tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39944262571736868092024-03-12T19:11:39.739-07:00Guessticulations Never put a period where God has put a comma. A question mark would serve better!From Mark Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343191370740534861noreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3994426257173686809.post-89699529601849840772013-07-25T03:45:00.000-07:002013-07-25T03:45:04.089-07:00Sarah<i>This essay is by Fani Lemken, a friend and mentor of mine. </i><br />
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I was not prepared for my first encounter with Alzheimer’s.
It is my aunt Sarah who has it, and I until I saw her I had only a vague idea
of what to expect, mostly informed by made-for-TV movies and people’s
characterization that it is a “cruel” disease because it robs people of their
history.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So I was apprehensive when I learned that I would be seeing
my aunt Sarah during our trip to Greece in June. I remembered her from previous
trips; a force of nature, second eldest daughter of a large family. She had
survived deportation to Czechoslovakia during World War II, the communist
revolution in her new country shortly after that, and an eventual return to
Greece during glasnost. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Only slightly taller than my mother, the last time I’d seen
her she was a beautiful woman with large brown eyes that sparkled with
intelligence and mischief. She was quick witted and kind, but did not suffer
fools. She had turned out children who
were intelligent, kind-hearted, and family focused.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Which may be why her sisters did not react to the news when Sarah
was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s three years ago. Her daughter Stella became the
storied bearer of bad news, marring family gatherings with anecdotes of her
mother’s increasing forgetfulness, tales that were quickly brushed aside as
annoying fairy tales.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Which is why Stella bore the brunt of her mother’s anger
alone. She watched her mother, known far and wide for her wit, her sharp mind
and kind heart, fight against an enemy that crept along the neural pathways of
her brain, randomly destroying bits and pieces of her history, robbing her of
words that a moment ago were on the tip of her tongue.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As her caregiver, Stella was the focus of Sarah’s
frustration, taking the blame for all manner of mishaps and lost items. She was
the target for bursts of unprovoked anger, her buttons pushed, her breathing
tight, as she tried to remember that her mother’s illness was real, and the
anger was part of the illness.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Stella bore her mother’s anger, and more. When she found a
nursing home to care for Sarah, she bore the harsh words of her mother’s
sisters, her aunts, who had only ever uttered kind words of praise and pride
for their beautiful niece, a doctor, a strong woman who raised brilliant
children, physicists and mathematicians.
They forgot why they loved Stella so much, when she told them that she
had to find a place to care for her mother while she was at work, because Sarah
forgot to turn off the stove burners and burned her arm, and Sarah frequently got
lost in their front yard. Instead, they returned
from visiting Sarah and unleashed a torrent of harsh words, their unified
voices melting into a cacophony of lament. But they still did not believe it
was true.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I saw aunt Sarah for the first time since her diagnosis, in
Athens. She came to visit with Stella at our open house, where family gathered
to visit the American cousins. They arrived and my heart contracted a little
bit, just seeing them standing beyond the rose bushes. I didn't know how I
should act. I wanted to show support for Stella, and I loved my aunt. Would she
know me? What should I say? <o:p></o:p></div>
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They passed through the gate and we gave our hugs and kisses
of greeting. I was saved for the time being from action, my hosting duties
paramount. I fetched coffee and cold water, biscuits and fruit. I ran back and
forth from the kitchen, carrying plates, cups, glasses. Stella urged me to sit
and visit for a while, and I did, jumping up often to refill a glass or refresh
a plate of food, or greet newcomers to the gathering.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I hugged my cousins, aunts and uncles as they arrived, and
saw that they, too, hesitated before approaching Sarah. They spotted her
sitting with her back to the wall of bougainvillea, as she watched the
newcomers with no sign of recognition. I wondered if they were thinking,
“She’ll remember me, surely?” And then I saw them turn away after the greeting,
some faces registering shock, others tearing up. It was real; Sarah was not
there – she did not remember them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Stella watched it all too, her face registering a measure of
sadness, mixed with something else. It was finally clear to everyone that she
had not been exaggerating, that she had not been lying, but in that instance, I
saw her and wondered if she was thinking what I would be thinking, “But I wish
I had been.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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As my family greeted each other, it became clear that many
of them had not seen each other in quite some time. We got no explanation for
why this was the case; more than likely it was the same for them as it is for
most families everywhere – days turn to weeks turn to months turn to years when
you’re not looking. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The aunts and cousins decided to take this opportunity to
discuss a legal matter, which affected most of them. They gathered around the
main table to deliberate, leaving my aunt Martha sitting with Sarah at the
table against the wall. Martha was straining to hear what was being discussed.
