How I Was Wrong About Humility

If you've been a citizen of Western Evangelical Christianity for any length of time, you're probably well familiar with the concept of humility.

"God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble."

"Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord and He shall lift you up."

"For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted."

We've all heard those verses and many more. We've also heard countless stories from the pulpit about the rewards of humility, of not thinking more of ourselves than we should.

And we've all certainly heard about the destructive consequences of pride, the antithesis of humility. So I grew up trying to be humble, doing my best to avoid having pride in my heart.

This, unsurprisingly, led to me being unable to take a compliment, even if I did something well. It led to me being unrelentingly self-deprecating, partly for the laughs but mostly due to the fear of what would happen if I let myself be proud of who I am.

But what's really funny is that at the same time I was being taught the benefits of being humble, I was also being taught the importance of certainty. Somehow, religion taught me that certainty was synonymous with faith and therefore the enemy of doubt. If I was not certain, I had doubt. If I had doubt, my faith was weak.

It seemed that those Christians with the most certainty were celebrated as the most spiritual. I grew up with the idea that spiritual maturity meant you had more answers than questions, more certainty than doubt, more faith than unbelief.

I believe we've created a very destructive idea of what it is to be a "good Christian". People are taught to think little of themselves but to have a dogmatic certainty and an unwillingness to entertain doubt when it comes to their beliefs. Does that sound like the kind of person any of us want to be around? Someone ill-equipped to engage in dialogue due to the crushing weight of their insecurities and fears, taught that what matters most is to be proven right? To have their self-worth determined by their ability to silence the honest questions of their minds?

I think I'm learning that humility and certainty cannot easily co-exist, not in this context at least. I think a large part of humility is having the courage to say "I don't know". It's not a matter of just putting myself down, it's the decision to honestly engage my doubts. Maybe real humility has more kindness for ourselves and for others. Maybe real humility has more to do with the grace that allows us to wrestle with doubt, with the God who is bigger than all our best dogma and theology, with the ability to be proud of ourselves without becoming prideful, with the tenderness and compassion to walk with hurting people who need a friend and not another Bible verse.

Maybe real humility is the ability to accept Father's extravagant love without assuming we've earned it or resisting it because we feel unworthy. As we learn to accept his boundless love and grace given without condition or restraint, I think we then begin to learn how to love in the same way. We learn to love in a way that leaves room for questions and doubts; we find ourselves willing to step outside the confines of certainty to explore the greater space of mystery and wonder.

So maybe that's a really long answer to a question you never asked, but that's what I think about humility.

The Cost of Conformity

"And I have tried but I don't fit

Into this box you call a gift
When I could be wild and free
But god forbid then you might envy me"
~ Damien Rice, "The Box"

I tend to believe there's something in most of us that craves connection with other people.  While some may be happy being hermits, completely cut off from all human interaction, I think most prefer healthy community.  Heck, most of us probably prefer unhealthy community to being alone, or so I would assume based on observation.

There's something wonderful about belonging.  There's a joy in meeting someone and hitting it off right away with them. Maybe it's bonding over a favorite sports team or TV show, or maybe a shared life experience.  The means doesn't seem to matter as much as the resulting connection.

And maybe it's our desire for connection, to fit in, to be a part of something, that sometimes leads us into dangerous places.  There are times that this desire may override our better judgment and we find ourselves compromising much about ourselves simply to be accepted.

It can be a gradual transition sometimes.  We might not even know the cost of admission until it's already been paid.  We agree to put aside our independent thought, to join in on demonizing those who are "outside", or even to change the fundamental priorities of our lives. Before we know it, we can be the ones on the "inside" who are so intent on keeping others out. Sometimes we define our belonging to something simply by who is excluded.

Those in authority, the ones who are in charge of determining exactly who does belong, know exactly how much this sense of inclusion means to people.  Even good leaders, with the best of intentions, can find themselves manipulating others by appealing to their desire to be part of a larger group such as, say, churches, to pick a totally random and not at all premeditated example.

Even if it's not vocalized, if you attend a typical congregation long enough you'll start to understand what is accepted and what is not.  It may be what clothes you wear on Sunday morning, how vocal you can be if you're a woman, or exactly what kind of theology is okay to discuss.  The pressure to conform may barely be noticeable, but even a light pressure takes its toll over time.

Although you may not like censoring yourself, or you may feel uncomfortable when those outside your congregation are disparaged, it might seem like it's worth it just to belong.  Often those in leadership (again, many times with the best of intentions) will hold up examples of those who dared to leave and the calamities that befell them once they no longer were part of the congregation.

The message is quite clear - there is a cost to being able to belong to something. That cost is conformity, and it must be paid continuously.  Your acceptance into the group is conditional and can be taken away at a moment's notice if you do not toe the line.

Yet again, I want to stress something.  I believe most people in congregations really believe this is for your own good.  And that may make it even worse.  We seem willing to treat loved ones much worse than total strangers as long as we believe we're doing it "for their own good".

