Here's a deeply held theological conviction: ROOT FOR THE CARDINALS NEXT SUNDAY! Root loudly! There are several reasons why you should root for the Cardinals:
* My family and I moved here from Phoenix. Any win by the Cardinals, I mean any win by the Cardinals was big news during the years I lived there. And now they're playing in the stinking super bowl!
* How can you not root for a team that has been terrible for so long and now has their chance to make history? Come on, this is America, home of the underdog! Do you want to be a bad American?
* Larry Fitzgerald. Need I say more?
* I met Kurt Warner last year while I was at a conference. I think he was deeply moved to meet me.
* Let's break down the name "Pittsburgh" and consider the Latin, Greek, Hebrew and Akkadian roots of the word. The name "Pittsburgh" is derived from two words: "burg," which, as we all know, means city or municipality, and "pitts," which means, well, "the pits."
* Let's break down the word "Arizona." I have no idea what it means, but it sounds really nice. Just say the word out loud, very slowly, AR I ZO NA. Don't you feel better now?
* And remember, the Arizona Cardinals play in a suburb of Phoenix, which, as we all know, is the mythical bird the rises from its own ashes. I can sense, even as I write, how moved you are by this.
* I have it on good authority that all good Christians will be pulling for the Cardinals. Remember, I am a "reverend." Would I misguide you?
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Becoming Human
My apologies for being so slow to write this blog. Now that we are well on our way in the new year, I hope that we can get a bit of momentum rolling again.
I frequently hear--and have often said myself--something like, "Oh, there I am again, just being human..." when a person faulters or fails or falls short of their highest ideals. For example, in a fit of anger someone may say things they later regret and attribute it to being 'just human.' Or divisiveness may develop among a group and someone may say, "Let's not let our humanity rule us!"
The assumption in these statements is, of course, that being human is a bad thing. Our weaknesses and failures can be attributed to the fact that we are 'only' human. If we could just become something more, problem solved. In fact, I've sometimes heard people express this in very religious terms. The goal of the Christian life, they say, is to do away with their humanity and become more 'spiritual.'
I have a problem with that. It seems to me that that approach mis-diagnoses the goal of growth and maturity. The goal of growing, it seems to me, is not to become less human, but to become more authentically human. When the Bible describes the terrible tragedy of our world, particularly in Genesis chapters 3 through 11, it is describing what is often called the 'fall' of humankind. Under the influence of that 'fall,' humans are now less than we can be, less than God created and wills us to be. The horrible stories in those chapters--the disobedience of the first humans, their fall from innocense to a state of shame, their sick tendencies to rule over one another, the description of the world's first murder, the division of the world in the story of the tower of Babel, and many more--describe the new and horrific reality of us in our world, where we are now considerably less than fully human.
Why is this important? It seems to me that when we describe the goal of the Christian life as something like "becoming less human and more spiritual," we will inevitably fail to recognize the life-giving presence of God in the mundane and normal activities of our human lives. We will tend to split the world into a false dualism, a 'spiritual' world and a 'merely human' world. We will begin to think of the spiritual tasks and experiences as the important things in our lives, and everything else is mundane. The spiritual dimension of life might take place in a church building and a prayer closet, but there it stays. And the stuff of everyday life--our sexuality, relationships, money matters, keeping up a house, tending a garden, etc.--is on the other side, the less holy side of life.
If, on the other hand, we could embrace a goal of becoming more fully and authentically human, and if we could recognize Jesus as the truly human one, then we might see our lives in this world as the exact place where God is at work. All of life--including the paying of bills, the raising of children, the work that we do throughout the week, and even our sufferings--all of life could be embraced as holy. We might come to think of Christian spirituality not as something that takes us away from everyday life, but as something that takes us more deeply into it. Our goal would be Spirit-empowered living--that is, cooperating with the Holy Spirit who animates and empowers us to become more fully, freely and genuinely human.
That's what I'm thinking about today. I'd love to hear your thoughts!
I frequently hear--and have often said myself--something like, "Oh, there I am again, just being human..." when a person faulters or fails or falls short of their highest ideals. For example, in a fit of anger someone may say things they later regret and attribute it to being 'just human.' Or divisiveness may develop among a group and someone may say, "Let's not let our humanity rule us!"
The assumption in these statements is, of course, that being human is a bad thing. Our weaknesses and failures can be attributed to the fact that we are 'only' human. If we could just become something more, problem solved. In fact, I've sometimes heard people express this in very religious terms. The goal of the Christian life, they say, is to do away with their humanity and become more 'spiritual.'
