Thursday, November 22, 2012
The Message Down Under - Anderson, South Carolina 8-13-12
I wonder about what I’ve just done, committing to chopping out months of my familiar life and exporting it to a land unknown to me. A time-worn truism says we don’t value something until we no longer have it. Planning a long journey to the other side of the world is as much mental as physical. Hopefully this one will be especially spiritual in nature. The world isn’t in compelling need of more tourists; it desperately needs more pilgrims and students.
While out at sunrise today, walking a couple of miles with my camera, I saw several of my favorite people in the world. Not so long after, I had opportunity to reach into an old man’s soul and offer him Hope in a hopeless circumstance. A thought crossed my awareness – these are the kinds of encounters making a place truly home. Hours later on the other side of town I had similar encounters. Then I thought of an old man ten thousand miles from here who needs to have Hope offered in a hopeless circumstance, a man I’ve never met. Going is the next right thing for me.
It occurs to me I will have a better arriving there if I have a better leaving from here. Leaving here in harmony with those who people my own world will allow me harmony with those who live beyond the sunset. Having a state of contentment better prepares me for the learning before me in a distant land. Pragmatic stuff ... do I really want to forego the entire happy autumn/holiday season this year to journey to a distant land I’ve never visited? Do I want to give up the twenty phone calls a day I receive? Having my own space to do in as I wish? Let my mail collect for months? Wonder if the pipes will freeze during winter? I’m reminded of an inspirational poster declaring, “One must leave the safety of the harbor if he wants to get anywhere,” leave the safety of the familiar. Going is the next right thing for me.
It’s presumptuous to think I have anything new of value to tell an old man I’ve never met, never even talked to. Perhaps the value derives from going to any lengths to deliver the message down under. It’s certainly easier to fire off an e-mail or make a phone call. You don’t propose on the phone. You don’t give prognoses by e-mail. Some things require suiting up and showing up, hand delivering the message. I’m not fully clear on the message, trusting it will clarify in route, having nothing but time for this to occur.
This dear old man just buried his centenarian father yesterday in another far distant land. Despite his perilous condition he managed eight hours of flight with his wife and daughter to say farewell to a very old soul. What can I possibly have to say or do to a family of four generations? From my perspective, not a thing. We are told faith is the substance of things not yet seen. Going is the next right thing for me.
Three years ago British Airways asked me to write down why it’s better to meet face-to-face than fire off e-mail or make phone calls, why it’s better to suit up and show up. The obvious intent was to create rationale for filling very expensive business and first-class seats on airplanes. My three hundred fifty four words in three untitled paragraphs must have struck a chord somewhere in a London blue glass office tower. I was summoned shortly, by e-mail, to London in one of those first class seats and then told I could go anywhere on earth at no expense after a couple of days of meetings. I can only hope and pray this face-to-face encounter down under will produce a far more eternal result than even the one in London.
I wonder what I will miss in going. I wonder what I would miss by not going. A still small voice says staying is good while reiterating that going is far better. Today I was told emphatically by a long-time friend every conception and idea I have of this distant land I’m going to will be exceeded. I’m instantly reminded of the promise, “Eyes have not seen, ears have not heard, the hearts of men have not even imagined the things I have prepared for you.” My imagination runs wild. All in good time; anticipation is nearly as delicious as reality.
Someday I’m going to have the ultimate face-to-face encounter, far beyond the reach of jet travel. I can only hope upon arrival I will hear, “Well done, good and faithful servant, dinner will soon be served.” Going is the next right thing for me.
Think I will go out and mow the grass at last light.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
The Light of the World - Anderson, South Carolina 8-3-12
Tom Friedman has written several sobering books on cultural impacts deriving from changing technology. He notes our rapidly increasing dependency on devices and machines requiring reliable electric power. Phones, digital cameras, computers, television, Wi-Fi networks, cell phone towers, and data services all require consistent power sources. Commodities of the near future are likely to be intellectual and digital in nature as much as anything. Digital content is quickly become a source of vast wealth, for those with access to the grid. Even refrigeration and hot water generally require reliable power access.
In his landmark, The World is Flat, Friedman observes a great barrier to hundreds of millions entering the world community is lack of access to power. Three hundred million people in India alone have no access whatever to electricity, not even having a single light bulb in their homes. This scenario is repeated throughout the world. Prosperity and quality of life is directly linked to power access.
We have just witnessed how fragile access to power is. In mere minutes the world went dark for 670 million Indians, or ten percent of the world’s population. Cities across eight states with sweltering climates of 115 degrees were instantly without fans, air conditioning, trains, lights, and refrigeration. Millions of people came scurrying out of the ground when electric subways systems seized up. Hundreds of millions will never have the ‘luxury’ of a power failure. Three hundred million never had power to begin with and most would not have noticed this failure. Two days later the rest of the world has forgotten this dark reality, caught up in the brilliance of Olympic competition.
The most I’ve ever been inconvenienced by lack of power has derived from ice storms leaving me in the dark for five days. Still I had access to firewood, clean water, and have always been able to find nearby sources of refrigeration and phone service. Most importantly, I knew the inconvenience would soon pass; crews were working 24/7 to turn the lights back on. Many millions will never see the lights come on.
In 1970 I made my first journey around the world, taking no devices with me requiring any kind of power. My most recent voyage found me going through a major energy-management checklist prior to departure. Several digital cameras, primary and secondary battery packs and chargers for same. Voltage reduction transformers. Mains adaptor plugs for several nations. Lap top computer, power supply, and surge protector for same. Back-up external hard drive, power supply and adaptor. Cell phone, associated charger and adaptor. Electric razor, power cord and voltage adaptor. Multi-jack cord with surge protection for all these devices. A mound of assorted USB and Ethernet cables. Suitcase for the whole mess. I find myself asking hotels and ships how many power outlets are available.
As living standards become increasingly dependent on reliable sources of electricity, shear demand on power grids places all of us at increasing risk for power failures. One of my greatest concerns while on long journeys is that consistent power is supplied to my several freezers. More than once I’ve returned to find complete losses of my frozen food stores. I now make it standard practice to put indicator ice cubes in my freezers and to ask people to monitor my house for power losses.
As we live progressively more complex secular lives at ever-increasing speed we risk power failures of a very different kind, with far greater consequences. It has become too easy for many of us to get caught up in the tantalizing gadgetry of modern consumer culture, forgetting the essentials of what brings true meaning to our lives, of what empowers in ways mattering most. Extensive studies reveal much of Western civilization is caught in an epidemic of existential angst. Depression, anxiety, panic disorder, insomnia, and a variety of mental disorders plague a vast number of us.
Europe which has long been regarded as having the best social safety nets and standards of living in the world struggles immensely with this angst. The journal European Neuropsychopharmacology published results of a comprehensive study of 500 million citizens in twenty-seven European nations, suggesting 38% of them struggle with some form of mental illness, 165 million people. The World Health Organization reports nine of the ten nations with highest rates of suicide are European. There appears to be a disconnect taking place. Nations offering abundant personal and social safety and high standards of living are seeing mental illness as their number one health challenge. Could this be due to eroding spiritual and religious life in Europe? As Europe plunges into a regional financial abyss with some nations reporting unemployment at depression levels, will this huge health challenge extend into millions more lives?
In regular journeys to Europe I see evidence of increasing secularization and nearly complete loss of mainstream religious/spiritual life. In the United States, similar trends are gaining strength. A 2008 poll indicated only 9% of Americans thought religion the most important thing in their lives. 62% put family and money at the top of their lists. A recent Pew survey found doubt in God doubling in less than five years among younger citizens.
Similar findings are being found here with regard to mental illness and existential angst. Simply put, people are finding fewer reasons to get out of bed in the morning and once they do, life can be a gray haze of meaninglessness, a lack of calling or purpose.
