Remembering My Grandpa, Part 2

Great-grandbabies brought energy

Yesterday, I posted Part 1 of this series about my grandpa ("Papa"), who died on Christmas night.

After Papa died, I was thinking more about his influence on my life. While I had explicitly realized how his life taught me to live out my priorities, I suddenly realized how much he impacted the way I approach faith.

One of my favorite quotes is attributed to St. Francis of Assisi: Preach the Gospel always, and if necessary, use words. In my reflections, I realized that I may have fallen in love with this quote because that's how my grandpa shared the Gospel.

As I mentioned yesterday, one of our traditions while living together was going to a weekly meeting of the local Biblical Archaeology Society, where an academic would come and share various findings and thoughts about archaeology and religion. We would always have dinner beforehand and have great conversations on the way home. Papa would regularly read all sorts of materials on faith and science and discuss them with me.

What I didn't appreciate at the time was that this man, who was 60 years my elder, would actually ask my opinion and thoughts. And he truly wanted to know. Even after he retired, he wanted to continue to learn and build his faith, including from his grandson.

In retrospect, this behavior taught me two major things: Humility and persistent faith through questions. My grandpa, who grew up during the Great Depression, who worked a farm with his family, who fought and lived through the South Pacific battles of WWII, who raised three children, who watched his wife and daughter die of cancer, thought he could even learn from his punk grandson. If that's not humility, I don't know what is.

And talk about living through major world changes, including through scientific discovery. He wasn't terribly vocal about his faith, but it persisted until the end (the last time my wife and son saw him, he proudly showed his new large print Bible he was reading). This blog and much of my interest in faith is about finding a way for faith to persist despite a variety of challenges. I never realized it before, but I think my grandpa was absolutely central to that perspective and allowing me to maintain faith through my own trials.

I miss you, Papa, but I thank you for sharing your life with us!

Remembering My Grandpa, Part 1

Papa and Brendan

As many of you know, my grandpa, who turned 90 in August, died on Christmas night. It wasn't a surprise, but that didn't make easy, either. For those who don't know, I lived with him for a couple of years in graduate school until he was put on hospice the first time (7.5 years ago, after which he was kicked off because he was doing so well). This gave me the rare opportunity to really get to know my grandpa well, in a way that many people don't get to know their grandparents.

One of the ways I have long known he impacted me was by living according to his priorities. Those who know me know I'm pretty ambitious. I've long derived a lot of meaning from the things I've done and accomplished.

My grandpa (I named him "Papa") didn't have a prestigious career (he retired from a department store selling window dressings). He served in WWII, married my grandma, moved to California (both grew up on Ohio farms with numerous siblings), and went to art school. As Papa and I would go to weekly Biblical Archaeology Society meetings, he would sometimes talk about how he wished he had gotten a PhD in one of these fields. But he ended his higher education in order to make sure his family had enough money once kids came along.

He retired before I can remember him working. But how often does a grandkid really think about his grandfather's career and status? I have a good friend whose grandpa is well known and who I respect. I've sometimes thought about what it would be like to live under that shadow (and I've heard stories). Then I've compared that to my relationship with my grandpa. Would I have loved Papa more or respected him more if he had done all these amazing things? I can't imagine that I would. In fact, I probably would have loved him less because he would have been around less and therefore I wouldn't have known him as well.

As I hear more and more stories about the personal lives of the ambitious, "accomplished" people I respect, many of their marriages and relationships have fallen apart. Sometimes numerous times. But I remember my grandparents' 50th anniversary. I think priorities have something to do with that.

So a big lesson Papa taught me (just by living his life, never explicitly) was to live out your priorities. And family and faith are my priorities, far more than career. I hope I can live up to the standard Papa set. 

What Makes Faith Legitimate?

One of my favorite courses in my undergraduate career (or ever, frankly) was Sociology of Religion, taught by a professor at the Jesuit school of theology at the Graduate Theological Union, which had partnerships with UC Berkeley. The first lecture was a discussion emphasizing the challenges of creating a universally-applicable definition of religion. (As I'm writing this, I realize it was one of the most memorable lectures I've had.) Suffice it to say, the definition is challenging. The 1972 definition by anthropologist Clifford Geertz we learned is dense, but remarkable. And I still use it to this day (I cited it in my dissertation and will be using it in an introduction to spirituality and mental health treatment cultural competency training I'm developing).

What I appreciate about the definition is it is functional, rather than focusing on specific elements of belief. Too often, people get caught up in these concrete elements (i.e. Is there God? Is there a congregation? Are there rituals? Is there Scripture?). And then this emphasis leads to dismissal of beliefs as legitimate religion, essentially invalidating the individuals' experiences of meaning-making.