It was time – I couldn’t put it off any longer.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Thia,” I said, “Go sit with the others. I’ll sit with Thia
Sarah.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And that’s how I came to sit next to her. She turned to me
and smiled, warmth in her brown eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You are a beautiful woman,” she told me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Thank you Thia.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You have a lovely smile.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I smiled at her. She held my gaze, smiling back.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Do you have children?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Yes, I do; two boys – Matthew and Peter.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“May God bless them and fortune shine down on them. May they
be healthy and happy all the days of their lives.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I felt the force of her blessing, a palpable thing,
comforting and familiar, but powerful at the same time.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Thank you Thia.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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She nodded once, still smiling. She glanced at the table,
her eyes focusing on a glass of water. She made no move to pick it up.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Are you thirsty?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“This is your water – here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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She took a long drink and set the glass back down, in the
middle of the table. She glanced towards the street. I turned my attention to
the group at the table, trying to follow the conversation for a bit. After a
minute, I turned back to Sarah. She turned to me too.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“That’s a beautiful color for you,” she said.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Thank you Thia.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You are a beautiful woman.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“And you have a lovely smile.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I smiled wider.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“May God bless you and your family and bring you everything
your heart desires.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Thank you Thia.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Again, that powerful feeling flowed from my aunt, from her
thin frame to wash over me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And so it went. Every few minutes, our conversation would
end, we would look away for a minute, and when we reconnected, my aunt would
start all over again. But I noticed there was a consistency to her engagement
with me – she seemed sincere in her observations and her blessing was always
forceful and palpable. In a very real sense, she came from the same place in
each interaction. The words were different, but the sentiment was the same. And
I got the impression that though she may not remember speaking to me 60 seconds
ago, my aunt Sarah - the essence of my
aunt Sarah – was present in our every encounter.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now let me say that I have met my aunt Sarah only a handful
of times in my life, the result of living continents apart. She is real to me
in the stories my mother has told us of growing up, of her 6 brothers and
sisters, of life during World War II in Greece.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But I don’t have shared personal history with Sarah, so I
didn't have as much to lose as the rest of the family, approaching her in my
mother’s garden that day in June.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So maybe that’s why I was able to feel that I had found my
aunt Sarah, stripped of history, stripped of memories. I encountered the
essence of the woman. She was kind and generous, always starting our interaction
with kind words. And she gave me her blessing freely – backed by the force of
her spirit, and not just as a stream of words casually spoken.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As more relatives arrived, my cousin John came into the
yard. He saw aunt Sarah standing in the midst of her family, smiling but not
recognizing anyone. He turned a big smile her way and said in a booming voice
“Well, do you know who I am?” She turned to him and didn't skip a beat as she responded,
“Yes, you are your mother’s son.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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And a funny thing happened. In that instance, with that
witty comeback, my cousins relaxed. Her sisters breathed deeply. They saw the
essence of Sarah just as I had – they realized that there was something the
disease has not been able to take away. And while they know that much of their
shared history is gone, they know now that their sister, their aunt is still
here. <o:p></o:p></div>
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From Mark Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343191370740534861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3994426257173686809.post-59721524385473539562013-06-21T10:39:00.002-07:002013-06-21T10:39:49.082-07:00Grace occurred. <div class="MsoNormal">
Today's post is from Scott Whisler, friend and sojourner. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<i>A meditation on Luke
7:36-50</i></div>
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In our passage from Luke Chapter 7, Jesus employs the
passive voice to great effect:<o:p></o:p></div>
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“…her many
sins have been forgiven.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Your sins
are forgiven.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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This might have been acceptable in the Aramaic that Jesus
spoke, and it seems to be thrown about with impunity in New Testament Greek,
but just in case you haven’t heard, in English speaking circles, there is and
has been an ongoing war against the passive voice for some time. The commanding
voices of Field Marshalls Strunk and White have long led the charge: “Use the
active voice.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/Mark/Dropbox/Writing/Guessticulations/Grace%20occurred.docx#_edn1" name="_ednref1" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[i]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Likely any who have dared submit their writing to editorial review by experts
in linguistic nitpicking (e.g., junior high English teachers, college
composition professors, any fellow student with a red pencil) will carry scars
from this conflict. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Like most wars, this is a silly war. It would seem that the
origins of the conflict over the passive voice have been lost to the ages,
although some blame George Orwell who, even while he militated against it, was
blithely firing it from his own cannons.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Mark/Dropbox/Writing/Guessticulations/Grace%20occurred.docx#_edn2" name="_ednref2" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[ii]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a> <o:p></o:p></div>
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Me, I love me some passive voice for its proper uses. For
the speaker or writer, the beauty of the passive voice is that a happening to a
person or thing may be described when either (1) we don't care to identify the
instigator (the person or thing making the thing happen) or (2) when we don't
have that information. Of course, for the hearer or reader, this is also the
problem: we are informed of a happening and to what or to whom it has occurred,
but we are left then always with the questions, "Yes but who did it?"
or "What caused this to occur?" <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The classic objection to the passive voice is that it sounds
evasive and, in truth, it often is, <i>e.g.,</i>
“Mistakes were made.” Both politicians and fifth-graders seem to prefer this
formulation even though it tends to drive the professional journalists and
parents a little nutty. Strunk and White warred against the passive voice for
this very reason. To their way of thinking, an expression in active voice was
“usually more direct and vigorous than the passive.” In this view, “direct and
vigorous” is equated with “truth” whereas “passive” is equated with, “She’s
hiding something. Why is she lying?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yea, verily, “direction” and “vigor” are nice when you can
get them. Sometimes, though, “things happen” and that’s all that you can really
say about it. You simply don’t have all of the information that might be
desired. You are short on specifics, on evidence, on hard facts, sometimes
because you haven’t looked hard enough, but also sometimes because the
specifics just aren’t available. Or maybe don’t exist?<o:p></o:p></div>
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As a rule, we tend not to like this lack of specifics. We
prefer “effects” to have their “causes” available for review <i>and I mean right now, Mister</i>, much like
the officers of the law who expect us to produce licenses and registrations
when we are called upon to do so. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In Luke Chapter 7, Jesus comments on something as weighty as
“<span style="text-transform: uppercase;">the forgiveness of sin</span>” with
this breezy failure to specify how such a thing happens. “Sins have been
forgiven,” he says. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In effect, grace happens.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>Wait…what? How? Who did it? When did that happen? Was it just now? Or,
like, a long time ago?<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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Here’s the story: <o:p></o:p></div>
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While Jesus and his Pharisee host named Simon and other invited
guests were sitting around Simon’s table in discussion, an unwelcome woman
entered the scene with an alabaster bottle. As the men folk attempted to carry
on their conversation, the woman stood behind Jesus and began to weep. Then she
