This is part II in a series that simply compares Church of the Saviour in Washington D.C., to Columbia Presbyterian and Alcoholics Anonymous. While Saviour’s style and emphasis do not dovetail to most of my preferences, I am intrigued and inspired by its radicalism and commitment to serving Christ. I am also interested in some of the similarities in its practices to Alcoholics Anonymous. I am not qualified to recommend CPC be one way or the other, or to criticize Church of the Saviour. I simply think that its practices provide us another opportunity to reflect on our communal life and thereby be enriched in Christ.
The bolds are the church’s, but the italics and the Roman numerals are mine.
Part II
IV. In small mission groups members gather around a shared vision for embodying healing and hope—the outward journey—and the group then becomes accountable to one another for the inward journey, including ordered practices in the areas of prayer, study, money, health, work life and so on. In this way the mission group members, and all with whom they are in relationship on the outward journey, help one another find fullness of life.
That’s an intentional methodology for spiritual transformation, and much less amorphous than ours. The small groups gather around a shared ministry—for instance, my niece’s interest is nuclear disarmament. In and during that fellowship, members also hold one another accountable to practice the spiritual disciplines they commit to as members. Those disciplines include prayer, study, meditation and journaling.
Do we practice something similar to this at Columbia Presbyterian? I think so but it’s not placed at the center of our institutional life and I don’t think we are as ambitious or deliberate about participation’s role in the “inward journey.” For instance, small groups at CPC provide settings in which we develop relationships and get to know other members well. And, we do not underestimate their importance. Some believe the health of a church is reflected and /or determined by the vibrancy of its small groups. It seems likely that in the friendships that develop some accountability occurs. But it’s improbable that in those groups we question whether the other members are doing all they can to walk like Christ regarding “money, health, work life and so on.”
For instance, in choir, over the years I’ve gotten to know Jim Van Duys fairly well, one of the perks of being in choir. In terms of accountability, we might bust each other up, but that’s about technical proficiency with the music. What we do there is like team members encouraging each other to play better. He’d be surprised if I asked him how vibrant his prayer life is because “the inner journey”—though supported by choir participation—is not this small group’s primary purpose.
On the other hand, in my prayer group, we share personally and such sharing is certainly central to our purposes. Accountability is more likely there but—mostly because it’s a mixed group—it’s unlikely that I’d unpack my ground-zero stuff in a fashion where I’d be possible to be held accountable for the darker stuff. Where would I go for that? Well, I can name four people from church I trust, and at least half dozen more I’d consider in a s--t storm. And I can name as many people in AA as well. So, I am a blessed man for being so connected. Accountability can happen, but except for my most outrageous social faux pas, I am not held accountable unless I proactively seek it.
We might consider whether we ought to hold one another more accountable at CPC. It’s been brought to my attention that elders are responsible for the spiritual nurture of the church and surely that includes promoting the inner journey. It seems like that would feel weird here because we regard highly one another’s autonomy and unless asked, it seems presumptuous to question another’s spiritual practices. Maybe what could be promoted here is “mutual, personal support” for the inner journey.
In AA, mutual, personal support begins with a common admission of powerlessness. That admission is followed by gut-honest sharing, and that is generally followed by the group’s feedback, more or less to the point. It’s considered in bad form to tell someone what they ought to do. But it’s in good form to share what was learned by each person’s experience with similar problems. This methodology works on a bunch a folks who really don’t like to be told what to do.
Could that—AA’s approach—work here? I don’t know. First, I am not so sure that we recognize our version of powerlessness—our utter inability to stand righteous before a holy God—into our daily shared conversation. Second, our respectable, polite, dry-cleaned yuppie persona has deemed it an imposition upon others to admit when asked that “no, things aren’t OK, and as a matter of fact, that’s one reason I’m here.” Face it: we’re Decatur Presbyterians and a tad precious about both our dignity and autonomy. Maybe that’s why we’re called “God’s frozen people.” Does it mean we really don’t believe we need help? If so, how do you throw yourself at the foot of the cross if you don’t know that you need a saviour? And how can sinners feel welcome here unless we admit what we are?
There’s something else, something we haven’t mentioned yet and something that I believe might be taken for granted in “Saviour’s” methodology. Institutionally we reflect that we believe there is more to it (salvation) than the inward journey (especially as a function of our practices and behavior) and it points back at traditional worship. What is the previously-mentioned, amorphous, CPC methodology for transformation? First and centrally, we trust the power of the Word of God. It is taught, it is read, and it is proclaimed and reclaimed weekly. We act as if the hearing of it will do more for us than inform our deliberations and our efforts. We act as if simply hearing the story will make us part of the story. We act as if it has power. Oh, that it would find fertile ground in us in Jesus name!
I imagine we can be criticized for that; one could say hearing by itself without a promulgated program of response (called “Law” in some circles) is simply selfishness. But I have yet to see someone touched in the spirit by the story who does not start to strive in some way to mirror the Holiness at the heart of the story, and in some way work to heal some small part of creation. It happens. He makes us want to be better humans. We only have to stand near Him and we want to be better.
And we exhort and encourage such efforts, and some of that cheerleading hurts us because we come to identify our efforts and our example with the gospel. And folks, it’s not so much about what we are or what we do: it’s about what Jesus has already done. It’s about Him. If it is about us, it’s about what we believe, and we say such belief comes from hearing. Maybe that’s our common practice at CPC—hearing.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Church of the Savior, Part I
This is part one in a series that compares Church of the Saviour in Washington, D.C. to Columbia Presbyterian Church and Alcoholics Anonymous. While Church of the Saviour’s style and emphasis do not dovetail to most of my preferences, I am intrigued and inspired by their radicalism and commitment to serving Christ. I also am interested in some similarities in its practices to Alcoholics Anonymous. I am not qualified to recommend CPC be one way or to criticize Church of the Saviour. I simply think that its practices provide us another opportunity to reflect on our communal life and thereby be enriched in Christ.
Last year, one of our CPC members, Charlie Cromwell, mentioned a church he had heard about in Washington, D.C. called Church of the Saviour. On my autumn auditing trip up there last year, I went as far as doing some reading about it and even researching how to get there. Ultimately, I didn’t take the time to attend. This year I discovered my niece Liz, Siege’s older sister, who resides in D.C., was attending so that posed a great opportunity for me.
Some background would be helpful.
And why not let the church describe itself? The bolds are the church’s, but the italics and the Roman numerals are mine. If you have the time, you might want to read it all carefully because it really challenges what I think of as our common assumptions.
I. The Church of the Saviour, an ecumenical Christian church envisioned by Gordon and Mary Cosby in the early 1940s, was incorporated in 1947 in Washington, D.C., when they and seven others became its first members. From the beginning, church members sought to embody Christ in intentional and sacrificial ways, welcoming radical diversity and calling all to be ministers through the generous sacrifice of time, energy and resources.
II. Interpreting the call to discipleship as the integration of two journeys in community—an inward journey to grow in love of God, self and others and an outward journey to help mend some part of creation—the church became the catalyst for numerous helping ministries primarily in Adams Morgan, a neighborhood two miles north of the White House.
III. In 1994, the Church of the Saviour became a “scattered community” of 8 small faith communities (today there are 9). Each of these churches is independently incorporated and seeks to embody its own unique vision, missions and structures, while striving to maintain an “integrity of membership” in the spirit of the founding church. The churches share a membership commitment as well as similar formation processes, which often include participating in a mission group and taking classes in the church’s School of Christian Living, as well as joining the community in its ongoing life of worship and celebration. Formation for an intern member might last as long as one to three years. Annually, after a period of intentional discernment, all members renew—or withdraw—their covenantal membership.”
IV. “Integrity of membership” helps members to really choose whether or not they still are called to the challenges and joys of this way of journeying with Jesus and Jesus’ friends. At the heart of the church’s model is Call—each one, together with others, discovering unique ways to carry part of God’s dream. In small mission groups, members gather around a shared vision for embodying healing and hope—the outward journey—and the group then becomes accountable to one another for the inward journey, including ordered practices in the areas of prayer, study, money, health, work life and so on. In this way the mission group members, and all with whom they are in relationship on the outward journey, help each other find fullness of life.
