
incarnation …
… and yours
[photo by Mattias Barthel per cc 2.0]

What is the message of the cross?
Not that God needed blood in order to be able to forgive,
But that no amount of rejection, violence or hate
Could keep God from forgiving.
How sad that even this most loving act
Has been reinterpreted as the requirement of a blood-thirsty god
Who is bent on vengeance unless he can be placated by death.
It tells us more about ourselves than we can bear to admit.
God did not drive the nails.
God endured it
And, sweet mystery, still offers to love and forgive.
Would that we could learn such love.
It is my greatest wish.
And God’s.
That is the message of the cross.
[cropped from photo by Adam Selwood per cc 2.0]
Here we are, the friends of my ponderings and me. We are sitting around the fire on a cool night. The fire has died to glowing embers and the night sky spreads out above us, full of infinite stars and infinite majesty. We look up, and sigh, and begin a slow and thoughtful conversation about faith and doubt and how it is that we find our heart’s true home.
“Just what is faith?” I ask, feeling around the edges of my soul for an answer that seems sure – an ironic search, I know, but an earnest one.
“Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” The words of the author of Hebrews come into my mind first as the ‘correct answer’ parroted by my Sunday school self, but as the words take shape in the cool night air, I can hear the essence of the very in-betweenness of faith – the knowing and not knowing.
“To one who has faith, no explanation is necessary. To one without faith, no explanation is possible,” muses Thomas Aquinas. I have to admit he sounds a bit smug. Maybe it’s just my ears.
‘Faith is an oasis in the heart which will never be reached by the caravan of thinking,’ Khalil Gibran nods in response. Again, the words seem pretty, but a bit foreign.
Sharon Salzberg makes it more personal, and more real, at least for me. “[Faith] is that movement of our heart that says, ‘Yes, this can be for me.’”
“Faith means an abiding trust that the way things are working out is part of something bigger and probably incomprehensible, but just knowing that it’s part of a larger constellation of meaning, it is a kind of comfort and a kind of succor and solace for a Jew.” Rabbi Lawrence Kushner, leans in closer to the fire. The reality of the Jewish experience gives his words a somber substance.
Anne Lamott chimes in, “Faith is a verb. … I don’t know what I’m going to see along the way, but I know that I’ll be sustained and I know I won’t be alone.”
Frederick Buechner takes up that theme, “Faith is better understood … as a process than as a possession. It is on-again-off-again rather than once-and-for-all. Faith is not being sure where you’re going, but going anyway.”
Richard Rohr nods, “Faith is more how to believe than what to believe … an initial opening of the heart … our small but necessary ‘yes.'”
“Faith is a living, daring confidence in God’s grace, so sure and certain that a man could stake his life on it a thousand times.” This bracing challenge from Martin Luther, who lived that reality.
His namesake, Martin Luther King, Jr., also has some experience in living the challenge. “Faith is taking the first step, even when we can’t see the whole staircase.”
I suddenly feel intimidated, sitting in the presence of those who’ve walked the plank of faith so much further than I’ve even dared to imagine. All of my doubts crowd in around me – doubts about my own faith, that, in self-protection, disguise themselves as doubts about the doctrines and ‘truths’ I’m supposed to believe. I sigh and shake my head.
Sharon Salzberg seems to sense my quandary and gives this assurance, “Questioning means longing to know the truth deeply and insisting that we can.”
The rabbi chimes in again, quoting his teacher, Samuel Sandmel, with a chuckle, “If you don’t seriously doubt the existence of God every couple of weeks, you are theologically comatose.” It is as if the willingness to seriously entertain doubt is the only way to hold on to faith.
This brings a chorus of assent, from Miguel de Unamuno, who suggests that “Faith which does not doubt is dead faith.”
Paul Tillich nods, “Doubt isn’t the opposite of faith; it is an element of faith.”
Voltaire acknowledges, “Doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is absurd.”
Then, Robertson Davies takes that a step further, and with a sinister and all-too-politically-relevant observation, “Fanaticism is…overcompensation for doubt.”
“So, wait … is doubt good or bad?” I ask.
“Doubt is real,” comes the answer. “It is only good if you acknowledge it and use it to shine a light into unexplored corners. It turns cancerous when you either let it paralyze you or you try to deny it, entirely.”
