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

A Broken Heart

August 25 / January 29

Dear Gary,

Laubach has truly bypassed me. By my calculations he has been working on this “experiment” for about two weeks compared to one for me. (or as I read his letters, he's been at it for over a year.) That’s probably the reason for my lack of success. He has finally arrived at this stage: 

“I feel simply carried along each hour, doing my part in a plan which is far beyond myself. This sense of cooperation with God in little things is what so astonishes me, for I never have felt it this way before. I need something, and turn round to find it waiting for me. I must work, to be sure, but there is God working along with me. … 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 confess my inability to keep up with him. I can maintain a continuous inner conversation for about ten minutes, then I get distracted. in that short time I often have a sense of God’s will, but I am certainly not perfectly responsive to it. I can get so far as asking for guidance in a certain matter. I even get an answer. But it always seems to be the answer I don’t want to hear. I try to talk God into suggesting something else and that’s when my companionable dialogue comes to a halt.

Jonathan Edwards would not, I think, be my first choice for a spiritual advisor. He seems a bit too willing to decide whether others are displaying Christian lives - and can expect eternal results because of their behavior. My thinking is that Edwards is frustrated by the fact that so many people have religious truth presented to them and show no change in their lives. His explanation, I think, is that those individuals have not been “affected” by God, and he names the affections that reside in persons who are truly religious. Those people are the chosen recipients of God's grace and salvation.

He lists several affections: fear (of God), hope, love, hatred (of sin), desire, joy, sorrow, gratitude, compassion, and zeal.  One of these stood out for me because our pastor’s message today focused on it. Edwards says, “Religious sorrow, mourning, and brokenness of heart are also frequently spoken of as a great part of true religion, a distinguishing quality of the saints. ‘Blessed are they that mourn,’ said Jesus, ‘for they shall be comforted.’ It is also a pleasant and acceptable sacrifice to God: ‘The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.’”

The pastor presented the same “affection,” but in different terms. We are broken-hearted about the evil in the world because God’s heart is broken. It is the broken-heartedness we share with God that motivates us to not be idle in the face of sin, but to engage it, to confess our own contributions to it, to abandon cynicism and to adopt the new heart of life and engagement God offers us. We accept not for Edward’s emphasis, that we allow the affections to move us so that God won’t despise us. The pastor’s approach built on our desire to become more Christlike, which means being centered in sorrow for evil and sin.

- Pastor Mike

Discipleship

August 22/January 26

Dear Gary,

Dr. Laubach comes a long way in a short time. He says that he is feeling God in each movement, willing that God direct his fingers in typing, his steps as he walks, his words as he speaks, and his jaws as he eats. 

“It is exactly that “moment by moment,” every waking moment, surrender, responsiveness, obedience, sensitiveness, pliability, “lost in His love,” that I now have the mind-bent to explore with all my might. It means two burning passions: First, to be like Jesus. Second, to respond to God as a violin responds to the bow of the master.”

This is  beyond me, or as Lewis puts it, beyond my “self,” which is destined for death. He says,”Hand over the whole natural self, all the desires which you think innocent as well as the ones you think wicked - the whole outfit. I will give you a new self instead. In fact, I will give you Myself: my own will shall become yours.” I think from this perspective feeling God in each movement would qualify as innocent or good. It becomes a matter of trading in my self for Jesus’ self, an even exchange. I have no idea what He does with the old ones.

Dallas Willard, in The Cost of Nondiscipleship, argues that the early Christians were first and foremost disciples, already part of the Kingdom  of God. They are contrary to modern church members. “For at least several decades the churches of the Western world have not made discipleship a condition of being a Christian. … (They) do not require following Christ in his example, spirit, and teachings as a condition of membership. Churches are filled with “undiscipled disciples.”

I consider myself to have been an undisciplined disciple when I first arrived at seminary. It took me some time to realize I had chosen a religious profession but hadn’t made a personal commitment to follow Christ. In the years that followed I made many deep commitments, but I know I often confused my commitments to Christ with commitments to the church. The latter were always more easily accomplished. At the same time the difference between the two was noticeable to me in the attitudes of my parishioners. They often lacked, at least outwardly, much semblance of commitment to Jesus as Lord. As Willard points out, we are more prone to make converts, not disciples, and baptize them into church membership, not the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

I misunderstood Willard at first. I thought he was presenting discipleship and nondiscipleship as a dichotomy. Either you are or you aren’t, you have it or you don’t. I've been exposed to this sort of thinking many times in the past.. Either you’re a Christian or not; either you’ve accepted Him or you haven’t. For me the most frequent negative about this approach is the unsettled feeling that comes in our recurring separations from God. We think maybe we didn’t make a faith decision; maybe my initial commitment wasn’t strong enough. Maybe it didn’t take.

