The Idea of Religion

by Paul Hettinga

I like the idea of religion, of believing that there is a God and that this God was revealed to us in the life of Jesus. I further like the idea of church, of being in the community of those who want to believe, want to live as if it’s all true and who want to be conformed to the image of Jesus in and through our lives. More days than not, I lean into this faith and it gives me a sense of joy, comfort and purpose.

But then there are other days when I wake up from this hope and I wonder, how can any of this possibly be true? Is Jesus, God? And is he the full and total reflection of both who God is and all that he is? Isn’t there a kind of arrogance in all of this – us Christians thinking, believing and acting as if we ‘know’ God, that he is ‘Our God’?

If I let my mind wander on this path for long, a sense of dread and depression starts coming into my mind, my heart – my soul. Imagining my life without this belief that Jesus is real leaves me feeling abandoned and alone and, for the most part without much purpose to my life.

So Jesus said to the twelve, "You do not want to go away also, do you?" 68Simon Peter answered Him, "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have words of eternal life.69"We have believed and have come to know that You are the Holy One of God."… John 6:67-69 NIV

And like Peter my answer is, but Lord, to whom else can I go – your words have the authority of life, God and eternity. Indeed, where else can I go to find the ring of authentic living – of having a life call or purpose that is big enough to capture my mind, my heart, my soul and my talents, but small enough to be attainable and real, allowing me to become more fully me – the way God imagines me to be.

Fortunately, God’s steadfast love continues to reach out to us drawing us into his love and into his quiet but certain call on our lives. Leaning back into that gentle call, even in the light of our own doubts gives meaning and purpose to our lives and unites us with God and his community of fellow ‘leaners’. Thanks be to God for his steady love that reaches out and gently draws us in.

Of Course It Matters -- But, Maybe Not

by Tom Pappas

Last week I sent out 39 individual emails to fairly new members of our church; here are three responses from folks, far younger than me, who I invited to join a 6-week book study.

“Thank you so much for the invite, but honestly I don't even have time to read for fun anymore ha-ha! Maybe in a couple months once my body's adjusted to my new weird hours I'll be able to get involved.”

“Thanks for the invite, but it will not work for me at this time.   I just can't add another thing into the schedule right now (my little ones are 1 and 3).  It does look like a really interesting book though!  I may have to pick it up on my own.”

“Thanks so much for the invitation!  It feels good to be asked.  Right now might not be the best time for us, we are getting used to being first-time parents (our son was born 7-29-14) and our schedule is pretty out of whack.  We would certainly be interested some time down the road though.”

There are common elements, don’t you think? Polite and grateful. Stressed and hopeful.

Their answers caused me to reflect on how it was for me (us) many years ago.

Who among us doesn’t always need to prioritize and choose? Good for us when we use our resources of time and energy in ways that pay off in the long haul. Good for us when we listen well and drill down to the bedrock commitments that make us better, our families better and the world better.

Since receiving the responses I shared above, I have been reminiscing my yes’s and no’s as a person their age and in their position. That was a busy time and it’s possible I sometimes said yes under the guise of, “I will be a better dad/husband/Christian”, if I take that seminar, lead that class, or go on that retreat. I cannot say if that is, in fact, what happened.

Turning back to the present, it is my sincere prayer that my respondents who don’t do the study get full value in not doing it. May they be the best moms, dads and new employees on crazy schedules that they can possibly be.

Also in the present I argue with myself about the merits of supporting the institution and being a team player, or letting others be that person while I take care of what I think is a wiser personal choice. Truth be told, most of the time that I take one for the team, it ends up being worthwhile and I don’t regret it.

Of this I am completely sure. God is trustworthy. Jesus is the finest example of how to live and how to be fully alive. Trusting God offers assurance that God’s will can be achieved with either of two good choices – and don’t we all know stories of God redeeming lousy choices.   

Prayer for Our Supersubstantial Bread

by Angier Brock

Give us this day our daily bread. How many times have I prayed those words, thinking that “daily bread” meant just that—a day’s worth of ordinary, every-day food for physical sustenance? It reminds me of the Hebrews who, as they wandered in the wilderness, were given manna to eat—but just enough for that day, for manna did not keep longer.  

I can also read “daily bread” metaphorically, so that it becomes an allotment of spiritual sustenance—a kind word, a timely sermon, a song, a glimpse of the beauty of the natural world, or any other experience that offers hope or other provision for facing whatever the day calls me to. In both physical and spiritual senses, the phrase “daily bread” seems straightforward enough.

