theeffect Podcasts

Dave Brisbin | 9.2.18

In the first and second of the Ten Commandments and many other places in the scriptures, God tells his people that he is their only God and that they are prohibited from making any carved images—what King James called graven images—of him or any of the gods of the near east pantheon because he is a jealous God who will visit iniquity on the people who defy him to the third and fourth generations. As we are looking at the contemplative practice of coming to know God intimately, how are we to deal with a passage like this? The image of a jealous God visiting iniquity on innocent generations seems the antithesis of a God who looks so different in Jesus’ eyes, life, and message. As we peer through the Hebrew context, words take on different meanings, but primarily, to understand the scope of graven images really points us in better directions. To carve an image is to literally set it in stone, presenting a false view of a transcendent God and killing the experience of a living relationship. But we do the same with our mental and verbal images, and we do the same with our written word-images as well. As far as we know, Jesus never wrote anything down, kept all his teaching and interaction freely moving in real time. Were his words experienced only as oral tradition for the next two to three generations perhaps to avoid the veneration of a static manuscript in place of the living relationship it described? When our knowing of God is not based in graven images made out of any possible material—even thoughts and words—but in a living, daily experience of presence balanced with knowledge of scripture understood through Hebrew eyes, we find a jealous God who is no longer threatening, but consistently and exactly who Jesus portrayed him to be.

Dave Brisbin | 8.26.18

Some twenty five plus years ago, as I was attempting to go into bible battle over a particular interpretation with a Franciscan priest. He held up his hand in the universal stop sign and said, “All I can tell you is what I’m convinced of. You go become convinced of what you’re convinced of.” Coming through my mindset then, it seemed like a complete copout. But later and after all these years, I realize it’s the only thing one human can say to another in matters of faith and spirit. In our fear, we want to be certain, absolute about everything including the things that can never be absolute without ceasing to be what they are—articles of faith that exist only in the presence of mystery. But those of us who sincerely seek the truth that Jesus said would make us free come to understand that such truth can’t be proven in words or diagrams that feed the fear, but in the experience of truth-as-a-person that feeds the heart. And those same seekers, like pioneers or astronauts taking first steps into uncharted territory, experience truth as if for the first time and yet with the sameness that unchanging truth demands. Holding the conviction of the contemplatives and mystics in the Christian tradition against the conviction of Paul in the New Testament, we encounter a record of experience with a God who always sees us as if for the first time. As we guilt over our mistakes and sins of the past and worry over our imagined unworthiness in the future, our Father sees only the person standing in his moment, the only moment that exists. It’s as if he takes a snapshot of who we are right now and loves us, however scarred or unfinished, simply because we’re there in his presence—as if there is no other information that exists. Because the only moment that exists already contains all there is. If we’re in that moment with God, we are one with all there is, and all will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of thing will be well.

Dave Brisbin | 8.19.18

Watching the birds come and go in our backyard, I have my favorites. The finches and hummingbirds, the doves who do more walking than flying... Then I see this jet black bird with fire engine red wings and think wouldn’t it be great to wait for the perfect mix of birds, then throw a net over the whole thing—one big aviary with all my faves that I could see any/every time I looked out. But next thought is that the moment the net goes over, I’m responsible for those birds, feeding and cleaning, and the thought after that was that there would never again be the widening smile over a bird I’d never seen before or the gratitude that the birds chose our yard over all the others. Deep down, we all know the presence of a friend is infinitely more valuable than that of a prisoner, yet we throw mental nets over our lives and relationships, trying to hold on to just the right mix of circumstances and people, just the right view of theology and scripture that will throw a net over a God who may not otherwise choose our yard. Those who wrote our scriptures have a lot to say about this. They called God’s spirit, ruach: wind, breath, spirit all at the same time, but defined by motion. God’s spirit is always in motion or it’s not God’s spirit. To throw a net over, to try to hold God still is to miss the whole point of relationship—that it needs to be freely given and received. If it can’t be that, it’s not worth having.

