Ruth

Ruth

Watching the video presentation about racism last week, (Andre Henry, “Seeing and Lamenting Whiteness”) led me to suggest a book that addresses, among other things, the matter of inclusion. It is Forgotten Books of the Bible[1] by Robert Williamson Jr.  In it Williamson considers the stories of Esther, Ecclesiastes, Ruth, Song of Songs, and Lamentations. 

His reflections on the Book of Ruth are most helpful as we think about racism and the inclusion of minorities. Do you remember Ruth’s story? Ruth is a Moabite, the daughter-in-law of Naomi. Naomi is an Israelite who goes to Moab with her husband and sons to avoid a famine. While there the sons marry, but over the course of their stay both the sons and the husband die. Naomi decides to return to her home in Bethlehem and Ruth determines to accompany her. The other daughter in law, Orpah, remains in Moab.

This story celebrates Ruth as the faithful daughter in law. She is obedient, familiar with the Israelite legal system, a hard worker, and does what is necessary to make herself appealing to Boaz, a rich kinsman. As the wife of Boaz she becomes part of the lineage of David. The Book of Ruth presents this young woman as an example of the perfect immigrant. She fully acclimates herself to the dominant culture of Israel as she cares for Naomi and provides a son for Boaz. Meanwhile Boaz is a metaphor for YHWH, spreading his wings of protection over her and Naomi so they will not be at risk.

And yet - despite her sterling reputation there is an undercurrent of racism and exclusion here. When the family was in Moab she was “Ruth;” when they return to Bethlehem she is forever referred to as “Ruth the Moabite.” She couldn’t lose the label of a foreigner. She also carries a hint of scandal by having sex with a drunken Boaz on the threshing floor. It is reminiscent of the daughters of Lot who slept with him while he was drunk in order to have children. (The first-born was named Moab, and became the ancestor of the Moabites. It’s a nasty backhanded footnote to Ruth’s life.)

With the encouragement of her mother-in-law she pursues inclusion at the cost of her gods and her identity. She eventually becomes a prize to be auctioned off in the marketplace, depending on wealthy Boaz to save her and Naomi from poverty.

The objective of the author of Ruth, according to Williamson is to persuade us of the loving acceptance and kindness of outsiders by the Bethlehem citizenry. They follow the lead of the most powerful man in the community, mimicking his protection of this beautiful young woman who is at risk from the advances of the other (immigrant?) workers.

So what’s wrong with this story? Well, if you favor the righteous Israelites over the pagan Moabites, nothing. But when we put ourselves in the story, who do we emulate? Do we, too, regard immigrants with suspicion? Actually Ruth makes it into the country with more ease than our Guatemalan neighbors make it into the United States. We are less likely to reject minorities if they “act white” in their language, dress, hair style, and manners. 

The choice in the Book of Ruth is to be completely assimilated into the dominant culture at the cost of all connections to one’s people and culture, or to separate from Israel entirely, going back to the land of one’s origins. There is no place in this story for one who wishes to dwell in the land of Israel while retaining a connection to her own people and culture, This choice is echoed in our own day when African Americans are accepted in the dominant culture only when they “act white,” while those who remain committed to their cultural heritage may be told to “go back to Africa.”[2]

We prefer they be well educated and fluent in English, unless we are white supremacists, and then we prefer them dead.  If they are poor they should remain out of sight, and if they are wealthy and well educated they probably got that way by some nefarious means. Certainly Ruth could never have achieved social acceptance without the support of Boaz. Immigrants and minorities should work hard but not take American jobs. And when the police say, “Please step out of the car,” minorities need to do it immediately. Submission becomes a healthy (if not lifesaving) trait for any outsider.

Williamson leaves us with a sensitivity to expectations, especially to our inclination to treat minorities as objects rather than persons. Is our purpose to use others for our own benefit, or to work together with them to build a stronger, safer community? Do we expect dialogue or discussion? Dialogue can be contrasted with “discussion,” a word whose roots mean “to break apart.” Discussions are conversations where people hold onto and defend their differences. The hope is that the clash of opinions will illuminate productive pathways for action and insight. Yet in practice, discussion often devolves into rigid debate, where people view one another as positions to agree with or refute, not as partners in a vital, living relationship. Such exchanges represent a series of one-way streets, and the end results are often polarized arguments where people withhold vital information and shut down creative options.[3]Dialogue encourages us to work together for the best, and to keep caring for each other. Let’s continue to choose dialogue over discussion as we move forward

Michael Sayler

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[1] Williamson, Robert Jr. The forgotten books of the Bible. 2018, Fortress Press, Minneapolis, pp. 33-68.

[2] Williamson, p. 62

[3] Issacs, Dialogic leadership, 1999.

