Archive - 2010


Characteristics of Thoughtful People

June 24, 2010 in REFLECTIONS with 2 Comments

I believe most people do not live very thoughtfully. This is not to say I believe most people are incapable of doing so, simply that it is not a priority for most, and for different reasons.  I did not begin thinking a lot because of my careers as a college professor, pastor, and counselor. Rather, I chose those careers because at an early age I decided I wanted to live thoughtfully.  Here is what I think that means:

  1. Thoughtful people embrace the conviction that knowledge matters. Action is vital, but the best action is informed by the best understanding.
  2. Thoughtful people get to know themselves. Every person on the planet is living out of deep wells of past experience. Those who are willing to reflect on this can make a conscious choice to shape themselves differently. Those who are unwilling to do this will forever be products of their past.
  3. Thoughtful people realize you live out of what you think. Thinking is not simply a mental exercise.  Everything you are flows from the way you think.  Thoughtful people know this and shape their minds actively.
  4. Thoughtful people accept that not all thinking is of the same quality. Pluralism means everyone has a right to their opinion. But we have a responsibility to have good opinions based on the best understanding we can come to.
  5. Thoughtful people read. Hardcovers,paperbacks,audiobooks – whatever works for you.  Thoughtful people constantly are getting new ideas into their heads.
  6. Thoughtful people listen.  Speaking of getting new ideas into one’s head, thoughtful people listen.  To others.  To their own consciences.  To their lives.
  7. Thoughtful people accept responsibility for their lives, choices, and mistakes.
  8. Thoughtful people understand the difference between knowledge and wisdom. Knowledge is factual data. Wisdom is knowing how to apply the facts we have. There are very knowledgeable people who are not wise, and there are people of limited education and knowledge who are nonetheless very wise.
  9. Thoughtful people reflect on what they are coming to understand. Thoughtful people seek to internalize what they are learning so it becomes part of them.

Though God created people with different potentials for wisdom and intelligence, I believe everyone has the capacity to live thoughtfully – to seek knowledge (especially about themselves), to reflect on what they are learning, and to apply it wisely so that they are constantly growing in both understanding and virtue.

Me Laughing

June 24, 2010 in REFLECTIONS with 6 Comments

Me Laughing

Me Laughing

This is me laughing.  I know.  I realize I’m kind of in the background, behind my wife’s ever-smiling and lovely face.  But I’m back there.  And I’m laughing.  I mean, really laughing.  Not in a, “This is just a courtesy laugh” kind of way.  Not in a, “I’m laffin’ now cuz that thing you just said there wuz amazin’” kind of way.  I’m really laughing, in an “I won’t remember this picture when I see it because for a few seconds I forgot about myself and my deep thoughts and abandoned myself to life” kind of way.  I laughed the way people laugh when they — well, when they laugh.

You might read this and think, “Big deal.”  If you do, that’s proof that we have never met.  I don’t do this.  At least I don’t do it often enough that anyone is able to get a picture of it.  My full-bodied, abandoning-myself laugh is elusive, somewhat like — well, like this: Continue Reading…

The Irrelevant Church

June 24, 2010 in GODSTUFF with Comments Off

John 15:18-19
“If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first. [19] If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own. As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world. That is why the world hates you.

I’d never thought about this before, but shouldn’t we interpret the “world” here as even those in the church who have not left the world behind and still live by its values? After all, Jesus wasn’t talking about the world as a place, but as a mindset. I think we can expect an especially high level of hatred from people like that. It’s interesting that both non-believers and Pharisees had an interest in seeing Christ be crucified, but the Pharisees actually had more to lose if he remained alive. Out of all people, they pursued him with the most ferocity, and didn’t stop until he was dead.

In light of this recognition, what does boldness look like? Some have considered me a bold person for things I have said in the pulpit. Yet in my own heart, I have always been holding back, not really telling the full truth, lest people respond in anger. To some degree, I want to take things slowly to give people a chance to digest things piece by piece. Yet I must consider the urgency of the time in which we live, the almost complete irrelevance of the church in American culture, and the fact that thousands of churches every year are closing their doors.

