Monthly Archive for August, 2009

Introducing Paul Loewen

Allow me to intro­duce Cana­dian Mennonite’s newest blog­ger, PaulLoewenPaul Loewen from Win­nipeg.  An avid reader and writer, Paul has com­pleted four full-length nov­els and is work­ing on sev­eral more projects.  He works as a youth pas­tor with his wife, Jeanette, at Dou­glas Men­non­ite Church in Win­nipeg.  He grad­u­ated from Cana­dian Men­non­ite Uni­ver­sity with a bach­e­lor of the­ol­ogy in April 2009.  You may have read some of his writ­ing as a Young Prophet in our printed version.

We look for­ward to his cre­ative thoughts, his vision and pas­sion for life in upcom­ing posts.  He will likely tell you more about him­self in his first entry.

Let’s Give the Language Back

So I was hav­ing one those nor­mally awk­ward con­ver­sa­tions, when all the talk­ing hap­pens in a lan­guage that isn’t flu­ent for at least half of the peo­ple in the cir­cle.  We were talk­ing about movies that we’ve seen and ones that we would like to see.  One girl,who was not a native Eng­lish speaker as the two of us who were if we liked a par­tic­u­lar movie.  Before I was able to under­stand the title she had said, the other guy started to answer.

Yeah, I would like to see it,” he said, “but I don’t like how they have the word Sal­va­tion in there.”  This was con­fus­ing to every­one, since by now we all had gath­ered that she had said “National Trea­sure”.  I gath­ered from his answer that he’d heard “Ter­mi­na­tor” and was refer­ring to “Ter­mi­na­tor Sal­va­tion,” the fourth instal­ment in that fran­chise of movies, which was play­ing in the the­atres at that time.

We stayed on the topic of movies, but I was more inter­ested in the impli­ca­tion made by the answer he gave.  Are there words that should only be used in a Chris­t­ian context?

I didn’t see Ter­mi­na­tor Sal­va­tion, but I’m guess­ing the theme is con­sis­tent with the oth­ers in the series, that the world is saved from utter destruc­tion.  I feel like that would meet the cri­te­ria of at least one def­i­n­i­tion of the word sal­va­tion.  But does some­one have to pray the sinner’s prayer in order for the word ‘sal­va­tion’ to be used appro­pri­ately?  Obvi­ously, this word has a spir­i­tual mean­ing, and that def­i­n­i­tion is likely the most com­mon use of the word.  That’s fine, but does it have to be the exclu­sive use of the word?

Ini­tially his state­ment put me off because it reeked of the kind of elit­ism I want Chris­tians to avoid.  Was he sug­gest­ing that only Chris­tians could use this term?  Per­haps he thought that the pro­duc­ers of this movie used the term to belit­tle Chris­tian­ity.  Cer­tainly the word wouldn’t have the same appeal to it with­out the reli­gious sig­nif­i­cance, but it has other meanings.

The nature of the Eng­lish langue is that it is in many ways a Chris­t­ian lan­guage.  It was devel­oped and adopted as an offi­cial lan­guage all within the con­text of a Chris­t­ian coun­try.  This makes it dif­fi­cult to say a word isn’t inher­ently reli­gious, when the whole lan­guage came into being in a national and cul­tural sit­u­a­tion that was dom­i­nated by the Catholic and then Angli­can churches, but all of these words have other meanings.

Now, gen­er­ally I’m happy to say that the church should accept its declin­ing sta­tus and this may sound like one of the issues where I would get on a soap­box and say that.  My point this time though is that when we give up our hold on cer­tain terms, they will mean more to us.

Bap­tism is a purely reli­gious word, but what if we also had the option of using the orig­i­nal mean­ing of the greek root?  Since it only means to plunge or to dunk, we might have a bap­tizer beside every toi­let, or multi­na­tional cof­fee chain called Bap­tizin’ Donuts.  If the same thing had hap­pened in other lan­guages, like Ger­man, I guar­an­tee that the rad­i­cal wing of the Ref­or­ma­tion would have turned out differently.

