After I wrote my "politics" post, I came across people commenting on some similar ideas. Interestingly, several discussed Lincoln's address to a nation much more divided than ours is currently. These words express what I think I was getting at far better than I could:
"With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan--to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nations."
- From Lincoln's Second Inaugural Address
Oh, how our politics might be different, it seems to me, if we could proceed with "malice towards note; with charity for all...."
Friday, November 07, 2008
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
politics
I heard an interesting exchange today on MSNBC's "Morning Joe." Joe Scarborough was talking about his sense of how insulting some commentators have been in describing Obama's victory. He pointed to comments such as that Obama's election was a victory of hope over fear, arguing that it is insulting to insinuate that right-wing conservatives vote as they do simply based on fear (vs. voting on heartfelt convictions, differences in worldview, etc.).
It was a humbling topic for me to think about, in large part because I've found myself agreeing with the commentators Joe was troubled by. I believe that the RNC and McCain's campaign was trying to scare the American electorate by pinning emotionally laden labels on now president-elect Obama. They called him "socialist." They made inferences about how he "worked closely" with Bill Ayers. They called him a "celebrity."
It is difficult for me to see these attacks as anything other than an attempt to spread fear, an attempt to play into people's prejudices.
And yet, Joe's point is something to consider. The fear that came out of the campaign must stem from their sense of threat to something they consider dear -- be it conservative values, a candidate they trust and admire, or a hawkish foriegn policy that they feel protects our country.
It feels odd to consider that the policies and worldview I espouse could be considered a threat to anyone. And yet my acceptance of things like gay marriage, my very refusal to condemn such arrangements, feels threatening to people who wish for a society that defines marriage more narrowly. I do not have to be, feel, or act angry in order for them to feel threatened by my point of view. Perhaps I would be considered all the more threatening by staying calm.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not questioning my positions. I hold them proudly. But I think the larger point I'm pondering is one of how we relate to those with whom we disagree. If those of us who consider ourselves Obama supporters seek to follow his call for unity, then perhaps we must take extra care in how we express our joy at this election. Perhaps we must take particular care to assert our perspectives without gloating or shaming or assuming negative motivations in those with whom we disagree.
Peace to you all.
It was a humbling topic for me to think about, in large part because I've found myself agreeing with the commentators Joe was troubled by. I believe that the RNC and McCain's campaign was trying to scare the American electorate by pinning emotionally laden labels on now president-elect Obama. They called him "socialist." They made inferences about how he "worked closely" with Bill Ayers. They called him a "celebrity."
It is difficult for me to see these attacks as anything other than an attempt to spread fear, an attempt to play into people's prejudices.
And yet, Joe's point is something to consider. The fear that came out of the campaign must stem from their sense of threat to something they consider dear -- be it conservative values, a candidate they trust and admire, or a hawkish foriegn policy that they feel protects our country.
It feels odd to consider that the policies and worldview I espouse could be considered a threat to anyone. And yet my acceptance of things like gay marriage, my very refusal to condemn such arrangements, feels threatening to people who wish for a society that defines marriage more narrowly. I do not have to be, feel, or act angry in order for them to feel threatened by my point of view. Perhaps I would be considered all the more threatening by staying calm.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not questioning my positions. I hold them proudly. But I think the larger point I'm pondering is one of how we relate to those with whom we disagree. If those of us who consider ourselves Obama supporters seek to follow his call for unity, then perhaps we must take extra care in how we express our joy at this election. Perhaps we must take particular care to assert our perspectives without gloating or shaming or assuming negative motivations in those with whom we disagree.
Peace to you all.
Monday, October 13, 2008
jammin'
So one of the decisions my wife and I made last year was to spend more time with Patrick working on his autism. Our approach to doing so was to send him to school for half days (where they focus on the major academic subjects), and we take him in the afternoons.
As it works with my schedule, I pick him up right around 1:00, and today that happened to be my lunch hour. So I took him with me to the local Dairy Queen, where I ordered a cheesburger, and he ordered a dish of vanilla ice cream.
But what was remarkable about the occasion today was that we were sitting there, eating, and I begin to notice Patrick moving his head. Which didn't really seem very significant to me. I mean, autism spectrum kids will do these weird movements sometimes, right? But then I noticed that the movement was, well, rhythmic. In fact, it was timed to the song on the radio .
Pleased with what I saw, I started moving my head with him, smiling my satisfaction. And to my great surprise, Patrick puts his hands up in the air, moving them back and forth (at one point he even modified this to include a kind of finger pointing thing). He smiled back at me and laughed as we did our little dance together.
I'm not sure just quite what the good patrons of our local Dairy Queen thought of this exchange. But as my son stood up out of his chair and went into full dance mode, I responded in kind without even thinking about it. Patrick would add in these little variations to his dance, and would respond with laughter and understanding when I added in some of my own.
It was this wondrous moment of movement, of coordination, of relationship, of joy. I'm so happy to have had that moment with him.
Friday, October 10, 2008
I'm struck by the level of hatred I'm hearing about at McCain rallies. There are truly outrageous things being said by people in the crowd (e.g., calling Obama a "traitor," calling for Obama's head, etc.), and it really seems like the tone of those rallies is frightening.
Which is why I have to give credit where credit is due to McCain -- who today told the crowd that Obama is a good and decent American, that they would have nothing to fear from an Obama presidency.
