Black and White
Left and Right
Right and Wrong
Us and Them
This or That
Dichotomous thinking. One of the most popular ways to teach children it seems. And probably the single most unhelpful thing that I have encountered in working with younger and older adults. Nothing shuts down learning and dialogue like being told that the idea being presented is simply wrong because they didn't learn it when they were little. Because if they were told when they were five that the Bible is exactly "this way" and they are supposed to stand firm and not be shaken then by golly they will, regardless of whether or not they retain a five-year old faith for the rest of their lives.
This is indeed a rant.
And I am angry.
I'm angry that we teach young children that there is one answer to most of life's problems or questions.
I'm angry that we teach children that "this way" is right but "that way" is wrong, meaning we are right and they are wrong.
I'm angry that we present the Bible to children in boxes (in a parochial sense).
I'm angry that we forget that children need to learn how to think, not just what to think.
Because that's how they grow.
Dichotomous thinking stunts their growth!
I meet so many people who struggle with engaging the Bible in new ways, with stretching themselves, with accepting new ideas, or even knowing how to challenge and critique new ideas (and I am one of them!). And when I meet these people I don't feel angry at them, I feel angry at their childhood Sunday school teachers, their devotional materials "Christian" songs, their Bible storybooks and all the other people that told them all the answers instead of challenging them to imagine all the possibilities and to discern wisely, remaining open to change when new information comes along.
Yes, children need safety and security, they need to know that it is not a good idea to put the grilled cheese sandwich in the VCR (yes I'm that old), they need to know that pulling out their brother's hair is wrong, they need to know that swallowing poison is going to hurt them. And they need to know some things with a degree of certainty. But what is life if everything is certain? How do we grow if everything that we learn is certain, and not open to change?
How do we experience God as mystery if the mystery has been solved?
What does it mean for the Spirit to move when we read scripture if there is only one way to interpret the Bible?
How small does God become if everything we know about God can be fully understood and explained when we are five years old?
How boring are those stories if I can only learn one lesson from them?
Sometimes people look at me like I'm nuts when I say stuff like this. They think I'm crazy to make so much of what and how we teach our children because after all, real learning comes later. But in my experience (and that of other learned people thankfully), that's simply not the case. We do learn later, but the way we learn, our worldview, our concepts of how to interpret information, and how we understand God are shaped very early on. And each time I'm in a group discussing atonement, each time I'm in a group discussing sexuality, each time I mark a paper discussing the Bible, people will bring up what they learned when they were little. Each and every time. And that learning has a lot of power. Even when faced with direct evidence to the contrary (informational or experiential), it is very hard to change those childhood perspectives.
So if it's hard to change the perspectives we learn when we are children, then what happens when the perspective we learn is dichotomous or parochial thought?
What happens when a child's worldview involves only certainty and no mystery?
What happens when we teach a child that the Bible is absolutely true (in an historically accurate factual way) and then they are confronted with the impossibility of that "fact"?
What happens when we teach children that Jesus loves "good" children (Jesus loves me when I'm good, when I do the things I should), and then they do something "bad"?
What happens when a child's only concept of God is of a bearded white haired man and then they are raped by a man just like that?
Conversely,
What happens when we teach children to listen in the Spirit as we discern together?
What happens when we wonder together and are honest when we really don't know the answer, or that perhaps there is not one?
What happens when we invite children into the biblical story and help them to see themselves as part of that story?
What happens when we teach children that they are loved unconditionally and are valued for who they are as part of God's diverse family?
What happens when we present children with many images for God so they are able to encounter God in many faces and places?
And now, because my rant has become very long as usual I will close with a quote from Picasso (I rarely quote Picasso!):
"There is only one way to see things,
until someone shows us how to look at them
with different eyes"
Let us keep that in mind as we live and learn together with our children.
Tuesday 30 October 2012
Wednesday 10 October 2012
Sacrifices
I have particular, and sometimes peculiar, convictions. Some of these convictions have developed throughout my life, others I have come to in adulthood. Some are based on what I believe it means to live as an Anabaptist Christian, others have developed out of my sense of who God is calling me, in particular, to be in the world. Some of my convictions are easily held because they are rarely challenged, others are challenged to various degrees through circumstance or through direct confrontation from others (and those challenges can be a very good thing!). All of them require some degree of sacrifice as do all choices. There are pros and cons, degrees of faithfulness and unfaithfulness, health and brokenness in all decisions that we make.
So I find it amusing that when individuals actually challenge me about some of my convictions they immediately try to force me to consider what I am giving up or ask "what if..." questions (as if I had not already done so) , without acknowledging that their choices have also required sacrifices. This is most often the case when my choice is seen as counter cultural.
An aside: I'd like to point out that I have almost never been challenged on how well I'm actually living out my convictions or whether or not my conviction is bearing fruit, and people certainly could challenge me on those things. I am not perfect. It's easy for me not to go to war but mighty hard to be loving to people that drive me nuts. The challenges I do receive are usually on the choice itself.
