Month: December 2023

Joy as a Subterranean Spring

/ Robert D / Leave a comment

“True joy is not a thing of moods, not a capricious emotion, tied to fluctuating experiences It is a state and condition of the soul. It survives through pain and sorrow and, like a subterranean spring, waters the whole life. It is intimately allied and bound up with love and goodness, and so is deeply rooted in the life of God. Joy is the most perfect and complete mark and sign of immortal wealth, because it indicates that the soul is living by love and by goodness, and is very rich in God.”

Quaker theologian Rufus Jones, “The Inner Life”, 1916

Today I returned two of my three kids to their mother after too short a visit. My ride home was marked by tears and a blessing as it was the first time in years I had not ridden alone. Upon reaching our destination I still had to wash off saline streaks from my face, but it was an improvement.

Jones wrote about joy filling our lives like a subterranean stream. Such watering keeps the soil moist even through moments where everything is dried out under the harsh light of sadness. I want to feel such joy in my life. I do feel such joy even if it feels fleeting at times.

God, grant me your joy.
Even as the harsh winds howl, 
soak arid taproots
and keep green in me the hope
by which my core first sprouted.

Grief and Pain

/ Robert D / Leave a comment

A couple of hours ago I made a mistake through my own stupid arrogance. Okay, it wasn’t that bad, I said something stupid to the neighboring minister when stopping by her office. I said, “I feel like the end of Advent is going to be quiet. I feel like I have paid my dues with Advent drama.” I didn’t knock on wood.

Two hours later I am on the phone with the doctor’s office for my children. One child is sick and the other has a head injury. I have been trying to get information through a phone call for days. I was told repeatedly that their mother wouldn’t tell me the information because I could get it from the doctor, The doctor let me know that they’ve never been given permission to share anything with me. Shared custody or not, there’s no medical information for Dad. All I know is that my eldest has a head injury and that my middle child needs medication to breathe more fully.

Why would I need to know more than that? Isn’t that enough for me to make medical decisions? When will there be medical decisions where I actually get to make a choice or even remain informed if even head trauma isn’t enough to qualify? I should have knocked on wood. More accurately, I should have assumed the worst earlier. You would think I would have learned by now.

I have been thinking about the pain this afternoon. Even as I prepare for the Longest Night Service on Thursday, I find myself coming back to the pain within. I was ready for a drama-free Christmas. I was neither wishing ill nor inviting the Krampus to visit my former partner. I was accepting of the fact that life simply means neither seeing my eldest this season nor seeing my kids on Christmas morning. I was even accepting of the fact that buying Christmas presents for them feels more and more like buying gifts for strangers. It hurt, but it was numb. Suddenly it is as if the bandages are torn away and my soul is bleeding again. I thought about it and turned back to a book I have been reading on and off again for a few years now.

“Following the initial numbing shock of disbelief in the immediate experience of loss, pain presses itself into our souls and bodies. It is sometimes more than we think we can bear. We seek ways to anesthetize ourselves. It hurts too much to allow that gaping hole in our gut to bleed unstaunched. We want to feel anything other than that pain. We want to fill the empty hole within with something—alcohol, drugs, sex, sleep, work, easy love, TV. We are vulnerable to anyone who will offer us a moment’s respite from that unspeakable gap within our soul…

Eventually though, we begin to feel again and the pain sets in. The pain reminds us we are still alive and in need of healing. It will come and go, visiting us when we least expect it. When you can feel the pain of sadness and loneliness, know that this signals that you are growing stronger. When we are not strong, the body numbs us and we don’t feel. If we feel the pain, we are gaining strength. Pain reminds us that something significant has happened. It reminds us that to be human is to feel. Only when we can feel the deep sadness of the loss can we ever hope to feel the deep joy of new life. Feeling is central to the ability to experience the fullness of life as it is being lived.”

Dan Moseley, “Lose, Love, Live: The Spiritual GIfts of Loss and Change,” pg 41

I am really hurting today and I understand, in part, what Moseley is saying here. If I couldn’t handle the pain, then my body, soul, and spirit would surely know enough to anesthetize the wound. Even if it couldn’t heal from the wounds in the past, my soul has become very good at cauterizing internal pain through things like exercise, poetry, eating, music, and even focusing my thoughts on the pain of occasional hunger. When you have no other way to advocate for yourself and when even your attorney has gone on vacation, what choice can there be here?

