What About Us, Book Launch Day!

This morning, I am excited to announce the release of my new book, "What About Us: Stories of Uncontrolling Love."

This collection of essays, written by twelve brilliant and vulnerable contributors, explores the question of human responsibility in the midst of pain, suffering, and tragedy, through the sharing of personal narrative.

You can order your copy today at the following Amazon link (a Kindle version is also available)."

Get Your Copy Here!!!

For more details and teasers in the following days, please like Flip Fliops, Glitter, and Theology on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/flipflopsglitterandtheology/

L.

Am I Your Pastor?

I’m not 100% sure where to begin this post, because the truth is I am exhausted (as denoted in my post, this morning, at These Ordinary Days), and I am vulnerable (as denoted all over the place—in writing, in real life, in spontaneous episodes of tearing up, recorded on podcasts… just… everywhere…).

My feelings were a little hurt the other day when I couldn’t wear a green scarf with any kind of integrity intact.  It’s pretty hard to be a woman with both an M.A. and an M. Div. in theology; who waited to start the formal ordination process, because I wanted to give adequate time to the educational requirements while raising a family; who writes and edits theological works; who counsels and encourages other women who struggle with their callings; who really loves scarves a whole lot… and to realize (kind of brutally) that your tribe doesn’t consider you a pastor… or, at least not a pastor ‘enough’…

There’s that stupid word again.

Now, thankfully… right in the midst of this there was a denominational leader who was all like, “This isn’t a red flag, L.  You’re OK.  Just start the process.  And come teach and stuff” (super great paraphrase, mine).  Then we smiled, and I went on feeling OK in my orange paisley pants, without my green scarf.

But I say all of this not to expose my bitterness (I’m actually not bitter… I made choices based on what I could handle at any given moment, sometimes I absolutely stretched that to the max, and it really is OK that my formal process is just going to take a little more time than others) and not even to express my gratitude (although, thankful was definitely the word of the hour after that conversation).  Everything I have just written is a preface to what I’ve felt in the ensuing week (and more often than I’d like to admit).

I never set out to be a pastor.  Seriously, who does?  It still surprises me when I walk into ERs or nursing homes or salons or down grocery aisles or sit down to have coffee and someone introduces me to another human being by saying, “This is L.  She’s my pastor.” 

Interestingly, this is almost always followed by some ironic disclaimer such as, “You can go ahead and say whatever you need to say in front of her,” and I laugh (really hard, on the inside), because I know it’s coming.  People say stuff to me that I never would have imagined anyone would be willing to share with a pastor!  But I love that they do.

So I had this moment where one of my people was hospitalized last week, and I actually couldn’t get to him, because this bilocational life is for the birds, but my emotions were telling.  He’s mine.  I’m his pastor.  I immediately worried that some other pastor who doesn’t know or care about his story would step in and be stupid or something.  How is this even a concern?  Well, it’s because I have often been a pastor to the pastorless… to the people on the margins who don’t quite fit the church mold.  In many ways, my not-enough-ness has made me exactly the kind of pastor they need.  Go figure.  We gravitate toward people who look like us.

So, speaking of birds, I thought of the children’s story, Are You My Mother, as this post was forming in my mind.  If you are unfamiliar with it, please take the time to watch this 8 minute video:      

    

 As the baby bird searches for his mother, the responses are telling:

“It did not say a thing…” (Isolation)

“No…” (Exclusion)

“I am not your mother, I am a dog.” (Duh… don’t you know anything, baby bird… uh… he’s a baby!)

“How could I be your mother?” (Do you really want to know?) 

Poor baby bird begins to doubt whether or not he has a mother, at all…

He is so desperate he tries to self-identify as a boat… as a plane… a ‘snort’ (backhoe)…  Well, that’s just crazy and pitiful!

It’s not until the baby bird arrives home that he finds his mother, and the interesting question she asks is, “Do you know who I am?”

Of course the baby bird does; but before he identifies her, he speaks to all of the things she is not (not a cat, not a hen, not a dog, not a cow, not a car, not a boat, not a plane, not a snort…)

Sometimes I think we have to figure out who we’re not before we ever figure out who we are, and it can be a heck of a journey…  It can take a really long time…

I’m a pastor, and I might even be yours—formal process or not, green scarf or not, it’s coming.  The people who will one day give the green light and lay their hands on my head to make it official already know this.  We’re all just waiting in eager expectation, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned in life; it’s that I’d better take a moment to rest when it seems like nothing is happening, because once it breaks loose I’ll have to hit the ground running, and there’s no telling when another respite will follow.

And… marking time…

L.

