Tag Archives: postmodern

more than enough: toward A theology of hope

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The following is a submission for our student publication at Concordia Seminary. I’d love to hear your feedback so that I can improve as a writer and theologian.

 

More Than Enough: Toward a Theology of Hope
By M. E. Borrasso

 

On the heels of the first presidential debate of this election season, pundits of professional and amateur persuasion are quick to offer up their collective opinions. Candidate A did this well while candidate B did this poorly and candidates C, D, E, and F, the ones we all forget even exist, are just that, forgettable. He promises this, she promises that, and each and every one of them offers up their own ideas or perspectives concerning the best way to move forward. Regardless of political affiliation, the tie that binds politics is one optimistically known as hope. While there are undoubtedly other factors that contribute to the political process, e.g., financial interests, the rhetoric of the day on both sides of the aisle is one of hope. For a better next four years than the last, for a vibrant economy and a stronger national identity, these are the hopes of politics.

Yet, despite the current hype of the coming days, hope has a way of manifesting itself in all arenas of life, not simply the political one. Take, for example, the planting of flowers in depressed areas around St. Louis. Both at the recent theological symposium and in subsequent classes I have been reminded of the peculiarity and profundity of planting flowers. A seemingly useless gesture amidst downtrodden and dilapidated domiciles proves to be a confession of hope, encouraging the change to come. The planting of these flowers reminds us of the need to have an answer that uplifts those who are downcast and heals those who are broken. If only that were possible. A hopeful answer to the why of suffering eludes even the most astute theologian. Sure we can point to helpful places, but, more often than not, when faced with suffering we find ourselves asking the Lightfootian question, “Does anyone know where the love of God goes when the waves turns the minutes to hours?”

More than a fair question, Lightfoot’s question strikes at the depth of human suffering. I would venture to guess that suffering is something we have all experienced. It may take different forms, but for each of us there is something that shakes our confidence and tests us in ways we did not know we could be tested. For some, suffering is financial. Given the strains of seminary life this is most assuredly a real, and even frightening, concern. How will I pay for classes or books? How will I pay for gas, food, rent, and everything else that comes down the pipe? Will I be able to pay back the loans I take out to pay for all that stuff? For others, suffering is personal. The multifaceted nature of seminary life causes us to ask the uncomfortable questions. Am I smart enough? Am I good enough? Will I live up to the perceptions of my place in the church? All of these questions, and ones which we only ask in the seclusion of our heads shake the foundations that brought each of us here. For me, suffering is all encompassing, it involves myself, my family, and my friends. As I walk through my time at seminary, struggling with finances and personal security, it seems that my family and friends are presented with tougher and tougher situations that break, beat, and belie my confidence in the glory of creation and the sweetness of life.

What road is left to take when I find myself face to face with Lightfoot’s question? Where can I turn when the waves of my suffering turn my minutes to hours? What flowers can I plant? To what future can I look? The answer is almost painfully obvious, especially given our context at the seminary, to the cross of course. But this response can fly off my lips with a pithy quality that embitters my soul to that reality. I may not want to admit it, but the “right” answer is the one that causes me to question things all the more. If the answer is so simple, why don’t I feel better knowing it? My question betrays my problem, it is all about me. And in telling myself to look to the cross I make for myself another law which I cannot keep. Rather than mitigate my suffering it magnifies it because once again I failed to go first where I know I can find the answer.

Perhaps, though, where is the wrong question to be asking. Wrong because it attempts to locate hope in a place as an abstract place rather than in a concrete person who embodies that quality. Who is the hope? Well that is most assuredly Jesus Christ. But still, who is a question that only has effect after we establish what hope is. The what of hope causes us to stop and think, when we need hope to get through this life, what exactly do we need? Is it an idea? A feeling? Or is it something which forms and embraces us. Is it something we fix, or something that fixes us? Something we can reach out and grab, or something that reaches down and grabs us? Something that I look to, or something that looks to me? Only understanding hope in such a fashion appropriates the reality that Christ reached down and grabbed us at the cross. The who and where of hope are important because of the what. Or, put another way, in coming to us in the cross Christ taught us what hope does. Hope conforms our suffering to that of Christ’s. It reminds us that when the waves turn the minutes to hours, God is with us. It is hope that causes us to embrace the glory of creation and the sweetness of life alongside the bitter side dish of suffering. It may not feel like much some times, like flowers in a street or promises on the campaign trail, but it is more than enough. For in suffering, in the cross of Christ, God makes himself known.

