We decoupled sex from babies

From Life

Marriage

Community

Commitment

Love Kindness Respect

From you

Free at last!

Free to couple sex

To me

To power and competition and comparison

Autonomy

Anonymity

To monetizing markets

To mirrors and screens

To degrading cruelty and abuse — “Oh, come on! They like it rough.”

To all linkages and blends

To self-loathing isolation, sadness and fatigue

To Death

Although the word “salvation” covers a lot of ground, most people generally associate it with going to Heaven when they die. Is it possible for every Christian to be peacefully certain that Heaven is in fact is their eternal destiny? If so, how? On what basis?

Near the close of his first epistle St. John writes these words:

These things have I written unto you that believe on the name of the Son of God; that ye may know that ye have eternal life (1 John 5:13).

John believed it was possible to know and he says plainly that he wrote the epistle for that purpose. It’s enough to make you want to go back and read it again with that in mind.

At St. Peter’s we agree with St. John that a deep assurance of our eternal destiny is the privilege of every child of God.

We are also with St. Paul when he states in Romans 8:16: The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God.

Sometimes adopted children need extra affirmation, and loving adoptive parents shower them with it, making as sure as they can that the child never has any reason to doubt their belonging. This is what Paul says the Holy Spirit provides, deep in our hearts, Spirit to spirit.

We have articulated this conviction in the second article of our “Vision of Life Together” document, as follows:

We believe that through the saving work of Christ for us, and by the ministry of the Holy Spirit working in us, God has made it possible for every member of St. Peter’s Anglican Church:

2) To live each day in peaceful and grateful assurance that we have been delivered from the “domain of darkness” (Col 1:13-14) and have received forgiveness and new life in Jesus Christ. This assurance enables us to face both death and life – and all its challenges – in peace and confidence.

It would be the greatest cruelty to tease a child, adopted or biological, about the security of his place in the family.

We see this in one of the sub-plots of the classic Western, “Lonesome Dove.” Captain Woodrow Call refuses to admit that Newt is his son. In the face of Gus’s insistent demands, Woodrow remains stubbornly silent.

Gus tries to convince Newt that Woodrow is his father, but Newt aches to hear it directly from his dad. “Why won’t he say it?” he asks through tears.

Woodrow gives Newt his watch and his horse, tokens and symbols of some kind of bond, but he stops short of the actual words of assurance. Though we admire Woodrow in many ways, we can’t help but hate him for that.  It would have cost him nothing, yet he refuses.

It is impossible to imagine a loving Father wanting His children to live in insecurity and uncertainty about the core of their identity and destiny.  In fact, He is not withholding His declaration of Fatherhood. He is eager for us to know it and bask it in 24-7.

I want every member of St. Peter’s who is not living in this assurance currently to come into the blessed reality in the next year.  I’m going to be talking more about it.

Stephen R Covey followed his best-selling, Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, with the Eighth Habit: From Effectiveness to Greatness. It was not as popular, but its central message is widely proclaimed in the domains of management and self-help: “Finding Your Voice.”

Many people feel they have something to say, but somehow it remains stuck inside. Or when they try to express it, no one seems to hear. This is painful and frustrating. My Mom used to say, “Impression without expression leads to depression.” Everyone has something to say, but many have a hard time finding their voice.

Not me. I’ve been talking for a living since I left college. For someone with deep self-consciousness and a crippling fear of public speaking this might not seem likely. My intense desire to express myself overcame these impediments. My ninth grade English teacher nicknamed me “the oracle”. I have repressed all memories of the 14-year-old boy that earned that nickname.

I am now well into the second half of life chronologically, but always the late-bloomer, I am just beginning to sample some of the good changes that can come with elderhood. One of the reasons we resist these changes is that with them we get glimpses of our earlier selves, which can be almost unbearable.

I see now how much of my teaching and preaching have been aimed at changing and correcting others, “helping” them to see things my way, the right way, to abandon their flawed perspectives and come on into the light, with me.

Believe it or not this can be done with a depth of naivete that never questions the purity of one’s motives and intentions. So, I shared, talked, taught and preached, explained, argued, wrote, passed along links, and ordered books.

Two ears, two eyes, one mouth! Was the Creator trying to tell us something in that design?

Part of me envies the Trappist monks. But I still have to do some talking. I just hope whatever I say and write will come increasingly out of a place of silence.

Spiritual formation pioneer and author, Richard Foster, wrote:

“Silence frees us from the need to control others. One reason we can hardly bear to remain silent is that it makes us feel so helpless. We are accustomed to relying upon words to manage and control others. A frantic stream of words flows from us in an attempt to straighten others out. We want so desperately for them to agree with us, to see things our way. We evaluate people, judge people, condemn people. We devour people with our words. Silence is one of the deepest Disciplines of the Spirit simply because it puts the stopper on that.”

