Americans are celebrating Independence Day, the 4th of July, this weekend. Even for people who consider themselves to be anti-American, it was one of those turning points in history that had not just a local effect but a worldwide one. July 4, 1776 is the day Americans celebrate that turning point.
However, even turning points are not just one point in time and are not just one event but the confluence of many events, decisions, and 'accidents' over the course of years. Americans also would be wrong to think of independence as an event. That's the day when the declaration was officially considered to be made, but it was the confluence of a long period of debate and struggle and even for the declaration, the last signature was not placed on the parchment until August. Even more, it was only a declaration. It was only words on paper. Obviously the British government didn't agree, but actually, even a third of the American colonists didn't agree, or at least didn't support it. It took many years to make it a reality and though the independence is complete, the creation of the nation continued and, some might say, is still in process today.
But, back to the independence, it was only after years of war that this was achieved, but even then, the meaning of that was not at all clear. It's important to remember that before that, there had been just a collection of colonies in the Americas. These colonies were under the sovereign crown of Britain and governed ultimately by Britain, but they answered to Britain independently, each under separate governance. They had differing institutions and laws and had hugely different personalities. The colonies were started for vastly different reasons and had already existed for more than a century. There was no strong loyalty to each other. They had vastly different economies. Some were even relatively multicultural. Don't forget that New York was originally New Amsterdam. The main thing that brought them together was intense dissatisfaction with King George III and the British Parliament.
So when the independence was won 7 years later, that didn't mean that there was a "United States." It wasn't one nation. It was a collection of 13 nations (that's what the word 'state' normally means). The the first tendency was to go back to something familiar and similar to the old order. The 13 colonies were now independent from Britain and had become states, but there was a strong pull towards independence from each other as well. They feared a strong central government would just be moving Parliament from London to a place closer to home.
They did recognize the need for some cooperation to keep their independence, but they wanted that cooperation to be minimal. That's why they chose to be a confederation (and in some ways, the civil war was an attempt to return to that, though the drive behind that was the desire to preserve the system of slavery). And, there was also the issue of the other lands to the west and extending to the Mississippi River that they had won from Britain that were not a part of any colony. Beyond a few roving trappers and some tiny settlements, the residents of these lands were the Native Americans, but the peace agreement with Britain turned this area over to these new United States. Ironically, part of what kept the 13 states together was that they had inherited an empire.
But, there was an inherent distrust in strong government and even some who espoused anarchist principles, seeing government as a temporary measure that would potentially get weaker and weaker as mankind improved. That's much of the basis for the great prominence of individualism in the US. There has always been a tension between the government and the individual which has been a part of the American psyche from the beginning. By the end of the decade, there was finally a recognition of the need for more than a confederation and the current Constitution was drawn up.
With that constitution there was finally a United States that was now one nation, but it originally wasn't all 13 states. Two States didn't join util a year later. There had been a lot of fighting over what that constitution should be, but in the end, they recognized the need for a strong central government but held in check by strong individual rights, which was the focus of the first ten amendments (which we call the Bill of Rights) that were accepted in 1791.
What resulted was a republic, not a pure democracy. There was no concept of one person one vote, or even one man one vote. And, even that was "rigged" to avoid a winner take all situation. There were two houses of Congress, one with proportional representation (the House of Representatives), but which was, in some ways, the lesser house. The other was meant to make sure that the interest of the smaller states would not be overrun, giving each state two votes, no matter the size of the state and that was the house that in essence had more power (the Senate) with a name that takes one back to the Roman Senate and the sense of a ruling elite.
The founding fathers were very afraid of anything that put too much power in one person or even in one institution. There was a complicated system of checks and balances that were designed to make sure that no person or institution would have too much power. That's what makes our government so inefficient and slow. It also makes it much more conservative (not politically, but in the sense that makes change harder to accomplish).
But, they were also tremendously afraid of giving too much power to the masses. They saw the masses, especially the uneducated, as to easy to manipulate and unable to make good decisions. That's something that we've gradually, but fundamentally, moved away from.
There are two things that I believe have made this system work so well for so long and both are deeply rooted in Christianity, but I will be dealing with those later. For now, it's time to celebrate the nation that has had such a huge impact on the world in so many ways.
Happy 4th.
Sunday, July 5, 2015
Sunday, June 21, 2015
We Have No Room For Hate
As I was finishing my last post, I began to hear the news about the Charleston Church shooting. As more news came out, there was a great sense of sadness. It was the modern equivalent to murder at the altar. How could someone kill people in a church?
But, that has happened before. I can think of several reports of people walking into a church and starting shooting. And, though murder is the same whether in a church or a movie theater, there's something symbolic about killing people in church.
To find later that Dylann Roof had sat through an hour of the Bible study before standing up and opening fire. That makes the crime even more personal. He had, to some extent, gotten to know his victims. They were not just nameless faces. And, they got to know him. They welcomed him with trust and hospitality.
But, what was really moving was to hear from the victims' family members and even the ones who survived from the Bible study. One after another, there were expressions of grace and forgiveness. They spoke openly of their hurt and disappointment, "We welcomed you with open arms." But, one after another they repeated words of forgiveness and even spoke of praying for God's mercy. There was no screaming for vengeance or expressions of hatred. There was no finger-pointing for blame from the victims' families. It was so surreal, it was almost shocking.
And, people noticed. Even broadcasters who normally are cynical were speaking about the huge difference in the response of 'people of faith.' We talk about our faith as if it was just a religious choice or our heritage. For these people, that's not what it is at all. It is what they live by. One woman's words keep ringing: "We have no room for hate, so we have to forgive. I pray for God's mercy on you."