I have a problem with that. It seems to me that that approach mis-diagnoses the goal of growth and maturity. The goal of growing, it seems to me, is not to become less human, but to become more authentically human. When the Bible describes the terrible tragedy of our world, particularly in Genesis chapters 3 through 11, it is describing what is often called the 'fall' of humankind. Under the influence of that 'fall,' humans are now less than we can be, less than God created and wills us to be. The horrible stories in those chapters--the disobedience of the first humans, their fall from innocense to a state of shame, their sick tendencies to rule over one another, the description of the world's first murder, the division of the world in the story of the tower of Babel, and many more--describe the new and horrific reality of us in our world, where we are now considerably less than fully human.
Why is this important? It seems to me that when we describe the goal of the Christian life as something like "becoming less human and more spiritual," we will inevitably fail to recognize the life-giving presence of God in the mundane and normal activities of our human lives. We will tend to split the world into a false dualism, a 'spiritual' world and a 'merely human' world. We will begin to think of the spiritual tasks and experiences as the important things in our lives, and everything else is mundane. The spiritual dimension of life might take place in a church building and a prayer closet, but there it stays. And the stuff of everyday life--our sexuality, relationships, money matters, keeping up a house, tending a garden, etc.--is on the other side, the less holy side of life.
If, on the other hand, we could embrace a goal of becoming more fully and authentically human, and if we could recognize Jesus as the truly human one, then we might see our lives in this world as the exact place where God is at work. All of life--including the paying of bills, the raising of children, the work that we do throughout the week, and even our sufferings--all of life could be embraced as holy. We might come to think of Christian spirituality not as something that takes us away from everyday life, but as something that takes us more deeply into it. Our goal would be Spirit-empowered living--that is, cooperating with the Holy Spirit who animates and empowers us to become more fully, freely and genuinely human.
That's what I'm thinking about today. I'd love to hear your thoughts!
Monday, January 5, 2009
A New Year
I'm not normally very much impressed with January 1. Of all the holidays we celebrate, the tick of the clock that signals the beginning of a new year is the least impressive one to me. Each year I watch the ball drop on Time's Square and then wonder what the big deal is. It's another day.
For some reason--and I have no idea why--this year has been different for me. The new year really feels, in many ways, new to me. Perhaps it is because the year 2008 brought so much bad news: a financial meltdown, a federal bail -out, an auto industry in crisis, a Michigan economy that's hobbling along--that it's now a relief to be entering into a new year. Perhaps, on a more positive note, it's because of things I've been reading--the writings of the Christian mystic Evelyn Underhill, in particiular--that have beckoned me to deeper experiences of communion with God and renewal. I'm not sure why exactly, but I'm very grateful for a new year. I have a sense of the fresh possibilites for my life and ours together.
Our Scriptures speak constantly of the possiblity of newness. To note just one example, Paul reminds the Corinthians that "if anyone is in Christ, they are a new creation. Old things are passed away. Behold, all things are become new." I hear that as tremendously good news today: I am not destined to be stuck in yesterday's ruts; new, genuine, authentic possiblitites are open to me because I belong to the risen Lord.
For some reason--and I have no idea why--this year has been different for me. The new year really feels, in many ways, new to me. Perhaps it is because the year 2008 brought so much bad news: a financial meltdown, a federal bail -out, an auto industry in crisis, a Michigan economy that's hobbling along--that it's now a relief to be entering into a new year. Perhaps, on a more positive note, it's because of things I've been reading--the writings of the Christian mystic Evelyn Underhill, in particiular--that have beckoned me to deeper experiences of communion with God and renewal. I'm not sure why exactly, but I'm very grateful for a new year. I have a sense of the fresh possibilites for my life and ours together.
Our Scriptures speak constantly of the possiblity of newness. To note just one example, Paul reminds the Corinthians that "if anyone is in Christ, they are a new creation. Old things are passed away. Behold, all things are become new." I hear that as tremendously good news today: I am not destined to be stuck in yesterday's ruts; new, genuine, authentic possiblitites are open to me because I belong to the risen Lord.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Advent, the Rhythms of Worship
This will be my last post for a week or two since I'll be heading to Wyoming to visit family.
