Six Things Your Community Could Be Providing

We've taken a look at the necessary ingredients for meaningful, authentic community. Now, we return to the big questions we hope such a community might help us answer.

1. How do I live in such a way that I'll be satisfied with how I influence the world around me?
2. What am I passionate about? What personal life dream of mine creates greater wholeness in the world?
3. Where do I find a genuine sense of belonging? Where do I find authentic community? 
4. What fears get in my way? How can I dismantle those fears and understand what I actually want?
5. How can I get what I most deeply want and need by creating less suffering and greater wholeness?

Specifically, let's look at the intersection of questions 1, 2, and 5. We've already dismantled the criticism that these questions are selfish. We know that we may have to do a bit of introspection and self-examination to determine meaningful answers to these questions, and that can seem like hard work. On the other hand, these questions are all interconnected, so it's likely that the answers are connected too.

Chances are that we are already engaged in community in some way. Human beings are relational, so it's an intrinsic part of being human to form community. Sometimes, the communities we find ourselves in are by happenstance, and sometimes our participation in them is a conscious decision. Whatever the case, we can choose to be more intentional in how we show up in those communities. This involves knowing ourselves well enough to understand what moves us toward wholeness, and it involves giving ourselves permission to do those things.

Knowing ourselves well enough to understand what moves us toward wholeness is a fancy way of saying understanding what we really want. We have to get past our anxiety in order to know this. When we're anxious, what we want in the immediate sense is for the anxiety to go away. If we can't manage our anxiety well, our autopilot reactions will make decisions for us. We can't get what we most deeply want unless we shift into a more intentional way of choosing our responses. 

Sometimes our anxiety is specifically about what we want. We believe that we have to want something noble or grandiose or selfless in order to be "good" people. Or we tell ourselves that we don't deserve what we want, or that we haven't earned it. And we usually don't have a very reasonable sense of what it would take for us to deserve or earn what we most deeply want. Sometimes we even justify not tending to our own needs because we are waiting on a supernatural to arrange our lives differently. And these are just a handful of the nearly infinite roadblocks we put in our own paths. 

The first hurdle, then, is recognizing that what we most deeply want is important. When we understand our personal guiding principles -- our internal guidance system -- and can connect what we want with our deepest values, this hurdle becomes easier to cross. Knowing the principles by which we want our lives to be governed gives us a solid foundation for determining whether we are identifying what we deeply want or we are instead just coming up with the most expedient way to make our anxiety go away. 

Our guiding principles also give us a way to cast vision in our lives, to imagine what a best possible version of ourselves might look like. This vision is, essentially, a way of identifying what we most deeply want. When we engage our imaginations, we can ask ourselves: What would I look like if I were in complete integrity with my guiding principles? The answer to that question is a vision toward which we can orient our decisions -- and something with which we can realign ourselves when we get off course. And we know when we are off course by recognizing when we are reacting out of anxiety rather than making intentional choices.

Orienting around our guiding principles may give the impression that what we most deeply want needs to be lofty and demanding. This is not necessarily so. Most often, what we most deeply want is not so different from what everybody most deeply wants. We just put a lot of obstacles in our own way, including believing that what we want has to fall into neat categories of either "shamefully selfish" or "impressively selfless". The truth is that what we most deeply want is probably rather simple, and our deepest wants probably help meet other people's needs too.

If what we most deeply want is a sense of belonging, for instance, the healthy community we create from that desire is going to benefit others as much as it benefits us. Rather than judging what we are passionate about, then, we have the potential to connect what we are passionate about with our deepest values and make intentional decisions in our lives. We can create community around anything, provided it aligns with our life-affirming guiding principles. 

(I'll reiterate here what I've said elsewhere: If you think your guiding principles aren't life-affirming, you haven't uncovered your actual guiding principles yet. You may have uncovered a fear you didn't know about, but our deepest values are not built on fear. Don't make excuses or feel ashamed when you get to this point, just be honest about the fear and keep searching for the deeper life-affirming values that it's covering up.)

Being honest about what is fulfilling to us -- and being sharp about distinguishing what we most deeply want from our anxious reactivity -- gives us a way toward creating greater wholeness for ourselves and for the world around us. When we engage in any community intentionally, we have the opportunity to develop deeper understanding of ourselves, more meaningful connection with the people around us, and a greater sense of purpose. Meaningful, authentic community inspires our creativity and provides us with accountability so we can stay aligned with our deepest values more consistently. 

The surface level activities of the community don't really matter (provided they're aligned with your life-affirming values). Bowling league, neighborhood parenting co-op, book club, activist organization, community garden, artist collective, whatever. We can be intentional about how we show up in any community, ensuring that our authentic needs are met in legitimate ways and simultaneously contributing toward wholeness in the lives of others. 

If you want a way to consider the strengths and growth edges of your particular community, some research by a couple of students at Harvard suggest six categories of human need that are met by authentic, meaningful community. You can read about their observations of various secular communities at www.howwegather.org. Their evaluation includes some theistic language, but it's easily ignored or translated. I just mentioned the six categories a couple of paragraphs back, but I'll list them again. If your community does one or more of these things well, that's something to celebrate. If it has challenges with one or more of these areas, that may be something you want to build up.

First, community provides for a basic human need in and of itself. Making sure the community has integrity -- that it is meaningful and authentic, as we've discussed over several entries -- is important. Belonging is important for human beings, but building community with a clear identity in which people are genuinely welcomed and accepted can be challenging.

Second, meaningful authentic community gives people opportunities for personal transformation. When we feel safe and can be honest about our deepest values, community can help us align our lives better. We can grow in our personal integrity and authenticity. 

Third, meaningful authentic community give people opportunities for social transformation. This means, we develop more mature and intentional ways of engaging in the world around us. We become more aware of how we can contribute to greater wholeness in the world.

Fourth, meaningful authentic community helps us identify a sense of purpose. Life doesn't have a larger purpose, but human beings are meaning makers -- we determine what will give us a sense of purpose. Even though defining purpose comes from within ourselves, being in community can inform that journey. 

Fifth, meaningful authentic community engages our creativity. Human beings are, by nature, creators. This doesn't mean we are all artistic, but rather that we all have the ability to contribute to creating something new. Community can provide us with collaborators and inspiration.

Finally, meaningful authentic community provides us with accountability -- people who will pay attention to what we say we want in our lives and will keep us encouraged and empowered to take the next steps in that journey. When we set public goals, healthy communities will hold us to those goals until we redefine them. People who care about us, care about what we want for our lives.

If we understand our personal guiding principles, we can identify our deepest wants and needs more easily. Any community can become a place where we engage in having our personal needs met while we contribute toward greater wholeness in the lives of others. Every community can probably become better at the mutual practices of self-disclosure, active and unconditional love, hospitality, truth-telling, and celebration. Every community can probably become better at setting healthy boundaries and clarifying shared purpose or vision. And every community can be evaluated by how well it provides a genuine sense of belonging, opportunities for personal transformation, social transformation, defining purpose, engaging creativity, and offering accountability.

John 20: The Influence of the Enlightened

The story of the resurrection event concludes in the gospel of John with Jesus visiting the disciples in an exalted form. As we see in John 20, the post-resurrection Jesus character passes through locked doors unhindered, and a week later the Jesus character returns to convince the skeptic among the disciples that he is real. Remembering that this is a story, we know that it would be missing the point to ask where the resurrected Jesus might have gone for the week in between these visits. Instead, we can follow the rather ancient practice of interpreting the text metaphorically.

If the Jesus character is representative of us, then the resurrected Jesus character is representative of a fully alive, fully self-differentiated, best possible version of ourselves in complete alignment between our deepest values and our actions in the world. We might equate being "exalted" with a state of being unhindered by fears and anxieties, acting with complete integrity, sensitive to others without allowing ourselves to be restricted by other people's opinions and beliefs. Just as the Jesus character passes through locked doors, when we are living into a best possible version of ourselves, there are fewer obstacles that can keep us from being the people we most want to be, full incarnations of our deepest, most noble selves.

The resurrected Jesus character is not only able to be in complete alignment for himself, but he also influences the well-being of the people with whom he interacts. In the same way, we nurture others toward wholeness when we act in accord with our deepest values. Specifically, the exemplar in the story empowers others to live with integrity and purpose, particularly with regard to reactivity and shame. If we interpret sin as the reactive result of anxiety -- what people do when they allow irrational fear to be in the driver's seat -- then we recognize that we have some influence on other people's anxiety and the shame that they might feel after letting their anxiety run away with them.