V. Today, 60 years later, Gordon and Mary Cosby and others continue to play with new ways of becoming the authentic Church. What might happen in our hurting and distrustful world if people started coming together in small groups deliberately organized around perceived differences—of race, economic class, gender, age, sexual orientation, political affiliation, etc.—and from that point of diversity vulnerably opened their lives, told their stories, unmasked their shared addiction to a socio-political system that has kept them alienated, and then together began to take steps toward healing and justice? Presently six groups are exploring such a model.
Now that’s a whole bunch of words, isn’t it? Let me tell you what jumps out at me. A lot of it strikes me as extremely bold.
I. Welcoming radical diversity:
Oh! How I sometimes gnash my teeth when presented with some peoples’ thinking about the gospel! I am not alone in this. Much of the recorded history of Christianity involves arguments regarding doctrine and the arguments continue today. But Christianity, as it manifests itself in communities and in individuals, varies widely on the relative emphasis placed on doctrine. Pretty early, at least in reformed thinking, some churches opted out. For instance, Quaker’s deemphasize doctrine, choosing to be guided by an “inner light” instead. And some churches emphasize the opposite, adherence to particular thinking both as part of and evidence to a relationship with the Lord.
Where are we on that at CPC? My take is somewhere to the left of middle. We share a reformed confession that is (1) systematic in nature, and (2) driven by Calvinist thinking (a French lawyer for heaven’s sake!). So our “common” thinking is important to us. We proclaim it weekly. Yet on an individual basis, besides a generalized version (when we join), we do not hold one another accountable about how we express our faith in thought or deed.
I guess there are positives and negatives to that. On the one hand, we honor “the priesthood of the laity” having regard for your personal experience and language about the Lord. It also honors the power of “truth.” Do we or do we not trust that those who sincerely seek the Lord will either achieve or be rewarded by proper thinking and therefore proper action in that person’s walk? However, on a negative note, don’t we also lose sight on a weekly basis of what it means to be “saved by grace, walking in faith” and depend on the “try harder” walk?
I know I lose sight of radical grace and I attribute that partially to a lack of robustness in our communal theological walk. In my mind, we might be lukewarm here, for example, making sin something we do when no one is looking and suffer the temporal consequences of, rather than a condition we have that requires radical intervention by our tortured God.
But back to these guys, Church of the Saviour, the “welcoming radical diversity” language clearly takes the “Church” out of the doctrinal picture and posits it on the individual member. So they are farther left than we are.
II. An outward journey to help mend some part of creation
This language reflects the church’s common call to activism of some sort and to me reflects the main reason my niece chose this church above all others in D.C.
The particular “scattered community” to which Liz attends is called the Eighth Day Community and the following order of its call reflects its emphasis:
“Call: Christ calls us, the Eighth Day Faith Community, to be his body in the world and to respond to his overwhelming love for us by:
• making a radical commitment to building a caring and just society and joining concretely with the oppressed in their struggles;
• speaking truth and listening to our brothers and sisters as we support one another in following Christ;
• contemplating our relationship to God, our lifestyle, and the community of faith;
• joyfully participating in life as it is given;
• celebrating our belonging to the whole of creation and to God.”
Man, number one would be ambitious for a dirty rotten sinner like me. I came to church because I needed help. I can’t even fix myself, let alone the world. And my pessimism doesn’t stop there. I don’t think the world can be fixed. Because of sin, it’s under a curse and it’s ruled by Satan. We’ll have a just society when Jesus comes back, not before. Without Jesus, it’s all a pretty tragic package.
Noting that paragraph V above clearly introduces politics (see the underline) into the mix, I’m also pessimistic that our common faith in Christ results in any communal wisdom about what society should or should not do. If you want to be convinced of that go to one presbytery meeting. Our paster, Tom Hagood, always is looking for volunteers. Therefore, I question that it is right that communal, political activity be practiced by a church.
So there, and so what? That doesn’t get me off the hook for mending some part of creation. There’s this troublesome command to “Love.” And that means “action” if you believe James and the founders of AA who say that “faith without works is dead”.
My pessimism is no excuse. Just because something can’t be fixed, doesn’t mean you don’t try to mitigate the problem. After all, we live in the South, and the South is enamored of lost causes. On top of that, Our House and AA are great examples of “building a caring” society that is not political, at least not nowadays, surely not in Decatur. So, clearly and communally, I am not off the hook for service.
Now Tom is faithful about reminding us that we “Love.” He points at Our House, the peanut butter sandwiches, the way we treasure all children, the food pantry, et al, as examples that our “love” is not kept to ourselves. So we too share in this call to mission.
But overall, we are more traditional insofar as our number one manifestation of being Christ’s Body. I think most of us would say, the call of the CPC is “Word and Sacrament,” or “making disciples and sending apostles”, or “educating our children.” Then we might say, “Mission.”
III. Annually, after a period of intentional discernment, all members renew—or withdraw—their covenantal membership.
To rejoin annually is institutionally courageous and I can’t imagine it in a community that struggles with a budget like we do. The service I ultimately went to was “renewal day” so I had the opportunity to hear the whys of some people renewing. I’ll talk more about that later, but here I’d like to tell you what they commit to.
At Eighth Day, there are several levels of membership; intern, member, and covenant. The intern and covenant members agree to spend a minimum of 45 minutes a day in devotional activities such as prayer, meditation, scriptures, or journaling. They also agree to participate in and be held accountable by a mission group, and to attend weekly worship, normally at Eighth Day. They promise proportionate financial giving, beginning (!) with a tithe (5 percent for interns). And did I forget to mention the annual (!) silent (!) retreat (!)?
The regular members don’t agree to all that but the language still goes beyond what we require. For example, it affirms both the inward/outward journey, and the importance of spiritual disciplines and Christian community.
You are clear that we have members at CPC who tithe or spend at least 45 minutes daily or weekly participate in a mission group. Some, probably one or two might even attend an annual (!) silent (!) retreat (!). But between you and me, can you imagine anyone who does all that? Maybe, one or two? Maybe, none.
Does it strike you as strange the combination of doctrinal freedom and member regulation? Don’t we have something resembling the opposite?
More later.
Last year, one of our CPC members, Charlie Cromwell, mentioned a church he had heard about in Washington, D.C. called Church of the Saviour. On my autumn auditing trip up there last year, I went as far as doing some reading about it and even researching how to get there. Ultimately, I didn’t take the time to attend. This year I discovered my niece Liz, Siege’s older sister, who resides in D.C., was attending so that posed a great opportunity for me.
Some background would be helpful.
And why not let the church describe itself? The bolds are the church’s, but the italics and the Roman numerals are mine. If you have the time, you might want to read it all carefully because it really challenges what I think of as our common assumptions.
I. The Church of the Saviour, an ecumenical Christian church envisioned by Gordon and Mary Cosby in the early 1940s, was incorporated in 1947 in Washington, D.C., when they and seven others became its first members. From the beginning, church members sought to embody Christ in intentional and sacrificial ways, welcoming radical diversity and calling all to be ministers through the generous sacrifice of time, energy and resources.
II. Interpreting the call to discipleship as the integration of two journeys in community—an inward journey to grow in love of God, self and others and an outward journey to help mend some part of creation—the church became the catalyst for numerous helping ministries primarily in Adams Morgan, a neighborhood two miles north of the White House.
III. In 1994, the Church of the Saviour became a “scattered community” of 8 small faith communities (today there are 9). Each of these churches is independently incorporated and seeks to embody its own unique vision, missions and structures, while striving to maintain an “integrity of membership” in the spirit of the founding church. The churches share a membership commitment as well as similar formation processes, which often include participating in a mission group and taking classes in the church’s School of Christian Living, as well as joining the community in its ongoing life of worship and celebration. Formation for an intern member might last as long as one to three years. Annually, after a period of intentional discernment, all members renew—or withdraw—their covenantal membership.”