And so we conform to what is expected of us, choking back our objections, dampening down our desire for healthy life-giving community, and doing our best to ignore that little voice that insists there is something much, much better available for us.  We may even work really hard to be one of the best conformers, constantly comparing ourselves to others and judging those who don't fit in as well as we do.

But, inevitably, I believe we find that even the most strenuous conforming cannot satisfy us.  We eventually realize that the cost is much too great and the payoff never seems to materialize.

So how do we finally leave this culture of conformity?  Is the only escape to be chewed up and spit out as an empty husk?  Do we just work and work and work until we burn out and then those who once championed us now point to us and judge our failure from the pulpit?  Do we try to convince ourselves that we can survive on this treadmill day after day while being painfully aware that we're not moving at all?

Between our innate desire to belong and the years of fear-based indoctrination about the dangers of straying away, what hope is there for a way out?

As is so often the case, I believe the answer is love.  I think we are loved out of conformity.  It's when we find a love greater than our fear that we find the courage to jump ship and strike out for an unseen shore.

When real belonging and acceptance is offered, the conformity counterfeit can't compare (holy alliteration Batman).  When we begin to discover the depths of Father's love for us, love that is not conditional or threatened by our doubts and questions, no amount of manipulation can hold us back.

It is incredibly freeing.  So freeing, in fact, that you may find that you become a target.

You see, the conformity-based institutions are threatened by those who have no need for them.  Simply by existing, nay, thriving, apart from the institution, you undermine the fear they use to manipulate others into conformity.

Fear knows it will ultimately be defeated by love, and so is threatened by it. Conformity knows it will lose its power if real freedom is offered as an alternative, and sadly this means that those in authority will often lash out against those who dare to revel in the freedom they've found.

And as we move out of the realm of fear and conformity, it is wise to remember that it often takes a season for detoxification.  Even though we're being won by love, our impulses may sometimes reflect other motives.  When attacked by those still in a conformity-based structure, it is tempting to lash back at them.

But as love wins us deeper into its wonderful reality, I think it's easier to let that stuff go.  Any argument driven by proving yourself right only plays right into their hands.  As difficult as it can be, often the best thing we can do is to let go of our need to be right and simply allow space for Father to demonstrate his irresistible love.

It may not always be on our timeline, but I believe tendrils of love and grace are working their way through the walls of these fear-driven, conformity-based institutional structures.

I think the cracks are starting to show.

Life, uh, finds a way. :)

Angst and Apathy

Lately, I've found myself simply coasting.  There's been a certain apathetic reluctance to engage in the spiritual.  It's not that God has become undesirable or uninteresting necessarily, just that I've allowed myself to be busy and distracted.

It's true that I have an unfortunate enthusiasm for chasing myriad distractions.  My "free" hours each day are easily filled by Netflix, sports, video games, and books.  And the whole buying a house adventure certainly demanded a lot of my attention for a while (and quite fairly I think).  None of those things are bad, of course, but as DFW would say,

". . . the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they're evil or sinful, it's that they're unconscious. They are default settings."

It's not really that I've been making bad choices, I simply haven't been making any choices.  I've floated along, letting each little whim take me where it will.

Actually, that's overstating it a bit.  It's not like I've been spiritually bankrupt, but I have noticed an itch for something deeper.  But that takes me to a somewhat conflicting realization: I've lost my angst.

Oh, how I remember those years of angst.  Always desperate, always pushing in, pressing in, digging deeper, begging for more, making promises and commitments and covenants . . .

It was so exhausting.  Just a soul-crushing cycle of fervor, burnout, and "renewal".  I have absolutely no desire to go back to that place.  As Father has revealed the depths of his love and affection over the last decade or so, all that desperation and angst has slowly faded away.  There's no more fear about missing out on what God is doing, or of disappointing him, or feeling some need to work up some type of supernatural experience.  I have found fullness and completion in him, love and affection that carry me through every circumstance, grace for every failure and joy in every sorrow.

Not that I'm claiming I've arrived or reached the peak of spiritual knowledge and wisdom, far from it.  More than ever I am aware of my incredible ignorance and lack of understanding.  But I've found peace in situations that used to terrify me, a calm and comfort that certainly seems to come from something beyond myself.

And that's the conflict.  Am I truly apathetic or just finally moving into a serenity born of fellowship with Father?  Is there room to be more intentional in my relationship without regressing into angst?  Is it just that I have a hard time comprehending why there seems to be fruit developing in my life at a time that my effort is nearly nonexistent?

Maybe this is simply a season of discovering that all the years of striving and working could not produce any lasting fruit while the simple surrender of relaxing into Father's love has untwisted much of the fear and frustration that resided in my heart.  It's possible some of what I'm feeling is an echo of the guilt that used to plague me for never doing enough.  I suppose I'll probably be wrestling with this for the rest of my life, trying to find that balance between devotion and surrender, intentionality and relaxation.

I want to learn to be present and engaged, ready to respond to each of Father's invitations to join Him in this dance, but not so over eager that I try to build something of my own effort and strength.  This seems to be a delicate walk and I have no doubt that I will often stumble off both sides of the path.  But grace, always grace, will bring me back.