When we show up as less anxious, more at peace, and in greater alignment with our deepest values, we influence the people around us. Just as anxiety is contagious, intentional calmness can be contagious, too. This means that our ability to act in alignment with our deepest, most noble selves has the potential to influence people away from reactivity. Even when people are reactive and act thoughtlessly on their anxiety, our principled intentional presence can influence people away from useless shame after the fact. We can acknowledge that being anxious is human, and reacting to our anxiety is natural. Yes, there are consequences to our actions and messes to clean up, but we are capable of facing those consequences and seeking reconciliation when things go sideways. Shame doesn't help us with these tasks. When we influence people toward greater wholeness by our own integrity and purposeful behavior, we might allow them to place limits on the influence of their anxiety and shame, and learn to cast vision in their own lives.

Now, the story about Thomas seems to be thrown in just to silence skeptics. Pronouncing blessing on people who believe things without evidence is a way of credentialing nonsense. When readers take the implications of this story at face-value, it affirms everything that is dangerous about religion. Believing something just because someone wrote it down two thousand years ago is naive at best. It lacks integrity to believing what spiritual leaders say just because they say it with conviction or wear special clothing or have authorization from a larger organization. Some things proclaimed on the basis of religious doctrine are quite simply false. Not only is there a lack of evidence to support some of the things people believe on the basis of religion, there is actual evidence to the contrary. Yet some people believe that they will be considered blessed or righteous for believing nonsense, because they read a passage like the story of Thomas and interpret it to mean, "ignore reality; believe what your preacher tells you."

Although it's probably easier just to dismiss this passage as a piece of early Christian propaganda to legitimize faith, we could also interpret this story to suggest that there are always things we do not know. We can guess with some reliability that the things we don't know will be congruent with the things that we can prove about reality, but there are still things that we don't know. In embarking on any journey of personal growth -- one might say personal transformation -- we must take some steps without knowing what lies ahead. To characterize growing into greater integrity and authenticity as vulnerable and risky is a profound understatement. When we build our lives with confident alignment to our deepest values, we may not see all that will be as a result of that intentional act. We move forward with as much clarity as we can have about our deepest values, but there are limits to our clarity. At some point, we have to trust ourselves to step forward into something we can't see clearly in order to become more fully alive -- more closely aligned with our vision of a best possible version of ourselves. If we take anything from the story of Thomas' skepticism, it should be this, rather than an admonition to believe nonsense and call it enlightenment.

The author ends the book of John with a statement of purpose. It's clear that the author has an agenda to convince people to accept his own religious position. The agenda of this commentary has hopefully been equally clear: to position the fictional character of Jesus in this ancient text as a metaphorical exemplar of what we might be if we choose to embrace our potential to radically love ourselves, the people around us, and the world we all share.

The goal of our lives is only determined by us. There is nothing outside of ourselves that compels us to outgrow our anxiety and our irrational fear. In some ways, society prompts us to remain anxious and reactive. However, if we choose to move toward being fully alive incarnations of our deepest, most noble selves, we are capable of embarking on that journey. We have within us the potential to act with integrity and intention. We have within us the ability to influence our lives and the lives of people around us toward greater wholeness. If this is not a compelling message of hope, I don't know what is.

John 14: Within You

The second half of John 14 continues the message of comfort, encouragement, and empowerment. In the story, Jesus is aware of his imminent arrest and death sentence. The disciples seem not to have caught on in the narrative, so some of the words of this passage seem intended to prepare them for the events that are about to unfold. Of course, these words were written at least 60 years after the events they describe would have taken place, so the authors must have had a different reason for writing them down. Maybe it was just to tell the story in a way that had a clear dramatic arc.

We see evidence in this passage of the superstitions of the time, but underneath much of the language here, there is a message of personal empowerment. This is primarily in the bits about the Advocate or Holy Spirit. There are also a few turns of phrase here that we might consider coercive. "If you love me, you will...," is a hallmark of an anxious communicator trying not to sound anxious. We might graciously reinterpret those sentences into a clearer definition of what the authors mean by "love." Although it is a wonderfully concise way of saying a great many things, love is also a rather vague word that is subject to interpretation (or misinterpretation). Thus, we might replace it in this context with something more precise, such as, "If you trust the merits of what I have taught you and how you have seen me engage in life, you will follow my example."

The audience in the narrative have traveled with the Exemplar, they have seen him engaging authentically in living with integrity to his deep guiding principles (which were in alignment with the stated guiding principles of at least some expressions of first-century Judaism), and they have heard him explain to them how they might do the same. Still, they consider him to be uniquely qualified to live as he lives, and they are content to be less than he -- less capable, less aware, less human. The narrative is about to take a nasty turn, and the Exemplar is going to be killed for living with integrity to his principles, because this is a scary thing to people who value quiet compliance over bold authenticity. He takes these final moments with his friends to prompt them to see their own ability to live intentionally and with integrity.

The reader already knows the story, presumably. The Jesus character dies, reminding everyone reading that it can be dangerous to live according to clearly defined, deep guiding principles, even though it is the most rewarding way to engage in the fragile art of living. Then, the authors bring the hero back to life, which undercuts the very core of their message. With this supernatural act as part of the narrative, the Jesus character is turned into something beyond what any person can hope to be. Instead of feeling empowered to engage in this life fully, many readers believe themselves to be weak and incapable of doing anything good on their own. Instead of following an example of how to live with integrity, many readers spend their time waiting for a next life that they think has been promised to them. I guess it's a good thing the dead can't be disappointed.

Abundant examples among twenty-first century believers demonstrate the tendency of the overall narrative to convince people that they are weak, broken, incapable, and even worthless. Every day, people express their conviction that they need a supernatural's help to make basic moral and ethical decisions. How can such a person even consider being fully alive with authenticity and integrity? This depiction of humanity as weak, worthless, and incapable is not only a useless and lazy image, it isn't even an accurate impression of what passages like John 14 are intended to express.

The point of this part of the narrative is for the Jesus character to express the capability and power of human individuals to live fully. The promise given, to the disciples in the story and presumably to the reader as well, is that whatever you think of as divinity is within you. There is no reason for anxiety, because you already know how to be intentional. You already know how to be honest, even when it is challenging. You already know how to live with integrity to your deep values. The promised Advocate "abides in you, and will be in you." This is different language for what we might call a deepest, most noble self -- the very human qualities of truth, beauty, and creativity that help us define our principles and allow them to guide our decisions. Human beings are not weak and incapable; they have within them all that they need to live morally, ethically, and purposefully. You have within you all that you need to live morally, ethically, and purposefully.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"If you really believe that the way of being I've demonstrated to you is the best way to live, take this business about loving one another seriously. You have access to your deepest, most noble self just as I have access to my deepest, most noble self. Pay attention to your deepest values and let them guide you, and you won't be disappointed. Other people are going to think that this is all wrong. They don't understand things that you now know to be true about how to live fully. You aren't responsible for their understanding. You're responsible for your own integrity.

"I'm not going to be here much longer, and yet you will keep seeing things that remind you of me in the world. When you see love and kindness and compassion, you'll be reminded of me. When you see justice and equity being carried out, you'll be reminded of me. When you see people paying attention to their deepest values and living with authenticity and integrity, you'll be reminded of me. I'm not really going anywhere when you look at it like that. And if you live in a way that reflects your deepest, most noble self, other people are going to see my hopes alive in you -- they will see what I care about most, made manifest in your life.

"I say this now, while I'm with you, but you don't really need me to tell you this. You know what your deep values are. Trust them. Trust yourselves. Don't be worried about what other people think you ought to do. Don't be afraid of what will happen. Just live with integrity, and place love as the cornerstone of your life. If you live into a best possible version of yourself, you can be at peace with whatever the outcome is. If you don't yet know the principles that you want to guide your decisions, you can discover them. You are responsible for your lives. You are capable. You are powerful. You are insightful. You don't need someone else to tell you what to do. You just needed someone to show you that it's possible."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

If you want to live fully, you have to connect with yourself. Whatever else you choose to believe in, you have to believe in yourself. This is not to say that you form a set of unrealistic expectations about what you can do. Belief in and of itself will not change reality. Every person has limitations. But if you want to fully inhabit yourself, you have to recognize that you are a capable, whole, powerful, insightful, beautiful, creative human being with inherent worth and dignity. You may have a few things to learn or figure out, and you will definitely make mistakes along the way. The bottom line, though, is that your vision of a best possible version of yourself is worth living into -- that you are worth believing in.

The "G" Word

I've wrestled with using the word "God" for some time now. I know that there are some people who invent their own definitions in order to keep using the word without necessarily meaning what other people mean by the word.

