Covid-19 and the future of Church – Part 3

I wanted to draw your attention to a couple of comments made on my post last week that I think were significant. One was left after much of the discussion had concluded, so you may not have seen it.

Robert F. commented:

I miss congregational worship somewhat, but the practice of daily compline devotions that my wife and I have undertaken since the beginning of the church lock down has been far more spiritually formative than years of congregational worship.

When asked what that looked like he responded:

Each evening my wife and I read aloud the scriptural text suggested in a devotional, The Upper Room, and the short meditation that goes along with that day’s reading as preface to praying compline. Compline is the last evening service of daily prayer in the Western Divine Office; we use the Episcopal (USA) Book of Common Prayer as the source for that service. Compline includes confession, psalms and other scriptural readings as appointed in the daily office, the Gloria Patri, the Lord’s Prayer, collects, and space for a hymn as well as personal and corporate silence and intercession and thanksgiving; it concludes with an antiphon and the Song of Simeon. The service may be short and spare, or longer and more involved depending on how many reading are included, and whether other optional features are included or not. Much of the service is drawn from ancient devotions of the church, and provides a trellis of liturgical prayer on which personal prayer is lifted into places it might not be able to go unaided. There is space for the Spirit to breathe, and well as form and guidance so that the spirit does not get lost.

Late the next day Marcus Johnson left this thought:

I’m going back to Psalm 137 a lot over the past few months. The poet recalls the long journey from their homeland to live out the rest of their life in either slavery or exile. The temple, center of their cult, no longer exists. The priesthood apparently cannot operate. Their captors are asking them to sing songs about their God, and they say, “How can we sing the songs of the Lord while in a foreign land?”…

I think we are going to have to go back to (apologies in advance for those of you who, like me, are over Matt Redman) the heart of worship. If worship cannot be congregational, physical, intimate, tactile, etc. in such a way that the institutions that perform it can survive, then what’s left? We’re not just a church without a temple; as most people have pointed out, we may be a church without a gathering. God’s still there, though, and so are we, so the basic elements of what’s needed for worship will survive.

Let me start off by saying that until there is a safe and effective vaccine, I am not planning to attend an indoor church service, indoor restaurant, or movie theatre (not a typo – Canadian and the rest of the non USA world spelling).

So in my mind, I was going to be stuck with what I considered, and I think many of you would agree, a poor substitution for the real thing.

Each of us has we appreciate most about the church gathered. For me, there are two things I miss most: The horizontal aspect of fellowship with others, and the communion with God through corporate Praise and Worship. Your own experiences and preferences may differ, and that is fine, I am not here to debate which aspects of church are most important, and which ones should we miss the most. How meeting corporately impacts me will be different to how it impacts you.

I do find that watching our worship team on YouTube, or participating in a Bible Study via Zoom, to be both very unfulfilling, and I was quite willing to tune both out.

That is why I think I found both Robert’s and Marcus’ comments very meaningful, as they drew a spotlight on to the attitude that I had. In short I was saying “Church is working for me, and so I am going to tune out.”

I realized much to my own surprise that I was guilty of treating church like a consumer good.

Don’t get me wrong. I think we all do this to some extent, whether we admit it or not. We attend the type of church that we attend, whether it is very liturgical, or very charismatic, because it meets a spiritual need.

But when I say, “I am not going to participate because my needs are not being met”, that is a far cry from saying “My needs are not being met, I am going to find a solution”, or perhaps “My needs are not being met, but I am going to be satisfied with the efforts that others are making in the midst of bad circumstances.”

Robert’s comment hit home because he and his wife have taken steps to provide for their own spiritual well being. (My prayers are with you in this difficult time.) I was also struck by Marcus’ comment that “we may be a church without a gathering. God’s still there, through, and so are we, so the basic elements of what’s needed for worship will survive.”

I have my guitar, I have my voice. I can still praise God. I can still reach out to others, even interact with them a little bit in our back yard.

In short I need to become a little less consumer and a little more participant.

What I do will not look like what Robert and his wife do, but it will certainly be a whole lot better than spiritual atrophy.

As usual, your thoughts and comments are welcome.

P.S. I have started fixing up my back yard, with one of the goals to make it a place of hospitality over the summer and fall. The picture above is of the little patio I finished creating last weekend. I just realized I had a before picture of the same spot. (I moved the canoe. It used to sit right behind where the chairs are now.)

Sunday with Michael Spencer: How J.I. Packer influenced Michael’s spiritual journey

Road to Fairy Land. Photo by David Cornwell

Note from CM: In tribute to J.I. Packer, who died last week, we present this post from Michael Spencer about his spiritual journey, and how Packer’s book Knowing God played a pivotal role.

• • •

Sunday with Michael Spencer
From “Jesus, the Glory of the Christian Journey” (2009)

I can’t speak for anyone else, just for me.

When I became a Christian in 1974, I was immediately taught to define myself three ways.

First, did I believe that I was a sinner and that Jesus died for my sins so I could go to heaven?

Second, was I doing the the things my church taught me to do: attend worship, pray, read the Bible, tithe, “witness”, come to Sunday School, be a good Baptist?

Third, was I not doing the things my church taught me were sinful: drink, dance, use drugs, watch R-rated movies, listen to rock music, have sex outside of marriage, use profanity, work on Sundays, marry a Catholic?

That was the menu. Simple. Comprehensive. Understandable.

Jesus wasn’t absent. He was the door in. But then he seemed to vanish into the background.

God had other plans for me, however. One of my school friends introduced me to books. Christian books. He was reading C.S. Lewis. I didn’t get what that was all about.

Then he gave me a copy of J.I. Packer’s Knowing God. It’s a weighty book now, and it certainly was then. I read what I could, and that wasn’t much, but it was enough to reorient my understanding of the Christian life if two ways.

First, Packer impressed upon me that the Christian life was a relationship with God- “Knowing God.” I’d never heard this before. There was some “knowing” in my faith, but it was primarily about doing. Coming to me at a time when I was starting to awaken intellectually and grow personally, I was drawn to this new way of thinking about the Christian life.

