Thoughts from Culhwch

I was reading psalm 74 this evening and was struck by the similarity of verse 10, with the opening lines of psalm 13. Both begin (I’m not looking at the Hebrew here), with the question “how long.” (a quick search points to several other reprisals of the question in the psalms, but these two came to mind). In 74:10 the psalmist asks “How long, O God, will the adversary revile, and the enemy spurn your name forever,” in psalm 13 the psalmist asks “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever.” I guess the “forever” also catches my eye. The NASB puts it at the end of the phrase in both passages.

The two passages are quite different. In 74 the psalmist asks how long the enemy will triumph, but it is not till verse 11 that we understand that the psalmist is asking God to do something about it. Psalm 13 seems more direct, as if the psalmist is about to accuse God. The difference lies in the phrasing itself. 74 asks how long a third person actor will continue. But 13 asks how long God, second person, will forget.

But enough with the differences. The commonalities between the passages are far more interesting. Both wonder whether or not God will do something. Both evoke desperation in a way that cannot be overlooked. It is the kind of despair that a person feels when he reaches the very ends of himself, or his ability to understand his world. Is God still real? Will God meet the need I have? Can God?

I think it’s way too easy for Christians to overlook this question, to feel too uncomfortable with it, or to assume that it’s wrong to ask. I submit that we need to ask it more. We need to admit when we don’t feel God, when we don’t know if we can still continue to believe what we believe. I think those are the moments of the profoundest spiritual growth.

Second, I think Christians are afraid to ask this question because they are afraid they might accidentally become atheists, that anybody who asks this will become an atheist, will suddenly have a total crisis in their ability to believe that God really is there. I submit that failing to be upfront about the times when we doubt God’s presence actually hurts other’s faith, and I suspect it hurts our own too.

I remember the first time I was confronted with the possibility that the opening verses of Genesis might not be original to Hebrew literature. That the first and second passages might come from different authors, that they were passages that had “merely” been collected together. At some point I was mortified. Somehow, I had based my faith in God, and in the Bible on them being true in some strange way that could not admit their being true if they came from disparate sources. Thinking back on it now, I don’t see how their disparateness can make them untrue. But the first night I had that doubt, it spread over me, I felt paralyzed, like I could not overcome it. If this passage is out, what about the others?

The doubt had me, and at some point, I even considered that my entire faith might be wrong. But then suddenly I understood something else. I was not in a different place in terms of faith, it was just that God had allowed me to look “down,” to see how far “up” He was holding me.

When I finally got around to taking OT, several other things had changed. I began to understand that passages collected even from modified mythologies could still be entirely true. As I think on the opening verses now, I find I have a slightly different view on them. I’ve learned to make no judgements on whether or not a passage is figurative or literal. I find myself incapable of discerning that.

But as a bit of background, for me the figurative and literal have ceased to be mutually exclusive categories.  Perhaps, I came to this place because the medievals didn’t think they were so exclusive either. I’m also not sure that the kinds of truth claims that the categories of “figurative” and “literal” would have made are the same today as when these texts were written.

Today the figurative seems to us as an untruth that metaphorizes the truth. It is one layer which is untrue, that sits atop and hides a layer which is true. But why must this be the only way we can understand the figure? Why can’t both layers be absolutely true? I think a medieval theologian would likely laugh at the supposition that the figurative would always entail an untruth.

Anyway, what I’m trying to get at here is not so much how my understanding of scripture changed, but the fact that even before my views were able to change to catch up with the dramatic shifts in my understanding (if indeed I have any – still in doubt on that one), the point of asking the question, “Is God real?”, did not leave me in doubt, but rather led me on to a greater understanding of how powerful faith really was.  I came to realize that faith often means choosing to put our doubts aside for long enough for our understanding to catch up to our beliefs. But it does not mean choosing to ignore our doubts, or choosing not to ask the deep questions that the psalmist(s) do. It often means coming to grips with the extent of our doubts. Finally, and this is the most important, the questions we have also serve to show us where we have placed our faith. For me, it showed me that I had placed my faith in a particular interpretation just slightly more than in the God who inspired the Bible to begin with. When that interpretation began to disappear, I began to see how high faith in God was holding me above my severely limited understanding.

