a minister's life

The Church After Religion

2012-01-28T09:44:00.004-05:00

I was one of the folks who sat in a conference at Columbia Theological Seminary this week led by Diana Butler Bass. She has a new book out soon called "Christianity After Religion: The End of Church and the Birth of a New Spiritual Awakening." Her talks outlined the book's main ideas. I won't spoil her thesis, but I can say that the book has some dramatic tension and (I think) a happy ending. It's great - get a copy.

After a few days to mull over the conference, I can confess two things: 1) I love Diana Butler Bass' scholarship and 2) I am not motivated by "the end of the church as we know it" theses. The first may need less explanation. I find Bass to be the most lucid, clear-thinking, sensitive observer of contemporary church culture I've encountered; and if you've ever heard her speak, she marshals great facts and even better illustrations. She's a powerful example of the good that can happen when someone thinks, writes, and speaks rationally about contemporary religion.

So what about the end of the church? Yes, unquestionably, things are changing. Yes, some forms of being church are dying. Since I began seminary in 2001 (when it started to look like I would hook my life to the institutional church), I have followed with interest the prolific talking and writing about what's happening in churches these days. I used to try to stay ahead of the trend. I was desperate to know what was happening next in the life of the church. I figured this was a strategic move: if I could stay ahead of the trends, I would be a relevant voice. Maybe I could even be known (which is the vain, secret hope many pastors harbor).

I became a "next church" groupie: I attended emergent church gatherings (which I quite enjoyed). I read lots of books on the next church - from all kinds of theological stripes. I participated in countless conversations about the church that was yet-to-come (conversations I still enjoy).

But I started to grow weary of it. Two things happened, in retrospect.

One, I realized that no one knows what's happening next in church. We all can read the signs (at least those with eyes to see a clear set of data points). We can make predictions about the signs... stab in the dark about what might come... but no one knows, really. So much of the conversation about what might happen next in church is about what the individual speaking wants to happen next. What God wants or needs for the Body of Christ rarely comes up in these conversations, nor does our dependence on God for guiding us into the future (which itself is fashioned by and belongs to God). Viewed in that light, much of what I was reading began to feel like a thinly-veiled attempt to market something to me - a product, a consulting service, an idea. I felt like I was a target audience for a diet pill. I wanted to be thin - and this pill would work like magic! (While the only one who gets thin is the guy who sells the diet pills - he makes enough cash peddling the dream to hire a personal trainer and raw food chef.)

The deeper I get into "running" a church, the more I realize that pastors (whom one might assume would be the people most able to effect a change in the church) don't really control our own churches, let alone can we determine what might be next for the church. Even if we did have a sense of where the church should go, does any other pastor out there doubt their own ability to get the church there? I'm not sure I could get my own congregation "there" - if, in fact, I knew where "there" was. I know it sounds horribly naive to talk about the future and ask God for direction. Who does that, really? But in a historical season in which the institutional church appears, to me, about as far from the Realm of God as any other institution, should we really trust our own intuitions, preferences, and limited talents to guide our future? Don't you suppose that if well-meaning people (who are abundant in churches) had any control over things, the church would look a bit different than it does today? I've been at poker games, barbecues, and trips to the Social Security office that feel more like the Realm of God than the institutional church does.

There is a lot of anxiety in the church about the change in the culture that is (maybe) making churches less important. There are a lot of us invested, whole hog, in the church that exists now; we have a lot to lose if the church crumbles: jobs, pensions, investments in buildings and systems, family histories, personal identities. There are also a good number of folks who make a living telling us convincing stories that the old way of doing church is terminal and something new and different is bubbling up and you better catch it! I'm just not anxious and I'm not buying into any anxiety about the future church. If the church is teetering for it's life, sign me up for a spot on the "death panel." If I ever thought that the point of church was putting little Presbyterian churches on every corner and getting every human being into a congregation, I would never have gotten in to this line of work. I really don't care what happens to contemporary American church culture with its celebrity pastors and niche-marketed Bibles and stadium seating and denominations and church campuses that greedily gobble up too many of our resources. Let it die. It's not the world's salvation.

Which brings me to my second realization. What matters most to me about church is that it offer an opportunity for people to gather - in some way, shape, and form - around the Jesus that can be known through the Gospels and in the company of the Spirit that can be known by who-knows-how. I suspect that kind of gathering would be simpler, more economically efficient, and potentially more spiritually satisfying if there were no "church" to go to. But, for now, there is a church. And my current church is a good place to go to know Jesus and feel the Holy Spirit and experience community. And, come what may, that's all I have control over - and as I suspect, I don't even control that.

I'm not worried about the future of the church. Nor am I in charge of it. When the church crumbles, there will still be young people around to pick through rubble and find treasures.

It may be the end of the church as we know it. But, truth is... I feel fine.

The PCUSA and Children of Divorce

2012-01-16T15:40:00.003-05:00

This is the week. The folks are about to get divorced.

I know. It had to happen. Life together wasn't working anymore. And it hadn't been working for a long time. They haven't been spending time together. They definitely haven't slept with each other for a looong while. It's over. It's time for one "parent" to go off on their own and start a new life.

It's hopeful, in a way. No more bickering. No more arguments with no winners, only losers. Maybe life apart will be better for both parents. More peace, less anger.

But there are the children to think about. I am one of those children. I am a child of the PCUSA who came of age in in the 90s in the era of the "homosexuality debates" that tore the family apart. I have never really known a church in which fighting did not dominate the denomination's culture. The debate was the primary organizing and evangelistic tool when I was a young adult - if you were going to participate in the wider church, and you were 18-30, you were heavily recruited to "take sides."

The parents always wanted you to take their side. They never acknowledged the gifts, the insights, the goodness of the other. When it's life-and-death and the stakes of the pending divorce are high, you can't afford to yield ground. In private, they confessed their pain to their children, talked about their wounds. But in public, it was unforgiving. Unyielding.

Initially, I thought one parent was right. After a while, I found myself less and less willing to take sides. I wanted to see the goodness (and the sin) in both parents. Really, what I wanted was for them to stay together. For the sake of their children. For the sake of the Christ, the one who (they taught me) reconciles the world.

I guess not. Or not yet. Or not us Presbyterians.

I wish both parents well. I want them to be happy in their new lives apart - happiness that was plainly impossible together. But I also want them to know that their decision to divorce is causing pain. I want them to know that. I want them to know that the pain will live on for a long, long time, in the way their children think, speak, and act toward other members of the family.

I wish the parents well. I hope life gets better from here. But I ask them to remember, when all is done, that they still have a commitment to the well-being of their children... children who will always and forevermore be children of divorce.

On that note, here's a bit of wisdom from the American Academy of Adolescent and Child Psychiatry on the effects of divorce on children. Apply it as you will:

One out of every two marriages today ends in divorce and many divorcing families include children. Parents who are getting a divorce are frequently worried about the effect the divorce will have on their children. During this difficult period, parents may be preoccupied with their own problems, but continue to be the most important people in their children's lives.

