But I'd like to say something nice about Calvinism today. Less about Calvinism as a doctrinal stance than about its emotional appeal. Particularly when we confront pain and suffering the the world.
My observation in brief: When we face suffering some people like to go high and some people like to go low.
A few years ago I was helping lead a study of the Psalms in our adult bible class at church. We were using the categories of Walter Brueggemann grouping the Psalms under the headings psalms of orientation and psalms of disorientation. Psalms of orientation are the psalms of unmitigated praise. YHWH reigns supreme in these psalms and the world is well-ordered. By contrast, the psalms of disorientation are the psalms of protest and lament where YHWH has gone missing and the world seems to be falling apart.
As a Winter Christian (for more about "Sick Souls, Winter Christians and Saints of Darkness" see Chapter 6 in The Authenticity of Faith) I gravitate toward the psalms of disorientation. And I had assumed, going into the study on the Psalms, that anyone facing suffering or difficulties would also gravitate toward these psalms. When you are in distress you'd go to psalms that articulated that distress, right? That's what I do, so I just assumed everyone would do this.
But I was wrong. What I discovered was that many people go to the psalms of orientation--psalms of praise which declare God's control and sovereignty over a well-ordered creation--for comfort and solace in times of trouble. That struck me as strange. Why, when your world is falling apart, would you sing songs of a well-ordered and well-governed world?
The answer, as I listened to people talk about this, how they used various psalms during times of trouble, was that some people want to take in the big picture, the view of heaven, in the face of suffering. That is, they want to see far down the road to see that all will be well in the end. That, despite appearances today, God is ultimately in control. And you get this view best in the psalms of orientation. To be sure, you sing these psalms with tears in your eyes. You weep them out. You offer them up as hope. But this long view, the view from heaven, helps you get through the day.
Like I said, some people like to go high.
But many others like to go low. That is, they like to stick close to the suffering on earth, to the painful human experience. The psalms of lament do this. They take the perspective of earth looking up to a blank and silent heaven. These psalms shake their fists at the sky. For many people, these are the psalms that best articulate the experience of their suffering. These words best fit their tears.
So some people like to go high and some people like to go low. Some people in the face of suffering want to climb into heaven and look down from God's sovereign vantage-point. Others want to stay close to the pain and scream at an empty sky.
Is one way better than the other? Is one way more honest or truthful?
I used to judge those who went high in the face of suffering. I felt that their appeals to God sovereignty were a form of denial, fantasy, and escapism. A too-easy move toward "God is in control and all is for the good." To be sure, I think this is often the case. I wrote a whole book in The Authenticity of Faith about how and why this happens. But over the years I've grown more understanding when people go high.
To be clear, I don't like it when others go high on behalf of those who are suffering. You don't say in trying to comfort the one in pain, "God willed this and it's for the best." You don't use the psalms of orientation as existential band-aids to patch people up. That's obscene. You don't go high for other people. If they want to climb into heaven to take in the view, great, but don't you do it for them.
What I'm talking about here is when those who are suffering go to the psalms of orientation on their own. When people do this I don't think they are being naive or escapist. Because, like I said above, I've seen how these psalms of praise are sung through tears. How they express hopes and longings as much as certainty and conviction. I've seen how these psalms, when paired with tears, are a sort of lament, a deep longing and cry for a place and time when pain shall be no more. A way of expressing the hope, in the words of Julian of Norwich, that "all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”
I also grew up in a Calvinist church, and we were taught the doctrine of Original Sin (total depravity) as Biblical. So I'm slightly confused by your introductory paragraph here.
Anyway, I think this issue touches on the main objection to Christianity I have heard over the years from non-Christians. "How can a good and loving God allow suffering in the world"?
Having said that, when any person -- Christian or otherwise -- has attempted to comfort me by way of an existential pat on the back (as illustrated above), I do not look upon that as an obscenity. I see it as a *social convention*, much as Sheldon Cooper offers "a hot beverage" without really understanding or empathizing in the least with the sufferer. Unless I sense malevolence, I let the comments go by -- they are just compelled to say something -- anything -- at a time of suffering.
I am genetically predisposed to see the glass as half-empty. I too want to go low. But when all hope was lost for any reconciliation with my father, and I had to say something over his casket, I chose Psalm 23, and it was very good. Go figure.
You don't use the psalms of orientation as existential band-aids to patch people up. That's obscene.