I get that it hurts and I wish that it wouldn’t hurt. I wish there was something I could do to make the pain go away, but there’s no really good answer other than to embrace the pain. If there’s one thing my former partner has given me, it is the gift of pain. I can hide away from it, or I can accept the simple things it teaches me.

  • I’m alive to feel this pain
  • I’m strong enough to experience this without going into shock
  • I’m alive enough to make choices to reach out to people who care about me
  • I’m alive enough to think about things like the meaning of pain, the lack of justice, and even anticipate the Advent of Christ to stand as the only just and righteous judge who can unfailingly stand in final judgment over situations like this one.
  • I’m alive enough to pray and seek after the Spirit even as the world denies hypothetical rights and shatters the hope of people who have already been broken by injustice

I’m reading Lamentations 5 in worship this Thursday. Lord, I feel it…

“15Joy has left our heart; our dancing has changed into lamentation. 16The crown has fallen off our head. We are doomed because we have sinned. 17Because of all this our heart is sick; because of these things our glance is dark. 18Mount Zion, now deserted– only jackals walk on it now! 19But you, LORD, will rule forever; your throne lasts from one generation to the next. 20Why do you forget us continually; why do you abandon us for such a long time? 21Return us, LORD, to yourself. Please let us return! Give us new days, like those long ago– 22unless you have completely rejected us, or have become too angry with us.”

Lamentations 5:15-22, Common English Bible (CEB)

A Prayer Shared on the Anniversary of My Mother’s Death

/ Robert D / Leave a comment

Thou goest home this night to thy home of winter,
To thy home of autumn, of spring, and of summer;
Thou goest home this night to thy perpetual home,
To thine eternal bed, to thine eternal slumber.

Sleep thou, sleep, and away with thy sorrow, . . .
Sleep this night in the breast of thy Mother,
Sleep, thou beloved, while she herself soothes thee, . . .
Sleep, thou beloved, while she herself kisses thee.

The great sleep of Jesus, the surpassing sleep of Jesus,
The sleep of Jesus’ wound, the sleep of Jesus’ grief,
The young sleep of Jesus, the restoring sleep of Jesus,
The sleep of the kiss of Jesus of peace and of glory. . . .

Sleep, O sleep in the calm of all calm,
Sleep, O sleep in the guidance of guidance,
Sleep, O sleep in the love of all loves, . . .
Sleep, O beloved, in the God of life.

Michael Carmichael, Carmina Gaedelica, 312-313

Walking in the dark

/ Robert D / Leave a comment

Tonight I took a long walk for the first time in a week. I have been working a lot this week. I haven’t really had the time on nice days to be outside between a funeral and some ongoing issues with work situations.

I could have turned around earlier and made it back to the car before dark, but I kept going. I was almost halfway through the walk when the sun went behind the hills. I walked nearly an hour and a half after the sunset without a flashlight.

It is strange how familiar the paths have become over the past few years. I used to stumble and trip even in the middle of the day. I walked over three miles in the darkness without a light and my feet walked firmly even as I couldn’t see everything in front of me.

I remembered as I walked. I thought about writing poems about hiking in the snow in one space and took a picture of beautiful leaves in the sun\set in another place. I remembered where my dog drank water in one place and remembered the lightning crashing in another place. I walked with firm steps. FitBit informed me at one point that I had shaved a couple seconds off of my average mile split. I walked faster in the darkness than I used to walk in the light.

Why? You can see in the darkness once your eyes adapt. You can see in the darkness once the moon comes out. You can see in the darkness when you have enough time in a space. You can do a lot with over a year of practice walking in a space.

This reality applies to other parts of life as well. You can walk in the darkness after you have spent time living alone. You can walk in the darkness when the phone doesn’t ring and your children don’t reach out. You can walk in the darkness when you face challenges because you know the sort of person you have become.

I owe a lot to the practice I have done. Some would even say I have a discipline built from making choices. That discipline teaches me to be who I am today and I am grateful both for the lessons I have learned and the confidence that comes from doing the next right thing time and time again.

