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our stories are close together
The stories are always close together;
Whether banked on the west coast looking out over the Pacific
or banked on another west coast looking out over the Atlantic.
Stories of trial and error
hope and defeat
attempt and confusion
love and war
peacemaking and peacekilling
connectedness and isolation
restful work and work gin rest
redemption and destruction
an undercurrent of longing
that someone else
on one coast or another
resonates with the stories we keep
shackled behind our eyes––
stories remarkably close together––
even with miles of history or miles of dirt between.
but we keep them to ourselves
because our story, we’ve been told,
is the only one that looks this way.
and so we imagine the space between our stories
that was never there to begin with.
Our stories are always close together.
djordan
Napa Valley
apparently still and incredibly crisp
floored again in dialogue with a client today
the incredible resilience following him into the room
ignored by the very person living under so much
withstanding, but still struggling
struggling with real and reasonable and incredible grief
and still holding it together
hair on, face on, courtesy on, honesty on
the wrestling only barely under the surface of
otherwise apparently still and incredibly crisp waters
all hiding
all hoping
no one notices what a mess
we all show and tell each others stories
and in hiding and hoping no one notices
we all ourselves fail to notice
our fighting resilience as the only thing stronger than our struggles
and the only thing strong than our fight to hide our struggles
until we see it through a dark mirror
that we all look much the same
and we are all incredibly resilient as we float over
otherwise apparently still and incredibly crisp waters
djordan
Pine Tree
half ready. half afraid.
We watch as the jets fly in with the power people and the money people, the suits, the budgets, the billions.
We wonder about monetary policy because we are among the haves, and about generosity because we care about the have-nots.
By slower modes we notice Lazarus and the poor arriving from Africa, and the beggars from Central Europe, and the throng of environmentalists with their vision of butterflies and oil of flowers and tanks of growing things and killing fields.
We wonder about peace and war, about ecology and development, about hope and entitlement.
We listen beyond jeering protesters and soaring jets and faintly we hear the mumbling of the crucified one, something about feeding the hungry and giving drink to the thirsty, about clothing the naked, and noticing the prisoners, more about the least and about holiness among them.
We are moved by the mumbles of the gospel, even while we are tenured in our privilege.
We are half ready to join the choir of hope, half afraid things might change, and in a third half of our faith turning to you, and your outpouring love that works justice and that binds us each and all to one another.
So we pray amid jeering protesters and soaring jets. Come by here and make new, even at risk to our entitlements.
+ Walter Brueggeman, “The Noise of Politics”
from Prayers for a Privileged People
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at a high top table under low light
corny jokes to the server
hospitable laughs in return
at a high top table under low light
clinking glasses and eating crumbs
conversation about
faith
fury
family
funnies
fortitude
fears
watches watched, but only barely
because it’s only a monday evening
realization that what we
beg for
clamor for
whine for
fight for
pay for
sing for
hope for
long for
is waiting for us on Monday evenings
at a high top table under low light
clinking glasses and eating crumbs.
And is waiting on Tuesday mornings.
djordan
Pine Tree
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+ monday mornings are the clearest view
+ no time to grab a camera
+ catch us up into reality
+ in one place
compared with the task | on luke 4
the sharp contrast of common ambition
compared with the task of announcing the kingdom:
I’ll give you a feast;
I’m here to tell the poor their day has come.
I’ll give you authority and prestige and power;
I’m here to talk about letting the jailbirds loose.
I’ll prove you can do whatever you want and still be safe;
I’m here to announce the time has come
for those on the bottom,
for those who are poor,
for those who are blind,
for those who have been victimized,
for those who have victimized,
it is the time for God to make them his favorites.
The sharp contrast of common intention
compared with the task of announcing the kingdom:
he rolled the scroll back up and sat down.
“Today, you are watching it happen…”
djordan
Pine Tree
divine proxy | intro to a series
The notion is not a new one, but it appears to be one seldom discussed explicitly, unless I am missing the entire conversation altogether (please let me know if I am). I want to spend a few posts on the idea of divine proxy. I hit the concept in “Congregation as Expert; a New Way Forward” during the “Culture and Crises” lecture series. It’s something that lurks behind practitioners in the helping fields, especially those practitioners who are Christians, as we falsely imagine that we are the changing force in the lives of our clients. It’s something that lurks in church offices and behind the desks and efforts of those who try to help and change situations being faced by others.
Today, the idea itself could use explanation, however brief.
Divine proxy is the idea that when someone is speaking from authority, whether professional or religious, whether self given, institutionally given, or transcendently given, they are then interacted with, heard or perceived as becoming the official voice of the source of the authority.
So, …
a therapist who speaks on matters of relationships can become the final authority on a specific relationship.
a pastor who speaks on matters of moral or spiritual issues can become the actual voice of God on specific matters with individual people.
