Jason Gaboury's Blog, page 11
June 30, 2020
Pursuing Power - Activism, Pietism, and Gospel Confidence
16For I am not ashamed of the gospel; it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who has faith… (Romans 1:16)
Gary Haugen, founder of International Justice Mission, established a daily ½ hour prayer meeting for his organization. Every day at 11:00 the whole office stops work, gathers in the conference room, and prays. When asked about this Gary responds, “We had to ask ourselves a question, ‘What power do we really believe is going to set people free?’”
This question is intriguing when you consider the work that International Justice Mission does. While unashamedly Christian, it is not a church or missions’ organization. International Justice Mission is a legal services provider seeking to represent people in sex and labor slavery around the world.
International Justice Mission is not shy about power. They work with governments and law enforcement. They lobby governments and petition courts. They use their cultural position as a Washington DC based organization. Any one of these power structures is potentially significant, and yet the prayer meeting signals something even more significant.
What power do we really believe is going to set people free? This is an urgent as well as an important question as we negotiate a global pandemic, economic crisis, racial reckoning, and other dramatic cultural shifts.
In this moment everyone seems to be talking about power. We feel desperately like we need more power, even as we decry how others are abusing it. The fruit of these conversations seems to be anxiety, shame, guilt, and paralysis.
In Romans 1:16 Paul describes the gospel as the power of God. He believes that the power to set people free, the power ‘unto salvation’ is found in his message, the gospel itself. This power is not connected to Paul’s status as a Roman citizen, his skill as a teacher or movement leader, or his connections in government, though Paul seems to have all of these. Instead he believes the message of the gospel will liberate its hearers. This confidence in the gospel is a challenge to those of us who would prefer social, cultural, and political power to accomplish the liberation we long for.
On the other hand, a quick review of Paul’s gospel in Romans 1 demonstrates just how politically confrontational his message is. Paul’s gospel (a word taken from the political rhetoric of the day) is not a personal spirituality for those who are into that sort of thing. It is the announcement that Jesus the messiah is risen from the dead and is lord of the world. (See Romans 1:1-4) In writing this in a letter to Rome, the undisputed political superpower of his day, Paul is making a powerfully subversive statement. Paul goes even further though, he say’s he’s unashamed of the gospel, and expects his announcement to “bring about the obedience of faith… (See Romans1:5)” among his hearers. Imagine an open letter to a community in Washington DC summoning obedience to a global leader. This confidence in the gospel is a challenge to those of us who would spiritualize the gospel so as to avoid its political implications.
What power do we really believe is going to set people free?
One temptation for an organization like International Justice Mission would be the way of activism. A community of highly educated, idealistic, lawyers might assume that their efforts, energies, political machinations, and resources are what will set people free. You could imagine an almost mathematical equation; money + time + effort = freedom. But does it really? What about the intractable challenges of corruption, the persistence of unjust structures reasserting themselves in new forms, or the minefield of unintended consequences? Freedom, in any lasting sense, does not derive from human effort alone.
An equal temptation for International Justice Mission would be the way of pietism. A community of sincere believers might extend their times of prayer, trusting that God will bring about freedom supernaturally. This can be a form of magical thinking. If we pray enough and in the right ways, then the freedom we want will happen.
Paul’s view in Romans 1 is neither activism nor pietism. He is clear that the power to set people free does not derive from his effort. Simultaneously, the gospel message compels him to active service. He proclaims this message, despite its political risks, with confidence building communities in every place he goes.
What might it look like to have confidence in the gospel during these challenging days?
1. Free from Anxiety – If the power to bring freedom isn’t sourced in our efforts, energies, ideas, and resources then we can be free from the fear that says, “If I don’t it won’t.” We can engage in the challenges of our moment without needing to control, force, dominate, or fix. We can also disengage from the overwhelming needs in order to restore our souls and rest.
Confidence in the gospel would make us free from anxiety.
2. Free to Work – If there is power in the gospel to bring freedom, then we have a job to do. Our work caring for the sick, supporting the vulnerable, and pursuing justice become ways of announcing the good news and expressing our hope.
Confidence in the gospel would motivate us to work creatively and expectantly, motivated by a positive vision of Jesus’ kingdom.
3. Free from Shame – If the power to bring freedom is in the gospel, then we can be unashamed. The gospel sets us free from needing to be right or righteous on our own power. If we don’t have to be right, we’re free to be learners and servants. If we don’t need to be righteous, we can admit when we fail without crumbling under the weight of shame.
Confidence in the gospel would free us to relate to one another and to the challenges of this moment as brothers and sisters, rather than tribes, parties, or other groups.
What power do we believe is going to make us free? A strength of International Justice Mission is that its confidence is anchored in the gospel. As a result, it can work hard while remaining non-anxious, confront hard truths without shame and shaming.
We need power if we’re going to work together on the challenges of this difficult moment. What might it mean to anchor your confidence in the gospel in your context?
June 19, 2020
Me Racist? - Spiritual Disciplines for White Folks
“That’s racist.” She said firmly. I sat stunned. I’d been eager to share my most recent reflections and ideas about ministry with a respected colleague. This was the moment I feared most.
I’d been attempting to come to grips with racism for over a year. I’d read books to understand racism historically, relationally, and theologically. There had been hard conversations, apprenticeship under leaders of color, and immersion in non-white contexts. None of it had been easy. Still, when this friend looked clearly into my thoughts and perspective and named them racist, I felt exposed and raw. I wanted to quit, hide, fight, and cry all at once.
For many people, particularly those of us who grew up in majority culture, the fear of being confronted as racist is paralyzing. We’re eager to distance ourselves from overt white supremacy, like the KKK, and even covert white supremacy like gentrification and redlining. We want to be seen as a ‘safe’ person, an ally, or even an anti-racist. These are (mostly) good goals. (I say mostly good, because the focus of these efforts can be self-protective rather than others-centered, turning our efforts in on ourselves when our energies are needed elsewhere.)
