having given up facebook for lent (again!), given up alchohol (again), cheese (1st time for everything) and perish the thought JUNK FOOD! it could be argued it's all about self-help.
truth is, i want back. i want to be back with God again—not that i've strayed all that far—but far enough to want to be back. lent is about letting go of everything, including for Jesus, what it meant to be the Son of God, for the sake of the hope of the resurrection.
a prayer for lent
God,
how broken I am,
how disillusioned and failed my soul has become.
but i've seen your light and it is true,
the darkness has not overcome it.
God
as my heart is opened up,
so too will yours.
clean me
make me right
so i may share in rising again too.
Amene.
Old fashioned means you can contact me on e-mail, blog and cell! not through any of those new fangled social networking hoodackys.
there have been some interesting discussions that have come out of the last post and i think that it's worth teasing it out some more.
i want to focus specifically on what we have ended up with that we call 'church'.
in my jaded space, my less than positive and very cynical state, i have allowed myself to dwell on some pretty uncomfortable questions. my temptation was to swing back from the edge as soon as i could in order to honour the call on my life, but it felt good to hold my ground on the outside and take another look at this beast called church.
and here's the take.
as i understand it the 'church' has it's proper place on this earth. it is as Bonhoeffer would argue, sanctorum communio the community of the Spirit. pause for a second and consider that. Community of the Spirit.
Let's ponder the impact of this. The church, the dwelling place of the Spirit, the temple of the Spirit (not the individual body as many will want to read scripture, but the collective gathering), the place where Christ's presence is invoked by the gathering of people in his name, a place of edification by others through the Spirit. Consider all the expressions of the Spirit in scripture. Conscience, comforter, empowerer, inspirer, giver of gifts, producer of fruit, healer, mediator, intercessor. now most of those the conventional western spirituality would confine to a charismatic encounter with the Spirit and an indicator of the 'relationship with God' that someone will have (proof might be another word).
BUT here is the problem. if spirituality CAN be contained within an individualistic worldview i.e. the only thing that matters is my personal commitment to Jesus and the extent of my own faith, then where does that leave the church and it's purpose? that's right. it's use and purpose is defined by the individual . . . not the Spirit. this is, in short, tower of babel stuff, it's hubris.
if my understanding of church is dictated by what it will do 'for me', then i lose something fundamental to faith. Faith is so much more about what we entered into than what we are taken from (to use conventional jargon, it's so much less about what we are saved from than what we are saved into). and we are saved into a community of faith, of believers who (imho) dare to call themselves christians.
if we are all about the community of faith, and that community of faith is the community of the spirit, then it makes sense that this community is given the right to be our conscience, comforter, empowerer, inspirer etc. it is a place where we can exercise the fullness of life in the spirit.
here's the crunch.
if i am right in my understanding that the Spirit of God is speaking loudly to the church that "songs, words, altar calls and conferences don't cut it" then i think the conventional church is not listening to the Spirit very clearly at all. (I know those are big words . . . and i deserve to be flamed for them actually, 'cos i have no right to make a statement like that and feel at all comfortable—which i don't by the way, i'm kinda just thinking out loud).
i would struggle to comprehend the spirit as saying to those on the sinking ship "hey, don't worry about the ship, let's have an awesome time together". i would be thinking the Spirit is saying to the church, "oi! the ship is sinking! plug the leaks! get up and work! we can fix this together 'cos i know where the problems are. shut up and listen!". If that is the case, has been the case for the last 40 to 50 years, then it's clear the church doesn't listen.
which leaves me with the very very disturbing thought, if the church is not listening to the spirit, then to whom is she listening?
you know what they say about how there is a fine line between love and hate. it's probably because wherever passion is invested (raw passion, shamelessly gifted from the vulnerable heart, the passion that hands over a portion of a persons identity to be shaped by the cause, that kind of passion . . .) wherever that kind of passion is invested, when it is rejected, the pendulum swings violently. being passionate is one of my great assets but also great undoings. i'm at this point where i'm trying to decide which side it is weighted on.
