Esoteric Jesus

Esoteric Jesus

Welcome to Esoteric Advent! This season, we’re exploring the mystical side of Jesus, both his teachings and his birth story. To do so, we’re using many of the texts found at Nag Hammadi, Egypt, in the 1940s. These nearly-lost Coptic papyri are from a number of different Gnostic schools, all of them focused on esoteric teachings. A great number of them are specifically Christian in nature. The Nag Hammadi codices remind us that early Christianity was imaginative, inventive, and multi-faceted. Most importantly, they are exceptionally spiritual in nature.

Esoteric means “intended for or likely to be understood by only a small number of people.” The Gnostics didn’t think Jesus’ message was intended for a small number of people. Rather, they knew that his message was (and remains) a teaching that’s difficult to understand and too easy to interpret literally.

Jesus’ remark in in Luke 8:9-10 describes the Gnostic’s point of view perfectly:

Luke 8:9-10 (CEV): Jesus’ disciples asked him what the story meant. So he answered:
I have explained the secrets about God’s kingdom to you, but for others I can only use stories. These people look, but they don’t see, and they hear, but they don’t understand.

This is the very definition of esoteric knowledge: only a few will understand.

Jesus says the same thing in Matthew 13 and Mark 4. When an idea appears in more than one Gospel, we can infer that it was important for the early church. In fact, the idea that Jesus was conveying a sort of “secret” knowledge spurred the development of several Christian esoteric schools.

These schools created some of the earliest Christian writings we possess. The Gnostic scriptures reveal new dimensions of both Jesus the Christ and early Christianity. The Gnostics were much more concerned with the Spirit and our spiritual path to personal enlightenment than with establishing an authoritative church that dictated how, when, where, and what people could believe.

Whereas the new “orthodoxy” was teaching that only they held the keys to Jesus’ kingdom (and could prove it by tracing their authority back to Peter, whom they considered their founder), the Gnostic schools taught that any individual could learn Jesus’ teachings and develop a personal, intimate relationship with God—just like Jesus. No authority was necessary. Rather, the entire community helped one another achieve what they considered an enlightened state of being, and they did it without creating deacons, priests, bishops and the like.

The orthodoxy branded this as a heresy. How dare these people think they could understand Jesus and ascend to the level of Oneness with God! The arrogance! The nerve! Only THE ONE TRUE CHURCH can claim apostolic authority!

The early Bishop Irenaeus wrote: “One must obey the priests who are in the church—that is … those who possess the succession from the apostles. For they receive simultaneously with the episcopal succession the sure gift of truth.”

I have learned that anyone claiming they have the “only” truth, or that only they hold the keys to enlightenment is either deranged, dangerously manipulative, or both. The authors of the ancient Gnostic texts felt pretty much the same.

This major difference of opinion set the stage for philosophical and political debates about church and religious authority that have reshaped the world. Martin Luther, compelled by his own religious awakening, challenged the same “orthodoxy” that had eliminated nearly all Gnostic teaching 1300 years earlier.

George Fox, founder of the Quaker movement, adopted many of the practices of the gnostics, especially the idea that an “inner light” moves us to speak and serve. As the gnostics denounced the authority of the early Catholic Church, Fox denounced the authority of the Puritans, who were making the same arguments as Irenaeus: We’re the only ones who know the truth. If you disagree, you’re a heretic.

I think it’s time for this quarrel to end. There is wisdom in both orthodox and Gnostic teachings. The important difference I find is that the esoteric schools typically focus on human spirituality—our relationship with each other and the universe. The esoteric is revealed when we think about the mystical side of Jesus, about the things he says and does that he himself admits are difficult to understand, even hidden from plain view.

This Advent, we’re going to look at the stories we all know and love, and see if perhaps the Gnostics present us with some new knowledge, some new wisdom.

We all know the orthodox story of Jesus’ birth: the star, the Magi, the manger. Little Lord Jesus, King of the Jews, Son of God. We have told the story about Jesus for two millennia, but we too often to neglect its meaning. In particular, we overlook the spiritual wisdom, the gnosis the stories convey.

The birth of Jesus reveals we don’t need to go through any special ceremonies or ascend some sort of spiritual ladder to achieve Christ Consciousness. The light is within us all the time, ready to blaze into our lives just like the Christ child two millennia ago.