Here are some spiritual practices that can help us move from fear to faithfulness as majority culture (white) people.
1. Name the fear. Underneath the fear of being called ‘racist’ are often other unspoken fears. We fear being judged as incompetent, a challenge to our sense of self. We fear being disconnected from others, especially if there is a lingering sense that we are unlovable lurking in our past. We fear for our safety, whether our physical safety or the security of our place in the community. We fear rejection.
Naming the fear enables us to entrust ourselves to God and to others. Christians who proclaim forgiveness of sin and reconciliation through the cross have nothing to fear when confronted with sin. Fear and failure lose their fangs if we can name them in the presence of God.
2. Focus on getting better vs being good. So much of our anti-racist engagement can be an attempt to be good. We think if we say, vote, act, and relate in the right ways, with the right terms, and the right associations we can protect ourselves from critiques of racism. Racism is much more subtle than that. In fact, the effort to prove yourself a ‘good’ or ‘safe’ white person does little to challenge racism.
Another word for getting better is discipleship. Look at Jesus’ disciples. They didn’t get it right. But they didn’t allow their failures to stop their discipleship. Focusing on getting better enables us to turn attention away from protecting ourselves and creates emotional space for active engagement.
3. Cultivate humility. Classically defined, the Christian virtue of humility is the conviction that every person we encounter is created in the image of God, combined with the commitment to treat them as such. Theological racism, a trend that has been going on for hundreds of years, is at its base, a sin of pride. When we assume that European concepts of God, cultural forms of worship, and education are right, we’re not just guilty of cultural imperialism, but of pride. The gospel has always moved cross-culturally and the missionary task is not complete until, as native theologian Ray Aldred says, “those who have received the gospel, rearticulate it to those from whom they received it in a way that calls the missionaries’ cultural assumptions to conversion.”
If we are cultivating humility we can hear and see the critiques of our own ideas, perspectives, and practices that need change. If we are cultivating humility, we will be quick to listen and slow to defend.
4. Do small things with great love. Another way pride undermines our anti-racism is by pressing us towards grandiosity. We want to change everything, immediately. The more we see the ways racism has infected our systems, the more eager we can be to burn them all down. This impulse isn’t necessarily wrong, but integrity requires us to move away from the grandiose to the hidden.
What are the racist ideas, assumptions, practices, or attitudes in your heart, household, or neighborhood? What simple change could you consistently make in these places? Do those with all your heart, as unto the Lord. Do them anonymously. As you, ‘get better’ expand your horizons, but always conscious of the temptation of grandiosity.
5. Bring your whole self. Becoming anti-racist requires us to bring our full cultural selves to the work. There is no way to be engaged in the work of anti-racism without carrying our cultural stories, perspectives, experience, and values into relationships and activities. This inevitably means exposing ourselves to critique, but it also means opening to relationships that can lead us beyond ourselves.
When Paul exhorts us to, “Let the same mind be in us that was in Christ Jesus…” (Philippians 2:4-8) he is not inviting us to be divine, nor inviting us to renounce our cultural background, he’s inviting us not to cling to status and authority but become a servant.
More than twenty years later, I’m grateful for this colleague and her willingness to confront my racist ideas. These practices are not comprehensive. They will not dismantle the racism on their own. They will help us to do the spiritual and emotional work necessary to sustain long term engagement in the work of anti-racism. Practicing these disciplines will help us engage when we want to quit, fight, hide, or cry.
"You're Racist." - Spiritual Practices for Confronting White Fear
“That’s racist.” She said firmly. I sat stunned. I’d been eager to share my most recent reflections and ideas about ministry with a respected colleague. This was the moment I feared most.
I’d been attempting to come to grips with racism for over a year. I’d read books to understand racism historically, relationally, and theologically. There had been hard conversations, apprenticeship under leaders of color, and immersion in non-white contexts. None of it had been easy. Still, when this friend looked clearly into my thoughts and perspective and named them racist, I felt exposed and raw. I wanted to quit, hide, fight, and cry all at once.
For many people, particularly those of us who grew up in majority culture, the fear of being confronted as racist is paralyzing. We’re eager to distance ourselves from overt white supremacy, like the KKK, and even covert white supremacy like gentrification and redlining. We want to be seen as a ‘safe’ person, an ally, or even an anti-racist. These are (mostly) good goals. (I say mostly good, because the focus of these efforts can be self-protective rather than others-centered, turning our efforts in on ourselves when our energies are needed elsewhere.)
Here are some spiritual practices that can help us move from fear to faithfulness as majority culture (white) people.
1. Name the fear. Underneath the fear of being called ‘racist’ are often other unspoken fears. We fear being judged as incompetent, a challenge to our sense of self. We fear being disconnected from others, especially if there is a lingering sense that we are unlovable lurking in our past. We fear for our safety, whether our physical safety or the security of our place in the community. We fear rejection.
Naming the fear enables us to entrust ourselves to God and to others. Christians who proclaim forgiveness of sin and reconciliation through the cross have nothing to fear when confronted with sin. Fear and failure lose their fangs if we can name them in the presence of God.
2. Focus on getting better vs being good. So much of our anti-racist engagement can be an attempt to be good. We think if we say, vote, act, and relate in the right ways, with the right terms, and the right associations we can protect ourselves from critiques of racism. Racism is much more subtle than that. In fact, the effort to prove yourself a ‘good’ or ‘safe’ white person does little to challenge racism.
Another word for getting better is discipleship. Look at Jesus’ disciples. They didn’t get it right. But they didn’t allow their failures to stop their discipleship. Focusing on getting better enables us to turn attention away from protecting ourselves and creates emotional space for active engagement.
