One of my favorite messages from Joyce Meyer (see http://www.joycemeyer.org/ for podcasts, radio, and television ministry programs) was when she referred to the occurrence of some negative event by saying, "The devil may have intended it for evil, but GOD intended it for good." I both borrow and build from her message to discuss the following.
One of my many sins or character faults is that I can be jealous and competitive. Mind you, I am not competitive in any sort of productive way-- like training for a marathon or like striving to produce the highest sales numbers on a team. No, my competitive streak only takes shape in pitiful and utterly inane ways --- like when I race to my son's school in order to be first in the car line for pick up time. With the fearless determination of an Olympic athlete, I am single-focused about needing to beat the next parent who, to my warped ego, joyfully only comes in second.
So, now you get the picture of the me I'm dealing with! With this bit of background, you will better understand why my best friend and I intentionally engage in a spiritual competition. Yes, fools that we are, we half-jokingly agreed to race 'harder' toward God. Since each of our tendencies are toward talk and not action, we both decided that we would like to amp up our spiritual development (as if Grace can be hard won).
Because neither of us were going to church as often as we'd like, one day I called her an hour before heading out to my church and with a purposefully childish tone said, "I'M going to chur-urch. Na nee, na nee, NA NA!" She exclaimed, "What?! You're not supposed to tell me that when there's enough time for ME to get readyto go to MY church!" Long story short: we both went to our separate churches that day. Score: tied.
The next Sunday late afternoon, she called me to report, "I'M more spiritually advanced than YOU are" in the same 'na nee, na nee' sing-songy tone that we had established before. It turned out, not only had she gone to her church, but she had a kind of breakthrough in which she experienced a deep craving for God. She first relayed her experiences to me in a serious way, but then she became fiesty and decided to once again rub in the 'fact' that she was "MORE" washed in the Blood than I was. We both laughed, but even though I KNEW that kind of talk was all in good fun, there was still a part of me that was ticked that she had one-upped me in our spiritual competition.
I stewed over her alleged spiritual victory for a few hours before calling her back in the early evening of the same day. I had prepared a number of defenses of my spiritual development that were meant to trump hers. She had thrown down the spiritual gauntlet and declared a challenge. Not only was I ready to take up the challenge, my jealousy motivated me to try to win the competition. It was illogical and a bit theologically insane, but it was fun and energizing nonetheless.
The battle was ON. SHE started listening to Joyce Meyer first, but *I* started listening to Joyce DAILY. SHE started hanging out to make friends during fellowship. *I* mustered up my substandard, introverted social skills and tried to make more church friends on-line. SHE started going to Bible study mid-week. MID-Week!! *I* felt I was losing! I had intended to go to my mid-week Bible study, but had a tooth ache and failed to shower that day. She did not miss the opportunity to rub in my failure again by saying, "Why don't you tell God, 'God, I meant to go, but my tooth hurt and I felt gross.' Yeah, that's a perfectly good excuse I'd say!" She mocked me. I laughed with her, but my little ego secretly pouted.
Then it happened. I was watching Joyce Meyer, a.k.a. "Mama J" and felt truly inspired by her teaching. In this particular conference, she spoke about giving back. I decided that instead of feeling guilty about living comfortably, I was going to use my guilty feelings productively. I did not wait for the momentum of my resolve to piddle away with time. I got on my computer, found, and without hesitation applied to a volunteer position. I grinned with satisfaction, "I'm WINNING!" And the best part is that SHE doesn't even know! Perhaps she will relax her vigilance, falsely assuming she is well in the lead. Yes, these were my thoughts, however fleeting-- (Sick, sick, sick)!
Jealous competition is clearly ugly. The devil certainly means it for destruction. However, GOD can use any one's faults for good if God chooses. I acknowledge that it is Machiavellian (in which the end justifies the means), but: if the sinner ultimately finds her way both to a deeper relationship with God and to an improved form of faith-in-action, does it really matter how she was brought there?
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
My Father's Light
While I was sitting next to him, trying to keep him from what I thought was just falling asleep, my father passed away at home in his own bed. His wish had always been to be buried with his family of origin in Germany. My mother felt that she could not wait before being able to arrange and attend his funeral service overseas. She felt she needed an earlier sense of closure than that. The local church was not her preferred option since she felt slighted by its pastor who failed to uphold his promise to visit my father while he was still alive and bed bound. With the real funeral weeks away, my mother felt like she was in a torturous limbo. She desparately needed a more immediate, formal ritual that would help her both honor and say goodbye to my father.
My mother and I decided that we would make our own meaningful, interim memorial service. After some planning and purchases, we went equipped to a nearby lake at night. Into a starry sky, we released heart shaped balloons that said, "I love you" and shouted out the same as if my father could hear it. My father had loved fireworks since he was a child. So we had attached sparklers to the bunched balloons, wanting to celebrate his life. However, we stood in grievous yearning as the balloons became smaller and smaller until ultimately disappearing into mysterious night.
