Groups that want to change the world ought to consider how much more effective it is to do so through acts of kindness than acts of terror. Terror can inspire fear and compliance. It can never inspire love. 

The fantasy, whether open or secret, that the world (or even your town or neighborhood, for that matter) will or should come around to your way of thinking, removes--were it fulfilled--the discomfort and opportunity of contending with the radically "other." To me, that represents a loss. 

Many faith traditions, including some life perspectives which can be described as atheist-humanistic, recognize that civility and kindness lived-out towards those who are different from one's self speaks more highly of one's integrity than when kindness is reserved only for those who are essentially similar. In Christianity, this idea is embodied in these words of Christ:

"You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect" (Mt. 5:43-48).

To my mind, pluralism, far from being merely a transitory intermediate state that must be tolerated until the ideal kingdom arrives, is perhaps the best possible arrangement in which love and respect for the radically other can be practiced. It requires adherents of different faith communities and life perspectives to measure their virtue not just by how they fulfill the practices internal to their own group, but by how well they can navigate the sea of broader humanity--including when that doesn't accommodate one's own perspective in a cozy, convenient way. It also can nurture and enliven particular faith communities in their activities of gathering together for worship, fellowship, or service, as individuals help each other not only towards fulfilling practices specific to their tradition, but in understanding how these practices relate to the task of being a positive presence in the world--when "world" includes many who will not clap for you simply because you satisfied various religious commitments, except to the extent those translate successfully to the common language of human goodness and decency. The world (rightly, I think) considers hypocritical a spirituality that bears fruit whose sweetness can be tasted only by insiders to the tradition.

So, if you espouse hope for a world in which everyone eventually has the same beliefs, even if those beliefs are mine, that's a world I'd rather not live in. A world made up of people with diverse perspectives, who are learning to refine themselves and their tradition through criteria which include the ceaseless requirement of tolerance and kindness towards others, strikes me as far more interesting, life-giving, and true.

Without apology to those who may find this statement confusing, misleading, dangerous, or unnecessarily complex, I nonetheless declare--especially underlined by the week's events: 
Secularism is a critical aspect of my religion. It is unashamedly, inextricably woven into the network of experiences and thoughts from which I speak my theology, and attempt to affirm that which is highest of all.

The world becomes more and more a global village, in which we can't merely move away physically from every one who might have a perspective radically different from our own. Both immigration and the flow of information through the Internet make such an idea obsolete. For better or worse, in the concrete world or the virtual one, we are forced to be side-by-side with a wide variety of "neighbors." If my neighbor happens to be someone who supports the imposition of Sharia law, I picture the conversation like this--

Neighbor: "Your yard sign offends me. I would like you to remove it." 

Me: "That concerns me much. We are neighbors and will need to interact on a nearly daily basis. I am eager to not offend you, if I can help it at all. Please explain your concerns to me. I may indeed be willing to take down my sign if it is something that needlessly gets in the way of our possible friendship."

Neighbor: "If you don't remove it, I will kill you."

Me: "Well, that changes everything. I cannot take it down now without becoming your slave. I'm not willing to do that. I (dare I say 'we') cannot live in a world where we kill each other merely for disagreeing."

Such is the difficulty we face in this conversation we now find ourselves part of. We did not ask for it--but this is indeed the conversation we are in.

We often have the illusion that our interventions into problematic situations are somehow exempt from being, themselves, causes of further problematic situations.

In our culture, the most terrifying thing, defended against with distraction, drugs, addiction, entertainment, pornography, consumerism, food, acquisition, politics, and war – but mostly by constant talking – is the heartfelt thought and awareness: "I don't know." 

We have yet to scratch the surface of what might lie beyond the gate of this admission, seemingly guarded by Cerberus, the multi-headed dog, and by cherubim with flaming swords.

A Meditation on Christmas, Feast of the Nativity

You likely hope to find in me qualities you associate with being a good friend, just as I hope to find these in you. Perhaps we are hard-wired to expect goodness and kindness from others, and feel disappointed--or devastated--when we do not find them. 

Looked at through the lens of Christian theology, such expectations could be said to be rooted in the understanding that we humans are created in the image of God. We expect to see something of God in each other, and feel let down when that is not the case. We want friends to care about us with some of the qualities we associate with divine friendship. As children, we hope for mothers and fathers who are healthy, who can convey life-nurturing structure and care. As citizens, we hope our leaders can govern with compassion and wisdom. When qualities like these come through, we are expressing our divine origins. 