"God is the space between people."
"God is a person's ultimate concern."
"God is the life force that flows through all things."

This is all well and good, except that I know when I use the word "God" without going into detail to define it, other people are going to conjure up whatever their own image of God is, and most likely they're going to have an image of God that is somehow connected to the Judeo-Islamo-Christian God. Even if they have a different image of God, it's not likely to be identical to my image of God. I keep using capital-G "God" at this point because that term has come to be synonymous with a singular higher power, most often portrayed as intelligent, willful, and benevolent, with a vengeful streak toward people who hold different opinions or lifestyles than the person doing the portraying. Given that I can't control what a listener does with the word, I generally choose not to use the word "God" (unless I'm asking a question about someone's specific claims about their image of a deity).

That doesn't mean I don't have any ideas about God. Aside from acknowledging that no actual gods exist in objective reality -- that indeed there is no credible evidence to support claims of supernaturalism -- I still have some ideas about God. Those ideas extend to any god, goddess, ancestral spirit, fairies, and so on. If I were to use the word "God," I know what I would mean by it. Maybe it's better to get over what other people will do with the word in their interpretation.

God is a word people use to describe a deep part of ourselves. Sometimes, it's easier to imagine that inner part of our being as something outside of us. It's easier to imagine talking to something external to ourselves; it's easier to imagine being comforted by something external to ourselves; it's easier to imagine being loved by something external to ourselves. Some people get so accustomed to imagining this deep part of themselves as something external to themselves that they forget that God is the inner part of their being. They start to believe that what they imagine about God being external to them should be what everyone imagines about God. It's difficult for them to see that, since God is just a word people use to describe a deep part of themselves, everyone is going to have a different image of God.

People have concocted a lot of gods, as it turns out. None of those gods are real, but they are the ideas that were evoked from the inner lives of lots of different people. People feel angry sometimes, so they might imagine a god that is angry about the same things. People are awed by nature, so they might imagine that nature has gods too, that nature has a self. People imagine gods that act and feel the way those people act and feel, and sometimes people imagine gods that act and feel in ways that those people wish they could act and feel. From within different people, many different ideas of gods have emerged. None of those external ideas of gods actually do or feel anything, but they reflect what people do and feel within the innermost parts of their being.

Sometimes imagining that God is something external can be used as a buffer. When people say that God blessed them with certain abilities, they can speak boldly about themselves without seeming egotistical. When someone says that God punished a group of people with a hurricane, that person is actually expressing personal hatred or fear about a group of people and using an external idea of God as a deflector. When people pray that a person will recover from an injury or illness, they are actually expressing their own desire for the person's recovery... which is kind of odd, when you think about it. Why not just say what one wants or feels?

I believe people don't say what they honestly want or feel because they either fear how other people will respond or they fear that they are somehow not enough in their own lives. Using the idea that God is something outside of them allows people to talk about things they would be otherwise afraid to talk about. This doesn't make God real as something outside of them. It just offers people the illusion that they are not actually talking about themselves. It provides a persona on which people can project what they want and what they feel, and this feels safer than vulnerable authenticity.

The ideas people create about gods have inspired lots of stories, and many of these stories hold incredible bits of wisdom. Unfortunately, sometimes people forget to look for the wisdom within the stories and believe that the stories are intended to represent surface-level reality. Stories become "histories" rather than legends, and histories are about recounting factual data. Stories about gods aren't about factual data; they're about the inner development of people -- about growth within a person and between people. When we recognize that God or god (or goddess) is a word we use for something deep within ourselves, then it becomes easier to look at stories about God or gods (or goddesses) as lessons about who we are rather than vessels of factual data. Stories about gods are stories about us; when we make them more than that, they become less useful.

We don't insist that other people have the same innermost being as us. We shouldn't insist that people have the same God as us. Neither is possible. Whatever God you believe in is something you have imagined. If you don't believe me, ask 10 of your adult friends to describe God (or better, to draw a picture of God) using their own words and not quoting any sacred text. How many of your friends describe God exactly as you do? This isn't a matter of blind men describing an elephant. People have different descriptions of God because people have different selves. This is a problem for some, because they expect their God to do something that isn't possible -- something that they are not capable of doing.

Our innermost beings are not capable of producing miracles in the world around us. Our innermost beings are not capable of changing other people. When we forget that God is a word we use for something deep within us -- an intrinsic part of ourselves -- we develop untenable expectations. God is a way for us to forgive ourselves for doing something that goes against our guiding principles. God is a way for us to guide ourselves toward better decisions, greater integrity, or more authentic love for others. God is a way for us to comfort ourselves in the face of loss. Having a word for that deep part of ourselves is useful. Until we make that word mean something more.

When I hear anyone talk about deity or fairies or ancestral spirits or anything of the like, I understand that they are telling me something about themselves. Sometimes translation is difficult when people become more academic in their communication, but I know that these are just ways that say things about themselves that they would otherwise find difficult to communicate. No one can ever tell me anything about God that I don't already know. No one can ever tell you anything about God that you don't already know. I can't worship anyone else's God, and neither can you. I can't know anyone else's God, and neither can you. God is a word we use for something deep inside of us, an intrinsic part of us. We can never know someone deeply enough to truly know their God, but we can appreciate that when people speak of God, they are speaking of themselves. They are speaking of a very deep part of themselves.

I may still avoid the use of the word. It's a messy word because so many people believe that it means something different than what it actually means. I may still strive to speak about what I want and what I feel in a way that is vulnerably authentic and leave God out of the conversation altogether. Should I start using the word "God," though, you'll at least have some idea what I mean. More importantly, I'll have a clear idea what I mean. It helps me listen to people sometimes, except when they insist that their imagination defines objective reality for other people. Maybe this will help you in some way, too. There are probably volumes that could flow from what I've articulated here, but the basic idea that all those volumes would flow from is still fairly simple: God is a word we use to talk about our innermost being.

Isaiah 7-8: Calm Down, Trust Yourself, and Act with Integrity

Recalling the historical narrative of Judah from 2 Kings and 2 Chronicles, Ahaz was king of Judah when Israel and Aram joined forces and set out to conquer Jerusalem. Isaiah acted as adviser to Ahaz during this time, offering him reassurance, encouraging him to stand firm, and illustrating his advice with the imminent birth of a son to the young wife of Ahaz. This use of children as images of hope is augmented by Isaiah's two children in this passage as well.

Like the symbolic names of Hosea's children, which proclaimed judgment on an unjust and unfaithful society, Isaiah names his children "A remnant shall return" and "The spoil speeds, the prey hastens." The name of the first son is in reference to Isaiah's confidence that the people of Judah will not be utterly destroyed, and the name of the second son is an indication that Judah's enemies will be utterly destroyed. Although Ahaz names his child Hezekiah, while Ahaz's wife is still pregnant, Isaiah refers to the child by the symbolic name "God is with us," which may indicate that this portion of Isaiah was written after the conflict with Israel and Aram was resolved and after it was clear what kind of leader Hezekiah would be.

Christians have appropriated this name, "Immanu-el," and this word of reassurance by Isaiah to Ahaz, as a reference to Jesus, but this makes little sense. Isaiah is obviously offering some near-future hope for Ahaz, indicating that the immediate enemies of Judah would be no threat at all by the time a child about to be born was eating solid food. As it happens, Hezekiah was a young boy when Israel fell to Assyria, and his leadership as king was a time of hope for Judah, as he ushered in a wave of internal religious and political reforms. As we shall see, Isaiah was an adviser to Hezekiah, too. In a case of the apple falling not far from the tree, both Ahaz and Hezekiah ignored Isaiah's advice; Ahaz voluntarily made Judah subject to Assyrian rule, and Hezekiah made a dangerous alliance with Egypt against Assyria.

There's no real need to go into whether El was really the same deity as Yahweh. There are plenty of other people making hypotheses about that sort of thing, and we can't really know for sure what the author of Isaiah was thinking. Our task here is to discover if there is something of value for us in this report of advice given to a king over 2500 years ago. Believers might claim the promise that their version of God is with them and has their best interest in mind if they only trust and wait (what Ahaz was instructed to do). This is somewhat flawed theology on a couple of levels. First, the words of Isaiah 8 are clearly to a particular individual about a particular situation, and to other people in different situations, different prophetic advice is given. Second, it's easy to overlook in our assertions that our supernatural will hear our prayers that other people may be praying for the exact opposite thing -- or at least something that is incompatible with what we're praying. Third, if the only point of human existence is to trust a supernatural and wait for everything to just be worked out for us, then we have no real purpose and human life is rather meaningless.

