I saw a description of the Divine

Context
My Quaker meeting is reading excerpts from Patricia Loring's Listening Spirituality. One person was particularly struck by this sentence, found in the chapter entitled "Discernment: the Heart of Listening Spirituality: "Both interpretation reflect Friends' felt sense of the Divine as a dynamism rather than as an entity." After some discussion, I added "some" before "Friends'" to my copy of the reading.

Commentary
Quakers are non-dogmatic, which means that although we may spend time talking about what we believe as individuals, we never say that someone else's belief is incorrect. At my meeting, at least, that means that people come to the table with many different conceptions of God. The person who most tends toward the atheistic side of the spectrum like to tease me by asking if I believe God is an old white man in long robes. The completely honest answer to this question is, "Sometimes."

Realistically, I think it's quite a stretch to expect that any human being's understanding of the divine would be entirely accurate. We end up using different language to describe the various aspects we do understand, but those aspects change over time, if only because we choose to emphasize different ones. Even if we decided to remove a great deal of cultural vagaries by talking only about Roman Catholics, a child's idea of her God would vary from a Jesuit's about to graduate from seminary, and his would likely be different from the one held by an elderly woman who's recently been widowed.

So I don't object to people seeing the divine as a dynamism rather than an entity. I even kind of understand where the idea comes from. I think many people prefer this conception because being a discrete entity, or a person, as some of us would have it, would seem to establish inappropriate limits of time and space on the divine nature. On the other hand, I think non-personal language like "flow" or "energy" or, say, "dynamism" is inappropriately limiting as well, in that it takes away the idea the God has a will.

Loring has an answer for this. In the very next paragraph of our reading she discusses a recording of Thomas Merton (referenced in this list) in which he jokes with students about wasting time looking for the map God has planned out for history so they'll know exactly what to do. In Merton's mind, there is no pre-designed map; the road is constantly changing according to the decisions we make and the actions we take.

From my perspective, Merton and Loring are batting .500 as a team. I do agree it's not a good use of our time to try to figure out what God's entire plan is, but that's because the "trying to fit divine-sized stuff into a human brain" problem occurs again, not because the plan doesn't exist. In the final analysis, I feel much more confident living my little Lynn-sized life if I know that God has everything around me in hand (Eeek! A personification!), and everything will work to the good.

What did you see today?

I heard the Apostles' Creed

Context
I'm in Houston today, so per my usual custom, I went to worship at Christ the King Lutheran church. I used to be a Lutheran and this is the church I got married in. Lutherans always say a creed at some point during any communion service; today it was the Apostles' Creed. Quakers, on the other hand, are very non-creedal.

Commentary
I think the main reason Quakers are non-creedal is because of the feeling that creeds create an exclusive atmosphere. We're concerned that we would be saying, in essence, "If you don't believe this, you don't belong here."

Lately, when we talk about beliefs at my Quaker meeting, I feel like Friends are saying something beyond just: "We shouldn't have a set creed as a group." We seem to have moved on to: "We shouldn't have any strongly held religious beliefs as individuals, either." This perspective says our beliefs are so often proved spirit-killing and wrong that it is a bad idea to hold them at all. Better to just have faith in God in general and not be married to specific theological ideas.

As I was speaking the Apostles' Creed today, I realized I don't agree. For one thing, I actually believe everything in the Apostles' Creed. I don't think that gives me exclusive access to God, but I'm not going to pretend I don't believe those words just to make others feel comfortable.

Moreover, I don't think I can have faith in God without believing certain things. Here are four that seem pretty bedrock to me:

1) I believe that God is powerful.

2) I believe that the things I see constitute the work of God.

3) I believe that God has suffered.

4) I believe that God will ultimately bring justice to our exceedingly evil world.

Without these beliefs, having faith in God seems pointless to me. At its most primitive level, my trust is predicated on an expected outcome: the redemption of the world. If I believed that the march of history was just going to continue on its current path, I would commit ritual suicide. If I didn't care one way or the other, I wouldn't bother trying to learn about God and serve Him.

What's funny about the current discussion of beliefs in our meeting is that one of the ways we encourage people to discern whether Quakerism would be a good fit for them is to take this quiz at beliefnet.com. Unsurprisingly, most of the questions are about one's beliefs.

What did you hear today?

I saw a driver slow down

Context
When I drive to Texarkana on Saturdays to attend my Quaker meeting, I usually obey the posted speed limit. Since a great deal of my trip takes place on a two-lane highway, this means when people pass me, they then pull in front of me.

