Gathering Voices: Faithful Conversations from The Thoughtful Christian

Spiritual Practices: A Way to Control God? Part 3

A Gathering Voices post by Lynne M. Baab

I’ve written the past two weeks (here and here) about William Willimon’s recent attack on spiritual practices in his chapter in the wonderful book, A Spiritual Life, edited by Allan Hugh Cole, Jr. I think Willimon’s chapter should be considered required reading for anyone teaching, preaching or writing about spiritual practices. Willimon lays out significant arguments – which I disagree with but take seriously – that need to be addressed when we advocate patterns of Bible study, prayer, fasting, Sabbath keeping, etc.

Willimon describes an interaction with a Hindu student that occurred when he was the dean of the chapel at Duke. This student complained about the way a professor talked about Hinduism in a course on world religions. The professor, the student said, described Hinduism as a set of rather dull ideas, while in reality Hinduism entails a complex set of eating practices – involving even smells – which are virtually incomprehensible to outsiders (p. 225)

I have had similar conversations about Hinduism and other religions in my department. For the past four years, I have been teaching in a “theology and religion” department in a New Zealand university, where Christian theology, Biblical studies and Church history are taught alongside courses on many of the world’s religions. To my shame, before I joined this department I knew very little about the religions of the world beyond the Abrahamic traditions of Christianity, Judaism and Islam. Because Christianity has creeds in which we affirm what we believe, I assumed most other religions had at least some credal elements. I have come to understand that many religions are self-defined more by practices than by belief systems.

Departmental seminars, reading groups and conversations with my colleagues have stimulated a lot of thinking about the role of practices in various religions, and thus also the role of practices in Christian life. Willimon’s chapter came at a good time for me, continuing my reflection on this question. I agree with Willimon that none of our actions earn us God’s approval or love. This God, whom we worship and serve, loves us beyond all comprehension. In Christ, this God breaks into human life. Through the Holy Spirit, this God speaks to us, encounters us, shapes us, transforms us and empowers us. We cannot make the Holy Spirit do anything.

God is amazing, and yes, God is untamable and wild. We should never stop being open to unexpected encounters with this amazing God. In fact, God is always the initiator. God reaches out to us as our Creator, as our Redeemer in Jesus Christ and as our Sustainer through the Holy Spirit. Therefore, any action we take as an attempt to draw near to God has to be viewed as a response to the initiative God has already taken.

And yet I still affirm that Christian practices have great significance in transforming us and enabling us to hear God’s wild, untamable Word to us. I believe spiritual practices make space for us to encounter and hear this God who is already with us and in us and speaking to us. And I believe spiritual disciplines – with the emphasis on the word discipline – help us to embrace the structures and habits that shape our characters more into the image of Christ. Spiritual disciplines are a means by which we respond to God’s call, and they in turn open us to God’s further action in our lives. Spiritual disciplines are a reflection of the work of the Holy Spirit in us. Surely someone who is being transformed into Christ’s image would desire to do the same kinds of things Jesus did – and Jesus fasted, drew near to his Father in prayer, and went to the Synagogue on the Sabbath day. Why would we do anything less? As we grow in Christ-likeness, we can expect we will also grow in having the right motives for those actions.

Review: "What's the Least I Can Believe and Still Be a Christian?"

I work with 20-30 somethings who are not connected to a faith community. Many books published by denominational publishing houses are, well, nice for me to read but not particularly applicable to my work as a mission developer. Martin Thielen’s new book, however, is spot-on for those interested in the Christian faith but skeptical of its tenants.

In "What’s the Least I Can Believe and Still Be a Christian: A Guide to What Matters Most,” Thielen uses a conversational style to walk a seeker through what matters -- and what doesn’t. More a Christian appetizer than a main course, Thielen employs the sensitivity and seasoned story-telling of an experienced pastor.

The book is in two parts. Part one is “Ten Things Christians Don’t Need to Believe.” Topics Thielen includes tend to be extremes held by conservative Christians such as beliefs in a literal six-day creation story, that women cannot be preachers, and a “rapture” view of the end of the world. Part two is the flip-side, “Ten Things Christians Do Need to Believe.” Thielen uses the person of Jesus to organize this section as each chapter begins with Jesus -- Jesus’ Identity, Jesus’ Grace, Jesus’ Example, Jesus’ Death, etc.

As a pastor in the PC(USA), I found the book both approachable and perfectly congruent with my theology. Thielen dabbled in more conservative circles early in his career but is now Senior Pastor of Lebanon First United Methodist Church in Tennessee. The book would be appropriate for all mainline protestant denominations.

