My Bible is Dusty

We recently decided the entire house was long overdue for a thorough cleaning, including the carpets. Before the carpet cleaners came, I thought, "What better time to dust everything I possibly can?" So the ceiling fan, the entertainment center, the computer desk…and the bookshelves, where I came upon an interesting artifact.

My bible.

And it was really dusty.

Not only has it been relegated from my nightstand to the bookshelf in recent years, but there it sits, lonely and collecting dust day after day, between Black Elk Speaks and The Children of Hurin; both of which I am more likely to pick up.

This brought to mind a recent conversation at Jon’s blog where I confessed that I rarely read the bible anymore. I have been a churchgoing Christian my entire life, and the bible has invariably bored me. It has often seemed like rocket science to this girl who failed algebra. Or more humorously, like those 3D hidden image pictures where everyone asks, "Do you see it?" Yes, I have studied nearly every bit of it over the years and have feigned comprehension convincingly, but have secretly been left feeling broken and ashamed for not possessing the understanding others do. Let me see if I can get this across: It makes little sense to me and I have failed to find life in it.

Since the conversation at Jon's, I have been thinking more about this phenomenon; it has perplexed me. I am theoretically smart enough to understand the bible, and it is certainly not for lack of trying, why have I so miserably failed at this foundation of our belief system? Shame? Fear? Blindness?

Maybe I haven't spent enough time in the word. Maybe I haven't fasted enough or prayed hard enough for understanding. Maybe I have just been using the wrong translation.

Or maybe it has had to do with the blank stares I have faced when sharing my personal revelations of God's word; so often my revelations have not lined up with what religionists say I ought to understand, and I have experienced shame because of it. I'm not saying I'm so much smarter than anyone else; I'm saying maybe we each are supposed to glean different substance from the bible, and trying to create a plumb line for understanding is trying to control what we are not meant to control.

This is another major way religion has maimed many of us. They take a book which is widely held as God's final authority on this earth and tell us what we ought to find in it. If we do not find what they say we should find, we are gently, or not so gently corrected; even shamed. We can feel broken or somehow lacking as Christians.

I am making the conscious choice to no longer allow this shame to rule me. I will no longer pretend to get what everyone (generalization) else gets out of it. I will seek the bible's proper place in my own spiritual life, outside of what any rules or rote say it's place ought to be. I will choose to filter every understanding I have of the bible through the heart, soul and eyes of Jesus; for if it doesn't affirm Jesus it is not useful in my life or spirit.

I recently bought a book called The Words. It consists of nothing but the words of Jesus, and it is the place I have chosen to begin my biblical retraining. It will be a slow process, but I have confidence I will eventually make my peace with The Book.

A Journey to the Sea

Interesting to me, my visit from Ché last week awakened something in me. I believe it has been stirring for several months, but having a week with which to see my hometown from a visitor's perspective did two things to me.

Suddenly I have a new appreciation for the good about this fair city. Ché pointed out several positives I had never thought about, or maybe only become blind to in a lifetime of looking at it through familiar eyes.

Typically one will find me bemoaning the dreadful winters, full of gray and rain and overcast, day after day, week after week. However, as we stood on the waterfront in the summer sun, I realized how the long months of gray lead to breathtaking summers of precious green and bright that people take advantage of vigorously and in tremendous ways for three months of the year. We have this unbreakable passion for summer here, because it is so short. We will use every day to the best of our ability, never wasting a single ray.

One also might hear me arguing the negatives of such a thoroughly multicultural city. When we were children, there was an annual multicultural fair at our elementary school. My sister couldn't pronounce the word properly, and it became "moocha-coocha". The term has stuck among my family and friends, and it is fitting for a city so deeply multicultural to have it's own word for such phenomenon. However, in a culture where a person might fit well into many subcultures also produces a culture where a person never fits completely into any subculture. So one is always both an insider and outsider. While this can also cause one to feel rather lost among the moocha-coocha, it also leads to a great respect for diversity. As we walked some of my favorite stomping grounds, among the dreadlock-, hemp- and patchouli-wearing crowd, I became aware of how ridiculously normal this seems for me. And yet, not 5 miles away one will find some of the most upscale shopping in the area, for the tea-snobs and Mercedes SUV drivers.

