Ten Year Reunions and Evaluating Success

There are certain occasions that become, willingly or not, times to evaluate ourselves and what we've done in our lives. Birthdays and New Year's, for example, are obvious candidates for reflecting on the good and the bad, the successes and failures, of the previous year. This also turned out to be the case in the weeks leading up to my ten year high school reunion this Saturday.

During those weeks, I found myself faced with a continuous decision to make. Should I mourn the fact that I'm not exactly where I expected to be ten years ago in terms of a career and a family? Should I look back on those years primarily as a time when I should have achieved more? For a moment, I considered letting such negativity, along with the belief that the existence of Facebook has made reunions a bit redundant, prevent me from going at all. 

The second option, the more difficult one, was to acknowledge that life rarely goes how we imagine it to when we're teenagers. At the same time, it was to strive to be grateful for the exciting experiences I've had and the wonderful people I've met in the last ten years. It was to be thankful for the fact that I'm on my way to entering a career that I hope will be challenging and fulfilling and will allow me to make a small contribution to the world and the people in it. It was to let go of regret, of unrealistic expectations, of attempting to control every facet of life. 

More than that, choosing the second option led me to reconsider how to evaluate success. Should success really be measured in raises and promotions, in new cars and expensive wardrobes, or in how well we have treated others and been a positive force in their lives? These things don't have to be in opposition to each other. Often, the best way to care for the people we love is by advancing in our jobs and supporting them monetarily. What it comes down to are where our priorities lie. Are people more important to us, or things? God (or at least living morally), or money? Money isn't a bad thing on its own. Neither is having pride in the quality of work we do. But it is when we put material gain and selfish ambition at the center of who we are and how we interact with people that we begin to lose our perspective on what it is to be humans made in God's image.

Yup. That's me.

I like to think that I chose the second option more often than the first in the weeks before my reunion, with all the re-evaluations of success that came with it. I ended up having a great time on Saturday night. (It probably helped that so many people in my graduating class have always been nice and easy to get along with.) The reunion reminded me that we ultimately get to determine how we evaluate our pasts and fill our futures with meaning. We can feel sorry for ourselves, regretting that we didn't get the things we wanted when we wanted them. We can set ourselves up for a lifetime of perceived disappointments and feel like we got less than we deserved. Or we can try our best to be thankful for the road that God has led us down, learn from the missed opportunities when we could have loved God and neighbor more, and look forward to where we will be in our lives by the time of our next high school reunions. “The choice,” as my middle school principal used to say every morning, “is yours.”

For my Grandparents, and for All the Saints

As I was helping my dad carry some furniture out of my paternal grandparents' house a few months ago, my mind kept returning to one thought:  It's strange not to hear my grandma whistling. Since her passing this March, the house had felt empty to me. No longer was it filled with her loud, constant whistling that had echoed through the rooms. Often, it was hymns and spiritual songs, the same kind of music that she would play on her organ when I was a kid. It was apparent to us how much she loved music, and as a child I loved listening to it. 

Though my grandma's passion for music was perhaps the most outward expression of my grandparents' faith, I had experienced it in other ways as well. It was rare for them to miss a Sunday service at the local church they had attended diligently for several decades; it was at their urging that my siblings and I were often forced out of bed by my parents to join them. Copies of the Bible could be found in almost every room of their house, of practically every size and translation you could imagine. 

But when I was a kid, I didn't care about stuff like that. Sure, I loved my grandparents a lot, but the music and the Bibles, the sayings of grace before meals and the occasional references to God or Jesus Christ, were just the background to family visits. I was more interested in making sure I ate as much of my grandma's homemade apple pie as I could than talking to them about their beliefs. Even as a “born again” in high school, I didn't think of them as individuals who had had their own spiritual journeys and experiences, with unique wisdom and insights about God that I could learn from. They were simply my grandparents. 

By the time I came back to Christianity last year, my grandpa had passed, and my grandma was very ill. I couldn't remember having a single conversation with either of them about God. And I regretted that. I felt like I had taken their stable faith for granted as a child and young adult. I was convinced that I had lost out on some wonderful opportunities for bonding and learning from them as Christians. 

