Deep Green Conversation

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So I want to highlight the newish Deep Green Conversation site. This is a great place full of resources and conversations about how faith and green living intersect. I’ve enjoyed the thoughts and conversations expressed there so far and look forward to its development. So if you are looking for a place to learn more about caring for creation I recommend you drop by.

So for the self promotion part – I have a piece up on the blog today called Family Outings to the Hazardous Waste Site. (come on, you know you want to know). Enjoy.

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Sitting in an idling car on a hot summer day with a whining toddler and screaming baby was not how I expected to spend my Saturday. We were on our way to a family outing and decided to make a “quick” stop at the area Hazardous Waste drop-off since it happened to be on our way. Yet as we sat in the line of cars that wrapped around the block and crawled along at an aggravatingly slow pace, I wondered more than once if the “safe and proper” disposal of chemicals was really worth the effort. Did I mention the baby was screaming?

You see we had a jug of old gasoline we needed to get rid of. Having drained it from the lawn mower after a long cold winter (the stabilizer having not sustained it through the season), we had a volatile hazardous chemical on our hands and needed to dispose of it. When I checked with our city’s municipal office I was told that the nearby hazardous waste dump had closed down a few years ago. The next closest one, servicing four counties, was an hour away in an area I hardly ever had a reason to visit. And it was only open on Saturday mornings. So the gas sat in my garage. For a long time.

I thought a few times about just getting rid of it the easy way – dumping it down the drain, hiding it in the garbage. I knew that this was what most people did having heard others brag about how they evaded the hassle of making it out to the hazardous waste site. They didn’t care that it was illegal, dangerous, and seriously harmful to the environment – it made their life easy. But I couldn’t justify poisoning the river, tainting the groundwater, and endangering the sanitary workers (not to mention breaking the law). So I got to sit sweltering in my car all Saturday morning awaiting my turn to properly dispose of a few cups of gasoline. With a screaming baby.

But it made me think. Our society just isn’t geared towards sustainable environmentally friendly living. The hassle I faced to avoid direct pollution only represents a part of the problem though. Sure it’s annoying that the hazardous waste drop-off was so far away and had such limited hours (maybe more people would responsibly dispose of things if it was more convenient), but I had to consider that perhaps responsible living should start before it gets to the point that we need to dispose of hazardous chemicals. If my lawn care practices led to this need, perhaps I should think though what exactly I am doing with my lawn.

Like any good suburbanite I take care of my lawn (okay, so don’t do a very good job at it as attested by the armies of invading dandelions, but at least I give it a vague attempt). I have the gas powered lawn mower and I start getting nervous about what the neighbors will think once the grass gets a centimeter or two too high. I feel the social pressure to make my yard look a certain way despite what harm it does to the environment. Living just a few blocks uphill from the river (and having young children) I have reason enough not to dump chemicals on my lawn to help it look good. But all my neighbors do. I watched my neighbor across the street fertilize his yard five times this season. His lawn looks immaculate. Mine’s the one with the dandelions.

But this compulsion to create nice looking chemical lawns (cut with gas guzzling lawn mowers) generally trumps any desire to be environmentally friendly. Some of us might bother to dispose of the old gasoline responsibly, but it is rare for us to rethink what we are doing to the environment by having the standard lawn in the first place. Instead of working with the natural ecosystem we are fighting to conform it to our unnatural preconceptions of what we think it should be. We call what we do “caring for our lawn,” but often our actions are closer to abuse than care. We introduce foreign plants, we strip the soil of nutrients, and we allow vast amounts of run-off (generally laced with chemicals) from our flat, hard lawns. We dominate the land instead of lovingly care for it.

Like I said, we aren’t geared towards environmentally responsible living. Our convenience and our cultural mores all too often stand in the way. Some of those hurdles even seem insurmountable (like the fact that I get fined by the city if I don’t keep my lawn looking a certain way). But as I sat in the car with the screaming baby inching my way to the drop-off site, I had to consider the ultimate cost of those ingrained habits and expectations. And begin to think though my options.

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Silly liberal, coffee is for conservatives

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Are coffee shops too liberal? Are laptops, lattes, and deep conversation an affront to traditional Midwestern values? According to the Conservative Cafe they are just that.

