There are Christmas parties everywhere this time of year. Everywhere we turn there are sweets, treats, and chocolate. We walk around with full stomachs, filled with sugar.
In the Eastern Church this time leading up to Christmas is a time of fasting and preparation for the Christmas feast (similar to Lent, but slightly less intense). For them, Advent truly is a time of contemplation on the meaning and significance of Christmas as well as preparation for the celebration of Christ's coming. I want some of that.
I find it difficult with the way our society has set up the Advent season to contemplate and prepare. It seems the closer we get to December 25, the busier things get and the more treats are scattered about. Somehow I would like to learn how to greet Christmas with an empty stomach and hunger. I desire a Christmas in which I have a heart prepared to kneel at the manger with awe, to listen to the angels sing of God's glory, and to celebrate to arrival of salvation incarnate. All the sweets laying around are not bad, but they do seem to steal from the Christmas celebration. I hear people talking about how they are planning on not eating much on Christmas since they've already had so much and must 'watch the waistline'. I think we have it backwards. This is the feast of the Nativity - we ought to celebrate.
Celebrating properly takes time and preparation. Not merely preparation of the turkey, presents, and beer, but also preparation of the heart and soul. I think it is because all these things are so connected that we must learn how to live Advent in order to celebrate Christmas.
I plan to celebrate.
Gloria in excelsis Deo!
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
This Advent Season: thoughts on hope (and events unseen)
Christmas is a strange thing. By Christmas I mean that first one where Jesus was born in that little town of Bethlehem.
In the Gospel of John the Christmas story reads like this, "And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory". Definitely not the longest Christmas account (the Gospel of Luke wins that prize), but nonetheless it manages to convey the magnitude of the event: God (aka 'the Word') has taken on human flesh and been born as a child. A pretty big deal. Maybe the two thousand years since have dulled our amazement of this event. Nonetheless, this is amazing stuff here.
In Luke's account we read about the angel who appears to the shepherds in the field with news about the saviour's birth; accompanying this messenger is a multitude of heavenly hosts singing "Glory to God in the highest". Here's a tip for you out there in blogosphere land: if a multitude of heavenly hosts appear singing God's glory, that's usually a tip-off that something huge is going on. And something huge was going on: God was sending the saviour of humanity into the world. God was at work to bring healing and hope to all the broken and the lost. Yeah, a pretty big deal.
Now let's get to that strange thing about Christmas...
... it never hit the headlines! No one really heard about it. It came and passed with only a handful of witnesses who knew what had taken place. I mean seriously, there were more animals present for this event than people. The biggest thing to ever happen in all of human history and no one hears about it. Even if they had, who would care about some bastard Jewish kid born to a teenaged girl in a backwater hick-town on the outskirts of the civilized world... big deal!
Sure, we all know about the child now. In fact, a large portion of humanity worships him. But at the time it was definitely not newsworthy.
I'm convinced that the most important events in life never (or at least seldom) make the headlines. There are people who have come and gone who have changed countless lives, spread the love of God, transformed hearts, and healed lives whose names are all but forgotten. Oh, not forgotten by those whose lives have been transformed, but forgotten by the rest of us (i.e. if we even heard of them in the first place). This gives me hope. As I watch the news and hear about all the terrible things that are taking place this Christmas season around the world I think about this simple truth. I remind myself that God is working. I remind myself that great events are taking place unseen in the lives of broken and hurting people around the world. I remind myself that these events probably will not be on the news, but they are happening nonetheless. This gives me hope.
I still struggle to reconcile the magic of the season that I feel with the suffering that continues around the world during Christmas. This Christmas I will be having a wonderful time with my loved-ones and family. This Christmas many will be all alone with no one to share the season with; many will be experiencing their first Christmas without a loved-one whom they recently lost. This Christmas I will have a stomach full of good food and beer. This Christmas many will be going hungry. It's a hard thing to reconcile sometimes. I don't feel guilty for all that I have - I feel very thankful. But more than that, I feel hopeful. And it is that hope that I celebrate.
In that little town of Bethlehem so long ago, hope was born - the hope of all humanity. This is why I can celebrate this Christmas season.
In the Gospel of John the Christmas story reads like this, "And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory". Definitely not the longest Christmas account (the Gospel of Luke wins that prize), but nonetheless it manages to convey the magnitude of the event: God (aka 'the Word') has taken on human flesh and been born as a child. A pretty big deal. Maybe the two thousand years since have dulled our amazement of this event. Nonetheless, this is amazing stuff here.
In Luke's account we read about the angel who appears to the shepherds in the field with news about the saviour's birth; accompanying this messenger is a multitude of heavenly hosts singing "Glory to God in the highest". Here's a tip for you out there in blogosphere land: if a multitude of heavenly hosts appear singing God's glory, that's usually a tip-off that something huge is going on. And something huge was going on: God was sending the saviour of humanity into the world. God was at work to bring healing and hope to all the broken and the lost. Yeah, a pretty big deal.
Now let's get to that strange thing about Christmas...
... it never hit the headlines! No one really heard about it. It came and passed with only a handful of witnesses who knew what had taken place. I mean seriously, there were more animals present for this event than people. The biggest thing to ever happen in all of human history and no one hears about it. Even if they had, who would care about some bastard Jewish kid born to a teenaged girl in a backwater hick-town on the outskirts of the civilized world... big deal!
Sure, we all know about the child now. In fact, a large portion of humanity worships him. But at the time it was definitely not newsworthy.
I'm convinced that the most important events in life never (or at least seldom) make the headlines. There are people who have come and gone who have changed countless lives, spread the love of God, transformed hearts, and healed lives whose names are all but forgotten. Oh, not forgotten by those whose lives have been transformed, but forgotten by the rest of us (i.e. if we even heard of them in the first place). This gives me hope. As I watch the news and hear about all the terrible things that are taking place this Christmas season around the world I think about this simple truth. I remind myself that God is working. I remind myself that great events are taking place unseen in the lives of broken and hurting people around the world. I remind myself that these events probably will not be on the news, but they are happening nonetheless. This gives me hope.
I still struggle to reconcile the magic of the season that I feel with the suffering that continues around the world during Christmas. This Christmas I will be having a wonderful time with my loved-ones and family. This Christmas many will be all alone with no one to share the season with; many will be experiencing their first Christmas without a loved-one whom they recently lost. This Christmas I will have a stomach full of good food and beer. This Christmas many will be going hungry. It's a hard thing to reconcile sometimes. I don't feel guilty for all that I have - I feel very thankful. But more than that, I feel hopeful. And it is that hope that I celebrate.
In that little town of Bethlehem so long ago, hope was born - the hope of all humanity. This is why I can celebrate this Christmas season.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
The glory of God: Evidence for the heart
On my walk to work this morning I was reminded of a little event from my past which gave me pause to stop and reflect.
... [I think to myself] "What?!? Are you f*&%!@# kidding me? Of all the reasons not to date someone that has got to be the stupidest one I've ever heard. Here I am willing to overlook the fact that you are a Christian and you pull this crap? [I was really quite offended, or hurt, or something.. I was angry]
I asked her how she could believe in God. Seriously, what evidence could she give me to support such a ridiculous assertion. And (out of left field) she says, "look at the mountains". Pardon? I ask her a serious question and this is how she responds - 'look at the mountains'? I shake my head. She doesn't have a clue.
It was cold this morning. When it's that cold out, you just walk fast with your head down, trying to create and conserve heat. Your hands are buried deep in your pockets; your shoulders are hoisted up towards your ears; and your chin is tucked low into your jacket. You just scurry along with the view of the frozen ground passing by underneath you. But, despite the cold, I couldn't help but look up and look around. It seemed a typical winter morning: the bare trees, the endless grey expanse of sky. Yes, it certainly was a hazy shade of winter. But then I looked north, and oh what a sight. The clouds had withdrawn from the northern horizon; and there, juxtaposed against the dull gray mass, was colour and texture and brilliant glory. I saw great mountains reaching up to the heavens, covered in snow with radiant beams of sunlight breaking across their surface, highlighting every nook and every peak with razor-sharp clarity. I stood in awe.
And then it came to mind. "Look at the mountians" she says. Look at the mountains indeed. Yes, I am a fool; but even this fool knows solid evidence when he sees it. Okay, maybe it's not the kind of forensic evidence that would hold up in a court of law; but this is not a court of law - this is the human heart. I just stood in awe for a moment (a very short moment, remember it was cold), chuckled to myself, dug my hands into my pockets, tucked my chin into my jacket, and walked on.
Some of us aren't ready to see it. Some of us aren't willing. Back then, I was both.
"Look at the mountains" she says... such an absurd response, yet so true.
****
A long, long time ago, in a land far far away (I believe this happened in Abbotsford), I had a little crush on this girl (this was a long time before I met my lovely wife). We were out having some fun with mutual friends and things were going well: I was charming and funny and we were having a great time (she was definitely impressed). Then came that crucial moment where we lay things out on the table and find out where we stand. She says to me, "You're sweet and funny and kind and you'd make a great boyfriend, but you're not a Christian"...... [I think to myself] "What?!? Are you f*&%!@# kidding me? Of all the reasons not to date someone that has got to be the stupidest one I've ever heard. Here I am willing to overlook the fact that you are a Christian and you pull this crap? [I was really quite offended, or hurt, or something.. I was angry]
I asked her how she could believe in God. Seriously, what evidence could she give me to support such a ridiculous assertion. And (out of left field) she says, "look at the mountains". Pardon? I ask her a serious question and this is how she responds - 'look at the mountains'? I shake my head. She doesn't have a clue.
****
It was cold this morning. When it's that cold out, you just walk fast with your head down, trying to create and conserve heat. Your hands are buried deep in your pockets; your shoulders are hoisted up towards your ears; and your chin is tucked low into your jacket. You just scurry along with the view of the frozen ground passing by underneath you. But, despite the cold, I couldn't help but look up and look around. It seemed a typical winter morning: the bare trees, the endless grey expanse of sky. Yes, it certainly was a hazy shade of winter. But then I looked north, and oh what a sight. The clouds had withdrawn from the northern horizon; and there, juxtaposed against the dull gray mass, was colour and texture and brilliant glory. I saw great mountains reaching up to the heavens, covered in snow with radiant beams of sunlight breaking across their surface, highlighting every nook and every peak with razor-sharp clarity. I stood in awe.
And then it came to mind. "Look at the mountians" she says. Look at the mountains indeed. Yes, I am a fool; but even this fool knows solid evidence when he sees it. Okay, maybe it's not the kind of forensic evidence that would hold up in a court of law; but this is not a court of law - this is the human heart. I just stood in awe for a moment (a very short moment, remember it was cold), chuckled to myself, dug my hands into my pockets, tucked my chin into my jacket, and walked on.
Some of us aren't ready to see it. Some of us aren't willing. Back then, I was both.
"Look at the mountains" she says... such an absurd response, yet so true.
Monday, November 30, 2009
This Advent Season: thoughts on Mary...
With the recent beginning of the season of Advent, my thoughts naturally turn towards Christmas. In the Gospel of St. Luke we find the 'Christmas story' starting with the sending of an angel to Mary and 'the Annunciation'. I'm not sure about where the story is commonly understood to begin, but I tend to see it as beginning with the Annunciation.
Here's how it goes down... The angel Gabriel visits Mary with some incredible news: she is to give birth to the Son of God, whose kingdom will have no end. She is understandably confused and wonders aloud how this could be possible - young though she is, she does know how babies are made and quickly realizes that she hasn't met the normal criteria for such things. When the angel responds by telling her that all things are possible with God, she responds with some of the most beautiful words to be found in Scripture: fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum.
[For some reason I always imagine Mary speaking Latin. It's strange how I think of such things: Mary spoke Latin, Jesus spoke Aramaic, the Apostles all spoke Koine Greek, and Yahweh some ancient proto-Hebraic, Semitic tongue. But of course it was not this way at all.]
"Let it be to me according to your word". When told that she will be intimately involved in the single most important event that will ever take place in the entire history of the world (I'm envisioning the Incarnation, crucifixion, and resurrection as the inseparable 'Christ event' here), she simply responds with humble submission to the will of God. She models the Christian life and sets the example which all Christians hence forth are to follow. Within five words (six in the original Greek text if you include the definite article), Mary manages to express the deepest cry of the Christian's heart.
I (like many) have often struggled with prayer. There tends to be no shortage of distractions which draw me away from it or 'reasons' why I'm too busy or tired. Often it is simply a matter of the heart - I'm lazy, weak, and rebellious. It is at times like these that my eyes turn to Mary and I speak the words with my mouth that my heart longs to voice: fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum. I let her words become mine; I let her example guide me. Just as God's plan of salvation for the lost human race included the humble submission of Mary, so to does His plan of salvation for me include that same humble submission to His loving will.
This Advent season, as I think about the miracle of the Incarnation and the wondrous love that was revealed so long ago in Bethlehem, I also think about the humble submission and trust that was involved in bringing it about.
Here's how it goes down... The angel Gabriel visits Mary with some incredible news: she is to give birth to the Son of God, whose kingdom will have no end. She is understandably confused and wonders aloud how this could be possible - young though she is, she does know how babies are made and quickly realizes that she hasn't met the normal criteria for such things. When the angel responds by telling her that all things are possible with God, she responds with some of the most beautiful words to be found in Scripture: fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum.
[For some reason I always imagine Mary speaking Latin. It's strange how I think of such things: Mary spoke Latin, Jesus spoke Aramaic, the Apostles all spoke Koine Greek, and Yahweh some ancient proto-Hebraic, Semitic tongue. But of course it was not this way at all.]
"Let it be to me according to your word". When told that she will be intimately involved in the single most important event that will ever take place in the entire history of the world (I'm envisioning the Incarnation, crucifixion, and resurrection as the inseparable 'Christ event' here), she simply responds with humble submission to the will of God. She models the Christian life and sets the example which all Christians hence forth are to follow. Within five words (six in the original Greek text if you include the definite article), Mary manages to express the deepest cry of the Christian's heart.
I (like many) have often struggled with prayer. There tends to be no shortage of distractions which draw me away from it or 'reasons' why I'm too busy or tired. Often it is simply a matter of the heart - I'm lazy, weak, and rebellious. It is at times like these that my eyes turn to Mary and I speak the words with my mouth that my heart longs to voice: fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum. I let her words become mine; I let her example guide me. Just as God's plan of salvation for the lost human race included the humble submission of Mary, so to does His plan of salvation for me include that same humble submission to His loving will.