Dave Brisbin | 8.12.18

As a church that believes in, teaches, and practices a contemplative way of life, we take a certain amount of criticism from certain Christian circles. And as we are about to begin a workshop series looking at the lives and practice of some of the great mystics of the Christian tradition, there have been concerns raised both online and in our community. Why? What’s the controversy in the church at large over this issue? Contemplatives and mystics both believe that direct connection with God is possible right here and now, but not in words or rational thought. Believing that God “speaks” in pure presence, we must learn that language—be purely present ourselves, “rest in God”—to connect with his spirit using the tools of silence and solitude, mindfulness, meditation, and non-verbal prayer among others. We use the terms contemplative and mystic almost interchangeably, but a mystic is generally regarded as a contemplative who also has ecstatic spiritual experiences such as visions, dreams, and sometimes euphoric responses to God’s presence. The controversy stems from whether these practices are scriptural, whether they move outside or even against the Biblical framework. So being as fair and clear as possible, given our own point of view, let’s look at what contemplation and mysticism are and are not, and what exactly the Bible says about both. With no attempt to persuade, we won’t be giving answers, but the evidence may surprise you. And hopefully comfort or at least relax you.

Dave Brisbin | 8.5.18

Had a dream the other night. Kind of like a flying dream, same feeling, but I was back in college, on campus in a cavernous common room with no furniture and students sitting in groups or alone on white, polished floor. Looking down, socks no shoes, when I realized how smoothly I could glide on the floor, I began ice skating around the room faster and faster between and around the groups of student, wind in my face, so free. Later, outside, immersed in the beauty of the campus, talking to a student about classes, I realized I had no idea what he was talking about—I hadn’t been attending any classes at all. The sense of freedom and absence of responsibility was a stark contrast to my waking life. Thought I was functioning and managing well through an extended time of loss, but my dream showed another level of life that I was no longer experiencing. How is life supposed to be lived? Western Christianity has looked at Jesus most often as the “man of sorrows” focusing on his passion and death for our sins. But is there another view of Jesus that looks more like ice skating in our socks? Looking at possibly the most famous single verse in the New Testament, John 3:16, there is a clue. And when we realize that the Aramaic word Jesus used for the world God so loved and the eternal nature of the life we find in him is the same word, “alma,” we realize that the life Jesus is pointing toward is not about quantity, life that lasts eternally, but quality, life that is eternally alive—starting right here an now. And rather than being of man of sorrows, Jesus was a man of eternal aliveness.

Dave Brisbin | 7.22.18

Most often, we attach meaning to circumstance. We view accidents of birth—where, when, how, and to whom we are born—as significant, along with our own accomplishments and external events that affect us. We attach good or bad labels to our circumstances based on the level of pain they bring. But when we think on even the worst things that have happened to us, if enough time has passed, if we have continued to breathe and live, we tend to find that even the worst circumstances have created cherished outcomes we never saw coming, or possibly could not have come any other way. When Paul writes to the Romans that God causes all things to work together for good, he lists a couple of stipulations that we really need to pay attention to: not always or for everyone, but for those who love God and are called according to his purpose. But what does that mean, exactly? Turns out that if you consider the verses before and after this famous verse, Paul defines who loves God and how, how they are married to God’s purpose. And when all is said and done, loving God is essentially the same as being called to his purpose. If we’re living in the hope that saves, breathing through whatever circumstances present…we can’t lose. And then the reality dawns that meaning isn’t what we take out of our circumstances, but what we put in to them—into our relationships with God and each other. And once we know that we can have that meaning in any circumstance and moment of our lives, we can say with Paul that we’ve learned to be content in all circumstance.

Dave Brisbin | 7.15.18

I almost don’t pick up the phone; it’s been ringing all day. Just getting into work flow again and don’t recognize the number…I watch it for several rings then grudgingly tap the screen. It’s a young Marine with a fellow corpsman driving around looking for and calling churches near the base. You’re the only one to answer the phone, he says, and goes on to tell me they are being deployed the next day for the first time and just wanted someone to pray with who “knew what they were doing…” There was a moment somewhere during this exchange when all the resistance and worry about work not getting done and any other distracting thoughts fell to the floor, and I knew exactly what I was going to do, couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Do you know our address? Yes. What’s your ETA? Five minutes. Give me fifteen. What an honor to have picked up the phone, to have been at the right place and time when these two young men rode by. Jesus speaks of service, makes it a centerpiece of his ministry and worldview, and so we have made it a centerpiece of ours as well in a typically institutional way—with organizations, agendas, and mission statements. But is there another face of service to which Jesus is pointing? I’ve always been puzzled by the story in John 11 of Jesus raising Lazarus back to life. Jesus’ decisions and reactions just don’t seem to track. Why did he wait two more days to travel to his friend who was sick? And if he knew he was going to raise him, why did he weep with his sister just before? I see a video where a man speaks of “shoulder taps,” moments when it seems God is directing our attention to a need right in front of us, a need eclipsing all others by mere proximity. Maybe Jesus is pointing to a more organic and seamless view of service as simply being aware and present enough, open and vulnerable enough to feel the tap—to know exactly what to do when either an unknown number or a best friend calls.