We then set aflame tiny tea light candles and pushed them out onto the lake. We brought one candle to represent each of my father's family members and one candle to represent my father himself. We watched as all the candles quietly glowed and flickered in the otherwise dark surroundings. Almost immediately, a number of the floating candles blew out, leaving only three. Both my mother and I simultaneously exclaimed, "That's us!" meaning that those three remaining lights represented our little nuclear family: a father, a mother, and their only child.
Moments later, one candle light began to float away from the other two. My mother was distressed by the symbolism of it all and cried out, "He's leaving us!" Then with a tone of defeat, she whispered, "He's leaving us behind." I felt differently and said so: "No, Mom. He's not leaving. He's just going on ahead, paving the way, like he always did."
We sat on a dry log facing the black night lake. Two candles stayed lit and close to shore. One light kept traveling further and further out into the murky distance. We wanted to wait to see how long that one light, my "father's light" could last, but we became cold and restless. With a pathetically dim flashlight, we stumbled in the dark back to our car, always checking over our shoulders to see if the one candle was still shining. It was.
Once we reached the car, we got in and watched some more, not wanting to leave while my "father's light" was still reaching out to us somehow. That single, tiny dot of a light shone in the darkness even though it floated away from us ever further. It seemed that candle light was as stubborn and resilient as the person it represented to us. With sighs, we finally decided to leave the lake, end our memorial service, and drive home. Our car rolled slowly over the grinding gravel road; as we physically distanced ourselves from the lake, we squinted and strained to see if the light had gone out yet. It hadn't. It seemed like it wouldn't die out at all, at least not when we were still there to watch it.
Unlike my father's death for which neither my mother nor I felt prepared, that night on the lake my father's light faithfully remained lit for us to see . . . My father's light continued and continued to shine for us. His presence through this light seemed to remain with us until, this time, WE were ready to say goodbye.
This memorial felt like such a gift of grace. There we were feeling despondent yet out of silly balloons, sparklers, and candles something wonderful was annointed for us. I remember in my first years in seminary, I had to write a psychological explanation for my faith. I wrote that my father's long periods of absence (due to having to travel extensively for his job) helped me to accept that Love could be communicated without tangible, physical presence. As a child, I knew my daddy loved me even when he wasn't around. So, it was easier to understand that God, Whom I could not see, loved me too. Even with my father's death, the ways of God's love were communicated to me again: In the midst of despair, in the pit of darkness, a steady Light shines as a beacon to comfort, heal, and show forth God's Love.
Thank you, Father.
My mother and I decided that we would make our own meaningful, interim memorial service. After some planning and purchases, we went equipped to a nearby lake at night. Into a starry sky, we released heart shaped balloons that said, "I love you" and shouted out the same as if my father could hear it. My father had loved fireworks since he was a child. So we had attached sparklers to the bunched balloons, wanting to celebrate his life. However, we stood in grievous yearning as the balloons became smaller and smaller until ultimately disappearing into mysterious night.
We then set aflame tiny tea light candles and pushed them out onto the lake. We brought one candle to represent each of my father's family members and one candle to represent my father himself. We watched as all the candles quietly glowed and flickered in the otherwise dark surroundings. Almost immediately, a number of the floating candles blew out, leaving only three. Both my mother and I simultaneously exclaimed, "That's us!" meaning that those three remaining lights represented our little nuclear family: a father, a mother, and their only child.
Moments later, one candle light began to float away from the other two. My mother was distressed by the symbolism of it all and cried out, "He's leaving us!" Then with a tone of defeat, she whispered, "He's leaving us behind." I felt differently and said so: "No, Mom. He's not leaving. He's just going on ahead, paving the way, like he always did."
We sat on a dry log facing the black night lake. Two candles stayed lit and close to shore. One light kept traveling further and further out into the murky distance. We wanted to wait to see how long that one light, my "father's light" could last, but we became cold and restless. With a pathetically dim flashlight, we stumbled in the dark back to our car, always checking over our shoulders to see if the one candle was still shining. It was.
Once we reached the car, we got in and watched some more, not wanting to leave while my "father's light" was still reaching out to us somehow. That single, tiny dot of a light shone in the darkness even though it floated away from us ever further. It seemed that candle light was as stubborn and resilient as the person it represented to us. With sighs, we finally decided to leave the lake, end our memorial service, and drive home. Our car rolled slowly over the grinding gravel road; as we physically distanced ourselves from the lake, we squinted and strained to see if the light had gone out yet. It hadn't. It seemed like it wouldn't die out at all, at least not when we were still there to watch it.
Unlike my father's death for which neither my mother nor I felt prepared, that night on the lake my father's light faithfully remained lit for us to see . . . My father's light continued and continued to shine for us. His presence through this light seemed to remain with us until, this time, WE were ready to say goodbye.
