On Entering the Kingdom of Heaven: Thoughts for Holiness People

Last year I posted three sets of thoughts on this topic -- one, two, three -- and am probably done with the subject for general consumption. However, I still have some thoughts from the perspective of my tribe: the "holiness people" associated with the Church of the Nazarene.

I was introduced to Mildred Bangs Wynkoop's book The Theology of Love in the late 1990s. It was a breath of fresh air to me. I was just discovering new ideas from outside the bubble I had been raised in, where holiness preaching promised freedom from sin and, yet, often produced people who could be described as "mean-spirited." 

I have told the story before of following one of the premiere holiness preachers of my teen years through a cafeteria lunch line and listening to him speak in an irritated, devaluing tone to the young lady working there because the food he wanted was not available. I had noticed a frequent discrepancy between the preaching and the living but thought maybe I just had yet to find a prime example of sanctification. But if this beloved holiness preacher wasn't sanctified to the level of his own preaching, who was? Surely sanctification ought to, at a minimum, generate enough grace and mercy to be kind to a young cafeteria worker who obviously had no control over the menu or the food on hand.

The simplistic answer to this issue is that even sanctified people are still human and get tired and grumpy. Grumpiness is not a sin, it's just grumpiness -- a human response to fatigue and the irritations of life. Grumpy people sometimes direct their irritation toward the wrong people. It's no big deal.

Ok, but, then, what DOES sanctification do for us? The most frequent answer I’ve heard is that it gives us power to refrain from sinning. What is sin? John Wesley famously defined sin as "a voluntary transgression of a known law of God." What known law of God? Again, the easy answer is: "Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt not commit adultery. Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not bear false witness. Honor thy father and thy mother." You know, the Ten Commandments. (This is the answer Jesus gave the young man who asked about inheriting eternal life in Luke 18:18-23, although I'm pretty sure he didn't use King James English in his response. 😁)

Still, as I observed in the first three posts on this subject, pagans often do better than that. They may break some of the Ten Commandments, but they often excel at "love your neighbor as yourself," which Jesus called, along with loving God, the greatest commandment.  

Wynkoop defines holiness as love. And there is actually more to the Wesley quote above. In full it says: "Nothing is sin, strictly speaking, but a voluntary transgression of a known law of God. Therefore, every voluntary breach of the law of love is sin; and nothing else, if we speak properly." (Emphasis added.)

“Love is patient. Love is kind” (1 Corinthians 4:8).

If holiness doesn't make us patient and kind, what good is it? If we don't count impatience and unkindness as "sin," are we true Wesleyans? Aren't these breaches of the law of love? Are all examples of impatience and unkindness in holiness people involuntary and unavoidable, therefore not sin? If so, I ask again, what DOES sanctification do for us? If it's not powerful enough to enable a gracious response to something as trivial as a disappointing cafeteria lunch selection, why bother?

I can't get past the definition I grew up with. Holiness as I heard it preached always seemed to mean following a list of rules: being religious in appearance, doing religious things, keeping oneself clean by avoiding the moral dirt around us. Sanctification was something we could get in a moment and then perfect over a lifetime, having had our sinful nature eradicated and being made pure. I sought that experience for years with growing despair.

Jesus didn't live a life of religious piety that prompted him to move away from people. He was kind to the hurting. He touched the unclean. He hung out with the wrong sort of people. He wasn't afraid of getting dirty. As Rebecca Pippert Manley wrote in Out of the Saltshaker, "It is a profound irony that the Son of God visited this planet and one of the chief complaints against him was that he was not religious enough." Not that he wasn't loving enough. He wasn't "holy" enough.

Holiness, as I have traditionally heard it defined generates a religion long on piety and short on love and compassion toward those who most need it. I try to align the definition of holiness as deeper love and compassion with the messages I've heard, but it doesn't seem to fit. One moves toward broken people, the other maintains a distance from them in order to stay pure.

In my life, I have had to leave traditional holiness preaching behind in order to embrace holiness as love. The first thing I had to do was open the door to the idea that I am not even close to living a sinless life by John Wesley's definition of sin. I am not always kind or patient. Sometimes I am just plain mean. Or grumpy. By choice. (If not a choice in the moment, sometimes a choice in not recognizing and working to avoid my triggers.) I truly dislike some people. It's not a case of "love them but don't like them." The truth is, I don't love them. More, I don't want to love them. In fact, I would be just fine with God smiting them -- just a little. Enough to knock them off their high horse. My love and mercy are far from perfect.

That's not where I want to stay, but it is where I sometimes find myself. In order to move forward, I need to accept that lack of achievement in myself and truly rely on God's grace as a compassionate and merciful God. I don't measure up. I have never measured up. But I am loved by the God who created me, sees and accepts my every blemish, and every day nudges me another step forward. I have not arrived, but by the grace of God, I think I may be making progress.

I like the parallel passages from Matthew's "Sermon on the Mount" and Luke's "Sermon on the Plain." In Matthew 5:48 Jesus says, "Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect." In Luke 6:36 he says, "Be merciful, just as as your Father is merciful" I have heard people explain that "perfect" in Matthew doesn't actually mean perfect, as in flawless. Rather it means completely able to serve a purpose. A perfect tool isn't flawless; but it is completely able to do what it's intended to do. Once again, we're back to the idea of personal qualifications. But what if the goal of a "perfect" life is unwavering mercy toward others? What if that is a goal we always and forever pursue rather than a state we can achieve and then retire from the race? I will admit that the idea of always finding a new goal toward which to strive appeals to me. Every time I finally manage to develop compassion toward one person or group of people, I discover another blind spot I need to work on. I wonder if that old holiness preacher was actively nurturing greater compassion in his heart for the young people serving him in a long string of campground cafeterias. I wonder how often he was able to see them and love them and if he was working on doing it more and better today than yesterday. (For all I know, he may have later apologized to the teen girl in the cafeteria for his irritation.)

The truth is, I fully believe in "heart holiness." I believe God can transform us into people whose primary goal in life is to show love and compassion to all we encounter and who accept every failure to do so as falling into the same category as stealing (from the other person's self-worth), murdering (the sense of value within them that needs to be kept alive and nurtured), and coveting (wanting the self-centered careless life we think others enjoy). It's only when we fully embrace Jesus' call to show compassion and mercy to others that we can see how far we have to go and anticipate moving steadily in that direction.

There is no endpoint for spiritual growth. Maybe someday, with enough perseverance, I can catch up with my "sinner" friends who are entering the kingdom ahead of me. (See Matthew 21:31) That would be a wonderful achievement! I'm still working on it and thankful for every chance I get to see genuine love in action.

On American Evangelicals Dying for Jesus

My father grew up as part of a Friends (Quaker) Meeting. I did not. I was not particularly aware of the long and rich background of my Quaker heritage in my early years. It did pop up now and then, however, in subtle ways. One of those hints was a small change to the lyrics of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” If that song was requested when my father was leading music at church, he would instruct the congregation that rather than singing, “As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free” they should sing “… let us live to make men free.” Live for freedom, not die for freedom. I like it. Can we find a way to make that happen?

Giving one’s life for the cause of freedom sounds and is often portrayed as quite noble, but there is one glaring downside to it: You have to die to do it. And then you are free, I suppose, but you are also dead and have left your loved ones with just a memory of who you were and unfulfilled dreams of who you could have been. Are they more free because of your sacrifice? Was your death the only way they could be free? Are they then held captive by grief?

What would you die for? If you came to a fork in the road and knew one path led to a long, fulfilling life and the other to certain death before your time, leaving all you love and cherish behind, what would prompt you to choose the path to death?

Many people throughout history have died because of their religious beliefs. Sometimes they are a victim of general violence toward people like them. Other times they are singled out as of particular concern and given a choice: recant or die.  Those who choose death are called martyrs.

There are no Christian martyrs where I live.  No one in authority ever demands we give up our faith or die. And yet, I’m watching Christians literally die for their faith, not at the hands of human enemies, but as victims of a virus that disproportionately kills the unvaccinated, many of whom have refused to be vaccinated for religious reasons.

