The world will be saved by beauty.
Dostoyevsky
Out of all the instinctual needs we humans have to put up with – sex, food, sleep, fresh air, water – the most important and least recognized need of all is beauty. It’s what magnifies us into human beings.
Laura Hendrie, Remember Me
The Academy Awards were last night – the presentation of the Oscars. In many ways this is an event of self-congratulation and nearly obscene excess. It brings out some of our worst characteristics – our obsession with wealth and physical beauty and style. Yet with some ambivalence in my heart, I really enjoy the Oscars. I enjoy the Oscars because I enjoy movies. While I like movies that make me laugh, or that pull me into their plot, the movies I love best are movies in which I come to care for the characters in some way, movies in which some part of the human condition is illumined through the acting of the persons on screen. There is a beauty in such movies, and it is often enhanced by other forms of beauty in the film.
I am drawn to beauty. I remember sitting with a group of clergy in which one cited the Dostoyevsky quote above and said, “What is that supposed to mean?” I was not sure, but I was drawn to the words and felt some sort of truth in them. A few years earlier, I had read Remember Me, a novel by Laura Hendrie and copied the above words into my book of quotes. Beauty seems to magnify us into human beings. Not long after being in the clergy group where Dostoyevsky was mentioned and then passed by, I was reading a book on the Enneagram. I had taken that inventory once, and came out as type four – the creative person, the romantic. So I am reading this book and lo and behold, there is Dostoyevsky – “the world will be saved by beauty,” followed by “FOURS believe this principle.” (Rohr and Ebert, The Enneagram) A little frightening if you ask me.
So something in me draws me to beauty like a moth to a flame. Music, literature and movies are my preferred conveyances of beauty (though beauty in paintings and photography and in the natural world itself are also powerful) – and I think beauty can contribute to changing the world. I know in my life the power of film to shape me.
I vividly recall the beautiful black and white of Woody Allen’s Manhattan, and the scene toward the end where the character played by Allen is speaking into a tape recorder, getting down a story idea, shifting to asking himself what makes life worth living. The list included Louis Armstrong’s Potato Head Blues and Flaubert’s Sentimental Education, Cezanne’s pears and the face of a woman. I have often thought about what I might put on my list. As a person of faith, I think of beauty and creativity as qualities in which God often shines.
My view of racial justice was formed in many ways. I remember the beauty in the voice of Martin Luther King, Jr. His words were powerful, yes, and also beautiful, and to hear them was to encounter a certain beauty. But one distinct influence on my view of race relations was watching the movie Brian’s Song in junior high school. The film was a made-for-television movie portraying the story of the relationship between Gayle Sayers (played by Billy Dee Williams) and Brian Piccolo (played by James Caan). Sayers and Piccolo were Chicago Bears running backs, and Piccolo died young from cancer. Sayers was African-American and Piccolo caucasian. It was a moving film for me. From certain aesthetic standards, it may not be beautiful, but it had a touching beauty for me.
In a world beset by such pressing problems, art, film, music, beauty can seem like luxuries. I certainly would not bless all that happens in the movie industry. There is excess and so many movies are inane and anything but beautiful. But film can be powerful in the service of good. Deep down I believe there is a connection between the true, the good and the beautiful. Moved by beauty, inspired by it, I live differently. I seek a better world.
With Faith and Feathers,
David
P.S. I did not see all the Oscars last night, but from what I saw, my favorite moment was the award for best original song. The movie Once is a delight. It is about creativity and it was made for under $200,000. Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova make wonderful music together, and that is the basic point of the film – that and creatively beginning life anew. Hansard and Irglova were delightful in accepting their Oscar. Hansard encouraged people to “keep making art” and Irglova spoke of hope “which connects us all.”
Monday, February 25, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Earlier this month, “Dear Abby” ran a series of letters in which readers shared their thoughts about “society’s greatest problem.” On February 6, the following remarks were printed in one letter: In my opinion organized religion has a lot to do with why the world is so badly messed up. Although most religions espouse values of kindness, generosity and good works, in practical application, it seems that religion is used most often to divide “them” from “us” and to give people yet another way to discriminate against one another…. If people were more concerned with doing the right things in this world, rather than preoccupying themselves with what is going to happen in the next one, our world would be a better place. Signed: Kim in Columbus, Ohio.
As a clergy person – and you probably don’t get much more entrenched in “organized religion” than that – you might expect me to quickly jump to the defense of the religious establishment. I would like to offer some hopeful words on religion, but I need to begin by acknowledging the heartbreaking truth in this woman’s words.
