Liking God

05 Thursday May 2022

Posted by CurateMike in All, Healing, Journey

Tags

Father, God, Holy spirit, Love, Prodigal Son, Son, Trinity, Wrath

Pascha 2022

I write this blog anonymously. It is time to reveal my identity. I am actually quite famous. Perhaps you have heard of me. Many have written about me. Rembrandt painted me. Jesus Himself described my journey. I am the Prodigal Son.

If you know the story, then you know that when I was old enough, I grabbed all that was due me and left, leaving both my real home and my real Father. I went to a far-off land seeking fun and adventure.

I spent many years in that far-away place living what felt like the good life, reaching for and mostly finding the “American dream.” By all common metrics, I was at least moderately successful; certainly I was above average in my accomplishments. I left all that I was behind. I never called my Father. I never even texted Him.

As the years went by, something in my life began to seem amiss. I was beginning to experience a deep sense that there was something more to life than my American, upper middle-class existence. The foreign land in which I was living was beginning to feel very foreign indeed. I was mostly empty inside. The stuff of life, accomplishments and material things began to lose their interest for me. The banquet that the world was throwing began to taste like “food given to swine.” Looking back, I was “coming to myself.” That is the way Jesus tells it.

As the sparkle of the foreign land was diminishing, the thought of returning home began to increase. I had begun to realize what I was missing by being away all these years. Increasingly, I felt drawn back to my home and my Father. One day, I simply knew I had to go back. With the decision made, I didn’t hesitate; I started out for home. I was both eager and afraid. How would my Father respond? Along the way I planned what I would say when I got there. I would stand up straight and look Him in the eye as he had taught me to do. “Father,” I would say, “I have sinned against heaven, and in Your sight;I am no longer worthy to be called Your son; treat me as one of Your hired laborers.” Certainly that would soften Him toward me. All I knew is that I would do anything to be home again.

As I drew close to home so much looked familiar; it felt comfortable…and not. I had spent my youth here, but I had been gone for a long time. And, you know what they say about never being able to go home again.

I could see my house in the distance. And then I saw something else: I saw a figure running toward me. I couldn’t make out who it was. Was it someone sent to warn me to stay away? After all, I was an ungrateful son. Was it someone sent by my Father to test my motives for returning, to make sure I was properly humiliated by my actions? The figure drew closer. No! It couldn’t be! It was my Father! I had never seen Him run before! I stood frozen; He was on me in an instant. And then…He embraced me and kissed me! I stammered out my practiced lines, “Father, I…I…I have sinned against heaven, and in your sight;I am no longer worthy…” He wasn’t listening; rather, He was calling to have me fitted with His finest clothes; He put His ring on my finger; then, He started planning a welcome-home banquet. I could only stand there, dumbfounded. There was no hint of anger in Him; He did not say, “I knew you would be a failure. I tried to tell you this would happen.” He did not tell me I had to earn my place back into His good graces. There was none of that. Only His tears of joy.

It was as though He had been waiting for me all these many years, each day standing at the window hoping that this would be the day I returned. What kind of love is that? It is unworldly love, the kind I had never known. Had He always loved me like that? I couldn’t recall…

Slowly, my life began to settle down again. I had time to reflect on this most remarkable turn of events. Rather than suffering through the humiliation and toil to earn my right to be called the son of my Father, I had been joyously welcomed back into the family with full privileges, no questions asked. It was as though I had never left. And I realized that before leaving home I had never thought much about my Father; I had certainly taken Him for granted.

Coming back, I wanted to get to know Him, to really know Him. The accepted way for a son to know His Father was through sermons, reading, study, podcasts, and conversation (prayer). What I learned was not so much about my Father. I learned instead that Jesus loves me and that I needed to work on my personal relationship with Him. After all, I was told, it is only because of Jesus that my Father welcomed me home. I was told that through the love of Jesus and His blood shed upon the cross, I was now shielded from the wrath of God, my Father. God-my-Father had welcomed me as a worthy son only because Jesus paid the price I cannot pay for my sins of leaving home. When I walked out, I was told, I had offended the honor of my Father and only Jesus’ punishing death on the cross could restore the honor of my Father. Another image was given to me: I’m in a courtroom. My Father sits in judgment of me. He sentences me to eternal torment for my offense to Him. Jesus steps up to take my punishment. Then, my Father-the-judge steps down from the Bench and hugs me. Welcome home, son.

So I worked at my relationship with Jesus. Hard. After all, I was so thankful to be back home. I didn’t want to ever again disappoint my Father.

I have to admit, though, that as the days, months, and years passed, I began to experience stress and worry at being home again. You see, in Church I was told to love God: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. It had become easy for me to be attracted to Jesus. He died for me. The Holy Spirit was also attractive, who doesn’t appreciate and grow to love a “helper.” But, my Father…

Ever so slowly I began to realize that I didn’t know how to feel about my Father. Almost everything in Church was centered on Jesus and His love for me, and on the Holy Spirit, Who was sent to help me. Mostly, mention of my Father was limited to a prayer to “Our Father” as Jesus had taught.

Our Father, Who art in Heaven…

Anything else that was said about my Father was usually about His anger and wrath directed toward people like I had been: one of those other Prodigal people who had left their homes. I began to notice that whenever I thought of my Father my only real concern was with keeping Jesus between Him and me.

It has dawned on me that during that time I loved my Father but I didn’t really like Him. Truthfully, I had learned to be afraid of my Father’s wrath. To me, He had become very much like the “Angry God” of preacher Jonathan Edwards; a Father Who, according to Edwards, views the other Prodigal children as “objects”of His wrath; objects, not persons. Edwards says:

[Prodigal children] are now the objects of that very same anger and wrath of God, that is expressed in the torments of hell.

