I have always loved games of strategy. Before geek was cool, I was on the high school chess team. Predicting, forward-looking, and anticipating any possible combinations of moves and responses still fascinates me. But, because I played mostly guys geekier than me back then, I tended to loose more games than I won. Eventually, I lost interest which explains why today, even computer chess—- set at the lowest level of difficulty—-can sometimes beat me if I’m not paying close attention.
So what happened? Even a child could tell you the obvious answer. I didn’t practice. Why? There are many answers. The honest answer is that there was nothing to motivate me to practice, and so, I just didn’t.
Some of you may already be aware that I have been a practitioner of Okinawan Karate for 13+ years. In that time, I have known a wide spectrum of people who are motivated to study for a variety of reasons (i.e., an occasional good workout, to learn some specific self defense moves, etc.). Others meticulously train like Olympian competitors.
And then there are those who practice martial arts as it was originally intended: a systematic method for defending oneself or others. Practitioners learn to quickly and effectively stop an assault. Period. Techniques are neither for show nor for its health benefits. Paramount is the repetition, and depth of focus on basics. The fact that these basics can disable (or worse) another human, brings to serious practitioners an air of solemnity. Lack of focus or slightly incorrect execution of one simple basic, could unintentionally and permanently injure both people. Traditional martial art philosophy states that one never truly completes the art, so “practice” continues throughout one’s lifetime. Here in Western Civilization, progress is measured in belt colors. It acknowledges the learning.
I doubt if anyone who reads this is ready to carve out more time from his/her day to begin studying Karate. Yet unbeknownst to us all, we do practice something. We fall into our routines and ways of thinking today just like we did yesterday and the days/weeks/months/years before.
As followers of Christ, we are, in essence, practitioners of Christianity. The range is wide for levels of skill. At one end, some approach their practice with a casual attitude while at the other end, a single missed prayer is cause for confession. The ultimate belt test, if you will, is the ability to demonstrate knowledge of the Bible, and to effectively stand this knowledge toe-to-toe with other Bible practitioners. Somewhere in the middle of practicing “The Way,” is the acknowledgement that we will never truly master this art.
But what if we simply made it part of our everyday life?
Traditional martial artists discover, over time, that the discipline begins to permeate through their entire lives. It has a positive influence in seemingly minor decisions because of the time spent quietly focused upon a singular thought. It is common for people to be surprised to discover that someone he/she knows at work, or socially, practices martial art. He/she does not brag, or bring attention to him/herself. Yet “The Way” permeates every aspect of his/her life. They do not rally for causes or affix political bumper stickers, but rather, move throughout their everyday lives with deliberation and humility in the knowledge that at any moment, their lives could be taken by surprise.
Even the highest-ranking martial artists, together with other practitioners, place themselves under the tutelage and discipline of a master teacher. (Okinawan Karate calls the place of study, “dojo.”) Devotion to individual practice is certainly a requirement, but real growth occurs when practitioners come together for support.
You see where I am going with this. Right? We all practice on our own, and we can even watch “practitioners” on TV, but it is only through our convening with others of like mind, and under the leadership of a pastor, that we all truly grow in our practice of Christianity. The time and day off the week matter little. What matters is the discipline of showing up, of showing respect to those whom we like and dislike, of singing songs we like or dislike, of audibly praying a group prayer, and of actively listening to the sermon. Individual practice, at home or in small groups is vital, but nothing substitutes for that time when we grapple with God, when we are thrown to the matt by something that challenges the norm… be it words or music. And if we are truly focused upon this singular thought, we then slip past our egos and experience what the martial artists calls satori—-or, a sudden flash of peace and understanding, or better described as using “The Way” to arrive at God.
“Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen, nobody knows but Jesus. Oh, nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen, glory, hallelujah.”
“While we seek mirth and beauty and music light and gay, there are frail forms fainting at the door; Though their voices are silent, their pleading looks will say ‘Oh! Hard times come again no more.’”