Here in this land with centuries of religious freedom, I have wondered how many people are committed enough to their faith to choose death rather than compromise when put to the test. Now we’re finding out. Living in a county competing for the lowest vaccination rate in Indiana -- currently at 29% according to the New York Times -- while the Delta variant of COVID-19 has its way with the nation, it’s inevitable that I hear of friends and acquaintances falling victim to COVID. At least one in seven people around me have contracted the virus and many have died. This is also a place of a strong religious identity and I can often guess at a person’s vaccination status based on their church connection. It saddens me to think of the extra pain and suffering the anti-vaxxers and their families are enduring. Is their willingness to die a slow, dreadful death rather than accept vaccination a mark of their stalwart faith? Is this what they signed up for when they chose the path more likely to lead to death in the name of Jesus? Was taxing the medical system, exhausting health care workers, and incurring huge medical debts a known possibility they accepted as part of their spiritual commitment? Did they choose to possibly infect vulnerable friends and family and/or deal with long-term health issues as a demonstration of their faith?

I have friends who are part of the Christian Science Church, a group that has historically relied on faith and mindfulness rather than medical treatment to maintain health. I figured if anyone could claim a religious exemption from being vaccinated they would be the ones. I was surprised to learn that the  Christian Science church is not supporting religious exemptions. Indeed, as noted here, their founder, Mary Baker Eddy, at the end of the 19th century instructed her followers to submit to mandatory vaccinations in the name of public health and use their faith and mindfulness to combat any ill effects of those injections. That was a new thought for me. Rather than depending on faith to escape the disease, why not apply that same faith to deal with any concerns about the vaccine?

I’m not here to critique the sincerely held religious convictions of other people. I’m just wondering if those choosing death over vaccines -- possible death for both themselves and any vulnerable friends or family members who may be infected as a result of their decision and influence -- are doing it as a conscious decision to follow Jesus' teachings regardless of the cost. (I'm not clear which of Jesus' teachings they are holding to so valiantly, but that's another discussion.) It's the first time in my life I have been aware of people I know expressing a willingness to die for their faith in the near future and am amazed by how simple the choice seems to be for them. A few years ago, they were quoting Bible verses about submitting to the governing authorities. Now they portray the governing authorities as evil personified and are willing to fight to the death -- literally -- for their "religious freedom."

Personally, I am fully committed to following the teachings of Jesus, but I don't see where those teachings call me to defy a deadly virus when God has given us the resources to minimize its impact on society. I choose life -- for myself and those around me -- not death.

Like I said, this isn't a critique of the sincerely held beliefs of others. I am just surprised by how many are willing to give up their lives and place more burden on our health systems and their families in the name of... not so much following the footsteps of Jesus Christ, but some deep commitment to "religious freedom" that they are willing to die for. As I watch the adverse health results and deaths add up, I am aware that theirs is a dying breed -- literally. May God be with them and those they infect.

On hypocrites in the church

How many times has this conversation happened?

Person A: Hey, Person B, I haven't seen you at church in a month of Sundays! What happened?

Person B: I got fed up with all the hypocrisy in the church. I'm done with that scene. People act like they're so good, but they're not!

Person A: Well, you know, Person B, (heh heh) "the church is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints." (heh heh)

Person B: 

Person A then walks away feeling quite triumphant in explaining away sin in the church the way they have been taught and defeating Person B's lame excuse for their lack of commitment. 

Here's the problem with that view. 

When Person A thinks about sinners in the church, the image that comes to mind is the teenager who is messing around during the week, but still trailing their parents to church on Sunday morning. Or the drunk who manages to sober up long enough to show up at church for coffee and doughnuts. Or the unmarried couple who moved in together. Or the person who has failed to condemn their gay child as a sinner and seems to think they can still be a good church person despite that glaring blot on their record. Or the man who has been arrested for domestic battery multiple times. These "sinners" are welcomed in to hear the messages calling them to repentance, but they are not put in places of leadership. They are in the hospital beds receiving ministry from the "saints." After all, we can't have sinners filling roles where they might have an influence on our vulnerable children.

In contrast, when Person B talks about hypocrisy in the church, they aren't thinking about the obvious "sinners" on Person A's mind, the "low-lifes" in the church hospital beds. They are talking about the "saints" of the church, the people who do ministry to the "sinners" while living "righteous" lives. Person B knows that these "saints" aren't all they claim themselves to be and are reported to be by others. In recent days, we have had much evidence that power corrupts, even in the church. It seems like almost daily we see new reports of church leaders being exposed as manipulators and abusers. And how many more go unreported? How many spiritual abusers leave a trail of broken people in their wake while staying well inside the law? After all, there is no law against letting losers know they'll never amount to anything. There is no law against telling someone God has no use for them. There is no law against passive-aggressive bullying. There is no law against pointing out the sins "out there in the world" while pretending church leaders are living exemplary lives.

I have been struck more than once by the push-back against pride in Scripture. But Person A isn't concerned about people whose primary sin is "pride." That is too hard to quantify. Besides, if we count things like pride and a hunger for power as sin, how will we be able to find leaders? I guess we can look for people who let everyone know how humbled they are by being invited into leadership, but sometimes those people are the worst of all in their fake modesty while quietly tearing down less powerful people.

What is the answer? True repentance, honesty, and vulnerability. We need "saints" who freely confess their shortcomings and humbly listen to those who speak truth to them in love. The solution to hypocrisy is for hypocrites to remove the masks that define hypocrisy, the cover-ups. If doing so will ruin them, they need to accept the identity of "sinner" until they can, by God's grace, become someone who doesn't have to wear a mask to be a leader in the church. And if the church insists on "flawless" leaders, prophets are needed to point out the problems created by that policy.

It's not predominantly the sinners in the pews who are wearing masks. Those people know they are sinners. They are reminded over and over of how short they fall. It's those who are posing as saints and who are being treated like saints by other people posing as saints who are the problem. It's the inside crowd, the ones elected or appointed to leadership positions reserved for "saints" without any acknowledgment that every one of those positions is filled by someone with glaring deficiencies.

If the church is a "hospital for sinners," who is running the hospital? Who are the doctors and nurses ministering to those in the beds? Who is on the board of directors? That's where we need to look when people point out how many hypocrites there are in the church -- not to the beds but to those whose pictures are on the walls. Whether the accusation of a foul disease lurking in the ranks of the hospital staff is valid or not, we need to not dismiss it by pointing out that the place is a hospital so of course one will find disease there. Person B deserves to be heard, not dismissed as ignorant of how hospitals work.

On Entering the Kingdom of God: Part 3

Welcome to the third entry in this series. In Part 1, I made the observation that often "sinners" exhibit more grace and love toward others than Christians do. In Part 2, I speculated that the lack of grace among religious people isn't despite their religion, but often because of it. In trying to please God, people choose "proper" responses to those in need rather than gracious and compassionate responses. 

If you ask the typical evangelical Christian what it takes to please God as a Christian, that person will likely give you a set of rules -- read the Bible, pray, attend church, give a tithe of your income, help other Christians in need, spread the faith through evangelism, don't do sinful stuff. (If you need a list of sinful stuff, it’s not difficult to find a church person to provide one -- if not locally, in any number of articles on the internet.) People who aren't measuring up to these standards are obviously falling short in the eyes of God.

In contrast, the apostle Paul assures us that no one has ever pleased God (that is, been justified) by keeping the rules — not the laws given in Leviticus, and not our more modern lists of dos and don'ts. In Romans 9:30-32, Paul writes that the pagan Gentiles (non-Jewish people) "who did not pursue righteousness . . . obtained it, a righteousness that is by faith, but the people of Israel, who pursued righteousness [did] not obtain their goal. Why not? Because they pursued it not by faith but as if it were by works. They stumbled over the stumbling stone."