We can sing that we’ve been redeemed by the blood of the lamb, but it sounds like a fairly abstract con­cept.  Good thing we redeem coupons every now and then, or else we might not know what it means.  I won­der about the effec­tive­ness of call­ing oth­ers to ‘repent’ since I don’t think peo­ple really know what it means.  If oth­ers knew it meant to com­pletely turn around from it might be a lit­tle more acces­si­ble, or if they under­stood it also meant we were claim­ing to have turned away from a sin­ful life, it might keep us more account­able.  If ‘born again’ wasn’t such a com­monly used phrase, it might sound as shock­ing to us as it did to Nicode­mus, and it might actu­ally have mean­ing again.

I actu­ally think that “Ter­mi­na­tor Sal­va­tion” is a pretty clever title.  Out­side of the reli­gious con­text we want to know who is saved from what, by whom, and how.  In a reli­gious con­text, peo­ple often assume either that they already know, or they don’t want to ask.  Often we try to use other words, and I think that’s prob­a­bly wise, but I some­times wish we could use the same words, just carry less reli­gious bag­gage with us when we use those words.

Owls and Mice

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On one lucky night at the Shenan­doah National Park, we met a ranger giv­ing evening tours of the meadow. Lis­ten­ing to sounds of the day end­ing, we learned about life at night in the park.

With vol­un­teers try­ing to sneak up on a blind-folded par­tic­i­pant, we dis­cov­ered a mouse’s tricks to avoid an owl. We cupped our hands to our ears to hear the last bird sing. Small can­is­ters with scented cot­ton­balls dis­trib­uted to pairs in the group helped us expe­ri­ence the immense task moths face in find­ing a mate. We laughed at sniff­ing stranger’s smells, and rejoiced in the dance of light­ning behind the scenes.

As the moon and clouds gazed at each other with love glow­ing on their faces, I gave thanks for the cre­ativ­ity of God’s web of life.

God’s Love frees our futures

One of the ques­tions that keeps com­ing up for me lately is about des­tiny and choice. As Chris­tians we are encour­aged to think reg­u­larly of God’s will and what that means for our lives. Many of us spend anx­ious days, or years pur­su­ing this elu­sive will of God into the future, never quite feel­ing like we are mea­sur­ing up to it’s ambigu­ous stan­dards. What is the will of God or when is it? This may be the Chris­t­ian ver­sion of des­tiny that seems to give the same idea of a greater plan for your life that you must fol­low to be eter­nally happy or at least to receive eter­nal approval from God.

So what hap­pens to choice in all of this? What if the choices I make in the morn­ing are not accord­ing to God’s will or accord­ing to my des­tiny? Will some­one inform me of that or am I left to won­der anx­iously if I’ve made the right choice? While in sem­i­nary, one of my pro­fes­sors once talked about the Will of God and how he believed that it was God’s will that we live every day where we are to God’s glory. This was new for me because it removed the Amer­i­can dream from our con­cept of God’s will. Sud­denly God’s will was that we do some­thing now and here and live the here and now instead of pur­su­ing some­thing name­less and intan­gi­ble into the future.

Why is it more com­fort­ing for us to think of God’s will as some­thing to strive for that we have not already achieved and as his plan for us as some­thing that we like­wise search for con­stantly? Why is this eas­ier than accept­ing the pos­si­bil­ity that God’s will is sim­ply that we live our life now in a way that is true to our rela­tion­ship with God? Per­haps we are just addicted to the drama of the illu­sive search.

I would like to the­o­rize on this topic — per­haps there is some­thing between these two pic­tures. Per­haps we are to strive to live the here and now in God’s will always lis­ten­ing to the Spirit, to the Word and to the com­mu­nity of those who keep us account­able to God and test­ing our own will against that voice. The more we lis­ten and act accord­ingly every day in dis­ci­pline, the more we grow into who God cre­ated us to be. Not where or when God wants us to be but who and what. The who will most likely lead us nat­u­rally to the where and the when in good order. Slowly that place inside of us that longs for ful­fill­ment is filled as we grow closer to the will of God by align­ing our own will to God’s. All of this is closely related to that nat­ural human incli­na­tion to obsess about and fear the future.