Waves and Culture

Waves and Culture

Frequently the events of the day cause my faith to sputter. My beliefs and my values clash with those of others in society. Someone once pointed out, “We live in a culture like a fish lives in the sea. We’re blissfully unaware of our surroundings.” But right now everyone is highly aware of their surroundings, and we are not very happy with them.

We are quarantined. I think, “I didn’t volunteer for wearing a mask, confinement at home, tracking the deaths of over 50,000 people, or wondering if there will be a repeat performance of Covid-19 six months from now.” Perhaps it has to do with my immersion in what is going on around me. Anxiety pervades our country; people are tired of being cooped up at home, many unable to work, restaurants closed, no amateur or professional sports, church on zoom (much better than no church at all). And that doesn’t touch on the tremendous challenges faced by critical care hospital and nursing home workers, nor the patients they serve.

I can imagine culture in the form of a landing net on a WWII troop carrier. Lay the net flat on the ground. Stand in one of the open squares. Let the square define a culture of which you are a part and to some extent you understand. 

It could be Western or Asian culture. Many people in each of these societies share broadly similar histories and lifestyles. It could be Buddhist or Palestinian or Native American. It could be Black or Hispanic. It could be one of several geographical US cultures. Numerous maps and charts have been designed in an effort to portray regional similarities and differences. 

It is when you step into a different part of the net that difficulties can arise. I. could move from the Left Coast to another area. I was raised near Detroit and have vacationed frequently in Wisconsin. I lived in Chicago and attended seminary there. Later our family moved to Cleveland. I could be comfortable in Yankeedom without much effort. 

Yet I know from experience I would be woefully unaware of many linguistic and culinary customs in Greater Appalachia. I might also encounter a communal suspicion about my reasons for being there. We once took a church youth group from Cleveland to work on a mission project in Kentucky, and we got lost near Harlan. I decided to ask for directions at a small log cabin store on a dirt road. When we walked in the door we noticed large animal traps, high caliber guns, and double compound bows. They were  hanging behind the counter, which was stacked with ammunition. The proprietor asked in a slow drawl, “And just what are you boys doin’ here?” At the moment I wondered that myself.

But truthfully I could experience the same disquiet at home, be just as culturally adrift here on the Left Coast. If I met someone who had a marijuana enterprise (those businesses are prolific in Oregon) my personal values would be challenged immediately. At one point in my past that would not have been true, but my life has changed. Now I might be friendly toward that person, but I doubt we could ever agree on what constitutes a moral occupation or become close companions.

I share a similar discomfort in the company of some who are either extremely wealthy or dreadfully poverty-stricken. I remember having breakfast in a hotel dining room with an affluent parishioner.  He had invited me and we had – I’m serious -  two forks apiece and real linen napkins. After an hour I asked him if he wanted me to go check the parking meter on his car. I said, “I don’t want you to get a ticket.”

He said, “Parking tickets are only $15.00. I’d never worry about that.” I thought, well, I would. I was also hoping he wouldn’t expect me to pay for breakfast. 

Likewise I have frequently attempted in the course of my pastoral ministry to offer support to poor or homeless individuals. Sometimes I have done well, at others not so much. I have often felt ill-equipped to decide whether a person with no resources should receive money from the church, or out of my emotional league to care about that person deeply without judging them or seeing them as a recurring burden. At times it has been gratifying to offer help and encouragement. Likewise it has been frustrating when I’ve felt like I was being manipulated.

The question I struggle with here is how my faith in Christ can guide me through the several encounters I have with others when my beliefs and values are diametrically opposed to theirs.[1] Right now I straddle the ropes of the landing net that divide American Baptists and progressive Quakers. It’s easy for me to take part in both of those worlds. We regularly attend a church connected with one or the other denomination. But I’m adrift with the religious reasoning of right-wing anarchists and narcissistic anti-immigration bureaucrats. I’m especially uncomfortable with self-proclaimed “Christian evangelicals” who are attempting to build a white authoritarian society, or with politicians whose goal is to provide more and more profit for large businesses. I may exist in the same geographical space with them, but we are several times removed when it comes to our values.

I believe deeply in the peaceful resolution of conflict, fair legal treatment of minorities, the welcoming of immigrants, and government provision of adequate food, housing and medical treatment for those with negligible income. For me those are inarguable Biblical values. Where does it leave a person trying to be faithful when Christ’s salvation is intended to encompass the entire world[2]- the whole net, if you will - and yet you can’t relate to some of the people in your own cultural vicinity? It challenges me. But I’m somewhat reassured knowing this was the plight of the first followers of Jesus.