In the opening pages, Thielen tells the story of how over many months he mentored an atheist, who later turned agnostic, and after many meetings with Thielen, eventually professed faith in Christ. I took the book to be sort of a companion piece to such conversations with folks who are both skeptical of and curious about Christianity. As that, I think the book works quite well.

It left me lacking in some senses, however. First, I grew tired of Thielen’s use of stories to illustrate his points. After a few chapters I felt overcome with cute almost kitschy illustrations and wanting more meat, more willingness to take-on the historical and theological aspects of each chapter. Second, I know it’s difficult to address (especially considering Thielen’s intended audience may be completely unchurched) but I felt like the reliance of movie references and other people’s illustrative stories overshadowed some core theological claims of Christianity like, the Bible is the word of God, what is a creed, and that we are called to respond to God’s love. It’s hard to explain, but when reading, several times I felt more gooey than educated or convicted. I’m not the intended audience, however, so read on.

WJK Books has a handy study guide and suggested 7-week course to help congregations to enjoy the book together. It’s difficult to find a book that would work for an entire congregation to read and study together, so Thielen does well to fit the bill. As studies have shown, mainline Christians these days are increasingly Biblically illiterate and what once were flash points of the faith are becoming mere footnotes to feel good religion. What’s the Least I Can Believe and Still Be a Christian might serve for some as a helpful starting point for theological conversation. For more details and to buy a copy, check out it’s WJK page by clicking here.

A 21st Century Creed

A Gathering Voices post by Erin Lane

Teenagers are model rebels; they are also deceptively faithful.

My husband, Rush, works with these punky pubescents for a living. He’s a youth pastor (God bless him, as the southerners say) who funds my writing habit by spending Sunday through Thursday talking to middle and high school students about God, Glee, and video games. Although I’m under a self-imposed ban from volunteering with them, I love their chutzpah, their moxie, the panache with which they grab life’s balls and boobs.

Rush is always trying to sneak feminism in on them. Not like feminism has to be snuck in like a sweaty Zima at the school dance, but he alludes to God as both male and female like it’s ordinary, orthodox Christianity. Because it is, or should be.

We're meeting in Dallas this week for his former youth director's wedding. A few years ago, he invited Josh to lead worship at a weekend-long retreat. Tall and obsessively lanky, Josh was an actor living in Denver at the time and working intermittedly at Starbucks for the benefits.

I call Josh a feminist, too, because I haven’t met a theater-nerd who wasn’t one. He wears an earring, swears in ravenously funny moments, and isn’t afraid of hugging me real tight.

 At the retreat, he plays this song by The Michael Gungor Band. If you’re someone who always laments about how Christian music is hopped up on crap and cheese, listen to Gungor. Josh gets the teens singing this song they adore where they get to say things like lesbians and Pat Robertson in the same breath and call it worship.

 It starts:

            “God is not a man.”

            “God is a not a white man.”

            “God is not a man sitting on a cloud.”

The youth are loving it. And then they get to the chorus, this feel good, yell out your lungs chorus and it says, “But God is good, God is good, and He loves everyone.”

The masculine pronoun hangs there. It’s wrong. It’s awkward in its simplicity of a complex God who is not a man, nor white, nor fanny down on a cloud.

But here’s where I marvel, here’s where I envy the brilliant sparkly minds Rush gets to prick. They figure it out. They figure it doesn’t fit. 

And then like the little faithful Christians that they are, some of them start screaming “But God is good, God is good, and she! loves everyone.” It’s this bloody mess now. Some are singing he and some are singing she but it doesn’t matter and everyone’s smiling and everyone’s worshipping this big, big God who is oh, so good.

They end happily and doctrinally intact with my favorite line, “Oh, whoa, la la la la la la la la la la la.”

This is their 21^st century creed.

What's yours?

 

The Alamo Drafthouse, Texting, and Christian Responses

A Gathering Voices Post by Greg Garrett

A few weeks ago, my favorite hometown theater, the Alamo Drafthouse (named by Entertainment Weekly as the best movie theater in America) did something they have been doing since they instituted their strict no-talking rule in 1997: They kicked a patron out for texting during the movie. Before each show the chain runs a funny but extremely clear public service announcement about theater etiquette. If you talk or text during the movie and ignore your one warning, you will be asked to leave. (This one with the late great Governor Ann Richards is representative of these PSAs, smart, funny, and a little rude.) And so, this occasion, now known around the world as "She texted. We kicked her out."

