Your intrepid chaplain is away at a conference today and can’t break bread with you at Brunch. Sorry about that, I’m going to miss it. But there’s no reason you iMonks shouldn’t get together and share your thoughts about what’s going on in your lives and in the world this week.
Internet Monk rules apply.
Be courteous.
Listen well.
Extend grace.
Disagree agreeably.
I’ll check now and again at breaks throughout the day. Please don’t fill my downtime with moderation work, ok?
Mourning consists of the outward expressions by which we acknowledge our grief and work through it until it becomes more and more integrated into our lives.
In addition, in the aftermath of loss we need to recuperate, heal, and embrace change.
We never stop grieving. Never.
However, our losses can become part of our lives in such a way that we can carry them with us through practices of mourning (lamenting our loss) and recovery (healing and changing) so that we can move forward onto a “new normal” path. We can forge a renewed identity, find more peace in the midst of life’s uncertainties, and discover a broader and deeper sense of meaning than we ever thought possible.
My favorite illustration of this is losing a limb.
Let’s say that through some terrible accident I were to lose my arm. I will never “get over” that. I will forever be a person who has lost an arm, with lifelong consequences.
However, I can adapt to a new normal over time. For this to happen, I will have to work through a complex maze of feelings and thoughts, participate in various recuperation and rehabilitation activities, and learn new ways of doing things — perhaps with the assistance of a prosthetic. Through such recovery efforts, by which I come to accept the reality of my loss and adapt to the new situation, I can become able to face the world again as a “new” person — someone whose life has been dramatically altered.
This is no small task, and we do the bereaved no favor when we wittingly or unwittingly encourage them to “get over” or “move on” past their grief. That usually says more about our own discomfort with their loss, their new situation, and our inability to adapt than it does about them.
To lose a loved one is to be forever changed.
To lose a loved one is to enter a new and dramatically different part of our story. And where will it lead?
No more songs of innocence. Songs of experience must now be sung.
I would like to begin a reflection on a series of blog posts from BioLogos board member and writer Ard Louis on the subject of miracles. The blog posts can be found on the BioLogos web site archives here. The blog posts are based on a scholarly essay Louis did for BioLogos in 2007 which can be found here.
Ard Louis
From the BioLogos biographic page: Ard Louis is a Professor of Theoretical Physics at the University of Oxford, where he leads an interdisciplinary research group studying problems on the border between chemistry, physics and biology, and is also director of graduate studies in theoretical physics. From 2002 to 2010 he was a Royal Society University Research Fellow at the University of Cambridge and the University of Oxford. He is also an associate of the Faraday Institute for Science and Religion. He has written for the BioLogos Foundation, where as of November 2011, he sat on the Board of Directors. He engages in molecular gastronomy. Prior to his post at Oxford he taught Theoretical Chemistry at Cambridge University where he was also director of studies in Natural Sciences at Hughes Hall. He was born in the Netherlands, was raised in Gabon and received his first degree from the University of Utrecht and his Ph.D. in theoretical physics from Cornell University.
Louis begins his first blog post with quotes from three acquaintances, Martin a fellow colleague at Oxford, and John and Ruth, a couple he meets at church. Martin says:
Unbelievable, isn’t it, that there are still students at this university who believe in stories from the Bible, said Martin, an older colleague, at one of the formal dinners around which the traditional life of Oxford University revolves. But Martin, I answered, their faith probably doesn’t differ much from mine. I can still see his face go pale while he nearly choked on his glass of St. Emilion Grand Cru Classé: How can you believe in such things nowadays – Walking on water, a resurrection from the dead? Those are miracles, and aren’t you a scientist?
While John and Ruth say:
Oh, how interesting, say John and Ruth, a couple that I have just met at the end of a church service. You are a scientist. They look a bit unsure of what to say next and John blurts out, I read recently that we still don’t understand how birds can fly so many miles to the south and yet return to exactly the same place each summer. Scientists can’t explain this; it is a miracle, don’t you think?
These vignettes illustrate the typical dilemma that a scientist who is a Christian is often faced with. Professional colleagues who are not Christians (or theists) cannot believe that someone with a modern science education (and degree) still accepts the myths and fairy tales of the pre-scientific ancient authors of the Bible. Ard’s colleague and BioLogos founder, Francis Collins, as he became well known through his leadership on the Human Genome project and later appointment as director of the National Institutes of Health in Bethesda, Maryland, was regularly raked over the coals by the so-called New Atheists like Richard Dawkins. Collins was regularly accused of “compartmentalization” and “cognitive dissonance”. Atheist commenters occasionally show up here at Internetmonk to chide me that I don’t go far enough by believing in evolution but not chucking all the rest of the unscientific nonsense like the resurrection in the Bible. I just cling to my religious fantasies because I can’t face the truth that science has proven there is no God. Science = Atheism, doncha know, yada, yada, blah, blah, rinse repeat.
Louis quotes his Oxford colleague Alister McGrath:
The debate between atheism and religious belief has gone on for centuries, and just about every aspect of it has been explored to the point where even philosophers seem bored with it. The outcome is stalemate. [Alister McGrath, Dawkins’ God: Genes, Memes and the Meaning of Life, (Blackwell, Oxford 2005) p 92.]
I regularly run into the attitude expressed by John and Ruth from many evangelicals in the churches I still frequent. They have this unquiet anxiety that science has, or is trying to, render their faith irrelevant. The reactions run from the mild response of John and Ruth; that science can’t explain some aspect of nature—so it must be a miracle, to scientists are often wrong about stuff (yes, that’s how it works, some scientist is wrong and some other scientist discovers the wrongness and tries to correct it), to secular scientists are in a conspiracy to cover up the truth about evolution and Darwin is going to be overturned any minute now, or Noah’s Ark has been discovered on Mt. Ararat.
