Becoming Human

This I Believe

Tim — Wed, 25 May 2011 02:20:28 +0000

Every month, I have the pleasure of attending mandatory all-day trainings with colleagues. Our supervisor decided that a great way for us to get to know each other would be to write and share “This I believe” statements. My understanding is that this is something National Public Radio began awhile back. I’d look into it more, but I should be doing other things so I won’t take the time. Anyway, I had to write and read one to my colleagues. I figured since I haven’t posted anything here in a long time, maybe I’d put mine up. Here it is…

This I Believe

We’ve all had teachers who have planted the and watered the seeds of our beliefs. They may be people, traditions, experiences, or anything, really, whether good or bad. They teach us how to live. For me, an introspective observer of the world, raised in a devoutly Christian home, those teachers became my family, history, observation, and Christian tradition.

They’ve taught me there’s no substitute for a nurturing family and community. Without them we have no identity. They’ve taught me that organized religion is too often a poor substitute for living out the values it teaches. They’ve taught me that all things are interconnected and that we’re too mysterious to be judged, too confusing to be effectively analyzed, too fickle to be trusted, yet too courageous to be dismissed.

They’ve taught me that our world is one of contradictions and we can’t always change them. I believe the world is simultaneously simple and complex, and that sometimes those are the same thing. I believe in absolutes, but I don’t think I’m the authority exactly what they are. I believe there is nothing more wrong than a perversion of something beautiful, and nothing more beautiful than the restoration of something hopeless. I believe our world is mostly grey, but I also believe you can’t make grey without black and white. I’ve learned to embrace contradictions, perhaps because I don’t know how to understand the world without them.

For instance, I’ve learned that humanity will always disappoint. We’re no different now, no more enlightened or wise, than the earliest humans. The passage of thousands of years, the coming of civilization, technology, and learning have given us time to find new ways to do the same old things. We’re still fundamentally self-centered. We still group ourselves with those like us and degrade those we perceive as different. We still fight wars. The privileged still exploit the rest. We still find that all the money, power, and revenge we can get will never fulfill us like loving and being loved, respecting and being respected.

But I’ve also come to believe that humanity will never disappoint, because we’re no different now, no less enlightened or wise than the earliest humans. Thousands of years, civilization, technology, and learning haven’t kept us from finding ways to do the same old things. We still have an inexplicable love for our families and our children and there will always be someone who stands for peace and who challenges the social order. We’ve always recognized injustice and we’ll always fight it, each in our own way.

I believe that despite our mistakes, we generally try to do what’s best. I’m pretty sure most of our world’s pain comes from two things: we think we understand each other when we don’t, and we don’t respect other people as we should. I’d go into those in depth, but I’ve also come to believe there’s value in not subjecting others to the inner workings of my mind.

Christian tradition teaches that the only way to cure our world’s pain is to fully devote ourselves to loving our neighbors – whether that means speaking up or shutting up, serving the poor or being poor, taking more pride in yourself or exercising more humility. I believe that simple ideas like this are the hardest to carry out, but that life is largely about learning how. Saint Paul wrote that when all that we value passes away, faith, hope, and love are all that remain. And the greatest of those, he said, is love. I believe him.

The ancient Jews had a story of a prophet named Micah, whose job it was to deliver bad news. But I believe he also taught us how to live. “What does God require of you,” he asks his people, and then he tells them. “Act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God.” This is what I believe.

I Wonder as I Wander

Tim — Sat, 11 Dec 2010 14:58:45 +0000

Sometimes my brain thinks weird things.

For instance, when I was in bed this morning, still a little groggy, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to get up and go to the bathroom or go back to sleep. As I pondered this, I heard the voice of a woman in my head say “This issue troubled us a lot when Horace was trying to take pictures for Teddy Roosevelt.”

What? Who is Horace and why is he in my thoughts? I was shocked and a little offended that Horace felt free to show up in my thoughts, uninvited.

