The Stampeding Beast

Modern North Americans are not reluctant to discuss their health conditions. Indeed, the standard greeting in American English is “How are you?” Of course it is a rhetorical question, in most cases, with the usual “Fine thank you, and you?” response expected and offered by most. Still, the topic of one’s aches and pains and maladies is not taboo, especially amongst our aging population…of which I am now officially a member, according to the American Association of Retired Persons. And I am no different from most other people on the downhill side of fifty. I don’t mind sharing about my past surgeries, my routine medical procedures and exams, and how I creak and pop a little more than before whenever I get out of bed in the morning. While I wouldn’t share every detail of my entire medical history with just anybody, my mundane physical ups and downs are more or less an open book.

          But there are other medical struggles that many—perhaps most, if not all—human beings experience regularly, yet we hesitate to admit them. These common afflictions are less visible than the others, sometimes manifesting no outward signs or symptoms at all. But they take their toll nevertheless, leading to stress-induced illnesses that weaken our hearts, mess up our intestines, and affect our capacity to enjoy meaningful relationships with other people. I’m referring to mental illness.

          There is still such a strong taboo associated with mental illness in North America that many people would rather suffer in silence than admit their struggles. Look at how loosely we use the word “crazy” in our language, in both good and bad contexts: “You’re crazy, man!” “That cake was crazy good!” “I was crazy busy at work today.” With such a flippant attitude toward the concept, no wonder people hesitate to articulate that which afflicts them from within. It takes more courage to admit a struggle with mental health than it does to admit a physical ailment, no matter how serious. When someone suffers a physical problem, we blame the problem and empathize with the victim. When someone suffers a mental health struggle, we so often turn the blame on the sufferer. Why is that?

          In centuries past, people with physical deformities or birth defects or chronic illnesses were often said to be punished by God for their sins, therefore they were “unclean,” like the lepers and the hemorrhaging woman in the Bible’s New Testament. And people suffering from mental illnesses were said to be possessed by demons. Those were superstitious explanations for things the ancients couldn’t understand. While there is a remnant of people today who cling to such dark ignorance, even the most religious among us have accepted medical science’s explanations for the things that make us less than healthy. But the specter of that ancient stigma sticks like a tattoo that cannot be erased, thus we often label people suffering from mental illness as unclean. It is no wonder these victims so often keep their battles to themselves…all too often with tragic consequences.

          So it is not easy for me to state that I have struggled with a recurring mental health issue since childhood. It has vexed me for as long as I can remember, never becoming serious enough to interfere with my schoolwork or my jobs, never keeping me from doing the things that I really wanted to do, and never leading me down paths of addiction or self-medication with drugs and alcohol. And yet, it wakes up from dormancy occasionally and goes on a rampage, sort of like that herpes virus I somehow got on my lip in second grade that pops up as a cold sore sometimes when I get sunburned or have a fever.

My anxiety attacks, however, come more frequently than the cold sores. I’m not sure what triggers these episodes; anything and everything, I suppose. This month, August 2014, has been awful: the death by suicide of Robin Williams; the barbaric execution of American journalist James Foley; the suffering of thousands of Christians and other minorities in Iraq at the hands of a brutal extremist group. And these are just a few of the news-worthy items. There are the ongoing stressors, too: my dad is almost ninety; his house has been on the market for a year now; I’m living on my savings as I transition my career; I’m learning technological things many Americans now learn in middle school; the demands my church makes on me increase the longer I attend there; the inescapable contact with people who stress me out. And then there are stressors that I actually volunteer for, such as participating in my church’s drama performances, and taking online classes. There is no single stressor that sets me off, but a collection of small, everyday events and circumstances and people in my life that just pile up on my back until I feel I’m at the breaking point.

          Sometimes it literally feels like a pile of bricks on my back, squeezing my neck and shoulders until they hurt. And the constant feeling of dread in my stomach creates mild gastro-intestinal distress that is annoying and depletes my energy. I have no doubt that my condition affects my blood pressure adversely, and that it causes disturbances in my sleep patterns and affects my metabolism.

          So now that I’ve “come out” as an anxiety sufferer, many concerned friends and relatives will ask, “What can I do to help?” If I knew the answer to that question, I would have already helped myself. And I have a master’s degree in counseling, so I already know what therapists would recommend. I know that exercise, rest, good nutrition, hydration, prayer and/or meditation, and other healthy practices are beneficial for coping with anxiety and other mental health issues. But if you really want to know, here are some suggestions:

1.     Please don’t tell me what I should be doing. I already know that, and when you tell me what I should be doing, it reminds me that I’m not doing it, which sends me into an even deeper tailspin and makes me feel all the worse about myself. Instead, ask me, “What are you doing to cope with your anxiety?” Then if I give you a positive response, you can ask, “How can I help you with that?”

2.     If you sense that I am stressed, please don’t make more demands of me. People like me have a hard time saying no, and that contributes to our stress. Ask me what you will, but don’t expect an immediate response. Give me some time to reflect and respond later. If you must have an answer now, then the answer is “no.” Accept that and please don’t try to convince me otherwise. That will just make me feel more pressured, then I will feel angry, then I will blame myself for feeling angry, then I will retreat and the tailspin will continue.

3.     There are some situations, people, and environments that I find stressful, even under healthy circumstances. Noisy, crowded places are an example of a stressful environment. Boredom, monotony, and repetition stress me out. Whining, complaining people set me off. Of course I recognize that many people whom I find to be stressful are themselves experiencing some sort of mental distress. But when I am feeling vulnerable, I am not the best company for them. That’s not beneficial to them or to me. Please understand when I need to separate myself from these stressors during a time of vulnerability.

4.     My quirks and eccentricities will be magnified during an anxiety episode. For example, I naturally get bored with repetitious activities, so when I’m feeling stressed, I may have even less focus than when I’m in a less anxious state. Please be patient. I may not do things in the most efficient or logical way from some viewpoints, but they will get done, in my way and in my time.

5.     I slip into the grip of my inferior function when I feel stressed. This is Myers-Briggs Type talk, but what it means is this: I am naturally an intuitive-feeling-perceiver (NFP), which means I take in information intuitively, express it emotionally, and act on it holistically and spontaneously. My inferior function, however, is sensing-thinking-judging (STJ). That means if I feel stressed, I will hyper-focus on only that which I can perceive with my five senses, overthink the hell out of it, and then be all anal-retentive about organizing the details to absolute closure. Not me at my best. If you see me doing that, just ask me simply, “Inferior function?” Then help me get back on track to doing what I do best as an NFP: trusting my gut, feeling things out, and going with the flow.

Talking about what’s going on in one’s head is good therapy itself. Some people pay hundreds of dollars per hour to a counseling psychologist for that, others much less getting their hair done or having a margarita. [Note: a competent counseling psychologist is trained to guide the client with effective questioning techniques and insightful comments, so they are worth what they get paid]. Journaling or blogging about it is helpful, too; I feel better just by writing this and explaining about my struggles, what helps and what doesn’t, and what it’s like to experience anxiety on a semi-regular basis.

I know I’m not alone in my struggles. Anxiety is as common as cold sores. Just about everyone gets it to some degree or another. And hundreds of millions of people around the world have circumstances in their lives that are much, much more stressful than mine, so I acknowledge that I am blessed and I am grateful for those blessings. Yet gratitude and humility and concern for the deeper suffering of others won’t completely eradicate my own bouts of anxiety. This may well be something that will afflict me my entire life, as it has some people very close to me. But it doesn’t have to control me. I can corral this beast and keep it contained as much as possible. And perhaps in discussing my own struggles, I can encourage someone else who is suffering in silence to name their beast, face it head on, and ultimately contain its tendency to go on a rampaging stampede through their inner landscape.

Side Trip or Sidetrack?

          In 1988 and again from 1991 to 2002, I taught English as a second or foreign language in South Korea and in various places in the U.S. I enjoyed teaching the English language. It was satisfying to get to know a group of students over a semester or an eight or ten week term. I liked creating learning experiences that were both useful and enjoyable. The conversations with students outside of class time were often stimulating and entertaining, and the cultural excursions were exciting. Put quite simply, it was fun. And for me, it’s important that my work be fun.

          So why did I leave teaching for advising and counseling roles? There were several reasons. Teaching jobs were term-to-term in most cases, not permanent, and although that was more or less in my comfort zone, I felt that the job insecurity caused stress on my relationship with my significant other of that time. There were also no included benefits with the jobs in the U.S., so I had to depend on my significant other’s employee benefits for domestic partners. And the pay wasn’t great. While it would have been enough for me to support myself alone, it wasn’t enough for me to contribute to the lifestyle that seemed important to my significant other. So I sought permanent, full-time jobs with benefits. And, I did have an interest in advising and counseling that pre-dated my relationship with my significant other, so I willingly made the career shift.