This particular twenty-something didn't take her ejection well. She'd had, it appears, a little to drink, and wanted to articulate a human rights manifesto that she should be allowed to do whatever she wanted whenever she wanted in these "Magnited States of America." So she left a rambling message on the Alamo's voicemail--which the theater promptly turned into a new PSA and posted on YouTube (where the censored and uncensored versions have received over four million views), creating a sensation that swept the nation. The story made traditional media--it was reported in Salon, Entertainment Weekly, and many other places--and Anderson Cooper said on CNN that Tim League, the Drafthouse's founder and CEO, was a great American hero who deserved the Nobel Peace Prize.

Now obviously many of us who love movies were--like Anderson--pleased that a tiny victory had been won for etiquette, courtesy, and concentration. As Entertainment Weekly wrote in response to the girl's rant, "the light on your cellphone IS a distraction for those seated around you, no matter what kind of movie you’re watching (popcorn or Oscar contender), how bad it is, or how quickly you can move your thumbs. And to this caller, who says she’s texted in every other theater in Austin and no one minded--they did."

Like many Austinites, I posted the story and the video to my Facebook status as another bona fide of Austin's cool. The Alamo rocks! But as this thing was going viral, a friend asked me on FB what seemed like a pertinent question, is, damn it, THE pertinent question: "WWJD?"

Her concern in particular was the embarrassment to this girl, who admittedly both broke the rules and is not, let's say, the sharpest tool in the shed. But, my friend wondered, did that give the Alamo the right to embarrass her further, as she surely would be when she's identified? Wouldn't it have been better to hire an actress, say, instead of using her actual voicemail? Wouldn't that be a more Jesus-y thing to do than celebrate her idiocy?

What would Jesus do? I think some people assume that Jesus would roll his eyes, sigh, and sit patiently, because Jesus is just that nice. But I think the Gospels give us plenty of examples of Jesus confronting people with their misunderstandings or their bad behavior. He would have done so gently with this girl (unlike the Alamo and its PSAs), but he would have done so.

Still, I think my friend is right--as funny and perhaps fitting as it is to hoist this girl on her own drunken petard, it's not compassionate, it's not gentle, and it's not intended to bring reconciliation.

Desperate for a quiet movie date at the Alamo with my beloved, I ducked the question, saying that Jesus is not recorded to have attended movies. But for the record--and perhaps as punishment for my mealy-mouthed response--I was shushed at our showing of Tree of Life for wondering aloud why the hell there were dinosaurs in a Brad Pitt movie.

I'm just glad they didn't kick me out and turn me into a PSA.

What do you think? Are you fed up with people's bad public behavior? What is a viable Christian response to such behavior?

Penguins, Toddlers and Momma-God

 

A Gathering Voices Post by Lara Blackwood Pickrel

 

When I lived in Texas, I had a friend whose wife was a zookeeper for the educational branch of the local zoo.  In other words, she cared for all the animals that were taken to schools in the area or shown to children on field trips.  One day when the zoo was closed, she got permission to bring us into the education building so that we could meet the animals under her care.  It was an amazing day - we "met" and played with animals ranging from an armadillo to a falcon (we got to take turns wearing the falconer's glove and everything!).  But despite all the excitement that afternoon, what sticks with me the most are the penguins. 

When we arrived at the education building, the first thing our friend did was let the penguins out of their cage - and instead of darting this way or that, they fell into line behind her.  For the rest of the day, no matter where we went in that building, there they were: three juvenile penguins in a line behind the zookeeper.  She was the momma.

This week I'm on a mission trip with some of our middle school girls - and I was reminded of that scene while we served at Kindercottage, an inclusionary child development center in East St. Louis, Illinois.  We spent a full day serving as extra playmates for the children at the center, and most all of those minutes and hours were spent working and playing hard and fast.  Go, Go, Go.  Yet, in the midst of all that frenetic activity, every so often one of the women working with the toddlers would walk through a room...and her toddlers, wobbly but determined, would follow her no matter where she went.  As they reminded me with bubbling words, for several hours each day she was the momma.

On the face of it, penguins, toddlers and a walk of faith don't have much to do with each other.  Different species, different subjects.  But in one of those odd glimpses of grace (thank you, Madeleine L'Engle!), it hit me:  at some point or another we are all toddlers or penguins, wobbling into place behind the Momma and trusting that wherever She leads we can follow.  Eventually, the risk of moving forward or trying something new is completely overshadowed by the urgent desire to fall in line behind Momma God - and it is in those daring, shaky, risky moments that we grow. 

