Why I Walk to Church: a Brief Discourse

Most Sunday mornings, if I get ready in time and the weather is conducive to being outdoors, I walk to church. Lest you become impressed with my aerobic fortitude, I need to quickly mention that my walk is not reminiscent of a Waltons episode and I do not have to hike several miles to go to some little brown church in the wildwood; rather, my walk is fairly brief and my path is errant and cracked sidewalk, rather than naked and well-worn earth.

I walk from my apartment, cut through the seminary parking lot, past an Episcopal church, a private girls dormitory, a fraternity house. With the aid of a traffic light, I cross Guadalupe Street and continue for a few blocks or so until I reach the University Presbyterian Church. Assuming I catch the lights at a favorable time and I don’t window shop for too long, this entire jaunt takes approximately 14 minutes.

I absolutely adore walking—in my humble opinion, it’s unfortunate that American society is more automobile oriented than pedestrian. Walking is good for the “soul” (pun not intended). A good-old fashioned perambulation is counter-intuitive in a world where the mantra is “faster is better.” I find that when I am walking, I do not have to pay attention to my route, as one does when one is driving. I can meander and mosey to my heart’s desire, without worrying about running a red light or grazing the bumper of another vehicle.

Another great facet of walking is that it is a perfect excuse to window-gaze and people watch. Guadalupe street happens to be one of the greatest places in the world to people watch. On my way to church, I do not see many people as it is still fairly early and most of the shops, save for a few breakfast-oriented ones, are closed. That’s when I gaze through the windows and marvel and the shiny wares, stylish clothes, outlandish University of Texas themed accoutrements that I would never buy.

On the way home from church, however, the sleepy street turns into a bustling thoroughfare. I pass by an outdoor market, where today I saw an evolutionary hold-over from the Summer of Love strumming an acoustic guitar, peddling jewelry and tie-dyed t-shirts. I pass by families—most likely University Texas Dynasties where the parents anxiously await the day when their offspring will matriculate into the collegiate behemoth. You can tell where their loyalty lies by their burnt orange and white apparel.

And for every UT Dynastic family, there are hippies; for every pony-tailed sorority girl, there is a homeless street urchin; for every marauding church-goer, there are cynics and atheists. There are Baptists, Presbyterians, Scientologists, rich people, poor people, college students, young professionals—and not a single person is out of place. Guadalupe is certainly a cross-section of modern American life. No one pays any mind to the garb and actions of others, they just simply slip in and out the eclectic shops, lost in their perspective universes.

Sunday morning walks are more than a voyeuristic sociological experiment; they also serve as my weekly update with God. I like to call it my “Theological Meet the Press,” without the monitoring of Tim Russert, of course. I talk to God and discuss the previous week’s goings on, cares, concerns, and plans for the upcoming day(s). Admittedly, the conversation seems a little one-sided at times, but I am certain that God is listening.

It’s these [sometimes one-sided] conversations that center my heart for worship. Typically, the moment I walk into the choir room at UPC, any tranquility I have obtained is shattered by the fumbling around for folders, hymn sheets, robes, stoles, and last minute liturgical instruction. If I drive to church, I seem to go immediately from rushing to get to church to rushing around in the choir room; how can the Holy Spirit enter in when my thoughts are not centered on Christ? However, if I take the initiative to spend a few extra minutes to walk to church, I seem to construct a force-field around my sub-conscious. Choir chaos ensues, but it doesn’t impede my readiness to worship.

I realize that not everyone has the luxury to walk to church. Some of you may despise walking and all this waxing poetic about my Sunday morning sojourns may be extremely dull for you to read. But the point—the REAL point—is that we all must find those rituals that draw us into the heart of God. What are rituals in your life? Is there a specific action on your behalf that induces a prayerful atmosphere? Some points to ponder as this stressful semester comes to a close.

***
On another note: last week of classes—praise Jesus!

Mere's Summer BookList Extravaganza!

