If I had to characterize the past few months I would have to say they've been defined by the gradual renewal of a tentative trust. That trust is a fragile thing, I'll admit. I don't know how well it would hold up in the face of a big blow, but at least there is a trust there and steps are being taken forward.
Time and distance from the painful events that sparked this journey have helped to ease the anger and pain, and they've given me the opportunity to see how God's hand was in it all and how His purpose was guiding and driving even the most painful things that seemed like they would capsize me. I've been rather amazed to see how He's taken "that which was meant for evil" (or rather that which looked like disaster) and turn it into the catalyst for a much greater blessing or provision. And as I've seen Him do so, my broken trust is slowly beginning to reach out it's fearful hand toward Him and hope that I can find refuge.
Along with that trust is coming a desire to get to know Him again. It's hard, though. There's a fragility inside me that shrinks away from my traditional background. Those truths seem so very harsh, and I fear getting too close to them because they might shatter me. I even tried going back to church but found I wasn't quite ready. In truth, I started to panic and left the building before the service even started. Who ever thought I would be afraid to go to church? LOL. Oddly enough, I'm not afraid of God. I'm just terrified of His people and their institutions. And while many of my beliefs have changed or been "tweaked", so much of that foundation has remained rock solid. I question the things that don't resonate with me, I wrestle with the teachings that seem harsh to my heart, but the fundamental core has remained unshaken. I still believe in God. I still believe in Jesus, and I believe in His teachings, even though I may wrestle with the teachings of His followers. I have no doubt whatsoever in Jesus as my Savior. I know I'm a sinner, and I know it is His sacrifice, His love, that will save me from myself and make me into the woman He created me to be. My "theology" is, for the most part, pretty much the same. Being open to hear others hasn't turned me into a melting pot for any and every belief that appeals to me. That's rather reassuring. I feel as though He has held onto me. And I'm starting to feel Him calling me back, though back to what I'm not sure. So perhaps "Hosea" will come after "Gomer" after all, and it will be very interesting to see what their relationship looks like in the end. Certainly nothing like what it was, but perhaps more real, more true, more interconnected and more intimate. Perhaps more fulfilling. Perhaps what it always should have been. Perhaps.
I revisited "The Shack" a few weeks ago and felt that He said something to me. In the main character's first interaction with God, Sarayu (the Holy Spirit character) brushes his tears into a little bottle, telling him that everyone collects things they value, and she values tears. I've always loved that imagery from the Old Testament, God keeping our tears in a bottle. And I felt in my heart that he said to me, "Your pain matters to me." Even now, that simple sentence makes my eyes tear up. My pain, however small and however large, matters to Him. My brokenness, carried so deeply for so many years, matters to Him. And He understands why I left. He understands why I couldn't go on in that way anymore, desperately trying to salvage my sinking boat by tossing out buckets of water.
So here we are. Moving forward. It's probably pretty laughable if you could see it in a spiritual sense - my tentative, fearful steps and His gentle coaxing. What is there to be afraid of? And yet I'm afraid. But the trust has been reestablished, even if only a little. And little by little, I'm taking baby steps back toward my God.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Friday, November 20, 2009
Trying to Find "Happy"
I’ve been wrestling lately with the idea of happiness, since happiness seems to be rather elusive for me. There are those who say I’m negative, and to a degree they are right, though it’s rather rude and hurtful of them to state so with such bluntness and so little feeling. I think it’s pretty commonly accepted that some of us are naturally predisposed to see the depressing while others are naturally predisposed toward the hopeful. How much of that is genetic or environmental conditioning I don’t know. Regardless of the source, I’m naturally predisposed toward the depressing. I’m not sure if that predisposition can be changed so that one’s permanent setting is always on the bright side (How pleasant!), but I do believe that even if the internal settings can’t be changed – and perhaps they can – with hard work you can force yourself to make it a habit to look on the bright side and focus on it, whether the habit comes naturally or not.
Um… hardest thing ever!
There are a myriad of factors that pop into my head, though, when I start to explore the idea of happiness. Is it possible to be happy, for instance, when the deepest longings of your heart go unsatisfied year after year – starvation of the soul rather than the body? How do you find happy when the life you live is nothing like the life you long for and you can no longer feel any real sense of hope that you will ever find what you long for? When my best friend and her husband struggled with infertility for years and lived with a pain that eventually began to overshadow everything else, how were they supposed to find happy? You can find peace or acceptance, but can you find happy? I’m not sure. The reason I ask is because I feel as though I’m drowning in sadness right now. Again. Story of my fucking life.
Taken in account, I have much to be thankful for in my life, and because of the work I do I’m reminded on a daily basis how fortunate I am and how happy I should be when compared to the trials of others: people struggling with diseases, poverty, abuse, great loss. Compared to many, if not most, in the world, my little longings are meaningless. But saying that hurts because it trivializes a pain that is all too real, and my reality is that the starvation of the soul can ravage one as deeply as the starvation of the body. It can change a person and make them unkind in ways they hate. It can twist you into something ugly so that you feel resentment toward those who “have it easy” or “get everything they want” and especially those who get what you want, even if the way they get it isn’t how you would want to.
That’s how the ugly is coming out of me right now. I can’t find it in myself to be happy for people who get what I want. Not everyone, of course, but there are a handful of people in my life that I’d just as soon shut the door on and never speak to again. The thought of them induces eye rolling and a strong desire to yell, “Fuck you! Leave me the fuck alone!” Ugly, I know. Try knowing that is inside you. You can start to hate yourself for it. The crazy thing is that at least two of the people I feel this way about are people I haven’t seen in a couple of years and with whom I have minimal contact. Neither has committed any serious wrong toward me, but I am angry at them for nothing more than the fact that they got what I want, they get to be happy and I don’t.
Seriously, maybe I should go find myself a cabin in the woods somewhere so that my venom won’t hurt anyone. Jealousy is a horrible thing to carry. I hate that I feel that way. I think it makes me a horrible person, though my best friend, who bears the dubious honor of hearing my most honest confessions, assures me that I’m merely human. But how awful to feel things that you detest feeling and not be able to stop feeling them.
I know that those feelings are the natural result of deep pain. Even kind intent seems like a threat to a wounded animal when it’s cornered, and this wound has been bleeding out for years.
The thing is this: I want to be happy, and I wonder if it’s possible. If I could change my circumstances, I would. I can’t though. I’ve tried. There are some things that are simply beyond your control. I can leave myself open to opportunity and can even seek out opportunity, but I can’t force opportunity to find me. If I could, I would. So what do I do? I don’t want that to doom me to a life of despair and longing. Shoot me now because it’s just not worth continuing if that’s all there is ahead.
One solution is to focus my attention on other things. I’ve done it often enough in the past, but it never fixes the problem, and even as I invest myself elsewhere, I’m aware of the ONE BIG THING that’s still starving inside like a giant elephant in the room that no one wants to acknowledge, its mouth duck-taped shut to ensure it doesn’t bother anyone with its demands. You can refocus, but the elephant is always there.
You can fake it, but who wants to do that.
You can “choose” happiness, as some people say, but that’s never made all that much sense to me. I guess that means choosing to be thankful and choosing to focus on all the things that are good in your life. I’m working on it. I really am. I’m trying to remember every day that, despite the pain, my life overall is moving in a progressively better direction than it was even six months ago, that not every dream is beyond my reach, even though those that mean the most seem to be. But I’ll be honest, that seems like more of a stop-gap measure or a survival technique. It gets you through, but it’s not happiness. And what I want is not more survival or distractions or a few more stop-gaps. I want the war to be over, the pain to be finished and that elusive little bluebird of happiness to build a big, fat nest on my shoulder and never fly again.
Um… hardest thing ever!
There are a myriad of factors that pop into my head, though, when I start to explore the idea of happiness. Is it possible to be happy, for instance, when the deepest longings of your heart go unsatisfied year after year – starvation of the soul rather than the body? How do you find happy when the life you live is nothing like the life you long for and you can no longer feel any real sense of hope that you will ever find what you long for? When my best friend and her husband struggled with infertility for years and lived with a pain that eventually began to overshadow everything else, how were they supposed to find happy? You can find peace or acceptance, but can you find happy? I’m not sure. The reason I ask is because I feel as though I’m drowning in sadness right now. Again. Story of my fucking life.
Taken in account, I have much to be thankful for in my life, and because of the work I do I’m reminded on a daily basis how fortunate I am and how happy I should be when compared to the trials of others: people struggling with diseases, poverty, abuse, great loss. Compared to many, if not most, in the world, my little longings are meaningless. But saying that hurts because it trivializes a pain that is all too real, and my reality is that the starvation of the soul can ravage one as deeply as the starvation of the body. It can change a person and make them unkind in ways they hate. It can twist you into something ugly so that you feel resentment toward those who “have it easy” or “get everything they want” and especially those who get what you want, even if the way they get it isn’t how you would want to.
That’s how the ugly is coming out of me right now. I can’t find it in myself to be happy for people who get what I want. Not everyone, of course, but there are a handful of people in my life that I’d just as soon shut the door on and never speak to again. The thought of them induces eye rolling and a strong desire to yell, “Fuck you! Leave me the fuck alone!” Ugly, I know. Try knowing that is inside you. You can start to hate yourself for it. The crazy thing is that at least two of the people I feel this way about are people I haven’t seen in a couple of years and with whom I have minimal contact. Neither has committed any serious wrong toward me, but I am angry at them for nothing more than the fact that they got what I want, they get to be happy and I don’t.
Seriously, maybe I should go find myself a cabin in the woods somewhere so that my venom won’t hurt anyone. Jealousy is a horrible thing to carry. I hate that I feel that way. I think it makes me a horrible person, though my best friend, who bears the dubious honor of hearing my most honest confessions, assures me that I’m merely human. But how awful to feel things that you detest feeling and not be able to stop feeling them.
I know that those feelings are the natural result of deep pain. Even kind intent seems like a threat to a wounded animal when it’s cornered, and this wound has been bleeding out for years.
The thing is this: I want to be happy, and I wonder if it’s possible. If I could change my circumstances, I would. I can’t though. I’ve tried. There are some things that are simply beyond your control. I can leave myself open to opportunity and can even seek out opportunity, but I can’t force opportunity to find me. If I could, I would. So what do I do? I don’t want that to doom me to a life of despair and longing. Shoot me now because it’s just not worth continuing if that’s all there is ahead.
One solution is to focus my attention on other things. I’ve done it often enough in the past, but it never fixes the problem, and even as I invest myself elsewhere, I’m aware of the ONE BIG THING that’s still starving inside like a giant elephant in the room that no one wants to acknowledge, its mouth duck-taped shut to ensure it doesn’t bother anyone with its demands. You can refocus, but the elephant is always there.
You can fake it, but who wants to do that.
You can “choose” happiness, as some people say, but that’s never made all that much sense to me. I guess that means choosing to be thankful and choosing to focus on all the things that are good in your life. I’m working on it. I really am. I’m trying to remember every day that, despite the pain, my life overall is moving in a progressively better direction than it was even six months ago, that not every dream is beyond my reach, even though those that mean the most seem to be. But I’ll be honest, that seems like more of a stop-gap measure or a survival technique. It gets you through, but it’s not happiness. And what I want is not more survival or distractions or a few more stop-gaps. I want the war to be over, the pain to be finished and that elusive little bluebird of happiness to build a big, fat nest on my shoulder and never fly again.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Waking up Late
I’ve been reading a fun little mystery novel lately that’s been enjoyable, but no more. And then today during my lunch, I ran across a conversation between the “detective” priest and a nun that really resonated with me. Their conversation deals with how each of them came to dedicate their lives to the church as young adults. The nun, in particular, shares her personal journey as a young, devoted nun who eventually left the cloister to live in Seville, still keeping her vows and living her faith and not renouncing her order, but not living the typical nun’s life. As I read her story, something she said really resonated with me because it summed up so perfectly a core element of my personal spiritual journey to where I am now.
She says, “What can a nun do when she realizes, at age forty, that she’s still the same little girl dominated by her father? A child who, out of intense desire not to displease him, not to commit any sin, has committed the even greater sin of not really living her own life. Is it wise, or is it stupid and irresponsible, at eighteen, to renounce worldly love, and with it trust, surrender, sex? What is a woman to do when these feelings come too late?”
In her case, the father was her biological father, but in mine it was God as my Father. Now, of course, I don’t feel He ever “dominated” me, but the rest of what she says is spot on. Out of my intense desire not to displease Him, not to commit any sin, I committed the greater sin of not living my own life, of not daring to make a mistake and need His grace, of not spreading my wings and taking flight into the wonderful mystery of my truest dreams and passions. For so many years I tried so hard to be so good, and I never felt truly satisfied that my standards of “good” (which I also thought were His standards) had been met. Like her, I devoted myself while I was too young to really understand that I was renouncing my life. Not that I think renouncing one’s life for Jesus is a bad thing or a waste. But I think that, in my case at least, the life I renounced was more what I thought He wanted, not what He was actually looking for. And then as time went on and my devotion didn’t produce the wholeness I sought and my deeper passions started to surface, and my idea of what a meaningful life would look like began to really take shape, the reality of what I had found began to truly pale.
Let me put this in more concrete terms in the hope that it will make more sense. When I first dedicated my life, I knew in my heart that God had a special purpose for my life. I knew that I was “called” and created for something special. That part I still believe was from Him, and I don’t doubt that it’s still true. But back then, I was afraid of making a mistake or doing something wrong or exploring all that was around me, so I automatically assumed that the purpose I sensed was a call to full-time ministry, which in my mind, for a number of years, meant marrying a pastor, missionary or evangelist and serving faithfully by his side. As time went on, my understanding of ministry and the possible role I might have in it began to change. I was less focused on what my theoretical husband was called to do, though it wasn’t off my radar, and more aware of what my role might look like. However, I still saw us as working in a “full-time ministry” type of capacity. Wrapped up in all of this, of course, was my rigid sense of right and wrong, black and white. I lived a really good life and was constantly striving to live a better one. I didn’t do all the things good Christians weren’t supposed to do: swear, drink, have sex, smoke, do drugs, watch TV, fraternize with unbelievers, wear revealing clothes, indulge too much in thoughts about worldly pursuits, etc. I studied my Bible and read only Christian books and listened to nothing but praise and worship music. Even most regular Christian music was too frivolous. Only praise and worship would do. I had a calling and a destiny, and the only way to get there was too live an absolutely pure life, completely unsoiled by the filth of the world. How I expected to understand the needs of those I thought I was supposed to minister to, I don’t know. I certainly had no concept of the issues they were dealing with, but I just knew that the only way to be used of God was to be as unworldly as possible.
As I got into my late twenties, I started feeling a longing for adventure. I discovered a deep love of hiking, and as I continued to hike, I found a desire to be adventurous and explore my world. I also found that I really felt a drive to get to know “unbelievers” on a really deep, personal level. I wanted to be a part of their lives, helping them, strengthening them, being a true friend. And while all these new things were springing up in me, I was struggling with my own dissatisfaction and disillusionment, which I’ve shared about in the past. All that seeking and striving and longing and reaching had yielded a tiny fraction of the relationship I had longed to find with God. I was bone dry, empty, and losing hope. I realized I had spent most of my twenties waiting for God to jumpstart my life – the life I was convinced He wanted for me – and I was about to bump into thirty with nothing to show for any of it.
That’s when I started making mistakes and realizing that it was okay. I started feeling the undeniable internal demand to start living before it was too late. And I’m still trying to do that. I haven’t forsaken my God, though a lot of traditional folks would think so. I haven’t forgotten Him, and I haven’t stopped talking to Him. I still don’t want to displease Him, but I’m no longer so dominated by that desire that I don’t live my life. Some people would say that sounds like rebellion, and to them I’m sure it does, but honestly it’s more about being a child, free to grow and learn and make mistakes. Free to make choices and fall down and get up. Free to rethink the choices of youth and scrap the old assumptions that would have bound me in a destiny I’m not meant for. In so many ways I’m back at square one, but this time I get to start the game with the benefit of more knowledge. I still know there’s a meaning and purpose for my life. I still sense, even as I sit hemmed in by the three walls of my cubicle and sort through emails and go to meetings that I’m not meant for this. I’m meant for something more. My life wasn’t initiated with these barriers in mind. But this time, I will listen, and I will explore, and I will try new things, and hopefully I will do all of this without the burden of my old convictions that I know where I’m headed and what I’m supposed to do. And I may take some wrong paths. I may find that this avenue or that seemed right but turned out to be something that wasn’t the perfect fit. But at least I will try those roads before ruling them out, and I will live this life, not wrap it up in a neat little box where it will scream to be let out until I have quietly suffocated it.
Anyhow, didn’t mean to get into it all that much. I really just wanted to share the quote because it really resonated with me. LOL. But I’m long-winded so… Here’s to LIFE!