The esoteric teaching of the Christmas story is about the awakening of every human being and the completely different global society that awakening creates. It is a story of unabashed hope, because it means every life is of supreme importance.

The idea of God manifesting physically in all of us–no exceptions–is poetically conveyed in an early work by a sect of Sethian Gnostics:

Three Forms of First Thought (NHC XIII, 1)

Protennoia’s1 Identity as the Omnipresent Divine First Thought (35, 1– 32)

I am First Thought, the
thought that is in light.
I am movement that is in the All,
she in whom the All takes its stand,
the firstborn among those
who came to be,
she who exists before the All.

She is called by three names,
though she dwells alone,
since she is complete.

I am invisible within the thought of the invisible one,
although I am revealed in the immeasurable and the ineffable.
I am incomprehensible,
dwelling in the incomprehensible,
although I move in every creature.

I am the life of my Epinoia2
that is within every power
and every eternal movement,
and in invisible lights,
and within the rulers and angels and demons and every soul in Tartarus3,
and in every material soul.

I dwell in those who came to be.
I move in everyone and probe them all.
I walk upright, and those who sleep I awaken.
And I am the sight of those who are asleep.

I am the invisible one within the All.
I counsel those who are hidden,
since I know everything that exists in the All.
I am numberless beyond everyone.
I am immeasurable, ineffable,
yet whenever I wish, I shall reveal myself through myself.
I am the movement of the All.
I am before all, and I am all, since I am in everyone.

The Sethians are most likely the authors of this contemplation. They were a Gnostic movement that identified with the third son of Adam and Eve. We tend to group all Gnostic studies together, but there were a number of both “orthodox” and Gnostic schools. Before Irenaeus and his cronies decided to tell everyone what to believe—and enforce their belief system with the might of the Roman army—Christianity was creative, imaginative, and extremely mystical.

I’ve always found Christmas to be one of the most mystical times of the year. Lately, however, the season has become over-commercialized and so noisy I can’t hear myself think. Studying the ancient spiritual texts discovered at Nag Hammadi has rekindled “the magic of Christmas” for me.

So let’s rediscover all those Christmas movies, songs and stories that make us gasp with wonder at the ineffable intimate of the universe. Amen.

FOOTNOTES:

  1. Protennoia is “the thought” of the Creator, or “the first thought” that brings everything into existence. Sometimes also associated with salvation, but as one who awakens people to their true selves.
  2. Pastor M: God’s thought that awakens knowledge
  3. In ancient Greek mythology, Tartarus is a place where souls go to be judged after death—this is an important concept here, because the Gnostics are claiming that God exists even in the souls of the damned. This idea drove the orthodoxy insane.
The Scarcity of Community

The Scarcity of Community

The Scarcity of Community
As we head into the Thanksgiving holiday, many of our tables overflowing with more delectable dishes than we could consume in a lifetime, I’d like to present, well, some food for thought.

We waste a staggering amount of the planet’s natural resources, especially food. Countries like the U.S. and Great Britain carelessly discard nearly 50% of all our food (World Economic Forum). The numbers are even worse in industrialized Asia. Around the world, people are starving to death for absolutely no reason. Some voices loudly proclaim that the Earth is depleted of her natural resources, so there simply isn’t enough to go around. This is a lie. There is no scarcity of resources. There is a disheartening scarcity of compassion and community.

One would think an easy solution would be to move food from the places with an overabundance to those without, but the realities of the global food chain make this impossible. Global food production and distribution is directly tied to corporate profits and government regulations.

Farmers are subsidized by federal governments to produce or not produce food. Transportation of goods is regulated by complex trade agreements. Within the European Union, countries like Greece suffer because of rules that force quotas on imports, exports, and which crops types are allowed to be grown where. It’s a ludicrous system, almost as bad as the U.S. system of subsidies for sugar and corn. These are political subsidies that have nothing to do with feeding our people.

The EU and U.S. rules sustain a system that makes it difficult, if not impossible, for many people to eat. Moving unused food around is, well, not that easy at all. Like too much in our too bilateral world, food is political.

While we could discuss the inherent problems with Capitalist economics and its detrimental effects on the global food trade, I don’t believe Capitalism is the root of the problem. Unregulated, unfettered Capitalism isn’t helping our situation, but we will never change our economic systems unless we first change our hearts—and also the hearts of our politicians and CEOs. As long as we allow our manufacturers and distributors to concentrate solely on profit, without any sense of social conscience, we will continue to discard the precious food of life carelessly. The root of our food waste atrocity is that we have attached a value to everything we produce while simultaneously devaluing being human.