As audacious and ambitious as it may seem, I plan to do a lot of reading this summer. In an effort to organize my thoughts, here is my proposed book list thus far. Paps and I are going to see who can read the most books this summer--wish me luck!

Dogmatics in Outline, Karl Barth

Letters and Papers from Prison, Dietrich Bonhoeffer

On the Road, Jack Kerouac [which I will read when I go home]

The Chronicles of Narnia, C.S. Lewis [time to read them all, not just my three "favorites"]

The Crucified God, Jurgen Moltmann

...something by Chuck Palahniuk...[perhaps Fight Club?]

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Robert Pirsig

The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck [it's a summer tradition for me to read this book]

The Preaching Life, Barbara Brown Taylor

The New Being, Paul Tillich

The Courage to Be, Tillich [which I sorta-kinda read this semester, but I want to read it straight through this time]

Elegy

I'm not a Joni Mitchell fan per se, but this week, I am finding the lyrics of this song to be painfully true.

...You don't know what you've got 'till it's gone....


Big Yellow Taxi

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
With a pink hotel, a boutique
And a swinging hot spot

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

They took all the trees
Put 'em in a tree museum
And they charged the people
A dollar and a half just to see 'em

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

Hey farmer farmer
Put away the D.D.T. now
Give me spots on my apples
But leave me the birds and the bees Please!

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

Late last nightI heard my screen door slamand
a big yellow taxi
Took away my old man

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

I said don't it always seem to go
That you dont know what you've got
Till it's gone

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

Ctrl + Alt + Delete

We’ve all been there: you’re at your trusty laptop or desktop computer, groovin’ along as you surf the internet superhighway, only to have your computer “freeze up.” Windows will no longer close, the word processor is no longer processing, and your cyber-life, much like Buck Rogers, exists in suspended animation. However, you are not alarmed because restarting your computer, and thus erasing any malfunction, can happen with the stroke of a simple combination of keys: Ctrl + Alt + Delete. Suddenly, your computer shuts down, reboots, and any past infraction is forgotten—all with a simple command.

Unfortunately, real-life does not mirror technology. Restarting a computer: easy. Restarting life: well, that’s an entirely more complicated and delicate matter. Imagine how wonderful life would be if we could erase, reboot, restart when the going gets tough. Scathing words, careless deeds, heartache, sins of human behavior, all gone and erased from existence with a few simple keys, rather than years of resentment, guilt, and therapy.

If life were like an Etch-A-Sketch, where we could shake the screen and remove a previous picture and start afresh, would we be a happier people?

My answer: Yes.

However—this is where God’s Grace enters the proverbial picture. The sad, painful truth [of which I am learning more about each passing day] is that we cannot erase the past. We cannot reboot, shake the Etch-A-Sketch, wave a magic wand, etc. in order to remove pain from our lives. Intentionally (and unintentionally), I have sinned in my life. I have made some bad choices and have wrestled with more than a few demons. Facing these demons is proving to be the hardest thing I have ever done, but facing such demons is necessary in order to conqueror them. I pray for guidance and grace from God and also for patience from my sisters and brothers. Most of all, I wish with the greatest strength and fervor of my heart that some of my past infractions could, in fact, be erased from memory and existence. I am sure that I am not alone in these thoughts.

But my sins are there, etched into a permanent collective of the sinfulness of humanity. I can do nothing to alter the past, nor can I erase the memories of my sins from the consciousness of others. And I also realize that when it comes to apologies, actions are indeed louder than the din of any words. I can type about grace and forgiveness until the cows come home, but without application, all of it is utter and total bullshit. Period.

Ergo, it is time for me and time for you to live into the reality of Grace. Grace is what lets us wake up in the morning. Grace is the small pocket of light in my soul that leads me out of darkness; grace is the “still, small voice” which whispers that all is not lost. Grace is what motivates me to keep on living, keep on loving, keep on learning. Grace cannot erase, but grace is capable of transforming. Like the Phoenix rises from the ashes, so does Grace allow us to rise out of the ashes of our sin.