But Willard corrects that thinking. Decisions and commitments are recurring events, and each one takes us deeper into a life of faith. “In the heart of the disciple there is a desire, and there is decision or settled intent. The disciple of Christ desires above all else to be like him … The disciple is one who, intent upon becoming Christlike and so dwelling in his “faith and practice,”  systematically and progressively rearranges his affairs to that end.”

- Pastor Mike

Frank Laubach

Dear Gary,

You recently persuaded me as a friend (and your friendship is now in question), that I would find  Letters by a Modern Mystic both beneficial and growth-inducing. I say your friendship is in question because in my naiveté I assumed you meant I would find it a good read, not realizing you expected me to take the Letters to heart and use them as a guide to greater spiritual maturity. 

As you mentioned, the Letters were written by Frank Laubach during his missionary service in the Philippines during the 1930’s.  At the outset (January 3) he states his goal thus: “As for me I resolved that I would succeed better this year with my experiment of filling every minute full of the thought of God than I succeeded last year.” 

I can identify with his goal to the extent this has often been my desire as well, but it has always ended as a fantasy rather than an experiment. One of the challenges I face daily is my inclination to grandiose thinking. In the past I’ve decided that instead of studying a few Bible verses I’ll study all of them. I’ve set my sights not on working out once a week for a month, but every day for a year. I won’t construct a workbench, I’ll organize a whole shop and build cabinets for it. None of these have come to pass.  And I have determined in the past to fill all my waking moments with the presence of God. This one is still up for debate.

On some occasions I’ve found what I assumed to be God’s thoughts, or voice, speaking to me sotto voco, particularly in times of prayer. I have even considered that it was God’s words that found their way onto a sermon manuscript; after a time of study I would begin writing, struggling at first, but then feeling the words flow effortlessly onto the page I was typing. In retrospect I have most often attributed this to being focused on the sermon to the exclusion of any distractions, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe it really was God speaking. In addition there have been times when I determined to focus continually on God and God’s presence. My decision to do so would come on the heels of what I’d believed to be an internal dialogue with God, but I would quickly set my resolve aside. I have always been easily distracted from movies, sermons, and God, and thus irregular in prayer. It’s just hard for me to focus.

Laubach further defines his purpose: ”But this year I have started out trying to live all my waking moments in conscious listening to the inner voice, asking without ceasing, “What, Father, do you desire said? What, Father, do you desire done this minute?” It is clear that this is exactly what Jesus was doing all day every day. But it is not what His followers have been doing in very large numbers.” 

If I were going to undertake this exercise I thought it would be wise not to do so alone. My choice for a companion was Devotional Classics edited by Richard Foster and James Bryan Smith. They provide writings by about 50 individuals we would count as people of faith. I read this book thoroughly about 15 years ago and taught a Sunday School class using some of the chapters.

It intrigues me now that the first excerpts come from C.S. Lewis, who seems to be singing from the same songbook as Laubach: 

The real problem of the Christian life comes … the very moment you wake up each morning, all your wishes and hopes for the day rush at you like wild animals. And the first job each morning consists simply in shoving  them all back; in listening to that other voice, taking that other point of view, letting that other larger, stronger, quieter life come flowing in. We can only do it for moments at first. But from those moments the new sort of life will be spreading through our system,  because now we are letting Him work at the right part of us. 

I’ve never been troubled by the wild animals Lewis talks about. My animals are still asleep when I wake up, and it’s an accomplishment to get a list of the day’s responsibilities together. Nevertheless it takes all of my concentration to focus on what God might be saying. And I can only keep it up for a few minutes, let alone all day. This could be a long battle.

- Pastor Mike

Ruth and Refugio

It is tempting, reading the Book of Ruth, to absorb the story in charmed, dreamlike terms. Here is Ruth, the beautiful young woman, recently widowed but dedicated to her mother-in-law, Naomi. Lovely and captivating, she rejects her Moabite background to accompany Naomi, also widowed, back to Bethlehem in Israel. Israel, occupying the moral high ground, where anyone would prefer to live. She seems the epitome of a girl at peace. 

