I gave up on New Year's resolutions a while ago. The hype annoyed me and I know that if I try to pressure myself into doing something (or, worse, have someone else pressure me), I'll just flip my finger and walk away quietly-- I work great under pressure, but could never convince myself that this time of year was worth the pressure.
Moreover, I hate failure. Hate it. I'm recovering from a life of evaluating opportunities (and deciding against them) based on the probability of me "winning". (See sports, anything music-related, a few relationships, talent shows, karaoke, a church plant with this friend in Minneapolis, the philosophy major my professor friend was pushing me for (in fairness, he was mostly concerned that I would lose my intelligence and niceness if I followed through on plans to attend Conservative Bible College), dance, trivia games, pool with people who look like they know what they're doing, etc.) This resolution business seemed full of people trying things and failing at those things, and I decided to just quietly exit myself from the game before someone tagged me out.
Then, some 18 months ago, I discovered Alece's blog... she was the reason I made a "top ten blogs you have to read" list I give to friends, and is probably one of two of the originals to still be on there. Alece has this whole community of people who do this "one word" thing-- finding one word to focus on during the year. I journaled through my experience with last year's redemption and plan to move this year's word actually to the blog (*gasp).
This year, I'm choosing present. I like it because it's about being and about offering and about the now, which are things I really want to focus on this year. I want to be with my family and with my friends and with the strangers on the train. And I want to offer myself in whatever role I can in however brief our interaction. I'm sick of being distracted and of not giving myself completely to people... of not being completely exhausted from living hard all day. And hey-- if 2012 is going to kill us all, might as well be fully here to enjoy it.
There are a lot of questions I've been asking recently... to others sometimes, but mostly to myself. There's a certain benefit in being able to process life with myself-- it makes me constantly aware of things in my own life and teaches me how to help others understand me better and understand themselves better-- processing becomes a way of life, a characterization of the soul and self.
Have been processing-- helping others process, helping others help me process, and processing myself-- a lot lately.
It sounds more exhausting than it is... there's something about the engagement, the listening, the reading of silences and pauses, the breaths and specific wording chosen-- it's all life-giving and affirming.
It allows for me to feel heard and understood, to know deeply I am not alone.
It allows for me to give to another the reassurance you are not alone; i'm listening and hearing you and going to help you figure this thing out.
Processing.
I sent over a list of questions to a friend the other day, things that help me process well.
It's amazing what we learn about ourselves and each other when we enter this process with people. If you don't have a habit of having others in your life helping you unpack the things in your head, I'd implore you to try it for a few weeks-- give it a chance; you might like it. And if you need help coming up with a list of questions that are helpful, well then consider the 2011 gift to you.
My list and explanation:
good questions for helping me process, whether or not i'm actively acknowledging i need it, include:
What are you thinking? why? what does that mean for you? how are you dealing with that? is it helping? why? how? do you want another beer? what do you need right now? what else? is that it? are you sure? is there anything you're not saying? what do you not want to tell me right now? can you say it? is that all that's on your mind about that? are you being honest with yourself about that? are you sure that's all? do you want a hug?
... this is not an exhaustive list. but any of those questions in any amount of frequency in conversations helps. I think that sometimes i think i'm done, but it's just because my brain learns how to protect in conversations... i've learned- so well that the bastard has become habit and sometimes it fools me until i run through those questions- to share just openly enough that the other person feels i'm being vulnerable but doesn't think i'm too crazy. It's like my brain has all these false bottoms and i/other people think we've hit the bottom when we haven't. Don't ever, ever, no matter what we're talking about, feel like you're intruding or like it's not okay to ask another question. There will be times I just plain don't know the answer, or times i'll have to search for the words or times it's going to be kinda broken to answer, but i need to press through that stuff. If something comes up and i know i can not answer a question, then i'll let you know that (and if you ask "are you sure" then it gives me a way to make sure i'm actually being honest and not just shutting down).
There's this image of a screw which has come into contact with a heart, so that each time the heart beats, the screw slices the flesh. That's what I mean when I say something is "shredding my heart"--that image right there.