Ultimately,” or so H. Richard Niebuhr wrote as early as 1929, “the problem of church and world involves us in a paradox; unless the church accommodates itself to the world, it becomes sterile inwardly and outwardly; unless it transcends the world, it becomes indistinguishable from the world and loses its effectiveness no less surely.” ^[3]

Niebuhr has been roundly criticized over the past 90 years for his inability to cover all the theological bases that deal with Christ and culture. But I can resonate with him. How does one prevent inward and outward sterility of faith when the church clashes with the world? What I have been taught, and what I have frequently taught others, is that God is constantly present, caring for us, loving us, suffering with us when necessary. Niebuhr went on to state, 

The rhythm of approach and withdrawal need not be like the swinging of the pendulum, mere repetition without progress; it may be more like the rhythm of the waves that wash upon the beach; each succeeding wave advances a little farther into the world with its cleansing gospel before that gospel becomes sullied with the earth.[4]

The world is a big place, and its beach is expansive. To keep one’s own faith unsullied in the midst of it we begin by inviting those waves to wash over us, individually and communally. Granted it is a much smaller beach than the one possessed by the world, but the waves wash over us nonetheless. The gospel is still a cleansing gospel.

Part of our evidence for God’s constant presence is the existence of a beautiful earth, the love of others, and our love for them. But it is more than that. Our relationship is initiated by God and it calls for a response, in this case having the conviction that God’s Spirit is always with us. The response is to be “joyful in hope, patient in affliction and faithful in prayer.”[5] The strength of the “cleansing gospel waves” is in the hope they contain. Hope in Christ is much more than an idyllic dream. It is the certainty of well-being that arises unbidden within us when everything is out of sorts. It is the assurance framed by the teachings and actions of Jesus, by the confessions and deeds of the saints. Or as the Apostle Paul put it, “Hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.”[6]

Michael Sayler

April, 2020

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[1] With thanks ti Howard Macy and Johan Maurer

[2] John 3:17 NIV

^[3] Diefenthaler, Jon. The paradox of the church and the world. Selected writings of H. Richard Niebuhr. 2015, Kindle Edition.

[4] Ibid

[5] Romans 12:12

[6] Romans 5:5 NIV

Remembering Jacob Bayer

In his collection of short stories, The Pacific, Mark Helprin dutifully records the experiences in 1913 of Jacob Bayer who, while walking, came upon the town of Koidanyev in White Russia, where he was denied entry by sentries on the road. They explained to him that no travelers were permitted because first if all, Koidanyev was already overpopulated and second of all, visitors only wanted to enter so they could take away some of the wealth of the current residents (since all of the current residents were extremely wealthy.) Jacob denied wanting or needing any wealth and was finally allowed entry on the condition that when he departed he would give half to the sentries of anything he took with him.

Upon arrival in Koidanyev he found the sentries had spoken truthfully. The town was overflowing with rich people who had indoor plumbing, electric lights, English clothing and German typewriters. They did not study, nor did they have active rabbis, nor did they have Torah or Talmud, all of which they had left behind. Instead they were enamored with, no, infatuated with, no, truly worshipped, the telephone. The telephone had made them wealthy beyond measure and now the idea of it and the subject of it consumed their activities and their conversations. Everyone constantly talked on the telephone. The telephone had, in fact, been willingly invited to usurp the position of God.

Halprin’s story is reminiscent of Israel in the Sinai, who when Moses absented himself on the mountain for 40 days to receive God’s commandments, became anxious, forgot about God leading them out of Egypt, and constructed their own god out of precious metal and jewelry, a golden idol that they proceeded to worship in place of God. They denied making it. “We threw in our gold and out popped this calf.”

Later Israel was on the verge of entering Canaan, a most fertile land, where Moses feared they would be tempted to forget the covenant and believe they could manage, without YHWH, on their own. In their anxiety, having been stranded in the desert without food or water, they had already made a glistening idol. As Walter Brueggemann points out, “’God-making,’ amid anxiety is a standard human procedure.”[1]

What anxiety could have prompted the people of Koidanyev to make a god out of telephones? Perhaps they had concluded that the goal of life is to acquire and acquire.[2] If the telephone is, indeed, the sole vehicle for such acquisition, then it should indeed be worshipped. Why worship a God you can neither see nor remember when a tangible god is always present?

Having written Jacob Bayer and the Telephone in 2004, one wonders if Helprin was drawing a parallel between the telephone and the internet. The people of Koidanyev imagined, “It will be possible for a child to be born in his home, delivered by a doctor telephoning from Burma or Buffalo, for him to have books read to him on the telephone, friends by telephone, and to have all his clothing and food brought to him … In hundreds of years, perhaps, telephones may not even need wires.”[3]

But it hasn’t taken a hundred years. And so here we are. Yet we are not accumulating more like the citizens of Koidanyev. We are counting not our gains, but our losses.

We are losing lives. Thousands of people are dying daily for lack of adequate medical care and the absence of testing and a vaccine for Covid-19. We suppose if we are fortunate either a cure or a serum may be ready in two years. 