I’d still do it…

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This past weekend the band indeed got back together. The band to which I am referring is the Muff Divers, a fictional band created by me and a few friends during college when we spent more time playing rock band than pursuing academics. It was a much needed respite from what has become my life the past few weeks. For the first time in a while I felt like how I had back then, full of ideals and passion, surrounded by people whom I love and trust completely. Although the time was short, I can’t imagine something I needed more than to spend time with those folks because recently I have begun to slip back into the self-depricating cynical attitude that nearly destroyed me last year.

Its hard to explain just what it felt like to be in St. Louis and the effect it really had on me. Yeah, I brought it on myself. I was a young idealistic kid who thought I could be some sort of prophetic voice in the wilderness. I wanted to bring the good out and burn away that which did not matter. I wanted to change things. But that didn’t happen. I was the one who changed. I entered in an empowered idealist and left a fractured and broken cynic. A shell of my former self, completely destroyed mentally, spiritually, and emotionally.

Back in college people would ask me why I wanted to be a pastor in my denomination if I had so many problems with it. If there was one question that pissed me off the most it was that one. It was as if by questioning the established standards I was in effect turning over my membership card because dissension somehow meant I was no longer part of that group. Yet in my mind it was the opposite. The more I cared about that system the more I wanted to do what I could to change that which was a detriment to it so that others, the outsiders and marginalized, could see it and experience it for its best qualities rather than for its worst. Whether or not I was ever able to communicate that love for the system in which I grew up I will never know. I’m not sure if the LCMS will ever know how much I loved it, and I don’t know if it would care or make a difference if it did.

Recently I have been listening to a lot of music via Spotify. During one of the song breaks I heard that song by Bruno Mars which my wife hates and I have to admit annoys me as well, Grenade. However, as I listened to the lyrics I felt like that has become my song to describe my relationship with the tradition that gave me birth. There was a time in my life when I would have done anything for it, just so that people could know all the good I knew. Sure there was always bad and there always would be but I felt like there was a place where I could make a difference so that we could move beyond being the “frozen chosen” and start embracing an identity which forces us to engage with all facets of society and all types of people.

Right now in my life it seems like that dream is long gone. Like I will never be able to go back. Too much has happened. Today I am part of a community that has done nothing but seek to help restore me and revive a passion within me. Its a place that does not seek to force me into a mold but rather allows me to form myself into that for which I am meant. And as I go through this process I am realizing just how much I have gained from growing up in the LCMS. Being in a place which isn’t Lutheran has showed me just how Lutheran I really am. But I do not hold that identity in such a way as to disallow the viability of another tradition. For me, doctrine will never matter as much as people. Not just the people in the pews but those in the streets. Those who have and those who have not. Those who belong, and those who have no place to call home.

And so as I sit here and think about everything I have been through I still want to believe there is a way or a chance to change everything in a much more fundamental way. Maybe it won’t be what I had imagined but that doesn’t mean I have to give up the hope that I hold. The hope that people know they are loved and valued regards of their past. The hope that brings meaning and purpose to those who feel they have none. The hope that teaches us that we are all in this together. The hope that one day I might actually get the chance to go home.

and when necessary

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All I can seem to think right now is WTF. Last week brought into my life a perspective that had been missing for so long and tonight, one that has plagued me is back in full force. I really don’t know where to begin or if you even care to hear the tale, but tonight I feel like I did in seventh grade, only this time it matters.

Way back then I was in one of those grade school relationships that never go anywhere but you think are everything. Well I can’t remember how short it lasted but I do remember how it ended, with a phone call, from her friend. Thats right, the girl never called me to tell me it was over, she had her friend do it. Tonight I got a different phone call, not from the person who should have done it, but from someone else with the answer I didn’t want to hear.

As part of my master’s program I have to participate in two ten week long internships. These internships require me to be involved with some sort of ministry and spend time, at least an hour a week, with an advisor. You don’t have to have a fancy title or get paid, you just need to be a part of something bigger than yourself for 15 hours a week.  I wanted my internship to be at the church I grew up in. The last couple of months have been sort of a healing process for me. Over a year ago I walked away from my church’s seminary never wanting to engage with that group of people ever again. I was hurt and felt betrayed. The two quarters I have spent back in a different seminary environment have allowed me to reassess where I am and who I am and were truly instrumental in rebuilding the fractured person I had become. In the last couple of months I finally worked up the courage to go back to my home church, something I feared because I didn’t know how they would react to finding out I left the sem. It was good, I was hopeful, and thought there was no better place to do that internship than the place I grew up in, too bad they felt differently.