The Chicago Tribune ran an article last week about the Conservative Cafe. Sick of liberal infested coffee shops that play folk music, the Conservative Cafe was created as a place where politics could be discussed without the nauseating liberal influence, t-shirts sold that say “Zip it hippie” and “Peace through Superior Firepower,” and Fox News played all the time. Midwestern values would be upheld – no silly laptops or ipods. And only strong basic coffee would be served – the only stuff real people (farmers and factory workers) need to get through their day – no frou-frou lattes (and I highly doubt anything remotely close to Fair Trade).

On one level the whole thing is utterly amusing. It’s a gimmick of course – and it probably works well in a Midwestern small town. I have no problem with the idea of creating safe space for people of a particular ideology to gather and discuss. But why exactly does such camaraderie have to be based on the ridicule of those not like them? One can hardly be for anything these days without referencing what one is against, must we be cruel in the process?

But then again I’m just one of those liberal hippies who drinks lattes, works on my laptop, and likes folk music. I guess my opinion doesn’t count.

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Slouching Towards Bethlehem

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Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity. 

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

– W.B. Yeats, The Second Coming

I remember that this poem captured my imagination back when I was in high school. Yeats’ personal beliefs held that history moved in 2000 year cycles as represented by conical spirals. One spiral represented religious power and the other secular powers. As history unfolded, these “gyres” increased and decreased in inverse proportions. Every 2000 years a major upheaval occurred for each. So around the birth of Christ, the secular Empire of Rome was at its strongest and religious power weak. But at that moment, history shifted with the birth of Christ. Religion increased in power for the next 1000 years then started to decrease as scientific advances began giving secular systems the edge. To Yeats, as the year 2000 approached and religion spiraled down to its weakest point, the stage was set for some great change to occur. And so he asked – “what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?”

While I didn’t buy into Yeat’s occult beliefs in dualistic powers guiding the unfolding of history, I recognized the truth behind the patterns and changes in history he described. History, especially religious history, does seem to function in cycles of a sort. One witnesses some great event or renewal movement that inspires a few generations but which dwindles in influence and power over time. Eventually its power and passion have become so weak that a new renewal occurs starting the cycle over again. It is fascinating to trace these sorts of developments through history.

So I’ve been intrigued to hear Phyllis Tickle speaking and writing on these historical trends recently. I assume this is the topic of her upcoming book The Great Emergence, but I’ve heard her speak on it recently on the Mars Hill podcasts and to Sojourners Magazine. She describes that every 500 years, there is upheaval and renewal in the church – and that we are in one of those times right now. The zeitgeist of the age, the issues in the world, and the moving of the Holy Spirit all conspire to effect great change. Phyllis Tickle is calling our current change the “great emergence” – referring not just to the emerging church, but to all the reforming movements in the church today. I look forward to reading her book and hearing more of her perspective on the matter.

But what amuses me the most is that the current changes occurring in the church (and the ones in the past for that matter) were viewed as a malevolent force more reminiscent of Yeat’s “rough beast” than the movings of the Holy Spirit. Change is feared and its harbingers vilified (if I hear one more person refer to Brian McLaren as the antichrist…). The calls of the reformers are not properly understood and often seen as a rejection of all that has come before. While it may be difficult to convince some that questioning and critique is not rejection (or arrogance), I think Yeat’s imagery could prove useful in this case. The widening gyres represent a continuous unfolding of history that expands and contracts, but never breaks away fully from its spherical path. What one experiences is a shift not a genesis. Accepting that perspective may help some more easily dwell within the unfolding of history.

With Yeats’ I agree that “things fall apart; the centre cannot hold.” But I believe that to be a good thing – the impetus that pushes us to renewal and revival.

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Michigan and Cultural Collisions

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So I spent the last week in Michigan. Since we have nothing else going on in our lives right now, Mike spent the week speaking at summer camp for high schoolers. I got to hang out with the kids at his parents house down the road. Basically I spent my time avoiding the swarms of mosquitoes, holding a crying baby, and watching Emma have a great time with her grandparents. Fun times – but no chance to get any work done.

What I found amusing this past week were some of the juxtapositions of cultures and ideas I witnessed. Rural Michigan is interesting because you have traditional farms up against small towns being destroyed by Meth. I also saw in one town a biker rally – leather, studs, lots of tattoos – and right next to the bikes was an Amish buggy hitched to a fence.  In some ways the worlds are changing too fast for any balance to be achieved.

