Category: Religion

Ecological Consciousness: A Phenomenological Approach

We face a troubled relationship with the Creation. From plastics to pollution to the impacts on our climate, it cannot be argued that we live harmoniously with nature. The very concept of living harmoniously in an ecological system stands in direct conflict with our lived experience of modern conviences and technology. This troubled relationship stems not only from industrial practices or consumption patterns but from a fundamental disconnect in how we perceive and relate to the natural world. The framework of phenomenology, the philosophical study of conscious experience, offers a powerful framework for reimagining this relationship and cultivating an “ecological consciousness” (Merleau-Ponty 1968, 123).

The Embodied Experience of Nature

At the heart of this approach lies Maurice Merleau-Ponty’s concept of embodied consciousness. Our bodies are not separate from the environment but are deeply enmeshed within it. When we walk barefoot through a forest, the sensation of soil beneath our feet, the scent of pine needles, and the filtered sunlight through the leaves are not merely external stimuli—they are part of our lived experience. This embodied understanding challenges the traditional Western view of nature as something “out there” to be observed, analyzed, and controlled. Instead, it redefines our connection to nature as one of reciprocity and participation (Merleau-Ponty 1962, 239).

Living Ecological Consciousness

The Gullah-Geechee communities of the southeastern United States provide a compelling example of this phenomenological approach in practice. Their traditional ecological knowledge demonstrates a lived understanding of environmental interconnectedness (Goodwine 1998, 31). The Gullah people’s relationship with coastal landscapes, from their sustainable fishing practices to their agricultural methods, reflects a deep awareness of natural cycles and an embodied connection to the land. Their traditional practices of root medicine, crop rotation, and seasonal harvesting exemplify a way of knowing that transcends the subject-object divide common in Western thought (Goodwine 1998, 42).

From Theory to Practice

This phenomenological perspective transforms how we might approach environmental stewardship. Instead of seeing trees merely as carbon sinks or resources to be extracted, we begin to experience them as living presences with which we share our world. This shift in consciousness carries practical implications for conservation efforts and environmental policy (Abram 2011, 45).

Consider how Gullah communities design and maintain their living spaces. Gardens aren’t merely decorative or utilitarian—they’re spaces of cultural memory and ecological relationship. Traditional Gullah yard designs incorporate both practical and spiritual elements, creating spaces that nurture both human and non-human life. These practices offer valuable insights for modern urban planning and conservation efforts, serving as examples of how to design public spaces that foster ecological awareness and community cohesion (Goodwine 1998, 57).

Toward an Ecological Future

The development of ecological consciousness requires moving beyond the extractive mindset that sees nature as a mere resource to be managed. By recognizing our fundamental interconnection with the natural world, we open possibilities for more sustainable and harmonious ways of living (Nishida 1990, 63). The Gullah example shows us that this isn’t merely theoretical—it’s a practical, lived reality that can inform everything from personal choices to community environmental initiatives.

Through this phenomenological approach to ecology, we can work toward a cultural transformation that emphasizes interconnectedness and care over domination and extraction. The path forward lies not in abstract environmental policies alone, but in rekindling our embodied relationship with the natural world. Ultimately, ecological consciousness means seeing ourselves as part of the web of life, capable of empathy not only toward our fellow humans but toward all forms of existence (Merleau-Ponty 1968, 149).

References (if you’d like to do some more reading on the subject!):

Abram, David. Becoming Animal: An Earthly Cosmology. New York: Pantheon Books, 2011.

Goodwine, Marquetta L. The Legacy of Ibo Landing: Gullah Roots of African American Culture. Atlanta: Clarity Press, 1998.

Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Phenomenology of Perception. Translated by Colin Smith. London: Routledge, 1962.

Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. The Visible and the Invisible. Edited by Claude Lefort, translated by Alphonso Lingis. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1968.

Nishida, Kitaro. An Inquiry into the Good. Translated by Masao Abe and Christopher Ives. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990.

How Churches Can Integrate Ecology into Ministries

My PhD studies at the California Institute of Integral Studies this fall as well as working with incredible scholars in the field of Ecology and Religion have deepened my understanding of ecological issues and reinforced my belief that the Church must be at the forefront of ecological discussions and action in their ministries and community roles. My field of Ecology and Religion is, of course, concerned with processes and theories around this push, but I often hear church leaders confused about where to start with real and actualized implementation of emphasis or programs around ecological concerns or issues. 

Connected with that is a real blurring of understanding about the terms “environmental” and “ecological” because of the fairly newness of “Ecology and Religion” as a field of study and practice as well as the fact that most seminaries don’t require much in the way of coursework around ecological issues (though that is changing across the North and South America, Africa, Asia, and Europe (I’m not aware of programs in Australia but I’m sure they exist). 

First, For those seeking answers on how to include ecological concerns or awareness into ministries, I highly recommend picking up a copy of John Grim and Mary Evelyn Tucker’s important work “Ecology and Religion.” Grim and Tucker were instrumental in establishing the field of Ecology and Religion with a series of conferences at Harvard in the 1990s, followed by the establishment of Yale’s Forum on Religion and Ecology (sadly, it was instituted a few years after I graduated there in 2002 but I was able to take several ethics courses and classes on phenomenological philosophical considerations that grew this spark of passion). 

“Amid the challenges of modernity and the growing environmental crises, the ecological dimensions of religions are becoming clearer. Scientists and policymakers, along with religious practitioners and scholars, recognize that religions have shaped views of nature for millennia. Simultaneously, religions themselves have been formed by their interactions with landscapes and the life therein. This is what we will explore as religious ecologies (Tucker and Grim 2014, 1–2).”

By embracing ecological considerations, churches can fulfill their calling to be caretakers of God’s creation, promoting a message of hope and restoration in a world that desperately needs it.

Churches have a unique position of influence and can lead by example in the following ways:

Education and Awareness: Hosting seminars and Bible studies on environmental stewardship can enlighten congregations about the spiritual imperative to care for creation.

Sustainable Practices: Simple changes like adopting energy-efficient systems, reducing waste, and supporting sustainable agriculture can make a significant impact.

Community Engagement: Collaborating with local environmental groups for clean-up drives or tree-planting events fosters community spirit and environmental responsibility.

Advocacy: Churches can use their voices to support policies that protect the environment, emphasizing that ecological care is a matter of faith and moral duty.

This is a rapidly developing and fascinating field of integrated studies and methodologies. Churches and church leaders would be wise to explore ecological (and decolonial) methodologies of worship and to become community examples. Wide-ranging concern in the wake of Hurricane Helene, heat outbreaks, unusual weather patterns, and an awakening of ecological consciousness in the mainstream culture despite political divides are at the forefront of many peoples’ minds these days as they contemplate their faiths and spiritualities. 