Or perhaps not.

In her treatise on “Hospitality” (Dorothy Bass, Practicing our Faith) Ana Maria Pineda tells the story of Refugio, who fled an abusive marriage in Central America with her three small children. She had been beaten regularly, but had remained in the marriage until her husband began beating the children;  finally she gathered the courage to leave. It was risky. Her husband was a town leader and his family would go to great lengths to protect his reputation. All signs of impropriety were suppressed. Her departure would, in their eyes, dishonor him, and they would go to great lengths to prevent it.

After weeks of indecision she recalled the name of a relative who had left the village a few years before to live in the United States. She discretely managed to locate and contact him, sharing her dilemma and asking for his help. Finally a cryptic message arrived giving her directions for travelling to a city in the US. It would be less dangerous, he said, if she avoided the town where he lived.

Pineda says, “At the designated hour she and her children boarded a small van. They crouched down as they were driven across the US border. From there, they traveled for what seemed an eternity. Refugio was filled with self-doubt. Perhaps it had not been such a good idea to leave her husband. What would she do in this strange land? She could not speak the language. She did not have much money, and what would she do once it was spent? As the children began to fret and cry, her fear increased, and she felt helpless to assure them that all would be well. Finally, overcome by weariness, Refugio fell asleep.”

Now consider Ruth, encouraged to return to her family. But she will be excluded and shamed for marrying a foreigner, someone outside the tribe. She has dishonored her family and she will be dishonored in turn. To go back is dangerous, to go to Israel is equally perilous. Her sister decides to return and face whatever consequences await. Ruth determines to stay with the threat she knows.

But it isn’t easy. Naomi tries over and over to dissuade her. “No, you can’t come. No, stay here. No, stop following me.” But Ruth says in effect, “I’m coming. No matter where I go, my life is forfeit. I’m coming with you. Your God will be my God.”

And so they straggle into town, Ruth following at a distance while Naomi grieves her widowhood and the unfairness of God toward her. The people of Bethlehem don’t recognize her. “Can this be Naomi? She doesn’t look like Naomi. Too distraught!”

 “Don’t call me Naomi,” she tells them. “Call me Mara, because the Almighty has made my life very bitter. I went away full, but the Lord has brought me back empty. Why call me Naomi? The Lord has afflicted me; the Almighty has brought misfortune upon me.”

After they arrive Ruth determines to pay her way, Naomi being without financial support. But the work at the barley harvest can be a dangerous as well. Especially with the gleaners, who are more than willing to take advantage of a young single woman. But she ends up in a field belonging to Boaz, a relative, who asks, “Who does that young woman belong to?” He instructs her to stay close to the women working there and says, “I have told the men not to lay a hand on you.” Because they might try; otherwise why mention it? So Ruth, and by association Naomi, have fallen under the protection of Boaz. She asks him, “Why have I found such favor in your eyes that you notice me—a foreigner?”

Boaz replies, “I’ve been told all about what you have done for your mother-in-law since the death of your husband—how you left your father and mother and your homeland and came to live with a people you did not know before. May the Lord repay you for what you have done. May you be richly rewarded by the Lord, the God of Israel, under whose wings you have come to take refuge.”

Refugio: Delivered safely to Little Havana, she awakens to tranquility in a sleepy neighborhood that bids her welcome, offering her a place to rest, and to live.  

Ruth (or is she also Refugio, the refugee?): Delivered safely to Bethlehem, a sleepy village. She has followed in the wake of bitter grieving Naomi, wondering, perhaps, whether the townspeople there will simply imprison her for a while and then snatch her back to Moab because, after all, she is a foreigner. It is fortuitous that she instead lives in safety beneath the wings of the Lord/Boaz. It leaves one wondering whose protection she would fall under today if she were to follow her mother-in-law across our southern border.

Fragile Freedoms II

As we consider the values that shape our church life together it seems appropriate to mention two aspects of freedom lifted up by Walter Shurden in his book, Four Fragile Freedoms. 

