Monthly Archives: August 2011

The Dangers of Dogma

 

“Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition.” Steve Jobs

 

“Don’t be trapped by dogma” said Steve Jobs in a commencement address to Stanford grads.  Let’s be disturbed by these words. Dogma is the thoughts and teachings of others; it becomes dangerous when we have not adequately considered what we think and believe for ourselves. Who are we? What do we value? What do we believe? What matters most to us?

These questions require courage to ask and to answer. Paul Tillich writes, “Faith is the state of being ultimately concerned: the dynamics of faith are the dynamics of man’s ultimate concern.”[1] We must decide if we want to be conscious, thoughtful and concerned. We must yearn to move from the teachings of childhood to the grounded thinking and meaningful beliefs of adulthood. What is our ultimate concern? As Paul wrote:

 

Then we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of people in their deceitful scheming. Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body of him who is the head, that is, Christ. Ephesians4: 14-15

 

If we are going to mature into the amazing beings we are capable of and realize a fraction of our potential, then we are going to need to challenge dogma. Without meaningfully questioning what we have been taught, we will never develop grounded convictions of our own. Most defensiveness and superiority is a cover for the insecurity that results from living an unexamined life. Adherence to dogma leads to division and mindless fundamentalism.

At the Center for Christian Life Enrichment we encourage everyone to identify and bring to consciousness their beliefs and values. These beliefs are learned in childhood and form the operating system of our lives. They are working below the level of awareness all the time. It is in learning how to identify our core beliefs that we are able to consider and decide what it is that we consciously want to adhere to and let guide our lives.

This choice to examine what we think, believe and value is a core responsibility of every adult. It is our duty to be aware of what is continuously motivating and influencing us at an unconscious level. As children we were encouraged and rewarded for conforming to the standards and expectations of our parents. As adults it is our obligation to challenge what we have been taught and decide what we want to genuinely value and believe in.

Socrates was right when he said that the unexamined life is not worth living.  We have the joy and responsibility as human beings to embrace what we have been taught and test it to see if it is consistent with what we believe and value as adults. There will be principles and morals we retain and there will those we replace. This is a key element in the process of our individuation—our journey to becoming whole and complete human beings.

The game is consciousness. How can we as Christians really expect to become like Christ if we lack the courage and determination to identify and weigh what we really believe. Have courage and make it your aim to ground what you believe and value in thoughtful and conscious deliberation.  Chase truth at all costs in the pursuit of actualizing our seemingly limitless human potential.

 

“Everyone has inside of him a piece of good news. The good news is that you don’t know how great you can be! How much you can love! What you can accomplish! And what your potential is!” -Anne Frank

 

 



[1] Paul Tillich, Dynamics of Faith

The Most Unlikely Disciple

(This blog is adapted from the first chapter of Rich’s soon to be released book, Grappling with God: The Battle for Authentic Faith. This book follows the life transforming work being done for over 20 years at the Center for Christian Life Enrichment.)

“For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.” Luke 19:10

My wife, Sue, and I had just moved to Corvallis, OR. This was our first assignment in the campus ministry we had recently joined the staff of. We had chosen our church home and were starting to make friends. I was both hesitant and hungry to form new relationships.  One Sunday I noticed a guy smoking cigarettes in the parking lot in between services. I was immediately drawn to him and started talking to him. Instantly, Dennis and I became buddies.

What was I looking for? Was I looking for a rebellious smoking brother? No, I think I was looking for authenticity. I was looking for someone I could trust to be him or herself. I had noticed that once people, including myself, placed their faith in Christ, they slowly became more secretive about their struggles. They seemed to feel the need to foster the illusion that they were pure and perfect. I often found people outside the faith to be more open and honest about how they were struggling and hurting.

Christians often stress the difference between themselves and non-believers. There are a number of words used to describe those who are outside the fold—unbelievers, non-Christians, seekers, sinners, and those who are lost. Those who go to great lengths to emphasize the distinction scare me. It has often been my experience that those who think they are found are often the most lost. Those who think they are lost know it and are open to help.

Christians, like any identified group of people, naturally want to delineate themselves as a unique and distinct tribe. We are like animals and seek the security of forming packs, gangs, clans and tribes. Unfortunately, one of the side effects of this clannish tendency is that we feel compelled to emphasize why our clan is superior to all those around us. Tribalism offers security while fostering division, distrust and enmity. We become quick to judge who is inside and who is outside our community.

The story of Zacchaeus in the Gospel of Luke (19:1-10) speaks to this human tendency.  Jesus was walking through Jericho. His fellow countrymen hated Zacchaeus, the chief tax collector, because he worked for the Roman occupiers and was compensated according to the amount of money above and beyond the taxes he collected.  He was extremely powerful and wealthy. He was seen as corrupt, immoral, unprincipled, and a defector. His old gang, known as the JJ’s (Jews of Jericho), despised him.