Louis points out that everybody brings a set of pre-suppositions to the table in these type of discussions, but there is a common one that Martin shares with John and Ruth. Both are in fact influenced by a similar perspective on science and miracles; first laid down by the great skeptical Scottish philosopher David Hume. Hume wrote:
David “Snazzy-D” Hume
A miracle is a violation of the laws of nature, and as a firm and unalterable experience has established these laws, the proof against a miracle, from the very nature of the fact, is as entire as any argument from experience can possibly be imagined. [David Hume, Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding and Concerning the Principles of Morals, (1748).]
Louis says the language of “miracles as violations of the laws of nature” has framed the debate ever since. Martin, John and Ruth, perhaps without realizing it, are living under the long shadow of David Hume. Martin thinks that science is the only reliable means to knowledge. John and Ruth have the same tension between science and miracles, and therefore encourage themselves when they see any natural process that seems inexplicable. They see the debunking of the power of science as strengthening the case for God acting in the world. If we know that today God miraculously steers a bird back to its original habitat after a long return flight to the south, then it is easier to believe that 2000 years ago he turned water into wine at a wedding in Cana.
Before Ard can answer Martin, John, and Ruth, he says he needs to take a step back and answer two critical questions:
What do we mean by science?
What does the Bible say about miracles?
The problem of defining what is science has vexed philosophers for generations. The question is known as “the demarcation problem”. Louis says:
Although one can determine with some degree of consensus what the extremes of the science/non-science continuum are, exactly where the boundary lies is fuzzy. This doesn’t mean, however, that we cannot recognize science when we see it, but rather that a watertight definition is difficult to create. The old fashioned idea (still taught in many schools) that scientific practice follows a well-defined linear process—first make an observation, then state a hypothesis, and then test that hypothesis—is certainly far too simple.
Stephen J. Gould (on right)
In the next post, Louis will attempt to give a more nuanced answer to the question of defining science. I have been in basic agreement with Harvard paleontologist Stephen Jay Gould and his NOMA. Non-overlapping magisteria (NOMA) is the view advocated by Gould that science and religion each represent different areas of inquiry, fact vs. values, so there is a difference between the “nets” over which they have “a legitimate magisterium, or domain of teaching authority,” and the two domains do not overlap. Here is a link to the essay in which Gould develops his view.
Although it seems an easy and simple answer to separate the “realms” of science and religion into two separate spheres, it doesn’t seem to fully fit the picture. Though the Bible and religion in general are more concerned about the “who” and the “why” rather than the “how”, any time the Bible maintains that miracles occurred, it steps into the realm of science. Christopher R. Smith puts it this way:
If the spiritual world is real and not merely philosophic speculation, then there should be empirical consequences and “facts” that can be observed in our ordinary material reality by our senses. I would say that there is indeed some overlap between the otherwise separate domains of religion and science, in that science (the discipline of drawing reasoned conclusions from empirical observations) can disprove the claim of a miracle by providing contradictory evidence. In other words, when science investigates a miracle, the most that can be said on the side of the miracle is that there is no scientific proof that it didn’t happen. But by definition (since science properly limits itself to the non-miraculous), there is also no scientific proof that a miracle did happen.
Let me put this question to you: How did your new life begin? Was it by working your heads off to please God? Or was it by responding to God’s Message to you? Are you going to continue this craziness? For only crazy people would think they could complete by their own efforts what was begun by God. If you weren’t smart enough or strong enough to begin it, how do you suppose you could perfect it? Did you go through this whole painful learning process for nothing? It is not yet a total loss, but it certainly will be if you keep this up!
• Galatians 3:2-4, MSG
• • •
One day Dorothy and Toto found themselves in a wondrous world — not in Kansas anymore! for sure. You might say they arrived there by grace alone. In the midst of their mostly tranquil but unsatisfying life, a life that had prompted Dorothy to dream of a better world “over the rainbow,” they found that land through a power greater than themselves. A twister blew off the plains, picked them up and twirled them ’round, and set them done in a new realm. Sepia tones turned to technicolor, drab became dynamic: everything was new.
For the first time in her life, Dorothy felt alive. However, also for the first time, she knew that her ultimate dream was to find home. How could she find her way home?
Dorothy received a simple answer: “Follow the yellow brick road.” And, looking up, she beheld a clear path of golden bricks winding around and leading off into the distance. This road, she was promised, would take her to the city of Oz, where she would meet the powerful Wizard. He would give her the answer. He would show her the way to go home.
The advice she got, of course, proved inadequate. Following the yellow brick road made things worse and ultimately left her stranded and still wondering how she would ever get home.
It must be admitted that Dorothy found blessings and learned lessons along the way. She found friends as needy as she, who joined her on the quest to find answers at the end of the road. She also found danger and difficulty. Various troubles and obstacles hindered and threatened the journey. In confronting them, this humble farm girl discovered hidden resources within herself, as well as the reassurance and security that comes from having loyal companions to help you fight your battles. Dorothy also learned that the world has its charlatans, who, despite their public reputations, are little more than pathetic imposters. They influence others through the power of suggestion and manipulation. They know how to market themselves. They build great cities but hide behind little curtains.
When it was all over, and she had reached the end of the road, Dorothy stood with Toto in her arms and a tear in her eye. She had not found the way home. The yellow brick road, as simple and well-marked as it was, had led her nowhere. The great city had proved no better than the farmyard at satisfying her heart. Her friends couldn’t give her what she ultimately needed. Nor could the great and powerful Wizard.
Having begun her journey by the gracious intervention of a power greater than herself, she now realized that all the paths she had taken subsequently were dead ends. Though they came highly recommended and were firmly believed in by those who promoted them, they could not ultimately help Dorothy or lead her home.
And then once more grace intervened. As Dorothy stood weeping, Glinda the Good Witch appeared.
Dorothy: Oh, will you help me? Can you help me?
Glinda: You don’t need to be helped any longer. You’ve always had the power to go back to Kansas.