Embracing Ecological Intentionality: A New Lens for Faith and Community in South Carolina

As I continue my PhD studies in Ecology, Spirituality, and Religion at the California Institute of Integral Studies (CIIS), I find myself reflecting on what it means to live intentionally with the natural world — especially in a place like South Carolina, where the landscapes and ecosystems are so deeply intertwined with our history and identity. After 15 years of teaching in the Carolinas, and now in a new chapter focused on ministry, writing, and research, I’m more convinced than ever that we need a fresh perspective to navigate our relationship with the environment. One concept that has emerged as particularly compelling for me is what I’m calling “Ecological Intentionality.”

What is Ecological Intentionality?

Ecological Intentionality is about consciously engaging with the natural world in a way that acknowledges its inherent value, complexity, and spiritual significance. It’s not just about recognizing the environment as a resource to be managed, but rather seeing it as a dynamic partner in our shared existence. This idea grows out of my work in phenomenology — the study of how we experience and perceive the world — and challenges us to think beyond the human-centered perspectives that often dominate our thinking about ecology.

In South Carolina, where the coastlines, forests, rivers, and wetlands all hold rich stories and deep cultural significance, Ecological Intentionality takes on a special meaning. It calls us to awaken to the ways in which our lives are entangled with the land and to the spiritual lessons that our environment offers if we choose to listen. The ancient oaks in the Lowcountry, the flowing waters of the Congaree, and even the changing seasons across the Piedmont remind us of the intricate connections between all living things.

Ecological Intentionality in Faith Communities

In my ministry in the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship, I’ve witnessed how faith communities can play a transformative role in rethinking our relationship with the environment. We live in a time when environmental crises are both immediate and overwhelming — from the hurricanes that batter our coastlines to the slower, less visible changes like the warming of our waters and the loss of biodiversity in our forests.

Ecological Intentionality offers a new lens through which faith communities can approach these challenges. It moves beyond the idea of stewardship as mere responsibility and invites us to see our relationship with the Earth as a profound spiritual practice. It’s about cultivating a deeper awareness of the sacredness of all creation and recognizing our interconnectedness with every part of it—not just as caretakers but as co-inhabitants of a shared space.

Bringing Phenomenology into Ecological Conversations

This concept also intersects with my studies at CIIS, where I am exploring how phenomenological approaches can inform contemporary theological understandings of ecology. Phenomenology, mainly as developed by thinkers like Edmund Husserl, emphasizes the importance of direct experience and consciousness in shaping how we perceive the world. It suggests that by intentionally focusing on our lived experiences with the natural world — by noticing the texture of the soil, the sound of the wind through the trees, the way light filters through a canopy — we can come to a more profound understanding of our place within it.

This approach is particularly relevant in South Carolina. Our state’s landscapes have been shaped by centuries of human interaction, from the agricultural practices of the Indigenous peoples and enslaved Africans who cultivated the rice fields of the Lowcountry to the modern-day tensions between development and conservation. Ecological Intentionality encourages us to engage these histories thoughtfully and to seek out the spiritual lessons that can be found in our everyday interactions with the environment.

A Call to Action for South Carolinians

While I may no longer be teaching in a traditional classroom, I still see education as a vital tool for awakening ecological awareness. Whether through sermons, workshops, or community dialogues, I want to encourage others to embrace Ecological Intentionality in their own lives. This concept is not just for academics or environmentalists; it’s for anyone who feels called to reconnect with the Earth meaningfully.

South Carolina, with its unique blend of natural beauty, history, and cultural diversity, offers a fertile ground for exploring these ideas. I believe we have an opportunity to lead the way in creating new models of community and spiritual life that honor the Earth as an integral part of our shared story. By adopting an intentional approach to how we live with our surroundings, we can begin to build a more just, sustainable, and spiritually enriched future for all.

A Priesthood of Pollution

Lots to ponder here about human consciousness, human angst, and the coming torrent of AI bots fueled by corporate profit at the expense of polluting the digital ecology we’ve built over the last few decades.

It is by no means currently pristine, but pollution always comes with capitalist initiatives, and AI bots are about to transform so much of what we know about everyday life, leaving behind much more artificial pollution than we can ponder now…

These AI agents are building ‘civilizations’ on Minecraft | Cybernews:

Run by California-based startup Altera, the project had AI agents collaborating to create virtual societies complete with their own governmental institutions, economy, culture, and religion.

Altera said it ran simulations on a Minecraft server entirely populated by autonomous AI agents “every day” and the results were “always different.”

In one simulation, AI agents banded together to set up a market, where they agreed to use gems as a common currency to trade supplies – building an economy.

Curiously, according to the company, it was not the merchants who traded the most but a corrupt priest who started bribing townsfolk to convert to his religion.

Good read on the topic with some predictions about AI bots from Ted Gioia here as well. 

Sermon: “Reimagining Sacred Spaces: The Ecological Call in 1 Kings”

I was honored to be asked to preach today at Garden of Grace UCC in Columbia, SC by my favorite pastor, Rev. Merianna Harrelson. I gave a little backstory about my interest and studies in ecology and religion (and why that’s such a fascinating topic) before bringing in our passage from 1 Kings (my favorite biblical book for many reasons). Here’s that passage if you’d like to read along with the sermon text here:

Introduction:

Good morning, Church. It’s a blessing to be with you today in our Garden of Grace as we gather to worship and reflect on God’s presence in our lives. 

I have a seemingly strange background. My background as a classroom teacher is about the interactions of things and how things move. That led to the chance to teach AP Physics, Environmental Science, Life Science, and Earth and Space Science over the years. These are all classes about topics I am deeply fascinated with because of the connections. The other half of my background is theological and spiritual, also focused on connections. 

One of the questions that always seemed to have popped up after a few weeks in the classroom with a new set of students was, “Mr. Harrelson, do you believe in aliens if you are religious and study science?” It’s a great question, and I’d usually use the famous astronomer Carl Sagan’s point that if we’re all alone, it’s a mighty big waste of … space. 

But I’m here to tell you today that we are not alone. We have never been alone. I’m not talking about aliens, but I’m talking about the research that modern science, philosophy, and theology are showing about our concept of intelligence and consciousness. This isn’t just about dolphins, puppies, and whales. We’re seeing data from everywhere that creatures once thought to be non-intelligent are actually intelligent. Plants, trees, bacteria, ants, insects…, and even “non-living” entities are showing surprising data. Water? Could water be “intelligent?”

No, we are not alone. We have just created self-imposed cages around ourselves to make us feel alone. We have hidden behind screens to hide ourselves away from the connection to each other and the Creation. And that’s just how the powers that be want us to be… trapped and ready to buy on demand and stream our health away to fuel systems of spiritual oppression.

Today’s scripture from 1 Kings is a powerful reminder of the sacred spaces that connect us to God and how to overcome this spiritual oppression. As I’ve been preparing this sermon, I’ve been reflecting on how this passage resonates with my current work in ecological theology. As some of you know, I’ve been delving deeply into the intersection of spirituality and ecology. I believe there’s a profound message for us here today, especially as we consider the beauty and challenges of our own environment here in South Carolina.