She says, “What can a nun do when she realizes, at age forty, that she’s still the same little girl dominated by her father? A child who, out of intense desire not to displease him, not to commit any sin, has committed the even greater sin of not really living her own life. Is it wise, or is it stupid and irresponsible, at eighteen, to renounce worldly love, and with it trust, surrender, sex? What is a woman to do when these feelings come too late?”
In her case, the father was her biological father, but in mine it was God as my Father. Now, of course, I don’t feel He ever “dominated” me, but the rest of what she says is spot on. Out of my intense desire not to displease Him, not to commit any sin, I committed the greater sin of not living my own life, of not daring to make a mistake and need His grace, of not spreading my wings and taking flight into the wonderful mystery of my truest dreams and passions. For so many years I tried so hard to be so good, and I never felt truly satisfied that my standards of “good” (which I also thought were His standards) had been met. Like her, I devoted myself while I was too young to really understand that I was renouncing my life. Not that I think renouncing one’s life for Jesus is a bad thing or a waste. But I think that, in my case at least, the life I renounced was more what I thought He wanted, not what He was actually looking for. And then as time went on and my devotion didn’t produce the wholeness I sought and my deeper passions started to surface, and my idea of what a meaningful life would look like began to really take shape, the reality of what I had found began to truly pale.
Let me put this in more concrete terms in the hope that it will make more sense. When I first dedicated my life, I knew in my heart that God had a special purpose for my life. I knew that I was “called” and created for something special. That part I still believe was from Him, and I don’t doubt that it’s still true. But back then, I was afraid of making a mistake or doing something wrong or exploring all that was around me, so I automatically assumed that the purpose I sensed was a call to full-time ministry, which in my mind, for a number of years, meant marrying a pastor, missionary or evangelist and serving faithfully by his side. As time went on, my understanding of ministry and the possible role I might have in it began to change. I was less focused on what my theoretical husband was called to do, though it wasn’t off my radar, and more aware of what my role might look like. However, I still saw us as working in a “full-time ministry” type of capacity. Wrapped up in all of this, of course, was my rigid sense of right and wrong, black and white. I lived a really good life and was constantly striving to live a better one. I didn’t do all the things good Christians weren’t supposed to do: swear, drink, have sex, smoke, do drugs, watch TV, fraternize with unbelievers, wear revealing clothes, indulge too much in thoughts about worldly pursuits, etc. I studied my Bible and read only Christian books and listened to nothing but praise and worship music. Even most regular Christian music was too frivolous. Only praise and worship would do. I had a calling and a destiny, and the only way to get there was too live an absolutely pure life, completely unsoiled by the filth of the world. How I expected to understand the needs of those I thought I was supposed to minister to, I don’t know. I certainly had no concept of the issues they were dealing with, but I just knew that the only way to be used of God was to be as unworldly as possible.
As I got into my late twenties, I started feeling a longing for adventure. I discovered a deep love of hiking, and as I continued to hike, I found a desire to be adventurous and explore my world. I also found that I really felt a drive to get to know “unbelievers” on a really deep, personal level. I wanted to be a part of their lives, helping them, strengthening them, being a true friend. And while all these new things were springing up in me, I was struggling with my own dissatisfaction and disillusionment, which I’ve shared about in the past. All that seeking and striving and longing and reaching had yielded a tiny fraction of the relationship I had longed to find with God. I was bone dry, empty, and losing hope. I realized I had spent most of my twenties waiting for God to jumpstart my life – the life I was convinced He wanted for me – and I was about to bump into thirty with nothing to show for any of it.
That’s when I started making mistakes and realizing that it was okay. I started feeling the undeniable internal demand to start living before it was too late. And I’m still trying to do that. I haven’t forsaken my God, though a lot of traditional folks would think so. I haven’t forgotten Him, and I haven’t stopped talking to Him. I still don’t want to displease Him, but I’m no longer so dominated by that desire that I don’t live my life. Some people would say that sounds like rebellion, and to them I’m sure it does, but honestly it’s more about being a child, free to grow and learn and make mistakes. Free to make choices and fall down and get up. Free to rethink the choices of youth and scrap the old assumptions that would have bound me in a destiny I’m not meant for. In so many ways I’m back at square one, but this time I get to start the game with the benefit of more knowledge. I still know there’s a meaning and purpose for my life. I still sense, even as I sit hemmed in by the three walls of my cubicle and sort through emails and go to meetings that I’m not meant for this. I’m meant for something more. My life wasn’t initiated with these barriers in mind. But this time, I will listen, and I will explore, and I will try new things, and hopefully I will do all of this without the burden of my old convictions that I know where I’m headed and what I’m supposed to do. And I may take some wrong paths. I may find that this avenue or that seemed right but turned out to be something that wasn’t the perfect fit. But at least I will try those roads before ruling them out, and I will live this life, not wrap it up in a neat little box where it will scream to be let out until I have quietly suffocated it.
Anyhow, didn’t mean to get into it all that much. I really just wanted to share the quote because it really resonated with me. LOL. But I’m long-winded so… Here’s to LIFE!
Monday, October 26, 2009
Embracing the Journey or Ignoring the Truth?
I’ve been giving some thought to a conversation I had with a couple good friends Saturday morning over breakfast. We touched on some issues that have real complexity for all true Christ followers. And when it comes to engaging these issues, Christ followers are all over the map.
One of the things I love about their church (I also consider it my church, though I haven’t been there in a long while. Really need to go back.) is the way it embraces people wherever they are in their journey of/toward faith. Perhaps in no way is this more evident than in the fact that the church has several homosexual couples who attend regularly. Most of the Fundy folks I know would be horrified at the thought that a church would allow homosexuals into the fellowship, which makes me wonder how much they really understand the heart and mission of Jesus. (Just my two cents, but shouldn't the church be seeking these people and bringing them in?) But I’m not here to throw stones. Frankly, I think it’s a beautiful and wonderful thing that these individuals, so long alienated by the universal church, have finally found a “hospital” that will treat them, along with all the other “patients” who have more spiritually acceptable “ailments.” What’s more amazing, though, is that this is a church with a pastor who doesn’t water down his message. When approached by one of these couples, he spoke kindly and honestly, telling them that the Bible calls homosexuality sinful, but that it also talks about a lot of other sins, so as far as he is concerned, they are welcome to join all the other sinners in the church to be ministered to. How beautiful!
I was surprised to hear, though, that a small minority of the people in the church object to the presence of these homosexuals. It’s not that they don’t want them to attend, or so I understand. It’s that these gay couples are still actively practicing homosexuality and, therefore, as these people see it, they shouldn’t be embraced as though they are living a holy life.
The situation raises some challenging questions, and both sides have valid points, making it tricky for me to strike a clearly defined balance. At what cost to truth do we embrace an individual’s spiritual journey? And at what cost to an individual’s spiritual journey do we demand compliance with black and white law? When you attempt to take both sides into account, it makes it really hard to come up with an honest answer.
On the one hand you have the Fundies, and if you’re going to take the Bible seriously you have to give their point of view the credit it deserves. Homosexuality isn’t something the Bible minces words about. It’s not a gray area. I can’t say that I fully understand that, because trying to understand why God doesn’t like the homosexual lifestyle is something I struggle with. But if you’re going to do business with the Bible, it’s there in black and white. On the other hand, you have the more liberal view: we’re all sinners of one kind or another, and not one of us lives a perfectly pure life, no matter how hard we may try. There are countless other sins of omission or commission: fornication, theft, dishonesty, gossip, gluttony, hatred, unforgiveness, a judgmental heart, selfishness. I could go on, but I’ve probably already hit on at least one sin that each my readers struggles with and/or fails at miserably. God makes it clear that sin is sin, no matter what kind of sin happens to be your personal favorite. As far as He’s concerned they’re all on the same level. So the more liberal argument goes that since we’re all sinners and we all live in sin in one way or another, why would we single out one group of sinners as worse or less deserving or less welcome at God’s table of vagabonds than the rest? We can’t and shouldn’t. And I absolutely agree with that.
In one respect, I think the issue comes down to one of the struggle, or lack thereof, to change. My guess is that the dissenters would not object to these homosexuals being embraced by the church if they were choosing to remain celibate. (I also wonder if they would be so concerned about someone living in ongoing sin if that person were, say, cheating on his taxes or perpetuating an ugly feud with his neighbor instead of being a homosexual. But that's another matter.) Not knowing who these individuals are and not having spoken with them, I can't say that is certainly the case, but that would be my guess. And again, there's something valid in that. The Bible does have something to say about allowing people to remain in fellowship who are choosing to continue living in willful sin. To put it gently, it doesn't endorse it. But I have to be honest and say that something deep inside me recoils fiercely at the thought of any Christ follower approaching these souls that are so dear to God and telling them not to come back. I'm sorry; I just can't see Jesus doing that. And for those of you out there who so love justice, I'll just point you to the literal example of Jesus and Judas. Jesus knew what Judas was up to the entire time he served in His ministry. Judas didn't start sinning when he betrayed Jesus. He'd been up to a whole lot of other nasty business all along, and it was no secret to Jesus. But He didn't kick him out. Just something to consider...
Here's where the concept of journey comes into play again. Truthfully, we all take a spiritual journey with God. I can't tell you how many times I've heard about God bringing something to someone's attention they weren't aware of or wrestling with their heart for many months or years over a particular issue they didn't want to change in. Does the fact that the He has to cultivate change in the heart over the long-term make someone any less His child? Hell no!
I wish I could find some kind of firm ground here. I know that proponents of both sides would say that firm ground should be clear and evident to me, but honestly it isn't. There is validity on both sides. I don't think that people can go around for years at a time doing whatever the hell they want or choosing to live in blatant sin and it should be okay, and I don't think the church should "endorse" behaviors that are spoken about in black and white in the Bible. But I also don't think they should be kicked out or treated like garbage or judged by other recovering sinners. I know the Fundies would probably condemn me to hell for saying it, but even in my most conservative days, some part of me really had a difficult time with Paul's teachings on how to deal with sinners in the fellowship. It's one of those things that God and I need to come to an understanding about because it sincerely bothers my heart.
So I'm torn. I wish I could side clearly with one group or another, or that I could come to a place where the ideal solution could be found that would take both sides into account, but that hasn't presented itself. Perhaps in time it will come, or perhaps the answer is simply that no answer is right in every situation. Perhaps each church and minister and Christ follower must seek God's heart and wisdom for each situation, remember that love must be central and judgment must be tempered by mercy.
One of the things I love about their church (I also consider it my church, though I haven’t been there in a long while. Really need to go back.) is the way it embraces people wherever they are in their journey of/toward faith. Perhaps in no way is this more evident than in the fact that the church has several homosexual couples who attend regularly. Most of the Fundy folks I know would be horrified at the thought that a church would allow homosexuals into the fellowship, which makes me wonder how much they really understand the heart and mission of Jesus. (Just my two cents, but shouldn't the church be seeking these people and bringing them in?) But I’m not here to throw stones. Frankly, I think it’s a beautiful and wonderful thing that these individuals, so long alienated by the universal church, have finally found a “hospital” that will treat them, along with all the other “patients” who have more spiritually acceptable “ailments.” What’s more amazing, though, is that this is a church with a pastor who doesn’t water down his message. When approached by one of these couples, he spoke kindly and honestly, telling them that the Bible calls homosexuality sinful, but that it also talks about a lot of other sins, so as far as he is concerned, they are welcome to join all the other sinners in the church to be ministered to. How beautiful!
I was surprised to hear, though, that a small minority of the people in the church object to the presence of these homosexuals. It’s not that they don’t want them to attend, or so I understand. It’s that these gay couples are still actively practicing homosexuality and, therefore, as these people see it, they shouldn’t be embraced as though they are living a holy life.
The situation raises some challenging questions, and both sides have valid points, making it tricky for me to strike a clearly defined balance. At what cost to truth do we embrace an individual’s spiritual journey? And at what cost to an individual’s spiritual journey do we demand compliance with black and white law? When you attempt to take both sides into account, it makes it really hard to come up with an honest answer.
On the one hand you have the Fundies, and if you’re going to take the Bible seriously you have to give their point of view the credit it deserves. Homosexuality isn’t something the Bible minces words about. It’s not a gray area. I can’t say that I fully understand that, because trying to understand why God doesn’t like the homosexual lifestyle is something I struggle with. But if you’re going to do business with the Bible, it’s there in black and white. On the other hand, you have the more liberal view: we’re all sinners of one kind or another, and not one of us lives a perfectly pure life, no matter how hard we may try. There are countless other sins of omission or commission: fornication, theft, dishonesty, gossip, gluttony, hatred, unforgiveness, a judgmental heart, selfishness. I could go on, but I’ve probably already hit on at least one sin that each my readers struggles with and/or fails at miserably. God makes it clear that sin is sin, no matter what kind of sin happens to be your personal favorite. As far as He’s concerned they’re all on the same level. So the more liberal argument goes that since we’re all sinners and we all live in sin in one way or another, why would we single out one group of sinners as worse or less deserving or less welcome at God’s table of vagabonds than the rest? We can’t and shouldn’t. And I absolutely agree with that.
In one respect, I think the issue comes down to one of the struggle, or lack thereof, to change. My guess is that the dissenters would not object to these homosexuals being embraced by the church if they were choosing to remain celibate. (I also wonder if they would be so concerned about someone living in ongoing sin if that person were, say, cheating on his taxes or perpetuating an ugly feud with his neighbor instead of being a homosexual. But that's another matter.) Not knowing who these individuals are and not having spoken with them, I can't say that is certainly the case, but that would be my guess. And again, there's something valid in that. The Bible does have something to say about allowing people to remain in fellowship who are choosing to continue living in willful sin. To put it gently, it doesn't endorse it. But I have to be honest and say that something deep inside me recoils fiercely at the thought of any Christ follower approaching these souls that are so dear to God and telling them not to come back. I'm sorry; I just can't see Jesus doing that. And for those of you out there who so love justice, I'll just point you to the literal example of Jesus and Judas. Jesus knew what Judas was up to the entire time he served in His ministry. Judas didn't start sinning when he betrayed Jesus. He'd been up to a whole lot of other nasty business all along, and it was no secret to Jesus. But He didn't kick him out. Just something to consider...
Here's where the concept of journey comes into play again. Truthfully, we all take a spiritual journey with God. I can't tell you how many times I've heard about God bringing something to someone's attention they weren't aware of or wrestling with their heart for many months or years over a particular issue they didn't want to change in. Does the fact that the He has to cultivate change in the heart over the long-term make someone any less His child? Hell no!
I wish I could find some kind of firm ground here. I know that proponents of both sides would say that firm ground should be clear and evident to me, but honestly it isn't. There is validity on both sides. I don't think that people can go around for years at a time doing whatever the hell they want or choosing to live in blatant sin and it should be okay, and I don't think the church should "endorse" behaviors that are spoken about in black and white in the Bible. But I also don't think they should be kicked out or treated like garbage or judged by other recovering sinners. I know the Fundies would probably condemn me to hell for saying it, but even in my most conservative days, some part of me really had a difficult time with Paul's teachings on how to deal with sinners in the fellowship. It's one of those things that God and I need to come to an understanding about because it sincerely bothers my heart.
So I'm torn. I wish I could side clearly with one group or another, or that I could come to a place where the ideal solution could be found that would take both sides into account, but that hasn't presented itself. Perhaps in time it will come, or perhaps the answer is simply that no answer is right in every situation. Perhaps each church and minister and Christ follower must seek God's heart and wisdom for each situation, remember that love must be central and judgment must be tempered by mercy.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Two Kinds of Blindness
Surprise! I'm back! You thought I wasn't ever going to write on this thing again, didn't you? Wait... where is everyone? LOL. I admit I have shamefully neglected this blog for a very long stretch of months, but... what can I say. Life is life. I'm just happy I was able to log back on. Almost didn't remember my password!
Having said that, I have some thoughts to share today, and they tie in to much of what I've said in previous postings. I can't promise I'll become a regular poster again, but I'm sensing another shift beginning to take place, which may mean my little fingers will be typing thoughts. I know this new shift is gonna take me toward God, but I don't yet know exactly what that's going to look like. I keep toying with the idea of going back to church. Still not quite ready yet, but I've had the opportunity in recent months to re-engage with some former friends of Fundy days who have gone through a similar transformation. I can't tell you how encouraging it is to be able to add names and faces to "the circle of trust" - people I can speak with honestly without fear of getting a sermon or an unwelcome dose of their "traditional" thoughts. I'll be able to listen to traditional thoughts again someday, but there's still some journeying to do before that. For now, it's a comfort to find fellow refugees to confide in and be transparent with.