bent to wash Jesus’ feet with her tears, drying his feet with her hair, finally
soothing his feet with the expensive ointment from her bottle. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Simon wondered to himself why Jesus would allow an unclean
woman—a “sinner”—to touch him so. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And, you know, sometimes guys just want some space for a
little “man talk” without all the blabbering and hair wringing, for crying out
loud. <o:p></o:p></div>
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To Simon’s wonderment, Jesus seemed not the least bothered
by the display. So Jesus engaged Simon’s thoughts.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Simon, I have a word for you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I’m listening, Teacher.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Imagine a man who had two debtors, one who owed him a
little bit, and one who owed him a heck of a lot. Neither debtor could pay
their debts, so the man cancelled both debts. Now: which of the debtors would
you think will love the man more?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I would guess that the debtor with the greater debt would
be more thankful for the cancellation,” Simon answered.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You are correct, Sir,” Jesus replied. “Now look at this
woman here, Simon.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Ok.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I am sitting here under <i>your</i>
roof, at <i>your</i> table as your guest,
and you did not give me water to wash my feet. And then here she comes, bathing
my feet with her tears and drying my feet with her hair.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“True.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“In fact, when I came to your door, you offered me no kiss
in greeting, and ever since she showed up she has not stopped kissing my feet.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Right, I can see that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Did you anoint my head with oil?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“No, but….”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Answer: no. She, on the other hand, brought her own
soothing ointment for my feet. Can you see that?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Look, Simon, point is this: Yes, she had the much larger
debt, <i>which has been cancelled</i>, and thus
you see here this immense expression of love.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“On the other hand,” Jesus said, “from the guy with little
to be thankful for, it seems you get only a little love.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then, while perhaps the steam issued from Simon’s ears,
Jesus turned to the woman and said: “Your signs have been forgiven.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, Simon and his buddies really had something to
talk about after that. “Who does this guy think he is? Now he is forgiving
sins?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then, in a remarkable turn, in a brilliant turn, in
perhaps the greatest coup de grace, Jesus turns the passive expression into an
active one, saying to the woman:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Your faith has saved you. Now go live in peace.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
WHAT?!! Her faith?! What faith is that? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Wait!! What about the
rules, the law of sin and death? What about confession? What about repenting,
feeling bad, a little guilt, would that kill you? What about keeping the
commandments, the wages of sin, the lust of the flesh, falling short, evil
thoughts, selfishness, that thing with my neighbor’s wife? What about baptism,
confirmation, membership?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>Are you telling me faith, just faith, naked plain old faith, can just
fix all of that?<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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It’s like nobody sees it coming.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Perhaps some of us wish we could unsee it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Most of the time we want the answers to the big questions in
a direct, vigorous declaratory statement. For the big stuff, an indirect
expression of the state of affairs just does not satisfy our need to know. So we whine a little about the passive voice.
It’s evasive. Why not just say what you mean?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And then we get the news: direct, active, clear, simple. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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We have been forgiven. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our faith has already saved us.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The people with the big debts seem to get it and, great
balls of fire, if they sometimes don’t get all kissy and crying and stuff.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sure, the people with little debts might get a little happy,
but mostly they don’t get it. For them, the big demonstration of exuberance might
not make much sense. They want to argue with it, deny it, put it on the table
and cut it open and kill it so they can study it and argue about it some more.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>How can her faith have
saved her?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Whatever happened to
sin?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Was she saved before
she had faith or because she had faith?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>When precisely did
this happen?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>How can she know it
happened?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Good questions, all of them. For whatever reason, Jesus
didn’t spend a lot of time drawing these lines and boxes for us. His message
was both pretty murky and pretty fabulous.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your sins have been forgiven. Passive voice. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Forgiveness happens. Or it has happened.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Grace occurs.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To the intellectually inclined, this passive construction
and its lack of precision is possibly a little unsatisfying.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To those with big debts, though, there isn’t anything
passive about it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div>
<!--[if !supportEndnotes]--><br clear="all" />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
<!--[endif]-->
<div id="edn1">
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/Mark/Dropbox/Writing/Guessticulations/Grace%20occurred.docx#_ednref1" name="_edn1" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[i]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Strunk and White, <i>The Elements of Style</i>
(4th Ed. 2000, p. 18) One admits that S&W’s discussion thereafter is
slightly more nuanced on the issue, but nevertheless it is this declaration
that leads the section that is remembered and employed by those who would flog
others for their sins.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="edn2">
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/Mark/Dropbox/Writing/Guessticulations/Grace%20occurred.docx#_ednref2" name="_edn2" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[ii]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
See G. Pullum’s Language Log, July 18, 2006: <a href="http://itre.cis.upenn.edu/~myl/languagelog/archives/003366.html">http://itre.cis.upenn.edu/~myl/languagelog/archives/003366.html</a><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
From Mark Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343191370740534861noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3994426257173686809.post-1010934030104438572013-06-17T06:34:00.000-07:002013-06-17T06:34:15.663-07:00Snowed In<i>Today's post is by Jim Heynen, from whom I had the wonderful privilege of taking a writing workshop in Iowa City this summer. </i><div>
<i><br /></i><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
I don’t miss much from my childhood
on the farm, but I miss being snowed in.
Being snowed in is not waking in the morning to see that you’ll have to
spend a half hour shoveling to your car before the snowplows come and you get
towed. If you’re really snowed in, the
snowplows are snowed in. And being
snowed in at a your lakeside cabin where you’ll have to dust off your
snowmobile before going out on the frozen lake simply does not count because
you went to your cabin in the first place to escape normalcy. Being truly snowed in means being greeted by
an uninvited ravenous guest who swallows your whole day. If you are truly snowed in, life as you know
it comes to a complete standstill. It
means delicious imprisonment. It means
being wrapped in a straight jacket of silence.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
My
sweet memories of being snowed in look like this. It started a few days before the actual event
with the dire forecast that a humongous blizzard was lumbering down from
Canada. The forecast did not produce dread. Quite the opposite, it fueled
excitement. This could be the big one!
Bigger than ’36! Better get your
kerosene lamps and candles ready! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The grocery stores
would be packed with people buying flour and sugar. The hardware store would be packed with
people buying batteries and shovels. The
variety store would be packed with people buying Monopoly games and jigsaw
puzzles. Getting ready for the big one
generated as much anticipatory excitement as getting ready for Christmas. Except this preparation was not in
anticipation of a congregation of relatives.
It was preparation for a celebration of solitude.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The morning after
the big one looked like this. A
wonderland of whiteness. Snowbanks as
high as telephone wires, the only thing moving the blue, wavering smoke from
distant farmhouse chimneys. Even though
one family could not drive out to see another family, it was still a grand
communal feeling. We were all in this
together, every family in its own survival cubicle. We never felt more connected, and it would
not be fair to say that misery loves company.