This Advent season, as I think about the miracle of the Incarnation and the wondrous love that was revealed so long ago in Bethlehem, I also think about the humble submission and trust that was involved in bringing it about.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Relationships: for love or power?
I recently came across these words of 'advice':
"The power in a relationship always resides with the one who cares the least."
I was blindsided, lost for words. Years ago these could have easily been words of advice coming from my mouth. In fact, this was a concept that I had conceived of and assumed was original to me. It had occurred to me at some point that if I was always ready to walk away from a relationship at a moments notice, then I would always hold the upper-hand. If the other person cared more, had more invested, then I had the power.
Of course I was fooling myself: in one sense, yes, I held the power, but in another very real sense I had made myself a prisoner. By purposefully not caring - which was simply a defense mechanism for a scared little boy not wanting to open up and get hurt - the decision was already made and my heart was not allowed to open up and discover love. Fortunately things eventually changed and yes, love was found.
After I recovered from the shock of coming face to face with a relic of my past, I realized what a horrible statement that actually was - devoid of all things good and beautiful. What kind of relationship would such an attitude foster? I thought about my relationship with my wife and realized that I have no desire to have any such power over her. It's an amazing thing to view such power-based understandings of relationships in light of love. In the pure light of love all the games and power maneuvers are revealed for the frauds that they are. Love does not coerce: love is gentle, patient, and kind. It asks for nothing but love in return.
Looking back on that pompous, scared little boy who thought he knew about relationships, I can only laugh to myself and thank God that love found a way. Relationships are better when they aren't zero-sum. When love, humility, and vulnerability are part of the equation, the relationship becomes so much more than it otherwise could.
Maybe the power lies with the one that cares the least, but if you don't care... what's the point? Plus, why be in it for power when there's an infinitely better prize to be discovered?
"The power in a relationship always resides with the one who cares the least."
I was blindsided, lost for words. Years ago these could have easily been words of advice coming from my mouth. In fact, this was a concept that I had conceived of and assumed was original to me. It had occurred to me at some point that if I was always ready to walk away from a relationship at a moments notice, then I would always hold the upper-hand. If the other person cared more, had more invested, then I had the power.
Of course I was fooling myself: in one sense, yes, I held the power, but in another very real sense I had made myself a prisoner. By purposefully not caring - which was simply a defense mechanism for a scared little boy not wanting to open up and get hurt - the decision was already made and my heart was not allowed to open up and discover love. Fortunately things eventually changed and yes, love was found.
After I recovered from the shock of coming face to face with a relic of my past, I realized what a horrible statement that actually was - devoid of all things good and beautiful. What kind of relationship would such an attitude foster? I thought about my relationship with my wife and realized that I have no desire to have any such power over her. It's an amazing thing to view such power-based understandings of relationships in light of love. In the pure light of love all the games and power maneuvers are revealed for the frauds that they are. Love does not coerce: love is gentle, patient, and kind. It asks for nothing but love in return.
Looking back on that pompous, scared little boy who thought he knew about relationships, I can only laugh to myself and thank God that love found a way. Relationships are better when they aren't zero-sum. When love, humility, and vulnerability are part of the equation, the relationship becomes so much more than it otherwise could.
Maybe the power lies with the one that cares the least, but if you don't care... what's the point? Plus, why be in it for power when there's an infinitely better prize to be discovered?
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
The Geography of LIfe...
Where is life?
Yes, a bit of a strange question. But one that I feel is worthwhile asking. It seems to me that there is a tacit assumption, one which is prevalent in our culture, that life is to be found 'out there', i.e. somewhere else. I can speak of 'getting out there and living life' and images from the myriad of movie scenes come to mind, the ones where the main character is 'breaking away' and on the road 'experiencing life' [cue the inspirational music and breath-taking scenery]. Isn't the sun brighter on vacation, the sky sweeter, and the air more refreshing? Is there something about the place itself that makes the colours of the trees seem more vivid? Do we have to 'get away' in order to experience life? Does familiarity really breed contempt? Is there something intrinsically different, i.e. more full of life, about any location other than our home? I think not.
It seems to me that the difference lies in ourselves. Perhaps while on vacation, we are more apt to notice the beauty around us, we are more likely to breath deep and be present in the moment. Is it that once we 'escape' our normal surroundings we are then able to be receptive to the world as it really is: full of life.
Where is life? The answer is that life is all around us. It is in the air we breath and in the ground we walk on. Where can you find it? You can find it at our homes and at our jobs. It's in our family and our friends, in the strangers we pass by every day without a second thought. We simply don't pay attention to the fullness of life that surrounds us daily. We get used to our daily lives and gloss over the beauty that it holds. We get so wrapped-up in the worries of the day that we cannot see what is all around us. In every corner of our daily travels abundant life springs out at us.
But, what do I mean when I say life? I mean life as understood within the Christian Tradition: I mean 'fullness'. I mean glory, beauty, transcendent love... life. I mean nothing short of the overflowing presence of the divine. God is life; He is the source and summit of all life. The Scriptures refer to God as him "who fills all in all". What do I mean when I say that all around us 'abundant life springs out at us'? I mean nothing less than everywhere God is present. And if we only have eyes to see, we will find, often to our surprise, His radiant glory filling the world around. We will see magic, mystery, and wonder at every turn. We will find ourselves in awe of the fullness that surrounds us. We will find ourselves always and everywhere in the presence of the Divine.
Where is life? It's right here and we can live it if only we desire to. We can see it, if only we're willing. If you're looking for life, put the map away and look around: it's right in front of you.
Yes, a bit of a strange question. But one that I feel is worthwhile asking. It seems to me that there is a tacit assumption, one which is prevalent in our culture, that life is to be found 'out there', i.e. somewhere else. I can speak of 'getting out there and living life' and images from the myriad of movie scenes come to mind, the ones where the main character is 'breaking away' and on the road 'experiencing life' [cue the inspirational music and breath-taking scenery]. Isn't the sun brighter on vacation, the sky sweeter, and the air more refreshing? Is there something about the place itself that makes the colours of the trees seem more vivid? Do we have to 'get away' in order to experience life? Does familiarity really breed contempt? Is there something intrinsically different, i.e. more full of life, about any location other than our home? I think not.
It seems to me that the difference lies in ourselves. Perhaps while on vacation, we are more apt to notice the beauty around us, we are more likely to breath deep and be present in the moment. Is it that once we 'escape' our normal surroundings we are then able to be receptive to the world as it really is: full of life.
Where is life? The answer is that life is all around us. It is in the air we breath and in the ground we walk on. Where can you find it? You can find it at our homes and at our jobs. It's in our family and our friends, in the strangers we pass by every day without a second thought. We simply don't pay attention to the fullness of life that surrounds us daily. We get used to our daily lives and gloss over the beauty that it holds. We get so wrapped-up in the worries of the day that we cannot see what is all around us. In every corner of our daily travels abundant life springs out at us.
But, what do I mean when I say life? I mean life as understood within the Christian Tradition: I mean 'fullness'. I mean glory, beauty, transcendent love... life. I mean nothing short of the overflowing presence of the divine. God is life; He is the source and summit of all life. The Scriptures refer to God as him "who fills all in all". What do I mean when I say that all around us 'abundant life springs out at us'? I mean nothing less than everywhere God is present. And if we only have eyes to see, we will find, often to our surprise, His radiant glory filling the world around. We will see magic, mystery, and wonder at every turn. We will find ourselves in awe of the fullness that surrounds us. We will find ourselves always and everywhere in the presence of the Divine.
Where is life? It's right here and we can live it if only we desire to. We can see it, if only we're willing. If you're looking for life, put the map away and look around: it's right in front of you.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
On Perspective: The surging waves...
I ran into an acquaintance of mine today and the encounter has troubled my heart. I saw in her eyes something that I know well from my own experience: she was tired. I'm not talking about being merely physically tired, as one experiences from staying up to late, but instead a deep weariness. It's a difficult thing to see in another person. My heart aches for her.
I will never forget my experience during second year of University. It was fall semester and I had taken too many classes, of which several were upper-level (that is to say they were somewhat beyond my previous academic experiences). On top of this, I was having trouble coming to grips with the harsh reality of street life that I was seeing in the street ministry I was involved in, I had stopped going to church since I was having difficulty seeing the point in it, and my granny's health was rapidly getting worse. It was a hard fall for me. I would often wake up and anxiously get ready for school only to realize that it was still the middle of the night. I didn't sleep well; I would wake up many mornings with eyes that burned and a sore body. All I wanted was to go back to sleep and forget the problems of the world. My diet was suffering and so was I. I was constantly falling behind on my reading and my school work. I knew that something would give eventually since I could not go on like this for long. I felt like I was carrying a huge weight everywhere I went. At the end of semester I ended up failing a course, which I retook the next year, but I made it through.
It hurts me to see others who are under the wave. When you're under the wave all you can see is the wave about to crash down on you. You swim with all your might but the force of the sea is too powerful. It's dark, cold, and seems hopeless. Even the sun and sky are blotted out by the wave towering over you.
The prophet Jonah writes:
You cast me into the deep,
into the heart of the seas,
and the flood surrounded me;
all your waves and your billows
passed over me.
I said, ‘I am driven away
from your sight;
how shall I look again
upon your holy temple?’
The waters closed in over me;
the deep surrounded me;
weeds were wrapped around my head
at the roots of the mountains.
I went down to the land
whose bars closed upon me forever
I wish that I had the words to encourage her. I can't stop the 'waves and billows' from thrashing her; but I wish I could let her know that beyond that wave there is sunshine on the horizon. Eventually the storm clouds will pass and the seas will calm. Though, this is a difficult thing to remember when you're under the wave.
"And He got up and rebuked the wind and the surging waves, and they stopped, and it became calm." Luke 8:24
I will never forget my experience during second year of University. It was fall semester and I had taken too many classes, of which several were upper-level (that is to say they were somewhat beyond my previous academic experiences). On top of this, I was having trouble coming to grips with the harsh reality of street life that I was seeing in the street ministry I was involved in, I had stopped going to church since I was having difficulty seeing the point in it, and my granny's health was rapidly getting worse. It was a hard fall for me. I would often wake up and anxiously get ready for school only to realize that it was still the middle of the night. I didn't sleep well; I would wake up many mornings with eyes that burned and a sore body. All I wanted was to go back to sleep and forget the problems of the world. My diet was suffering and so was I. I was constantly falling behind on my reading and my school work. I knew that something would give eventually since I could not go on like this for long. I felt like I was carrying a huge weight everywhere I went. At the end of semester I ended up failing a course, which I retook the next year, but I made it through.
It hurts me to see others who are under the wave. When you're under the wave all you can see is the wave about to crash down on you. You swim with all your might but the force of the sea is too powerful. It's dark, cold, and seems hopeless. Even the sun and sky are blotted out by the wave towering over you.
The prophet Jonah writes:
You cast me into the deep,
into the heart of the seas,
and the flood surrounded me;
all your waves and your billows
passed over me.
I said, ‘I am driven away
from your sight;
how shall I look again
upon your holy temple?’
The waters closed in over me;
the deep surrounded me;
weeds were wrapped around my head
at the roots of the mountains.
I went down to the land
whose bars closed upon me forever
I wish that I had the words to encourage her. I can't stop the 'waves and billows' from thrashing her; but I wish I could let her know that beyond that wave there is sunshine on the horizon. Eventually the storm clouds will pass and the seas will calm. Though, this is a difficult thing to remember when you're under the wave.
"And He got up and rebuked the wind and the surging waves, and they stopped, and it became calm." Luke 8:24
Saturday, November 7, 2009
The House of God: Sinners Welcome?
From the sayings of the desert Fathers:
A brother who had sinned was turned out of the church by the priest; Abba Bessarion got up and went with him, saying, "I, too, am a sinner."
I was reminded of a conversation I had with a friend some time ago. I had asked him how things were going with a new church which he had recently begun attending. His mannerism suddenly changed and he hung his head; "I haven't really been going much at all", he said. When I asked him why not, he told me how he felt like a hypocrite going to church as he hadn't been living as he knew he ought. He said that he couldn't face all those people at church. I said, "you feel like a sinner?" He agreed. I told him that is never a reason not to go to church: if you wait till you're sinless, you'll never get to go. "You're welcome to join me at my church, we have sinners there. I should know, I'm one of them".
Every Sunday I hear these words:
Dear friends in Christ,
God is steadfast in love and infinite in mercy;
he welcomes sinners and invites them to his table.
Let us confess our sins, confident in God's forgiveness.
These words weekly remind me that sinners are welcome at my church; I am welcome at my church. Even more profound is the reality that I am welcomed by God. If I can find forgiveness and mercy nowhere else, I can find it there.
I take comfort in this.
A brother who had sinned was turned out of the church by the priest; Abba Bessarion got up and went with him, saying, "I, too, am a sinner."
I was reminded of a conversation I had with a friend some time ago. I had asked him how things were going with a new church which he had recently begun attending. His mannerism suddenly changed and he hung his head; "I haven't really been going much at all", he said. When I asked him why not, he told me how he felt like a hypocrite going to church as he hadn't been living as he knew he ought. He said that he couldn't face all those people at church. I said, "you feel like a sinner?" He agreed. I told him that is never a reason not to go to church: if you wait till you're sinless, you'll never get to go. "You're welcome to join me at my church, we have sinners there. I should know, I'm one of them".
Every Sunday I hear these words:
Dear friends in Christ,
God is steadfast in love and infinite in mercy;
he welcomes sinners and invites them to his table.
Let us confess our sins, confident in God's forgiveness.
These words weekly remind me that sinners are welcome at my church; I am welcome at my church. Even more profound is the reality that I am welcomed by God. If I can find forgiveness and mercy nowhere else, I can find it there.
I take comfort in this.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
They stood there before me unashamed: naked and beautiful...
Yesterday, having finished work while still in the late morning, I decided it was time to take my weekly walk to the local farm market for our produce. I tend to enjoy these walks as I often give myself plenty of time to stroll the neighbourhood on the way to and from. On my way back this day I decided to stroll down one of my favourite streets of the neighbourhood, just one street back from us. I especially enjoy this street due to all the majestic trees which line both sides and tower overhead as you walk. I had been looking forward to the colours these trees would take on this fall season, since I remembered from last year that their leaves tended to be quite lovely. Of course I was not disappointed when, over the course of the last month, they came alive with colour. On this afternoon as I walked beneath their outstretched arms I was struck by how naked they’ve become. Beneath my feet I saw the fiery oranges and reds that I was so fond of – leaves trampled and mashed. With the leaves having left their branches, I was surprised to find that these trees were no less majestic and beautiful. It was a different beauty to be sure, but I could now see the trees in a way that had previously been masked. Stark, naked, and striking against the background blue sky - yes, they were certainly beautiful to behold.