The fundamental problem causing the absurdity of simultaneous food overproduction and starvation is that products are now valued over people. Consequently, we have little or no sense of interconnectedness with human beings around the globe. Hell, we too often lack any connection within our own immediate families. This disconnectedness, ironic in a world more connected than ever, also coerces us into filling our garbage dumps with perfectly edible food that could eradicate death from malnourishment overnight.

To remedy this situation, which also affects carbon emissions and the health of our entire planet, we must change our mindset about the sharing and ownership of global resources. We need to think differently, and to do that we have a terrific example in the teachings of Jesus.

In the Second Testament, there is a miracle story about Jesus. It is the only miracle story that appears in all four Gospels, implying it was essential to Jesus’ early followers. It isn’t, however, a story about magic, as it has too often been misinterpreted. Instead, the story of the loaves and fishes is about community.

I’ll use the version found in John 6.1-15 (CEV) for reference:

Jesus crossed Lake Galilee, which was also known as Lake Tiberias. A large crowd had seen him work miracles to heal the sick, and those people went with him. It was almost time for the Jewish festival of Passover, and Jesus went up on a mountain with his disciples and sat down. When Jesus saw the large crowd coming toward him, he asked Philip, “Where will we get enough food to feed all these people?” He said this to test Philip, since he already knew what he was going to do. Philip answered, “Don’t you know that it would take almost a year’s wages just to buy only a little bread for each of these people?” 

Andrew, the brother of Simon Peter, was one of the disciples. He spoke up and said, “There is a boy here who has five small loaves of barley bread and two fish. But what good is that with all these people?” 

The ground was covered with grass, and Jesus told his disciples to have everyone sit down. About five thousand men were in the crowd. Jesus took the bread in his hands and gave thanks to God. Then he passed the bread to the people, and he did the same with the fish, until everyone had plenty to eat. 

The people ate all they wanted, and Jesus told his disciples to gather up the leftovers, so that nothing would be wasted. The disciples gathered them up and filled twelve large baskets with what was left over from the five barley loaves. 

After the people had seen Jesus work this miracle, they began saying, “This must be the Prophet who is to come into the world!” Jesus realized that they would try to force him to be their king. So he went up on a mountain, where he could be alone. 

What do you think the story about Jesus feeding 5,000 people with a couple of fish and some loaves of bread is about? The early church founders (at least, the orthodoxy, not the Gnostics) told people the story was about Jesus performing a miracle and revealing himself as a demigod to the audience.

However, if we dig more deeply, we discover that this parable, likely originally written by Mark based on stories circulating about Jesus, was never meant to prove that Jesus was anything other than incredibly compassionate. The parable of the loaves and fishes is intended to obliterate our human myth of scarcity.

Observe what the disciples say throughout this story: “There’s not enough to feed all these people.” “How will we afford enough to eat?” That’s the myth of scarcity. There isn’t enough! I better make sure I have what I need, and more in case we run out!

We still use those excuses today, don’t we? We hear stories all the time about the Earth’s depleting resources, so we hoard water and buy more food than we need and let it rot and spoil in our kitchens. But the idea the Earth has somehow stopped producing an abundance of food is simply not true. The Earth has plenty of resources. We just don’t use them wisely, and we certainly don’t use them as a community.

The truth, especially in industrialized societies, is that we’ve got more than enough food to feed everyone. There is no scarcity of food, which is why we’re throwing so much of it away.

What there is, however, is a scarcity of community.

We lack an expanded idea of family, especially an understanding that we are all one big global family, a community of communities, ever more reliant on one another. Community is Jesus’ point in the story of the loaves and fishes.

Those 5,000 people that showed up to see Jesus? He understood them as his brothers and sisters, nieces, nephews, and cousins, because he knew that God was the source of both his and their being. Jesus understood God as a God of abundance for everyone, no exceptions. This is important—Jesus trusted in our God of abundance to provide even when other people only saw lack and limitation.

This story is not about Jesus magically creating enough food for everyone out of thin air. If that had been the case, people would have relied on him for everything. He obviously doesn’t want this—that’s why he runs away when they try to make him their king. Rather, by sharing what seemed like a little, he transformed the hearts and minds of every person there, who then revealed they also had something to share.

