Sunday Sermonizing

A Brief Intermission

2006-08-28T08:19:00.000-04:00

With apologies, Sunday Sermonizing will return next week.

I've been at a wedding in Vermont all weekend, and I'm EXHAUSTED.

God Is Jazz

2006-08-20T09:43:00.000-04:00

(Read last week's Sermon, "Yield Up Your Answers")

*****

Epistrophe: \E*pis"tro*phe\, n. [L., from Gr.]

1. A turning toward, return.

2. A figure in which successive clauses end with the same word or affirmation; e.g., ``Are they Hebrews? so am I. Are they Israelites? so am I.'' --2 Cor. xi. 22.

3. A composition by Thelonious Monk (epistrophy)

I visited a friend in Washington D.C. this spring, and I took in a bit of the Smithsonian while I was there. Some of it was instantly regrettable – the exhibit on looms and loom work, for instance, seemed likes a form of pointed, conscious torture – and some of it was wonderful.

Most affecting to me was a simple glass case along the side of one of the museum’s many hallways. It faced across from one of Ben Franklin's suits and contained a small beanie-style hat with a “red cross/swiss army” symbol on its front, along with a single sheet of paper.

The paper was titled “4-in-1” at it’s top margin - handwritten in soft-lead pencil - and below it was a seemingly-haphazard scattering of penciled notes. Sheet music, for piano.

I spent a long time in front of that window. More time then I spent at any other exhibit. I studied that piece of paper without any hope of understanding it. I’m a life long lover of music; a songwriter, guitarist, and singer, but I can’t read sheet music to save my life; yet I pondered that paper like an archaeologist at Tutankhamen’s tomb.

This is because I’m a freak. Specifically, a freak for Thelonious Monk. "4-in-1" is one of his original compositions, and one of his most challenging.

Thelonious Monk was a genius. This is fact - much like gravity, the speed of light, or the record of the ’86 Mets. His compositions and recordings represent a way of thinking about music – not simply about jazz, but about music as a whole – that was revolutionary. Not surprisingly, no one I know has shared this opinion. Most people seem to find Monk, and jazz in general, unapproachable. Stodgy. Irritating.

Jazz is problematic for a lot of people, and it’s easy to understand why. 90% of all popular music is specifically designed to fade into the background – whether that’s at a club, a party, or in your car. And it's called popular music for a reason - people like music that fades into the background. It's simpler, and easier to listen to, and it won't confuse you. I'm an enormous pop music fan for all those reasons.

But Jazz is the polar opposite of that. It is specifically designed to engage, even frustrate, the listener. It demands that you pay attention or be lost (note that this comment excludes “smooth jazz,” which should be politely informed never, ever to exist again).

Listening to good jazz is like riding Universal Studios’ Hulk-coaster with your ears. A song might begin with a simple, repetitive melody; then jerk suddenly and split into three separate, competing melodies that somehow work cohesively. There may be no real melody at all. It veers from accessible to near-unapproachable and back.

You might say that religious folks can be divided into two camps: jazz fans and pop fans. For many folks, God is a pop song. Straightforward, clear, with a beat you can (reverently) dance to.

For others - a smaller group - God is jazz; complicated, confusing, beguiling, and elusive.

I rather like the notion of God as jazz, myself. This doesn’t help me sleep better at night, necessarily, but it seems right, somehow. When I approach my God, I find him to be like Thelonious Monk’s music – both melodic and discordant, welcoming and distant.

I do not hear in God the steady rhythm of the Rolling Stones, or the simple beats of 50 cent. I hear the hard bop of Sonny Rollins. I hear Coltrane’s “sheets of sound.” Most of all, I hear Monk’s atonal, beautiful, difficult compositions.

Maybe that’s why I stood staring at that piece of paper as long as I did. Maybe, in getting an all-too-brief glimpse of a musical genius’ hand-written work, I hoped to find some solid evidence of the hand of God. There was none, of course. Just hastily scribbled half-notes and strange time signatures.

I suspect I'll never be able to read music. I suspect, also, that I'll never truly "know" God. I will, in all likelihood, spend the rest of my life as if staring at that sheet of paper; without the ability to understand the meaning of what I'm looking at, but captivated all the same.

When I listen to Monk, I hear God. And when I listen to God, I hear jazz.

Yield Up Your Answers

2006-08-13T09:01:00.000-04:00

(Read last week's Sermon, "Who Am I?")

****

"After three days they found him in the temple courts, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions.” Luke 2:46

Jesus liked to ask questions. He asked them of the Pharisees, of his Apostles, of the people of Jerusalem and the people he met while traveling the land.