Awhile back, I was visiting with a family before a funeral. The person who had passed away was elderly. I say that only to let you know that there was some room for moments of lighter conversation amidst the grief that is present no matter the age of the person who dies. At one point in the conversation, in reply to something that was said, I uttered the words, “I don’t do guilt and shame very well.” Someone in the room replied quickly, “Then you are in the wrong profession.”
More recently, I was meeting with a family about a funeral for their son/brother, who died unexpectedly at age 37. He left behind an 11-year old son. The family did not have an active relationship with my church, or with any church. But during the conversation, they did mention that they were hoping my words would be positive ones. They were concerned that I might tell them all they were going to hell.
Guilt, shame, judgmentalism, punishment, accepting things without asking questions – for too many people, this has been their experience of religion. I have to admit that most of the people I know for whom hell is an important part of their belief system know that they are not going there. That makes hell something they believe in for other people. At their worst, religions have treated those they believed destined for hell in ways that make hell seem more real.
I do not want to avoid thinking about the theological symbolism involved in judgment. We need to be discerning persons. We need to make important judgments in life. Nor do I deny the reality of wrongdoing, sin, evil – and there may be such a thing as healthy guilt when one has done something that is genuinely wrong and hurtful. But these are minor chords in the Christian faith I know, and that is the religion I can speak most intelligibly about. It is the only faith I can speak from the inside. When I encounter people who are not actively involved in a faith community, more often than not, they are not people who never were part of such a community, they are people who were a part of one, but experienced the dark side of religion – the side more concerned with guilt and shame and judgmentalism than with faith, hope, love, beauty, truth, goodness, justice, forgiveness and reconciliation.
At its best, religious faith brings out the best and most profound in the human person and the human community. The day I met with the family of the 37 year old who had died was Ash Wednesday. That night, I placed small crosses in ash on the hands or foreheads of people who came to worship. My hands blackening with the ash, I smudged them and said, “Remember you were created out of dust.” Not very cheery words, to be sure, but I felt them deep in my bones that night. Somehow when we think about that, the precious gift of life and its brief span, it often calls forth kindness and gentleness. The small petty disturbances of life recede into the background. The small hurts are easily forgiven, and we are more determined to work on the big ones, knowing that we don’t have forever. Recalling our finitude, our creation out of dust, can have a beneficial effect. That is not automatic, but Christian faith, at its best, helps us recall our finite existence in such a way that we are also encouraged to live more lovingly, kindly, gently, patiently. We are invited to live that way in this life and trust that the next life, whatever that may be like will take care of itself.
So Kim in Columbus, and to many others like you, on behalf of one religion, Christianity, I am sorry that you have seen us at our worst. When we are, we can mess up the world badly. Religion can have a deleterious effect on persons and communities. But when we are at our best, we can do a great deal of good. We can help the world be more loving and just and kind. Words like yours can help us to be and do better.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
As a clergy person – and you probably don’t get much more entrenched in “organized religion” than that – you might expect me to quickly jump to the defense of the religious establishment. I would like to offer some hopeful words on religion, but I need to begin by acknowledging the heartbreaking truth in this woman’s words.
Awhile back, I was visiting with a family before a funeral. The person who had passed away was elderly. I say that only to let you know that there was some room for moments of lighter conversation amidst the grief that is present no matter the age of the person who dies. At one point in the conversation, in reply to something that was said, I uttered the words, “I don’t do guilt and shame very well.” Someone in the room replied quickly, “Then you are in the wrong profession.”
More recently, I was meeting with a family about a funeral for their son/brother, who died unexpectedly at age 37. He left behind an 11-year old son. The family did not have an active relationship with my church, or with any church. But during the conversation, they did mention that they were hoping my words would be positive ones. They were concerned that I might tell them all they were going to hell.
Guilt, shame, judgmentalism, punishment, accepting things without asking questions – for too many people, this has been their experience of religion. I have to admit that most of the people I know for whom hell is an important part of their belief system know that they are not going there. That makes hell something they believe in for other people. At their worst, religions have treated those they believed destined for hell in ways that make hell seem more real.
I do not want to avoid thinking about the theological symbolism involved in judgment. We need to be discerning persons. We need to make important judgments in life. Nor do I deny the reality of wrongdoing, sin, evil – and there may be such a thing as healthy guilt when one has done something that is genuinely wrong and hurtful. But these are minor chords in the Christian faith I know, and that is the religion I can speak most intelligibly about. It is the only faith I can speak from the inside. When I encounter people who are not actively involved in a faith community, more often than not, they are not people who never were part of such a community, they are people who were a part of one, but experienced the dark side of religion – the side more concerned with guilt and shame and judgmentalism than with faith, hope, love, beauty, truth, goodness, justice, forgiveness and reconciliation.