IV. “Integrity of membership” helps members to really choose whether or not they still are called to the challenges and joys of this way of journeying with Jesus and Jesus’ friends. At the heart of the church’s model is Call—each one, together with others, discovering unique ways to carry part of God’s dream. In small mission groups, members gather around a shared vision for embodying healing and hope—the outward journey—and the group then becomes accountable to one another for the inward journey, including ordered practices in the areas of prayer, study, money, health, work life and so on. In this way the mission group members, and all with whom they are in relationship on the outward journey, help each other find fullness of life.
V. Today, 60 years later, Gordon and Mary Cosby and others continue to play with new ways of becoming the authentic Church. What might happen in our hurting and distrustful world if people started coming together in small groups deliberately organized around perceived differences—of race, economic class, gender, age, sexual orientation, political affiliation, etc.—and from that point of diversity vulnerably opened their lives, told their stories, unmasked their shared addiction to a socio-political system that has kept them alienated, and then together began to take steps toward healing and justice? Presently six groups are exploring such a model.
Now that’s a whole bunch of words, isn’t it? Let me tell you what jumps out at me. A lot of it strikes me as extremely bold.
I. Welcoming radical diversity:
Oh! How I sometimes gnash my teeth when presented with some peoples’ thinking about the gospel! I am not alone in this. Much of the recorded history of Christianity involves arguments regarding doctrine and the arguments continue today. But Christianity, as it manifests itself in communities and in individuals, varies widely on the relative emphasis placed on doctrine. Pretty early, at least in reformed thinking, some churches opted out. For instance, Quaker’s deemphasize doctrine, choosing to be guided by an “inner light” instead. And some churches emphasize the opposite, adherence to particular thinking both as part of and evidence to a relationship with the Lord.
Where are we on that at CPC? My take is somewhere to the left of middle. We share a reformed confession that is (1) systematic in nature, and (2) driven by Calvinist thinking (a French lawyer for heaven’s sake!). So our “common” thinking is important to us. We proclaim it weekly. Yet on an individual basis, besides a generalized version (when we join), we do not hold one another accountable about how we express our faith in thought or deed.
I guess there are positives and negatives to that. On the one hand, we honor “the priesthood of the laity” having regard for your personal experience and language about the Lord. It also honors the power of “truth.” Do we or do we not trust that those who sincerely seek the Lord will either achieve or be rewarded by proper thinking and therefore proper action in that person’s walk? However, on a negative note, don’t we also lose sight on a weekly basis of what it means to be “saved by grace, walking in faith” and depend on the “try harder” walk?
I know I lose sight of radical grace and I attribute that partially to a lack of robustness in our communal theological walk. In my mind, we might be lukewarm here, for example, making sin something we do when no one is looking and suffer the temporal consequences of, rather than a condition we have that requires radical intervention by our tortured God.
But back to these guys, Church of the Saviour, the “welcoming radical diversity” language clearly takes the “Church” out of the doctrinal picture and posits it on the individual member. So they are farther left than we are.
II. An outward journey to help mend some part of creation
This language reflects the church’s common call to activism of some sort and to me reflects the main reason my niece chose this church above all others in D.C.
The particular “scattered community” to which Liz attends is called the Eighth Day Community and the following order of its call reflects its emphasis:
“Call: Christ calls us, the Eighth Day Faith Community, to be his body in the world and to respond to his overwhelming love for us by:
• making a radical commitment to building a caring and just society and joining concretely with the oppressed in their struggles;
• speaking truth and listening to our brothers and sisters as we support one another in following Christ;
• contemplating our relationship to God, our lifestyle, and the community of faith;
• joyfully participating in life as it is given;
• celebrating our belonging to the whole of creation and to God.”
Man, number one would be ambitious for a dirty rotten sinner like me. I came to church because I needed help. I can’t even fix myself, let alone the world. And my pessimism doesn’t stop there. I don’t think the world can be fixed. Because of sin, it’s under a curse and it’s ruled by Satan. We’ll have a just society when Jesus comes back, not before. Without Jesus, it’s all a pretty tragic package.
Noting that paragraph V above clearly introduces politics (see the underline) into the mix, I’m also pessimistic that our common faith in Christ results in any communal wisdom about what society should or should not do. If you want to be convinced of that go to one presbytery meeting. Our paster, Tom Hagood, always is looking for volunteers. Therefore, I question that it is right that communal, political activity be practiced by a church.
So there, and so what? That doesn’t get me off the hook for mending some part of creation. There’s this troublesome command to “Love.” And that means “action” if you believe James and the founders of AA who say that “faith without works is dead”.
My pessimism is no excuse. Just because something can’t be fixed, doesn’t mean you don’t try to mitigate the problem. After all, we live in the South, and the South is enamored of lost causes. On top of that, Our House and AA are great examples of “building a caring” society that is not political, at least not nowadays, surely not in Decatur. So, clearly and communally, I am not off the hook for service.
Now Tom is faithful about reminding us that we “Love.” He points at Our House, the peanut butter sandwiches, the way we treasure all children, the food pantry, et al, as examples that our “love” is not kept to ourselves. So we too share in this call to mission.
But overall, we are more traditional insofar as our number one manifestation of being Christ’s Body. I think most of us would say, the call of the CPC is “Word and Sacrament,” or “making disciples and sending apostles”, or “educating our children.” Then we might say, “Mission.”
III. Annually, after a period of intentional discernment, all members renew—or withdraw—their covenantal membership.
To rejoin annually is institutionally courageous and I can’t imagine it in a community that struggles with a budget like we do. The service I ultimately went to was “renewal day” so I had the opportunity to hear the whys of some people renewing. I’ll talk more about that later, but here I’d like to tell you what they commit to.
At Eighth Day, there are several levels of membership; intern, member, and covenant. The intern and covenant members agree to spend a minimum of 45 minutes a day in devotional activities such as prayer, meditation, scriptures, or journaling. They also agree to participate in and be held accountable by a mission group, and to attend weekly worship, normally at Eighth Day. They promise proportionate financial giving, beginning (!) with a tithe (5 percent for interns). And did I forget to mention the annual (!) silent (!) retreat (!)?
The regular members don’t agree to all that but the language still goes beyond what we require. For example, it affirms both the inward/outward journey, and the importance of spiritual disciplines and Christian community.
You are clear that we have members at CPC who tithe or spend at least 45 minutes daily or weekly participate in a mission group. Some, probably one or two might even attend an annual (!) silent (!) retreat (!). But between you and me, can you imagine anyone who does all that? Maybe, one or two? Maybe, none.
Does it strike you as strange the combination of doctrinal freedom and member regulation? Don’t we have something resembling the opposite?
More later.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The Installation of Tim Rogers-Martin at North Avenue Presbyterian
Tim Rogers-Martin, our former associate pastor, was installed last week as an associate pastor at North Avenue Presbyterian Church, and Susan and I got an opportunity to attend.
The installation was woven into the regular 11 a.m. service. I think that’s because North Avenue isn’t so much a neighborhood church as much as it’s a citywide church, so once people leave for the day, it’s more difficult to get them back for a midafternoon service than it is here.
I’d never been to North Avenue. They have what I think is a great asset for a church in their location; a parking deck underneath the church. The sanctuary is similar to ours, large, with an elevated choir loft but with no privacy rail.
Julie and all of Tim’s kids were there, Jacob unshaved and sleepy. He’s a freshman at GSU—typical. Tim’s mom and dad were there too, up from Florida. Bo and Maureen Emerson (with Joey in tow, cleaned and pressed, I might add) were seated when we got there as were some folks related to persons Tim had asked to perform certain parts of the service. You remember Jane Hubbard. She had a part in the service, the charge to the congregation.
I had more than idle curiosity about the choir and the music. There was a processional, in red robes, and I’d say there were about 20 singers, seven of which were men. Susan says she thinks Julie told her they have a couple of paid section leaders, and given the number of men you can almost guess that one would be a tenor. At 900 members, a ringer as a section leader becomes an affordable luxury.