Jesus was walking through town and Zacchaeus desperately wanted to see him. In addition to being undesirable, he was of small stature and could not see above the crowds. He ran ahead and climbed a tree in order to see Jesus and possibly get his attention. Why would this guy be so interested in Jesus? He would seem like the most unlikely candidate. He had what everyone wanted—position, power, and lots of money.

As Jesus was walking by, he looked up in the tree and saw Zacchaeus. He called him by name and said that he needed to stay at his house. Zacchaeus immediately came down and enthusiastically invited Jesus to come to his house. Zacchaeus was so moved, he repented of his evils and declared his intention to make amends to all those he had cheated.

What a sudden turn of events. Zacchaeus was now in good shape while those around him were dying. How could the tables have turned so quickly? Of all the people to show kindness to–why would he have to give grace to Zacchaeus? He’s a reprobate and a traitor. The disciples liked Jesus’ message of compassion and forgiveness; however, they wanted Jesus for themselves and their community.

Zacchaeus was the most unlikely disciple. But, was he really? We all long to belong and be loved and accepted. We are divinely designed—hard wired—with a hunger for intimacy and community. Even though Zach apparently had everything, he more than anyone knew he was lost and lonely. He was starving for deeper and more meaningful relationships.

His strategies for finding satisfaction had failed. He was unashamed of his hunger for relationship with Jesus. Instead of hiding, Zacchaeus hurled himself toward Jesus. He knew his ways were not working. He was ready to give up everything in order to taste the bread of life.

May we never forget that we too are lost. Let’s all go climb a tree and cry out to be seen by a God who knows our hunger. He also knows our name and wants relationship with us regardless of what we have done. Let’s tear down the walls that divide us and rally around our universal hunger for intimate and authentic relationship with one another.

Listen to the words of the Apostle Paul, who too was tempted to judge others instead of showing mercy and grace.

You, therefore, have no excuse, you who pass judgment on someone else, for at whatever point you judge another, you are condemning yourself, because you who pass judgment do the same things. Now we know that God’s judgment against those who do such things is based on truth. So when you, a mere human being, pass judgment on them and yet do the same things, do you think you will escape God’s judgment? Or do you show contempt for the riches of his kindness, forbearance and patience, not realizing that God’s kindness is intended to lead you to repentance? Romans 2:1-4

Memories of My Friend, Missy

The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing… not healing, not curing… that is a friend who cares. Henri Nouwen


I grew up loving animals and nature. I felt most at home outdoors—walking in the hills or sitting in a tree. I believe God introduced me to his unconditional love through my relationship with dogs.

 

My twelfth birthday I received the most amazing gift ever—a Golden Retriever puppy I named Daniel the Lion-hearted. Danny instantly became my best friend and loyal companion throughout my challenging teenage years. Danny did what great dogs do—he introduced me to loyal love. Danny lived for ten years before he lost his battle with cancer. The day I knew I needed to put him down was without a doubt the most difficult day of my young life. It was so upsetting to have my last act of love for Danny be to end his life. My heart broke and unleashed the expression of a lifetime of buried pain.

 

Love hurts. Caring is costly. It is no accident that it was 18 years before I got another dog. I used to blame my wife, Sue, for not letting us get a dog; however, I now realize I was unconsciously protecting my heart from the hurt of loving and losing again.  It was in February 1996, almost 28 years after adopting Danny that I fell in love with Missy. She was the opposite of Danny in a number of ways—she was a tiny little Maltese girl and he was huge Golden Retriever boy; she was petite and loved to be held and he was athletic and loved to wrestle. She was anxious, neurotic and extremely talkative and he was laid back, peaceful and relatively quiet.   She was a minute Maltese weighing 80 ounces and Danny was a beast weighing 80 pounds.

What they both shared in common was their care for others and their loyal love for me. They both understood how hungry I was for their attention, affirmation and companionship.

 

Missy and I formed a pact–I would faithfully look after and protect her and she would draw out the expression of my tenderness and vulnerability. This unspoken covenant began when I would sleep on the kitchen floor with her as she was grieving the loss of her brothers and sisters. Appropriately, Missy’s life ended in the way it began, with me laying on the floor with her in the early morning hours as she was struggling to stay alive.

 

Once again, my heart is healing from another breach. Missy is dead and I think my heart may have ruptured. I am thankful I have learned a little about grieving and have been fitfully preparing for this inescapable day. It took a courageous and tenacious confrontation by my son, Phil, to penetrate my denial about Missy’s demise. I knew she was dying; however, I dreaded the thought of life without her by my side.