"[Pursuing] righteousness . . . as if it were by works." Isn't that what many Christians are doing? They know we are saved by grace, through faith, and not by works (see Ephesians 2:8-9), and yet if you ask them how to please God, they will give you a list of things to do while saying little about the grace and faith needed to cover our inevitable failure to measure up to the list. They have stumbled over the exact same stone the Jews did in Paul's day. They will freely confess to having sin in their past and depending on grace and forgiveness to cover those past sins, but seem to think that with God’s help and enough effort and self-discipline, they can eventually make it by merit alone and may even have reached that state already.

Paul is clear: No one is justified by works; it's all grace. And yet, throughout the Bible there are statements that we will be rewarded based on how we live. I have cataloged more than 20 examples, ranging from 1 Samuel 26: 23 ("The Lord rewards everyone for their righteousness and faithfulness.") to Revelation 22:12 ("My reward is with me, and I will give to each person according to what they have done.") Even Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 5:10, “For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each of us may receive what is due us for the things done while in the body, whether good or bad.” 

So does pleasing God depend on our good deeds or not? The book of James deals with that question. Faith or works? Which counts more?

The answer, it seems, depends on your definition of good works. Jesus said the greatest command is to love God with our entire being and the second is to love others as we love ourselves. If we do that, we've done all that is necessary. Paul tells us "love fulfills the law." Good deeds don't consist in following a list of rules -- reading the Bible, prayer, and such. Doing good means showing mercy and grace to others. Love is the whole thing. Love is enough.

As it turns out, however, love is hard both to demonstrate consistently and to measure. Rules are much easier to follow and measure. No one can ever say with any credibility, "I have mastered the art of loving God and loving others as myself and am proficient in every way," but they might be able to say with the rich young ruler in Luke 18:21, "All these [commandments] I have kept since I was a [child]." But is that true? According to multiple scripture passages, primarily in the writings of Paul, whether it's a list of rules or trying to love God and others perfectly, our efforts will always fall short. If nothing else, we’re guilty of systemic sin, being immersed in a culture that tolerates and even perpetuates injustice. In the end, we have no option but to depend on grace.

So what is the answer? Shall we give up? In the words of Paul in Romans 6:1, "Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase?" His answer to that question is "By no means!" Still, if "the only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love," as Paul wrote in Galatians 5:6, can we drop the lists, trust in grace, and do whatever feels good to us? St. Augustine sort of made that assertion. If we truly love God and others, we will naturally do the right thing, the good thing. What we will NOT do is consistently measure up well against the lists of rules.

One of the things Jesus did that irritated the religious leaders of his day was healing on the Sabbath. They saw his miracles as Sabbath “work,” which was strictly forbidden by the law, even though miraculous healings are not actually addressed in any way in the Old Testament. (Was there some sort of exertion on Jesus’ part that made healing look like serious work?) Jesus said the time is always right to show compassion to someone who is suffering and kept right on healing people on the Sabbath. Even though it led the religious leaders to plot his death. 

The answer then is to be willing to give up our religious reputation, to die to the law and the lists. Give up pleasing God and others by following the rules. No one has ever managed to keep them all anyway. Instead, seek to love all people well, regardless of the cost. Look for the image of God in everyone. Honor that image.

In summary, religion doesn't always bring out the best in us. Often non-religious people are more compassionate and loving than religious people. Jesus made that observation. Paul made that observation. I find it true in my world. The reason is because religious people are trying too hard to keep the rules and to vote for others to keep those same rules to truly show love and compassion. The answer is to focus more on love and less on the rules, depending on the grace of God to cover us (and others) where we (and they) fall short. 

I believe God is pleased when I do my best to love God and others. I believe that loving God and others will naturally lead me to a life that reflects the spirit of the law more than if I try to conform to the letter of the law. Because I believe (have faith), I can focus on making choices that lift up others. 

When the choice is between keeping/enforcing the rules and showing compassion toward others, compassion is always the right answer. Every time. What that looks like is something I’m still learning. The key, I think, is recognizing when it’s done well, particularly when done well by “pagans,” those “entering the kingdom ahead of [me].” (Matthew 21:31) I don’t need to copy whatever self-destructive choices they may be making, but I need to recognize and admire their ability to show compassion and generosity. And I need to keep looking for ways to further incorporate those values into my own life, even if it means looking less like a good church person.

The final post on this topic deals with the particular challenges for those who profess “holiness.”

On Entering the Kingdom of God: Part 2

Last week I posted Part 1 of three or four on the topic of those entering the kingdom of God. I noted that sometimes the people most rejected by good church people seem to have a better grip on offering mercy and grace to others than those who see themselves as righteous. Jesus told his listeners such people were "entering the kingdom of God ahead of [religious leaders]." As a religious person, sometimes even a leader, I'm trying to figure out how to better exemplify the values of God's kingdom in my life.

One thing I notice is that religion itself is often a barrier to making better choices. Let's look at two stories from the gospel according to Luke, one coming from Jesus' life and the other a story he told.

The first account is found in Luke 17:11-18. One day Jesus encountered ten lepers who begged him for pity. He told them to go show themselves to the priest. The Levitical law instructed priests to examine skin sores and declare a person "clean" or "unclean" based on his findings. (You can find detailed instructions in Leviticus 13-14, if you're into that sort of thing.) Not until the lepers were on their way did their skin clear up. At that point, one of them turned around and came back to thank Jesus. Jesus noted that ten men were healed and asked why only one came back. But that one was different from the rest. He was a Samaritan, a "foreigner," in Jesus' words.

I've heard several thousand sermons in my life, including at least a few on this passage. One thing I don't remember anyone ever mentioning is that the Samaritan man would have had no incentive to continue on his way to the Jewish priest. Being a Samaritan (from Samaria) was both a cultural and religious designation. He had no place in the Jewish community. Even if the priest agreed to examine him, an all-clear diagnosis would still not allow him to be part of the synagogue, the center of Jewish community. He wasn't a "real" Jew. His heritage was tainted with foreign blood. He was free to return to Jesus because of his lack of religious standing.

Next, let's look at the parable of the Good Samaritan found in Luke 10:25-37. A man is "half dead" by the side of the road after being beaten and robbed. Along comes a Jewish priest and sees the "half dead" man. He crosses the road to stay far from the "half dead" body. Again, we need to go back to Leviticus to comprehend this. There were many things encountered in daily living that left a person "unclean." In fact, the word "unclean" occurs over 100 times in the book of Leviticus. Priests had even stricter rules than ordinary people for avoiding uncleanness. The priest in Jesus' story had good reason to cross the road to avoid that "half dead" man. He could not afford to come close to a human corpse, and the unfortunate traveler was at least halfway to being one.

The next passerby was a Levite. All priests were from the tribe of Levi (one of the twelve sons of Jacob, also know as Israel), but not all Levites were priests. Levites were given no land among the Israelites. They were religious workers and depended on the offerings given by the people for their support. This man would have had religious duties to perform. Although he had fewer restrictions than the priest, he still wouldn't want to end up in an "unclean" state for the sake of a stranger in the ditch. He came close enough to see that the man was "half dead" and probably had enough blood on him to render one unclean until evening and then he, too, passed by on the other side of the road without touching him.

Finally, along came the Samaritan. He didn't have to worry about becoming "unclean." Like the man with leprosy in our first story, he was already and forever "unclean" by Jewish standards. He examined the man, did some first aid, and took him to an inn to recover. He could afford to be kind and generous because he had no religious restrictions holding him back.

Part 1 of this series, in essence, notes that non-religious people are often more gracious than religious people -- offering more generosity, more mercy, and less judgment. Here in these stories in Luke, it appears that religion itself sometimes lies behind that difference. Religion limits how nice we can be by giving us restrictive rules to follow. 

Here is the root of our quandary. The priest and Levite in the story of the Good Samaritan were dedicated to keeping the law. That's why they couldn't stop to help the beaten man. The nine Jewish lepers who didn't turn back to thank Jesus for their healing were doing exactly what Jesus had told them to do and what their religion required of them. The Samaritan had more freedom to express his gratitude.