Then I was sort of dreaming/thinking about some person who wanted to be a waiter. I think there was no room for him on the staff. Somehow the phrase “waiting in the wings” was used, and then he walked around the corner to “The Wings,” a hidden restaurant booth where he and a couple others sat and waited for their big break.

Sometimes I really wonder what happens in my brain that makes me think of things like this…

Chasing the Wind

Tim — Thu, 02 Dec 2010 03:22:22 +0000

I’ve always wanted to be humble. An old pastor of mine used to say “when you stand at the top of the Grand Canyon, do you say, ‘wow, I am amazing!?’” Of course not! I thought this was a great image and was further encouraged to accomplish great humility.

When I recently had to admit that I want to be famous for my humility, I started thinking again. I realized that my attempts at humility have always been about me. I’m trying to be humble, so I minimize myself. I fight pride. But that’s just the thing. It’s a battle going on inside of me. It’s always about me. I’m standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon thinking “how do I avoid being prideful in this situation? Am I being selfish? How do I best enjoy the view without making it about me?” Meanwhile, I think about the Grand Canyon only in relation to myself. What a dumb thing to do!

If I’m honest, I think that I’ve always thought of humility as devaluing myself more than I devalue other people. But I should probably value myself, but worry more about valuing others.

CS Lewis said, I think in Mere Christianity, something along the lines of a humble man won’t really notice his humility, because he scarcely thinks about himself. The harder I try to fight my pride and the more I try to be humble, the more I am consumed by thoughts of myself. The less I love those around me. This is what makes me feel sickest about sin. When I try to fight pride, I become self-absorbed. That’s twisted.

Humility itself seems an impossible goal. If it is my goal, it can only be my idol. True humility can only exist when I’m focused on something else. Jesus said the greatest commandment was to love God with all we are and to love our neighbors as ourselves. I guess maybe if I lose myself in love for God and my neighbors, I might actually be humble. But I probably wouldn’t notice…

A Story

Tim — Wed, 01 Dec 2010 03:58:02 +0000

A man arrived in our fair city, here to visit his aunt. He left the bus stop and shuffled down the icy sidewalk, rubbing his hands together and trying to hide his neck from the wind and freezing rain. In his wandering, it came to pass that a request for directions escalated to an unfortunate encounter with a group of kids who’d been drinking. He was soon unconscious on the street, without his money, phone, coat or hat. When he awoke, his limbs were too cold to carry him far, but he made it within sight of a bigger road and its street lights. Here, with his torn clothes, bruised body, and bloody lip, he would sit and hope someone would help.

A little girl saw him and tugged on her dad’s sleeve. “Daddy, shouldn’t we help him?” she pleaded.

“We don’t know what happened. It’s probably gang related and we don’t want to get in the middle of that,” he told her. “It’s not safe. Besides, we need to get home.” She looked back with pity as her father pulled her away by her hand.

Soon a group of people walked out of the church on the same corner. Most of them saw him, but they pretended not to. The pastor followed minutes later. As he locked up for the night, he noticed the man out of the corner of his eye. He walked over to him, gave him his hat and said, “We can’t do anything for you right now, but if you come back tomorrow, maybe we can work something out.” Feeling guilty, but content that he’d done all he could, he hurried away.

Another guy came by awhile later, saw the man, and shook his head, saying “the cops have got to do a better job of keeping these neighborhoods under control. And these people should find something more productive to do than beat each other up. Get a job or something. Go to school. Do what the rest of us do and carry their weight. Now my tax money is going to have to pay for his rehabilitation.” Lamenting how troubled and broken his society had become and annoyed that he had to foot the bill, he faded into the mist.

Then came another man, and as he walked by, said to himself, “It’s no wonder these things happen in these neighborhoods with all the cuts to educational and community programs. And without a new healthcare system, he’ll never be able to pay for medical care.” Saddened by the help this man could have been given, but will now never see, this man, too trudged away.

