Live. Love. Laugh.

“Life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans.” – John Lennon, “Beautiful Boy”

We often live our lives waiting for the future. We make big dreams. We have desires, the plans for our lives, or at least, the way we want our lives to pan out. “Shoot for the moon,” every high school valedictorian honestly (but unfortunately, so tritely) proses, “for even if you miss, you’ll be among the stars.”

We want to be extraordinary (who wants to be ordinary?). We want to reach our fullest potential, to do things with excellence (which, in Christian circles is usually guilt-tripped into you by some goofy proof-texting like “let all things be done decently and in order” [1 Cor. 14:40] or “make the most of every opportunity because the days are evil” [Eph. 5:16]). We are convinced, like everyone else, God wants to use us for something great; or if this is unachieveable, as one cliché proposes, “If you can’t do great things, do small things in a great way.”

Philosopher Martin Heidegger, was well aware of this phenomenon—not of bad commencement speeches, but of the way the future shapes our lives. To him, the authentic self does not live in the present but in the future. He looks straight into the eyes of death and takes life by the horns and makes something out of it. Each one of us is thrown into a set of possibilities beyond our personal choice or abilities—the “(un)natural lottery” as some thinkers prefer to call it—and it is from this array of future possibilities that we take ownership of who we are.

But human freedom, nonetheless, and as evident as it is, life often tends to take us by the horns. Our dreams are fettered by impossible obstacles—we do not live in an “equal opportunity” world. Our plans are redirected upon some new, unknown trajectory by a decision here, indecision there, indifference in this aspect of our lives, time that passes by too quickly. Singleness. Divorce. A life-changing accident. Cancer. An unplanned pregnancy. “Life comes at you fast,” one commercial reminds us, but no insurance policy can help us regain an understanding of our own (mis)identity amidst the flurry of activity, events, and even mundane routines that make up our fleeting existence.

A different hand is dealt us than we expected. At first, we become disoriented or angry; we blame God and others for this life that becomes our real life. We get frustrated that our short lives are largely composed of the same boring activities: sleeping, eating, practicing personal hygiene, clothing ourselves, sitting in traffic, buying groceries, doing laundry. And when we realize “each man’s life is but a breath. Man is a mere phantom…” (Ps. 39:5-6), we wish to be a cat with nine lives, or we secretly hope reincarnation is actually true so we can come back and do all the things we missed out on in the next time around.

Then, after this bitter pill goes down, we realize a sweetness in its aftertaste. No matter how lame or boring our lifestyle sounds when we tell it to someone else, we find that it is far better than we had ever anticipated.

We find meaning in the squeal of an infant who is squirming while we change his diaper. The local (and by many comparisons, pretty pathetic) restaurant becomes a storehouse of cherished memories. We feel the beauty in the simplicity of our lives, in a brief lunch break with a friend or a drive through the country at dusk on a cool summer day. We enjoy waking up to a kiss even if it includes bad breath.

We relish in the distinct smell of tomato plant on our hands after working in the garden, or a new book freshly unwrapped, or the genuine leather of a baseball glove, or “the smell of a newborn baby’s head” (thanks U2). We enliven our soul with the taste of watermelon on the 4th of July, a cold beer after a hot summer’s day of work, wassail or hot chocolate when frost outlines our windows, and fresh chocolate chip cookies right out of the oven (good anytime).

We find our history by participating in that same cycle of life—birth, school, puberty, more school, marriage, child-rearing, death, and estate taxes—that has been experienced for thousands of generations. Our routine becomes a rhythm, the heartbeat for our life; the hum of the refridgerator, the buzz of the computer with its dying out fan, the ear-piercing alarm clock, the laughter of summer, the fury in insects’ wings who have made their way into the house, the creek of the long-since oiled screen door, and the bodily noises of an infant become the orchestra for the soundtrack of our lives.

We look at all of this and see that it is incredibly more than we could ever ask for or imagine. We taste and see life and declare it is good, no, very good. Life is Beautiful.

“But everything I had to lose
Came back a thousand times in you
And you fill me up with love
Fill me up with love
And you help me stand
'cause I am a family man…
This is not what I was headed for when I began
This was not my plan
It's so much better than” – Andrew Peterson, “Family Man”

Becoming an Emotionally Mature Adult, Part 2

Part 2 of the Sermon...