i haven't blogged because i don't want to sound like a church basher for the sake of some kind of cynical self-indulgent ego prop. there's too much of that stuff going on, and it doesn't really help tooooo much, though it has its place and surely must be heard in some contexts (one of my plans this year is to create a forum for this type of voice to be heard). in truth, through this turn of events last year, i feel like of lost my voice.
what right do i have to say anything about the church? especially if it's just being negative?
well, no more than anyone else, but certainly no less. have i tried it? given my 'all' for it? been optimistic? tried to be embracing of it? tick, tick, tick, tick.
do i have an understanding it? the dynamics of it? the history of it? the future of it? certainly at this stage i am not ignorant of these things, tick, tick, tick, tick
so, when i went into pastoral ministry i went in with the view that while the mainline church in new zealand is in need of an overhaul, a reality check and a significant change in direction, AND i really thought that it could be fixed. i want to be part of the solution not perpetuate the problem. but i was wrong in thinking that people knew there was a problem, they don't seem to be aware and certainly seem to resent anyone for pointing that out (and i'm certainly not alone on that front). i want to share with you how i feel the conversations went and why my pendulum has swung.
the old metaphor of the sinking ship gives more insight than it first appears. the church in new zealand is a sinking ship. i have it on good authority that some denominations have recognised this (the pressies are seeing 2015 as a significant year for them—it's the year that the old and inherited money dries up and they begin to see the last of the bequests among other revenue streams. it could be argued that writing is on the wall for the baptists, given the recent fiscal crisis that its overseas mission arm has found itself in and i suspect that many of the rest of the churches will follow suit at some point as fundamental shifts in ecclesial focus start to permeate the leadership of each church—as it is already happening). these could be seen as a fiscal crisis initially but i reckon it's actually an identity crisis brought on by poor health (more on that some other time). fortunately transcend have cottoned on to this, but unfortunately the approach has been to stop the shift rather than see if we can run with it, which is what i think the answer is.
when all is said and done, the big picture according to Peter Lineham is that the church is in decline and has been for quite some time (there are those who deny it, but i can't see their logic). this ship is sinking.
so when i went into ministry i thought that everybody knew this and that they would want someone to think creatively about the future and new shapes. my BIG mistake and my approach would have been somewhat different if i hadn't made this error in judgement.
this ship has lots of rooms with lots of decks on it. the fancy 'feelgood' decks are higher and so feel the effects of the rising water last. the not so fancy rooms are lower and are feeling it now.
the conversation in the room for our church which was on a lower deck seemed to go like this:
Stu: "hey people, this ship is sinking . . . we better get onto fixing it."
"no it's not." Stu: "but the floor's on an angle, can't you feel it?"
"i know it feels like that, but God has got it under control, don't worry about it. surely we are just needing to wait through this season." Stu: "but maybe God is asking us to take responsibility for this since it was our own doing?"
"you're being negative. just open yourself up to the spirit and you'll see." Stu: "but the water's coming in."
"yes, there does appear to be some water there, we'll plug that up with some emerging church stuff." Stu: "it's not working. we need to rethink so much! for a start, we should get out of this little room and go have a look."
"stu, we really don't think you 'fit' with us. we appreciate your divergent voice, but it really doesn't seem to be relevant to us right now. we want to get on with living the good news—why aren't you preaching about hell and sin? it's clear that the gospel isn't being preached. you need to preach the gospel." Stu: "So, you're saying that the answer to this problem is to invite more people into this room that is filling up with water?"
"it's not filling up with water. see, we've got buckets for our prayer teams to use to bail us out. besides, God will protect us if we simply worship right and live more or less morally"
(someone else comes in)
"hey i've just been to that other room upstairs and they are going off! the spirit is truly at work there and they're running a conference in the dining room if you want to come have a look! it's awesome!"
