Faith and Spirituality

"If there be God - please forgive me. When I try to raise my thoughts to Heaven, there is such convicting emptiness that those very thoughts return like sharp knives and hurt my very soul..."

"How painful is this unknown pain - I have no Faith."

What does it mean to have faith? What does it mean to be a "Christian"? What does it mean to be "spiritual"? The more I learn, the more I wrestle with other people's thoughts and experiences, the longer I teach and encounter young people who are trying to figure out the answers to these questions...the more I have to say I don't know. The above quotes are from Mother Teresa's recently released letters...intimate expressions of uncertainty and doubt. Mother Teresa! A woman who dedicated her life to the poor and suffering on the streets of Calcutta. A woman who lived out her Catholic belief in the crucified Christ in whom God reveals his solidarity with the poor and oppressed. A woman who is held up as the example of someone who "did something"...who acted upon her beliefs. Who would seem to be the one person who had it all together...no doubts and uncertainties...pouring herself out in service because her faith was rock solid. Come on, if Mother Teresa has doubts...

It's been a crazy few weeks for me at Dordt College. Students are struggling...probably for a lot of reasons. I see my job as a privilege...I get invited into the lives of so many young people. Their joys, their sorrows, their struggles. The last few weeks have been primarily struggles. Students who don't think they are good enough...spiritual enough...who aren't sure if they have faith...if they believe. They don't pray enough, read the Bible enough, "believe" enough. Some of them remind me of the Opus Dei priest in the Da Vinci code...as they talk I can almost hear the cracking of the whip. So what is my great advice? What is my wise council? "Join the club..." I say.

I've been on a kick lately...I often I latch on to a theme and beat the drum for a while. Lately I have been pounding away at our humanity. We are human after all...we are not angels or gnostic spiritual entities. We are human beings...made from the dust of the earth...meant to be a part of this world. "This world is not my home?" B.S. It is my home...and I love it...which is why I truly grieve when people I love die. We are meant to be human...to live in this world the way God intended. Now don't worry, I believe in sin, and depravity. Yes, sin has warped our humanity, and the world is not as it should be. But we are still meant to be human, and we must never forget it.

So what does this have to do with Mother Teresa? Her letters give me comfort. Her letters let me know I am not leading young people astray. Her letters reveal that she too was human. After all, to be human is to doubt. To be human is to read the bible and not get anything out of it. To be human is to not want to pray...and not "feel" anything even if you make yourself do it. To be human is to not want to go to church on a particular Sunday morning, but to do it anyway. I have come to love this little add on..."do it anyway". This is part of being human. This is an important part of "spirituality". Not that we pray, read scripture, or worship when we feel like it (John Henry Newman argues that if we only pray when we feel like it...we will never pray)...but that in the majority of times when we don't...we do it anyway. And that's ok.

Necessary Evil

Bring up the war in Iraq in this part of the country (NW Iowa) and you're likely to get one of two responses. Either people don't want to talk about it...or they get all patriotic on you. "Support the troops"..."sacrifice"..."freedom"..."remember 9-11" - George W. Bush as the mythical American hero...and this is just in the Christian community. Now I'm not questioning any one's salvation...many people who give me the aforementioned lines are good Christian people. But I have this strange feeling that when it comes to war...the Christian community no longer views it as a "necessary evil"...just necessary.

Read any Christian throughout history who has defended the necessity of war...and you will always find someone who thinks war is hell. War is evil...it may be necessary at times, it may even be just...but it is still evil. Last Friday I was challenged by an Anabaptist student in my Theology 101 class on the issue of pacifism. I told him the truth...In my heart of hearts I long to be a pacifist...but I just can't. Reinhold Niebuhr convinced me I can't. When I taught Christian Ethics at Pella Christian I would have the students read his piece entitled "Why the Christian Church is not Pacifist". Which is nobler...to tolerate tyranny for a long period of time...or anarchy for a short period of time? Both are evil...tyranny and anarchy. But sometimes, according to Niebuhr, we are forced to choose the lesser of two evils for the sake of justice and peace.

But with regard to the war in Iraq...the Christian community seems content to call war "necessary". To question the war, to question the policies of the Bush administration, to question Bush himself...is understood to be both unpatriotic and heretical. As if the Christian church is dependent upon the American version of "freedom" for it's survival...As if the promise that Christ gave to Peter..."the gates of hades will not prevail against it (the Church)..." is somehow inadequate. As if it is a noble and glorious thing to send our young men and women into the meat grinder..shattering them emotionally, physically, spiritually...

