Missing the Miracle - Part I

A cool breeze rippled the waters of the pool, as David listened to the sounds of the morning. The clatter of hooves from some merchants bringing in their wares, the moaning of the other beggars, the heated discussions of some priests passing by. He turned his face towards the sun, enjoying the ambience of light that for a time seemed to conquer the blackness. He'd often wondered what it'd be like to see the world, to connect sounds to pictures, but he'd been blind his whole life. When he was younger, he'd asked that question to everyone who would listen, and they had all told him the same thing. These days, he no longer wondered why he was blind. He knew the answer to that. He only hoped that God would accept him anyway. He wished there was a way for him to atone for his sin, but a blind beggar was not welcome at the Temple. David sighed and held out his bowl. At least the breeze was cool this morning.

Change jingled into his bowl.

"Thank you, sir." He said, the early morning gift unexpected.

The Pool of Siloam was not a great place to beg, but there were stories of healing that stretched back through the years, and David had decided that he had nothing to lose. At least there was the scent of hope in amongst his friends. Unlike the others, he had nothing that could be healed, since he had been born deformed, but even the thought of witnessing a miracle gave him hope.

The sound of another early morning group echoed across the pool. David held up his bowl, hopeful for another gift.

"We'll need to get lunch ready a little sooner today, John. How is Philip's mother?"

"She's good, Rabbi. Just lonely."

"When you lose a loved one, it's to be expected." The Rabbi said. "Let's have dinner with her tomorrow. Tell Philip."

"He'll like that, Rabbi."

David listened to the Rabbi's voice, surprised by the gentleness in it. David had never heard this Rabbi before. He sounded young. Religious leaders occasionally talked around the pool, but mostly in argument about points in the Law. David waited for the Rabbi to pass by, but feet scuffed to a halt in front of him. The bowl trembled in David's hands at the thought that a Rabbi, even a young one, had noticed him.

The rest of the group followed in behind the Rabbi in front of David, blocking the sun. David was encompassed in blackness.

"This beggar was born blind, so who sinned, Rabbi? Him, or his parents?"

"Bah. You haven't been listening, John. You sound like the other Pharisees, more concerned with the law than with the people. What makes you assume he is a sinner?"

"Well, he's blind. Clearly, that is not a blessing, so God must be angry with him for some reason. Or his parents, I guess. It says in Ezekiel-"

David felt a light touch on his knee.

"What is your name, son?" The Rabbi asked him.

David swallowed hard, and his voice coughed out in the form of a whisper.

"David, sir."

"I have a cousin named David." He paused. "Do you want to see, David?"

"Yes, sir. Although, I, um, don't know how... yes, sir."

The ground crinkled in front of him and suddenly he felt a cool paste being applied over his eyes. No matter what happens, David thought, this has been the greatest day of my life.

"You see, John." The Rabbi said. "This man was not born in sin; the purpose of his blindness was to reveal God's glory. We have a tendency to look at people who are different, people outside our purview, and judge them. We do it because we do not understand, because it is safe. When we do that, though, we miss the miracle of who God is and why we are here." The Rabbi paused, and David could feel the breath on his face. "Go and wash in the Pool."

With that, the Rabbi stood and left. David could hear him talking to his disciples as they walked away. Slowly he clambered to his feet. He touched the mud on his eyes. There was so much going through his mind he didn't know what to think. The mud represented his sin. Or something like that. He was sure of it. Somehow, this Rabbi was cleansing him. What a day this would be! He would tell the others at the fire tonight. They would know more about this Rabbi.
He bent over the pool, and slowly washed the mud from his eyes. He took his time, enjoying the way the water trickled over his face. Thank you, God, he thought. I am so sorry for my anger. Thank you for this great day. He lavished the water over his face a final time and wiped away the last fragments of the mud.

As he stepped away from the pool his eyelids fluttered and then the strangest thing happened. He began to see pictures, or what looked like pictures. The sounds were the same, but suddenly his world was bathed in light and colour. He shut his eyes, and opened them again. They were still there! He took two steps and then stumbled to the ground, unable to navigate this new world.

"I can see! I can see!" He said suddenly.

"Yeah, and you can't walk, you drunk!" It was Benjamin, his old friend and fellow beggar.

With careful strides, David walked over, noticed the scars on his friend's hands and back, and stopped short. Benjamin looked up at him.

"Have a seat, David, but don't act so drunk! No one gives to the drunken beggar, and you should know better."

David merely looked at his scarred friend.

"Your scars, Benjamin. I never knew. Do they hurt-"

His friend's eyes widened and he leapt to his feet. "You can see? You can see!"