While parents may be devastated or relieved by the divorce, children are invariably frightened and confused by the threat to their security. Some parents feel so hurt or overwhelmed by the divorce that they may turn to the child for comfort or direction. Divorce can be misinterpreted by children unless parents tell them what is happening, how they are involved and not involved, and what will happen to them.

Children often believe they have caused the conflict between their parents. Many children assume the responsibility for bringing their parents back together, sometimes by sacrificing themselves. Vulnerability to both physical and mental illnesses can originate in the traumatic loss of one or both parents through divorce. With care and attention, however, a family's strengths can be mobilized during a divorce, and children can be helped to deal constructively with the resolution of parental conflict.

Talking to children about a divorce is difficult. The following tips can help both the child and parents with the challenge and stress of these conversations:

Do not keep it a secret or wait until the last minute.

Tell your child together with your spouse.

Keep things simple and straight-forward.

Tell them the divorce is not their fault.

Admit that this will be sad and upsetting for everyone.

Reassure your child that you both still love them and will always be their parents.

Do not discuss each other’s faults or problems with the child.

Parents should be alert to signs of distress in their child or children. Young children may react to divorce by becoming more aggressive and uncooperative or by withdrawing. Older children may feel deep sadness and loss. Their schoolwork may suffer and behavior problems are common. As teenagers and adults, children of divorce can have trouble with their own relationships and experience problems with self-esteem.

Children will do best if they know that their mother and father will still be their parents and remain involved with them even though the marriage is ending and the parents won't live together. Long custody disputes or pressure on a child to "choose" sides can be particularly harmful for the youngster and can add to the damage of the divorce.

Research shows that children do best when parents can cooperate on behalf of the child. Parents' ongoing commitment to the child's well-being is vital.

A Poem

2012-01-13T14:14:00.001-05:00

St. Francis And The Sow

by Galway Kinnell

The bud

stands for all things,

even for those things that don’t flower,

for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;

though sometimes it is necessary

to reteach a thing its loveliness,

to put a hand on its brow

of the flower

and retell it in words and in touch

it is lovely

until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing;

as Saint Francis

put his hand on the creased forehead

of the sow, and told her in words and in touch

blessings of earth on the sow, and the sow

began remembering all down her thick length,

from the earthen snout all the way

through the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of the tail,

from the hard spininess spiked out from the spine

down through the great broken heart

to the sheer blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering

from the fourteen teats into the fourteen mouths sucking and blowing beneath them:

the long, perfect loveliness of sow.

A Song for Taking Stock

2011-12-30T15:52:00.000-05:00

It's the end of the year, a time to take stock. This song by Jeff Tweedy (of Uncle Tupelo and Wilco) has planted itself in my head this stock-taking week. What does it mean? Not sure and not willing to commit. But I think it has to do with the "sometimes" described here... and also the "when."

Blessings to you as the old goes out and the new comes in.

Early in the morning, sometimes late at night
Sometimes I get the feeling that everything's alright
Early in the evening, sometimes in the day
Sometimes I get the feeling everything's okay
Because everything cuts against the tide
When you're by my side
Name me a song that everybody knows
And I'll bet you it belongs to Acuff-Rose
Children in the playground, the folks in the home
Anybody anywhere who's ever been alone
Because everything cuts against the tide
When I hear that sound

A Christmas Prayer

2011-12-24T09:16:00.001-05:00

Thank you God, for gathering us together on this night

Of feasting and celebration.

Tonight the heavens proclaim that we are not alone,

We are nevermore alone.

You are always with us.

This night is a threshold,

It’s the night you came out of eternity and into time.

Out of heaven and into this fragile world.

We have built so many things onto the doorway of Christmas.

We’ve made it a triumphal arch

With blinking lights and billboards,

And we charge an entrance fee.

But the doorway you use to the world

Is not ornate.

The womb of a teenage girl;

the love afforded by a poor family.

Your doorway to the world is still found in our body

Our hearts; our flesh.

You knock. We open. You live in us, through us.

Thank you, Christ, that you come to us in rags, not silk.

You don’t respect the ways of the world—

Wealth is not power; might is not right.

Your way is altogether different:

The last is first, blessed are the meek and the merciful,

When someone compels us to go one mile,

We go the second mile with grace.

We are lovers of enemies;

Servants of all.

In your way, we are free.

In you, we can go anywhere in life with confidence.

You go there before us, making a path,

Even through the gates of death to the life beyond.

God, make peace prevail among the nations of the earth.

Make peace on the landscape of our hearts.

Bless us with loving eyes and forgiving hearts—

that we may look upon our own lives with generous acceptance,
And forgive those people who have hurt us the most.

Bless us with hope—that in spite of what we see with our eyes,

All of the death, hurt, anger, injustice,

That none of this will finally stand.

Your love is the most powerful thing in all creation,

And nothing will stop you

From wiping away every tear, righting every wrong,

and reconciling us to each other.

Thank you God, for gathering us together on this great night

Of feasting and celebration.

Amid the cacophony of the season,

The music and the laughter and the tears,

There is a quiet, insistent knock

On the door of our hearts.

Tonight, we say, “come in.”

“Jesus Christ, beloved Child of God, come in.”

AMEN.

The Ceiling Caved In

2011-12-22T23:02:00.004-05:00

I resented having to come to the church early in the morning this past Tuesday.

There was a woman without a home who was living in one of our education classrooms. I knew she had been there for about a week. The janitor told me. One other person suspected it. But she had been impeccably clean, well-mannered. Aside from trespassing, this was not a huge problem. It was cold, the church was warm. But it couldn't continue. I was going over Tuesday to tell her that she had spent her last night under our roof and to help her identify what was next.

By way of backstory, the church has been trying to help this individual since this past summer. I've spent more time with her than perhaps any of my other parishioners. I've referred her to several other professionals for support. Each time, though, something failed. I began to see that there were deep psychological issues this person faced that neither I nor the church could penetrate or change. For some reason, she didn't want to accept the kinds of help we offered. She wants to create the help she thinks she needs.

It's hard. Loving a person in a Christ-like way should not demean them or strip them of their dignity. You I always want to respect a person's autonomy and capacity for self-determination. But what happens when a person is so self-destructive that they fail at self-determination? I've long felt that Jesus' parable of The Good Samaritan is totally unhelpful to those of us engaged in real-life helping situations. In the parable, the guy by the side of the road is so compliant. In real life, the guy is a jerk. Or an addict. Or schizo. And he doesn't want to go to the hospital because he doesn't trust doctors... but can't you just spare 20 bucks?

I arrived at the church at 7:30. I don't know if she heard me come in, but she was just trying to duck through our back garden when I saw her. I invited her to come in and talk. The very second I did, I heard the sound of water running in our fellowship hall. It sounded like the shower was on... except we don't have a shower in the fellowship hall. Or anywhere. I walked into the room to find one of the half-dozen or so things a pastor never wants to find: water, pouring through the ceiling from 30 different places; water, pooling and puddling on the floor.

A burst pipe. In the women's restroom. Right next to the room where our visitor had been staying. Oh, Lord. My first thought: she did it. On purpose or on accident, she did it!

