If I Were A Knight

In the United States, chivalry has, historically speaking, been loosely tied to religion. During the Middle Ages, however, chivalry, or the Chivalric Code, was directly linked to Christianity, or, more properly, the Church.

In all truth, though, the sacred texts of the world’s religions do not much concern themselves with matters of chivalry. Chivalry is, properly speaking, a civil philosophy. Chivalry is a way of being in the world, which may dovetail with certain religious principles, but in and of itself chivalry is not beholden to religion.

I appreciate chivalry and am grateful for its contributions to our society. I fear, however, that chivalry is dead — or at least gasping for breath in a roadside ditch, having been beaten and robbed of its importance. A recent example will illustrate my point:

Last week as I approached the Gate Station on the island, a young man in front of me allowed the heavy-framed glass door to close in the face of a pregnant lady walking directly behind him. The man was in a hurry, as anyone could see by the pace of his steps. But to walk pass a pregnant lady because you’re in a hurry and allow the heavy door to shut in her face is shameful. The man’s action made me angry. If I were a knight I would have drawn my sword.

The incident at the gas station reminded me of a quote by the 19th-century author, Louisa May Alcott: “Gentlemen, be courteous to the old maids, no matter how poor and plain and prim, for the only chivalry worth having is that which is the readiest to pay deference to the old, protect the feeble, and serve womankind, regardless of rank, age, or color.”

I was raised on the bread of chivalry. Despite the detractors of chivalry, I’m feeding my son the same fare. My son is learning to open the door for a lady (not because she can’t do it herself, but out of honor!), give up his seat to a lady or the aged, and say “yes ma’am,” “thank you,” and “please.” I am teaching my son to defend kids who are unable to defend themselves, to speak against public vulgarity, dress appropriate for all occasions, and always be charitable and generous.

It’s my judgment that, by and large, our culture no longer swims in the historic rivers of honor and duty, which is why fewer and fewer young men embrace the virtue of chivalry. Be this as it may, I will continue to take my stand and make my appeal:

Fathers and grandfathers, as you teach your sons and grandsons to fish or play football, do not neglect to teach the code that has long greased the wheels of a more beautiful and genteel society. Or, to paraphrase the British philosopher John Stuart Mill: Do not neglect the Chivalric code, which remains one of the most precious monuments of the moral history of our race.

Putting God in Tupperware

People try to pin God down. Figure God out. Box God in. People develop elaborate, and not so elaborate, theological containers for God. As if anyone could put God in cage. As if anyone could put God in Tupperware like last night's leftovers.

People say, "The Bible says that God is...." Perhaps the Bible does say this or that about God. But to use the Bible as an exhaustive measuring scoop for God is anti-biblical. The Bible goes to great lengths to dissuade people from the erroneous notion that God can be fully comprehended. The biblical descriptions of God are not meant to be exhaustive of God. For how can God ever be exhausted? And if descriptions of God cannot be exhaustive then we must be very careful about our God-claims. We must be humble. Our claims must be tentative. Hubris has no place in conversations about God.

Where is God?

The mother who loses a child to a car wreck, the husband who loses his wife to cancer, the teenage girl who loses a boyfriend to a freak accident while on spring break, the parents who learn that their son died of a roadside bomb in Iraq: they have all asked "Why?" They have all asked, "Where is God?"

And what is the best answer? What is the right answer? What is the real answer, if different from the two previous questions?

The longer I live the more I have learned to content myself with saying, "I don't know." It's comforting to realize that we do not need to defend God. We do not need to explain God (as if we really ever could explain God). We do not need to excuse God. We do not need to exonerate God. God is who God is. And God will be who God will be. And God will be what God will be.

In the face of ugly circumstances that smash our sense of right and wrong; in the face of tragedies, both natural and moral, we cannot ever satisfactorily, or ultimately answer the crying mother's question of "Where is God?"

But we can say this: The God we know in Jesus does not forsake us.

Encouragement

A friend in New York City who teaches at a prep school lamented to me: “The faculty never speak a word of encouragement. It’s always the same thing — criticize, criticize, criticize. It’s enough to make me quit my job.”

Why is it that we often find it easier to criticize rather than to encourage one another? The 19th century writer, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, wrote, “Correction does much, but encouragement does more.” My own experience agrees with this wisdom.