Dorothy: I have?
Scarecrow: Then why didn’t you tell her before?
Glinda: Because she wouldn’t have believed me. She had to learn it for herself.
What?
Read those words again. “You’ve always had the power to go back to Kansas.” And, “She had to learn it for herself.”
From the moment grace set her down in a new land, she had the power to find home. She had the ability to make the journey. She had the resources to make it all the way. She didn’t know it then. But it had all been given to her.
She didn’t need the yellow brick road. She didn’t need the city. She didn’t need the wizard. She and her friends (who, by the way learned the same lesson), didn’t need what they thought they needed or what others thought they needed. All the “paths” laid out for them proved to be worthless. All the “experts” proved incapable of granting their deepest needs and wants. Their only value was providing context for Dorothy learning for herself what she needed.
They only needed to make the journey. In walking, they found the way.
Traveler, your footsteps are
the way, and nothing more. Traveler, there is not a way; the way is made by walking.
Note from CM: Thanks to our friend, Scott Lencke, who blogs over at The Prodigal Thought, for this Lenten contribution on the beauty and power of liturgy to shape us.
• • •
I am currently teaching an online course entitled Worship Leadership. The course explores the church’s worship setting beyond just the songs of worship. One of the optional texts is Robbie Castleman’s Story-Shaped Worship: Following Patterns from the Bible and History.
I wanted to post what I believe are some important thoughts of hers regarding liturgy – especially in light of the church currently walking through the season of Lent.
Here are her words:
The word “liturgy” comes from the Greek language and originally meant “the public work or service to their god(s).” The use of the word “liturgy” therefore focuses on how a particular group of people go about worshiping God. So a “liturgy” essentially is an order of worship. Worship is work. Worship is how God’s people serve the maker of heaven and earth. Liturgy is the rhythm and design of this worship through which all worshipers join together to please God. Biblical liturgies, whether they reflect an historically full or only partially developed pattern, all have a rhythm that helps the worshiper anticipate what comes next in a congregation’s service to God. Regrettably, the use of the word “liturgy” is sometimes misused as a shorthand for a particular kind of worship. Liturgy is often attached only to services with an atmosphere for formality, such as services that incorporate written prayers, set refrains used as congregational responses, three hymns and a benediction. However, all orders of worship use a liturgy, all congregational worship is liturgical.
It is not uncommon in certain communities to hear someone say, “We don’t have a liturgy. We come in and sing for about a half an hour and then we have a teaching. Then we end with prayer and another set of songs.” That is still a liturgy. That sequence, which rarely varies, is how people in that community of faith go about serving God through worship. A similar point was made earlier regarding “style,” whether the congregation meets week after week in the gymnasium for a “contemporary” service or in the sanctuary for the “traditional” service. In light of this, it is honoring to God and helpful for the congregation if the ordering of worship elements is repetitive even if variations are evident within a set liturgical rhythm.
What a congregation does sequentially in the liturgy not only reflects a particular understanding of who God is as Creator (and Redeemer) but, in the long run, will shape congregations and individual believers as disciples. For example, for nearly two thousand years Christian worship has incorporated another source for a biblical pattern of worship, that of the birth, life, suffering, death, resurrection and ascension of Jesus.
Using the incarnation, public ministry life, and Jesus’ death, resurrection and ascension as a rhythm for worship year after year helps school the congregation’s theological balance and helps counter an overemphasis on only part of the story that may lead to a truncation of the whole gospel for all of life.
The central significance of marking the liturgical year is to help shape the Christocentric reality of the church. Jesus’ story is the Christian story, the foundational story that shapes, tests, and vindicates Christian life and faith. This is the rhythm of the Christian faith: the anticipation of God’s visitation, the narrative of Jesus’ birth, life, suffering, death, and resurrection and ascension, the Spirit’s empowerment of the church’s witness and mission, and the anticipation of the consummation of God’s eternal kingdom. Christian worship reflects this rhythm, this story, through the order of worship and its great cycle throughout the Christian liturgical year. (p34-36)
Being in a charismatic setting, I used to despise things like liturgy, ultimately seeing it as opposed to more “freer” worship. But I now realize that we all participate in liturgy, that is, we all participate in the rhythmic practices that help form us spiritually. Of course, some churches have more defined rhythms than others. But we all have rhythmic cycles to form us corporately as Christ’s church (and personally).
Liturgy is beautiful.
The Spirit finds liturgy beautiful.
The Spirit finds beautiful all practices that help shape who we are in Christ.
Let us continue to be shaped by the Spirit of Christ as we pursue Christ in our liturgy – the songs, the Lord’s Table, the reading of Scripture, the prayers, the confession of creeds, and more.
Note from CM: This post was written nearly eight years ago, long before we even thought about moving. Well, now we’ve moved, and the birds have come home to roost. So, I thought I’d run it again, for my own motivation as much as anything. We were able to weed out quite a lot of stuff over the past year, but it wasn’t enough. Now I have a new garage that we had hoped to use for, well, a garage. Guess what? It’s filled with piles of stuff to go through and then we’ll have to figure out what to do with it. We’ve set some goals and we’re working on it. But this is going to take a while, folks.
• • •
I came home from a weekend away intent on cleaning out closets.
This urge occasionally strikes, and when it does, I’ve learned to lie down until it goes away.
Ridding home and life of clutter sometimes seems overwhelming, especially now, living in a house and at a time of life when most of it is out of sight. Motivation was easy when I had to look at the mess, and when we were tripping over it all the time.
The nest is now mostly empty, with seasonal lodging for our college students. Only the occasional visit from grandchildren leaves our floors covered with toys. It used to be that way a half dozen times a day. We have plenty of closet space, an attic that is big enough to be a third floor, and basement and garage storage.
And it’s all full.