A Lack of Consensus in Advent

/ Robert D / Leave a comment

“It is a primary truth of Christianity that God reaches us directly. No person is insulated. As ocean floods the inlets, as sunlight environs the plant, so God enfolds and enwreathes the finite spirit. There is this difference, however, inlet and plant are penetrated whether they will or not. Sea and sunshine crowd themselves in a tergo. Not so with God. He can be received only through appreciation and conscious appropriation. He comes only through doors that are purposefully opened for him. A person may live as near Goad as the bubble is to the ocean and yet not find him. He may be ‘closer than breathing, nearer than hands or feet,’ and still be missed.”

Rufus Jones, from “The Double Search” as quoted in “A Guide to Prayer for Ministers and Other Servants” by Reuben Job & Normal Shawchuck

In our study of “All the Good: A Wesleyan Way of Christmas,” during the first week of Advent, one of the authors of the study, Laceye Warner, shared a personal story of playing hide and seek with children in the middle of a worship service. She was comparing the game of hide and seek to Christ approaching in Advent. In Advent, ready or not, here Christ comes.

This week I was looking through the readings for reflection from “A Guide to Prayer for Ministers and Others Servants” when Rufus Jones’s words showed up in a quote from “The Double Search.” Recently I have been spending time in Rufus Jones’ 1916 work “The Inner Life,” so I paid attention to what Jones wrote while wondering how Rufus Jones ended up in the readings for the second week of Advent.

What an interesting tension between these two readings. Rev. Warner wrote about how Jesus is coming into the world whether it is ready or not. Rufus Jones wrote about how God is by nature a God who believes in consent. For Jones, God is as close as a bubble may be to the ocean, but consent is required before God will enter into a life. For Warner, God is right there on the verge of entering into the world whether or not it is ready.

Now the interesting thing about these two from my perspective is the potential clash of theology. Rev. Warner is deeply and steeply within the Methodist tradition. As an elder, I can say that I would not question her theology for one moment if I were on a Board of Ordained Ministry. Her position is solidly supported by Wesleyan research, writings, and traditions. Should she one day google this blog article, I hope she sees that I give her and her theology a thumbs up! Nothing personal here, Rev. Warner.

There is grace in the world for us and that grace is prevenient, justifying, and sanctifying. These graces exist in that particular order. God works within us even before we consciously choose to accept God. Unmerited favor pours down and into a life that comes to a point of acceptance and justification. Students of Methodist theology call that type of loving kindness and mercy prevenient grace.

Quaker theologian Rufus Jones states that God is right in the world around us, but that there must be an acceptance of God’s love before God truly enters into a person. I’m not enough of a Quaker scholar to state whether or not Jones would say that the presence of God in that proximity would qualify as a form of prevenient grace, but I wonder. God is there surrounding a person like the sunshine surrounds a tree or like the water fills an inlet, but Jones states there’s a difference: the sun may fill a plant with light that leads to a reaction with chlorophyll, but the plant has no say in the presence of the light. The water may pour into the inlet, but the inlet has no say in the matter. Tides, gravity, and water levels conspire to fill an inlet whether or not it desires to be wet.

For Rufus Jones, there must be consent before God enters into a life. For people like John Wesley, acceptance definitively matters as a prerequisite before prevenient grace leads a person to a salvific experience with the justifying grace offered by Christ. There’s a similar view on consent for both Jones and Wesley when it comes to salvation. The question I have is whether or not prevenient grace is a consensual grace.

As a minister, I have heard many times from a beloved child of God about the life of a loved one who is in their prayers. Sometimes the loved one is not willing to come to church or to accept the presence of God in their life. There have been prayers for the beloved person who may be angry, hurt, frustrated, or just done with the church. Sometimes the prayer is that the beloved person will find faith, accept an invitation to church, or even walk away from a dangerous situation. The hopes and the prayers they inspire are almost always well-intentioned and loving.

The question Jones inspires is what happens when we would like to see a flood of prevenient grace swell up to bear someone into the arms of God while the person in the water may want nothing to do with that grace or the God who is waiting. We would present the humorous simile of hide and seek with Rev. Warner and many other Methodists (including me) who want to explain the presence of God entering the world, but some people have no desire to play that game. They are not interested. The plant may rest in the sunshine regardless of intention, but if Jones is accurate in his portrayal of how God functions, the people we love may shut that door on God. What’s more, God may even honor their decisions to shut the door.