We have to forgive. Forgiveness is a choice, but for the believer is also required. Those who realize the depth of God's grace and what he has forgiven of us simply cannot but forgive, even when the offense is so grievous as that of the calculated murder of those whom you love, those who had welcomed their soon to be killer into their group and offered him the hospitality from their heart. .
What happened was a horrible picture of racism, and yet it was also a beautiful demonstration of how racism can be overcome. It won't come through fighting and condemnation, even though evil must be condemned. Ultimately it will come through expressions of love and forgiveness, hospitality and acceptance, such as we've seen here. What happened has brought both horror and hope as I look at what my country has become and what it can still be.
We have some new heroes of faith. May we learn from them and live our lives to glorify our God.
But, that has happened before. I can think of several reports of people walking into a church and starting shooting. And, though murder is the same whether in a church or a movie theater, there's something symbolic about killing people in church.
To find later that Dylann Roof had sat through an hour of the Bible study before standing up and opening fire. That makes the crime even more personal. He had, to some extent, gotten to know his victims. They were not just nameless faces. And, they got to know him. They welcomed him with trust and hospitality.
But, what was really moving was to hear from the victims' family members and even the ones who survived from the Bible study. One after another, there were expressions of grace and forgiveness. They spoke openly of their hurt and disappointment, "We welcomed you with open arms." But, one after another they repeated words of forgiveness and even spoke of praying for God's mercy. There was no screaming for vengeance or expressions of hatred. There was no finger-pointing for blame from the victims' families. It was so surreal, it was almost shocking.
And, people noticed. Even broadcasters who normally are cynical were speaking about the huge difference in the response of 'people of faith.' We talk about our faith as if it was just a religious choice or our heritage. For these people, that's not what it is at all. It is what they live by. One woman's words keep ringing: "We have no room for hate, so we have to forgive. I pray for God's mercy on you."
We have to forgive. Forgiveness is a choice, but for the believer is also required. Those who realize the depth of God's grace and what he has forgiven of us simply cannot but forgive, even when the offense is so grievous as that of the calculated murder of those whom you love, those who had welcomed their soon to be killer into their group and offered him the hospitality from their heart. .
What happened was a horrible picture of racism, and yet it was also a beautiful demonstration of how racism can be overcome. It won't come through fighting and condemnation, even though evil must be condemned. Ultimately it will come through expressions of love and forgiveness, hospitality and acceptance, such as we've seen here. What happened has brought both horror and hope as I look at what my country has become and what it can still be.
We have some new heroes of faith. May we learn from them and live our lives to glorify our God.
Saturday, June 20, 2015
For They Know Not What They Do
I was listening to a news report the other day and they were interviewing a priest who had spent a couple of years as a captive of Islamic rebels. He had been subject to torture and constant demand for him to deny his faith. He clearly talked about his faith in God throughout this and the example of Christ that kept him going. He spoke about the suffering of Christ, and that how he kept thinking of that to help him deal with his own situation on a daily basis. Then the interviewer asked that inevitable question, "So, have you been able to forgive your captors?"
There was only a slight pause and then an answer that I can't quote, because I didn't realize at the time that it would really affect my thinking and that I would come back to it. I don't' even remember the media outlet, but I kept thinking about it over the next day or two and I believe I can give the gist of what I remember. He basically said that he saw many kinds of people there. A few seemed to be going through the routine without a lot of heart and there were a few acts of kindness. There were some who seemed to enjoy the power that they had over him and took pleasure in that. There were some, however that had no emotional involvement at all, but were driven by their belief that they were just carrying out the will of God.
Whether my memory of that interview is completely accurate or not is not really important, because it only got me started thinking about whether I could handle such a long captivity and the emotional and mental torture. I tried to think about where I was a year ago and then 2 years ago, and then imagine (or try to imagine) what if from that time I had been confined to a cell with no contact with the outside world, no internet, no news, no one who could occasionally give me a word of encouragement or even put a hand on my shoulder? What if the only touch I got was to inflict pain or to make me move? What if I had no good food, but just the minimum of the most basic staple to keep me alive? Could I even keep my sanity, much less think of forgiveness? Could I keep my faith?
I remember being struck by the fact that, before he answered the question, he talked about people. I think that when I tend to think of something like that, I tend to think in terms of a movement or organization, Al Qaida, Boko Haram, ISIS and if I do think of a 'face' I think of just a nondescript bearded face of maybe someone who I have seen speaking on TV who is one of the leaders. But, leaders are at a distance. They give the orders. It's not personal.
But, the man who plops a scoop of food into a bowl on the floor, who looks at me in contempt because I'm an unbelieving blasphemer, who kicks me if I don't get up fast enough, who beats me and shows no mercy or concern for me as a person--that would be different. I thought of the movie Unbroken and all the characters in that movie who treated their captives more like animals than humans--no, actually they didn't treat animals like that even.
Somehow (and this is a bit of a stretch, but that's where my mind went), I went back to a situation when I was in university. I was transferring out of that university and when I got my grades from the last semester one was an Incomplete. It was a hands on lab class that was meant to give engineers some practical exposure to the tools and methods used to actually make the products that they might design. We learned how (well, maybe the word learned how is a bit of a stretch here) to use metal lathes to shape metal, drill presses, sheet metal stamping machines, acetylene welders and electric arc welders. It was a lot of fun and was one class that I didn't want to skip. How could I have an Incomplete? I went to the teacher who didn't even remember me and he said I didn't turn in the final project (a bench vise that we made ourselves out of rough steel billets). We had done that over the course of a few weeks, and had left the final projects in the classroom until they were graded (with a sticker pasted to the project) after which we could take them home.
