Jesus, Take the Wheel

I missed this week's service, but I've been chewing on something for a few weeks now. One thing I've heard pretty consistently at NH is a message about our relative ability to care for ourselves, and an urgent entreaty to let God care for us. It is typified by a comment that goes something like, "when we do stuff for ourselves, we'll only screw it up!" The idea being that we need to allow God to run our lives, rather than trying to run them ourselves. To make the point, the comparison is frequently made that-- like children-- we tend to be stubborn about doing things ourselves, when our heavenly father can do them so much better.

Of course, this is in large part a useful bit of rhetoric, used quite effectively. If I'm given a choice between doing something entirely on my own versus having God handle it completely, there isn't much of a choice. Forced to choose within that false dichotomy, I'll pick God, every time. But as many times as I've heard this line of thinking (at NH and elsewhere), and as many times as I've said it myself, I don't know what it would look like for me to let God do stuff for me. Certainly, I've made a mess of my life, regularly and enthusiastically. And certainly, I could use more faith and followership of God in my daily dealings. But what would it look like for me to 'let go, and let God'? (I'm not being snarky or smartassed here-- I'd honestly like to know, and live like that.)

Perhaps I'm overly sensitive, too, since I'm currently living with a two-year-old. One who stomps and shouts daily, precisely because she wants to do "evawy-fing, my-SELF!" Yes, it is aggravating to see her 'clean up,' and make a bigger mess of things. To watch her make the same mistakes, over and again. To see her fall, and hurt herself. And I could brush her teeth in half the time, thankyouverymuch. But isn't that the whole point? Isn't her desire to do things for herself the seed of human agency, and the beginnings of self-esteem? Don't I want her to do things for herself, lest I need to do them for her, forevermore? Wouldn't a good father be pleased to see his child displaying some hard-won independence? I don't want her to be an impulsive and impetuous two-year old, but I don't want her to be a dependent kid with low self-esteem, either.

Maybe it is yet another example of the influence of Greek philosophy upon Enlightenment Christianity: the pure/holy/high set against the impure/profane/low. Of light vs. darkness, heaven vs. earth, and of the logically unavoidable conclusion that we humans must be corrupt (or even totally depraved), since God is not. If so, I'd like to find my place between these two poles: not trying to do everything myself, but not letting go of the wheel, either. Pursuing the light, but not being afraid of the dark. Of asking God to have agency in my life while at the same time accepting responsibility for the decisions that I make.

Outflow of Inward Vitality

This post was originally a comment to Mike's post below, but it got so long I decided to make a post out of it!

I have been thinking that real, genuine actions (orthopraxy) flow out of our health as individuals and our health as a community. That said, I think times of inward and self-reflective growth are very important, so long as we don't stay there. Common Table seems to have gone through some important growth as a community in the past year or two, and I think we are feeling a renewed hunger to engage outside of our group. The reason I point this out is that I felt a while back we where trying to engage outside our group, while we weren't engaged inside our group (I should qualify this as my perception, not a fact). Maybe I am making a false assumption about the order of events, but I really like the notion that engaging and helping others is the outflow of our inward vitality. As we have become church to each other, we begin to meet each other's needs in real and tangible ways, and ultimately we begin to join together and seek to do things for those in even greater need.

So instead of feeling guilt about what I (or we) are not doing, I think it is good to focus on what we are doing, and work to extend that in our lives. Otherwise I personally tend to feel overwhelmed and under-resourced to meet any of my lofty expectations for my life and my community.

The Orthodoxy of Orthopraxy

A while back I was reading a well-written and really long book, The Family. It's a work of political and religious intrigue, documenting the birth and growth of a uniquely American group known variously as 'The Fellowship', 'The Family', and 'The Fellowship Foundation'. This is a somewhat secretive cabal of Christians who are working hard to help the world as best they can. Indeed, the unstructured organization that they've formed in the margins and quiet back rooms of Washington DC is akin to the first-century church, unconcerned as it is with recognition and notoriety. Yet there is (at least) one aspect of the early church that seems to be missing: a deep concern for, and genuine connection with, the poor and powerless. Which makes the book all the more engaging, as the reader follows the narrative and notes this organizational blind spot that never seems to be addressed or repaired, becoming increasingly aggravated as the pages add up.

But in a stroke of genius, the sheer length of the book provides its real power for change. As I was reading it, my smugness was swelling, and I was muttering to myself as I forged on. "It's about orthopraxy (right actions), not orthodoxy (right belief)!," I said, again and again. "These rich white guys are so sure of themselves, thinking that as long as they have all of their beliefs in order, it doesn't matter one bit how terribly they treat their neighbors, employees, or constituents." Yet after 300 pages, fatigued by my own indignance, I couldn't help but turn inward and wonder about my own actions. What good was my clear understanding of the importance of actions, when I myself am very white and quite far from the poverty line and doing very little to serve others (apart from reading books)? In my reaction against orthodoxy as a panacea for the ills of humanity, have I perhaps made too much of orthopraxy?

My fear is that-- for me and my friends-- orthopraxy has become the new orthodoxy. That in our strong (and correct!) affirmation of the importance of doing stuff, we have become like the anti-fundamentalist fundamentalists that we smirk at so frequently. The dangerous thing about my elevation of orthopraxy is that the very act of doing so exempts me from needing to do anything about my orthopraxy. It is enough to affirm the theoretical value of orthopraxy, and to then find a comfortable spot in my cozy home where I can be right. Orthopraxy, then, is the new orthodoxy, which requires little from me other than my stalwart intellectual ascent toward the tennets of orthopraxy. Handy, huh?

Meanwhile, my friends at New Hope Fellowship keep welcoming me to their small and mighty project of redemption for those who live in the cars and woods and homeless shelters of Northern Virginia, giving me eyes to see the people who have been there all along. Folks in this church could care less about The Family, or about my existential gnashings, or about my reading list (and God bless them for that!). They talk about orthodoxy, but they give orthopraxy.