At its best, religious faith brings out the best and most profound in the human person and the human community. The day I met with the family of the 37 year old who had died was Ash Wednesday. That night, I placed small crosses in ash on the hands or foreheads of people who came to worship. My hands blackening with the ash, I smudged them and said, “Remember you were created out of dust.” Not very cheery words, to be sure, but I felt them deep in my bones that night. Somehow when we think about that, the precious gift of life and its brief span, it often calls forth kindness and gentleness. The small petty disturbances of life recede into the background. The small hurts are easily forgiven, and we are more determined to work on the big ones, knowing that we don’t have forever. Recalling our finitude, our creation out of dust, can have a beneficial effect. That is not automatic, but Christian faith, at its best, helps us recall our finite existence in such a way that we are also encouraged to live more lovingly, kindly, gently, patiently. We are invited to live that way in this life and trust that the next life, whatever that may be like will take care of itself.
So Kim in Columbus, and to many others like you, on behalf of one religion, Christianity, I am sorry that you have seen us at our worst. When we are, we can mess up the world badly. Religion can have a deleterious effect on persons and communities. But when we are at our best, we can do a great deal of good. We can help the world be more loving and just and kind. Words like yours can help us to be and do better.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Sunday, February 10, 2008
It may have been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon, Minnesota, but here in Duluth, Minnesota it has been busy. The coming week has its challenges as well, so allow me to share some bits of writing which have and continue to move and inspire me, to open my heart and expand my mind. I hope they do the same for you. These three pieces have recently been, or soon will be, woven into my sermons.
just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate
Mary Oliver, from “Prayer” in Thirst
Cruelty is a mystery, and the waste of pain. But if we describe a world to compass these things, a world that is a long, brute game, then we bump against another mystery: the inrush of power and light, the canary that sings on the skull. Unless all ages and races of men have been deluded by the same mass hypnotist (who?), there seems to be such a thing as beauty, a grace wholly gratuitous. About five years ago I say a mockingbird make a straight vertical descent from the roof gutter of a four-story building. It was an act as careless and spontaneous as the curl of a stem or the kindling of a star.
The mockingbird took a single step into the air and dropped. His wings were still folded against his sides as though he were singing from a limb and not falling, accelerating thirty-two feet per second per second, through empty air. Just a breath before he would have been dashed to the ground, he unfurled his wings with exact, deliberate care, revealing the broad bars of white, spread his elegant, white-banded tail, and so floated onto the grass. I had just rounded the corner when his insouciant [carefree] step caught my eye: there was no one else in sight. The fact of his free fall was like the old philosophical conundrum about the tree that falls in the forest. The answer must be, I think, that beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. The least we can do is try to be there.
Annie Dillard, from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
A soul without prayer is a soul without a home.
Abraham Joshua Heschel, from “On Prayer”
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate
Mary Oliver, from “Prayer” in Thirst
Cruelty is a mystery, and the waste of pain. But if we describe a world to compass these things, a world that is a long, brute game, then we bump against another mystery: the inrush of power and light, the canary that sings on the skull. Unless all ages and races of men have been deluded by the same mass hypnotist (who?), there seems to be such a thing as beauty, a grace wholly gratuitous. About five years ago I say a mockingbird make a straight vertical descent from the roof gutter of a four-story building. It was an act as careless and spontaneous as the curl of a stem or the kindling of a star.
The mockingbird took a single step into the air and dropped. His wings were still folded against his sides as though he were singing from a limb and not falling, accelerating thirty-two feet per second per second, through empty air. Just a breath before he would have been dashed to the ground, he unfurled his wings with exact, deliberate care, revealing the broad bars of white, spread his elegant, white-banded tail, and so floated onto the grass. I had just rounded the corner when his insouciant [carefree] step caught my eye: there was no one else in sight. The fact of his free fall was like the old philosophical conundrum about the tree that falls in the forest. The answer must be, I think, that beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. The least we can do is try to be there.
Annie Dillard, from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
A soul without prayer is a soul without a home.
