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mackenzian

Keisha E. McKenzie | communication | systems | social good

Sabbath Wisdom

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Investing in imagination

"No matter how lofty your spiritual ideals may be, no matter how many powerful affirmations of Truth you can speak by rote, you still have to pay your bills." —Eric Butterworth

Whatever our philosophy on money, however much we give or save, and regardless of how we rationalize, we’re still left with some basic practical realities.

No matter how lofty your spiritual ideals may be, no matter how many powerful affirmations you can speak by rote, you still have to pay your bills.” —Eric Butterworth, Spiritual Economics

We still have obligations. We still benefit from others’ talents and resources. They need to be paid. We need to be paid. In a world where currency is the language of trade, we eat, drink, clothe ourselves, and shelter ourselves by getting paid.

These facts don’t change for people in the social sector, people who spend their prime waking hours and some nights too helping, teaching, guiding, or counseling others.

Our beliefs about sharing resources don’t change those facts. Beliefs about tithing or donating to good causes and other people in need don’t change the facts.

Wherever we draw benefits from other people, and we all do, there’s that rule: we still have to pay our bills.

Don’t worry (be happy)

A short teaching on worrying about life’s necessities is tucked into the middle of the Sermon on the Mount:

So I tell you, don’t worry about the food or drink you need to live, or about the clothes you need for your body. Life is more than food, and the body is more than clothes.” —Matthew 6:25

Food, drink, and clothes are really great things. I love them all! I don’t seek out involuntary hunger, thirst, or nakedness for myself and don’t wish it on others close or distant. That anyone in our world doesn’t have these basics of life is a testimony against us all.

In Matthew, I don’t see Jesus arguing that people should seek out experiences of lack. But I believe he was right to caution us on worry.

Worry shows up in my life as a creativity vampire. When I think of all of the times during grad school when I stalled on my art or struggled to deliver work I knew I was capable of, I can map those periods to straightforward survival insecurity: health concerns, for instance, or having to trade-off groceries and mandatory federal fees.

Beyond those kinds of binds, worry drew my attention away not only from my routine work but also from the vision and energy that I might otherwise have devoted to co-building a world where no one need be hungry, thirsty, naked, isolated, or purposeless.

Many people don’t even believe such a world is possible: we do have 7.125 billion people to care for. But I think this sense of futility undermines our imaginations and, combined with the low hum of worry, discourages us from taking action.

When we believe there is not enough, that resources are scarce, then we accept that some will have what they need and some will not. We rationalize that someone is destined to end up with the short end of the stick.

When we believe that more is better, and equate having more with being more…then people on the short end of that resource stick are assumed to be less smart, less able, even less valuable, as human beings. We feel we have permission to discount them.

When we believe that’s just the way things are, then we assume a posture of helplessness. We believe that a problem is unsolvable. We accept that in our human family neither the resource-rich members nor the resource-poor members have enough money, enough food, or enough intelligence or resourcefulness to generate lasting solutions.” —Lynne Twist, The Soul of Money

Investing in imagination

People of faith and ethical philosophy have a responsibility to set the mental and material stage for people living and choosing every day: we need worlds of experience where people don’t feel so powerless and aren’t so under-resourced that worrying makes sense for them, for us.

We need to live. We need the basics to live well. And we need them as a baseline for building thriving lives of trust, hope, and constructive action.

There are enough resources on Earth to feed, water, and clothe everyone here. We don’t lack because there isn’t enough. People lack because we don’t care for each other enough to distribute what we have effectively.

We can change those realities because we created them. We can change them and replace them with a world of enough. And we can change and challenge the circumstances and doctrines that got us living in futility and learned helplessness; we can change them one conscious gift at a time.

Support people and organizations whose contributions nourish you and build the world you plan to live in.

Divest from people and organizations whose contributions shore up fear or futility, or teach you that what is is all that can be.

Give your time and skills, networks and attention to the work and world you’re drawn to, because only through our imaginations and investment will that world ever bloom.

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The truth is enough.

"Mean what you say. And don't embellish or go beyond it. The truth is enough." —@mackenzian | Matthew 5:33-37

Matthew 5:33-37, part of the gospels’ summary of Jesus’s teachings, challenges the way we handle the truth.

And it’s a necessary challenge. Truth, embellishments, hedges, and avoidances all make business and interpersonal relationships that much more complicated. We’ve learned to distrust marketers and their advertising claims, and “Just give it to me straight” is a thrown gauntlet: Should I really tell them what I think? How will things change when I do?

