NOTE:  there are NO spoilers in this comment on the movie

MarDee and I just saw the movie “Oblivion“ directed by Joseph Kosinski and starring Tom Cruise and Morgan Freeman.  I loved it!

It’s not Oscar material, nor the most amazing acting.  Reviews have not been stellar, with some noting the script is thin.  That’s all true.  But I still loved it…

…and I gave it 4/5 stars.  Why?  It’s very simple.  I think the movie has one simple, yet profound message.  And in the wake of some pretty awful terrible things that have happened in our beloved Boston this week, where murder, violence and chaos turned everything so, so dark for a while… this movie’s message is all the more timely.

Oblivion is a movie about what it means to be human, truly human.  At least, that’s how I see it.  I predict professors who teach courses on Identity, the Self, or Personhood, as I have, will soon add it to their list of clips to use in class (which no doubt already includes “The Matrix”, “Bladerunner”, “Memento” and the like).

Oblivion tells us that what makes us truly human isn’t…

… our DNA (though disembodied selves certainly would not be… well, us!)

… our memories (though to be sure these ground us)

… our heroic deeds (though the movie is eschatologically correct in suggesting these do outlive us)

… our individuality (no matter how loud our culture shouts its importance, this is NOT what makes us human)

No, what makes us truly and profoundly human is simple really…

…it’s our capacity to love!  That’s the basis of both our humanity AND our individuality.  How we love.  Not in some universal, impersonal, vague and pious way.  But instead in some very concrete, particular and real way.

When tragedies strike, as it did in Boston this week, and in an altogether different but equally devastating way also in Waco this week, it’s normal for us to lose our equilibrium.  It’s normal for us to seek to find out who is responsible.  It’s right for us to care about justice.

But in the end, we absolutely, without a doubt, must remember, we only find ourselves again, and we only find each other again, when we recall that it’s LOVE that makes us who we are and who we’re meant to be.

Thank you Mr. Kosinski for this wonderful celluloid parable about love!

“Wisdom” by Helen Fern

One of the ideals that strikes me in the Bible concerns the importance of intergenerational relationships.  Sons are to learn from their fathers.  Grandfathers are to hand down the precepts and wisdom they have learned to their children and grandchildren. In fact, God’s people are very much a story-telling and story-living community, faithfully handing down from generation to generation the stories, and imagining them anew in each generation’s ever changing context.

“That you may tell your children and grandchildren … how I performed my signs among them, and that you may know that I am the LORD.”

“Then we your people, the sheep of your pasture,will praise you forever; from generation to generation we will recount your praise.”

This idea of the older sharing their experience and wisdom, the fruit of a well lived life, with the younger strikes me as being full of merit, particularly when looking at the ageism and cult of youth so often displayed in our society.

“A wise son heeds his father’s instruction”

Yet, I call it an “ideal” because the lived reality of intergenerational relations is not always smooth sailing.  So often, the younger generation finds the older generation out of touch, boring, unable to relate.

Cat Stevens’ song Father & Son famously captured the generational divide as the son exclaims his frustration with his father:

How can I try to explain, when I do he turns away again. 
It’s always been the same, same old story. 
From the moment I could talk I was ordered to listen. 
Now there’s a way and I know that I have to go away. 
I know I have to go….

… All the times that I cried, keeping all the things I knew inside,
It’s hard, but it’s harder to ignore it.
If they were right, I’d agree, but it’s them they know not me.
Now there’s a way and I know that I have to go away.
I know I have to go.

I find myself very interested in trying to understand this gap between the ideal of the young cherishing the treasures received from the old (which does, not uncommonly, occur, in fact) and the reality of an ever-recurring generation gap.  I’m curious as a behavioral scientist and as a Christian to understand the differences between relationships that go well and those that are strained.  So, I’ve begun a research project on this topic.

In a first study, I asked over 200 undergraduate students (46% male & 54% female; 73% White, 12% Black, 10% Hispanic and 7% Other), the vast majority of whom identified themselves as Christian (99%) to tell me about their relationships with older people.  I asked them to identify their Most Positive relationship with an older person as well as the most Negative or Difficult Relationship with an older person.  I then asked them to describe  each person’s qualities, characteristics and personality traits.

I’m still sifting through the data, but an initial finding, simply having to do with what persons were most commonly identified as Most Positive versus those who were most commonly identified as Most Negative, emerged and caught my attention.  It is presented in graph form below.

Not surprisingly, grandmothers (both maternal and paternal, grouped in the graph) are very popular. Almost half the participants identified one of their grandmothers as the most positive relationship they had with an older person.  The difference in percentages of students rating grandmothers as positive compared to negative was statistically significant.  So grand-moms seem to be succeeding in leaving a good impression with the subsequent generations.

Grandfathers tended to “break even”, with an equal number of students identifying one of their grandfathers as the most positive relationship and as the most negative.  While a little sad, it does make intuitive sense; for every person who raves about one of their grandpas, another has much less encouraging things to say about one of their grandfathers.

But the most alarming findings, particularly for a man who is a little older (in my 50′s) and active in a Christian community, and who is also an educator, concern the fact that older male church members and older teachers (male and female) are much more likely to fall in the category of most difficult relationship than to be rated as most positive.  Interestingly, by contrast, older female church members were just as likely to be viewed positively as they were to be viewed negatively (which is really what you might expect).  These number are pretty small, so I don’t want to over-interpret them.  But the fact that only 2% of respondent ever rated an older church male as their most positive relationship with an elderly person (compared to 10% who reported this group to be their most negative relationship) is NOT particularly encouraging for a church community in which older men constitute the shepherds and overseers of the faithful.

I know a lot of people aren’t quite ready for female “elders” in the church… (that’s another discussion)… but, it sure seems to me that male elders (older men in the congregation) should rethink their reluctance to sit at the feet of a woman… because grandmothers have something going on that they sure should learn!

Incidentally, these findings closely mirror my own experience over the years.  From the days of my youth until now, if you ask me to think of my most negative experiences with individuals older than myself, the faces that first come to mind are all older men from church.  They lacked warmth, humility, a desire to listen and understand; they were dogmatic and judgmental; they wielded authority but failed to offer a gracious, intimate, vulnerable friendship; etc…  I can also think of school teachers who seemed uncaring, blasé, overly strict.

Maybe, in some ways, the comparison is unfair.  Of course, warm, loving grandmothers will always come in ahead of teachers and older church acquaintances ¹.  But, I sure would hope that in a community that holds in high esteem the role of older men as spiritual examples, mentors and leaders, more than 2% of college kids would quickly think of an older man they know from church as their most positive relationship.  I personally hear these results as calling for us older men to become much more relationally engaged, more humble and vulnerable, as well as warm and nurturing in our relationships with our own grandkids and especially younger people who are not related to us.

I’ll write more later about the kinds of qualities and personality traits that differentiate the most positive fromt the most negative relationships between college kids and older folks.

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¹ Incidentally, students did have the option to write in another category of older person for each the most positive and the most negative.  They did not have to choose between a grandparent, a church member and a teacher.  Some 5% did select another person (other relative, neighbor, employer…).  Also of note, 14% could not think of just one positive relationship, so they chose several; similarly 6% listed more than one negative relationship. 

In the wake of such devastation, how do we speak to our children?  How do we console them in their sadness, and reassure them in their fears?

“Consolation” by Edvard Munch

A word about tragedy from the prophets

The prophets of old had a two-fold, contradictory, response to tragedy.  On the one hand, the dreadfulness of the situation led them to refuse all comfort, because nothing, NOTHING, can really be said.  It is just too awful to be explained, too painful to be soothed.  Isaiah cries out something to that effect:

“Look away from me! Let me weep bitterly! Do not try to comfort me about the destruction of my dear people.”  (Isaiah 22:4)

Similarly, the lyric from Eric Clapton’s song “Circus”, written about the untimely death of his 4-year-old son, poignantly captures the fact that in the face of devastating loss, not much can be said… it’s just sad; what else can one say?.. it’s just sad.  Clapton sings,

And it’s sad, so sad,
There ain’t no easy way round.
And it’s sad, so sad,
All you friends gather round
‘Cause the circus left town.

