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Archive for the Spirituality Category

Transformative Power and Public Drunkenness

I see first hand the results of the 12-Step ministry every time I meet someone in recovery from alcohol or drug addiction. As you probably know, Alcoholics Anonymous has been called the most important spiritual movement of the 20th century. There is enormous transformative power in faith and solidarity to overcome addictions and its derivatives of loneliness, depression and powerlessness.

At the same time, I see first hand the power of addiction to keep addicts in its thrall. We have a man who has been visiting our church for months, who is semi-homeless and alcoholic. He admits he never met a beer he didn’t like, and he has been asking for money from members, and even taking coins out of our fountain, to save up for a quart. One Sunday afternoon he sat on the front porch directly in front of the church doors and got totally wasted.

I am still trying to reflect on the spiritual pain I feel after the passage of Proposition 8 in California, and make sense of why some people remain so rejecting, punitive and hateful toward gay and lesbian people. That’s when this analogy came to me.

Over the years, and especially in these most recent 5 months, I have seen first-hand the transformative power of honesty and love in and with the LGBT community. It begins with Step One: Coming Out to Self and Others. Sometimes, people who come out are summarily rejected, but as the years have gone by, more often I hear the stories of those whose lives took a decided turn for the better, with their families, friends, neighbors and even employers.

Two weeks ago I officiated for a wedding in which one of the grooms had come through a difficult period with his family after coming out. His aging parents at first rejected and disowned him. He is in recovery, by the way, and met his life partner—now husband—at an A.A. meeting.

It took time, but his entire family has come around. The accept him, and his loving relationship with his partner. And they all came from near and far to participate in their wedding ceremony, with his sisters and parents joyfully taking part in the final blessings.

People make enormous spiritual progress through honesty and love. It changes lives. This entire family, now united by marriage, has recaptured love and made enormous strides in spread understanding, goodwill and tolerance because of one son’s integrity and honesty. That is spiritual transformation.

Now we come to the political reality of LGBT people in a society which is wrenching back and forth between rights and no rights. The conservatives hotly and loudly call it a culture war. But I now see it from the positive side — the transformative power to change lives through love, honesty, integrity, patience and reconciliation. Some people — millions of them — “get it.” They have embraced the individuals they know among family, friends, neighbors or co-workers, they have ascended the learning curve about human sexuality, psychology, and civil rights, they have wrestled through the issues that made them uncomfortable, and they have grown spiritually.

But there are millions of others, led by religious power blocks, who think they are fighting a war. What they are fighting is their own addiction to hatred, to power and money, and to control. They are drunk on their own illusions of politics, race, money, marriage, and God. They would rather destroy relationships through estrangement and disowning those who are close them (every family in America is not that far away from someone who is lesbian or gay), than to grow spiritually through listening, patience, understanding, empathy, and love.

It is ironic that those on the reactionary side of things call this a culture war, when it is obviously a spiritual struggle they do not wish to face. I am betting my life on the ultimate triumph of love and reconciliation. And I apply my faith to this struggle, remembering the words of Jesus when people of power and bigotry crucified him: “Forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

But in the meantime we have to continue to struggle for rights and for understanding with those who as yet have no interest in the spiritual transformation that could be theirs. Drunk with homophobia, they will not even take the first steps to understand. It is sad when they bring their drunkenness right to the front doors of the church.

—Pastor Dan Hooper

Not clear on the concept?

This past Thursday, the Los Angeles Times ran a story from Orange County on a  Christian bikers group—you know, those people who wear lots of black leather gear and have fierce tattoos and drive enormous, intimidating motorcycles which make a lot of noise.

But this article said a Christian bikers group, known as the “Set Free Soldiers”, describing themselves as “a group of men who love Jesus and love to ride hard”  was founded by an ex-convict and ex-drug addict, Phil Aguilar over 25 years ago, after he became a Christian in prison.

This isn’t exactly my cup of tea (but then I drive a Prius, more conservatively than any other car I’ve had, to maximize my mileage). But I figure, like a lot of folks, well maybe they can reach people that ordinary churches can’t.

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Steven Sawyer’s long-haired, tattooed Jesus.

