Listening to Modest Mouse, the only thing right now that can slightly jolt me out of the fog of depression. I’ve been trying so hard…
Eating right, sleeping right, trying to draw on every positive coping source that I know of, but the sad reality is that I don’t have much control over the way my body, mind and the changing seasons interact. It is what it is. And I have to wake up each day ready to fight, ready to squeeze some drop of life from my day so that I do not drown.
I’m still conscious of hope. I still am looking forward to the future, but I feel this pervasive tiredness dragging me down.
I can’t wait until June. Meanwhile, I am reading the Psalms. Clinging to every word. I never knew they could be so comforting.
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Friday, January 16, 2009
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
creative simplicity
One of the most awe inspiring aspects of this year has been God’s ongoing provision for us financially. Yet, with gas and food prices rising, I am starting to feel the definite pinch on our budget. It’s incredibly easy to shift into my default position of fear and anxiety and to respond with an increased desire for control. I’m constantly working to let go, relax, stop worrying about what I’m going to eat and wear, and instead let myself trust in God’s goodness and provision.
Living on a tight budget has taught me a lot and made me more conscious of the poor and vulnerable. When I start to feel powerless in light of limited funds and despite my well paying job (ok, so it’s not great, but it’s sufficiently more than minimum wage), I think about the sheer burden of poverty held by so many. Poverty is a prison. It impacts every choice and every decision. It controls movement, nutrition, health, well-being. For many, there just seems to be no escape.
In light of all this, I have been thinking about the difference between poverty and simplicity. On the surface, simplicity seems to be a lifestyle based on empowerment, while poverty seems to strip power. So, recently I have wondered, what’s the relationship between living simply and poverty? How can living simply empower the impoverished? How I can shift my perspective from one of fear, anxiety, and captivity to a life lived in trust, joy and contentment. How can I tap into my limited resources and experience the gracious space and freedom of the Spirit?
It’s so tricky. It’s difficult to explain the difference between living in a spirit of simplicity and feeling trapped by limited resources, but I can certainly feel it. Possibility replaces paralysis. Agency replaces entrapment. When I am living in simplicity and trust, a weight is lifted. I am liberated to be present and feel grateful. There is freedom to use my resources and freedom to accept my material realities/limitations without feeling burdened by them. I am empowered to create instead of consume. So, I get creative about cooking with limited ingredients. I get creative about how to serve people and gift them. I go outside and see color and beauty in creation --- a gift that is open to both rich and poor alike, though the rich often try to make it a commodity.
I believe that the Spirit of God rests with the poor and vulnerable. Anyone who has worked with the poor knows that God gifts the poor with incredible creativity and eyes to see what the privileged often miss. The Spirit’s empowerment and gifts of joy, beauty and creativity liberate the poor from the immediate shackles of daily existence. I love this subversion, and I long to capture more of this power in my life. A life of creative simplicity and trust seems to be the only effective way for me resist the imperialism of wealth, consumerism and privilege. The poor teach me that I need not be wealthy to experience God’s gracious beauty and bounty, and I do the poor a disservice when I do not appreciate and validate the good news of God’s Spirit upon them. They have so much to teach and offer.
I’m rereading Richard Foster’s Freedom of Simplicity. It is an amazing book. I can’t believe he wrote it in the 1970s! It is so relevant to our present time, although I guess more and more this decade is resembling the 1970s. Foster is quick to caution against any prescribed way of living simply. To be clear, I don’t think we should ever glamorize or elevate poverty itself nor should we reject the value of the material goods. I – like so many – desire to increase my wealth, status, and improve my well being. I don’t believe this desire is completely bad. I have hopes and dreams that require mobility and unfortunately money. Living simply, is a complex, varied, and lifelong journey and as Foster says “repudiates easy, dogmatic answers to tough intricate problems.” I wish it could be as easy as give all of your money away! I watched Into the Wild a few weeks ago, and I think this movie/story shows the danger, naivety, and tragedy of such simplistic decisiveness.
So, I’m still wrestling. But in the meantime, I’m seeking to create beauty in the desert, and I am amazed at what I’m discovering as I wait for and trust in God’s provision.
