Geez. I've missed two in a row now?

They aren't going away; I'm just busy/distracted/tired. Here's hoping for next week.

I've been working on this one a while. Finally got it dusted off…

While I believe in absolute truth, I don't believe it's easily ascertainable. One of the most difficult and frustrating aspects of religion is that sometimes things are viewed as absolute truth when they are not. (Many of them, arguably, are not true in any real sense at all.) In fact, although and again I believe that absolute truth exists, it resides between (or beyond) the extreme poles of arguments which are the products of Man; the poles where embattled factions claim absolutism rests. You say it's absolutely black, I say it's absolutely white, but the absolute truth is that it's a gray neither you nor I have ever considered—perhaps a gray neither of us can even imagine. It's almost unavoidable that from time to time we each end up arguing some favorite topic to the point of extreme, which most likely drifts us away from truth even if we pass the truth, unnoticed, along the way of our argument. This is a long way around the block to get to the mailbox, but hopefully the anecdotal parallel I am about to draw herein is worth the trip.

Several months ago a (temporarily, at least) crazed man walked into a church service and began shooting people, until he was stopped by a member of the church who worked "security" at the congregation. She shot the man, and if I recall he ended up killing himself once she had shot him. What intrigued me about the whole thing was the amount of discussion her actions raised in certain blogs I frequent. Some of the arguments in favor of pacifism at all costs seemed, to me, to become so extreme that otherwise very methodical, reasoned writers were saying things that just didn't seem to make sense. For example, one of them was something like, "[Well if I was there, I would have tried to bump into the guy, knock him over, tackle him, but not shoot him.]" As I was reading that one, I was thinking that if you're really a pacifist, then isn't running into the guy, knocking him down, overpowering him, out of the question? What if you knocked him over, he hit his head on a pew, and died from the wound? Is that manslaughter? Killing? Murder? I understand that the risk of harming somebody in this way is hardly comparable to that of putting a bullet or two into their torso, but if you're going to engage in the argument far enough to say we should never strike back, never repay violence for violence, then shouldn't you let the gunman be? Isn't a punch or a kick or a body-blow violence, not to the same degree as shooting, but violence non-the-less? And if it is violence to a lesser degree, then is there not room to argue that the guard's shooting of the assailant was violence, but not to the same degree as the assailant's? Don't get me wrong; I'm a big proponent of striving for non-violence, but where do you draw the line? An interesting thing about the posts to me was that the writers are very much anti-killing (if not, perhaps, against all forms of violence)—a goal I am aligned with and respect—and in order to be completely committed to their view, they also say no to abortion, no to capital punishment, and no to war. This is an admirable, consistent approach to my mind, but it's intriguing to see the lengths to which these writers will go to try to uphold this consistency. There is no allowance in their minds, that I can tell, for violation of this code in any circumstance. I cannot help but feel that such an extreme has crossed through the gray of mysterious truth, and wandered into the black and whiteness of (well-intentioned but insufficient) human reasoning. Granted, both of the major writers I'm thinking of would stop short of passing judgment on the security guard, or anybody else in similar circumstances; to their credit, each writer is far too mature and reasoned in his faith to think that his views are the standards of God's mind. But still, in a way it seems to me that people this thoughtful should recognize the limits of absolute declarations. As far as I'm concerned, you just can't say—well, rarely can you say— "This is the way it is. Always. Period." Life isn't like this, especially when we're trying to second-guess God. To my mind, I just can't over the idea that allowing an innocent to be killed is all that far removed from doing the killing yourself. I understand the whole "better to be the hunted than the hunter" thing, but even a cornered rabbit will fight back against a coyote, given the chance. So what's my point? I don't think taking a life, in and of itself, necessarily makes you a killer in a moral sense. I think being an offensive killer is different from, for example, killing in defense. Killing isn't killing isn't killing. There are many circumstances, many possible motives, involved in it. Robbing and killing for a thrill is not the same as killing in self defense (at least, I don't think so). Capital punishment is different than both of those, and euthanasia is different from all of them. Killing in anger is different than killing in fear. Beating one's wife and kids to death is different than a woman taking a kitchen knife and killing the man who is beating her baby to death. All take a life, but all are different. My opinion.

