Unmasking the Freak

"Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people."
- Carl Jung

I've been thinking a lot about this quote lately. And this morning, I was working out and listening to music, and I was reminded of Jung's words as I listened to a song called "Freak" by the Danish band VOLA.  

VOLA is one of those terribly underrated but enormously talented bands that I wish more people knew about. They have an incredibly unique style that blends a sort of 80s Synth-Pop sound with a more modern Djenty, Dubstep-like metal. VOLA has moments that hit heavy and hard, polyrhythms, and songs that sound like their music is giving you a hug. A big part of their sound is the voice of Asger Mygind, who has a crooning baritone that often reminds me of Tears For Fears. And on top of it all, their lyrics have a tendency to hold profound meaning within enigma. 

"Freak" is a more mellow song from their discography, and explores a tumultuous relationship that falls apart: 

"I'm turning to ten, but you never hear me speak. Your mouth resorts to making your nonsense leak." 

To me, it sounds like the relationship was an abusive one, but the singer removed the power of the abuser by unmasking them: 

"I took your mask away, and you became this underwhelming freak that we will not miss." 

But the end of the song brings a profound twist. In the very last stanza, Asger sings: 

"I took your mask and you became someone I forgot who shares my name." 

What does he mean? Is he singing about a relative? A father or mother, perhaps? Or could it be something like what Carl Jung was talking about - the singer unmasks his abuser, and then sees a glimpse of his own dark side? 

I recently shared another quote I came across: 

"Sometimes the person you need to forgive isn't the one who hurt you - it's the version of yourself that stayed too long." 

As I think about this idea of unmasking our abuser and finding glimpses of our own psyche underneath, I am also thinking about how to forgive, what forgiveness means, and what it does. How, sometimes forgiving others involves also forgiving ourselves.

 

Messenger

Messenger

I feel weary whenever people speak of God 

With a sense of certainty 

As if they kept God in their back pocket

As if knowing God's thoughts were as simple

As knowing what happens when you flick a light switch

They say God is infinite, and yet

They say God is eternal, and yet

"He" fits in their brains so easily

Their certainty seems centered on judgement

The things "God" condemns are always clear

God, for them, is a gavel

Or a club to cudgel those they deem enemies

"God is love", they say

But it's always "love for me, not for thee"

God's voice is so loud, for them

And always so clear

The voice of an Accuser ringing out judgement

I never heard the voice of God so clear

When I prayed for clarity

Their voice of God only sounded to me

Like my own shame and fear

I've never seen one of them eat

With whores and tax-collectors

Let alone their own personal Judas

But

If God is love - agape

Then I have felt God's presence most clear

Upon returning home from a short trip

When my dog loses his everloving mind

Whimpering and straining to lay his kisses on my face

As if I'd just returned from years on the battlefield

Or been thought lost at sea

And then he grabs his favorite squeeky toy

Presents it proudly and frolics

He wags with joy when I tug

A mischievous smile in the corner of his jaw

We never argue about the interpretation of a verse

Or the justifications for bombing citizens

Or shooting an unarmed citizen with brown skin

Or putting a trans kid out on the streets

His joy has a power they never held

It melts my tension and banishes all anger

A love like this is surely holy

A sacrament

My gospel

Brought to me by the angel Domino

 

The Lies of Ego

Today I've been thinking about a quote from Carl Jung: "The first half of life is devoted to forming a healthy ego, the second half is going inward and letting go of it." And as I pondered the meaning of this, another quote entered my mind, from the movie "Supergirl" that I just saw with my family last weekend - there is a moment where Kara's father says to her: "You are our souls unfolding into the future." And so I've been thinking about how fatherhood helps me to release my Ego. And as someone who is naturally pretty introverted, I've also been thinking about how Ego prevents a person like me from living life to the fullest sometimes, as I hold things inside myself without showing them to others out of fear of rejection. And all of these thoughts are the ground from which this poem grew:

 

 

The Lies of Ego

We spend so much of our lives building a lie called Ego

Ego is a story we tell about who we are

"I did this", we say, and we show off the trophies of our youth

But when our bodies can no longer move 

As they did in our youth 

We still are

And Ego lies when it says we've lost any beauty

We are so much more than the ways we moved in our youth

 

