Pray without Ceasing

This deviates somewhat from the dissertation itself, but when you think about writing as my form of prayer, it's not too far off (dissertation as prayer, blogging as prayer). What follows is probably a disorderly mess of thoughts, but I had to "put pen to paper" as soon as I stepped out of the shower this morning.  I had a revelation of the sort that only interaction with my son can bring, but I'll get to more of that later.

In 1 Thessalonians 5:17, we are encouraged to "pray without ceasing," and for the longest time I couldn't fathom it.

As a child, I always thought of prayer as communal or at the very least, "heads bowed, eyes closed." Trying to combine this and praying without ceasing resulted in me running into a few walls while walking, a few puzzled looks from others watching this, and a heart-felt exasperation that to pray without ceasing must mean one must become a monk or nun (I didn't know at the time that Monks and nuns had tasks in a monastery outside of prayers). When I was in later elementary school and began singing in choirs and writing my own songs, I heard from members of my congregation, "that's such a beautiful prayer."  Oh!  I thought--prayer can be in words that don't require me to lose my bearings and run into things?  I spent much of my middle school years singing whenever I could (which probably explains why I was nicknamed "Opera lady" by a classmate and found myself alone a lot!)

High school and adolescence changed things.  I didn't feel like praying or singing for a long time and when I did, I found solace in quiet places. My flute music was my prayer as my mom battled a scary diagnosis, and it said "thank you" the doctors shook their heads and decided that the original diagnosis was wrong.  I ran into the woods at Durley camp with a couple of friends to climb and swing and sing a quiet prayer or two when cliques and rumors overwhelmed me.  I stopped praying my junior year when the color drained from my world, one of my favorite mentors passed away, and I felt God calling me away from music and into something else (I still think about "Aunt" Harriet Whiteman constantly and how she may have shaped my calling in many ways).  I started dreaming dreams of about a new calling, but was scared--if I prayed through my music and it was being taken away from me, how would I pray? How could I let God know how heartbroken I was and how much I needed him when he'd taken my voice from me?

It happened in inches and in miles, really.  My voice returned to a degree, and my love of music and new calling combined in strange ways.  IYC 2000 in Colorado was, in retrospect, one of the most important events of my life.  It was there (or on the way, actually) that I met Josh and Chris.  Like me, Josh had been raised on "old school" CCM, but felt called to be a computer programmer.  It was a passion and gift--as was his ability to play the piano and sing Keith Green songs.  Even to this day, though I remember him (and Chris) trying to explain to me RPGs and what it was like to program for them, it's the Keith Green songs that we shared that stick with me: "Oh God, though I have wandered so far, you know that I'm still a man after your own heart."  He'd managed to combine a love of music (and music as prayer) with his calling, so why couldn't I?  It was strange that in the year to come, I was able to go on a music ministry and ESL teaching missions trip to Japan.  These kind of combinations don't happen often--and it was there that I fell in love with ESL and really felt called, both to teach and to minister through working with immigrants.

And still the Keith Green song stuck with me, appearing out of nowhere in my thoughts and acting as a prayer often my freshman year of college.  As I discovered "The Celebration of Discipline" that year, focused on fasting and new forms of prayer (laying down and taking up), I started seeing how prayer was intertwined into the lives and regular actions of my professors and developing in the lives of friends I made at college.  It's a strange thing when it finally clicks, that prayer is how we live.

 True, Leopold Weiss' words from yesterday help--that he saw in the Muslims he met that life and prayer and vocation couldn't be separated as words of prayer and relational words to God were a part of everything they did, but this isn't often how we teach or model prayer for our children.

And yet, T (my 2 1/2 year old) seems to have picked this up.  We have said prayers with him since he was about 2 months old, but it's only been lately as he's had more words that we've asked him who he would like to pray for.  He now has his list ready, happily and overflowing from his mouth.  Some people are listed repeatedly, and I often have wondered if he's just delaying sleep and ask if he's done.  We say "Amen" and call it a night.  This morning was different.  This morning, in the shower, he started in with his prayer list.  I have to admit,  I was a bit shocked.  Was he not making the connection to the names and when we pray?

But I think he knows better than I do sometimes.  He already seems to understand that we can pray anytime, anywhere, out loud, in our heads, in our music or even in our computer programs (buttons!) or teaching. He's learned that prayer without ceasing is possible and does not have to be an awkward interjection into our lives, but should be the outpouring of our thoughts and feelings to God--it is a life well lived with caring and concern for others, full of thanks and praise for the gifts we've been given, and joy for the journey he has given us.

