We'll See . . .

I watched Charlie Wilson's War last night--and thoroughly enjoyed it, though not for the reasons one would imagine. It heralds the work of Congressman Charlie Wilson of Texas in the 1980s (played by Tom Hanks) who managed to arm the Afghans in their successful struggle against the Soviet Union and concludes with a rather simplistic warning that the US fought a great covert war at the outset but seriously "messed-up" the endgame (the director chose a much more descriptive phrase).

What intrigued me was a little Taoist and/or Zen story that CIA rogue Gus Avrokotos (played by Philip Seymour Hoffman) relates at the end of the film. Wilson is ready to celebrate the Afghan victory made possible by covert US assistance. Avrokotos gives him cause for pause with this story (mutilated by Hollywood, of course; I offer a truer version here) about a farmer whose horse ran away.

When his neighbors heard the news, they ran over to see him. "What terrible luck," they said.
The farmer was non-plussed. "We'll see," he replied.
The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses.
"This is great news," his neighbors said excitedly.
"We'll see," replied the old man.
The following day, his son tried to tame one of the wild horses and was thrown off and broke his arm.
The neighbors again offered their sympathy.
"We'll see," said the farmer.
The very next day the army came through, drafting young men to fight for the emperor. The son couldn't serve because his leg was broken.
The neighbors congratulated the farmer on his good luck.
"We'll see" said the farmer.

Avrokotos was right, as it turned out. What seemed good at the moment wouldn't turn out so well in the end.

Why is it that what I think is good for me can easily turn out to be bad? And what I celebrate as good can turn out to be terribly destructive? The truth of the matter is that goodness and badness do not reside in the events of our lives but rather within ourselves--in the meaning (or lack thereof) that you and I bring to the events that happen to us. In this sense, we are determiners of our own fates. We bring meaning along with us. It resides within, where the heart is.

I remember sitting on the edge of a bed in a leper colony in the Philippines when I was a middle schooler. My mother and I were visiting a friend who was a pastor and a leper and who lived in debilitating poverty. She asked him, "What do you do when you don't have any food to eat?" He replied, "I just mix a little sugar with water and praise the Lord."

Could I ever say such a thing in a similar circumstance?

We'll see.

Why I am a Baptist

To be perfectly honest, I was born a Baptist and not just a Baptist but the son of a Baptist missionary and the grandson of a Baptist preacher. My father's brother was a Baptist pastor and his sister married a Baptist pastor. It's in my blood--and I must confess that I've had a love-hate relationship with being Baptist for much of my life. I'm convinced that we Baptists are just about the most misunderstood religious group out there--and that we've brought this misunderstanding and misconception upon ourselves.

I once attended a conference on religious diversity at the Carter Center in Atlanta where I discovered that more people had prejudice against Baptists than against any of the twenty other religious groups in the room. It was an eye-opener! And can you imagine how many Baptists attend religious diversity conferences? There were two of us--a reality which caused the other 400 folks in the room to collapse in laughter. At one point, I had to stand and defend my tradition against the various words that the other attendees used to describe Baptists--bigots, rednecks, misogynists and racists were among the kinder descriptions. The Hare Krishna folks in their saffron robes got much more gentle treatment! And I had trouble coming up with a credible defense.

And yet I am still Baptist. Here's why:

1. Baptists may disagree with you when it comes to God, but we'll also fight to the death for your right to believe whatever you wish to believe about the divine. It's in our genetic code. Roger Williams of Rhode Island (pictured above) was a Baptist and he had this notion that no human being ought to have the power to control the individual conscience. In his estimation, all human beings were fallible, sinful creatures whose perspectives were warped by original sin. And God was much too powerful and omniscient to ever be trapped in the tiny space of a single human mind or even collective human minds. For this reason, every perspective on God ought to be heard--and Williams was pretty confident that, in the end, the truth would win out. God was perfectly capable of accomplishing that without much help from the hoi polloi!

2. Baptists root religious experience in the heart of the individual and in the connection of that individual to a community of faith or congregation. It's not a flawless process-but it certainly is a powerful and meaningful way to experience God. We baptize folks who are capable of knowing right from wrong and of making a conscious decision to follow in the way of Jesus. We baptize them into a church that can nurture them along that way until such time as the individual and church come to a parting of the ways (either geographically or theologically). At such time, the individual is free to move to another church, start a new one, or quit church altogether. In this sense, Baptists are like germs--you never know where we might pop up next!