It turns out she didn't. We have a 55 year old church with 55 year old pipes and we don't have a "pressure reduction valve" on the main water line, so water shoots into our pipes at a much higher pressure than pipes prefer. Over time, the toilet seals wore away. It just happened that this one burst now. I called the maintenance supervisor and the property commitee chair. Both handled the situation masterfully. Insurance should pay for much of the damage.

But I still had to evict our guest. It's late December. The shelters in Atlanta are full. There is not room in the inn for her. I imagined appearing on the front page of the paper: "heartless local pastor evicts woman on Christmas Eve." I don't know how she will find health. I thought she might find it in our care. But I felt like a failure.

It felt like the ceiling caved in - twice - that morning.

Pastoring During the Holidays

2011-12-20T07:03:00.001-05:00

It's become a cliche in pastor circles. How hard the holidays are. Sometimes cliches can make the reality rather than represent it, but in this case, I do think the holidays are particularly challenging for most pastors. Here's a list of 5 things that have been vexing for me this Christmas season:

Advent sermons. In Advent, the scriptures always talk about Jesus' Second Coming and re-making the earth. And every year the earth needs re-making. It exacerbates our legitimate doubts about whether he is coming back at all. Waiting for Jesus gets tiring. So do Advent sermons on waiting.
What to do with Mary? Never more than in the last two years have I been aware of pregnancy complications. Several more came on my radar this year in the congregation. None of these folks want to hear about Mary's miraculous pregnancy and how God comes as a baby. Those words hurt.
There's a homeless woman whom we suspect is sleeping in the church. Not sure how she gets in, but she hides and sleeps in a classroom. She can't stay there. But the shelters across the city are full to the gills. There is no room in the inn, anywhere in Atlanta. I still have to kick her out.
The calls for assistance come fast and furious. Random people just call and every story, if you listen to it, is desperate. Evicted. Staying in a hotel. No money. Kids. "Pastor, can you pay for just one more night? We'll find the rest...." People can lie about a lot of things, but desperation is not easy to mask in someone's voice.
Holidays without loved ones. So many families are missing somebody important, maybe from death, from mental illness, from a broken relationship.

In all of that, there is still great joy this holiday for me. A beautiful family. A great church that turns out for the things that count: 40 volunteers for a Christmas party for vulnerable families on Friday night and 40 more volunteers for a dinner for homeless men on the next Sunday. A job I like. Good friends all across the world. Lots of joy.

But if the holidays feel hard... I think it's because they are.

Normal

2011-11-22T23:55:00.001-05:00

Last week, my family did what normal families do all the time. We took a vacation.

Sort of.

We loaded up a big SUV full of stuff and went for an interstate drive, north out of Georgia, into Tennessee to Knoxville, winding through Appalachia through Lexington, KY and up to Cincinnati. Along the way, we stopped at McDonald's to eat. We tried to count the number of golden arches we saw, but we quickly lost count around 9 before we'd even left the state of Georgia. We listened to kid-friendly music and sang along, mostly VeggieTales.

It wasn't a vacation, though. We don't have family in Cincinnati. There is a great children's hospital there that specializes in treating pediatric airway difficulties. We went to get my 1 year-old daughter a second opinion about surgical options for her airway, with the hope that one day she might breath, swallow, and speak successfully.

The freedom I felt during this simple drive took me by surprise. I felt like we were normal for a few days. It refreshed my awareness about how small Margaret's health issues have made our life. We rarely leave the house as a family and we haven't in two years, going back to Margaret's harrowing time in utero. Our circle of friends is smaller than it might be. Our ability to take risks and explore professional opportunities is constrained. Our experience of the world's bizarre variety is restricted. Interstate 75, with our full family together, felt enormous and looked lovely. A Korean meal in Cincinnati felt like a night on the town. Staying in a hotel was delightfully strange.

No one has a normal life, if by "normal" one means "without hardship" or "without undue restrictions upon one's self-determination." Our lives are all circumscribed: peculiar family histories that corral us, debilitating illnesses, social or culturally-imposed barriers, personal foibles that we never come to peace with.

But why do we ever compare the lives that we have with the lives that we imagine we might have "if not for...?" Where does our sense of what we are owed or deserve come from? Is there health in being angry for what I don't have?

I have taught in sermons that it's important to lament - to be angry and frustrated with God for what we don't have that we believe we should, by right, possess. I think it's a practice that helps us come to terms with the reality of our circumstances. "Dammit God...."

But in my own life, in response to my own challenges, I'm not angry - not, at least, an anger that I can access in a helpful way. But nor am I in a serene place of acceptance, where the blessings of what I have overshadow the sense of loss over what I don't have. Instead I feel like I'm floating. It's as though I can still watch, in my own mind, a television program of my "normal" life--the one without a sick child. I really do see it. And I don't watch the program from a place of being at home in my own situation. I live it, but I can't be sure that I really own it. I don't feel as much as I think I ought. Feelings in my life are rarer than I wish they were.

But I did feel last week. I felt good to be together with my whole family, driving. For a few days, I was outside of my own confused relationship with the normal life I don't have. We were all together, experiencing something thoroughly new. It was a novelty of togetherness that I haven't felt in a long time. I felt something. I was in my own life. That, probably, is what I've missed.

Maybe the "normal" that I've been missing is the experience of inhabiting my own life and feeling.

An Education from Cornel

2011-11-08T01:46:00.002-05:00

I graduated from Yale almost 15 years ago with a BA (in something called American Studies). I am currently getting my education from Cornel.

Cornel West.

West, to me, is the most important public Christian intellectual working in the nation today. He's a philosopher by training, with a background in American pragmatism in the tradition of John Dewey. Pragmatism is a nonfoundational approach to knowledge that treats knowledge as contingent and conditional, but avoids the fatalism and cynicism often associated with postmodernism. It suggests that truth is "found" through one's participation in a community's knowledge--knowledge that is borne out in its collective practice and experience. It's also a philosophical position uniquely (in my view) sympathetic to socially-engaged Christianity.

But it's not West's fondness for John Dewey alone that makes me like him--it's his ability to blend and sythesize thought worlds that makes him compellling. In a single talk, he's likely to quote Aristophanes, Tennessee Williams, Fannie Lou Hamer, Jay Z, and Jesus Christ. And more often than not, West does come around to Jesus. One snippet, from the preface to his book Prophesy Deliverance!, gives a sense of the dialectical energy and deep religious commitment that is characteristic of his thought:

Those who read my book primarily as an attempt to provide a tension-ridden synthesis of prophetic Christianity and progressive Marxism through the prism of black oppression and resistance have a point, but they miss my deeper point: to transform abstract talk about God and suffering into concrete enactments of existential and political struggles with no human guarantee for ultimate victory. In short, the human dialectics of death and desire, extinction and eros, failures and foibles are the basic movement in Prophesy Deliverance! Hence, hope—human hope—is the basic theme of the text. But it is a hope severed from bitterness and bigotry, cruelty and cynicism, revenge and resentment. To put it bluntly, it is a hope grounded in Christian love.

Get through what appears to be academic jargon to the main point: West cares about suffering, political consciousness and action, and existential hope. That's not a bad definition of the Christian life, well-lived.