I was always afraid of again failing my Father. I was afraid that my Father, in His anger and wrath toward me in a moment of my weakness, would say to me, “Enough!” and kick me out of the house. And I was afraid for others. Many of those “lost” people—other Prodigals—about which I was hearing had been my friends when I lived in the foreign land; many remain my friends even after I returned home. Had my Father felt that anger toward me when I was away? I had always thought He had been daily watching at the window for my return.

So, I began to wonder, who really welcomed me home? Who was it that every day watched for me and then, when finally seeing me, ran out to greet me? Who was it who clothed me in His finest garments, put His ring on my finger, and threw me a barbecue of His fatted calf, inviting all of the neighbors to welcome me home? That just didn’t sound like the wrathful Father of whom I was now afraid.

Just before Jesus died on the cross He said, “The one who has seen Me has seen the Father.” He went on to say, as He had said earlier, that He and His Father were one. How could it be, then, that there is a wrathful God (Father) and a loving Son (Jesus)? After all, it is foundational Christian theology that here is only one God. It sounded more and more that I was being taught that God was bifurcated God, not One, that there was one wrathful God (Father) of the Old Testament and then a second, loving God (Jesus) of the New Testament. The Father demands obedience; the Son freely gives love.

I began to dig deeper as the question burned within. Which God was it Who welcomed me home?

I found that the early Church had a viewpoint of God that differed from that which was formulated by Augustine, refined by Anselm, and through the influential preaching of men like Edwards, had become accepted in much of Western Christianity. It is a viewpoint that was common in the Church in the early years following Jesus’ death and is still widely accepted in Eastern Christianity. Rather than a wrathful Father appeased by the sacrifice of His Son on our behalf, God the Father is a loving God who longs for our salvation. Jesus died to defeat death, humankind’s great enemy, not to appease an angry God or to ransom us from Satan.

One of the greatest preachers the Church has known, Saint John Chrysostom (c. AD 347-407) said this:

Enter into the Church and wash away your sins. For there is a hospital for sinners and not a court of law.

This was a very different Father than I had been taught about upon my return. But, it was the Father whom I had experienced, the Father I was coming to know. This is my Father, the one who watched and waited for me, who ran out to greet me and rejoiced upon my return. This Father of the early Church is not a wrathful Father; rather, God the Father, like His Son, is the great physician who desires to “bring good news to the poor…to proclaim release to captives, and recovery of sight to the blind, to set free those who are oppressed, to proclaim the favorable year of the Lord.” (Luke 4:14-21) This is not a Father who demands my punishment and the punishment of the other Prodigals so that His honor might be restored. Rather, this is the Father to all, whether His sons and daughters or whether the Prodigals. This Father, and His Son, Jesus, want nothing more than for all of us to return and remain home and share in their lives, just as you would expect of a Father. (Ez 18:23, 2Peter 3:9)

Father Michael Pomazansky captures well our Father’s love for us:

God is concerned more for our salvation than even for His own glory. A testimony to this is the fact that He sent His only-begotten Son into the world for suffering and death, solely to reveal to us the path of salvation and eternal life.

Setting aside His own glory…Interested more in my salvation than in His own honor. That is indeed perfect, sacrificial, other-worldly love. It is the only love worthy of a God Who “so loved the world…” This is my Father who ran to welcome me home. It is our Father who daily waits and watches for the return of all Prodigals. Father and Son both give love, freely, fully, and unconditionally.

Epilogue

I’ve been back at home for many years now. In many ways, I’m still that young kid looking over the fence at the grass that looks greener; there’s still a lot of Prodigal Son in me. I remain much too inattentive to my Father Who loves me unconditionally. All too often I put myself above Him and my neighbor. I remain much too full of pride and self love. I still feel the pull back to the foreign land and the taste of the food of pigs. I tell myself that I wish I could stop longing for that place, so full of grays and blacks, but the pull is strong and I too often justify a quick trip back. Sometimes it is a very quick trip manifested in something like a burst of anger. Other times, it is a longer trip if, for example, I get caught in the despair of the news of the world. However long my excursion, when once again I “come to myself” I once again tell myself this is my last trip to this place. Then, once again I turn to home. Once again my Father runs to greet me. Once again, with a contrite heart, I say, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and in your sight; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.” And, once again, the barbecue is laid out. Each “welcome home” is like the first.

“Forgive me, Father” is, after all, the only thing I have to offer back to my Father; after all, He owns everything else. So, it is here in the fire of my struggle against the pull of the foreign land where my Father is forging in me a new heart, a humble and contrite heart with the help of His spirit, His angels, and a “cloud of witnesses” who have gone before me. A contrite heart, it is all He has ever wanted from me. And it is everything I have to give. I long to love God and neighbor much because I have been forgiven much. (Luke 7:36-7:50)

So, finally, all these many years later, I finally have the answer to my question, “Who ran out to meet me?” God did. All of God: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. All of God loves me and has welcomed me home, and all of Heaven rejoices over my return. I love my Father, in His perfect love there is no room for fear…and I really like Him.

But, to know Him, to really know Him, will take me all of eternity.

If you don’t know this Father, come and meet Him. You might find you like Him, too.

Additional reading:
1) “Saint Athanasius and the ‘Penal Substitutionary’ Atonement Doctrine.”
2) Bailey, Father Spyridon. The Ancient Path.

How Does My Life Mean?

11 Thursday Feb 2021

Posted by CurateMike in All, Healing, Journey, Life, Self

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Father, God, Holy spirit, meaning of life, Self love, Son, Trinity

Man is nothing else but what he makes of himself.
—Jean-Paul Sartre

I have come that people may have life, and that they may have it abundantly.
—Jesus

I have been obsessed with the meaning of life since I was a kid. Early on, I remember reading obituaries in the local newspaper. I noticed that some during their lives had done extraordinary things, accounting for significant advances in science, math, engineering, the arts. Others had led large companies to unprecedented prosperity, providing many jobs and making a lot of money for themselves and others. Yet others lived more modest lives, working hard and raising families. Still others had hard lives marred by poor decisions, struggle, and loss.