I recently read “The Shack”. The author, William P. Young, sums this fear up nicely when his “God” char­ac­ter says that this obses­sion and pro­ject­ing of fear into the future, “ is your des­per­ate attempt to get some con­trol over some­thing you can’t. It is impos­si­ble for you to take power over the future because it isn’t even real, nor will it ever be real. You try and play God, imag­in­ing the evil that you fear becom­ing real­ity, and then you try to make plans and con­tin­gen­cies to avoid what you fear. Because you don’t believe. You don’t know that We (God) love you. The per­son who lives by their fears will not find free­dom in my love. I am not talk­ing about ratio­nal fears regard­ing legit­i­mate dan­gers, but imag­ined fears, and espe­cially the pro­jec­tion of those into the future. To the degree that those fears have a place in your life, you nei­ther believe I am good nor know deep in your heart that I love you. You sing about it; you talk about, but you don’t know it.”

Trust­ing God’s love for liv­ing in today and hop­ing for the good of tomor­row is some­thing I have to work at daily here in the Mid­dle East and that is what brought this topic to my mind.

A Moment’s Presence

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In one of Annie Dillard’s early books, Pil­grim at Tin­ker Creek, she con­tem­plates the con­scious act of being present in a moment. Besides the inter­est­ing fact that she writes about Vir­ginia just down the high­way from where I cur­rently reside, I appre­ci­ate her med­i­ta­tive reflec­tions on nature, life, and spir­i­tu­al­ity in this book. She describes the present as a fleet­ing, momen­tary thing that dis­ap­pears as soon as we real­ize we’re in it. Yet, being present makes us truly alive.

After the present passes, mem­ory holds on. Not to the moment itself, but to the emo­tions and aura of that moment. My mind shapes and shifts the mem­ory accord­ing to how I recall the feel­ings con­nected to it. I make mean­ing of the moment accord­ing to how I remem­ber it.

In these glimpses of pres­ence I con­nect with God deep­est. Prayer, per­haps, hap­pens most pro­foundly in these spaces when the world sud­denly focuses. I am present and every­thing becomes present to me.

The more I strive for the present, though, the more elu­sive it seems. Like squeez­ing a hand full of water, it slips between my fin­gers and flows on the earth of past mem­ory. I can­not do. I can only stop doing. I need to let myself be with­out analy­sis or effort. To let go of all the agen­das and striv­ing. This is the con­scious act through which I hear God’s voice, and live fully.

Of the four pil­lars I men­tioned in my pre­vi­ous post, pri­vate prayer and moral­ity seems most vague for me. Yet the pres­ence of the moment as described by Dil­lard res­onates with my encoun­ters with God at a per­sonal level.

While I know many forms of prayer can con­nect me to God, I think that atten­tion to the moment, to the nature and envi­ron­ment around me, to my sen­sa­tions and feel­ings, most dra­mat­i­cally and unex­pect­edly cap­tures my spirit and brings it into com­mu­nion with God.

Mellowness of heart

For the first time since we started gath­er­ing at the church, some­one gave a ser­mon. Inter­spersed with singing, dis­cus­sion, prayer, com­mu­nion and colour­ing, twenty min­utes didn’t seem too intimidating.

Don led us in reflec­tion about Ron Rolheiser’s four non-negotiable pil­lars of the spir­i­tual life, talked about in more detail in The Holy Long­ing. From my under­stand­ing, he describes them as:

  • Social jus­tice
  • Mel­low­ness of heart
  • Pri­vate prayer and morality
  • Faith com­mu­nity 

All four must be present for bal­anced spir­i­tu­al­ity. Peo­ple tend to lean towards one thing and for­get the oth­ers, but each begs our attention.

I ask myself, what do I usu­ally forget?

My back­ground empha­sizes the social jus­tice and com­mu­nity aspects of spir­i­tu­al­ity, and some on pri­vate prayer and moral­ity. But mel­low­ness of heart? Enjoy­ing myself and relax­ing? Cel­e­brat­ing and giv­ing thanks? Hav­ing fun perhaps?

Tonight I expe­ri­enced mel­low­ness of heart. Fol­low­ing up on an invi­ta­tion to a weekly gath­er­ing of some friends, we met around the pic­nic table set out in the front lawn. Over the next few hours we sang rau­cously, ate until our stom­aches bulged, and con­versed with ani­ma­tion and laugh­ter. I felt joy­ful, free, and com­pletely mel­low. A time of refresh­ment, praise, and thanksgiving.

I need to keep my eyes open to these pillars.