The Jesus I don't Believe In

According to the National Candle Association (I’m not making this up), candle sales “have taken off like wildfire.” They didn’t say whether the pun was intended or not. The candle industry experiences growth of 10 to 15 percent a year and annual sales have topped $2 billion with a B.

Some will say that’s a lot of money going up in smoke, but these people have probably never been to a candlelight dinner, saw Liberace play piano, or watched a children’s choir sing a candlelight Christmas concert.

I wish that we weren’t burning so many candles like those we see at vigils and makeshift memorials. I wish this only because I wish we didn’t need to have these, but it seems to be our new reality.

I really do try to avoid politics and religion in anything I post on the WWW. Maybe, if I was the president of my daddy’s university, I could just rant there, but since I’m not, I’ll use my little blog here. After all, “the pen is mightier than the sword.” Or, so they say.

Jerry Falwell Jr. and I have something in common: I am so, so grateful that Jerry Falwell Jr. doesn’t represent or speak for all christians. And, if Jerry Falwell Jr. knew me at all, I’m certain he would say that he too is so, so grateful that I don’t either.

In deference to Jerry Jr., I didn’t hear all of his convocation address to his young soldiers, and I won’t repeat the soundbites here. You can find them for yourself if you’re so inclined.

I have a document at home called a Cradle Roll Cerftificate. It states that I was enrolled at the Brookside Baptist Church in Tulsa, Oklahoma, as a wee little lad. (I think we were called “Sunbeams”). One of the things I’ve learned over these many years is that we should not hide our light under a bushel. We should share our testimony.

In that spirit, I will testify and confess that I am having a crisis of faith. I’ve had them many times before but it’s been a long time.

My freshman year in college, I was driving back to campus after a weekend at home. I stopped to pick up a hitchhiker. Don’t worry. It was the early 70s. He was a hippie. I knew he wasn’t going to shoot me and steal my car. We talked smalltalk. It went roughly like this: 

Hippie: Where you headed man?
Me: Back to school. 
Hippie: Cool, cool. Where?
Me: OBU.
Hippie: What does that stand for?
Me: Oklahoma Baptist University.
Hippie: That’s a heavy trip man, that whole religion scene.
Me: But you’re not heavy, you’re my brother. (I didn’t really say that. It was probably more something like): Why do you say that?
Hippie: I believe there is divinty in every thing. What do you think of that? Mind if I smoke?
Me: I don’t belive that spirit can enter inanimate things. (I guess I assumed we were going to speak esoterically.)
Hippie: Actually, I don’t believe in Jesus or anything like that.
Me: Tell me about the Jesus you don’t believe in.

And he told me. He told me about a typical, americanized, generic diety that is primarily concerned with sorting good and bad behavior.

Me: I’m pretty sure that the god you’ve rejected is not the true God. I feel like if you would really spend time getting to know Jesus, you would find him to be completely different than your concept of him. He is the creator and source of this amazing thing called grace.
Hippie: Fair enough.

By that time we were halfway along the turnpike. I bought him an ice cream at Howard Johnson’s and as we parted ways, he hugged me and said, “Peace, brother.”

“Exactly.” I said.

Here’s my crisis. I’m pretty sure that the “Jesus” that has been hijacked by the likes of Jerry Falwell Jr. and the most hardcore of fundamentalists for political gain, and co-opted for their agendas, is not the Jesus I know from scripture, from a long life full of teaching from faithful followers, and from personal experience.

This is the Jesus I know:

For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counseller, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace. —Isaiah 9:6

Peace, brothers and sisters. May the only candles you have to light this season be those of the advent.

P.S.: Speaking of who Jesus is and songs by candlelight. WATCH THIS BREATHTAKING VIDEO FROM PENTATONIX

For more on this topic, I recommend this from Relevant Magazine. 

Question Like A Kid

CURIOUS GEORGE is nearly 80 years old. How has this storyline endured? I’m curious.

It’s like that grocery store tabloid, National Enquirer says, “Enquiring minds want to know.”

Why “enquire” instead of “inquire”? Curious, huh?

Do you think inquiry is frowned upon? Maybe life would have been less complicated if I had heeded the warning that “curiousity killed the cat”. Maybe the authorities that said, “Don’t question authority,” were wise. Maybe I should have been one of those who accepts rules, regulations, conventional wisdom, dogma as matters of fact; without questioning.