West embraces philosophical and theological positions on the leading edge of postmodern thought, but he injects these views (and, by extension, himself) into the public sphere—a place where the complexities of the human condition both wreak havoc on tidy intellectual constructs and pick apart the finest inconsistencies between the theory and the embodied personality of the theoretician. This willingness to expose himself to public ridicule or praise—on hip-hop radio stations, in the pulpit, and in the classroom—is a testimony to the integrity of West’s intellectual project. In the public sphere—especially in the postmodern United States with its keen awareness and hunger for irony and exploitation, a remarkable amount of courage is required to articulate complex, coherent ideas that take full account of human suffering but maintain a constructive message of hope.

I "consume" as much West as I can. Mostly, these days, that means listening to his weekly radio show with Tavis Smiley called Smiley & West. I'm catching up on old shows this week and I recommend the program that features his conversation with comedian and talk show host Bill Maher, as much for the interchange with a 16 year-old about the Gaza flotilla as for the conversation with Maher. Listen to the July 15th show here.

Occupy Atlanta Feed

2011-10-26T00:13:00.001-04:00

Strange. I simply don't understand why Mayor Kasim Reed is trying to draw an end to the Occupy Atlanta protest. The protest will not go away. I just don't believe it will. It will continue. It will re-form. It may get stronger with the help of a clear "opponent" and a narrative of formal persecution.

Why wouldn't Reed use the protests? Nurture them? Support the underlying message and help translate it into policy?

Makes no sense to me.

Watch live streaming video from occupyatlanta at livestream.com

...the birds made nests in its branches

2011-10-23T22:42:00.000-04:00

I shared today in church a few of the parables from Matthew 13: mustard seed, yeast, treasure, pearl. I tried to just tell them as stories. Very little editorial commentary or explanation. Just the stories. Here's an example:

“The kingdom of heaven is like when a person…

…takes the tiniest of all seeds, a seed so small that if I had one on my finger you could barely see it.

The person puts the tiny seed in the ground, and it begins…

…to grow. It grew and grew into a large shrub.

It was not a majestic cedar. It was not a fruit-bearing fig. Really, it was a big weed.

And the birds of the air came…and they made their nests there.”

The technique is borrowed from Godly Play, a well-known church school curriculum for young children. I love the sparseness of and the open-ended-ness of this kind of story telling, especially for these bizarre and complicated parables.

A friend offered that because of this mode of presentation, he heard these stories in a new way today--he heard how disappointing these parables are. If the kingdom of God is supposed to be something that we long for, these parables don't necessary nurture the appetite. Maybe better put, they aren't "typical" visions of reward: there is loss in each vision--sometimes profound loss.

The downside of trying something like this is that when you do something new, it can throw a congregation out-of-balance. I can't emphasize enough how much the expectations an audience brings with them shape what a performer/preacher can do. Imagine if you sat down to watch Glee, and you got a cop drama. It doesn't matter how good the cop drama is, you're ticked that it's not what you expected. I imagine there was a bit of that going on today, too. And add to that that when the preacher/performer does something new, you aren't as polished in the new idiom.

A final note about today: I just fell in love. With a software program: Prezi.

I made this presentation for my sermon today. I love the non-linear format, great graphics, and it's super-easy to assemble from the templates.

Occupied in Atlanta

2011-10-10T23:40:00.002-04:00

Photo by Randy Brown (Oct. 7th, 2011)

Two supporters of Occupy Atlanta showed up at my church last Sunday. Now, I should say--they didn't come to worship. They showed up just as I was locking the doors to go home, slightly before 2. Two 20-somethings, at least one of them pulling on a cigarette. Both a bit scraggly, unshaven, unkempt-looking. They sort of sauntered toward me, making minimal eye contact.

"Hey."
"Hey," I said. "Can I help you?"
The first guy didn't seem to want to make a sentence. But he persisted: "We are involved with this thing. And we thought you guys would want to know about it." He handed me a homemade 1/4 sheet black & white flyer. It said "Occupy Atlanta."
"Yeah, I know about the movement," I said. "I've been following it on Twitter."
"Oh, cool. Alright. And we were wondering if we could borrow some candles."
"Candles?"
"Yeah, we're occupying Woodruff Park and we're re-naming it 'Troy Davis Park' and tomorrow is his birthday and we're going to be holding a vigil. We were hoping you might have some candles we could use."

So, I didn't give him any candles. I might have, but I honestly don't know where we keep candles.

What I took from the interaction were these things:
1) This guy came to OUR church, nowhere near Woodruff Park. Turns out he had been there "about 10 years ago" and knew one of our church families and thought we might be sympathetic to the cause.
2) I felt old talking to him. I judged him by the way he dressed and the way he spoke. He just "presented" really poorly. He wasn't articulate about what they were doing or why. Not sure what Troy Davis has to do with Wall Street. It just was a bad, bad "sales pitch." And yet...
3) I was delighted. I am so so glad that young people in Atlanta are picking this movement up. And while virtually nothing about these young men's pitch to me was impressive, I still want to help them out. I think this movement has enough Jesus in it to make it worthwhile.
4) He came to our church! He thought--hey, folks at this particular church might want to be involved in this, the most anti-establishment of movements. I find that such a shocking complement about the ways our congregation's members have been involved in our community's life, that a 20-something who was there once 10 years ago might remember us and think, "those folks are radical enough to cold call them!" That's a sign from God that I'm in the right church if I've ever seen one!

I'll be headed down to Woodruff Park soon. Let you know.

Lunch Haiku

2011-10-07T13:38:00.002-04:00

This apple is as

Big as my fist. I'm eating

It on my day off.

In Genesis the
Apple is not forbidden.
Probably a fig.

Strange Worship

2011-10-07T09:36:00.000-04:00

Worship is a strange experience.

We tend not to evaluate worship. It's better not to (unless you're a congregational worship committee, in which case you have to be brutally honest). Two people can sit right next to each other at worship and have completely different experiences. Completely. Different. Experiences. One person is enchanted, moved, enriched; the other is inert, mind wandering, off-put. You just can't evaluate worship according to subjective experience.

But imagine my experience of last night's Pride worship: imagine preparing to talk on God and sexuality and church with someone that you've never met. One thing I would NOT do: talk didactically for 20 minutes without giving them a chance to respond. That's what I did. You understand some of the awkwardness I felt preaching. Talking to a group of people about the Bible, sex, God, and mercy--people I'd never met, who didn't get a chance to say, "hold on! That's not how I see it." I felt lonely in the pulpit. I think my attempts at humor also felt forced. Oy vey.

Worship is an intimate performance. It's a stage show that needs gifted, capable leaders and a coherent storyline that intersections at multiple places with the life stories of the worshiping community. I try to create every worship with thoughtfulness about the emotional and spiritual needs of the community with which it will be shared. I find it excruciating, as with last night, to try and prepare worship and a sermon for a community that I don't know. My experience often has been that large pieces of the worship fall flat. I felt that last night, about my own participation. Worship without the leader having an intimate knowledge of the community almost never feels "right" to me.