 

As I was wrestling with the inevitability of her death, I was continually praying and asking God to let her die in her sleep. I found myself fantasizing about her breathing her last breath at my request and humbly sharing with others about my compelling faith. What I now understand was that I was not ready for her to die. Missy was at peace—it was me that needed to find the faith that I could survive another loss of love. When I found the faith to trust that God was my BIG Missy, then my eyes were opened and I knew I could do what needed to be done.

 

I believe a miracle was performed—it was a transformation in my heart. I embraced my responsibility to do what Missy needed me to do. Loving is often counterintuitive and costly. With Sue by my side and the care of my family, I had the support I needed to end Missy’s life. It was a wonderfully dreadful experience. I treasure the memories of my last days, hours, minutes and final seconds with Missy.

 

I am surfing the waves of grief. I am expressing my feelings as they surface. I am learning how to be with others more courageously and authentically. Missy is still by my side, running, talking, and being with me moment by moment. I am seeing all the Missy’s around me.

 

Grappling with God – Introduction

(This is an excerpt from the introduction of my soon to be released book, Grappling with God: The Battle for Authentic Faith. This introduction speaks to the hunger within all of us to make sense of ourselves and seek the unconditional love offered by God. This book gives an account of the life transforming work we do at the Center for Christian Life Enrichment.)

 

Growing up, I had always felt that I was a bit unusual. On the one hand I was strong and tough, rough and rambunctious. A high-energy child, I loved being active in the outdoors and playing sports. More than one adult would have labeled me as wild. At the same time, there was this other part of me: sympathetic and tender-hearted. I was a natural caretaker and defender of those who were vulnerable and hurting.

Just recently, my ninety-four-year-old mother gave me an end-of-the-year report she had saved from my nursery school teacher, who had this to say about me when I was four-years old. “Richard likes active, outdoor play and is very definitely a leader of his group of friends… Because he is so ‘rough and tough,’ it is surprising to see how easily he becomes crushed when he feels rejected or has to wait too long for a special toy.”

These two sides of me seemed opposed, especially as I got older. How could I play sports fearlessly if I was also inclined to be a caregiver? How could I protect myself behind a macho image if I let with my tender heart show?  This dichotomy was uncomfortable, and I found myself wrestling with who I really was and what it meant to be me. Sometimes my wrestling was of a more literal sort–such as the day I thought I broke my brother Charlie’s ribs.

When I was eight years old, Charlie, who was fourteen years my senior, left for a four-year tour of active duty with the U.S. Navy. The day he left was the saddest day of my life. So imagine my excitement when I was 12 and Charlie came home on leave. I couldn’t contain my exuberance at seeing my brother, who in many ways had been a second father to me, always taking time to play with me when I was a little boy.  I idolized Charlie, who in my eyes was this macho military guy, and I couldn’t wait to show him just how much I had grown.

He hadn’t been home more than ten minutes when we started to roughhouse on the driveway. At one point, I picked him up and threw him on the ground. Charlie didn’t get up right away. The pain in his side was excruciating. He was sure he had broken one of his ribs. Instantly, I felt ashamed for hurting my brother. No matter that Charlie assured me it was an accident, that we were just playing and he was fine, I felt responsible for his pain. As my tender, caregiver side came out, I not only wanted to make Charlie all better, I detested how physical I had been with him. There just had to be something wrong with me.

The tension between being tough and tender has always been a troubling part of my DNA. I was never completely comfortable with either part alone. To be so caring and open toward others was just too vulnerable. To be a real warrior, capable of inflicting punishment on my opponent on the playing field, denied my gentler side. It took me twenty five years and much growth work to unlock another contributing factor to the puzzle that was me: the abuse I had suffered in childhood, the memories of which I had buried deeply within myself.

In order to make peace with all of me–to understand and accept myself just as I am–I needed to experience unconditional love. Long before I could open myself up to that type of experience with another person, I had to allow it to come from the source of my being-ness: God.

Although I had grown up attending church with my mother and always believed in God, it was not until I was in my teens that I was introduced to the possibility of having a personal relationship with God. The idea intrigued me and quickly drew me in. The more I came to know about Jesus, the more I could see parts of myself in him. Jesus, to me, was a hero and a savior, the kind of guy who could really “take it,” whether it was standing up to the bullies who wanted to hurt and even kill him, or lasting forty days in the desert while facing seemingly unbearable temptations.  While Jesus was unquestionably strong, physically and mentally, I also saw in him a huge capacity for tenderness. He offered people safety, security, and rest. He welcomed the little children and forgave the sinners without punishment or shame. At last, I had found someone to whom I could relate, who was tough and tender at the same time. In Jesus, I began to make sense to myself.