If These Trees Could Talk

Today, Elie Wiesel (pronounced Vee-zel or Wee-zel) returned to the place he lived for a time, the place his father died. This is the concentration camp that, at the time of its liberation by western military forces, contained infants living in modified horse stables. Walking down a beautiful stretch of scenery several decades later, Wiesel turned to his company and lamented, "If these trees could talk . . . "

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Last summer, Wiesel spoke to Rochester Church/Rochester College. Here was my recollection of that evening.

I don't quite know how to describe the Elie Wiesel event from this past week hosted by Rochester College at the Rochester Church of Christ (adjacent to campus). 2009 is Rochester College’s fiftieth anniversary, and John Barton (V.P. for Academic Affairs) deemed it a good idea to invite one of the twentieth century’s most important writers and thinkers to campus to talk about the role of language regarding such religious concerns as faith, reconciliation and forgiveness. He could not have selected a more important voice.

The auditorium was at “capacity” by 6:30 p.m.—Wiesel didn't enter the room until 7:20 p.m. When he finally entered, the entire room (about 950-1000) erupted in sincere applause. There's something special about having a presence like Wiesel in a smaller, more intimate setting. I suppose it would be similar to listening to Eric Clapton play in a smaller venue, or hearing Maya Angelou recite her work in a high school auditorium. The venue was large enough for the event to feel important, small enough that the audience felt like participants, not spectators (as happens in church most Sundays). Jew and Gentile, some Christian some not, gathered to hear from this leader who survived the Holocaust over half a century ago.

As for the speech, Wiesel stood in one spot the entire 50 minute presentation. He weaved rabbinic wisdom and story-telling, with personal wisdom and lessons regarding "the power of language for forgiveness and reconciliation." There were times he strayed into philosophical fields and historical nuance, but, for the overwhelming majority of his speech, he kept the diverse crowd within reach.There were too many great quotes to list in their entirety (e.g. "I am defined by me relation to you. If I honor you I honor God. If I dishonor God I dishonor you." Or . . . "After the Holocaust, of any other profession, writers committed suicide at a higher rate than any other profession. Why? Because, writers need words to make sense of their life. And survivors of the Holocaust shared one conviction in common: we had no words for the abandonment we'd experienced." Or . . . "A handshake sometimes has the weight of a poem." Or . . . If Auschwitz did not end racism in the West, what could?")Wiesel shared several incredible stories of his work in reconciliation with well-known world conflicts and leaders.

One story lingers in my heart. Following Nelson Mandela's release from prison, Wiesel held a reconciliation conference in which he invited the then President of South Africa, along with Mandela. After listening to Wiesel and Mandela describe the brutality of ethnic genocide and institutional racism, the young president stood up and declared to the entire audience, "I was born into apartheid; it's all I've ever known. My fervent wish is that I now am able to attend its funeral."After the crowd left, I found myself contemplating the “so what?” of the night. I cam to this conclusion: As humans, we only get one brief shot to make a difference in this world. Most of us might not have the opportunity (or burden) to impact the world to the degree of Elie Wiesel. I am certain however, that with our very words, we can create and heal more worlds than we'd ever thought possible. I left the Wiesel event with more hope than I've had in a long time. Enough hope to think that God might do his best work in the midst of human chaos and suffering.

The United States is in the midst of an intense political campaign, in case you had not noticed. We, the baptized, should take Wiesel’s sentiment seriously that language possesses the power to create or destroy. The church should be the community which models to the rest of the world the meaning of such words as truth, dignity, respect, mutuality, honor, dialog, and trust.

If you have not read any of Elie Wiesel's work, I would start with Night and eventually find my way to The Messengers of God and The Kingdom of Memory.

Abba Sings

If you have not read this inspiring slant on vocation, check it out.

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Aside from reading books about parenting (Anne Lamott's Operating Instructions being at the top of that list), I've been reading through Eugene Peterson's Tell it Slant. Thinking I'd read Peterson to balance all the baby/parenting stories and wisdom of the last seven days, I ran smack dab into the middle of this little nugget.

Peterson describes an experience he had while waiting to catch a flight in Germany heading to Israel. "A little boy near us, maybe four or five years old, jumped up and ran across the large room shouting , 'Abba! Abba! Abba! . . . ' and was swept up into the receiving arms of his father."

