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Transformation Blog: Readings from Learning to Live and Love Like Jesus

 

 

Transformation: Block-Logic

Brandon Cook

In his book Our Father Abraham, Marvin Wilson helps us understand why our Western minds tend to struggle so deeply with paradox.[1]  Each of us are influenced by Empires on whom the sun has long set.  As thinkers living in a Greco-Roman tradition, we are trained to think linearly.  For example:

A is to B and B is to C and therefore A is to C

Everything resolves quite nicely.  Greek philosophers, logisticians, poets, and architects love this sort of satisfying symmetry.  Indeed, when you can get such resolution in life, be grateful!

The problem is, Greek, linear thinking often fails to capture Biblical faith (let alone all the irresolutions of life).  In fact, if we are primarily Greek in our orientation, we will really struggle walking in faith.  This is because Biblical faith is all about learning to live in tension, where not everything is resolved.  Again, Abram travels from Ur in faith, having no idea how God will fulfill his promises.  This is always the Biblical pattern, because some such space of unknowing is the only context in which faith and trust have any meaning!  And certainly the only place in which trust can transforms us.

The Hebrew Mind, Wilson points out, did not form in the Greco-Roman tradition and is more naturally comfortable with “Block Logic.”  Block logic means you can take two seemingly incongruent truths—God is good and There is evil in the world, for example; or God is sovereign and Humans have free will—and acknowledge that both propositions are true.  Indeed, you can live in the reality of both without needing to too neatly resolve them.   

How can this be?

Imagine that you hold two blocks, one in each hand.  On one block it’s written “God is good” and on the other block, “There is suffering in the world.”  Now imagine that you take both blocks and lift them above your head.  And as you do, you say to yourself, “Both of these statements are true, but how they resolve I don’t fully comprehend.  Somehow God holds the resolution, beyond my understanding.  And I don’t have to resolve them in order to trust in and follow in faith.  In fact, as I trust without having it all figured out, I will encounter God in radically new ways.”

This gets us to the heart of Biblical faith!  Only when you have this posture of trust can you move forward in faith, without having to have everything resolved to your satisfaction.  Of course, we are trusting that, ultimately, things will resolve.  We even get bright foretastes of this--when forgiveness makes a relationship radically new, for example.  But the journey of faith will always mean we are holding at least some blocks in our hands.

In this posture of holding the blocks above our heads, notice we are well postured to let the blocks fall from our hands, palms ready to be opened in worship.  Indeed, we can let the blocks fall out of our hands, knowing that God Himself will go on holding them.  This is a great spiritual practice.  As we focus on the God Who holds and resolves everything, we can say, “Thank you that You hold this, and I don’t have to.”  We can begin to experience a mind at peace and not at war, trying to comprehend or understand everything.  This does not make us anti-mind or anti-intellectual or anti-rational.  We can still think and ponder and challenge deeply.  But while doing so, we can hold onto a posture of faith and trust, which in my opinion is the only lens through which life makes any sense.  Faith, from this perspective, is extremely rational.

Indeed, in a posture of trust, we can experience the place of rest described in the 131st Psalm:

Lord, my heart is not proud;
my eyes are not haughty.
I don’t concern myself with matters too great
or too awesome for me to grasp.
Instead, I have calmed and quieted myself,
like a weaned child who no longer cries for its mother’s milk.
Yes, like a weaned child is my soul within me.
Israel, put your hope in the Lord—
now and always.

 

[1] See Our Father Abraham by Marvin Wilson.  William B. Eerdman’s Publishing Company.  1989.  Chapter 9: “The Contour of Hebrew Thought.” 

Transformation: Maturity as Holding Tension

Brandon Cook

Look at the current state of our national political discourse—or rather, the lack of discourse.  Everything is about taking sides, being right, living from binaries that are over often over-simplified.  You’re either Fox or MSNBC, and then you’re enlightened or an idiot, depending on which side you’re on.  Social media and the proliferation of media in general have amplified our propensity to takes sides in order to escape wrestling, being in thoughtful tension, or having to admit we don’t have everything figured out.

I always laugh when someone jokingly posts, “Wow, you’re angry political rant has totally changed my mind!”  It’s funny because it’s true: we resist being forcefully told why or how we are wrong.  But sadly, there’s very little thoughtful political conversation that might actually change our opinion or help us form a new one.  Most of the “conversation” now is, “You don’t see things the way I do so you’re an idiot!”  Obviously I’m speaking in caricatured terms to make a point, but I think it’s basically right: we have less and less spaces for thoughtful, nuanced dialogue.  Most of what we get is monologue that fails to persuade and actually make us defensive rather than curious.  No wonder anger and offense seem to be the great constants of our time.  

This lack of listening is now pervasive.  Indeed, the average sound bite on the evening news dropped from 43 seconds during the presidential election of 1968 to a mere 9 seconds in the election of 1988.[1] We aren’t asked to follow even ten seconds worth of thought before we are ushered on to the next datum to mindlessly consume.  We aren't trained to hold and live in tension!

This is okay with most of us because we are living at such a quick pace that we don’t have a lot of time to think or listen thoughtfully, and even more because we actually don’t like being in an uncomfortable tension.  We just like being right and pressing on!

The problem is, Jesus calls us into a lot of wrestling and a lot of thoughtful nuance.  It's only in thoughtful listening that we learn to hear and discern the voice of his Spirit, which gives us a healthy dose of self-knowledge and an interior life, which is the breeding ground for transformation.