I think it's arguable that the only decent thing McCain could do in response to these kind of comments was also the most politically risky -- to confront his supporters, to stand up for Obama's basic decency. His willingness to do so reminds me of what I have always admired about him.
Don't get me wrong, I'm an Obama supporter. But in a political system that seems to drift towards the demonization of our opponents, I think it's important to take notice when somebody bucks that trend.
Well done, Senator McCain. Thank you.
Which is why I have to give credit where credit is due to McCain -- who today told the crowd that Obama is a good and decent American, that they would have nothing to fear from an Obama presidency.
I think it's arguable that the only decent thing McCain could do in response to these kind of comments was also the most politically risky -- to confront his supporters, to stand up for Obama's basic decency. His willingness to do so reminds me of what I have always admired about him.
Don't get me wrong, I'm an Obama supporter. But in a political system that seems to drift towards the demonization of our opponents, I think it's important to take notice when somebody bucks that trend.
Well done, Senator McCain. Thank you.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
an observation...
The negative smears by the McCain/Palin campaign are essentially arguing guilt by association -- Obama has "associated with" Rev. Wright, knows Mr. Ayers, so therefore he must approve of their beliefs and actions.
But when someone at a Palin rally calls for Senator Obama's head? We're told that they're just loonies.
Look, I'm not arguing here that Palin or McCain are responsible for the conduct of everyone at their rallies. I just think it's equally as silly to hold Obama responsible for the beliefs or conduct of everyone he's ever had an association with.
Frankly, this tactic smacks of desperation. It's beneath the honor of someone with McCain's distinguished background, and I think he knows it. I think that's why he's so grumpy lately.
But when someone at a Palin rally calls for Senator Obama's head? We're told that they're just loonies.
Look, I'm not arguing here that Palin or McCain are responsible for the conduct of everyone at their rallies. I just think it's equally as silly to hold Obama responsible for the beliefs or conduct of everyone he's ever had an association with.
Frankly, this tactic smacks of desperation. It's beneath the honor of someone with McCain's distinguished background, and I think he knows it. I think that's why he's so grumpy lately.
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
on my radar
I was reading an article about family therapy recently, and the author was talking about the level of noise that can occur in unhappy families. The idea is that there can be so much commotion, so much noise that important messages are lost, are no longer heard. So to be effective, a therapist sometimes has to up the ante -- has to give a message enough emotional "oomph" to make sure that it is heard. The example the author gave was of showing a family that scene of the traumatized horse from "The Horse Whisperer" (where they bind its legs while talking soothingly to it) in order to make a point about setting limits while communicating safety and caring.
But what struck me about that notion today is how things can fail to get our notice, fail to arise compassion in us. I think about Jacob's struggles at school (that I posted about earlier) as one example of this -- how it took him lying down on the garage floor before my compassion finally kicked in.
I suppose this is, to some degree, necessary. It's like how the biblical teaching to "love thy neighbor as thyself" can't be taken too literally because it would be all consuming and ultimately counter-productive. We need to insulate ourselves to some degree, to filter, to prioritize. I suppose it could be said that all of this makes some degree of "noise."
But I think it is also true that (to use another biblical metaphor) our hearts can be hardened if we are not careful. We can become so preoccupied with our own concerns, worries, and cares that the proverbial noise turns into a kind of cacophony that very little can penetrate. Or we could think of it as a kind of emotional armor that keeps virtually any touch from getting through.
It is better, it seems to me, to strive for a softened heart. Better to face pain, to be open to it, to face it and respond lovingly to it. Better to let our difficult emotions wake us up, soften our hearts, awaken our capacity for compassion, for love.
But what struck me about that notion today is how things can fail to get our notice, fail to arise compassion in us. I think about Jacob's struggles at school (that I posted about earlier) as one example of this -- how it took him lying down on the garage floor before my compassion finally kicked in.
I suppose this is, to some degree, necessary. It's like how the biblical teaching to "love thy neighbor as thyself" can't be taken too literally because it would be all consuming and ultimately counter-productive. We need to insulate ourselves to some degree, to filter, to prioritize. I suppose it could be said that all of this makes some degree of "noise."
But I think it is also true that (to use another biblical metaphor) our hearts can be hardened if we are not careful. We can become so preoccupied with our own concerns, worries, and cares that the proverbial noise turns into a kind of cacophony that very little can penetrate. Or we could think of it as a kind of emotional armor that keeps virtually any touch from getting through.
It is better, it seems to me, to strive for a softened heart. Better to face pain, to be open to it, to face it and respond lovingly to it. Better to let our difficult emotions wake us up, soften our hearts, awaken our capacity for compassion, for love.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Thoughts...
I saw an interesting movie recently. I believe the title was "Cashback." It's about an art student struggling with a kind of depression after breaking up with his girlfriend. The premise of the movie is that he finds in the midst of his depression that he is able to stop time. And by doing so he discovers that love, that beauty, often is in hiding -- that we have to stop and notice it or else be swept along by the nonstop current of life. I enjoyed it.
Recently my six year old son, Jacob, started complaining about school. I really didn't think too much about it, figuring that he was just getting used to the idea of working for so long. Then a day or so ago, he lied down on the garage floor before school, crying and complaining about how he dislikes all the time they spend on reading exercises.
This caught me off guard. The reports from his teacher have been fine. He seems to be making good progress academically, and they haven't noticed him being particularly stressed out at school. Part of me wonders if it is a struggle with sustained attention -- staying focused on something for that long? Or maybe he doesn't feel confident in it yet, and dislikes the feeling of struggle (even though his progress is OK)? Maybe he is miserable at school but suffering in silence?
