’Donohue says that the beauty that emerges from woundedness is a “beauty infused with feeling; a beauty different from the beauty of landscape and the cold beauty of perfect form.” This sort of beauty can compel us to cross the threshold of our separate selves into the experience of another in the form of compassion. It is the beginning of healing in the world. Some of the most amazing gifts in my life are my friends who are lifelong members of alcoholics anonymous. They trod along day by day, trading their thirst for the vine into thirst for the divine, carrying each other’s burdens and teaching the rest of us how to do it as well. Their lives have taken on a lovely Eucharistic shape. They exude beauty in a way that too few may ever understand.

Beauty illuminates the gospel story. It reminds us that the gospel is not a piece of theological doctrine to be apprehended, but a love story that tells of God breaking down walls of separation and then joining together God and man, heaven and earth, neighbor and enemy. Beauty “mediates between the known and unknown, light and darkness, masculine and feminine, visible and invisible, chaos and meaning, self and others.” Beauty transforms.

Ultimately, the question we must ask is not what is beauty, but who is beauty. I think it is right to say that God is beauty. To quote O’Donohue one more time, “When we claim that God is beauty, we are claiming for beauty all the adventure, mystery, infinity and autonomy of divine who-ness. Beauty is the inconceivable made so intimate, that it illuminates our hearts.”

Amen, church. Teach us to see.

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Links to Synchrobloggers below. More will be added as they come in!

Reading The Bible From The Margins [October 2010 Synchroblog]

November 9, 2010
conversations, generative Christianity, GOD Moments, Kingdom, Living Orthodoxy, real church, social justice, stuff to ponder, Synchroblog
26 Comments

This post is part of a larger Synchroblog. This month’s topic is “seeing through the eyes of the marginalized.” I will post links to the other blogs as they come in.

I once had a conversation with a fellow Christian about what Jesus might be asking us to do about the poor. She insisted that she scrimped and saved and made good decisions all her life in order to have what she has now and those who are poor could do the same. Any discussions about laws or systems that discriminate against the poor (and thus help keep them in the cycle) were moot to her. She sincerely felt that this was the teaching of the scriptures. I recently wrote a blog post (here) about another friend who ministers in the legal system with young women in detention. Those woman are invariably low income folks, and of course, they have made really bad choices in their lives. But this friend understands that the ways in which the poor have been taught to think and understand life and finances are very different from those of us with more privileged lives, and that they need much intervention and mentoring before the things that seem like common sense to us can be understood, much less embraced. She has learned to see through their eyes.

It comes down to seeing. My first friend was unable and angrily unwilling to see through the eyes of those who had had different lives and opportunities than she. I can understand her frustration. It would be easier to “help” the poor if they were like us, that is, if it didn’t require that we enter into their worlds to see as they do. It is common for us to assume that others see and experience the world in the same way we do. We also assume that others experience God the same way and read the Bible the same way as well. Miguel A. De La Torre, author of Reading The Bible From The Margins (See what I did there? I stole his title!) says that it’s all too easy to assume that the Bible text has one clear meaning that existed in the mind of God and was revealed to the original hearer and we may ascertain what that was and apply it for all time and all people. However, interpretations of the “one meaning” often reflect the dominant culture – an androcentric, white, middle to upper middle class westernized reading. Then, if these interpretations are questioned, we become unsettled and even defensive as if we are messing with the biblical text itself. But just like my first friend, we can remain blind if this one perspective is the only set of interpreting eyes that we have upon the text.

Justo Gonzalez (quoted by Miguel A. De La Torre) shares a story of a sermon preached through the eyes of the marginalized. They were studying the part of the fourth commandment that says, “six days you shall labor”. The pastor asked the congregation how many had worked six days that week, then five, then four, etc. Very few hands went up. Then he asked how many would like to work for six days but were unable to find employment. All of the hands went up. The minister responded, “How then, are we to obey the law of God which commands that we shall work six days, when we cannot find work even for a single day?” Honestly, I had always just skimmed over that part of the commandment. I didn’t see.

De La Torre points out that the “eyes” of class privilege blind us to that first part of the commandment. We assume the privilege of being employed. We are oblivious then to the reality of those segments of our society that lack opportunity for gainful employment because of external prejudices towards race, ethnicity or class, or internal things such as brain-addling traumatic stress due to chronic poverty, neglect and abuse. Without being willing to hear and see the text through the eyes of the marginalized we miss this and probably much more. Our blindness keeps us from loving our neighbors as ourselves.