On this second Sunday of Easter, most churches focus on the account of “Doubting” Thomas, the apostle who demanded to see the risen Lord first hand, rather than believe in apostolic “hearsay.” I find it interesting that when Thomas sees the risen Lord, he sees the scars in Jesus’ hand, the scars from the wounds in his side. Although Jesus is resurrected, his body still bears the mark of human sin. Jesus was not simply “rebooted” when he resurrected; he still bears the evidence of the crucifixion. However, Jesus’ body is newly transformed and although the evidence of sin still exists, through the grace, miracle, and power of the resurrection, the Sin itself is transformed.

So may we all be transformed through this overwhelming love.

Happy Earth Day!

Happy Earth Day, one and all!

A poem from my favorite pre-hippie hippie poet,William Wordsworth:

My heart leaps up when I behold a rainbow in the sky;
So was it when my life began
So is it now I am a man
So be it when I shall grow old, or let me die!

The child is father to the man
and I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each, by natural piety.

***

A lovely day here in the great city of Austin-- I encourage all to spend at least a few moments outside, breathing in the lush greenery of the verdent Hill Country.

We are blessed by this "Good Creation" and therefore are called to be good stewards of the Earth. Wordsworth calls his reverence for creation "natural piety" and I feel that all of us should strive for natural piety-- without going too far, of course [no need to worship trees or anything]. Environmentalism is not a four-letter-word, nor should it be resigned only for crunchy-granola, Nader-votin', tofu-eatin' vegans. All of us, regardless of political party association and theological leanings, can respect the Earth and participate in environmentally friendly practices.

...a word from Pappy McVulgar, Fuck the earth, let it rot, let it burn, let it overpopulate, love it, like it, do it. It is what Bono would want...now back to Mere.

Sorry for the vulgarity from Pappy McVulgar. He hijacked my laptop from me and proceeded to write vitrolic comments. See that kids??! That's the kind of devolved, uninformed attitude I'm addressing-- and nobody fucks with my Bono!

Hug the World!

God is Dead...well, maybe

I’m beginning to wonder if God might be dead.

Perhaps my statement may seem odd and the antithesis of all that we are encountering in this “Bright Week,” the holy week wherein we observe the resurrection of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Christ is Risen—he is risen indeed! O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?

Surely God is not dead; so much beauty in the world serves as a testament to the God’s eternal creating spirit. I look out the window and see the earth renewed by gentle evening rains. Trees worshipfully extend leafy branches to the sky, as if to shout eternal “Hosannas!” Without extending too much into natural theology (I’m trying to avoid at least some heresy), I know that, to quote G.M. Hopkins [again]: “the world is charged with the grandeur of God.”

Surely God is not dead; in this age of mass-media, God has never been more accessible. We are blessed to live in a society where books no longer exist in musty chained libraries but are inexpensive and bountiful. God is, literally, everywhere.

Yet, I am beginning to suspect that American [specifically, United States] popular culture is precipitating the slow, stifled death of God. Religion in this country is the proverbial “hot commodity;” Jesus not only saves--he sells. Christians across the country have historically been an untapped resource and major corporations have now realized that Christians will snap-up Jesus themed t-shirts, household accoutrements, and what-not faster than a greased snake on a slip-n-slide. Forgive me for sounding a little harsh, but I equate the selling of Jesus merchandise with the archaic practice of selling indulgences. Buying christo-religiocentric merchandise is a way for good, God-fearin’ folks to satiate a consumerist appetite while mitigating guilt.

