Sunday, April 4, 2010

Lenten Blog 2010: My Accidental Spiritual Journal

When I first started this blog as a new Lenten practice to complement my usual turning off the radio during commutes I didn't realize that it would automatically post to my Facebook Notes page as well.  What started out as a few random spiritual/religious/theological reflections morphed into sharing much of my spiritual journey.  Then I realized that many of these stories are things that I've wanted to share with my children someday when they were old enough to have adult conversations.

The irony of course, is that they're old enough now, but I'm the last person they want to have these conversations with... right now anyway.  I know I was the same way with my parents, and so the sins of the father are visited upon the daughter and son.  I'm pretty that my parents and God are laughing at me right now.

Since there was no rhyme or reason when I started other than committing to write every day in Lent, the flow is a bit loose with foreshadowing peppered throughout for future posts.  The writing tightened up as of Day 16, which is when I started titling the posts.  (I later went back to entitle the earlier posts.) By the end I knew I was writing not just as a personal exercise, but to my children.

And so this Lenten blog is dedicated to my beautiful children Amy and Noah, who along with my lovely wife Denise are among the biggest blessings in my spiritual journey.

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Lent-to-Easter 2010: "It was 30 Years Ago Today" (Or "This Ending Is Also My Beginning")

As this Lenten blog for 2010 -- which included questions and reflections and an unintended sharing of my spiritual journey -- ends, it concludes with the beginning of that spiritual journey, on Easter Sunday 1980.

Prior to that I had only ever been to church for weddings or funerals, literally a handful of occasions.  Because I had been asking questions about Christianity of a friend, she invited me to a special worship service, the Easter Sunrise service.

I don't really remember many details of that day, mostly the strong emotions.  I recall not wanting to make any mistakes nor standing out in any way.  I was curious, an absolute sponge in absorbing what was taking place and trying to figure out why a group of people would board the bus from church at such an early hour, and gather to say and do what I guessed they did every Sunday.

The main thing I recall was the sun, rising over the beach... Jones Beach.  It was first time in years that Easter Sunday was without rain or clouds.  It was a glorious morning, and I had never been to a beach that was so uncrowded:  the only people there were all observing Easter.  I went home and reflected on this for at least a couple of days.  I must have had hundreds of thoughts about the existence of God, the injustices done by the church in the name of God, and deep-seated rational side of me that could not prove or disprove anything related to what I witnessed at the Sunrise Service.  In the end I concluded one thing:  the beauty of the sun rising over the beach and the love and passion I felt from the gathered were not the products of a random sequence of events.  What I felt then (and now) is that I had scratched the surface of "why" (God's Love) things are the way they are, and it was the beginning of a new period in my search for meaning.

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Saturday, April 3, 2010

Lent Day 40: Easter Vigil in the Eternal Now

Even before I became a Christian I held a special reverence for the span between Good Friday and Easter Sunday.  A lot of that is because I respect and honor holidays for other countries and cultures, even if they don't pertain directly to me... it's part of being a citizen of the world, as well as of this nation.

But the special reverence for Easter Vigil was because so many of my friends observed it.  It's a somber time between the ultimate sacrifice of Good Friday and not knowing if the Resurrection will occur, let alone when.  Two millennia later we celebrate it to be true on Easter Sunday, but each year we spend these days (the Triduum) in special memory of those three days of not knowing in that specific year.  And this is more true for the New Me, the post-baptismal me, than before.

I've used the terms Old Me and New Me rather loosely throughout this Lenten blog to refer to two distinct parts of my life:  before and after my baptism.  But I didn't intend for these terms to refer solely to the chronological time period before and after September 1985.  For one thing, I didn't more fully understand my own baptism until a few years later by taking a few Crossings classes, which I've referred to as my own Confirmation (Affirmation of Baptism) classes.

But even after a fuller understanding of my baptism ("cleansing" from the Greek) and tying my death to Christ's death and thereby gaining new life with the Resurrected Christ -- a lot of the Old Me persists and sometimes even thrives since 1985.

Oh, I try to be good and "do the right thing" and treat people well as much as I can, and that includes folks who are familiar and unfamiliar, liked and not-as-liked.  I believe that such behavior was in me long before my baptism, almost like it was written onto my heart and in my DNA and long before I had even learned the Ten Commandments.  But it's that I can't do all the good stuff all the time, or even just some of the time.  I still remember countless times when I've done thoughtless things, or said something hurtful -- which is extremely easy for me because I love walking the fine line of sarcasm and constructive criticism, and cross that line more often than I'd like.