If we consider that there is no external deity orchestrating things on our behalf, but that whatever we call divinity is something within us -- something that is a human characteristic that all people have within them -- we can look at Isaiah's words a bit differently. It's true that circumstances do change, and it's true that patience often serves us better than reactivity. Isaiah's words might be taken here to mean that we should not become anxious at every apparent obstacle or threat in our lives, but that we should respond to our circumstances out of a deep connection with our innermost being. We should not work so hard to defend ourselves; we should instead confidently be ourselves. Rather than try to convince other people of our perspective, we might get more traction out of simply living out our deepest, most noble selves.

Permit me a personal story, if you will. I once worked for a company that had a number of anxious people. A systematic reinforcement of poor communication skills combined with a pervasive sense of entitlement and a lack of clear shared vision resulted in what was, for me, a toxic environment. I had some ideas about how to improve things, not only for my own preferences, but for the sake of everyone connected to the company. I also have an unusually high tolerance for change, and at the time, I did not appreciate or respect that few people share my eagerness to change things, even if it is for the better. The more aggressive I was in promoting a different way of doing things, the more aggressive the resistance became on the other side. In some ways, my situation was like that of Ahaz.

Had I been a little more patient, the situation may have turned out differently. Personnel changed, and people who were more interested in purposeful improvement assumed leadership positions. By then, though, I was long gone. Being more patient, however, would not have meant doing nothing. Developing and maintaining a deep connection with oneself is work. Listening compassionately to other people's anxiety can be work, too. Managing one's own anxiety and dismantling one's own fears is work. Being patient with a set of circumstances doesn't at all mean that no work is being done. In all honesty, in my own Ahaz situation, I had not done the work I needed to do within myself to support the kinds of actions I was suggesting.

It's easy to react to what we perceive as threats. We want to fight back, or defend ourselves, or just roll over and make the anxiety go away through passivity. When we feel threatened, it's important to be realistic about that anxiety. Sometimes, there is some action that we can take, and sometimes there isn't as much of a threat as we might think. Even if there is something we can do, though, it's important for us to act with integrity to who we most want to be in the world, rather than acting out of rabid defensiveness or overwhelming anxiety.

Isaiah was really suggesting three things to Ahaz, which I'm interpreting here into a non-religious context.

First, calm down. Whatever it is in your life that allows you to bring your own anxiety under control, be committed to doing that. If you don't know what brings your anxiety under control, be committed to discovering that. Knowing how to become less anxious (and actually doing it) is the most important thing you can do in your life, for your own well-being and for the well-being of everyone around you.

Second, trust yourself. Your deepest, most noble self is trustworthy. There may be lies that you have come to believe about yourself, other people, and reality, and there may be vows that you have made about what you must or must not do or be. Beneath those artificial protections, though, you are capable. You are trustworthy. You are enough. You are creative. You are beautiful. You are insightful. You have inherent worth and dignity. If you don't know and trust this about yourself, commit to discovering this truth about you. Develop a discipline of introspection. Engage in self-discovery activities. Work with a trusted friend or coach to learn how to be more connected to who you really are and what you really want. You cannot be who you most want to be in the world if you don't know who that is. This is important because you are important.

Third, act with integrity. I don't mean here "integrity" in the sense of keeping your word; sometimes promises need to be broken. I mean "integrity" in the sense that we say a bridge or a building has integrity. I mean allowing your words and actions to be congruent with your authentic self. Once you have managed your anxiety and honestly analyzed the threats, and once you have connected with yourself beyond the fears and lies we all carry around and recognized who you most want to be in the world, be that person. Act in accordance with who you are. This goes beyond horoscope-style adjectives; who you are engages the very things that nourish you, your passions, your convictions, your commitments, your dreams. Acting with integrity means creating the world we most want to live in.

That's what Isaiah was suggesting to Ahaz. It takes a bit of work. No wonder Ahaz had a hard time following through. It's possible, though. It's possible for you. Whether there are no apparent threats on your horizon, or whether you feel constantly under fire, you can calm down, trust yourself, and act with integrity to who you most want to be in the world. One big help is having people to journey with, people who embrace the same commitment in their own lives. We are bound to stumble a bit; we are bound to get anxious or act out of line with who we most want to be. When we journey together with others, it seems a lot easier to be graceful with ourselves and get back on track.

Mark 9: Stumbling Blocks and Concrete Overcoats

We are still mining a section of Mark 9 comprised of a string of short scenes with a couple of overlapping themes. Having considered the theme of authentic power a couple of weeks back, we're on to this business of causing another person to sin. Although it may be tempting to write this concept off and stand on the principle that all people have personal responsibility for their own actions, there is also truth to the statement that none of our decisions take place in a vacuum. Our actions have an influence on the people around us, and part of personal responsibility includes an appreciation for how what we do affects others.

The author of the gospel of Mark places the warnings about putting stumbling blocks in front of people quickly on the heels of using a child as an example, although the final scene of this chapter goes further than just talking about how people treat children. Still, what we learn as children sticks with us for a long time. As children, we make vows about how we must be and what we must do without even realizing that we're making vows. We also develop ideas about what or who we should be afraid of (or even hate) when we are children, when we are too young to even question why. So, it is especially important for adults to be conscientious about what we teach the children in our lives. Children cannot be held responsible for their beliefs about themselves, other people, or reality, but when children grow into adults, we expect them to suddenly be able to take responsibility for themselves. If we have filled the minds of the children in our lives with fear, what kind of adults do we expect them to be?

Children are not the only people susceptible to influence, though. Influential messages bombard us all the time in the form of advertising, political commentaries on television or radio, and less blatantly through just about every form of entertainment. We are responsible for aligning our beliefs and actions with our deep guiding principles rather than the influence of a paid angry or attractive spokesperson, but that isn't always an easy feat. We are also responsible for recognizing how our beliefs and actions influence adults around us. Bullying people into agreement, arguing from a position of half-informed righteous indignation, or promoting an identity of victimhood all come from fear. When we become afraid or anxious, and we lose our connection to our deepest selves, our influence on other people can be harmful. To make matters worse, our fear or anxiety can make us less aware of the impact we're having. Even though we can hold an expectation that other people should be emotionally mature and centered, and even though we aren't ultimately responsible for other people's behavior, it's better for us to empower other people to live based on their principles than it is for us to foster fear.

One interpretation of this scene in Mark is that the afterlife was seen to involve a continued physical existence. The author of the gospel of Mark is possibly saying that it's better to enter into a blessed afterlife maimed than to suffer in one's entirety. The gospels don't actually say much about hell, though, and even this passage is lacking much of its reference to hell in the earliest copies of the text. Plus, throughout the gospel narratives, the authors suggest (through words attributed to Jesus) that the kingdom of God (or the kingdom of Heaven, depending on who's writing) are not future-tense possibilities, but are present realities. Jesus is quoted as saying, "The kingdom of God is at hand," meaning, it's right here and now. So, perhaps the author of Mark is suggesting something else when he proposes mutilating oneself and entering the kingdom of God with a few parts missing.

If the kingdom of God is at hand, presently accessible to those willing to be a part of it, then it must not be a physical location. Perhaps as some have suggested, heaven is a state of mind -- a way of being. If so, then what is sin? And how can one's hand or eye or foot cause one to sin? Many people have pointed out that sin is an old archery term that essentially means, "to miss the mark." Some people would suggest that God sets the mark, but this is problematic, given that the supposed moral bull's eye established in the Hebrew Scriptures consists of a list of prohibitions that were impossible to keep, even for the ancient Israelites who invented it. If one considers Jesus to be a divine figure, a different mark was established in the gospels: love. Jesus' one big commandment was to love, and although that may be tricky to navigate in some situations, it's not a bad bull's eye for life. For people like myself, who don't recognize any superhuman divine beings, the bull's eye comes from deep guiding principles.

Sin, then, is what shifts our focus, the action that stems from something other than our guiding principles or the noblest form of love. Various believers might point to specific behaviors that constitute sin, but the problem is not really the behaviors. The problem is what lies at the root of the behaviors. As you may already have guessed, I believe that fear is what lies at the root of what the gospel writers call sin. When we allow fear to govern us, we forget about love or guiding principles and shift away from the mark we've set for who we want to be in the world. We let fear about ourselves, other people, or reality prompt our actions rather than bringing our most authentic selves forward. I'm not keen on what the church has done with the concept of sin, because it has become a weapon of judgment and condemnation wielded by people who have no more reason than anyone else to feel righteous. Fear is something that affects all people, but we are also all capable of dismantling fear if we choose to do so.