          Now I’m more or less done with counseling and looking forward to a new chapter in teaching, this time incorporating more e-learning and multimedia technologies in my practice. I am both excited and nervous, with all sorts of questions spinning in my mind: Will I be able to successfully facilitate learning in my students, helping them reach their educational goals while also fulfilling the expectations of my employer? Will my methods and approaches be outdated? Will I be able to capture and hold the attention of these millennials who have grown up with smart phones and tablets in hand? Will I look like a dinosaur next to the veteran teachers?

          And some of the old concerns have crept back: the insecurity of continued employment from one term to the next; the lack of benefits; the relatively low pay.

          Yet despite these questions and concerns, I wouldn’t go back to counseling unless I absolutely had to. Sitting at a desk in an office all day long; working with students individually one after the other, having the same conversations over and over again; dealing with the stress and drama of departmental and institutional politics; all of that was not for me, no matter how secure the position or how high the pay or how good the benefits. Counseling just didn’t feed my soul. It wasn’t fun at all.

          My faith in God drives me to trust that my Creator loves me and has a plan for me, a plan to prosper me and not to harm me, a plan of hope for my future. Sure, doubts and insecurities sometimes cloud that faith. But if they didn’t, it wouldn’t be faith; it would be certainty, which doesn’t require much faith at all. And without faith, there can be no meaningful relationship with God.

          I believe that in all things, God works for my good. There is good to be found from my years counseling and advising; good that I can bring to the table of my new life as a teacher. A side trip isn’t the same as a sidetrack. I’ll need some time to get back on the teaching track again, for sure, but this time it will feel like a new experience because of the new knowledge I’ve gained. I believe that good awaits me because I’ve consistently encountered good all along my life’s path. In spite of my neurotic anxieties, I don’t expect the path that lies ahead to be any different.

Note: Of great inspiration to me in my decision to return to teaching was Parker J. Palmer’s The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher’s Life, 10^th Anniversary Edition (2007, Jossey-Bass).

A Model Child

          I was a model child growing up. No, really, I was. I seldom got in trouble. I almost always obeyed my parents. I never experimented with drugs, and I didn’t take my first social drink until I was in college. I seldom stayed out past midnight; in fact, I think I got in after midnight only once, when my friend’s car broke down and we had to call her dad to come help us out. I never asked for much money, never wanted expensive clothes, and didn’t participate in extracurricular activities that required a huge investment of time and money on their part. And most of the time, I was kind, patient, generous, and uncomplaining. My parents should be darn thankful they ended up with a kid like me.

          Somewhere along the way after attaining adulthood, though, something happened. I became more self-centered and anxious, and more focused on things and achievements and the opinions of other people of me. As I matured, I became more immature.

          That didn’t just happen to me, apparently. In the workplace I’ve witnessed people who have been professionals in their field for decades acting like spoiled little brats. In a previous institution of higher learning where I worked, there was a small yet vocal contingent of faculty that made no secret of their discomfort with and disapproval of the particular student population I was assigned to serve. Some of them acted as if the sandbox had been taken over by the new kids on the block, and they weren’t going to stand for it, so they pouted and cried and stomped their feet, complaining to “daddy” in the president’s office, not acknowledging that the new kids might actually be fun to play with if given the chance. But they were too focused on deciding who was worthy to be in the sandbox in the first place, playing an “us vs them” game of exclusion and alienation. Needless to say, their attitudes didn’t make those new kids feel very welcomed.

          And I observed similar behaviors from so-called adults in other places, too. Church is one of the worst places for expressions of immaturity; I guess that’s why we’re called the children of God and not the adults of God. People complain about the state of the kitchen, or the condition of the floors, or that the coffee is too weak or too strong. They gripe about how a certain decision was made and carried out. They pout when they feel their feelings haven’t been taken into consideration, when their money (that they have supposedly offered to God already) isn’t being spent in the way they think it should be, when the sermon is too long or too short or doesn’t resonate with them, when they don’t like the style of music, when there’s a glitch in the flow of the service…and the list goes on. Sometimes I think the toddlers should stay in the sanctuary for worship and praise, and anyone over the age of twelve should retreat to the nursery to cry and poop and fight over toys.

          And all this griping and complaining and whining goes on while people around the world are being killed simply for being who they are: ethnic and faith groups in the Middle East and Iraq; young African American men right here in our own country; people caught in the crossfire between political rivals in Eastern Europe; young girls in Nigeria; gay and lesbian people in Africa and the Middle East. While we, the people of God, complain about the style of worship or the strength of our coffee or the administrative practices of our denominations, other people who are just as important to God are suffering in real, life-or-death situations. Shame on us.

          I think as children we have a natural connection with the Divine. For many years I have wondered philosophically, “If our souls exist after we die, then did they exist before we were born?” Many who believe in reincarnation would say yes, but that’s not exactly what I’m talking about here. To me, to die and go to Heaven is to be reunited with God in a purely spiritual sense. So, was my soul with God before I was born? And if so, did I as a child have some sort of spiritual memory of that union that was later corrupted by maturity, by my knowledge of sin, or all of the actions and attitudes that we name as evil in the world?

          Yes, children can be selfish; they can cry and pout when they don’t get their way. They sometimes don’t want to share or play nicely. They can be suspicious of strangers (not always a bad thing, mind you). But they can also be very nonjudgmental, happy for no particular reason, engaged with the world around them with a sense of wonder and curiosity and openness that is enviable. They live in the moment, holding no grudges over past hurts and harboring no fear for the future.

          Maybe that’s why Jesus said that we have to become like little children to enter the realm of Heaven. To me, that has nothing whatsoever to do with a city with streets paved in gold, descending from the clouds to serve as a home for the faithful (however one defines that) and no one else. Rather, it means a state of being, of accepting the realm of God into our hearts so that we can live life more abundant and free in the here and now. It means loving and accepting other people as small children do, before they’ve grown old enough to learn the destructive ways of thinking and doing from the adults in their lives. It means letting go of grudges and hurts and other burdens that keep us from experiencing that abundant and free life. And it means forgiving ourselves as well as others in order to move on unencumbered to be a whole, healthy child of God.

          Boy, that level of immaturity really takes a lot of hard work! Being child-like without being childish is tricky, especially for adults who have had more time in life to be corrupted by the negative, selfish influences in both their outer and inner worlds. I see this in myself, now that I’m over fifty. The farther I get from childhood, the harder it becomes to connect with that inner child. But he’s still in there in my head, somewhere, telling me to grow up without growing up, to be responsible and conscientious without losing my innocence and my joy and my ability to be thankful for simple things. He’s the child who feels happy with those who are happy, and offers comfort to those in distress. He doesn’t drag the past around, and he doesn’t worry about the future. He lets other kids play in his sandbox, and shares his toys, and doesn’t take the last cookie for himself. He is the model child of God, and it may take a lifetime to emulate him. And that’s OK; the point is to never stop trying.

The Call to Love Includes the Mentally Ill

          When I learned of the death of actor and comedian Robin Williams two days ago, my heart ached. I grew up watching Mork and Mindy, and I saw many of his films. And who can forget that memorable, manic voice of the Genie in Disney’s Aladdin? Most recently I watched every episode of his short-lived series The Crazy Ones, enjoying his comedy and his commentary on mental illness and addiction. I wonder if, in some way, that series was autobiographical, to some degree? In the show, he played a genius advertising executive who was a recovering alcoholic and addict, running his agency with the help of his mildly neurotic daughter and three young protégés, each with their own quirks. The series was both hilariously funny and tragically sad at the same time, perhaps like Mr. Williams’ life. And the sadness surrounding his death was all the heavier because this gifted, big-hearted man committed suicide.

          The outpouring of public sympathy has been remarkable. He was a very well-liked man, obviously. But some of the response, much of it from so-called “Christians” sadly, has been vile and despicable. Some of these people claim that Mr. Williams was a coward for choosing suicide. Yes, he made a choice. Everything we do is a choice. We are not automatons running on cruise control. God gave us free will, one of the traits that makes humans reflect the image of God. Our brains are constantly working and processing, forming neural pathways that make associations that lead to thoughts that spur actions.