3. Cultivate humility. Classically defined, the Christian virtue of humility is the conviction that every person we encounter is created in the image of God, combined with the commitment to treat them as such. Theological racism, a trend that has been going on for hundreds of years, is at its base, a sin of pride. When we assume that European concepts of God, cultural forms of worship, and education are right, we’re not just guilty of cultural imperialism, but of pride. The gospel has always moved cross-culturally and the missionary task is not complete until, as native theologian Ray Aldred says, “those who have received the gospel, rearticulate it to those from whom they received it in a way that calls the missionaries’ cultural assumptions to conversion.”
If we are cultivating humility we can hear and see the critiques of our own ideas, perspectives, and practices that need change. If we are cultivating humility, we will be quick to listen and slow to defend.
4. Do small things with great love. Another way pride undermines our anti-racism is by pressing us towards grandiosity. We want to change everything, immediately. The more we see the ways racism has infected our systems, the more eager we can be to burn them all down. This impulse isn’t necessarily wrong, but integrity requires us to move away from the grandiose to the hidden.
What are the racist ideas, assumptions, practices, or attitudes in your heart, household, or neighborhood? What simple change could you consistently make in these places? Do those with all your heart, as unto the Lord. Do them anonymously. As you, ‘get better’ expand your horizons, but always conscious of the temptation of grandiosity.
5. Bring your whole self. Becoming anti-racist requires us to bring our full cultural selves to the work. There is no way to be engaged in the work of anti-racism without carrying our cultural stories, perspectives, experience, and values into relationships and activities. This inevitably means exposing ourselves to critique, but it also means opening to relationships that can lead us beyond ourselves.
When Paul exhorts us to, “Let the same mind be in us that was in Christ Jesus…” (Philippians 2:4-8) he is not inviting us to be divine, nor inviting us to renounce our cultural background, he’s inviting us not to cling to status and authority but become a servant.
More than twenty years later, I’m grateful for this colleague and her willingness to confront my racist ideas. These practices are not comprehensive. They will not dismantle the racism on their own. They will help us to do the spiritual and emotional work necessary to sustain long term engagement in the work of anti-racism. Practicing these disciplines will help us engage when we want to quit, fight, hide, or cry.
June 15, 2020
Not Ashamed – Confidence in the Gospel in a World of Compromise
For I am not ashamed of the gospel; it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who has faith, to the Jew first and also to the Greek. – Romans 1:16
John looked at me puzzled, “I never would have guessed that you were a Christian.” I smiled, assuming that was a compliment. He paused. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing. If you really believe that stuff, aren’t you supposed to tell heathens like me?”
Despite my convictions about the truth and beauty of the gospel I’d been ashamed to share about it openly. John could tell.
If we define shame as the Oxford dictionary does, “A painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior,” then it’s fair to say shame isn’t always bad. A sense of shame is a necessary restraint against negative or destructive behaviors. A healthy sense of shame can strengthen the will to do what’s right in the face of temptation.
There is even a kind of shame which may be helpful as we reckon with the challenges of Christian history, past and present. A quick word association with the phrase “evangelical Christian” online or with friends will not yield precise theological definitions of either term. Instead, the most likely associations will be adjectives like; close-minded, pro-Trump, homophobic, judgmental, oppressive. These word associations may be pointed, perhaps even ungenerous, but they aren’t entirely untrue.
We have to come to grips with shame if we are going to live lives of Christian integrity. There are Christians who want to be unashamed of the gospel, but who are troubled by the unholy alliances between Christianity and colonialism, racism, and injustice. “If the gospel is supposed to transform people on the inside and teach them how to love their neighbors, how is it that Christians have supported racism?” John asked.
Other Christians who are anxious to be unashamed of the gospel readily admit the complicated Christian history, but assert that the racist, colonialist, or militarist history is evidence of a type of cultural Christianity, as opposed to genuine gospel fidelity.
Still other Christians are so ashamed of Christian history, past and present, that they abandon confidence that the gospel is good news for those outside of the Christian world. Christianity becomes a personal preference, and the gospel a message relevant only to those who might have a particular interest in this particular tradition of spiritual discovery.
What can we learn from Paul in Romans 1 to help us to not be ashamed?
Reflections on Romans
Paul mentions the gospel of Jesus Christ three times in the first 16 verses of Romans 1. His articulation of the gospel speaks to our shame and calls us to confidence and integrity.
The gospel is good news, not good advice. Paul does not present the gospel as a private spirituality for people who are into that sort of thing. He describes the gospel as an event that happened. “Jesus Christ… descended from David… risen from the dead” (1-4). There are, of course, personal implications that follow from this announcement, but it is an announcement of an event that happened, not of a personal or private experience.
Perhaps we need to be reminded that the gospel we proclaim is good news about the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus (and his call to repentance and faith) — not good advice fitting awkwardly into the smorgasbord of our cultural life. This gospel is globally relevant. It dares to claim that the inbreaking of God’s justice into a corrupt and pitiless world has happened. It recognizes the mercy and justice of God in a crucified messiah. It reveals a messiah who embraced shame to the point of torturous humiliation, strung naked on a cross, stretched between heaven and earth, raised from death.
This is good news for my friend John. It is also good news for the weary activist. It is good news for everybody.
Announcing gospel is worship. Paul sees his announcement of the resurrection of Jesus as the means of his worship and service to God (v 9). For Paul there is no division between gospel fidelity and gospel announcement. Paul’s fidelity to announcing the gospel put him in prison, exposed him to religious criticism, and caused him to be a tireless advocate for communion and table fellowship between Jews and Gentiles. A gospel that doesn’t denounce racism in both word and costly deed isn’t the gospel announced by Paul.
This is good news for those puzzling over Christian complicity in injustice. Where the church has failed to faithfully announce the gospel with integrity, we are invited to repent and to learn faithfulness.