I'm learning how to pray without ceasing from my 2 year old--even if he is a hyper-active teacher.

Who I am and who I was called to be...

A good friend had a wise word today--that who I am is enough and that the focus should be upon whose I am and knowing that I'm loved.


This, my friends, may be true but is no easy feat.  Meetings, writing, demands on energy from family, work and even within the church can be a difficult balance and all the while it's about the tension between academia and being a person of faith.  Kathleen Norris, in addressing a college community last year, explained the friction this way:

I’ve heard Benedictine men and women, scholars who are members of the American Academy of Religion talk about their reluctance to discuss their life of faith in an academic setting, even with their own students. But at least they’re monastics, kind of exotic: pity the ordinary, garden-variety Christian! 

The writer Patricia Hampl once said that when other professors discovered she was a practicing Catholic, their estimation of her IQ took a noticeable drop. A few years ago, I was at a reception after a talk I’d presented, and became aware that my co-sponsors, the literature and religion faculties, were in a marriage of convenience that made both groups ill-at-ease. During one conversation, a professor said, “Sometimes I think it would be good to do away with all religions.” It had been a very long day for me, or I probably wouldn’t have replied so starkly; but I said, “You know, Joseph Stalin and Pol Pot tried that, and it didn’t work out so well.” I’m convinced that having some historical grounding, and some sense of how religious traditions have functioned in human history, for both good and ill, is essential to understanding how they might shape our own vocation, a life of hope and meaning.  

To be doing this project at a secular university is both the best and worst of both worlds.  It is geared towards a wider audience, centered on human development, bioecological theory and a particular time in history.  It also (attempts to) present religion as important and truth-bearing, though this hasn't always been understood, I think, even by those at the University. This is the most difficult part to me--to attempt justification of this study to my community of faith (as something more than just my thoughts) and to a university (to many, it's simply another phenomena).  

To me, it's a defining piece of who I am and why I am writing this dissertation--to acknowledge that faith and prayer are alive in my generation, and not just among those who tow a particular political line.  This is a prayer whispered that faith and intelligence do not have to be separated.  As Norris states the Benedictine monks told her, "sometimes writing IS your prayer."  It's what connects me to texts that are thousands of years old and draws me into a conversation between millions of people over time.  It's why Norris, L'Engle, Leopold Weiss, Dr. Hamid, C.S. Lewis and other voices I run across seem to speak in harmony, despite coming out of different faiths and different times in history.  

Leopold Weiss (later known as Muhammad Asad), in his journey from Judaism to Islam, states in a bold revelation: " It was at this moment that I became aware how near their God and their faith were to these people. Their prayer did not seem to be divorced from their working day; it was part of it ñ not meant to help them forget life, but to remember it better by remembering God."

I guess, in many ways, this answers my earlier question about being Alyosha or Ivan.  I'm called--as are others-- to be BOTH, or at least not see the intellectual working portion of myself as separate from the praying, faithful (often frazzled mom) and loving child of God.  

This ability to weave faith and thought together, I believe, is what I was meant to share.  It's what all four of my "core" participants do so well, and what some of the community members have done as well.  If I can do this, well, it is enough.  My work IS enough and I don't have to feel like my analysis isn't quantitative enough or "churchy" enough.  It is what I was called to do and I can simply hope that the prayer that flows from my fingers is as beautiful, awe-filled, hopeful and loving as it sounds in my head. 

May we all be one in the bonds of love...and for heaven's sake, may I move forward with the analysis phase (being stuck inside my own head isn't much fun of late). 

References
Asad, Muhammad () "The Road to Mecca."  Adaptation from Islamland (a PDF gifted from one of my participants).

Norris, Kathleen (2011, March).  "Shaping a life that matters."  NETvue Conference, Indianapolis, IN.

Weiss, Leopold

The Brothers Karamazov

In a recent conversation with a friend, he reflected on reading The Brothers Karamazov:


I used to think that I wanted to be a lot like Alyosha (who doesn't?).
But I am definitely much more of an Ivan.


I admit now to being less familiar with the book than I should have been (I'd read Crime and Punishment  in high school and liked it well enough that I should have known this Dostoevsky work as well), and had to go do some research.  I decided it was high time to read this after I found a synopsis of characters.