However, making choices requires judgment, and things beyond our control can impair our judgment. Mr. Williams was diagnosed as bipolar. That means he experienced extreme mood swings from mania to depression. According to webmd.com [http://www.webmd.com/bipolar-disorder/guide/bipolar-disorder-symptoms-types], mania symptoms include “…excessive happiness, excitement, irritability, restlessness, increased energy, less need for sleep, racing thoughts, high sex drive, and a tendency to make grand and unattainable plans.” The depression symptoms described on the website include “…sadness, anxiety, irritability, loss of energy, uncontrolled crying, change in appetite causing weight loss or gain, increased need for sleep, difficulty making decisions, and thoughts of death or suicide.” There is a spectrum of bipolar disorder, from mild to extreme. Like many sufferers of other mental illnesses, some people diagnosed as bipolar self-medicate with drugs and/or alcohol.

People who suffer from mental illness are no more in control of their conditions than people suffering from physical illnesses. So to claim that a person who has been medically diagnosed with a mental illness and who completes suicide is a coward for making such a choice is ignorant and ill-informed at best, and callous and mean-spirited at worst. Those who have struggled with bipolar disorder themselves and survive on a day-to-day basis know from personal experience how heavy the burden of despair can be, how their self-esteem and sense of self-worth can drop to rock bottom. They also know how terribly frightening life can be in the middle of a manic episode, and if not frightening, how awful it is to suddenly drop down from the high of an unexplainable and uncontrollable happiness. Bipolar disorder is a mental roller coaster ride that never stops. And when a person gets so tired of the ride, tragically sometimes the only way off that they can comprehend is death.

It royally pisses me off to hear or read the words of people who claim to be followers of Christ—the reconciler of the world to God, the bringer of the Good News, the lover of our souls—judging and criticizing the mentally ill, claiming that they could control their thoughts and their actions if only they would “get right with God.” Let me ask them this: Are the physically ill not right with God because they are ill? Is all illness, physical or mental, a punishment from God for the sufferer’s wrongdoing?

In my opinion, God has blessed us all to be born in a day and time when we have medical professionals and scientists who help us understand the world we live in and the beings we are. No longer do we exile lepers to the wilderness because they are “unclean.” No more do we burn people at the stake because they suffer from a condition we cannot explain. We do not hide the mentally and physically impaired away in asylums because it makes us uncomfortable to see them (we do, however, very often cast them to the streets and leave them to fend for themselves). We have more access to information than ever before in human history. Information leads to knowledge, and knowledge helps us find the truth.

And the truth is that there are people who cannot help how they are. We who claim to be followers of the way of Christ are not called to judge or condemn, but to love. Robin Williams was loved by many, and I’m sure he knew that, but I wonder if anyone who ever claimed to be a follower of Christ helped him know that God loved him? Or did they only offer judgment and criticism because of his addiction problems? And for some people, might it be possible that, even though they know in their hearts that God loves them, still their brains are incapable of breaking the patterns of thought that are biologically influenced?

God has free will, too. And God doesn’t choose to heal everybody. Just ask anyone who has lost a child to leukemia or cancer or AIDS. I’m sure many of them prayed fervently for their child’s healing, yet it seems that God turned a deaf ear. I personally don’t believe that. The God I know hears everything and understands every pain and knows every detail of every molecule in every human being that ever was, is, and will be. The God I know also knows a whole lot more than I do, and sees the big picture much clearer and wider than I can. So I have to believe that God chooses not to heal every sufferer of mental illness, too, for whatever reasons known only to God. All I know is that God expects me to love and not judge, to seek to understand rather than to explain, to grieve with the grieving and rejoice with the rejoicing. Maybe some people are allowed to suffer so that people like me will learn empathy and compassion, not judgment and condemnation.

Robin Williams’ brain chemistry might have been messed up, but according to many people who met and knew him, he was a kind-hearted, gentle spirit who made people laugh and even became friends with a gorilla (just Google “Robin Williams and Koko” and you’ll learn what I’m referring to here). I’m sure God was very sad that Mr. Williams made the choice that he did, and I’m also sure God knows very well—better than any of us—why Mr. Williams made such a choice. None of us knows why; we cannot know because we cannot get inside the heads of other people and know their thoughts and feelings as if we are they. But God can. God understands pain and suffering because God experienced it through Jesus, who neither judged nor condemned the ill and the outcast, but only loved them, bringing healing to their hearts and hope to their souls. I’m sorry it seems that Mr. Williams didn’t feel that sense of inner healing and hope; or perhaps he did at one time, but his infirmity got in the way. I don’t know, and neither do the Internet trolls out there who are showing such hateful and mean attitudes. So maybe we should all just shut up and let Mr. Williams rest in peace, finally.

If you suffer from any of the symptoms of bipolar disorder described previously, I implore you to seek help. Look online or in your phone book for your local mental health crisis services. If you are having thoughts of death or suicide, call 9-1-1 immediately. If someone you know displays bipolar or other mental health symptoms, please do not be afraid to talk to that person about how they feel. The conversation could save their life.

The Lesson of the Oak

         A few blocks from where I live is a stately old oak tree, the quintessential symbol of the East Bay area. Such trees dot the hillsides here east of San Francisco. They remind me of the oaks back in Texas. This particular oak is magnificent. I’m not good at guessing the age of anything, but this one must be at least several hundred years old. It stands in the front yard of a typical suburban mid-twentieth century ranch style home, just beside the street. High in its branches is a hollow where not long ago lived a large bee colony. Every time my dog and I walk past that oak, I am filled with a sense of wonder and gratitude for the One who created it.

          When I see that oak, I think of my ancient pre-Christian era ancestors in the British Isles and Western Europe. Like many ancient peoples, their faith was anchored in the things of nature. They revered trees, hills, mountains, rivers, the sea, and other pieces of natural evidence that there was something—or Someone—bigger, higher, more powerful and wiser than they. Of course they couldn’t explain the mystery of what they experienced with their senses and felt in their hearts, so their human minds began constructing stories, myths and legends to attach meaning to the unexplainable. These gave birth to religion, thus anthropomorphic and zoomorphic deities were created, gods and goddesses that handed down laws and rules and decrees for their human subjects to follow. The original sense of awe and wonder and love ignited by creation was lost to a system of rewards and punishments that empowered some and subjugated others. Religion became a way for the powerful minority to control the weaker majority. How many wars have been fought throughout human history in the name of religious ideology when really the masses doing the fighting were merely the puppets of the power-mongers struggling to accumulate wealth for themselves?

          Whether or not one takes the story of the Garden of Eden and the fall of mankind literally, we can all probably agree on this: humanity lost its innocence when it got greedy. The lust for power is what wrecked our pure, original relationship with the Creator. And the lust for power is rooted in fear. Those with high status fear losing their status quo, their wealth and possessions. Those with low status fear being stuck in that state, never having the sense of security (albeit a false sense) that wealth and possessions create. Some would say that the opposite of love is hate. I say that hate is merely the dark side of love. Fear is the opposite of love, otherwise why would the Bible say that perfect love casts out fear (1 John 4:18)? Love and fear cannot coexist.

          Yet throughout human history, fear seems to be the most widely wielded tool in religion: the fear of hellfire and brimstone; the fear of punishment; the fear of not being worthy; the fear of being exiled for all eternity; and for some, even today, the fear of being killed for not adopting a set of beliefs held by those more powerful. The number of times that the Bible states “Fear not” or “Do not be afraid” depends on the translation one is reading. However, it is mentioned a significant number of times. God is not a god of fear, but a god of love. God created everything and said it was good (Genesis 1:31). When we see creation—stately old oaks, magnificent mountain vistas, gorgeous sunsets, spectacular beaches, anything in nature that moves your spirit—let us pause and remember the One who made it, who placed it there as a message of love, saying, “Here I am. Remember me? I have loved you since the beginning of time, and I love you now, and I will love you forever after.” Let our religion, then, be a religion of love, and not of fear.

The Paradox of Love

English writer and lay theologian G. K. Chesterton once said that “a paradox is often a truth standing on its head to get our attention.” The human brain has difficulty wrapping itself around paradoxes because they don’t seem to make sense to us. In fact, one definition of the word paradox is “a statement contrary to received opinion” (freedictionary.com) and accurately reflects the word’s Greek origins (para meaning “beyond” plus doxa or “opinion”).