But it turns out that the Greek word epiousios, which is the word behind the familiar “daily” in most translations of the Lord’s Prayer, is a rarer word than we might think. It appears only twice in the Bible, once in Matthew and once in Luke, in both cases attributed to Jesus in his instructions on prayer. It may have been found one other time in fragmentary writings from ancient Greece—but even that is debatable. And so it is a mysterious word; no one knows what it really means. “Daily” is perhaps as good a guess as any—but it is only a guess. St. Jerome (ca. 347—420 CE) had a different guess. He translated epiousios as “supersubstantial.”  

I discovered all this the other day while reading a book on the history of Christianity, and it stopped me in my tracks: Give us this day our supersubstantial bread? Wow! Really?  

I investigated further. Sure enough, though the internet, I found not only confirmation of what I had read but also various theological discussions about possible meanings of “supersubstantial.” (I confess that as a modern American, the phrase “super-sized” — as in, “Do you want fries with that?” — briefly crossed my mind.) I commend those discussions to you for your own further investigation.  

I also turned to my dictionary. The adjective substantial can mean real, not imaginary; ample, even hefty; considerable in degree. The prefix super, meaning over and above, greater than normal, even excessive, enlarges any word it is paired with. You can mix and match the various meanings to come to your own understanding of “supersubstantial.” 

But no matter what you take it to mean, “supersubstantial” differs from “daily.” “Daily” (which has Old English and Germanic roots rather than Latin ones) refers to frequency and perhaps reliability of occurrence. As far as I am concerned, daily bread is miraculous in and of itself. But it is enlarged ever further by “supersubstantial,” which refers to quality and/or quantity.  

Why had I not known that possible translation before?

And now that I know, what difference does knowing make?

I have just begun thinking about this matter, and I suspect that it is the kind of puzzle with which I could occupy myself for quite some time. Suddenly an old, familiar phrase has, like bread itself, been broken open.   

At the very least, it points afresh to mystery. If something so surprising could be hiding in a single word in a prayer I have prayed for more than six decades, who knows what might come next? And from now on, while my lips are saying, “Give us this day our daily bread,” in my heart of hearts, I will be pondering “supersubstantial.”

                       

A Theology of the Cross

by Alice Ling

I’m not sure what I expected, but then again you never know what will happen when you open a door and invite people to walk through it. Clearly, I underestimated the possibilities. I invited a few women to imagine options for color and creativity as part of our Lenten observance. They in turn invited members of the congregation to express their prayer through art. We handed out foam crosses, encouraged individuals and families to take them home, personalize them in whatever way appealed to them and bring them back. Throughout the season, our display grew as two dozen or more crosses found their way to the front of the sanctuary, offering color, creativity and personal expressions of the prayers in our midst. Prayers for peace, a drape of old lace, a hand knit shawl, stripes of the rainbow covenant, faces of God’s children around the world, bubble wrap to cushion the harshness of Christ’s suffering. The foam went out, and the prayers made their way in. Together, we journeyed through Lent, toward the cross and through to the other side and the celebration of Easter dawn.

I was deeply moved by the response: vibrant, vital,  and truly an intergenerational effort. I heard a few stories, but for the most part, I only imagined the prayers that were represented in the designing, gluing, painting, wrapping and offering that hung in front of us. I celebrated every time a parent handed me a cross and said, my child did this and wanted to make sure it got here. I admit I didn’t create one myself, but I said from the start that my art forms are more wordy and musical than visual. The other thing I did not do, throughout the season while folks in the congregation were creating, was find a way to talk about the cross.

Two years later and I’m still digging for words that articulate what this shape is, upon and around which we hung our prayers. The central symbol of the Christian faith, yes.  But why? What does it mean? And why do we wear it, display it, bow before it and hang our hearts’ deepest longings on it?
First of all, the cross is an ugly, disgusting symbol of human torture. Sort of like the gallows or hangman’s noose, except worse because death on a cross was slower and more inhumane. It was the accepted form of execution by the state for crimes so reprehensible that the perpetrator must forfeit his or her life and suffer the ultimate cruelty. It was a common means of execution in the days when Jesus lived, and both the biblical and objective historical records of the time give us every reason to believe it was the way in which Jesus was killed.

But none of that comments on the meaning that Christianity has infused into this gruesome symbol or why it has been elevated above all others. I hardly even know for certain anymore what traditional Christian theology says about the cross; these days, a lot of what is popular is soaked in blood and mounted on purpose. How many times have I heard it said that Jesus came to die, that the whole reason he ever walked this earth was so that he could hang, bleed, suffer and die for me and my sins? And how blasphemous do I sound if I say that just doesn’t cut it for me?

Everything I know and have come to believe about Jesus tells me that he didn’t come to this earth to die; rather he came to live, and to show us how to live a life that is grounded and rooted in God. He came because God passionately wanted to reach us and get our attention, and hoped that wearing skin and walking the road with us would help that happen. He helped us understand God’s love and longing for all God’s children, and showed us first-hand how God would have us live. Jesus walked on this earth with unfailing integrity, and from an unwavering commitment to love, justice, the needs and wholeness of all God’s people, and the truth. All too often, this world does not look kindly on such passion, and on one who will not kow-tow to the privilege and power the world elevates. Rather than listen to and learn from him, the powers that be sought to silence him. And Jesus refused to back down, even to save his own neck.

