12.11.06
Posted in faith, christ-haunted life at 8:18 pm by Brandon
A man sent me an email today. He asked me beautiful, wonderful, questions. Though I won’t share this individual’s identity, I will share with you some of his questions.
What this gentleman basically asked me today was this:
It seems like you have examined and rejected a lot of the stereotypical assumptions about what it means to be a Christian. I like that. Me too. But I’m wondering whether and how much you considered whether God even exists in the first place, whether God is somehow personal - that is, cares about my life, and what God requires I believe, both about God and about Jesus.
Are these issues you accept as a given? Are they issues you wrestle with sometimes? Often? Assuming you have wresteled with these questions, what road did you travel to resolve them, or did you never resolve them?
Whew. Heavy stuff, to be sure. Yet, I think these are important questions. Questions that I, as the writer of these questions seems to assume, have indeed spent some significant time ruminating upon. What I’m about to present is not the “badchristian.com” prescribed answers to any of these questions. Rather, I’m going to tell you something of a narrative about how I ended up thinking the way I do (if you cared) and why asking these questions is vital to a strong Christian faith.
But I’m wondering whether and how much you considered whether God even exists in the first place, whether God is somehow personal - that is, cares about my life, and what God requires I believe, both about God and about Jesus.
Are these issues you accept as a given?
Great question. Is God personal? Does she/he care about me? What does God require that I believe about God and Jesus? Frankly, like most people do, I took the easy road on most of these questions through the majority of my admittedly immature Christian walk. The short answers were these: Is God personal? Yes. Does God care about me? Yes. What does God require that I believe about God and Jesus? That God exists, Jesus is God’s son, born of the virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried, and on the third day was resurrected and now sitteth on the right hand of God the father from there he shall judge the living and the dead… What a mouthful!
And then, the most important question of all the questions asked by my emailing friend: Are these issues you accept as a given? My answer to this question, as was the case (and perhaps is the case for many) was a triumphant and emphatic “Yes!”
Largely, my answers to the first set of questions haven’t really changed. I still believe that God is a personal relational God who cares about people and desires interaction with those people. I still believe that God cares deeply about me. I’m a little fuzzy about what God requires of me with regard to my intellectual assent to a particular demographic of theological abstracts, but I personally believe that God exists (as obviated by my answers to the first two questions), that Jesus is God’s son who was crucified, died, was buried, and ressurected and now lives. I believe that.
What’s changed? I no longer can answer the “Are these issues you accept as a given?” affirmatively. In fact, just as emphatically and triumphantly as I would’ve answered “Yes!” in the past, I’d have to answer “no” now. My answer to this question leads rather naturally into a discussion of the emailers second set of questions:
Are they issues you wrestle with sometimes? Often? Assuming you have wresteled with these questions, what road did you travel to resolve them, or did you never resolve them?
These are issues that I wrestle with ALL the time. Often would be an understatement. I find these issues to be consuming, and tiring, and sometimes frustrating.
What road did I travel to resolve these issues? Well, although I have an answer, a belief, I can’t say for sure that they’re completely resolved. Although, as I said before, I do have faith in a certain sub-set of historical facts that seem to point to the existence of a personal, involved, and demanding God. The first, and much less messy, answer to the “what road did I travel” question is that I read, a lot. But, in order to get to a place where that reading would do me any good, I had to be willing to put my faith to the test. More on that later.
What did I read? A pretty seminal (again, please pardon the sex biased language) and faith changing book was a book I’ve mentioned here before co-authored by Marcus Borg and N.T. Wright called (I believe) The Meaning of Jesus: Two Visions. I read this book with an open mind, and probably for the first time in my life I was convinced of a bodily resurrection.
Now, before reading the book (and subsequently a couple of N.T. Wright’s other pieces such as the one found here, and others in this N.T. Wright repository) I did “believe” in a bodily ressurection. Or, maybe it would be more accurate to say that I would’ve verbally casted my vote for a bodily ressurection of Christ given that that’s what they told me in Sunday School. Wright’s arguments regarding the bodily ressurrection (and more importantly, what a bodily ressurrection means for 1st and 21st century Christians) gave me much more confidence than the flimsy 8th grade bible-class arguments I was previously armed with.
