Every rupture is in need of repair. But what if the rupture is really, really, really big?
Whenever I encounter someone who doesn't seem to fit in a particular group, who isn't defensive or dogmatic, whose mind seems open and flexible, I am skeptical. Perhaps it's because I'm jealous, perhaps because it seems so rare. But it makes me wonder, what would it take to become a person like that?
I've spent the last couple weeks thinking back over this year. There were a lot of great things that happened, but it was also a really tough year. It was hard in a communal, political sense. But it was also a hard year for me personally, and I know it was for a lot of you as well. As we approach the holidays, it can begin to feel even more difficult sometimes.
We all tend to have different things that help us process, and one of the most helpful things for me is usually to write. I had been experiencing a bit of a creative block, so I recently started trying to be more deliberate about writing, and I like Christmas, so I decided I’d try to write a Christmas song. I was having the hardest time putting anything on a page until I started this stream of consciousness list of all the things I’m afraid of, and it was like a dam got unblocked. I was able to write, which was really freeing, but that initial Christmas song just ended up being a morbid song about fear and death. “Everyone’s gonna die” is literally one of the lyrics. But it felt strangely liberating and comforting to write it too, and since then, I’ve been able to write a lot of other stuff.
There’s something funny about being creative and making art. In order to do it, you kind of have to be honest with yourself. There’s obviously some shallow or dishonest art out there, but in my experience, I can’t make art unless I’m facing whatever it is I’ve been running from. And something I realized in just these last few weeks is that it actually takes more of my energy to evade and repress my fears than to just face them. I spend way more energy distracting myself with work, food, activity and late night tv than the work it takes to be present and process what’s going on. Even though I know this, it’s still really hard. It’s really, really hard. And as I was trying to figure out why it’s so difficult, I was also interacting with this section of Paul’s letter in Corinthians. Something clicked as I was reading it, and my whole perspective began to shift. It’s in chapter 9 of 1 Corinthians, and Paul is talking about how we perceive our “rights.”
Paul makes a really strange, 2 part argument.
The whole first part is trying to convince the wealthy and influential members of the Corinthian church that he has the right to their financial support. This usually took the form of a system called patronage, where wealthier, influential members of society supported itinerant teachers and philosophers, of which Paul was one. So he launches this long argument of why he has the right to their money, but the second part of the argument he spends telling them that there’s no way in hell he’d ever take their money even if they offered it in the first place!
It sounds like the kind of thing debate kids in school used to do all the time: argue a point just for the sake of winning, not because they actually want anything to change. Those kids were really annoying. But Paul bases his whole reason for arguing this way on what he calls the Gospel. His stated reason for why he’s not going to take advantage of his rights is because he doesn’t want anything to get in the way of the Gospel. And what is the Gospel?
We are accepted and loved by God not because we earned it, but because Jesus earned it in our place. In other words, we have a right to God’s acceptance and love, but it’s a right that we didn’t earn - it was given to us.
POSSESSION & PRIVILEGE
So the Gospel actually gives us another way to perceive our “rights.” One way is to view them as earned, which in turn leads us to view our rights as our possession; we think in terms of ownership. And that means, every time our rights are questioned or threatened, we react out of fear. We try to protect, keep, fight, and hold onto our rights. When we perceive our rights as something we earned and own, fear will never be far behind.
But the second way we can view our rights is as given. If they are given freely as a gift, we no longer regard them as our possession, but as a privilege. And this dramatically alters how we live and think: instead of feeling fear, we feel gratitude. Because it was never ours, it is easier to let go of willingly. Our attention is not so much on the right itself, but on our relation to the one who gave us the right in the first place. It’s like the difference between being someone’s family member and someone’s employee. The problem in Corinth though was that the culture was so transactional, especially within this system of patronage, that rights weren’t perceived as something given freely - they were something that you earned. A wealthy member of society earned their good standing and acceptance in the community by supporting these itinerant teachers and philosophers. In return, these traveling teachers earned their good standing by speaking well of their benefactors.
So you can see how problematic accepting financial support would’ve been for Paul and this message of the Gospel. He didn’t have any problems accepting patronage in other cities, but here, it was a problem.
Thinking through this lens, I realized that much of the source of my fears and unhappiness and trouble being present comes from me still perceiving my rights in the first sense. I’m trying desperately to hold onto something that I’m treating as my own possession. I’m still constantly trying to earn acceptance from the work that I do. No wonder it’s so hard for me to be present - as long as I’m trying to hold and possess and control something, I’m going to be scared all the time of losing it.
When we look at Paul though, he seems so free. When he’s with the legalistic, militant religious types, he doesn’t fly off the handle and get super defensive. When he’s with the super liberal, everything-goes type of people, he doesn’t seem to feel threatened or uncomfortable. Even though he’s poor and probably needs their money, he’s not claiming it.
I think the only way that we can live like this is to have an alternate, greater source of security.
When I get parking tickets, I instantly freak out and feel worried, because I can’t afford to spend money all the time on parking tickets. When Paul Allen gets a parking ticket, he probably doesn’t give it a second thought. He is so secure in his income, that he doesn’t need to waste anytime worrying about a parking ticket. I really resent that about Paul Allen, but I wish I was in his position.
