VillagePastor

Are We Connecting?

One of the indicators, to my kids for sure, that I have come perilously close to obsolescence is the fact I do not text, do not tweet, and rarely visit Facebook.  My response to them, feeble as it may seem, is that everyone draws some boundaries around their accessibility.  Landline, cell phone, mail, email, a personal visit—they all work for me.  Occasional communication comes via Facebook and blog sites, but that is about it. In their eyes, I am disconnected.  And maybe so, but there is something to the adage—if you are always available, you are not worth much when you are available.  Being unavailable is often much more necessary than being available. But it is more…

On the latest cover of The Atlantic are two people embracing, and next to them is this caption—“Is Facebook Making Us Lonely?”  For all of our present connectivity, all of our amazing networking, the author’s contention is that we have never been lonelier.  This seems quite ironic!  We are talking to more and more people online, but actually meeting fewer and fewer people in person.  A certain social disintegration may actually be taking place, and this has huge consequences.  Loneliness takes a huge toll.  Studies indicate a rise in dementia, obesity, and depression in people who have chosen a kind of isolation.

There is a lot of virtual community going on, but it is no substitute for face to face interaction, flesh and blood ties.  The greater the proportion of time spent physically connecting, the less lonely people are.  If texting and Facebook, etc. increase the probability of this, than they become essential tools.  But if they become a substitute for personal interaction, which research indicates, there is the real possibility we are creating a culture of desolate people, leached of empathy, spontaneity, and humanity.

So what is the attraction to technologies and social networks that create superficial connections—that so much of culture has embraced?  Here’s one answer—one can avoid the mess of human interaction. As Stephen Marche puts it, “The beauty of Facebook…is that it enables us to be social while sparing us the reality of society—the accidental revelations made at parties, the awkward pauses, the farting and the spilled drinks and the general gaucherie of face-to-face contact. Instead, we have the lovely smoothness of a seemingly social machine.” 

There are a number of significant voices that are also asking the same question as Marche.  A couple of weeks ago, at the Q Conference in Washington, D.C., I listened to Sherry Turkle, professor of Social Studies at MIT and author of Alone Together. Her first question to us was this—are we stronger than technology’s pull? Her conclusion?  For the most part, we are not.  We are getting closer to machines and distancing ourselves from one another.  We are connecting “in sips”, and this does not work so well in helping us understand and know one another.  Only in face to face conversation can we really hear tone and nuance, which all require time and patience and inconvenience.  Without this, we are losing the bedrock skill of self-reflection.  She left us with another question—will we eventually spend more time conversing with a phone App that promises companionship but offers no connection?

Yesterday, I had lunch with a recent widower, a 79 year old man who is still amazingly young.  He is adjusting to life retired, and life alone.  And he just may be falling in love again.  But this cannot be conveyed in a text, let alone an email.  Apart from face to face contact, there is no substitute for a phone—and an occasional five, six, or seven page letter—the kind I used to write before so much technology gave us instant communication.  And yes, there is the wait.  But this kind of dialogue takes time.  Great responses need the opportunity to ponder, reflect, and linger over words. 

I’m not a Luddite arguing against technology.  I do like the immediacy of emails and the convenience of cell phones.  But I am with Marche—I think we are becoming a lonelier culture. I spend time at an airport looking at a sea of people, most of whom are looking at a hand held device and missing those around them.  I believe God would have us regularly ask some needful questions—just how available do we want to be? How much is technology crowding out a God who neither texts nor tweets?  Am I losing the ability to write words that have been pondered over and crafted with the skill of an artist?  Can I still sense the tone, the nuance of the person I am sitting next to? Am I losing the ability to read an expression on a face? Have I become more—or less connected—really connected into one’s soul, heart, joys, and pain?  Is our church really a place of radical connections?

Building a Theology of Sleep

I've always found sleep to be a profound mystery—in so many ways. There are nights, like last night, that I vaguely recall getting into bed and turning on some music. I can remember nothing after that. But there are those other nights, thankfully rare, that I read, listen to music, turn on the news, read some more, pray, count sheep, stare at the ceiling—anything to get my body into a state of rest. And then there is the mystery surrounding dreams, some I can easily connect the dots, but most are so random I wonder if another brain occasionally infiltrates and takes over.