That’s the road I’ve travelled to get to where I’m at. Did I resolve these issues? Depends how you define resolve. Do I have something that I can verbally assent to that I agree with in my heart? Yes. Given the fact that I had to have the openest of minds, given that I had to really let go of my beliefs about God, in order to arrive at any REAL belief, I’d have to say that I haven’t really resolved anything; at least not in the sense that I could quit wrestling with the topic of “Is God real, Does God want to deal with a piddly little human like me, and What does God want me to believe about Jesus?” So, in that sense, I never resolved the issue.
A few paragraphs ago, I made one of those “more on that later” statements. Well, now’s the time to pick up the “more on that later thread.” I feel like sometimes as Christians–and I include myself in that number–we get the eensy-weensy-est bit antsy about the “are these issues accepted as a given” issue. I can count on less than one hand how many times I’ve heard a faith leader tell me that I should be willing to throw all my beliefs about God out the window and hold them up to a test of the evidence.
This leads to my title question: “Why are Christians so doubtful?” Now, I can only speak from my own experience. And, my experience could well be unique. However, it seems to me that people of faith are pretty reticent to put that faith to the test. In science, we talk about Popper and falsifiability. If we’re to believe a theory is true, it should be submitted to a test which could ostensibly find that theory to be wanting. Junk science happens when we “test” theories by subjecting them to conditions that can only result in evidence supporting our preconcieved theory, and then we proclaim that this theory is true.
It seems to me that junk faith operates along the same lines. If we’re to believe that faith is true, it should be submitted to a test which could ostensibly find that faith to be wanting. Christians, sometimes, seem to be doubtful that their faith can really support rigorous inquiry. I know it makes me bristle every time I think that in order to grow in my faith that I might need to loosen my grip on the parts of faith I’ve been trained to grip onto so tightly. That’s not a particularly comfortable feeling.
However, if we ever want to create a living growing real faith, I think that’s just what we need to do. If we really believe in faith, we need to subject it to intellectually rigorous questioning. Anything less reveals the truth: That what we have and call faith is really an empty, shallow reflection of faith. A faith so weak, we don’t really trust it.
Is my faith perfect? Far from it, it’s weak; some parts of my faith are, I’m sure, empty, shallow reflections of a true living faith. I hope that over time, prayer, reflection, and study that I’m able to strengthen my faith accordingly. Probably the first step in the process is realizing the truth in the wise words of Wayne Campbell:
“I say hurl. If you blow chunks and she comes back, she’s yours. But if you spew and she bolts, then it was never meant to be.”
See? Falsifiability.
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10.21.05
Posted in christ-haunted life at 12:57 pm by
Steve Chastain of Stupid Church People made a comment that got me thinking about the phenomena of youth rally altar calls. It’s been a while since I whipped my self into a ‘pissed-off-about-contemporary-Christian-white-cracker-ass-ghetto-cultre’ froth, so I thought I’d take a whack at it again.
Because this story is kind of about me, I’m filing it under christ-haunted life. I’m a little reticent to do that because I’m pretty sure the vignette I’m about to share has little to do with Christ Haunting…or maybe it does after all. That was cryptic, I know. Let me get on to the point.
Altar calls, as I’ve said before, piss me off. To me they feel like a contrived “social influence-fest” wherein, various church or youth group ‘in-group’ members use coersion to effectively pressure people into doing things in order to appear to be spiritual.
The layers of coersion at youth rallies and gatherings of that sort are incredibly insidious. First of all, students, typically highschool age, head off to a camp or a convention center for an extended period of time in which there is relatively limited adult supervision. So, these kids are basically off on their own. I don’t have a huge problem with this, per se, except that it’s rare, I think, that the main by-product of these conventions is actually “people coming to Christ.” The main by-products are, more often, kids trying cigarettes and alcohol for the first time, and random and wanton hook-ups between people who have no business ‘hooking up’ (and use your imagination to figure out exactly what that means.) Anyway, that’s all sort of an aside to my main point.
My biggest problem with youth rally altar calls is that they’re fuckin’ stupid. Here’s the typical drill:
- A big dog and pony show happens on stage with lots of flashing lights, big name speakers, cool bands with attractive band members, praise songs with lots of actions.
- Once you’ve been seduced by the dimming of the lights, the flashing of the occasional strobe, and you’ve got a head-rush because you’ve been raising your hands in praise so frequently, it’s time for the speaker.
- Enter stage left: Dynamic speaker. The goal of this speaker, to capitalize on the sleep deprived, overly emotional, and nearly frenzied, state that the youth have been whipped into with the overarching goal of getting as many people as possible to come down at the end of the presentation and “Come to Christ.”
