Trail questions

@ Duck and Decanter

In my last post I mentioned the hike on Camelback Mountain with Arizona Outdoor and Travel Club. On that trail in the steep ascent out of Echo canyon there is a section that is bounded on one side by a towering cliff and the off side has a high mesh fence (so that hikers won’t fall off the cliff). The trail is wide and steep. It is so steep that there are two hand rails (made of iron pipe) to enable ascent and descent. One handrail is next to the fence and the other is in the middle of the trail. The fence (and its handrail) is on the up traffic’s left. On this particular hike (Saturday, July 25), a man was going up along the handrail next to the fence (his left). One of the things I dislike about hiking on Camelback Mountain , my usual Summit trail, or any of the more popular trails in Phoenix is that many people neither know nor practice trail etiquette. This man was staying to the left going up and thus violating the “stay right” rule which was causing problems with people coming down (and staying to the right). The problem was that for them staying to the right was conflicting with the “give those going up the right of way” rule.

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I was going up and had watched 3 or 4 problems occur with this situation. When I had overtaken and was passing the man causing the problems, I violated one of my personal (on trail and off trail) rules. I gave him some unsolicited advice. I suggested that he might have fewer problems if he stayed to the right. I am sure that he had gotten this advice before because his answer was instantaneous. He said:

It doesn’t work that way for me. It just doesn’t work the same for everyone.

Anonymous

I have been thinking about that all week. What happens when the right of an individual (to decide what works for him/her) causes problems with others following rules designed to eliminate conflict? Personally I believe following good trail etiquette makes for a more pleasant hiking experience. Not everyone agrees. Having thought about it for a week I am just as happy that he wasn’t staying to the right. He was moving a lot slower than I was and I would have had to pass him if he had been following “the rules”. While I haven’t made any decisions about the basic question of individual rights vs. problems for the many, I have resolved to follow more closely my own rule about giving advice. Especially the unsolicited variety.

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The following Monday, July 27, I was in Flagstaff and hiked the Elden Lookout Trail #4. Mt. Elden is a lava dome associated with the San Francisco Peaks lava field. It is 2.5 miles from the parking lot at the trail head to the lookout. That is about the same distance as from the start of the Cholla trail to Echo Canyon on Camelback Mountain. The distance is the only thing the two hikes have in common. Camelback tops out at 2,706 feet while Mt. Elden reaches 9299 feet (The sign at the lookout reads 9300, but that is incorrect). The gain in elevation for the Mt. Elden trail is almost a thousand feet more than that of Camelback (2,200 vs. 1,300). The climb up was difficult, sweaty and worth the effort. I blamed the sweat on the high humidity – it had rained the afternoon before – but I suspect my age, the elevation, my condition and the steepness of the trail had more to do with it. As on the previous hike I heard something that gave me food for thought.

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The Elden Lookout Trail #4 intersects the Pipeline trail and the Fatmans Loop trail about 0.9 miles from the trailhead. I was about halfway between the intersection and the trailhead on the way back to my car when I met a group of six people on their way up. The group included a woman with a gorgeous Irish setter. The woman asked me how much farther it was. My reply was: “That depends on where you are headed.” What she said next just floored me.

We don’t know where we are going.

Woman with the Irish setter

Now, who would ask for the distance to an unknown destination? Keeping in mind the resolution made after my Camelback hike, I told her that there was a sign a little farther along the trail giving the answers to her question.

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I was reminded of the Irish setter woman’s question as I read Spong’s Newsletter Thursday morning. It was about The Study of Life, Part 1, A Journey Into the Mystery of Life Begins in the Amazon Rain Forest and somewhat indirectly about his forth coming book on life after death. As Spong so eloquently points out in his column no one knows where (or when) we are going when we die. That doesn’t stop us, like the woman on the trail, from asking:

How much farther?

Woman with the Irish setter

I know that it is farther for some than others. Is it different for everyone or does it work the same for everyone? I especially wonder about people that are happy when false prophets get convicted and go to jail (see my previous post below). But… I haven’t a clue.

