My Friend, the Godly Atheist

Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love. God’s love was revealed among us in this way: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins. Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us... Those who say, ‘I love God’, and hate their brothers or sisters,^* are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister^* whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen. The commandment we have from him is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters^* also. ~ 1 John 4:7-12, 20-21 

I have a friend who is an Atheist. He does not believe in God, and he most particularly does not believe in religion. He does believe in science, intelligence, compassion, and justice. Yesterday, after a group of religious people entered the offices of a newspaper in Paris and murdered 11 journalists because they thought God was offended by things the paper had printed, my friend wrote on Facebook:

Goddamn religion. Makes me want to puke.

Considering the news from France, it was hard to disagree with him.

Which is why I was especially gratified to find this passage from the first letter of John in this morning's lectionary. They were words I needed to hear: words that everyone needs to hear: especially those of us who embrace religion as a source of spiritual and moral guidance.

Everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. What an amazing and radical idea to preach to a church that was at that time being persecuted into extinction by the Roman empire. There is no call to defend God. No enlisting of Christian Soldiers. To the contrary, John says Those who say, ‘I love God’, and hate their brothers or sisters,^* are liars... This is tough stuff to swallow. The implication here is obvious and in a way terrifying. Whoever hates another person, hates God.

How do we love Christ? We obey his commandments. And how do we do that?

I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. ~ John 13:34

 Would Jesus murder a newspaper reporter? Would he lie to a customer to keep their business? Would he cheat on his wife or beat his child or collect guns or fight against the "War on Christmas?" Would he turn his eyes away from the beggar at the traffic light or the drunk who is passed out on the curb? Would Jesus gossip or spread stories about people that he didn't know were true? Would he change the way he spoke or the jokes he told, depending on who was in the room? No, he would not have done any of these things, because they express disrespect and contempt, and whoever disrespects a person they can see, can never love the God they cannot see.

If we want to love our invisible God, we have no choice. We must love the people whom God has placed before us. Love is our business in this world. Maybe if we would mind that business, our religion would be more palatable to my friend who does not know the church, but knows God better than he may realize.

Let us love one another... For love is from God.

Bob

The Bells of Nathaniel

Philip found Nathanael and said to him, ‘We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.’ Nathanael said to him, ‘Can anything good come out of Nazareth?’ Philip said to him, ‘Come and see.’ When Jesus saw Nathanael coming towards him, he said of him, ‘Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!’~ John 1:43-47 NRSV

In this passage from this morning's prayers, two things ring in my ear like bells.

The first is that, at a Nazarene, Jesus grew up in a backwater that was the butt of jokes and derission among the more sophisticated people in Israel. Jesus was a hillbilly: poor white trash. He came from a place where the news was always bad. I am reminded of national news items about my home state. When we see a story about Kentucky on CNN or Huffington, our first reaction is, "Oh, no. What now?" It's usually about how ours is among the hardest places to live, with the most depressed people, the most numerous smokers, the worst poverty, the highest rates of cancer or drug abuse or most recently, the flu. We expect the news that makes it out of Kentucky to be bad.

At the same time, people who live in the cities of central and western Kentucky often look to the eastern mountains as the home of ignorance, meth labs, moonshine cookers, and snake handlers. Even among ourselves, we have a system of class and caste.

As it is in the Bluegrass, so it was with Israel As far as Rome was concerned, Palestine was a strategically important cultural wasteland. Though their homeland was critical to the Emperor's control of the eastern Mediterranean,  the Hebrews looked like savage primitives to the sophisticates in Rome. That cultural contempt echoed in Nathaniel's joke about Nazareth. Nothing good could ever come from the holler dwelling trailer trash in that miserable place.

Where else would you expect to find the Savior of the World?

