a letter

Ya know, you would think I would have learned this lesson long ago.  And I did.  There have been so many situations where I realized just how limited my influence really is, where I realized that I have so very little power to change someone.  I can never make decisions for you.  I can't force you to do anything.

And that breaks my heart.

But to be honest, many times I waver between sorrow and anger.  Sometimes you make me want to tear my hair out with frustration.  I told you how it needed to be, and you didn't listen.  You ran the other way.  You needed to learn the hard way, I suppose, but that doesn't make it any easier.  I want to be able to relate to you, but your way of looking at life is so twisted, so far removed from my own.  This drives a huge wedge into all attempts to forge communication or friendship.  I find myself unable to reason with you because we don't see things the same at all.  You see life through your pain, through your sin.  If you could only see things from my perspective, perhaps you'd understand how much easier life could be if you'd only open yourself to change.

And, eventually our bond dies.  You run the other way.  I stand here, powerless.  Crying tears of sadness and rage.

all is well

I had this "all is well" moment today, and it was a moment I'll treasure forever.

The moments of absolute peace, the moments when fears are quelled, when the storm clears, and for the first time in so long I see the sun's light.  The sun unobstructed by clouds.  Bright, clear redemption.  Reconciliation.  In that moment, I found hope again.  True hope unhindered by shame.  Unhindered by fear.  Just hope.  Hope of an even brighter tomorrow clear of anger or grudges.  Freedom.

The funny part about this moment is that although it was specific for me, I don't think I was the only one who felt it - the peace that comes through unconditional friendship and acceptance.

Today I found my release.  And I wasn't alone.  The tension of life and hard decisions evaporated in the bright rays of an afternoon together with the people who came to be my second family not that long ago.  Who will forever be my family.

I am so thankful for them.

This article fascinates me, both as a historian and as someone who can relate on some level.  Important to keep in mind, though, is that this was written in 1934, and as such represents the natural conclusion of being a Christian in a modern world, a world that had not yet seen the writing of CS Lewis or Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

on the death of hope

Sometimes life just stinks.  There's no "making it better."  There's nothing anyone can say to take away the hurt, the disillusionment, the inescapable feeling of inferiority.  The constant knowledge of how much I fall short of whatever standard it is that I'm trying to meet.

Sometimes the "life is a roller coster" idea is so true.  I live through a period of intense hope, knowing that to hope is so foolish.  'Cuz the hope always ends, and I'm back where I started... back to square one.  Back to the knowledge that I am not that which I desperately wish I was.

Sometimes I hate hope.  I hate it so much.  It always betrays me.  Always.

And that's when I "settle."  I'll take my life as is.  I'll take it, because I can learn to be satisfied with it.  I can learn to love it, even.  Rather than letting the despair overwhelm me, I deal with the death of hope by simply reminding myself that even though reality is never as good as dream, reality is good, too.

I live in a beautiful city.  I have wonderful friends here, wonderful friends back home.  I am getting my masters in history.  And it's good.  Life, that is.  Life is good.

We can't all get what we want.  Some of us will get the short end of the stick.

Sermon on the Mount vs. Great Commission

The summer before my sophomore year of college was a full one.  Not only did I spend two months at my church's summer camp as an assistant wrangler counselor, but I also was a leader on my college's "Portage" program.  This program included leading a group of incoming freshmen on an August trip in the Boundary Waters of northern MN.  It also included a two day mission trip in downtown Minneapolis.  We served at Urban Ventures (or something like that, can't remember the name for sure) in Minneapolis.  They were a Christian organization focused on helping inner-city people gain job skills.  I remember being somewhat offended by their focus on social justice.  I remember thinking that they should focus more on VBS's and Bible studies.  I remember writing them off.

Things are no longer so simple.

Occupy Wall Street has got me thinking like current events rarely do.  Thinking about what the Church should be doing.  About our mission as believers in Jesus.  About what biblical "missions" is.  

Here's the thing:

I want to believe that my mission in life is heaven and getting as many of my friends there as possible.  But if that's the goal, why was Jesus so adamant that we should feed the hungry?  I've heard so many times (and thought so many times) that we should feed the hungry so they will be more receptive to the gospel.

Is that really it, though?

That sort of mentality does not really seem to be present in the New Testament.  Sure, there's the Great Commission.  There is also the Sermon on the Mount.  There is James, telling us that our faith must be accompanied by works.  You could combine that all to mean that caring for the poor and hungry is simply a means of getting their hearts in the right place to accept the good news that when they die they're going to heaven.  

Something doesn't feel right, though, and I don't know how to resolve the tension I feel between this world and the next.

And yet, the Kingdom is here.  Life is here.  We are not alone, we have a Helper sent from God, who is God.

I don't know what to do with posts like this.  There's something so crippling about trying to be a black and white my-way-or-the-highway Christian in a world that embraces "love" and "plurality" and "acceptance."  Moreover, my branch of Christianity seems sometimes to be so country-clubby.  Sure we love.  But we love within our group.  Sure, we serve.  But we serve on the worship team or in the nursery.  