We are losing our financial system. Most retail stores and restaurants are closed if not out of business, and groceries are only employing surrogate shoppers to gather food from store shelves and deliver it to our car or our doorstep. The economy is teetering on the edge. Oil is valued today at $-35.00 per barrel. Over fifteen million people in our country are out of work and are receiving minimal, if any, financial support. Mortgages and rent are going unpaid, and one suspects the banks are waiting in the wings to seize delinquent properties that they can resell at a profit when the financial tides turn.  

We are losing land. While it has no apparent connection to this virus, we are losing the battle with climate change. Ocean reefs are dying. The sea level is rising. Storms occur that are more ferocious than before. Waves are lapping over the Outer Banks and the islands of the Caribbean and the low places of the South Pacific. No great efforts are being made to slow the advance.

We are losing diversity for the sake of a cleansed culture. Immigrants are being denied entrance to the country. It is said by the government and by a racist advisor in the current administration, who lives in the fetid bowels of the White House, that they import crime and carry disease and take away jobs. We may make an exception for “necessary workers” who can be employed for minimum wages. It is a Nazi’s dream.

Jacob Bayer asked the people of Koidanyev, “Where are the children?” He received no answer. But we know where many of our children are. They are living in poverty with no food and often no shelter. And we know where some of the immigrant children are. We are keeping them locked up, out of the reach of social services or medical care. Or we have deported them with no supervising adults. We are losing our children.

Two topics of conversation prevail. One is how to maintain social distance that will minimize viral contamination. The other (usually at odds with the first) is about when we can forgo isolation and quarantine and get back to the urgent task of buying and selling, experiencing profit and loss, making certain that people who don’t have much can continue supplying the daily needs of those who believe they require much. Some government leaders have suggested that we should sacrifice the elderly and the weak to return to economic normalcy. There are, after all, larger barns to build. But we need to return to the holy business of commerce.

One of my vivid memories from the days after 9/11 comes from walking down the streets of Colorado Springs and noticing that people, myself included, were gathered on the sidewalk, on street corners, in front of televisions seen through the windows of sports bars, beside parked cars, all strangers to each other but magnetically drawn, absorbing in silence a shared grief and shock and anxiety. We are herd animals, wanting to gather in the face of not knowing what is happening or what tomorrow will bring.

Communal gathering has been taken away, despite the loud protests of a distinctly small minority. It has even been denied to the practice of worship. Most churches, with the exception of some led by rather angry anti-isolationist pastors, have been divested of the ability to observe the ritual and tradition of communal prayer and encouragement. That doesn’t mean social distancing is bad. It simply means it has been seen as a necessary choice.

But perhaps the greatest loss isn’t gathering with strangers, but meeting with friends and loved ones. Some because they have died. Others because they are ill. And still others because physical interactions have been determined out of bounds.  It is a grievous loss when relationships are deemed too dangerous to maintain. 

But we haven’t lost the internet. We simply have been reduced to depending on it. Who could have imagined?

When Jacob Bayer attempted to persuade the populace of Koidanyev that the telephone was not God, and that the pulse of life was found in the covenant and not in shimmering wires, he was summarily scolded, belittled, and escorted out of town (having acquired, not surprisingly, nothing during his stay). But before he departed the mantle of prophecy fell on him, and while he couldn’t discern details, he predicted phones would disappear and that Koidanyev would be reduced to smoke, rubble, and ashes in the near future. People heatedly cried out that this was impossible. But three years later the city would be destroyed in a world war.

Unimaginable to them at the time. Nor can we imagine the disappearance of the internet. What would happen (not to sound negative) if we lost it? I have no idea whether or when it could happen. I can imagine how. Electric power diminishes because managing workers die. Hackers overwhelm the system and make it unusable. Satellites, for one reason or another, drift out of orbit. Hunger riots drive us from our homes. If the internet is where our treasure is, what if the treasure disappears? And are our assumptions so very different from Koidanyev’s after all?

We  walk a tightrope not between faith and despair, but between faith and problem solving. Moses’ admonition upon entry to the Promised Land wasn’t to ignore the potential prosperity of Canaan, but to remember all that YHWH had done. Not to overlook opportunities to avoid personal and communal poverty, but to recall the exodus from slavery, the crossing of the sea, and the journey through the desert, because YHWH had accomplished these things in their lives. Likewise we are blessed, and also capable of addressing illness and high water and relational poverty. We are invited to maintain an attitude of plenty in the midst of supposed scarcity, and memory in the midst of forgetfulness.

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[1] Brueggemann, Walter. Sabbath as resistance. P. 35.

[2] Ibid, 38.