In psalm 13 the psalmist realizes where his trust is, and is encouraged, “But I have trusted in Your lovingkindness; My heart shall rejoice in Your salvation…” Psalm 74:12 states “Yet God is my king from of old, Who works deeds of deliverance in the midst of the earth” … Perhaps I’m thinking too much of Heidegger when I see “earth,” but I wonder if the psalmist isn’t saying something like “from a place which seems hidden God works wonders of deliverance” … but maybe instead of the hidden Heideggerian earth, we might also see “earth”  as the place where miracles are unexpected, the chaotic seas of the next verse, or the stones split open for water in the verse following that one. Whatever it is, the psalmist realizes that God can do amazing things when situations are desperate. But psalm 74 doesn’t leave us with total overwhelming answers to the question of whether or not God will or can help. Instead the psalmist continues to plead with God. Perhaps there is a lesson there too. Even when we know God’s power and might, and have re-affirmed it, we should still continue to pray.

~David

Some days at work seem really busy, and yet simultaneously unproductive. Sometimes you get a problem that just stares you back for an hour, and you keep trying to fix it, until you finally try a different approach. You solve the problem, but you feel like you have spent way too long. Have you been productive? Sure, I solved this problem or that problem, but I hate that it took so long. I think it’s my patience to keep trying to solve a problem that my boss really noticed in the first couple of weeks. I keep to it often when others would just walk away. I guess the thing I often question is whether or not it was worth it.

There are some problems I will never solve. And sometimes it takes just as much courage to back off from the problem as to keep staring at it.

When I was a young child I used to be completely unable to walk away from a problem. I think this expressed itself as a kind of perfectionism. My mom used to tell me that I had to make a decision to leave my projects undone, because I would never be able to finish them if I continually searched out new problems to solve. But now, I’m starting to wonder if this was really perfectionism, or just an inability to back away.

It’s hard for someone who simply loves solving problems to get to that point of backing away. For me, every problem I encounter is like a puzzle. It’s a kind of game that I get to play, try to beat or win. My grandfather noticed that side of me, and often gave me brain teaser puzzles to solve. I loved it. A new puzzle made me giddy. But it wasn’t just my love of puzzles that made happy. I really liked having the opportunity to prove myself, to prove that I could solve the most difficult challenges. The same puzzle seeking served me well in Math and Science, but it also drove me to seek problems I found more interesting in Literature and the humanities. And yet, the whole drive to prove myself has often been dangerous. Sometimes I have put proving myself ahead of actually getting work done.

This whole fascination with puzzles is a huge part of who I am, but I think it also makes it difficult to relate to others. It’s not that I try to solve everybody else’s problems (or do I?). It’s more that I cannot keep from talking about the problems I have solved. I must seem incredibly narcissistic.  I hope it’s clear that I often just want to invite others to celebrate. I want others to see the beauty of a solution to a problem.

I guess that’s something to think about.

There is something really amazing about getting out of town on the weekend. After awhile I guess living in New York gets to me a little. It starts feeling like an inescapable monster that keeps me pinned in. Ok… that train of thought is about to turn all emo… Anyway, it was really good to get out for a day, see old friends and remember that life is still just really cool.

I’ve decided, however, that I need to use my time here better. I’ve spent too much time like a vegetable watching too much tv and online tv. I need to be reading, writing, and doing something constructive in my community. I’m tired of being mostly casual about all of that, I need discipline. Speaking of the lack of discipline, I just totally finished off a tub of icing. Then I started feeling guilty for just wanting something sweet.

I’ve also been thinking that maybe I should get out and see some fine arts stuff. You know, that whole opera thing being just a few stops from work.

words. words. words.

I find I have a great deal of difficulty labeling my faith. I guess I used to just not say anything at all, or go with the flow. Then I labeled myself as Christian… but tagged on a long apology about how that word is inadequate to express my faith. But I’m feeling convicted lately that such apologies are too divisive. I guess I’ve known it for awhile.

