The Theology of a Cadaver?

In my capacity as a Chaplain for the Seminole County Fire Department, it’s often a privilege to be present when personnel are training, honing the skills they need for any given call and emergency. Such training can include everything from hose and hydrant drills to high angle rescue, to medic emergency procedures. For paramedic practices, various dummies have been manufactured to help train personnel for protocols in CPR and airway intubation, and everything in between. These synthetic dummies, however, cannot replace the value of practice on the “real thing”: the human body.

This presents a challenge for designing training. How much of that can be practiced on a live volunteer? People might willingly be dragged across smooth floor, lifted into a rescue basket, or have their “broken” leg splinted, but they won’t agree to be intubated (airway tube), shocked (AED) or have someone practice drilling into their bones. For those later exercises, willing people have willed that their bodies be donated to science; and for purposes of the medic training, that resulted in the “Cadaver Lab.”

As chaplain, such moments make me question just how much of the fire department’s training do I really want to attend. On the surface, it seemed unwise, but brave the Cadaver Lab I did, and I’m now grateful to have been included. What’s more? I think that such training resources like the Cadaver Lab need to be incorporated into a theology of the body that permeates Christianity.

I’d like to offer a different take on the concept taught among Christians that comes from the book of 1st Corinthians. “Or do you not know that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have from God, and you are not your own? For you were bought at a price. Therefore glorify God with your body” (1 Cor. 6:19-20, NET). The context of this statement was the Apostle Paul’s admonition for the reader to abstain from sexual immorality, arguing that there’s no such thing as a “victimless crime;” that sexual sins violate the mandate of your design, and the intent of your body’s rightful owner…God.

This concept of the body as “God’s temple” has, in some circles, been expanded to prohibit other vices indulged with the body as well (i.e. gluttony, drunkenness, and some have gone on to apply to it smoking as well). In any event, the “body as God’s temple” concept has been applied to encourage abstinence; abstaining from sexual sins or any other vice that debases one’s own body from its intended dignity and purpose. This is a good and right message, and one sorely needed in a culture that indulges every appetite and whim.

The discipline of abstaining, however, is only half the message. Studying the spiritual disciplines intended for Lent (the penitential season that precedes Easter in the Christian calendar) will lead you to authors such as Richard Foster and Dallas Willard, who have written about both the abstaining AND engaging disciplines. Abstaining disciplines offer categories of things to DON’T do, while engaging disciplines point toward things to DO. On the one hand, examples of abstaining disciplines are things like fasting, silence, solitude, and frugality. On the other hand, examples of engaging disciplines include things like generosity, fellowship, or study. Some will think that this is a stretch, but I think the complementary categories of abstaining and engaging disciplines also can be applied to the “body as God’s temple” concept.

If there are things to NOT do with “God’s temple,” surely there are things to DO with God’s temple as well. This seems to me an important teaching that, while lacking a clear Bible verse as its referent, permeates the Christian notion of service. The manner in which you serve the purposes of God are all done in the body. In other words, every way you serve God you do so with “God’s temple.” When you show appropriate affection to a loved one, you assure them of their value using “God’s temple.” When you carry a heavy load for someone moving boxes, you serve them with “God’s temple.” Likewise, when you give blood in times of need, you offer life-giving assistance using “God’s temple.”

Imagine offering, in your last will and testament, “God’s temple” for the furtherance of life-saving knowledge for firefighters, paramedics and nurses in training. That is what these people did who gave their bodies for the Cadaver Lab. The instructor took a moment of silence at the beginning of the class to honor those that had donated their bodies for the lab, which I found to be an appropriate and fitting homage. It seemed to me, though, that a Christian perspective can go even further.

As with an organ donor, upon death the body is donated to give life. As for things to DO with “God’s temple” (as opposed to things NOT to do), I can think of few more praiseworthy uses for “God’s temple.” Were any of the people, whose body helped to teach medic procedures, Christians? I have no idea, and it holds no bearing on the nobility of their choice. I do think, however, that Christians, having been taught the “body as God’s temple” concept, should be particularly open to such final acts of service. As one’s final choice with what to do with their body, surely advancing knowledge and giving life should be high on the list of things to do with “the temple of the Holy Spirit.”

Why I race...

