Bless the Lord, O my soul,
and all that is within me,
bless his holy name.
Bless
I speak well of. I praise. I lift up. I wish God well, and by extension I love what God loves. I commit to working for God's interest. I connect my own honor to God's honor. I give a gift that I can't take back, and I can't give to another.
the
Not "a", but "the", because there is one Lord. "the", meaning the name requires no further explanation: meaning creation itself, the galaxies, the swirling planets, the oceans, all creatures of every size, and even humankind on some level, innately knows the One of whom I speak.
Lord
YHWH. The name not spoken aloud by the ancient Hebrews, out of reverence, and because it is unpronouncable, ineffable, it can not be defined by any human language or idea, which is why its Hebrew meaning is "I AM", or "I will be who I will be". And yet, a proper name. A first name. A name freely given as a gesture of good will, even though sharing names makes one vulnerable. The name spoken as a lullaby to Moses, a lullaby to a put-down people who so desperately needed to know who it was that could hear them, who hurt for them, who meant to set them free in body and in mind. A name given as the very first step toward becoming Word Made Flesh, incarnate, infinite encased in the finite.
O
Addressing one's very self, both original author and reader. A reminder. A post-it note on the bathroom mirror. A command, by a grasping, flailing, desperately flawed person, to herself, to himself, in yet another attempt at self-control.
my
But is it "my" if it's "me"? Is a soul a possession? And if so, is it really "mine"? Is my heart, my brain, my body "mine", or is it "me"? In the same way, how is my soul "mine"?
soul
The "me" that God will remember, always. The sum, and more, of body, mind, heart. The life. The process that unfolds even now. The story being written word by word, transcribed by the world surrounding me, the wake, the ripples of my thoughts and actions in real time. Never disembodied. Never filtered or idealized. Always my true self in the present moment, warts and all.
and
The soul is first to bless, but there is more. Lest I limit myself, find a loophole in the contract, seek to rein in the gravity of my words of blessing.
all
There it is: not some, not part, not most, not on some date to be determined, not just on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, not the grizzle left over after the minutiae of everyday life has feasted on me. All.
that is
Just as God is "I AM," so existence extends to me, from the ground for being, the first cause, the author of existence itself. The things within me, the dreams and hopes, the envies, the fears, the skin flap on my hip, the cheek cells stuck in the toothpaste stains on my upstairs sink, is, and is because of God. Because God not only is, but happens to have invented is.
within
setting boundaries for personhood, which is tricky. Thoughts are "within", but they result in actions affecting the "without". Emotions are "within", but they build relationships and connect us to others outside ourselves, sometimes others we haven't even met. On the other hand, what I see, hear, taste, feel, smell, is "without," but becomes a memory, a part of my matrix of self. Is there really a "within"? a distinct consciousness, sovereign and set apart from all else, or is it interconnected, inseperable, from the consciousness surrounding me? If so, the part I have command of shall bless the Lord.
me
The singular consciousness. I think, therefore I am, therefore I bless. If any is true, it all is, and if any is lacking, it all unravels. Assuming I exist at all, I bless the Lord.
bless
No longer just the soul. This irreplaceable word, this word that can't be reeled in again, this declaration of loyalty and love, comes from my whole self, at my willing command. All that is within me, my many names and titles, signs the petition, the declaration to announce God's goodness and work for God's good, which is the good of all that bears God's image.
his
...but God is beyond gender. A clunky metaphor; so severely limiting. As if the God who not only birthed all things but envisioned the way biological birth takes place, who has born down with every mother in every labor pain, would know nothing of femininity. And yet, whether "his" or "her", we dare not strip God of personhood, of will, or consciousness. We dare not make God an impassive life force, a complacent law of physics behaving in experimentally repeatable ways through all time and space. God is love, and God loves, which means that God is not an "it" but a loving parent, and the name God has given to us, a handle that we might clumsily grapple with God's mystery, is God's alone, and belongs to no one else.
holy
Other. Alien. Beyond the strangest and most outlandish inkling of human fancy. Set apart for that very reason: because this is a whole other category of being, about which we know precisely nothing. Set apart to be of God, and to be explained to us over the millennia, but never domesticated. Never tamed. Never adapted for network television, or bottled up and sold next to the gift cards at the grocery store. The wild, prodigal, volatile things of God, which make us tremble with fear and with delight.
name.