I told him that I had done it. It wasn't a one time thing to turn in. It was a multi-week process and he had been watching us all through it. If I didn't do it, he'd have seen that long before the final grade. I told him I had the vise at home an I'd be glad to bring it to him to see. I remember his eyes as he looked at me and said, "How would I know that was yours. You could just bring me one that your classmate had done. I don't have a grade in my book and that means that you didn't do it." His eyes were unrelenting and cold. I tried to convince him and I argued logically that I had to have been working on it all along. I reminded him that no grade in his book didn't necessarily mean that I didn't do it. It only meant that he hadn't written down a grade and that could just as easily be his mistake.
I didn't really need the credit and it wasn't going to transfer anyway. But, I was devastated that someone could treat me so unfairly and without any consideration that the mistake could be his own. I remembered that man for a long time. And, that's what I thought about as I thought about the interview with the priest. It's bad enough to be treated unfairly by an institution, but when it comes from someone that you actually see and talk to, it's much harder to forget. Forgiveness doesn't come easily.
And, that's what is amazing about Jesus' words on the cross, "Father forgive them for they know not what they do." It wasn't just a plea for forgiveness. He made a point of the fact that they were ignorant of what they were really doing. The professor, I'm sure, had heard a lot of stories and many excuses. He didn't even want to listen to another one. I'm pretty sure that he wasn't just looking for someone to be mean to that day. He believed that he was looking at a student who had not done the work and was looking for a free pass. And, the captors of the priest believed that they were doing the will of God.
The sufferings of Christ. Jesus suffered at the hands of not just Pilate and the Jewish leaders. There were people who grabbed his arm as they shoved him along the streets with his cross. Those who pressed the crown of thorns into his head and those who beat him mercilessly. He looked into their eyes and into the eyes of the crowd around the cross who mocked him. But, they obviously didn't really know that they were crucifying the Messiah, the Son of God, their creator and savior.
There are some people who delight in cruelty, but I don't thin that's true of most people. The people whom I have to forgive are very likely to think that their actions were justified and proper. But. That doesn't make it any easier to forgive them. Paul considered it a blessing to be able to have the privilege of participating, even in a small way, in the sufferings of Christ. Is that what he was talking about? The persecution he faced, he didn't see that as personal. They thought they were doing the right thing. Forgiving them was the natural result of his dedication to Christ. It wasn't directed at him. Whatever suffering he faced was part of the universal battle for the salvation or destruction of people.
So, why is it so hard to forgive? Why can't we look beyond the personal hurts we feel and see things in terms of the eternal battle for the souls of men? If we could, wouldn't or shouldn't it be easier to not only forgive, but ask for God to have mercy on them as well?
There was only a slight pause and then an answer that I can't quote, because I didn't realize at the time that it would really affect my thinking and that I would come back to it. I don't' even remember the media outlet, but I kept thinking about it over the next day or two and I believe I can give the gist of what I remember. He basically said that he saw many kinds of people there. A few seemed to be going through the routine without a lot of heart and there were a few acts of kindness. There were some who seemed to enjoy the power that they had over him and took pleasure in that. There were some, however that had no emotional involvement at all, but were driven by their belief that they were just carrying out the will of God.
Whether my memory of that interview is completely accurate or not is not really important, because it only got me started thinking about whether I could handle such a long captivity and the emotional and mental torture. I tried to think about where I was a year ago and then 2 years ago, and then imagine (or try to imagine) what if from that time I had been confined to a cell with no contact with the outside world, no internet, no news, no one who could occasionally give me a word of encouragement or even put a hand on my shoulder? What if the only touch I got was to inflict pain or to make me move? What if I had no good food, but just the minimum of the most basic staple to keep me alive? Could I even keep my sanity, much less think of forgiveness? Could I keep my faith?
I remember being struck by the fact that, before he answered the question, he talked about people. I think that when I tend to think of something like that, I tend to think in terms of a movement or organization, Al Qaida, Boko Haram, ISIS and if I do think of a 'face' I think of just a nondescript bearded face of maybe someone who I have seen speaking on TV who is one of the leaders. But, leaders are at a distance. They give the orders. It's not personal.
But, the man who plops a scoop of food into a bowl on the floor, who looks at me in contempt because I'm an unbelieving blasphemer, who kicks me if I don't get up fast enough, who beats me and shows no mercy or concern for me as a person--that would be different. I thought of the movie Unbroken and all the characters in that movie who treated their captives more like animals than humans--no, actually they didn't treat animals like that even.
Somehow (and this is a bit of a stretch, but that's where my mind went), I went back to a situation when I was in university. I was transferring out of that university and when I got my grades from the last semester one was an Incomplete. It was a hands on lab class that was meant to give engineers some practical exposure to the tools and methods used to actually make the products that they might design. We learned how (well, maybe the word learned how is a bit of a stretch here) to use metal lathes to shape metal, drill presses, sheet metal stamping machines, acetylene welders and electric arc welders. It was a lot of fun and was one class that I didn't want to skip. How could I have an Incomplete? I went to the teacher who didn't even remember me and he said I didn't turn in the final project (a bench vise that we made ourselves out of rough steel billets). We had done that over the course of a few weeks, and had left the final projects in the classroom until they were graded (with a sticker pasted to the project) after which we could take them home.
I told him that I had done it. It wasn't a one time thing to turn in. It was a multi-week process and he had been watching us all through it. If I didn't do it, he'd have seen that long before the final grade. I told him I had the vise at home an I'd be glad to bring it to him to see. I remember his eyes as he looked at me and said, "How would I know that was yours. You could just bring me one that your classmate had done. I don't have a grade in my book and that means that you didn't do it." His eyes were unrelenting and cold. I tried to convince him and I argued logically that I had to have been working on it all along. I reminded him that no grade in his book didn't necessarily mean that I didn't do it. It only meant that he hadn't written down a grade and that could just as easily be his mistake.