Worship is a strange experience. It's amazing, with the individual egos never far from the surface, that it ever works. But occasionally, it does. And when it does, it builds people up into healthy, whole humans like nothing else I know can.

+++

On a broader note, it's an awkward moment for LGBTQ organizing in the Atlanta Presbytery. We accomplished a significant goal this year, removing constitutional language that was antagonistic to LGBTQ persons. That was a 15-year struggle. Now... what? A generation of Spirit-inspired leaders is stepping back. There are lots of young leaders, but it seems like we're waiting to be organized. Waiting. For whom or for what?

My (minister's) life

2011-10-06T10:07:00.001-04:00

I've looked back at the development of my blog and I'm not happy. It's fine. Fine. But as I read recent posts, they've taken a turn: they're often harpy editorial commentary about events of the day. I'm boring myself. What I'm not doing is what I hoped to do in this blog when it began: show a "ministers' life," from the inside.

So today, a new start: a new look. More frequent entries. More detail about my interior life, avoiding excruciating minutae. I won't write about breakfast (I may post photos). I'll try to turn my brain inside out and dump the contents to show myself whether God is evident from the place I stand. The premise of this blog is that ministers of the gospel of Jesus Christ are oddities--often caricatured, made fun of in jokes, or put on strange and uneasy pedestals by friends. We're public figures with private lives, and our vocation demands a tenuous reconciliation between those two parts of ourselves.

***

Today (Thursday) is a sermon prep day. I spend an hour preparing for every minute that I speak. 20 minutes is 20 hours of preparation, give or take. Some is reading. Most is writing and re-writing. I write at Decatur establishments: Java Monkey (home of the above-pictured sandwich), Dancing Goats, or the Thinking Man Tavern. I've got two sermons to work on today. Sunday's is a reflection on "Thou Shalt Not."

Tonight's sermon comes first. It's for the Presbyterian LGBTQ Pride service, to be held at Morningside Presbyterian (7pm for you folks in town). It's a bit strange to be a straight pastor preaching a pride service. I'm not sure you'd ask a white preacher to preach your church's King Day celebration. But I'm happy to do it.

I want my message to do two things: make LGBTQ folk feel empowered about owning the good news in the Bible; and let the wider church know that LGBTQ folks are the church's "Good Samaritans," emissaries from God, ministering to our bloodied carcass, nursing us back into health. The white church's diminishing influence in the world directly corresponds to a) its racism and b) its homophobia.

What is Peacemaking?

2011-09-30T00:15:00.000-04:00

This week is "Peacemaking Sunday" in the PCUSA. We'll give a special offering that will go solely to peacemaking work across the world. Jesus said "blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God." A peacemaker is someone who uses their influence to reconcile conflict, or who works to prevent the escalation of conflict.

On that note, this press release found its way into my inbox this week from my favorite peacemakers in all the world:

What a great week for Search for Common Ground
Wednesday, September 21^st marked the 30th anniversary of the International Day of Peace. The United Nations created this event in an effort to focus the world on the singular priority of peace for all people. Wednesday, September 21^st also marked one of the greatest days in Search’s history.
After two years of steadfast work, Search for Common Ground Senior Advisor Ambassador Bill Miller, with the support of SFCG President John Marks, successfully helped to facilitate the release of two American hikers held in Iran for two years.

As one of the premier peacebulding organizations in the world, we work with local partners in 27 countries to decrease violent conflicts and increase societal cohesion. As we take this time of great joy to reflect on our accomplishments, we know that we must remain focused on the important work that still needs to be done. We hope you will consider joining us in that work with a contribution.

Please take 10-15 minutes and amble through Search for Common Ground's website and consider supporting them! I met them through my former church in New York. John and Susan Marks are the real deal. Children of God, for sure.

Here's Johnny (Isakson)!

2011-09-29T15:21:00.002-04:00

My senators, Johnny Isakson and Saxby Chambliss, seem like decent guys. Both go to church, according to their Wikipedia bios (not that that makes someone a decent person, by any means). Isakson taught 6th grade Sunday School for 30 years at his Methodist church. Chambliss is the son of an Episcopal priest. Aside from Chambliss' unconscionable attacks on Democrat Max Cleland in the 2002 race, and Isakson's convenient shifting of his positions on social issues to the right as the Christian right came into power in the early 2000s, they seem to have their bearings. They're not shrill. They don't seem to pander too much.

They're both super-duper conservative, but hey... I live in Georgia, now. This ain't the Upper West Side.

It was interesting to get a letter from MoveOn, asking me if I would go to Isakson's office with them:

It's time to ask Senator Johnny Isakson if he's willing to pay his fair share. He is one of the 136 Republican millionaires currently serving in Congress. But he may pay a lower tax rate than you and most middle class Americans. And here's the thing: He gets to vote on what tax rate he pays.
That's why we're going to Sen. Isakson's office in Atlanta at noon on Friday with a petition signed by more than half a million people demanding that millionaires and billionaires like him pay their fair share in taxes. We have one simple request: "Will you pledge to support the Buffett Rule so that millionaires—like you—pay the same tax rate as the middle class?"

This is kind of a nice idea. Isakson made a huge bunch of money working hard to build a real estate firm here in Atlanta. He's worked hard and done well. Shouldn't he be comfortable paying a marginally higher tax rate?

I hope this visit goes well. I also hope the folks who visit him are polite, yet firm. I would want to ask him, "Senator, you are worth about $10 million dollars. That must be nice. How much do you give to charity every year and to what charities? Can charities solve all of our social ills? How does your wealth affect your voting patterns? How do you think the average American making $45,000/yr.--or the 46 million people who now live under the poverty line at about $20,000/yr., feel about your position on keeping taxes low for the wealthiest citizens? How do you think they feel about your position that we need to starve the government's social benefit programs? How is your approach--one that keeps corporate and wealthy individual tax rates obscenely low, NOT a massive form of government welfare... for the rich?"

Like I said. Polite, but firm. I'd like to hear his honest answers.

The Principles of Scientific Management and the Church

2011-09-24T02:26:00.001-04:00

Frederick Taylor

Do you know the name Frederick Taylor? Maybe not. Maybe you got an MBA and had to read The Principles of Scientific Management. Maybe you happened to be awake that one day in college when your American history class was studying industrialization and the Gilded Age. Like I said... maybe not.

Frederick Taylor was the first person to successfully apply "scientific" principles to industrial production. He believed that businesses that produced things could produce those things efficiently and with higher quality if every aspect of the production system were studied and scrupulously monitored. Eli Whitney invented interchangeable parts, but Frederick Taylor invented something even more enduring in our culture: management consulting. Management consulting thrives on the prevailing idea that there is always a way to re-organize a business to produce stuff more efficiently. The process can always be improved.

Taylor was a smart dude. Implementing his ideas transformed businesses and increased productivity. What were his insights? Here are Taylor's four principles of scientific management:

Replace rule of thumb work methods with methods based on a scientific study of the tasks (ie, standardize all work tasks).
Scientifically select and then train, teach, and develop the employee, whereas in the past the employee chose their own work and trained themselves as best they could.
Provide detailed instruction and supervision of each worker in the performance of that worker's discrete task.
Divide work nearly equally between managers and workers, so that the managers apply scientific management principles to planning the work and the workers actually perform the tasks (ie, the creation of a "management class").