Millions worldwide have escaped the meaningless of life with alcohol and drugs, only to fall into a pit of despair and darkness beyond articulation. The violence and economic costs associated with abuse and trafficking represent some of the greatest challenges for many nations. It’s been long known the way of escape from this darkness is the same one many nations have been jettisoning wholesale – the practice of spiritual principles in our lives leading to meaningful happy lives independent of power grid failures.
For those successfully emerging from the abyss of addictions, they’ve discovered, “What we really have is a daily reprieved contingent on our spiritual condition. Every day is a day when we must carry the vision of God’s will into all our activities. ‘How can I best serve Thee – Thy will (not mine) be done.’ ” They understand a life apart from God is often fatal, when “we shut ourselves off from the sunlight of the Spirit.” Millions have been liberated from the darkness of addiction by placing their lives in God’s hands, finding great purpose and meaning. Many have been liberated from the attendant scourges of mental illness. It can be so for the hundreds of millions who are trapped in the darkness of addiction to material secular consumer living, power, lust, or a thousand other things.
Sometimes the greatest spiritual and emotional darkness is found in those very places with the most reliable power grids. There’s an unlimited supply of uninterruptable Power. One just has to plug into the right Source.
Jesus said, "For a brief time still, the light is among you. Walk by the light you have so darkness doesn't destroy you. If you walk in darkness, you don't know where you're going. As you have the light, believe in the light. Then the light will be within you, and shining through your lives. You'll be children of light." MSG
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
In his landmark, The World is Flat, Friedman observes a great barrier to hundreds of millions entering the world community is lack of access to power. Three hundred million people in India alone have no access whatever to electricity, not even having a single light bulb in their homes. This scenario is repeated throughout the world. Prosperity and quality of life is directly linked to power access.
We have just witnessed how fragile access to power is. In mere minutes the world went dark for 670 million Indians, or ten percent of the world’s population. Cities across eight states with sweltering climates of 115 degrees were instantly without fans, air conditioning, trains, lights, and refrigeration. Millions of people came scurrying out of the ground when electric subways systems seized up. Hundreds of millions will never have the ‘luxury’ of a power failure. Three hundred million never had power to begin with and most would not have noticed this failure. Two days later the rest of the world has forgotten this dark reality, caught up in the brilliance of Olympic competition.
The most I’ve ever been inconvenienced by lack of power has derived from ice storms leaving me in the dark for five days. Still I had access to firewood, clean water, and have always been able to find nearby sources of refrigeration and phone service. Most importantly, I knew the inconvenience would soon pass; crews were working 24/7 to turn the lights back on. Many millions will never see the lights come on.
In 1970 I made my first journey around the world, taking no devices with me requiring any kind of power. My most recent voyage found me going through a major energy-management checklist prior to departure. Several digital cameras, primary and secondary battery packs and chargers for same. Voltage reduction transformers. Mains adaptor plugs for several nations. Lap top computer, power supply, and surge protector for same. Back-up external hard drive, power supply and adaptor. Cell phone, associated charger and adaptor. Electric razor, power cord and voltage adaptor. Multi-jack cord with surge protection for all these devices. A mound of assorted USB and Ethernet cables. Suitcase for the whole mess. I find myself asking hotels and ships how many power outlets are available.
As living standards become increasingly dependent on reliable sources of electricity, shear demand on power grids places all of us at increasing risk for power failures. One of my greatest concerns while on long journeys is that consistent power is supplied to my several freezers. More than once I’ve returned to find complete losses of my frozen food stores. I now make it standard practice to put indicator ice cubes in my freezers and to ask people to monitor my house for power losses.
As we live progressively more complex secular lives at ever-increasing speed we risk power failures of a very different kind, with far greater consequences. It has become too easy for many of us to get caught up in the tantalizing gadgetry of modern consumer culture, forgetting the essentials of what brings true meaning to our lives, of what empowers in ways mattering most. Extensive studies reveal much of Western civilization is caught in an epidemic of existential angst. Depression, anxiety, panic disorder, insomnia, and a variety of mental disorders plague a vast number of us.
Europe which has long been regarded as having the best social safety nets and standards of living in the world struggles immensely with this angst. The journal European Neuropsychopharmacology published results of a comprehensive study of 500 million citizens in twenty-seven European nations, suggesting 38% of them struggle with some form of mental illness, 165 million people. The World Health Organization reports nine of the ten nations with highest rates of suicide are European. There appears to be a disconnect taking place. Nations offering abundant personal and social safety and high standards of living are seeing mental illness as their number one health challenge. Could this be due to eroding spiritual and religious life in Europe? As Europe plunges into a regional financial abyss with some nations reporting unemployment at depression levels, will this huge health challenge extend into millions more lives?
In regular journeys to Europe I see evidence of increasing secularization and nearly complete loss of mainstream religious/spiritual life. In the United States, similar trends are gaining strength. A 2008 poll indicated only 9% of Americans thought religion the most important thing in their lives. 62% put family and money at the top of their lists. A recent Pew survey found doubt in God doubling in less than five years among younger citizens.
Similar findings are being found here with regard to mental illness and existential angst. Simply put, people are finding fewer reasons to get out of bed in the morning and once they do, life can be a gray haze of meaninglessness, a lack of calling or purpose.
Millions worldwide have escaped the meaningless of life with alcohol and drugs, only to fall into a pit of despair and darkness beyond articulation. The violence and economic costs associated with abuse and trafficking represent some of the greatest challenges for many nations. It’s been long known the way of escape from this darkness is the same one many nations have been jettisoning wholesale – the practice of spiritual principles in our lives leading to meaningful happy lives independent of power grid failures.
For those successfully emerging from the abyss of addictions, they’ve discovered, “What we really have is a daily reprieved contingent on our spiritual condition. Every day is a day when we must carry the vision of God’s will into all our activities. ‘How can I best serve Thee – Thy will (not mine) be done.’ ” They understand a life apart from God is often fatal, when “we shut ourselves off from the sunlight of the Spirit.” Millions have been liberated from the darkness of addiction by placing their lives in God’s hands, finding great purpose and meaning. Many have been liberated from the attendant scourges of mental illness. It can be so for the hundreds of millions who are trapped in the darkness of addiction to material secular consumer living, power, lust, or a thousand other things.
Sometimes the greatest spiritual and emotional darkness is found in those very places with the most reliable power grids. There’s an unlimited supply of uninterruptable Power. One just has to plug into the right Source.
Jesus said, "For a brief time still, the light is among you. Walk by the light you have so darkness doesn't destroy you. If you walk in darkness, you don't know where you're going. As you have the light, believe in the light. Then the light will be within you, and shining through your lives. You'll be children of light." MSG
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
The Truly Epic - Anderson, South Carolina 8-2-12
Years ago in a profound dark night of the soul I often had conversations with a dear friend about what we would do when we came out on the other side, if we came out, when the immense spiritual and emotional pain we were immersed in would finally go out like the receding tide. We pointedly remarked that the epic for us would not be getting on airplanes, going to Africa and saving thousands of orphans from miserable death. We merely wanted to go to the grocery story without the demons of panic, anxiety and agoraphobia on our backs. For us it would be truly epic to merely traverse an entire day without fear.
Even in the immense darkness enclosing me I was able to discern God had provided this friend to share my struggles with. He was dealing with the exact same struggles; he was just enough further on his path to recovery to give me immense hope there could be light at the end of the tunnel and it wouldn’t be a train. In recovery work we often speak of how sharing a problem, of telling on ourselves, results in the problem being half solved. This certainly proved to be so in my experience. That a huge robust man nearly seven feet tall could be mowed down by emotional crisis in seconds and then begin a convincing recovery with God’s help was in my tiny dark world truly epic. Being able to tell on myself to someone with understanding was immensely cathartic, and therapeutic.
Then we got well. The tide did go out, very slowly. We both found solid refuge in God, delivered from the on-going scourges of panic, anxiety, and agoraphobia. As we got better, living more in life’s challenges rather than life’s problems, we became able to handle bigger things. I could again wash clothes, prepare meals, and even stay alone at night in my house, the truly epic. For a long season, such activities were out of reach.