My wife and I are certainly not hoarders, and though we lean toward the “pack rat” end of the spectrum, we don’t have an extraordinary amount of stuff. However, we have been married for more than three decades, had four children, are sentimental about our family memories, and are admitted book- and music-aholics. Our children live nearby or are in college, so lot of their stuff is still stashed at mom and dad’s.
Plus, we’ve been in school or ministry and traveling ever since we’ve known each other, so we’re always collecting articles, magazines, ministry tools, souvenirs and keepsakes. There are boxes of empty three-ring binders, boxes of stuff from our India trips, boxes filled with items from my desk and files at church, boxes of journals filled with six or seven pages of writing before I lost interest, boxes of old kids clothes, blankets, books, and papers we didn’t want to part with, boxes of stuff we retrieved from boxes of stuff at grandma and grandpa’s home when they cleaned their closets.
I’ve always loved taking pictures, and so we have a gazillion photos, a few photo albums and lots of bulging boxes. We’ve used a personal computer since 1988. What in heaven’s name do you do with all those disks, cords, adapters, manuals, drives, modems, scanners, cds, printers, cameras, and other equipment now collecting dust because they became outdated or replaced by newer stuff? We put it all in boxes and shove it in the back of the closet.
I’m not even sure what’s in all the boxes in the attic and basement. I’m sure I don’t want to know.
In traditional lingo, the metaphor of the “closet” implies that a person is hiding something. “Coming out of the closet” means making a public declaration of something you’ve been trying to avoid revealing. If you have “skeletons” in your closet, you’ve been covering up for a long time.
In the classic devotional story, My Heart Christ’s Home, Robert Munger uses closet imagery to discuss how Christ wants to penetrate every area in our life, even the areas we try to hide from him, in order to cleanse and transform us fully.
One day I found Him waiting for me at the door. An arresting look was in His eye. As I entered, He said to me, “There is a peculiar odor on the house. Something must be dead around here. It’s upstairs. I think it’s in the hall closet.”
As soon as He said this, I know what He was talking about. There was a small closet up there on the hall landing, just a few feet square. In that closet, behind lock and key, I had one or two personal things that I did not want anyone to know about. Certainly, I did not want Christ to see them. I knew they were dead and rotting things left over from the old life. I wanted them so for myself that I was afraid to admit they were there.
That’s a legitimate and, at times, convicting use of the metaphor. But it’s not really what I’m talking about here. We’re not hiding anything in our closets, at least as far as I know. That, in fact, would be self-defeating, since we probably couldn’t find said hidden treasure if we wanted to get our hands on it.
No, our closets and attic and basement and garage and files and drawers are full mostly because I’ve neglected doing anything about them. I’ve ignored them. I’m lazy. Nothing has arrested my attention and compelled me to deal with the situation. This task has moved from the back of my mind to the back burner to somewhere in the outback. So, behind all those closed doors exists a hidden world of neglected remnants from our life.
This doesn’t make a lot of sense, given what I do. I am, after all, a hospice chaplain. I have conversations with patients and families every day about getting their affairs in order. I do bereavement care and hear horror stories of the messes entrusted to those left behind. It hits me regularly — I don’t want to do this to my kids. By the time I get home, the feeling has passed.
My grandparents and parents have set a good example for me. Over the years, they have shown a profound grace in ordering their lives, not only for themselves, but for their children. At times, I’ve thought them a bit OCD, but then I open my closet door and appreciate their ruthless purging.
Furthermore, it always feels so good when an organizing and simplifying task is completed! “It is good,” declared God with each step of bringing order to chaos at creation. Establishing a bit of harmony and symmetry is immensely satisfying. There’s a reason Feng shui has become so popular.
Why then the hesitancy? Why the perpetual procrastination? Why the inability to toe the line, to begin the task?
A long time ago, I read these words and knew that they were right:
Ultimately there is only one impediment [to spiritual growth], and that is laziness. If we overcome laziness, all the other impediments will be overcome. If we do not overcome laziness, none of the others will be hurdled.
Peck points out that laziness is love’s opposite. For to love is to extend oneself to and for another. Unwillingness to do so is nonlove of the most serious kind. In her fine book of meditations on the deadly sin of acedia, Kathleen Norris reminds us that this word, usually referred to as “sloth,” means literally, “the absence of care”. The person who is ruled by this deadly sin is incapable or undesirous of caring.
When life becomes too challenging and engagement with others too demanding, acedia offers a kind of spiritual morphine: you know the pain is there, yet can’t rouse yourself to give a damn.
One of the classic writers on this deadly state of mind, John Cassian, teaches that acedia:
Makes us disgusted with our current surroundings and circumstances,
Causes us to disdain others who are close to us,
Renders us immobile in the face of the work to be done in our lives,
Makes it impossible for us to concentrate and think clearly,
Makes us of little or no help to others because we’re always lamenting and complaining,
Prompts us to imagine that other places or situations would be far better,
Causes us to feel exhausted and wanting to take comfort in food and sleep,
Encourages us to take up other (easier) tasks and neglect our true duties,
Open dictionary, insert my picture. In front of an open closet door.
When Elisabeth Elliot went back to the mission field after the death of her husband Jim, she was faced with many confusing circumstances and uncertainties. She took solace and instruction from an old Saxon legend that had been written into a poem. In old English, each stanza of the poem ended with the simple words, “Doe the next thynge.” The verses speak about trusting God, fearing not the future, being prayerful, reliant, reverent, resting in Jesus’ faithfulness. But above all, act on your faith and “doe the next thynge,” and do it immediately, leaving the results to him. In Elliot’s words, she tried to take this counsel to heart, and “take each duty quietly as the will of God for the moment.”
Some people struggle more with trying to do too much for God, running ahead of him, substituting their ideas, plans, strategies, resources, and strength for the Spirit’s enabling energy and the Word’s quickening power. They produce impressive works but are lacking in fruit. They fulfill their agenda. Tasks get accomplished. Sometimes at the expense of people or other, more profoundly important matters.