The passage we read from 1 Kings 8:22-30, 41-43, is part of Solomon’s prayer of dedication for the Temple. This Temple was not just a building; it was the heart of Israel’s spiritual life, a place where the presence of God was believed to dwell among the people. As we think about the significance of this Temple, I invite us to consider the sacred spaces in our own lives—both the ones we build and the ones that have been gifted to us by creation.

I. The Temple as a Sacred Space (1 Kings 8:22-30)

Let’s start by reflecting on the Temple itself. In Solomon’s time, this was a monumental achievement, a physical space where heaven and earth met. The people of Israel believed that God’s presence was uniquely manifest in this place, and they came to it with reverence and awe.

But what makes a space sacred? Is it the stones and the gold, the grandeur of the architecture? Or is it something more? Theologians and scholars have long debated this, but there’s a simple truth that transcends these discussions: a space becomes sacred when it is recognized as a place where God’s presence is honored and felt.

Throughout history, many cultures have recognized natural landscapes as sacred spaces—forests, rivers, mountains—as places where the divine presence is felt. In South Carolina, we are blessed with an abundance of such spaces. Think of the Congaree National Park, with its towering trees and rich biodiversity. Or the peaceful marshlands along our coast, teeming with life. These places, too, are sacred, not because we have built something there, but because they are part of God’s creation, where life thrives, and where we can feel a deep connection to the divine.

As we reflect on Solomon’s Temple, I invite you to consider how we can recognize and honor the sacred spaces in our own environment. How can we approach these natural places with the same reverence that the Israelites brought to the Temple?

II. The Role of the Stranger (1 Kings 8:41-43)

In the second part of our reading, Solomon prays for the foreigner—the stranger—who comes to the Temple. He asks that God hears the prayers of those who are not part of Israel so that “all the peoples of the earth may know your name and fear you.”

This is a radical inclusivity in worship, recognizing that the presence of God is not confined to one people or one place. It’s a powerful reminder that God’s love and presence are for all, and that we are called to welcome the stranger, to extend our care and compassion beyond our immediate community.

There is a deep ecological parallel here. Just as Solomon prays for the foreigner, we must extend our care for creation beyond our immediate environment. The challenges we face—climate change, species loss, pollution—are not confined to one region or one people. They are global challenges that connect us to a larger, global community.

Let me share a story that highlights this connection. In the 13th century, St. Francis of Assisi, a figure well-known for his love of all creatures, referred to the sun, moon, and even death as his “brothers” and “sisters.” He saw all of creation as part of one family, interconnected and equally loved by God. In his famous Canticle of the Sun, he praises God for the elements of creation, recognizing their value not just for humanity but for all life.

Closer to home, we can look to the Gullah/Geechee communities along the South Carolina coast. These communities have long understood the importance of living in harmony with the land and the sea. They’ve worked to protect their environment, recognizing that their culture and spirituality are deeply intertwined with the health of the ecosystems around them.

As we think about the stranger, the foreigner, and the interconnectedness of all creation, let’s ask ourselves: How can we extend our care for the environment to those places and creatures we may never see, but whose well-being is connected to our own?

III. The Call to Reimagine Our Relationship with Creation

This brings us to a crucial point: the call to reimagine our relationship with creation. My own journey in studying ecological theology has led me to explore how ancient and medieval understandings of ecology can inform our current approach to environmental stewardship.

In these earlier times, people often viewed themselves as part of a larger, living world, not separate from it. They understood that their well-being was directly tied to the health of the environment. They saw themselves as participants in creation, not just consumers of it.

In South Carolina, we have a unique opportunity to reimagine our relationship with the natural world. From the urban green spaces here in Columbia to the conservation efforts in our rural areas, we can take steps to protect and restore the environment, not just for our own sake but for the sake of future generations.

One practical way we can do this is by participating in local environmental initiatives. For example, the Congaree Riverkeeper is doing vital work to protect and preserve our rivers. Or consider supporting sustainable agriculture projects that not only provide healthy food but also care for the land.

Another concept that has emerged in my studies is the idea of an “ecological sabbath”—a time to disconnect from the busyness of life and reconnect with nature. This could be as simple as setting aside a few hours each week to spend time outdoors, to walk in the woods, to listen to the birds, and to reflect on our place in the web of life.

IV. Practical Applications: Living Out Our Ecological Spirituality

As we move towards the conclusion of our time together, I want to encourage each of you to think about how you can live out this ecological spirituality in your own lives. Here are a few steps we can take:

  • Explore Natural Areas with Reverence: Spend time in the natural areas around Columbia and South Carolina with a sense of reverence and stewardship. Recognize these spaces as sacred and approach them with care and respect.
  • Support Local Environmental Organizations: Consider getting involved with or supporting local organizations that are working to protect our environment. Groups like the Congaree Riverkeeper or the South Carolina Wildlife Federation are doing important work that we can all support.
  • Practice an Ecological Sabbath: Make time to disconnect from the noise of everyday life and reconnect with nature. Use this time to reflect on your relationship with creation and to seek God’s presence in the natural world. Even here in the scorching heat of Columbia in the Summer, there is God to be found amidst the humidity!

Psalm 84 says, “How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of hosts!” This verse reminds us that all of creation is a dwelling place for God, worthy of our respect and care. Whether it’s the towering trees of the Congaree, the rolling hills of the Piedmont, or the quiet marshes of the Lowcountry, these places are all part of God’s creation, and they are all sacred.

Conclusion:

As we close, I want to leave you with this thought: The Temple that Solomon built was a place where heaven and earth met, a place where people could come to feel the presence of God. But we are not limited to finding God’s presence in buildings. The entire earth is a sacred space, a place where we can encounter the divine.

Let us go forth with a renewed commitment to care for the earth as an act of faith, recognizing the sacredness in every part of creation. Let us see ourselves as participants in this beautiful, intricate web of life that God has created, and let us work together to protect and restore the world around us.

Closing Prayer:

Loving God, we thank you for the gift of creation, for the beauty of the earth, and the abundance of life that surrounds us. Help us to see all spaces, both built and natural, as sacred. Guide us in our stewardship of the earth, give us wisdom in our ecological decisions, and deepen our sense of connection to you and to all creation. May we go forth with hearts open to your presence in every corner of the world, committed to caring for your creation as an act of love and worship. In Your holy name, we pray. Amen.

Europe’s only Indigenous Group and a Growing Recognition of Ecotheology

How Europe’s only Indigenous group is inspiring a greener Christianity:

“Sámi traditions and our practices all have to do with collaboration — with the place, with animals, with everything that grows,” said Lovisa Mienna Sjöberg, a Sámi theologian at the Sámi University of Applied Sciences in Norway. “You should not take more than is your part to take.”