Then the day came when I actually bought an airline ticket and put it on my refrigerator door as an icon of my progress. For years I was unable to travel and would often sit wistfully at the window and gaze at jet contrails, wondering how it was possible for people to ride above the clouds. I wondered even more intensely how was it I once was able to do so with impunity. That I could again sit at a computer and print an airline boarding card was a huge marker for the success of my spiritual and emotional recovery, the truly epic. At one time I could not conceive of driving ten miles to see one of my favorite plays directed by a dear friend, despite my fifteen years of theater work and a free ticket.
I made it through that tentative return to air travel successfully with only a few spots of emotional turbulence. I called my gentle giant when I hit emotional shears and he talked and prayed me through them. I landed safely at the far end and again at this end. I felt as if I completed the Iron Man triathlon in record time.
In spiritual recovery we learn deeply we cannot accomplish very many things alone; it really does take a circle of caring compassionate friends to accomplish many things. I was only able to risk getting back on an airplane five years ago with the great encouragement and send off of my circle. Every one of them knew getting through a day without shared support was often problematic. Many people do successfully get on airplanes without send-offs and circles of support, but for those who have been to unspeakable emotional and spiritual hell, merely getting on one can be an ultimate challenge, our four-minute mile.
In the years since, I’ve been on countless airplanes, traversing at least a dozen time-zones many times. I’ve been granted first-class travel to any place on earth. The circle around me has deepened and I now bask in friendships of a stature previously unknown to me. None of those planes have taken me to anyplace as satisfying and wondrous as those quiet ones on back porches where we sit in companionable silence and enjoy the gathering aromas of BBQ while thunderstorm convections bring welcome relief to a sultry southern night. We remember whence we came, and bask in the wonder of the present.
As I face the near-term prospects of extended travels taking me as far as the Gold Coast of Australia, the Maritimes of Canada, a transcontinental road trip, I again wonder about what constitutes the truly epic. Is the ability to again cover my refrigerator door with first-class flight coupons epic? Attractive? Yes? Epic? No. I have to take a moral and fearless inventory of why I feel compelled to cover my life with assorted coupons and admission tickets.
In my meditation this morning I was challenged with this imperative. “Today, I will accept where I am as the ideal place for me to be. If I am in-between, I will strive for the faith that this place is not without purpose, that it is moving me towards something good.” I can state emphatically that my present place is a very good one, for me.
We speak of living lives of attraction rather than ones of promotion. We believe spiritual transformation can be incited in others still in their darkness if they see lives being lived well, believable lives within their reach. For a season I’ve been caught up in increasingly misguided ideas of what is truly epic. Coming out of a dark night of the soul and a few good investments have allowed me to travel the world and do whatever I want. I developed a misguided idea of what my ‘new normal should look like. Despairing people just coming out of prison, alcoholism, and addiction are not going to relate to my first-class world junkets. The heroin addict crying yesterday because she cannot afford cigarettes to blunt her intense cravings for more heroin is not a bit interested in my eight-week junket across the South Pacific. She just might be more interested in my making the journey fifty feet to take down the avalanche of trash piling up behind our meeting rooms, a legacy of strangers who’ve decided dumping on a place where alcoholics and addicts find experience, strength and hope is okay. My efforts to provide her with a clean, safe and attractive place to come each day might be nearly epic. It will actually require finding trucks, helpers, lifts, and grinders.
The truly epic is being content where we are. The truly epic is driving three miles to a dear friend’s house, sitting in companionable silence, watching the fireflies ignite in late dusk while the cicadas sing the chorus.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
Even in the immense darkness enclosing me I was able to discern God had provided this friend to share my struggles with. He was dealing with the exact same struggles; he was just enough further on his path to recovery to give me immense hope there could be light at the end of the tunnel and it wouldn’t be a train. In recovery work we often speak of how sharing a problem, of telling on ourselves, results in the problem being half solved. This certainly proved to be so in my experience. That a huge robust man nearly seven feet tall could be mowed down by emotional crisis in seconds and then begin a convincing recovery with God’s help was in my tiny dark world truly epic. Being able to tell on myself to someone with understanding was immensely cathartic, and therapeutic.
Then we got well. The tide did go out, very slowly. We both found solid refuge in God, delivered from the on-going scourges of panic, anxiety, and agoraphobia. As we got better, living more in life’s challenges rather than life’s problems, we became able to handle bigger things. I could again wash clothes, prepare meals, and even stay alone at night in my house, the truly epic. For a long season, such activities were out of reach.
Then the day came when I actually bought an airline ticket and put it on my refrigerator door as an icon of my progress. For years I was unable to travel and would often sit wistfully at the window and gaze at jet contrails, wondering how it was possible for people to ride above the clouds. I wondered even more intensely how was it I once was able to do so with impunity. That I could again sit at a computer and print an airline boarding card was a huge marker for the success of my spiritual and emotional recovery, the truly epic. At one time I could not conceive of driving ten miles to see one of my favorite plays directed by a dear friend, despite my fifteen years of theater work and a free ticket.
I made it through that tentative return to air travel successfully with only a few spots of emotional turbulence. I called my gentle giant when I hit emotional shears and he talked and prayed me through them. I landed safely at the far end and again at this end. I felt as if I completed the Iron Man triathlon in record time.
In spiritual recovery we learn deeply we cannot accomplish very many things alone; it really does take a circle of caring compassionate friends to accomplish many things. I was only able to risk getting back on an airplane five years ago with the great encouragement and send off of my circle. Every one of them knew getting through a day without shared support was often problematic. Many people do successfully get on airplanes without send-offs and circles of support, but for those who have been to unspeakable emotional and spiritual hell, merely getting on one can be an ultimate challenge, our four-minute mile.
In the years since, I’ve been on countless airplanes, traversing at least a dozen time-zones many times. I’ve been granted first-class travel to any place on earth. The circle around me has deepened and I now bask in friendships of a stature previously unknown to me. None of those planes have taken me to anyplace as satisfying and wondrous as those quiet ones on back porches where we sit in companionable silence and enjoy the gathering aromas of BBQ while thunderstorm convections bring welcome relief to a sultry southern night. We remember whence we came, and bask in the wonder of the present.
As I face the near-term prospects of extended travels taking me as far as the Gold Coast of Australia, the Maritimes of Canada, a transcontinental road trip, I again wonder about what constitutes the truly epic. Is the ability to again cover my refrigerator door with first-class flight coupons epic? Attractive? Yes? Epic? No. I have to take a moral and fearless inventory of why I feel compelled to cover my life with assorted coupons and admission tickets.
In my meditation this morning I was challenged with this imperative. “Today, I will accept where I am as the ideal place for me to be. If I am in-between, I will strive for the faith that this place is not without purpose, that it is moving me towards something good.” I can state emphatically that my present place is a very good one, for me.
We speak of living lives of attraction rather than ones of promotion. We believe spiritual transformation can be incited in others still in their darkness if they see lives being lived well, believable lives within their reach. For a season I’ve been caught up in increasingly misguided ideas of what is truly epic. Coming out of a dark night of the soul and a few good investments have allowed me to travel the world and do whatever I want. I developed a misguided idea of what my ‘new normal should look like. Despairing people just coming out of prison, alcoholism, and addiction are not going to relate to my first-class world junkets. The heroin addict crying yesterday because she cannot afford cigarettes to blunt her intense cravings for more heroin is not a bit interested in my eight-week junket across the South Pacific. She just might be more interested in my making the journey fifty feet to take down the avalanche of trash piling up behind our meeting rooms, a legacy of strangers who’ve decided dumping on a place where alcoholics and addicts find experience, strength and hope is okay. My efforts to provide her with a clean, safe and attractive place to come each day might be nearly epic. It will actually require finding trucks, helpers, lifts, and grinders.