Many hours passed until at last a young woman emerged from a dark alley, wearing a fur coat and a miniskirt and leggings that betrayed her profession. As she lit her cigarette, she saw him and hurried to him, immediately giving him her coat and helping him up. All the way across the neighborhood, she supported him as he hobbled until at last they reached a small house, half covered in siding, its windows boarded and its screen door banging in the wind. Here she lived with her sister, sister’s boyfriend and their kids. The smell of cigarettes and stale beer greeted them as they entered, as did the piercing eyes of a her nephew, who promptly ran off to tell his mother that yet another man had come to spend the night. A skeleton of a couch sat in the living room, and the woman laid him there and tended to his wounds.

When morning came, she brought him to the clinic and paid his bill with money she didn’t have. After it all, she led him to his aunt’s house and as he limped to the door, she wished him well and turned back to the street, her tired frame slowly vanishing into the distance.

Who is really the plague on society?

Changing Seasons

Tim — Mon, 08 Nov 2010 02:43:27 +0000

Seasons change and so do people. It’s been like a year since I started writing on here.

And I’ve had a bit of a hiatus. A time of learning and growth, I hope. A time of growing certainty and uncertainty. College ended, I became a fiancé, I started working. The world is a new and strange place, and find myself still trying to figure out what’s going on.

I’ve never really been much of an actor, but I recall from my old Christmas pageants that when you’re on the stage, the play is the whole world. I always felt like my entire reputation and probably life was riding on how well I did. But when you’re an adult in the audience, watching the 1^st graders, all that’s going on up on the stage is a bunch of little kids. If they goof up their lines, no one will care. It will probably be cute. I feel kind of like that when I look back on college. Who was I and what did I know. Life away from it has shown me how small and insignificant everything I thought, said and got excited about was.

Thus my silence on this website. It’s been a challenge to convince myself that I have much worth saying. It’s not that things are any more different than I thought theywould be, but more that they are different yet so real and so final. So unlike the idealistic atmosphere of college. In another year will I look back on this season of my life and think “who was I and what was I thinking?” Probably. Instead of talking so much, I want to learn to listen. I have few answers, and wonder how long those few will hold up. And my questions have changed.

After four years of college, what on earth do I want to do? What is there that can hold my interest enough to be a job, at which I will actually want to work, day after day?

Away from the warm Christian nest that was college, what does being a Christian mean? Suddenly

church seems so much more important. Suddenly “living differently than the world” is not as hard as explaining my lifestyle without stuttering through it.

What will family mean when I’m married? They say marriage and family is a “calling.” And more and more I do feel called to it. It’s what stirs my heart when I sit at my desk disinterested in working. It’s what scares me because it will demand more of me than I’ve ever had to devote to anything.

What does it mean to live a life guided by God? Where will I find the motivation to exercise? Where will I live? What will my next job be? Should I go back to school? How will my friendships change? How will my priorities change? Who will I be in a year? Five? Twenty?

How will God answer my questions? Who will he use to answer them? When? Are they important? They say the twenties are a new state of life, much like adolescence. What’s with that? When will I grow up?

What does that mean?

Blessed Are the Poor

Tim — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 05:47:18 +0000

I live a fairly comfortable life. So do most of us who live in the middle class. We like to speculate about what life must be like for those less fortunate, while chastising “the rich” for their lack of concern about the poor. Something about this makes me feel uneasy.

It’s as if we think that a comfortable life is the ideal. We pity the poor because they don’t have the “blessings” that we have. We want them to have such things as food and shelter. Admirable goals, but I think we package that with much more. I think we equate necessities with comforts.

Maybe Jesus meant it when he said the poor were blessed, at least in some ways. It’s probably harder for poor people to love the world, but easier for them not to. It’s probably harder for poor people to accumulate wealth, but easier to give it to their neighbors in greater need. It’s probably harder for the war refugee to survive, but probably harder to cling to this world as well. It’s probably easier for the poor man to enter the kingdom than it is for a camel to walk through the eye of a needle. Blessings, no?

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want people to be poor or oppressed. And I’m definitely not saying that the millions of people leaving in hell on earth are just fine. God hates it. But we act as if God’s deliverance is from a lack of our comforts. Why do we talk as if money is a God’s greatest blessing? Is it a blessing to not have your limbs chopped off in a war or to be dehumanized? Yes. Is it a blessing to have food, shelter, and living family members? Yes. But is it a blessing to be in the American middle class? To never have to be vulnerable? To be kings of our castles? To be independent? To have our own say in everything?

