A week or so ago, I wrote a post that I must admit I no longer stand by. I made a stand, and spent the next twenty four hours or so in intense confusion and turmoil. I came out on the other side of that hellish day more convinced than ever that I am entirely unprepared to have an opinion. And that's going to have to be okay.
I'm constantly questioning. It doesn't stop; I can't silence the voices; logical arguments are entirely unconvincing. Faith is a constant battle for me; I try to find a balance between silencing the questions and allowing myself to expose them to the light of day.
Because it really is about balance.
I know so many Christians for whom faith is a system of questions and answers. I used to be one of those Christians. For these people, we just need two or three isolated Bible verses to support our claim, and at that point it's case closed. For these people questions have straight forward, comprehensible answers. Homosexuality is wrong because the Bible clearly says so in Romans 1. We are saved by grace alone because of Ephesians 2:8-9. The world was created in seven days because "and there was morning and there was evening the xth day." For these Christians, anyone who steps outside any one of these boundaries is in danger of the fires of hell.
And I'm coming to know some Christians for whom faith is all about doubt. Doubt is celebrated, certainty mocked. Life is about not knowing, God is far away and silent on any practical level. Emotion rules as long as it's the emotion of uncertainty and doubt. Those who are certain are quite possible "modern-day Pharisees," but not in danger of the fires of hell, because hell doesn't have fire. A hell that is filled with fire is a medieval invention.
I want you to know, my friends, that I wish so much that my constant theme here on this blog was not my doubt.
I want you to know how much I have to work to suppress the deep and ultimately unstoppable fear I deal with every day that my doubts and questions condemn me to the depths of hell. At times my cynicism cripples me. I find myself tongue-tied with Christians and non-Christians alike. Terrified of leading others astray, terrified of condemnation by those who cannot understand the questions that plague me.
I waver between being thankful for the questions, because in asking them I feel in a strange way more alive than I ever thought possible; and being angry at the questions, these questions that require me to approach life in an entirely different way than my friends, these questions that I used to think marked someone as a heretic.
Some days, I'm more willing to be honest about the questions that plague me than other days. Most days I don't tell a soul. I don't even admit the questions to myself. Most days I retreat to some semblance of my former self, a self that was skilled at suppressing doubt and fear. Most days the only time I allow my doubt to surface is here on my blog and with a few trusted friends. Most days my mess is quiet and understated.
Sometimes it feels like the only way to stay sane is to pretend to have it all together.
But I don't have it all together. I'm a mess.
I trust in a Savior in whom I don't always believe. I don't have much figured out, least of which the hot-button issues for which everyone else seems content with the Bible verses. I'm not content. I'm struggling with submitting myself to a God I don't understand. I'm struggling because I know ultimately God demands my surrender to His will. I am learning every day to follow Him, and it's not always easy. I don't know where this path will lead, which human voices to follow.
I know this, though.
God is merciful and gracious. I walk in a relationship with Him that is incredibly hindered by my sin, but that is nevertheless saturated by grace. I'm learning. It's slow and it's painful. But I trust my Jesus. I trust Him with everything in me. I don't trust myself, I don't trust my friends, I don't trust the angry bloggers on either sides of the divide. I trust Love.
I trust that He calls me to love with a fraction of the love which He loved me.
And for now, that has to be enough.
In the end, I trust God has a reason for having said the things He did in the Bible, even if I don't always comprehend what He meant. I'm gonna do my best to live my life in respect of that which I'll never entirely understand.
His yoke is easy, His burden light.
That I know like the air I breathe.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Monday, March 25, 2013
a prayer
Jesus,
This prayer is just one example of the trust I have that you are who you said you were. I don't get this intellectual journey I'm on; I'm not even sure it's from You. All I know is that I've changed a lot in the past years, and now I stand at a point of no return.