I didn't really need the credit and it wasn't going to transfer anyway. But, I was devastated that someone could treat me so unfairly and without any consideration that the mistake could be his own. I remembered that man for a long time. And, that's what I thought about as I thought about the interview with the priest. It's bad enough to be treated unfairly by an institution, but when it comes from someone that you actually see and talk to, it's much harder to forget. Forgiveness doesn't come easily.
And, that's what is amazing about Jesus' words on the cross, "Father forgive them for they know not what they do." It wasn't just a plea for forgiveness. He made a point of the fact that they were ignorant of what they were really doing. The professor, I'm sure, had heard a lot of stories and many excuses. He didn't even want to listen to another one. I'm pretty sure that he wasn't just looking for someone to be mean to that day. He believed that he was looking at a student who had not done the work and was looking for a free pass. And, the captors of the priest believed that they were doing the will of God.
The sufferings of Christ. Jesus suffered at the hands of not just Pilate and the Jewish leaders. There were people who grabbed his arm as they shoved him along the streets with his cross. Those who pressed the crown of thorns into his head and those who beat him mercilessly. He looked into their eyes and into the eyes of the crowd around the cross who mocked him. But, they obviously didn't really know that they were crucifying the Messiah, the Son of God, their creator and savior.
There are some people who delight in cruelty, but I don't thin that's true of most people. The people whom I have to forgive are very likely to think that their actions were justified and proper. But. That doesn't make it any easier to forgive them. Paul considered it a blessing to be able to have the privilege of participating, even in a small way, in the sufferings of Christ. Is that what he was talking about? The persecution he faced, he didn't see that as personal. They thought they were doing the right thing. Forgiving them was the natural result of his dedication to Christ. It wasn't directed at him. Whatever suffering he faced was part of the universal battle for the salvation or destruction of people.
So, why is it so hard to forgive? Why can't we look beyond the personal hurts we feel and see things in terms of the eternal battle for the souls of men? If we could, wouldn't or shouldn't it be easier to not only forgive, but ask for God to have mercy on them as well?
Saturday, April 11, 2015
Memories--the things that shape us, teach us, and call back to us over time
Memories are one of the great things about being human. It's not the same as just remembering. Memories are not just about facts, about something that we saw or experienced. In fact, memories may very well depart from the actual facts.
Memories are things that we remember that have meaning and the focus is on the meaning that we ascribe, not the event. Some memories are joyful, and some are quite painful, but they are all very important. We can remember without it being a memory, just as we can sometimes have memories that are only loosely based on what really happened.
Memories are distinct from remembering. We don't just remember a place when we see it again or a person when we see them again. We remember what happened there or with that person. We don't just remember what happened, we remember what we felt. We don't just remember what we felt, we assign meaning and significance and that makes it a memory. We relive, we enjoy, we feel again, but more than that, it becomes a part of us. It shapes who we are, and it continues to reshape us as we come back to it.
Today is the 5th anniversary of my father's death and it's appropriate to think back on him and his life. There are many memories that come up in my mind and I will share one here.
I remember one morning when we woke up to a deep snowfall of more than a foot (I think I remember hearing 18 inches). Yes, those things occasionally happen in Alabama. I don't remember how old I was, but I believe it was my early teens or maybe preteens, and I know it was before I got my drivers license. I had heard that it was going to snow and I woke up the next morning to a beautiful landscape that I had never seen before. I wanted to get out in it. But, I remember that my dad was gone. Having grown up in Michigan, a foot of snow was no problem for him and he had driven away very early that morning.
Mom said that he had gone to the church. It was Saturday, and even as a child, I remember thinking that that was strange because it wasn't Sunday. But, I also remember that her face didn't look quite normal. I asked why he had gone to the church, but she wouldn't say. She just said, "He'll be back soon." Even kids know that there are times when you don't want to ask more questions. It was obvious that this was one of those times. My granny Maggie was also doing things around the house with her head down and not speaking. Something made me feel uneasy, but the snow was calling and there was excitement in the air.
My dad soon returned with a big smile and both parents joined us outside in the snow. We had great fun and I didn't think anymore about the morning. Whatever was bothering them earlier was completely gone and I soon forgot about it. Only later that day did I find out what it was.
But, to understand it, there are a few other things that need explanation. My father was one of a group of families who started a new church when I was quite young. At that time, to have a church, you had to have a building and they bought a piece of land and built a building. They didn't have any denominational funding, but had some help from the mother church. Nonetheless, funds were limited. My dad cut up some paper grocery bags (for those under 30, grocery stores didn't ask paper of plastic, because paper was all they offered) and, using a carpenters straight edge, drew up plans for the building. I don't remember seeing them, but I'm sure they weren't the detailed drawings that most builders work from. But, they couldn't afford an architect and couldn't hire a builder. They did most of the work themselves. After work, the men went directly to the 'church' under construction and started work. The wives brought supper and the kids later. We did our homework sitting on stacks of materials and then helped sweep up the sawdust before leaving to go home for baths and bed. I was around 2nd or 3rd grade then, but I still remember those evenings playing with other kids and helping the grownups when we were all 'working on the church together.'