Like I said, tonight I got a phone call, but instead of hearing news that the board of elders approved my internship, they simply felt it was too much for the church to take on as it is in a period of transition. Rather than go into the gory details I’ll simply say that it has been in this period of transition for over two years. In fact, there is a long line of broken and hurting people who would say its been going on a lot longer than that. Tonight my name was etched onto that list. I feel betrayed, like someone else was chosen over me. Instead of working toward a both/and (as all I was really asking for was the chance to help out, without monetary compensation, and take up only an hour of someones time for 2 separate ten week periods) the either/or decision was made and I get the raw end of the deal.

Last week, when I was processing all that transpired I wondered if I had made the right decision to leave the sem.  There was still a part of me that wanted to believe that place, not only the sem but the denomination, really cared. That I mattered to them. What better place to go to find that assurance than the place I grew up? But all I found was another taste of the drink that makes me bitter. The drink that reminds me why I left. The drink that shows me the either/or means more to them than the both/and. I don’t know if I will ever understand that. How can we choose one over the other? Why do we say there can be only one?

I know that I am hurting right now. That I am bruised. That I feel betrayed. That I am probably being naive and idealistic in thinking that if they really cared about me they, or someone, would have found or fought for a way to make it work. Frankly though, I hope I never lose that idealism. I believe in a better way. A way that fights for people and does all it can to help those who need it. A way that doesn’t choose between an either/or but accomplishes the both/and. A way that doesn’t care about the past but seeks always to move forward. A way where we all, regardless of the identities we hold,  walk alongside one another, and when necessary, carry those who do not have the strength to walk.

thank you Sarah…

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Tuesday of this week began like any other. I woke up early, as my wife and I have lost the ability to sleep in. I stepped out of the room for just a minute to find one thing or another and upon my return noticed a missed call and a text. Most days I tend to ignore things like this, a “if something is important they’ll call back” approach. That morning my approach was buttressed by the fact that the missed call was from someone with a young child, and I figured the kid accidentally dialed me. But the text, this was one I couldn’t ignore. My response to the text was met with a, hang on I’ll call you soon, but I could not wait for that so I cooked up a story about being at work, which was going to happen, just not until 1pm. It was then I was told that a friend from college was found dead in her apartment the day before. I was shocked.

My mind began to race with questions. How? Who found her? What happened? But at the time little was known and if it was known, people weren’t saying much. Those questions gave way to others. Who knows? How are my other friends taking it? How can I help? After texting a few other people and making some other phone calls I realized that there was no way I could handle going to work that day. Needless to say my mental and emotional state became compromised and it would stay that way for the next 48 hours.

To be sure there were others closer to her than me. In fact, I hadn’t seen or heard from her since graduation a couple of years ago. All I knew was that she ended up working out in Colorado and seeing as I was no where near there, she faded from my mind. Going to the small liberal arts college that I did, it was hard not to know just about everyone. She was part of my larger group of friends throughout school. We would all eat meals together in the cafeteria, watch movies together, and of course, shoot the shit at the bars every once in a while. But like every group of friends there were those times when conversations became heated, sarcastic remarks were made, and feelings were hurt. And as much as I would love to believe that I never really hurt someone with my sarcasm I know I’ve pissed off and hurt more than a few. My relationship with her would vacillate between the former and the latter all throughout college. That day of graduation was the last I would see of her, never giving it a second thought until I got that text letting me know she had passed.

This is the first time in my life I have dealt with the death of someone my own age. I did not know how to handle it. In a word it was surreal. It did not seem like the conversations I was having throughout the day about her were real. Surely someone from that group of friends could not all of a sudden be dead, I mean, we are all mid twenties, on the way to starting our post collegiate lives. In an instant though, it all changed. The meaning of certain things in life was suddenly no where to be found. My job for example. I love where I work. I have never worked for a better company or have known that I am valued by my managers and coworkers, not only as an employee but as a person. Yet, the 48 hours that followed that text called in to question the value of what I was doing. I even considered quitting my job because of the lack of meaning it suddenly held for me. After all, essentially all I do is sell people things, things they can’t take with them. Sure now the toys are wonderful and enrich your life, but in an instant all of that can change.

