"The Bible Tells Me So?"

One of the choruses imprinted in my brain from my Sunday School years in a small church in Pennsylvania is "Jesus loves me this I know, for the bible tells me so."  I belted it out with my friends singing as off key as the lady playing the piano.  We sang with conviction for our parents on a tiny stage beneath such a low ceiling adults could bang their heads on the water and heating pipes.  I learned, when questioned about my beliefs, to reply "the bible tells me so."

I suspect I am not the only adult wandering around with such imprints.  At the same time I have seen time and time again how this mantra is often based on a blind belief that each word and phrase in our bibles is exactly the words first recorded-possibly directly from the lips of God.  For some, the bible is without error.  As a pastor and a lifelong student of the bible I have come to see how mistranslations have occurred and how they impacted questions of belief.

Since 1958 a group of scholars have been engaged in the Hebrew University Bible Project in Jerusalem.  Their goal is to publish as accurately as possible an authoritative text of the Hebrew Bible (what we Christians call the Old Testament).  Discovering just how fluid the texts were and that the transmission was messy and more human than we may like to believe, progress has been slow.  They have produced 3 of the Hebrew Bible's 24 books in 50 years!

My point?  Maybe we should be more cautious in discussions and proclamations of saying what we know to be true because "the bible tells me so."  While it may be comforting in times of confusion and uncertainty I may well be wrong based on the translation I quote.  Perhaps the faith community and our interaction with the larger society could be better served by a dose of humility and a reluctance to issue Mount Sinai like proclamations-"THE BIBLE TELLS ME SO!"  Maybe it doesn't it!

"Surf's Up"

The beach beneath my feet gave way with each step.  The fine, white sand slipped away from my feet and through my fingers.  The afternoon sun was a red-hot skillet looking for skin to sizzle.  And the waves...the waves were wonderful.  One after another they lined up in the Pacific Ocean and began to roll up towards the shore.  While some simply washed by me others became a frothy pool of power that either propelled me toward the shore or pummeled me beneath the water.  It was both breath-taking and body taxing.

Then there were the surfers, people of all ages paddling out to wait for the bigger waves.  Two days before I had watched the 'surf lesson' for tourists on Waikiki Beach.  The surf board was placed on the sand, a few comments were made about how to paddle out, and then the instructor showed the young girls how to stand on the board.  Then they went into the waves.  This reminded of the many times in my life when I felt like that was all the training I had been given.

Waves can and do scare me.  My understanding is that, to surf, one of the first steps is to face your fears and let some good sized waves hit you and move you.  You discover you can survive the waves.  Then you paddle out to the waves surfers enjoy and stand up and ride the frothy waters.  You don't paddle to shore as the waves get bigger or wait for the ocean to calm down.

Well, the economic surf is up, one large wave after another lining up and rolling towards us.  The 'surfers', the investors and advisers, seem to be looking at the waves with increasing fear (which may be reasonable since I know little about this except that some of my investments seem to be slipping through my hands like fine sand).  They are deciding they cannot ride these waves so they sell and settle and wait for calmer seas.  Like us, they are scared.  We may be creating a self-fulfilling prophecy-we can't ride these waves so we don't and it seems more and more like we can't ride them.

I don't know much about investing and I know even less about surfing.  The surfers I saw believed in themselves and looked for the challenge of bigger waves, whether they wiped out or not.  Maybe if all of us who are 'economic surfers' would take a couple of deep breaths, paddle out and see what we can do, the waves would not seem so frightening.

For those of you with a religious bent, I remind you of words of faith written generations ago in a most uncertain and fearful time: "God is both refuge and strength for us, a help always ready in trouble; so we shall not be afraid though the earth be in turmoil, though mountains tumble into the depth of the sea, and its waters roar and seethe; and the mountains totter as it heaves."  (Psalm 46:1-3).  Surf's Up!  Time to paddle out, face our fears, and catch a wave!

"Outsiders"

Outsiders are the not normal, the different, the ones to be 'cured', the misunderstood, and the feared.  Life can be challenging and hard for such individuals and their families.  Unfortunately we, the seemingly normal, add to the challenge by our view of such people.  What joy do we miss because we focus on a singular aspect of a person instead of the person?