The gospel brings change. Paul longs to share the gospel in Rome so that he might see a harvest (v 13). Paul uses the harvest metaphor, like Jesus did before him, to suggest a gathering together of a community that has received the loving kindness of God and are living out the justice / righteousness of God.
The change that Paul anticipates is not simply a subjective and affective one. He anticipates that the gospel will rearrange community priorities. Rome was decidedly hostile to Paul’s announcement, but he expected a harvest, nevertheless. Paul is not ashamed of the gospel because he knows that this good news is spoken in words, modeled with deeds, and demonstrated in power.
Unashamed
“I am not ashamed of the gospel…” Paul says. Are we? Paul isn’t ashamed because he recognizes the gospel as good news. Our cultural moment needs good news. It longs for wholeness even as it further fragments itself. We have hope and wholeness because Jesus Christ has risen from the dead.
“I am not ashamed of the gospel…” Paul says. Are we? We can’t stop our witness to the world without stopping our worship to God. We can’t detach our witness to the world from costly advocacy for righteousness. If we are willing to see our witness as our worship, and our worship as a witness, it would change us. Paul saw his life and ministry that way, so can we.
“I am not ashamed of the gospel…” Paul says. Are we? The announcement of the gospel brings change. The announcement of Jesus as messiah and lord means that our current political arrangements are not. The announcement of the gospel liberates co-opted imaginations and calls us to hope.
Question: Where are you tempted to be ashamed of the gospel? How might you recover hope? Share your thoughts in the comments.
June 12, 2020
I Give Up – Praying While Fatigued and Discouraged
“It’s exhausting,” Jean, a Haitian American friend said, “to have to explain to well-meaning colleagues.”
“I’m not even sure what can be said or not said at this point,” Brian said. “I want to be a good ally and advocate, but I’m not sure how to help.”
“I’m just tired.” Have you heard, said, or read that phrase this week?
Fatigue is normal in a moment like this. We were already collectively grieving the loss of life, work, economic stability because of COVID-19. It’s even deeper as we grieve deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Ahmaud Arbery. It’s ok to be tired.
When we’re exhausted it’s hard to connect to God. We feel like we just don’t have the energy but creating space for God can be just what we need. Here are some simple ways to pray when you’re tired.
1. Pray as you CAN, not as you CAN’T.
Often we don’t make time to pray when we’re tired because we know we just don’t have the energy to pray for 20 – 30 minutes. If our normal ‘quiet times’ involve scripture reading, reflection, bible study, or journaling we can be defeated before even starting. Instead of setting out to pray for an extended period when you’re tired, take advantage of small moments to take a deep breath and become aware of God. Praying for 3 minutes in this way without guilt or anxiety is better for the soul than trying to push yourself through a set prayer time.
If you can steal away for a few moments, you’ll be able to try way #2.
2. Pray what IS in you, not what OUGHT to be in you.
There is no feeling or perspective we can’t bring to God in prayer. “God, I’m so tired. Help!” Is as spiritually meaningful a prayer as the prayer of St. Francis or 10 minutes of journaling. There is no need to get into a spiritual mood to pray. As you’ve taken a few moments to spend time with God, simply direct your attention to God as best as you can. Light a candle or look at a verse of scripture and let that be enough. Then pray whatever words or silence you have to give.
Being present to God, offering only what you have, can be helped by way #3.
3. Pray ONE SENTENCE.
In the midst of Jesus’ grief over the death of his friend Jesus weeps and then prays, “Father, I thank you for having heard me….” (John 11:41) His prayer is simple, direct and to the point. It’s a prayer in the midst of grief expressing confidence in God compressed into one sentence. Praying this sentence, or one like it, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me…” is a simple way of becoming present to God without needing to sort through all of your inner thoughts and feelings.
Having one sentence to pray may open up space for you to try way #4.
4. Pray LITURGY.
Liturgy is a form of prayer that is prescribed. It’s often compiled from short passages of scripture and some ancient well-known prayers. Reading a liturgy, out loud if possible, is like joining in on the prayers of others, being carried along by them until you’re able to give voice to your own desire for God. A simple liturgy can be found here.
Praying a liturgy can help you rest in prayer, enabling you to try way #5.
5. Sit in SILENCE.
Sitting in silence even for a few moments can be a gift when you’re exhausted. Imagine simply being present to yourself and to God. There is nothing you need to say and nothing you need to do. You are safe. You are seen. You are known. You are loved.
Sitting in silence may refresh you more deeply than you know.
If you, or someone you love, is exhausted this week try praying in these simple ways. Elijah famously met God in prayer in a moment of his exhaustion in 1 Kings 19. In the midst of this story Elijah discovers God in rest and stillness. If a man like Elijah needed to meet God in times of political upheaval and discouragement we’re in good company.
June 11, 2020
Is Online Activism Making Us Lonely?
Is online activism contributing to our loneliness? The longing for a better, more just, and healthier world is an important part of our shared humanity. Still, choosing to raise your voice in the face of injustice is relationally risky. What if your words are misunderstood? What if your words or actions upset the people you’re close to?
These outcomes are not just possible but likely. In their book Loneliness: Human Nature and the Need for Social Connection John Cacioppo and William Patrick argue, “Loneliness rarely travels alone.” Depression, anxiety, hostility, and sadness are all distinct emotional states but are strongly influenced by loneliness.
As much as we may be compelled to reach out for change, we also experience fear of rejection, appropriate hostility toward injustice, dejection, and grief. Each one of these emotions reduces our capacity to accurately interpret the messages of other people and to control our response.