Insecurity unsettles us, and so we embellish our speech. We lie. I’ve texted, “On my way” before I’ve been on my way because I expected disappointment for leaving later than expected. I’ve talked in circles about my beliefs on politics and religion because I don’t trust the motives of the people asking. I’ve lived and worked and loved as if my Yes and No are insufficient.

In this space between two people comes the Wise One, teaching: “Say ‘Yes’ when you mean yes, and ‘No’ when you mean no, and ‘I don’t know’ when you really don’t know. Anything beyond that is an attempt to exert power and control.”

There’s no need for fancy mess. The truth is enough.

It can also be terrifying, if vulnerability is involved. The truth might be “I don’t think this role fits for me anymore and I need to step down.” Or “Yes, I do want us to work together on money. I’m tired of trying to figure it out on my own.” Or “I know you don’t understand who I am. I’m sorry you’re missing out on my life, and I wish things were different. But they aren’t.”

The truth being true doesn’t imply anything about what others might do or say in response. But it does let you shed unnecessary weight: all the footnotes and explainers and explain-away-ers that you need to prop up embellishments and dodges. It does allow you to choose the simplest words, the ones you don’t have to memorize in advance because they are true.

The good news? The good news is that we can begin again. Wherever we are—at home or at work or on the streets—whenever we notice insecurity rising, whenever our tongues curl around an extra word or story, we can swallow gently and choose a different way. Because a world we build on any other ground than the truth is not worth living in.

Take a moment: self-check. Where has insecurity guided you lately? What beliefs have you been building your relationships on? Are those beliefs worth switching out for more honesty more often?

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Sabbath Wisdom: Words Matter

Almost every Sabbath morning, I share with my Twitter network a series of tweets rooted in an aspect of faith or religious ethics. These tweets, tagged #SabbathWisdom, are often inspired by study conversations or sermons at my church. A sermon about the power of the word resonated with me yesterday. I may have been primed by Friday’s post about religious violence.

Displayed under license.
Where the words spread. Displayed under license.

“What you say can preserve life or destroy it; so you must accept the consequences of your words.” —Proverbs 18:21, GNT

“Your words can preserve life or destroy it… Words form us and deform us.” < Language and constructs matter: take care.

We look at ourselves and the outer world through lenses shaped by the words that run through our minds, lives, and  scriptures.

We’re probably past the days when our holy texts can be changed, but we can determine how to read & be named by them.

We can’t choose our bio relatives, but we can decide whether to live by their words or change the corpus they gave us.

“I have come in order that you might have life—life in all its fullness” (John 10:10). That’s the offer. It involves responsibility.

We’re not responsible for the tapes we were given. We’re responsible for the tapes we play and our impact on the world.

We can record new tapes, practice a life-affirming vocabulary, and insist on constructs that are healing, not destructive.

“Recognize and live like the accuser has been defeated.” —Mike Speegle

Carol Dweck writes: “Beliefs are central to the way people package their experiences and carry them forward.” And so they are.

Take responsibility for your words, your beliefs, & how they shape you and your impact on the world. Take responsibility.

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Sabbath Wisdom: Texts and Responsibility

Almost every Sabbath morning, I share with my Twitter network a series of tweets rooted in an aspect of faith or religious ethics. These tweets, tagged #SabbathWisdom, are often inspired by study conversations or sermons at my church. This morning’s series was far more extensive than usual, and I decided to share it with you as well.

Much appreciation to everyone who participated by reading, favoriting, retweeting, or replying—especially @runtodaylight, Peterson Toscano (@p2son), Karl Nova (@KarlNova), Mx A. Hooker (@awhooker), and Bryan Berghoef (@bryberg).

Texts and Responsibility

Today’s #SabbathWisdom tweets inspired by my conversation yesterday with @runtodaylight and last night’s vespers at @SouthernNews.

When I read the Christian scriptures as the collection of texts it is, I see both exclusive and inclusive elements.

I’ve been reading that collection all the way through since I was 13 years old. It isn’t a one-theme library.

I’m being deliberate in this thread about not calling it “a book.” Packaging aside, our “bible” is a library, not a book. The library doesn’t have a single author, a single story, or a single theme. Whoever tells you it does is selling something.

So given the diversity inherent to the Christian scriptures, we have an awesome—full-of-awe—responsibility as readers.