[3] Helprin, Mark. The Pacific. P.288

Poetic Tales

I was seldom taken by poetic tales like those by Chaucer, nor able to commit them to memory

with the exception of that tail by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

that belonged to the dog who trots freely in the street 

and has his own dog’s life to live and to think about,

and I decided to follow it past puddles and babies

cats and cigars

poolrooms and policemen into poems, and dream of painting  them.

I would paint LeRoi Jones’ kneeling girl praying, talking into her own clasped hands,  

and Elizabeth Bishop’s fisherman mending his nets,

but if I tried to paint William Blake’s The Little Black Boy I would feel presumptuous, an intruder.

I would dream a painting of Lewis Carroll’s Jaberwocky with its eyes of flame, and I would paint Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s ancient mariner with the albatross about his neck, and Emily Dickinson’s clown who ponders the experiment of green as if it were his own.

I would paint Rita Dove’s empty chair behind the garage, vacant because the children awoke, and Alex Dugan’s house, where nothing is plumb, level or square. And I would paint J. Alfred Prufrock’s love song, the room where women come and go talking of Michelangelo, and if I were sufficiently upbeat I would attempt to paint T.S. Eliot’s place where there is no end of the voiceless wailing or to the withering of withered flowers (doubtless a fall landscape).

I would paint Sylvia Plath’s rage against the Nazis, her Lady Lazarus saying,”A cake of soap, a wedding ring, a gold filling. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair and I eat men like air.” She puts me on a pacifist footing (although I’m always there); now give me a rifle and I’ll paint Henry Reed’s antiwar Naming the Parts, with directional arrows for the safety catch, bolt, and breach, surrounded by flowers and tree branches and blossoms.

Then I would resurface from withering and war to paint Casey, proud, defiant, smiling, haughty - striking out.

I would paint Gerard Manley Hopkin’s dappled things and couple-colored skies and rose moles all in stipple upon trout that swim, abstract, with no idea where to begin.

Finally I would paint James Weldon Johnson’s God (likely not His face) rolling the light around in his hands until he made the sun, but I would skip Keats’ death-saturated odes and sonnets;  instead I’d paint Galway Kinnell’s St Francis blessing the creased forehead of the sow. 

I think A.A. Milne’s Happiness will be joyful to paint - a boy in great big waterproof boots and a great big waterproof Mackintosh and a great big waterproof hat who tells us, “And that is that.

And it is.

Listening and Loving

October 8 / March 23

Dear Gary,

Thank you for getting together with me this past week. You have a deep knowledge of Frank Laubach's history as a missionary and a teacher. I wasn't aware he initiated a system for teaching English as a Second Language that is still in use today. 

Knowing more about him encourages me to keep following the pattern I've been using. Bernard of Clairvaux is cited next by Richard Foster in Devotional Classics. We find that the thinking of believers like Laubach and Clairvaux, mystics or not, intersects. Clairvaux is concerned with the question “Why should God be loved?” He categorizes love in four degrees: love of ourselves, love of God for self’s sake, love of God for God’s sake, and love of self for God’s sake. It isn’t as circuitous as it sounds. Each is founded on Clairvaux’ contention that all love comes from God, and as we grow spiritually we begin to love God because God loves us. Religious leaders who teach that we worship God for our own sake are in the same camp as the prosperity gospel preachers. Little wonder that Clairvaux relegates them to the lowest level of loving God.

The fourth degree of love finds commonality with Laubach. For Clairvaux it is being completely subsumed in God with total focus. “This perfect love of God with our heart, soul, mind, and strength will not happen until we are no longer compelled to think about ourselves … Only then can the soul attend to God completely." 

Laubach sees the challenge this way: “One question now to be put to the test is this: Can we have that contact with God all the time? All the time awake, fall asleep in His arms, and awaken in His presence, can we attain that? Can we do His will all the time? Can we think His thoughts all the time?” Both conclude, “Probably not.” And while Laubach insists on attempting this act of dual consciousness he says it is more attainable to look “toward God (for one) entire hour, waiting for his leadership all through the hour and trying hard to do every tiny thing exactly as God wishes it done, as perfectly as possible.”

While I don’t come close to focusing on God for an entire hour, let alone continually, I have become more aware of times when I have prayed for the answer to a problem or guidance in a dilemma and perceived an answer before I’ve completed the sentence. My response varies. Sometimes it is, “Why didn’t I think of that?” Or, “I believe I can do that.” Or, “Think of another solution. That isn’t at all what I had in mind; in fact it’s just the opposite.” When I respond that way I don’t hear God scolding or bugging me. In fact I don’t hear much of anything on the subject unless I bring it up again.

So What's a Mystic, Anyway?