Some who hate the church would applaud this trend, seeing it ultimately as a healthy thing for the planet. A man I was corresponding with very recently wrote that he believes religion is archaic and wishes it would just go away like old geographic distinctions or old medical opinions. That, of course, is wishful thinking, as old geographic lines merely marked out where we live, and old medical opinions determined ways in which we might keep living, but religious ideas determine HOW we live. And I would submit that there is no such thing as an absence of religion, much like energy can change forms but never disappear. Religion is the set of underlying values that determine what we will and will not consider to be fundamental to life. For some, tolerance is a religion, for it is the expression of their most deeply held value — the most foundational thing in the world. For others, self is a religion. For others it is power. If every person starts with a few beliefs and then asks the question, “On what are those beliefs based?”, then answers that question, then keeps asking and answering it until there is only one thing left, that is religion for that person. As best as I can ascertain it, my religion begins with the assertion, “God is.” Everything else is based on, and built upon, that essential belief. So the best the man I spoke of can hope for is that all the religions he doesn’t like go away.

This is why the church’s irrelevance is an outrage. These ideas that religion is outdated and irrelevant themselves come from ignorance about what religion is and does. To those who argue that religion has led to tyrrany, I simply say, “Stalin.” There are infinite examples of atrocities that have been committed by those who laid no claim to a religious world view. Besides, religion is as religion does. I don’t care what label a person gives himself; if he commits acts that clearly contradict the teaching of his religion, I am happy to write him off as an inauthenic representative of that religion. It is a leap in reason to write off a religion because it has poor adherents.

Thus the church is doing a lousy job not only in evangelizing, but in helping America understand the point of religious belief in the first place. The fact that the church is considered irrelevant is the strongest indicator of its irrelevance. It’s not just that people consider the teachings of the church irrelevant, they consider the institution irrelevant. If it were just the teachings that were considered irrelevant, we could conclude that we have done a poor job of communicating our beliefs. But it is the institution itself that is considered irrelevant, and that says to me that we have done a poor job of existing in American culture.

How much gentleness is forgivable? There is room for infinite gentleness for those outside the church. What about those inside who are preventing it from making an impact on our society? I am losing my patience with them. God help me if that is wrong. I see Jesus having astounding patience with pagans and secular scoffers, but showing much less tolerance to the religious people who of all people should have known better. Things are no different today. I’m the farthest thing from Jesus, and I can’t pretend that my anger is always righteous indignation, for our own schedules and agendas often bite us in the butts. But where is the outrage among church people at what a lame institution the church has become?

Things I Don’t Know

June 24, 2010 in GODSTUFF, REFLECTIONS with 2 Comments

In my last post I said:

I do believe in a universe created by a God who cares for us and wants to know us. I really do believe that Jesus Christ came as the embodiment of God and that his death was the price for my sin and for yours. I do believe in a life of constant transformation as we seek God through prayer and other spiritual disciplines. I do believe in the church as the hope of the world when it’s at its best.

Ultimately in deciding on what we believe, we also decide what we are willing to make peace in not understanding. I do not understand why, if a loving God created the universe and wants to know us, things happen that are completely sick and God is so often hard to find. What I’m clear on is that I do not believe life is an accident or that God is an impersonal force who doesn’t care about us.

Believing in transformation as I do, I cannot account for why it does not happen more dramatically and more often in the lives of more people. But I’m clear that Christianity is not a list of do’s and don’ts that we either conform to or burn in hell.

I do not understand why the church, which has potential to be the hope of the world, has so often gotten it wrong. [In place of "it" it seems you can substitute just about everything, if you're willing to claw around at enough points in history.] But I have seen dramatic life-change happen often enough that I’m positive that’s ultimately what the church is supposed to be up to, in spite of how often we trip over ourselves and make messes of all kinds.

I do not understand what heaven will be like and why we should want to go there, or what hell will be like and why it makes any sense that God would have anything to do with anyone going there. But I’m clear that heaven, whatever it looks like, is wherever God is. And hell isn’t some place of actual fire and brimstone, but rather merely the absence of God. To whatever extent a person lives with God right now, he or she is in a kind of heaven already (even in this life), and to whatever extent they live without God, they are in hell — or at least a precursor of it.