Perhaps he did so in the tradition of Socrates, who used questions as a form of teaching. Socrates would question and re-question his students about a given subject and in doing so, lead them toward answers that Socrates probably had all along. Perhaps Jesus asked questions because he simply did not have the answers. Perhaps he asked them because he was honestly interested in the responses he'd recieve.

Whatever the reason (and that reason changes, depending on whether or not you regard Christ as the actual Son of God), Christ questioned constantly.

I find that to be incredibly important to my faith. The notion of Jesus sitting with the great philosophical and religious minds of the temple and listening – it’s inspiring to me. No matter the motivation, asking questions implies that Jesus valued them. Had he come to the temple simply to instruct the teachers, would he have listened and questioned at all? If the seeking of spiritual and mortal insight is frowned upon by God, would God’s Son have engaged in it?

In her wonderful book "The Sparrow" Maria Doria Russell writes:

“The Jewish Sages tell us that the whole of the Torah, the entirety of the first five books of the Bible, is the name of God. With such a name, they ask, how much more is God? The Fathers of the Church tell us that God is Mystery and unknowable. God Himself, in scripture, tells us ‘My ways are not your ways and My thoughts are not your thoughts.’

It is the human condition to ask questions…and to receive no plain answers. Perhaps this is because we can’t understand the answers, because we are incapable of knowing God’s ways and God’s thoughts. We are, after all, only very clever tailless primates, doing the best we can, but limited. Perhaps we must all own up to being agnostic, unable to know the unknowable.

The Jewish sages also tell us that God dances when His children defeat Him in argument, when they stand on their feet and use their minds. So questions are worth asking. To ask them is a very fine kind of human behavior. If we keep demanding that God yield up his answers, perhaps one day we will understand them. And then we will be something more than clever apes, and we shall dance with God.”

I adore that, and I'd like to think that it's the truth. We do not need to surrender our intelligence to worship God. It is a gift, given to us by our Creator, and God expects us to use it. He delights in it.

If you believe in the divinity of Jesus Christ, then you believe that he did not come to uphold the law of the Pharisees, but to change it; to question it.

If you doubt Jesus’ divinity, but value his teachings then you may believe, as I do, that he came to shake the people from blind obedience to written doctrine and established law; to question the way they lived and worshipped and thought.

In either case, Jesus spoke against the dangers of stagnation. He warned us that no institution or doctrine can be wholly-trusted because humanity is imperfect. And in crafting his messages, Christ often concealed the judeo-punchline in a story, or parable.

He was fond of relating the same messages – “Love the Lord God with all your heart, with all your mind, and with all your soul, and love your neighbor as yourself” – over and again by changing the story around the message and requiring his followers to engage their minds in the search for enlightenment.

The parables Christ told require thought. They require consideration. They require interpretation and genuine reflection. To read the parable of the Mustard Seed without some understanding of the concept of allegory is to read a story about literal mustard seeds that some idiot scatters all over the place.

Why would Jesus do this? Surely it's far more helpful to you and I to have God's Son lay out the "rules" in a clear and unambiguous fashion? Why then does Christ choose to frame the majority of his teachings as stories, open to possible interpretation?

Perhaps the fact that so many of every religion's greatest truths are stored in parables and stories-within-stories should hint to us that God is inviting us to engage with our Creator, not simply let the words of long-dead men wash over us. Perhaps the inconsistencies of our faiths are the result of a Creator’s desire to see us working the answers out for ourselves.

The search for meaning is not a spectator sport. It requires us to roll up our sleeves and ask one another the “Big Questions.” It demands that we examine our beliefs, our lives, and our hearts, with a wholeness of purpose and spirit that can be intimidating; even terrifying. The prospect of attempting understanding is terrifying, no matter the goal. To attempt to stare the Creator in the philosophical-face is to invite both joy and sorrow, and there’s so much sorrow in this world already that it may not seem worth it.

But it is worth it.

The rewards of an engaged intellectual relationship with your Creator are powerful. To seek God is to know God, and to know God is to know love in your heart like you have never felt before.

The Quakers, whom I respect beyond measure, believe that there is a piece of the living God within all of us - a “light” that is both us and not-us at once. It is a mingling of the Divine and the human within each and every person. What this implies is that to know God, one must know one’s own self. I like that. It ties in nicely with last week's Sermon.

“Nosce te ipsum.”

“Gnothi seauton.”

“Know Thyself."

In seeking, we may run up against answers that confuse, frighten or amaze us. This is the very essence and potency of religion - to be alchemically changed by an experience with the Divine. We should not be afraid to look into that light - or any light - and learn from what we see. We need only look to Christ to find a man who knew himself utterly, yet was unafraid to listen, to question, and to learn.