Practice the Presence of People
Why is all of this important? Because its absolutely central to framing our relationship with God. Allow me to explain. In the account of the story of Moses who asked to see God's glory, God promises to “cause all my goodness to pass by” (Ex 33:19). But what is God's goodness? Well, in the same verse, God tells us: “I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion.” Moses is engrossed in the goodness of God and it turns out to be mercy and compassion. God's goodness is not an abstract ideal. It is not a feeling that warms us up inside. And it is certainly not something we can control or possess absolutely. God's goodness is active compassion and mercy, a certain kind of disposition towards the Other. While in our desire for the Infinitely Desireable, we are apt to conceive of it as something to be enraptured by, something that causes us to forget everything else in the world. But the humble God of Philippians 2 who “empties himself,” deflects our desire to simply gaze upon the face of God, because what is really near to God's heart is showing compassion and mercy. In our desire for God, God turns our gaze to our neighbor, to consider how we might show compassion and mercy. Indeed, God could not be called good unless he diverted our desire for him into attention to the needs of the Other. True Religion, is to tend to the needs of the fatherless and the widow. Like the God who empties himself, my being/existence is grounded in my dis-interestedness in my own existence, in my “non-being,” in the emptying of myself for the needs and interests of others.

In this chapter, Pete Scazzero suggests that we not only practice the presence of God, as Brother Lawrence long ago coined; rather, we must “practice the presence of people.” He writes:

Loving well is the essence of true spirituality... God invites us to practice his presence in our daily lives. At the same time, he invites us 'to practice the presence of people,' within an awareness of his presence, in our daily relationships. The two are rarely brought together. [179]

Here, Scazzero makes use of the thought of Jewish philosopher, Martin Buber. In his book, I and Thou, Buber points out that most of our lives are spent treating people like objects, like an it. Like freshmen biology students dissecting frogs, we objectify and dehumanize people, we reduce them to what they can do for us. My neighbors exist to mow their yards to increase my house's property value. The cashier exists to hand me my purchase and run my credit card. My professor exists only to give me the information I need to get the grade I want. But in fleeting moments, we encounter a person not as an It but as a Thou. We relate to them, acknowledge them rather than treat them as an object of knowledge. And in that moment, a sacred space is created between us. In that relation, while allowing the Other to be themselves – to be beyond our comprehension – we encounter the Eternal Thou. Buber writes,

“I know nothing of a ‘world’ and a ‘life in the world’ that might separate a man from God. What is thus described is actually life with an alienated world of It, which experiences and uses. He who truly goes out to meet the world goes out also to God.” (95)

The primary way we interact with God is through other people. We might put it thusly: To love your neighbor as yourself is how to love the Lord your God with all your heart. We don't practice God's presence and practice the presence of others as if they are two different disciplines. They are irrevocably connected. To practice the presence of people is to practice the presence of God. If you really believed this fact, how would it revolutionize the way you view the world, view people?

Scripture points us to this reality, but it seems that our sermons have missed it. Jacob, after stealing his older brother's birthright, flees for his life. Only many years later does he come into contact with his brother, Esau. Jacob, feared the worst – that perhaps, Esau would kill him or his family. But when it became evident that Esau was not going to repay evil for evil, that they could live in harmony with one another, Jacob exclaimed: “To see your face is like seeing the face of God” (Gen 33:10).

By our ethical actions toward the Other, we enact God's presence. When we bless those who persecute us, we incarnate the God who has mercy on whom he will have mercy. When we love others and practice hospitality we realize the God who has compassion on whom he will have compassion. When we do everything we can to live at peace with one another, we exhibit the God who is slow to anger and abounding in love. And when we feed the hungry, clothe the poor, and care for the stranger, we care for Christ, who told us that “as much as you've done for the least of these, you've done it for me.”

Respect for Self, Respect for Others
Now, there may not be orphans and widows at your every turn. Too often, when we speak of love, we only think of the Mother Theresas of the world, as if the kind of love God wants us to practice is so grandiose that only a small few can achieve that state. But all of us are called to be an emotionally mature adult, for in each day of our lives there are people we are called to love, to treat as a Thou. For we enact our infinite responsibility even by the most mundane of acts, like holding the door open for someone else. As Victor Hugo said in Les Miserables, “There are many great deeds done in the small struggles of life.”

Throughout the chapter, Scazzero paints a helpful picture of what it looks like to be an emotional infant, child, adolescent, and adult. These characteristics can essentially be divided into two groups: how we view ourselves and how we view others.

Being an emotionally mature adult involves a healthy respect for yourself, appreciating the gifts and abilities God gave you. The one who is emotionally immature is not comfortable in his own skin. As a result, he looks for others to care for things he ought to be able to handle himself—he often lacks the confidence to do so. He has an addictive personality—he's looking for something else to make him complete. He unravels quickly from stress and disappointments. He has difficulty communicating his needs and wants because he doesn't know what they are. He is threatened and alarmed by criticism.