I was reminded of this recently when Carl reached out with a strong message to a group of his friends inviting us to take specific actions in anti-racism. This is a close friend and a relationship of deep trust. I was happy to continue to do the steps outlined. Still, I was struck by the strength of the message and wanted to care for my friend. So, I asked “what’s important to you in this midst of this painful season?” The care was right, the timing all wrong. Carl experienced the question as aggression, aloofness, or entitlement. His strong response provoked fear and defensiveness in me. By the grace of God, and a shared set of intentionally developed relationship skills, both of us were able to quickly re-orient and build trust. I apologized for my poor timing, promising availability to talk, or not to talk, at his initiation. Carl expressed forgiveness, and trust in my intentions.
While I was grateful for the quick resolution with Carl, I couldn’t help but think of dozens of other relationships or interactions that didn’t resolve so positively.
It’s tempting to imagine that the broader and more intentionally curated context for activism through social media might make it easier to stay emotionally connected while engaging in activism.
According to Pew research, 53 percent of all Americans have been involved in some kind of online civil activism within the last year, while over 65 percent believe that social media is important for getting politicians to pay attention to issues and creating social movements. Around the United States, and around the world, we’re spending more time online. That online presence and participation have a socially active edge. It’s worth asking whether this civil activism is helping us be more civil or more active.
The initial evidence isn’t good. In his book Lost Connections, Johann Hari writes, “The internet was born into a world where many people had already lost their sense of connection to each other. . . . The web arrived offering them a kind of parody of what they were losing—Facebook friends in place of neighborhoods, video games in place of meaningful work, status updates in place of status in the world.” Whatever causal relationship social media has to our sense of isolation and loneliness, it is unable to provide the in-person contact and connections we need to thrive.
What does our increased engagement in civil activism and decline in the sense of connection to one another mean? How might these trends relate to one another?
One thing’s for sure, we are increasingly isolated. Our tastes, habits, interests, education, and income are being tracked in order to persuade us to buy the next gadget, click on the next video, and consume the next experience. Marilyn McEntyre reflects, “When even our babies are a target market, and armies of young professionals are taking careful aim, it’s time to recognize that there’s something lurking in the big-box stores that’s worth resisting.”
The combination of declining personal connections, constant marketing bombardment, and the promise of new media offering a parody of what we’ve lost could account for the context we find ourselves in. We are more civically minded and less civil. We are more inclined toward activism and less active in churches, community groups, and neighborhood associations. A long-time activist and good friend Jonathan says, “What happens when I post or protest is that I feel seen, valued, celebrated, and included, these feelings don’t last though when they’re not anchored in something permanent. The protest will end. The hashtag will fade.”
The longing for a better, more just, and healthier world is an important part of our shared humanity. The amplifying power of our communication technologies means more and more of us can and engaged with this vital part of our humanity. These technologies do not minimize the risks of activism, nor do they make us less lonely.
Adapted from
Wait With Me: Meeting God in Loneliness
,
by Jason Gaboury
June 5, 2020
Christianity - Spirituality for a World in Crisis?
We are in crisis. A global pandemic has reshaped how we live. We are experiencing huge economic uncertainty and loss. We are politically polarized. Outrage over the deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Ahmaud Arbery is spilling over onto our city streets.
Christianity has historically thrived in the midst of crisis. One of the main reasons for this is that Christian spirituality has deep resources to process trauma, practice compassion, and pursue justice. However much we need political, scientific, economic, and cultural solutions for our current crisis, we also need spiritual resources capable of restoring our personal and collective soul.
Here are some spiritual disciplines for this season of crisis:
Rage is inescapable in the face of chaos and death. There is little point pretending otherwise. Healthy Christians practice rage to God and at God. The Psalms and Lamentations are full of words to pray in the grip of anger. "Lord, break the teeth of the wicked," (Psalm 3:7) is one of my go-to prayers.
If we pray our rage, we're better equipped to engage in spiritual practice #2.
2. Practice compassion.
Compassion is easy when you're feeling benevolent, secure, well rested, and spiritual. It requires grit when you're tired, anxious, grief-stricken, or angry. Jesus' command to 'turn the other cheek,' (Matthew 5) a call to forceful compassion in the presence of the fight, fly, or flee reflex. Practicing compassion requires us to remember that we have been forgiven and accepted despite our darkest failures and deep wrongs, and to accept that the people who we find most difficult to love are also created in God's image.
If we practice compassion, we are more spiritually able to engage in spiritual practice #3.
3. Pursue justice.
Not all of us are medical providers, journalists, epidemiologists, activists, or political leaders, but that does not exempt us from pursuing justice in this season. Everyone can pray. Many can march in solidarity. Some can give. All of us can look to our neighbors who are disproportionally vulnerable and ask, "What can I do to serve?"
Practicing justice in small decisions, (what do I buy, who could I help) leads us to spiritual discipline #4.
4. Embrace humility.
In the contemplative Christian tradition humility is acting from the conviction that every person I see, including the person I see in the mirror, is a beloved child, crafted in the image of God. When fully understood, this liberates us from our need to validate ourselves. We don’t have to be right. We don’t have to agree. We are free to embrace our smallness only when we're anchored in the ocean of God's love. Try sitting in a chair today, (and again tomorrow) for 30 seconds, 1 minute, or longer and see if you can focus on nothing else except letting God love you.
Embracing humility helps us pursue discipline #5 in a healthy way.
5. Pray for others!
In the Christian tradition intercessory prayer is a way of rebelling against the status quo. It is to announce that our current reality is not aligned with God's hope and design. It is to align our heart, mind, and will with God's heart of suffering love and redemptive power. In prayer we ask for God's power to break through the darkness and difficulties of our current reality.
And, having prayed, we commit ourselves, resources, time, effort, and relational energy to participate in practical ways toward God's redemptive future.
None of these spiritual disciplines will make the crisis go away. Nor will they insulate us from suffering, grief, or loss. What they will do, instead, is shape us into women and men with capacity to endure in these overwhelming trials. They will keep us tethered to God, to ourselves, and to others. They will help us to hold on to life, even in the face of death.