This memorial felt like such a gift of grace. There we were feeling despondent yet out of silly balloons, sparklers, and candles something wonderful was annointed for us. I remember in my first years in seminary, I had to write a psychological explanation for my faith. I wrote that my father's long periods of absence (due to having to travel extensively for his job) helped me to accept that Love could be communicated without tangible, physical presence. As a child, I knew my daddy loved me even when he wasn't around. So, it was easier to understand that God, Whom I could not see, loved me too. Even with my father's death, the ways of God's love were communicated to me again: In the midst of despair, in the pit of darkness, a steady Light shines as a beacon to comfort, heal, and show forth God's Love.
Thank you, Father.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
ABC News' "What Would You Do? "
How do I love thee, oh, ABC news show, "What Would You Do?" Let me count the ways:
1) John Quinones as Host. Clearly, a nice human being. Warm. Concerned. Dignified. Latino!
2) Voyeurism for a Good Cause. This show combines audiences' love of reality t.v. with hidden camera fascination. Does the end justify the means? Yes, because its implicit message to viewers is:
3) You too could Make the World a Better Place for Someone. Most of us probably watch with disgust as real people ignore the plight of others in these moments caught on tape. We cheer for those rare human beings who do the right thing even when it means risking their own safety. As a professor of Social Psychology, my educated guess is that while watching these televised incidents, most of us not only cheer for the hero, but actually identify with him or her. In other words, we'd all like to believe, "*I* would have done the right thing too." Whether this is an accurate belief or not is irrelevant. What is important, is that this show has the potential power to change our actions by making us more conscientious as we each increasingly learn to love our neighbor as ourselves.
1) John Quinones as Host. Clearly, a nice human being. Warm. Concerned. Dignified. Latino!
2) Voyeurism for a Good Cause. This show combines audiences' love of reality t.v. with hidden camera fascination. Does the end justify the means? Yes, because its implicit message to viewers is:
3) You too could Make the World a Better Place for Someone. Most of us probably watch with disgust as real people ignore the plight of others in these moments caught on tape. We cheer for those rare human beings who do the right thing even when it means risking their own safety. As a professor of Social Psychology, my educated guess is that while watching these televised incidents, most of us not only cheer for the hero, but actually identify with him or her. In other words, we'd all like to believe, "*I* would have done the right thing too." Whether this is an accurate belief or not is irrelevant. What is important, is that this show has the potential power to change our actions by making us more conscientious as we each increasingly learn to love our neighbor as ourselves.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Variations on a Theme
Most conflicts-- from sibling spats to the Israel-Palestine clash--
are variations on the Cain and Abel story. Whenever we raise our hands or voices in anger, we do so against our very own brother.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
What Mother Teresa Wrote to Me
I just wanted a record of this somewhere in case my actual letter is lost or destroyed. In 1993, I wrote to Mother Teresa saying that I had little power of influence to create a world peace minute of silence, but that perhaps she could make this happen.
Her letter came on a small note card in which one side has a black and white photo of her holding a baby and a quote from Isaiah 43: 2-7. On the other side, her writing is written by manual type writer with errors and whiteout marks, a stamped return address, and a hand written signature. Here was her response:
+LDM
23rd Oct. 1993 Missionaries of Charity
54/A, A [illegible] Bose Road
Calcutta 700016 India
Dear Christina
Thank you very much for your letter.
To spread peace, begin by working for true peace - the freedom of being the children of God, ofbelong to Him. This freedom enables one to love as He loves andto forgive as He forgives.- for true obstacles to peace are within us. when we sincerely try to remove fromour hearts and minds all anger and thoughts of revenge we make way for true peace. Through your Christian life, work for it and make way for it in your own life by desiring true peace and wanting it at any cost. May God's blessing be abide with you and all your loved ones.
God Bless you
M Teresa MC
Her letter came on a small note card in which one side has a black and white photo of her holding a baby and a quote from Isaiah 43: 2-7. On the other side, her writing is written by manual type writer with errors and whiteout marks, a stamped return address, and a hand written signature. Here was her response:
+LDM
23rd Oct. 1993 Missionaries of Charity
54/A, A [illegible] Bose Road
Calcutta 700016 India
Dear Christina
Thank you very much for your letter.
To spread peace, begin by working for true peace - the freedom of being the children of God, ofbelong to Him. This freedom enables one to love as He loves andto forgive as He forgives.- for true obstacles to peace are within us. when we sincerely try to remove fromour hearts and minds all anger and thoughts of revenge we make way for true peace. Through your Christian life, work for it and make way for it in your own life by desiring true peace and wanting it at any cost. May God's blessing be abide with you and all your loved ones.
God Bless you
M Teresa MC
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Anti "Survival of the Fittest"
The point of life is not to survive,
But to keep God's grace and love alive.
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