Church Freedomis the “… affirmation that local churches are free, under the Lordship of Christ, to determine their membership and leadership, to order their worship and work, to ordain whom they perceive as gifted for ministry, male or female, and to participate in the larger Body of Christ…”

Religious Freedomis the “historic … affirmation of freedom of religion, freedom for religion, and freedom from religion, insisting that Caesar is not Christ and Christ is not Caesar.” (In a previous article I mentioned two others, Soul FreedomandBible Freedom.) 

Quaker history isn’t identical to Baptist history, the perspective from which Shurden writes. It is, however, complimentary to Baptist identity. It can be said without question that the “fragile freedoms” Shurden identifies were, and still are, compatible in many ways with Quaker philosophy and practice.

George Fox founded the Religious Society of Friends, or Quakers, in the 17^thcentury in England. Those in the movement were persecuted for their beliefs, which included the idea that the presence, or “light,” of God exists in every person. This conviction, along with the Quaker rejection of elaborate religious ceremonies and official clergy, contrasted sharply with prevailing Christian theology. 

Both Protestant and Catholic churches insisted that children were born in a state of sin, dependent on the reception of the Holy Spirit as an affirmation of God’s presence in their lives. It was the role of the church to usher in the Spirit via infant baptism, preferably right away. Otherwise they might die early and salvation would be impossible. To suggest that God could be resident without such intervention was considered blasphemous, and was firmly rejected. Baptists, who clashed with clerical power primarily over their opposition to infant baptism, were imprisoned in the colonies over this issue.

The Quakers ran afoul of another conviction. It was that every individual had the light of God within them. Not only did they reject infant baptism. They denied the power of the clergy and the church to determine where God would take up residence. 

Quakers, then, as inhabitants of both England and the New World, didn’t have official clergy and believed in spiritual equality for men and women. They played a key role in both abolition and women’s rights movements. In some quarters they did not consider themselves Christians.

A current example of Church Freedom arises when we consider the formation of NEFC in its separation from NFC. Without the guarantee of church freedom it could be said that NFC had no “right” to exclude certain members, and likewise NEFC had no “right” to form a separate congregation. Those actions would be viewed as illegal. I have no idea which religious group holds the record for the most church splits in history, but I doubt any party could outdo the Baptists. They might be viewed as the Church Split Experts.

Quakers have traditionally practiced pacifism, insistence on male and female spiritual equality, the refusal to take oaths, and the right of women to speak out during worship. (This last is still a point of contention in both Catholic and some Protestant circles when those pesky women just refuse to remain silent.)

From a broadened perspective it could be said that the idea of religious freedom and the resistance to it is primarily a power struggle. That was the case in Colonial America where Anglican, Puritan, and Congregational churches initially held sway. Most attempted to enforce strict religious observance, with colony governments and town rules mandatingthat everyone attend a house of worship and pay taxes that funded the salaries of ministers. Thus before colonial independence and the passage of constitutional amendments some persecution was common. 

Both Quakers and Baptists were initially targeted. Later it was Mormons, Christian Scientists, and Native Americans. Today Muslims are in the crosshairs. Ideally we are a free people who celebrate our religious freedom and honor and defend the freedom of others. Often, however, it falls to Quakers (and Baptists too) to defend those ideals.

At NEFC we have been exploring the implications of a Trinitarian understanding of God. It is one that suggests a meeting of individualism and corporate identity. Shurden identifies three basic types of church government among Christian churches. They are episcopal, presbyterian, and congregational. In episcopal church government, authority is placed in the hands of one person, usually a bishop. In presbyterian church government, authority is vested in a small group, often called elders within the local church. In congregational church government, authority is placed in the hands of all the members of the church.

As Shurden points out, those in the free church tradition, including Friends, practice democratic church polity not because it is more efficient or more reliable or even more biblical than other forms. In fact I suspect if a visiting Quaker told you the “Quaker Way” was more efficient than other approaches, you might wonder which congregation they were previously a part of.   Instead Quakers follow democratic church polity because it accents the role of the individual within community, allowing the greatest freedom for the greatest number of people to have a say. Moreover, democratic church polity is a statement of the equality of all believers in determining the mind of Christ.

When Quakers (and Baptists) began in seventeenth-century England, a crucial part of their cry for freedom was the determination to worship God according to conscience. Specifically, they wanted freedom from the set forms of Anglicanism as recorded in The Book of Common Prayer. Their aim was to personalize and revitalize worship.  At NEFC, Open Worship sets the stage for vital worship. It offers each of us occasions to hear God’s voice not only for us as individuals, but for the congregation as a whole.

