Summer Break

I'm going to take a respite from this blog for the remaining weeks of the summer.  I plan to jump back in early in September.  Enjoy your summer--and I'll see many of you on Sunday mornings at 10 am.

Place Matters

Much of the New Testament was written with specific places in mind.  For example, we know that  the Apostle Paul penned most of his letters to Christians in specific localities, places like Corinth, Galatia, Philippi and Rome. Additionally, it is now widely believed among scholars that the four Gospels, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, were originally written to be read and savored by churches in four different locations.  Mark, for example, was probably written for the house churches in Rome.  Matthew was probably written for the church in Antioch.  Similarly, Luke and John were written for particular communities of Christians.  1 and 2 Timothy were written to help Timothy faithfully oversee the church in Ephesus.  1 Peter was distributed to several churches in what is now northern Turkey.  I could go on and on, but I think the point is clear.  Most of the documents of the New Testament were originally written with specific people in particular places in mind.  

You're no doubt wondering, so what?  In a word (okay, two words), place matters.   For me, the importance of place comes into greater focus when I think about what the New Testament is not.  The New Testament is not a bunch of abstract, general truth statements and principles, written randomly with no particular people in mind.  I suppose it could have been.  Perhaps we could have received a New Testament that is a straightforward list of principles by which we're supposed to live our lives.  ("Work hard, eat your vegetables, don't eat yellow snow," that sort of thing.)  Instead, what we have in the New Testament  are these earthy documents written with particular people in mind, inviting, directing and challenging them to live as a new creation in their particular place.  

I know I'm strange, but I find all of this very exciting.  This emphasis on place in the New Testament suggests to me that God is not so much interested in forming people who are right about everything (if so, the NT should have looked like a legal document), but rather on forming people who rightly embody the grace of God in their particular communities. In other words, right now, even now, the Spirit is forming people who have the soil of Gratiot County (or wherever you may be as you read this) under their fingernails, people who love their place and work steadfastly for its renewal.

Reflections on a Small Town

My family and I moved to Alma, Michigan from Phoenix, Arizona in the fall of '99.  The contrast between these two locations is, as you can imagine, like night and day (or Democrat and Republican--choose your analogy).  Looking back, I think I had a bit of a chip on my shoulder about moving to a small town.  I don't want to overstate this.  It certainly wasn't as though I ever out and out disliked being in a small town.  I did, however, occasionally grouse about the local restaurants and the entertainment options (or, as I would have said, the lack thereof) and  I complained about the sparse local newspaper, as it compared with the daily tome I had grown accustomed to in Phoenix.  I think a few "Mayberry" jokes slipped off my tongue in those early months.   I spent the first year or so pining for the activity and the sunshine of Phoenix.

I make mention of this today because recently I have enjoyed a deep and real sense of gratitude for the opportunities I enjoy living in this small town, amid a cluster of small towns, in Gratiot County, Michigan.  In particular, I am thankful for the community I enjoy in this community.  I recently ducked in to the local hardware store to purchase a couple of small items.  I was warmly greeted--by name--by no less than three of the employees.  A day or so later, I enjoyed a brief but enjoyable serendipitous conversation with our mayor, on another day a short but thoughtful exchange with a man I had just met.   While out on a run or doing some shopping, waiting for the  barber or doing my banking, there is enough time, trust and hospitality in this small town for strangers and friends to welcome one another every day. 

I find that this 'public life' adds to the quality of life in ways that are difficult to explain or express.  By 'public life' I mean the many, casual connections that we enjoy on an almost daily basis.  I won't deny that I occasionally miss a wide variety of options for eating out.  And there are certainly days that I miss the excitement of living in a large, metropolitan city.  For now, however, I'm content and enjoying life in this small town.  

Struggle... Continued

Inspired by Haeddre's comments on my last post, allow me to lob out the following.

A few years ago, while on sabbatical, I read Muhammad Yunus' book, Banker to the Poor.  (Thank you, Paul, for recommending it.)  In that book, Yunus described how he eventually responded to the terrible famine that had engulfed Bangladesh in the 1960's.  He had begun to realize that while charity was good for providing people with a meal, it did little to provide ongoing, sustainable solutions.  He began to use the method we now know as 'micro-finance'--providing very small, weekly loans to women and men to help them start or grow very small businesses that would enable them to support themselves and their families.  In the book, Yunus described how he sometimes had to work very hard to convince these terribly poor people that they were capable of starting a small business.  He then helped those who were willing to move forward to form in small groups and work together on business plans.  Finally, he provided the loans, one at a time, to these small entrepreneurs.  The story of micro-finance is now well known.  It is estimated that over ten million people around the world have worked their way out of the lowest rungs of poverty using this tool.  It is an incredible story.