This is what we bless, because this is what we know. A name. Nothing more. Not because we don't wish we could bless God in Godself, but because we wouldn't know where to begin. So here is the starting point. The name. The statement of being: "I AM". The statement of utter freedom: "I will be what I will be." The statement of solidarity: "I am here, always, with you, for you." The rest, we can not begin to know, to ponder or to bless, apart from the name, "YHWH", whose story is written across history and across our hearts.
Monday, August 26, 2013
The Spirituality of Prison (And/or Toddler parenting)
Remember those who are in prison, as though you were in prison with them; those who are being tortured, as though you yourselves were being tortured.
Hebrews 13:3
"About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them."
Acts 16:25
I've been thinking quite a bit about imprisonment lately. Part of it is the social statement just approved at the ELCA Churchwide Assembly, which is a great and timely piece on a Christian model of restorative justice. I've definitely been thinking about Attorney General Eric Holder's move to eliminate mandatory minimum sentences for low-level, non-violent drug crimes, which have contributed to the United States' truly horrendous prison overcrowding problems. But the biggest piece, I think, is that imprisonment was an everyday reality for the first generation of Christians, and it had a deep influence on their spirituality.
The word "prison" occurs 81 times in the New Testament. The first few reference the imprisonment of John the Baptist, there are few passion accounts referring to Jesus himself as a prisoner, but the vast, vast majority of them refer to the imprisonment of Christian believers. It wasn't a remote possibility, but an assumption, that at some point a Christian believer would get thrown into prison.
What I take from this, aside from once again being reminded of the "cushy Christianity" that we've gotten way too used to over the last few hundred years, is that Christians were constantly aware and praying in solidarity for those in prison. I think we could stand to regain some of that: That's why I'm so proud of Salem's partnership with St. Dysmas, a Lutheran congregation worshiping in Maryland correctional institutions. Solidarity with prisoners is a mark of Christian faith.
But another piece that may be more or less relatable at our own point in history, is that with solidarity came with preparation: to quote the TV theme, "Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?" Jesus briefs his disciples on what to do and say in the event of their arrest, trial and imprisonment (namely: don't over think it; the Holy Spirit will take care of it), and sure enough, they find themselves having to remember his words within a few weeks after his death and resurrection. And what they end up doing is interesting.
Acts 16 talks about Silas and Paul singing hymns to God while in prison, and getting the attention of the other prisoners. In addition, a good number of Paul's letters are written from prison. The time where physical freedom is curtailed becomes the time to reflect on the spiritual freedom you have all the time. You go into an empty room, you can't leave, and the spirituality you bring with you depends on where your heart and mind has been up to this point.
Let me clarify: It is my sincere hope and prayer that no one reading this will ever have to deal with being literally imprisoned, least of all unjustly. But we do have our piddly, minor little hassles that make us feel less free than we'd like. The cashier's line at the grocery store. The traffic jam. A doctor's or mechanic's waiting room. Or perhaps, as this somewhat ridiculous blog post suggests, the overall experience of parenting a toddler. In those short moments of captivity, those empty cells of our lives, what do we bring with us? How much of what's important to you do you know by heart? Bible verses? poetry? Prayers? Song lyrics? If you had to write a letter from here, to whom would it be addressed, and what would you have to say?
For Laura and me, the most common "prison" like experience is laying with Soren at bedtime, captive to his restlessness, waiting for his little eyes, to close, his breathing to deepen, and "grown-up time" to begin. And as with many of those other "mini-prisons", it's easy to get bent out of shape if I dwell on the lack of freedom, the injustice, the precious minutes of evening that are being taken from me. But what I've started to do instead is to run a Bible verse in my mind--word by word, as slowly as possible--and do a mental Bible study. Later on, I might post one I worked on yesterday.
Freedom--physical or spiritual--is not a given for all God's children, and it ought not be taken for granted. Let's use ours to the fullest.
Hebrews 13:3
"About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them."
Acts 16:25
I've been thinking quite a bit about imprisonment lately. Part of it is the social statement just approved at the ELCA Churchwide Assembly, which is a great and timely piece on a Christian model of restorative justice. I've definitely been thinking about Attorney General Eric Holder's move to eliminate mandatory minimum sentences for low-level, non-violent drug crimes, which have contributed to the United States' truly horrendous prison overcrowding problems. But the biggest piece, I think, is that imprisonment was an everyday reality for the first generation of Christians, and it had a deep influence on their spirituality.