Father Richard Rohr of the Center for Action and Contemplation in New Mexico says that the contemporary mind has almost no training in dialectical thought processes or how to think paradoxically. Without getting too esoteric, think of dialectical thinking as seeing all sides of a concept and forming your own opinion after seeing the concept in its entirety. For example, I believe X and you believe Y, but after we discuss our viewpoints rationally and logically, a third viewpoint, Z, emerges. Here’s a lighthearted example: I have the opinion that Star Trek is the best science fiction franchise ever. My friend believes that Star Wars is. We discuss our differences of opinion logically, amicably, yet passionately. But the end result of our discussion is that I have new perspectives on Star Wars and he has new perspectives on Star Trek that enlighten and inform our mutual love for the science fiction genre.

Sadly, when it comes to differences of opinion in matters of faith, conversations are not usually so lighthearted. In fact, millions have died over the centuries because of human beings’ inability to embrace paradox and apply dialectical thinking to concepts to which many people have a very strong emotional attachment. In the past, Catholics believed X, and Protestants believed Y, so unscrupulous political and religious leaders capitalized on that conflict so that power and wealth would remain in certain hands while innocent people on both sides perished. At this very moment in Iraq, one sect of Muslims wars against another and forces non-Muslims in the way to choose sides, leave their homes, or die. We all know that the real motivators of such conflicts are not theological; they are political and economic.

I hold a distinction between faith and religion. To me, faith is a relationship or personal connection with that Eternal Something that is bigger/better/more powerful/kinder/more loving than I. I call that Eternal Something God because I come from a Judeo-Christian tradition. Yet my concept of God has grown from a patriarchal rule-enforcer to a more comprehensive, expansive concept based primarily on my mature understanding of the person of Jesus who, in my opinion, was the most complete personification of God. Religion, on the other hand and in my opinion, is the construct that grew from the human mind’s need to explain things and create order and control. It is easier to enforce rituals and rules and pass down traditions than to model for others what being in good relationship with the Creator entails. Human beings are naturally lazy, I think, and we like to be told what to think and do rather than think for ourselves. It’s also safer, because in the end, if what we thought or did was wrong, we have someone else to blame. If we think for ourselves, we have no one to blame but ourselves. That’s a very scary prospect for some who think of their God more as a punisher of sins than a lover of humankind.

Yet, therein lies the paradox, right? The God that gave all the laws and the “thou shalt nots” also said that the rules don’t matter as long as you love me [God] and each other, because that love will logically motivate you to do what is right by me [God] and each other. Wow, even my master-degreed brain has trouble with that one!

So, the meaning of the universe is love, but love makes absolutely no sense. As Mr. Spock in my beloved Star Trek universe would say, “Love is not logical.” It motivates us to take care of the weak and frail when obviously they are not strong enough to survive on their own. It causes us to strive for peace and mutual understanding when we all know that there will just be some people who never see eye-to-eye. It drives us to think of the health, safety, and welfare of all human beings at the expense of being labeled “socialist” and compels us to share our resources, giving of our time and money, and in some extreme cases, even our lives (a huge shout out of gratitude to men and women who work in public safety, be it the military, the police, first responders, or others who risk their lives for the safety of people they don’t even know).

Faith in God is full of paradoxes: a 99-year-old man having a baby with his 90-year-old wife; a man with a stammer acting as God's spokesperson; a teenaged virgin birthing the Savior of all people in all times in a stable. All of these are contrary to received opinion: elderly men and women do not procreate; people with speech impediments do not serve as spokespersons; virgins do not get pregnant; and certainly the King of kings would not be born in a stable.

On paradox and faith, Father Richard writes: "Each of us must learn to live with paradox, or we cannot live peacefully or happily even a single day of our lives. In fact, we must even learn to love paradox, or we will never be wise, forgiving, or possess the patience of good relationships. 'Untarnished mirrors,' as Wisdom says, receive the whole picture, which is always the darkness, the light, and the subtle shadings of light that make shape, form, color, and texture beautiful. You cannot see in total light or total darkness. You must have variances of light to see." Think about that: the space between black and white is not gray; it is all colors of the spectrum. It is a beautiful space where a Technicolor God waits to meet us, to reason with us (Isaiah 1:18). It is the place where the rainbow of the truth of God and all of God’s truths are to be found.

          What paradoxes has God brought into your life to move you into that space between black and white to reveal God's colorful truth to you?

The Evil of Nationalism

          I’m usually the one to offer words of encouragement and hope in distressing situations. Today I have none. My soul is sickened by the pain and suffering inflicted by nationalism.

          Yesterday we saw nationalism take the lives of almost 300 innocent civilians who had nothing to do with the conflict raging 33,000 feet beneath them, a conflict born of nationalistic pride, arrogance, and greed.

          At the same time, a few thousand miles away, a centuries-old conflict over territory and national identity took more innocent lives. Religious arrogance plays a huge role in the ongoing evil there that struggles against peace and mutual understanding.

          And right here in our very own country, fear and ignorance rooted in nationalistic pride and greed compel angry people to confront children—many of them orphans—to wave U.S. flags while shouting “Go away!” Many of the instigators of this hateful display are themselves the descendants of immigrants, none of whom were invited by the original inhabitants of this land. What hypocrisy!

          Throughout human history, evil leaders around the world have used nationalism to manipulate the minds and hearts of the masses to cause war, genocide, terrorism, rape, and the destruction of the land. Our own politicians use nationalism to get votes (and subsequently dollars in their bank accounts) from simple-minded citizens who think they’re being patriotic by voting for those money-mongers. Bullshit!

          I’m sick of seeing flag-waving “patriots.” I’m disgusted by displays of “ethnic pride.” Religious zealots, even those who claim to be “Christian,” infuriate me. Passports couldn’t save those innocent people aboard Malaysian Airlines flight 17 yesterday. Citizenship is meaningless to the peace-loving Israelis and Palestinians fearing for their lives in the so-called “Holy Land.” And all those Central American children in detention facilities near our southern border? All they want is a place to grow up without fear and with basic needs fulfilled. Shouldn’t every child on this planet have that?

Is God ashamed to be called my God?

          The writer of the New Testament book of Hebrews begins chapter eleven with words that have become very familiar to most people who identify as Christian: “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” (NRSV). The writer then proceeds to describe the faith of four notable characters from the Hebrew scriptures (which we Christians commonly call the Old Testament): Abel, who offered a sacrifice to God that was more acceptable than his brother Cain’s sacrifice and thus fell victim to fratricide; Enoch, who was rewarded for pleasing God by being taken directly into God’s presence without experiencing death; Noah, whose faith in God resulted in the almost universally known story of the ark and the flood; and Abraham, who followed God’s direction to leave his homeland and move himself and all he owned to an unfamiliar land and re-establish himself as the progenitor of a vast number of descendants.

          In verse sixteen, the writer continues: “But as it is, they [Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, and others who act by faith] desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; indeed, he has prepared a city for them.”

          At this point, I have to re-emphasize that I do not adhere to a literalistic interpretation of scriptures. When I read verse sixteen, I do not assume that a heavenly country refers to a place somewhere in the distant cosmos to which dead souls ascend, nor do I envision a literal city with buildings and walls and streets and such. Actually, I’ve always thought of God as more of a nature-lover myself, but I digress. The intended audience of the writer of Hebrews would have understood “country” and “city” differently from me, not so much as geographic entities and feats of civil engineering, but perhaps instead as places of identity and refuge, of safety and provision—places to which they could relate in their here and now.

          Rather, I believe verse sixteen refers to a state of being—more in this life than the next, really—that results from a life of faith. And in my experience, faith often contradicts belief. Consider this: Do we know what belief system Abel, Enoch, Noah, or even Abraham adhered to? It certainly wasn’t Christianity or Judaism. Neither one of those existed in the time of the aforementioned individuals. Did they follow other religions? Were these men even monotheistic? I don’t know if monotheism even existed in the places and times of those men (ask a historian of ancient religions). It’s unclear to us how they understood God, if they even understood that the one with whom they were dealing was God. However, they must have been known in the time of the writer of Hebrews as icons of faith, otherwise why would the writer have chosen to use them as examples? Isn’t it interesting that the examples chosen were not notable contemporary Jewish or Christian leaders of the writer’s time? Hmmm…

          In my viewpoint, faith is not based on fast, hard evidence gathered through the senses, but rather it is discerned from within. Indeed, I experience the world with my senses—either directly with my own, or indirectly through the stories of others whom I trust as credible—but I process my experiences on an intellectual, emotional, and spiritual level. And then I act on my faith. It drives what I do and how I interact with the world in which I live. My actions are the evidence of my faith (James 2:14-26). Faith motivates from within, even perhaps when the one being motivated—the enactor of actions that result from faith—may not fully understand the source of that motivation. Consider Abram (whose name was later changed to Abraham). We’ve already discussed how we’re not sure what religion or belief system he adhered to, if any. All we know is God spoke to him, he listened, and responded. And thus began his epic relationship with God.