Peterson notes that this experience with 'Abba' was different than any other experience. "It was the first time I had ever heard 'Abba' in living speech. I had read the word in the Bible. I knew that in Jesus' mother tongue, Aramaic, it was the affectionate word for father, which would be common in family settings."

After listing the various biblical texts (Matt. 5-7; Rom. 8:15-16; Gal. 4:6) he realized that he'd neutered and domesticated the word. "I had encountered 'father' often enough in an academic setting around a table strewn with lexicons and exegetical studies. But I had never heard the word used in the living context of a son happily and trustingly greeting his father. I had never heard the word sing. I felt like I was back on that Galilean hillside in the company of Jesus as he prayed with his followers, in the garden with Jesus as he prayed his passion, worshiping with the Roman and Galatian Christians as they found themselves included in Jesus' prayer every time they prayed, Abba 'Our Father in heaven. . . . '" (Tell it Slant, 169-171).

Note: 1) There is a great deal of scholarly debate that I intentionally left out regarding "Abba" and its meaning in both First Century Aramaic and the confines of the New Testament writings. That's beyond the point of this post. Wright, Jeremias, Carter et al have done a superb job in dealing with this word (Abba) 2) For those of you who've had fractured relationships with your earthly father, I do not intend to feed you the evangelical bumper sticker line that "everything is okay now" because you have a "heavenly father" who looks after you. That's too simplistic for most of the pastoral counseling I've been a part of. I suggest you investigate the Psalms along with Donald Miller's To Own a Dragon.

Theodicy

The relationship of God (and God's subsequent activity) and evil is a subject that I cannot escape in my thought world. Evil, for me, is not merely a subject or intellectual problem.

Evil is evident in the young Jewish girl who's just had both eyes ripped out by a young German solider in a Warsaw prison camp. Evil is seen by the countless African women who've had their breasts cut off in the name of religion. Evil is felt by the thousands of innocent children who've died or live in starvation due to wars being waged by the countries of the world. Evil is experienced up close when Jesus, the embodiment of God and man within creation, is crucified by the religious and political leaders of the day. Evil showed up when 800 thousand Rwandans (the case study for successful Christian evangelism movements) died in one of the bloodiest genocides of modern world history.

Evil cannot be a mere subject, it must be discussed and addressed from within the realm of human relationships.

Recently, a trusted friend handed me Greg Boyd's God at War: The Bible and Spiritual Conflict. It is a "meat and potatoes" book--if you are going to read it, pack a lunch. I finished late last night and was challenged in my personal outlook toward the world. This book got me thinking about some things I've written about in other places.

Regarding death, violence, sickness, decay, chaos, and discord (what Christians are taught to call "sin")--God's response to the obvious reality that humans participate in the brokenness can be understood in (at least) these four ways.


1. There is no God. Humans have created God in order that we might feel better per our existential and spiritual angst regarding identity, community, and belonging.

2. God created the world but is no longer involved. The world is in chaos but cannot or chooses not to do anything about the plight of creation or humanity. The end result is no different than #1 save the fire insurance of heaven.

3. God and creation are one and the same. God's way are a mystery and the in the fullness of time God will make sense of the suffering a) he's caused or b) he's permitted to happen. This sentiment is felt when people can say, after the death of a child, "God needed another angel" or . . . "God's ways are not our ways."

4. God created the world, though He is in some ways separate from the world (not separate regarding geography but in being and essence). Part of his creation (Satan, Devil, demons, powers, forces, dominions, etc.) stands at odds with him and we experience this battle in both the spiritual and physical realm--an important reminder to conservative Christianity which tends to only seem interested in the "spiritual" elements of life (ignoring the material teachings and actions of Jesus) and to liberal Christianity which seems hyper-fixated on the physical realm (ignoring the inner formation of the disciple, and the larger cosmic forces at work in the world).

God decides, by the power of Jesus' resurrection, to create a community of people who engage the "powers of darkness" as agents who foreshadow the coming day when sin, death, cancer, disease, poverty, and abuse are no longer. A community who pray for God's intervention. A community which believes that God is still about the business of victory, triumph, hope, and mercy.