One by one, as people began to feel the pull of God on their heartstrings, as they began to understand that abundance is God’s way, as they began to see each other as a community, there was not only enough to feed everyone, but there was also plenty left over, which was promptly redistributed. This idea of redistribution of resources was deeply embedded in the Jewish people of the era, by the way, and Jewish people are who Jesus was speaking to at this time (and we must always remember, that Jesus was a good and faithful Jew himself).

For thousands of years before Jesus, the Jewish people understood the land and its resources as the property of God. The idea of private, personal property was anathema to them until forced on their culture by outside influencers. Yet, even in Jesus’ era, the idea that the abundance of the planet was God’s and God’s alone was prevalent. Jesus reminds them of this when he blesses what at first seems to be a couple of fish and loaves of bread.

The miracle of this story is that Jesus creates a community out of a bunch of hungry strangers by reminding them that God is abundant and that scarcity is a myth obliterated by community. There’s no need to hoard and waste; better to share what we have and let God refill us, than to let our resources rot and fester in the grotesque landfills of fear and neglect.

For as our food rots, so too does our soul.

How do we respond to this myth of scarcity and lack of community today? What can we possibly do to change a globally systemic problem that’s only worsened since Jesus’ time?

I suggest we do what Jesus demands from his followers and embrace each other as a global community—no matter our belief system, skin color, gender or sexual preference. We can support food pantries like our Food Angels program. We can support the Coalition of Immokalee Workers and the Fair Food program here in Collier County, Florida, both of which are affecting very real changes nationwide. We can come together after natural disasters and give our food, clothing, time, talent and money to each other, as this faith community did (and continues to do) after Hurricane Irma.

But most importantly, we need to be extremely vocal about implementing and living the alternative, equitable, just and compassionate world Jesus reveals. To do that we must rely on and trust that God’s love is abundant and universal, and will fill our cups every time we empty them, especially when it’s for another divinely beloved human being.

May your Thanksgiving holidays be blessed with the universal, unconditional love of God, and may we, in turn, bless each other, now and always. Amen.

Hope’s Path

Hope’s Path

Eleven-year-old Hope flew down the brownstone stairs and bounced outside, the formidable wooden front doors slamming closed behind her like the resounding retort of a canon. The crashing of the doors echoed off the graffiti-and-ivy covered walls of her little Roosevelt Park neighborhood. A few tourists ducked. Locals didn’t flinch. They were used to this many-times-daily occurrence, the thunder of a closing door that meant Hope was on her way.

She took the weight of her name very seriously. “It isn’t a coincidence, you know—my name, Mom,” Hope once remarked. “Of course it isn’t, sweetheart! We named you after your great-grandmother.” Hope smiled, but her mom didn’t understand. Hope was more than just a name, a deterministic label like “rock” or “puddle.” Hope wasn’t just her name. It was her calling. Hope had a duty, and she knew that from the first moment she realized she could know anything.

Cheerily, Hope said, “Good morning, Mrs. Ferguson,” as she raced past her next-door neighbor’s porch. Mrs. Ferguson, weathered but merry after a lifetime of battles large and small, waved and struggled to get out of her chair. “You don’t need to get up,” Hope said. “I’m late for school! I’ll come visit this afternoon!” And she zoomed on. Mrs. Ferguson chuckled and gently sat back down, Hope’s boundless energy filling her with memories of the days when she too bounced off the fences, trees, phone booths and bus benches that lined their streets.

Hope stopped sprinting just long enough to grab her homemade bag lunch from the counter at Maxie’s Corner market. “Thanks, Maxie! I’ll be back later!” Hope yelled as she streaked in a blur of light through another door. Maxie was an old friend of the family. When Hope’s dad died last year, Maxie and his family took care of Hope every day while her mom worked. Maxie was a funny little man, the fourth generation of a family of Jewish immigrants who had always lived in this neighborhood. Maxie laughed and shouted, “Watch where you’re going, Hope! You’re going to run someone over!”

As she tore a light-speed path toward school, Hope greeted the rest of her neighbors, making her morning rounds like a doctor visiting patients. She smiled and shouted, “Hello, Mr. Oberlin! Good Morning, Ms. Stitch! What’s up, Bill? I’ll be back to visit later!” Her friends laughed as they watched Hope blaze by.

