Cherish Small Things

I’m on my back porch. The sun resembles a fading orange ember. Leaves the size of my hand drop from an old tree and appear to swim in the air as they float to the ground. The wind carries the leaves for an instant and releases them. They fall with a soft touch, landing near my feet, which themselves swim in golden late-day light.

I recline in a rocker and I think about the New Year, 2013, and what changes I might want to make to improve the quality of my life. Slowing down would be a good move. As Mahatma Ghandi said: “There is more to life than simply increasing its speed.”

As I watch the falling leaves and the ebbing sun I am suddenly hit by a thought: Slow down and cherish the small things. In 2013, appreciate the little things a little more. Appreciate things like a falling leaf or the last ray of a sinking sun. It’s like the philosopher Bertrand Russell remarked, “In all affairs it’s a healthy thing now and then to hang a question mark on the things you have long taken for granted.”

I don’t know if it’s true for you, but when I “hang a question mark on things I have taken for granted,” especially the little things, life becomes more robust, more colorful and meaningful. As the Christian poet Khalil Gibran wrote, “For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.”

I continue to watch the dropping leaves. They descend like falling yellow stars. The air is crisp and I feel the coolness in my lungs. Slow down and cherish the small things, I tell myself. Like the sound of my wife and son talking in the warm kitchen. Like the Carolina wren strutting on the top of the Confederate jasmine. Like the feel of my dog as I pet her soft black head.

I wonder why I take the little things for granted, even though they pop with beauty? I wonder why Ovid wrote: “Little things please little minds.” The great poet could not have been referring to a small thing such as a Monarch butterfly that just fluttered past my face heading south.

No matter the opinion of a dead poet. In 2013 I will intentionally cherish the little things. Like my family’s good health. Meaningful work. Surfing. The laughter of friends. Great books. The sound of Christmas music drifting through an open window in my house.

I once read a novelist who wrote, “Half the joy of life is in little things taken on the run.” I think this is true. The only problem is that when we’re running we rarely pause to appreciate the little things. To appreciate the little things you and I must slow down. Slow way down. After all, you can’t smell a rose if you’re sprinting to and fro.

The Mystery

The mystery is all around us. We live and breathe and have our being in the mystery. We do our best to pin the mystery down. We do our best to name it, tame it, and frame it according to our likes and dislikes. We make the mystery conform to our agendas, politics, theologies, and ideologies. But the mystery subverts them all.

The mystery is sitting with you now. No matter where you are--the U. S, Poland, somewhere in the "Middle East." The mystery is for you even if everyone else and everything else is against you. The mystery loves you because the mystery is itself love. 

Christmas Doesn't Come from a Store

Whatever our faith or beliefs about Christmas, many of us are entering a season of gift-giving (whether the Shi’a Muslim holy day of Ashura, Christmas, Hanukkah, or the Buddhist celebration of Bodhi Day). Within the Christian tradition, the idea of giving gifts comes from a story in the New Testament. The story details how wise men visited the infant Jesus and offered gifts. It’s always beautiful to me how the Christmas season inspires people to offer gifts of kindness. Generosity is heard as bell-ringers remind us of the needy and coins drop into shiny red buckets. Smiles are more abundant in grocery store check-out lines. But during the Christmas season, it is no less fascinating to witness the onslaught of consumerism. Why does a holy day — such as Christmas — inspire so many millions to spend more money on presents than on gifts to charity? I mean, it’s not like Jesus is a poster child for materialism. As I recall, he does say, “Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.”Oh, I know, I shouldn’t be such a stick in the mud. It’s just people having fun. It’s just presents.

Of course, I understand that we shop till we drop to demonstrate our love for other people. I know that we have taken the idea of gift giving from “the wise men of the east.” But, as Dr. Seuss reminds us, “Even the Grinch knew that Christmas doesn’t come from a store.” Honestly, it’s the spending thing that has me concerned. For example, in 2011, the average American spent almost $1,000 on Christmas gifts. There are a number of issues associated with such spending — not the least of which is that many Americans spend themselves into debt (the average credit card debt per household in the U.S. is over $15,000) buying presents.If you haven’t braved the malls quite yet or spent hours online, consider this: Long after your teenager tires of her $500 designer purse, long after the new iPad is replaced by a faster model, the credit card companies will continue to reap the benefits of your excess (but don’t get me started on usury).

