[Oe List ...] 6/30/2022: Progressing Spirit: Rev. LaurenVan Ham: A Different Kind of Optimism; Spong revisitd
Ellie Stock
elliestock at aol.com
Thu Jun 30 04:54:47 PDT 2022
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A Different Kind of Optimism
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| Essay by Rev. Lauren Van Ham
June 30, 2022
Recently, I was in consultation with a colleague who is First Nation Cree. Throughout the conversation, there was a steady stream of confidence, curiosity, and hope. Really smiling at one point, my colleague said, “I’m an eternal optimist who comes from a history of despair.”
Wow.
And yes.
And why then, I wondered, is my inner optimist in hiding?
My optimism has been tempered by the stories I see and hear about the despair that has been, the despair that is present, and the predicted despair, yet to come.
But, Lauren, you’re a chaplain. Isn’t there a different kind of optimism that might be helpful right now?
There is and I’ll get to that, but it’s so important to look first (eyes and heart wide open) at what is happening to life everywhere right now.
Whether it’s the most recent IPCC report or progress updates on the UN Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), the current data makes it clear that the necessary global commitments, or the required changes in human behavior and infrastructure, will not happen in time to keep global warming within 1.5 °C (and not even under 2°C); nor will we reach the SDGs by the 2030 target. The consequences will continue to be devastating and interrelated. They will be interrelated because everything is interrelated. Our living system is interrelated. And, the SDGs are interrelated. Just as soil, birds, and trees work together to create a healthy ecosystem, gender equality, job security, and clean water work together to create healthy communities. At first glance, the 17 SDGs seem obvious and in line with everything we were taught in kindergarten or religious education: “Goal 1: No Poverty,” “Goal 2: Zero Hunger.” But there are interdependencies within the 17 goals that become more uncomfortable and less convenient: “Goal 12: Responsible Consumption and Production,” Where are our teachers for this practice? “Goal 8: Decent Work and Economic Growth.” What kind of economic growth? What about economies that aren’t dependent on that “growth” word?
In his encyclical letter, Laudato Si (2015), Pope Francis wrote, “The urgent challenge to protect our common home includes a concern to bring the whole human family together to seek a sustainable and integral development, for we know that things can change.” Although the word, “sustainable” has become tricky, “integral” offers greater clarity, does it not?
Sometimes, caring for Earth looks less like planting a garden and more like helping girls stay in school. And tending our communities might mean buying locally but it’s also about divesting wisely, relinquishing excess, and thoughtfully considering what land stewardship or “ownership” means to us individually, and collectively. Working to restore Earth and taking good care of one another are always related. Integrally. Relationships and systems that are truly sustaining involve some back and forth; there is tending, reciprocity, and flow. Again, from the Laudato Si: “The time has come to accept decreased growth in some parts of the world, in order to provide resources for other places to experience healthy growth.” Think controlled burns in our neglected forests.
Of course, this requires trust and a belief in sufficiency and enough. It asks us to consider endings and deaths like our own. It’s a huge unlearning for most of us, and we’ve no time to lose. What is your relationship to growth? Excess? Enough? And what are we each doing about our answers, individually and across the greater web of relationships?
Since its release in December 2020, an international scholars’ warning[i] to slow and prepare for societal disruption and breakdown has been signed by over 500 scientists and scholars in dozens of subjects, from over 30 countries. In the midst of extreme temperatures, flooding, supply chain disruption, food insecurity, wars, political divisiveness, refugee camps, and wavering economies, the letter advises, “Only if policymakers begin to discuss this threat of societal collapse might communities and nations begin to prepare and so reduce its likelihood, speed, severity, harm to the most vulnerable, and to nature.”
Thankfully many faith groups are not waiting for the policymakers. Important, life-preserving work is being done by houses of worship and spiritual communities in the form of disaster preparedness, and by becoming cooling centers or resilience hubs in their neighborhoods.
The scholars’ letter continues, “Some of us believe that a transition to a new form of society may be possible. That will involve bold action to reduce damage to the climate, nature, and other people, including preparations for major disruptions to everyday life… We have experienced how emotionally challenging it is to recognize the damage being done, along with the growing threat to our own way of life. We also know the great sense of fellowship that can arise.”
