I know that I have life
only insofar as I have love.
I have no love
except it come from Thee.
Help me, please, to carry
this candle against the wind.
-- Wendell Berry
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Glimpses of the Kingdom
I remember several years ago, in the early 90s, when I was hanging out with a bunch of people from my former church, a few who were theologians. Up until this point, I was going along in my faith, stuck in a theology that wasn't really working for me anymore. I'd been questioning for a long time....I think I emerged from the womb questioning. I remember when I was about 6 or 7, asking my mother: "How do we know the Bible is true?" My poor mom. She never really knew how to deal with me, and the question probably shocked her a little. She answered: "Well, we just KNOW...!" I remember her hard emphasis on the word "Know" -- I can still hear it 35 years later. Maybe for my mother she did "know" in her own way. She had been through enough in life at that point that maybe her experience of God brought her a confidence that yes, it's real. We can trust it.
But to my 7 year old soul, that response probably appeased me for about 5 seconds. It also taught me that there was something wrong with me. That maybe I shouldn't question. That I should just go along and BELIEVE.
Well, obviously that didn't work. I had questions. I had doubts. And for most of my childhood I stuffed them down into my tender, young soul. There was nowhere else to put them. And then when I turned 30 I started spending $100 a session spilling them to my therapist.
But there have been a few people along the way who have created a safe space for my doubts. And a new way of looking at faith. And let me know that my questioning was okay. And that not having hard, simple, answers is actually a good thing. An "aha" moment for me was when I realized that faith isn't about answers -- it's about mystery. And when I embraced that mystery is when my faith started to emerge again, like the tiny green crocus plants in front of our condo that poke up through the snow in March.
Another "aha" moment was in the early 90s when my theologian friends started saying that the Kingdom of God is here. Now. Right now. Here. Really? NOOO! It's in the future, I tried to tell them. You know -- when were all raptured. Right now we're just biding our time. Waiting. Until the future, you know.
But slowing I started getting that yes, the Kingdom is here. Maybe not in all of its fullness, when everything will be made right. But God is doing something here, now, to heal our souls and to give us glimpses of how things can be made right. It's Now, Not Yet (thus the title of this blog).
Richard Rohr writes:
"Jesus clearly says the kingdom of heaven is among us (Luke 17:21) or 'at hand' (Matthew 3:2, 4:17). One wonders why we made it into a reward system for later, or as someone called it, 'a divine evacuation plan' from this world. Maybe it was easier to obey laws and practice rituals for later reward than to actually be transformed now."
I've been humbled recently at the privilege of getting to participate in seeing other people start understanding this message that the Kingdom is here -- now, and you can be transformed. There is hope!
Last fall David and I attended The Beloved Retreat. This year, I was asked to help be a part of the team that leads it. And I saw glimpses of the Kingdom. The NOW part of the "Now, not yet."
So we met at the Seminary at St. Mary's by the Lake in Mundelein, Illinois. I saw lives transformed. I saw people finally understanding that Christ came so that we might have life, and have it more abundantly. I was reminded once again that in order to have that life, we need to let go of some things that aren't working anymore. I saw salvation happening. Oh my gosh -- what an exciting thing.
On Sunday morning that weekend, I got up early and walked to the lake. It was so quiet. The sun was coming up. I was freezing. The lake was frozen and Canadian geese were honking quietly, or roosting on the ice with their beaks tucked into their wings to keep warm. I saw a 6-point buck lazily wandering off into the trees. I waited for the sun. And waited. And waited. It felt like it was taking forever and I almost gave up and walked back to my dorm room to get warm. But the colors in the sky kept changing, and I was mesmerized. Often, I've discovered, the colors of the sky just before sunrise or sunset are more beautiful than the colors of the actual event. Maybe the same is true when we're waiting for Christ to come. In the "now" we can be mesmerized at the beauty of the transforming sky, and our transforming lives.
But to my 7 year old soul, that response probably appeased me for about 5 seconds. It also taught me that there was something wrong with me. That maybe I shouldn't question. That I should just go along and BELIEVE.
Well, obviously that didn't work. I had questions. I had doubts. And for most of my childhood I stuffed them down into my tender, young soul. There was nowhere else to put them. And then when I turned 30 I started spending $100 a session spilling them to my therapist.
But there have been a few people along the way who have created a safe space for my doubts. And a new way of looking at faith. And let me know that my questioning was okay. And that not having hard, simple, answers is actually a good thing. An "aha" moment for me was when I realized that faith isn't about answers -- it's about mystery. And when I embraced that mystery is when my faith started to emerge again, like the tiny green crocus plants in front of our condo that poke up through the snow in March.
Another "aha" moment was in the early 90s when my theologian friends started saying that the Kingdom of God is here. Now. Right now. Here. Really? NOOO! It's in the future, I tried to tell them. You know -- when were all raptured. Right now we're just biding our time. Waiting. Until the future, you know.
But slowing I started getting that yes, the Kingdom is here. Maybe not in all of its fullness, when everything will be made right. But God is doing something here, now, to heal our souls and to give us glimpses of how things can be made right. It's Now, Not Yet (thus the title of this blog).
Richard Rohr writes:
"Jesus clearly says the kingdom of heaven is among us (Luke 17:21) or 'at hand' (Matthew 3:2, 4:17). One wonders why we made it into a reward system for later, or as someone called it, 'a divine evacuation plan' from this world. Maybe it was easier to obey laws and practice rituals for later reward than to actually be transformed now."
I've been humbled recently at the privilege of getting to participate in seeing other people start understanding this message that the Kingdom is here -- now, and you can be transformed. There is hope!
Last fall David and I attended The Beloved Retreat. This year, I was asked to help be a part of the team that leads it. And I saw glimpses of the Kingdom. The NOW part of the "Now, not yet."
So we met at the Seminary at St. Mary's by the Lake in Mundelein, Illinois. I saw lives transformed. I saw people finally understanding that Christ came so that we might have life, and have it more abundantly. I was reminded once again that in order to have that life, we need to let go of some things that aren't working anymore. I saw salvation happening. Oh my gosh -- what an exciting thing.
On Sunday morning that weekend, I got up early and walked to the lake. It was so quiet. The sun was coming up. I was freezing. The lake was frozen and Canadian geese were honking quietly, or roosting on the ice with their beaks tucked into their wings to keep warm. I saw a 6-point buck lazily wandering off into the trees. I waited for the sun. And waited. And waited. It felt like it was taking forever and I almost gave up and walked back to my dorm room to get warm. But the colors in the sky kept changing, and I was mesmerized. Often, I've discovered, the colors of the sky just before sunrise or sunset are more beautiful than the colors of the actual event. Maybe the same is true when we're waiting for Christ to come. In the "now" we can be mesmerized at the beauty of the transforming sky, and our transforming lives.
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