Lately I've been watching Ken Burns documentary The War. He does a good job of showing both the insanity and treachery of the war, but also I believe it's necessity. The men and women he interviews are not proud of the violence, the gore, the inhumanity...they did what they thought they needed to do. Many of them, I firmly believe, recognize the horror of war...the evil. Listening to them talk, I did not get a sense of intense patriotism or self righteousness...I came away with a sense of survival. I talked with my grandfather once about his experience in WWII...I even got it down on tape. I came away with a similar feeling...war is hell, even when it may be the right thing to do.

I know I am fortunate to never have been forced onto the battle field. My grandfather and my father, who was in Vietnam, didn't have such a luxury. Maybe that means I should shut my mouth...but as someone who works with the young people being sent to Iraq I can't. As a Christian who believes in the hope of Christ's resurrection and presence of the Kingdom of God, right now...right here...I can't. As someone who knows someone walking the streets of Baghdad with an M16 strapped over his shoulder...I can't. That doesn't make me a pacifist...it makes me a Christian who thinks we need to call war what it is...hell, evil, "not the way it's supposed to be."

By the way...a former student of mine is in Baghdad right now. He emails me from time to time...and I don't email him as much as I should. But if you don't have any personal connections to this war...get connected. Send Brandon Talsma an email. Let him know you are thinking about him, praying for him...let him know you hope he can come home soon, get married, and live a good life.

brandontalsma@hotmail.com

Three Hours One Tuesday

For three hours on a Tuesday afternoon my wife and I were having twins. Healthy twin girls. I can't tell you how excited we were. My wife cried...said something like"poor Christian"...and we immediately made plans to move him out of the big bedroom upstairs to make room for the girls. Amazing what you can do with three hours. I had them graduated from high school, going to college, becoming doctors and lawyers...pastors...

I remember it well...we came home and I went back upstairs to finish painting the bedroom with this rock in my gut. "Why didn't they say everything is ok?" I kept asking myself that question over and over. "Is everything ok?" I asked the technician. "Didn't she say anything?" - referring to the doctor that had examined the sonogram in complete, horrible, silence. "No..." "Well it's hard to tell with twins..." And that was that. So I went home and painted, listening to Sufjan Stevens, afraid to let myself relax.

I came down a few hours later, having finished the bedroom, and noticed my wife was on the phone. She was crying. She scribbled down some weird technical jargon for "one of our girls is not going to live". She had a terrible condition - there was nothing we could do - one would live and the other would die.

Terrible thing being a parent. Frightening. I don't cry easily...my wife will tell you that...but now when I see or read about the plight of children my heart breaks and tears well up in my eyes. That's what being a father does to you. So what do you do when you can't do a damn thing. Nothing but wait. Wait for a daughter to be born to die. This is what my summer consisted of...waiting and preparing for the inevitable.

For some reason I kept thinking of Paul's words in Romans..."Jacob I have loved...Esau I hated." Hated? What does that mean? I know I'm taking the text out of context...but I can't get the words out of my head. One lives, the other dies...doesn't make much sense. The randomness of the whole thing...the "rotten luck" as our doctor put it. She kept telling us it was nothing we did...these things just happen...but it's hard to live with "things just happen".

Don't get me wrong...I'm not pissed at God or anything. I don't question his goodness. I don't scream "why me!!!" I'm just pissed and I have a right to be. The Old Testament lets me be pissed. David, Job, Israel, Jesus - they all let me be pissed. But I am thankful for the experiences of others. I am thankful for Jurgen Moltmann, Karl Barth, C.S. Lewis, and countless others who have helped me make sense of the Biblical narrative. Who have helped me contemplate the meaning of Exodus 3:7 "For I have seen the misery of my people...", and the forsakeness of Christ on the cross. I am thankful for their help in understanding what the resurrection of Jesus Christ means for my daughter...along with the hope of bodily resurrection and new creation. I am thankful for my years at a Catholic high school - for going to mass on Thursdays...and for experiencing the Stations of the Cross during lent. I am thankful for St. James Episcopal Church in Oskaloosa, IA and the sickly old lady who always sat in the back pew, bent over the kneeler pouring her broken humanity out in prayer. And for the thoughts of Moltmann...who helped me wrestle with the history the dead have with God...and N.T Wright who gave me the green light to offer prayers for my dead daughter. Frankly, I'm passed the point of caring if it is heretical or not...if loving my dead daughter and trying to make sense of her death makes me a heretic...so be it. But most of all...I am thankful for all of those people in my life who let me curse what has happened, without questioning my faith, and just give me the space to be righteously pissed.

