Category Archives: certainty

May 15, 2013 · 11:38 am

Japanese Sex Slaves and The Nature of Truth

Pregnant Comfort Woman Discovered After World War Two

Pregnant Comfort Woman Discovered After World War Two

Please read the quote below from the current mayor of Osaka, Japan, Toru Hashimoto.  He was speaking about the use of sex slaves provided for Japanese soldiers during World War Two.  Historians suggest that up to 200,000 Korean and Chinese women were forced into providing these services.

“To maintain discipline in the military, it must have been necessary at that time,” Hashimoto said. “For soldiers who risked their lives in circumstances where bullets are flying around like rain and wind, if you want them to get some rest, a comfort women system was necessary. That’s clear to anyone.”

OK, I’m hardly the only one objecting to such a statement. This story is all over the electronic news, although I stumbled on it accidentally in the print version of the Dallas Morning News today.

What I am is probably the most obscure commenter, and very likely the only one to use this as a way of entering discussion about the nature of truth.

Hashimoto, the author of this incredibly inflammatory quote, is being accused of whitewashing history. Here’s what I see: rather than simply whitewashing history, he is speaking what he needs to be true in order to continue to justify his current course of action and his belief system.

I don’t think we humans have an easy time of holding two very much contradictory opinions at the same time.  If one of our primary opinions is “I’m essentially a good person” then evidence of lack of goodness needs to be adjusted to fit the primary filter. So if Mayor Hashimoto wants to hold to the larger truth that the Japanese aggression leading to the second world war was justified and necessary, then results springing from that just war need to be explained in light of the larger truth. That’s what we humans do.

The Nature of Truth

OK, now, to the main point:  the nature of truth.

I happen to hold to the view that there is such a thing as absolute truth.

I also hold to the position that I, in my very finite, extraordinarily flawed humanness, am not capable of understanding more than a tiny portion of absolute truth. I really do believe that the Apostle Paul had this one right when he was warning the squabbling Corinthian church about the necessity of long-suffering, self-sacrificing supportive love for one another. He wrote after discussion the nature of that kind of love, “for now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known .”

Frankly, I see what I want to see, and I have huge capacities to ignore what I don’t want to see. My office, as do most institutional offices, has a ceiling well wired and littered with those long, awful, unflattering, fluorescent bulbs. I never, ever turn them on. Instead, I have carefully placed multiple table lamps and a floor lamp that provide soft, indirect lighting.

Why? Well, frankly, women of a certain age really don’t need to be in a place where harsh, overhead lighting predominates. It exposes things I really don’t want to see–both in me and in others.

“The Bible Clearly Teaches . . . “

When I hear someone say, “The Bible clearly teaches . . . ” with the understanding that if I disagree with the answer I am therefore tagged as “unbiblical” in my worldview, I have real problems.

You see, I’ve spent my life trying to sort out what “the Bible clearly teaches” and have discovered that there is no real agreement across the board on anything “the Bible clearly teaches.” Everyone looks at the Scriptures through our own version of truth, using our own blinders, and with our views distorted and challenged by the dimmed mirror.

When I hear someone say, “I KNOW this is true and biblical and if you don’t agree with me, I will refuse to stay in connection to you, ” I hear someone who is making a significant violation of what is pretty darn clear in the Holy Scriptures. Please understand, using my filters, I think our primary command is to love one another, to forgive one another and to stay in unity and connection with each other.

The wholesale, “I have correct doctrine and you don’t and therefore to h*** with you,” strikes me as profoundly unbiblical. Those are my lenses, that is my primary truth. But it is not the primary truth for many.

And this is what I see happening in The United Methodist Church, apparently primarily over the very complex question of full inclusion of those in the LGBTQ camps. Many responses strike me as profoundly unbiblical.

I see the camp that says, “I KNOW what is true and you don’t” telling those they disagree with that they need to take a hike. The camp that says, “I believe there are radically differing ways to look at this and I have come to radically different conclusions” generally says, “Let’s stay in connection and embrace the wideness of God’s mercy.”

But, of course, that is my truth, and again, it is filtered through  my lenses.

A Tight Rigid Line?

Most people I know want a tight, rigid line between truth and non-truth. They want a clear division. And some things are really clear. I’ve written a bit about the nature of evil here. But genuine disagreement is NOT evil. It is human. It drives creativity and dips into wells of passion that can bring about huge societal changes for the good.

Look at the history of racism and sexism, particularly through the eyes of those who want to stand firmly on biblical truth. Depending on one’s primary truth, and primary entrance point into the interpretational challenges of the Bible, people have for centuries landed on radically different sides of these debates.