Finally, I don’t know if I’m 100% right about everything I believe. But I think perhaps I’ve gotten it better than those who think the best way to deal with uncertainty is simply to believe in as little as possible. I’m not a Buddhist, and I don’t think Buddhism reflects reality better than (or even as well as) Christianity. But I do know that in the face of a diagnosis with a potentially fatal illness, the Buddhist who manages to find peace and face it with dignity and strength is better off than the agnostic who believes this life is all there is and panics at the thought of one day not existing (not that all agnostics do).  It’s not a crutch.  The person who plans on driving 90 miles an hour (or at all) is wise to wear a seatbelt – things might get pretty rough.  The person who plans on dying one day might be wise to live in light of that reality – things will get pretty rough.  Hell, things are gonna get pretty rough while we live.  It’s not a crutch to buckle up and enjoy the security it provides, both while we are “driving” and on that inevitable day when we each have our “final accident.”

The best measure of a belief system is what it ultimately does for, and to, the one who embraces it. And I do not just mean in this life. The Christian should not only die better, he should live better as well. That is why I believe Christianity has not really been practiced by many people, even those who call themselves Christians. Many who call themselves Christians may perhaps die better, but are not really living better. In the words of G.K. Chesterton,

Christianity has not so much been tried and found wanting as it has been found difficult and left untried.

Though I do not believe Christianity is a harsh and difficult lifestyle, I do believe actual Christianity as taught by Christ has not often been tried, or really even taken seriously. Why that is is another thing I don’t know.

For Sandi

June 24, 2010 in REFLECTIONS with 20 Comments

Sandi -- far right, with Beth, Tammy, and Kay

I moved to Davison from Lapeer in the summer, just before starting 5th grade.  The transition was rough.  I was in an awkward stage, to say the least.  I  had bucked teeth and giant freckles on my cheeks.  My dad taught at Gates — the same school where I was enrolled, just across the hall, and was kind of the discipline guy for the school.  And oh yeah – my last name was Flowers.  All of this, plus being the new kid, put me in a prime position to be the butt of a lot of jokes that year, and for several years afterwards.

Sandi Alt was in my class that year.  Sandi was not only not mean to me, Sandi was sweet.  Sandi always treated me kindly and with respect.  I cannot say Sandi and I became best friends that year, but I can say that I felt safe around her.  I trusted her.  She and a small handful of people (Kim VanSlyke, Daryl Berryman, a few others) were people I knew I could be around without being made fun of.

Jr. high was even worse.  Not only was I still being picked on, but I was starting to believe the things that were being said to me.  They were becoming my self-concept.  Sandi was a musical person and joined choir, as did I.  She was also in band, as was I.  Our paths seemed to cross constantly and I came to develop deep affection for her.  I loved her spirit.  What’s more, I knew Sandi loved me.  When I was around Sandi, there were never harsh words.  Sandi saw me, and in doing so, helped me keep a hold on a proper view of myself.

Moving into high school we continued to be in band and choir together.  Both experiences became more intense, as bonding between band and choir students happens in a way that is uncharacteristic of students in regular academic classes.  Band and choir kids are a “cohort” group.  They join band and/or choir (or orchestra), and move through those classes together year after year after year. They see each other in class.  They eat lunch together.  They hang around during rehearsals after school.  They sing/play together in special ensembles.  They date each other (and sometimes — as in my case — marry each other).  They hang out backstage during musical rehearsals and performances.  They ride on buses together to go to this performance and that.  Glee is a popular TV show, but it doesn’t at all capture the intensity of the bonding experience that actually takes place between kids who love music and love one another, whose lives are centered largely around both, and who spend the majority of even their social hours together doing things involving music.

I don’t remember what year it was (I think our sophomore year), but there was a specific instant I was talking to Sandi in the choir room and realized that no matter where our lives took us, no matter how far apart we might end up, I was always going to care about her and always going to consider her a special friend.  That’s exactly what happened.  We graduated.  Life took us in vastly different directions.  I lost touch with her for periods of time, but always considered her one of my favorite people and actually felt a bit protective of her.  I have never had a sister, but I imagine if I did it might feel quite a bit like the way I always felt about Sandi.  I even remember telling her exactly this at that moment in high school when I knew she’d always be special to  me.

In a way, Sandi was one of the most fragile people I ever knew.  It was a running joke that every year Sandi would faint in the summer heat during marching band camp, at least once.  It’s just how she was wired.  Every time, of course, friends would worry and run to help her, but she always got up and just kept going.  She was a tender and sensitive soul — there was a vulnerability to her which was sweet and special.  And as she got older, life would call on her one too many times to show the strength that was always just under the surface of that sweet fragility.