The point, then, is that your hand can't cause you to miss the mark. If you steal something with your hand or strike someone with your fist, your hand doesn't make you do those things. The fear within you that clouded over your deep guiding principles fueled those actions.
Your foot can't cause you to miss the mark. If you step on someone as you ascend whatever ladder of success you're climbing or turn around when you see an opportunity to help someone less fortunate, your foot doesn't make you do those things. The fear within you that clouded over your compassion for and connection to other human beings fueled those actions.
Your eye can't cause you to miss the mark. If you see other people as objects to be manipulated or you remain willfully blind to how your actions harm the people around you, your eye doesn't make you do those things. The fear within you that clouded over your capacity for love fueled those actions.
So, if we're going to amputate the cause of our "sin," our physical body isn't what we need to operate on. We need to amputate our fear.

Since Spencer Johnson and Sheryl Sandberg made it famous, the question has often been asked, but bears repeating:
What would you do if you weren't afraid?

I don't know what you're afraid of. You may fear scarcity -- that there isn't enough _________ for you and everyone else, so you have to protect what you have and do everything you can to get what you deserve. You may fear that, deep down, you are selfish or worthless at your core -- that you have to do everything you possibly can to prove how generous and worthwhile you are, including pleasing everybody around you, even at the expense of your own well-being. You may fear people of a certain ethnicity, religion, or sexual identity. You may fear that you are insignificant. Anything you fear -- especially irrationally -- can distract you from what actually matters most to you. Fear can prompt you to behave in ways that simply don't line up with who you most want to be in the world. Staying immersed in our irrational fears and expecting to be principled or loving people is like putting on a concrete overcoat and expecting to be able to swim. Dismantling our irrational fears opens the way for our guiding principles to be lived out more intentionally.

I'll bet you just glossed over it a paragraph back. Think about it:

What would you do if you weren't afraid?
          What would you create?
                    What would you stand for?
                              How would you be more authentically yourself more of the time?

The author of Mark includes a few sentences about salt at the end of this scene. Many people would suggest that salt symbolized purity for a great many ancient religions. If that's what salt means in this instance, the author of Mark is saying, "Have purity in yourselves, and be at peace with one another." When we live with integrity (or purity) to our deep guiding principles, we can be more connected with the people around us -- and even with people far away from us. Fear is not wise or just or compassionate or even honest. It's hard to live at peace with people -- even people about whom we care deeply -- if we keep fear in the driver's seat. If we recognize our ability to live with integrity by meaningful guiding principles, we can be at peace with others, because we trust our deepest, most noble selves.

So, with or without any religious convictions about Jesus' identity, the words of this section of the gospel of Mark can prompt us to have some conviction about our own identities. We do not need to be people defined by fear. We can be people defined by a deeper sense of truth, beauty, and creativity inherent to all human beings. We can be people who exhibit justice and compassion without suspicion or obligation. We can be people defined by vulnerable, authentic love. Some might call that a glimpse of the kingdom of God. Some might just call it being fully human.

What will you do as a capable, authentic, beautiful, creative human being?

2 Chronicles 29-31: Appearances vs Authenticity

We'll soon be turning to the books of Isaiah and Micah, which were attributed to two "prophets" or outspoken spiritual commentators (preachers) during the time of King Hezekiah, who probably came to the throne in Judah a few years after the kingdom of Israel fell to the Assyrians. The authors of 2 Kings actually place the fall of Samaria six years into Hezekiah's reign, but it's difficult to make the dates work out with what is known of the dates of other rulers in the Ancient Near East. Some scholars propose that a practice of co-regency accounts for any apparent discrepancies. At the very least, we know that Hezekiah's reign (and in general the conflict between Assyria and Judah), is very well attested in extra-biblical sources. Hezekiah was a heroic ruler in the eyes of the Jewish historians, and it appears that his reign saw a surge in population, literacy, and power, potentially fed by Israelites fleeing south from Assyrian forces.

The Chronicler indicates much more about Hezekiah's religious reforms than the authors of 2 Kings. He started by ordering a group of Levites (the tribe that had exclusively been assigned duties of caring for the temple) to clean up the temple and get rid of any paraphernalia that represented the encroachment of foreign religions. Then Hezekiah hosted an extravagant sacrifice and public celebration for the people in Jerusalem, followed by an invitation to all worshipers of Yahweh in the surrounding areas to celebrate Passover properly in Jerusalem. According to the biblical record, his efforts were so successful that they extended the celebration for an additional seven days. This may have been due, at least in part, to Hezekiah's contribution of eight thousand animals for the ceremonies, augmented by another eleven thousand animals from Jewish officials (who were possibly "encouraged" to do so by their king).

After all of that, Hezekiah organized task forces to go around the entire kingdom and tear apart any worship sites that would detract from the state religion, with the end result that the Temple got all of the offerings that had been dispersed among various alternative worship practices. Very clever. While Hezekiah insisted on tolerance for people with different concepts of the state religion (2 Chron 30:18-19), he oversaw profound intolerance for any other religious practices. As Micah will report, that didn't make everything perfect, but the Chronicler has only praise for Hezekiah's leadership in these efforts. By all appearances, spiritual order had been restored and the country was prospering.

Even with the controls inherent in a theocratic dictatorship, and even with a great leader like Hezekiah, there are limits to what enforced religious practice can accomplish. People can become very adept at outward appearances while still continuing to live by fear of scarcity or a sense of entitlement. In other words, changing the visible religious practices of a community does not necessarily change the inward character of the people in that community. This is a problem to which various prophets call attention. We can certainly observe the character and practices of ancient people from afar and draw some conclusions about those people. However, we get more value from looking at our own character and practices with bold honesty.

So often, we spend our time and energy on appearances. We want to appear pure, good, right, noble, strong, charitable, trustworthy, competent, lovable, or whatever package of traits it happens to be for a given individual. We want people to see admirable qualities in us. We make our temples look clean and we make our sacrifices abundant, even extravagant. Hezekiah was trying to make up for a legacy of inappropriate behavior, and he went to great lengths to make a public show that things were going to be different. For some people, things probably were different. Hezekiah certainly seems to have been acting out of sincerity. He didn't really require that people change their lives all that much, though. People could still be as ruthless in business as they were before, or as discompassionate to the alien and impoverished as they were before, as long as they worshiped the way they were "supposed to." Changing people's character would require an entirely different kind of reform.

We are often the same way. We sometimes change the outward displays without bothering to change the inward motivations. We try to hide all of the things that we are afraid of or ashamed of about ourselves and display the person we want people to see instead. It's a lot of work for some of us, and it's work that never ends, because the things we are afraid of or ashamed of about ourselves never really get addressed.

What is it for you? For me, I often do battle with the fear that I am really a selfish person at my core. On top of that, I have an "inner critic" that likes to tell me that I'm not _____ enough. I know both of those things are false, but sometimes I wind up spending energy trying to prove my own inner lies about myself wrong, instead of spending my energy proclaiming what is true about myself. It occurs to me that if I spent more time working on dismantling the lies and living out of what is true, I would have a lot less worry about what other people see when they look at me. If I live out my authentic, capable, beautiful, noble, creative self, I don't have to worry about appearances.

So, that is one challenge that emerges from this passage about Hezekiah. What are you doing just for the sake of appearances, and how does that distract you from meaningful personal development? What would be wrong with just being your authentic self? What are you afraid people are going to see if you stop worrying about appearances and just allow your own deep guiding principles to inform your actions?

I certainly don't mean that what people see in us doesn't matter. To be clear, I gain a lot of insight from what other people notice about my demeanor and behavior. The more vulnerable I am willing to be with people, the more I get from other people's observations. So, by suggesting that we worry less about appearances, I don't mean that we should abandon personal hygiene or let fly every petty judgment that pops into our brains. I mean that our outward behavior can be more authentically influenced by our own inner values than by our fear about what other people will think. I mean that our time and energy is better spent nurturing our own integrity rather than nurturing a less-than-authentic image. We have nothing to fear about how people see us if we recognize what matters most deeply to us and live out those values with authenticity and integrity. Honestly, I'd rather be an authentic person than a person with a well-rehearsed persona. Maybe you agree.

2 Kings 17: Creating Our Reality

The kingdom of Israel fell to the Assyrians in 722 BCE, and the Israelites were removed from the land and resettled elsewhere in the Assyrian Empire. 2 Kings 17 suggests a political reason and a spiritual reason for the event. Politically, King Hoshea thought he could extract himself from his role as vassal to the Assyrian emperor if he pledged loyalty to a king of Egypt. There's no way of knowing why he thought that would be better. Ultimately, it didn't matter, because Shalmaneser found out about the betrayal and responded with military action. He removed the Israelites from their land and moved in exiles from other places within the empire. This separation of people from their attachment to geographic sites was intended to preserve peace and limit the potential for uprisings within the empire.