This post is dedicated to my friends:
I’m amazed and inspired by all of you who are artists – official or unofficial. You have used your gifts to give dignity to the poor by letting their lives speak and capturing their beauty and worth, whether in Tanzania, Afghanistan, Haiti, Guatemala, the streets of Seattle, Costa Rica, Kenya, or South Africa. Your commitment has taught me so much and encourages me to seek redemption right here in Texas. Thank you.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
politics of resistance
This might be the saddest day of the presidential campaign for me personally. CNN's Roland Martin is reporting that Obama has sent a letter to Trinity United Church resigning his membership. I respect his decision, but it pains me that it has come to this. I know that such decisions can't be made lightly.
While I am excited about the role faith has played in this election, I am also worried about the increasing blurring of the religious and political spheres on both sides. As I have said before, while I understand the perspective of many of the pastors who have been politically criticized, I also believe these ministers have a responsibility for to speak truth in a way that transmits grace and promotes reconciliation. All to often ministers flaunt their right to speak "truth" without considering this truth in context.
At the same time, I have alarmed by those on the right and the left who have invaded the religious sphere hunting for sermon footage of controversial statements, infiltrating congregations, and twisting entire sermons into inflammatory sound bites. This week I saw Matt Taibbi on the John Stewart show talking about his new book The Great Derangement. Basically Taibbi infiltrated John Haggee's congregation (fundamentalist preacher from Texas) for five months and even went so far as to become a member in order to gain material for his juicy insider book. While I was shocked at the extremity of their practices Tabbi described, I was also deeply disturbed by how unethical it was for Taibbi to exploit the good faith of the church members and leadership by posing as a sincere believer. They should rightly feel betrayed.
People of faith on both sides of the aisle should be alarmed at this type of political aggrandizing, and we should condemn it. While it is appropriate to hold church leaders accountable, we should also stand by the separation of church and state. What our church leaders say should be held to account against the the gospel, not against what is politically expedient or inexpedient. We should repudiate the authority of the Shawn Hannidys or Matt Taibbis to speak about what is appropriate and not appropriate when it comes to expressing the relationship between faith and politics. There is nothing that upsets me more than to hear a Republican strategist express outrage about the "hate speech" coming out of Trinity, while at the same time refusing to acknowledge the legitimacy of racial oppression and injustice that such comments are arising out of.
A comment by a NYT poster responding to the news about Obama demonstrates the tension of faith and politics in this presidential race:
"I have the highest regards for Senator Obama, and understand it was politically expedient to do this, in light of the unfortunate statements some ministers there have made — but I regret his decision: I think the ministers were speaking honestly, though controversially and imperfectly, out of a liberation theology entirely suited to a people whose history has been so painful and so political. These controversies are “teaching moments,” a chance to engage history and truth… "
I mourn the fact that people of faith are not responding with more vigor to these events because the bottom line is that we should be the ones to be providing a balanced critique and a vigorous exploration of faith in context. It is on us to resist the political propagandizing and turn these events into teaching moments. We should also remember that it is not just Obama who is suffering from these events, but rather all the members of Trinity and the larger African American church. Members are scared, paranoid, and worried that there every move is being scrutinized and labeled. Elderly shut in members report getting calls from the media asking how they have been treated by the church.
I know this is nothing new. Members of controversial churches have regularly been exposed to such scrutiny, especially when their leader is regarded as highly controversial and offensive. I'm thinking of my own former, former, church in Seattle, Mars Hill, as an example. However, people of faith should demand that the public and the media explore more carefully, compassionately, and critically the role and work of the church, which is not about the Republican or Democratic agenda but rather about the work of the gospel.
I'm not suggesting that the gospel doesn't have political implications. In some cases, it is entirely appropriate to address these implications within the church. However, I think people of faith should vigurously resist the politicization of the church by both the right and the left, and we should do so publically.
While I am excited about the role faith has played in this election, I am also worried about the increasing blurring of the religious and political spheres on both sides. As I have said before, while I understand the perspective of many of the pastors who have been politically criticized, I also believe these ministers have a responsibility for to speak truth in a way that transmits grace and promotes reconciliation. All to often ministers flaunt their right to speak "truth" without considering this truth in context.
At the same time, I have alarmed by those on the right and the left who have invaded the religious sphere hunting for sermon footage of controversial statements, infiltrating congregations, and twisting entire sermons into inflammatory sound bites. This week I saw Matt Taibbi on the John Stewart show talking about his new book The Great Derangement. Basically Taibbi infiltrated John Haggee's congregation (fundamentalist preacher from Texas) for five months and even went so far as to become a member in order to gain material for his juicy insider book. While I was shocked at the extremity of their practices Tabbi described, I was also deeply disturbed by how unethical it was for Taibbi to exploit the good faith of the church members and leadership by posing as a sincere believer. They should rightly feel betrayed.
