Interpersonal relationships - hearing what is being said

Recently, I used a word incorrectly. The misplaced word turned a simple observation of current events into a rather arrogant assertion about the future. The friend to whom I made the statement took it at face value and informed me that I was wrong.

As I have considered my friend's response, it interests me that she heard the misspoken statement, compared it to the realm of possible statements I might make, and didn't question whether she had heard and understood me correctly. A statement with that much arrogance apparently is not inconsistent with her view of my character.

Another friend taught me the value of forming a good opinion of someone and seeing words and actions that don't mesh with that good opinion as out of character for them. He encouraged me to say words such as, "That's not like you. You're better than that."

Another friend demonstrates to me the value of active listening. I can't know for sure, but I don't think that friend would have responded to my "arrogance" without first verifying that my words conveyed what I was trying to say. He might have said, "Huh? Are you saying ...?" or "Do you really think so?" I could have then reviewed my words and detected the problem.

The "you're wrong" response not only revealed a negative assessment of my character but also devalued my opinion. My friend accepted the misspoken words as something I would conceivably say and then brushed the assertion aside as invalid. Which it was, in its misspoken form. But it was still a statement of opinion rather than fact and could have possibly contained something worth hearing if I had actually intended to say what I said.

I wonder if I can figure out a way to put a filter into my listening, to measure what I hear against the range of statements someone is likely to make at their best, and ask for verification when the words don't fit into that range.

I decided long ago that negative examples are as valuable as and sometimes more valuable than positive examples. This example of a friend who has apparently developed a rather negative view of my character, judging both by this most recent exchange and previous misunderstandings, seems to be a good source for learning about relationships.

Flying under the radar

Last week I traveled almost 2,000 miles to attend a theology conference. I disappeared from my world for a week and traveled to a far-off, distant land called Idaho. People noticed I was gone. They want to know why, tell me they missed me, and ask about my trip. But they show no interest in the conference itself, just in my absence. If I tell them about visiting my daughter for a couple of days and traveling with her that satisfies both their curiosity and their duty to take an interest in my life as a friend.

The conference itself has left me more aware of the need to "see" people, i.e., to focus on them and love them. One thing that distracts me in that area is when they show enough interest in me to get me talking at length about myself. I become more interested in what I am saying than in my long-suffering friend who is stuck listening. It's obvious when that happens. My own sad self becomes the star of the show, which is not particularly edifying to anyone involved in the exchange.

Thus far, no one has been either interested enough or duty-bound enough to actually ask me about the conference, what I learned, who I saw, the nature of the sessions, etc. A few people have asked about the theme. When I tell them it was about love, they look a little puzzled, but don't pursue the topic. A theological conference about love? What do love and theology have to do with each other? Curiosity is there, but not on a level worth pursuing.

I've told a couple of people more than they wanted to know about the logistics of the trip -- those who are most duty-bound to listen to my experiences. Someone else told me she wants to hear all about the conference -- another time. With only one friend in my everyday world, have I shared anything that came out of the conference itself. That person didn't know I had been gone. Our paths don't intersect enough for her to notice. But they did at one time and she's a good friend. She came into my world this week and asked a generic "how have you been" question. I responded by prompting her with a smile to ask about my trip to Idaho. And she did. I gave her a brief report along the same lines I have given others. The difference is that I could tell she was interested and open to hearing more. When the conversation took a direction that reminded me of something I had learned at the conference, I inserted a brief comment about it into the conversation. She listened and responded with interest.

The "flying under the radar" title to this comes out of the realization that I could have been hunting polar bear in Alaska last week rather than actually attending the theology conference with no particular discomfort when someone turned their radar on me and demanded a trip report. All I needed was a couple of days with my daughter on the way to Alaska to put on my official report and everything else could slide by undetected.

This is not a bad thing. It's not like I'm going to start lying about my outings. My accountability for doing what I say I'm doing and living honorably doesn't depend on people grilling me for details. The reason it interests me has more to do with the give-and-take nature of relationships. Friendships involve two-way communication. I talk to you. You talk to me. In some friendships, I spend more time on the receiving end; in others (or in the same friendships at other times), I do more talking than listening. It seems that people would be hesitant to share deeply with me if I don't respond with some type of vulnerability on my own part. However, I'm noticing that listening to other people often forms a bond that doesn't require more than surface information on my side. Many people never notice that they are sharing more of themselves and their thoughts with me than I am sharing in return. In fact, they seem quite satisfied with that arrangement.

Sometimes I have a need to talk about things as an aid in processing various happenings, but I don't often have a desire to tell everyone I know about it. I'm pleased to realize that there's no need to share more than surface details even when I disappear from my world for a week. People are easily satisfied by simplified, incomplete explanations for such absences. It doesn't take much to satisfy them that whatever happened isn't worth their effort to probe into it.

The nature of relationships is a subject with limitless fascination to me.

I'm back! (Well, at least in this moment)

As of this week, some of the craziness is gone from my life. I successfully completed a library science class and embraced a new "integrated library system." Finishing the class puts at least five hours a week back into my available hours, not counting the hours the homework required. Completing the migration to the new library system moves me from prep work for that transition to exploring the possibilities in the new system. I am reminded once again of my personal geekiness as learning the system becomes my new candy.

Ah... the horizon broadens. So many opportunities, so many choices.

And then I realize that Christmas is looming on that horizon. Not even on the horizon, actually. It is bearing down on me with alarming speed. Last time I counted, the town Christmas tree lot had nine trees left. That was a few days ago. How far will I have to go to get a live tree for my children to enjoy when they come home?

Have I mentioned that Christmas is not "the most wonderful time of the year" for me? Maybe someday I'll figure out how to enjoy it instead of being ambushed by it. I wonder if thirteen days is enough time to learn that skill.

So maybe I'll be back soon or maybe it will be later. Maybe I'm just out of topics for public ponderings.

To anyone who happens across this post in a timely fashion: "Have yourself a merry little Christmas!"

Day 3

Yesterday was my third day of meetings this week. It was a different venue with different motivation for gathering, but there was overlap among the participants from earlier in the week. I waited to see if one person on whom I had inflicted my company in those earlier meetings would acknowledge our acquaintance. He did not. Sigh.