I love that the first sentence a child learns is “Why?!”

THE INQUISITIVE HARPER

Could it be that there’s a better answer than, “Because I said so. That’s WHY.”

Friday night, we were at Cracker Barrel® with our Grand-Girls. It was our first time there since Nora, the youngest, at 16 months began running at a pace best described as a blur, with hands just as fast. Karlee, the oldest at 6, grabbed my hand as we were walking in, and asked in a voice so her parents couldn’t hear, “Pops, could we maybe do a little shopping after we eat?” Of course we can. That’s Cracker Barrel’s business model!

During the meal, as Karlee was slathering apple butter on her biscut, she said, “Pops turn around and look at all the stuff on that wall.” If you never been to Cracker Barrel, they have excellent apple butter and a LOT of stuff on their walls. “See that NO SMOKIN’ sign,” she asked. (She’s reading really well these days.) I confirmed that I did see it. Then she asked a question that could be important for Cracker Barrel designers, “Do you think they’re serious about that, or is it just part of the decoration?”

Why did she ask that? It’s not like she was thinking about lighting up. I’m no psycologist, but it seems like maybe, it could be, that for kids, there’s a beautiful curiousity for the sake of understanding, for knowledge, and maybe for curiousity in itself.

For many, many years, I sought to have a part in the spiritual development of some teenagers. To the casual observer it may have looked like I was just playing volleyball, snow skiing, and eating enough pizza to bring on coronary disease. I listened for hours to the woes of early adolescent drama, and had more fun than anyone deserved to have.

What I hope I did NOT do was squelch their inquisitiveness about spiritual things, just giving pat answers. I hope I never gave them the impression that to have questions means you don’t have faith. In fact, I hope I helped them understand that as your faith grows, so does the importance of asking more questions, deeper questions.

I’m going to say this outloud, here in virtual ink. I’ve said it before and gotten in trouble for it, probably because I don’t explain it well, or whomever I’m trying to explain it to doesn’t have ears to hear. When it comes to faith, to a spiritual quest, don’t ever stop asking questions. But, know this: sometimes you won’t find an answer. It’s not necessarily because there isn’t an answer, it’s just that us humans don’t have the ability to fully understand.

Take PEACE for example. It is worthy to inquire about what peace is and how we find it, and while we can experience a degree of it, and sometimes in sufficient quantity, we will never know it fully, because this we know for sure, the peace of God, transcends all understanding. (Philippians 4:7)

I’m not saying there is not absolute Truth. I am saying we can not know it fully; here. We get glimpses of it, and there is always more to learn. When we reduce it all to black and white, inquiry stops. And, when we want to ask questions, we’re told to “accept by faith.” It seems to me that nothing suffocates the journey of faith quite like that attitude: “Don’t question, accept by faith.”

I have a dear friend who is on a quest. She is asking very hard questions which has led me to ask questions, which has awakened something in me, and I am grateful. Perhaps I can tell you more about this in another post.

“All human beings by nature desire to know.”

— Aristotle

CHECK OUT this tune by Jars of Clay. Good music to ask questions by.

I Shouldn't, But...

Oh, I do have opinions, and strong feelings, convictions and dogma. I have a son who teaches on a college campus. I have another son who is a U.S. Infantryman and National Guardsman. I have a granddaughter in a public school.

Because I’ve promised myself this blog would not take the easy path of political commentary, I’m only going to say this: I am sickened by the loss of lives in these senseless, unrelenting mass shootings. Can you imagine what the families of victims are feeling today? I can’t.

“They’s times when how you feel got to be kep’ to yourself.”

— John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

Lost In A Masquerade

Did we, like the Emporer, assume that we were grandly dressed in our new clothes? And now, somehow, an ugliness has been exposed as we’ve seen ourselves in the mirror of South Carolina and Birmingham before that. Now social media is lit up like Vegas over a Supreme Court decision. Loaded words and vitriol.

I’ve been trying to find my own words, but are they needed? It seems like there are too many out there already. So maybe this is just for my own peace of mind and soul.