Yet, at the same time, something in us needs comfort.  Something cries out for a response to tragic loss.  While spoken words (think of Job’s friends) are hardly a fitting response, inaction and apathy are also grossly inappropriate.  The prophets, with one breath, begged to be left alone, and with the next breath, called for action and response. Thus, Jeremiah complains,

“I weep and my eyes overflow with tears. No one is near to comfort me, no one to restore my spirit…  See, O LORD, how distressed I am! I am in torment within, and in my heart I am disturbed…  People have heard my groaning, but there is no one to comfort me.” (Lamentations 1:16-21)

There is a part of us that feels at a deep level that, in the face of horrific tragedy, something simply must be done!  The only thing more devastating than losing our children to violence would be for nothing to change in the wake of their deaths.

In my last post, I expressed the opinion that a collective move towards eschewing the many forms of violence we have too readily embraced (including clutching firearms) might be an appropriate response.  In this post, I’ll share a few thoughts I have about helping our own children through such tragedies.

Kids need parents more than experts

Certainly I believe that psychology is a valuable field.  After all, I’ve been a practicing clinician for 26 years.  But I say this because our first response is often to turn to experts in our need for reassurance.  We want to make sure our kids will be OK, which is understandable and good.  And yet, there is a danger here:

• First, there are actually very few experts in such matters.  When it comes to the effects of mass violence against children, only a handful of people worldwide have published on the subject.  Your local generic counselor is not likely to know a whole lot more about what a “normal” versus “abnormal” response to such trauma might be, much less still about expected long term effects.
• Second, what a growing literature about trauma in general suggests is that most individuals are resilient and cope with tragedy with their available resources, including loving families.  Only a small percentage will ultimately require professional help for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
• Third, we simply can’t be fooled into thinking that there is some proven way to protect our kids from the devastating effects of senseless murders. An expert might give you a handful of helpful tips. But don’t be fooled. Violence and hatred are toxic and they leave emotional/spiritual scars.  Damage control won’t do, our actions must be geared towards prevention (I trust you can pretty quickly figure out where and when your kids are being exposed to violence, whether in family fights, TV programming, school bullying…) and not simply picking up the pieces, after the fact.  You, as a parent, must get involved on a greater scale towards healing our culture.

Turn the d*** TV off!

One of our greatest illusions is to think that technology is innocuous or neutral.  Our second greatest illusion is to believe technology holds the essential solutions to our modern problems (which all too often were themselves created or facilitated by technology!).  What I mean is that through the media, children are now exposed to a greater number of real life tragedies than they ever have been before in history.  They hear about children being shot in a school some 1000 miles away; they see scenes of devastation following a tsunami, continents away.  The effects of famine, war, floods, disease and the like, from all around the planet, coming from faraway places they’ve never seen (and probably never will) and happening to people they’ve never met (and likely never will).  What makes us think the human psyche is made to handle such emotional overload, at any age?

Musician Chris Rea, in his powerful 1989 album “The Road to Hell”, expressed his disgust at the violence inflicted on our children through TV.  For instance, in the song “You Must be Evil”, he sings:

I come home from work
I see my little girl
She’s crying on the floor
She’s been watching that TV
This ain’t late no, this ain’t even dinner time
To show them things on that screen
What’s wrong with you?  You must be evil.

The late French theologian Jacques Ellul spoke prophetically about technology.  In fact, I’m in the middle of a book written by Jean-Luc Porquet entitled « Jacques Ellul: L’homme qui avait presque tout prévu » (“Jacques Ellul: The man who had predicted almost everything”) which summarizes and analyzes Ellul’s thought on the spiritual effects of technology.  In one of his many books, Ellul writes about the paradox of the access to information afforded by technology, “the more citizens will be informed, the less they will be capable of taking action.”  

Spiritually and psychologically you can discern the problem:

Scenario A: If a tragedy were to occur in your hometown, in your child’s school, then there are a number of natural protective factors, spiritually and emotionally, as far as coping.  Your child will participate at an age appropriate level in the collective grieving and healing; you will visit your friends who lost a child, taking them food and flowers; you will pray for their comfort; you will weep with them, etc…  This would likely be a once-in-a-lifetime event and it would profoundly shape the collective consciousness of the town, for every individual.

Scenario B: With the advances of technology, you are now exposed (and often your child as well) to similar tragedies around the country and the globe.  But now, there are no real communal rituals to heal.  There is nothing concrete for you to do to comfort total strangers, nothing for your child to model, because these tragedies occur outside the bounds of any recognizable community.  So, you and your child are left with 2 options, as far as emotions: (a) to be overwhelmed with negative emotion (anxiety, fear, sadness, despair, shock, anger, outrage…) with no real outlet, or (b) to gradually, little by little, grow more and more callous to such suffering.  With each new bit of news, you become accustomed to witnessing tragedy without taking action.  But don’t both of these paths ultimately add fuel to the very roots of the problem of violence in the midst of which we now find ourselves?

Ideally, we should allow ourselves to be exposed only to the amount of tragedy about which we can actually do something.  Since the proverbial ship has sailed when it comes to technology, the best we can do is (a) limit our children’s exposure (and ours) to worldwide tragedies, and (b) practice some kind of action for as many tragedies as we do encounter (e.g., donations, local activism, communal prayer, volunteerism…).  This leads me to my last comment.

Connect, in the flesh

In the end, I have no “expert” advice as a psychologist about helping our children when they hear about events like the Newtown shootings.  I can speak as a father.  And I can speak in the hope embodied in Jesus.

Theologically, it seems fitting to keep coming back to the mystery of the Incarnation.  In the last post, I mentioned Simeon the wise man who welcomed the young Jesus in the temple courts. Luke says of him:

“Now there was a man in Jerusalem called Simeon, who was righteous and devout. He was waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him.”  (Luke 2:25)

The answer he was expecting, the consolation he was awaiting, came in the form of a flesh & blood human being.  The message of the Incarnation is that healing takes place, from up close; so God came near.  And while the internet and TV airwaves can bring the entire world, with all its woes, right into our living room, we are capable only of local, limited action.  That’s what Jesus did, spending his entire life in a very small geographic area.  So, I’m of the mind that we can hardly improve on that approach.  In sum, to the extent possible,

• At the right times, turn off the TV (i.e., stop bringing all the tragedies of the world into your children’s home)
• Get involved in some kind of communal healing, locally (e.g., soup kitchen, battered woman’s shelter), along with your kids
• Surround yourself with a community of friends and loved ones.

I’ll close with a video of Cat Stevens’ somewhat prophetic song, expressing concern about the impact an increasingly modern and sophisticated world presents to our children’s ability to play:

“Nativity”, by Brian Kershisnik. Brigham Young Museum of Art.

For to us a child is
born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his
shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of
Peace.

As this season of Advent comes to its joyful conclusion, a few things run through my mind.  For instance, I’ll miss a New England Christmas, including dear friends, snow and midnight mass in Boston’s Cathedral of the Holy Cross. But the most insistent, and most troubling, reflection is about the recent tragedy in Connecticut, where 20 small children and 6 adults were murdered by a deranged shooter. Could Isaiah’s words cut any clearer a contrast between the longing for peace and comfort that not only his contemporaries felt, but also the first century witnesses of the Nativity and we today still feel, and the reality of the violent world in which we live.

For me, the Nativity, that lowly birth of the infant Jesus, embodies that poignant hope that mankind has felt since ancient times, for a better day, one in which ours sons don’t die in battle, our daughters aren’t raped, and our children aren’t murdered. Of course, violence did not end on that day, far from it. For, while Isaiah’s prophecy might have been fulfilled when the promised Prince of Peace was born in Bethlehem, Matthew reminds us that Jeremiah’s foretelling was also bitterly realized: “A voice is heard in Ramah, weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more.”

Today, a voice is heard in Newtown, as mothers and fathers in Connecticut join that seemingly endless, agonizing cry. And we, too, mourn with them.

I don’t want to hijack that tragedy in the service of one my personal soapboxes, like some seem intent on doing. But I would like to share some reflections, as I ponder a path forward.

Despite the Church’s centuries of blood-shedding behavior of its own, despite the violent rhetoric of the so-called ”Christian” right in our nation today, despite the shocking absence of peace among and between the various strands of Christianity…. despite it all, I’m still a Christian today because the story of Jesus still has a remarkable ability to cut through it all, to uncover and expose our madness while at the same time pointing to a better way.