Throughout my college years I wanted to become a pastor in the denomination I grew up in. I saw so much corruption and became jaded and full of disgust for both the theology and practice and thought it was up to me to change it. And as I went to sem and saw other people chewed up and spit back out by the machine I decided I couldn’t handle it anymore. I was not going to waste my time with a bunch of people who care more about protecting their own collective rear ends instead of caring for those entrusted to their care. So I left. I quit. I gave up. I got married, found a job, and almost walked away from it all completely. But inside me I knew I couldn’t stay away from those theological circles. I have a mind for it and I know it is my place. So I came back to a different sem to finish what I started and hopefully move on to another arena. But these last few days have showed me something else, something I don’t think I could have learned without that text. Philosophical and theological assertions matter, they do, but its not worth fighting over. Its not worth losing people over. Its not worth pissing people off just to be right. What matters are not ideas, not systems, not assertions, but people. Flesh and blood.

I want anyone reading this to know that I love you. No matter who you are. No matter what you have done. No matter what your stance on an issue is. If I have ever pissed you off, frustrated you, or hurt you I am sorry. You matter. Your life matters. Your existence enriches mine because we are both a part of humanity. For so many years I have hid behind a veil of sarcasm because I was afraid to let people know how much I actually care about them. But life is too short. I can’t hide anymore. I cannot change what has happened in the past. I wish I could. But the fact remains she is gone and that is one relationship I will never have a chance at deepening.

I don’t know where I go from here or what any of this means for my life tomorrow and the next day. But I do know this…

Sarah Walker, your life and death have impacted me in ways nobody, not even me, expected, and in ways you will never know. Our friendship, the way I treated you, good and bad, taught me more in the last couple of days than I have learned in the last couple of years. Thank you for teaching me its ok to show people I care because now I know that I may never get the chance.

it is what it is

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It has been well over two weeks since I last stared at the blank box on the screen hoping to be imbued with some sort of coherent thought which may or may be of value to someone other than myself. While Id like to think I was too busy to take the time the truth is I have had plenty of time. I spent off days watching movies, reading books, playing games, and doing whatever else suited my fancy. Sure there were a few days of work in there and a couple days of feeling sick to my stomach but by and large I know I had the time to write yet for some reason I could never bring myself to do it.

If only it were a lack of ideas, a desire not to sound pedantic, or some other valid excuse I had for not putting my fingers to the keys, but no, I just couldn’t do it. I don’t know why. Perhaps it is because after that time of reinvigoration I found myself confronted with some old skeletons in the closet that have a way of draining the life out of me. I came back from vacation relaxed and ready to take on the month of July no matter what it brought. Yes there have been some really fantastic times but still, those skeletons found me.

Friends struggling with, losing or quitting jobs, others battling cancer, and still others people being pressured to do something or act a certain way because, as we all know, we all live lives in a fishbowl and there is always a party line to tow. Rather than waste time writing about each and every situation, which I did consider doing, I let those situations fester. What else could I do? I was not in any position to change the circumstances and blogging about it would just have been another adventure in being jaded.

But as I sit here tonight, punching away at the keys, the faces and names of those in my life who are struggling keep flying through my mind. It is here that those skeletons rear their ugly heads in the form of questions. Did I do the right thing by walking away? Was there something I could have done if I would have stuck it out in St. Louis? Now that I am going who else is there to protect and defend those whose voices will never be heard? Is there a way back? Should I even attempt it? I don’t know. The altruistic idealist in me has an answer, so does the jaded cynic. And so I ask myself yet again, what am I to do?

Recently, a turn of phrase has worked its way into my regular vocabulary, it is what it is. There are those with whom I interact who could never hear that phrase again and be happy about it because I have been using it so much. But the reason I am is because of the need I have right now to remind myself that I do not have control over the situations I so desperately want to. But beyond that need to remind myself of my lack of control this phrase urges me on to deal with things as they come at me. It pushes me, forces me to interact with those situations as they are, not as I would like them to be. It would be really easy for me to sit back and magically fix things and change them to the way I want or think they should be but reality doesn’t work that way.