There are culturally accepted ways to assign meaning to life and we label and reward accordingly. The “great” person affects humanity and gets public honor: a star named for them (or a star on Hollywood Boulevard), or a monument dedicated to them, or a statue built in their honor, or a street or park named after them An “expert” is widely recognized in their field of expertise and have a wall or a shelf in their home filled with their achievement awards. The “average Jane or Joe” lives a generally nondescript life, invisible to all but those closest to them. About another life we use the word “wasted” or “shameful,” particularly when addiction is involved. If one dies young, then we say their life was “tragically cut short” presumable lamenting that they did not have time to do the things that would have given their life greater meaning.

But even the highest reward for a meaningful life can be fleeting. We have a short collective memory. Have you ever stopped at a statue of a person and wondered who the person was and what they did to have a statue erected for them? I think these questions can be asked of any memorial we come across. I try to stop and read the usual plaque, then say something like, “Hmmmm, that’s interesting” before moving on.

My mom and dad were quite prominent people in our small, midwestern-America town. My dad was mayor for awhile, and when he died there was quite a celebration of his life and accomplishments; the town even named a street after him. Now, thirty years later, I’m sure most people driving down his street wonder who he was. Honestly, if anyone even thinks of him at all it is probably only to wish his street had a shorter name. And I’m sure that now only us, his kids, could find his, or my mom’s, grave site at the local cemetery.

I, too, have accomplished things in my life and have had my own achievement awards; however, even in the midst of the work I always had that small voice chiding me, “One day,” it would say, “this accomplishment will just be a line in your own obituary that will soon be forgotten.”

I am very aware that the day I die my toys and precious belongings will become just troublesome stuff for my kid to dispose of. In two generations, likely no one will know where I am buried. The best I can hope for is that I appear in some future progeny’s web search on an “ancestor” archive.

On my deathbed, if I am able to reflect back on my life, what is it that will have given it meaning? Will I be graded on a scale based on things that can measured, such as philanthropy or adventure or personal achievement? If so, against whose scale will I be judged? And who will grade me? Family? Friends? Society? If no one ultimately remembers me, then why should I really care how I am graded?

So, how does life mean? Wait! That is too big a question. What I really want to know is this: How does my life mean?

This I know: God created humankind—me—to participate in His very life, to be “one” with him and with other Christians. By His graciousness I am invited to become like He is by nature. Therefore, my life’s meaning doesn’t come from a collection of material things or accomplishments but by my movement into relationship with Him. My life begins to have meaning when I am awakened to the Beauty of God and I begin to “come out of myself and move toward Him,” to “run toward God without any regard for myself” (Patitsas)…like lovers do. Here is one way the Bible describes it:

My beloved is a shining and fiery light, Chosen from countless thousands. His head is like refined gold; His locks of hair are shiny and black, Like a raven’s feathers. His eyes are like those of doves Sitting by pools of water, Having eyes bathed in milk and fitly set. His cheeks are like bowls of spices Pouring forth perfumes. His lips are lilies dripping choice myrrh. His hands are like elaborate gold Set with precious stones. (Song of Songs, The Bible)

Isn’t that great imagery! Too often we are hit over the head with the threat of an angry God who is judging our every action and keeping score. That is not really true. It is much more like the paragraph, above. Elsewhere in the Bible it says that God is singing over us. Imagine that…God singing over me, the mess that I am.

To run toward God I have to try to get over myself, specifically to get over my love of myself, so that I might love Him. That is what it means to participate in God’s life.

In my human relationships I know that loving another is never easy for me. I don’t really want to put you first, at least not for very long. Setting aside my desires, my self-love, is often a sacrifice for me, and all too often it is too much of a sacrifice, so I don’t do it. If I’m honest with you, all the evidence in my life points to the fact that I love myself way too much, so that I want any relationship I’m in—with you or with God—to be on my terms.

But, love does require sacrifice. It all sounds so counter-cultural, doesn’t it. And it is, but this is what we were made for: to be in a loving relationship with God and others.

There’s hope for me, mired as I am in self love! Here is the little secret of Christianity that I have discovered: God knows I’ll never do “relationship” very well. Because of how much I want what I want, I’ll spend my life struggling to love you and God more than I love myself. Mostly I will fail at it. And then with God’s help I will get up and try again. And I will fail. And I will try again. And I will fail. And I will try again. For all of my life. With every fall I try to cry out to God Who helps me to get up again. Any successes I have will be entirely God’s doing.

But—and this is the final answer to my question—the only thing that gives my life meaning, eternal meaning, is whether I stayed in the struggle to try and love God and you more than I love myself. There are no monuments or achievement awards given for a life lived like this. There is only eternal life with God…life’s ultimate meaning.

And this is eternal life, that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent.
—Jesus

Oh, and that little word, “know” means the knowing God in the same way found only in the most intimate of relationship between lovers. Me knowing God (God already knows me)—it is both the meaning and reward of my life.

So, now when I read an obituary I appreciate the person’s accomplishments, but I also wonder how their life meant to them and to God, and I pray for them as I, too, struggle to live my life as one filled with eternal meaning.

What If…

28 Monday Dec 2020

Posted by CurateMike in Church, Death, Healing, Life, Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Church, desert fathers, Father, God, Holy spirit, Jesus, Lord of the Rings, Narnia, orthodoxy, Son

In the beginning of J. R. R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings series (Fellowship of the Ring), we read of the Hobbits living their everyday lives in a way we would consider normal: there is juicy gossip, a party with fireworks, mischievous kids…the things of normal life we all would recognize. However, we are soon introduced to an enchanted world with Elves and other beings, and the Dark Lord Sauron. Tolkien opens our eyes to a larger reality: against the background of the normalcy of the Hobbit’s lives, there is a battle underway for all of Middle-earth.