And that's what strikes me as so important: Jesus was a cultural surprise. He was not a graduate of Harvard Divinity school, or even Oral Roberts University. He was a nobody from nowhere. A preacher who showed up from West Virginia or Mississippi or the lettuce farms of California or the ghettos of Detroit. We might expect such a man to offer homespun wisdom and folksy, simplistic philosophy, but never the most radical and influential theology in history. Jesus was a man without influence, from the most miserable town in the most miserable part of the Roman world. Jesus is not who we expect him to be. He is not to be found among the usual suspects. Jesus will take us by surprise, and challenge all of our prejudices and assumptions.

The second bell rings when Jesus greets the man from Bethsaida. We might expect a stern rebuke, or even good natured ribbing from the penniless preacher, but instead, he greets him with praise. Before Nathaniel even speaks to him, Jesus sees his character and his integrity. "Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!" Jesus does not return contempt for contempt. Nathaniel may look down on the Carpenter's Son, but at least he is honest about it. He does not smile with his mouth and sneer with his heart. And in that candor and honesty, Jesus recognizes a man who can serve God even if he is very different from the people among whom Jesus was raised. Jesus compassion transcends both bigotry and cultural differences, and in that moment, the two men form a bond that lasts a lifetime.

The story of Nathaniel calls us to look beyond our expectations and our differences. In this morning's collect from the New Zealand Book of Common Prayer, we hear, Make us willing to listen and humble in what we believe is right. (p 563)

Jesus was willing to listen, and humble in his beliefs: he did not see a snob from the port city of Bethsaida, but rather a man who was without trickery or guile. Jesus took the time to see and hear a stranger, and he found a friend. God grant that we might have the courage to really look and see the people we encounter, and the compassion to recognize the divinity in them, in spite of our own assumptions and expectations.

Peace, y'all.
Bob

#BeTheChange

This saying has always made a lot of sense to me. As I started thinking about a personal theme for 2015, it rose to the top. My research showed me that the quote is wrongly attributed to Gandhi. He never actually said that. I also read a pundit who suggested that the philosophy is an anti-political bromide meant to sooth the guilty consciences of privileged Americans who would rather work on self-improvement that helping their neighbors. I reluctantly concede the first point, but object to the second.

I find profound truth in the idea that we must first change ourselves before we can change the world. Consider the damage done when a hero falls. Athletes. Politicians. Entertainers. Religious leaders. They might have done many positive things for a time, but when the cracks in their public persona reveal deep personal flaws or even hypocrisy, we start to question their motives and the integrity of their cause. If we want to change the world, we must first change ourselves.

I am a Christian. That means I believe in the life and ministry of a great and radical revolutionary: a teacher whose life showed us the value of courage, strength, compassion, and joy. Jesus didn't just say the right things and inspire with his words; he modeled the values of faithfulness and love that resonate right down to our time, even among those who do not believe in his deity or the church that bears his name. To imitate Christ means living the change: not just speaking out, but also stepping up.

My resolution for 2015 is to be the change I wish to see in the world.

• I will continue to improve my own health and wellness, so I can serve my God, my neighbors, and myself more effectively. 
• I will earn the Personal Training certification that I've been talking about for years, so that I can teach with confidence and authority. 
• Finally, I am going to find myself a church home in 2015. My reasons for not doing so are no longer persuasive, not even to myself. I have known the value of contributing to a worshipful community, and I want that back in my life.

I will continue to refine those goals, sometimes privately, sometimes sharing that journey on Run Bob, Run, and in a year I hope to look back on these resolutions and see that I was faithful to them -- and that my faithfulness helped to change myself and my world.

Here is an invitation. How do you wish the world was different? What can you do in your own life and habits that will be a pebble dropped in the sea of change that will make the world a better place -- even just a tiny part of it.

Peace,
Bob

Report Card for #reboot2014

A review of my 2014 New Year's resolutions: five simple goals for better living that I called #reboot2014

-- Get weight down to 245/Body fat <20%   B-
47 pounds lost. 22 short of my goal with body fat percentage hovering at 25%. Most of my failing here is due to abuse of food. Rolling this one over to 2015

-- Read/Write 60 min/day:   C+
I did well for a while, even won a prize for a short story, but both activities tapered dramatically when I turned my attention to Frankenstein. I'm not going to lie to you: it was worth the sacrifice. But I'm blocking that hour a day off of my calendar again, starting, well, about 20 minutes ago, actually.