Common Myths About Inclusive Churches

When churches declare themselves to be inclusive of all people, including lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgendered (LGBT) people, a number of things commonly happen that people don’t necessarily expect.  Let me deconstruct three myths.  For simplicity’s sake, I’ll use the term “open and affirming” (O&A) to describe any church that has made a public declaration of inclusiveness, regardless of the actual language used (Depending on the denomination, some churches use “Reconciling,” “More Light,” etc.)

Myth #1:  LGBT people will flood the church.

Fact:  While some churches who declare themselves O&A do so in hopes of realizing strong membership gains from the LGBT community, O&A churches do not tend to experience many, or any, additional LGBT members very quickly.  While, years ago, stories circulated about certain churches who were flooded by the LGBT community after declaring themselves O&A, these churches were quite far from the norm.  Most churches’ experience has been more like Countryside’s.  Several years ago, Countryside adopted a mission statement publicly declaring itself to be “an inclusive family of faith, welcoming all to our table of love and acceptance.”  The phrase “an inclusive family of faith” has regularly been included in our advertising to the community and been displayed on our banner facing Pacific Street.  Yet Countryside has experienced no discernible growth from the LBBT community since the adoption of our mission statement.  While some may assume that we would experience more growth if we used the words “Open and Affirming” in our mission and advertising, this is not the experience of most churches who adopt this term.

When my former congregation in Scottsdale declared itself to be formally “Open and Affirming” twelve years ago (becoming the first UCC church in Arizona to do this), for instance, we went for two or three years before welcoming our first new gay member – this, despite the fact that we were actively promoting our “O&A” status in community publications and held a series of special prayer services for those with AIDS which were advertised in area HIV clinics.

Given their long history of exclusion from full participation in faith communities, many LGBT people have either drifted away from Christian faith or have become skeptical about how fully they actually would be welcomed even among churches that declare themselves O&A.  So they tend to shy away.  The fact of the matter is that a church normally has to work very hard, intentionally reaching out to the LGBT over a number of years, before they realize discernible growth from the LGBT community.  When I left Scottsdale, after we had been publicly and assertively O&A for a full eleven years, the percentage of LGBT members in the congregation had definitely risen, but to approximately 15%.  That’s significant, but hardly “flooded.”

Myth #2: Membership will decline due to conflict over O&A status.

Fact:  A few years ago, the UCC published a study showing that O&A churches in our denomination were more likely to grow, and also to realize giving increases, than non-O&A churches.  While a recent study of O&A churches in a couple of other mainline denominations has shown no significant increase in growth among O&A churches, it was also shown that O&A churches were no more likely to decline than non-O&A ones.

Curiously, during the years I was in Scottsdale, we experienced a significant increase in membership growth from “straight” people after declaring ourselves O&A.  While other factors contributed to membership gains besides O&A, we were intrigued by the fact that approximately 9 in every 10 new “straight” members cited our O&A status as being a contributing factor to their attraction.

Myth #3: People’s attitudes about whether or not to accept LGBT people are fixed and can’t be expected to change.

Fact:  Have YOU always affirmed and accepted LGBT people?  Personally, as I mentioned in last Sunday’s sermon, I have not.  And, like Bishop Spong, I have always figured that if I could change, the Church could change.   Happily, this assumption has proved itself to be correct over and over.  In the 15 months since I arrived at Countryside, quite a few people have told me that their views on LGBT people have changed in recent years.  I witnessed the same phenomenon in Scottsdale.  This shouldn’t be surprising.  The same thing happened with respect to welcoming Gentiles into full Christian fellowship in the early church.  Had not quite a number of staunch rejectors of Gentiles not experienced a change of mind and heart, most of us would not be Christian today.  It’s still hard to believe, isn’t it, that the largest, most controversial issue facing the Christian church in the first century was whether or not to let people like you and me in?

While there are certainly some pockets of resistance among churches with respect to the O&A issue, this trend toward greater inclusiveness may be expected not only to continue, but to accelerate.  While a handful of years ago, there were just 200 churches in the UCC that listed themselves formally as “Open and Affirming,” now there are over 700 and the number is still rising rapidly.  A couple of weeks ago, the Episcopal Church in the U.S. boldly declared that it would not only lift the 3-year-old moratorium on ordaining openly gay bishops that the worldwide fellowship of Anglican Churches had asked it to sustain, but that it would begin development of marriage liturgies for gays (Click here for a NY Times article on this).