Much of the Christian world still does not see women as fully human, or as those who should exercise any type of spiritual authority. Those in that camp will say that are profoundly biblical and anyone who disagrees with them have wandered away from revealed truth.

Let us go back to Mayor Hashimoto’s statement: very few readers of his comments will find them anything but utterly disgusting. But some people do agree with him. Some want that version of the truth:  it gives both comfort and justification for further actions that others will condemn.

Those who agree with him will or already have formed a group of like-minded people. They will reinforce each others views and decisions about such a controversial matter.  And their versions of the truth will be solidly cemented in their minds.

That’s what we do. Unless we happen to be those who are willing to say with humility, “God, Your will, not mine, be done.” That is the most challenging prayer of all to pray because it relinquishes control and leaves us open and vulnerable to the notion that we really might not have all truth and all knowledge at our fingertips.

Without humility, we are doomed to break apart. That is also the truth. And it is one we all need to heed.

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April 3, 2013 · 10:33 am

The Heavenly Waiting Room

The Waiting Room

The Waiting Room

Many of us hold beliefs in an afterlife of some sort.  However, we have significant disagreement in how we think that afterlife will work as we hold mutually contradictory descriptions.  For example, if heaven for one man equals having seventy virgins to deflower as he wishes, then that person’s heaven equals hell for others. If one person’s heaven means being surrounded only by like-minded people, the majority of humanity will be denied entrance.

My point: if our versions of the afterlife mean that others must suffer or be excluded in order to get our ideal world, maybe, just maybe, there’s a problem here.

I read once, and unfortunately can’t remember where, a suggestion that heaven is going to be like a giant airport waiting room filled with people with whom we have had unresolved conflicts. We will have all eternity to work out those conflicts. The plane takes off only when all reconcile and everyone is welcomed aboard.

After all, if people whom I would rather not see again populate heaven, how can it be a place of perfect love?  There’s always the chance of running into those people. Will there be a heavenly equivalent to crossing over to the other side of the road or unfriending them on a social network site?

So let’s look at that “heavenly” airport waiting room possibility.  Who fills that space?

Each of us will have a different list.

  • A left-leaning Democrat might find a right-wing radio commentator in the next seat.
  • A person who lived life as part of a committed same-sex relationship may find the seat across the aisle taken with a well-known and highly vocal gay-basher.
  • Estranged spouses, long not speaking to one another, sit stiffly in corner seats, unable to avoid each other’s eyes.
  • An avid defender of care-free childless living discovers the quiet seat carefully chosen in a what looked like an adults-only section is suddenly surrounded with harried parents caring for screaming babies and racing toddlers.
  • The liberal Christian intellectual glares at the biblical literalist standing in line, busily offering proof texts as to why preferred seating should be offered only to those in complete agreement to a certain list of doctrines, including absolute female submission to male headship, the right to own slaves, and the assurance that only a tiny group of elect will actually get to board the plane.
  • The atheist, certain that religious institutions are the root of all evil and shocked by even the idea of an afterlife, looks at the face at the one who has devoted his entire adult life to top leadership of a massive religious institution.
  • The European physical fitness and healthy eating guru, long vocal about the sloppy and disgusting avoirdupois of most Americans, lands in the food court which smells of stale grease. The air is so saturated by fat-producing carbohydrates that she can feel her thighs growing larger moment by moment and she shares a table with a bunch of super-sized Americans delightedly ordering more shakes and fried pies.
  • The power-hungry murdering dictator faces unending lines of those tortured and slaughtered under his rule—and he’s going to have to ask each one for forgiveness.  Worse, each one will have to find forgiveness.

Outrageous scenarios?   Perhaps.  But what if we must make our peace with those for whom we feel things like hatred, disgust, disdain, disappointment?  What if those we have soundly condemned will sit with us until we are able to lay our condemnation down? What if we must offer the forgiving hand and hug to those in opposing camps in order for either of us to board that plane?

And yet, if we don’t, would we ourselves ever be free to receive the fullness of perfect love? Can we receive it if we dictate to God that others must not receive it?

Just something to think about.

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December 11, 2012 · 6:55 pm

Christmas Advice Column, Issue Two

sheep-starDear Friendly,

Was Jesus really born on December 25th?  All these songs about snow and cold and shepherds sleeping outside in the fields in icy winter don’t make sense to me.

Signed,
Not So Sure About This.

Dear Not So Sure,

I was just a child when I heard some radio preacher say that Jesus was probably not born on December 25.  I thought the floor had just been yanked from me.  How dare that person question what surely is clear!

Except it is not clear.