I suspect God is dead when we no longer believe in the actual God, but instead place our faith in the impotent God of commercial consumerism. If we believe in and worship “false gods” [whatever these may be], does our one true God, the Holy One of Israel, cease to exist? Most of us in Western culture are familiar and well indoctrinated with Arthurian legends, all of which are set within the cultural context of the schism between the ancient Pagan world and the birth of Medieval Christianity. During this era of ancient myth, many of the kings and peoples in Britain have converted from paganism and have begun to embrace monotheism and the Christian God, a change which serves as a powerful contrapuntal theme throughout the legend. This schism was addressed in a fairly recent television mini-series, Merlin. The dark-sorceress, Queen Mab, is dealing with an inevitable fact that human beings no longer worship and revere the “old ways,” the ways of pagan ritual and belief in magic. Subsequently, as increasing numbers of human beings begin to worship the Christ rather than Mab and her minions, the figures of the pagan religion begin to fade out of existence. Because human beings no longer believe, the old ways cease to exist.

Once again, I find that an archetypal story continues to resonate with the modern world. If we put our faith in human strength and human constructs, will God, like other ancient Gods, fade into oblivion?

As a good reformed theologian who believes in the full-sovereignty of God, I would have to answer that regardless of human actions and interactions, God will always exists. We call this divine aseity—God did not create because God has low self-esteem and needed creation to justify God’s existence. Because God is the “ground of all being,” according to theologian Paul Tillich, the very fact that we exist is proof that God exists. God, after all, is not “a being,” but rather “being itself.” God is different from the self-centered and self-serving ancient gods, sorcerers, and supernatural beings because God’s existence is not contingent on human response.

Still, I am concerned with the state of religion in America. Ours is a nation suffering deep hurt, resentment, cynicism, and superficial spirituality. A deep pain permeates our national psyche, a pain that continues to motivate senseless consumerism, ego-centrism, and blatant disregard for the global community. Assuredly, God is not dead—but God may be dead in our lives.

I intend to further investigate this matter in future posts. Until then, peace unto all.

Requiem

In honor of Good Friday and in keeping in line with National Poetry Month, I offer the words of one more eloquent than I.

Oh, where, in this hurtful, hateful, Good Friday World is the promise of the risen Christ? How can we find hope when all is lost, when all is a "cold and broken hallelujah?"

***

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.


-- W. H. Auden

A Moment of Zen

Baseball season is nigh!

Here's a moment of Zen for all you sports fans [and even those who aren't].


"You see the ball, you hit the ball. They hit the ball, you catch the ball. You catch the ball, you throw the ball. That's it."

-Kirby Puckett's Zen of Baseball

Here Fishy, Fishy, Fishy!

A quick joke for your enjoyment: A fish is swimming in a lake, hits a wall, and says, “Dam!”

I, much like my fishy friend in the above “joke,” feel as if I have hit the proverbial “wall.” Though I keep swimming with the aspirations and tenacity of the Incredible Mr. Limpett, I continually hit walls and no amount of effort on my behalf can assuauge my headaches (and aching ego).

I’m exhausted, frustrated, mentally and emotionally bankrupt. I even had a “slight” nervous breakdown yesterday, which, admittedly, was rather cathartic. Unfortunately, my friends were present for said breakdown and are [most likely] convinced I’m either psychotic, hopelessly neurotic, or a combination of the two.

Summer cannot come fast enough!

Bloggy Goodness

The Paul Simon lyric du jour:

"Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?
Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you..."

-- from Mrs. Robinson

A poet, you know it

Can you believe that it is already April 2006? My, how time doth flies...

April, besides being the "cruelest month," as penned by T.S. Eliot, is also National Poetry Month. Therefore, I am encouraging all to read a little poetry this "cruel month." Spend an hour with Auden, a day Donne, seconds with Shakespeare, a week with Wordsworth--whatever you can spare to pay homage to this literary art form.

Need help getting started? I suggest you visit the Shel Silverstein website, www.shelsilverstein.com. Shel Silverstein was one of my favorite writers when I was in elementary school and I must admit that my "heart leaps up" when I hear verses from Where the Sidewalk Ends and A Light in the Attic. If you have any favorite poets or poetry websites, I encourage you to comment on them and I will include the suggestions in future posts.

Therefore, I leave you all with some words from one of my favorite poets, Gerard Manley Hopkins:

"God's Grandeur"

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like the shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and share man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs--
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.