Probably without thinking much about it, we all carry in our minds ways in which we judge others to be 'like us', or 'not like us', no doubt with a grey area in the middle of 'people who are somewhat like us'.
What interests me is how very differently people make this judgement - whether their definitions of 'like me' are very narrow, or very inclusive - and the reasons that may be behind this difference.
For some, 'like me' means only those who support the same team, or (in case you think I am stereotyping sports fans) just people who have the same lifestyle or educational background, or share the same theological outlook. After all, this seems like a good way of maintaining a sense of personal security: by avoiding much difference and thus potential awkwardness.
Of course, this is also a handy shortcut to deciding whether it is worth striking up a conversation with this other person, or considering the potential of friendship with them, or even caring what happens to them at all. If they support the wrong team, come from a different background or are from the wrong side of the spiritual tracks, then there's little point wasting any effort on them. They can live in their world and I can live in mine.
There are at least two problems with this: it's a lousy strategy for building your personal sense of security, and, secondly, like it or not, we actually live in the same world.
From time to time, though not often, I admit, I meet people who seem able to relate to others who are very different to themselves, and do so very easily and naturally. They are interested in people from quite different lifestyle, cultural and spiritual backgrounds. How do they do this? Sometimes it looks like they are 'making an effort' to relate, but there are definitely some people for whom this comes naturally - they are open, curious, genuinely interested. And they tend to be people who are very secure in themselves.
It takes a considerable degree of security to relate comfortably to people who are very different to ourselves, to stay with the discomfort and to not feel somewhat threatened.
It is said of the Christian church that it is one of the few places where people of very different backgrounds come together as one, and there is some real truth in this. But Christians don't have a monopoly on personal security: there are people of other faiths or none who care deeply for others and about world issues and live this out in practical ways in their daily lives. And, sadly, there are Christians who cannot relate even to those from other branches of the Christian faith!
There's no surprise that Christians can be insecure, lacking in love or immature. In short, we're sinful; we are forgiven sinners and no more. But we are urged in the scriptures to 'Love your neighbour as yourself' (Mark 12v31) - which Jesus said was the second most important command of all - and it is made very clear that the call to reach out to 'our neighbour' is to reach well beyond just 'people like us', as the parable of the Good Samaritan makes clear (Luke 10v23f).
It's easy to love and deal decently with people like us. But if we draw tight boundaries around those we feel are like us, then it's time to get on our knees and seek forgiveness, and to ask the Lord to increase the love in our hearts. Growing in love is synonymous with expanding the boundaries of those who we consider like us.
Where do you draw that boundary? Honestly?
If you really want to grow in love and personal security, don't wait until you feel more loving or secure! Get some Godly practice in reaching out to people who are not so like yourself. It'll take some effort and probably won't come naturally at all; you'll need to ask for God's help.
But He's good at this, and by his grace you'll get better at it. And a greater sense of personal security will, in time, follow. And your heart will beat with Jesus' love.
Friday, 25 February 2011
Thursday, 17 February 2011
Are you good enough yet?
The TV has just told me (so it must be true) that nine out of ten women are unhappy with their appearance and over half of these want to change the way they look using plastic surgery or the like. This probably applies just as much to men.
But the following, I know is true:
The TV, magazines and advertisements all conspire to tell us “you’re not good, or thin, or beautiful, or wealthy, or successful enough … unless you buy this product, or have this nip and tuck, or...”. And even when we do buy the product or have the uplift, then we’re still not good enough, as we should be even thinner, more beautiful, wealthier, more successful. It's a never-ending treadmill – driven by greed and encouraged by the Enemy: offering happiness, but delivering despair.
We want to be accepted – who doesn’t? This means behaving acceptably in others’ eyes, by the world’s measurements: fitting in, turning a blind eye, keeping up with the Joneses. It's a never-ending struggle – driven by insecurity and urged on by the Enemy: promising contentment and self-esteem, but delivering deceit, a hollow façade, emptiness.
We want to be forgiven and have peace – why wouldn't we? This means trying to be good, be better, be perfect in fact; trying hard, trying harder, trying even harder. It's a never-ending striving – driven by pride and celebrated by the Enemy: guaranteeing self-improvement and satisfaction, but delivering failure.