No one can ever say when trouble will knock on our door. Over the past few years the U.S. experienced phenomenal growth. The economy jumped yearly, housing prices climbed, and our 401k’s predicted an easy retirement. Yet somehow trouble continues to make its unwelcome appearance. During the 1990’s, another time of prosperity, the famous “dot-com” bubble dissolved many aspirations of wealth. Economically, this event was short lived, yet we certainly can’t forget the wake up call on that morning of September 11, 2001. Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen. Pain, sorrow, loss..familiar guests at our table.
Our current economic times is often compared to the Great Depression of the 1930’s. Across the entire world economies shook to their core. In the U.S., unemployment soared to over 25% by 1931 while the GNP dropped by 40% by 1934. Families across the nation lost jobs, homes, and lives. For over 10 years the U.S. wrestled with the morass of conflicting causes and solutions. Only the unifying threat of World War II forced the U.S. into growth.
From the end of the U.S. Revolutionary War until 1865 our country expanded and grew, geographically, economically, and militarily. The population grew from a little less than 4 million to over 31 million. Yet, hidden behind those impressive, often “God Ordained” claimed numbers lies a darkness. Geographic growth came at the expense of indigenous natives. Much of the economic might of the U.S. was built on the backs of slavery. The census only reflects white males. Children, women, slaves, and native Americans were not counted. Oh! Hard times come again no more.
Every person and every culture experiences pain and loss. With that pain comes the deep need to express and release it. From the early Greek tragic choruses, the Hebrew Psalms, down to American blues, the arts and music have provided a catharsis. The slaves found throughout the American south knew this instinctively. As Joe Carter states in an interview on Speaking of Faith “Not able to experience the normal world, they found a door into into a world where their tears were wiped away.” The 5000 plus spirituals, although often lamenting the troubles and pains of the world, always pointed to hope. There is a secret power in this music, not the power to take away the pain, but to provide a way of embracing the suffering and in order to move forward. In the same interview, Joe Carter talks about “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen.”
“As a teenager, I met a woman by the name of Jessie Anthony who was, I think she was over 80 when I met her. And somehow, she was coming to our church. And we young people would go to her house to collect her, to bring her to church and so on. Well, here was an African-American woman whose parents were slaves in Virginia. And she sang the spirituals. And she’d heard me sing in church, so she just sort of took me under her wing. And she was going to teach me these songs. And she had a suitcase full of stories that she’d collected over the years of the spirituals. And she would tell me, she’d say, ‘Child, when they sang this song, this is what they were talking about, you know? A lot of people don’t know this.’ And she had stories for every song…One of the stories I seem to remember that she told, it was about — Emancipation Day had come. And there was a group of former slaves now on an island off the coast of South Carolina. And my parents were from South Carolina, all my family. And they were waiting for the emissary of the government to arrive in his little boat to tell them that they had received the deeds to their land, because the government had promised them not only freedom, but 40 acres and a mule.
And so this was going to be a great, wonderful day. And the former slaves had gathered together on the island waiting with bated breath. And finally, they saw the boat of the officer approaching. And they could tell, even from the distance, that his face was not happy and his countenance was somewhat sad. And they said there was a groan that just came from the crowd. And one of the older women from the crowd just stood up and began to make up a song on the spot. She sang, (singing) “Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen. Nobody knows but Jesus. Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen. Glory, hallelujah.”
And then she spoke, looking to the people around her, she said, (singing) “Sometimes I’m up, sometimes I’m down. Oh, yes, Lord. Sometimes, I’m almost level to the ground. Oh, yes, Lord. Oh, nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen. Nobody knows but Jesus. Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen. Glory, hallelujah.”
She looked at the people standing by, and she said, (singing) “Although you see me going along so.” And they answered, (singing) “Oh, yes, Lord.” “I’ve got my trials here below.” And they answered, (singing) “Oh, yes, Lord. Oh, nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen. Nobody knows but Jesus. Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen. Glory, hallelujah.””