Ego says we are what we believe

As if changing our minds meant killing our selves

And in a strange way that's true

But the lie is revealed

When we kill our old self and yet still live

When the true "I" resurrects after every painful admission

Every time we admitted we were wrong and kept living

It reveals that we are so much more than these prisons 

The walls we build for our selves

 

Do not let them confine you

In the prisons of their beliefs

You are so much more

 

You are lightning

A flash in the night that startles all who behold

A resounding boom

Don't let them tell you to use your indoor voice

Let it echo its insistence

 

Don't listen to the lie

You are wild

Untamed

Let your voice roar

Don't mew "thank you"

When they leave you water in the cage they made

 

You are like the weeds
That grow out of the tiny cracks in my porch

Insisting on life in the harshest of conditions
Don't let them tell you to stop growing
Make every crack bigger
Tear apart the concrete they build

 

They tell us the concrete cathedrals are holy

But concrete is not what is holy

Holy is the insistent growth

It is the part in each of us that just won't stop

Holy is the laughter that bursts out even on our darkest days

That stubborn joy that just won't die

 

Holiness is the tired mother

She says "I can't go on like this"

But then her child runs into the room

Crashes into her open arms 

Smiles and says "Mommy!"

And then she goes on anyways

 

The lie Ego tells us is not that the things we did weren't important

Every mother and father knows this

They know how important that T-Ball home run was

Or how beautiful the music of Hot Cross Buns was at that first recital

They treasure the memory of that Kindergarten graduation

Each of those moments are holy to them

 

But the lie is that the story ever ends

Or that it wasn't important because someone else did "more"

The lie the mother tells herself is that her story ended with her youth

Even though she knows her child's refrigerator art is a sacred act of beauty

The lie the father tells himself is that he needs that promotion to matter

Even though his child knows her father's hugs are a holy sacrament

 

The lie Ego tells us is that it is only holy

When we speak the words men wrote two thousand years ago

Even though we know our little boy's first terrible knock-knock joke

Is truly the funniest thing we've ever heard

We tell everyone about it

But are afraid to call it holy

Or to share the beauty inside our own souls

 

The lie Ego tells us is that it is only holy

When we sing a hymn a man wrote about being washed in blood

Even though we know that the child singing The Dandelion Song

Is truly the most beautiful song we've ever heard

And it was sung to a "weed"

But we are afraid to call this sacred

Or to sing our own songs to the "mundane"

 

The lie Ego tells us is that we are only beautiful

When our hair and makeup are perfect

And yet our favorite Facebook memory is that picture

When our child did their hair themselves

With extra ponytails sticking out all over

Or the time they discovered that shampoo can be used to make spikes

Or the time they used every barrette they had

"Beautiful!" we gasped in awe when they showed us

And we meant it

And then we spent hours trying to flatten every raised hair on our own heads

 

We spend so much time trying to create a perfection

A lie we can tell everyone so they will think we are "beautiful"

But we know that beauty encompasses so much more

We know the beauty of our dirty dog

We laugh when we see him rolling in the grass with his limbs akimbo

And then we're afraid to let anyone see us when we are "dirty"

 

If ever anyone tried to tell us our child was not perfect

We would know the lie right away

If ever anyone tried to tell us our dog's sloppy kisses were not beautiful

We would know the lie right away

But Ego tells us not to tell our own story

Ego tells us to stay quiet because our song warbles

Ego tells us our voice doesn't matter because we are "ordinary"

Even though we would rage if anyone ever said this to our child

 

So learn this practice

Break that cage called Ego
And let your voice roar
Strike fear into the hearts of the cage-makers

Kill your Ego every day

And find the meaning of resurrection

All’ve It by Matt Moberg

This is not a poem I wrote - it is one I thought was so good that I would want to read it again and again, and so I wanted to save it in a place where I can find it easily.

All’ve It
by Matt Moberg

I think every human being
eventually has a moment
where they are standing outside in sweatpants
that have lost the will to be pants,
holding a trash bag, a divorce, a parking ticket,
or some other receipt from the universe
that says, “surprise, this too is part of it.”

And then the sky bruises purple.

And the air touches your face
like it knows your whole story.

And suddenly you realize:

all the real is actually unreal.