The story wasn’t about this unusual ministry to ex-felons and ex-druggies, however.  The story was about seven members of the Set Free Soldiers being arrested on suspicion of attempted murder. Aguilar is being held on $1 million bail and charged with conspiracy to commit murder. All this after a double stabbing and a nasty brawl with some of the Hells Angels in a bar in Newport Beach that required 150 officers, including SWAT teams and Federal drug agents, to round up.

It sounds like a ”B movie” script, with the “biker soldiers of God” in a do-or-die struggle with the “biker soldiers of Satan.” Except, this is no black hat and white hat drama.  According to the Times, a neighbor of the Set Free Soldiers’ leader in Anaheim described the group as having a history of intimidating the neighbors and having taken over the neighborhood.  For the past several years, apparently, some of the Set Free Soldiers have even been carrying guns. 

This is a Christian bikers group? These are men who love Jesus?

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LA Times caption:  Mark Boster / Los Angeles Times

An officer stands watch after an early morning raid by the Anaheim  Police department on several homes in Anaheim occupied by the Set Free Soldiers Christian motorcycle group.

I cannot help musing over some of our own times’ most-fun rhetorical questions. What would Jesus ride? What would Jesus wear? Who would Jesus intimidate? What weapon would Jesus carry?

I think this all makes the point that even Christian people are not clear on the concept. There are still a lot of goody-good Christians out there, who are staid, conservative, boring, and digging in their heels against every social change.  Then there are liberal Christians who embrace every social change, buy into the latest fads, and have nearly forgotten that the Scriptures call us to self-discipline and self-denial, and expect Christians to take up the cross and follow Jesus. And there are Christians whose worship services are indistinguishable from a rock concert, and the decibels would deafen anybody over 30.  And there are Christians who still try to retreat from the world, chant ancient-sounding music in monotones, and keep their hands clean from all the grime of this crazy world.

Who are we, and what is our one, single, clear message?  Gay and lesbian people aren’t the only ones who think the Christians are not clear on the concept.  There are millions of estranged people out there who are glad to get away from ours and every other religion because our spiritual teaching is so muddled, or so unspiritual, or so worthless in the real world today with its huge and pressing problems, as to be part of the problem, not part of the solutions.

It takes enormous courage to remain open and loving, liberal and steadfast in what we believe.  It takes more than slippery-slope thinking to be able to affirm same-gender marriage, read the Bible seriously but not literally, give one’s heart and time and resources to total strangers, and try to follow Jesus.  To walk the walk, not just talk the talk.

After all, it’s about Christ, not about us.  Not our prejudices, our politics, our outfits, our bikes, our tats, or our tastes and distastes.  To be a Christian today is going to require all of us to unload our past views and rethink our approach to living faithfully in our times.

—Pastor Dan Hooper, Los Angeles

God, save me by your grace! And spare me those believers!

This week I am back from “Hearts on Fire” in San Francisco, and I am charged up about the truth of the Gospel. (Bush Co. would say “truthiness” I think.) But at the same time weighed down by the almost-daily news of some fundamentalist or other ranting about gay and lesbian people going to hell. They keep doing this, more or less successfully among their own constituency, because they insist that gay people are possessed by lust, not love, that we choose to be evil, that we corrupt little children, that we can’t be monogamous, and that the cure for homosexuality is to accept Jesus as our “personal” Lord and Savior. None of their rant, of course, is supported by what the Bible says. But the epistle to the Ephesians that we are saved by grace through faith and not by anything of our own efforts.