Changes

I'm in a fog.  A funk.  A funky fog of frustration and fear.

To what end?  Where does this angst take me?  Why am I surprised by how quickly anger leaps in my chest?  Why does there seem to be no hope, no redemption, nothing of interest at all?

Drudgery.  That's the word I've been looking for.  All is drudge.

I'm being forced to make decisions, which I approach with bone-deep dread.  Ambiguity is more my speed.  Plan, but nothing concrete.  Prepare, but ready to bail.

I need resolution, but refuse to travel down that path.  Too many long hard conversations block my way.  Too many possibly painful moments of honesty.  I fear the truth I've buried in the dark.

But doing nothing solves nothing.  The gloomy clouds do not dissipate by ignoring them.  A storm may be on the way but this little shanty of fear and frustration will do nothing to shelter me.

Still I am mute.  A heaviness rises from my heart and lodges in my throat.  The more space is given to speak, the more I shrink back.

Possibly I am too aware of the impact of words.  What is said can never be taken back. Why talk about a problem when you can simply ignore it and hope it fixes itself?  Despite all evidence to the contrary, I live as though that may actually happen.

Avoidance begets avoidance, distraction begets distraction.  Running in place is exhausting and hiding under a rock offers no refreshment.

But what alternative is there?  To face the issues I have caused with uplifted chin and shoulders thrown back?  Preposterous.

Another day of fluorescent lights and shrinking cubicles.  Another evening of anxious escapism.  All too easy to see thousands of these days stretching out before with no change and no relief.

Yet change is as frightening as it is needed.  It is not easily controlled, it leaks into every area of life.  A shift of the rudder to avoid a sandbar can lead you dangerously close to an unseen whirlpool. Better almost to be becalmed on the still seas. At least that only leads to madness.  And a certain comfort can be found in madness.



But even this rambling is simply another way to delay, to analyze without engaging, to make an abstract study of the very fabric of my life.  Much easier to stand outside and observe than to slip inside my skin and risk the many trials and tribulations of life.

To feel is to know pain.  The alternative - an unfeeling existence - seems to me to be a little less than life.  Even now I have not slid so far as to desire that.

So I tentatively point one foot down the path, knowing I wear no armor at all that will protect me from the discomforts of change.  To live honestly is not the same as living easily, but I must trust that there is a far greater reward.

Two Left Feet

My feet felt light for the first time in months

It was like You came walking across the room
Straight at me and then straight through me

And then stopped and stood still for awhile

I knew then that I’d been lonely for quite some time

And as we started to dance, You gently took off my tear-soaked coat

And let it fall heavy to the floor and then

We danced some more

I do not dance well.  This is a fact.  I can blame it on a variety of factors, but the plain truth is simply that I can not dance, nor should I try.

It's that stupid rhythm thing, y'know?  I can hear the rhythm fine, but the translation to movement is where I get lost.  And the more I get out of rhythm, the more I analyze each move.

"Should my left knee bend now?"

"Do I sway right now?"

"What the hell am I supposed to do with my arms?"

Shockingly, intense analysis of each limb's movements does not lead to graceful dancing.  The more I try to calculate movement, the further I fall out of rhythm.  It's a vicious cycle.  

I think dance needs to come from the heart, not the head.  There needs to be an instinctual, shameless response to something larger than myself.  Instead of trying to control the rhythm, I need to give myself to it.  

And this pretty much sums up why I struggle with a lot of things in life.  It occurred to me recently that life is a dance, and for most of my life I've been at least half a beat off.  I have grabbed and grasped and tried my best to control every outcome.  Even when the music invites me one way, I stubbornly stomp another.

It's like I'm getting on the dance floor determined to dance a samba, even if the band plays a gentle waltz. And the worst part about it is that in life I am capable of dancing wonderfully.  For the few moments I've managed to let go and simply move to the music around me, I've been able to join in life's joyous rhythm.  I've allowed myself to be swept away by One who is music and movement itself.  

The only catch is that I have to allow myself to be led.  It's not always an easy thing to let myself be pulled into the dance, it seems my natural impulse is take the reins myself.  Maybe it's a guy problem, or I have control issues, but I've always fought against being led.

I do think part of the problem is that there are some misconceptions about what it means to be "led".  It seems that we've somehow used that language to imply that Father lays out a specific path for us to take and then it's up to us to walk it.  At least, that's what I had always thought.

Now I'm wondering if maybe it's not a specific path we're invited down, but rather an invitation to dance down whatever path we are on.  I tend to focus too much on my particular situations and circumstances and remain unaware that Father is asking me to dance in the middle of it all.  

I fight and I struggle and I cling so hard to the many frustrations and disappointments that fill my day, all the while missing the fact that I'm being invited to let them all go and join the God of Love as he leads a dance of grace and joy. Sometimes the hardest thing of all is to surrender my right to be miserable.  

