Seeking Sacred Ground

I highly recommend the use of headphones, as I MUMBLE a bit toward the end...

How a Church Exploded...This Really Happened

Weed Theology

Alice

Meet Alice and Lola, who are here to explain in great depth and all seriousness my theology and ministerial philosophy as pastor of the altogether splendid West Bloomfield (N.Y.) United Church of Christ.

Lola

Guinea pigs are sweet, unassuming critters who have a preposterous way of showing delight: they popcorn. When they are really happy, they will repeatedly, spontaneously hop and turn. Watching a guinea pig popcorn is guaranteed to bring a smile to your face.

Here. Watch this YouTube video of someone else's guinea pig popcorning. Keep your eye on the little one:

Now THAT'S fun to watch! Keepers of guinea pigs get an instant reward for pleasing their pets. And what pleases Lola and Alice most?

Fresh dandelion greens.

And so, the noxious weed I have done all in my power to eradicate from my yard for decades has suddenly become a prized find. In fact, I have caught myself weeding grass out from around dandelions to ensure my guinea pigs would have a fresh supply. The once Round-Up deserving usurpers of my pure and holy lawn are suddenly a welcomed and honored guest.

Of course the local rabbits knew the value of dandelions long before I did. I imagine they sat in the bramble shaking their heads at how I used to poison, rip up, curse and fling away one of their favorite food sources, leaving them no choice but to decimate my much less flavorful garden lettuce instead.

I wonder what else in my life I have erroneously deemed useless only to stunt blessings and complicate matters. Who have I poisoned? What have I  ripped up, cursed and flung away from me that might have proved valuable, even blessed to me or someone near me if not for my arrogant, ignorant prejudice?

We don't weed out our faith community for this very reason. There's a lot to be said for attracting and keeping all kinds of yahoos and misfits. Immediately, it makes for more varied and confounding coffee hour conversation. Even more, broader minds and wider viewpoints can help us to recognize good in what we too readily discount or disregard. An invitation to our church is an opportunity to fraternize with folks you'd otherwise probably not get to know, which, of course, is an opportunity to a life of greater depth, breadth, wisdom, and blessing. Consider yourself invited.

In the 4th chapter of Philippians Paul urges us to rejoice always in our faith, to show gentleness to everyone, to lay our worries down and let the peace of God rule our hearts and minds. He goes on to suggest we should seek to discern what is true, honorable, pure, pleasing, commendable excellent and praise-worthy in all around us.  Since this directive falls within Paul's discussion of healing rifts between people, he is not suggesting we winnow out all that is imperfect. Rather, he is asserting a vein of Godliness might just run through us all if we'd only see "inconvenient" or "inconsequential" others (and ourselves) with new eyes.

This is what we strive to do at our church. It doesn't always make sense. Sometimes it's freaky. But, hey, we're more frontier than fortress.

And that, my friends, is Weed Theology.

Mrs. Jesus H. Christ

Perhaps you've seen the recent reports regarding Harvard University Christian history professor Dr. Karen King, and her unveiling of a tiny piece of 4th century Coptic papyrus which quotes Jesus speaking of his wife.

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/09/19/us/historian-says-piece-of-papyrus-refers-to-jesus-wife.html

Now these sorts of things pop up from time to time, and who knows if what they document is actual fact, or even precisely what the term "wife" may have meant for a first or fourth century itinerant rabbi. Still, I find it intriguing to consider the possibility of a Mrs. Jesus, not just for the Dan Brown-eque messianic bloodline, but for the woman herself, and for Jesus' sake.

If you've never read Kazantzakis' brilliant, tender 1953 novel The Last Temptation of Christ, I can't recommend it enough. In it, Jesus on the cross has flashed before him what might have been had he married, settled down and raised a family instead of charging headlong into his ministry -- mounting bold, public opposition to the religious, social, and political leaders of his day, ultimately to a tortured death (well, not ultimately, but that's a story for another day...). Avoid the 1988 movie, which made a poorly acted and worse edited hash of it all. Check out that book!

I like the idea of Jesus having known wedded bliss, home and hearth. For example, I love the thought of his spouse serving a delicious meal and beaming with love and pride when he takes pleasure in it. I prefer the idea of the Son of Man having a place to lay his head. And, no, I have no problem with Jesus taking part in any other element of marriage. I have always cherished the fully human Christ. I relate to him best. I rely on him most.

I know some folks need a much higher christology. I don't begrudge that in the least. But for me, the greatest power of the greatest story ever told is that whole idea of the messiah pitching a tent among us as one of us: living in a real body in the real world. I acknowledge the "super"but gravitate to the "natural."

Maybe it comes down to my faith in humanity and myself. I've never managed it, but I believe here and there we could probably find people who come very close to living the ideal provided by Jesus. As I strive to move closer to him myself, it is some comfort to think of him showing up closer to me than expected, too.

