2018

Dave Brisbin | 2.11.18
Lent is upon us. Already. Again. What do we really know about Lent? For those of us who grew up in liturgical churches, what we learned may have had little to do with the traditions that established Lent, and what we remember now, may even subvert those ancient intentions. What does the word Lent mean? Why 40 days and how was Lent initially used in early church life? What traditions like Pancake Day, Mardi Gras, and Ash Wednesday have sprung up around it and what is their significance? But most importantly, how can we understand and even reimagine Lent to take us on a 40 day journey to the new life of Easter? If Lent became a time of fasting and deprivation as penance for sin, can we use Jesus’ 40 days in the wilderness as model to begin to see Lent as deprivation for the purpose of clearing away all that distracts from the Presence that will bring new life on Easter? Because just as Jesus’ first followers continued to look for the living among the dead, we need to practice new ways of listening and seeing that will allow us to look for new life, rebirth, where it really lives.

Learning Lent

Dave Brisbin | 2.18.18
On the first Sunday of Lent, how do we learn about this 40 day journey to Easter from the tradition of liturgy? Each day of Holy Week, from Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday has passages from the Gospels embedded that can help us prepare for the new life of Easter if we’re paying attention. Looking at the passage traditionally read on Palm Sunday, as Jesus is entering Jerusalem before the crucifixion, he tells those who are trying to silence the cheering crowd that even if these were silent, the rocks would cry out. What can we learn from singing rocks? That all creation is an unceasing expression of truth? That if we can learn to become still and silent inside, that we will be able to hear the music playing through each moment? Paul calls this sort of interior attitude unceasing prayer, and at 1Thessalonians 5, gives us not one, but three directives that if understood properly and practiced consistently, will transform the quality of our most basic relationships and take us a long way toward the rebirth of resurrection.

Singing Rocks

Dave Brisbin | 3.4.18
On the third Sunday of Lent, continuing to look at how taking Lent seriously as a time of clearing away all that distracts and obscures the truth of our lives…after we commit to the process of increasing awareness moment by moment, what’s next? As we become more aware of our emotions and emotional triggers, thought and behavioral patterns, as we begin to see ourselves as with a third eye moving and choosing and relating based on whatever has become our worldview to date—what are we going to do with that information? If our thought and behavior patterns are healthy, creating healthy relationships, then nothing of course. If it’s not broke, don’t fix it. But if not, then just as Jesus did in the Jerusalem temple, are we willing to overturn the tables of our own ingrained beliefs in order to rearrange a life that has become unable to produce the fruit of its design? Make it once again resemble its original promise? That is the lesson of cleansing of the temple and cursing of the fig tree, and Jesus’ challenge to us. If we’re not willing to overturn our own carefully placed tables, then all the awareness in the world avails nothing.

Overturning Tables

Dave Brisbin | 3.11.18
On the fourth Sunday of Lent, trying to re-imagine Lent as time of sensory deprivation in order to clear away all that distracts and obscures God’s face, if we’ve begun practicing moment by moment awareness, if we’ve begun to confront our limiting beliefs and obsessive behavior patterns and become willing to overturn those interior tables, what truth starts to become apparent? Jesus gives us a big clue traditionally read on Maundy Thursday of Holy Week. During the Last Supper, he strips off his mantle and tunic, wraps a towel around himself and kneels in front of each of his friends to wash feet. It’s hard for us as modern Westerners to comprehend the full scope of this outrageous action, or to understand Peter’s violent reaction. But Jesus is showing us something absolutely profound, something we have to be prepared to see, as Peter and the rest of the room as yet were not. By showing as radically and graphically as possible that he was an unassuming, humble, servant leader, Jesus--as one and the same with the Father--is trying to convey that our God, the creator of heaven and earth, is also an unassuming, humble, servant leader who lives to serve us…to kneel and wash our feet. If we, like Peter, are outraged by this image of God, then we need to spend more time seeing what things look like from kneeling height.

From Kneeling Height

Dave Brisbin | 3.18.18
The central question for any who calls themselves Christian or a follower of Jesus has to be the one Jesus asks his followers--and by extension all of us--in Mark 8, “Who do you say that I am?” The question has as many answers as there are followers most likely, but how do we come to the best answer that we can muster as a group? Leonard Sweet comes to our rescue with the term EPIC, which for him is an acronym standing for Experiential, Participatory, Image-based, and Communal. He has said that this is the way the youngest generations among us process information as opposed the older generations of the Modern world who are Propositional, Representational, Word-based, and Individualistic. The differences are profound in terms of worldview and attitude toward life, but the immense relevance really hits home, when we realize that the ancient peoples who wrote our scriptures were EPIC too. Our interpretation of ancient, EPIC scripture has been arrived at through anti-EPIC glasses and has been colored by attitudes and beliefs alien to the writing. If we are going to answer the central question of Jesus’ identity, we first have to tackle how it is we are asking and the means by which we ask.