ANYWAY... Blah, blah, blah. A thought occurred to me recently that I've rolled around in my head, intending to write on it but never actually doing so. Then it came up in a conversation I had last night with one of those fellow refugees, and I decided it was time to unpack it here. I've come to realize that there are two kinds of spiritual blindness in the world. One comes from living in the darkness. That's the obvious kind. The other kind is less obvious. It's the blindness that comes from living too close to the light. (Yes, my Fundy friends, there I go again! Haha. Apparently six months of blog inactivity haven't cured me of my horrid and heretical thoughts!) Seriously, though, give it some thought. What happens when you stare into the sun for too long? You go blind. What happens when someone turns on a light, even a faint light, in a completely dark room. Everyone squints, temporarily blinded by the brightness. The truth is, there can be just as much blindness in perfect, pure, bright light as there is in the blackest darkness.
It reminds me of something that happened in my favorite Narnia book, Voyage of the Dawn Treader. As the adventurers near the end of their journey and the eastern end of the world, the light around them becomes brighter on a daily basis, so much brighter, in fact, that the book says they have to drink the water they are sailing in, a type of liquid light, so that the light from the sun won't blind them. I've always found that to be an intriguing story element: as they journey nearer to the eastern edge of the world - the country of Aslan, who fills the role of the Christ-figure - they are in great danger of becoming blinded by the ever-increasing light. It's especially interesting because Aslan is most often written as the wild yet just yet deeply loving son of the Great King beyond the sea. You don't see a lot of him in the "bright and glorious holiness" manifestation. And that in itself is interesting, as though Lewis understood that we can't deal too much with that side of God while still entrenched in our human flesh. But I'm getting off point here: blinded by light. Ahem.
It's a fascinating concept to me, and it's one that is highly consistent with Biblical narrative. Paul was blinded by the glory of God. Moses had to be protected from the brightness of Him, unable to see but a small part of Him, and even that was almost too much. The Bible even says that God lives in "unapproachable light." Hmm. This light is generally attributed to be the physical manifestation of God's holiness, purity and glory - the part of His nature that is most foreign, and honestly most frightening, to most of us humans. If you must know, God's holiness is a facet of His nature I'd just as soon pretend isn't there. Not denying it exists. Not pretending I won't have to address it. Not saying I can truly know Him without coming to terms with that. I'm just not ready to deal with that part of Him yet, and I've told Him so. Honestly, I don't believe you can safely deal with His holiness, spiritually or emotionally, until you have a deep and personal understanding of His love and grace. Either it will scare the shit out of you or it will blind you to the point that you become a legalistic, self-righteous bastard. Probably shouldn't use those words when talking about the holiness of God, I know, but you get the point. And honestly, though the Bible certainly doesn't put it in the words I've used, I find it interesting that it acknowledges that the closer you get to the light of God's holiness, the more likely you are to be blinded by it.
There's a lot of this blindness in the church today. (You knew I was going to go there, didn't you.) It's an unintentional blindness, and ironically, it is often those who have the most light and who are, therefore, most blind, that are most blind to their own blindness. Haha. Are you confused yet? It certianly adds a whole new dimension to Jesus' teaching on the blind leading the blind, doesn't it? Those who are blinded by light trying to lead those who are blinded by darkness, and they both end up in a pit. I'm just sayin'.
My parents used to use a couple of phrases when I was growing up that resonate with this concept, though these phrases express it in different ways: "He can't see the forest for the trees" and "He's so spiritually minded, he's no earthly good." In many ways, these phrases described my sincere spirituality of more innocent days. Oddly enough, taking a few steps away from the blinding whiteness of the light has helped me to see far more clearly, even if it has cost me. Like many who are blinded by the light, I had no context with which I could even attempt to understand the issues, temptations and perspectives of people outside the church, and even, for that matter, liberal minds within the church. I had no mercy, compassion, or respect for the journey, even my own. I was missing the humble, cracked hands of a sweat-stained carpenter because I was so busy trying to pierce the brilliant veil of the Untouchable.
Now I realize that it sounds like I have no use for the holy. I know it must seem as though I'm endorsing a hedonistic embrace of the darkness, but that's not what I'm saying. Blindness in darkness is, quite possibly, even more to be dreaded than blindness in light. I'm simply saying that we, like the travelers in Lewis's Narnia, need to partake of something capable of mitigating those blinding effects, and that something is an ever deepening experience of God's love and grace. We need to recognize that so long as we move toward nothing but the light, we also move further away from those the light wants to shine on. And wasn't that the whole point of Jesus leaving His glory behind anyway - to join us in the darkness and shine that faint light that would draw us to ever greater light in the end? And that, perhaps, is my point in all this. So long as we are blinded by the light, so long as our lives are consumed in its unmitigated brightness, so long as we look on the world around us without the personal experience of love, compassion, grace and even failure, we will be useless - so heavenly minded we are no earthly good. But when tempered by these things, the light of God gets inside us, and instead of blinding us, it becomes illumination, both for us and those around us.
And by the way, this "blindness by light" I'm talking about can manifest itself in so many ways: legalism, isolationism, self-righteousness, lack of mercy, dogmatic views, disunity, a lack of teachability, and the list goes on. It's kind of scary how quickly you can lose true vision and perspective. And once again, it sounds like I don't like the light. Nothing could be further from the truth. Light is absolutely necessary. Without it, we are purposeless, lost, stuck, directionless. Without light, our destiny is too terrible to imagine. But we must understand, as we walk deeper into that light, that "the light shines in the darkness."
Having said that, I have some thoughts to share today, and they tie in to much of what I've said in previous postings. I can't promise I'll become a regular poster again, but I'm sensing another shift beginning to take place, which may mean my little fingers will be typing thoughts. I know this new shift is gonna take me toward God, but I don't yet know exactly what that's going to look like. I keep toying with the idea of going back to church. Still not quite ready yet, but I've had the opportunity in recent months to re-engage with some former friends of Fundy days who have gone through a similar transformation. I can't tell you how encouraging it is to be able to add names and faces to "the circle of trust" - people I can speak with honestly without fear of getting a sermon or an unwelcome dose of their "traditional" thoughts. I'll be able to listen to traditional thoughts again someday, but there's still some journeying to do before that. For now, it's a comfort to find fellow refugees to confide in and be transparent with.
ANYWAY... Blah, blah, blah. A thought occurred to me recently that I've rolled around in my head, intending to write on it but never actually doing so. Then it came up in a conversation I had last night with one of those fellow refugees, and I decided it was time to unpack it here. I've come to realize that there are two kinds of spiritual blindness in the world. One comes from living in the darkness. That's the obvious kind. The other kind is less obvious. It's the blindness that comes from living too close to the light. (Yes, my Fundy friends, there I go again! Haha. Apparently six months of blog inactivity haven't cured me of my horrid and heretical thoughts!) Seriously, though, give it some thought. What happens when you stare into the sun for too long? You go blind. What happens when someone turns on a light, even a faint light, in a completely dark room. Everyone squints, temporarily blinded by the brightness. The truth is, there can be just as much blindness in perfect, pure, bright light as there is in the blackest darkness.
It reminds me of something that happened in my favorite Narnia book, Voyage of the Dawn Treader. As the adventurers near the end of their journey and the eastern end of the world, the light around them becomes brighter on a daily basis, so much brighter, in fact, that the book says they have to drink the water they are sailing in, a type of liquid light, so that the light from the sun won't blind them. I've always found that to be an intriguing story element: as they journey nearer to the eastern edge of the world - the country of Aslan, who fills the role of the Christ-figure - they are in great danger of becoming blinded by the ever-increasing light. It's especially interesting because Aslan is most often written as the wild yet just yet deeply loving son of the Great King beyond the sea. You don't see a lot of him in the "bright and glorious holiness" manifestation. And that in itself is interesting, as though Lewis understood that we can't deal too much with that side of God while still entrenched in our human flesh. But I'm getting off point here: blinded by light. Ahem.
It's a fascinating concept to me, and it's one that is highly consistent with Biblical narrative. Paul was blinded by the glory of God. Moses had to be protected from the brightness of Him, unable to see but a small part of Him, and even that was almost too much. The Bible even says that God lives in "unapproachable light." Hmm. This light is generally attributed to be the physical manifestation of God's holiness, purity and glory - the part of His nature that is most foreign, and honestly most frightening, to most of us humans. If you must know, God's holiness is a facet of His nature I'd just as soon pretend isn't there. Not denying it exists. Not pretending I won't have to address it. Not saying I can truly know Him without coming to terms with that. I'm just not ready to deal with that part of Him yet, and I've told Him so. Honestly, I don't believe you can safely deal with His holiness, spiritually or emotionally, until you have a deep and personal understanding of His love and grace. Either it will scare the shit out of you or it will blind you to the point that you become a legalistic, self-righteous bastard. Probably shouldn't use those words when talking about the holiness of God, I know, but you get the point. And honestly, though the Bible certainly doesn't put it in the words I've used, I find it interesting that it acknowledges that the closer you get to the light of God's holiness, the more likely you are to be blinded by it.
There's a lot of this blindness in the church today. (You knew I was going to go there, didn't you.) It's an unintentional blindness, and ironically, it is often those who have the most light and who are, therefore, most blind, that are most blind to their own blindness. Haha. Are you confused yet? It certianly adds a whole new dimension to Jesus' teaching on the blind leading the blind, doesn't it? Those who are blinded by light trying to lead those who are blinded by darkness, and they both end up in a pit. I'm just sayin'.
My parents used to use a couple of phrases when I was growing up that resonate with this concept, though these phrases express it in different ways: "He can't see the forest for the trees" and "He's so spiritually minded, he's no earthly good." In many ways, these phrases described my sincere spirituality of more innocent days. Oddly enough, taking a few steps away from the blinding whiteness of the light has helped me to see far more clearly, even if it has cost me. Like many who are blinded by the light, I had no context with which I could even attempt to understand the issues, temptations and perspectives of people outside the church, and even, for that matter, liberal minds within the church. I had no mercy, compassion, or respect for the journey, even my own. I was missing the humble, cracked hands of a sweat-stained carpenter because I was so busy trying to pierce the brilliant veil of the Untouchable.
Now I realize that it sounds like I have no use for the holy. I know it must seem as though I'm endorsing a hedonistic embrace of the darkness, but that's not what I'm saying. Blindness in darkness is, quite possibly, even more to be dreaded than blindness in light. I'm simply saying that we, like the travelers in Lewis's Narnia, need to partake of something capable of mitigating those blinding effects, and that something is an ever deepening experience of God's love and grace. We need to recognize that so long as we move toward nothing but the light, we also move further away from those the light wants to shine on. And wasn't that the whole point of Jesus leaving His glory behind anyway - to join us in the darkness and shine that faint light that would draw us to ever greater light in the end? And that, perhaps, is my point in all this. So long as we are blinded by the light, so long as our lives are consumed in its unmitigated brightness, so long as we look on the world around us without the personal experience of love, compassion, grace and even failure, we will be useless - so heavenly minded we are no earthly good. But when tempered by these things, the light of God gets inside us, and instead of blinding us, it becomes illumination, both for us and those around us.
And by the way, this "blindness by light" I'm talking about can manifest itself in so many ways: legalism, isolationism, self-righteousness, lack of mercy, dogmatic views, disunity, a lack of teachability, and the list goes on. It's kind of scary how quickly you can lose true vision and perspective. And once again, it sounds like I don't like the light. Nothing could be further from the truth. Light is absolutely necessary. Without it, we are purposeless, lost, stuck, directionless. Without light, our destiny is too terrible to imagine. But we must understand, as we walk deeper into that light, that "the light shines in the darkness."
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Clipped Wings
A friend recently bought me a copy of the New York Times bestseller, "The Shack," by William Young. I'll just start this off by saying if you haven't read it, do yourself a favor and get your hands on a copy. It's some of the worst editing I've ever seen, but the story and the message and the way it speaks to the reader are so powerful that you quickly forget this. I'm not a big crier at any time, but I can't sit down to read this without my eyes getting teary and finding myself touched in some really deep places, which is why I'm writing today.
I don't want to give too much away, but in the story Mack (the main character) is invited to spend a weekend with God - face to face - in order to deal with some really painful wounds and losses he's been through that have impacted his ability to have relationship with God. From the moment Mack "meets" God, I found myself on constant tear alert. The warmth, exuberance, openness and acceptance with which he is greeted are utterly disarming, and I found myself envious, longing and wondering why God doesn't do this sort of thing for us in the real world. What a difference it would make in our lives, you know? But even as I felt these things, I also felt happy because I know that the picture this author has given about how God feels toward us is as close to truth as we can get.
As God and Mack start really digging into Mack's issues, God explains that we were created to be loved, and when we live as though we are unloved we become like birds whose wings have been clipped so they are unable to fly. That hit me so powerfully, and I began to wonder what my life would look like if I could come to the place where I could live as one who is loved by God. How might something so powerful change my relationships, my lifestyle, my career, my passions, my goals?
I think I'm halfway there with this, but I'm not finished with the journey, and if God and I can sort this out, I think it will be the answer to a lot of the raw pain and honest self-revelations I've written about in this blog. In all the years I waited on God to make me feel whole, I was really waiting to feel loved. And in saying that I want to make something very clear. I don't need someone to convince me that God loves me. I don't need someone to tell me God loves me. I don't even need to come to a place where I believe that God loves me. I'm already there. I already know it. I'm convinced to a point that is even, perhaps, beyond faith. I don't just believe it; I know it. There's a difference there. I had several encounters with God during my Fundy years that were incredibly powerful in that way, times when a love so big and rich and powerful wrapped itself around me without warning and I couldn't help but feel loved, like that love was so rich and powerful and absolute that it didn't just surround me; it permeated my very cells and the trillions of atoms that come together to form this body. I know how exaggerated that sounds, but it's absolutely true. I remember those moments, and the ones that were most powerful and had the most profound impact on me were not moments I had to search for, work for, or fight for. They were moments I stumbled into, like the time I drove around a corner on my way to church and was so overcome without warning that I nearly had to pull over, overwhelmed at the wave of love that hit me. Sounds crazy, I know, but it happened.
Here's where the problem came in... it didn't happen enough. That's why I never got to that place of feeling really complete or really whole or really loved. I needed something more frequent than every few months or once or twice a year. Maybe that sounds like a lot to expect or ask from God, but I don't think it is. I can't imagine having a husband or boyfriend who thought it was enough to say, "I love you," once or twice a year. That relationship would get unhealthy really quickly. I don't want to be with someone whose mentality is, "I told you I loved you last week. You shouldn't need to hear it every day to know it's true." But whether I should or not, I do. I don't want to merely live with the knowledge that my significant other loves me; I want to live with the reality, the experience. I want to be with someone who reminds me of his enthusiasm toward me every day, whether that be through his words, his touch, his affectionate nicknames, his expressed desire to spend time with me. I want him to reach out and touch the chord of my emotions with the intention of making me feel loved, treasured, and desired. And if I need and want this in a relationship that is merely human, how much more would I desire it from God? How much more deeply would I long for the One whose love I need the most to tell me every day in ways I can feel just how much I mean to Him? Just as I wouldn't want my husband to make love to me once a week - or worse, once a year - and expect me to be satisfied the rest of the time with knowing I was loved but not feeling loved, I don't want to go through life simply knowing that God loves me and waiting 18 months until the next time He chooses to reach back and surround me.
Perhaps that sounds unreasonable, and truthfully I'm not saying I need or expect a mind-blowing spiritual experience every day of my life. But some "routine maintenance" would be nice. I wouldn't need to have an uber-romantic encounter with my husband or boyfriend every day, but a touch or a hug in passing combined with the occasional use of an affectionate nickname or a request for a little focused conversation and an "I love you" would go a long way toward making me feel loved in the in-between times.
So back to the book... what would my life be like if that were happening with God, if He reached out every day to touch my emotions in some way small or large that said, "I love you. I treasure you. I'm so glad I created you. You are mine." I can't even begin to imagine. Having such an excess of love in your life would undoubtedly make you a more loving, patient, giving person with others. You wouldn't ever feel insecure. You'd never feel the need to prove yourself. You wouldn't have to prove to everyone else in the lifeboat that you were worthy of love, approval and praise, as Donald Miller writes about. You wouldn't worry about stuff because you would live in absolute security that it's all under control and will ultimately work out for the best. You'd be at peace, full of joy, unafraid. You would be free to fly because you wouldn't have clipped wings.
I don't know anyone who lives that way, though. Or at least not all the time. And I wish God would help me understand this because the more I think about it, living in the daily light of God's love sounds an awful lot like heaven to me.
I don't want to give too much away, but in the story Mack (the main character) is invited to spend a weekend with God - face to face - in order to deal with some really painful wounds and losses he's been through that have impacted his ability to have relationship with God. From the moment Mack "meets" God, I found myself on constant tear alert. The warmth, exuberance, openness and acceptance with which he is greeted are utterly disarming, and I found myself envious, longing and wondering why God doesn't do this sort of thing for us in the real world. What a difference it would make in our lives, you know? But even as I felt these things, I also felt happy because I know that the picture this author has given about how God feels toward us is as close to truth as we can get.