People of faith on both sides of the aisle should be alarmed at this type of political aggrandizing, and we should condemn it. While it is appropriate to hold church leaders accountable, we should also stand by the separation of church and state. What our church leaders say should be held to account against the the gospel, not against what is politically expedient or inexpedient. We should repudiate the authority of the Shawn Hannidys or Matt Taibbis to speak about what is appropriate and not appropriate when it comes to expressing the relationship between faith and politics. There is nothing that upsets me more than to hear a Republican strategist express outrage about the "hate speech" coming out of Trinity, while at the same time refusing to acknowledge the legitimacy of racial oppression and injustice that such comments are arising out of.
A comment by a NYT poster responding to the news about Obama demonstrates the tension of faith and politics in this presidential race:
"I have the highest regards for Senator Obama, and understand it was politically expedient to do this, in light of the unfortunate statements some ministers there have made — but I regret his decision: I think the ministers were speaking honestly, though controversially and imperfectly, out of a liberation theology entirely suited to a people whose history has been so painful and so political. These controversies are “teaching moments,” a chance to engage history and truth… "
I mourn the fact that people of faith are not responding with more vigor to these events because the bottom line is that we should be the ones to be providing a balanced critique and a vigorous exploration of faith in context. It is on us to resist the political propagandizing and turn these events into teaching moments. We should also remember that it is not just Obama who is suffering from these events, but rather all the members of Trinity and the larger African American church. Members are scared, paranoid, and worried that there every move is being scrutinized and labeled. Elderly shut in members report getting calls from the media asking how they have been treated by the church.
I know this is nothing new. Members of controversial churches have regularly been exposed to such scrutiny, especially when their leader is regarded as highly controversial and offensive. I'm thinking of my own former, former, church in Seattle, Mars Hill, as an example. However, people of faith should demand that the public and the media explore more carefully, compassionately, and critically the role and work of the church, which is not about the Republican or Democratic agenda but rather about the work of the gospel.
I'm not suggesting that the gospel doesn't have political implications. In some cases, it is entirely appropriate to address these implications within the church. However, I think people of faith should vigurously resist the politicization of the church by both the right and the left, and we should do so publically.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
a purity ball
Dancing the Night Away, With a Higher Purpose - New York Times
The article itself is enough to make my stomach turn. Anyone familiar with the Christian sex cult will probably be familiar with the terminology and premise of the "purity ball." To be fair, there are some valid points, and I trust that the intentions are good, though perhaps a bit disconnected from the more complex realities of sex and the soul. Because of my own history and background, the rhetoric will always strike a raw never with me: I pledge "before God to cover my daughter as her authority and protection in the area of purity.” Psychoanalysis aside, I realize that there are many different opinions on this issue depending on which perspective you come from. Some will read this article and find comfort in it. They will see it as an affirmation of a system of truth and God's design for humanity. Some will read this article and feel outrage because it seems a cultural perversion and colonization of the gospel. Others with no religious background or a complicated background will read archaic systems of patriarchy and sexism at the core of the "purity" campaign, and feel anger or sorrow at the messages it transmits to both women and men. Others will nostalgically long for things to be so simple.
I could talk about this article for hours, but the picture slide show is what really caught my attention. Pictures speak louder than words. What "system" or "culture" is the purity ball trying to transmit? It seems to me based on the pictures that it is transmitting a fairy tale vision hearkening back to a bygone era that was based on chivalry, where princesses where rescued, guarded, and protected by princes, knights, and kings: men who would fight for them. Now, the question is --- did such a time really ever exist --- and even so, wouldn't it be bizarre to hold such a culture up as a biblical model when it is clearly based on the western modern tradition?
Then of course, we have all the purity symbols: laying a "white" rose at the cross, "white" ballerinas dancing around a cross, and I guess "princess" attire now qualifies as one too. Probably at some point, this all would have made sense to me, but now looking in as an outsider, this just feels extremely creepy! I guess I just wish that those on the inside could understand a bit what it looks like from the outside.