EPIC

Dave Brisbin | 3.25.18
On Palm Sunday, what is the importance of the details of Jesus’ big entrance into Jerusalem that kicked off what turned out to be his last week before crucifixion? Do we focus on historical facts that occurred nearly 2,000 years ago or on spiritual truths as immediate as our next breath? Standing behind all the historical details are rich symbolic truths that point us in an inescapable direction: that Jesus was not coming as a conquering national hero, but a humble, spiritual servant of anyone and everyone in his path. But of the four main groups of people watching him ride by on the colt of a donkey, none saw who he really was. Each group saw what they wanted to see, colored by their needs and ambitions: a warrior messiah set to overturn the Roman occupation, threat to power and tax bases, the chance to rise to relevance and power... Shortly before all this, Jesus asks his closest friends: “Who do you say that I am?” That is still the central question today for anyone who sets off to follow Jesus. Are we just looking through our own need and ambition, or are willing to go through the painful, risky process of letting all that go so we can see who Jesus is emphatically telling us he is. And are willing to let that truth change us radically from the inside out?

Who Do You Say I Am

Dave Brisbin | 4.1.18
There is one detail in the post resurrection accounts of Jesus appearing to his closest friends and followers that is common to all of them, and yet this detail hasn’t gotten much airplay or consideration in terms of what it may mean to us who are still trying to follow Jesus so long after that first resurrection Sunday. None of the friends and followers to whom Jesus appeared after his crucifixion recognized him at first. This seems utterly impossible, if you think about it. How could they not recognize him? Mary, as close as she was to Jesus, loving him as she did, doesn’t recognize him standing right in front of her by the tomb until he calls her name. The Emmaus travelers walk the entire trip and get halfway through supper before they realize who he is. Peter and the fisherman don’t recognize him on the shore until they pull in an impossible catch of fish. Did he look physically different? Some sort of cloaking miracle? The Gospels are only as important as they are relevant to our lives right here and now, and right here and now these Gospels are telling us that we are all limited to seeing what we expect to see, what we believe is possible to see. They are telling us that even those who walked with Jesus, had to have their limiting beliefs broken down before they could see the truth right before their eyes. Are we any different?

Where to Look

Dave Brisbin | 4.8.18
Moving past the Resurrection and anticipating the spiritual filling of Pentecost fifty days later, is there a model for the shape our days if we’re living a spiritually aware lifestyle? What does that look like? Jesus teaches and demonstrates all through the Gospels of course, but the nation of Israel itself shows most clearly the ideal of what day to day conscious connection to God looks like. Leaving Egypt, Moses establishes a law that takes Israel out of the death and next world obsession of Egypt and places all the emphasis on immersion in this world, herenow. And perhaps more to the point, the promised land the Hebrews eventually occupy in Canaan had no major river or natural water source that would support irrigation and agriculture as Egypt had. Israel had to rely on its annual rains, the Yoreh and Malkosh, the early and latter rains that fell in fall and spring and without which there was no sustenance. You can harness the flow of a river, but not the rains. To be completely dependent on the heavens, on God in heaven, to be deeply connected and aware of the movement of wind and weather  herenow, to pray humbly for provision while working hard in preparation and celebrating gratefully for the blessing of the rains captures the post-Pentecost lifestyle as well as can be.

I Bless the Rains

Dave Brisbin | 4.22.18
If we’re serious about getting to Pentecost, experiencing the full awareness of spiritual presence, there’s a basic truth about the journey with which we have to come to grips…that the way to Pentecost begins at Calvary. Jesus said that it was to his closest followers’ advantage that he go away, so the Helper could come. Moses, after 40 years of faithfully leading his people, is not allowed to enter the promised land, but dies within sight of it. What is being communicated? Moses himself and Jesus himself had become physical impediments to their followers’ ability to take the next step in their spiritual journeys. As long as they clung to their leader as provider and deliverer, they would not find the direct connection with unseen Spirit that is Pentecost. Calvary is the moment all Jesus’ followers’ hopes and expectations, the entire world they’d been building is killed right before their eyes. It is the moment of Jesus’ greatest display of vulnerability, which forces the choice of his followers to see vulnerability for what it really is: the flip side of love. Without embracing the vulnerability of their apparent abandonment, they would never be able to experience the fact that to be deeply in love is to be deeply vulnerable and to love perfectly is to literally or figuratively lay down your life for the beloved. That moment, that Calvary moment, is the beginning of the path to a filling of the Spirit of love through its flip side…vulnerability.