June 4, 2020
Pray Your Rage – Recovering the Lost Art of Lament and Imprecation
When was the last time your prayer sounded something like this?
“Is this any way to run a country?
Is there an honest politician in the house?
Behind the scenes you (politicians and leaders) brew cauldrons of evil,
behind closed doors you make deals with demons.” (Psalm 58:1-2, The Message)
Many, if not most, of us don’t know what to make of a prayer like this, even if we realize it’s from the Bible. We assume that prayers are supposed to be comforting rather than combative, pacifying rather than perturbing. Our discomfort reveals a disconnection between what we perceive as spiritual feelings like peace, joy, or compassion, and unspiritual feelings like rage, sadness, or fear. If this discomfort and disconnection is true of us then we need to rediscover the gift of anger. This will help us to become both spiritually and emotionally mature. It will also teach us how to pray prayers like the one in Psalm 58.
The Gift of Anger
Too many of us assume anger is wrong. Not long ago a leader in our ministry said, “I’ve been angry with students and I need to repent.” I was thrilled to hear how this friend became aware that he was angry. This is good self-awareness. I was also glad to hear a commitment not to indiscriminately vent his frustration on students. This would have been wrong. Still, his comments reflected this unbiblical idea that anger is wrong. It’s not.
Anger is a right response to injustice. It is a right response when someone or something that we value is demeaned, defaced, or desecrated. Anger gives us the energy to stand up to bullies, to demand accountability for actions that have hurt those we love. Anger helps us enforce rules that keep our communities intact. It helps us to change rules that aren’t working. Anger can be a benefit to others, as long as it’s stewarded in healthy ways. The coach who says, “don’t you dare quit on me,” and the mother who says, “that behavior is unacceptable,” is offering a gift, not a curse.
Both the Old and New Testaments reveal a God who is angry at injustice. Isaiah 61:8 says;
“For I the Lord love justice,
I hate robbery and wrongdoing;
I will faithfully give them their recompense,
and I will make an everlasting covenant with them.”
In John 2, Jesus makes a whip of cords and drives money changers out of the temple for their extortive economic practice. These examples rule out the possibility that anger is unspiritual or an affront to character of God. The challenge for us is to direct our anger in spiritually healthy ways.
Classically, Christian spirituality has recognized two ways of expressing anger in prayer; lament and imprecation. We need to learn both.
Complaining to God
Lament refers to prayers of complaint. In lament we cry out in anger and anguish at the pain, grief, injustice, and wickedness we see around us. Psalm 13 is a prayer of lament:
“How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
2 How long must I bear pain in my soul,
and have sorrow in my heart all day long?
How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?”
This prayer complains about a sense of abandonment, pain, and grief. It doesn’t piously acquiesce to unbearable sorrow. It challenges and provokes towards heaven. Lament is the prayer of the grieving. It is the prayer of the persecuted and marginalized. Lament enables us to pray our rage at the injustices and indignities we experience. It gives voice to the voiceless.
Jesus described the prayer of lament in his parable of the persistent widow, who came night and day to bring her complaint before the unjust judge (Luke 18). Jesus himself prays a lament on the cross when he cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46)
Learning to lament enables us to pray rage rather than be consumed by bitterness. Some time ago I was hurt to discover I’d been the unflattering topic of conversation among a group of colleagues. Conflict and disappointment that should have come to me, instead became the topic of conversation at a conference I did not attend. When I heard what was said I felt exposed, violated, and betrayed. Praying a lament from Psalm 55 gave voice to the grief:
“It is not enemies who taunt me—
I could bear that;
it is not adversaries who deal insolently with me—
I could hide from them.
But it is you, my equal,
my companion, my familiar friend,”
Cursing in Prayer
The other way to pray our rage is to curse in prayer. These prayers are often called imprecatory because they ‘call down’ judgments or evil.
If laments make us uncomfortable, imprecations cause us to shut down altogether. Yet here they are in the Bible’s own prayer book. Psalm 3 is one of my favorites:
“Rise up, O Lord!
Deliver me, O my God!
For you strike all my enemies on the cheek;
you break the teeth of the wicked.”
Imagine asking God to break someone’s teeth! Why would we pray that way?
Imprecations are the prayers of the violated. They are the cry for justice boiling over. These prayers recognize that there are some forms of evil, some actions of injustice that need to be confronted and condemned, dismantled and destroyed.
There is a fear that the raw strength of these prayers, the violent imagery, the ill wishes might prompt us to act violently, in the name of God. Sadly, Christian history is full of examples of scriptural texts being used as a pretext for violence. This trend continues to this day, so concern about violent words leading to violent action is justifiable. A mentor who taught me to pray the imprecatory Psalms shared a helpful perspective. “We must learn to pray our violence and entrust it into the hands of the God revealed in self-giving love.” In other words, we pray our rage to God so that we don’t display our rage on others.
Seeking Justice
Learning to pray in lament and imprecation do not absolve us of our need to pursue justice. We don’t pray in order to release the gift of anger and return to a state of quiet disengagement. We pray to transform destructive and indiscriminate rage into purposeful action.
I write these words during a week of protests and unrest following the death of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Ahmaud Arbery. A coalition of churches in my city have come together to pray, march, and act. They are stewarding the gift of anger in hope. It’s a community committed to the work of justice that can embody a prayer like Psalm 58.
“Is this any way to run a country?
Is there an honest politician in the house?
Behind the scenes you (politicians and leaders) brew cauldrons of evil,
behind closed doors you make deals with demons.” (Psalm 58:1-2, The Message)
May 28, 2020
Spiritual Disciplines for Seasons of Loneliness
“Ironically, one of my most profound moments of loneliness rose up in me when I was, yet again, surrounded by family and love.” Lynda MacGibbon wrote these words recently to describe an experience of loneliness she had while celebrating a birthday with family over zoom, thanks to COVID-19.
