Central or peripheral

In the days following the shooting at the Sikh gurdwara in Wisconsin, numerous interviews were aired on radio about the basic tenets of the Sikh religion.  Questions seemed to focus mostly on turbans and beards--both visible markers of observant Sikh men.  The reason for that focus seems to be the confusion/identification between Sikhs and Muslims in the years after 9/11.  I was reminded of another problem associated with the tenets of the Sikh faith--especially in post-9/11 America:  the wearing of the kirpan, or ceremonial dagger.  To many in law enforcement, it was seen as a weapon, and not to be allowed on airplanes or in schools or prisons.  To be forced not to wear the kirpan became very problematic to faithful Sikh men.        Listening to those interviews gave me occasion to reflect on the external "pieces" of our religious traditions.  The question that has kept nagging at me is:  "What features of a religious tradition are so central, that to lose--or be forced to forego--(some of) them would cause a crisis of faith?"  For many traditions over the centuries, this has been a reality, but for most of us, we've not been forced to make a choice.       The Jewish people, for example, have experienced the loss of their cultic center, the Jerusalem Temple, as well as their homeland, more than once.  A crisis of faith, to be sure!  Psalm 137 reflects the anguish of exile:  "How can we sing the Lord's song in an alien land?"  Yet, most were able to understand their faithfulness to Torah in a way that was not so site-specific.  In other situations, however, given a choice between being forced to violate Torah or die, many chose death.  What is central?      The earliest Christians were Jewish.  Yet, as the movement expanded beyond its Middle Eastern roots and began including non-Jews, the question arose as to how much of the Jewish legal code had to be observed by non-Jewish converts.  Again, the question of centrality forced soul-searching and choices.  And the process wasn't nice and neat.       Irish Roman Catholics (as well as non-Anglican Protestants), in the 16th and 17th centuries, had their religious practices severely curtailed by the British.  They could not hold public office.  They could not worship publicly -- or give public evidence of their faith.  For many, who found praying the Rosary a central part of their practice, this was very problematic.  The clever among them designed, what came to be known as, the "Irish Penal Rosary", which could be worn hidden and prayed without worry of detection.  An "external" practice had become so central that rather than forsake it, they chose to remake it.        Around the world today there are still plenty of places where such choices are being forced upon the faithful of many traditions.  The impetus for conformity in societies is strong (including our own).  Not really being subject to such coercion, however, I still have to wonder what I could forego without losing the core of my faith.  What part of worship, or music, or (as an Anglican) the Book of Common Prayer, is so central?  Language, for many, is critical.  I wonder, if I were Muslim, what would be the impact of the loss of the Kaaba in Mecca.  There are many other similar features in almost all religions.       So, central, or peripheral?    The questions remain to be answered by us all. Blessings, Chaplain Gary

For purely symbolic reasons . . .