How often when religious people show a lack of generosity toward others -- whether in material goods or in spirit -- are they making that choice because it's the "right" thing to do? They don't want to appear to approve of sinners or they have already committed their time and energy to religious duties. They desperately want to please God and are making what appears to them to be the choice that will accomplish that goal. They are staying clean!

A number of years ago, as I arrived at church on a special Sunday morning, I saw a disabled vehicle in the church parking lot. I recognized it as belonging to a local man with no end of problems, many of them brought on by his unsavory character. He had already caused me trouble in my public service job and would cause a lot more before finally moving on several years later after being evicted from his housing situation. Still, he was a literal neighbor to the church trying to get his disabled self to another church in the community and obviously not having a good day. I stopped long enough to learn what the issue was and then continued to my assignment for the morning. I'm a good church lady, after all, and need to be conscientious and dependable, especially on those special Sundays. Plus, I had no mechanical skills to offer. Even if I had, there aren't many men who want a woman to fix their vehicle for them. And he hadn't actually asked for my assistance.

As we transitioned between scheduled events that morning I mentioned the disabled vehicle to someone with weaker attachments to the congregation. He seemed shocked that I had left the disabled owner of the disabled vehicle to his own resources and went out to see if he could help, forsaking any commitment he had made for the morning. As it turns out, the man had found a way to move on by then, leaving his vehicle behind (for several weeks, as it turned out).

I was convicted. Why hadn't I looked for someone to help as soon as I arrived? Could I have found a man or two willing to leave their Sunday morning fellowship in their Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes to rescue a stranger with a disabled vehicle? Regrettably, I wasn't sure I could have. We need more "marginal Christians" -- not so well-dressed or dedicated to being there -- with the right resources to offer that sort of service. In short, we need people who are less religious than most of us, people willing to get a little unclean in order to connect with others.

I'm back to where I started: the more religious people are, including me, the less generous their lifestyle tends to be. Something is wrong with this picture. How can we embrace a more gracious lifestyle without forsaking our commitment to righteousness?

Check out part 3 for further thoughts concerning this quandary.

On Entering the Kingdom of God: Part 1

I am making my way through the Bible. Again. Always and forever. I read four brief passages almost every day — from 1) the Old Testament*, 2) Psalms or Proverbs, 3) the Gospels, 4) the rest of the New Testament — and am reading again the same words I have read many times before. It takes a lot of exposure to even begin to grasp the message behind some of those words.

I'm slowly moving toward a new understanding with the help both of the Bible and what I observe in the world around me. I'm not there yet, wherever "there" is, but I'm moving that direction. Making progress in my understanding of the kingdom of God is part of why I embrace the label of “progressive” Christian.

To begin, let's look at a scene with two people. One is a young man we’ll call "Arthur." Arthur is a bum. I know he is a bum because others have told me so. He is chronically unemployed, dirty, foul-mouthed, and has an anger management issue that occasionally lands him in the county jail on charges of assault and battery. And resisting law enforcement. And assault of a police officer. When Arthur loses his temper things don't go well for him.

Our other subject is "Margaret." Margaret is a church lady. She's not a particularly nice church lady, but she is certainly dedicated to her faith. Margaret doesn't like Arthur. She doesn't like bums and doesn't want them in her world. She wants to see Arthur become a good, respectable Christian man.

The thing about Arthur is that he has a generous spirit. He tends to extend goodwill toward others. He shows respect and grace for Margaret despite how obvious it is that she despises him. If he manages to get any money, he typically gives it away to those he owes for past kindnesses or those he perceives as needing it more than he does. In the eyes of people like Margaret, and there are many, Arthur's generosity is one more fault among his many faults. He can't hang onto money. He is too generous.

Too generous. Isn't that quite the assessment from people who claim to live by the Bible! Shall I list here all the Bible verses praising generosity and portraying tight-fistedness in a negative light? How did tight-fistedness get recast as a virtue and generosity as a character flaw?

In addition to being too generous, in this world where virtues are seen as character flaws Arthur is too honest. He once landed in jail because, in trying to help the police solve a crime, he implicated himself as playing a role in what happened. He freely confesses to everything Margaret despises about him. In a word, he's guileless.

This brings us to Jesus' words in Matthew 21:31 -- “Jesus said to [the Jewish leaders], ‘Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you’” (NIV). 

The tax collectors and prostitutes. The sinners! Many people despised by those who see themselves as righteous have an innate grasp of concepts dear to the heart of God that tend to escape religious people. They are more generous, more caring, more open, quicker to acknowledge their shortcomings, humbler, kinder -- in between actions and attitudes that negate all of these wonderful attributes. In another setting (Luke 18:9-14) Jesus showed us a picture of a “righteous” man and a sinner praying in the Temple and said it was the one who acknowledged he was a sinner who went home justified.

Personally, I am not a bum. I'm a church lady. I grew up in the church and haven't managed to stray far. I hope I'm a nicer church lady than Margaret. I hope observing people like Arthur has helped me, but probably not enough.

On one hand, we have kind, generous, honest, but short-tempered bums like Arthur. On the other hand, we have judgmental, unkind, short-tempered religious people like Margaret (and sometimes me) who try to conceal their imperfections. Jesus says people like Arthur are entering God's kingdom ahead of people like Margaret (and me). And I believe it. Arthur has a better grasp of mercy and grace. He is more honest about his shortcomings, more accepting of others. He comprehends by nature a lot of things that Margaret (and I) can’t begin to understand.

Where do I want to land? Is it possible to be a kind, generous, humble, merciful, caring church lady? It's certainly not easy! After all, if I don't make clear my disapproval of Arthur's poor lifestyle choices, people might think I have no issue with anything he does. What impact will my failure to condemn Arthur's choices have on those who look to me for guidance? 

Ironically, while it seems that as a good church lady I should point out to Arthur the error of his ways and call him to repentance, it would come across as unkind and judgmental for me to talk to Margaret about her unkind and judgmental spirit. From the nice-church-lady point of view, loving Arthur means hating his sin and the damage it does to himself and others and urging him to repent and do better, but loving Margaret means accepting her sharp tongue and mean spirit and the damage she does to herself and others with grace. After all, she’s not perfect, just forgiven. Something is not right about this.

What do I do? I want to be more generous, caring, and kind -- like Arthur at his best. But my dedication to loving God and others as a dedicated Christian serve me well. I believe that obeying the law of God is not only a righteous choice, but a smart choice, that seeking first the kingdom of God adds much to my life. (re: Matthew 6:33) The law of God is like the law of gravity. Nobody can break it; they can only break themselves against it. I have read the 176 verses of Psalm 119 about how wonderful the law is and believe there is truth in those words. The fact that not many people seem to find delight and wonder in the law of God doesn't mean it isn't there.

There is plenty more to write about this, but for now I want to fall back on Micah 6:8 for guidance: 

"He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. 
    And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
    and to walk humbly with your God" (NIV).

For my own lifestyle choices, I need to "act justly" -- do my best to understand and comply with God's law. In my actions and attitudes toward others, I need to "love mercy" -- love and accept people as they are, warts and all, not insisting they make the same choices I make. And in everything, I need to remember that I am no more deserving of God's mercy than anyone else and acknowledge how short I fall.

See Parts 2  and 3 for more thoughts on this.   

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*The key to having four “brief” passages is to read Psalms and Proverbs every year, but take three years to read the rest of the Old Testament.

On the Value of Entering into Other People's Stories

After my paternal grandmother died in 1991, her remaining goods were sold at an estate auction. For various reasons, my family and I arrived after the auction had started. I saw a box of books being sold as I approached the auction line and quickly grabbed my mother's number so I could bid on it.  I didn't know exactly what was in the box, however, and let it go to a higher bidder. Later, I discovered my grandparents' copy of Uncle Tom's Cabin was included. It's a book I read from their shelves and would have loved to add to my collection. Like my grandparents, the author Harriet Beecher Stowe was a Quaker, which might explain the presence of that title in their modest library.