3. We Baptists insist upon the separation of church and state--mainly because we got burned badly by the marriage of the two institutions. At the heart of this conviction is the Actonian notion that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. When church and state get together, the church and the individual always lose. As that great Baptist prophet, James Dunn, says (pardon this very poor restatement, James), "It's not theocracy I fear; it's the person who thinks he's speaking for Theo that frightens me!" When it comes to religion and the state, every faith at the table ought to be treated as equals--nobody gets to sit at the head of the table and nobody has to stand outside the door.

I once heard Dr. Ed Gaustad, a good Baptist and dean among American religious historians, adddress a gathering of religion professors in San Francisco (again, my apologies for the rough quote). "If you pass the First Church of Satan as you are strolling the streets of this city," he said, "then be sure to thank a Baptist. Their fight for religious liberty ensured that such a church could be here."

I wish I'd thought to quote him at that conference on religious diversity at the Carter Center. It certainly would have given them a different perspective on Baptists and, perhaps, taken their minds off the fact that there were only two of us in the room.

Why Religion Matters

Huston Smith wrote a great little book a few years ago that was born out of his own study and practice of the religions of the world. He called it Why Religion Matters. You ought to pick up a copy if you don't own it already. To me, it's a classic that moves us beyond the divide between religions to contemplate what it is in the human spirit that drives us toward God. At the heart of the book, I suppose, is a question with which I've wrestled for years in my own reflection and in the classrooms where I've taught--What exactly is religion?

I'm not much on classic definitions, especially for something as amorphous as "religion." But I do like to wrestle with how such a profound concept functions in the human spirit--and, after reading Huston Smith and many others and visiting numerous churches and temples and monasteries around the world, I've come to something of a conclusion. For me, "religion" is simply the way in which human beings organize reality and answer the basic questions of human existence. Why am I here? Why do I suffer? Why should I behave? Is there anybody up there? What happens to me when I die?

The effort to answer these questions and to find meaning is what drives Christians to celebrate Christmas and Muslims to prayer five times a day and Buddhists into monasteries and Taoists into nature and Jewish folks toward the Passover meal. Because we are human beings, we must make sense out of this world and its history. . . and out of the world that is coming. It's innate. It gives hope in the midst of the hopelessness that all too often surrounds us.

It also drives us into helpful conversation with each other as we seek to share the hope that we have found with fellow strugglers on the journey. I have found peace in the Christ-child whose birth, life, death and resurrection offer proof that God cares for me and loves me very much. The meaning that Jesus brings into my life provides the answers that I so desperately need to make it through each day--to love, laugh and celebrate despite it all.

I often shake my head at all the wars fought in the name of God and faith--and wonder if we can ever learn in the many places where religions meet to simply share the meaning that we have found . . . without bringing all the hatred and destruction and death along with us.

Here's hoping. Like most human beings, I seem to be an eternal optimist.

Oh . . . and Merry Christmas!

On Power and "Soft Things"

A story in yesterday's China Daily caught my eye. The headline read "War-weary US awakens to 'Soft Power,'" and the first line offered the following perspective--"After six years of war, the United States is awakening to the idea that 'soft power' is a better way to regain influence and clout in a world bubbling with instability." The article highlighted the perspectives of Joseph Nye, a Harvard professor and former assistant Secretary of Defense, and Richard Armitage, former deputy US Secretary of State, that appeared in this past Sunday's Washington Post. Nye and Armitage argue that the US needs to exercise "smart power" in the world by blending the soft power of diplomacy, respect for other cultures, and meeting human need around the world with the hard power of its military. Obviously, the Chinese press is applauding this emerging direction.

Wow! Once again I was amazed at the fact that, despite intense opposition from every corner of the globe, China and much of the rest of the world continues to give the US the benefit of the doubt when it comes to the war in Iraq. "They're coming around," the Chinese seemed to be saying in this brief little report.

And, indeed, from the Chinese perspective we are coming around--to something the Chinese have valued for about 2500 years. The Tao Te Ching is a classic Chinese philosophical text whose authorship is often attributed to Lao Tzu, an ancient Chinese philosopher. The Tao Te Ching contains a classic line that has resonated within the Chinese spirit across these many centuries--"The soft thing gallops triumphantly over the hard thing." If you need an example, just take a look at the way water has carved a path through rock that we all now refer to as the Grand Canyon.