First, the Bible does not indicate the date on our calendar that we call December 25 is the actual birth date.  Did you know that our calendars have changed over time?  We in the West use the Gregorian calendar, established in 1582.  It replaced the Julian Calendar which had by then proved to be inaccurate by about 11 minutes per year—which does add up over the centuries!

Around the time of Jesus, a very different way of measuring times and dates was in place, and the world was also considerably less exact in its time measurements.  Things you and I might accomplish in split seconds or just a few hours could easily then have spanned days, weeks and months or even longer.  Those who lived in biblical times would be astonished at our contemporary time and date precision measurements.

Second, the day of Jesus’ birth was not celebrated at all in early Christianity. The major Christian feast from its earliest days was Easter, and then followed by Pentecost.  While you and I live in a world that makes Christmas the most important time to pay attention to faith issues, that’s a fairly recent development.

So, when the church did decide to incorporate this season into its calendar of feasts and fasts, it probably co-opted certain winter celebrations that were already part of popular culture.  In the northern hemisphere, the Winter Solstice, when the sun is at its lowest point and the daylight the shortest, is December 21.  Starting December 22, the days start to grow longer again until they reach their fullest length on June 21 and then begin to shorten once more.  Thank about it:  what better time for us to celebrate the Light coming into the world, that is, Jesus, than the very time when the light itself is coming back, offering its renewed hope of sun, crops, and the rebirth of land and animals?

I recently heard from a reader of my blog who lives in Australia.  Many of our holiday songs, with huge percentage centering on snow and snowmen, sleighs and frosty noses, cold winter’s nights and inky black midnight visitations sound crazy to them.  Why?  Because they are approaching their summer solstice, it is miserably hot “down under” and nights are short.  They don’t need candles and festive lights to push back the darkness.  They’ve got all the light they need right now, thank you.

But we do.  We need to bravely light our candles and hold them high, to recognize that frozen ground will eventually yield to plants and plowing yet once more, to embrace the mystery of the Incarnation, the divine taking on humanity, and the act of holiness joyfully embracing and transforming brokeness, sin and sorrow.

Many of the songs you notedn are written in the context of cold, northern European deep winter weather.  While not necessarily biblical in historical, climate matters, they are biblical in the sense of being in awe of what happened at the birth of the Savior.

Celebrating Christmas this time of the year reminds you and me of our physicalness, our connection with all of nature, and the rhythms of our bodies.  Just when we are at our lowest ebb, the light enters again and gives us hope.  So, December 25 for the celebration day just makes a lot of sense.

Have a great Christmas!

Signed,

Friendly

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June 10, 2012 · 3:38 pm

Why It Matters: The Episcopal Situation in the North Texas Conference

Jeffrey Weiss, a reporter with the Dallas Morning News, has asked these questions concerning the episcopal situation facing the North Texas Conference:  “Why does this matter? And to who? Clearly, it’s a big deal to North Texas Methodist clergy. But who else should be paying attention? And why?”

Here is my response:

Does this Episcopal situation matter to anyone besides the United Methodist clergy?

Three Levels

On one level, and speaking on a short term time frame, no, not really. We clergy and the members of the churches we serve are the only ones who experience anything directly. Even then, it will mostly just be clergy. And among the clergy, only a few will see much immediate fallout. Most everyone else will go on doing what we’ve always been doing, and trying to ignore what may be a fatal blow to our connection as the slow internal hemorrhage of pain, mistrust and discouragement takes its toll.

One a second level, and on a longer-term time frame, it matters because while we United Methodists may not be huge in number, we do have a large impact in the quiet and generally unnoticed work of patching broken lives back together again. Because of our strong social conscience, Methodists from the beginning of this movement in 17th England have been on the forefront of living out our faith by feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the prisoners, caring for the outcasts, rescuing the children, and bringing health to the ill, both of body and mind.  This hidden work is part of the glue that holds both the Metroplex and the larger civilized world together and offers the sweet aroma of goodness and grace to a world sorely lacking in both.

Religious people, particularly Christians, are often mocked in the press because of our proclivity for silly arguments over the minutest details of doctrine, stupid social positions, disgustingly hateful pronouncements about racial, gender and sexual issues, and moral scandals among clergy. Those things make good reads and are used as fodder to say, “See, they really are a bunch of hypocrites.”  What rarely sees wide publicity is the immensely transformational nature of much of our quiet work. Let the United Methodist church come apart by this apparently unimportant disagreement, and the power and goodness that comes from that quiet work may easily dissipate. We will all feel the loss of these sweet services of grace, even those with no direct involvement with United Methodists, but most won’t know the root cause of the loss.

One a third, and most important level, what we as small group of clergy and churches are experiencing is the universal human story. This is the story of trust, betrayal, its aftermath and the long and complicated path to forgiveness and finding trust again.  And this is why the story needs to be told.