Review of The Shack

A few people emailed me today, suggesting this review of The Shack. I wrote one blog about this work. BTW--people whom I deeply respect (accomplished scholars and theologians included) disagree on the "quality" and "value" of The Shack. If you've read the book, you probably know why.

Here's a piece of that review . . .

Yet in order to give a work a fair hearing, we have an obligation to engage it on its own terms. A "good faith" reading of The Shack involves, among other things, attending to Young's reasons for writing, his intended audience, and its particular literary form.

Young says he wrote the book at his wife's prodding, to explain his 11-year journey of healing with God to their six children. The "shack" in Young's story represents deep personal wounds, both suffered and inflicted. The book is spiritual autobiography (in one web interview, Young says Mack is "basically me") cast in an alternative world, an imaginative attempt to condense 11 years into a weekend of conversations. These are words offered by a 53-year-old father to his children, a fictionalized tale of his relationship with God mended in deep darkness.

Therefore, it's tricky to speak definitively of The Shack's theology. Young could have written a theological treatise, a spiritual memoir, or even a long poem. Instead, he wrote what he calls a "parable" (not an allegory). That should give readers pause about confidently reading off a systematic theology from the book.

Lament

In my Introduction to the Christian Faith class, we've been discussing (among other things), the biblical notion of lament. Bringing one's doubts, frustrations, and anger to God is a sign of great faith, despite what some in American Christianity teach(because of her loyalty to "opitimism and denial").

Lamenting before God is a sign of faith because:

...It assumes God exists.
...It assumes God is interested and/or cares.
...It assumes that God might actually do something about one's plight.

Yesterday, I had the students construct a contemporary lament. Here's one the prayers that came out of our great dialog. Here's what Gary, Wayne, Priscilla and Emily constructed.

Hey, Dad. I know I don’t normally talk to you like this, but where the heck are you man?

For years you promised the Messiah . . .
This guy that would change the world
And Jesus came and went
And the world doesn’t look much different.

You said our weapons would turn into plows
But around the world, wars still harvest innocent lives.

You said the lion would lie down with the lamb…
But last time I checked, lions still eat lambs.

The meek ain’t inheriting anything…but social rejection.

If the Prince of Peace defeated sin and death,

Why isn’t there peace?
Why am I still sinning?
Why are people still dying?

Where is your kingdom?
When is your kingdom?
Who is your kingdom?

Make us your kingdom.

God, make the change
Make us your change.

Suffering

This Sunday, Sara Barton and I will co-teach during our worship gatherings. We are in week three of a series entitled Urban Legends: Debunking Spiritual Myths. Here's a summary Sara wrote.

One of my neighbors asked me what the sermon will be about at church today, and I said “Suffering. Want to come?” Now, that’s one unique approach for inviting your neighbors to come to church!

Suffering is one of those subjects we usually want to avoid if we possibly can. We would prefer to think about beauty, power, happiness, and Good News.

Yet, life has its suffering. When God became human through Jesus Christ, he suffered.

The urban legend we will discuss today is that suffering is ugly. Some would look at Jesus dying on a cross and see an ugly scene. Those with eyes to see, however, can look at the same scene and see beauty.

We look around in our congregation, and we can see situations that appear to the untrained eye to be ugly stories of suffering. We’ve experienced the death of two children in recent history. What suffering it is to see a parent bury a child! Both of those funerals, however, were times of beauty because of the love we experienced toward Devin and Linsi and their families. What suffering it is for two of our wonderful Christian women to face cancer. Hualani and Nancy, however, have faced their struggles with faith that bears beautiful witness for us all. For those with eyes to see, these are lives of beauty and grace.

In our North American context and our fascination with beauty, youth, and surface appeal, we believe that the Gospel has something to say. We believe that the Spirit inspires us as readers and listeners to engage the powers of deception at work in the urban legend that says suffering is ugly.

By the way, my neighbor will be worshiping with us today. Andy said, in response to my invitation, “I have learned more in my life through the difficult times than in any other part of life. I would not trade those times of suffering for an easier life.”

Today, may we all experience the beauty of a suffering Savior and King, Jesus Christ