The word "prison" occurs 81 times in the New Testament. The first few reference the imprisonment of John the Baptist, there are few passion accounts referring to Jesus himself as a prisoner, but the vast, vast majority of them refer to the imprisonment of Christian believers. It wasn't a remote possibility, but an assumption, that at some point a Christian believer would get thrown into prison.
What I take from this, aside from once again being reminded of the "cushy Christianity" that we've gotten way too used to over the last few hundred years, is that Christians were constantly aware and praying in solidarity for those in prison. I think we could stand to regain some of that: That's why I'm so proud of Salem's partnership with St. Dysmas, a Lutheran congregation worshiping in Maryland correctional institutions. Solidarity with prisoners is a mark of Christian faith.
But another piece that may be more or less relatable at our own point in history, is that with solidarity came with preparation: to quote the TV theme, "Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?" Jesus briefs his disciples on what to do and say in the event of their arrest, trial and imprisonment (namely: don't over think it; the Holy Spirit will take care of it), and sure enough, they find themselves having to remember his words within a few weeks after his death and resurrection. And what they end up doing is interesting.
Acts 16 talks about Silas and Paul singing hymns to God while in prison, and getting the attention of the other prisoners. In addition, a good number of Paul's letters are written from prison. The time where physical freedom is curtailed becomes the time to reflect on the spiritual freedom you have all the time. You go into an empty room, you can't leave, and the spirituality you bring with you depends on where your heart and mind has been up to this point.
Let me clarify: It is my sincere hope and prayer that no one reading this will ever have to deal with being literally imprisoned, least of all unjustly. But we do have our piddly, minor little hassles that make us feel less free than we'd like. The cashier's line at the grocery store. The traffic jam. A doctor's or mechanic's waiting room. Or perhaps, as this somewhat ridiculous blog post suggests, the overall experience of parenting a toddler. In those short moments of captivity, those empty cells of our lives, what do we bring with us? How much of what's important to you do you know by heart? Bible verses? poetry? Prayers? Song lyrics? If you had to write a letter from here, to whom would it be addressed, and what would you have to say?
For Laura and me, the most common "prison" like experience is laying with Soren at bedtime, captive to his restlessness, waiting for his little eyes, to close, his breathing to deepen, and "grown-up time" to begin. And as with many of those other "mini-prisons", it's easy to get bent out of shape if I dwell on the lack of freedom, the injustice, the precious minutes of evening that are being taken from me. But what I've started to do instead is to run a Bible verse in my mind--word by word, as slowly as possible--and do a mental Bible study. Later on, I might post one I worked on yesterday.
Freedom--physical or spiritual--is not a given for all God's children, and it ought not be taken for granted. Let's use ours to the fullest.
Monday, August 19, 2013
Waves, not Blueprints
‘Or who shut in the sea with doors
when it burst out from the womb?—
when I made the clouds its garment,
and thick darkness its swaddling band,
and prescribed bounds for it,
and set bars and doors,
and said, “Thus far shall you come, and no farther,
and here shall your proud waves be stopped”?
Job 38:8-11
Several years ago, a very smart person introduced me to the idea of "gift-based planning", as opposed to "need-based planning". It's a pretty simple concept. You shape your life to fit the gifts you already have, rather than the stuff you think you need in order to have the life you think you want. To used the tired image of "glass half full/half empty", gift-based planning doesn't ask how to you're going to get the other half glass of water, but rather, what you're going to do with the half glass you already have. Because I'm a pastor and because I heard this in the context of visioning as a congregation, that's where my mind goes first, but really, it could apply to the life of any person or organization. We use both types of planning in our daily lives. Presumably, we choose a line of work based on our gifts-- what we're competent at, what we get joy from doing--but also based on our needs, i.e., food on the table, a place to stay, etc...
So I'm a guy who tends to think in metaphors. That's how I'm wired. We English majors pride ourselves on such silly stuff. But I had occasion to go to the Jersey Shore with my wife last week, and it was heavenly. Now, I'm not much for tanning (for which my healthy 80-year-old self is likely thankful), but if there is one thing that will inspire me to bare my pasty Wookie-esque torso, it's swimming in the ocean. There is just nothing in the world like it. And last week, dancing with the tide, jumping over some waves, diving under others, and in a few cases, getting a perfect ride in to the shore, I realized that I'd like to approach life as a good swim in the ocean of God's abundance.