We were not miserable. We were
happy to have been chosen by the great mysteries of Midwest Weather. We were special. Though the power of all that snow trapped us
in one place, we still felt blessed. It
was an awe that stopped just short of worship.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Being totally
snowed in started with an awareness of what was outside and then burrowed its
way inside us. The body at first
signaled a need to move. Everybody,
including the adults, felt stir-crazy.
Maybe even irritable. “I’m
bored! But there was no easy resolution
to boredom or irritability. If parents
or siblings fought, they had nowhere to escape.
They had no choice but to deal with it.
Nobody dared to do anything so drastic that they’d have to go to the
doctor. You couldn’t go to the doctor
even if you needed to. If you had a
knockdown argument with a family member, you couldn’t resolve it by running off
to a friend’s house. You couldn’t even
go for a walk.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
No matter how much
money was spent in anticipation of the snowed-in lock-down, it was still cheap
therapy. By mid morning, all able-bodied
persons would have put their hands to the shovel. On one big snowed-in day, my brother and I
had to jump from an upstairs window with snow shovels so we could dig a path to
the front door and let the other members of the family out. We had to dig our way to the barns to make
sure the animals were all right. By mid
afternoon, when boredom made its second threat, the board games and jig saw puzzles
that were once regarded as themselves mediums of boredom, now called out for
attention. So did those neglected
books. Puzzles got made, books got read,
towels got embroidered, socks got darned, pictures got framed, rooms got
cleaned, photo albums got sorted, old family stories got told, and—by the time
everyone was ready for bed—a good time had been had by all.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
</div>
From Mark Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343191370740534861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3994426257173686809.post-46474220332807050472013-06-08T12:07:00.000-07:002013-06-17T03:20:28.018-07:00Hell's Angels<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>by D. Mark Davis, dabbler in all things, expert in none. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a child, I learned the infallible dogma that Satan was the
most beautiful angel in all of heaven, who began to imagine himself a rival of
God and as a result was cast out of heaven. All of this took place some time between
when God created the heavens and the earth and when Satan – taking on the guise
of a serpent with legs – tempted Adam and Eve to eat forbidden fruit. That is
to say, it was before the invention of calendars, so precision is out the
window here. Anyway, the dogma about Satan went on to describe how Satan had a
lot of followers who became hell’s angels, although they prefer to be known by
the titles “demons,” “devils,” or “evil spirits.” Not being Roman Catholic, and
therefore not having access to the <i>Book
of Enoch</i>, I needed to crack this code and locate the biblical passage from
which this dogma was derived. Sure enough, it is as plain as day that in
Genesis 6:1-4 we learn about how these angels went from being heaven’s angels
to hell’s angels. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .75in; margin-right: .75in; margin-top: 0in;">
<i>When
people began to multiply on the face of the ground, and daughters were born to
them, the sons of God saw that they were fair; and they took wives for
themselves of all that they chose. Then the Lord said, ‘My
spirit shall not abide in mortals forever, for they are flesh; their days
shall be one hundred and twenty years.’ The Nephilim were on the earth in
those days—and also afterwards—when the sons of God went in to the daughters of
humans, who bore children to them. These were the heroes that were of old, warriors
of renown.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For anyone who can’t make the connection between the “sons
of God” getting it on with beautiful women and the tradition of hell’s angels,
well, you just don’t understand the logic of dogmatic infallibility. It’s a
gift. Pray about it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the rest of us, this text makes quite clear that the
world is a three-tiered universe, with heaven above, hell below, and the
battleground for good and evil in the middle. Heaven is populated with God and
those angels who didn’t fall for Satan’s beauty or the beauty of earthly women.
Hell is filled with those angels who live according to their base aesthetic
desires and not according to higher virtues, such as pure truth, beauty and
goodness. Kierkegaard’s analysis of <i>Don
Giovanni</i> is the clearest exposition of how this all goes down that I know
of. Or maybe <i>Green Eggs and Ham</i>. At
any rate, the Bible is clear that hell hath many angels and some of them get to
roam the earth on occasion and possess the bodies of people who don’t live
properly, where they have been known to contort bodies and evoke evil actions.