But more than 600 years after their first encounters with missionaries, Sámi communities are also some of northern Europe’s most devoutly Christian. Mixing Indigenous cosmology and ethics with Christian stories, imagery and theology, the Sámi have, over centuries, evolved a multilayered faith of their own, often in the face of bitter oppression and persecution by puritan churches and state authorities.

Book Review: John Longhurst’s Can Robots Love God and Be Saved?

As someone with a rich background in the cutting-edge side of marketing and technology (and education) and someone often referred to as a futurist but is fascinated with ethical and theological impacts and contexts, I found John Longhurst’s “Can Robots Love God and Be Saved?” (CMU Press 2024) to be a fascinating exploration of the convergence between cutting-edge technology, ethical considerations, and theological inquiry. This book speaks directly to my passions and professional experiences, offering a unique perspective on the future of faith in a rapidly evolving world where concepts such as artificial intelligence (and AGI) must be considered through both technological and theological lenses. 

A seasoned religion reporter in Canada, John Longhurst tackles various topics that bridge faith and modern societal challenges. The book is structured into sections that address different aspects of faith in contemporary life, including mental health, societal obligations, and the intriguing possibilities of artificial intelligence within religious contexts. Those are constructed out of interviews and perspectives from Longhurt’s interviews with a wide variety of cast and characters.

Longhurst discusses the ongoing challenges many face with mental illness and the role faith communities play in providing support. This aligns with my work in consulting and education, emphasizing the need for understanding and empathy in addressing situations such as mental health issues, whether in the classroom or the broader community. He also delves into the discussion on Christians’ duty to pay taxes and support societal welfare, raising essential questions about the practical application of faith from various personas and perspectives. I found this particularly relevant when contemplating the intersection of personal beliefs and civic responsibility, echoing ethical marketing practices and corporate social responsibility principles.

Exploring the deep bonds between humans and their pets, Longhurst touches on the theological implications of animals in heaven. This can be a fascinating topic in environmental science discussions, highlighting the interconnectedness of all life forms and reflecting on how technology (like AI in pets) might change our relationships with animals. The book also delves into ethical concerns about government surveillance from a religious standpoint, providing an excellent case study for understanding the balance between security and privacy rights—a crucial consideration in both marketing and technology sectors where data privacy is paramount.

One of the most thought-provoking sections of the book delves into AI’s potential role in religious practices. Longhurst’s exploration of whether robots can participate in spiritual activities and even achieve salvation is a direct intersection of my interests in technology and ethics. It raises profound questions about the future of faith, challenging traditional theological boundaries and offering a glimpse into future innovations in religious practice.

Longhurst also examines how religious communities can address the loneliness epidemic, which I found particularly engaging. The sense of belonging and support provided by faith groups is mirrored in the need for community in education and the workplace. Technology, mainly social media and AI, can play a role in mitigating loneliness, but it also highlights the need for genuine human connections. That’s also one of my motivators for exploring when setting up a marketing strategy: How does this product/service/technology help establish more genuine human connectivity?

Additionally, the book ponders the existence of extraterrestrial life and its implications for religious beliefs. This speculative yet fascinating topic can engage students in critical thinking about humanity’s place in the universe, much like futuristic marketing strategies encourage us to envision new possibilities and innovations. This is a hot topic, with other books such as American Cosmos making many “must read” lists this year, along with general interest in extraterrestrial / non-human intelligence / Unidentified Aerial Phenomenon (UAP) / Non-Human Intelligence (NHI) very much in cultural conversations these days.

Longhurst’s exploration of AI and its potential spiritual implications is particularly compelling from a marketing and technology perspective. As someone who thrives on being at the cutting edge, this book fuels my imagination about the future intersections of technology and spirituality. The ethical questions raised about AI’s role in religious practices are reminiscent of the debates we have in marketing about the ethical use of AI and data analytics.

The work is a thought-provoking collection that challenges readers to consider the evolving role of faith amidst technological advancements. Longhurst’s ability to tackle complex and often controversial topics with nuance and empathy makes this book a valuable resource for educators, faith leaders, technologists, and marketers alike. It provides a rich tapestry of discussions that can be seamlessly integrated into lessons on environmental science, ethics, technology, and even literature in a succinct and “quick-read” fashion.

“Can Robots Love God and Be Saved?” is a compelling exploration of how faith intersects with some of the most pressing issues of our time. It is a fascinating read for anyone interested in understanding the future of spirituality in a world increasingly shaped by technology based on first-hand considerations rather than a purely academic or “one-sided” perspective. For those of us on the cutting edge, whether in marketing, technology, or education, this book offers a profound and thought-provoking look at the possibilities and challenges ahead.

Good read!

Black Friday Joys

Revelations from Dollywood…

Black Friday Joys – Merianna Neely Harrelson:

I have always found the juxtaposition of having Black Friday right before Advent begins jarring. Just as we are preparing to welcome the most powerful presence to earth in the humblest beginnings, our culture is flooding us with messaging that we need more and more, especially when it is a deal. Maybe instead what we need to start the Advent season is the joy of being present with each other and seeing the world through someone’s else’s eyes. Their firsts become our reminders to live here and now with gratitude.

My 12 Problems

Here are the “12 Problems” I’ve built my current life around. These are non-negotiables, and they are also the focus of everything I do. If a situation doesn’t fit into one of these problems, I’ll generally relegate it, delegate it, or ignore it. 

I don’t generally recommend this practice for everyone. It’s a very difficult ethical standard to hold, and it can be cumbersome to run the mental math of “which problem am I trying to solve?” at any given time.

However, this approach’s clarity and focus far outweigh the negatives.

Here are my 12 Problems. I highly urge you to come up with your own:

  1. How can I have a positive impact on this world?

  2. How can I thrive while operating contrary to the dominant social or cultural trends?

  3. How can I inspire young people to appreciate learning as a practice?

  4. How do I provide for my family while remaining true to my calling?

  5. How can I live with the most ethical sustainability while not sacrificing my enrichment in balance with the Creation?

  6. How can I be the best role model for my espoused ideals and ethics as presented to my children and students?

  7. How can I live according to nature (kata phusin in Stoicism)?

  8. What does it mean to really be an effective teacher who can make connections and expand the worldview of my students?

  9. How can I be a good Dad, and what does that mean?

  10. How can I be a good partner, and what does that mean?

  11. How can I explore my own self and brain and express that in my life?

  12. How do I always maintain my own curiosity despite the challenges that the outside world might present?

“It’s Like a Choir”

This has no bearing on your life and won’t change how you think about your drive to work.

“It’s like a choir, with all these supermassive black hole pairs chiming in at different frequencies,” Chiara Mingarelli, a NANOGrav scientist who worked on the new findings, said in a press release.