And this brings me back to a different kind of optimism. Within every world religion, there is the mystical and the prophetic. We are instructed and inspired by both. Recall those mystical moments when you have been “right-sized” by a mountain summit or the stars at night; and the reverence that comes alive in us with the “hush” that permeates a cave, cathedral, or seashell when held to our ear. This reverence places us within the family of all beings. We are finite and we are a part of the infinite. And consider the prophetic: the messages that call us home to our ancient knowledge, or propel us toward care for future generations. Prophetic wisdom is engaged reverence! When we bring reverence into our actions, we create resilience. And when we do this in the community, we experience connective, collective resilience. What can we be doing to create more of this, right now, in our homes, neighborhoods, and cities?
I suspect that it is this kind of reverence-invites-resilience that my colleague meant when he described feeling optimistic. So often, in the stories of those whose ancestors survived forced relocation, enslavement, or genocide, there is a quiet, steady source of trust…hope? Resilience? What if our inspiration came from our reverent awareness that our one temporary existence is amazingly precious and… enough? Encounters with reverence (spiritual practice) encourage us to live and give fully, especially because we know that we will not always be in this body, contributing and experiencing in this way. Can that be more fantastic than fearsome? More optimistic than pessimistic?
The state of our world is calling us on a journey of uncertainty. A number of us are creating circles of support and looking for more and better ways to become adaptive in the face of great change and significant loss. As it has always been for those living close to Earth, let’s ask for reverence and resilience combined to be our optimism. Because when facing despair, if another more resilient, deeply loving, and directly caring way is possible, isn’t it who we are and what we believe to choose it?
~ Rev. Lauren Van Ham
Read online here
About the Author
Born and raised beneath the big sky of the Midwest, Lauren holds degrees from Carnegie Mellon University, Naropa University, and The Chaplaincy Institute. Following her ordination in 1999, Lauren served as an interfaith chaplain in both healthcare (adolescent psychiatry and palliative care), and corporate settings (organizational development and employee wellness). Lauren’s passion for spirituality, art, and Earth's teachings have supported her specialization in eco-ministry, grief & loss, and sacred activism. Her essay, "Way of the Eco-Chaplain," appears in the collection, Ways of the Spirit: Voices of Women; and her work with Green Sangha is featured in Renewal, a documentary celebrating the efforts of religious environmental activists from diverse faith traditions across America. Currently, Lauren tends her private spiritual direction and eco-chaplaincy consulting practice; and serves as Climate Action Coordinator for the United Religions Initiative (URI), and as guest faculty for several schools in the San Francisco Bay Area.
[i] I encourage readers to watch a 4 min video of the letter being read by some of the signatories: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f0frHoqXLB0&t=35s |
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Question & Answer
Q: By A Reader
Is it possible that religion has less to do with what’s true and more to do with where and when you were born?
A: By Kevin G. Thew Forrester, Ph.D.
Dear Reader,
Everything that is, as it is, as it arises at this moment, is what I call Reality. With each moment, Reality arises completely anew.
On a macro scale, we can say that Reality is refracted by each culture. This means that each culture, constituted by the shared meanings and values (such as religion, art, etc.) of its people, sees Reality from a certain perspective. This cultural perspective is quite complex, being enriched by social systems (such as education, politics, science, communication, etc.) and unique persons. Each person emerges as an enculturated being, with their genetic disposition formed by their culture and its myriad systems.
Truth is a claim both individuals and cultures make about their experience of Reality. A religion is one cultural force that helps a given group and its members make sense of their experience of Reality within the context of their culture. An Indian Hindu might interpret her spiritual experience as a vision of Krishna; a Roman Catholic in Mexico might interpret a similar experience as a vision of Our Lady of Guadalupe, and a Zen Buddhist might interpret it as a vision of Avalokiteshvara.
Each spiritual experience is a personal perception refracted through the religious-cultural lens of our formation as a human being. To the degree that an experience discloses Reality as it is, it speaks or embodies truth – in this instance the dimension of Reality might be the strength of love. Where religion becomes lost is when exclusive claims are made about a culturally embedded experience of Reality. Each perspective embodies truth and is partial.
Where we are born is where our personal journey begins but not where it ends nor even where our most formative experiences might occur. Religion does have to do with where and when we are born. Religion has to do with what and how we learn, and how curious and open we are. Buddha, Jesus, Marguerite Porete, Rumi, Julian of Norwich: each of these teachers was greatly shaped by their time and place of birth, but none of them was completely determined by them. Their curious hearts led them to question the assumptions of their cultures and to see with new eyes what was possible for the human being. So it is with each of us.
~ Kevin G. Thew Forrester, Ph.D.
