truth/beauty/love

I take the idea that God is love very seriously. I have this idea that we have God-sensors — that love draws us, like truth and beauty do. [When I say "God is love" I'm actually equating love with truth or beauty, so it's all one: truth/beauty/love. That's my story, for now. Go with it for a minute?]

So anyway, I’ve spent a bunch of time thinking about whether un-truth is really in keeping with my values. Do I have to tell white lies? Do I have to compromise, or can I really base my life on love(/truth/beauty) as I see it?

Another assumption I live by: if God is real, I don’t have to compromise. Or maybe my not compromising lets God be real? That stuff is all fuzzy, but (leaving aside emergency situations for now) I’m thinking that in my intention to relax into a life of love & grace, I want to tell the truth.

I figure that means I’m going to have to look at the places where truth looks like it’s in conflict with beauty. Or with love.

Truth vs. Beauty

Since my heart was telling me that there is beauty in truth, and vice versa, I thought I’d try always telling the truth. I found myself wanting to say things like “Wow, you are a jerk,” and “Well, that was stupid.”

I guess that the Radical Honesty guy encourages that kind of honesty. But it didn’t work for me, because saying those things didn’t satisfy the original intention, which was to reach toward beauty, toward love. A disconnect was forming in my mind.

Fast forward several years… the path has led me through some interesting twists, but mostly, it’s led me to learn something about empathy, which makes a huge difference. It’s also led me to a new way of seeing my judgment(*), and suddenly, saying “you are a jerk” doesn’t look so much like telling the truth.

There are some truths I’m pretty clear about in the outside world, because I can see them. I’m comfortable “telling the truth” by saying “that’s a tree.” I might be wrong, if it’s off in the distance, and somebody might help me improve on it, but it’s an attempt at telling the truth I’m happy with.

But those kinds of truths are pretty easy to agree on. They aren’t controversial. (If you’re into NVC you might call these “observations”.)

When I tell myself I’m “telling the truth” and it creates pain or quarrels, though, that’s when I have to wonder if I’m labeling the outside world to avoid looking at something inside me.

“you are” versus “i am”

When I find myself saying “you are a jerk” (and I still have that tendency), I sense a disconnect with the love/truth/beauty I value so much. (Or if I don’t sense it right off, I might get help from someone’s body language, yelling, or violence. When I get punched in the face, I have an opportunity to sense the disconnect!)

I figure I must be missing something. I look deeper.

What I usually end up finding is what Marshall Rosenberg has called “a tragic expression of an unmet need.” That is, “you are a jerk” actually points to some pain I’m carrying. Like maybe “I’m scared when you say that, because I have this idea you don’t care about me, that I can’t trust you to help me, and I’ve really been hoping for help.” Or it might mean something else, but whatever it is will point to some very human longing for a treasure that isn’t controversial at all. Even the person I thought was a jerk can agree that it’s “the truth”.

When I can do that, I think truth & beauty & love are lined back up in my heart. I think I’m living according to my values and intentions.

—–
* This labeling of the outside world (of “you” as “jerk” or “that” as “stupid”) is what I call judgment. More about that here: Judgment and Discernment. The more my habits of judgment fall away, the more serenity & joy I experience. Not only that, but the times when I’m experiencing anything but serenity & joy, I notice I’m also experiencing judgment, and mistaking it for truth.

Don’t pick on people, jump on their failures, criticize their faults— unless, of course, you want the same treatment. That critical spirit has a way of boomeranging. It’s easy to see a smudge on your neighbor’s face and be oblivious to the ugly sneer on your own. Do you have the nerve to say, ‘Let me wash your face for you,’ when your own face is distorted by contempt? It’s this whole traveling road-show mentality all over again, playing a holier-than-thou part instead of just living your part. Wipe that ugly sneer off your own face, and you might be fit to offer a washcloth to your neighbor.

Judge Not?

The advice to not judge resonated with me, but then I also heard messages that said we can’t get by without judgment. How would we choose vanilla or chocolate? How would we decide what job to look for? How would we know who to trust? How would we keep from doing evil?!