We literally cannot imagine the world of making things pre-Taylor.

But the effects of implementing Taylor's methods are not all positive. Taylor, more than anyone else, is responsible for the mechanization of the American worker. Workers, post-Taylor became part of the industrial process--inputs to be shaped and controlled. Workers were parts of the machine to be routinized; dispensable if they didn't meet efficiency standards. Taylor personally had an exceptionally low concept of the worker--he believed workers to be dull, stupid, ignorant. They were not fundamentally different than the steel they forged. Taylor's innovations underscored social differences between labor and management; he put all the legitimate power in the hands of the latter.

OK. You're devastatingly bored by now and/or you're begging me to get to the point.

Here's my question: Do any of you feel like scientific management is quietly doing to the church what it did to business? That is, applying management theory (and by "theory" here I don't just refer to Taylorism, but to Peter Drucker, Jim Collins, whomever is the management guru du jour) to churches creates wonderfully "successful" systems in terms of outputs (butts in seats); but do these systems necessarily define congregants as objects to be shaped and controlled? I'm wondering if there aren't hidden and unforeseen costs to importing management theories from the business world to the church.

This line of questioning was spurred by a training session I attended this week sponsored by my presbytery (the local association of Presbyterians). Our group of pastors met two other pastors, both the heads of very "successful" new churches. Both pastors got a turn to present what they do, and each had a lovely PowerPoint presentation detailing the "systems" and "methodologies" that they use to develop their businesses--er... I mean, churches. The first pastor talked excessively about her "market audience" and how she developed her church's look and feel and practices to appeal to her target market. She also talked a lot about her strategic use of social media. The second pastor shared his theory of church management, worship planning, and leadership development; he actually talked about volunteers and their capacity levels (on a scale of 1-10) and joked about getting "too many 4s." Neither pastor ONCE mentioned God, Jesus, or the Holy Spirit. I'm not fond of overtly religious language myself, but this omission felt kind of... I dunno... ominous to me.

Peter Drucker

As I sat there, I wondered: were we learning the "scientific management" of our churches? I have no doubt that the latest and greatest "techniques" will increase our measurables. Rick Warren cites Peter Drucker as a personal friend and mentor and one of the most profound influences on his approach to church development.

I know there are benefits. I'm just wondering: what are the hidden costs? I'll be blunt: if Taylorism reified social hierarchies and authorized and empowered a managerial class (power that has only increased over time, along with the yawning income gap between management and labor), what effects could management theories be having on the church? The church... you know--that place about which it was once said (somewhere), "there is neither Jew nor Greek, manager nor worker, male nor female, for all are One in Christ." Or something like that.

Anyone out there got any wisdom to offer on this subject?

What Class Are You?

2011-09-23T01:19:00.001-04:00

This week Mitt Romney offhandedly called himself part of the "middle class." Mitt's net worth is estimated at $200 million. It seems clear that it was a pretty innocuous attempt at solidarity by a super-rich guy with "us" not-so-rich.

I could sympathize--at least a bit. For a long time, I didn't know what class I was in, either. I never knew how much money our family had. I mean, I knew we didn't "come from" wealth. We didn't summer in the Hamptons. My parents both worked when I was growing up, as teachers--one a professor, the other a public high school teacher. We lived in comfortable neighborhoods and went to public schools. We were pretty frugal in our family spending--not ostentatious. But then, we also never had to tighten our belts, there was always food in the fridge, gas in the car(s), and nice toys for birthdays and Christmas. So... what class were we?

I always assumed we were "upper middle class" with middle class sensibilities. In fact, we probably started that way. But by the time I graduated from high school... we were probably rich. Richer than most everybody else (which is the basic definition of "rich"). My dad's salary was published on the front page of the Columbus Dispatch in a feature story on professors' salaries at Ohio State--that was the first time I ever found out (along with the rest of Central Ohio) how much money he made.

I had to scour the internet for a while to find the data on American incomes for 2011. But here it is. In summary, income distribution in America looks like this:

You are poor (lowest 20%) if you earn: less than $17,000
You are lower middle class (20-40%) if you earn: $17,000 - $32,000
You are middle class (40-60%) if you earn: $33,000 - $57,000
You are upper middle class (60-80%) if you earn: $58,000 - $97,000
You are rich (above 80%) if you earn: more than $98,000
You are stinkin' rich (top 1%) if you earn: more than $500,000

If this is confusing, read it this way: 20% of our population makes less than $17,000 a year and 20% makes more than $98,000. Median income (the point at which half of Americans make more and half make less) is about $43,000.

Where am I? I am one of the many in my generation who will not out-earn their parents. But don't cry. My Presbyterian pastor's salary makes me upper-middle class.

The crazy piece about these statistics for me is that 40% of Americans live on LESS than $32,000 per year. That is just no money at all. No luxuries, no peace of mind, no security, and no opportunity to save. Do you know enough folks in this 40%? Do you know what living on that income is like? If you don't, it would be a good thing in the coming months for you to politely find out.

Understanding real income breakdown is essential to understanding the debate on taxes in America. Dollars are so scarce among the poor and lower-middle classes, even in the middle class. If we were to switch from our current system of progressive income taxes (at which high earners are taxed at high rates) to a system of consumption-based taxes, it punishes lower earners. It would be class warfare against the poor. Or chemical warfare: insidious and cruel, with effects spanning generations.

But then... it's hard to understand what the effects of an economic policy are when you have no idea what class you're in--or what class in America really means.

***

On my sidebar, toward the bottom, you can check out where you stand on the "Global Rich List." It's a perspective-building exercise to punch in your own info and see where you rank next to Ugandans and Bhutanese.

Homily for September 11, 2011

2011-09-12T17:15:00.003-04:00

I usually don't post sermons. I write them to be spoken, and they're not the same when they're read. But the process of preparing yesterday's message was important for me, personally. So, here's an edited version of my message from worship at the North Decatur Presbyterian Church yesterday. Hope y'all had a meaningful day of remembrance.

***

Today, we remember 9/11 - but I’m conscious that maybe we shouldn't. In Alan Bennet’s 2006 play “The History Boys,” Irwin, a teacher, says "there’s no better way of forgetting something than by commemorating it.” Commemorations can become soothing rituals, pacifiers, bundles of easily forgettable words, denuded of the primal power and emotional gravity of the event itself. When authorities (like government or church) take a hold of remembering, they smooth out the rough edges, remove the internal contradictions, even re-write what happened.

I wish the church could be trusted to remember events with rough edges and deep complexity. Christians take our identity from an instrument of capital punishment, but we have often made the cross something fit for jewelry or t-shirts - an easy symbol of a "helpful" faith (tattoos, burned into the skin, are probably better). I hope, today, the church can be responsible with the contested memory of 9/11. I hope that our commemoration is not an act of forgetting, but of remembering faithfully.