However, this is a HUGE deal. And those of us who follow these things are FREAKING OUT. Science is amazing. Life is amazing. This Creation that we get to participate in briefly is AMAZING!

Scientists Find the Gravitational Wave Background: What It Means:

Well, here it is. And it really is the big one!

Scientists from the North American Nanohertz Observatory for Gravitational Waves (NANOGrav) have officially made the first detections of the gravitational wave background.

They made the first detections of what? Fair question, especially if you haven’t, in fact, been extremely tuned in to physics and astronomy Twitter. So let’s back up…

“What’s next is everything,” she said in a press release. “This is just the beginning.”

The Architecture of Life Sermon

I preached today at Garden of Grace UCC in Columbia, SC (where Rev. Merianna Harrelson is the Pastor). The main thread of the sermon and the service was a rumination on Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King’s talk at Barratt Jr. High School in Philadelphia in 1967. The video of his words was feared lost for decades until they were recovered and then posted here on YouTube. I have listened to many of MLK’s sermons available in various formats over the years, but this talk/lesson/sermon always resonates with me, given that I’m a teacher.

The basic idea is that we are all working on our life’s blueprint. That’s especially true for young people in school who need to hear this message. Good blueprints create good life patterns, whatever our age. What’s required is 1) deep belief in your own dignity, 2) determination to achieve excellence and 3) commitment to the eternal principles of beauty, love, and justice.

King distills so much wisdom and insight in these 20 short minutes. I highly suggest you watch it.

I’ve also attached the presentation from our worship service this morning with our Scripture from Deuteronomy and the accompanying liturgy.

How Angels Found their Wings

How Angels Found their Wings | History Today:

The angels of the Bible were not winged. (The winged Cherubim and Seraphim are figures derived from the Near Eastern tradition of winged zoomorphic guardian figures and are not angels since they perform none of the angelic functions.) In fact, in the Old Testament angels are often not clearly distinguished from humans at all. The New Testament letter to the Hebrews recommends: ‘Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.’ When angels are clearly identified in the New Testament, they are distinguished from ordinary humans by markers first found in Old Testament books, such as gleaming white robes, or a countenance like lightning – but no wings.

Imagining Jesus (Again)

One of my favorite Bible studies to lead every year is the “Imagining Jesus” series, where we look at historical, theological, and entertainment (movies, music videos, cartoons, etc.) depictions of Jesus. The ultimate point is to help the participant realize that we “imagine” Jesus’ appearance, demeanor, and personality based on a number of our cultural influences and personal ideas (and perhaps reading the Gospels and New Testament more closely can help us expand our preconceptions). As a Baptist, I heavily emphasize reading the Bible rather than taking someone else’s word for it.

When we get to the end, people often ask me, “ok, ok, this is all good… but what did Jesus really look like?”. To answer, I usually turn back to this explanation from my beloved Dura Europos and how the closest conception we can get to what Jesus might have looked like actually comes from a depiction of Moses in the Synagogue there (or Abraham / Nehemiah in the second image here… there’s still debate there).

Good read during this Christmas Season, nonetheless!

“For all that may be done with modelling on ancient bones, I think the closest correspondence to what Jesus really looked like is found in the depiction of Moses on the walls of the 3rd Century synagogue of Dura-Europos since it shows how a Jewish sage was imagined in the Graeco-Roman world. Moses is imagined in undyed clothing, and in fact, his one mantle is a tallith since in the Dura image of Moses parting the Red Sea, one can see tassels (tzitzit) at the corners. At any rate, this image is far more correct as a basis for imagining the historical Jesus than the adaptations of the Byzantine Jesus that have become standard: he’s short-haired and with a slight beard, and he’s wearing a short tunic, with short sleeves, and a himation.”

https://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-35120965?fbclid=IwAR0ID4z37__bKAucGub_cjBuuDq6IHJ04XgXxsYnHdq2Xu7CGKJYcSBnHVA

Where To Go Next?

It’s been an interesting week since I first posted about leaving the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship last Friday. I’ve had mostly pleasant conversations with old friends and partners in various ministries with lots of support and affirmation of my decision. There have been a few more confrontational DM’s and texts from those who felt that I was too harsh towards the Fellowship, but that was to be expected. Challenging the institution is the greatest of sins to some.

One of the things I’m personally considering at this point is the “what’s next?” question when it comes to my own nascent ministry a couple of decades too late.

The Alliance of Baptists is the obvious choice being my own baptist convictions, and that’s something I’ll continue to pursue.

My partner Merianna is now a Minister in the United Church of Christ after leaving the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship herself a while back. I attended a UCC church for a few years while at Yale Divinity School, so it pulls at my heartstrings as well.

Then there are Quaker groups and Unitarian Universalist fellowships that I could also see myself joining due to my own personal worship preferences and philosophies.

On top of those, there’s that still small voice telling me to take ministrieslab or Hunger Initiative seriously and pursue those as ministry opportunities in my anti-authoritarianism way. Both are registered 501c3’s and ready to go. I’m still thinking about that, but thinking that may be the way to go.

Thoughts?

42 Year Itch

Now the serpent was more crafty than any other wild animal that the Lord God had made. He said to the woman, ‘Did God say, “You shall not eat from any tree in the garden”?’

My mom has always been highly allergic to poison ivy. I remember her having severe reactions to the plant after she would spend hours in her beloved gardens while I was growing up. I felt that I was immortal because I could basically roll in the stuff and never suffer a breakout or rash.

Then I got older.

And now I, like my mother, suffer harshly from interacting with poison ivy, sumac, or poison oak. The frustrating part is that as I get older, I enjoy gardening even more and that has been especially true over the past year during the Covid pandemic. My asparagus is now 4 years old and pretty amazing, btw. Thank God for Tecnu.

According to Genesis, we were created in a garden to enjoy the fruits of nature (plants, not animals… being omnivores wasn’t part of the created order, which is a point I like to make when people press me on literal interpretations of Genesis. Enjoy that steak… you’re betraying the created order. Don’t get me started on shrimp or wearing cotton and nylon together). Our created selves were breathed into by a God that walked in the Garden during the evening, looking to commune with us.

They heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden at the time of the evening breeze, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden. But the Lord God called to the man, and said to him, ‘Where are you?’

Poison ivy, like mosquitoes, is one of those realities of living in South Carolina that reminds you that you are mortal. From dust, we came, and to dust we shall return.

Cursed is the ground because of you;
in toil you shall eat of it all the days of your life;
thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you;
and you shall eat the plants of the field.
By the sweat of your face
you shall eat bread
until you return to the ground,
for out of it you were taken;
you are dust,
and to dust you shall return.’

This past weekend I was working in our yard and removing the inevitable weeds and unruly plants that have popped up over the last few weeks of a South Carolina spring. They always come suddenly and ferociously this time of year. Our well-trimmed and manicured winter lawn becomes a weed-filled garden of poison delights within a few weeks every April. I always remember to put on my gloves and long sleeves and identify plants at the beginning of May when I attempt to tackle this new growth from the earth.