The fact of the matter is that when people discover that “the sky does not fall” after churches begin welcoming LGBT people, or states begin allowing LGBT people to marry, then many of those who had been taught that the sky would, in fact, proverbially fall begin to reexamine their assumptions.

Most people don’t want to condemn others or deny them basic rights.  They only do so out of fear.  Once it can be shown decisively that their fears are unfounded, many people who have condemned or been wary of LGBT people experience profound relief. (They may also experience anger or resentment toward those responsible for instilling their fear to begin with.)  The more joyfully churches and other social and cultural institutions welcome LGBT people, the more relief is experienced by good-hearted people who had once been afraid of everything coming apart at the seams.  And the more that this relief is sustained by continuing life experience, the more former detractors start becoming advocates.

In his poem, “The Old Interior Angel,” David Whyte describes an experience of being confronted by a scary-looking bridge to be crossed in the Himalayas.  This poem, I think, describes far more than bridge crossings.  To me, his poem describes wonderfully well the important role played by individuals – and institutions – who joyfully go where others have been afraid to go, creating a change of heart in those who had been paralyzed by fear.  I think it serves as a fitting end this post.

The Old Interior Angel”

by David Whyte (from Fire in the Earth [Many Rivers Press, 1992]; reprinted in River Flow: New and Selected Poems 1984-2007 [Many Rivers Press, 2007]

Young, male and

immortal as I was,

I stopped at the first sight

of that broken bridge.

The taut cables snapped

and the bridge planks

concertina-ed

into a crazy jumble

over the drop,

four hundred feet

to the craggy

stream.

I sat and watched

the wind shiver

on the broken planks,

as if by looking hard

and long enough

the life-line

might spontaneously

repair itself

-but watched in vain.

An hour I sat

in the clear silence,

checking each

involuntary movement

of the body toward

that trembling

bridge

with a fearful mind,

and an emphatic

shake of the head.

Finally, facing defeat

and about to go back

the way I came

to meet the others.

Three days round

by another pass.

Enter the old mountain woman

with her stooped gait,

her dark clothes

and her dung basket

clasped to her back.

Small feet shuffling

for the precious gold-brown

fuel for cooking food.

Intent on the ground

she glimpsed my feet

and looking up

Said “Namaste”

“I greet the God in you”

the last syllable

held like a song.

I inclined my head

and clasped my hands

to reply, but

before I could look up

she turned her lined face

and went straight across

that shivering chaos

of wood

and broken steel

in one movement.

Tony Alamo gets his

@ Duck and Decanter

I really feel good this morning, for two reasons. The first is that I did the rump to head and back again hike on Camelback Mountain with Arizona Outdoor and Travel Club. The only bad part of the hike was that I forgot my camera. Drats. The hike took four hours. We started at 5:15 so it was a bit warm at the end. It was great.

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The second reason is that they convicted 74 year old Tony Alamo of violating the Mann Act. I read about the trial last Thursday (here) in the Singapore Straits Times and the again in a more complete story in the Washington Times article, Evangelist convicted of sex crimes. According to the article he could get up to 175 years. I hope he does. I have posted about Tony before – here. Tony denies everything and says that

I’m just another one of the prophets that went to jail for the Gospel

Evangelist convicted of sex crimes in the Washington Times, Saturday, July 25, 2009

If you want Tony’s side go here. I am not buying Tony’s story. The article said that the jurors wept as the witnesses told their stories. Can you see the five women (now 17 to 35) coming forward in court to tell how when they were younger (the youngest was eight or nine) they were “married” to Tony and sexually abused. What courage that must have taken.