These thoughts weighed heavily on me all day, and I spoke to his teacher about them. She seems as concerned and puzzled as I feel.
But regardless, I was struck by how easily I disregarded his earlier reactions, how I only took it seriously after he had the day where he cried in the garage. It makes me feel a bit guilty, a bit ashamed.
But my hope is that this incident will be a reminder -- a kind of encouragement to myself to be more open, more present, more centered.
Peace to you all.
Recently my six year old son, Jacob, started complaining about school. I really didn't think too much about it, figuring that he was just getting used to the idea of working for so long. Then a day or so ago, he lied down on the garage floor before school, crying and complaining about how he dislikes all the time they spend on reading exercises.
This caught me off guard. The reports from his teacher have been fine. He seems to be making good progress academically, and they haven't noticed him being particularly stressed out at school. Part of me wonders if it is a struggle with sustained attention -- staying focused on something for that long? Or maybe he doesn't feel confident in it yet, and dislikes the feeling of struggle (even though his progress is OK)? Maybe he is miserable at school but suffering in silence?
These thoughts weighed heavily on me all day, and I spoke to his teacher about them. She seems as concerned and puzzled as I feel.
But regardless, I was struck by how easily I disregarded his earlier reactions, how I only took it seriously after he had the day where he cried in the garage. It makes me feel a bit guilty, a bit ashamed.
But my hope is that this incident will be a reminder -- a kind of encouragement to myself to be more open, more present, more centered.
Peace to you all.
Friday, September 26, 2008
on disdain
I had a fascinating conversation with someone about disdain the other day. It had to do with why we sometimes cling so tightly to this emotion, this habit. Basically, we discussed how disdain allows us to maintain a sense of superiority (or at least of not being something that we dislike), but at the same time sets us up for a kind of self-loathing. Since there is almost always some part of ourselves that recognizes, understands, or contains what we dislike -- we are setting ourselves up to harshly condemn that part of ourselves, to set up a kind of war on ourselves.
Some people resist giving up their disdain because they equate doing so with acceptance, with agreement. But learning to have compassion for those who, say, have prejudices, doesn't mean that we must become prejudiced ourselves. It merely means that we can understand the fear and false assumptions that underlie prejudice -- that we can appreciate how toxic and difficult these can be because we have experienced them ourselves.
In other words, getting rid of disdain involves an acceptance of our shared humanity. It means joining with, being a part of, the human race. It means working to create change through dialogue, understanding, and peace -- rather than through rejection, hostility, or anger.
Some people resist giving up their disdain because they equate doing so with acceptance, with agreement. But learning to have compassion for those who, say, have prejudices, doesn't mean that we must become prejudiced ourselves. It merely means that we can understand the fear and false assumptions that underlie prejudice -- that we can appreciate how toxic and difficult these can be because we have experienced them ourselves.
In other words, getting rid of disdain involves an acceptance of our shared humanity. It means joining with, being a part of, the human race. It means working to create change through dialogue, understanding, and peace -- rather than through rejection, hostility, or anger.
Friday, September 12, 2008
political musings...
I have to admit, I'm a bit surprised that Palin is getting as positive a reaction as she has so far. A brief review of the concerns:
1. She advocates teaching creationism in public school science classes.
2. She clearly wasn't even aware of what the "Bush doctrine" is! (Which is only a minor thing, really, given that it's been the basis of our foreign policy for the past seven years. Yeesh.)
3. She actually expects people to believe that her decision to fire the local librarian when she was mayor wasn't related to a desire to censor books she finds objectionable -- despite the fact that her decision to fire the librarian came within days of a talk they had where she specifically brought up the issue.
4. She has repeated blatant lies (even after profoundly shown to be lies by all media outlets) about her so-called rejection of the "Bridge to Nowhere."
5. She accepted some of the most extravagant earmarks for the state of Alaska, yet has promoted herself as being "a reformer."
6. She has denigrated those involved in community organizing.
I could go on. But it seems to me that what we're dealing with is a reasonably photogenic individual who is clearly from the far right wing of the Republican party. Somebody with little knowledge of (or experience with) policy issues on an international level (or even of issues transcending those of the State of Alaska). And someone who calculatingly heaps praises on Hilary Clinton, but who would be among Hilary's harshest critics if Hilary were to be the current Democratic nominee.
This is not change. This is precisely the kind of campaign put forward for Bush in 2000.
We all know how that turned out.
1. She advocates teaching creationism in public school science classes.
2. She clearly wasn't even aware of what the "Bush doctrine" is! (Which is only a minor thing, really, given that it's been the basis of our foreign policy for the past seven years. Yeesh.)
3. She actually expects people to believe that her decision to fire the local librarian when she was mayor wasn't related to a desire to censor books she finds objectionable -- despite the fact that her decision to fire the librarian came within days of a talk they had where she specifically brought up the issue.
4. She has repeated blatant lies (even after profoundly shown to be lies by all media outlets) about her so-called rejection of the "Bridge to Nowhere."
5. She accepted some of the most extravagant earmarks for the state of Alaska, yet has promoted herself as being "a reformer."
6. She has denigrated those involved in community organizing.
I could go on. But it seems to me that what we're dealing with is a reasonably photogenic individual who is clearly from the far right wing of the Republican party. Somebody with little knowledge of (or experience with) policy issues on an international level (or even of issues transcending those of the State of Alaska). And someone who calculatingly heaps praises on Hilary Clinton, but who would be among Hilary's harshest critics if Hilary were to be the current Democratic nominee.
