On Liberal and Conservative

Not long ago the minister of the church I attend, Dr Robert Fogal, titled his sermon “Transaction vs Transformation:  It captured succinctly the difference between the liberal and conservative divide among many who name the name of Christ.

Transaction

A quid pro quo deal that defines the over-reaching philosophy of our culture (ie, capitalism, free trade, “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” commercially and socially).  A “good deal” is when a transaction results in a benefit or profit for each party.  Transactional “believers” emphasize the “art of the deal” (eg, believes the right things) and behaving oneself (ie, being good), especially concerning sex (adultery, transgenderism, abortion, divorce, same sex relationships) in exchange (the deal) for life after death which comforts the number one anxiety about mortality among humans.

Transformation

A gradual but insistent awareness of the “Gospel” that translates into an inner psychological and spiritual change that values deeply equality for all (male or female, Greek or Jew, slave or free), all are one.  Is deeply concerned about the poor, the oppressed, the different, values compassion, forgiveness, peace, and especially love, not only for neighbors, but for enemies and self, and a deep and abiding belief and value that everyone matters and in God’s sight is precious.  The result is a new being, a creation resulting in meaning that allows authenticity.

Christmas 2018

The Story

by Peter K Bullock, MDiv, MS

It’s about a journey taken, stars followed, sudden surprises and inexplicable events.  It’s about crowded places, political pressure, ignorance and superstition.  It’s about the wise and the foolish, the poor and the privileged.  It’s about dreams and inner voices.  It’s about hopes and longings and promises.

Its form is ordinary, its substance is profound.  In the end, it’s about a man, a woman and a child; a very human experience filled with the desire that presses us inexorably toward the divine mystery.  Perhaps the story is our story – yours, mine and ours.  Perhaps it’s about us and our journey; the story that contains our deepest longings and our hidden hopes.  For surely it’s a story like ours; the ordinary, the confused, the fearful, the unexpected sustained by the thread of grace, gratitude, wonder and hope.

May your story contain all the elements of any great story:

One that is encouraged by hope, refined with joy,

Strengthened by love and wrapped in meaning.

And finally, may your story be one that moves

Unerringly toward . . .

Peace

Written and posted originally in 2014 -- 

On The Children at Our Border - Revisited

I am a therapist.  I have degrees.  I am capable of assessing, evaluating, observing and even diagnosing persons. But most of what I have learned comes from the privilege of having people come to my office and sharing their hopes, dreams, doubts and fears. I listen, observe, support and diagnose. However, if I can’t identify with, empathize with and recognize that these courageous and wounded ones are also me and I them, then I cannot see in them my own journey and think and feel and believe even as they do, and I am only full of “sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

So it is with these courageous and wounded children who come to this land, though it be one of privilege and poverty. They are like the Israelite slaves stumbling out of and longing to flee the oppression of Egypt who are also like us:

“Then we cried unto the Lord – and the Lord heard our voice –

And brought us out of Egypt with an outstretched arm with great terror, signs and wonders –

And he brought us to this land – flowing in milk and honey – and he gave us this land”

                                                                                                                                                        Deut 26

We have all been given this land.  We are our mothers and fathers and their mothers and fathers.  Indeed we are all those who came here in small boats and large, stumbling and hoping for a new life.  We are all of them for 15 or more generations.  We are those who have looked to the horizon, smelled the land, seen the birds, and even glimpsed a great statue in New York Harbor, on which is inscribed:

“Give me your tired your poor

Your huddled masses yearning to be free

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me

I lift my torch beside the golden door”

In addition to being a therapist, I am also a Christian.  Not a particularly good one, certainly not a pious one, but one whose heart and mind is stirred to compassion and heartache for all those who are oppressed, and as such, a listener to this man from Nazareth, who said:

“Let those children come to me

For unless you become as one of these

You cannot see the kingdom of God”

                                                                                                                                                        Luke 18

And again:

“Come to me, all you who labor and who are heavy laden

And I will give you rest”

                                                                                                                                                        Matthew 11

These are not simple platitudes for comfortable, air conditioned pews. These are a serious challenge to identify with the “gentle and lowly of heart.” We are all the inheritors of those before us and they were like us and we like them. On the shores of the Sea of Reeds (we call it the Red Sea); with the Pharaohs’ chariots hard on our heels (bigotry, racism, greed, manipulated laws and regulations), we are all threatened by our own self-importance, our material greed and our warped notions of love, and as the Israelites needed to be delivered from Egypt, we need to be delivered from the impoverished slavery of our “exceptionalism.”

Recently I heard a line from an old Black Slave Spiritual:

“I’m gonna put my foot in that water

And God’s gonna stir those waters

I’m gonna put my feet in that water

And God’s gonna trouble those waters”

                                                                                                                                                        Anonymous

For me, I am stirred by the plight of these little ones, and I hope, if necessary, our politics, our corporate/profit mentality, our shallow and superficial culture, and our personal agenda driven laws are “troubled” and that the result will be the deliverance of these who came to our land, and in that, we too may be delivered.

In the Bleak Mid Winter

When people ask how I am I always respond, “I am a 7, the scale is 10 and I don’t do 6.”  8 requires more imagination, 9 is borderline delusional and 10 doesn’t exist.

Lately while sitting alone in my living room my feelings while pondering the many challenges of life I experienced myself sliding toward 6 and maybe even 5.

We live where we are surrounded by trees, woods, forest and in the summer one can see only the front edges of the woods.  However, in the clear, cold winter the trees are bare, and one can see deeper into the woodland, especially after a recent snowfall of almost one foot allows seeing even deeper into the trees and underbrush.  I got up from my bluesy self-pity and went out on my deck.  While gazing into the woods I saw a single deer run through and I wondered if there were others.  Sure enough, after several beats, six more deer followed in rapid succession.  Then they were gone.  I watched to see if there were any more.  And then I saw her – running hard all alone and wanting to catch up.  I waited a while longer to see if there were others – there were none – they were all gone.

I went back into my living room and felt my emotional temperature rise back to 7.  What had happened?  I processed what I had just seen and realized that I and perhaps others, had just been given an anti-depressant experience of life on life’s terms.  Sometimes we lead, sometimes we follow and sometimes we just try to catch up.  Pondering further, I wondered from whence came the urge, the impetus, the wish – to get up and walk out onto the deck – at just the right time?

 I don’t want to be arrogant enough to say I know.  But I do know there is a mystery in life that we cannot predict or schedule.  Some call it Grace –  so do I.