for ian

the boy is here

Ian George made an exciting appearance this morning. Heather labored all night, but she and Ian are fine and sleeping now. I'm still running on adrenalin, I think. And so proud of Heather, and grateful.

Ian is the Scottish form of John, which means "God is gracious."

anna's prayer

A blessing for Ian, given by our friend's young daughter (our friend is having another daughter any day now). I really like it.

reciprocity

I've been a bit caught up in plans and arrangements for the birth (which could be any day now). But I've had some thoughts recently about what is sometimes called "reciprocity."

It's found in pretty much every culture, though emphasized more strongly in some. Basically, the exchanging of "favors," and the obligations that go along with that. Not usually in direct bartering ("I'll do this for you, if you will do that for me"), though sometimes that's the case. But just that doing something for someone else builds up a kind of unspoken "capital," something they owe you. We feel that favors ought to be returned. This may be between individuals, but it can also be a kind of social capital, a contribution to the group that seems to give us a stake in the community, or perhaps honor or even authority. There's been significant research and theorizing about this kind of reciprocity in social interactions.

Maybe my earliest experiences of the pressures of reciprocity have to do with Christmas gift giving (which I've written about before). But I've also noticed it in Christian communities where there's lots of sharing. You wouldn't think of paying each other for services, but it seems there is still a feeling that you owe (either an individual or the group), and I think that does motivate a significant portion of the sharing. It's hard to nail down, since it's almost never explicit, just something I've felt. But I've heard others describe the pressure as well. And seen how they've acted, which seems to indicate the same inner obligation they feel to reciprocate.

I suspect it's a natural social construct, nurtured to avoid the abuses that happen when some members of a group receive but do not give back. It seems pretty obviously fair, as well. But it doesn't feel like a very good motivation for helping others. Not what Jesus taught us about loving others, certainly. "Give to those who have given to you" doesn't really sound like something Jesus would teach.

Mostly I don't like feeling the pressure to do something just because I supposedly "owe a favor." And I don't like giving with string attached. I'd like to do something for someone else simply because it's a good thing, because I'm inspired to participate, because love motivates me. It seems to me that the pressures of reciprocity confuse and get in the way of that free motivation of love.

So I think I'll try not to encourage the reciprocity idea in my child. I suppose it can't be completely avoided, as it seems to be a part of every social culture. But I don't have to teach it myself (and I may be able to help expose it). I'd like to teach love and gift instead, like Jesus did. And not relying on favors that others supposedly owe us, but relying on God's love to inspire others to help us in our need—and doing the kind of good work that inspires others to want to help.

personally speaking

I was recently reading some essays by a person who takes a more universalist view of God and the spiritual life, accepting all the major religions as descriptions of the same truth. And I can certainly appreciate the parallels that are obviously there. They do seem to reinforce the truth of many of the important teachings of Jesus (and others).

It seems, though, that the personal nature of God seems to get lost with the universalist approach. Like with other universally accepted truths, such as the physical sciences, the focus tends to be on consistent laws and forces that everyone can observe or experience. So there's lots of discussions on ethics or morality or helpful religious practices. And also lots of references to God as a force, or life, or as Reality, Truth, etc. But God as Person doesn't easily fit with the "all religions are one" belief, and it's usually set aside.

Maybe it doesn't make much difference to our ethics or actions whether or not God is personal. But it would seem to make a difference to how we think God feels about us, and how we feel about God. We are personal. And we experience love in a personal way, through parents and friends and spouses. We are loved by persons and we love as persons. We can experience and believe in the force of gravity, but we are not loved by gravity. So it seems pretty important that God is personal if we are to know the love of God, and love God. And isn't that the main thing, at least according to Jesus? Not to believe in God, or fear God, or obey God, but to love God with all your heart.

Perhaps the biggest difficulty in accepting a personal God is dealing with the possibility that our suffering (and others') may be connected somehow to a personal will, rather than impersonal laws and chance. A bitter struggle indeed.