Yes, that's not what we normally mean by 'working on the church' or 'building the church' today, and I'd agree that the focus shouldn't be on a building and maybe even, in some cases, a building isn't even necessary. But, on the other hand, they weren't just building a building. They were building a community, a fellowship of believers. I don't know if they realized that at the time, but I do know that my dad talked to me about it later when I was doing a report in Bible College. He said that if he had to do it again, he would likely do a lot of things different, but that even if they had the money to do so, he wouldn't hire a builder, that the experience of working together on something that required a significant commitment of time together was a crucial part of the strength of the church in those early years. It gave them a bond of trust and community that they couldn't have bought.
But, that has nothing to do with a snowstorm, so let me get back to that. You see, there were, I think, only 5 or 6 families involved, but they were looking ahead with great dreams. They wanted room for at least 250 -300 people to worship together. That requires a wide span without pillars to hold up the roof. My dad, with my mom's brother Uncle Floyd, had already built our house and then Uncle Floyd's house, but none of that comes close to any kind of span that the church building would need. That was their only real building experience. My dad drew up the plans for the trusses also on those grocery bags and he did so without Google, an engineering degree, or a Trusses for Dummies book.
And, that's what I didn't really understand that day. Snow is heavy and it builds up on a roof. And, the south is not really used to that kind of problem. That night, after our day of playing in the snow, a warm supper, and an hour or so of TV, Mom asked her usual question, "Well, how about a piece of cake or pie before we go to bed." She and Dad and Granny Maggie sat on the couch with their cake and coffee and I sat at the table in the other room with mine (no coffee, though, and kids were not allowed to eat in the den). And that's when I found out. I heard them talking in the other room.
When the church was complete, my dad was talking to an engineer and when he found that my Dad had built a church and had designed the trusses himself without any experience in designing trusses, he was astonished. He scoffed and told my dad that there was no way that he'd have been able to know how to do that right. He predicted that they'd soon see the roof sagging, that it wouldn't stand up to any load, and would collapse in a few years. Over the years, my Dad had been watching for any sagging, standing on a ladder and sighting down the ceiling, and climbing into the attic occasionally to look. I didn't know about that at the time.
But, that evening I heard him telling my Mom that he could finally rest easily. We had had the heaviest snowfall that we could probably ever expect and it was the heavy 'wet' snow. He had driven to the church that morning half expecting to see the roof collapsed, but it was still there. He had sighted along the ceiling and there was no sagging. He had climbed into the attic to check and everything was as firm as ever. He mentioned the engineer and he felt some pride (well-deserved, I think). I didn't quite understand much then, but I did remember feeling proud that my dad was smarter than that old engineer.
Later I found out the details that I've share with you above. Later, when I was studying basic engineering courses in university, I understood just how big of a feat that actually was. My dad hadn't finished 10th grade. His dad had died when he was 6 and his mom had struggled to raise a family during the Great Depression. My dad dropped out of school to work and then to join the Navy in World War 2.
I'm a great proponent of education, especially in today's increasingly complex world. I'd push anyone to go as far as they can go. But, no one should assume that one has to have a degree to have knowledge. I've seen people who have several degrees and with high grade averages whom I would not trust in their field of study.
And, I'm still proud of my Dad, if you haven't already noticed that by now. That's one of my memories and one that I've often come back to. It shaped my thinking. I don't assume that a formal education is any guarantee of success. I've learned the wisdom of listening to experts, but still evaluating their advice for myself. I've learned that I should not let others look down on me for any lack of formal training in some area and feel inferior. I've learned that I should also not do that to others either, and not assume that, if they don't have a degree or a lot of experience in some area, that their contribution to the discussion should be discounted.
And, I've learned that, even though I have 'learned' these things, I still forget them at times. I can still feel inferior in the company of experts, can still be afraid to contribute to things that are outside my area of expertise, and I can still dismiss others' ideas because, "What do they know?" The memory is to give me a reminder, to shake up my thinking again and again.
And, that's what memories are for. They are reminders that take us back to lessons over and over. I'm thankful for memories. I hope I can keep learning.
Oh, and that building is still there. The last time I was there, I remember looking carefully at the roof ridge line and when I entered, I looked carefully at the ceiling. It's been more than 50 years now, and it's still strong as ever.
Memories are things that we remember that have meaning and the focus is on the meaning that we ascribe, not the event. Some memories are joyful, and some are quite painful, but they are all very important. We can remember without it being a memory, just as we can sometimes have memories that are only loosely based on what really happened.
Memories are distinct from remembering. We don't just remember a place when we see it again or a person when we see them again. We remember what happened there or with that person. We don't just remember what happened, we remember what we felt. We don't just remember what we felt, we assign meaning and significance and that makes it a memory. We relive, we enjoy, we feel again, but more than that, it becomes a part of us. It shapes who we are, and it continues to reshape us as we come back to it.
Today is the 5th anniversary of my father's death and it's appropriate to think back on him and his life. There are many memories that come up in my mind and I will share one here.
I remember one morning when we woke up to a deep snowfall of more than a foot (I think I remember hearing 18 inches). Yes, those things occasionally happen in Alabama. I don't remember how old I was, but I believe it was my early teens or maybe preteens, and I know it was before I got my drivers license. I had heard that it was going to snow and I woke up the next morning to a beautiful landscape that I had never seen before. I wanted to get out in it. But, I remember that my dad was gone. Having grown up in Michigan, a foot of snow was no problem for him and he had driven away very early that morning.
Mom said that he had gone to the church. It was Saturday, and even as a child, I remember thinking that that was strange because it wasn't Sunday. But, I also remember that her face didn't look quite normal. I asked why he had gone to the church, but she wouldn't say. She just said, "He'll be back soon." Even kids know that there are times when you don't want to ask more questions. It was obvious that this was one of those times. My granny Maggie was also doing things around the house with her head down and not speaking. Something made me feel uneasy, but the snow was calling and there was excitement in the air.