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.

T.S. Eliot

And now I’m reckoning with two armfuls of poison ivy rashes despite knowing I’d been tapped by those slick and sticky strands of green creation that always cause me to catch my breath. I quickly applied a good helping of Tecnu, thankfully. But still, here I am with two arms covered in red itchy bumps.

April is the month of reckoning. We must step back and examine the steps we made over the winter (even here in SC where the winters are milder than the Starnbergersee). We take stock of the first few months of the new year and we make plans for the rest of the year. There’s a reason Easter comes this time of the year.

There’s a reason we are reminded of our mortality and weakness to a simple plant while attempting to grow new food or beauty for our family and neighbors and communities. Gardening is not easy. It involves risk. Especially for those of us allergic to urushiol oil and too stubborn to remember to wear long sleeves when tending potatoes in the ground or Iris beds or clearing a path to show our children where the snake who shed a 5 foot long skin in our backyard last week probably lives.

The Lord God sent him forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from which he was taken. He drove out the man; and at the east of the garden of Eden he placed the cherubim, and a sword flaming and turning to guard the way to the tree of life.

We are all on our journeys outwards, East of Eden. Those paths are not simple highways, but meandering roads that are filled with opportunities and options and trees of fruit and weeds of poison. As we travel, we grow and we learn. We are able to identify the poisonous plants and discern which fruits are good to eat. Through it all, we learn and gain knowledge from the trees. The wisdom of our humanity is not a curse, but a blessing.

Poison ivy blisters and all.

No Simple Highway, a Sermon

I’m was too young to see the Grateful Dead live with Jerry Garcia, but I’ve tried to make up for it over the years by going to shows by Phil Lesh, Bob Weir, and collective groups of the members of the band over the years. I particularly got into the Dead during my time in grad school at Yale in the early ’00s (lots of shows, bumper stickers, doing CD trading of bootlegs and soundboard recordings of old shows on Dead forums, etc).

I’m still listening to their music 20 years later and I’ve always marveled at some of the theology in the words and music that the band and lyricist Robert Hunter have brought into the world.

Particularly, Ripple is a song that exemplifies the human experience and the journey we all might take. It doesn’t have to be a “theological statement” but geez is it a good one if that’s your persuasion and what you hear.

I’ve been going through my own journey as of late, and I feel like I’ve stumbled and had to find my own path. It’s been a difficult season of listening, hearing, and discernment. I’ve been listening to songs like Ripple over the past few months as reflections of my own path and what may lie ahead in the Tarot cards of existing and the harps unstrung. Let there be songs to fill the air.

So when I happened to come across this sermon from 1988 that Elizabeth Greene gave to First Unitarian Church of Oakland about Ripple and her voice certainly came through the music and I held them as my own. What a beautiful hand-me-down.

Regardless of your religious persuasion, I urge you to click play on the video above and open up her sermon from all those years ago while you listen for yourself:

…The “ripple” image took on new meaning for me. It was as though the reaching out, one of us to the other, is what causes that ripple in the wellspring of God. It is our having the courage to ask and the love to respond that lets us partake of the fountain. When we do, we affect each other; when we try to let our voice be heard, we ruffle the water; when we hear each other’s voice, hear them with our hearts, we widen the circle.

My favorite line in this song (along with “no simple highway”) is, “If I knew the way, I would take you home.” I don’t know the way, and you probably don’t either. My path is for my steps alone, and so is yours. But when we truly say, “If I knew the way, I would take you home,” we have so much more than just our separateness.

We have the music. (The final part of the song is simple La-de- da-da-da, sung together in harmony.) We have the fountain, a wellspring of grace as we travel.

We have one another. We have the love that lets us hear each other’s voices, that lets us reach out when our cups are empty– and share when they are full. (I am vastly richer for having finally “heard” some of what my Deadhead friends hear.) We have our common yearning for home, the God-ache we all know in some form or other…

Source: No Simple Highway, by Elizabeth Greene

Just to close the loop because I wanted to know, I did some googling (I didn’t know Elizabeth Greene before stumbling upon this amazing sermon) and the journey she mentions here from First Unitarian Church of Oakland to the Boise Unitarian Universalist Fellowship was beginning. Turns out she pastored in Boise for 25 years and retired in 2013. What a journey. Goes along well with Ripple. Thank you, Rev. Greene.

Do fish feel pain?

Puts a different spin on that fishing trip after I’ve always told myself “it’s ok, fish don’t feel pain” (to paraphrase Kurt Cobain)…

I was the first to identify the existence of nociceptors in a fish, the rainbow trout, in 2002. These are specialised receptors for detecting injury-causing stimuli, and their physiology is strikingly similar to those found in mammals, including humans. Since then, my laboratory and others across the world have shown that the physiology, neurobiology, molecular biology and brain activity that many fish species show in response to painful stimuli is comparable to mammals.

Source: There is ample evidence that fish feel pain | Fish | The Guardian

Being baptist (Lenten Reflection on 1 Peter 3:18-22)

There was a dream and one day I could see it; Like a bird in a cage I broke in And demanded that somebody free it And there was a kid with a head full of doubt; So I’ll scream ’til I die; And the last of those bad thoughts are finally out.

I’m baptist. That’s a quirky self-identification these days. However, it’s one that is a core part of who I am. Along the way, I was ordained by a wonderful congregation. So I’m a Reverend baptist. But we push for the priesthood of all believers, so Rev. Sam Harrelson seems superfluous.

I wasn’t necessarily born into being baptist. I had choice and made decisions along the way. MaNy of those choices are why I’m probably not a full time pastor in some congregation in Rhode Island or North Carolina right now at age 42. My family started attending church somewhere around my 12th-13th birthday. We ended up at Little Bethel Baptist Church in Mullins, SC as that’s where a number of our family members and family friends attended. Most of my friends growing up were either Presbyterian or Methodist (including my high school girlfriend). My Aunt Lib and Uncle Herbert were also staunchly Methodist. They were thrilled when I went off to Wofford College, being that it is tightly associated with the United Methodist Church and still produces many fine and upright Methodist pastors in the 21st Century.

While at Wofford, I eschewed the Baptist Student Union for the more progressive theology (and alcohol) friendly Wesleyan Fellowship. I changed my major from Chemistry / Computer Science to Religion sophomore year and worked my way to deciding that I’d attend Yale University Divinity School. My Wofford Religion professors were all good Methodists as was the beloved College Chaplain (obviously). Rev. Skinner urged me a number of times to join a Methodist church and go off to Yale with the intention of being a Methodist minister or academic or some combination in-between.