A few years ago I was invited to teach to a group of Christian pastors and leaders in Mozambique. I remember speaking about Sabbath and what it meant to keep that commandment. There with the poor was the struggle of finding the six days of work. I wondered what it would be like to move into discussion of the Sabbath Day, when their six days had not brought them the fruits of labor. However, the Africans seem to grasp a better sense of the need for Sabbath and the Shalom, human flourishing, wellbeing, connectedness, enjoyment and rest that the day was meant to bring, because their culture is much more communally oriented and not as production and success driven as ours. Even so, it became evident to me that they took everything I said as absolute truth and it was hard for them to believe that I truly desired their discussion and input. I became painfully aware that here I was, a white person of privilege standing “over” black Africans in authority as a teacher, just as plenty of white, western, well-meaning missionaries had done so many times before.

What would it be like to see the text through their eyes? It was one of the “help me God” moments. I sensed God say (no honest, I did), “Speak to them about their story.” So, with some trepidation, I did so. Mozambique was formerly Portuguese East Africa and at least a million people from that region had been kidnapped and sold into slavery a century and a half before. The Portuguese colonists had since ruled their land and made them into second class citizens. That rule did not end until the latter part of the 20th century. As we reflected on their story aloud, their eyes dropped to their laps. Shoulders sagged.

But, I said, the ten commandments were being given to a people who had just been led out from a life of enslavement to Egypt. What could this Sabbath commandment mean for them? The class began to see their story in the text. The Sabbath was a command for all. In this commandment they saw a decree of justice because the Sabbath rest and shalom was for all people, not just the privileged class, as had been their experience. They saw that no one was to be viewed or measured as their position or privilege that day. All were human beings and the playing field was flat. The party was for all. They believed this showed God’s true heart for them. Honestly, have you ever read the fourth commandment this way?

They began to bounce out of their seats. “Africa is blessed”, cried one man, “Because see? God loves it.” They showed me verses from which they had been taught by the colonists that they were black because they had sinned and needed the white man to rule them. They had believed that their “sin” was why they didn’t have work. But through their eyes on the text, the joy and delight of God in the African peoples sprang from the pages. We could have spent the class focusing on the theological and eschatological meaning of the “rest” of God as outlined in my notes, blah de snort. But instead we saw the scriptures come alive and bring freedom and restoration to these people. Their eyes on the text made all the difference.

Seeing through the eyes of the marginalized is not merely a means of administering social justice, though that is important. It is not merely an act of love, though that can hardly be a small thing. The eyes of the marginalized bring to everyone a fullness of understanding in the reading of the biblical text and therefore, to the reading of life. Yes, I learned the tools and rules of hermeneutics in seminary – all about the grammar, rhetoric, genre, historical and cultural contexts, and so forth. But even with such careful study, the biblical text has been used too often to justify horrific events such as slavery, apartheid, oppression of the Native Americans, subjugation of women, and the maltreatment of gays. Seeing through the eyes of the other is crucial to help us to truly hear the Word of God. It is a crucial work in bringing forth the in-breaking of the Kingdom. It is a crucial piece in becoming whom we are meant to be- like Him in this world. We cannot say that we know Truth without the gift of many kinds of eyes to bear witness to the fullness of meaning. We cannot say we know “neighbor” until her eyes become our own.

Check out these amazing voices:

Kathy Escobar Sitting at the rickety card table in the family room waiting for Thanksgiving dinner

George at the Love Revolution – The Hierarchy of Dirt

Arthur Stewart – The Bank

Sonnie Swenston – Seeing through the Eyes of the Marginalized

Wendy McCaig – An Empty Chair at the Debate

Christine Sine – Seeing through the Eyes of the Marginalized

Alan Knox – Naming the Marginalized

Margaret Boehlman – Just Out of Sight

Steve Hayes – Ministry to Refugees: Synchroblog on Marginalized People

Liz Dyer – Step Away from the Keyhole

John O’Keefe – Viewing the World in Different Ways

Andries Louw – The South African Squatter Problem

Drew Tatusko - Invisible Margins of a White Male Body

KW Leslie “Who’s the Man? We Christians are.”

