Struggling with a Violent God

Photo credit: Image by me, Getty Museum, January 2011

I've been struggling of late with my knowledge of the violent God who exists in the Old Testament. I am a follower of Jesus, and in the pages of the New Testament, I discover God walking around on earth in the person of Jesus Christ.

In this Jesus, I discover the fullness of love. I discover a God who teaches and embodies peace, forgiveness, and reconciliation. I discover a God who bears burdens gladly. I discover a God who forgives all enemies.

But in the pages of the Old Testament, I discover a different kind of God. Here, I find a God who chooses favorites. I find a God who chose Israel and no one else. I find a God who decimated whole cities and countries because they lived lawlessly or opposed God's chosen nation.

One God exhibiting quite different attributes between each testament.

I don't say any of this to be flippant or disrespect my God. I truly want to understand what this means and why it is, and I've been asking God to help me understand. I'm writing about it here for two reasons:

1. To continue chronicling the reality of this very real journey I keep walking into nonviolence, including all its questions and difficulties.
2. To learn what you might say. Have you ever struggled with this subject?

I've wrestled with this question for over two years. Quite early in my journey, actually, I wrote a piece called "What About the Violent God of the Old Testament?" on another online space I maintain, and I continue to wonder if the place I landed at the end of that piece isn't the most orthodox place to land: that perhaps in the death of Jesus, the full justice of God was truly satisfied. This means God no longer has reason to administer justice in the ways he used to do.

As I share at the end of that piece, this brings with it its own fair share of new questions, and there are questions I have about that which weren't even raised in that article.

But even if it is true that this is what happened to make God "change" when it came to Jesus, that still left thousands upon thousands of people in the hands of an angry God. All those people who lived and died before Jesus walked the earth  lived under the wrath of a God who administered such grave justice.

I get that God is just. I get that such a supreme being bears the high standards of perfection. And yet still, my heart breaks at the reality of what that means.

A couple weeks ago, for instance, I read the Passover account in the book of Exodus. This is where God "passes over" those houses of the people of Israel when he comes in wrath against the citizens of Egypt and all their first-born sons. In one night, all the first-born sons in the houses of Egypt died.

That same day, I read the following psalm:

What a stack of blessing you have piled up for those who worship you, Ready and waiting for all who run to you to escape an unkind world. You hide them safely away from the opposition. As you slam the door on those oily, mocking faces, you silence the poisonous gossip . . . Love God, all you saints; God takes care of all who stay close to him. But he pays back in full those arrogant enough to go it alone. -- Psalm 31:19-20, 23 (The Message)

Earlier in my faith journey, I used to read these kinds of passages and find great comfort and solace in them. They told me of a God who cares for those who love and follow him. They told me that those who mocked and scorned me for my faith wouldn't keep their days of herald forever.

But today, it's not like that at all.

Today, I read these passages and weep. I weep for those God killed in the Passover. I weep for those parents who lost those sons. I weep for all the people who lost their lives because of the anger and judgment of the God I serve. Such weeping for those I would normally deem my enemies just won't seem to go away.

Lately, I've been sitting here in a struggle with this violent God. I don't fully know how to reconcile him with the Jesus I've come to know and dearly love -- the Jesus whom I believe is the incarnation of this same exact God -- who tells me I am wholly precious and cherished.

I know that I didn't choose God. I did nothing to merit the love of God, and yet here I stand, utterly steadfast in it, unable to lose it at all. Why me, yet not those?

These questions trouble me, and I ask God to teach me. I hold these questions, and I wonder. Will you wonder with me?

Happy Birthday, Dr. King

Dear Dr. King, Every year, when the public observance of your birthday rolls around, it makes me smile. It reminds me of the many school years I shared my birthday week with you, sometimes with my special day falling on the very same day as yours, resulting in a holiday from school.

I felt a kinship with you from a young age because of this. In my mind, we always belonged together. Our lives were intertwined.

Only two years ago did your life began to make an impression on me for its own sake, though. I read a book and stumbled unsuspectingly on an idea that changed the whole course of my life. It's an idea you know very well -- that only love has the power to truly transform violence -- and the book hailed you as one of its major proponents. Now, two years later, I know you weren't merely its proponent. You were also its incarnation.

In that first year I encountered this new idea, I began to read your autobiography. There, I learned about the measure of a man required to embody such a hard and difficult truth. I learned about the bombings. The arrests. The attempts to subvert requests for justice. The cryptic phone calls. The fears. The brushes with death. And the masses of people you led through so many long and determined demonstrations of dignity.

So many aspects of your life mark me deeply now, but your faith is the brightest of them all. There is a moment in your autobiography that is forever sealed in my memory. I revisit it often in my mind. It was a turning-point moment for you, the bedrock foundation that forever sustained you in the long years of labor, conviction, promise, and hope ahead.

You know what moment I'm talking about, no doubt. Here it is in your own words:

One night toward the end of January I settled into bed late, after a strenuous day. Coretta had already fallen asleep and just as I was about to doze off the telephone rang. An angry voice said, "Listen, nigger, we've taken all we want from you; before next week you'll be sorry you ever came to Montgomery." I hung up, but I couldn't sleep. It seemed that all of my fears had come down on me at once. I had reached the saturation point.

I got out of bed and began to walk the floor. I had heard these things before, but for some reason that night it got to me. I turned over and I tried to go to sleep, but I couldn't sleep. I was frustrated, bewildered, and then I got up.

Finally I went to the kitchen and heated a pot of coffee. I was ready to give up. With my cup of coffee sitting untouched before me I tried to think of a way to move out of the picture without appearing a coward.

I sat there and thought about a beautiful little daughter who had just been born. I'd come in night after night and see that little gentle smile. I started thinking about a dedicated and loyal wife, who was over there asleep. And she could be taken from me, or I could be taken from her.