A gentleman driving an older sedan with cracks in the windshield did this today. Shortly thereafter we came upon three vehicles on the opposite shoulder, one of which belonged to the Caddo Parish Sheriff's office and had its lights flashing. Louisiana law requires us to move over or slow down for vehicles with flashing lights on our own shoulder, but there are no obligations pertaining to vehicles on the opposite side. Nevertheless, the guy who had just passed me slowed down considerably, even going a few MPH under the speed limit. I was tempted to pass him, but restrained myself.

Commentary
My first reaction to the driver slowing down ahead of me was, "My driving decisions make my life easier." Consider: except for the "move over or slow down" rule mentioned above, I never have to change how I'm driving when I see a member of law enforcement. Other people have to make numerous adjustments.

Not that my method is entirely stress-free. When people pass me on the two-lane, they sometimes express annoyance, and I'm not completely immune to that. Nonetheless, I'd have to say my method of driving is the one that brings me the most peace.

Making all our decisions according to which ones will bring us the most peace is not a bad way to go, although it is complicated by the need to predict how we'll feel in the future on a regular basis. If nothing else, we can evaluate our current path to see if it's bringing us peace and make adjustments accordingly. Who knows? Doing this often enough might improve our powers of prediction.

So what do we define as peace? I'll admit that for me it has the air of "I know it when I feel it," but I'll try to be more definite. I think we can all agree that peace is not worry or stress or guilt, but I would venture to say it's not necessarily happiness or satisfaction, either. As mentioned previously, I often get a great deal of visceral satisfaction when I do the wrong thing. There's always psychic damage to clean up afterwards, though.

Absence of conflict is a reasonably good definition of peace, but it depends on how you define conflict (wheels within wheels!). I often find that making a good decision for me causes opposition from other people. What really tears me up is when I make the right choice for myself and someone else makes the right choice for her/himself and we still end up in conflict! These disputes can usually be resolved by recognizing our differing needs and perspectives, but still!

I also can't really say that making good decisions means I won't be conflicted about them. Change, even good change, is often very stressful. However, I usually find that once I've made my initial commitment and taken the first few steps, most of the strain falls away. Peace manifests in the feeling that a way is opening up for me.

If peace is the revelation of a path we can follow, then I have to say that neither complacency nor resignation fits the bill. Complacency does its level best to never move at all, and resignation implies that one is not deciding where to go. I do, however, have to leave room for the radical resignation that says, "I'm giving up everything to follow God's will."

There, I did it. Stuck God into the middle of a perfectly good (psychological? philosophical?) treatise. I can't help it, though. For me, even seeking peace is related to my religious beliefs that there is a God, that He cares about me, and that He has a plan. When I say "a way is opening up," I mean God's way. Realistically, I don't believe it's actually possible for us to thwart God's will. On the other hand, I think we can cause ourselves a lot of stress and worry by trying to.

What did you see today?

I heard a question

Context
At my Quaker meeting today, we discussed this article about the Bible by Kristin Swenson. One of the regular attenders at the meeting has neither a strong interest nor a strong background in the Bible, so she asked what we thought the Bible was for. I said the Bible was for religious instruction. It has pretty good poetry, although it's probably better in the original Greek; reasonable history, especially if you're interested in the various kings of Israel, and some great philosophy. I also said it makes a poor science textbook. Someone at the table said this last would be a radical idea to the Texas Board of Education, because over the past few years, Texas has been embroiled in a debate about how to treat the theory of evolution in science textbooks.


Commentary
I need to start with some housekeeping. The link for Kristin Swenson's article goes to the Deseret News instead of the Shreveport Times, because the latter's archive didn't make it appear in a search. I'm sure they'll rue the day they lost the huge amount of traffic that comes from my blog!

Also, I try to be accurate in the Context portion of the blog, so I reported my comment that the poetry was better in the Greek. Upon further review, I should have said, "in the original language," because very little of the poetry in the Bible was originally written in Greek.

Lastly, I posted the most recent article I could find about the Texas textbook controversy, but if you do a Google search for Texas Board of Education creationism, you'll find all kinds of other goodies.

OK, now the actual commentary. Scientists don't like it when school boards put "all sides of scientific theories" language in textbook standards, because they think it's code for "take potshots at the theory of evolution." It may very well be, but the testimony on integrity (that again!) won't permit me to say so without positive proof.

