True North with Dave Brisbin Dave Brisbin

Dave Brisbin 3.26.23
Had an intense conversation with a child specialist at the hospital grieving her friend, a nurse on the floor who died that morning. Cancer. She was reeling from her friend’s death, and we talked through her feelings and regrets—the sadness, numbness, disbelief, inability to imagine that she’d never see her again. The regret that she didn’t reach out more, even though she knew the nurse would only minimize everything, refuse any help. Caught between should-haves and respecting an intense need for privacy in her friend.

Then almost incidentally, she said losing her friend had intensified her fear of death. That she’s always been afraid of death, but today was off the charts. She said it almost casually, the way we’d say we don’t like broccoli or baseball. A simple, known fact of her life that she’d come to accept. My ears went into overdrive. I asked why she feared death so intensely, but she couldn’t tell me, just has as long as she could remember. Was it a fear of hell or judgment in a religious sense? No, more just the thought of not being here anymore. Being anywhere. She was vaguely Christian, believed in God, but was no longer sure there was anything after this. Not being. With her family, here, in life.

She hadn’t heard of contemplative prayer. I told her it was a stepping away from all thoughts, words, feelings, everything you imagine you are, to experience a deeper self that still remains. At peak moments in her life—the birth of her sons, a first kiss, a sunset—she had experienced moments so intense they blew out her thoughts like a candle. We never feel more alive than at such moments, more fulfilled, connected, loved.

To step out of our minds is to step into the reality of love.

Why do we assume death is any different? Irony is, we live for the moments we step out of our minds, yet fear the moment we step completely out of ourselves. But if we’re present enough, life and prayer can teach us there is connection that can’t be contained in our minds, but is always waiting for the moment we step out of ourselves. Our minds can’t know what that will be like. Our deepest selves know already.

Dave Brisbin 3.19.23
This is the third in a series of Sunday sessions of conversations. After seven Sundays working on a Red Letter Study—the direct sayings and teachings of Jesus from a first century Hebrew/Aramaic perspective—questions, concerns, and resistances were surfacing from people in our community. It seemed a good moment to stop presenting new material and take some time to consolidate and clarify the material we’ve been processing these past two months, so this Sunday, we held a third live question and answer session in place of a message/teaching to see what was on people’s minds.

This is not a “bible answer man” scenario carrying the implication that there is one “right” way to interpret the Bible and one “right” Christian doctrine and understanding of that doctrine that makes everyone and everything else wrong. This is meant to be a real conversation about confusing spiritual and doctrinal issues that impact us on a daily basis, trying to clarify the reconstruction of Jesus’ Aramaic meaning being discussed at theeffect, and to remove as many obstacles as possible to each person’s ability to engage their own journey to transformative truth.

When it comes to spiritual matters, all we can ever do is tell each other what we are convinced of and the reasons and justifications for those convictions. With no objective certainty in spiritual matters, the process of searching for truth itself brings increasing personal conviction that metastasizes as trust. Trust without certainty is a good definition of faith, because conviction-become-trust is what allows us to risk action in the presence of doubt. And sharing our journeys and convictions helps us confront uncertainty and move past it.

That’s the point of having these Conversations, and the questions and comments this Sunday went far beyond the Red Letter material to issues that stand right at the heart of the Christian tradition. We still may have more to discuss, so we will finish up next Sunday, and see how much deeper we can dig.

Dave Brisbin 3.12.23
This is the second in what will be three Sunday sessions of conversations. After seven Sundays working on a Red Letter Study—the direct sayings and teachings of Jesus from a first century Hebrew/Aramaic perspective—questions, concerns, and resistances were surfacing from people in our community. It seemed a good moment to stop presenting new material and take some time to consolidate and clarify the material we’ve been processing these past two months, so this Sunday, we held a second live question and answer session in place of a message/teaching to see what was on people’s minds.

Right off the bat, this is not a “bible answer man” scenario carrying the implication that there is one “right” way to interpret the Bible and one “right” Christian doctrine and understanding of that doctrine that makes everyone and everything else wrong. This is meant to be a real conversation about confusing spiritual and doctrinal issues that impact us on a daily basis, to at least clarify the reconstruction of Jesus’ Aramaic meaning being discussed at theeffect, and to remove as many obstacles as possible to each person’s ability to engage their own journey to transformative truth.

When it comes to spiritual matters, all we can ever do is tell each other what we are convinced of and the reasons and justifications for those convictions. There is no objective certainty in spiritual matters, but the process of searching for truth brings increasing personal conviction that metastasizes as trust. Trust without certainty is a pretty good definition of faith, because conviction-become-trust is what allows us to risk action in the presence of doubt. And sharing our journeys and convictions helps us confront uncertainty and move past it.

That’s point of having these Conversations, and the questions and comments this Sunday went far beyond the Red Letter material to issues that stand right at the heart of the Christian faith tradition. We realized we still have more to discuss, so we will repeat the same format again next Sunday, and see how much deeper we can dig.