OK, I’ve sounded my Christmas horn. I will stop preaching. But just one more thing. Do yourself a favor: Keep Christmas simple. After all, the wise men who brought gifts to baby Jesus didn’t buy the stuff on credit. And they didn’t spend the next year paying off the bill, which is probably why we call them wise.

Jesus and The New York Stock Exchange

The ground of a certain rich man brought forth abundantly. He reasoned within himself, saying, 'What will I do, because I don't have room to store my crops?'

He said, 'This is what I will do. I will pull down my barns, and build bigger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. I will tell my soul, "Soul, you have many goods laid up for many years. Take your ease, eat, drink, be merry."'

"But God said to him, 'You foolish one, tonight your soul is required of you. The things which you have prepared—whose will they be?' So is he who lays up treasure for himself, and is not rich toward God." (New Testament, Luke 12)

Jesus' words scare me. This parable scares me. I feel scared because I can't help but wonder if I am, if you are—if we are like the rich fool in the story. I wonder if I am the fool and you are the fool and we don't even realize it because almost everyone else in our North American culture is also the fool. I say this with all due respect.

As a little boy I watched my dad work hard, take over his father's company, make a very nice living, buy us bigger and bigger homes, nicer and nicer cars...on and on. And though I know my father is a generous person, in light of this parable, though, I wonder about the real value of accumulating wealth, if it is not to be shared.

In our parable, this morning, Jesus is not attacking wealth, per say, but the foolish idea of amassing money to use for the sole purpose or personal enjoyment. Notice in the parable how the rich fool focuses on himself in the course of his reflection: “I will do this and I will do that and I will secure myself a more enjoyable future with all that I have made.” Jesus suggests that accumulating wealth, socking it away, buying more and more stuff is, to some degree, harmful for a life with God.

This is a tough thing for us to hear exactly because Jesus' words fly in the face of our economic philosophy. Jesus' words cut at the quick of the American dream. The rich fool is the very embodiment of what many of us embrace as the right way to live.

Jesus isn't alone in his critique of amassing wealth for the purposes of selfish enjoyment or securing our future—as if money can secure our lives. Every major world religion suggests the very same thing as Jesus.

Taoism, which is primarily a Chinese religion states: Do not race after riches, do not risk your life for financial gains, or you will let slip the heaven within you.” And Sikhism, which is an Indian religion, says, “Blessed is the straw hut where God's praises are chanted; worthless the white mansions where God is not remembered.”

My dad, of course, was just following what his dad taught him who was just following what his dad had taught him. It's the Protestant work ethic nicely mixed with Adam Smith's little idea called capitalism. It's how we understand the world. It's how we understand ourselves. Make more, acquire more, and you will be more.

Have you ever imagined Jesus standing in the mall or on the floor of the NYSE? Have you ever wondered what Jesus might say to someone with the bumper sticker, “He who dies with the most toys wins?”