Shalmaneser's actions make considerable sense. People today often behave the same way, whether it is people in certain positions of political power or people in positions of economic power. From a certain angle, multinational corporations bear some striking similarities to the empires of the Ancient Near East. The logic of the emperor's attempt to preserve power and docile compliance within his domain is enough to explain the circumstances without adding any supernatural reasons into the mix.

The Bible being a document of a superstitious time and people, however, places more emphasis on why the Israelites themselves were to blame, namely because of their spiritual infidelity. It is striking to look back at the development of their theology, from a mythology around a deity who made repeated unconditional promises to Abram about the land his descendants would occupy, to a religious construct that included unfulfilled (albeit vague) blessings for good behavior and death penalty curses for bad behavior, to a social commentary about why bad things happen to a people who are supposedly chosen and beloved by an omnipotent deity. Anything bad that happens can thus be blamed on human behavior, which as it turns out is pretty close to the truth when it's put in such general terms. There may be some disagreement about exactly which bad behavior brought about the undesirable consequences, but at least there is a bit of honesty in recognizing that the results people experience in their lives are largely consequences of their own actions.

Yet, much of what happened to the people of Israel was not so much a consequence of their actions as it was a consequence of their leader's actions. Their king did something that caused the entire country to be overthrown and displaced. It doesn't seem fair that one person's poor decision making skills wind up costing so many people so much, but that's what happens in systems of government, whether they are democracies or monarchies. We cannot control a lot of things about our circumstances, but we can control who we are in the midst of those circumstances.

What can we draw from this spiritual justification of a nation's failure, then? How can we translate this idea that we face a decision between serving a benevolent and righteous supernatural or committing destructive acts of spiritual infidelity or idolatry? With a bit of translation, it actually makes for some very useful observations. The historians of Kings are partially right when they suggest that the people of Israel created their own reality of destruction and exile. That's a truth worth exploring.

Even for the authors of this biased history, it was obvious that the people who resettled the lands of the exiled Israelites were creating their own gods. It just wasn't as easy for them to look at their own god as a human invention. We create idols, too, and more often than not those idols originate from our fears, our insecurities, the lies we believe about ourselves, other people, and reality. We look outside of ourselves for a sense of purpose and well-being, idolizing money or titles or power or significance. We create destructive habits because we fail to recognize that so many of the things we think we value are actually valueless. We spend so much time seeking after some external means of alleviating our irrational fears that forget to examine our own selves, our own deep and abiding values, our own ideals and principles that got buried beneath piles of vows about what we must and must not do, assumptions about what is possible or impossible, and lies about how we are either not enough or better than.

If we want to encounter divinity, we might want to spend some honest moments looking within ourselves. Chances are, we already know what we want our lives to be about. We already know what we actually value. Those things are sometimes challenging; they might take a lot of work and we might have to dismantle a lot of fears and false beliefs to really engage them. But when we dig into real meaningful values that engage our sense of connection with people, that tap into our true capabilities and passions, that inspire us to envision a better life and a better world characterized by justice and compassion, we are tapping into something more powerful than any idols we can set up in our lives.

We cannot honestly improve our lives, the lives of other people, or the world around us by being preoccupied with judgments about ourselves or other people, fears about scarcity or insignificance, or lies about our own brokenness or weakness. Human beings may be well practiced at escalating anxiety and reactivity, but there are other options for how we connect with our deepest, most noble, visionary selves. We have the opportunity to bring forth something inspiring by the way we live and the choices we make. We can honor a deeper truth than where our fears and assumptions lead us. We are creative by nature, and thus we are creators by nature. We choose what we create.

Mark 8: Gaining and Losing Life

Having looked at the first half of Mark 8, we turn to the remainder of the chapter, where we find a healing story (not unlike many other stories of healers in the ancient world), the story of a famous conversation between Jesus and Peter, and a lesson on the cost of discipleship. When the author of Luke copies these last two passages, he leaves out the response of Peter and the subsequent rebuke but leaves everything else more or less just as the author of Mark wrote it. The author of Matthew, on the other hand, includes an endorsement of Peter as early church authority (even though the rebuke from Jesus follows close on the heels of this endorsement), essentially legitimizing Peter as first pope. This is possibly a political addendum intended to resolve arguments in the early church about who should and should not have positions of authority within the hierarchy. Aside from this addition, the author of Matthew only slightly revises the words of Mark.

Some may find this particular healing story challenging. The other gospel writers do not seem to include it, perhaps for this reason. The Jesus character in this story uses a ritualistic technique to remove the man's blindness, which suggests that he cannot simply will that the man's blindness be removed, but instead must take some magical action in order to heal. As scandalous as that may seem to some, even more troubling is the implication that Jesus doesn't quite do the job completely on his first attempt; he has to perform the healing twice in order for the man's sight to be fully granted. However one justifies this detail, one might infer a limitation to the power of Jesus or conclude that Jesus could do things however he wanted to. The issue becomes moot, however, when one realizes that the same story could have been told about a dozen other healers in the first century and could even have been passed along from much older tales about Asclepius and his ilk. At the end of the day, there is no reason to dwell on the story.

What follows is perhaps more unique to the Jesus cult, although it has overtones in common with the teachings of many ancient mystery religions. In this portion of the narrative, Jesus confirms with his disciples that they believe in his status as messiah, then he orders them to keep that a secret. This may have been believable for any number of reasons, but many of the Jewish messiah cults that emerged in the first century developed within the Zealot faction, which was strongly opposed to Roman rule and promoted an aggressive, violent response to the imperial presence in Jerusalem. These uprisings ended inevitably in the assertion of Roman authority, up until the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem in 70 CE and the scattering of Jews throughout the Roman territories, where it was thought they would be less likely to organize violent coups. One may not want to be publicly proclaimed as "messiah" if the prevailing interpretation of that title was something that would draw unwanted attention from Roman authorities.

Jesus proceeds to tell his disciples that he intends to play out a different course of action, at the appropriate time. Here, the author of Mark foreshadows the passion story and the promise of resurrection, even though the gospel of Mark does not contain any resurrection appearances of Jesus. The passage essentially conveys the message that Jesus is different from other messiahs, that "messiah" does not have to mean military action, and that freedom and peace are not necessarily about getting rid of an occupying force. Peter, according to the story, doesn't get it. So, Jesus puts Peter in his place and asserts his commitment to a specific outcome.

The passage closes with Jesus following up his rebuke of Peter by presenting a new way of thinking about living with integrity and purpose. The passage is familiar, but its words have often been construed to mean that people must give up their own personal identity -- their own goals, dreams, passions, abilities, and potential -- and become something else. The teaching here has been taken by some to mean that we should not value ourselves or the things we can potentially accomplish in life, but that we should cast all of that aside and live sacrificially. Without straying too far from what is written here, one can justify being a martyr, or at least living like a victim. People sometimes speak of having their own personal cross to bear as if their unnecessary suffering contributes something meaningful to the world, when this makes very little sense in light of the assertion elsewhere that Jesus' yoke is easy and his burden light.

It seems instead that Jesus' rebuke of Peter is indicative of a strong sense of personal identity and vision. While I find the historical credibility of the gospel narrative dubious, the character of Jesus in this passage can be seen as clearly self authorizing, uninterested in what other people think a "messiah" is supposed to be. He sees a path forward that is personally meaningful and publicly transformational -- he has a deep purpose that lines up with his personal values. Peter's attempt to tell him that he has it all wrong is essentially an attempt to say, "You can't just do whatever you want; you have to fall in line with what society says you are supposed to be." Jesus boldly rejects this notion.

Thus, if you want to follow the example of Jesus in this narrative, if you want to find some spiritual value that can be applied to your life, stop giving credence to fears and obligations about what you must do and be honest about who you are. The world has a definition of success that may not reflect your own deep values and passions, so don't judge your own life based on other people's ideals. You don't need to commit your life to vows that you won't ever be like your father or your mother; there is no reason to base decisions on fears that you will never have or be enough. Look beneath whatever fears and vows you allow to guide you and get in touch with a deeper set of values and principles. Live like you matter -- live like your values and ideals have merit, even though that can be risky. 

If you live like you have to protect yourself from life -- if you never risk being authentic and  committed to your own deep values -- your life will be less meaningful than it could be. If you want to live fully, live with integrity and intentionality. It doesn't matter what other people think you should achieve or acquire, it matters that what you are doing in your life aligns with what actually matters to you. When we fear that others may not approve of or accept our values, or that we might lose a relationship or a job because of our commitment to a meaningful vision, we shortchange our ability to create more satisfying lives and a better world.