When Cheryl and I adopted bi-racial children we were warned how much damage we were doing to these children.  Social workers in the African American community and Caucasian family and friends talked about how hard life would be for our children and our family.  While it has been challenging and often hurtful it has been, in large part, so because others saw the 'different'.  Racially mixed children and families decades ago were outsiders.  We saw only our sons and daughters, adopted or born to us.  And we loved them all and have found joy in our relationship with each one.

He was a troubled teenager.  Serious emotional issues were compounded by the fact that he was gay.  School was too much and teachers saw a problem child.  In the 1980s and 1990s he was an outsider.  "If he would just change" was the mantra of most around him.  But he didn't because he was who he was.  His parents loved him and found joy in the better moments of their life together.  Being an outsider was too much for him and he took his own life.

This past spring a young boy came running over to where my grandchildren and others were playing at Happy Hollow Park.  His physical movements were uneven and jerky.  His voice was high pitched and his speech was almost impossible to understand.  I could see the caution light go on in adults eyes as some children welcomed him while others quickly moved to other playground equipment.  My first thought was how sad this must be for the boy and his parents-sad to be this way.  He is autistic, he is different, and we tend to see him as an outsider.  I hope and suspect, however hard some days are, that his parents see him only as their son.  And that they find joy in sharing life with him.

Life is about relationship and love.  We seem to spend so much time on seeing the different that we miss the joys of the moment.  We seek 'cures' and 'changes' and isolate the outsiders and miss the uniqueness of each individual.  IF we really believe that, in some way, God's breath is upon each life THEN we are called to relationship and the celebration of whatever joy that life can bring to our lives.

One God, on human family, one wonderful mix of individuals whose normal is different than ours.  It's a wonderful world; don't miss out on the joy by seeing others as outsiders.

Homeless in Hawaii

Heaven for the homeless may be Hawaii.  Every morning there is buffet in a bucket.  Grimy hands push the trash around finding coke in a cup, a partially eaten piece of pizza in a cardboard box, and two bites of a fish taco wrapped in a greasy paper.  Some church folk in Waikiki set up a lunch line in a park several days a week.  You can sleep on the beach or in a park.  There are even tents allowed in some parks.  The weather is mild so your shopping cart does not require a large wardrobe selection.  Why, you can even put up a cardboard box on a sidewalk across from a fashionable store and sell whatever it is you make.  I was surprised by the casualness and closeness of the homeless to the tourists and residents in Honolulu.

A problem is coming.  Honolulu is hosting an international meeting of some really BIG, IMPORTANT PEOPLE. It just will not do for some to have these folks so close to the homeless.  What to do?  Aside from some 'gentle' encouragement by law enforcement to move on you just can't pack them up.  However you can coincidentally schedule sidewalk, beach, and park improvements around the same time as your guests arrive.  It is understandable then if you must move the homeless.

I am not suggesting the folks in Hawaii are any different then the folks in Lafayette or me.  We all can live with homelessness as long as it is not an embarrassment or causes too many safety concerns.  And maybe that is what unsettled me-I can live with it.  Two bible verses roll around in my head: "you will always have the poor with you" and "if you have done it to the least of these you have done it to me."  I don't know yet how I will respond to this reminder of people in need but I can't ignore it.  Whether it is here or in Hawaii there is no heaven for the homeless.

"A Miserable Soul"