He hugged David hard and kissed his face. Tears streamed down his face.

"Surely God has been good to us this day!" He hugged David again and the two wept together for what seemed a long time. Others around the pool heard the shouts and soon enough the small community of beggars and sick were in an uproar. For the first time in his life, David was able to see his friends, and it was shocking. Some had lost limbs to diseases. Some had pockmarked faces. Some, like Benjamin, had been beaten so many times in the past their bodies were a mass of scars. And yet, here they were, united in their joy and hope for their friend, who to them had suffered the greatest affliction of them all. Blind from birth. Sinner from birth. Today, that had changed, and David made his way carefully around the pool -- it was still hard to walk and look at things -- exchanging hugs and kisses.

Benjamin's face was still red from the tears by the time David made his way back.

"What do I do?" he asked Benjamin.

"You must show yourself to the priests. You have been redeemed, David." The older man took a deep breath. "We will miss you."

"What do you mean, miss me? I'll still be here."

Benjamin smiled and propped up David's shoulders.

"No you won't. No more begging for you. You can work now, perhaps as soon as this week. You must become a part of the community again."

"But this is my community-"

"No!" Benjamin said fiercely, before softening his voice. "You give us hope by not being here. Your absence will remind us every day that God still cares for us. If you stay, it will be as if it never happened." He paused. "I love you, brother."

David nodded and hugged his friend again. He waved at the others, suddenly sad, and slowly headed towards the Temple.
*****

Mail, Comments, and Complaints

Well, the last article really hit some sensitive spots, so I wanted to address some of the issues that I touched on in No More 'Christian' Organizations, Please. If something I said offended you, please don't be afraid to leave a comment. Most of you choose email, but I am not offended either way. I've said it before and I'll say it again. To think is to win. If you are thinking about your faith, about God, and asking questions about what it means to be human, then I am happy, whether we agree with one another or not. That said, I still have some strong opinions about certain things, not the least of which is the arrogance of so many Christian leaders.

Is the Bible Actually Holy? Or is it God who is Holy?

Humility remains the core of being human, as I read Scripture at least. When we assume we know it all, or that there is only one way to read the Bible, we are, in effect, appropriating divinity. In the Old Testament, we read that the Jews considered Yahweh to be 'Kadosh', which means Holy Other. Completely separate from humanity. Yet somehow we have translated Yahweh into the equivalent of a book that must be read a certain way. That strikes me as both arrogant and not well considered. What did Christians do for the first 1400 years before we had a printing press? The Bible (as we call it now) was read in community, even as Paul's letters were circulated through the early church. At no time would an early Christian consider the Bible to be the "Word"(as taken from John 1:1) and for that "Word" to be equivalent to the Creator. That is a modern and new understanding of Scripture that most scholars reject. This doesn't lessen the reverence for the text. I believe the Bible is theology in literature, the story of God's love for humanity, but it is the STORY of God, not God Himself.

I hear commentators say that God is "bound" by "His Word", and think again to how much we like to make God... god. How we like to put Him in the square box we claim to understand. It is the religious nature of humanity to worship something we understand, but it is the eternal set in our hearts that whispers God is bigger than us. We prefer the rituals and sayings and interpretations that reinforce our belief that we know everything about God, and that it is all in this handy book you can buy at the nearest Barnes & Noble.

That seems pagan to me. And mildly offensive. While the Bible is to reverenced and read and learned from, it should never be considered the replacement for God Himself. Much harder than deciphering "God code" is accepting our humanity and working on our relationship with the One who Created us. Silence and meditation is harder than study. Prayer is more difficult than ritual. And relationship takes more work than our Sunday affirmations.

-Steve

Note: I'll be addressing another comment from my mailbox later this week. Don't be afraid to comment here! Much love...

Why Have Christians Abandoned Faith?

Faith is belief in absolutes. Not absolute belief.

The discussion was good natured, but also predictable. At first it was simply a theological question about the "rewards for the righteous in the Old Testament", but as it progressed it became more than that. As more people entered the discussion I saw again and again this idea of what a Christian "gets" for their "righteousness." After a while I logged off and stepped out of the debate.

It always strikes me how people who claim to be studying the Bible become puzzled and then upset when you raise questions for which they have no answers. Or when the answers they give are recycled from a Bible study they took ten years ago and don't make sense. Or worse, when the answers are part of the church creed, and therefore accepted because, well, they're part of the creed. There is this deep sense within much of the church that if you don't know the answer, you aren't "studying" enough. That to be a Christian is to be able to defend what you believe in rational form. The irony is that too often the church settles for the appearance of logic and reason, producing sound bites on talk shows as if the world must see how reasonable Christianity actually is, without considering the essence of faith. And in so doing, they preach a Wal-mart Christianity that is more interested in rewards than service. More interested in proof than questions. And more interested in assurances than doubt. In the end, what we have done is to create a religion that no longer needs faith. Here in the West, Christians have abandoned faith, and it's time to bring it back.

