Christian Piatt Blog

Planting seeds brings growth in unexpected way

Our friends from graduate school, Ryan and Shanna, were planning to come visit, but they had to cancel their trip.

On the way from Shanna’s brother’s wedding to the reception, Ryan got a call. His mother, Sandy, had suffered a massive aneurism in her brain, and she was in critical care at the local hospital.

She spent many days on life support in a coma, and plans were made for her likely death. Family and friends stood watch at her bedside and counted the hours. In time, she opened her eyes, regained some simple movement in one hand, and even began to mouth words once her breathing tube was removed.

Since then, her recovery has been nothing short of miraculous. She is standing with some assistance during physical therapy, and although it exhausts her to try, she is beginning to regain her speech. Her prognosis seems to suggest a dramatic recovery, although every step, both literal and figurative, is painstakingly deliberate.

Shanna and my wife, Amy, were both born on the same day. They were both pregnant at the same time in seminary, and they both gave birth to fiery, towheaded boys. Our kids have become good friends despite the current distance between them, and they both are now beginning to read.

Ryan and Shanna’s son is named Jake, and one of his favorite pastimes with Grandma Sandy is to read. Shanna recalls one trip in the car when Jake and Sandy read one of his favorite books for an hour straight, starting back at the beginning as soon as they reached the end every time. Jake had read the book so many times he had it memorized, but he never tired of having Sandy recite it just one more time.

Following her hospitalization, Jake would visit often with his parents. One afternoon following church, Jake asked to go along with Shanna to the hospital. When they arrived, Sandy’s occupational therapist was there, and greeted Jake warmly. When she asked about the dog-eared children’s book near the bed, he explained it was their favorite book to read together.

The therapist took Jake aside and explained that she needed him to help teach his grandmother the words in this book they had shared so many times. With the trust only a child can muster, he promptly crawled onto the bed and began to read, one word at a time, waiting patiently as Sandy struggled to articulate the same words she had previously shared with him.

The call of faith is to plant trees under whose shade we may never sit. Those rare, cherished moments when we get to partake of the yield from our own harvest are as close to holy as we may get on this Earth. However, they are not the reason we plant the seeds in the first place.

Sandy did not read to Jake because she thought someday that he might turn the tables and return the favor. She spent the time with him out of love, with nothing more expected in return. In her moment of greatest vulnerability, that love was repaid many times over. If there is such a thing as a gospel of prosperity, I think this is it at its very essence.

We don’t serve God because of the promise of this or that reward. We serve because it is right. Sometimes we’re called to serve those we love, and at other times, we find ourselves at the feet of our enemies. That same enemy may become our advocate in our time of greatest need, or may turn against us, despite our own good will.

It’s not for us to question who is and isn’t worthy to enjoy the comforting shade of God’s grace. It’s our job to plant the seeds.

Who has authority over scripture?

            Last week, I spent several very intense days in spiritual reflection and dialogue with a few dozen emerging leaders from our denomination. Part of the purpose of the retreat is to find some times where everyone experiences at least a little bit of discomfort.

            I found my unease bubbling to the surface during a Bible study when someone raised the issue of the authority of scripture. In my experience, this sort of question generally leads to heated, if not intellectual, arguments about personal matters of faith. In most cases, I’ve seen very little good come from debates about the authority of scripture.

            This, however, was a rare and wonderful exception. Before offering our various points of view, we began by defining what exactly we meant by the word “authority.” In most instances, such a word evokes images of rules, consequences, intimidation and fear. But this is not the angle our group took.

            First, we began by discussing our sense of the origins of scripture. While some felt it was inerrant and perfect, others believed it was divinely inspired, yet filtered through potentially fallible human hands, minds and hearts.  Regardless of this disparity, we all agreed that scripture basically was “of God,” with widely varying opinions about what that meant.

It was enough common ground for real dialogue.

From there, we deliberated about the notion of authorship. If we all saw God as the ultimate author of scripture, either through inspiration by way of the Holy Spirit, or by divine dictation of some sort, this meant God had authority over scripture.

So what does it mean to have authority in this sense of the word?

It’s a wonderfully empowering experience engaging in the creative process of writing a book, but letting go of it once you’re done is equally terrifying. You are consumed by an intense feeling of vulnerability as editors pick apart your work, dissecting words and phrases, revising as they desire.