The emotionally mature adult, however, recognizes the significance of being a part of the Body of Christ. This is not just a metaphor. This is reality. Metaphors don't have skin and flesh, but we incarnate God's love to the world by our blood, sweat, and tears. I am my own body. Your body is an extension of who you are. Your body shapes your personhood. This is your body and no one else's. These are your hands and feet for serving others, your gifts for contributing to the church. The body is not an inhibitor but is our vehicle for interacting with God's world. We have to learn to be comfortable in our own skin, comfortable with the shape and size of our body, comfortable with the gifts God has given us if we are to adequately serve others. And together, our bodies make up the body of Christ.

If you want to have a practical list for the emotionally mature adult, just look at the list of behaviors in Romans 12. Loving well is not simply an intellectual pursuit we perform with our minds. Romans 12:1-2 is so often preached upon all by itself as if the “renewing of our minds” is completely detached from the rest of this passage. But Paul tells us that the renewal of our minds is really the renewal of our entire way of being in the world. It has a physical component, an active component. Our flesh and blood are a part of who we are and are a part of our emotionally healthy spirituality.

As a result, the self comfortable in her own skin is in tune with her emotions and can clearly communicate her thoughts and feelings without becoming adversarial. She takes responsibility for her attitudes and actions. She is capable of accurately assessing her strengths and weaknesses – she knows her limits, her personality traits, her emotional makeup.

When we are comfortable in our own skin, we can rightly relate to others. Why is this the case? Because only then are we comfortable enough to disagree with others and to be ourselves. When we are comfortable with our own opinions and views, and with our own spiritual journey, we can be relaxed around those who think differently from us, who are critical of us, whose spiritual journey does not look like our own.

In his encountering with others, the emotionally immature adult uses others as a means to an end and can hardly see the world from the perspective of others. Because he is not confident about his own beliefs and opinions, he is easily hurt, often interprets disagreements as personal offenses, and is apt to go on the defensive. He keeps an account of the things he does for others and expects them to pay him back. He is critical and judgmental of the spiritual journey of others, comparing his journey theirs.

The emotionally mature adult not only healthily disagrees and communicates well with others, she respects others without feeling the need to change them. She appreciates others for who they are, accepting the good and the bad about them. She can resolve conflict maturely and gives people the space to make mistakes. Rather than ignoring conflict, she pursues true peace as much as is possible and sees the potential good in conflict. She is a good listener. She gives people the benefit of the doubt and is careful not to hold tightly onto assumptions about others. She clearly communicates the expectations she has for others.

There is a lot to think about here. What would it look like to be a church full of emotionally mature adults? Each of us probably need to reflect specifically on some of these characteristics and ask ourselves how we are still emotionally immature.

Allow me to end with this: In 1914, the newly appointed Pope Benedict XV called Catholics “to appease dissension and strive” in order that “no one should consider himself entitled to affix on those who merely do not agree with his ideas the stigma of disloyalty to faith.” Do we treat others with honor and respect, giving them the benefit of the doubt, or do we use our faith journeys as the litmus tests for everyone else?

Becoming an Emotionally Mature Adult, Part 1

This past week, I preached at our church, which is nearing the end of a series on a book entitled, Emotionally Healthy Spirituality by Peter Scazzero who is a pastor in Queens. I highly recommend the book which is not only a very simple introduction to the spiritual disciplines/practices but shows how emotional and spiritual health are irrevocably tied. I was asked to speak on chapter 9, where Scazzero points out that the outflow of the spiritual disciplines, the intended result of the spiritual practices, is to love others well. Rather than preaching through the contents of the chapter, I took this idea and virtually ran with it, largely depending on the thought of one of my favorite philosophers, Emmanuel Levinas. After the congregational reading of Romans 12, this is what I had to say:

Intro
Loving well, Pete Scazzero tells us, is the goal of emotionally healthy spirituality. The outflow of learning to have emotional boundaries and engaging in spiritual practices is to interact with one another with love, respect, and dignity. Silence, solitude, meditation, the Ignatian examen, all of the personal disciplines are good things, but unless they help you love others better, they are completely worthless.