What if this were true for us. Like Hobbits, we go about our daily lives concerned about our families, our jobs, our personal finances, the stuff we own or desire to own, politics, sports, the weather, etc. What if, as in Tolkien’s Middle-earth, our world is actually enchanted, good and sinister beings exist, and there is a battle, of which we are largely unaware, underway.

To switch stories, in C.S. Lewis’ book, The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, the wicked White Witch introduces Edmund to the addictive treat, Turkish Delight. With it, she is able to distract Edmund from her true intentions to rule over Narnia as a cold and snowy land and to entice him to join with her.

What if this were true for us. In the United States and the Western world we are easily distracted: our high standard of living, the internet, social media, the entertainment industry, sports, the never-ending news cycle, toys we have or want, computers, phones, tablets…it is a long list. What if, as in Narnia,these things are given to us as Turkish Delight, used by an enemy to distract us and to entice us to acquiesce to or outright join the dark forces in the battle.

In the Bible’s New Testament, St Paul says this:
…we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.

There is a indeed a battle raging. However, it is not a battle for a geographical kingdom, such as Middle-earth or Narnia. Rather, it is a battle for the Kingdom of God that exists within us. In this battle, we are both the battleground and the prize! The battle is for our very being and the battleground is raging right now around us and within us.

In Tolkien’s and Lewis’ fictional fights beings suffer wounds or delusion as a result of the battle. It is true for us in our battle. But what if each of us is born into our enchanted world with a wound, an illness that darkens our soul and blinds us to our enchanted reality and the battle around us and within us.

Each of us has a part of our being called a Nous. Nous is an uncommon word to us modern people. In classical philosophy, nous “is a term for the faculty of the human mind necessary for understanding what is true or real” (Wikipedia). It is often believed to be the center of “reason.” However, centuries ago, Orthodox Christianity re-purposed the word to mean “the eye of the soul, which some Church Fathers also call the heart, [it] is the center of man and is where true (spiritual) knowledge is validated” (Orthodoxwiki). It is much more than “reason,” it is the faculty that allows us access to the immaterial world around us and to know things that are beyond our reason. Most importantly, our nous allows us to know God. (“The Limits of Human Reason” podcast)

Each and every one of us was born with and suffers from an illness of our nous. This part of our being, originally given to us to know God, to “see” the enchanted reality all around us, and to recognize good and evil, has been darkened and blinded; we were born with this condition. Consequently, we go through life focused on ourselves, we engage in survival of the fittest, just like all of the plants and animals of nature.

But God doesn’t leave us in this wounded state, He reaches out to each person to awaken us to the battle around us and within us. And how He tries to awaken us is unique to each of us. To one He speaks directly, to another He sends a messenger, to yet another He speaks through the circumstances of our lives.

Once awakened to the reality of the battle, we may choose to ignore it and try to live in a safe world of our own making, continuing to gather and feast on Turkish Delight. Or perhaps we will choose to join the rulers of darkness who are continually at work around us and within us to win us as their prize. After all, joining the dark powers may bring us power, prosperity, and sensual pleasure, albeit only in this life on Earth; however, the price is the continued darkening of our nous.

God longs for us to choose Him. He longs to heal our wounded nous. God has a hospital and a cure for us. It is the Church.

You may strongly disagree. Perhaps you have been to a church and found no help; rather, you have found only judgement because you don’t meet some standard of behavior. That is like waking up one morning realizing you are very sick. You go to the hospital only to be told you cannot enter until you are well. That is not the true Church.

All too often a church focuses only on the “rules” for our spiritual life. When the goal of a church is only on the “formulation” of man’s character, his ethical propriety, and his becoming a ‘good’ person and a ‘good’ citizen” then it is acting like a courtroom rather than a hospital. In the Church-courtroom we experience only “empty moralism…a superficiality” rather than finding the love of God and His healing. Sadly, many have experienced this Church-courtroom and revolted against God; but, who can blame them? Why would anyone want to worship a God like that.

Sick people don’t need a courtroom. Sick people don’t need to be told they aren’t acting like healed people. Sick people need a hospital. And, sick people need a cure.

The true Church has always been a hospital that exists to offer a cure for our illness, our woundedness, our spiritual blindness—our darkened nous. The goal of Christianity has never been about making us into “good” people. The world is full of “good” people who are still dead people. The goal of Christianity has always been to make dead people alive! The path to life is the path of the healing for our nous so that we can see God and join Him in His life.

In God’s Church-hospital, all are welcome. The Church is filled with people who range from those who do not yet know the extent of their sickness and seriousness of their wounds to those who are well along the path to being healed.

What if you actually believed in the reality that an epic battle is raging, that your very being is both the battleground and the prize. What if you believe that you can choose which side to be on in the battle. What if you believe there is a hospital offering you both care and cure for your wounds. And, most importantly, what if you believethis hospital’s Physician loves you more than you can ever imagine.

What if you believed all of these things…would it change your life?

Beauty

10 Tuesday Nov 2020

Posted by CurateMike in All, Healing, Life, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Art, Beauty, Christ, God, Holy Spiorit, Love, Modern Art, virtues

Brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things.
—St Paul, Philippians 4:8

The concept of beauty has been on my mind for quite awhile. Beauty is of one of the three classical virtues, the others being Goodness and Truth. Dr. Timothy G. Patitsas, in his new book, The Ethics of Beauty, advocates that we must first look to Beauty (rather than Goodness or Truth) to fill us with life. Beauty is life-giving.