On God and Love and Dependence

Disclaimer: I wrote this paper almost two years ago.  There are a few points on which I would argue with myself, now, because I have shifted a little further toward open theism than I was when I wrote this.  I considered making significant edits, but then I thought to myself, “Maybe I should let this one stand as it is and write another piece interacting with it, in the near future.”  So that’s what I’m doing…

So…  On God and Love and Dependence 

***

Our theology shapes and informs our actions.  "Theology can perpetuate the illness or it can capacitate the cure" (Keller, 2003, 7).  One of the most predominant views of God, in the western worldview of religion as a whole, is that of the omni-God, a God whose very nature is that of omniscience, omnipresence, and omnipotence.  Belief in a God like this, if there is nothing else, leaves room for many disturbing questions ranging from the problem of evil, to pain, to prayers that seem to be left unanswered.  The voluble but shallow response to such questions seems to be that the God we have is a God who knows what is best and works in the world for our good and for the good of others, even when we cannot see it.  The answer to the gut wrenching question, "why," is almost always that we must just have faith, or adequate faith, or more faith.  This is lacking in the face of suffering, particularly when faithful people continue to experience devastation.  Perhaps the omni-attributes that we have ascribed to God come from our own human struggle for power and do not begin to touch on the heart of who God is.  If this is the case, God must be someone different than we originally expected.  This is not such a stretch, since throughout history this theory holds as true, but it is difficult to deconstruct our own assumptions, starting over with very little understanding of who God is.  If, as Kearney suggests, "We will find the solution to the wrong interpretation of religion through the right interpretation" (Kearney, Lecture Week 7), then, "Discernment is crucial, some things we can embrace but other things we must eschew" (Pinnock, 2001, 116).  Is it possible that God's love has limited God in such a way that God has chosen to sometimes be dependent on people?  This paper will explore the dependency of God, particularly in regard to God's nature of love and God's choice to empower us with free will. 

God is love.  But, what is love?  There are not enough words in the English language to define such a term.  In Greek, we can talk of eros, philia, agape, storge.  Which is God?  The clear cut, Sunday School answer is always, "agape".  God is unconditional love.  God is a love of well wishing and benevolence and even a love that remains constant when unrequited.  Yes, God is agape.  But perhaps we do not give God enough credit for being love in all its various forms.

Open theism allows God to also be philia, entering into friendship with human beings, with creation.  "As individuals we are significant in God's eyes... the things we do and say, the decisions and choices we make, and our prayers all help shape the future.  Open theology affirms that life and our life-decisions really do matter" (Oord, 2010, 91).  There are examples in Scripture that seem to confirm this as truth.  In Exodus, God declares that God will destroy the Israelites when they craft the golden calf, but Moses begs God for mercy, and God relents.  In II Kings, God sends Isaiah to tell Hezekiah that he should get his house in order, because he is going to die, definitively and soon, but when Hezekiah cries out in prayer, weeping bitterly, God heals him and extends his life for fifteen more years.  Perhaps the most disquieting moment, though, in light of an omnipotent God comes when, "The Lord regretted that he had made human beings on the earth, and his heart was deeply troubled" (Genesis 6:6, NIV, 2011).  At this point, God was prepared to destroy all of humanity, but even then there was one, Noah, who found favor, and God began again, through him.  Clearly, God can change God's mind, and I am left to ponder whether this occurs with greater frequency than we might imagine.

Two important questions surface from these biblical accounts.  First, how can an all-knowing God change his mind?  And second, how important is human participation in the future that is to be?  Open theology affirms that God knows every possibility but cannot know which future will come to pass.  This makes sense in some regard and may even explain how God could come to regret a decision, knowing that a regrettable possibility existed but, perhaps, hoping for something better.  Put very powerfully, "A cloud of missed possibilities envelops every beginning: it is always this beginning, this universe, and not some other.  Decision lacks innocence.  Around its narrations gather histories of grievance: what possibilities were excluded?" (Keller, 2003, 160).  It is overwhelming to consider that God risks so much when God allows us to have free choice.  Traditionally, God's act of imbuing this power of choice is considered a necessary part of fulfilling God's nature of love.  While I am in agreement with this premise, it also seems as if the act of allowing for free will is one of humility on God's part.  Described in one work, the virtue of humility is equated with permission, "the great one should consult with, request permission from, the small one" (Keller, 2003, 174).  Additionally, "God makes himself dependent on the prayers of his people... God loves to move in response to our prayers.  Our failure to pray impacts the world negatively" (Pinnock, 2001, 135).  Clearly, this is the case in the aforementioned passages of Scripture.  People pray.  God responds.  Jesus teaches us to pray, so prayer is an expected part of Christian spiritual formation, and it only makes sense that this is so if prayer actually matters.  "Why pray if prayer changes nothing?" (Pinnock, 2001, 137).  Taking it a step further, though, I have often wondered, why do anything if nothing can be changed, if the future is already set?