So, …
if a therapist has a misguided view, or is offering a personal, cultural or biased view on someone else’s specific relational situation, the someone heeds the advice as fact, and acts accordingly whether or not everything in them says otherwise and the result is damaging and more disabling. Or maybe they do heed advice even though they feel otherwise, and it is helpful and healing and the person comes to know that to be true later. Or, the person finally hears what deep down he or she knew all along about the situation, and they are set free because the professional speaking offers a more authoritative voice than the person views his or her own voice as being.
If a pastor has a misguided view, or is offering a personal, cultural, or biased view on someone else’s specific moral or spiritual issues, the someone heeds the view as fact––from God rather than from the individual––and acts accordingly whether or not everything in her or him says otherwise and the result is damaging and more disabling. Or maybe the advice is heeded even though the individual feels otherwise, and it is helpful and healing and the person comes to know that to be true later. Or, the person finally hears what deep down he or she knew all along about the situation, and finally freedom is experienced because a pastor speaking offers a more authoritative voice than the person views his or her own voice as being.
We can quickly see how the influence of authority gives incredible weight, whether someone turns a back and walks away from the perceived authority and the authority represented forever, or someone follows the authority because it is seen as direct from the authority source, and therefore should be heeded.
While it may sound pointless or semantic, the issue quickly becomes incredibly personal and incredibly immediate. I think about people who experience great healing because a pastor sees the presence of divine proxy, and takes great caution to express anger and action toward injustice and evil. I think about the latest story coming out of a megachurch about a spiritual abuse and misogyny that is only headed because the pastor has an unquestioned direct link to God, and questioning is called disloyalty to him…and God. I think about other church experiences where people continued to go home to abusive homes because the pastor says the wife should act more like Jesus to make the husband come around.
So it’s not pointless, and it’s not semantic, and it’s worth the time to consider, even if it’s only mine. So, the first time for a series on mosthopeful.com. We’ll see what happens.
Next up: divine proxy | stories of the phenomenon
djordan
Pine Tree
what we do not know
There’s a fear of what we do not know.
We stand here, looking at what is behind us.
We know clearly what we hope carries into the days ahead,
and what we hope can be left here, in what has already been.
We can speak clearly and eloquently about
what does not belong in the way things should be,
But our tongue becomes tired and slurred with
what it is we hope for in the world and ways ahead.
And it is here
that we realize
we are afraid of what we do not know
we are afraid of where we have not been
we are afraid of what we cannot imagine
And yet, in our deepest gut on our best days
we know that where we are comfortable
is not where we have been called
we know that where we are safe
is not where we engage as we have been made to engage
So we find ourselves praying for courage
So we find ourselves hoping for vision
So we find ourselves putting down ambition
And we hope to find ourselves courageous
And we hope to find ourselves imaginative
And we hope to find ourselves obedient
And we take one step at a time
into the new world
we fear because it is made of things we do not know
when there’s nothing else to do
We were standing in a huddle, sixty people maybe, I can’t do numbers. The room is a room I spent many evenings in as a teenager, the church building of friends. We have misbehaved in that room, giggled, sung, prayed, pretended to pray, cried, married, listened, pretended to listen.
Tonight, no longer teenagers but many with children of our own, our parents not as young as they used to be, other new and old faces, tonight we huddled together in that room.
Prayer was being offered about one issue for one family tonight, but from the little I know of others’ lives in the room, I know that the room itself was heavy with issues that seem impossible to figure out or fix. And there we were, heavy, huddled.
Our hands feel best when we are fixing something, and our minds feel most productive when we are figuring something out, but there are many times––in fact it would probably be most times if we told the truth to ourselves––that our hands don’t know how to fix it and our minds can’t figure anything out.
We know too, however, that our hearts are telling us things are heavy and unsure and something must be done to help us move closer to the kind of shalom our brittle little hearts were made for in the first place. We don’t know what to do, but we know that something is not right.
And so we huddle together and do the only thing we know to do to give purpose to our hands and minds.
We pray.
We own up to the fact that we can’t figure out how to fix it, and we don’t know what to even think about it. We own up to the fact that our hearts can’t lie even if they wanted to when they are breaking open.
And prayer, in a huddle of people who have been there with us and seen us at our best and worst, becomes the only thing we can do.
So we pray. And we confess that we have joined the long defeat regardless of any promise of the outcome. We confess that our goal is obedience of seeking what is best for our own and our community and our children, but the goal seems out of reach, too massive, too complicated.
But something in us, perhaps the glimmer of the kingdom in us that shines when everything feels dark, something says that when nothing can be done and nothing can be said the only thing, by God, to do and say is to huddle together and pray that the kingdom would come on earth as it is in heaven.
And we resign to the fact that the huddle and the prayer and the messy people who are forming both are who and what we have been given as we hurt and hope and long together for the shalom our brittle little hearts were made for in the first place.
djordan
Pine Tree
RELATED POSTS | The Long Defeat | It’s Been a While | Time for Everything
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