Anyone can feel lonely. Loneliness is part of the human condition. It is the experience of the vulnerable as well as the powerful, those who live in families or communities, and those who live alone.
We can also experience it as an opportunity to transform our life with God.
Here are six spiritual practices for when you feel isolated or lonely.1. See: Anyone can be lonely! The hard thing is to admit it.
Notice and name your loneliness. (Read Psalm 88)
Pause when you find yourself distracted by food or fantasy. Ask, what am I really hungry or
longing for?
Notice feelings of fear or anxiety before, during, or after interacting with others.
Reflect on your interactions. Do I feel seen, known, and loved or weary, disappointed, and restless?
Name the lonely feeling when it comes.
2. Seek: Recognizing loneliness allows us to direct anger, sadness, or restlessness into action.
Seek God in loneliness.
Read stories of people in Scripture who experienced loneliness. (Read Genesis 16, 21:8-21; Exodus 22:11-22; 1 Kings 19:1-8; John 20:1-18) Imagine yourself in the stories. Note what feelings or questions emerge.
Talk to a trusted friend, counselor, pastor, or spiritual director about your experience.
3. Sit: Loneliness can make us restless, overly self-critical, or lead us to wallow in self-pity.
Deepen your experience of God’s love in loneliness. (Read Psalm 16:1-2)
Sit in a chair and see if you can focus all of your attention on allowing God to love you.
Do this for thirty seconds, then one minute, then two minutes. Practice until you can do this for ten minutes or more.
Keep a record of what you notice during these times.
4. Cry: Loneliness is often attached to grief. Seeking God in loneliness can put us in touch with loss we’ve not named or allowed ourselves to express.
Reflect on your story. (Read John 11:1-37)
Ask, what past loss, grief, or disappointment might be affecting how I’m experiencing
this season?
Write a letter to your younger self, expressing compassion, encouragement, and hope.
Turn these reflections into prayer. Use your imagination to interact with God in the midst of grief. Make note of what happens.
Bring overwhelming feelings of profound trauma to a trusted pastor, spiritual director, counselor, or therapist.
5. Create: Loneliness can make us passive. Recover energy and agency by engaging your creativity.
(Read Genesis 2:18-25)
Identify one thing you can do that engages your creativity: organize pictures, bake, journal, write letters, solve puzzles, etc. Engage this as a weekly spiritual discipline.
Think through your relational network. Who else enjoys this practice? Engage it together with them.
6. Care: Loneliness turns our attention inward. Refocus your attention and compassion toward others.
(Read Luke 10:25-42)
Identify one problem in your community that you could help solve. (Keep it simple/small.) Adopt that problem for three weeks and see what progress you can make.
Spend between five to fifteen minutes per day praying for the needs of other people, especially those who are suffering, sick, grieving, lost, scared, imprisoned, or vulnerable.
Learn more in Wait With Me by Jason Gaboury
May 26, 2020
Excrement, Lies, and Laughter - Praying with Trevor Noah
Trevor Noah’s book Born a Crime, begins and ends in dialogue between Christian faith and skepticism. In the first chapter, Trevor tells a dramatic story about being thrown out of a moving vehicle and running for safety with his mom. The backdrop of this story is that it was a Sunday, and as Trevor wrote, “every Sunday in my childhood meant church.” Patricia, Trevor’s mother and primary relationship in the book, is a deeply pious Christian woman whose faith is expressed in expansive, communal, emotional, and intellectual categories. Trevor, on the other hand, is reluctant church attender, who if not outright skeptical from chapter one, nevertheless presses back against his mother’s commitment.
In the first dialogue of the book Trevor and his mom argue about the merits of going to their three different churches without the benefit of their car.
“It’s the Devil,” she said about the stalled car. “The Devil doesn’t want us to go to church. That’s why we’ve got to catch minibuses.”
Whenever I found myself up against my mother’s faith-based obstinacy, I would try, as respectfully as possible, to counter with an opposing point of view.
“Or,” I said, “the Lord knows that today we shouldn’t go to church, which is why he made sure the car wouldn’t start, so that we stay at home as a family and take a day of rest, because even the Lord rested.”
“Ah, that’s the Devil talking, Trevor.”
“No, because Jesus is in control, and if Jesus is in control and we pray to Jesus, he would let the car start, but he hasn’t, therefore—”
“No, Trevor! Sometimes Jesus puts obstacles in your way to see if you overcome them. Like Job. This could be a test.”
“Ah! Yes, Mom. But the test could be to see if we’re willing to accept what has happened and stay at home and praise Jesus for his wisdom.”
“No. That’s the Devil talking. Now go change your clothes.” “But, Mom!”
Arguments like these set the tone for the rest of the book. Trevor uses these dialogues for characterization as well as interrogating ideas. The contest is set. What’s the point of prayer, worship, or Christian devotion? Does it even matter? This question lingers throughout the book.
It’s a good question. As we are confronted with the overwhelming challenge of a global pandemic, job losses, and the vitality sucking rhythms of online interactions it’s worth asking, why are we doing this anyway? Does my, ‘showing up’ to a weekly event over Facebook live make any difference? And, just what does my participation in worship or prayer accomplish anyway?
Asking these questions allows us to see our Christian practice from, as Trevor says, “an opposing point of view.” As a devoted Jesus follower, I find Trevor’s question and perspective refreshing. His pointed critiques make fun of the performative and mercenary aspects of prayer and worship, not to mention the racist and colonial assumptions baked into our missionary history.
For example, Trevor, whose first language was English, describes the advantages this gave him within his family’s Christian practice. “I loved to pray…” “Everyone knows that Jesus, who was white, spoke English… The bible, was in English… Which made my prayers the best prayers, because English prayers get answered first. How do we know this? Look at white people, clearly they’re getting through to the right person.”
