Dave | unobtrusive lucidity

Subjectivity and Faith

By the standards of many (especially many seminary students that I encountered during my education), I basically just cursed in that title. Are subjectivity and faith mutually exclusive?

I don’t think so. I read a great blog post on Infuze Magazine this morning discussing the use of cursing in writing by authors of faith. I know a lot of Believers who would stop reading a book immediately upon encountering a colorful metaphor, or who can’t watch a movie without a device to remove all of the questionable language, and I think that’s sad.

We forget that it is okay to be offended. You can come away from an encounter with any story or visual experience strongly upset and full of dislike, and that’s okay, as long as you can articulate why you dislike or are disturbed by it. Good art, in whatever form, disturbs someone. That’s good, because disturbed people think.

I saw a bumper sticker with a great slogan last week: “Comfort the disturbed, disturb the comfortable.”

Perhaps modern evangelicals are so scared to be offended because they so love being comfortable. When they are offended, they think. And, for some reason, the common misconception about faith is that it involves checking one’s intellect at the door.

When I read the Scriptures, I realize that Jesus wasn’t one who was afraid of being offended. In fact, He frequently did the offending. All of us, including artists (perhaps especially artists), are called to do the same. When a Believer writes a novel, and a character curses, that’s fine if that is what the character would do. It is the overall message of the story that is important. The realism of that character is part of what is necessary to convey that message.

So, are we to take passages of Scripture that encourage us not to use objectionable language as subjective? I’m not arguing against a concept of absolute truth. I just wonder how God defines “objectionable language.” I imagine it is probably different that we would from within our cultural and semantic moors. A commenter on the above-mentioned blog post also draws the distinction between using rude language and swearing, or taking the name of God in vain. I strongly disagree with the latter, and would never utilize it in a story. There is a line. There is a point where the subjectivity stops.

I just think most of us arrive at that point far earlier than we need to.

Creative Conversations

So, while I’m on this journey to re-explore human relationships, the concept of spiritual family keeps re-surfacing in my readings and pursuits lately. To be honest, its really annoying. Most things worth re-working in my life, though, typically are.

I’ve been permitting myself to succumb to my introverted nature for quite some time now. It has its advantages, certainly, especially as a writer. What I’m discovering, though, is that I’m isolating human interactions (outside of my circle of friends) to cold, clinical processes. Once again, I’m making my living as a counselor, and I suppose that has thrown me into this crisis of reconciling the two halves or myself: the analytical and the creative.

I was reading some material of therapeutic techniques with children last week, a Canadian publication that was a few years old, but still with valid research. I noticed that I had a lot of problems with the fact that everything was reduced to the scientific explanation of which synapses and connections of the child’s brain were enforced by which behaviors. I was actually disturbed, because, while that explains how it happens, it doesn’t explain what happens. As usual, the scientific explanation is a wholly limited perspective.

I guess where I’m going with this is that relating to humans in an art. It is best approached passionately and creatively, the same as a poem or painting.

I’m not degrading the scientific. It serves as a set of tools for the process, the same as a painter must use a brush, or a theatre designer must use lighting instruments. With every art there is technique, and the art of human relationships utilizes the technique of psychology. Artists who only utilize technique, however, leave out a critical component of their art. They forget the spontaneity, the creative synergy that happens in the midst of the creative process. Clinical interactions are the same. I’m glad I’m finding myself forced into more interactions, both in a professional setting, and in my family of faith, because it is forcing me outside of my reclusiveness.

Because, at the end of the day, I still want to be like the guy who gave me the coffee. I’m just not sure what that looks like yet.

Ghandi-like Simplicity

I recommend that you take the time to read this op-ed article. It is interesting. I think what I find interesting about it is how those outside of our faith can see the basics of our faith better than we often can.

While I disagree with Brennan on the key point that he appears to be unconvinced of Christ’s deity and therefore assuming a universalist position, I wonder at how clearly he sees the core ideas of our faith. The quote from Ghandi stating that Jesus’ message can be encapsulated by the Sermon on the Mount intrigues me.