As I gazed upon these arboreal neighbours of mine, I began to wonder if we humans cannot likewise be seen as beautiful when we are ‘unmasked’ of our ‘leaves’. We too have ‘colours’ that we put on to impress others. Could I stand before my neighbours as ‘naked’ as these trees? Could I view those around me as beautiful without the pomp and presentation that normally accompanies life?
These trees looked so exposed and vulnerable to me. If I took off my mask, my presentation of self, would I too look as vulnerable? Would I be any more or less than what I already am? I think that, just as with the trees, I would not. These trees were humble. Humility is not a matter of self-abasement or low self-esteem; humility is rooted in a proper understanding of the realities of human nature, of our strengths and our weaknesses. Putting aside such pretenses will not change the reality of my strengths. Nor will any amount of ‘leaves’ change the reality of my weakness and frailty.
These trees made me think of those all around who are weak, vulnerable and exposed. Could I learn to see them, in all their ‘nakedness’, as beautiful? I pray that I might learn to.
As I gazed upon these arboreal neighbours of mine, I began to wonder if we humans cannot likewise be seen as beautiful when we are ‘unmasked’ of our ‘leaves’. We too have ‘colours’ that we put on to impress others. Could I stand before my neighbours as ‘naked’ as these trees? Could I view those around me as beautiful without the pomp and presentation that normally accompanies life?
These trees looked so exposed and vulnerable to me. If I took off my mask, my presentation of self, would I too look as vulnerable? Would I be any more or less than what I already am? I think that, just as with the trees, I would not. These trees were humble. Humility is not a matter of self-abasement or low self-esteem; humility is rooted in a proper understanding of the realities of human nature, of our strengths and our weaknesses. Putting aside such pretenses will not change the reality of my strengths. Nor will any amount of ‘leaves’ change the reality of my weakness and frailty.
These trees made me think of those all around who are weak, vulnerable and exposed. Could I learn to see them, in all their ‘nakedness’, as beautiful? I pray that I might learn to.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
All Saints Day: dum in hac vita sumus
In conversation with my priest the other day on the topic of living a life directed towards God I expressed the frustration that led me to explore the Christian tradition: “I got tired of people not telling me how to live”. There were certainly many folks who felt called to tell me what and what not to do, but there seemed to be a horrible deficit in actual guidance. There was plenty of ‘do this’ and ‘don’t do that”. Sure, plenty of folks were ready to tell me to read the Bible, don’t have sex, pray more, etc. But it wasn’t until I came in contact with the church fathers and the great Christian Tradition that I came to see that there were guides who had traveled the path of holiness and love and sought to share what they had learned with me. Suddenly I had a vast reserve of wisdom before me; I had a two thousand year-old living tradition of communities of faith coming together to seek after and love God. The most surprising part of this discovery was that I was a part of this tradition: it was my heritage, my inheritance.
I’ve recently come across this phrase in my readings of St. Augustine which has stuck with me of late: dum in hac vita sumus (‘while we are in this life’). This is the struggle that we all face. While we are in this life, how are we to live? Life seems so temporal – probably because it is – yet it is where we find ourselves. What are we to make of the years, the days, the hours… of our life?
I’ve come to realize that I need the assistance of others in living life well. As in most, if not all, areas of life I need to learn from others who have traveled the road before me. I refuse to accept that I simply ought to know how to pray, or live virtuously, or other such necessities of the Christian life. I must be humble enough to sit at the feet of the learned.
In the prologue to his ‘Rule’, St. Benedict of Nursia writes:
Listen carefully my son, to the master’s instructions, and attend to them with the ear of your heart. This is advice from a father who loves you; welcome it, and faithfully put it into practice. The labour of obedience will bring you back to him from whom you had drifted through the sloth of disobedience. This message of mine is for you, then, if you are ready to give up your own will […] Let us get up then, at long last, for the Scriptures rouse us when they say: It is high time for us to arise from sleep. Let us open our eyes to the light that comes from God, and our ears to the voice from heaven that every day calls out this charge: If you hear his voice today, do not harden your hearts.
St. Benedict the proceeds to lay out a ‘Rule’ for living a life focused on community, obedience, humility, contemplation, and love: a life ordered towards the Divine. He provides a guide for those who seek to follow his example. Like a caring father aims at teaching his child the way to live, so too does St. Benedict set out to aid those of us who would follow in his holy path of love.
On this All Saints Day we in the Church celebrate and give thanks to God for the ‘great cloud of witnesses’ who came before us. We accept the gift of a living tradition of faith that has been faithfully preserved and handed on to us. We are reminded that we can look to the great Saints of our faith for guiding examples of how to pass the hours while we are in this life.
I’ve recently come across this phrase in my readings of St. Augustine which has stuck with me of late: dum in hac vita sumus (‘while we are in this life’). This is the struggle that we all face. While we are in this life, how are we to live? Life seems so temporal – probably because it is – yet it is where we find ourselves. What are we to make of the years, the days, the hours… of our life?
I’ve come to realize that I need the assistance of others in living life well. As in most, if not all, areas of life I need to learn from others who have traveled the road before me. I refuse to accept that I simply ought to know how to pray, or live virtuously, or other such necessities of the Christian life. I must be humble enough to sit at the feet of the learned.
In the prologue to his ‘Rule’, St. Benedict of Nursia writes:
Listen carefully my son, to the master’s instructions, and attend to them with the ear of your heart. This is advice from a father who loves you; welcome it, and faithfully put it into practice. The labour of obedience will bring you back to him from whom you had drifted through the sloth of disobedience. This message of mine is for you, then, if you are ready to give up your own will […] Let us get up then, at long last, for the Scriptures rouse us when they say: It is high time for us to arise from sleep. Let us open our eyes to the light that comes from God, and our ears to the voice from heaven that every day calls out this charge: If you hear his voice today, do not harden your hearts.
St. Benedict the proceeds to lay out a ‘Rule’ for living a life focused on community, obedience, humility, contemplation, and love: a life ordered towards the Divine. He provides a guide for those who seek to follow his example. Like a caring father aims at teaching his child the way to live, so too does St. Benedict set out to aid those of us who would follow in his holy path of love.
On this All Saints Day we in the Church celebrate and give thanks to God for the ‘great cloud of witnesses’ who came before us. We accept the gift of a living tradition of faith that has been faithfully preserved and handed on to us. We are reminded that we can look to the great Saints of our faith for guiding examples of how to pass the hours while we are in this life.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
One Cold Morning: Into the Darkness...
Into the Darkness, Into the Light…
Yesterday morning I woke up before dawn and prepared for my trek to work. It was yet very early in the morning and, therefore, also very dark outside. As I stepped out of the door, closed it behind me, and stepped out into the cold darkness, I had a striking experience. It took my eyes a little bit longer than normal to adjust from the light of the house to the darkness of the morning. I took three unsteady, blind steps out into the darkness. Suddenly I knew what it was like to have no bearings, no sense of direction or surroundings….
… and then I looked up. Oh, how the celestial dancers that twinkled and winked above lifted my soul! Those bright lights from deep in the unfathomable depths of the universe called to me and drew me out from the confusion. I was awe-struck.
St. Gregory of Nyssa, in The Life of Moses, wrote,
What does it mean that Moses entered the darkness and then saw God in it? […] For leaving behind everything that is observed, not only what sense comprehends but also what the intelligence thinks it sees, it keeps on penetrating deeper until by the intelligence’s yearning for understanding it gains access to the invisible and incomprehensible, and there sees God. This is the true knowledge of what is sought; this is the seeing that consists in not seeing, because that which is sought transcends all knowledge, being separated on all sides by incomprehensibility as by a kind of darkness.
It is often difficult for those of us who deal in the realm of ideas, concepts, and intellectual abstractions to remember that God is infinitely greater than the mind can grasp, that all our intellectual strivings are meant merely to be preparation for approaching the inexpressible Being of God. As St. Gregory well knew, God is so far beyond our mind and senses that we often must be thrown into darkness and uncertainty – we must lose our bearings, leave our familiar signposts behind, and let go of our spiritual safety blankets (whatever they might be) – in order to approach him.
Yes, it is unnerving to have no sense of security; but I would willingly enter that darkness – blind and lost – for the sake of glimpsing the majesty that shone down on my soul that cold morning. So it is also with the unspeakable divine majesty of God. And thus I pray that I might stumble into the blinding darkness that I might find Him whom I seek…
Yesterday morning I woke up before dawn and prepared for my trek to work. It was yet very early in the morning and, therefore, also very dark outside. As I stepped out of the door, closed it behind me, and stepped out into the cold darkness, I had a striking experience. It took my eyes a little bit longer than normal to adjust from the light of the house to the darkness of the morning. I took three unsteady, blind steps out into the darkness. Suddenly I knew what it was like to have no bearings, no sense of direction or surroundings….
… and then I looked up. Oh, how the celestial dancers that twinkled and winked above lifted my soul! Those bright lights from deep in the unfathomable depths of the universe called to me and drew me out from the confusion. I was awe-struck.
St. Gregory of Nyssa, in The Life of Moses, wrote,
What does it mean that Moses entered the darkness and then saw God in it? […] For leaving behind everything that is observed, not only what sense comprehends but also what the intelligence thinks it sees, it keeps on penetrating deeper until by the intelligence’s yearning for understanding it gains access to the invisible and incomprehensible, and there sees God. This is the true knowledge of what is sought; this is the seeing that consists in not seeing, because that which is sought transcends all knowledge, being separated on all sides by incomprehensibility as by a kind of darkness.
It is often difficult for those of us who deal in the realm of ideas, concepts, and intellectual abstractions to remember that God is infinitely greater than the mind can grasp, that all our intellectual strivings are meant merely to be preparation for approaching the inexpressible Being of God. As St. Gregory well knew, God is so far beyond our mind and senses that we often must be thrown into darkness and uncertainty – we must lose our bearings, leave our familiar signposts behind, and let go of our spiritual safety blankets (whatever they might be) – in order to approach him.
Yes, it is unnerving to have no sense of security; but I would willingly enter that darkness – blind and lost – for the sake of glimpsing the majesty that shone down on my soul that cold morning. So it is also with the unspeakable divine majesty of God. And thus I pray that I might stumble into the blinding darkness that I might find Him whom I seek…
Monday, October 19, 2009
A Strange Nocturnal Sojourn: how do we pass the hours?
Most evenings after dinner my lovely wife and I go for an evening stroll. It's a chance to spend time together and share our thoughts or events of the day with each other. Last night we ended up going for the walk a little later than normal. The sun was already down by the time we headed out for our stroll through the neighbourhood. As it was later than normal the walk was a little different than otherwise. The first difference was the flashing light that my wife clipped to the back of my jacket. I felt a little like that dog with the silly cone on his head who has to endure the other dogs looking and silently snickering (you have to know that they do). The other difference was how quiet it was out: not much traffic either vehicular or pedestrian to speak of. As we strolled the quiet streets we became keenly aware of where everyone else was. The vast majority the houses we passed had this strange flickering bluish light radiating from behind the window blinds. From those houses with their blinds open (and with huge HD screens) we realized what the source of this alien light was: a magic motion picture box! Yes, the overwhelming majority of the homes had this strange box. We even crept up to a couple houses to see what was taking place inside: people of all shapes, sizes, and ages were huddled around this box (or in the case of the huge ones they were back against the opposite wall) mesmorized, spellbound by the hypnotizing light. At one point I actually had to physically pull my entranced wife away from the sight.
All joking aside, it was quite the surprising experience for us both. Yes, we do have a television, but we don't have cable (if that's what the kids are still calling it nowadays). I had forgotten how TV tended to dominate the evenings in most households. Removed as we were from the 'activity' that was transpiring in these homes throughout our neighbourhood, it did seem a strange sight to see individuals and families kneeling before their high-definition altars.
When we returned home from our walk, I made some vanilla rooibos tea for us (and chocolate for my wife to dip), she did some homework, I put on some quiet music (Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata - it seemed somehow appropriate), did the dishes and read a little. We had a nice quiet evening at home.
What did people do before television conquered the evening hours?
All joking aside, it was quite the surprising experience for us both. Yes, we do have a television, but we don't have cable (if that's what the kids are still calling it nowadays). I had forgotten how TV tended to dominate the evenings in most households. Removed as we were from the 'activity' that was transpiring in these homes throughout our neighbourhood, it did seem a strange sight to see individuals and families kneeling before their high-definition altars.
When we returned home from our walk, I made some vanilla rooibos tea for us (and chocolate for my wife to dip), she did some homework, I put on some quiet music (Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata - it seemed somehow appropriate), did the dishes and read a little. We had a nice quiet evening at home.
What did people do before television conquered the evening hours?
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Fall: The trees are alive with the sound of music?
A change has been steadily coming over me during the past few years. I notice things that I would have otherwise not have noticed in the past. This year I've begun to notice fall.
This past week, my walks have been incredibly vivid. Well, maybe not the walks themselves (still just two feet and a heartbeat) but the scenery is something else. Daily I have found myself in awe of my arboreal neighbours. Almost every street I look down seems to resound back with all the effect of an orchestral symphony for the eyes. All the different participants play their role - the deep purple basses and red tenors harmonize with the orange altos and the bright yellow sopranos. I've even begun to name some of the trees. They are generally not very original names, but they do seem to fit ('deep purple' is just a bit down the road, 'tequila sunrise' is right across the street from our place, 'Mr. Crantastic'... - well, you get the idea).
Already their colours are fading as the leaves fall to the ground. I suppose I will miss them when they are soon gone; but there will be other colours and shades to occupy my vision and my mind as I stroll through the ocularly alluring streets of life. Until then, I shall listen with both eyes to the manifold depth and variety that is before me. Sing on my friends, sing on...
This past week, my walks have been incredibly vivid. Well, maybe not the walks themselves (still just two feet and a heartbeat) but the scenery is something else. Daily I have found myself in awe of my arboreal neighbours. Almost every street I look down seems to resound back with all the effect of an orchestral symphony for the eyes. All the different participants play their role - the deep purple basses and red tenors harmonize with the orange altos and the bright yellow sopranos. I've even begun to name some of the trees. They are generally not very original names, but they do seem to fit ('deep purple' is just a bit down the road, 'tequila sunrise' is right across the street from our place, 'Mr. Crantastic'... - well, you get the idea).