It is reported that when Abraham Lincoln met Harriet Beecher Stowe, he fondly commented that she was "the little woman who wrote the book that started this great war." It has some problematic areas by today's standards, but brought the plight of slaves into the consciousness of its readers in the years leading up to the Civil War.

According to Wikipedia, the report on Lincoln may be anecdotal, perhaps created "to affirm the role of literature as an agent of social change."

I don't know what, if anything, Lincoln said to Harriet Beecher Stowe, but I know reading Uncle Tom's Cabin at my grandparents house changed me, as it had so many people before me. Like many other books, it shifted my viewpoint by allowing me to get inside the head of someone not like me and see the world through their eyes. Movies and other dramatic presentations can also do that, but books are my preferred transportation for such experiences.

One of the things I notice when people express negative opinions about Blacks, Muslims, immigrants, women choosing to end a pregnancy, people living in poverty, addicted to various substances, or of varying gender and sexual identities is the lack of empathy involved. They have never walked even a few feet in the moccasins of those "others," let alone a mile, and it shows. They have easy solutions for the problems others struggle to overcome. They make a negative assessment of the motives and values of people they have never met. It's frustrating to me, but I'm never sure how to respond when someone puts negative labels on people not like them.

What I wish I could do is give such people some reading material that would allow them to see the world from a different point of view. One of the most profound examples of that for me was the first book I read by author Jodi Picoult, Picture Perfect. I had often wondered why an abused wife/girlfriend would stick around after it became obvious her abuser would never change. When I found myself thinking maybe the protagonist in Picoult's novel should give her abusive husband one more chance rather than leaving him, I was astounded. What was I thinking?! No! She needed to leave! This was never going to get better! And yet, he was so very charming and kind in between his fits of rage. And so remorseful about them. 

What a powerful story! It changed me. I finally understood some of the dynamics driving such situations.

In the past year or so, I have been reading books that allow me to catch glimpses of the Black experience in America. I created a new ‘shelf’ for my Goodreads a few weeks ago called "racial-awareness." After a quick review of the 78 books I read in 2020, seven went on the new shelf. I'm currently reading two more. A significant portion of the Twitter accounts I follow are those of African Americans. I need to hear their voices and allow their stories to change me.

I live in an area where we can generally identify by name the few local residents who don't classify themselves as white. There's comfort in homogeneity. There's also discomfort in it. Why are we in a place with so little diversity? One of the things I notice is that when I do interact with African Americans I struggle to understand their speech. It makes me feel so very "white" and out of touch with my world. I need to be intentional about exposing myself to such speech patterns more often. The internet offers opportunities, I need to take them.

What a privilege it is to be offered an opportunity to see the world through the eyes of people not like us and hear their voices. Whether through fiction or memoirs or Twitter accounts or podcasts or movies or whatever means we find, I hope we can value such opportunities and let those viewpoints change us into more empathetic people.

On White Privilege

 In the past few years, I have made two trips from Bloomington, Indiana, to Kansas City, Missouri by
Greyhound. In both cases, my husband drove to our daughter's house east of Kansas City as the start for a mission trip, continuing on to his destination in Arizona by Amtrak. I didn't want to be gone from home as long as he was so I went later by bus to visit the grandkids for a few days and then drive back with him when he returned.

Riding Greyhound was a whole new experience for me. I later described the crowd I was riding with as a bunch of respectable looking people of color and a few scruffy white folks. That's perhaps not very generous to my fellow Caucasian riders, but how many of you white folks reading this have ridden Greyhound in the past decade? If you have not, then you're obviously not the sort of person I'm talking about.

Anyway, many years ago my grandfather shared the adage with me that says, "when in Rome, do as the Romans do." I looked around at my fellow passengers and realized, among other things, that there wasn't a lot of fear among them. People occasionally left their luggage unattended in the bus stations. (I spent five hours sitting in Indianapolis waiting for an 11pm bus and an hour or so in the St. Louis station in the middle of the night.) Likewise, some left their phones charging without standing right by the charging station. I wasn't comfortable enough to let much distance get between me and my stuff, but I did consciously absorb some of the relaxed atmosphere. I didn't see a lot of strangers chatting, but they seemed comfortable with each other.

I was amused to see the effects of my "whiteness." Twice during those trips, one of the few other white people in the stations asked me to watch their luggage while they took care of something. It made me want to laugh. I was a total stranger to them. How did they know I wouldn't go through their stuff looking for valuables the minute they were out of sight? How was leaving their stuff by a strange white woman safer than simply leaving it on a random seat or by any other passenger? Was I going to stop someone else from taking it? Might I possibly turn it over to authorities to check for a bomb?

And yet, leaving stuff by the white woman was probably a pretty good bet. I stayed where I was until they came back, didn't look in their bags or turn them in for a bomb check, and no one tried to take them. People mostly left me alone.

Well, except one gentleman. I had been in a bus seat where the electrical outlet didn't work from Indy to St. Louis and was determined to get a working outlet on the next leg of the trip to keep my poor old cell battery from going flat. What I neglected to notice was that the seat I chose had an overhead light with a broken switch. When the driver lowered the lights so we could all sleep as we headed out at 3 a.m., my light stayed on. The Black gentleman across the aisle had the nerve to politely ask if I would turn it off. I said, "I sure would if I could!" and suggested he try. He did, with no more success. He then offered to put duct tape over it. I was thrilled by that suggestion! After he put one piece on, it wasn't quite so bright, but I asked if he would mind adding another piece to dim it even more, which he did. I was impressed and amused that he was carrying duct tape on a bus and asked him if he also had WD-40 with him.** He chuckled and said something I didn't quite catch as we both settled back into our seats to try to get some sleep.

Later, during my two-hour wait in the Kansas City station for my final bus to rural Missouri, a Black gentleman carrying his breakfast sat down noticeably close to me. Not alarmingly close, just noticeably close. He chuckled a little and told me he liked my joke about the WD-40. Oh! It was my neighbor from earlier. I hadn't really seen him clearly in the dark of the bus and didn't recognize him. (And, yes, there might be some lack of attention to non-white faces involved there.) By asking a couple of questions, I found out he was riding the bus to pick up an RV in Iowa to drive to Florida and had a small bag of tools with him. Ah, the duct tape made sense now. As he moved elsewhere with his breakfast, I felt like I had made a friend. How pleasant to share a few moments of companionship and humor with a stranger during a long ride alone! My heart was warmed.

After an hour or so in Kansas City, my poor old cell phone battery was again threatening to give out before I reached my final destination so I hunted down the phone charging station and plugged it in, settling down in the closest seat, which was still farther away than I would have liked. I was now closer to the ticketing area. A couple of people came in looking to buy a ticket, but for some reason were not able to purchase one in time to get on the bus they wanted. Something about their proposed payment method was a problem. Tempers flared and the poor ladies standing behind the counter were being verbally abused by these customers who were outraged by the unfairness of it all and let the entire bus station know about it.

As this was going on (and on and on), a bus arrived and passengers started streaming into the waiting area. I glanced up from my magazine as a young Black man walked past my phone and then me. His eyes met mine and he said, "Somebody needs to DO something! To call the manager." He then continued into the waiting area and I went back to my reading. I had no clue how to call the manager and, anyway, I don't think he meant that I should be the one to do something. He just had an opinion concerning the situation and I happened to be available to hear it.

It wasn't until later that I realized the power I had in that moment. I don't know if there was anything that young man could have done to diffuse the situation at the counter, but I had an enormous opening. I could have made my way to the counter and asked where my next bus would be loading. The answer to that question wasn't at all obvious from the signs; people surely ask about it. Everyone involved in the exchange at the ticket counter was African American. If I, a white woman confident of being served, had approached, it would have been obvious to everyone there that I needed attention, that I deserved service! I don't know that the frustrated customer would have given up her cause, but there was certainly a much better chance of that happening if I interrupted her rant than if a young Black man had tried it. If nothing else, I could have temporarily disrupted the flow of profanity and given everyone a chance to catch their breath and maybe change course with virtually zero risk to my own safety. Society doesn't tolerate attacks on people like me in public places.