Lost in the crowd again. It was another "Day 1." Only this time, there was no "Day 2." Once again, I inflicted too many words on people who don't know me and don't care to know me or be known by me. Why can't I be content to shut my mouth and go into an observation mode, slipping in and out as someone unknown in such settings? What prompts me to talk at length to people who have no interest in hearing my words? Why can't I bottle those words up and pour them out later on my long-suffering blog readers? Oh, wait, maybe that's what this is. Maybe I didn't use up as many words as it seemed. The quantity may have been magnified by their failure to find receptive places to land.

I decided I didn't like the look of my chosen accommodations for the night and realized that I was more awake at the end of the day than the beginning and might be able to drive the three hours it would take to get home if I skipped out just a little early. So I cancelled my reservation, relieved to not have to spend another night on the road.

With an hour before I planned to leave, someone suddenly appeared at my side and announced that she was sharing my table at dinner because we needed to talk about a project of which we are both a part. What a pleasant surprise! We did eat together and had a very profitable exchange. Then I left. I hadn't registered for the optional second day of this event because the topics being discussed weren't pertinent to my situation. So I left my new-found friend behind until our paths cross again another day in another place.

I'm ready to stay home in my small town for a while before heading back out for further days of obscurity.

Day 2

OK, so I headed out this morning prepared to resist the urge to inflict myself on my companions in training. But as I walked into the building, I received a friendly greeting from one of the hosts for the event. I returned her greeting and headed to the training room. I chose a seat in the back corner and pulled out some documentation to read. A couple of people filled in the seats next to me. One of them greeted me and introduced herself -- also from the host location. A couple of other people I remembered from a previous meeting but hadn't seen yesterday also acknowledged our previous encounter with a friendly greeting.

All this friendliness messed up my resolve to sit in my little corner with my mouth shut. After all, I hadn't resolved to be standoffish, only to avoid annoying people who were otherwise occupied.

I have been here before. Two days of meetings. The first day I sink further and further into loneliness as I fail to find companionship among the crowd. The second day, the sea of faces resolves into individuals, some of whom are actually quite friendly.

I wonder if there's a way to go only for the second day of these type of sessions.

Obscurity

In a few moments I will head out for a day of anonymity. I'm taking some training on new software with my library peers. Only 17 libraries are represented but mine must be unique in having only one representative. The rest of the group seems to have arrived in clusters.

It's odd to me to spend hour after hour in a group where no one knows me or cares to know me, where speaking serves only to annoy people by detracting from the business at hand and interfering with the dynamics of their group.

This is an interesting contrast to my regular life. Last Friday I walked into a local business. I'm in there several times a year to pick up hardware items but not enough to know the younger employees who cycle through the clerking positions of this large family-owned business. For this visit, I needed a billing statement to replace one that somehow disappeared into the clutter at home. When I stated my business, the young man behind the counter verified my husband's name. I was thoroughly impressed. It has been years since I have bought anything there on credit. (I was actually seeking the balance on the church account.) My infrequent visits generally involve anonymous cash transactions. I can't imagine how he put me together with my husband's name. As someone who has to come up with names to match faces at the library in the absence of library cards, I know how difficult that is. I'm curious as to what past encounter fixed my identity in the mind of this young man. Should I know him? How is he related to the patriarch of the business who wandered out a few minutes later and chatted with me.

To know and be known. That is inherent to small town living. But today I will be unknown and uninteresting to a group of 60 people. It messes with my self-esteem to be so easily dismissed as not worth knowing. And not simply not worth knowing, but also not worth being known by. Any interest I show in my peers today is unlikely to generate their favor. I spent the entire day with them yesterday and never moved beyond polite responses.

I often pray that I may be a blessing to those around me. It's a little disturbing to think that the best way to accomplish that today may be to stay out of the way and keep my mouth shut.

Oh well, I'll be back in my small town tomorrow where there is no lack of opportunity to be a blessing by actually getting involved in people's lives rather than simply by staying out of their way. Life is good on Main Street, USA.

Response to a book challenge

By day, I am a librarian. I don't get into that too much here. However, I read a letter this morning and want to be able to find it again. This is basically a way of bookmarking it. It is a rather lengthy response to someone who protested the presence in the library of a picture book involving gay marriage.

It's interesting to me that the social grouping with which I most identify myself - the church - would tend to be on the side of the protest in this case rather than the measured response. Sometimes I wonder why I associate myself with organized religion. (For some ideas in that area, you can look here.) But I also wonder what percentage of people who radically follow the teachings of Jesus Christ are truly committed to the position of homophobia so often encountered in the church and "Christian" media. Some of the "ain't it awful" statistics such people share with us about the decay of moral absolutes in the church seem to indicate that it might not be so ubiquitous as it may sometimes appear.

Don't get me wrong here. I'm not an activist in favor of gay rights. I'm more in favor of people, of dealing with people as wondrous creations rather than putting labels on them and discarding them as not fit for society because they don't fit the standard definition of "normal." I ache for those who have been told through various means that God hates something so integral to who and what they are as their sexuality. And, having substantial exposure to the Bible itself rather than simply those who would tell me what it says, I suspect that many from the gay community are entering the kingdom of God ahead of the religious people who are heading up the fight for "family values." (If you want some background for this suspicion, check out the gospel according to Matthew: chapter 21, verse 31 and context.)

Lord, save us from the hopeless quest of making the world inoffensive to the self-righteous.

My Political Career

I am an also-ran. On the ballot but not elected. My political career is going nowhere fast.

But what a wonder! I was on the ballot!

For what? you might ask. To be among the approximately 500 lay delegates to the general assembly of the International Church of the Nazarene in June 2009 in Orlando, Florida. It's not a large denomination, only 1.7 million members worldwide. Still, that gives many other choices of people to nominate as delegate other than me. There were 18 names on the ballot for lay delegate from southwest Indiana. My name was among them. Out of 280 ballots cast, 70 people voted for me to be one of three elected. That's one less than did so four years ago. Like I said, my political career isn't exactly rocketing me to prominence.

It's interesting to consider the steps to actual election. First, I need to develop a ministry that gives me name recognition beyond my local church and community. People need to know who I am. Then I need to polish a persona of wisdom and loyalty to the church. A bunch of conservative people with little interest in change have to be convinced that I will represent their interests to the general assembly. Yet, I must not give any hint that I might be campaigning for the position. Undisguised ambition doesn't set well for this sort of thing.