This is music that, as the late conductor and sometimes preacher Robert Shaw said “These words are magic to me, and their melodies, shaped and worn by Niagaras and years of tears, are as perfect as anything I know in music.” and finds “a directness and a fervor of utterance and humility which involves man’s nobility and, to me, a spark of divinity.”
In a song written in 1854, but just as well could speak to the 1930’s or today, Stephen Foster’s “Hard Times Come Again No More” was a favorite on both sides of the Civil War and popular through the U.S. and Europe. Writings from the Center for American Music Foster Hall Collection at the University of Pittsburgh state “Rather than writing nostalgically for an old South (it was, after all, the present day for him), or trivializing the hardships of slavery, Foster sought to humanize the characters in his songs, to have them care for one another, and to convey a sense that all people—regardless of their ethnic identities or social and economic class—share the same longings and needs for family and home. He instructed white performers of his songs not to mock slaves but to get their audiences to feel compassion for them. In his own words, he sought to “build up taste…among refined people by making words suitable to their taste, instead of the trashy and really offensive words which belong to some songs of that order.””
Worship at First United Methodist Church in Alexandria will always be for God rather than ourselves. Yet I can’t help but think that a loving God found in the person of Jesus would not want us to corporately bring together our pain and sorrows. Again quoting Robert Shaw, worship must first and foremost bring a sense of mystery and an admission of pain. We all bring each Sunday spoken and deeply unspoken pain and sorrow, coupled with not only a mystery of God but more intimately the mystery of the why of pain and sorrow.
For performances for both “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen” go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVKKRzemX_w and for “Hard Times Come Again No More” see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kIalvXTPyA0&feature=related
Everyone loves the underdog. Just look at the media circus surrounding last night’s crowing of a new “American Idol” superstar. (May 21, 2009) We all love the downtrodden, the guy with the sad story, the team that shouldn’t be in the final game. Our U.S. history began with the underdog, the downtrodden rising up to freedom and success. It permeates our story.
Jewish scriptures speak constantly of a people on the outs, people surrounded on all sides by the enemy. These threatened people find solace in scriptures that tell of a God on the side of the downtrodden, the forgotten, and the abused. Widows, orphans, and immigrants are all listed under the special protection of God. Only when the Jewish people rise to great power and status and forget their responsibility to those less fortunate does Jehovah turn against them. This literary theme continues in the Christian scripture, when the first and second century followers of Jesus found themselves on the outside of the ruling elite.
Today’s fundamentalists continue the use of this theme, placing themselves as the downtrodden and abused people. Regardless of the date, fundamentalists must identify an enemy. The media, culture, the government, or even other branches of fundamentalism have all been crowned the enemy. Using inflammatory language of the day, the voices of fundamentalism, Christian or Muslim, attempt to strike out at the perceived enemy, not only trying to damage the opponent but also bring positive attention to themselves. Whether it is a call for jihad or the claim that “the enemy is attacking Christian’s territory” and the call to “stand and fight,” each attempts to threaten those in opposition but also to rally the troops.
On May 14, 2009, in the Guest Editorials of “The Baptist Message Online,” based in Alexandria, Louisiana, President Joe Aguillard of Louisiana College, Pineville, LA, followed in this probably eternal diatribe against the “enemy” of all that is good and Christian, at least in his view. Using unfounded statistics regarding abortion (21 per second) he shamefully besmears the label of murderer on our current president and all in congress who would not agree with President Aguillard. He continues this irresponsible ramblings by bringing to light the urban myth that “U.S. House of Representatives recently passed a Hate Crimes Bill that could (italics mine) make it illegal for Christians to declare that what the Word of Almighty God says about the practice of homosexuality and same-sex marriage.” (This bill goes back two years, H.R. 1592/S. 1105, and merely expands illegal violent behavior against anyone based on sexual orientation or gender identity. The bill specifically precludes it from being applied to conduct protected by free speech and free exercise of religion provisions of the Constitution.) These are only two examples of the remarkable “stream of consciousness” that President Aguillard submitted, with other equally convoluted leaps of logic.