Once you get beyond the editors, there’s the forum of public opinion. Readers of your work post their views of your ideas, style and expertise on blogs, websites, and in letters to the editor. Discussions happen around coffee and dinner tables, of which you can only be a part from the pages of your book. You have no further control over how people interpret what you’ve written, or how they use it once it’s bound and on the shelves.

Sound familiar?

Have you ever heard it said that one can use the Bible to make any point they want? While this is moderately exaggerated, it’s not far from truth. If we all saw the same things in scripture, there would be no denominations, but only one united church. Even those who claim the inerrancy of scripture are divided over doctrine, interpretation of certain words, cultural and historical context, and so on.

It’s enough to make an author shake their head.

Claiming authority over any written word is a vulnerable place to be. Like raising a child, it’s a practice of learning to let go. After all, if God was interested in having us simply know exactly what was intended in scripture, why not have us come into the world with such data hard-wired?

We’ve use the Bible to advocate for peace, while at the same time, justifying war, and in some cases, even genocide. Some have leaned on scripture to justify slavery, and others are bent on standing upon the Word in an endless fault-finding quest against the rest of humanity.

Some people have found new life in these hallowed pages, and others have died because of them. It’s brought out both the best and the worst in humankind, and we’re far from done fighting over its contents.

Meanwhile, the Great Author waits patiently as we duke it out over who is right and wrong.

God help us.

Is your baby gay? We’ll fix that!

According to some, the behavioral deprogramming of gay and lesbian people simply isn’t going far enough.

R. Albert Mohler Jr., president of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, Ky., caused a stir in evangelical circles recently when he proposed that maybe there actually is some genetic basis for homosexuality. Some would-be supporters condemned his suggestion that homosexuality could be anything other than a personal choice. However, this is not where the harshest outcry came from.

The gay and lesbian community, as represented at least by certain public figureheads, railed against his claim that even if sexual orientation is genetically determined, it’s a sin against God nonetheless. This harkens back to the old “sin gene” argument that says God tweaked our genetic code just so we would stray, but that it’s still our job to root out such causes of our sinfulness.

So what does Mohler suggest? Genetic modification, of course!

Why else would we have such tremendous advances in genetic engineering, if not to manipulate the way in which we express love to one another? Certainly the discovery of cures to such diseases as Alzheimer’s and many forms of cancer should take second chair to de-gaying your newborn child, right?

So it’s come to this: Mohler argues that it’s incumbent upon us to use every tool at our disposal to set right such genetic aberrations, even at the level of infancy, if we have the power to do so. More disturbing than his case is the likelihood that many would follow suit and carry this out if they had the means.

While some might justify something like this as an effort to make their child’s life easier by incorporating them into the cultural mainstream, so to speak, there are others who would toy with the very code of our human makeup to fulfill what they believe is a divine mandate.

For those proclaiming the inerrancy and universal applicability of every word in scripture, there is no point in deliberating, discussing or even considering the moral questions surrounding homosexuality. For those readers, I invite you to stop reading here, if you have not already.

For the rest of us, it’s worth a second look to ask ourselves exactly what it is we find so objectionable about a man or woman loving another man or woman, as I do my wife.

Some rely on the argument of compatibility for their moral objections. This generally means that sex – which is different than sexuality, mind you – is meant for the purposes of procreation, period. Therefore, anyone involved in a same-sex marriage is using God-given plumbing for an act other than the one intended.

So does that mean, by that argument, that any woman who has sex after menopause is living in sin, even if it’s with her husband? After all, she can’t have kids, right? What if I’m sterile? Do I have to commit to abstinence for the rest of my life?

There’s a sin delineated in the Old Testament known as the Sin of Onan, which is sometimes cited as justification for condemning gay people. The idea is that “seed,” or sperm, that is spilled in a manner not conducive to producing children is an abomination against God. But there’s an interesting bit of back-story that can help put this in context for us.

Whereas sometimes we can construe that certain scriptures written about “man” actually refer to both sexes, this certain context is specific to males. It was believed, at the time this text was likely written, that the entirety of the materials necessary to make a baby were contained within the semen of the male. The female simply was a repository for his “seed.”

Therefore, it was believed that if so-called seed was spilled in an act involving a partner or even just yourself, you were killing little miniature human beings that were contained within the semen.

Hopefully we’ve come a little further along in our understanding of anatomy since then, but too often, we cling to the literal words of a text, rather than placing them within the broader context of the wisdom and knowledge endowed upon us by God through the progress of humankind over time.