Early this morning I was out for my walk. My earbuds were in and my playlist reached the letter T. The list was:

• Take Five by Dave Brubeck
• Teach Your Children by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young
• That Spirit of Christmas by Chuck Brown and Eva Cassidy
• Things Have Changed by Bob Dylan
• This Land Is Your Land by Woody Guthrie
• This Masquerade by Leon Russell
• Tight Rope by Leon Russell
• The Times They Are a-Changin’ by Bob Dylan
• Try A Little Tenderness by Florence and The Machine
• Turn! Turn! Turn! by The Byrds
• Turpentine by Brandi Carlile

As I listened and walked and thought and cursed the neighbor’s yippin’ little dog, I was struck by the poetry of each of those songs, and each held words that helped me find mine, making some sense of all this. Especially the first few lines of Leon’s masquerade song:

Are we really happy with this lonely game we play
Looking for words to say

Searching but not finding, understanding anyway
We’re lost in a masquerade

Both afraid to say we’re just too far away
From being close together from the start

We tried to talk it over, but the words got in the way
We’re lost inside this lonely game we play

Are we “just too far away”, too polarized? Does it seem like when we do try to talk it over the words get in the way.

Not to point out the obvious but polarization leads to isloation, and isolation to aloneness, and Leon is right: “We’re lost inside this lonely game we play.”

So I’m an old guy with a blog; which is just more words. Most of my words come out of me feeble attempt to accept growing old with some style and grace. Sometimes though I see the telltale signs of geezerhood. Like the other day, I think I actually said out loud, “Looks like we’re all going to hell in a handbasket.” Another of those signs of senior adulthood is to blame it all on the next generation, i.e.: they keep changing everything and screwing everything up.

As I’ve recorded here on this blog, our youngest son just finished infantry training. As we visited Fort Benning for his graduation, I asked him if everyone he started training with finished. Unfortunately, no. Some were injured, some dropped out. “You can do that?” I asked. “Yes, their ‘less than honorable discharge’ is called ‘Failure to Adapt.’”

Maybe that’s my state: “failure to adapt”. Dylan’s song is still right: the times are a-changin’. The pace of the change is such that it is hard to adapt. But adapt we must. All of us. We live together. All of us. On this big ball.

Several years ago, a guy named Robert Fulghum wrote a book he called, All I Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten. [Spoiler Alert] Here’s his list:

These are the things I learned (in Kindergarten):

1. Share everything.
2. Play fair.
3. Don’t hit people.
4. Put thngs back where you found them.
5. CLEAN UP YOUR OWN MESS.
6. Don’t take things that aren’t yours.
7. Say you’re SORRY when you HURT somebody.
8. Wash your hands before you eat.
9. Flush.
10. Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
11. Live a balanced life - learn some and drink some and draw some and paint some and sing and dance and play and work everyday some.
12. Take a nap every afternoon.
13. When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands, and stick together.
14. Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the Stryrofoam cup: The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.
15. Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup - they all die. So do we.
16. And then remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned - the biggest word of all - LOOK.” 
― Robert Fulghum, All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten

Maybe we could put that on a monument in front of the Oklahoma State Capital. (Get real Pops. Even that would piss off at least a few people.)

Sometimes I think I learned all the theology I will ever need in Sunbeams. For those unfamiliar with southern baptist tradition, Sunbeams was a community for little baptists, where we learned that “Jesus LOVES the little children! ALL the children of the World! Red and Yellow, Black and White, they are precious in His sight. Jesus LOVES the little children of the World.”

See this picture? The one of the beautiful little African-American girl holding her homemade poster? A few days ago, I stood in a museum in Memphis, inside the Lorraine Motel, where Martin Luther King, JR, was shot. This photo was on the wall there and I stood and stared at it for a long time, pondering her question. The answer is blindingly obvious—isn’t?! The answer is an unequivocal “NO!” Right? If there is any doubt about that; then I have a failure to adapt.

If Jesus didn’t really mean it when he said, he greatest commandment is this: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind; and, Love your neighbor as yourself,” then I have a failure to adapt.

If we’re going to reduce everything to black and white to the point where someone can’t fly a rainbow flag, where African-American churches are being burned, where Righteousness for some means inhumanity for other… Are we “lost in a masquerade”?

That's it. I’m out of words.

So, let me leave you with someone else’s. This is from an interview with Mallory Ortberg and Carvell Wallace following the slayings at the church in Charleston:

These folks were praying for peace and expressing forgiveness by letting this dude into their church when they were slain. Their pants were pulled up and they weren’t “challenging authority.” And they still got killed.