Beauty and Community

If writing and thinking were the same thing, I would have written several books in the last week. The responses to the last post have, to say the least, prompted some wonderful reflection for me. I'm going to refer back to some of those comments in this post, and I'd like to continue the conversation under the theme "Beauty and Community." What I'm thinking of here is the ways in which beauty can come to expression in the communal life of congregations as well as other kinds of communities.

In the responses to the last post, Joe the Plumber (I have this odd sense that that is not his real name...) commented about the role of fear as a factor that limits human creativity and beauty. He wrote "...and could it not also be said that the fear you talk about is a deformity of the original intention for the human being and is a direct attack on the outflow of potential beauty from a human life. That is perhaps why the Bible exhorts the human being so often to not be afraid." To this, Eunice added, "I would like to add that it is not having anxiety or fear that is the problem. They are God given emotions. The problem is what do we do with them? Do we allow them to stop us from enjoying the abundant life God wants us to have?"

Suppose that we were to broaden these thoughts just a bit and think about the role of fear in community life. More and more, as I observe groups of people, it seems to me that it is not just individual human beings whose beauty is limited by fear, but groups. That is to say, whole groups--families, churches, businesses, villages--become anxious, and as they do, their capacity to express beauty is limited. I think of the hideous Biblical example of Abraham, Sarah and Hagar. If you recall the story, Sarah became terribly jealous because her handmaid Hagar had a child and she did not. In a fit of rage, she compelled her husband Abraham to drive Hagar and the child Ishmael out to a distant land. In this awful story, the anxiety and fear of Sarah is passed along to Abraham, who passes it along in abusive ways to Hagar and Ishmael. One person's fear is every one's problems. As I think of this story, I can't help but wonder what gifts were lost to the community. What gifts might Hagar and Ishamael have brought had they not been made homeless by the fear that inhabited the family? What creativity was lost to Sarah because she succumbed to fear? What beauty was lost to Abraham because he owned his wife's anxieties? As I look at that story, I can't help but feel that anxiety took root in the whole family, and the beauty of the whole was lost, at least for a time.

I believe that when communities become anxious, so that fear/anxiety makes its home in the community as a whole, the creativity and beauty of the entire community diminishes. That's another way of saying that the community itself loses something of its humanity, its reflection of the image of God. Think, for example, of terribly anxious times in the history of the church. In those darkest moments, the church has been more interested in being right than in expressing beauty. We've murdered our Joan of Arc's, rather than listening appreciatively and thoughtfully to them. The gifts of our artists have been silenced, beauty has been replaced by whatever works, whatever proves that we're right, whatever heps us to get our mission, understood very narrowly, accomplished. One place where I believe I see this today is in church architecture. When the church becomes fearful (driven by finances?), vision for communal beauty is lost, the buildings of churches become purely functional matters. We build space that 'works,' space that is very functional, but it is ugly space.

I'm wandering now, to be sure, but I'd hope to continue the discussion. What might a communal commitment to beauty look like? What is required of me, as a member of a community of faith, to 'be not afraid' so that I might remain thoughtful and creative and contribute beauty to the whole? How might decisions be influenced if beauty is as important to us as functionality or orthodoxy? What sort of gifts might emerge if we value beauty as much as we value efficiency? I think these are important questions. Thanks for evoking them in me.

Beauty

This past week I was having lunch with a friend and our conversation turned to a subject I don't hear much about: beauty. My friend wondered out loud why it is that, generally speaking, we hear so little about this theme. He was speaking of beauty in creation and beauty in the arts. After all, he noted, our scriptures speak of the beginning of all things as a garden, a place of beauty and delight. If beauty is important to God, the simple enjoyment of it would be one of the ways in which we become more fully human and more fully alive. My friend then told me about a well known theologian who takes his students on trips to hear symphonies, to see great plays, to observe and enjoy beautiful art. Note: these are not specifically Christian symphonies, or plays or works of art. The theologian is trying to teach his students that enjoying genuine beauty, in any form, is a profoundly 'Christian' thing to do.

One of the places that I've encountered beauty this year in a surprising way is in the musical tradition known as 'the blues.' Obviously, the blues aren't new, but they're practically new to me. I'm talking Javina Magness, Eric Clapton, Little Milton, Bonnie Raitt, Maria Muldaur and the list goes on. In fact, I heard myself say to my friend that one of the ten best things that's happened to me this year is discovering the blues. I find the lyrics earthy, the music passionate and the guitar work electrifying. It's rarely 'Christian' if by that word you mean something that talks overtly about God and the good news. In fact, most of the time it's the stuff of life: falling in love, relationship challenges, and a good bit of the hard side of life. But it is, to me at least, an expression of beauty, even in the midst of the pain that is often the song writer's experience. I find that to be, well, a beautiful thing.

I believe that the goal of the kingdom of God is the renewal of all things through Jesus Christ, and that means that beauty will, on the day of the Lord, be all and in all. If that's true, then enjoying beauty today, in any form--including the blues!!--is to anticipate that day.