One might think that formal training in doctrine and church polity would be halpful, or maybe familiarity with the history and values of the denomination, but that would be the case only if people actually studied the qualifications of the nominees and valued that sort of thing. Networking is actually a much greater factor. I suspect that my piano skills are a greater asset for this sort of thing than any insights I might have into the direction and future of the Church of the Nazarene. If only I could get some piano gigs around the district, my chances of being elected would go up considerably. Especially if I kept my mouth shut and didn't let it slip that I am perhaps not fully committed to maintaining the status quo.

Still, I was nominated! What a great honor it has been to be chosen twice as a nominee for delegate to the general assembly. I am blessed.

By one measure, I had a better showing this year than four years ago when there were 24 nominees for four positions. Although I received fewer votes, there were also fewer people who received more votes than I did. Who knows what could happen in four years if it weren't that the puddle in which I do my piggy thing is perhaps on the path to expansion, sinking me even further into obscurity.

Even though I'm not a delegate, I am planning to be part of the Orlando event next summer as a "friend" of the assembly. I have missed only two of the last ten assemblies. And without delegate responsibilities, I can focus on the fun and fellowship. Life is good.

Plenty of room in heaven?

This op-ed piece was in our newspaper this week. It alerts readers to the fact that Barack Obama doesn't subscribe to the basic tenets of Christianity. The authors write:

A basic tenet of Christianity is that profession of faith in Jesus Christ is necessary to gain the reward of eternal life in heaven. Christians do not believe the door of heaven is open to every “kind” and “generous person.” Christians do not believe that adherence to Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism or other religions opens the door to eternal life in heaven with God. That is why Christians send missionaries seeking the conversion of these religions’ practitioners to Christian beliefs.

There's a comment that

Obama has repeatedly said belief in Jesus is only one of many paths to salvation."

One of the underlying proofs of this heresy is that

Obama said that his mother was in heaven despite her atheism and outright rejection of Christ. While speaking at a town hall forum in North Carolina on March 26, 2008 he said his late mother was 'not a believer.' He continued, 'But she was the kindest, most decent, generous person that I have ever known,' Obama said. 'I'm sure she is in heaven, even though she may not have subscribed to everything that I subscribe to.'

From this we know the truth that no one will make it into heaven unless they accept Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior. We also know that those who would allow any exceptions to that truth are not real Christians and won't make it into heaven. That leaves the pearly gates open only to those who accept Jesus as Christ and believe that everyone who doesn't do so will burn in hell.

I'm a little distressed by this position. How many Christians have I heard at funeral homes speak the comforting words: "Well, at least you know that your loved one is in a better place" without regard to any Christian witness on the part of the deceased? I presume that all of those people, like Obama, are guilty of heresy and deny the basic tenets of Christianity. I'm thinking that banning all who say such things might substantially thin out the population in that blessed place. How many genuine Christians do I know by those standards?

I hope John McCain's mother was a Christian. Otherwise, he might have to submit to the same test of being required to prove his belief in the "basic tenets of Christianity" by confirming that his mother is now being subjected to the fires of hell. Because that's what true Christians say when their loved ones die without a clear Christian witness.

I'm a little comforted by two verses:

Matthew 21:31 reads: Jesus said to them, "I tell you the truth, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you." (He was speaking to the Pharisees at the time.) Tax collectors and prostitutes in the kingdom?! Doesn't Jesus know the basic tenets of Christianity? How are people who flaunt the ten commandments entering the kingdom at all, let alone ahead of the religious leaders?

A little later, in Matthew 23:13, Jesus told the Pharisees: "Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You shut the kingdom of heaven in men's faces. You yourselves do not enter, nor will you let those enter who are trying to.

As one who is fully committed to a local manifestation of Christianity and, thus, in no small danger of slipping into the mindset of the Pharisees, I'm thinking that I probably need to be more intentional about casting my lot in with the "tax collectors and prostitutes" as far as finding the path to heaven and make sure that I'm opening doors for people rather than closing them.

Sometimes I'm more than a little sympathetic when people look at Christians and opine that if that is who will populate heaven, they might not want to go there.

Loaves and fish and multiplication

I am a student of Andrew Murray (1828-1917). In his book With Christ in the School of Prayer, Murray sets intercessory prayer into the parable of The Friend at Midnight (Luke 11:5-8). In the parable, you have an unexpected guest show up at midnight and you go to another friend and ask for bread to serve your guest. Murray equates the guest to someone in need. God is the friend with bread. In intercessory prayer, we realize our lack of resources and seek out the One who has bread on behalf of our needy friend. I like that thought. It's not necessary for me to have resources to meet my friend's needs. I simply need to turn to the One who has resources and ask for bounty on behalf of my friend.

This morning, however, I realized that sometimes I'm less in the parable of the Friend at Midnight than in another story which Jesus showed rather than told. It's not that I have no bread in my cupboard at all. It's more that I'm holding on to five loaves of bread and two fish and see what seems to be five thousand hungry people looking expectantly at me (Luke 9:12-17).

I can't truthfully say to my needy friends, "I have absolutely nothing to offer you." The truth is, I am blessed and do indeed have a little extra to share. However, my meager resources aren't enough to satisfy the appetite of even one hungry person, let alone five thousand. I could give up my own supper and join the hungry crowd, but the little I have to offer is just a drop in the bucket in comparison to the need.

I wonder if God is still in the multiplication business. How many times do I refuse to share my resources in light of the enormity of the need and miss the blessing of seeing that multiplication factor at work?

I see enormous needs; I have limited resources for investing time, money, prayer, and emotional energy into those needs. I wonder what the process is for starting to pass out those loaves and fish. How much do I give to the first person among the five thousand who crosses my path today? How much do I save back for the second? How much will I give out before I see the multiplication start to happen?

"Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish, but how far will they go among so many?" (John 6:9)

Is God still in the multiplication business? It's an interesting question to ponder.

Experience - coming out the other side

Some recent discussions have brought to mind some of the darkest moments of my 50 years. One such discussion prompted me to pull out a prayer journal from over fourteen years ago, something I rarely do. Oh my! Such pain is on those pages as I went reeling emotionally from having the rug abruptly pulled out from under me in terms of ministry. Page after page after long, tedious page of journaling through the pain, trying to sort out what had happened and get my feet back under me so that I could face those involved without splattering them with emotional fallout. What I had condensed to a week or so in my memory actually dragged out much longer than that on paper. (I had to return to the attic for the next notebook before finding some resolution.)