Some people struggle more with a spirit of lethargy, sloth, acedia. They can’t find the moxie to simply “do the next thing.” They might find other things to do, and may indeed look busy. It’s a cover. They are neglecting the true thing, the important thing, the next thing. The loving thing. The thing that requires them to extend themselves for the good of others. What little they get done is ephemeral. And they remain alone.
In our weakness, we swing from pole to pole. We find it difficult to live in that place where we are “walking in newness of life,” (Romans 6:4), “bearing fruit in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God; strengthened with all power, according to His glorious might, for the attaining of all steadfastness and patience” (Colossians 1:10-11), devoting ourselves to to God’s purposes and laboring to fulfill them, “striving according to His power, which mightily works within” us (Colossians 1:29).
Simply doing the next thing — in him, his way, by his Spirit, for his glory, for the good of others.
Evening Spring. Photo by FranceBluebird Photography
Sermon: Lent 3 The Ultimate Thin Place
JOHN 2:13-22
The Passover of the Jews was near, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. In the temple he found people selling cattle, sheep, and doves, and the money-changers seated at their tables. Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the temple, both the sheep and the cattle. He also poured out the coins of the money-changers and overturned their tables. He told those who were selling the doves, ‘Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a market-place!’ His disciples remembered that it was written, ‘Zeal for your house will consume me.’ The Jews then said to him, ‘What sign can you show us for doing this?’ Jesus answered them, ‘Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.’ The Jews then said, ‘This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?’ But he was speaking of the temple of his body. After he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this; and they believed the scripture and the word that Jesus had spoken.
The Lord be with you.
One of my favorite people I’ve ever met as a hospice chaplain was man I will call George. His wife was Mildred, and she had Alzheimers disease. Mildred loved music, and used to play the organ in church. Upon occasion, when I visited, she would sing and “dance,” her body swaying to a melody in her mind the rest of us could not hear.
Her husband George, wheelchair bound, had health problems of his own. He also had the most positive, sunny spirit of anyone I’ve met, despite having faced challenges I could not imagine. After two solid years of war zone action, hopping from island to island in the Pacific in WWII, seeing the majority of his companions killed, witnessing untold horrors, he came home to Mildred a broken man. It took him three years to stop having vivid nightmares, to be able to think, to be able to plan their future. With faith and sheer force of will he went into business for himself and became successful. They raised a family and experienced the post-war prosperity of middle America.
At one point, his business burned down. George turned to the insurance company, who called the fire suspicious and never did pay off. Somehow, George and Mildred survived, rebuilt their lives, and went on. They had each other, loving children, a spirit of optimism, and Mildred’s music. Sometimes they had little more than that music to carry them through.
As they grew older, it became clear that Mildred had dementia. The songs in her mind were the only sounds that made sense. George was heartbroken. The two of them had been through so much together, and now she seemed far away. He could touch her, see her, talk to her, but Mildred was somewhere else. And so it it was George in his chair and Mildred swaying back and forth, along with a caregiver supporting them in their final season of life together.
After Mildred died, I continued to visit George and his family. Even did a wedding for one of his grandkids. On every visit George amazed and inspired me with his optimism and encouraging spirit. But one day George had a question. He had been having visions of Mildred. Lying in bed, he would look over at the bathroom door, and she would be standing there, dressed nicely, smiling. When he sat up to get a closer look, she faded away. One time she was lying next to him in bed. He wondered what it meant. I asked him how it made him feel to see her. It made him feel good, he said, when she was there. He was a little bit confused about why she did not stay.
“George,” I said, “I think there may be something more here. Most of us have been taught to think that ‘heaven’ is a place far, far away, out there somewhere. My understanding is that it is more like another dimension all around us, right here. There’s another reality surrounding us that we can’t see, but it’s here and it’s just as real as the things we can touch. That’s God’s realm, and we call it heaven. He and our loved ones are with us, they are close to us even when we can’t see them. And for some reason, at some times, it seems like God opens the curtain a little bit and gives us a glimpse into that unseen world.
“The Irish Christians talk about what they call ‘the thin places,’” I continued, “sacred spots here on earth where it seems like the veil between heaven and this world is thin, where God makes himself and his love known to us. George, maybe you are a man who lives constantly near the ‘thin places’.”
I tell this story today because for the Jewish people in the time of Jesus there was one special “thin place” — and that was the Temple in Jerusalem. That was where God met them, where God revealed himself to them, where they received God’s grace, mercy, and forgiveness. In our Gospel story today, Jesus goes into that sacred place and turns it upside down. Why did he do that?
Some have suggested that Jesus was protesting the economic activity that was going on. People came from all over to the Passover feast, and it was necessary for them to have clean animals to sacrifice, so a system had developed where they could buy their animals at the Temple rather than having to herd them all the way there. Because the Romans ruled, it also meant they need to exchange their Roman money for Temple currency, because they considered it unclean to use foreign money to buy Temple goods. There was a level of extortion that went on, and usually the poor paid the price.
However, I don’t think Jesus action was a commercial protest. This wasn’t about social justice. I don’t think he just got angry one day when he saw the shady economic activity that was going on. I think Jesus was actually saying something about the Temple itself and its purpose. When Jesus drove the traders out of the Temple, he actually stopped the sacrificial activity there for a short time. I think he did that as a prophetic action. Symbolically stopping the regular sacrificial system in such a striking way Jesus was saying saying, “This whole system is under judgment; and one day, before long, this system will stop completely, because the Temple will be destroyed.”
And then, you will notice, he started talking about himself. You see, the Temple was designed to point to Jesus. The Temple was the place where God met with his people. The Temple was the ultimate “thin place” — the place in the world where heaven and earth intersected and God himself met them, inviting them to receive forgiveness and renewal. Jesus was telling them that the Temple would no longer be that place, but rather that he himself would be the One where God would meet people. Jesus would provide the Sacrifice and become the location of forgiveness and cleansing. The Temple would be destroyed forever, but Jesus would be raised up in three days and become our new Temple.
