Advent's Declaration of War on Fear

I have been reading a tidy little book of writings on Advent since September.

Today's reading, by Johann Christoph Arnold, contained a thought that eluded me in the two other times I've read Arnold's article: The angelic heralds' first words to the frightened recipients of God's grace were often, "Fear not."

Particularly in the biblical accounts of Jesus' birth, where Mary, the shepherds, and Zechariah the father of John the Baptist (see Luke 1 and 2) are told by the glorious messenger of God to "fear not." It was, in Arnold's words, "a declaration of war on fear."

Our society is fixed -- even motivated -- by fear (something of which I am reminded after only 20 minutes of television viewing). Advertisements for the evening news invite the fixation of our eye balls on their broadcast to learn of the latest place, person, or thing to fear; as other commercials on the same channel play on our fears of social irrelevance, physical illness, or financial instability to motivate us to call for help.

We've become so accustomed to living in a culture of fear that we think it to be as normal as it is inevitable. Yet, the antecedent to the Advent message are the words: "Fear not." In those two simple words -- whether spoken as a command or as a gentle admonition -- is a declaration of war on all that fixes our attention on things other than the eternal; on all that motivates us to "double-down" in a wager that eventually loses.

When I think for a minute what I could accomplish, where I would go, what I would say, were I not afraid for myself, I begin to see what God offers each of us when we abandon our fears to Him. What was true then of the young Mary, the simple shepherds, and the learned priest Zechariah is still true today. But only for those who are willing to join the war against fear.

Book Reviewed: "Losing My Religion"

Over last weekend, I finished reading the book, "Losing My Religion: How I Lost My Faith Reporting on Religion in America and Found Unexpected Peace," by William Lobdell. (Click here for a review of this book by The New York Times.)

I was interested in Lobdell's experience on the Religion beat, because I was once a religion reporter for a large daily newspaper, and I shared many of Lobdell's initial ambitions and perspectives on the reporting of religion as news (as opposed to fluffy feature stories where everyone is in Sunday best). I also shared many of Lobdell's disappointments: Clergymen who fleece their sheep, religious institutions that have more in common with Wall Street than with Main Street, and persons who use religion as a cover for hate and violence.

Unlike Lobdell, I didn't lose my faith as a result of my job; I lost my job because, in part, it was destroying my faith.

Now, all of this wasn't clear to me at the time. Back then, all I knew was that the job that I had dreamed about while I was in theological school was becoming more drudge than joy with each passing day. Eventually, my editors and I concluded that we should go our separate ways. The year was 1981, and my experiment had lasted 11 months (less if you consider that I took an unpaid leave for 8 weeks for my Naval Reserve training).

In those months, I interviewed Billy Graham, the late Jerry Falwell, Richard Roberts (son of Oral Roberts and heir of Oral's ministerial empire in Tulsa, Oklahoma), a senior citizen who had founded a white supremacist "church" that he ran from the sunny shores of Broward County, Florida; and the late D. James Kennedy, whose Coral Ridge Presbyterian Church was an easy drive from the Fort Lauderdale bureau where I worked. It was, as you can see, a sampling from the ecclesiastical sea that included flying fish, bottom feeders, and the species in between.

I have never regretted my decision to go to Florida for the newspaper job; nor my decision to leave when, and how, I did. As the saying goes: "When the horse on which you're riding dies, get off." Lobdell's experiences resonated with me and, to my surprise, helped me to understand the value of guarding the environment in which one works and lives.

Lobdell, a devout man on his way to becoming a Roman Catholic, spends progressively larger amounts of time pursuing the story of the decade: The Catholic priest sexual abuse scandal and the cover-up by higher-ups. Little by little, the sins of men undermine Lobdell's faith in God.

As I finished Lobdell's book, the words of Paul, as recorded in his letter to the Christians in Philippi, haunted me: "Finally bretheren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, let your mind dwell on these things. The things you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, practice these things; and the God of peace shall be with you." (Philippians 4: 8 - 9, NASB)

As a citizen of heaven -- yet, still a sojourner on earth -- our path will take us through many places, and before persons, deceitful, dishonorable, crooked, polluted, ugly, disreputable, and unpraiseworthy. I believe that the Spirit of God will not lead you where the grace of God will not keep you. I also believe that the key to emerging from the cesspool having influenced the cesspool more than the cesspool has influenced you is found in Paul's advice to the Philippian disciples.

Did Muslim Chaplain Talk Out of Turn about Fort Hood Murder Suspect?

While listening to a National Public Radio interview with Imam Yahya Hendi, the Muslim chaplain at the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, I was squirming in my seat.

Earlier -- on the eve of Veteran's Day -- I had watched the televised memorial ceremony for the 12 Fort Hood Soldiers and one civilian, who were shot to death by a fellow Soldier: Dr. (Major) Nidal Hasan. A few hours later, as I made my way home, I heard a six-plus minute radio interview with the Bethesda chaplain, who freely offered details of conversations that he had with the psychiatrist when both worked at Bethesda. (Click here to see the full transcript of the interview.)