Do our human actions, reactions, and interactions actually make a difference in the world and the coming kingdom?  Are we just casual friends of God, or is there something much deeper?  Controversial theologians sometimes allow for eros, at least in regard to creation.  Does this God of love actually work in intimate partnership with us, not merely engaging in a dance of responses, but actually creating in tandem?  What do we really mean when we speak of an omnipresent God?  Perhaps this term moves beyond a God who is looking on, somewhere above time and space, and instead describes a pervasive God, one who, "cannot be absent from any molecule, membrane or mucus of the creation" (Keller, 2003, 23).  Even "John Wesley preached that 'God is in all things,' indeed 'pervades and actuates the whole created frame, and is in a true sense the Soul of the Universe" (Keller, 2003, 23).  And yet it is not a possessive kind of love.  "Nothing is further from Eros than possession" (Kearney, 2001, 66).  This is the God who depends on us for the incarnation and the God who allows us to enter into covenant.  "God does not choose to be alone.  He wills the creature to co-exist with him and to stand alongside him as the beloved covenant partner.  This is our core identity - to be loved by God" (Pinnock, 2001, 125).  This is fascinating.  God's core identity is love, and ours is to be loved.  God "values freedom, not so much as an end in itself, but as an instrument to make possible what he really longs for, love" (Pinnock, 2001, 126).

Could it be that if we refuse to cooperate with God the timing of things may be different than originally planned, but eventually someone will partner with God in such a way that God's promises will be fulfilled?  Or perhaps it is as simple as this: "There are some things that must happen and many things that may happen.  And there are many things that just happen... But, when they happen, (God's) sovereignty is such that he can take them into his overall purpose for the world" (Pinnock, 2001, 186).  It is possible that we may become distracted by our human expectations for the world, but God's purpose is clear.  God's purpose, God's very essence, is love, and God displays that love, in its purest form, through redemption.

Which leads us to yet another kind of love, and even open theism does not seem to allow it.  What can be said of storge.  If God is love, is God not all love?  This includes the protective love of a parent, the love that says, "no," and even sometimes the love that says "yes" to things that are impossible.  Storge is the love that puts up with humanity because we are family, and the love that may even create new things, perhaps from nothing at all.  Some argue that, "The ex nihilo doctrine constructed as orthodoxy itself the pure dualism of originating Logos and prevenient Nothing" (Keller, 2003, 10).  Except, even when there is nothing, there is still God, the God of impossibilities, the God of miracles and resurrection.  There is surely still the God of prevenient grace.  I have struggled deeply with the question, "Is there never a situation in which God 'pulls rank' and acts on God's own?"  Perhaps the best answer to this question is that God is un-ranked, to begin with.  It is tempting to try to understand God on human terms, but life and faith are more than just a game with power players.

While it would be irresponsible to ignore the question of theology, making God synonymous with myth and chance and inconsistent with all measures of reason and logic, it seems acceptable to allow for some degree of mystery.  What if we delete the theos from theology?  Is it possible that we can fall too far on the side of the equation that insists that God work in cooperation with creation, at all times?  "Transcendence can... become too transcendent.  If removed entirely from historical being, God can become so unknowable and invisible as to escape all identification whatsoever" (Kearney, 2001, 31).  If this is the case, is there any need for God, at all?  "If we delete the theos from theology, what does it leave?  A logos alone, a regimen of secular monologoi, from which mystery, prophecy, and the love that is stronger than death have evaporated?  An elite post-theism, which shuns all theologies of social and symbolic struggle?" (Keller, 2003, 172).  

The struggle is real, but there is something we must not forget about God.  "God remains faithful to the creation project and has committed himself to redeem it" (Pinnock, 2001, 138).  God always keeps the covenant.  We see it in Abraham.  We see it in Jesus.  Even the greatest evil, death, cannot break the promises that God has made.  It has no sting, because God is the God of the miraculous, the God of love so great it encompasses resurrection.  Maybe God's omnipotence does not uniquely qualify God to act without us, but God offers a gift that no one else can.  "The promise is granted unconditionally, as pure gift.  But God is reminding his people that they are free to accept or refuse this gift.  A gift cannot be imposed; it can only be offered" (Kearney, 2001, 29).  God's gift is enormously compelling.  

"Through self-sacrifice, the intensity of God's love is expressed and provides for the reconciliation of the world.  God does not relish suffering but he does enjoy the restored relationships made possible by it" (Pinnock, 2001, 138).  God's love is raw and unnerving, impossible even.  It is the love of a servant who wants nothing but the very best for others, for us, even though this costs everything.  It is an unselfish love that is willing to move with us, in us, and even around us, if that is what is necessary for redemption to take place.