Sept 23 / March 15 1930

On reflection I think labeling Laubach as a Quaker is a misnomer. While he might be that, it seems more appropriate to let him label himself: a mystic. My supplemental reading of the writings of early Christians focused this week - only because it was next in the book: Foster, Richard, Devotional Classics - on John of the Cross. John was persuaded that one’s spiritual journey must, at some point, be interrupted by God so that the sins of false humility, for example, can be purged from the soul. Such purification occurs as God isolates one from all spiritual pleasure. 

(I think I have this right. An excellent resource is The Hidden Tradition of Christian Mysticism by Carl McColman available at patheos.com) In this context McColman states, “Although there have been mystics in every century of the Christian era, the sad reality is that, because of the political nature of the institutional church, many mystics have been persecuted, some even killed, and others learned to camouflage their wisdom teachings in carefully worded books and poems that appeared non-threatening to the religious authorities.” John of the Cross was persecuted and imprisoned for his teachings, and it was his belief that such a “dark night of the soul” was God’s prescription for his spiritual maturity.

Laubach fits the pattern of Christian mysticism. The term can be broadly or closely defined; Justin Taylor (The Gospel Coalition) enumerates several important elements in the lives of mystics:

1. The encounter with God is experiential. The goal is participation with God, not merely acquiring additional knowledge about him.
2. The encounter is direct; the goal is not to merely to know more about God, but to know God himself.
3. The knowledge sought is nonabstract: to learn or see something that is particular, concrete, and real.
4. The encounter or knowledge is to be unmediated. Yes, Scripture and Christ may play a role, but the point is to be united to God himself with no intermediaries—no distance and no distractions.
5. Finally, the goal of all of this knowledge is love.

Laubach’s approach to meditation and prayer fits with what is common to mysticism as described above. Moreover his understanding of spiritual growth is comparable to that of John of the Cross:

“Almost it seems to me now that the very Bible cannot be read as a substitute for meeting God soul to soul and face to face. And yet, how was this new closeness achieved? Ah, I know now that it was by cutting the very heart of my heart and by suffering. Somebody was telling me this week that nobody can make a violin speak the last depths of human longing until that soul has been made tender by some great anguish. I do not say it is the only way to the heart of God, but I must witness that it has opened an inner shrine for me which I never entered before.” 

I try to recall times of great anguish. In doing so I remember days of grief, and days of deep concern for the safety of my children, and the pain I’ve felt when I empathized with the pain being experienced by my parishioners. Was my soul made more tender because of those times? I really don’t know. Was I drawn closer to God? Perhaps. In the moment I often truly wondered about God’s presence. In retrospect I was reassured of it. However I am still not led to pray for anguish and suffering. It sounds disturbingly uncomfortable. I will have to be more deeply persuaded than I am now that it will be spiritually profitable in the long run, or truly in keeping with the will of God. The barrier, as I see it, is not having the desire of my heart being the knowledge and following of God’s will. Laubach is way ahead of me there.

Light of Christ

Sept 16 / March 9

Dear Gary,

I’ve arrived at what I believe is Laubach’s longest letter yet, the March 9 entry he calls Boundless Joy, Broken Loose. Here he sets forth his objectives for spiritual growth: 1. I must pursue this voyage of discovery in quest of God's will. I must experiment with intercessory prayer. I must confront these Moros with divine love. 

His approach grows out of his conviction that “I do not have to wait until some future time for the glorious hour. I need not sing, “Oh that will be glory for me -” and wait for any grave. This hour can be heaven. 

I concluded, All right. I can embrace at least part of this. I can pursue a discovery of God’s will. I can experiment with intercessory prayer. (I must post a disclaimer here. I do not pray, or if I do it is infrequent. I am introverted to the core and avoid conversations with others, even God. My door mat should read, “Go Away.” You may think this strange for someone whose life work has been the pastorate, but I survived.) With the last goal, confronting the Moros with divine love, I have little connection. I am totally ignorant of the Moros.

Laubach, perhaps through his familiarity with modern science, conceives of God’s actions with humanity as experiments, trying to see what can be accomplished by dealing with individuals. “For do you not see that God is trying experiments with human lives. That is why there are so many of them. He has one billion seven hundred million experiments going on around the world at this moment. And His question is, “How far will this man and that woman allow me to carry this hour?”

 Laubach doesn’t shy from the possibilities. Nor is he one to avoid superlatives. He prays, “God, how wonderful dost Thou wish this hour alone with Thee to be? Any hour for any body can be as rich as God! Fill my mind with Thy mind to the last crevice. Catch me up in Thine arms and make this hour as terribly glorious as any human being ever lived, if Thou wilt.” And I thought, Why not? If he and God can experiment, then so can I. And church begins in 45 minutes. What better hour to open myself to a deeper understanding of God’s will? I even wrote out a list of people for intercessory prayer so I wouldn’t have to extemporize that part of it. 