Already their colours are fading as the leaves fall to the ground. I suppose I will miss them when they are soon gone; but there will be other colours and shades to occupy my vision and my mind as I stroll through the ocularly alluring streets of life. Until then, I shall listen with both eyes to the manifold depth and variety that is before me. Sing on my friends, sing on...
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Pride: Is it necessarily bad?
I experienced an emotion yesterday that I am not very familiar with: pride. Maybe its the residual vestiges of my Evangelical Christian training, maybe it's something else; whatever it is, I find that pride in something I've done is a foreign thing to me. Sure, I find pride in its other, more insidious, forms creeping up in my heart from time to time: self-righteousness and condemnation of others, etc. But I don't often feel much pride in my accomplishments.
Many Evangelical Christians will rail against the evils of pride. The Scriptures also speak against pride; but I find the difference to be that in the Scriptures the pride that is being censured is more akin to arrogance or haughtiness of the kind that puts others down in an attempt to raise oneself up. It is not the nebulous 'pride' that results in false humility, the kind that does not allow for congratulations or the acceptance of compliments, even when justified.
I think that perhaps I have suffered from the Evangelical approach to pride. It seems to me that I have failed to accept congratulations and praise even when deserved. I have failed to pat myself on the back from time to time and say, 'good job Tyler'. Of course, there is still the danger of the 'bad pride' creeping in; but I see this as more of a danger in my relationships with others and how I treat them rather in how I treat myself. Likely, the 'bad pride' stems from low self-esteem and self-worth, not from proper recognition of one's accomplishments.
Yesterday I received a paper back from a professor of mine and found myself with a foreign emotion upon reading through it. The paper was for my 'Advanced Greek Readings' course last spring and was titled "Lost in Translation?: An exploration into the LXX as a translation with specific focus on lexicological, syntactical and exegetical issues in Genesis 2.4-3.6". My professor had thoroughly engaged with my paper and there were prolific notes, comments, and suggestions filling the margins throughout. But on the last page he had written:
Thanks Tyler,
This represents a good piece of wrestling with the primary data, that any supervisor would be proud of.
A+
You know what? It felt damn good to read that comment. I worked hard on that paper. The whole time I felt like I was in over my head and in an area in which I was an amateur. It wasn't so much the grade that felt good (although it did); it was the sense of accomplishment and his recognition of my efforts. He didn't tell me that I had written a magnus opus of phenomenal proportions; he simply recognized the work I put in. I was tempted to feel bad about my pride, but then I made a conscious effort not to. I have no reason to feel guilty: if my professor gives me a complement, I'm going to accept it graciously and feel good about it. I've never felt this proud about a paper in my six years of studies; I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts.
I think that if someone deserves a compliment, I ought to give it to them. Likewise, if someone feels that I deserve a compliment, and gives me one, I ought to take them seriously and accept it. Just as I can feel pride in the accomplishments of those people in my life about whom I care, I can justifiably feel pride in my own accomplishments... without shame or fear. I'm going to work on that.
I ought to avoid false pride; I also ought to avoid false humility. Both are equally false. Is pride bad... not necessarily.
Many Evangelical Christians will rail against the evils of pride. The Scriptures also speak against pride; but I find the difference to be that in the Scriptures the pride that is being censured is more akin to arrogance or haughtiness of the kind that puts others down in an attempt to raise oneself up. It is not the nebulous 'pride' that results in false humility, the kind that does not allow for congratulations or the acceptance of compliments, even when justified.
I think that perhaps I have suffered from the Evangelical approach to pride. It seems to me that I have failed to accept congratulations and praise even when deserved. I have failed to pat myself on the back from time to time and say, 'good job Tyler'. Of course, there is still the danger of the 'bad pride' creeping in; but I see this as more of a danger in my relationships with others and how I treat them rather in how I treat myself. Likely, the 'bad pride' stems from low self-esteem and self-worth, not from proper recognition of one's accomplishments.
Yesterday I received a paper back from a professor of mine and found myself with a foreign emotion upon reading through it. The paper was for my 'Advanced Greek Readings' course last spring and was titled "Lost in Translation?: An exploration into the LXX as a translation with specific focus on lexicological, syntactical and exegetical issues in Genesis 2.4-3.6". My professor had thoroughly engaged with my paper and there were prolific notes, comments, and suggestions filling the margins throughout. But on the last page he had written:
Thanks Tyler,
This represents a good piece of wrestling with the primary data, that any supervisor would be proud of.
A+
You know what? It felt damn good to read that comment. I worked hard on that paper. The whole time I felt like I was in over my head and in an area in which I was an amateur. It wasn't so much the grade that felt good (although it did); it was the sense of accomplishment and his recognition of my efforts. He didn't tell me that I had written a magnus opus of phenomenal proportions; he simply recognized the work I put in. I was tempted to feel bad about my pride, but then I made a conscious effort not to. I have no reason to feel guilty: if my professor gives me a complement, I'm going to accept it graciously and feel good about it. I've never felt this proud about a paper in my six years of studies; I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts.
I think that if someone deserves a compliment, I ought to give it to them. Likewise, if someone feels that I deserve a compliment, and gives me one, I ought to take them seriously and accept it. Just as I can feel pride in the accomplishments of those people in my life about whom I care, I can justifiably feel pride in my own accomplishments... without shame or fear. I'm going to work on that.
I ought to avoid false pride; I also ought to avoid false humility. Both are equally false. Is pride bad... not necessarily.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Comfort, O comfort my people...
I’ve often wondered about giving comfort to those who are in some sort of distress or pain. I’m not the sort of person who is naturally gifted with the ability to comfort others. I realized this quickly in my position as a outreach worker to street youth. This may sound strange coming from a Youth Outreach Worker who spent four plus years with drug-affected, street-entrenched youth, but I really don’t know how to provide comfort to people. I have had many talks with youth over the years in which they would share their various struggles and hardships with me. My natural response would often be something to the effect of, “yeah, that sucks” or “man, that must be tough”. When I first began, I had all sorts of illusions of give such wise, sage advise that the youth would immediately see how they might properly respond to their difficulties and recognize that God would help them through. I soon realized that such wonderfully sage advice would not be forthcoming from me. I had to learn to work within my limits. The solution that I eventually came to was to offer what I had, not what I didn’t have (i.e. sage, life-changing wisdom). What I often did have was an ear to listen with and the time to do just that. These I would give as freely as my many tasks would allow. I eventually became comfortable with responses like, “seriously? I can’t imagine what that’s like”. I think I just became more okay with just being me. I couldn’t pretend to understand what these kids have been through… so I didn’t. Usually we’d talk, I’d ask question, and I would just let them be in a safe place where they could share. Sometimes I’d pray for them, sometimes I’d share my thoughts or experiences, but always, I would do my best to provide a context where two broken human beings could be broken together (even if just for a moment). The worst thing when suffering is to feel alone and that no one cares (and when you’re on the streets, you must often wonder if anyone actually does).
I don’t work downtown anymore. I don’t spend my days with street youth. There was something refreshing about some of the kids I would meet down there: they know they’re messed-up, they know they have serious problems. Now I spend my days with well-to-do, clean, employed people, who have full stomachs and full wallets. They don’t come to me with their pain and their struggles. What does it look like to provide comfort to these people? I know they have pain, I know they have struggles. I know this because I’m one of them and I have pain, I have struggles. I often ask myself what it would look like to comfort these people. Maybe I should start by asking myself what it would look like for me to ask for comfort, to share my struggles, my pain. How can I expect such people to overcome the social norms when I am little able to myself?
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.
I don’t work downtown anymore. I don’t spend my days with street youth. There was something refreshing about some of the kids I would meet down there: they know they’re messed-up, they know they have serious problems. Now I spend my days with well-to-do, clean, employed people, who have full stomachs and full wallets. They don’t come to me with their pain and their struggles. What does it look like to provide comfort to these people? I know they have pain, I know they have struggles. I know this because I’m one of them and I have pain, I have struggles. I often ask myself what it would look like to comfort these people. Maybe I should start by asking myself what it would look like for me to ask for comfort, to share my struggles, my pain. How can I expect such people to overcome the social norms when I am little able to myself?
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Another Day at Work: Knowing, Loving, and the Immeasurable Weight of Being
I punch the clock; I put on the apron; my shift begins.
I see the people come in and go out all day long. [Grande/long-pour/with-room/Americano] I think to myself, who are these people? Where do they all come from? Have I seen this person three times already this morning? [Triple/Venti/three-pump/whole-milk/no-foam/no-whip/mocha] I see friends meeting; I see students working on their computers; I see businesswomen and construction workers grab their coffee and run. I think to myself, who are all these people. Well… they are like me: they are people. [Iced Grande/seven-pump/non-fat/extra-extra drizzle/caramel macchiato]
I tell a joke to a co-worker and she laughs a great laugh; I smile because that means I’m funny. Not one to stop when I sense an opportunity, I push the humorous metaphor and the joke rolls on – she laughs more. Yes, I’m funny. [Tall/non-fat/latte] Do I hide behind my humour? Do I use it to feel better about myself and feel accepted by those around me? Is it a mask that I wear or might it actually be an expression of my self? [grande/coffee-misto] Hmm…
[grande/skinny-vanilla/latte] Is she coming from the gym or does she use her lululemon active wear as a front, a façade. Why do women work so hard at it? Would I think any less of her if she came in wearing grey sweats? Would she think any less of herself? Maybe she just feels comfortable in that kind of clothing. I’ll probably never know.
How is it that any of us are actually able to know another human? Do we all put on fronts? Maybe facebook is just the virtual version of what we all do every day: we put our best picture up for others to see. Look at me, I’m fun, I’m active, I have a great smile. [Venti/no-water/extra-hot/Tazo chai-tea latte] Her friend arrives, they greet one another, and she posts a comment on her friend’s wall, telling her how good she looks lately. I think to myself, how well do they know each other; how well do they know themselves? [tall/caramel/170-degree/steamed-soy]
It’s time for my break and I sit down with my double-tall/dry/cappuccino and my book, “Early Christianity and Greek Paideia”. Do I hide behind a mask of intellectual discovery and sophistication? Well, yes and no… sometimes maybe. I do enjoy reading about such things, discussing such things, and learning and growing in general. In all honesty though, I sometimes do add a little bit of flourish to my explanation when someone asks me what I’m reading; perhaps I choose eloquent words for maximum effect. Though, to be equally honest, that is also how I talk, how I express myself. Hmmm… breaks over.
[two tall/extra-hot/caramel macchiatos] Maybe the same is true for most people – to varying degrees. Maybe what we show people is part who we are and part who we present. Who are all these people then? Can I ever know any of them when they are constantly hiding themselves? But what if the problem is not solely due to them? What if I share in the deception, encourage the illusion. [grande/no-foam/skinny-vanilla/latte] Another lululemon lady… what if part of the problem is that I see this woman and simply do not have the eyes to see her for who she is. Do I have the eyes to see anyone for who they truly are? Yes, I think so. [venti/espresso-macchiato]
I do have the eyes to see some people in my life. I look at my mother, my brothers and sister, and I see in them intelligence, uniqueness, beauty. I think of my dear wife and I am amazed at who she is, her patience, care, and love for me: she has a beautiful soul. My amazing little niece, so filled with life that it overflows onto/into all those around her: she is a beautiful little girl. I have friends that I have known for a long-time. I cherish and hold dear their friendships: they are beautiful. Even my in-laws who I have known for so short a time, I see glimpses of beauty in them through their interactions with each other. [venti/light-whip/mocha-drizzle/white-chocolate/mocha] Now that I think about it, I do have the eyes to see the beauty of other people – predominately those whom I love. Is that the key… love? Is to love to know? Or do I love them because I have come to know them, the real them. Which comes first, the eyes to see a person as they truly are (i.e. to know them as the beautiful creatures that they are) or the love? [venti/strawberries and crème/ frappucinno] Perhaps the two are simply inseparable: growing together in an ascending spiral of loving knowledge, woven together in a beautiful tapestry of shared being. Hmm…
[tall/latte] His friend arrives and they joyfully shake hands, greeting one another with words of affection and giant smiles [decaf/grande/with-room/americano] Maybe they have eyes to see the beauty in each other. I apparently don’t have such eyes: all I see is two middle-aged, overweight, men in outdated clothes. What if I am not looking at two men as I’ve just described them? What if I am actually looking at two beautiful human beings: human beings with the potential to be great saints of heaven, human beings with the potential to do heroic deeds great and small, human beings with the ability to love and be loved. What if I simply do not have the eyes to see them as they truly are, deep down inside? [triple/grande/skinny-caramel/latte] What if she is the same, somewhere behind that façade of make-up and fashion? What about him over in the corner by himself, reading the paper? Or that lady coming in the door? It occurs to me that everyone I cross today is a unique, beautiful creature, whether I know it or not, whether they know it or not. I don't seem to know it most of the time. But then it happens: a fleeting whisper of grace... I look around the room and for the most brief of moments I see a procession of radiant human beings, created in glory and for glory, beloved of God, icons of the Divine, destined for eternal love and joy. I see humanity from the Divine perspective, from the perspective of love. As quickly as it came, the vision begins to fade: under the immeasurable weight of un-masked being my immature soul collapses and [quad/grande/two-pump-cinnamon-dolce/soy/no-foam/Americano-misto] again, all I see is customers coming and going, grabbing their drinks and doing whatever it is that they do. Hmm... Oh, my shift is over already – my, how time flys.
I punch the clock; I take off the apron; my shift ends…
I see the people come in and go out all day long. [Grande/long-pour/with-room/Americano] I think to myself, who are these people? Where do they all come from? Have I seen this person three times already this morning? [Triple/Venti/three-pump/whole-milk/no-foam/no-whip/mocha] I see friends meeting; I see students working on their computers; I see businesswomen and construction workers grab their coffee and run. I think to myself, who are all these people. Well… they are like me: they are people. [Iced Grande/seven-pump/non-fat/extra-extra drizzle/caramel macchiato]
I tell a joke to a co-worker and she laughs a great laugh; I smile because that means I’m funny. Not one to stop when I sense an opportunity, I push the humorous metaphor and the joke rolls on – she laughs more. Yes, I’m funny. [Tall/non-fat/latte] Do I hide behind my humour? Do I use it to feel better about myself and feel accepted by those around me? Is it a mask that I wear or might it actually be an expression of my self? [grande/coffee-misto] Hmm…
[grande/skinny-vanilla/latte] Is she coming from the gym or does she use her lululemon active wear as a front, a façade. Why do women work so hard at it? Would I think any less of her if she came in wearing grey sweats? Would she think any less of herself? Maybe she just feels comfortable in that kind of clothing. I’ll probably never know.