Read and share online here
About the Author
Kevin G. Thew Forrester, Ph.D. is an Episcopal priest, a student of the Diamond Approach for over a decade, as well as a certified teacher of the Enneagram in the Narrative Tradition. He is the founder of the Healing Arts Center in Marquette, Michigan, and the author of five books, including I Have Called You Friends, Holding Beauty in My Soul’s Arms, and My Heart is a Raging Volcano of Love for You and Beyond my Wants, Beyond my Fears: The Soul’s Journey into the Heartland. Visit Kevin’s Blog: Essential Living: For The Soul’s Journey.
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Bishop John Shelby Spong Revisited
"Think Different—Accept Uncertainty" Part XIV:
Analyzing the Miracles Attributed to Jesus
Essay by Bishop John Shelby Spong
August 2, 2022
When most people think of the miracles included in the gospels, they usually think of a broad series of apparently supernatural acts. They tend not to be familiar with the intimate details of the biblical narrative. When those details are revealed, questions are inevitably raised as to the purpose the gospel writer had in mind when he was writing, and the possibility that these stories were never meant to be taken literally rises substantially. Allow me to illustrate that with some easily discovered biblical data. I begin with the most miraculous of the biblical claims.
Did Jesus literally raise people from the dead? A search of the gospel texts reveals these biblical facts. The gospels suggest that three different people are called by Jesus from death into life, but only one of those stories occurs in more than one of the gospels. That is the account of the raising of Jairus’ daughter. It makes its first appearance in Mark (5:21-24, 35-43), a book written in the early seventies. The details in this original narrative tell us that Jairus was a “ruler of the synagogue,” who comes to Jesus beseeching him to heal his daughter “who is at the point of death.” Jesus begins to move toward Jairus’ home. As he does so, there is another healing miracle, the story of the woman with an issue of blood, inserted by Mark to take up the time during which they were on the way to Jairus’ house. Having completed that episode the journey continues only to be interrupted by Jairus’ servants coming to inform the synagogue ruler that the child has died and he is not to trouble the “teacher” any longer. Jesus, apparently unmoved by this report, speaks to Jairus telling him not to be fearful, but to believe and so the journey continues. Arriving at the house, Jesus is greeted by a host of mourners, who are weeping and wailing. He asks them why they are mourning, informing them that the child “is not dead but sleeping.” The mourners laugh at him. Closing the door on the mourners, Jesus goes with the child’s parents and his disciples into the child’s room. He takes the child’s hand and commands her to rise. She does. Mark then tells us that she is twelve years old. Jesus orders them to give her food and departs leaving behind him a trail of wonder and amazement.
That same story is told next with only slight variations by Matthew (9:18-26) writing in the mid-eighties and then once again by Luke (8:40-56) writing in the late 80’s to early 90’s. Both Matthew and Luke incorporated substantial portions of Mark into their gospels and so we are not surprised to find the story not only repeated in each, but in exactly the same context of events, that is the message of the child’s sickness, the journey, the healing of another on the way and then word of the child’s death. It is obvious that in these three accounts we have a single story in three slightly different versions.
For help in understanding this story, we turn to a remarkably similar episode that was said to have occurred in the life of the prophet Elisha recorded in the book of II Kings (4:8-36). In that story, Elisha raises a child of about twelve from the sleep of death. The only difference is that for Elisha the child is a boy, not a girl. In each story, there is a message sent to the “healer” while he is a long-distance away. In both stories, the healer continues to the child’s house, and goes directly into the room where the child is lying on the bed. Elisha is said to have done mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, stretching himself on the body of the child. Jesus is portrayed as taking her hand and speaking the word of healing. In each story, the child is restored to health. Could it be that this Jesus story was originally nothing more than a re-telling of an Elisha story as if it had occurred in Jesus’ life as a way of relating Jesus to the tradition of the Hebrew Scriptures and claiming for him the status of being a new Elisha? I think that is highly likely.
The only other raising from the dead story that occurs in the synoptic gospels is told in Luke (7:11-17). In this miracle account, the only son of a widow is restored to life by Jesus in the village of Nain. There is little doubt that this man is dead, for his body is on the funeral bier in a procession toward his place of burial. Yet once again by looking at an older Elijah story (I Kings 17:24), we find remarkable similarities. There we discover that Elijah was also said to have raised the only son of a widow from the dead. We also know that Luke will draw on more than one occasion from the Elijah stories to relate his understanding of Jesus. Is that what this raising of the dead story, found only in Luke, is all about? I believe it is.