The Gospel message is that our rights extend beyond anything we could ever earn ourselves. Jesus has taken our position, and given us his. Jesus has conquered death and we share in that. Even the statement, “we’re all gonna die” doesn’t carry the bite that it used to. We are accepted and loved by the Creator of the universe not because we earned it, but because Jesus earned it for us and gave it to us freely. To the degree that we are able to trust we have that kind of security, those kinds of privileges and rights, we’ll begin to start finding the footing we need to be honest and present with ourselves. It’s still really really hard. It’s still gonna be something we spend the rest of our lives learning and walking through. But it’s real and it’s waiting for us. It gives us new ways to look at our fears: whereas before our fears held power over us, in light of the Gospel, they begin to start looking less and less convincing, and increasingly frail and weak.
A psychologist was once asked in an interview the one message that she wished all her clients could internalize, and she responded with the words "you are enough." Easy enough to say to someone, but how do we believe it for ourselves in a world of competition that seems to constantly be measuring us?
Why is it that when we get closest to the thing we really want, we tend to self-sabotage?
Reflections on 1 Corinthians 6:1-11
image: Ellsworth Kelly | Circle Line | 1951
Imposter Syndrome. We all know what it is and what it feels like - that suspicion that wherever we are, we don't belong, and pretty soon others will come to the same realization. We know what it is, but how do we respond to it? I have my strategies, but I can't say they work super well. Here's another strategy - one that is so strange, counter-intuitive, and surprising that it just might work. And it comes to us all the way from the first century in a letter that somehow got preserved and passed on.
Audio is 26 minutes.
image is by LA artist, Greg Ito: Out To Sea | Acrylic on Canvas | 72"x54" | 2016
Listen in for a discussion on how an ancient, first century letter can speak to our current personal, cultural, and political context . 1 Corinthians 3. Audio is 27 minutes.
(photo of installation from artist Mark Von Rosenstiel, from the work "our home was never built, it was maybe found." http://www.markvonrosenstiel.com/)
In an act of cosmic arrogance Adam and Eve committed spiritual treason in the Garden. Having everything was apparently not enough. They wanted to trade places with God. Which brings us to what I think is the greatest mystery of the Christian faith.
Apparently, having everything wasn't enough for the Creator-King either.
On Good Friday God looked down at us with all of our brokenness and pathologies and problems, and decided to enter into a position in which he could say, “yeah, me too." He did this, in order to put us in a position where we can look up at the Risen One in all of his glory and splendor and say, "yeah, me too."
Good Friday is a bookmark in time, a space constructed to re-enact the darkest moment in history. It represents the anticipation of death, of alienation, of our worst fears and the fulfillment of those fears. It serves as a canvas for us to splash our nightmares on, so we can stand back and look at them, realizing they are not as sinister as we believed. Good Friday is about a death that was not a death, a night that did not continue, despair that was not despair. It confronts us with the darkest possible scenario we could face and allows us to see it through to its very end. There, we find Jesus’ body, lifeless and frail, but on the verge of something new and unexpected.
Participating in Good Friday is an act of courage and hope, a step towards a future capable of holding light in darkness, joy in sorrow, and sacred in the profane. Sometimes we discover joy from the same source as our sorrow, and where we anticipate retribution, we receive grace. Sometimes all it takes to be rid of fear is to proceed towards it.
After looking at the Mission of Jesus summarized in Psalm 72, (righteous reign, reconciling communities, ruling forever), we look to Mark 1:14-18 to hear the words of the King that mark all of his ministry—that the Good News of God has come, the Gospel, and we must then repent, believe and follow Jesus in response to this good news. But what does the Good news truly mean for us today? Taking our cues from Jesus’ message that hearken back to Isaiah 40, we understand that the Gospel is good news that we can finally come back home. Behind every desire we have is a desire for love, to be understood, to have life—that life is ultimately bound up with our Creator and Redeemer who gave of Himself on the Cross to make orphans sons and daughters, and to bring prodigals back home. In response to His work to bring us home, “Back to Eden”, we must turn from our ways, believing in His word and follow Him as the disciples did.
We are often focused on praying for ourselves and others, as is good and right as followers of Jesus. Moreover, we are sometimes reminded that Jesus is in Heaven, praying for us before the throne of God. But how often do we take the time to pray for Jesus, our King? Psalm 72 is a “royal psalm” that the people of God would sing to coronate the enthronement of the King of Israel. We believe that Jesus is the Last Son of David, who is our Compassionate King who hears the cry of the needy, broken and marginalized, (Ps. 72:12-14); and because he is good and compassionate we must pray for him to reign in our hearts, communities and the world—that he reign in justice, ruling and reconciling communities, and unto the end of time. Praying for Jesus to reign shapes our hearts to desire what God desires especially when adversity sets in and we need the justice, peace and hope.
We have all sorts of strategies for trying to change and become better humans. Most of the time, that strategy is propelled by the belief that we must be in control, leading us to put our trust in whatever we think we need to keep control. This obsession with control often leads us into anxiety, anger, boredom, or even despair as the things we trust in fail us repeatedly. The experience that stands out from all other experiences, however, is Grace. Grace is grounded in one reality - we are not in control, but we can trust the one who is. Grace as revealed by Jesus is a light that exposes the futility of all our strategies, and leads us to the relief we’ve been searching for all along.