Patitsas argues from “St Dionysius the Areopagite and the Fathers that followed him” that as “the beautiful appearing of God” hovered over the deep (Genesis 1:1-2), non-being became inflamed with love of God’s beauty and willingly left its non-being, becoming “gloriously alive.” (Pg 45) Patitsas goes on to argue that if we first get caught up in the intellectual pursuit of Goodness and Truth without first allowing ourselves to fall in love with God’s Beauty, we will become “imprisoned in the self.”

My thinking on Beauty has intersected with my thinking about Luck, Life, and God (my previous post). In that post, I said I have come to believe that while God does not cause the tragic events in our lives, He does permit them and He meets us in them. If being in love with beauty draws us toward life and away from non-being, then how can I learn to not just see the tragedy and become cynical about life and God? How can I learn to see beyond the ugly and find Beauty—God—in the midst of tragedy?

Certainly I can find beauty in nature. Recall a sunset that has been like a fire setting the sky ablaze. We know the physics: nuclear fission combines hydrogen atoms into helium; the Earth’s atmosphere filters out the blue spectrum; the Earth orbits the sun and turns on its axis. However, knowing these rational things about the sunset are not what stops our breath and fill us with wonder and awe; rather, the beauty of the sunset transcends the natural and reveals to us something more, something unseen.

The same thing can occur in art. Here is a photograph of Michelangelo’s masterpiece, “Pieta.” It depicts the dead Jesus laying across the lap of His mother, Mary. Regardless of your beliefs, the sight of a dead child in the arms of the mother is as a tragic a sight as there can be. As a man, I cannot grasp the depth of the pain that a mother would experience.

And yet, this work is considered to be one of the great works of art. Through it, we witness a great tragedy while at the same time experiencing its overwhelming beauty. How can this be?

The tragedy of the scene is manifold. For the Christian, we see God dead at our hands. All of us, Christian or not, see a man in his early 30s, dead, a life cut short. We also see the grieving mother. While we may not have experienced the loss of a child, likely each of us knows the pain of a life cut short; or, we have experienced loss due to death. Most know what is like to feel the pain and emptiness when someone we love dies: the extraordinary pain of grief that feels as though it is crushing the very life out of us as we struggle simply to take our next breath. Viewing this statue, we relive our own pain as memories flood in; we are filled with empathy for Mary.

And, we see more. In the tragedy of Jesus’ death and Mary’s loss we also see the very essence of what makes us human: love. Without love there is no grief. Mother Mary’s pain is a window into the depth of love. Too, without love, there is no self-sacrifice. Jesus willingly gave up His life for us, that we might be saved from death. Mary would have willingly traded places with her Son. “There is no greater love than to give your life for another,” said Jesus.

Michelangelo speaks to us in the universal language of life, pain, joy, suffering, and death. In this work he shows us the beauty of love is its rawest form. It is as though his work is a portal through which we can see through the tragedy and glimpse true reality beyond this world. And isn’t that the function of true art, whether sculpture, painting, literature, poetry, music…? True art has the power to transform both the tragic and the ordinary into the extraordinary, to give us a glimpse into true reality; it lifts the veil separating the natural from the rest of reality. When art does this, when it succeeds in opening the portal to reveal all of true reality, then it is truly beautiful.

All art is not created equal. Contrast Michelangelo’s work with this photograph of Salvador Dali’s painting of Jesus’ crucifixion (“Corpus Hypercubus”). That is Dali’s wife looking on. Francis Schaefer (Art and the Bible) argues that modern artists no longer use a language common to us all; therefore, he says, without help we cannot know what the artist is trying to say to us. I find this to be true of Dali’s work. I view it and I experience a sense of “wow” at the artwork itself, but I do not experience awe in the depths of my soul that I feel when seeing Michelangelo’s statue.

And this is the problem with art that “wows” us. So much of modern art, for me, either speaks a language I don’t understand without explanation, or seeks to shock me with the tragedy and absurdity of life. “Wow” is like a drug; we constantly need more. It seems like so much of modern art is left to try become increasingly abstract or shocking to satisfy our desire for more “wow.” Too often it is meant to inspire in the viewer anger, cynicism, or despair. Rarely does modern art inspire awe by revealing the beauty often hidden in reality.

For 2000 years the Christian Church has been filled with icons. These icons are not intended to be photo realistic depictions of people or historical events. Icons are a way we can see through the portal and experience God’s Kingdom now. In worship, surrounded by icons, we enter into the reality of the Kingdom of God with Jesus, the angels, and all the saints praying for us and awaiting us. We know we are worshiping God with all of creation. Icons are always beautiful.

What about our day-to-day life?

We each know that life is difficult and it is relentless. Life is too often filled with seemingly senseless tragedy, ours or that of others. I began this blog with Patitsas’ (The Ethics of Beauty) claim that we must find transformative beauty to endure tragedy around us or heal from tragedy that has happened to us. Recall too, above, that St Dionysius said creation willingly left its non-being for being when encountering the love of God, the ultimate Beauty.

For us, we can find beauty in nature and in true art. And, perhaps most importantly we can find it in another place.

Jesus said that the Kingdom of God is within us. Each human, is made in the image of God; therefore, each of us has the potential to be an icon of Jesus, the God-man. When you weep with me in my suffering, laugh with me in my happiness, rejoice with me in my joy, smile at me, offer a kind word, help me when I need help…when you do these things for me, in you I see the Beauty of Christ; in your beauty I see beyond the natural, survival-of-the-fittest world and experience through you the Beauty of Christ’s selflessness toward all of humanity. Through you I experience the Kingdom of God. If I am able to do these things for you, then you, too, can experience God’s Beauty and Kingdom in this life.