Knowing right from wrong is vital, isn’t it?

Discernment

I’ve been told that discernment is just judgment that’s well thought out, and correct. But as I’ve struggled to understand what it would mean to live free of judgment, I’ve found I see discernment differently.

Judgment is focused outside me. It’s me saying what’s wrong and right, good and bad out in the world. It’s almost like I’m declaring what I believe to be the heart of the world.

On the other hand, discernment is about knowing my own heart. I call it discernment when I’m figuring out what I value, what I love, what I choose.

Distinguishing discernment from judgment

When I’m discerning (as I use the word) I have an open, loving heart, never anger or sneering or exasperation. While discernment may lead me to avoid someone who is dangerous, for example, it won’t lead me to hate them. While it may lead me to question their ideas, it won’t lead me to make fun of them.

What seems to work for me is thinking of discernment as something that applies to *me* and my choices. I can check in with myself and see if a particular action is something I want to do, or not. (And that can be a lot of work, sometimes.)

If it’s about something that I’ve already done, or something that someone else is going to do (and isn’t asking my help in deciding), then it seems like judgment to me, and I prefer to leave that to God.

There’s nothing wrong with you.

This is something that I’ve gotten a bit of flack for saying. So I’m going to flesh it out a little.

When I let go of judgment, I let go of labeling things in the world as “wrong” or as out of alignment with the heart of reality, with the heart of God. When I consider something, I can find it out of alignment with the heart of me, of course. That’s how I know whether it’s what I want. But out alignment with God or reality, that just doesn’t make any sense to me. And it doesn’t have to. I get to leave that stuff to God.

And do the best I can, in each moment, to pay attention and follow love. Doing the best I can. Just like you, and everybody else.

There are certain ways of seeing the world that I just find juicy, delightful, delicious. The “person centered” idea from Carl Rogers is one. His stuff is mostly about psychotherapy, but this is about more than that. Hang in with me, and you’ll find it’s about relationships instead. As with most of what I talk about, in the end, it’s about the power of love.

The thing is, I’m convinced it’s actually possible to love my neighbor, love my “enemies”. Not just possible; it’s one of my favorite things, to love every person I have the opportunity to know.

And I imagine some folks are wondering whether I’m full of crap, or whether it might just be possible. I hope to begin answering that question here, though I think it will take more than one post to answer fully.

Kinds of Relationships

Most of the following is about what Carl Rogers called “therapeutic relationships” — for me, that means when I’m acting as a spiritual mentor, or in a chaplain role with some folks who live outside, who are addicted, or others who are hurting — any supportive relationships where a skill imbalance means it’s not about mutual support.

But I don’t think the imbalance of skill is key. I also want my mutually-supportive relationships — my friendships — to be therapeutic in that sense (for both people). I want these relationships to be healing relationships. I want to entrust the people close to me with the care of my soul, my heart. I want to grow. And in those relationships, sometimes I am in the role of “therapist” and sometimes in the role of “client.”

Carl Rogers (1902-1987) was a pioneer in psychology. Instead of “patients” in need of being fixed, he saw people as “clients” who would like to change things about their lives. The aims we reach for are our own. We don’t need “experts” to tell us how we should be, but rather, we need an environment conducive to reaching toward our potential. (No small thing!)

Three Ways to Love

Rogers said there are three things that someone in a therapist role can bring to a relationship that will make it possible for change to happen in the person seeking it.

Being Real

This means… openly being the feelings and attitudes that are flowing within at the moment.

The person in the therapist role is bringing their real self into the relationship. They’re not putting on an act. If they feel something, they don’t try to hide it, or try to “act professional.” If they have needs, they just say so.

…therapist makes himself or herself transparent to the client; the client can see right through what the therapist is in the relationship; the client experiences no holding back on the part of the therapist…

That doesn’t mean the therapist has to divulge everything, but that “there is a close matching between what is being experienced at the gut level, what is present in awareness, and what is expressed to the client.”