Now we don’t travel to a particular place like the Temple and buy animals and sacrifice them. We come to the Word of the Gospel and to the font of baptism and to Lord’s Table to feast on Jesus’ body and blood. This is where we meet God. This is where God meets us. Jesus is the ultimate “thin place.” He is Emmanuel, God with us. And he invites each and every one of us, “Come to me, all you who labor and are heavy laden; and I will give you rest.” Amen.
Hundreds of faithful at a Pennsylvania church on Wednesday carried AR-15-style rifles in adherence to their belief that a “rod of iron” mentioned in the Bible refers to the type of weapon that was used in last month’s mass shooting in Parkland, Fla.
The armed ceremony at World Peace and Unification Sanctuary in Newfoundland, about 20 miles southeast of Scranton, featured gun-toting worshippers, some wearing crowns of bullets as they participated in communion and wedding ceremonies.
Attendants carefully placed a zip tie into the receiver magazine well of each weapon to assure that a clip could not be loaded.
Concern over Wednesday’s gathering prompted a nearby elementary school to cancel classes for the day. It also sparked a small demonstration outside the church, with one protester telling The Associated Press that “it’s scaring people in the community.”
According to The Philadelphia Inquirer, “The ceremony’s official name was the Cosmic True Parents of Heaven, Earth and Humanity Cheon Il Guk Book of Life Registration Blessing. It was part of the church’s weeklong ‘Festival of Grace,’ which included a ‘President Trump Thank You Dinner’ on Saturday.”
The Rev. Hyung Jin “Sean” Moon prayed for “a kingdom of peace police and peace militia where the citizens, through the right given to them by almighty God to keep and bear arms, will be able to protect one another and protect human flourishing.”
“We pray they would stand as kings and queens with their crown and rod of iron,” he said.
Moon is the youngest son of the late Rev. Sun Myung Moon — the self-proclaimed messiah who founded the Unification Church in South Korea in 1954 and eventually spawned a worldwide movement regarded by detractors as a cult. The church is perhaps best known for its mass wedding ceremonies.
As the AP notes, “The younger Moon’s congregation is a breakaway faction of the Unification Church, which had distanced itself from Wednesday’s event.”
…As the Inquirer notes, the Rev. Sean Moon’s brother, Moon Kook-jin, also known as Justin Moon, is the founder and CEO of Kahr Arms, a firearms manufacturer headquartered in nearby Greeley.
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AND NOW IT’S TIME FOR…
No tribute to silliness on a post-evangelical site would be complete without a look back at the pinnacle of silly entertainment for evangelicals and their kids…
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SILLY PUNS AND TURNS OF PHRASE
I lost my job at the bank on my very first day.
A woman asked me to check her balance, so I pushed her over.
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I’m only friends with 25 letters of the alphabet.
I don’t know Y.
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Q. What’s the difference between a hippo and a Zippo?
A. A hippo is really heavy, and a Zippo is a little lighter.
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Q. Why can’t you run through a campground?
A. You can only ran, because you have to go past tents.
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ONE CHURCH TRADITION WE’RE DEFINITELY FOLLOWING TODAY…
— Church Curmudgeon (@ChrchCurmudgeon) March 1, 2018
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THE GREATEST SILLY COMEDY ROUTINE OF ALL TIME
I can still see the tears rolling down from my Grandpa’s eyes as he laughed to Abbott and Costello’s timeless baseball routine. Here’s an abbreviated version…
And, by the way, the Bible begins with a pretty exciting baseball game. In the big inning, Eve stole first, Adam stole second, and then Cain struck out Abel. But alas, then the Giants and the Angels were rained out.
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THERE ONCE WAS A CALVINIST DOG…
FROM THE BABYLON BEE—Responding to his owner Matt affectionately calling him a “good boy” for fetching a stick, local Calvinist canine Rupert reportedly reminded him that “according to the Scriptures, nobody is a good boy.”
“We’ve been over this, Matt. We’re all corrupted—every one of us,” Rupert reportedly said to his owner after stopping mid-stride to address the glaring theological error. “How can you call me a good boy when we have all been marred by the effects of sin?”
According to witnesses, the dog went on to lecture his owner for several minutes, stressing how easy it is to forget who we really are in light of God’s blinding holiness and our desperately fallen nature.
“Do not call me a good boy—I am a depraved wretch,” he added before picking up his stick and continuing to play.
SILLY DANCE
“Do a loony-goony dance
‘Cross the kitchen floor,
Put something silly in the world
That ain’t been there before.”
• Shel Silverstein, A Light in the Attic
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DEDICATION
Today’s post is devoted to a man I know who has had more fun and taught more people to have fun than anyone I know. His name is Bernie De Koven, and I encourage you to check out his website Deep Fun, where you can find silly games and fun of all kinds for you, your family, your friends, or any group of which you are a part. You can also read articles, watch videos, and check out his book, A Playful Path, which explains Bernie’s theories about the essential value of play and silliness in our lives.
Paul Wilkinson has a provocative post over at Thinking Out Loud on the subject of silence in worship services.
As you know, Internet Monk has long been a proponent of silence as an essential part of a Jesus-shaped spirituality. We have encouraged that people intentionally experience silence both as a personal spiritual practice and as a part of our worship liturgies.
For example, in his 2009 series on “The Evangelical Liturgy,” Michael Spencer devoted an entire post to the subject of liturgical silence. In that piece, he wrote:
Silence has been banished from most contemporary worship as if it were an outright evil, yet what modern worship consumer is not likely to come back from a monastic retreat saying “I loved the silence?”
Though he recognized some functional problems with group silence, Michael recommended it as a corporate practice in order that we might pursue “simply the idea of ceasing conversations and being still and quiet before the Lord as a preparation for worship.”