This is not change. This is precisely the kind of campaign put forward for Bush in 2000.
We all know how that turned out.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
birthday
On this, the 39th anniversary of my entry into this world:
I took the day off from work.
I golfed 18 holes at a very difficult course about 30 minutes from here.
I had my "Phil Mickelson" moment: three separate attempts to chip the ball onto the green, with each one rolling back to within three feet of where I stood.
I went to an IEP meeting for my younger son, focused on how to help him stay focused at school.
I ate a yummy dinner.
I got to enjoy having my boys blow out candles on the cake with me. Three times!
I thought often of my own father, thinking his reactions were probably much like my own when he had his birthdays.
I was aware that the true joy of the day was not the golf, not the day off, not the cake, not the present -- but the simple joy in my sons' eyes as they wished me happy birthday.
I took the day off from work.
I golfed 18 holes at a very difficult course about 30 minutes from here.
I had my "Phil Mickelson" moment: three separate attempts to chip the ball onto the green, with each one rolling back to within three feet of where I stood.
I went to an IEP meeting for my younger son, focused on how to help him stay focused at school.
I ate a yummy dinner.
I got to enjoy having my boys blow out candles on the cake with me. Three times!
I thought often of my own father, thinking his reactions were probably much like my own when he had his birthdays.
I was aware that the true joy of the day was not the golf, not the day off, not the cake, not the present -- but the simple joy in my sons' eyes as they wished me happy birthday.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
My 6 year old son, budding existentialist?
So a day or so ago, I walked into a room, and my six year old looked a little tense. "What's wrong?" I asked.
"Dad," he replied, "I'm not for sure I know who I am."
I paused, briefly, trying to make some sense out of his question. Then I just figured I'd respond directly.
"Well, I do!" I told him. "You're Jacob. You're my son."
He looked up at me, seeming relieved. Then he started talking about Power Rangers.
"Dad," he replied, "I'm not for sure I know who I am."
I paused, briefly, trying to make some sense out of his question. Then I just figured I'd respond directly.
"Well, I do!" I told him. "You're Jacob. You're my son."
He looked up at me, seeming relieved. Then he started talking about Power Rangers.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
church thoughts
It's interesting. I'm finding myself more aware of a certain belief or perspective about church/religion/philosophy that I have -- namely, that their entire purpose should be to enhance love, joy, peace, compassion, and justice. I think this is largely why issues of doctrinal correctness drive me batty. If one side or the other has no impact on these matters (or if it comes down to a matter of personal preference), then the issue is moot, even silly.
So here's the thing, as far as attending a church goes, I can see some value to practicing in a community whose goal it is to similarly grow in love, etc. But I am concerned that this is not always the case, that some (many?) see church more as a pathway to heaven, as reaffirmation of doctrines (or prejudices), of proof that they're "right."
I'm not trying to argue that my reaction is correct, but merely to state what my reaction is and to explore it a little. I'm struck initially that my reaction might be a bit harsh, a bit judgmental. Surely, people are searching out goodness while they attend church. They may believe that being "right" or holding correct doctrine is part of that path.
Second, what of my compassion for them? Am I so weary of my church journey that I fail to see their pain, their struggles, their aspirations?
I think part of what this boils down to is that I have become more comfortable seeking for spiritual growth on my own. And that has value, I think, but also cost. It allows me to focus on areas that are most meaningful to me, but prevents more of a sense of connection, of togetherness. It shields me from being confronted, challenged. To the extent that my own reactions (described above) ultimately call for me to grow in understanding and compassion, I am prevented from such growth.
And yet...I do not trust this thing I have called "togetherness." I will have to meditate further on that.
Peace to you.
So here's the thing, as far as attending a church goes, I can see some value to practicing in a community whose goal it is to similarly grow in love, etc. But I am concerned that this is not always the case, that some (many?) see church more as a pathway to heaven, as reaffirmation of doctrines (or prejudices), of proof that they're "right."
I'm not trying to argue that my reaction is correct, but merely to state what my reaction is and to explore it a little. I'm struck initially that my reaction might be a bit harsh, a bit judgmental. Surely, people are searching out goodness while they attend church. They may believe that being "right" or holding correct doctrine is part of that path.
Second, what of my compassion for them? Am I so weary of my church journey that I fail to see their pain, their struggles, their aspirations?
I think part of what this boils down to is that I have become more comfortable seeking for spiritual growth on my own. And that has value, I think, but also cost. It allows me to focus on areas that are most meaningful to me, but prevents more of a sense of connection, of togetherness. It shields me from being confronted, challenged. To the extent that my own reactions (described above) ultimately call for me to grow in understanding and compassion, I am prevented from such growth.
And yet...I do not trust this thing I have called "togetherness." I will have to meditate further on that.
Peace to you.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Seven Facts Meme
The author of one of my favorite blogs, Katherine, has tagged me for this meme. Here are the rules:
a. List these rules on your blog.
b. Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog.
1. When I moved to Nebraska with my wife, I wasn't really that big of a college football fan. I enjoy football, sure, but mostly followed the NFL. So when I came here and was asked who "my team" was, I really didn't have an answer. My father always used to root for Notre Dame, so I threw this out as a reply after some hesitation. Never did I realize that this would brand me as a heretic in this state of "the Big Red."