As God and Mack start really digging into Mack's issues, God explains that we were created to be loved, and when we live as though we are unloved we become like birds whose wings have been clipped so they are unable to fly. That hit me so powerfully, and I began to wonder what my life would look like if I could come to the place where I could live as one who is loved by God. How might something so powerful change my relationships, my lifestyle, my career, my passions, my goals?
I think I'm halfway there with this, but I'm not finished with the journey, and if God and I can sort this out, I think it will be the answer to a lot of the raw pain and honest self-revelations I've written about in this blog. In all the years I waited on God to make me feel whole, I was really waiting to feel loved. And in saying that I want to make something very clear. I don't need someone to convince me that God loves me. I don't need someone to tell me God loves me. I don't even need to come to a place where I believe that God loves me. I'm already there. I already know it. I'm convinced to a point that is even, perhaps, beyond faith. I don't just believe it; I know it. There's a difference there. I had several encounters with God during my Fundy years that were incredibly powerful in that way, times when a love so big and rich and powerful wrapped itself around me without warning and I couldn't help but feel loved, like that love was so rich and powerful and absolute that it didn't just surround me; it permeated my very cells and the trillions of atoms that come together to form this body. I know how exaggerated that sounds, but it's absolutely true. I remember those moments, and the ones that were most powerful and had the most profound impact on me were not moments I had to search for, work for, or fight for. They were moments I stumbled into, like the time I drove around a corner on my way to church and was so overcome without warning that I nearly had to pull over, overwhelmed at the wave of love that hit me. Sounds crazy, I know, but it happened.
Here's where the problem came in... it didn't happen enough. That's why I never got to that place of feeling really complete or really whole or really loved. I needed something more frequent than every few months or once or twice a year. Maybe that sounds like a lot to expect or ask from God, but I don't think it is. I can't imagine having a husband or boyfriend who thought it was enough to say, "I love you," once or twice a year. That relationship would get unhealthy really quickly. I don't want to be with someone whose mentality is, "I told you I loved you last week. You shouldn't need to hear it every day to know it's true." But whether I should or not, I do. I don't want to merely live with the knowledge that my significant other loves me; I want to live with the reality, the experience. I want to be with someone who reminds me of his enthusiasm toward me every day, whether that be through his words, his touch, his affectionate nicknames, his expressed desire to spend time with me. I want him to reach out and touch the chord of my emotions with the intention of making me feel loved, treasured, and desired. And if I need and want this in a relationship that is merely human, how much more would I desire it from God? How much more deeply would I long for the One whose love I need the most to tell me every day in ways I can feel just how much I mean to Him? Just as I wouldn't want my husband to make love to me once a week - or worse, once a year - and expect me to be satisfied the rest of the time with knowing I was loved but not feeling loved, I don't want to go through life simply knowing that God loves me and waiting 18 months until the next time He chooses to reach back and surround me.
Perhaps that sounds unreasonable, and truthfully I'm not saying I need or expect a mind-blowing spiritual experience every day of my life. But some "routine maintenance" would be nice. I wouldn't need to have an uber-romantic encounter with my husband or boyfriend every day, but a touch or a hug in passing combined with the occasional use of an affectionate nickname or a request for a little focused conversation and an "I love you" would go a long way toward making me feel loved in the in-between times.
So back to the book... what would my life be like if that were happening with God, if He reached out every day to touch my emotions in some way small or large that said, "I love you. I treasure you. I'm so glad I created you. You are mine." I can't even begin to imagine. Having such an excess of love in your life would undoubtedly make you a more loving, patient, giving person with others. You wouldn't ever feel insecure. You'd never feel the need to prove yourself. You wouldn't have to prove to everyone else in the lifeboat that you were worthy of love, approval and praise, as Donald Miller writes about. You wouldn't worry about stuff because you would live in absolute security that it's all under control and will ultimately work out for the best. You'd be at peace, full of joy, unafraid. You would be free to fly because you wouldn't have clipped wings.
I don't know anyone who lives that way, though. Or at least not all the time. And I wish God would help me understand this because the more I think about it, living in the daily light of God's love sounds an awful lot like heaven to me.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Playing "Twenty Questions" with God
I mentioned in my last posting that I’ve really begun to talk some things over with God, and I want to explore a little more of what that has entailed. I think all of my questions are meaningful, but perhaps the most emotionally charged has been “Why? Why did you hold me at arms length for so many years? Why did you stand back and deny me the wholeness I begged for? Why didn’t you fill the aching longing I brought you?”
I’ve shared in previous posts that I have felt little traditional guilt over having shared myself physically with two different men over the course of two relationships. But where traditional guilt has been lacking, I have instead felt a deep grief over this. It’s not an emotion I live with day in and day out, but it certainly does surface from time to time, and when it does, it does so with a vengeance. (Honestly, I’m beginning to believe that this grief I have felt is far closer to true conviction and the way God deals with our hearts than the Fundy version of guilt we’re all so fond of.)
I found myself sitting at the kitchen table just last week having this “Why?” conversation with God and finding that my eyes were filling with tears as that grief welled up again. I found myself saying, “I don’t blame you for my choices, but we both have to admit that I would probably never have made those choices if you had responded to me a little more often all those years.”
It’s an interesting paradox I find myself in. As I said, there is that deep grief, but it is so very strange to experience that grief without an accompanying sense of guilt, and honestly, for a former Fundy that’s more than a bit disturbing. It also leads me to one of the many questions I’ve been asking lately. Why was this wrong? (Joanna, if you still check in and read this blog, please don’t freak out. LOL.) But honestly, that’s a question I’ve really wrestled with. Why was it wrong or sinful for me to give myself to someone? Now, of course, I can give you good theological answers, and those answers make sense. For starters, however elementary the answer may be, it’s wrong because God says it’s wrong. It’s a very simplistic answer, and I think that a searching mind will ultimately be dissatisfied with something of that nature. I can accept it on one level because I believe God has more than arbitrary reasons for the things He commands. I also get the idea that the Bible teaches that when a man and woman share sexual intimacy it goes far beyond a mere physical encounter. The Bible would teach that it actually creates a spiritual union, and though it may not feel like it in the moment of passion, you can see or sense that union as time goes on. There is a strange connection you feel with a person that can’t be explained by other means, and perhaps part of God’s commandment is an attempt to protect us from the terrible pain we feel when the relationship ends and we must try to sever this bond.
But despite all of this, I am looking for an answer because on an emotional level it doesn’t make sense to me. I wrestle with the thought that God says I’m not to give myself to a guy, especially when I may be committed to him, care about him deeply, and sincerely desire to express that care in a physical way. And yet I’m not supposed to do that until the two of us have publicly said words of commitment and signed a paper that says we will file joint tax returns till death. (I’m not in any way devaluing marriage, by the way. I greatly value marriage and the statement that it makes and all that it is and stands for.)
All of this is so challenging. The theological side of me gets it, but the emotional side doesn’t. It’s very frustrating, and so it’s one of the questions I’ve really been bringing to Him lately. And here’s another that will stir the pot. What’s wrong with being gay?
Yeah, I know. I really crossed the line there. But before you lose yourself in outrage, take a second and listen to me. I don’t need you to give me the theological reasons. I understand them very well. What I’m wrestling with is what I feel in my heart now that I actually know some gay people and have seen how beautiful and loving they are. I get the whole idea that what they are doing is a perversion of God’s system and setup. I get the idea that it just seems wrong from a physiological perspective, that it doesn’t seem to fit in with the natural order. I don’t need anyone to preach me that sermon, so please, if you feel so inspired, I'd rather you didn't. You aren't going to say anything I don't already know. But I struggle with the knowledge that some people truly do have these feelings from a young age, that not every gay man was sexually abused by another man, that most people would probably not “choose” to be gay because why on earth would anyone want to put up with the shit that most gay people deal with?
So I’m asking God… explain this to my heart. My head gets it. My heart doesn’t. I need my heart to understand. It’s not that I’m challenging God and demanding that He answer to me. I just honestly don’t get it, and I need to and want to.
I’ve shared in previous posts that I have felt little traditional guilt over having shared myself physically with two different men over the course of two relationships. But where traditional guilt has been lacking, I have instead felt a deep grief over this. It’s not an emotion I live with day in and day out, but it certainly does surface from time to time, and when it does, it does so with a vengeance. (Honestly, I’m beginning to believe that this grief I have felt is far closer to true conviction and the way God deals with our hearts than the Fundy version of guilt we’re all so fond of.)
I found myself sitting at the kitchen table just last week having this “Why?” conversation with God and finding that my eyes were filling with tears as that grief welled up again. I found myself saying, “I don’t blame you for my choices, but we both have to admit that I would probably never have made those choices if you had responded to me a little more often all those years.”
It’s an interesting paradox I find myself in. As I said, there is that deep grief, but it is so very strange to experience that grief without an accompanying sense of guilt, and honestly, for a former Fundy that’s more than a bit disturbing. It also leads me to one of the many questions I’ve been asking lately. Why was this wrong? (Joanna, if you still check in and read this blog, please don’t freak out. LOL.) But honestly, that’s a question I’ve really wrestled with. Why was it wrong or sinful for me to give myself to someone? Now, of course, I can give you good theological answers, and those answers make sense. For starters, however elementary the answer may be, it’s wrong because God says it’s wrong. It’s a very simplistic answer, and I think that a searching mind will ultimately be dissatisfied with something of that nature. I can accept it on one level because I believe God has more than arbitrary reasons for the things He commands. I also get the idea that the Bible teaches that when a man and woman share sexual intimacy it goes far beyond a mere physical encounter. The Bible would teach that it actually creates a spiritual union, and though it may not feel like it in the moment of passion, you can see or sense that union as time goes on. There is a strange connection you feel with a person that can’t be explained by other means, and perhaps part of God’s commandment is an attempt to protect us from the terrible pain we feel when the relationship ends and we must try to sever this bond.
But despite all of this, I am looking for an answer because on an emotional level it doesn’t make sense to me. I wrestle with the thought that God says I’m not to give myself to a guy, especially when I may be committed to him, care about him deeply, and sincerely desire to express that care in a physical way. And yet I’m not supposed to do that until the two of us have publicly said words of commitment and signed a paper that says we will file joint tax returns till death. (I’m not in any way devaluing marriage, by the way. I greatly value marriage and the statement that it makes and all that it is and stands for.)
All of this is so challenging. The theological side of me gets it, but the emotional side doesn’t. It’s very frustrating, and so it’s one of the questions I’ve really been bringing to Him lately. And here’s another that will stir the pot. What’s wrong with being gay?
Yeah, I know. I really crossed the line there. But before you lose yourself in outrage, take a second and listen to me. I don’t need you to give me the theological reasons. I understand them very well. What I’m wrestling with is what I feel in my heart now that I actually know some gay people and have seen how beautiful and loving they are. I get the whole idea that what they are doing is a perversion of God’s system and setup. I get the idea that it just seems wrong from a physiological perspective, that it doesn’t seem to fit in with the natural order. I don’t need anyone to preach me that sermon, so please, if you feel so inspired, I'd rather you didn't. You aren't going to say anything I don't already know. But I struggle with the knowledge that some people truly do have these feelings from a young age, that not every gay man was sexually abused by another man, that most people would probably not “choose” to be gay because why on earth would anyone want to put up with the shit that most gay people deal with?
So I’m asking God… explain this to my heart. My head gets it. My heart doesn’t. I need my heart to understand. It’s not that I’m challenging God and demanding that He answer to me. I just honestly don’t get it, and I need to and want to.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Going Home
This will be short, but I've been wanting to say it for a couple of months now because I'm beginning to sense a shift in my journey. It's as though, somehow, I'm being directed home. That doesn't mean I'll be going anywhere near my old church. Not gonna happen. When I get myself back in church it will be at All Saints. (If you haven't checked out their website or listened to one of the messages online, please do so. I can promise you it will touch your life.) I'm not quite ready to take that step yet, but there are moments when I almost feel as though I'm being "shepherded" in that direction. And we all know who's responsible for that. LOL.
However, I'm finding that God and I are talking more often, and I'm really beginning to engage Him about stuff. Rather than just thinking about the questions I have, I'm talking to Him about them.
Back in November, I started to sense the shift underway, and it really began kicking in after the first of the year. I was just driving in my car one night when that Daughtry song started playing on the radio, and I swear to you that song was to written for me.
However, I'm finding that God and I are talking more often, and I'm really beginning to engage Him about stuff. Rather than just thinking about the questions I have, I'm talking to Him about them.
Back in November, I started to sense the shift underway, and it really began kicking in after the first of the year. I was just driving in my car one night when that Daughtry song started playing on the radio, and I swear to you that song was to written for me.
I'm staring out into the night,
Trying to hide the pain.
I'm going to the place where love
And feeling good don't ever cost a thing.
And the pain you feel's a different kind of pain.
Well I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,
And where your love has always been enough for me.
I'm not running from.
No, I think you got me all wrong.
I don't regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old,
So I'm going home.
The miles are getting longer, it seems,
The closer I get to you.
I've not always been the best man or friend for you.
But your love remains true.
And I don't know why.
You always seem to give me another try.
So I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,
And where your love has always been enough for me.
I'm not running from.
No, I think you got me all wrong.
I don't regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old,
So I'm going home.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
If You Want To Know What's Really Inside, Don't Read the Label
Ha! Hard to believe I've neglected this blog for two months, but between the holidays and going through a breakup, I just haven't had any mojo for writing, let alone much time. Besides, I don't really think anyone reads this thing, so I don't suppose it matters whether I write or not.
Anyhow, I've been thinking a lot lately about the huge chasm that exists between Christ followers and non-Christ followers, and I have this theory that I think has some merit. I think the problem comes in because of our tendency to use mental labels on people. Whether we like it or not, we humans have this bent toward categorizing everyone and everything, and this really stirs up the pot when it comes to living in relevant relationship with people who don't share our fundamental beliefs.
Not so many years ago, I remember being almost fearful of "non-believers." My reasoning: I can't relate to them. What a joke that turned out to be! The truth was that I couldn't relate to them because of the mental label (category) I'd created for them in my head, not because we had nothing in common. It's only been in the past two years that I've learned to throw away my labels and start taking people one on one. And what a difference! I've developed meaningful relationships with people I wouldn't have ever been able to relate to before. One's a homeless climbing bum who barely scrapes by and spends a lot of nights sleeping on his friends' couches. I don't see a label when I think of him. I see him, his face, his name. I see an intelligent, capable and courageous man who dares to sacrifice in order to live the kind of life I wish I could enjoy, free of the clinging arms of corporate America. Another friend is an atheist. We don't agree on anything, but we're real with each other, and she's one of the first people I hunt down when I need a sympathetic ear and some solid advice. One of my friends is a lesbian, and it never ceases to amaze me when I find myself catching up with her and being solicited for relationship advice. Me of all people giving relationship advice to a lesbian! But she isn't a lesbian to me. She's just herself, my friend. She's not a label. She's a person.
I have other friends that labels could once have kept me from: a convicted criminal, an alcoholic party girl, a crack addict. And I love them all dearly. To me they are faces, names, personalities, shared memories. They are the souls who fill my life, the ones who hug me and care for me and offer me the hand of unconditional friendship.
This use of mental labels in the church separates Christ followers from non-Christ followers much the same way that labels have always separated people. I won't use the horrible label that was so often applied to African Americans in days not too far removed. But there have been other labels throughout time. Slaves, serfs, peasants. People have made labels based on race, class, intelligence level, type of career, religion, sex, size, and the list goes on and on. And with those labels they have included a list of assumptions and beliefs that give definition and meaning to the label. Whether those assumptions are true of all those who are labeled ceases to matter. The label defines them and dictates how they should be treated.
I think it's time we did away with labels. I think it's time we stopped looking at people and defining them as wicked or depraved. They're just people. They're just names and faces, broken dreams and broken lives. They're just hearts and souls looking for the same love and comfort and home that we're looking for. They're just looking for it in different places and ways.
Anyhow, I've been thinking a lot lately about the huge chasm that exists between Christ followers and non-Christ followers, and I have this theory that I think has some merit. I think the problem comes in because of our tendency to use mental labels on people. Whether we like it or not, we humans have this bent toward categorizing everyone and everything, and this really stirs up the pot when it comes to living in relevant relationship with people who don't share our fundamental beliefs.