So now I'm trying to quiet myself a little bit, to take a deep breath and listen for the faint strains of music in the midst of the everyday.  I'm trying to remember that my feet will move to the rhythm if I let them and that if I really want to dance, I need to face each day with a soft, tender heart.

When all is said and done

When all is gone and still just begun

I will be asked what I did with my time and why

Can You be my alibi

Cause I know I spent it dancing with You  

~ Blindside, My Alibi

Peace in the Corners

My wife and I went to North Carolina last fall for our vacation.  One evening I was randomly wandering around downtown Charlotte by myself and came across the library.  I was quite heartbroken when I realized they were already closed, but I found this wonderful quote (pic on right) on a column outside.

I have started to realize that I really do find peace in the corners.  It may have to do with security, with knowing limitations, with feeling protected and sheltered.

I often find myself gravitating toward the corner of a room when I'm in a new social situation.  Part of it certainly has to do with my introverted nature.  But on the whole, it just gives me a level of comfort as I navigate a new environment.

Right now I'm at a point in my life where I can't see any walls, let alone a corner.  Everything seems vague and nebulous, poorly defined.  I struggle to find a place of comfort and security.  On the one hand, I seem to have a lot of options.  I could try to change jobs, or move, or change my life in a different way.  On the other hand, I have no place to rest or recharge.

By being able to move in any direction, I find myself paralyzed.  With no map or landmarks, I don't know which direction to move.  My fear of making a wrong move prevents me from making any sort of progress on my journey.

Sometimes I find myself wanting to just pick a direction and start running.  Damn the consequences!  All forward motion is progress!

But then the "what ifs" start playing in my head.

"What if I end up in a worse place?"

"What if I hurt somebody?"

"What if I disappoint the people that care about me?"

And I long again for the comforting corner, the wall against my back, the quiet moment to rest.

But sometimes, if I'm conscious enough to put aside the panic and the worry, to be aware, to find the space between the heartbeats . . . I hear a whisper in the sunlight and the breeze.

I am reminded that I will not be given a map that tells me the best route, but I do have Someone who will help guide me.  I am reminded that even wrong steps can lead to beautiful places.  I am reminded that Love and Grace are my constant companions, that they provide me with a corner in which to rest even in the midst of the wide open wildernesses.  

Being Right

Walter Sobchak: Am I wrong?
The Dude: No you're not wrong.
Walter Sobchak: Am I wrong?
The Dude: You're not wrong Walter. You're just an asshole.
Walter Sobchak: Okay then.




I used to think it would be nice to have the answer key to life, the universe, and everything.  Trying to maneuver through life using only instinct and guesswork has always been uncomfortable for me.  Everything would be so much easier if I had something that told me exactly what to do and say.

And I've approached much of my Christian life the same way.  I tried to use the Bible as a book of answers that could solve any and all of my issues or predicaments.  The whole point of being a Christian seemed to be to get all the right answers so I could live the right way.  Those who professed to have the answers seemed to be the most spiritually mature.

But eventually I began to realize something.  Having more answers didn't make you a better person.  Even when I felt like I had a lot of the whole God-thing figured out, my life was a mess.  And I began to see it in others as well.  Talking a good game loses its luster when you start to see through the cracks of the facade into a person's broken life.

So now I was really lost.  If getting all the answers wasn't the point, what the hell was I doing?  Where was I going?  What did I have to show for all the time and effort invested into getting it all figured out?

Why worship being right when you can be right and still be an asshole?

It was really in the midst of this confusion and loss that Father gently and quietly began to invite me into something else.  Something that was even better than having the answer key to life.  He began to show me how my desires were misguided and how there was something much better than what I had been looking for.

He invited me to know a Person instead of a theology, to know a Father who loves me beyond my comprehension, to know a Jesus who is actively at work around me and asking me to join in.

It is, in some ways, a much more difficult path to walk.  I like concrete solutions to problems.  I am somewhat of a linear thinker.  I like to have a toolbox full of principles that I can use to fix any situation.  Learning to hear Father's voice and walk alongside him in everyday life can be scary at times.  Letting go of my need to control things has been a difficult transition.

But you could not pay me to go back to my old rule-driven, paint-by-numbers religious life.  Knowing all the answers in the world can not give me a fraction of the peace as enjoying a quiet moment with Father.  Life is more unsettled now but it is finally life.

And this has really begun to work through into other areas of my life.  I'm less concerned about being the person who is right, and more interested in truly hearing other people.

I've begun to realize that to have really meaningful dialogue, all participants need to at least consider the possibility that they're wrong.  Once I let go of needing to be right about everything, my conversations with other people became so much more enjoyable and rewarding.  People have started to be more important that my own agenda.

And lest you think I'm trying to simply preach a different set of answers, let me assure you that this is all still very much a work in progress.  This is not something I think I am going to master in this lifetime.  Some days I do better at quieting the noise and distancing myself from distractions in order to create a space for Father to speak.  Some days (or weeks) I remain consciously unconscious, choosing meaningless busywork because it can be much easier.