Strangely, at one level, I find myself agreeing with the NRA nutjobs. Gun control alone will not solve the problem of mass shootings. And yet, when I think of that baby born in Bethlehem called the Prince of Peace, when I recall his words admonishing us to “love your enemies and do good to those who hate you”, and if I trust his example (“When they hurled their insults at him, he did not retaliate; when he suffered, he made no threats. Instead, he entrusted himself to him who judges justly.”) and his words (“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you.”), I simply can’t comprehend, much less make the case for, anyone’s need to own assault weapons.

The problem, as I see it, is not in the owning of guns (though again, beyond hunting guns for people who actually eat what they kill, I see no compatibility between the desire for guns and the peaceful Jesus…. in this, I think Gandhi clearly got him right). I’ve read, though not verified, that Canadians have a similarly high rate of gun ownership, but a much lower rate of gun killings. No, the problem is much bigger than guns. And, contrary to “Christian” nutjobs, the problem is NOT the breakdown of the family, or homosexual marriage,or… I believe that the problem is found in our very peculiar American psyche.

It seems to me that both as a nation, and as a people, we’ve adopted a fundamental belief that the way to ensure peace and safety is to carry the biggest stick of all. The idea is simple: “don’t mess with us, we have nuclear weapons and the biggest, most sophisticated army in the entire universe.” That’s our ace in the pocket. Sure, we rely some on diplomacy, on alliances with other nations, but when pressed we bag all that and go to war to protect our interests (witness the war in Iraq). Smaller, less wealthy nations simply can’t have that same philosophy. Belgium will never have the military clout to deter potential enemies, nor Malawi the means to secure an arsenal that would give any malevolent foreign power pause. But we’re big and powerful and can rely on our strength.

And this is precisely the main argument I presently hear against gun control. The concern is that if we ban assault weapons (semi-automatic and automatic) for ordinary citizens, then they will not have the option to be as well armed as the “bad guys”. My current and crazy home state of Texas seems to believe the solution is to put well armed guards in schools. The idea is that to deter gun violence, we need more people, more “good guys”, to also be heavily armed. Insanity.

Another exhibit: the rhetoric of our last round of elections and the profoundly adversarial posturing we currently witness in Washington attest to the fact that we believe in force, in power, in winning out over and above the other guy.

Similarly, our civil legal system fueled by an increasingly litigious society bears witness to our incapacity of working things out communally, through compromise and reason, favoring instead a win-lose approach to conflict resolution.

Even in our play, you see this mentality. As theologian Walter Brueggemann mischievously remarks about our favorite American sport, “Football is the violent liturgy of our militaristic society”. The team that is strongest and hits the hardest wins the contest, does it not?

So, violence is in our American consciousness, pervasively. Our solution to problems is a forceful assertion of one’s position or complaint. It’s no wonder, then, that the more troubled and damaged in our toxic society take that message to the wall. They certainly don’t stand apart in their embrace of force and power ¹.

Perhaps, they only differ in the extremes they go to and the innocence of the targets they choose. But their basic message is an insistent demand to be heard, to be reckoned with, to be vindicated. They choose the biggest stick they can find, use the most forceful means they can conceive, and they do so in the most public forum possible… a perverted form of propaganda to be sure, but not entirely unlike other forms of propaganda commonly displayed on our social landscape.

I’m one who thinks we DO need common-sense gun control laws. We can’t be so afraid of the supposed “slippery slope” that would lead to us losing all civil rights that we do nothing in the face of a growing number of mass murders, enabled by powerful and rapid firearms. But that’s just a beginning, a stop-gap of sorts.

What we need more than ever is to trade in our might-makes-right ethic. I don’t know exactly HOW we do that. It seems unsurmountable.

But for me, as a believer, it starts anew by remembering the birth of the Prince of Peace. It starts with eager expectation and prayer, like Simeon who at the mere sight of the little one, long before any concrete realization of the promise exclaimed, “Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people”.

Unfortunately not many of Jesus’ followers have embraced his radical pacifism. Some to be sure, such as the Anabaptists, have steadfastly embraced a non-retaliatory, peacemaking, humble but courageous resistance to violence for centuries. But today, I hear too many Christians defending our constitutional right to bear arms, waving the flag of a nation that has all too often (like all nations, really) embraced violent ways. But this world does not need more brute force, more flexing of muscles. It needs the prophetic presence of a people who loves its enemies, who repays evil with good, who forgives, who lays its weapons down, willingly (remember Micah going on about beating swords into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks? ²), rather than desperately holding on to them for self-defense.

I don’t think you have to be a believer, though, and certainly not an orthodox believer (think of Leo Tolstoy) to embrace the radical call to peace that Jesus came to represent. You don’t have to believe in the Virgin Birth to embrace its message of peace. You don’t have to believe in the Resurrection and the coming Kingdom of God to join in expectant longing for a reign of brotherhood and peace.

Nativity by Giotto di Bondone (1266-1337). Cappella Scrovegni, Padua.

That’s what Christmas is about, for me. One man was born who showed that a life of peace is possible, and contagious; and that it’s worth dying for. I love how Renaissance artist Giotto captured the cosmic nature of the arrival of Jesus (my friend and colleague Mike Wiggins taught me to appreciate Giotto). An ordinary event wrapped in other-wordly promise. The human birth of divine presence. Peace in a violent world. A Prince of Peace in a world of guns.

There’s no sense to be made of our babies being slaughtered in Connecticut.

But there is a prayer that makes sense in the wake of that tragedy:  that it will lead, somehow, to less violence, not more.

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¹  René Girard argued similarly in his “Anorexie et désir mimétique” that eating disorders simply
represent a somewhat logical if tragic end-point for broadly held beliefs and attitudes of Western societies

²  Micah 4:3

Light triumphs over darkness, life over death, love over hate… again.

In this amazing, surprising, exciting, never ending cycle that is both biological AND spiritual and that we know as life, once again hope has sprung anew!

September 11th, for most of us, has meant loss, terror, conflict, death, meaninglessness.  It’s a deeply unsettling day that 11 years ago violently shook us out of our illusory sense of predictability and comfort.

But no longer!  For the McAnulty and Traganos families, September 11 will now and forever more be a day of joy: the entry of Mattias David Traganos, a healthy young baby boy and my grandson, into this world.

Our time to grieve is over.  Begins now our time of welcoming… our time of gathering memories… our time of living simply in the present… our time of laughing and crying together… our time of delight and surprise… our time of handing down cherished traditions and treasured meanings… our time of living… with Mattias.

Welcome to our family, to the greater human family, and to this amazing life, precious little one!

And thank you for breaking the spell a dark cloud held over us, for freeing us again to love September 11th as a day of light, life and joy.

A singer-songwriter from my generation sang such a message well:

“Everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial.

Everything is permissible, but not everything is constructive.”

That idea has been on my mind lately, for several reasons.

FIRST, a few Olympic athletes have gotten themselves into some hot water for comments they’ve made on Twitter or other social media.  On the one hand, are they not free to make whatever statements they want?  Sure.

On the other hand, even their sponsoring countries are asking whether racial prejudice (in the case of a Greek  athlete and a Swiss one who were each sent home) or simply discourteous comments (in the case of a US athlete who was not sent home) are really the best way to represent their nations or the Olympic spirit.

SECOND, I recently posted an article entitled “Let them eat cake-2012 style”, as well as a follow-up, in which I essentially was raising the question of whether an attitude of suspicion towards the poor who are on welfare was really the best Christian response, particularly when the OT and NT canons hold predominantly benevolent postures towards the poor.  In a nutshell, I was, and am, asking whether Christians going on about welfare abusers is really putting our best (i.e., most Christ-like) foot forward.

Both on the blog, and on Facebook, I got a number of responses, some of which took me on (lovingly), questioning whether the poor in the US today are actually comparable to the very, very poor of early Palestine, and restating the concerns about welfare recipients who have TV, cell phones, may use drugs, etc…  I remain unconvinced.  Sure, I realize there are abuses in the welfare system, that it is an inconsistent and inefficient bureaucracy, that charity or welfare alone do not ultimately eliminate the problem of poverty.  But I still ask, if you’re going to make one sound-byte statement about poverty, as  Christian, is that really the one you want to make?  To quote Regis Philbin, “is that your final answer?”