And I got to the point that I couldn't take it any longer. I was weak. Something said to me, "You can't call on Daddy now, you can't even call on Mama. You've got to call on that somethinng in that person that your Daddy used to tell you about, that power that can make a way out of no way."

With my head in my hands, I bowed over the kitchen table and prayed aloud. The words I spoke to God that midnight are still vivid in my memory: "Lord, I'm down here trying to do what's right. I think I'm right. I am here taking a stand for what I believe is right. But Lord, I must confess that I'm weak now, I'm faltering. I'm losing my courage. Now, I am afraid. And I can't let the people see me like this becaue if they see me weak and losing my courage, they will begin to get weak. The people are looking to me for leadership, and if I stand before them without strength and courage, they too will falter. I am at the end of my powers. I have nothing left. I've come to the point where I can't face it alone."

It seemed as though I could hear the quiet assurance of an inner voice saying: "Martin Luther, stand up for righteousness. Stand up for justice. Stand up for truth. And lo, I will be with you. Even until the end of the world."

I tell you I've seen the lightning flash. I've heard the thunder roar. I've felt sin breakers dashing trying to conquer my soul. But I heard the voice of Jesus saying still to fight on. He promised never to leave me alone. At that moment I experienced the presence of the Divine as I had never experienced Him before. Almost at once my fears began to go. My uncertainty disappeeared. I was ready to face anything.

Dr. King, there is a short list of people I name as personal heroes in my life, and it's because of the entry above that you are on that list. You did so many remarkable things with your life. You paved a way where there had been no way before. And yet because of this moment you detailed above, you and I both know that it's only because of Christ that those things ever happened through your life.

You remind me, Dr. King, that Christ is our strength and sustainer through all the dark moments, hours, and years that will meet someone walking this nonviolent path. You remind me that Christ is the light shed abroad in this world's darkness, that Christ is the love radiating out from the center of our lives.

Christ is the reason I ever chose to walk this path in the first place, and your life reminds me of that. Thank you, Dr. King, for living your life in such a way that it challenges and teaches me, nearly 50 years later, how to live my own.

Happy birthday to you.

With great admiration, respect, and renewed kinship,

Christianne

A Time of Rest to Mend the Soul

Hello, friends.

I promise that I haven't forgotten you or abandoned this online space. Life has been happening, and so has growth, and there is quite a lot to share. But for now, I need to stay quiet in this space for the next little while.

Put most simply, I need to attend to the mending of my heart. It's finally on the mend after a long season of darkness, and I am thankful to be glimpsing the light in my days once more. Right now, I'm realizing it is best to direct a majority of my energy to staying present to that light.

One way that I am going to be able to stay present to that light is through the relaunch of my original blog, Lilies Have Dreams. This was my first and long-time online haven where I reflected regularly on my daily life, faith, and growth, and I've decided it will be the perfect environment for staying present to where I am, especially in the dailiness of my days. It has always been a sacred and often playful home for my soul, and I know spending time there again will provide rich nurture for me.

I anticipate returning to a regular pace of posting here in the next couple months, and I look forward to when that time comes. After all, we still have much journeying to do here together! (Feel free to subscribe to the RSS feed so you can be kept in the loop when regular posting begins again.)

But during this quiet time, as I encounter stories and links worth sharing, I'll still pop in and share them with you.

For instance, here are two beautiful stories I discovered recently that encourage me to keep living from a place of love and understanding in this world, whether I'm encountering events that are world-changing in their magnitude or happen inside the course of a normal routine:

• A look back at 9/11 from the perspective of a punk rock singer as he experienced the event in 2001.
• One man's loving -- and ultimately impactful -- response to a mugger at the end of his hour-long commute to the Bronx one night.

Thank you for your patience and understanding through this.

And know that in this in-between time, you are always welcome to join me over at the Lilies blog!

[Image credit: Sara Alfred.]

Repentance Thursday: September 2010

[Holy oil used in a "Service of Repentance" between Lutherans and Mennonites in July 2010. Photo by LWF Eleventh Assembly.]

Hello, friends.

As I mentioned in my post earlier today, today is Repentance Thursday. For those new to this blog, this is a day set apart on the first Thursday of every month where we examine our hearts and confess our own personal need for repentance and forgiveness.

It is an opportunity to remember that we are equal to every human being on earth in our mere humanity and that we, too, contribute to the pain the world endures.

So today, let's reflect on the past month of our lives and then ask ourselves:

• Into what dark mires did my heart traverse?
• In what ways did I bring harm to my fellow man, either in thought, word, or deed?
• How did I sin against God?

Upon reflection, you are welcome to leave a public confession in the comment section below. As always, please note:

• You are welcome to leave your confession anonymously.
• You are welcome to make up an e-mail address (since the comment section requires you to provide one).
• You are welcome to be as general or specific as you want.
• You are welcome to write your confession as prayer.
• Any judging or disparaging comments on another's confession will be removed.

Thank you for being here on this Repentance Thursday. May you find peace and a clear heart and mind as you participate in this reflective day with us.

Update on the Photobomb!

[The lovely, amazing, and inspiring Karen Walrond.]

Hello, friends.

Today is Repentance Thursday, and I'll be updating the blog a bit later to provide space for us to express our solidarity with humanity in our ongoing need for confession and forgiveness ... but first, I want to tell you that Karen Walrond shared an incredible update on the Photobomb project today.

Seriously, check it out!

Totally inspiring. I'm humbled to be a part of it.

Thank you, Karen, for leading us all toward a greater embodiment of truth, peace, and love.

Deadline for the Photobomb Today!

Hello all!