Well said. This kind of obscenity happens far too often in our Sunday morning worship. We have forgotten how to go low with each other. This is one reason I am so drawn to the work of Mark Shipp, Jack Reese and so many others in the Timeless series (http://www.austingrad.edu/pub_timeless.html). One of my favorites is "Do Not Abandon Me" by Jack Reese, based on the translation of Psalm 38 by Glen Pemberton. I hope this series is allowed to transform the way we do corporate worship.
Dr. Beck, this especially captures my sentiment:
"To be clear, I don't like it when others go high on behalf of those who are suffering.
You don't say in trying to comfort the one in pain, 'God willed this
and it's for the best.' You don't use the psalms of orientation as
existential band-aids to patch people up. That's *obscene*. You don't go
high for other people. If they want to climb into heaven to take in the
view, great, but don't you do it for them."
My much-less-eloquent paraphrase: You do not get to tell me how I feel, or how I *should* feel! Worse yet, don't tell me that my faith is lacking or non-existent when I fail to hit the high notes of praise.
Furthermore, I feel that it's my prerogative to take my chances with God, as it were. If climbing up to the top of the shrimp boat's mast in the middle of a storm and cackling like a madwoman at God, demanding a showdown, is the way I make peace with my stuff and my God, then I've got to do what I've got to do. (Channeling Lt. Dan there.)
Certain emotions (e.g., joy) are held up as good and right; certain others (e.g., anger, sadness, disappointment, etc.) have a negative, "sinful" attribution, especially in our response/relationship to God. Closer to the truth, I suspect, is that people are very uncomfortable with sad, angry feelings in others. Whether it has to do with God or not.
When I read the Slavery to the Fear of Death series, I frequently interpreted the point of "dying to self" as eliminating all of those negative, "sinful" emotions and responses of lament from my faith experience. In the wrap-up of podcast #3 on the 'Slavery' series, "doxological (or prophetic) gratitude" certainly struck me as a good, healthy, and helpful move. No disagreement from me there. Some days (weeks, months, years!) it is harder than others to reason through to three blessings for which I'm thankful. Personally, I vacillate pretty quickly between oriented and disoriented in my relation to God. More often, my doxology is a broken hallelujah. In the words of a Sara Groves song ("Something Changed"), "And I cannot make it...And I cannot fake it... And I can't afford it...But it's mine [faith]." I know I must be on God's 'Problem Child' list. I'm sure I'll catch holy hell for it in the end.
Which brings me to the concept of UR: For me, this is the ultimate in "going high" in my orientation with God. Yes indeed, ""all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”
I appreciate the gracious and conciliatory tone of this post toward Calvinists. Very well spoken. That quality of yours, and this blog, is/has been a good influence on me. Thank you. ~Peace~
I appreciate this. In my time as a pastor, I found that the "new mode" of preparing people to counsel those in suffering--share a silent presence, don't offer answers, and use lament passages to articulate the pain--works primarily for the personality types who frequent the halls of my seminary. But it doesn't work for everyone.
I'll just add one thought, in case you're interested: Some people, in my experience, don't simply want to go high--they want to go high as part of a community that is going high. They've helped carry the load of retaining a hopeful perspective for their neighbor when he wasn't able to carry that load for himself. They expect their neighbor to carry the load of retaining a hopeful perspective for them when they aren't able to carry that load for themselves.
So I guess I wonder whether, after even more reflection, you will not only stop judging the practice of "going high"--but will also stop judging (as obscene existential bandaids) the practice of helping one another "go high." And yet I appreciate your words of warning, because there are those who will see either approach as obscenely unhelpful.
"You do not get to tell me how I feel, or how I *should* feel! Worse yet, don't tell me that my faith is lacking or non-existent when I fail to hit the high notes of praise."
Absolutely nailed it, Susan.
Proverbs 25:20
Like one who takes away a garment on a cold day, or like vinegar poured on a wound is one who sings songs to a heavy heart.
I've also witnessed (as well as experienced in my own life) that some people go through phases of high then low and vice versa. It seems to be closely tied to the "grieving" process. In my case, I initially gravitated to low passages, low songs (religious and commercial), low movies, etc. As I grew in my reliance on God and learned how to share my yoke with Him, I started using highs quite a fair bit. Of course, from time to time I revisit the lows to remind myself of where I come/came from, perhaps as a form of reconnecting with the reality and gravity of my situation.
As I am reading on the series about Death, I have considered the fact that every funeral I have ever attended has been positive. Even the one of an 18 month old baby. Death seems to bring out hope in us. Am I wrong? I've heard one preacher in my 50 years say that his mother was in Hell. Every other, regardless of the person's character or degree of faith, was hopeful.
I see family members, church staff, and those with their own discomfort "go high" frequently in the hospital and it always makes me cringe. Good thoughts Richard!