I’d have to characterize the music as diverse, almost like touching all the bases; “Shine, Jesus, Shine” as the introit, “All Hail the Power of Jesus Name” as the opening hymn, followed by “Spirit of the Living God.” There were a couple of special anthems presented, Faure’s “Cantique de Jean Racine” and something evangelical, “The Prayer” which was performed beautifully by their praise music director. She had a voice like Kay Potter’s granddaughter. To finish up we sang, “My Hope Is Built on Nothing Less.” So it seems that there was something for everyone, the hymns were all easy to sing, and the sound filled the space.
Over the years, David Flick, der choirmeister, has drug me screaming and kicking to certain music that on my own I would’ve never been exposed to. Especially the French stuff. Well, the Faure piece I mentioned above has become one of my favorites. The French love their tenors to get the mustardy parts and their paid section leader earned his money on this one. There were two other tenors with him but I could hear him clearly even though he wasn’t belting it out like I would’ve been. You see, there’s a part to that piece where the Lord is being implored and the tenor part floats throughout it, all longing and sadness like Dido on the shore of Carthage abandoned. Oh, my friends, music will preach! He gave us this gift to lighten our load in this dark world.
The whole installation thing was joyful. The main pastor there is a fellow who’s been a prayer partner of Tim for years and his charge to Tim demonstrated his regard for Tim both as a man of God and as a human being. And Jane, you’ve come a long way baby. It was great to share Tim’s joy.
They had a guest preacher too, and to be fair, sometimes I only hear what I’ve walked in with. But his sermon about “loving Jesus so much you can’t help but talk about him all the time” left me discouraged and doubting because my spiritual experience didn’t parallel his, and I didn’t hear him acknowledge the “many rooms” idea.
Sometimes I think of PC-USA as spiritual triage. People like me, maybe you, and (I know) some of my friends can come, be exposed, and somehow find their way despite the heterodoxical thinking we walk in with. Grant it, sometimes I long for the robustness of 5—point Calvinism, and chafe under the “God’s Community Group Speak” which seems to be our specialty at times. But at least I know all—the good, the bad and the drunks—are encouraged to continue to seek the Lord, The Linguist.
And bottom line: the gospel is sometime an anvil to me, defying my efforts and wish for personal righteousness. I am thankful—besides all my theories and confabulations—that there exists that one tiny mustard seed of hope.
And that was the point of the last hymn,
“My hope is built on nothing less, Than Jesus’ blood, and righteousness;
I dare not trust the sweetest frame, But wholly lean on Jesus’ name.
On Christ the solid rock I stand, All other ground is sinking sand,
All other ground is sinking sand.
Man, I sang that like my life depended on it, Susan looking at me out of the corner of her eye, shaking her head, wondering “what next?”
The installation was woven into the regular 11 a.m. service. I think that’s because North Avenue isn’t so much a neighborhood church as much as it’s a citywide church, so once people leave for the day, it’s more difficult to get them back for a midafternoon service than it is here.
I’d never been to North Avenue. They have what I think is a great asset for a church in their location; a parking deck underneath the church. The sanctuary is similar to ours, large, with an elevated choir loft but with no privacy rail.
Julie and all of Tim’s kids were there, Jacob unshaved and sleepy. He’s a freshman at GSU—typical. Tim’s mom and dad were there too, up from Florida. Bo and Maureen Emerson (with Joey in tow, cleaned and pressed, I might add) were seated when we got there as were some folks related to persons Tim had asked to perform certain parts of the service. You remember Jane Hubbard. She had a part in the service, the charge to the congregation.
I had more than idle curiosity about the choir and the music. There was a processional, in red robes, and I’d say there were about 20 singers, seven of which were men. Susan says she thinks Julie told her they have a couple of paid section leaders, and given the number of men you can almost guess that one would be a tenor. At 900 members, a ringer as a section leader becomes an affordable luxury.
I’d have to characterize the music as diverse, almost like touching all the bases; “Shine, Jesus, Shine” as the introit, “All Hail the Power of Jesus Name” as the opening hymn, followed by “Spirit of the Living God.” There were a couple of special anthems presented, Faure’s “Cantique de Jean Racine” and something evangelical, “The Prayer” which was performed beautifully by their praise music director. She had a voice like Kay Potter’s granddaughter. To finish up we sang, “My Hope Is Built on Nothing Less.” So it seems that there was something for everyone, the hymns were all easy to sing, and the sound filled the space.
Over the years, David Flick, der choirmeister, has drug me screaming and kicking to certain music that on my own I would’ve never been exposed to. Especially the French stuff. Well, the Faure piece I mentioned above has become one of my favorites. The French love their tenors to get the mustardy parts and their paid section leader earned his money on this one. There were two other tenors with him but I could hear him clearly even though he wasn’t belting it out like I would’ve been. You see, there’s a part to that piece where the Lord is being implored and the tenor part floats throughout it, all longing and sadness like Dido on the shore of Carthage abandoned. Oh, my friends, music will preach! He gave us this gift to lighten our load in this dark world.
The whole installation thing was joyful. The main pastor there is a fellow who’s been a prayer partner of Tim for years and his charge to Tim demonstrated his regard for Tim both as a man of God and as a human being. And Jane, you’ve come a long way baby. It was great to share Tim’s joy.
They had a guest preacher too, and to be fair, sometimes I only hear what I’ve walked in with. But his sermon about “loving Jesus so much you can’t help but talk about him all the time” left me discouraged and doubting because my spiritual experience didn’t parallel his, and I didn’t hear him acknowledge the “many rooms” idea.
Sometimes I think of PC-USA as spiritual triage. People like me, maybe you, and (I know) some of my friends can come, be exposed, and somehow find their way despite the heterodoxical thinking we walk in with. Grant it, sometimes I long for the robustness of 5—point Calvinism, and chafe under the “God’s Community Group Speak” which seems to be our specialty at times. But at least I know all—the good, the bad and the drunks—are encouraged to continue to seek the Lord, The Linguist.
And bottom line: the gospel is sometime an anvil to me, defying my efforts and wish for personal righteousness. I am thankful—besides all my theories and confabulations—that there exists that one tiny mustard seed of hope.
And that was the point of the last hymn,
“My hope is built on nothing less, Than Jesus’ blood, and righteousness;
I dare not trust the sweetest frame, But wholly lean on Jesus’ name.
On Christ the solid rock I stand, All other ground is sinking sand,
All other ground is sinking sand.
Man, I sang that like my life depended on it, Susan looking at me out of the corner of her eye, shaking her head, wondering “what next?”
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
The Quality of the Ride
The last night I drank was like the first night I drank: I drank until I blacked out and I woke up in trouble. The drinking that night had been the same but the morning after was different. I had what we call in AA, “a moment of clarity.” That is to say it dawned on me that I couldn’t control my drinking and that if there was to be any aspiration of a decent future my drinking had to stop.
As a newcomer to AA, I was relatively “high-bottom;” that is, I still had what passed for a job, a place to stay, my health and civil relations with my family. If you didn’t know about the hair-raising things I’d done while drinking, you’d say the main consequence of my drinking was a failure to get started as an adult, at least in a fashion commensurate with the advantages of my upbringing and education. As I said, I came in to recover my future.
Now it’s not like that for some. There are recovering alcoholics who through their addiction have lost nearly everything you can call your own: family, career, house, health, freedom and the most energetic years of their life. I know a guy who comes to the AA meetings here at Columbia Presbyterian Church on Saturday nights. He now has double-digit sobriety and sponsors newcomers but he had walked the long road. Early in his addiction, he used to take a couple beers into the shower with him in the morning to wake up. In his later addiction, he was homeless and initially cleaned up with street people at CARP, a recovery program located on south Candler Road. In transitional housing when he first came to AA, he’d try to speak at meetings but he couldn’t maintain his train of thought. He’d end up having to stop abruptly so for a while he just stopped talking. All he wanted from AA was to not take a drink that day.
Not me, not this drunk. During my early recovery, my first sponsor told me I “came in talking. And,” he continued, “you haven’t said a thing yet.” And he was right. It was all about getting my life on track—better job, another degree, moving to Atlanta, and don’t forget the females. It wasn’t about me changing. Therefore, I wasn’t willing to do the work AA promises will change you, for instance, steps 2 through 11. I was a classic two-stepper: for Step 1, I admitted I was powerless over alcohol, got active in an AA clubhouse, and passed directly to the service work part of step 12. It worked for a few years.