Put another way: It’s easier to label something as wrong and try to fix it than to raise the question about why, exactly, we think it’s wrong in the first place, short of yelling “the Bible says” at each other. Our scientific knowledge is an incredible gift, but, if we’re not careful, like the mythical Dr. Frankenstein, in our effort to play God, we’re going to give rise to a monster.

Gospel is sound according to Alfred E. Neuman

As a writer, I spend many hours in front of the computer every day.

If someone wants to communicate with me, e-mail and instant messaging online are a sure bet most days. Most instant messaging services use avatars or images that each user gets to pick to reflect his or her own personality. My father-in-law, Mark, has a picture of Mad magazine’s mascot, Alfred E. Neuman.

“Who’s that?” my son, Mattias, asks.

“That’s Alfred,” I tell him.

“What does he do?”

“Not much,” I answer, after thinking a moment.

“What does he say?” says Mattias.

“He says, ‘What, me worry?'”
“Why doesn’t he worry?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I guess he doesn’t have too much to worry about.”

If only we could learn from such wise words as, “What, me worry?”

The recent collapse of a major bridge in Minneapolis was a tragedy, though it has resulted in the loss of fewer lives than once anticipated. Regardless, bridge-related news has dominated the national media for days, which has resulted in a ripple effect at local levels.

On “Colorado Matters,” a radio show, a structural engineer was interviewed about the flood of inquiries the incident had triggered statewide and elsewhere about the state of bridges across Colorado. When asked if he believed this was a frenzy that would pass within days or weeks, he responded dismissively.

“Of course it will,” he sighed. “Something else will come along for us to worry about and we’ll be off on that tangent.”

This spring, there was an outbreak of concern over contaminated vegetables. Then there was the story about dangerous substances in our pet food, followed by a lead paint scare in children’s toys. Before all of this came scores of other matters to occupy the worry centers in our brains, and before the year is over, dozens more will surface.

As someone who not only has a child and pets, but who also enjoys the occasional vegetable, sometimes while driving over my favorite bridge, I can find some personal connection with each of these stories. If I choose, I can use this as fuel to stoke the embers of worry that always glow within me, as they do in all of us.

If we’re not worrying about West Nile or hantavirus, then we’ll find someone else to worry about. Is Nicole Richie too thin? Is Oprah too fat? Will Lindsay’s latest trip to rehab really stick this time? Is Britney a good mom? Will Brad and Jennifer ever get back together?

So much to worry about, so little time.

It’s been said that worry is a mild form of agnosticism. This suggests that when we take on the worries of the world, we’re basically working above our own pay grade. We worry about things over which we have no control, or worse, we worry instead of doing something about those things at the source of the worry.

It’s enough to make a person wonder if, just maybe, we actually kind of like to worry.

There’s a Buddhist saying that goes, “If there is a problem and there is nothing you can do about it, don’t worry about it. If there is a problem and there is something you can do about it, don’t worry about it.” The point is, let go of those things beyond your reach, and change those causing you agitation, but worry in itself is an obsessive waste of energy.

Theologian Reinhold Niebuhr wrote a simple prayer seven decades ago that endures today with as much truth as the day it was penned. His three-part prayer reads, “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

I doubt Niebuhr was a subscriber to Mad magazine, but I bet he would appreciate Alfred E. Neuman’s attitude.

Churches should address addiction

One of the things that we speak about with church leaders is the importance of churches responding with compassion, support and honesty about the issues of addiction.

We presented some chilling statistics in a recent workshop about how widespread addictions – from sexual, gambling and alcohol to drugs and even debt – are among all walks of life, when this woman raised her hand.

“I’m sure this is all out there,” sighed one woman, “but I just don’t have any experience with addiction.”

Seriously?

Let’s consider some national trends with respect to what I’ll call an “average” congregation of approximately 100 people, 20 of whom are youth or young adults.

Of those 20 young people, two or three struggle with eating disorders that threaten their long-term health. Four or five of them have what would be clinically diagnosed as a chronic substance-abuse problem, as do about 14 of the adults in the church. At least one of these kids is hooked on illegal drugs, along with three adults.

Nine of the young people in this church binge-drink, three of whom drink heavily on a regular basis. Twelve of them will begin experimenting with alcohol before they reach age 16. Odds are that at least one of these young people will be among the 4 million people between the ages of 18 and 25 who serve prison time for crimes related to their dependence.