I realize that I haven’t been driven as much by a need to be right, though that has been present too, but mostly by deep loneliness. My sister calls this the desire for a “me too.” If I couldn’t find a community of like-minded soulmates, perhaps I could make one. It’s not much fun to be on the receiving end of such efforts.

In silence, and through silence, I am coming to see the value of others just as they are, beautiful ends in themselves, not as potential means to comfort my loneliness or validate my views.

When I used to travel internationally, I always appreciated the vigilance of the KLM security personnel checking documents and looking into the eyes of travelers.

We should be just as vigilant with adjectives. Let a bad adjective on board your consciousness and it can ruin, or at least distort and severely limit your life.

“Good morning, Mr. Adjective. May I please see your assumptions and implications.”

For years I thought I had distilled the essence of life into a simple mantra. I’ve shared it hundreds of times and never once received any push-back. Here it is:

“We are vulnerable creatures in a dangerous world.”

“Vulnerable” and “Dangerous.” Very popular fellows these days. The world constantly affirms them. “You are vulnerable, so take all these precautions.” “The world is dangerous. You’d be well advised to keep vigilant and be careful.”

There is a tone of concern and even kindness in these words. We often express affection and regard by telling our friends to “Take care” or “Be careful.” Nothing wrong with being concerned about those we love or even ourselves.

I’m not trying to take those phrases away, or the kind sentiments behind them. Just checking my adjectives.

Let’s just poke around a little in their carry-ons . . . .

“Vulnerable”? Compared to what? What are we actually trying to describe with that word?

Isn’t it just another way of talking about our many experiences of pain, often pain that we did not expect or tried to avoid but couldn’t? We also experience mental and emotional suffering that we do not want and can’t seem to prevent. Isn’t all that a pretty good definition of what it means to be “vulnerable?”

But what about all those times when we were strong and smart and planned well, and things turned out, or we got “lucky”? What about those times when we took the blow, got sick, recovered and found ourselves stronger, not nearly as vulnerable as we thought, smarter and wiser, more confident?

Does “vulnerable” describe the whole of who I am? No! And how would I feel if someone said, “Mark, you are vulnerable”? Is that a blessing or a curse? “Mark, this world is strong and mean, and you are weak.”

No thanks!

But who can argue with “dangerous” world? Look around!

OK. I look. What do I see? A world where sometimes things that hurt me happen. But I also see a world of great beauty, full of pleasures and delights from the simple and mundane to the ecstatic. Why focus on “dangerous?” Dangerous compared to what?

Humans have a tendency to work a formula that goes like this:

“I experience _____, therefore, the world is _______.

Or, therefore, I am ______.

God is _______.

People are_______.”

So, for example: “I experience unexpected or unavoidable pain, therefore I must be vulnerable, or the world must be dangerous, or God must be unjust, or . . . .”

Why do we have such a hard time just describing our experience and leaving it at that without making broad pronouncements about the way things are?

“That hurt!” “I didn’t see that one coming!” “I love this!” “I’m afraid of that.” “I ate too much.” “I drank too much.” “I did it again.” “I regret that.” “I’m feeling strong.” “I’m feeling tired.” “That dog bit me.” “I’ve got cancer.” “The baby got well.” “The baby died.” “I wonder what will happen to me now.”

Why not just stop before the “therefore”?

“I experience _______.” “I feel _______.” “It’s not who I am; it is just a tiny part of this whole big world that I am experiencing right now.” Observe it, describe it if you like, and let it be.

Funny, we seldom question our “therefores”. They just feel so right.

Nor do we question our qualifications to make such pronouncements. Could they possibly be a little above our pay grade?

Would we ever say out loud, “I have had an experience, or set of experiences, and this now qualifies me to define and label the world, or God, or you, or myself”? Yet, that is exactly what we do without a second thought.

When we make statements like, “We are vulnerable people in a dangerous world,” instead of nodding sympathetically, someone ought to ask us at least this: “Are you sure about that? How do you know?”

Or, “How does that statement benefit you, or make you feel better?”

Or, “How does that statement affect the way you look at life, how you relate to people, to God, to yourself?”

“Do you like the results of taking those adjectives on board your plane?”

“You know it’s optional, right?”

So here is my modified, adjective-free mantra:

“I am a vulnerable creature in a dangerous world.”

Anything beyond that I hold loosely and with caution.

I’m learning not to let adjectives on-board my consciousness without a closer look in their eyes.

Now, we might want to interview another popular fellow. His boarding pass says: “Broken”. He’s looking a little shifty. Check his passport again and make sure you want to fly with him.

His cousin, “Addict” — that one over there with the oversized, red duffle — he is also worth a closer look. He’s a sneaky one; he comes disguised as a noun.