After my grandma's passing in March, I was blessed to acquire many of the Bibles, hymnals, and religious objects that had helped make their home the place of love and warmth that it was. Leafing through the Bibles, I noticed a few bookmarks, dog-eared pages, underlined passages, margin notes, and references to particular verses. There weren't too many of these; I got the impression that they had really meant to highlight their favorite verses and passages. Almost immediately, I realized what I had in front of me. This was my chance to talk to them, to find out what really mattered to them, what drove them to live out their faith day by day. For the next few hours, reading the verses they had underlined and commented on, I finally got to have that conversation with my grandparents that I had wanted. I like to think I learned a lot about them that day, about their relationship with God, about the comfort and peace they received from Him, about why they chose to live and love as joyfully and passionately as they did. 

Just like that, any feelings of guilt or regret I had harbored about my grandparents were gone as a result of this gift that God had given me. Those feelings were replaced by a strong sense of gratitude and hope toward the saints that I think we can all share as Christians. Gratitude, for the love and faith that they so often displayed while they were with us, and for the sure knowledge that they are now under the personal care of our Lord and Savior. Hope, that we will be able to live up to the example of Christian discipleship that they set for us, and that one day we will be able to continue our conversations with them in a place where death will never again be able to separate us. 

IT, Fear, and Re-Centering our Lives

Whenever I mention to someone that I have a bit of an irrational fear of clowns (which comes up in conversation more often than you would think), one of the first things I'm asked is, “Oh man, you must really get freaked out by IT then, right?”. Surprisingly, though, I don't. Pennywise is probably the only clown I've ever seen that hasn't given me the heebie jeebies. Maybe it's because Stephen King is one of my favorite authors, or because I've seen his two-part miniseries a dozen times over the years. But mostly, I think it's because I know that the man behind the makeup and fangs is Tim Curry. As great as his performance as Pennywise is, half the time I'm thinking about him as a stodgy butler or as a sweet transvestite. Being aware of his other famous roles somehow diffuses any fear that the character of Pennywise might have otherwise sprung up in me. In my mind, the same can't be said for any other clown, who could actually be a blood-sucking demon for all I know. 

IT is a movie. As an adult, I know that movies are nothing to be scared of, that they're just images on a screen. But my somewhat arbitrary distinction of Pennywise as being innocuous compared to other clowns brings out for me the fact that fear isn't something that's objective or concrete. It's a product of our mind, a remnant of our original set of survival instincts. That doesn't mean that strong fear feels any less real for us when we're in the middle of it, or that there aren't some things that are healthy for us to fear. It does mean that fear can be put in perspective and controlled to some degree.

But for so many of us, fear is a central part of our lives. Instead of ghosts, zombies, or old dolls (uggghh), it's the mundane things we face on a daily basis. Fear of confronting our bosses or family members, of crime, of illness, of disappointment and failure, of our difficulties in paying our next rent bill or loan payment. This type of fear can be crippling and can prevent us from thinking and acting clearly or living full lives.  

Obviously, we don't want to live in constant fear. God doesn't want us to, either. People are often shocked to find out that the most frequent command in the Bible isn't to do with not killing or stealing or committing adultery. It's “Do not be afraid.” Such a simple command, and yet how utterly impracticable it seems to us sometimes. Just one more piece of unrealistic advice from the Bible in our stressful, high-tension world. 

At the heart of the command, though, is God asking one important question:  What is your center? Is it this anxiety, this uncertainty about the future that you're feeling right now? Or is it trying to serve Me and living the best life you can for the benefit of those around you? When we put our own feelings at the center, the fear associated with asking an intimidating boss for a promotion can be debilitating. Putting God at our center, as well as our determination to live the best lives possible, can put this moment in perspective. As real as this fear feels, it's transitory. God is what lasts, and He'll make sure that you're provided for, whether your boss gives you a promotion or kicks you out of his office. Keeping the big picture in mind, that our causes for fear as well as the feelings themselves are temporary, is crucial here. As difficult as this can be, the alternative is allowing fear to put us in a stranglehold to the point where we forget how to live in any other way. 