Poverty is heartbreaking, but so is the hollow existence of the wealthy. Do we want to end poverty so that the poor and oppressed can have the same “blessings” we have? Could sin have twisted us so much that we “care” about the poor because we want to give them the good things of the world apart from God? Or could it be that we’d prefer not to hear the critiques of the poor?

There have been times I’ve been jealous of those poorer than myself. I’ve also been jealous of those richer, but not for the same reason. There was a certain life in the eyes of the less fortunate that I don’t see in the eyes of those who live in comfort.

-Tim

Lost in Translation

Tim — Sat, 20 Feb 2010 20:00:22 +0000

Something I was taught at an early age is that I will never understand women. Instead of getting angry that they “just don’t get it,” I should just appreciate their perspectives. I’ve been learning I have to intentionally extend this beyond gender lines and apply it to every individual with whom I communicate.

I’d like to be able to say that I value other people’s ideas. And I think I do, but usually only insofar as their arguments increase my knowledge. I don’t think I really value them because they’re valuable. Because sometimes, they just don’t fit with mine or they doesn’t seem to have taken my ideas into account. Of course, if people understood my perspective, they’d agree with me. Or would they?

It seems to me like no two people can ever fully communicate on the same level. We try so hard to make people “get it,” thinking that if we can just explain it enough, they will understand. But can they ever get it? I doubt it. Think about the difference between “wicked” and “evil.” Are they interchangeable? Is one more intense? Probably if we could describe the difference we see between them, we’d each describe it differently. Yet, we speak as if others understand our words exactly as we do. As evidenced by this cartoon, we’ll be lucky if they get the gist of what we’re saying.

Even if they did get it, they wouldn’t necessarily agree. I make lots awesome jokes, but no one laughs. I proceed to explain the punch line, assuming that if they understood the joke, they’d think it’s funny. The inevitable response? “No, I get it. It’s just not funny.” While they are clearly missing out on a great joke, we can accept such a response. Senses of humor are just different. Shouldn’t we apply this to our worldviews, theologies, values, expectations, etc?

When I launch into a conversation about anything I care about, I usually have the idea that it is possible to explain how I feel and that if they really understand, they will agree with me. It’s hard to accept that even if someone fully understood in every way where I’m coming from, they might not see things the same way. But, just like not everyone understands our jokes even when they get them, not everyone will agree with us even if they completely understand or empathize.

What if instead of trying to make people understand, we just learn to value each other

-Tim

Packaged Morality

Tim — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 02:03:57 +0000

Awhile ago, I read a book about the Vietnam War. The author’s premise was something like this: regardless of Americans’ views on the war, they equated American national security with morality. While no one really thought about it or realized it, the two were bound up into one concept and their arguments maintained this. They came as a package deal.

Since then, I have noticed similar themes all over. I wonder why, as Christians, when it comes to politics, we Americans seem to be just as concerned about whether something is constitutional as we are about whether it is actually right. No one will mistake me for an exuberant patriot, and maybe this is why. What if things like the Constitution, capitalism, free market, a bicameral legislature, a republican system – these pillars of the American system – aren’t necessarily right? I’m disenchanted by a system in which what is right doesn’t seem to matter as much as what is American.

It’s easy for me to say that about politics, because, well, politics and patriotism aren’t exactly priorities for me. It’s harder for me to think about when it comes to things I care about. I grew up evangelical. I’m not even completely sure what that means. But I identify myself with it so much that when certain things are challenged, I find myself reacting as I wish I wouldn’t. I often realize that my reaction has been “What? That’s not evangelical, so it can’t be right.” Should “evangelical” define what’s right? I think not, even if they may coincide. How much do we do this in our lives?