***
I was in a relationship once-- a relationship I never should have been in and one which taught me a lesson I thought I was beyond needing to learn. To the one friend who stood up to me, I said I don't need you to be worried for me; I can take care of myself. I couldn't and I didn't.... and I should have listened. But I was confident I could handle the guy. When the same person later (after we were long over) grew too close to a friend of mine, I felt panic for this friend. I knew who this guy was and was worried about my friend being with him-- would have given anything to protect her from him. I was pissed and panicky with God, telling Him she was too young and too good to deal with this guy, and begging for Him to protect her.
*
I'm at a point in my life where many of my closest friends are divorced (or heading that way), and when I get the late night texts reminiscing the heartache or the fear for the kids or beating themselves up for having failed to be perfect in the relationship or despairing of life from the loneliness that drives small daggers into their pieces of hope or worn out from the barrage of insults still being thrown at them.... it sucks. I want to put up a shield and let them hide behind it for a while. I want to find the ex who has hurt them so and throw a punch or a barrage of words to belittle and tear down and let them feel an ounce of what my friend is feeling... and not leave until the he or she who has wrought so much pain is sufficiently in a heap of tears on the ground. I have to fight the desire to take this into my own hands... fight constantly the frustration that God isn't fixing this, isn't protecting my friends the way that I would, shouldn't be trusted with the ones I love.
*
The last two years of my life have been easy. Not without problems. Not without their share of things that momentarily seemed overwhelming. But relatively easy compared to the years before them. I was texting a friend a year ago, a friend who'd been with me through the rougher years, and telling him that things were good, and that I was worried. I had it in my head that God, who had curiously given me a really easy year, was waiting to build me up before slamming a hurricane into my life... waiting until I had my guard down before he would steal my hope from underneath me-- probably just after I'd learned to stand steadily on it. He was, in my mind, much like the villain in the story with the gingerbread house, fattening me up on good and easy times so that he could stick a plumper, trusting me into the oven to kill.
***
I resonate with the author in that video clip... with the paranoia he feels, waiting for God's anger to come rolling "down like the mighty waters."
*
In August, I met a new friend who sent me a book. Was reading it recently, and the author says this: We are terrified of Him, and rightly so, because He is just waiting for us to make a mistake or fall into sin so He can blast us into hell. Most of what we do in our religion is based on fear... Can you imagine me telling my wife that I love her and I will never leave her or forsake her, but if she ever cheats on me, I will proceed to torture her for all eternity? Though she may never cheat on me, she will certainly never get close to me... This is exactly what many Christians believe about their Father.
*
I know that this picture of God is not what I believe... but practically, it gets too close sometimes. There's this verse in the Bible that gets me almost constantly: Perfect love drives out fear.
Damn.
It's how I know I don't love God the way that I want to... because I still walk around afraid of him. Afraid of who in my life He's going to hurt to get my attention. Afraid of how he's going to make me pay to make up for having a good couple of years. Afraid that the car accident or the hospital bill or the fire or the death of a loved one will be for something I've done wrong, for something good I've forgotten to do. For some way in which I haven't been perfect.
***
I hate that I still feel this way. That I've been through my Christian schooling, through my Bible College education (oh Bible College, how I almost completely lost my faith when I was with you), through my service now with my church, and into the new places my heart tells me He is leading me. That I've been through those things, and I still can't shake this feeling of God. That beneath You give and take away... still blessed be Your name is Will those who mourn be left uncomforted while you're up there just playing hard to get?
*
I've been more in touch with my own heart lately. I've stopped to listen to it. It's weary. Weary of this fear. Weary of behaving with God the way that I do late at night, walking in a bad neighborhood: Watch your back. Don't step too close to an alley or deep doorway or car door. Keep a hand in your pocket, your cell phone in your palm, covered by your sleeve, so that if you only get one hit, you have the extra firmness to break a nose. Keep your legs unencumbered so you can kick. Don't be afraid to bite-- hard enough to leave a mark, but try not to break the skin, as you don't know what the assailant might have. keep your eyes open. Be aware of the guy who teeters too close, of the group underneath the trees, of the lookout on the corner; look behind yourself when you cross a street; use windows you pass by as a way to see who's behind you; trust your gut and always be aware of at least two exits and be ready to run. It's exhausting.