Election Day

It's late afternoon on Monday as I'm writing, and tomorrow I get to vote. It's been a long time since I've been so excited and grateful about the opportunity to express my opinions at the polls. I think my excitement is related to the long buildup to this election, the important issues that are being debated, and the challenging news that has dominated the headlines and web pages in recent weeks and months. This is important stuff.

Over the last couple of weeks, in an effort to help my daughter with her homework, I've been re-reading some small sections of The Federalist Papers and The Anti-Federalist Papers, collections of essays and speeches in which the authors debated the positive and negative aspects of the constitution . Make no mistake, they had some passionate differences about how our government should be structured. But as I read, I was struck by how both sides of the debate emphasized the importance of returning the power of government to the people. Both sides in those debates were adamant that the final form of our government had to protect citizens from despotic leaders. Their debates--and it should be noted that they disagreed hotly with one another about the particulars--made me more appreciative that I get to participate in a system in which we the people get to hold government accountable in many ways, including with our votes.

There's a great deal that's wrong with our political system. I certainly don't believe in a 'love it or leave it' mentality. As a Christian, I believe that I am called to exercise righteous critique of the land in which I live. That said, I am almost giddy about the gift that is mine of voting my conscience at the election booth. Regardless of how this turns out, I get to cast my votes in ways that I believe are most consistent with the kingdom of God. When you stop and think about it, in the whole history of the world, it is a very recent development that anyone has gotten to do that.

The Messyness of Love

October 27, 2008

Yesterday I spoke about the greatest commandment, actually the two great commandments that Jesus brought together in an inseparable way: the love of God and the love of neighbor. Today I'd like to write very briefly about the latter half of these two: love for neighbor. In a word, love of neighbor is messy business. One of the many things that makes it so, it seems to me, is that love of neighbor does not always look the same. In one situation love requires a very different response than in another.

Allow me to give an example. People in need of financial assistance occasionally come to our church offices asking for help. What has long perplexed me is that every situation is unique. In one situation, providing financial help might be exactly what love requires; in another situation witholding help might be what love requires. Sometimes, providing assistance empowers people to move forward, to take greater responsibility for their lives, to make good decisions; at other times, witholding help requires people to take more responsibility, to make wiser decisions, to learn how to utilize their resources and grow.

I'm suggesting that love requires discernment. The key question, it seems to me, is What does love require of me in this specific situation? Consider the example of Jesus. On one occasion, Jesus responded to a rich young ruler who came inquiring about salvation: "Go sell all your possessions, give them to the poor, and come follow me." Pretty tough love, wouldn't you say? But on another occasion, when he spoke the word of forgiveness to a woman caught in the act of adultery, his love looked like bubbling over grace. In both situations he acted in love for his neighbor, but the two occasions look radically different.

It seems to me that love always acts in a way that empowers my neighbor to become all that she or he was created to be. When I act in 'love' for my neighbor, but my 'love' is really something that person needs to be doing for herself, then my 'love' has actually limited her growth. On the other hand, when I act to empower my neighbor, that will always serve my neighbor's growth toward his potential.

Sound messy? I think it is. I think love always requires discernment. Doing for my neighbor what he or she wants me to do is not always the loving thing to do. And sometimes it is. Love requires creativity and wisdom.

Playfulness

Every evening when I arrive home from the office, I am greeted by Lucy, our five-year-old Labrador. When she sees my car pull up the drive, she jumps off her bench, sprints all the way around the house, and greets me in front of the garage, often with her rubber ball in tow, ready to play. Lucy is the picture of playfulness.

Today I'm thinking about playfulness as an antedote to seriousness. I've been struck recently, as I've listened to the news and read several articles on the web, about just how serious our nation seems right now. Granted, we have lots of reasons for concern. The news from Wall Street is really important. There's an election coming in which we will make significant decision about leadership. The war on terror is real. These are highly charged times.

It seems to me, though, that when we become anxious, we tend to become very, very serious. The jaw tightens, the eyebrow becomes furrowed, the shoulders become tense. Our reactions to the events around us become more and more reactive. We tend to lose our creativity, plowing right in to 'fight' or 'flight' as the only available responses to our challenges. I'm speaking autobiographically now: I am absolutely certain that when I am overly anxious and serious (those two things go together, at least in my experience), my ability to respond creatively to challenges around me is significantly diminished.

Enter playfulness. One of the church fathers was asked what substance God made the world from and he responded (playfully, I think) that God made the world out of "play." When I'm playful, sharing in God's joy, I'm able to respond more creatively to challenges around me; I can keep more options open, take myself a whole lot less seriously. By 'playful,' I don't necessarily mean the act of playing games. We've all been part of game playing events that were overly serious. Just watch an NFL coach pacing the sidelines to see how serious someone can be while 'playing' a game. Genuine playfulness, on the other hand, is the ability to reamain creative, to not take yourself too seriously, to laugh at your own limitations and foibles. It's the ability to remain somewhat relaxed and non-anxious, even while others around you may be getting overly serious. It's the ability to see the lighter side of things, to keep your sense of humor, to think and brainstorm when you're tempted simply to react.