For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God—not the result of works, so that no one may boast.–Ephesians 2:8–9So what follows is my rant, in the tone of the Gay Catechism: stating the faith for all to hear and come to believe: If we are saved by grace through faith, what’s wrong with my faith? Isn’t my faith good enough for God to decide to save me for Christ’s sake, sheerly out of God’s grace? Are the promises of God reliable, or are they not? The Christian church needs to be clear on this, or all the rest of it is worthless myth and pointless tradition.Of course, conservatives say that we must repent, we must heed the call to repentance. Well, I’ve already repented of everything I can think of, several times over, and of every thing I’m capable of. And some things don’t repent away! They aren’t gone because I have repented. Some place Jesus says pluck out your eye if it causes you to sin. Well, how do I tear out my heart? Most Christians over the centuries have understood that as rhetorical or hyperbole because it is impossible. My sex, my race, my orientation, my gender identity, my sexual drive simply do not go away no matter how much I feel sorry or regret or promise to have done with them. Paul’s advice that I must die to self and rise to Christ sounds very pious and religious, but he must be thinking of other things, because a big part of me seems to be “cast in concrete”. And the concrete which is me is not my sinful, rebellious nature but my very self. Even Paul seems to know that, for doesn’t he say somewhere else, “the very thing I don’t want I do, and what I do want I can’t?”

The truth is, repentance is never a complete or successful renunciation of all that is wrong with me, or of me in total. Repentance in the Greek language means turning, and repentance in the New Testament means that I turn from my path to hear the promises of God, and to follow Christ’s path.

Christ calls me to love and to risk and to take up my cross and be willing to lay down my life. But even though it seems he asks for perfection on our part, he never demanded it from the people he forgave, healed, accepted, welcomed or defended. He was born among the poor. He as a refugee like undocumented foreigners. He accepted the lepers and the outcasts. He hung out with sinners. He turned back the mob which was about to stone a woman to death because of a sexual sin. He was also accused of being lawless, sinful, and trying to corrupt the nation and destroy religion!! He was also false accused, and, as he died with criminals he forgave the very people who executed him.

That is the Christ I am asked to follow, to accept as my Lord, and whose commandment I am expected to obey. And that commandment—in contrast to the Ten Commandments or those 613 detailed legal requirements of the Law of Moses—is to love others.

So if I am doing my best to love, if I am doing my best follow Christ—generously and sacrificially, selflessly and constantly—if I have already turned from my own aimlessness or wandering like a prodigal son or a lost sheep and hear the divine promises to accept me (save me) purely out of God’s grace and not by my own efforts or achievements, then all I have by which to cling to these promises is my faith that they are true, and that they are available to everyone.

So, don’t tell me that there is fine print in the contract, or that I will be excluded at the last second or on the judgment day because of some failure on my part, some sin I forgot to confess or didn’t believe was sinful, or because I loved the wrong person, or because I didn’t have enough faith. Let me be!! Let me be the child God created. Let me trust the promises of God, unmolested by somebody else’s judgmentalism or doubt or hair-splitting. I want to be a spiritual person, and I know that the Spirit of God will guide me and help me, if only other so-called Christians will just let up, “back off” and take care of the enormous beam in their own eye instead of the speck in mine!

— Pastor Dan Hooper, Los Angeles

The Evangelical Moment

I feel unprepared and humbled and honored, and I’m at a loss where to begin. A young man came to my office door asking to see me. I am used to strangers coming, almost always asking for money, or food. In a nutshell, this young man was a Muslim, asking to learn more about Christian faith and about Jesus.

He is foreign born, in this country on a brief visa, but engaged to be married to a citizen of the U.S. whom he met in his home country. She is a Christian, and out of a life-long curiosity about Jesus, and respect for her, he wanted to know more —much more— about Christian teaching. An important factor is that he is not entirely free to express his curiosity about Jesus openly, not within the home of friends where he is living, and not among his own people at home.

After my first insecurity about teaching someone subsided a bit, I expressed my respect for his great faith tradition. He too was respectful, knowing that so much is gained when all people listen to the faith experiences of others.

But where to begin with the story of Jesus? We have some common ground, because Jesus is a figure spoken of in the Qur’an. How to explain that for Christians Jesus is not merely a prophet, but the presence of God incarnate. How does one explain what “incarnate” means to someone whose entire faith tradition rejects that?

He made it easier for me by asking, “How did Jesus die?” Somehow this led to explaining revelation and grace, and to the highest story of our spiritual awakening, the parable of the prodigal son. I explained the basic contents of the New Testament — not written with a single voice as if verbally revealed from heaven, as the Muslim scriptures are believed to be, but the testimony of many Christians over a period of several generations, through which God’s voice speaks.