And so I don't know where to take this all.  How do I balance my faith which to me means absolutes with a world that "loves" better than most of my Christian peers?  (If, that is, love does indeed mean acceptance of difference) 

What do I do with a movement like OWS, a movement that claims to stand for the poor?  They don't have a religious agenda, and yet I have read so many blogs that urge Christians to accept them because they are standing for things Christians should stand for - the insinuation being that this non-religious movement is more religious than evangelical Christianity.  

I have no answers - just questions upon questions upon questions.  

I do think that I have come to one conclusion - American Christianity as a whole does not love the poor as we should.  We are prejudiced toward them, we stereotype them and dismiss them.  We take away their voice, assuming that voice to be uneducated and unhelpful.  We assign them the worst place at the table.  

What if we were the poor?  What if we sold our possessions to follow Christ?  What if we took our place alongside the least of these, knowing that the first shall be last?  That, I think, would be an unstoppable movement.

Right now, my life brings me into almost no contact with the poor, the orphans, or the widows of my world.  I live a privileged life of a student with no cares in the world to speak of.  I have educational goals that will in theory take me further and further from the poor.  Maybe that needs to stop.  Maybe I need to seriously consider the ways in which I can love the poor.  And not just collect food or money for them.  But meet them, befriend them, live among them.  And so there's really no contradiction between the Sermon on the Mount and the Great Commission.  The only tension is in my heart - between what I know I ought to be doing (that is, loving and serving the hurting and downtrodden) and what I am actually doing.

I also think that there's something to be said for living these ideals wherever I am.  Right now I live and work amongst college students - the modern world's elite class.  They have everything...  but they don't.  They're broken too.  The hurting and oppressed are in my midst, as well.  I need to be much more intentional about going out of my way to live my life focused on the needs of my neighbor.

That's it, I think.  Love my neighbor.  Love actively, serve diligently, never stop seeking ways to sacrifice my needs for the needs of others.

when life becomes something just to get through...

I was listening to a Superchic[k] album this morning on the way home from church, and "I Belong to You" played.

And I could really relate:

Everybody needs to belong somewhere
life can feels so alone without someone who cares 
And when life becomes something just to get through, 
that’s when I’m glad that I belong to you. 

I belong to you,I belong to you,
you’re the one who will never let me down,
won’t let me down.
I belong to you.
I belong to you. 

Sometimes life brings more pain than we can bear alone.
When hope is gone and I have no strength to stand on my own,
when nothing helps, there’s nothing that I can do,
you surround me and show me I belong to you. 

I belong to you,I belong to you,
you’re the one who will never let me down,
won’t let me down.
I belong to you.
I belong to you. 

When Love is gone there’s no arms to run to anymore,
I’m all alone there’s no one for me to live for,
letting go of the things I’ve always clung to,
that’s when I need to feel that I belong to you.

I belong to you,I belong to you,
you’re the one who will never let me down,
won’t let me down.
I belong to you.
I belong to you.


~~~


I think what really struck me was the line "when life becomes something just to get through."  Sometimes I feel as if that line describes my life.  I fill my life with this, that, and the other thing, waiting to someday belong. But no matter what, I'm always running.  Always failing, and always feeling entirely alone.  


It's in the most alone moments that I'm the most thankful for Superchic[k].


"Some days it's hard to be a one girl revolution."


Yes, Superchic[k], you are 300% correct.

I grew up thinking like an Arminian, only to be told in high school Bible instruction class that I should be a Calvinist.  I am coming to understand, though, that my "adopted" Calvinism does not always match up with the Calvinism described by those who aren't Calvinist.

The way I was taught Calvinism is this:
God chooses those he will save.  Those he will save choose him.  100%  responsibility on both sides.  This results in a paradox where I am able to adopt the mindset of an Arminian (which I had my entire life growing up).

Of course, looking at the above "100% responsibility" theory from the outside can expose it to some logical inconsistencies.  And, when being taught Calvinism, I distinctly remember those of us in the class saying things like "that makes no sense!"  And, beauty of all beauties, the instructor pulled out the "We can't understand God" card (somewhat like our explanation of the Trinity) to explain why it wouldn't make sense that both parties have 100% responsibility in the work of salvation.

It seems to me that the question is quite simple.  Either God picks out a select group of people to save and the rest He damns, or He doesn't.  My "free will" or whatever is entirely beside the point if I am only choosing God because He chose me.  If it's free will, it's free will within an incredibly bounded field.  Sorta puppet-esque.

Of course, I'm human, and God is God.  So I am by no means throwing Calvinism out entirely.  I don't know what I believe anymore.  I don't know that I ever want to join a camp.  I do know that God has saved and is saving me from my sin.  That I have a responsibility to love and serve in His name.  To let my life speak of His Gospel in ways both vocal and not.

And, at least for now, that's all that matters to me.