But now we see another example of why knowing a Person trumps the quest for answers.  If I stumble on my walk with Father I am not given a failing grade and told to go study harder.  On a journey together there is grace to sustain me when I falter, there is loving correction when I screw up, and failure is never the final word.

A New Day

But I can't stop thinking

How you just keep making

Sense of all that was broken before

And I won't keep faking

'Cause I'm done with taking

'Cause with you, I'm not broken anymore

~Not Broken Anymore (Blue October)

I've never been one for New Year's resolutions.  I don't really get the concept of waking up one day, making a list of things to do better, and then magically becoming a different person.  I just don't think it works like that.

Sure, some Type A driven people probably thrive on that kind of thing.  But for me it would simply be a new list of things I failed at, a way to track my shortcomings.  Plus, on January 1st I'm usually deep in my sun-deprived winter blues and am only focused on surviving 'til April.  Suffice it to say, I am not really a goals-oriented person.

Still, though, the somewhat arbitrary distinction of a new year does provide at least the illusion of a fresh start.  And that may not be a bad thing.  Maybe that helps us understand grace a little better.  Maybe it lets us take stock of where we are and look ahead to the promise and potential of the future instead of being mired in the pain and disappointment of the past.

Ok, ok, that last sentence was a bit much.  But I do think the idea of a clean slate is important.  And maybe that's not something that should be relegated to only one day a year.  What if every day was the start of something new?  Yes, that's nauseatingly trite, but does that make it wrong?

It's easy to accumulate loads of baggage as we maneuver through our days, becoming weighed down by a thousand regrets.  And it's not that we should ignore our pasts, there are wonderful lessons to be learned there.  But maybe there's more than one way to see our past.

One option of course is to let ourselves be defined by all the things we wish we had done differently.  That's generally what I choose.  But those lyrics at the top of the page really resonated with me when I first heard them.  There's something amazing about the idea of Father taking everything that seems broken and showing us how he's fashioned something beautiful from our messes.

Even though I don't make resolutions, it's nice to be reminded that a new year is beginning.  And this year, I'm going to try to see each day as a fresh start, a chance to try again, an opportunity to learn how my mistakes and failures are woven into a beautiful tapestry by Father's hands. 

It's not easy, and frankly I don't really feel like doing it.  I read what I've just written and I can't honestly tell you I believe it all.  But I know changes are needed and I'm going to try to exercise my ability to choose how I think. 

This is a new day.

This is water.

Not Built By Human Hands

Acts 7:48-50 - “However, the Most High does not live in houses made by human hands. As the prophet says:

‘Heaven is my throne,

    and the earth is my footstool.

What kind of house will you build for me?

   says the Lord.

Or where will my resting place be?

   Has not my hand made all these things?'"

Acts 17:24 - “The God who made the world and everything in it is the Lord of heaven and earth and does not live in temples built by human hands."

It's funny that for 2,000 years we've devoted so much effort and resources to building things for God. We build all sorts of physical structures for Him, everything from modest little buildings to ornate cathedrals.  We create all sorts of institutions and summon up various movements. And then we act like God should feel obliged to inhabit the tidy little boxes we've built for Him.

The real tragedy of it all may be that by trying to confine God to our man-made structures, we miss Him in all the places He's at work.  We miss Him in the mundane experiences of day-to-day life, in our cubicles and offices, in the supermarket and playground, on buses and planes, in the midst of children crying and dogs barking, during sleepless nights and dreaded mornings.  We miss Him in the very thing He calls His body and temple - beautiful, frustrating, transcendent, fearful, glorious, shame-scarred humanity.

We build teachings and doctrine and demand that He abide by them.  We put together the perfect formula so we can manipulate Him to serve our whims.  We construct a building and call it "God's House" and talk about how He dwells in the sanctuary.  And by creating this idea of building something for God, we forget where He's been this whole time. 

The amazing, humbling truth is that He is already perfectly at home in our hearts, gently inviting us to see Him at work all around us.  He's eternally whispering to us that we are loved beyond imagination, secure in His affection, invited to share in His life instead of having to summon up one on our own.  The illusion of separation died on the cross, the curtain was torn in two, and our eyes were opened to what He meant by "Immanuel, God with us".  This is truly Good News, that we can enter into a Sabbath rest from trying to build something that could never contain Him and instead enter into what He has already built.

 

 

 

The Challenge of Staying Engaged

I really like the idea of staying engaged in life.  It seems wonderful in a kind of abstract theoretical construct.  I want to live my life, to be an active participant.  I want to be constantly aware of what Father is saying and doing, to be deeply involved in the lives of loved ones.  I hate the idea of being a passive spectator simply watching life pass me by.

But on a Tuesday evening after a frustrating day of work filled with mindless tedium, annoying people, and stupid questions that waste much of my time?  Or talking through a difficult life/relationship issue?  Or facing one of life's inevitable disappointments after daring to get my hopes up once more? 