       As I was riding into work this morning, I was listening to an interview with Imam Faisal Rauf, the leading figure behind the Park 51 mosque (or "Ground Zero Mosque") in New York City.  The conversation, and being reminded of the "heat" that lay behind the controversy with placing a mosque near the site of the World Trade Center, fit into something that I've been musing on all week:  the power, use, and misuse of "symbols".
       A definition I like of "symbols" is that they are "words or things that open out onto a plurality of possible meanings, and still have a superplus [sic] of meaning left over."*  Thinking just about Ground Zero -- how many different meanings can we apply?  Or, using a different event, how many meanings can be applied to "Hiroshima" -- which will, no doubt, come up in the news this coming Monday, as we recall the nuclear bombing of that city in 1945?  In either case are the meanings exhausted by the protagonists/antagonists/witnesses?  There is a memorial that has sprung up near the site of the Aurora shootings of two weeks ago.  It symbolizes something different for different people, e.g., a remembrance of those lost, a critique of gun laws, a pledge to make things different.
       At the University of Denver, we've been engaging in a long process of discerning our "brand" -- what does the University mean to various constituencies, and how best can we depict that visually.  The "logo" is meant to symbolize the University, but no one person--faculty, student, alum, donor, potential employer--will understand the logo the same.  Nor should they! (Note:  the new logo is at the bottom of this newsletter.)
       A few weeks ago, I heard a radio call-in contest that asked the question "Which symbol most represents the USA?"  I don't remember the "winning" answer, but you can imagine the answers:  the American flag, Statue of Liberty, dollar bill, bald eagle, the White House, etc.  And, how important are they!  Wow, if politicians don't sport a Flag Lapel Pin, their patriotism is suspect.  The flag, as symbol, means something.  But to some, it means "America, love it or leave it", while, to others, it can mean "In this free land, I can protest injustice and be a proud American."  To others, perhaps non-Americans, it represents a colonial power; to yet others, an aspirational dream.
       What spawned all of this reflection on symbols was hearing a reporter comment on some political action or vote:  "It was done for purely symbolic reasons."  Cheapening a rich word, I thought.  Clearly NOT done for symbolic reasons, but to make a pointed, political, one-dimensional statement.  If we're going to cheapen the word "symbol" (as we have done with the word "myth"), we're not far from cheapening the power of symbols (as we have done with myths).
       As a religious person, and a scholar of religions, I'm aware of the rich symbolic tradition we all hold.  The symbols we claim, we use, we cherish are NOT one-dimensional.  What, in our various traditions, are symbolized by different foods?  Bread:  leavened or un-leavened?  Butter?  Wine?  Rice?  What about water?  Cleansing from impurity.  Entry into a new community.  Symbol of creation.   What about fire?  The symbols depicted above are all rich with meaning, layers upon layers.
        So, in my reading of sacred texts over the last week, I've been hyper-aware of the symbols present in those writings.  I've been hyper-aware, to of the symbols I've seen in the Olympic events, in the commercials, in the language used by commentators.  It has enriched my week, and opened my eyes, my mind and heart.  Purely symbolic!

Blessings,

Chaplain Gary
 
*Bean, Wendell C., and William G. Doty.  Myths, Rites, Symbols: A Mircea Eliade Reader. (Harper Colophon, 1976), 342.

Not expecting the unthinkable

This morning, before I turned on the computer, I was pretty certain what I would be writing today.  It had to do with living on the boundaries (inspired by a radio show on Autism and the Divine).  But, once the computer was on, my inbox was full of "Breaking News Updates" about the shooting early this morning at a nearby theater.  As of this writing, 71 people were either killed or wounded.  I immediately thought of two earlier situations when, having a Sunday morning sermon already written, I awoke to tragedies that demanded something else (an airplane crash in Charlotte, and Lady Diana's death).  So, boundaries and autism will have to wait.  Or, at least, autism.        Because, it seems to me, we are always on boundaries, existing on a very thin edge.  As a road cyclist, I'm very aware of the fact that a couple of skinny tires, and my ability to balance in an emergency, are all that keep me from serious injury -- and I certainly know what happens when something affects traction that even my balance-skills can't correct!  The folks who attended last night's midnight showing of the latest Batman movie probably had no idea of the thin boundary they were walking -- nor should it have been on their minds.  None of us can live effective, productive lives if we're constantly looking for monsters under the bed.        Tragedies like last night, however, do remind us that the unthinkable happens.  And, once it does, we begin to try to connect the dots that might help us explain it.  As I've said many times before, in many different circumstances (including the two tragedies to which I alluded above), the answer to the "why" question is ultimately unsatisfying.  Blaming violent movies, or too-lax gun laws (if indeed, they are), will not, in the end, explain the actions of folks who are in a psychological/mental state that would lead them to commit such crimes.        For those reasons I can't ask "Why?" or "Why would God allow . . .?"  I cannot, with all good conscience say "God must have had a good reason for this."  That would not be a God I would want to worship, or serve, or devote my life's work.  I believe in a God who challenges me to ask "Given the tragedy, what's next?"  Mourn, grieve, certainly; there is loss!  But there's more!        Certainly there are some socio-cultural institutions or practices that probably ought be challenged; that's one next step -- a possible next step that will probably be a very steep uphill climb.  Another, more manageable, next step would be simply to realize how thin are the boundaries that separate us and our loved ones from some unthinkable tragedy.  And to remember that our time together is extremely precious.  And to take action in that regard.        There is a vigil scheduled tonight in Aurora for those who wish to join in solidarity.  I was asked by an editor of a national blog-site whether I was going to be there, and, if so, would I sent some reports?  Recognizing how it might sound, I responded that, "No, as one who has not been directly affected, I'm not going.  I'm going to be with my family, and hug my wife and kids extra hard."  The editor, also a friend/colleague, understood completely.         I think that rather than living life looking for monsters under the bed, or in airplanes, or in movie theaters, or asking questions to which there is no satisfactory answer, I'd rather we live life appreciating and celebrating the fleeting beauty that is our life together.  That is one of my best answers to the "What next?" question.         Because we never expect the unthinkable.   ---------         My prayers are with all of those affected by this horrible tragedy:  those who've died, those who were injured in body, those who've been injured in mind and spirit, the shooter, and all of their families.  My thanks go out to all of the first responders:  police, fire-fighters, ambulance crews, doctors and nurses . . . as well as those who will continue the care for all affected:  medical personnel, counselors, clergy, friends and family members. Blessings, Chaplain Gary