Not so many years ago, I remember being almost fearful of "non-believers." My reasoning: I can't relate to them. What a joke that turned out to be! The truth was that I couldn't relate to them because of the mental label (category) I'd created for them in my head, not because we had nothing in common. It's only been in the past two years that I've learned to throw away my labels and start taking people one on one. And what a difference! I've developed meaningful relationships with people I wouldn't have ever been able to relate to before. One's a homeless climbing bum who barely scrapes by and spends a lot of nights sleeping on his friends' couches. I don't see a label when I think of him. I see him, his face, his name. I see an intelligent, capable and courageous man who dares to sacrifice in order to live the kind of life I wish I could enjoy, free of the clinging arms of corporate America. Another friend is an atheist. We don't agree on anything, but we're real with each other, and she's one of the first people I hunt down when I need a sympathetic ear and some solid advice. One of my friends is a lesbian, and it never ceases to amaze me when I find myself catching up with her and being solicited for relationship advice. Me of all people giving relationship advice to a lesbian! But she isn't a lesbian to me. She's just herself, my friend. She's not a label. She's a person.
I have other friends that labels could once have kept me from: a convicted criminal, an alcoholic party girl, a crack addict. And I love them all dearly. To me they are faces, names, personalities, shared memories. They are the souls who fill my life, the ones who hug me and care for me and offer me the hand of unconditional friendship.
This use of mental labels in the church separates Christ followers from non-Christ followers much the same way that labels have always separated people. I won't use the horrible label that was so often applied to African Americans in days not too far removed. But there have been other labels throughout time. Slaves, serfs, peasants. People have made labels based on race, class, intelligence level, type of career, religion, sex, size, and the list goes on and on. And with those labels they have included a list of assumptions and beliefs that give definition and meaning to the label. Whether those assumptions are true of all those who are labeled ceases to matter. The label defines them and dictates how they should be treated.
I think it's time we did away with labels. I think it's time we stopped looking at people and defining them as wicked or depraved. They're just people. They're just names and faces, broken dreams and broken lives. They're just hearts and souls looking for the same love and comfort and home that we're looking for. They're just looking for it in different places and ways.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Sleeping with the Enemy
I've been reading a book lately with a character whose storyline has really been turning my mental wheels. She's fairly complex, and I really resonate with her.
As a young woman, her home country is attacked by an evil tyrant. When he wins the war against her people, he savagely destroys its cities, even obliterating the memory of its name and history from the minds of all but those born in it. Women and children are brutally killed in his thirst for vengeance until few survivors are left, most of whom are refugees who try to make a life for themselves in neighboring kingdoms. In a short amount of time, this character loses her father in battle and then her mother to mental illness. One of the few survivors, she vows to avenge her kingdom by entering the tyrant's harem, gaining his trust, and then killing him. But something unexpected happens. As a member of his harem, she becomes addicted to the pampered life he provides her and the pleasures of his bed. Before she knows it, twelve years have passed during which she's become one of his most favored courtesans, and during which some part of her has learned to love the evil creature who destroyed her homeland, ravaged the innocent families that once lived there, and destroyed the memories of all that it once was. She hates him, but she loves him. She knows what he is and despises him, but she can't break herself free from her sexual need for him. She even goes so far as to save the life of the man she once vowed to destroy.
Like I said, the complexity of the character really has me thinking. I think she's far truer to most of us than we want to admit. She knows who her enemy is. She's seen the havoc he's wreaked among her people. She's tasted the bitterness of his cruelty in the loss of her own family. But she can't keep herself from loving the pleasure he brings her. It's like the overweight woman and her sweets. She hates what they're doing to her health. She hates what they do to her appearance. She's seen the havoc they've wreaked in her self-esteem. She knows very personally the tears she's cried over what they've done to her. She hates them. Yet she loves them. She craves the pleasure they bring her. She wants to stop eating them, but she can't. She's sleeping with the enemy.
I hate the fact that we humans are like this. I hate the fact that I'm like this. I hate the fact that I can know what my enemy (the devil) has done to destroy the people God loves and still be unable to stop myself from biting into his poisoned fruit. I hate the fact that I can look at it and know it's poisonous and still find my hand reaching for it and my mouth aching to take a bite. I hate the fact that, like the character in this novel, I know my destiny is to restore what that enemy has destroyed in my life and the lives of all God's children, but instead of doing what I was meant to do, I'm enjoying the comforts of his harem and the poisoned pleasures he offers. I hate that I too am sleeping with the enemy.
As a young woman, her home country is attacked by an evil tyrant. When he wins the war against her people, he savagely destroys its cities, even obliterating the memory of its name and history from the minds of all but those born in it. Women and children are brutally killed in his thirst for vengeance until few survivors are left, most of whom are refugees who try to make a life for themselves in neighboring kingdoms. In a short amount of time, this character loses her father in battle and then her mother to mental illness. One of the few survivors, she vows to avenge her kingdom by entering the tyrant's harem, gaining his trust, and then killing him. But something unexpected happens. As a member of his harem, she becomes addicted to the pampered life he provides her and the pleasures of his bed. Before she knows it, twelve years have passed during which she's become one of his most favored courtesans, and during which some part of her has learned to love the evil creature who destroyed her homeland, ravaged the innocent families that once lived there, and destroyed the memories of all that it once was. She hates him, but she loves him. She knows what he is and despises him, but she can't break herself free from her sexual need for him. She even goes so far as to save the life of the man she once vowed to destroy.
Like I said, the complexity of the character really has me thinking. I think she's far truer to most of us than we want to admit. She knows who her enemy is. She's seen the havoc he's wreaked among her people. She's tasted the bitterness of his cruelty in the loss of her own family. But she can't keep herself from loving the pleasure he brings her. It's like the overweight woman and her sweets. She hates what they're doing to her health. She hates what they do to her appearance. She's seen the havoc they've wreaked in her self-esteem. She knows very personally the tears she's cried over what they've done to her. She hates them. Yet she loves them. She craves the pleasure they bring her. She wants to stop eating them, but she can't. She's sleeping with the enemy.
I hate the fact that we humans are like this. I hate the fact that I'm like this. I hate the fact that I can know what my enemy (the devil) has done to destroy the people God loves and still be unable to stop myself from biting into his poisoned fruit. I hate the fact that I can look at it and know it's poisonous and still find my hand reaching for it and my mouth aching to take a bite. I hate the fact that, like the character in this novel, I know my destiny is to restore what that enemy has destroyed in my life and the lives of all God's children, but instead of doing what I was meant to do, I'm enjoying the comforts of his harem and the poisoned pleasures he offers. I hate that I too am sleeping with the enemy.
Perhaps the Fundies AREN'T so Bad!
Just found these online. Please forgive me. I know this is DREADFULLY inappropriate, but I was looking at a list of gifts no one really wants to get. The rest were completely appropriate. I swear. But come on... how can you not laugh at this when this whole blog is about... Fundies! LOL.Kind of puts a new spin on things, yes?
Cheers! And Happy Thanksgiving!
And may Jesus forgive me for posting this pic on my blog.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Looking for Someone to Blame
Trish and I have talked several times recently about a phenomenon we're both experiencing, her moreso than me. Despite the good times we both had in our Fundy years, we both walked away with a lot of soul wounds. And we now find that we're looking for someone to blame. As Trish said a few weeks ago, "I wish there were one person I could look at and say, 'This is your fault. You're hurting a lot of innocent people. Stop it.'" But there isn't anyone. That's the sad thing about Fundy-ism. You can't point at any one source and say, "You're to blame." Certainly you can find someone to blame for specific incidents, but there are wounds that are more general - and interestingly enough, these tend to be the deepest wounds - that can't be credited to anyone. They're just there as a result of having been a part of that movement for so long. And the lessons they engrave on your heart and mind follow you for years, crippling you in some ways and making you question and doubt and fear what you know to be true.
I talked about this with my boyfriend for awhile last night, and he had some things to say that I agreed with. He said that, in essence, the only person you have to blame is yourself. Ouch. But I wonder if he's right. I've said more than once on this blog that I bear more responsibility for the wounds on my soul than anyone I encountered in Fundy days. It was as though Fundy-ism taught me how to wound myself and then set me loose to see how much damage I could do. But that just makes me want to find the person responsible for pounding these things into my brain. Sure, I could blame my leaders and teachers, but what good would that do? There was no malicious intent on their part. In fact, they too are wounded, victims of the same weapons wielded by invisible hands.
Trish and I talked just yesterday about how there are times you feel as though you've been a victim, but no perpetrator existed. It's quite unsettling, really. You desperately want someone outside yourself to hate or to do war with or to hold accountable, but you can't find anyone. And even looking at yourself and blaming yourself for the ways you created your own state of fucked-up-ness, you still want to find the person who trained you to do such a thing and demand restitution. But there's no one, and it's a most frustrating thing.
I talked about this with my boyfriend for awhile last night, and he had some things to say that I agreed with. He said that, in essence, the only person you have to blame is yourself. Ouch. But I wonder if he's right. I've said more than once on this blog that I bear more responsibility for the wounds on my soul than anyone I encountered in Fundy days. It was as though Fundy-ism taught me how to wound myself and then set me loose to see how much damage I could do. But that just makes me want to find the person responsible for pounding these things into my brain. Sure, I could blame my leaders and teachers, but what good would that do? There was no malicious intent on their part. In fact, they too are wounded, victims of the same weapons wielded by invisible hands.
Trish and I talked just yesterday about how there are times you feel as though you've been a victim, but no perpetrator existed. It's quite unsettling, really. You desperately want someone outside yourself to hate or to do war with or to hold accountable, but you can't find anyone. And even looking at yourself and blaming yourself for the ways you created your own state of fucked-up-ness, you still want to find the person who trained you to do such a thing and demand restitution. But there's no one, and it's a most frustrating thing.
Welcome to Weirdville
Last night I had the chance to catch up with an old friend, and I can't tell you how much I enjoyed it. She's been reading my blog, so that came up more than once in our conversation, and she asked if I would write about our conversation in the blog. I told her I wouldn't. LOL. And I won't. At least not much. Haha. I didn't lie on purpose. :) However, I will say a big hello to Joanna and tell her it's great to be able to share with her and find a place of grace. :)
Without getting into too much of the personal stuff, I want to touch on something that came up briefly because it's been on my mind several times lately. As we talked, the subject of charismatics and their fondness for dreams and the prophetic came up. OY.
As a former charismatic, I've seen just about everything (and was told about some pretty crazy stuff I didn't ever see). And I want to be careful in dealing with this subject matter because I'm very mindful of the fact that God sometimes chooses to work in very mysterious ways or speak to us outside the realm of the comfortable. Also, despite some of what I have to say, I do believe that God speaks through the prophetic and through dreams, and I do believe that He does stuff sometimes that looks pretty crazy to us humans. The Bible's full of examples, and there's no reason, in my mind at least, to think that all of that was meant just for the folks who lived in Bible times. But that having been said, I saw and heard a lot of things in my charismatic days that didn't sit right with me then, so it's not surprising that in my near-heathen state (not really) now I would find a lot to eye with a more-than-healthy dose of skepticism.
Even when I was "walking the straight and narrow" with the rest of the Fundies, I remember thinking that a lot of the crazy stuff I witnessed was more about someone getting carried away and overly emotional than about God doing something that looked quite nutty for some ambiguous reason of His own. That's one of the ugly facts in the charismatic church. I know a lot of really wonderful, sincere people who saw or felt things primarily because they worked themselves up so much they were able to convince themselves they saw something or God was throwing them around the room. And I'm not saying that all that stuff is fake or the fruit of too much emotion mixed with too much expectation. Some of it really does happen. But I tend to think now (as I privately thought then) that most of it was the result of someone wanting to connect with God so badly that they fell off the deep end.
There's another side to some of this stuff - particularly the prophetic - that's truly ugly and not simply pitiful. Far too often, the prophetic is used to manipulate. As a rule, I don't think this is done with sinister intentions. I think it happens because people begin to believe that their opinions and convictions are spoken to them by God, and as a result they try to force those things on others. They may sincerely believe that a person needs to see or do or experience something, and the next thing you know they're having prophecies and dreams about that person and passing them on as a "thus saith the Lord unto you." And if that person doesn't see it or agree or embrace it quickly, the "prophet" declares him or her to be stubborn or deceived or rebellious against God's clearly revealed will. It's pretty scary stuff, and it has done a lot of damage to well-meaning people. I don't want to share some of the really personal examples in my life out of a desire to protect those involved, but I can give you an example of this that still rankles, even after seven or eight years have passed.
Quite awhile back, a "prophetic" friend (acquaintance - Haha. Get it, Joanna? LOL) told me that God wanted me to go to a conference that was being hosted by a prominent charismatic minister, who shall remain nameless. I didn't really have the money and didn't really feel led that way in my heart, but I trusted my "prophetic" friend and plunked down my credit card for a plane ticket, hotel room and conference registration. (I'm still paying these off, by the way.) I hate to say it, but I have never seen so much "flesh" (as the Fundies call it) running rampant amongst a group of "Godly" people as I did that week. It was ugly. But that's beside the point. As the week went on, it appeared that the conference speaker's overpriced books, CDs and T-shirts weren't selling so well because she suddenly received a prophetic word that God was commanding every attendee to purchase one of each of these items and He would pour out His anointing on them. Yes, you read that right. And even at that time, I saw right through that prophetic word like I could see through Harry Potter's invisibility cloak. "Um... sorry Ms. Prophet, but I think you had a bad connection with heaven when you heard that." But you know what, the women I had traveled to the conference with all felt that God spoke through this woman and that we would be rebellious if we didn't obey the "revealed will of God." So despite knowing I was giving in to someone's self-benefitting, pocket-lining prophecy, I ponied up more money I didn't have because I didn't want to look ungodly and unspiritual to my friends. What a foolish waste. I'm ashamed of my cowardice now.
How's this for another example? I had a dream several years ago that I shared with the same prophetic friend who sent me to the conference. (Not slamming this person, by the way. She just figures in these stories of mine rather often.) After discussing the dream and what it might mean, she interpreted it to say that I was supposed to join the women's ministry at our church as the right hand assistant to the new leader. Though I felt no enthsiasm for this project or call toward that ministry, I went forward with it... and spent the next year feeling miserable and resenting the fact that my Monday evenings were tied up with a leadership position in a ministry I had no real heart for. In fact, the "assistant" position I was supposed to occupy was shifted fairly early on into the hands of another woman who had both the heart and the gifting for it. She was clearly "called" to be there; I was clearly not. And had I listened to my own heart and not allowed myself to be talked into doing something I didn't want to because my prophetic friend was convinced that God was trying to say that to me in my dream... well, I would have been a happier person all around.
I'm not blaming my prophetic friend, mind you. She wasn't malicious in the things she said to me. She sincerely believed she was hearing from God and passing on His will to me. But she was wrong. And like so many in the charismatic circles, she at times used her "ability to hear from God" as a means to manipulate me - "for your own good" - into doing things that were more her idea for me than God's.
This is the kind of stuff that most non-Christ Followers never see, thank God. They see enough charismatic weirdness on TBN and movies like "Saved" to drive them away from God and not toward Him. Let's just be real. Some of the things Christ Followers do in the name of the Holy Spirit are pretty damn strange and scary, and even with the perspective of a former insider, I'm mainly inclined to say, "Pass." I know the Bible talks about us being fools for Christ, but I don't think that means Christ is asking us to make Him look like a fool with our oddball behavior. And if you must hear my honest opinion (since it's MY blog, I get to control what I write, which means you "must" hear my honest opinion. LOL), the people who acted the strangest were generally the most emotionally unstable people in the church. Or the most fleshly. Not always, mind you, but as a general rule. And yet because they were "sensitive to the Holy Spirit" they were more Godly than the rest of us.
Yeah, I don't buy into that so much anymore. Thanks anyway. I'm saying all of this to make a point... which I've failed to get to yet. LOL. My point is that, while I believe that God does some of the things that happen in these meetings, my heart tells me that His real interest lies outside the doors where people need a hug more than a dusting of gold flakes on their sleeves, and a listening ear more than a wild dance around the room. My heart tells me that when the church puts out its "Welcome to Weirdville" sign it frightens away the majority of rational thinking people who already have doubts about the validity of the Christian faith. And finally, my experience (as well as the experiences of more than one dear friend) tell me that sometimes this "Holy Spirit inspired" behavior leaves deep wounds on the souls of those who become the unintentional victims of its ugly side.
Without getting into too much of the personal stuff, I want to touch on something that came up briefly because it's been on my mind several times lately. As we talked, the subject of charismatics and their fondness for dreams and the prophetic came up. OY.
As a former charismatic, I've seen just about everything (and was told about some pretty crazy stuff I didn't ever see). And I want to be careful in dealing with this subject matter because I'm very mindful of the fact that God sometimes chooses to work in very mysterious ways or speak to us outside the realm of the comfortable. Also, despite some of what I have to say, I do believe that God speaks through the prophetic and through dreams, and I do believe that He does stuff sometimes that looks pretty crazy to us humans. The Bible's full of examples, and there's no reason, in my mind at least, to think that all of that was meant just for the folks who lived in Bible times. But that having been said, I saw and heard a lot of things in my charismatic days that didn't sit right with me then, so it's not surprising that in my near-heathen state (not really) now I would find a lot to eye with a more-than-healthy dose of skepticism.