The ‘take away’ from all of this is that we now have the best explanation yet
for Donald Trump’s hair and lifestyle. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’ll have to save the topic of the “curious coif of the
conspicuous consumer’ for another day. Today’s topic is an exploration into the
mind of an angel of hell. Rather than simply hating and rebuking these evil
angels, like I was taught, I’m aiming for a moment of empathic listening. It
can’t be easy being a fallen angel, forsaking the glories of heaven for a tryst
with a gorgeous woman, knocking her up, having a father-in-law that hates you
for his entire 120 years of life, having a son who is a warrior of renown who
carries an oedipal complex around in his quiver, etc. And let’s not even talk
about trying to land a job at the local ziggurat plant when all you can put
down for ‘previous employer’ is ‘heaven,’ and yet you can’t get a character
reference from said employer. You see what I mean by “emphatic listening.” The
lustfulness of his young angelhood has left him with responsibilities and
dangers in his middle age. It’s tough being this guy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But, what really intrigues me about hell’s angels – and this
would be true of the ones who followed Satan out of heaven or the ones who
simply left the heavenly hosts for earthly concupiscence – is the problem of
memory. You see, these folks have seen what no earthly eye can contain. They’ve
seen glory. Real glory. Glory that is not mediated by non-glory. For human
beings, we can only handle glory that is mediated by non-glory, or else we’ll
die right there on the spot. For us, things like clouds, fire, storms, winds, idols,
temples, even Jesus Christ, are ways that we can see glory that is mediated by something
that is not – in itself – glory. And it’s not just physical. Non-physical things
like “truth itself” or “pure beauty,” are beyond us. At best we can see pale
imitations, which we call ‘truth’ or ‘beauty’ because we sense something of the
divine, unmediated glory of truth and beauty in them. Face it folks, just like
we can’t stare at the emergent rays of a solar eclipse without overloading our
optical nerves and going blind, you and I must always encounter glory
indirectly. It’s like our whole lives are spent in dark, dark sunglasses and
even then we have to look away at just the right moment – not because God is
hideous, ugly, or malicious, saying “Don’t look at me!” It’s because we don’t
have what it takes to look directly at God’s glory. When Jack Nicholson blares
out the dramatic pronouncement, “You can’t handle the truth!” all of us who
have averred our eyes for years should respond, “Well, duh! Who can?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But, hell’s angels have seen glory. We imagine angels as watchers
who never have to eat or rest or do any of the concessions that we have to do
to survive. We imagine angels as flying, because that is the one skill that any
of us would love to have but never will. We imagine angels as living well
beyond our allotted 120 years to eternity. We imagine angels as making music
because for many folks music as close as we can get to a depth of feeling that
mere mortal words cannot express. All of the things that we imagine about
angels that make them different from us miss the point. The one true difference
between us and angels is they can see glory directly and we cannot. They have
seen glory. And they decided – whether they followed the beautiful angel Satan
or mated with the beautiful women of old – to exchange God’s radiant glory for
a lesser reflection of glory. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, imagine the angel that left the glory of heaven for a
few nights on the town, finding a beautiful woman, settling into a life of
cohabitation, raising the young ‘uns, and thinking, on many occasions, “I
remember ....” What pain that memory must bring. He hears a sound that others
might call ‘beautiful’ and remembers the glory of beauty itself that this tinny
little squeak is trying to mimic. He sees a breath-taking sunrise and reads a
poem that someone was inspired to write about it, scoffing to himself, “You should
see the beauty of the one who created color itself.” He hears a talking head
start every other sentence with the hubris, “The truth is ...” and screams at
the radio “Stop worshiping your imagination of what truth looks like, you
Idiot!” My suspicion is that after the initial infatuation wears off, this guy
would be hard to live with, because – having once lived in the presence of
glory itself – he would find living anywhere else intolerable. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s no wonder, then, that Satan and other of hell’s angels
are often depicted as hell-bent on destruction. To some extent, they have a
point: The beautiful is really ugly, the truth is really false, the good is
really evil – at least when our perceptions of the beautiful, the true, and the
good are compared to the glory of beauty, truth, and goodness itself. On the
other hand, their destruction is misguided. What hell’s angels don’t get – what
some of the old camp meeters called “the song that the angels cannot sing” – is
“the song of salvation.” It’s not that angels can’t repent and be forgiven –
why wouldn’t that be possible? The difference between us and them is that we
who are human only know humanity. We know – at least when we’re thinking
clearly – that none of us can behold truth, beauty, or the goodness in all of
its glory. But, we are invited to glimpse that glory, even when it comes to us
in the guise of non-glory. That invitation – and that alone, actually – is our
salvation, the difference between us and hell’s angels. They see human
approximations of glory and scoff; we see them and worship. That’s salvation. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, when hell’s angels see a pale imitation of glory and set
out to destroy it, we see that same imitation and give thanks that we have been
given eyes to see and ears to hear this foretaste of glory divine. We praise the
good and gawk at the beautiful, we argue for the truth and practice religion
because we intuit that something utterly unfathomable lies behind it all. Hell’s
angels are offended at our pale imitations; people who know salvation give
thanks for them. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thanks be to God. <o:p></o:p></div>
From Mark Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343191370740534861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3994426257173686809.post-15332818456530972222013-06-02T05:20:00.002-07:002013-06-02T05:20:57.703-07:00That House on Straight Street<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<i>Today's entry is by good friend, extraordinary writer, and joyous sojourner, Scott Whisler</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
The New Testament story of Saul is haunting me now.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In preparation for Pentecost Sunday we studied the rather
dramatic story of Saul's Damascus Road meet-up with the well-lit voice of Jesus
from the 9th chapter of Acts. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was weeks ago. We've all moved on. There is a lot more
bible to read, right?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I can't seem to let it go. Or maybe vice versa.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I confess that I had always bought what I had largely been
sold about Saul's conversion: that it was a one-off deal, an exceptional event,
an experience unique to Saul that was necessary for the invention of the great
Apostle Paul.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The more I read it and think about it, though, the less I am
inclined to think that Chapter 9 is the story of an unparalleled event. In
fact, now that the thing keeps following me around so, and I can't stop
thinking about it, I am starting to see wonderful patterns there, ingenious
design, even beauty. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There's gold in this story that I never saw before. It makes
me thankful that the story never gave up on me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like this thing: I had never really noticed that the
blinded, dirty, and confused Saul was hand-walked by his buddies into town and
checked into a house on Straight Street owned by a guy named Judas. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had never really noticed that Saul sat there in this guy's
house for three days, not eating, not drinking. Just sitting there. Like a
lump.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A big, scary, confused, blind, withering lump. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had never really noticed that there were these three days
of darkness and confusion and hunger for Saul, and then a knock on the door,
and then there's another guy--Ananias--walking in to whisper his little message
from God for Saul. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had never really noticed that Saul was such a lump and
Ananias was just some guy and that all of this was being done in Judas's house.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had never really noticed, I guess, that God orchestrated
all of this in this story so that all of these characters ended up in the same
place, under the same roof, for this incredible scene where Ananias forced
himself, through his fear of this terrible man, to extend his shaking hands out
towards and onto Saul's face so that Saul might see again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The story is really pretty specific about these names and
the places and the times between events. And specific about the place: Judas's
place. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A certain house on a certain street.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A house where it was safe to take a dangerous man who
probably didn't have many local friends.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A house where it was safe for an important man with a big
reputation and lots of power to sit awhile and be helpless and ponder his lot
without really knowing anything for sure. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A house where it was safe for enemies to encounter each
other.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A house where the hunted can have a hand in healing the
hunter.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I guess I had never really thought about this story being a
story about a particular kind of house. But it has reminded me of the