The dirt.
The breath.
The weird little bones in your hands.
The fact that we are here,
on a floating rock with pollen counts,
paying bills,
missing dead people,
loving living people
who say “leaving now”
while still fully naked and looking for socks.

And still,
the moon clocks in.

No applause.
No benefits.
No note from management saying,
“Great work being ancient and luminous again.”

Just the moon,
working nights
like a single mother with no applause,
packing silver lunches
for every dark thing
that still has to rise.

Tell me that isn’t holy.
Tell me there is a better word
than sacred
for the way light keeps returning
with no guarantee
we will actually stop and take note.

I know people who believe in therapy,
probiotics,
tarot,
twelve-step meetings,
manifestation journals,
and waiting exactly eleven minutes
before texting back
so they do not appear emotionally available,
even though their whole nervous system
is standing in the driveway holding flowers.

And underneath all of it,
every ritual,
every doctrine,
every smoothie with chia seeds,
the prayer is the same:
Please let me be loved.
Please let me be forgiven.
Please let this strange little life
mean something
before my lower back
submits its formal resignation.

What is going on?

For real tho—What is this place?

This unbearable tenderness
of being alive long enough
to watch steam lift from coffee in winter
like a soul practicing leaving.

To see your friend laugh so hard
they slap the table
as if joy is a mosquito
they are trying to kill.

To hear a child say “pisghetti”
and, for one shining second,
realize language
has finally been improved.

I know I already noted this in the first piece,
but the older I get,
the less use I have for certainty.

Certainty has never made me pull over
because the sunset looked like God
dropped a jar of peach jam
across the whole midwestern sky
and decided to be lazy
and not clean up.

Certainty has never made me gasp
at rain on hot pavement.

Certainty has never found me
in the cereal aisle,
holding Captain Crunch,
suddenly remembering
that everyone I have ever loved
was made from stardust,
hunger,
and a series of decisions
we probably should have slept on.

No.
It has always been awe.

Awe was the first church.

Before steeples.
Before committees.
Before men got involved
and started making rules about skirts.

Awe was there
with its wild hair
and muddy feet,
saying:

Look.
Look again.
Look until looking
becomes love.

Awe, and soup.

Awe, and someone rubbing your back
when you are sick.

Awe, and old couples at Target
arguing gently about avocados,
as if marriage is not one vow
but ten thousand errands
performed beside the person
who knows exactly
how you like the cart pushed.

Maybe gratitude
was never meant to sound elegant.

Maybe gratitude sounds like:

“Damn.
That woodpecker is trying
to beat that tree from itself.”

Maybe gratitude sounds like:

“Thank you, body,
for continuing to drag me through this world
despite the many slim jims
I have done to you
at gas stations.”

Maybe gratitude sounds like:

“Thank you to the dogs
who lose their entire minds
when we come home
as if we have returned from war
and not Walgreens.”

For me, that might be my gospel.

That joy that does not wait for us
to be impressive but only needs us
to come through the door.

Because the truth is,
this life is devastating.

And ridiculous.

One minute you are 22 and invincible,
driving too fast,
eating gas station nachos
with the confidence of a Greek god.

The next minute you are googling,
“Can sneezing cause a hamstring injury?”
and the answer is,
apparently,
“Welcome to the second half of your life.”

But even now—

even tired,
even grieving,
even emotionally held together
by iced coffee, playlists,
and one very specific wolves hoodie—

we keep finding reasons
to stay soft.

We plant tomatoes
even though grief is real.

We bake bread
even though the news is on fire.

We send photos of the sky
to people we love
with captions like,
“LOOK,”
as if beauty is an emergency
and we are all volunteer firefighters.

We keep saying,
“You have to see this,”
because wonder
is the oldest form
of resurrection.

So here’s to the believers
and the atheists
and the agnostics
and the people whose entire theology
is just trying not to cry
in the DMV line.

Here’s to the people clinging to faith.

Here’s to the people clinging to Xanax
and oat milk
and the one group chat
where nobody pretends to be okay.

Here’s to the tender-hearted weirdos.

The accidental mystics.

The ones who can contemplate mortality
for six straight hours
and then become emotionally attached
to a perfect peach.

The ones who know
despair has a mouth,
but so does laughter.

May we never stop being drop-kicked by beauty
in the middle of a Sunday afternoon.