Laying bare these benefits Trevor helps us to see. Is it true that Jesus was white, spoke English, or supports the system of white supremacy? No! Is it true that these implicit assumptions conveyed a position of privilege for Trevor? Yes. So, why do we pray again? Is it to assert our place in the shifting hierarchy of our families and communities? Is prayer an attempt to twist God’s arm to do what we want, so that we can have the benefits of those in power?
Jesus explicitly taught that prayer was not to be performative in these ways. (Matthew 6:5) Jesus taught that humility before God was better than preening religiosity. (Luke 18:9-14) Despite this, our Christian practice is easily co-opted by the attempt to look good, establish ourselves, or secure blessing. As someone who is skilled with words and is steeped in more than one Christian tradition, I relate to Trevor’s experience. I too am invited to pray at events because of social status or rhetorical ability, not because my life is particularly holy, grace filled, or spiritually vital. If not careful, I can start to believe that these invitations to leadership are a sign of my Christian vitality, influence, or importance, and become the self-righteous Pharisee.
Praying with Trevor Noah helps us see through the façade. His humor enables us to laugh at the pride and self-importance that gets mixed in with our prayers, and to remember the teaching of Jesus. “Lord, have mercy on me, sinner that I am,” is eloquence enough. As are the inarticulate groans of frustration, anguish, grief, or fury that the Spirit enables us to bring to God.
Still, what’s the point of praying? Patricia, Trevor’s mom, says throughout the book, “I don’t pray for nothing…” Trevor isn’t convinced. After all, it seems like many of our prayers are exercises in futility.
Trevor teases out this dynamic in a story of his childhood in Soweto. A boy reluctant to go out in the rain to use the outhouse, Trevor decided to stay indoors and use a newspaper. His brilliant plan involved wrapping his excrement in the newspaper and tossing it into the family bin. When his mother discovered the paper she, and the rest of the family, interpreted it as a curse, a sign that someone had meant to bring a hex on the family. This meant calling for an emergency prayer meeting. Trevor, with his status as an eloquent prayer, was asked to pray. Trevor draws us into the childhood tensions of his prayer. “I knew that my prayers worked, so if I prayed to God to kill the thing that left the s… and the thing that left the s… was me…”
As I read this story and laugh at the incongruities, the deeper question about the greater purpose of prayer soaks through. There is no need for the family to fear a curse or for Trevor to fear divine retribution. This whole scene is much ado about nothing, and yet it exposes our superstitions. An unexplained phenomenon stirs the community to pray. Trevor knows there is no need to pray about the newspaper but is nevertheless afraid to say the wrong thing in prayer.
It’s perhaps a little too easy to laugh at Trevor’s family. How often are our prayer habits shaped by superstition? How often do we pray as though the purpose of prayer is to get God to uncross his arms and give us protection from uncertainty, evil, or suffering? How often are our prayers organized around our desires, provision, or blessing? Do we send ‘thoughts and prayers’ instead of actively engaging with the needs and vulnerabilities of our neighbors?
While celebrated for his compassion and ability to heal, Jesus promised that suffering, evil, and uncertainty were inevitable for his followers. (John 16:33) His explicit teaching on prayer focuses on preparing his followers to be active participants in his kingdom agenda. (Matthew 6:5-15, Luke 11:1-13) While not wholly absent from the Christian life, seeking God’s provision, protection, or blessing is subsumed within a larger purpose, to know God and to live as disciples of Jesus.
Praying with Trevor Noah reveals the superstition that masquerades as piety. His lies and laughter expose the hollow misappropriation of prayer as an attempt to get something from God, rather than as a context for relationship with God. It seems Trevor is aware of this dynamic. He ends this chapter with these words. “God I’m so sorry for all of this, I know this was not cool. Because I knew, God answers your prayers, God is your father, He’s the man who is there for you. He’s the man who’ll take care of you. When you pray, he stops and he takes his time and he listens. And I’d subjected him to two hours of old grannies praying when I knew with all the pain and suffering in the world, he had more important things to deal with, than my s...”
The argument between faith and skepticism resolves without decision at the end of the book. Trevor’s book concludes with the story of his mom being shot, his rushing to the hospital, and wrestling with his grief, anger, and potential financial ruin paying for his mom’s care might mean. Inexplicably, the gun misfired six times while Noah’s mom, Patricia, looked down the barrel and prayed. Only after the misfires, while attempting to run away, was she shot in the back of the head. Again, inexplicably, the bullet (though entering her head) missed all of the vital arteries and organs, including what appears to be a change in trajectory as the bullet was passing through her body. Trevor Noah writes:
I was going on about how insane the week had been. “You’re lucky to be alive,” I told her. “I still can’t believe you didn’t have health insurance.”
“Oh, but I do have health insurance,” she said.
“You do?”
“Yes. Jesus.”
“Jesus?”
“Jesus.”
“Jesus is your health insurance?”
“If God is for me, who can be against me?”
“Okay, mom.”
“Trevor, I prayed. I told you I prayed. I don’t pray for nothing.”
“You know,” I said, “for once I cannot argue with you. The gun, the bullets, I can’t explain any of it. So, I’ll give you that much.” Then I couldn’t resist teasing her with one little last jab. “But, where was your Jesus to pay your hospital bill, hmm? I know for a fact that He didn’t pay that.”
She smiled and said, “You’re right. He didn’t. But, he blessed me with the son who did.”
In the end Trevor Noah’s narrative leads us to the mystery of Christian devotion on the other side of skepticism. Praying with Trevor Noah calls us to turn from corrupted, colonialist, visions of who God is. Praying with Trevor Noah enables us to see the superstitious and social posturing just the other side of our piety. Praying with Trevor Noah leads us to wonder at the mystery of life, of love between mother and son, and of the presence of God in the midst of the tragic as well as the comic.
Perhaps this fresh perspective is precisely what we need.