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One question that occurred to me was: Where were the parents? And what is being done about them? Google located the answer for me. In an Associated Press dispatch, Parents’ role in Alamo case is a tricky question, I found some rather unsatisfactory answers. Some parents apparently encouraged it. Some believed Tony when he said he was a prophet. I guess. This brings to mind scenes of parents sacrificing their children to Moloch or some volcano. I have always had problem understanding how any parent could condone or abet any harm to their children. The answer appears to be that if you believe your salvation and that of your child depends on doing something that you would in other circumstances find abhorrent then you allow it. I don’t buy it any more then I buy Tony’s claim to be a prophet. I also know that in the past some parents in Tony’s church, Tony Alamo Christian Ministries , have complained even if to no avail.

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Tony was tried in a federal court on federal charges (transporting a minor across state lines for immoral purposes). I wonder if any state (Arkansas especially) will prosecute him or any of the parents. Some other questions have occurred to me. How much of my interest in the saga of Tony Alamo is due to my concern with modern Christianity (and the abuses in it)? How much of it is due to the fact that I was sexually abused as a child? I don’t know the answers to any of the questions. I do know I am happy that Tony got his.

Meet Guest Blogger, Margaret McGrath, on “Engaging people authentically …”

I’ve invited novelist and recent Countryside member, Margaret McGrath, to share a reflection from time to time on one of the twelve Phoenix Affirmations. She graciously took me up on the offer.  Here’s her reflection on Affirmation 5, which claims that “Christian love of neighbor includes engaging people authentically, as Jesus did, treating all as creations made in God’s very image, regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation, age, physical or mental ability, nationality, or economic class.”

When Eric asked me to write something for the Asphalt Jesus blog about Affirmation Five, I wasn’t sure I’d have anything to say. I am all about equal rights regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation, age, ability, socio-economic class so Affirmation Five seems like a slam-dunk to a left-wing tree-hugging liberal like me. I’ve marched on Washington. I’ve signed petitions, donated time, talents, treasure to any number of social justice causes. I can check Affirmation Five off my list…right?

During prayer and reflection, however, the phrase “engaging people authentically” kept bobbing to the surface of my mind. If I dig a little deeper into my politically correct beliefs, I’m not convinced I follow the affirmation to its most powerful conclusion. I’m not convinced I engage people authentically.

To me, engaging people authentically means seeing them as more than a member of a “protected class”. It means moving beyond such automatic categorizations as gay/straight/transgendered, white/Asian/black, male/female, Muslim/Christian/Buddhist/Jew, poor/rich – to seeing that person as an individual. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say that engaging people authentically begins and ends with seeing them as no more and no less than a child of God.

This is not easy to do when someone espouses political beliefs diametrically opposed to yours or worse, cuts you off in traffic, when your spouse forgets a crucial appointment or your child demands your attention after a long, tiring day. Sometimes the people I engage least authentically are those closest to me, with whom familiarity has bred a certain frustration, if not contempt. But I believe Jesus saw the people in his world not as Roman/Israelite, Samaritan/Essene, male/female, Jew/Gentile but as kernels of God-ness encased in human bodies. I’m slowly learning to do the same.

In the Buddhist tradition people greet each other with hands in prayer position. They give a slight bow and say, “Namaste” which means, “I bow to the divinity within you that is also within me.” In other words, encounters begin by honoring the God-spark within. Now that’s some seriously authentic engagement…or at least a good foundation for it!

In an effort to more fully live Affirmation Five, I’m working on listening with my heart and soul as well as my ears, striving to hear God’s voice speaking through another person. I also try to slow down, to give more than a millisecond of attention to a cashier, a barista, someone who greets me at coffee hour on Sunday…not to mention my family. What are some ways you engage people authentically in your daily life?

Sunday morning at Asbury UMC

@ Duck and Decanter

I heard some unexpected good news this morning at Asbury UMC. I will quote from the report:

The major actions taken by the conference was the passage of the desert southwest regional conference was to vote in favor of the petition for “all means all”…….it was an example of ”extravagant hospitality”, the theme for this years conference. For all persons in the GLBT it is a major affirmation of our holiness and the example of Christ who was willing to set aside standards of holiness for a ministry extended to all.

Asbury’s lay delegate, Robert Nielson-Tweet

This resolution means that the DSW Conference has become a reconciling conference just as Asbury is a reconciling church.