The Covenant Connection

United Methodist clergy, all of whom in some way or another have devoted our lives to living out the call to serve God and the community, are held together by a covenant.  A covenant is much more than a contract.  It is, like the marriage covenant, a binding of souls together for better or for worse.

I often tell the members of my congregation that the people who are most likely to hurt them painfully are the ones to whom they have made themselves most vulnerable, most “woundable” so to speak.  Who are they? Spouses, parents, children, extended family, long-time friends, confidants, employers.

They are the ones with whom we explore the basic question that haunts everyone:  can we both be fully known AND fully loved?

They are the one who can and do find our most tender places and dig the knives of betrayal in deep.

They are the ones we consistently have to learn to forgive and to re-engage in covenant life.

United Methodist Clergy have that kind of covenant with our Bishop. It is the Bishop who decides which clergy person will serve where and for how long. We have all taken a vow of itinerancy–this is part of our heritage from John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist movement.  We will go where we are told, and do so trusting that our Bishop makes those decisions with wisdom, grace, genuine love for us as brother and sister clergy people, and with adequate knowledge of both congregation and clergy in order to put the right person in the right place.

Some clergy move frequently. Some stay in one place for 20, 30 even 40 years. But all technically are subject to the decisions of the Bishop about placement. Any one at any time may receive a call and hear, “The Bishop has appointed you to . . . ”  Our entire lives, the lives of our spouses and children, and the lives of our congregations can be radically turned upside down.

It takes a lot of trust to live and work in a situation like this.

Broken Trust

The trust that held that fragile covenant (and all covenants made by humans are fragile by nature) has been broken. On all sides of this situation, there are people who feel utterly betrayed, stabbed in the back, and sucker-punched. The breath has gone out of us–but as it comes back in, anger tends to accompany it.

Anger in and of itself is not necessarily bad. It can energize us to fight with passion the most evil of oppressions. Or it can turn into an evil oppressor itself.

Again, this is the human experience. What we live through on the micro level of Bishop/Clergy/Laity of the North Texas Conference of The United Methodist Church is also lived through on the macro level of all human experience.  What we bring to its resolution is a faith centered on Jesus who says, at the moment of total betrayal, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

The Universal Questions

We are, I suspect, going to be asking the same questions that every other single person who has been betrayed asks. Those questions are:

  • “What does forgiveness look like?”
  • “Does the work of forgiveness mean that I must stay in intimate relationship with the those who appear to have betrayed me?”
  • “How can I learn to trust again?”

We’re going to have to ask those questions on a deeply personal level and on a larger, connectional level.  As we ask them, we will decide once more if the Gospel is true.

If we cannot get through this without destroying one another, then the larger world is right to ridicule us a deceived people who have bought into a lie.

If it is true that God’s love for us is so powerful that God will go to all lengths to bring us back into reconciled intimacy with God, then it is time to live it out.

We must discern what is expected of us and of God in that journey toward healing, forgiveness, regained trust and reconciliation.

My Own Story

I speak very personally here for a moment. A number of years ago, I chose to end my first marriage.  My husband at that time was/is not a bad or evil person.  I was/am not a bad or evil person.  But the relationship itself had become a place of death–I could not stay alive as an individual and stay in the marriage.  After several years of serious contemplation of and hope for my own death, I chose life and also chose to offer forgiveness but without the kind of reconciliation that would continue to leave me vulnerable to the damaging dynamic of the relationship.

Was it an ideal solution? Hardly. The repercussions will go on for generations and it took me years to come to deep peace with it and to hope and pray nothing but goodness for the man who is the father to my children.  But even with those hopes and prayers, I would not be married to him again.

The choice to trust again after such an experience was complicated and fraught with fear for me.  But I knew that by living in suspicion of others, I would deny myself the joy of intimacy forever.

A little while ago, I went to take a walk. As I am writing this, I am staying alone at my oldest son’s house, in a suburb south of London, England. Near his house are several heavily forested areas with multiple walking and bridle paths. There is no map of the paths, and I often wonder if I might get lost in my perambulations.

As I went to take this walk, I walked alone in a part of the forest I had not explored before. The skies were darkening with oncoming rain. Although prepared for the rain, I wondered, “Can I trust that everyone I might encounter on these lonely and gloomy paths will be adequately civilized so I may get home safely?”

I became suddenly aware that no one knew where I was or would even know that I had not returned safely for at least 24 hours when I was scheduled to pick up the grandchildren from school.