Whether or not we agree with a set of beliefs doesn't give us the right to dismiss those beliefs as not a real religion or faith, in my opinion. In many ways, that is what some people are arguing from the tradition of Jediism. Yes, as in Jedi. As in Star Wars Jedi. I read a fascinating, pretty objective, descriptive article exploring the Church of the Jedi. And frankly, I believe it meets all the criteria of a bona fide religion from a sociological perspective.

Just because we agree or disagree with a belief system doesn't mean that followers of a perspective don't have the right to do so and be considered a religion. There's plenty of religions that people consider completely absurd while also not questioning whether those set of beliefs would qualify for the label of religion. Frankly, one of the best ways to help a religion grow is by persecuting and discriminating against its followers. Look at some of the biggest growth time for Christianity, for instance. So by removing rights from a group, we may ironically be giving them more moral support.

In reading the article, it also made me realize as Christians, we need to be humble about our origins, especially as others see us. One line that really struck me was, "So it's based on a movie. Christianity is based on a book." While most Christians would argue the Bible is more than a book, many hard core Wars fans consider the series more than a movie. And frankly, the parallels are striking.

Unsurprisingly, it comes down to faith. Faith that there is meaning and Truth in our system of beliefs. And experiences that make it all "seem uniquely realistic." That's why I'm a Christian and don't follow another faith. But I can't necessarily prove it beyond someone else's shadow of a doubt either. And that's okay.

Emotion and the Faith Experience

A few weeks back, CNN Belief Blog featured a post by a Christian, Brant Hansen, with Asperger's disorder that I had to read. First, the title referenced Star Trek: Mr. Spock goes to church. Secondly, the subtitle was "How one Christian copes with Asperger's syndrome," so my interest was further piqued with the intersection of psychology and faith. And the article exceeded my expectations.

This was a beautiful, honest exploration of one's very personal faith journey, struggles and all. While Hansen's emotional experiences in his faith were influenced by his diagnosis, he was not aware of the disorder until much later. And how much pain and judgment did he face because he didn't have the particular emotional reactions expected by our communities?

What I loved was that Hansen found he could have a strong faith outside of consistent transcendent emotional experiences. While many Christians won't have trouble accepting that because of the Asperger's label he has, I think there's something he can teach all of us: Stop making expectations of what other's faith journeys and experiences should be.

Life is complex. Emotions are incredibly complex. So are cognitions. Faith is infinitely complex, in my opinion. Put all of these together, and there are no formulas. Let's keep our eyes on the ultimate goals of faith. If we or our community is sincerely striving to follow Christ and be transformed by Him, then let's give latitude to the Holy Spirit to craft and shape our journey, even if it's quite different from the journey of anyone else we know...

College Crisis of Faith

Long-time readers of this blog know that I'm particularly interested in elements of doubt and faith, such as the dark night of the soul. I firmly believe these experiences actually help us develop, deepen, and strengthen our faith. But if we aren't told that they can do that, the experiences can be terrifying.

I've also said in various venues that I'm not liking the trend of discussions about college focusing on careers and profitability. That's not the purpose of most higher education, especially from the liberal arts tradition (which dominates almost all Amercian higher education systems, for the good, I believe). The purpose is really education. Learning about yourself and the world. The critical thinking skills and exposure to the amazing world definitely gives us excellent job skills, but this is quite different than a technical school, which has the purpose of giving you a set of specific skills to implement. The college experience is meant to be an experience that shapes our identities and worldviews, hopefully with the purpose of improving the world around us.

So Andrew Knapp's article on why he thinks it's a good thing for Christian college students to have a crisis of faith is spot on, I think. His points fit precisely within the philosophy of a liberal arts education and the core values of higher education. And we need to remember that it was usually Christians who supported this perspective. If we're confident in our faith, then we also shouldn't be afraid of our students having a crisis of faith.

Star Trek, Star Wars, and Church Worship Style

What's the similarity between Star Trek, Star Wars, and worship styles in Christian congregations? There's people very passionate (and vocal) about how to do each of them right.

A couple of months ago, my wife and I watched the documentary, The People v. George Lucas, an entertaining exploration of Star Wars fans' relationship with Lucas. One of the core elements of the documentary was how long-time Wars fans hated Episodes I-III and how Lucas modified IV-VI because of new technology. The filmmakers recognized that this dislike is not universal. But the conclusion was quite insightful, I thought: People had a strong emotional reaction and bond to Star Wars decades earlier. They wanted and expected the same experience now. Except they are different, Lucas is different, the world is different, and frankly, the Star Wars universe is different. You cannot have the same experience again. Yet many young people are experiencing Star Wars for the first time in the same way their elders did, but with new material. Does that really make the content bad, then?