Things happen. People change and so do circumstances. Rather than run from them, be afraid of them, or think that I could have done something to prevent it, I need to engage it, as it is. I need to stand along side my friend and remind him that he is stronger than he thinks. I need to be there for those who have been hurt and are jaded like me, because I know that pain and that road is too tough to walk alone. For every person flying through my mind right now I know there is something I can do. It may not be much. It may not fix anything. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be who I need to be, where I need to be, for who I need to be.

Life.

It is what it is.

But that doesn’t mean we have to go through it alone.

the reality is…

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I should probably be in bed right now seeing as I have to wake up in a little less than 6 hours to make the 12 hour drive back to Chicago from the “Commonwealth of Virginia.” But instead of falling asleep my mind is running a muck and so here I sit before my computer screen trying to process the vacation that was. It was, in a word, relaxing. I didn’t have to work. I didn’t have to do much of anything other than go swimming and fix the occasional dinner for the family. I got to play some cribbage with my wife’s grandpa and father and go see a couple of movies. All in all it was a great vacation, one I don’t want to come back from.

But the real world beckons. I need to get back to work and make a little money to help pay some bills. I need to get some things in order for the upcoming school year and I need to spend some time with my wife. And so once again I am faced with a reality, one that may not be everything I want, seeing as Id rather get paid to do nothing any day of the week, but one that I need to embrace if I am going to continue living on.

This was something I was reminded about on the fourth of July. Rather than go off and party, as we had done that on the second, I spent this past fourth with my wife who caught a stomach bug and believe me it was an all day event. Seeing as I had some time I decided to find a copy of a now famous speech Frederick Douglas gave on the fourth of July back in the 1850′s. (Full copy of the speech here) In that speech he posed the following…

“Fellow-citizens, pardon me, allow me to ask, why am I called upon to speak here to-day? What have I, or those I represent, to do with your national independence? Are the great principles of political freedom and of natural justice, embodied in that Declaration of Independence, extended to us? and am I, therefore, called upon to bring our humble offering to the national altar, and to confess the benefits and express devout gratitude for the blessings resulting from your independence to us?”

He was speaking of course about the irony of a black man speaking on a day about independence and freedom when their lives were full of anything but. The fourth of July has never really held a special place in my heart. That is not to say I am not grateful for the freedom I enjoy every day, its just that the fourth of July was never my favorite of holidays. I tend to find the massive displays of patriotism trotted out for a few days a year to turn my stomach. Despite my  cynicism, this year, as I read that speech I was reminded of the fact that as we celebrate a day of independence and freedom there are those who experience too little of that. I thought about all those who aren’t allowed to marry and all of those who, while free to choose, are bound by guilt, embarrassment and shame and forced into a situation that might not be the best choice. I also thought about those who aren’t free to sleep under a roof because a roof isn’t free. All around as a nation celebrated its independence and freedom there are those who are not able to experience it.

And then, as the day turned from the fourth to the fifth I read something else, a not guilty verdict. And then something equivalent to a social media atomic bomb went off and everyone had something to say about it. I guess what struck me the most is that one day we laud freedom and the next we scorn it. Where is our responsibility to her or any other perpetrator of a crime? Should not our love and compassion extend to her as well? Sure the case could have been clear cut, but guess what, the jury of her peers found her not guilty and so she sleeps tonight not guilty. What you or I think about her innocence matters little.  But that does not mean we cannot use this example to spur us on to something else.

So here we all are faced with a reality we may not want but one we have to embrace if we are going to keep on living. What reality is that? One that forces us to action. Unless I am moved to make a difference in the lives of those who cannot experience or embrace the freedom so many of us live in every day then thinking about it is worthless. Rather than complain about the not guilty verdict, which will change nothing, we should be concerned about the situations so many other young children and older people are in and try to do something about it. This is the reality we are faced with, a broken, hurting, violent, mean, scared world. One that will eat us up and vomit us back out. But it is one we face together.

All of this is to say that the end isn’t written yet. The story isn’t finished. Tomorrow I wake up and drive back to Chicago and then Thursday is a brand new day. But what am I going to do with that day or the next. I can choose to go through life thinking about those I did on the fourth, or that poor little girl and her mother or I can embrace reality and be moved to do something about it. I hope I have the courage to do the latter.

let the adventures begin

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Last night, as I attempted to finish the book I was reading, I found my eyes wandering from the sentence I was finishing to the toddler on the TV screen. One of my wife’s guilty pleasures, and mine too, is watching trashy TV. In this case “trashy TV” manifested itself in the form of Toddlers in Tiaras. This episode was particularly intriguing to me because of one the parents insistence that her “conservative Christian faith” plays a pivotal role in pageantry.