The gift of Christ’s Beauty is our greatest gift to each other; this is why we are to told by God to love our neighbor. Through our giving and receiving love we each offer the other the opportunity to gaze upon the Beauty of God and to experience His Kingdom; we remind each other of our moment-by-moment choice to willingly move away from the non-being of our self-centeredness and toward the healing of our soul and body and have fullness of life in the love of God.

St Paul exhorts us to always strive toward Beauty:

I consider [the things I have obtained as] garbage, that I may gain Christ and be found in Him…Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.
—Philippian’s 3:8-9, 12-14

Let’s choose Beauty. Choose love. Choose life.

______________________________________________________________________

The Ethics of Beauty—Timothy Patitsas

“Why Beauty Matters”—Roger Scruton

Naturally—Rick Mylander’s reflections on creation and Christian spirituality

Questions for God (and it is my right to have answers)

31 Friday Jul 2020

Posted by CurateMike in All, Healing, Journey

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Answers, God, Healing, Holy spirit, Jesus, Questions, Trauma

It seems as though the virus has given rise to many new questions. So, I’ve been thinking a lot about questions…and answers.

QuoteMaster.org

There are new, virus-related questions, of course: When can we get back to normal life? Will a vaccine be forthcoming? Are masks effective? What will life be like post pandemic? Somebody answer me!

Sometimes the questions are more urgent: How will I pay my rent? Where will my next meal come from? When can I visit my hospitalized loved one? Somebody answer me!

And then there are really big questions, such as: What does it mean to be human? Why am I here? How can there be a good God who would allow such worldly horror? Somebody answer me!

About my own questions, I remember saying years ago, When I get to Heaven I will have a lot of questions for God. I said it with humor, but if I am honest I had the sincere expectation that God would submit to my demand once I stood face-to-face with him…and what I really meant was, God, you’ve got some explaining to do, and I‘m willing to listen to Your side before I judge You.

About questioning God, the curious thing for me is this: there is a written, historical record of quite a number of people who actually got to ask questions of God! In the biblical Gospel accounts (Matthew, Mark, Luke, John) of Jesus, who is the God-man, when He walked the earth, people did ask Him questions, and quite a lot of them according to Martin B. Copenhaver (Jesus is the Question). During three-year period covered in the Gospels, the four writers record that people asked Jesus 183 questions. He answered only 3. ONLY 3! Worse yet, Jesus asked the people 307 questions.

Yikes!…the thought of being questioned by God brings back my old “test anxiety” in a big way. Seriously, though, the Gospel accounts seem to squash my idea of putting my most pressing questions to God and expecting answers.

Yet, does that mean I should have no questions for God? Am I supposed to just have some sort of mindless “faith” in Him, afraid to ask anything for fear that He will turn the tables on me?

Here is a story. In the Bible’s Old Testament, there was a wealthy family man named Job (rhymes with “robe”). He had a wife, ten kids, and owned a very large ranch with thousands of head of livestock. And, he was one of God’s favorite people. In a single, tragic day rustlers stole all of his livestock and killed many of his herdsmen, and then a wind storm collapsed the house of one of his children killing all ten of them. If that weren’t enough, Job himself was infected with painful boils. In the days and weeks that followed, and as the shock of his loss began to wear off, Job had questions for God. In page after page of the story, Job defends himself from friends who accuse him of having offended God and thus reaping due punishment. Job continued to claim his innocence and began to insist in asking why this had happened to him.

Eventually, God appears before Job, but not to defend Himself from or explain Himself to Job. You see, before Job can even open his mouth with his first question, God says, I will question you and you shall answer Me. Then, like machine gun fire, God rattles off 67 questions for Job. Questions like:

Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? Tell Me, if you have understanding. Who determined its measurements? Surely you know. Or who stretched the line upon it? To what were its foundations fastened, Or who laid its cornerstone, When the stars were made And all My angels praised Me in a loud voice?

On it goes. Questions interspersed with sarcasm and facts. I image Job cowering before God like Dorothy before the Wizard of Oz.

When God stops talking, Job has a sudden realization…I regard myself as dust and ashes, he says to God, please teach me. Job’s questions are gone and he is beginning to be healed of his trauma.

But, how can he have such a rapid change of heart after enduring such trauma? How could 67 questions bring that about?

Honestly, for a long while Job’s response struck me as remarkable to the point of incredulity. Had God simply responded to my questions with 67 of His own, I would have felt like I had been slapped down by a Bully. My questions would metastasize into deep resentment toward or even hatred of God. After all, I would silently rage, I didn’t ask to be born! I didn’t ask for any of this! I am tired of the unending battle against myself! I am tired of living in this world!

Humanity’s questions are manifold and legitimate, they echo in the ears of my soul: Why was I…born into slavery, thrust into the horror of war, abused as a child, abused as a woman, subjected to repressive discrimination, falsely accused,? Why did I…lose a child, lose a spouse, get this disease, have my dreams dashed, lose my life savings, become addicted, endure mental illness, lose my job, lose my home? Why am I…so lonely, such a misfit, bullied, too different, trapped in a bad marriage, trapped in a dead-end job?

More questions: Why did you bring me into this world, God?! If you are everywhere and are all knowing, all powerful, and all loving, then why don’t you rescue me and fix this stupid world and those in it?!

Whether screaming, in laughter, in normal conversation tones, or in whispered weariness I have asked my own questions of God.

Why, God? It is the ultimate question. I have come to know it is also a prayer.

So, how do I get to the point of beginning the healing that Job experienced?

The late Catholic priest and writer Henry Nouwen (Spiritual Formation: Wisdom for the Long Walk of Faith) says this of our questions for God:

More often, as our questions and issues are tested and mature in [our] solitude [with God], the questions simply dissolve…God does not solve [all] our problems or answer all our questions, but [he] leads us closer to the mystery of our own existence where all questions cease.