Then there were the experiences at the camp. I visited one evening to hear Mike speak on contentment and priorities. I sat in the back with the kids, so I got to observe the high school girls in front of me. They of course didn’t pay any attention to Mike, but instead spent the whole time playing MASH. So much for contentment…

Then I was down at the lakefront talking to a friend from college (whose dad runs the camp) about how pesticide and fertilizer runoff from nearby farms is destroying the lake and has already poisoned the camp’s well. She, an environmental educator, was describing how to help restore the ecosystem. Great ideas, but at the same time the camp staff were right by us painting the boathouse and were washing their paintbrushes in the lake. Kinda hard to work for one goal when others subvert it.

But I only got to observe…

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Singing the Songs of Zion in Babylon

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Psalm 137 

By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept
when we remembered Zion.
There on the poplars
we hung our harps,
for there our captors asked us for songs,
our tormentors demanded songs of joy;
they said, “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”
How can we sing the songs of the LORD
while in a foreign land?
If I forget you, O Jerusalem,
may my right hand forget its skill .
May my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth
if I do not remember you,
if I do not consider Jerusalem
my highest joy.
Remember, O LORD, what the Edomites did
on the day Jerusalem fell.
“Tear it down,” they cried,
“tear it down to its foundations!”
O Daughter of Babylon, doomed to destruction,
happy is he who repays you
for what you have done to us-
he who seizes your infants
and dashes them against the rocks.

The exiles hung up their harps and wept. They called curses upon their enemies, praising those who sought revenge for their misfortune. The joy and passion of their faith crumbled under the weight of exile. Dwelling in a foreign land surrounded by unbelievers whose lifestyles they despised the Israelites withdrew into themselves. Despair, fear, and hatred replaced the songs they had once sung. They longed for home – for the Jerusalem they once loved. The home only an exile can long for – an idyllic place free from oppression and sin. A conception based more on nostalgia than reality. And this nostalgia consumed them to the point of desiring the worst forms of violence and revenge upon their neighbors. They claimed citizenship elsewhere and wanted nothing to do with their current homeland.

Seeing this attitude among the exiles, the Prophet Jeremiah sent them a letter. He wrote –

This is what the LORD Almighty, the God of Israel, says to all those I carried into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: “Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not decrease. Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the LORD for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper.” (Jeremiah 29:4-7)

Settle down. Plant gardens. Seek the peace and prosperity of Babylon. A far cry from the calls for revenge involving bashing babies’ heads against rocks. Basically, Jeremiah tells them to get over themselves and their self-centered whining. God has placed them in Babylon and they need to stay faithful to who he has called them to be. Instead of blaming those around them for the lose of something that never really was, they are to become a part of their new community. They are to put down roots, get involved, and work for the good of that community.

I see this same dynamic at play in the church today. So many Christians (both liberal and conservative) are disgusted to be in “exile” amidst the sinful, secular, bastions of empire. They curse the culture, they curse the government, and metaphorically hang up their harps and withdraw from the system. Since the system is evil, they choose to wash their hands of it and refuse to get involved.

This is especially true in election years. All around me I hear the call to abandon the system lest I be seduced into believing it to hold my salvation. I am encouraged to merely stand at the periphery and observe – not tainting myself by choosing a candidate or even by voting at all. I am reminded that my allegiance is not to this land as if it was only the otherworldly things that matter.

And I admit that I am in exile in Babylon. The pain and suffering around me testify that the Kingdom of God is not yet fully present. I lament the actions of empire and absolutely do not see my salvation in any manifestation thereof.

But.

I am still going to seek the peace and prosperity of where I reside. I will settle down and build community. And in seeking to do these things I will get involved. I will care enough about those around me to vote. I will not place myself above the everyday working of my community by not condescending to use my voice to affect change. And I won’t just get involved in an advisory holier than thou sort of way either. I will get dirty as I put down roots and take a stand. I will serve the Lord and will do so within the community I call home – even if that home is Babylon.

True peace and prosperity serve God. And I have no fears about seeking such even in America. I will not hang up my harp and relinquish hope because my hope is in God and not in the land. Exile should not result in silence, but activism. And so I do not disdain the politics of Babylon, but bring the joy and hope of Zion into my new home.

This post is part of a Synchroblog on God and Politics.  I will post links to the other participants as they become available.

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Questioning God

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I’ve almost found it amusing recently the amount of “advice” I’ve been given about my relationship with God. It seems that friends and family hear about my recent health problems and our issues selling our house and they assume I must be bitter and angry at God. I’ve been reminded over and over how I just need to trust that God always has my best interests in mind and that I should never question him. Others comment that God promises that life will be difficult so one shouldn’t feel entitled to things going right.