In fact, as one who grew up in France, I have many good friends there who are agnostic or atheists, yet who hold deep concerns about social justice.  And I couldn’t help but wonder…  what kind of view of American Christians does our interchange give them?  Do they walk away thinking, “wow, I’m so amazed at the generous, merciful spirit of these followers of Jesus”?  Or are they more likely to walk away scratching their heads, confused?

THIRD, there has been a lot of noise about Chick Fil A founder’s comments in support of a traditional view of marriage and in opposition to gay marriage.  These immediately drew ire from the likes of Boston mayor Thomas Menino ‘unwelcoming’ the company in Boston.  And in response, a Chick Fil A appreciation day garnered support among conservative Christians who wanted their voice heard.

I was left with the same feeling.  Of all the statements followers of Jesus might want to make to affirm his Kingdom vision, is this really the one that seems the most compelling?  I think a number of folks in the blogosphere have, in fact, asked some version of the question, “will the same size crowds show up at the local shelters for the homeless, soup kitchens, free clinics to help the poor, that showed up in support of Chick fil A’s anti-gay stance?”.  Also, similarly to my puzzled European friends, I believe it’s our youth who are put off by these exclusionary postures; the same youth who more than ever are motivated to help the poor and oppressed in their own and other countries around the globe.

To me the issue is about faithfulness, not political correctness.  I don’t think Christians should be worried about being politically correct.  In fact the New Testament suggests that a certain degree of enmity, on the part of the world towards the church (rather than vice versa; e.g., John 15:18), is inevitable, and that becoming too much like the world is risky (e.g., James 4:4).

Moreover, political correctness is often no more than a thin veneer that masks an underlying truth that is entirely different.  Singer John Mellecamp said it well when interviewed a few years back about his take on the racial climate post-Obama:

We create the illusion that we are a nation of compassion and understanding and I’m in Philadelphia right now, walking down the street and I don’t see it. I have a house in Savannah, Ga., I don’t see it. We just don’t say the N-word in public anymore. Big deal.

Indeed it is one thing to get all outraged about the use of the N***** word, it’s another all together to really deal with prejudice at its root, in our hearts (cf. Mark 7:21-22).  

In other words, it’s quite easy to hop on the bandwagon of the day and proclaim one’s allegiance to “traditional family values” by driving down to the corner and eating a fried chicken sandwich.  It’s entirely more difficult to do the hard work of actually living out family values by remaining in a vital, loving relationship with the wife of one’s youth and parenting children with devotion, wisdom, character, patience and no hint of abuse.  Both national statistics about conservative Christians and my own experience as a therapist indicate that, on both of these counts, the loyalty to family values runs pretty shallow.

What does faithfulness mean, then?

To me, it simply means that our emphases should match those of the Savior we claim to follow.  He actually never said anything about homosexuality, himself.  He actually never suggested screening the poor to verify how legitimate their poverty was before helping.  So, it doesn’t take complex theology or deep exegesis to come to the conclusion that going on tirades about welfare abusers or demonstrating in opposition to same-sex marriage rights is pretty off the mark.

To be sure, there are psychological reasons religious folks are tempted, on the whole, to be more preoccupied with some issues (like sex or fairness) over other ones (like radical generosity or love of enemies.  In his book “Unclean”, my friend and colleague Dr. Richard Beck does an excellent job of bringing together the psychological and theological literatures and developing an analysis of this phenomenon.  The following ideas are informed, in part, by his writing.

In Matthew 9, we see that Jesus ran into the same tension between separation/distinctiveness (holiness) and inclusiveness (mercy).  The Pharisees were concerned about holiness, purity and boundaries (“Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and ‘sinners’?”).  For them, concerns about contamination and separateness were tantamount.  And to be fair, they did not invent the principle.  Holiness is a major theme of the priestly literature (e.g., Leviticus, Deuteronomy).

Today, we see the same when it comes to the politics of sexuality and poverty.  The message from a large segment of the conservative Christian voice in the US tends to be one of contamination: “If we ‘allow’ gay marriage, it will lead to the breakdown of our society and weaken the institution of heterosexual marriage” (which is pretty delusional considering that conservative heterosexual Christians have a pretty dismal track record as far as making marriage work, regardless of what gay couples do or don’t do!)… or, “If we enable poor people who are actually drug users or lazy or… by giving too generously, the system will break down… there will more and more free loaders.”  As a result, the pull is towards exclusion, towards blocking.

Yet, Jesus did not see things that way.  In fact, he thought exactly the reverse.  By eating with tax collectors, by coming into contact with prostitutes/loose women, by touching lepers, it was not he who was contaminated.  On the contrary, they were purified, healed, liberated.  Thus, rather than take up the Levitical message of purification and sacrifice, he privileged the prophetic message of justice and mercy.  He rocked the religious world by proclaiming that they should not be all about fear of contamination:

But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’

When you think about it, that’s an incredibly hopeful message.  Mercy is more powerful than contamination.  Love is more powerful than sin.  The world is changed by welcoming and embracing others, not excluding and rejecting them.  To me, this means that over-the-top generosity from Christians will do far more good, will be far more powerful than any harm caused by a minority of free-loaders.  To me, it means that the loving dialogue and genuine friendship offered to sexual minorities will have a far more “purifying” effect on the soul of the church than any loosening of morals that we might fear.

So, to get back to the earlier quote about Paul, I suppose that it is permissible for Christians to make a stand on anything their conscience, their beliefs, or even their opinions move them to.  But, it may not be beneficial or constructive.  It may not place Christ and his Church in the best, or the most faithful, light.  It may, in fact, downright distort the gospel.

I’m not too fond of the ‘sound-byte approach’ to religion, social issues or politics (though it seems, judging by social media, news outlets , political campaigns, and all other dominant forms of dialogue in our society to be the preferred way).  But, if we must tweet, post, or otherwise share snippets about our beliefs, shouldn’t mercy be at the center of those messages?  And if we must take a stand or otherwise protest, shouldn’t our cause be for greater inclusion rather than exclusion, for greater solidarity rather than greater separation?

I know, I know… isn’t there a danger that people will misinterpret our mercy and graciousness and take sin lightly?  That’s a fair question, one the Pharisees wrestled with and the early church struggled with (you’ve probably already thought of Paul’s analogy of the yeast working its way through the dough).  All I can say is take it up with the one who said “I desire mercy”.  He seemed pretty comfortable landing on a dominant tone for his ministry.  My friend Jim McGuiggan used to ask why we are so afraid of grace and so quickly feel the need to protect it from potential abuses when grace is not our message in the first place, nor ours to protect, but God’s.

Yes, I do agree that we need to honor both holiness and mercy, to such an extent that we are capable of doing so… but, when in doubt, we must choose mercy, every time.  As I’ve tried to express before, it’s not so much that holiness and mercy are twin virtues to be held in tension, as they pull against each other.  Instead, one is in the service of the other.  As I see it, holiness is part of the process of preparing us so that we’ll be ready to do the works of mercy ¹.

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¹ See for instance I Peter 1:16-25 where holiness is in the service of deep love for one another; II Timothy 2:21 where holiness makes us “useful to the Master and prepared to to do any good work”; Ephesians 1:5 where “He chose us… to be holy and blameless” leads into Ephesians 2:10 “created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do” etc…

My goal is simple, to shift from the general, theological issues raised in the last post to a real life example, that puts a face on poverty.  The objective is to invite us (in our tiny blogosphere community) to ponder the issue of a Christian response to poverty, unemployment, homelessness and welfare… not in the abstract, but in specific.

And I think this (composite) case study illustrates the issues that are troubling to all those who struggle with the question of the poor.  These questions include: What are their real needs?  Have we done enough?  When are wants not so much genuine needs as an attitude of entitlement? How much should we do versus expect them to do for themselves?  When are we enabling?  What does compassion look like?  How does one manage one’s own internal reactions (whether disgust, fear, feeling overwhelmed, the pull to be a rescuer, the temptation to objectify or dehumanize, or the temptation to be sentimental, etc…)? And so on.