I couldn’t help but scoff throughout each scene when this woman espoused her fanatical fundamentalist perspective. I about lost it when the woman uttered the following… “I had to pray real hard about the spray tan.” I could not stop laughing. This was the apex. She prayed about everything from the costumes to the routines her 6 year old daughter would do and it reached its zenith in the spray tan. I had to share my awe with people and so I tweeted/posted a status on facebook relaying the hilarity of the situation I was witnessing.

Immediately though I was confronted with the arrogance of what I had done because after my tweet I went back to reading that book. What book? Being Wrong: Adventures in the Margins of Error by Kathryn Schulz. **(To watch a short video about the ideas in the book click here) Ironic to say the least. Here I am reading a book about how embracing error helps to fundamentally change the way we interact with ourselves, the world, and others because it opens us up to new possibilities and I am delighting in the (perceived) error of another. I say (perceived) because who is really to say that she is wrong in that notion? From my perspective she’s an idiot, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who sees her that way but that doesn’t mean she really is an idiot.

This is one of the ways Kathryn Schulz describes how we treat people when we think they are wrong. We either think they are ignorant, idiots, or evil. If I take a minute to think about people I think are wrong I tend to put them into these three categories. This is especially true when I think people are wrong theologically. I am notorious for being a smart-ass and in college I was even more notorious for being a condescending smart-ass when I disagreed with you. I can think of several scenarios where I labeled someone ignorant, idiotic, or an evil piece of… work.

For good or for bad theology is the discipline I have found a home in. For the last 7 years I have studied it at both the undergraduate and graduate level. I have the ability to interact with the text in its original languages. But all of that training does not mean I am going to get everything right. Even those with more letters after their names who have even more training than I do, they too will not get everything right. Being someone who is perspectival I have, at least over the past few years, grown in my appreciation of other perspectives. Still though, not every perspective is one I embrace and I still find myself calling people idiots or ignorant because of their inability to see beyond their own perspective.

This is not their problem though, its mine. Theology as a discipline prides itself on being right, on having the truth or at least being able to explain it. It is no wonder then that people speak the way they do and it is also no wonder that I become so frustrated by their (perceived) wrongness. So then what can I do? I can either keep getting pissed or condescending because they don’t see things way I do or I change the way I interact, not only with people, but with the discipline itself.

Being wrong is something we run from because from an early age we know that being wrong is a bad thing. This is the notion that Kathryn Schulz challenges. Rather than seeing wrongness as something we should shy away from it should be something we embrace. Think of it this way, when we are kids everything is an adventure because we dont know everything. Wrongness puts us back into that same position. Being wrong opens us back up to the adventure that is life.

So what does this have to do with the theological task? First, I am not right about everything. Second, neither is anybody else. When it comes to theology this is most certainly true. Not Luther. Not Calvin. Not Walther. Not Zwinglii. Not Even Paul. Or John. Or Peter. And rather than shy away from this or try and justify some longheld belief we need to enter into theology as a kid enters the world. Not with knowledge but a sense of adventure. I know I am going to be wrong about a lot of things. But this is not something I should fear because being wrong doesn’t mean I’m evil, it means I’m human. So rather than approach theology as a place where truth reigns, I want to approach it as a place where adventures are had . As a place where I’m surprised by what happens. A place that doesn’t see wrongness as a thing to be avoided but sees it as integral to the discipline as it is to life.

no more runnin…

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770 miles later here I sit in an old favorite coffee shop of mine. No, I did not make the road trip just for the wonderful coffee they serve here, it just so happens to be a bonus. This is not to say that there aren’t plenty of coffee shops that offer succulent variations of the coffee bean, it just so happens that I like the atmosphere here and the coffee is wonderful. It reminds me of a place I used to frequent back in my days in St. Louis called Kaldis. It has been quite a while since I set foot in one but the coffee and atmosphere of a Kaldis is unforgettable. It really was one of the bright spots in an otherwise tumultuous campaign at the sem down there.