What do you think about a Mrs. Jesus?

Draw near to God and God will draw near to you. -- James 4:8

Religion and Science Meet for a Beer

Religion and Science meet for a beer.

Science says “Who’d’ve thought you’d meet me here.

Your wild-eyed followers scream ‘demon rum!’

They picket the pub and hatchet the drum.”

Religion just smiles and says “I thought you knew,

We both claim the guys who made the best brew.

My monks used your knowledge to perfect hops and yeast

And this glorious drink holds no ‘mark of the beast.’ ”

You don’t blame me and I won’t blame you.

People are people. They do what they do.

Blackpowder clears pathways for life-giving trains,

They use it for bullets to blow out their brains.

You give them fission and they build their bombs.

I give them Goddess, they bitch-slap their moms.

People are people. They do what they do.

You don’t blame me and I won’t blame you.

Religion and Science meet at the school.

Science says “hey, this is no place for you.

Your people deny what’s in front of their face

Shout down fact and theory, refute time and space.”

Religion concurs, “I know that is so,

But there’s still a bit more of that story to show.

Mohammedans once charted math and the stars.

Newton found Physics; Egyptian priests, Mars."

You don’t blame me and I won’t blame you.

People are people. They do what they do.

I give them new heights, they leap to their death,

You give them cold meds, they make crystal meth.

I lay down the law: ‘love all whom you meet,’

So they kill from a distance and don’t miss a beat.

People are people. They do what they do.

You don’t blame me and I won’t blame you.

Religion and Science meet at the church.

Religion is shocked, “you’re here at my perch?!?”

Science falls to its knees “I’ve had quite enough,

I can’t build a way to solve all this stuff!”

Religion cracks open a Psych 1-0-1 text,

“I was counting on you to save me from this mess!”

And there we must leave them: theory and oath.

Eliminate either: we die without both.

(C)2012 Corey Keyes

Singing Pain

It is, like a rattlesnake rattle, designed to make us recoil. The threat of pain will abruptly, even involuntarily change our behavior. Everything inside of us screams that pain is to be avoided.

Not precisely so.

This morning's reflection was Psalm 137. It is, perhaps, the single nastiest pericope in all of the Bible:

By the rivers of Babylon—
   

there we sat down and there we wept
   

when we remembered Zion. 


On the willows there
   

we hung up our harps. 


For there our captors
   

asked us for songs,


and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying,
   ‘Sing us one of the songs of Zion!’ 


How could we sing the Lord’s song
 in a foreign land? 


If I forget you, O Jerusalem,
   

let my right hand wither! 


Let my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth,
   

if I do not remember you,
if I do not set Jerusalem
   

above my highest joy. 


Remember, O Lord, against the Edomites
   

the day of Jerusalem’s fall,
how they said, 

‘Tear it down! Tear it down!
   Down to its foundations!’ 


O daughter Babylon, you devastator!
   

Happy shall they be who pay you back
   

what you have done to us! 


Happy shall they be who take your little ones
   

and dash them against the rock!

This song of pain was created by the exiled tribes of Judah, who were invaded, conquered and transported across hundreds of miles of wilderness to Babylon. All that they held dear was unreachable. The temple where they gathered to encounter and worship their God was now forcibly abandoned. All that had been home to them was less than a dot on the far horizon, and they had no reason to believe they'd ever see it again. In fact, the writers and initial singers of this song would never make it back home. It was lost forever to them.

If you are unfortunate enough to be a member of an oppressed group, this poem's despair, anger and violent cry for vengeance no doubt resonate within you. If you are, like me, in the cushy position of being a to-the-manor-born member of the dominant sub-group of the richest, most powerful nation in human history, maybe not so much.

Why would anyone go out of their way to even read this, let alone reflect on it? Because it is healthy to do so. It is good medicine.

Pain is an alarm. When your arm hurts, you look at it, touch it, focus on it. You find the problem and do what you can to fix it. You get help as necessary. You cry out.

The loss of capacity to feel pain is among the most dangerous of afflictions. If your backside is on fire, you should want to know about it before irreversible damage results.

I'm sure you're with me so far. Here's what's going to be on the test:

•               avoiding painful injury = healthy

•               ignoring pain = unhealthy

My mom is slipping quickly away into the darkness of Alzheimer's Disease. Last week I dropped by for a quick visit/errand to my parents on my way to other things. My kids waited in the car, wishing to avoid a painful emotional injury. I went in to lay out their pills for the week, and found myself alone at the table with my mother. She asked innocently enough if I did this sort of thing for other people. I looked up, smiled and said "no, just for the two of you." She smiled and said "that's very nice of you," and, looking into her pretty vacant eyes, I realized she clearly had no idea who I was.  At that moment, all that had once been home to me was less than a dot on the far horizon. 

It hurt.