(Re-building the Intangible

As I mentioned in the last newsletter, I recently spent a week in New Haven, CT at the Global Conference of Chaplains in Higher Education.  Held every four years, this conference brings together Chaplains, Deans of Chapels, Campus Ministers, etc. from around the world.  I ate with Swedes, Germans, Australians, Muslims, Jews and Catholics.  We heard from amazing speakers-all from the US, and we had the opportunity to attend some great workshops and roundtables (all of the ones I attended were led by non-Americans!).
      One of the keynote speakers was the Rev. Gail Bowman, who just last month left her position as Chaplain at Dillard University (in New Orleans) to assume a similar role at Berea College (in Kentucky).  Gail was at Dillard when Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast almost seven years ago.  The photo above is of the campus after the storm and broken dikes.  The campus, of course, was evacuated, and the school was closed for quite some months.  When it did reopen, it was in the New Orleans Hilton Riverside Hotel.
      She told us stories of the evacuation and relocations of students, and showed slide after slide of the rebuilding process.  Several of the things she said have stuck with me (and I may return to some of the other of those quotes in weeks to come); one in particular haunted me:  "When buildings get destroyed, attention goes to the buildings, because they're tangible."*  As I recall, this was in the context of the trauma the students had experienced, but how little attention (comparatively) was paid to "rebuilding" them--those who, too, had lost so much.  It made me wonder about the University of Denver's Emergency Management Plan: what provisions are there in that document for caring for the people at the University in the wake of a major disaster interrupting the "business of higher education" here in Denver.  (There may, indeed, be provisions, but, to satisfy my curiosity, I plan on taking a look!)
      Coincidentally, a TED talk appeared in my iTunes queue prior to my return to Denver; I watched it on my smartphone on the plane.  It was titled "Measuring What Counts" with Chip Conley (who runs a numbers of hotels in San Francisco).**  Conley, too, was talking about tangibles and intangibles.  He pointed out that we most often understand success by measuring only the tangibles, the things that hit the bottom line.  Yet the backstory to his talk was that the success of one of his hotels was due to an intangible: the personal care one employee took to ensure that all of the guests were made to feel at home.
      Conley challenged his audience to develop a new metric, a new way of counting what really counts (he pointed to Bhutan's "Gross National Happiness" index).  That seemed, to me, be a very similar challenge implied by Gail Bowman:  to place at least as much emphasis on (re-)building the intangibles-the members of the Dillard community-as the buildings that house them.  And the request that Conley left with his audience mirrors the implicit request of Gail Bowman's:

So what the world needs now, in my opinion, is business leaders and political leaders who know what to count. We count numbers. We count on people. What really counts is when we actually use our numbers to truly take into account our people. I learned that from a maid in a motel and a king of a country. What can you start counting today? What one thing can you start counting today that actually would be meaningful in your life, whether it's your work life or your business life?***


Good question!