As someone that is not an "athlete," doing things considered very athletic would seem out of the norm. Oh yes, I've had hobbies that have taken me outside into the mountains. I've enjoyed mountaineering (when I lived near mountains), which included hiking, rock climbing and camping (often in the snow). Many considered this exceptional, but it was not "athletic" as much as it was adventurous. I've enjoyed swimming all my life, riding bicycles and just about anything else that was a fun and rigorous activity that took me out into nature (including skiing and kayaking). These also, though indicative of an "active lifestyle, " do not make one an "athlete." I've known many that are serious athletes, and I've revered them for their discipline, their drive, focus and the results of being able to perform such incredible physical feats.

So then, the decision to engage in such an "athletic" enterprise as the Spartan Race is seemingly a step up from dabbling in just being an "active person." After all, there are plenty of fun opportunities, in the marketplace of activities now, to merely get muddy while trampling along a trail with friends headed to the beer-flowing party at the end. Why the decision to test myself with a race that, though also fun, enjoyable and "family friendly," is also a seriously athletic event that requires significant training in advance? Why engage in a race that required lifestyle changes and discipline I had not previously maintained? Why voluntarily sign up for something that mandated so much transformation?

Spartan Race offers a wide variety of races to participate in...

 

The Spartan "Sprint" is a race billed as "3+ miles with 15+ obstacles." The "+" is an important caveat because each course is custom designed. Thus, the "+" could mean a few more miles AND many more obstacles. You never know what you're going to get (*says in Forrest Gump voice*).

The "Super" Spartan is advertised as "8+ miles with 20+ obstacles," and the Spartan "Beast" being "12+ miles with 25+ obstacles." The Sprint is an athletic event in itself, but is also designed to be the most accessible of their races, wherein a person could enter who had never gotten off the couch before. The Super is where it starts requiring some training in advance in order to have an enjoyable experience, rather than a miserable one. The Beast is a half-marathon in length, but the inclusion of the obstacles make it, according to the testimony of some athletes, more difficult than a normal marathon (which I have never considered trying). As seen from the graphic above, the events that Spartan Race conducts go well beyond the Beast. Nevertheless, to set a goal for achieving the "Trifecta" (completing the first three - Sprint, Super and Beast - in a calendar year), is by far a more athletic pursuit that I have ever considered before...

...yet that is exactly what I am attempting in 2014 (the Spartan Beast is on November 1st)!

Spartan Race (and admittedly other race companies has risen up attempting to duplicate this function) has provided an activity that challenges many to push themselves beyond where they have been before. However, I have found, along with multitudes of others, that these races are indicated of more than merely physical struggles. They wind up being a physical, athletic analogy of other "obstacles" in life that must be overcome as well. 

The opening line of their promotion video is "Could a race change your life?" One might not think so, but an unexpected internal event occurs on the course. Suddenly what started out as a fun idea for the day turns into a test of will, and a nexus of mental, spiritual and emotional struggles. It demonstrates the folly of the ancient gnostic heresy that sought to separate body and spirit (it lingers on today in many forms). We are integrated complexities of matter and energy that cannot be separated even at death (thus the Christian doctrine of resurrection). Disciplines of the body cannot help but have a corresponding affect on the soul. The religious practice of fasting is an example of this. Several Biblical passages either elude to this or downright proclaim the connection.  The apostle Paul says "Instead I subdue my body and make it my slave, so that after preaching to others I myself will not be disqualified" (1 Cor 9:27). The classic spiritual disciplines have all had this as their motive. Training of the soul via discipline of the body. The connection is inescapable. Does this mean that all who discipline the body are spiritual growing? Not at all. But the connection is such that seldom do people find internal development that was not manifested externally also.

Classic spiritual disciplines have included both abstaining and engaging disciplines; meaning that one either abstains from an activity as their discipline (fasting), or engages in an activity (study/meditation) as their regimen. In most cases, it's a choice that involves activities of the body, and comprises actions of will, speech, choice, appetite, rigor and difficulty. Many perform these spiritual disciplines with full expectation that they will be changed as a result of it.

"Could a race change your life?" Those that understand and appreciate spiritual disciplines would answer in the resoundingly affirmative. For in training for the race, decisions are made regarding schedule, exercise and motivation that disciplines life and brings it into an order that might not have otherwise occurred. Encouragement and accountability is sought from other racers to prepare well and plan to gather for the event. The race itself brings all of this together, serving as a living analogy for struggles and trials faced in other categories of life.