So today, I'm hoping God will make me more like a penguin - that I might follow with determination, even when I wobble...

Spiritual Practices: A Way to Control God? Part 2

A Gathering Voices Post by Lynne M. Baab  

I wrote last week about William Willimon’s recent attack on spiritual practices, in his chapter in a wonderful book edited by Allan Hugh Cole, Jr., A Spiritual Life. I want to continue responding to Willimon’s arguments. 

In their landmark 1989 book, Resident Aliens, and in its sequel, Where Resident Aliens Live: Exercises for Christian Practice, William Willimon and Stanley Hauerwas presented a powerful and radical way of looking at Christian communal life, using images from the Old Testament about aliens who are resident in a community. In his chapter in A Spiritual Life, Willimon says he has come to regret the strong emphasis in the second book on “the necessity for Christians to develop practices commensurate with the peculiar demands of Christian discipleship” (p. 223). 

Willimon believes that the many books on Christian spiritual practices extol the virtues of those practices quite apart from God. In fact, he notes, an emphasis on practices can provide a way to avoid talking about God and to defend ourselves against God’s unexpected and disconcerting interruptions into our lives. We know God and experience God’s presence only as a gift from God, always as revelation, not primarily because of what we do. He believes the emphasis today on spiritual practices stands in a long line of attempts to live life on our terms. 

I strongly disagree with Willimon’s perspective here. I’ve written books on sabbath keeping and fasting, and my interviewees for both books talked enthusiastically about the way that those practices help them meet God in fresh, unexpected ways. People who fast regularly (from food or from other things) told me that they usually go into a fast with specific prayer requests. As they pray for those requests over the course of the fast, God speaks to them, sometimes helping them change the way they pray for the same request, and sometimes bringing to mind new things to pray for. People who fast say that one of the biggest blessings of fasting is the unexpected way God meets them and lets them experience the hugeness and awesomeness of who God is and what God does. They say that fasting helps them live life on God’s terms, not on their own terms.

I fast only in small, occasional ways, but when I do, I have been overwhelmed by the bigness of God and my own need for God. Fasting is humbling and powerful, not at all an attempt to live life on my own terms. The same is true of Sabbath keeping. My husband and I lived in Israel when we were young adults, and we came back to the United States with a commitment to keeping a Sabbath every week. Not because we wanted to earn God’s approval. Not because we thought it showed we were devoted or holy in some way. We had experienced the Sabbath as a gift in Israel, and we wanted to continue to receive that gift.

More than anything else I’ve done, the Sabbath has helped me experience God’s grace at a deep, profound level.  Thirty years of keeping a Sabbath have impressed in my heart that God is God and I’m not. In fact, the wild untameable God that Willimon believes we ignore when we engage in spiritual practices has become more real to me through Sabbath keeping, and my life has been changed because of our Sabbath practice.

Maybe my interviewees for my books, and maybe my own exerience of fasting and the sabbath, represent the best possible experiences. Maybe there are people who engage in those practices, or other ones, with the motive of proving something about themselves to God or with the desire to keep their relationship with God under their own control. And maybe all of us have mixed motives to some extent. But I think Willimon hasn't listened to people who have engaged in spiritual practices long term and who talk about the fresh and unexpected ways they have met God.

New youth study on tattoos

A Gathering Voices post by Adam Copeland

To tattoo or not to? That is the question. At least it is for many folks these days. Some estimate that approaching 40% of people under 40 have tattoos. While I don’t have one, many of my friends do -- of crosses, words (in English, Hebrew, and Greek), Bible verses, logos. In fact, I almost feel left out. So, a few months back I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to write the study, “Tattoos. A Good Idea?” for The Thoughtful Christian. It’s recently out and available for download. Here’s a few reflections on the project.

First, I did some research via social media and as to why folks got their tattoos, and what significance they have. That blog post is here and still remains active. Overall, I was struck by the wide range of responses. For some people, their tattoo really helped their faith and even strengthened their discipleship. For others -- even someone who got a celtic cross tattoo -- it was more of a spur-of-the-moment thing.

Second, though it’s often said by some Christians that tattoos are bad or un-Christian, it’s difficult to make a direct Biblical argument for this. While Leviticus 19:28 includes a prohibition on tattoos, the prior two verses make the old-school purity code seem awfully odd (I have “rounded off the edge of my beard” (v. 27) many times without, in my view, offending God). Also, while 1 Corinthians 6:19 is often cited when it comes to purity of body -- “your body is a temple of the holy spirit” -- the context is actually Paul speaking not of an individual but of the whole community. So he’s saying, “you all together -- your corporate body is a temple together” which makes tattoos on individuals sort of beside the point.