I'm sorry, but I often check out.  The medium doesn't matter - it can be TV, a book, video games, whatever.  It's just . . . easier.  So much easier than staying engaged.  So much easier than working to see something good in the midst of an incredibly tedious, frustrating work day.  So much easier than poking and prodding at some deep hurt to find real healing instead of a quick fix.

I mean, I'm going so far as to get "This is Water" tattooed on my chest (soon I hope) in order to remind myself of the importance of finding true life in the day-to-day grind.  But still, time after time, I find myself sitting back and letting my eyes glaze over as I disengage.  I virtually fast forward through the boring/monotonous/frustrating/slow/tiresome periods by daydreaming or fantasizing about a much more interesting life.

So this is the challenge: not necessarily to make something better, but to see the good in what is there.  To try, to make the effort, to persevere in searching for what is wonderful and lovely, hidden as it may be within the mundane and undesirable.

I'm moving forward with the basic premise that my eyes do deceive me, that I am blind and senseless to much of what the God of Love is doing around me.  A paradigm shift may very much be called for here.  I may need to stop calling certain things "bad" or being so narrow-minded in what I call "good".  I may need to be open to a correction of vision, a new pair of glasses to see life through.

And I do admit, I tend to be a bit of a pessimist and cynic.  It's easy to say life taught me to be that way, but that's the poor excuse of a weak man.  I'm not pretending that changing how I see things will be easy.  It's not a switch I can simply turn on. 

But I'm beginning to believe that it must be worth the effort.  The alternative seems unbearable, that this gray world full of gray days is all there is.  I do not believe that to be true. I have seen sparks of color, beams of sunshine.

"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." 

Grace for the Least Deserving

For the past decade or so, it seems that most of what I've been learning about has to do with Love and Grace.  These themes have been pretty constant - learning about God's grace and love for us, how we in turn extend this toward others, etc.  For the most part I feel like I'm beginning to get it.  I'm starting to understand Father's incredible affection for us and I'm getting better at identifying how to extend grace to others.

Lately, though, I've run into a problem.  It seems that there's a certain someone that I just can't quite extend grace toward.  I feel like they've had enough excuses, that they just need to get it together and do better.  This person is like a black hole, sucking up so much grace that they can't possibly deserve any more.

This person . . . is me.

Maybe it's because I feel that I know myself so well.  Maybe it's that my excuses ring hollow to me and that I'm privy to all my secret thoughts and motivations.  It's like knowing someone who is horrifically addicted to drugs and asks you for some money to cover their rent.  You know that money is going straight to their dealer, so maybe you pause a moment before pulling our your wallet.

Me, deserve more grace?  You must be out of your mind.

But that right there perfectly illustrates how often I still misunderstand grace.  The fact that I can't extend it to myself because I "don't deserve any more" shows that I'm not defining grace the way Father does.

The truth, though, is that I think it does take some audacity to be fully loved.  It's never been easy for me to say, "Yes, I am often selfish, I do screw up, I do have a negative impact on other people's lives . . . and I am fully, completely, unconditionally loved."

Through my faults, my failures, and my fears . . . regardless of action or attitude . . . in selfishness and sin . . . for every moment of every day of my entire existence . . . I am absolutely, mind-blowingly, incomprehensibly loved beyond my ability to imagine.  No matter what, I simply can't stop Father from loving me.  It is beyond my power to dampen his love in the slightest.  I can not forfeit it, I cannot run from it, there is nowhere to hide.

I am loved.

The question is this - dare I receive it?  Do I have the audacity to celebrate Father's unfailing love for me even in the moments when I feel that I can't love myself?  Can I learn to extend grace toward myself the way I want to extend it toward every other person who's fallen, screwed up, and
made a mistake?

Instead of trying to climb out of the pits I've dug, to clean off the mud and muck, to dress myself up real nice so that I finally feel deserving of being loved . . . do I let him love me out of these situations?  Do I let his love and grace achieve what all my stress and striving never could?

Do I dare be loved?

Yeah, I think I do.

Messiness

Lately my biggest frustration has been . . . me.  I know there are myriad issues I need to work on, to grow in, to resolve.  One of my biggest weaknesses, however, has been facing issues head-on.  I am the king of ignoring, of finding distractions, of burying my head in the sand.

So time goes by and nothing gets better.  I don't even know how to talk out loud about this, words fail me every time I try.  I'm so far from where I feel I should be and for the life of me I can't see a path that gets me there.

Tearing everything down and starting over is an incredibly seductive idea.  I don't know how to be the person I'm supposed to be and I don't know how much longer I can keep trying.  Neither running away or clinging to the status quo seems like a viable option.

So I may crumble.  I may fall apart.  I may be on the verge of becoming a complete mess for a little while.  I'm not handling life very well at the moment.  And trust me, no one is sicker of all these "wha-wha" moments than I am.

But I am more fortunate than many.  I have a wonderful wife, good family, and the most fantastic friends you could ever ask for.  I feel like I need to apologize to them all in advance for the fact that I'm going to be bleeding all over them for a while.

