Monday, July 1, 2013

Independence, Interdependence, and Utter Dependence

I love my country. With each acrimonious debate, each filibuster, each letter to the editor, and even each notice of a new leak or protest, I fall more in love with these United States.

Sounds odd, doesn't it? I was that kid in the parade with streamers woven through my bike spokes and trailing from my handlebars; the Boy Scout bugler playing Reveille in the morning, To the Colors at the raising of the flag, and Taps at night. I was the pastor meeting on Sundays over pizza after worship with the God and Country class, and offering the invocation at the small town Memorial Day service in central Illinois.

With no cognitive dissonance whatsoever, I was also the college student riding the Homecoming float calling for nuclear disarmament, the student who tried to talk my university's chancellor into divestment from South Africa, and the south suburban pastor testifying for marriage equality before the MN Senate Judiciary Committee. 

All of these are ways I love my country. In celebration and in protest, I love my country for giving me a voice.

When Katy and I lived in Switzerland for the better part of a year, we were wowed by the chocolate, the local wines, and the on-time trains. But we were stunned that women were only just getting the vote in one canton in the early 1990s, and that conscientious objection from military service was illegal: every man spent time in mandatory basic training or he spent it in jail. That vaunted political and military neutrality? It is physically enforced by tank barriers built into the mountains to protect from invasion. And everyone pays voluntary taxes to support their canton's official state religion, either Roman Catholic or Reformed Protestant. Whether they are Christian or not.

Every Fourth of July, for years before Jackson was born and every year since, we have tuned in to NPR for the annual reading of the Declaration of Independence http://www.npr.org/2010/07/02/128242656/the-declaration-of-independence-read-aloud. The various reporters each take a sentence or phrase. Nina Totenberg, who covers the Supreme Court, always gets the phrase about the Judiciary. It's a powerful reminder of the freedoms and responsibilities of citizenship

Independence, though, while a precondition for a just society, is only part of what it means to be fully human and fully in community. I'm glad to have a voice.

But we are also Interdependent. Our lives intersect. Other people's voices matter, and they shape and challenge mine. Commerce is only one sphere, but it is the clearest, easiest example: those who sell need those who buy, and each needs the other to state their needs. Our complex economy depends on a whole host of interdependencies to function. A well-regulated free market is not an oxymoron. It is  necessary for freedom and mutuality to connect each of us to the goods that help us flourish and thrive. We then live into relationships that are fair and just, at best, not only for our own freedoms and desires, but for the common good. And when relationships are less than just, we have not just a right but a responsibility to speak out.

Theories of communitarianism, libertarianism, socialism, capitalism, and more continue to animate us precisely because we depend on each other in this diverse environment that is political society.

But for Christians, and I suspect for people of several other faiths, independence and interdependence are not enough to give life its fullest meaning. We are also utterly Dependent on processes, forces, absences and existences that are not in our control. These may go by many names, but commonly we conceive of them as something sacred, holy, divine. Not necessarily supernatural but possibly so. In certain traditions these point us toward God. 

There is room, it seems to me, in our Independent American hearts for an awareness of our Interdependence on others. Or patriotism celebrates such diversity, revels in the clash and contrast of ideas, dances to the competing tunes of liberals and conservatives, and cherishes the liberty and dignity of each woman, child, and man. As such, we maintain secular structures that neither hinder not enhance religion. 

But what makes life meaningful in its largest sphere, and this means it goes beyond American borders both physical and philosophical, is the Utter Dependence we have on a God whose mercy transcends every boundary, who infuses justice with love, and who inspires compassion that takes us beyond ourselves. It's the God who gives others a voice, to which I must also listen, the God who lifts up those whose voices are too often silenced, the God revealed as Word that is other than my own.

Contrary to those who would equate being Christian with being American, I think the genius of the American philosophy of governance is that a freedom of and from religion sets the stage for the flourishing of any religion that keeps its constant focus on broadening the voices that articulate the common good. We are "free and independent states," to be sure, but we are also free to depend on each other and free to be utterly dependent on a God who is still speaking.

The Fourth is coming. I hope it's a good opportunity to reflect not just on our nation's strengths and shortcomings, but also on the ultimate source of freedom we find in faith. 

Wishing you good words, blessings, and peace,
David

Sunday, June 30, 2013

Moving with Jesus

Moving from Virginia to Minnesota is no simple thing. And I don't just mean the climate changes. There's the physical stuff: packing boxes, sorting stuff. Every item came into our lives somehow, and usually there's a memory attached. So there's emotional baggage to sort through, too. As boxes and tape run out, memories renew.

Don't get me wrong. The physical work means inhaling insulation from the attic, stiff muscles in the morning, multiple showers throughout the day. And emotional work is significant. I found myself nearly in tears while disassembling Jackson's loft, which was made from the bunk bed that was his first "big kid" bed, the site of countless nights of story, prayer, and song. 

But I'm thinking tonight of the spiritual work of moving. The part where you look for Jesus and wonder about what it means to follow someone who you know is only going to take you to the cross. Sure, there will be wonderful encounters where wholeness happens, when there's room at the table for a stranger to become a friend. There will be water into wine, explosions of extraordinary grace and joy. And there will be moments that go the other direction and turn wine into ordinary water. Sad but true

Moving is essentially a spiritual activity. You trust that someone, even God perhaps, is walking with you. You discover in someone else's kindness, which in your emotional limbo you're fairly sure you don't deserve, a good you don't expect is there.

You develop a healthy relationship with stuff. A kind of unattached attachment. You like the things you call your own, but discover you can live without them. You're glad to have the comfort of a familiar tie or painting, but realize it doesn't make you who you are.

Jesus was a wanderer, it seems, itinerant. He called disciples who wouldn't stay one place for long. Did he anticipate our consumer culture, when he told his followers to take nothing with them (advice I'm not sure how to follow)? And what of his admission that the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head?

There's something to this journey that is decidedly uncomfortable. I want to grasp the future, hold tomorrow in my hand. But in my day-to-day discipleship I marvel at the trust it takes to walk with Jesus, ours in him of course, but also his in us. 

In between...

Blessings and peace,