My “long-road” friend discovered before he came to AA that addiction is a fatal disease. But arriving, for me, it wasn’t life or death so much as it was about the quality of the ride here on the planet.
In prayer meeting last week, a friend in Christ brought up something that was breaking her heart. Her unmarried, younger sister had quit her job as a teacher (with six years to go for her pension) to work in an unfunded hospice in a remote part of India that can appropriately be called “Third World.” She said her sister told her that she had received “a special call.” There the sister cares for the dying night and day. Medical supplies and assistance are scarce. They frequently don’t know where their next meal will come from. Per our friend, the sister, in her late 30s, appears to be in her 60s. Her mother and father send what assistance they can, but the mom, at times, is inconsolable. She cried when she told us this.
So this is a dark treasure; a sister who is called to martyr herself; “a special call” indeed.
And it calls to us as well. As creatures, we grieve the hardship and eventual loss of her sister even as believers something inside us shouts for joy at her Christ-likeness. But, for goodness sake, doesn’t this illumine our expectations as American Christians by the length of the shadow it casts?
I originally came here, to Columbia Presbyterian Church, as an extension of my AA program. On firm footing there, the literature (if not the people) encourages church participation. But I told you, I joined for my future, for the quality of the ride. I want to look good and make a lot of money. I want to know what’s going to happen tomorrow. I want everyone to admire me, and I don’t want to break my mother’s heart. Every single element of her sister’s call defies my initial hope for chasing a relationship with a Higher Power. I am schooled by this.
My brother wrote something to me in the same vein a couple months ago. He wrote, “The tendency in our own selves to expect comfort, joy, security, serenity as a result of our relationship in Christ is frankly intractable. Worse though, is that our expectation is further fueled and endorsed by folks who think and teach that fulfillment of the kind that Christ offers can somehow be gained in a way that does not include something dreadful—we gain only by a well-trod path, the way of the cross.
Now I don’t wish to demean our efforts and hope here at CPC by launching into a condemnation of my efforts for the Lord to date or promising (yet again) an effort-driven decision to do better. Yet that’s my first reaction. But I’ve been there, done that, got the T-shirt and there’s little power in that for broken-old me. At the same time, this “special call” calls me to sit in Romans 8:13A for a time with her in mind. For instance, maybe amortization of the flesh might call for more than leaving work early to attend a church meeting. Clearly, I am in need His mercy now, more than ever.
Romans 8:13A “for if you are living according to the flesh, you must die, but if by the Spirit you are putting to death the deeds of the flesh, you will live.”
Learn more about the 12 steps: http://www.aa.org/en_pdfs/smf-121_en.pdf
As a newcomer to AA, I was relatively “high-bottom;” that is, I still had what passed for a job, a place to stay, my health and civil relations with my family. If you didn’t know about the hair-raising things I’d done while drinking, you’d say the main consequence of my drinking was a failure to get started as an adult, at least in a fashion commensurate with the advantages of my upbringing and education. As I said, I came in to recover my future.
Now it’s not like that for some. There are recovering alcoholics who through their addiction have lost nearly everything you can call your own: family, career, house, health, freedom and the most energetic years of their life. I know a guy who comes to the AA meetings here at Columbia Presbyterian Church on Saturday nights. He now has double-digit sobriety and sponsors newcomers but he had walked the long road. Early in his addiction, he used to take a couple beers into the shower with him in the morning to wake up. In his later addiction, he was homeless and initially cleaned up with street people at CARP, a recovery program located on south Candler Road. In transitional housing when he first came to AA, he’d try to speak at meetings but he couldn’t maintain his train of thought. He’d end up having to stop abruptly so for a while he just stopped talking. All he wanted from AA was to not take a drink that day.
Not me, not this drunk. During my early recovery, my first sponsor told me I “came in talking. And,” he continued, “you haven’t said a thing yet.” And he was right. It was all about getting my life on track—better job, another degree, moving to Atlanta, and don’t forget the females. It wasn’t about me changing. Therefore, I wasn’t willing to do the work AA promises will change you, for instance, steps 2 through 11. I was a classic two-stepper: for Step 1, I admitted I was powerless over alcohol, got active in an AA clubhouse, and passed directly to the service work part of step 12. It worked for a few years.
My “long-road” friend discovered before he came to AA that addiction is a fatal disease. But arriving, for me, it wasn’t life or death so much as it was about the quality of the ride here on the planet.
In prayer meeting last week, a friend in Christ brought up something that was breaking her heart. Her unmarried, younger sister had quit her job as a teacher (with six years to go for her pension) to work in an unfunded hospice in a remote part of India that can appropriately be called “Third World.” She said her sister told her that she had received “a special call.” There the sister cares for the dying night and day. Medical supplies and assistance are scarce. They frequently don’t know where their next meal will come from. Per our friend, the sister, in her late 30s, appears to be in her 60s. Her mother and father send what assistance they can, but the mom, at times, is inconsolable. She cried when she told us this.
So this is a dark treasure; a sister who is called to martyr herself; “a special call” indeed.
And it calls to us as well. As creatures, we grieve the hardship and eventual loss of her sister even as believers something inside us shouts for joy at her Christ-likeness. But, for goodness sake, doesn’t this illumine our expectations as American Christians by the length of the shadow it casts?
I originally came here, to Columbia Presbyterian Church, as an extension of my AA program. On firm footing there, the literature (if not the people) encourages church participation. But I told you, I joined for my future, for the quality of the ride. I want to look good and make a lot of money. I want to know what’s going to happen tomorrow. I want everyone to admire me, and I don’t want to break my mother’s heart. Every single element of her sister’s call defies my initial hope for chasing a relationship with a Higher Power. I am schooled by this.
My brother wrote something to me in the same vein a couple months ago. He wrote, “The tendency in our own selves to expect comfort, joy, security, serenity as a result of our relationship in Christ is frankly intractable. Worse though, is that our expectation is further fueled and endorsed by folks who think and teach that fulfillment of the kind that Christ offers can somehow be gained in a way that does not include something dreadful—we gain only by a well-trod path, the way of the cross.
Now I don’t wish to demean our efforts and hope here at CPC by launching into a condemnation of my efforts for the Lord to date or promising (yet again) an effort-driven decision to do better. Yet that’s my first reaction. But I’ve been there, done that, got the T-shirt and there’s little power in that for broken-old me. At the same time, this “special call” calls me to sit in Romans 8:13A for a time with her in mind. For instance, maybe amortization of the flesh might call for more than leaving work early to attend a church meeting. Clearly, I am in need His mercy now, more than ever.
Romans 8:13A “for if you are living according to the flesh, you must die, but if by the Spirit you are putting to death the deeds of the flesh, you will live.”
Learn more about the 12 steps: http://www.aa.org/en_pdfs/smf-121_en.pdf
Monday, August 24, 2009
Music and Faith
Two weeks ago, the church honored and celebrated Dave Hawkins’ musical gift both in church and afterwards by cutting loose with duets that highlighted the abilities of a couple other friends, Bo Emerson and David Flick, incredible musicians that we’re privileged to have among us. We will miss all the Hawkins but an event like that certainly sends them off in a fashion appropriate to our regard for them.
It’s through participation in choir that I know both Davids. As a matter of fact, most of my church interaction with Bo revolves around music too. Some of the best things that happen to me at church have to do with choir.
That started for me as a way to have an activity with my daughter, Ellen, who was raised here at Columbia. She sang in CPC’s choir her junior and senior year in high school and it worked out for her. She always marched to the tune of that distant drummer but she seemed to fit in at choir pretty well. She connected with several of the sopranos and—let me tell you—it doesn’t hurt a kid to have friends of all ages who root for you and expect of you. Dorothy Clark, our part-time church secretary and another child of the congregation, gave Ellen rides to voice competitions, which I thought truly went beyond the call of duty. Ellen also had fellowship with Alcie, Nancy, Mary Rose, and Jewel McGee. Between you and me, a kid can do worse than having examples of adulthood like that to grow up around. That’s grace, friend, found right here on the corner.