People question the use of the word "privilege" to describe the status our society gives us based on the color of our skin. It's not the best word because some people feel like they haven't had any breaks at all in life, that their white skin hasn't helped them. They aren't privileged! They may even feel like breaks that might have come their way were intentionally redirected to minorities. And yet, the scene at the Kansas City bus station illustrates how real "white privilege" is. If someone's luggage had been stolen, I would have been the last to be suspected of taking it. I could have interrupted the angry scene at the ticket counter with no fear of being physically attacked. My white skin not only set me apart from the crowd, it gave me a level of respectability among strangers I had done nothing to earn. A woman of color my age would have had to dress far, far nicer than my jeans, hoodie, and ratty sneakers to come close to getting the same respect.

That, my friends, is white privilege. It isn't earned. It has nothing to do with one's actual status in life. It just is. And it's not fair. I wish I had had the presence of mind to use it for good that morning in Kansas City. It might have helped if I had listened more closely to the words of the young man who suggested there was something someone (like me?) could do to make a difference. I wish I had been less focused on the battery and security level of my cell phone and more on being a blessing to those around me.

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**It's an old joke, but in case you haven't heard it . . . A person needs only two tools to fix anything: Duct tape for when it moves and shouldn't, WD-40 for when it should move and doesn't.

Radical Christianity

 I have a confession to make. It’s time. I have put it off long enough. I just need to do it. Deep breath, and here it goes:

I am radically committed to following a radical spiritual leader named Jesus of Nazareth, or, later, Jesus Christ. I am a citizen of a kingdom not of this world. I do not pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. I have said that pledge many times over my 63 years, but have become more and more uncomfortable doing so. That’s not where my allegiance lies. It’s time to admit it. I am less patriotic every year. My concern for people and their well-being extends well beyond the borders of the U.S.A. and includes people who don't look like me or act or speak like I do.

I have a Bible reading plan that divides the Gospels relating the story and teachings of Jesus into 300 bite-sized pieces, six a week for 50 weeks a year. For decades, I have consumed a piece of that story almost every day. For the first half of my life I believed what the voices around me told me about the story said and meant, even though I was troubled by some of the contrast between what I read and what those voices taught me. Then I discovered new voices that opened doors for me to truly dive into what I was reading.

Sometime around 1995, back in the pioneer days of the Internet, long before Facebook or even MySpace, I ran across a cozy little corner online where I could share my spiritual journey. I found perspectives beyond what I had previously encountered and spiritual community like I had never known. It was life-changing! New wine in a new wineskin! That’s the sort of thing Jesus talked about. Jesus was not a conservative, preserving traditions and observing the old ways. His was cutting-edge teaching, new truths to absorb! No one ever taught like he did! He was a radical!

About the time the 21st century got going, I decided to take another step in and “bet the farm” on the teachings of Jesus’ “Sermon on the Mount” in Matthew chapters 5 to 7. That sermon includes the Beatitudes: “Blessed are the meek . . .,” “Blessed are the peacemakers . . .,” “Blessed are the poor in spirit . . .” (Or as Luke’s parallel “Sermon on the Plain” puts it, “Blessed are the poor . . .” — not spiritually poor, but actually poor.) It talks about going the second mile and loving one’s enemies. I decided those who said one couldn’t literally follow those teachings had a point and I should probably keep my options open, so I signed on for just fifty years. After that, I decided, if it wasn’t working out I would quit.

As it turns out, second-mile living is difficult. I’m not sure I’ve done it successfully for even a year’s worth of moments during twenty years of trying. But having committed to always veering in the second-mile direction when I clearly see the choice and am able to do so has changed me in fundamental ways. I’m certainly not ready to give up yet!

What I have found over the years is that the Gospels, and even a poorly executed commitment to second-mile living, have led me in a different direction than American evangelicalism has taken. The Gospel according to Luke is especially radical. The insiders are out and the outsiders are in. The high are brought down and the low lifted up. The way to win is by losing. (Did you catch that? The way to WIN is to LOSE! Who even believes that?) The path to life is through death. The poor are blessed and the rich are not. Sinners are closer to God than those who count themselves as righteous. The kingdom of God is upside-down!

As part of the conservative church, I have tried to keep my more radical thoughts to myself. At one point, fifteen or twenty years ago, I was leading an adult Sunday School discussion and the subject of homosexuality came up. Someone about to make a killer point started by saying, “Ok, so homosexuality is a sin, right?” With deer-in-the-headlights panic I tried to avoid answering, but he needed that premise to support the nugget of wisdom he was about to drop and, completely unaware of my discomfort, insisted on a response. When I quietly said, “I don’t know,” a shocked silence fell over the group. I don’t think any of them had ever encountered doubt on that topic before. I certainly hadn’t meant to voice any hint as to my evolving views. It just came out. And then stayed there, in that group. Over the next few weeks, we discussed it at length in various settings, but none of them “outed” me to authorities who might have felt obliged to correct or discipline me.

In the years since that admission, the church has dug in its heels on the topic of homosexuality while I have continued to move forward in my thinking, guided by the Gospels and the many stories I have encountered from those for whom the topic is more than a Sunday School discussion. The gap is significantly wider now than it was then.

As I said earlier, being a disciple of Jesus Christ has led me away from the path the evangelical church has taken. As my conservative friends became more vocal and confident about their views, I found myself in the strange position of getting along fine in the church as long as we never discussed politics or religion.

Never discuss religion! Never talk about my faith journey! Scroll past Facebook posts from my Christian friends and relatives that offend me deeply and keep my mouth shut and my fingers away from the keyboard to avoid losing friends.

Then it all fell apart. It turns out religious views drive actions. A theology of exclusion leads to actual exclusion. Eventually, I could no longer be part of it. With the help of several disruptions to the status quo, including COVID-19, I found a new church home and vowed to stay on the margins, to keep my head down and my mouth shut. No talk of religion or politics. Just quietly love God, love others, and be pleasant.

Here’s the problem with that approach. I have no “real life” spiritual community outside my husband and adult children. Family is great and online relationships are genuine relationships, but there’s something not right about being part of a congregation but never discussing spiritual matters with anyone in person beyond family. Maybe I’m still a square peg in a round hole and would simply be an irritation to anyone attempting to discuss spiritual issues with me. Or maybe people assume they already know what I think. If that is the case, maybe it’s time to be more vocal about my thoughts here on my blog where people can drop in and maybe find something we can talk about when our paths next cross. 

I don’t know how much time and energy I can invest here. The big decision for the moment is to quit hiding my faith journey from those who are on a more conservative path. I’m not skilled at diffusing the natural tension created by pushing back against what people post on Facebook. That’s not a good setting for real conversations. But if you didn’t already know and have made it this far, I want you to know I LOVE thinking and talking about faith issues and how they affect our daily living.

Marie Kondo, Evernote, and COVID-19

Housekeeping has always been difficult for me. My bedroom was a disaster when I was in my teen years. As an adult, I have spent a lifetime struggling with clutter. I have strong visual tune-out abilities and generally don't notice the clutter until someone walks through the front door and I see the place through their eyes. Then I want to do better. I really do. I know a clean and tidy environment makes me feel better. I want to be able to welcome guests without having to move clutter to give them a place to sit. I don’t want to be embarrassed by our house. I'm like someone who truly wants to lose weight and be physically fit and is fully intending to start a diet and an exercise program -- first thing tomorrow, after the holiday snacks are gone.