Secondly, Packer’s book demonstrated that being a Christian was a much bigger project than I ever suspected. God touched on everything, not just in the sense of “being a witness,” but in the sense that everything was a way to worship God, serve God or experience God. Suddenly, all of life, not just witnessing or listening to sermons, became part of the experience of knowing God.

I took the book to my youth director and asked him if he’d ever heard of it. He looked at it, and read the title. He told me that being a Christian was about how many people you could get to go to heaven, not about knowing God. The book, he said, sounded off track and I should avoid it.

For the first time in my life, I realized I was being led in the wrong direction by one of my spiritual leaders. It was an uncomfortable place, and I was, for a moment, torn about what to do.

I’d gone a long way down the road of identifying with my church’s way of being a Christian. I won’t recite some of what I did to try and be a good witness, but it was between comedy and the sort of travesty that is exceedingly painful to watch.

My church specialized in certainty. They were certain that the Bible absolutely would lead anyone reading it to become exactly what we were, and anyone paying attention to the Bible would do exactly what we did exactly the way we did it.

Now here I was, a teenager, still in high school, a relatively new Christian, holding a book by some Anglican guy I’d never heard of, feeling drawn by the Holy Spirit toward a new direction in understanding God. Somehow being drawn, in a way I could never explain, toward Jesus; a Jesus to whom I felt like a stranger.

Here I was feeling that maybe it wasn’t about door-knocking confrontations, dress codes, sin lists and repeated trips down the aisle to finally surrender “all.” God was reaching out to me, and showing me more of himself. To know him, I would come to know Jesus.

It was the beginning of a journey. It would take me to the Catholic charismatic movement where I learned that Jesus was much more generous and amazing than I ever had been told in my church. It was a journey that took me on to a Methodist revival team called the “New Disciples for Christ,” where I learned about calling people to follow Jesus.

It took me to college where I gave up on the rapture, and into the first suspicions that I may not have ever truly known the Father heart of God. A longing for Jesus began in me; a longing amplified when my fiancee dumped me and I began to see myself as a man.

There have been times in my life that I did not move forward with God, but camped where I was, convinced I was finally surrounded by the “real” Christians with the “final” answers. Always, God moved me on, toward a deeper fellowship with Him. Always, moving me toward Jesus.

That journey wasn’t constant. In my years on church staff, I forgot about Jesus and focused on the church. I wanted to be successful. Jesus would always be there, creating his special kind of tension with the normal expectations of ministry in a large church. Under the influence of Tony Campolo, I began taking students to eastern Kentucky and into the inner cities of Chicago and Boston. In those experiences, I began to see and sense Jesus again. I began to grow past the approved, safe Jesus of the suburban church, and to understand that Jesus was a trouble-maker; a revolutionary turning the world upside down.

In 2006, God told me to leave a church situation I’d been part of for 12 years. The result, 3 years later, was my wife going to the Roman Catholic Church and my journey with God going into the evangelical wilderness, where the same God is beckoning me on. This wasn’t where I expected to find Jesus, but I should know better. It’s always him, making me his disciple, surprising me, taking me out of the safe places and putting me where he emerges more wonderful than ever.

It is, always, the same God I heard calling me in the pages of Knowing God. I haven’t chased every wind of doctrine. With the exception of a foray into Calvinism for too long, I’ve always been much the same Baptist believer I was when I started this journey. Jesus has shown me that he isn’t a franchised product of some denomination or the spokesman for some program or cause. Jesus is the source, the head, of his body. He’s present in all the places Christians seek him, but he’s present in some many more places and in so many more ways that we ever suspect.

The constant is that God isn’t through with me, and the older I get, the more excited I am about Jesus. The more I come to see glimmers of what it really means to know him and be known by him. I now have few doubts that God is at work in my life for his glory and my benefit, but the journey won’t be a standstill. It will be new discoveries and new adventures.

In the midst of knowing God through his Son, I’m discovering that I am a member of the human race, deeply connected to all other persons in my humanity and my sinfulness. I’m discovering I don’t need to make a demonstration of what I know about anyone else’s life or how God works. I simply need to learn humility and understand that God is surprising us constantly in Jesus. I need to be open to Jesus and not turn him into the sum total of my idea of what it means to be a Christian.

The IM Saturday Monks Brunch: July 18, 2020

The IM Saturday Monks Brunch: July 18, 2020

• • •

Rest in peace, J.I. Packer

From Regent College…

“Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.” Psalm 116:15 ESV

It is with great sadness that we announce the death of Dr. J.I. Packer, a treasured faculty member, author, churchman, and friend.

James Innell Packer died July 17th in Vancouver, British Columbia. He was ninety-three, and humorous, gracious, and prayerful even in his final days.

One of the most widely-respected systematic theologians of the twentieth century, Jim drew his inspiration primarily from Scripture, but was deeply influenced by the works of John Calvin and the English Puritans. Jim brought seventeenth-century Puritan devotion to life for his twentieth- and twenty-first-century students. While named as one of the 25 Most Influential Evangelicals by Time Magazine in 2005 and author of one of the best-selling Christian books of all time, Knowing God, Jim Packer’s description of himself was as an “adult catechist.” “Theology, friends, is doxology” is a phrase students recall, and in many respects, the adage that shaped his lengthy career.

…As an author, Jim wrote forty-seven books, including Evangelism and the Sovereignty of God (1961), Knowing God (1973), Keep in Step with the Spirit (1984), A Quest for Godliness: The Puritan Vision of the Christian Life (1994), and Weakness Is the Way (2013). His final work, The Heritage of Anglican Theology, will appear in 2021. He co-authored nineteen others. Editors repeatedly observed that Jim was clear, factual, and humble—meticulous in proofreading his own work. He was an editor at Christianity Today for more than thirty years, and General Editor of The English Standard Version of the Bible, a role he considered one of his greatest contributions to the global church.

…Jim loved jazz, trains, and mystery novels. Locomotives were a lifelong fascination; he said trains (along with trees and waterfalls) evoked “his longing for the transcendent.” He could quote verbatim as easily from Dostoevsky’s Brothers Karamazov as Charles Williams’s The Place of the Lion. He was witty and quick to see humour; he made fun of himself but never others. He cautioned his students to expect rigour in his classes, quipping “Packer by name, packer by nature.”