Just a quick note to say that today is the postmark deadline for the Photobomb project Karen Walrond is hosting. (This is the photo project for peace I wrote about here.)

I had some trouble getting my photo submission properly developed, so mine's going out -- just in time! -- with today's mail. I'm sending the photo above, a sweet photo of my girl kitty who teaches me much about God's love.

Before mailing the photo, I need to decide on a message of peace and love to write on the back.

I'd love to hear your thoughts:

What message of peace and love do you think this photo best expresses? What are her eyes telling you?

Be the Change: What's Yours?

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RMMosJq1PBI&h=350&w=500] Hi there, everyone!

I'm excited to come to you via video post today. Thought it would be a fun way to feel like I am actually talking to you, rather than just writing to you like I always do.

In this video, I'm inviting each of us to consider the question:

What does it look like -- or could it look like -- for me to be the change I wish to see in the world?

In the second half of the video, I share with you how I personally would respond to that question. Please share your own response in the comments below!

More Thoughts on the Military: In the End, We Are (Still) All the Same

[A father greets his 7-year-old daughter in a special reunion at her elementary school. Photo by DVIDSHUB.]

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Hi there, friends.

I so appreciate the thoughts shared on my last post, wherein I confessed my recent struggle to know how best to behold military servicemen and servicewomen these days.

Sarah's comment, in particular, gave me a lot to think about:

Many members of the military are just doing their jobs. They chose to join for college money, and stayed because the retirement is amazing, or because they have a family and it’s the only way they can count on to make ends meet. So while I might disagree with the decisions made in the upper echelons of leadership, most of that doesn’t apply to the individuals I see.

This comment made an impression on me because it reminded me of the humanity of those in uniform. And I find it ironic that I somehow lost sight of this simple truth, as the point of my post in the first place was the subject of our shared humanity. When viewing that military reunion video, for instance, I thought of the mothers in Afghanistan and Iraq who most certainly embrace their sons returning from war with the same tears of joy that the American mothers did in that video. The point of the post was that, in the end, we are all the same.

And yet somehow, when encountering men or women in military uniform of late, all I have been able to see is their uniform. A military uniform became an immediate label in my mind, something that divided me from the one wearing it because they represented a worldview I've been coming to reject. And just as I critiqued the military for training men and women to distrust "the other," I was exercising the same flawed prejudice toward those who choose to serve in the armed forces.

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Last night, as I was reading in bed, I came across a section in Gandhi's autobiography that pulled me right back into the reality of this nonviolence journey:

Man and his deed are two distinct things. Whereas a good deed should call forth approbation and a wicked deed disapprobation, the doer of the deed, whether good or wicked, always deserves respect or pity as the case may be. 'Hate the sin and not the sinner' is a precept which, though easy enough to understand, is rarely practised, and that is why the poison of hatred spreads in the world.

. . . It is quite proper to resist and attack a system, but to resist and attack its author is tantamount to resisting and attacking oneself. For we are all tarred with the same brush, and are children of one and the same Creator, and as such the divine powers within us are infinite. To slight a single human being is to slight those divine powers, and thus to harm not only that being but with him the whole world.

All of this reminded me that this journey is about learning to regard my neighbor -- each and every one -- as a human being worthy of my respect and kindness. In the same way that God has, for some reason beyond my knowledge, given me an ability in recent history to look upon those who bring harm to their citizens, who torture their enemies, and who commit crimes against others with an incredible degree of compassion, concern, and love, I am meant to regard my brothers and sisters in uniform with the same degree of care and equanimity.

I need to remember this:

On the nonviolent journey, I am seeking a better means to create a more just and humane world. I am not seeking to demonize those who hold different views than I do.

If today were Repentance Thursday, I would confess my ill-founded prejudice against those who serve in the military. I would confess having distanced my heart from those individuals based on their clothes and their livelihood. I would confess the need for greater love.

On the Military: In the End, We Are All the Same

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nr7DcJdbCS0&w=500&h=350] [This video on military reunions went viral earlier this week. It moved me a lot because it showed me how fundamentally alike each of us are as humans. We all love, and when our loved ones -- especially those whose lives have been in danger -- return home, our immediate response is to smile, and to cry, and to embrace them. It is a response, I believe, that transcends country or continent.]

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I have to confess that I have been struggling to know how to regard military servicemen and servicewomen these days.

It used to be that I could see those in military uniforms and give them a smile of gratitude. I was in awe of their service and commitment, even no matter the country they served. Though I was never as brave as my husband, who can walk up to American individuals in uniform and shake their hands and thank them for their service, still my gratitude and awe ran deep whenever someone in uniform crossed my path.

But ever since I started walking this road of nonviolence, I've become awkward with all of this. On the one hand, I still hold all military servicepersons in quite high esteem. Anyone willing to put their own life and safety on the line for anything they believe is worth dying for -- and to do it, what's more, for the benefit and safety of others -- garners my complete respect.

But in other ways, the violence standing at the core of all military presence feels stifling, painful, and overwhelming to me. The truth is, we train our military men and women to kill. We train them to distrust the "other." We train them to live and respond defensively and offensively as a way of life. We recalibrate their makeup for violence.

This bothers me.

I am still working through what I think about these things because I know the realities of life in this big, wide world prevent most of my ideals from ever seeing the light of day. I wish that wasn't the case. I wish that we could, collectively, see that we are each human, no matter our nationality, and that we carry the same basic needs and desires. I wish the citizens of earth could care more about nurturing life than denigrating and ending it.

And maybe that is still possible here. Maybe someday the whole world will find the enlightenment that leads to lovingkindness as a way of life. I suppose that's why I keep walking this path, seeking to learn from the masters who have gone before us, the prophets who saw beyond the circumstances surrounding them and led others to freedom and change. Perhaps someday, in some small way, God will use my own life to help the wider world find life and peace.