More than a purity ball, I just wish parents and children could have open, real, honest discussion about sex and God in an integrated way that connects to the here and now --- not some fantasy realm. It seems like this is what is really needed because when it comes to sex most teenagers and young adults (religious or not) are really confused. When you actually look at the data, this generation longs to bring together sex and the soul, but they often struggle in reconciling these two spheres. What is clear is that while things like the purity ball can offer some forms of integration, it comes at a high price that often results in extreme feelings of shame and inadequacy when people feel like they somehow violated their "purity." Even more alarming is that this burden disproportionally falls on women who are taught to view themselves as guardians or gatekeepers in the purity battle. Unfortunately, the real causality of this battle most often is meaningful participation in a faith community and relationship with God. This is something that should cause all people of faith to pause and assess the real impact of purity ideology.
The article itself is enough to make my stomach turn. Anyone familiar with the Christian sex cult will probably be familiar with the terminology and premise of the "purity ball." To be fair, there are some valid points, and I trust that the intentions are good, though perhaps a bit disconnected from the more complex realities of sex and the soul. Because of my own history and background, the rhetoric will always strike a raw never with me: I pledge "before God to cover my daughter as her authority and protection in the area of purity.” Psychoanalysis aside, I realize that there are many different opinions on this issue depending on which perspective you come from. Some will read this article and find comfort in it. They will see it as an affirmation of a system of truth and God's design for humanity. Some will read this article and feel outrage because it seems a cultural perversion and colonization of the gospel. Others with no religious background or a complicated background will read archaic systems of patriarchy and sexism at the core of the "purity" campaign, and feel anger or sorrow at the messages it transmits to both women and men. Others will nostalgically long for things to be so simple.
I could talk about this article for hours, but the picture slide show is what really caught my attention. Pictures speak louder than words. What "system" or "culture" is the purity ball trying to transmit? It seems to me based on the pictures that it is transmitting a fairy tale vision hearkening back to a bygone era that was based on chivalry, where princesses where rescued, guarded, and protected by princes, knights, and kings: men who would fight for them. Now, the question is --- did such a time really ever exist --- and even so, wouldn't it be bizarre to hold such a culture up as a biblical model when it is clearly based on the western modern tradition?
Then of course, we have all the purity symbols: laying a "white" rose at the cross, "white" ballerinas dancing around a cross, and I guess "princess" attire now qualifies as one too. Probably at some point, this all would have made sense to me, but now looking in as an outsider, this just feels extremely creepy! I guess I just wish that those on the inside could understand a bit what it looks like from the outside.
More than a purity ball, I just wish parents and children could have open, real, honest discussion about sex and God in an integrated way that connects to the here and now --- not some fantasy realm. It seems like this is what is really needed because when it comes to sex most teenagers and young adults (religious or not) are really confused. When you actually look at the data, this generation longs to bring together sex and the soul, but they often struggle in reconciling these two spheres. What is clear is that while things like the purity ball can offer some forms of integration, it comes at a high price that often results in extreme feelings of shame and inadequacy when people feel like they somehow violated their "purity." Even more alarming is that this burden disproportionally falls on women who are taught to view themselves as guardians or gatekeepers in the purity battle. Unfortunately, the real causality of this battle most often is meaningful participation in a faith community and relationship with God. This is something that should cause all people of faith to pause and assess the real impact of purity ideology.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
i do not swear
News this morning is that Blackwater is off the hook as the State Department renewed its contract with them and no formal charges has been brought against the guards responsible for the Baghdad massacre in September. Read the full article here.
This is abhorrent, despicable, outrageous.
As the NYT article points out, this lack of accountability and justice is in part based on our reliance on outside military contractors to protect US interests. This is very worrisome: justice is sacrificed for both utility and profit.
Six years into the "War on Terror," we have yet to see justice and responsibility taken for US policies of torture, massacre of innocent civilians by US contractors, and CIA extraordinary renditions aka "torture by proxy."
What right to I have to lobby my own government to intervene to stop human rights abuses in Zimbabwe and Sudan when we ourselves practice such things? What moral authority do we have as citizens to speak out against terror and torture?
Nevertheless, I speak out because I believe in the dignity of the human person. I speak out because I believe that we must hold governments accountable to the care of their citizens. I speak out because I believe in God's call to care for one another. But let me be clear: I do not pledge allegience to the United States.
This is abhorrent, despicable, outrageous.
As the NYT article points out, this lack of accountability and justice is in part based on our reliance on outside military contractors to protect US interests. This is very worrisome: justice is sacrificed for both utility and profit.
Six years into the "War on Terror," we have yet to see justice and responsibility taken for US policies of torture, massacre of innocent civilians by US contractors, and CIA extraordinary renditions aka "torture by proxy."