So, to answer the question, "Is God ever dependent," I would have to say yes, but to answer the question, "Is God always dependent," I would venture to say no.  I think these are questions that require discernment and grace.  Because of God's very nature of love, there are some things that God cannot do and still remain who God is.  Freedom is necessary in love, and freedom "entails risk in the event that love is not reciprocated" (Pinnock, 2001, 132).  But our freedom will never negate God's promise and plan for redemption for anyone who can and will be redeemed.  "God will overcome wickedness through his wisdom, power, and resourcefulness.  He allows the creature to wreak havoc on the world for a time but not forever.  The gift of freedom was not unlimited in scope or duration and therefore the power to do evil is finite" (Pinnock, 2001, 139).  God does not force humanity to do much, but there is one thing.  "The only thing God forces us to do is to become" (Luce Irigaray in Keller, 2003, 225).  The future is wide open for us to become everything we were intended to be as we seek to join God in God's redemptive work.

Works Cited 

Holy Bible. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2011. Print.

Kearney, Richard.  Interview with David Cayley.  Recording.  Toronto, April 20, 2010.

Kearney, Richard. The God Who May Be: A Hermeneutics of Religion. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 2001. Print.

Keller, Catherine. Face of the Deep: A Theology of Becoming. London: Routledge, 2003. Print.

Oord, Thomas Jay. The Nature of Love: A Theology. St. Louis, MO: Chalice, 2010. Print.

Pinnock, Clark H. Most Moved Mover: A Theology of God's Openness. Carlisle, Cumbria, UK: Paternoster, 2001. Print.

Blessings

I think we might have it all wrong…

I was recently reading about Jacob and Esau.  Jacob is generally considered a hero of the faith, and we all kind of turn our noses up at his hairy, Neanderthal-like brother.  OK, I don’t know if that’s really how everyone sees him, but as a kid that’s surely how I imagined Esau, and the image stuck.  There are many things that could be said about the relationship between these two, but there’s an angle I’m not sure we often consider.  Jacob was willing to do anything, to step on anyone, to push and push and push until he got what he wanted.  And it wasn’t just a onetime deal.  He displays this character again in the Leah and Rachel debacle.  But I don’t have time to get into all that, today.

What struck me anew was the interaction between Esau and his father, Isaac.  Upon learning that his birthright had been stolen, Esau pleads,       

“Do you have only one blessing, my father?  Bless me, too…” (Genesis 27:38, NIV).

Isaac doesn’t have another blessing.  Or, at least, so it seems.  Interestingly, though, Isaac has blessed Esau with his presence for Esau’s entire life—a presence Jacob did not experience.  I think that has to count for something, but, as human beings, we often don’t count things that aren’t quantitative.   

Later in Scripture, David (with whom you may recall I have a love/hate relationship) says,

“Surely you have granted him unending blessings and made him glad with the joy of your presence” (Psalm 21:6, NIV).

He’s talking about himself.  ‘Unending blessing.’  That’s a huge declaration coming from someone who has had so much strife and devastation, but that’s not his focus at all (at least, not in this passage).  No… Here it comes again… David is focused on presence.

Well, interestingly, I just picked up a book called, Presence and Encounter.  I probably have close to 200 books on my Amazon wish list, but this is the one that jumped out at me when I had $7.00 to spend on my ever increasing, overrunning my home library.  It’s like there’s a theme or something!   At any rate, this statement jumped off a page: “The simple truth of our being gets lost in the metanarratives we spin.  We become the fictions we live.”[i] I wonder if Jacob got lost in his metanarrative.  I wonder if Esau got lost in his metanarrative.  I wonder if I got lost in my metanarrative.

As is typical, this got me thinking about all kinds of things that may or may not relate, but as I considered Jacob’s persistence, even at the expense of others, I remembered this quote, which I have used before:

“I’m not interested in competing with anyone.  I hope we all make it” –Erica Cook   

I wonder how Esau’s life would have been different if this was Jacob’s philosophy.  I could stop to wonder how Jacob’s life would have been different, too, and it’s a valid question, but it’s easier to discern how compassion and unity affect the weak, the marginalized, and the slighted. 

My reading, today, brought this full circle for me.

Ephesians 4:1-16…  Just… All of it…

Perhaps if we focused more on who we were created to be than on how we might get ahead of others, we would sense the presence of God, filling us every step of the way.  That’s blessing.  God is near, wherever we are.  God is near, whoever we are.  Breathe it in.  Breathe it out.  Repeat.

L. 

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[i] Benner, David G., Presence and Encounter (Brazos Press: Grand Rapids, 2014), 7.