May we never become so polished
that we forget how to stand
in the Starbucks line of existence
with our dumb, gorgeous hearts open,
feeling the enormity of it all
rattle around in our bones
like thunder
looking for somewhere to laugh.

And may we remember:

whatever else this is,
whatever mess,
whatever miracle,
whatever cosmic group project
no one was prepped for—

all’ve it is astonishing.
that we are here.
that we have loved enough to be ruined.
that the moon keeps showing up.
that bread exists.

So pass it on.

Tear off a piece
with your bare hands.

Take it in as you take it down.

And then go outside and look at that moon.

Things I Wish I'd Said

Things I Wish I'd Said

There are so many things I wish I'd said

Before I had to say goodbye to you

To tell you what you've done for me

How much of me is wrapped up in you

I wish I'd said how much your laughter meant

How the volume of it taught me not to be bashful

To let go and share the joy of life with everyone

Your laugh is always the first thing I remember about you

I wish I'd said how much your smile meant

It was always there on your face

Even if it was just in your eyes

It was a constant comforting presence

Goodbye was the hardest thing for me to tell you

I watched them all say "we'll be back soon"

But I wouldn't be back and I didn't know if you'd understand

So I said it in the only way I knew how - the way you taught me

I gave you the biggest hug I could

I held it and didn't let go

Just like you always did when we parted

And I always wish I could have one more

There are so many things I wish I'd said
Before I had to say goodbye to you

So now I try to tell people what they mean to me

In whatever way I can while we still have time

On Earth As It Is In Heaven

On Earth As It Is In Heaven

Some people pray
That He would come and take us away
So we can all eat pie in the sky
Except some of us won't be there
For them, there will only be fire

I struggle to pray
To make sense out of speaking to the air
While being told He already knows what I'm going to ask
But one prayer does make sense to me
On earth as it is in heaven

If we all prayed:
On earth as it is in heaven
Would there be war?
Would there be poverty?
Would we hate over differences
Like religion,
Or skin tone,
Or whom we choose to love,
Or pronouns,
Or anything?

Letters to God

Well, I'm not...you know the routine.

 

I say "I'm not a poet", and then sometimes people say "but you keep writing poems - you seem like a poet to me." And then I come in and say something like "I don't know much about how to do meter or rhyme - I just try to bare my soul and write what's on my heart."

 

Poetry has been a way for me to turn off the filters and be raw and honest. And before you read my latest poem, I wanted you to know that this is what I'm trying to do here. I'm trying to show the most honest thoughts I've had about God and prayer and faith (whether recent thoughts or thoughts I've had in my past) - without filter, and without worrying what people will think or how they'll judge me for having had those thoughts. And I think about how, according to Matthew, Jesus said you must become like a little child to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. So maybe that's what I'm doing here. I dunno, it's my best guess at what he might have meant by that - and isn't that all any of us can do?

 

Letters to God

Dear God:
Are you really listening?
And does it matter what I say?
A certain writer wrote
That a certain son of yours said
That you know what I need before I ask.
And if that's so, what's the point in asking?
Is it just to stroke your ego?

Dear God:
They tell me you really care about who has sex with whom.
Why is that so important to you?
And if men on men or women on women make you so mad,
why do you let them come out that way?
Why not just make them all with hetero desire?
But really, who is it hurting?
Are you really like us - grossed out by anything different or unique?

Dear God:
They tell me Jesus is you.
They also said you couldn't forgive our sins without blood.
They said this was because you were so Holy.
Why does "Holy" sound like "bloodthirsty"?
And if Jesus is you, how does sacrificing yourself to yourself help anything?
And if Jesus said to forgive without demanding payment,
Why can't you?

Dear God:
Do you actually have a penis?
And if not, why does occasionally saying "She" make you so mad?
Or is all of that nonsense written by men with small imaginations?
Are you more like the Force?
Or consciousness itself, saturating and permeating everything in the Universe?
Or are you the Universe itself?
Or something else entirely?

Dear God:
Why won't you talk to me?
Or give me a clear sign?
They say you talked to a lot of people in the Bible,
And you even did some cool magic tricks.
I'd like to see that.
Call me doubting Thomas if you want,
But even he got to touch the holes.