I do kneel before the cross, because I see there the tragic and all too predictable response to such a life. I see its ugly brutality, and marvel at the love that would empower a person to endure it all. I am profoundly humbled to know that there is a Loving Heart who knows my silence, caution, distractedness and countless other shortcomings, and yet reaches for me, saying, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. No place I wouldn’t go to help you believe in yourself even a smidgen as much as I believe in you.  Nothing I wouldn’t endure to bring about your healing and wholeness. If being with you and for you means facing humiliation and betrayal, suffering and death, so be it; you are worth that to me. I will accompany you through your valley of the shadow of death and grief, emptiness and weariness, so that we may walk together into the dawn of a new day. I marvel to be the recipient of such a Love, so exquisitely intimate and at the same time sweepingly universal, offered to each of us and to all of us.


I cherish the vision of those adorned foam crosses stretching across the chancel of that sanctuary, but I don’t think the cross will ever be my favorite symbol of the Christian faith or that I’ll be sporting cross jewelry any time soon. But I do affirm the debt I owe to One who was willing to go there for the sake of humanity. When we get to Friday in this long week, I will kneel again at the cross, giving thanks for the One who came and lived, suffered and died in the name and for the sake of such a wondrous love.

Pass It On

The Facebook post came entitled “Video that will change your life. I have no words left.” and skeptical me said mentally in a sarcastic voice, “Right. (pause) Who sent it? How long is it?”  4:36 is a bit longer than I will usually bite on, and it’s an ambitious title, but I clicked.

Utterly worth it. It touched me deeply to the point of tears. I’m not sure why. I think the producers of this “see an act of kindness, pass it on” (my title) video never intended to make people cry; I have word that I’m not the only one.

Seeing people make tiny gestures for the good of others reminds me of the Faith at Work legend (based on fact) of a Lady Crowley level Christian woman who routinely wiped down the sink counters in public restrooms whenever she used them. (This is truly such an old story that it required the shift from Lumunos to the previous name.)

I routinely witness my wife, Laurel, studying over the pot-luck offerings to decide if she will really need a knife. Most times she doesn’t need one so she doesn’t take one (nor a spoon on some occasions). That’s a tiny gesture but it adds up. I know. I am the guy in charge of the coffee cup washing project at church.

I can visualize riding with my colleague, Pat, many years ago. When we approached a red light he maneuvered to the passing lane, instead of the curb lane, because we were the first car. I have done the same thing many times in the decades since, for the same reason he told me. “The person behind us might want to turn right on red, and there’s no reason for me to be sitting in his way when I can avoid it.

This is how I want our world to be for all of us. I think each of the examples I mentioned are profoundly Christian acts.

In the video when a kindness is extended there is always an obvious witness who commits the next act of kindness. In life it isn’t always so. Except that we know. I don’t believe God keeps a scorecard; but I am quite certain when we extend a kindness it pleases God.

What Is Right With Organized Religion: Reflections on Newtown

by Doug Wysockey-Johnson

Like many people, I spent the weekend with a kind of emotional schizophrenia.  There was shopping to do, and holiday events, and children with Christmas adrenaline coursing through their veins.  And then there were the children and adults of Newtown who wouldn't be celebrating Christmas this year at all. In social settings and check out lines, we adults either awkwardly talked about it or we didn't   But either way, as one friend said,   “It isn’t just the elephant in the room.  It is the elephant pressing on our chests.”

In this kind of state, I stumbled into church on Sunday.  And there I was reminded of what is right with organized religion. My tradition is protestant Christian, but I suspect Jews in their synagogues and Muslims in their mosques experienced something similar.

In the Christian tradition, it was the third Sunday of advent, the Sunday given to themes of joy and rejoicing.   How can we possibly do this with the elephant of Newtown pressing on our chests?    I have heard many times that the word religion comes from the root “ligio,” which means to connect. (Think ligament.)  Maybe that was it.

In church on Sunday I was helped to connect the pain in my heart with the ancient tradition from which Christianity began. Maybe it was my pastor’s heroic and successful efforts to speak the word that might bridge our fragile state and the promises of God.  She didn't offer easy answers, but simply held out the assurances of a God who would be present in pain. Maybe it was the carols that speak honestly  of fear and sorrow, but also of hope.  Maybe it was simply being together, in community.  This Sunday when we looked at one another and said, “The peace of Christ be with you,” we really meant it. Whatever it was, it helped.

