Can You Trust Your Heart?

Listen: “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” performed by Israel Kamakawiwo’ole

 This question came up in a discussion with some friends who are in recovery. It was not a particularly religious group of people, but definitely people who are spiritual. I was surprised to hear that many people in the group had a negative assessment of whether or not they could trust their heart for guidance. Many of them had made some horribly destructive decisions under the influence of drugs or alcohol or both. I was surprised because many of my friends who are not particularly religious, who are not in recovery have a very optimistic assessment of their own intuition and instincts. On the other hand, many of my friends with a strong religious background (particularly Christian background) have grown up with a negative view of the human heart and whether or not you can trust it for guidance. 

Studies of the human brain reveal that we are creatures of habit and adaptability. (See Incognito and Livewired by David Eagleman.) In biological terms, our heart pumps blood; our brains do the thinking. Our brain is an amazing biological mechanism. It comes pre-programed with certain algorithms for learning, evaluating new data, and storing memories (especially emotional memories and data needed for navigating life). Neuroscience of the brain is a fascinating field of study as it relates to human behavior. Suffice it to say, our survival on the planet is based on our brain’s ability to intuit its way through life. None of us could survive without some level of trust in our own instincts and our ability to make decisions.

Malcolm Gladwell wrote a fascinating book about intuitive feelings and snap judgments, which are often more accurate and insightful than months of analyzing data, called Blink. In the book, Gladwell points out how the human brain is capable of making complex, rational decisions about the world (using big data), while at the same time doing something which he calls “thin-slicing.” “Thin-slicing” is using small amounts of data combined with intuition and experience to make big decisions or conclusions about life. Gladwell shows how these decisions and conclusions can be amazingly accurate. He does balance his argument by pointing out how snap judgments can be wrong and harmful. So there’s a paradox in this brain of ours (or the human heart in colloquial terms).

Some questions don’t lead to easy, clear-cut answers. The answer is found in paradoxical tension or what some call non-dualistic thinking. Most faith traditions embrace paradox, but some interpreters of certain faith traditions like to eliminate paradox. For example, I have met many people in my faith tradition (Christianity) who have clear-cut answers for everything. I’ve heard people say things like “the Bible says it and I believe it” without much realization that the Bible says many things that are paradoxical. 

Take for example the human heart as a source of guidance. I am speaking of the human heart as the center of emotion, intuition, and intention—the inner-self (how ancient Hebrew and Greeks thought about the heart as well as colloquial English). The Hebrew prophet Jeremiah spoke about the human heart in some interesting and paradoxical ways. He delivered his message during the Babylonian Exile of the Jewish people (605 BC), one of the darkest periods of ancient Israel’s history. Jeremiah believed that Israel was in this dark situation because they had forsaken their true identity and fallen into idolatry and injustice. Jeremiah says, “The human heart is the most deceitful of all things, and desperately wicked. Who really knows how bad it is?” (Jeremiah 17:9; NLT). This negative assessment of the human heart is similar to the perspective I have heard from people in recovery. They have had to come to grips with their own insanity and “believe that a Power greater than themselves could restore them to sanity.” They have gotten brutally honest about their own insanity while under the influence of substances. What’s interesting to me is that you don’t need to be an drug addict or alcoholic to make some really bad decisions in life. Behavioral addictions can be just as destructive.

Later on in Jeremiah’s message to ancient Israel in Exile, he became much more optimistic in his assessment of the human heart. If people would turn away from idolatry and injustice, they could find new hope and a new heart. Jeremiah says, “‘But this is the new covenant I will make with the people of Israel on that day,’ says the Lord. ‘I will put my instructions deep within them, and I will write them on their hearts. I will be their God and they will be my people…. For everyone, from the least to the greatest, will know me already,’ says the Lord” (Jeremiah 31:33-34; NLT).

 So the human heart is amazingly complex and reliable, but, at times, it can be misleading in its narrative. (Neuroscience of the brain confirms this paradoxical assessment. The human brain is always telling itself stories about events.) I love Proverbs 4:23, “Guard your heart above all else, for from it flow the springs of life.” This Proverb affirms in a positive way the guidance which flows from the human heart, while at the same time giving the caution to guard our hearts.

How do we guard our heart? One way is to have some true friends, counselors, and therapists who can listen to our thoughts and ideas and intuitions. This gives us some important feed back as we navigate life. Another way is to practice meditation, journaling, and spiritual reading. These practices can help sharpen our intuitive skills over the course of our lifetime. Finally, we can seek a sense of connection to God or a higher power. This connection moves us beyond our own limited view of the world, ourselves, and others and provides vital interdependence for guidance.

I will close with a beautiful Psalm from the Hebrew tradition. With appropriate connection and interdependence, our heart is a beautiful guide to wholeness. “Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart” (Psalm 37:4; ESV). The human heart effervesces with creativity and goodness and dreams if planted in the proper soil to nourish it.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

Where Are the Peacemakers?

Listen: “Blowin’ in the Wind” by Bob Dylan

Peacemaker is a compound word—a word made famous by Jesus in his most memorable message “The Sermon on the Mount.” It’s one of the beatitudes (beati is Latin for “happy” or “blessed”) in Matthew 5:9: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called the children of God.” The idea is that the person who “makes peace, works for peace, or helps bring about peace” is a child of God. I like to think of building bridges with people, instead of making enemies. It’s a characteristic to which I have always aspired. In my mind, we have a shortage of peacemakers in the world today.

 In the Greco-Roman world, peace was basically the absence war. For example, the Pax Romana (“Roman Peace”) was roughly a 200-year-long timespan of Roman history (27 BC to 180 AD) with relative peace and prosperity. However, in the Hebrew worldview, shalom (“peace”) has a rich history. Shalom can mean an absence of war, but it also means wholeness and health from a physical, mental, emotional, relational, and spiritual perspective. It is also a beautiful greeting for both coming and going. The Greek New Testament draws upon this rich Hebrew context of meaning for its use of  “peace” (eirene). This is what Jesus had in mind when he spoke of peacemakers.

So what does a peacemaker look like?

Politics and war. When I was a seminary student in the 1980’s, I had the privilege of studying with Dr. William Estep. (I took every class he offered at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, and he encouraged me to do PhD studies with him. I pursued pastoral ministry instead, but always cherished my studies with him.) Dr. Estep taught Reformation history, but he was a world-renowned scholar on Anabaptists history. (For a wonderful history, read The Anabaptists Story by William Estep.) The Anabaptists were birthed out of students who were studying with the Swiss reformer, Ulrich Zwingli. The Anabaptists were pacifists and consequently were killed by all of the Magisterial Reformers, Catholics and Protestants alike. For this reason, among others, I have always admired them.

The Anabaptists were the forerunners to the Mennonites and Amish. They took the teachings of Jesus about nonviolence (“turn the other cheek”) and loving your enemy very seriously. They withdrew from state sponsored war and violence, serving in the military, and policing because of their desire to follow the teachings of Jesus. In my opinion, anyone who follows Jesus should lean towards pacifism. I have always leaned towards pacifism, especially in personal relationships and social interactions. I stop short of calling all followers of Jesus to abstain from military or police service. I do think there is a place for Jesus followers to serve in these roles, but their purpose should always be to protect, serve, and keep the peace. State sponsored violence is a last resort. By the way, for an excellent presentation of this perspective, watch the movie Hacksaw Ridge. Pfc. Desmond T. Doss was a pacifist who served in World War II. Truly inspirational. Jesus followers would do well to draw inspiration from this powerful story.

Peace with adversaries. All human beings are created in the image of God and are people of worth and dignity. Regardless of race, nationality, gender, religion, or politics, we have far more in common with each other than we often imagine. I have had spiritual conversations with people around the world from every walk of life, and I have always been amazed at how easy it is to find common ground. I believe peacemakers seek to build bridges rather than build walls with those whom we disagree. Even in the face of injustice, peacemakers seek nonviolent ways to stand against injustice while advocating love, peace, and forgiveness. I think we have a lot to learn from Jesus, Mahatma Gandhi, and Martin Luther King Jr. to name of few shining lights. In the words of MLK: “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

Peace with self. The mental health movement is a peacemaking movement. Healing from emotional wounds, trauma, shame, and addiction are vital for personal health and wholeness. Health professionals and grace-based people are following Jesus’ call to be peacemakers.

Peace with others. Every person on the planet will invariably be the source of hurt for another human being. I often hear parents talk about why their kids will need therapy as a result of their parenting. I think we are all aware of how we have the potential to hurt others even when we have the best of intentions. Learning how to make amends to those we have harmed is a work of peacemaking, for ourselves and others.

Peace with God. Having a relationship with something greater than yourself that is loving and caring is transformational. A “higher power” according to one’s understanding has brought peace to millions around the world. It was for this purpose that Jesus suffered a loving, sacrificial death on the cross. This ultimate act of nonviolence in the face of oppressive injustice while forgiving those who inflicted the suffering is inspirational. This kind of sacrificial love is disarming and liberating from the oppressive forces of sin and darkness and hatred. “For God in all his fulness was pleased to live in Christ, and through him God reconciled everything to himself. He made peace with everything in heaven and earth by means of Christ’s blood on the cross” (Colossians 1:19-20; NLT).

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

Faith is Spelled R-I-S-K

Listen: “Oceans” (Live at RELEVANT)

One of my mentors in pastoral ministry (John Wimber) was known for his many axioms of wisdom. Several of them have stuck in my head through the years, and I have repeated them many times. “Faith is spelled R-I-S-K” is one of them.

Faith is one of those words that gets used in many contexts with ten different nuances. It’s like the word “love” in its multivalent meanings. In the biblical worldview, faith is primarily a word for trust—trust in God—but also trust in others and trust in yourself to some degree. It can also be used to talk about a set of beliefs, like the Christian faith or the faith of our fathers.

My focus in this blog is on the relational aspect of faith—faith as trust. I think its important to establish what faith is not. Through thousands of hours of conversations with people about faith, I have found that many people have misconceptions about the nature of faith. So here’s a short list of what faith is not (from a biblical perspective at least, maybe intuitive as well): (1) Faith is not the absence of fear. Faith and fear dance together. (See my blog “Can We Dance with Fear?”); (2) Faith is not the absence of doubts and questions concerning what you believe. Almost every biblical character had doubts and questions concerning their faith, even Jesus; (3) Faith is not the absence of uncertainty. Most faith adventures have a strong possibility of failure; and (4) Faith is not a mystical force like gravity, but it does involve a relationship with God and people and self, all of whom can be very mysterious!