I enjoy books written in first-person narrative where the narrator is focused on her own feelings and thoughts but gives the reader glimpses of what's happening in her world that she herself doesn't necessarily catch. (Recent examples are the Miss Julia series by Ann Ross for adults and the Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot for teens.) I was rather amused to find that in my own writing. In between the self-focused anguish and tears, there were glimpses of a friend who was caught completely by surprise by my meltdown in response to what seemed like a minor decision on his part. At one point he explained to me that I had a mental block and was immature. Even at the time I believed him, but it didn't particularly help anything. I was already working hard at overcoming both the mental block and the immaturity, but neither seemed to be dissolving away easily.

In those dark, dark days, I was walking carefully, aware that the phrase "this too shall pass" was still in effect. I expected to come out the other side and was committed to not sabotaging any relationships along the way -- either my own or the relationships between the people who cared about me and saw my pain and those who had knocked me off my feet. I expected to retain my friendship with everyone involved and didn't want to be responsible for rifts between those around me.

Fourteen years. That time, along with many other times of crisis and emotional duress, is now a part of my history. Sure enough, I came out the other side. My emotions stabilized, my spirits lifted, I mended my fences, and added each time of difficulty to my reservoir of experience upon which I can draw when I hit another difficult place or when I want to encourage others who are going through dark days.

Does anyone ever reach the point where they can weather the dark days with full assurance that what is happening to them will prove to be an invaluable experience in the days ahead? I can't say that my reaction to setbacks and perceived attacks is any less emotional than in days past. Maybe the most I can say is that I am more aware than ever that there is experience to be gained from the pain itself if I can simply survive long enough to get to the other side.

It has been more than twenty-one years since my third and last experience with natural childbirth. Going into that last time, I was aware that my previous labor experiences had been blessedly short. I prepared myself with the assurance that I could endure anything for eight hours, which experience told me was a reasonable expectation for the maximum duration of labor. However, when the labor pains were upon me, my confidence slipped away. Instead of saying, "I can endure anything for eight hours," I was reduced to saying, "I can handle this one contraction. I don't know about the next one, but I think I can make it through this one as long as it doesn't last more than two minutes."

One painful crisis at a time. And when added together they equal that great treasury called experience. Yet, each new crisis looms large and makes me wonder if this will be the pain that does me in. I'm still looking for a quicker path to the positive benefits of perspective.

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Book review - Organic Community by Joseph R. Myers

The full title of this book is Organic Community: Creating a Place Where People Naturally Connect. It is Myer's second book. The first is The Search to Belong: Rethinking Intimacy, Community, and Small Groups. I wrote about it here. Both books have given me much to consider.

In this second entry, Myers contrasts a "Master Plan" approach to leadership with a more natural, "organic" order. He focuses on nine areas of contrast. I won't pretend to have a full grasp of those nine areas, but I found much in his words to appreciate. I hope to do a re-read in the near future.

The first "aha" encounter for me was the contrast between representative and individual participation. He calls this "responsible anarchy." As one who tends to lead by consensus, I appreciated the value he placed on individual members of the organism. They shape the organism. They give form to it. Rather than leadership forming a master plan and looking for people to plug into the roles needed to accomplish that plan, individuals within the organization offer their unique abilities and passions and everyone works together to reach the goal. This fits well with my rejection of the statement oft heard in the church that "It's not about you." It IS about people, about individuals. All the individuals. Communities are comprised of individuals and individuals matter.

Another chapter is titled "Coordination" and expands further on the idea of involving individuals in creating the narrative for the organization. The contrast here is between cooperation and collaboration. In the former model, leadership creates the plan and looks to "team members" for cooperation in implementing it. In collaboration, the team works together. There is less structure. Things may look rather messy and out of control along the way. Individuals are valued for their potential contribution and empowered to find their own role.

Other chapters deal with such issues as creating an ongoing story rather than focusing on a bottom line, incorporating new resources by adjusting the form of the organism, making helpful suggestions concerning the contribution of others rather than watching for failure ("edit-ability" rather than accountability), having an attitude of "abundancy" rather than one of scarcity, rotating leadership roles to capitalize on the strengths of various individuals, and focusing on the verb nature of relationships. This final topic depicts language as a requirement and basis for thought in a manner that takes me back to another book I have enjoyed -- Live to Tell: Evangelism in a Postmodern Age by Brad J. Kallenberg.

Myers looks to nature for examples of the idea of organic community. Flocks of birds have no designated leader, yet they move together. Geese rotate the responsibility of being at the head of the "V." Organisms in nature move together without formal, permanent assignment of leadership roles.

This book comes at a good time in my life as I am finding new opportunities for leadership that don't necessarily include formal structure. It opens doors to a sort of "sloppy" leadership that keeps a general destination before the organization without dictating the route to be taken to get there.

Like a said earlier, this is a book I need to revisit.

The Difference Between a Christian and a Nice Person

Someone ran across an exchange I once started on a message board and asked me for further words on the subject.

The topic is: What is the difference between a Christian and a "normal" nice person? First, we need to define the terms. For this discussion, I will define a Christian as someone who studies and chooses to live by the teachings of Jesus Christ. That is a different definition than one which simply involves self-identification with the Christian religion. And it is different from one that defines a Christian as one who has been "born again".

There are many people who call themselves Christians who aren't very pleasant to be around. However, Jesus said that the greatest commandments are to love God and to love others. And it's a personal conviction of mine that loving people should lead to being generally kind and gentle in our interactions with them, an opinion which I could support with multiple Bible references.

Those who self-identify with the Christian religion but exhibit no evidence of love for others in terms of being nice to the people around them aren't part of my comparison here. The difference between that type of person and a "normal" nice person is obvious -- they aren't nice. However, there's a chance that they might still be genuine disciples of Jesus Christ who have yet to develop a consistent level of kindness in their lives. Although, my definition of being a Christian requires a desire to follow the teachings of Jesus Christ, it doesn't necessarily include great success at doing so. That's where grace comes in - from God and from those who have to deal with "rude Christians" (which oughtta be an oxymoron).