And yet, if you choose, you can say all are equally wrong because killing is killing, is always wrong. You can choose to slice and dice your semantics and theology this way; which is to say that you're choosing not to slice and dice them very much. To open the concept up to a more general application, one I've written about before, such moral stands are highly dependent upon the level at which a person defines them. Some would accuse me of moral relativism for my view of killing, and certainly if they define this area of morality simply, at the high level of "ending a life by your own hand," then I am indeed being relativistic. It's the same turn I pushed when I asked if simply knocking somebody down or kicking them to stop their shooting is violating the ideals of pacifism; in that case I just took the definition one level higher for my own purposes. Other examples of this would be the difference between taking morphine for a surgery versus using it regularly as a drug addict, and the difference between stealing bread because you're starving versus stealing a stereo because you covet it. So morality is, really, largely in how we define things. I consider this to be true. If that makes me a relativist, then so be it. My only question to the charge would be, "I'm a relativist? Compared to who?"

To the mailbox, now that I've gone around the block? My recently expressed views on wealth and poverty are open to scrutiny according to the aforementioned; no doubt about it. I never got around to saying so terribly explicitly, but I recognize this is true. I have a particular way of slicing the issue, and many others disagree. And certainly, this is one of the reasons I say we shouldn't judge. In the end, who knows whose slices are any better than anybody else's? This is also why I say that matters of faith are just that: matters of faith. I tend to conclude that it is not where the slices are made, but rather in what spirit, with what motive and with what heart, the knife is wielded.

Finally, it never hurts to realize that sacred texts often speak in terms of ideals, and we each carry around our own pets in our pockets. Is the Christian path ideally one of voluntary poverty for the sake of others? Is the Christian path ideally one of turning the other cheek so as to never take a life? Is the Christian path ideally one of perfect moral purity? I tend to think the answer to all three is yes. Certainly, a biblical case could be made for all three. But life is practical, and most of all messy. Ideals remain ideals because they are unobtainable. It seems to me the grander ideal of the Christian path, and the one that is quite ingenious, is that love and grace and mercy triumph over all the mess, and the ideal of love and grace and mercy is one that is met through its very own nature. Someday I'll have to post an elaboration on that.

Concluding remark? Borrowing again from one of my favorite quotes, God does not call us to succeed in meeting ideals; God calls us to be faithful in pursuing them. Poverty, non-violence, purity: three ideals I would accept as foundationally Christ-like and admit that I pursue too feebly. Thanks be to love, grace and mercy, while I struggle in my weakness to pursue all these things more fully. And this is the positive way of looking at my posts in question, the posts of the pacifists, and other posts like them. We are each promoting particular ideals, and we help one another engage these ideals in a challenging way. What there is no room for is judgment, bitterness or fighting between us. Love, grace and mercy trump all, and so we share the latter as the ideal that binds us together as Christians no matter what we carry in our pockets.

I don't know. It's a catchy title, but does anybody actually still have the voting booths with the levers, cables, buttons and lights? Where I live we now simply color little circles with a felt-tip pen, and feed the paper into a scanner. I kind of miss the old machines; they made going to vote seem a little like going to the carnival. Levers, cables, blinking lights, long lines in the fall evening air. I'm thinking that the metaphor seems like a good one.

I'm also thinking that when it comes to the big elections, I vote these days in pure faith—an unjustifiable belief in hope that the act of voting, per se, serves a purpose. I've decided I have a few major reasons why this act of great privilege and freedom has come down to blind faith for me. One, I am unconvinced that vote counting is done honestly. Over the years I've read a number of stories that have given me pause. Certainly there is no form of voting, from punch cards to felt-tip pens to computers to what-have-you, that is fool-proof. Let's be real: if a teenaged geek can break into a government computer and manipulate data over the internet, well, what do you think a political party could do if they felt it was for the good of the country? Jimmy Carter has worked the honest-election issue all over the world, and he says that if you think ballots in the United States are reported and counted honestly, you're simply naïve. Two, the mathematics of our system are questionable. I'm not talking popular vote versus electoral college, which is old news; I'm talking about the idea of casting a single vote for a single candidate. There are scenarios, and not particularly complex ones, where this fails to elect the candidate most desired by the majority. Three, I have also come to have serious doubts about campaigns. It seems clear to me that the campaigns are designed to appeal to our ignorance, our fears, our selfishness and our emotionally-fueled opinions more than anything else. It seems to me that if I'm really as stupid as the candidates, their campaign teams, their backing machines, the pundits and analysts seem to think I am, then I should not be voting. It is a great irony that the law demands at least the maturity of an eighteen year old person to vote, and yet the campaigns are directed at the minds of thirteen year olds. Four, even if there is no cheating and the even if the methodology doesn't fail us and even if the campaigns appealed to our better natures, well, let's be honest: how in the world are we supposed to know, really, which candidate's victory would result in the best outcome for the nation? If each candidate lived in my house for a year, I might well know which one I'd prefer to see in the White House, but I probably would still have no idea which one would actually run an administration that most benefited the country in the long run. Yeah. It's pretty pointless, really.