Because faith is a relational term for trust, faith can ebb and flow. Faith can be somewhat bipolar. There are times when we feel confident in our relationship with God, others, and self; and there are times when those relationships can feel shattered, broken, and in need of repair. For many people, faith rises and falls with a vacillating sense of confidence and trust in the current status of any particular relationship. You might have an unwavering sense of confidence and trust in God’s love and grace, but even the best examples of people of faith from every tradition (the heroes of faith or the saints that have gone before us) have had seasons of darkness in which their faith was weighed and found wanting.

Faith and love are risky endeavors. (See my blog “Is Unconditional Love Possible?”) Upon entering into a faith-filled relationship, we can always wonder if it will last. Fear of failure and fear of abandonment can accompany any love relationship. However, if we try to avoid fear of failure and abandonment, then we are, in essence, trying to avoid faith and love which leaves us alone and isolated. 

The encouraging news is that faith can be incredibly small and still have an extraordinary affect on life and love. In one of Jesus’ most famous sayings on faith, he spoke of it in a fantastic way: “I tell you, if you had faith even as small as a mustard seed, you could say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it would move. Nothing would be impossible” (Matthew 17:20; NLT). The mustard seed is one of the smallest of seeds. So encouraging!

For some, the first and obvious thing to trust is God. They have grown up trusting in God and in the God of their faith tradition. But this is not at all easy or obvious for many people. In the 21st Century, doubt is as common as faith in the most developed countries of the world.

Maybe the first thing to trust is what is real, even if it seems tragic and difficult. I love what Richard Rohr says in Falling Upward:

The tragic sense of life is ironically not tragic at all, at least in the Big Picture….The tragic sense of life is not unbelief, pessimism, fatalism, or cynicism. It is just ultimate and humiliating realism, which for some reason demands a lot of forgiveness of almost everything. Faith is simply to trust the real, and to trust that God is found within it—even before we change it. This is perhaps our major stumbling stone, the price we must pay to keep the human heart from closing down and to keep the soul open for something more.

This openness to “something more” is the key to faith and trust. In recovery, people talk of surrendering to a “higher power of your understanding.” This is a good place to start. You might start with the love and trust you have in your dog or your cat—that’s a source of profound love for most people. You have faith that your dog is going to love you all over again as soon as you return home. Or, you might put your faith in the joy you experience when you walk in the woods, or soak up the sun on a beach, or smell pine trees in the mountains.

Faith in yourself can be tricky, but it is necessary. Faith in the way your brain works, the way you experience and think about yourself and the world around you. Trust in your intuition and instincts is invaluable for navigating life’s journey. (Read Blink by Malcom Gladwell.) Trusting in yourself when your self-confidence and self-worth has been shattered can be extremely difficult, but it is absolutely necessary for healing and wholeness. Do you have enough self-compassion to believe in yourself?

Faith in a circle of friends and family is foundational to meaningful life and existence on the planet. All faith traditions and evolution itself would tell us that we are made for loving community. Isolation is dangerous for all species, plant and animal alike, especially humans. This is extremely challenging for survivors of relational trauma, but healing comes through grace-filled relationships. Do you have enough interdependence to believe in others?

Faith in God or something greater than yourself that is loving and caring is a big leap for some. I have met thousands of people through the years who have abandoned faith in God, a higher power, or organized religion because of religious trauma, religious dogma, or religious violence and hatred. Despite this aversion, we can all recognize the interconnectedness of all things in the universe. The butterfly effect seems to me to apply to more than just chaos theory. Do you have enough sense of mystery to believe in a power greater than yourself? 

So faith is spelled R-I-S-K. When it comes to business and relationships and community and life, we must exercise faith—and there’s always a risk. Taking appropriate risks is vital to success in any arena of life. Risk management is a key ingredient to successful endeavors. I find great hope and comfort in the words of Basil King, a Canadian clergyman: “Go at it boldly, and you’ll find unexpected forces closing round you and coming to your aid.”

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

Is Unconditional Love Possible?

Listen: “When It Don’t Come Easy” by Patty Griffin

I’ve often wondered if unconditional love is humanly possible. As a pastor, I have heard plenty of evidence to support this uncertainty. During the course of my pastoral career, I have counseled with hundreds of couples torn apart by relational conflict. I have counseled with hundreds of parents who were facing destructive struggles with their children. I have counseled with the victims and survivors of abusive relationships. I have also consulted with hundreds of churches across denominational lines and continents concerning congregational conflict and disharmony. I have also witnessed the toxic dysfunction of political, cultural, and racial divisions threatening to tear nations apart (whether it be in America, Ethiopia, Ireland or Israel). Quite frankly, there are times when I think unconditional love is an unrealistic longing or a sentimental platitude. No one really loves another human being unconditionally—not really. We love because we hope to get love in return.

On the the other hand, I think we do hunger to be loved unconditionally. I desire to be loved unconditionally. Despite this hunger, we recoil from exposing our true self for fear of being rejected. Naked vulnerability? No thank you. Too risky. We say to ourselves, “I’ll keep my mask on and be very careful about who sees the real me.” And yet, we hunger for people to know us, really know us—with all our flaws and imperfections, with all our beauty and originality—and still love us. This is the kind of love for which we hunger.

This kind of love is risky. Human love cannot exist without boundaries. Some human beings seem to be incapable of healthy, loving relationship. They only seem to inflict harm and abuse on those they supposedly love. How can we love another human being unconditionally when they can’t be trusted? When they are repeat offenders? Or when we need to end a relationship in order to stop the abuse?

Maybe, unconditional love is only possible with God. God is love (I John 4:8). God is able to love unconditionally. It’s somehow comforting to think that a God who knows everything about us, about me, still loves me. Even when I am at my worst, God’s love for me does not change. God’s love never fails (I Corinthians 13:7).

Perhaps, the extent to which we love others as God loves them is the extent to which we know and love God. As challenging and daunting as this thought is, is there really another way to love someone? How do we love others and still have healthy boundaries? How do we love our enemies? Jesus taught us to love our enemies (Matthew 5:43). How do we love our enemies without empowering abusive, unjust behavior and systemic injustice? It seems to me that the Anabaptists (certainly not the Magisterial Reformers) and Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr. and Nelson Mandela have something to teach us along these lines.

I still want to strive for this kind of love because “God is love, and all who live in love live in God, and God lives in them” (I John 4:16; NLT). And I long to love and be loved by perfect, unconditional love. There is always a risk. Maybe Jesus’ death on the cross speaks to this risk for all time—sacrificial, subversive, radical love. What are the alternatives? Endless hatred and retaliation? A cycle of retribution and revenge? An eye for an eye where no one ever wins; no one ever gets even; and everyone is blind?

C. S. Lewis wrote a wonderful book based on the four Greek words for love (storge, phileo, eros, and agape) entitled, The Four Loves. Here is my favorite quote from the book:

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

It’s Friday, but Sunday is Coming

Listen: “I Still Believe” by The Call

On April 2, 2021, I held my first event for Spirituality Adventures. It was the first time I had spoken in front of an audience in over two years (with the exception of a couple of small groups). I was nervous, but it felt like the right timing. I wanted to do it on Good Friday because the message I had on my heart was thematically tied to Good Friday.

I wasn’t sure if anybody would show up for a ticketed event with me speaking. However, I was overwhelmed by grace-filled people who attended the event to show support for me. The room was filled with love and grace. It was a beautiful experience.

Jessica Harp started off the evening with a thirty minute song set from her previous albums. I was so grateful to have Jessica perform at the event. I had always wanted to do something with her. After Jessica performed, I shared briefly about my vision for Spirituality Adventures, which is to ignite spiritual growth and transformation through blogs, podcasts, teaching series, events, and pastoral care. Derrison Palea performed a spoken word poem before I delivered my message.

In my message, I communicated three things: (1) I shared my story, focusing on my recent struggle with addiction, doubt, shame, and darkness; (2) I shared Jesus’ experience of abandonment, doubt, and darkness as he hung on the cross and quoted from Psalm 22:1, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”; and (3) I shared a message of hope rooted in the deep truth of the resurrection story. I wanted people to know that questions and doubt are part of the faith journey, and that shame can be healed through the love of grace-filled people.

Despite all the darkness and shame that I have gone through, I still have hope—hope that is rooted in the resurrection—hope that a new day will dawn and spring will bring forth new life. I still have hope for healing—hope that our emotional wounds and scars will one day feel no pain. I still have hope for grace—hope that our imperfections will tell a beautifully flawed story. I still have hope for true love—hope that our deepest needs for love and belonging will be fulfilled. I still have hope for new beginnings—hope that our past failures and sufferings will not be our final legacy. I still have hope for redemption—hope that our deepest fears will be swallowed up in faith. I still have hope that in any given moment all that we need is available.

When I was a young pastor, I would listen to sermons from some of my favorite African-American preachers. Sometimes their messages captured me with poetry, rhythm, cadence, and deep truth articulated with power and passion. I ended my message with one of my favorite Good Friday sermons by the preacher S. M. Lockridge entitled “It’s Friday.” Here are his words:

It’s Friday…

Jesus is praying

Peter is sleeping

Judas is betraying

…but Sunday is coming

It’s Friday…

Pilate is struggling

The counsel is conspiring

The crowd is vilifying

…They don’t even know that Sunday is coming

It’s Friday…

The disciples are running like sheep without a shepherd

Mary is crying

Peter is denying

…but they don’t know that Sunday is coming

It’s Friday…

The Romans beat my Jesus

They robe him in scarlet

They crown him with thorns

…but they don’t know that Sunday is coming

It’s Friday…

See Jesus walking to Calvary

His blood dripping

His body stumbling

And his spirit burdened

…but you see, it’s only Friday, Sunday is coming

It’s Friday…

                    The world is winning

People are sinning

And evil is grinning

It’s Friday…

The soldiers nailed my savior’s hands to the cross

They nailed my savior’s feet to the cross

And then they raised him up next to criminals

It’s Friday, but let me tell you something, Sunday is coming

It’s Friday…

The disciples are questioning what has happened to their king

The pharisees are celebrating

That their scheming has been achieved

…but they don’t know it’s only Friday, Sunday is coming

It’s Friday…

He’s hanging on the cross

Feeling forsaken by his Father

Left alone and dying

Can nobody save him?

…Oh, it’s Friday, but Sunday is coming

It’s Friday…

The earth trembles

The sky grows dark

My king yields his spirit

It’s Friday…

Hope is lost

Death has won

Sin has conquered

And Satan’s just a laughing

It’s Friday…

Jesus is buried

A soldier stands guard

And a rock is rolled into place

But it’s Friday, it’s only Friday…

…Sunday is coming!