More than 50 of the members of this average church have an immediate family member who struggles with alcohol addiction, and nine of the adults sitting in the pews live with what would be clinically diagnosed as an alcohol disorder. Within the span of one generation, one person from this church will die from an alcohol-related incident.

Two people out of this typical 100 have a serious gambling problem, and another seven teeter on the edge of pathological gambling. Twenty or so are addicted to nicotine, more than 60 are technically overweight, and 15 are clinically obese.

Seventy percent of the men between the ages of 18 and 34 in the church view at least one Internet pornography site weekly. Ten people are Internet porn addicts, three of whom are women. More than half of the young people will have sex with multiple partners while under the influence of alcohol.

The average twenty- and thirty-something in this church carry credit-card debt of at least $4,000, an increase of 55 percent over a decade ago. Average college students carry credit-card debt of almost $3,000 a month. The average young family spends at least one-fifth of its monthly income trying to keep up with this debt, and one in five young families who make less than $50,000 a year spend as much as 40 percent of their income on such debt.

My statistics are drawn from a variety of sources, which I’d be happy to provide to interested readers.

Why don’t we know about these problems more in our churches? Perhaps it’s the climate of shame, judgment and condemnation people face if they bring their deepest problems to the fore. Somehow, somewhere, we got the message that we should be in perfect working order before coming to church, or if not, we ought to be well-versed in hiding our flaws.

It’s incumbent upon us to give people permission to bring their brokenness to church, not just to be fixed, but to be loved, even in their brokenness. And if we’re putting too much effort into appearing to be anything more than similarly broken vessels, we’re guilty of contributing to the climate of intolerance that drives so many people underground, or completely away, from church.

Finally, if by some statistical anomaly, any given church truly doesn’t have these issues in their midst, I would ask why not. If no one in your congregation is struggling with past or present addiction issues, why aren’t you out there, reaching out to those millions of people who need you?

If the face of your church doesn’t reflect that of the greater community, problems and all, it’s time for a face-lift.

Can the generation gap be bridged?

By Christian Piatt
The Pueblo Chieftain
This week I attended the biennial General Assembly for the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in Fort Worth, Texas. This is a big mouthful of words that means a bunch of Disciples get together every two years from around the country to kibbutz.

It’s always fun, a lot of work, and though it goes by quickly, I always leave drained.

At this assembly I presented two different workshops. The first one was about the theology in the media in a cramped first-floor room, packed to the walls with nerdy pop-culture theologians and other onlookers eager to understand what kids these days do when outside the four walls of church.

The second day, my wife, Amy, and I presented together about young adult spirituality, using MySpace as an analogy for contemporary social systems. The room was three times the size of the first one, and it too was near capacity with a wide range of folks. There were youth and young adults of the church looking for some sense of validation and connection. Also scattered throughout the venue were pastors of established churches looking for ways to put a hip face on their ministries. Still others were attracted purely by a sense of the alien, as unfamiliar with MySpace itself as they were with the unique spiritual needs and longings of the people using it.

Most of the questions we fielded were general in nature, mostly about our research methods, the personal experiences we’ve had as a couple involved in ministry together, and our take on how young adults’ spirituality is unique, if at all. However, there were a couple of choice questions that helped us realize how great the chasm really is between us and some of the older members of the crowd.

One gentleman asked a question about MySpace that was so completely off track that I didn’t even know where to begin to answer. Fortunately, Amy jumped in to save me. Another man asked about the difference between MySpace, the largest social networking site in the world with nearly 200 million users, and a personal website.

Though the concept of MySpace as a social tool was only a metaphor, it momentarily became a clinic on the Internet, digital communications and other basic computer how-to’s. We even had a couple of people leave when they realized we weren’t there to help them build a MySpace page to recruit droves of young adults into their congregations.

There is no sure-fire formula, 40-day plan or hi-tech gimmick to attract young people to church. This, however, doesn’t stop people from desperately looking for one.

There is no shortcut to deep, trust-filled relationship, a sense of caring community and real belonging, which is what we younger folks long for from church more than anything. But, ultimately, there are a disturbing number of church leaders whose primary motivation for recruiting us to their churches is to keep their congregations from dying.

We’re more than a warm body and a few bucks in the plate. Yes, we probably will think of ways to change things if we join your church, so don’t invite us unless you’re really open to new ideas.