But are contemporary worshipers ready to be silent?
In Paul’s article he reflects upon some words of warning from Henri Nouwen, who certainly appreciated the value of silence in spiritual formation.
One of our main problems is that in this chatty society, silence has become a very fearful thing. For most people, silence creates itchiness and nervousness. Many experience silence not as full and rich, but as empty and hollow. For them silence is like a gaping abyss which can swallow them up.
As soon as a minister says during a worship service, “Let us be silent for a few moments,” people tend to become restless and pre-occupied with only one thought: “When will this be over?” Imposed silence often creates hostility and resentment.
Many ministers who have experimented with silence in their services have soon found out that silence can be more demonic than divine and have quickly picked up the signals that were saying: “Please keep talking.” It is quite understandable that most forms of ministry avoid silence precisely so as to ward off the anxiety it provokes.
So, what are we to make of this dilemma? Paul Wilkinson reminds us that introducing things like periods of silence into our services without preparation can become “well-intentioned forms and elements in our worship services [that] are producing the opposite effect to what is intended because of the way we’re wired.”
I’ve been a pastor long enough to know that Christian leaders are often thinking about these kinds of things, while people in our congregations dwell in an entirely different thought universe. When I was in non-liturgical congregations, I tried to change things many times and found the results mixed at best. Some things simply represent a different “world” that is too far away, and a lot of folks aren’t willing to make the trip.
Are the more evangelical traditions, for whom this is especially difficult, simply consigned to practice worship habits that will never allow them to appreciate the value of deep and regular silence in their gatherings and spiritual formation practices?
If so, what does this portend for the health and maturity of the church?
In this last chapter Polkinghorne desires to look at three New Testament passages he feels are of great profundity. He wants to explore their depth by looking at them from the viewpoint of a scientist who, as he says, “wishes to locate his understanding of the physical world within the more comprehensive context of wider intelligibility than a theological perspective affords.” He wants this discussion to foster new insight even in relation to issues that were completely unknown in the cultural settings that the Bible originated in. The first of these is the prologue of John:
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was with God in the beginning. 3 Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. 4 In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. 5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
10 He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. 11 He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. 12 Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God— 13 children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God.
14 The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.
18 No one has ever seen God, but the one and only Son, who is himself God and[a] is in closest relationship with the Father, has made him known. (John 1:1-5, 10-14, 18)
The Prologue speaks of the union of the eternal with the temporal. The words “made his dwelling” are literally, “was entented”, a reference to the Tabernacle that accompanied the wilderness wanderings of Israel as a covenanted symbol of the divine presence with them. For John the Word made flesh is the true form of the divine presence with humanity. John’s use of “Word” (Greek- Logos) is a double reference to both Greek and Hebrew thinking. Greek philosophers, such as the Stoics, spoke of the Logos as the universal ordering principle of the world. To a physicist like Polkinghorne, this speaks of the deep and wonderful order that physics has discovered to lie at the root of the universe. The physical laws governing the universe are expressed mathematically in what he calls “beautiful equations”.
The current quest of theoretical physicists is to find the Grand Unified Theory that combines these laws with those that describe other basic forces of nature. Although, not successful yet, Polkinghorne believes such an ambition will eventually be achieved. He says:
In its rational transparency and rational beauty, the universe that physics explores could well be described as a world shot through with signs of mind and so it does not seem unnatural to a physicist like myself to believe that it was through the Word that all things came into being.
In Hebrew thinking, Word (dabar) means both word and deed. There is a dynamic character to Israel’s understanding of “By the word of the Lord the heavens were made” (Psalm 33:6). In Genesis 1, God speaks creatures into being by the command, “Let there be…” The opening words of John’s Gospel, “In the beginning” are a conscious echo of the opening words of Genesis. I am going to quote Polkinghorne at length here:
The fusion of ideas of enabling order and unfolding dynamic process, suggested by the double linguistic reference of John’s use of Word, is highly consonant with science’s understanding of cosmic history. The given laws of nature, which are the ground rules for physical process, are not only rationally beautiful, but also had to take a very specific form if the eventual evolution of carbon-based life was to be possible, anywhere or at any time in cosmic history. For example, every atom of carbon in our bodies was made in the nuclear furnace of the stars. We are literally people of stardust. The process by which this happens is very delicate and it is only possible because of the laws of nuclear physics take a very precise, ‘finely tuned’ form. It took ten billion years for life to appear in our universe, but the cosmos was pregnant with the possibility of life from the very beginning, because its laws took the specific form that was a necessary precondition for life to be able eventually to emerge. Those of us who see the universe as a divine creation will here discern the work of the Word in the Greek sense of Logos. Science also tells us that the potentiality that was already present in the early universe has been brought to actual fruition by a sequence of evolutionary processes, stretching over 13.7 billion years. Here the believer will discern the character of the Word in the dynamic Hebrew sense, for the Creator is to be recognized as acting as much through the unfolding of natural processes, which are expressions of the divine will, as in any other way.
When I look at this whole mysticism of dissolution, which (supposedly) is happy that we can flow into trees, mountains, and meteors, I ask myself: Didn’t human biological and cultural evolution develop in precisely the opposite direction? — namely, to a more and more powerful awareness of the self, freedom from mere instincts and compulsions, emancipation from the dominance of the collective, becoming persons, a more and more intense understanding of the irreplaceable nature of every individual?
Commenters then took him to task saying that evolution does not proceed from the simple to the complex. Now perhaps from a strict biological definition of evolution that may be true i.e. evolution is the change in the average characteristics in a population as reflected in the change in alleles from generation to generation. Strictly and technically speaking, there is no developmental direction except as benefits survival. However, that is NOT the sole definition of evolution; note the online dictionary definition:
ev·o·lu·tion
[ˌevəˈlo͞oSH(ə)n]
NOUN
the process by which different kinds of living organisms are thought to have developed and diversified from earlier forms during the history of the earth.