Abraham Joshua Heschel, from “On Prayer”
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Monday, February 4, 2008
Whenever anyone in “in extremis” (whether it is a marital crisis, an economic crisis, a political crisis, or a health crisis), their chances of survival are far greater when their horizons are formed of projected images from their own imagination rather than being limited by what they can actually see. Or, to reverse it, to the extent the horizons of individuals “in extremis” are limited to what they can actually see, their chances of survival are far less than if their horizons include projected images from their own imagination. Actually, even the thinking processes that lead one to assume that one’s life situation is “in extremis” are partially determined by the breadth of one’s horizons at the time – which, of course, correlates with one’s imaginative capacity and sense of adventure.
Edwin Friedman, A Failure of Nerve: leadership in the age of the quick fix (153)
Sitting in Chicago’s O’Hare airport on Friday waiting to return home following a denominational committee meeting, I finished reading Friedman’s book, which I referred to a couple of weeks ago. I would not be surprised, even with all the mass of humanity gathered at O’Hare that day, if I was the only one reading Friedman’s book.
Last night, however, my activity was far from unique. With millions of Americans, I watched the Super Bowl. Tom Petty at halftime was great – I have been listening to his music for years and still have some on vinyl. The game was one of the best Super Bowl games ever. Often such games are over within the first quarter. This game remained competitive until the very end. With the New England Patriots high-powered offense, you could never count them out until the final second of the game. By now you know, if you care to know at all, that the Patriots were upset by the New York Giants 17-14. Few people gave the Giants a realistic chance, but they won. As the cliché goes, that’s why they play the game.
On paper the Giants were no match for the Patriots. The Patriots were undefeated going into the game. Their offense set all kinds of records this year. They have many Pro Bowl players, and the team was well-stocked with Super Bowl veterans. The Giants squeaked into the playoffs as a wild card team, have on one Pro Bowl player, and most had never been in a Super Bowl before. If they had really taken stock of the situation, if they had been hard-headed realists, they would have known that they could not win. The best they might hope for was to make this a good game. Instead, they included in their horizons the improbable notion that if they played their hearts out, if they played with skill and intelligence and passion, they just might win. They didn’t even need Rabbi Friedman in the locker room to convince them that imagination is vitally important, and a sense of adventure contributes to how one manages difficult situations. They were running down a dream (Tom Petty) and caught it.
One of the wonderful things about a game like this is that it now becomes a part of our own imaginative field. The story of the great upset can feed our own sense of adventure, provide inspiration for our own imaginations, so that we can face difficult situations with a broader horizon, with an enriched imaginative capacity.
Imagination and hope are powerful for our lives, for churches (and denominations), for our politics and for our world. We cannot ignore the difficulties around us (health issues in our lives, economic downturns, declining and aging membership in mainline denominations), but our chances of making a positive difference in the midst of them and of working for positive change are increased when our imaginative horizons are widened. The Super Bowl is only a game, but last night’s game offers something to our imaginations.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Edwin Friedman, A Failure of Nerve: leadership in the age of the quick fix (153)
Sitting in Chicago’s O’Hare airport on Friday waiting to return home following a denominational committee meeting, I finished reading Friedman’s book, which I referred to a couple of weeks ago. I would not be surprised, even with all the mass of humanity gathered at O’Hare that day, if I was the only one reading Friedman’s book.
Last night, however, my activity was far from unique. With millions of Americans, I watched the Super Bowl. Tom Petty at halftime was great – I have been listening to his music for years and still have some on vinyl. The game was one of the best Super Bowl games ever. Often such games are over within the first quarter. This game remained competitive until the very end. With the New England Patriots high-powered offense, you could never count them out until the final second of the game. By now you know, if you care to know at all, that the Patriots were upset by the New York Giants 17-14. Few people gave the Giants a realistic chance, but they won. As the cliché goes, that’s why they play the game.
On paper the Giants were no match for the Patriots. The Patriots were undefeated going into the game. Their offense set all kinds of records this year. They have many Pro Bowl players, and the team was well-stocked with Super Bowl veterans. The Giants squeaked into the playoffs as a wild card team, have on one Pro Bowl player, and most had never been in a Super Bowl before. If they had really taken stock of the situation, if they had been hard-headed realists, they would have known that they could not win. The best they might hope for was to make this a good game. Instead, they included in their horizons the improbable notion that if they played their hearts out, if they played with skill and intelligence and passion, they just might win. They didn’t even need Rabbi Friedman in the locker room to convince them that imagination is vitally important, and a sense of adventure contributes to how one manages difficult situations. They were running down a dream (Tom Petty) and caught it.