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

It’s Friday, and Sometimes I Doubt

Listen: “Hallelujah” by Leonard Cohen (Live in London)

I remember when I was a teenager, and I was having doubts about my faith. My mom had given me a Bible that contained short essays for teenagers. One of the essays was entitled, “Sometimes I Doubt.” If my memory serves my well, it was inserted with the story of doubting Thomas in John 20:24-29. The essay talked about how most of the major characters in the Bible wrestled with faith and doubts, even questioning God’s love or existence at times. Even Jesus!

This was comforting to my teenage self. Maybe, I thought, I am not so different or far off course! In 2019, I found myself in a three-quarter life crisis in which I had lost my marriage, my career, my community, and my faith—at least that’s how I felt. I my darkest days I questioned everything I had ever believed. I was tormented with religious doubt and self-doubt, and I cried out against God—challenging God, questioning God, and questioning myself. While I could certainly see how my own bad choices had played a major role in my crisis, it didn’t seem like God had held up his end of the relationship. After all, I had prayed millions of prayers according to His will “to lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from evil.” I could not have prayed more or harder or with a more sincere heart than I had prayed for over forty years, and He did not answer.

This brings me back to reflecting on the men and women in the Bible. The faith journey is one that includes doubts and questions, even darkness. There are 150 Psalms in the Hebrew Bible and about one third of them are Psalms of Lament. In these Psalms, there is always a crisis which triggers a complaint about God, about enemies, about circumstances, or about self, or all of them together.

It is fascinating to me that Jesus quotes from one of these Psalms while he is hanging on the cross suffering on Good Friday. Jesus cries out in prayer by quoting Psalm 22:1: “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” The second verse of Psalm 22 says, “Every day I call to you, my God, but you do not answer. Every night you hear my voice, but I find no relief” (NLT). In the depth of his agony, Jesus felt abandoned by God and quotes from a Psalm that questions the love and power of God.

Regardless of your faith tradition or lack of faith, faith and doubt intermingle in the human experience. It’s an amazing aspect of the evolved human brain—this human tendency to question and doubt and believe and reflect and tell stories. Why are we here on this planet? What is our purpose? Leonard Cohen was a Canadian singer-songwriter, poet, and novelist. He poignantly expresses religious doubt, relational doubt, and self-doubt in his most famous song “Hallelujah.”

Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord

That David played, and it please the Lord

But you don’t really care for music, do you?

It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth

The minor falls, the major lifts

The baffled king composing Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Your faith was strong but you needed proof

You saw her bathing on the roof

Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you

She tied you to a kitchen chair

She broke your throne, and she cut your hair

And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah 

Well, maybe there’s a God above

As for me all I’ve ever learned from love

Is how to shoot at someone who outdrew you

But it’s not a crime that you’re hear tonight

It’s not some pilgrim who claims to have seen the light

No, it’s a cold and it’s a very broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

There was a time you let me know

What’s really going on below

But now you never show it to me, do you?

And I remember when I moved in you

And the holy dove she was moving too

And every single breath we drew was Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Now I’ve done my best, I know it wasn’t much

I couldn’t feel, so I learned to touch

I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come here to London just to fool you

And even thought it all went wrong

I’ll stand right here before the Lord of song

With nothing, nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

There is a spiritual ache and hunger associated with this human experience, but in the words of S. M. Lockridge: “It’s Friday, it’s only Friday…but Sunday is coming!”

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

The Power of Vulnerability

Listen: “Running Up That Hill” by Meg Myers or Kate Bush

I remember listening to a TED talk in 2012 by a woman of whom I’d never heard. It was entitled “The Power of Vulnerability” by Brené Brown. I was immediately drawn to her content and her vulnerability. I went out and bought her book on the same topic entitled Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead. Almost ten years later, it’s still on my top ten favorite nonfiction book list.

Brené starts her book with one of my favorite quotes of all time, a quote I have used in countless sermons for over two decades. The quote comes from one of my favorite American presidents, Theodore Roosevelt. Roosevelt’s speech, “Citizenship in a Republic,” is sometimes called “The Man in the Arena” because of these famous lines:

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly….

I always loved this quote because it resonated with me so deeply. When I started Vineyard Church in Kansas City, Missouri in 1990, I was excited about the potential of a grace-based church for people who had rejected church because of legalism or judgmental attitudes. I started a rock-and-role church with a “come as you are” atmosphere. I didn’t wear a coat and tie, and we had drums and electric guitars. It was not typical church behavior in 1990. As the church grew over the decades to several thousand people, it was easy for people to assume that the church grew without a high price tag. But I remember the hundreds and thousands of people who were critical of me and the church. For every one person who stayed and like what we were doing, a dozen left critical of me and the church. I remember one person telling me that God had written “Ichabod” over the church (Christianise for “God’s blessing has departed”).

I remember how numerous and harsh my critics were. I had a fellow pastor in Kansas City preach and entire series against me. So you can see why the Theodore Roosevelt quote meant so much to me. It helped me stay true to my heart for a grace-based church where anyone was welcome. I said many times, “I don’t care where you’ve been or what you’ve done, God loves you and we are glad you are here.”

I also tried to practice appropriate transparency and vulnerability in my messages. Most of the time, when I shared an example from my own life, I shared from a place of failure, embarrassment, or imperfection. I wanted people to know that I didn’t “walk on water” or have a special standing with God. Brené defines vulnerability as a courageous approach to life which involves uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure in regards to our imperfections. I tried to practice this in my speaking and leading at Vineyard Church for decades. One of my mentors said a pastor needs to have the “skin of a rhinoceros and the heart of a child.” So challenging!

Despite my efforts at vulnerability, I didn’t expose all my private struggles publicly, nor am I suggesting that this would have been appropriate. However, there were two private struggles that I never shared with anyone except my personal counselor: (1) my marriage issues; and (2) my personal struggle with Xanax and alcohol in 2017 and 2018. As I think back, I thought I was protecting my marriage, but I was focused on my insomnia more than I was worried about an alcohol and drug problem.

Today, I read the Roosevelt quote and Brené’s book with fresh eyes. I have decided to tackle my personal (but highly public exposure) struggles with openness and honesty through telling my story. I started doing this in October of 2020 through my blogs and podcasts. I have also started a new nonprofit called Spirituality Adventures. My hope is that through my transparency, authenticity, and vulnerability, people will benefit, learn, and grow. My hope is to ignite spiritual curiosity and growth through blogs, podcasts, teaching, and events.

I remember when I read Brené’s book for the first time. She ended one of her chapters (“Understanding and Combating Shame”) with a passage from a 1922 children’s classic The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams. It’s a reminder of how much easier it is to be real when we are loved. (While writing this blog, I received a text from a former church member who said my superpower was “loving on people.” He said this was the reason Vineyard grew because I gave people unconditional love. I hope there is some truth in that. It’s certainly something to which I aspire—more now than ever before.) Here’s the passage:

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real, you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “ or bit by bit?”

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out, and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real, you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

Human Dignity and Worth

Listen: “Royals” by Lorde

Human beings are capable of so much good and so much evil. (See Behave: The Biology of Humans at Our Best and Worst by Robert M. Sapolsky.) It seems like we humans are masters at dehumanizing other human beings. Some of the more visible forms of dehumanization are racism, classism, xenophobia, ageism, sexism, and elitism, to name a few. We also dehumanize by treating other human beings as objects to be controlled and manipulated for our own ends or purposes. Political, religious, and family systems play this game, abusing and exploiting other human beings. There are more subtle forms of dehumanization like simply not listening to another person’s story, not valuing their dreams or desires or pain. The truth: we are all imperfect people. Our imperfections can connect us through grace and vulnerability, but so can our inherent worth and dignity.

The inestimable worth of a human soul. It’s an idea that runs deep in every faith tradition. I was raised in the Judeo-Christian tradition, and this idea was planted deeply in my view of the world. In my tradition, it starts in the first chapter of sacred literature: “So God created human beings in his own image. In the image of God he created them; male and female he created them” (Genesis 1:27; NLT).

This is an amazing statement coming from the context of the Ancient Near East (ANE). In the ANE, only sovereign kings who ruled over empires were viewed as the “divine image” of the patron god over a particular city-state. The “image of god” was an elitist term reserved for kings. Equality for all people was a foreign concept. 

When I was working on a PhD in the Hebrew Bible, I wrote a deep exegetical paper on this famous text in Genesis. If you explore the use of the “image of God” in the first six chapters of Genesis, you find some interesting ideas about the dignity and worth of human beings, regardless of their race, gender, nationality, economic status, beliefs, or lifestyle.

First of all, every person is equally created in the “image of God.” This is perhaps the first time in ancient literature that the concept of the “image of God” was democratized. This radical concept, while embraced by democracies around the world, has yet to be realized. While giving mental ascent to this concept, we largely segment or discriminate according to our own personal value systems based on any number of factors like beauty, fitness, socio-economic status, color, accent, beliefs, politics, musical tastes, ethics, and the list could go on ad infinitum. We do this, whether we like to admit it or not. Awareness is an important first step to change. 

Secondly, the “image of God” involves responsibility. According to Genesis 1:28, we are created to “multiply” and “rule.” Ironically, this command to rule has been misconstrued as a reason to oppress and abuse people and creation. The opposite was intended. In the ANE and in Genesis, the world was viewed as containing a “primordial chaos.” In Genesis 1:2, this primordial chaos is described as “formless and empty, and darkness covered the deep waters” (tohu va bohu in the Hebrew). Human beings are called to steward the earth, co-create human dignity, and restore justice to the forces of chaos. We are to rule as gracious kings and queens with a heart of love towards all creation (servant leadership).

Thirdly, all of humanity is envisioned as priests and priestesses. In Genesis chapter two the author doubles back on the creation story (a Hebrew grammar style called resumptive repetition) and places humanity in a garden—it’s a temple garden. Humanity is called upon to “tend and watch” the garden. Throughout the rest of the Hebrew Bible, the combination of these two verbs is descriptive of the function of priests in the temple. All of humanity is to serve a priestly function, that is, caring for and guarding the dignity and worth of all creation. In effect, loving all of creation, stewarding all of creation, nurturing all of creation, mending all of creation, and treating every human being with dignity and worth. We are to have God’s heart for all of creation.