I tried to jump tonight. And it left me curled up on my air mattress wanting to cry, feeling the devastating fear of your abandoning me. I have no good reason to believe You would do such a thing, and yet I fear it. I fear that if I don't believe the right things about You and about Your word, that it will prove I'm not really Yours at all.
I know how irrational this is.
But I'm terrified, nonetheless. It's scary to step out of something I've believed my entire life. Something I partially hung my salvation on.
I'm trusting You, Jesus. Lead me in all truth.
My love is fragile. I love you so imperfectly, my neighbor so ineffectively. I am a mess.
I am trying.
It's never enough.
I have to believe You're enough.
Marilee
This prayer is just one example of the trust I have that you are who you said you were. I don't get this intellectual journey I'm on; I'm not even sure it's from You. All I know is that I've changed a lot in the past years, and now I stand at a point of no return.
I tried to jump tonight. And it left me curled up on my air mattress wanting to cry, feeling the devastating fear of your abandoning me. I have no good reason to believe You would do such a thing, and yet I fear it. I fear that if I don't believe the right things about You and about Your word, that it will prove I'm not really Yours at all.
I know how irrational this is.
But I'm terrified, nonetheless. It's scary to step out of something I've believed my entire life. Something I partially hung my salvation on.
I'm trusting You, Jesus. Lead me in all truth.
My love is fragile. I love you so imperfectly, my neighbor so ineffectively. I am a mess.
I am trying.
It's never enough.
I have to believe You're enough.
Marilee
somewhere along the way, we became Pharisees
I've been silent on this blog for too long. I'm sorry, my friends. I've been thinking so much about so many things, experiencing so many moments where my whole world changes, and realizing how much I have been changing and how much that simultaneously energizes and terrifies me. God has been working in my heart for the past nine months in general, and the last couple weeks have certainly been no exception.
Sometimes, though, you change and change and change some more, but eventually you hit a point of no return where you find yourself faced with the reality that a change of mindset is necessary to move forward, but you find yourself with no outward forces pushing that change forward. And so you spin your wheels for a while, trying to gather the courage to jump. I'm at that precipice right now.
To become convinced is something I have avoided for years, now. It's easy to toy around with new ideas, but to embrace them with no looking back is so hard. It's hard because I know I'll disappoint some, offend some, and confuse some. And I love those people. I want to please them.
And so I waver.
There's no strength in wavering, and in many ways I prefer weakness. I could even make a flimsy biblical case for it.
But I believe that God calls me to stand, to move, to love, to live. So I'm gonna do my best.
Last summer, I read a book that changed everything: Inspiration and Incarnation by Peter Enns. I wrote a series of blog posts about it (see this link for part one). Things have been different for me since reading that book. I'm no longer threatened by things that used to threaten me, evolution being foremost among them.
Now I'm threatened by different things. Opposite things. I'm threatened by people who read the Bible as if it's a guidebook for individualistic American society. I'm threatened by a God easily understood or categorized, by a faith that is based more on American culture than on what the Bible actually teaches.
Of course, that's a lot of fancy sounding mumbo jumbo, and terribly vague. I'm sorry.
The truth is, I'm pretty scared of the new things I believe and think. I don't always have it thought through, and I know I'm wrong about a good deal of it. In spite of that, I believe it.
And it is time to stop hiding.
I'm currently working through a book called The Civil War as a Theological Crisis by Mark Noll. He details the theological underpinnings of the Civil War, arguing that theological disagreements were part of what drove the nation to war and what made the discord leading up to secession so heated. That's all good and normal history. But when things got crazy for me was when he got to a section in which he detailed the typical Southerner's biblical defense of slavery. You see, God allowed for slavery as a matter of course in the Old Testament, regulated it, yes, but definitely assumed that it would continue to exist. The New Testament isn't a whole lot better. Slaves commanded to obey their masters, Paul telling Onesimus to return to slavery (see the book of Philemon). And all of that is leaving out the curse that God gave one of Noah's sons that his descendants would always be the servants of their kindred. My equilibrium was further knocked off balance by this statement by a pro-slavery Christian of the 1840s. He said,
And, if I'm speaking frankly, it really makes me wonder. Is it at all fair to expect the Bible to speak to the twenty-first century in such a literal way on such topics as slavery? What about the role of women in the church or in marriage more generally? What about homosexuality? How often do we expect things out of the Bible that it does not intend to deliver? How often do we read the Bible as if Paul was born in 1965 and grew up in American suburbia? How often do we assume that God intended for His Word to be read as a guidebook and forget to take the time to get to know God from his Word and then go out and spread Him to our world?