My intention here hasn't been to downplay anyone's fears or to shame anyone for having them. Fear is a fact of life. But it doesn't have to be the only fact of life. It can be disarmed and shown for what it is. As a product of our minds, fear and its causes can be put into perspective. There is one thing that is certain. There is one Rock. To establish our lives on a foundation of fear is to build on sand and to risk what will happen when the rain falls and the winds blow. To trust in God and in the fact that everything will be all right is to persistently declare in our hearts, “The Lord is with me. What can man do to me?” (Psalm 118:6) Or, for that matter, killer clowns?

Small Acts of Kindness

This afternoon, I was taking a walk around my neighborhood and passed a middle-aged woman struggling with a large filing cabinet. She was attempting to drag it across her driveway to the curb for garbage pick-up. There were already several objects on the sidewalk in front of the house, and I noticed a “For Sale” sign in the yard. Shortly after passing her, I decided to turn back. I excused myself to the woman and asked her if she needed help. She looked relieved and accepted the offer. It took about two minutes to span the driveway and place the cabinet upright on the curb. I then introduced myself. She asked me if I thought she might get in trouble for having too many items on the sidewalk, and explained that she was in the middle of trying to sell the house and move. She was really grateful for my help, since there usually wasn't anyone at the house during the day. I suggested she call the cops to make sure she wouldn't get fined for cluttering the sidewalk, said “You're welcome” and “Have a nice day,” and continued my walk.  

Not a very dramatic or extravagant interaction. The whole thing took about five minutes. Nor is it particularly unusual or praiseworthy for people to have a bit of sympathy for a stranger and help them out. In my life, and especially while traveling, strangers have lent me a hand hundreds of times. Yet as I walked away from the house, I felt a sense of joy for having made a positive impact on someone for at least a few minutes that day. Somehow, that tiny act of kindness and the conversation that proceeded it made today feel worthwhile. I know that it's not as if I rescued someone from a burning building, or talked someone off the ledge of a building. I'm also aware that, for every time I reach out to help, there are probably three or four times when I don't, either out of laziness or out of the belief that it would take up too much of my time (precious time that could be more productively used watching reality TV or catching up on my Netflix queue). 

Toward the end of my walk, I realized why I felt so happy. Those brief moments of both giving and receiving acts of kindness reinforce for me the fact that, though our lifestyles, ethnicities, and religions may be different, we're all stuck in this world together. God made us as social creatures. He intended for us to be in positive relationships with one another rather than isolation. Not just with our family and close friends, or with the people that we encounter on a daily basis, but with everyone whenever possible. It doesn't take much to realize how often we fall short of His will for us. One has only to turn on the news to know that acts of kindness aren't in the agenda for many people in the world, those who care only for themselves and have no intention of allowing God's plan for peace and prosperity to overcome violence and poverty. 

But in the midst of the insistent shout that the world is going to shit, that all is lost, that people are becoming more and more violent and that their hearts have grown cold, these small acts MATTER. Not in spite of the fact that there is evil in the world, not that we should ignore it or sweep it under the rug, but because of it. We are fighting a war against evil, a war whose outcome has already been decided by God. But the victory can be implemented and demonstrated through us, by kindling hope in others, warming hearts, showing people that there is yet good in the world. It is a war of ripples in a pond. Of real lives being changed for the better, bit by bit, through acts of kindness great and small, and of the recipients of that kindness finding a way to pass it on to someone else.

Later in the day, while writing this article, I remembered that I had been told by a neighbor that the woman's husband had recently passed away, and that she was moving because she couldn't afford to live in the house anymore. I found myself hoping that the woman would remember that a stranger had given her a hand, however briefly, in carrying some furniture. Nothing dramatic. Nothing extravagant. But something. 

Homosexuality and the Bible: Three Views

In my last post, I expressed my opposition to the Catholic Church's stance on homosexuality, particularly the pressure it places on gay Christians to forsake romantic companionship. If they want to follow Christ, so Church doctrine claims, they need to live the rest of their lives celibate, barred from experiencing the physical and emotional intimacy that is sanctioned only through marriage. Regardless of whether a gay Christian's orientation is a result of genetics, celibacy is a cross that they must bear. None of the alternatives that involve accepting one's same-sex attractions, including seeking a loving and monogamous relationship, are considered acceptable by the Church. The Catholic catechism claims that its position on homosexuality is based on scripture, millennia of Church tradition, and the anatomical and emotional complementarity of male-female relationships as established by God. 