So. Reason number five that voting is an act of faith for me: As long as the people in power have to deal with the fact that the people have some sort of say, it's a good thing. As long as there's a chance that we can keep truly insane people from being in power, it's a good thing. As long as people believe they have a say in the good of their nation, they will remain interested in the good of their nation, and this is a good thing. Similarly, as long as people feel a sense of civic duty and responsibility, there is a chance they will act in civic duty and responsibility, and this is a good thing. As long as a nation must advertise the idea of liberty, the idea of liberty will not die, and this is a good thing. There is always a chance that the system will work, and that chance is a chance worth taking. And yes, I have my doubts about all of these. Faith doubts. But, faith always hopes.

Here's some straight-forward empirical common sense from Greg Boyd; the kind that a few years back cost him about twenty percent of his congregation. What I find a bit intriguing in this otherwise "Well, yeah… no kidding" post is Boyd's remark:

"It's what fuels religion and politics. In fact, after watching both national conventions the last two weeks, I'm beginning to think these are not two distinct things."

I have this armchair opinion that when Boyd says something like this, he really means that that's what he's thinking. I'm a little curious to see if we'll start seeing posts on investigating the idea that religion and politics are indeed the same thing. It could be interesting. And I also have to tip my hat to him for encouraging us to lay down religion for the sake of the Kingdom. We need more preachers who will say this.

I have no idea where I was, nor what I was reading, but two or three weeks ago I ran across a Christian's claim that "the Muslim God is not the God of the Christian." Hmmm. Well, this statement could have just as easily been made by a Muslim, or by anybody else for that matter, but I have to say that my understanding of Islam, extremely limited though it may be, is that Christians and Muslims do indeed refer to the same God. At least, certainly, if I was to sit down with a Muslim and talk about God, my underlying assumption would be that we were both talking about the Father of Abram/Abraham.

I suppose what the author of that line might have been implying is that Muslim and Christian would disagree, of course, about the idea of a trinity. But then again, so do Jews and Christians, and nobody says that the God of the Jew is not the God of the Christian. Sometimes I think that there are many things said out of pure fear and/or ignorance and/or malice.

What I was thinking, anyway, is that it's sort of a moot point for me. It seems to me that if you are a monotheist, then whenever somebody talks about worshipping the One or Supreme being, they are talking about God. That's the word I use, but the word is not magical; it's three characters of the particular alphabetic script I use, arranged in one of six possible ways. Even Paul, on Mars Hill, used this idea. He referenced a local statue labeled "to an unknown god" as an inroad to a sermon. So I see you have an unknown god. Well, let me tell you about this unknown God…

Just to clarify a little more, I understand the opinion that if you claim to worship God, but your concept of God is radically different from mine, then we are in some sense worshipping a "different" God. And I think this opinion has merit. So to be more to the point, what I am saying is that God is God irrespective of whether your idea and/or my idea as to the nature of that God is/are correct or not. God's Being does not depend upon a human's concept of God. Whatever God is, God is. And if you are claiming to worship that One Being, then whether or not any of us are conceiving correctly or not, the Being we are pointing to is still the same Being. I guess my point is simply that the Lord our God is one God. Muslim, Christian, Jew; the same Being begat us all, and the same Being is worshipped by us all. And, it's about the Being, after all. It's not about us. It is in this sense that the Muslim God is the Christian God, is the Jewish God, is the God of other monotheistic faiths.

Must it be so difficult, really, for us all to begin here?

Go, Thomas! Go!

The biggest paradox about the Church is that she is at the same time essentially traditional and essentially revolutionary. But that is not as much of a paradox as it seems, because Christian tradition, unlike all others, is a living and perpetual revolution.