- Coming to Christ will be operationally defined as publicly getting up from one’s seat and coming down in front of the stage and swaying slowly in time to the gentle “Coming to Christ” music (trademark, all rights reserved, copyright infringement will be prosecuted to the fullest extent allowable by law.)
- Coming to Christ must be done publicly. If it were not so, you would not be able to display your moral superiority over and above those who are sitting in the audience.
- Once the area between the front row and the stage is so full of people slowly swaying (with their arms raised, holding their friends hands, or openly embracing random others) that it appears from a distance that a giant jellyfish has landed in front of said stage, enough people have ‘come to Christ’
- After the jellyfish swaying incident, all of the ‘comers to Christ’ will be shuttled down to a room so that they might be prayed with, and put on a mailing list–Christ, like Santa it turns out, needs your address.
I remember ‘coming to Christ.’ It was really emotional. Sort of. I was in 9th grade, and I made the long moral superiority walk. I became holy that day. I remember going forward because my friends went forward, and, because the convention I was at was so large, I didn’t want to lose them. I even managed to muster some tears and put my arms around a few girls up in the middle of the vacillating jellyfish.
The thing that pisses me off most about it, though, is that it is in no way really about Jesus. Now, that’s not to say that it can’t be for some individuals, but for the organizers…I’m just not sure it’s about anything spiritual.
You see, they’ve created an altar call to be a numbers game. The bigger the gelatinous orb in the front of the room, the more successful the conference, the better the speaker. Tell me, what’s so holy about standing up in a group of people? There’s nothing holy about it. There’s nothing particularly holy about filling up the front of an auditorium, either.
The thing that really gets my panties in a wad is that each year people come back and report how many people ‘came to Christ’ at the conference. As if people coming to Christ, and all that that means in the context of an altar call (which is basically nothing more than a G-rated orgy of social influence), actually has something to do with people growing in their faith.
I’ve got news for you. You can grow in your faith with your ass in your seat. You needn’t take a walk of shame up to the front of the room for Jesus to change your life.
Likewise, when people speak of the mega-church movment and use the argument–as they often do over at Greg’s blog, The Parish–that we shouldn’t say these places/things/practices are bad, because, after all, people are coming to Christ, I get pissed. What does it mean for people to ‘come to Christ’? Have we really reduced that down to the point where coming to Christ means that you’ve succumed to social pressure and you stood, once, in the front of the church with some people doing the holy jellyfish sway dance. So, the argument goes, because altar calls have huge numbers of people coming forward, God is moving. Again, I’ve got news for you. That might not be so much about God moving as much as it’s about the power of conformity and social pressure. The altar call has, ironically, become an idol in and of itself.
Is that really all it means to ‘come to Christ’? To conform to the norms of holiness of a religious group. To stand in front of an auditorium and sway with our arms around our friends. To be perceived as holy.
Somehow, I doubt it. I doubt it a lot.
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08.22.05
Posted in christ-haunted life at 9:15 pm by
NOTE: For some context on this series, reading volume 1 (the introduction) would be helpful. And, if you like here is volume 2 and volume 3.
When I was in Junior High, I wasn’t really a ’social-lite’. I mean, I think I was pretty normal (as far as Junior High standards go), but I certainly wasn’t one of the ‘popular kids’. Part of my personality–or at least I think it’s a personality trait–is that I tend to be the kind of person who people feel comfortable giving ’shit’ to. That is, people make fun of me. And, frankly, they usually do it when they like me, so I don’t mind.
When one is in Junior High, however, this personality trait attracts a less kind sort of attention. People relentlessly made fun of me. (Or, at least that’s what I remember perceiving of my Junior High experience, whether that’s true or not, that’s up for debate.) Anyway, the thing that really got me was that I was called ‘Bran-dumb’. Now, all evidence should’ve pointed to the fact that this wasn’t true (or at least that it wasn’t true in comparison to the majority of my classmates). However, the mind of a gangly 6 foot, 120 pound, 14 year-old doesn’t necessarily parse information as clearly as he should.
I know that many of you have similar stories. Junior Highers are cruel. I think that might be the one constant truth in all creation. Yet, this insignificant little cruelty stuck with me.