I am entirely certain that, in my own case, these qualities are often obscured. I come from a species, culture, society, family, and a life of personal choices, that conspire to distort the pure image and render it unrecognizable. This fact contributes to the passing on of a tragic heritage, in which our images of God become more and more confused and distorted, because the bearers and transmitters of that image (we ourselves) do a poorer and poorer job of embodying it for each other. This contributes to a vicious cycle. 

This brings us to an ancient way of reflecting on the meaning of the birth of Christ. The reason Christ came, according to this view, is so that this image of God, which has become so obscured in us, could be renewed--by coming into contact with the original, the prototype, of that image of God himself. The incarnation of Christ is the occasion of humanity coming into renewed contact with the seal and impress of the image in which it was made in the beginning. The celebration of this event is the opportunity to open ourselves to this incarnate reminder of who we are, but have forgotten and lost touch with. 

As part of this process, I apologize and ask forgiveness for ways in which I have perpetuated the distortion of God's image in myself. I also express my resolve to work towards being a truer bearer and conveyer of that image. 

I realize this expression of the meaning of Christmas may not be one that you share. Christmas may mean something very different to you, or mean nearly nothing at all. If so, I do not fault or begrudge you for that. I don't believe that puts you one iota out of step with the humanity we share together. I hope and pray that, whatever the day means or does not mean to you, that it may nonetheless be a good one for you, and that you find every blessing to help you in your own discovery of what it means to live a love-filled and fulfilling life. 

Merry Christmas!

Legend tells us the musicians on the Titanic continued to play until the ship went down, even forgoing their opportunity to escape on life-boats. As I now round nearly fifty years of life, I realize their act communicates something essential about the nature of music: At moments when it seems the rest of the world may be, in some sense, going to hell, the harmony we discover within and between ourselves communicates something just as essential, and conveys as much truth about what really is, as does the surrounding chaos. Realizing this about music tells me, also, something important about life.
Sometimes, it is time to retreat into music; in doing so, we are only again--in a different way--retreating back into life.

(Following the above post, a friend asked me if I could explain the source of music's psychological appeal. I answered as follows:)

I don't know if I can focus on the specifics you are asking about. I'm thinking of it more in terms of music expressing part of the field of existence--and that it has every bit as much capacity and authority to convey information about what is real as does any other purportedly real-world happening, including chaos. It is not the case that the sense of life, connection, etc., conveyed in experience of music is merely an illusory escape, because it is just as much an instance of life as whatever else may compete for the name, "reality," at that moment. Music represents, usually, the bringing together of some of our higher human instincts and abilities along with a measure of society. Many other things (war and barbarism, for example) seem intent to convince us that they reveal something more fundamentally real and necessary than mere music. It is that which I am challenging in my statement. Musicians on the Titanic could point to their music and claim (every bit as much as the waves, the screams, and mayhem around them could): "This is what is real. This is what holds meaning." There is nothing absurd in that.
With regard to what kind of music is capable of doing this, I deliberately refrain from mentioning specifics. That would take away the openness of the proposition I am trying to make here.

With regard to your question about what is at the "root": I suspect it is due to the fact we possess natural affinity to rhythm, cycle, and syncopation, because our own physiology operates according to such patterns--and, we are embedded in larger natural systems (as well as being the host for smaller systems) that operate according to these same music-like laws. Music does not introduce rhythm, harmony, and resonance to us. It merely brings them to our conscious attention, and allows us to participate in them in ways that affirm both our connection to broader natural cycles as well as our distinction from them. I think this is a highly orienting activity, from the standpoint of our identity as living things, humans, and individual persons--and potentially very comforting. 
Maybe that begins to address your question.

As soon as we label someone as utterly different from ourselves, we relinquish the challenge (and opportunity) of understanding what their behaviors can teach us about ourselves.

Although our desire to rush is understandable, some growth and development – physical, psychological, spiritual – simply depends on time. 
We might imagine cooking a meal, and thinking we can do everything the recipe requires at a faster than usual pace. That only works until it comes to the point of putting things in the oven. From then on, time cannot be bypassed. For many things in life, a period of time – sometimes more extended than feels comfortable – just is one of the essential ingredients.

One condition for feeling good about self is actually doing things you can feel good about.

The illusion that we can do something to someone else without also, in some sense, doing it to ourselves is the source of all kinds of evil.

The man who lives, virtually, 
at the edge of the public park
I drive past every day--
bundled up in layers, with plastic-
covered amenities--
causing me to wonder,
"Is he warm?
Is he hungry?
Is he lonely?
Is he safe?
Should I stop?
Should I stop?"
preaches
more eloquently
than he knows.

If we don't know what we don't know, it is possible to be under the illusion that we are quite smart.