I think the first thing I noticed was the problem with “born again”. You see, while I could probably describe myself as “born again”, the term is often prefixed to the word “Christian,” and thus the expression of faith becomes, simultaneously, an expression of division in the body of Christ, an expression which expressly divides the body of Christ by differentiating itself from those Christians (whoever they are) who are not “born again.”  But I believe that there are no Christians who are not born again. And by saying that I’m including those who would not, if even for the reason just mentioned above label themselves as born again. In my view, the prefixed term is ludicrous. It’s as if I were to say, “I’m a Christian Christian,” Or “I’m a loving Christian,” or to bring it home, I am a “Reconciled  Christian.” It seems as if the moment I apply that label to myself it ceases to be true.

Now I wonder if even the apology which I use to differentiate myself from the simple term “Christian” faces the same problem. If I am a Christian of the kind whose faith cannot be summed up in the word, what about those who feel that the term is adequate?

I think it’s time for a new theology of names. I’m not sure what that entails, but maybe something like this. I can accept the shortcomings implied in a system of language, because Christ suffered for all of creation, all that is flawed, all that is broken. Perhaps he suffered also for the distractions of a semiotic system that constantly defers us, that constantly points us on to something other. Perhaps he was working on the cross to reconcile language too, to give us a language which might ultimately refer to Christ. (And I’m sure the Derrida’s of world are cringing.)

This does not mean that the label Christian is perfect, but it means that through Christ we have access to what the label is truly meant to signify, that Christ’s atoning sacrifice is at work in my life, and that I acknowledge Christ as my Lord and Savior.

Certainly others may find other meanings in the word, they may see the historical problems that have plagued the church, they may see all those who have also been flawed individuals like myself, who have done terrible sins, like myself, who are not able to be called saints, except and only in Christ, like myself. But maybe that is the power of Christianity. It is the power to be reconciled, which starts in Christ’s having suffered for all of us.

We cry out for redemption with one voice, and we proclaim the gospel with the same. That one voice is the living proof that the ministry of reconciliation which Christ has given us is true. Christ associated with the sinners, so should I, even more so, since I myself am a sinner. There is no above-the-rest kind of Christian, we are all humble sinners reconciled through Christ.

~David

Last night I continued writing on my recent theme of sin and community. But I wonder if there’s more I can say on that topic. Ryan pointed out that maybe this topic has something to say about the divisions of the church, so I think I’ll explore it a bit.

I find that I seem to have many different feelings on the current state of the church. I suppose my feelings shift around in various ways. But I think we must all cling to some kind of vision of the Church’s reconciliation. I’m not calling for an end to denominations, though I might eventually come to such a position, but I am sure that we as Christians must learn to work together for the spread of the gospel, that as long as we persist in cutting short our ministries because of disagreements, both minor and major, we ultimately fail to accomplish the work set before us.

So the question is, how does Christ’s suffering, both for other churches and for my own (though there is only one Church) unite us?

In the first instance, it means that Christ’s death covers the sins of my church and my neighbor’s. It means that whatever shortcomings cause us to stumble along the way have been covered by that atonement. I cannot say of my church nor of my neighbor’s “You are too sinful to be counted among Christ’s children.” For wherever Christ’s sacrifice has begun the process of reconciliation, I encounter not human failing but God’s power being “made perfect” in our weakness. Whereever brother’s and sisters meet in Christ’s name, Christ too is there. Therefore, just as to deny that God is at work in my brother, is to deny Christ,  likewise, to deny that Christ is at work in my brother’s congregation is to deny Christ.

But Christ is not only at work in my congregation, and in my neigbor’s, but also between our congregations. This means that the sins that we have committed against each other, that I have committed against my neighbor’s congregation or likewise his against mine, have also been covered by Christ’s sacrifice. If we relate to each other then, upon that common ground which is Christ himself, then we have Christ calling us together, taking upon himself the ways we persecute one another, the ways we hold each other back, the ways we feel persecuted, the ways we feel held back.

All this should change the way we view our fellow believers. For not only did Christ suffer for us all, he also taught us to lift up those who persecute us. At the same time, we learn to be weary lest we persecute others.