In the search for meaning, we must be careful that we do not shun knowledge. The two go hand-in-hand, and one is useless without the other. Science asks us “How?” Religion asks us “Why?” Both are valid questions. By attempting to ask them both, and by attempting to answer them, we seek a wisdom that brings us closer to the mind and spirit of the Lord.

Through them, we all can dance with God - preferably to Michael Jackson's "Thriller."

Who Am I?

2006-08-06T12:06:00.000-04:00

Who am I?

I am a seeker.

I have ridden horses through the Snake River at dusk. I have run with the bulls in Pamplona. I have played harmonica alongside Italian Violinists in Venice’s Plaza San Marco. I have studied the laws of America, and the laws of different faiths. I have scaled a looming chapel by hand, in the middle of the night, and seen the city of Hartford as few see it – something beautiful.

I have tried substances both legal and otherwise. I have hiked mountains. I have lived in cities. I have biked down a volcano, twice. I have visited the monastery where St. Francis made his home, and prayed where he prayed. I have visited Las Vegas, and prayed there, too (albeit, perhaps, for different reasons).

I am a hypocrite.

I have cheated on lovers and gotten angry at lovers for cheating on me. I have neglected my family and lamented their neglect of me. I have lied, but been upset at being lied to. I hate violence, but engage in it. I try to love my enemies, but more often end up figuratively hitting them.

I am a creator.

I have acted on stages in Illinois, Maine, and New York City. I have written a book for children on loss. I have sung on stage at CBGB’s 1313 (RIP). I have sung “Stray Cat Strut” at the Kennedy Center. I have spent countless hours reading, writing, and drawing.

I am a doubter.

I love my country, but distrust my President. I support our troops, but protested the War in Iraq before it began. I am unable to accept, at face value, Christ’s divinity, or anyone else’s. Despite a hope for, and faith in, humanity, I tend to expect the worst from people.

I am a “family” man.

There is nothing more important to me on this earth. My family isn’t large, but it’s everything to me. They are my clichéd phrase (Choose one: “rock,” “anchor,” “foundation,” “posse.”).

I am an American.

There is no country on this earth as full of possibility as America. There is no country on this earth that has so consistently examined itself and found itself wanting, to the betterment of its people. There is no other country on this earth where the word “Liberty” can mean, and has meant, so much.

I love my country so much that I’m unafraid to disagree with it, because I know my country can take it. It’s taken much worse and stood prouder in the end for it. Despite fears of Big Government, I do not have to worry about someone knocking down my door and seizing my computer. I can, and do, express my civic discontent.

Because America isn’t about rigidity. It was built to change, and to grow. Despite occasional lapses, the Founders’ system has worked. In a nation devoted to the ideals of liberty, no slavery can stay justified. No bigotry can go forever-unchallenged.

I love my country because it’s still the greatest damn country in the world.

I am a believer.

I believe in the existence of God. I believe that the words of the prophet Jesus Christ communicate the basic moral truths espoused by nearly every major world religion, and I choose to interpret my faith through the prism of his words.

I do not know if Jesus was the Son of God. I do not believe that it ultimately matters to my faith if he was. Regardless of his divinity, Jesus spoke elemental and profound truth.

This truth is reflected in so many of the world’s major religions, from Buddhism to Islam, that it is impossible for me to accept that there is only one true road to “salvation.”

I believe that your personal relationship with God is your own. As long as your beliefs do not impugn the well-being of others, your road is a righteous one.

I believe that a person’s spiritual journey ultimately begins and ends inside themselves. It is not the business of faith to tell a man or a woman that their beliefs/practices are wrong.

Faith is not empirical. You cannot prove it.

…Who are you?

How do you see yourself, in short strokes? How do you view your life and it's "meaning"? It's structure?

Are you a seeker? Are you a cynic? Are you a lover (and not/also a fighter)? What do you believe?

How often do we ask ourselves these questions? Always? Sometimes? Never?

Can we approach faith, or life, without an understanding of the self? Of the flaws and the passions and kindnesses that make up our souls? If so, I've yet to meet the person capable of doing so.

Who are you?

Welcome...

2006-08-02T16:37:00.000-04:00

...to Sunday Sermonizing, a division of Codemorse.

Following my recent ordination, I've been inspired to share my thoughts on God, religion, and faith in a once-a-week, Sermon-ish format.

As the title quote indicates, you are welcome here whatever your practice of faith might be. Your comments, questions, and concerns are welcomed as well. Sunday Sermonizing is intended as a forum for my personal beliefs, and I'd like you to consider it yours, too.

All I ask in return is that you maintain respect for the beliefs of your fellow men. Remember that their faith is just as important to them as yours is to you. An open heart and an open mind are your greatest tools toward understanding. I encourage you to use them.

We are all children of God. How we choose to express our love and faith is up to us.