After we got married, Ryan and I rented one half of a duplex in a tiny, map-dot-of-a-town, right off US 68, forty miles north of Cincinnati. We thought of going on a vacation early that fall, but then remembered we had recently graduated from college with a stupid amount of student-loan debt and he was getting ready to go back to school and we had no money for a vacation. Instead, we both used our paid vacation week to stay home and tackle painting white the hideous grease-brown cabinets in the rental kitchen.
And we seriously underestimated the investment of time and effort required for that task.
Thoroughly exhausted and with our patience wearing dangerously thin, we decided to take one day and do something away from the house and away from those damn cabinets. We got in my old Nissan and started driving south on US 68. (Because obviously, if you're sick of working together for 18 hours a day on a tedious project, the ideal break from that would be to spend an entire day together in the car.)
I don't remember anything we talked about. We probably spent a lot of time listening to music and not talking at all. I remember we pulled over at a few places along the way to take photos, as well as taking a lot of drive-by pictures out the window. I remember that by the time we got to Lexington, Kentucky the trip wasn't seeming like such an awesome idea. While we could drive away exhaustion and frustration for a little while with the open road ahead of us, we still had to drive all the way back home to our bills and our real life and those damn cabinets.
And it was a long drive back.
Sometimes I think about what it would have been like if we hadn't gone back. I'm not talking about actually running away, I just wonder what it would have been like if we hadn't felt like we had to do the standard jobs-kids-house thing and had done something totally different instead. There were times we talked about it. We talked about moving to the city, where I'd go to grad school. We talked about moving to North Carolina so he could pursue a different type of job opportunity. But we didn't. We always went back to real life -- near our families and where we grew up -- just like we did that day when we got to the other side of Lexington and turned around.
Our road-trip experience is only going to get me so far as a metaphor for my spiritual journey, but as I was reading the Daily Office this morning, something reminded of that trip and that same feeling of wanting to keep going because there were so few good reasons to go back.
In terms of my spiritual life, there are days I ask myself what was the big deal with how things were, back when I was still trying to fit that ideal of the good Christian girl my parents tried to raise me to be. Some days I wonder what the hell I'm doing with all this unraveling and shattering and searching and weaving. I am tired. I feel alienated from a lot of people I used to feel like I was close to. Would it really have been so bad to have stayed where I was?
I read the words of other people who have left behind a lot of the same things I have discarded and they seem so sure of their journey. They are so sure of it that they can blog about it almost every day while writing a book about it and debating their thoughts about it on social media. They have answers and direction and purpose. It's not that I want to be those people, it's just that their certainty makes me wonder how I am still so unsure. If I made the conscious decision to unravel it all and burn down what was left and leave all those paradigms in the dust, why do I still have that feeling in the pit of my stomach that I have no idea where I'm headed?
And that's the thing about going somewhere without any real plan. At some point, the sense of adventure loses its luster and you get tired and irritated at yourself for agreeing to such a thing and you can't decide if it is worse to keep going or to give up and turn around. Even if you're mostly sure it is worth it to press on, you can't be sure that what's ahead is actually better than what you left behind. Perhaps what you're getting away from was painful, but maybe the unknown isn't actually better.
I am not sure. I continue reading and questioning and praying and processing. I'm squinting, trying to determine if this direction is really where I should be going. I have this feeling that it's right there. I can't see it, I can only sense that ahead is a better understanding of this beautiful mystery of the gospel and that this journey is about grasping the hem of Incarnation and astonishment and redemption and love.
I recently read Beauty Will Save the World by Brian Zahnd. In it, he writes, "To rediscover Christianity in all of its astonishing mystery and beauty will utterly overwhelm us and make all of our notions about its devaluation feel completely redundant. It will leave our skepticism in shreds." That is exactly how I feel. Everything is slanting and my cynicism is falling away and it seems that rock around my heart is starting to crumble. I can feel myself being broken and wrecked and I feel raw and exposed and I'm quite honestly a little frightened, but I keep going. In a way, I'm not sure I could turn around, even though it seems that might be easier.
At this point I can't tell if it's me and my stubbornness or if the Holy Spirit may actually exist in the way I've always wondered was truly possible. I really hope it's all true. I really hope that if I keep going, someday, I'll manage to reach the point where my awareness of the mystery and beauty assures me I'm going in the right direction, even if I'm still not sure of where I'll end up.