My conviction that being a follower of Jesus means that we are to work for peace and justice in active, yet non-violent ways is rarely challenged directly since I am not being forced to make the decision of whether or not to enlist, as was the case for many of my ancestors. Yet periodically I do get the inevitable "what if someone broke into your home and tried to harm your family?" question. There are many ways to engage that question, and I will not go into them here. However, what always confuses me when thinking about violence is the absence of consideration for what might happen to me and to the other if I did engage in violence. We, as a culture, usually assume that we would be sacrificing our own safety, our possessions, our well-being, if we did not respond with violence. Yet I rarely hear us considering what we are sacrificing when we do engage in violence, the damage that happens to self and other. It is painfully obvious when hearing stories of soldiers with PTSD, that inflicting violence and witnessing violence does not simply end the pain and suffering, it creates a whole new kind of brokenness that then has to be dealt with. There are sacrifices on both sides.
My conviction to attempt to live simply and to consider carefully the ways in which I use technology are challenged somewhat more frequently, but usually in a more gently mocking tone. I don't have a cell phone and I have a relatively small TV (though I do have one!), and I spend far too much time on the internet for someone who has strong convictions about such things. I think, however, the small TV has been the most commented on and bewilders most sports fanatics. I apparently, don't know what I'm missing! Well...I think I know some of what I'm missing. I'm missing a TV as the ultimate focal point in my apartment (we already think ours is too central, but can't relocate it due to wiring). I'm missing damaged eye sight from sitting way too close to an incredibly large screen. I'm missing seeing every pore on every TV personality's face. I'm missing increased noise. I'm missing copious amounts of time wasted in front of a TV which would be necessary in order to justify a purchase of that size (and I already watch too much TV). There's a ton that I'm missing; that I'm sacrificing, but are they not giving up some things as well?
But of all of my convictions, the one that is challenged the most often and the most passively aggressively, is my decision to remain single and not have children. I say passive aggressively because this is rarely an honest face-to-face conversation in which I am invited to tell my story, or to share why I feel called to singleness at this point in my life or how I understand the impact that my decision has on others. Most often I hear little jokes, small back-handed comments (often well-intentioned, but back-handed nonetheless), or stories about how so and so let herself "sit on the shelf" or "go to seed" or whatever.
I always find these conversations both amusing and frustrating. It's not like I'm 18 and I suddenly decided to enter a convent. I'm almost 36 years old. In many ways my singleness has simply been part of my life circumstance. I am not against the institution of marriage, I am not against people having children, though I certainly wish more people would think carefully about their decisions to get married and have children, it might reduce the divorce rate and child abuse (not all people are suited to marriage and child rearing). I simply choose to recognize the gifts that my singleness brings instead of pining away for what I do not have, and going "hunting" regularly.
Another quick aside: Most people who make comments to me also tend not to recognize that I am not "single" in the way that many people are single. For more on this see an earlier post.
At the heart of all of the comments that I receive, from both men and women, young and old is that I don't know what I'm giving up. Why would I want to sacrifice the joy of marriage and children (which, quite frankly, does not appear to be the norm) for a life of loneliness? Here is where the amusing part comes in. This is, it seems to me, the fundamental misunderstanding of both marriage and singleness that comes through in almost all the comments that I hear; the assumption that marriage and children = happiness, and singleness = loneliness. That single people simply sacrifice all the joys in life while married people sacrifice nothing! Hah! Perhaps this is the problem with marriages, the assumption that there is no sacrifice, only gain. Perhaps marriages would last longer if couples received repeated concerned guidance from all far and wide that they should carefully consider what they are giving up in order to live in relationship, to form a household, to make a covenant (if that is part of their plan). Or if a couple wanting to have a baby had to sit and make lists of all the things that they would have to sacrifice for the rest of their lives before they attempt to procreate, perhaps parenting would grow in its intentionality. I say this with 1/2 sarcasm, and 1/2 seriousness.
Convictions, all convictions require sacrifice. Whether we are following traditional or mainstream customs, making counter cultural choices or anything in between, there are things that we have to let go of. And just as it's hard for others to sometimes see the beauty and gifts that come with some of my convictions, it is hard for me to see the same in theirs. It seems to be the default to assume that we have the corner on what is right and good, that in order for our decisions or convictions to be "right" they must be universal. However, I wonder what growth might happen for all of us, myself included, if instead of making back-handed critiques to one another's convictions we chose to sit down together and honestly share and receive one another's stories, to hear about the gifts that their convictions might bring, instead of only hearing our own assumptions.
So I find it amusing that when individuals actually challenge me about some of my convictions they immediately try to force me to consider what I am giving up or ask "what if..." questions (as if I had not already done so) , without acknowledging that their choices have also required sacrifices. This is most often the case when my choice is seen as counter cultural.