Building a Better Nation

There is the famous story from the Hebrew Bible: A young shepherd named David, an Israelite, battles a giant man named Goliath, a Philistine. David and Goliath couldn’t wait to kill each other. Mutual hatred of the religious, ethnic other propelled them to fight. Both David and Goliath learned to hate. As an Israelite, David was taught that Goliath was impure and ungodly. Throwing a stone at a Philistine was not just a military act — it was an act of morality. Goliath never saw the rock coming. I grew up in a Southern family. My maternal grandmother was even a chapter president of the Daughters of the Confederacy.
Like David and Goliath, I grew up learning certain ethnic and racial prejudices. I vividly remember the day that I first felt the meanness of racism — my own racism. It was sixth grade. I was one of a handful of white kids bused across town to the “other side of the tracks,” as we called it. When we arrived at the school the racism was palatable. On both sides. The bully who started the fight was large for his age. The name calling was race and class oriented. I was white and he was black. I was well off and he was poor. He didn’t like white kids like me and I didn’t like black kids like him. We both learned this racism, just like David and Goliath learned their prejudice. The white kids stood with me, the black kids stood with him. The slander flew back and forth until violence erupted. It happened so fast. My enemy reached down, grabbed a stone, and threw it as hard as he could. Like the biblical Goliath, I never saw the rock coming. You and I, we don’t throw real rocks at people we dislike — or at least I hope we don’t.
Presumably, you and I are not like David and Goliath. Presumably, we are more civilized. Presumably our racism, classism — or bigotries don’t lead us to physical violence. And yet, I wonder how often we, like David, reach into our little bags, pull out an insult, and hurl it at our enemies? How often do we throw slander at people we dislike? Insults are linguistic stones. Whenever we demean someone’s race, nationality, sexual orientation, political party, class, religion—or physical size we are throwing stones at these people — even if these people never hear the words we say. But God hears.
David and Goliath had it out for each other. Who do you have it out for? Who do you despise? At whom do you throw linguistic rocks? President Obama? Mitt Romney? The homeless? The rich? Gays? Conservatives? Liberals? A family member who hurt you? Do you throw rocks at yourself for something you cannot forgive? If we want to build a better community — a better nation! — we must learn to drop our rocks — our insults. We must learn to throw nothing at anyone, nothing except tolerance and compassion.

HELL

I get weary of street preachers pointing their finger at me--and others--while yelling threats of hell.

The New Testament concept of hell (in the Greek, Ghenna), appears twelve times in the entire body of canonical material (eleven gospel references but not one Pauline), and is associated only twice with particular actions committed by individuals. Once, hell is described as the punishment for calling a sister or brother "fool (Matthew 5.22)" and secondly, the despising of "little ones," i.e., "outcasts" (Matthew 18.9). Typically, when Ghenna is spoken of it connotes generalities and not specifics.

However, even if we allow for an extension of the metaphor of hell to include the uses of the word fire, even still there is little textual reference to actions that are eternally punished by fire. The one circumstance where fire is mentioned in connection to eternal consequences (and paired with individual activity/inactivity) is Matthew 25. 31-46.

In the Matthew text, Jesus condemns to eternal fire all those who fail to act on behalf of their brother's and sister's welfare. In other words, sins of omission: failing to visit the sick and imprisoned, withholding clothing, food, and drink from those in need, and not offering hospitality to strangers.

All of this is to say the simplistic co-opting of the Bible for particular agendas profits the church and those outside its walls little; but the misunderstanding and stereotypes engendered, and the spiritual and psychological harm it may wreak, is much. 

So, if you happen to be the type of Christian who points your finger at people and then beats them over the head with threats of hell, you may want to pause and examine how many fingers are pointing back at yourself.     

Only Friends

My stepfather is a writer and editor. He is also an honest man whose opinion I value.

Each month I email him this column, and each month he emails my columns back to me with suggestions on how to improve the column.

Last month, I sent him what I thought was a brilliant piece of writing on religious doubt. I felt sure that the column would wow him. But, as an honest man — and my friend — he wrote back, “Hunt (everyone in my family calls me by this nickname) — this column was a tough one for me to follow and agree with. Not your best writing.” When I read his remark I thought: “Hmm…I guess the piece wasn't as genius as I imagined.”

Did it sting a little to read his critique?

Yes.

But I’m glad he told me the truth. It goes without saying (but I will, nevertheless, say it) that only a true friend will tell you if your writing stinks, your zipper is down, or that you have blue cheese dressing on your upper lip.

My email conversation with my stepfather reminded me of the French existentialist, Albert Camus, who wrote, “Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead. Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.”

That’s what we all crave, is it not? Don’t we all crave a friend to walk beside us — in the good times and the bad? Don’t we all crave someone who we can relate with and share common interests?

Don’t we all crave a relationship of mutuality and the type of friend-love that allows for honest critique?