We also will not be impressed simply by slick presentations, hip verbiage in a brochure or a dynamic website. If you’re considering adding these few superficialities to a church that, beneath the surface, has no desire to have new life breathed into it, save your money and energy. If you really want to know us, what we want and believe, sit down over coffee – not in your church – slow down and ask us about our own stories.

If we’re hesitant to share, it’s mostly because we’ve developed a razor-sharp cynicism about a world, church included, that always wants something. Give it time, be patient, and you’ll soon come to realize that beneath our dyed hair, tattoos and piercings, we’re not much different than you. What’s more, whether you believe it or not, we still look to you for a glimmer of what God might be in the world.

Relationship is a bigger investment than a Myspace page, but if you want us, you’ll have to come find us. We’re still waiting.

Finding the price for sins of the church

Pope Benedict recently declared the sovereignty of his particular faith over all others.

Meanwhile, at the same time, a $660 million settlement is being paid out in Los Angeles for more than 500 cases of sexual abuse at the hands of Catholic priests.

In the Catholic tradition, contrition is only one step toward forgiveness of sins. One must also do penance for these transgressions. In certain cases throughout history, this literally was done through “payment” of money. Generally, however, indulgence, or the full forgiveness imparted by the priest, is achieved through mandated prayers and partaking of the sacraments, through confession, principally.

Indulgences are offered at the discretion of presiding religious officials, and necessary penance is determined by the number and severity of sins committed by an individual.

Mortal sins are more severe in nature, and by definition they sever the connection between God and the offender. These sins involve acts such as adultery, lying, murder and sexual abuse. To be considered a mortal sin, the act in question must have been done consciously, willfully and with full understanding of the severity and consequences of such behavior.

In all cases, these sins can be forgiven, but given the varying gravity of mortal sins, there are cases in which the unrepentant sinner may be excommunicated. Grace, it would seem, just isn’t big enough for some sins.

One perspective on sinfulness has its roots in Reform Judaism, wherein it is not believed there is actually an entity that embodies evil – like the devil – outside ourselves. Rather, the potential for both good and evil resides within us, and that it is through our own free will that we make the choice in each situation whether to act out of good or evil. In this mindset, “the devil made me do it,” doesn’t cut it. We must face our own evil head-on.

Some may believe that priests are particular targets in a greater spiritual war, wherein the Evil One draws a bead on the heads of those who otherwise would lead humanity toward hope and salvation. Others would contend that positions of religious leadership provide a potentially toxic combination of relatively unchecked power and implicit trust: the perfect breeding ground for human lust for sex, power and the like.

These sins of abuse certainly are mortal in nature. It speaks to the potential for human evil, even in the most sacred and vulnerable of places. Though the public at large is not asked to forgive the priests, the payment of more than $600 million suggests a contrite, if not corporately guilty, church.

The cardinal-archbishop offered apologies to those “offended” by the acts of abuse. I can think of stronger words, ones that might have fit better, but at least he offered an apology. The settlement was agreed to by the church, which suggests both sides somehow came to terms that they felt were appropriately representative of the penance due on the church’s side, and the salvific effect desired for those who were violated.

This symbolic civil act, however big, doesn’t really offer the closure many had hoped for. The settlement could have been 100 times more, and we would still have to face the same fact: Even church representatives commit grave acts of sin.

Is there a monetary price to be paid for sin? Once the tables are turned and we suddenly find ourselves on the receiving end, does our perspective change? If, instead of apologizing for any offense the church may have caused, the bishop would have said, “Bless us, Father, for we have sinned,” would we have the heart or will to offer a hand of grace?

Those involved in these cases of abuse have been done irreparable harm. What has been committed can never be undone.

But what statement is made in accepting an offer to settle? What price can we ever claim as fair or just, and even in opening our hand to accept the penance, are we even the slightest bit closer to forgiveness?

Further, is the church any closer to the change required to help us all heal and trust again?

Time flies, but the world still needs us

Life moves quickly.

I was talking to someone recently about how often it seems we will begin a week with the idea that we have plenty of time to catch up on all the things left neglected from the prior week, only to find that, by the weekend, yet another week has escaped us, evaporating hardly before we knew what happened.

There is no time of the year when this happens more than during the summer. Meanwhile February, the shortest month of all, creeps along like, well, molasses in February.

It’s also easy at times, with so much demanding our time, energy and attention, to lose perspective on the world that goes about its daily business, regardless of whether or not we pay attention.

So for those of us who fall victim to such myopia, I thought I’d offer a handful of facts about what happens both nationally and globally, every day of the year.

