Tag Archives: Personal transformation

Drilling Down beneath the Root Cellar—A Poem from the Faith And Work Conference

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Most people don’t know, but I’ve been writing poetry since high school.

I’ve never been prolific with my poems; I’m not a poem-a-day sort of person (perhaps because I’m an introvert), and I’ve certainly had some dry years along the way.

But taking classes at the local Writers and Books in Rochester on and off over the last few years (especially with Jake Rakovan) has tapped into something fermenting beneath the surface.

In response to a few requests (actually very few), I’m considering posting some of my poems.

In a later post I may share some of the poems that bubbled up in Jake’s courses at Writers and Books, including a course he taught on Dante’s Inferno called “Writing Your Way Through Hell.”

But here is my latest poem, written in response to a time of guided meditation at the end of the Faith and Work conference in NYC I just attended. I scribbled most of it down on the spot, then edited it later.

Root Cellar

Drilling down beneath the root cellar of my soul,
I caught a glint of some deep glow,
pulsing and rising
up through the dark.

As it approached I turned to flee, but
luscious with love,
wrinkled hands enfolded despair,
soothing the dried-up grief
of barren days and nights of pain.

The beam refracted,
sparking into ruby and sapphire,
emerald and diamond,
bursting through the termite-infested floor,
to crack a granite heart
and melt the stalactite stratagems
of endless limestone sorrow.

______________________________________________

As you can see, the conference affected me at a deep, existential level.

Depending on interest, I’ll consider posting more of my poetry sometime.

My Experience of The Faith and Work Conference in NYC

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I was a bit apprehensive about the conference I was to speak at last weekend (November 7-8), sponsored by the Center for Faith and Work (the cultural renewal arm of Redeemer Presbyterian Church) in New York City. It’s such a famous church, and the line-up of speakers was impressive, with a very large crowd expected. So I anticipated a high-powered, somewhat elitist event, where I might feel out of place.

Plus, the conference was focused on New York City, whose population of over eight million can seem overwhelming to someone from an island of less than three million souls, who has bounced around Canada a bit, and now lives in Rochester (upstate New York).

Thankfully, all my fears were laid to rest. I not only enjoyed the conference, I ended up being profoundly moved by the entire experience.

The conference started Friday evening (November 7), with an introduction by David Kim, the executive director of the Center for Faith and Work.

The Speakers

Following the introduction, Margaret Newman, from the Municipal Art society of New York, gave a talk on recent changes in public space in the city and projections for the future (which tied in with the conference theme of “Making All Things New: Imagination and Innovation Required”). Then Tim Keller, founding pastor of Redeemer, presented a thoughtful theological grounding of the conference in God’s creative and redeeming grace. This was followed by a Q&A with Keller and Newman, led by Kim.

My own talk (called “A Sacred Call for Sacred Work”) kicked off the Saturday morning session (November 8). Drawing on my work on humans as the image of God, especially my more recent sacramental take on the subject (emphasizing the priestly side of the imago Dei), I tried to weave a biblical picture of ordinary life (including work) as worship rendered to God in the cosmic sanctuary of creation. Then (having done my “duty”) I was able to relax and immerse myself in the rest of the day’s activities.

I heard a variety of other speakers on Saturday, including Dave Evans, Adam Wade, Nancy Ortberg, Robyn Shapiro, Christian Wiman, and David Brooks.

Leadership consultant Nancy Ortberg spoke on the importance of collaboration in innovation; storyteller Adam Wade kept us entranced with a tale of his teenage years with his idiosyncratic Greek yiayia (grandmother) and her sister; Christian Wiman, past editor of Poetry magazine, read some of his poems and reflected on the role of faith in the the creative process; and Robyn Shapiro shared her vision of an innovative underground park in NYC (the Lowline) lit by solar technology.

I was particularly intrigued with Dave Evans‘s application of his training in design to courses he now teaches at Stanford in which he helps students design their life. The principles he articulated are things I want to follow up on.

And I found David Brooks‘s reflections on the dialectic between “resume virtues” (required for success in the world) and “euology virtues” (the substantial values people embody) especially thoughtful; as a writer myself, I appreciated the way he applied this dialectic to his own vocation of writing.

Other Activities

Throughout the weekend there was a commissioned video documentary on a young man’s incarceration, an intimate ballet performance (in the middle of the audience), and an LED light show accompanying an avant garde string quartet (playing Sufjan Steven’s recent music).

On Saturday afternoon there was an expo of innovative start-ups in NYC, all in one large carnivalesque room.

I was involved in an afternoon Q&A about my talk, one of more than two dozen simultaneous sessions in the expo—the noise level was crazy, but it seemed like the day of Pentecost to me.

To top it off, I had long and wonderful conversations about theology, spirituality, life, and work with a variety of people at different points throughout the day (and into the evening).

At one point even David Brooks fooled around with conference organizer David Kim.

Throughout my time at the conference I was impressed by the organizers and behind-the-scenes people I interacted with. David Kim, Dasha Rettew, and the entire team consistently exhibited a blend of high professionalism and honest, personal vulnerability (I haven’t always found those together). This set the tone for the entire experience.

The conference ended with communal worship and a guided reflection time by David Kim.

The entire experience (perhaps prompted by Christian Wiman’s poetry) led me to write a poem in the reflection time, which I’ve posted as a follow-up.

Singing Lies in Church

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In a previous post entitled “The Bible’s Best Kept Secret” I summarized the logic of redemption in the Scriptures—that God loves this world and intends to redeem it. Grounded in the holistic worldview of the Old Testament, the New Testament envisions God’s renewal of creation at Christ’s return, rather than God taking us out of this world to “heaven,” conceived of as an immaterial realm. Indeed, contrary to much popular eschatology, nowhere does the Bible ever say that “heaven” is the eternal destiny of the righteous.