And even when I can say and do the right things and avoiding saying and doing the wrong things, I've repressed the underlying impulses.  People don't observe those failings because I'm playing those cards close to my vest (a skill I might be too good at), but they do exist, deep within me.  When I'm not good enough, it kills part of me.  And when I'm good enough (outwardly), it still kills part of me.  Even though it hasn't killed me, it is killing me... it's the sting of death, and dying.

I started this Lenten blog pondering death and dying, and it literally started with a funeral and discussions about mourning rituals.  I don't know what actually happens after physical death, and the rational side of me simply cannot prove or disprove anything about it.

But what I do know is that the sting of death is what I feel right now.  I feel it so very acutely during this Lenten time between Maundy Thursday (the Last Supper and the "Eleventh Commandment" or the Great Commission) and Easter Sunday.  And I know that the Good News on Easter Sunday is that the new life in the Resurrection (to which I'm linked because of my baptism) directly addresses the dying and sting of death, right here and right now.  It's how I become renewed... because Christ's victory over death vanquishes the sting of death through the "Sweet Swap" on the Cross of God's goodness for my failings.  The energy required to stifle the bad impulses is no longer coming from me, but from the Cross.  It's how I can make it through the day, or through the night, and be at peace with myself, because through Christ, God has made peace with me.

I fight this battle all the time, every day of my life, every hour of every day even if I'm not actively thinking about it.  I never win the battle by myself, but each day is victorious because of the "Sweet Swap."  I live in a "time paradox" of the simultaneous Old Me and New Me, and of the simultaneous Vigil after the Crucifixion and waiting for Easter Sunday.

I'm in the Vigil of the Eternal Now.


(Blessed Lent to all... Easter Sunday's coming.)


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Friday, April 2, 2010

Lent Day 39: Good Friday, BC and AD

The late Johnny Hart caught my eye with his "B.C." comic strip on Good Friday in 2004.

If the above link ever fails, here's a description of that "B.C." strip in its three panels:
  • Thor:   I hate the term 'Good Friday.'
  • Curls:  Why?
  • Thor:    My Lord was hanged on a tree that day.
  • Curls:   If you were going to be hanged on a tree on that day, and he volunteered to take your place, how would you feel?
  • Thor:   Good.
  • Curls:  Have a nice day.
That little exchange between two fictional characters says it all.  I like to learn as much as I can about many different religions, spiritualities and belief systems.  And yet there's only one in which the Divine gives us something, not capriciously or whimsically, but with no strings attached:  pure gift.  And the 'something' is God paying the price that we owe, a debt owed to God... by God giving up his life, for us. 

The sweetest of swaps, and this Friday is very Good, indeed.
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Thursday, April 1, 2010

Lent Day 38: Un-Fall-Ability and the 11th Commandment

Rushing to the finish line of this Lenten blog, I would prefer to remain pure and simple about faith and my spiritual journey. But as I read this morning's NY Times most e-mailed stories and Maureen Dowd's piece on the Vatican, I can't let this topic slide.

I'm not a hugely political creature. I follow elections and legislation closely and I proudly vote in every election, but I don't obsess over various campaigns nor go out of my way to canvass. I wish our country would decide what to do and just to do it, and let the central majority get their wish instead of having the extremes duke it out in the court of public opinion in a way that embarrasses everyone, respects no one and benefits only some. I could go on and on about the Tea Party and the reaction to the Tea Party, and the re-reaction to that. It's amazing how much better equipped we humans are to tear down rather than build up, but I guess the best thing we can say about our political system is that it's better than most of the other options, and as a republic/democracy, we get the government we deserve.

I wish I knew where civility departed to and if it will ever return.

I was amazed at Dowd's amazingly laser-focus and piercing thesis, not that I could argue with many of her points. But I can't believe how unrelenting she was in such a conspicuous venue. I haven't read the online comments but I'm pretty sure I don't want to... at least not until after I finish writing this post.

The infallibility of the Pope is something I was familiar with even as an un-churched teen. As with most teens, I didn't like authority or at least I liked thinking I was rebelling against authority, just a little bit. But the thought that a human could do no wrong - infallible - was something that my friends (mostly Catholic) and I pondered about often.