I hope that is the case.

But until that day, I will keep struggling and wrestling and asking the hard questions I don't quite know how to answer yet.

I'm curious: Do you have any thoughts on this?

Moment of Love Wednesday: August 2010

Hello there, friends. This post is reaching you a couple days later than planned. My apologies! Hopefully you'll forgive my tardiness once you hear about my find for this month's Moment of Love Monday. It's simply amazing.

But before I share it, I want to say how much I love the way you responded last month to the idea of using this monthly feature to showcase others putting love into action in the world, especially when their doing so reflects two of the core values of our tribe:

1. A commitment to offering creative, life-giving love in response to any degree of violence or hatred, and
2. An unwavering belief in the power of love to overcome violence.

I'm looking forward to the things we'll learn together as we explore what others are doing to bring greater light and love into our world in creative ways. (And if you come across any great stories that ought to be featured, feel free to send them my way! My e-mail address is christianne at journeytowardnonviolence dot com.)

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And now for this month's feature.

Meet Karen Walrond.

Karen writes one of my favorite blogs on the internet, Chookooloonks. It's an incredible photography blog infused with a whole lot of soul. I'm constantly in awe of what Karen can do with a macro lens (for example, see this), and I love the way she translates her careful attention to detail and beauty behind the lens into making the world a more caring, human place.

For example, this fall Karen is publishing a book called The Beauty of Different. It's a book that combines photography and words to celebrate what is unique and different in each one of us, based on the idea that these unique little gems -- even those parts we deem imperfections -- are what make us so heart-achingly beautiful.

Don't you just love that idea?

Another example: Karen has been running full-steam-ahead on a pretty fantastic life list, and one item on her list includes the audacious goal to photograph 1000 beautifully different faces. Yes, you read that right: one thousand different faces.

That is just incredible. And perhaps even more incredible is how big a dent she's already made in that goal in a matter of months.

This woman is a warrior!

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So, speaking of Karen as warrior, let me tell you about a campaign she's running this month on her blog that we can be a part of.

She calls it Photobomb.

Here is the story of how I learned about it. Two weekends ago, I logged onto Twitter and noticed three consecutive tweets from Karen resting near the top of my Twitter feed:

I'll be honest. When I first saw these tweets, I didn't think much of them and just kept scrolling through the rest of my feed. But then a few moments later I saw this update from Karen:

Okay, how could I not sit up and take notice when I read that?!

So I went back and read the link in her initial tweet. It leads to a CNN article about a church in Gainesville, Florida that is staging a Quran-burning event on September 11. The church believes Islam is "of the devil" and is promoting the event on a Facebook page that had (as of the article's printing) 1,600 fans.

When Karen put out the request on Twitter for constructive ideas to counteract the Quran-burning event, someone suggested sending cards and images of peace to the church as a reminder of love. It reminded Karen of a photo drive she ran on her blog last Christmas (one that had been wildly successful), and suddenly it made complete sense to do just that.

In that moment, Photobomb was born.

Now through August 25, Karen is collecting photos from people around the world who want to send the church in Gainesville a different message -- a message of peace -- in the hopes of counteracting their violent affront against Islam, its followers, and their holy book.

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I'm sure it's easy to tell why this Photobomb project would inspire me. My own journey toward nonviolence began when I encountered the idea that love was the only force powerful enough to overcome violence. Nearly two years have elapsed since that moment, and every day I still live each day with the question Is it true? ringing in the back of my mind.

I want to see what -- if anything -- sending images and messages of peace to that church in Gainesville can do to make a difference.

But even if it doesn't make any kind of difference, I guess the truth is that I want to do it anyway. So much of this nonviolent path is really about who we will choose to be in any given moment or when faced with any situation.

When faced with this particular situation, then, I want to choose peace and love.

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So, here is the image of peace I am sending to Karen in this coming week. It's a picture of my little girl kitty, Diva, looking up with the same eyes of great trust and vulnerability she turns on me each day. It's a look that breaks my heart every time because it fills my heart with more love and care for her than I hardly know how to hold inside myself. And truthfully, it's a look that teaches me more about God's love for me and my love for him than reading the Bible does most days.

Perhaps this picture will provoke similar feelings of tenderness and love in the hearts of those who receive it in Gainesville.

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So, what about you? Will you be a part of the Photobomb project? If so, click here to learn how to participate.

And if you do participate, share a link in the comments below to the photo you will send! It would be fun to see the ways in which our community participates in this counter-campaign of peace.

Repentance Thursday: August 2010

Hello, friends. It's been a while since I last posted, but it's not for lack of thinking about you or this space. Your encouragement on my last post meant so much to me. I hope to get back to a regular posting schedule soon.

For now, it's Repentance Thursday, so let's turn our attention to this last month and how we might nurture repentance and forgiveness in our hearts today. (If you’re new to Repentance Thursday, you can learn more about its inception and our practice of it here.)

Reflect on the following questions as you consider the past month in retrospect:

• Into what dark mires did my heart traverse?
• In what ways did I bring harm to my fellow man, either in thought, word, or deed?
• How did I sin against God?

After reflecting, you are welcome to leave a comment of confession below.

Blessings to you on this day. Thank you for being here.

Letters to the Great Peacemakers: Mother Teresa

Dear Mother Teresa, Sometimes I pray to you, even though I am not Catholic.

As best I remember, these prayers began last year, when I began to pray more fervently about how God might want to use my life in the service of nonviolence. I would ask you to implore Jesus on my behalf for wisdom and an ability to recognize his plans for me. I knew that he would hear your prayers for me. I knew that he would listen and heed them.