So, is that it? Should I expect my questions to simply dissolve away with time and maturity as Nouwen suggests? What about the hardship or trauma I may have experienced in this life that caused the questions…will that also simply dissolve, too? No, something else must have happened to Job in his encounter with God to find the kind of contentment he confesses.

Back to Job’s story. After God ends the questioning, Job says:

I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees You.

Job says he had heard of God. That does not help me. Who among us hasn’t heard of God. But, what was different here is that Job also saw God. Christian Orthodox tradition says that Job saw Christ Jesus. Did he see the transfigured Jesus whose face shone like the sun? Or did he see the crucified Jesus hanging on the cross bearing Job’s pain and sin and the sin and pain of the world? Whichever Jesus Job saw…God revealed Himself in the way Job needed to see so his questions would dissolve and he would began to be healed from the trauma.

In their encounter, God certainly gave Job truth: 67 questions and many statements of truth of who He is as God. But, it wasn’t the hearing truth—God beating him about the head and shoulders with questions sarcasm—that dissolved Job’s questions and began his healing; rather, it was Job seeing the Beauty of God (Jesus) that helped him. Truth by itself is like a sword that cuts us apart; only seeing Beauty—seeing God—can start us on the path of healing (Timothy G. Patatsis, The Ethics of Beauty). Falling in love with God then becomes the path along which we journey to be healed.

How do we see God like Job did? He is all around us. He may reveal Himself in a direct vision as He did with Job, the apostle Paul, and many, many others. He may be seen as the Artist while sitting on that mountain top overlooking a scene that is too breathtaking to describe. He may be seen as the crucified Christ in the healthcare worker sacrificing their safety during the pandemic. He may be seen as the resurrected Jesus in the kindness of a friend who comforts. He may be seen as the humble Jesus in the poor or in a visit to someone in prison. He is all around us.

So, don’t be afraid of asking God questions. Jesus was always gentle with honest questioners.

The journey to dissolved questions is the journey of falling evermore deeply in love with God. It is a matter for another time. For now, be watchful. Look for Beauty. Look for God.

Healing of Soul and Body

11 Monday Sep 2017

Posted by CurateMike in All, Church, Death, Healing, Journey

≈ 1 Comment

Remember me, O Lord, in Thy Kingdom not unto judgment or condemnation be my partaking of Thy holy mysteries, O Lord, but unto healing of soul and body.

From the Liturgy of St John Chrysostom

We are a country at war. We have been at war many years now, fighting terrorism overseas. Before this war on terrorism, there was a war on communism, a war on fascism, a war over territory, a war over slavery, a war against “Indians,” and a war for independence. These are just some of the “big” wars in the history of our country. But is not a blog about war, you can find many of those elsewhere written by others much more qualified than I.

Rather, this is my thinking about moral injury: the mostly hidden wound of war on combatants and the similarity to our own moral injury as sinful humans.

Many of us old enough to remember Vietnam can recall the soldiers returning to a society hostile to them. For some number of them, it was a devastating re-entry. We are tempted to blame it on their participation in a “bad” war.

Compare Vietnam to today’s “good” war where recruits enlist with fanfare and return as heroes (“Thank you for your service”). Nowadays, veterans (I was in the Air Force years ago) are asked to stand to applause on Veterans Day.

And yet…

In his book, Killing From the Inside Out, in which he effectively dismantles Augustine’s/Aquines’ Just War Doctrine, Meagher cites Pentagon statistics indicating a “runaway suicide rate in the military, averaging thirty-three suicides per month in 2012, roughly one every seventeen hours.” One every seventeen hours. This is not unique to our current war. Grossmann (On Killing: The Psychology Cost of Learning to Kill in War and Society) notes that there were periods during the “Good War,” (WWII) where US soldiers were being discharged (“shellshocked” was the old term) at a rate equal to that of incoming recruits.

But, aren’t these, WWII and the war on terrorism, the “good wars,” the Just Wars? If so, why the devastating effect on so many soldiers?

In his interview in the magazine Road to Emmaus, (“The Opposite of War is Not Peace”), Dr Timothy Patitsas refers to post World War II research that indicated eighty-five percent (85%!!) of US combatants in combat would either not fire their weapons or they would aim to miss. Similar, albeit limited, research conducted on our opposing armies yielded the same result. After the release of these findings, the US Military devised a new way to train soldiers by having them shoot at human-like shapes. Patitsas notes that after this change, “the post-traumatic stress in Vietnam skyrocketed and hasn’t stopped yet.”

I an not expert in treating combatants, but I’d like to bring out some important points by some who are.

Many of those specializing in the treatment of combat veterans have made some important discoveries. It seems that despite our best theological and moral efforts to differentiate between murder and killing, a human being who takes a life makes no such distinction in the depths of their soul. Taking a life of another kills something within many who take that life. Meagher refers to this a “moral injury.” Labeling a returning soldier as a “hero” only deepens the moral injury, causing the soldier to retreat within themselves and further from community. It seems, according to these authors, that many, upon returning from war, view themselves as criminals unfit for society and undeserving of a hero’s welcome.

Here is the image in my mind that has sparked my thinking on this: the juxtaposition of a hero’s welcome parade thrown in honor of someone who views one’s self as a criminal, the one who feels they have committed the crime of killing another human being celebrated by society. Imagine what must be going through this person’s mind, the energy it must take to play the role of the returning hero. This is an image I’ll return to shortly.