The truly epic is being content where we are. The truly epic is driving three miles to a dear friend’s house, sitting in companionable silence, watching the fireflies ignite in late dusk while the cicadas sing the chorus.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
Silly Ideas - Barriers to the Kingdom - London, England 6-18-12
Recently the Pew Research Center released a 164-page report containing compelling evidence suggesting younger generations are drifting away from God - in large numbers. In statistical terms the secularization of youth might be called a landslide. In only three years the number of young people saying they ever doubt the existence of God has doubled. In demographic terms this is huge. The 164 pages fill in all the details I omit here in my six lines.
Ominous to me was the observation that fundamentalists are turning off young people in large numbers. One observer suggests, “Younger folks are simply more likely to figure that, if their religion is teaching them things that they believe to be silly … then their religion must be silly, too."
At one time religion taught a cosmology in which the sun circled the earth. Galileo and Copernicus nearly lost their heads because they found this belief silly. Countless others were burned at the stake for not buying into silly ideas. Jan Hus, a beloved priest, was burned at the stake in 1415 because he jeopardized institutional advancement and power by challenging ethical abuses in the Church. Not buying into silly ideas got him killed.
Not so long ago many fundamentalists believed the Human Immune Deficiency virus was custom built by God to smite homosexuals. Some still do. It didn’t matter that early on virtually all AIDS cases were transmitted between heterosexual adults and probably emerged from a simian population in Uganda along the Kinshasa Highway.
A few weeks ago I was in London’s Westminster Cathedral where I sat through Evensong, then stayed on for Holy Eucharist. After receiving the Host I turned away from the minister and walked about five feet away to give prayers of gratitude before taking the Host, standing out of line, looking at the Host in gratitude, thanking God for safety on my long voyage and carrying me through dark seasons of life into my present golden season. My revere was broken when I felt pounding on my back with urgent demands that I instantly consume the wafer. Half an hour later after Mass was over the same minister came to me and told me I was condemned to hell for taking Eucharist as a non-Catholic. I have no idea why it was decided I was non-Catholic. It didn’t matter the Paulist Fathers had told me years ago I could take the Eucharist. Was I suddenly an infidel to be fearful of, one of ‘them’? Is it silly for me to think I had a right to participate in that mass?
Is it a silly idea to believe the Lord actually died and gave His life so that the world should not perish and at the same time condemn most of us infidels for daring to take the sacrament, the very sacrament intended as a reminder of the global inclusive nature of His sacrifice? Six hundred years ago my independent thinking would have seen me put to death. In the present era it just got me put out.
Recently I paid $11 to roam around Kings Chapel in Cambridge. Included was the right to take interior pictures without flash. Setting up a tripod I captured some wide-angle panoramas of the grand fan-vaulted ceiling and oceans of luminous stained glass. Shortly a verger came to me and insisted I not use a tripod, stating the building was copyrighted and the good images of the inside were being sold. I complied and simply boosted my camera to ISO 3200, getting splendid images without a tripod. Privately I was thankful I had a camera with a really good sensor. Later in bright sun while taking a hand-held image of the grass in the south quad I was again chased down by the same Verger, being reminded to not use my tripod, despite it lying folded up on the ground.
Is it a silly idea to believe I was suddenly a risk to the financial future of this six-hundred year old Anglican community by taking pictures of grass, someone to be fearful of, one of ‘them’? Is it silly to think something like Kings Chapel is a world treasure to be shared, even on a tripod? When I later saw this same frowning verger minding the gate at Evensong, I kept on walking, instead finding a most hospitable Buddhist on the street to talk with. Perhaps it was a silly idea for me to believe I could have a numinous experience in there, as a threat to the place.
Westminster Abbey is perhaps one of the greatest architectural icons in the Western World. For nearly fourteen hundred years it’s been a venue where much of British history has been crafted. For $26 tourists are allowed to walk around and gawk at history and the 611 tombs contained therein. I once was in love with this place, having attended as many as five services during Holy Week. Then I became a threat to its keepers.
Having taken a good friend there for Morning Prayer and then Holy Eucharist, I committed the unpardonable sin of taking a non-flash non-tripod photo of the rose window in the north transept in the half-hour interval between these two services. A Verger saw me do it and he came shrieking across the vast once-numinous space offering up nothing short of a Deuteronomic scale curse upon me. Humiliation was included at no extra cost and I was certain I would be remanded to the custody of the Metropolitan Police and my cameras reduced to rubble. I left the place shaking like a leaf.
As I was leaving, the Verger and two of his colleagues were spinning contrails across that vast nave chasing down other witless threats to the future of the Anglican Church. Have I suddenly become a risk to the financial future and integrity of the Protestant Realm as well? The official web site for this venue states a fear of what inappropriate things we nefarious photographers might do with pictures of the place. Is it a silly idea to really believe an ordinary tourist is going to do something despicable with an image of the Abbey that he could not also do with one of a million scannable paper images in a million history and travel books? With Photoshop all things are possible to those who believe. My last two times in London it’s taken everything in me just to walk by the Abbey; there are always stern-looking vergers milling about the gates. Perhaps it’s a silly idea to believe I could experience the numinous in there again.
Last week I had the audacity as an Episcopalian to wander down to Lambeth Palace. I learned it was more than presumptuous to think I could walk over the bridge, just show up, and see the Anglican/Episcopal equivalent of the Vatican. No one wanted to tell me exactly how to get into the place. Staff at several locations on site claimed to not even know where the public entry was. Eventually I learned for $12 I would be allowed to see part of the gardens. For another $20.25 I would be allowed into one room to see an exhibition of old prayer books and hymnals. If I wanted to see the Palace I would have to apply on-line for a ticket on a commercial ticket site (Ticket Master). I was told the first available ticket would be in October. I didn’t bother to ask how much it would be. I never did figure out where the front door was; it was probably behind the vast tower gate that occasionally opened, quickly letting high-end cars in and out. Perhaps it was a very silly idea to think I could visit the place I’ve made offerings to for a lifetime. I did get to use the café toilet without paying.
There’s a mega-church in my home town boasting tens of thousands of members. Each time I’ve visited I’ve had a subliminal sense of increasing fear there. I was refused admission one Sunday because I would not submit to a physical search. We left. I was clearly one of ‘them’ to be afraid of. The friend with me during that incident has not been in a church since. Was it a really silly idea to think I could take struggling addicts to church and be admitted without a physical search?
Another time I invited a friend from out-of- state to visit for the evening service. After driving 260 miles we had the auditorium door closed in our faces just as we started to enter. Institutional policy says late-comers don’t happen in this church. Was it a silly idea to think a place talking about Jesus would admit weary travelers, even if they are five seconds late? The last time I went I was with three men in recovery. One was highly insulted during the vetting process applied to us before the service. He left post haste. One of the others made the mistake of leaving the service to use the restroom. No latecomers and no toilets during services. Was it really silly for me go back three times, inviting struggling individuals, only to have them humiliated?
Christian scriptures describe a broad way to destruction and a narrow way to salvation. I can’t but wonder if ecclesiastical apparatus in its various forms is not often itself causative of much of this destruction. Perhaps the dissonance and cacophony of those afraid of losing power, prestige, or money, or being targeted in some fashion is so loud and distracting as to keep most of us from ever finding the narrow way, acting as barriers to the Kingdom.
Is it a silly idea to think God really did send his son so that whosoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life? Is it a silly idea to think that merely asking God to guide me every day, every moment, to do the next right thing is enough? I guess it depends on who you ask?
A disgruntled ex-church member stated in a forum discussing collapsing church attendance: "The world is trying to find God but they can't because the church is in the way! … Jesus Christ did not come to bring a religion or a church. He came to bring the Kingdom of God to the earth. People are not looking for a good church--they are looking for the Kingdom!!! And the church is not the Kingdom--that's why folks are leaving!!!” If this sentiment is gaining ground across the Western world, it might well explain the rapid secularization taking place, why people feel there are barriers between them and the Kingdom.