How odd of God to not realise that we need to earn our salvation! Created? Chosen? Adopted? Accepted? What – for free?
Yes. I was created by God, chosen, adopted, accepted, redeemed and forgiven. I don't need to struggle or strive, to try harder, or be anything other than I am.
But it wasn’t ‘for free’! It was accomplished at Jesus' enormous cost.
Choose carefully who you listen to.
But the following, I know is true:
The TV, magazines and advertisements all conspire to tell us “you’re not good, or thin, or beautiful, or wealthy, or successful enough … unless you buy this product, or have this nip and tuck, or...”. And even when we do buy the product or have the uplift, then we’re still not good enough, as we should be even thinner, more beautiful, wealthier, more successful. It's a never-ending treadmill – driven by greed and encouraged by the Enemy: offering happiness, but delivering despair.
We want to be accepted – who doesn’t? This means behaving acceptably in others’ eyes, by the world’s measurements: fitting in, turning a blind eye, keeping up with the Joneses. It's a never-ending struggle – driven by insecurity and urged on by the Enemy: promising contentment and self-esteem, but delivering deceit, a hollow façade, emptiness.
We want to be forgiven and have peace – why wouldn't we? This means trying to be good, be better, be perfect in fact; trying hard, trying harder, trying even harder. It's a never-ending striving – driven by pride and celebrated by the Enemy: guaranteeing self-improvement and satisfaction, but delivering failure.
How odd of God to not realise that we need to earn our salvation! Created? Chosen? Adopted? Accepted? What – for free?
Yes. I was created by God, chosen, adopted, accepted, redeemed and forgiven. I don't need to struggle or strive, to try harder, or be anything other than I am.
But it wasn’t ‘for free’! It was accomplished at Jesus' enormous cost.
Choose carefully who you listen to.
Thursday, 10 February 2011
An Atheist's prayer
Charles Darwin who art dead,
Hallowed be your name.
Thy evolution happens
and it will be done on earth.
As I'm fitter than you, I'll get my daily bread
even if I have to tread on you to do it.
Thank god I don't have any sins,
but heaven forbid anyone sins against me.
And lead me not to consider any alternative,
but deliver me from these blesséd Christians, who should be extinct.
For the science, the intellectual high-ground and the intelligence are mine
now, and until we have evolved enough to wipe out all life on Earth.
Amen.
Hallowed be your name.
Thy evolution happens
and it will be done on earth.
As I'm fitter than you, I'll get my daily bread
even if I have to tread on you to do it.
Thank god I don't have any sins,
but heaven forbid anyone sins against me.
And lead me not to consider any alternative,
but deliver me from these blesséd Christians, who should be extinct.
For the science, the intellectual high-ground and the intelligence are mine
now, and until we have evolved enough to wipe out all life on Earth.
Amen.
Thursday, 3 February 2011
There's nothing magical about faith
Many people talk about faith as if it's something they happen to have, or, more frequently something they don't have; that's just the way it is. After all how can you believe something when you don't?
This apparent quality of faith provides a stumbling block to those who would like to believe and an invulnerable opt-out to those who don't. We have reached a stalemate, a seeming dead end.
But there's nothing magical about faith - we all use it every day. There is no dead-end, and the opt-out clause is a cop-out.
Consider trust. How do we learn to trust something or someone - or to not trust them? It simply comes from experience; trust grows or diminishes based on our repeated experience. We use it all the time: to consider whether our train will be on time, whether the cash-machine will give us the money we request, or whether a friend will stand by us through difficult times. You are showing your faith, or lack of faith, in your train service, your bank and your friend.
So, is faith just the same as trust? Well, yes and no.
Trust starts with a decision - a small decision to take a small risk - in fact, frequently so small we usually don't even notice it. Think about the simple examples above. The first time I put my bank card in a hole in the wall I am taking a small leap of faith to believe that it won't swallow my card and will give me my cash. I only have the experience of others to go on, so I am deciding to put my faith in them and my bank that it will actually work. And as I repeat this experience, I discover for myself that my bank is trustworthy, or not; that the trains usually run on time, or they don't; that my friend really is a good friend, or not.