Dear God:
If you really made everything,
And if you really know everything,
And if you really are Love,
Why does it hurt so much?
I don't have that power and I don't know everything,
And my love isn't perfect like they say yours is.
But when I see someone I care about hurting, it makes me mad.
It makes me want to do something about it.
Where are you when it hurts?
Why aren't you flipping tables right now?

Dear God:
How am I doing? 
Did I get any of it right?
I know when I've messed up.
I hope you have more patience with me than some of your followers.
Do you really love me?
And if so, why?
And if so, how do I know?
And if so, won't you please visit?

Dear God:
Say hi to my Dad.
Tell him I miss him.
So much.
Sometimes I'm not sure if I believe in you.
But I believe in him.
I know he was good.
And I know he loved me.
And whether you're what he thought you were or not,
He loved you.
Maybe that's why I keep trying to.

Dear Dad:
I love you.

Deconstruction

Well, I'm not a poet. But I felt like writing this: 

Deconstruction

I was born totally depraved
Or so they say
My own mind could not be trusted
I must bend and accept the word of authority

My soul was sick
Or so they said
And while I had no symptoms then
They poured their fear into me and ill I became

But you showed me what love was
Taught me it was supreme
You showed me what it meant to accept someone
Even when "heretical" they might be

My sins, so great, demanded blood

Hell's flames licked at my heels with every step

For I knew, I feared God but did not love

How could I love one who would torment endlessly?

 

I simulated worship and adoration

Scanning to see if my performance satisfied

My friendships were skin-deep

I couldn't share my deepest self

 

When I fled, I knew I was lost

Knowing not who I was nor how to find "me"

You loved me just as I was - I was "son"

A constant reassuring truth

 

Who am I? Am I what they said about me?

Am I only the things I say and do?

Am I only the things I know and believe?

I was lost, restless, grieving my absent sense of self

 

And then I saw her - her face shone like the sun

I loved her and she loved me

And I hurt her and she hurt me

But you had taught me - love never fails - and we prevailed

 

And then came the day my son was born

I held his tiny body in my arms 

And when I looked at his face I knew you better - I was "father"

I knew what it meant to love someone who couldn't give anything in return

 

"God is love" and "perfect love casts out fear"

These became my creed

Love was all I wanted to be

Love, the name of my innermost being

 

Love was the only true thing in my past

Love, the only truth in my future

Love behind me, love before me

And all I can say to you is: thank you Dad

 

Heretic

When my father passed a month ago, writing poetry became an avenue through which I processed my thoughts and feelings. I don't claim to be a good poet - I just try to write what's on my heart. And I've been thinking a lot about how Dad actually triggered my own deconstruction when he taught me that love was what was most important to God, because God is love (I John 4:8 and 16). So I've been ruminating on this one for a while.

Heretic 

Grandma was the kindest woman you could ever know
Welcoming and compassionate to everyone she met
She went to a church with a woman preacher
Did you know I once thought she might be a heretic?

Jesus said to love your neighbor as yourself
"Who is my neighbor?" "Let me tell you about a Samaritan"
A Samaritan was like someone from a whole other religion
Did you know he was sent to be crucified for being a heretic?

What if we missed the whole point?
The Church says you can't be "Christian" without Trinity
Some churches say you must have the right ideas about Bible and atonement
Jesus said "they will know you are my disciples if you love"

The Devil is always in someone else
Never in your own heart
And don't you ever think about how his name is "Accuser"
Or how the Holy Spirit's is "Advocate"

George MacDonald taught that God's love was limitless
He wrote "Phantastes" and C.S. Lewis converted because of it
MacDonald called eternal torment a "loathsome lie"
Did you know he lost his pulpit because he was a heretic?

Jesus said "I and the Father are one"
They picked up stones to kill him
He said "let them be one, Father, as you and I are one"
Did you know he was sent to be crucified for being a heretic?

Heretic is a word we use to shut down dialogue
When authority fails and reason is an obstacle
We condemn people for having the wrong ideas about Jesus
But Jesus made it a question - "who do you say that I am?"