-- Exercise 60 min/day:   B+
Teaching has helped a lot here, and I have to say I feel more fit than ever, but certain data suggests I need to be more intentional about getting my own workouts in. (see goal #1 above)

-- Personal Contact with another human every day.  A
Of all my #reboot2014 goals, this was the one I was most faithful about, and it has returned great dividends in new and renewed friendships. I'm officially declaring this one an established rule for life. Never let a day pass without looking someone in the eye, and trying to see them, and allowing yourself to be seen.

-- Pray for the people I love every day. A-
No, not every day, but the days I skipped were pretty rare. I found this to be an especially healthy way to start my mornings, even before getting out of bed, I call to mind my friends and family, particularly those who are sick or sad or in trouble. I whisper their name. I hold them in my heart. I think of it as pestering God. I figure if I nag him enough, he'll help them just to get me to shut up. It also serves as a meaningful reminder that my life is not all about me. This one has also graduated from good intention to habit. I think I'll keep it.

Tomorrow, I'll share a few that I'm adding for 2015. Till then, Happy New Year, y'all!

Peace,
Bob

Suffer the Little Children...

At that time the disciples came to Jesus, saying, “Who then is greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” Then Jesus called a little child to Him, set him in the midst of them, and said, “Assuredly, I say to you, unless you are converted and become as little children, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore whoever humbles himself as this little child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Whoever receives one little child like this in My name receives Me. Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to sin, it would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck, and he were drowned in the depth of the sea... Take heed that you do not despise one of these little ones, for I say to you that in heaven their angels always see the face of My Father who is in heaven. " ~ Matthew 18: 1-6, 10

This morning's prayers turned my mind toward the children in my life. Though I am not a father, I am an uncle. There are children in my building and neighborhood. I meet them in rehearsal, in stores, on my walks and runs, and at the Y. My friends introduce me to their own children, and those children introduce me to their friends. And I have always thought of them not as "your kids," but rather as "our kids."

There are people who scoff at the expression, "It takes a village to raise a child." Let them scoff. I was raised by the people in my neighborhood, not just my parents. They taught me manners and respect. They also taught me that there were people who lived and believed differently than my own family did. They kept me safe when I was afraid or hurt. And they let me (and my parents!) know when I was behaving badly. Some of them had kids of their own. Others were just neighbors: the village of people who taught me what it meant to be a man. 

And so this man Jesus, this eternal Word made flesh, this incarnation of the Creator of the universe -- he came into the world as a child. He cried. He pooped and puked. He drove his parents nuts sometimes.He asked too many questions. And as a child, he learned what no God could ever know. He learned what it was to be helpless, to be at the mercy of people unimaginably more powerful than he. He learned what it was to be taught, to be raised by a village.

Did he also know pain and abuse? This passage from Matthew's gospel suggests that he may have. Jesus speaks passionately about the holiness of children in their humility and simplicity, but he is also fierce in his condemnation of anyone who harms them. "Do not despise them," he warns, for they have heavenly advocates before God. Heaven itself is diminished when anyone harms a child.

Jesus is not sentimental about children. He does not coo and weep about them. He holds them up as the model of what it is to be human. In their humility, their curiosity, their capacity for trust, and even their propensity for mischief, children taught Christ what the experience of being a creation was really like. 

We need to raise our children, yes. But as we offer them guidance and discipline, we must remember Jesus exhortation: better to die than to harm a child. When we meet a child, we are meeting Christ. In each of them, we encounter our strange, aggravating, surprising, curious, inspiring, and ever loving God. May we receive them not only as our responsibility, but also and always as our teachers.