And so it was during this so-called ‘experiment’ that my pastor blind-sided me. The message was founded on the values of our congregation, specifically the presence of Jesus. Her argument, and I suppose every sermon is intended to be a persuasive argument, is that Jesus (or God or the Spirit, but she ignored the theological confusion introduced by the Trinity) is always with us, and that the Light of Christ is present in every person, waiting to be discovered and used for good. 

Long ago I rejected the physical picture in Genesis of a flat earth with a domelike structure above it to hold back the waters.  What I’ve continued to firmly embrace is the spatial reality of God existing outside myself, refusing to “enter” me (or my heart) until I voiced an invitation, or professed Jesus as my Lord and Savior, or confessed my sins, or was baptized by immersion - a litany of restrictions posed by different churches I’ve attended. These hurdles had to be cleared with the deepest possible sincerity. No equivocating. No doubting. At that point of success Jesus’ presence would be assured at least in the short term. 

Difficulty arises if one doesn’t believe in eternal security, also known as "once saved, always saved.” From this perspective a Christian cannot fall from grace and be consigned to hell. Such an issue is the playground of Arminianism, which asserts that a fall from grace is possible. I only mention this in passing.But here, from my pastor, comes the disruptive teaching that the light of Christ is present in every person. What one’s response should be to that presence I’m not certain, but it certainly circumvents the church’s insistence that it alone holds the keys to the kingdom. My suspicion is growing that Laubach is a Quaker.

In a Box with God

September 7 / March 1

Dear Gary,

Francis de Sales raises the question of what constitutes true devotion. For him it is a way of living. He says we put a personal spin on our understanding of it, often seeing ourselves as devoted to God because we fast or pray or give to the poor. The contradiction comes when after fasting we have hatred in our hearts; after prayer utter hateful words; after acting charitably we refuse to forgive others. “Hence anyone who does not observe all God’s commandments cannot be held to be either good or devout.”

Frank Laubach, at least at this point, doesn’t use the word “devout.” Yet he is no less focused than de Sales. de Sales is committed to reaching “the place where I wholly, with utter honesty, resolved and then re-resolved that I would find God’s will, and I would do that will though every fibre in me said no, and I would win the battle in my thoughts.” He says, “It is a will act. I compel my mind to open straight out toward God. I wait and listen with determined sensitiveness. I fix my attention there, and sometimes it requires a long time early in the morning to attain that mental state.”

For both Laubach and de Sales the way to life with God is a path of “humble obedience. Laubach might say, “I have sought your face with all my heart; be gracious to me according to your promise.” - Psalm 119:58  

de Sales might reword Proverbs 24:14 to say, “Know also that devotion is like honey for you: If you find it, there is a future hope for you, and your hope will not be cut off.” -Proverbs 24:14

Both struggle to know and do the will of God. For me a huge challenge is discerning the presence of God. My wife Margie reminded me of the Johari window, a square divided into quadrants. Each represents our degree of self knowledge/awareness:

1. what is known by the person about him/herself and is also known by others - open area, open self, free area, free self, or 'the arena'
2. what is unknown by the person about him/herself but which others know - blind area, blind self, or 'blindspot'
3. what the person knows about him/herself that others do not know - hidden area, hidden self, avoided area, avoided self or 'facade'
4. what is unknown by the person about him/herself and is also unknown by others - unknown area or unknown self

Her description left me thinking not so much about my life in general, but about my relationships with certain other people. Which category would my son and I be in, or I and my next door neighbor, or for that matter, my best friend? And in the context of this discussion, in which box do God and I find ourselves? I think it is category number one: what is known by the person about him/herself and is also known by others - open area, open self, free area, free self, or 'the arena.’ My assumption is that while I don’t know everything about God, still God knows everything about me, and I know some things about myself.

That causes our relationship to spill over into category number two: “what is unknown by me about myself but which God knows - blind area, blind self, or ‘blindspot.’ That category is reduced in size whenever I sense God’s guidance. I recently told God there was just too much in my life to be forgiven, and God replied that Jesus forgave Peter for everything. I argued that this was a long time ago. God’s response was that "My forgiveness is always now." It reminded me of the question, “When is eternity?” And the answer was, “It is always the next moment.”

I think the last two categories don’t apply. I can hide nothing from God. There is nothing I don’t know about myself that God doesn’t know. So, do I really sense God’s presence? Here I can relate to Laubach. “I do not claim success even for a day yet, in my mind, not complete success all day but some days are close to success, and every day is tingling with the joy of a glorious discovery. That thing is eternal.”

Pastor Mike

Mindfulness

Sep 2 / Feb 9

Dear Gary,

Frank Laubach says,” I feel sure now that our thoughts flow around the world even when we do not express them. So I mean to make a contribution with my thoughts every hour. I am making a strenuous effort of will to concentrate upon people, those in my presence and those out of sight in order to send to them my thoughts of Christ. I propose to think as hard of God as I can when in crowds, in the confidence that really dynamic thought will influence many others.”