Sometimes it’s not easy to have a good friend because sometimes a good friend must tell us what we don’t want to hear. And sometimes what we don’t want to hear is exactly what we do need to hear. As the Jewish wisdom literature of Proverbs reminds us: “An open rebuke is better than hidden love. Wounds from a sincere friend are better than many kisses from an enemy.”

Or, as the Buddha taught: “A good friend who points out mistakes and imperfections is to be respected as if he reveals a secret of hidden treasure.”

A couple of weeks ago I received a Publix advertisement in my mailbox. Contained in this advertisement was a piece of trivia that stated: “People who have a friend within one mile of their home tend to be happier than those who have friends living farther away.”

I don’t know whether or not this is true for all people, but it is true for me. It’s like Aristotle said: “Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies.” The closer you are to your good friend, the closer you are to your own soul.

So, what are you waiting for? Touch base with the other half of your soul. You’ll be glad that you did — even if your friend tells you what you’d rather not hear.

■

An Attack On One Religion is an Attack On All Religions

I'm enraged at people I don't even know. 

I've just finished viewing the 14 minute movie trailer for the so-called “Muhammad Movie,” which has many Muslims around the globe enraged by the portray of their founder.

I stand with the many nonviolent Muslim protesters. I, too, am furious. Spitting mad, as the old saying goes. I'm angry at the writer who sold the script, angry at the producer, director, editors, actors, and everyone else who participated in a project that so flagrantly demeans and demonizes the world's third largest religion.

In the New Testament book of Romans, St. Paul says, “In so far as you are concerned, be at peace with all people.” I strive to live by this dictum. But not all people do. 

Some Christians and non-Christians live in ways that build fires of disrespect. I am not surprised that people would make such a movie. Depravity is a human disease. Depravity, like love or laughter, is one of the things humanity shares the world over. But still I am mad at those who created the film. Madder than a hornet. 

Not only does The “Muhammad Movie” intentionally antagonize devout Muslims, but indirectly the movie mocks and denigrates all historic religions. If the writer and producer can create a film that depicts Muhammad the Prophet in a sickly light, so too can the writer and producer create a film that portrays Jesus, the Buddha, or Moses in a pejorative way. An attack on one religion is an attack on all religions.

No religion is above critique. No religion, when viewed microscopically, comes away clean—just as no person the world over, if viewed in a similar light, would come away spotless. The writer and producer of the so-called “Muhammad Movie” included.

It doesn't take a genius to know that our world has become a global community. One large neighborhood. People living in Libya are not so far away. With the advent of social media, people who live 7,000 miles away may as well live right next door. What kind of people would intentionally injure their neighbor? What kind of people consciously set out to hurt a person who lives next door to them?       

Civility (or lack thereof)

http://staugustine.com/living/religion/2012-08-23/civility-or-lack-thereof#.UDd8wMFlR3c

Words Matter

Remember how the Bible starts in the book of Genesis – with a beautiful narrative – almost like a poem – with a rhythm and refrain: "In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth…. God said, let there be light, and there was light! And God said, let there be a dome in the midst of the waters... and it was so. And God said, let the waters be gathered together into one place... And it was so."

Over and over we read, “And God said... and it was so.” It's interesting that God speaks creation into being. From the very beginning of scripture, we learn that there is something about language, something about the spoken word that has the ability to create reality.

If you ever doubt the power of the spoken word, imagine a child who is told from a very early age – you are so smart. You are so beautiful. You are so important. I love you. What’s their world going to be like? Or, on the other hand if a child is told over and over – you’re bad. You’re hard-headed. I wish I could send you back. What’s the world going to be like for that child as he or she grows up? These two children would experience two different realities.

Part of being created in the image of God is sharing in God's creative ability. The words we speak matter. So choose, and use, your words carefully and with love. Remember, your words help create reality.

Got Doubts?