In terms of emulating Jesus as he is portrayed in the gospels, what seems to have mattered to him? People. The gospel writers make it abundantly clear that the bulk of Jesus' ministry was focused on helping people: healing people who needed healing, teaching people who needed teaching, inspiring people who needed inspiration. The Jesus of the gospels helped people become their best selves, if they were willing. If it is of any value to think of being Christ-like, then this seems to be at the heart of that quality. In fact, inspiring people to become their best selves would seem to be at the heart of every major religion.

I believe that our deepest values and identities are remarkably similar. I believe that -- beneath all of our accumulated fears and beliefs about ourselves, other people, and the world we share -- we all understand that we need one another, that our lives during our time on this planet are made more meaningful when we are engaging our passions in a way that connects with other human beings. What we stand to "lose" is not our lives, but a way of living that only seems safe and successful on the surface while remaining empty and lackluster in terms of personal meaning and satisfaction. We do not need to deny ourselves, and we do not need to be burdened by obligation. Rather, we can embrace our deepest selves and unleash that authentic capability, beauty, and creativity in our lives and in the lives of those around us. 

Mark 4:35-5:43: If Someone Started Handing Out Miracles, Everybody Would Want To Be First in Line

The miracle stories in the gospels reflect many myths about healers and miracle workers in the ancient world. For instance, close parallels to the gospel accounts can be found in the legends of a Greek demigod of healing, Asclepius. The symbol associated with Asclepius is a serpent coiled around a staff, which is similar enough to the "caduceus" of Hermes (two serpents coiled around a winged staff), that many North American medical practitioners have mistakenly adopted the caduceus as a symbol of healing. Hermes, incidentally, was a protector of merchants, thieves, and liars, but we need not read too much into an honest mistake of the medical community. Asclepius, on the other hand, was a supernatural healer who traveled around performing the kinds of miracles we read of Jesus performing in chapter 5 of the gospel of Mark. In fact, various bits of mythology about Asclepius suggests that raising people from the dead got him killed at the hands of another god who was upset about the healer's intervention.

The comparison to Asclepius is particularly relevant because the gospel stories so closely resemble tales of this Greek figure, but every human culture has stories about miracles and magic. We have always been fascinated with stories that suggest the possibility that a loved one could be brought back from the dead, or be inexplicably healed when all seemed lost. Many stories even suggest the penalties or curses that must accompany tampering with the natural order of things. We are still drawn to tales about individuals who can perform miraculous or magical feats, perhaps because there is a part of us all that longs for the ability -- or at least to know someone with the ability -- to defy the natural order of things on our behalf. We want to be exceptional, or at least well liked by someone who is exceptional.

People everywhere have these stories, and yet so often we get wrapped up in which stories are truth and which are fiction. Today, no one actually believes that there is a sun god Apollo, much less that he had a half-human son who went around performing miracles until his beneficent actions crossed a line that worried Hades, god of the underworld. Some of those who insist that any tale of Asclepius must be patently false would believe the story, however, if the names were changed a little bit. Tell any story of Asclepius and substitute the name "Jesus," and suddenly the miracle story seems more believable. This is a rather remarkable phenomenon, actually. Instead of recognizing how much people everywhere long to be exempt from the natural order of things, some people insist that they are, in fact, exempt from the natural order of things.

Here is something to consider: If every culture has stories about magic and miracles, and we do not witness any magic or miracles on the scale of these folktales, then perhaps all these stories say more about human culture than about any specific miracle worker. "But miracles do still happen!" Sure, if you want to shift the qualification of a miracle to "something I didn't expect," then we have modern-day miracles. However, none of the "miracles" we might see in the world today are on the scale of these mythological stories of Jesus, Asclepius, and others. We have lowered the bar on what constitutes a miracle, perhaps, but this also says a great deal about our longing to ignore the complexities of the natural world in order to consider ourselves in some way exempt, special, important, or even powerful.

After all, why do people believe that God will answer their specific prayers? Is it not because they believe that they are in some way special? More beloved, more important, more powerful than other people? Perhaps some people actually expect that God will defy the natural order of things for anyone who prays sincerely, but most people are keen enough to realize that this would mean God could favorably answer the prayers of people they don't like -- or that God could potentially be faced with sincere yet contradictory prayers. In other words, there would be no natural order of things if God disrupted the natural order of things in response to everyone. Which means that, if God works miracles for anyone at all, some people must be special, set apart, chosen, better than everyone else. At some level, we all want to be exceptional enough that someone considers us worthy of being exempt from the natural order of things.

Miracle stories are wonderful tales that can grant us insight into the things we want and fear most. When we begin to insist that they are factual accounts, and that we can realistically expect the same sorts of results in our own lives or the lives of people around us, we miss the point. Religious justification keeps us disconnected from reality and from the people with whom we share this world. We are all the same, at the end of the day. Whether one believes in God or not, mature wisdom will lead one to reconcile faith with the reality that everyone fears sickness and death to some extent, and everyone is attracted to some sort of story that suggests that sickness and death -- even the weather -- can be overcome. Tales of boy wizards or fantastic stories of Middle Earth touch on this very thing. We want to believe that someone we are exceptional enough to be free of pain. If the miraculous is possible, then perhaps we can be the beneficiaries. Isn't that better than not believing in the miraculous at all?

Actually, no. Recognizing that the unexpected can happen is a brilliant way to bear witness to the wonder and complexity of nature. Belief in the truly miraculous, though, usually comes with a set of false expectations about life. When we are honest, we realize that people are all pretty much the same. No one is more worthy of a miracle than anyone else. We are responsible for our own well-being. We must care for ourselves in a way that does not consider an "escape hatch" miracle to be a plausible way of handling our lives. We must bear our grief and our pain, and hopefully we can do so in connection with other people. There will be pain, and no one is exceptional enough to avoid it. And while it is comforting to believe in an afterlife, we do not have any convincing evidence that people experience anything at all after the brain shuts down. Quite the opposite, actually. We know with certainty that we have this life, though. If there are no miracles in store for us, and we may have just a brief time in this life to experience all that we can, learn all that we can, and love all that we can, let's do that.

If we truly live our deepest intentions and do all that we can to make this world a better place, then we will actually be quite exceptional. But it still won't mean anyone's worth more than anybody else.

Mark 4: Sowing Seeds of Authenticity

The parable of the sower in Mark 4 (and most of the material that follows) is also copied in the gospels of Matthew and Luke. With a rare bit of transparency, the meaning of the parable is even explained so as to leave little room for interpretation. If people didn't invent so many different versions of the "word" that was to be sown, this story would leave little to the imagination. Even with a lack of agreement about what exactly the "word" is, this can be an encouraging passage for anyone.

The message of the story is really this: You will not be understood and accepted by everyone. You must live by your own guiding principles, and it's a good idea to freely share what motivates you. Some people will be hostile to you if you aren't doing what they think you should do in your life, but you cannot live a fully authentic and satisfying life just doing what other people think you should do. Some people will think your guiding principles are fantastic; they may even be inspired by how you live your life. When push comes to shove, though, they will keep living by their old habits. Some people will be inspired by your guiding principles, and they will strive to live more authentically by their own ideals. Their own irrational fears and beliefs (about themselves, other people, and life in general) will win out, though, at least in the short term. Some people who bear witness to your authentic life based on deep, meaningful guiding principles will be so inspired that they start doing things differently in their own lives. They will dismantle their irrational fears and deepen their own guiding principles, and they will live in such a way that inspires other people --  people you don't even know and may never meet.

You don't have any control over what other people do. You only control your own actions and beliefs. If you are living authentically by a meaningful set of inspiring guiding principles, your life will be like a lamp on a stand -- people won't be able to miss it. You will not see the full impact of your life and actions -- the ripples will spread out further than you can perceive. You don't get to control how other people grow as a result of your own life and actions, but even the smallest moment of authentic action can have tremendous impact on someone else's life. What we do matters, even though we cannot control what other people do with our example.

Uncharacteristically short for me, I know, but this is the core of this parable: Live big. Live authentically. Live fearlessly. Know what your guiding principles are and let them inform what you do. Continually weed out irrational fear and detrimental beliefs about yourself, other people, and life. In other words, be personally responsible in your life, and learn to accept that other people will do whatever they do. Your responsibility is just to live like it matters.  