2. I have a hunch that many Nebraskans secretly feel that Bo Pellini (the new Nebraska football coach) is the next coming of Jesus...or Tom Osborne. And they're probably ambivalent about which option they'd prefer.
3. "Managed care" is actually the corporate front for the coming of the antichrist. Don't ask how I know....
4. I minored in theology as an undergraduate.
5. My favorite religious writer/theologian is Abraham Joshua Heschel. I was profoundly moved by his book "God in Search of Man."
6. I have myself on a "behavior modification plan." If I go without eating fast food, I put that money into savings towards a new set of irons (for golf).
7. My wife and I are looking into having a new deck built, mostly out of fear that our current deck is contributing to high levels of arsenic in our boys' systems. Ooh, and I'd love to get one of those new water heaters that only heats the water when you need it (rather than keeping a big 'ol pot of water hot all day).
a. List these rules on your blog.
b. Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog.
1. When I moved to Nebraska with my wife, I wasn't really that big of a college football fan. I enjoy football, sure, but mostly followed the NFL. So when I came here and was asked who "my team" was, I really didn't have an answer. My father always used to root for Notre Dame, so I threw this out as a reply after some hesitation. Never did I realize that this would brand me as a heretic in this state of "the Big Red."
2. I have a hunch that many Nebraskans secretly feel that Bo Pellini (the new Nebraska football coach) is the next coming of Jesus...or Tom Osborne. And they're probably ambivalent about which option they'd prefer.
3. "Managed care" is actually the corporate front for the coming of the antichrist. Don't ask how I know....
4. I minored in theology as an undergraduate.
5. My favorite religious writer/theologian is Abraham Joshua Heschel. I was profoundly moved by his book "God in Search of Man."
6. I have myself on a "behavior modification plan." If I go without eating fast food, I put that money into savings towards a new set of irons (for golf).
7. My wife and I are looking into having a new deck built, mostly out of fear that our current deck is contributing to high levels of arsenic in our boys' systems. Ooh, and I'd love to get one of those new water heaters that only heats the water when you need it (rather than keeping a big 'ol pot of water hot all day).
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
religion, shenpa, vanity, etc.
There is a saying that you should always meditate on what causes you frustration. I've been aware of experiencing frustration when I think about participating more actively in a religion lately, and tonight I had an opportunity just sit with that feeling. I think that what came up is perhaps instructive.
My first image was of sitting down at a local Catholic church, having this new priest that I didn't know preach on how homosexuality is sinful. Reading selected Bible verses as if these were proof that my revulsion to what he was saying was going against God's will.
What's interesting to me about the image is that it assumes a particular kind of relationship to God, to the priest (in this case), and even to scripture. A hierarchical relationship, one filled with judgment, of strictly defined rights and wrongs, even a kind of coercion.
Jeez, no wonder I've been reluctant to get into this church thing.
What interests me, then, is the issue of authority. Participation in a church community simply won't work for me if it is about being told what to think, about simplistic discussions of right and wrong. I much prefer a model that strikes me as characterizing modern Judaism: of valuing scripture but struggling with it, even struggling against it. Give me a church that values doubt, values dialogue, values discussion. Give me a church that challenges the mind and soul, but is willing and eager to be challenged in return -- that sees discussion as a path to greater truth rather than as a threat to established truths.
Give me a church that is open to change. Give me a church that values compassion more than doctrine.
Hmm...that's an awful lot of standards, of "give me's."
I think it important to balance this with a recognition that I am looking to enter a human institution, one that will be imperfect, that will fail, that will disappoint. Such things are inevitable, perhaps even necessary...for in facing these disappointments, we learn about ourselves, we can grow in compassion.
Lord, help me to find a church that is human, an imperfect church that strives to follow You more closely, that challenges me, that humbles me. May I learn to grow closer to You through this church, both through it's wisdom and through it's struggles. May I learn from my struggles with my church to grow in peace, in love, in compassion for others. Amen.
My first image was of sitting down at a local Catholic church, having this new priest that I didn't know preach on how homosexuality is sinful. Reading selected Bible verses as if these were proof that my revulsion to what he was saying was going against God's will.
What's interesting to me about the image is that it assumes a particular kind of relationship to God, to the priest (in this case), and even to scripture. A hierarchical relationship, one filled with judgment, of strictly defined rights and wrongs, even a kind of coercion.
Jeez, no wonder I've been reluctant to get into this church thing.
What interests me, then, is the issue of authority. Participation in a church community simply won't work for me if it is about being told what to think, about simplistic discussions of right and wrong. I much prefer a model that strikes me as characterizing modern Judaism: of valuing scripture but struggling with it, even struggling against it. Give me a church that values doubt, values dialogue, values discussion. Give me a church that challenges the mind and soul, but is willing and eager to be challenged in return -- that sees discussion as a path to greater truth rather than as a threat to established truths.
Give me a church that is open to change. Give me a church that values compassion more than doctrine.
Hmm...that's an awful lot of standards, of "give me's."
I think it important to balance this with a recognition that I am looking to enter a human institution, one that will be imperfect, that will fail, that will disappoint. Such things are inevitable, perhaps even necessary...for in facing these disappointments, we learn about ourselves, we can grow in compassion.
Lord, help me to find a church that is human, an imperfect church that strives to follow You more closely, that challenges me, that humbles me. May I learn to grow closer to You through this church, both through it's wisdom and through it's struggles. May I learn from my struggles with my church to grow in peace, in love, in compassion for others. Amen.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Why believe?