Jesus said that people would recognize his followers by their love. The question is, How is love that traces back to Jesus' teachings distinguishable from ordinary social skills that include being kind to those around us. My answer is that there's often no obvious difference in a civil setting. After all, Jesus said that anyone can love people who love them back. (Matthew 5:46) I think that includes being nice to people who are nice to us. As a disciple of Jesus Christ, I don't have to rely on my commitment to his teachings to be pleasant to pleasant people. Things simply go smoother for all of us when we practice social graces.

In my observation, the difference a commitment to Christ makes involves how we treat 1) those who are not nice to us; 2) those whose opinion doesn't matter to us.

So how do Christians treat such people when they are "at the top of their game"? The second group actually goes away. In loving others, Christians care about what they think, not because they are concerned about being liked but because they want what's best for others. Everyone becomes important to them, from the street beggar to the company owner. They care about people's opinions because they care about the people themselves. This is the first place that we begin to see the difference between a person demonstrating the love of Jesus and a "normal" nice person. In putting the teachings of Jesus into practice, the Christian is more genuinely concerned about more people.

That leaves the people who don't deserve our kindness. Will a commitment to following the teachings of Jesus Christ enable us to be consistently kind to people who, to put it mildly, aren't very nice? Again, it goes back to loving people, seeing them, caring about them, striving to understand them. The "normal" nice person starts to lose ground here. They may continue to be nice in hopes that it will bring good their way but it's often because they lack a better coping mechanism. Their "niceness" begins to look weak, as though they're unable to stand up to people who need someone to put limits on their behavior. In contrast, there is strength in the kindness exhibited by one who is kind because he or she is a Christian rather than out of weakness.

What started this thought process for me was the people who have told me that no one will ever know that I'm a Christian if I don't spell it out for them, e.g. "I am being nice to you because I am a follower of Jesus and not because you deserve it." That may be true for those who could reasonably expect kindness from me. It's when I treat people kindly for no reason at all other than that I am a disciple of Jesus Christ that there may be a noticeable difference.

What do you think?

The Value of Calculus

I took three semesters of calculus in college. As a librarian, I don't have a strong need for advanced math education. Most of what I learned so many years ago has long since faded from memory. Still, calculus has some small enduring value to me. Or maybe it's “pre-calculus” where most people meet the concept of limits.

Perhaps the easiest way to understand limits is to look at what happens if one divides by zero. What is the result for dividing 1 by 0 on a standard calculator? The answer is that it gives an error. Dividing by zero is not an allowed math operation. So no one knows what 1/0 equals, right? Well, sort of. Here is where limits come in handy. What if I calculate the value of 1/x and don't actually make x equal to zero but make it very small? I see that 1/1 = 1; 1/0.1 = 10; 1/0.01 = 100; 1/0.001 = 1,000; 1/0.0001 = 10,000; etc. Although I can never make x equal to zero, I can figure out that the smaller x becomes, the larger result I will get. If I could divide by zero, the smallest possible number, I would get the largest possible number, which is infinitely large. Thus, although I can't divide by zero, I know what the result would be if I could because I know where my answer is headed for progressively smaller values of x: infinity.

At the other end of the scale, I could ask myself what 1/x would be if x were equal to infinity. Again, I can't actually put infinity into the calculator and get an answer. However, if I calculate the results for increasing values of x, I discover that the answer becomes progressively smaller. If I could take x all the way to infinity, I would end up with a result of zero. 1/0 = infinity. 1/infinity = 0. Both those answers are determined by letting x come as close as possible to either zero or infinity and watching where the result is heading. The result of dividing 1 by any number between 0 and infinity will fall somewhere between infinity and zero. Thus, 1/x+1 will approach 1 as x approaches infinity and will approach infinity as x approaches zero. For every positive value of x, 1/x+1 will lie somewhere between 1 and infinity.

I find this process of determining the boundaries of an equation's result useful for answering certain philosophical questions. For example, in my last post I pondered the question of whether it is possible for one person to make another person happy. To find my answer, I assigned the person responsible for creating happiness in the life of another person to provide the maximum service possible to that other person. I made that responsible person into a slave. Attentiveness from this person approaches the maximum humanly possible. I then mentally assessed the happiness of the person receiving the full attention of that slave. My conclusion was that humans have no lack of ability to be dissatisfied even in the face of total attentiveness by the person they have made responsible for their happiness. A slave can't read the mind of the master. A slave can only work so fast and so hard and can be only one place at a time. A slave requires food and sleep. My conclusion was that, because of these limitations and others, an unhappy person will continue to be unhappy even with a fully dedicated slave. Therefore, if even dedicated slave-level service doesn't satisfy an unhappy person, I can conclude that no lesser level of service and attentiveness will make an unhappy person happy. There needs to be another source for happiness. Can a person affect the happiness of another person? Yes. But the other person will always have the capability of being completely unhappy regardless of the level of service rendered.

This is the value of calculus to me. It helps me solve certain mental puzzles by giving me endpoints to the possible range of answers as the unknowns move across their full spectrum of possible values.

x approaches infinity questions:

• What if everybody did it?
• What if I did it perfectly?
• What is the worst that could happen (maximum unpleasantness)?

x approaches zero questions:

• What if I did nothing?
• What if nobody did it?
• What is the best that could happen (minimal unpleasantness)?

After I find the limits, it is then easier to figure out the range of answers for likely values of the unknowns in life's equations, e.g. the level of friendship and service I have to offer to an unhappy person in my life will never be sufficient to make that person happy.

Three semesters of calculus for that. Or at least I haven't noticed any other residual effect of those classes. Does anyone have any other practical uses for higher math?

I Could Be Happy If Only You Were a Better Person

Sometimes I get the impression that I'm the sole obstacle to another person's happiness. Unhappy people tell me how unhappy they are and either blame their unhappiness directly on me, citing something I did (or didn't do) that robbed them of their joy, or tell me what would make them happy without mentioning my own ability to provide that missing ingredient. In the latter case, I'm never quite sure whether or not I'm supposed to take the hint and provide them with what they need in order to be happy.

This is a lot of responsibility. I already take responsibility for my own happiness. And much of my happiness traces back to being available for service to other people, to many people. The happy people in my life accept what I give them with gratitude. Their happiness doesn't depend on me but I can add to it. Most of the unhappy people in my life are independently unhappy and don't particularly notice me. There are just a few who seem certain that they could be happier if only I focused more of my time and energy on pleasing them.