How is it that any of us are actually able to know another human? Do we all put on fronts? Maybe facebook is just the virtual version of what we all do every day: we put our best picture up for others to see. Look at me, I’m fun, I’m active, I have a great smile. [Venti/no-water/extra-hot/Tazo chai-tea latte] Her friend arrives, they greet one another, and she posts a comment on her friend’s wall, telling her how good she looks lately. I think to myself, how well do they know each other; how well do they know themselves? [tall/caramel/170-degree/steamed-soy]
It’s time for my break and I sit down with my double-tall/dry/cappuccino and my book, “Early Christianity and Greek Paideia”. Do I hide behind a mask of intellectual discovery and sophistication? Well, yes and no… sometimes maybe. I do enjoy reading about such things, discussing such things, and learning and growing in general. In all honesty though, I sometimes do add a little bit of flourish to my explanation when someone asks me what I’m reading; perhaps I choose eloquent words for maximum effect. Though, to be equally honest, that is also how I talk, how I express myself. Hmmm… breaks over.
[two tall/extra-hot/caramel macchiatos] Maybe the same is true for most people – to varying degrees. Maybe what we show people is part who we are and part who we present. Who are all these people then? Can I ever know any of them when they are constantly hiding themselves? But what if the problem is not solely due to them? What if I share in the deception, encourage the illusion. [grande/no-foam/skinny-vanilla/latte] Another lululemon lady… what if part of the problem is that I see this woman and simply do not have the eyes to see her for who she is. Do I have the eyes to see anyone for who they truly are? Yes, I think so. [venti/espresso-macchiato]
I do have the eyes to see some people in my life. I look at my mother, my brothers and sister, and I see in them intelligence, uniqueness, beauty. I think of my dear wife and I am amazed at who she is, her patience, care, and love for me: she has a beautiful soul. My amazing little niece, so filled with life that it overflows onto/into all those around her: she is a beautiful little girl. I have friends that I have known for a long-time. I cherish and hold dear their friendships: they are beautiful. Even my in-laws who I have known for so short a time, I see glimpses of beauty in them through their interactions with each other. [venti/light-whip/mocha-drizzle/white-chocolate/mocha] Now that I think about it, I do have the eyes to see the beauty of other people – predominately those whom I love. Is that the key… love? Is to love to know? Or do I love them because I have come to know them, the real them. Which comes first, the eyes to see a person as they truly are (i.e. to know them as the beautiful creatures that they are) or the love? [venti/strawberries and crème/ frappucinno] Perhaps the two are simply inseparable: growing together in an ascending spiral of loving knowledge, woven together in a beautiful tapestry of shared being. Hmm…
[tall/latte] His friend arrives and they joyfully shake hands, greeting one another with words of affection and giant smiles [decaf/grande/with-room/americano] Maybe they have eyes to see the beauty in each other. I apparently don’t have such eyes: all I see is two middle-aged, overweight, men in outdated clothes. What if I am not looking at two men as I’ve just described them? What if I am actually looking at two beautiful human beings: human beings with the potential to be great saints of heaven, human beings with the potential to do heroic deeds great and small, human beings with the ability to love and be loved. What if I simply do not have the eyes to see them as they truly are, deep down inside? [triple/grande/skinny-caramel/latte] What if she is the same, somewhere behind that façade of make-up and fashion? What about him over in the corner by himself, reading the paper? Or that lady coming in the door? It occurs to me that everyone I cross today is a unique, beautiful creature, whether I know it or not, whether they know it or not. I don't seem to know it most of the time. But then it happens: a fleeting whisper of grace... I look around the room and for the most brief of moments I see a procession of radiant human beings, created in glory and for glory, beloved of God, icons of the Divine, destined for eternal love and joy. I see humanity from the Divine perspective, from the perspective of love. As quickly as it came, the vision begins to fade: under the immeasurable weight of un-masked being my immature soul collapses and [quad/grande/two-pump-cinnamon-dolce/soy/no-foam/Americano-misto] again, all I see is customers coming and going, grabbing their drinks and doing whatever it is that they do. Hmm... Oh, my shift is over already – my, how time flys.
I punch the clock; I take off the apron; my shift ends…
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Being a Man: Thoughts on Fatherhood...
No one ever told me how to be a man. I didn’t have the example of a father to emulate – at least not for the majority of the time that comprises my remembrances. I didn’t read books on the subject (Seven Simple Man Principles, Forty Days of Manhood, etc). Yet, somehow I find that I am a man. What is it that comprises manhood? Merely having a receding hairline or an enlarging waistline does not make a man. Being referred to as ‘sir’ by the nineteen year old girl behind the counter at the beer store does not make the grade either. Though age is not enough to make one a man, somewhere along my three decade long journey I did become one.
Men are boys who have grown up. They accept responsibility, act according to what is right, and treat others with respect. They know who they are and what is required of them in this life. They have gained some added perspective on life – at least enough to seek to live as described above.
When the time came upon me to join the specialized class of brave men and become a husband I earnestly sought out wisdom on the path that lay before me. No, I didn’t run out and get the latest books on marriage or being a husband. I contemplated the nature of love and life. I dialogued with those who had great insights on the human soul and on divine love. Though I knew very little about the practical aspects of marriage, it was not the answers to such things that I yearned for (I knew these would come with time if I had a heart disposed towards humility, gratitude, and love). It would be arrogant of me to suggest that I have it figured out (with a whole year of marriage under my belt); it would also be naïve and false (so I won’t). But at this stage in the game, I feel as if I am headed in the right direction. By the grace of God and the patience of my wife I am learning and growing in my role as a husband. I now find my thoughts often drifting off to this (at least for me right now) abstract concept of fatherhood. One day, Lord willing, this will no longer be an abstract concept, but will instead be a tangible reality (gasp!). I wonder, what will fatherhood be like? What will be required of me as a father? How will my role as a husband change? How do we, i.e. my wife and I, go about raising a well-adjusted and self-aware human being who knows how to give and receive love? I have many questions.
Perhaps the best example of fatherhood that I have at the current time is that of my older brother. I have valued the privilege of observing him as he interacts with his daughter: he’s a great father and I look forward to seeking his advice on fatherhood when the time comes. I admittedly have little experience with the younger folk and it is intimidating to think of caring for one full time. I do take solace in knowing that I have a wonderful woman to team with when it comes. But that in itself brings other questions.
I’ve often thought that the father is placed in a strange (or estranged) place, both biologically and socially. A man can become a father with out even being present at the beginning. Given the survival time of sperm, conception of my child could easily take place when I am not around. I am blessed with the ability to participate in procreation but I may not even be present when the new life begins. Come on Tyler (you may be thinking), get a grip… you’re making a big deal out of a biological technicality (and you may be correct). At the birth itself, I wonder, what role will there be for me to play? My dear wife will have a set task before her, but how will I fit into the events? Will the role of observant be my calling? It does seem as though, at least in the early days/weeks, the husband’s role is primarily supportive. It all seems somewhat removed. Maybe it feels different when it is your child and your wife whom you are supporting. I’m sure I will quite enjoy playing that supportive role as my wife cares for, and bonds with, our child. It does seem a beautiful and magical thing, the mother/child relationship.
When the time comes, I suppose that what will be required of me will not differ greatly from what is currently required of me. Maybe it is best not to think of life’s different ‘stages’ as static, separate places; but instead I ought to conceive of them as dynamic and connected points of being along the road of life. Just as humility, gratitude, and love are required of me as a husband, they will also be as a father. I suppose that if I am honest with myself, I have to admit that I already know the answer. The specific details will change, but at its essence what is required of me I already know: be a man.
Men are boys who have grown up. They accept responsibility, act according to what is right, and treat others with respect. They know who they are and what is required of them in this life. They have gained some added perspective on life – at least enough to seek to live as described above.
When the time came upon me to join the specialized class of brave men and become a husband I earnestly sought out wisdom on the path that lay before me. No, I didn’t run out and get the latest books on marriage or being a husband. I contemplated the nature of love and life. I dialogued with those who had great insights on the human soul and on divine love. Though I knew very little about the practical aspects of marriage, it was not the answers to such things that I yearned for (I knew these would come with time if I had a heart disposed towards humility, gratitude, and love). It would be arrogant of me to suggest that I have it figured out (with a whole year of marriage under my belt); it would also be naïve and false (so I won’t). But at this stage in the game, I feel as if I am headed in the right direction. By the grace of God and the patience of my wife I am learning and growing in my role as a husband. I now find my thoughts often drifting off to this (at least for me right now) abstract concept of fatherhood. One day, Lord willing, this will no longer be an abstract concept, but will instead be a tangible reality (gasp!). I wonder, what will fatherhood be like? What will be required of me as a father? How will my role as a husband change? How do we, i.e. my wife and I, go about raising a well-adjusted and self-aware human being who knows how to give and receive love? I have many questions.
Perhaps the best example of fatherhood that I have at the current time is that of my older brother. I have valued the privilege of observing him as he interacts with his daughter: he’s a great father and I look forward to seeking his advice on fatherhood when the time comes. I admittedly have little experience with the younger folk and it is intimidating to think of caring for one full time. I do take solace in knowing that I have a wonderful woman to team with when it comes. But that in itself brings other questions.
I’ve often thought that the father is placed in a strange (or estranged) place, both biologically and socially. A man can become a father with out even being present at the beginning. Given the survival time of sperm, conception of my child could easily take place when I am not around. I am blessed with the ability to participate in procreation but I may not even be present when the new life begins. Come on Tyler (you may be thinking), get a grip… you’re making a big deal out of a biological technicality (and you may be correct). At the birth itself, I wonder, what role will there be for me to play? My dear wife will have a set task before her, but how will I fit into the events? Will the role of observant be my calling? It does seem as though, at least in the early days/weeks, the husband’s role is primarily supportive. It all seems somewhat removed. Maybe it feels different when it is your child and your wife whom you are supporting. I’m sure I will quite enjoy playing that supportive role as my wife cares for, and bonds with, our child. It does seem a beautiful and magical thing, the mother/child relationship.
When the time comes, I suppose that what will be required of me will not differ greatly from what is currently required of me. Maybe it is best not to think of life’s different ‘stages’ as static, separate places; but instead I ought to conceive of them as dynamic and connected points of being along the road of life. Just as humility, gratitude, and love are required of me as a husband, they will also be as a father. I suppose that if I am honest with myself, I have to admit that I already know the answer. The specific details will change, but at its essence what is required of me I already know: be a man.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Right Here, Right Now: On Waiting...
This morning I woke up early to frantically finish my translations of St. Augustine’s “Propositions on Romans” (Expositio Quarundam Propositionum Ex Epistola Ad Romanos) for class. After working away for a few hours in my study I raced off to get to the library as it opened to get in a few more good hours before class. I tell you, there is nothing quite like a motorcycle ride early in the morning – this being an especially pleasant early fall morning, it was fantastic. The only problem is that I have to go through Langley City to get to campus, the same Langley City that has trains running right through the middle of it that stop up traffic for blocks. But then I realized, it’s not a problem at all. As the huge metal beast sped by I turned off my bike, leaned back and relaxed. While I gazed out over the early morning sky – majestic Baker standing strong and proud out in the distance with the rising sun highlighting the contours of snow and rock, the delicate clouds rippling outwards from the Western horizon to fill the very heights of heaven – I realized that this is the very substance of life, not just some filler that lies between home and work. I let the sights and sounds of the new day seep into me and it dawned on me that there is no where else I ought to be but right here, right now, waiting for a train.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Accepting Gifts...
Let me be clear at the outset: I'm not easily offended. It's true. I'm generally a very easy going guy. There aren't many things that people can do or say that will offend me; I'm not saying that there are none, but perhaps there are few.
I think that some people are not clear on what a gift is. At least in my thinking, a gift is something given for free, for nothing in return. Well, maybe a thanks in return, but that's about it. I think this is often how I experience life. Most of the things I have or receive are gifts, things that I have not merited in any tangible way. I eat food, breathe air, enjoy friendships, and the kindness of strangers, essentially, I live life. All of this is gift; and all that I can do in return is live in gratitude and thankfulness.
So, when I give someone a gift and receive money or something in return for it (other than a thank you card, which are wonderfully thoughtful) I feel as though the gift is somehow nullified. Suddenly there is a transaction taking place and my gift is somehow less of a gift. I think I would rather have someone say, 'no, thank you' and not accept the gift than to have them thank me and then try to pay me.
Now I'm not saying such actions (and certainly not such people) are necessarily wrong. Perhaps it comes from a desire not to be obliged or indebted to another. Though, now that I think about it, we are all (in one way or another) indebted to others. I cannot measure the great debt I owe to my friends and family over the years. I think there is something intrinsic to life in which indebtedness is an inseparable part. We begin life already at the mercy of our mothers and fathers (not to mention our Creator), indebted to them for their hard work, love and gracious care. If I tried to pay back my mother for all that she has given me over my lifetime... oh boy, it would take several lifetimes to even begin. I've been married for a little over a year now, and if I calculated all that I owe my wife for her love and support... again, it would take the rest of our marriage together for me to begin such a task. Perhaps therein lies the answer. We are indebted to those people in our lives who have given us so much (and even so little). But, if we truly want to pay them back for what we have freely received, the way is not money but instead expressed gratitude: expressed in words, expressed in how we treat them, think of them, speak of them; expressed in the way we live our lives as indebted people, people indebted to love who give love in return.
I began writing this post thinking about how it offends me when I give someone a gift and they attempt to pay me for it. I think that I shall end it thinking about how I am a debtor to the love given me and how I am to repay that love to all those around me.
Look at me attempting to repay this gift given me: what an offense...
I think that some people are not clear on what a gift is. At least in my thinking, a gift is something given for free, for nothing in return. Well, maybe a thanks in return, but that's about it. I think this is often how I experience life. Most of the things I have or receive are gifts, things that I have not merited in any tangible way. I eat food, breathe air, enjoy friendships, and the kindness of strangers, essentially, I live life. All of this is gift; and all that I can do in return is live in gratitude and thankfulness.
So, when I give someone a gift and receive money or something in return for it (other than a thank you card, which are wonderfully thoughtful) I feel as though the gift is somehow nullified. Suddenly there is a transaction taking place and my gift is somehow less of a gift. I think I would rather have someone say, 'no, thank you' and not accept the gift than to have them thank me and then try to pay me.