My dad soon returned with a big smile and both parents joined us outside in the snow. We had great fun and I didn't think anymore about the morning. Whatever was bothering them earlier was completely gone and I soon forgot about it. Only later that day did I find out what it was.
But, to understand it, there are a few other things that need explanation. My father was one of a group of families who started a new church when I was quite young. At that time, to have a church, you had to have a building and they bought a piece of land and built a building. They didn't have any denominational funding, but had some help from the mother church. Nonetheless, funds were limited. My dad cut up some paper grocery bags (for those under 30, grocery stores didn't ask paper of plastic, because paper was all they offered) and, using a carpenters straight edge, drew up plans for the building. I don't remember seeing them, but I'm sure they weren't the detailed drawings that most builders work from. But, they couldn't afford an architect and couldn't hire a builder. They did most of the work themselves. After work, the men went directly to the 'church' under construction and started work. The wives brought supper and the kids later. We did our homework sitting on stacks of materials and then helped sweep up the sawdust before leaving to go home for baths and bed. I was around 2nd or 3rd grade then, but I still remember those evenings playing with other kids and helping the grownups when we were all 'working on the church together.'
Yes, that's not what we normally mean by 'working on the church' or 'building the church' today, and I'd agree that the focus shouldn't be on a building and maybe even, in some cases, a building isn't even necessary. But, on the other hand, they weren't just building a building. They were building a community, a fellowship of believers. I don't know if they realized that at the time, but I do know that my dad talked to me about it later when I was doing a report in Bible College. He said that if he had to do it again, he would likely do a lot of things different, but that even if they had the money to do so, he wouldn't hire a builder, that the experience of working together on something that required a significant commitment of time together was a crucial part of the strength of the church in those early years. It gave them a bond of trust and community that they couldn't have bought.
But, that has nothing to do with a snowstorm, so let me get back to that. You see, there were, I think, only 5 or 6 families involved, but they were looking ahead with great dreams. They wanted room for at least 250 -300 people to worship together. That requires a wide span without pillars to hold up the roof. My dad, with my mom's brother Uncle Floyd, had already built our house and then Uncle Floyd's house, but none of that comes close to any kind of span that the church building would need. That was their only real building experience. My dad drew up the plans for the trusses also on those grocery bags and he did so without Google, an engineering degree, or a Trusses for Dummies book.
And, that's what I didn't really understand that day. Snow is heavy and it builds up on a roof. And, the south is not really used to that kind of problem. That night, after our day of playing in the snow, a warm supper, and an hour or so of TV, Mom asked her usual question, "Well, how about a piece of cake or pie before we go to bed." She and Dad and Granny Maggie sat on the couch with their cake and coffee and I sat at the table in the other room with mine (no coffee, though, and kids were not allowed to eat in the den). And that's when I found out. I heard them talking in the other room.
When the church was complete, my dad was talking to an engineer and when he found that my Dad had built a church and had designed the trusses himself without any experience in designing trusses, he was astonished. He scoffed and told my dad that there was no way that he'd have been able to know how to do that right. He predicted that they'd soon see the roof sagging, that it wouldn't stand up to any load, and would collapse in a few years. Over the years, my Dad had been watching for any sagging, standing on a ladder and sighting down the ceiling, and climbing into the attic occasionally to look. I didn't know about that at the time.
But, that evening I heard him telling my Mom that he could finally rest easily. We had had the heaviest snowfall that we could probably ever expect and it was the heavy 'wet' snow. He had driven to the church that morning half expecting to see the roof collapsed, but it was still there. He had sighted along the ceiling and there was no sagging. He had climbed into the attic to check and everything was as firm as ever. He mentioned the engineer and he felt some pride (well-deserved, I think). I didn't quite understand much then, but I did remember feeling proud that my dad was smarter than that old engineer.
Later I found out the details that I've share with you above. Later, when I was studying basic engineering courses in university, I understood just how big of a feat that actually was. My dad hadn't finished 10th grade. His dad had died when he was 6 and his mom had struggled to raise a family during the Great Depression. My dad dropped out of school to work and then to join the Navy in World War 2.
I'm a great proponent of education, especially in today's increasingly complex world. I'd push anyone to go as far as they can go. But, no one should assume that one has to have a degree to have knowledge. I've seen people who have several degrees and with high grade averages whom I would not trust in their field of study.
And, I'm still proud of my Dad, if you haven't already noticed that by now. That's one of my memories and one that I've often come back to. It shaped my thinking. I don't assume that a formal education is any guarantee of success. I've learned the wisdom of listening to experts, but still evaluating their advice for myself. I've learned that I should not let others look down on me for any lack of formal training in some area and feel inferior. I've learned that I should also not do that to others either, and not assume that, if they don't have a degree or a lot of experience in some area, that their contribution to the discussion should be discounted.
And, I've learned that, even though I have 'learned' these things, I still forget them at times. I can still feel inferior in the company of experts, can still be afraid to contribute to things that are outside my area of expertise, and I can still dismiss others' ideas because, "What do they know?" The memory is to give me a reminder, to shake up my thinking again and again.
And, that's what memories are for. They are reminders that take us back to lessons over and over. I'm thankful for memories. I hope I can keep learning.
Oh, and that building is still there. The last time I was there, I remember looking carefully at the roof ridge line and when I entered, I looked carefully at the ceiling. It's been more than 50 years now, and it's still strong as ever.