To be sure there were other bright spots. I don’t mean to sound so overly critical of my time spent in St. Louis but if I were to be honest it was two years that broke me down emotionally and spiritually. There were those people though, the ones who were the bright spots. They kept me sane, they pushed me further, they challenged me to become something better than I was. You fellow scoffers, you know who you are, I will never forget you guys. So much time has passed since we last sat out by the chapel, smoking cigars, having an adult beverage, our conversation dripping with sarcasm and discontent. So many days and nights have passed since then but in some ways I feel that I am right back in front of that chapel. Why? Because sometimes the only way for me to process what I am experiencing is by having a good sarcastic session of word vomit.

Take last night for example. My sister-in-law had a dance recital which lasted 3, count them, 3 hours. I could not help but be overly critical of what I was witnessing. I found it so ironic that the same parents who would clamor about teens being too sexual and TV being responsible for that sex drive put their kids in a program like that. And yet, I know I am overly critical, but sometimes I wonder if people are critical enough. Thats why I really appreciated that old group of scoffers, we were the critics. Sure, no body outside of our group heard the critiques so who knows if it was even worth the time, but if nothing else we helped each other process what was going on.

But sometimes I feel like that is all I ever do, process. I sit back in my chair, critique anything and everything and don’t throw my hat into the ring because I see it as a lost cause. To be sure there is a reason for this, its called college. Back in college I threw my dog into every fight I could. It didn’t matter if I really cared about the subject or not, I had something to say and I said it, especially when I knew it would take things too far. I felt it was my duty. However, in the end all I feel like I did was piss a lot of people off, except my friends and sometimes even them too. Then came seminary. Every day fellow students and even faculty openly and mercilessly ridiculed people and positions I held or respected. It was funny for them to scoff at people who were pro-choice or pro equal marriage rights. To them those people were just dumb. I knew where I stood and so I began to sink within myself. I wasn’t the only one, my best friend quit and another close friend was forced to leave because he didn’t fit the mold. We were all broken.

However, over the last few months I have begun to find my voice again. I dont know where or how, I am sure it has something to do with the place I am at in life both literally and figuratively. I may not always agree with the positions of my current fellow students or faculty but the difference now is that its ok to disagree and they at least are willing to listen.

But beyond the new sem I am at there is something else different. Its like I am settled. For the last year I have been running from the person I know that I am. Running and hiding because I was scared something would try and break me down again and I would lose even more than I had before. I feel a little like the browncoat hero Malcolm Reynolds of Firefly lore. Broken and for a while just trying to fly and be free of anything that would seek to force him to be something he is not. The sem is my battle of Serenity Valley and to be sure it was one I lost. But now I am in a position to be me again. The group I meet with on Mondays is just a start, I feel like more is to come. Now more than ever I am critical, but the difference is I know I need to use that critique to affect change. I need to use that voice I once lost. And as the great Malcolm Reynolds once said, “So no more runnin’, I aim to misbehave.”

bungle in the jungle

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Tonight as I made my way to meet up with some folks at a nearby coffee shop the song of which this post is titled came on to the radio. I have always been a fan of Jethro Tull, judge me as you will, and I have always found within their lyrics some sort of philosophical handle or idea toward which I gravitate. Tonight was no exception.

I am part of a group currently reading through Love Wins by Rob Bell. Most assuredly the book has ruffled a few feathers amongst the orthodox Christians out there because of Bell’s intense desire to ask questions and because of the answers at which he arrives. Say what you will, what I really appreciate about the book is the fact that it asks questions, it brings up for discussion those things which seem to have been long forgotten.

This is not foreign to Christianity. The history of Christendom is full of people who asked questions and dared to purport a position in opposition to an accepted belief. For every picture of God Christians paint there is another hanging right next to it in the gallery. Every affirmation comes with a negation and every position with its counterposition. After all, the Nicene Creed did not just appear for no reason. For as long as there has been those who purport differing ideas there have been those who stand in opposition to it. Arius is not unique in history because he stood in opposition but because of how he did it, rather, because of what he stood for. It was his position the Nicene Creed attacks and then affirms the contrary. But again, this is not some strange phenomena, it has happened time and again.

Ask two people in America what “the story” or “the point” of Christianity is and you will get two different answers. Sure there could be agreement, but even among those who agree there are differences. For every affirmation of a position there seems to be a negation. It seems as though Christians straddle the line between orthodoxy and heresy and actually uphold both positions quite well sometimes.