Why do I race? Because of all of the other aspects of life that benefit from the decision to struggle and emerge. Because the discipline of it that hones the senses and sharpens the spirit. Because of the camaraderie among those racing for the same reasons. Because of the spontaneous moments of community evident on the course when people help and encourage each other. Because of the accomplishment of attempting and achieving something out of the norm. Because even training for it develops a fitness level, with the accompanying positive health benefits, that seemed out of reach before now. Because I believe that, were the apostle Paul writing much of the New Testament today, he would have used these races as analogies to make his point in at least a few places (along with the other sports, gladiatorial and military analogies he used). Because the course is all a physical, spiritual and mental challenge all put together. Because being "Spartan" has taken on meaning that applies to myriad struggles off the course as well.

Certainly this is not why everyone does it, but it's why I race.

I Need to Go Hunting Again

Growing up, my father was much more of a hunting enthusiast than I was. Each year, just prior to deer season, he'd get "the fever," and his mind would begin racing on all the necessary preparations for hunting. On the other hand, I paid it very little attention until the day we left. For the most post, I found it a lot of unnecessary work to simply enjoy the outdoors and have more meat in our freezer. The whole experience seemed almost spoiled by having to lug around a heavy rifle, or having to paint my face camouflage colors for bowhunting season. My heart just wasn't into it. My father, however, was the consummate hunter, and ascribed profound importance to all aspects of it. As I look back to those years, I've come to appreciate what a "conductor of life lessons" it was that I simply didn't value at the time; not unlike how different metals are often shown to be a better conductor of sound or heat than others are.

When the term "hunting" is invoked, it often brings one thing to mind: killing. However, the actually slaying of an animal in the wild is a small minority of the entire process, and frequently is absent from the outing altogether (I went on SO many hunts and came back with nothing). But regarding the killing of big game, I don't begrudge people their aversion to performing this act. It's not for everyone. I do, however, think that those who are "anti-hunting" should also be vegetarians for consistency's sake; for every human carnivore, whether eating a fast food burger or jerky made from a proud Mule deer, is consuming a creature which as once alive, but was slain for their sustenance. Nevertheless, I've come to consider it an important virtue to participate in the ecosystem as a responsible hunter does. Note how the term "responsible" excludes poachers that ignore government regulations concerning management of game populations, or, in my opinion, those that hunt game they have no intention of consuming. I disagree with exotic hunts that seek to "bag" a rare animal for mere trophy's sake. That's not being the "ecological participant" that my father taught me to be.

Having said that, the actual harvest of the animal (i.e. killing), is something that cannot be divorced from the mystique of hunting. The marksmanship necessary to ensure that the animal is, in fact, slain (not merely sent of into the woods wounded, to die providing no benefit to the human "predator") requires preparation that precedes the outing by weeks or months. The hunter must educate themselves on the various regulations specific to the region so that they are compliant with game management and (during rifle season) firearm safety laws in every way. They must outfit themselves with the needed gear and accessories for the safety and comfort of their party. In my case, my father saw to my care and comfort, all the while teaching me to be more self-reliant through the process. I cannot speak for all hunters, but I was imbued with a striking appreciation for nature through this process; it's beauty, artistry and fragility. "Pick up after yourself," "police your brass," "minimal residual impact" were the frequent commands. Woodsmanship and ecological responsibility were the lessons and the wilderness was the classroom... and "class" was ALWAYS in session whether or not we saw any deer.

I remember killing my first buck. I was young. I fired three accurate shots that all contributed to the deer's quick expiration. It appeared to suffer as little as possible - if at all. This was important to me. As we approached the downed animal, my father began giving me instructions on how to "gut" it right then. Thoroughly grossed out, I resisted, hoping my dad would just do it for me. He became indignant that I might even think of slaying an animal this majestic and then seek to escape taking responsibility for the entire process. "No son of MINE is going to cheapen life that way by just killing an animal, but then not cleaning it too." Needless to say, I learned everything about the insides of a Black-tailed deer that morning. It was a messy and sobering ritual that had begun months before at the target range, and would later culminate with the integration of venison into family meals. At dinner, whenever some on my deer was included, the round of thanks for providing it was uniquely mine to receive. It was profound. That connection with not only the animal, but with the entire process, would wash over me anew with each successive morsel. Something primitive and timeless had been handed to me, and the singular pride that came from engaging it remains to this day.