I'm becoming increasingly convinced that American Christianity is broken. Broken not because we're allowing our nation to be overrun by sin, but because somewhere along the way, we became Pharisees, more concerned with the letter of the law than its message.
This, then, is where I stand. I'm pretty convincedly standing in this place, even as I know that I'll look back at this me a year from now and shake my head at my short-sightedness. I'm always learning, never arrived. I make mistakes and have to unlearn my folly. And, yet, I'm not newly arrived here. This arrival is the product of years of spiritual and intellectual journey. God has been here through it all. Yes, I know myself to be hopelessly small in vision and misguided. I also, know, though, that I am called to stand confidently and add my voice to the symphony of voices. The harmony as well as the dissonance make a beautiful sound.
God overcomes.
And that, my friends, is the miracle of it all.
Sometimes, though, you change and change and change some more, but eventually you hit a point of no return where you find yourself faced with the reality that a change of mindset is necessary to move forward, but you find yourself with no outward forces pushing that change forward. And so you spin your wheels for a while, trying to gather the courage to jump. I'm at that precipice right now.
To become convinced is something I have avoided for years, now. It's easy to toy around with new ideas, but to embrace them with no looking back is so hard. It's hard because I know I'll disappoint some, offend some, and confuse some. And I love those people. I want to please them.
And so I waver.
There's no strength in wavering, and in many ways I prefer weakness. I could even make a flimsy biblical case for it.
But I believe that God calls me to stand, to move, to love, to live. So I'm gonna do my best.
Last summer, I read a book that changed everything: Inspiration and Incarnation by Peter Enns. I wrote a series of blog posts about it (see this link for part one). Things have been different for me since reading that book. I'm no longer threatened by things that used to threaten me, evolution being foremost among them.
Now I'm threatened by different things. Opposite things. I'm threatened by people who read the Bible as if it's a guidebook for individualistic American society. I'm threatened by a God easily understood or categorized, by a faith that is based more on American culture than on what the Bible actually teaches.
Of course, that's a lot of fancy sounding mumbo jumbo, and terribly vague. I'm sorry.
The truth is, I'm pretty scared of the new things I believe and think. I don't always have it thought through, and I know I'm wrong about a good deal of it. In spite of that, I believe it.
And it is time to stop hiding.
I'm currently working through a book called The Civil War as a Theological Crisis by Mark Noll. He details the theological underpinnings of the Civil War, arguing that theological disagreements were part of what drove the nation to war and what made the discord leading up to secession so heated. That's all good and normal history. But when things got crazy for me was when he got to a section in which he detailed the typical Southerner's biblical defense of slavery. You see, God allowed for slavery as a matter of course in the Old Testament, regulated it, yes, but definitely assumed that it would continue to exist. The New Testament isn't a whole lot better. Slaves commanded to obey their masters, Paul telling Onesimus to return to slavery (see the book of Philemon). And all of that is leaving out the curse that God gave one of Noah's sons that his descendants would always be the servants of their kindred. My equilibrium was further knocked off balance by this statement by a pro-slavery Christian of the 1840s. He said,
"His position is this: the moral precepts of the gospel condemn slavery; it is therefore criminal. Yet he admits that neither the Saviour nor his apostles commanded masters to emancipate their slaves; nay, they 'go further,' he adds, 'and prescribe the duties suited to both parties in their present condition,' among which duties, be it remembered, there is not an intimation of manumission, but the whole code contemplates the continuation of the relation...Here, then, we have the Author of that gospel, and the inspired propagators of the gospel, and the Holy Spirit indicting [i.e., recording] the gospel, all conniving at a practice which was a violation of the entire moral principle of the gospel!" (Noll, 37)To me, it seems like a, logically speaking, fool-proof argument. Sure, you could make (and some did) an opposite case. But this guy's argument is valid. It sounds good, biblical, even. It, frankly, sounds like stuff I've heard before on other topics.