The same thing is happening in the Trek universe. I'm amazed at how vitriolic some people have been towards the Abrams crew, especially Star Trek Into Darkness (SPOILER warning, if you haven't seen STID yet). Some people HATED it (no, that's not overemphasizing it). People have been ripping apart how the casting was horrible, how none of the characters are right, how the stories are ruined, and how there's too much action. I think what's really going on here is the same thing that occurred with Wars: Here is a new experience with old, beloved characters. Many of us want to recapture the old flame of things we once loved.

In the documentary, people were mentioning how they saw Star Wars as synonymous with the joy of their childhood. Psychologically, it looks like they want their childhood back (some basically said that). Yet there's no way to go back. I think it's the same process with Trek now. STID is actually my favorite of all the Trek films to date. I was never terribly impressed by The Wrath of Khan film and never intimidated or scared by the original Khan. Cumberbatch's Khan is chilling and truly deviously threatening in my experience. But I wonder if I would have had a different reaction if it were my beloved TNG crew. A new Q with a young Picard? Those are characters I have attachment to, while I've never been attached to TOS. Yet I would hope I would be open to a new experience.

Recently, our congregation went from two services each Sunday to one. Not because of attendance issues, but because we want to be one intergenerational church, not split by worship style. The big issue at hand was how to reconcile conflicting worship styles (isn't that always one of the major conflicts in a congregation?). While I appreciate "traditional" music, I don't have much, if any, emotional connection to it. It doesn't evoke worshipful feelings in me. When I see many people sing it, it doesn't look like they have any emotion, either (although that can be said for many congregations singing contemporary music :) ). But I wonder why people get so attached to that style. I think in many ways, it's the same process going on with Trek and Wars. People grew up hearing a particular type of music. They have warm memories of other experiences, which become paired with the music. The music reminds them of the past. And it's hard to let go and have a new experience. The same exact thing can be true for people to stuck on contemporary music. Or any other aspect of worship. During the first Sunday of the new schedule, one of our long-time (as in 50+ years attending) congregants shared about her experience of worship. She was so insightful, talking about how familiarity of style was welcoming, but how something different could be very valuable. Our pastor gave a wonderful sermon explaining the history and philosophy of worship in that congregation. I loved how he ended by saying that he hopes everyone found something they loved in the service. And something they disliked. Because that would be an area of growth to tolerate and appreciate differences.

We can honor the old experiences, but we have to remember we can never go back to before (just as said in the musical, Ragtime). We need to determine what we need now and what experiences will help facilitate that in the present. That may mean we need Chris Pine more than William Shatner. But that doesn't mean Shatner is less valid or less important. Without the Shatner Kirks, there would be no Pine Kirks...

Do Smart People Need Faith?

In August, I read an interesting article discussing a meta-analysis exploring the relationship of intelligence and faith. Since this lands squarely in a major area of interest for me, psychology and faith, I was fascinated.

Ultimately, just about any studying examining IQ and faith is going to identify correlation, not causation. The four causal factors suggested by the authors sound very plausible to me and could play a role in the lower levels of faith of those with higher intelligence.

I wonder if part of the causal influence has to do with the type of work those with higher intelligence tend to engage in. I don't mean to be derogatory here, simply descriptive. Those usually recognized to have a higher intelligence (from a cognitive standpoint--there is a lot of debate over other forms of intelligence, including emotional, social, creative, etc., and I personally think those do need to be recognized as elements of intelligence) tend to have white collar jobs. Those with lower intelligence tend to have blue collar jobs (of course there is always an exception, especially with immigrants).

Let's think about stereotypic blue collar jobs. Lots of manual labor. Lots of repetitive actions. Not a lot of mental stimulation. It's no wonder many blue collar workers turn to prayer, singing hymns, and other spiritual activities during work. I know I was often bored during work when I had blue collar jobs. From a psychological perspective, it can fill a gap of stimulation.

Now let's think about stereotypic white collar jobs. Very little manual labor. Very little repetitive actions. A lot of mental, novel stimulation. In the past few years of having increasingly stereotypic white collar positions, my time has been very filled with a variety of stimuli that also fill my brain. Since I like my work, I continue thinking about it and processing it in my off time. I notice I feel like I have less "downtime" to fill with prayer, Bible reading, etc. In some ways, I could argue my work distracts my brain from spiritual things (okay, from my incarnational perspective, work can be very spiritual, but we're talking about more explicitly spiritual stuff).

The more our time is filled with the ins and outs of daily life and a variety of activities, the easier it is to explain life away by those things. We are also more distracted from any potential spiritual needs and longings, so we're not even aware of them.

Do smart people need faith? I would argue yes. But they often have more of a challenge to recognize their need of faith.

"O Lord! Thou knowest how busy I must be this day: If I forget thee, do not forget me!" Sir Jacob Astley (1579-1652)