An aside: I'd like to point out that I have almost never been challenged on how well I'm actually living out my convictions or whether or not my conviction is bearing fruit, and people certainly could challenge me on those things. I am not perfect. It's easy for me not to go to war but mighty hard to be loving to people that drive me nuts. The challenges I do receive are usually on the choice itself.
My conviction that being a follower of Jesus means that we are to work for peace and justice in active, yet non-violent ways is rarely challenged directly since I am not being forced to make the decision of whether or not to enlist, as was the case for many of my ancestors. Yet periodically I do get the inevitable "what if someone broke into your home and tried to harm your family?" question. There are many ways to engage that question, and I will not go into them here. However, what always confuses me when thinking about violence is the absence of consideration for what might happen to me and to the other if I did engage in violence. We, as a culture, usually assume that we would be sacrificing our own safety, our possessions, our well-being, if we did not respond with violence. Yet I rarely hear us considering what we are sacrificing when we do engage in violence, the damage that happens to self and other. It is painfully obvious when hearing stories of soldiers with PTSD, that inflicting violence and witnessing violence does not simply end the pain and suffering, it creates a whole new kind of brokenness that then has to be dealt with. There are sacrifices on both sides.
My conviction to attempt to live simply and to consider carefully the ways in which I use technology are challenged somewhat more frequently, but usually in a more gently mocking tone. I don't have a cell phone and I have a relatively small TV (though I do have one!), and I spend far too much time on the internet for someone who has strong convictions about such things. I think, however, the small TV has been the most commented on and bewilders most sports fanatics. I apparently, don't know what I'm missing! Well...I think I know some of what I'm missing. I'm missing a TV as the ultimate focal point in my apartment (we already think ours is too central, but can't relocate it due to wiring). I'm missing damaged eye sight from sitting way too close to an incredibly large screen. I'm missing seeing every pore on every TV personality's face. I'm missing increased noise. I'm missing copious amounts of time wasted in front of a TV which would be necessary in order to justify a purchase of that size (and I already watch too much TV). There's a ton that I'm missing; that I'm sacrificing, but are they not giving up some things as well?
But of all of my convictions, the one that is challenged the most often and the most passively aggressively, is my decision to remain single and not have children. I say passive aggressively because this is rarely an honest face-to-face conversation in which I am invited to tell my story, or to share why I feel called to singleness at this point in my life or how I understand the impact that my decision has on others. Most often I hear little jokes, small back-handed comments (often well-intentioned, but back-handed nonetheless), or stories about how so and so let herself "sit on the shelf" or "go to seed" or whatever.
I always find these conversations both amusing and frustrating. It's not like I'm 18 and I suddenly decided to enter a convent. I'm almost 36 years old. In many ways my singleness has simply been part of my life circumstance. I am not against the institution of marriage, I am not against people having children, though I certainly wish more people would think carefully about their decisions to get married and have children, it might reduce the divorce rate and child abuse (not all people are suited to marriage and child rearing). I simply choose to recognize the gifts that my singleness brings instead of pining away for what I do not have, and going "hunting" regularly.
Another quick aside: Most people who make comments to me also tend not to recognize that I am not "single" in the way that many people are single. For more on this see an earlier post.
At the heart of all of the comments that I receive, from both men and women, young and old is that I don't know what I'm giving up. Why would I want to sacrifice the joy of marriage and children (which, quite frankly, does not appear to be the norm) for a life of loneliness? Here is where the amusing part comes in. This is, it seems to me, the fundamental misunderstanding of both marriage and singleness that comes through in almost all the comments that I hear; the assumption that marriage and children = happiness, and singleness = loneliness. That single people simply sacrifice all the joys in life while married people sacrifice nothing! Hah! Perhaps this is the problem with marriages, the assumption that there is no sacrifice, only gain. Perhaps marriages would last longer if couples received repeated concerned guidance from all far and wide that they should carefully consider what they are giving up in order to live in relationship, to form a household, to make a covenant (if that is part of their plan). Or if a couple wanting to have a baby had to sit and make lists of all the things that they would have to sacrifice for the rest of their lives before they attempt to procreate, perhaps parenting would grow in its intentionality. I say this with 1/2 sarcasm, and 1/2 seriousness.
Convictions, all convictions require sacrifice. Whether we are following traditional or mainstream customs, making counter cultural choices or anything in between, there are things that we have to let go of. And just as it's hard for others to sometimes see the beauty and gifts that come with some of my convictions, it is hard for me to see the same in theirs. It seems to be the default to assume that we have the corner on what is right and good, that in order for our decisions or convictions to be "right" they must be universal. However, I wonder what growth might happen for all of us, myself included, if instead of making back-handed critiques to one another's convictions we chose to sit down together and honestly share and receive one another's stories, to hear about the gifts that their convictions might bring, instead of only hearing our own assumptions.
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