Jacob Boelman – Seeing through the Eyes of the Marginalized

Peter Walker – Through the Eyes of the Marginalized

Cobus van Wyngaard – Addressing the Normalized Position

Tom Smith – Seeing Through the Eyes of the Marginalized

Christen Hansel – Foreigners and Feasts

Annie Bullock – Empty Empathy

Sonja Andrews – On Being Free

Are you willing to see?

November 7, 2010
community, conversations, generative Christianity, Kingdom, Living Orthodoxy, real church, reflections
5 Comments

We went to see the documentary Reconciliation: Mandela’s Miracle the other night at the Denver Film Festival. This film looks at the story behind Invictus, the major motion picture that recounts the story of Nelson Mandela and his relationship with the improbable world cup winning South African rugby team, the Springboks.

The Springboks had represented apartheid to the black South Africans. When the Boks would play, blacks would root for the other team. With Mandela’s release from prison and election to the highest office in the land, the black South Africans were understandably ready to change everything about the nation that reflected anything of apartheid, especially the Springboks. However, Mandela saw an opportunity to unite a very polarized and fearful nation. He insisted that the Springboks stay intact, and keep their apartheid-era team colors. Mandela believed that to treat the whites badly would mean confirming their worst fears and create more tension and polarization amongst the people. He would not return evil for evil, but overcome evil with good.

“Forgiveness begins today,” he often said.

It is a stunning story. How often does someone emerge from mistreatment and many stolen years in prison with forgiveness and reconciliation in their hearts? How many could endure such inequities and not demand their due? How many are truly willing to risk forgiveness? To do that in this case meant that you had to choose trust the heart of your former enemy. It looked foolish.

One of the producers of the film remarked to the audience that she has been a Buddhist for 40 years. This was because the only people she had heard of having such a startling and powerful attitude of forgiveness were Tibetan monks…and now Mandela. That is a powerful thought for us post-modern reformers. How is it that Christianity is not known as a people who espouse forgiveness? We may proclaim it as abstract truth in that we believe that God forgives our sins through the atoning work of Jesus. But perhaps the world gets to see the miraculous power of true forgiveness and reconciliation amongst real people with serious issues all too rarely.

Slowly, many of the white South Africans were awakened to the human rights abuses and cruelties of the system of apartheid. They chose to allow elections that would invite into leadership one who had formerly been seen as a terrorist against the state. It was all the more remarkable because no-one could know what this would mean for anyone, black or white. There was no certainty of outcome. There was no guarantee that the country wouldn’t erupt into chaos. The only thing that was sure was that this choice would change their world forever. And yet, they all chose to prefer and honor each other over their long term, firmly held beliefs, even Christian beliefs. Though they are not the only culprit, Christians in South Africa had justified the existence of apartheid through a particularly onerous version of Calvinism that permeated theological thought and culture and eventually became ensconced in the laws of the nation. In the film a former apartheid Minister of Law and Order admits, “I am a Christian. I love the Lord. But I did not see what was happening. I was blind. Now I see, and I pray I see all people as Jesus sees them”.

The story of Nelson Mandela and the creation of the “Rainbow Nation” is one of the most powerful incarnations of the gospel in human history. It causes me to wonder: We are often so sure of what we believe and so sure we are right. To what or whom are we still blinded? Are we willing to see, even if it changes everything?

Nelson Mandela and Springbok Captain Francois Pienaar

God moments: Jesus in hell

October 15, 2010
conversations, generative Christianity, GOD Moments, Living Orthodoxy, real church, reflections, spirituality, stuff to ponder
6 Comments

 

Johnny Cash singing to the prisoners at Folsom State Prison

 

I forget how much I need God moments to survive. They are those too rare glimpses of incarnation that help to sharpen the Kingdom into focus before my eyes blur again and I start to believe that the orders and inequities and cruelties of this world are more Real than anything else.

I sat with my friend Claire over coffee yesterday. Like the Chilean miners who have risen from the depths of the earth, Claire has lived a similar story of abandonment to the abyss and resurrection. Her eyes light up as she speaks of entering back into the depths with a story of rescue for those who still dwell there.