What right to I have to lobby my own government to intervene to stop human rights abuses in Zimbabwe and Sudan when we ourselves practice such things? What moral authority do we have as citizens to speak out against terror and torture?
Nevertheless, I speak out because I believe in the dignity of the human person. I speak out because I believe that we must hold governments accountable to the care of their citizens. I speak out because I believe in God's call to care for one another. But let me be clear: I do not pledge allegience to the United States.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Wright, Obama, faith, and politics
I have been home sick with the flu for the last few days, but I am finally reengaging with the world --- this means catching up on blogs, emails, and news stories. As a proud Barack Obama supporter who readily admits that my theology is often in tension with my politics, I am deeply troubled by the continuation of the Jeremiah Wright controversy.
Now, I defended both Wright and Obama in the wake of the initial “scandal.” I have enough knowledge and experience of the black church tradition and liberation theology to know exactly where Wright was coming from, and I couldn’t stand how the American public was acting as if it had become sacrilegious to even question or critique America’s relationship to 9/11. Most (white) people I talked to didn’t have any clue what Wright really said or the context he was speaking out of. They just bought hook, line, and sinker that he was a racist unpatriotic loud bombastic black preacher.
As I talked with other white people, I heard fears expressed out loud that Obama was a racist and a closet black nationalist who somehow was going to overturn everything in favor of African-Americans as president. I couldn’t believe the outrageous things I was hearing expressed so reasonably by my white educated counterparts.
Intuitively, it makes no sense to me that Obama would be a closet black power nationalist, but that doesn’t matter. White fear is alive and well. Then came Obama’s fantastic and historic speech on race! I couldn’t imagine someone handling that situation with more brilliance, gentleness, and grace. Obama called America towards healing and reconciliation while affirming black and white communities. In an extraordinary act of courage and love, Obama did not reject the person who baptized him and married him, though he defined their differences. At the same time, he did sympathize with the fears and wounds of both black and white America. He spoke with purpose, integrity and insight.
But things kept getting worse…
After watching the new blitz of media coverage on Rev. Wright I feel sad and confused.
1) I think Rev. Wright's defense of the black prophetic faith tradition is justified. I initially felt excited about this opportunity for the general American public to really wrestle with issues of faith and race. When it comes to the body of Wright's message in front of the NAACP and the National Press Club, I totally agree with most of what he says. And I do believe that he deserved a chance to offer the American public a fuller picture of himself.
2) However, I was very disappointed and saddened by his delivery and timing. Even if Wright spoke truth, the way that he delivered it was arrogant, sarcastic, and unfortunately will have turned many people off.
In the long run, this will hurt Obama. This situation is not just particular to Wright. I have seen a lot of pastors gifted with a sharp tongue cross the line when expressing “truth.” As they descend to defensive posturing, arrogance, and sarcasm, there is irreconcilable damage.
I think this whole situation is fascinating in that it’s calling to light the tension between faith and politics and the different standards of accountability each holds. But I am also reminded of Jesus’ admonition to be as wise as serpents and as gentle as doves.
I’m saddened that I do not see more wisdom, humility and gentleness on display by Rev. Wright. I do not doubt for a minute that he is a man of faith who is deeply concerned about justice and reconciliation. But I think that in this instance the shadow of pride looms a little too large.
At the same time, I'm equally saddened by the deeply personal nature of this situation. I can't imagine being in the position where I had to nationally and publically denounce a spiritual mentor. Because Obama is running for political office, this decision is inherently political. Obama doesn't have the luxery of approaching this situation from a faith perspective and as a church member, though I'm sure internally there has been much more turmoil than we might think. I say this becuase of Obama's initial hesitancy to distance himself from Wright was clearly based out of concern, care, and respect for the Reverand. I see why Obama responded the way he did, and I see no other way. Yet, I still mourn the viscous cycle of politics that divides and seperates. Running for public office comes with costs that I could never accept.
Obama's response to Rev. Wright's remarks.
Wright as Prophet --- but which one?
A Long Increasingly Strained Road for Obama and Wright
Now, I defended both Wright and Obama in the wake of the initial “scandal.” I have enough knowledge and experience of the black church tradition and liberation theology to know exactly where Wright was coming from, and I couldn’t stand how the American public was acting as if it had become sacrilegious to even question or critique America’s relationship to 9/11. Most (white) people I talked to didn’t have any clue what Wright really said or the context he was speaking out of. They just bought hook, line, and sinker that he was a racist unpatriotic loud bombastic black preacher.