Philosophy, art and poetry have always welcomed doubters. Take the bestselling poet of all time, Shakespeare, who wrote, “Mmodest doubt is called the beacon of the wise.” However, unlike poets, the religious have mostly been suspicious of doubt—and doubters. One of the most notorious religious doubters in history is Thomas. In the Christian New Testament, we read about Thomas in the Gospel according to John.  In this gospel, Thomas declares to his buddies who have recently seen the resurrected Jesus, “Unless I see…. I will not believe.” One week later Jesus appears to Thomas. In most English translations, Jesus says to him (rather dryly, I imagine), “Do not doubt but believe.”                                    

                                                                                                                                      

It’s time to set the record straight. I want to clear Thomas’ name. I want to clarify and redeem that odious title, “Doubting Thomas,” which is a mistranslation.         In the original Greek of the phrase I quoted earlier, Jesus does not say, “Do not doubt but believe.” A more accurate, though admittedly clumsy translation is “Do not be unbelieving but believing.”                                                                                                         

This is an important distinction between the usual reading of this verse and the literal rendering of the phrase. This distinction is important because, in my book, there is major difference between unbelief and doubt.                                                                                                                                                                                             

What I mean to suggest is this: doubt presumes belief—for you cannot doubt that which you do not believe (however meagerly the case may be). You must believe something in order to doubt that same something. Thomas, according to the original language of the text, did not believe Jesus had been resurrected—so he could not have doubted the resurrection.                                                                                                          

You may wonder if I have gone off the deep end…why else get so nit-picky about a couple of words? The choice of words makes all the difference in my Christian faith. And here’s why: my experience suggests that religious belief is a two sided coin. On one side is faith. On the other is doubt. Faith and doubt are companions to religious belief. They are spiritual siblings. It’s like Khalil Gibran, the third bestselling poet of all time declared, “Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother.”                                                                                                                                                                                  

Were it not for doubt, which is nothing more than curiosity or inquisitiveness, we would not grow in belief.  Faith does not increase belief (conviction), nor does belief (conviction) increase faith. Like a knife in need of sharpening, faith, too, needs a whetstone to hone its edge. Doubt, dear readers, is the whetstone of faith.                                                                                                                                                                                          

Doubt is a gift from God. Doubt is not to be feared but embraced: for God is greater than our doubts—indeed, God uses our doubts to lead us deeper into the mystery of our belief. And if you don’t believe me, just ask Thomas.

When We are Weak

I can’t think of one successful Hollywood action film that celebrates weakness. I mean, can you imagine Bruce Willis or Matt Damon boasting about being powerless? No way. Can you imagine doing a status update on Facebook that goes something like this: “Hunter Camp… rejoices in his aching left knee that keeps him from winning a foot race against his son.”             

No way. We Americans celebrate strength—we love the strong and powerful; as a culture, we have little abiding sympathy for the weak and powerless. In American culture, just like the ancient Greco-Roman culture, power is not made perfect in weakness.                               

When Paul wrote, "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness," Paul was sending a counter cultural message. The church in Corinth would have been shocked to hear Paul boast about his limitations. And yet, something in my experience suggests that Paul may be right. Strength can be found in powerlessness. God’s kindness and grace can become our muscles when the circumstances in life beat us down.                                                               

On Tuesday, April 3 of 2010 I was diagnosed with a large tumor in my left deltoid. The tumor was very deep. It was wrapped around my humerus. My doctors at the Mayo Clinic thought the tumor, because of the depth and position, was malignant. In fact, one radiologist, a friend, confided in me and said, “It doesn’t look good, Hunter.”

After surgery and spending the night at Mayo, I was discharged with a sling and a long incision down my shoulder. My instructions were to rest, do physical therapy, and wait for the pathology, which is a miracle story for another day.  

Anyhow, the Sunday after my surgery I decided I was fit enough to lead worship and help serve Communion. With one hand I held the chalice as people came forward. As my parishioners dipped their wafer into the cup they looked at me with great love and gentleness. They exuded God’s kindness.                                                                                                  

It was during that Holy Communion that I came to understand Paul’s words: “The Lord said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness."       

In the faces of those people, young and old, I came to see the all sufficient benevolence of God—the God we know in Jesus Christ. I came to see that suffering can be a crucible for personal-transformation. I came to see that during the struggles of life, in the times of suffering, this is where we often encounter God’s presence. For when we are weak God’s strength becomes evident.