When I am hanging out with someone who is drunk and “homeless”, it can mean the difference between playing along if someone pretends to be on the wagon, and saying “but I saw you with a beer a few minutes ago.”

With a little kid who says they didn’t take something that they’re holding behind their back, it means not pretending I don’t know the toy is there, if I do. And if I can just acknowledge reality, I don’t feel the need to confront or yell about it. I can just be there in the reality we are both experiencing.

Unconditional Caring & Affection

Rogers calls this “unconditional positive regard.” It means having “a positive, acceptant attitude toward whatever the client is at that moment”, without judgement, disapproval, even “approval.” It means seeing the beauty, the aliveness, in the other person, and honoring that.

The therapist is willing for the client to be whatever immediate feeling is going on — confusion, resentment, fear, anger, courage, love, or pride.

Unconditional means that the person in the therapist, or supportive, role does not have an agenda for who the friend or client is in that moment.

Such caring on the part of the therapist is nonpossessive. The therapist prizes the client in a total rather than a conditional way.

Empathy

Empathic listening and understanding means sensing what the other person is experiencing, and recognizing it as a human experience. It means noticing what kind of experience the person is describing, and communicating that understanding. It means seeing things from the perspective of the friend/client, so that it becomes possible to express understanding of feelings and desires they’re already aware of, but also to help clarify “even those just below the level of awareness.”

We think we listen, but very rarely do we listen with real understanding, true empathy. Yet listening, of this very special kind, is one of the most potent forces for change that I know.

Oh, no problem then.

Ok, so saying “it’s possible to love everyone, all you need is unconditional caring” doesn’t really help much. I’m hoping to go more into that later.

But mostly I wanted to write this because, first, this whole approach to people just curls my toes, I love it so much. I love it. It makes me happy! Like springtime!

And second, because it’s like a secret I keep. It feels like such a big part of me that I wanna share it! I mean, this is my life. I want the world to know it.

When my friends don’t know this about me, I’m lonely. Friendships where this is out in the open feel richer, juicier.

Questions?

My dream is to share love in the world, and this is what I think love looks like. If you have questions or arguments or whatever, I’d love to hear them. It will help me to become better able to talk about this thing that I love. I would very much appreciate it — bring it on!

Last night we walked a few blocks through our neighborhood to go to the kinda-monthly meeting of the Neighborhood Association. As we approached the street that leads into the neighborhood, we saw a group of young people. I said to Tracy, “Better call the cops.” This, you might have guessed, was a joke. Let me explain.

See, last month at the Blockwatch meeting, we (PineHillians? Pineys? P-Hillz?)… we were told that if we see a group of more than about 4-5 young people, we should call the police. Yes, indeed. We must call the police and report suspicious activity.

As we got close to the kids, and approached them, I noticed a little one in a stroller. (A teen-age-type was pushing.) One of the kids said to us, “Don’t worry. We ain’t goin’ rob you.” Then another said, “Naw, they trick-or-treating!” Which was funny, because I’d said to Tracy just before that the weather & the time of day & the neighborhood reminded me of Halloween as a girl.

Anyway, we smiled & said hello, and kept going. I considered asking if they were all right, because I could sense some agitation. I could also see some people in the distance ahead blocking the sidewalk. Was there conflict? But they didn’t seem to want our involvement. So, on we went.

Uh oh. There’s more.

Half a block later, we ran into the other group we’d seen. This time it was our neighbor, Blockwatch Guy, and a couple of security guards. (I’d have called the police, but there were only three of them. Besides, they said the police were on the way.)

I think because we appeared to him to be Us and not Them, the Blockwatch guy was friendly, and told us all about the problem. The kids were congregating at the corner store, and they needed to go. He was there to make sure they went, and didn’t come back. His demeanor was… well, let’s just say he’s made it known that he carries a weapon, and he’s not afraid to use it. It was not a posture of humility.