I knew, too, that you would be sympathetic to my prayer -- you, who had been granted a vision in 1946 as you made your retreat to Darjeeling and encountered in the train station the poorest of the poor. On that night, a firm conviction planted itself in your heart that you were to work among India's poor, showing them the love of Christ and loving the face of Christ in them as you cared for them in their suffering. It was a conviction that never left you, though the road to realizing your vocation was long and arduous. You always knew, from that moment forward, what God was asking of you.

I was praying and waiting for a similar conviction in my own life last year, so I would ask you to pray for me, knowing how dear you are to Christ. You became a type of spiritual mother to me through those petitions, and I cannot thank you enough for your love for me and your prayers on my behalf.

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Right now, Mother, I need your prayers again.

My interior journey for the past nine months has been full of immense tumult. Since last September, when I emerged from a summer of solitude devoted to prayer and the study of nonviolence, I have struggled to find equilibrium.

Until recently, I blamed this difficulty on the many commitments in my outer world that I seemed not to know how to juggle well. As you know, I am a contemplative creature by nature, given to a slow pace of life with plenty of time for reflection and prayer. When my pace of life increased tenfold last September, I felt like I began flailing about in unrelenting waves, choking on salt water and so near to drowning again and again.

I know it is true that I find it difficult to give my attention to too many things at once. But lately I've begun to believe that something more intentional is at work within this struggle. There seems to be a need to relearn old truths: to rediscover grace and realize anew my belovedness to God.

I believe this to be true because of the very old yet familiar circuit upon which my thoughts keep running. They are thoughts full of fear, of pressure, of anxiety. They tell me I must perform without stain or blemish. They compel me to seek approval and affirmation for every insignificant moment. They feed on insecurity, and they make me feel 19 again -- rather than the mature and rooted woman I had slowly and gladly become these last twelve years.

I don't like this reality, Mother, and I have fought with God for bringing me back to this very old place, a place I thought no longer held me, a place I know God and I had worked long and hard to overcome. But he seems to be showing me there is more to learn and overcome here, and it hurts. I feel as though my lover has wounded me. I feel like God has betrayed me.

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When I read the letters you wrote to your spiritual fathers about the excruciating darkness in your soul that lasted decades of your life, I see just how far I have to go.

Although you felt abandoned by God, your response was unrelenting faithfulness and a determination toward cheerful adoration. I know your heart grew very heavy and the loneliness neared despair, yet you renewed your resolve of love and faithfulness to God again and again. You knew your darkness was his delight for reasons mysterious and beyond your comprehension. You shared in his sufferings in that place, and you felt it was your humble privilege to do so.

I am not responding that way here. As God is wounding me for my apparent good, I find myself shaking my fist, banging against his chest, crying out at his abandonment, and growing listless and despairing, often renewing an old and unswerving dependence on myself.

Here is where I need your prayers, dear Mother.

Please pray for me, that the face of Jesus would be my delight. Please pray that my love for him would grow. Pray that I would smile at him, and at others for his sake. Please pray for an increase of faith, and of strength to continue through this dark and undesired place. Please pray that I would know him to be near, even though he seems distant and cold and deaf to my pleas. Please ask for his forgiveness of my anger and unbelief, and especially my unfaithful love as I've been so quick to turn my back on him.

Mother, as you expressed in the midst of your own darkness that it would be your work in heaven to come light the lamps of those on earth who also walked in darkness, I ask that you would indeed "come, be my light." Bring that light near, that I would see the face of Christ again and come to love him well.

Yet even if I do not see his face -- if it is his will for me to believe in his love for me in this dark and difficult place -- it is my prayer that I would learn to love him with a love that doesn't require sight, as you so fervently did.

With loving humility in Christ,

Christianne

Moment of Love Monday: July 2010

Hi there, friends. I've got an adjustment to Moment of Love Mondays that I'd like to share with you, and I hope you will find it a helpful improvement.

Early in the life of this blog, I asked what topics you, the tribe, would like to see featured here, and a couple of you said you'd like to see examples of love lived out. It was a confirmation to me that Moment of Love Mondays would be a helpful feature for us to learn from concrete examples what this nonviolent path can look like.

In the beginning, I imagined these monthly observances would simply be an open forum for us to share stories from our own lives with one another -- ways that we had personally chosen love in difficult moments each month -- and that's how I ran the feature from the start.

But lately I've begun to think it could encompass more. Specifically, I've begun to think it would be helpful to use these monthly Mondays to highlight stories of others who are putting love into action in inspiring ways or difficult places so that we can, collectively, learn from what they have done.

What if Moment of Love Monday became a place to feature stories and learn from them together? What if those stories became mini-object lessons for us as we learn our way along this path? I know that I, for one, would love to discover stories like this and discuss them with you.

What say you? Are you up for this adjustment to the plan?

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In the spirit of this new approach to Moment of Love Monday, then, I've got a remarkable story to share with you.

It's the story of a gentleman named Nathan who enacted a version of "protesting for love" when he and his friends at the Marin Foundation showed up at the Chicago gay pride parade two weekends ago wearing shirts that said "I'm sorry." They held signs that said things like "I'm sorry for the way churches have treated you" and "I'm sorry that Christians judge you."

Collectively, they demonstrated confession and contrition for the hatred and judgment and rejection the church has traditionally offered the gay community, and they sought to offer love instead. It was, for them, a beginning attempt at reconciliation, especially because the Marin Foundation exists to build bridges between the Christian community and the gay community.

They never expected the response they received.

Not only were there hugs and kisses and "thank yous" and "I forgive yous" offered continuously to them by the paraders marching by throughout the day, but one young man named Tristan, dressed in nothing but his skivvies, jumped from a float and threw his arms around Nathan once he realized what the group was doing. The media immediately descended on this unlikely photo op, propelling the group's demonstration into the public eye.