I've been thinking this week about how odd it is that millions of Christians return to the themes of Advent, year after year, attending to many of the same ideas and stories as last year at this time, and that we will do this many more times in the course of our lives. An outsider might peer in at us and judge that we're just not very bright. After all, how many times do you need to hear prophesies about a coming king, stories of his birth, narratives about John the Baptist who prepared his way, accounts of wise men, shepherds and angels? Surely we should have gotten it by now.
The very fact that we return to these themes, these stories, year after year must look peculiar to a speed-of-light information age. In this age in which we're now living, getting information right now is the name of the game. I don't even have to wait for a radio report to find out the newest stock market news (not that I'd want to). Same thing with last night's sports scores. I can type some words on my URL bar and have instant access to almost anything.
To be clear: I'm grateful for that. I really am. I have no qualms at all about the speed-of-light information age. I enjoy researching some of my pet subjects on the web as much as anybody; and I love that I can do it from the comfort of my living room or office.
But I find myself thinking today about how badly I also need to look deeply into things. My web browser can places more information at my fingertips than I can assimilate in a lifetime. But is that really what I most need--to assimilate more and more information? Is that what makes me more fully human? I suspect not.
Which leads me back to Advent and the idea of rhythms of worship. For centuries, the Christian church has practiced rhythms in its worship. During Advent we focus on a certain group of stories, symbols and themes. We do the same during Lent and Easter and Pentecost. The whole idea here is not to assimilate more and more and more information, but to be formed by those stories, symbols and themes. In other words, worship is about formation, not information.
If you think about it, the themes of worship we've been considering in Advent are incredibly simple. The foretelling of a coming king, the preparation for his arrival, the challenge of John the Baptist, the advent of Jesus in humility and powerlessness. And yet, I can't help but think that entering deeply into these stories and themes will change us. In fact, doing it year after year after year might just help us to see how radically different these stories and themes are from the hot-topics of the day. And maybe, just maybe, pondering them deeply and carefully will form us a bit more in the likeness of the one who meets us at the manger.
I've been thinking this week about how odd it is that millions of Christians return to the themes of Advent, year after year, attending to many of the same ideas and stories as last year at this time, and that we will do this many more times in the course of our lives. An outsider might peer in at us and judge that we're just not very bright. After all, how many times do you need to hear prophesies about a coming king, stories of his birth, narratives about John the Baptist who prepared his way, accounts of wise men, shepherds and angels? Surely we should have gotten it by now.
The very fact that we return to these themes, these stories, year after year must look peculiar to a speed-of-light information age. In this age in which we're now living, getting information right now is the name of the game. I don't even have to wait for a radio report to find out the newest stock market news (not that I'd want to). Same thing with last night's sports scores. I can type some words on my URL bar and have instant access to almost anything.
To be clear: I'm grateful for that. I really am. I have no qualms at all about the speed-of-light information age. I enjoy researching some of my pet subjects on the web as much as anybody; and I love that I can do it from the comfort of my living room or office.
But I find myself thinking today about how badly I also need to look deeply into things. My web browser can places more information at my fingertips than I can assimilate in a lifetime. But is that really what I most need--to assimilate more and more information? Is that what makes me more fully human? I suspect not.
Which leads me back to Advent and the idea of rhythms of worship. For centuries, the Christian church has practiced rhythms in its worship. During Advent we focus on a certain group of stories, symbols and themes. We do the same during Lent and Easter and Pentecost. The whole idea here is not to assimilate more and more and more information, but to be formed by those stories, symbols and themes. In other words, worship is about formation, not information.
If you think about it, the themes of worship we've been considering in Advent are incredibly simple. The foretelling of a coming king, the preparation for his arrival, the challenge of John the Baptist, the advent of Jesus in humility and powerlessness. And yet, I can't help but think that entering deeply into these stories and themes will change us. In fact, doing it year after year after year might just help us to see how radically different these stories and themes are from the hot-topics of the day. And maybe, just maybe, pondering them deeply and carefully will form us a bit more in the likeness of the one who meets us at the manger.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Redefine Christmas
A confession: I've struggled with Christmas for as long as I can remember. Not the day itself, or the reason for the season or any of that. I've struggled with the rampant consumerism that has won the day here in the U.S. during the Christmas season. Here's my quandary: On the one hand, I want very much to shop and purchase meaningful gifts for loved ones and friends. At the very same time, I fear that some gift giving and receiving is simply a way we have of training one another to want more. That's crass, but there, I've said it. For example, as a parent, I want to provide meaningful gifts for my children, but I also want to avoid training them to think that more stuff will make them happier. I believe that the jury has deliberated and come back with a verdict on that matter: the meaning of life is NOT more and more stuff.