I agree with the Chinese on this one. Here's to the soft things--water, respect, mutual understanding and, oh, yes, something another ancient One from the east called for--turning the other cheek. No, they don't always work--sometimes you do have to stiffen and fight. But generally when you do, everybody pays a pretty high price.

In the Big Easy

I lit a candle in his memory at the St. Louis Cathedral on Jackson Square in New Orleans yesterday. I don't know his name but I do know where he died--and it was a very lonely death. He decided to ride out Hurricane Katrina at the top end of Lake Pontchartrain in a house set on pylons just at the edge of the lake. There's nothing left of the house except the sticks on which it sat.

I've been in New Orleans for the last couple of days--killing several birds with one stone. Reid Doster, Disaster Response Coordinator for Louisiana CBF, was gracious enough to cart me around for a couple of days to review all the work that so many churches and individuals have done in Pearlington, MS and Lacombe, LA and New Orleans. We chatted with pastors whose families and congregations have been so affected by the storm. I also spoke at St. Charles Avenue Baptist Church where Steve Meriwether is pastor and heard from him about the good work of that church in building and restoring homes for those whose homes were destroyed. Oh . . . and I loaded up my daughter's dorm room at Tulane University!

I've listened to a good many stories of the storm--and sensed in folks the weariness and endurance that is demanded in the midst of the effort to recover. There's not much to say. It's a daily struggle to work through it. Rev. Ike Mayfield of New St. Mark's Baptist Church offered a powerful word about the good that has come in the midst of it all--"It's been the relationships that I've formed that have made the difference," he said. And he spoke of the churches and individuals who simply came and worked on his church and helped him with rebuilding his home.

And I thought again about how much we need each other--and about how no one ought to have to die alone. I guess that's why I lit a candle in memory of a man I never knew.

What We Don't Know . . .

I've just completed my first daily ritual upon arriving at work--which is to make a quick visit to newspaper websites around the world just to keep up with what is going on. I don't just do it for fun--we're a global operation with people who work in a growing number of countries around the world. I need to know what is happening out there.

But I also do it because it helps me to break out of my own cultural isolation here in the US and to be aware of the perspectives that are motivating people all over the world. Generally I discover something that I wouldn't know if I depended solely upon US news. For example, today is International Human Right's Day and the 59th anniversary of the signing of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in 1948 by the United Nations. I didn't learn about that in the Atlanta paper or in the New York Times; rather, I read opinion columns about it in both the Manila Bulletin and the Jerusalem Post. The two papers came at the celebration quite differently as the Manila Bulletin celebrated it and the Jerusalem paper took a much more critical look at it.

It's interesting to me--that an International Human Rights Day is at the very least acknowledged in Bangkok and Jerusalem and generally ignored in Atlanta and New York City.

Makes me wonder why?



By the way, a number of websites provide links to significant newspapers around the world. I use this one. Be careful--it's addicting.

Along the Way

I've been journeying for the better part of my life. In fact, one of my earliest memories occurred when I was four years old. My father picked me up and sat me down on the kitchen table (we were living in North Carolina at the time) and he asked me a question--

"Rob, would you like to move to the Philippines?"

A few months later (in 1964) I found myself on the President Cleveland, a luxury liner, sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge and toward Honolulu, Yokohama, Hong Kong, and, finally, Manila Bay. This is a picture of the actual boat.

The journey was a long one--twenty one days across the Pacific. At one point, the four of us (Mom, Dad, me and my little brother) were standing on the deck at dusk. Across the way I could see a coastline and a few lights.

"Who lives over there?" I asked.

"That's Red China," my Dad responded.

I wondered why the lights were white if the country was red.

Thirty two years later I would discover the suffering that was occurring in China as I sailed calmly by on my luxury liner. I visited China--and my new Chinese friends told me of the pain they had experienced through the Cultural Revolution.

Their experience taught me a valuable lesson. I need to pay attention along the way. I need to listen. And I need to share what I learn.

So--I'm starting this blog--perhaps as much for me as for anyone else. I'll be doing a lot of journeying over the next few years. And you are welcome to share the journey.