1 Samuel 4-7: Adventures of the Magical Ark (and distinguishing between the spiritual and the physical)

After the character of Samuel is introduced, the Israelites misuse the ark of the covenant, assuming that they could manipulate their god into serving them in battle if they were carrying his throne with them.  Eli's sons, who abused their positions of power, died.  The ark was captured by Israel's enemies.  When he heard the news, Eli himself fell and perished.  In foreign lands, the ark went on merry adventures, creating chaos among Israel's enemies until it was returned with gifts.  The ark still put people to death if they looked at it, so this relic's power didn't really favor the Israelites even when it was back on home turf.  Finally, Samuel directs the Israelites to put aside the foreign idols they had begun to revere, and he conducts a religious ceremony involving a ritual sacrifice.  After this, the Israelite god beats back the Philistine threat and Israel has peace for a time.

It is a rather primitive mindset that assumes that a god can be carried around and persuaded because his "throne" can be transported wherever the people want him to be.  And yet, we still enjoy stories about magical artifacts and items that hold great power, whether its the lost ark of the covenant or the trappings of a school for wizards.  Magic is cool.  Magic is intriguing.  Somewhere inside us, we like the idea of things that will give us access to power or abilities that we don't possess all on our own.

The story of the ark's adventures reminds any who believe in God that believers cannot manipulate God into doing what they want him to do.  God doesn't choose sides in a battle based on the geographic location of his throne.  He doesn't pop out like a jack-in-the-box whenever the right magical formula is recited.  Unfortunately, the biblical narrative goes on to suggest that the god of the Israelites can be manipulated if people demonstrate a bit of loyalty and give him blood.  The Israelites eventually got their god to defeat their enemies, they just had to get the magical recipe right.

The divine doesn't inhabit fancy boxes or thrones any more than it inhabits magic wands or cauldrons.  We don't need to recite the proper words or kill the right animals in order to convince the divine to help us and hinder others.  One of the most disappointing things about the biblical narrative that so many have come to accept as truth is that God is portrayed as choosing sides, often arbitrarily.  Some people walk away with the impression that the Christian God can be "for" them and "against" other people, like the fickle Greek gods of Homer.  It is as if some people's prayers are more worthy of God's attention than other people's prayers.  And if this is the case, then we arrive back at the assumption that God can be manipulated into doing what people want, as long as they do the right things to convince him.

There is certainly meaning in ritual.  Ritual can help remind us of our place in history, our values, our identities within the larger pool of humanity.  And when we focus our energy toward a specific intentional purpose in ritual, we can tap into our inherent creativity and capability quite powerfully.  We can also use ritual to cement our fears and beliefs about our own weakness in place, reinforcing the idea that we are incapable of living without some supernatural intelligence working on our behalf.  Ritual simply reinforces what we believe, and as such it can be a powerful tool.  It's important to recognize what beliefs we are reinforcing when we engage in ritual, though.

Magical arks, magic lamps, magic wands, magic mirrors, and magic altars are fictions.  The concept of reciting the proper words and performing the right physical actions to work magic spells, or prayers as it were, reflects a primitive desire to call upon something more powerful than ourselves to do something for us.  Most often this also involves working against someone else in order to get what we want.  It's the spiritual version of carrying a gun around.  Except that if we are able to manipulate God into doing something, then we think our hands and consciences are clean because whatever happens is God's will.

And yet, it is very honest to say that we often feel weak and incapable of confronting the challenges we face in life all on our own.  It can be a great comfort to think that something bigger and more powerful than us is on our side, standing against any people or circumstances that seem threatening to us.  We have bought into an identity of powerlessness, convinced of our smallness in a world of big dangers.  This is nothing more than fear gaining control of our thoughts, creating a perception of the world in which we need something superhuman to help us survive. 

The truth is that we do not need to be more powerful than other people.  We do not need any magical trinkets or magical formulas in order to manipulate an external power to work on our behalf.  What we need is within us and in the connections we have with other people.  We already have access to all the real power we could ever need.  It isn't a power that will grant our every superficial wish, but we have the power to be personally responsible for our lives.  The more we build our connection with our deepest, most noble selves and our connections with other people, the more we see the real spiritual power available to us.  We have the power to create, to nurture, to inspire, to heal -- the power to set aside self-centered fears and be present in the world.

This personal capability can be difficult to see through the belief that we are small and powerless.  When we believe that we need some sort of magical accoutrements to call upon some power outside of ourselves, we are essentially believing in our own weakness -- and that weakness is inherent in humanity.  Believing that we are weak gives us an excuse to be less than our most noble selves, and to expect the same from others.  But we are not weak.  We are not powerless.  Sure, we need one another.  We benefit from relationship.  This is a source of strength, not a sign of incapability.  We are capable of forging meaningful connection with ourselves and other people, but in order to do so, we must set aside the self-deprecating fears and beliefs that convince us of our own weakness.

Ruth: A Lovely Story about King David's Great-Grandparents (plus a few lessons in respect, integrity, and trust)

Following the book of Judges in the Protestant canon, there is a short story about a woman named Ruth and how she and her second husband, Boaz, met and fell in love.  On its surface, it is a charming tale about all the things that sell romantic books and films.  Digging a little deeper, however, we can find some interesting tidbits, even though its themes are steeped in the cultural norms of the ancient Israelites.  While the original intent of the story may have had something to do with demonstrating the kind of people David's ancestors were, we can still glean a lesson or two from the story itself.

After losing her first husband, Ruth travels with Naomi, her mother-in-law, back to Naomi's home country, where she remarries one of her husband's closest relatives.  In the culture of the time, this Levirate marriage was an honorable way for childless widows to be cared for, and it was an expected way for the family line to be carried on.  There are other elements of Ruth's relationship with Naomi and her "courtship" of Boaz that readers may assume, but much of what is implied is doubtless lost on us modern readers, since we are not of the story's culture.  Some people wish to read sexual themes into various aspects of the story, and while this is titillating, it doesn't truly add much value to the tale.  There are actually three slightly more important spiritual themes at work in this short book. 

First, it bears mention that Ruth is from Moab, a country whose culture was often at odds with Israelite culture.  Moabites were polytheistic, and the biblical narrative suggests that Israelites were tempted into worshiping Moabite deities from time to time.  The Moabites are said to have been spawned from the incestuous relations of Lot with one of his daughters, and they are the people who hired the sorcerer Balaam to curse the Israelites.  In other words, Moabites are not often depicted favorably in the literature of the ancient Israelites.  So, Ruth's culture is a big deal.  Especially since her great grandson is going to be the one and only King David.  Obviously, the inclusivity of the story is a significant change from the conflict-riddled language of earlier portions of the Israelite tale.  Yes, the fact that Naomi's boys marry Moabites is mentioned, but throughout the story, people treat one another as human beings.  Their heritage is a matter of fact, not a source of embarrassment.

As has been mentioned, Boaz also behaves in an honorable way toward Ruth.  Although he quickly develops feelings for her, there is another man who is first in line by the cultural expectations of Levirate marriage.  Boaz deals with things in a straightforward and honest manner, even though it could potentially cost him the relationship he wants.

Thirdly, the primary characters in this story display a profound trust.  There is little inherent anxiety in Ruth's decision to return with Naomi, and there is a sense of calm in the integrity Boaz displays.    Ruth does take action instead of just sitting back and hoping that things will be alright, but even this action is taken with a sense of quiet confidence.  We could learn a great deal from this depiction of calm and purposeful human interaction.

So, after chapter upon chapter of Israelites treating everyone around them shamefully, including other Israelites, we come across this vision of how things could be if people treated one another with mutual respect, behaved with integrity, and trusted themselves and the people around them.  We might almost wonder if we're reading the same book.  People don't always behave as characters in a storybook, but we have choices about the kind of people we are going to be.  We can choose to treat other people as human beings of equal value, irrespective of how we are treated.  We can choose to act in accord with our most noble selves, to embody authenticity and integrity, even if there are people around us who choose otherwise.  We can choose to approach situations with calm trust, even when others become anxious or fearful.

Your decisions ultimately determine how meaningful and satisfying your life is going to be.  Even if your experiences don't look like the story of Ruth and Boaz, your choices matter.  It's not like anyone told Ruth that she was going to be great-grandmother to a famous king.  She simply did what mattered most to her in that moment, and life took its course.  We are not responsible for orchestrating some strategic master plan in our lives.  We are responsible for the choices we make here and now, in this moment, to be people of integrity.  People who see irrational fear for what it is.  People who see the inherent worth in others.  People who know and value themselves.  If we are able to choose moment by moment to be true to our innermost selves, our lives will never fail to be fulfilling.  And as an added bonus, our impact on the world could be tremendous.