When he was writing daily, Jim wrote 2000 words (on his treasured manual typewriter) before breakfast. When asked if he wanted a dictionary loaded onto his iPad (a device he used as his eyesight deteriorated), he smiled sheepishly and admitted, “Well, I haven’t needed one so far.”

For all his accolades and accomplishments, Jim’s focus was always, always, on Christ. He said the Book of Common Prayer‘s Morning Prayer and Evening Prayer services at the beginning and end of each day, often arising at 4 am to do so. Even recovering from a broken pelvis in his last year, he would sink to his knees to pray preceding the Eucharist.

•

Matthew Paul Turner’s big (and difficult) news…

Dear friends, I have difficult news to share. After much thought, prayer, and counseling, Jessica and I have made the decision to end our marriage. While we’re best friends and thoroughly love doing life, parenting, and pursuing our dreams together, ending our marriage is necessary because I am gay.

Being gay isn’t a new discovery for me. However, as someone who spent 30+ years in fundamentalist/evangelical churches, exploring God through conservative theologies, I’ve lived many days overwhelmed by fear, shame, and self-hatred. Though my own faith evolved long ago to become LGBTQ+ affirming, my journey toward recognizing, accepting and embracing myself took much longer. But for the first time in my life, despite the sadness and grief I’m feeling right now, I can say with confidence that I’m ready to embrace freedom, hope, and God as a gay man.

I would not be able to say that without Jessica’s undying grace and support. I fell in love with her 17 years ago and still love her deeply. Despite her own grief and pain, she has loved and encouraged me to be fully me. Many of the steps I’ve taken recently wouldn’t have happened without Jessica walking beside me, helping me through every fear. Jessica is and will always be my hero. She’s brave, strong and showcases love like nobody I know.

Our utmost desire is to move forward in love and compassion for each other and put the well-being of our kids first. Coming out to my kids was one of the hardest, most beautiful things I’ve ever done. Loving and protecting their stories will always be our first priority.

I will continue to write children’s books and am grateful for the support of my publisher Convergent Books. Writing books about wholeness, hope, and God’s love for children is an honor and privilege I do not take for granted.

That said, we ask that you be kind and respectful toward us.

Throughout these hard months, Jessica and I have looked at each other many times and said, “we’re going to be okay.” And on most days, we fully believe that. Please keep us in your thoughts, prayers as we engage this new path.

•

Hidden Blessings of the Pandemic

From the Babylon Bee…

U.S.—Regular VBS volunteers across the country are enjoying their most peaceful summer in years, sources confirmed Friday.

The people who usually volunteer at their church’s VBS for some reason thanked the Lord for even a single year of respite. Not having to make fifty gallons of punch a day, prepare hundreds of little cups of Goldfish crackers, and make their fingers bleed by helping kids glue together macaroni Jesuses for a week, they instead are spending their time resting, relaxing, and thanking God for His grace.

“While the pandemic is definitely bad, the silver lining is we don’t have to endure a week of mind-searing insanity,” said Sarah Pateo of Albuquerque. “I am well-rested. I haven’t had a mental breakdown while trying to create a pipe-cleaner Jonah. And I don’t have those infernal songs stuck inside my head.”

“So I’m NOT saying that the pandemic is good — but I am saying God works in mysterious ways,” she concluded as she relaxed with a book and an ice-cold lemonade that may or may not have had vodka in it.

At publishing time, the nation’s regular VBS volunteers had admitted that “it’s kinda crazy, but I actually do miss it a little bit.”

•

Church social distancing, with good humor…

•

Pandemic as Sabbath?

Pandemic

What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath—
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing. Pray. Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Center down.
And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart.
Know that we are connected
in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
(You could hardly deny it now.)
Know that our lives
are in one another’s hands.
(Surely, that has come clear.)
Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils
of compassion that move, invisibly,
where we cannot touch.
Promise this world your love—
for better or for worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.

• Lynn Ungar

•

One thing is clear: “E Pluribus Unum” we ain’t…

Here is what I’ve been thinking lately — “I live in the wrong country for this kind of problem.” The United States is just too big, too complex, too decentralized, and too marked by zealous forms of individualism, libertarianism, and a partisan political spirit to deal adequately with a pandemic like the one we’re facing now.

In my opinion, the STUPIDEST conflict we are reading about and dealing with is the fight that is going on with regard to wearing masks.

People, it’s as much of a no-brainer as I can think of. And please don’t try to convince me otherwise. It’s the most commonsense, simple and helpful protection we can all do to help ourselves and others stay safe from the droplets we expel from our mouths and noses when we exhale, talk, and otherwise move air from our lungs. It’s not about your personal freedoms being abridged any more than “No shirt, no shoes, no service” is. It’s simple courtesy, respect for others, and a good sensible and healthy practice.

“We can only beat this virus if we are united as one, not divided by ideology or politics. I wear a mask to protect you and you wear a mask to protect me. It is simple as that.” (Gov. Cuomo, New York)

Of course, if you must wear a mask, but really, really don’t like it, you can always get one of these —

And then, of course, there is THIS to consider…

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More Church Social Distancing…

•

Finally, a little lift for all those feeling burdened today…

My life these days (in song)

Three Musicians. Picasso

My life these days (in song)
(Warning: some strong language)

• • •

It’s the weight of the world
But it’s nothing at all
Light as a prayer, and then I feel myself fall
You got to give me a minute
Because I’m way down in it
And I can’t breathe so I can’t speak
I want to be strong and steady, always ready
Now, I feel so small, I feel so weak

•

I had a garden but my flowers died
There ain’t much living here inside
Lately, I don’t know what I’m holding on to
Wished I could run away to Couer d’Alene
Take nothing with me, not even my name
Because easy’s getting harder every day

•

Yes we all go through it together
But we all go at it alone

•

You rub your palm on the grimy pane
In the hope that you can see
You stand up proud, you pretend you’re strong
In the hope that you can be
Like the ones who’ve cried, like the ones who’ve died
Trying to set the angel in us free
While they’re waiting for a
While they’re waiting for a
While they’re waiting for a miracle

•

Lord won’t you tell us, tell us what does it mean
At the end of every hard earned day people find some reason to believe