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I thought it was especially fitting that Robert Nielson-Tweet was the one reporting the news. I have posted on Robert before. Clicking on his name will take you to that post. The news gave a twist to the reading, children’s moment and message for this Sunday.

1. The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.

2. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters,

3. He restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

4. Even though I walk through the darkest valley I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

5. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.

6. Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.

Psalm 23 (New International Version)

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I memorized the 23^rd Psalm as a teenager because I lived in fear that God could never love someone like me. I repeated it to myself many times for reassurance. The words I heard the loudest were “…I will fear no evil…”. Now, fifty years later, the promise of goodness and love seems to be more important (and to the point). The DSW Conference in its action has increased goodness and love in the world just a bit more. Not just for the GLBT community but for “all” of us.

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I was meditating on this when Tex Sample gave the Invitation to Holy Communion. In his invitation he mentioned Ludwig Wittgenstein. Now I had never heard of Ludwig before so how could Tex be describing him as the greatest philosopher of the twentieth century? I googled Ludwig (and here) and confirmed that Tex knew what he was talking about. Not that I had any doubts. Ludwig had an immense effect on Bertrand Russell who is my pick for greatest (definitely my favorite) twentieth century philosopher. So, my question is: how is it that I never heard of Ludwig Wittgenstein? I attribute it to a misspent youth (fearing that God could not love me) and an inferior education. I can’t do anything about the misspent youth but I can remedy the education. I checked Amazon, found “Culture and Value” (Tex’s recommendation) by Ludwig Wittgenstein; Paperback; for $10.92. I bought it which is good. Unfortunately I also bought “War of the Lamb, The Ethics of Nonviolence and Peacemaking” by John Howard Yoder; Paperback; for $16.49. I may regret the last one. Yoder always makes my head hurt. I hope “Culture and Value” doesn’t.

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I wonder when the rest of the United Methodists Church will catch up with us in the DSW Conference and Asbury.

Let Evening Come

In response to last Sunday’s service, in which the implications of the Hebrew notion of day beginning with night were explored, a Countrysider sent me the following poem, which fits the theme well.

“Let Evening Come” by Jane Kenyon (from Otherwise: New and Selected Poems)

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yearn.  Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass.  Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down.  Let the shed
go black inside.  Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid.  God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

In a different light

@ Duck and Decanter

My friend, Charlie, and I hiked the Summit Trail on Piestewa Peak this morning. It was warm (high eighties) when we started just before sunrise (5:27 AM). Thankfully, the humidity was low which meant that evaporating sweat worked well at cooling. There was a pretty good breeze from the .75 mile marker to the top which also helped. All in all it was a good hike. The moon, just past full, was high in the western sky and many of the clouds were tinged with pink. Scenic, it was. Our conversation turned to what our plans were for the coming week. For my part I have a brake job (for my automobile) and a visit to the doctor.

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The visit to the doctor is mostly about my hands. One the one hand (left) I have arthritis with some bone on bone rubbing going on. The pain is at this point pretty minimal and I still have almost complete function. At my age such things are pretty normal. On the other hand (right) I have Dupuytren’s disease. This is actually a pretty cool (read interesting) disease. For one thing it is incurable. For another thing it won’t kill me. Also, it isn’t painful. I found out that I had Dupuytren’s last year when I was having neck problems. As part of the investigation I was sent to a neurologist. The neurologist tested the nerve pathways in my arms, hand and fingers. His diagnosis was that the lack of feeling in my fingers was due to some minor carpal tunnel syndrome. The carpal tunnel syndrome’s root cause is heredity and mine merely causes some numbness in my pointing finger. So, no big deal. I also happened to show him the interesting bumps in my right palm (which had appeared in the previous year and in my right hand only). He knew instantly what the cause was: Dupuytren’s disease which is also mostly inherited.