Of course, these are not the only arguments used against homosexuality, nor are all  arguments explicitly religious in nature. So, for example, you will hear the following comments being bandied about:  homosexuality is against the public good, “gay culture” will corrupt society, homosexual practice is pointless in terms of procreation, gay couples cannot provide adopted children with a well-balanced home life. (Unfortunately, space will not allow me to address any of these statements at this point.) Then, there are the people who simply resort to labeling gays as immoral, disgusting, and sexually deviant. 

Arguments affirming the morality of committed same-sex relationships, particularly in reference to the Bible and the Judaeo-Christian tradition, can be equally polyvalent. As I see it, there are three main ways in which gay advocates interact with the idea that the Bible, and therefore God, stand firmly against homosexuality: 

First, the view taken by many atheists and agnostics is that the Bible is a collection of texts that reflects the primitive cultures of the ancient Near East. Sure, some of the ethical teachings of Jesus are nice, but much of the Bible is violent, antiquated, and sexist. We've progressed morally, culturally, and scientifically since it was written. We've become enlightened. The Bible is therefore unhelpful (harmful, even) as a guide for modern life, and there is no better indication of this fact than the condemnation of homosexual practice found within its pages. 

Second, liberal Jews and Christians might present the idea that, while the Bible was written by godly men attempting to describe God and His interactions with mankind, it is nonetheless the creation of fallible human beings living in particular historical and cultural settings. Any passages against homosexuality in the Old and New Testaments must be seen in context, as a product of the ingrained prejudices of the writers' worldviews rather than inerrant expressions of God's will. For example, while they may appreciate Paul's theology and love for Christ, proponents of this view will chalk up his anti-gay statements to the ancient Jewish context in which he lived. 

Note that both of these views agree with anti-gay Christians in accepting that the Bible roundly condemns all homosexual practice, even when applied to a loving and monogamous relationship. For a long time, I found myself firmly in the realm of the second argument. I didn't think I had any other choice. I believed that the biblical stance on same-sex relationships was clear, right there in the book for anyone to plainly read. But as I began to take the Bible more and more seriously as the Word of God, the less I was satisfied with the concept of looking at it primarily as a work of historical or theological fiction, written by men grappling for God's truth and, more often than not, failing. I came to believe that God was more active in guiding the content of the Bible than the second view would permit. (Though I still struggle with this idea at times, especially when reading Old Testament books like Leviticus and Joshua.)

I know in my heart that God can and does approve of healthy same-sex relationships. And if God was in some way the “author” behind the Bible, there was only one conclusion for me to come to:  Tradition has misinterpreted the verses used to condemn homosexuality. For a few months, I scoured the Internet for any blogs, articles, or books that offered sound ways of interpreting the anti-gay passages (called the “clobber” verses) in a way that excludes loving same-sex relationships from God's condemnation. 

In the next post, I will outline some of the major issues involved and seek to defend homosexuality biblically. This third view, in my opinion, is the best way for believing Jews and Christians to take the Bible seriously while affirming what we know in our hearts to be true:  God does not hate homosexuality. 

Loving the Sinner and Hating the Sin?: Pope Francis's Comments on Homosexuality

To date, my last blog post was the most difficult one for me to write. My original intention had been to publish it shortly before the end of Ramadan so that it would be relevant, but the right words refused to come out (perhaps because the subject matter was so personal). As the days passed and several unsuccessful attempts were made to articulate my thoughts and emotions surrounding Islam and the Night of Destiny, I realized that I would need to be patient until the puzzle pieces of the post fit together.  So by the time it was finished, Ramadan had been over for a few weeks.