          Faith is not to be confused with beliefs. Beliefs are based on what one has experienced with the senses, either directly or indirectly: I believe XYZ because I have seen/heard/smelled/tasted/felt XYZ, or someone I trust has—or that someone knows someone who knows someone who knows someone who… You get the picture. There’s not much internal processing that goes on with beliefs.

          While faith expresses itself in actions, belief expresses itself in doctrine, which leads to sets of rules—usually more don’ts than do’s—and demands conformity and obedience. This legalism tends to close minds and harden hearts, which doesn’t leave much room for faith to inhabit. It motivates from without because the rules are written by people and published in books, both of which can become objects of worship rather than tools for building faith.

Doctrine builds walls, creating an “us” vs “them” mentality, and throws up barriers, dividing and restricting and excluding people. Its goal becomes to correct what is wrong in people, setting them right, putting them on “the straight and narrow” and making sure they follow all the rules. The icons of faith described by the writer of Hebrews apparently had no doctrine that we know of. Only faith in a mysterious monotheistic deity who related to them all on a very personal level.

The writer of 1 John stated “Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love.” (4:8) If our faith is in God, and if God is love, and if our actions are driven by our faith, then shouldn’t our actions manifest in those things that are evidence of love? Compassion, mercy, tolerance, inclusivity, protection, acceptance—all those things that make us feel loved and wanted? But what if our actions do not demonstrate our faith? Are we not responsible to each other, as members of a community of faith, to hold each other accountable for such inconsistencies? Aren’t we, as Christians, to emulate the one whose name we adopt, who demonstrated for us what faith in God is really all about?

Yet how far we fall short of that emulation. Our words proclaim our faith, yet so often our actions don’t show it. We lionize politicians who advocate policies of violence, oppression, exclusion, and environmental destruction. We glorify the rich and vilify the poor. We most certainly do not treat the aliens among us as our own. We complain about sharing the burden to heal the sick, calling it socialism. We capitalize off of war and weapons when Jesus clearly said “Those who live by the sword will die by the sword.” (Matthew 26:52) We neglect children because they do not look or speak like us, or because their families do not make as much money as we do, when Jesus commanded “Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs.” Jesus identified his family as his disciples and those who do the will of God (Matthew 12:49-50), yet so many Christians want to legislate how individuals build their own families, even when those individuals feel that God has built that family through love.

Which brings us now to the title of this blog: Is God ashamed to be called my God? Are my actions congruent with my faith? Will others know God through what I do? Or am I obsessed with doctrine, with having the right set of beliefs? Am I motivated from within—by my own, personal experience of God—or from without, by rules and regulations and peer pressure and intellectual interpretations of words written on a page thousands of years ago in languages I do not understand and in places foreign to me?

The Christian belief system holds that one day I will stand before God—as if I don’t already every day?—and give an account of my life, and thereafter receive God’s judgment. If in the end it all comes down to that literal scenario, more than anything I can imagine, I would want to hear God say, “Mark, you may not have had the belief system worked out quite correctly, but you sure did your best to act nice and loving toward me, and toward others, and toward my creation. Welcome!” I don’t want God to be ashamed to be called my God. How about you?

Is God laughing at me?

          An old Yiddish proverb states “Man plans, God laughs.” While I don’t think this aphorism should be taken literally—I doubt if God takes our hopes and dreams that lightly—I do think there’s some truth to be found in its humor. One of the spiritual lessons I’ve learned time and time again throughout my life is that the timeline I create for myself isn’t always in sync with God’s timeline for me. And despite consistent evidence that God’s timeline for me is better than my own, I still have trouble resting in faith, knowing and believing that God will provide.

          As a child I learned in Sunday school about the manna from heaven, described in the Hebrew book of Exodus, chapter 16. The Israelites were only a couple of months free from their bondage in ancient Egypt, wandering the vast wasteland of the Sinai (I’ve been there, about twenty-six years ago; it’s not the kind of place one wants to be lost in). They were hungry, tired, and discouraged, and as most humans are inclined to do, they complained to the human in charge, Moses. Moses took their complaints to his boss, who told Moses he would provide sustenance for the people, with some conditions: first, he would provide only as much as they needed—no more, no less; and second, if they took more than they were allotted, it would spoil. So in the evenings, flocks of quail descended on their camps so they could have meat, and in the mornings, a flaky bread-like substance covered the ground. On the day before the Sabbath they were allowed to gather enough for two days, so that they could rest on the Sabbath. Still lost, yes, but hungry no more, the Israelites spent the next forty years forming their identity as a distinct ethnicity and culture in the ancient world.

          Later in the Hebrew Scriptures, in 1 Kings 17, we read the story of Elijah, a prophet of God visiting a town where a widow lived with her son during a time of intense drought. Elijah asked her for a cup of water and some bread, and the widow replied that she had only enough flour and oil to make one more loaf of bread for her and her son to have their last meal before they starved (there was no social welfare system in that age; widows and orphans were left to fend for themselves, and in a culture that treated women and children as chattel, the fending often wasn’t so good). Elijah assured her that her food would not run out before the drought ended, then he instructed her to make two loaves of bread, a small one for him and the rest for her and her son. The widow complied, and sure enough, there was enough oil and flour to last them until the rains came again.

          In both of these stories, God provided to the people in need just what they needed, and just when they needed it. Can you imagine, though, the anxiety the Israelites in the wilderness and the widow must have felt before they realized that God would, indeed, provide for them? I’ve never been on the verge of death by starvation, but I can imagine it’s not a good place to be. And I can also imagine that, being humans, the Israelites and the widow still experienced some anxiety after their needs were met, thinking to themselves, “OK, when will this run out? What will I do then?” It’s natural to feel anxious about our physical needs; that anxiety is one thing that helps us survive.

          In both stories, a little work was involved after God’s promise was made clear. The Israelites had to go out and gather the manna, and the widow had to go home and cook. Neither got breakfast in bed served by the angels.

          In another story, though, the people experiencing the anxiety were reprimanded for their lack of faith and pretty much told to just be still and quiet (I wanted to write “sit down and shut up,” but that’s not God’s way of communicating). Both the Gospels of Matthew and Mark give an account of Jesus on a boat with several of his disciples. A storm brews, and the boat is rocked violently enough to make the disciples fear for their lives. Jesus, however, was sound asleep. His panicked followers wake him and demand that he do something about the situation, at which point Jesus rouses himself, lectures his disciples on their lack of faith, then calms the storm. The disciples are amazed that even the winds and the sea obey this man they call Teacher.

          I feel sort of sorry for the disciples. I’ve never experienced stormy seas, but I’ve flown through storms that I thought might be the end of me at 35,000 feet. To feel anxiety is human; to feel calm in a storm is Divine. So being reprimanded for feeling anxious seems a little harsh to me. Then again, Jesus didn’t really reprimand them for what they felt, but rather for what they didn’t feel. And therein lies the lesson: It’s OK for us to feel anxious during stressful times—undesired change, natural disasters, economic downturns, whatever—but we can’t let our anxiety cloud our faith that God is in control and will provide for us. Our faith, no matter how small, has to be just a little bigger than our fear. Even if that difference is miniscule, faith will triumph, because faith even as small as a mustard seed can move mountains (Matthew 17:20).

          I am experiencing a time of big change in my life right now. It is a desired, welcomed change: I resigned a full-time, tenured position at a community college to pursue a new career. I’m giving myself the rest of this year to acquire new skills and knowledge, and half of next year to secure gainful employment—either working for myself or for someone else—before I look at my “fallbacks” (academic advising/counseling and teaching English as a second language). But as I wrote in the first paragraph, “Man [I] plans, God laughs.” I wonder sometimes if God is laughing at me for making such a definite timeline. Or, is God proud of me for listening to my heart and not my head, for seeking his words of wisdom for me and not the world’s (which would tell me I’m foolish to leave a tenured position to go independent)?

          While I’m enjoying my new path, learning things that engage parts of me that haven’t been engaged in a very long time, and feeling assurance that my decision was right for me, I do feel afraid from time to time. Today was my first day to not have health insurance, so I signed up on the California health care exchange. I’ve heard both good stories and bad about people’s experiences with that, so I’m nervous. And while I’m financially on solid ground for the time being, I wonder what will happen if an unexpected expense occurs that drains my savings.