The other thing I realized during Ché's visit -- the awakening of a dream long lay dormant...albeit only a dream...of traveling. Not the kind of travel one sees in a magazine, taking place on a cruise ship in the Caribbean, or in Rome or Paris or Moscow, but the kind of travel begotten by friendships, taking place via car or train, to places like Powell River or Montgomery or Denver. (Yes, there are those whom I love in places like Melbourne or London...but until I become rich or one can get there by car, those will have to wait.) There are so many places I have never been, so much of our nation, our continent, I have not seen, and I have seen a great deal of it over the years. I still dream, as I did when I was 12 and 17 and 25, that I might one day have opportunity to see it all.

So yesterday on the way to the coast, as I drove south on I-5, it occurred to me...I could continue on south to see my friend Margaret in Sacramento, my friend Barbara in L.A., my friend Laura in Tucson, and so on, all the way across and around the US. Alas, my children are still young and freedom to do so still escapes me. They have school and my husband has a job and we have a home and a dog and two cats...travel is a luxury we see little of. While I certainly do not wish to be free of these responsibilities which prevent me from exploring, I cannot help but wonder if that day will come, eventually.

As I pulled in last night to this place we always go, the privilege we have to come to the sea so often somehow escapes me, as if there is a boredom about it for me these days. We have come to the same place since I was 8 years old, seen the same view and the same town and the same sights...and I am trying, despite this longing in me, to know the value it is to be able to look out upon the ocean and walk the beach, even such a small and familiar slice of it, even if I wish it were lined with palm trees or eucalyptus.

I cannot deny the wanderlust that lives in my soul, waiting quietly in the dark for the moment it is given permission to come to life. Having appreciation for the familiar, even the boring, even the most ordinary of it, is a learned behavior, one I wish I had a greater gift for. But for 6 days a week or so ago, in a visit from a friend, I gained a small amount of renewed love for this place I live. One day I hope to venture out from my familiar city, valley, climate...but for now I will learn to be content where I am.

One last thought to leave you with: my friend Pam is on day four of 10 consecutive days of blogging on the power of the ordinary. The link will take you to all of these posts, which fall under the label of "Ordinary Stories". Please take a moment to read some of them.

Hanging Chad Theology

Recently an opportunity presented itself to educate my 12 year old about the electoral process. He asked a question about voting and one thing led to another. We talked about popular vote and electoral vote and, eventually, the problems with the 2000 Presidential election. (For those who didn't follow it, you can read more about the controversy at Wikipedia or CNN.)

I explained to my son, complete with a visual demonstration, the challenge of the punch ballots which were used in Florida, and illustrated the difficulty in determining the intention of a vote, especially those dreaded hanging chads we all now know more about than we ever wished to know. The argument is that some of the ballots might be a clear vote when one person looked at it, and an unclear vote to another person. They attempted to create some standard by which the ballots in question could be measured; however, in the end, it was entirely subjective. In the 2000 vote, this led to repeated hand recounts in order determine the intent of each ballot and to certify the vote.

When I demonstrated how a vote could be miscounted simply because of an unclear punch and a counter's perspective, my son said "Well, it could be really hard for anyone to tell for sure what people meant, wouldn't it?"

Honestly, as I thought about it, I became aware of the wisdom of those words.

In Christianity, we so often seem bent on trying to determine each other's sincerity about life with Christ; we criticize each other for not being "clear enough" in our vote. However, at what point is a person objective enough to accurately determine another person's intentions?

I could be considered a hanging chad, in a sense. To some people looking at my spiritual ballot, it would be clear to them who I am voting for. To others, there would be controversy about my beliefs because they don't see the hole as being punched clearly enough so that all who looked at me would know whom I cast my ballot for at first glance. We are forever recounting each other, looking for the things which we personally have determined to be the clear markers of a true Christian.

I'm thankful God doesn't operate the Kingdom in the same manner; expecting what looks to the human eye to be a a clear punch as determining a vote. I do believe there are many gray areas to our faith, and a faith that might look insincere or incomplete to one person is the most humble and grounded faith to another person. I believe God looks to the heart when determining a person's sincerity, something we as humans are entirely unable to do with any objectivity. In the end, when all the votes are counted, God may see some seemingly vague intentions to be not so vague at all.