We have the ability to express more wholeness or fragmentation through the stories we tell and the dogma we choose. We have the capacity to advance integrity or promote demonization through our reading and reciting. We’re part of a text-centered religion. The God we invoke from our scripture reading will overshadow everything about us.

Earlier I quoted Greg Boyd, a pastor + open theist who writes about how our God-images & reading train us for life.

“There is now a wealth of research demonstrating that violence in literature that is considered sacred is a powerful force in motivating religious violence. It can only be negated by being renounced.” —Greg Boyd, March 7, 2013 (and March 14, 2013)

He argues that our meditations on violence presented as moral in scripture trains us to accept violence as morality in life. (This isn’t an idea original to Boyd; he’s just said it well recently!)

So we who read these ancient stories and draw insight from them for our lives—our responsibility is indeed awesome. Our moral authority doesn’t come from our libraries. But interpreting and applying them is a moral act. We’re accountable.

I’ve learned I have choices in how I read my library, how I interpret its stories, how I apply them to the world about me, how I apply insights to myself & others, whether I wield my library as a machete, what collateral damage I accept.

And I’ve learned to judge my choices by their outcomes in my relationships and my influence on the world I live in.

When I was a child going to Sabbath School and singing songs with the other kids, two songs really touched me.

The first one was “Oh be careful little eyes what you see.” In retrospect maybe it should’ve felt like the Panopticon? But it didn’t. It gave me a sense of universal benevolence and safe presence in this world that I’ve never lost.

It also taught me that what I reflected on, what I did, how I lived mattered and shaped me. Taught me awareness.

The second was “This is My Father’s World.” I’ve felt like an exile in many countries and groups, but never on this planet. This song taught me a sense of belonging, co-ownership, & hope. I haven’t lost that sense either, despite religion’s best efforts!

“This is my Father’s world: Oh let me ne’er forget That though the wrong seems oft so strong God is the ruler yet…
“This is my Father’s world: The battle is not done: Jesus who died will be satisfied And earth and Heaven be one.” —Maltbie D. Babcock, 1901

Yes: My opinions about some of these themes have changed a lot since I first started reading the Bible for myself. But that doesn’t scare me. It’s proof that I’m not a dead thing. Life requires change, and growth requires learning.

Reading our scriptures & living them out w/ others merits care.
Insist on being humane in your exercise of religion.

I think this was the longest #SabbathWisdom thread I’ve ever written. Thanks for hearing me out, y’all. I welcome feedback.

Feedback

I respond in italics.

From @KarlNova: “I love your tweets. I love your heart and mind. I appreciate your train of thought.”

I love you too, Karl. 🙂 *hugs*

From @runtodaylight, re. sources: “Yes, if I recall correctly theologians call this ‘source criticism.’ It’s especially evident in canonical gospels:  Matt & Luke both know Mark, plus Q. John’s Gospel is MUCH different than synoptics, but in ‘closing canon’ the early Church deemed all four ‘canonical.’ Not so with other gospels, Peter, Thomas, which have a lot of same info. IMHO. The Westar Institute’s Jesus Seminar is a very reliable resource.”

It goes well beyond source analysis. There is multivalence (many-sidedness) even in works thought to have single sources.

@runtodaylight: “Agree. Didn’t mean to imply otherwise (link on Biblical criticism).”

What I’ve been talking about this morning isn’t so much who wrote what with which informants, but how we make sense of the themes and values within these stories, whatever their sources, and how we apply them now. Walt Whitman’s line “Do I contradict myself?” is apropos here. 🙂

"Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes." —Walt Whitman

The study of our texts is so powerful in part because we are multivalent, both as speakers/writers and as hearers/readers.

From @awhoooker: “I enjoyed that you talked about how you used your ‘library.’ Important that our faith stories come from the voices of many.”

Thanks! I agree it’s important for more of us to share. Because of experience, I don’t resonate with the text drive-by model. So I want to encourage more text-religion folks to consider alternate and perhaps more healing ways to treat their texts and peers.

@awhooker: “I think a lot is lost when we come to the texts thinking that God spoke them word-for-word from heaven.”

Agreed. Yet even if God had done so, that speech is now mediated through us. And we can’t blame God for our translation work. (When I say “translation” here, I mean both translation of manuscripts and translation from text to life.)

@awhoooker: “If Christ is the Word of God who imparted the Spirit to us after his death & resurrection, I think we are the living words. So, yes, in a sense, our faith lives are translations of what we read, see, hear, & experience.”