I don’t necessarily agree with that claim, but it intrigues me, because this whole thing really is much simpler than we paint it to be. My seminary career was suffocated by people who couldn’t just present the simple Gospel: they had to have every semantic nuance in pristine order, for fear that the hearer (typically other “followers” whom they wanted to out-spiritualize) wouldn’t understand it clearly. But it is clear. It is clear without theological attempts to better define it, without philosophical attempts to correlate it, and without apologetic attempts justify it.

The Message is simple. Ghandi recognized that, at least in an incomplete form. How is it that we miss it, and, in doing so, drive seekers into the insanity that we’ve condemned ourselves to in our Evangelical subculture?

Geez, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

White Mocha Philosophy

Karen and I returned from California in the wee hours of this morning, and I’m struggling to adapt back to East coast time. I usually become reflective when I sit around and run out of things to do (as tends to happen on coast-to-coast flights), and I found myself thinking about people. Not the family we were visiting, or their wedding that was the reason for our trip, or the beautiful West coast visages. I was thinking about a guy at Starbucks.

Knowing my addiction, it was a given that, as soon as we arrived in town and settled into the hotel, I needed to know where the closest Starbucks could be located. It served as an oasis away from the wedding-related craziness for several of us. There was one guy working there every morning. He remembered us. Asked us how the wedding had gone as Karen and I stopped for breakfast on our way out of town. Gave me a free cup of coffee. I remember his face and his voice very well.

I remember the homeless person in the parking lot as we returned to the car asking for a few dollars in the hopes of eating his own breakfast.

I remember the guy I was sandwiched into on the first leg of our return flight, and how, despite the fact that I was more than a bit irritated that I ended up in a seat next to him instead of my wife (who was two rows up…that airline won’t be seeing my return business), turned out to be a cool guy with an interesting perspective on life.

I guess it struck me as I sat around vegging…I mean, resting and recovering…this afternoon that we tend to disregard those things. We forget people we meet, that we come into contact with even for a brief period of time. We let these moments go by us when our stories cross someone else’s, when the plots of two separate genres mingle for a moment. I’ve had it strike me before, sometimes in poignant ways, but it has been staying with me today.

Our technological advancements have minimized human contact. When we do have contact, we tend to voluntarily make it as minimal as possible (like the flight attendant who I decided didn’t warrant any eye contact when she asked for my drink order because I was upset about the seating screw-up). In doing so, have we left something essential behind? Are we losing a piece of our souls when we neglect to take the moment to connect with someone else’s? What’s it like to remember the name and small pieces of the life story of someone you just met because you were taking their coffee order?

I’m sad to say…I’m not sure I know any longer.

But I intend to re-discover the mystery.

Straight From Krypton

I read this interview this morning with Danny Fingeroth, an active force in the comic book industry and author of at least two books about the commentary that comic book superheroes provide on our culture. Take the time to read it…its fascinating.

This has become a topic of great conversation over the last few years, I’ve noticed. While comic book fans were once isolated to the daring few geeks who wore superhero t-shirts and hung out at the local comic shop, I’ve noticed more “closet” superhero fans emerging with the huge influence of movies such as the X-Men series (that paints a disturbing commentary on prejudice) and NBC’s hit drama, Heroes (which asks the question, what if we were meant to be something more?). There has been significant conversation among evangelical circles over the Christological metaphor of the Man of Steel in Superman Returns, the importance of redemptive faith imagery in X-Men 2, and the emphasis on forgiveness in Spider-Man 3. I even recognized redemptive faith imagery in Ghost Rider (although it took the form of a beautiful woman showing significant cleavage). M. Night Shyamalan painted an intriguing portrait of faith within the concept of a comic book superhero in Unbreakable.

As you’ve guessed by now, or read here before, I was one of those comic shop geeks in my childhood, and still collect today. I’m as conversant about the history of the X-Men and Transformers as I am theology and Scripture. I love the story, the visual aesthetic, the commentary that comics and superheroes paint of our culture. I love how they point to hope…a hope of redemption.

Isn’t that what good art is supposed to do, anyway?

Regardless of whether or not you’re much into the comic book or superhero “scene,” watch for the themes presented in these stories…don’t just go for the action when you see them in the theater. If nothing else, their portrayals of good and evil are convicting. And while I tremble at the thought of reading philosophical undertones into everything (as some recent commentaries on superheroes have been wont to do), I think that there is something there we can learn from them. As with anything worth finding, we just have to look deeply.