I called to mind the meager explanation of what is written, what is explained in the New Testament, from John’s Gospel (20:30–31): “Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.”

So I found myself struggling with what is best and most essential from the Bible to tell to someone who has scarcely had a chance to look inside its covers without enormous scorn from others. So much of the Bible is profound beyond words, and so much is trivial or downright embarrassing to read as an outside would read it. So much is completely opaque — occupying the best scholarly minds for a lifetime to make heads or tails of it. Where are the parts which are transparent, clear as crystal, and allow the reader to glimpse what is of greatest value, or to be digest that which is spiritually most nourishing?

I found myself on the desert road with Philip the deacon, approaching the chariot of the Ethiopian eunuch. (Acts 8:26–40) “Do you understand what you are reading, he asked, about the passage from Isaiah which was in his hands.

“How can I unless I have someone to guide me?”

And so beginning with the ver passage of scripture the eunuch had been reading, Philip began to tell him the story of Jesus.

Now I am praying for this stranger/new friend, and for his fiancé, hoping that the Holy Spirit finds me worthy as a vehicle for God’s message. Would I be happy to convert this man to Christ? Yes.

But is that my role and place? No.

We come from places in this world very far apart. We come from different cultures, economic classes; we have different native languages; our life circumstances and sexuality and experiences completely differ.

I don’t know if I am qualified to teach such an important student. I have more misgivings than there are verses in the Bible and the Qur’an combined. Yet it now looks possible I may become this man’s teacher. I only hope that I can provide what God decides to grant to him.

— Pastor Dan Hooper, Los Angeles

Creeds: Who Needs ‘Em?

It seems that at a time when people are avoiding or rejecting traditional creeds (Latin credo = “I believe”) that they are also embracing personals statements of belief. National Public Radio is still running its “This I believe” series, sponsored by a big corporation. Some are real statements of faith, or values, or at least persuasions about specific public policy issues. A few months ago, a little “fluff” piece in Parade magazine (the throw-away in your Sunday paper) featured Brad Pitt telling you what he believes in. Turns out he believes in his family. Sweet.

So it seems that people who don’t believe in God or in any beyond-ourselves spiritual force do believe in other finite beings, or things, or issues. Is this the great spirituality of our age. Is this all we have to rely on? Ourselves?

Yet the ancient creeds do not satisfy. This being the Christian “Trinity Sunday” or the Feast of the Holy Trinity (yesterday), I thought it deserves comment. But even here, the doctrine of the Trinity (One God in three “persons”: the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit) has never been universally accepted by all Christians. It isn’t that they rejected the New Testament’s voice on this. They just don’t like the formula, the theology, which developed in the next three or four hundred years.

The ancient creeds are all about God. We don’t see ourselves in them, so we don’t relate to them as being statements that tell us about ourselves in relationship to God. In Leonard Bernstein’s “Mass”, the “Credo” consists of a strophe on the Latin mass credo, but the soloist sings in a rock-and-roll style, “I believe in God, but does God believe in me?

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In a previous study of the Nicene Creed, which is the ultimate test of Christian orthodoxy (for example, Mitt Romney does not really qualify as Christian because Mormons do not subscribe to the Nicene Creed), I was startled to realize that even though it describes Jesus as coming from God, being born of the Virgin Mary, being crucified, dead, buried and raised again, it does not bother to explain why Jesus came, why he died, or what he accomplished. The reason these things were not included in the 5th century statement of belief, I surmise, is that they were not being disputed the way Jesus’ origins, divinity and equality with “the Father” were being disputed.

At any rate, creeds continue to bore even many Christian church-goers, let alone the larger world. What to do? Well, I have written my own, form time to time — my own “This I believe” statement. Here, in part, is what I had to say for this Trinity Sunday:

Early believers simply said, “Jesus is Lord.” They said that because they were deeply moved by his presence, his healing, his word, his grace, his compassion, and his love. And they said to themselves, we have met the God above in Jesus, and he changed our lives!