My friend knows me too well, it seems.  Alyosha, the younger, kinder, more innocent and earnest in his faith and love is who I think most of us would like to be.  Like my friend, though, I think I've fallen more into the role of the intellectual, cold and academically-minded Ivan.  These characters, in a way, represent both the best and worst parts of my dissertation: a study driven by faith, hunger for knowledge and wisdom, and academic study of human development and identity. It's also about trying not to parse every piece to death, making identity and love some sort of rubric or formula, but that nagging worry in the back of my mind that either I lose something academic by assuming bits and pieces about faith, or I lose faith and the wonder of it all by approaching it wholly academically. 


Maybe it's in trying to maintain the spirit of Alyosha's approach while being in Ivan's intellectual sphere that I can maintain some semblance of balance and feel fulfilled in this work. Only time (and more writing) will tell.


I think it's time to start reading The Brothers Karamazov and seeing what I can learn from one of my favorite Russian novelists, while I keep transcribing recent interviews. 

....

It's just been one of those seasons.
The words I want to use bounce around and around in my head.
The words I read bounce around and around in my head.
Words.
So many words.

And nothing comes out.

I read the brilliant words of friends.
Of colleagues.
Of Scholars.
Even of students (on occasion).
All I can think is
Where are my words?

The jumbled mess sticks in my thoughts
and in my mouth
Like Peanut Butter
Gluing my trap closed.

And I feel trapped in that closed space.
I shake the walls
I pray
I cry
I scream--and even this is silent
I just can't seem to find the words I need.

Deep breaths.
It will come.
It has to come.
The wisdom
The words
All that I've worked so hard to build up
To connect with

It all requires some faith--and words.
Please, God
I need more articulate words
To help me past this "stuck"-ness.

Kairos: Embrace the Chaortic-ness

About a year ago, Pastor Linda Daniel-Block coined the term “Chaortic” to describe the events of her life at that moment.  It wasn’t utter chaos she said.  There was beauty to it and a sense of order—somewhere—but it never felt completely within her control.  I can think of no better way to explain our life right now.  From my husband switching jobs in mid-December to Tristan leaving preschool and becoming obsessed with climbing everything but playground equipment (why do kids always want to climb what they shouldn’t and avoid things that we tell them they can climb on?) to this whole dissertation journey, online teaching and responsibilities within my house and the church, everything has been in a state of chaorticness.

We keep moving forward with some amount of progress, but I think I feel the anxiety and frustration of chronological time and progress more than my other family members right now.  For me, hours drag by as I constantly remove my son from his climbing places and try to redirect him to less destructive activities, and as I try to connect with students in my online classes.  Meanwhile, my dissertation work, seems to move forward at a snail’s pace as the months fly by.  My advisor kept telling me on Monday that I’m doing well, making deadlines and meeting them each month for the most part, assuring me that not every day or week or even month can be productive, “it comes in fits and starts, with highs and lows,” she says, and you have to take breaks for your sanity.  In essence, though, I do not want to be in Chaos.  I do not even want to be in Chaortic-ness (where there is method in the madness).  I just want to feel as if I’m making the best use of time, energy, and talents as possible. I do start mulling over her words though.

That’s really when the word started flitting around in my brain—Kairos.  Kairos.  Kairos, in greek, means “the right or exact moment.”  But I also grew up reading Madeline L’Engle’s Time series, or as it’s sometimes called “the Kairos series,” and her words on time are the ones I turn to so often to make sense of the nature of God, his time and how it contrasts with the way we so often view time.

 From Walking on Water, by Madeleine L’Engle:

Kairos. Real time. God’s time.

That time which breaks through chronos with a shock of joy, that time we do not recognize while we are experiencing it, but only afterwards, because kairos has nothing to do with chronological time. In kairos we are completely unselfconscious, and yet paradoxically far more real than we can ever be when we’re constantly checking our watches for chronological time.

The saint in contemplation, lost to self in the mind of God is in kairos. The artist at work is in kairos. The child at play, totally thrown outside herself in the game, be it building a sand castle or making a daisy chain, is in kairos. In kairos we become what we are called to be as human beings, co-creators with God, touching on the wonder of creation.

This calling should not be limited to artists, or saints, but it is a fearful calling. It is both Mana and taboo. It can destroy as well as bring into being.

In Our Town, after Emily has died in childbirth, Thornton Wilder has her ask the Stage Manager if she can return home to relive just one day. Reluctantly he allows her to do so. And she is torn by the beauty of the ordinary, and by our lack of awareness of it. She cries out to her mother, “Mama, just look at me one minute as though you really saw me… it goes so fast we don’t have time to look at one another.”