If my experience of church attitudes is even remotely typical for others, it’s little wonder the younger generations are voting with their feet. The Pew study cites fundamentalist thinking of any flavor as being off-putting. It might explain why for the first time in my adult life, my church attendance has become sporadic at an age when church members should be comfortably settled in for their remaining years. We’ve already seen the complete secularization of Europe and the Pew study suggests America is fast on its way. One church growth professional reported in 2008 overall regular church attendance in America has declined to 18.7%. I can’t but wonder if it’s a really silly idea to think I will find community and acceptance in those very institutions hog-tied by their own entrenched ideas and fears, places seeing me as some kind of threat.
Paradoxically I’m suddenly feeling younger and even closer to God than ever. I just pray my sentence of condemnation isn’t enforced. I don’t tolerate heat very well.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
Ominous to me was the observation that fundamentalists are turning off young people in large numbers. One observer suggests, “Younger folks are simply more likely to figure that, if their religion is teaching them things that they believe to be silly … then their religion must be silly, too."
At one time religion taught a cosmology in which the sun circled the earth. Galileo and Copernicus nearly lost their heads because they found this belief silly. Countless others were burned at the stake for not buying into silly ideas. Jan Hus, a beloved priest, was burned at the stake in 1415 because he jeopardized institutional advancement and power by challenging ethical abuses in the Church. Not buying into silly ideas got him killed.
Not so long ago many fundamentalists believed the Human Immune Deficiency virus was custom built by God to smite homosexuals. Some still do. It didn’t matter that early on virtually all AIDS cases were transmitted between heterosexual adults and probably emerged from a simian population in Uganda along the Kinshasa Highway.
A few weeks ago I was in London’s Westminster Cathedral where I sat through Evensong, then stayed on for Holy Eucharist. After receiving the Host I turned away from the minister and walked about five feet away to give prayers of gratitude before taking the Host, standing out of line, looking at the Host in gratitude, thanking God for safety on my long voyage and carrying me through dark seasons of life into my present golden season. My revere was broken when I felt pounding on my back with urgent demands that I instantly consume the wafer. Half an hour later after Mass was over the same minister came to me and told me I was condemned to hell for taking Eucharist as a non-Catholic. I have no idea why it was decided I was non-Catholic. It didn’t matter the Paulist Fathers had told me years ago I could take the Eucharist. Was I suddenly an infidel to be fearful of, one of ‘them’? Is it silly for me to think I had a right to participate in that mass?
Is it a silly idea to believe the Lord actually died and gave His life so that the world should not perish and at the same time condemn most of us infidels for daring to take the sacrament, the very sacrament intended as a reminder of the global inclusive nature of His sacrifice? Six hundred years ago my independent thinking would have seen me put to death. In the present era it just got me put out.
Recently I paid $11 to roam around Kings Chapel in Cambridge. Included was the right to take interior pictures without flash. Setting up a tripod I captured some wide-angle panoramas of the grand fan-vaulted ceiling and oceans of luminous stained glass. Shortly a verger came to me and insisted I not use a tripod, stating the building was copyrighted and the good images of the inside were being sold. I complied and simply boosted my camera to ISO 3200, getting splendid images without a tripod. Privately I was thankful I had a camera with a really good sensor. Later in bright sun while taking a hand-held image of the grass in the south quad I was again chased down by the same Verger, being reminded to not use my tripod, despite it lying folded up on the ground.
Is it a silly idea to believe I was suddenly a risk to the financial future of this six-hundred year old Anglican community by taking pictures of grass, someone to be fearful of, one of ‘them’? Is it silly to think something like Kings Chapel is a world treasure to be shared, even on a tripod? When I later saw this same frowning verger minding the gate at Evensong, I kept on walking, instead finding a most hospitable Buddhist on the street to talk with. Perhaps it was a silly idea for me to believe I could have a numinous experience in there, as a threat to the place.
Westminster Abbey is perhaps one of the greatest architectural icons in the Western World. For nearly fourteen hundred years it’s been a venue where much of British history has been crafted. For $26 tourists are allowed to walk around and gawk at history and the 611 tombs contained therein. I once was in love with this place, having attended as many as five services during Holy Week. Then I became a threat to its keepers.
Having taken a good friend there for Morning Prayer and then Holy Eucharist, I committed the unpardonable sin of taking a non-flash non-tripod photo of the rose window in the north transept in the half-hour interval between these two services. A Verger saw me do it and he came shrieking across the vast once-numinous space offering up nothing short of a Deuteronomic scale curse upon me. Humiliation was included at no extra cost and I was certain I would be remanded to the custody of the Metropolitan Police and my cameras reduced to rubble. I left the place shaking like a leaf.
As I was leaving, the Verger and two of his colleagues were spinning contrails across that vast nave chasing down other witless threats to the future of the Anglican Church. Have I suddenly become a risk to the financial future and integrity of the Protestant Realm as well? The official web site for this venue states a fear of what inappropriate things we nefarious photographers might do with pictures of the place. Is it a silly idea to really believe an ordinary tourist is going to do something despicable with an image of the Abbey that he could not also do with one of a million scannable paper images in a million history and travel books? With Photoshop all things are possible to those who believe. My last two times in London it’s taken everything in me just to walk by the Abbey; there are always stern-looking vergers milling about the gates. Perhaps it’s a silly idea to believe I could experience the numinous in there again.
Last week I had the audacity as an Episcopalian to wander down to Lambeth Palace. I learned it was more than presumptuous to think I could walk over the bridge, just show up, and see the Anglican/Episcopal equivalent of the Vatican. No one wanted to tell me exactly how to get into the place. Staff at several locations on site claimed to not even know where the public entry was. Eventually I learned for $12 I would be allowed to see part of the gardens. For another $20.25 I would be allowed into one room to see an exhibition of old prayer books and hymnals. If I wanted to see the Palace I would have to apply on-line for a ticket on a commercial ticket site (Ticket Master). I was told the first available ticket would be in October. I didn’t bother to ask how much it would be. I never did figure out where the front door was; it was probably behind the vast tower gate that occasionally opened, quickly letting high-end cars in and out. Perhaps it was a very silly idea to think I could visit the place I’ve made offerings to for a lifetime. I did get to use the café toilet without paying.
There’s a mega-church in my home town boasting tens of thousands of members. Each time I’ve visited I’ve had a subliminal sense of increasing fear there. I was refused admission one Sunday because I would not submit to a physical search. We left. I was clearly one of ‘them’ to be afraid of. The friend with me during that incident has not been in a church since. Was it a really silly idea to think I could take struggling addicts to church and be admitted without a physical search?
Another time I invited a friend from out-of- state to visit for the evening service. After driving 260 miles we had the auditorium door closed in our faces just as we started to enter. Institutional policy says late-comers don’t happen in this church. Was it a silly idea to think a place talking about Jesus would admit weary travelers, even if they are five seconds late? The last time I went I was with three men in recovery. One was highly insulted during the vetting process applied to us before the service. He left post haste. One of the others made the mistake of leaving the service to use the restroom. No latecomers and no toilets during services. Was it really silly for me go back three times, inviting struggling individuals, only to have them humiliated?
Christian scriptures describe a broad way to destruction and a narrow way to salvation. I can’t but wonder if ecclesiastical apparatus in its various forms is not often itself causative of much of this destruction. Perhaps the dissonance and cacophony of those afraid of losing power, prestige, or money, or being targeted in some fashion is so loud and distracting as to keep most of us from ever finding the narrow way, acting as barriers to the Kingdom.
Is it a silly idea to think God really did send his son so that whosoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life? Is it a silly idea to think that merely asking God to guide me every day, every moment, to do the next right thing is enough? I guess it depends on who you ask?