But notice where trust starts - it starts with an act of faith, a decision to take a risk. Faith is deciding to trust what we haven't yet experienced. Once we have taken that step of faith, decided to take the risk, then we have the beginnings of experience, which in time may become trust. So doesn't all trust stem from an initial leap of faith - deciding to act before we know for sure? It applies to your bank and to your friend. And it applies to Christianity too.
So you can decide that you don't want to take a risk, don't want to take a step of faith, but you really can't say that you just don't have faith and there's nothing you can do about it... That really is a cop out.
This apparent quality of faith provides a stumbling block to those who would like to believe and an invulnerable opt-out to those who don't. We have reached a stalemate, a seeming dead end.
But there's nothing magical about faith - we all use it every day. There is no dead-end, and the opt-out clause is a cop-out.
Consider trust. How do we learn to trust something or someone - or to not trust them? It simply comes from experience; trust grows or diminishes based on our repeated experience. We use it all the time: to consider whether our train will be on time, whether the cash-machine will give us the money we request, or whether a friend will stand by us through difficult times. You are showing your faith, or lack of faith, in your train service, your bank and your friend.
So, is faith just the same as trust? Well, yes and no.
Trust starts with a decision - a small decision to take a small risk - in fact, frequently so small we usually don't even notice it. Think about the simple examples above. The first time I put my bank card in a hole in the wall I am taking a small leap of faith to believe that it won't swallow my card and will give me my cash. I only have the experience of others to go on, so I am deciding to put my faith in them and my bank that it will actually work. And as I repeat this experience, I discover for myself that my bank is trustworthy, or not; that the trains usually run on time, or they don't; that my friend really is a good friend, or not.
But notice where trust starts - it starts with an act of faith, a decision to take a risk. Faith is deciding to trust what we haven't yet experienced. Once we have taken that step of faith, decided to take the risk, then we have the beginnings of experience, which in time may become trust. So doesn't all trust stem from an initial leap of faith - deciding to act before we know for sure? It applies to your bank and to your friend. And it applies to Christianity too.
So you can decide that you don't want to take a risk, don't want to take a step of faith, but you really can't say that you just don't have faith and there's nothing you can do about it... That really is a cop out.
Saturday, 29 January 2011
Are you a dedicated follower of (emotional) fashion?
Fashions come and fashions go. Fashions in clothing immediately come to mind - styles, colours, hem-lines. Within the realm of fashions, we may also take in particular activities that seem to arise from nowhere and then just as quickly disappear.
But have you thought of emotions as being fashionable or unfashionable? I admit that these fashions don't come and go in a single season, but think back...
In the 50s and 60s it was fashionable to be happy, carefree, frivolous and joyful - but it certainly wasn't acceptable to be depressed - the most anyone would admit to was 'feeling a bit blue'. Whereas, in the last couple of decades its become totally acceptable to respond to the question "How are you feeling?", with "Depressed!"; so much so that it sounds a bit naff to respond by saying "I'm really happy!". Equally, it is not only acceptable to be 'stressed', but if you are not stressed the implication is that you're not trying hard enough, not working hard enough; in fact you are a loser!
There are several factors in our changing use of emotional language.
National and world events are clearly influences: the 1950s were a time of (comparative) excitement and exuberance coming after the strictures of war; the 60s were full of confidence in scientific progress, and so on. Now, we are driven by money and efficiency, are cynical about whether real change is possible and shifting international power catches us (Westerners) off balance. So it would be surprising if the prevailing national mood wasn't reflected in our language.
Another influence comes from the fact that it is in the interest of huge pharmaceutical companies to medicalise our normal experience. Anti-depressants and medications for anxiety, to name but two major groups, are routinely taken by the unhappy and the worried, and not just by those who have real mental health problems. The 'pill for every ill' culture is well established!
But this also further encourages the changing meaning of emotional words. When most people say they are 'depressed' they aren't implying a clinical diagnosis of depression, merely that they are feeling unhappy, a bit down at the moment, rather discouraged or fed-up. The growing acceptability of talking about depression may be a good thing for those who really are clinically depressed, but when it is merged or confused with unhappiness we have a real problem.