After many of his parables, Jesus said, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.”[2]  The very purpose of telling a parable rather than making a statement is that the listener has to wrestle.  They have to dig through the story to get to the meaning.  Jesus often calls us right into the uncomfortable tension of wrestling with ourselves and with God, much like Jacob wrestled with the angel.[3]

I’m not saying, of course, there aren’t black and whites in life nor that there aren’t truths we can fully know and rely on.  Of course not.  It’s simply that ultimately, Truth was revealed as a person, not as a set of propositions.  We are relational beings and we only know the deepest truths at an experiential level, which goes deeper than mere mental assent.  Jesus leads us into places where we wrestle because it’s in tension and in learning to hold tension that we are transformed.  The truth gets inside us and goes deeper than our minds, fully penetrating us.  This journey of faith always involves releasing some level of certitude in order to create space for something new we had no space to hold before.  It’s the journey of unlearning so that we can learn. 

Any one who has journeyed through suffering or a season of darkness—what St. John called ‘The Dark Night of the Soul’—can attest that transformation happens on the margins of our existence.  In these liminal spaces (spaces that are in-between where we’ve been and where we’re going), our defenses are torn down, and this reality finally forces us to become open to life and to God.  Look at the Scripture and the pattern is clear: Abram becomes Abraham in the liminal space between Ur and Israel, the Israelites spend 40 years in the wilderness, the disciples wait for 50 days for Pentecost.  We are always led by the Spirit into these in-between places where transformation happens.  They deconstruct us, as it were.

But what comes after?  We develop within us a maturity that allows us to live in tension, especially the tension of Both-And thinking.  This is reconstruction.  To walk into this maturity, you have to develop a mind for paradox, being able to hold two seemingly contradictory truths at the same time.  It’s precisely this practice that our society discourages.  You’re either Black Lives Matter or Blue Lives Matter, but apparently in many minds you can’t be both.  Except of course, that you can!

Just consider the realities that God invites us to believe and hold at the same time: God is three and one.  God is sovereign and we have free will.  We are sinners and saints, completely unworthy and completely worthy. We have great responsibility and yet we aren’t in ultimate control. 

If we allow them to, these sorts of apparent contradictions—paradoxes—will drive us to get our eyes off of our ourselves and onto God and others, which is the very thing that fuels transformation.  As John the Baptist said, “He must increase, I must decrease.”[4]  We may not have the ministry of John the Baptist, but this is a truth that must become true for all of us if we are to live into the transformation that comes from God.

[1]http://archive.boston.com/bostonglobe/ideas/articles/2011/01/02/the_incredible_shrinking_sound_bite/
[2] See Mark 4:9, for an example.
[3] Genesis 32:22-32.
[4] John 3:30.

Transformation: From Deconstruction to Reconstruction

Brandon Cook

Walter Brueggeman points out the scriptural pattern of disorientation and reorientation, such as we find in the Psalms.[1]  Not surprisingly, you can’t get to reorientation before you walk through disorientation, so we don’t just have Psalms of celebration but also of sorrow, anger, and lament.  This pattern of disorientation and reorientation is all over the scripture, but we often ignore it because we are so terrified of disorientation.  Many a worship service creates ample space for celebration but little to no space for lament.  We are meant, of course, to hold both and in fact, you can only hold either if you hold both!

Indeed, it’s deconstruction—when things fall or are pulled apart—that we find real faith and are transformed.  And life will faithfully lead us to the places of deconstruction.  An unfortunate reality, but one which God uses mightily.  At the same time, it’s wiser to practice deconstruction and reconstruction before we are forced there by the sorrows of life.  Yes, it can actually be practiced before we get there.

All the practices outlined so far are about deconstruction. 

·      We confess our need for a Savior, deconstructing our longing to be complete on our own
·      We embrace weakness, deconstructing our lust to be without limits or to be “in control” on    our own terms
·      We name and label (rather than judging and hating) our weaknesses and our false self, deconstructing our need to look and feel powerful
·      We learn to live in the question, “God, how can you be so good?”, deconstructing our persistent impulse to be the center of the universe

All of this feels like a stripping away.  These practices effectively clear the land, helping us to “lose our life.”[2]   Only then are we prepared for reconstruction.  And just as it takes great maturity to withstand deconstruction without freaking out, reconstruction, too, takes great maturity.  Even more so, perhaps.  We live in a society that loves deconstruction but resists reconstruction.  We love to pull narratives apart and demonstrate how they don’t work, but we resist the work of entering into new narratives.  Many people, for example, leave the church when they find the teaching inadequate but then end up throwing the baby out with the bath-water, as it were.  Unfortunately, it’s easier for us to stay huffy and offended than to live into a story.  It’s not a coincidence that offense seems to the guiding ethos of our day.

Living into a new story takes maturity, and it’s the maturity of being able to live in tension, which we human being resist like hell itself.  Most people, myself included, demand the comfort of having everything figured and sorted.  But Biblical faith always calls us into places where not everything makes sense, not all the answers are given, not everything is resolved.  Of course, you can’t have faith in any other context!  In this place, God can actually become God in our lives.  It takes character and maturity from us, as we are led by the Spirit of God to trust and believe in new ways.  Only then does life become the rich experience of abundance which Jesus enjoyed, even in dark and painful world.

[1] See Spirituality of the Psalms.  Fortress Press.  Minneapolis, MN.  2002.
[2] Matthew 10:39