For those of you wondering what my summer has been like . . .here is a blurb from my Theory Integration Paper for CPE.
Currently my theology is in transition, though I come from a predominately conservative Christian Evangelical background. Personal piety, a commitment to God’s Word as revealed in the Bible (minus the Aprocrypha), and an emphasis on having a personal relationship with Jesus as the Son of God and Redeemer of this world were points of emphasis for me since childhood. With that also came an emphasis on evangelism, sexual “purity,” and, to some extent, voting for Republican candidates.
In high school, I was a poster child for all things listed above. I brought a Catholic friend to a production of “Heaven’s Gates, Hell’s Flames,” thinking she needed to hear the message about Jesus becoming her personal savior. I read my Bible every night and tried to live according to my understanding of it. I gave a speech in high school, advocating for the understanding of Jesus as Lord—using C.S. Lewis’s “Lord, Lunatic, or Liar” argument. And yes, I prayed with others around the flagpole on the national “Meet You at the Flagpole” day. I even gave my friend who had just admitted to me that he was gay a tape I bought at an Urbana Mission’s Conference that he could listen to, and then somehow become non-gay. I tried to tell myself that this was an honorable Christian life . . .that I was truly pleasing God (for this was a point of emphasis in my upbringing as well: making God happy). But all the while, a resistance was building in me; something didn’t feel quite right.
In college, I was free to do some exploring, as everything was new. New people, new teachings, new locations. For two years, I visited different churches, getting a taste of how people perceived and experienced Christianity. I eventually committed to a church and served their youth ministry for 3 years.
During this time I was spending a lot of time with Open Theism. The following is a brief quote by Dr. John E. Sanders for those unfamiliar with its concepts:
“That God changes in some respects implies that God is temporal, working with us in time. God, at least since Creation, experiences duration. God is everlasting through time rather than timelessly eternal... We believe that God could have known every event of the future had God decided to create a fully determined universe. However, in our view, God decided to create beings with interdeterministic freedom which implies that God chose to create a universe in which the future is not entirely knowable, even for God. For many open theists, the “future” is not a present reality — it does not exist — and God knows reality as it is.” [1]
This made sense to me, as I was working with girls who had been sexually abused when they were younger; I couldn’t believe that God intentionally determined these acts to take place. It seemed completely contradictory to the God I had come to experience personally . . .as I felt loved by God, and that God wanted me to bring good into this world rather than evil. I liked the emphasis on the present that Open Theism advocated as well, and I liked that as a child of God, I was actually heard by God; that I could pray and persuade, and perhaps influence and participate in God’s compassion and saving acts in this world. Plus, in my understanding, this notion of God’s work/action in everyday life protected the goodness of God; something I have experienced daily. Evil could be attributed to poor human decisions and not to the Divine.
Additionally, I was exploring Buddhism during this time—savoring a philosophy class titled “Asian Thought.” I was drawn to the Buddhist notion of being fully present—to self, to others, to the Divine. The focus on mindfulness, coupled with discipline (meditation), was appealing to me. This could be due to my personality: work leads to play, and I enjoy the payoff of wholehearted effort. From backpacking trips to writing a good sermon, to even cleaning the house, I find that joy comes in the midst of the effort . . . which then leads to a point of deep satisfaction and fulfillment with the task accomplished; from the feeling of having just portaged a canoe 280 rods to knowing God in the deep silence of a moment—I have learned that work gets me to these points of time where/when I genuinely feel alive . . .living authentic to my true nature. All of this is to say that some tenets of Buddhism spoke to me in those deep recesses of my soul, and I took on some of them as my own, as they were congruent to my inner self.