Dave Brisbin 3.5.23
After seven Sundays working on a Red Letter Study—the direct sayings and teachings of Jesus from a first century Hebrew/Aramaic perspective—questions, concerns, and resistances were surfacing from people in our community. It seemed a good moment to stop presenting new material and take some time to consolidate and clarify the material we’ve been processing these past two months, so this Sunday, we held a live question and answer session in place of a message/teaching to see what was on people’s minds.

Right off the bat, this is not a “bible answer man” scenario carrying the implication that there is one “right” way to interpret the Bible and one “right” Christian doctrine and understanding of that doctrine that makes everyone and everything else wrong. This is meant to be a real conversation about confusing spiritual and doctrinal issues that impact us on a daily basis, to at least clarify the reconstruction of Jesus’ Aramaic meaning being discussed at theeffect, and to remove as many obstacles as possible to each person’s ability to engage their own journey to transformative truth.

When it comes to spiritual matters, all we can ever do is tell each other what we are convinced of and the reasons and justifications for those convictions. There is no objective certainty in spiritual matters, but the process of searching for truth brings increasing personal conviction that metastasizes as trust. Trust without certainty is a pretty good definition of faith, because conviction-become-trust is what allows us to risk action in the presence of doubt. And sharing our journeys and convictions helps us confront uncertainty and move past it.

That’s point of having these Conversations, and the questions and comments this Sunday went far beyond the Red Letter material to issues that stand right at the heart of the Christian faith tradition. We barely scratched the surface, so we will repeat the same format next Sunday, and see how deep the rabbit hole goes.

Dave Brisbin 2.26.23
I’ve spent the past twenty-five years trying to understand, live, and teach the message of Jesus from an Eastern, Hebrew perspective. Unfortunately not always in that order—it’s still a work in progress that has created reactions ranging from relief to consternation to outright hostility, which has always amazed me considering the heart of the matter of Jesus’ message that I have been trying to convey.

Can I be certain that the reconstruction of Jesus’ Aramaic message I’ve been teaching is “right?” Matches Jesus’ original intent? Of course not. And neither can anyone else. But a growing chorus of scholars are leading in this direction, and more importantly, in any language, any time, Jesus is all about love. That much is obvious. Not a fuzzy, sentimental love, but a love that is absolute, muscular, will take us to shocking places if we are willing to follow to its radical conclusion.

The heart of the matter for Jesus is that if God is love, and that love is perfectly indiscriminate, falling on everyone equally, then it can never be even a little bit performance-based. You can’t be a little bit pregnant: if there remains the tiniest bit of performance-based thinking, that we need to earn the right to God’s love, we will always be wondering if we have, always living in the fear that we are ultimately alone. Jesus’ descending way is the only way to the Father because it produces the experience of the truth that makes us free…of the wondering.

The sum of our life experience creates unconscious beliefs that take us one of two directions: to deeply believe that we are worthy of connection and love or not—on a sliding scale of course. But whatever side of that divide our beliefs fall determine whether we can afford the risk of becoming vulnerable enough to live connected to others and ultimately God. And that is the heart of the matter. To engage the only way, the descent that strips off the sum of all our beliefs, unconscious and conscious, so we can again see the truth: we are already worthy and in possession of all the acceptance and connection, the love that we haven’t earned. And never could.

Dave Brisbin 2.19.23
If you had a private audience with the Pope—or insert your most revered religious figure here—what would you say? Is there a question you always wanted to ask, felt their perspective would be unique? Now what if you had a private moment with Jesus? All his attention fixed on you alone. How would you use that time? What would you want to know? Could you boil it all down to one burning question?

Both Nicodemus and the Samaritan woman had just such a moment with Jesus. Nicodemus comes by night to avoid being seen. The Samaritan woman comes to the well at noon, the hottest part of the day, to avoid seeing others. Fear and shame conspire to place them completely alone with Jesus for a precious moment. The gospels don’t record their initial questions, but there is a third questioner who we can imagine speaks for them. And for us. What must I do to obtain eternal life? The rich, young ruler is asking Jesus for life that is eternally alive, fresh, fulfilling, abundant in meaning and purpose. Isn’t that the question? The one you would ask as well?

Each of these three questioners has an identity, a goal, and a compulsion that drive them, as do we. Nicodemus is a teacher of Israel, his goal is knowledge, and his compulsion is clarity. The young man is a person of authority whose goal is having a foolproof plan, and his compulsion is control. The woman is a Samaritan whose goal is connection, but her compulsion is codependence, that any relationship is better than none. Jesus can’t answer their questions until their underlying compulsions are cleared. Clarity, control, codependence. Their compulsive solutions to life are the evergreen problem, blockages to eternal life.

Carl Jung said that until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life, and you will call it fate. Our compulsions are not conscious, but they ensure our conscious questions will always miss the point. Jesus never answers such questions, but redirects us to begin making the unconscious conscious, to drop or sell what blocks our view of the truth that is always the answer we seek—regardless of the question our compulsions direct us to ask.