When I got back to the car, I took a deep breath and told my kids about it. They said they were sorry it happened and reflected how much that must have hurt. I said "eh, I'm okay."

They both just looked at me in disbelieving silence. Dae reached out her hand and touched my arm and said "you know, Dad, it's okay if you're not okay sometimes, too."

Damn. 

My kids are probably the holiest agnostics I know. The injury had already occurred. All I was doing was ignoring the pain.  

We all, each of us, find ourselves exiled at one time or another in life. These days, when I say I love my mother, to be honest, I am mostly confessing a longing for something not quite captured in all those family photographs. I wish I still could be living what we were experiencing when that Instamatic shutter clicked, not the flat, boxed-in replicas that are nothing more than aging paper and decaying chemicals.  Most of what I really feel these days when I look at that hollowing shell of a human being is pity and unanswerable longing. How can I sing her favorite songs? This wicked disease has carried us away. This awful place is a decidedly strange land. 

And where shall I direct my anger? At  the inanimate and inanimating buildup of deadening proteins in the channels of her brain? At a society that wastes billions a day on stupid wars and partisan name-calling while many among us rot from the inside out? Rest assured, if I ever learn that Alzheimer's is a result of exposure to some carcinogen (say non-stick or aluminum cookware) and some shadowy corporate/agency-"they" KNEW about it, I will most definitely be looking for little ones to dash upon rocks!

We all, each of us, find ourselves exiled at one time or another in life. Feel the pain. Follow it to its source. Recognize the timeless wisdom that included the likes of Psalm 137 in our Bibles. Once the pain has arrived, it is best to acknowledge it, explore it and sing it out loud. Once that  nasty rattlesnake has bitten, it's the only way to remove the poison.

Call this my Psalm 137. Will you sing yours?

(Each Wednesday morning from 7:30-7:50, I host a time of quiet reflection at our church sanctuary in West Bloomfield. A psalm is read, the very briefest of words spoken, and then a time of quiet reflection and meditation is opened. It is a new part of my own faith discipline that I want to share with others. All are welcome.  Psalm 137 was this morning's offering.)

Q:Why did the chicken cross the road? A:Because it was free to do so.

 I am a firm believer in marriage.

When I was growing up, I didn’t always agree with my father and his choices, but the sterling central pillar of his character that I have always unfailingly admired, even at the youngest of ages, was and is his fierce, undying love for my mother.

It is, at times, clumsily applied, in my opinion. But underneath the bluster and frustration, NOBODY can honestly question my father’s powerful devotion to my mother.

I hope my children can say the same for me. I love Teresa so widely, narrowly, top to bottom and inside and out that it has consumed me, refined me and defined me. I can’t imagine life without her. Something wild, weird, delightful or terrible happens to me? It is she with whom I first want to share the story as soon as possible. Even better are the adventures we experience together, which we can call up to each other with little more than a glance across a crowded room. I delight in those times when she speaks what was just on the tip of my tongue, or when we don’t have to speak at all. She hurts, I hurt. She feels joy, I soar, too. She advises, I weigh her words carefully (okay, usually I object and stonewall, and then crawl off to my cave to somehow convert her clear thinking to my idea, but you all know what I mean). I am a better, more complete and more fully realized human being for her inexplicable decision to spend her life with mine, side by side and arm in arm, officially, personally, publicly and faithfully united.

I wish everyone who longed for such a relationship could have it. I look for that potential in every couple I counsel for marriage. What is your strength together? What is that go-to default setting between you that no crisis can touch? Identify it. Nurture it. Celebrate it. Guard it with your LIVES!

This is what I find so heart-breaking about the current marriage rights debate. Some would try to turn this whole Chik-fil-A tempest into some battle for free speech. Somehow, Dan Cathy’s right to say as he pleases is threatened by the millions who recoil from his pronouncements and actions, and from the corporation he owns and the product he sells to fund his political efforts?

Wait. Please.

One side in this battle is fighting for the right of individuals to find and strive to fully live in the joy I have described above with the legal recognition of the state, and the full blessing and support of their faith communities. The other side is trying to permanently legislate the state-enforced denial of that pursuit of happiness for an entire sub-group of Americans, including stepping between this pastor and members of his flock. 

Being a citizen of “the land of the free and the home of the brave” comes with certain responsibilities. Chief among them is to trust that others can make their own way in the world without you or me forcing complete personal public and private adherence to the particulars of our own world view. If what you want for your life does not injure others, I have no grounds for preventing you pursuing it, even if I find it repulsive or at odds with my morality. 

If you or I object to gay marriage, we should neither enter into one nor attend a church that performs such ceremonies. I don’t cry foul to any of my friends, colleagues or relatives who disagree with gay marriage as long as they leave it at that. What we should not do is endeavor to influence elected officials to shut down another's equal protection and reasonable rights.

This is America, for God’s sake.

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof. -- The Establishment and Free Exercise clauses of the Constitution of the United States