Third, I have to admit to before researching for this study I thought of tattoos as a modern phenomenon. I was way wrong. Tattoos have been around for thousands of years and are present in cultures all around the world. Perhaps tattoos are gaining popularity in the 2010s as opposed to the 1980s, but they’re by no means a new trend.

Fourth, like sex and a few other off-limits social issues, I feel the church really does a disservice to its members if it doesn’t have forums to discuss contemporary issues like the growing prominence of tattoos. As I say in the study,

The church does not operate in a vacuum, so it is not immune from tattoos’ popularity. Many pastors have tattoos themselves, and tattoos are found on the bodies of many congregation members—some you might know about, and some that might surprise you. (For a little experiment, ask the pastor of your congregation to mention tattoos in a sermon. It’s amazing how many members shaking hands with the pastor at the door after worship will discuss—or even show—their own tattoos!)Tattoos, perhaps once seen as something unfit or unmentionable for church folk, are now fairly common and gaining acceptance.

It’s important that the church model healthy ways of reflection and dialogue about tattoos and other issues of cultural import.

Finally, it was interesting to reflect how I might have written this study differently were it for an adult group as opposed to youth. To be honest, I imagined youth to be more open-minded and willing to discuss other points of view than an adult group might be. If my imaginings were accurate, what does this say about adults who attend church and their willingness to consider differences both moral and aesthetic?

So, I hope you’ll check out the study. As I wrote, it’s designed to have youth explore questions from many sides and think of different perspectives so that they can discern how God is leading them, not simply say tattoos are good or bad, right or wrong. As the study shows, tattoos are not a black-and-white issues (and not just because they come in color too).

Mindful Midrash

A Gathering Voices post by Erin Lane

Before I left for a summer in Seattle, my husband leaned over to me over a celebratory one-year of graduate school completed dinner of mac-n-cheese and sauvignon blanc and asked me, "So what will you remember?"

I laughed. Then became frustrated. And finally after a few more solemn bites of food, I surprised myself with what came of out of my mouth, and it wasn't rigatoni.

"Midrash."

In last week's post, I mentioned the capable role of midrash -a semi-canonical hermeneutic of Jewish rabbis - in cultivating the church's imagination.  Perhaps my Catholic roots aren't as dried and starved as I thought; my love of mystery and wonder and awe and ritual abides, even in my prudently Protestant divinity school. 

This week, I suggest three more lessons the practice of midrash has to offer modern, text-centered Christians for whom the Bible has become dry, dull, and as drab as another story on Weinergate.  

 1. To read with attention is the first lesson of midrash.
Adrienne Rich describes this practice as reading as if you’re life depended on it. Even in its original form the Hebrew Bible has no punctuation, no way of reading intonation, emphases, or subtleties. It doesn’t even have vowels. Plots are truncated. Characters are brief. In contrast to their great literary counterparts, biblical figures do not have the benefit of clearly defined emotions. The midrashist must then read carefully every word and its etymology mining them for meaning. For our lives do depend on it: what we reads into the text, the text will read back into us, ever forming and conforming.

2. To seek out the white spaces is the second lesson of midrash.
If the text has everything in it that one could need, if our live truly depends on it, then even its missing pieces have stories to tell. Curiosity is affirmed even in the word midrash, derived from the Hebrew darash, meaning to study, to search, to investigate, to go in quest of. Silences are some of the most profound textual irritants. 

3. To attend to your dreams is the third lesson of midrash.
Just as we carefully read the text, we carefully read ourselves into the text, dreaming ourselves into the stories and seeing it from different vantage points. Nothing is there by accident. Midrash – and Scripture for that matter – is then not just a theology of interpretation but an anthropology of dreams, experiences, practices, and thoughts.

It's possible my love of the Jewish tradition comes from a history of Jewish best friends - who I unsuccessfully tried to convert in my youthful chutzpah - but who nevertheless seemed to have a rich history of reverence and ritual that I lacked. It's possible I'm just trying to be my typical polemical self by challenging the Protestant hermeneutic that overwhelms my studies. It's possible I just want to be a female Rob Bell.  

But it's also possible that I love the Jewish tradition because it's my tradition, it's my story, and of that I am mindful. 