In the latest Time Magazine, Jeffrey Kluger writes about sleep ("Shhh! Genius at Work"). Recent research is beginning to discover a lot more about what is actually happening when we shift from high tide to low tide. Sleep scientists are discovering what is already obvious—that the brain is a loud, messy, and stormy place when we drift off. The brain's prefrontal cortex, that acts like a "traffic-cop", keeping a certain order during the day, goes off duty in the night, and wild things happen. As Kluger puts it, the sleeping brain runs its absurdist movie loop. I doze off and find myself in the pulpit, in my pajamas, finding my notes scattered, my speech confused, and the faculty I once sat under sitting in the front row listening to my awkward stammering!

Much of this activity occurs when one enters the second cycle of sleep, when one moves from non-rapid to rapid eye movement (REM). One's imagination takes off. It helps explain why we sometimes wake up with a brilliant idea. Paul McCartney came up with the melody for "Yesterday" in a dream. Out of her rapid eye movement, Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein. I have discovered that in those moments I awake in the night, my brain seems to churn out some of its best ideas. I am learning to keep a notepad nearby. We have not simply unplugged. As Leonard Sweet puts it, we have changed frequencies. Beta waves switch to alpha waves, which are emitted when the conscious mind operates at lower cycles.

Which helps to explain Lauren Winner's wonderful article "Sleep Therapy" in Books & Culture some years ago. Her basic thesis is that living with the intention of getting proper sleep is countercultural (for much of our culture is sleep deprived), but it is for the common good. Tragedies from sleep deprivation  cost Americans more than 50 billion dollars a year. Those who trade sleep for productivity are fooling themselves. We would accomplish more (and Kluger would add—be more creative) if we slept more.

I remember during my student days driving from Portland to San Diego—nearly 18 hours of non-stop driving. I nearly blacked out in LA, and it took me two days to recover. Pretty crazy. But Winner would add—pretty unfaithful. Proper sleep honors the fact that the day really begins the night before. This is how the ancient Jewish culture viewed sleep. Everything begins with how we go to bed. And we must go to bed. But it is more. Sleep testifies to the fact we are creatures who are finite. Ps 127 refers to sleep deprivation as vainness. When we short circuit sleep, we are often saying we cannot bear to relinquish control. We are ignoring God's creative purpose. As Sweet notes, resting is clearly a divine prerogative. Only God neither slumbers nor sleeps.

I think I will take a nap.

 

Why I Am Convinced the Hope of the World Is the Church

There’s something about the atmosphere of Washington, DC that is different than most cities I have visited.  There is the history all around you, the monuments that commemorate great men and events, as well as the feel of power.  Everyone seems to want to get close to it (though these are moments I think of Jesus’ words—all authority has been given to Me, both in heaven and on earth).

I am here because of the Q Conference, which is one of the most unique gatherings on earth.  Here, leaders from nearly every sphere of culture gather to learn, reflect, collaborate, and take action to renew society—to do something in the name of Jesus for the common good.  Like a mini TEDS, in the span of two days, I have listened to nearly forty presentations from some of the most fascinating people on earth.  All are committed to impacting their world.  Here are a few examples:

• Andy Crouch spoke about power and how we must rethink how we use it for flourishing—not for coercion
• David Brooks of the NY Times addressed the arrogance of our present culture and how we must rediscover the power of humility
• Sherry Turkle, professor of MIT, raised the question of whether we are strong enough to resist technology’s pull and recover the lost the art of conversation
• Hans Hess, an entrepreneur, exposed what is happening to our food source. 97.5% is grown in a monoculture, having a huge negative impact on our diets
• Chai Ling, author of A Heart for Freedom, was once the lead protestor at Tiananmen Square, and described the ugly side of genderside, sharing the alarming number of female abortions that happen every day in China.

This was just a part of the first day! Yesterday, we heard from Barbara Hagerty of NPR, Miroslav Volf, Diane Langberg (psychologist from Westminster) who spoke about the devastation of trauma, Jeremy Courtney (living in Iraq and making a difference helping with the after effects of war), and Bryan Stevenson, an Anglo African attorney, share the horrific statistics of incarceration.

And then there were Sami Awad and Daniel Seidemann, a Christian Palestinian and a secular Jew. They spoke about the desperate need for a solution to the Palestinian/Israeli conflict before it is too late.