A disgruntled ex-church member stated in a forum discussing collapsing church attendance: "The world is trying to find God but they can't because the church is in the way! … Jesus Christ did not come to bring a religion or a church. He came to bring the Kingdom of God to the earth. People are not looking for a good church--they are looking for the Kingdom!!! And the church is not the Kingdom--that's why folks are leaving!!!” If this sentiment is gaining ground across the Western world, it might well explain the rapid secularization taking place, why people feel there are barriers between them and the Kingdom.
If my experience of church attitudes is even remotely typical for others, it’s little wonder the younger generations are voting with their feet. The Pew study cites fundamentalist thinking of any flavor as being off-putting. It might explain why for the first time in my adult life, my church attendance has become sporadic at an age when church members should be comfortably settled in for their remaining years. We’ve already seen the complete secularization of Europe and the Pew study suggests America is fast on its way. One church growth professional reported in 2008 overall regular church attendance in America has declined to 18.7%. I can’t but wonder if it’s a really silly idea to think I will find community and acceptance in those very institutions hog-tied by their own entrenched ideas and fears, places seeing me as some kind of threat.
Paradoxically I’m suddenly feeling younger and even closer to God than ever. I just pray my sentence of condemnation isn’t enforced. I don’t tolerate heat very well.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
A Serpent in Paradise Anderson, South Carolina 6-16-12
One of the questions long stuck in my brains is, “Why was there a snake in the garden of Eden?” Why would a place by definition created perfect have a fatal flaw in it, one consigning Holy Paradise to a long-term future of weeds, painful childbirth, chaos, and death? For centuries theologians have argued endlessly about why a benevolent Creator would put the ultimate beguiling poison pill in Nirvana. It was only a couple of days before humans were running around ashamed of their nakedness, blaming others for their woes. Religious wars have been de rigueur ever since.
Throughout history hundreds of religious sects, both Eastern and Western, have claimed special knowledge of holy truth. Countless manuscripts and books have been written throughout time and ascribed the status of inspired holy text; given down as inerrant voice from Heaven. Millions of adherents have followed teachings of diverse gurus, prophets, and those claiming to be Deity itself. Alas, many of these teachings contain strong seasonings of exclusivity to them – creating polarities of ‘us versus you’, ‘we versus them’.
Throughout my university years I was involved with proselytic campus religious groups with stated missions to convert everyone else to their way of thinking; embracing their tenets of doctrines. It was mentally exhaustive to journey to Daytona Beach during spring break and endlessly pass out religious tracks in attempts to garner subscription to my way of thinking, a way of thinking and belief I was all too unsure of for myself.
It’s been my good fortune to visit the best available vestiges of paradise in an ostensibly sin-fallen weed-infested acrimonious world. Just before I went overseas last month, two missionaries loaded with books and scriptures came to my door. Rather than flicking them off as fleas, proclaiming my busyness in preparing for my journey to Paradise, I let them start on their spiel.
Holding up a magazine one of them asked if I had ever seen it.
“Many times”, I stated.
“What did you think of it?” the one holding a small child asked.
I declared it was like many others, claiming special knowledge of holy truth; one believing other ways of spiritual practice and belief are false. Instantly they declared this one to be different because the present earth would not be burned up in the end-time scenarios promised by other groups!
I proceeded to tell them it could not matter less to me in any way, shape, or form whether this planet got burned up in a Revelation end-time scenario or not. The only thing mattering to me is the next right thing; asking God to show me what the next right thing to do is, for the next five minutes. I explained how my thoughts on theology and dogma had greatly simplified since studying these in excruciating detail decades ago in Europe.
If I can merely chain together a sequence of ‘next right things’ then my life will have no regrets and it will have been maximally useful to God and those around me. It won’t matter which of the amillennialist, pre-tribulation, post tribulation, or eternal security pundits are right. Mattering even less is if I’m Catholic, Protestant, or some other species of belief. God, what is the next right thing for me to do? They left without ever opening their books, asking only if they could quote me. I told them to have at it; it wasn’t original with me.
The Genesis story tells us Adam and Eve got in trouble because they believed the snake’s promise of being able to gain special knowledge about stuff only God is supposed to know about. They were afraid of losing something or not getting something without this knowledge. Their quest for special knowledge or enlightenment didn’t work out so well. In the garden fear suddenly came upon Adam and Eve and God found them hiding in the bushes. If you believe the story, soon weeds began to grow and everything else started to die except the weeds. Weeds don’t die.
If I believe God makes Himself known to all of those who seek Him, I don’t have to be driven by a fear I’m going to miss out on something because I don’t have special knowledge. Even Christian scripture declares, “They are without excuse because He has made Himself known through the handiwork of His creation.” I don’t have to run to the nearest religious sect or buy the magazines brought to my door. I don’t have to change your thinking. Evidence is hard-coded into Creation suggesting something far more benevolent is at work than a God with his finger on the smite key, waiting to burn up the planet.
Perhaps the real serpent in the Garden was fear, fear of losing something or not getting something we wanted. In recovery work we learn quickly fear of losing something or not getting something we want drives most of our other fears and the ensuing self-destructive behavior. As we say in recovery, “This short word somehow touches about every aspect of our lives. It was an evil and corroding thread; the fabric of our existence was shot through with it. It set in motion trains of circumstances which brought us misfortune we felt we didn't deserve. … We think fear ought to be classed with stealing. It seems to cause more trouble.”
Personal liberation comes when we let God take the serpent of fear out of the gardens of our lives. Bill Wilson, as one of the co-founders of Alcoholics Anonymous., declared as will millions of others, “The practice of AA's Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions in our personal lives also brought incredible releases from fear of every description, despite the wide prevalence of formidable personal problems. When fear did persist, we knew it for what it was, and under God's grace we became able to handle it. We began to see each adversity as a God-given opportunity to develop the kind of courage which is born of humility, rather than of bravado. Thus we were enabled to accept ourselves, our circumstances, and our fellows. Under God's grace we even found that we could die with decency, dignity and faith, knowing that "the Father doeth the works."
We now find ourselves headed to a paradise free of the great serpent. It’s an equal-opportunity destination for those wanting to live fearless lives. It doesn’t matter if you believe the world gets torched in the end or not.
“Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
Throughout history hundreds of religious sects, both Eastern and Western, have claimed special knowledge of holy truth. Countless manuscripts and books have been written throughout time and ascribed the status of inspired holy text; given down as inerrant voice from Heaven. Millions of adherents have followed teachings of diverse gurus, prophets, and those claiming to be Deity itself. Alas, many of these teachings contain strong seasonings of exclusivity to them – creating polarities of ‘us versus you’, ‘we versus them’.
Throughout my university years I was involved with proselytic campus religious groups with stated missions to convert everyone else to their way of thinking; embracing their tenets of doctrines. It was mentally exhaustive to journey to Daytona Beach during spring break and endlessly pass out religious tracks in attempts to garner subscription to my way of thinking, a way of thinking and belief I was all too unsure of for myself.
It’s been my good fortune to visit the best available vestiges of paradise in an ostensibly sin-fallen weed-infested acrimonious world. Just before I went overseas last month, two missionaries loaded with books and scriptures came to my door. Rather than flicking them off as fleas, proclaiming my busyness in preparing for my journey to Paradise, I let them start on their spiel.
Holding up a magazine one of them asked if I had ever seen it.
“Many times”, I stated.
“What did you think of it?” the one holding a small child asked.
I declared it was like many others, claiming special knowledge of holy truth; one believing other ways of spiritual practice and belief are false. Instantly they declared this one to be different because the present earth would not be burned up in the end-time scenarios promised by other groups!
I proceeded to tell them it could not matter less to me in any way, shape, or form whether this planet got burned up in a Revelation end-time scenario or not. The only thing mattering to me is the next right thing; asking God to show me what the next right thing to do is, for the next five minutes. I explained how my thoughts on theology and dogma had greatly simplified since studying these in excruciating detail decades ago in Europe.