Celebrity Scandals and Schaudenfraude

A Gathering Voices post by Greg Garrett

It’s a very human impulse, although that doesn’t necessarily make it a good one.

Maybe we look at some of the powerful men currently accused of stupid or illicit behavior (Congressman Anthony Weiner, actor and former governor Arnold Schwarzenegger, head of the International Monetary Fund Dominique Strauss-Kahn, and Sen. John Edwards, most recently) and we take delight in their falls.

Maybe we look at people we consider insufferable (the Miami Heat’s LeBron James, who promised the city a multitude of NBA titles, although he certainly didn’t play well enough to help his team win this year’s trophy) and glory in their failures.

Maybe we look at regular folks who make fools of themselves (contestants on reality shows, cheaters confronted by their wives and TV cameras, or even just those idiots whose car is being searched by a state trooper as we drive past) and we glory in our own safety or normality.

When we take delight in the failures or pain of others, we are indulging in what the Germans call schaudenfraude (the English word "gloating" comes pretty close to the same idea).

But here’s what I wonder. It’s one thing to feel satisfaction that Gov. Schwarzenegger, whom I’ve always suspected was a boor and a cheat, actually is a boor and a cheat. And there doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of moral gray area when I look at Rep. Weiner’s sexting to young women, shake my head, and say “What an idiot.”

But what about when misfortune happens to those closer to us—and we still feel schaudenfraude?

In his poem “On the Death of Dr. Swift,” the Irish poet, clergyman, and student of human nature Jonathan Swift pointed out our human tendency to delight even in the problems of our friends: 

In all distresses of our friends

We first consult our private ends;

While nature, kindly bent to ease us,

Points out some circumstance to please us….

Dear honest Ned is in the gout,

Lies racked with pain, and you without:

How patiently you hear him groan!

How glad the case is not your own!

Swift’s suggestion is that part of our delight is that we are not suffering the same pain (or shame, or scandal), and that is, as I said, a very human response. But what about our human (and more specifically, Christian) calls to compassion, love, and forgiveness? 

Clearly there is a disconnect of some sort if we respond to suffering or scandal with pleasure, and it's a more obvious disconnect if we experience that pleasure in regard to those we know and reputedly love. 

I can say I haven’t gotten anywhere near to compassion or forgiveness yet for Rep. Weiner and his sexy tweets, or for John Edwards, who cheated on his wife while she battled cancer, or for the wealthy and lecherous Strauss-Kahn who is accused of sexually assaulting a maid in his luxury hotel. And I wonder if I will—which makes me wonder some more.

Should we ever take pleasure in the failures or misfortunes of others? What ought our Christian response be to scandal?

The Ministry of Bearing

A Gathering Voices Post by Don McKim

I’ve been thinking of some of the dimensions of ministry in which we participate in our Christian lives as disciples of Jesus Christ. Three that are important are our ministries of listening, helping, and bearing. 

Bearing and sharing one another's burdens—that's what the Christian life is all about. I've always like Luther's way of putting it when he said a Christian is called to have "strong shoulders and mighty bones" that we might be able to share in carrying the sufferings and hurts of others [Martin Luther, Commentary on Galatians (London: Jas. Clarke &Co., 1961), 540].

This is what the Christian church should be about: the priesthood of all believers. It is a fellowship in which instead of living for ourselves, we as Christians, as Hans Kung says, "live lives before God for others and [are] in turn supported by others" [Hans Küng, The Church (New York: Sheed & Ward, 1967), 364.] Too often we think of the church as just another organization of individuals with each of us out for ourselves. But no! This fellowship of priests has an inter-connectedness, an inter-dependence. So we all should be most deeply concerned not only with our own problems, but also with the struggles and heartaches of our sisters and brothers. We are called upon to bear their burdens, share their loads.

The ministry of bearing knows no limits, no boundaries—all people, regardless of their race or color or economic location, all persons are ones whose burdens we can share. How can we do otherwise?

Why? Simply because this is the description of what has happened to each of us in Jesus Christ. The whole work of Christ can be summed up by that one word: "bear." "Surely he has borne our infirmities and carried our diseases...upon him was the punishment that made us whole" (Isa. 53:4-5). We enter into the fellowship of the cross of Jesus Christ when we share the burdens of others. If we refuse to share them, to bear them, we are denying the law of Christ, the law of love. “Bear one another’s burdens,” says Paul, “and you will fulfill the law of Christ” (Gal. 6:2).

In the midst of all that concerns us, may we also look beyond ourselves to bearing with, others; and helping to carry their burdens.