I am admittedly a newcomer to the Alexandria and Pineville community. You can hopefully imagine however, my dismay upon repeatedly hearing of the profound decline in quality of education at Louisiana College. As a former college professor, I looked forward to a positive relationship with the college. I find instead a climate of fear-mongering and regressive, anti-intellectual approach to higher education. No doubt a few truly great scholars and teachers remain after the great exodus of faculty, either attempting to endure the darkness until retirement or be a point of light. To those few staff I salute you. However, to the rest of the community and state, I can only encourage you stand up against this darkness that has enveloped what was once a shining beacon of light.
I can still remember first visiting First Methodist, Alexandria. It was a warm Monday, December 3, 2007. I knew the church had a long history of supporting the visual arts through the Tom Peyton Memorial Arts Festival but I was simply not prepared for the extent to which art permeated the entire building. Art, real art, not the stereotypical kitsch that passes for sacred or church art found in most U.S. churches. No, this was art that existed for its own sake. Some I resonated with, much I didn’t understand, but I reveled in the atmosphere of artistic expression and revelation.
Well before recorded history experts believe humans created. Not just needed tools and techniques for survival, but artistic expressions to grapple and explain their experiences with the forces of nature, life, and death. There were gods up there, and through cave art and ceremony we attempted to bring these forces into some semblance of understanding and use. Judaism and Christianity’s creation myths tell of a God that creates, not because of a need for sustenance or from fear, but for the sheer joy of it. This story stands in stark contrast to many other creations myths, where earth, sky, sea, and humans come often as the result of conflict, or even as an after thought. Creating for the sheer love of it forms the foundation for our myth.
In Phyllis Tickle’s new book The Great Emergence she describes the “cable of meaning,” a description of religion as a cable that “keeps the human social unit connected to some purpose and/or power greater than itself.” (pg. 34) Within this cable are three strands, spirituality, corporeality, and morality. Following the thesis of her book, whenever a culture is in the middle of a semi-millennial upheaval the first strand of this cable of meaning that is examined is spirituality. More than thirty years ago the cry “I am spiritual but not religious” permeated U.S. culture but today the debate seems to ebb and flow more around expressing spirituality within the context of new and existing religious institutions. The contemporary vs. traditional music or what constitutes correct elements for communion debates aside, spiritually seeking westerners are exploring their faith once again in religion and increasingly, through the creative arts. Indeed, the Princeton scholar Robert Wuthnow, in his 2003 All in Sync: How Music and Art Are Revitalizing American Religion, points out that among mainline Protestants and Catholics, a full 50 and 56%, respectively, believe churches should experiment more with new forms of music and art, while in all American Christian faiths, a minimum of 71% believe that churches should encourage the artistic talents of their members. (pg 147) Choirs, handbells, bands, and drama make up the common elements of church art, yet increasingly churches are exploring the use of new visual art, multimedia, and poetry, created, not by established, commissioned professionals, but church laity, sometimes literally within the scheduled worship. Worship, although still planned by laity and staff, becomes more an expression of the sacred through the creative act than a carefully preserved museum piece. Elements of ancient liturgy, dusted off and breathed with a new life, infuse worship with a sense of timelessness, expanding our awareness of the cloud of saints still worshipping at our shoulder. But……
How often has the introduction of a new song, a new way of praying, a new way of shaping our time together on Sunday morning been viewed as an unwelcome intrusion into the comfortable complacency of the routine? When was the last time a new song or hymn from a different time and culture embraced with wonder and excitement? When was the last time the electronic media was used for something beyond text projection or as filler for the offering?
Regardless of where we sit or stand at worship, we all find ourselves in the above paragraph. Out of fear, lack of time, or simply will, the creative spirit finds itself following a carefully laid out and predictable script. Music, art, drama, poetry—all become tools of production, of prescribed agendas. But, as one pastor asked in a newsletter “Where Have All the Artists Gone?” the creative spirit, the force that said “Let there be…” has left the building. Or maybe, just maybe, it is still waiting patiently outside, in the narthex, the courtyard, the fellowship hall, in the abundance of art lining our walls, waiting to burst forth with new, unpredictable explosions of creativity, of life. It is your choice though. God’s creative force and spirit only enters where it is welcome.