Finally, in any relationship on earth we are aware of the mis-steps and the times we, sadly willingly, harm one another. But this suffering Christ teaches us not only that we have been forgiven, He also teaches us to forgive, and then gives us the ministry of reconciliation. How do we respond? I think we lift one another up in prayer, realizing that what we pray for we are likely also called to be integral in meeting that need.

If we are to come together as one Church, it is through not only the shared sense of Christ having suffered and died to forgive us, but also through the Christ who has suffered and died to heal the divisions between us.

Thoughts?

So, I’ve been thinking. When we talk about Christ, I think too often we focus on Christ’s sacrifice for “us.” I’m not saying it’s wrong to understand what Christ has done for us, but I think we also need to think about the process of reconciliation at work in our brothers and sisters in Christ. Christ died for them too.

Perhaps it might be illustrative if I explain a parallel thought first. In the time of my recovery from being beaten and mugged, I had a profound understanding of Christ’s suffering on the cross. You see, up until that point I had understood Christ’s dying for our sins as Christ dying for the sins that I had committed. And I could in some way jump from that point to a basic sense of Christ having died for the sins that everyone else had committed as well. But it was not until I had understood what it means to have someone sin against me, that I began to understand that Christ not only died for the sins I had committed against others, but also for the sins that they had committed against me. In fact, I think Christ was somehow present during the very night when this took place absorbing the sin that was perpetrated against me.

Now, this thought may actually help us come together as a community. We often see the imperfections in others when we live together. And often we see the imperfections in the human relationships around us. But just as Christ died to set me free from sin, he also died to set everyone else free from sin. At the same time, God is at work within me to bring me into conformity with Christ, so too God is at work to bring my brothers and sisters into conformity. So, I think we may also be able to say that when brothers and sisters in Christ are in community with one another, that same pattern should help us to live together.

Finally, (and this is odd, since I didn’t even connect all this together when I started writing) Christ died for the sins against me, even those committed by my brothers. Doesn’t this also mean that Christ died to heal those relationships, to make us whole as a community, to bring us together?

I wonder if all this means that though our present experience of the relationships we have with our brothers and sisters may be imperfect, and full of sins and struggles, through Christ they are made perfect. Which is to say, because Christ is at work in each of us, and between each of us, defeating the sins that break us apart, we actually have access to a perfect relationship (through Christ – with one another). – Not that we are perfect, or our attempts at living together are perfect, but that through Christ we are united perfectly according to the will of Father, and through Christ, our selves, our family and our familial bonds are being perfected, and should provide us with a momentary glance forward to life in Glory.

Should we then search for a perfect relationship? Yes and No. For we begin the search only with Christ and having already found Christ we realize that we have already what we were looking for.

Thoughts?

This morning finished up a series of sermons at Park Slope Presbyterian Church on prayer. Today we looked at praise. I think it offers some helpful dialog in conjunction with what I was saying on my last post. Basically the other point to keep in mind is that we should be able to continually praise God, even when it seems like He is not answering our prayers. The pastor made the distinction between praise and gratitude. Perhaps I was thinking more of gratitude in my last post. But perhaps it was something slightly different still.

I wonder what it means to praise God, even if we do so from a standpoint of individuals who have been redeemed, seeing always the Christ who died for our sins, and at the same time the majesty of the greatness of God. (Aren’t these also the same?). Is there a unity of thought and intentions behind the process which leads us from thanking God for saving us to the point of praising God for being the great God that He is?

I wonder if we have access to a richness in the act of praise, even supposing that that praise may be distinct from our gratitude. I mean, when we praise God for who He is, once we have come to know his saving grace, then that act of praise is made rich to us. It is endowed with a meaning which unites us somehow to God. It seems almost to stem from that connection by which we are made God’s children, the very connection which is Christ.

I don’t know, maybe what I’m trying to say here is that once we know Christ our praise is forever altered, it is always tinged with the knowledge of what God did for us, and that knowledge, even when we are praising God in a way which is distinct from gratitude, still permeates our experience of praising God, and I think makes it better.