It made me wonder. Where are these kids supposed to hang out? There’s no “official” places, “acceptable” places, except inside the homes in the neighborhood. I can think of a zillion reasons a teen might not want to be hanging out inside their house on the first spring-like evening after months of cold and gray. Stale odors, abusive parents, boring parents, no space to move…

Tracy and I started to continue on, talking about the experience. Soon, we realized we did want to go back and see how the kids were doing. But by this time they’d left.

Neighborhood Association isn’t for “neighbors”

Pine Hills is laid out pretty clearly. It’s roughly between a rectangle and a football, bordered by a thoroughfare on the north, a creek (that I love) to the west, and freeways to the east and south. It’s easy to guess where the borders are, but if you did, you’d be wrong. The borders of the official neighborhood are drawn with all sorts of angles, to exclude all those folks in apartments. When I look at those borders, my heart breaks.

According to the census data, there are way more apartments than the 550 houses the neighborhood association includes in its boundaries. Wonder if that’s why we exclude them? We do it, not just by declaring them somehow “not part” of the neighborhood association. But also by taking an Us/Them posture at the corner store, on the playground, on the street…

What would happen if, as a start, we considered the whole neighborhood, invited folks from the apartments to meetings, hung out with the young people we run across on the streets?

Just call me Polly Anna.

So then I got this idea…

Well, actually, I’ve been really at a loss. We left our ministry in Eugene, and have been waiting, watching, walking, looking for where the path leads from here. Winter is a slow time in Columbus, and it makes sense that we’ve spent a bunch of time in quiet waiting. And it makes sense that with the first green shoots of spring (like the ones in our yard, which cheered me greatly!) — with spring, we would find ourselves breaking out, ideas forming in our minds and hearts like buds on the trees outside our window. :)

It’s not that I haven’t had ideas. I’d like to go to the Baptist Church in the neighborhood, and help the folks there figure out how to love the neighborhood. But will they have me? I’d like to get pizza or burritos and share a meal once a week, like we did in Eugene. But where? I’d like to turn my garage into a hang-out. Don’t get me started on why that’s a bad idea.

But last night, I was around real people, and something clearer started to form. (Hang on. I’ll tell you what in a second.) It’s something I’ve had glimmers of before, which is part of why this feels more real. In the past, when the “right” path has shown up, it’s shown up with a life of its own. We’ll see whether this turn out to have that kind of life in it.

ok, here it is

What if, right along side the Blockwatch patrollers, there were Radical Love Project patrollers? What if we wandered the streets and talked to people with love and respect, offered help and kindness, befriended folks and encouraged them? That might be something I could handle. No 501(3)c paperwork, no accounting nightmare, no zoning board. Just two feet on the pavement. I think that’s how God likes me. Walking.

People ask me if we’ve “started anything” in Columbus yet, and sometimes I get the sense they might feel let-down by my answer. And then I get news like I got today, and I’m reminded that what we’re doing is exactly the right thing to be doing.

What we’re doing is breathing, listening, remaining open to discernment, and loving everyone in our path. It’s no small thing, but sometimes it seems like it doesn’t count in the way that finding a group under a bridge to share a meal would count. But I’m wrong. It does count. Check it out…

Today’s news was from a friend from our cohort (think “house church”), Scot, whose life was changed by an encounter with a guy holding a “spare change” sign.

…as I came off the ramp and onto Easton Pkwy aiming for the curb lane I saw “him”…ominous black clad figure holding cardboard sign. I reflexively jerked my vehicle toward the outer left turn lane so as to avoid “him”. In a flash I remembered the aforementioned resonations…I whipped it back over for curb service. Thankfully the light was red and I was first in line and there he was 3 feet away.

You can read the rest of the story at the Central Ohio Emergent Cohort blog. I definitely recommend it.

P.S. Someone asked what video we showed. It was from the Urban Entry series from Mile High Ministries. It’s called Anything Helps.

Trusting in the tao (aka the way) to carry us through — sometimes I picture the way as a flowing river — we have uprooted, and replanted ourselves on the urban frontier of Columbus, Ohio.