A few days before Christmas, a woman brought her little granddaughter to swim in the pool where I was teaching a water fitness class. This is against the rules. During class time, the pool belongs to us. The girl jumped in the water in her little life vest, and her grandmother laughted as she squealed and splashed. I noticed a few heads turn disapprovingly, and finally one class member waded discreetly over to the lifeguard and whispered something I did not hear. The next thing I knew, the guard was speaking to the grandmother, asking her to take her child and leave. It offended something deep inside me. "Wait," I said. "There is plenty of room. Let's not send a child away at Christmas." I was afraid I might make a few class members mad by breaking the rules. But I was more afraid of what Jesus might think about being chased away. It is one of the first bible stories I remember hearing in Sunday school. Lord, may I never forget it.

Then they brought little children to Him, that He might touch them; but the disciples rebuked those who brought them. But when Jesus saw it, He was greatly displeased and said to them, “Let the little children come to Me, and do not forbid them; for of such is the kingdom of God. Assuredly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will by no means enter it.” And He took them up in His arms, laid His hands on them, and blessed them. ~ Mark 10: 13-16

Alive!

KING LEAR, 2013. Fat Man Acting

     "I was hoping you wouldn't do it," Mum said to me. "I don't want you to get sick again." She was talking good sense. Ever since I was in High School, I've always gotten some kind of malady right before or after the run of a play. Fatigue and anxiety take their toll, and it's only gotten worse as I've grown older. After my last two productions, I've fallen into such deep depression that my therapist seriously considered involuntary hospitalization. I was determined to make this show a turning point. Whatever it took, I wanted to hold on to my artistic standards AND my mental health.

     And I'm happy to report success on all fronts.

 

The whole Summer Session class came to the show. (all but little Sammy)

   Even before going to the theatre to pick up my script, I sat down with my calender and scheduled my rest. I may be the only person in the world whose daily agenda includes naps. My work as a runner and a trainer had taught me the importance of rest and recovery. I also knew how much fatigue contributed to my depression in the past. I wasn't going to let that happen. Once the rehearsal schedule was posted, I contacted my supervisors and colleagues at the Y. I was going to need backup to cover classes, and my YMCA family jumped right in. They supported me from the first day, and a lot of them even came to see the show. I'm not being funny when I call mine the #bestjobever. It's a fact.

     Time was only one of the resources I had to marshal. I was going to need the people I loved, too. Friends and family all stepped up to support me. They checked in to make sure I was doing OK. Invited me out to lunch or a movie. Paid visits. Dropped notes. Joined me for workouts and walks. Offered support and laughter. Trusted me with secrets. Asked for help and support. 

     The emotional toolbox I had assembled during the past year with my therapist was packed and ready. Managing setbacks. Coping with distractions. Accepting the hards times without letting them take over. I didn't spend a minute buried under the covers; didn't miss a single commitment because of depression, and that is mostly thanks to the skills I learned from my head shrinker. 

   

Lot of pushups in those old arms.

 Once I was confident about my emotional health plan, I turned my attention to my body. I had already set my sleep program in stone, but I knew that the role of the Creature was going to make some pretty intense physical demands. I changed the focus of my training to increasing strength, especially in my upper body. I stopped training like a runner, and started training like a lifter. One of my jobs was to pick up and carry a grown man at the end of the play, and I wanted us both to feel good about my ability to do that. I won't pretend there wasn't some vanity involved. I was going to be shirtless for the creation scene, and I wanted to look as good as I could. Maybe I was no Adonis, but I looked my best.  

Frankenstein and Son. Tim Hull as Victor.

 

    I usually dive in to the script with a single-minded focus that neglects nearly everything else. I thought I was making the Theatre the center of my life; I now realize that I was using it as a substitute for my life: a place to hide from all the things that I didn't want to have to think about. I thought I was being an Artist. Instead, I was an Addict. I abused acting as a drug to take away the pain of real life. The unique thing about my preparation for this role was that I put my life in order first. How different my career might have been if I had understood this lesson when I was 20, but I am so very grateful to have learned it now.