Dave Brisbin | 7.8.18

Think of all the debates and fights between Christians. Among Christians. Between Christians and non-Christians. What are they all about? Truth? Ethics, morality, law, doctrine, church practice or style, social issues? For Christians, if it’s Scripture that informs us of truth, then every fight—whatever it’s about— is ultimately about Scripture. What we believe about Scripture dictates both what we think we know of truth and how we think we need to go about defending it. But the Bible is primarily a spiritual book conveying spiritual truths and building an awareness of unseen significance in life. Yet we focus and fight over the physical accuracy of issues like creation, church practice, numbers, dates, and of course miracles and miraculous healings. Jesus presented his healing miracles as proof of the authenticity of his ministry, “the blind receive sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, and the poor have the gospel preached to them…” We immediately question whether these events actually happened, but from a spiritual perspective that is much less important than what they can teach us herenow. Taking any debate off the table, even assuming Jesus’ healings literally occurred, is there a deeper layer of meaning that points toward a truth beyond physical accuracy? Truth is, any physical healing is really only a temporary reprieve—from the moment we are born, we are all slowly dying. So even as Jesus heals what is temporary, he is also pointing to what endures, inviting us to partner with him in his greatest miracle…to be truly living while we are dying.

Dave Brisbin | 7.1.18

When did Christianity actually begin? It would be easy to say at Jesus’ birth, baptism, ministry, Easter. But was Christianity as we know it present during Jesus’ life? Even Easter was a “silent” event. It happened while Jesus’ followers were sleeping or at least staring at the ceiling that night. Afterwards, they didn’t recognize him when they first saw him, and it took some time for them to come to terms with their new reality. One scholar maintains that Christianity began the moment Jesus’ first followers recognized the full impact of his resurrection—fully realized what it meant that he was alive. That was certainly the moment or series of moments after which they moved out in a new boldness and began revolutionizing the Roman world. But before that revolution could take place, each faithful follower, in the period between Easter and Pentecost, had an experience nothing short of an interior revolution—a radical overthrowing of his or her previous concept of reality. It was an interior micro revolution that preceded the exterior macro revolution to come. But can we also move in reverse? Can we look at the details of a macro revolution to see how they mirror and map the personal revolutions we all need to engage in order to grow along Jesus’ Way? Approaching July 4, looking again at the words of the Declaration of Independence, Jefferson’s words bring key concepts to bear that are true for all revolutions, national and personal, and can help us discern when we’re getting close to our own interior revolt, when to act, when not to act, and when we’ve let the moment pass.

Dave Brisbin | 6.24.18

In times of difficult life transitions, when the uncertainty factor is blowing the top off the thermometer, questions of how to proceed become really urgent. But coupling these transitions and the seemingly risky decisions that come along for the ride with a perceived loss of connection with God, spirit, relational connection, can be paralyzing. When the pain is great, it seems to us that the solution must be great as well. We look for sensational—big, top-down fixes or breakthroughs. We think we need to hear God’s voice in a way we haven’t before, pray for clarity, find a big missing piece somewhere out there to alleviate the insecurity. There is a theory in criminology called “broken windows” that believes taking care of even the smallest signs of criminal activity or social disorder—fixing broken windows—creates an environment where even serious crime is less likely to happen. And where it’s been implemented, it seems to work. In other words, if you want to create big changes, you start with the little issues, the day to day broken windows in your city or in your life. Looking at Jesus’ life both in what is stated he taught in the gospels and just as importantly, what is left out in his 18 “lost” years shows a Jesus taking care of the smallest details on his way to a ministry that would shake a world. By identifying and working through our broken windows, no matter how insignificant they seem, we can find our way back to the presence of our God and the ability to make the risky decisions that will eventually shake our world as well.