On any given day, approximately 170,000 new babies are born. With more than 70,000 daily deaths, this means our world is growing at a rate of nearly 100,000 people every single day.

More than 600 people immigrate to the United States illegally in that same amount of time, and our prisons expand by 135 inmates as well. More than 1,100 couples will get divorced in America alone today, and 34 species will become extinct forever.

Before you eat dinner tonight, almost 14,000 people will learn that they have cancer and 5,500 will contract HIV, though many will not know it for years.

More than 58,000 people will have an abortion, and nearly 100 women will die in the process.

More than 38 million barrels of oil will be produced, generating $2.3 billion in wealth. The Earth will get warmer by a few millionths of a degree, and 16,400 acres of forest will disappear. Well over 45,000 new cars will be produced, as well as 100,000 new computers and 137,000 bicycles.

Nearly 4,000 people will die from AIDS-related illness today, though more than twice as many will fall victim to terminal cancer. Tuberculosis will claim almost 2,000 lives, and diarrhea will take nearly 2,400 more. Automobiles will be involved in 1,500 fatalities, and 1,100 lost souls will commit suicide.

Our national debt will grow by about $1.3 billion today, placing a long-term burden of more than $4 a day, plus interest, on every man, woman and child. Before you wake up tomorrow, more than 19 million more metric tons of carbon dioxide will be released into our atmosphere, simply through burning fossil fuels.

I was annoyed recently when my dishwasher broke. I get irritated when a fast food restaurant gets my order wrong, or when I get snagged in traffic. Sometimes my son can be a complete brat, and my wife and I argue about things such as who will clean out the litter box this week. Sound familiar? And does any of this energy we seem to pour into such daily tasks, worries and preoccupations seem a little less important, given some of these statistics?

Some of us would love nothing more than to “save the world,” whatever that means. Considering such overwhelming need, death, disease, catastrophe and climactic crisis can overwhelm us to the point of paralysis – if we let it.

Neither self-obsession with our own daily minutiae nor superman-like commitment to putting the world to bed all nice and tidy gets us anywhere. However, with awareness comes a sense of obligation. With obligation comes a push for action, on some scale, no matter how small.

Part of a faith community’s responsibility is to raise awareness on local, national and global levels. But further, it must charge us with a call to action, providing us along the way with the support and tools we need to make the changes we have come to believe are important.

You’re not going to save the world from itself. But if you think and pray even a little bit about the needs right around you and the gifts you have at your disposal to meet them, God most certainly will put you to work, so be ready.

Does God love America best?

It’s no secret that I’m a diehard basketball fan. Unfortunately, my favorite team plays 700 miles away in Dallas. I’ve been known to fly down to Dallas for particularly “important” games, demonstrating the infinite tolerance of my wife.

A couple of years ago, I was at a game with a friend, and prior to tip-off, they announced the singing of the national anthem as they always do.

“Please rise as we honor God and America with the singing of our national anthem,” said the announcer. When I pointed out to my friend that there are no words in the anthem referring to God, he accused me of being cynical.

Really?

My generation has the stigma of being unpatriotic, at least within the context of what has been considered patriotism in the past. We don’t have the same general affinity for flags and patriotic songs as generations before us have. Most of our parents lived through Vietnam, the most culturally divisive war in American history since the Civil War, and the repercussions helped shape our view of our government and our global standing as a nation.

There are a few points of resistance with which I know many of my peers can relate. One has to do with the McCarthy-like strategy of suggesting you’re either “fer us or agin’ us.” If you don’t support the idea of preemptive strikes in Iraq, or the greater war on terror, then you’re not patriotic.

This sort of gauntlet, once it’s thrown down, can do nothing other than cause schism. You feel forced to pick sides, and if you differ with those drawing the line in the sand, it places you on the outside of the patriotic circle.

Another point is the ongoing Pledge of Allegiance debate. Some insist that people should not be forced to pledge faithfulness to a nation “under God,” while others contend this position is a direct attack on America itself. Never mind that the phrase “under God” was added to the pledge just over a generation ago.

And, the idea that ours is a Christian nation is a fallacy. In fact, most of our founding fathers were either deists or agnostics who championed the principle of practicing the religion of one’s choice. However, they also asserted the freedom from the mantle of organized religion all together, if one so chooses.