Choir has worked out for me too. In the beginning, they sat me next to Bill McGee who I always wished I could be more like both musically and in terms of character. A voice like mahogany, there were many times he carried the men’s parts. If not for choir, I don’t think I would’ve had the opportunity to hang with him, and I like to think character is contagious: you hang out with it, and some gets on you. Phew, when I think back at some of the things I’ve done, said, and thought, it kind of amazes me I found my way into the choir with all those “respectable” characters.
There have been many other examples for me, as well. For instance, I’ve gotten to know Jan. Before I joined choir I thought she was CPC’s version of “SNL’s church lady” for her apparent properness and pronounced vibrato. You know what? She enjoys a racy joke. Not kidding. There went my “church lady” caricature. And like the rest of those in the choir who’re musically more sophisticated than me, she’s taught me something about the power of music.
From 2003 through 2007, Jan lost four members of her family: first, a grandson (to addiction), then a sister-in-law, and finally, during a simply brutal and theologically- baffling three weeks in September 2007, a son and a husband.
Now leading up to that three-week period, during their concurrent illnesses, Jan missed a couple practices, but I don’t remember her missing a Sunday. FYI, she lives in Covington, Ga., without traffic a 40-minute drive. In choir, of course, we offered what help we could, and we prayed for and with her, but we were powerless. We’d look at each other and we didn’t have to say; “how could this be happening and how the heck could she keep on, let alone sing?”
David Flick told me that he finally said to her, “Jan, everyone would understand if you need to take some time off.” And she said, “No, I have to do this. It’s what keeps me going.”
What’d she mean? I can tell you what I think. Singing for Jan (and others) is not simply a way of expressing her faith (although it does); it is rather a means through which she connects to her faith. Like prayer or fellowship, meditation or AA meetings, or even, really hot preaching, it is a practice through which she seeks and glimpses the Lord’s face. And why wouldn’t she? It engages more than simply the mind like some disciplines: e.g., the first thing they talk about in vocal lessons is breathing. It engages the past; some of those songs she loves were sung sitting in church with her mom. And look at the subject matter of what is sung. Mostly, these songs are iterations of praise for the Lord and our hope in Him. Some groups seem to know this better than others, but there is great power in praise. In AA, we’re clear that a sure-fire cure for sorry moods and thoughts is a gratitude list. But praise (as a practice) goes one step beyond gratitude in its power. Do you recall the Lord questioning Job from out of the whirlwind? At the dawn of creation, the morning star sang, and the sons of God shouted for joy (See Job 38:4 ff in King James version for some of the most magnificent verses in the OT). Praise followed by joy, wondrously linked at the dawn of creation. Therefore, given all that, in her situation, how could she not sing? And watching—powerless—how could we not sing with her?
That’s what I think Jan meant. If you’re curious, you can ask her, because she is still here, and she happens to be singing. And if you want to check with someone regarding the power of praise, talk to Devon or Gordon. I think you’ll get an earful.
So Jan’s another good example for me. You know what I am. And you know how I doubt. But I can remember one grand Sunday singing with Dave Hawkins and Mike Lacy and the rest-all the folks who helped raise Ellen—about our destiny in Christ. “Will never die, will never die,” we sang, so loudly that it echoed in the sanctuary and hurt our ears. And I’ve never believed it better than that moment, right through to the marrow of my bones, singing as loud as I could.
Praise God. I really mean it. Try praise.
It’s through participation in choir that I know both Davids. As a matter of fact, most of my church interaction with Bo revolves around music too. Some of the best things that happen to me at church have to do with choir.
That started for me as a way to have an activity with my daughter, Ellen, who was raised here at Columbia. She sang in CPC’s choir her junior and senior year in high school and it worked out for her. She always marched to the tune of that distant drummer but she seemed to fit in at choir pretty well. She connected with several of the sopranos and—let me tell you—it doesn’t hurt a kid to have friends of all ages who root for you and expect of you. Dorothy Clark, our part-time church secretary and another child of the congregation, gave Ellen rides to voice competitions, which I thought truly went beyond the call of duty. Ellen also had fellowship with Alcie, Nancy, Mary Rose, and Jewel McGee. Between you and me, a kid can do worse than having examples of adulthood like that to grow up around. That’s grace, friend, found right here on the corner.
Choir has worked out for me too. In the beginning, they sat me next to Bill McGee who I always wished I could be more like both musically and in terms of character. A voice like mahogany, there were many times he carried the men’s parts. If not for choir, I don’t think I would’ve had the opportunity to hang with him, and I like to think character is contagious: you hang out with it, and some gets on you. Phew, when I think back at some of the things I’ve done, said, and thought, it kind of amazes me I found my way into the choir with all those “respectable” characters.
There have been many other examples for me, as well. For instance, I’ve gotten to know Jan. Before I joined choir I thought she was CPC’s version of “SNL’s church lady” for her apparent properness and pronounced vibrato. You know what? She enjoys a racy joke. Not kidding. There went my “church lady” caricature. And like the rest of those in the choir who’re musically more sophisticated than me, she’s taught me something about the power of music.
From 2003 through 2007, Jan lost four members of her family: first, a grandson (to addiction), then a sister-in-law, and finally, during a simply brutal and theologically- baffling three weeks in September 2007, a son and a husband.
Now leading up to that three-week period, during their concurrent illnesses, Jan missed a couple practices, but I don’t remember her missing a Sunday. FYI, she lives in Covington, Ga., without traffic a 40-minute drive. In choir, of course, we offered what help we could, and we prayed for and with her, but we were powerless. We’d look at each other and we didn’t have to say; “how could this be happening and how the heck could she keep on, let alone sing?”
David Flick told me that he finally said to her, “Jan, everyone would understand if you need to take some time off.” And she said, “No, I have to do this. It’s what keeps me going.”
What’d she mean? I can tell you what I think. Singing for Jan (and others) is not simply a way of expressing her faith (although it does); it is rather a means through which she connects to her faith. Like prayer or fellowship, meditation or AA meetings, or even, really hot preaching, it is a practice through which she seeks and glimpses the Lord’s face. And why wouldn’t she? It engages more than simply the mind like some disciplines: e.g., the first thing they talk about in vocal lessons is breathing. It engages the past; some of those songs she loves were sung sitting in church with her mom. And look at the subject matter of what is sung. Mostly, these songs are iterations of praise for the Lord and our hope in Him. Some groups seem to know this better than others, but there is great power in praise. In AA, we’re clear that a sure-fire cure for sorry moods and thoughts is a gratitude list. But praise (as a practice) goes one step beyond gratitude in its power. Do you recall the Lord questioning Job from out of the whirlwind? At the dawn of creation, the morning star sang, and the sons of God shouted for joy (See Job 38:4 ff in King James version for some of the most magnificent verses in the OT). Praise followed by joy, wondrously linked at the dawn of creation. Therefore, given all that, in her situation, how could she not sing? And watching—powerless—how could we not sing with her?
That’s what I think Jan meant. If you’re curious, you can ask her, because she is still here, and she happens to be singing. And if you want to check with someone regarding the power of praise, talk to Devon or Gordon. I think you’ll get an earful.
So Jan’s another good example for me. You know what I am. And you know how I doubt. But I can remember one grand Sunday singing with Dave Hawkins and Mike Lacy and the rest-all the folks who helped raise Ellen—about our destiny in Christ. “Will never die, will never die,” we sang, so loudly that it echoed in the sanctuary and hurt our ears. And I’ve never believed it better than that moment, right through to the marrow of my bones, singing as loud as I could.
Praise God. I really mean it. Try praise.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Picking the Right Bread
There were more teenagers in Sunday school today, back from vacation, all chatty and revved up about going back to school. Wendy was ready for them. Pursuant to the lesson she read from John 15:16, where Jesus tells his disciples, “You did not choose me, but I chose you.” She went on, of course, but I wanted to stay there, right there, pull the shades, get a cup of black coffee, and really think about it, being chosen, that is.
I have a nephew, appropriately nicknamed Siege, who despite being raised in church and in an AA family just can’t seem to get recovery. He’s out again, using and cutting himself. And I just don’t get what he thinks is wrong with the program that he wouldn’t simply bury himself in it. I know the solution is there.