Even when I was "walking the straight and narrow" with the rest of the Fundies, I remember thinking that a lot of the crazy stuff I witnessed was more about someone getting carried away and overly emotional than about God doing something that looked quite nutty for some ambiguous reason of His own. That's one of the ugly facts in the charismatic church. I know a lot of really wonderful, sincere people who saw or felt things primarily because they worked themselves up so much they were able to convince themselves they saw something or God was throwing them around the room. And I'm not saying that all that stuff is fake or the fruit of too much emotion mixed with too much expectation. Some of it really does happen. But I tend to think now (as I privately thought then) that most of it was the result of someone wanting to connect with God so badly that they fell off the deep end.
There's another side to some of this stuff - particularly the prophetic - that's truly ugly and not simply pitiful. Far too often, the prophetic is used to manipulate. As a rule, I don't think this is done with sinister intentions. I think it happens because people begin to believe that their opinions and convictions are spoken to them by God, and as a result they try to force those things on others. They may sincerely believe that a person needs to see or do or experience something, and the next thing you know they're having prophecies and dreams about that person and passing them on as a "thus saith the Lord unto you." And if that person doesn't see it or agree or embrace it quickly, the "prophet" declares him or her to be stubborn or deceived or rebellious against God's clearly revealed will. It's pretty scary stuff, and it has done a lot of damage to well-meaning people. I don't want to share some of the really personal examples in my life out of a desire to protect those involved, but I can give you an example of this that still rankles, even after seven or eight years have passed.
Quite awhile back, a "prophetic" friend (acquaintance - Haha. Get it, Joanna? LOL) told me that God wanted me to go to a conference that was being hosted by a prominent charismatic minister, who shall remain nameless. I didn't really have the money and didn't really feel led that way in my heart, but I trusted my "prophetic" friend and plunked down my credit card for a plane ticket, hotel room and conference registration. (I'm still paying these off, by the way.) I hate to say it, but I have never seen so much "flesh" (as the Fundies call it) running rampant amongst a group of "Godly" people as I did that week. It was ugly. But that's beside the point. As the week went on, it appeared that the conference speaker's overpriced books, CDs and T-shirts weren't selling so well because she suddenly received a prophetic word that God was commanding every attendee to purchase one of each of these items and He would pour out His anointing on them. Yes, you read that right. And even at that time, I saw right through that prophetic word like I could see through Harry Potter's invisibility cloak. "Um... sorry Ms. Prophet, but I think you had a bad connection with heaven when you heard that." But you know what, the women I had traveled to the conference with all felt that God spoke through this woman and that we would be rebellious if we didn't obey the "revealed will of God." So despite knowing I was giving in to someone's self-benefitting, pocket-lining prophecy, I ponied up more money I didn't have because I didn't want to look ungodly and unspiritual to my friends. What a foolish waste. I'm ashamed of my cowardice now.
How's this for another example? I had a dream several years ago that I shared with the same prophetic friend who sent me to the conference. (Not slamming this person, by the way. She just figures in these stories of mine rather often.) After discussing the dream and what it might mean, she interpreted it to say that I was supposed to join the women's ministry at our church as the right hand assistant to the new leader. Though I felt no enthsiasm for this project or call toward that ministry, I went forward with it... and spent the next year feeling miserable and resenting the fact that my Monday evenings were tied up with a leadership position in a ministry I had no real heart for. In fact, the "assistant" position I was supposed to occupy was shifted fairly early on into the hands of another woman who had both the heart and the gifting for it. She was clearly "called" to be there; I was clearly not. And had I listened to my own heart and not allowed myself to be talked into doing something I didn't want to because my prophetic friend was convinced that God was trying to say that to me in my dream... well, I would have been a happier person all around.
I'm not blaming my prophetic friend, mind you. She wasn't malicious in the things she said to me. She sincerely believed she was hearing from God and passing on His will to me. But she was wrong. And like so many in the charismatic circles, she at times used her "ability to hear from God" as a means to manipulate me - "for your own good" - into doing things that were more her idea for me than God's.
This is the kind of stuff that most non-Christ Followers never see, thank God. They see enough charismatic weirdness on TBN and movies like "Saved" to drive them away from God and not toward Him. Let's just be real. Some of the things Christ Followers do in the name of the Holy Spirit are pretty damn strange and scary, and even with the perspective of a former insider, I'm mainly inclined to say, "Pass." I know the Bible talks about us being fools for Christ, but I don't think that means Christ is asking us to make Him look like a fool with our oddball behavior. And if you must hear my honest opinion (since it's MY blog, I get to control what I write, which means you "must" hear my honest opinion. LOL), the people who acted the strangest were generally the most emotionally unstable people in the church. Or the most fleshly. Not always, mind you, but as a general rule. And yet because they were "sensitive to the Holy Spirit" they were more Godly than the rest of us.
Yeah, I don't buy into that so much anymore. Thanks anyway. I'm saying all of this to make a point... which I've failed to get to yet. LOL. My point is that, while I believe that God does some of the things that happen in these meetings, my heart tells me that His real interest lies outside the doors where people need a hug more than a dusting of gold flakes on their sleeves, and a listening ear more than a wild dance around the room. My heart tells me that when the church puts out its "Welcome to Weirdville" sign it frightens away the majority of rational thinking people who already have doubts about the validity of the Christian faith. And finally, my experience (as well as the experiences of more than one dear friend) tell me that sometimes this "Holy Spirit inspired" behavior leaves deep wounds on the souls of those who become the unintentional victims of its ugly side.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Chasing Rainbows
It seems like we spend our whole lives chasing rainbows, beautiful illusions that seduce us with their shimmering promise, only to disappear when we run toward them. I’d say it was just me, but I see it all throughout the world around me. We’re all looking for something that’s just over the next hill, just around the next bend, just out of reach.
If we could just find the perfect boyfriend or girlfriend…
If we could just get the perfect job…
If we could just afford that bigger house, longer vacation, fancier car…
If we could simply be free to do whatever it is we desperately want to do…
If we could have a baby, finish writing that masterpiece, lose that weight…
It’s always something. And it happens to all of us.
When I watch myself chasing rainbows, I can’t help but agree with the medieval philosophers who identified this phenomenon as man’s search to find his rest, peace and fulfillment in God. It’s not that having dreams and goals is bad. In fact, it’s healthy. The problem is something else: the desperate search for satisfaction that we’re sure we’ll find if we could just get “there,” wherever “there” is.
I’ve been chasing a rainbow lately. It’s a lovely rainbow, one of the loveliest I’ve ever chased. But I’m beginning to wonder if it, too, will turn out to be nothing more than a disappointing illusion that will leave me hungry for something of substance. In fact, I feel fairly certain that the illusion is already worn too thin for me to chase it much longer, and I'm sinking down to that sad, angry place where hope is a rare commodity.
I’m tired of being dissatisfied. I’m tired of striving. I’m tired of chasing rainbows.
The kicker is this: I know the answer is God. I know it. It’s not just wishful thinking or faith. I know it. The problem is how to find God.
As I’ve shared before, much of my experience in the Fundy church was a form of chasing rainbows – always pursuing a pretty ideal, always hiding from my reality, always striving for peace (what a contradiction in terms!), always reaching for love.
What do you do when you know the destination but you don’t know how to get there? What do you do when you can’t read the map through unbiased eyes? How do you stop chasing rainbows long enough to lie down in the grass and realize that rainbows are meant to be seen, not captured?
Perhaps that’s what I’ve been missing lately, and perhaps that is why soul is starting to feel so weary. Perhaps I’ve been running and reaching too hard, and I just need to lie back in the grass and watch the clouds float by, enjoying the beauty of the rainbow, accepting that it’s an illusion, realizing that perhaps it isn’t meant to be owned; it is merely intended to enhance the view.
If we could just find the perfect boyfriend or girlfriend…
If we could just get the perfect job…
If we could just afford that bigger house, longer vacation, fancier car…
If we could simply be free to do whatever it is we desperately want to do…
If we could have a baby, finish writing that masterpiece, lose that weight…
It’s always something. And it happens to all of us.
When I watch myself chasing rainbows, I can’t help but agree with the medieval philosophers who identified this phenomenon as man’s search to find his rest, peace and fulfillment in God. It’s not that having dreams and goals is bad. In fact, it’s healthy. The problem is something else: the desperate search for satisfaction that we’re sure we’ll find if we could just get “there,” wherever “there” is.
I’ve been chasing a rainbow lately. It’s a lovely rainbow, one of the loveliest I’ve ever chased. But I’m beginning to wonder if it, too, will turn out to be nothing more than a disappointing illusion that will leave me hungry for something of substance. In fact, I feel fairly certain that the illusion is already worn too thin for me to chase it much longer, and I'm sinking down to that sad, angry place where hope is a rare commodity.
I’m tired of being dissatisfied. I’m tired of striving. I’m tired of chasing rainbows.
The kicker is this: I know the answer is God. I know it. It’s not just wishful thinking or faith. I know it. The problem is how to find God.
As I’ve shared before, much of my experience in the Fundy church was a form of chasing rainbows – always pursuing a pretty ideal, always hiding from my reality, always striving for peace (what a contradiction in terms!), always reaching for love.
What do you do when you know the destination but you don’t know how to get there? What do you do when you can’t read the map through unbiased eyes? How do you stop chasing rainbows long enough to lie down in the grass and realize that rainbows are meant to be seen, not captured?
Perhaps that’s what I’ve been missing lately, and perhaps that is why soul is starting to feel so weary. Perhaps I’ve been running and reaching too hard, and I just need to lie back in the grass and watch the clouds float by, enjoying the beauty of the rainbow, accepting that it’s an illusion, realizing that perhaps it isn’t meant to be owned; it is merely intended to enhance the view.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
What's in a Name: Christian or Christ Follower?
I was doing a bit of thinking today about how much difference a name can really make. Calling oneself a Christ Follower versus a Christian actually makes a great deal of difference.
I guess this all got started because I was musing on how much compassion I've started to feel toward those the church brands as hypocrites. Not so long ago I had no mercy for them, seeing them as shameful spots on the face of God's pure and precious bride. And from some angles I suppose that's true. But now I've come to a place where I understand on a personal level what it means to yield to temptations that are considered a "big deal" in the church. I guess in some ways I myself am now one of those dreadful hypocrites.
So as I was thinking on this dubious matter, my mind started swerving toward the idea that being a hypocrite is much harder when you think of yourself as Christ Follower, not as a Christian. Being a Christian sounds far more clinical, like being a member of a club or social group. But being a Christ Follower is all about action. Unlike being a Christian - where you can still say you're a member of the club even when you aren't being a great representative - saying you're a Christ Follower is much harder when you aren't actively following Christ or are practicing behaviors that aren't in alignment with His heart and teachings. How can you say you're a Christ Follower when you know you aren't really following Christ, you know? There's something about it that pokes you sharply in the heart and says, "That's not true."
There have been times lately when I've been tempted to curtail my tendency to call myself a Christ Follower and stick with the safe, innocuous title of Christian. I don't think I'm a very good Christ Follower, sadly. I can't help but think of all my wrestlings and struggles and the things in my life that don't line up with His heart and teachings. But even as I think these things, I consider that, in essence, a Christ Follower is a person who is growing and being changed by Christ, and that sometimes that growing and changing and learning and stretching don't look like we think they should, that sometimes it means allowing Him to incorporate the darkness in some seasons of our life with the light in order to bring about a greater concentration of His heart in us. Even so, I really don't feel like much of a Christ Follower these days. There isn't much in my life to reflect the active, pursuing nature that the title implies. And that's a rather disheartening thought.
I guess this all got started because I was musing on how much compassion I've started to feel toward those the church brands as hypocrites. Not so long ago I had no mercy for them, seeing them as shameful spots on the face of God's pure and precious bride. And from some angles I suppose that's true. But now I've come to a place where I understand on a personal level what it means to yield to temptations that are considered a "big deal" in the church. I guess in some ways I myself am now one of those dreadful hypocrites.
So as I was thinking on this dubious matter, my mind started swerving toward the idea that being a hypocrite is much harder when you think of yourself as Christ Follower, not as a Christian. Being a Christian sounds far more clinical, like being a member of a club or social group. But being a Christ Follower is all about action. Unlike being a Christian - where you can still say you're a member of the club even when you aren't being a great representative - saying you're a Christ Follower is much harder when you aren't actively following Christ or are practicing behaviors that aren't in alignment with His heart and teachings. How can you say you're a Christ Follower when you know you aren't really following Christ, you know? There's something about it that pokes you sharply in the heart and says, "That's not true."
There have been times lately when I've been tempted to curtail my tendency to call myself a Christ Follower and stick with the safe, innocuous title of Christian. I don't think I'm a very good Christ Follower, sadly. I can't help but think of all my wrestlings and struggles and the things in my life that don't line up with His heart and teachings. But even as I think these things, I consider that, in essence, a Christ Follower is a person who is growing and being changed by Christ, and that sometimes that growing and changing and learning and stretching don't look like we think they should, that sometimes it means allowing Him to incorporate the darkness in some seasons of our life with the light in order to bring about a greater concentration of His heart in us. Even so, I really don't feel like much of a Christ Follower these days. There isn't much in my life to reflect the active, pursuing nature that the title implies. And that's a rather disheartening thought.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Burying Our Heads in the Sand
We had an interesting discussion in my carpool yesterday, which has expanded from it's original two members to a whopping five. Yay us for helping save the earth!!! :) There should be some kind of reward for five adults (three men and two "curvy" women) who cram themselves into a Honda Civic for an hour every day. LOL. Yes, that's right. Three adults sardine themselves into the backseat of a Honda Civic. It's sick. However, the last time I drove up to the mountains for a hike, the trees actually applauded me. No, I wasn't on anything at the time. LOL.
ANYWAY... I'm way off the point. One of the guys in carpool happens to be dating a Christian girl, despite the fact that he himself is not a Christian. He was telling us about how the two of them went down to Oregon to visit some married Christian friends of hers last weekend. While they were there, the couple couldn't stop talking about all the small groups they are a part of and how they have some church-related activity they attend nearly every night of the week. Much to my carpool buddy's dismay, his girlfriend was enthralled by this and couldn't stop talking about how much she wanted that kind of environment for her life. He can't think of anything much closer to living in hell itself. LOL. Now to be fair to her, she's just recently moved to the area to be closer to him and attend grad school and she has absolutely NO friends here, so I can see how hearing about so much "good Christian fellowship" would get her all excited. At one time, church-related stuff every night of the week was my life, and most of the time I really loved it. I have different opinions now, though. (Why isn't anyone surprised? LOL.)
Looking at folks like my carpool buddy's girlfriend and her friends, I can't help but wonder if they and those like them are unwittingly and, with the best of intentions, burying their heads in the sand. I remember being a Master's Commission student/leader and spending every day at the church. As horrible as that sounds to most people, I had a lot of fun and formed some really meaningful bonds. Like I said, I really loved that life for a long time. But without knowing it, I was burrowing deeper and deeper into a safe little bubble - a cocoon that insulated me from reality and the real people who lived there. Even now, I'm still scrambling to catch up. And at that time in my life I was actually afraid to form relationships with non-Christians because I didn't know how to talk to them or relate to them. In fact, I remember standing in front of a group of lovely Mexican people on one of our road trips and having nothing to say beyond, "Hi, my name is Amy." I just stared and them, and they just stared right back at me, wondering if I had anything to say or if I was just retarded.
It's difficult to strike a balance on this issue. On the one hand, Christian fellowship is something we desperately need. Without it, we'll become stunted. In fact, some of our most profound growth comes through our relationships with other Christ followers. As we talk and discuss (sometimes debate), as we support each other through our trials and rejoice with one another in our triumphs, we begin to truly model the church Jesus started. But when we bury ourselves in the church, we cease to perform the mission Jesus gave us, and if we stay that way long enough, we begin to lose the ability to do that mission because we lose touch with the hearts and souls He loves.
Though it might not sound like it, I commend zeal. I commend hunger. I commend passion to be in church and with other Christ followers, but I fear I no longer have much patience for the kind of zeal, hunger and passion that cut Christ followers off from the real world and turn them inward, in effect turning their backs toward those who most need the Jesus they love.