By his own admission, the chaplain and Hasan were not friends, which means that the conversations they shared were either between strangers, or between a person in need and a person perceived to be in a position to help. I was squirming because it seemed to me to be the latter, and it seemed that the chaplain was divulging information that had been entrusted to him in confidence.

I can only begin to appreciate the pressure on Chaplain Hendi, as both a Muslim leader and someone who could actually provide a piece or two more to the puzzle at Fort Hood, to go public. But having first been taken into a person's confidence, as a chaplain then -- and a clergyman today -- I am loathe to trade on that confidence -- even if the public and the investigating authorities demand it.

A decision by a member of the clergy to divulge anything but the most innocuous details of a conversation where the person talking has a reasonable expectation that what he or she is saying will be held in strict confidence is a breach of trust. It was the sense that I was witnessing the shredding of that trust that caused me the most discomfort.

Everyone needs -- and the law recognizes it with protections for clergy -- a safe haven. The perception that chaplains will not regard private conversations as privileged is a tremendous loss, both for the person in need, and the person perceived to be in a position to help.

When "Good-bye" Becomes a Prayer

"All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages."

William Shakespeare, "As You Like It," Act 2, scene 7

The eldest of our two adult daughters is moving out of the state today. Shakespeare's words capture my emotions, as I witness the first of many changes in our respective lives.

If you live long, you'll inevitably play a lot of roles.

I remember moving out of state for the first time as an adult child. I saw it all from the child's perspective, of course. Now, as a parent, I see a bit of what my own parents were seeing -- and feeling -- as we went about routine tasks, and silently counted-down to the moment when we said our good-byes.

Good-byes are hard, even when you've been looking forward to "launch time," such as the last day of an unpleasant job; or the first day of a great adventure. Good-byes are hard because saying "good-bye" is the prelude to a change for just about everyone in the "cast." Good-byes are hard because no change comes without uncertainty.

Lost in the modern usage of the word "good-bye," is its literal Middle English origin: "God be with you." Therein, for me, is the key to surviving every departure with its promises for success and its risks for failure: The invited presence of God.

When Getting By Isn't Good Enough

Just when we begin to think that a fat bank account, powerful friends, and smart lawyers are all it takes to tip the scales of Justice, the recent arrest of cinema darling Roman Polanski (pictured) reminds us that even in this life, while you may get-by, you don't always get-away.

Polanski, 76, who directed such critically acclaimed movies as "Chinatown" (1974), and "The Pianist" (2002), was arrested in Switzerland over the weekend at the request of law enforcement authorities in Los Angeles, California, who had a 31-year old warrant for Polanski's arrest. Polanski, convicted in 1977 of having sex with a 13-year old girl, fled California for Europe prior to his sentencing for the crime; and had successfully avoided countries that might extradite him to the United States -- until last weekend.

There is no excuse for any of Polanski's actions. Not his flight from justice. Not his crime against a 13-year old child.

Most difficult of all to swallow is the rising chorus of voices calling for his immediate absolution because (1) his crimes were committed such a long time ago; and (2) he's had such a remarkable career in the 30-plus years since his conviction, which ought to count for something -- like a "get out of jail free" card.

Trying to argue for accountability, fairness, justice, and the rule of law with the folks who are pulling for Polanski's immediate release is, I think, a futile endeavor. The sad part is this: There are a lot of people in our society who think as they do.

However, the encouraging part in this long, painful story is that there are times when even the rich and powerful are called to answer for their crimes, no matter how long they've managed to get-by.

An Antidote for Narcissism

Recent news of a former professional acquaintance who -- much to the consternation of his colleagues -- was apparently scheming to stay-on in his current job beyond his normal tenure, reminded me of another all too human proclivity: Narcissism.

Narcissus, according to both Greek and Roman mythology, was a handsome but vain young man who spurned all who loved him, and upon seeing his reflection for the first time, fell in love with himself; the tragedy, of course, being that he could see but never touch the object of his affection.

Today, we usually regard persons as narcissistic if they are vain or seem to love themselves more than all others.

I must confess to having given in to narcissistic tendencies, as we see all too often with the leader who schemes for another term in office -- the constitution be damned; the aging athlete who fears life's prospects apart from adoring fans; or the senior military officer who cannot imagine life without the military, even as the military has decided that it will do just fine without him.

In the Book of Ecclesiastes, its writer says that there is a time and a purpose for everything under heaven. Some transitions -- such as job promotions, weddings, the birth of children, and new prospects in exciting places -- are greeted eagerly. Other transitions -- such as the inconveniences of aging, forced career changes, or even the departure of adult children to situations and locations that are strange and distant -- are greeted less eagerly. Yet, both kinds of transitions are a part of the "deal." The more narcissistic we are, the more we want to avoid the unpleasant bits, and keep the sweetest parts of the deal to ourselves.

In my former colleague's case, I suspect that he had developed special relationships and knowledge in his current assignment that would be of special value to his current and future bosses. The military is a particularly risky place to advance this line of reasoning in the pursuit of job longevity, since it is an article of faith in the better military forces of the world that all persons are replaceable. Or, as the late French General Charles de Gaulle said: "The cemeteries of the world are filled with indispensable men."