While I agree that bitterness sprung from misguided feelings of entitlement is dangerous, I am disturbed by the underlying assumption present in most of this advice – that one can never question God. This is an assumption that I’ve been taught my whole life. To many, faith simply involves unthinking trust and acceptance of God, the Bible, and the basic vicissitudes of life. To question any of those things is to demonstrate at the very least a weak faith, if not a blasphemous heart. The story of Job was always the standard lesson for this no questioning rule. The reality of Job’s questions was ignored and Job’s choice not to curse God was interpreted as a choice not to question God. The moral of the tale was that we shouldn’t question God either.

So I was intrigued recently as I started reading Peter Rollins’ new book The Fidelity of Betrayal which proposes the necessity of questioning God for the truly faithful. As with Jacob wrestling with the angel, the faith of the Israelites is paradoxical in that “absolute commitment to God involves a deep and sustained wrestling with God” (p.32). The idea is that faith grows not through unthinking submission but through the process of questioning and understanding. And this was something the Israelites felt they could engage in. As Rollins points out, when Abraham pleads with God to save Sodom, Abraham not only felt able to question God, but that God didn’t seem to mind either.

This perspective on questioning presents a different take on our relationship with God. Instead of presenting God as an impersonal master we must submit to and obey, God is presented more as a good teacher. The sort of teacher that not only allows but encourages discussion and debate in the classroom knowing that the best sort of learning occurs when students are able to think through and discover things for themselves. Needless to say, I prefer this perspective. I never enjoyed feeling guilty growing up if I wanted to ask questions. And these days I am understanding that suppressing questions can be just as unhealthy as allowing questions to lead to bitterness. Blind trust and submission feels hollow to me – like I am worshiping an idea instead of a reality. Wrestling with God in some ways makes him more real – more tangible so to speak. I feel more assured in my faith as a result of those struggles.

So to all who are wondering and making assumptions – no I am not feeling bitter. But, yes, I am questioning and hopefully strengthening my faith in the process.

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Rant on Community Laws

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Do community “laws” discriminate against certain sorts of people? (rant to follow…)

I was thinking about this the other day as I read in the paper about a local suburb that was making a new law restricting the number of cars that can be parked in front of a house. The law is in response to a local car collector who apparently has a dozen cars parked around his house, but I had to wonder about the ways it will hurt lower income households. I’ve had groups of friends who have rented houses together and therefore needed to park 8-9 cars in front of the house. And for families with multiple generations living together, multiple cars are just part of having multiple adults living together under the same roof. This is America – to be a working adult in most places in the country (that have no public transportation) you need a car. So this new rule limits the people who can live in the community to small single family households.

Same thing with laws about parking on the street. In towns that ban overnight street parking unless you have a home with a driveway, you can never have guests. I hated this when we lived in an apartment. We were more than willing to have friends or family stay on the pull out couch, but they would get a parking ticket (or would be towed) if they came to stay. The law effectively implies that only those rich enough to own a house with a driveway are allowed to entertain and socialize.

And don’t even get me started on the communities around here that have laws stating you cannot hang clothing up to dry outside. So I am not legally allowed to be environmentally friendly???

I understand these laws are all about property value and even safety, but when did your “right” not to have to look at my laundry or a few extra cars necessitate legal action? Does it really mess your life up to have to look at that stuff? As much as it messes up the lives of those that honestly need to park that many cars on the property? Some days I just have to wonder how far we will go to insulate ourselves against dealing with anyone not exactly like us or with anything we may not like. Are we really that self-consumed?

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The Silver Lining on Gas Prices

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Since my life is all things baby these days, for some reason I pulled out Emma’s baby book and flipped through it. In the section about “the world around me” there was a list of how much stuff cost when she was born. I had to laugh when I saw the entry for a gallon of gas – $1.89. That’s one of those things that I should be looking at twenty years later and laughing at – not three and a half years later. I hope I don’t look back three years from now at Aidan’s book and laugh at the $4.17 price that’s listed there.

What I have found pleasantly amusing are the articles in the newspaper that attempt to point out the silver lining to high fuel prices. Most mentions of the high prices are complaints with a few threats about how we are destroying the environment by using fuel thrown in. While I don’t deny the truth of that, it is refreshing to read an optimistic viewpoint on occasion.