If prevenient grace must be or should be consensual, then there may be a theological hurdle for many of us as we consider how we relate to the world around us. I was sitting in a district clergy meeting this fall when an elderly fellow stated that things would be okay if we could just sit people down and explain to them where they are wrong and where we are right. I paraphrased that a bit, but I will state that’s what I heard. I hold no ill will for the person sharing that sentiment, but I wonder how well it works to force people to sit down and listen to us as the people who proclaim that we are right and they are ignorant.

In my experience, forced conversation about faith where the person is being forced into the conversation rarely leads anywhere good for either the person sharing or the person receiving that forceful sharing. Moving beyond the fact that bullying someone into faith seems the opposite of what we are called to do as Christians, there’s something deeply flawed here, The very idea that bashing someone over the head with a theological or even educational hammer is a form of grace seems a bit arrogant. The choice to act with theological, spiritual, educational, or even positional power should be rejected when we consider that honest conversation and loving actions can lead to similar conversations and results from a more respectful place of kindness, mercy, and graciousness.

Such conversations, poorly done and with carelessness, can lead to traumatic results. We know that religion having a negative impact can happen and has happened depending on how religion is used to cope with challenging situations. Other conversations, done carefully and with love, can lead to people seeing the extension of faith, hope, and love as being means of prevenient grace. When there is consent and all is well, then salvific results can ensue. When there is a lack of consent, our actions can be considered means of sorrow instead of means of grace.

It is perhaps easy to look at our actions in this light and see the value of consent and love in our approaches to evangelism and even to what Warner referred to as “works of mercy” throughout this season of Advent. Works of mercy, consensually and lovingly done, are glorifying to the name of God. Works of mercy that are not done with consent or even perspective can end as poorly as the incredibly outdated concept of the “Indian Boarding Schools” (which United Methodists are encouraged to be actively repenting of as a part of a whole church that hurt itself: racism is an act that hurts all people (Book of Resolutions, ¶3371: A Charter for Racial Justice in an Interdependent Global Community)).

You may think that I have gone far afield from my original conversation by talking about how we engage in evangelism and acts of mercy. Perhaps you wonder why it matters that won-consensual evangelism and “works of mercy” have caused harm. What does this have to do with prevenient grace and consent? Well, do we think our desire for another person to come to know God is greater than their desire to be left alone? Can we truly see a loving God pushing someone around without a sense of love and care simply because we ask for it? If God truly loves that person and loves us, can we see God working to empower us to share with love instead of forcing grace into their life through the school of hard knocks?

We know it is harmful to force other people into a place where they are deeply harmed by our good intentions. There’s a reason why the first of the three general rules is to do no harm and we even recognize those rules are purposefully in the order we have them. We seek to do no harm even before we seek to do good. As such, perhaps we need to deeply consider whether or not prevenient grace should be consensual. If it is to be, perhaps our time should be spent helping others to find that grace with love and kindness.

Consent is a powerful thing. Consent takes something beautiful and makes it extravagantly wonderful. A lack of consent takes something beautiful and turns it into something horrific. We know this is true of something as common as human sexuality. Can you imagine a world where prevenient grace is extravagantly wonderful? Put another way, can you imagine a world where prevenient grace is celebrated without the eventual need for global acts of repentance? What if we worked for a world where people sought God with joy instead of God having to play hide and seek with the unwilling as a result of our behaviors? What if our Christmas gifts to Christ were acts of consensual mercy?

On Weirdness of Body

/ Robert D / Leave a comment

I have been working most of the day with the exception of a personal errand this evening. I have been battling technology for most of the day and annoyed at least one person by putting the wrong link in an email. It has been a very stressful day and there’s still absolutely no progress on the car. Over seven days after the accident there still isn’t even an appointment for the insurance company to look at the car.

To be entirely honest, I am a bit frazzled tonight as I look over what rests on my docket for tomorrow. Bible study, worship, and leadership are the start of the day. The afternoon and evening are marked with taking care of personal needs and then volunteer service in my recovery program. When the sun has long set tomorrow night, it will be with a whole week of needs obligations ahead of me even without the car dramatics.

It is going to be a week, but I am honestly stuck in the last week. A friend sent me copies of pictures of my children and they appear happy and well fed. Honestly, I am so grateful they appear happy and wellfed. It makes me really happy even as I am struggling with the opposite situation. I was lightly lectured by a doctor this week because I haven’t had enough protein. It is significant enough that it showed up in my bloodwork as a form of malnutrition. Yeah, to a certain extent, my body composition is changing partially because of nutritional deprivation.