Agreed. My communication background teaches me: We are the “speech acts” of God. 🙂

Thanks to everyone who read, faved, retweeted, or responded to the #SabbathWisdom thread this morning. You all enrich me!

If you’d like to join me in conversations like this on Sabbath mornings (Saturdays, usually between 11:00 and 12:30 Eastern), follow me or the #SabbathWisdom hashtag.

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Reading scriptures with a little humility

If you’re in a church service with me (or a non-religious lecture otherwise), you might see me tapping on my phone. It’s not because I’m not paying attention, but because I am: I use a bible app, take digital notes, and if something’s well said, I’ll tweet it immediately. This is a few steps ahead of the pen and paper notes and illustrations I’ve made during presentations for most of my life.

Sometimes a sermon comment also triggers a thought series. So it was this morning.


1: “If you’re going to understand scripture, you basically have to journey into someone else’s mind.” — GP, @newhopefulton #humility

The minister made this point while sharing some background on the “lost sheep” parables in the Christian gospels. It wasn’t his main point, but it helped to frame the information he shared about shepherds that the original auditors may have been more familiar with. More importantly, it reminded the congregation that the bible was not written as a single book nor originally addressed to them.


2. Challenge w/ “journeying into someone else’s mind”: all those someones are long dead + there’s limited consensus on how they lived.

I didn’t grasp the legitimate controversies in biblical history, archaeology  anthropology, linguistics, and interpretation until I started reading on my own. Though this discussion does happen in many mainstream seminaries, in churches it’s much less likely. This is a loss, not just for the local congregation, but also for the broader religious fellowship and for the quality of conversations we can have together.

Instead of conversation, one might hear that pesky debates develop only because Those People, who are Wrong, are foolish, haven’t read the right books yet, or have been deceived by Satan. These rationalizations mean that there’s “debate,” but not debate: whatever information could challenge our presumptions is automatically devalued and so never merits review.

No debate is possible if people aren’t working with the same fact base: failure to deal with data means defaulting on conversation about the data. Without common facts, no common sense can emerge. But once people have caught up, legitimate debate arises.

And when it comes to these sources, there’s no resolution because the data sources are no longer alive. The people who could’ve settled our questions about intentions, phrasing, explicit teachings and silences, and who could have fielded constructive criticism about their positions and those positions’ implications, are not here to speak for themselves or engage in a building dialogue with us. Traditions have also done a weak job of representing founders and their concepts without setting layers of cultural and institutional bias over those representations along the way.

Beyond what’s going on with the sources or the traditions, though, it’s the rarest of readers who isn’t infused with contemporary cultural or institutional bias in any way. I don’t know anyone who isn’t. I’m not myself: I’ve been shaped too. Knowing this has consequences.


3. Often what we learn through archaeology and history doesn’t affirm our pet theories about the texts or the characters in it. 

When we read texts like the Christian bible, we can expect to read the framing stories that communities have found valuable over time. We can expect to trace the cultural and institutional biases that emerged, were reinforced, and were challenged over the same period. But we cannot expect a single story about humankind or our religion of choice, and should no more expect ideological coherence from the text than we’d expect it from a cable reality show.


4. What saves scriptures and sacred texts for me is the premise that wisdom literature is not technical writing.
5. Treating technical writing like wisdom literature corrupts it. Treating wisdom literature like technical writing impoverishes it. 

I love technical writing, and not just because I’ve studied it or practice it. I love it because at its best, it’s a facilitation tool. It’s designed to ease users’ experience with a given technology, process, or interface. It’s a helpful way to become more smoothly accommodated to the world we’re in. Perhaps this fundamental purpose is why it’s not the sum of things.

With wisdom literature from several sources, from dualists and non-dualists, within and well beyond Christianity, I have a different type of reader experience than I do with technical writing. A story, poem, or reflection doesn’t derive its value to me from its usability, accessibility, or fact-to-fluff ratio.

Its value is in its capacity to inspire, to illuminate an aspect of human life, to make an insight more vivid, to create a space for meditation, to highlight possibilities my linear mind has missed, to spark my creative and constructive imagination, to challenge me to flourish and to keep becoming.

No matter how precise or persuasive a piece of technical writing is, these simply aren’t outcomes it’s fitted for. And wisdom literature isn’t about how to choose your profession or customize your new phone.

Treat a thing as the thing it is, and it will never disappoint you.

This post was originally titled “5 Tweets on Wisdom Literature.”