Red and Yellow Black and White, They are Precious in His Sight, part 1: The Humble Stumble

Answering that of God in everyone…George Fox

“The that of God in me is really having a hard time seeing the that of God in thee today,” I said once to a Quaker whom I was finding more than a little bit annoying. And I’ve thought that a bunch more than once. “That of God in everyone” is one of those quirky Quaker concepts based in scripture. John 1:9 specifically. “The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world.” Everyone being the operative word. “Red and yellow, black and white” as the old children’s Sunday school song says. Also straight, gay, bi, man, woman, trans, boy, girl, Christian, Jew, Muslim, atheist, and on and on. We Quakers think it’s part of the Gospel, not some clunky add-on.

As radical Friends of Jesus, the early Quakers took that as a literal truth. If I’m enlightened by the light of Christ and the Bible says that everyone else is, then I’d better start looking at them with enlightened eyes. Sounds simple. But it’s often difficult. Sometimes I have a hard time recognizing that of God in myself – let alone in someone who just cut me off on the freeway or jumped in front of me in the boarding line of a flight. You know, the important things of life!

And yet that’s what George Fox, one of the first Friends, told us we were to do – to answer that of God in everyone. Actually he said we were to walk cheerfully over the earth answering that of God in everyone.

Cheerfully?! Wonder if he and Jesus would settle for grudgingly answering that of God in everyone? Nah, probably not.

Which is why I had to change my attitude recently when someone called and wanted to come for a visit. “I’d just like to get to know you better,” he said. Well, I had been out mowing and running a line trimmer in the August heat. I was sweaty, grass covered, and almost finished. I’d have to finish the job some other day and go get a shower and dress in clean clothes.

I was not a happy Quaker camper. I was job obsessed and not in the mood for chatting. But, I thought as I looked across the yard and saw Nancy weeding, it’s not all about me. I thought of that while looking at her because she tells me that all time. So I put the trimmer up, took a shower on, applied some cheerfulness along with my deodorant, and put on my freshly cleaned, grass free glasses – ready to look for that of God in Nancy and my newish friend. And in everyone else I might encounter that day.

I say “that day” because this is something I seem to need to learn anew everyday.

The Humble Stumble Toward Grace

I had a grace-filled week last week. I visited Iowa Yearly Meeting Conservative where I got to spend time with two of my favorite people -- Deborah Fisch and Carrie Newcomer.  It was my first trip to IYM-C and I was a bit nervous since the only person I really know from there is Deborah.  But I, from a Friends United Meeting meeting and a Friends General Conference staffer, was greeted graciously by Iowa Friends.  They were friendly and kind and welcomed me in ways beyond mere politeness.  I had some wonderful conversations and the times of worship were deep, too.

Carrie's afternoon workshop and evening concert were Spirit-filled.  My soul was enlarged as her ministry of music washed over and through me and all the others in the room.  So you would think that, as I returned home, I would have been so soaked in the Spirit that my continual stumble toward grace might actually be a stroll for a while.  After all, when I have been blessed by grace, immersed in it, I often find myself more graceful toward others.

Well, it was a short stroll.  Sigh.

I am just bad at being good.  As I turned on my computer to catch up on emails and the like, I encountered this on a friend's Facebook page.

This picture happens to coincide with many of my values... but my friend (with whom I often disagree) had put a statement on his page reflecting his profound disagreement with these sentiments, basically saying that this was a matter for individuals and charities, not the government.  For some reason, this tweaked my over-sensitive political and faith feelings so I wrote a little post noting that Colbert does not say that the government should do this.  He was saying that Christ followers "just don't want to do it."

Which sparked some other comments -- about whether the US is a Christian nation (which I don't believe it is), what Colbert was implying (if not saying straight out), and so forth.

Then a person chimed in with a long post about a whole range ills caused by the government and left-wing Democrats.  Which really piqued my (self-) righteous indignation for a whole lot of reasons. I didn't want to write a hasty response, so instead, while mowing for 2 hours, I composed a wickedly smart satirical retort that, in my opinion, completely dismantled this specious, fallacious, and malicious post.  It was brilliant.  So I posted it.

Very quickly the poster responded with another long post.  This one accused me of impugning his character and other un-graceful acts. Which was not my intent.  My intent was to impugn his argument -- which in my opinion -- was horribly flawed and completely errant.