Fourthly, the “image of God” involves sonship and daughter-ship (Genesis 5:3). We are sons and daughters of the most high God. We are royal at birth. (Read Psalms 8.) I am reminded of the song “Royals” by Lorde. Her lyrics speak of how common people can be enamored with royalty (thus the media focus on the British royal family), but this ancient sacred text sees every human heart beating with royal blood. Imagine that. (“Imagine all the people…” a nod to John Lennon.)

It’s interesting how quickly in the Hebrew text humanity failed to fulfill her divine calling. By the third chapter of Genesis, humanity is falling away from the original design. Humanity quickly falls into patterns of judgment and abuse and violence—dehumanizing behavior. Primordial chaos is infiltrating the human race and shattering her into a fragmentation of families and tribes and nations. Despite the chaos, the “image of God” is never lost or eliminated—marred perhaps—but never obliterated (Genesis 5:1-2; Psalm 8).

So my heart in sharing all this is to challenge myself and those who might read this blog to rise up and love and forgive and heal this broken world, this fragmented world. We have far more in common than you could ever imagine. We need “grace-filled eyes” to see each person as God intended. When you sit with people and listen to their stories—hear their experiences of shame and abuse, hear their dreams of hope and love—we are not that different. If we love God and love our neighbor, we can be the change that the world needs.

After all, we are royal sons and daughters, called to be a kingdom of priests (Exodus 19:6), to care and watch over this world with love and generosity and creativity and gratitude. Let’s not forsake our calling. The world needs it; your family needs it; your next door neighbor needs it; the person who is different from you needs it. We all need it. Let’s be it. What we truly are.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

Grace-filled People

Listen: “You Make Beautiful Things” by Gungor

All of the religions of the world have a version of Karma. It’s the law of reaping what you sow (Galatians 6:7). Some would call it reciprocity. If you sow generosity, it will come back to you. If you sow love, it will come back to you. It also works in a negative way. If you sow hate, you will reap hatred. You reap what you sow. If you behave badly and mess up in a big way, the consequences can be harsh. Karma can feel cold, calculated, and cruel.

And then there is grace. I’ve always been a grace guy. Grace interrupts the cycle of retribution. We get what we don’t deserve. We get forgiveness, kindness, and a fresh start. I think we all need grace. Our world needs more grace. We need more grace-filled people.

Over the last couple of years in my life, I have needed an abundance of grace. I wanted to believe that what I had preached for years was true for me: Grace is freely available from God. However, I was having a hard time giving myself grace.

Grace-filled people made the difference. Some people kept loving me and showing me grace, regardless of my behavior. Sometimes we come to know God’s grace through grace-filled people.

One of my favorite authors said that we all need to have “grace-filled eyes” to see the potential in others, even when they are at their worst. “To love a person,” said Dostoevsky, “means to see him as God intended him to be.” It’s being able to see the inherent dignity and worth of every human person because they are created in the image of God.

Some people are the opposite. They want to isolate, punish, or cancel people with whom they disagree intellectually or with whom they disagree morally. They judge harshly, focus on people’s worst moments, and rarely, if ever, let up on the punishment.

Jesus didn’t behave this way. In Jesus’ day, the world was divided into people who were clean and unclean. People were considered unclean if they were diseased (like lepers), disabled (birth defects), foreigners (Gentiles), or sinful. If you touched or socialized with any of these people, you would be unclean by virtue of proximity. People were focused on avoiding contagious people.

Jesus touched the sick. He ate with sinners. He radically included those who were on the margins. In effect, he healed people through including them into a new kind of community—a community of grace. 

My favorite book on grace is written by Philip Yancey entitled What’s So Amazing About Grace. If you haven’t read it, I would highly recommend it. Yancey is an excellent writer, and his vision for grace is contagious. He writes: “Rung by rung, Jesus dismantled the ladder of hierarchy that had marked the approach to God. He invited defectives, sinners, aliens, and Gentiles—the unclean!—to God’s banquet table.”

To follow Jesus means to be an agent of grace instead of an avoider of contagion. Jesus taught that we all need grace, even the angry, self-righteous, “morally superior”  crowd needs grace though they can’t see it. Those who receive grace are called to give grace, and deep down, we all need it and long for it.

In one of Martin Luther King’s most famous sermons, “Loving You Enemies,” he challenged people to practice non-violent grace. MLK famously reflects on Jesus’ teaching and said, “Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

I love what Bono from U2 said about grace:

You see, at the center of all religions is the idea of Karma. You know, what you put out comes back to you: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth; or in physics, in physical laws every action is met by an equal or an opposite one. It’s clear to me that Karma is at the very heart of the universe. I’m absolutely sure of it. And yet, along comes this idea called Grace to upend all that “as you sow, so will you reap” stuff. Grace defies reason and logic. Love interrupts, if you like, the consequences of your actions, which in my case is very good news indeed, because I’ve done a lot of stupid stuff. (The Poached Egg, Bono Interview, “Grace Over Karma”).

I second that!

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

Is Self-Love Narcissistic?

Listen: “Narcissus” by Alanis Morissette

Narcissus was a hunter from Thespiae in Greek mythology who was known for his beauty. He rejected all romantic advances and eventually fell in love with his own reflection in a pool of water. The character of Narcissus is the origin of the term narcissism, and the quality which defines narcissistic personality disorder.

Narcissistic personality disorder is a mental condition in which people have an inflated sense of their own importance, a deep need for excessive attention, and a lack of empathy for others. People with the disorder, according to Mayo Clinic, can:

·      Have an exaggerated sense of self-importance

·      Have a sense of entitlement and require constant, excessive admiration

·      Expect to be recognized as superior even without achievements that warrant it

·      Exaggerate achievements and talents

·      Be preoccupied with fantasies about success, power, brilliance, beauty, or the perfect mate

·      Believe they are superior and can only associate with equally special people

·      Monopolize conversations and belittle or look down on people they perceive as inferior

·      Take advantage of others to get what they want

·      Have an inability to recognize the needs of others

·      Be envious of others and believe others envy them

·      Suffer from an inability to handle criticism

·      Have secret feelings of insecurity, shame, vulnerability, and humiliation

Maybe this list brings someone to mind. It’s not an uncommon personality disorder. So with such a disorder in mind, what does it mean to love yourself in a healthy way? Is that even possible?

One of the ways I have thought about this issue in the past is through a biblical/Jesus worldview. In the Rabbinic tradition, the Torah (first five books of the Hebrew Bible or Old Testament) contains 613 commands. One of the discussion questions among Rabbis in the ancient world was: Which commandments are the most important? Jesus was asked this question by some Rabbis, and his response was not uncommon. Jesus replied, “You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment [Deuteronomy 6:5]. A second is equally important: Love your neighbor as yourself [Leviticus 19:18]. The entire law and all the demands of the prophets are based on these two commands” (Matthew 22:37-40; NLT). I have always loved Jesus’ answer.

It’s interesting. The Bible never commands us to love ourselves. We are commanded to love God and love our neighbor. Healthy self-love is assumed (that is, the assumption of self-love is the basis for the command to love your neighbor). Jesus put it another way in the Sermon on the Mount: “Do to others whatever you would like them to do to you. This is the essence of all that is taught in the law and prophets” (Matthew 7:12; NLT).

Most of my life I focused on loving God and loving others. I had enough self-respect to understand and attempt to live by the Golden rule without excessive focus on myself. However, when I went through my public shame and humiliation at the end of 2018, I found myself feeling incredibly hateful towards myself. My inner-critic was on steroids, and I felt shame like I had never felt before. I felt an intense amount of anger towards myself. I felt small. I had an unwanted story, and I felt that I had failed miserably as a husband and a pastor.

So I started thinking about the importance of healthy self-love. Why was I being so harsh on myself when I have always practiced love and grace towards others who have made a mess of their lives? If I gave myself the same amount of love and grace that I always gave others, I would have a great deal of self-compassion for my own self and my own circumstances. I needed to practice the Golden Rule in reverse. I needed to be kind and loving to myself.

I’m not a psychologist, but I think that I can safely say that the art of self-love, self-care, and self-compassion are an important part of emotional, spiritual, and mental health. We can’t love others well if we hate or mistreat ourselves. Healthy love for others flows best from a healthy self-esteem. Many people need to focus on loving themselves in order to love others well. The two work together synergistically.

 I like the term self-compassion. According to Allison Abrams (LCSW-R), psychologist Kristin Neff was the first person to measure and define “self-compassion.” Neff describes self-compassion as being kind toward the self, which entails being gentle, supportive, and understanding as opposed to harshly judging oneself for personal shortcomings. Unconditional acceptance of self and our own story, the good and bad parts, is a component of self-compassion (Psychology Today, “How to Cultivate More Self-Compassion,” by Allison Abrams; March 3, 2017).

 Research over the last couple of decades has shown that people who have self-compassion also have greater social connectedness, emotional intelligence, happiness, and overall life satisfaction. So how can we practice healthy self-compassion while avoiding the pitfalls of narcissism? Here are a few ideas from Allison Abrams:

1.     Treat yourself as you would a small child, a good friend, or a beloved pet.

2.     Practice mindfulness or what some would call a state of non-judgmental awareness. Be curious about your own thoughts and feelings with kindness.

3.     Remember that you are not alone. Welcome to humanity. (This pastor found out he couldn’t walk on water and that’s okay.)

4.     Give yourself permission to be imperfect. Own your story with flaws included. Be brave.

5.     Work with a supportive therapist, coach, or sponsor. It’s hard to learn self-compassion on our own. We need to be brutally honest with someone who will practice compassion and kindness towards us. After a while, we can practice it on ourselves.

 The art of self-care, self-respect, self-worth, self-acceptance, self-love, and self-compassion is a journey. It’s a spiritual adventure. Thanks for connecting.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

Can Laughter Heal?

Listen: “A Boy Named Sue” by Johnny Cash

I grew up in a family in which teasing and laughing were our sixth love language (a reference to Gary Chapman’s book The Five Love Languages). My dad enjoys teasing the people he loves, and he believes if you can’t laugh at yourself—well you’re just taking yourself too damn seriously!

I remember learning this lesson from my dad at a very young age. When I was about seven or eight years old, my dad started taking me on fishing trips to Grand Lake, Oklahoma. We fished for white bass during spawning season in the spring on Lake Hudson, which is below the Grand Lake Dam. My dad would meet his fishing buddies at the lake, and he would drag me along. His friends loved to tease me. They would tease me about losing a fish, losing a lure, tangling up their line, scaring the fish away, peeing out the boat, taking a nap, breaking a reel, letting the big one go, failing to plant the hook, setting the hook too hard, cussing when I lost a fish, driving the boat poorly, eating too much, or—you get the picture. You name it; they teased me about it. And I had to put up with their snoring at night!!