Imaginative Remembering

I attended a poetry reading last Sunday evening...I even participated. A bunch of lyrical, thought provoking English profs - and then me - a theology / youth ministry punk way out of his league. I really enjoyed listening to the poems and short stories read by the good people from the Dordt College English dept. I have strong feelings about the connection between the world of poetry and literature, and the world of theology. For too long it seems we "conservative" theology folk have been influenced by a combination of modernism and fundamentalism. We have turned the Bible into a deposit of doctrinal truth...a book of historical and scientific facts...facts that came be pulled out of their context and thrown at people like grenades - "The Bible says.....the Bible says....the Bible says...". And then we wonder why the Bible loses it's meaning for our young people? If it's a book of facts to be conquered...many of them believe they have conquered! They know all there is to know...their arsenal of weaponry is full. So when I ask students to read along with me in class...many do...some don't. Some take that time to glance at their planners, or whisper something to their neighbor, or just totally space out. But their not alone...look around during a church service sometime when the Bible is being read.
Could this have something to do with a loss of imagination? We have worked really hard to drain the biblical story of mystery, magic, and along with it- meaning. The North American Christian community is no longer a story telling community. We have left that to the "heathen". So called "secular" authors, filmmakers, musicians, artists...tell wonderful stories - but far too often we lob our bible grenades back at them, afraid of letting ourselves be human lest we venture away from the "truth".
We need our poets, our authors, our story tellers. We need more theology students to engage the creativity of poetry and literature...and we need more of our English majors to delve into theology. The Christian community has to remember that we are a people with a story, and we all need to learn how to creatively enter into and share that story. We need to be awakened to the mystery and power of the Biblical narrative, and reclaim the Bible for what it is...the memory of Israel and the memory of the Apostles as they proclaim what God has done for us, and the hope of what he is about to do.
The phrase "Imaginative Remembering" comes from Old Testament scholar Walter Bruggemann. I love that phrase and use it every chance I get. Sometime is causes students concern...after all to "imagine" something is to make something up. But I reassure them the phrase does not mean the Bible is fiction...but that the Bible is memory rooted in the historical actions of the God who has entered into covenant with his people, and with his creation, revealed to us through narrative . A story about a God who has, as Exodus 3:7 proclaims, "seen the misery" of his people - and more importantly - has come to do something about it. This is a wonderful story, a powerful story...and it's about time the Christian community once again allow the story to speak.

American Beauty

The Dordt College Faith and Film club was brought to life last year. I, along with a handful of students and a few community members, picked some films we thought were significant and once a month we watched one and discussed it. The club survived the summer, and now the students are in control. They have picked some good ones...

The first film chosen for the new year was American Beauty - which we watched last Tuesday - but not without controversy. Some on campus thought the film shouldn't be shown. There is vulgarity, violence, and sexuality...and, to be honest, the film is not easy to watch. But does this mean we shouldn't watch it?

Admittedly, the film is one of my favorites...so I'm biased. The reason for this bias is that I'm a father. I know this should probably put me on the other side of the debate...after all fathers are supposed to oppose such films that corrupt the minds of their children, but in my case being a father has caused me to embrace this film all the more. I can identify with Lester, the main character of the film. We are all seeking the big deal...we are all trying to make sense of the world, to find happiness and contentment, to find those things in life that will wake us up from the comatose stupor we too often find ourselves in. So we frantically look for the next big thing...

This happens in the Christian community as well. Our young people feel this need to move from spiritual high to spiritual high. They want to make a difference...which means traveling the world to bring the gospel to a people in desperate need. At our college campus it means being a part of praise and worship, prayer retreats, mission projects - the list could go on. For others in the church is usually manifests itself as the next big book or author with some new big idea. After all, Christians have been failing miserably in living out the gospel, we have failed miserably in carrying out the great commission...so these books and authors try to get us back on track with these grandiose ideas and spiritual exercises. So we go out and climb rocks...quit our jobs...beat our chests...watch Braveheart...go on retreats and mission projects - all in search of the next big deal.

This is what American Beauty is really about. For Lester, he is searching for meaning in sexual conquest, power, and drugs...but we are allowed to fill in the blanks for ourselves. The point of American beauty is that Lester doesn't "get it" until he has tried all of these things...and failed to arrive at contentment. When does he finally "get it"? Looking at a picture of his family. I'll admit...I am moved by the final scenes of American Beauty as Lester discovers meaning and purpose in the ordinary things of life. The leaves in fall, his grandmother's leathery hands, lying on his back and watching the stars...and Jane his daughter...and Carolyn his wife. When I see the shot of his daughter standing in the doorway with a princess costume on, I am reminded of my daughter fluttering around the yard with her Tinkerbell wings. I think of my son pretending to be a monkey on the rocks at Oak Grove...I think of my newborn daughter and the spiritual act of changing her dirty diapers. Here lies the meaning of life...too be found in the ordinary things of life. If we could only quit looking to the horizon, and look instead at what has been put right in front of us...that is the point of American Beauty. That we might finally give thanks for the explosions of grace and beauty to be discovered in the ordinary moments of our "stupid little lives."