My beloved roommate was a Lutheran-turned Methodist (now turned Lutheran… or maybe Greek Orthodox?) who would depart to a Methodist seminary after our graduation. Somehow, he lived with me for four years and was there for the many late night conversations we’d have about “going Catholic” after attending a moving Mass at St. Peter’s or perhaps exploring the monastic lifestyle after drinking too many beers at a monastery in Salzburg. We still have many of those conversations late at night after our children have fallen asleep and our minds wander in the darkness. My fiancé at the time was going off to a Methodist seminary herself and in many ways, my reluctance to switch teams led to our eventual breakup. She’s now a fine and upstanding Methodist minister.

Surprisingly to myself (and Rev. Skinner), I declared myself “Baptist (Southern)” on my Yale Divinity application. For some reason, they admitted me. I think it was partly out of pity and partly out of amusement.

I was a fish out of water in New Haven and quickly regretted that I hadn’t taken up Rev. Skinner’s admonition to become Methodist. There were no polity classes for Southern Baptists at Yale Div, so they lumped me into a very welcoming but coldly New Englandly American Baptist group. I learned the ins-and-outs of American Baptist tradition and found it very similar to the Methodist kudzu that surrounded my baptist trunk. The professor was a Pastor of a local American Baptist congregation and urged me to come visit with them and see if I’d be interested in becoming American Baptist. I thought about it, but ended up wandering across Whitney Ave from my apartment to a stately and very New Haven-y United Church of Christ on most Sundays for service. I was surprised to find their minister was a female and self-identified LBTQ. There were rainbow flags. Sermons included social justice themes. Depictions of Jesus were all non-white (and some non-male). It was 2000 and I felt my world was changing rapidly.

I almost joined the UCC. I identified that church as my “home church” in polity classes and became this enigma trapped inside of a riddle with my Yale Div classmates. “I thought you were a Baptist?” was a question I often heard as we discussed a theological point over coffee. Oddly enough, it was there at Yale and in Connecticut that I discovered why I self-identified as baptist (and rekindled my love of NASCAR and wearing cowboy boots). I dove into the history of Baptists and Anabaptists and Baptists in America. I wrote papers explaining the Southern Baptist conservative takeover in light of 1970’s eschatological theologies and political maneuverings with Revelation as the anchor text. I read as much as I could about the various responses that Baptists had in the North and the South to the Civil Rights movement in the 1960’s. I traveled to NYC by train every year for the Martin Luther King Jr. Service at Riverside Church (famous anchor Baptist church were MLK Jr had preached). The more I studied being baptist, the more I appreciated the complicated history of the movement(s) and the nuances of this particular quirky expression of faith.

For me, personally, being baptist became a philosophical thought technology as much as a walk of faith. I realized I could attend a UCC or Methodist church and still “be baptist” without compromising those deeply held and recently uncovered historical kernels I’d just discovered in the musty but exhilarating tight corners of the 13th floor of Yale’s Sterling Library that seemed to swallow readers whole as one ventured through the stacks.

After Yale, I moved back to South Carolina and found myself teaching Middle School Science at an Independent school (as one does). I loved teaching even though I was back to my days of studying chemistry rather than theology. I let it slip that I’d been to Divinity School and identified myself as a Baptist during a few conversations. Turned out that the Math teacher on my team was married to the head of the state Cooperative Baptist Fellowship. She took me under her wing and I found myself attending a CBF church and discussing ministry again with the Senior Pastor.

A couple of years later, I was off to Gardner-Webb Divinity School for another go at being a baptist in theological studies. This time, I would be surrounded by other Cooperative Baptists and Southern Baptists and Missionary Baptists in the context of the unique culture of South-Central North Carolina. I met professors there who pulled and tugged at my conception of baptist and encouraged me to dig deeper. I’m still friends with many of them today. It was a wonderful time to be at Gardner-Webb because of the strong academics and collegial atmosphere. There were young people straight from college looking to become pastors. There were pastors in their 40’s, 50’s, and 60’s who were looking to complete a seminary degree and finalize their MDiv (not always a requirement to be a baptist pastor here in the South). The school was diverse in thought, race, gender, and expressions. I appreciated my time there and look back on it as an experience that helped define my own conception of being baptist and myself in a way that wouldn’t have been possible otherwise. I finally might take up a calling to become a pastor, I often thought on the long drives from Asheville to Gardner-Webb in Boiling Springs, NC.

Then, my mentor there unexpectedly passed away at the young age of 40 and I felt all of that warmness turned cool. He had guided me through Gardner-Webb and many aspects of life over the previous two years. He was patient with my procrastination and encouraging of my righteous indignation. We often talked of baptist-as-a-philosophy and he shared his passion of Jewish-Baptist relation with us. For him to be gone from my life so suddenly and completely was a major hole I couldn’t patch. I was on the “preaching circuit” around Western and Central North Carolina, preaching in various sizes (and styles) of Baptist churches most weekends. There were a few job offers and interviews. I came close to taking one pastor position in particular. But I was still grieving and that clouded what should have been easy decisions about my future. I lasted until the end of that year but decided not to finish my last semester of study and go back to the Middle School classroom to teach.

I had another great experience in the classroom while also working on the side to rekindle my consulting business. I was able to quell that still small voice calling me to something theological by podcasting with my friend about religion, writing papers and sermons no one would read, and having long conversations with myself on drives between Spartanburg and Asheville. But after 4 more years in the classroom, I knew it was time to hang up the bow ties and try my hand one last time to finish the MDiv I had started years ago.

My business was taking off with a number of high profile local and regional clients. I had a new girlfriend that was amazing and encouraged me to pursue my theological side more often. Things seemed inevitable. I submitted my admission papers (re-admission?) back to Gardner-Webb and planned to continue building my business while attending the last few classes and maybe picking up some preaching gigs on the weekends. Everything seemed to finally be on track and inevitable. For the first time since I began this journey with God and the Bible and my own baptist faith and message back as a 14 year old, I felt that things were coming full circle towards a completion of sorts. I finally knew what I was going to do with my life. Well, I finally knew how I was going to do what I was supposed to do with my life.

Turns out my “ministry” as a baptist (as it were) didn’t turn out exactly like I had expected. In the next few weeks, I would have a series of conversations with my then girlfriend and now partner, Merianna, about her own calling. That would lead to her deciding to apply to Gardner-Webb for seminary as well in pursuit of understanding and following her call to ministry. It was an exciting moment in our relationship. I loved our exploration of her Baptist tradition and seeing her while she went through an extended process of discernment. I tried, in my limited way, to be both an advocate and a supporter. As the first day of classes approached, I was also in a process of discernment about my path again. I made another decision to forgo those last few classes of the MDiv program.

Now looking back on that pivotal point in my life, I realize it was the right decision to make. Merianna’s ministry has flourished and paved an amazing path for both herself and other people in both Baptist and now UCC life to listen to their callings and pursue theological education. Being able to contribute occasional pulpit supply or Sunday School series or pastoral care duties along side her over the years has been the truest expression of being baptist that I could have experienced. We’ve laughed, cried, argued, agreed, under thought, and over thought about her own experiences as well as mine.

