The Way Home

The English colonies in America began with land grants made by James I to the London and Plymouth Companies, and developed as business entities managed by shareholders or proprietors in the pursuit of financial gain. Georgia, the last of the thirteen colonies to be chartered, proved to be the exception. Its founder envisioned it as a place where debtors and the “worthy poor” could flourish, though the Crown was more interested in its value as a buffer between Spanish-held territory to the south and its income-producing colonies to the north.

In the beginning, the American companies – whether the Massachusetts Bay Company or the Virginia Company or Lord Baltimore’s Maryland province – were in competition with each other. But as the decades (and centuries in the case of Virginia and the New England colonies) rolled by, their people increasingly recognized their common interests and bemoaned their common injuries.

When representatives of the thirteen colonies assembled in congress on July 4, 1776, they issued a very solemn Declaration of Independence from the British Crown. But before declaring the colonies to be “free and independent states,” the signers emphasized that they were in unanimous agreement as the “thirteen united States of America.”

The representatives recognized their own limitations. They understood that they could not successfully declare their independence from Great Britain without acknowledging their dependence upon one another. Independence from a greater power requires dependence upon another power, whether the collective power of individual states or the ultimate power of a divine being. The founding fathers acknowledged their dependence upon both.

How could Virginia, Pennsylvania or New Jersey stand alone in their independence from Great Britain? They could not. They could only achieve independence through a right and proper dependence upon one another.

This principle that independence is gained through dependence proves true in a variety of contexts. The addict’s independence from the substance or behavior that controls him requires dependence upon an accountability partner or support group and on divine assistance. Independence from an abusive spouse or parent will require dependence upon caring friends and counselors. Independence from mom and dad requires dependence on employers and hard work.

There is no such thing as absolute independence among finite, and therefore dependent, beings. Independence is, and must always be, relative. The man who fancies himself completely self-reliant only fools himself. He is utterly incapable of making his own heart beat or extending his life one minute longer. To such a man St. Paul asks, “What do you have that you did not receive? And if you did receive it, why do you boast as though you did not?”

This is something that is hard for us, schooled as we are in rugged individualism, to remember. We see it across the spectrum of American life. Republicans and Democrats think that they can govern independently of one another. The one-percenters think they can do without the rest of the country, and the rest of the country thinks it can do without them. Racial and ethnic majorities and minorities alike flout one another.

While independence from a hostile power may require dependence upon a friendly one, it is still necessary to use caution in choosing the “friendly power” upon which we rely. Unless it frees us (individually and as a nation) to fulfill our potential, we have chosen the wrong power. That freedom is one God routinely grants and I, for one, gladly declare my dependence on him.

Published first in The Coldwater Daily Reporter, July 6, 2013

Although the experience of shame is universal, it is difficult to define. We can rightly distinguish shame from guilt – shame has to do with what I am, guilt with what I have done – but we are still left to wonder what shame is. The cause of shame and its cure is, by its very nature, hidden. (The root of the Old English word shame means “to cover.”)

We are profoundly more aware of the negative consequences of shame than were our parents and grandparents. We know that shame is toxic. It distorts our reason and transforms our moods. We hide from its pain in destructive behaviors that mar our self-image and destroy our relationships. This in turn reinforces the shame and starts spinning the cycle all over again.

When people are controlled – often without their knowledge – by shame, they manifest any of a number of common behaviors. They may exercise rigid control over their environment, fly into a rage, develop perfectionistic tendencies, procrastinate, or fall into addiction. They exaggerate both their successes and failures and live forever on the borders of deceit.

Recognizing that shame is toxic, modern society has taken steps to “de-shame” many of the behaviors that made our parents and grandparents blush. Today, for example, adultery has become a “low-shame” behavior. Just consider former South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford, whose adultery and dishonesty cost him his office but who has made a stunning comeback by running for, and winning, a congressional district seat.

Two years ago Congressman Anthony Weiner was driven from public office after being caught “sexting,” But this week The Huffington Post reported that he is the frontrunner for the office of New York City mayor. At one time his actions would have made him a political pariah, but in a culture that has largely “de-shamed” any and all sexual behavior, the stigma has faded.

Some conduct remains culturally shameful – just ask Paula Dean. The use of racial or sexual orientation slurs still make society stand up and say, “Shame on you!” But that’s about it, and one wonders how long it will be before even these behaviors are practiced without shame.

Am I suggesting that shame really isn’t such a bad thing, or that using shame to control people’s behaviors might be appropriate after all?