She made it to school just as the bell started ringing. With one last burst of energy, she whooshed through the classroom doors and slid into her seat. “Nice to see you, Hope!” Mrs. Sanchez joked. “Good to see you too, Mrs. Sanchez!” Hope replied. “I got a late start today.”

Mrs. Sanchez knew that I got a late start meant Hope’s mom was falling into depression again. She was probably home in bed; the covers pulled over her head, the blinds shut tightly in an attempt to hide (and hide from) the universe. Mrs. Sanchez feigned cheerfulness. “That’s okay, Hope, you made it!” Hope smiled with an honest cheer that lit Mrs. Sanchez’s heart. Hope was just being herself. It was remarkable to witness.

As the children settled into their lessons, Hope’s mind began to wander. She was troubled by her mother’s profound grief. Try as she might, when her mom got like this, there was no breaking her free from the sharp talons of an attacking raptor of melancholy. If Hope wasn’t careful, the bird would consume her, too. It was during these bouts of darkness that Hope felt least like her name. A tear rolled down her cheek. “Mrs. Sanchez?” she asked, “may I go to the bathroom, please? I’ll be back in a minute.”

Hope wiped her eyes with a wad of toilet paper and sat cross-legged style on the toilet seat—not so much to hide, as to not be bothered. She’d been on the brink here before and knew she needed to work through this or risk becoming lost. Despair was like Hope’s evil twin. She came out when Hope was overwhelmed—when she couldn’t say one more cheerful hello; when she didn’t feel like promising to be right back; when she just wanted to crawl under the blanket with her mother and shut the world off.

Hope worked hard not to become Despair. She was pretty good at staying light, but there were times when she felt empty. Not just out of gas, but thoroughly depleted,  a void in the universe. Maybe she took her name too seriously. Then she wondered whether her survival was even possible with a different name, like Betty or Jane. Plain Jane, she thought. That would be a nice name. Plain Jane. Instead of always being chipper, she could just be plain. Hope didn’t think “Plain Jane” was insulting at all. Plain meant regular, maybe even normal. Her life hadn’t been even close to normal since—well, since ever. And I’m only 11! She thought.

After a couple of moments, Hope took a deep breath and went back to class. She sat at her desk and focused on the day’s work. After school, she’d likely entertain Despair some more, but her twin would have to wait for now.

Sure enough, Despair joined Hope for her walk home. “Are you really going to stop to see everyone on the way home?” Despair chided. “They probably don’t want you to come by anyway, you know. You think everyone has time for your little visits? Ignore them. Come home to your Mother and me. We’re waiting for you, Hope! Hope? Are you paying attention to me?”

Hope heard what Despair was saying and did her best to ignore it. Hope knew that if she remained focused on Despair, she’d be sucked into the same black hole as her mother. And one of them needed to keep it together. If she wanted to rescue her mom from the darkness, Hope had to remain true to her name, her calling. She did this by remembering something Despair had helped her figure out years ago: people never lose hope. They’ll do everything they can to get rid of Despair, but even in her asphyxiating grip, people never wholly lose hope. That’s why every day on her way to school, Hope always said hello to Maxie, Mrs. Ferguson, Stitch and Bill, and everyone else in the neighborhood. That’s why she stopped for lemonade with Mrs. Ferguson on her way home; why she helped Maxie stock the shelves after school, why she listened to Bill’s tall tales. Being surrounded by her community lifted her spirits and gave her the energy to lift theirs in return. Hope is an eternal cycle of giving.

Energized by this realization, Hope sprinted the rest of the way home and bounded up the stairs into the brownstone; it’s massive doors once again booming shut behind her, alerting the neighborhood to Hope’s presence. She zoomed into her mother’s room, jumped into bed with her, hugged her tightly and said, “Hey mom, I’m home! It’s time to wake up!”

 

Sinners and Saints

Sinners and Saints


Saints and Sinners by Claudio Delgado.
http://cubanartbeat.com/product/claudia-delgado-23-5-x-31-5-painting-on-canvas-7/

Sinners and Saints

In practically any dictionary of The Bible, a saint is defined as someone “distinct because of their relationship with God.” In the ancient Jewish tradition (in Psalms 31.23 and 148.14, e.g.) the word “saint,” like so many ancient Hebrew words, has more than one meaning. For Jesus’ ancestors, a saint was someone who had an intimate, covenantal relationship with God and was also specially chosen for and dedicated to God’s service.