Please visit my fellow synchrobloggers on the topic of The Politics of God. Post links will be updated as they become available:

Phil Wyman: "The Talking Points of Presumption"
Lainie Peterson: "Questioning the Citizen Deity"
Jonathan Brink: "The Political Fray"
Sonja Andrews: "Won't Get Fooled Again"
Adam Gonnerman: "Living Christ's Present Reign"
Mike Bursell
Sally Coleman: "Inside the politicians' head"
Steve Hayes: "God's Politics"
Matt Stone
Steve Hollinghurst
KW Leslie: "God's Politics."
Julie Clawson: "Singing the Songs of Zion in Babylon"
Dan Stone: "The Rivers Shall Open for the Righteous"
Beth Patterson: "Learners inheriting the earth"
Alan Knox: "Is God red, blue, or purple?"

Manic!

Manic is the present word over at Apples to Apples, and it very squarely describes my week. I know I have been AWOL for about 6 days, but I was spending time with Ché! We had a frantic and incredibly fun week. She drove all day Monday; it's about 10 hours drive (give or take an hour or two depending on traffic and ferries) from there to here . She got in Monday evening and left early yesterday morning; in between, it was nonstop fun and craziness. I'll write more about the time we spent together in another post, but here is our itinerary. I'm sure I've probably forgotten something, so I may update this post later on.

Tuesday was the only relatively slow day...we hung around the house, had lunch at Burgerville (inconveniently located for most of America) and took my kids to see Wall-E. We barbecued hamburgers for dinner and then went shopping at the huge Target not far from my house.

Wednesday, the festivities began! I got a sitter for the kids so we would be free to spend the day on the town. We took Max downtown, where we shopped at Nordstrom Rack, walked on the waterfront, and ate at Jake's Grill. Then we hopped the streetcar and went shopping on NW 23rd (aka Trendy-third). Hopped the streetcar again, and took it down to the Portland Aerial tram, which we rode to the top and back for the incredible view of Portland it offers.

Then we went to Powell's City of Books. Powell's is locally owned, deals in new, used and rare books. It is roughly one city block, four+ floors of nothing but books. We had decided to go there last so we wouldn't have books to carry all around town, but I think in retrospect we were pretty tired when we were there, and I think we'll drive down there next time and spend some quality time in the stacks. Nonetheless, Ché did pick up a few treasures there.

We took Max back to the Park-N-Ride, intending to head home, but were distracted by the clearance sale at the Fred Meyer near there. So by the time we got home, it was close to 10:00 and we were hungry. After some thinking, I remembered the Powerstation Pub at McMenamin's Edgefield is open late, so we had a very late (great) dinner.

My parents had picked up the boys for a few nights sleepover on Wednesday afternoon, so Thursday and Friday we were free as birds.

Thursday we were torn between Hawthorne and Sellwood...weirdness or antiques? Hawthorne first. We had lunch at Chez Machin Creperie, shopped at Red Light and Buffalo Exchange. Then we headed to SE Milwaukie Avenue in Sellwood to do some antiquing. We went to Stars (two locations) and The Silver Lining. Then we headed home for a brief respite, and were out the door to Cinetopia to see Hancock.

Friday we walked over to my neighbornood coffee shop, because it's a place I frequently hang out. Then we went to a number of electronic stores to look for something Ché wanted to purchase. After that, we headed into Portland proper to see some houses (we have some great architecture in Portland), and ended up on Fremont. We had lunch/dinner at the Alameda Brewhouse and headed down Fremont where we went to Saavy, a fun and eclectic resale boutique, one of my favorite places.

After that, we found ourselves driving around again to see the houses; we had time to kill before our tour of the Portland underground, otherwise known as the Shanghai Tunnels.

Shanghaiing is one of Portland's dark and dirty secrets; a trade we created due to the demand for sailors. When the city proper (downtown) was built, it was built with a series of connecting basements to ease travel between buildings. Because Portland is built right on the Willamette river, these tunnels posed an interesting prospect for the ne'er-do-wells of the 19th century.

From The Portland Underground Faq's:

"The "Portland Underground" tunnels, more popularly known as the "Shanghai Tunnels", were basements of buildings that connected to other buildings through brick and stone archways that were intersected with tunnels that connected under the streets, linking block to block. These "catacombs" or "tombs", as they were sometimes called, created a unique network of passages and thoroughfares that were used by unscrupulous individuals called "shanghaiiers" or "crimps", in addition to "white slavers" who grabbed women and sold them into prostitution."