You can read the full story -- along with the 400+ comments it inspired -- here.

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I find several things remarkable about this story.

The first is the almost unanimous response of tears. When I first read the story, I tweeted that it brought tears to my eyes. Later, when I went back to read the extensive comment thread, I learned I was not alone. It seemed as though every other comment said about the same thing. Here's a sampling from just the first handful or so comments:

Your post brought me to tears.

I wept when I read your posting.

I read your post to a few of my friends last night. We were all shedding a few tears.

I really wasn't expecting to cry while reading this.

I am crying as I type this.

I'm in tears.

Much of the comment thread goes like this.

There's just something to be said for a simple act of love bringing people around the world to tears almost unanimously, isn't there? Perhaps one thing it says is just how needed love is in that particular context: the relationship between the Christian community and the gay community.

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Which touches on the next thing I find quite remarkable about this story: how many people came out of the woodwork to share their stories of having turned their backs on religion because of the way Christians had treated them or their friends for being gay -- but then saying that this act of love by Nathan and his friends had given them new hope that not all Christians represent hate.

See a few examples here (emphases mine):

I lost my faith a decade ago, due in part to the homophobia I was surrounded by in church, but it was enormously healing to read this, and it reminded me of all the things I used to like about Jesus :)

It has been a long time since I have attended church, yet this article has touched my heart in a way that the multitudes of angry protesters never could.

I am not a Christian, but your story has deep, meaningful impact to me.

For the majority of the past two decades I have attended gay pride parades as a proud participant, marching in many. I can vividly recall one of the early ones, a protester carried a huge sign that read "Thank GOD for AIDS." That sign, as horrific as it was, impacted the way I viewed Christians, and even changed the way I physically reacted when I heard the word "God" for years to come.

I feigned tolerance toward the religious, not wanting to do the same to you as was done to me, but all the while secretly hating, being guilty of grouping the religious all into the camp that sponsored that sign, so many years ago. I can say with happiness and relief that your actions and story have brought about the first relief from that hate.

Thank you.

I find that last comment particularly impactful, hearing that a person was brought to have a physical reaction to the word "God" because of the message sent to them on a protest sign years ago. Wow. It makes my heart hurt to know humans -- especially in the name of God -- can injure one another to such a degree.

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Finally, I was perhaps most especially moved by a few commenters who reciprocated the apology.

Take a look at one example:

I'm not going to lie. Only a few months ago, I had a conversation where I expressed the idea that all of Christianity was a loss. That there just weren't any good Christians and that anyone who said they were a Christian should instantly be suspect as hate driven.

After reading about you and your mission, I have to tell you, "I'm sorry."

I was wrong for dismissing all of you without knowing there are people who actually understand the message I read in your gospels. While I don't hold your beliefs. I have always admired the man described in the New Testament. Jesus was clearly and completely about love. I do believe in love.

I regret that I made a judgement without knowing all the facts. And a judgement made in hate. It seems there is reaching out to be done from both sides of the barricade. Thank you for making the first move.

If what you believe is true, then I know that the Jesus I read about must be very impressed by you and your group. I am.

Again, wow. I'm amazed that people were not only moved to tears -- and some to places of healing -- by the demonstration of Nathan and his friends at the pride parade, but that some of those who had come to hate Christians would be moved to apologize for that hatred, too, because of the love demonstrated by Nathan's group that day.

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The journey toward nonviolence, for me, began when I encountered the idea that love is the only force in the universe powerful enough to overcome and transform violence. This was a notion that would not let me go, and I set out on this journey toward nonviolence to discover if it was true.

This story about Nathan and his friends and what happened in the aftermath shows me that there really is something to this idea. People are not only moved by love, but they are moved toward one another. This makes me keen to keep following the path and learning what more love can do.

So, what about you?

What do you make of this story?

Does it teach you anything about love?

Does it teach you anything about hate?

Does it have a personal impact on you in some way?

Repentance Thursday: July 2010

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HvXLlU_qUGA&w=500&h=350] [A short song for reflection on this Repentance Thursday, sung by me.]

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Every first Thursday of the month, we take some time to reflect on our thoughts, words, and actions over the previous month in order to confess our need for repentance and forgiveness. If you're new to Repentance Thursday, I encourage you to read the inaugural post expressing the intent and reason for this ritual here.

To participate, feel free to reflect on these questions as you consider the past month in retrospect:

• Into what dark mires did my heart traverse?
• In what ways did I bring harm to my fellow man, either in thought, word, or deed?
• How did I sin against God?

After reflecting on these questions, you are welcome to leave a comment of confession below.

Blessings to you on this holy day. Thank you for joining us.

How Do You Define Violence?

Hello there, friends. I have to begin by saying I so appreciate you.

Your thoughtful and gracious responses never fail to amaze me.

Our last posts's discussion of capital punishment was no exception.

I think Terri said it best:

I’m so impressed with the responses of everyone who has commented so far.

You have a very kind and wise community here.

And to that I say:

Amen!

You are seriously the best part about this blog.

Thank you for continuing to be here and for lending your heart and mind to all we do.

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So, today I'd like to open things up for a brainstorm.

What say you to a gathering of collective wisdom?

Let's gather our thoughts around this central question:

What do we mean by "violence"?

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For nearly six months, usually as I'm driving about town, I've found myself musing on this question over and over.

Usually it's because I notice subtle violences sprinkled throughout my days and evenings.

• Ways I wronged those surrounding me.
• Ways I capitulated to pressure.
• Ways I went on the offensive.
• Ways I catered to my competitive streak.
• Ways I failed to love others -- and myself -- well at all.

It gets me thinking of all the various forms this "violence" can take.

It's so much more than physical violence.

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Yes, there are physical manifestations of violence.