The delay in the following post stems from a different reason. There are certain hot-button issues that everyone seems to have a strong opinion about, and discussions of them can get quite contentious and polarizing. Homosexuality, especially in a religious context, is right at the top of that list, so I had some hesitation on writing on the topic. But the Pope's recent comments about homosexuality continue to be raised in conversations I've had with people over the last several weeks. In case anyone needs a reminder, during a press conference in late July Pope Francis made the following statements regarding homosexuals, especially gay priests: “If someone is gay and he searches for the Lord and has goodwill, who am I to judge?” and, “We shouldn't marginalize people for this. They must be integrated into society.” 

Both religious and secular liberals have lauded his statements as a huge step forward for tolerance and an indication that the Catholic Church may come to embrace homosexuality in the future. Some have contrasted Pope Francis with his predecessor, pointing out that Benedict would never have extended such an olive branch to gays. I appreciate that Francis's words have come from a place of great empathy and kindness. Unfortunately, though, upon a brief analysis of doctrine his statements are shown only to be a gentler expression of the essentially anti-gay stance of the Church. Nothing that he said goes against the official Church position on homosexuality as defined in the Catholic catechism, which reads as follows:

“Homosexuality refers to relations between men or between women who experience an exclusive or predominant sexual attraction toward persons of the same sex. It has taken a great variety of forms through the centuries and in different cultures. Its psychological genesis remains largely unexplained. Basing itself on Sacred Scripture, which presents homosexual acts as acts of grave depravity, tradition has always declared that “homosexual acts are intrinsically disordered.” They are contrary to the natural law. They close the sexual act to the gift of life. They do not proceed from a genuine affective and sexual complementarity. Under no circumstances can they be approved. The number of men and women who have deep-seated homosexual tendencies is not negligible. This inclination, which is objectively disordered, constitutes for most of them a trial. They must be accepted with respect, compassion, and sensitivity. Every sign of unjust discrimination in their regard should be avoided. These persons are called to fulfill God's will in their lives and, if they are Christians, to unite to the sacrifice of the Lord's Cross the difficulties they may encounter from their condition. Homosexual persons are called to chastity. By the virtues of self-mastery that teach them inner freedom, at times by the support of disinterested friendship, by prayer and sacramental grace, they can and should gradually and resolutely approach Christian perfection.” (Part 3, Section 2, Chapter 2, Article 6)

The Pope's claim that he will not judge gay priests, his opposition to the marginalization of gays, and his call for them to be integrated into society, are all frustratingly vague. If a journalist attending that press conference had urged him to elaborate further, I have a strong feeling that he would have treaded the party line. Currently, that party line focusses on condemning the “intrinsically disordered,” sinful nature of homosexual acts, while also somehow accepting gays with respect, compassion, and sensitivity despite their “condition.” (The jury is still out on whether this condition is genetic or a sinful choice, apparently.) 

What it comes down to for the Church, to use an expression that I dislike the more I hear it in this context, is loving the sinner and hating the sin. But there is nothing loving about labeling all committed, consensual, same-sex relationships a sinful sham. There is no love in confronting gay Christians with the ultimatum of spending the rest of their lives celibate (or, perhaps, one could try to “pray the gay away”). In the New Testament, celibacy is a high gift from God. It's a choice made by an individual after long periods of prayer and discussions. It's a decision that shouldn't be made lightly. (One can now see that the Pope's comments on gay priests are pretty redundant when viewed in light of the catechism, since all priests, regardless of their orientation, must take vows of chastity.) 

As long as Church doctrine remains as it is, Pope Francis is condemning gay Christians to a life of forced celibacy, shaming them for who they love, telling them that they need to struggle with their “condition” rather than accept that their sexual orientation, as well as their committed and healthy relationships, are from God. True acceptance and integration into society must involve welcoming gays as they are. Not as conflicted and willful individuals rebelling against God's plans for humanity or trying to corrupt Western civilization, but as sinners like you and me trying to find love and companionship in the time they have on this earth. 

I have high hopes for the direction that Pope Francis will lead the Catholic Church in over the coming years. Until he has the courage to press for real change in the Church's stance and treatment of gays, though, his words during the press conference carry little weight. I challenge Pope Francis to show us that his statements on homosexuality are something more than a PR stunt. Francis, open your mind and heart to the possibility that Church tradition has got it wrong regarding LGBT individuals. Search the scriptures. We're waiting. 