One thing I do rather than clean is plan how I'm going to clean. After more than 40 years of marriage and 35 years living at the same address, I have developed a fairly elaborate cleaning system. There's a daily "tidying" checklist, a weekly list, and a monthly list. In those lists I assign up to twenty minute chunks of cleaning time to each of forty cleaning areas, ranging from the smallest closet to the great outdoors (which gets five minutes per week). The least time is five minutes every other month to an attic area that gets almost no traffic. The most by far goes to the kitchen -- ten minutes every morning and evening plus a total of forty more minutes per week.

I have long believed that if I actually worked my system, it would work. Throwing time at something consistently has to make a difference over long periods of time, right? And I fully intend to work it -- as soon as I get this one other thing done. I have occasionally managed to persevere long enough to start to see results, but then fall off the rails again.

According to Goodreads, I finished reading The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo exactly four years ago today. It was life-changing. Or it would have been if I could have persevered in applying it. I tried. I really did. And things did get better here and there, but it's amazing how much stuff a roomy house accumulates when managed haphazardly for thirty-five years as three babies make their way to adulthood with all the time and energy and stuff kids require and all the improved technology begging to move in and the "items in" count consistently exceeding the "items out" count. It takes serious time to sort through it all. It is an overwhelming project and always easier to put off until later, after I do this quick and easy thing that has nothing to do with cleaning.

Meanwhile, I'm not sure when I started using Evernote, but I have come to value it more and more. Having seen that the latest version doesn't support how I use it, I may be looking for something new when the legacy version quits working, but over the years I have gradually moved my housecleaning system into Evernote as to-do items. The reality is that I could care less in this moment with its many opportunities that there's dust under the furniture, but Evernote tells me I need to spend twenty minutes at a "monthly" level of cleaning in the living room this week and a survey of the room says the dust bunnies threatening to take over the place are probably the place to start. My need to check off that item on my to-do list compels me to set my timer, grab the Swiffer, and get to work. Or start sorting through a stack of papers, or cleaning out a drawer or washing windows. Just until my timer goes off, at which point I will move on to the next cleaning space. Unless I'm hopelessly behind and get distracted by something more fun or urgent or compelling. Then my system comes crashing down and I start avoiding Evernote.

That's where COVID-19 comes in. The energy a new year brings inspired me for the first couple of months of 2020 and then the pandemic came along and simplified my schedule. A lot. Being retired, by the time all the restrictions and closings kicked in, about all I had left was housework and gardening. So I worked my system. I started thanking stuff I no longer need and finding a new place for it. One by one. Room by room. Item by item. Since it's my system and my rules, I can modify the rules whenever I want. When one room doesn't have enough serious clutter left to justify the time committed to it, I drag in a box of clutter from another area to sort through. My system, my rules, my prerogative to tweak the rules.

I was amazed in June to discover I had completed every week's cleaning list for the first six months of 2020. This is not amazing at an objective level. Like I said, I'm retired. The cleaning lists require around twelve hours per week. That's not exactly a full-time job. And yet, this was the first time I had ever come close to persevering for six months. My previous record might have been six weeks. Something had shifted. I learned how to catch up when I fell behind. I embraced every inch of my compulsive tendencies to stick to the plan. I prayed every morning for energy and perseverance. And it started working!

I love this article by Thomas Oopong, which, among other things, says: 

Small improvements add up to massive differences. Compounding works in other areas besides money.

In July, our daughter and son-in-law and three children moved into a small rental house near us, requiring them to put much of their stuff in storage. One item that wasn't going to fit into their cramped living quarters was their Rock Band set-up. I said, "Coincidentally, I think there's enough space for your Wii in a small room I have been cleaning out." Now I have Rock Band! This is much better than the junk that room held before! What a nice pay-off!

In December, our other daughter and son-in-law were going to be in the area for the holidays, but were uncomfortable with the idea of family togetherness in our house with the pandemic still raging strong. I said, "You know, I think our two-car garage that up to now has barely had room for one vehicle has had enough junk removed that, with some effort, it could be cleaned up and split in half for a family gathering with adequate social distancing." The ping pong table that has been folded up in the cluttered basement for years was moved into the garage simply as a table large enough to provide plenty of separation for those participating, with the bonus feature of a net running across it to separate the two sides. On a whim, I also provided paddles and balls in case a game broke out. And it did! We had a wonderful gathering with plenty of space and some intense ping pong between the two social circles. It took just a few hours the week of Christmas to prepare, not a beautiful gathering place, but an acceptable area! Well, that in addition to ten minutes per week and twenty extra minutes per month for twelve months plus a couple of extra projects my husband helped me with. One month we moved a set of metal shelves that had been holding junk for years to another part of the house where they would get better use. Another month, after contributing to a family yard sale, we turned an old wooden cabinet that was mostly empty into kindling and rearranged the other storage. It took a year of dutifully checking off "garage" on my weekly and monthly to-do lists to prepare for that Christmas gathering. Not with the goal of the gathering, but just because it was standing between me and completing that week's cleaning list. Often I spent the ten minutes simply sweeping out the leaves that insist on migrating into the garage, slowly expanding the "clean space" over time. I had no goal nearly so lofty as creating a gathering space for our family Christmas. My highest aspiration was to get another vehicle inside when snow or freezing rain was in the forecast.

Small improvements. Incremental change. Ten minutes a week plus twenty extra minutes a month for twelve months turned a garage one could hardly walk through into 480 square foot of potential. I couldn't have asked for a better pay-off. In fact, it was so nice and roomy, we may start having more family gatherings out there.

Thank you, Marie Kondo, and others who write about decluttering for encouraging me to not just organize the clutter, but to evaluate each item for enduring value and move much of it out. Thank you, developers of Evernote for giving me a place to organize my tasks and do them for no other reason than to get them off my to-do list. (And PLEASE make the tags in the new version work like they used to!) Thank you, Thomas Oppong and others, for encouraging me to seek large improvements through many small steps over a long period of time. I am now fully convinced of the effectiveness of that approach.

Leaving the Church

March 2020 brought a sudden end to my church involvement and attendance, as it did for most people everywhere. COVID-19 made church gatherings a health risk. Unlike many people, however, I was not sad to change up my Sundays. In fact, it was a relief. After six decades of faithful church attendance and many ministry roles as a lay member, multiple issues were prompting me to rethink my involvement in American evangelicalism as a whole and the local congregation in particular.  The pandemic did me a favor by taking the decision to change a life-long habit out of my hands.

When services in the church building reconvened in June, I stayed home. I have attended just one service and that was enough to remind me why I need to stay away for now. Someday, I may find myself back at church, but probably not this week or next or even next month.

As I said, there were multiple issues driving me away, both local and on a wider scale, but the one that has bothered me most in retrospect is walking away from unresolved conflict with church leaders. I am a reader and encounter many words about reconciliation and restoration and forgiveness and humility. I try to let those messages speak to me as I examine my heart. Six months after the end of my involvement, the lack of resolution still nags at me. I know I am not without fault in these rifts and wonder what more I can do to offer a path to reconciliation.

This morning I woke from a dream. There were two scenes that bore enough similarity to inspire some analysis. In the first scene, I was invited to a large home, a mansion. I stepped into the huge front vestibule, which resembled the lobby of a hotel, and settled onto a bench by the door. An older couple sat by me and we watched the hustle and bustle. I saw the lady of the house pass through the vestibule a few times, but she never glanced my direction. I was looking forward to seeing her husband, but he never made an appearance. I was aware he was in a back room somewhere – maybe the kitchen, somewhere to the right.

I realized others in the lobby were migrating toward a hall to the left. The couple next to me got up to follow them and I also rose. But instead of following the crowd, I slipped out the front door.

My next stop was a convention center or mall with multiple people milling around inside. At the back of the large room was a studio of some sort with windows allowing me to see inside. I was interested in the services of the studio and went to the door. Once admitted, I sat and waited for my turn with the proprietor. But she was busy with other people and never looked my way. After waiting quite a while, I slipped out the door.