“One of the challenges with the concept of faith is that it is too easily framed as belief. We think it rests most firmly in our heads. In fact, this whole conversation has been rather heady. But faith lives most vibrantly in our hearts. It is what we rest our hearts upon. It is what we most deeply trust. And when we move forward, based upon that center, we are moving in faith. Indeed, all of us have faith in something, else we could not move at all. And when we move, despite our doubts, we gather confidence in that deep center.”
Someone rises to put another log on the fire. We watch as the flame grows around it.
“See, just what I was saying.” And everyone nods.
[photo by Jon Scally per cc 2.0]
{Thank you to Krista Tippett and On Being for the seeds of this conversation.]
You are, indeed, the great recycler. Not necessarily a moniker I should embrace for You in times of meditation. It seems a bit … well … too close to ‘sanitation engineer.’ But then, I need some cleaning up. My life becomes so easily cluttered and stained. My closet is too full of things I have laid aside in haste, thinking that I’ll sort them out later.
So often my life seems to wind its way along with muddle in its wake.
But nothing is wasted for You: no breath, no hope, nor hurt, nor sadness. You have the time to hold them all until they find their resolution in Your arms. It is in You that life comes full circle – that wholeness becomes whole; that all is redeemed, reclaimed, renewed. No atom is lost, but finds its way to a new home, a new bond, a new purpose, a new joy.
You take the hidden rhythms of chaos and fold them into wonder.
I breathe in the exhalation of the trees and smile in grateful abandon, releasing myself to this same eternal rhythm. I have no choice, of course. But I like to participate, as best I can, anyway. Maybe that simple smile along the way is how I join the dance.
[photo by Angélica Portales per cc 2.0 – made from PET soda bottles]
I can’t seem to keep my mind from wandering without my fingers on the keys. Something about watching the letters fall upon the page helps me focus. Somehow watching what has just happened lets me see a tiny bit into the future – thinking my way to the next word as the last one falls into black and white.
So I put myself in that space – in that little place of ‘nexting’ – letting it open up a focused opportunity for encounter. I am hoping for Your interference. Will You come? Are You there?
If sin is missing the mark,
And I am human
Isn’t missing the mark inevitable?
So, how is that my fault?
What if I’ve missed the point
As well as the mark?
What if it is not so much about avoiding sin
As learning from it?
Adjusting my aim
Strengthening my arm
Trying to actually see the target
Amid all the distractions.
Of course, I can still
Shoot myself in the foot.
Not trying is not allowed either –
Else it turns from sin to something else
This can’t be an excuse
Or I’ve missed it, again
And more …
AAAUGH!
Life as a caterpillar is hard
When you are really born to fly
And the crysallis of this life
Binds too sadly tight for complacency.
4 16 15
[photo P9194059 by Ian MacDonald per cc 2.0]
‘Why do we have to read poetry?’
‘Read it and you will know why. If you still don’t know, read it again.’
Some of them took the things she said to heart, as she had done once when they were said to her. She was helping them assume their humanity.
‘People have always made poetry,’ she told them. ‘Trust that it will matter to you.’
… Some of them did listen. This seemed to her to be perfectly miraculous.”
How do we assume our humanity – as individuals; as societies? What is it about listening to the heart of another that helps to shape our own? What is it about seeing the world through the eyes of another that stretches our soul beyond its stingy boundaries? Continue reading
“God is beyond our capacity to define because to define is to limit. God cannot be controlled, and therefore God cannot be defined…” – Rabbi Samuel Karff
As one who feels compelled to think things through, this presents a quandary. I want to understand, to grasp in my mind, to anchor my thoughts with carefully chosen words. Yet those very words which are the tools for understanding betray my intent because they are chosen – carefully – to mean a certain thing. They are always too small. Continue reading
Moishe the Beadle, in introducing the young Elie Wiesel to the ways of mystery, insisted that, ‘every question possessed a power that was lost in the answer.’
How so?
If I follow his lead … I don’t answer this question. I let it work its power in my heart.
(Not easy, is it?)
[Wiesel, E. (1958). Night. (2006 translation by M. Wiesel) New York: Hill & Wang. p. 5] [photo adapted from ‘Rabbi Avrohom Osdoba‘ by Joe Goldberg per cc 2.0]