That’s not to say I still think of myself as ‘dumb’, at least not outwardly. But, it does pop up from time to time. For example, I think that sometimes there’s a nagging doubt about my abilities that hangs around. Although, I’d imagine that might just be human nature. Even my advisor admits to self-doubt (and for that, I’m incredibly grateful because it gives me hope that I might, if I’m lucky, make it through grad school, too.)
I think, though, that spending three years as ‘Bran-dumb’ had a lasting effect on me. From time to time, I think I managed to convince myself that, no matter how hard I worked, I’d never be more than marginally successful. This, of course, had a negative effect on how hard I actually worked in college. It wasn’t until I started grad school that I had finally started to believe that I could, in fact, be legitimately good at my discipline.
I’m not a savant. I’ll probably never be the next Einstien (or G.R. Miller) of human communication. And, you know what else, I’ll probably also never be the next “Real Live Preacher” of the blogosphere. But, I can be Brandon. I can be myself. Uniquely created to do something. Uniquely created to be a part of something.
And here, friends, is the true value of community. No matter what your faith: Christian, Jew, Athiest, or Hindu–you’re valued here. Not because I want to turn you into anything. And, not because I particularly care about evangelizing you (at least not in the 20th/21st century sense of the word). I’m glad you’re here not because of some sense of what I can offer to YOU, I’m glad you’re here because of what WE can offer to EACHOTHER.
We’re all worthwhile…no matter what they told you in Junior High.
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08.09.05
Posted in christ-haunted life at 12:31 pm by
NOTE: For a little background on this post, read volume 1 and volume 2 of the christ-haunted life series.
I got an email yesterday asking me to expound a bit on why, exactly, I started this place. Essentially, the writer–Steve–asked for a mission statement. Immediately, I thought that I should just point him to the sidebar and click on ‘why bad christian dot com is so named‘. Then, as I pondered more deeply his request, I got to thinking. Things change. Purposes change. And, it’s really only fair to discuss not only the history of this community (and that’s really what I see this place as–not mine, not yours, but ours) and how it began. And, in the context of this place’s beginnings, what it’s direction currently is.
Honestly, badchristian.com started out of frustration. I felt–and still feel–like the contemporary institutional Church is more enamoured with a vision of its present righteousness than it is with encouraging people to be transformed AND then live truly transformational lives. Also, it frustrated me that the contemporary Church isn’t much in the business of allowing questions (and especially not in the business of questioning answers.)
Yet, in my own personal faith, I was–when I created this place–and am a person who found that his personal faith only really TRULY grew when I questioned my faith. Thus, I felt, and still feel like the contemporary institutional Church–in priding itself in its unwavering grasp of all that ‘must be’–was, albeit unintentionally, fostering a community unknowingly intent on spiritual stagnation.
As I began to discover what it was that I believed through scrutiny, it became clear to me that the truths that I’d been finding in scripture (namely, that my understanding of scripture and the good news compels me to be a social progressive.) Now, I think I’ve softened a bit over the year or so I’ve been writing regularly. I don’t think you need to be a progressive to be a ‘bad christian,’ though it probably helps.
What I think defines a bad christian is something in your heart that draws you, instinctively, to questions rather than answers. It’s not that you don’t ever hope to find the ‘answers’, in fact, it’s the quest that drives you.
Perhaps, it’s that view that primarily makes us–bad christians, or Christians on the fringes of faith, or really just people on the edges, or outside the fuzzy edges of faith–a shade different. This difference parallels, I think, the differences in the understanding of Salvation. Many Christians call salvation a one time thing that happens, and then, well, you’re saved, that’s it. I disagree. Salvation, to me, is a process of becoming. Truly submitting oneself to doubt is a key portion, a key step, in the process of becoming. Thus, I embrace questions.
Unfortunately, that makes me a bad christian, to some.
I started off writing this blog as an angry person. I’m less angry now, I think. Though, I certainly don’t think there was anything wrong with that anger. Anger was a part of the journey for me, and uncertainty is a constant companion. For that I thank God. Because through uncertainty, I feel that God has made herself known to me.
I’d describe this blog as a chance for me to search for answers through community. You folks who read and comment about what I write about have become a vital asset in my journey. How have I changed through this little experiment in self-revelation? Well, I think, I’m fueled less by frustration and more by an intense hunger for questions.
Will I ever find answers to all my questions? Probably not. Okay, definately not. And, I’m more okay with that every day. For now, I’ve fallen in love with this uncertain journey, and I’m particularly enamoured with the idea that folks have chosen to come along for the ride from time to time. So, thanks all, for putting up with my ramblings.