It is a problem for those who really are clinically depressed, who are often assumed to be simply unhappy, for this quickly turns into: 'they should stop making such a fuss about it - everyone's depressed!'. But it is a real danger for the unhappy too, who too often don't recognise that our self-descriptive words are self-fulfilling prophecies. Describe yourself frequently enough as 'depressed' or 'stressed' when you are unhappy or busy and it's not surprising that you increasingly feel depressed or stressed.
Words have real power; we should choose them with care! The words we use of ourselves and our mood are not just descriptive, but also become prescriptive.
Happiness is much under-rated these days; it's become a childhood memory, an unfamiliar and under-used emotion. Emotions, like muscles, need exercise. Your depression and stress muscles are probably well built; what about getting some practice with satisfaction, happiness and joy?
This isn't to imply we should pretend to be happy - pretence is a slippery slope. Nor is it about denying the real sadnesses and difficulties in life. Rather it's about noticing and enjoying the (maybe small) bits of happiness that are in our daily experience already, usually unnoticed. Don't think you have any? Look closer! All the emotional colours are there in some measure - from blue to joy. Focus on those you want to develop and give those emotional muscles some practice.
Fashions are optional; we can choose to buck the trend and to 'do different'.
Lots of people, from drug companies to insurance salesmen try to sell us happiness. Why buy a lie? Why not practice and enjoy the real thing?
But have you thought of emotions as being fashionable or unfashionable? I admit that these fashions don't come and go in a single season, but think back...
In the 50s and 60s it was fashionable to be happy, carefree, frivolous and joyful - but it certainly wasn't acceptable to be depressed - the most anyone would admit to was 'feeling a bit blue'. Whereas, in the last couple of decades its become totally acceptable to respond to the question "How are you feeling?", with "Depressed!"; so much so that it sounds a bit naff to respond by saying "I'm really happy!". Equally, it is not only acceptable to be 'stressed', but if you are not stressed the implication is that you're not trying hard enough, not working hard enough; in fact you are a loser!
There are several factors in our changing use of emotional language.
National and world events are clearly influences: the 1950s were a time of (comparative) excitement and exuberance coming after the strictures of war; the 60s were full of confidence in scientific progress, and so on. Now, we are driven by money and efficiency, are cynical about whether real change is possible and shifting international power catches us (Westerners) off balance. So it would be surprising if the prevailing national mood wasn't reflected in our language.
Another influence comes from the fact that it is in the interest of huge pharmaceutical companies to medicalise our normal experience. Anti-depressants and medications for anxiety, to name but two major groups, are routinely taken by the unhappy and the worried, and not just by those who have real mental health problems. The 'pill for every ill' culture is well established!
But this also further encourages the changing meaning of emotional words. When most people say they are 'depressed' they aren't implying a clinical diagnosis of depression, merely that they are feeling unhappy, a bit down at the moment, rather discouraged or fed-up. The growing acceptability of talking about depression may be a good thing for those who really are clinically depressed, but when it is merged or confused with unhappiness we have a real problem.
It is a problem for those who really are clinically depressed, who are often assumed to be simply unhappy, for this quickly turns into: 'they should stop making such a fuss about it - everyone's depressed!'. But it is a real danger for the unhappy too, who too often don't recognise that our self-descriptive words are self-fulfilling prophecies. Describe yourself frequently enough as 'depressed' or 'stressed' when you are unhappy or busy and it's not surprising that you increasingly feel depressed or stressed.
Words have real power; we should choose them with care! The words we use of ourselves and our mood are not just descriptive, but also become prescriptive.
Happiness is much under-rated these days; it's become a childhood memory, an unfamiliar and under-used emotion. Emotions, like muscles, need exercise. Your depression and stress muscles are probably well built; what about getting some practice with satisfaction, happiness and joy?
This isn't to imply we should pretend to be happy - pretence is a slippery slope. Nor is it about denying the real sadnesses and difficulties in life. Rather it's about noticing and enjoying the (maybe small) bits of happiness that are in our daily experience already, usually unnoticed. Don't think you have any? Look closer! All the emotional colours are there in some measure - from blue to joy. Focus on those you want to develop and give those emotional muscles some practice.