I recall one of the early trips I went on with the guys, and I got teased particularly hard about something. The guys were having a big laugh at my expense. My dad could tell I got bent out of shape and my feelings were hurt. He didn’t tell the guys to stop teasing me. He pulled me aside and taught me a lesson that stuck with me. He said, “Son, you need to stop taking yourself so seriously. All of the guys tease each other. We are just having fun. You just need to tease them back. We all laugh at each other.”

Well, needless to say, I learned the art of teasing. It has played well in the world of athletic competition, some construction work I did years ago, my own family, my friends, and adventure sports. I did have to learn its limits in some settings. Not everyone learned this lesson from their dad. I’ve had to apologize on a few occasions.

I also learned the art of laughing at myself. This is vitally important in life and in leadership. In fact, humor is an important ingredient of EQ. (See Emotional Intelligence by Daniel Goleman.) I think I learned the art form of self-deprecating humor from my British friends. Some of the best messages I have ever heard fall into this category. Check out Adrian Plass as an example (The Sacred Diary of Adrain Plass).

Susan Sparks wrote a book that was featured in “O, The Oprah Magazine” entitled Laugh Your Way to Grace: Reclaiming the Spiritual Power of Humor. At the heart of the book is this statement: “If you can laugh at yourself, you can forgive yourself. If you can forgive yourself, your can forgive others.” This reminds me of a famous Proverb which speaks about the healing power of laughter—“A cheerful heart is good medicine” (Proverbs 17:22).

I must confess, 2019 was so dark for me that I almost lost my way, lost myself, lost my sense of self-deprecating humor. Everything just hurt too badly. As I started to heal, I started to laugh again. In some of my darkest moments, I found myself surrounded by people who loved me and helped me laugh again. There’s usually some humor in our brokenness, if we can step back from it for a moment. And people will laugh with us because they are laughing at themselves as well. The best of people, the most gracious kind, see grace in brokenness. I was reading some AA literature a while ago and ran across a short reflection on laughter (Alcoholics Anonymous: Daily Reflection, “The Gift of Laughter,” February 20). “When my AA sponsor began to laugh and point out my self-pity and ego-feeding deceptions, I was annoyed and hurt, but it taught me to lighten up and focus on my recovery. I soon learned to laugh at myself and eventually I taught those I sponsor to laugh also. Every day I ask God to help me stop taking myself too seriously.”

While I was studying religion at Baylor University, it finally dawned on me that the Hebrew Prophets and Jesus used story telling and humor in their teaching styles. This never occurred to me when I was growing up in church. Granted, they used ancient forms of humor that sometimes escape our detection like hyperbole and graphic slang (in Hebrew and Greek, but Bible translators don’t do it justice). Consider the humor in Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, “How can you think of saying to your friend, ‘Let me help you get rid of the speck in your eye,’ when you can’t see past the log in your own eye?” (Matthew 7:4; NLT). This is some funny crap, and Jesus was trying to get us to smell our own! (Check out The Humor of Christ by Elton Trueblood. 

One of my favorite British authors was G. K. Chesterton. In his book Othodoxy, he makes some profound insights which illustrate the point of this blog. “Angels can fly because they can take themselves lightly. Seriousness is not a virtue. It would be a heresy, but a much more sensible heresy, to say that seriousness is a vice. For solemnity flows out of men naturally; but laughter is a leap. Satan fell by the force of gravity.” Pride weights us down; humility lifts us up.

Let’s fly together. (For some good laughs, check out my weekly stories with my dad every Sunday on my social media platforms and my website: realfredherron.com.)

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

Can We Dance with Fear?

Listen: “Crawling” by Linkin Park and “Landslide” by Stevie Nicks, Fleetwood Mac

(I attended a Linkin Park concert on November 27, 2001 at Hale Arena in Kansas City. Chester Bennington gave an amazing performance. God’s rest and peace upon him.)

I’ve been thinking a lot about fear the last couple of years. Primarily because I have felt an abundance of it every day. I actually don’t like admitting this out loud. I’d rather be brave all the time, but seriously, there are moments in every day when I feel more like the Cowardly Lion in the Wizard of Oz.

People who study the neuroscience of the brain tell us that fear is one of primal emotions seated in the oldest parts of our brain—the brain stem and the amygdala. When your brain senses danger, your amygdala signals your fight, flight, freeze responses. Our amygdala was designed to protect archaic humans from danger, but in our modern world the ancient amygdala seems to constantly overreact. Fear becomes a constant traveling companion. When I think about the way I experience fear and anxiety, I wonder if I have an overactive amygdala. (It’s an actual possibility.)

When I think back on my whole history with fear, I don’t think I have lived out of fear, I haven’t made most of my decisions in life based on fear, and I haven’t even necessarily tried to avoid fear. In many situations, I have pressed into fear, faced it, and quelled it (like rock climbing, mountain biking, mission work, and church planting). But fear has always been present to some degree. 

In the last couple of years, fear has been present daily. Some days it feels insurmountable. So I have look it in the face and asked myself the difficult question: What am I afraid of? I have sat in silence and listened with curiosity to my fear. (I don’t like the feeling of fear so this is not my favorite thing to do.) In the aftermath of my private failures and public shame, I was facing losses on every front—my marriage, my career, my community, my faith, my finances, my home, my self-worth, my confidence. You name it, and I probably lost it. These losses weren’t imaginary; they were my new reality and my amygdala was hijacking me daily. The losses inflicted fear.

I also tried to listen to my deepest fears. Every day I have felt fear of financial insecurity, but is that my deepest fear? Several therapists and psychologists have suggested to me that our deepest fears are abandonment and emotional overwhelm. I have certainly pondered those fears and listened intently. Abandonment by God, by friends, by love ones? Overwhelmed with the consequences of my behavior? Listening with curiosity to my fears is a work in progress.

Despite my daily fears, I have desired to face my fears and move forward in faith most everyday. One thing I have learned through my decades of walking in faith is that faith and fear dance together. This is how it has worked in my life, and how it has worked in the lives of men and women of faith in the Bible.

Faith and fear go together. I know. Some of you may say, “Faith is the opposite of fear.” There may be some truth in that, but faith is definitely not the absence of fear. Faith can give us the courage to take action in the face of fear. That’s why faith and fear dance together. “Without faith it is impossible to please God” (Hebrews 11:6), but great faith is always exercised in the presence of great fear. Courage is an outworking of faith. Nelson Mandela said, “Courage is not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.”

Several years ago I stood on Mount Nebo in Jordan overlooking Israel. I remembered back to when Moses stood on the same spot with Joshua. Joshua would lead the people into the Promised Land. In the first few verses of the book of Joshua, God encouraged Joshua: “Be strong and courageous (vs. 6). Be strong and very courageous (vs. 7). Be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged (vs. 9).” In a few verses, Joshua is challenged to be courageous three times. Why the repetition? Is Joshua deaf? No, but certainly Joshua was afraid. He had just wandered through wilderness for forty years and Moses had died. Faith and fear dance together.

Faith is really a relational word for trust. Do we have enough self-compassion to believe in ourselves? Do we have enough interdependence to believe in others? Do we have enough sense of mystery to believe in a power greater than ourselves? Basil King, a Canadian clergyman, is often quoted in the recovery community, “Go at it boldly, and you’ll find unexpected forces closing round you and coming to your aid.” Faith comforts me. Calms my fears.

 When the Cowardly Lion finally talks to the Wizard of Oz, the Wizard tells him he is “a victim of disorganized thinking.” Fear will do that to us. That frantic, ruminating, OCD mind is fueled by fear—the hamster-wheel brain is what I call it. Damn amygdala. But truthfully, our amygdala is doing its job. We can face it, listen to it, dance with it.

One of my mentors in faith (John Wimber) was fond of saying, “ Faith is spelled R-I-S-K.” There is typically a fear-filled risk to take in any worthwhile adventure. So here I am, feeling like I am back at square one at the age of sixty. A crazy time to start over, a fear-filled time. Spirituality Adventures is a new risk. A new fear-filled, faith-filled adventure. Thanks for joining me. Let’s dance together.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

Why Honesty?

Listen: “Brave” by Sara Bareilles

In the opening pages of William Manchester’s masterful biography of Winston Churchill, The Last Lion, Manchester reports a legendary exchange between Churchill and Lady Astor. Lady Astor criticized the former Prime Minister for being intoxicated while he was working: “Winston, you are disgustingly drunk!” To which Churchill replied: “And my dear, you are ugly. And in the morning, I will be sober.”

Honesty, it seems, is more nuanced than we might think. Do we share our true thoughts with someone, even though it might hurt them? Is it appropriate to keep a secret? Do you want to do business or relationships with someone that is consistently dishonest? Is it possible to be dishonest with yourself? How can we live authentically brave and vulnerable lives with others?

When I was attending elementary school in Prairie Village, Kansas, I would walk to Prairie Elementary School. Lunches were 45 cents and my mom would usually give me the exact change. One morning my mom gave me two quarters for lunch and specifically told me not to spend the nickel on my way home from school. My mom knew that there was a Ben Franklin store (like a CVS) on the way home, and it was full of candy. This was the 1960’s when you could get a bunch of candy and a good sugar rush for five cents. Well, sure enough, on the way home my friend decided he wanted to go to the Ben Franklin store. I decided to go into the store with him and just look at the candy. As soon as I saw the candy, I spent the nickel. I ate all the candy on the way home and hoped my mom wouldn’t remember the nickel.

Upon arriving home, my mom remembered to ask me for the nickel. I told her I lost the nickel. That evening, when my dad was tucking me in for bed and saying some evening prayers, he asked me if I spent the nickel. “No, dad, I didn’t spend the nickel. I lost it.” Dad said okay and left the room. I laid there with my own conscience beating me up for lying. I finally cried out for dad to return, and in a tearful confession, I admitted to spending the nickel. 

In my teenage years, I can’t say that I was always honest. Sometimes I just worked hard at not getting caught. I did plenty of things for which I didn’t want to get caught. In fact, not getting caught was even a part of the thrill.

However, when I came to follow Jesus at sixteen, honesty became an important trait. I strove to be appropriately honest in all my dealings with people—in work, in relationships, and in fun. Honesty became a way of life. I even practiced honesty with myself by creating personal accountability with counselors and close friends.