Finally, the matter of patriotism commingling with religion is particularly disturbing to many younger folks. In a time when America was more religiously and culturally segregated, it was easy enough to think everyone believed and looked the way we did. Now, in a much more pluralistic society, the notion of “status quo” is increasingly abstract in every walk of life.

Some see this as a threat to valued traditions, while others look at such critical questioning and thought as an opportunity. For someone who grew up singing patriotic songs in church, and looking at an American flag next to the cross, such symbolism seems perfectly natural. For those of us raised to inspect all leadership and traditions with a critical eye, such things cause us a moment of pause.

There are those who actually believe that America is the home of God’s new chosen people. Most thinking people will agree this is absurd, but this notion is not promoted any more often or passionately than it is from some pulpits on Sunday mornings. For others, the flag and patriotic songs feel right in church, and they have never questioned their place there.

There are those of us, however, who were raised around as many Jews and Muslims as Christians, and living with neighbors, most of whom didn’t look like us. Anything that even suggests a “God loves us more” attitude smacks of elitism, exclusivity and a sense of arrogance, rather than a love of country.

I thank God for being born in this country, and for the many privileges it affords me. I am grateful to those who have preserved the principles of freedom and democracy upon which it was founded.

But the next time you encounter someone who doesn’t express their patriotism in the same way you’re used to, ask questions first and really listen to where they’re coming from, rather than assuming their behavior is patently un-American.

What’s behind spiritual accountability?

We all have times in our lives of which we are not particularly proud.

In some cases, the people we now know would be surprised to see the person we once were. I was talking recently to a friend about our respective “dark times,” when we treated people in ways that were less than loving, including ourselves.

For me, there was a period toward the end of college and soon thereafter when I was not particularly kind to myself or to those who felt I was worth their time. In a sense, through my distancing behavior, I was set on proving them wrong.

My friend had a similar story, and both of us remarked, gratefully, about how different that part of our lives was from our present reality.

Almost reflexively, and practically at the same time, we both commented that the person we were back then “wasn’t really us.” After staking this claim, I was bothered by it, though I wasn’t sure why. In time, I came to the understanding that it’s actually not entirely honest of me to say “that wasn’t me.” I’d like to say it, but it’s just not true.

In making such a claim, I somehow try to divest myself of the responsibility that “other person” bears for his actions, for the pain he caused others, and for the damage I did to myself. I was that person, and in some ways, I still am.

Though it might be more comfortable in the short term to divest myself of that old persona, in doing so, I risk not learning from it. A sense of removal may save me from some feeling of guilt, but as it has been said, those who don’t learn from history are destined to repeat it.

I think of the apostle Paul, who had a less than stellar record with the Christians before his conversion on the way to Damascus. Before becoming one of the fiercest champions of the early church, he killed Christians on behalf of the Roman government.

Talk about a guy who would rather put his past behind him, rather than acknowledge he had the capacity for such things.

However, in being honest about who we are, both good and bad, we not only have the opportunity to gain wisdom from our past; we also avail ourselves to an opportunity to receive incredible grace.

Paul, I believe, would not have been such a fervent advocate for grace had he not felt that his own grace had been extraordinary. If he had tried to push aside the person he had been before his conversion, the grace he found in his faith would not have been nearly as profound.

It is in accepting that we are worthy of love, warts and all, that we begin to understand what real grace is all about. If we’re only willing to bring those nice, shiny, well-polished parts of ourselves to God, as if we’re on a mission to impress God somehow with how together we are, we just don’t get it.

So where does a community of faith fit in to all of this?

I’ve talked a lot lately with people about the concept of spiritual accountability. It’s one thing to be nice to one another. It’s another to truly love someone. And it’s something else all together to hold each other accountable in love.

If we’re not able to be completely real with one another within a community of faith, including allowing ourselves to be vulnerable in our flaws and weaknesses, then we’re not really trusting one another to help us grow.

Once we get to a level of comfort where we can say to one another, “I’m not perfect,” then we open the door to healing and spiritual enrichment. In bringing even the unsavory parts of ourselves to the table, we give ourselves permission to lay down those things we’ve been carrying for too long, and we allow others the opportunity to love us in spite of, or even because of, our baggage.

It takes a healthy, open and genuinely loving community to love someone, even when they do some things you don’t really like. But for myself, if a church wasn’t making a concerted effort to manifest a glimmer of God’s unconditional love and grace within their walls, there wouldn’t be much point in showing up. But to give them the chance to do so, it’s my job to avoid the ever-lingering “that wasn’t me” mentality.