As I though about what he said, though, I had to admit that my intent was not that pure.  My intent was also to show, through the use of satire and my amazing cognitive abilities, how clever I was by dismantling his "errors."  I have to admit to being completely convinced of what an easy job it was going to be to destroy this wrong thinking.  A big win for my big brain and big wit.

So much for being either grace-filled or graceful.  So, trying to recover my center, I took the posts down and sent a note of apology.  Not for the position, but for the snarky way I said what I said.

It was a good lesson for me.  One I seem to need again and again.  When I am being brilliant and witty and slicing an intellectual opponent with my razor-sharp thinking, I am not relying on the Spirit.  Nope, I'm relying on good old J. Brently Bill's ego.  I see Jesus smacking his forehead and going, "Doh!  Not what I had in mind."  Sigh.

Yep, I think God made me smart and witty.  But not so I could display it at someone else's expense.  So once again I had to stumble to be made humble so that I can continue to be made in the image of Christ.

I'm just bad at being good.

Of the Meek, The Strong, Poems ... "And they're gone like smoke..."

Here are two pieces by two of my favorite poets (and songwriters, in the case of Leonard Cohen). Grace-filled, literally and figuratively.

Who the Meek Are Not

by Mary Karr

              Not the bristle-bearded Igors bent
under burlap sacks, not peasants knee-deep
              in the rice paddy muck,
nor the serfs whose quarter-moon sickles
              make the wheat fall in waves
they don't get to eat. My friend the Franciscan
              nun says we misread
that word meek in the Bible verse that blesses them.
              To understand the meek
(she says) picture a great stallion at full gallop
              in a meadow, who—
at his master's voice—seizes up to a stunned
              but instant halt.
So with the strain of holding that great power
              in check, the muscles
along the arched neck keep eddying,
              and only the velvet ears
prick forward, awaiting the next order.

"Who the Meek Are Not" by Mary Karr, from Sinners Welcome. © Harper Collins, 2006. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

From "The Writers Almanac"


"Ballad of a Runaway Horse"
(Leonard Cohen)

Say a prayer for the cowgirl her horse ran away
She'll walk till she finds him her darlin' her stray
But the river's in flood and the roads are awash
And the bridges break up in the panic of loss.

And there's nothin' to follow nowhere to go
He's gone like the summer gone like the snow
And the crickets are breaking her heart with their song
As the day caves in and the night is all wrong.

Did she dream it was he who went galloping past
And bent down the fern broke open the grass
And printed the mud with the well hammered shoe
That she nailed to his speed in the dreams of her youth.

And although he goes grazin' a minute away
She tracks him all night she tracks him all day
And she's behind to his presence except to compare
Her injury here with his punishment there.

Then at home on a branch on a high stream
A songbird sings out so suddenly
And the sun is warm and the soft winds ride
On a willow tree by the riverside.

Ah, the world is sweet and the world is wide
He's there where the light and the darkness divide
And the steam's comin' off him he's huge and he's shy
And he steps on the moon when he paws at the sky.

And he comes to her hand but he's not really tame
He longs to be lost she longs for the same
And he'll bolt and he'll plunge through the first open pass
To roll and to feed in the sweet mountain grass.

Or he'll make a break for the high plateau
Where there's nothing above and nothing below
It's time for their burden the whip and the spur
Well she ride with him or will he ride with her.

So she binds herself to her galloping steed
And he binds himself to the woman in need
And there is no space just left and right
And there is no time but there is day and night.

Then she leans on his neck and whispers low
Whither thou goest I will go
And they turn as one and the head for the plain
No need for the whip oh no need for the rein.

Now the clasp of this union who fastens it tight
Who snaps it asunder the very next night
Some say it's him some say it's her
Some say love's like smoke beyond all repair.

So my darlin', my darlin' just let it go by
That old silhouette on the great western sky
And I'll pick out a tune and they'll move right along
And they're gone like smoke and they're gone like this song.

Say a prayer for the cowgirl...

My favorite version is from Emmylou Harris' "Cowgirl's Prayer" album.

A Hymn for Henryville -- And Other Tornado Wracked Towns

This morning at Meeting for Worship at West Newton Friends Meeting, Sylvia Graves passed around lyrics to a song she invited us to sing for those in Henryville and other storm wreaked cities. The hymn was written by Gareth Hill is a British Methodist pastor and hymn writer. He composed this hymn reflecting on the aftermath of the December 2004 earthquake and tsunami that resulted in more than 100,000 deaths in southern and southeastern Asia, Indonesia, and Africa. Sylvia adapted a few of the lyrics to fit our Henryville neighbors' situation.

