If you need a 7 minute music respite from religion, I suggest songs of Susan Werner.  Here is a 7 min medley, including “Lost My Religion,” “Did Trouble Me,” “(Why Is Your) Heaven so Small,” and “Help Somebody” from her album “The Gospel Truth.”  Can you identify?  Or not?

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David Hayward is an artist trapped in a pastor’s body, stripping to the essential (http://www.nakedpastor.com/). Three of his recent cartoons here. How do you like them?

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Every week I post 333 word summary or reflection about what my community has learned last Sabbath. We would love to continue learning, so please leave a comment, ask a question, or just say hello. Thanks!

There is a mystery in the center of your religion. What is its name? Around what treasure does your community gather? What do your wise elders talk about? What sustains the imagination of your people?

We Christians sit around a table, we place bread and wine on it, and then we bless them. These elements arrive to us from the earth, through a long chain of labor, served by people who care for us. Once blessed, they become the body and the blood of God. And then we eat our mystery.

Surprisingly, this is not bizarre to us.

These elements are an icon in which we see our very own lives.

We maintain that the fusion of joy and suffering in our experience has been made possible by the fusion of joy and suffering in God. To us, God is not apart. Not some day, not some other place.

God’s broken body and our broken body are one. Our blood spills together. Our tears mingle together. Our laughter feeds of God’s laughter and God’s laughter feeds of ours.

Jesus happened to us. And now we live more deeply.

Without eating this bread and drinking this wine, we find ourselves living half-heartedly. We shelter ourselves from suffering of our human family, animal world, and the earth. We see our isolation as our good fortune. We expect—nay, demand—joy without pain, growth without strife, enjoyment without regret, ecstasy without agony, community without conflict. That’s why we turn to the bread and wine that is Jesus. The passion (a.k.a. joy) of his life and the passion (a.k.a. suffering) on his cross were one.

Around our table, we reset our lives to what is real. We don’t seek happiness, we don’t seek sadness, we seek reality. Full life.

We do talk and write about our mystery. But the words are not enough. We Christians, eat our mystery. One focused moment when all our senses, our whole being, and our entire community ventures into the world as it is.

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Perhaps every generation should be judged by what kind of world it leaves for the next—including its theological legacy. To describe what is at stake, I think of my two daughters, twelve- and fourteen- year-olds, Leta and Ena. The future is theirs. The following dialogue began in some specific conversations I had with them, which I have expanded into a conversation between the Present and the Future of our beloved religion of Christianity (in my case, Evangelical, which means One Bringing the Good News):

Daughter (Future): Dad, does Christianity exclude people?

Father (Present): Every religion excludes people. But the gospel is different from all religion. It is the antidote to exclusion. It tells us that we are accepted by God through Jesus who was excluded for us and not because we are better than anyone. There is no room for arrogance.

Daughter: Dad, you just excluded other religions by saying they are not inclusive like ours. Maybe they have their own way of addressing human life, their own way of being one with one another and with God. Have you ever taken the time to find out what it means to live within these other faiths?

Father: No, I never had to do that. But I think your generation will have to. And when you do I’m confident you will find the gospel to be better news than any of these religions.

Daughter: How is Good News good for those who have never heard? In school, we’ve been learning about “control groups” in experiments. I was thinking, are people who have never heard about Jesus’ “Christianity’s control group,” existing to show the others how off the mark and futile they are?

Father: Our knowledge of God is always limited. Faith includes mystery, something we accept even though we don’t understand. We just know that God loves every person and we are called to preach the gospel to everyone.

Daughter: What about people who have been born in a far away place, where no one preaches the gospel, or what if our preaching sucks? Or what if they have very bad experiences with Christians or have very good reasons to reject Christianity? Is their role in history to be a human sacrifice for the glory of Jesus? Were these people actually created to …

Father: To die? My dear, God would never do such a thing, He would never create people to be condemned and rejected.

Daughter: Apparently, your God does. I connect the dots. According to the Christianity you have shared with me, God is either not creative, not powerful, or not interested in revealing himself to everyone. He is sort of a god. Just for us.

Father:  No, God gives common grace to everyone. Everything true, beautiful, and loving in the world is from God.

Daughter: That just means God gives some people enough revelation to be judged, but not enough revelation to be saved, sort of like keeping them alive for the sake of the spectacle of showing how great Jesus Christ is.

Father:  No, no, no. God is love.

Daughter: That’s a mystery, huh?

Father: Yes, it is, a mystery.

Daughter: It’s a bad mystery.