And, if I'm speaking frankly, it really makes me wonder. Is it at all fair to expect the Bible to speak to the twenty-first century in such a literal way on such topics as slavery? What about the role of women in the church or in marriage more generally? What about homosexuality? How often do we expect things out of the Bible that it does not intend to deliver? How often do we read the Bible as if Paul was born in 1965 and grew up in American suburbia? How often do we assume that God intended for His Word to be read as a guidebook and forget to take the time to get to know God from his Word and then go out and spread Him to our world?
I'm becoming increasingly convinced that American Christianity is broken. Broken not because we're allowing our nation to be overrun by sin, but because somewhere along the way, we became Pharisees, more concerned with the letter of the law than its message.
This, then, is where I stand. I'm pretty convincedly standing in this place, even as I know that I'll look back at this me a year from now and shake my head at my short-sightedness. I'm always learning, never arrived. I make mistakes and have to unlearn my folly. And, yet, I'm not newly arrived here. This arrival is the product of years of spiritual and intellectual journey. God has been here through it all. Yes, I know myself to be hopelessly small in vision and misguided. I also, know, though, that I am called to stand confidently and add my voice to the symphony of voices. The harmony as well as the dissonance make a beautiful sound.
God overcomes.
And that, my friends, is the miracle of it all.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
the one thing i'm sure about
The one thing I know is that I don't know much.
The past three days have been an absolute crazy mess of conflict, internal and external. I've been forced to think deeply about a lot of pretty large issues, and there have been a lot of long and involved conversations with amazing friends who have challenged me and supported me through my fear and questioning.
And I've come to one conclusion.
I don't know much.
I have not "arrived" on any single issue. I do not possess certainty about anything. Anything. Everything is up for debate. I trust God is a God of love. I trust that Jesus died for me. I trust that I am saved by Him alone, that I am called to love others.
But beyond that, I'm realizing that it's folly to think I'll ever have anything figured out. And this realization is both terrifying and liberating. Terrifying because I have always believed there to be an absolute truth out there somewhere that is within reach, and that belief is proving itself to be false. Life is proving to be a constant struggle to trust Jesus, to lay my questions at His feet, to actively seek answers, but to accept that the "actively seek" is more important than the "answers." The answers exist, yes, but I am hopelessly flawed and won't be arriving at them anytime soon. God is Truth and Love, and I cannot approach that without being consumed and destroyed. Liberating for reasons impossible to put into words.
One of these days I'll blog about something concrete again. I've been starting and failing to finish so many blog posts in recent days. I've been thinking about all sorts of concrete things, like homosexuality, racism, the Holocaust, abortion, feminism, and nationalism's impact on Christianity. But every time I go to write about these things, I'm reminded of how little I really know. And I invariably stop writing.
So, I'm sorry. I wanted to be so much more regular at posting here than I have been, and I pray that the hiatus doesn't last forever, but for now I find myself not at a loss for words, but at a loss for coherency and reasonable certainty.
The past three days have been an absolute crazy mess of conflict, internal and external. I've been forced to think deeply about a lot of pretty large issues, and there have been a lot of long and involved conversations with amazing friends who have challenged me and supported me through my fear and questioning.
And I've come to one conclusion.
I don't know much.
I have not "arrived" on any single issue. I do not possess certainty about anything. Anything. Everything is up for debate. I trust God is a God of love. I trust that Jesus died for me. I trust that I am saved by Him alone, that I am called to love others.