So, I suppose, that’s me in a nutshell. That’s why I write: To ask my questions out loud and pray that some of you might just be found by God the way I have in asking some of the same questions as I.
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07.28.05
Posted in christ-haunted life at 4:11 pm by
I’m taking a little break from my christ-haunted life series. I’ll try to be back at it next week. In a somewhat related yet unrelated note, but an interesting aside to the whole escapade of blogging: I’ve come to believe that people are particularly sensitive to dissent when they go about revealing a part of themselves in their writing. Even when the dissent is kindly offered, it can be emotionally difficult to handle some of the words and ideas even the most conscientious objector offers.
So, with all that in mind. I’m taking a step back for the weekend–at least with regard to the series of posts I’ve been pursuing. Hopefully, I’ll gain some perspective, and come back refreshed and renewed.
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07.25.05
Posted in christ-haunted life at 8:28 am by
NOTE: For a little background on this post, read volume 1 of the christ-haunted life series.
My first real memories of Church are come from a Sunday School sing-a-long time that I was a part of in Hawarden, Iowa. Hawarden (pronounced Hay-warden) Christian Reformed Church was my dad’s first church. From the stories I’ve heard, it probably wasn’t the easiest way to start off in the ministry. Regardless of my dad’s trials as the pastor of this church, I loved the Sunday School sing-a-long. At age 4, pretty much everything can be made into a game, so, any songs that included actions were my kind of thing.
Despite what was probably a challenging Church for my parents, they’ve come away with a few ‘forever friends’ from that experience. I’m continually amazed by these people–after years apart this couple and my parents seem to just jump back into their friendship. Amazing.
This couple, and to protect their anonymity we’ll call them Ron and Ruth, adopted my brother and I as their own in a manner of speaking. Now, of course, we’re not REALLY their kids, and they don’t treat us like we are, but they take a genuine interest in our lives–my brother and I. Even after 20 years apart Ron and Ruth, are interested in me and when Jen and I have a chance to see them, they’re quite happy to sit down and pursue us in conversation. I’m amazed by their love, it seems to have no bounds.
Ron and Ruth formed a special attachment to my brother and I, I think. You see, they played baby sitter when my parents couldn’t afford one (which in Hawarden was pretty much all the time.) They took care of my brother and I on a semi-regular basis. If there’s anyone–aside from my parents–who Jen and I would aspire to end up like as a couple, I’d have to cast my vote for Ron and Ruth. They’re great role models.
Honestly, I think of Ron and Ruth relatively frequently. They’re wonderful people. As I grew up in ‘conservative’ northwest Iowa, Ron and Ruth probably weren’t the outliars. They probably were one of a long line of folks who would’ve made great role-models. And, though I can’t say for sure, they’re probably pretty politically conservative.
I tell you that story to explain this: living in a conservative place, it’s difficult to find role-models with whom you share much perspective. Here’s a big confession: I’m not nearly as sure about being ’socially liberal’ as I sometimes like to portray myself. I think a lot of that lies in the fact that there aren’t really any mature folks that I know well that espouse well the gracious manifestation of Jesus Christ from a liberal slant. In short, pretty much everybody I know is conservative. The liberals–well, while many are laudable and downright wise themselves–mature folks, role-models, etc. are almost never ‘liberal.’
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m actually quite fond of most conservatives. Maybe that’s the problem. If I’m honest, I can’t make them worse than they really are–which really isn’t bad at all. Some are even very mature, far more mature than I. I’ll be damned if they’re not downright appealing.
Logically, I know that this shouldn’t matter, right? Just because a religio-political viewpoint isn’t particularly popular in a geographic region doesn’t make that viewpoint wrong, right? Yes. I’m right, but that doesn’t do much to console me when there are few heroes of the faith to look up to.
You know, the truth is I do use these folks as a role-model. I’m not haughty enough (at least not yet) to think that I can’t learn from them. It’s just difficult to model one’s faith after folks whose politics you think are ‘all washed up.’ Now, I’m not saying that there aren’t ANY progressive Christian rolemodels. Indubitably, there are. I just don’t know them yet, and that frustrates me from time to time.
I think the thing that draws me so to these ‘conservativish’ role models in the faith is that their dialogue isn’t soaked in conservative rhetoric. Their less vitriolic posture is appealing. I know the argument: “They’re in the majority they needn’t be vitriolic.” It’s true, these folks have the luxury of not beligerently pursuing their ideals–because their ideals are already a reality with in the Christian Church at large.