I kept up with Sandi through other friends from school who maintained more contact with her.  I always “pulled” for her and wanted the best for her.  In times when she wasn’t accepting the best for herself (don’t we all have those times?), I always worried for her and hoped to see things improve.

And things would improve.  She met and married a great guy and had a beautiful baby girl.  Then after just four or five years of marriage, her husband was killed in a car accident on Valentine’s Day.  Sandi plowed through.  What else can one do?  A couple of years later she met another great guy and they moved to another city and opened a restaurant.  They had a baby together — Sandi’s second girl.  Shortly after, Sandi was diagnosed with cancer.  Initially her prognosis was good — she told me her chance of full recovery early on was about 80%.

But it was not to be.  Sandi and her fiancée had gotten engaged quite a while ago but had delayed getting married in hopes that she would recover enough to be able to enjoy a nice honeymoon.  But a couple of weeks ago she went into the hospital with an infection.  She was put on antibiotics and sent home, but returned to the hospital shortly after with breathing problems.  She never left the hospital after that.

Nurses on the floor took up a collection among themselves, which paid for a wedding dress, and for someone to come in and do her hair and makeup.  This past Tuesday, Sandi married Steve in the chapel at the hospital in a small ceremony.  They were married for not quite three days.  Sandi passed this morning at around 6:00.

I’m so glad I went to that wedding, and so glad I got a chance to go to Sandi’s room afterwards and say some things to her.  Sandi (I believe a bit facetiously) asked, “Please move me at least to the top 1/3 of your prayer list.”  I said  ”I assure you, sweetie, you’re a LOT higher than that.”

What does one say to a friend when they know it will be the last goodbye?  As hard as Sandi was fighting, it was nearly certain that the end was near.  I had rehearsed for days what I would say to her if I saw her and had the chance, and nothing came to mind.  When the time came for us to go home, and I had a chance to speak to her one last time, I just sat down and took her hand.  I said, “I have so many wonderful memories in my life.  And you are in so many of them.”  At that, Sandi’s head, which had been drooping with fatigue, raised up, and our eyes locked.  I couldn’t stop the tears from coming, but said to her, “Thank you.  I will love you forever.”

And so I will.

I have thought a thousand times about those last words.  There are other things I wish I’d have said.  I even thought about going back up to see her so I could say them.  But isn’t that the human struggle?  No moment is ever perfect.  There is never a time when we can quite “get it right.”  There is no magic phrase, no perfect combination of words, to summarize a person’s impact on us.  The last time I ever talked to Sandi — though tragic and sad — was kind of like all the other times I talked to her.  I did the best I could to say what was on my mind and heart.  I could have done better. But I could have done worse.  As “big” as the occasion was, it was nonetheless just another moment in Sandi’s (and my) collection of moments.  What matters is that I went, and I got to tell Sandi one more time the only thing that has ever really mattered, which is that she was always dear to me and I will always love her.

So Sandi, for the kindness you always showed me right from the beginning; for the way you could play a mean piano, which so few people can do nowadays; for the way you so often couldn’t remain vertical all the way through a band practice in the hot sun; for your birthday that is on the same day as my mom’s so I have never once failed to think of you on July 27th in 31 years; for the look on your face when I won a VCR on the radio years ago and gave it to you; for the notes we wrote each other back and forth in high school; for your sweet spirit; for your gentleness and kindness and love of life; for making sure I found out that you expected me to be at visitation when Jim died (I’d have been no place else, but this confirmed again that the feeling was mutual); for the beautiful baby girls you had to leave behind; for shared memories of band and choir and musicals and Bob Longfield and Sally Bird; for marching band shows in the hottest heat and the coldest cold; for being gracious when we both ran for drum major of the band and I beat you; for bearing down and just supporting and helping me all that year (in truth you probably would have done a way better job); for your bravery; for the too-few times over the years when I saw you personally and we were able to catch up; for 31 years of being far more special to me than our occasional contacts would indicate; for heartbroken family and friends who are dotting the whole country right now in the wake of your loss; I guess this blog entry is a way of scribbling in the cement the only words I can think of that really matter now.

“Sandi was here.  Love you, Sandi.  Thank you for the gift of your life.”

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