Leavings

The past year has been filled with difficult departures for me. On December 23, 2007, my father died after a sudden and precipitous decline from what seemed like pretty good health for an 87 year old. In my last post (“God’s Adult Children”), I made a brief reference to the effect his death has had on me, but I suspect I will be dealing with it for quite some time to come. One of its most telling consequences has been the impact on my mother’s life. Pop's strong will and sure hand in managing their household affairs right up to the end disguised the extent to which she is losing her grasp on the world around her. Whether we attribute it to Alzheimer’s or just old-fashion dementia, she is slowly but surely “leaving” us as well.

Then, in the early fall, our 25-year-old son moved to another state to start a new job. I helped him pack the truck, made the trip with him, and helped move him into the new apartment, so we had lots of time together. Plus, he’s been back home to visit for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. But we have always been very close, and we’ve never been apart for such long stretches of time or separated by so much distance. He occupies a place in my life that no one else can fill, so even though I’m proud of what he’s doing and glad to see him get out on his own, I miss him very much.

At almost the same time, I “broke up with” my best friend of 18 years. Hurt feelings and hard words dominated our last bits of communication, and we haven’t spoken for over 3 months now. I told him the friendship had become toxic to me and urged him to take the steps necessary to heal it, but he couldn’t see what I could see, so he walked away. I miss him.

Which brings me to yesterday—the effective resignation date for my #2 at the seminary. I hired him 4½ years ago to help me achieve a bold and ambitious vision. We celebrated quite a few victories along the way, but we had our rough spots too—mostly because our styles are so different. Recently, though, he felt himself being called in a different direction, and I knew I couldn’t stand in his way. We tried to avoid talking about his imminent departure, and we got through the day yesterday without being too emotional. He left as he arrived—a trusted and valuable member of my team.

This is not intended to sound like a Pity Party Post. I’m just reflecting on an experience that has not been all that common for me. Historically, I have been the one who left—whether restless, ambitious, detached, or just idealistically seeking greener grass somewhere else. When you’re the one who leaves, you don’t get much practice at being left. And at this point, I’d have to say I don’t particularly like the experience. But, as I reflected on all of this on the drive home last night, I realized the other meaning buried in my title.

“Leavings” are also what’s left behind, a residual effect, a lingering presence. All five of the persons in this story may have “moved on” in some way, but there is a residue that remains—what Stephen Schwartz’s amazing lyrics call “a handprint on my heart.” To some varying degree, I am who I am today because of each of these people who—at least for now—have left my daily sphere of living. And their influence will continue, not only through their “leaving,” but also through their “leavings.”

I think God made us that way on purpose. And if I’m right, then Jesus would certainly GARAAT.

Dr.KAJ

God’s Adult Children, or God is a Better Parent than We Are

Once, my brother-in-law and I were discussing the nature of prayer, especially as a vehicle for God’s interaction with us. I found out that we both downplay the role of petitionary prayer, as usually conceived, because it runs the risk of reducing God to a cosmic short-order cook. I stated that I often experience what I call, for lack of a more precise term, “promptings” that I identify as God trying to get my attention. They aren’t audible, but they do seem to be language based. Something that is to intentional thought what peripheral vision is to gazing. An echo in the moment just before it fades to imperceptibility. Just enough realness not to be imaginary; just enough otherness to imply external agency.

From there we moved on to consider why some people report receiving regular, detailed, totally unambiguous communiqués from God, directing virtually every aspect of their lives. Are they über-spiritual? Are they deluded? While I certainly can’t just flatly deny the validity of their experience, I cannot be satisfied with this view of divine/human interaction. Whereas uncritical emphasis on petitionary prayer reduces God to something less than fully divine, the notion of God specifically directing every detail of our lives reduces us to something less than fully human. I, for one, believe that God created us to be more than life-like animated game pieces, moved around the board by a hand other than our own, toward an endgame that has already been determined.

At this point in the conversation, I was searching for an image or analogy to convey my admittedly somewhat unorthodox views. Here’s where I landed:

My father died at the age of 87. I was 54 at the time, so for many years our relationship had been that of a parent and an adult child. I have been on my own and directing my own life for considerably longer now than I was a dependent living under his roof and his rules, but that didn’t keep him from having his own opinions about whatever I might be doing. He usually realized, though, that his own role had changed from authority to advisor, and I think he had made his peace with that and maybe even experienced pride and joy when watching who his son had become. To be honest, I was often the one who initiated those conversations in which his advice was solicited. But knowing that he was available as a wise sounding board without my being bound by his feedback was a liberating experience that made me feel like a real grownup.