importance of this particular kind of house. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It has reminded me, I guess, about how a guy’s house can
become God’s house.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One summer during my college days I worked as an intern to
the music minister at a large Pentecostal church located in a blue-collar
Illinois town. The people of this town were struggling to make a go of it as
the manufacturing jobs dried up during the 1980's. Even so, the church seemed
to keep growing. The church's sanctuary was enormous by my small-town
standards, but all three Sunday morning services were filled every week. There
were about 150 folks in the choir. By the time I arrived the church had 14
mostly full-time clergy staffing the various departments and ministries of the
church. In sum, this church was a sprawling, lively organism. It was all a
little overwhelming to me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These were the first pastoral staff meetings I had ever been
privy to. They were as crowded as many of the Sunday morning services I had
experienced growing up in my little Iowa church. Once a week we gathered around
a large conference table that barely fit into the meeting room, with the senior
pastor at the head of the table. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The senior pastor of that church was a giant man with a
deep, resonant voice, a Zen-like golf swing, and a too obvious toupee, but he
was also a serious theologian, a deep thinker, and a wonderful writer and, most
of all, a true shepherd. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt a little important being there with all of these
professional God-people. At the beginning of the first staff meeting I was
invited to attend, the senior pastor noted my presence kindly and confirmed my
welcome. Right after that, though, his face went all serious and, in a stern
voice, and in front of everyone else, he told me that the business that was
conducted during those meetings was "pastoral business" and that the
things spoken of there were "not to be spoken of elsewhere."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then he asked that I acknowledge that I understood the
import of what he had just said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Which I did, voice a bit shaky. "Yes, sir," I
said. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I got it. "The cone of silence." This was serious
stuff.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn't say "cone of silence," but I was thinking
it. Shakily thinking it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shakily.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then the serious business of pastoring was engaged. And
my education in church business began.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here's what I learned in those meetings: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People who come to church aren't perfect. They have
problems. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The pastors who work in churches aren't perfect and they
have problems. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The people who sing in the choir, even the ones who have
sung faithfully for 20 years or more, they have problems as well, both musical
and otherwise.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And this: everybody who comes to church--all the people, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and all kids of all the people, and the parents of the
people,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and the preachers, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and the associate pastors who want to preach but don't get
to, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and the old preachers who used to preach and probably
shouldn't anymore, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and the spouses of the preachers and pastors and old
preachers,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and the singers, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and the nice lady at the organ, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and the bashful teenage girls who hide out in the nursery
with the unhappy little kids, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and the ushers who sneak out to the parking lot during the
sermon for a cigarette--<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
all the people,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
all of them always bring all of their problems with them to
the church every time they come to church.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All of them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Always.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All of their problems.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every. Time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It turned out that I was the only person in the staff
meeting that first day who was unaware of this. As I think back, I wonder if my
mouth did not hang open in shock during the entire three hour meeting as the
woes of all of the people were laid on the table, pondered, argued, then prayed
over.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I really can't say much more specific about it or, you know,
the cone of silence….<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I can say that I also learned this from this senior
pastor: I learned about "sanctuary".<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This being a lesson about "what the church is
for."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This senior pastor had a thing about "sanctuary".
For him, Sunday morning was not a time for loud hootin' and clanging things.
This pastor seemed to have some sort of secret empathetic connection to the
cuts and scars and bruises and scabs of his people that was the primary focus
of all of his church business. This pastor seemed painfully aware that his
people were all week getting let go, turned down, beat up, run over. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In that first meeting, and all of the remaining meetings
that summer, and in all of his sermons, and the many books that I learned that
he had written and was still writing, the objective appeared to be the creation
and maintenance of a place--both physically and figuratively--of safety, of
resort, of restoration, of healing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mainly, I remember that this guy was deadly serious about
the physical sanctuary of the church being an actual "sanctuary" for
the souls who showed up there with all of their wounds. That's what God’s house
was for. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That's what the songs were for. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That's what the sermon was for. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If any of the songs or sermons or decorations or
announcements or furniture were not about making that house safe for the souls,
those things were not going to happen in this house.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
See? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s the kind of house you want to be dropped off at when
you have a particularly bad fall on a dirty road and you can’t see straight and
you are hearing voices.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That's where you go when you get to the end of the Damascus
Road. You get somebody to walk you into town. You take a left on Straight
Street. You go down to that third house on the right where Judas lives. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You go to the place where everybody knows your name, even if
your name isn't really all that pleasant, you know? You go there because you
are allowed to sit there and be quiet and confused and you can refuse to eat if
you want. You can fail to see what the point is--that's okay, too. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You can play the lump if you want. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You can wait there, in the dark, and ponder your lot, for
three days or for 20 years. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You can wait there until you hear the knock on the door. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And even after that, you can stay. Because it’s safe that
way.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
From Mark Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343191370740534861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3994426257173686809.post-22463463030190791212013-05-27T08:58:00.000-07:002013-05-28T06:07:11.449-07:00The Difference Between Different Differences Makes a Big Difference<div class="Heading1">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By Mark Davis, dabbler in many things, expert in none.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is no secret that the Presbyterian Church (USA), along with
many other church bodies, is beset by differences that threaten to undo us. We
consider those differences so critical that not even our common confession of
Jesus Christ as Lord is enough to keep us from severing from one another into
separate worshiping communities. Many are the analyses and passionate pleas for
us to find unity within our differences, to practice a kind of compassion that
will help us to overcome our differences, or to tolerate one another despite
our differences. However, what we do not often do in times of differences is to
differentiate between different kinds of differences. Some differences may
require dividing into separate worshiping communities, but most do not. Even
the kinds of differences that do seem to warrant separation can contain a
hidden grace that may surprise us.</span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Heading2">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Different Kinds of Differences</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Consider these different kinds of differences: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .25in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]-->"The
difference between night and day."<a href="file:///C:/Users/Mark/Dropbox/Writing/Differences/Differences.doc#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
This familiar phrase suggests a kind of <i>oppositional</i>
difference where the 'two sides' seem utterly incompatible and their positions
irreconcilable. One can argue whether or not the assumption that there are ‘two
sides’ is correct in the first place, but this is often the kind of difference
that seems to warrant dramatic action such as dividing a worshiping community
into separated communities. The tension indicated by this kind of difference is