Blessings,

Gary
 
*That may not be a precise quote, as I was scribbling madly.  A video of the whole speech can be found at
http://new.livestream.com/accounts/551391/GlobalChaplains2012/videos/1682275

**That talk can be found here:
http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/en/chip_conley_measuring_what_makes_life_worthwhile.html

***See the last paragraph of the transcript, found at the link above.

Hold on Tight? On 2nd Thought!

Earlier this week, I was with my 9-year-old son at Cub Scout Camp.  Hot.  Dusty.  No hot water the first day.  Food fit for . . . cub scouts (but not their parents).  And he had a great time -- which, of course, was the point!  And all the things boys like to do:  BB-guns, swimming, sling-shots, hiking, boating, archery, etc.  I loved doing almost all of those things, too, as I was growing up.  But archery was NOT something I'd really experienced.  And it was fascinating listening to the instructors describe the proper technique for getting the arrow situated on the bow, how to hold the bow itself, how to hold the arrow against the bowstring, etc.  One of the things that seemed to create the most difficulty for the kids was the instruction to hold the arrow against the string "loosely"; in other words, not to squeeze the string, arrow, or fingers too tightly.  The result was a poorly-shot arrow!  I can understand the kids' confusion; it seemed counterintuitive to me too!       Then, on Thursday morning, I went to the doctor to have him check on my left elbow, where I was experiencing some pain when I would move my arm in certain ways.  I assumed, given some internet searches, that I had tendonitis.  But I wasn't sure I wanted to treat my own (poorly diagnosed) ailment.  Sure enough, the diagnosis was "tennis elbow tendonitis".  The strange thing was that I am not left-handed, so I don't swing a tennis racket with my left arm (actually, I don't swing a tennis racket at all!).  The doc told me that what was happening was that I was gripping things too tightly with that hand, leading to pain in the tendons that run from my fingers to my elbow.        Hmmm.  Gripping the arrow/string too tightly leads to a poor shot.  Gripping things too tightly with my hand leads to tennis elbow.  Gripping things too tightly . . .        It didn't take long for me to make the connections: this isn't just a physical issue!  I recalled that the singer Sting paid homage to author Richard Bach when he wrote the song, "If you love somebody, set them free."*  It also contains the line:  "You can't control an independent heart."  Control of another is just a corollary of holding it too tightly.        But it is not just pop-culture that understands the hazards connected to tight-grasping.  Many of the world's religions understand this as a spiritual issue.  Attachment and/or non-attachment to anything is a central theme in Buddhism.  Jesus is recorded as saying that "Those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.  For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life?" (Matthew 16.25-26).        I know that I have a tendency to grip things tightly.  I also know that I have a tendency to want to control.  I'd never quite put the two together.  But now, whenever I'm exercising and wearing that oh-so-lovely (and comfortable -- NOT!) elbow strap, I'll have a visual reminder of what this week taught me. Blessings, Gary    *For more on the song see the Wikipedia article with that title: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/If_You_Love_Somebody_Set_Them_Free