*
Exhaustion of this type, I have lived with. I'm still trying to separate it in my heart, to discover the truths and discard the lies and hold on to light. But it's seeped in... into the bloodstream of my faith. And it's starting to infiltrate the organs i need to live. I have something exciting and good and new which God has given to me. And i ponder it with the trace of a smile on my face, holding the secret between me and God and a few good friends, enjoying the moments of silence and quiet joy. But I've somewhere left a door unprotected, because this fear seeped in there, too. And tainted is the dream, with this fear that God is really saying no-- that's too good. i want you to suffer here for a bit first. or instead. And either this thought hasn't been here before today, or it just hasn't been loud enough. But it started to squeeze my spirit. And I sat here for too long, reading the texts from the friends and I started to hear a whisper in my ear that maybe these friends were going through such hard times because God needed to get my attention, and that he wouldn't stop hurting people until I gave up the joy I'd been feeling.
*
I don't know why I'm telling you this, except that I needed to get it out and call the lie to the front of the room and make it stand there, rather than hunched over me, shooting despair and panic and distrust into my bloodstream toward my heart.
I know that this God of terror and of fear and of panic is not my God, but I've picked up this fake somewhere. And I just need help remembering sometimes the difference between the two. The gospel is hope and is redemption and restoration-- rebuilding the broken and the weak and the unfaithful; it's a God who adores the whores and the drunks and the failures, and who doesn't give up on us. It is simple but not easy, as He is good but not safe. And I am broken but not beyond healing, as we may feel crazy, but are not alone.
I am working on a list of things (because I don't have enough to keep me occupied, CLEARLY) that I think about community. But if you've spent much time with me processing through ideas, you know that i can think myself in circles often and especially when I think alone. So I force myself into community and to process those thoughts with people, because somewhere, I know that's what I need.
Thus this post.
What makes community?
Why do we feel an insatiable pull toward being deeply known and still loved by others?
What holds us back from fully investing?
What does it look like to fail at doing/being community?
What are the really difficult, almost impossible points where we want to walk away?
When we "Succeed" at doing/being community, what does that look like?
How much do we explain of ourselves in the beginning (so they understand our freak-outs) and how much do we let them find out with time?
Are there formulas? Should there be?
Collecting thoughts (full-bodied or fragmented), insights, stories, more questions. And will continue to come back to these questions over the next several months, so... well... just know that this is beginning a conversation.
Share your stories, thoughts and insights and questions and whatevers... and if they're too much to put on here, then send them to me or let's make a coffee date or a skype date or whatever. i really, really wanna know what other people (and you, in particular) think about it.
Scars and war stories bring people together. Kids on a playground,
adults fighting the same demons, war vets... there's something about
comparing bruises and identifying with someone else's pain which forges
friendships that even many years cannot boast.
This blog series and, in its way, the blogging community, has
created a space where it's ok to share some of these stories-- not to
shake a fist at the church, but to say we're all welcome, we all have
something to learn and all need to fight to make each other heard.
As Davidput it, we really are all the same, with the same
insecurities and fears and passions and joys and needs as each other....
we all need to be heard.
We realized at some
point mid-series that we'd used the word engage in every post up until
then. I laughed at first, but then realized that of course we would...
because that's really what we need-- we need to be heard, need to have
our stories affirmed, need to have someone else (sometimes especially
someone who does life differently from ourselves) look us in the eye,
grab our hand, and say "I see you and I hear you and I affirm the story
you're living-- crap and all."
So engage. So listen. So give space. Love people where they are, rather than where you want them to be. Try your damndest to avoid being a jerk... and when you fail at this, get up and try again the next day. All that
stuff that we know, but need to hear an outside voice reminding us of
again. To end the series is, in some way, circling back around to its beginning-- sometimes we don't need to start a revolution, storm the castle or Occupy The Church Front Lawn... sometimes it really is about learning to thrive where we are, learning to listen better and, when it's possible, being heard better, too.