Fashions are optional; we can choose to buck the trend and to 'do different'.
Lots of people, from drug companies to insurance salesmen try to sell us happiness. Why buy a lie? Why not practice and enjoy the real thing?
Sunday, 23 January 2011
Whatever you do, don't love me
Please tell me you love me and be nice to me. Tell me that you care, and that you'll look after me. Please tell me that I couldn't help it and it wasn't my fault; please take responsibility for me. Shield me, pamper me, and say that we're in love. Make me the centre of your world, hang on my words and worship the ground on which I walk. Give me the good life, a little bit of what I like, and why not just a bit more? Say that it's okay for me to have it all now and not have to wait.
Please offer me everything and tell me I'm special - simply at the cost of my soul.
But, whatever you do, don't actually love me. Don't confront me with my many failings, however gently. Don't ask me to take responsibility for my actions, or let me go through struggles or difficult times in order that I grow up. Don't ask me to commit or expect anything in return. Don't tell me that I've hurt you, or let me know how costly love is. Don't tell me I'm loved and precious when this says nothing about me, but all about you.
Don't ask that I give myself entirely - or I might have peace, and joy, and life.
Love is a choice.
---
I am reminded of a poem which is a favourite:
If Love
If Love should count you worthy and should deign
One day to seek your door and be your guest,
Pause! ere you draw your bolt and bid Him rest
If in your old content you would remain,
For not alone He enters, in His train
Are Angels of the mists, the lonely quest,
Dreams of the unfulfilled and unpossessed,
And sorrow and life’s immemorial pain.
He wakes desires you never may forget,
He shows you stars you never saw before,
He makes you share with him for evermore
The burden of the world’s divine regret.
How wise you were to open not and yet,
How poor if you should turn Him from your door.
by SR Lysaght
Please offer me everything and tell me I'm special - simply at the cost of my soul.
But, whatever you do, don't actually love me. Don't confront me with my many failings, however gently. Don't ask me to take responsibility for my actions, or let me go through struggles or difficult times in order that I grow up. Don't ask me to commit or expect anything in return. Don't tell me that I've hurt you, or let me know how costly love is. Don't tell me I'm loved and precious when this says nothing about me, but all about you.
Don't ask that I give myself entirely - or I might have peace, and joy, and life.
Love is a choice.
---
I am reminded of a poem which is a favourite:
If Love
If Love should count you worthy and should deign
One day to seek your door and be your guest,
Pause! ere you draw your bolt and bid Him rest
If in your old content you would remain,
For not alone He enters, in His train
Are Angels of the mists, the lonely quest,
Dreams of the unfulfilled and unpossessed,
And sorrow and life’s immemorial pain.
He wakes desires you never may forget,
He shows you stars you never saw before,
He makes you share with him for evermore
The burden of the world’s divine regret.
How wise you were to open not and yet,
How poor if you should turn Him from your door.
by SR Lysaght
Saturday, 15 January 2011
I'm a Christian - no more and no less
Over nearly 40 years of being a Christian, I've belonged to Methodist, United Reformed, Baptist, interdenominational and Anglican churches; some have been charismatic, some evangelical and some somewhere in between. I've only changed churches when a new job took me to another part of the country and then had to find a new church home.
I've met people from all these and other Christian denominations who seem to me to be Godly people, and others who don't look at all Godly to me; but I'm not the authority on their Christian standing, and I know that I often look like the un-Godly ones myself. (What grace that our standing in Christ is NOT dependent on whether we look Godly!)
But I'm struck by how often Christians identify themselves first by their denominational membership or theological stance: 'I'm a Methodist', 'I'm an evangelical', or 'I'm a charismatic'. And frequently it's clear that even such labels are insufficient and so become: 'I'm a Strict and Particular Baptist', or 'I'm a conservative evangelical'.
I'm afraid these labels have always left me puzzled.