People were considered saints during their lifetimes—the way most of us found Mother Theresa a saint during hers. In our era, we tend to think of saints as these perfect, flawless, selfless characters, just like Jesus. But that imagery is, while not wrong, at least incomplete. Jesus never refers to himself as perfect. He never even refers to himself as God. Jesus is always “the son of man” (Mark 2.28, Mark 14,62, Acts 7.56, Luke 19.1, et al.). Furthermore, Jesus loses his temper, just like us. He gets frightened about his calling, just like us. He frets about whether or not he’s good enough for God’s love, just like us. If we think of Jesus as a saint and ourselves as unworthy sinners, we miss one of Jesus’ most important teachings: we’re not perfect, and that’s okay.

In the Second Testament, Paul uses the term “saints” to refer to the body of Christian believers set apart from the rest of the world (e.g., 1 Corinthians 6.2). He does this intentionally, recalling his beloved stories in Exodus when God makes the people Israel “God’s people.”

By referring to all the people in his church as saints, Paul brings the Gentiles into God’s covenant, something he thinks is his duty to Jesus Christ. By the definition of his Jewish heritage, Paul is a saint—set apart by his intimate relationship with the Christ to serve the people of God. Paul believes he is called to accomplish this by convincing everyone to follow Jesus, whether they’re Jew or Gentile, free or slave, male or female, rich or poor.

But Paul was not always this beacon of light and love, this sanctified saver of souls. In fact, Paul’s exploits as Saul are famously recounted in Acts, and in Paul’s own letters, where he confesses that he committed atrocities against his Jewish brothers and sisters simply because they were followers of Jesus.

In The Bible, we read that Paul was “zealous” for the blood of Jesus’ followers early on, until his epiphany on the road from Damascus. He has a “conversion experience.” Conversion in this instance is not a change from one religion to another—Paul always stays a faithful Jew—but a transformation from one state of being (purely human) to another (one inspired by a more intimate relationship with God).

The same is true for St. Augustine, the founder of modern Catholicism. By his own account, in his autobiographical Confessions, he was a debauched, lecherous, gambling, whoring, thieving human being. He was also a brilliant scholar and orator who had an incredible breadth of knowledge about the world religions of his time. Eventually, through his relationship with Ambrose, eventual bishop of Milan and Catholic Saint himself, Augustine was led to his own conversion experience. Late one evening, Augustine hears a child’s voice, which he takes as a sign from God. The voice tells Augustine to read Paul’s letter to the Romans, chapter 13:13-14:

Let us live honorably as in the day, not in reveling and drunkenness, not in debauchery and licentiousness, not in quarreling and jealousy. Instead, put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires. 

Paul’s sentiment hit the hard-partying Augustine hard. In his Confessions, Augustine recounted that after reading this passage, he had a mystical experience that changed the way he acted on this Earth, here and now. Augustine went from sinner to saint, one could say. He waxes eloquently about his conversion:

Late have I loved Thee, O Lord; and behold,
Thou wast within and I without, and there I sought Thee.
Thou was with me when I was not with Thee.
Thou didst call, and cry, and burst my deafness.
Thou didst gleam, and glow, and dispell my blindness.
Thou didst touch me, and I burned for Thy peace.
For Thyself Thou hast made us,
And restless our hearts until in Thee they find their ease.
Late have I loved Thee, Thou Beauty ever old and ever new.

It’s a beautiful account of a changed heart, mind, and soul. Unfortunately, it led Augustine to horrifically misinterpret much of the Bible and conclude that all people are born sinners (the Doctrine of Original Sin begins with Augustine).

And here’s where the trouble distinguishing between “saint” and “sinner” begins as well: we are all neither and both saint and sinner. Like so many of our faith struggles, the ultimate answer to whether or not we’re sinners or saints is “both/and.” When we talk about the kingdom of God, it is “both/and”—already here yet always coming. It’s the same with Jesus, who we consider already in our hearts yet also always breaking into the world.

I think it’s interesting that two of the greatest Christian thinkers were both self-proclaimed “sinners” before discovering the Oneness with God that Jesus teaches is our birthright. It begs the question, is sin inevitable for us to recognize a change in our lives? And if we answer positively, then why do we think sin is such a bad thing? So bad, in fact, that sin can damn us to hell for all eternity?