So I won't deal with that issue. Instead, I'll talk about why the Bible itself, not any creationist-leaning textbook, makes a poor resource for scientific learning. The purpose of science books, and science classes for that matter, is to make observations about the world around us, come up with a plausible explanations for it, and ideally, teach people to do the same.

The Bible is terrible at this. In general, it jumps straight to conclusions without offering any physical evidence for them. I see no "We conclude God created the world in seven days because of this, this, and this" in Genesis; do you? Luckily, assertions about the nature of the physical world are kind of rare in the Bible; it's mostly about setting up a belief system and acting upon it. And to be fair, science textbooks are as bad as religious instruction as the Bible is at science.

Science is tethered to the realm of the possible. This is problematic for religion (at least my religion) in two ways:

1) Faith takes us outside the realm of what's physically possible. The Bible asserts that people can rise from the dead (2 Kings 4:32-37), that men can be thrown into a furnace and come out unharmed(Daniel 3:19-28), and that there will come a time when wolves lie down with lambs (Isaiah 11:6-8), and that's just in the Old Testament. The New Testament really goes berserk. Science can bring awe and wonder, but only faith sets us free from the tyranny of our lives to see new, unimagined possibilities. I recognize the irony of using that word, but whatcha gonna do?

2) Science makes no distinction between the possible and the desirable. Observable phenomena tell us that splitting atoms can cause horrific destruction. Science, in its purest form, has no opinion about whether this is a good or bad thing. Pretty much all religious thought comes down firmly on one side of the issue.

So science and religion have different purposes and places in our lives. Is that really such a radical idea?

What did you hear today?

I saw responses to unwelcome opinions

Context
Today I saw two similar things in different places. First on PUBLIB, an e-mail list for public librarians, I saw a series of inflammatory posts (one example here, but you can find others if you browse the February entries by the same author, Matthew Price), followed by some equally inflammatory responses and several well-considered ones, including this one by Robert Baillot. Then on Slashdot, I saw another discussion initiated by quoting Glenn Beck in one of his more outrageous moods and evolving into a metadiscussion of how to respond to outrageous opinions. By the way, that last link is a little tricky. You may have to do some collapsing and expanding of comments to see what I'm talking about.

Commentary
Almost since the inception of the internet, people have been using it to exchange opinions. And almost since the start of that activity, there have been trolls, which are defined as people who take an inflammatory stand just for the sake of being inflammatory, not because they actually believe it. The perception is that trolls get off on attention or on getting people upset because they think it makes them superior.

The conventional wisdom about this phenomenon is "Don't feed the trolls," i.e. don't encourage their bad behavior by responding, but I was intrigued by the two responses I saw that seemed to fly in the face of that. "Ephemeriis" takes a civic responsibility approach, saying that since Glenn Beck is taken seriously in some quarters, the opposition is obligated to craft a serious rebuttal. Robert Balliot goes him one better by quoting Aristotle to make the point that every idea deserves consideration, even the rantings of a troll.

These responses are challenging to me. I often believe in operant conditioning, or at least the principle I learned from my mother: "If you ignore someone, he'll go away." But is getting someone to go away really my goal? Or is it engagement, where I continue to grapple with the people who drive me crazy in the belief that the God who loves all of us might be trying to tell me something?

What did you see today?

I saw a review of a book

Context
One of the tasks I perform at my library is looking over the new book lists in our catalog to make sure the items are displaying properly. Our catalog contains reviews of some items and sometimes I read those, even though it's not a necessary component of the task.

This is a quote I read today from the Library Journal review of Lynette Eason's Too Close to Home: "Readers who enjoy romantic suspense authors Suzanne Brockmann and Sandra Brown but who prefer their thrills with a little more conscience and a lot less sex will be thrilled with Eason's new series opener." Eason is classified as a Christian suspense author.

Commentary
I have been neglecting my calling. And as often happens with backsliding, I didn't realize it for a long time. I haven't posted to this blog for two and a half months, not because I haven't been seeing anything (I always see stuff), but because I didn't think I needed to say anything about it.

Here's an example: I was at a funeral visitation last weekend, waiting outside while a rosary was being said for the deceased. Some of the other people outside were making fun of the rosary. Yes, you read that correctly. At a funeral, there were people making fun of the rosary being said for the departed. Anyway, I didn't know anyone else who was around, so I didn't say anything to them about this appalling lack of respect. I figured it wouldn't do any good.