The definition of faith is this: belief that is not based on proof, and in Scripture we find this definition: belief in things unseen. In other words, faith is an assumption, a hopeful one perhaps, but an assumption nonetheless about what will happen or what has happened. Through the centuries, we have heard the expression "blind faith", implying that someone "believes without true understanding, perception, or discrimination."

This is a ridiculous statement, because blind faith is impossible. Often it is addressed towards people who follow others without questions. This has nothing to do with faith, blind or otherwise, and everything to do with ignorance and laziness and selfishness. It is an offense to the very idea of faith that this expression exists. And yet somehow, this expression actually fits into far too many descriptions of today's Christians simply because they are either afraid or unwilling to examine what they actually believe.

The saddest part is that so many of my fellow Christians are sincere, loving people, who have bought into the lie that faith must be blind or it is not faith at all.

Which begs the question that haunts me as I enter discussion after discussion with others in the church...

Why have Christians abandoned faith? Why have so many churchgoers swallowed the lie that what they believe must absolutely be true, or it is not Truth?

Think of the examples from our everyday life. It is hard to trust someone who is unwilling to concede that they may possibly be wrong, isn't it? So why then, do we allow our pastors and leaders in the church speak as though they are not only the mouthpiece of God, but God Himself? It is a hard thing, its true, but if one speaks with absolute surety of their views, we know two things. First, they are wrong, because no one is absolutely right about everything. And secondly, if they did know everything, it would be folly for us not to worship them, because, in essence, they are claiming to be God.

Ignorance is an easy tool, especially in a commoditized church that too often seems more interested in market share than people. Especially at the top of the food chain. It isn't that church leaders are not sincere; so much as, they believe that ignorance is okay among those who follow them. This is not unusual. For example, as much as we like to claim that our democracies are about equality, there is little real evidence of that. The rich rule the country. The rich countries rule the poor ones. It has always been such and I imagine it will always be. However, there is a distinct odour to that kind of thinking when it invades the church, this idea that "we know better than you do."

It also reveals something else at work in our belief patterns, the psychological dependence on these "emotional pillars." What would you say if I told you that the Bible contained some errors? How would your faith respond if I told you that the "Word of God" as John refers to in John 1:1 is not the Bible? (The Greek word is 'logos' not 'graphe' or 'writings', which only occur a couple of times. John was referring to the "ultimate good", a Greek philosophy his readers would understand, ala; Jesus was the 'ultimate good.') The question is important, because in too many of today's Protestants, there is a tendency to idolize Scripture, and instead of broadening our faith, we narrow it down and limit it to a single expression.

I understand much of this, coming from my own background as a Pentecostal pastor, but upon closer examination, it makes no sense. How can we, as Christians, be dogmatic about a story about a virgin birth and people raised from the dead?! Of course it takes faith! Big, open faith that says we accept this but understand that human error and mistakes also happen. How can we become so nasty about doctrinal differences when we believe the Son of God was born as a carpenter, announced by angels, performed many miracles, and had about 120 followers when he died?! Whatever causes us to believe it, it certainly isn't rationalism. And if that is the case, perhaps we need to scale back our assurances and adopt an attitude of humble and open faith. One that accepts we might be wrong. It doesn't mean we need to scale back our convictions, just the arrogance.

The idea of grace is that God moved first, so we have no claim to make for our belief systems. If that is what we believe, than shouldn't we be a bit more open towards people who do not agree with us? If God moved for us, isn't it His job to move for them?

At some point, we need to stop acting as if we earned our way into Christianity, and realize that faith is not about defending God, but loving others. Perhaps then, we will have better things to discuss than how many rewards we get because of our "righteousness."

-Steve

The Necessity of Insecurity

October 2007

"That's stupid. Totally wrong. The Bible is either completely true or it isn't." Jack said.

"What do you mean by 'completely true'?" I said. "That's an impossible statement to either attack or defend."

"C'mon, Steve, you know exactly what I mean."

I nodded. I did know what he meant. I just didn't agree with him.