As I talked with other white people, I heard fears expressed out loud that Obama was a racist and a closet black nationalist who somehow was going to overturn everything in favor of African-Americans as president. I couldn’t believe the outrageous things I was hearing expressed so reasonably by my white educated counterparts.
Intuitively, it makes no sense to me that Obama would be a closet black power nationalist, but that doesn’t matter. White fear is alive and well. Then came Obama’s fantastic and historic speech on race! I couldn’t imagine someone handling that situation with more brilliance, gentleness, and grace. Obama called America towards healing and reconciliation while affirming black and white communities. In an extraordinary act of courage and love, Obama did not reject the person who baptized him and married him, though he defined their differences. At the same time, he did sympathize with the fears and wounds of both black and white America. He spoke with purpose, integrity and insight.
But things kept getting worse…
After watching the new blitz of media coverage on Rev. Wright I feel sad and confused.
1) I think Rev. Wright's defense of the black prophetic faith tradition is justified. I initially felt excited about this opportunity for the general American public to really wrestle with issues of faith and race. When it comes to the body of Wright's message in front of the NAACP and the National Press Club, I totally agree with most of what he says. And I do believe that he deserved a chance to offer the American public a fuller picture of himself.
2) However, I was very disappointed and saddened by his delivery and timing. Even if Wright spoke truth, the way that he delivered it was arrogant, sarcastic, and unfortunately will have turned many people off.
In the long run, this will hurt Obama. This situation is not just particular to Wright. I have seen a lot of pastors gifted with a sharp tongue cross the line when expressing “truth.” As they descend to defensive posturing, arrogance, and sarcasm, there is irreconcilable damage.
I think this whole situation is fascinating in that it’s calling to light the tension between faith and politics and the different standards of accountability each holds. But I am also reminded of Jesus’ admonition to be as wise as serpents and as gentle as doves.
I’m saddened that I do not see more wisdom, humility and gentleness on display by Rev. Wright. I do not doubt for a minute that he is a man of faith who is deeply concerned about justice and reconciliation. But I think that in this instance the shadow of pride looms a little too large.
At the same time, I'm equally saddened by the deeply personal nature of this situation. I can't imagine being in the position where I had to nationally and publically denounce a spiritual mentor. Because Obama is running for political office, this decision is inherently political. Obama doesn't have the luxery of approaching this situation from a faith perspective and as a church member, though I'm sure internally there has been much more turmoil than we might think. I say this becuase of Obama's initial hesitancy to distance himself from Wright was clearly based out of concern, care, and respect for the Reverand. I see why Obama responded the way he did, and I see no other way. Yet, I still mourn the viscous cycle of politics that divides and seperates. Running for public office comes with costs that I could never accept.
Obama's response to Rev. Wright's remarks.
Wright as Prophet --- but which one?
A Long Increasingly Strained Road for Obama and Wright
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
churches fear Zimbabwe 'genocide'
BBC NEWS Africa Churches fear Zimbabwe 'genocide'
This is getting more serious by the day.
Also, if you want a real sense of the violence and torture that is happening on the ground, visit the blog: This is Zimbabwe.
This is getting more serious by the day.
Also, if you want a real sense of the violence and torture that is happening on the ground, visit the blog: This is Zimbabwe.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
the audacity to hope
I read an article last week that was discussing the dichotomy in our society between “passionate authenticity” and medicated happiness. On one hand, our society prizes authenticity and defines authenticity as unrestrained, deep, “passionate” emotion. Most importantly, we attach this passionate authenticity with a prophet-artist, who has the ability to see – and feel – beyond the mundane layers of life, revealing what is below the surface. On the other hand, we feel that if we can't possess this passionate authenticity, the next best step is medicated happiness, artificially induced.
This prizing of passionate authenticity gets complicated when dealing with depression. On one hand the prophet-artists argue that this is a necessary part of experiencing all dimensions of life and bears an intrinsic relationship to creativity and ecstasy. On the other hand, the medical community has argued that this is a false system of thinking that debilitates individuals by preventing them from accepting the help they need, especially through medication. The author of the article wonders if there is somehow a third way…something other than using “passionate authenticity” or medicated happiness as the measure of wholeness.
I’m reflecting on all of this as I sit in my parent’s house in Leavenworth with a pot of tea and snow falling gently outside. I’m not sure I totally buy this argument – or rather I’m left dissatisfied with the author who outlines these two poles, shows the problem with each, and then leaves the reader without any clue as to what this third way might be practically in the here and now.