But first, I feel obligated to express a word of caution.  In discussing a “case”, the personhood of the individual is in danger of getting lost.  I think that’s what we witness in John’s gospel, chapter 9, where the man born blind becomes a pawn in what is essentially an ideological, one might say socio-political or religious, conflict.  Of course, to Jesus, the man was not an object for debate. He was not an illustration or vehicle for self-promotion.   To him, he was neither a victim nor a guilty person who brought on his own fate; instead, he was… a man. With all that is glorious and worthy of dignity in that human identity, as well as all that is broken, lacking and needy.  Jesus touched him, healed him, gave him a chance, with no strings attached.  We don’t know what became of the man, ultimately.

So, let us proceed with respect, with mercy, with wisdom, and with trepidation.

Of course, the above is not a picture of “Mary”, though she also is (a) homeless, for 2 years now, living in a tent with her alcoholic boyfriend, and (b) of working age and without disabling medical problems. She too, has a dog.  She smokes. She is very depressed and complains of anxiety around people; . She applies for jobs but has not been hired; she has been turned down for disability for the 4th time and expresses doubt as to her ability to hold a job.  In fact, her work history is pretty spotty.

On first impression, she illustrates what those who think the poor don’t try enough fear: healthy enough to work, history of drug addiction (which cost her custody of her now grown kids) though she’s been sober 7 years, very identified as a patient (both medically, with frequent ER visits, and psychiatrically, reporting dubious symptoms of multiple personality, hallucinations and delusions).

And yet, on the other hand, her story is tragic.  She suffered prolonged episodes of sexual abuse/rape as a child, her father was absent and her mother an alcoholic.  She’s been raped twice as a young adult.  She became addicted to meth and alcohol, as a teen, ultimately served time and lost her kids (who, now adults, barely talk to her).  All her relationships with men, except her current boyfriend, have been physically abusive.  Her IQ is low average.

Now, she spends her days dumpster diving, looking for either food or scrap metal for money to buy food… and cigarettes.

I ask her why she smokes (…  you  wondered too, didn’t you?).  She says it relaxes her and, mostly, dulls her hunger pains.  I ask her why she has a dog.  She explains he makes her happy and gives her someone to take care of.  I ask her why she didn’t stay in the women’s shelter.  She replies that the crying children made her too anxious and that she couldn’t sleep around so many people.  I assure her I can help her with her anxiety; she tells me she doesn’t think so.  I suggest a night job that’s quiet.  She thinks she’d be better off on disability, so she could afford a place to sleep (a cheap, by-the-week motel).  I ask her if she’s connected with one of the more active church ministries to the homeless locally.  She laughs, stating “they keep trying to baptize me.”

After our first hour, it’s obvious she’s totally defeated… and I’m started to feel the same.  Clearly, despair has set in… in fact, she’s attempted suicide, a serious attempt, about 8 months ago (overdosing on medication given for depression), and not her first.

It’s also obvious I’ve made the most fundamental mistake, when working with the homeless.  In forgetting just how alienated she feels from society and most humans (think of her traumatic childhood and repeated devastating disappointments), I prematurely offered suggestions and ideas.  In ignoring the extent to which she has come to expect judgment, and has hardened herself to it, I asked questions that betray that very judgment (you know… about smoking, about losing her kids, about her past drug use, about her job history…).

I leave our first appointment thinking three things.  First, I’m struck by how “broken down” she is, spending her days scavenging dumpsters and resigned to her alienation.  Second, in light of her limited resources (intellectual, educational, financial, spiritual, social, etc…), I’m amazed she’s still alive.  Third, as tough as she seems, I think she’s hanging on by a thread and I’d be surprised if she was alive in 5 years (either murdered or suicided, I predict).

At this point, I am (and now you are) faced with the question: what is a Christian response to “Mary”?

I’m quite sure I don’t have it figured out, but a few things I know:

1.  Human touch:  If I’m to trust the example of Jesus, she needs to be touched, not just physically but deep down emotionally, so she knows that she belongs, that there is hope, that she is lovable.  Life and society, Satan if you will,  have dehumanized her.  In order to touch her, I have to shed any spirit of judgment or condemnation.

2.  Patience:  Unfortunately, lacking the miraculous Jesus touch, I can’t expect a simple laying on of hands, a word spoken, or a mud/spit poultice will make her troubles disappear.  In fact, the psychologist in me knows that due to her fragile character structure, a long road lays ahead simply to establish rapport with her.  It will take months before she even “feels” my touch!  Dr. Nancy McWilliams, a marvelously insightful psychoanalyst, comments on the difference between the typical “neurotic” patient therapists usually treat and the more seriously troubled individuals with a chaotic personality structure:

“… they may take up to several years to develop the kind of therapeutic alliance that a neurotic client may feel within minutes of meeting the therapist.”  ¹ 

I don’t know how else to say, so I’ll be frank: I think the average Christian should most assuredly be at least as patient as any decent psychoanalyst, don’t you? P.S. Surprisingly, you can even be both a Christian AND a psychoanalyst…

3.  Compassion:  This starts with listening to her story (rather than asking my questions) of course.  It also requires empathy, or the effort to put myself in her shoes.  Jesus did both.  He asked “what do you want from me” ², rather than assume; and, he actually “became poor” ³.

Thinking theologically for a moment, it simply is impossible to have compassion on the poor and at the same time blame them for our economic problems (which is the idea that prompted my last post).  And I believe that a lot of the “going off” on welfare is actually a form of scapegoating.  René Girard, of course, is the theologian known for writing about this phenomenon of scapegoating.  Because we are under stress (troubled economy) and fearful, and because we might fear an outbreak of violence within our society as the economy worsens and hostile outsiders (terrorists) threaten us, we look for scapegoats.  Because, when we eliminate the scapegoats, we think we’ll be better off, and, in fact, internal chaos may indeed be averted.

But are the poor our modern day scapegoats?  I think so.  In a thought provoking book, Jeffrey Sachs ⁴ reports:

“Welfare still looms large in the public’s imagination, but it plays little role in the budget and the deficit. It’s been a long time since America was generous to its poor families with children!”

West and Smiley state the matter more strongly still: ⁵ 

“By the late 1970s, the face of poverty had reverted to 19th-century levels, and the poor were once again blamed for their circumstances.  Since then, poverty has become a political football used to accent government failures and ridicule socio-economic outcomes.”

Yet, if anyone should be able to unmask the mechanism of scapegoating, both its appeal and its falsehood, it should be Christians.  In his book “Unclean“, Richard Beck explains,

“No one knowingly engages in scapegoating… The great moral temptation in scapegoating is that it often feels justified and righteous.  The sinful mechanism is often hidden from view… With the sacrifice of the scapegoat, a violent mob is both pacified and united… Of course, the scapegoats are often innocent…  Jesus unmasks the scapegoating mechanism by being declared innocent.”

Compassion leads to (a) staying involved and (b) trying to understand.  As I see it, even if we could accurately say that a homeless, welfare-seeker like “Mary” was an addict (though she’s in recovery), or was unmotivated to help herself, we’ve solved nothing.  To conclude that we need to tighten up our generosity and cut off the “undeserving” leaves unanswered the question of what will become of them.  What if their internal resources are insufficient and they give in to despair, killing themselves?  or, instead, limp along in sub-human existence, dragging their kids along into the undending cycle?  Shall we endorse some grotesque social Darwinism and say, ”so be it”?  (Incidentally, there is something disturbingly ironic about arch-conservative creationists who want to expunge Darwin from our textbooks, all the while advocating economic strategies that, in essence, advocate this kind of “survival of the fittest”).

Also left unanswered is the “why” question.  Why is this person on welfare addicted to drugs?  And how do we best support her in finding sobriety?  Why does a person get to the point that he has no motivation whatsoever  to find a job?  Is refusing to “enable” such persons the only, or best, strategy to motivate them?  How do we best address inter-generational poverty?  Could it be that an “us vs. them” posture only perpetuates some of the problematic dynamics already at play?

I know I’ve raised far more questions than I’ve answered.  But, hopefully, it helps to think of specific people, like “Mary” and not just generalities.  And hopefully, too, we can, as a community, keep this kind of dialogue alive, civilly, lovingly, and patiently hearing each other out, and all the while, each in our own way, getting “our hands dirty” and getting involved in the lives of all the “Mary’s” God will put in our way… if only we open our eyes.