But then, they took Jesus away and killed him, and his friends scattered with fear, and almost lost all hope, until they began to remember, Jesus promised that he would never desert them, but give them his Spirit to be with them forever. And this living Spirit, moving Spirit, guiding Spirit is with us to this day. The Spirit is not prompting us to get our doctrines all squared away, or to split hairs over market share in the God-business, or to argue with our brothers and sisters about how God could be three different persons at once. The Spirit is calling us to do something far more simple: to share the same compassion and love and grace and healing which his disciples first experienced in Jesus Christ.

In short, I don’t reject the Nicene Creed. Greater minds than mine wrote it, and defended it as the best explanation of God’s own inner mystery. But I don’t believe in the Nicene Creed, I believe in Jesus Christ. I believe that God created me and cares for me like a Father. I believe that the Spirit dwells within me, to encourage me to do Christ’s work for others. Here is my creed: I believe in a living God, not a statement of ideas. I believe God calls me to live as if my life matters, and to use my life to show others that God’s love matters. I believe that– from the inside out–God’s Spirit works on me, and works with me to help bring God’s saving grace to my small corner of the world.

That is my faith, my belief system. Is it yours? If we could all just say “Jesus is Lord, so let us follow his lead,” wouldn’t that be holy enough to unite all Christians and to make new disciples and to save the world?

—Pastor Dan Hooper, Los Angeles

Hide and Seek

The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught. • He said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. • And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. —Mark 6:30–32

This was the title of a recent book review in the L.A. Times Book Section, on a completely different subject. But I instantly realized it described the very scope and dimensions of what prayer and contemplation are about. “Hide and seek.”

Truly, it is not child’s play. Constantly, the world closes in with its relentless noise, demands and interruptions. Twenty-first century life makes demands on us that few can actually meet without always feeling we are about to stress out or collapse with an anxiety attack, if not a full-blown nervous breakdown. If only we could hide ourselves for a while from the confrontations we must usually engage with our work, our neighbors, our homes and families, bills and stresses, then the dialogue with God might have a chance. Hide and seek.

But remember, it is not so much that we seek God, but that God seeks us. When we are quiet, we can at last hear God’s voice in our lives. When we get away from other distractions, God can receive our full attention. God’s spirit gets through to our conscience, our hearts, our wills, and gently corrects us.

It also goes without saying that the more frequently we can do this the more effective it is. For then our subconscious minds begin to look forward to the time of quietness, apart-ness and attention to God’s voice.

—Pastor Dan Hooper, Los Angeles

The hope that is within me.

Dedicated to the memory of Marc Anthon Reilly

Be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you with meekness and fear, having a good conscience; that, whereas they speak evil of you, as of evildoers, they may be ashamed that falsely accuse your good conversation in Christ. —1 Peter 3:15–16, KJV

In the 1980s, Marc came to our small gatherings in an upper room of a church that was uneasy about our being there.  But we talked and talked, as he asked questions and I scrambled to frame potential answers about faith and sexuality, love and ethics.  We challenged each other, and I especially needed that, to better understand my own struggle to keep faith.

When my friend Marc died of AIDS in 1989, I inherited some of his own books, among them a Bible given to him by his family on his birthday, October 14, years before.  Recently, I needed an open Bible for the main photo for my new site site, www.gaycatechism.net (a soft-covered Bible that would flop open for a pleasing picture), and I picked up Marc’s Bible quite randomly from my bookshelf.  The flyleaf was inscribed:

Dear Marc:

This Book contains the Word of God, the state of man, the way of salvation, the doom of sinners, and the happiness of believers.

Its doctrines are holy, its precepts immutable. Read it to be wise, believe it to be saved, and practice it to be holy.

It contains Light to direct you, food to support you, and comfort to cheer you.  Christ is its grand object, our good its design, and the Glory of God its end.

It should fill the memory, rule the heart, and guide the feet.

Read it slowly, frequently, and prayerfully.  It is given to you in life, will be opened at the judgment, and will be remembered forever!

In Christ, With our deepest love, Mom & Dad

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I met them briefly at the end of Marc’s funeral, knowing from his prior warning that they would likely be judgmental.  Most of us shrug off such momentary meetings at funerals, but I was the preacher for that service, and I had done my best to proclaim pure, unadulterated Gospel to everyone present:  to a congregation that had long since gotten over its antipathy to gay and lesbian people, and had become a “Reconciling in Christ” congregation; and to these parents whom none of the rest of us knew, except that Marc had told us they did not accept his homosexuality and probably believed God was punishing him with AIDS.