I offer it as a hymn and prayer for all of those wounded by storms -- external and internal.

The words are sung to the tune of "The Church's One Foundation."

When innocence is fractured by nature’s shifting force,

And paradise is ruptured as life is swept off course.

We come to pray our questions, we come to share our grief;

In this, our act of worship, to say that we believe.

As headlines overwhelm us and make us close our minds;

As news from distant neighbors brings death before our eyes.

We seek a hope to cling to, a refuge to embrace;

Lest in the grip of knowing, we lose our hold on grace.

How dare we speak of Heaven made human for our sakes,

Or preach a loving Father when storms our faith does shake?

We dare because our story speaks of a love that came

To bear the cost of dying and still would do the same.

In Christ our souls take refuge, though not to hide from truth:

We face each anguished question with faith, if not with proof.

We hear his wistful question: “And will you leave me too?”

Though all the world should crumble, We hope, O Christ, in you.

Gareth Hill © GraceNotes Music Copyright © 2005 GraceNotes Music. Published by The United Methodist General Board of Discipleship, PO Box 340003, Nashville TN 37203-0003. Telephone 615-340-7070. Website http://www.umcworship.org.

30 Days of Smelling -- Burning Human Flesh

Nice title, eh? Sorry about that. But that was the smell that was on my olfactory mind today. Except I did not end up smelling it. Hooray.

Okay, I'm old. I've admitted that before. And as I have aged, my sun-damaged skin has erupted in some interesting formation. I mean, for the most part they are not noticeable to anybody but me, but one on my back that started as small as a pencil dot had transmogrified into something that was growing larger than that US's 1960s-70s "police action" in Vietnam.

And we know how that ended for us.

So at my last trip to my good doctor (who I've been seeing off and on now for almost 30 years), she said she could remove it. Being afraid of needles, knives, and other other medical paraphernalia, I demurred. After all, I rarely see it, not being in the habit of turning my back on myself.

But I am heading to the beach soon. And I thought why should this beautifully sculpted male body (joke!) be marred by this ugly thing on my back?

So I made an appointment to have it removed. Today was the day. As we prepped for the removal (her by getting medical stuff ready and me by taking off my shirt!), we began talking about removal. "Burning it off?" I trembled. "No, we don't do that much anymore," she said.

Phew. Because I remember when I as a pre-teen I was afflicted with a severe case of warts. I had to have them burned off by Dr. George Clouse armed with what my current good doctor (Dr. Ludmilla Trammell) told me was an "electric needle."

"Oh, the smell," she said. "It was awful. It would stink up the whole office. Patients waiting would turn green." No kidding!? I turned green. And I was the patient. And I remember that smell.

In fact, I remember all day today wondering if that's what awaited me.

It didn't. She froze the thing off with liquid nitrogen. No muss, no fuss, no smell.

It still hurts like hell right now, but ... no stink.

As I thought of that smell today, I did think about how it represented a malignant part of me being excised. Something that needed to go. And burning, perhaps, was a good thing to smell in that case. Getting rid of something awful, should it be easy?

That's what our Puritanical (and I mean that in worst possible popular usage of that word -- nothing too close to the original Puritans) American religiosity calls for. Nothing worth having should come too easily. Faith is hard won and the smell of brimstone and hellfire is always in our spiritual nostrils.

Except...

Except...

There's grace. Grace abundant. As we used to sing (messing up the words), "There's a wildness in God's mercy, like the wildness of the sea."

Well, grace is pretty wild. And it doesn't reek of the stench of brimstone. Or burning flesh. And if that makes it "cheap," then cheap God's grace is.

Guilt. Well that's another matter. It stinks and hurts. And is a self-imposed burden that sometimes I need to carry. To remind me not to be so hateful and judgemental of others as I remember my own faults and failings.

But grace, like liquid nitrogen, attacks that which much be exorcised and does it fairly painlessly. Yes, there is a bit of pain now. But it is minor... a reminder of something that was ugly and harmful is no longer a part of me.

Perhaps I should apply grace more liberally to myself.

-- Brent

See the Goodness of the Lord -- Day Four

I hereby admit to a pleasure that no Quaker should admit: I love "Dirty Harry" movies. I guess I shouldn't worry, too much -- not judging by the number of Friends playing "MafiaWars" on facebook.