The day after I had that conversation with my doctor I was looking in the mirror while I was putting another set of holes into my belt. The muscles looked good, but the skin drooped strangely. The shoulders looked great and my jawline was sharp, but the skin around my belly was loose. Although others don’t often see it, I can see it every single day. I’ve long since left behind the moments of absolute and sheer joy to a slight grimace when I look in the mirror.

Still, what can a person do? Do I argue for less child support and risk my children going without? Do I advocate for myself knowing that the kids may need a father who hasn’t gone without protein for so long that it is having an effect on his health? Do I even speak honestly about it with people like my father or my brother who might see this as one more area where I fall short of the ideal by which I was raised to live? Do I even let my elder children know what’s going on if they knew all those shiny toes under the tree and those brimming pots full of food that they share with their mother are systemically related to my weight loss?

Do I even remain silent because it is embarrassing to the church? I can tell you that they’re more than generous, but when 36% automatically goes to child support and your partner won’t pay her portion of the insurance, things are tight. It isn’t the church’s job to be more generous than that kind of burden. It isn’t the church’s job to bail me out after I married the woman I married. Do I remain silent because it is bad enough their minister wears baggy clothes and won’t go to Thursday breakfast at the falls because the cost is too great? What do I do when they read this which will lead to another round of “Why won’t you go to the food pantry we hold in our church?”

Do I remain silent because I do have a role to play in all of this? I know one person in particular loves to say I don’t own my part in things. Yeah, I exercise a lot. Yeah, I weightlift. Why? I do enjoy the way it makes me look but I also realized a while back that all of that weight loss was coming at the expense of musculature. Yes, I hit a use it or lose it point a few months back and that’s why I am working so hard to build muscle. All of that means I need more calories, but the honest truth is that I buy meat maybe once or twice a month because that’s what I can afford. Yay for tofu and beans… I don’t get extra visits in part because I don’t feel safe in Springville but also because some of the visits come with the choice of paying for gasoline or paying for groceries. Still, I could just let the muscles go, exercise less, and need fewer calories. I could choose to sit home more, read more, and just let my body shrink down to a level I can afford to feed with rice, beans, and whatever greens I manage. I guess I could do that and I guess I’m guilty for not making that choice.

There’s all sorts of stuff I could do and there are reasons to remain silent, but should I stay silent? A lot of harm is often done by good people staying silent. Am I the only person going through difficult times? Do their stories matter less because they do not have the same privileges as me? Is it, in fact, a disservice to remain silent when there are so many people struggling without a voice? My words echo a lot of people’s experiences and I know many of them have no space, place, or voice to say what’s happening in their lives. Some of those people are good people who just cannot share. I would know because I come across those people often in recovery, in ministry, and as a person who actually enjoys and even loves the people at the edges of society. Do I do a disservice to them if I remain silent?

In the scriptures, the stories of God’s provision are told time and time again. There are stories where God shows up in the midst of the wilderness to provide for the families and prophets in need. A widow is given enough to survive by Elijah in the midst of 1 Kings 17. She has enough, but what of the people who live under the rule of a wicked ruler? Were all of those people wicked? Did they all deserve to go without? Probably not, but one of the sad realities of scripture is that the world presented reflects reality instead of the utopia we all desire.

Time and time again, through the scriptures the faithful people and even the innocent bystanders go through life without the very things they need. Do you know those videos of people overseas struggling? Those “for a dollar a day” videos? For generations, even the lands of the faithful looked like those videos when famine and drought came through the land. Sometimes deprivation is simply how life works even within the scriptures. As our society continues to shift, it sadly seems as if the sad reality of struggle told in the scriptures is increasingly apparent in our days as automation cuts the bottom rung of employment out here in the name of profits.

Even as we acknowledge that truth, do we lose hope in the midst of deprivation? We could, but I have always leaned into stories and words of hope from books like Habakkuk. There’s no grain in the field and the barns are empty, but we praise the Lord anyway. Things don’t look great and the choices are both dire and sad, but we praise the Lord anyway. Faith isn’t faith if one knows everything will work out perfectly. It is faith precisely because we do not see the way forward. We have to trust it is there.

So I believe. Lord, help me in my unbelief.