Take for example the bible, long held to be the inspired inerrant word of God. For many this book is just that, a book. You can touch it, hold it, pull it off your shelf, dust it off, open it up, read it, and then put it back. This is a relatively new experience for Christians because of the fact that until the 16th Century bibles were not written in the language of the common person. If you go even further back, 3oo years existed when the church didnt even have a codified New Testament. Some books were affirmed, others were questionable. Even those that were the authors are in question. The text itself can even be questioned. And somehow the church has survived. Now it seems Christians base everything off of this book which didn’t even exist for a good portion of the early days and for most of history was not accessible to most people and at best is a collection of works that may or may not have been written by those who claim it if that text is really even the text originally written. How then can that book be the basis when for a majority of those who went before the book did not posess the same authoritative nature? As John Caputo would say, the archive has become the arche, the icon the idol. Any position contrary to that orthodox one of inerrancy is heresy right? Yet there is so much evidence to the contrary.

So I come face to face with this paradox. On the one hand you have a long held position or belief, traditional orthodoxy. On the other hand though, you have dissention and differing ideas. You have interpretation winning the day. Not just about the bible but about Christianity itself. Can all the pictures we paint be true? How do we navigate between the two seemingly contradictory assertions that Christians have an orthodox position and continually question that position? This is why that Jethro Tull song was so apropos for tonight because…

he who made kittens put snakes in the grass

let’s bungle in the jungle, well thats alright by me
i’m a tiger when I want love and a snake when we disagree

So maybe then the way  I am approaching things needs to change. Am I open to questions about both? To real attacks that penetrate the surface of both my orthodoxy and my deconstructive nature? Am I willing to hold my beliefs so loosely that I can straddle the line even closer than before. Am I willing to stand in that place? To embrace the paradox and ambiguity amidst the certainty.

Maybe the point is not what I believe but how I believe it.

so here goes…

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Later today my wife and her family are going to be putting their dog down. SoCo, yes he is named for Southern Comfort, has had a life full of love, but also a life of health problems. It is no shock that his time has run out as he has been struggling immensely for the last few months, but still, he has carried on and it seems as though he can carry on no longer. His life may not have been what my wife’s family had dreamed it would be, but it was a good life for a dog.

It seems as though a lot of things in my life are turning out different than I thought they would. Back when I was a freshman in college, some 7 years ago this August, I did not know what I was even doing by going to college. I did not know who I would meet or what I would do. Over time I began to think that I was destined, along with my close group of friends, to affect change. To bring down walls and break down systems. But 7 years later I can tell you it wasn’t me or my friends who brought the system down, it was the system who broke us down.

The groups I was a part of were once vibrant and alive, now they are nearly nonexistent. The adults in charge were once perceived as bulletproof, but I have seen them take their hits. This ebb and flow of life, while not unexpected, forces me to continually redefine or re-imagine my place in this world. Once I did not see my self as amounting to much. As time went on I thought that maybe I could have an impact. When I went to sem I was broken in two and left for dead. But now, as I live a life renewed I realize that there is actually no place I’d rather be than the one I am in. I have a great job, a loving wife, and I am going to school to finish what I started. Sure it isn’t in the same place I thought it would. And yes, the people I was once close to are now nowhere to be found. But the fact remains that I am being pushed and challenged in ways I never have before.

This morning I had a chance to catch the commencement address that Conan O’Brien gave to the 2011 graduating class at Dartmouth. If you have not watched it I suggest you do. (CLICK HERE). Despite the hilarity that emanates from the comedic genius that is Conan O’Brien, he notes something that I have experienced to be true. Your dreams will change, and that’s ok. Whatever you think you are now, wherever you think you are going, this too will change. I know it has for me. And rather than sit back and seek to go back to some romanticized version of the past where everything seems to be better than it really was I want to keep moving forward. Building up and tearing down. Deconstructing and affirming. Doing all of those things that challenge me and push me to arenas I didn’t know existed.

As cliche as it sounds, things change. But rather than run from the fight I want to run to it. Rather than sit back and defend that which I have, I seek to place that in harms way. So here goes…

I am a postmodern. I do not believe this excludes me from Christianity as some claim. I admire satirists. I seek to change the way people see, understand, and interact with theology, the church, God, and each other. I am a husband. A son. A student. Sarcastic. Jaded. Perspectival. Open to challenge and questions. Unfinished in my thoughts and philosophy. Constantly evaluating where I am and where I am going.

And although this is where I am today it doesn’t mean Ill be there tomorrow. And thats ok. Life does not need to be figured out, it need only be experienced.