A couple of things stood out for me when I read Yunus' amazing story.  First, in the book he said that he believes that every person is an entrepreneur.  Most people simply don't know it yet.  I take that to mean that every person has the creativity and capacity to do well for themselves, if and when they discover the motivation and the resources for doing so.  Second, I had the impression as I read the book that Yunus is tough as nails.  If people did not pay back their loans, they were dropped from the program.  They were required to pay back their loans with a small amount of interest.  (That is the only way micro-finance can be sustainable as a service to the poor.)  Because of his toughness, not in spite of it, this tool has become truly good news for the poor.

The story of Muhammad Yunus and micro-finance is, for me, sort of a parable of the importance of struggle.  Each small entrepreneur who has worked her/his way out of poverty has done so through struggle.   I'm certain that there was nothing easy about ten million people moving out of poverty. It seems to me that it was precisely because Yunus was unwilling to remove that struggle, but was rather willing to be a resource to them in their struggle, that he has been so amazingly effective at equipping women and men to improve their lives. I believe that his tough and nails work has been and continues to be an incredible expression of love.

Struggle

A few years ago I read a story about a man who wanted to help a butterfly that was struggling to become free of its cocoon.  "I'll ease it's journey into the world," he said to himself, as he found some scissors and carefully cut the butterfly free.  To his disappointment, instead of flying away free, the butterfly weakened and eventually died.  It seems that the struggle to emerge from its lair is key to the butterfly becoming strong enough to survive.

I've been thinking about struggle lately.  (I hope you'll forgive this random topic.)  Sometimes, in our efforts to help others, we can actually separate those we wish to help from the sort of struggle they need in order to become more whole.  A mother who continues to tie her son's shoes because it eases his struggle may actually slow the child's learning curve.  The child needs to struggle in order to learn. A concerned son who continually finishes his aging father's sentences every time dad struggles to find a word may actually contribute to the slowing of dad's mental capacities.   Dad needs to struggle in order to keep his mind fit.  A teacher who always gives the answers to the students may actually be hindering their education.  Students need to struggle with the material in order to learn it.

If I'm honest, I have to admit that too often I am impatient with the struggle of others because of my own anxieties.  It's hard for me to see someone I care about struggling, so I jump in with an answer or a solution or a bit of advice.  When this happens, it's not love that compels my behavior, but my anxiety about their struggle. 

The ministry of Jesus is astonishing in this regard.  He seems to have had a very high tolerance for the struggle of those he cared about.  Those of us who want a teacher who spells everything out in black and white and either/or answers will be very disappointed with the teaching of Jesus.  His words are often dense, so dense that they require struggle in order to hear.  "Blessed are the poor in spirit."  Huh?   "Blessed are the meek."  Come again?  "The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed..."  How so?  "Go sell all that you have and give to the poor."  Really?

We invent the four spiritual laws.  Jesus teaches in parables.  We give three point teachings.  Jesus gives the beatitudes.  I have nothing against the four spiritual laws or three point teachings.  I simply wish to say that Jesus lived and taught in such a way that those closest to him had to struggle in order to hear his message.  They had to 'lean forward,' as I like to say.  It required something of them. 

Where I'm going with this: 1) Sometimes I think we all undervalue the importance of struggle.  If, as the title of this blog suggests, life can be a sacred adventure, we can be sure that it will involve struggle.  Every adventure does.  Instead of avoiding struggle, perhaps we can embrace it as a necessary component of growth.  2) It takes discernment to know when love requires us to offer a helping hand to another, as it sometimes certainly does, and when it requires us to be silent or ask a hard question or stand back and allow another to struggle through toward their own growth.  How do we know when to offer a hand and when to allow the struggle to occur?  Good question.  Sometimes I really struggle with that.



 

Love One Another Deeply...