It is this second definition that Lohfink and Polkinghorne are referring to. And, speaking as a geologist, this second definition has empirical justification. It is reflected in the fossil record as the well-known “Law of Faunal Succession”. Encyclopedia Britannica has the following definition (emphasis mine):
Law of faunal succession: observation that assemblages of fossil plants and animals follow or succeed each other in time in a predictable manner. Sequences of successive strata and their corresponding enclosed faunas have been matched together to form a composite section detailing the history of the Earth, especially from the inception of the Cambrian Period, which began about 540 million years ago. Faunal succession occurs because evolution generally progresses from simple to complex in a nonrepetitive and orderly manner.
It is correct to say that evidence from science does not imply theism. However, it is more correct to say that evidence from science doesn’t imply anything religiously or philosophically. Scientific evidence is always interpreted through some interpretive grid. There is no such thing as an objective interpretation. I know that sounds all post-modern and what-not, but every good scientist is aware of his or her confirmation biases. Does cosmic fine tuning or the Anthropic Principle prove a theistic designer? Not neccessarily, but cosmic fine tuning fails to reject the hypothesis that God has designed this universe.
I have talked before about how the atheist astrophysicist Fred Hoyle made an anthropic prediction about the states of carbon formation inside stars as illustrated in these two slides from my friend David Heddle, a nuclear physicist at Christopher Newport University.
Hoyle basically realized that the Anthropic Principle fails to reject the hypothesis that God has designed this universe.
As I have said before, the cosmos produced us, who are rational and see purpose. That rationality and teleos has to arise from something beyond the mere physical and that something has to equal or exceed our rationality. So the existence of rational creatures in this cosmos is, ipso facto, the evidence of a rational cosmos. A rational cosmos is most like a mind, as far as we can know. And that ultimate mind is what most of us call God. Now the last time I said that I was accused of being a panentheist. To which I reply: guilty, but so what? I would classify myself as a weak panentheist as discussed in this video , which, by the way, I’m in good company with Kallistos Ware and other Eastern Orthodox thinkers. So challenge my stance (and Polkinghorne’s) if you must, I’m not backing down.
The next scripture that Polkinghorne wished to examine is Colossians 1:15-20—
15 The Son is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. 16 For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him. 17 He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. 18 And he is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning and the firstborn from among the dead, so that in everything he might have the supremacy. 19 For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, 20 and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross.
This extraordinary passage is claiming a cosmic significance for Jesus, an assertion that is being made about a person who had been crucified perhaps thirty years before the epistle was written. The fact that the passage speaks of the one who through whom “all things have been created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together…” surely elevates him above solely creaturely status of any kind, indicating we should understand “firstborn” as a way of expressing Christ to be prior to and supreme over all creation, which is surely to attribute divine status to him, Arian heretics notwithstanding.
Claiming that a provincial rabbi shamefully executed as a criminal 2,000 years ago somehow embodies the organizing principle behind billions of years of history and unthinkable expanses is, on the face of it, somewhat silly. Or so the atheists try to shame us into thinking. To have a creator who becomes a creature mixes up the conceptual layers of ordinary reality. It’s like God poked a hole in reality and pulled reality through the hole and tied it into a Moebius knot. Or like a story where the author is embedded on exactly the same terms as the other characters, his presence having the effect of making the story more real, more consequential (kudos to Francis Spufford and Unapologetic for the imagery).
The other thing about that passage that Polkinghorne points out is that Christ reconciles all things through the blood of the cross. Notice it is “all things” not simply all people. Redemption is proclaimed to be cosmic in scope. As far as science can tell us, everything ends in death—ourselves on the timescale of tens of years, and the universe itself on the timescale of billions of years. So theology must take this story of inescapable ultimate futility very seriously indeed.
The final passage Polkinghorne wants to look at is Romans 8:19-23:
19 For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. 20 For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope 21 that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God. 22 We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. 23 Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies.
Why should God have subjected the creation to futility? This speaks not only to the ultimate cosmic futility of cosmic heat death, but also the cost of the evolutionary natural process. In an evolving world the death of one generation is the cost of new life of the next. Genetic mutation not only produces new forms of life to be sifted and preserved through natural selection, but sometimes is the source of malignancy. Creative processes take place at the “edge of chaos” where order and disorder interlace. If things were too tightly ordered they would never generate something really new. If they were too haphazard, no novelty would be able to persist. Creative processes of this kind will necessarily generate ragged edges and blind alleys as well as extraordinary fruitfulness. Polkinghorne says in this insight there is some help for theology as it wrestles with the problems of disease and disaster in the divine creation. They are not something gratuitous, that a God who was a bit more competent or a bit less callous could have easily eliminated. They are the inescapable cost of a world in which creatures are allowed to make themselves. John concludes:
The costliness of evolutionary process means that the creation has indeed been ‘groaning in labour pains until now’. However, the last word does not lie with death and futility, but with God. It is the Christian hope and belief that the divine faithfulness will not allow anything of good to be eventually lost, but God will give to all creatures an appropriate destiny beyond their deaths, as the old creation is ultimately transformed in Christ into the new creation. Christians believe that this process has, in fact, already begun in the seed event of the resurrection of Jesus. Paul sets before us the hope and promise ‘that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God’. Ultimate cosmic destiny and ultimate human destiny lie together in the One who redeems all things by the blood of his cross. Romans 8 is one of the most profound and hopeful chapters in the New Testament and reading it in the light of modern scientific understanding helps us to find new levels of profundity in it.
One of our main problems is that in this chatty society, silence has become a very fearful thing. For most people, silence creates itchiness and nervousness. Many experience silence not as full and rich, but as empty and hollow. For them silence is like a gaping abyss which can swallow them up.
– by John Polkinghorne
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