Anxiety

In his book, “The Concept of Anxiety,” the 19th century Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard penned, “No Grand Inquisitor has such terrible tortures as anxiety.”

More truthful words have never been written.

I first read Kierkegaard as a philosophy major at Flagler College. In hindsight, it’s rather humorous that a healthy 20-year-old kid whose father paid for tuition, room, board, a late model car and insurance (and on top of this, a monthly stipend for pizza and beer) studied the topic of angst. Truly, I knew nothing of Kierkegaard’s Grand Inquisitor. I knew nothing of anxiety’s power.

But — today, at the ripe old age of 42, I am quite familiar with the Grand Inquisitor. I have also learned the wisdom of Aesop, who wrote, “A crust eaten in peace is better than a banquet in anxiety.”

Some philosophers and evolutionary biologists argue that anxiety is a natural state for human beings. These professionals posit that we needed the impetus of anxiety to survive the wilds of pre-history; and we continue to need this survival tool to brave jungles like Wal-Mart.

Nevertheless, I have decided to kiss this tool of evolutionary survival goodbye. I’m tired of anxiety having her way with me; I have grown weary of her tyranny (I use the pronoun “her,” not because I’m overtly sexist but because the word anxiety comes from the Latin word anxietas, which is feminine).

But how does one live without anxiety? More than 40 million Americans suffer from anxiety disorders — more than any other mental illness. If you happen to suffer from this dis-ease, then you know there are numerous suggested antidotes.

Jimmy Buffet‘s answer to the issue of anxiety is, “It’s 5 o’clock somewhere.” Pfizer suggests Xanax. And Jesus, in his Sermon on the Mount, tells his followers that God will take care of them — so not to worry. Though I am acquainted with the former two prescriptions, the latter corrective is what sustains me.

From the Buddhist tradition, the current Dali Lama gives this advice: “If you have fear of pain or suffering, you should examine whether there is anything you can do about it. If you can, there is no need to worry about it; if you cannot do anything, then there is also no need to worry.” True — but easier said than done.

Recently, I have employed two pieces of counsel for dealing with anxiety. The first piece of advice is the very old saying, wrongly attributed to the Bible, which probably originated with Persian Sufi poets: “This too shall pass.” The second prescription that I find helpful hangs in my study at Memorial Presbyterian Church. Inscribed on a piece of painted drift wood are these words, “The Tide Always Changes.”

Armed with these two grains wisdom, along with faith in God (the size of a mustard seed) I am challenging the Grand Inquisitor. True, sometimes I feel like David fighting Goliath, but, in the end, things turned out pretty well for the shepherd boy.

A Nation of Gluttons

Independence Day is just around the corner. I can already hear the fireworks that my wife and son enjoy, but which our dog, Dixie, could altogether do without. I can already hear the booming echoes of exploding rockets. I can already see the night sky filled with red trails of sizzling heat. I can already see my finger getting burned with a sparkler.
 

Most of Americans will celebrate Independence Day in some form or fashion. But what is it that we celebrate? Honestly, how many of us will gather with others and explicitly acknowledge the importance of the Declaration of Independence? Perhaps a philosopher could argue that our parties and streamers and coca cola serve as praise to the founding document of our nation. But this argument would be hard won; after all, even China has fireworks and Coke.

 Freedom is not, as someone once wrote, the right to do as you please; freedom is the liberty to do as you ought. And this, my friends, is what is missing in the USA.

Freedom has slipped into uncontrolled desire. Indeed, when a free society no longer values the twin sisters of wisdom and restraint, freedom is lost in a sea of licentiousness and gluttony.

I will not pretend to know the good and bad of all moral choices, as the categories of good and bad are now philosophically and culturally relative, which is, to some degree, necessary. The proper use of freedom is, in our postmodern culture, debated; there is no longer a fixed moral custom for our citizenry. Whether this is an asset or liability to freedom is an entirely different argument— and one that I am not inclined to entertain at this time.