When Paul listed the 'fruit of the Spirit' in his letter to the Galatians, the fruit in our lives that is formed when we cooperate with the gift of the Holy Spirit who abides in us, he described it this way: "The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience kindness, gentleness and self-control." I am struck as I look at those words at how playful many of them are. When we cooperate with the Spirit, we know what it is to be loved and to love, to experience joy and peace... Can you hear how playful those words are?

Sometimes, as a very simple discipline, when I become aware that I'm becoming anxious and serious, I pray, "Lord, how might I respond to this situation playfully rather than seriously?"

It's my little effort to learn from the example of Lucy.

Wake-Up Call

I know almost nothing about economics. That disclaimer is important. It's on my mind, so I'm writing about it today; but I know very little about the complexities of what's going on out there. It does seem to me, though, that at the very least this present economic "Pearl Harbor," as Warren Buffet described it, is a wake-up call to Americans. For the last umpteen years, we've been living on the world's credit card, burrowing to support the federal budget, and Americans have been borrowing to support their personal wants and needs at an unprecedented rate. Again, I'm not even close to an economist, but it doesn't take a genius to see that you can't borrow and borrow and borrow. Sooner or later the piper must be paid.

About a week ago I read an editorial (I believe it was by George Will) in which the writer noted that there is a lot of finger pointing going on out there. Many are pointing, rightly, to the banking industry. Many are pointing, rightly, to the folks on Wall Street and the executives making their outrageous salaries. But, this writer went on to say, there should also be some fingers pointing back to us, the American consumers, and our consumer habits. If we borrow $100 k for a house and can only afford $70, part of the blame must be pointed back to us. If we're borrowing because we're simply too impatient to purchase items we want, part of the blame must come back to us.

It's interesting, don't you think, that this present crisis hits us right in the bulls-eye of one of the strongest warnings ever given by Jesus. "No one can serve two masters," Jesus said. That's a simple, factual statement. No one is capable of ultimately loving and serving two masters. But I've always found it very interesting that he used only one example for this. "No one can serve two masters... No one can serve both God and mammon." "Mammon" is the Aramaic term for money and the things that money can buy.

Perhaps we are experiencing the consequences of a national idolatry? Perhaps it's time to focus on living within our means? Maybe we need to remember what 'layaway' means? Perhaps we as a nation need to take this wake-up call with every bit as much seriousness as we did 9/11?

I'd like to know what you think.

Reflections on a Bus Ride

Thanks to those of you who responded to my first blog. Allow me to reflect a bit more on the 'reframing' I described in the last blog in light of an experience I had this last summer. In July, as many of you know, I took a Greyhound bus from Alma to my hometown, Casper, Wyoming, a nearly 40 hour trip by way of Chicago, Milwaukee, Minneapolis, Fargo and Billings. Whew.

During one of those stops, I switched buses, and as I climbed on board my new bus, I noticed that it was already quite full. Near the front sat a lady who had sprawled all of her belongings across two seats, making it clear that she didn't want to have to share her space with anyone. Since most of the seats were already taken, I politely asked her to move her belongings so I could sit next to her. She immediately tried to dismiss me, making it very clear that she wanted both seats to herself. Her attitude struck me as somewhat rude, particularly in light of the fact that she, like everyone else on the bus, had paid for only one seat. But what really struck me was that later, on a different leg of the trip, the same lady placed herself in the seat across the aisle and behind the bus driver, where she spent much of that leg of the trip witnessing (very loudly!) to the driver about her faith in Jesus. So, here's the picture: here was a lady who didn't want to share the limited space (something that almost everybody on the bus was willing to do), didn't want to practice hospitality, but did want to talk to people (from a distance) about Jesus. Something's wrong with this picture.

Now, imagine the same bus trip. Suppose that a Christian on that bus were to approach his or her presence on the bus differently than the lady I've just described. Suppose that they were to attempt to be genuinely present to each person they met; they would practice hospitality, ask questions, be curious, be genuine. Suppose that they were to watch for opportunities to be helpful, to contribute in some small way to the quality of the bus trip for everyone on the bus. They would look for opportunities to build community, diffuse anxiety, and work for peace (and believe me, on a long Greyhound trip there are plenty of opportunities to diffuse anxiety and work for peace!). Such a person would undoubtedly delight in opportunities to speak in genuine ways about their faith, to bear witness to the light within them. But such witness would, in every way, be consistent with their life.

I'm trying to describe an 'incarnational' approach to Christian living, where praying and working for the will of God being done right here on earth is our goal. It will never do to shout the message from a distance; the goal is to be genuine and present right here on earth, to join our lives to the dream of God for this world.

What do you think?