"[Shanghaiing] was an illegal maritime practice where able-bodied men --- sailors, loggers, cowboys, sheepherders, ranch hands, construction workers, and vagabonds, in addition to other hard workers who were either employed or who frequented the waterfront, were grabbed or kidnapped and sold to sea captains who forced them to work aboard their ships for no pay. Portland was unique because trap doors (known as "deadfalls") were used to drop the unsuspecting victims into the "Portland Underground", where they were forcibly held in cells until the ship was ready to set sail. From 1850 to 1941, the so-called Victorian-refined Portland was known as the "Unheavenly City" or the "Forbidden City", due to this shocking practice. And, during "Prohibition", the saloons literally went "Underground" and occupied a portion of this so-called "Underground City", creating an even greater opportunity for men to find themselves aboard a ship bound for the Orient."

Due to progress, earthquake-proofing and other changes, there isn't much left of the tunnels. However, the tours are run on a regular basis by the Cascade Geograpic Society. You may have seen these tunnels on a number of popular television shows on the Sci-Fi Channel, the History Channel, or History International Channel.

The tunnels are a focus for those interested in the paranormal, and our guide related several full-body apparition experiences, as well as numerous instances of doors closing, people feeling hands on their shoulder or clothing, and cold spots. Personally, I'm a skeptic...not that I'm completely closed minded about these sorts of happenings, but I felt strongly like they were being hyped during the tours. Still, it was sufficiently creepy.

We were, overall, not terribly thrilled by the tour, it was OK, but not what we expected. It was much shorter in distance (really only consisting of the basement of one building) than I imagined, I felt misled by the "tunnels" moniker because there really were no tunnels, just walled-off openings where tunnels used to be. Still, I would suspect that a person who is particularly interested in archaeological or paranormal investigations would have been fascinated, and the story behind the shanghaiing and the creation of the tunnel network was fairly interesting.

After the tour, we met Pam at Pix Patisserie for dessert, where Ché had the Queen of Sheba and I had the Ghetto cake. It was fabulous.

The entire week, we intended to get to Ben 'N Jerry's, but never did we make it, even though we were close to several locations at different times. Something to look forward to in the future. Also, in retrospect, I would have taken Ché to the Why Not Shop on Stark and April's Resale in Gresham. But hindsight is always 20/20, and she does say she plans to return, so I will have to keep notes on those places! There is only so much a person can do in 4 days.

In all, I think we had a great time, but most of all, it was wonderful to have my friend here in my hometown, getting to hang out, chat and spend time together. Oh, and she did make it home safely yesterday, I checked with her just to be sure.

This Just In

For anyone who might be wondering, Ché arrived safely this evening. We're going to be busy hanging out, shopping and seeing the sights this week; my online-ness will therefore be unpredictable.

Have a great week!

One more...

I really am going to post soon...really. But as things are, I simply haven't had time. We have been cleaning and redecorating, not because of, but in anticipation of, my friend Ché's visit next week. I'm so excited! Many of you know Ché, but for those who don't, the short story is she and I met online just about a year ago and quickly became friends. Last November, she roomed with Pam and I at the Off the Map conference in Seattle. She and I spent quite a bit of time together; I love Pam dearly, but there is something comfortable about having another introvert to spend time with at a conference like that. So we have been talking ever since about her coming down for a visit...and now it's finally here. She will be with us Monday through Saturday, and for that I will likely be offline more than not during the time she is here.

In other news, we attended a very difficult memorial service today. I spoke briefly of the situation a few days ago, and it has been challenging for me. In some ways, when you're not close to a family, but once were very close, it feels strange to grieve. The mass was beautiful; I can't remember how long it's been since I've been to mass. There is something soothing about it, the ritual, the knowing.

In this situation, the man who died was 29 years old (it seems funny to call him "man" because to me he will always be about 4 years old...) and and died as a result of a long battle with a particular addiction. It is unfortunate that he left his friends and family in this way, because now they are left wondering what more they could have done to support him, though every possible avenue was taken to help him; in the end he could only win this battle in death.