And she goes back to the graveyard and the quiet company of the others lying there, and she asks the Stage Manager “Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?” And he sighs and says, “No. The saints and poets, maybe. They do some.”

Reading this passage reminds me that lent calls us into kairos time, as we follow the journey to the cross.  It is in this moment that I realize that this academic endeavor is more than writing about faith and sharing about two faiths that have so much in common.  The writing of this itself is happening within kairos time.  This is not to say that I do not feel the need to write or push it.  I’m a self described “TYPE A” personality and I will always push myself harder, to work faster and more articulately. The funny thing is that this doesn’t always work, even with my own dissertation.  I rely so heavily on others for feedback and interviews and even some of my transcription.  My son gets sick for a week and a half and then starts climbing the walls and I don’t have time during the day to do much other than care for him and am too tired when he finally goes to bed at night to do much other than get lost in a book.  I get pulled into a fiction series…and find myself living in kairos time there as well.

I have to trust that kairos time, in all of the chaortic-ness that I feel, is at work in my work, my life and my words.  I just have to embrace it and tell chronos time to stop making me feel like such a loser—that it does not have that sort of power over me anymore.  Really, truly doing God’s work takes time. Kairos time. Embrace the chaortic-ness of it all. 

More on the Pursuit of Knowledge

A student of mine has been doing a lot of thinking, reading, researching and writing on types of etymology lately.  It's not the topic that interests me so much as the this student has gone about it.

While he does try to focus on Greek and latin forms of word and how they're  used, his primary reference base seems to be a few books and the internet.  I'm not trying to slam the guy here, mind you.  Perhaps it's the fact that I'm a few years older and the internet was really only available for research purposes when I was in high school, but I'm always mystified by the use of internet documents as primary sources.  Yes, I'm an academic and I tend to lean towards peer-reviewed periodicals on some things, but this is...different.

I was trying to work it out in my own head--Was it that every source he give me make me uneasy, with the banners along the top and advertisements down the side?  Somewhat, but it was the author's name I was drawn to in each.  Did I know it? No.  Could I google it and find out their credentials? No. Did HE know this person and/or their work and methodologies?  No.  It was this last "no" that was bothering me more than anything.

This reminded me of something I'd heard/seen during interviews with Rose, Amira, and several community members.  "Do you know X?" they asked.  "Well, he studied with Y and is an important scholar in modern Islam."  I was then told to look the person up in some cases, or sent articles by the person (or related to their biographies).  When talking about Qu'ranic knowledge, they referenced a well-known scholar's interpretations.

This also made me think of a recent discussion with my advisor.  I was again lamenting my choice in schools because of some of the silliness I'd seen recently accepted as "doctoral level work."  I told her though that I really loved working with her and that I was so glad I had her pushing me ahead.  She confided that she sometimes worried how she was perceived as a scholar when she worked for this somewhat no-name school.  "But you look at, okay, I studied under X and Y, who studied under Z and T, who studied with A and hopefully, in the end, its this chain of scholarship that matters."

Hence my revelation today that knowledge itself is important, but far more important seems to be the chain of scholarship and the way in which the story and method is passed down from generation to generation.  In our narrative, those we learn from and their approach to research and to stories tell just as much about our world lens as the story itself.

When asked about people other than their families who impacted their identities, Amira, Rose and Hannah all immediately listed teachers.  Teachers of faith and Qu'ran, teachers of English language skills and teachers of music, but all were influential in their lives within particular disciplines.

I think the most important thing I drew out of this revelation today is something I've said before but in a different light.  Our stories intertwine and overlap and our lives end but the stories continue--this I've said.  What I'd never thought about was the importance of previous knowledge and methods coloring those stories in such a way that they flow so nicely together, often in ways that people listen to you and then say, "hey, you're Brian Hartley's daughter, aren't you?"  or "You studied under Dr. Dorner, didn't you.  I can tell."

I guess that there really is no 'objective' research or search for truth, as all of our methods are shaped and influenced by those who profoundly impact us.  Then again, isn't there great value in this shaping along the pursuit for knowledge?  I can't help but believe that observed methodologies and practices have been far more helpful to me for really learning and DOING than anything I've read about methodologies over the past 3-4 years.  A guiding hand has been worth 10,000 words at times.

If anyone seeks wisdom...