"Peace it is till the break of morning": Reflections on Ramadan and the Night of Destiny

Whenever you travel to a foreign country, there are inevitably some cultural differences that take awhile to get used to. It's often the small things that remind you most that you're far from home. To offer a personal example, in Egypt on Fridays and during Ramadan, the sound of the Qur'an being recited is almost ubiquitous. You'll hear it on portable radios as you walk down the street, in taxis, and while shopping at your local supermarket. Competitions for reciting the Qur'an are a common occurrence in mosques and schools there. Having lived in New Jersey for most of my life, where it's difficult to imagine walking around on a Sunday and hearing the Bible or gospel songs everywhere, this aspect of life in Cairo took some time to adjust to.   

Over the year that I lived in Egypt, though, I came to appreciate this difference more and more. At the very least, I began to prefer Qur'an recitation over the muzak and greatest hits of the 90s, 00s, and today that you hear in stores in New Jersey. A few months after I arrived, I began to take lessons in how to recite the Qur'an properly. As I studied, there was one particular surah (one of the 114 chapters in the Qur'an) that I would listen to and recite over and over again. I found the performance of it by my favorite reciter, Sheikh Mishari Rashid al-Afasy, to be remarkably beautiful. It was rare for me to get very emotional about aspects of Islam, but when I would listen to his recording, I was liable to shed some tears. 

We have indeed revealed this Message in the Night of Destiny (or Power).

And what will explain to thee what the Night of Destiny is?

The Night of Destiny is better than a thousand months.

Therein come down the angels and the Spirit by God's permission, on every errand.

Peace it is till the break of the morning. (Surah 97)

The chapter discusses a very important night in the Muslim faith that occurs some time in the last ten days of Ramadan. It is believed that remarkable blessings can be granted to Muslims who spend this night in prayer, contemplation, and acts of kindness. Oddly enough, no one can know for certain which date the Night of Destiny falls on. One of the reasons I loved Ramadan in Egypt was seeing the devoutness and kindness of the people around me during that month. That piety seemed to be magnified on nights that were candidates for being the Night of Destiny. 

I don't think that this was solely a result of Muslims wanting to earn righteousness or a place in Heaven by their works, as some Christians might accuse them of today. Rather, there is a sincere desire among many Muslims to please Allah and lead good lives, and that awareness of this goal shines stronger on these nights than on any other. At the time, I was struggling to maintain my own belief in Islam, so I looked on what I saw as the deep faith of the people around me with something approaching envy. 

More than anything, I wanted a sense of peace in my spiritual life like the one depicted in these verses. Whenever I listened to the chapter, I found myself imagining an empty landscape in the hours before sunrise, with angels descending from Heaven to do the will of God. Quiet. Serene. In the preceding year, my spiritual life had been anything but. I had had so many moral and theological doubts about Islam, questions that deeply unsettled me. It seemed like whenever I had resolved one issue after months of reading and thinking, two others would pop up in its place. I wanted to do what God wanted me to do and believe. I wanted to be able to live out my life with faith in a god and a scripture that I didn't have persistent and seemingly insurmountable objections against. 

No matter how hard I tried, though, I could never find that peace in Islam. So in my last six months living in Egypt, I began to pray for guidance, for God to reveal Himself to me, to help me find out the truth, instead of asking Him to get rid of my doubts. In April of last year, He answered my prayers. Only then did I realize that those rare and faint feelings of God's presence that I found in the piety of Muslims during Ramadan, and in the beauty of some of the Muslim scripture, were a signpost pointing me toward something much greater. Now I know that the emotions that I felt while listening to and reciting the Qur'an were only a pale reflection of the sense of peace that God had always wanted me to find through His Son. 

Until I became Christian, my hours thinking and reading about Christianity and Islam were never easy. They always involved some kind of mental and emotional stress. But, as the Qur'an predicts in some of my favorite verses, “So verily, with every difficulty there is relief. Verily, with every difficulty there is relief.” (94:5-6) It took me several years, but I eventually found that relief in the form of a human being. And his yoke is easy, and his burden light.