One of the wonderful things about a game like this is that it now becomes a part of our own imaginative field. The story of the great upset can feed our own sense of adventure, provide inspiration for our own imaginations, so that we can face difficult situations with a broader horizon, with an enriched imaginative capacity.
Imagination and hope are powerful for our lives, for churches (and denominations), for our politics and for our world. We cannot ignore the difficulties around us (health issues in our lives, economic downturns, declining and aging membership in mainline denominations), but our chances of making a positive difference in the midst of them and of working for positive change are increased when our imaginative horizons are widened. The Super Bowl is only a game, but last night’s game offers something to our imaginations.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Last Sunday night and last Monday, January 20 and 21, I was a part of local celebrations of the birthday of Martin Luther King, Jr. Sunday night I had the privilege of participating in an ecumenical worship service at St. Mark African Methodist Episcopal Church. Worshipping with persons from different denominations and different racial-ethnic backgrounds seemed a wonderful way to celebrate a person whose life was dedicated to taking down walls that separated people, among other things. Monday I attended the local MLK breakfast and heard Charlayne Hunter-Gault’s speech, simulcast from Minneapolis. I remember her from the MacNeil-Lehrer News Hour on PBS, but was not aware of her story. She was the first African-American woman to graduate from the University of Georgia (1962), and one of the first two African-Americans admitted to the school. She shared some of her experiences, including receiving death threats simply because she was African-American and attending the University of Georgia. This was less than fifty years ago in the United States! After the breakfast, I went to the local elementary school where I mentor a young boy. Mondays are my usual day to do this, but somehow it seemed even more appropriate to be doing this on the MLK birthday celebration. Then I joined the local march and attending the rally. That afternoon, Laura, our church’s youth director, had arranged a service project for our youth – a “scarfenger hunt.” Teams of youth were given money and sent out to purchase hats, mittens and gloves for needy children in our area. Again, it seemed a particularly appropriate activity for the day. By that evening, I was tired, but frankly, I get tired often enough from the busyness in my life, and it was really nice to be tired after doing some things that made some small difference in the world.
I thought it appropriate to share a couple of my favorite Martin Luther King, Jr. quotes, along with a quote from Bobby Kennedy, from the speech he made the day Martin Luther King was assassinated. I do so to honor a person who has meant a great deal to me over the years. While not a perfect man, Martin Luther King, Jr. combined a deep intellect, a powerful gift for communication, and a passion to see the world made different. When I was in college, I purchased a couple of records in the cut-out bin and a local record store. They were records (on the “Gordy” label – Barry Gordy, Jr. of Motown) of Martin Luther King, Jr. speaking. One record is a speech from Detroit in 1963, parts of which were used in his march on Washington speech later that year (“I Have a Dream”). The other record collects two of his well-known addresses – the sermon “The Drum-Major Instinct” and his Mountaintop speech delivered the night before he died. Along the way I also have an old, rather beat-up cassette tape of King speeches, including, “I Have a Dream.” Whenever I hear his voice, or read his words, something calls to me deep inside – calls me to dream more creatively, to think more deeply and to work more passionately for peace and justice in the world. In Martin’s voice, the voice of the Spirit often speaks to me.
Toughmindedness without tenderheartedness is cold and detached, leaving one’s life in a perpetual winter devoid of the warmth of spring and the gentle heat of summer.
The Strength to Love, 1963
I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality…. I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. Nobel Prize acceptance speech, 1964
And so Jesus gave us a new norm of greatness. If you want to be important – wonderful. If you want to be recognized – wonderful. If you want to be great – wonderful. But recognize that he who is greatest among you shall be your servant. That’s a new definition of greatness…. By giving that definition of greatness, it means that everybody can be great, because everybody can serve…. You only need a heart full of grace, and a soul generated by love. The Drum-Major Instinct, 1968
I could go on for pages…, but I am not alone in being inspired by Dr. King.
What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence or lawlessness; but love and wisdom, compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country…. Let us dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years ago: to tame the savageness of man and to make gentle the life of this world.
