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.

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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.