The Eschatology of Classic Christian Hymns

So why do so many in the church assume a heavenly afterlife? The answer lies in Christian hymnody. It is primarily from what they sing that those in the pew (or auditorium) typically learn their theology, especially their eschatology. And the trouble is that a holistic vision of the future is found only rarely in popular Christian piety or in the liturgy of the church. Indeed, it is blatantly contradicted by many traditional hymns (and contemporary praise songs) sung in the context of communal worship.

Preparing for Heaven

From the classic Charles Wesley hymn, “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling,” which anticipates being “changed from glory into glory/ till in heaven we take our place,” to “Away in a Manger,” which prays, “And fit us for Heaven, to live with Thee there,” congregations are exposed to—and assimilate—an otherworldly eschatology.

Some hymns, like “When the Roll Is Called up Yonder,” inconsistently combine the idea of resurrection with the hope of heaven: “On that bright and cloudless morning when the dead in Christ shall rise,/ And the glory of His resurrection share;/ When His chosen ones shall gather to their home beyond the skies,/ And the roll is called up yonder, I’ll be there.”

Some hymns even interpret resurrection without reference to the body at all, such as “Must Jesus Bear the Cross Alone?” which in one stanza regards death as liberation (“Till death shall set me free”) and in another asserts: “O resurrection day!/ When Christ the Lord from Heav’n comes down/ And bears my soul away.”

A hymn like “When We All Get to Heaven” may be too obvious, but notice that “The Old Rugged Cross” ends with the words, “Then He’ll call me some day to my home far away/ Where his glory forever I’ll share.”

And “Just a Closer Walk with Thee” climaxes with the lines: “When my feeble life is o’er,/ Time for me will be no more;/ Guide me gently, safely o’er/ To Thy kingdom shore, to Thy shore.”

A Perpetual Worship Service

This notion of a perpetual worship service in an otherworldly afterlife is a central motif in many hymns, like “My Jesus I Love Thee,” which affirms that “In mansions of glory and endless delight,/ I’ll ever adore Thee in heaven so bright.”

Likewise, “Come Christians, Join to Sing” affirms that “On heaven’s blissful shore,/ His goodness we’ll adore,/ Singing forevermore,/ ‘Alleluia! Amen!’”

In a similar vein, “As with Gladness Men of Old” asks in one stanza that “when earthly things are past,/ Bring our ransomed souls at last/ Where they need no star to guide” and in another stanza expresses the desire that “In the heavenly country bright/ . . . There forever may we sing/ Alleluias to our King!”

From Hymns to Contemporary Praise Songs

Thankfully, most hymnals no longer have the sixth verse of “Amazing Grace,” which predicts: “The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,/ The sun forbear to shine;/ But God, who called me here below,/ Will be forever mine.”

Yet Chris Tomlin’s contemporary revision of this classic hymn, known as “Amazing Grace (My Chains Are Gone),” reintroduces this very verse as the song’s new climax, ready to shape the otherworldly mindset of a fresh generation of young worshipers unacquainted with hymnals.

And this just begins to scratch the surface of worship lyrics that portray the final destiny of the righteous as transferal from an earthly, historical existence to a transcendent, immaterial realm.

As the popular theologian and preacher A. W. Tozer is reputed to have said: “Christians don’t tell lies; they just go to church and sing them.”

Perhaps that is too harsh; nevertheless, I can testify to the steady diet of such songs that I was exposed to, growing up in the church in Kingston, Jamaica, which certainly reinforced the idea of heaven as otherworldly final destiny.

An Alternative Vision of the Future

I am, however, perpetually grateful that along with such exposure I came to know, through sheer proximity, the this-worldly theology of Rastafarianism, especially as mediated through the music of Bob Marley and the Wailers. While I am a committed Christian and thus cannot affirm everything found in Rasta theology, I nevertheless discern a deeply rooted biblical consciousness in the lyrics of many Wailers’ songs.

For example, the song “We an’ Dem” (on the Uprising album) claims that “in the beginning Jah created everything/ and he gave man dominion over all things” and “Pass It On” (on the Burnin’ album) asserts that “In the kingdom of Jah/ Man shall reign.” These lyrics express (in androcentric language, admittedly) the biblical vision of this-worldly dignity granted humans at creation, a dignity which will be restored in the kingdom of God.

And Peter Tosh’s version of “Get Up, Stand Up” (a song he co-wrote with Marley), understands well the implications of eschatology for ethics, when it contrasts the doctrine of the rapture with a desire for justice on earth:

“You know, most people think,/ A great God will come from the skies,/ And take away every little thing/ And lef’ everybody dry./ But if you know what life is worth,/ You would look for yours/ Right here on earth/ And now we see the light,/ We gonna stand up for our rights.” (From the Equal Rights album.)

The song goes on to critique the “preacher man” for taking the focus off earthly life and affirms that the singer is “Sick and tired of this game of theology,/ die and go to heaven in Jesus name.”

This is the very theology that leads Marley, in the song “Talkin’ Blues” (from the Natty Dread album), to admit, “I feel like bombing a church,/ now that you know that the preacher is lying.”

But if Tozer is right, it isn’t just the preacher who is lying, but also the worshipers who blithely sing hymns of escape to an ethereal heaven—when the Bible teaches no such thing.

What the Bible does teach is the theme of my new book, A New Heaven and a New Earth: Reclaiming Biblical Eschatology (Baker Academic, 2014).