I wanted to begin this particular blog post by stressing that this is not intended as an attack on religion or on religious belief. Rather, it is a reflection of my current struggle with religion, the effects of religion, and the purpose of religion. At it's root, my reflections today stem from the fact that I found myself musing on the question of "what's the point?" [of religious belief] and didn't have a very satisfactory answer.
So here I hope to express my thoughts, my struggles. I hope for feedback, for insights, for the wisdom of those who do me the honor of reading my humble blog.
It occurs to me that there are those who would say that they believe in religion (in whatever form) simply because it is, in their mind, true. Sadly, though, I find this to be an empty response. The truth of a divine Being is ultimately unknowable, transcendent, goes beyond human ideas and concepts. And even if such an idea is accepted (that a religious belief contains truth, albeit limited), then what? To what point do we hold onto this truth? Sadly, I see many downfalls of those who insist that they know "the truth." What's more, I am moved much more profoundly by those who would hold their sense of what is true in humility, who would be much more concerned with compassion and openness and love than in the attainment of "truth." So while the discovery of answers, of "truth" may be meaningful for others, it simply doesn't speak to my heart.
Neither, I should say, does the argument that through belief or faith we attain eternal life. I have a very difficult time believing in a God who would grant entry into heaven based on a kind of theological ACT test. And the notion that belief or faith is primarily about attaining eternal life seems...somehow empty, really. Almost selfish. Again, without intending any offense, I can't find myself basing a decision such as whether to believe based on some idea of what it takes to gain entry into heaven. It simply doesn't speak to me.
Third, there is the argument of transformation. This one is the one that most intrigues me. To my understanding, the argument is that faith is a transformative journey, one that causes us to grow in love, hope, joy. Faith (or perhaps developing a relationship with God) should cause us to grow, to become more like Christ, in the Christian tradition. Here at last is a reason that speaks to my heart.
But still I am filled with doubt, at least insofar as the issue of the role of faith is concerned. It is possible, it seems to me, to grow in love and hope and joy without a particular religious belief system. Many religious belief systems may suffice for this purpose, as could no religious belief system. One can grow in love through an openness to friendship, to life, to experience. I suppose it can be argued that it some vital sense such openness is an experiential relationship with the divine -- but, if so, then why add religious belief structures to it? What additional benefit is gained?
Finally, and I say this with some degree of doubt and even shame, I personally have never had a direct experience of connection with God through prayer, reading scripture, etc. I have had powerful experiences of love and compassion through fellow human beings, and have written about this in the past. But one needn't add another, religious layer of explanation to understand why these were transformative and meaningful to me. And I have tried various forms of prayer: listening, meditative, etc. My experience has been one of silence, and usually I have viewed this as having not been good at it. Now, however, I am left to wonder if there simply isn't a God, or if such a Being has little interest in communicating with me.
So I am left with this question: why believe? If it is not a search for truth, if it is not meaningful to see it as a quest for heaven, if personal transformation is possible without it, if prayer has typically seemed empty....why believe?
Peace to all of you who have been good enough to put up with my ramblings this evening. I covet your thoughts, your experiences, your insights, your prayers.
So here I hope to express my thoughts, my struggles. I hope for feedback, for insights, for the wisdom of those who do me the honor of reading my humble blog.
It occurs to me that there are those who would say that they believe in religion (in whatever form) simply because it is, in their mind, true. Sadly, though, I find this to be an empty response. The truth of a divine Being is ultimately unknowable, transcendent, goes beyond human ideas and concepts. And even if such an idea is accepted (that a religious belief contains truth, albeit limited), then what? To what point do we hold onto this truth? Sadly, I see many downfalls of those who insist that they know "the truth." What's more, I am moved much more profoundly by those who would hold their sense of what is true in humility, who would be much more concerned with compassion and openness and love than in the attainment of "truth." So while the discovery of answers, of "truth" may be meaningful for others, it simply doesn't speak to my heart.
Neither, I should say, does the argument that through belief or faith we attain eternal life. I have a very difficult time believing in a God who would grant entry into heaven based on a kind of theological ACT test. And the notion that belief or faith is primarily about attaining eternal life seems...somehow empty, really. Almost selfish. Again, without intending any offense, I can't find myself basing a decision such as whether to believe based on some idea of what it takes to gain entry into heaven. It simply doesn't speak to me.
Third, there is the argument of transformation. This one is the one that most intrigues me. To my understanding, the argument is that faith is a transformative journey, one that causes us to grow in love, hope, joy. Faith (or perhaps developing a relationship with God) should cause us to grow, to become more like Christ, in the Christian tradition. Here at last is a reason that speaks to my heart.
But still I am filled with doubt, at least insofar as the issue of the role of faith is concerned. It is possible, it seems to me, to grow in love and hope and joy without a particular religious belief system. Many religious belief systems may suffice for this purpose, as could no religious belief system. One can grow in love through an openness to friendship, to life, to experience. I suppose it can be argued that it some vital sense such openness is an experiential relationship with the divine -- but, if so, then why add religious belief structures to it? What additional benefit is gained?
Finally, and I say this with some degree of doubt and even shame, I personally have never had a direct experience of connection with God through prayer, reading scripture, etc. I have had powerful experiences of love and compassion through fellow human beings, and have written about this in the past. But one needn't add another, religious layer of explanation to understand why these were transformative and meaningful to me. And I have tried various forms of prayer: listening, meditative, etc. My experience has been one of silence, and usually I have viewed this as having not been good at it. Now, however, I am left to wonder if there simply isn't a God, or if such a Being has little interest in communicating with me.