So, in reading this inscription page, apparently in Mom’s handwriting, I came face to face with what my friend had felt in his own struggle both to live as a beloved child of God and to die an untimely death comforted by friends but estranged from his parents.

What do we make of stuff like this?  LGBTQ people might blame the church, or would blame the parents for this estrangement.  The parents would blame the sin (”love the sinner, hate the sin.”)  The Church would go on studying the issue for another couple of decades, and blame its lack of resources for dragging this out at a snail’s pace.  But what do we make of this?

Personally, I am absolutely sick of hearing about the latest skirmish in the “culture wars” over homosexuality.  But unlike the right-wing person who is equally sick of it, I cannot close my ears or eyes to an unpleasant, tiresome “issue.”  Because I am gay, I must be ready to defend the hope that is within me, and even more, always be vigilant for the possible violence coming at me (whether physical, verbal, psychological, political or judicial) because of the underlying homophobia and hatred, much of it based on this Book.

I don’t formally disagree with the intentions of what Mom wrote to her son —she must have labored over the prose more than a little — but I see within it the smug and pious language of a faith which considers itself so superior to doubt or unbelief.  Why is it that the Christian hope, the Christian Gospel, cannot be proclaimed without this smug, sharp edge in its voice?

“The doom of sinners, . . . [this Book] will be opened at judgment.”  That is the kind of imagery which fundamentalists crave, but which kills relationships, estranges fathers from sons, and launches culture wars.  Can LGBTQ people find words of life here that aren’t dripping with the blood of apocalyptic warnings?  Can heterosexuals love the Lord without constantly arming themselves for a moral Armageddon?

My friend Marc was one of the lucky ones.  He died faithful to a Gospel which his parents did not fully understand, with a degree of honor and respect from the congregation which undoubtedly surprised them.  Through his battle (and his partner’s battle before him) against HIV and AIDS, he did not desert Jesus Christ in a time when cynicism and bitterness could easily have taken him down long before his death.

And thankfully he is not forgotten.  Marc left a small bequest to Lutherans Concerned/Los Angeles to help us carry on our teaching ministry through periodic lectureships.  And his faithfulness left a mark (a marc?) on me that has impelled me to keep teaching, writing and proclaiming the Gospel, without an edge to it.

Thank you, Marc.  I will always remember the gift you gave me through your faith.

—Pastor Dan Hooper, Los Angeles

Congratulations, Roberta!

The honor of your presence is requested by his Grace

The Most Rev. Robert Mary Clement, Archbishop of the American Catholic Church

at the Archbishop John Darcy Noble Center

to Celebrate the ordination of Roberta Morris to the Diaconate

Saturday, April 12, 2008 1 p.m.

Hollywood Lutheran Church 1733 N. New Hampshire Blvd., Los Angeles

Join us for Dr. Roberta Morris’ ordination and the inauguration of this LGBT-friendly ministry with the arts community in the Hollywood/ Los Feliz/Silver Lake area, across from Barnsdall Art Park.

Dr. Morris trained for this ministry, obtaining her Masters of Divinity from St. Michael’s College at the University of Toronto, and her Doctorate in Philosophy at York University. She has worked as a writer, university chaplain, instructor, director of religious education, mediator and peace activist.

As a deacon with the American Catholic Church, she will work ecumenically in a LGBT friendly environment to support the spiritual lives of artists and other members of our community.

Come celebrate the Ordination Mass with us.  Reception follows 

RSVP 323-668-0008

This Lent, don’t give up. Enter in.

For our parish life, I have settled on a “theme” for our Thursday evening Lenten services, which begin on February 14.

Each year we use the Holden Evening Prayer service— which is entirely sung except for readings, and takes perhaps 20 minutes total. For the past several years, I have provided something different each year for brief meditations during these services. Two of the last three years I have written brief dramas, either contemporary or biblical, usually in “readers theatre”style for 2-3 actors.