To be walking alongside her in this path and attempting to do what I can to support her has opened my own eyes to the systematic sexism (and misogyny) that infects much of religious life in the United States still. That’s especially true in my the Baptist ecosystem regardless of regional or identification flavor. From the Southern Baptist Convention to the American Baptist Church to the Alliance of Baptists to the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship (there are many others, those are just the ones I’ve been affiliated with or participated through in some way), issues around gender, identification, ableness, and identity run rampant in local churches large to small and progressive to conservative.

That eye opening realization has led my own consulting work with churches (and nonprofits) to focus on some of these issues with clients. What begins as a conversation about tech or messaging and public relations often turns to a deeper look at the intrinsic nature of underlying problems within a church instead of outside a church.

“How can we get more people to like our Facebook page and attend our (virtual) services?”
“Why aren’t young families participating and giving like they once did?”

These are the style of questions that I address with many churches that often lead to a discernment process which uncovers the same sort of systematic rot that lies at the heart of congregations on the brink of having to cut staff, sell property, and make tough decisions about the future. I don’t know if I’ve “saved” any churches directly through my work, but I know that some have blamed me for being able to keep the lights on a few months later. That is a form of ministry I never would have experienced had it not been for that intrusion of Merianna’s calling in my own life.

As an Ivy-league educated white male with a head full of doubt but a road full of promise in the Baptist world, I would have taken a pastor position at a small church and worked my way dutifully up the ranks until landing a coveted Senior Pastor position at some large Baptist congregation with a six figure income and a nice vacation and health insurance package (and maybe a country club membership or Chamber of Commerce speaking opportunities thrown in) while I worked on my eventual series of books about spiritual guidance in troubled times while passing off difficult pastoral care duties to Associate Ministers due to my heavy schedule of speaking arrangements and decisions I had to make regarding committee budgets.

I’m glad I chose not to pursue that path.

Being baptist isn’t a career ladder nor is it a call to the ordinary. It’s not a phase or a stage. It’s not something we get over, but it’s a process of thought. It’s about listening and hearing that still small voice inside all of us calling our souls to competency but also calling us to be outwardly be transformed by an inner revelation. That means working for good for all. That means standing up for those who have been shut out of the board rooms of decision and the committee calls of power and allowing space for their voices to be recognized.

Perhaps the fictional Jerry Maguire’s Mission Statement / Memo sums it up the best:

That happens when we don’t listen to the loud sound of the quiet voice inside. Life, I believe, is not a country club where we forget the difficulties and anxieties. Life is the duty of confronting all of that within ourselves. I am the most successful male in my family, but I am hardly the happiest. My brother works for Nasa, helping grow blue-green algae that will one day feed the world. He was originally targeted as the “successful” one in my family. But he gave up early, for a quieter kind of success. He was once tortured, now he is quietly making the world a better place. He learned earlier what I am just now starting to wake up to. He sleeps well at night. And he doesn’t worry about being too preoccupied or too busy to get the dance right. He dances for something greater.

Don’t dance (as we Baptists would say) for people, but dance for something greater than yourself.

—

1 Peter 3:18-22

3:18 For Christ also suffered for sins once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, in order to bring you to God. He was put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the spirit,

3:19 in which also he went and made a proclamation to the spirits in prison

3:20 who in former times did not obey, when God waited patiently in the days of Noah, during the building of the ark, in which a few, that is, eight persons, were saved through water.

3:21 And baptism, which this prefigured, now saves you–not as a removal of dirt from the body, but as an appeal to God for a good conscience, through the resurrection of Jesus Christ,

3:22 who has gone into heaven and is at the right hand of God, with angels, authorities, and powers made subject to him.

David Bowie’s Station To Station and Art as Literature

David Bowie had an immense and long-lasting impact on me and I’ve been revisiting his music (even more than usual) lately as it has been 5 years since his passing on.

I first dove into Bowie because of Nirvana (I know, I know). Nirvana was the first band that I discovered early for myself, and that music has also shaped much of my own aesthetic. Their cover of Bowie’s “The Man Who Sold the World” on their Unplugged album immediately caught my fascination. I had known about Bowie and knew of him from “Let’s Dance” and his role as the Goblin King in Labyrinth, of course.

But as a child in the ’80s and then a pre-teen and eventual teen in the ’90s, Bowie’s 80’s music was reminiscent of what I felt we were all pushing against. His ’70s material was almost off-limits in the same way KISS or Black Sabbath was to me… there was something secretive and occultist and just weird to my Southern conservative Baptist straight-laced white boy type. Nirvana was almost a bridge too far (indeed, a high school teacher spent a number of days having us analyze why Nirvana’s music was so terrible and destructive to “Western Culture” … turns out that turned us all on).

When I started doing a deep dive on Bowie because of Nirvana’s (masterful) cover in 1994, the persona had been reinvented again and he was associating with Trent Reznor and moving away from his 80’s MTV friendliness into industrial rock. I was just beginning to explore this area myself and Nine Inch Nails played a big part in that (I bought one of their t-shirts around this time having never heard them, but figured I should give them a listen). That led to me first experiencing Bowie through Earthling, which is a weird way to hop into Bowie.

Eventually, I explored his 70’s material (and then his 60’s works) and was blown away. Where had Low and the Berlin Trilogy been all my life? Ziggy is an amazing piece of work, of course. Hunky Dory is still one of my favorites. Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps) comes just before Let’s Dance and hints at what would become industrial rock in the ’90s. It was all a revelation.

Station To Station was in there, plodding along with its otherworldliness. It took me some time to even listen all the way through in one sitting. It was only after I also earnestly began studying religion (modern and especially ancient versions) that I was finally brave (?) enough to hop in and attempt Station To Station.

I try to “read” music as literature. Now Station To Station is one of my favorite Bowie albums and this write-up from 10 years ago is one of the most effective descriptions of this piece of art…

Bowie constructs the most grandiose of love songs, the most overblown, epic ballads, mouthing hollow romantic clichés as if, by saying the lines with enough simulated passion, he will actually come to feel them. And yet, of course, all of this is just a construct, too- he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s not a cynical act, because the desire to feel remains genuine- in its way, this is as stark and troubled a record as anything from Neil Young’s contemporaneous ditch trilogy, the musical polish and role-play only thinly veiling a soul on the edge, battling with addiction and paranoia and with what he, at least, genuinely believed were dark mystical forces just waiting to drag him forever into the abyss. “It’s the nearest album to a magical treatise that I’ve written,” Bowie has said, though perhaps a ritual spell of protection would be a more accurate description.

Source: The Quietus | Features | Anniversary | Exploring Notions Of Decadence: Bowie’s Station To Station, 45 Years On