Incarnation Place Blog

“May there be kindness in your gaze when you look within….  May your compassion reach out to the ones we never hear from.”

John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us, p. 44-5

Pulsating at the core of every human being is the longing for love — to love and be loved. To perceive this core, and to strive to relieve the suffering that hinders love, is the purpose of human life. The purpose of religion is to draw forth this essential core, to shape, mold, and channel human energy in the service of Love. When this happens the dignity of humankind is revealed.

It is a lofty goal that Christianity has often failed to live up to, as a growing number of books, blogs, and movies unveil. These failures leave deep pain embedded in the institutional psyche of Christianity. It is pain that drains the energy and life out of faith and quietly grows like a cancer. Often today’s churchgoers are haunted by thoughts like: “Why am I sitting here? The service no longer has any meaning…” or “The priest says that I’m welcome but it’s not true…” or “So much talk about death, but there’s no room to mourn, not really.” Many conclude: “I believe in God, but I can’t go to church anymore.” They walk away silently, leaving hundreds of once-filled parishes empty.

This is the pain of separation — from God, from ourselves and one another. Ironically, Christianity has fostered this sense of separation in portraying a God who remains in a distant place, separate from His creation; and a view of human beings as being inherently flawed, forgivable only through an act of grace. Life is viewed as a journey of struggle which ends in physical death — at which point the human being is released into heaven, another dimension separate from “this world”, where suffering is absent. While theologians would argue that this characterization of Christianity is not theologically sound, such theological arguments ignore that this is the experience of many sitting in the pews.

This sense of separation has deep roots in Christian theology and doctrine. The birth of Pentecostal Church (known as the “Black Church”) in the 19th century was one attempt to bridge the gap between self and the “otherness” of God and neighbor. For the first time since the Enlightenment, Pentecostal services encouraged Christian expression of faith that included the depth of human joy as well as the pain of grief, rage and fear. Human emotion was poured out in “gospel hymns”, like “Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child”, bringing into modern consciousness the energy of the Psalms.

Pentecostalism brought tremendous life and energy into Christian worship by opening the door of human passion and emotion, and sharing those depths with God. This was a major turning point in the evolution Christianity and has inspired many other styles of worship, including “Charismatic” and other forms that integrate upbeat music and encourage emotional expression.

But while Pentecostalism and the movements that continue to evolve from it bring forward human passion, the sense of God as distant and separate from human beings remains firmly in place. This sense of separation ripples through most forms of Roman Catholic, Protestant, and non-denominational worship services. Cloaked in the language of Original Sin, there is a deep belief in the “essential badness” of the human being — that you and I are, by nature, not good enough. This is a perspective that traps Christians in a shame-based view of themselves, others, and the nature of humanity. It leads to a life rooted in fear and desperation, and keeps God and others distant and unreachable. The cycle leaves many Christians feeling alone and ashamed.

Christian teaching is marked by a “we/they” perspective. The “other” may be practitioners of other religions, or other denominations within Christianity, including “non-denominational” groups. The “other” may be based on sexual identity, gender, geography, musical or liturgical preference, or a variety of ways to name “other-ness”. Christians are so accustomed to living in this “we/they” perspective that it is hard to imagine another. If we dare to scratch the surface of the “we/they” perspective, we find many who crave intimacy with themselves and others, and with God, and who struggle to find that intimacy in the Church.

Christians have lost touch with the simple truth that human beings matter. We matter because each person, Christian or not, is a magnificent creation of God. We matter because we are made of the divine perfection that ripples through all space and time, known and unknown, in mysteries revealed and unrevealed. God is “in charge”, not as a punishing tyrant but as the spiritual reality who weaves creation out of love. We are living breathing molecules of this creation, not separate from it, not separate from one another. We forget how much we matter. Maybe we never knew. Or maybe we feel so lost in shame that we doubt our very right to matter.

If religion can make a positive difference, and I believe it can, it must show us how to live the reality of mattering. Religion can only make a positive difference if it demonstrates how to integrate the mystical, theological, and the practical into daily human life. Christians have a long history of reaching out to those in need, establishing schools, hospitals, orphanages, and helping those who are hungry and homeless. This is wonderful work. But Christianity has lost touch with a healthy sense of self and is unable to appreciate that “you” and “I” are two sides of an essential unity.

Christianity, for all its flaws, holds essential truths. The story is not over. Jesus continually points to the Greater Reality, called “kingdom”. “Kingdom reality” requires that we shift our perspective. This is the reality of interconnection, in which all aspects of Life belong to an unbroken web. We shift from “I” to “we”. Jesus encourages his disciples to trust, let go of fear and worry, to love neighbor as self. Spirit is not the possession of the Church but the fabric of existence. When we open to the experience of this Greater Reality, we touch Life in a new way, pulsating in every moment. We awaken to the essential goodness of human beings and of Life itself. 

Greetings fellow travelers! Here is the first of a three part reflection on my journey with St. Augustine and his best known work, The Confessions. May my journey help you claim yours. Feel free to post your reactions.

JOURNEY WITH AUGUSTINE (PART 1)

Dad loved life, martinis, ideas, and books.  One of his favorite writers was St. Augustine, whose writings held a prominent place on our massive bookshelves.  Dad often quoted Augustine’s heartfelt prayer, “Lord, give me chastity and continence, but not just yet.” (Book VIII. vii. (17))

The quote is from Augustine’s spiritual autobiography and best-known work, The Confessions.  In that book, Augustine plunges into his inner being in a desperate search for honesty with himself and with God.  He reviews his life and reveals an explosive turmoil of passion, anxiety, restlessness, faith, and doubt, all held together by an unquenchable thirst for God.  I was afraid of that book, afraid that I wouldn’t understand it, or maybe that I would.  I was afraid it might force me to admit the force of my own inner turmoil.  Mostly, I was afraid of disappointing Dad.