The priest is new to the parish; he has only been there a few days, so no one was really sure what to expect. I liked him a great deal and he said some particularly interesting things. He spoke of how we are not our addictions, our bodies have an addiction, but our soul does not. He spoke of the impermanence of the body how our souls are "crammed full" of God, and God is not addicted. I cannot do it justice in retrospect, but at the time, his words were powerful and thought provoking.

I do not cry at funerals. Or shall I say, I have yet to; I'm sure there will be a time that I will. However, I do cry after funerals, when I am home, alone. Today I broke down, feeling a sense of a now-broken family, one so similar to mine, one once so close to mine. Flooded with memories of my childhood, of the place this family held in our lives. It is a place that while it can fade with time, it never dies.

One more. My Grandfather's brother, my great uncle, died on Wednesday. Four deaths in three months; two old, two young. So today I wondered "When will it end? Please, could no one else die now for awhile?" Because I feel so full of grief; grief in varying ways, but grief still the same. I've had enough for awhile.

Thank you all for your support and love. I have felt it and I appreciate it. Please don't feel obligated to offer condolences yet again...I know you are there and are praying, and that is enough. When you do pray, please pray for the family, they have a long and difficult road ahead.

Prayers Once Again....

This Friday we will be attending a funeral once again, the third in as many months.

At this point I don't want to share the details, out of respect for the family, but he was 29 years old. I have known him all of his life, as his mother and mine were best friends all throughout my childhood. We had matching families...that is, all the same children, the same ages and genders. In two families with four children each, that is an unusual coincidence. We lived three blocks apart. There is no telling how close our families were for many years...inseparable. We aren't quite so close these days, but there is a tie that binds that will never die.

Please pray. Thank you so very much.

And the Rockets Red Glare

Happy Independence Day!

Knocking on Heaven's Door

continued from previous post...

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I still have to sort this out. I'm dissatisfied with my conclusions.

Am I wrong to want it all to make sense? I have never been able to escape my true heart that says all the people, all the religions, all the atheists, all the people who believe in reincarnation rather than eternal life....everyone has to fit into my faith puzzle or else it's all faulty.

I can accept the mystery of God...the things we do not know. What I struggle with, the one place I want answers, has to do with "everyone else"...this seems to be the one thing I need, as a human being, to know: if I fail to believe in or be able to attribute to God the idea of hell, what am I left with?

If God is only this "sometimes available" God, if God is only there for some of the people some of the time depending on our beliefs, this seems to me a fairly impotent God. I could say God is big enough to save everyone, which resolves the impotence factor, but this still does not resolve the fact that not everyone wants the God of Abraham to save them. Where do they fit into the Christian paradigm?

I have tried this on in my mind in every size with no real satisfaction...please assume all other things as equal here...these are good people who care about others and seek to make others' lives better:

a) what about people who faithfully follow other religions, even other gods?
b) what about atheists?
c) what about people who believe in reincarnation?

Of course, the simplest explanation is "they are all going to hell". The thing with the doctrine of hell is it seems to be an easy, even cop-out answer to the question we all, as Christians, have. It seems logically easier to believe there is a nasty side of our faith which explains away what happens to everyone who isn't a Christian; it's easier to make this concession, that God must know what He's doing, even if that means "eternal conscious torture". Separating the sheep from the goats seems simple here (which in nature isn't always an easy task unless one is well versed on the differences - which maybe ought to be an indicator for us as humans), either they follow Jesus or they don't. It's too simple an answer for such a complicated question.

When we choose instead to embrace the idea that maybe, just maybe a loving God truly cannot relegate anyone to such a place as hell, well, then what? When we reject the doctrine of hell, we open these other cans of worms. When I decide that I cannot accept the simplest explanation possible (hell for those who don't follow Jesus), the obvious outcome is that the explanation becomes that much more complicated.

And yet, somehow my heart and soul really want Jesus to be that special...so special that only those of us who know him are truly his. Of course, this feels like a selfish response, but when I look in his eyes, I still wonder...what does he require of us that we might know him, in this life and the next? Just that we breathe? That we call on him and believe? That we be baptized?

What do you believe on this subject, and how have you come to and accepted your conclusion? Do you feel completely satisfied with the conclusion you have? Or do you ever doubt, thinking maybe there is something we are missing? Anyone?