Human traditions all tend toward stagnation and decay. They try to perpetuate things that cannot be perpetuated. They cling to objects and values which time destroys without mercy. They are bound up with a contingent material order of things—customs, fashions, styles and attitudes—which inevitably change and give way to something else.

The presence of a strong element of human conservatism in the Church should not obscure the fact that Christian tradition, supernatural in its source, is something absolutely opposed to human traditionalism. —New Seeds, chapter 20

A long while back I received these in email. Less of a while back, I received them in email again. You can find them all over the web by searching for "worst metaphors." Some of them made me smile big enough that I decided to include them here, just for fun. What? Levity? On a lee's blog?

1. Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a thigh Master.

2. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.

3. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.

4. She grew on him like she was a colony of E.Coli, and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.

5. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.

6. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

7. He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.

8. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM machine.

9. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.

10. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.

11. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.

12. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.

13. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.

14. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.

15. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.

16. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.

17. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East River.

18. Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.

19. Shots rang out, as shots are known to do.

20. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.

21. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.

22. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.

23. The ballerina rose gracefully en Pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.

24. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.

25. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.

Surely this is a work that will be polished over time, but I think it's a close enough start that it can be a post. I was thinking today that before I know it the next few years will pass, and my daughters will all leave our home. What would I want to say if it was today? Something, I suppose, like this:

Words for My Daughters

Life is a great mystery. You are not alone. We are all lost, and struggling to understand.

Never believe the lie we have all told ourselves at least once; the one that says, "I don't care anymore."

We were born to care. It is the seed which gave us life.

Seek God, and you will find God—probably in a place you would have never guessed. Whatever that place may be, it is where your Joy awaits.

It is true that faith is sometimes blind. But this tells us nothing of whether our faith is right or wrong.

Being angry at God is acceptable, questioning God is constructive, blaming God is pointless.

Never love any person, including me, more than you love God. You cannot love any person well, unless you love God most.

Pride pushes God away. Humility allows God to touch you. Above all things, pray for your own humility.

If people were perfect, there would be no need for love. Such a world would be a horrible, horrible place.

Do not judge others, and pay no attention to judgments that others may cast upon you.

God created you to be you. You are not supposed to be anyone else. Don't waste your time worrying about what other people think of you.

Never let anybody tell you that you may not, cannot, shall not do some thing you believe to be a great good.

Your life, first and foremost, is between you and God. Cherish this freedom for yourself, and grant it to others.

Your life is not your own. The life you live, you live in God, and therefore you live for the good of others.

What is the good of others, and how do you work for it? The answer rests in a great mystery, between you and God.

The best way to understand evil is to understand that you never will—and leave it at that.

What matters is that God's response to evil is to build good things from the ruins it leaves behind. You can help God do this.

Everything you have, and everything you are, has been given to you for one reason, and for one reason only: to ease the suffering of other people.

The Kingdom of Heaven is not a place. It is the Heart of God. It is within you, and it is everywhere around you.

The Word of God is not a book. It is the whisperings of the Kingdom, all around us.

The Love of God is life's only Truth.

Let no one blind your eyes. Let no one harden your heart. Let no one quench your spirit.

You will fall. You will fail. You will hurt and you will be hurt. It is these things which bring you closer to God; and so they, too, are good.

And know this: that you to me will always be unspeakably beautiful—beyond what even tears will ever tell.

Know that I love you. No matter where you go, no matter what you do, no matter who or what you become, I will always love you. This I promise.

Now go. Be free. Shine.

What about the men who run about the countryside painting signs that say "Jesus saves" and "prepare to meet God!" Have you ever seen one of them? I have not, but I often try to imagine them, and I wonder what goes on in their minds. Strangely, their signs do not make me think of Jesus, but of them. Or perhaps it is "their Jesus" who gets in the way and makes all thought of Jesus impossible. They wish to force their Jesus upon us, and He is perhaps only a projection of themselves. They seem to be at times threatening the world with judgment and at other times promising it mercy. But are they asking simply to be loved and recognized and valued, for themselves? In any case, their Jesus is quite different from mine. But because their concept is different, should I reject it in horror, with distaste? If I do, perhaps I reject something in my own self that I no longer recognize to be there. And in any case, if I can tolerate their Jesus then I can accept and love them. Or I can at least conceive of doing so. Let not their Jesus be a barrier between us, or they will be a barrier between us and Jesus. — New Seeds, chapter 15