Unfortunately, there came a time in my life when prescription Xanax and alcohol began to erode my honesty with myself and those closest to me. I wasn’t straight up lying, just conveniently not telling the truth. This gradual slip into hiding my true self ultimately cost me dearly. I am still living with the consequences and losses from those ill-fated decisions. (See my blogs and videos from 2020.)

So how do we practice honesty in a healthy way? Here are a few thoughts for consideration:

 Under promise and over deliver. This is a practice that works well in business and relationships. It revolves around honesty and integrity. You do what you say. Your word is good. If you say you will do it, you do everything in your power to do it, even if it hurts (Psalm 15:4). No one will ever be able to keep all their promises, but even when we can’t deliver we let people know. We always try to be mindful of what we actually can and can’t do. Too many false promises add up over time to an untrustworthy character. It’s easier to build trust than to rebuild broken trust.

Speak the truth in love. This is straight out of the Bible (Ephesians 4:15). Love must be our guide. Sometimes people are just cruel and unkind with their speech. Under the banner of truth, we speak with sarcasm and hostility and resentment and cruelty. Instead of speaking words of life, we speak words that bring death by a thousands cuts. According to Proverbs, “Death and life are in the power of the tongue.” Workplaces and families can be the breeding ground for grace-filled words of affirmation or death-filled words of insult.

 Secrets are generally unhealthy. If you have experienced abuse or trauma as a child, you need to confide in a therapist or counselor for the process of healing. If you are wrestling with an addictive behavior or substance, you need to share with a doctor, therapists, or trusted friend. Honesty is the first step towards healing. The fear is that people would reject us if they truly knew us. On the other side, if someone comes to you with a confession, you need to maintain their confidence except for rare exceptions (like the abuse of a child or life threatening suicidal/homicidal ideation, to name a few). All forms of gossip, slander, and half-truths are forms of testifying falsely against your neighbor (as in the Ninth Commandment; Exodus 20:16) and constitute lying and dishonesty. Even listening to gossip can be a form of dishonest behavior: “Wrongdoers eagerly listen to gossip; liars pay close attention to slander” (Proverbs 17:4; NLT). 

Make a personal moral inventory and share it with a trusted friend, sponsor, or counselor. This is one of the best ways to maintain honesty with yourself. The human brain is so crafty at telling itself stories full of excuses and rationalizations for bad behavior. This is where brutal honesty comes into play. The AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) book states that people who are “constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves” are the people who fail at sobriety. This could be said of most human endeavors. Personal accountability is also a key to emotional and spiritual health and healing. The New Testament says: “Confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, so that you may be healed” (James 5:16; NAS). Confession is good for the soul and good for the virtue of honesty. 

Honesty is crucial to spirituality. It forms the foundation through which we connect with ourselves, others, and our higher power in loving and authentic ways. Without it, we feel lost—disconnected from ourselves, others, and God. Honesty breeds appropriate vulnerability, which is truly—brave!

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

Does God Take Delight in the Kansas City Chiefs?

Listen: “Learn to Fly” by Foo Fighters

I’m writing this blog a few days before the Chiefs play in their back-to-back Super Bowl appearance. I’m thinking about how much fun my family and I have had watching this Chiefs team play football. And I’m asking a question: Does God take delight in the way Patrick Mahomes can throw a football? Or the way Travis Kelce and Tyreek Hill can run routes and make catches? The bigger question is: In what does God take delight?

It’s actually an important question that can inform and enhance our spirituality, if we answer it correctly. Let me give some context. I grew up in a conservative, evangelical faith tradition. As a young teen, I got involved in the recreational drug scene for a brief time, but then came to experience a life-changing encounter with Jesus and felt called to be a pastor. As I grew in my faith in high school and college, I remember a movement among church youth groups which tried to encourage young evangelical students to separate themselves from the evil world around them. I remember passionate messages from youth leaders who challenged us to get rid of all secular influences like rock and roll music and television. One youth leader even talked about the dangers of backmasking (messages on a record when played backwards) on rock and roll records. In essence, to be really spiritual and holy you had to basically go to church, read the Bible, hang out with Christians only, and separate yourself from mainstream American culture; otherwise, you would be corrupted. I got rid of my entire rock and roll collection (crapola).

Is this true spirituality, even from a biblical perspective? Does God take delight in the study of psychology, philosophy, astronomy, anthropology, science, geology, literature, or history, even if you don’t put “Christian” in front of all these academic disciplines? Does God take delight in a couple that falls in love? Does God take delight in the birth of a child born into the Hindu faith and culture in India? Does God take delight in a good brew of coffee, the preparation of a gourmet meal, a beautiful painting, a modern sculpture, or a well written piece of literature? Does God take delight in a rock and roll concert like U2, a Netflix series like The Queen’s Gambit, or a movie like Shawshank Redemption?

Certainly we need to be mindful of negative influences on our mental health and behavior, but shouldn’t we take delight in the same things in which God delights? In Christian theology (a discipline in which I have studied a great deal), theologians typically speak of two realms of revelation or truth: natural theology and revealed theology. Natural theology is the study of wisdom and knowledge that comes from the original goodness of creation, or what we can learn from nature and reason. Revealed theology in the Christian tradition is the study of the Bible and Jesus (most faith traditions have sacred texts or sacred stories which have been transmitted through written and oral traditions). One Christian tradition describes this distinction as common grace (natural theology or God’s grace bestowed on all people) and saving grace (revealed theology or God’s grace bestowed upon believers). One of my favorite books on common grace was written by Richard Mouw, President of Fuller Theological Seminary where I earned a doctoral degree, entitled He Shines in All That’s Fair.

Another way to talk about natural theology is to embrace the idea that “all truth is God’s truth” no matter who says it or where you find it. Or another way to say it is that “all goodness is God’s goodness.” In the creation story of Genesis, God takes delight in all that he creates and says: “it’s good.” When he creates humanity, he says: “it’s very good!” All of creation and all knowledge and all wisdom and all gifts are good. They can be misused, but their source is good. “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights…” (James 1:17; NIV).

All things in this world can be aglow with the presence and numinous of God and can be experienced with awe and wonder and delight. “The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it” (Psalm 24:1). All faith traditions throughout human history contain a story of the pursuit of meaning and purpose and ultimate reality. We can learn from all people and cultures created in the image of God. As Shakespeare wrote: “The world is mine oyster.” Judaism and some Christian traditions have always assessed the world in this fashion. (Read a brilliant study by Matthew Fox entitled Original Blessing.) In a certain sense, this is what Spirituality Adventures is exploring.

There are social injustices and hurtful behaviors that need to be courageously confronted and restored to wholeness in our world. However, this needs to be balanced with original goodness and the irradicable image of God. It seems that the largely negative assessment of the world taught to me in my conservative, evangelical upbringing is adrift from its own sacred scriptures. Listen to Richard Rohr’s accurate reflection:

Ironically enough, our own Scripture contains ample examples of appreciative appraisal of elements of neighboring faiths, whether it’s Eastern pagan astrologers accurately divining the birth of the Christ child and worshipping him (Matthew 2:1-12), syncretistic-heterodox Samaritans being the heroes of parable and encounter (Luke 10:25-37; John 4:4-41), Greek philosophy offering us its concept of logos (John 1:1-5), or approving citations of neo-Platonic poetry as pointing to the all-in-all nature of the one true God (Acts 17:16-34)! 

So, in what does God take delight? I’m guessing that he takes great delight in the way Patrick Mahomes throws a football. I can hear God saying over Patrick Mahomes and over you: “For the Lord your God is living among you. He is a mighty savior. He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs” (Zephaniah 3:17; NLT). Go Chiefs!

Shalom

©realfredherron 2021 

Where are Your Thin Places?

Listen: “Flood” by Jars of Clay

Over the last couple of years, many people have asked me if I thought about escaping to the mountains of Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho, or Montana (particularly in light of my public downfall). In fact, many people, including members of my family, almost expected me to move to the mountains. I have pondered it. I’ve pondered it my whole life. A few things have kept me from doing it: First, I have noticed how people who live in the mountains can take them for granted (not everyone, but some), and I never wanted to take the chance of the mountains loosing their magic for me by becoming ordinary. Some of the most extraordinary things become commonplace when we experience them everyday. Something special happens when I drive out I-70, hit Colorado, and start seeing the outline of the mountain peaks. Secondly, I have always felt a calling to connect with people around the extraordinary grace of Jesus. Not that the mountains don’t have people, but I have particularly felt called to Kansas City as a home base. And thirdly, in the midst of my darkest days (2019), I felt called to stay in Kansas City and courageously face my demons and trust that people in Kansas City will not only forgive, but rally in support of whatever calling from God emerged from my own chaos.

So back to the mountains and nature. I have always been enamored with nature and how being in nature renews me. This is a theme I have pondered and experienced my whole life. When I was a child, my dad entered me into the Indian Guides instead of Boy Scouts. This was a YMCA program that came under criticism years after I participated in it, and I was far too young to understand racial biases and stereotypes incorporated into the program. For me, it fostered a great appreciation for Native American history and, in particular, how Native Americans lived with spiritual reverence of nature and in harmony with the rhythms of nature. I remember reading a biography by Theodora Kroeber entitled Ishi: Last of His Tribe, which continued to fuel my love for Native American history, people, and culture.

In 1972, I was eleven years old and saw the movie Jeremiah Johnson. After watching the movie, I began dreaming of becoming a mountain man (like Robert Redford, of course!). By the age of fourteen, I was beginning to backpack, hike, and camp as much as my parents would allow. I wanted to live in the wilderness.

Nature and spirituality go together. Maybe not for everyone, but for many. Prior to the Industrial Age, everybody lived in tune with nature. You cannot study any of the spiritual traditions (like Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, Judaism, or Christianity) without noticing the role of nature. God spoke to Moses through a burning bush, and then he went on an epic journey which took him through the Red Sea, up on Mount Sinai, and wandered forty years through the wilderness. Siddhartha Gautama left his palace and sat under a bohdi tree for 49 days and received enlightenment, becoming Buddha or “the enlightened one.” Jesus was baptized in the Jordan River to begin his public ministry, then spent forty days in the wilderness, fished and boated on Lake Galilee, and regularly retreated to the mountains, even delivering his most famous sermon from a mountain. Muhammad received his revelations in a cave on Mount Hira.

Nature speaks. It has a voice. Hear the Psalmist:

The heaven’s proclaim the glory of God.

   The skies display his craftsmanship.

Day after day they continue to speak;

   night after night they make him known.

They speak without a sound or word;

   their voice is never heard.

Yet their message has gone throughout

      the earth,

   and their words to all the world.