Monday, January 26, 2015
Grace, Being, and Grandma Grace
I remember a time when I was young (not to say that I'm not still young ;-) but I mean when I was really, really young, still on the verge of becoming a teenager), when I was looking at some old pictures with my Grandma Grace, my father's mother. I came upon one picture of a beautiful young lady looking so elegant even though wearing clothes which were very much out of style and a bit strange looking for my era. I remember a hat perched more on the side of her head than on the top and which, to my young eyes, reminded me of a high heeled shoe placed upside down. But, she was beautiful. I asked, "Grandma, who is that?" Her answer was, "That's me. I was still a teenager then."
I was quite surprised. It was hard to connect that young girl to my grandmother whom I had only seen as gray-haired, plump, and old. And, that's where I made my mistake, but not the one that you might expect. I answered, "That was you? Wow. You were beautiful." Now, I had always seen my grandmother as beautiful, but not like that teenage girl. I knew people got old and I was both surprised but also not really. I was more impressed than surprised. That girl was my grandmother?! This was really cool!
But, her answer completely caught me off guard. "No, that was not me," and then with a slight pause and a slight change in tone, "that is me. You've never seen me looking like that, but that's how I see myself when I'm not looking in a mirror and sometimes even when I am. I'm older and I don't look like that anymore on the outside, but that's still me. I'm still that same girl." The words rang in my ear and, became one of those few events you remember not just as a vague memory, but with a distinct sharpness. I can close my eyes and still hear her voice and see the subtle expression in her eyes.
I don't remember what I did after that. I don't remember answering her, maybe just looking at her and at the picture and saying again, "You were really pretty." I'm not sure I understood what she meant then, but I do remember that I couldn't get away from it. I kept thinking about it and I still think about it. She had no problem with me using the past tense to say that she 'was' pretty. But, she objected to me using the past tense to speak of identity. "No, that was not me. That is me."
I'm now about the same age as she was when I talked to her on that day. I too know the feeling of looking in the mirror and suddenly realizing that you don't look like you tend to imagine yourself. There are wrinkles that tend to be smoothed over in my own thinking (better than Photoshop). There is some sagging skin and I don't really understand where it came from and when it appeared. Sometimes I even think it is just that I don't look so good today. Maybe I'm too tired, so that's why the skin above my eyelids is drooping and there are some little bags below my eyes that aren't normally there. But, to be honest, I know it is the new normal and that's just how I look now and it will get worse if I live longer.
But, she's also right. That's not really me. Or maybe I should say, that's me but not any more so than those teenage pictures of me that are in boxes somewhere. They all 'are' me. Or maybe not.
I should not define myself by the way I look. Oh, it really feels good when someone says, "You're 60? You don't look like you're 60." It doesn't matter that they're probably just being polite, and Taiwanese are famous for those exaggerated compliment that everyone knows are exaggerated or sometimes just not true. But, when I hear it, I don't even think about the fact that it's probably just a polite compliment other than a fleeting thought. It still feels good.
But, I should not define myself by how I look. In one sense, maybe a better way to think of it is that neither of those pictures is me. They're just a passing view of the same thing that continues on. I am what I am, not just what I look like, like Popeye was found of saying ("I am what I am and that's all that I am."). It is the person who is something, not the external appearance.
We put a lot of stock on appearances. People shown pictures of various mean tend to label those who are taller as smarter, more successful, more capable. Women are judged just as well. Obviously in the real world, being good-looking is no guarantee of success and anyone who wants to be successful still has to work hard to get there, but it's still true that we make judgments based on appearances. I'd like to think that I don't, but I'm pretty sure that I do. I should focus more on the person I am being rather than how I look. But, I should also be looking for the "person" in the one in front of me instead of what that person looks like.
Something else that strikes me from this is that even what we are is not based on what we can see in a brief acquaintance over a period of time, but on what the person is, what they are becoming, and what they can become. I've benefited from others who saw in me something that even I didn't see at the time and they were willing to spend time with me to help me become more than I was.
And, maybe that's the most important thing that comes from this random train of thoughts. There aren't many people who practice that. We tend to look at a person and judge their abilities and even their character based on what we see now. That's maybe practical, since how can we know what a person could become? And yet, some people seem to do it. They can see things in someone that others don't see. Maybe they're more optimistic. Maybe they're just more willing to take a risk and when someone fails to develop as they hope, they are just unwilling to assume that others will also fail. Maybe they refuse to see failure as final.
But, I also tend to see this as something fundamental to our faith (even if it is little practiced in our lives). We read that while we were yet his enemies, Christ died for us. That's certainly not just looking at the present person. Maybe we could say, "Yes, but he was God. He knew that he could make us into something else," but that still ignores the fact that he didn't die for those who would believe and would follow him wholeheartedly, dedicating their lives to him. He also died for those who would believe but would struggle in their faith. He also died for those who would reject him outright and even actively fight against him having any role in their lives.
That's a point of theology that we know is true, but don't really take at face value. We tend to think that he died for all, but that it's only 'for all' in a different sense. He died for them theoretically, while still writing them off in his heart. But, that's not the picture we see of Christ who wept over those who rejected him and would still welcome them and actively pursue them, even leaving the 99 behind to rescue the one who didn't follow him back to the fold.
And, that's the greatest challenge of all to me. We shouldn't write anyone off. Ever. Not until they are dead and even then, recognizing that we don't really know their heart, what happened in their heart, and how God will deal with them, or what mustard seed of faith might have been there that we couldn't see. We read also that even many who seem to be followers of God might not be, and that God will say to some (and maybe we would be shocked to find out who those are) "Depart from me for I never knew you." Might there also be some that we will be surprised to see there? We just don't know.