If I can merely chain together a sequence of ‘next right things’ then my life will have no regrets and it will have been maximally useful to God and those around me. It won’t matter which of the amillennialist, pre-tribulation, post tribulation, or eternal security pundits are right. Mattering even less is if I’m Catholic, Protestant, or some other species of belief. God, what is the next right thing for me to do? They left without ever opening their books, asking only if they could quote me. I told them to have at it; it wasn’t original with me.
The Genesis story tells us Adam and Eve got in trouble because they believed the snake’s promise of being able to gain special knowledge about stuff only God is supposed to know about. They were afraid of losing something or not getting something without this knowledge. Their quest for special knowledge or enlightenment didn’t work out so well. In the garden fear suddenly came upon Adam and Eve and God found them hiding in the bushes. If you believe the story, soon weeds began to grow and everything else started to die except the weeds. Weeds don’t die.
If I believe God makes Himself known to all of those who seek Him, I don’t have to be driven by a fear I’m going to miss out on something because I don’t have special knowledge. Even Christian scripture declares, “They are without excuse because He has made Himself known through the handiwork of His creation.” I don’t have to run to the nearest religious sect or buy the magazines brought to my door. I don’t have to change your thinking. Evidence is hard-coded into Creation suggesting something far more benevolent is at work than a God with his finger on the smite key, waiting to burn up the planet.
Perhaps the real serpent in the Garden was fear, fear of losing something or not getting something we wanted. In recovery work we learn quickly fear of losing something or not getting something we want drives most of our other fears and the ensuing self-destructive behavior. As we say in recovery, “This short word somehow touches about every aspect of our lives. It was an evil and corroding thread; the fabric of our existence was shot through with it. It set in motion trains of circumstances which brought us misfortune we felt we didn't deserve. … We think fear ought to be classed with stealing. It seems to cause more trouble.”
Personal liberation comes when we let God take the serpent of fear out of the gardens of our lives. Bill Wilson, as one of the co-founders of Alcoholics Anonymous., declared as will millions of others, “The practice of AA's Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions in our personal lives also brought incredible releases from fear of every description, despite the wide prevalence of formidable personal problems. When fear did persist, we knew it for what it was, and under God's grace we became able to handle it. We began to see each adversity as a God-given opportunity to develop the kind of courage which is born of humility, rather than of bravado. Thus we were enabled to accept ourselves, our circumstances, and our fellows. Under God's grace we even found that we could die with decency, dignity and faith, knowing that "the Father doeth the works."
We now find ourselves headed to a paradise free of the great serpent. It’s an equal-opportunity destination for those wanting to live fearless lives. It doesn’t matter if you believe the world gets torched in the end or not.
“Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
Imaginations of Romance Anderson, South Carolina 4-23-12
A discomfiting experience is watching what happens on Christmas morning after the season of Advent has run its course. For weeks children have been hyper vigilant to the appearance of new gifts under the brilliant tree of possibilities. Curiosity, imagination, and colorful gift wrap keep children utterly mesmerized with visions of bliss. This rapt attention and focus for weeks suddenly sublimates into shredding frenzies manifesting as Attention Deficit Disorder at its worst. How many times have I seen children rip apart those beautiful metallic holographic papers, only to drop unwrapped boxes to the floor, not even bothering to open them; moving on to the next hypnotic gift wrap. Grandiose imagination has given way to reality.
For a Christmas junkie keeping Christmas trees up all year, the metaphor seems apt for my own life. Every time I see a woman up close or even at a distance across the fitness floor in the gym, I find myself being the little kid at Christmas, wondering what lies beneath the colorful wrapper, not in so much a voyeuristic way as in a much broader one. Grandiose imagination runs amok. Will I suddenly find the person who is going to make my life work; giving me purpose, discipline, motivation, social confidence, guidance, and those much needed pep talks at the exact moment of maximum demoralization after something important to me has imploded?
Eighteen months ago I nearly sold all my positions in life, thinking another person could meet all my needs. I was willing to consider selling my house, casting aside my history, taking inordinate risk. In the intervening months I’ve learned more fully my true deeper needs can only be met by conscious contact with God as a result of a vital spiritual experience. There’s no possibility of another person doing for me only what God can do for me. As long as I believe another person can fulfill all my secret dreams I’m going to be wasting energy, frantically tearing open every life within reach of me. The only assured result for such behavior is leaving behind a wake of emotional trauma in many lives, and gaining for myself increasing social isolation, loneliness, and brooding self doubt.
In the recovery journey we learn ever more deeply only God can meet our deepest needs. After five and a half years on the recovery journey and having nearly torn my life out by the tracks in a romantic fugue a year and a half ago, I still struggle with the object of my faith. Do I really believe God is my true source, or do I still believe one of those beauties in the gym is going to take me to Nirvana? Worse yet, do I believe I can be a knight in shining armor to one of our new arrivals in recovery who has utterly destroyed her life with addictions? Am I to be the savior to one who has no job, no car, no home, and nothing to eat because she gave it all to the crack dealer? There’s sometimes an overwhelming urge in us spiritually unregenerate people to be the big deal strolling into another’s life, saving her from every form of poverty. I see this urge in myself and I see it in others almost daily.
In counseling sessions I hear this with astounding frequency. An intellectually gifted young man with every possible option open to him just related to me his three suicide attempts after his girl friend of ninety days overdosed on heroin and died on his birthday. One wonders just what a struggling heroin addict can do to give one purpose, discipline, motivation, social confidence, guidance, and those much needed pep talks at the exact moment of maximum demoralization after something important has imploded? The young heroin addict could not meet this young man’s needs in any way. She could not meet her own needs and never let God do so. It cost her life itself. The man relating this scenario to me is still unsure, even after being willing to cash out his own life. She imploded. He was not even successful at taking his own life.
When we put all our faith and belief in the ability of another human being to meet our own deep needs, the results are often catastrophic. Rarely does a week pass I don’t observe men and women newly released from prison and rehab facilities falling into each other’s arms and beds, giving up the disciplines and accountability of recovery. They move into shabby apartments or trailers, unemployed, without transportation. They stop coming to meetings and cease doing the recovery work which would bring them to the all-important realization that only God can meet their deepest needs. The incredible gift of sobriety is so often exchanged for the possibilities of romance. Funeral directors here are too often the direct beneficiaries to these ill-advised imaginations of romance.
Melody Beatty has been endowed with a great ability to speak into the hearts of those struggling with addictions and the ill-founded belief another being can meet their needs. In her The Language of Letting Go she implores us to consider “Our happiness is not a present someone else holds in his or her hands. Our well-being is not held by another to be given or withheld at whim. If we reach out and try to force someone to give us what we believe he or she holds, we will be disappointed. We will discover that it is an illusion. The person didn’t hold it. He or she never shall. That beautifully wrapped box with the ribbon on it that we believed contained our happiness … it’s an illusion.”
Henri Nouwen wrote many of his best sellers from the ground of his personal struggles with affective angst and feeling isolated from so many people, this despite being beloved by millions. It was a severe learning for him to come to understand only God could meet his deepest needs. In his The Inner Voice of Love he wrote “A split between divinity and humanity has taken place in you. With your divinely endowed center you know God’s will, God’s way, God’s love. But your humanity is cut off from that. Your many human needs for affection, attention, and consolation are living apart from your divine sacred space. Your call is to let these two parts of yourself come together again. You have to gradually move from crying outward – crying for people who you think can fulfill your needs – to crying inward to the place where you can let yourself be held and carried by God, who has become incarnate in the humanity of those who love you in community. No one person can fulfill all your needs. But the community can truly hold you.”
How often it is we see people leave community, thinking another can meet all his or her needs. So often we see them descend into the abysses of depression, anxiety, addiction, the basement of the undertaker. It was only yesterday I sat with unnumbered thousands in one of the fastest growing churches in the Western Hemisphere, listening to the preacher exhort us men strongly to ‘pursue’ women. Reading easily between the lines one easily came away with the idea an all-out pursuit of women was going to gain us a trophy capable of meeting all our needs. The preacher paused to exhort the thousands of women present to not give any consideration to a man who did not offer to pay for her dinner. He specifically chided men who would suggest Dutch treat for a first encounter, writing them off as unviable candidates for Godly women. It’s a still small voice telling us God is our true Source. I didn’t hear it yesterday among the cacophony of thousands.