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References

Shurden, Walter B.. The Baptist Identity: Four Fragile Freedoms (p. 45). Smyth & Helwys Publishing. Kindle Edition.

https://www.facinghistory.org/nobigotry/religion-colonial-america-trends-regulations-and-beliefs

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Congregational_church

https://www.history.com/topics/immigration/history-of-quakerism

Independence Day

It seems appropriate, closely following Independence Day, to talk about freedom. In a recent business meeting at our church there was discussion about the future name of the congregation. One agreement seemed to surface among those present, that the name should somehow reflect the inclusiveness we value as a congregation. I raise the issue as one, along with my family, who has recently been inclused (oops, included) in the life of the church. That experience has encouraged me to describe the other side of the coin, so to speak. Many of you relate to the value of inclusion as those who do the including. Others of us, and I would hope many still to come, relate as its recipients.

We arrived in Newberg after a rather circuitous geographical journey as American Baptists, serving in pastoral roles in Lyndhurst, OH, Berwyn, IL, Medford, OR, and Colorado Springs, CO. We ended the excursion nearby where I served as Interim Pastor at McMinnville First Baptist Church. Then, thanks to my daughter and her family’s attendance here, we landed at Newberg Friends. Having arrived from FBC McMinnville, an outspoken supporter in American Baptist circles of LGBTQ individuals, we unquestioningly stayed with NEFC when divisions arose.

I think it has been a smooth transition. At no point have we been shunned because we didn’t have a Quaker last name, nor because you suspected us of being furtive Southern Baptist spies. My biggest challenge, and I suspect it is a trial for any newcomer without a Quaker background, was figuring out the rules of social engagement. Language is fundamental. I attended an early Communications Committee meeting (are they “committees”?) where I inquired about the timetable for selecting a new church name. Others explained that timetables weren’t the “Quaker way” and the new name would be suggested and agreed on at the right time. Frankly I’d had little experience with patiently waiting for the Spirit to move. The two guides to faith and practice I depended on were the Bible and the Calendar.

Some of you have eased the way. Howard Macy and David Sherwood have been most good-natured in guiding me along under the new rules of the road. At one point I asked whether it was expected for the pastor to relate his or her personal experience during the sermon (oopsagain: teaching) because I’d heard Greg and Steve and Elizabeth do so consistently. American Baptist pastors are usually content to use examples from other people’s lives and avoid personal history. If it was righteous it might sound like bragging, and if it was sinful you could be accused of being, well, sinful. Howard assured me personal history wasn’t demanded, but it was acceptable.

In sum we have been welcomed and embraced whole-heartedly, and feel blessed to be with you. One lingering question for me, then, is “What do we bring to the table?” Let me suggest some values that support and may enrich those being considered by the congregation. They come from a book by Walter B. Shurden, Executive Director of the Center for Baptist Studies at Mercer University, titled The Baptist Identity: Four Fragile Freedoms (Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 1993). Two of the freedoms he identifies are:

Bible Freedom, the historic affirmation that the Bible, under the Lordship of Christ, must be central in the life of the individual and church and that Christians, with the best and most scholarly tools of inquiry, are both free and obligated to study and obey the Scripture.

Soul Freedom, the historic affirmation of the inalienable right and responsibility of every person to deal with God without the imposition of creed, the interference of clergy, or the intervention of civil government.

According to Shurden these values describe

·      members of the whole Christian family who stress the experience of personal salvation through faith in Jesus;

·      those who under the Lordship of Jesus Christ have bonded together in free local congregations, together seeking to obey Christ in faith and in life;

·      those who follow the authority of Scriptures in all matters of faith and practice;

·      those who have claimed religious liberty for themselves and all people;

·      those who believe that the Great Commission to take the Gospel to the whole world is the responsibility of the whole membership.

So while “What do I bring to the table?” may be a pressing question, the overriding issue is “Who am I in this place?” For many people their identity is centered on racial heritage or sexual preference, political persuasion or occupation. “I identify as a white male;” or “I identify as a teacher.” To me it seems preferable to say, “We are part of a congregation who believe that as individuals we have come to put our trust in God and confess Christ as Savior and Lord, accepting the Scriptures as our guide for faith and practice.” Plus I am almost ready to say I identify as a Quaker. Almost.

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