Thank you, Patricia. Coming from you, that affirmation means a lot. It has *only* taken me approximately 40 years of faith to pin that truth down and gain the ability to articulate it clearly. With gratitude for you and those here at ET who have helped me in many ways to figure this out. ~Peace~
I really appreciated Susan’s comment. For me the Psalms (and
much of the OT) aren’t that relevant during trials, just as I also wouldn’t try
out the pick-up line, “Your teeth
are like a flock of sheep …”
(Song of Solomon 4:2). But for me the issue of relevance goes beyond just the
cultural and historical setting. The Old Covenant was generally a one size fits
all approach. The concept even in Psalms was that God was “up there” and there
is a standard/orthodox/one size fits all protocol on how to interact with God. I
think the New Covenant (i.e. God living inside each person and not up there
somewhere) allows for diversity in response to situations like suffering (you
are who you are). I agree with the statement in Jlh11a’s post, “share a silent
presence, don't offer answers …“, and allow each person their own space as they
process the pain in their own way.
For those who find the (orientating/disorientating) Psalms helpful in
times of distress, by all means don’t stop reading them – you’re in a space
that I envy. For me however, they are pretty much “anti-orientating” – just my
op.
Yes! I totally agree that "going high" on behalf of others is unhelpful at best, but I can see why someone -- myself included at time -- would choose to respond to their own distress that way. I really appreciated the summer/winter distinction in "Authenticity" (though I still have trouble with the "healthy-minded"/"sick soul" terminology). So much of the church that I've experienced is summer with a "go high" tendency that it's easy to feel out of step as a winter believer. I find myself wrestling with questions of maturity and discipleship in this grid (is the constant appeal to "go high" simply immaturity, if not denial?) Thanks for the reminder that both approaches can be healthy and mature responses ...
I don't like the healthy-minded/sick soul labels either. I prefer Summer/Winter but elected to stay with William James's terminology through the book for the sake of consistency.
A brilliant blog post. With brilliant comments like this to go along with it :)
I wrote this in my most recent post: "There is a sense of freedom that comes with hitting bottom. She played her last card, and there was nothing left she could do to hurt me. The painful stripping away of life, had left me with pure joy. I was now thankful, humbled, and honored for every good gift I had. No more would I be timid, and there was no reason to be mean. I simply needed to rise and walk and live the new life God had given me."
Yes, for the person of faith, suffering can produce orientation toward praise. Great post.
I'm not sure how a Psalm like 130 would be classified: It stays positive ("for with the Lord is unfailing love and with him is full redemption.He himself will redeem Israel), but it seems to be on the edge: It's from "out of the depths," and it's waiting on the Lord -- who apparently hasn't shown up yet. Anyway, I thought some might enjoy Sinead O'Connor's take-off on it, "Out Of The Depths." I like the recording on her THEOLOGY album better, but this performance on youtube is pretty good: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m920jYP002c. I find the middle material that she adds (it starts & ends with words from the Psalm) interesting. She baits, even taunts, I'd say, God -- in the best prophetic tradition. Instead of straightforwardly imploring God to act, to set things straight, we get this whole "I feel sorry for you, God, that you're so weak, ignored, and tied up these rules people have made" line. But she tenaciously hangs onto God's love & goodness.
"To be sure, you sing these psalms with tears in your eyes. You weep them out. You offer them up as hope. But this long view, the view from heaven, helps you get through the day."
I think this captures it exactly. There's a huge difference between turning to the psalms of orientation as a band-aid, and weeping them out in the face of real, deep pain. One of my favorite psalms is Psalm 57, which I think captures this experience of weeping out praise in the face of despair. David in the cave, pursued by Saul. Ultimately it's a psalm of praise, but it's a psalm of praise from a place of near-despair, wavering from that fear - "my soul is bowed down" - to a conscious decision to cry out praise anyway - "Awake, my glory! Awake, lute and harp! I will awaken the dawn."
You know how some organizations keep records of allergies, medical needs, birthdays, etc.? Maybe churches should keep records of spiritual needs: congregation members could do a quick test to determine where they are in the Summer/Winter dichotomy (there could be other measures, too, like what sorts of things make people feel communion with God), and this information would be kept on file. Of course, management of that information would be tricky. You can't just send out an e-mail saying, "Please everyone bear in mind that Christian is a Winter Christian, so keep all consolation suitably morose." So maybe what we really need are courses on communicating and reacting to difference.
I have found the best consolation a mostly silent, listening presence. If you are just *there* and listening, how can you go wrong?