We start out as totally helpless infants, utterly dependent on others for everything we need in life. Loved and nurtured by parents and extended family, we grow into children, discovering the “self” inside of us and exulting in what we can do for and by ourselves. Adolescence follows, moving from awkwardness to displacement to rebellion against the very ones who brought us to that point in life. But it concludes with the discovery and reintegration that signal the onset of adulthood. As parents, we love our children unconditionally at every stage of their lives. But when they finally reach adulthood, who of us would want to see them return to infancy, or childhood, or adolescence? Isn’t the greatest joy to be found in seeing the mature, independent men and women they become?

Maybe that’s how God feels about us. Maybe God wants us to still be connected through prayer, wants us still to be attentive to promptings and guidance, but at the same time be our own people—not mindless Stepford creatures. Maybe if we’re lucky, and we live long enough, we get to grow up and be God’s Adult Children.

Matthew 7:7-11 records the following words spoken by Jesus: “Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for bread, will give a stone? Or if the child asks for a fish, will give a snake? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good things to those who ask him!”

Jesus uses parenting as a model for the love God has for us. Not just any parenting, but rather the best parenting you can imagine. Here’s how it works. All of you who are parents, think of a situation in which one of your children asks you for something—maybe a piece of bread. How will you respond? If at all possible, you will give your child a piece of bread. Is there any way you would try to trick your child by passing off a stone as a piece of bread? Of course not! No one worthy of the title “parent” would do that. Why? Because the stone is not what’s good for your children, and even otherwise flawed, imperfect parents love their children and want what’s best for them. So, Jesus says, if you as regular human beings love your children enough to give them what’s good for them, just imagine how good a Parent God must be.

Now, it’s important to realize that Jesus is not saying God is our “Sugar Daddy.” As the best parent imaginable, God doesn’t want us to have everything we want, because that wouldn’t be good for us. Instead, God wants what’s best for us—in all times and places. But in the real world, bad things happen to us. God doesn’t send these bad things. They just happen, sometimes as a result of our choices, but sometimes through no fault of our own. God also doesn’t intervene to keep them from happening.

This means that the life we end up with isn’t always what’s best for us. Indeed, sometimes life damages us quite badly, leaving us bitter and scarred—angry at life, angry at God. We ask questions like, “Where is God in this process? If there is a ‘plan,’ why does it include crappy stuff happening to us? Whose fault is it? Is there ever any recompense for the bad things we endure?” Through the ages, with a few thematic variations, Christians have offered a scheme of (1) obedient suffering on earth and (2) eternal joy in heaven as the answer to these questions. But this answer depends on distorted views of either God or humanity, or both, for the sake of the scheme.

This is where the idea of “God’s adult children” helps us expand on and refine Jesus’ image of God as the best parent possible.

Envisioning God as our parent doesn’t mean we must also envision ourselves only as little children. Jesus speaks of becoming like children to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but not in conjunction with this statement about God as the ultimate parent. Trying to combine all of Jesus’ parabolic sayings into a single, consistent, universal system of thought ignores the purpose and context of the original utterances. So, if we remove this metaphorical upper age limit we have imposed, we can easily think of ourselves as growing up into God’s adult children. And perhaps, as in the case of human parents, that’s what God really wants for us.

Human parents love their children from the moment of their birth—or even before—and they almost always experience a certain sadness when those children leave their early years behind. But this sadness is more than made up for by the joy of seeing our children grow—in stature, in knowledge, in ability—and become an independent, thinking person. No good parent would want children who remain weak, helpless, and dependent on them for their entire lives. So why do we so often imagine that God wants us to stay that way? Maybe, if we envision God as an immensely powerful and distant, supernatural Being, we could reasonably picture ourselves as weak, dependent creatures whose only purpose is to follow blindly a pre-determined path through life, hoping to end up in Heaven to grovel eternally at the foot of God’s throne. But Jesus told us that’s not what God is like. God is like a really, really good, loving parent . . . only better. And what parents would want that kind of life here and now and that eternal prospect for their children? So maybe what Jesus meant is, “Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a meaningful life full of purpose in which to grow into the most fully developed person possible, would give a life of robotically following a pre-determined plan in which your child has no choice? If even you then, who are flawed, selfish, short-sighted sinners, want your children to have the very best lives possible, lives filled with good and bad decisions, with learning and growing from the consequences of these decisions, and become fully functional adults ready to help manifest God’s Kingdom in this world and to enjoy God’s presence eternally, don’t you think God, your Divine Parent, wants that even more?”

So, empowered by grace and listening for the promptings of the Spirit, let’s lead lives as fully functioning, free-thinking, mistake-making adult disciples, knowing that such lives will bring joy to the heart of our Heavenly Parent. And if this is what God wants for us, what God knows is best for us on earth, then surely it is also what God wants for us in Paradise, meaning our lives of growth and learning and maturation, lives filled with the richest experiences and relationships possible, will never end.