I wonder. Has anyone ever found happiness in being served? Are people with devoted slaves to anticipate their every need happy people? I'm thinking not. Even the most devoted slave can't read the mind of his master and must sometimes fail to be fully pleasing. I can think of few more certain roads to frustration and anger than depending on someone else for one's contentment and joy.

So what do I do about the unhappy people who latch onto me as holding the key to their happiness? I can try to explain to them that joy comes through acts of service, but I don't think that is a concept that sells well.

In her book A Theology of Love, Mildred Bangs Wynkoop defined love as “impartial goodwill”. I think the best I can do for people looking to me to fix what's wrong with their world is to offer them the same level of service I offer to others. Sometimes it's easy to do less for those who show so little appreciation for small acts of service and consistently demand more. Other times, I find myself doing more -- service I don't want to provide and can't sustain.

Jesus Christ said that there will always be poor people among us. I suspect that's true not only in terms of financial poverty but in terms of emotional poverty. Serving those people with the same effort I invest in happy people might be the best I can do. If nothing else, doing so adds to my own sense of well-being. There is a certain satisfaction in neither walking away from a manipulator entirely nor giving into their demands but simply serving them as though they appreciated small acts of kindness.

Agree or Disagree: Prayer works

Just over a year ago, I wrote a post on the idea that "prayer works". You can read those thoughts here if you'd like, but it's not really necessary. Basically, I questioned what it means to say "prayer works". I have racked up a lot of unanswered prayers in my life and have watched people who are more optimistic than I am rack up even more.

One of my favorite people in the world is now on hospice care, dying of cancer at age 51. If prayer consistently worked for healing cancer patients, he would not be in this situation. I am far from the only one who values his friendship. The prayer that has bombarded heaven on his behalf is quite impressive by any measure. Hundreds of people spread across at least three continents are praying desperately for his healing. His mother has a history of seeing miraculous healings in response to her prayers. She is praying. Many of those praying have devoted their entire lives to God and the church, some serving in high levels of our denomination. Yet, he's dying. If "working" means always granting long life to those we love and for whom we pray, then, no, prayer does not work.

My experiments have revealed also that prayer doesn't work for getting signs from heaven. If you want God to prove His existence to you by giving you some sort of sign, you will likely be disappointed. Or at least it hasn't worked for me. In spite of my prayers, I have no proof of God's existence beyond what is available to all. My faith is at its core simply that -- faith.

So prayer doesn't work for keeping alive and healthy those we hold dear. And prayer doesn't work for giving us hard evidence concerning God. There's some disappointment there. What good is prayer if not for miracles of healing and signs of divine power at work among us?

This post was actually prompted not by disappointment with prayer but by a fresh realization of what a blessing prayer has been in my life. It takes perspective to see it, though.

Fifteen years ago, I prayed for people with whom to share my spiritual journey. After a while, one of the few people who filled that role in my life moved away. My prayers weren't working very well. However, from this perspective I can see that I was about to meet several people who have become dear friends. And the internet was about to open up a wealth of opportunities to communicate with like-minded people. Was it simply coincidence that my prayers back then were for the things that were about to happen?

Not quite so long ago, I started regularly practicing prayer and fasting for my church in response to a call by an internet friend to do so. After a year or two of praying that way, things were going so badly that I stopped the fasting part, suspecting that anyone involved would ask me to do so if they thought my prayers were behind the storm beating against the church. The results of those prayers were disastrous. However, from this perspective, I can see that we were about to enter a new era as a church. Some people aren't pleased with this new place where we've found ourselves, but I'm certainly not complaining.

One of my favorite verses from the Bible is Psalm 37:4 "Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart" (NIV).

Does prayer work? No, it doesn't. At least not like a working, well-stocked vending machine where you can expect a particular item to fall out if you put in the correct amount of change.

Does prayer work? I don't know, but sometimes when I pray terrible and unexpected things happen which precipitate delightful and unexpected blessings.

Does prayer work? It must! I pray and I am blessed at every turn.

On the other hand, a dear friend is dying too soon and all of the prayer in the world seems unable to prevent that from happening.

Does prayer work? On the survey I took that asked me that question, my response (blank) was tabulated as "not sure/no opinion". Maybe "I don't know" is the best answer I have. However, it bothers me a little that my response will show up in some set of ain't-it-awful statistics that will say, "___% of evangelical Christians responded that they don't know if prayer works."

Maybe what we need is a different question. Agree or disagree: Prayer is essential to my spiritual well-being. For that one I can confidently mark: Strongly agree.

Book Review - The Irresistible Revolution by Shaine Claiborne

If anyone pays any attention to my reading list, they must think I am a slow reader. It takes me a long time to get through the books I list here. I read fiction now and then and actually manage to return books to the library in a reasonable amount of time, but the "morning books" are a slow go. Too many of my mornings allow no time to make progress in anything beyond the Bible.

This morning I finished a book I have been working on for several months -- The Irresistible Revolution: Living As an Ordinary Radical by Shaine Claiborne. The author is a self-described radical. He does ministry in the inner city of Philadelphia. When the U.S. declared war on Iraq, he went to Iraq to minister to the people there. He has sneaked into an event where the President of the United States was speaking, passing himself off as a journalist and then removing his outer business attire to expose a t-shirt with words of protest. He has been arrested multiple times for civil disobedience.

This book was not a waste of my time. It is readable and thought-provoking. It gave me a nudge to nurture my natural pacifism. It challenged me to find ways to minister to people living in poverty. It encouraged me by presenting a snapshot of one person's take on what it looks like to take the teachings of Jesus Christ seriously.

This is a book that makes me feel like I've been listening to the author speak of his personal experience rather than reading about it. Every word is written in the voice of the author. I can imagine myself in a crowd of people listening to him speak. And in my imagined picture, I imagine myself interacting with him. Only, that part doesn't work. When I approach him, he doesn't see me. He looks past me for someone more interesting. Ordinary, law-abiding citizens bore him. He's looking for people living more obviously radical lifestyles than mine.

Now, I may be very wrong about Mr. Claiborne. He may actually enjoy exploring ministry possibilities with ordinary people trying to invest their lives in ways that bless those around them, particularly in the needy people in their world. But his book is written in a tone that leaves me feeling hopelessly dull and lacking in spiritual fervor. I'm not ready to give up my current community to seek out a more exotic setting in the inner city. If everyone who cares about needy people went to the inner city, who would care about those trapped in destructive lifestyles in less populated areas? I'm also not quite willing to accept his underlying message that says real Christians live in ways that stir up the government to oppose them. I suppose that if I looked hard enough I could find some form of local injustice that requires fighting the government to correct. But I don't have to look nearly so hard to find ways to minister to people in ways that please governing authorities by addressing community needs that aren't easily addressed by government -- e.g., literacy, adult education, and spiritual needs.