A new context for radical love

Remember when I said this is not a homeless ministry? I tried to say that it’s about radical relationship, scandalous, risk-taking love, honesty & presence in every moment.

In Eugene, it manifested partly (but not entirely) under a bridge, during meals shared with the folk who live there, under that very bridge, year round. And it spread to hospital rooms, courtrooms, and bars — a beautiful, amazing experience.

It’d be so easy to go across town to the riverbank where I know folks are camped. And I’m tempted. In fact, I’d be lying if I said there weren’t socks and hand-warmers stashed in our car, just in case.

But I don’t want to try to re-create the experience we had in Eugene. I think that deep down, if I go to those places, I’ll be looking for the friends I left behind in Eugene. I miss them so much! Maybe I’m avoiding facing the fact that they aren’t there? But that’s not the main reason we aren’t seeking out the same kind of ministry we had back home.

The main reason is that it’s clear across town, and it’s clear that there’s plenty of room for our radical presence right here in our neighborhood, Pine Hills.

Pine Hills

Pine Hills isn’t known for either pines, or hills. It’s a flat subdivision with old maple and oak trees, and even older houses, a few blocks from where I grew up. In the late 60s and early 70s, families — mostly white, mostly two-parent, mostly moms at home — bought these houses here on the suburban edge of town, and sent their kids off to the neighborhood school.

But cities have changed since then. Where once almost everyone in the neighborhood owned their homes, now lots are rentals. Where manicured lawns and tended gardens once decorated clean sidewalks, now chipped curbs line damaged lawns holding broken-down cars and the occasional empty beer can. Where nuclear families with 2.4 kids once attended each others’ parties, now single parents, multi-generational families, or groups of roommates share a house, keeping mostly to themselves.

But while the neighborhood isn’t as tidy as it was when I was a kid, it’s way more diverse. And while there is struggle visible on the surface of this ‘hood, I’m not sure that’s entirely a bad thing. Appearances are usually deceiving, and I know when I was growing up in the early seventies, there were things going on that were kept hidden. But even if life was more comfortable for some, comfort can be isolating. Difficulty is — or can be — an opportunity for connection.

I admit I don’t mind so much, trading in the shiny, orderly 20th Century world of ticky-tacky boxes for this patched-up ramshackle collection of neighbors.

Neighborhood

In the short time we’ve been here, we’ve met neighbors who are widowed and have lived here for 30 years. We’ve learned of young people who’ve been taken away to jail for drugs, guns, burglary. We’ve met a single mom and her kids while chasing off the two feral dogs who were tearing up a cat in her front yard.

We’ve met the civic association folks and the blockwatch folks (not as much overlap as you’d think). We’ve seen lots of kids, and heard tenuous rumors of Bloods and Crips. (If you see 5-6 kids together, we’re told, call the police and report them as suspicious.)

“A big part of this,” Tracy tells me, “is about not insulating ourselves from our actual world.” It’s about opening our eyes and hearts to what is immediately around us.” These days, I think getting in the car to drive across town for “homeless ministry” wouldn’t do justice to the beautiful task God has given us, to love the people placed right in front of us. To bring everything we’ve got to loving God & to love our neighbors with what’s real inside us.

So here we are. Pine Hills, you won’t know what hit you. :)

To love at all is to be vulnerable.

Love anything, and your heart
will certainly be wrung
and possibly broken.

If you want to make sure of keeping it intact,
you must give your heart
to no one, not even
to an animal.

Wrap it carefully round with hobbies
and little luxuries;

avoid all entanglements;

lock it up safe
in the casket or coffin of your selfishness.
But in that casket
—safe, dark, motionless, airless—
it will change.

It will not be broken;
it will become unbreakable,
impenetrable,
irredeemable.

—C. S. Lewis

Also, the rain is here, and that means we move back to the area that’s covered by the overpass, and we have less sunlight. It reminds me of the cold, wet nights when we first started coming.