that one cannot have both night and day, but must have one or the other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .25in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]-->"The
difference between month and day." Now we're talking about a difference,
but not an oppositional difference. There are ways that one might compare a
month and a day, since both of them signify ways of marking time. But, when we
compare a month and a day, we do not imagine that one must choose between them
as incompatible co-existents. At most, their difference is that one is the
subset of the other. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .25in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]-->"The
difference between salt and day." Now we are comparing two categorically
different referents, so different in kind that to speak as if their difference
means anything is almost akin to speaking nonsense. Salt is one kind of thing
and day is simply another. So, while salt and day are indeed different, their
differences are both obvious and fairly meaningless. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We've identified three different types of differences. There may be
more, but for now the differences between these three different types of
difference at least give us pause to consider this question: When we discuss
our differences, what kind of differences are we discussing? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To be sure, most of us would presume that the differences that have
divided us for some time now are the incompatible, irreconcilable oppositional
kind of differences indicated by the phrase "as different as night and
day." Marriage is either only between a man and a woman or it is not. The
church will either ordain women and men who are engaged in same-sex
relationships or it will not. There seems to be no middle ground to consider,
so that in the end there must be a 'winner' or a 'loser.' Therefore, as the
General Assembly convenes there are pre-Assembly caucuses, mid-Assembly
strategy luncheons, and post-Assembly interpretations, most of which reinforce
the ‘win or lose’ mentality. What often results is that a process, which should
be an act of discerning God’s direction, becomes a process where people from
every side and at all points in between experience anger, despair, elation, or
knots in their stomachs at the whole process. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To describe these differences with the adjectives, 'incompatible,
irreconcilable, and oppositional' may sound a bit strong, but dividing the body
of Christ into separate worshiping communities is no small thing. Strong
language seems warranted to show the critical seriousness of where our
differences have taken us. Indeed, it would be shameful to imagine that a
church would sever itself over trivial matters. And so we name our differences
starkly: The love of God v. the holiness of God; upholding the marriage
covenant v. honoring loving relationship; integrity in ordination standards v.
affirming the diversity of the Spirit; etc. While we may not like the terms
given to the debates (especially when others do the naming), they are not
simply the product of strategic spin-doctoring. The terms are stark because the
passions run deep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If we take for granted that the differences that divide us are
"the difference between night and day" kinds of differences, there
are reasons to take heart. One thing we might appreciate in one another -
especially those with whom we disagree most ardently - is that 'both sides'
seem to share a true passion over our differences. We disagree passionately
only because we agree that our differences are meaningful differences. In other
words, the platform of our differences and what gives passion to them is
actually constructed out of the things we hold in common. People matter.
Theology matters. Identity matters. Covenant relationships matter. The
authority of Scripture matters. How we interpret Scripture matters. Even
policies matter. Without this platform of agreements, our differences would be
as passion-less as "the difference between salt and day." Different,
yes. Meaningful, no. What we hold in common is that our differences matter.
They matter precisely because we agree on so much. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, even if the differences that divide us are "different as
night and day" kind of differences, perhaps we can build on that platform
of those things that we share in common in order to explore those places of
difference boldly. When we do so, we may find ways to consider those night and
day differences other than as utterly incompatible, irreconcilable, and
oppositional. Below are three theses that can make our “night and day”
differences opportunities for hope. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Heading2">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Night and day need one another to mean anything</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When we explore differences that are "as different as night and
day," we discover something quite promising. 'Night' and 'day' are partner
terms, correlate terms, that need one another in order to make sense. One way
that we think of 'night' is that it is 'day' without light. One way we think of
'day' is that it is night with the lights turned on. The oppositional
difference between them shows that day and night depend on one another for
meaning. That is how oppositional differences work. The contrasting poles of
oppositional differences are not two arrival points that have nothing to do
with one another. They are only meaningful insofar as they depend on one
another. They need one another. They feed on one another and they feed one
another. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even if we believe that that the differences that divide us are
"different as night and day" differences, as such, "each
side" needs the other to be whole. Tradition needs the emergence of something
new, because it is a constitutive part of the Presbyterian tradition that we
are "Reformed always being reformed." Emerging ways of being church
or of being in covenant relationships need tradition, because it is precisely
the tutelage of tradition that prevents an emerging movement from being merely
a passing whim and instills in it the notion that 'doing theology' has
significance. Any ‘new’ understanding of marriage relies heavily on the ‘old’
existing understanding of marriage to give the word meaning. And so on. What
looks at first glance like simple opposition becomes on further reflection an
interdependent correlation where ‘both sides’ need one another. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Heading2">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Night and day are not the only possibilities</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For those involved in oppositional differences, the opposing sides
seem to be the only two options. Think of the oppositional difference between
Jews and Samaritans in the New Testament era. When the Samaritan woman at the
well poses the question to Jesus, "Should we worship God on our mountain
or yours?" she was staking out the 'two sides' that had divided these
theological cousins passionately for many years. However, she was also asking a
question that only had significance for Jews and Samaritans. The occupying
Romans, for example, thought the question was utterly meaningless. As far as
they were concerned Rome had thoroughly conquered both mountains, so the
question was over two piles of Roman dirt. But, for Samaritans and for Jews,
the oppositional difference behind this question of sacred geography warranted
enmity strong enough to divide them into separate and rival worshiping
communities. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Frankly, Jesus' answer to the Samaritan woman's question of sacred
geography has more in common with what a Roman soldier might say than what a
Jew or a Samaritan of that day had been trained to say. In answer to the
question, "Which mountain, ours or yours?" Jesus says
"Neither." Likewise, later in John's gospel Jesus will encounter
another question of oppositional difference, "Who sinned this man or his
parents that he was born blind?" with the same answer,
"Neither." What Jesus' answer suggests is that the Roman soldier may
be on to something here - the oppositional difference that provokes us to
separate ourselves from one another may be fairly meaningless in the larger
view of things. The Roman soldier's jaded view that both mountains are
conquered territories actually opens the way for Jesus' beatific view that all
mountains can be sacred geography. What is important is not the mountain itself
- as hard as it might be for those of us who adhere to one side of the
oppositional difference or the other to hear it. What is important is the
Spirit that makes geography sacred in the first place - something that both
Jews and Samaritans can lose sight of when differing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When we differ over the question of ordination, for example, we
imagine that the ultimate issue is the degree to which we tighten or loosen the
‘standards’ for ordination. Attempts to guard the 'sanctity' of ordination vows
are grounded in real conviction that when a church discerns and agrees together
about the calling and vocation of its elders, it is practicing the presence of
the Spirit. Likewise, attempts to change the requirements surrounding
ordination vows feed off of that very same sense of sanctity – that part of
practicing the presence of the Spirit is to discern anew how God is calling and
leading God's people into ministry in the church and the world. No one 'side'
of our differences has a corner on meaning or on the Spirit. Just as Jesus’
answer to the Samaritan woman suggested for their oppositional difference, the primary
matter in ordination, covenant relationships, and other issues that divide us
is not the position that we hold. It is the Spirit that holds us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Heading2">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Night and Day only describe perspective, not essence</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is a riddling question that my dad once asked to break up a
long car ride: "What color is a
white house at night?" My brother and I immediately answered "black,"
to which my dad responded, "No, it's still white, you just can't see the
color in the dark." The point of the riddle was to show that the primary
differences between night and day were changes in perspective, not changes in things-in-themselves.