I really don't want to go back.
Showing posts with label Brian Zahnd. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Brian Zahnd. Show all posts
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
The Word Made Flesh
"Let us try to grasp the significance of the Word made flesh" - Thomas Keating
There are many topics being debated these days – self-image, modesty, purity, sexuality, relationships, rights, responsibilities, the circumstances of others, the autonomy of others, and so on. Even if we try not to get drawn into the debates, we are often forced to consider our own views on these matters and, if we are parents, will eventually have to discuss them with our children. Our views on these topics are usually a result of the framework we use to evaluate and process life. Increasingly I feel that if this framework is too narrow, too focused on one aspect of morality, it is easily distorted and leaves us ill-equipped to make determinations of how to respond when life doesn't fall neatly into our pre-defined criteria.
Over the past few years I’ve been in the process of dismantling much of what I was taught while growing up in Evangelical Homeschooling culture. I’ve had to discard a lot of baggage associated with the popular “Godly” methods that were promoted by various groups over that time. The framework for most “Godly child training” I encountered involved a focus on obedience – obedience for the sake of raising children who are obedient to their parents (and thus, to God) – in the ways defined by the specific methods of each group.
It is clear to me now that whether or not I am living my faith well or raising my children successfully is not determined by how we measure up to a trendy method established by some other person’s interpretation of “God’s Way.” I understand that I need to replace that old, discarded thinking with something new, for my own faith and in raising my kids. But rather than embracing a new “method,” what I’m attempting to define are the basic beliefs that provide a general framework for thoughts and behavior.
I’m increasingly drawn to the study of Incarnation and the way it so beautifully incorporates how I want to live and what I want to teach my children about everything from making wise choices for ourselves to how we treat others. I don’t want to be ashamed of my body and I don’t want my kids to be ashamed of theirs, but I also want us to understand that the body is sacred. I don’t want us to behave as though other people’s bodies exist for our judgment or pleasure. I want us to care about the physical needs of others and make choices that are good for our bodies and our spirits.
I completely identify with Barbara Brown Taylor when she writes, "I do not recall ever being told that my flesh is good in church, or that God takes pleasure in it. Yet this is the central claim of the incarnation—that God trusted flesh and blood to bring divine love to earth."
Incarnation is not something that was specifically discussed in my home or in my church growing up. Of course I was taught that Jesus was God in human form, but I can think of no deep discussion of what that truly meant for humanity, other than Jesus coming to die for our sins. I was never instilled with a sense of awe for what it means for “the Word,” present with God and one with God from the beginning of time, to be “made flesh.” (I’m not even sure if anyone would have been okay with using the word “flesh,” because it has such scandalous connotations in those circles.)
Yet as I've studied the writing of Barbara Brown Taylor, along with Richard Beck, Thomas Keating, Brian Zahnd, and others who write of Incarnation, I'm struck by how their understanding of it is woven through their work, even when they are addressing other topics. The way they view humanity and their belief that God cares for our physical bodies has transformed the way I understand my faith. I have no delusions that I have new insight to offer the world on Incarnation and I realize I do not fully comprehend it, but I can feel it continuing to transform my thinking and the way I view humanity. I’m still trying to grasp the full significance of passages like this:
When I read and meditate on these words, I cannot help but be convinced that I was getting it wrong by attempting to adhere to a faith framework based strictly on morality or obedience. Not that morality and obedience are wrong in themselves, but by using those things as the lens to view myself and others, I was focusing on how well we measured up to those standards, rather than beginning with an understanding that we are all human beings created in the image of God.
When I think of my own self-worth and teach my children about theirs, the belief that Jesus loves and redeemed our humanness must influence that. When I consider my interactions with other people and how I teach my children to treat others, my belief that God loves and values not only the inner life, but also the physical existence of both ourselves and others will necessarily be part of that. Drawing again from Taylor, "One of the truer things about bodies is that it is just about impossible to increase the reverence I show mine without also increasing the reverence I show yours."
Internalizing a sense of reverence for the human body allows me to see the human form of everyone else as a gift God gave to that person. I can never view their body as an object, as something that exists to please me or meet my personal expectations or preferences. They may be any shape or size. They may be considered attractive or not. They may use their bodies to practice the rituals of a religion different from mine. They may have different anatomy than I have or experience their sexuality differently than I experience mine. They may love their own body or they may feel they were born in the wrong body. But each person I encounter has a body and I cannot love that person in some abstract way as though his or her body were an afterthought or is somehow subject to my approval.