Even though I keeping saying this, I never do it - I need to let go.  Timelines, expectations, goals, aspirations . . . I'm like that guy spinning plates.  No matter how much I run from one to another, I can barely keep them from falling.  Well, maybe some of them need to fall.

I don't know what Father has been saying to me lately.  I haven't really been listening.  I suspect he's simply been inviting me to know him, to find rest and peace and life in him.  Why does something so simple seem so impossible?

All I can do is stress about jury duty and work and rent and car payments and not having my shit together.  Even when I'm ignoring things, burying myself in the latest distraction, I'm not truly at rest.  It's more that I'm immobilized by fear and stress.  When things get too intense, I just shut down.

So let's try this again . . . for the 22nd time or whatever.  Let's try letting go of stuff I really don't need to be holding onto.  Let's try being active in rest, rather than passive in turmoil. 

Weakness

It doesn't take more than a glance to ascertain that I'm not the most physically imposing person.  Sure, I can call myself "wiry" as much as I like, but the plain truth is that I'm just scrawny.  Physical strength has never been part of my repertoire. 

But it's always been important for me to perceive myself as being strong in other ways.  I like to feel as though I'm self-reliant, able to take care of my own issues without bleeding onto others.  I hate the idea of being needy, of relying on other people to prop me up and keep me going. 

Whether I am actually strong in this fashion is surely up for debate, but the point is that at least I see myself that way.  I do my best to present a picture of someone who doesn't need anybody else, who is self-sufficient and secure. 

And it is fucking exhausting.

I've been to the doctor's office twice in the last few weeks.  Nothing serious, just a constant fatigue that I can't seem to shake.  Blood tests came back negative for the flu and other illnesses.  During this last visit the doctor asked me if I thought I might be depressed.  I told him I had been going for counseling the last few months, trying to work through some issues.

He told me something interesting that he'd observed in his many years of practice.  He's noticed that people (especially younger people) who were struggling with anxiety or depression seemed to suffer from a suppressed immune system. 

It certainly made sense in my case.  Since this past September it seems I've been battling one cold after another.  And maybe it's no coincidence that at the same time I've felt frustrated, stifled, and depressed.  I feel like I'm unraveling, coming apart.  I try desperately to keep it together so I don't have to face one of my worst fears . . . appearing weak. 

But I'm starting to think that being weak isn't a flaw, it's just part of being human.  Maybe there are times to be strong so others can lean on me . . . and times to lean on others.  Maybe asking for help isn't selfish, just honest. 

Maybe I'm missing a big part of sharing life in community by trying to be someone who never needs anything from anyone.  I think I'm starting to realize that the truth of the matter is that I do need other people and it is okay to ask for help.  Trying to pretend otherwise leaves me in the same old place of working hard to build a great exterior while everything inside is crumbling.

Being messy like this feels embarrassing.  But I'm tired . . . and frankly my strength isn't sufficient to keep this monstrosity of self-effort propped up any longer.

I'm going to crawl into Father's lap, create a space of stillness and quiet, and let him speak to me.  Maybe I'll need to let go of some things that I thought were essential.  Maybe I'll even learn to cry again.

And perhaps in my weakness and messiness I will find him to be strong and his grace boundless. 

Resurrection: Graveyards and Gardens

This seems like a somewhat appropriate time to write about this topic.  Two words have been coming to mind a lot lately - resurrection and redemption.  I think (hope) this is going to be a theme for a while, so hopefully I'll be exploring these concepts in more depth.

I haven't been too shy about the fact that I've felt frustrated and stagnated.  I'm caught between learning to relax into Father's unfolding revelation of what he's doing in my life and a strong desire to make some sort of change just so I feel that I'm moving forward.

It seems the longer I wait, the more I'm being forced to let go of all my expectations.  C'mon, we all have that little time-line in our heads, don't we?

"I'll be married when I'm X years old."

"I'll have a house by the time I'm Y."

"I'll find a good job I enjoy within Z years."

Tick-tock goes the clock, the days pass by and nothing ever changes.  Pardon my melodramatic expression, but I feel like I'm sitting in a tomb littered with the skeletons of old hopes and dreams.  I feel stuck in never-ending winter, the landscape of my life gray and barren.

At a certain point I just started wondering if maybe I had missed the boat with this.  Maybe I've been wrong all along about what God's been doing in my life.  Maybe he's not preparing something for me, or me for something; maybe he's just sitting there and the only person who can change my life is me.  Maybe it's all up to me, it all rests on my ability to make something happen.

Or maybe all those things I hoped for, things I thought God planted deep within my heart . . . maybe those things are dead.  Maybe they'll never happen.  Maybe all I really have to look forward to in life is tedious repetition, long days in small cubicles, one soul-smothering day after another.

But sometimes . . . I remember I'm not alone.  I remember that just because something is dead, it doesn't mean it will stay that way.

After Lazarus died, Jesus traveled to the town in which he had lived.  He was met by Martha, and he comforted her by telling her that Lazarus would rise again.

“I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day," she replied.

But then Jesus corrected her understanding of the resurrection.  He told her that it wasn't an event, it was a Person.  