• Abuse
• Rape
• Assault
• Murder
• Acts of terror
• War

We, of course, decry and grieve over those forms of violence.

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But there are other forms of violence.

Supremely subtle forms.

The kind that make this journey intensely personal for each of us.

The kind that gives this gathering space ongoing purpose as we each seek to grow in love.

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Take, for example, what I wrote elsewhere on this blog:

Violence lodges itself in each of our hearts every day.

In split-second flashes, we judge, hate, criticize, demean, condescend, covet, envy, and dismiss other human beings.

For much of our days, we think of ourselves more than others.

We blur the lines and choose the path of least resistance.

We instinctively compete and are altogether dedicated to our self-preservation.

These, too, are issues of violence.

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So I have to ask myself at any given moment:

Where is my heart?

Is it . . .

• Regarding itself more important than another?
• Straining to land on top?
• Dismissing what others have to say?
• Disregarding what others feel?
• Criticizing what others believe and do?

To me, these are acts of violence.

I have to repent of them every day.

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And then there's another form of violence.

The self-inflicted kind.

The kind I wrote about here that so often looks like self-judgment and self-condemnation.

The kind that inflicts self-harm, whether inwardly or outwardly.

Inwardly, this kind of violence can reside below the surface in a voice that incessantly berates us.

Outwardly, it can take many forms, such as:

• Cutting
• Overeating
• Undereating
• Promiscuity
• Overspending
• Poor hygiene
• Lack of sleep

And many more . . .

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I would submit to you, then, the following:

1. Violence can be directed toward others or ourselves.
2. It can be a physical act or a posture of the heart.
3. It can lodge itself in our thoughts.
4. At any moment we can choose or not choose love, violence lurks in the shadows.

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Accordingly, I offer my personal working definition:

That which lacks love is violent.

Where love exists, violence is nowhere to be found.

That is why, for me, this nonviolent journey is ultimately about increasing one's capacity to love.

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So, what do you think?

What does "violence" mean to you?

How would you define it?

Would you add any specific forms of violence to those listed above?

At the Root of Nonviolence Is Hope

Hi there, friends. So, I've been hemming and hawing about posting something here that's been on my mind the last few days.

In some ways, as you'll soon see, this is the most obvious place to talk about it.

But in other ways, it presses one very hot button.

Sheesh, does it!

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This means it could spark some lively discussion among our JTN tribe, which I would gladly welcome and expect you would too.

Especially because I think we all value what we can learn from each other's perspectives and have learned to uphold a gracious dialogue here.

But it also could invite some search-engine traffic from those who are less -- or in no way -- given to the path of nonviolence we trod.

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So, let's be honest.

In a space exploring a subject like ours, we're bound to witness a level of engagement like that eventually.

It just hasn't happened yet.

And I wonder if we're ready for it now.

More to the point, I wonder if I'm ready for it now.

This is when walking the nonviolent path out loud begins to feel altogether daunting.

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But there are very real questions about this journey that need to be raised if we're to stay intellectually honest with ourselves as we walk it.

And I, for one, want to explore those questions out loud with pilgrims like you.

That's one of the main reasons I created this space to begin with.

And really, what's to be gained by avoiding the real and hard questions when they come up?

I don't want to limit my journey to the antiseptic roadways.

Do you?

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With that said, then, let's give it a try, shall we?

And if the conversation takes an ugly turn because of uncharitable visitors, I'll try to determine -- perhaps with your help -- the best way to handle it.

Sound good?

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Okay.

So.

I'd like us to try our hand at a discussion of capital punishment.

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Perhaps you heard about the man who was executed in Utah on Friday.

His name was Ronnie Lee Gardner, and he was sentenced to the death penalty in 1985.

At the time, he was allowed to choose the manner in which he would die.

He chose death by firing squad.

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It's a grotesque story, and I'll let Google fill you in on the details if it interests you to seek them out.

But it was this detail of the firing squad that made my breath catch in my throat.

(Well, that and learning that the Utah governor tweeted about the event as it happened. That is utterly strange and hard for me to understand.)

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But as for the firing squad, I tried to imagine the men who were given those triggers to pull.

I learned later that they were all volunteers.

Really, that just made it more difficult for me to fathom their experience.

I also learned that one of their rifles carried a blank.

This prevented each of them from knowing for sure if their shot carried one of the fatal woundings.

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I couldn't help but wonder, as I considered those men:

• What was it like for them to turn a rifle on a man sitting in a chair before them, totally defenseless?
• What was it like for them to pull their triggers and watch him die?

Truthfully, I just couldn't stomach those images.

Maybe you can't either.

And I knew in that singular moment of revulsion:

I just can't get behind capital punishment.

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Am I naive to feel this way?

Not to get on board with "an eye for an eye"?

Not to say, "He deserves that kind of death because he forced death on another"?

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I'm sure that's what some would say of me.

That I'm naive.

Or that I care nothing for the victims and what they suffered if I hold this view.

(Although on that point, nothing could be further from the truth.)

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I guess it surprised me to notice how far I truly am from espousing capital punishment.

And this is what I've realized is the reason why:

At the root of nonviolence is hope.

Hopes carries with it the possibility of change.

Of an honest reckoning inside someone's soul.

Of conversion of heart and spirit.

Hope carries with it the possibility of repentance.

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But capital punishment carries none of those things.

It carries only a relinquishment of hope.

It roots itself in the idea that someone is finished.

That change is not possible for them.

Or that change -- if it is possible -- is undeserved.

In short, it's about totally giving up hope on someone's life -- so much that we'd choose to end it.

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Do we want to be people who believe those things -- about anybody?

I don't.

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But I'm curious to know what you think about this.

Do you have any opinions about capital punishment?

Would you be willing to share them with us?