Cognitive therapy, “talking it out” only seems to make the isolation worse for returning combatants. Suicide can be a final escape from this hidden, moral injury, the dissonance between being society’s hero, yet feeling irredeemable. Therapists are looking for another way to help. Shay, in Achilles in Vietnam, believes that help for soldiers can be found in the ancient past. His assertion, now widely accepted, is that Homer’s Iliad was written to help Greek soldiers, morally injured by war, cope with this hidden injury and to eventually re-enter society. As I understand it, there is a new form of therapy, based on Shay’s work, emerging to help soldiers returning from combat.

As I said above, the point of my thinking here is not to focus on war. I hope I’ve said enough to now turn to what is really on my mind. And I hope you are still with me.

In reading some of the above material, the idea of a soldier feeling like a criminal and suffering moral injury due to his or her actions resonated deeply within me. Not because I was in combat—I was enlisted during one of the short periods of time our country was not at war—rather, the idea of suffering moral injury, receiving a hero’s welcome, and the typical therapies that have been employed for healing brought to my mind my experience in the churches I have attended and the Christian books I have read as I battled my own sin.

Meagher notes that “moral injury,” doing something we know is wrong, has an older name, one with which we are much less familiar with in today’s society: sin. Our modern society has tried to do away with sin by redefining right and wrong. It seems almost everything can be justified. If I cut off someone in traffic, they deserved it for driving like an idiot or because my needs exceed theirs. If I’m angry at another, they are keeping me from what I want and my worth is justified. We now use nature, nurture, rights, genes, parenting, lineage…on and on it goes, to justify almost any action that fits the social norm (which is ever changing, but that’s a different blog).

The idea of feeling like a criminal, feeling separated from other humanity, and feeling unworthy of a hero’s accolade has also caught my attention. It is more than feeling guilt over a wrong action, over sin, to use the old word. As described, it is a realization of the kind of person I am: I am someone who can actually perform such sinful acts. This realization also goes by another, old fashioned name: shame. Like sin, shame is a concept mostly foreign to modern society (at least as attributed to one’s self; however, we have weaponized shame against others who disagree with us). If sin is reasoned away in my own life, then there can be no shame; my actions are acceptable and I am acceptable.

Finally, I get to the point of this blog.

I have encountered Christian messages wherein I was encouraged to rejoice in God’s forgiveness of me, to be filled with the joy of being saved as the result of praying a certain prayer. I was told I had victory over sin. I was told that if I acted more morally or performed some philanthropic act, I should be happy that God was acting in me; I should be joy-filled. After saying the “sinner’s prayer,” I was given something akin to a “hero’s welcome” given to the returning combatant. When facing continued sin, I was told, “Just stop it. You are a child of God.” Perhaps you have had the same experience.

But this sense of victory never squared with my own inner certainty of my sinfulness and shame, that while I repented of my past sins and God did forgive me, I did not feel victorious, nor did I experience any sort of self-satisfaction from being saved. Fr Alexander Schmemann gives voice to my sense of moral injury better than I:

Baptism is the forgiveness of sins, not their removal. It introduces the sword of Christ into our life and makes it the real conflict, the inescapable pain and suffering of growth. It is indeed after baptism and because of it, that the reality of sin can be recognized in all of its sadness…

So, back to the image I described above: the combat veteran returning to a hero’s welcome while feeling like a criminal. All around me were Christians rejoicing and telling me my salvation was a certainty while inside I felt like a pretender. I was (am) overwhelmed by the anguish of my own shame that I am the kind of person who still most often desires things other than God; I am filled with self love, not love for God and neighbor. Consequently, rather than experiencing healing, I experienced a deepening separation from these other Christians.

But, the Church has, throughout her history, been a “hospital for the broken,” a place for healing. How does this healing take place? In very simplistic terms, the Enlightenment gave us a focus on intellectual truth. Therapeutic healing, in the light of Enlightenment thinking, is that I learn Truth, and from there I find Goodness in me (or at least rationalize my behavior) and move past my moral injury. Focus on the intellect, learn truth, and healing follows, I was told. Like the soldier told that killing in war is okay, that the war is Just, this way of approaching healing did not work for me either. It only deepened my sense of separation, of isolation.

But this way of using intellect first is a relatively new idea in Christianity; it forsakes Beauty, the third of the classical virtues and the one most neglected in Western thought.

The Eastern Church has always held that to be healed I should seek Beauty first: the Beauty of God. By dwelling on God I dwell on Beauty; I fall in love with God. In time, loving the Beauty allows me to find the Goodness in the Cross of Christ, and thereby find the goodness in my own cross: my own moral injury. Finally, the knowledge of the Truth of God, which is intertwined with Beauty and Goodness, begins to emerge.

Sin and the resulting shame (moral injury) drives us from beauty and toward ugliness. It teaches us lies. It separates us from others. Beauty, on the other hand, heals by replacing the ugliness of our moral injury with Beauty. Beauty brings us into re-entry with community. Beauty allows us begin to see Goodness, to “embrace Goodness and to become good.” Then Truth comes, the truth of the Cross; and we can see the humiliation of our being—our shame—in the Light of God and rejoice in His love of us.

Of course healing is not this neatly linear, but it must begin with contemplating Beauty. Perhaps healing begins with someone who is filled with Christ (a friend, pastor, therapist, etc.) who crosses my path and “absorbs some of my moral injury,” and I see God’s beauty in them. Eventually, I am able to begin to find the goodness in my shame, for my suffering marks me—they are the marks of the suffering of Christ upon my body.

Healing is a long process.

No one can put together what has crumbled into dust, but You can restore a conscience turned to ashes; You can restore to its former beauty a soul lost and without hope. With You, there is nothing that cannot be redeemed. You are Love; You are Creator and Redeemer. We praise You, singing: Alleluia!

Akathist to the Glory of God, Ode 10

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~ thoughts from the desert

Category Archives: Healing

Liking God

How Does My Life Mean?

What If…

Beauty

Questions for God (and it is my right to have answers)

Healing of Soul and Body