Dowd's piece is built on unerring logic, that the Pope and the Vatican have painted themselves into a corner. People have been hurt and scarred, first by sins of commission - the sexual predation of boys and young men, and then by sins of omission - the failure to prevent the repeated pattern of sexual predation AND cover up any of the, well, mess.

Sins of commission are commonplace and for the most part, the public forgives sinners who publicly repent. Sometimes I feel it's easier to count the politicians who haven't been caught cheating on their spouses than the ones who have, but that's an unfair shot. Lately the public hasn't been as forgiving, think John Edwards, Tiger Woods, or that governor who made "Appalachian Trail" a euphemism for an international tryst. And even the ones who the public forgives, such as President Clinton, the public does not forget.

Tiger Woods will be returning soon to the public eye, and the jury is still out if his expression of remorse is enough to curry forgiveness. I'm sure he'll give it his best shot, and he's got the best "spin doctors" in the world to partially rebuild his off-course behavior. But at least he can admit that he did wrong and thought wrongfully, and that he'll do better.

As for the Pope, from Dowd, "Canon 1404 states that 'The First See is judged by no one.'" (I've never actually read any of the church law but if that's the only line about infallibility, then it's really not about the inability to do wrong, it's about not being judged by other humans.) Dowd goes on, "But Jesus, Mary and Joseph, as my dad used to say." Knowing what I do about American Catholics, their pioneer spirit and unwillingness to blindly follow the Pope, Dowd's dad's line is not surprising.  The truth is that we all fall... we can't not fall... we don't have the ability to not fall.

I can't judge the Pope for the sins of commission and omission.  Heck, I can barely keep up with my own transgressions and making up for them.  And it would easy for me to sidestep this issue because I'm not Catholic - I'm Lutheran, the very first of the Protestant denominations that tried to theologically criticize church doctrine and practices and while trying to reform the Church.  Luther didn't want to start a different church; he was trying to get the Church to be back in line with God's Word. (And that is a discussion for another day, or days.)  But if I really want to get technical about labeling myself, I consider myself a Christian of an evangelical and reformed (Lutheran) tradition, otherwise to a casual observer, Lutheran might not even sound like part of the Christian tradition at all.

But the truth for me is that the current Papal Paradox is exactly why I waited so long to explore that the (Christian) Church could be an option for me.  It may be the very reason that I balked while preparing for baptism in a Catholic church - I've never really thought about that. But this paradox is why so many people dislike organized religion, and also the very reason I'm empathetic towards friends who are agnostic or atheistic, or are believers but don't like going to church on semi-regular or even infrequent basis.

Look at all the scandals and bad stuff that happens in the church... sex scandals, cover-ups, get-rich-quick-flim-flam schemes, by people who are supposed to be holier then me. They act all holier-than-thou, want my money, then commit worse crimes/sins than I can even imagine, let alone do.

I had many of the above thoughts as a teen and a young adult. And I reconciled that with the logic that on a grand scale, the church does far more good and it outweighs the bad.

But it goes deeper than that, and as we celebrate Maundy Thursday and the Last Supper, Jesus provides words that give solace and responsibility, the so-called eleventh commandment: "Love one another as I have loved you."

It's hard enough to accept the gift of Grace, of having my sins - of commission and of omission - forgiven because Jesus loves me enough to die on the Cross for me and all who believe. But for me to love others in that way? That's daunting. On the other hand, the world would be a much better place if everyone tried to love each other, not just including enemies but also especially loving enemies, even a fraction of the way Jesus loves us. Which means forgiving... and forgetting... and not beating us down when we can't forgive and forget 'enough,' whatever that means.

This kind of reminds me of discussions I've had with a dear friend, with whom I took seminary classes (which I did part-time until Noah was born). Even though we weren't discussing sex or money scandals, and were probably talking about colonialism, holy wars and other awful things that were done in the name of the church: it's quite probable that the institution that most needs the forgiveness and love of the Gospel... is the church itself.

I can't get my head around such big issues as whether or not my organized religion does enough good to outweigh the bad. That's not why I go. I go because I get to go, I get to share my response to such awesome Divine love, to be renewed and rejuvenated and to reinvigorate the newness of the New Me.

I have been and am blessed to be in a congregation where the focus is on remembering and reinforcing how much and why Jesus loves us, but also cultivating loving one another, certainly within the congregation, but more so to outside the congregation and everyone we encounter in our daily lives. It's what works for me.

And I truly hope that for everyone I know, however they label themselves (or don't), that they find something that works for them.



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