With each turning of the path, I had a choice: stick with the route I knew, have a decent walk, get home and lock the door against other possibilities, OR, try a different route, risk getting lost and possibly hurt, and see what I can discover about myself and God.

Several times, I chose the unknown route, knowing that if I faced my demons and looked them straight in the eye, I had a chance of loving them into submission. But if I let them win, they are my masters. Demons make poor masters but great jailers.

Facing Our Demons

That’s why this this episcopal mess is important to many more than just a small group of beleaguered, tired and often discouraged clergy people. What we do in response will, in its own way, change the world. We’ll either face our demons and love them into transformation or we will let them win and shut ourselves away. There is no such thing as a neutral act, and no such thing as an act that does not affect in some way everything it touches.  And we United Methodists touch a massive number of things in this area, in the US, and in the world.

We will either learn to trust again and become more able to speak our truth in love, or we’ll stuff our truths away and build the fortifications around our souls so we won’t be hurt again–and we will lose our hope of redemption.

There is nothing easy about what is before us. That, also, is the universal human condition. Certainly, some life choices glow clearly, with the righteous and holy path fully illuminated. Most do not–most choices flicker with multiple shades of grey dancing in the shadows of our minds and hearts. We wander now into those shadowy and gloomy gray areas littered with hidden and yet to be explored paths. It will take much wisdom, humility, prayer, courage and forgiveness to find our way out. Again, this is the universal human experience.

That’s why this is important.  The painful, slow process of resolution will not gain national press. But it will have a long term effect on our faith and society, and we are foolish to believe otherwise.

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April 3, 2012 · 3:12 pm

The Biopsy Was Inconclusive

“The biopsy was inconclusive.” My reaction to these words show me again how much I want certainty.  But certainty is not to be. No closure, no absolute answer, no clear direction.  I must make a decision with incomplete evidence.

Hardly a new experience in the scheme of human history. The idea of “closure” is part of the fantasy of certainty.  Closure implies perfect release, decisions made on 100% evidence, freedom from second-guessing.  Frankly, very little crossover with reality there.

Reality is what the early followers of Jesus found after the crucifixion.  All their hopes dashed, no new kingdom established, and no removal of hated oppressors. Instead, they found sorrow and sadness over the death of the one they thought would provide what they wanted: to be powerful and in charge.

Then, as the sun poked up the morning after the Sabbath, the few who stuck with Jesus needed to finalize the burial preparation of the body. All such work necessarily stopped Friday evening at sundown.

The women go to the tomb for that sad task.

The Gospel of Mark, one of the earliest writings, has a particularly poignant and disturbing narrative of the events on that day. In Mark 16, three women walk into that empty hollowed out rock. A Living One tells them that Jesus has been raised up.  The women are told to find him in Galilee—a long way from there.  The account ends with these words, ‘They got out as fast as they could, beside themselves, their heads swimming. Stunned, they said nothing to anyone. “

At some point, an expanded ending was added to the original, offering more closure and direction. Here, Jesus appeared several times, then told his followers what they should do—go, preach and tell people of the good news.  Those who believed would be saved, but those who did not would be damned.  Nice, neat package, clear instructions. Very different from the shorter ending.

In many ways that shorter ending is inconclusive, just like my biopsy.  No standard actions, beliefs or responses are set out.  Just fear, silence and . . . whatever they decide to make of it.

Why was the ending expanded? Well, had I been there, I probably would have written the expansion myself.  I, too, want neat directions, closure and clearly written life instructions.

But our lives are a mystery, just as the resurrection that Christians celebrate on Easter Sunday is a mystery.  The mystery and uncertainty often deny us closure. They drive us to step with faith into almost everything we do.  Our world mimics the shorter ending of Mark.  Open ended, generally unsure.

This becomes our adventure in life and faith.  We don’t have the ending in advance.  We can, however, hold to the hope of a good and holy Creator whose powerful love says, “Live in the mystery of the resurrected life. Trust that I will bring it all together in the end.  I won’t make the path clear and you may find yourself afraid, but I will be with you.”

Yes, my own biopsy was inconclusive.  I don’t know if I have or have not developed cancer.  The decision about treatment becomes yet another step of faith, not made with the kind of certainty that the need for closure demands.

Surgery is inconvenient, and will disturb many of my plans.  So is the resurrection—had Jesus just stayed dead, we would have much more certainty.

The resurrection is also inconvenient, frightening, leading to head-swimming uncertainty.  What happened?  What does it mean? We’ll know only in eternity, but in the meantime, we are given the joy of living in the hope of life after death.

And yes, I shall soon have surgery, putting to death a number of plans, and trusting that life will follow—for this is the nature of God.

Christ is Risen, my friends.  Christ is Risen Indeed!

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