Bobby Kennedy, April 4, 1968, Indianapolis, after announcing the death of
Martin Luther King, Jr.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
I thought it appropriate to share a couple of my favorite Martin Luther King, Jr. quotes, along with a quote from Bobby Kennedy, from the speech he made the day Martin Luther King was assassinated. I do so to honor a person who has meant a great deal to me over the years. While not a perfect man, Martin Luther King, Jr. combined a deep intellect, a powerful gift for communication, and a passion to see the world made different. When I was in college, I purchased a couple of records in the cut-out bin and a local record store. They were records (on the “Gordy” label – Barry Gordy, Jr. of Motown) of Martin Luther King, Jr. speaking. One record is a speech from Detroit in 1963, parts of which were used in his march on Washington speech later that year (“I Have a Dream”). The other record collects two of his well-known addresses – the sermon “The Drum-Major Instinct” and his Mountaintop speech delivered the night before he died. Along the way I also have an old, rather beat-up cassette tape of King speeches, including, “I Have a Dream.” Whenever I hear his voice, or read his words, something calls to me deep inside – calls me to dream more creatively, to think more deeply and to work more passionately for peace and justice in the world. In Martin’s voice, the voice of the Spirit often speaks to me.
Toughmindedness without tenderheartedness is cold and detached, leaving one’s life in a perpetual winter devoid of the warmth of spring and the gentle heat of summer.
The Strength to Love, 1963
I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality…. I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. Nobel Prize acceptance speech, 1964
And so Jesus gave us a new norm of greatness. If you want to be important – wonderful. If you want to be recognized – wonderful. If you want to be great – wonderful. But recognize that he who is greatest among you shall be your servant. That’s a new definition of greatness…. By giving that definition of greatness, it means that everybody can be great, because everybody can serve…. You only need a heart full of grace, and a soul generated by love. The Drum-Major Instinct, 1968
I could go on for pages…, but I am not alone in being inspired by Dr. King.
What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence or lawlessness; but love and wisdom, compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country…. Let us dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years ago: to tame the savageness of man and to make gentle the life of this world.
Bobby Kennedy, April 4, 1968, Indianapolis, after announcing the death of
Martin Luther King, Jr.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Monday, January 21, 2008
Shhhh!!! Please don’t tell anyone but I have been listening to country music lately. Not exclusively, mind you, but more than I have for awhile. When I was in high school in the mid to late 1970s (graduated 1977), you did not listen to, or admit listening to, country music. That taboo has remained fairly strong over the years, though as time went by, there were those exceptions – Hank Williams (a precursor to rock ‘n’ roll), Johnny Cash (who was early rock ‘n’ roll) and a few others. I knew things were changing for kids when I was a youth pastor in Dallas and some of the youth in my youth group could listen unabashedly to country music. I began to loosen up, then, but it still feels kind of odd.
And now I have been listening to Garth Brooks, cowboy hat and all! I share this because I have found in a couple of his songs something I had not really expected – wisdom. Now I am not classing Garth Brooks with Buddha or Plato or Solomon, but when I put two of his songs together, there are the beginnings of a decent theology of life. Most surprising to me is that this theology includes a deep social conscience.
For whatever reason, not long ago, when it was on sale, I bought a two-CD, one-DVD hits collection of Garth Brooks music. I liked some of the songs well enough, but after hearing two in particular, I wanted to watch the accompanying videos. The videos were not simply light visual accessories to the songs, they added to their depth. One song, “The Dance,” seems to be about lost love – a frequent theme in country music (o.k. maybe I’ve listened to more over the years than I would readily admit). The singer recalls a moment of closeness, a dance, and then wistfully acknowledges that the relationship ended. He thinks about this. And now I’m glad I didn’t know/The way it all would end, the way it all would go/Our lives are better left to chance, I could have missed the pain/But I’d of had to miss the dance. So I watched the video, and Garth Brooks has pictures of John Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. Well, yes, John Wayne is in there, too – I didn’t say this was deep theology in every respect! The idea, that while we might have been glad to miss the pain, we appreciate life’s joys, is powerful. When there are challenges and we strive to meet those challenges, and we know disappointment along with success, we usually would choose the same course. When we work for change, the road is long and hard, but we would not want to miss the dance. We don’t seek pain or relish it, and there is much we can and should do to lessen pain, but it seems to come with the territory of living, and we can choose to try and avoid it and stay cooped up, or be open to life.
The song that surprised me most, however, was a song called “We Shall Be Free.” It has as much a gospel feel as a country music feel to it, and the lyrics are powerful. Here is just one verse: When the last thing we notice/Is the color of skin/And the first thing we look for/Is the beauty within/When they skies and the oceans/Are clean again/Then we shall be free. There is something of the hopeful vision of the prophets in this song, and the video does a great job of helping us see the beauty and misery of the world as it is, while fostering hope for a better future. Sometimes the video is too sanguine about change for the better, but hope is a precious commodity in our day and time, and I will take it from anywhere I can get it. Toward the end of the video, you hear Garth Brooks say, “Now there’s faith, hope and love… and the greatest of these is love. That’s cool!”