I guess a part of me wants to challenge the idea that we must always make a distinction between praise and gratitude, because of this. But maybe that is just me trying to challenge what I hear and defend my prior position. In the end, though, I think the pastor is right to make the distinction. Sometimes we can find thanking God for what he has done incredibly difficult when we are struggling with something, or facing something very difficult which can cloud us from looking back on His role in our lives. And it is necessary that we learn how to praise God for who God is in a way which does not depend on our having every need that we have at the present met. Indeed, having unmet needs, and being willing to share that fact, is one of the ways that we as Christians can unite together as the body of Christ. And through those needs, maybe I think we have a greater testimony of God’s power. (Though that may sound opposite of the truth).  Even as I write that I question it. I’m not entirely certain. But I do know that God’s power is shown when he sustains us while we still struggle.

It’s sometimes great how from time to time we realize how God works. We struggle for some time with one sin or another, and finally get the nerve to admit to a brother. Suddenly, God blesses us in that very moment. I think this is part of how Christian community is supposed to work. We are supposed to go to one another as the broken individuals we are, to support each other and hold each other accountable, which means giving each other advice for how to overcome the things we are struggling with. It changes everything. But it doesn’t work when we only half way do it. I cannot simply say to my brother that I am a sinner, I must be free and open and admit that sin. When I do, I find that God has prepared a way out.

In the sermons that I have heard over the last month, one point stands out above the others. Over and again, I hear how we as Christians cannot be a place where other’s see Christ at work unless we are able to admit that we need God not only on Sunday mornings when we feel all Godly and ready to sing with each other, we must also show others that we need and seek God when we are broken, and confused (breaking and confusing too). The thing is, if our worship never makes room to say that we have been healed, and yet still need that healing, then we lose track of God’s work, we lose track of what God is doing with us and with others, we lose out on the very thing that God gave us to speak most powerfully of this ministry that has been entrusted to us, that is, our testimony. A testimony is empty if it never admits our need, our want, our lack. We have to be there not just as saints, but as sinners whom God has touched. Without openness about our sin, we have no gospel. Our purpose is voided.

It’s not easy being honest, its not easy being what God has called us to be. And the moment we admit that we fail on both counts, we suddenly find God’s care, God’s joy in calling us back to the flock. And that joy both its cause and its working out in our lives is one of the most powerful things we can share with others.

I guess the real question is, how do we do it. I think it starts with finding friends that can hold us accountable. I think it starts with finding ways to show our faults to those we worship with. Finally this process ends in true worship. Worship that sees the power of God to enact change in our life and in the lives of the others we support.

So I guess it comes back to how we worship. Do we worship in spirit and truth? Or do we worship with clean hands and dirty hearts?
~David

Every now and then the trains run funny schedules and stop doing anything normal. This reaks havoc on simple plans like… getting groceries. “Havoc” may be too strong of a word. It’s more that I don’t like waiting twenty minutes to take an alternate train so I can get back two stations later to the line I intended to take. It’s hard not to complain, and then let complaining turn into its favorite ally, grumbling. So, I’ll try to hold back for now. Apparently they are doing some needed maintenance or some upgrades or something. I gues I can only hope that maybe they’ll start running the newer cars down the R-Line. If so, I might be tempted to just ride the R all the way to Times Square, instead of chaning to the Express one stop away.

Brooklyn is pretty cool. And for once, I think I’m starting to feel more comfortable walking home at night. It’s been slow, and I guess I never really forced myself to walk about at night for the past couple of years. But I’m starting to feel like its almost routine. Healing can take a long time, expecially when I never really noticed that I still needed it. It’s kind of like physical therapy. Maybe that’s why I ended up here, in Bay Ridge. It’s like a safe space where I can finally work on those those sore atrophied muscles. And yet, at the same time, its almost nothing like that all, since some part of what sets me free at night has to do with faith, has to do with discovering what it means to be truly reliant on God. I guess that’s what I’m starting to learn. I’m starting to learn that the kind of peace that comes when we trust fully that God will take care of us, through the rough passages and through the easy ones, is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever experienced. It’s one of the most powerful, one of most empowering experiences of God’s glory that I think we have access to.

I’m not sure what any of this has to do with Brooklyn subway lines not doing what I want every time I get on. Two things that are on my mind I guess.

I’m looking at my spam filter stats and I’m starting to wonder if its not really working correctly. So there may be some comments that have been lost on here.