Whatever the case, I had a conversation with a friend yesterday and we were discussing depression, pain, addiction, identity. I remember coming to a point last year where I realized that on some level, I was resisting healing, forgiveness, integration because I was holding onto pain (and victimization) as a core part of my identity. For so long, pain felt like the most “real” and “raw” emotion that I had, and I was encouraged to tap into that. I think that process was important, but at some point a subtle and seductive myth takes over – and that is that pain defines us. We need it as part of our identity.
I think this myth is all the more seductive by the relationship we draw in our society between pain and creativity or life-force. Most critically popular art right now is prized for its authentic representations of pain, suffering, and victimization. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve been equally drawn to this type of art. I’m inclined to believe that as humans we need these representations to help us recognize the suffering of the “other” in our own suffering, to draw humanity together, and to help humans come to terms with a broken world.
But I guess recently, I’ve been questioning all this once again as I've realized my desire to hold onto darkness as if it is the only true and fixed thing I know about myself is still alive. This notion of self can be intimately tied to Christian notions of sin – original sin – and it fits nicely with systems that emphasis the persistent and constant presence of evil, darkness, suffering in the world. It also fits in well with secular versions that see existence as nothing but raw struggle and pain as essentially part of our existence.
But the question again is: does pain define us, individually and collectively? I really don’t think this essentialist position is consistent with Christianity. While we have pain – and suffering, evil, injustice is present in the world – our faith teaches us that this is not the beginning. The source of our identity does not begin in pain. It begins in the goodness and beauty of God. It's important to note also that creativity does not begin with pain. It begins in the act of giving life and light piercing the darkness.
Pain does bind humans together. However, we should not confuse this as categorically defining humanity nor should we prize pain for this quality. This creates grievous glamorizations of pain, suffering and violence – often instigated by those who claim that this is the most “authentic” mode of human life. More defining it seems is our response to pain – our own or others – with compassion, with a reaffirmation of life, with healing, with justice. This reaffirms the reality of goodness that is at the core of all things.
So where does all this leave me? Free to let go of the need to prize darkness as the most “authentic” or “real” part of myself. Doing so releases the power pain holds over me and breaks its seductive myth. And something strange happens. Far from taking something essentially me away, I discover a deeper sense of self. Free from the power of pain, I can question and imagine different possibilities for myself and the world as I journey prayerfully towards hope, life, and light without denying the presence of pain in my life. I can affirm healing, redemption, and forgiveness. I can also take Zoloft without feeling guilty or ashamed.
The Scriptures speak of the end of time and the revelation of true reality not as being characterized by violence, pain and suffering as some gleefully imagine, but as a place where every tear will be wiped away, where swords will be beaten into plough shares, and humanity will live joyfully in the light nourished and sustained by love. Nations will be healed. Wars will cease. Disease will be no more. Our challenges today is to live out this vision prophetically, to affirm this vision in the here and now, and to believe in it as defining, ultimately the first and last word of all of human history and of our lives.
I admit that this is sometimes hard for me to swallow. I’m suspicious of any narrative that proposes deliverance from pain and suffering because it seems irrelevant and dangerous in a world of pain and suffering. But the path of faith is to embrace this as reality as we question our own. Doing so – at the very least - breaks the seductive myth and endless cycle of pain and violence. Breaking this myth doesn’t remove pain in the here and now. It just helps us see it more clearly by destroying its power. It helps us see it as something we have agency in response to and calls us to work and walk towards peace, justice, life, healing, and hope. For lack of better analogy, faith puts pain and hope on an equal playing field and asks us to choose what is more compelling, what will have the most enduring claim on us and our world. Faith forces confrontation with the most enduring forces of human life: dignity and depravity and prompts us to choose the final word. Perhaps the “third way” is recognizing that both forces our present in our world and within our own self. Both the narrative of pain and the narrative of hope in some way shape and define us, and yet the question today and every day is what will we hold onto as enduring and what will we release as myth? What narrative will we decide has claim on us, our world, our families, and our relationships, and which claims will we resist?
This prizing of passionate authenticity gets complicated when dealing with depression. On one hand the prophet-artists argue that this is a necessary part of experiencing all dimensions of life and bears an intrinsic relationship to creativity and ecstasy. On the other hand, the medical community has argued that this is a false system of thinking that debilitates individuals by preventing them from accepting the help they need, especially through medication. The author of the article wonders if there is somehow a third way…something other than using “passionate authenticity” or medicated happiness as the measure of wholeness.