I think I may be too old for this book. I've long outgrown any desire I might have had in my younger years to stir up trouble for myself by bringing the negative attention of authority figures my direction. Actually, I get along quite well with authority figures. Maybe I'm just fortunate to live in a place where the government is more interested in building community than in oppressing needy people. Or maybe I'm blind and my blindness survived this attempt to open my eyes.

This book wasn't a waste of my time to read. It gave me a view of an alternative approach to Christian living. It's good for me to see how other people are living out the teachings of Jesus Christ. Reading it reminded me that ministry happens outside the four walls of the church. But it gave me no ideas for law-abiding ministry in my rural community. Mr. Claiborne wouldn't find nearly enough excitement and challenge in my world. While people were struggling with drunk-driving citations and literacy and economic issues, the most likely action I can imagine for him would be to move into a tepee set up outside the gates of the local Navy base in protest against the war, inconveniencing the civilian employees there by forcing the base to go on high danger alert. (This scenario doesn't take all that much imagination on my part. It has already been done in protest of some other military action.)

In summary, I'm not unhappy about the time I invested in reading the book, but it won't get a permanent spot on my bookshelves. If someone wants to read it, I'll mail it to the first person who asks.

Funerals and universalism

We had a death in the family this week, temporarily stopping our world in order to deal with all that comes at such times. As a family member only by marriage, my role was observatory in nature as much as anything. It's interesting to listen to people at such times.

I spend a lot of time immersed in the evangelical subculture, where the world is neatly divided into "saved" and "unsaved", Christian and nonbeliever. The strongest mission of evangelicals is to evangelize - identify the unsaved and persuade them to get saved. We are warned often of the importance of warning the unsaved that they are hellbound if they don't become saved. Death ends all chances of salvation.

So then someone dies. And out come the platitudes.

"He's in a better place now."
"At least she's not suffering any longer."
"He'll be waiting over yonder for you."

Even if the deceased was the target of evangelism before death, one must be kind.

"May God have mercy on his soul."
"We never know what change of heart she may have had before she breathed her last breath."

In the end, we seem to vote for universalism, for all to be given a heavenly reward, regardless of the life they lived. Who wants to tell the grieving family, "Well, I guess that's it. Life is over. We'll just have to accept that she's gone forever"? Even worse would be to say, "You know, I'm not sure he was a proper Christian. I'm guessing that eternal punishment awaits him."

Death seems to prompt people to express some interesting beliefs about death and heaven. Someone told me that people refuse to die in the presence of those who love them deeply, that they will linger through endless days of round-the-clock vigilance and die when the one who loves them steps away for just a moment. It was the first I heard of this pattern. The message behind it seemed to be one of comfort for those who went to great lengths to stay close and then somehow missed the actual moment of death.

From what I hear, people believe that those who die are immediately escorted into heaven, that they can observe those who are left behind, that they experience instant healing, and that they are waiting anxiously for us to join them. When push comes to shove, they don't seem to have a very firm belief that anyone they loved would be in any danger of experiencing eternal punishment. Or maybe it's the ones who have such optimistic beliefs who do the most talking, while those who fear for the soul of the dearly departed, speak more of comfort for those left behind.

I don't have a problem with any of these beliefs. I don't know what happens after death. As I wrote in my last post, I'm "betting the farm" on some type of hereafter for those who are followers of Jesus Christ, a life with more than enough joys to compensate for any loss we might experience in this life. By which I mean that I'm not making choices as though this life is all there is. However, I'm not betting anything at all on the literal reality of some sort of eternal punishment. Universalism, the belief that all will be "saved" in the end, doesn't particularly bother me. It simply interests me that it seems to be so firmly rejected by many in regard to those who are living and so much more acceptable in the face of death and grieving. When kindness and compassion are in great need, people tend to view God as more forgiving than at other times. Or maybe those with more orthodox beliefs concerning heaven and hell stand silent while those who aren't afraid to express universalistic views speak up.

In this case, it doesn't really matter because the deceased had made a statement of faith before he died. Everyone present who believes in heaven in any form could rejoice that he had passed from suffering to his eternal reward. And mourn the loss of the good days when he was healthy and active in this life. Death is sad even with a strong belief in a blessed afterlife, simply because of the grief of those who are left behind.

It has been a difficult week and there will be difficult days to come. Belief in an afterlife never quite succeeds in eliminating grief in the face of death.

Postmodernism and Absolute Truth

In his book The Church in Transition: The Journey of Existing Churches into the Emerging Culture Tim Conder lists "seven deadly fears" concerning the emerging forms of worship. The first "deadly fear" is: Postmodernism and the loss of 'truth'. My observation is that Conder was spot on in putting this fear at the top of his list. I have encountered more hand-wringing over this one perceived aspect of postmodernism than any other.

I am postmodern enough to be quite resistant to those who insist that there is absolute truth and that they know what it is. It's not that I don't believe in absolute truth. I actually do. For example, I believe that there is either a divine Creator or there is not. Absolutely. The choices are existence or non-existence, and whichever is true is absolutely true.

So I'm right in there with all the people telling me there is absolute truth. Right up to the point where they present an example of an absolute truth. At that point, they've lost me. How can they be certain that they have discovered the truth? What is their absolutely reliable source for that discovery? Why does their version of absolute truth differ from another person's? Which version is the absolute truth about absolute truth?

In other words, as a postmodern thinker, I (a) absolutely believe in absolute truth; (b) doubt that it's humanly possible to absolutely determine the absolute truth about anything.

The reason so many people involved in organized religion are so afraid of that position is because to accept it would leave them in the position of possibly discovering that there is no truth behind their faith. If there is no God/Allah/Great Spirit/Creator, then all religion is a waste of devotion. If Jesus Christ was not God in flesh, Christianity has no validity.