If there is one huge take away, it is this: In almost every talk, there was the subtle, and at times, overt message, that the hope in so many of these issues, rests in the church.  Will we open our eyes, engage in the issues, and allow ourselves to be broken as we get closer to the broken? 

 I was personally challenged by Mark Batterson, a pastor in DC, who shared these convictions—

• there are ways of doing church the church has not thought of yet
• the church ought to be the most creative place on the planet
• we must become known for what we are for
• the church belongs in the middle of the public square

This is what everyone was essentially saying.  Get engaged church! Even Daniel Seidemann, this Jewish attorney, who described his own lack of faith, nonetheless said something astounding at the end of his talk.  He pleaded for the church to come and bring its faith to the Middle East conflict before it is too late.

Today's final session, held at the US Institute of Peace, focused on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. It reiterated the same theme. The church has been a major reason for so much of the impasse—yet it can still play a significant role if it wakes up and honors both the Jewish need for security and the Palestinian's need for a home. It will require us to be a leading voice for justice and mercy. If we spend our time playing with prophetic timelines and read no deeper than a  Left Behind series, we will remain part of the problem rather than part of the solution.

The church is the hope of the world.  Will we wake up to the challenge?

 

 

 

 

 

Living With the Unwanted Guest of Doubt

It's fairly common to read about someone's journey from doubt to faith. It's less common to read a book about the journey going the opposite direction. And even rarer that it is penned by a pastor. But that is what Not Sure: A Pastor's Journey from Faith to Doubt is about.

John Suk has served in ministry in various capacities, including the editor of the official publication of the Christian Reformed Church. And in his book he invites his readers into the deeper regions of his soul, exposing what some of us would prefer to remain covered up. It is a journey from an undoubting and unwavering faith of a child, through wracking doubt, and on to a faith of a mature adult that still wrestles with uncertainty.

Suk uses personal, even relational language to describe doubt. He likens it to "a stranger to whom he must be a gracious host", a host who does not spoil the visit with anger or impatience. But in the end, as he puts it, "doubt usually overstays its welcome anyway, no matter how I treat it."  Meanwhile, Suk continues to court a lover he cannot have—certainty.

It is not a feel good read, especially during Easter week, but I am reading it because the text I am preaching declares that even in the presence of a resurrected Savior, some doubted (Matt 28:17). At times, some of Suk's transparency is downright demoralizing, not that this appears to be his intent. Unless I am naive here, the book is not written as an apologia for doubt so much as a fellow traveler asking hard questions and pointing out that there are no easy answers. Here are a few examples of doubt drawn from Suk's rather long list—

 – I doubt because I wonder how God can allow this to go on when he claims to have already triumphed over evil in Jesus' resurrection

– I wonder why, if God doesn't answer prayers to end genocides or famines he would answer a prayer for traveling mercies

– many Christians claim to have heard a still, small voice and seen the face of God, but I wonder—for I've never had the epiphany so many others claim to have had.

Suk cannot pinpoint the moment he started doubting. A good part of this book came out of a year he and his wife took to travel and seek renewal. Instead, it turned out to be a crisis of faith. Certain events and facts began to build an infrastructure for doubt to inhabit when it was ready. Unfortunately, most of the preaching he heard that year driving around the country did not help—

– spending a year on the road, I heard more sermons that went nowhere and focused on abstract ideas

– we encountered a lot more Power Point presentations that were a jumble of barely related points around a broad theme than we ran into compelling, tightly knit sermons about a single, memorable theme

Over time, the balance between faith and doubt shifted. As he puts it, "I began to mainly doubt, with some faith left over."

It will be interesting to see the response to his book, not that it is novel or new. Saints have doubted, as far back as Abraham and beyond. And our contemporary Christian culture seems to want to embrace doubt and wrap it in words like mystery. And to a certain extent, this can be healthy. Doubt and uncertainty are threads woven into every literate Christian's faith.

But doubt can, as Suk puts it, work like slow erosion, ripping away faith. In my life, I deal with occasional doubts nearly every day, but they draw me back to certainties my faith is supported and rests upon—that God is sovereign, having authority over everything;  that He is none other than wise in everything He does; that He could not be more good than He is, and more powerful than He claims. The alternatives, as Suk points out, are illusion and despair.