Stuff and Goodsense

Shoes.  Top Ramen.  Notebooks.  Cell phones.        Over the last few days of this week, students were moving out of the residential halls at the University of Denver.  A couple of years ago, the Sustainability Action Team in Student Life decided that we would collect a lot of the "throw-aways" that are part of move-out, and team up with local charities to put these "discards" to good use.  The photo above is the collection after a few days in just one of the halls.        Pillows.  Plates.  Textbooks.  Laundry detergent.        The variety and sheer bulk was astonishing.  Big things, like bookcases. Unopened packages of AA batteries.  An incredible variety of garments that memorialize some memorable (albeit annual) event.  Greeting cards with "Love you always!   XOXOXO!  Bruno".  On the one hand, those of us who were sorting the stuff ("Clothes for Goodwill over here.  Toiletries, here.  Cleaning supplies, here.  Food, here.") were in awe of (what we saw) as "waste".  On the other, we were grateful that the students brought it all to the "donations" room, rather than taking it to the big blue dumpsters outside.        Flash drives.  Hats.  Desk lamps.  An over-sized martini glass.        But we were engaged in a good thing.   The shelter report was that we ended up collecting 2,000 pounds of food alone!  We don't have the final weight of all of the other things that went to Goodwill or various shelters.  And, of course, the charities were ecstatic to receive all of this stuff.  And the message came home clearly to me -- especially at this Commencement time -- "we who have received so much have so much to give".  A different message might be:  "We have too much stuff!"  And that is true.  But those of us who have . . .  well what DO we have?  Stuff?  Intelligence?  Training?  Skills?  The gift of encouragement?  Material means?  Excess sweaters or socks?  Those of us who have have the opportunity to use that abundance to better the world.  How much can WE give out of our abundance?        Half-a-jar of peanut butter.  Unopened shampoo.  Bookshelves.        .        .        .         A single snow-ski.       Blessings, Gary

Faithful to what?

        Last Monday was Memorial Day, the day in which we remember those men and women who died in service of the United States.  As Abraham Lincoln -- prior to the establishment of the holiday -- put it in his "Gettysburg Address", they are those who "gave the last full measure of devotion."  They were (as most soldiers are still) faithful to their commitment to their cause.  Their comrades-at-arms counted on them.  Some died for the ultimate "winners"; others for those who didn't fare as well.  Some died unawares; others knew where they were headed.

        I've been thinking about faithfulness the last few days.  It isclearly a religious concept; early in the book of Genesis, for example, the patriarch Abraham was told by God that his offspring would be as numerous as the stars, even though, at that time, he had no heir (Gen 15.5).  The promise was so powerful that it did not even stop the patriarch--once he did have a son--from following another instruction from heaven:  go, sacrifice your son.  An angel stayed his hand, with the words, "now I know that you fear God" (22.12), but Abraham's faithfulness was clear.  Abraham's faithfulness became a model for later Christians.  Other religious traditions similarly place great value on steadfast commitment, despite the cost.

       This morning, I attended the Commencement ceremony for the Iliff School of Theology.*  Graduates pledged their commitment to their various callings.  The commencement speaker and members of the faculty urged them to remain true.  Yet the commencement speaker also hinted that (using the example of some Harvard graduates) there are some folks who might not live up to their commitments.  The theme of faithfulness was apparent.

       And then I think about our cultural movement away from "brand loyalty".  Pretty much gone are the days when subsequent generations in a family would only buy Fords or Chevrolets (both looking down on the other).  Similarly, pretty much gone are the days when many Protestant Christians will stand by the denomination of their birth; the same phenomenon is only slightly less true for members of other religious bodies.  The theme seems to be:  "My commitment to this or that is only as strong as my pocket book or  the preacher's adroitness at leading worship.  There are many other options out there that are just as good!"

       I am not suggesting that there may not be very good reasons for shifting "brands".  Certain manufacturers, for example, may engage in environmental questionable practices that might drive otherwise faithful consumers away.   Questions of faith may no longer be adequately answered by the religion of one's youth.  But I am always interested in the deeper questions of commitment.  Memorial Day (and Veterans' Day) and commencements and ordinations usually demand that I search deep within and try to answer the question "For what would I give the last full measure of devotion."

Blessings,

Gary