But beyond that, I'm realizing that it's folly to think I'll ever have anything figured out. And this realization is both terrifying and liberating. Terrifying because I have always believed there to be an absolute truth out there somewhere that is within reach, and that belief is proving itself to be false. Life is proving to be a constant struggle to trust Jesus, to lay my questions at His feet, to actively seek answers, but to accept that the "actively seek" is more important than the "answers." The answers exist, yes, but I am hopelessly flawed and won't be arriving at them anytime soon. God is Truth and Love, and I cannot approach that without being consumed and destroyed. Liberating for reasons impossible to put into words.
One of these days I'll blog about something concrete again. I've been starting and failing to finish so many blog posts in recent days. I've been thinking about all sorts of concrete things, like homosexuality, racism, the Holocaust, abortion, feminism, and nationalism's impact on Christianity. But every time I go to write about these things, I'm reminded of how little I really know. And I invariably stop writing.
So, I'm sorry. I wanted to be so much more regular at posting here than I have been, and I pray that the hiatus doesn't last forever, but for now I find myself not at a loss for words, but at a loss for coherency and reasonable certainty.
Monday, March 11, 2013
the days like today
There are days when I have more questions than answers, when life is more confusing than clear, and when I feel pulled in every direction. There are days when it's difficult to stand opposed to those seemingly wiser than myself, when all I can feel is the excruciating weight of not being worthy to follow Jesus.
Today is one of those days.
Today I curse my doubt, because it leaves me in limbo. Today I curse my questions, because they leave me telling only half the truth. Today I curse my past, because it has molded my present.
Today is one of many days like it, but today the pain and confusion are more acute.
Today I struggle.
I struggle to know if I should be knowing. My heart screams to me that my doubts have brought me to this place, and that this place is good. Friends don't agree; they scream that doubt is only good if it leads to certainty.
Friends, I'm the furthest thing from certain that could ever be imagined.
It is on days like today that I cling to faith as if I were drowning, hanging onto a life preserver with weakening arms and no hope of soon rescue. It is on days like today that I stand on the precipice of the depths of uncertainty, knowing that one misstep could send me hurtling into that abyss. It is on days like today that I am reminded of my frailty, that my faith is truly a gift from God, and that He holds me.
Friends, I want you to know that there are so many answers I don't have. I know almost nothing. This I do know. The God in whom I trust holds me. Even when I doubt His very existence, He keeps me believing. He sustains my faith. He leads me. I don't understand it. I don't understand why I still believe, but still I believe. I believe because He hasn't abandoned me to Hades on my darkest of days, days when I question the very things that make Him good. I believe because He loves me despite my confusion, and shows me nothing but grace.
In the end, I believe because this world is a dark place and my Jesus is enough.
It is on days like today that Psalm 23 is my prayer:
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
he restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness
for his name's sake.
Even though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."
Today is one of those days.
Today I curse my doubt, because it leaves me in limbo. Today I curse my questions, because they leave me telling only half the truth. Today I curse my past, because it has molded my present.
Today is one of many days like it, but today the pain and confusion are more acute.
Today I struggle.
I struggle to know if I should be knowing. My heart screams to me that my doubts have brought me to this place, and that this place is good. Friends don't agree; they scream that doubt is only good if it leads to certainty.
Friends, I'm the furthest thing from certain that could ever be imagined.
It is on days like today that I cling to faith as if I were drowning, hanging onto a life preserver with weakening arms and no hope of soon rescue. It is on days like today that I stand on the precipice of the depths of uncertainty, knowing that one misstep could send me hurtling into that abyss. It is on days like today that I am reminded of my frailty, that my faith is truly a gift from God, and that He holds me.