Claire is a Chaplain for a girls’ detention center. Many of the girls there have been sexually, physically and emotionally abused. She adds that they come from a population that doesn’t know about story. They live in the moments of high drama to high drama, without plot and purpose and hope for movement and resolution. They don’t understand the world any other way. Some Christian groups have tried to go in and “minister” without understanding the generational mindset that has shaped these girls’ worldview and sense of self (and lack thereof). Without a grasp of story that can teach cause and effect, the building up of resources (such as education and savings) and rewards, the girls can’t follow a plan. The “ministers” truly mean well, but as is so often done in the church world, they seem to expect these girls to think as they do, and to be able to appropriate the same language of expression and meaning. The girls are often told of how their behaviors will send them straight to hell. Sin management has not worked well as a means of transformation or of bringing hope to the captives. They are already in hell, with no way out.

Claire has found the heart language. She recalled one young woman sitting across from her who said, “Well, aren’t you supposed to do something religious now?” Claire replied, “Talking to you is the most religious thing I do all week.” The girl didn’t quite know what to do with that. All she had known from religious folks were rules and measures and the reminder of being caught up in a system of life that she had little hope of moving beyond. But now, here was someone who believed that to sit with her was holy. Another woman told Claire, I believe you see me without these [prison] clothes on. You see me.

She speaks to them of forgiveness and the deeper, holy longings in their hearts that fuel so much of their surface behaviors. She blesses them. She is bringing them the Story, from which they can learn to have real life. I have a pastor friend who says that if you want to meet Jesus, go to hell. That is because He is there, preaching good news to the prisoners, calling them holy. In this particular hell, His name is Claire.

Not in my baqyard? Thoughts on the “Ground Zero” mosque

August 18, 2010
church and culture, community, conversations, generative Christianity, interfaith dialogue, Kingdom, politics, real church, stuff to ponder
7 Comments

How do we respond to the Cordoba Project, aka The “Ground Zero Mosque”?  Some say the placement of an Islamic place of worship near the hallowed ground of 9-11 is just plain insensitive. Others say to refuse it is a violation of the first amendment which guarantees freedom of religion. Still others say, well it’s not about freedom of religion because there are other precedents for not allowing something of this nature near a hallowed site, such as, land use disputes that battle a casino construction too close to a historic battlefield. That point seems to most deftly avoid the real issues of the heart. People are resentful and afraid. It is all about fear of this religion.

What is the Christian response to all this? It seems that in this day in which our country is more polarized than ever, and fear and self-preservation seem to have the loudest voices in the land, that we need to take extra care not to forget who we are. What is most unique about Christianity is the visible, radical hospitality of God who not only welcomes the other, He became the other, and ate and drank, lived, laughed and wept with the other.  Without the reality of the incarnation of God in the person of Jesus, we are just another moralistic system. Jesus is our precedent for how to treat those who are “different” (whatever that means), even those who are (real or perceived) enemies.

Radical hospitality cannot be offered without radical forgiveness. Indeed, I wonder if they are the same thing. Forgiveness opens the spaces of the heart that were slammed shut due to hurt, fear and shame. It’s easy to whip up feelings of fear and resentment for political gain, but where are the voices of forgiveness and reconciliation? And, where are the voices that preach the laying down of the desires of the ego so that Christ might be visible in us? These are some of our core Christian values.

What Bin Laden -who does not represent most Muslims- wants most is to goad us into a Holy War. Us against them. Religious beliefs against religious beliefs – tricking us into believing that Christianity must prove itself by postures of domination and power. Jesus took a radically different route by setting a table in the presence of his enemies. Of course some of his enemies couldn’t bear to sup with him, but that didn’t void the invitation.

What would it look like to put aside our own fears and harrumphs and accounting of offenses and set a table of hospitality?  Might it look like blessing the Islamic Community Center (whose community also lost people on 9-11) to proceed in peace? Remember, offering peace and reconciliation is rarely a nice, fluffy, feel-good process. It hurts. It is the embodiment of the gospel. And, it is the best way forward into healing.