Amira and I had  our second interview in late January, and ended up spending almost 3 hours together, I think.  Before I turned on the recorder, we just caught up a bit on life since our first interview three years prior--the interview that started this dissertation process in some ways, but in other ways preceded it.  Probably the last hour or so of the recording was just...well, interfaith dialogue.  I shouldn't say "just," but as it had less to do with the dissertation questions and more to do with navigating the often difficult waters of being some of the few "Gen Y"ers in our congregations.  We both grew up with gay friends who believed in God and had faced very angry elders in the community when they came out.  Knowing individuals first as friends made this a bit more difficult and we first turned to scripture and sought first hand knowledge--about what scripture really says and where.  As Amira said, "if they were Muslim and came out to me, I told them what scripture said, as we are called to do, then left it at that.  If they weren't Muslim, I didn't say anything. It didn't stop us from being friends."

The key here in this story isn't the issue (I'd be happy to talk with anyone about my thoughts on this in relationship to faith, but would prefer to do so in person)--but it's the act of SEEKING KNOWLEDGE. Gen Y folks (which I'm noting here as something in-between or separate from Gen Xers or Millennials because we seem to draw from both sets of characteristics while also being quite distinct.  Anyway...) have often been portrayed as this confused bunch, sort of wandering through life and questioning authority but being perhaps less reactive than Gen Xers.  We're somewhat obsessed with the search for truth and seeking out answers for ourselves.

I never realized how this might be a generational issue until I observed at Amira's school in early February.  I arrived about 10am, checked into the office and then was guided to her room which was only about 3 doors away from the main office.  As a music teacher, she instructs several age groups and a class of fifth graders were milling about, grabbing pencils, clipboards and handouts when I arrived.  The room was brightly painted with walls of orange and royal blue, covered in posters of chords, a few instruments, red/yellow/green card charts and sticker charts for students to help with behavior management.  The students sat on the floor facing the screen while Amira ran the projector from the back of the room.  It was a very diverse class of 20 students, almost evenly split between genders and from many ethnic backgrounds.  As a well-established city charter school, it had gained respect as a place where students came to get a good education in a somewhat 'strict' environment.  They were all required to wear uniforms.

Amira was reading to them about the life of Bach using an illustrated and humorous text, while students followed along on worksheets and answered questions from the text.  Most of the lesson involved students who wanted to get drinks of water, go to the bathroom, sharpen pencils, or do just about anything but sit still and listen.  The crucial part of this lesson, to me, was what happened in the following dialogue.

Amira: "Back then, they didn't have radios, so the only way to hear music was go to a concert or hire a band to come play for you in your home, which only royals could afford."
Student 1: "Didn't they have a boom box they could shoulder?"
Amira: "No, they didn't have radios or recordings.  They didn't even have electricity."
Students: "What?" *frightened/excited murmurs
Amira: "Yeah, I know it's crazy.  No electricity."
Student 2: "didn't they have, like, you know, those boxes with a hand crank to make stuff work?"
Amira: "you mean a generator?" (student 2 nods).  "No, electricity hadn' even been invented yet.  Servants or other people lit candles in homes to provide light."
Student 3: "What did they do for, like, fun?"
Amira: "For fun? They read books."
(student 3 laughs)
Amira: "no, seriously!  Haven't you ever read a book you really enjoyed?"
Student 4: NO!
Student 5: yeah (quietly)
Student 3: "well I watch the movie and THEN I read the book."
Amira: "Are you getting this, Mrs. Hager?  This is the generation that's going to take care of us.  This generation that doesn't want to read."
Student 4: "Yeah!  We're the AWESOME generation!"

It both sickened me and surprised me.  They thought so highly of themselves because they DIDN'T want or like to read.  They thought that life was better with movies telling them how to see or interpret the story.  And if a book didn't have a movie?  To them it wasn't worth reading.

Perhaps reading is a dying art (I certainly hope not!  We're working with our 2 year old to love reading and learning) and the pursuit of knowledge for the sake of truth and discovery is disappearing.  However, I know that it isn't among my study participants and that a big part of their identity development has come through listening, through reading, through seeking out scholars and helping that information about faith become part of their own.  If nothing else, I hope this search for wisdom and knowledge is something that can be re-established in our schools as part of the purpose (and need for) education.  It's about teaching skills and building tools for lifelong learning, not just about minute details like how many children Bach had (17, by the way.  4 by his first wife who died young and 13 by his second.  I did enjoy the music class and learning with Amira's  guidance :D )

James 1: 18-19 By his own will he brought us into being through the word of truth, so that we should have first place among all his creatures.  Remember this, my dear friends! Everyone must be quick to listen, but slow to speak and slow to become angry.