Have you noticed everybody is in John lately? This week Tom continued the “Bread of Life” series and discussed other breads that lure us from the true bread of life.
For me, the lure of drinking didn’t start with thirst like you might think. It started as dissatisfaction with myself; not smart enough, strong enough, popular enough, overall, simply not good enough in any way, in any fashion. It also started with displacement. I wasn’t comfortable in public, and certainly wasn’t comfortable in my own skin. Something was wrong, not just with me, but with life itself.
Well, I thought I solved that problem the first time I drank. The night of that epiphany, I drank a coke bottle full of Seagram’s and a six pack of Valley Forge beer. You know what happened. I threw up on my date, and blacked out, both for the first but not the last time. The next day, I was sick as a dog, grounded to boot and you know what? I couldn’t wait to do it again. Why? It made me feel the way I thought I was supposed to feel.
I am one of the fortunate few who received recovery. It seems to me that I was chosen then but some things in scripture indicate such choices were made long ago. Based on intelligence, will-power, character, level of effort or talent, I definitely am not one who deserved or earned it.
In AA, the word “grace” is almost always used to explain why some do, or some don’t get recovery. In AA, “grace” is used more semi-Pelagian than “radical/absolute,” and by that I mean there’s always counterpoint language about having to want recovery and being willing to go to any length for it. In this framework, the phrase “grace” refers to the unexplained variable in the equation, the juice from beyond that some don’t receive, despite program diligence of equal or greater degree than some who do recover. If the pivotal “higher power” idea was not central to the twelve steps, I believe we’d name the unexplained variable “luck.”
Now I did get recovery, but the underlying dissatisfaction and displacement had not been amortized as a result of my using. As a matter of fact, based on probable nerve-damage and the wreckage of those years, the world and my nature suited me even less than when I started drinking.
Here’s how the program changed my life: I am alive today because they told me my problem was spiritual and so was the solution. It was in AA that the dissatisfaction and displacement became hunger, but hunger of a different sort, one far different than the desire to believe I’m a good guy or that the world is not such a bad place after all.
This spiritual problem/solution concept is central to AA. Revealing to its history is the correspondence that occurred between Bill Wilson, a co-founder of AA, and Carl Jung, the Swiss psychiatrist. Wilson had written Dr. Jung to thank him for the influence he had on the development of AA and the twelve steps. In discussing the particular person who had been treated by Dr. Jung and who thereby influenced Wilson, Dr. Jung wrote,
“His craving for alcohol was the equivalent, on a low level, of the spiritual thirst of our being for wholeness, expressed in medieval language: the union with God…”(a)
But the craving, Dr. Jung continues, is not the problem,
“I am strongly convinced that the evil principle prevailing in this world leads the unrecognized spiritual need into perdition, if it is not counteracted either by real religious insight or by the protective wall of human community. An ordinary man, not protected by an action from above and isolated in society, cannot resist the power of evil, which is called very aptly the Devil.”
Provided below is the reference site for this letter if you’re interested. FYI, Dr. Jung quotes Psalms in the letter.
So the using, according to Jung, might simply be poor strategy. Like Tom said today, the lures of the world entice us from the lure set by Jesus. We think we want one kind of bread (relief) when what we really want is something else, something radically different which (at times) provides less rather than more relief. Unfortunately, what we mistake for the real thing is demonic, and frequently kills. As if to prove it’s demonic, the wrong bread frequently destroys our best and brightest. None of us are strangers to losses like this.
But now, having been chosen to live, I have received a degree of consolation in faith. I want more, and of course, at times, I doubt. Sometimes, when I fear I am only deluding myself into hope, I cling to that hunger as evidence that He really has called me. How is that? Because how can you hunger for something that you haven’t tasted?
Jesus was so clear regarding humankind and what we- being made in the image- really need. Despite what they say on TV, it’s not an economic plan, a self-improvement program, or yet another medication. He wants us back with our Father. That we miss Him confirms our origin and ultimate destiny in Him.
(a) http://silkworth.net/aahistory/carljung_billw013061.html
I have a nephew, appropriately nicknamed Siege, who despite being raised in church and in an AA family just can’t seem to get recovery. He’s out again, using and cutting himself. And I just don’t get what he thinks is wrong with the program that he wouldn’t simply bury himself in it. I know the solution is there.
Have you noticed everybody is in John lately? This week Tom continued the “Bread of Life” series and discussed other breads that lure us from the true bread of life.
For me, the lure of drinking didn’t start with thirst like you might think. It started as dissatisfaction with myself; not smart enough, strong enough, popular enough, overall, simply not good enough in any way, in any fashion. It also started with displacement. I wasn’t comfortable in public, and certainly wasn’t comfortable in my own skin. Something was wrong, not just with me, but with life itself.
Well, I thought I solved that problem the first time I drank. The night of that epiphany, I drank a coke bottle full of Seagram’s and a six pack of Valley Forge beer. You know what happened. I threw up on my date, and blacked out, both for the first but not the last time. The next day, I was sick as a dog, grounded to boot and you know what? I couldn’t wait to do it again. Why? It made me feel the way I thought I was supposed to feel.
I am one of the fortunate few who received recovery. It seems to me that I was chosen then but some things in scripture indicate such choices were made long ago. Based on intelligence, will-power, character, level of effort or talent, I definitely am not one who deserved or earned it.
In AA, the word “grace” is almost always used to explain why some do, or some don’t get recovery. In AA, “grace” is used more semi-Pelagian than “radical/absolute,” and by that I mean there’s always counterpoint language about having to want recovery and being willing to go to any length for it. In this framework, the phrase “grace” refers to the unexplained variable in the equation, the juice from beyond that some don’t receive, despite program diligence of equal or greater degree than some who do recover. If the pivotal “higher power” idea was not central to the twelve steps, I believe we’d name the unexplained variable “luck.”
Now I did get recovery, but the underlying dissatisfaction and displacement had not been amortized as a result of my using. As a matter of fact, based on probable nerve-damage and the wreckage of those years, the world and my nature suited me even less than when I started drinking.
Here’s how the program changed my life: I am alive today because they told me my problem was spiritual and so was the solution. It was in AA that the dissatisfaction and displacement became hunger, but hunger of a different sort, one far different than the desire to believe I’m a good guy or that the world is not such a bad place after all.
This spiritual problem/solution concept is central to AA. Revealing to its history is the correspondence that occurred between Bill Wilson, a co-founder of AA, and Carl Jung, the Swiss psychiatrist. Wilson had written Dr. Jung to thank him for the influence he had on the development of AA and the twelve steps. In discussing the particular person who had been treated by Dr. Jung and who thereby influenced Wilson, Dr. Jung wrote,
“His craving for alcohol was the equivalent, on a low level, of the spiritual thirst of our being for wholeness, expressed in medieval language: the union with God…”(a)
But the craving, Dr. Jung continues, is not the problem,
“I am strongly convinced that the evil principle prevailing in this world leads the unrecognized spiritual need into perdition, if it is not counteracted either by real religious insight or by the protective wall of human community. An ordinary man, not protected by an action from above and isolated in society, cannot resist the power of evil, which is called very aptly the Devil.”
Provided below is the reference site for this letter if you’re interested. FYI, Dr. Jung quotes Psalms in the letter.
So the using, according to Jung, might simply be poor strategy. Like Tom said today, the lures of the world entice us from the lure set by Jesus. We think we want one kind of bread (relief) when what we really want is something else, something radically different which (at times) provides less rather than more relief. Unfortunately, what we mistake for the real thing is demonic, and frequently kills. As if to prove it’s demonic, the wrong bread frequently destroys our best and brightest. None of us are strangers to losses like this.
But now, having been chosen to live, I have received a degree of consolation in faith. I want more, and of course, at times, I doubt. Sometimes, when I fear I am only deluding myself into hope, I cling to that hunger as evidence that He really has called me. How is that? Because how can you hunger for something that you haven’t tasted?