Now I'm not saying such actions (and certainly not such people) are necessarily wrong. Perhaps it comes from a desire not to be obliged or indebted to another. Though, now that I think about it, we are all (in one way or another) indebted to others. I cannot measure the great debt I owe to my friends and family over the years. I think there is something intrinsic to life in which indebtedness is an inseparable part. We begin life already at the mercy of our mothers and fathers (not to mention our Creator), indebted to them for their hard work, love and gracious care. If I tried to pay back my mother for all that she has given me over my lifetime... oh boy, it would take several lifetimes to even begin. I've been married for a little over a year now, and if I calculated all that I owe my wife for her love and support... again, it would take the rest of our marriage together for me to begin such a task. Perhaps therein lies the answer. We are indebted to those people in our lives who have given us so much (and even so little). But, if we truly want to pay them back for what we have freely received, the way is not money but instead expressed gratitude: expressed in words, expressed in how we treat them, think of them, speak of them; expressed in the way we live our lives as indebted people, people indebted to love who give love in return.
I began writing this post thinking about how it offends me when I give someone a gift and they attempt to pay me for it. I think that I shall end it thinking about how I am a debtor to the love given me and how I am to repay that love to all those around me.
Look at me attempting to repay this gift given me: what an offense...
Monday, September 14, 2009
Strangely difficult words to say...
Why is it so difficult to answer with the words, "I don't know". Often they are the most truthful of response. Is it pride? Is it my academic training which pushes me to respond with a well-reasoned hypothesis as if it were solid knowledge? Whatever the case, I think that often these are not only the most truthful words to respond with, but also the most beneficial. Especially in matters of faith and religion it seems to me that humility and proper acknowledgment of ignorance is duly warranted. For me this sometimes takes conscious effort. 'Oh, you're doing a MA in Biblical Studies... what does this passage mean? What did Jesus mean when he said this?' The truth is that I may have gained some insight into this or that, but ultimately I'm still dealing with a God who is wrapped in mystery and infinitely beyond my understanding. This is not to suggest that I have nothing to add to a discussion on such topics, or that my education is not of particular benefit in these matters; instead it is to give recognition to the enormity of such questions and due respect to the divine Creator and His revelation to us.
From the sayings of the Desert Fathers:
"One day some of the brethren came to see Abba Antony, and among them was Abba Joseph. Wishing to test them, the old man mentioned a text from Scripture, and starting with the youngest he asked them what it meant. Each explained it as best he could. But to each one the old man said, "You have not yet found the answer." Last of all he said to Abba Joseph, "And what do you think the text means?" He replied, "I do not know." Then Abba Antony said, "Truly, Abba Joseph has found the way, for he said: I do not know.""
By no means am I suggesting a false of put-on humility. If we feel we know something, there is no reason to pretend otherwise. What I am talking about here is the perceived need to have an answer when we truly do not. Why this is dangerous (at least from my point of view) is that if I am not teachable, then I will not learn. If I do not learn, then how am I to grow.
I've often told my wife that I'm not smarter than her, or filled with great wisdom and knowledge... I've just read a few more books on the topic. It seems to me that humility is the only proper demeanor when dealing in such matters. Everything I know, I've learned from others. There really is no room for pride since countless others have, in patience and generosity, helped to teach and guide me where I did not know to go.
The issue is not necessarily whether I know or not. I don't have to always answer, "I don't know". The issue is instead responding with humility with what I do know, and honesty in what I do not.
From the sayings of the Desert Fathers:
"One day some of the brethren came to see Abba Antony, and among them was Abba Joseph. Wishing to test them, the old man mentioned a text from Scripture, and starting with the youngest he asked them what it meant. Each explained it as best he could. But to each one the old man said, "You have not yet found the answer." Last of all he said to Abba Joseph, "And what do you think the text means?" He replied, "I do not know." Then Abba Antony said, "Truly, Abba Joseph has found the way, for he said: I do not know.""
By no means am I suggesting a false of put-on humility. If we feel we know something, there is no reason to pretend otherwise. What I am talking about here is the perceived need to have an answer when we truly do not. Why this is dangerous (at least from my point of view) is that if I am not teachable, then I will not learn. If I do not learn, then how am I to grow.
I've often told my wife that I'm not smarter than her, or filled with great wisdom and knowledge... I've just read a few more books on the topic. It seems to me that humility is the only proper demeanor when dealing in such matters. Everything I know, I've learned from others. There really is no room for pride since countless others have, in patience and generosity, helped to teach and guide me where I did not know to go.
The issue is not necessarily whether I know or not. I don't have to always answer, "I don't know". The issue is instead responding with humility with what I do know, and honesty in what I do not.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Vita Aeterna: When I think of heaven...
When I think about heaven, I am often drawn to images of infinitely expansive creation. I think of pristine beaches stretching on for as far as the horizon (except there is no horizon?), pristine sands meeting clear blue ocean waves which gently lap the shore. I think of forests and mountains, rivers winding their way through ravines and valleys, green as far as the eye can see, rocky peaks jutting out from the green expanse. I think of sand dunes, of stars in the sky; I think of many different things. All my thoughts on heaven share many similarities. They predominantly involve nature (in fact, I believe they all do). This used to seem strange to me, but no longer does. How else am I to visualize heaven but through analogical symbols that I know of from my experience. Also, they all seem to involve infinite magnitude. Not a magnitude of time (I think I’ll blog on that later) or magnitude of space, but instead simply a magnitude of scope, of being. Though I visualize these creational analogies, there is more that I sense other than what the eye can receive. I always seem to ‘sense’ or ‘feel’ ambient warmth, a surrounding presence of comfort and joy. It often makes me think of a description I once heard of heaven as being ‘in love’. Not in the colloquial sense of romantic love or the like; but instead as tangibly being in love, inside of love.
I am convinced that the best way to conceive of heaven is in terms of vita aeterna: eternal life. Okay, I thought I wouldn’t blog about this, but I will. In order to properly appreciate eternal life, it is important to correct a mistaken conception of eternity. Most of us tend to think of eternity in terms of time. That is, our concept/experience of time tends to be our hermeneutic for approaching the concept of eternity. If I asked most people to describe time, (after they’re done looking at me strange) they would likely describe something like a straight line with the past on the left and the future on the right. The present would fall somewhere in between and be constantly moving right towards the future. The future would stretch out indefinitely right (at least until the ‘end of time’, whatever that means to each of us). The same person would also likely conceive of eternity as that endless future after time. Again, it would be a straight line stretching out towards the right, but this time forever. Unfortunately, what is being described here sounds more like ‘endless time’ rather than eternity. This is because temporality is all we know and all we have experienced (well, almost all we have experienced, but I shall save that for another blog post). And like my visualization of heaven, our conception of time must be drawn from analogy to our temporal experience.
I have been thinking about such matters for some time now, and recently came across this in my readings (which I though apt to the topic):
“To imagine ourselves outside the temporality that imprisons us and in some way to sense that eternity is not an unending succession of days in the calendar, but something more like the supreme moment of satisfaction, in which totality embraces us and we embrace totality – this we can only attempt. It would be like plunging into the ocean of infinite love, a moment in which time – the before and after – no longer exists. We can only attempt to grasp the idea that such a moment is life in the full sense, a plunging ever anew into the vastness of being, in which we are simply overwhelmed with joy.”
As I read these words I thought, ‘wow, that’s exactly the expression I’ve been searching for’.
If temporal analogies fall short in conceiving of eternity, can we then try to understand time from the framework of eternity? A friend of mine referred to time as the moving face of eternity. This understanding makes a lot of sense to me since… well, maybe I will not get into that either. It is difficult to talk about heaven without talking about time, eternity, being, memory, the relationship between transcendence and imminence (at least in the orthodox Christian understanding) and the list goes on. But I ought to return to the blog topic at hand, if only for the sake of those reading this.
When I think of heaven, I am drawn to images of beaches, forests, deserts, stars and other such things. I think that the magnitude that is expressed in these pictures is rather an expression of the magnitude of being that heaven possesses. Peace, joy, love, these are found in their fullest expression there. How does one imagine infinite joy, infinite peace, and infinite love? Being itself is also found in its fullest expression in heaven. Are we not to stand ‘face to face’ with the source of all being there? How does one imagine infinite being? I think it is right that when I think of heaven I picture beautiful scenes of nature/creation. They may not be the fullest possible expression of heavenly things, but they do express such things when one has the eyes and heart to see them, if only through. Though I must say, that when I think of heaven the overriding sensation is that of warmth, beautiful warmth, bringing healing and wholeness to my soul, to my very being. I call it ‘warmth’; others may call it being ‘in love’.
“For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known.”
I am convinced that the best way to conceive of heaven is in terms of vita aeterna: eternal life. Okay, I thought I wouldn’t blog about this, but I will. In order to properly appreciate eternal life, it is important to correct a mistaken conception of eternity. Most of us tend to think of eternity in terms of time. That is, our concept/experience of time tends to be our hermeneutic for approaching the concept of eternity. If I asked most people to describe time, (after they’re done looking at me strange) they would likely describe something like a straight line with the past on the left and the future on the right. The present would fall somewhere in between and be constantly moving right towards the future. The future would stretch out indefinitely right (at least until the ‘end of time’, whatever that means to each of us). The same person would also likely conceive of eternity as that endless future after time. Again, it would be a straight line stretching out towards the right, but this time forever. Unfortunately, what is being described here sounds more like ‘endless time’ rather than eternity. This is because temporality is all we know and all we have experienced (well, almost all we have experienced, but I shall save that for another blog post). And like my visualization of heaven, our conception of time must be drawn from analogy to our temporal experience.
I have been thinking about such matters for some time now, and recently came across this in my readings (which I though apt to the topic):
“To imagine ourselves outside the temporality that imprisons us and in some way to sense that eternity is not an unending succession of days in the calendar, but something more like the supreme moment of satisfaction, in which totality embraces us and we embrace totality – this we can only attempt. It would be like plunging into the ocean of infinite love, a moment in which time – the before and after – no longer exists. We can only attempt to grasp the idea that such a moment is life in the full sense, a plunging ever anew into the vastness of being, in which we are simply overwhelmed with joy.”
As I read these words I thought, ‘wow, that’s exactly the expression I’ve been searching for’.
If temporal analogies fall short in conceiving of eternity, can we then try to understand time from the framework of eternity? A friend of mine referred to time as the moving face of eternity. This understanding makes a lot of sense to me since… well, maybe I will not get into that either. It is difficult to talk about heaven without talking about time, eternity, being, memory, the relationship between transcendence and imminence (at least in the orthodox Christian understanding) and the list goes on. But I ought to return to the blog topic at hand, if only for the sake of those reading this.
When I think of heaven, I am drawn to images of beaches, forests, deserts, stars and other such things. I think that the magnitude that is expressed in these pictures is rather an expression of the magnitude of being that heaven possesses. Peace, joy, love, these are found in their fullest expression there. How does one imagine infinite joy, infinite peace, and infinite love? Being itself is also found in its fullest expression in heaven. Are we not to stand ‘face to face’ with the source of all being there? How does one imagine infinite being? I think it is right that when I think of heaven I picture beautiful scenes of nature/creation. They may not be the fullest possible expression of heavenly things, but they do express such things when one has the eyes and heart to see them, if only through. Though I must say, that when I think of heaven the overriding sensation is that of warmth, beautiful warmth, bringing healing and wholeness to my soul, to my very being. I call it ‘warmth’; others may call it being ‘in love’.
“For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known.”
Monday, September 7, 2009
Perceptive Comments from a Four-year-old...
This past weekend I attended my cousin's wedding. Immediately following the ceremony I was still sitting with my little niece on my lap. It was a beautiful blustery afternoon and the wind was rolling up off the lake, on the shores of which the wedding was held, and into a little copse of trees which formed a semi-circle around us. My niece looks up and says to me, "Uncle Tyler, the trees are clapping". Amazed, I reply to her, "That's very perceptive Isabel; it takes some people their whole lives to figure that out".
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Clouds: Anima mea exsultabit in Domino...
One of my favourite parts of the day (and I have many) is my walk home from work. Sure, my feet are tired, my blood contains too much caffeine for its own good, and I likely reek of coffee (let’s be honest though, there are much worse things to smell like), but I quite enjoy the experience. It usually takes me forty-five minutes (or more) to stroll the distance (what ought to be a half-hour walk) while reading my book and letting my mind and attention drift between paragraphs. Often my eyes are draw upward, towards the sky above. And oh, what a sight to behold!
Joni Mitchell has this great little song called “Both Sides Now” where she uses clouds as a metaphor for life. I enjoy this song, perhaps partially because, like life, clouds fascinate me: I find them to be mysterious and transcendent (it’s as though they belong to another realm and have snuck into ours).
“Rows and flows of angel hair,
And ice cream castles in the air,
And feather canyons everywhere,
I’ve looked at clouds that way.
…
I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now,
From up and down, and still somehow,
Its cloud illusions I recall,
I really don’t know clouds at all.”
There are clouds that look like wool, cotton, or even sandpaper. There are dark foreboding clouds, and light cheery ones that bring an involuntary smile to the face. There are clouds that look like the rolling sea crashing against a rugged BC coastline; and there are clouds that look like the endless rippled sand at low tide. Not only are there different clouds, but also they can often all be found in the same sky. Look to the West and the sight is so much different than to the East. I remember hearing an old Native proverb about not being able to cross the same river twice. I think this is equally true for the sky. Every glance above yields a different sky with different clouds. Every time I look-up at them I am amazed how transitory, how ephemeral the scene truly is. Was it placed there just for that exact moment that I should look up? Was I the only person to see that sky, those clouds?
Most of all, I desire those rare clouds experiences, the ones that overwhelm me till I tremble at my very core. There are the rare moments where the parting of the clouds is witnessed. A tiny hole appears and begins to grow. At first there are little rays of light peeking through, but as it grows the floodgates of light are let loose and the clouds roll back to reveal the full power and glory of that great luminous orb. Just as it all begins, a sense of awe, wonder and fear overtake the heart. The blood courses rapidly through the veins and the lungs hold still for barely a heartbeat. The ears strain in expectant anticipation for the sound of trumpets and the angelic hosts singing their heavenly song of praise. It also only takes a second for the mind to realize that no, this is not the eschaton. The effect seems no less dramatic for the absence.
I know that clouds are functional; of course they are an intrinsic part of the earth’s water cycle, the cycle that sustains all human life. Yes, they have that function. But allow me to suggest that perhaps they have another function or purpose: the elevation of my soul. Big groups of water vapor gathering and moving about above… yes, I understand this. But what if they are also the strokes of a divine paintbrush - the clear blue canvas providing a creative outlet for the imaginative work that is meant to draw our eyes upward, towards the heavens themselves. What if these blends of colours and shades are intended for easing my weary mind, for soothing my soul, for warming my heart. What if clouds are visual love sonnets, sung to remind me that my troubles are small when compared to the overflowing love that calls out to me daily.