Friends, I want you to know that there are so many answers I don't have. I know almost nothing. This I do know. The God in whom I trust holds me. Even when I doubt His very existence, He keeps me believing. He sustains my faith. He leads me. I don't understand it. I don't understand why I still believe, but still I believe. I believe because He hasn't abandoned me to Hades on my darkest of days, days when I question the very things that make Him good. I believe because He loves me despite my confusion, and shows me nothing but grace.
In the end, I believe because this world is a dark place and my Jesus is enough.
It is on days like today that Psalm 23 is my prayer:
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
he restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness
for his name's sake.
Even though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."
Saturday, March 9, 2013
the world is a lonely place
Some nights, I'm just sad.
Some nights, there's really no escape from that reality, and really no reason to be sad.
Some nights, it's just that way.
Life has a way of constantly reminding me that this world is a lonely place. Life is a series of near hits, a constant barrage of moments where the timing is just off and where I fail to connect with those whom I most long to connect. I find that I walk through this life fundamentally alone, save the constant presence of Jesus.
I'm so thankful for Jesus. Without Him, I'd be nothing. This I know like I know that the sun rises in the east. Imagining a world where I truly had to fend for myself - where I was dependent solely on other people for love and acceptance - scares me a great deal.
Tonight I went to church, and the seating arrangement was such that the worship team was in the middle of the room and we were all circled around them. I didn't mind this concept so much, as long as I wasn't required to sit in that first row. The first row scares me. I'm too awkward to sit in the front row, and that awkwardness tends to distract me from worship. Plus, I'm terrible with change to which I did not consent.
I sat the third row back, but before the service started, we were all required to come sit in the front row. As a consequence, much of the worship set was lost on me. I was trying to block out the fact that I felt so exposed. Alone in a crowd, really.
When I am spending time with Jesus in prayer, it is so much easier for me if I'm by myself. When I'm with Jesus, I don't need or want to be with friends. In that moment, Jesus is all I want or need. Tonight, that was taken from me, and I was asked to worship Jesus in fellowship. I didn't deal well with it. I wanted to be by myself.
Sometimes I think that this world is a lonely place because I make it that way.
Because I prefer it that way.
And I'm not sure how to deal with that knowledge.
Some nights, there's really no escape from that reality, and really no reason to be sad.
Some nights, it's just that way.
Life has a way of constantly reminding me that this world is a lonely place. Life is a series of near hits, a constant barrage of moments where the timing is just off and where I fail to connect with those whom I most long to connect. I find that I walk through this life fundamentally alone, save the constant presence of Jesus.
I'm so thankful for Jesus. Without Him, I'd be nothing. This I know like I know that the sun rises in the east. Imagining a world where I truly had to fend for myself - where I was dependent solely on other people for love and acceptance - scares me a great deal.
Tonight I went to church, and the seating arrangement was such that the worship team was in the middle of the room and we were all circled around them. I didn't mind this concept so much, as long as I wasn't required to sit in that first row. The first row scares me. I'm too awkward to sit in the front row, and that awkwardness tends to distract me from worship. Plus, I'm terrible with change to which I did not consent.
I sat the third row back, but before the service started, we were all required to come sit in the front row. As a consequence, much of the worship set was lost on me. I was trying to block out the fact that I felt so exposed. Alone in a crowd, really.
When I am spending time with Jesus in prayer, it is so much easier for me if I'm by myself. When I'm with Jesus, I don't need or want to be with friends. In that moment, Jesus is all I want or need. Tonight, that was taken from me, and I was asked to worship Jesus in fellowship. I didn't deal well with it. I wanted to be by myself.
Sometimes I think that this world is a lonely place because I make it that way.
Because I prefer it that way.
And I'm not sure how to deal with that knowledge.
Monday, March 4, 2013
unintelligible gibberish and the juggling of bowling pins
I am walking into a wholly new space. None of my surroundings are familiar, and I feel somewhat disoriented. I stumble a bit, reach for the wall to steady myself, and, catching my balance, walk on. The laws that govern this space are the same and yet entirely different.