Jesus was so clear regarding humankind and what we- being made in the image- really need. Despite what they say on TV, it’s not an economic plan, a self-improvement program, or yet another medication. He wants us back with our Father. That we miss Him confirms our origin and ultimate destiny in Him.
(a) http://silkworth.net/aahistory/carljung_billw013061.html
Monday, August 3, 2009
The Bread of Life
It’s a gas that I got schooled at church today. I need that. Heck, if I could do it myself— get schooled in the Way—I could sit around and clip coupons Sunday morning. I knew before coming the theme would be (and will be for the next two Sundays) the Bread of Life, and I knew it’d be communion, and I knew we were in John.
Now, John’s gospel isn’t my favorite. I’m a Mark guy and reading John I find myself second-guessing the text and asking, “Is this what Jesus said or is it what the early church wished Jesus said?” This type of thinking bothers me when I spend more time reading Crossan than the actual gospels.
To start with, in Sunday school Wendy referenced the story about the woman caught in adultery (John 8:3-11: “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her”). Wendy mentioned in passing that this story is only found in the gospel of John, that some say this story was added after the original manuscript had been written, and that some scholars doubt it ever occurred at all. There’s that “John” thing again. Well, being afforded the opportunity to take a slow pass through it, two statements obverted for me. First, as the Scribes and Pharisees accused the woman, Jesus knelt down and wrote on the ground. I wanted to know what he wrote. Daniel suggested that carpenters at the time didn’t have paper upon which to figure measurements, and therefore they measured in the sand. So, maybe he was measuring the appropriate response. He certainly responded in a measured and non-accusatory manner, better than I could. Next, following Jesus’ statement regarding the first stone, it is noted in the text, “they went away, one by one, beginning with the elders.” Yes, that’s right, it makes sense. That the elders were clearest on this is a function of experience; that battle with sin, even then, even them.
In both these statements a bonus for me is this: if this is a contrived story, it is certainly well contrived, just as if someone actually saw it; the carpenter measuring in the sand, and the elders being the first to recognize Jesus’ point about sin and all of us. It doesn’t appear to be contrived. I believe the word used by literary gurus is “verisimilitude,” just like life. Thanks, John.
I’ll come back to the church service. I was also schooled in a meeting after church. I was corrected biblically over the way I interpreted what someone had said and I needed that too. The corrector didn’t accuse me; she simply said she thought the person might’ve been coming from the perspective of a couple of verses in I Corinthians. How cool is that? I didn’t get it back like I gave it, that’s for sure. Is that classy, or what? I am starting to trust these “meeting-things” as a place not so much for me to practice patience and restraint (which nearly kills me), but as places to learn something new about what can happen in conversation with other dirty rotten sinners like me.
Finally, worship played a part in the schooling. I don’t know how many times I’ve taken communion, but it seemed novel today. Tom had asked that people bring canned goods to replenish our pantry for those in need. He had the kids take that up during the children’s sermon and put those gifts on the communion table with the bread and the grape juice. Gosh, those kids were excited doing that. Me—I was kind of immersed in juxtaposed meaning; a sublime pool in which to wash.
It so easily could have been preached as “the gospel is us feeding the poor” and Tom certainly allowed that feeding the poor is an important part of it. But he went on further to talk about feeding “the Bread of Life” in addition to what we usually buy at the farmers market. And then he talked about the real treasure entrusted to us: Jesus as revealed Word, grace, faith, hope, eternal life, and community. Yeah, baby!
Last week I was talking to someone young in the 12-steps program, who is frustrated with his life, how he seemed stuck. I remember what I was told when I was young in the program: “It’s an inside job; when you change, your life will change.” I didn’t believe it then. I thought I needed degrees, a different job, a new place, a new girlfriend, etc. I thought my problems were outside of me. Experience taught me differently. And when I finally bought that I—rather than my situation—needed to change, I thought I could change myself. I wasted a lot of time there as well. Then someone turned me on to Luther’s commentary on Galatians and my struggles were obverted. In fairness, AA was telling me before I heard it in Galatians.
My take now is that even though the problem is inside me, the solution lies outside of me; in a power greater than myself. My focus should be on exposing myself to that power; making my 12-step meetings, being active in church, and reading the Word. If you want to get warm, stand next to the fire.
Now sometimes the problem can be solved by a bag of groceries. But if the problem is more, I do hope the folks who come here for the groceries stick around for the rest and the best. That includes transformation, the work of the Bread of Life.
Pax.
Now, John’s gospel isn’t my favorite. I’m a Mark guy and reading John I find myself second-guessing the text and asking, “Is this what Jesus said or is it what the early church wished Jesus said?” This type of thinking bothers me when I spend more time reading Crossan than the actual gospels.
To start with, in Sunday school Wendy referenced the story about the woman caught in adultery (John 8:3-11: “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her”). Wendy mentioned in passing that this story is only found in the gospel of John, that some say this story was added after the original manuscript had been written, and that some scholars doubt it ever occurred at all. There’s that “John” thing again. Well, being afforded the opportunity to take a slow pass through it, two statements obverted for me. First, as the Scribes and Pharisees accused the woman, Jesus knelt down and wrote on the ground. I wanted to know what he wrote. Daniel suggested that carpenters at the time didn’t have paper upon which to figure measurements, and therefore they measured in the sand. So, maybe he was measuring the appropriate response. He certainly responded in a measured and non-accusatory manner, better than I could. Next, following Jesus’ statement regarding the first stone, it is noted in the text, “they went away, one by one, beginning with the elders.” Yes, that’s right, it makes sense. That the elders were clearest on this is a function of experience; that battle with sin, even then, even them.
In both these statements a bonus for me is this: if this is a contrived story, it is certainly well contrived, just as if someone actually saw it; the carpenter measuring in the sand, and the elders being the first to recognize Jesus’ point about sin and all of us. It doesn’t appear to be contrived. I believe the word used by literary gurus is “verisimilitude,” just like life. Thanks, John.
I’ll come back to the church service. I was also schooled in a meeting after church. I was corrected biblically over the way I interpreted what someone had said and I needed that too. The corrector didn’t accuse me; she simply said she thought the person might’ve been coming from the perspective of a couple of verses in I Corinthians. How cool is that? I didn’t get it back like I gave it, that’s for sure. Is that classy, or what? I am starting to trust these “meeting-things” as a place not so much for me to practice patience and restraint (which nearly kills me), but as places to learn something new about what can happen in conversation with other dirty rotten sinners like me.
Finally, worship played a part in the schooling. I don’t know how many times I’ve taken communion, but it seemed novel today. Tom had asked that people bring canned goods to replenish our pantry for those in need. He had the kids take that up during the children’s sermon and put those gifts on the communion table with the bread and the grape juice. Gosh, those kids were excited doing that. Me—I was kind of immersed in juxtaposed meaning; a sublime pool in which to wash.
It so easily could have been preached as “the gospel is us feeding the poor” and Tom certainly allowed that feeding the poor is an important part of it. But he went on further to talk about feeding “the Bread of Life” in addition to what we usually buy at the farmers market. And then he talked about the real treasure entrusted to us: Jesus as revealed Word, grace, faith, hope, eternal life, and community. Yeah, baby!
Last week I was talking to someone young in the 12-steps program, who is frustrated with his life, how he seemed stuck. I remember what I was told when I was young in the program: “It’s an inside job; when you change, your life will change.” I didn’t believe it then. I thought I needed degrees, a different job, a new place, a new girlfriend, etc. I thought my problems were outside of me. Experience taught me differently. And when I finally bought that I—rather than my situation—needed to change, I thought I could change myself. I wasted a lot of time there as well. Then someone turned me on to Luther’s commentary on Galatians and my struggles were obverted. In fairness, AA was telling me before I heard it in Galatians.
My take now is that even though the problem is inside me, the solution lies outside of me; in a power greater than myself. My focus should be on exposing myself to that power; making my 12-step meetings, being active in church, and reading the Word. If you want to get warm, stand next to the fire.
Now sometimes the problem can be solved by a bag of groceries. But if the problem is more, I do hope the folks who come here for the groceries stick around for the rest and the best. That includes transformation, the work of the Bread of Life.
Pax.
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