A few of us had broken off and were lingering in the hallway just to the left of our classroom. We'd just finished the first half of our Biblical Interpretation course and most of us had grabbed a coffee to help us get through the second half. Coming to Toronto to work on my Masters in Divinity had offered a few surprises, not the least of which was the absolute certainty of so many of my fellow students. Partly due to age -- when I was twenty-five I actually did know everything -- and partly by indoctrination, it was difficult for many of them when our professors challenged our convictions. From my perspective, sitting and standing in the small circles outside the classrooms and in the cafeteria and library, regurgitation and rejection seemed the order of the day. Get the grade, reject the idea, and get out. This wasn't true of all my classmates, of course, but in my mind, too many of them thought the professors were out of line for even questioning the traditional belief patterns.

"I mean, c'mon, how are we supposed to convince people that Jesus matters if we can't agree on the basics?" Jack said, continuing his rant.

I shook my head and slid back into the classroom. I still remembered when I'd first come into the church and my time in the ministry as an enthusiastic zealot at twenty-one, when the world had seemed so easy. So... black and white. After fifteen years of brokenness and disappointments and successes, watching my worldview change seemingly every year, there was little to say to my classmate. He'd have to live it to understand it. I had.

One of the important things I'd learned through the years however, something that had really surprised me, was that my attitude had little to do with religion. This pattern of absoluteness carried into every area of my life, from my idea of who should be playing right field for the Blue Jays to the proper way to worship to the best way to prepare roast beef. In many ways, life was simpler then. I didn't need to worry about nuance or insecurity. Just believe, right? It wasn't that my mind couldn't be swayed by good argument, because it was possible to convince me of something else. What I couldn't do, however, was hold two ideas about the same issue in different hands.

And that had nothing to do with my belief in God, and everything to do with what I believed about being human.

****

April, 2009

I stood on the stoop outside my house, listening to the birds chatter and sing across the street. Spring was here. Another year, and more changes would soon follow. In two short months, I would be leaving my home for the past two years to be married. I thought about all the times on the stoop with my housemates, how we had laughed and cried together, sharing our lives in ways I would never have thought possible when I had arrived. Of all my housemates the past two years, only one had been born in Canada, and yet the bonds of friendship formed in that time could only be described as familial. We shared different beliefs about God, about life, and the "right way" to do things. We never talked about what it meant to be human, but it was the basis of our discussions, because in discussing the "other" things, we were really talking about our humanity.

Most people of faith don't like to hear the idea that understanding your humanity is more important than understanding God. But without the acknowledgement of our own limitations, how can we point to God without assuming a portion of divinity? How can we love and empathize with people around us if we do not understand that we all start at the same point? The only way to share and love and reflect the love the Bible talks about is through our willingness to expose our own insecurities, our own weaknesses, our own unsurety. Humanity is conjoined in her weakness, not in her strength, and in a society that promotes a (misunderstood) Darwinian ideal of the survival of the fittest, it is no wonder that we find community so hard. That we are so lonely and discouraged. Our beliefs about what makes us human are rarely questioned, and yet they are the bedrock from which our lives spring.

A black squirrel hopped onto my neighbour's porch, staring at me with a twitching face as if deciding whether he should run. I smiled and remained still, waiting as he slowly worked his way down the steps and into my neighbour's yard. We all love strong opinions, don't we? I enjoy listening to Simon on American Idol because of the forcefulness of his opinion. Conversely, listening to Paula's barely comprehensible pap ("I love you all!"), is boring. However, there is a great difference between the exchange of ideas and the interpretation of humanity, which is the biggest danger of any form of punditry. It seems as if we're constantly in search of the "perfect" idea, and that there is only one ultimate idea for everything. This is impossible, of course, unless we are God. To me, the greatest sign of a maturing human is their ability to hold different views on the same topic by remembering who they are, and to do so by remembering that they are human too.

I have long decried the idea of strict evangelicalism. I don't like it, because for me, the idea of a strict community is suffocating. There are those, however, who have grown up without boundaries, who see the very same things I see and regard them as a sign of love and concern. It would be unfair -- inhuman -- for me to castigate them for their experience, wouldn't it? To say that there is only one way to "do church."

It is this idea of nuance that so attracts me to Jesus. Not the Jesus most of us grew up with, the one with black and white ideas about tattoos and earrings and wine, but the one who consistently challenged people by their own ideas about humanity. Who is your neighbour? Why do you ignore that race? Who of you has sinned? This is what Jesus addressed, and they reveal so much more than the doctrines we spend too much time debating. Are not these the basics that truly matter? Without unsurety, however, we would never look for answers. Without weakness, we would have no need to share our lives. Without vulnerability, we would have no idea how to be compassionate.

It is because of our weakened humanity that we search for anything at all, and in so doing, it is only then can we find the One who has always loved us, and who asks us to share that love.

Not because we're right.

But because we're human.

-Steve