Not in the least. Shame is harmful and must be dealt with if a person is to enjoy a meaningful and productive life. But our wholesale de-shaming of behaviors will prove an ineffective way of dealing with the problem, because shame – unlike guilt – is not a product of behavior. Whereas guilt says, “I am wrong because I have done this,” shame says, “I have done this because I am wrong.”

If this is true, our culture’s well-intentioned attempts to eliminate shame by surgically deadening our moral nerves is profoundly misguided. It is the ethical equivalent of performing a lobotomy to relieve a headache.

The Bible teaches that the ultimate cause of shame is spiritual, not psychological. It is rooted in humanity’s dislocation from God and can only be cured by a life-giving connection with God and a life-sharing connection with people.

The Bible begins with a man and woman completely free of shame, a state that we can now only imagine. By their own choice they became estranged from God and, in so doing, were left defenseless against shame. It became a constant and bitter part of the human experience. But God has promised to liberate humanity from the burden of shame – a promise that certainly means more than any of us can now comprehend.

Published first in The Coldwater Daily Reporter, June 29, 2013

CBS has adapted Steven King’s 2009 thriller, “Under the Dome,” as a big-budget summer series. In King’s book, a mysterious dome falls out of the sky, isolating a small town in rural Maine from the rest of civilization. No one knows whether the origin of the dome is supernatural, extra-terrestrial or part of some secret government plot.

But the enigmatic dome is no more mysterious than the town it surrounds.  The small town is home to a corrupt police force, a dictatorial leader, murder and deceit. And the community’s most malevolent members all happen to be right-wing Christian fundamentalists.

Detached from the rest of the world, the people trapped under the dome must live without electricity and other essentials of modern life. They cannot look to the outside world for help – they are cut off from supplies and from aid.

The people living under the dome are forced to depend on their own resourcefulness for survival. As it turns out, they are most resourceful at formulating evil. Violence, sexual misconduct and malice is rampant under the dome.

As time passes, the quality of the air decreases and children begin to show signs of physical and emotional distress. As the situation worsens, the darker side of human nature is exposed. The conflict that results is not so much between man and nature (or the lack of nature, under the dome) but between man and man, and between man and his own heart.

After seeing a commercial for the television series, my wife perceptively noted that the “Under the Dome” could serve as a metaphor for a life cut off from spiritual resources. Jesus promised a supply of such resources to those who live in the sweet air of what he referred to as the kingdom of heaven. Today we might call it the government of God.

Jesus urged his followers to bring the rule of their lives under the government of God. He taught them both by word and example that their individual kingdoms could be ceded to God’s greater kingdom, and that by so doing they could have access to the resources of heaven.

With this in mind, Jesus instructed his hearers to “seek God’s kingdom” (that is, to submit their lives to God’s governance). If they did so, he assured them, the resources they needed to live meaningfully and joyfully would be given to them. He then added, “Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32).

With the resources of heaven at their disposal, people can afford to be generous with their possessions as well as their time. They needn’t fear running out. They will have whatever they need to do whatever they must.

This is not a prosperity gospel, at least not in the way it is usually portrayed. Heaven’s resources are not available for self-aggrandizement but for service. They allow a person to be generous, but never to be covetous.

The resources Jesus promised are not merely financial or material. They are personal and spiritual. Knowing that heaven will come through in a pinch enables people to persevere in hardship, experience peace in conflict and remain hopeful even in times of sorrow and loss.

But trapped under the dome of self-reliance and cut off from the support of heaven, a person must depend entirely upon his own resources – an approach to life St. Paul referred to as living “according to the flesh.” When a person sees his or her resources being depleted, he or she will quickly abandon generosity and become competitive, self-seeking and controlling. That is life under the dome – life, as St. Peter once put it, “without hope and without God in the world.”

Published first in The Coldwater Daily Reporter, June 22, 2013

I’ve been attending worship services for so many years now, I cannot remember what it felt like when I first started. Did I feel out of place? Was I intimidated? Were people welcoming?

I do remember feeling out of place when, as a college senior, I began attending mass at St. John the Baptist Catholic Church. In my home church I knew just what to expect: there would be a welcome, a hymn, a prayer, another hymn, and offering (at which time some announcements would be made), another hymn, a sermon, an invitation hymn and a closing prayer. Week after week it was the same.

But at St. John’s there was a liturgy to be followed. There was standing and kneeling, creeds to be recited, responses to be given and prayers to be made. It was very different from what I was used to, so I was always a little off-balance. What should I do while others are going up front to take Holy Communion? Will people wonder why I’m here? (I assumed they could tell a Protestant from three pews away.) Should I recite the creed with them or keep silent?