"I am the resurrection."

So yeah, maybe sometimes I feel like hope has died.  I get all mopey and emo-y and do silly things like compare my life to a tomb.  But a tomb with Jesus in it is really no tomb at all.  For Jesus, a tomb isn't where dead things are buried and forgotten, it's a place where dead things come to life.

And so I remember that I know Someone who is the Resurrection.  I know Someone who turns graveyards into gardens.  I know the One who turns winter to spring, despair to hope, a funeral dirge to joyous laughter. 

And yeah, things aren't moving according to my time-line.  Learning to trust Father and walk with him instead of trying to force something on my own is quite difficult.  I do often struggle with doubts and fears as to why things aren't unfolding how I thought they would.

But I get to walk through all that with Someone who is the Resurrection and the Life.  I get to respond to his invitation to join him in what he is doing in me and around me, to learn his timing and rhythm, and to find the security of his love and grace that make all things new. 

Today is April 2nd and it is snowing.  But Spring is coming.

One-Sided Relationship

Sitting in a church service the other day, I finally realized why most sermons kind of bother me.  I should rephrase that, I don't mean it to be that negative.  Let's back up a bit so I can give some context here.

I was raised in a Christian family, attended church very regularly, and heard hundreds of sermons growing up.  For the most part, the pastors at the churches I attended were good people and for the most part there wasn't necessarily a lot that was wrong in the sermons.

But somehow I still grew up with this view of God as Someone who was distant, disengaged, and indifferent.  I've always had kind of a hard time figuring out exactly why that was.  I had been told God was love, that he desired relationship, etc.

Then, seated in a Sunday morning service and listening to a sermon on prayer, it finally clicked.  I finally realized that the vast majority of sermons/teachings/books were focused on only one side of the relationship.

Mine.

It's been pounded into my brain that I need to maintain my relationship with God, I need to fix things when they're broken, I need to find ways to strengthen it.  It's all up to me.

I need to pray more, read more, commit more.  I need to fix my flaws, unearth my hidden sins, change my heart.

I . . . I . . . I . . .

Even without it ever being said explicitly, the clear implication is that I am the initiator in my relationship with Father.  I need to say a prayer to start it, I need to do certain things to keep it healthy, I need to avoid certain things so I don't lose or damage the relationship.

So is it any wonder I saw God as indifferent if I was the only one working at this relationship?  Thankfully he began to win me out of that illusion, showing me that he was the initiator, he was the one reaching out, he was the one invested in our relationship even when I was distracted or flaking out.

And I think scripture bears that out.  Whether you take the creation story as literal or figurative, it was God beginning the process.  It was God who started the conversations with Abraham and Noah.  It was God who came to live with us in human form.  Just look at how Jesus interacted with people.  He started the conversation with the Samaritan woman at the well.  He approached fishermen and invited them to join him as his disciples.

Jesus didn't act much like my picture of God.  He wasn't unapproachable.  He didn't keep to himself or demand that people jump through a number of hoops before they could be near him.

He drew people to him.   He sought out people wherever they were at.

That's incredible to me.  There was something about Jesus that communicated to people that they were welcomed and accepted and desired.  Even the people that the culture rejected.  Even the people that religion called "unclean" or "unacceptable".  

I think the disciples had a view of God that was much like mine.  When people tried to bring their little children to Jesus, the disciples tried to keep them away.  After all, didn't they realize how important this man was?  But Jesus insisted that the children be brought to him, even declaring that the kingdom of God belonged to these little ones. 

How long did I labor under the impression that Father only accepted the good, the pure, the put-together, the have-all-the-answers, the committed?  How long did I kill myself trying to become "good enough"?

Yes, I heard that God loves.  But everything I read between the lines told me that God only really likes people who are doing all the right things to be a "good Christian".  And the overwhelming message was that it was all up to me.

In the end, that really created a self-centered brand of Christianity.  I was only focused on making myself good enough for God to love.  I totally missed the fact that Father was at work all around me and inviting me to join him in what he was doing.  I missed the fact that as his beloved child I get to engage him and walk with him through life.  I thought I had to get certain areas of my life fixed up before he would be welcome there, but instead I get to invite him into my pain and my anger and my doubt and learn to rest in his love in the very midst of all my struggles.

One of the most wonderful revelations of the past several years it that there is actually no space at all between Father and me.  There is no separation, we have become one.  And it's all because of Father!  He was the one that reconciled the world to himself, that drew me to him, that replaced my old heart with a new one.  He is the author and perfecter of faith, he started it and he completes it.  I am invited to respond to Father, to join him in what he is doing, but there is no burden on me to become something that is acceptable to him.

All those times I was begging God to come down from heaven, to meet with me, to have some sort of experience that would change my life . . . he was already there.  He had already destroyed anything that could separate us, I just wasn't aware of it.  I'm still learning to respond to his rhythms, to join him in the midst of day-to-day life, but I no longer feel the need to try to earn what I already have. 

It's always nice to learn that you've already been given that which you've been trying so hard to earn.