Like Joni before me, I don’t understand clouds. Perhaps the point of clouds, like life, is not necessarily to understand them, though we still seek to do so, but instead to experience them.
When I look heavenward and behold the glorious sight that is laid out across the vast expanse, I let it lift my soul…
…perhaps that is what it was placed there for.
Joni Mitchell has this great little song called “Both Sides Now” where she uses clouds as a metaphor for life. I enjoy this song, perhaps partially because, like life, clouds fascinate me: I find them to be mysterious and transcendent (it’s as though they belong to another realm and have snuck into ours).
“Rows and flows of angel hair,
And ice cream castles in the air,
And feather canyons everywhere,
I’ve looked at clouds that way.
…
I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now,
From up and down, and still somehow,
Its cloud illusions I recall,
I really don’t know clouds at all.”
There are clouds that look like wool, cotton, or even sandpaper. There are dark foreboding clouds, and light cheery ones that bring an involuntary smile to the face. There are clouds that look like the rolling sea crashing against a rugged BC coastline; and there are clouds that look like the endless rippled sand at low tide. Not only are there different clouds, but also they can often all be found in the same sky. Look to the West and the sight is so much different than to the East. I remember hearing an old Native proverb about not being able to cross the same river twice. I think this is equally true for the sky. Every glance above yields a different sky with different clouds. Every time I look-up at them I am amazed how transitory, how ephemeral the scene truly is. Was it placed there just for that exact moment that I should look up? Was I the only person to see that sky, those clouds?
Most of all, I desire those rare clouds experiences, the ones that overwhelm me till I tremble at my very core. There are the rare moments where the parting of the clouds is witnessed. A tiny hole appears and begins to grow. At first there are little rays of light peeking through, but as it grows the floodgates of light are let loose and the clouds roll back to reveal the full power and glory of that great luminous orb. Just as it all begins, a sense of awe, wonder and fear overtake the heart. The blood courses rapidly through the veins and the lungs hold still for barely a heartbeat. The ears strain in expectant anticipation for the sound of trumpets and the angelic hosts singing their heavenly song of praise. It also only takes a second for the mind to realize that no, this is not the eschaton. The effect seems no less dramatic for the absence.
I know that clouds are functional; of course they are an intrinsic part of the earth’s water cycle, the cycle that sustains all human life. Yes, they have that function. But allow me to suggest that perhaps they have another function or purpose: the elevation of my soul. Big groups of water vapor gathering and moving about above… yes, I understand this. But what if they are also the strokes of a divine paintbrush - the clear blue canvas providing a creative outlet for the imaginative work that is meant to draw our eyes upward, towards the heavens themselves. What if these blends of colours and shades are intended for easing my weary mind, for soothing my soul, for warming my heart. What if clouds are visual love sonnets, sung to remind me that my troubles are small when compared to the overflowing love that calls out to me daily.
Like Joni before me, I don’t understand clouds. Perhaps the point of clouds, like life, is not necessarily to understand them, though we still seek to do so, but instead to experience them.
When I look heavenward and behold the glorious sight that is laid out across the vast expanse, I let it lift my soul…
…perhaps that is what it was placed there for.
Greta: from time to time...
It's strange; from time to time I think of this woman whom I never had the privilege of meeting. She passed away shortly before my wife (then girlfriend) and I started dating. She was/is my dear wife's mother, Greta.
My first introduction to the family was at Greta's memorial service. I vividly remember sitting by myself in the crowded church and watching/listening as her life, and the person she was, was recounted by her family and loved ones. More than just talked about, I remember how it was somehow made evident in a tangible way through her husband and daughters. As her five daughters, each her favourite ;), shared memories and thoughts, as her husband, Jack (whom I don't think I had met yet either) regaled the gathered crowd with anecdotes, I was struck by the impact this woman had had on the lives of her family. I enjoyed the service and was very glad that I had decided to come. It felt as though I had met Greta vicariously through her family and friends, at least in some small way.
I do think about Greta from time to time. I'll pass by a picture of her and Jack and I'll wonder to myself who this woman with the lovely smile was. I quite enjoy spending time with Jack and all the daughters when I am able; and I always enjoy hearing tales of years gone by and remembrances of Greta. I may not have known her, but I do know this: she is loved and missed by all who had the honour of knowing her.
Greta, requiescat in pace domini nostri...
My first introduction to the family was at Greta's memorial service. I vividly remember sitting by myself in the crowded church and watching/listening as her life, and the person she was, was recounted by her family and loved ones. More than just talked about, I remember how it was somehow made evident in a tangible way through her husband and daughters. As her five daughters, each her favourite ;), shared memories and thoughts, as her husband, Jack (whom I don't think I had met yet either) regaled the gathered crowd with anecdotes, I was struck by the impact this woman had had on the lives of her family. I enjoyed the service and was very glad that I had decided to come. It felt as though I had met Greta vicariously through her family and friends, at least in some small way.
I do think about Greta from time to time. I'll pass by a picture of her and Jack and I'll wonder to myself who this woman with the lovely smile was. I quite enjoy spending time with Jack and all the daughters when I am able; and I always enjoy hearing tales of years gone by and remembrances of Greta. I may not have known her, but I do know this: she is loved and missed by all who had the honour of knowing her.
Greta, requiescat in pace domini nostri...
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Amazing little things those vegetables...
I am often amazed at the simplicity of it all: the sun shines, the heavens rain, and they grow. Vegetables are little solar-powered miracles.
I walked down to the local produce market to pick up some vegetables as we are beginning to run low, which isn't good for a vegetarian household. What a fun experience it is every time I stroll the isles and smell, poke, feel, and finally choose the selections that will end up later on the dinner table. Not only is it fun, but it's also cheap! This morning I walked home with three bags of fruits and vegetables (and a smile on my face), which came to under $15. A nutritionist that I am reading in my spare time had ran an experiment to find out what it would average for her to buy a day's requirement of vegetables; I believe the figure she came to was 69 cents. At first I was a little skeptical. I mean, really... 69 cents? But then I considered what my wife and I spend on groceries monthly and it didn't seem far off (of course, the author is talking USD and figures will vary depending on location and season). Last night I calculated our monthly expenditures, which I do every month, and was equally surprised to find out that we had spent a grand total of $140.85 on groceries. When you account for non-food grocery items, that works out to about $4.40 per day for two people (seventy-three cents per person per meal). The vegetables are really incredible things.
What makes the vegetable option an interesting consideration is that, though they are more expensive per calorie than some other items (cheap processed meat, anything comprised predominantly of sugars, especially corn-derived sugars), it is difficult to find more nutrient-rich foods. When one considers that our society is the most calorie rich society in the entire history of the human species, yet still suffers from a general nutrient deficit, the choice for vegetables seems pretty good.
But Tyler, don't you get bored of vegetables? You mean get bored of food? No. A quick survey of our refrigerator yields a count of eighteen different vegetables. Add to that five different fruit ('tis the season - though we should pick up some blueberries), seven different bulk whole grains, four types of seeds, about five types of nuts, seven types of beans, etc...
Come to think of it, it's not just vegetables that amaze me: the manifold variety of food that comes from the earth for us to eat is incredible! Some sprout up from the soil; others fall from the tree branches; some we have to dig for. It can't be from lack of abundance that there are people starving in the world. It seems to me that we have been provided for such that we need only work for our food.
On that note, I'm going to head to the kitchen to cut up some fresh vegetables to take to work with me tonight.
...they truly are amazing little things.
I walked down to the local produce market to pick up some vegetables as we are beginning to run low, which isn't good for a vegetarian household. What a fun experience it is every time I stroll the isles and smell, poke, feel, and finally choose the selections that will end up later on the dinner table. Not only is it fun, but it's also cheap! This morning I walked home with three bags of fruits and vegetables (and a smile on my face), which came to under $15. A nutritionist that I am reading in my spare time had ran an experiment to find out what it would average for her to buy a day's requirement of vegetables; I believe the figure she came to was 69 cents. At first I was a little skeptical. I mean, really... 69 cents? But then I considered what my wife and I spend on groceries monthly and it didn't seem far off (of course, the author is talking USD and figures will vary depending on location and season). Last night I calculated our monthly expenditures, which I do every month, and was equally surprised to find out that we had spent a grand total of $140.85 on groceries. When you account for non-food grocery items, that works out to about $4.40 per day for two people (seventy-three cents per person per meal). The vegetables are really incredible things.
What makes the vegetable option an interesting consideration is that, though they are more expensive per calorie than some other items (cheap processed meat, anything comprised predominantly of sugars, especially corn-derived sugars), it is difficult to find more nutrient-rich foods. When one considers that our society is the most calorie rich society in the entire history of the human species, yet still suffers from a general nutrient deficit, the choice for vegetables seems pretty good.
But Tyler, don't you get bored of vegetables? You mean get bored of food? No. A quick survey of our refrigerator yields a count of eighteen different vegetables. Add to that five different fruit ('tis the season - though we should pick up some blueberries), seven different bulk whole grains, four types of seeds, about five types of nuts, seven types of beans, etc...
Come to think of it, it's not just vegetables that amaze me: the manifold variety of food that comes from the earth for us to eat is incredible! Some sprout up from the soil; others fall from the tree branches; some we have to dig for. It can't be from lack of abundance that there are people starving in the world. It seems to me that we have been provided for such that we need only work for our food.
On that note, I'm going to head to the kitchen to cut up some fresh vegetables to take to work with me tonight.
...they truly are amazing little things.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
The Eucharist: Taste and see that the Lord is good...
I watch them as the come forward, the poor and destitute, the blind and lame; they stumble up looking for sustenance, for the food that will carry them through the journey. I see the princes and rulers, kings and queens, the rich, radiant with health and glory, striding confidently to share in their prize. I see saints kneeling with eyes aimed to the heavens. I see sinners prostrate in humble desperation. I see them all come to the place of healing, the place of wholeness, the place of joy, and the place of love everlasting. I see humanity as it is, and as it soon will be – as it was always meant to be. In the midst of all this, for a transient moment, too brief to grasp before it is gone, the veil is lifted and I witness the centre of my life: it is He from whom I find my very being.
Taste and see that the Lord is good… indeed.
Taste and see that the Lord is good… indeed.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Walking: Travel at the speed of life...
With the lack of rain and surplus of sunshine of late, I have been able to take full advantage of the opportunity to walk most places I need to go (at least in the Cloverdale area). Walking often seems a strange thing in our day and age. Especially here in the Lower Mainland where the ways of travel are almost entirely designed with the automobile in mind. Yes, there are sidewalks and such things to be found, but anyone who has traveled them knows that they are most certainly abligatory additions to the real important space: the road.
Let me be clear, I enjoy walking. So, perhaps I am somewhat bias in my thinking about the activity (or is it a mode of transportation?). When my co-workers find out that I walk twenty-five to thirty minutes to work each day they are surprised to say the least. The reaction is usually something along the lines of: ‘why don’t you drive?’ or ‘oh, that’s rough’. A couple days ago I walked up to some visit some friends for dinner at their place. It took me roughly an hour or so (5.6km/3.5miles). It was a glorious day and I brought a book along for the trip. Everyone seemed quite surprised (a bit of an understatement) to find this out.
Walking seems to be the most connected, embodied form of transportation. I am able to move from one place to another using my legs and my heart (two feet and a heartbeat) to power me: vegetable (i.e. solar) powered travel. Even more striking to me is the experience of the journey. If I had driven to the dinner, I would not have been able to enjoy the incredible sky, the cool breeze, the air in my lungs and the blood coursing through my body. It’s a very human, very present experience. The passage of time was not measured in minutes on the dash or pop songs on the radio; it was measured by steps to the top of the hill, birds passing in the air, smells drifting over from nearby bushes/flowers, thoughts on my mind, etc. Life seems a little bit more real when it goes by at the speed of Tyler, rather than sixty kilometers per hour.
It seems a shame that our lives are not often condusive to walking as a viable means of travel. Many are not physically able to enjoy the simple pleasure of walking; others of us work or school too far from home for walking to be a reasonable option. Such may be the case for me one day; but until then I will enjoy being as embodied in my travels as possible. I think there is such thing as a human pace to life. Whether we find this pace through walking or by other means, it is great to slow down and be present in this experience we call life.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Laughter & Friendship...
Yesterday a friend of mine came into my place of business (as she is wont to do from time to time). I was having a slightly off day: nothing really wrong, maybe a little tired, who knows? Anyway, we had a brief but laughter filled conversation. After she left, my day went a little smoother. Even later that evening as I was retelling the events of our meeting & conversation to my wife, I found myself overcome with laughter in just remembering it. Friendship (or just relationships in general?) are funny things (pardon the pun). Simple little conversations or interactions can have a profound, and often unknown, effect. My day was brightened by my friend. I think we all have days where we could use some brightening. I hope to be that friend who unknowingly brightens someone's day.
Oh, how I laughed....
Oh, how I laughed....
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Discourse on Moral Choices: Why do we choose what is wrong?
If you're human, I'll bet you've made some wrong choices. If you've been around for any length of time, then you've probably made some pretty bad ones. Why is it that we make poor moral decisions? In the language of the Judeo-Christian tradition from which our society sprang we tend to use the term, 'sin'. Whatever one calls it, the end result of such choices is often disappointment, pain, hardship, or suffering. Knowing that such is the nature of these wrong choices, and the outcomes are less than desirable, why then do I choose what is harmful. Why do I choose sin?
Some might, and have, suggested that the reason why we sin is due to external sources. At the risk of presenting caricature, I tend to think of this answer as 'the devil made me do it' view. That is, there are dark/evil forces at work in the universe which exert influence upon me such that I choose wrong even though I may know to choose right. It simply cannot be helped. Philosophically, this understanding doesn't make sense to me as an explanation since it effectively negates free-will. Nor does this jive with what I know experientially either. If this view is correct, then the free-choice that I seem to exercise is an illusion. I simply do not find any convincing evidence, or coherent philosophic argument, for this answer (let me know if you feel differently).