We got pretty comfortable in the park this summer. Instead of coming to meet new folks, it began to feel like we were coming to hang out with folks we already knew. I am wondering if we got lazy, neglecting to reach out to the folks who stayed away from the center of the action.

Now, each time I go back into the park, it’s without a clear idea of what will happen. Things are shifting, and I can’t predict how. I think that’s kind of a good thing.

I have to say that I can’t believe my good fortune in being able to do this work/love. I don’t know how to describe it — the amazing beauty of the experiences. Sometimes it’s a painful beauty, but it’s always real, alive, filled with grace.

If you’re feeling called to do something like this, I invite you to try it.

* Come to the park with us.
* Carry socks in your car, and offer them to folks.
* Call to talk about how to love more.
* Email us to brainstorm where God is leading you.

So, now I’m remembering James losing sleep over another man’s death. Last may, a homeless man was brutally murdered, and our town is small enough and quiet enough for that to be shocking. For the folk who live outside, it was extra shocking. For James, it was deeply disturbing. That slaying happened in a nearby park, closer to the river. I didn’t know the man who was killed that night, Herbert Bishop. Mr. Bishop wasn’t part of the circle of associations I’d made, but his death brought out fear for everybody who slept outside, without protective walls, doors, and locks.

The gloom of those fears persisted a long time through that cold Spring. Among the many who were upset, I’d say James was the most upset. For one thing, on that night he’d been sleeping close enough to be awakened by the sounds of the fatal blows. That rhythmic pounding had puzzled him. In the morning he figured out what he must have been listening to.

Because he’d been so close to the scene, James was interviewed by police, and he was close to others who were interviewed in that investigation. He tired of that fast. He became suspicious. He was afraid to sleep. He would nap a little during the day when friends could watch over him, then he’d stay awake all night, vigilant over his nighttime companion. As the weeks drew on the accumulated effects of lack of rest and distrustful bickering became worse. These fell, of course, on top of the effects of daily drunkenness.

Eventually, the pervasive fear faded. The heat of summer, arrests of suspects in Bishop’s murder, and changes in who-hangs-out-with-who created a new version of normalcy. James wasn’t so perpetually on edge as he had been. Now there were days where his spirits were high and he joked and played.

All of the sudden, it’s James who lies dead among us. Memories of James force themselves on me, an incongruous collection of reckless and cautious actions. James was afraid that he might die in something like the manner he did actually die. Yet James was also fearless when it came to many things that I tend to fear.

Living closer to James has strengthened my confidence that fear does not help. His fears did not keep him safe. My fears are not keeping me safe. Fear does not let us assure our safety—not individually, not collectively. Fear may be important, but it isn’t important in the way it seems important when we are fearful. Fear is for letting go.

With a new killer “on the loose” around here, there’s plenty of fear stirred up. I’ve my own share of it. This time perhaps that fear will not linger so. Perhaps this time I’ll be better able to remind others that love can cast out fear.

I talked about this before in a post called repent or burn <cough, gag>. Someone decided, when translating a certain group of authority-approved books about our religious history, to use words like “repent” and “sin” and “savior”.

When you translate, you choose words appropriate to the time and place you’re in. They should be words that are in general use. In King James’ time, you’d call someone who saved a kid from drowning a “savior”. But now-a-days, we think “savior” means something magic and weird. If you’re curious, here’s my understanding of what those words really mean. “Repent” would be better translated “change your approach”, “sin” actually means “screw up”, and “savior” would better be called “rescuer”.

Right now I’m thinking of “scripture.” That word means “words that are written down.” Whoop-de-do! Just like “Bible” means… get this… “book.”

Jesus didn’t talk in magic-language. He didn’t want to hold up a system of code-words that kept people separate from God. He used the a word like “kingdom” because “kingdoms” made sense to people. When’s the last time you set foot in a “kingdom”?

I imagine that by the word that became “kingdom”, Jesus meant a world where God was present, fully involved, where God’s will carries the day. That we can look around a see a new environment, a new world that belongs to God and where we, as sparks of the divine fire, can be truly ourselves.