Today David is here with our last Trait post on the Church Rebel (don't worry-- we'll have a wrap up for next week... one written with me in his homeland, probably over beers, coffee and war stories).
I squirmed through his scenarios because I saw myself in them too clearly.
Come. Be still for a moment. Listen. Identify. Exhale.
**********************************
The trait:
Having the same needs and fears as everyone else
The situation:
Today is our final trait in this series, and as I've looked back over our posts and reflected on my own heart in relation to this topic, it's clear we're all looking for the same things, from the most hazy liberal to the most stringent fundamentalist: love, acceptance, truth, meaning, freedom, relationships. Rebels seem very self-confident sometimes, but that often masks the same insecurities and fears as the people around us. See if you can find yourself in one or more of these examples:
We'll have an argument in which I strongly denounce your conservative theological position, and then I'll go home and pray restlessly and weakly, terrified that I'm wrong and of the consequences if so, no matter how many good reasons I have for believing what I do.
I'll be discussing some issue with my more liberal friends and I won't want to admit my misgivings with fully accepting a certain progressive position because I don't want to appear regressive and fundamentalist.
I'll be discussing some issue with my more conservative friends and I won't want to plainly express what I think because I don't want to be cast as a heretic and receive their shock/grief/rejection/pity.
No matter how "sure" I am of something I believe, I'll struggle under the crushing pressure of teaching my child the right things about God, Jesus and the Bible. No amount of personal confidence can make me confident enough where she's involved.
No matter how irreconcilable our positions, I will continue to hope that if we're both earnest and kind enough I will be able to stay close to my friends who think I'm headed to hell in a handbasket (for the glory of God).
I'll be convicted by something said by a person I typically disagree with, but I won't want to pay attention to it because I don't want to be told I need to change anything in my heart, especially not by that person.
We'll be arguing about something, and I'll have trouble admitting I'm wrong on any point because I don't want to give you any points in our theological contest. Or I'll have trouble admitting I don't understand what you just said, because I'm afraid it will make me look dumb.
I'll write a post just like this, and I'll almost hit delete because I'll know some of the people reading it will be people involved in these hypotheticals, and they might interpret my honest expressions of doubt and insecurity as chinks in the armor, the Holy Spirit convicting me that they're right, and I won't want to give them that false satisfaction. And then I'll remember that healing only comes from honesty and love, and I'll try to remember a God who let himself be nailed to a cross rather than defend himself as right, and gave as an example of vulnerable, intimate love his own naked, bleeding body, and I'll sigh and hit publish instead. And I'll try to show grace to those who believe I'm terribly wrong, and pray they show grace to me too.
Thoughts for rebels and churches:
No seperate advice today, because we're all in the same boat. What I want to say today is the same for everyone-- emergents, neo-Calvinists, and everyone in between. Listen to each other's stories. Look for the fears and needs and wants that motivate a person to do and say the things they do and say. You will often find they are very similar to your own, even if the outward expressions are not. A person's story helps you understand why they have trouble accepting your position, why they have their pet beliefs that seem out of proportion, why they seem eager to jump on one ship or another, why their natural compass tends to steer left or right of its own accord. Don't communicate in talking points; communicate with words. The person you are arguing with is a human being, loved by God, in need of forgiveness and mercy and grace, influenced by fears and needs and virtues they aren't even aware of, trying to do and believe what is right and often failing. And so are you, on every point. No one is right about everything they believe. Please, Christians, rebel or not: Show grace.
As a young person growing up in my faith tradition, I heard* that Jesus was here for the downtrodden, for the drug dealer, for the murderer and the adulterer. That's what all the awesome testimonies were at our youth conferences and shared from the pulpit... and I learned a double-God.