Father: How can a mystery be good or bad?

Daughter: This mystery is bad because it casts people with other worldviews as expendable. As objects. Objects to love and evangelize, but still objects. There is no reciprocity here. I am in charge of the things of God and they have no good news to share with me. They depend on me, but I don’t depend on them. An idea of God who loves us with love that excludes everyone else is not inviting to me. Is receiving such love desirable? Would such a God be worth worshipping? What would distinguish such a God from non-gods?

Father: I just know that God is love.

Daughter: Dad, you’re not listening to me! You are keep saying that God is love. For whom? I’m not talking about how God loves you and yours. I am asking you a question. How is Good News any good for them?

Father: Oh, dear … Why are you saying “your God”?  Aren’t you a … a Christian?

Daughter: I don’t know anymore. I am weighing it right now. I don’t want to be a part of a religion that hogs God and argues for a vacuum of grace in the rest of the world. If Christianity precludes me from finding God in my friends, then I want to be with them. I know that your generation doesn’t want to hear this, but you have to hear it Dad. For us, accepting this version of Christianity seems more and more like a moral step backwards.

Father: Well … I don’t know what to say.

Daughter: I want to be a Christian, I really do, but your generation has left us with Good News that is pretty bad. Not only for those “who have never heard,” but for those of us who have heard it a thousand times.  We don’t want to belong to a group that aspires to be in charge of God. Humanity does not have to be made in our image in order to be in God’s image. Dad, I hope you understand, I would rather be excluded like Jesus than exclude for the sake of Jesus.  … Dad, you seem sad. I am sorry I have disappointed you.

Father: No, no, you haven’t. You have just opened a new door for me. But I have to grieve first.

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~ by guest writer Lauren Bishop-Weidner who says: I am essentially a kept woman who loves words, though I do have a day job teaching writing.  I live with my family near Muncie, Indiana, the birthplace of Ball canning jars and home to Ball State University.  I don’t have some big important Truth to share, just little tidbits and nuggets and foibles.  At its best, I like to think my writing is grace-filled, like the U2 line from their song by that name:  “She carries a pearl, in perfect condition / What once was hurt, what once was friction.”  I hope you’ll find pearls and not pebbles in my writing. Website: www.laurenbishopweidner.com

"The Little Madonna" by Roberto Feruzzi (year 1854)

Roberto Ferruzzi’s painting known as the Madonna of the Streets has an appealing grit to it.  This Mary is not the beatific, blue-robe-clad, halo-wearing, ageless beauty we so often see in paintings.  Ferruzzi portrays a very young, slightly defiant, earthy girl—a teen mother.  You might see her at the mall, or on the subway, with that same edge of desperation, twinge of rebellion, core of strength.  She and the little one will carry on.

That is the Mary I believe in.  She makes sense to me—a woman, a girl really, at the beginning.  Strip away the rose-colored nostalgia, the cute kids in homemade Nativity pageants, the legends, and think about the biblical account (Matthew 1:18-19; Luke 1:28-33).  The poor girl has a bad dream, where a big scary guy she doesn’t know comes in and tells her she’s going to have a baby.  That’s the Blessed Announcement?  “Hey Mary, you’re going to wake up pregnant.  God has chosen you—you’re going to be famous!  Aren’t you lucky?”  Say what?  I mean, no offense, Mr. Angel, the wings are really cool, but a baby?

Mary’s response, though, is one of grace:  “My soul magnifies the Lord.”  This young girl, knowing that her pregnancy could get her stoned to death, knowing that at the very least it will cause a scandal and embarrass her family, knowing that her fiancé would be within his rights to break the engagement—knowing the consequences, Mary says yes.

This is a woman who can do.  Shortly after her rather unorthodox marriage, Mary rides a donkey to Bethlehem.  Have you ever ridden a donkey?  I haven’t, but I’ve ridden a lot of horses.  The smaller they are, the bumpier they are, and a donkey is the size of a pony.  Mary is pregnant, and far along.  Suffice it to say, ouch.

One of my husband’s favorite jokes involves the line, “And Mary rode Joseph’s ass all the way to Bethlehem.”  Yeah.  I’ll bet she did.  Once at their destination, there’s no place to stay, so she ends up in a barn, with critters and hay and dirt.  Joseph is a good guy, too, worthy of more time than I’m giving him.  He is, after all, the one who cons the innkeeper into letting them stay in the barn, which certainly beats yet another night camping out in the open.  And he is loyal to Mary, too, standing up to the gossip, holding her hand through the dark night, despite the nagging questions that surely plague him.