Meaning is never inherent in any event. Meaning comes not from the event to us, but from us to the event. Three things help us create meaning: what we see, what we feel, and what story we tell about the claim that event makes on our lives.

9/11 does not have meaning inherent in it. We give it its meaning. What happened that day? It depends on whether you watched it in on television - or over your shoulder as you ran up Varick St. What you felt depends on whether you knew someone who was on an airplane that day; or had a family member in New York whom you couldn’t reach because the phones didn't work. How it changed your story - what claim that day made on your life - depended on any number of things: your occupation (were you a firefighter, a flight attendant, a Marine); your religion (the day meant something different for Muslims than for Christians, and it meant something unique for Sikhs who were often mistaken for Muslims in the days after); where you lived (were you here in Atlanta where it all felt far away, were you in Lower Manhattan breathing in the dust cloud, did you live in Afghanistan, where the effects of 9/11 would take a while to be fully felt).

There are many different experiences of the day and what it meant. Recognizing that, here is one. Here's my own story - what happened, what it felt like, and the claim it made on my life:

I was in New York City, but far away from the Trade Center, 3 miles up the Hudson River. When I heard, I was doing my job: I was in my first theology class at Union Seminary. The class was taught by Jim Cone, who would remind us often about how “all theology begins in suffering." Someone ran in the door to tell us what was happening downtown.

We went to the student lounge to watch tv. I watched for 5 minutes, but couldn’t handle it. As the media does, they were already talking about what it meant when we didn't yet know what happened or what we were feeling. How can you know what it means, if you don't know what happened and you don't know what you are feeling? I didn’t watch tv again for months and that was one of many, many blessings upon my remembering. My experience of the day - and the days afterward - was immediate, not mediated.

I walked to my room and wrote for 30 minutes. Then I walked outside. On Broadway, people were walking uptown in two and threes, carrying each others' things, carrying shoes - to avoid blisters (or had the city's sidewalks just become holy ground)? People shared phones to call loved ones. They kept donating blood far after it was clear that little would be needed. In the evening, they kept vigil with one another - who did we know? We held each other; cried together.

The level of compassion in New York City in those days was lovely. Maybe the closest I will ever get to being in the Kingdom of Heaven. It was a kinship of the suffering.

It was a gift to be there, to see and feel all of this in person. The seminary family was a profound blessing. I was able to process the experience as a part of an authentic communal response to suffering with theologians and ethicists and pastors - with people who know how to wrestle with the cross and with pain and violence and forgiveness.

The Seminary organized volunteer opportunities - anyone with pastoral care skills was suddenly needed. A friend staffed a phone bank for people to call when a loved one had gone missing. I was part of the Seminary choir, and we set up on the streetcorner at 14th street by the police barricades and sang "The Storm is Passing Over," again and again and again until some believed it.

One night, about a week in, I volunteered to serve in the food line for rescue workers (which was the best food line the world ever seen - the city’s master chefs had all donated their services). Volunteers were given access to the site; once you were allowed past the perimeter, you were free to walk around wherever you wanted. I walked down to the edge of the Pit.

It was night - huge banks of flood lights cast shadows across the grotesque ruins. There was the smell - burning, an acrid smoke. I was conscious that there were few bodies found. Most had been turned to ash. Ash was everywhere underfoot. This was a crematorium. A burial site. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

I did not understand then and do not understand now what possess a human being to destroy other human beings in this way. I am unable to understand the anger and sickness that compels a human being to murder innocents. I am especially bewildered that a person could do this in the name of some kind of God.

But my overwhelming feeling that night and what I feel whenever I think back on those images is a deep sadness. I felt so deeply sad. The destruction was not the buildings. The buildings themselves were human folly. The grandeur and the beauty that were destroyed were the people, all of the relationships that made them who they were. What is valuable - what was lost - is not the things we create; it’s the things that God creates. We bear God's image, yet human beings are callous enough to destroy that image, through direct violence, or through the shadow violence of neglect and indifference.

I saw that night what is not God. God is not death; God is not destruction; God is not anger. Sometimes we know God best in God’s absence. What was the negative image of God that appeared in the shadows that night? A God who nurtures. Heals. Welcomes the stranger. Meets hatred with love. A God who makes wars cease to the ends of the earth. A God who is in the midst of the city, our refuge and strength and a very present help in trouble. A God who will not be moved.

The night I spent walking around those buildings will always trouble me. I do not think about it. As I said, it makes me too sad.

But I never want to forget it. It was the place, in God’s absence, that I saw God’s presence. In a Godforesaken time, in a Godforsaken place, I came to believe again in a God who does beautiful and extraordinary things in exactly such places. If I did not believe that, I would not be part of a tradition that keeps the cross at its very center. Where the world sees an instrument of violence and death, a follower of Jesus sees the merciful power of God, whose love will stop at nothing to redeem life - who will stop at nothing to restore peace to the creation and to the creatures - to you, me, and the "enemy" - whom God loves most of all.

Science, Religion, & the Edge of Knowing

2011-09-09T08:30:00.000-04:00

I listen to On Being on podcast when I have an hour to clean the kitchen (I'm a perfectionist... it takes me an hour, OK?). It's the most substantive program on religion in the contemporary media. It's open-handed and intelligent; I rarely listen without getting something to chew on.

Recently, I heard "Cosmic Origami," an interview with Lord Martin Rees, a cosmologist and astrophysicist and former president of Britain's Royal Society (TED talk here). The interview explored some of today's frontiers in science--the limits of knowledge.

In a day when a fundamentalist presidential candidate can challenge the science of climate change (and find popular support), the Christian religion has acquired a reputation as deeply anti-science.

I've never experienced any incongruity between my Christian faith and science. Don't both dwell at the edge of knowing? Aren't both urged on by some strange admixture of audacious and pragmatic human questions? Don't both engage awesome mysteries that render the bold explorer prostrate and speechless? Don't both depend, in the end, not solely on what happens outside of us, but what happens in the uncharted processes of human cognition? Both lean hard into the limits of what we can know.

My religious faith needs science; they flatter one another--they don't fear one another. Here are my favorite quotes from the program, some of which will make you dizzy at the heights:

On the mysteries of space:

[T]here is also a deeper mystery, which is related to the nature of space itself. There's evidence... that even empty space, when you take away all the dark matter and all the atoms, still exerts a kind of force. It exerts a sort of push or tension on everything. And this therefore means that even empty space has a kind of structure, and we don't understand that at all. In fact, most of us would guess that empty space does have a structure but on a tiny, tiny scale, a scale a billion, billion times smaller than an atomic nucleus....

On the possibility of "other" dimensions:

We're used to the idea of three dimensions of space, backwards and forwards, left and right, up and down. But if you look at space on a tiny scale, you would find evidence for extra dimensions. There's another idea... which is that there may be... other universes, other regions of space/time, which are separate from ours because they're embedded in a common higher dimension. To give an analogy of this, if you imagine a whole lot of bugs crawling around on a big sheet of paper. They may think of that as their sort of two-dimensional universe. They can just go in two directions on it. Then if you imagine another sheet of paper parallel to the first one and other bugs on that, then they think they are in a separate two-dimensional space and they're not aware of the third dimension. So they wouldn't know that there is the other parallel sheet. And some people think that one dimension up we are in that sort of predicament. They think that there may be, as it were, another universe maybe just a few millimeters away from ours. But if those millimeters are measured in a fourth spatial dimension and we're imprisoned in our three we wouldn't know about it.