Why am I initially so dismissive of Frank? When I read this the first thing that came to mind was the appearance of Yuri Geller on TV. He was, and I suppose still is, famous for performing spoon bending, telepathy, and psychokinesis. He was variously labeled a fake or a genius, but ultimately he was a performer. 

I don’t accuse Laubach of being either of those. I see him as a committed Christian whose interest lies in gaining a deeper relationship with God. At this point he views telepathy as a route to spiritual growth: “Perhaps you have begun to suspect what tremendous dynamite lies hidden in the idea. If the Christian people, the really Christian people of the world began to comprehend the power of thought, they could use it as a lever to lift the world! If people realize that telepathy is a fact …”  

I’ve dabbled in this in the past. I don’t know if I would call it experimenting. I would, however, attempt to read other people’s minds. My purpose, I confess, was usually to try and discover what they were really thinking. And I wondered if I could influence their thoughts. Perhaps influence them to say or do certain things. I have even tried it on inanimate objects. The closest I’ve ever come to success was learning that if I stared at something long enough - a ball in the yard or the bathtub faucet - it would slowly begin to drift to the right. This would continue until I blinked, at which point it would assume it’s former position and remain still.

Laubach isn’t into thought control or telekinesis, but persuading people of the reality and goodness of God. HIs hope is that as people become adept at this skill Christians will “keep their thoughts right, to make them helpful every hour from morning to night. We may yet attempt to make the world over by the sheer force of good thoughts!” He has high ideals. We have surely tried to make the world over with war, violence, immigrant suppression, promiscuity, and financial superiority. Whether this approach of thinking continually has merit, I’m not sure, but it is certainly more honorable than all the other things we keep attempting. At least spending one’s time thinking good thoughts trumps doing evil deeds, and I suspect we can’t do both at once.

Profits

Aug 31/Jan 29

Dear Gary

I confess I’m still stuck on Jan 29 with Laubach, somewhere between desire and cynicism. I’m envious of his stated ability to be continually led by God: “I seem to have to make sure of only one thing now, and every other thing “takes care of itself,” or I prefer to say what is more true, God takes care of all the rest. My part is to live this hour in continuous inner conversation with God and in perfect responsiveness to his will. To make this hour gloriously rich. This seems to be all I need think about.” 

I like the idea of being able to focus, to trust that God is constantly at work “willing for His good pleasure” in my life. If I could be that focused, that centered, and that trusting I believe my hours too would be more gloriously rich.

My cynicism comes from the actions and claims of numerous preachers, especially those active on the public speaking circuits and on television. The closest to home when we lived in Colorado Springs was evangelical pastor Ted Haggard from New Life Church, just down the road from us. He preached constantly against the evils of premarital sex, adultery, and gay marriage. Then he was caught in a gay sex scandal in 2006. It was a sad interruption of his successful ministry.

Jim Baker and his wife Tammy Faye were synonymous with ministerial success in the 1980’s. Some of my parishioners in Berwyn repeatedly travelled long distances to hear them speak, a habit that ended when Baker was accused of sexual abuse and fraud. In 1987, after Bakker resigned from his ministry, he was convicted of financial crimes and sentenced to 45 years in prison. He was paroled in 1996 and now revisits the airwaves with a prophetic voice about the apocalypse, selling overpriced freeze-dried food to his listeners so they can cope with the end times.

As an American Baptist I have often been accused of having close theological ties to every other Baptist church in the country, even Westboro Baptist Church founded by Fred Phelps. Westboro is a fundamentalist ministry that was, and still is, known for protesting the funerals of gay people and gay pride events. It is classified as a hate group by the Anti-Defamation League and the Southern Poverty Law Center. Phelps had a brush with the law in 1994 when he was convicted of disorderly conduct, and 1995, when he was convicted for assault and battery.

Some religious people - and these are just part of what’s in the barrel, are inclined to proclaim that their word is the word of God, no matter what they truly believe. I’m not saying Laubach falls into that camp, only that I’m wary in the presence of self-proclaimed prophets, or even those who say they have an open link to the Lord. Especially if I thought one of them was me. It always seemed presumptuous to say I was modeling myself after the notes in the Scofield Bible, unashamedly asserting God’s truth when I wrote or spoke. With few exceptions I have always believed that conclusion was up to others to make and if what I said happened to be prophetic the words would proceed on their own merit.

The defining difference, which I see no sign of in Laubach, is the profit motive. For me profit and prophet just don’t go together. What I do see in Laubach is a readiness to claim God’s guidance in all the “little things,” wondering where personal responsibility comes in.

Pastor Mike