It came as a big surprise that not everyone held Augustine in such high esteem.  In four years at seminary, I discovered that Augustine is the guy everyone loves to hate, whether or not they read any of his books!  Few seminary students had the interest or patience to deal with Augustine — his dark, brooding obsessiveness can be frustrating, repetitive, and downright boring.  Who cares about his doubts, anxieties, and endless questioning of himself, God, and the Universe? It’s easier to ignore him, or hate him.  Most people do.

There are exceptions. I remember one professor who drew our attention to Augustine’s power to name the peculiar inner conflicts that if we’re honest we all suffer: “In adversities I desire prosperity, in prosperous times I fear adversities. Between these two is there a middle ground where human life is not a trial?” (Book  X. xxviii. (9))  I get it! No matter how much success, fame, or whatever else I reach for, it’s never enough —  there’s always something more, some new desire to propel me into a frantic search for happiness.

It took years before I trusted myself enough to read The Confessions, but Dad’s love for Augustine was infectious, and eventually I dared to walk through the pages of that hallowed book.  When I did, I found a “companion on the inner way” (to borrow a Morton Kelsey title).

Augustine is on fire with love for God and God’s creation.  He aches to understand God, to know and surrender to God, while at the same time groping with the inner forces that keep him from God. As he reviews his life, Augustine rides waves of joy and sorrow, exaltation and despair.  What makes Augustine’s journey so compelling is that he directly confronts the powerful oppositional forces that exist within him: doubt existing alongside deep faith; fear and trust; arrogance and humility.  He discovers again and again what St. Paul observed centuries before: “I do the very thing I do not want to do.   (Romans 7:15)

In his groping, Augustine’s exploration of himself invites me to see what I do not want to face in myself: my doubts and anxieties, resistance and rage; my passion, unfulfilled longing, and endless questioning of myself, God, and the Universe.  Above all, Augustine helps me face my fears — a thousand different forms of fear that at the end of my life I will face God without having fully faced myself.

Augustine deals head-on with the paradox of human embodiment that has plagued Christianity from the start: if all that God created is good, if human beings are supremely good, why are there forces within us that propel human beings to act in ways that are destructive, uncontrollable and, seemingly, contrary to God’s intentions for humanity? How can that be? What are we to do with ourselves?

Augustine’s response was what came to be known as the doctrine of original sin.  Though the concept of original sin had appeared earlier, Augustine was the first to write extensively about it. Original sin was Augustine’s way of naming this aspect of humanity, reflected in the story of Adam and Eve, that leads human beings to turn away from God; to think and act in ways that are harmful to self and others and lead to suffering. But his point — the point of the doctrine of original sin — is to name human frailty, not to condemn humanity, nor contradict the message of Genesis that says what God created is good, very good indeed. (Genesis 1.31)

Augustine’s brutal honesty reflects a faith that trusts God absolutely; a faith in the perfection of God’s creation, including his creation of me. This is faith that who I am — including every drop of my restless, searching, grasping mind, and all OF my anxieties, resentments, and mistakes — is God’s raw material.  This is faith that God loves me, not when I get cleaned up and perfected, but just as I am, right here, right now. This is faith that says: Breathe, you are alive.  You are a perfect creation not in spite of your humanity, but because of it.

“Let us explore together the secret of a deeper devotion, a more subterranean sanctuary of the soul, where the Light Within never fades, but burns, a perpetual Flame, where the wells of living water of divine revelation rise up continuously, day by day and hour by hour, steady and transfiguring.” (Thomas Kelly, Quaker theologian; from his book “The Light Within”, page 31)

Do these words resonate? Post a comment.

We are made in the image of God.  My body and yours are sacred creations.  I forget that alot.  But I can remember, again and again, as if for the first time.  When I remember, I claim the privilege of being human.

J. Philip Newell (Echo of the Soul: The Sacredness of the Human Body) offers a lovely image of our bodies like royal garments woven with gold. “If the golden thread were to be ripped out of the clothing the whole garment would unravel. So it is with the image of God woven into the mystery of our being. If somehow it were to be extracted we would cease to exist.”

Do you believe that your body is sacred?  Can you “act as if” this were true,  just for today?  What difference does this one belief make?

Let me know what you think.

From the Book of Common Prayer, Service of Evening Prayer:

“Lord Jesus, stay with us, for evening is at hand and the day is past; be our companion in the way, kindle our hearts, and awaken hope….”

Do you want God (however you know God) to stay with you?  Do you trust God enough to stay?  Why or why not?

Psalm 139: 1-3

O LORD, you have searched me and known me!
You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
you discern my thoughts from afar.
You search out my path and my lying down
and are acquainted with all my ways.

I love these words. They teach me that I am not alone. They show me that I am seen, that I am loved just as I am. They heal my desire to be someone else, somewhere else. Now what?

Do you know that you are not alone? Do you long to be seen, known, loved just as you are? What if you are? What holds you back from embracing the fullness of life?

Psalm 8: 3-5

When I consider your heavens,
the work of your fingers, 

the moon and the stars, 

which you have set in place,
what is mankind that you are mindful of them,
human beings that you care for them?

I am in awe of Mother Earth — Divine Presence overflowing from Her highest heavens to deepest seas.  And here we are, human beings – perfect in our creation, with power to choose how we shall live.

How will we use our creation today? How will we treat ourselves and others? May we remember of Whom we are made, to Whom we belong.

“At the beginning of each day,

after we open our eyes to receive

the light of that day,

As we listen to the voices and sounds

that surround us,

We must resolve to treat each hour

as the rarest of gifts…”

Always We Begin Again by John McQuiston II