          Then I remember the Israelites in the wilderness, gathering only as much manna as they needed every day. And the widow, who went from the verge of death by starvation to having just enough to eat until the drought ended. And the disciples on the boat, who got afraid when the storm came but ended up feeling amazed by the power of their rabbi. And all the times in the past fifty years (what I can remember of them, anyway) when God provided for me. I have never been hungry, never been destitute, never been homeless, never been without enough income—not an abundance, usually, but always enough—and never so sick or injured that I incurred outrageous medical expenses. I am blessed by overall good health right now; by access to learning opportunities to change my career; by a domestic arrangement that includes a loving, supportive, and nurturing partner; by a church family that accepts me just as I am; and by a four-legged psychologist who provides some of the best therapy ever in return for belly rubs, ear scratches, and long walks in the park.

          God might laugh at my plans, indeed. But the curious thing is, when God’s plan for me unfolds, I laugh, too. Not out of derision, but out of relief. For God’s plans have always—ALWAYS—been better than my plans for myself. To borrow a bumper sticker cliché: I don’t know what the future holds, but I know who holds the future.  So bring it on, God. Make me laugh.

A Page in the Book

          Almost sixteen years ago to the day, I ended one of the most significant experiences of my adult life: I returned to the United States after having been an expatriate in the Republic of Korea for seven and a half years (eight and a half including a prior experience there). For the geographically challenged, the Republic of Korea is most commonly called South Korea here in the West, although citizens of the RoK do not call themselves South Koreans, for it is a reminder of the painfully ongoing separation that peninsula endures because of the demilitarized zone, or DMZ, on the 38^th parallel, drawn by national superpowers in the early 1950’s to separate the “communist” north from the (mostly) democratic south.

          It was surreal to live in a nation that was, and still is, technically at war with its only neighbor. Almost every month there were civil defense drills. When the air raid sirens sounded, vehicles were supposed to pull over, and pedestrians were required to take cover in buildings or beneath trees or bus stop canopies, or in subways and underground shopping arcades. Armed soldiers and police officers, and civilian volunteers wearing bright yellow vests, would blow a whistle and give you a citation if you did not comply. Many Koreans did not, so used to the drill were they, and so oblivious of the fear and suffering their elders had faced during the conflict in their homeland. I and other expatriates were urged to have an escape plan; indeed, I participated in a training on a US military base outlining an evacuation plan should expatriate civilians be required to leave the country at a moment’s notice. During my sojourn in Korea, a North Korean pilot defected to the South in his Russian-built jet plane. A North Korean mini-sub was found on the northeast shores of the South, its sailors missing. And on a mountaintop near the city where I lived, South Korean soldiers cornered and killed a North Korean infiltrator. All the while, my friends and I ate ice cream, met in coffee shops, watched K-pop music videos, played games in arcades, hiked to peaceful Buddhist temples, had picnics, and went about our business, fully aware of the events going on around us, yet fully confident that should the North ever break through the DMZ and invade the South, they would immediately drop their guns and fill their hungry bellies with the bounty found in South Korean markets, realizing that their Great Leader had been lying to them all along.

          Political demonstrations were commonplace in the 1990’s in Korea. Every time I came back to the US to visit, my friends and family asked me if I felt it was a dangerous place to live. The fact is that South Korea was probably one of the safest places to live. The demonstrators had no bone to pick with me, even if they were tromping on US flags, burning effigies of the US president, and shouting “Yankee, go home!” They were able to separate in their minds the individual American from the policies and policy-makers of our country. I lived amongst them; I worked at a Korean university; I made feeble yet sincere attempts at speaking their language; I ate their food and actually enjoyed it (after I got used to it). So no, I never felt I was in any danger. The only time during all the years I was there I ever had a negative encounter, it was from a man who was obviously drunk, and even then, the gestures were verbal only. The murder rate in South Korea at the time was extremely low. When a homicide occurred, it was most frequently by stabbing or poisoning, and most often the perpetrator knew the victim. Koreans were not allowed to own guns without meeting very stringent regulations (Imagine that! Strict gun control results in a low murder rate!).

          Living abroad made me both humbly proud and horribly ashamed to be an American. I saw the prosperity and security that the South enjoyed, due in part to the contributions of the US government and military. I witnessed the great good that generations of American missionaries and humanitarians had done there. Several times older Koreans thanked me for the sacrifices made by US military personnel during the Korean Conflict. But I also saw the ugliness of American military and economic imperialism. A huge chunk of prime real estate in Seoul, the capital city, is occupied by a US military base. I saw military personnel treating local people rudely. I heard stories from Korean young people about their parents and relatives, mostly poor farmers eking out a living in rice paddies, suffering due to trade negotiations manipulated by large American corporations. And I watched as Western materialism and individualism seeped into Korean culture, not by force, but by seduction. I will confess that sometimes, when asked where I was from, I deflected with the answer “Texas” and then pursued a conversation about cowboys and barbecue, because I did not want to acknowledge my citizenship.

          I’m not saying that Korea is full of pure-hearted innocents who have been corrupted by American blue-eyed devils. Some of the most racist, sexist, classist, homophobic, religiously bigoted people I have ever met were in Korea. I saw more public fistfights in Korea than anywhere else, and some of those fights involved women. The rape culture there is abominable, the result of a culture that has long treated women as chattel. Koreans consider the king, one’s father, and one’s teacher (historically only males) as equal. That’s rooted in the philosophy of Confucius, a Chinese man not known for being an equal rights champion. When I lived there, it was illegal for a doctor to tell a woman the sex of her unborn child. Too many women had been opting for abortions upon learning the fetus in their womb was female. Physical perfection was idealized; I seldom saw people with physical disabilities in public unless they were begging on the streets. Adopting children was unheard of because bloodlines were so important to Koreans. And if a couple divorced, the father usually got custody of the children, who most often had no further contact with their mothers. I know a young Korean man who learned after becoming an adult that his birth mother was not dead, as he had been told throughout his life, but that she and his father had divorced when he was only a baby and she had moved away.

          Those were sad realities in a nation that was extremely hospitable to me, a nation that made me feel welcomed and comfortable and treated me almost like a minor celebrity. A nation that never, ever would have accepted me fully into its ranks because I didn’t look like them, because Korean blood didn’t flow through my veins, because I couldn’t experience the han, the collective angst that all Koreans possess by virtue of simply being Korean. I found that reality to be both disturbing and relieving at the same time, for while I longed to feel a sense of identity when I was there, to belong, I knew that I personally could never feel comfortable calling Korea my permanent home. It was a lovely, wonderful, memorable stop on my journey, but it was not my destination.

          And I think that I would have had the same feeling, no matter where I had landed to spend the decade of the nineties. Take away our passports and our traditional clothing, strip away our political leanings and religious affiliations, feed us food not spiced by traditions and regional produce, and give us all a common language, and what you end up with is a planet swarming with nothing but simple humans who all have the same needs and wants: to feel safe, healthy, and not hungry or thirsty; to love and be loved; to be who we are and become all that we know we can be; and to belong to a family, no matter how we define it.

          Who I am today is in large part defined by my experience in Korea. I’m proud of the fact that I not only survived, but I thrived in a context where the language and culture were so different from what I’d known previously. Others who have lived abroad get this: missionaries, diplomats, some military personnel, international educators and business professionals, we all understand what it’s like to leave what we know for the unknown and integrate that experience into our being. People who have never lived abroad get it, and only those who have travelled extensively can relate. Saint Augustine of Hippo said it best: “The world is a great book, of which those who never leave home read only a page.” Can you imagine, holding a wonderful book in your hands, and reading the same page over and over and over again? You’d never know the whole story, you’d miss out on all its characters and places, and you’d begin to think that the one page you know so well is the only page in the book. Yet how many people in our world, even right here in the US, are stuck on the one page they know, too afraid to keep reading and learning and knowing, afraid that what they will find will challenge all they know and strip away their identity.

          But it’s an unfounded fear. Tear one page out of a book, and the entire book is ruined. All of the pages are equally valid and necessary for the entire story to be told. For me, Texas had its page. And then Korea. And later, Tennessee and Southern California and Oregon. And now, Northern California. I don’t want to get stuck on any one page. I want to keep reading, to know how the story unfolds, to go back and reread some pages, and to leave some pages read only once. All of the pages are part of the story of who we are, both individually and collectively, and the great Author of the stories is still writing. Honor the Author’s work, and keep on reading!

A Theology of Love

Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God.