•

Across the railroad tracks, down the gravel road
Headlights throw a beam on the way back home
Lie down, lie down,
Listen wide awake to the trains that roll
To the sound time makes

It passes through the air like a summer storm
Catching on my sleeve like a rose’s thorn
Sometimes it whispers, sometimes it roars
Flies like the wind, waits by the door
And I know you know and that’s all I need
When the light of day looks like night to me
When you’re far away and I’m all alone
I can’t explain, I know you know

How to Read Covid-19 Research (and Actually Understand It)

How to Read Covid-19 Research (and Actually Understand It)

Here is a helpful article from Wired magazine (hat tip; Chaplain Mike) on ways to discern whether a scientific article on Covid-19 is useful or not.  Of course, one way to judge an article is whether it lines up with one’s ideological bias or not.  That assumes one’s goal is ideological purity.  Ideological purity maintains that one is in good standing with ones in-group or tribe; and that is very important to some people.  I’m not being facetious here; holding opinions against one’s group of friends can be difficult and stressful.

But if one is willing to drill down and try to approach the truth as closely as possible, the Wired article has some useful advice.  Covid-19 is a new disease so studies are coming out of labs and research facilities at a rapid pace:

  1. Some studies are small and anecdotal and are not rigorously vetted.
  2. Others are based on bad data or misplaced assumptions.
  3. Many are released as preprints without peer review.
  4. Others are hyped up with big press releases that overstate the results.

The article cites hydroxychloroquine, the antimalarial drug that appeared promising in the early stages of the pandemic as an example.  Early anecdotal evidence from China seemed to show the drug might have some benefits and an early trial in France seemed promising.  Once a large-scale, double-blind trial found the drug didn’t hurt patients, but didn’t help them, either, the FDA finally revoked its emergency use authorization for the drug on June 15.

So how do readers without a research or medical background who just want to know what’s going on and how to stay healthy approach this myriad of data?  The article cites the Novel Coronavirus Research Compendium (NCRC).  The team includes statisticians, epidemiologists, and experts on vaccines, clinical research, and disease modeling; who rapidly review new studies and make reliable information accessible to the public.  The key for the non-expert is to be looking at where a study was published, what data it uses, and how it fits into the larger body of scientific research.

  1. “First step: Look at where it was published. That can offer clues about things like whether the research is finished or still in revision, if it’s been reviewed by other scientists, or whether it’s rigorous enough to be accepted by top journals like the Journal of the American Medical Association, The Lancet, or The New England Journal of Medicine.”

If a study’s design or data don’t live up to the journal’s standards, they might reject it entirely.  Then, during peer review, the study is even more closely examined for mistakes, and sent back to the authors with suggestions for ways to make the paper stronger. The authors then revise their paper to address those concerns.  Sometimes scientists don’t want to wait for the lengthy peer review process to conclude before they publish their research, especially during this pandemic, when their information could help other scientists. So while their article is under review at a journal, the researchers might also publish the paper on a preprint server.  These papers are essentially drafts, and readers should be wary about immediately drawing big conclusions from them.  If a paper isn’t published in a journal or on a preprint server at all, but instead shows up on a personal website or as a press release without any data attached, that’s probably a red flag to take those conclusion with a huge grain of salt.

  1. Know the Format. If a reader wants to dive into reading primary literature, they shouldn’t approach a study like a book or a news article.

A typical study has six major parts (from the Wired article):

  1. They generally begin with an abstract, which briefly describes the question the researchers were trying to answer, what data they collected, and what the results were.
  2. Then the introduction and literature review sections set the stage and tell readers more about the ideas the researchers were exploring and what previous studies have found.
  3. The methods section explains exactly how the study was conducted, which allows other researchers to repeat the experiment to see if they get the same results.
  4. Results. What the study found in terms of the actual data.
  5. Discussion. Where the authors will reveal what they found and talk about its significance.
  6. Conclusions. Which make some larger claims and start to pre-hypothesize about future studies and new work that should be done.

The article notes it can be easy to miss what distinguishes the actual findings from that more speculative part.  That speculative part is important—it points to the future and it starts a conversation about how to move the field forward. But it shouldn’t be confused with what a particular study found.

  1. Go for the Gold Standards. There are a few best practices for medical studies that show the research methods are rigorous. “One is that the study has a control or placebo group. That neutral group doesn’t get the drug or treatment at all and can be directly compared with the groups that did. Another is that the study is a randomized “double-blind” trial, in which neither the test subjects nor the scientists know who received the placebo and who got the active drug”.  However, an observational study that includes good data and a big enough sample size can still be useful and informative.
  2. Beware Shocking Claims. Don’t immediately buy into claims that are wildly inconsistent with what previous research has shown. New, groundbreaking findings make great headlines, but they rarely make good science.

Any one study is not definitive.  “Science builds on itself slowly. Findings have to be reviewed by other experts and then replicated in different settings and populations before the community is ready to make any really big claims.”  Final money quote from the article:

“Most of it is incremental steps, showing the data moving in the right direction,” says Jason McLellan, a virologist who studies coronaviruses, including MERS, SARS, and the one that causes Covid-19, at the University of Texas at Austin. He advises readers to be cautious about getting too excited about that one study that will answer everything. In science, he says, “there’s never any absolutes.”

Another point I would have added is “beware the cherry-pickers”.  A good scientist will weigh all sides and even welcome contrary criticism.  But the ideological-minded ignores or minimizes the contrary data and only cites the data that supports their ideology.

Well, I hope that helps.  I get really annoyed with people who expect scientists to speak in absolutes.  A scientist will make a statement and later, as more data emerges, changes that statement, or even contradicts it.  But the ideological-minded person hears a statement from a scientist and thinks that statement is absolute.  When the scientist changes their mind with the acquisition of additional data, something good scientist are supposed to do, then the ideological-minded person gets all bent out of shape and starts whining about “how you can’t trust experts”.  What utter nonsense.  All science is provisional.

And I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating; if you are not going to “trust” experts, who are you going to trust?  Someone with no education on the subject and no real-life experience working with the subject?  How the hell is that any better?  Oh, wait, I know…  someone whose biases align with mine.  Yeah, that’s how you get to the bottom truth of something!  /sarcasm off

 

Wednesday with Michael Spencer “The lived spiritual life is a frequent contradiction.”

beauty of absence. Photo by Nikos Mouoras at Flickr. Creative Commons License

Wednesday with Michael Spencer
“The lived spiritual life is a frequent contradiction.” 