Garth is no Barth, but that faith, hope and love thing is pretty cool.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
And now I have been listening to Garth Brooks, cowboy hat and all! I share this because I have found in a couple of his songs something I had not really expected – wisdom. Now I am not classing Garth Brooks with Buddha or Plato or Solomon, but when I put two of his songs together, there are the beginnings of a decent theology of life. Most surprising to me is that this theology includes a deep social conscience.
For whatever reason, not long ago, when it was on sale, I bought a two-CD, one-DVD hits collection of Garth Brooks music. I liked some of the songs well enough, but after hearing two in particular, I wanted to watch the accompanying videos. The videos were not simply light visual accessories to the songs, they added to their depth. One song, “The Dance,” seems to be about lost love – a frequent theme in country music (o.k. maybe I’ve listened to more over the years than I would readily admit). The singer recalls a moment of closeness, a dance, and then wistfully acknowledges that the relationship ended. He thinks about this. And now I’m glad I didn’t know/The way it all would end, the way it all would go/Our lives are better left to chance, I could have missed the pain/But I’d of had to miss the dance. So I watched the video, and Garth Brooks has pictures of John Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. Well, yes, John Wayne is in there, too – I didn’t say this was deep theology in every respect! The idea, that while we might have been glad to miss the pain, we appreciate life’s joys, is powerful. When there are challenges and we strive to meet those challenges, and we know disappointment along with success, we usually would choose the same course. When we work for change, the road is long and hard, but we would not want to miss the dance. We don’t seek pain or relish it, and there is much we can and should do to lessen pain, but it seems to come with the territory of living, and we can choose to try and avoid it and stay cooped up, or be open to life.
The song that surprised me most, however, was a song called “We Shall Be Free.” It has as much a gospel feel as a country music feel to it, and the lyrics are powerful. Here is just one verse: When the last thing we notice/Is the color of skin/And the first thing we look for/Is the beauty within/When they skies and the oceans/Are clean again/Then we shall be free. There is something of the hopeful vision of the prophets in this song, and the video does a great job of helping us see the beauty and misery of the world as it is, while fostering hope for a better future. Sometimes the video is too sanguine about change for the better, but hope is a precious commodity in our day and time, and I will take it from anywhere I can get it. Toward the end of the video, you hear Garth Brooks say, “Now there’s faith, hope and love… and the greatest of these is love. That’s cool!”
Garth is no Barth, but that faith, hope and love thing is pretty cool.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
I have become convinced that we need to find ways to express our problems and challenges so that we don’t undercut the energy we need to meet them. This is an art that needs attention.
Personal notebook, November 1, 1998
When I left the Iron Range as a pastor to become a district superintendent in June of 1998, one gift I was given was a blank hardcover notebook. To be honest, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it, but it was a thoughtful gift from pastors in Chisholm. As I moved into my new ministry, I found myself using this notebook to record occasional thoughts – maybe a mini “With Faith and With Feathers” before there were blogs! The thought recorded above comes from this notebook, and emerged early on in my ministry as a district superintendent. Once, when I shared it, I received some push back. Wasn’t I just too afraid to “tell the truth”? That’s the danger, but the other risk is that you tell the truth in such a way that you leave those you are telling fewer options than you might otherwise. It is often less a matter of whether or not you speak the truth than how you speak the truth.
Last week I was in Detroit for a United Methodist conference combining urban and rural ministry concerns. There were times in the course of the three days when I heard some of the familiar hand-wringing about the mainline church, The United Methodist Church in particular. Yes, our numbers are declining. Yes, we need to ask hard questions about how well a M. Div. degree prepares persons for ordained ministry. Yes, we have to ask about our structures and systems. I have no problem asking hard questions and looking difficult truths in the face.
During the week I was also witness to some incredible work being done by United Methodists. Second Grace UMC in Detroit founded a free clinic in their medically underserved neighborhood. Cass Community UMC started a social service ministry during the depression, and in the early part of this century it spun off into a separate social service agency with a current budget of six million dollars.
If we are going to tell the story of our denomination, we need to tell the whole story – the good, the bad and the ugly. We cannot ignore what we don’t like, but how we tell ourselves what is going on matters. If we only talk about our failings, our faults, our decline, and forget to talk about how this “hobbling” denomination still sparks incredible ministry, still touches people’s lives, we undercut the energy needed to change what needs changing.