ANYWAY... I'm way off the point. One of the guys in carpool happens to be dating a Christian girl, despite the fact that he himself is not a Christian. He was telling us about how the two of them went down to Oregon to visit some married Christian friends of hers last weekend. While they were there, the couple couldn't stop talking about all the small groups they are a part of and how they have some church-related activity they attend nearly every night of the week. Much to my carpool buddy's dismay, his girlfriend was enthralled by this and couldn't stop talking about how much she wanted that kind of environment for her life. He can't think of anything much closer to living in hell itself. LOL. Now to be fair to her, she's just recently moved to the area to be closer to him and attend grad school and she has absolutely NO friends here, so I can see how hearing about so much "good Christian fellowship" would get her all excited. At one time, church-related stuff every night of the week was my life, and most of the time I really loved it. I have different opinions now, though. (Why isn't anyone surprised? LOL.)
Looking at folks like my carpool buddy's girlfriend and her friends, I can't help but wonder if they and those like them are unwittingly and, with the best of intentions, burying their heads in the sand. I remember being a Master's Commission student/leader and spending every day at the church. As horrible as that sounds to most people, I had a lot of fun and formed some really meaningful bonds. Like I said, I really loved that life for a long time. But without knowing it, I was burrowing deeper and deeper into a safe little bubble - a cocoon that insulated me from reality and the real people who lived there. Even now, I'm still scrambling to catch up. And at that time in my life I was actually afraid to form relationships with non-Christians because I didn't know how to talk to them or relate to them. In fact, I remember standing in front of a group of lovely Mexican people on one of our road trips and having nothing to say beyond, "Hi, my name is Amy." I just stared and them, and they just stared right back at me, wondering if I had anything to say or if I was just retarded.
It's difficult to strike a balance on this issue. On the one hand, Christian fellowship is something we desperately need. Without it, we'll become stunted. In fact, some of our most profound growth comes through our relationships with other Christ followers. As we talk and discuss (sometimes debate), as we support each other through our trials and rejoice with one another in our triumphs, we begin to truly model the church Jesus started. But when we bury ourselves in the church, we cease to perform the mission Jesus gave us, and if we stay that way long enough, we begin to lose the ability to do that mission because we lose touch with the hearts and souls He loves.
Though it might not sound like it, I commend zeal. I commend hunger. I commend passion to be in church and with other Christ followers, but I fear I no longer have much patience for the kind of zeal, hunger and passion that cut Christ followers off from the real world and turn them inward, in effect turning their backs toward those who most need the Jesus they love.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Just When You Thought You Were Guilt Free...
I guess I spoke too soon with that last post, because "guilt," if that's what you want to call it, reminded me of its presence this morning just when I was least expecting it. It all started so innocently... I was just reading some book reviews and checking out some titles I'm considering for a good read when I ran across one called Sexless in the City. The long and short of it is that it's a chronicle of one Christian woman's struggle to live a celibate life as she searches for Mr. Right. That story isn't so unique. What is unique about this woman is that she actually seems to be relevant and living in the real world while she's doing this. She goes to bars (horror of horrors!), and she actually meets men there and goes on dates with them. She knows her pop culture, and seems to be in touch with what's happening in our society. Speaking from experience, being celibate in that kind of world "ain't" easy. Relevant Christianity is one of the most challenging roads you'll ever take.
Anyhow, I read a bit of her blog and checked out some write-ups on her book. She's doesn't seem to be preachy (which I love). In fact, the little bits that I read didn't even specifically deal with chastity. But reading the thoughts and experiences of a woman who sounds very relevant and very un-Fundy who has somehow managed to navigate waters where my boat tends to sink made me feel a deep sorrow and sense of loss.
I've felt this way several times since I first started exploring my sexuality. (LOL. Sounds like I'm not sure which team I'm playing for.) It's not the brow-beating, shame-on-me-I'm-a-miserable-worm kind of guilt that filled my days as a Fundy. It's more a deep grieving. Most of the time I don't feel it because it's buried so deep in me, but today reminded me very clearly that it's still there, like hot, glowing embers from a fire that burned out long ago. I feel a grief (and perhaps that's not even the right word for it) over having lost my virginity. There may be a bit of shame mixed in there, but it's not the kind of shame I used to live with. It's less about declaring myself worthless and more about feeling as though I've behaved in a way that doesn't do justice to my worth. It's just mainly grief. And it's not just about losing my virginity; it's about being sexually active again. It's about feeling as though I've failed in something that was really important, even though it doesn't seem like all that big a deal to me the vast majority of the time. And perhaps that's part of the reason I'm so hesitant to really bury myself in church and Christian lit again - I'm afraid that grief will become overwhelming.
Of course, there's another side to this coin. I don't know if I ever would have started to see and learn the things I've begun to over the past year and a half if I hadn't chosen to be sexually active outside marriage. It's not that sex itself made such a difference; it's that so many of my old ways of thinking underwent a re-examination afterward. I think that somehow I needed to make that mistake in order to become who I'm meant to become. I know that sounds silly and is probably completely wrong, but at the moment it's what I'm thinking.
Several of the people in my life think this guilt/grief is just a remnant of those Fundy days, but I don't believe that to be the case. The truth is that I didn't just embrace those beliefs because they were popular in my set or taught by my family or church. I internalized them. I embraced them for my own sake; I embraced them because I believed they came from God. So unlike a lot of people who leave Fundy-ism, I can't just take them off like an old coat. And I don't really want to discard them. Ughh. It's so complicated. (Right about now I can think of at least two people who would say it's not at all complicated, but to me it is. LOL.) The thing I don't have any intention of doing is leaving God behind. In fact, what I'm really after is a real, authentic, lifelong relationship with Him. Right now things are strained, but this isn't just a rebellious phase I'm going through, contrary to what my old Fundy friends would say. And I don't want to toss away and root out everything I believe just because it happens to sound "Fundy."
Anyway, I'm getting into deeper waters here than I really want to in this posting. My main point is that there's something buried deep inside me that goes deeper than guilt or shame, and no matter how far I think I may have gone in getting out from under that constant sense of "falling short," there will always be this deep sorrow over the fact that I have.
Anyhow, I read a bit of her blog and checked out some write-ups on her book. She's doesn't seem to be preachy (which I love). In fact, the little bits that I read didn't even specifically deal with chastity. But reading the thoughts and experiences of a woman who sounds very relevant and very un-Fundy who has somehow managed to navigate waters where my boat tends to sink made me feel a deep sorrow and sense of loss.
I've felt this way several times since I first started exploring my sexuality. (LOL. Sounds like I'm not sure which team I'm playing for.) It's not the brow-beating, shame-on-me-I'm-a-miserable-worm kind of guilt that filled my days as a Fundy. It's more a deep grieving. Most of the time I don't feel it because it's buried so deep in me, but today reminded me very clearly that it's still there, like hot, glowing embers from a fire that burned out long ago. I feel a grief (and perhaps that's not even the right word for it) over having lost my virginity. There may be a bit of shame mixed in there, but it's not the kind of shame I used to live with. It's less about declaring myself worthless and more about feeling as though I've behaved in a way that doesn't do justice to my worth. It's just mainly grief. And it's not just about losing my virginity; it's about being sexually active again. It's about feeling as though I've failed in something that was really important, even though it doesn't seem like all that big a deal to me the vast majority of the time. And perhaps that's part of the reason I'm so hesitant to really bury myself in church and Christian lit again - I'm afraid that grief will become overwhelming.
Of course, there's another side to this coin. I don't know if I ever would have started to see and learn the things I've begun to over the past year and a half if I hadn't chosen to be sexually active outside marriage. It's not that sex itself made such a difference; it's that so many of my old ways of thinking underwent a re-examination afterward. I think that somehow I needed to make that mistake in order to become who I'm meant to become. I know that sounds silly and is probably completely wrong, but at the moment it's what I'm thinking.
Several of the people in my life think this guilt/grief is just a remnant of those Fundy days, but I don't believe that to be the case. The truth is that I didn't just embrace those beliefs because they were popular in my set or taught by my family or church. I internalized them. I embraced them for my own sake; I embraced them because I believed they came from God. So unlike a lot of people who leave Fundy-ism, I can't just take them off like an old coat. And I don't really want to discard them. Ughh. It's so complicated. (Right about now I can think of at least two people who would say it's not at all complicated, but to me it is. LOL.) The thing I don't have any intention of doing is leaving God behind. In fact, what I'm really after is a real, authentic, lifelong relationship with Him. Right now things are strained, but this isn't just a rebellious phase I'm going through, contrary to what my old Fundy friends would say. And I don't want to toss away and root out everything I believe just because it happens to sound "Fundy."
Anyway, I'm getting into deeper waters here than I really want to in this posting. My main point is that there's something buried deep inside me that goes deeper than guilt or shame, and no matter how far I think I may have gone in getting out from under that constant sense of "falling short," there will always be this deep sorrow over the fact that I have.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Living with(out) Guilt
There's a terribly helpless and lost feeling a person gets when they cease to feel guilt after having lived with it for a lifetime. Granted, guilt is never pleasant, but it becomes familiar and expected, so when it goes away, it's more than a bit frightening.
I'm not sure whether I was responsible for my endlessly guilty conscience or if my Fundy background was. Probably a good mix of both. But I'm beginning to wonder if the guilt mentality that pervades the Fundy church isn't doing them more of a disservice than they realize. There's a good reason for me to say this.
I believe we're given a conscience for a reason. It's God's first way of directing us toward right and away from wrong. What constitutes right or wrong isn't an issue I want to explore right now. Suffice it to say that, with the exception of a very few, the vast majority of humans are born with an internal sense that certain behaviors are right or wrong, and this sense does not merely stem from societal rules and influences. There's something in us apart from the societal expectations we're taught, and that something feels shame when we do something cruel or selfish or unkind or dishonest. Even if society never finds out about it, we still are aware that we have fallen short of some standard that lies within us. This is what we call the conscience.
It's because man violates this conscience so frequently that, I believe, God had to provide us with a more tangible set of rules and guidelines for how we are expected to conduct ourselves in this life. Without wishing to step on the toes of those who don't agree, I embrace the Christian belief that this is contained in the Bible.
But here's the deal. As a Christian (or a Christ follower), I've seen how the guidelines given in the Bible are turned into a rod that is used to beat people into submission. I've seen it done to others, I've allowed others to do it to me, and worst of all, I've done it to myself. And it is in doing this that Christians do Jesus a true disservice.
If you take the time to study the Bible, particularly the New Testament, you gradually come to realize that one of the primary cornerstones of Christianity is the eradication of guilt and the removal of the guilt mentality. And don't go any further with that than what I'm actually saying, all you Fundy nuts who are determined to misunderstand me. LOL. :) I'm not saying that we won't continue to feel conviction over genuine wrongdoing, but once we've taken that to God and asked for forgiveness, the guilty feelings are supposed to go away and we shouldn't feel them again until God initiates conviction for something else we do wrong. In fact, in my experience, conviction from God is less about me being a worm and more about me being inspired and driven toward transformation and change. Big difference. Trust me. Guilt leaves you feeling hopeless and worthless; conviction leaves you feeling as though true change can happen and you can be free.
Anyway, back to my point... I don't believe Jesus ever intended people to walk around feeling guilty all the time and constantly conducting "sin hunts" in their souls ("witch hunts," as my old leader used to call them). That's not to say He doesn't want us to be vigilant. The Bible makes it clear that we should be so that we aren't led astray or deceived. And believe me, sin will deceive you. Been there. Done that. Have the t-shirt. But we're not supposed to be staring ourselves down with a microscope trying to find sin in everything we do. I used to do this, and I watched several good friends do this, and if anything, it crippled us as Christ followers.
Fast forward a couple years, a lot of mistakes, and a whole lot of living and learning. As I was coming out of the Fundy church, I began to see how crippling my constant sense of guilt was. Now, I'm seeing yet another way this old guilt mentality has done me damage: I've ceased to feel guilt over things I know I should feel guilt about.
I can't tell you how terrifying that is for me. It's like I abused the guilt "medication" for so many years that I built up a tolerance to it and became immune. It doesn't work anymore. (Don't worry; I still have a conscience.) But seriously, there are a couple of things in my life that I know I should feel some sort of guilt about, but I don't. I suppose I do on some level, but it's more something I can avoid than something that stalks me and haunts me and plagues me. So instead of having this terrible sense of shame over these actions and behaviors to make me so miserable I change my ways, I'm left with this detached belief that what I'm doing isn't right, but it sure doesn't feel wrong. And that isn't doing anything toward bringing about a difference in my choices and actions.
It is in this that I have a hard time trusting God. In black and white, I have no excuse to offer for myself. Whether it feels wrong or not, the Bible says it is. And unlike a lot of folks these days, I can't just cut away the parts of the Bible I don't like or don't agree with or don't want to pay attention to. For me, embracing the Bible is an all-or-nothing proposition. I guess that's partially because I can't convince myself that truth is subjective and that I can shape it and form it according to whatever ideas happen to appeal to me at any given moment. I just believe that kind of mentality ignores the nature of truth itself. So here I am, and I have no excuse to offer God that will hold water. And if I could just feel some kind of guilt about this, even a fraction of the horrible guilt I used to live with, I could stop. But I don't. I just can't see the "wrongness" outside a clinical environment. In my real world where the colors and lights and feelings are, where life is happening, the clinical "truth" just doesn't make much sense.
Can I trust God to bring me out of this? Can I trust that He's got a better system for producing the kind of behavior He says He approves of than merely beating us to a bloody pulp with our indiscretions? Is it possible that He has to cut away that guilty mindset forever in order to produce the kind of conviction that will result in true transformation?
I don't know. I don't want to take advantage of His grace and goodness. I don't want to harden my heart toward Him. And so I'm afraid out here in the big, wide world where the rules are different and my guilt gauge is broken. I'm afraid I'll go too far. I'm afraid He'll never bring me home. I afraid to live without guilt, especially when I know I should feel it.
I'm not sure whether I was responsible for my endlessly guilty conscience or if my Fundy background was. Probably a good mix of both. But I'm beginning to wonder if the guilt mentality that pervades the Fundy church isn't doing them more of a disservice than they realize. There's a good reason for me to say this.
I believe we're given a conscience for a reason. It's God's first way of directing us toward right and away from wrong. What constitutes right or wrong isn't an issue I want to explore right now. Suffice it to say that, with the exception of a very few, the vast majority of humans are born with an internal sense that certain behaviors are right or wrong, and this sense does not merely stem from societal rules and influences. There's something in us apart from the societal expectations we're taught, and that something feels shame when we do something cruel or selfish or unkind or dishonest. Even if society never finds out about it, we still are aware that we have fallen short of some standard that lies within us. This is what we call the conscience.
It's because man violates this conscience so frequently that, I believe, God had to provide us with a more tangible set of rules and guidelines for how we are expected to conduct ourselves in this life. Without wishing to step on the toes of those who don't agree, I embrace the Christian belief that this is contained in the Bible.
But here's the deal. As a Christian (or a Christ follower), I've seen how the guidelines given in the Bible are turned into a rod that is used to beat people into submission. I've seen it done to others, I've allowed others to do it to me, and worst of all, I've done it to myself. And it is in doing this that Christians do Jesus a true disservice.
If you take the time to study the Bible, particularly the New Testament, you gradually come to realize that one of the primary cornerstones of Christianity is the eradication of guilt and the removal of the guilt mentality. And don't go any further with that than what I'm actually saying, all you Fundy nuts who are determined to misunderstand me. LOL. :) I'm not saying that we won't continue to feel conviction over genuine wrongdoing, but once we've taken that to God and asked for forgiveness, the guilty feelings are supposed to go away and we shouldn't feel them again until God initiates conviction for something else we do wrong. In fact, in my experience, conviction from God is less about me being a worm and more about me being inspired and driven toward transformation and change. Big difference. Trust me. Guilt leaves you feeling hopeless and worthless; conviction leaves you feeling as though true change can happen and you can be free.
Anyway, back to my point... I don't believe Jesus ever intended people to walk around feeling guilty all the time and constantly conducting "sin hunts" in their souls ("witch hunts," as my old leader used to call them). That's not to say He doesn't want us to be vigilant. The Bible makes it clear that we should be so that we aren't led astray or deceived. And believe me, sin will deceive you. Been there. Done that. Have the t-shirt. But we're not supposed to be staring ourselves down with a microscope trying to find sin in everything we do. I used to do this, and I watched several good friends do this, and if anything, it crippled us as Christ followers.
Fast forward a couple years, a lot of mistakes, and a whole lot of living and learning. As I was coming out of the Fundy church, I began to see how crippling my constant sense of guilt was. Now, I'm seeing yet another way this old guilt mentality has done me damage: I've ceased to feel guilt over things I know I should feel guilt about.