Two settings, two waits, two exits without ever interacting with my hosts. It seemed there was significance in this theme and I tried to sort through it. When have I sat by a metaphorical door waiting for a metaphorical host to look my way and then just left? The only answer I could come up with involved the church. Long before the shut-down, I felt like my voice was not welcome in the church. Some people were openly hostile, others appeared to listen to my concerns but then continued on as though I hadn’t spoken, others were unable or unwilling to listen to voices outside their chosen sources of input. They would talk to me about trivial matters or share their own views, but weren’t open to actual two-way conversation about serious issues.

As I pondered the emotional aspect of my dream, I realized I wasn’t at all offended by my inattentive hosts. I just looked at my options and chose one. 1) I could continue to sit and wait; 2) I could push forward without an invitation; or 3) I could walk away. 

        I chose to walk away.

I don’t know what people at the church think of my absence. I wrote an email to the pastor when services started back up saying I would no longer be involved. He knew some of my issues and I didn't bother to explain the ones he doesn't know about. With the pandemic still in full swing, people may think I'm afraid of the virus. My husband is still involved but brings home no reports of people asking about me. A few people have told me they miss me and hope I’ll come back without expressing curiosity concerning my reasons for not being there. A couple of “fringe” people unaware of the tension have asked me why I’m staying away. I have resisted the urge to come up with a simple explanation for a complex tangle of issues, so I have no answer. They aren’t curious enough to probe, so the conversation ends. No one in a leadership role has asked.

I realized the hosts in my dream could be best described as “indifferent.” They weren’t concerned about me. There was no rift between us, no negative emotions. They simply didn’t see me and likely didn’t notice when I slipped out the door.

Similarly, the people who take the most ownership for the church I have left seem unconcerned about resolving the rift between us. Any effort I have made toward reconciliation during months and even years of tension has been brushed aside with a denial that a rift exists. None of my efforts have brought any thaw in our relationship. They don’t want to talk about it.

And then it dawned on me. There are no balls in my court. I have sent lobs to others, inviting engagement, but not one of them has been returned. They just get pushed aside and the game goes on without my participation.

I value reconciliation. I would love to talk through the tensions that have led us to where we are and try to resolve them. But my “host” (the church) is unaware of me sitting by the door waiting for an invitation for full engagement in what is happening. Unconcerned. Indifferent. Preoccupied. And that’s all right.

There are no balls in my court. This is a liberating thought! I don’t need to push my way into places where I haven’t been invited – down the hall to the left or wandering someone’s house unaccompanied in search of an elusive host or interrupting the busy studio manager. I don’t need to wait indefinitely for someone to notice me sitting just inside the door. I can slip out the door with no ill will toward any of the busy, preoccupied, indifferent people I’m leaving behind and move on with my life.

I don’t know how I feel about placing high levels of significance on dreams. Can I trust my subconscious mind to accurately interpret my situation? Do I think God speaks through symbolic dreams today like in the Old Testament? I don’t know. But I know this: I can be certain no one has reached out to me looking for reconciliation and walked away rebuffed, because the truth is that no one has reached out to me with any serious interest in understanding what is happening in my life. People involved in church ministry are too busy and maybe too hurt to chase after people who have walked away from their ministry. They don’t have the resources necessary to invest deeply in relationships with people like me. I’m free to go. There are no balls in my court!

Playing Jesus' Advocate

 I read a lot of things on Facebook that come from Christians but seem to be completely opposed to the teachings of Jesus Christ. Mostly, I scroll past without responding. These are my elders, or my neighbors, or both. They have been trained to ignore any evidence that negates what they and their fellow evangelicals already believe. Engaging with them will only strain our relationship without moving them. If I really want to push back, I need to do it in person and with more grace than can be conveyed on social media.

Recently, however, I have responded a couple of times to a retired minister. I have known him via the internet for years and we have met a few times in real life. I like him. He's a thoughtful person. When we think we come to different conclusions, but he's at least thinking and not parroting the "ain't it awful" voices that are influencing so many evangelicals these days.

My pastor friend is concerned about what is happening in the U.S. right now, as am I. We have different ideas about the cause and remedy, but similar concerns that society is in a downward spiral that is likely to bring even more disaster on us than we're already seeing. His advice is to prepare for the future in terms of "food, finances, and protection." I could have picked any of the three to discuss, but chose to push back specifically against the finance part, asking where he plans to store his wealth in a collapsing society. I pointed out that Jesus taught us NOT to store up wealth. I ended my post with these words:

I wish I were closer than I am to following the teachings of Jesus, but I can at least consider the direction I need to go to reach that goal and it's not a bigger bank account or more stores in better-secured bigger barns.

 Needless to say, my friend did not respond with awe for my amazing insight and amend his advice. He dug in deeper. Part of me would have loved to continue the conversation, to try to back him into a corner, but there was no point. I needed to move on rather than beating my head against a wall.

As I thought about the exchange and how I would respond if I weren't walking away, the phrase "devil's advocate" came to mind. Idioms.freedictionary.com defines playing devil's advocate thus:  

"To argue against or attack an idea, argument, or proposition—even if one is in favor of it—for the sake of debate or to further examine its strength, validity, or details." 

Since my husband and I have planned for our retirement years, I obviously have some sympathy for my friend's suggestion of storing up wealth. However, I think in light of the teachings of Jesus Christ, it would be good to at least consider the possibility that storing up wealth is NOT what we should be doing right now, that maybe we should invest in a different form of riches such as relationships and goodwill. I'm willing to argue for a viewpoint I don't necessarily support by my actions, i.e., play the devil's advocate. However, in this case, it's not the devil who is suggesting an alternative view, but Jesus.

Is it possible to "play Jesus' advocate"? I can think of multiple subjects of discussion right now where it might be profitable to have someone represent the actual teachings of Jesus Christ in a discussion, even if they can't claim to follow them flawlessly. 

How often do you encounter someone "playing Jesus' advocate"? Do you ever find yourself in that role?

The Internet Rocks!!

The internet came through for me this week!

I think I was in 5th grade when I read a book from the elementary school library. Yusaf. I liked it a lot and later wanted to read it again, but then it wasn't on the library shelf where it had sat for so long. I looked high and low for it, but never found it. Why? Did someone decide it wasn't appropriate for the elementary library? It's not as though it was seeing a lot of circulation. I had seen it sitting on the shelf never moving many times before deciding to give it a try. What happened to it?

That was 50 years ago and I have looked off and on for that book multiple times through the years. Every so often it comes to mind and I wonder again about its disappearance and wish I could read it again, partly to see what has made it stick with me for so many years.

Last night, for some reason, I thought again about the mysterious lost book. Had I made use of my librarian super-skills and done a thorough search on WorldCat and Amazon? I decided to try again and typed the title into WorldCat.org with a publication date range of 1942 to 1970. No luck. Maybe I had it spelled wrong. An alternate spelling -- Yusef -- brought more hits, but not the book I was seeking. Then, I stumbled across another possible spelling and there it was! Yusuf by Grace Rasp-Nuri. After all these years, I found it! Seven libraries connected with WorldCat have a copy. The closest is in Montreal. The next closest is in Dublin. Two in the U.K., one each in Germany, New Zealand, and Australia. It was published in 1954 in German. The English translation was published in 1958, making it around ten years old when I first read it -- and probably ripe for weeding from the elementary school collection. Amazon will sell me a used copy.

But if I'm buying it used, why give Amazon my money? I have a couple of used book sources I like to support. I figured I should at least see what other prices I could find. So I went to Google and did a search on the title and author's name; and there it was at archive.org available to borrow for two weeks as an ebook!

Fifty years later, the internet has reunited me with this book I wanted to read again at age 11. I didn't remember much about it. An orphan boy on the island of Cyprus gets kidnapped by thieves and then a benefactor (an English gentleman) provides a living and education for him. I haven't finished it yet, but am pleased to discover it is still a good story all these years later, worth the effort to find it, even if every library in America seems to have discarded it. (The ebook is scanned from a discarded copy from the Allen County, Indiana Public Library.)

Thank you, internet!