That riddle has always intrigued me when I hear the phrase “as different as
night and day.” What that means is that however stark the differences are, they
are differences of perspective, not essence. They are <i>real</i> differences, to be sure, but they are real differences in
perspective, not in essence. How liberating and appropriate humbling would it
be if all of us who are embroiled in oppositional difference would agree that
our differences are differences in perspective. That would not diminish our
passion, or compromise our conviction. It would, however, relativize the whole
conversation. We cannot presume that we are speaking for God, for all time, for
truth itself when we differ as different as night and day. We can only presume
that we are speaking for our perspective of God, our best understanding in our
moment, and our interpretation of truth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Red flags warning of “relativism!” will immediately rise at the
suggestion that our differences are perspectival and not essential. But, I
would argue that those red flags are actually red herrings. Even John Calvin
was never presumptuous enough to speak of God ‘in God’s essence,’ but only of
God has God has ‘accommodated’ Godself to our understanding. What Calvin
rightly understood was that God’s ways are indeed higher than our ways and
God’s understanding beyond the reach of our understanding. Any statement we
make of God is, to that extent, perspectival. That is why Christian theology
must always be grounded in humility, not arrogance. It is not that “everything
is relative; nothing is true.” It is that we, qua humans, can only see as far
as our eyes are able, can only understand as our minds are able. And God
accommodates Godself to that limited entity known as humanity.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Mark/Dropbox/Writing/Differences/Differences.doc#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;">[2]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When our “night and day” differences collide over the issue of
ordination, acknowledging our perspective gives us both courage and humility.
We argue over whether we should ordain persons in same-sex relationships or
whether we should limit ordination to persons in heterosexual relationships or
chastity in singleness. We feel the passion because we agree that ordination is
an act of the community that speaks of how God works among us today. We have
convictions because we agree that the incarnate presence of the Spirit
continues to gift and empower persons for service in a variety of ways. We
argue because we disagree over how we most faithfully exercise authority – the
act of authorizing persons to practice the leadership role of ruling or
teaching elder in the church. Our differences are rooted in how we perceive God
working among and calling us to exercise this authorizing role. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If we begin with the assumption that our differences are differences
of perspective, we might open ourselves to remembering the wonder that God has
invited us to participate in this joy at all. Ordination is, beneath our perspectives
of how it is rightly practiced, a gift from God. The candidate for ordination
is – first and foremost – called by God’s grace, an act that witnesses to the
activity of the Spirit among us. God’s initiating call is then confirmed by the
community. That activity is also initiated by God’s grace. Heck, the gathered
community itself exists only by the grace of God. The whole presumption of
ordination is chock full of grace! As such, there is no room for human
presumption or arrogance. What lies beneath our entire act of ordination is the
recognition that none of us in worthy of ordaining or of being ordained. Unless
our humility in this activity is a feigned humility, we can only engage in
ordination as a “debt of gratitude.” Before we ask the question, “Why would God
call that kind of person?” we first ask, “Why would God call the likes of us?”
And with humility, we can only answer, “Not for any reason other than God’s
sheer grace.” In the end, our perspectives on how to exercise the authorizing
act of ordination is an indication of how we experience a grace that none of us
deserves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our differing perspectives, then, are genuine and real. But, they
are perspectives that rely on grace. We may not all come to genuine agreement
when we begin with that humble starting point. But, at least we might be able
to see our way together in the grace that unites us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Mark/Dropbox/Writing/Differences/Differences.doc#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a> I need to note that references to
'night and day,' as well as references to 'black and white,' are often used to
connote moral difference, with darkness denoting sin or evil and brightness
denoting good. That is not at all how I intend these terms to be understood. I
am simply noting that the phrase "as different as night and day"
speaks to a presumed oppositional difference, without any assumption that
either night or day is superior, preferred, or better. If the history of these
terms makes it too difficult to hear them amorally, then I apologize and invite
the reader to help me arrive at better terms that make the same point but do
not involve the same overtones<span lang="en-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Mark/Dropbox/Writing/Differences/Differences.doc#_ftnref2" name="_ftn2" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">[2]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
This quality of God is what Robert Scharlemann has in mind in his delightfully
entitled article, “The Being of God When God is not Being God.” </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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From Mark Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343191370740534861noreply@blogger.com0