From a 2007 post: “Mother Teresa and the Mystery of God’s Absence”

Christianity’s promises of the present presence and apprehension of God are not simple. In many ways, it seems to me that neither scripture nor recorded experience gives a coherent, teachable view of the subject. (Anyone out there heard a sermon or teaching series lately on the Experience of God’s Presence? It takes some pretty confident Charismatics to go there.)

What we do know is that from Job to David to Jesus to Teresa to Jack Lewis to Michael Spencer, those who belong to God and have His Spirit go through times, even entire chapters of life, where God’s presence does not come in simple, “felt” ways. God seems to be hiding; to be purposely staying out of reach and out of touch. To what end? For what purpose?

Such questions do not have simple answers, and even if someone were to undertake a survey of the most eloquent writers on their own experience of God’s absence, I dare say that no two would be so alike and instructive that any of us would be able to avoid the experience. We would be affirmed that we are not unique, atheists would be encouraged to announce the death of God, and religious bigots and bullies would put their targets on our backs and fire away.

It is interesting to me that Mother Teresa’s experience, which she wrote about in Come Be My Light, seems to be, in some way, tied to the same personality that worked tirelessly and cared endlessly. We learn, according to the excerpts, that at the times she was the most devoted and sacrificial, God’s face was often hidden from her. Of course, those who point at Teresa’s experience of darkness might want to look at the testimony of joy and divine presence that is part of the story of many other Christians. We are not, in any way, cut from the same cookie-cutter spiritual material.

I remember the depths of my own dark night in September of 2001. I was at the point of breaking down and being unable to preach or teach, a condition I had never faced before. I was as far from God as it was possible to be, and I felt myself in the grip of despair. But I came to work every day. I taught. I preached -– with unparalleled fear and shame –- and I ministered to others. In my community of faith, these daily activities filled in the empty places, and in these moments I experienced the mixture of despair and faith that the Psalms report to us again and again. Where are you God? I cannot see you or sense you, but you are there. In the very absence, there is a different and sustaining kind of presence. This was not a certain absence -– which so many flippantly assume -– but a mysterious presence, entirely congruent with what I know of myself and of the God of the Bible.

The lived spiritual life is a frequent contradiction. I reject the kind of “victorious life” formulaic teaching I grew up hearing in fundamentalist circles, and I must also reject the kind of consumeristic emotional junk food that is found everywhere in evangelicalism as a substitute for the presence of God. As much as I count myself a Christian hedonist, I am suspicious that “Delight yourself in the Lord” is often deeply and significantly misunderstood.

The assurance of God’s presence and the certainties of answered questions are not the same thing. I find far more rational certainty in the resurrection than I do existential experience of the presence of Jesus. Spiritual experience takes the shape of the incarnation itself, with God inhabiting a fallen world where human beings have become insensitive, fearful and callous to the glory of God that pours forth from every crack of the universe. If the fall is true, then none of us are “in tune” with the presence of God, and particular theologies of God’s presence may let us down profoundly.

Mercy not Sacrifice (5): Redemptive Hospitality

Welcome House

Mercy not Sacrifice (5): Redemptive Hospitality

We are thinking through Richard Beck’s illuminating book, Unclean: Meditations on Purity, Hospitality, and Mortality. So far, we’ve talked about disgust psychology, contagion logic, sociomoral disgust, and contempt. Beck’s goal is to help us understand the impulses we have that move us to reject or accept, to see as “clean” or “unclean,” to determine if something is “toxic” or healthy for us. The core of disgust is related to the food we allow or reject. But the psychology of disgust becomes how we access the world and people.

Today we will look at the acceptance side of the disgust spectrum and see what Becks says about hospitality.

It could be argued that hospitality—the welcoming of strangers—is the quintessential Christian practice. (p. 121)

Beck traces how hospitality to outsiders (of various kinds) was the central, distinctive, and most provocative characteristic of Jesus’ ministry. Not only in his welcome of others and in his ethical teaching, but also in the way he described how the world greeted him. Jesus is the ultimate “stranger” to be welcomed. He presented himself as a stranger even after his resurrection. Even today he longs to be welcomed by faith.

The early church followed Jesus’ example of welcome, and extended it not only to the family of believers but to their neighbors as well. Beck quotes Christine Pohl: “Writings from the first five centuries demonstrate the importance of hospitality in defining the church as a universal community, in denying the significance of the status boundaries and distinctions of the larger society, in recognizing the value of every person, and in providing practical care for the poor, stranger, and sick” (p. 122).

Beck writes about how hospitality is not only gracious, but redemptive and healing.

If hospitality is a defining, central, and quintessential facet of Christian mission, then we learn something about the shape and character of sin and brokenness in human affairs. Specifically, what is so special about extending welcome? What wound is being attended to in the act of hospitality? What sin is being challenged and redeemed?

Our analysis of sociomoral disgust suggests that sin is often characterized by the forces of dehumanization. These forces may be subtle or shockingly brutal. But they all share a common core: the stratification of humanity along a divinity dimension with superior groups (defined as “my tribe”) elevated over other (“outside”) groups. These forces of dehumanization affect how we treat others (e.g., the moral circle), how we select scapegoats, and how we choose who is worthy of love and affection.

Given the impact of sociomoral disgust upon human affairs, it is not surprising that the act of hospitality is fundamentally an act of human recognition and embrace. If exclusion is fundamentally dehumanizing, hospitality acts to restore full human status to the marginalized and outcast. (pp. 122-123)

And so, as Richard Beck shows, “sociomoral disgust and the practices of hospitality are opposing forces within the life of the church” (p. 123).

…the practice of hospitality is the antithesis of sociomoral disgust. Where the dynamics of disgust and dehumanization foster exclusion and expulsion, the practice of hospitality welcomes the outcast and stranger as a full member of the human community. Hospitality seeks to expand the moral circle, to push back against the innate impulse that assumes “humanity ends at the border of the tribe” (p. 124).