However, what I will venture a judgment upon is gluttony, which is a misuse of liberty. It’s not too strong to say that we have become a nation of gluttons. From super-size french fries, super-size SUV’s, and super-size religion (insert “prosperity gospel”), we have learned to understand freedom as the liberty to do as we want, not necessarily to do what we ought.

We may continue to be the most ostensibly religious nation in the West, but I now wonder what our religious convictions amount to. Somewhere along the way we have been converted into believing that freedom is equivalent to unmitigated self-indulgence, rather than doing what we ought to do, a practice that often calls for restraint.

Patience

http://staugustine.com/living/religion/2012-05-24/hunter-camp-secret-patience

Living Outside of a Box

Do you try to box God in? Have you put God in a box to fit your own political, theological, or economic opinions? We all do it, of course; but the transcendent God is not our pawn. God does not belong to us. We belong to God.                                           

Just as God will not let us put "him" into a box he will not let us put our money into a box either. God insists that the ways we spend and give our money be integrated into our faith. To render unto God what comes from God is to offer everything for God’s use: our work, our play, our time, our money, our very selves. And when we trust God with the whole of our lives, we will experience the joyful freedom of living outside a box. 

Spitting on God's Art

I walk out of my neighborhood to a main east-west road that leads to the beach, which is four blocks from my house. I carry a black hefty garbage in my right hand, along with gloves and a 'grabber' that I use to pick up trash, which is strewn along the roadside.

The sun is mid morning high and the leather gloves are sweating. Despite the three trash cans posted along this road, some people continue to toss bottles and cans, candy wrapers, fast food bags, and cig butts. All of this litter is hiding in blades of tall green grass that border a state park and bird sanctuary.

Cardinal and seagulls fly over head oblivious to my attempts at making the earth, and our community, a little cleaner. Drivers pass me by watching from their air conditioned cars; some of them chuckle and point at me, as if I'm a elephant dancing on a ball. I continue walking, bending, picking. And then I have this thought: throwing trash in the grass is like spitting on God's art. And then I wonder, "How many of these trash-?throwers profess Christian faith? Is littering a sin against God"

CAGE FIGHTING and JESUS

I was driving and got stuck behind a bright yellow Hummer. As I contemplated the hideous gas mileage, searing color, and why anyone would need a military style SUV for in-town transportation, something else caught my eye.

On the large darkly tinted rear window were two bumper stickers. One on the left and one on the right. Both had black backgrounds with bold white letters. The sticker on the left declared, “I love Jesus.” The sticker on the right said, “I Love Tap Out,” which refers to the sport-phenomenon known as “cage fighting.”

Cage fighting is an extreme form of boxing, wrestling, and martial arts. The two combatants are literally put inside a cage and left to fight until one person is beaten helpless and must tap the floor to signal surrender. It is not uncommon for the fighters to break noses, require stitches, and be knocked unconscious. Unlike traditional boxing, the fighters may (indeed are encouraged to) strike one another while pinned to the mat. It is a spectator sport for those who lust for blood and violence.

And so you can imagine my surprise to see an “I Love Tap Out” sticker adjacent to an “I love Jesus” sticker. The two are incongruous. Try as I might, I cannot reconcile these two world views. They stand in stark contrast to one another—and the pairing of these two world views makes me sick.

FORGIVENESS

            The English playwright Oscar Wilde quipped, “Always forgive your enemies—nothing annoys them so much.”  Wilde was right, of course. Presumably, though, we don’t forgive someone for the sake of revenge, which is exactly what Wilde had in mind.                                                                         

No matter our intention, forgiveness is seldom an easy task. I suppose that’s why the world’s major religions put such an emphasis on practicing forgiveness. The “founders” of each religion or philosophy were wise enough to know that forgiveness does not come naturally and must be taught, reinforced, and taught again.                                                      

A jolting definition of forgiveness I heard came from Mark Twain who wrote, “Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.” Extending this metaphor, we might say that forgiveness is a form of love, the final form of love, according to the Christian theologian Reinhold Niebuhr.                                                                            

But what exactly makes forgiveness so difficult? Why do most of us struggle to forgive people who have hurt us—or people who have hurt someone we love? Maybe it’s difficult to forgive because when we opt to forgive we opt out of blaming.                                                          

When we forgive someone, we refuse to blame the one responsible for the injury. This is not to say that we may not hold the person responsible for his or her actions. But, rather, when we forgive we excuse the offense done to us. And this is difficult precisely because when we excuse an offense we give up the power, indeed even the thought, of revenge.                                  