A company I will hold in my heart forever.

     The play itself was a joy from start to finish. Part of that is due to the changes in me, but a large part of it is because of the beautiful script and the wonderfully talented group of artists who came together to make the play happen. I'm not going to call them out individually because there is no way I could do everyone justice. But I have to say that Bo List's adaptation of Mrs Shelley's story is a terrific ride, for the actors and the audience. The role of The Creature is a masterpiece. The chance to play a character from infancy to adulthood, climbing through each level of physical, mental, and spiritual development toward a final, magnificent epiphany... it is an actor's dream. I will always be grateful to Bo for endowing his "monster" with so gigantic, terrifying, and tender a soul.

     You know, it's funny: I always wanted to be a great Shakespearian actor. I wanted to be remembered as Prospero or Lear. And I don't think I stunk in those parts. But at one point during the run, someone told me that in a strange and wonderful way... I just may have been born to play Frankenstein's monster. There was a time when I would have been insulted to hear that. I'm glad I've lived long enough to be proud instead. And I can't wait to see what the Theatre has in store for me next.

     

Pretending Frankenstein

We've been rehearsing about three weeks, now. Long enough to stage the whole play, and get a cautious, choppy run through in. Like Victor Frankenstein's famous Creature in the night, our production is starting to pick itself up from playwright Bo List's silent pages and stumble around the mountains and laboratories of Jerome Wills' increasingly fascinating set. I say increasingly, because every night we actors arrive to find that Tech Director, Dawn Connerley and her crew have built some new detail or structure for us to play around, under, or on top of. Last night, composer, Rob Thomas was in the booth, supplementing our on-stage rehearsal with some of the music he has created for the world of Frankenstein, and it was like having lightning bolts shoot through me as I played. So much talent is coming together to make this all happen.

Patti Heying, our director has conducted our cast like a maestro. She seems to have an instinct for knowing just how to work with actors of many different backgrounds all at once. She might tell one young actor, "You know what? I cast you because I liked YOU. You don't have to pretend to be somebody else, just be yourself and imagine what you would do if this happened to you." To a grizzled veteran, she can just nod with a furrowed brow or a knowing smile and tell you all you need to know about where to go next.

Getting my own Creature up off the slab has been a painstaking, joyful process of asking questions, and trying on answers to see if they fit. You ask physical questions. How does the Creature walk? What does his voice sound like? What does it feel like to be electrocuted back to life from the dead? What happens to your joints, your brain, your senses, your emotions when you are suddenly, violently reborn?

You ask psychological questions, too. What does the creature want? What stands in his way? What does he love? What scares him? What drives him? What does he learn? How does he change?

And of course, you point your curiosity toward relationships as well. Who matters to him? Who disappoints? Whose approval does he need? Who does he want to hurt?

And always, you are asking, "Why?" Why do I run away? Why do I hide? Why do I keep coming back when people are always hurting me? Why is the old blind man's love so important to me? Why do I kill some people and spare others? Why do I speak like a child one moment, and like a Shakespearean tragic hero the next?

See what happened there? Sooner or later, you stop thinking about "Him." The role stops being "That Guy." He isn't somebody else. He's me. He's Bob, pretending to be a monster in 18th century Geneva. You stumble and limp and chase down blind alleys and try all the possibilities, but finally you have to stop thinking about the guy and become the guy. I'm not there yet. But I'm getting tantalizingly close in spots.

In a famous video clip circulating on Facebook, Sir Ian McKellan explains acting the role of Gandalf in Lord of the Rings this way: "I imagined what it would be like to be a wizard, and then I pretended..." And that really is what we all do. Because, you see, whether you are Ian McKellan or a 10 year old boy in a little community theatre in Versailles Kentucky, the way you act is just the same: you ask yourself, "What would it be like to be that person?" And then you pretend.