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¹  Nancy McWilliams (2011). “Psychoanalytic Diagnosis” (2nd Ed.), p. 84
²  Matthew 20:32
³  II Corinthians 8:9
⁴  Jeffrey Sachs (2011). “The Price of civilization: Reawakening American virtue and prosperity”
⁵  Cornell West & Tavis Smiley (2012). “The Rich and the rest of us: A poverty manifesto” 

As much as we’d like to think that when we did away with the tyranny of old monarchies we ushered in a new era where all men are equal, it seems that even today (particularly as the gap between the rich and poor grows in our country, as does the percentage of people living at poverty level), the poor are misunderstood, misperceived, and often stereotyped.  Even calling them “the poor” puts them in some category that is other, different, not “us”… and often negative.

This post was prompted by one of those political statements that circulated around Facebook a while back.  And while I realize, a Facebook status is hardly the place where folks can fully develop their thinking on important ideas, such as poverty, this one bothered me.  Here it is,

I think we should be honest and admit that not all employers use pre-employment drug testing (43% of companies do not).  But that’s not my issue.  I suppose if the vast majority of companies did in fact start requiring pre-employment drug testing, then why not drug test welfare recipients, too?

My issue is that these kind of statements betray a fundamental attitude towards the poor of a certain kind, one that I find offensive.

Let me clarify.  My concern is not political; I do realize that those whose leanings are either to the Right (mostly Republican) or towards Libertarianism are much more likely to have concerns about the existence or abuses of a welfare system than those who lean, in this country, towards the center (Democratic), or in other countries, towards the Left (e.g., most European countries).  I’m fine with various political viewpoints, I have friends who are Democrats, Republicans, and Libertarians, as well as some who are (in my view, at least) very far to the Right, and some who are Socialists.  I understand there are very different ideas about how to solve large scale social problems.

The problem is not political, but attitudinal (which may or may not be closely aligned with politics).  So why is the attitude offensive to me?  Because of a twofold message:

1. The poor are defective.  Implied is the idea that sizable percentage of those who are poor are poor because of character defects, or dishonesty, or addiction.
2. The poor are the source of our problems.  Whether portrayed as welfare abusers who drain the economy, or as envious, entitled under-performers who want to take, via unfair taxation of the more fortunate (or, some think, meritorious), what belongs fair-and-square to others, caricatures such as the one quoted above imply that if we dealt with these cheats and everyone got their just deserts, we’d be well on our way to a better society.

And that message simply does not jibe with the unambiguous perspective of the Bible regarding poverty.  So, I’m puzzled how Christians would fail to see that.

A BIBLICAL EXPLANATION OF POVERTY?

It might surprise some, but, from what I can tell, the Bible really does not address in any systematic way the various causes of poverty.  The canon starts from the simple proposition that poverty exists.

In the only passages that shed a negative light on the poor, the writer of Proverbs suggests that laziness (13:18; 20:13; 24:33-34) and love of pleasure, including wine (21:17), are causes of poverty in some cases.

Of course, this potentially damaging account of the “condition” of poverty is moderated by the fact that the same writer stresses the importance of not holding the poor in contempt, writing:

 He who mocks the poor taunts his Maker (Proverbs 17:5)

Similarly, he shows compassion for the poor, readily acknowledging how alienating poverty is in terms of being “forgotten” by friends (14:20; 19:4) and further suggesting that concern for the poor is a mark of righteousness:

The righteous is concerned for the rights of the poor, The wicked does not understand such concern. (29:7)

Nowhere else in the canon are the poor and needy ever presented in a negative light. 

Let me repeat: out of the nearly 200 texts addressing poverty, only this handful in Proverbs suggest that at least sometimes the poor might be blamed for their condition.  Every other passage treats the poor with compassion, mercy, protectiveness.

If we remember that Proverbs is largely a book of reflections on the way things are, something like the common sense book of the Old Testament, then it makes sense.  Who could deny that failure to work and excessive devotion to pleasure can lead to poverty?  But that is a far cry from saying that ALL poverty, or even MOST poverty comes from such dispositions.

In stark contrast, for the prophets, the prevailing view of poverty involves the rich and powerful oppressing the poor, sometimes even using the apparatus of the state.  For instance,

Woe to those who enact evil statutes and to those who constantly record unjust decisions, so as to deprive the needy of justice and rob the poor of My people of their rights, so that widows may be their spoil and that they may plunder the orphans. (Isaiah 10:1)

I find it interesting in this election year  to read this verse (note the underlined text).  Sometimes, as I listen, it appears that the primary concern of conservative Christians in this country is not paying more taxes, as if that were God’s primary concern about our wealth.  This passage from Isaiah seems remarkably relevant because the prophet addresses the fact it is precisely the wealthy who are adept at getting legislation passed (in today’s terms, think of tax breaks, investment loopholes, privileges for bankers… “welfare” for corporations, in other words) that help their own financial situation while minimizing the voice of the poor.  Check your stats, more children in the US live at the poverty level today than have since the Great Depression; minorities bear the cruelest part of that burden.

In the New Testament, things out of one’s control like illness (Mark 10:46; Acts 3:2) and widowhood (Luke 21:2) were understood to be causes of poverty.  And the compassion of Jesus and his followers on the poor and needy stands at the forefront of the Gospels and Acts.

A BIBLICAL RESPONSE TO POVERTY?

While the Bible has relatively little to say about how poverty comes about, it has dramatically more to say about how God’s people are to respond to poverty.  And this message is univocal.  A few examples:

First, God’s attitude towards the poor:

He will have compassion on the poor and needy  (Psalm 72:13)

He has given freely to the poor, His righteousness endures forever (Psalm 112:9)

Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God (Luke 6:20)

In contrast, how the poor are handled in a fallen, God-less state of affairs:

They push the needy aside from the road; The poor of the land are made to hide themselves altogether  (Job 24:4)

The poor is hated even by his neighbor, But those who love the rich are many (Proverbs 14:20)

Wealth adds many friends, But a poor man is separated from his friend (Proverbs 19:4)

Behold, this was the guilt of your sister Sodom: she and her daughters had arrogance, abundant food and careless ease, but she did not help the poor and needy (Ezekiel 16:49)

And, finally, directions addressed to God’s people about the poor:

If there is a poor man with you, one of your brothers, in any of your towns in your land which the LORD your God is giving you, you shall not harden your heart, nor close your hand from your poor brother (Deuteronomy 15:7)

For the poor will never cease to be in the land; therefore I command you, saying, ‘You shall freely open your hand to your brother, to your needy and poor in your land.’  (Deuteronomy 15:11)

If you wish to be complete, go and sell your possessions and give to the poor (Matthew 19:21)

But when you give a reception, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed (Luke 14:13-14)

This begs the question:  were the poor of Moses’ day and the poor of Ezekiel’s day and the poor of Jesus’ day a radically different kind of poor persons than today?  Were Moses, the prophets, Jesus and the apostles just naive while we’re so much more sophisticated in our understanding of the abuses of welfare?  Could it be that there really were no free-loaders whatsoever among the poor they talked about?

THINKING ABOUT POVERTY THEOLOGICALLY

As a Christian, I think we have to stop thinking about poverty politically and letting the political apparatus frame the discussion.  Paradoxically, we shouldn’t think about poverty purely economically or allow the economic apparatus (individual, local, national and global) to frame the conversation, either.  As Kingdom people, we need to think FIRST about poverty theologically.  After that, of course, there are political and economic processes that must come to bear.  But unless we start theologically, we’re lost.

I don’t think I’m overstating things at all to conclude from my study of all the passages in the Bible on poverty, that from the perspective of the Biblical writers, poverty is much more a systemic problem, or more specifically a sure sign of the presence of a fallen world, than it is a sign of personal failure.  In fact that is precisely why, as we shall see, the overwhelming message is to care for the poor, because in doing so, God’s people confront the powers of the world, subvert the prevailing status quo and proclaim the good news of the Reign of God.

That’s why Luke quotes the wonderful words of Jesus as truly good news to the poor in this world:

 ”Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.  Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied.  Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.”