This is the chapter most forgotten in books on the spiritual disciplines. So often, the Christian life is focused only on contemplation, on our vertical, individual relationship with God, while our horizontal relationships are all but forgotten. This is the devastating heritage of much of Christian spirituality throughout church history. Christianity appropriated the Greek philosophy which diminished the physical world, virtually viewing the body as evil, and placed a high value on unity with the One, or God. Augustine, Aquinas, the ascetics, monks, and mystics like Theresa of Avila, by accepting this set of values came to view the goal of life as to continually disassociate with the things and people and relationships of this world in exchange for a detached, intimate, personal encounter with God.

This way of thinking still bears its mark on the way we think about relating to God. While we do talk about the Christian life as being part of a Body, as we just read in Romans 12, and occasionally we speak of God's covenant people when we speak of the Old Testament, by and large, ingrained into our mind is the necessity of a “personal relationship with God.” Perhaps its the result of our hyper-individualistic culture, or the remaining effects of modern conceptions of God that make us so confident we can neatly mark the parameters of God's character and actions by our own ingenuity. On the contrary, as Peter Scazzero continually notes, God is incomprehensible. He is the Incomprehensible. Even Moses, who it is said God spoke to “face to face, as a man speaks to his friend” (Ex 33:11) – whose interaction with God it should be noted, was the exception and not the rule among the Israelites – was not able to see God face to face, could not bear to encapsulate the divine in one image, in one moment in time.

We are Inherently Ethical
I want to suggest that, loving well is not just the goal of emotionally healthy spirituality; it is actually the beginning. Let me repeat that: our relationship to the Other is not just the goal of emotionally healthy spirituality but it is actually the beginning.

What do I mean by that? I mean that our existence is defined by Others. Think about it for a moment. What makes us humans unique? What about us is essentially human? We might ask, what does it mean to be made in the Image of God? Aristotle defined man as a “rational animal.” Descartes called man a “thinking thing.” By these definitions, our mind is what distinguishes us from everything else in the world. Monkeys, for instance, cannot perform calculus. Well, most of us cannot perform calculus.

But to reduce man to a “thinking thing” is problematic as well. For one thing, it continues the dualism that I mentioned before, the idea that what is really real, what is most important about us humans is what cannot be seen, that our bodies are relatively unimportant and not integral to who we are. To be a thinking thing reduces the Christian life to a mental activity, to aligning our mind with the mind of God. For another, we could point out that if the progress of technology continues as it is, there will be robots in the world plenty capable of thinking better than we can, capable of logic, capable of placing every action into a certain equation.

So is humanhood reducible to the fact that God breathed his breath or spirit of life into us that we may be a living being? No, because Gen 1:30, 6:17, and 7:15 tell us that the animals also have this breath of life. Are we essentially human because we have language? Ants and dolphins and parrots communicate by means of signs. Is it that we are social beings, that we crave and depend on interaction for our sanity? Wolves hunt in packs, geese fly in flocks, and elephants gather together to mourn their dead.

Instead, what makes us essentially human is that we are a particular kind of social being, and that our minds are put to a particular use: We are inherently ethical beings. I am responsible for the Other before any agreement or contract. Before I even know the Other's name, her face commands me: “Thou shalt not kill.” We are moral beings. The existence of Others and responsibility they inherently establish upon us is what ultimately makes us human. Like the Trinitarian God, the Father, Son, and Spirit, who in their humility—which is a moral quality—are endlessly looking out for the interests of each other, we are not to think of ourselves more highly than we ought to think but rather honor one another above ourselves. Like the Father, Son, and Spirit, we are to live in harmony with one another.

Ethics is not an afterthought. It is not the byproduct of right thinking. Ethics is who we are, what defines us. It precedes right thinking. That ethics even precedes thought can be seen by those moments when split second actions are necessary. A child runs into the road in front of my car and I slam on the brakes or swerve around him. I do not know this child but I have an ethical responsibility for him.

But in in the real world, there is more than just me in my car and this singular child in front of me. In our lives, we must adjudicate between a variety of decisions, multiple layers of ethical responsibilities that barrage us from a million faces. We have an infinite number of responsibilities that we can never fulfill; we must choose. But in this situation, choosing is what makes us human. How can one choose between two immeasurable responsibilities? How can one choose between two priceless lives? This impossible choice, the ability to make decisions beyond the outline of a textbook, mathematical theorem, or logical equation is what makes us human, is what makes us more than a machine.

Robots think in the black and white. They cannot practice grace, justice, mercy, compassion, and love. Robots can figure out logical sequences, make decisions based on probability and statistical analysis. But there is not a list of equations that we simply learn and then we know how to solve all the problems in the world. Equations are for machines. Ethical humans make decisions that break out of the system of logic. There is no logic to love.