What tends to be standard for me, though, is to treat my life as a construction site. I'm guessing I'm not alone. We are born onto the building site, with nothing there. Some of us have very tough situations to overcome: the uneven soil and persistent brush of dysfunction, poverty, lack of education, etc. And yet, at a certain point, we all play the architect, and draw up a blueprint of our lives, and get to work building. And of course, when we build that building, we expect it to last a long time, static and unchanging against the landscape. We expect God to provide us with the building materials: the concrete, the lumber, the steel beams, everything we imagine we will need to build the life we imagine we're supposed to have. Anytime the building materials don't come, or don't come in the amount or the order in which we expect them, or something collapses, it's a recipe for frustration. We blame ourselves for not being smart enough or working hard enough to get what we want. We blame others for standing in our way. We blame God for not giving us the shape of life that we wish we had. It's all need-based: we pay no attention at all to whether or not the actual gifts and opportunities that are coming our way fit our blueprint, or whether God might be trying to change our picture a bit.
Real life, as I've experienced it, is much more like swimming in the ocean. It's amazing to me when I go to the ocean (perhaps because I'm easily amused) that it never, ever stops. It's a constant whisper. Day and night, high tide, low tide, every second of every minute of every day for billions of years, the waves have been crashing in. Those waves are like the opportunities God sends to us. They never stop, but they're always changing. And none of them--not a single one--lasts forever. Most of the things that come our way in a single day are not quite right: a wave that isn't big enough, or crested way before it got to you, or won't crest until after it's past you. Sometimes, whatever the idea you have in your head about what you're supposed to do, it's just not the right time, or you're not standing in the right place, and you'll save yourself a lot of confusion and pain if you just swim over it or dive under it.
But here's the thing: the "right" waves--the right calling, relationship, friendship, hobby, the right way of serving God for you in the present moment--are crashing in all around you, all the time. You really can't miss them: unless, of course, you're momentarily distracted messing around with something that feels only half right based on your gifts or passions; trying to make something work based on the blueprint you already decided on. But even if you do get distracted, and we all do, it's not our fault and it's not God's. It's a chance to learn to read the waves.
There's a tendency sometimes, when something happens that makes a big, positive impact on our lives, to assume that it was part of one single linear chain of events that God had set out for us since the beginning of time: it just couldn't have been any other way. It was in the blueprint. I don't believe that. I don't believe it because even the things you were so sure were part of God's plan for you--your dream job, your dream home, your relationship to your "soul mate"--eventually come to an end. Every wave crests, and every wave hits the shore. Some of the really good ones take our whole lives to get there, and I especially thank God for those ones. But I could never sit with a recent widow or widower, or with someone recently laid off, and just shake my head and say what they've just lost was the only possible blueprint for fulfillment that God has to offer.
The hard fact is that what we often say was "meant to be" was one of thousands or even millions of "meant to be's" that God sends our way every day. And we have the terrifying freedom, as God's redeemed children, to pick one, commit to it, start paddling, and see where it takes us. God doesn't give us a blueprint or a finite number of bricks and beams for our lives. God gives us a dynamic ocean of infinite swirling, cresting, crashing possibility, and God works with our choices--even the bad ones--to get us where we need to go.
For my church friends out there, I would not blame you one bit for feeling a little beat up: like the blueprints that used to work for building communities of believers are not working anymore. So it's time to throw away the blueprint, walk down the street, take off your shoes, and wade in the ocean of God's grace. There's stuff happening out there all the time. God is up to more in any fraction of any second than we could possibly imagine if he had a million years to reflect on it. And there are wonderful possibilities for taking part in God's Reign all around us. The surf's up, and it always has been. This is going to be a lot more fun than we had originally planned.
when it burst out from the womb?—
when I made the clouds its garment,
and thick darkness its swaddling band,
and prescribed bounds for it,
and set bars and doors,
and said, “Thus far shall you come, and no farther,
and here shall your proud waves be stopped”?
Job 38:8-11
Several years ago, a very smart person introduced me to the idea of "gift-based planning", as opposed to "need-based planning". It's a pretty simple concept. You shape your life to fit the gifts you already have, rather than the stuff you think you need in order to have the life you think you want. To used the tired image of "glass half full/half empty", gift-based planning doesn't ask how to you're going to get the other half glass of water, but rather, what you're going to do with the half glass you already have. Because I'm a pastor and because I heard this in the context of visioning as a congregation, that's where my mind goes first, but really, it could apply to the life of any person or organization. We use both types of planning in our daily lives. Presumably, we choose a line of work based on our gifts-- what we're competent at, what we get joy from doing--but also based on our needs, i.e., food on the table, a place to stay, etc...