And I'm alone here.
Maybe alone because I'm truly alone, maybe alone because fear causes me to isolate myself. Either way I'm so very alone.
I carry with me no map, only my instincts. I'm walking blind. Others have walked this path before me, but their voices echo again and again down the corridor, the reverberations distorting their words into nearly unintelligible gibberish. I want it laid out for me. I want the answers, but it turns out the answers are not laid out neatly or cleanly. The answers require working my way through a whole slough of confusion brought on by sin.
"We look for light, but all is darkness."
The thing is, I've been here for a while now. It took me a while to realize where I was, or that it was different. I was so blind for a while to the way that my baby steps in this direction were bringing me over the threshold into a new place entirely.
And now I'm here.
No turning back. I couldn't find my way back if I tried. And so I fumble forward.
***
Learning to love as Jesus loved is no easy task, particularly because it's not a single trajectory. I'm constantly juggling a multiplicity of ideas like so many bowling pins, struggling to move forward in more than one area. Juggling these things means that one or two inevitably get dropped. I stoop down to pick them up, and try to pick up where I left off. I never really get the rhythm down. I get better, but never perfect. Some things are lost. Others I hold to much too tightly. Focused on the mechanics of juggling, I lose sight of the bigger picture.
Once in a while, though, I keep all the bowling pins in the air long enough to catch a glimpse of the beauty of the world as God intended it to be. It's because of those glimpses that I know God's doing something big. He's working, my friends. May we remember always our frailty, our dependence on God's grace, and, above all, our mandate to love God and our neighbor. May acting on this change us and make us more like Jesus.
And I'm alone here.
Maybe alone because I'm truly alone, maybe alone because fear causes me to isolate myself. Either way I'm so very alone.
I carry with me no map, only my instincts. I'm walking blind. Others have walked this path before me, but their voices echo again and again down the corridor, the reverberations distorting their words into nearly unintelligible gibberish. I want it laid out for me. I want the answers, but it turns out the answers are not laid out neatly or cleanly. The answers require working my way through a whole slough of confusion brought on by sin.
"We look for light, but all is darkness."
The thing is, I've been here for a while now. It took me a while to realize where I was, or that it was different. I was so blind for a while to the way that my baby steps in this direction were bringing me over the threshold into a new place entirely.
And now I'm here.
No turning back. I couldn't find my way back if I tried. And so I fumble forward.
***
Learning to love as Jesus loved is no easy task, particularly because it's not a single trajectory. I'm constantly juggling a multiplicity of ideas like so many bowling pins, struggling to move forward in more than one area. Juggling these things means that one or two inevitably get dropped. I stoop down to pick them up, and try to pick up where I left off. I never really get the rhythm down. I get better, but never perfect. Some things are lost. Others I hold to much too tightly. Focused on the mechanics of juggling, I lose sight of the bigger picture.
Once in a while, though, I keep all the bowling pins in the air long enough to catch a glimpse of the beauty of the world as God intended it to be. It's because of those glimpses that I know God's doing something big. He's working, my friends. May we remember always our frailty, our dependence on God's grace, and, above all, our mandate to love God and our neighbor. May acting on this change us and make us more like Jesus.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
confessions of a panicky people-pleaser
This morning, I received a message from a friend simply telling me that he needed to talk to me in the near future.
I panicked, complete with a skyrocketing heart rate, racing thoughts, intense fear and self-protecting anger. I was entirely confident that I had done something or was something entirely unforgivable in his eyes, and that our friendship was probably over.
I drove to work and forgot all about it (only because of a very tense staff meeting). Halfway through a very long and very boring work day, I suddenly remembered that he "needed to talk to me." Once again, I had to fight off panic. In the interest of not panicking through the rest of work, I decided to have the conversation via instant messaging, just get it over with. I was praying for peace and grace and wisdom.
Turns out he simply wanted my advice.
Heh.