I am currently reading an updated edition of the book Rabbi Edwin Friedman left unfinished at his death, A Failure of Nerve: leadership in the age of the quick fix. I read an earlier version of this work while I was a district superintendent, but wanted to re-read it now that it has been edited. Friedman is critical of our society’s addiction to data, information, and technique. Not only do we overwhelm ourselves with data, Friedman argues, but the way we present that data often serves to increase anxiety, neglecting the fact that our response to crisis is also an important variable in how things finally turn out in any situation. Friedman uses medical studies as one example. The data themselves are formatted in anxiety-provoking formulas that, precisely because they leave out emotional variables, give a deterministic impression…. They are always phrased in a way that stresses damage (which is so much more easily measured) rather than the chances for survival.
While reading Friedman, I also came across the following in a recent issue of The New York Times Book Review. It is a quote from the book Break Through, a book about environmentalism (a book I have not read and am not endorsing – except insofar as I found this quote illuminating). “We know from extensive psychological research that presenting frightening scenarios provokes fatalism, paralysis and… individualistic thoughts of adaptation, not empowerment, hope, creativity and collective action.”
Maybe how we tell the truth matters. Maybe in the midst of difficult times and challenging circumstances, we need to find where things are also going well, where flowers are finding their way through the cracks of sidewalks, where life is emerging in deadly surroundings. Then we may have the energy needed to nurture life, to foster faith, to grow in love, and to make needed and necessary changes.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Personal notebook, November 1, 1998
When I left the Iron Range as a pastor to become a district superintendent in June of 1998, one gift I was given was a blank hardcover notebook. To be honest, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it, but it was a thoughtful gift from pastors in Chisholm. As I moved into my new ministry, I found myself using this notebook to record occasional thoughts – maybe a mini “With Faith and With Feathers” before there were blogs! The thought recorded above comes from this notebook, and emerged early on in my ministry as a district superintendent. Once, when I shared it, I received some push back. Wasn’t I just too afraid to “tell the truth”? That’s the danger, but the other risk is that you tell the truth in such a way that you leave those you are telling fewer options than you might otherwise. It is often less a matter of whether or not you speak the truth than how you speak the truth.
Last week I was in Detroit for a United Methodist conference combining urban and rural ministry concerns. There were times in the course of the three days when I heard some of the familiar hand-wringing about the mainline church, The United Methodist Church in particular. Yes, our numbers are declining. Yes, we need to ask hard questions about how well a M. Div. degree prepares persons for ordained ministry. Yes, we have to ask about our structures and systems. I have no problem asking hard questions and looking difficult truths in the face.
During the week I was also witness to some incredible work being done by United Methodists. Second Grace UMC in Detroit founded a free clinic in their medically underserved neighborhood. Cass Community UMC started a social service ministry during the depression, and in the early part of this century it spun off into a separate social service agency with a current budget of six million dollars.
If we are going to tell the story of our denomination, we need to tell the whole story – the good, the bad and the ugly. We cannot ignore what we don’t like, but how we tell ourselves what is going on matters. If we only talk about our failings, our faults, our decline, and forget to talk about how this “hobbling” denomination still sparks incredible ministry, still touches people’s lives, we undercut the energy needed to change what needs changing.
I am currently reading an updated edition of the book Rabbi Edwin Friedman left unfinished at his death, A Failure of Nerve: leadership in the age of the quick fix. I read an earlier version of this work while I was a district superintendent, but wanted to re-read it now that it has been edited. Friedman is critical of our society’s addiction to data, information, and technique. Not only do we overwhelm ourselves with data, Friedman argues, but the way we present that data often serves to increase anxiety, neglecting the fact that our response to crisis is also an important variable in how things finally turn out in any situation. Friedman uses medical studies as one example. The data themselves are formatted in anxiety-provoking formulas that, precisely because they leave out emotional variables, give a deterministic impression…. They are always phrased in a way that stresses damage (which is so much more easily measured) rather than the chances for survival.
While reading Friedman, I also came across the following in a recent issue of The New York Times Book Review. It is a quote from the book Break Through, a book about environmentalism (a book I have not read and am not endorsing – except insofar as I found this quote illuminating). “We know from extensive psychological research that presenting frightening scenarios provokes fatalism, paralysis and… individualistic thoughts of adaptation, not empowerment, hope, creativity and collective action.”
Maybe how we tell the truth matters. Maybe in the midst of difficult times and challenging circumstances, we need to find where things are also going well, where flowers are finding their way through the cracks of sidewalks, where life is emerging in deadly surroundings. Then we may have the energy needed to nurture life, to foster faith, to grow in love, and to make needed and necessary changes.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