But as I contemplate right now the relationship of a child to his parents, and anticipate looking on my son with love, I cannot help seeing that as a powerful sign for us. An image so fundamental—and universal—in human experience that I recognize the revelation of God in it. Not many religions speak of God as our Father, but Jesus did. And he taught and showed us that we are loved, and that the God of the universe desires to be loved by us.

two coins

We gave a retreat this past weekend, a good experience. It was nice that we knew most of the folks from previous retreats. And we used the story of the widow's mite, which has been a favorite. Here's some of Heather's dramatic reading based on that story:

God gave me a good life. Oh, you could say it was a bad one, people do say that; what do they know? I'm alive, not dead. I still have joy, in a cup of cold water, in the face of a young man. I have something to give to God, even if they say it's nothing. My husband is dead, and of my two daughters one died in childbirth and the other ran away. And yes, it hurts. It always has and it always will. God hurts, too. It doesn't help to have gold or stars or incense, I think, when you have children who've run away, who are living their own nightmares and still will not come home.

I wanted to give him something. I wanted to give him something, to tell him thank you, to tell him I know, to say please, please do all you can for my Johanna and I know you love her too. And this is all I have, and he knows that; if he allows it I should be getting a little more next week, but until then I don't know what I'll eat, and he knows that too. It was the only way I could do it. I tried and tried to save a little up, but I couldn't. So I had to, I had to do this for him. He'll take care of me, I thought. He's taken care of widows before.

But now I don't know. Now I feel ashamed. The temple shines with gold in the sun and I have come to give him two pennies. Two pennies, as if they were worth something. As if I was doing something important, as if me and my sweat-stained dress were something God wanted to see. What will they use my two pennies for, in this temple? To buy a rag to wipe the floors with? What will people think of me, seeing me drop them in the offering box?

The beautiful lady in her silk dress is still ahead of me, walking slowly between her servants under the colonnade, gracefully. She turns aside a little, to avoid a group of dusty men listening to some kind of teacher. They lean in, all eyes on him; his face is hard and angry as I pass by, and I hear him saying “they eat up widow's houses and then they pray long prayers in front of everyone—”


(The whole reading can be found here: "Two Coins")

rose's poem

I rush out of the house finely dressed in my sunny day best
And run straight up the trail to the holiest place in the meadow
Sheer grace all around me
I look up at the heavens so gospel true blue
Oh it's here that I come when I'm wanting to pray
When there's something needs saying to you

In my wildflower church I kneel down with my knees in the dirt
Full exposed to the heavens, no props no pretensions
Just this feeling I get and these thank yous to set on the altar

Yes this is the place where I gather my blessings
And make my confessions of passions inspired
By meadowsong choirs and moments transcendent and true

Oh give me this day a full measure of beauty
Of sun in my heart and joy in my duties
And let all who I meet share a taste of this sweet
Nectar communion with thee

"going to church"

I've noticed over the last few months that my views about "going to church" are changing. Part of it had to do with not having very good options for church around here. And part, I suppose, has to do with thoughts about being a father and about what I'll teach and expect of my son. I haven't been going to church much lately, and it feels okay so far. We have our weekly small group going again, a time for singing and sharing and prayer and communion, and that has been more satisfying than most of my church experiences.

Now I know there are many good reasons for going to church, and that people can get a variety of good things from church participation. I've often had good reasons to go in the past. I usually haven't connected much with the worship or preaching, but I have valued meeting people there, and still do from time to time. I don't think I'd try to discourage anyone from going, if they're finding good experiences at church.

I'm just starting to think that it shouldn't be seen as a necessary part of following Jesus, as it usually is. If you have a good reason for going, then go. But if you can worship or pray or learn or find fellowship or serve God better in other ways, then feel free to choose those instead.

Ironically, one of the main reasons people use to insist on church attendance is one of the main objections I have to churches. We are told to go to church because the body of Christ is corporate, a union of many, and we cannot be Christians alone. True enough. But what does that have to do with going to church? The equating of the body of Christ with one of our many divided human organizations called "churches" is one of the main falsehoods taught in church. It's easy enough, if we attend for a while, to see it's not true. A church is always a mixed bag, falling far short of what we most deeply desire. But if we truly believe in the corporate body of Christ, and faithfully look for the unity and divine hand at work in the one Body, then we'll be shown how we can find support and serve God with others beyond the narrow confines of the churches. Without having to accept the hypocrisy and church politics and money squabbles, just like we find in every other human organization. If the body of Christ is what we're looking for, then in church is probably not the best place to see it. Some of those same people will reflect Jesus much better in other places, on other days of the week.

But, as I said, there can be good things to be found in church, and good reasons to go. I just don't think it should be automatic, or required for Christians. Jesus said, "Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them." Two or three. That can be found in lots of places besides a church.