I’m reflecting on all of this as I sit in my parent’s house in Leavenworth with a pot of tea and snow falling gently outside. I’m not sure I totally buy this argument – or rather I’m left dissatisfied with the author who outlines these two poles, shows the problem with each, and then leaves the reader without any clue as to what this third way might be practically in the here and now.
Whatever the case, I had a conversation with a friend yesterday and we were discussing depression, pain, addiction, identity. I remember coming to a point last year where I realized that on some level, I was resisting healing, forgiveness, integration because I was holding onto pain (and victimization) as a core part of my identity. For so long, pain felt like the most “real” and “raw” emotion that I had, and I was encouraged to tap into that. I think that process was important, but at some point a subtle and seductive myth takes over – and that is that pain defines us. We need it as part of our identity.
I think this myth is all the more seductive by the relationship we draw in our society between pain and creativity or life-force. Most critically popular art right now is prized for its authentic representations of pain, suffering, and victimization. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve been equally drawn to this type of art. I’m inclined to believe that as humans we need these representations to help us recognize the suffering of the “other” in our own suffering, to draw humanity together, and to help humans come to terms with a broken world.
But I guess recently, I’ve been questioning all this once again as I've realized my desire to hold onto darkness as if it is the only true and fixed thing I know about myself is still alive. This notion of self can be intimately tied to Christian notions of sin – original sin – and it fits nicely with systems that emphasis the persistent and constant presence of evil, darkness, suffering in the world. It also fits in well with secular versions that see existence as nothing but raw struggle and pain as essentially part of our existence.
But the question again is: does pain define us, individually and collectively? I really don’t think this essentialist position is consistent with Christianity. While we have pain – and suffering, evil, injustice is present in the world – our faith teaches us that this is not the beginning. The source of our identity does not begin in pain. It begins in the goodness and beauty of God. It's important to note also that creativity does not begin with pain. It begins in the act of giving life and light piercing the darkness.
Pain does bind humans together. However, we should not confuse this as categorically defining humanity nor should we prize pain for this quality. This creates grievous glamorizations of pain, suffering and violence – often instigated by those who claim that this is the most “authentic” mode of human life. More defining it seems is our response to pain – our own or others – with compassion, with a reaffirmation of life, with healing, with justice. This reaffirms the reality of goodness that is at the core of all things.
So where does all this leave me? Free to let go of the need to prize darkness as the most “authentic” or “real” part of myself. Doing so releases the power pain holds over me and breaks its seductive myth. And something strange happens. Far from taking something essentially me away, I discover a deeper sense of self. Free from the power of pain, I can question and imagine different possibilities for myself and the world as I journey prayerfully towards hope, life, and light without denying the presence of pain in my life. I can affirm healing, redemption, and forgiveness. I can also take Zoloft without feeling guilty or ashamed.
The Scriptures speak of the end of time and the revelation of true reality not as being characterized by violence, pain and suffering as some gleefully imagine, but as a place where every tear will be wiped away, where swords will be beaten into plough shares, and humanity will live joyfully in the light nourished and sustained by love. Nations will be healed. Wars will cease. Disease will be no more. Our challenges today is to live out this vision prophetically, to affirm this vision in the here and now, and to believe in it as defining, ultimately the first and last word of all of human history and of our lives.
I admit that this is sometimes hard for me to swallow. I’m suspicious of any narrative that proposes deliverance from pain and suffering because it seems irrelevant and dangerous in a world of pain and suffering. But the path of faith is to embrace this as reality as we question our own. Doing so – at the very least - breaks the seductive myth and endless cycle of pain and violence. Breaking this myth doesn’t remove pain in the here and now. It just helps us see it more clearly by destroying its power. It helps us see it as something we have agency in response to and calls us to work and walk towards peace, justice, life, healing, and hope. For lack of better analogy, faith puts pain and hope on an equal playing field and asks us to choose what is more compelling, what will have the most enduring claim on us and our world. Faith forces confrontation with the most enduring forces of human life: dignity and depravity and prompts us to choose the final word. Perhaps the “third way” is recognizing that both forces our present in our world and within our own self. Both the narrative of pain and the narrative of hope in some way shape and define us, and yet the question today and every day is what will we hold onto as enduring and what will we release as myth? What narrative will we decide has claim on us, our world, our families, and our relationships, and which claims will we resist?
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