But still.

Most of that pleasure is in watching laconic Clint Eastwood. I know he gets criticized for his lack of expression facially and vocally -- I prefer to think of it as understated. And I have seen many of his films.

Last night I watched (on DVD -- I seem to rarely get to a theatre these days) Clint's "Gran Torino." "So what's that got to do with seeing the goodness of the Lord?" my faithful reader asks. Well, Mom, just this...

In "Gran Torino" I saw the transformation of two men -- and the Lord, in my opinion, had no small part in it.

The first man who changed was Eastwood's character, Walt Kowalski. Kowalski, retired from Ford, recently widowed, is plain and simple (simple here being, in my opinion, simple-minded) a bigot. And much of the film is about his bigotry. I'd like to say that by the end of the film, he was no longer a bigot, but I don't think that's entirely the case. He's just not as bigoted as before -- he's been worked over by grace and love. Love from the Hmong family next door and grace as presented by a wet behind his baptismal ears Catholic priest. Father Janovich and Kowalksi get off to a rough start -- a start that shows Kowalski's surety about faith and his life. Kowalski tells Janovich, "I confess that I have no desire to confess." But by the end of the film he goes to confession -- and confesses some of the paltriest, everyday sins. Sins we all can relate to at one level. And Kowalski refers the Hmong boy next door as "...my friend... Thao Vang Lor."

But the biggest transformation is that Kowalski moves from a stance of taking life to giving his life for others. From begetting violence to accepting it unto himself. Which is part of the transformation I saw in the second man -- the man Clint Eastwood.

Here was "Dirty Harry" laying down his weapons and laying down his life. What, I wondered, had led Eastwood to this sacrificial moment? After all, he starred in and directed this piece of film. And if "Gran Torino" is not a film ultimately about redemption, well I don't want to know what it is about.

I was moved by this film and reflected on how the faithful Father Janovich both changed and was changed. The unbelieving Kowalski both changed and was changed. That love triumphed over death and despair -- even if it was a tough love, a love wracked with violence.

With Sue Lor, Thao's sister, I say to Walt, "You're a good man. " That's something I would not have said without much reservation even three-fourths of the way through the film. Which reminded me to let God do God's work in God's time. My job is to be a vehicle, in as much as possible, of God's love and grace. They are irresistible forces. They change people -- sometimes right before our eyes. Fictional -- and real.

-- Brent

Atonement

I've been thinking a lot about atonement lately. That probably has something to do with a book and a movie I've experienced this week. The book is Year of Wonders by Geraldine Brook. It's a novel about the plague coming to an English village in the 1660s. Not to give too much away (in case you want to enjoy it yourself), but the idea of atonement runs throughout the book and is especially strongest in one scene toward the end when one of the main characters goes on a rant about how a person can ask for and receive forgiveness, but still needs to atone for sin.

The movie was "Atonement," based on Ian McEwan's excellent novel. It's a really fine flick, filled with nuance. It's not as good as the McEwan's novel, but then that would be an impossible task, I think. Once again, as the title none to subtly suggests, atonement is the theme. The ending is wonderful though -- and completely unexpected.

So, atonement. Which one dictionary defines as "reparation for an offense or injury." As I watched the film and read the book, I kept coming up with the question, can we offer reparation for an offense or injury? I mean really? Can we ever make it right? Certainly courts try to set ideas of what reparations ought to be in civil suits and the Bible (and other scriptures) set other standards ("an eye for an eye," etc.). Still none of them really seem to work -- they never bring about what we really want most -- restoration of that which was lost, be it a relationship, a loved one, or an eye.

When I was a younger know-it-all (as opposed to being an older know-a-little-bit), atonement seemed like a pretty good idea. A person ought to make up for his or her offenses or injuries or sins. That was only right. Except I think it was only wrong. It led me to rely too much on my efforts and not enough reliance on God's grace. The fact is that I have too many offenses, injuries, and sins to atone for. And, as I age and reflect on my life, I come up with even more -- things from my past that haunt me like Hamlet's ghost.

It seems to me then that, should I ever be in the place of having been offended, injured, or sinned against, that I need to be graceful. I need to extend my grace, my forgiveness if you will, to those who have sinned against me. I need to let go of the idea of needing them to atone. And hopefully, as I live in a spirit of a contrite heart and soul and ask forgiveness, much needed, undeserved grace will be extended to me.

--Brent