So I am left with this question: why believe? If it is not a search for truth, if it is not meaningful to see it as a quest for heaven, if personal transformation is possible without it, if prayer has typically seemed empty....why believe?
Peace to all of you who have been good enough to put up with my ramblings this evening. I covet your thoughts, your experiences, your insights, your prayers.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Growth
In the Tibetan Buddhist tradition, they have a name for that feeling of seizing up, of tightening, when we begin to react to something. They call is shenpa (I'm not sure if I'm spelling it right). It's that moment before thought, before even emotion, when we find ourselves reacting, getting stuck in something.
An example: while driving to a meeting yesterday, I pulled up behind a truck with a very unkind bumper sticker on it. I will not spread the harsh words it used, but essentially it was very demeaning towards women.
And there it was. Shenpa. I found myself thinking all manner of unkind things about the owner of that truck, making all manner of assumptions about his motives, his relationships, the likelihood of his acting in an abusive way to his wife or girlfriend.
And I think that, probably, there is some measure of truth in my assumptions about the guy. But the wisdom of the Buddhists here is that I must be careful not to become hooked, to be drawn into these reactions in ways that blind us from compassion, from awareness, from who we are.
I must admit I have similar shenpa reactions when I hear political ads that demonize undocumented immigrants, when I hear people degrade those of differing sexual orientations, even when I begin to think about the scare tactics used by the RNC in political campaigns.
The thing is, I believe that most of these groups (the reactionary ones, in particular) are simply reacting to their own shenpa -- their own fear, disgust, loathing. In so doing, I believe they are blinded. But if I fail to question myself, to find some way of lessening the shenpa's hold on me, then I am in some ways no different than they are. Perhaps my biases are more palatable to me, but they remain obstacles to compassion, love, growth, insight. They inhibit me from interacting with them in ways that promote true dialogue and understanding.
An example: while driving to a meeting yesterday, I pulled up behind a truck with a very unkind bumper sticker on it. I will not spread the harsh words it used, but essentially it was very demeaning towards women.
And there it was. Shenpa. I found myself thinking all manner of unkind things about the owner of that truck, making all manner of assumptions about his motives, his relationships, the likelihood of his acting in an abusive way to his wife or girlfriend.
And I think that, probably, there is some measure of truth in my assumptions about the guy. But the wisdom of the Buddhists here is that I must be careful not to become hooked, to be drawn into these reactions in ways that blind us from compassion, from awareness, from who we are.
I must admit I have similar shenpa reactions when I hear political ads that demonize undocumented immigrants, when I hear people degrade those of differing sexual orientations, even when I begin to think about the scare tactics used by the RNC in political campaigns.
The thing is, I believe that most of these groups (the reactionary ones, in particular) are simply reacting to their own shenpa -- their own fear, disgust, loathing. In so doing, I believe they are blinded. But if I fail to question myself, to find some way of lessening the shenpa's hold on me, then I am in some ways no different than they are. Perhaps my biases are more palatable to me, but they remain obstacles to compassion, love, growth, insight. They inhibit me from interacting with them in ways that promote true dialogue and understanding.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
"Start Where You Are"
I've just started reading Pema Chodron's book, "Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living." She has some interesting things to say about how we approach our experiences, both good and bad. For starters, she writes that "we already have everything that we need. There is no need for self-improvement.... From this perspective we don't need to change: you can feel as wretched as you like, and you're still a good candidate for enlightenment. You can feel like the world's most hopeless basket case, but that feeling is your wealth, not something to be thrown out or improved upon."
The approach she describes is one of staying mindfully present in the moment, of fearlessly staying present with our pain rather than avoiding it, and even of moving towards our pain -- because by approaching our pain in this way we can allow our pain to "awaken your heart and let it soften you."
Profound stuff. And radically different from a western world that tends to avoid pain at all costs.
The approach she describes is one of staying mindfully present in the moment, of fearlessly staying present with our pain rather than avoiding it, and even of moving towards our pain -- because by approaching our pain in this way we can allow our pain to "awaken your heart and let it soften you."
Profound stuff. And radically different from a western world that tends to avoid pain at all costs.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
troubling...
OK, so I just read this article, which I find troubling on a number of levels.
1. The entire notion of having to "hide" those with autism or other disabilities is troubling.
2. The apparent belief of the child's mother that her son has autism and nothing can be done about his behavior is troubling.
3. The idea that a church would file a restraining order against a child is troubling.
4. The mother's apparent refusal to find some sort of mutually acceptable way to worship is troubling.
5. The mother's disregard for the rights of fellow parishioners is troubling.
6. The idea that this is being turned into a battle, with simplistic labels thrown on people is troubling.
7. The way that autism can ravage a young life is troubling.
Peace to you all, my friends.
1. The entire notion of having to "hide" those with autism or other disabilities is troubling.
2. The apparent belief of the child's mother that her son has autism and nothing can be done about his behavior is troubling.
3. The idea that a church would file a restraining order against a child is troubling.
4. The mother's apparent refusal to find some sort of mutually acceptable way to worship is troubling.
5. The mother's disregard for the rights of fellow parishioners is troubling.
6. The idea that this is being turned into a battle, with simplistic labels thrown on people is troubling.
7. The way that autism can ravage a young life is troubling.
Peace to you all, my friends.