The Devil is always in someone else
Never in your own heart
And don't you ever think about how his name is "Accuser"
Or how the Holy Spirit's is "Advocate"

The Devil is "Accuser"
Jesus is a heretic
Holy Spirit, "Advocate"
Jesus died a heretic

Echoes

 Well, I'm not a poet. But I felt like writing this:

Echoes

In the early morning light

I look for you

When I'm alone, I strain my ear

listening for your echoes

 

But ghosts are elusive

Like a mist

They blow away with the wind

Only seen in the peripherals

 

"You look like him", he said to me

On the day of your mourning

While I search the earth for your echo

He saw you when he looked at me

 

You came to me one night

One night only

You visited me in the haze of a dream

Just one last embrace was all I got

 

Maybe your echoes can't be found by looking

Like a shadow that disappears in the light

These reminders only come as a surprise

In an embrace or a song I hear in the distance

 

"Your voice sounds like his", she said to me

She heard your echo

While I searched for you in the fog

I reminded her of you when I spoke

 

I am your strongest echo

When I speak of love

Your warmth, your presence, felt

When I hug tightly

 

I can't find you by searching through the mist

Only by sharing my own presence

Your visage isn't perceived in a direct glance

Your echoes are only heard when I give what you gave me

 

A Good Life?

 Well, I'm not a poet, but I felt like writing this:

A Good Life?

Saturday morning, sitting in that pew
I watch - one by one they stand there
A daughter, a son, a choir member, a camp counselor
"He laughed, he made beautiful music, and he loved"

You were never famous, and you weren't rich
You didn't star in movies, or give your music to sold out crowds
You didn't live in a mansion, no one wore merchandise with your name on it
But you laughed, you made beautiful music, and you loved

When they mourn him, will a daughter dab her eyes with a tissue and say
"he took money from cancer research and gave big tax breaks to the rich"?
Will a son stand up and fight back his tears and say
"he refused to pay TSA so he could make it harder for women to vote"?

Will old high school buddies come up to that podium and choke out the words
"he deregulated companies so they could pollute the waters we drink"?
Will friends from decades ago stand there and weep as they say
"he condemned the pope while he bombed Iranian schoolgirls"?

I wonder what they'll say about me when I cross that rainbow bridge
I wonder who will come to that podium to speak about the life I led
I doubt I'll be famous, I doubt I'll be rich, but I would be proud if even one said
"He laughed, he brought beauty to the world, and he loved." 

Overcome

Well, I'm not a poet. But I felt like writing this.

Overcome 

I look at the world and I'm overcome by the cruelty
The people justifying hate for their brothers and sisters
I look at the world and I'm overcome by the greed
The people hoarding wealth they could never spend
While their bothers and sisters starve

And then it's time to take the dogs outside
Domino is overcome with anticipation
He leaps at the door, straining to get to the ball I keep on the shelf
I throw it across the yard and he sprints, lightning speed, to catch it
His tail wags with joy as he brings it to me, but he won't let me take it
I tug as he clutches it in his mouth, his tail is wagging with sheer joy the whole time

I look at the world and I'm overcome with fear
The orange man threatens genocide, and people use the word "nuclear"
I look at the world and I'm overcome with sadness
My father rests in dust and ashes, his light is snuffed
And the world is a little bit darker with him gone

And then it's time to take the dogs outside
Domino is overcome by the suspense
He yelps with urgency, begging me to open the door faster
I throw the ball again and watch him leap to catch it
And I laugh as I watch his butt wiggling, his tail wagging with intensity
In the presence of his joy, anxiety and pain fade away, replaced with laughter

 

What the Bible Talks About When It Talks About God (part 10)

Note: This post is meant to be read after reading part 1 of this series, where I lay some groundwork and introduce some important concepts. I would also advise reading the other preceding parts, but this is not completely necessary.

The Trinity

As we've been exploring the way the concept of God develops and changes throughout the Biblical texts, I wonder if there have been audience members sitting in their office chairs with sullen looks, wondering when, oh when will I talk about the Trinity?

And I wondered if I even should talk about it. Because I'm no longer convinced that it even appears anywhere in the Bible - at least not in the way tradition insists it does.

This is a subject that the popular Bible scholar Dan McClellan has repeatedly returned to in his videos - such as this one, or this one. In one of my favorite videos of his where he talks about this, he points out that there is a "fundamental incoherence" of the Trinity, and he explains what this incoherence is with the illustration of a math problem. And in this math problem, it is like saying:

a is the Father
b is the Son
c is the Holy Spirit
g is God
a + b + c = g
a = g
b = g
c = g
a ≠ b
b ≠ c
a ≠ c 

And this does not make mathematical sense, nor does it make sense in light of the way persons or substance have ever been understood. 