Originally published in May “The Messenger” for First United Methodist Church, Alexandria, LA
Who Am I?
I am sure that everyone has, at some point in their life, participated in activity that demanded training and practice. Whether you wanted to start running long distance, play chess, learn a language, or play better tennis, the only route to improvement is practice. So daily and weekly we put on the running shoes or drive over to the tennis courts. We take classes and lessons. We start slow of course, since none of us, when first starting out, can run an 8 minute mile. Yet slowly but surely, at our own pace, the time improves, more backhands land in the court, and sentences in Spanish start to make sense.
Deep satisfaction probably drives the each of us to push a little harder. Sure, we all fail. Many, many New Year’s resolutions fall by the side. Sometimes weeks go by while the training clothes lay buried deep in the clothes hamper. But that feeling of accomplishment, knowing that we moved just a little past the inertia of our daily lives brings us back. Except of course, the weekend warrior.
You know what I am talking about. While we all engage in the weekend warrior battle occasionally, some folks just never seem to get past Saturday or Sunday. The weekend rolls around and the basketball court calls. Sunday night comes and ice packs and aspirin calls even louder. Two, three, maybe four weeks pass and we are back out there, pushing as hard as ever. The weekend warrior isn’t limited to sports though. What about those times we start a class, often several times, only to quit a few weeks into the semester because we just can’t find the time to daily learn vocabulary? So is it any surprise that on the Sunday after Easter the pews and chairs are far emptier than the week before?
Being a Christian is a funny thing. For some, it means walking down an aisle, saying a prayer, and getting really wet in front of everyone. For others it was a series of classes 30 years ago, followed by a short ceremony in worship. But for pretty much everyone in today’s church, being a Christian means first and foremost to agreeing on some set of statements, doctrines, or affirmations. We have to mentally agree. Yet it wasn’t always that way. Karen Armstrong, the well known religion scholar comments that for the Jewish faith, religion isn’t about what you believe, but what you do. Rabbi Hillel, an older contemporary of Jesus, was approached by a group of pagans who said they would convert to Judaism if he would recite the entire Torah while standing on one leg. He stood up on one leg and said “Do not do to others what you would not have done unto you. The rest is commentary. Now go study.” For Judaism how we treat and respond to those around us is far more important than reciting kosher laws. Christianity, one of the children of Judaism, is slowly rediscovering this heritage. Phyllis Tickle, in The Great Emergence, (shameless promotion alert!—don’t forget the adult Sunday School book discussion on The Great Emergence this summer) describes churches exploring “center set” and “bounded set.” Bounded set is believe-behave-belong while center set reverses this path to belong-behave-believe. A new book series currently being published, “The Ancient Practices Series,” leads off with Brian McLaren’s Finding Our Way Again, to be followed by books on fixed hour prayer, fasting, keeping the Sabbath, and the sacred meal, among others. Hillel’s response to the pagans holds an important key. Do keep the Golden Rule, but if you want to be consistent and have the knowledge, strength, and wisdom to live it out, you will have to practice and learn. So, is it really that odd that on the Second Sunday of Easter we find far fewer in the pews? After all, Easter and yes, Christmas, are Christian equivalents of weekend warrior dates. These good people arrive on Easter morning but are quickly overwhelmed by the liturgy, the new music, and the literally otherworldly concepts of grace and love. Getting out of bed the next week just doesn’t seem worth it.
So what is the answer? Do we minimize the service to something painfully simplistic, so that even a 5 year old could easily follow? Do we remove any sacred symbols? Do we make sure that the sermons are cute and funny, more like a monologue found at Comedy Central? I don’t think so. Jeremiah says “Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.” And when we walk these ancient paths, we will be as the fragrance of Christ, irresistibly drawing our friends, the weekend warriors, to walk along side us down these ancient paths.
I played around with a computer based blog in the past but found being tied to my home desktop pretty much stopped me from posting.