Flip Side of Love

Dave Brisbin | 4.29.18
From the account of Pentecost in Acts 2, it can seem that the Spirit descending on Jesus’ followers like tongues of fire on each was an event that happened at a particular place and time as they passively waited. But the truth is, there’s nothing passive about the spiritual life. We need to resist the temptation to think of Pentecost or baptism of the spirit or the born again experience as the moment when Spirit is unleashed, no longer withheld. Spirit is always unleashed, permanently permeating everything all the time—never withheld. Pentecost is a conscious choice to return to unity with Spirit as we become aware of its presence in a fundamentally new way. It can be a gradual process, a process of becoming more and more aware until we realize at some point we have a very different relationship with Presence. What is this process? How does it work? Jesus’ Way to Father can be looked at as a return to the Garden of Eden, a return to the kind of connection with which each of started as children. And Jesus’ insistence on loving the enemy, the willingness and practice of embracing what is different and difficult in our lives—people, ideas, circumstances that offend—is the process itself. Each time we love enemy as Jesus did by breaking through the ritual, theological, and social barriers we have set up to keep ourselves safe, we are returning to the borderless relationship beyond tribe and self that is Pentecost.

A Gradual Pentecost

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.

Shoulder Taps

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.

Meaning and Circumstance

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.

Eternal Aliveness

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.

The M Word

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.

Aviary

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.

Snapshot

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.

Graven Images

Dave Brisbin | 9.9.18
Speaking more from a personal point of view, Pastor Dave talks about how the recent series on the contemplative journey and lives of mystics in the Christian tradition has stirred up emotional memories of his own journey and the questions they pose on the nature of the deep desire in some of us to engage this journey at all costs. Where does this desire come from? Why is it so strong in some of us and not others? How is it sustained? And most importantly, where do we direct it and nurture it into a conscious contact with God and each other? As always, we go to Jesus and see that he had a very defined Way of bringing his people to their Father, and it roughly breaks down into four main areas of growth: healing, teaching, mentoring, and serving. When the desire in us becomes strong enough, we become ready to stop being victims and start healing at least enough to build a stable platform for learning about a Way of living that changes everything. Then at some point the student becomes ready to actually engage the Way with a mentor who can guide and provide accountability until the student becomes the teacher and can serve. This is the contemplative way, the Way of Jesus that takes us from fearful brokenness to an assured humility and willingness to be openly vulnerable in our moment by moment experience.

Contemplative Way

Dave Brisbin | 9.16.18
Movies are our dominant storytelling media these days, and though we can say it’s a shame people aren’t reading as much anymore, sometimes the combination of a great script, great actors, and great pictures really brings a message home. Spinning the dial, I came across the movie Jackie and became involved in the story of Jackie Kennedy coping with the first seven days after the assassination of her husband/president. But what riveted me was the series of scenes between her and a priest counselor in which she asked the classic questions of grief, loss, and life in general. She questions God and his cruelty, she questions her actions and what she did to deserve the trauma and pain, and she questions her life as she reveals she’d been praying every night to die. The priest carefully tries to steer her down a middle course between the extremes of an indifferent God and one who actively creates or allows pain, but ultimately confesses there are no answers. Delivered by the great actor John Hurt just weeks before his own death to pancreatic cancer, a death he knew was coming, makes even more pointed the truth that at its most mature, our spiritual journey ceases as a search for rational answers that aren’t coming—and becomes a conscious immersion in moments we may not understand, but that God in his infinite wisdom has made sure are just enough for us.

Just Enough

Dave Brisbin | 10.7.18
Sometimes insightful messages come in sets of threes, it seems. Or maybe it’s that as the first time goes right over our heads, second brings awareness, and the third really hits home, we’re just sensitive to the threeness of things. I suppose it’s always our choice to see life as either a series of coincidences or having divine influence or somewhere in between. And that’s the point: how we see the events in our lives and our place in them is a choice. Any worldview we choose will answer some questions and beg others, but whether we hit an objective accuracy we could never prove anyway, some views of life are just more fun. A series of events of the past week from a trip to the zoo to the homecoming greeting by our pet dog, to an email from a friend in crisis telling the story of a young boy running into the pool with his swimmies on, a pattern of experiences and images formed with an impact that seemed to far outweigh mere coincidence. Jesus always points to children as the emblems of kingdom, but more than that, when we dig beneath some limiting translations, we find that he’s really saying that kingdom is us and we are kingdom when we look at life in a particular way—a way that makes us look like children. Whether to see the threeness of this last week as God’s guiding hand is my choice. And yours as well. But whatever the mechanics of life, some choices are just much more fun and childlike. Kingdomlike.

Running with Swimmies

True North with Dave Brisbin is a podcast about the things that can bring you back to center, whether God, spirituality, community or family or all of them. Never esoteric or abstract for its own sake; always practical and full of common sense, we’re interested in exploring the effect of what we believe on our lives and questioning what we believe in light of the deep connection we’re meant to live. Dave Brisbin is an author, speaker, coach, and songwriter. He is the teaching pastor of theeffect, a faith community and recovery ministry in San Clemente, CA and executive director of Encompass Recovery, an addiction treatment center in San Juan Capistrano. For more on finding deeper spiritual expression free from limiting beliefs and behavior, go to davebrisbin.com.