1 John 4:7 NRSV

          I grew up in a church that gave me a good foundation for my faith. Elder saints, including my parents, taught me the stories and verses from the Bible that helped me learn the history of the Jewish people and introduced me to the Jewish man upon whom my faith tradition is based. And they modeled the love and compassion that Jesus expressed to others. These were simple country folk, for the most part, without a sophisticated world view and a complicated theology. The church tended to have a fairly literal interpretation of the scriptures and a conservative approach to living out their faith. There were no female pastors or deacons; drinking alcohol, dancing, and gambling were strictly forbidden; and for the longest time, women were discouraged from wearing pants to church, if at all. And we never, ever openly discussed s-e-x. The emphasis seemed to be on having the right belief system, or orthodoxy. We believed that right actions would naturally result from espousing the “right” doctrine.

          The problem with such an approach to the Christian faith is that there are so many sets of “right” beliefs and doctrines within the Christian community. There are schisms created between Catholics, Protestants, and Orthodox believers. There are divisions based on one’s eschatology, or one’s beliefs about the final events of human history. The issue of slavery divided the Christian church for hundreds of years. Interracial marriage created divisions in the mid-twentieth century. And today, churches are divided over the full inclusion of GLBT individuals and their right to marry the person of their choice, as well as the issue of a woman’s right to control her own body.

          If the twenty-first century church is to not just survive, but to thrive, we must overcome this fixation on orthodoxy and instead focus on orthopraxy, the right way of doing. When Jesus dwelt among us, he didn’t preach to others about right beliefs. Instead, he focused both his messages and his practices on doing right—right by others, right by self, and most importantly, right by God. Jesus didn’t try to convert Gentiles to Judaism, or one sect of Jews to another sect. He just said, “Follow me.” In other words, Do as I do. And what did Jesus do but feed the hungry, heal the sick, and embrace the outcast in peace and love. The writer of 1 John hit the nail on the head with one sentence: Love is from God, so we should love one another, and that’s how we’ll know who is “right” with God.

          But we all know how very, very difficult it is to love one another. Let’s face it: there are some very unlovable people out there. I myself have a very hard time loving mean people. It doesn’t matter who they are socio-economically; a mean rich person, a mean homeless person, a mean Democrat or a mean Republican, a mean man or a mean woman or a mean child, a mean white person or a mean person of color, a mean liberal or a mean conservative. I just have a hard time loving people who are mean toward others, whether in action or attitude. The flip side of this quandary is that I then have some very mean thoughts toward those mean people. And mean thoughts often result in mean actions. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone, indeed (see John 8:7).

          My Christianity has changed considerably since my childhood church days. I don’t see God as an old white man anymore, but rather as a genderless spirit of pure light and love who inhabits all of his/her creation. I see Jesus as a Palestinian Jew and not a fair-haired, fair-skinned European man. I recognize that the Old Testament stories are based on hundreds of generations of oral history that was influenced by a number of Middle Eastern and Mediterranean cultures and languages, and not eyewitness accounts recorded by ancient journalists. I acknowledge the fact that the New Testament scriptures were selected from a great collection of letters and accounts by men in power, and that the voices of women and minorities were greatly overlooked. I realize now that the interpretations of these scriptures must take into account their linguistic, cultural, and historical contexts in order to fully understand and bring them to life for our present day realities. And I fully believe that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is not a set of four books in the New Testament, but the Good News that Jesus proclaimed: that God loves us enough to give up everything for us, to overlook our shortcomings and imperfections and cover us with incomprehensible grace, and inspire us to love each other as God loves us, thereby resulting in “right” actions toward each other.

          In the Old Testament, God expressed God’s self to the world through God’s chosen people, the Jews. In the New Testament, God expressed God’s self to the world through God’s only son, Jesus. And now, God expresses God’s self in the world through the Christ-Spirit, the spirit of love and mercy and compassion and forgiveness and joy that permeates the world, every language, culture, place, and religion. The writer of 1 John didn’t say, “If you espouse this set of beliefs and hold these tenets of the doctrine dear, then you are born of God and you know God.” He (or she, who knows for sure?) said, “…everyone who loves is born of God and knows God.”      

          The Apostle Paul is credited with writing that we are saved by grace, and not by works (Ephesians 2:8-9). Yet, also allegedly according to Paul, we will be judged by what we have done (2 Corinthians 5:10). The two statements seem contradictory, don’t they? Here’s my interpretation: grace is a gift, freely available to all who will open their minds and hearts to it. It is not a reward that can be earned (as many Christians seem to preach). But I see “Judgment Day” as the day we enter into the eternal presence of God, with those who have done good in their lives—loving others as God loves us—getting to sit a little closer to God at the metaphorical table, no matter who they are—Christian, Jew, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, agnostic, rich, poor, gay, straight, whoever—than those who were more focused on having the right belief systems and doctrines, and who were obsessed with being the “right” person before God based on their doctrinal affiliations. Obsessing about the right belief system leads to pride, which is a sin, which separates us from God. But those who possess the spirit of Christ—whether they are aware of it as such or not—will display the Spirit’s fruits: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galatians 5:22-23). There is no law against such things, so these must be what God is looking for in one who is born of God and knows God, right?

          The late writer and poet Maya Angelou, who passed away just this last week, wrote, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” All people want to feel loved; when we feel judged, we don’t feel loved. That’s not to say we should refrain from discerning and calling out beliefs, attitudes, and behaviors that are harmful towards others. Such discernment is what spurs Christians toward activism leading to social justice for the poor and the oppressed. But when Christians judge others through the lens of their own rigidly defined set of beliefs and doctrines to the point where the result is oppression and harm to the one being judged, it becomes clear that the motivation is not love at all, but rather fear—which is the opposite of love (see 1 John 4:18). Judgment and fear are most certainly not fruits of the spirit of Christ.

          Right actions don’t always result from right beliefs; just look at the abominable way some Christians treat women, the poor, and GLBT individuals. But might it be possible that right beliefs always result from right actions? That loving others unconditionally and unselfishly naturally results in bringing us closer to the heart of God? That actively pursuing the fruits of the spirit of Christ will bring us into fellowship with God and God’s people? And when we arrive at that point, might we then realize that God’s people—those who are born of God and know God—represent a much broader community of humanity than we originally believed? Those who know God are better able to see others as God sees them. This renewed perception makes loving others, as well as ourselves, a little bit easier.

          I suppose this theology of love can be summed up pretty simply: Do your best to love God, love yourself, love others, and love creation unconditionally. By doing so, you’ll be drawn closer to the mind and heart of God.

Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love.

1 John 4:8 NRSV

Born to Wander

          I have long been an enthusiast of personality archetypes (see my post of July 8, 2013). While I believe they are useful tools for introspection, self-discovery, and personal development, I do not believe they should be used to typecast and pigeonhole other people; human beings are simply too complex to be lumped into one of a handful of descriptions. However, with greater self-awareness comes a deeper insight into the inclinations, motivations, and inherent worth of other people, thus leading to greater mutual understanding.

          Lately I’ve discovered the enneagram types, a system based on ancient wisdom that has been updated by many adherents to be relevant to our modern-day historical, cultural, and scientific contexts. I’ve taken several of the free online assessments, and gotten several different results. But after reading descriptions of the nine types and responding to statements that resonate strongly with me, I’ve decided that my dominant type is Seven, called by some the Adventurer and by others the Enthusiast. Sevens desire life to be fun and exciting, and they want to make it so for others. Sevens are often entertainers, storytellers, event planners, travel agents, and the like. For a Seven, the world is rich with the potential for wonder, excitement, discovery, and adventure, and we want to bring others along for the ride.

          Adventure often entails risk. While I’ve never been much of a risk-taker—I avoided engaging in physically risky activities such as contact sports, skiing, and the like—I have embraced risk in other ways: through travel, exploration, new hobbies and pursuits, academic challenges, relocation, and vicariously through reading, television, film, and the internet. We Sevens get bored easily. Just look at my resume, and you’ll see that staying in one place for too long is not my habit. The thought of working for decades for the same employer abhors me, especially because there’s so much else out there for me to discover and learn. I spent the first twenty years of my life in the same small town, in only three different houses, and remember often longing for the day when I could be free from that confined existence. Before I ever set foot in another country (I was in high school the first time I left the US—for a day trip into Canada—and in college the first time I flew in an airplane, to Mexico), I read about far-away places and their people and dreamed of experiencing those places and people for myself.