(Psalm 19:1-4; NLT)

Listen to Annie Dillard: “Whenever there is stillness there is the still small voice, God’s speaking from the whirlwind, nature’s old song, and dance” (Teaching a Stone to Talk). Or the meditations of John Muir: “As long as I live, I’ll hear waterfalls and birds and winds sing. I’ll interpret the rocks, learn the language of flood, storm, and the avalanche. I’ll acquaint myself with the glaciers and wild gardens, and get as near the heart of the world as I can” (Son of the Wilderness: The Life of John Muir).

Where are your thin spaces? In Celtic spirituality, the idea of thin places first emerged. It was the belief that some places on earth are so special that heaven and earth collapse together. In 2018, I was at the Giant Causeway in Northern Ireland, an internationally recognized “thin place” or “spiritual vortex.” Over the past decade I have traveled to Sedona for mountain biking expeditions, another internationally recognized “thin space” or “spiritual vortex.” I found these spaces to be sacred, almost magical. Maybe it’s the earth’s magnetic field, a vitamin D boost, the activation of eye movement (as in EMDR), or simply the interconnectedness of the Universe. But these spaces are all around. An ordinary bush can become “holy ground.”

In the monotheistic traditions (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam), this phenomenon is described in theological terms as God’s omnipresence or immanence in all things. God’s creation reflects the beauty and glory of the creator, and God is present everywhere. Special encounters with God become special places or “holy places.” In other faith traditions, this phenomenon is described as pantheism in which the divine and the universe are identical (Hinduism and Buddhism). Some describe it as panentheism in which God is greater than the universe and includes and interpenetrates it, but still has ontological distinction (streams of Christianity, Judaism, Islam, and North and South American Native religion). Evolutionary biologists are still exploring the neuroscience of the brain and how the human brain interacts with its environment. (See Livewired: The Inside Story of the Ever-Changing Brain by David Eagleman, 2020.)

Nature nurtures the numinous in us. (See The Idea of the Holy by Rudolf Otto.) Take a walk in the woods. Stroll barefoot through the grass. Play in the snow. Climb a tree. Paddle a river. Sing in the rain. Dig in the dirt. Smell a wild flower. Find a turtle. Watch the clouds. Jump in a creek. Listen to the birds. Stare at the stars. Eat some wild berries. Catch a fish. Ascend a mountain. Swim in the ocean. Soar on the wind. Face the storm. Sit in the dark. Skip through the field. Laugh with a dolphin. Surf a wave.

Can you hear the voice of nature? What’s it saying?

Shalom

©realfredherron 2021

What Can We Learn from Pain and Failure?

Listen: “Hurt” by Nine Inch Nails or the Johnny Cash cover

I have a harsh inner critic. If something goes wrong in any of my relationships or surroundings, my first impulse is to look inwardly and blame myself. This is my first impulse. It is not always negative. It does cause me to do a lot of honest soul searching, but it can be very negative. It can quickly devolve into shame. Shame is that harsh inner critic that tells me “I am never good enough,” or “I am an idiot,” “it’s all my fault,” or “I am a piece of fecal material.”

Pain and suffering is a part of the human experience. No one escapes it. Pain has many faces. It can be physical pain due to injury, illness, or degeneration. It can be emotional pain brought on by the trauma of betrayal, neglect, or abuse; or it can be emotional pain brought on by our own bad choices. Sometimes circumstances seem to mount against us with no purpose or design except destruction—a natural disaster, a car crash, or a pandemic.

How can we move through pain and suffering without devolving into shame, hopelessness, or bitterness? Viktor Frankl was an Austrian Holocaust survivor and wrote an autobiographical best selling book entitled Man’s Search for Meaning. He noticed that those who survived had a common ability to transform suffering into meaning. 

If we go through pain and suffering, we might as well learn something. In fact, the adult brain is most adept at rewiring and learning when pain is present. Seeing pain as a teacher is one way to transform suffering into meaning. Just as some artists create meaning out of dust and chaos, so we too can respond creatively to pain and suffering.

The art of redirection. Judo is a martial art in which I have never participated, but I have always been fascinated with the concepts of the technique. I participated in the Shotokan style of karate in college, and all forms of martial arts adapt the concepts of Judo to some degree. According to Judo, the art of redirection lies in one’s ability to adjust to the attack of a more powerful opponent in a way that causes the opponent to lose balance and then use that power against them. Pain is most always an unwelcome intruder, but how can we redirect our focus to see the opportunities for spiritual growth? Every painful circumstance presents a new set of opportunities to love, serve, and connect with others who are in pain and suffering. Only then does our wound become a sacred wound. Psychologists have coined the term “Post-Traumatic Growth,” which demonstrates how humans have the immense capacity to recover with dignity and grace, resiliency and growth (Scientific American, “Post-Traumatic Growth: Finding Meaning and Creativity in Adversity,” by Scott Barry Kaufman, April 20, 2020).

The art of falling upward. In 2019, when I was drowning in shame and darkness, a friend sent me a book by Richard Rohr entitled Falling Upward. I will be forever grateful for his act of kindness because Rohr’s book helped jump start my shaken faith. Our personal failures are opportunities to learn and grow. They make us part of the human race and have the ability to catapult us into new adventures. Thomas Edison, the great American inventor, never viewed failure as negative. He didn’t see himself as a failure; he just learned another way not to do something. Failed inventions are not as painful as failed relationships or careers, but there’s an important truth in this attitude towards failure. Failure doesn’t define us if we don’t let it. Richard Rohr says:

One of the great surprises is that humans come to full consciousness precisely by shadow boxing, facing their own contradictions, and making friends with their own mistakes and failings. People who have had no inner struggles are invariably both superficial and uninteresting.

The art of self-compassion. This brings me back to my inner critic. I have always been extremely gracious and forgiving towards just about everybody I have ever met or with whom I had a relationship. One of my guiding values has always been to “err on the side of grace” when dealing with people. Why don’t I give myself the same kindness and forgiveness that I have always given other people? I have high standards for myself, for sure. When I fail to live up to those high standards, I can be incredibly harsh on myself. One definition of shame I heard from Brene Brown is “unwanted identity.” I always wanted to be a pastor who finished well. I never wanted my story to be one of “public moral failure” or “fallen mega-church pastor.” I prayed millions of prayers over decades for God to “lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from evil.” Does hating myself or punishing myself make my failure better or more tolerable? Absolutely not! It does the opposite; shame only compounds the misery. If God forgives me and always loves me, who am I not to love me and forgive me. As Brene Brown says, “When we deny the story, it defines us. When we own the story, we can write a brave new ending.” The brave new ending emerges with self-compassion.

Shalom

©realfredherron 2021

Qohelet

Listen: “Dust in the Wind” by Kansas

I was preparing a talk recently for a group of spiritual seekers. As I contemplated what to say, I was drawn to the Old Testament book of Ecclesiastes. The Hebrew name for the book is Qohelet. Several years ago I did a series of messages on this book entitled “Satisfied?” It was one of my favorite teaching series because of the intense quest for meaning depicted in the book. As I recently revisited Qohelet, I realized that my work with Spirituality Adventures is a contemporary version of Qohelet. Let me explain.

Qohelet comes from the Hebrew verb qahal which means “to assemble or to gather people together.” The Greek word for qahal in the New Testament is ecclesia which means assembly or gathering of people (where Ecclesiastes is derived), and it is the word that the Apostle Paul uses for “church”—an assembly of believers. Qohelet is either “the assembler” or “one who is a part of an assembly.” Qohelet is typically translated “the Teacher” or “the Preacher” or “the Convener,” but the primary idea is a group of people listening to philosophic discourse about the meaning of life.

“‘Everything is meaningless,’ says the Teacher [Qohelet], ‘completely meaningless!’” (Ecclesiastes 1:2; NLT). This is the opening of the book. Qohelet goes on to say: 

I, the Teacher [Qohelet], was king of Israel, and I lived in Jerusalem. I devoted myself to search for understanding and to explore by wisdom everything being done under heaven. I soon discovered that God has dealt a tragic existence to the human race. I observed everything going on under the sun, and really, it is all meaningless—like chasing the wind (Ecclesiastes 1:12-14; NLT). 

The Hebrew word translated “meaningless” is hevel. Qohelet abandoned himself to the pursuit of meaning by exploring pleasure, wine, women, building projects (like trying to reconstruct the Garden of Eden), family, power, and wealth. His conclusion was always hevel; it’s all hevel. Hevel is a fascinating word; it has nuanced tones like “vanity,” “enigmatic,” “impermanence,” “absurdity,” “breath,” or “vapor.” It is a dominate characteristic of the human experience of life—even the good moments in life seem to slip away. Buddhists call it “anicca.”

One of my favorite authors is John Krakauer. He is the author of Into Thin Air and Into the Wild. Into the Wild tells the story of Chris McCandless. Chris grew up in a typical WASP home on the east coast, and his parents were extremely concerned with outward appearance which disguised some of the harsh realities hidden at home. Chris went to Emory University, graduated, and then dropped off the grid. No one in his family knew where he was until September of 1992 at which time his dead body was found in a bus off the remote Stampede Trail in Alaska. He had starved to death due to eating a poisonous plant which he misidentified as an edible plant.

John Krakauer became fascinated with the story and retraced Chris’ steps, interviewing people who had met him on his two-year journey. Chris was intensely philosophical and traveled from Georgia out to California and finally up to Alaska, hitchhiking along the way. He was an avid reader of the transcendentalist, Thoreau and Emerson, and Chris wanted to throw off the confinements of society and institutional America. He wanted to get back to nature and live off the land in Alaska.

I’ve had these kind of thoughts since I was a young teenager learning to backpack and rock climb in Missouri and the Rocky Mountains. I identified with Chris as I read his story. Sean Penn eventually attained the movie rights and directed a beautiful film version of Chris McCandless’ story: Into the Wild. Eddie Vedder wrote the entire soundtrack to the movie—one of my favorite movie soundtracks of all-time. 

According to Qohelet, the search for meaning is an arduous and frustrating task. Faith and doubt travel together. How do we know anything? Can we really grasp meaning? What is knowable? Qohelet draws the reader into a journey filled with frustration, but ultimately it is the most important journey a person can make.