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In addition, please check out the blog of Samir Selmanovic, a Christian pastor in NYC who is one of the most reasonable and empassioned voices in interfaith dialogue today. Find him at www.samirselmanovic.com. And read his book! (my review)

And once again because we all think way too highly of ourselves and need to laugh at ourselves a bit, the link below is some related humor on the issue. Jon Stewart and company rightly ask, should an entire religion be judged by its biggest assholes?
(sorry, can’t imbed)

http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/mon-august-16-2010/mosque-erade

A sad but good NYT article-How Fox Betrayed Petraeus

from here to Epiphany

December 28, 2009
conversations, devotional, generative Christianity, Kingdom, real church, reflections, spirituality
3 Comments

I took a break from blogging for about a month. I didn’t intend to do that – the busyness of the season forced my hand. I had wanted to write about each week of Advent. Instead, I sensed God saying to me, just pay attention. So, I did. Here are some thoughts from this time.

Advent means coming, and it is traditionally observed as a time of expectancy and preparation of our hearts for the birth of the long-expected Jesus, as the hymn says. I felt particularly drawn to the songs of longing, especially the old Christmas hymn, O Come Emmanuel:

O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

The song speaks of things such as tyranny, death’s dark shadows, gloomy clouds of night and misery, while calling out for God to rescue. In the refrain I saw the faces of a couple of single moms who are each raising a large family alone after abandonment by their respective husbands and fathers, the young woman in a group home who is panicking upon receiving unconditional love consistently for the first time in her life and who desperately wants to flee, the lonely old man on the phone who lives in subsidized housing, who has no family, doesn’t know how to socialize and who dreads Christmas alone, the gay man whose family turned their backs en masse, the divorced woman who feels love and life has passed her by. There are also the ones filled with self-hatred to the point where they live unaware of their own existence, swimming in fantasy or dissociation. And those who are living under the pain of deep regret, or whose lives have literally been stolen from them through abuse, trafficking or cruel laws. Aching, longing hearts. I don’t mean to be such a downer but these were actual people in my December. That may sound burdensome and depressing but I also saw the body of Christ come around them and sustain them in beautiful ways – often at great cost to themselves and their own Christmas celebrations.

So Jesus has been born. In him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not overcome it. The Light not only shines into but transforms darkness. But what does this really mean?

Last night I saw the movie Invictus, which is the story of the struggle of South Africa to redefine itself post-apartheid. It centers around the national rugby team which had been the darling of the apartheid-era whites. The blacks had cheered for whatever team opposed them. But under Nelson Mandela’s leadership, the team became the symbol of his deep passion to bring reconciliation and oneness to a spilt and wounded nation.

True reconciliation is startling. It seems illogical, even stupid. Mandela added to his security team some guards who had protected the previous President, F. W. de Clerk. They were some of the same people who had treated blacks so cruelly and unfairly under apartheid. Needless to say, the black bodyguards were uncomfortable and suspicious of their loyalty. Nevertheless, Mandela exhorted them,  “Reconciliation begins now. Forgiveness begins now.” He put to rest white fears that he would exact revenge and punish them under his government. That is always the danger of being freed from oppression – resentment and bitterness rise up and we are revealed to have the very same heart as that of the oppressor, full of vengeance and the same capacity for cruelty. Yet, through choosing to honor and love his enemy, Mandela won their hearts. During the big game in the movie, Mandela walked onto the field to greet the team dressed in their apartheid-era colors of green and gold. The huge crowd of mostly white South Africans had previously called Mandela a terrorist and an enemy of the state. Now, they begin to shout in unison, “Nelson! Nelson! Nelson!” Mandela’s work towards reconciliation is nothing short of stunning. It’s the most truly Christian thing I’ve ever seen.

I’ve come to believe that reconciliation is the deepest longing of the human heart. We long to be at one with God, with each other and within ourselves. We long to belong, to have a sense of “home” and to be part of a “we”. Author/Prof. Jim Houston says that it is in relationships that we are wounded, so it is in relationships that we are healed. We long for walls to be broken down and for friendship and trust to birth love. Without this, we remain broken shards of ourselves, always less than we are meant to be, less than fully human. To become awakened to this ache within our hearts is the great gift of God’s reconciliatory act of coming into this world. God-with-us intensifies and births our passion to create something better with and for each other.

I don’t know about you but during this first week of Christmas I am longing for a deeper drink of Jesus and for the at-one-ment that He brings in everything from the public square to the broken places in our own hearts. This month Ecclesia Denver writes in the Denver Book of Prayer that “our busted parts are really bursting parts – full of sacred beauty and possibility”. These are such hopeful words for a hurting people! An Epiphany. May we have eyes to see.

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