On Being Kind to Ourselves

Hello there, friends. I feel the need to begin this entry with a confession:

I haven't been very kind to myself of late.

Nope.

Haven't been kind to myself at all.

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Instead of grace, I've spooned out judgment.

Instead of compassion, I've unleashed litanies of self-criticism.

I've pointed out to myself with regularity all the ways I've fallen short.

And not measured up.

And let people down.

And really, just failed to hold up the world with perfect precision.

Isn't that crazy?

But there it is:

Being an imperfect human feels quite intolerable these days.

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It's such a strange place to be.

I spent years on an long, inward journey that led me to embrace grace.

To hold tenderly the broken places inside myself.

To offer those vulnerable places to God.

And to receive unconditional love and acceptance in return.

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It was such a beautiful journey.

I came to know know, deep down, that our humanness delights the heart of God.

And I came to fight fiercely for this truth on behalf of others.

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But these days?

That's not where I've been living at all.

These days, all I hear is the cacophony of merciless self-judgment.

These days, I barely even remember grace exists.

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I'll be honest.

All of this has made me near-blind and near-deaf to the nonviolent journey.

Because, really:

How can we walk the nonviolent path if we're battering our own hearts and souls with fierce, heavy weapons each day?

The truth is, we can't.

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There are long lists in my notebook of ideas worth writing about here.

There are so many things I want to say and ask and explore about the nonviolent journey with you.

And we will get to those things, I promise.

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But today, what I most need to say is this:

Nonviolence is as much a disposition toward ourselves as it is toward others.

And right now, I'm relearning that truth.

It's humbling to be relearning, to be a beginner on a path of grace I had once come to know so well.

But there you go.

That's my truth today.

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What about you?

Do you struggle with self-kindness?

What helps you find room for self-kindness these days?

Moment of Love Monday: June 2010

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HE-OuQX50zA&feature=channel&w=500&h=350] [An example for us on this Moment of Love Monday of what it looks like to offer love in the face of -- and in place of our own -- judgment, anger, or hatred.]

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Hi there, friends.

Just as we recently began a monthly tradition called Repentance Thursday, we also began a monthly tradition called Moment of Love Monday.

It happens every month on the Monday following Repentance Thursday.

Which means it happens today.

You can read the background on this monthly exercise here.

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At its core, Moment of Love Monday is an opportunity to share how we practiced love -- particularly in a difficult situation -- in the previous month.

This exercise is rooted in our belief that love is more powerful than violence and has the power to transform it.

It is also rooted in our commitment to offer love in response to any degree of violence or hatred in our lives.

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This will not always be easy, and we will not always have stories to share.

But it is a chance to learn from each other.

To get creative.

To see what is truly possible.

And to be putting into practice these things we say we believe.

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To start us off this month, I've shared a video at the top of this post that I discovered on Donald Miller's blog several weeks ago.

It's the story of someone who encountered hate and offered love.

I find it truly inspiring.

It embodies, for me, what the nonviolent ethic is really like.

I'd like to live this way more often.

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So, as you look back over this past month, consider the following:

• How did you choose to practice love in a difficult moment?
• How did the injection of love into that moment affect the circumstances?
• How did the choice of love in that moment affect you in the aftermath?

I look forward to hearing your stories. You are such an inspiring tribe. I'm so privileged to be on this journey with you.

Repentance Thursday: June 2010

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJhrOBIvk_w&w=500&h=350] [A song for reflection on this Repentance Thursday, sung by me.]

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Hello, friends.

We began a tradition last month called Repentance Thursday.

It happens here on the first Thursday of every month, which means it is today.

To learn what Repentance Thursday is about and why it is important for us in the journey toward nonviolence, you can read the inaugural post here.

But in a nutshell, it is an opportunity to remember our humanity.

It is a place to remember our level footing with the rest of our brothers and sisters on this earth.

It is a chance to remember, confess, and repent of our own contribution to this world's groans and pains.

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Today, you are invited to reflect on the following questions as you consider this past month in retrospect:

• Into what dark mires did my heart traverse?
• In what ways did I bring harm to my fellow man, either in thought, word, or deed?
• How did I sin against God?

After reflecting on these things, you are free to leave a comment of confession.

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Please remember:

• You are welcome to leave your confession anonymously.
• You are welcome to make up an e-mail address (since the comment section requires you to leave one).
• You are welcome to be as general or specific as you want.
• You are welcome to write your confession as prayer.
• Any judging or disparaging comments of another's confession will be removed.

Thank you for joining us in this space of honesty and courageous conversation.

Happy Freedom Tour Launch Day!

As I shared with you in my last post, the Storyville Live Freedom Tour launches today. It's a day to celebrate!

As of today, we will be sharing the story of modern-day slavery with people who might otherwise not hear of it.

And we'll be inviting them to turn their daily coffee habit into a ritual of freedom, dignity, and hope.

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And so to celebrate the launch, I'm offering you a song.

It's appropriate to celebrate with a song because the Freedom Tour helps bring freedom through the profound, beautiful medium of music.

But it's also appropriate to share this particular song because we at JTN believe that love is more powerful than violence.

And that's what this song speaks about.

It speaks about the presence of love in the darkest of places.

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The song is written and performed by Grace Pettis, one of my favorite new artists who also happens to be touring with us this year.

My jaw about dropped to the ground the first time I saw Grace perform.

Don't let her small, youthful frame fool you . . . her lyrics betray the soul of someone deeply wise and attentive to life.

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[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJDoDbr1rr8&w=500&h=350]

[Many thanks to Ami Lawson of Earth Angel Outreach for capturing this video at a private Storyville Live performance with Grace Pettis in May 2010.]

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Happy Freedom Tour Launch Day! Feel free to share in the comments:

What are you celebrating today?