Or, in the words of the verse that has become the theme of my own ministry: “No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us” (1John 4:12).

CoVid-19 and the future of Church – Part 2

I wasn’t expecting to write a followup to my initial post on CoVid-19 and the future of Church, but that is what has been on my mind today. It has been nearly three months since I last touched on the topic.

Over the last couple of weeks, there have been a few new developments in our understanding of CoVid-19.
1. The highest risk for spreading the Corona virus is sustained contact with a group of people in an indoor facility with poor ventilation. (Describing most churches that I have visited over the years.)
2. Herd immunity (other than a vaccine) may be a pipe-dream. It seems that those who have milder response to the virus do not maintain the antibodies needed for immunity. Post updated with link.
3. Type-1 Diabetics, those whose bodies no longer produces insulin (of whom I am one) are 3.5 times as likely to die from the Corona Virus if infected. Being male, obese, and older are also all significant risk factors for me.

As a result of the three items above, I do not intend to step foot back into a church building (for the purposes of gathering) until there is a safe and effective vaccine. I would encourage all readers to do the same regardless of their risk factors.

I think a lot of people will be drawing these same conclusions.

I have also found that I am zoomified out. I hear others saying the same things. I wonder if the initial technological excitement that I wrote about earlier, and the bump in virtual attendance numbers that it generated, is starting to fade. I believe from my initial survey of YouTube sites that it is. Check out the views that your own churches are getting. Are you seeing a trend there as well? I know for myself that I miss congregational singing big time.

So here are some further thoughts that come out of this.

1. Most of us are not going do be doing in person church for quite a while yet.
2. Many will have gotten out of the habit and may not return.
3. Church when it does resume in person is going to have to look different.
4. Certain traditions are going to be going by the wayside. Their will be opportunities to also discard some traditions that should have been discarded long ago, but we should be careful in doing so. People will have gone through a lot of change, personal struggles, financial issues, and grief. We need to be careful not to add to those struggles.
5. Churches need to be very intentional, deliberate, and thoughtful as they move forward. There will be opportunities for ministry that weren’t there before, and ministries that will have to end. To try and replicate the same-old same-old will be a recipe for failure.
6. I think there will be an opportunity for participatory vision: In one-on-one sessions asking church members how God has opened their eyes through this crisis, and what they think that this means for the church.
7. This is going to be a time for tremendous shake-up for the church, and what comes out of it could look very different.

As usual, your thoughts and comments are welcome.

Another Look: If you are not afraid…

Note from CM: I wrote this post in 2013. I don’t recall off the top of my head what prompted it, but I do know why it speaks to me today.

As the Covid-19 pandemic continues, indeed as it continues to surge here in the U.S. without any signs of abating, I have never felt so unsure of the future as I do now. I find myself increasingly bored, depressed, and anxious. I feel an unrelenting sense of anger at those not taking matters seriously, along with despair regarding political “leadership” that seems intent on engendering our own self-destruction, and utter helplessness knowing there is nowhere to escape, nothing to do but wait and hope for something to change.

And then I feel guilty. Oh God, how many people have felt this way in much more dire circumstances over centuries, without ever enjoying even a small percentage of the freedoms and blessings I enjoy!

But it doesn’t stop the aching fear.

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Another Look: If you are not afraid…

Hello. My name is Mike, and I am afraid.

I am afraid of life, and I am afraid of life’s end. I am afraid of being alone, and I am afraid of being with people. I am afraid of hatred and I am afraid of love. Truth and beauty frighten me even as I delight in them. I especially fear pain, loss, unbearable sorrow, and death itself.

It has taken me years to realize how afraid I am, and I’m sure I still don’t know.

I do not always feel this fear, mind you. It is not as though I am consciously obsessed with it or paralyzed by it.

But the fear is there and I know it. Every once in awhile, it pokes its head around the corner and startles me.

I fear my past. There is a reason the psalmist prayed, “Remember not the sins of my youth.” At certain moments, mine haunt me, even though I believe I am forgiven in Christ. I am not afraid of God’s judgment, but I do fear the corrosive effects of regret, guilt feelings, and unprofitable preoccupations.

And then, here I am, six decades and more into my life, and I am still afraid I will disappoint my parents.

The older I get, the more I see that I have an interpretation of my life. It is generally favorable and approving, but my own understanding is limited and skewed. Occasionally, one of my children or an old friend or even a stranger makes a comment that opens my eyes. They see me differently. They have an interpretation too, and it is not always as flattering as my own. I fear my mirror lies. I fear I may be looking at a stranger when I think I am seeing someone I know deeply.

I fear things present. I fear the beautiful and terrible things of life. My current vocation finds me in companionship with those who are dying. I have learned that life surprises, and not always in happy ways. I have shaken my head and said, “I wish I had answers, but I don’t” more times than I can count.

I fear chaos. Crippling accidents. Losing a job. Making bad, life-altering decisions. Being the chance victim of crime. The death of a child. Missing opportunities to love. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hearing that most unwanted diagnosis. Speaking words I can never retrieve.

The profound beauty of life frightens me. The beloved ocean. The austere mountains. The night sky. Billions of light-years and space we cannot fathom, and an entire unseen quantum world besides. And I, a speck of dust — I fear absolute anonymity.

I have been able to fool myself for many years, having known so much good fortune. My health and that of my family has been extraordinarily good. We have never truly suffered material loss or devastating circumstances. In my saner moments I realize that there are storm clouds on the horizon and that the wind may blow them our way at any time.

As I visit with older folks, I hear the stories of veterans, and marvel that any of us have survived such human cruelty. I read the news and weep to know that the drumbeat of war goes on. I fear for my children and my children’s children.

I am realistic enough to know that every human being leaves this world with unfinished business. I am also foolish enough to imagine that I could be the first to buck the trend. But I won’t be, and the best I can hope for is that I can whittle my unfinished business pile down to something those who come after me will find manageable. Will I have time?

I don’t want to die. At least not for twenty or thirty more years. I don’t want to lose my parents or others I love. I’m afraid family members are going to ask me to officiate their funerals, and I’m afraid to say yes or no. It is a dreadful task to tell a life’s story, to attempt to summarize something so wondrous with words few and poor.