Many people believe in Jesus Christ as the conveyor of absolute truth about God and man. So do I. Where we differ is that I am aware that I may be completely mistaken. And I'm all right with that. I have looked hard at the possibility and choose to risk being wrong. I'm not the first to figure out that there's less risk in mistakenly believing in a God and in life after death than in mistakenly denying the existence of more than I can see. I choose to believe because I'm capable of believing and have found that believing brings great reward even here and now in terms of joy and peace.

What intrigues me is how the absolute truth advocates sometimes stop short in their faith. They are positive there is a God. They are positive that "God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in him shall not perish but have everlasting life" (John 3:16 KJV)" But I sometimes wonder if they truly believe that God loves them and me and the lesbian couple next door. I wonder if they truly believe that the joys of heaven will overwhelmingly make up for the sorrows of this life. It seems that they are reluctant to step beyond what they "know" and make a choice to believe what seems less obvious to them.

Several "watershed moments" in my life have involved decisions to "bet the farm" on a particular aspect of the Christian faith. For example, there was a moment when I decided to "bet the farm" on "heaven" (or a new earth to be more scripturally accurate). That's not just a head decision, it's a radical lifestyle decision. It allows me to accept less from life with less grief. I do not seek to grab all the gusto in this life as though this is all there is. I may never do the things I have dreamed of doing in my lifetime, but I choose to believe that, in the life to come, I will not regret the things left undone on this earth.

Another "watershed moment" was when I decided to "sign up" for 'Sermon on the Mount' living. You know, turning the other cheek, going the second mile, forgiving those who trespass against me, that sort of thing. The absolute truth people warn me that one mustn't take such teachings too literally, that Christians have to fight for their rights, that we can't just lie down and be doormats. However, I decided to try it. I'm still trying. It turns out that I'm not a very good doormat. I keep finding myself back up on my feet. So I dig in a little deeper, try to lie a little flatter. And it seems to be a quite satisfying way to live in those times when I manage to pull it off.

Yes, I believe in absolute truth. Either (a) believing the teachings of Jesus Christ and incorporating those teachings into one's lifestyle brings abundant and eternal life or (b) it doesn't. Or maybe those teachings have limited value. There's absolute truth somewhere in the spectrum of possibilities. I'm sure that it's there, I just don't know what it is. But -- to bring in one more metaphor -- I'm putting all my eggs into one basket. And things are looking better and better all the time. At this point in my life (49 years and 10 months), I'm ready to say that even if the eternal life part doesn't pan out, the joys of living here and now have more than made up for anything I've sacrificed thus far in the name of Christianity.

Those looking in at postmodernity from the outside seem quite certain that one must be absolutely convinced that Jesus Christ is the only path to God in order to be a committed Christian. But doesn't faith by definition involve choosing to believe what has not been proven? Why would we insist on knowing for sure that our "faith" is not in vain?

My Internal Timekeeper

For 16 years, I was out of the job market, a stay-at-home mom, no employment, no time-cards, no pay. Now I have a part-time job, no immediate supervisor, no time-card, modest pay. I'm finding it difficult to adjust to being employed. At first it was just a few hours a week and I was paid for what I worked. However, a couple of years ago, I moved to a salary and have been trying to raise my total hours per week since then. I'm only aiming for 23 hours a week. It shouldn't be that hard. But it is.

I think I have zeroed in on at least part of the problem: my internal timekeeper. It was developed during all of those busy years of being a full-time mother plus juggling multiple volunteer jobs plus trying to carve out time for personal interests. It operates somewhere below my conscious cognitive processes and has this capability of figuring out exactly how long any particular task will take under pressure.

The "under pressure" part is a key to this. Suppose that I need to prepare for a monthly library board meeting. I could spend hours doing so. I could review past board minutes for outstanding issues. I could work up a fancy agenda. I could send out reminders of the meeting to all of the members. I could write up a detailed report of my activities since the last meeting. I could analyze the statistics to report trends in the library. I could study the financial picture for the library and create charts and graphs. However, my internal timekeeper considers what must absolutely be done in preparation for the meeting and decides that it will take me no longer than an hour of working at maximum efficiency to prepare at some minimum level of adequacy. It then suggests to some subconscious part of my decision-making process that there's no need to start my preparations more than an hour before the meeting.

While all this is going on, the conscious part of my daily planner has decided to start early on my board meeting preparations and get them out of the way. However, other options for investing my time, some important, some not, some urgent, some not, step in and vie for my time. And my internal timekeeper says, "Sure, go ahead and do that. You really only need an hour to get ready for the meeting."

This creates some serious problems for me. That internal timekeeper is concerned only with checking off the most pressing tasks on my to-do list. It has no regard for investing time today in tasks that could be put off until tomorrow or next week or forever. It doesn't care about the whole 23 hours per week goal. It releases me to do actual work "on the clock" only if it determines the tasks I will be doing will be either interesting, important, or urgent. It likes to work under pressure. After all, I'm a much more efficient worker when I have only one hour to do what can be done in an hour but could be stretched to three. If I have three hours before the deadline for that project, I can either take three hours to do it or ignore the approaching deadline until only one hour is left. I find it impossible to do the one hour of work needed three hours ahead of the deadline and then fill those other two hours efficiently.

Something has to change. Now that I have become aware of how my internal timekeeper is undermining my conscious planning efforts, I need to find a way to control it.

Meanwhile, however, I find it fascinating that this ability exists below my conscious level to make a quite accurate assessment of exactly how long a task will take to accomplish at maximum efficiency. Packing for a trip? Three hours without pressure, 20 minutes with. Preparing a Sunday School lesson? Three hours to do dynamically, one hour to do adequately. And at some level, I have determined that the difference between adequate and dynamic is not worth the extra two hours.

Right now I need to be using my one day off this week to accomplish multiple goals. And right now my internal timekeeper is sorting through the deadlines for and importance of those goals and discarding most of them as less interesting, important, or urgent than making this post. It's reducing my to-do list to the bare minimum that must be done today and calculating how much time it will take to do only the bare essentials. While I was counting on accomplishing much in this day at one level, it was looking at my true interests and condensing everything else down to make room for the things that give me the most pleasure right now.

Self-control. I need to take responsibility for my schedule, for my priorities, for how I invest my time. Because what gives me the most pleasure right now is seldom the same thing that will make me feel good about a day at its close. Which means I need to reach down into the realm of my internal timekeeper and break it to my conscious will. I need to get a harness on it and use its surprising skills consciously rather than allowing it to derail my schedule by authorizing procrastination.

I wonder how that is done.