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Not only does it have a cool, hard to pronounce (say “doo-pwee-TRAHZ”), French name, it is also known as the Vikings disease. Usually the disease progresses slowly. However in the last year I have become aware that I can no longer place my palm flat on a table top (this is known as failing the table test). Time to talk to a doctor, I think. And that is what I told Charlie. From there our conversation went on to how a hundred years ago medicine and treatments were very different. Two hundred years ago there wasn’t even a name for Dupuytren’s disease. Guillaume Dupuytren only described it in 1831. Two hundred or even one hundred years ago I would have eventually lost the full use of my right hand – because Dupuytren’s usually progresses to the point where the fingers curl into the palm. And that would have been the least of my problems. The arthritis in my left hand (and neck) would have left me immobile and in pain. It is hard to earn a living in that condition, especially in occupations that required a lot of heavy physical effort which most did. Money would have been another issue. There was no social security, few pension plans and leisure only for the wealthy.

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Bottom line? A hundred years ago I would have been dependant on my family to feed and care for me – if I was still alive. In any case my life would have been very different from the one I lead now. I have a feeling that I would not have been enjoying the sunrise after hiking a 2600 foot peak even if the peak wasn’t in the middle of a desert and the month July. The thing is that today I can enjoy my life. Without modern medicine (and social benefits) it would be not nearly as enjoyable. Did I mention that, a hundred years ago I would not have been able to view a sunrise the same as I can today? I had cataract surgery four years ago and one of the benefits of that surgery (besides being able to see) was that colors became brighter. I should have missed sunrises like the one this morning and this one taken last month:

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Who is Jesus for me?

One of the groups studying Asphalt Jesus asked the following question: “Would love your response to the first discussion question for chapter 7, “Who is Jesus for you?” We’re curious about the part of the question that asks us to think about whether we respond to the Jesus of history or the Christ of present experience….and the suggestion that we consider both perspectives. Can you share your thoughts?”

Like the Rev. Jene Miller in Arnett, Oklahoma (from Ch. 7 of Asphalt Jesus), the question to me is not “Is Jesus God?” but “Is God like Jesus?”  To me, the answer is, “Amen, yes!”  Everything else one has to say about Jesus or any other aspect of Christian theology is small potatoes next to this affirmation.  But I’m happy to put some meat (or at least sour cream and chives) on this big potato.

Let’s start with the most basic:

Jesus is a person of history.  His history not only includes his own life on earth, but he has become a part of the lives of a great many people – those who lived in his day and those who would come after.  He is a part of my history.   His story is embedded in mine.  He is not simply a person of the ancient past, therefore, but of the present.  My present.  If the word “Christ” refers to an aspect of Jesus that continues to live on beyond his mortal death, I can wholeheartedly affirm that Jesus is Christ even on this most basic of levels, for his story has become central in my story.

Why has Jesus become central?  Because I meet God in Jesus.  I’ve had both personal and communal experiences that suggest (and sometimes even insist) that there really is a God, a God who is actually aware of you and me, and who interacts internally with us, spirit to spirit, loving us beyond our wildest imagination.  These experiences “look like” the Jesus I regularly encounter in the gospels.  This fact has led me to conclude that Jesus is one who was “full of God.”  Or in the apostle Paul’s words, “God was in Christ.”

Based on this conclusion, I have also been able to work the flow the other way.  That is, I not only can find the tenor and tone of my God-experiences in the Jesus of scripture, but I can count on this same Jesus to regularly steer me in the direction of future God-experiences where I have not expected to find them.  For instance, the Jesus of scripture, who hangs out with the tax collectors, prostitutes, and “sinners,” including “sinners” known as scribes and Pharisees, regularly leads me into experiencing God in and through people I might ordinarily have written off.  In this respect, I meet my neighbor through Jesus - that part of my neighbor that bears God’s mark even amidst all the other marks that may be upon them.  I hear God whispering in the struggles of drug addicts and derelicts, of adulterers and anarchists.  I also can find God whispering at times in the angry voices of legalistic fundamentalists (And I can use Jesus’ voice to help me discern when the “word of the Lord” is not to be found in these voices as well!).  To allude to our weekly blessing at the conclusion of worship, in Jesus, God has often pushed me into places I would not necessarily go myself.  So I pay attention to Jesus.  Close attention.