Progressive Christians–and there’s even alliances of them now–sometimes are wooed into participating (in my humble opinion) in the ’status quo dialectic.’ That is, these folks work to do exactly what conservative Christians have done. They seek to toss the table cloth of biblical liberalism over the table of Christianity. (Much like conservative christians have already done with conservatism.) And, once the tablecloth is cast, it sort of becomes a part of the table itself.
I’m not sure that casting a progressive cloth over Christianity is the method by which to pursue justice and truth. I think that first, liberal Christians and conservative Christians alike need to start bringing confession to the table and admitting–like I’ve tried in this post–that they’re humans, that they’re wrong sometimes, that they’re not perfect, and that they don’t have all the answers.
The goal of a tablecloth is to completely cover a table. Regardless of whether you’re a blue stater, a red stater, or blue, or red, (or some other shade of purple), I don’t think that controlling the viewpoint of the church is a noble goal for any one group to have. But, that seems to be what we try to do. I think, perhaps, that choosing to value a spectrum or spectra of political values is a more profitable value for church folk to pursue.
I hope, one day, to find myself a liberal role-model or two. Preferably a couple that lives out how to grow in the grace of Christ daily. A few folks who, out of their wisdom, don’t feel the need to sound shrill because it’s okay if some folks to disagree. Of course, this would require a radical transformation. Not a transformation, though, of the Church’s political landscape, or of any particular individuals’ views. It would require a transformation of the very way we interact with one another. It would require a mutual acceptance, a common concern for one another.
One day though, perhaps I won’t see it, perhaps I will–the Kingdom will reflect this mutual respect on the whole.
…thy kingdom come.
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07.22.05
Posted in christ-haunted life at 1:55 pm by
I’ve been reading The Gospel According to America. So far my favourite bit has been the ‘not-an-introduction-introduction’ that was really a ‘call to rememberance.’ Perhaps, you’re now scratching your head wondering to yourself, “What’s a call to rememberance?” The best thing you could do to answer that question would be to buy yourself a copy of David Dark’s newest offering and read it to find out for yourself.
For my purposes, though, I’ll offer my interpretation of the importance of remembering. I think the value of ‘remembering’ as a method of communicating allows people to couch their feelings in their own unique self-setting. By understanding the self-setting of others, it becomes much more easy to accept the differences that you may have with folks. For example, I’ve never been as close to understanding the politics of the current President until I spoke with a west Texas republican. It’s not that I’m a repbublican now, far from it, but by better understanding the cultural eccentricities of a particular landscape, I’m able to truly listen to individuals.
Rememberance also calls us to confession. That is, by remembering our own self-settings we’re able to tell our stories–our testimony, perhaps even the good news we’ve experienced–and in doing so, we admit our perspective. We own our slant publicly. By owning up to our understanding of life, we re-create our self-settings for our listeners. We allow them, then, to walk with us for a while.
To me, this blog is my attempt to let y’all try on my shoes. To get the scent of my life. Those blogs I like best do the same. Recently, though, (and in truth probably spurred on by David’s book) I’ve sensed the need to better offer a self-setting to all of you who stop by this place from time to time. It is my hope that by describing the story of my path to this point, you may better understand my ethos.
Clearly, this would be a momentus task for one post. Thus, I’ll pursue these ends in a short series under the title ‘a christ haunted life’. Of course, my story, for what it’s worth, is truly only a part of an authentic dialogue. So, as I do, I’d ask that some of y’all play along. Participate in the revelation of your own self-settings, tell your stories, confess to the things that make you who you are.
This, I hold, is one of the greatest luxuries this electronic community offers. We’ve the opportunity to share, in meaningful depth, our lives. If David Dark is right, and I wouldn’t have spent as much time on this if I didn’t think he is right, the only way to break the bitter and adversarial method of political, civil, emotional, and religious discourse (though I woudl not imply that these discourses are distinctly separate), is to confessionally remember together.
In community lies the great secret: if we ever hope to be saved–from bickering, or any other vice–it is through a community of listeners who, prizing more than their desire to be correct, value the process of hearing and listening above all.
So, I will share my story, but it is my distinct hope that many of you will follow suit. That you’ll remember, too. And, that through this rememberance we may break the cycle of discourse that so prevalently afflicts our society.
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