So I'm a guy who tends to think in metaphors. That's how I'm wired. We English majors pride ourselves on such silly stuff. But I had occasion to go to the Jersey Shore with my wife last week, and it was heavenly. Now, I'm not much for tanning (for which my healthy 80-year-old self is likely thankful), but if there is one thing that will inspire me to bare my pasty Wookie-esque torso, it's swimming in the ocean. There is just nothing in the world like it. And last week, dancing with the tide, jumping over some waves, diving under others, and in a few cases, getting a perfect ride in to the shore, I realized that I'd like to approach life as a good swim in the ocean of God's abundance.
What tends to be standard for me, though, is to treat my life as a construction site. I'm guessing I'm not alone. We are born onto the building site, with nothing there. Some of us have very tough situations to overcome: the uneven soil and persistent brush of dysfunction, poverty, lack of education, etc. And yet, at a certain point, we all play the architect, and draw up a blueprint of our lives, and get to work building. And of course, when we build that building, we expect it to last a long time, static and unchanging against the landscape. We expect God to provide us with the building materials: the concrete, the lumber, the steel beams, everything we imagine we will need to build the life we imagine we're supposed to have. Anytime the building materials don't come, or don't come in the amount or the order in which we expect them, or something collapses, it's a recipe for frustration. We blame ourselves for not being smart enough or working hard enough to get what we want. We blame others for standing in our way. We blame God for not giving us the shape of life that we wish we had. It's all need-based: we pay no attention at all to whether or not the actual gifts and opportunities that are coming our way fit our blueprint, or whether God might be trying to change our picture a bit.
Real life, as I've experienced it, is much more like swimming in the ocean. It's amazing to me when I go to the ocean (perhaps because I'm easily amused) that it never, ever stops. It's a constant whisper. Day and night, high tide, low tide, every second of every minute of every day for billions of years, the waves have been crashing in. Those waves are like the opportunities God sends to us. They never stop, but they're always changing. And none of them--not a single one--lasts forever. Most of the things that come our way in a single day are not quite right: a wave that isn't big enough, or crested way before it got to you, or won't crest until after it's past you. Sometimes, whatever the idea you have in your head about what you're supposed to do, it's just not the right time, or you're not standing in the right place, and you'll save yourself a lot of confusion and pain if you just swim over it or dive under it.
But here's the thing: the "right" waves--the right calling, relationship, friendship, hobby, the right way of serving God for you in the present moment--are crashing in all around you, all the time. You really can't miss them: unless, of course, you're momentarily distracted messing around with something that feels only half right based on your gifts or passions; trying to make something work based on the blueprint you already decided on. But even if you do get distracted, and we all do, it's not our fault and it's not God's. It's a chance to learn to read the waves.
There's a tendency sometimes, when something happens that makes a big, positive impact on our lives, to assume that it was part of one single linear chain of events that God had set out for us since the beginning of time: it just couldn't have been any other way. It was in the blueprint. I don't believe that. I don't believe it because even the things you were so sure were part of God's plan for you--your dream job, your dream home, your relationship to your "soul mate"--eventually come to an end. Every wave crests, and every wave hits the shore. Some of the really good ones take our whole lives to get there, and I especially thank God for those ones. But I could never sit with a recent widow or widower, or with someone recently laid off, and just shake my head and say what they've just lost was the only possible blueprint for fulfillment that God has to offer.
The hard fact is that what we often say was "meant to be" was one of thousands or even millions of "meant to be's" that God sends our way every day. And we have the terrifying freedom, as God's redeemed children, to pick one, commit to it, start paddling, and see where it takes us. God doesn't give us a blueprint or a finite number of bricks and beams for our lives. God gives us a dynamic ocean of infinite swirling, cresting, crashing possibility, and God works with our choices--even the bad ones--to get us where we need to go.
For my church friends out there, I would not blame you one bit for feeling a little beat up: like the blueprints that used to work for building communities of believers are not working anymore. So it's time to throw away the blueprint, walk down the street, take off your shoes, and wade in the ocean of God's grace. There's stuff happening out there all the time. God is up to more in any fraction of any second than we could possibly imagine if he had a million years to reflect on it. And there are wonderful possibilities for taking part in God's Reign all around us. The surf's up, and it always has been. This is going to be a lot more fun than we had originally planned.
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