Another reason I pay attention is because Jesus exhibits a generosity of spirit that leads me out of my stinginess; a graciousness that moves me beyond my judgmentalism; a depth and breadth of creative engagement with life that takes hold of me and pulls me beyond rigidity and narrowness; a courageousness that raises me from timidity; a humility that takes the hot air out of my pride.  These qualities and many more have led me to conclude that I meet myself Jesus – my truest self. It’s the part of me that seeks to move beyond my Pinocchio woodenness and know what flesh-and-blood existence is really meant to be.  Jesus helps me become more fully human even as he points me to the divine.

So, is this person in whom I regularly meet my God, my neighbor, and myself, “the Jesus of history” or “the Christ of faith”?  My answer, of course, is “yes” regardless of what is essential nature may be (i.e., his essence – whether fully God, fully human, or both).  What I’ve stated above is equally true whether Jesus was a mortal human like you and me or the second member of the Trinity who existed before the beginning of all things and will be forevermore.

During Countryside’s “Theology on Tap” sessions this past year, I have have been asked, in a number of different ways, not simply what I believe about Jesus but what any Christian “should” believe about Jesus.  I have stated that it really doesn’t matter to me what someone believes about Jesus with respect to whether he was mortal, divine, or both.  What I care about is finding folks who seek a fuller understanding and experience of God, neighbor, and self, in and through Jesus regardless of the conclusions they draw with respect to his nature, and even regardless of how comfortable they feel with the label “Christian.”  If they’re willing to throw their hat in with Jesus on this level, they’re worth banding together with to form a community of spirit and faith.

The message is in the art

@ Duck and Decanter/home

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A couple of weeks ago I talked with Scott Ritchey. Scott runs the Justa Center (The Justa Center is a day center for people over 50 years old and homeless) about which I have posted before (here). We had a good talk about this and that (this being people we know in common and that being local Methodist churches). Then I made the mistake of whining about social justice programs in the area. As a result I was invited to show up at the Justa Center on Thursday mornings. The following Thursday I was having photos taken of my large colon but this week I had no such good excuse and so found myself handing out towels, being polite, and helpful to the clients on Thursday morning.

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Thursday is shower and laundry day except that on this day the washing machine was not functional. Being helpful was difficult because I didn’t have answers for any of the questions I was asked. When I was asked a question I went looking for one of the staff that could give me a clue as to the answer. Being polite is always a stretch for me but I managed to overcome my basic nature. Handing out towels, soap, lotion and occasionally socks was a lot easier. I sat on a stool next to the soap, shampoo and lotion with the signup clipboard and called out names as a shower became available. I say “sat” but “balanced” would be more truthful as one of the four legs was shorter than the other three.

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The staff member that had instructed me in my duties made a point of telling me that some of the clients “were not all there”. I knew that of course but I was glad that she had reminded me of the fact. Years ago the Arizona legislature had decided that taking care of mentally ill was too much of a financial burden on the good taxpayers of Arizona. As a result many people who are not capable of caring for themselves and have no place to be cared for wander the streets of Phoenix.

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Across the room there was a couch with three pictures on the wall behind it. The center one was quite large, dark and if it had any subject or meaning it was hidden to me. It was flanked on either side by two smaller pictures that obviously went together. They were icons in the Greek Orthodox style. They were of two men each with flat, solid halos behind their heads. Growing curious I eventually went over to check them out. The one on the left was of Jesus Christ Liberator. The other was more modern. It was of Martin Luther King of Georgia. I returned to my precarious perch and thought about that in between performing my duties. He was dressed in coat and tie with a placard hung about his neck. The placard had the numerals 7089. Meditating on the pictures I realized that with the two pictures the artist had made a wonderful bold statement and captured the essence of St. Martin.

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I thought about how appropriate the message contained in the art work was for the Justa Center. Those that had imprisoned and then assassinated MLK had also done it to Christ. Those that have condemned people not capable of caring for themselves to living on the streets have done the same.

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I wonder if 7089 was MLK’s number in the Montgomery jail.

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Note: Martin Luther King is recognized as a martyr by the Episcopal Church in the United States of America and the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America

Fourth of July and Affirmation 11

Tomorrow in church one of my reflections on Affirmation 11 of the Phoenix Affirmations will be based on this blog post.  I’m also going to show this video to illustrate another reflection.  So if you’re reading this before Sunday, be forewarned!