          In addition to craving adventure and excitement, many Sevens desire to be in the limelight. That’s what attracted me to drama club and band in high school, and theater classes in college. That’s why I like to write, not to create a critically-acclaimed work of great literature (Write to appeal to literati snobs? Not me!), but to inform, inspire, and entertain others with my storytelling. And I think for me, teaching was performing. I wasn’t as concerned about the psychological processes of the teaching-learning experience, or the positive impact I was making on future generations, as I was about bringing learning to life for my students and making the experience stimulating and exciting for them. As a professional educator, I recognize the value of curriculum design and learning assessment—but let’s not take the fun out of it, because if it ain’t fun, it ain’t worth doing…to a Seven, anyway.

          I’m convinced that had I been born hundreds of years ago, I would have been an explorer, setting sail for the New World or the South Pacific or the Far East, discovering for myself their mysterious, beautiful places and people. And if I were to be born hundreds of years from now, I would most likely be an interstellar traveler, just like the characters in the Star Trek television shows, films, and novels I love so much. Sometimes I fantasize about what role I would have on a starship such as the Enterprise: Would I be a ship’s historian, cataloging and categorizing the crews’ discoveries? A xenologist, studying alien cultures and specializing in first contact? Maybe I’d be in charge of crew training and development, equipping personnel to perform their duties as efficiently as possible. I’d certainly not be in command; I don’t enjoy being in charge and giving orders to others. Nor would I be in engineering; science was always too concrete and detail-oriented for me. And security? Not for me; I’m too sensitive to pain to inflict it on others or experience it myself. I wouldn’t be ship’s counselor, either. While I like helping people with their problems occasionally, doing so day in and day out is mentally, emotionally, and physically draining for me…not to mention just plain boring.

          The paragraph immediately preceding this one demonstrates one of my secondary enneagram types, number Four: The Romantic. Romantics tend to live in the past and/or the future, neglecting to fully live in the moment. That would be one of my weaknesses: Focusing too much on what could be and not enough on what is. As a goal for personal growth, I need to learn to live more in the moment, to see the excitement and adventure in life as it is now. One of my goals this year, now that I’ve left the confines of a full-time role as an academic counselor, is to focus on acquiring the skills and knowledge I need to achieve my next career goals and not let boredom or insecurity get in the way (it was insecurity, in part, that led me to climb the academic career ladder in the first place). The great voyages of discovery in the past required careful planning and patience, and so it is with my own, new voyage of discovery into online teaching and web design. Planning, patience, and perseverance are all part of the adventure, too.

          It has been said that the journey is more important than the destination. For me, there is adventure and excitement in both, for at the end of one journey lies the beginning of the next. As J.R.R. Tolkien wrote, “…not all who wander are lost.” Perhaps I’m just one of those who was born to wander.

Reviewing my Statement of Faith

          This morning our church service honored and recognized five teenagers who completed the confirmation class last fall and who decided to continue their faith journeys by affirming their baptisms and joining the church as full members. Part of the process of confirmation was writing a personal faith statement. It was touching and inspiring to hear several of the faith statements read aloud, and it reminded me of the faith statement I wrote when I first joined St. Andrew's Presbyterian Church in February 2008. So I looked up my statement, written almost six years ago, and examined it to see how it has changed over the years. Below is my original faith statement with additions and comments inserted in [brackets] and italics. I figure if those young people at my church are brave enough to share their faith statements with the congregation, I can be brave, too.

Mark Isham

Statement of Faith

St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church

Pleasant Hill, California

February 2008

On God

I believe in God, creator of everything that was, is, and is to come. To me, that which I can experience with my five senses, both directly and indirectly, is evidence of God’s work and presence in this world and beyond.

I believe in God’s love and care for me as an individual. My own life history and its events, circumstances, and characters are evidence of God’s ever-present involvement with and concern for my life.

I believe in God’s love and care for others. The convictions and stirrings within my heart are evidence to me that God works within me to express love and care toward others, and I see events and circumstances in the lives of others that convince me of God’s love and concern for them.

On Jesus

I believe that Jesus is an actual historic figure, present on this earth some two thousand years ago in Judea, and that the reality of his existence is verified by Biblical accounts and other historic documents.

I believe that Jesus was the embodiment of the spirit of God to the world at that time, God’s representative to the world and known as God’s Son. I base this belief on the words of Jesus himself as we understand them through modern interpretations of the New Testament.

I believe that Jesus came to show us a better way to relate to God, a way through the acceptance of God’s love and grace toward us, and not through mere laws and rituals, and that this message of Jesus resulted in his crucifixion [at the hands of religious authorities who felt their power and control were threatened by Jesus’ message of love, grace, and inclusion]. I believe that Jesus died for all our sins, and that all sin is rooted in either fear, selfish ambition, or the desire to attain God’s grace by our own works. This belief is based on Scripture, church tradition and teachings, and my own meditations.

I believe Jesus did, indeed, rise from the dead on the third day after his crucifixion, and that this miracle is a sign of the promise I have of eternal existence in fellowship with God and all others to whom God has extended the privilege of fellowship. [I believe that God has already extended the privilege to all persons in all times--past, present, and future--as a gift of grace, which is the Good News of the Gospel, and that many who claim to be followers of Christ would limit that gift only to those who adopt their own brand of Christianity. In my viewpoint, this is heresy.]

I believe that the world as we know it will, indeed, end someday by God’s decree, although I do not claim to know when or how it will occur [nor does any other human being know this now or ever].

On the Holy Spirit

I believe that the Holy Spirit is God’s continued presence in the world, and that the Holy Spirit’s primary vessels for the expression of God’s love and care to the world are the church, being the individuals who comprise the universal fellowship of believers in Jesus as Christ.

However, I believe the Holy Spirit works in the hearts and minds of various individuals in different ways with different manifestations, even in the hearts and minds of those who do not adhere to the Christian tradition.

I believe that the Holy Spirit is the guide on an individual’s journey of faith toward God, and that I may serve only as a companion-advisor in another person’s journey. I believe that individuals might be guided by the Holy Spirit even though those individuals are not aware that they are being guided by God’s Spirit.

On the Church

As Christ was the embodiment of God’s spirit in his time, so I believe the church is the embodiment of Christ in our time [as well as others whom God chooses to call and who choose Christ-like attitudes and actions]. As John said about Christ, “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him,” so I believe that the church’s charge is not to condemn the world, but to continue the saving work of God begun by Jesus by expressing God’s love and care to others without condition, following Jesus’ example and extending grace to all, thereby building God’s kingdom on earth.

On my individual relationship with God through faith in Jesus

My own faith journey started from the beginning of my life. I was raised by Christian parents who were involved in the life of their church. I attended services and Sunday school all through my childhood and adolescence. Indeed, I have never stopped attending church throughout my life. I have been involved in various roles in churches of several different denominations, but primarily Baptist, Methodist, or Presbyterian. I even earned my undergraduate degree at a Christian university.

But as regularly flying in an airplane does not make one an airline pilot, neither does regular attendance and involvement in church mean one has a close relationship with God. I would say that the most meaningful moments I have spent with God were not in church, but rather in the quietness of my home or room, or in a beautiful natural setting such as a mountaintop or a forest glade or along a coastline or while watching a gorgeous sunrise or sunset. Those are the times when I have truly felt God’s presence both within me and outside of me.

The biggest challenge I have faced in my faith development is my personal identity and how others perceive me. Growing up gay in a small, conservative town in Texas in the 1970’s and 80’s was not easy, and for the longest time I believed that there was something in me that needed fixing, that I needed to first change myself in order to be worthy of God’s grace. To make a very long story as short as possible, I prayed and prayed for that change, and nothing happened. Then I prayed for God to help me accept myself with conditions, and nothing happened. Then I finally prayed for God to help me accept myself as I am, and the burden was finally lifted. I believe that was the first time in my life that I experienced God’s love and grace toward me in a very real and personal way. I respect the journeys that other Christian people have experienced and what they have come to understand about God through their journeys [as long as those understandings do not cause harm to others], and I expect them to respect my journey as evidence of God’s love and grace in my life.

On my role as a member at St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church

As a member of St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church, I will contribute of my time, talents, and finances as I am able. I will do my best to treat other members of the congregation with love and respect, and I expect the same of them in return. I will support the pastors, elders, deacons, and staff with my prayers and words of encouragement. I will seek to use my natural and spiritual gifts to contribute to the life of the church. I will prayerfully consider requests that are made of me, and either accommodate those requests, or respectfully decline them, as I am led by the Spirit. [NOTE: I will soon complete my first year as a deacon at St. Andrew’s. I have learned much about serving others…but especially about how to make coffee for large numbers of people. LOL].