There is a lot of talk these days about what is wrong with organized religion.  On Sunday I was reminded of what is right with it.

Ed. Note:

If you would like to mail sympathy cards or letters of support and solidarity to the school, the school address appears to be:
Sandy Hook Elementary School
12 Dickenson Drive
Sandy Hook, CT, 06482

Cinderella: Seeing the World in a Different Light

by Beverly Bernard

This past weekend, we were in Connecticut attending my granddaughter, Megan’s, play.  She is in the 6th grade and the kids put on “Cinderella”.  They did a fabulous job, really excellent and wonderfully enjoyable from the acting and the songs, to the sets and the costumes; terrific job.  But I also realized something else:  in the Cinderella story, Cinderella, though poor and treated badly by her step mother and sisters, always is kind and obedient toward them.  She deflects their injustices toward her with acceptance.  She is Christ-like in her attitude toward them, turning the other cheek.  She is not resentful toward them, nor vengeful.  She continues to express hope in the goodness that will come and her only reaction to more drudgery and work is a sigh, not an unkind word.  Because she sees the world in this different light, she can sing joyfully from her poor condition, and shine like a princess when it is time for the ball.  It is no surprise that the Prince sees something special in this girl because she brings a light into the room with her goodness. 


I wonder sometimes at the cynicism of the worldly, those who are sophisticated and far from naïve. They think that those who see the world in “rose-colored glasses” are in for trouble.  But Christ called us to be as little children, to see the world with fresh eyes.  Two weeks ago, when I had the cataract in my left eye removed, I could not believe how beautiful the world looked, how vivid and full of color and detail.  I could suddenly see the freckles on a friend’s face, the individual needles on the pine trees in our back yard, and the beautiful purples and blues that folks were wearing.  I also spent the first week after surgery scouring my house, seeing dirt and tiny tot fingerprints that I hadn’t noticed before now.  But I was happy to do it.  While cleaning I thought of my toddler grandchildren, the ones who still need to hold onto the wall as they descend the stairs.  They bring me joy and it is because of them I live where I do. 


Thinking about this new view of the world, I remembered holding my first grandchild when she was about 8 months old, taking her into her backyard and walking from tree to bush to flower, to show her up close all the glory that was out there.  I remember her little hands reaching out to touch the bark of a tree for the first time.  The joy it gave me, to be privileged to be her Nana, on this beautiful mid-summer day, holding her and seeing the world through her eyes.

Reflection:  What would Cinderella suggest to you to see in a different light?  What is the “cataract” in your own eye?

Beverly Bernard is a retiree, living in Swanzey, NH.

I Pledge to Make it Stop

by Tom Pappas

In my email last Tuesday was a list of eight books that I had been assigned to “skim” before our next One Book One Lincoln selection committee meeting on March 27. Luckily for me, I had read one of them last winter so I have only seven serious books to read in two weeks. I don’t skim.  On a related matter, one of my favorite movies was on last night so we watched The Shawshank Redemption.  

It bothers me that as a long-time Christian I am so hooked on revenge themes. Curiously, The Count of Monte Cristo is referenced in Shawshank Redemption and it’s a novel that I’ve read multiple times, savoring Edmond Dantès’ delicious retaliation against those who betrayed him.  I try to believe that God has given me a sense of justice and it’s not the suffering of the perpetrators but the vindication of the offended that moves me.

So far, I’ve read 100 pages of the story Emmanuel Jal tells about being one of the “Lost Boys” of Sudan. Horrible things are happening in our world. Human beings can be despicable to other human beings. Atrocities, which I choose to not relate, occurred in our very recent past.

So far, I’ve read 100 pages of the story Slavomir Rawicz tells about being a Polish prisoner of the Soviets and being sentenced to 25 years hard labor in Siberia – to which he was force-marched the last 800 miles in deep snow. He also was treated wickedly by other people as recently as the mid-20th century.

Andy Dufresne is abused by the warden, the guards, and other prisoners in Shawshank Redemption. Fiction, true, but a cool movie that in most every scene the viewer is invited to ask, “How can someone do that to another person?”

The morning paper carried a story today about the parents of Ty Smalley from Perkins, Oklahoma. The Smalleys are telling the story of their 11-year-old son, a victim of school bullying, who took his life. Wow, I find it scary that children can be so cruel as to drive their classmate to suicide.  Again, how can someone do that to another person? Furthermore, how do children get a notion to do it at such a tender age?

I’m a bit overwhelmed by the profound examples of our human condition and some people’s willingness to race to the bottom when it comes to inappropriate behavior. I’m thankful that I have been spared such experiences in my lifetime. I don’t bully and except for the bowling alley incident in 7th grade haven’t been on the receiving end.

I despise it.  I don’t understand it.  I’m rarely there when cruelty happens, but if ever I am, I pledge to somehow make it stop.