After speaking with my friend in New York City, I’ve been wondering if we criticize others to make ourselves feel better. I’ve also been wondering what our critical assessment of other people says about our image of God, by which I mean how we understand God’s character or personality.
It’s my opinion that there is a strong connection between a person’s image of God as a heavenly critic and his or her own criticism of other people. If God is always looking at your faults, then you might be more eager to look at the faults of other people.

But here’s the thing: God is not always looking at our faults. I know of no primary religious text in any major world religion that suggests God is always out to get us. I know of no sacred writing that imagines God as a Being who unyieldingly criticizes humanity. Rather, God is the great encourager.
Of course, it is not just people of religious faith who are critical rather than encouraging of others. But, as a pastor-theologian, I have to ask: Why do many of us religious types swiftly criticize other people rather than encourage them? Doesn’t our religious faith inspire the best in us, which should lead us to inspire the best in other people?

As someone who is privy to the inner lives of many people, I am struck by the lack of encouragement that people feel in daily life. Our culture is swimming in aspersions. To paraphrase the black country music star Charlie Pride, who felt the sting of criticism from both white and black detractors, “What we don’t need… is divisiveness, public criticism of each other, and some arbitrary judgment of what belongs and what doesn’t.”

Ask any psychologist and he or she will tell you that encouragement is what’s needed to thrive. As the famous American writer Harper Lee said in an interview, “I never expected any sort of success with ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’... I sort of hoped someone would like it enough to give me encouragement.”

Even the greatest among us need encouragement. And if the greatest among us need encouragement, how much more so you and me and those for whom life has been a series of failures and bad starts?
So, dear readers, stop overly criticizing other people — or yourself. Rather, take the perspective of a verse from the Christian New Testament: “Encourage one another and build up each other.”

Litter Bugs

You probably never litter. Or, maybe it’s just been a while since you last tossed a coke can out the window. Or, maybe it’s your practice to litter all of the time, throwing cigarette butts, McDonald’s bags and beer cans along U.S. 1 and A1A. Maybe it was you that I saw just the other day.

We were headed into downtown. We were stopped on the bridge. I was behind you. You were driving a Honda sedan. I saw you holding the cigarette near the tinted open window. And I thought to myself: “Surely she won’t throw the butt on the road” — though I knew it to be a distinct possibility because I pick up trash on Pope Road and cigarette butts are the most prevalent form of litter.

My optimism was shattered: you took one more drag of your stick and then flicked the cig onto the pavement. I’ve been wondering how many ciggy’s you’ve deposited on our roadways and beaches. And since you don’t mind throwing butts out the window of your ride, maybe you’re the one who throws 46 ounce Styrofoam cups onto A1A. I’m not an environmental warrior. But I do think the old Native American proverb is accurate: “We do not inherit the EARTH from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children.”

OK, OK. I will stop pointing my finger. I know that it’s not nice. And besides, Jesus has said: “Do not judge lest you be judged.” Nonetheless, I’m very frustrated with litter bugs.

In graduate school I studied the psychologist Carl Jung. Jung once wrote: “The thing that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.” I believe this nugget of truth. I know that littering is one of the things that irritates me, but I’m still wrestling with what it is supposed to teach me about myself. Maybe I’m supposed to learn that I shouldn’t judge litterbugs. Because that’s what I do. I judged you when you threw the butt out of your Honda window. And I know I shouldn’t judge you. It’s like Mother Theresa once said: “If you’re judging people you have no time to love them.”

Be that as it may, and as a student of ancient Greek philosophy, I think the oft-quoted statement by Euripides bears repeating here: “Judge a tree by its fruit.”

Euripides, Jesus and Mother Theresa have to be held in tension, I think. After all, it’s impossible not to evaluate people’s actions. If we don’t evaluate — judge — people’s actions, and our own actions, how would we ever know that littering is not the right way to live in community?

So, on the one hand, I owe you, dear litter bug, an apology for judging your public untidiness. But, on the other hand, I love you enough to tell you that your behavior is inappropriate.

Money

To paraphrase Plato, too much money is as bad as too little money. They both bring their own concerns.
In most cases that I know, lack of money is not the issue: too much desire is the problem. Lessen desire and less money is needed. Whether rich or poor, discontentment can bleed you to death. If you're not content with what you have then you will suffer. No amount of money can appease a dissatisfied heart.
The richest person is the person who is grateful for what she has in the moment.

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.