 

And I can recall wrestling with this concept as a child, and questioning elders about it, and these sorts of conversations would always seem to end with something along the lines of "well, this is just one of those mysteries that you have to accept through faith."

Or, hear me out here, what if it's one of those things that authoritarian men came up with after the Bible was written and then enforced when the Church got in bed with empire in the days of Constantine and started using governmental authority to punish heresy?

But some of you will insist: the Trinity is in the Bible. Except many of the "proofs" for this concept are based on fundamental misunderstandings of what the original author was trying to say in the language in which these passages were originally written.

One of the passages people often point to as "proof" of the Trinity is John 1:1-5, which I discussed in part 8 of this series as part of my discussion on "Logos" and the connections to the Jewish literature on Lady Wisdom. And hopefully, through that discussion, some of my readers have already caught on to the fact that modern Christians who are unfamiliar with the connections between this passage and some of the things Philo said about Logos will already be seeing how taking this passage as equating Jesus with God misunderstands the passage. Because for John, Logos is the Wisdom of God, the argument of God, the reason behind the order of the universe, and it was the first creation, which means that equating it with God is a misunderstanding of what John is saying. 

But oh, you say, verse 1 of the passage says that "the Logos was with God and the Logos was God." Except that people who make this argument don't understand the original Greek and what is going on here. Because you have to understand that in Greek, there are definite articles but there are not indefinite articles. Meaning: in English, we have definite articles like "the", and we have indefinite articles like "a book" or "a tree". Greek does not have indefinite articles. So when we read John 1 in the original Greek, it says that "the Logos was with the God [ton theon] and the Logos was divine [theos]." Now, note here - theon and theos are the same word, but different cases - theon is the form used when the word is the direct object in a sentence, and theos is the form used when the word is the subject of the sentence. And Bible scholars have noted that when they look at the ways this word is used in this time period by many different authors, it can mean "God" or it can simply mean "divine" - as in, "a god", or someone or something that is godly/god-like. So it is important that in this verse, the author switches from using the definite article ton when referring to God in the first part of the verse, and leaving out the definite article in the second part of the verse.

So then some people will retort: well Jesus definitely claims to be God in John 8:58 when he says "before Abraham was, I am." And here they are interpreting this as Jesus using the divine name that was revealed to Moses in Exodus 3:14. But there's a big problem with this - when Jesus says "I am" here, it's just a commonly used Greek phrase for saying things like "that's me", or "that was me" - ego eimi. And furthermore, when you examine the first known Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible - the Septuagint - and look at Exodus 3:14, you see God telling Moses that his name is "I am who I am", and the Greek here is ego eimi ho on. And then later in the verse, when God says "tell them I am sent you", the words used here are not ego eimi but are ho on. So here, God seems to be telling Moses that the divine name Moses should use is not ego eimi, but is ho on. And Jesus does not use the words ho on, he just uses a very common Greek phrase that identifies oneself as the one who did a thing or was in a place. And to illustrate how important this is, when Jesus heals a blind man in the next chapter of John, and the people in his town are asking "isn't this that blind man who sits and begs?" The blind man replies in verse 9 "ego eimi", translated as "I am he", and no one ever seems to argue that this means that the blind man is God.

So then, some may come back to John 8:58 and say that because Jesus seems to be claiming eternality or preexistence, it implies he is God. But that is not necessarily the case. Again, returning to part 8 of this series, recall that Philo claims that the High Priest is the preexisting Logos, "by means of whom the universe arrived at creation." And this does not mean that Philo believes every High Priest who has ever lived was a person of the Trinity, with the same being/substance (homoousion) as God. But also, this verse doesn't necessarily imply preexistence, either - because if we go back to the context, we see that in verse 56, Jesus is arguing that the prophecy that the messiah would come from Abraham's line was about him (Jesus) - so this statement may simply be a statement that Jesus as messiah was preordained since the beginning of time, and is not a statement of eternal existence on Jesus' part.