There is only one other raising from the dead story in the gospels and it is the very dramatic account of the raising of Lazarus recorded only in the Fourth Gospel, a work that is generally dated at the end of the first century, ca. 95-100 or 65-70 years after the crucifixion. The details are these: It is a public, not a private act. Jesus’ disciples, his friends, and even his enemies are present. The person, who is to be raised, is not only dead but he has been buried for four days. John’s text even warns Jesus that there will be an odor if the tomb is opened. Jesus, nevertheless, orders the stone covering the mouth of the cave to be removed, and then he literally calls Lazarus out of the grave. Lazarus comes like a walking mummy, bound by the grave cloths in which he has been wrapped and from which he must be freed. If such a credibility-stretching episode had really occurred, ask yourself whether it is likely that no one in that public gathering would mention it for more than three generations before John writes it down. I will return to this story in this series next week but suffice it now to say that no biblical scholar today regards the account of the raising of Lazarus as history.
So this brief analysis reveals that the three gospel stories of Jesus raising someone from the dead might mean something quite different from that arrived at by reading them as literal history, an insight confirmed again and again as we look at the miracles of Jesus more closely.
The next category of miracles, attributed to Jesus, is what we call “nature” miracles: Jesus walking on water, stilling the storm, and feeding the multitude with loaves and fishes. A close look at these narratives also yields new possibilities for non-literal interpretation. Most people are not aware, for example, that there are six separate versions of the feeding of the multitude story in the four gospels. There are two in Mark, two in Matthew, one in Luke, and one in John. Since Mark and Matthew are older than Luke and John, it looks like the multiple accounts of the feeding stories are the earlier tradition. So we look first at Mark and Matthew. The symbols present in these narratives then begin to pop out of the text. In Mark, Jesus, on the Jewish side of the lake, feeds 5000 men (plus women and children) with five loaves and two fish. Afterward, twelve baskets of fragments are gathered up so that “nothing is lost.” Then Jesus moves to the Gentile side of the lake and proceeds to replicate the experience, but this time he feeds 4000 people with seven loaves and a few fish, and afterward, seven baskets of fragments are collected. The numbers employed: five loaves, 5000 people, and twelve baskets of fragments on the Jewish side of the lake and seven loaves, 4000 people, and seven baskets of fragments on the Gentile side of the lake scream at us not to read these narratives as literal history, but as symbolic feedings, perhaps as early Eucharists. By the time we get to John’s gospel those eucharistic connections are clear since John has Jesus liken his flesh to the manna that fell on the starving Israelites in the wilderness, making it clear that these stories are related to the Moses accounts in which God feeds the children of Israel with heavenly bread. Thus it becomes apparent that these feeding stories are not to be understood as literal happenings, but as interpretive narratives being retold about Jesus, the “New Moses.” I wonder how many people who sit in the pews have ever been invited to view miracles from this non-literal perspective.
Moving on to the miracles of healing, let me illustrate this same non-literal approach by looking at just one narrative, the restoration of sight to a blind man from Bethsaida (Mark 8:22-26). This miracle story is unique because the first application of the hands of Jesus on the eyes of this blind man was not successful, at least not completely. After Jesus anointed this man’s eyes with clay and spittle the blind man can see only “trees walking.” Only with the second laying on of hands was his sight fully restored. If this is really a miracle story then why was Jesus’ power inadequate the first time? The literal mindset is buffeted by these questions, but a look at the context in which this story appears in Mark offers a powerful clue. Mark places this story just before the account of Peter’s confession at Caesarea Philippi. In Peter’s confession he says the right words “You are the Christ,” but he clearly does not know what they mean. When Jesus begins to tell him what the Christ role is to be – suffering, rejection, and death — Peter objects eliciting from Jesus the stern rebuke: “Get thee behind me Satan, for you are not on the side of God, but of men.” Peter is surely portrayed as a blind man who begins to see but not clearly, and a second experience must precede his full entry into both faith and sight. It should not come as a surprise when we discover Peter hails from Bethsaida.
Is this then really a miracle story, the account of a supernatural healing of a blind man? I do not think so, nor do I think that this is what Mark intended us to understand as we read his gospel. Mark is rather writing a parable about the conversion of Peter, a blind man who has to be led to seeing and thus to faith in stages.
There are many more things that I can say about the miracle stories of the gospels, but I will devote only one more column to this subject to allow me to deal more fully with the fascinating story of the raising of Lazarus. For now let me say bluntly that I no longer think that the miracles of the gospels have anything to do with what we once called the miraculous.
~ John Shelby Spong
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