I was moved by the following words from First Peter in the Scripture reading in our worship service last Sunday: ""Now that you have purified your souls by your obedience to the truth so that you have genuine mutual love, love one another deeply from the heart."  I was reminded of something that Elton Trueblood, the great Quaker writer and thinker, once suggested (and I paraphrase badly now):  What the world desperately needs today is small groups of men and women who are dedicated to the experiment of love for one another.  Such groups, he suggested, can and must infect the world.  There is no greater choice for this challenge, Trueblood concluded, than the church.

Most church goers are well aware of the command of Jesus.  It comes to us from the Gospel of John with crystal clarity.  "Love one another," our Lord commands.  "Even as I have loved you, so you must love one another."  My question to you is, how do we do this today?  In our busy lives, where we carry on so many commitments, where churches themselves are often living at what Thomas Kelly described as a "frenzied pace of frantic feverishness."   How does the busy church and its busy members make room for love to one another--and so fulfill the call of Christ?

Satisfaction

While out on a run recently, I became aware that the old song "Satisfaction" by the Rolling Stones was running through my mind.  You remember the one:  "Well I tried and I tried and I tried and I tried, but I can't get no satisfaction..."  It didn't take much reflection to realize why that song was with me.  It had been a very disappointing day.  The sky of intentions with which the day had begun had crashed against the ground of its reality.  Several of my expectations for the day had been frustrated.  While out for the run, the old song had apparently darted into my mind to give expression to my feelings at the moment: it was a very dissatisfying day.

I know that I'm supposed to critique that song.  I'm supposed to say that Mick Jagger and Keith Richard can't get no satisfaction because they are not (by all appearances) men of faith.  If they were, they'd be much happier and much more satisfied with life.  They'd find delight in the simple things and discover the source of true joy. That's the party line that I'm supposed to repeat.  I'll come back to that in a moment, but I actually find the honesty of the chorus to be somewhat refreshing.  If we're candid, most of us are disappointed, perhaps more frequently than those of us who are Christians care to admit. We have expectations that aren't met.  In fact, I often hear from people who have high expectations of ________ (fill in the blank: their faith, marriage, job, church, lifestyle, possessions etc.) which aren't being met.  Very often it seems as though they are grieving the distance between life as they planned it and how it is actually turning out.  It is as though they have heard that they could live "happily ever after" and, at some level they believed it.  (It probably doesn't help that a multi-billion dollar advertising industry constantly props images before their senses that promise  satisfaction.)   

I'm thinking these thoughts just a little over a week after Easter Sunday.  We celebrated the resurrection of Jesus, and here we are, and everything isn't suddenly better.  Relationships still require work--and sometimes, even with work, they fail.  Things break down way too quickly.  Tornadoes still leave their pernicious paths of destruction.  This leads me to say: I think it's very important to remember what Easter is not, as well as what it is.  Resurrection is not a promise that life suddenly gets better, all of our expectations will be met, we will live with joy and perfect purpose from this day forward.  In fact, it's interesting to note that one of the letters of the New Testament that appeals most forcefully to the resurrection of Jesus, so much so that you could even say that resurrection is just dripping from its pages, is 1 Peter.  Read 1 Peter carefully and you'll notice that this witness to resurrection is written to a church in the midst of persecution and suffering.   You wouldn't have to tell Peter's readers twice that the resurrection doesn't suddenly make all things right.  We live in a fallen world.  We ourselves are fallen.  We can expect disappointment to be part of the picture.

Easter is not the promise that our lives will be suddenly better.  It is, however, the sign that God has overcome the powers of evil that resist God's influence.  It is the promise, which faith welcomes, that the suffering love of God that we see in Jesus is the greatest power at work in the world.  Its power is restorative, renewing and healing.  Resurrection signals that this love of God which suffers with and for us will one day restore the world to God's intentions.  It is the sign and promise that we ourselves who entrust ourselves to this transforming love, will be made new and whole.

In the meantime, even while the disappointments of a not-yet whole world are ever about us, our encounters with joy, love, and beauty are hints and promises of what shall be.  Understanding them this way, we don't need to try to squeeze the living daylights out of those experiences (have you ever noticed how that never works?), or become discouraged when they are not present to the degree that we want them.  Rather, we welcome them, give thanks for them, and embrace them as gifts and promises of what shall be.  I find this perspective to be rather satisfying.