Are the labels intended to indicate which personal preferences one has as a Christian: 'I'm a Christian and prefer organ music and stained glass to guitars and choruses'? But in which case the latter is trivial and our shared identity as children of God must encompass those who have very different preferences to ourselves!
More likely they are used as a shortcut to indicate which specific belief-set one holds as true, so that we can find others of like mind. But even here I have a problem. If we are in effect saying 'I believe these particular beliefs and, though I accept you are Christian, I disagree with some of your beliefs', then this is only a cause for discussion in brotherly/sisterly love, recognising that we may still end up disagreeing - but the bond between us as brothers and sisters in Christ far outweighs any such disagreements, which are trivial by comparison. Hence the label is really of very little consequence.
Or are we actually saying through our denominational and theological labels, that 'I am right and you are wrong; I therefore do not accept you are a Christian'? Well, you may have privileged (though 'read-only') access to the Book of Life, but I know that I do not. And dividing up people as 'in' or 'out' based on their labels - for example, evangelicals are 'in', but catholics are 'out' - absolutely must be wrong. If you do that you're bound to end up surprised at how many evangelicals end up 'out' and how many catholics end up 'in'.
You may feel strongly that your particular set of beliefs are 'right', but from where I stand it looks more like one set of imperfect beliefs being compared with another set of imperfect beliefs; one forgiven sinner feeling superior to another forgiven sinner. Isn't that arrogance and a sin? (Of course, if you do have a perfect understanding of the perfect Word of God, then you ARE right and this doesn't apply to you.)
You cannot add anything to one's position as a Christian. How can you sub-divide Christians by anything that actually matters? And if we hold more dear the particular label that appeals to us than our position as Christians, then this begins to look rather like idolatry...
You can keep your labels if they matter that much to you. But me? I'm a Christian - no more and no less.
I've met people from all these and other Christian denominations who seem to me to be Godly people, and others who don't look at all Godly to me; but I'm not the authority on their Christian standing, and I know that I often look like the un-Godly ones myself. (What grace that our standing in Christ is NOT dependent on whether we look Godly!)
But I'm struck by how often Christians identify themselves first by their denominational membership or theological stance: 'I'm a Methodist', 'I'm an evangelical', or 'I'm a charismatic'. And frequently it's clear that even such labels are insufficient and so become: 'I'm a Strict and Particular Baptist', or 'I'm a conservative evangelical'.
I'm afraid these labels have always left me puzzled.
Are the labels intended to indicate which personal preferences one has as a Christian: 'I'm a Christian and prefer organ music and stained glass to guitars and choruses'? But in which case the latter is trivial and our shared identity as children of God must encompass those who have very different preferences to ourselves!
More likely they are used as a shortcut to indicate which specific belief-set one holds as true, so that we can find others of like mind. But even here I have a problem. If we are in effect saying 'I believe these particular beliefs and, though I accept you are Christian, I disagree with some of your beliefs', then this is only a cause for discussion in brotherly/sisterly love, recognising that we may still end up disagreeing - but the bond between us as brothers and sisters in Christ far outweighs any such disagreements, which are trivial by comparison. Hence the label is really of very little consequence.
Or are we actually saying through our denominational and theological labels, that 'I am right and you are wrong; I therefore do not accept you are a Christian'? Well, you may have privileged (though 'read-only') access to the Book of Life, but I know that I do not. And dividing up people as 'in' or 'out' based on their labels - for example, evangelicals are 'in', but catholics are 'out' - absolutely must be wrong. If you do that you're bound to end up surprised at how many evangelicals end up 'out' and how many catholics end up 'in'.
You may feel strongly that your particular set of beliefs are 'right', but from where I stand it looks more like one set of imperfect beliefs being compared with another set of imperfect beliefs; one forgiven sinner feeling superior to another forgiven sinner. Isn't that arrogance and a sin? (Of course, if you do have a perfect understanding of the perfect Word of God, then you ARE right and this doesn't apply to you.)
You cannot add anything to one's position as a Christian. How can you sub-divide Christians by anything that actually matters? And if we hold more dear the particular label that appeals to us than our position as Christians, then this begins to look rather like idolatry...
You can keep your labels if they matter that much to you. But me? I'm a Christian - no more and no less.
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