One of the things Michael Spencer wrote that drew me to him as a kindred spirit was his article, “Death, the Road that Must Be Traveled” —

Near number one on my list of things I don’t like about Christians is the suggestion I should have a happy and excited attitude about dying. “Uncle Joe got cancer and died in a month. Glory hallelujah. He’s in a better place and if you love the Lord that’s where you want to be right now. When the doctor says your time has come, you ought to shout praises to the Lord.” Or this one. “I’d rather be in heaven. Wouldn’t you? This earth is not my home. I’d rather be with Jesus and Mama and Peter and Abraham than spend one more day in this world of woe.”

Not me. Not by a long shot. I like this world of woe, and I really don’t want to leave it.

That’s why I love Michael. He wrote things that few other Christians have the honesty to say out loud. But then, Michael died. May he rest in the peace that knows no fear.

I am afraid of the kind of “faith” that won’t acknowledge fear. This is the reason I write at Internet Monk. I hope to honor Michael’s legacy by refusing to settle for the life-evading, truth-denying, Polyanna BS that too often gets passed off as “Christianity” in our day. No amount of shouting, “Perfect love casts out fear!” can change the fact that human beings live with the daily reality of being afraid. No triumphalist trumpeting of victory and “overcoming” can eradicate the gnawing anxiety that besets us all.

Yes, there is hope. Yes, Jesus has risen. Yes, in the end nothing can separate us from God’s love in Christ. The reason I need these great and precious promises every day of my life is because every day has its fears. Accepting the Gospel does not inoculate me from being afraid. It helps me. It encourages me. It braces me. It does not eradicate my humanity.

Perhaps seminaries ought to require every person who wants to become a pastor or minister of the church to memorize and internalize the Book of Psalms. Here is the complex reality of the utterly human life of faith:

The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? (Ps. 27:1)

Fear and trembling come upon me, and horror overwhelms me. (Ps. 55:5)

When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. (Ps. 56:3)

If you are not afraid, I doubt if you are awake, or maybe even human. For all our talk of “conquering our fears,” we remain captives. Can we just admit it? Can we just be real? Can we just stop pretending we’re past that?

I am afraid that few will listen.

And then the end will come.

The IM Saturday Monks Brunch: July 11, 2020

Matt Davies – Newsday and Andrews McMeel Syndicate

The IM Saturday Monks Brunch: July 11, 2020

I’m sorry, but we’re in for a rather melancholy Brunch this week. I’m finding it harder to be optimistic with each passing day, and I’m grateful for your company and conversation here at the table. I keep waiting for some good news, some relief in the midst of our national nightmares, but am not hearing much. Perhaps you have a good word to share today.

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Quote of the week

Stupidity is a more dangerous enemy of the good than malice. One may protest against evil; it can be exposed and, if need be, prevented by use of force. Evil always carries within itself the germ of its own subversion in that it leaves behind in human beings at least a sense of unease. Against stupidity we are defenseless. Neither protests nor the use of force accomplish anything here; reasons fall on deaf ears; facts that contradict one’s prejudgment simply need not be believed—in such moments the stupid person even becomes critical—and when facts are irrefutable they are just pushed aside as inconsequential, as incidental. In all this the stupid person, in contrast to the malicious one, is utterly self-satisfied and, being easily irritated, becomes dangerous by going on the attack. For that reason, greater caution is called for when dealing with a stupid person than with a malicious one. Never again will we try to persuade the stupid person with reasons, for it is senseless and dangerous.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, “After Ten Years” (Letters and Papers from Prison)

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What happened to religious liberty?

Christianity Today reports:

The United States is on track to welcome the fewest refugees since its resettlement policy was formalized in 1980, by a substantial margin.

Capped at 18,000 people for 2020—the lowest ceiling on record—the US has resettled 7,600 refugees, with only three months left in the fiscal year.

According to a joint report released today by World Relief and Open Doors USA, persecuted minorities representing a variety of religions have been harmed by the decline in resettlement.

“Among those most disadvantaged have been Christian refugees from the countries where Christians face the most severe persecution in the world,” the report states. [emphasis mine]

So far in 2020, the US has resettled fewer than 950 Christians from the 50 countries where it is hardest to be a Christian, according to Open Doors’s annual World Watch List. At this rate, the US will receive 90-percent fewer Christian refugees this year than five years ago.

Have you heard an outcry about this? No, me neither. I guess American Christians’ desire to protect “religious liberty” is somewhat selective, huh?

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In times like this, I find the blues help…

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Disney World Reopening

Disney World begins re-opening today. They ran a new ad to encourage people to return, but some found it a bit disturbing, like Starr Rhett Rocque at Fast Company:

It’s all supposed to be reassuring, but it’s strange. Creepy, even. As the colorful cups from the Mad Tea Party ride swirl by on screen, it’s hard not to focus on all the potentially lethal germs that will build up in those vessels in a matter of seconds. And if you stare long enough at the group of masked park employees waving to cameras in formation, you might find yourself thinking you’ve fallen into some Brave New World.

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In times like this, I find little comedy helps…

Like many parents, Jim Gaffigan just finds Disney World itself a bit too much.

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Our Worthless Passports — Pray to God this guy isn’t right…

One perspective on the U.S. and the pandemic at Medium:

America is now ruled by COVID-19. Welcome to the Plague States of America.

…The most reliable projections are saying 200,000 dead and 50 million infected by election day in November. Even these projections struggle to account for completely irrational federal actions like denigrating masks, pushing to reopen early, and pushing students back into schools. This is not the absence of public health, this is its opposite.

It is, in effect, governance by COVID-19. Not a failed state. A plague state.

…America will be lucky to exit this pandemic with less than a million dead and 100 million infected. The living will be lucky to exit their country within the next five years.

…American now have access to exactly two dozen states, four more (*) if they want to endure a 14-day quarantine on the end. Americans have gone from world power to getting the side-eye from Ecuador in a matter of months. Right now Americans are only really welcome on remote islands or at corralled resorts in Mexico, where they can be isolated from everyone else.

It’s not that other nations don’t want to welcome Americans, they just can’t. The point of a passport is that a sovereign power vouches for its bearer, but America can’t vouch for the health of their citizens at all. America’s public health regime is far less trustworthy than Liberia’s (which is actually quite good). Its sovereign is mad.