If something doesn’t support our favorite cause, it must be wrong. It’s socialist, so it must be detrimental. It’s not patriotic, so it had best be condemned. They don’t have the Protestant work ethic, so they’re lazy. It’s not rational, so it can’t be taken seriously. It’s not democratic, so it must be evil. It’s political, so it must be useless. They’re wealthy, so they don’t understand. They’re poor, so they don’t understand. They’re uneducated, so they can’t see the big picture. Our perspective is apparently correct. So we filter everything through our perspective.

What is it that you fundamentally equate with morality? What’s your morality filter? What if morality wasn’t part of a package? What would we find if we disentangled what’s right from what we like? I don’t know.

-Tim

Still Sovereign

Tim — Sat, 09 Jan 2010 18:17:31 +0000

I don’t know if you can grow up in the church without singing “He’s got the whole world in his hands.” I sang it as a child. I wonder if in all the singing and repetition, it becomes cliche and we forget that we pray to a sovereign God who created the heavens and the earth, land and sea and everything in them. I was reminded of this recently by a pastor named Sunder Krishnan, as he talked about prayer.

His message was essentially that a theology of prayer is rooted in God’s sovereignty. This almost seemed counter intuitive at first, because I have always felt like the more sovereign God is, the less important it is for me to pray. It wouldn’t really do anything, anyway, right? But when I heard him say “what’s the point of praying to a God who can’t do anything anyway,” I just felt dumb. Duh! This is what has long been in my head, but I never consciously realized. Why?

I think one reason is that we pray too small. I think most of us live on a steady diet of praying that our aching backs will get better or that our cars will start (one close to my own heart)! These matter, certainly, and I see no reason not to pray about them. But we can’t pray exclusively about these things. If we only pray small, our consciousness and belief in God’s power atrophy – just like disuse renders our strongest muscles powerless. What if we prayed to our sovereign God about those things so big that they “will never happen”?

I was also reminded that prayer is not about getting results. It can transform us and everyone around us. It can transform situations, too (generally the “result” we’re looking for). He asked, in essence, “how different would you be if you took the time to consider the implications of an all-powerful God being present in every situation of life?” Wow. A sovereign God in every situation of life.

I don’t know how sovereignty works, but it does. Those people in whom I see God working most powerfully all seem to have a couple things in common: they don’t even seem to think much about God’s sovereignty, nor do they quibble with themselves about prayer. These things are as critical to their Christ following as, perhaps, a belief in God is to my faith. You can’t have one without the other. It also seems that sovereignty and prayer are so closely bound that they can’t even be separated.

Sometimes I have this scary thought (scary only because it has implications) that maybe a good deal of God’s sovereignty is channeled through his people. What if he’s made his power in this world contingent on us praying for it? Not that he couldn’t do it otherwise, but perhaps he chose to give us this responsibility. What if he’s there eagerly waiting, longing for us to pray and pray big? What if he’s waiting to, on our request, open the floodgates and let his shalom sweep through creation and quench this dry and thirsty world?

- Tim

Desire of Nations

Tim — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 05:00:29 +0000

When you’re going to a small town, people often say “don’t blink or you’ll miss it.” I wonder if Christmas can be like a small town. Today I celebrated Christmas and last night I celebrated Christmas Eve. But now, with an hour of Christmas left in my time zone, I’m a little sad to realize that there was one thing I didn’t think a whole lot about this Christmas season: Christmas.

I don’t know if others gave Christmas more thought than I did. I certainly hope so. Because honestly, I think I could have been celebrating almost anything – my birthday, Thanksgiving, a graduation, anything. When I might just as well be celebrating any old thing, am I really celebrating anything?

If you’re like me and in your excitement (or possibly stress) of celebrating, you neglected to give much thought to Christmas, I invite you to think about this verse from one of my favorite Christmas carols. This is my prayer and the cry of my heart this Christmas season. Really think about what this says. Let it sink in, because it’s a big deal.

Oh, come, Desire of Nations, bind
In one the hearts of all mankind;
Oh, bid our sad divisions cease,
And be yourself our King of Peace.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel

May the Desire of Nations shower the world this and every year with His shalom.

-Tim