The Scriptures can help us avoid narcissism which, if the truth be told, irritates everyone except the person who is captivated by his or her own virtues, value, or abilities.

The Bible tells the follower of Jesus that he or she ought to look out for the interests of others as one looks out for one's own interests. (Philippians 2: 4) Many times, when we've stayed "in the chair" beyond our time, it robs someone coming along behind us of the opportunity to learn as we've learned because we're occupying the spot! Looking out for the interests of others means doing for others as we would have others to do for us -- and that includes stepping aside. (Matthew 7: 12)

In a less direct way -- through the lives of others -- the Bible also reminds us that what we sometimes regard as negative experiences are frequently the "training" we need for other "jobs" and "assignments" in one's life and career.

Consider the life of Moses, who had risen high in the ranks of Egyptian leadership before fleeing a murder accusation to the backside of the desert to tend sheep for 40 years which, at the time, must have seemed to Moses like the end of the end to a very promising career. As is often the case when our careful planning seems to go awry, God was just getting started. A wilderness apprenticeship was precisely the training Moses would need to lead God's little flock -- the Children of Israel -- in the wilderness following the Exodus.

The epilogue to the Exodus story is that Moses did not live to enter the Promised Land because the work the Lord had given Moses was finished. The Lord God chose the protege of Moses, Joshua, to lead the Children of Israel across the Jordan River into the Promised Land.

What if you and I aspired to be like Moses: A person who accepted both the sweet and the bitter of life with equal grace; who refused to sulk when reversed; and who easily yielded the stage to Joshua, a person whose interests he had guarded as carefully as his own?

If we dared to try, it would transform us for better; and it would gladden the heart of God.

Art Credit: Narcissus by Caravaggio

Discipleship's Simple Requirement: An Open Handed Approach to Life

The brush fires in California, and the accompanying reports of homeowners who refuse to evacuate at the risk of perishing in the flames and smoke, are an apt metaphor of Christian discipleship's simple requirement: Living with an open hand.

In Luke's Gospel, Jesus is recorded, after a brief discourse, as saying: "So then, none of you can be My disciple who does not give up all his own possessions." (Luke 14: 33, NASB)

The early 20th Century Christian missionary Oswald Chambers opined that this didn't mean that one could not be saved, as if from the peril of hell (which complements our original metaphor), but that he or she would not completely belong to Jesus. (Please click here for the referenced quotation.)

The point is that it is impossible to completely belong to Jesus if one is holding any of his own possessions. Discipleship, you see, is a zero-sum game. John the Baptist understood it as such: "He (Jesus) must increase, but I (John) must decrease." (John 3: 30, NASB, parenthetical notes are mine)

Holding one's own possessions is not the same as being a caretaker (steward) for the possessions of someone else. In life, we will have things, but the aspiring disciple of Jesus regards all that is under his or her stewardship as such, and not a personal possession.

One of the best illustrations of this occurred to a disciple named Clarence Jordan, who in 1942 began an experiment in racial reconciliation on a farm near Americus, Georgia, which drew the ire of some of its white neighbors. In the mid-1950s, Jordan's "experiment," Koinonia Farms, was the a frequent target of gunfire, bombings, arson, and the beating of its people.

In a letter to a friend, written in 1959, Jordan wrote: "I remember the night Harry Atkinson and I were on our way over to the roadside market after we had received word that it had been bombed and was burning. When we came over a hill we could see the fiery glow on the horizon, and this ignited a burning in my heart. I was scorched with anger, and I'm sure if I had known who had committed the act, there would have been considerable hatred in my heart. At that time I doubt that I could have distinguished between anger and hate.

"But as I had occasion to think, I realized that the hate was rooted in a consuming possessiveness. . . Later I had the same reaction when various ones, including myself and my children, were shot at. The so-and-sos were trying to take our lives from us!

"The solution to this soul-destroying condition came only upon the recognition that neither property nor lives were ours but God's. They never really had been ours in any sense of the word. We hadn't even 'given them back to Him' -- they were His all along. And if this was he way He wanted to spend His property and His people in order to accomplish His purposes, why should we pitch a tantrum?" ("Theology in Coveralls," Sojourners magazine, December 1979)

As Jordan notes, our possessiveness provokes all manner of negative emotions within us, and will eventually destroy the core of our being -- our soul.

I have always been in awe of people who live life with an open hand. Those rare folk who will work hard for something, but will also walk away from it or give it up because, I think, they have realized as John the Baptist did in Jesus' time; and Clarence Jordan has in ours, that it all belongs to God and it is God's to use (however peculiar or wasteful it may, at the time, seem to us) for His purposes.

Too many of us, for far too long have lived our life with a clenched hand. We grip what we have grasped. We are loathe to let go; and heaven help anyone who dare take what we hold from us. Yet, the truth of the matter is this: While no one may not be able to take what you have, neither can someone give you something better.

To give away all that one possesses is the first step toward gaining the gifts of God!