So what good is there in high fuel prices? According to recent articles the good ranges from better communities to more comfortable outings. Apparently since people are driving less these days (because they just plain can’t afford to drive anywhere) they are instead doing things in their own communities. They are riding bikes, walking to the local ice cream shop, sitting on their front porch, and taking their kids to neighborhood parks. In essence, people are reverting to the good old days when neighborhoods were actually neighborhoods. So even though I haven’t actually seen this happen yet in my community (our local park is full of texting and smoking jr. highers who hog all the swings…), it is apparently happening somewhere (or at least one hopes).

What I have noticed is the another silver lining the papers mentioned – that due to high fuel costs restaurants and shops are restraining their air conditioning usage. So instead of walking in from a pleasant summer night (I grew up in Texas all nights in Illinois are pleasant) into a sub-zero restaurant that makes you wish you brought a parka, one is able to actually dine comfortably in (gasp) summer clothes. So while I am not one to disdain AC in general, I am liking this economically driven sanity in AC control I am experiencing these days.

So as crazy at it may seem even high gas prices have some sort of a silver lining. (or perhaps we are desperately grasping at straws and are too easily amused…)

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Experience and Empathy

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I’ve been thinking a lot about empathy and experience these past few weeks. I am fully aware how my access to a top rated hospital and health insurance saved mine and Aidan’s lives. Even as the medical bills pile higher and higher, I know that without on demand imaging services and easily available medications things could have gone much differently. I am beginning to understand (a little) of what most women in the world face when they bear children – the uncertainty of if they or the child will even survive.

It’s one thing to intellectually acknowledge the need for better health care around the world, I am discovering it is another thing altogether to attempt to imagine oneself in another’s position. I knew the need for equity before, but my experiences have helped me to empathize. I know I am lucky and privileged. I don’t desire to trivialize or cheapen the plight of others by claiming to truly understand, but I am a firm believer that empathy is necessary if one is to truly care and make a difference. And experience helps with that.

This message hit me recently in two ways. In the first I saw how experience and empathy can be betrayed by selfish interest and in the second how the hurting can be betrayed by our lack of experience. In the first instance I watched with incredulous sorrow as John McCain denounced the Supreme Court’s decision to offer basic legal rights to prisoners of war. It has pained me to watch this former POW compromise his convictions over the past couple of years as he panders to what he assumes the voters wish to hear. The empathy his experience once gave him for those suffering similar abuses has been traded at the alter of greed and selfish ambition. He abandoned the call to care for the Other with compassion and now looks to secure his own desires. His experience has been betrayed and its lessons squandered.

The second message came to me as I was re-reading one of my favorite fantasy series. In this instance the main character has just managed to rescue a group of women from essentially sex slavery. These women were given money to help establish new lives after the horrors they had faced. Thinking on this, the protagonist mused, “There are many things wealth cannot buy, and most of those are enumerated by philosophers who have never woken wondering if this day would be their last. It pleased me to know that the survivors… would, at the least, not have to worry about buying bread” (Jacqueline Carey, Kushiel’s Avatar, p.463). That idea struck me as it reminded me of the number of times I have heard calls for monetary charity argued away with just such philosophical excuses. Those who have not experienced starvation or the horrors of life often think we are doing others a favor by not making them dependent on outside aid or by offering them spiritual (not physical) help. Our lack of experience prevents us from truly being able to empathize with them or see their true needs. Sure, perhaps money cannot buy happiness, but basic survival needs must be met before happiness can even be considered. In these areas perhaps empathy should always be promoted before sophistry.

I’ve heard it said that learning to see things from the perspective of the other is the highest and hardest form of development. It takes a lot to put aside the self and beginning to understand things from another’s perspective. Yet the irony is that our own experiences are often what help us to learn how to empathize in such ways.

 

 

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Thoughts for the Moment

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It is a strange day. Via Christus (our church plant) officially ended last week. It was a necessary but sad ending. So today has felt rather strange as we had a quiet morning at home not hosting a church service. Life is full of transitions these days and it is often the small details of such that impact me the most.

Aidan is sleeping at the moment. He is doing very well – gaining weight and doing all the stuff babies do at this stage. I’m getting along. The blood clot has dissolved enough that I am regaining use of my leg. I haven’t been able to do much more than hobble to the bathroom the past couple of weeks, so walking (somewhat) again is a treat. I’m also getting off the heavy duty meds which thankfully means the fog in my head is clearing. I still have months of tests and treatment to go to get all this resolved, but the intense and painful part is ending. I think I was so desperate for life to return to some form of normal after Aidan was born that the pain and tedium of this was driving me nuts. But things are looking up.

I have a few posts in my head that I hope to post this next week. I hate living under a fog and look forward to being myself again soon. Until then…

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