And this morning when I read the review excerpted above I had some thoughts about it, but I didn't plan to blog because I didn't think my opinions would be of interest to anyone. And then I remembered. The call was to open my eyes and open my mouth, not to be interesting or even effective. The words are my responsibility; the response is not. Luckily, repentance is always an option, so onward!

Although I am a Christian, I rarely read what is called Christian literature. I'm not using the conditional term above because I don't think the literature is Christian. It's just that, as with so many other parts of our culture today, it seems certain people have co-opted the term so that nothing outside their realm is considered Christian. In order to satisfy that segment of the population, a book has to uphold conservative values, particularly those pertaining to personal morality. It also has to say at its core that although there may be some ups and downs to life, correct religious belief and practice will eventually give you all the answers you need.

Which brings me to a Christian author I do like: C.S. Lewis. I read his works, you should pardon the expression, religiously. But apparently he's not quite Christian enough. A library colleague I respect in Arkansas, Lesley Knieriem, made this statement about him in response to a request for Christian authors: "Lewis's space trilogy [is] well known, but . . . once again would not be acceptable to the ECPA." The ECPA is the Evangelical Christian Publishers Association. I had to look that up.

I can see what Lesley means. The final book in the series cited has the Jesus stand-in (named Ransom, because Lewis is not a subtle man) utter this line about one of his companions: "He is our sceptic; a very important office." Somehow I can't see a Gilbert Morris protagonist making that kind of statement. Even less can I picture a contemporary piece of Christian children's literature containing a scene like the one near the end of the Chronicles of Narnia series, where a person who has been serving Satan (or Baal, depending on your interpretation) all his life is told that there is a place for him in heaven because his actions were virtuous, even though they were pointed at the wrong God!

In the end, I think they problem is one of intent. It seems to be that the current crop of Christian authors seek to comfort their readers, while Lewis was always in the business of challenging his, even the youngest of them. And when it comes to my religious health, I don't need a lot of massage. I need resistance training.

What did you see today?

I heard a disparaging remark

Context
One of my flights back from the COSUGI conference lasted a little under three hours. During it, a baby on board screamed bloody murder at varying intervals. Once, he or she probably kept it up for a good ten minutes. At the end of the flight, a man in my row said, "Horrible flight!"

Commentary
I hate to fly. This may come as a surprise to members of my family because I used to love it, and I still do fly on a regular basis, but I hate it. Usually this hatred takes the form of mild anxiety, often for weeks before an anticipated trip, but it sometimes turns into full-blown panic while on the plane. All told, I prefer the train. So for me, "horrible flight" would either mean I cowered in terror all the way or the plane crashed at some point. I guess most people would agree that the latter would count as a horrible flight.

But I don't want to talk about how brave my seatmate was about flying or how tolerant I am of fussy children. I want to talk about what I think upsets both of us, which is the lack of control. Once I get on that plane, I can't control how it moves or whether it lands safely or not, and that makes me crazy. Under non-flying circumstances, one can usually deal with a screaming baby that's not your own by either walking away or trying to convince the parents to do so. On a plane, not so much.

So for both of us, perhaps the feeling of helplessness is upsetting. What's interesting is the difference in what makes us feel helpless. I've already spent too much time speculating about my seatmate's feelings, so I won't try and figure out why flying doesn't appear to bother him. I will say that generally, crying babies who aren't being abused by their parents don't bother me. In the situation on the plane, I wasn't helpless. I could have tuned the baby out or listened to iTunes on my laptop. What I actually did was feel sorry for the baby and the parents. It's just about impossible to explain to an infant what ear-popping is and how to handle it.

Which leads me to faith in general. I am a firm believer that God controls everything; that it's His world and we're just living in it. This does not, however, make me behave fatalistically. I believe every moment is an opportunity to decide whether we're going to try to participate in God's will, oppose it, or ignore it. I find I always do better when I try to participate. As I mentioned in an earlier post on patience, I find I do better when I spend less time on, "Why is God doing this?" and more on "Why does He want me around while He is?"

It's a good theory; I certainly don't always put it into practice. I often say, as Mother Teresa did, "I know God will not give me anything I can't handle. I just wish that He didn't trust me so much." On the other hand, as I was reminded when I read on this blog, I think sometimes God likes to remind us that it's not all about how well we handle things for ourselves. So I try to remember that too when I fly.

What did you hear today?