One of the more intriguing notes in my stack of retirement cards had this handwritten sentence: "Thank you for doing all you could to save my miserable soul."  How would you understand this sentence?  I called them 'Mom' and 'Dad' before I really understood I would not be here without them.  I came from them and some of my 'characteristics' (and character!) from physical appearance to gene pool reflect their essence in my life.  I learned to call God 'Daddy' before I really understood I would not be here without God.  If you would allow me (and I am going to say it anyway) my soul is from God.  How then could it be miserable?  That is not a characteristic of God!
Synonyms for miserable are helpful to my comments: bleak and forlorn-not too exciting a way to talk about oneself; wretched and godforsaken-now that's a little grim.  These words may describe how I feel at times BUT they do not describe my soul.  My soul may be affected by my behavior and choices which leave me feeling miserable, even godforsaken.  BUT my soul was not infected at my birthing by wretchedness (allow me to blog another day about 'original sin').
My soul, your soul, is part of the gift of life, part of all that we are.  I suspect we in the church have talked so long about our miserable souls that we have left any number of people feeling wretched and godforsaken. How could that which is God given be miserable?
I think I understand what my dear friend was saying to me and I deeply appreciate his compliment about the effect of my ministry in his life.  However, I have not seen my role as 'saving' anyone's miserable soul.  I have sought to help others celebrate the soulfulness of God that was, is, and always will be part of their lives.  And, for me, that soul is described, not by synonyms, but by antonyms for miserable: cheerful, joyful, encouraged.  These are characteristics of God and I pray you have discovered this 'gene pool' of God in your life.  A chorus from one of our old hymns has always been important to me: "It is well with my soul."

Training The Eye

For the past month I have had to deal with 'floaters' in my left eye.  They became very noticeable following a laser procedure.  My doctor says it often comes with 'older people', especially those with lens implants.  I have lens implants but I am still getting used to being one of the 'older people'!  Anyway, they are so annoying.  Much of the time I do not even know they are there.  Then I am reading and suddenly a black dot with ragged edges slides into the center of my vision turning printed words fuzzy.  Or I get ready to hit the tennis ball and a tangled black string slips into view and my eye follows its movement instead of the yellow ball.  Man, these floaters are messing up my vision!  The good news (according to my doctor) is that there is no tear in the retina and the eye can 'learn' not to see these floaters.  While they will always be hanging around, apparently the eye can be trained to ignore them.
All of this has left me wondering if some of the emotional aspects of my life are also affected in a similar way.  Hurtful actions and hateful words by others collect in some inner corner of my brain.  Most days I don't see them but then comes a challenging time or a vulnerable moment and suddenly my inner eye sees the 'floaters'.  My inner eye focuses on yesterday's collection of ragged lines and and black dots-each one a barrier to clearly seeing the day.  I get annoyed as my eye focuses on the floater and not the world in front of me.  Maybe I need to train my inner eye to look through these floaters and keep them from clouding the joy of this day.
My eye doctor tells me it can take months to train my left eye to ignore the floaters and focus on what I am seeing or reading.  I suspect it may take me years to train my inner eye to ignore those emotional floaters and focus on the day I have.  Let the training begin!

Of Fireflies and Fireworks

I sat in the wicker chair with my grandson, Aiden, watching some neighborhood fireworks shower the gray sky with multi-colored bursts just above the tree line.  With each explosion he would comment on how 'cool' that was.  The backdrop for the fireworks was an approaching thunderstorm.  The clouds stacked up, back lit by the remaining rays of sunlight.  Thunder rolled around us like bowling balls careening down polished alleys.  Slashing ribbons of lightening lit up the night sky as gray clouds sealed off the starlight.  Aiden said 'cool.' Fireflies came near us and one flew into a spider web near the concrete porch.  On hands and knees with his nose pressed near the web Aiden asked me: "How do they do that?" "Why do they do that?" "Will the spider kill it?" "Is it already dead?"  Then he used the tip of his finger to flip the firefly free.  He picked up a small stone, prodding the blinking yellow light-a nighttime caution sign.  Without hesitation the stone came down pressing the firefly into the concrete.  Aiden said 'cool.'  And I remembered my childhood moments sitting on the front porch of our home watching storms fall into the Pennsylvania hills.  And I remembered my childhood curiosity and smashing of fireflies.  Then Aiden called to me: "Look, Grandpa!  See all the fireflies."  The field across from us was a dark green blanket with a thousand dancing yellow lanterns, flickering on and off.  Aiden said 'cool.'  Where did I lose sight of how truly cool this gift of life is?  For a moment last night the concerns on my mind, the worries about world issues, and any restlessness they were stirring inside of me were lost in the joy of the moment.  And Grandpa said 'cool.'