An astoundingly insightful message is found buried in one of the books used by many in recovery. “Either we insist on dominating the people we know, or we depend on them far too much. If we lean too heavily on people, they will sooner or later fail us, for they are human, too, and cannot possibly meet our incessant demands. In this way our insecurity grows and festers. When we habitually try to manipulate others to our own willful desires, they revolt, and resist us heavily. Then we develop hurt feelings, a sense of persecution, and a desire to retaliate. As we redouble our efforts at control, and continue to fail, our suffering becomes acute and constant.”
In an era in which popular culture teaches romance is the answer to all my needs and wants and conservative preachers in vast mega churches tell me to pursue women, to chase them down with meal tickets, it’s difficult to find the true source Who can make my life work; giving me purpose, discipline, motivation, social confidence, guidance, and those much needed pep talks at the exact moment of maximum demoralization after something important to me has imploded.
As Jesus did, it’s sometimes important to go off into the wilderness for a creative absence and figure out just where we are hanging our hat. It’s tough to hear His quiet whisper in the ‘grab-it-all” secular culture we live in. We might just even learn the greatest Gift came wrapped in a crown of honey-locust thorns and welts raised by a Roman cat-o-nine tails.
“I know the thoughts I have for you, thoughts for good not for evil, plans that will give you hope and a future.”
Blessings,
Craig c. Johnson
For a Christmas junkie keeping Christmas trees up all year, the metaphor seems apt for my own life. Every time I see a woman up close or even at a distance across the fitness floor in the gym, I find myself being the little kid at Christmas, wondering what lies beneath the colorful wrapper, not in so much a voyeuristic way as in a much broader one. Grandiose imagination runs amok. Will I suddenly find the person who is going to make my life work; giving me purpose, discipline, motivation, social confidence, guidance, and those much needed pep talks at the exact moment of maximum demoralization after something important to me has imploded?
Eighteen months ago I nearly sold all my positions in life, thinking another person could meet all my needs. I was willing to consider selling my house, casting aside my history, taking inordinate risk. In the intervening months I’ve learned more fully my true deeper needs can only be met by conscious contact with God as a result of a vital spiritual experience. There’s no possibility of another person doing for me only what God can do for me. As long as I believe another person can fulfill all my secret dreams I’m going to be wasting energy, frantically tearing open every life within reach of me. The only assured result for such behavior is leaving behind a wake of emotional trauma in many lives, and gaining for myself increasing social isolation, loneliness, and brooding self doubt.
In the recovery journey we learn ever more deeply only God can meet our deepest needs. After five and a half years on the recovery journey and having nearly torn my life out by the tracks in a romantic fugue a year and a half ago, I still struggle with the object of my faith. Do I really believe God is my true source, or do I still believe one of those beauties in the gym is going to take me to Nirvana? Worse yet, do I believe I can be a knight in shining armor to one of our new arrivals in recovery who has utterly destroyed her life with addictions? Am I to be the savior to one who has no job, no car, no home, and nothing to eat because she gave it all to the crack dealer? There’s sometimes an overwhelming urge in us spiritually unregenerate people to be the big deal strolling into another’s life, saving her from every form of poverty. I see this urge in myself and I see it in others almost daily.
In counseling sessions I hear this with astounding frequency. An intellectually gifted young man with every possible option open to him just related to me his three suicide attempts after his girl friend of ninety days overdosed on heroin and died on his birthday. One wonders just what a struggling heroin addict can do to give one purpose, discipline, motivation, social confidence, guidance, and those much needed pep talks at the exact moment of maximum demoralization after something important has imploded? The young heroin addict could not meet this young man’s needs in any way. She could not meet her own needs and never let God do so. It cost her life itself. The man relating this scenario to me is still unsure, even after being willing to cash out his own life. She imploded. He was not even successful at taking his own life.
When we put all our faith and belief in the ability of another human being to meet our own deep needs, the results are often catastrophic. Rarely does a week pass I don’t observe men and women newly released from prison and rehab facilities falling into each other’s arms and beds, giving up the disciplines and accountability of recovery. They move into shabby apartments or trailers, unemployed, without transportation. They stop coming to meetings and cease doing the recovery work which would bring them to the all-important realization that only God can meet their deepest needs. The incredible gift of sobriety is so often exchanged for the possibilities of romance. Funeral directors here are too often the direct beneficiaries to these ill-advised imaginations of romance.
Melody Beatty has been endowed with a great ability to speak into the hearts of those struggling with addictions and the ill-founded belief another being can meet their needs. In her The Language of Letting Go she implores us to consider “Our happiness is not a present someone else holds in his or her hands. Our well-being is not held by another to be given or withheld at whim. If we reach out and try to force someone to give us what we believe he or she holds, we will be disappointed. We will discover that it is an illusion. The person didn’t hold it. He or she never shall. That beautifully wrapped box with the ribbon on it that we believed contained our happiness … it’s an illusion.”
Henri Nouwen wrote many of his best sellers from the ground of his personal struggles with affective angst and feeling isolated from so many people, this despite being beloved by millions. It was a severe learning for him to come to understand only God could meet his deepest needs. In his The Inner Voice of Love he wrote “A split between divinity and humanity has taken place in you. With your divinely endowed center you know God’s will, God’s way, God’s love. But your humanity is cut off from that. Your many human needs for affection, attention, and consolation are living apart from your divine sacred space. Your call is to let these two parts of yourself come together again. You have to gradually move from crying outward – crying for people who you think can fulfill your needs – to crying inward to the place where you can let yourself be held and carried by God, who has become incarnate in the humanity of those who love you in community. No one person can fulfill all your needs. But the community can truly hold you.”
How often it is we see people leave community, thinking another can meet all his or her needs. So often we see them descend into the abysses of depression, anxiety, addiction, the basement of the undertaker. It was only yesterday I sat with unnumbered thousands in one of the fastest growing churches in the Western Hemisphere, listening to the preacher exhort us men strongly to ‘pursue’ women. Reading easily between the lines one easily came away with the idea an all-out pursuit of women was going to gain us a trophy capable of meeting all our needs. The preacher paused to exhort the thousands of women present to not give any consideration to a man who did not offer to pay for her dinner. He specifically chided men who would suggest Dutch treat for a first encounter, writing them off as unviable candidates for Godly women. It’s a still small voice telling us God is our true Source. I didn’t hear it yesterday among the cacophony of thousands.
An astoundingly insightful message is found buried in one of the books used by many in recovery. “Either we insist on dominating the people we know, or we depend on them far too much. If we lean too heavily on people, they will sooner or later fail us, for they are human, too, and cannot possibly meet our incessant demands. In this way our insecurity grows and festers. When we habitually try to manipulate others to our own willful desires, they revolt, and resist us heavily. Then we develop hurt feelings, a sense of persecution, and a desire to retaliate. As we redouble our efforts at control, and continue to fail, our suffering becomes acute and constant.”
In an era in which popular culture teaches romance is the answer to all my needs and wants and conservative preachers in vast mega churches tell me to pursue women, to chase them down with meal tickets, it’s difficult to find the true source Who can make my life work; giving me purpose, discipline, motivation, social confidence, guidance, and those much needed pep talks at the exact moment of maximum demoralization after something important to me has imploded.
As Jesus did, it’s sometimes important to go off into the wilderness for a creative absence and figure out just where we are hanging our hat. It’s tough to hear His quiet whisper in the ‘grab-it-all” secular culture we live in. We might just even learn the greatest Gift came wrapped in a crown of honey-locust thorns and welts raised by a Roman cat-o-nine tails.
“I know the thoughts I have for you, thoughts for good not for evil, plans that will give you hope and a future.”
Blessings,
Craig c. Johnson
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