It’s an unfortunate byproduct of Augustine’s theology that the majority of Christians for most of Christian history, have worried more about their reward in heaven than acting like Jesus in the here and now. Consequently, in order to guarantee a spot in “The Good Place” (because nobody wants to go “down there to The Bad Place”!), we run through all sorts of psychological machinations. We sometimes pay massive sums of money, we say prayers, we ask forgiveness, we confess, just like Augustine and Paul. And I promise you they were both much crueler in their lifetimes than most of us could even imagine! Still, here we are today, calling both of them saints. God’s transformative power in action.

In honor of these two pioneers of Christian thought, I have a confession of my own: I am a human being. I’m not perfect; I’m just striving to do my best. On this point I agree with Paul: we who believe Jesus shows a more divinely humane way to be human are all saints because we are striving to live more authentically our God connectedness here and now. Our most ancient definition of sainthood as one who is both intimately connected to God, and compelled to live that connection here on earth, turns out to be valuable ancient wisdom.

I am in the camp of theologians who believe that it’s all good. We may be saints or sinners on this planet for this brief period in a universe that’s billions and billions of years old. Ultimately, though, we all end up back in God’s loving embrace, part and parcel of the very being of God, who is never separated from us, whether we’re gambling at the craps table or preaching on a Sunday morning. And I’ve done both. I actually have a craps game running in the back room right now.

Just kidding.

But being human means accepting we’re flawed and knowing that God is okay with that.

There’s a terrific series on NBC called “The Good Place,” in which Kristen Bell ends up in Heaven even though she’s been a pretty terrible person. A cover-up of sorts ensues, in which she tries to change so she doesn’t get sent to “The Bad Place.” It’s funny, but it’s also a brilliantly conceived device that helps us get over our preconceived notions about sinners and saints. Sure, good people go to Heaven. That’s all fine and good. But what makes God genuinely amazing, truly worthy of loving and following, is that even those we incorrectly perceive as “bad” people end up in “The Good Place”. And I know that’s difficult for humans to understand, and I know some of you are thinking about Hitler right now. So again, I emphasize that it’s God’s embrace of even the worst of us that makes God, God, and the fact we have a difficult time wrapping our minds around that idea which makes us human.

Ultimately, I believe that’s all that’s asked of us: to be human; to embrace our humanity by understanding that we are created from and in the divine cosmic consciousness. And there is absolutely no sin in that.

Intersect 8-30-17

Intersect 8-30-17

Quantum Entanglement
I’m fascinated by the intersection of quantum mechanics (the study of subatomic systems) and faith. I’ve written about string theory before, and the implication that everything that exists—every steak on the grill we smell and every soul-penetrating song we hear—is a vibration of God. The physical world is an emanation of the God frequency. God is the sound that started the universe. God is our infinite song of sustenance.

Quantum mechanics helps me integrate faith and science. Science is biblical for me. I believe that by revealing the mysteries of the universe, science also reveals something of the nature of God. Understanding science as more than just the laws of nature helps people of faith maintain a healthy, contemporary, and relevant image of God and God’s activity in the world.

In the quantum world, I have discovered interesting ways to imagine not only the nature of God, but also God’s infrastructure, if you will—how God is active in our world without being manipulative.  For me, if God is going to be an active force in the world, then the way God acts has to make sense with our current understanding of the natural world.

For example, we know God doesn’t “cause” floods or create diseasem because we understand natural weather patterns, the existence of bacteria and viruses, the properties of electromagnetics, gravity and the time-space continuum. For a great majority of us, God can no longer be the super-being of our ancestors (and unfortunately, many of our contemporaries) floating somewhere in outer space, manipulating and micromanaging every little detail of our lives.

But most of us who believe in God also believe God is personal. Certainly, Jesus’ message was of an intimate God, a God of unconditional love nearer than our own breath. If that is so, then how does God work? If I accept and understand scientific ideas about the workings of the universe, then where is God if God isn’t literally pulling our strings and pushing our buttons?

This is where the idea of quantum entanglement provides some good spiritual insight. Entanglement is how I think God works in the universe—not on this large-scale level, pointing “his” finger and creating floods when God is pissed, or crying out rainbows when God is happy. No, God “works” on a sub-molecular, subatomic, extremely tiny but entirely pervasive level. God is personal because God is every one of the trillions and trillions of atoms that together form an individual. We are entangled with the very substance of God, because every molecule in our physical body is connected to God in a way we are only just beginning to discover.