So what does it mean to think theologically about poverty?  This will not be exhaustive, but a few examples include the following:

1. A theology of incarnation:  As I mentioned in an earlier post, the incarnation reminds us that God builds bridges.  The writer of Hebrews, in the opening 4 verses of his epistle, paints God as a relentless pursuer.  Faithfulness to an incarnational ethic requires the embrace of “the other” and the abolishment of exclusionary practices.  Miroslav Volf develops this wonderfully in his book “Exclusion and Embrace”.  In sum, whether we do it via social reform (i.e., government welfare etc…) or by radical generosity (i.e. church benevolence), Christians who are rich simply cannot be Christian and hold less than charitable attitudes towards the poor.  Of course, I’m one who thinks that judging by how little most of us give to church & charities, and what small percentage of church budgets actually go to the poor, for any believer to think the poor in America will be served adequately outside of government program is in the realm of fantasy or delusion.
2. A Kingdom theology: Augustine famously wrote of the two kingdoms.  More recently writers like Walter Brueggemann and William Stringfellow have developed the same idea.  From Genesis to Revelation, a theological read of Scripture reveals a stark dichotomy.  On the one side, we have the Powers of this world, the satanic, represented by chariots & horses, by wealth, by oppression; here we find Pharaoh, Solomon (many of Israel’s kings really), Nebuchadnezzar, Caesar, and yes, poverty and oppression, injustice and lack of mercy.  In short: Empire.  On the other side, we have God’s reign, represented by an agrarian (rather than militaristic; e.g., cattle rather than chariots) society, relief for the poor and oppressed, a more egalitarian (some might say socialistic) economy typified by over-the-top generosity (think of the manna, the loaves & fishes, salvation etc…); here we find the prophets, very few kings, and of course Jesus.  In short: the Kingdom of God (or, of Heaven).  If our society is to be blind, insensitive or harsh towards the poor, then… you guessed it, we are the “other” kingdom.  That is why, in fact, you will find many theologians who firmly believe America is not a Christian nation (oxymoron really) but instead an embodiment of “Empire”.
3. A theology of creation/new creation:  The vision of Eden, as well as Jesus’ ministry of “new creation” is one of abundance, rather than scarcity.  God made things just right; he saw it was good.  There was and is plenty.  No need to hoard.  No going without. In fact, so many of Jesus miracles are such reminders (food for 5,000 hungry listeners; water into wine when it had run out, etc…).  At the same time, his harder words are for those who act as if there is not enough and therefore justify their own hoarding and selfishness (parable of the rich fool, curse of the fig tree that bore no fruit, etc…).  Generosity and hospitality are markers of new creation.  So the simple question is “if we wer e to adopt your proposed solutions towards dealing with the poor (e.g., drug testing for welfare recipients), would they feel more or less welcome, taken care of, included, invited?

To conclude…

1.  Tears 

In John 11:35, we read, simply, that “Jesus wept” when he witnessed and took part in the grief of Lazarus’ friends and family at his passing.  In this simple act, we are reminded that God crossed the divide that separated Him, as eternal being, not subject to death, from us, finite beings for whom death is the inevitable end point.  In taking on flesh, he crossed the divide.  He became a bridge between mortals and immortality (of course, Lazarus would go on to die, again… but his resuscitation was in that respect more of a foreshadowing, a promise of what was to come but is not yet).  

2. Sleeping in the boat

In the context of one of the great signs of Jesus’ lordship over creation, the taming of the storm, Matthew includes one tiny detail that makes a world of difference.  He points out, “but Jesus was sleeping” (8:24).  Like us, he grew tired, and needed sleep.  He was not superhuman.  The God who is timeless, beyond time, outside time, became a slave to time… for us.  To bridge the gap.

3.  Breaking bread

On many occasions, the gospel writers remind us that Jesus engaged in the simple act of eating.  Luke tells us that, after his resurrection,  the disciples “gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate it in their presence” (Luke 24: 42-43).  An insignificant detail… except, that it reminds us that he who had EVERYTHING and needed NOTHING, became human, and thus subject to hunger pains, to all the unpleasantness associated with digestive processes, etc…  He closed the gap.  He became flesh to meet us on our ground.

4. Reclining

I love the fact that John identifies himself (at least that’s who I think he’s talking about) as “the one who had leaned back against Jesus at the supper” (John 21:20).  All those years later, John remembers so much about Jesus, of course.  But his own identity was profoundly altered by the simple act of sharing a meal, leaning back on Jesus.  It’s the profundity of human touch!  In this simple act, God was not the unmoved mover of the Greeks, the impassible Eternal one, the fearsome Yahweh of the Hebrews that no man could gaze upon… no, he had crossed the great divide and become the breast that a friend leans upon.

Of course, we could go on and on.  But you get the point.  A central theme of the incarnation is that God is a bridge builder.  And in fact, all around nature, we see bridges as naturally occurring phenomena.  Check out these pictures.

It’s as if nature itself echoes the incarnation.  Everywhere, bridges!  Divides are eliminated by beautiful bridges.  As Christ himself became the bridge between eternal and mortal, divine and human, so bridges abound in nature.

And one of the beautiful things about the church… that flawed institution made up of men and women with mixed motivations (see last post)… is how so many times, over and over, it has been a bridge as well.  In the spirit of celebrating the beautiful things done “in his name”, I thought I’d share a few simple examples of Christians today being bridges, and so, in a some small way, making the Incarnation true all over again.

A free man among prisoners

My  friend Richard goes every Monday night to lead a Bible study for men at the local jail.  Just like Jesus weeping, sleeping, and eating fish, it’s a small act.  But it’s an act of bridge-building.  I love it.

A friend who comes walking

My friend Brady takes his family, faithfully, every Sunday afternoon and walks one of the poorer neighborhoods in Abilene to meet people and chat with them.  Just like Jesus leaning on John, his goal is simple, to be a friend and to make friends.  It’s not grand, maybe not impressive… but it’s bridge building… the Jesus way.  I praise God for it.

A physician to the invisible

Lastly, there’s my friend Mark who left a very successful practice in Atlanta and took his family to Africa, first Ivory Coast then South Africa, in order to treat men, women and children suffering from AIDS/HIV.  When he left, a mutual, non-believing, physician friend told me, “I don’t know… I’ve got to believe that when somebody does something as radical as move to Africa, they must have something really heavy they can’t forgive themselves for”.  I know Mark and I don’t think that’s true.  But as I said in the last post, we all have pretty dark motives just beneath our noble ones.  So, just like Richard, Brady and many, many others… whatever the motives, whatever the “shadow”… I think it is right and good to rejoice that bridges are being built.  In the same way that in Jesus, God touched… literally, he touched, lepers, bleeding women, epileptics… and so built a bridge to all the untouchables of the day… so also, Mark has touched countless lives in Africa, and since then in Haiti also and so many places.  It thrills me!

So, this simple post is in celebration of human bridges.  In us, broken as we are, the incarnation lives on.  Paul said it well,

For in Christ all the fullness of the Deity lives in bodily form,

and you have been given fullness in Christ

It is true that some preach Christ out of envy and rivalry, but others out of goodwill.  The latter do so in love, knowing that I am put here for the defense of the gospel.  The former preach Christ out of selfish ambition, not sincerely, supposing that they can stir up trouble for me while I am in chains.  But what does it matter?  The important thing is that in every way, whether from false motives or true, Christ is preached.  And because of this I rejoice.

Here, it seems that Paul places little emphasis on the actual motives.  Taken alone, this passage would support the Machiavellian idea that ‘the end justifies the means’.  Taken with other passages, which do stress the importance of motives, these verses set up, at best, a bit of a tension between two ideas, and, at worst, a clear contradiction.  The psalmist certainly understood that what happens in our hearts cannot be hidden from God “who knows the secrets of the heart” (Psalm 44:21).  The author of Hebrews goes a step further, stating that God’s word actually “judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart” (Hebrews 4:12).  And was it not Paul himself who made motives supreme in the well known ode to love?

 If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.  If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.  If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing. (I Corinthians 13:1-3)

So, which is it? Actions or motives?  Does the end justify the means, or is the means everything?  Make up your mind, Paul.  As is often the case, when trying to make sense of these kind of tensions between what I believe are two simple truths–(1) every act of kindness is recognized by God, AND, (2) it is the ‘hidden man of the heart’ who ultimately matters to God– that make a complex truth, going back to the words of Jesus helps to clarify things.