In seminary I came across Gustavo Gutierrez’s book, A Theology of Liberation. His arguments for social justice and personal action resonated with my own understandings of Christianity. Also, I had decided to spend a year reading solely the Gospels, as I had had my fill of Paul and his letters. That year was formative for my Christianity (to say the least!). I came to a point of no longer being concerned with the Christian apologetics side of things. Instead I focused on Jesus’ teachings, particularly the Sermon on the Mount, and that became the crux of my Christianity. I paid attention to those who lived a life that reflected the teachings of Jesus, as opposed to those who merely spoke of them, and to my surprise, I found Jesus in my Buddhist and Hindu friends. This opened my mind to the universal workings of God, and I no longer felt compelled to encourage conversion in these friends . . .as in my eyes, they already “got it.” God was much bigger, grander, and more mysterious than my white, middle-class American suburban understandings. I then threw myself into the mystery of God, and decided to focus on my own journey and aligning my own self with the teachings of Jesus, rather than concern myself with finding tidy answers to messy questions regarding life, and then forcing those conclusions on others’ journeys. And for perhaps the first time, my relationship with Jesus became truly personal.
I find that my life, and ministry in general, is like a river—winding, meandering, at times raging, swelling with rain, or dry with drought . . .always moving from one place to another. From unconsciousness to consciousness, from dark to light, from stress to rest and back again . . .all the while making its way toward the deep, the Great Unknown, and not always by its own will. This is not a solitary affair, either, as others are caught up in it, meeting rocks and trees at various points, or carving and smoothing stones when the current is strong enough. It depends on the environment—the weather, the geology, the affects of human civilization. Not one point of time is like another, so I must remain awake, looking to each moment as a new opportunity for the experience of life and a deeper awareness of God and self; of God and community; of God and this planet.
During a vespers service in college this became especially clear to me, as in a moment of song and prayer I had a vision of being caught up in a river. I was thrashing about, panicking, thinking I was going to die from lack of air, for the current had pulled me under. For a few minutes I fought it, trying to find my way to the top, but then in genuine feelings of horror and helplessness, I realized I was going to die in the dark of the deep. And I gave up, knowing the water would rush in to claim my lungs. It was then that I opened my eyes and found that I could breathe. I could see the fish surrounding me, and the light fracturing itself in the water, and I felt myself being carried along. Alive.
When I walk into a patient’s room, I walk in with no formula. I do not know where the river will lead me in this encounter, so instead I take in the environment. I pay attention to what I hear and see, to what I feel and perceive to be felt by the other. I ask myself “What is our movement together? Why am I here with you, and you with me, in this moment?” I pay attention to the affects of human civilization on this individual—all the cultural, sociological, and spiritual norms this person might be touching—and I wonder about his or her geology. What do I hear of what he or she is made of? How does what I’m made of respond? And the weather—what of it? Rain, sun, bitter-cold or profound aridness . . .how is this person reacting to what he or she can’t control? Are emotions swelling, frozen, or non-existent? Or have they been dried up due to the harsh elements? I journey alongside the other, as the current has both of us, and we face whatever presents itself together. No conditions; no expectations. Just me with the simple hope that the pt will experience a deeper awareness of self, and in turn, might experience some freedom (life!) because of it down the way . . .and that this knowledge of self would ultimately carry him or her to the vast ocean of God’s love.
So then, my purpose of pastoral care is to use my awareness of self, the other(s), and the moment we’re in, to come alongside the people I’m with . . .so that they may be able to experience a deeper sense of their own truth/reality, and in time, find themselves loved by God. And further, my pastoral purpose is to elicit a deeper sense of the other’s self. Henri Nouwen phrases this somewhat differently, but with the same intent: “Healers are hosts who patiently and carefully listen to the stories of the suffering strangers. Patients are guests who rediscover their selves by telling their stories to the ones who offer them a place to stay. In the telling of their stories, strangers befriend not only their host but also their own past.”[2]
Self-discovery and self-understanding, coupled with the self-experience of knowing and feeling that he or she is not alone—this is my hope for each person I encounter.
[1] Wikipedia, “Open Theism,” Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Open_theism (accessed August 24, 2007).
[2] Henri Nouwen, Ministry and Spirituality (New York, NY: The Continuum Publishing Company, 1998) 237.
