No direction from pluralism.
Posted on 14 Oct 2008
I caught a glimpse of a fellow busrider reading the Bible and instead of feeling the usual kinship, I felt distant and even suspect of him: Is he an ill-mannered fundamentalist? Is he devout? Does he swear or drink? Does he fancy Palin? Does he hate the ACLU? Is he suspicious of mainstream media? Is he trying to get attention?
Such a change in perspective is no small thing for me. It is a thunderclap that hit years ago and has finally made it to this definitive point of dissociating from those whom I previously felt closest to. Odd. The roots are far-reaching: travel, mission work, getting burned by the Bush Administration, gracious and dear friends who challenged me on the heart of theological or political issues. One friend in particular is a spiritual-but-not-religious-agnostickish-former-Buddhist-labels-are-clearly-not-befitting man who was interested in my story/beliefs and willing to share his own story/beliefs. As it went, my greatest fear was that he would throttle my pedestrian takes on economic policy, abortion, certainty, or my reading of the Creation account and I’d be left looking like a fool. Really, Vegan Yale graduates such as he are near the top of my threatening species list. Well, such a moment never came, and to the best of my knowledge it was not his experience of me either. We had deep and rich discussions, affirming and crushing stereotypes willy-nilly; discussing matters of meditation, intelligent faith, drugs, the trendy Christ, the abhorrent TBN, Daily Kos, to name a few. I love it. We recently formalized our discussions and meet monthly with people of other faiths. Tables are overturned, conches are passed around.
Ever so incrementally, I see the world as others see it. I read the paper and news differently, I defend different ideologies, I hold my dogma loosely, and admit to being wrong with minimal loss of ego. It feels a bit like insecurity at times and I am often bogged down in a pathetic pluralism that doubts meaning or the relevance of experience (see existentialist drift). There is no direction to head when you don’t believe in the certainty of where you are. When you’ve swung so hard from one side to the other you wonder about the validity of all your most devout beliefs. This wonder feels like a crumbling rock cliff sometimes. You imagine you are wrong about the whole lot of things. Dangerous space to dwell as a person of faith and yet, essential to faith.
The thing with pagans, heathens, socialists, commies, nudists, and other such fantastic beings is, they aren’t nearly as horrible as I’ve dreamed them up to be.
Kj
14 Oct 2008 (08:37)
this is lovely: heartfelt, articulate and vulnerable.
Dan Hauge
20 Oct 2008 (10:14)
I like the perspective. I’ll still read my bible on the bus once in a while, though :)
Redbeard
5 Nov 2008 (15:25)
So well put my reflective friend. I am in the post-arrogant-and-self-assured malaise you so well describe. Someone threw out a CS Lewis quote from one of the narnias recently where a woman remarked that after many years, Aslan seemed much bigger than when she was a girl. She thought he would seem smaller because she was bigger… the moral being the more you grow in your faith, the bigger God seems. This took the pressure off my malaise a little. I can follow my heart, which has been molded by the gospel for a long time now, and trust the impulse to love all equally with word, deed, prayer, ordination, marriage, civil rights, etc. God is that big. It’s funny that though this seems like it would take pressure off of my inner fundamentalist (bringing freedom in), I actually react to freedom and limitless love with anxiety about where are the rules to follow. I fear eternity, I miss the limits. I am, however, a better lover now than before. It sounds like you are too (I know you are by personal experience). I think this is worth a little anxiety and malaise. Thanks for the spark.
Mackenzie Rollins
17 Nov 2008 (23:22)
This is late in coming, but I wanted to thank you for all that you put into Urban Hymnal a few weeks ago. It was the first one I’ve ever been to, and it was such a rich experience. Never have I heard worship done in that way.
It was refreshing and is actually worship music that I can (and have) listen (ed) to over and over again.
For your vision to do something different…
For your hope that people would come…
For your ability to know the change in worship that many people crave…
Thank you. It was a beautiful night and I’ve had many conversations about it since.
cris
3 Dec 2008 (22:11)
what is that drawing/painting in your header called? fascinating and lovely.
I like this post. This is reminding me muchly of what we discussed in Therapy 2 on Monday–some idea about being able to listen to the other person, to not be so trapped in our own dogma that we can’t begin to see things from the other side. I feel tremors to my roots–this is not how I was taught to function. I am grasping something that feels real in how I want to relate to others, to do my work…and I feel like I have to learn how to walk all over again. And that the face of God looks nothing like I thought it did. And yet still feels like home.
I like your line about reading the newspapers differently. Something about that will stick with me.
blessings, brother.
Zadok
4 Dec 2008 (09:10)
Cris,
I unashamedly nicked it from Jen Stark (.com).