Going to church (or going to a different church) for the first time can be intimidating. What will people think of me? Will I say the wrong thing at the wrong time? What kind of clothes should I wear? Will I know what to do? Will anyone talk to me? Should I talk to anyone?

I had forgotten how daunting going to church can be until this week. I was with a dozen guys from our church on a three-day fishing trip to Lake Erie, and while there I had the chance to get acquainted with a couple of our charter captains.

As a group, charter captains (even those on fresh water lakes) are a little salty. They drink more than is good for them, use a colorful vocabulary and generally have a low P.Q. (patience quotient). From the little I’ve seen, they are not apt to quote a Bible verse or to break into a chorus of “Amazing Grace.”

As soon as they discovered I’m a pastor, they were on their best behavior (which, one might argue, still left something to be desired). Each of them, when the opportunity presented itself, engaged me in conversation about the Christian life and displayed a commendable openness to spiritual issues. One even blurted out, “God bless you,” when we parted.

The younger of the charter captains, who was under the impression that I thought he would go to hell because he didn’t go to church, lacked any kind of a religious upbringing. The other, a man whose pious mother died when he was still a child and whose father died a few years later, occasionally watches TV preachers and listens to old-time gospel music.

When I explained to the younger of the two men that following Christ is not about going to church but about having a relationship with the creator God, he seemed genuinely relieved. It was an eye-opener to me to discover that this salty dog was more unnerved by the idea of going to church than he was by the thought of meeting God.

Clearly even tough guys can find going to church intimidating – a truth we regular church attenders would be wise to remember. When inviting friends and family, we ought to reduce the intimidation factor by letting them know what to expect: tell them how long the service lasts; describe to them how most people dress; assure them that they will not be singled out.

They may be worried about the offering time. Explain how it is received. Talk to them about the pastor’s sermons. Tell them about what’s available for their children during the worship service. Offer to meet them at the door (or, better yet, to pick them up) and go with them. They may surprise you and say yes. Even a salty dog can learn new tricks.

Published first in The Coldwater Daily Reporter, June 16, 2013

For many people it is the most difficult – and arguably the most unreasonable – instruction given in sacred literature: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds” (James 1:2).

James, who led the Church during the earliest years of the Christian faith and in a time of government-endorsed persecution of Christians, directs believers to count their trials as joy. Their trials included the normal hardships of life – privation, sickness and loss – and the trials particular to religious persecution: harassment, mistreatment and imprisonment.

Not only were these people to keep themselves from despair when they were so treated, they were to deem it all joy. Is such a thing even possible? For that matter, is it sane?

To take the second question first: The sanity of such an approach to life would be suspect if there were no rationale for doing so. But St. James states his rationale, and it makes sense: “because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”

The only reason to count trials as joy is that they produce perseverance, which may be the New Testament’s most highly-touted virtue. Perseverance is essential in every worthwhile endeavor in life, whether learning to speak a new language, play the piano, master differential calculus or get in shape. James says that perseverance leads to maturity and fulfillment.

But even if it is sensible to consider trials as pure joy, is it possible? The biblical record and Church history – not to mention the experience of many Christians – suggest that it is.

I knew and was mentored by a giant of a man. His name was Ken West. When I met him I was in my early twenties, he was in his seventies. He was about six-and-a-half-feet tall and had a presence that could fill a room.

He had known his share of trials, but he had learned to count them joy. When I first met Mr. West, he was recovering from surgery to remove a cancerous growth. In cutting out the cancer, the surgeon had severed a nerve, leaving the side of his face drawn and distorted. Yet he moved through life with a joy that hardship could not quench.

He knew that even his pain would not be wasted but would be utilized to make him more than he could otherwise be. He was well-acquainted with the apostle Paul’s teaching on the subject, that “our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all” (2 Corinthians 4:17). Ken West understood that future glory does not come in spite of present suffering; it comes through it.

I’ve known other people who have been able to count trials as joy – enough of them to convince me that it is possible for anyone, properly equipped and trained, to do so. But is it possible for a group of people – a church congregation, for example – to learn to do the same?

Church families sometimes go through painful trials together: A beloved leader is diagnosed with a terminal illness, a pastor is accused of moral failure, financial burdens grow heavy, or accident and tragedy strike. Can an entire congregation learn to “consider it pure joy”?

I think it is possible. The church as a whole can respond to trials with this attitude, but they must realize that such trials are, as James points out, a test of faith – not of competence or spirituality, or any such thing. And their leaders must model this positive approach to hardship in their personal lives. Even more importantly, the congregation must be immersed in the presence of a God whose love and whose competence to care for them is infinite.

(First published on Saturday, June 8, 2013 in The Coldwater Daily Reporter)