One of the reasons the world’s great religions underscore the importance of forgiveness is each religion understands that without forgiveness of offenses it is impossible to live a life imbued with love. The longer we harbor thoughts of revenge, the longer we seek to blame someone for hurting us, the longer we live in the grip of hate and bitterness.                                   

I recently read a story about a pastor in San Salvador who met an 11-year-old boy orphaned during El Salvador’s civil war. A few years earlier, the boy had been rescued after his family was killed right in front of him. Somehow, he alone had survived the attack.              

Since the time his family was murdered, the boy spent entire days totally withdrawn, sometimes never speaking a word. One day while the pastor was visiting the orphanage, the boy came to him and said, “Please pray for me, so that I can forgive the soldiers who killed my mother and brothers. I do not want to live with hatred in my heart.”                                                         

This 11-year-old boy was wise beyond his years. This boy somehow understood what hatred and bitterness could do to his heart.  He intuited what theologian Lewis B. Smedes once wrote: “To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.”

Hunter Camp: In search of happiness | StAugustine.com

Hunter Camp: In search of happiness StAugustine.com

The Clothes We Wear and the Car We Drive

The God of the Bible is a God that is seemingly uninterested in physical appearances. The God of the Bible cares not one bit whether we look fashionable in the eyes of the culture. God doesn't care about our resumes or connections or cultural status. The God of the Bible cares about our heart—our honesty, integrity, thoughtfulness, and love.                    

God's concern for the condition of our hearts, as opposed to our looks, should give us pause. Though we may, and often do judge ourselves and others by looks—the clothes they wear, the car we drive, the job they hold, or the house we have: God does not judge by this standard. And neither should we. Though we live in a society steeped in the importance of appearances, God calls us back to the heart.

Friends, God insists on the ultimate value of the heart—over against the value of appearances. God insists on the primacy and priority of the heart.

Unexpected Paths

All of us, at some point in our lives, have had our plans crushed.We have all had expectations that have not worked out. Our lives have taken roads that we could not have predicted.

Sometimes an unexpected path in our lives is dark and grief stricken. But sometimes, most of the time, unexpected paths can bring us new life, greater joy, and deeper hope.

Though our journeys and plans do not always go as we expect—nevertheless, God provides. It’s my experience that in life this is often the case; God provides for us in ways that we never could have dreamed.

The next time you’re facing a situation that ruins your expectations; the next time life doesn’t unfold the way you had hoped, remember that God works in mysterious ways and through mysterious means. Remember that God is alive and moving in your midst.

Can You Not Forgive?

He is older, nearing the end. But he still hangs on to the past. He can’t forgive someone. He can’t let it go. He can’t find the grace.

I listen to him talk. There is bitterness in his voice. An edge. Like a dull knife that is worn with age and use.

“Why can you not forgive?” I ask him.

And then it’s the same old, sad story of feelings being hurt and reconciliation never happening. And so I summon the courage and ask, “But he’s your son. Would you prefer to die before making peace with him?”

We are Living Stories

Every family is writing a narrative—a family story that the child(ren) will internalize, practice, remember, edit, and continue writing.

“Unless we change our direction, we are likely to end up where we are headed,” suggests a Chinese proverb.

Do you like the direction that your family is headed? Do you like the story that your family is writing? Why or why not? What can you change so the narrative changes?

Nurturing the faith of your child(ren) can help change the direction of your family. Nurturing their faith will nurture your own faith, and as your faith is nurtured you will help create a more balanced family- story, one that is God-centered.

Living

It is not living that matters, but living rightly.--Socrates