This year I intend to guide us in a series in contemplative prayer. Each week will be different, not “stuffy” or “pious.” In addition to the selected readings, I will make very brief comments, and then guide us in contemplative prayer for no more than 5-7 minutes. It is my hope this year only to plant seeds, not teach an exhaustive course in prayer.

Our age is beginning to get hungry again for a more mystical experience. Many people in the “Emerging” or “Emergent” church movement are experimenting with contemplative prayer and centering prayer. (The two are quite distinct.) But because so many faithful Christians have little experience with contemplation and meditation, our prayers are usually at best intercessions – requests that God will help, heal, rescue, fix or forgive something. Our prayer life is rather like small children who want to run and play outside all day, and only come in to their father’s presence to ask for something (usually, permission) and when they have received it, they exit at top speed to go out and play again.

Contemplative prayer asks for nothing, petitions for nothing, seeks nothing. It does not demand, plead or intercede. Contemplative prayer puts us in the presence of the holy because we both enjoy and hunger for that presence.

Contemplative prayer invokes the name of God. It is not self-emptying as much as God-focusing. It is not based on the human search for aspiration for God, but on the revelation which God gives to us. As Lutheran theologian Kelly Fryer (”Reclaiming the F word“) constantly stresses, God always comes down.

If God is spirit, God is mystery. That we may receive God remains suspended in mystery also. Contemplative prayer allows us and invites us to enter into God’s mystery as redeemed children of God. We are born “of the spirit,” after all. If we allow our own spirits to atrophy, we would find that we have lost ourselves. In order to find ourselves, we must be willing to enter into God’s mystery. Contemplative prayer asks us to shift gears, slow down and give ourselves time to experience the mystery of God.

What blocks us? But too often our interior life is crammed, crowded, with our worries and concerns, our desires, our random thoughts, and even unhealthy obsessions of guilt, shame, and grief. It is as if our interior life is a large house full of cluttered rooms, and we are stuck, constantly sorting and sifting through the clutter we have accumulated, looking for something we have lost, or something of value, or something to amuse ourselves. Spiritually, what happens to us is like “writers block” in the soul. We become blocked, stuck, immobilized by our own concerns and problems. Contemplative prayer summons us to open more of our consciousness, to open the door, as it were, to an unused room, to open ourselves more and more to God’s presence than we do.

We always pray “through Jesus Christ our Savior.” In his name we have confidence to draw near to God’s presence, rather than to run from God in fear and terror. We see that Christ is the open door to God, and that his merciful sacrifice is a sign of God’s reconciliation with humanity. In Christ, we are invited, urged, even commanded to come into God’s presence with prayer.

— Pastor Dan

A dubious “Credo” for sure.

This caught my eye in the e-mail box recently. I was tempted to scoff at their efforts but at the same time wanted to understand more of why they are profoundly skeptical about matters of faith.

“Sometimes, if you’re trying to find an answer to a problem, finding the edges, and working in from there works quite well — it’s known as approximation. Military gunnery works in the same way, overshoot, undershoot and bingo! In some topics this can be done through opposing statements. Here’s what I and my youngest son came up with—a doubters creed.

“A dubious Credo

“I do not fear God;
I fear mankind.
I do not fear my death;
I fear for my posterity.

I do not believe in Heaven or Hell;
I believe that all sentient life has a spiritual element.
I do not believe in the concept of sin;
I believe that love, in all its forms, is the most vital part of human experience.

I do not know if any religion is “true” or “false”;
I do know that there is a greater presence outside ourselves.
I do not know if God still exists;
I do know that once I did not exist, now I do, and soon I won’t.

I must not harm anyone else;
I must live every minute as if it is my last.
I must not allow the past to cripple the future;
I must make the day of everyone I encounter better.

Amen”

For openers, these Doubters appear to think of a Credo (”I believe”) as a statement of what they observe, rather than what they put their trust in—what they believe about, not what they believe in. For them a “greater presence” is something they are “approximating”—working in from the edges of what they observe, supposing something must be there and letting that suffice.