The thing is, I respond the same way to an official looking letter in the mail. Panic. Thoughts of "What have I done wrong?" Heart racing.
It appears that I have a slight problem. It appears that my desire to never disappoint anyone has gotten a wee bit out of control.
It's bigger than that, though, much bigger. I believe that these panicky moments point very clearly to my identity as a people pleaser, and I believe that I must learn to more effectively deal with this. I am constantly terrified of people really knowing who I am. I'm terrified of being rejected as less than enough. And so I float with the prevailing wind of the day, never quite at home, but trying so very hard to be, if only that means I can be accepted.
To be sure, I've made some huge strides toward honesty. This blog is in many ways the best example of that. I strive to be as transparent as possible in this medium. I don't hide my meddling with feminism. I am honest about my struggles with cynicism and doubting. I have so very little figured out, and I strive to make that transparent and clear in my writing. There is healing in honesty, and I have experienced the fruits of that healing in the past eight months. I'm making progress; God has been working on me. I'm learning to allow my questions about God to lead me to His heart. I'm learning to think for myself rather than allow myself to believe whatever it is that my friends do, and more importantly, I'm learning to love Jesus more fully.
But I remain a people pleaser in that, when confronted with opposition face-to-face, I hem and haw in lieu of public disagreement. I smile and nod rather than boldly speaking what I see and experience. I allow everyone to think I'm on their side, when really I'm somewhere lost in the middle. In doing this, I do no favors. In remaining silent when confronted with injustice, I simply perpetuate that injustice. In turning my back on the downtrodden, I number myself with their persecutors. In upholding the status quo, I condemn the world to hell and myself along with it.
As I've said so many times before...
God forgive me.
I panicked, complete with a skyrocketing heart rate, racing thoughts, intense fear and self-protecting anger. I was entirely confident that I had done something or was something entirely unforgivable in his eyes, and that our friendship was probably over.
I drove to work and forgot all about it (only because of a very tense staff meeting). Halfway through a very long and very boring work day, I suddenly remembered that he "needed to talk to me." Once again, I had to fight off panic. In the interest of not panicking through the rest of work, I decided to have the conversation via instant messaging, just get it over with. I was praying for peace and grace and wisdom.
Turns out he simply wanted my advice.
Heh.
The thing is, I respond the same way to an official looking letter in the mail. Panic. Thoughts of "What have I done wrong?" Heart racing.
It appears that I have a slight problem. It appears that my desire to never disappoint anyone has gotten a wee bit out of control.
It's bigger than that, though, much bigger. I believe that these panicky moments point very clearly to my identity as a people pleaser, and I believe that I must learn to more effectively deal with this. I am constantly terrified of people really knowing who I am. I'm terrified of being rejected as less than enough. And so I float with the prevailing wind of the day, never quite at home, but trying so very hard to be, if only that means I can be accepted.
To be sure, I've made some huge strides toward honesty. This blog is in many ways the best example of that. I strive to be as transparent as possible in this medium. I don't hide my meddling with feminism. I am honest about my struggles with cynicism and doubting. I have so very little figured out, and I strive to make that transparent and clear in my writing. There is healing in honesty, and I have experienced the fruits of that healing in the past eight months. I'm making progress; God has been working on me. I'm learning to allow my questions about God to lead me to His heart. I'm learning to think for myself rather than allow myself to believe whatever it is that my friends do, and more importantly, I'm learning to love Jesus more fully.
But I remain a people pleaser in that, when confronted with opposition face-to-face, I hem and haw in lieu of public disagreement. I smile and nod rather than boldly speaking what I see and experience. I allow everyone to think I'm on their side, when really I'm somewhere lost in the middle. In doing this, I do no favors. In remaining silent when confronted with injustice, I simply perpetuate that injustice. In turning my back on the downtrodden, I number myself with their persecutors. In upholding the status quo, I condemn the world to hell and myself along with it.
As I've said so many times before...
God forgive me.
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