So, I grapple, year after year, back and forth, wondering how best to live the way of Jesus during the Christmas season. I won't pretend that I've found a happy solution, but I do want to report on a letter I recently received that may add some balance to Christmas. About a week ago I received a letter from the 'Dalio Family Foundation,' a group that is behind a movement called 'Redefine Christmas.' I must confess that I almost threw the letter away before I opened it. I'm glad I didn't. They describe their mission this way: "Redefine Christmas is a movement to make holiday gift giving more charitable. Instead of less-meaningful gifts, we can give others donations to their favorite charities in their names. And, we can ask that our friends and loved ones do the same for us."
My family of origin began doing this about three years ago, and I must say that I have loved it. Instead of purchasing gifts for one another that may or may not be used, we identify charities that we believe will honor and bless one another. Attempting to identify just the right choice on behalf of a parent or sibling is itself a creative act. And, I must say, it's a great honor to see the charities that my loved ones have chosen in my name.
I still believe in gift-giving, mind you. This isn't a one way or the other proposal. It's simply a way of moving toward greater balance in the practice of giving and receiving gifts at Christmas.
I'd like to hear some of your ideas about how to make the gift-giving tradition during the Christmas season more meaningful.
So, I grapple, year after year, back and forth, wondering how best to live the way of Jesus during the Christmas season. I won't pretend that I've found a happy solution, but I do want to report on a letter I recently received that may add some balance to Christmas. About a week ago I received a letter from the 'Dalio Family Foundation,' a group that is behind a movement called 'Redefine Christmas.' I must confess that I almost threw the letter away before I opened it. I'm glad I didn't. They describe their mission this way: "Redefine Christmas is a movement to make holiday gift giving more charitable. Instead of less-meaningful gifts, we can give others donations to their favorite charities in their names. And, we can ask that our friends and loved ones do the same for us."
My family of origin began doing this about three years ago, and I must say that I have loved it. Instead of purchasing gifts for one another that may or may not be used, we identify charities that we believe will honor and bless one another. Attempting to identify just the right choice on behalf of a parent or sibling is itself a creative act. And, I must say, it's a great honor to see the charities that my loved ones have chosen in my name.
I still believe in gift-giving, mind you. This isn't a one way or the other proposal. It's simply a way of moving toward greater balance in the practice of giving and receiving gifts at Christmas.
I'd like to hear some of your ideas about how to make the gift-giving tradition during the Christmas season more meaningful.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Advent Inventory
On November 30, the first Sunday in Advent, I recommended that members of our congregation make "a searching and fearless moral inventory of our lives" during the Advent season. You may know that the quoted words in the preceding sentence are the fourth step of Alcoholics Anonymous. Allow me to summarize, very briefly, why I believe this is a timely season to make a moral inventory, followed by some brief suggestions about how to do it.
The church has long believed that the yearning for renewal is at the heart of the Advent season. Just as ancient Israel longed for a messiah, we too, if we are attentive to our own best selves, long for the renewal of our lives, our churches, our community, our world. What Malachi 3:1-4, and many other passages of scripture remind us is that times of renewal are coming. To use Malachi's words, "The Lord will suddenly return to the temple." However, that time of renewal is prepared for by a season of refining and cleansing. Just as the furnace refined the gold and silver, and the launderer's soap cleansed the dirty garment, so we, too, need to be refined and cleansed in preparation for the work of renewal our God wills to do in us.
That's where the moral inventory comes in. As preparation for our celebration of Christmas, the arrival of Jesus Christ, and our hope to be renewed through him, I'm proposing that we make a moral inventory in these weeks leading to December 25. The process is very simple. The most important element is personal honesty. It works like this:
1. Find a notebook (or create a file on your computer), and place it somewhere where you will have easy access to it.
2. On the top of one page, write, "my contribution to the sickness of my relationships." On the top of another page write, "my attitudes or behaviors that are harmful to me." On the top of a third page write, "my contribution to the sickness of the world." You may, of course, choose different words. The main idea is to focus on ways you contribute to relational problems, personal problems and world problems.
3. A few times a week for a few minutes each time, jot out some of the uncomfortable truths about yourself that you're discovering. Bear in mind that some of these truths may be 'sins of omission,' as well as 'sins of commission.' In other words, your moral inventory may speak to you about things you believe you should be doing, but aren't; or things you shouldn't be doing, but are. For example, you could decide that you contribute to the sickness of the world by avoiding your neighbors (a sin of omission) or by being rude to the neighbors you do speak with (a sin of commission).