Life in the City

Thanks to the generosity of a friend, I just spent about five days in New York City. Five days of the subway, buses, walking, running (trying to catch the trains and buses), baseball (Yankee stadium), and eating. I've been to New York twice before...but this time I felt like I finally caught a glimpse of city life. Being a Midwestern Iowa / Minnesota boy...the city usually makes me long for the open prairie and the comfort of the familiar. But this time I noticed something. In the midst of the busyness, noise, and obnoxious symbols of hyper-capitalism; I witnessed the fusion of culture and community. The African American elders staking their claim to the storefront sidewalks with their plastic lawn chairs in Harlem. The Puerto Rican flags perched proudly atop the roofs of automobiles and the heads of young Hispanic women. What looked like a Hasidic Jewish picnic in Central park, amidst the families and lovers trying to find small pieces of Eden in the midst of concrete and high rise buildings. And the rowdy mob of young men who have found ritual and religion in the bleachers of Yankee stadium; proclaiming solidarity with the poor in the face of the oppressive wealthy box seat holders, and celebrating a secular form of vicarious atonement with chants of "Derek Jeter" and "Hip Hip Jorge!"

But what impacted me the most were the improvised signs of life and beauty in places that seemed desolate and barren. The graffiti on bridges and empty storefronts depicting pictures full of color and hope. The mariachi band singing in the middle of a subway train to people trying hard not to notice each other. The young African American men dancing in the midst of Time's Square station. Most strikingly...the different groups of people from all walks of life, from every culture and nation, living together. While New York is far from a utopia (I witnessed plenty of brokenness ...), my time in the big city helped me better understand why John uses the imagery of a city, the new Jerusalem, in talking about the "new heavens and the new earth."

"I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ' Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself with be with them and be their God'" (Revelation 21:2-3)


What I experienced during my time in New York, to borrow from the Eastern Orthodox, were icons; snapshots of city life that point beyond themselves to something much greater. To life as it was meant to be...and to a life that one day will be once again.

What my Father Gave Me

My father and I really do not have much in common. It used to bother me, but not as much anymore. We are different people with different experiences. My father grew up in a blue collar family, and began working in a local meat market at a young age. He served in Vietnam, came home and got married. He started a family and needed to pay the bills, so he began working. Going to school may have been an option, but not a very good one. He worked hard to support his family, buy us some toys, pay for Christian school tuition, and he took us to the occasional movie.

My dad liked action movies, James Bond, war flicks, etc…but he also liked science fiction. I remember staying up late on Saturday nights…until midnight!...watching Dr. Who. He took us to see the original Superman movies, and I will never forget going to The Return of the Jedi. Never mind the critics…I was a kid, and I was mesmerized. Blown away. Inspired. I became a Star Wars nut, collecting as many of the action figures as I could, recreating the battles between the Imperial forces and the Rebels. I also was hooked on superheros. Superman, Spiderman, The Incredible Hulk – you name the hero, and I was into them. (Except for Batman…he really didn’t have any cool super powers.)

Whether he knew it or not, my father had given me a gift. Imagination. I would get caught up into entirely different worlds, where good battled against the forces of evil. Where there was more to the world then met the eye…there was something beyond the way things were. There were other forces at work in the world…forces from other dimensions, other places.

I still get caught up into these worlds. I love the Lord of the Rings, the new Spiderman films (although I was disappointed with the third one), and I can’t wait to read the Chronicles of Narnia to my kids. But the influence these things had upon me goes much deeper then entertainment. I am a teacher, and for 9 months I stand in front of 18-23 year old young men and women and share ideas. To be a teacher, from my perspective, is to be a story teller. We take all kinds of narratives...historical, scientific, social, theological - and try to help young people understand them, and find the meaning and purpose in them. To teach from a Christian perspective, means we cast visions. We speak of the hope that the way the world is - the violence, oppression, and suffering - is not the way it always will be. We speak of incarnation, of resurrection, of the new heavens and the new earth...and this takes imagination. C.S. Lewis feared that the modern educational system would produce "men with no chests"...people with no heart...no imagination. I am thankful that I did not need to rely on an educational system to open my mind to think grand thoughts. Imagination is a gift my father has unknowingly given to me, and I am forever grateful.