And when I teach this sense of reverence to my kids, when I tell them the stories of Jesus in close fellowship with the marginalized of society, when I tell them of the woman washing his feet with her hair, I can remind them that Jesus was just as human as they are and that he was the example of how we should value and respect the humanness of others. Jesus didn't see our flesh as dirty or wrong, but as something beautiful and in the process of being redeemed. As Brian Zahnd has written, "In the Incarnation Jesus makes beautiful all that it means to be human."
What I am now attempting to discern is how to continue to apply the insight and wisdom others have shared about Incarnation. One of my favorite passages from Thomas Keating reads, "Once God takes upon himself the human condition, everyone is potentially divine. Through the Incarnation of his Son, God floods the whole human family -- past, present, and to come -- with his majesty, dignity, and grace.” Our bodies are the basic component of the human condition, and therefore we must learn to respect and honor our own bodies as well as the bodies of other people. Truly grasping this undermines the temptation to dismiss others, to objectify others, or to turn a blind eye to their physical needs.
I have only scratched the surface of all there is to learn about Incarnation, but I keep coming back to how it reminds me that I’m connected to God as well as to others and how that connectedness should influence every aspect of my life. As Zahnd points out, Incarnation shows us “what God is like and how to be human,” and Barbara Brown Taylor reminds us, “wearing skin… is what we have most in common with one another.” My hope is that rather than focusing too narrowly on current trends or hot topics, I can live my faith in a way that exhibits a deepening understanding of the way my human flesh connects me to God and to other people. And I hope living this out will help my kids understand and see the beauty there as well.
Note: Thomas Keating quotes are from The Mystery of Christ, Barbara Brown Taylor quotes are from An Altar in the World, and Brian Zahnd quotes are from Beauty Will Save the World
There are many topics being debated these days – self-image, modesty, purity, sexuality, relationships, rights, responsibilities, the circumstances of others, the autonomy of others, and so on. Even if we try not to get drawn into the debates, we are often forced to consider our own views on these matters and, if we are parents, will eventually have to discuss them with our children. Our views on these topics are usually a result of the framework we use to evaluate and process life. Increasingly I feel that if this framework is too narrow, too focused on one aspect of morality, it is easily distorted and leaves us ill-equipped to make determinations of how to respond when life doesn't fall neatly into our pre-defined criteria.
Over the past few years I’ve been in the process of dismantling much of what I was taught while growing up in Evangelical Homeschooling culture. I’ve had to discard a lot of baggage associated with the popular “Godly” methods that were promoted by various groups over that time. The framework for most “Godly child training” I encountered involved a focus on obedience – obedience for the sake of raising children who are obedient to their parents (and thus, to God) – in the ways defined by the specific methods of each group.
It is clear to me now that whether or not I am living my faith well or raising my children successfully is not determined by how we measure up to a trendy method established by some other person’s interpretation of “God’s Way.” I understand that I need to replace that old, discarded thinking with something new, for my own faith and in raising my kids. But rather than embracing a new “method,” what I’m attempting to define are the basic beliefs that provide a general framework for thoughts and behavior.
I’m increasingly drawn to the study of Incarnation and the way it so beautifully incorporates how I want to live and what I want to teach my children about everything from making wise choices for ourselves to how we treat others. I don’t want to be ashamed of my body and I don’t want my kids to be ashamed of theirs, but I also want us to understand that the body is sacred. I don’t want us to behave as though other people’s bodies exist for our judgment or pleasure. I want us to care about the physical needs of others and make choices that are good for our bodies and our spirits.
I completely identify with Barbara Brown Taylor when she writes, "I do not recall ever being told that my flesh is good in church, or that God takes pleasure in it. Yet this is the central claim of the incarnation—that God trusted flesh and blood to bring divine love to earth."
Incarnation is not something that was specifically discussed in my home or in my church growing up. Of course I was taught that Jesus was God in human form, but I can think of no deep discussion of what that truly meant for humanity, other than Jesus coming to die for our sins. I was never instilled with a sense of awe for what it means for “the Word,” present with God and one with God from the beginning of time, to be “made flesh.” (I’m not even sure if anyone would have been okay with using the word “flesh,” because it has such scandalous connotations in those circles.)