This view of reality is an inch or two over from the man I met at a New Year’s Eve Party a few weeks ago who thinks that all spirituality is simply “brain chemicals.” He told me he is a practicing Quaker. But he is also a Doubter of one of the higher orders.

Spirituality is something that even doubters, skeptics and secular philosophers acknowledge; yet their rejection or suspicion of religious doctrines really eviscerates human spirituality: it cuts the guts out of it.

With very little effort, as on that proverbial “slippery slope,” spirituality devolves to mere sentiment, limited by consciousness—for example: your trying to live each day “as if it were your last.” (Maybe I should go see The Bucket List while it’s still around.) But I suspect that a lot of loud, young, male, speeding pickup-drivers would be even more self-absorbed and rude and violent if they really believed that today was their “last day.” If you don’t fear death or God, Heaven or Hell, then why not just do whatever brings me instant gratification because, after all, this might be my last day on earth!?

Spiritual uncertainty, or a lack of spiritual consciousness, is clearly expressed here over and over: “I do not know . . .” Perhaps that phrase is offered as a mark of spiritual humility. But it doesn’t nearly approximate human experience. It lets humanity off the hook quite easily. It misses the moral mark by a mile. I do not always know, for example, if my actions today are in fact hurting someone else, rather than making other people’s day “better.” And if I do not know, then I am not responsible, right? Think of the long-term effects of greed, waste, and environmental damage of which generations of moral people were completely unaware while they sentimentalized the act of making somebody’s day better.

The most troubling and naive part of this dubious Credo, in my opinion, is the line “I do not believe in the concept of sin.” Do you really think “sin” does not exist? Or that the “concept” as you understand it is something you can’t subscribe to? If there is no God, then sin defined as an offense against God would not exist. That’s clever! But sin has been understood for thousands of years as also an offense against my neighbor. Most of the Ten Commandments are guidelines to keep us from sinning against—harming or exploiting—other people. The Old Testament is a confusing and quirky collection of moral commands, of actions and consequences (karma), but the majority of its moral wisdom falls in the column of justice, not merely religion.

Or is the “concept of sin” one these writers just associate with a penalty phase? (”Hell”?) In other words, can I simply adopt a personal ethic not to harm my neighbor without having to admit my failure to live up to my own ethic a lot of the time? Or attempt to make amends for the things I inadvertently do which harm others? Or to accept the consequences of my failures?

Someone wise remarked that “Sin is the one Christian doctrine which is empirically verifiable.” You can see it and document it, even if some doubter simply says “I do not believe in the concept of sin.” Was the Nazi extermination of six million Jews and unnumbered homosexuals and gypsies not sin? Or does the Doubter have a different term for it if the word sin isn’t used? Is “I do not believe” the escape line for the men who gutted the assets of Enron, including the retirement savings of thousands of their own employees? For the sub-prime lenders who have manipulated millions into Option-ARM loans no one could possibly afford, and has now left them homeless, bankrupted and with terrible credit scores? For Iraq war independent contractors who are bleeding the American government and therefore the American people for billions of dollars? For mass-murderers in our malls and schools? For men who mercilessly kill their wives and children before turning the gun on themselves? For drive-by shooters? For those who write computer viruses, or devise Ponzi and pyramid schemes, who defraud gullible senior citizens through phoney “investments”? All of those obvious examples are not “sin”? Then what are they? If there is no “sin” then what is it these Doubters fear in mankind?

To borrow a phrase from a well-known bumper sticker, “If you don’t believe that sin is real, you haven’t been paying attention.” If you can’t “buy into” a lot of religious talk, well okay. But the “spiritual element” of human life includes a sense of personal responsibility, self-examination, self-discipline, consciousness, humility, and an openness to change oneself and one’s life when confronted with the error of one’s ways. See, for example, the accusation of the prophet Nathan against King David, “You are the man!” (2 Samuel 12:7)

Ash Wednesday is the Christian acknowledgment not only of our sinful predicament—our sinful nature—but also our finite nature. As the liturgical phrase has it, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Or as the Doubter puts it, “I do know that once I did not exist, now I do, and soon I won’t.”

—Pastor Dan Hooper, Los Angeles