Mary bears Jesus, with the support of Joseph and the God who has sustained her.  He is born in the same way you and I were.  It is messy, bloody, scary.  And it is a miracle.

The story of the virgin birth is specifically Christian, but Mary’s appeal is far broader.  Mary says yes.  In a world where she was oppressed for her ethnic background as well as her gender, a world where she could be executed for fornication and divorced for far lesser crimes—in this world, Mary says yes.

Courage, strength, fortitude, confidence .  And grace.  We can look to that model of womanhood.

A tear
on the edge
of forgiveness
gleams in her eye
And I am pierced by
rays of light
invisible*

*(Tom Ewing, from “Lux Invisibile”, used by permission)

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ABOUT THE CONTEST

Patheos invites you to submit a video entry about your faith. Videos must be 30 seconds to 5 minutes long and fall into one of these three categories:
“Why I Am A _______ ” (Christian, Jew, Muslim, Atheist, etc.)
“How I Live My Faith On Campus”
“Rituals & Practices Of My Faith.” [click to continue …]

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Recently, Bill Dahl, his friends, and readers of Porpoise Diving Life have celebrated 4-year anniversary. Following is the question that he posed to me followed by my response titled “Does Biblical Worldview Emerge? A Look Ahead.” I would love to hear your thoughts. Thank for stopping by and leaving a comment.

The Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life recently came out with a remarkable observation in a recent study they conducted about faith in America. The study basically pointed out: “The religious beliefs and practices of Americans do not fit neatly into conventional categories.” In George Barna’s recent book, The Seven Faith Tribes,  The Barna Group research reveals that; “Every person we have interviewed on these matters has held a hybrid worldview — that is, a perspective that combines pieces of two or more worldviews into something that makes sense to that person.”  Harvey Cox wrote: “We stand on the beautiful threshold of a new chapter in the Christian story – Christians on five continents are shaking off the residues of the second phase (the Age of Belief) and negotiating a bumpy transition into a fresh era for which a name has not yet been coined. I would like to call it the Age of the Spirit.”  — In your opinion, what is referred to as the “state of the biblical worldview?”

“Does Biblical Worldview Emerge? A Look Ahead.” (by Samir Selmanovic)

Millennia ago when Shamanism was the prevalent religion in the world, the cushiest job could have been the Shaman. Imagine having the responsibility to interpret reality for your people, blaming the spirit world (or your personal enemies) when things go bad and taking the credit when things go well. In his recent book The Evolution of God, Robert Wright makes a reference to a particular tribe whose Shaman could have all the food he wanted, all the land he wanted, and all the women he wanted, as long as he could make any solar or lunar eclipse eventually go away! He delivered a stellar job performance. Unlike those who had to deal with managing the diseases, enemies and weather. As strange as this sounds to our modern ears, Shamanism actually helped people develop a working relationship with the mystery of human experience, and people not only survived, but thrived. Shamans would occasionally get out of hand with their pronouncements, but eventually people would make course corrections by instituting new contextual rules and systems of order. Wright describes a Shaman prone to declare wars with neighboring tribes. Eventually the tribe required him to take a piece of wood, make a hole in his penis and run a rope through it before declaring a new war. A period of peace ensued. However painfully, religion does change.

[click to continue …]

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(I adopted this post from myself, www.faithhousemanhattan.org)

On the days like today, I doubt. I wonder if I should quit.

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Jesus interrupted my life saying, “Follow me.”

I said, “Why would I? And who are you? And follow you where?”

He said, “I have a pearl.”

I said, “What does it cost?”

He said, “Everything.”

I said, “That’s a lot to ask, you know. I have this one and only life. It is short and fragile. I have to use it wisely.”

He said, “Follow me, and you might be happy—or you might not. Follow me, and you might be empowered—or you might not. Follow me, and you might have more friends—or you might not. Follow me, and you might have the answers—or you might not. Follow me, and you might be better off—or you might not. If you follow me, you may be worse off in every way you measure life. Follow me nevertheless. Because I have an offer that is worth giving up everything you have: You will learn to love well.”

I said, “I will learn to love well?”

He said, “You will learn to love well.”

Jesus then sent me into my short, fragile, one and only life, carrying this deceptively simple string of words with me. It has taken time for the beauty of this offer to break into my being. I’ve taken a look at it from every angle, I’ve compared it with any other offer in life, with any other treasure, with any other destination. Can anything in this world, or the next, possibly compare?

Let’s explore. Thank you for stopping by and sharing.

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