So then some will continue the argument by turning to the story in John 10:22-40, where Jesus says that "the Father and I are one" in verse 30, and then verse 31 it says that the Jews responded by picking up stones to stone him. Surely [they argue] this proves that he was claiming to be God, since the Jews responded this way? 

But what about the way Jesus responds to this? Because after the Jews pick up the stones to kill him, and then explain that they feel that Jesus is committing blasphemy and making himself God, it says in verses 34-36:

Jesus answered, “Is it not written in your law, ‘I said, you are gods’? If those to whom the word of God came were called ‘gods’—and the scripture cannot be annulled—can you say that the one whom the Father has sanctified and sent into the world is blaspheming because I said, ‘I am God’s Son’?

Note two things about this response - first, Jesus quotes Psalm 82 here, which we covered as a proof for polytheistic thought within Judaism in part 2 of this series. And secondly, note how Jesus clarifies here that he has never "made himself God" as the Jews are accusing him of in this passage, but rather - Jesus argues - he has only claimed to be God's Son. Note that this demonstrates that for the writer of John, while being "God's Son" implies a special relationship with God that includes "one-ness" with God, it is not the same thing as being equal to God.

Furthermore, if "the Father and I are one" is indeed a claim of being one of the members of the Trinity, then what does it mean when Jesus prays in John 17:21-22 "that they may all be one... [a]s you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us", and then repeats the request that "they may be one, as we are one"? Does this mean that Jesus is praying that the disciples would become members of the Trinity [thus making the Trinity the Quadrinity and then the Quintinity and so on and so forth]?

Or is it possible that the writer of John simply has a different conception of divinity - perhaps one closer to the panentheistic formulation that we discussed in the last section of this series?

Perhaps, when considering formulaic language such as the Trinity, one should hold these words and concepts loosely - recognizing that if one is trying to talk about the infinite, sacred, and holy ground of all Being that has existed before time itself, then one must recognize that all language one uses to attempt to explain such a thing fails? Because if the divine is limitless, then surely any limited language one tries to use will fail to capture such a thing?

I remember years ago, I had a co-worker that I thought I would witness to - I thought I would try to bring him to salvation. This happened just as I was only beginning to ask some questions about my own faith that were starting to reshape it. And I remember that I had a conversation with him about faith, and in response, he lent me a copy of Living Buddha, Living Christ, by the Tibetan monk Thich Nhat Hanh. And there is a chapter in the book where he writes about the Holy Spirit - and this had been a concept I had never really grasped as a child. But for the first time in my life, I felt like I understood the Holy Spirit - all because of a Buddhist monk. And in this chapter of the book, Thich Nhat Hanh talks about breathing exercises and meditative phrases used to help the practitioner develop a sense of living in the present moment, and compassion for others and for all of nature around us. And I think back on the concept we talked about in the last part of this series where I mentioned that the Hebrew word for "spirit" is ruach and the Greek is pneuma (from which we get English words like pneumatic), both words which mean "breath" or "wind". 

https://lisagawlas.wordpress.com/2014/08/05/your-breath-of-life/

In this chapter, Thich Nhat Hanh writes:

The most precious gift we can offer others is our presence. When our mindfulness embraces those we love, they will bloom like flowers. If you love someone but rarely make yourself available to him or her, that is not true love. When your beloved is suffering, you need to recognize her suffering, anxiety, and worries, and just by doing that, you already offer some relief. Mindfulness relieves suffering because it is filled with understanding and compassion. When you are really there, showing your loving-kindness and understanding, the energy of the Holy Spirit is in you.

And later on in the same chapter, he writes:

Discussing God is not the best use of our energy. If we touch the Holy Spirit, we touch God not as a concept but as a living reality. 

And then, near the end of the chapter, he writes:

Our true home is in the present moment. The miracle is not to walk on water. The miracle is to walk on the green earth in the present moment. Peace is all around us—in the world and in nature—and within us—in our bodies and our spirits. Once we learn to touch this peace, we will be healed and transformed. It is not a matter of faith; it is a matter of practice. We need only to bring our body and mind into the present moment, and we will touch what is refreshing, healing, and wondrous.

What if, instead of turning Trinity into a credal statement that Christians must bow before and recite whether it makes sense to them or not, the real point of it all was for Jesus to show his disciples a Way - the Way of compassion, through which the presence of the Divine becomes a living reality in the present moment?