A Fourth of July Remembrance

I grew up on Mercer Island, near Seattle, in the middle of Lake Washington.  Each year on the Fourth of July, I looked forward to a particular family tradition, which was to pack a picnic dinner and head to the back yard of the Mercer Island Presbyterian Church.  We weren’t members, but the church had the advantage of being perched atop a hill that overlooked the downtown fireworks display, so lots of the Island community would gather there.

The fireworks wouldn’t get going until around ten in the evening, and if you wanted to get a good spot, you had to get there early – hence the picnic dinner.  We’d spread out a big, pink blanket that embarrassed the heck out of me.  Then my parents and whatever of their friends happened to show up would sit down and enjoy a glass of wine or soda while my brother and I ran off to the playground looking for our friends.

We could usually count on a handful or so to show up.  God help us on years they didn’t.  Hanging out with just adults was NO FUN!  But when friends came, we would play Frisbee or tag.  We also would wind each other tight on the swings, spinning around at what seemed like a million miles an hour, then jumping off fast and try to run without falling on our faces.  We’d look for garter snakes to terrorize in the grass at the edge of the playground.  We’d play in the sand box – at least until the year we found cat feces buried in it. And as we grew older, we’d “casually” eye the girls.

At some point, a parent would call us for dinner.  Usually we were so wrapped up in play that one of us would yell “Okay!” and then we’d get right back to our games until a parent would come stomping up to the playground to march us back to the blanket.

According to the book of Deuteronomy, the ancient Hebrews, like us, celebrated their origins as a people each year.  They were commanded – by God they believed – to bring to the party copious amounts of food and drink, including wine and beer.  The goal, according to Deuteronomy, was to “feast in the Presence of God, your God, and have a good time.” (Deut 26:26).

There wasn’t a grill in the church’s back yard, so often our fare was fried chicken, potato salad, deviled eggs, pitted black olives, celery sticks lined with Velveeta “cheese,” watermelon, and Hershey’s chocolate bars.  It may not have been the feast of the ancient Hebrews, but there was something about eating outside on the grass under the heavens, with friends around and excitement in the air, that made the food taste like a royal banquet.  I always liked to grab a handful of the olives, insert one on the tip of each finger, and eat them one by one like Caesar being fed grapes by an attendant.  I’d try to eat them slowly, but usually they’d be gone in a matter of moments and I’d have to reload a couple of times.  If my parents caught me reloading, they’d get after me, so I’d have to exercise greater degrees of stealth as the evening wore on.

Eventually, the meal would end and we’d have a half hour or so to let it all settle before the fireworks began. Actually seeing fireworks was considered somewhat of a lucky thing for us residents of the rain-soaked Pacific Northwest.  We rarely knew whether or not we’d be seeing fireworks for sure until late in the day, if not just before they began – like this year in Omaha.  When the weather cooperated, there would always be a healthy measure of gratitude (and relief) mixed in with the spectacle.  You could almost hear people around you thinking, “We are so fortunate this year …”

Once I remember one of the nearby parents (thank goodness no one we knew)  singing “America the Beautiful” to his little girl as the fireworks began.  He was totally singing the wrong words and had no idea.  My brother and I tried not to blow Coca Cola through our noses as we struggled to suppress our laughter.

Another year, I remember asking someone why there were fireworks on the Fourth of July to begin with.  I was told that they were made to imitate explosions from bombs and missiles on a battlefield.  I thought it rather strange that something so beautiful and awe-inspiring could find its origin in death and destruction.  Little did I know that I would, in later years, find this same commingling of wonder and death in the central symbol of Christian faith.

Although we gathered on the grounds of a church, focusing our gaze on joy bursting in the heavens, I do not remember being particularly cognizant of being “in the Presence of God” as the ancient Hebrews understood it.  I just remember being in the company of family and good friends, playing outside, laughing until we were out of breath, and feeling as satiated by gratitude and joy as I was by chicken and chocolate.

Is it possible to experience God’s presence without being aware of that presence?  The only thing I can say for sure is that those July 4th celebrations of my youth were experiences I’d want to be a part of if I were God.