One God who would save the sinner from whatever he had done... This was the God I carried with me in my back pocket, next to the 4 Spiritual Laws tract, when we would go out and do street evangelism, seeking to save these evil men and bring them to God-who-would-forgive-all.
And another God. One who expected the Christians to live up to all the expectations given by Scripture, church and authority figures, and was pissed when they didn't. One who you didn't want to make angry, lest he bring a national disaster on your city, make you pregnant your first time having sex with a boy, or heap guilt upon your head and make it impossible for you to live with the weight of your imperfections.
The first God, I loved. He was kind and forgiving and saw the heart... but he was for the others.
The second God I feared. He was demanding and loved to guilt-trip, and he was mine. And I had to perform for him constantly, or else risk his wrath and guilt and wonder if mine was the sin for which there is no forgiveness.
It took me years to learn there was just one God... and he was not waiting for me to fall so he could sentence me to some awful fate as He shakes his head in disappointment at me; He was (is) every bit as present and on my side, as He is those things for the ones whose sins take them to prison.
... Thinking about grace today... and the baggage I'm still unpacking as I learn to accept it. Be encouraged, and know you are loved (not hated... loved).
*"heard"... perhaps it was not spoken (there is much i don't remember), but it was heard nonetheless in how I saw people treated.
When David asked me what I was thinking for our series this week, I told him casually, "Oh... I'm cataloging my most frustrating personal faults and seeing which of them stem from/relate to this rebel thing."
And then I found one that sorta fit perfectly and made me a little uncomfortable to admit and write through. Which was pretty much an assurance that it was what I needed to write about.
Step one of thoughts for rebels/ to myself: Stop being a jackass.
We don't all fit neatly into the "church people" box. Some of us are quite prone to question and push and pull a bit to see exactly what this box is... David's post today continues our exploration into what we've deemed "the church rebel," and addresses an outworking of the quasi-PTSD many of us carry-- distrust of churches.
********************************
The trait:
Distrust of churches
The scenario:
A year ago, I went out for coffee with one of my pastors. As we were leaving he invited me to the weekly men's Bible study. I had more interest in swallowing a handful of carpet staples than going to a men's ministry event, but I couldn't just say that, so I asked him what they did during their studies. He described it, and I said something like, "I don't know, it just sounds so churchy." He told me to stop being such a nonconformist, we laughed, and then I still didn't go to the men's Bible study. Ever.
This type of experience repeats itself on a regular basis. I read a church bulletin or sit through a service and make a mental checklist of all the stuff that makes me cringe or bristle. If this happens to you, you already know exactly what I'm talking about.
Thoughts for rebels:
I'm having trouble thinking of any church rebels, from authors down to us normal folk, who came to faith as an adult. Almost all of us who would describe ourselves this way grew up in churches. We've seen the silliness, the politics, the illogical rules, the poorly supported apologetics, the manipulation and guilt, the warring factions. We've been burned. And no number of positive experiences can keep us from being wary of anything that looks like it might be getting ready to pull a tract out of the pocket of its pleated khakis.
Look, I'm with you on this. I feel the same way. I visit a new church service waiting for the first thing that will annoy me, the first catchphrase that implies more than the sum of its syllables, the doctrinal given that I find to be anything but given. But holding church at arm's length because of bad experiences in the past is like giving up on eating after you've had food poisoning - what you're protecting yourself from is not nearly as bad as what you're doing to yourself in the process. By all means be careful. Take your time before committing to a church. Goodness knows that's what Lyndie and I are doing. But don't let caution turn into callousness. Churches are imperfect collections of broken people; they will have problems. Show grace and love, and allow other people to be themselves.
Thoughts for churches:
Listen to people's stories. Find out why they're at your church, and why they left the last one and the one before that; find out how they grew up, how they came to faith, the positive and negative expressions of church they've experienced. The resistance they offer to various ministries or practices in your church may be because they've been hurt in similar situations in the past. Don't rush them or guilt them into participating if they don't want to. Give them time. Show them you value relationships more than programs and people more than principles. Reassure them they can be who they are in your church with their eccentricities, fears and differing convictions intact.