On evolution and human complexity:

[T]he time lying ahead is at least as long as the time that has elapsed up till now. The Sun is less than halfway through its life. The Earth has billions of years ahead of it, and the universe may go on forever. And I think this is very important to everyone because this makes me very skeptical about any claim that humans are in any sense the culmination of evolution. We are, of course, the most complex organism that has evolved, but since the time lying ahead is just as long, then post-human evolution here on Earth and far beyond could be far more complex and wonderful than the biosphere we have here under which we are a part.

On human power:

[I]t was his obligation to control the power he had helped unleash.

On humility and the limits of knowledge:

[I]f science teaches me anything, it teaches me that even simple things like an atom are fairly hard to understand. And that makes me skeptical of anyone who claims to have the last word or complete understanding of any deep aspect of reality.... I think the most we can hope for is some incomplete and metaphorical understanding and to share the mystery and wonder whether we are believers or not.

On the natural alliance between scientists and believers against fundamentalism:

Many nonbelieving scientists, like myself, do not wish to attack and deride religion.... I regard fundamentalism, both Christian and Islamic, and New Age as being a real danger to the world. And I therefore, think we need all the allies we can muster against it. And I would see the mainstream religions, religions that have no problem whatever with science, as being our allies.

On how knowledge advances:

Science doesn't advance in a very systematic way. It advances with sometimes two steps forward and one step back.... [M]ostly what happens in science is that new ideas are refinements and extensions of the old ones.

On the relationship between general and particular knowledge:

[W}hen you understand nature in increasingly general ways, then the number of separate things you have to remember goes down not up.

On Divine purpose:

I just don't understand what could be meant by purpose. I think if there was a purpose, I wouldn't expect human brains to be able to understand it. I think it is clear that humans are just a stage in the emergence of amazing complexity in the universe. And I just think it's far too anthropomorphic to actually use the word purpose.

On the human mind:

[T]he brain is the most complicated thing we know about in the universe. And we are just beginning to understand it. [It is] the sort of Everest problem, as it were — the highest summit in studying the complexions of our world. And how far we will get in solving that I don't know, but there are many mysteries still obviously. But again, the point I want to emphasize, is that we should not be surprised that there are many mysteries, because we are just beginning and the world is very complicated and our brains may not be up to solving all of them.

A Prayer for Georgia

2011-09-08T11:51:00.000-04:00

God, I'm praying this morning for this place to which you delivered me, now 9 months ago. This strange place--Atlanta. Georgia. Parochial and cosmopolitan, whiter than I'm used to, and also darker than I'm used to. Urban-ish, and very rural if you're willing to drive a short distance beyond "the perimeter." A place divided by color, burned in an apocalyptic war, pieced back together by dreams of unity and grandiosity, dreams watered generously by a syrupy, brown cola. God, thank you for this peculiar and often lovely place.

God, thank you for the rains of this week. It is cool today and the ground held some water. Thank you (it's been so damn hot)! Help to replenish this patch of earth, God. I hope the waters that you poured on the North Georgia mountains fill the streams and tributaries, gather into the rivers and lift the levels of our thirsty reservoirs. God, please send more rain. Nourish the fields and farms across this state; grow up the crops for the harvest so that this red clay earth can feed its citizens--every one of them--and the revenue can feed the life of small towns across this state.

God, send strength to the workers here. Make every day of work an act of praise. God, help the businesses in this state do well by doing good things for people. Help us to make carpets and tools and airplanes; make sound loans and investments; heal bodies, build roads and buildings, and teach children.

God help our politicians. Give them energy and intelligence, imagination and love. Help them to help us (not themselves). Give them the wisdom to see new immigrants to our state as a blessing (not the curse they are made out to be); to see them as your gift of energy and hope to us. Help our politicians to invest long-term in schools and teachers, not prisons and guards. God help our politicians to tax us well--to ask for sacrifice where sacrifice is warranted, to offer relief where relief is needed. Help them to work for our future (and by this I mean a future that is farther out than the next election cycle).

God, inspire our many, many preachers... and our imams and our rabbis (they're here, too, caring for your children). Give them words to speak this weekend that bind up wounds. Grant them a powerful vision of peace among your children. Give them words to speak that will paint beautiful pictures of the future in the mind's eye of their congregants--pictures that include loving depictions one another.

God, thank you for bringing me to this place. Atlanta. Georgia. Make me a blessing to this place, as it is a blessing to me. As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.

It's Not the Ceiling

2011-07-29T07:40:00.002-04:00

It's not about the debt ceiling, right? I mean, we're talking about the debt ceiling, but it's not about the debt ceiling.

The issue beneath the issue is the proper relationship between government and wealth.

Conservatives are trying like hell to pry the government's hands off of people's money. After all, it's their money, right? To prove this point, some members of congress are willing to obstruct the whole machinery of government. That's powerful conviction.

But something has been smelling foul to me. Listen, I'm no huge fan of government programs (my experience with them as a nonprofit professional receiving government grants and as a parent of a child who receives public benefits has been that they are bloated and badly run). I also resonate with the general frustration that the way our government makes and spends its money is bloated and irresponsible.

But the "fix" here is not to starve the government. The way to address the problems with government money is to make the process of making money (taxation) more transparent, simpler, and more moral. Same with the process of spending the money: more transparent, simpler, and more moral.

Sounds idealistic and naive. But is it? Listen to David Cay Johnston, a journalist I have long admired for his work exposing the many ways that our government's methods of making and spending money have been corrupted.

In this interview on WNYC's Brian Lehrer, it was refreshing to hear someone speak about economics with clarity, common sense, and moral force. When's the last time you heard someone passionately defend the importance of "marginal utility," or make the case that all wealth grows from the foundation of "common wealth?"

I admit that what really struck me, apart from Johnston, was the first caller, Suzanne. She says (and I'm paraphrasing a bit), "I think we need a single progressive income tax..., capital gains should be taxed at the same level as the money you work for, now that the Supreme Court thinks that corporations are persons with equal free speech rights, they should be taxed at the same rate as persons, all political contributions from any non-constituent should be barred...."

Isn't she right? Aren't those the simple, moral "fixes" we need? Clear, fair taxation. An end to bizarre and wasteful business subsidies and tax loopholes. And above all, an election system that mitigates the influence of money in politics and puts power to make decisions in the hands of average citizens?

Our nation's big problems are financial. We are diseased financially. The debt ceiling is not the problem--fighting over it will not bring us closer to health. Not nearly.

2011-07-24T10:56:00.001-04:00

We have also been growing a garden in our 2x8 raised bed with afternoon sun. Heirloom tomatoes, bell peppers, squash, peas, and mesculun. And two sunflowers (facing different directions).

2011-07-23T10:02:00.004-04:00

Been on vacation...