Another proposed understanding, and one that I find has more potential, is the concept of consuetudo and its effects on us humans. This Latin term, which has a broad semantic range (habit/custom/usage/way; normal/general/customary practice, tradition/convention; experience; etc.), provides a platform for how some thinkers have sought to understand why we choose what is wrong/destructive/sinful. From this view, habit (consuetudo) creates a compulsion which influences moral decision making. This takes place on both a societal and an individual scale, and is self-perpetuating/re-enforcing. What this means is that we are born into a society/world where moral infractions (i.e. choosing what is wrong / sinning), are ubiquitous; and it is this context which predisposes us to sin. This is not to say that we can't choose, but instead to suggest that the proverbial cards are stacked against us. From the moment we are born, we already have a history, a coercive context, and an inherited 'habit'. We are beings 'thrown into time' (to borrow from Heidegger, "Dasein ist geworfen Entwurf" - excuse my deficient German). People can argue whether or not we are born as clean slates (i.e. tabula rasa), but we most certainly are not born into clean slates.
The second way in which we might see consuetudo/habit influencing our moral decisions is at the level of the individual person. Here it is suggested that a person's previous wrong choices 'combine and collude' to compromise his/her exercise of freedom in the present; this compromise of freedom results in inner-conflict and ethical paralysis. I want to do what is good but find that I choose otherwise, or I do not want to do something wrong but find that I do it anyway.
The reverse of this state of restricted freedom is the intentional, conscious exercise of, ie. a redemption or re-appropriation of, one's free-will such that it transforms the consuetudo (on either a personal or perhaps even a societal scale) to that of a positive disposition towards what is good, rather than what is not (as discussed above).
So, why is it that I can make poor moral/ethical choices, ones that I am fully aware are destructive/harmful, when I know to choose better? Why do I know to do right, but fail to do it?
Hmmm...
Some might, and have, suggested that the reason why we sin is due to external sources. At the risk of presenting caricature, I tend to think of this answer as 'the devil made me do it' view. That is, there are dark/evil forces at work in the universe which exert influence upon me such that I choose wrong even though I may know to choose right. It simply cannot be helped. Philosophically, this understanding doesn't make sense to me as an explanation since it effectively negates free-will. Nor does this jive with what I know experientially either. If this view is correct, then the free-choice that I seem to exercise is an illusion. I simply do not find any convincing evidence, or coherent philosophic argument, for this answer (let me know if you feel differently).
Another proposed understanding, and one that I find has more potential, is the concept of consuetudo and its effects on us humans. This Latin term, which has a broad semantic range (habit/custom/usage/way; normal/general/customary practice, tradition/convention; experience; etc.), provides a platform for how some thinkers have sought to understand why we choose what is wrong/destructive/sinful. From this view, habit (consuetudo) creates a compulsion which influences moral decision making. This takes place on both a societal and an individual scale, and is self-perpetuating/re-enforcing. What this means is that we are born into a society/world where moral infractions (i.e. choosing what is wrong / sinning), are ubiquitous; and it is this context which predisposes us to sin. This is not to say that we can't choose, but instead to suggest that the proverbial cards are stacked against us. From the moment we are born, we already have a history, a coercive context, and an inherited 'habit'. We are beings 'thrown into time' (to borrow from Heidegger, "Dasein ist geworfen Entwurf" - excuse my deficient German). People can argue whether or not we are born as clean slates (i.e. tabula rasa), but we most certainly are not born into clean slates.
The second way in which we might see consuetudo/habit influencing our moral decisions is at the level of the individual person. Here it is suggested that a person's previous wrong choices 'combine and collude' to compromise his/her exercise of freedom in the present; this compromise of freedom results in inner-conflict and ethical paralysis. I want to do what is good but find that I choose otherwise, or I do not want to do something wrong but find that I do it anyway.
The reverse of this state of restricted freedom is the intentional, conscious exercise of, ie. a redemption or re-appropriation of, one's free-will such that it transforms the consuetudo (on either a personal or perhaps even a societal scale) to that of a positive disposition towards what is good, rather than what is not (as discussed above).
So, why is it that I can make poor moral/ethical choices, ones that I am fully aware are destructive/harmful, when I know to choose better? Why do I know to do right, but fail to do it?
Hmmm...
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Bread-making machines and the Meaning of Life?...
I think the first time I saw a bread-maker up close was after I was married (just about a year ago). I know the first time I loaded and ran a dishwasher was my first year of University (five years ago). No, I'm not a Luddite; no, I was not raised Amish. We simply did not have such things in my house growing up (yup, no microwave either). So, if you grew up with these space-age marvels, you might think it strange that they can inspire such contemplation on life as follows. But they do.
When I was a young lad and the world was a place filled with marvel and magic, I used to greatly enjoy the various talents that my (stay-at-home) mother would put to use in her care of me and my siblings. Oh, the smell of freshly baked bread would fill the house. I remember urging my mother with all the influence I thought I might be able to wield over her to forget about having it cool and slice me off a huge chunk of bread to butter and eat. It's funny that I never thought about how those few ingredients, which were never of much interest to me, could possibly turn into this warm taste of heaven we called bread. It just did. She would put the ingredients together, knead it, let it rise for an hour, knead it some more, let it rise some more, set it in the oven and... pull out that marvelous bread.
When I became older and began to conceive of the idea that maybe I too could make this bread, I found that I had no need to be taught how, for I already knew. All I needed was the hankering for fresh bread and a few spare hours. Much later I made a discovery that shattered my world, tore apart the very fabric of how I understood life... automatic bread-makers!?! So let me see if I have this correct: I take the ingredients, dump them in this magic box, walk away, and when I return there will be bread? You've got to be kidding me.
I've never used a bread-maker. My wife has one and she uses it from time to time to make bread that we both enjoy. The option is always there for me; but I always make it the same way my mother did: by hand.
Every time I see that bread machine sitting there in our kitchen, I'm struck by the purpose for which it was invented: convenience. Somebody was thinking about how much is involved in making bread: the effort, the knowledge and ability required, and the time needed. Yes, these machines are about convenience. For me these machines are the epitome of our society's desire for convenience (I'm sure others could come up with better examples, but this is the one that strikes me).
I bet you George Jetson had a bread-maker at his home up in the clouds. Except with his there was no need for ingredients, just a little pill and... poof, you have fresh 'baked' bread. I've often wondered if 'The Jetsons' was meant as a dystopian cartoon, a frightening nightmare intended to shock our culture into realizing the road we travel. Okay, that's a little harsh I admit. But seriously, I may want to meet George Jetson, and maybe even his boy Elroy, but I sure would not want to live in their world. He barely works at all and when he does it involves pushing a button. If it were not for all the crazy capers that happened every episode, that man would be so incredibly bored with his vapid life. Is leisure and convenience our goal in life? Is this what the good life looks like? Maybe the world of The Jetsons is not realistic, but there are countless people in our world striving for just such an existence.
More than just bread-making or dish-washing, or any other hyphenated verb I can suggest, there are countless tasks, jobs, and chores out there that people are constantly trying to avoid. If we could have robots to do these normal everyday tasks, most of us probably would. Aren't such menial tasks best avoided so as to provide more time for meaningful activities?
I think the problem with this perspective stems from our understanding of these 'normal everyday tasks'. Let me be clear: there is no such thing as a 'normal everyday task' (at least not from the Christian perspective - more on that another time). Most of what we do in a day likely falls into the task/job/chore category. If work is drudgery, then life is drudgery. And let me tell you my friends... life is not meant to be drudgery.
If you asked most people point-blank whether they thought the purpose in life is to seek out and find convenience/ease, I would imagine (and certainly hope) that most would respond in the negative. If this is so, then why do most of us live our lives as if it were the purpose? Why do I often live in such a way?
This is what I ponder when I see that bread-making machine...
When I was a young lad and the world was a place filled with marvel and magic, I used to greatly enjoy the various talents that my (stay-at-home) mother would put to use in her care of me and my siblings. Oh, the smell of freshly baked bread would fill the house. I remember urging my mother with all the influence I thought I might be able to wield over her to forget about having it cool and slice me off a huge chunk of bread to butter and eat. It's funny that I never thought about how those few ingredients, which were never of much interest to me, could possibly turn into this warm taste of heaven we called bread. It just did. She would put the ingredients together, knead it, let it rise for an hour, knead it some more, let it rise some more, set it in the oven and... pull out that marvelous bread.
When I became older and began to conceive of the idea that maybe I too could make this bread, I found that I had no need to be taught how, for I already knew. All I needed was the hankering for fresh bread and a few spare hours. Much later I made a discovery that shattered my world, tore apart the very fabric of how I understood life... automatic bread-makers!?! So let me see if I have this correct: I take the ingredients, dump them in this magic box, walk away, and when I return there will be bread? You've got to be kidding me.
I've never used a bread-maker. My wife has one and she uses it from time to time to make bread that we both enjoy. The option is always there for me; but I always make it the same way my mother did: by hand.
Every time I see that bread machine sitting there in our kitchen, I'm struck by the purpose for which it was invented: convenience. Somebody was thinking about how much is involved in making bread: the effort, the knowledge and ability required, and the time needed. Yes, these machines are about convenience. For me these machines are the epitome of our society's desire for convenience (I'm sure others could come up with better examples, but this is the one that strikes me).
I bet you George Jetson had a bread-maker at his home up in the clouds. Except with his there was no need for ingredients, just a little pill and... poof, you have fresh 'baked' bread. I've often wondered if 'The Jetsons' was meant as a dystopian cartoon, a frightening nightmare intended to shock our culture into realizing the road we travel. Okay, that's a little harsh I admit. But seriously, I may want to meet George Jetson, and maybe even his boy Elroy, but I sure would not want to live in their world. He barely works at all and when he does it involves pushing a button. If it were not for all the crazy capers that happened every episode, that man would be so incredibly bored with his vapid life. Is leisure and convenience our goal in life? Is this what the good life looks like? Maybe the world of The Jetsons is not realistic, but there are countless people in our world striving for just such an existence.
More than just bread-making or dish-washing, or any other hyphenated verb I can suggest, there are countless tasks, jobs, and chores out there that people are constantly trying to avoid. If we could have robots to do these normal everyday tasks, most of us probably would. Aren't such menial tasks best avoided so as to provide more time for meaningful activities?
I think the problem with this perspective stems from our understanding of these 'normal everyday tasks'. Let me be clear: there is no such thing as a 'normal everyday task' (at least not from the Christian perspective - more on that another time). Most of what we do in a day likely falls into the task/job/chore category. If work is drudgery, then life is drudgery. And let me tell you my friends... life is not meant to be drudgery.
If you asked most people point-blank whether they thought the purpose in life is to seek out and find convenience/ease, I would imagine (and certainly hope) that most would respond in the negative. If this is so, then why do most of us live our lives as if it were the purpose? Why do I often live in such a way?
This is what I ponder when I see that bread-making machine...
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
On Perspective: Oh the riches I possess...
Could I be the richest man to ever have lived? I just may be. King Solomon, Augustus Caesar, Jerry Seinfeld... oh they had wealth, but richer than I... No, I don't think so. Now, you might be thinking to yourself, 'what a truly ridiculous thing to say'; and you may be right. But that need not detract from the truth of the statement. I found myself musing about this very thing today as I leisurely strolled to the grocery store to pick up a couple items.
Sure I don't have many toys, I ride the bus or walk most of the year, and a large majority of the clothes in my closet are almost old enough to vote, but I think that I'm a rich man nonetheless. I have a healthy body and a (vibrantly) healthy mind, I have food on my table every night, I'm young and excited about life, I have the unmerited love of a good woman, I have wonderful family and friends, I have the glory of creation all around me (and today the radiant sun hanging above in the the picturesque, Monet-like vanilla sky), and I have leisure time to read great literature and contemplate life. Today I feel like a rich man indeed.
True, tomorrow I may feel the weight of poverty upon my soul, but I'll still be just as rich then as I am today; I just won't be graced with the recognition of it. There are moments in life (and they seem to come more often than I deserve) when the clouds part (both the physical and metaphorical ones) and the infinite depth and beauty of life shine unhindered into the soul. It is in these moments that divine perspective is granted. In this ephemeral brush with the divine, this fleeting glimpse of transcendent reality, I am lifted up to see myself and the world in a whole new way.
The best way I can come to explain this perspective is 'gratitude'. It is a recognition of all that I have and a thankful elation for these things. My youth may fade, my health decline, I may even have less on the table each night, who knows? I don't imagine that such changes could affect this perspective, this gratitude, as my wealth is not based on material goods. What is it then that I am truly grateful for, what is it that I see and recognize as my immeasurable wealth? I think it's love. This may be the very substance of my riches. The interesting thing is that while I feel gratitude for the love that has been extended to me, this gratitude also fosters love in turn.
For all my musings, and all my words, I still think that best expression I can give to this gratuitous perspective is a smile; the kind of smile which begins deep in my soul and finishes as a broad grin upon my face. For all the though and contemplation, sometimes the best response is also the simplest.
So, if you ever see me strolling along with a contented smile on my face... know that I am a rich man indeed.
Sure I don't have many toys, I ride the bus or walk most of the year, and a large majority of the clothes in my closet are almost old enough to vote, but I think that I'm a rich man nonetheless. I have a healthy body and a (vibrantly) healthy mind, I have food on my table every night, I'm young and excited about life, I have the unmerited love of a good woman, I have wonderful family and friends, I have the glory of creation all around me (and today the radiant sun hanging above in the the picturesque, Monet-like vanilla sky), and I have leisure time to read great literature and contemplate life. Today I feel like a rich man indeed.
True, tomorrow I may feel the weight of poverty upon my soul, but I'll still be just as rich then as I am today; I just won't be graced with the recognition of it. There are moments in life (and they seem to come more often than I deserve) when the clouds part (both the physical and metaphorical ones) and the infinite depth and beauty of life shine unhindered into the soul. It is in these moments that divine perspective is granted. In this ephemeral brush with the divine, this fleeting glimpse of transcendent reality, I am lifted up to see myself and the world in a whole new way.
The best way I can come to explain this perspective is 'gratitude'. It is a recognition of all that I have and a thankful elation for these things. My youth may fade, my health decline, I may even have less on the table each night, who knows? I don't imagine that such changes could affect this perspective, this gratitude, as my wealth is not based on material goods. What is it then that I am truly grateful for, what is it that I see and recognize as my immeasurable wealth? I think it's love. This may be the very substance of my riches. The interesting thing is that while I feel gratitude for the love that has been extended to me, this gratitude also fosters love in turn.
For all my musings, and all my words, I still think that best expression I can give to this gratuitous perspective is a smile; the kind of smile which begins deep in my soul and finishes as a broad grin upon my face. For all the though and contemplation, sometimes the best response is also the simplest.
So, if you ever see me strolling along with a contented smile on my face... know that I am a rich man indeed.
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