Musicians and poets have been writing lyrics inspired by Qohelet for millennia. As a teenager growing up in Kansas City in the 70’s, my favorite progressive rock band was Kansas. Kerry Livgren was a spiritual seeker and all his songs were infused with the same kind of search for meaning that Qohelet displayed. Livgren wrote a song inspired by Qohelet called “Dust in the Wind:”

I close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moment’s gone

All my dreams pass before my eyes, a curiosity

Dust in the wind

All we are is dust in the wind

Same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea

All we do crumbles to the ground though we refuse to see

Dust in the wind

All we are is dust in the win 

Now, don’t hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky

It slips away, and all your money won’t another minute buy

Dust in the wind

All we are is dust in the wind

It’s a noble journey—the pursuit of meaning and purpose—even though it feels like we are trying to get a grip on vapor. The Universe beckons us. Spirituality Adventures is a non-judgmental place to explore spirituality. My goal is simply to gather people who are on this journey, have philosophical discourse, and grow together. I hope you will join me.

Shalom

©realfredherron 2021

Childlike Humility

Listen: “Change” by Tracy Chapman

Humility is one of the most misunderstood virtues in the English language. In fact, the ancient Greeks considered it a negative attribute, on par with poverty or subservience. In America, we get it confused with a bunch of negative attitudes and emotions like shame, guilt, humiliation, and self-pity. Most people would understand that it is the opposite of arrogance, but that’s about it. How do we cultivate humility?

Humility is a cornerstone characteristic for recovery. Step Seven of the Twelve Steps of AA is “Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.” While humility is specifically named in Step Seven, it is vital to every step in the recovery program.

Humility is also foundational to the Judeo/Christian worldview. The prophet Micah summarizes beautifully what God required of Israel in three short statements: “to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8). Jesus talked about the importance of becoming more like a child, and the one quality he specifically mentions that we need to imitate is—humility (Matthew 18:4). The Apostle Peter famously admonished believers to “Humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you” (1 Peter 5:6).

In the Christian tradition, God in Christ is said to be humble. A humble God—imagine that. In a stunning scripture about Jesus Christ, the Apostle Paul writes that Jesus humbled himself by leaving heaven to become a human, a servant to humanity, and then was willing to die an obedient death on the cross (Philippians 2:5-8).

Buddhist practitioners believe that a humble mind can recognize the defilements of desire and greed, ignorance and illusion; only then can someone begin the journey to enlightenment.

In an effort to understand humility, let’s first describe what it is not. It is not shame. Shame is feeling never good enough, feeling self-hatred or self-criticism at a deep level. It is not guilt. Guilt is feeling like we did something wrong. It is not humiliation. Humiliation is a feeling of intense embarrassment over unjust treatment. It is not self-pity. Self-pity is an attitude of negative self-focus which employs unhealthy rationalizations and blame of others for our circumstances or behaviors.

So what is humility? How do we cultivate humility? Humility is the opposite of arrogance or selfishness. It can be cultivated in the following ways:

(1)  Practice living a life with purpose greater than your own self-interests. Turn your life over to your “higher power” as you understand it. Life is about doing God’s will or serving a greater, altruistic purpose.

(2)  Practice the attitude of life-long learning. A teachable, open mind is a beautiful thing. You are never to old to learn something new and this childlike approach to life is good for your brain.

(3)  Practice admitting your faults to another human being. Call it confession or talking with your sponsor, but do a fearless moral inventory and share it with a trusted person. It’s good therapy. Take responsibility for your actions.

(4)  Practice serving others. This is another activity that is good for your brain and physical health. Find some ways to give back to your community, your friends and family, and those who are under-resourced or going through difficulty.

(5)  Practice gratitude. Make a list. Give thanks for the small things in life. Look around at the beauty of nature and life itself. Count your blessings.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Twelve Steps, allow me to introduce what’s called the Seventh Step prayer. “My Creator, I am now willing that you should have all of me, good and bad. I pray that you now remove from me every single defect of character which stands in the way of my usefulness to you and my fellows. Grant me strength, as I go out from here, to do your bidding. Amen” (Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 76).

Shalom

©realfredherron 2021

Childlike Adventure & Creativity

Listen: “Setting Forth” by Eddie Vedder

One of the things I have tried to do in my own recovery is reframe this dark episode of my life as an epic adventure, like Dante’s “midlife” crisis—one fraught with all the pitfalls and snares inherent in any epic journey. This reframing helps me see the opportunities for recovery with childlike creativity, which gives rise to hope in me.

Children have the natural inclination to explore their surroundings. Creativity flows from their spirit of adventure. They stumble into their surroundings with their fives senses—feeling, tasting, seeing, touching, smelling—store their discoveries like a treasure hunt, and mash up the new data for their next adventure. What they like, they pursue with abandonment.

Adults tend to slow the learning process and opt for safety and security—sometimes to our own detriment. In J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins captures the sentiment of many adults:

Gandalf: “I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it’s very difficult to find anyone.”

Bilbo: “I should think so—in these parts! We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner! I can’t think what anybody sees in them.”

Gandalf: “You’ll have a tale or two to tell when you come back” 

Bilbo: “You can promise that I’ll come back?”

Gandalf: “No. And if you do, you will not be the same.”

The Bible is a book of faith adventures. Noah built an ark on dry land for a flood he couldn’t see. Abram left his homeland for a country he’d never known. Joseph was sold into slavery before he ascended to authority in a foreign land. Moses murdered an Egyptian and fled punishment before he returned to Egypt to set his people free. David was a shepherd boy who defeated a giant and became king of Israel. Naomi left her native home for a people she had never seen. Jesus left heaven to come to earth. Saul of Tarsus (Paul) encountered the resurrected Christ and traveled the Roman world sharing the good news and starting churches. All of these journeys were riddled with doubt and suffering and redemption, but they teach us the way of faith.

It’s the journey of the hero or heroine. Whether its Odysseus or St. Francis, every journey has the same basic elements: (1) they naively inhabit their home of origin; (2) they leave home for an adventure of some sort; (3) they encounter an unforeseen obstacle or wound which transforms their lives; (4) they find their true purpose; and (5) they give away what they have learned and discovered.

Creativity flows from the heart of an adventurer. In his book Steal Like an Artist, Austin Kleon gives practical advice for stoking the creative juices. At the heart of the book is a simple idea: create content around what you love. All ideas come from somewhere or someone, and originality is largely a myth. We learn. We love. We mash up what we love in our own unique style. This is the heart of creativity. Kleon says there is good theft or bad theft: honor or degrade—study or skim—steal from many or steal from one—give credit or plagiarize—transform or imitate—remix or rip off.

Children function in an adventurous flow of creativity. It’s fun to see the world through the eyes of a child, and Jesus pointed out how adults need to become more like little children to enter the kingdom of God (Matthew 18:3).

 If we are made in the image of a God who creates, then creativity is at the heart of our true identity. Singing, laughing, playing, writing, painting, thinking, learning, running, talking, building, fixing, sharing, photographing, speaking, exploring, reading, jumping, skipping, discovering, birthing, caring, nurturing, breathing, swimming, biking, hiking, renovating, recovering, loving—these are the verbs of adventurous creativity. They balance out the crying, stumbling, falling, hurting, deceiving, manipulating, fighting, disillusioning, fearing, controlling, irritating, annoying, forgiving, and healing.

 And let’s not forget—the wounds incurred on a faith adventure, if handled creatively, become the sacred wounds through which we authentically connect with others, ourselves, and the world in which we live. At the heart of spirituality is connection.

So let’s enter this New Year with the heart of a child.

Shalom

©realfredherron 2021

Childlike Wonder

Listen: “Rocky Mountain High” by John Denver

As a child, Christmas was always a magical time of year—no school, sledding for hours (back in the days when it snowed on Christmas), and Santa. In my teen years, I took a trip to the Rocky Mountains for the first time with my family, and I was smitten. I was also growing enamored with backpacking around Missouri and reading Backpacking: One Step at a Time by Harvey Manning. By the time I turned sixteen, I was taking annual trips every year to explore the mountains of Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho, and Montana.

I was enchanted with the mountains. I loved hiking, rock climbing, fly fishing, praying, dreaming, journaling, and meditating in the mountains. My annual trips to the mountains became a time to reflect on my life—where I have been and where I was going—but mostly is was a time of awe and wonder. Whether I was taking a nap in the snow at a high mountain lake in Rawah Wilderness or hoping my new tent wouldn’t be shredded by gale-force winds in the Collegiate Peaks, I always sensed a special magical presence: a connection with God and childlike wonder.

G. K. Chesterton was an English writer, philosopher, lay theologian, and literary and art critic. In a chapter entitled “The Ethics of Elfland,” he pointed out how you can learn the most important things in life from children’s stories (Orthodoxy: The Romance of Faith). Chesterton reflected on five truths contained in most children’s stories: (1) the world does not explain itself, it just exists; (2) miracle and beauty come from someone or something magical; (3) beauty connects to an original design, despite the fact that dragons exist; (4) humility and gratitude are appropriate responses; and (5) all goodness is a treasure.

Children are wired to see the wonder and magic of the world around them. I remember creating a swing with my arms and hands to rotate one of my nephews (two years old at the time) around in circles. He would giggle with all his might and then say, “Do it again.” After twenty minutes I was worn out, but he was ready for more. “Do it again!”

A child’s capacity to watch a cartoon over and over again with the same awe and wonder is amazing. Why do we as adults so easily lose this capacity to enjoy something so utterly spectacular? Maybe there is something eternally young hardwired into the universe to which/whom we need to stay connected. Maybe the earth says to the rising sun, “Do it again!” If dogs were purple or grass was blue, would we be more amazed?

Our brains function in a way so that negative emotions stick like glue (in the amygdala) and positive emotions slip away like teflon (See Hardwiring Happiness: The New Brain Science of Contentment, Calm, and Confidence by Rick Hanson). In order to reacquire childlike wonder, we need to actually pause and focus on something that is good and lovely and awe-inspiring for fifteen seconds or more before it affects our experience and mood. Some people do this by keeping a gratitude list or participating in a creative outlet or meditating.

In my darkest days (2019), I was drowning in negative emotions. I had to consciously battle for wonder, awe, and gratitude. Positive experiences and emotions I once had in abundance were on short supply in 2019. I found my greatest sources of inspiration in nature and people. Nature is a place where I find infinite enchantment. Before I felt called to be a pastor, I thought about a career in biology or forestry or wildlife. I am endlessly fascinated with planet earth and its inhabitants. People’s stories are another of my favorite sources for wonder and inspiration. Love, bravery, heartache, defeat, recovery and triumph—people walking in childlike wonder, awe, and humility are the best.

It’s no surprise to me that Jesus said we need to become more like children to enter into the experience of the kingdom of God (Matthew 18:1-6; Mark 10:13-16).

Shalom

©realfredherron 2020