In my opinion, it's best to do this inventory throughout the season of Advent rather than at one or two settings. Time, patience and personal honest are key ingredients to an effective moral inventory. So, I'm recommending that you do this for a few minutes a day, at least a few times a week, over the weeks leading up to Christmas. I would also recommend that you do this prayerfully. The Spirit is the one who convicts and convinces us of our sin. So, invite the Holy Spirit's direction in all of this.
4. Keep in mind that we make a moral inventory before the God whom we meet in the manger of Jesus. Because we believe that God was in Christ reconciling us to himself, we can do this inventory without fear. Jesus shows that it is God's will to heal and transform.
5. In some sense a moral inventory is never finished. Over the course of their lives, growing people become increasingly aware of the imperfections of their lives. However, when you have arrived at a relatively finished inventory, you may find it very helpful to share what you've learned about yourself with a trusted friend. This is actually the fifth step of Alcoholics Anonymous, and it is also the ancient wisdom of scripture: "Confess your sins to one another." Scripture reminds us that our confession to one another is an opening to healing. In my experience, this is best done by simply reading through your moral inventory in the presence of another. (This will not be the right time for every person who makes a moral inventory to share what they've learned with another. Please use discernment to decide whether or not to take this step at this time.)
Please let me know what questions or comments you may have!
The church has long believed that the yearning for renewal is at the heart of the Advent season. Just as ancient Israel longed for a messiah, we too, if we are attentive to our own best selves, long for the renewal of our lives, our churches, our community, our world. What Malachi 3:1-4, and many other passages of scripture remind us is that times of renewal are coming. To use Malachi's words, "The Lord will suddenly return to the temple." However, that time of renewal is prepared for by a season of refining and cleansing. Just as the furnace refined the gold and silver, and the launderer's soap cleansed the dirty garment, so we, too, need to be refined and cleansed in preparation for the work of renewal our God wills to do in us.
That's where the moral inventory comes in. As preparation for our celebration of Christmas, the arrival of Jesus Christ, and our hope to be renewed through him, I'm proposing that we make a moral inventory in these weeks leading to December 25. The process is very simple. The most important element is personal honesty. It works like this:
1. Find a notebook (or create a file on your computer), and place it somewhere where you will have easy access to it.
2. On the top of one page, write, "my contribution to the sickness of my relationships." On the top of another page write, "my attitudes or behaviors that are harmful to me." On the top of a third page write, "my contribution to the sickness of the world." You may, of course, choose different words. The main idea is to focus on ways you contribute to relational problems, personal problems and world problems.
3. A few times a week for a few minutes each time, jot out some of the uncomfortable truths about yourself that you're discovering. Bear in mind that some of these truths may be 'sins of omission,' as well as 'sins of commission.' In other words, your moral inventory may speak to you about things you believe you should be doing, but aren't; or things you shouldn't be doing, but are. For example, you could decide that you contribute to the sickness of the world by avoiding your neighbors (a sin of omission) or by being rude to the neighbors you do speak with (a sin of commission).
In my opinion, it's best to do this inventory throughout the season of Advent rather than at one or two settings. Time, patience and personal honest are key ingredients to an effective moral inventory. So, I'm recommending that you do this for a few minutes a day, at least a few times a week, over the weeks leading up to Christmas. I would also recommend that you do this prayerfully. The Spirit is the one who convicts and convinces us of our sin. So, invite the Holy Spirit's direction in all of this.
4. Keep in mind that we make a moral inventory before the God whom we meet in the manger of Jesus. Because we believe that God was in Christ reconciling us to himself, we can do this inventory without fear. Jesus shows that it is God's will to heal and transform.
5. In some sense a moral inventory is never finished. Over the course of their lives, growing people become increasingly aware of the imperfections of their lives. However, when you have arrived at a relatively finished inventory, you may find it very helpful to share what you've learned about yourself with a trusted friend. This is actually the fifth step of Alcoholics Anonymous, and it is also the ancient wisdom of scripture: "Confess your sins to one another." Scripture reminds us that our confession to one another is an opening to healing. In my experience, this is best done by simply reading through your moral inventory in the presence of another. (This will not be the right time for every person who makes a moral inventory to share what they've learned with another. Please use discernment to decide whether or not to take this step at this time.)
Please let me know what questions or comments you may have!
Thursday, November 20, 2008
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.
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.
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