In a somewhat peculiar passage, the apostles are troubled by a rival miracle worker:

“Teacher,” said John, “we saw a man driving out demons in your name and we told him to stop, because he was not one of us.” ”Do not stop him,” Jesus said. ”No one who does a miracle in my name can in the next moment say anything bad about me, for whoever is not against us is for us.  I tell you the truth, anyone who gives you a cup of water in my name because you belong to Christ will certainly not lose his reward. (Mark 9:38-40)

At face value, Jesus seems to advocate a common sense pragmatism, not unlike Paul’s.  What matters is that people are healed, that a cup of water is being given in his name.  Who does it, and why they are doing it, or why they have not bothered to “join up” with us, those considerations don’t matter.

But that’s only on the surface.  In the passage immediately preceding this, Jesus uses an argument that the apostles were having about who was the greatest in order to radically challenge their motives and their ideas about merit.  It’s where we find the famous “if anyone wants to be first, the must be the very last, and the servant of all” saying.  If ever a word of Jesus cut right through the issue of motives, this would be it.  Of course, he often said such things.  Matthew passes on Jesus’ scathing condemnation of self-serving motives for benevolence, prayer and fasting (6:1-18).

Jesus understood men all too well.  He understood that behind every good deed always lurks the risk of dark motivations.

Which brings us to Peter Pan.

So, what’s the link between Jesus and Peter Pan?  Well Carl Jung, obviously!

Psychoanalyst Jung was famous for his observation that every person carries what he termed a “shadow”, or an unconscious side to the self in which the darker, more insecure, less noble motivations and drives are found.  In one scene from Peter Pan, Walt Disney captured the disconnection between what our conscious self goes about doing, and how our shadow side is carrying on at an entirely different level, often out of our consciousness.

In the scene, Peter’s shadow has gone wild and refuses to submit to his wishes.  Of course, Peter is a very Jungian character.  Not only does he depict the tension between the shadow and conscious self, but he also illustrates, as a fairly androgynous character,  the tension between the male (animus) and female (anima) aspects of the self.  In him, we also find the paradoxical marriage of archetypes; he’s a fearless ‘hero’ on the one hand, and a needy ‘child’ on the other who needs a mother figure (Wendy).  All in all, Peter is a strange sort of hero, not entirely good (think of his deceit, violence, selfishness), but not altogether bad (think of his capacity for selflessness and courage, his loyalty and kindness).

Back to that strain of Scripture that troubles me.  The problem is that, as Christians, we are truly like Peter Pan.  I don’t just mean that we have good sides and bad sides.  No it’s worse than that.  In fact, it’s near impossible to separate the good we do from the darker, “shadow”, motivations that drive us to do good.  (Incidentally, that is perhaps one of the strongest and most valid criticisms lodged by foes of religion against believers).

You see it all the time.  I run into folks regularly who almost immediately after introducing themselves begin telling me about things they’ve done for Christ (whether mission work, starting a charity, launching a radio program…).  And it doesn’t take a psychology degree to tell how much of their sense of worth, the meaning they attach to their existence, the validation of their very self hang in the balance.

Or a Christian recounts some church event, being careful to fit in how big (“18,000 were in attendance”) or how unique it was (“first ever of its kind” or “fastest growing congregation”).  And an obligatory “To God Be the Glory” after said boast doesn’t really mask the narcissistic strivings within, does it?  It’s all too human.  If this event that I took part in was so great, so spiritually unique, then maybe, just maybe, I’m OK; maybe others can accept me… or maybe God will be pleased with me… or more important still, maybe I can live with myself.

Sometimes, it’s actually spooky crazy how the shadow side lurks.  In more than one study, it has been demonstrated that men who carry the most homophobic attitudes, and are prone to going off on homosexuality (maybe in the name of Jesus?), actually have higher levels of attraction to men or higher sexual responsiveness to the same sex than non-homophobic men.  Pretty sobering, isn’t it?  So next time you’re tempted to think, “in OUR church, we take a strong ‘biblical’ stance on homosexuality”… remember that right below the surface might be lurking some much darker motivation, some form of self-hatred, some poorly integrated aspect of self, some face-saving defense, rather than respect for ancient texts….

A harsh way to describe this is cluelessness.  I think both church and democracy share in common the fact that they bring us face-to-face with the utter cluelessness of a majority of people.  A much kinder, and ultimately more accurate, way to see it is as the operation of normal human defenses (e.g., denial, rationalization, projection, compartmentalization, reaction formation, etc…).  Dr. Nancy McWilliams, in her wonderful book “Psychoanalytic Diagnosis”, reminds us that for analysts, originally, the term “defense”, as in being “defensive”, was NOT pejorative, but instead seen as the most human of characteristics.

Of course, as Jung noted in one of his books on the psychology of faith¹, unmasking our “shadow” is no small task, even if we were to have the courage and determination to do so:

“The shadow is a moral problem that challenges the whole ego-personality, for no one can become conscious of the shadow without considerable moral effort. To become conscious of it involves recognizing the dark aspects of the personality as present and real. This act is the essential condition of any kind of self-knowledge, an it therefore, as a rule, meets with considerable resistance. Indeed, self-knowledge as a psychotherapeutic measure frequently requires much painstaking work extending over a long period.”  (p.8)

Earlier, I called the tension a challenge because, it seems to me at least, that as individuals, we lean in one of two directions, psychologically. On the one hand, we might live at a pretty oblivious level.  We think others (especially those who belong to other religious groups or other religions) have dark, duplicitous motives; but we don’t think we do, at least not to some fatal  degree.  This is the self-deluded, Pollyanna brand of Christian faith that is all too common among fundamentalists (which is the accurate label for my own religious heritage).  Anyone striving for self-awareness will find this route rather challenging.

On the other hand, we might be very aware of this seemingly irreparable state of affairs, in ourselves and in others.  But while not “fooled” or in denial about the shadow motivations for our good deeds, we can also succumb to a sort of hopelessness.  Perhaps, cynicism sets in (agnosticism being the most extreme version); because we see dark motives so clearly, we have a hard time acknowledging the beautiful things done “in his name”.  Or, perhaps, it’s paralysis.  We feel we can only engage once we know our motives to be pure; so we wait… and wait… and wait.  Maybe more commonly, among religious folks, it manifests itself as a wise, informed, intellectual kind of faith that lacks the fire, radical commitment and zeal of the early believers; it plagues not the fundamentalists so much as mainstream Protestants, Catholics and Orthodox adherents.

To be sure, there IS a tension.  And neither approach to resolving the tension feels adequate.

To date, the only solution I can see is found within the words of Jesus (and Paul, too, for that matter).  Here is my take-away:

1. When it comes to others: Don’t be judgmental of their motives (even if you’re right about these… though you may not be).  Don’t lose the capacity to rejoice when good is done.  Whether in religion and philanthropy, or in other areas of “spiritual expression” (at least that’s how I see these) such as art, music, literature, cinema, etc… we clearly understand that the most beautiful of things sometimes come from very dark places (think Hemingway, Kurt Cobain, even Jung… not sure how sane he really was).  So, while we don’t have to call bad things good–narcissism and other self-serving motivations are NOT good things, any more than suicidal depression is–we can be grateful, gracious and kind.  I think that’s what Paul means when he states that he rejoices that Christ is preached no matter the motives.  And that’s what Jesus meant when he told his disciples not to worry about others who were doing “their own thing” in terms of miraculous ministry.
2. When it comes to self:  I think the call is pretty clear here.  We must be fearless and very courageous.  We must do the hard work of understanding, unmasking, and purifying our own motives.  And we must not be fooled into thinking that is a quick task, but instead is lifelong, always incomplete.  That’s why Paul said that without love as the true motivation, our righteous deeds are “in vain”.  That’s what Jesus meant when he warned do-gooders, in that famous sermon that dealt so thoroughly with motives, of the possibility of hearing the words: “I never knew you”.  Without a healthy understanding of grace, it’s pretty hard to do the work of uncovering our darker motives.  We need to be secure in the love of a Savior who knows all too well that we each have a deeply seated, resistant-to-change, and prone-to-denial shadow side.  Only then can we tolerate the anxiety raised by this questioning of self.

¹ Jung, C.G. (1959). Aion: Researches into the phenomenology of the self. New York, NY: Pantheon Books, Inc.