Saturday, May 03, 2008
on the radio
Saw the movie "Iron Man" tonight. Really enjoyed it, actually. I was impressed with how it had a kind of emotional depth -- and wasn't afraid to discuss complex ethical issues -- while still being a good action movie that doesn't take itself too seriously.
Anyway, on the way home, I was scanning through radio stations and happened to hear a snippet of a Catholic radio program. This one involved church doctrine on those who disagree with some church teachings (like capital punishment) may still receive communion, while those who disagree with other church teachings (such as on abortion or euthanasia) are prohibited from doing so. The argument (put forward by then Cardinal Ratzinger, now Pope Benedict) is that different moral issues carry different moral weights -- and that those with more serious moral weight must be treated more seriously.
Of course, this puts the church into a precarious position, both politically and morally. The assumption here is that the church has some great moral clarity that allows it to speak authoritatively about which moral issues are of greater significance than others -- as if they alone hold some sort of metric, some way of assigning comparable values to moral issues.
Such arrogance. Such condescension. And so deeply misplaced. They create conflict and estrangement at the very time that the church needs to create a positive identity for itself. Sigh.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that the church should not sometimes speak with conviction and clarity on matters of moral importance. But turning away from communion those members who hold principled disagreement on serious issues? That seems to me to run contrary to the essential meaning of communion -- of acceptance of our part in the body of Christ, of accepting our differences and seeing past them to a greater unity.
I'm afraid my church will continue to decline in numbers and significance so long as it places more value on speaking from a presumed authority than it does in speaking from compassion. I pray that it (that we, as church) may be awakened to this insight.
Anyway, on the way home, I was scanning through radio stations and happened to hear a snippet of a Catholic radio program. This one involved church doctrine on those who disagree with some church teachings (like capital punishment) may still receive communion, while those who disagree with other church teachings (such as on abortion or euthanasia) are prohibited from doing so. The argument (put forward by then Cardinal Ratzinger, now Pope Benedict) is that different moral issues carry different moral weights -- and that those with more serious moral weight must be treated more seriously.
Of course, this puts the church into a precarious position, both politically and morally. The assumption here is that the church has some great moral clarity that allows it to speak authoritatively about which moral issues are of greater significance than others -- as if they alone hold some sort of metric, some way of assigning comparable values to moral issues.
Such arrogance. Such condescension. And so deeply misplaced. They create conflict and estrangement at the very time that the church needs to create a positive identity for itself. Sigh.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that the church should not sometimes speak with conviction and clarity on matters of moral importance. But turning away from communion those members who hold principled disagreement on serious issues? That seems to me to run contrary to the essential meaning of communion -- of acceptance of our part in the body of Christ, of accepting our differences and seeing past them to a greater unity.
I'm afraid my church will continue to decline in numbers and significance so long as it places more value on speaking from a presumed authority than it does in speaking from compassion. I pray that it (that we, as church) may be awakened to this insight.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
weakness
I came home from lunch today and got to spend some mostly pleasant time with my kids because they had the day off from school (one of those "nobody really knows why we don't have school today" kind of days off from school). Anyway, I was having some sort of discussion with my son Jacob -- it may have even been a discussion where he was disagreeing or arguing with me. And at one point, Patrick gets frustrated, reaches over, and bites Jacob on the back.
This has been something of a recurrent struggle for Patrick. His autism leads him to have an oversensitivity to sound, and he seems to react to overly loud noises with either aggression or shutting down. Today, as you already know, he chose aggression.
My initial reaction was one of shock, and then of anger. Jacob had done nothing, really, and he didn't deserve to be attacked by his brother like that. So I yelled at Patrick "stop! You may NOT bite your brother!" And Patrick clamped on to Jacob's back for another minute or so before looking at me and I took him to his room for time-out.
A bit later, I worked on trying to induce some guilt in Patrick by showing him the bite marks he left on Jacob's back, and my wife and I talked to him about what he could have done differently.
Still, I find myself feeling a strong bit of guilt. Here's a kid who dislikes noise and I raised my voice pretty loud. I reacted out of anger when it would have been better if I had kept my cool. I reacted to my son's weakness by showing some of my own.
OK, I know this is hardly child abuse. And perhaps I'm being a bit hard on myself. Still, my hope is to model calm, reasoned problem solving in response to stress. Today, I'm afraid I fell short.
This has been something of a recurrent struggle for Patrick. His autism leads him to have an oversensitivity to sound, and he seems to react to overly loud noises with either aggression or shutting down. Today, as you already know, he chose aggression.
My initial reaction was one of shock, and then of anger. Jacob had done nothing, really, and he didn't deserve to be attacked by his brother like that. So I yelled at Patrick "stop! You may NOT bite your brother!" And Patrick clamped on to Jacob's back for another minute or so before looking at me and I took him to his room for time-out.
A bit later, I worked on trying to induce some guilt in Patrick by showing him the bite marks he left on Jacob's back, and my wife and I talked to him about what he could have done differently.
Still, I find myself feeling a strong bit of guilt. Here's a kid who dislikes noise and I raised my voice pretty loud. I reacted out of anger when it would have been better if I had kept my cool. I reacted to my son's weakness by showing some of my own.
OK, I know this is hardly child abuse. And perhaps I'm being a bit hard on myself. Still, my hope is to model calm, reasoned problem solving in response to stress. Today, I'm afraid I fell short.
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