We are connected to God on a quantum level. We are entangled with God—physically, spiritually, mentally.

We all know what being entangled means, correct? Like the braids of a rope, all twisted together, or if you’re me, every time you try to untie a shoelace, it’s so entangled that it might be easier to torch it than untie it.

In the quantum world, there is a bizarre activity known as “quantum entanglement.” Scientists have discovered that pairs—or even groups—of particles form into connected (entangled) systems. That means the state of one of the particles—the way it’s spinning and its polarity, for example, cannot be determined unless the entire group is figured out. And if one particle in the group changes, the others automatically update to maintain their connection.

For example, if there are two entangled particles, one will always spin up and the other will always spin down. It’s balance. So, if we mess with these particles by, say, changing the spin of one, then the other will automatically adjust to maintain the connection.

Now, here’s the really cool thing, the phenomenon that causes me to believe this is God in action: Experiments have proven that this connectivity—this entanglement between molecules, occurs even if the particles are separated by thousands of miles!

Do you get that?  Two particles that are entangled REMAIN entangled even when separated by great distances. Let’s say I have a spin-up particle in Florida and its entangled spin-down particle is in Oregon. If I change the spin of the Florida particle, the particle in Oregon will immediately adjust.

Here’s another mind-blower—there’s no delay in the adjustment. It’s as if the information between the two particles is traveling faster than light. It’s instantaneous information transmission.

Quantum entanglement. To me, it implies a much deeper human connection than we’ve imagined. The molecules that make us who we are also connect us to each other, via the fundamental of God. We are entangled at a subatomic level through God, to all creation.

Need proof? Pray. If you’ve ever prayed for anyone, or received prayer from others, you have experienced quantum entanglement. Think about the way you’ve felt when being prayed for. There is an obvious and palpable energy flow—even if the people praying for you are thousands of miles away. Prayer works because we are entangled beings—entangled at the most basic level of matter, sub-atomically.

Let me tell you how that translates into the real world for me, and why I think quantum entanglement has implications for prayer.

While I was away in sabbatical, I felt your prayers. I didn’t just know you were praying for me, there were moments—many of them, that I was brought to tears because I was so overwhelmed by love. Love I KNEW came from you all and everyone praying for me before my double hip-replacement surgery.

I know many of you have had similar prayer experiences. Whether praying for someone or receiving prayer, you’ve felt the energy exchange. Doesn’t that feel like God to you, God connecting us, working through us, at the very core of our being?

So, how does that happen? How can I be comforted while thousands of miles away? How can we not only sense but actually feel with every fibre of our being, this healing, loving, comforting energy being sent from thousands of miles away?

Quantum entanglement.

At our most basic level of being, where atoms are working together to form human beings, we are entangled with God energy, and that God energy connects us with every other thing on the planet—not just with other humans, by the way, but with everything.

If we open our minds and allow our senses to be filled with the unexpected, we will sense God pulsing through all of creation, from the tiniest speck of sand on the beach to the most majestic Elephants of India; through you and me; through friend and foe. It is a feeling that reveals the lunacy of seeing foes and the lightness of being.

We are entangled not only as a congregation, or groups of friends, but at a molecular level with everything that exists in the universe, everything seen and unseen, everything known and yet to be discovered. All those bazillions of particles that make us the individuals we are? Those particles are entangled. They’re communicating with each other on a level we might never fully understand, but can comprehend as God talk.

Maybe we people of faith should call the quantum world “The God Level.” There’s communication going on between us—between all things, truly. We receive it all the time, but only perceive it when we’re paying attention, or are so overwhelmed by the loving energy sent by a group of people keeping us in their prayers that we can’t help but understand it as God in action.

Prayer is powerful because it’s the way we communicate on the God Level. Prayer takes advantage of our entanglement and keeps us all in sync, spinning in the direction of God, which harmonizes the universe.

I know we’re all feeling the stress of the world right now, and I know we’re praying to God to make things better. I offer the idea of God as molecular energy in the hope that your prayer life will become even more focused and deeply connected to the loving energy of the universe, and that thinking of God as the smallest of the small will bring you peace, joy, and comfort, even as you transmit peace, joy, and comfort to the rest of the world.

Your thoughts make a difference, because we are an entangled species.

Amen.