It reminds me of phrase in a sermon of C.S. Lewis. I quote a portion below:
We should be looking (in faith) at what those around us (and we ourselves) can be, instead of just what they (we) are. That is our faith. That is grace. And, that is what God has done to us. That is what it means to be Christian.
I was quite surprised. It was hard to connect that young girl to my grandmother whom I had only seen as gray-haired, plump, and old. And, that's where I made my mistake, but not the one that you might expect. I answered, "That was you? Wow. You were beautiful." Now, I had always seen my grandmother as beautiful, but not like that teenage girl. I knew people got old and I was both surprised but also not really. I was more impressed than surprised. That girl was my grandmother?! This was really cool!
But, her answer completely caught me off guard. "No, that was not me," and then with a slight pause and a slight change in tone, "that is me. You've never seen me looking like that, but that's how I see myself when I'm not looking in a mirror and sometimes even when I am. I'm older and I don't look like that anymore on the outside, but that's still me. I'm still that same girl." The words rang in my ear and, became one of those few events you remember not just as a vague memory, but with a distinct sharpness. I can close my eyes and still hear her voice and see the subtle expression in her eyes.
I don't remember what I did after that. I don't remember answering her, maybe just looking at her and at the picture and saying again, "You were really pretty." I'm not sure I understood what she meant then, but I do remember that I couldn't get away from it. I kept thinking about it and I still think about it. She had no problem with me using the past tense to say that she 'was' pretty. But, she objected to me using the past tense to speak of identity. "No, that was not me. That is me."
I'm now about the same age as she was when I talked to her on that day. I too know the feeling of looking in the mirror and suddenly realizing that you don't look like you tend to imagine yourself. There are wrinkles that tend to be smoothed over in my own thinking (better than Photoshop). There is some sagging skin and I don't really understand where it came from and when it appeared. Sometimes I even think it is just that I don't look so good today. Maybe I'm too tired, so that's why the skin above my eyelids is drooping and there are some little bags below my eyes that aren't normally there. But, to be honest, I know it is the new normal and that's just how I look now and it will get worse if I live longer.
But, she's also right. That's not really me. Or maybe I should say, that's me but not any more so than those teenage pictures of me that are in boxes somewhere. They all 'are' me. Or maybe not.
I should not define myself by the way I look. Oh, it really feels good when someone says, "You're 60? You don't look like you're 60." It doesn't matter that they're probably just being polite, and Taiwanese are famous for those exaggerated compliment that everyone knows are exaggerated or sometimes just not true. But, when I hear it, I don't even think about the fact that it's probably just a polite compliment other than a fleeting thought. It still feels good.
But, I should not define myself by how I look. In one sense, maybe a better way to think of it is that neither of those pictures is me. They're just a passing view of the same thing that continues on. I am what I am, not just what I look like, like Popeye was found of saying ("I am what I am and that's all that I am."). It is the person who is something, not the external appearance.
We put a lot of stock on appearances. People shown pictures of various mean tend to label those who are taller as smarter, more successful, more capable. Women are judged just as well. Obviously in the real world, being good-looking is no guarantee of success and anyone who wants to be successful still has to work hard to get there, but it's still true that we make judgments based on appearances. I'd like to think that I don't, but I'm pretty sure that I do. I should focus more on the person I am being rather than how I look. But, I should also be looking for the "person" in the one in front of me instead of what that person looks like.
Something else that strikes me from this is that even what we are is not based on what we can see in a brief acquaintance over a period of time, but on what the person is, what they are becoming, and what they can become. I've benefited from others who saw in me something that even I didn't see at the time and they were willing to spend time with me to help me become more than I was.
And, maybe that's the most important thing that comes from this random train of thoughts. There aren't many people who practice that. We tend to look at a person and judge their abilities and even their character based on what we see now. That's maybe practical, since how can we know what a person could become? And yet, some people seem to do it. They can see things in someone that others don't see. Maybe they're more optimistic. Maybe they're just more willing to take a risk and when someone fails to develop as they hope, they are just unwilling to assume that others will also fail. Maybe they refuse to see failure as final.
But, I also tend to see this as something fundamental to our faith (even if it is little practiced in our lives). We read that while we were yet his enemies, Christ died for us. That's certainly not just looking at the present person. Maybe we could say, "Yes, but he was God. He knew that he could make us into something else," but that still ignores the fact that he didn't die for those who would believe and would follow him wholeheartedly, dedicating their lives to him. He also died for those who would believe but would struggle in their faith. He also died for those who would reject him outright and even actively fight against him having any role in their lives.
That's a point of theology that we know is true, but don't really take at face value. We tend to think that he died for all, but that it's only 'for all' in a different sense. He died for them theoretically, while still writing them off in his heart. But, that's not the picture we see of Christ who wept over those who rejected him and would still welcome them and actively pursue them, even leaving the 99 behind to rescue the one who didn't follow him back to the fold.
And, that's the greatest challenge of all to me. We shouldn't write anyone off. Ever. Not until they are dead and even then, recognizing that we don't really know their heart, what happened in their heart, and how God will deal with them, or what mustard seed of faith might have been there that we couldn't see. We read also that even many who seem to be followers of God might not be, and that God will say to some (and maybe we would be shocked to find out who those are) "Depart from me for I never knew you." Might there also be some that we will be surprised to see there? We just don't know.
It reminds me of phrase in a sermon of C.S. Lewis. I quote a portion below:
“It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which,if you say it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree helping each other to one or the other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all of our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations - These are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit - immortal horrors or everlasting splendors.”
― C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory
We should be looking (in faith) at what those around us (and we ourselves) can be, instead of just what they (we) are. That is our faith. That is grace. And, that is what God has done to us. That is what it means to be Christian.
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