Yet as I've studied the writing of Barbara Brown Taylor, along with Richard Beck, Thomas Keating, Brian Zahnd, and others who write of Incarnation, I'm struck by how their understanding of it is woven through their work, even when they are addressing other topics. The way they view humanity and their belief that God cares for our physical bodies has transformed the way I understand my faith. I have no delusions that I have new insight to offer the world on Incarnation and I realize I do not fully comprehend it, but I can feel it continuing to transform my thinking and the way I view humanity. I’m still trying to grasp the full significance of passages like this:
The lost beauty of God’s good creation is what is recovered in the Incarnation. The beauty of the image of God marred in man through the Fall is what the Incarnation redeems. By a deep appreciation of the human vocation to bear the image of God, we realize that the value of a human being is in no way determined by what he can do—this is the sin of objectification (treating humans as objects). Human value is derived from the image all humans bear—the Imago Dei. It is the image of God deformed in humanity that Christ recovers through his Incarnation. - Brian Zahnd
Or this:
In Christian teaching, followers of Jesus are called to honor the bodies of our neighbors as we honor our own. In his expanded teaching by example, this includes leper bodies, possessed bodies, widow and orphan bodies, as well as foreign bodies and hostile bodies—none of which he shied away from. Read from the perspective of the body, his ministry was about encountering those whose flesh was discounted by the world in which they lived. - Barbara Brown Taylor
When I read and meditate on these words, I cannot help but be convinced that I was getting it wrong by attempting to adhere to a faith framework based strictly on morality or obedience. Not that morality and obedience are wrong in themselves, but by using those things as the lens to view myself and others, I was focusing on how well we measured up to those standards, rather than beginning with an understanding that we are all human beings created in the image of God.
When I think of my own self-worth and teach my children about theirs, the belief that Jesus loves and redeemed our humanness must influence that. When I consider my interactions with other people and how I teach my children to treat others, my belief that God loves and values not only the inner life, but also the physical existence of both ourselves and others will necessarily be part of that. Drawing again from Taylor, "One of the truer things about bodies is that it is just about impossible to increase the reverence I show mine without also increasing the reverence I show yours."
Internalizing a sense of reverence for the human body allows me to see the human form of everyone else as a gift God gave to that person. I can never view their body as an object, as something that exists to please me or meet my personal expectations or preferences. They may be any shape or size. They may be considered attractive or not. They may use their bodies to practice the rituals of a religion different from mine. They may have different anatomy than I have or experience their sexuality differently than I experience mine. They may love their own body or they may feel they were born in the wrong body. But each person I encounter has a body and I cannot love that person in some abstract way as though his or her body were an afterthought or is somehow subject to my approval.
And when I teach this sense of reverence to my kids, when I tell them the stories of Jesus in close fellowship with the marginalized of society, when I tell them of the woman washing his feet with her hair, I can remind them that Jesus was just as human as they are and that he was the example of how we should value and respect the humanness of others. Jesus didn't see our flesh as dirty or wrong, but as something beautiful and in the process of being redeemed. As Brian Zahnd has written, "In the Incarnation Jesus makes beautiful all that it means to be human."
What I am now attempting to discern is how to continue to apply the insight and wisdom others have shared about Incarnation. One of my favorite passages from Thomas Keating reads, "Once God takes upon himself the human condition, everyone is potentially divine. Through the Incarnation of his Son, God floods the whole human family -- past, present, and to come -- with his majesty, dignity, and grace.” Our bodies are the basic component of the human condition, and therefore we must learn to respect and honor our own bodies as well as the bodies of other people. Truly grasping this undermines the temptation to dismiss others, to objectify others, or to turn a blind eye to their physical needs.
I have only scratched the surface of all there is to learn about Incarnation, but I keep coming back to how it reminds me that I’m connected to God as well as to others and how that connectedness should influence every aspect of my life. As Zahnd points out, Incarnation shows us “what God is like and how to be human,” and Barbara Brown Taylor reminds us, “wearing skin… is what we have most in common with one another.” My hope is that rather than focusing too narrowly on current trends or hot topics, I can live my faith in a way that exhibits a deepening understanding of the way my human flesh connects me to God and to other people. And I hope living this out will help my kids understand and see the beauty there as well.
Note: Thomas Keating quotes are from The Mystery of Christ, Barbara Brown Taylor quotes are from An Altar in the World, and Brian Zahnd quotes are from Beauty Will Save the World
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