I can't tell you how terrifying that is for me. It's like I abused the guilt "medication" for so many years that I built up a tolerance to it and became immune. It doesn't work anymore. (Don't worry; I still have a conscience.) But seriously, there are a couple of things in my life that I know I should feel some sort of guilt about, but I don't. I suppose I do on some level, but it's more something I can avoid than something that stalks me and haunts me and plagues me. So instead of having this terrible sense of shame over these actions and behaviors to make me so miserable I change my ways, I'm left with this detached belief that what I'm doing isn't right, but it sure doesn't feel wrong. And that isn't doing anything toward bringing about a difference in my choices and actions.
It is in this that I have a hard time trusting God. In black and white, I have no excuse to offer for myself. Whether it feels wrong or not, the Bible says it is. And unlike a lot of folks these days, I can't just cut away the parts of the Bible I don't like or don't agree with or don't want to pay attention to. For me, embracing the Bible is an all-or-nothing proposition. I guess that's partially because I can't convince myself that truth is subjective and that I can shape it and form it according to whatever ideas happen to appeal to me at any given moment. I just believe that kind of mentality ignores the nature of truth itself. So here I am, and I have no excuse to offer God that will hold water. And if I could just feel some kind of guilt about this, even a fraction of the horrible guilt I used to live with, I could stop. But I don't. I just can't see the "wrongness" outside a clinical environment. In my real world where the colors and lights and feelings are, where life is happening, the clinical "truth" just doesn't make much sense.
Can I trust God to bring me out of this? Can I trust that He's got a better system for producing the kind of behavior He says He approves of than merely beating us to a bloody pulp with our indiscretions? Is it possible that He has to cut away that guilty mindset forever in order to produce the kind of conviction that will result in true transformation?
I don't know. I don't want to take advantage of His grace and goodness. I don't want to harden my heart toward Him. And so I'm afraid out here in the big, wide world where the rules are different and my guilt gauge is broken. I'm afraid I'll go too far. I'm afraid He'll never bring me home. I afraid to live without guilt, especially when I know I should feel it.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
"I Was Afraid You Were One of Them"
Sorry about the cheesy title, but my new sweetie and I watched an Invasion of the Body Snatchers-type movie the other night where someone said that line, and as it kind of pertains to the subject matter of this post, I couldn't resist. :)
Last night, this same sweetie and I were talking, and he told me that if it weren't for some of the "shynesses" that I have about certain subject matters (primarily sex), he would never know that I was once an uber-conservative Christian. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, and I'm not sure how I feel about his words, whether they bother me or not. On the one hand I think it's great. I'm glad he doesn't see in me the narrow-minded perspectives and judgmental thinking that characterize most conservatives. But it also bothers me because Christ followers are supposed to be different. Jesus was loved by the sinners of the world, but it wasn't because He looked so much like them that He blended right in. It makes me ask myself if I "blend in" too much. It also raises some much more universal questions, though, about what it looks like to be a Christ follower in our world today. What are the marks of a Christ follower?
The more I think on the subject, the more I feel that our beliefs about what marks will characterize a Christ follower are in need of change. Both the church and the secular world have embraced a fairly similar list: no smoking, drinking or swearing; no pre- or extra-marital sex; general honesty (i.e. no stealing, lying or cheating); attending church regularly. Both sides could add a few more items to the list to define it more fully according to their individual ideas, but I think this is a fairly good core of characteristics that most of us expect from "religious" people or "Christians." If you take a closer look at the list, however, I think you might agree with me that it's a pretty worthless list to use when determining whether someone is a Christ follower or not. Most of the stuff that appears on this list of defining characteristics can be managed with little or no help from God. In fact, these characteristics have been hallmarks of numerous individuals throughout history who have been no more Christ-like than the devil himself. Case in point: the Pharisees. You couldn't find a more moral, upstanding bunch, but Jesus called them white washed tombs full of corruption.
So if the characteristics we generally use to define Christ followers aren't really giving us an accurate representation of what being like Jesus is all about, what does it look like? I think it comes back to the heart. The marks of a Christ follower have less to do with adhering to a strict moral code (Wait! Don't freak out on me yet!) and more to do with where our hearts are in relation to God and our fellow man. If I were to redefine what a Christ follower should look like, I'd start with the oft-listed and seldom-considered "fruit of the Spirit": love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Then I'd build from there. In addition to being loving and kind, a Christ follower should be compassionate, merciful, devoted to bringing justice to the oppressed and healing to the broken and wounded. A Christ follower should be a lover of the truth who doesn't fear to look new ideas in the face and sift them to find any kernels of truth they might contain. A Christ follower should be marked by practical humanitarianism, by selflessness, by generosity, by respect for appointed authorities, by the forgiveness they offer to those who wrong them. And yes, a Christ follower should strive to adhere to the moral code set forth in the Bible.
Notice the things on my list. They aren't things we humans can do without help from someone bigger and stronger. They are internal characteristics that show themselves in outward behaviors, not outward behaviors (like the ones in the list that currently defines Christ followers) that may or may not be a reflection of what is really going on in the heart.
So do I bear the marks of a true Christ follower? I don't know. I think I am beginning to bear some of them, though in their infant stages. I think some of them are still being formed in me, while others I am still wrestling with in myself. And perhaps I should go back and ask my sweetie if he sees any of those characteristics in me that actually count. I hope he does. I already know that in so many ways I'm not a good representative of the first list. I know that when it comes to certain issues I'm a terrible representative of Jesus, and this troubles me deeply and makes me ashamed to claim Him - not because I'm ashamed of Him but because I'm ashamed of myself and don't wish to make a mockery of Him. But I hope that in spite of my many flaws, some part of Him continues to live and grow inside me in ways that other people can see.
If you can see the marks of a Christ follower in me, I guess I can live without all the marks of a conservative Fundamentalist Christian. If you can look at me and see Jesus, I've become all that really matters to me, and that's enough.
Last night, this same sweetie and I were talking, and he told me that if it weren't for some of the "shynesses" that I have about certain subject matters (primarily sex), he would never know that I was once an uber-conservative Christian. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, and I'm not sure how I feel about his words, whether they bother me or not. On the one hand I think it's great. I'm glad he doesn't see in me the narrow-minded perspectives and judgmental thinking that characterize most conservatives. But it also bothers me because Christ followers are supposed to be different. Jesus was loved by the sinners of the world, but it wasn't because He looked so much like them that He blended right in. It makes me ask myself if I "blend in" too much. It also raises some much more universal questions, though, about what it looks like to be a Christ follower in our world today. What are the marks of a Christ follower?
The more I think on the subject, the more I feel that our beliefs about what marks will characterize a Christ follower are in need of change. Both the church and the secular world have embraced a fairly similar list: no smoking, drinking or swearing; no pre- or extra-marital sex; general honesty (i.e. no stealing, lying or cheating); attending church regularly. Both sides could add a few more items to the list to define it more fully according to their individual ideas, but I think this is a fairly good core of characteristics that most of us expect from "religious" people or "Christians." If you take a closer look at the list, however, I think you might agree with me that it's a pretty worthless list to use when determining whether someone is a Christ follower or not. Most of the stuff that appears on this list of defining characteristics can be managed with little or no help from God. In fact, these characteristics have been hallmarks of numerous individuals throughout history who have been no more Christ-like than the devil himself. Case in point: the Pharisees. You couldn't find a more moral, upstanding bunch, but Jesus called them white washed tombs full of corruption.
So if the characteristics we generally use to define Christ followers aren't really giving us an accurate representation of what being like Jesus is all about, what does it look like? I think it comes back to the heart. The marks of a Christ follower have less to do with adhering to a strict moral code (Wait! Don't freak out on me yet!) and more to do with where our hearts are in relation to God and our fellow man. If I were to redefine what a Christ follower should look like, I'd start with the oft-listed and seldom-considered "fruit of the Spirit": love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Then I'd build from there. In addition to being loving and kind, a Christ follower should be compassionate, merciful, devoted to bringing justice to the oppressed and healing to the broken and wounded. A Christ follower should be a lover of the truth who doesn't fear to look new ideas in the face and sift them to find any kernels of truth they might contain. A Christ follower should be marked by practical humanitarianism, by selflessness, by generosity, by respect for appointed authorities, by the forgiveness they offer to those who wrong them. And yes, a Christ follower should strive to adhere to the moral code set forth in the Bible.
Notice the things on my list. They aren't things we humans can do without help from someone bigger and stronger. They are internal characteristics that show themselves in outward behaviors, not outward behaviors (like the ones in the list that currently defines Christ followers) that may or may not be a reflection of what is really going on in the heart.
So do I bear the marks of a true Christ follower? I don't know. I think I am beginning to bear some of them, though in their infant stages. I think some of them are still being formed in me, while others I am still wrestling with in myself. And perhaps I should go back and ask my sweetie if he sees any of those characteristics in me that actually count. I hope he does. I already know that in so many ways I'm not a good representative of the first list. I know that when it comes to certain issues I'm a terrible representative of Jesus, and this troubles me deeply and makes me ashamed to claim Him - not because I'm ashamed of Him but because I'm ashamed of myself and don't wish to make a mockery of Him. But I hope that in spite of my many flaws, some part of Him continues to live and grow inside me in ways that other people can see.
If you can see the marks of a Christ follower in me, I guess I can live without all the marks of a conservative Fundamentalist Christian. If you can look at me and see Jesus, I've become all that really matters to me, and that's enough.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Coming into the Light
So often the tone of these posts is somewhat dark and negative. I suppose that's to be expected when you're dealing with subject matter like mine, so it's nice to be able to offer you all a "brighter skies" kind of post today.
I had the chance recently to look back over some magazine articles I wrote a couple of years ago. One in particular really drew me in because, in the first half at least, it was one of the most honest and transparent pieces I had ever written. Which is probably why it wasn't published! :) The second half of the piece was full of my "wishful thinking" bullshit, but the first part was very raw and real. Reading it was great because it reminded me of how far I've come and how much this difficult journey has given me.
The real guts of the piece had to do with how I felt invisible and uncelebrated, how I felt like I was in hiding deep inside where nobody - not even God - could see me. Well, okay... God could see, but I didn't really want to deal with that.
I remember having a mental picture some years ago of coming to stand before God, as the Fundies say. And I remember feeling in this picture as though God wanted to look at me, in me, through me, but I was terrified to let Him. I knew that He already knew and saw the dark places, the broken places, the deep neediness of my soul that I was horribly ashamed of, and on some level I was okay with the fact that He knew. What frightened me was not His knowing; it was the idea that I would have to experience the "knowing." I'm not sure if that makes sense, but there's a difference between knowing someone has read your diary and sitting down to read your diary to someone. I didn't want to experience His searching and knowing of me. Of course, I knew that He wouldn't hate or reject me because of what He saw, but I feared even His compassion and pity; I feared the shame I would feel to have Him see the broken, dirty person I knew I was. Strangely enough, I knew the thing I dreaded was also the thing I most needed. I just didn't know how to open myself up to it. So I remained a shriveled wretch, crouching on the floor before Him, shrinking away from the freedom of being known.
Oddly enough, as a good Fundy girl, I didn't have much real shit to hide from God. Up until the last year or so, my roster of "really bad sins" was empty. In retrospect, I think I was less ashamed of things I had done and more ashamed of myself - who I was. I guess what amazes me now is how that need to hide seems to have vanished as I've become a "real" sinner with some genuine shit on my roster. Somehow, some way, it's brought me to a place where I no longer feel ashamed of myself - what I've done, yes (well, sometimes) - but not who I am. I feel like I can come into the light and not pretend or hide or wish I were better and more worthy. Now I'm just me, and being just me with all my faults and foibles is enough.
I can't explain how what I've been through has changed this for me. You'd think it would have the opposite effect. I'm not sure, but as I'm talking about this I remember a night last fall when I was in some of the darkest moments I'd ever known. It would have been sometime in November, and I remember sitting on my bed and seeing this picture in my mind of me walking up to Jesus. I wanted to talk to Him, but I simply had no words. There was no way I could begin to express the depth of my pain and fear and loneliness. I was literally shattered, and I couldn't even come up with one word to communicate all that to Him, to ask for His help and forgiveness, to ask for His love. In that moment - and it wasn't something I imagined; it was real - He reached out and put His hands on each side of my face, cradling my cheeks between them, and He simply looked into my eyes. Neither one of us said anything because the emotions of the moment were too profound to be cheapened by words, but I remember Him looking into my eyes, and I remember the tears that slowly started to roll down both our cheeks. We didn't sob or wail; we just quietly cried. And His eyes told me that He loved me and accepted me and felt compassion for the pain I had made for myself.
At the time it seemed like a nice experience, and I didn't see it for the profundity of what it might have been. It didn't stand out as one of the great spiritual experiences of my life, and I've had a few I will never forget. It was just a simple moment that was over and done in a flash, but it was real. I wonder now if that moment was what He had wanted to share with me all along. If perhaps the searching I had always dreaded didn't have to be what I thought it would be and if perhaps He simply wanted me to let Him look in my eyes long enough to see that He knew, He understood, He loved.
Anyway, that was all pretty personal, but I was thinking on it today and realizing how freeing it is when you feel like you can come into the light and stop hiding what you are. And looking back on that unpublished article, I can say that I still feel some of the things I wrote about, but somehow it isn't so strong. So I guess I'm getting somewhere, huh?
I had the chance recently to look back over some magazine articles I wrote a couple of years ago. One in particular really drew me in because, in the first half at least, it was one of the most honest and transparent pieces I had ever written. Which is probably why it wasn't published! :) The second half of the piece was full of my "wishful thinking" bullshit, but the first part was very raw and real. Reading it was great because it reminded me of how far I've come and how much this difficult journey has given me.
The real guts of the piece had to do with how I felt invisible and uncelebrated, how I felt like I was in hiding deep inside where nobody - not even God - could see me. Well, okay... God could see, but I didn't really want to deal with that.
I remember having a mental picture some years ago of coming to stand before God, as the Fundies say. And I remember feeling in this picture as though God wanted to look at me, in me, through me, but I was terrified to let Him. I knew that He already knew and saw the dark places, the broken places, the deep neediness of my soul that I was horribly ashamed of, and on some level I was okay with the fact that He knew. What frightened me was not His knowing; it was the idea that I would have to experience the "knowing." I'm not sure if that makes sense, but there's a difference between knowing someone has read your diary and sitting down to read your diary to someone. I didn't want to experience His searching and knowing of me. Of course, I knew that He wouldn't hate or reject me because of what He saw, but I feared even His compassion and pity; I feared the shame I would feel to have Him see the broken, dirty person I knew I was. Strangely enough, I knew the thing I dreaded was also the thing I most needed. I just didn't know how to open myself up to it. So I remained a shriveled wretch, crouching on the floor before Him, shrinking away from the freedom of being known.
Oddly enough, as a good Fundy girl, I didn't have much real shit to hide from God. Up until the last year or so, my roster of "really bad sins" was empty. In retrospect, I think I was less ashamed of things I had done and more ashamed of myself - who I was. I guess what amazes me now is how that need to hide seems to have vanished as I've become a "real" sinner with some genuine shit on my roster. Somehow, some way, it's brought me to a place where I no longer feel ashamed of myself - what I've done, yes (well, sometimes) - but not who I am. I feel like I can come into the light and not pretend or hide or wish I were better and more worthy. Now I'm just me, and being just me with all my faults and foibles is enough.
I can't explain how what I've been through has changed this for me. You'd think it would have the opposite effect. I'm not sure, but as I'm talking about this I remember a night last fall when I was in some of the darkest moments I'd ever known. It would have been sometime in November, and I remember sitting on my bed and seeing this picture in my mind of me walking up to Jesus. I wanted to talk to Him, but I simply had no words. There was no way I could begin to express the depth of my pain and fear and loneliness. I was literally shattered, and I couldn't even come up with one word to communicate all that to Him, to ask for His help and forgiveness, to ask for His love. In that moment - and it wasn't something I imagined; it was real - He reached out and put His hands on each side of my face, cradling my cheeks between them, and He simply looked into my eyes. Neither one of us said anything because the emotions of the moment were too profound to be cheapened by words, but I remember Him looking into my eyes, and I remember the tears that slowly started to roll down both our cheeks. We didn't sob or wail; we just quietly cried. And His eyes told me that He loved me and accepted me and felt compassion for the pain I had made for myself.
At the time it seemed like a nice experience, and I didn't see it for the profundity of what it might have been. It didn't stand out as one of the great spiritual experiences of my life, and I've had a few I will never forget. It was just a simple moment that was over and done in a flash, but it was real. I wonder now if that moment was what He had wanted to share with me all along. If perhaps the searching I had always dreaded didn't have to be what I thought it would be and if perhaps He simply wanted me to let Him look in my eyes long enough to see that He knew, He understood, He loved.
Anyway, that was all pretty personal, but I was thinking on it today and realizing how freeing it is when you feel like you can come into the light and stop hiding what you are. And looking back on that unpublished article, I can say that I still feel some of the things I wrote about, but somehow it isn't so strong. So I guess I'm getting somewhere, huh?
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