At the same time, you can’t trust Americans. Americans have poor hygiene (low masking rate) and at least 40% of the population can’t be trusted to even believe that COVID-19 exists, let alone to take it seriously. They’re likely to refuse testing, not report symptoms, break quarantine, and generally follow rules. Americans have a toxic combination of ignorance and arrogance that makes them unwelcome travelers.

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In times like this, I find a little joy (along with some cowbell!) helps…

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A Letter on Justice and Open Debate

Harpers published a letter this week, calling for all sides in the various current socio-cultural debates to refrain from creating an intolerant climate that stifles legitimate open debate. Its message is directed specifically to those on the left, who have, at times, responded to the forces of illiberalism on the right with a “cancel” culture that threatens “the free exchange of information and ideas.”

A diverse group of people, including some of the left’s strongest proponents, like Margaret Atwood, Noam Chomsky, and Gloria Steinem, signed on to this letter. who noted that signatories include “Black thinkers, Muslim thinkers, Jewish thinkers, people who are trans and gay, old and young, right wing and left wing.” Some have reported that a few have expressed regrets about signing the letter.

Our cultural institutions are facing a moment of trial. Powerful protests for racial and social justice are leading to overdue demands for police reform, along with wider calls for greater equality and inclusion across our society, not least in higher education, journalism, philanthropy, and the arts. But this needed reckoning has also intensified a new set of moral attitudes and political commitments that tend to weaken our norms of open debate and toleration of differences in favor of ideological conformity. As we applaud the first development, we also raise our voices against the second. The forces of illiberalism are gaining strength throughout the world and have a powerful ally in Donald Trump, who represents a real threat to democracy. But resistance must not be allowed to harden into its own brand of dogma or coercion—which right-wing demagogues are already exploiting. The democratic inclusion we want can be achieved only if we speak out against the intolerant climate that has set in on all sides.

The free exchange of information and ideas, the lifeblood of a liberal society, is daily becoming more constricted. While we have come to expect this on the radical right, censoriousness is also spreading more widely in our culture: an intolerance of opposing views, a vogue for public shaming and ostracism, and the tendency to dissolve complex policy issues in a blinding moral certainty. We uphold the value of robust and even caustic counter-speech from all quarters. But it is now all too common to hear calls for swift and severe retribution in response to perceived transgressions of speech and thought. More troubling still, institutional leaders, in a spirit of panicked damage control, are delivering hasty and disproportionate punishments instead of considered reforms. Editors are fired for running controversial pieces; books are withdrawn for alleged inauthenticity; journalists are barred from writing on certain topics; professors are investigated for quoting works of literature in class; a researcher is fired for circulating a peer-reviewed academic study; and the heads of organizations are ousted for what are sometimes just clumsy mistakes. Whatever the arguments around each particular incident, the result has been to steadily narrow the boundaries of what can be said without the threat of reprisal. We are already paying the price in greater risk aversion among writers, artists, and journalists who fear for their livelihoods if they depart from the consensus, or even lack sufficient zeal in agreement.

This stifling atmosphere will ultimately harm the most vital causes of our time. The restriction of debate, whether by a repressive government or an intolerant society, invariably hurts those who lack power and makes everyone less capable of democratic participation. The way to defeat bad ideas is by exposure, argument, and persuasion, not by trying to silence or wish them away. We refuse any false choice between justice and freedom, which cannot exist without each other. As writers we need a culture that leaves us room for experimentation, risk taking, and even mistakes. We need to preserve the possibility of good-faith disagreement without dire professional consequences. If we won’t defend the very thing on which our work depends, we shouldn’t expect the public or the state to defend it for us.

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This Weekend’s Special Edition of the New York Times Magazine

From the NYT:

Inspired by Giovanni Boccaccio’s “The Decameron,” a 14th-century collection of tales told by a group of 10 characters taking shelter in an Italian villa during the Black Plague, this weekend’s special issue of the magazine features stories from Margaret Atwood, David Mitchell, Téa Obreht, Karen Russell, Tommy Orange, Yiyun Li and others. The so-called Decameron Project is the first time in the magazine’s modern history that an entire issue is devoted to new fiction.

…The authors wrote while quarantining in their homes across the country (Oakland, Miami, Portland) and the globe (Mexico, Ireland, Mozambique, Israel). The stories grapple with fear, loss, sickness and uncertainty, but also with kindness, connection and humor. Back-to-back, they knit a record of the shared experiences that can transcend circumstances to unite us.

…Ms. Gutierrez found reading the stories to be cathartic. “The news is really bleak right now, and it is hard to handle,” she said. “In this issue, you will be able to enjoy the language, the images, the plots, but by the end of it, you’ve also been forced to think about the pandemic in different ways.”

…Sophy Hollington, the artist responsible for the cover and the unifying lettering throughout, used hand-cut relief techniques to pay homage to medieval manuscripts.

…“Fiction is a way to make sense of the world around us, a way to narrate it back to us,” Ms. Lalami said, “and in that sense, impose some sort of order on the chaos.”

Here is a small sample from one of the stories. This is from “How We Used to Play,” by Dinaw Mengestu.

Before getting off the phone I told him I was going to drive down from New York to see him. It was March 12, 2020, and the virus was about to lay siege to the city. “We’ll go to the grocery store,” I said. “And stuff your freezer so you can grow old and fat until the virus disappears.” I left New York early the next morning to find the highways between New York and D.C. already crowded with S.U.V.s. On his only visit to New York, my uncle asked me what happened to all the cars buried deep underground in expensive parking lots scattered throughout the city. Before buying his own cab, he had worked for 15 years in a parking garage three blocks from the White House, and he often said that he would never understand why Americans spent so much money to park big cars they never drove. As I passed my first hour in traffic, I thought of calling to tell him I finally had the answer to his question. For all the talk of American optimism, we were obsessed with apocalypse, and those big empty cars that now filled all four lanes of the highway had simply been waiting for the right explosion to hit the road.

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In times like this, I find that beautiful, sad songs help…

Written by the incomparable Townes Van Zandt. Performed by Nancy Griffith and her bandleader.

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