Over the years, as I no longer lived near my father, hunting became less and less a personal pursuit. Eventually I sold my deer rifle to pay for college books, and seemed to lose all interest in perform all that work. I eventually got another buck again 20 years after the first one during another outing, of course, with my father (I've gotten just two in my lifetime). Even then, though, I was more pleased that my dad was pleased with my buck than I was elated for getting it. I'm just not a hunter as a matter of instinct.

Recently though, I've been thinking differently about it. Because the entire process, from sighting in your rifle at the range to enjoying your harvest at the dinner table, is seemingly such a powerful conductor of life lessons... I've felt like I should pursue it for my sons' sake, and for mine. The task is daunting. Re-acquiring the "tools" necessary to undertake this venture are varied and expensive (i.e. firearms, bullets [or bows and arrows], camping gear, licenses, deer tags, etc.). Learning and selecting the places to hunt is no small task either. I don't live in the same region I grew up in. Texas hunting is a very different "animal" (pun intended) from that of northern California. It's intimidating to be so unfamiliar with local customs and access areas for hunting... to say nothing of the expense of actually taking the trip. All of this could be an effective deterrent from attempting it at all, but the lessons conveyed from one generation to the next through hunting were so important as to make all the trouble seem necessary and valuable.

I'll keep learning what I need to and perhaps I may soon be out there with my boys, teaching them some of what my father taught me.

On the Mixture of Kung Fu and Church service

"Better to sweep the floors of the Temple than to seek one's fame and gain outside of it."

This was a common saying in the martial arts system I trained under. It's possible we romanticized the life the old Shaolin monk in the 2nd Fukien Temple, and perhaps even took at face value more than we should stories of the lifestyle of Shaolin Priests sent out into the countryside; but I figure that the old legends must have an antecedent of truth to them. These stories and legends helped us to maintain the right attitude on the Temple, and to think about our training and our responsibilities with the right frame of mind. The legends and legacies, many of which have been since supported in both popular magazines and reputable journals about martial arts, helped us think about service to our students and community, about humility in the face of authority, the passion with which we should pursue our students' growth and the reverence one should show to the history and contribution of those who have come before you.

In the Temple we started with a little "bow in" procedure that acknowledged both the past masters that had developed the Art and kept is alive throughout the ages, and also acknowledged Grand Master Simon for bringing it to us today. It was not necessarily declaring our Grand Master as superior to all other teachers in the world, but a martial artist is nothing without respect for his teacher. That respect remains with them throughout their training in the temple, and became part of their strength when they left the temple to go out and take justice and their teaching out into the world. As a result, the training lifestyle of the Shaolin priest maintains his ability to serve those around him, and keeps his skills honed for instruction as well. The priest has entered a life of service, continually training so that service does not dwindle from him.

The parallels to service in the Church are astounding. So much so that I have found that most of my old principles and ideals for serving and training in the Temple fit seamlessly with serving in the Church. When I don the vestments for a Sunday morning, it might as well be the flowing uniforms we trained in. When in the sanctuary, I have every instinct to bow when I enter or exit just like in the Temple. The Cross I carry seems well weighted like a kwan dao. Orthodoxy feels like loyalty to the "past masters." Apostolic succession of the Bishop seems reminiscent of the importance we gave to tracing the line of one's master, though a succession of masters, back to the early Temple, as a manner of claiming fidelity to the Art and the master's that have come before. I was once told that if I looked at the Church through the same lens that I looked at the Art, I'd be in a liturgical context - most likely Anglican. Well, indeed that is exactly where I am.

I considered all of this as I trained my old forms today in the backyard. In light of the clear comparisons that can be drawn, I could not help but think of my kung fu as a exercise of in service of the Church now. Each movement, every leap and strike seemed like practice for skills that Church puts to use for servicing the Lord and the community. Blurring the line between Art and Church even further, "kung fu" is often a euphemism for "excellent work." There's a "kung fu" of poetry, of architecture, of writing, of reviewing accounting statements or working on cars. Yes, there can be also a "kung fu" of liturgy and service in the Church. Thus, kung fu in my back yard now feels like a living analogy of my "kung fu" of church service. If I ever have the opportunity to teach kung fu in the church again, the combination will feel so very complete. The mixture of kung fu and church service is a joy, especially when I feel like one flows into the other without any effort at all.