(some run off to the conference . . . ) Stu: "great, now we've got less people to try and think through how we'll fix this."
"Stu, are you still talking? next time you wish to speak to us, just tell us what the life principles in the bible are. stop being so negative and just embrace the full life of christ." Stu: "what? the ship is sinking! if we don't fix it people are going to die or, best case, they'll be living on life rafts. don't you see?"
(their tempers rise with mine) "we feel that you are not spiritual enough for your role and are clearly unable to comprehend or see God's vision for this place. it's time you went. in fact, we don't even think that you are fit for pastoral ministry."
so now i'm in the corridor. watching people flit between rooms and decks. they go upstairs for the next wee exciting buzz, but not too many seem interested in the fact that this ship is sinking. instead they are amazed at how God must be at work because the dining room seems more full at every conference!
i don't understand it. it doesn't make any sense to me. the ship is sinking and people just want to keep their rooms full.
tash asked me if had any hope. and the answer is "no, but i should, and i could, if i knew just where to look."
for the record, i've been wasting too much time on facebook and not enjoyed the codependency it was creating for me so i have deactivated my account for a while. i figured, i use e-mail for communication and my blog for rumination. Without Scrabble on facebook there's not much point me continuing with it as a comms tool. so feel free to e-mail me stu [@] definitive . co . nz or leave a message on my blog.
The sky was turning steel blue and the wind was dying down. The waves were beginning to still and a chill cut through her clothes. He was almost at the end of the wharf and about to turn onto the road to head home. He was tiny now compared to the Petone townscape, cut down to size by distance. As he disappeared, it was as though he diminished into a speck of insignificance. He never looked back. He just reached the gates at the end and walked through. He crossed the road and disappeared into the town center. Harmlessly gone.
Holiness pressed into her as twilight edged out sunset, setting her uneasy. Almost to distract herself she scratched an arc in the sky with her gaze, joining the west to the east with a vignette of stoney-blue to dark. This place that she found herself standing in the centre of was amazingly big. Seeing the dome of the sky really put things in perspective, especially as she tried to measure how many times she would have to be stacked to reach the top. Hundreds? Thousands? She knew it was nonsense to think like that, but something about the primitive cosmology of a dome appealed and made acute sense to her. Having this place enclosed was much safer than knowing it just went on forever. A dome she could comprehend, limitless space she could not. Hell, no-one even comprehends how far away the moon is from the earth, let alone the outer solar system.
She drop her eyes down to level, maintaining as much perspective of this vastness as she could. Wellington seemed so far away from her as it’s lights gave a different impression of the cityscape’s shape. The harbour entrance looked positively tiny if she looked at the sky above it too. It reminded her of how she’d try to take panoramic views of Mt Ruapehu or Rangitoto with her 35mm snapshot camera and the result always seemed so puny. So much space around these giants! Even those that have become features need the space around them to be so. Space and distance gave shape.
And then she remembered how someone had told her that when we read, the eye isn’t reading the black type, it’s actually interpreting the absence of space. That black only made sense on the white. What defines a book is it’s margins, what contains the text is the white around the edges of the page. So many contemporary books don’t care for that. But in the old days, they were masters.
It occurred to her again that now he was gone, she could see so much more, she could take in so much more. She also noticed that every new sight around her amplified her isolation even more. Every new sight spoke to her of distance—distance that wasn’t to be overcome (she couldn’t even if she wanted to). Distance that simply ‘was’. Big linear distances fanning out from her in every direction. These distances were just present and she carried with her every moment of everyday, completely oblivious to them until now, where she had stopped, and looked and become acutely aware.
And as she shrunk in size herself, anxiety about her cosmic inconsequence began to set in. Her arguing always made her feel like she was important, because her points were good points to be made. It was nice to have that distraction because here, alone in this holy void it mattered not a whit if she was clever or mad, even clever people buckled under this type of revelation.
But in spite of the isolation, was that thin holiness, that presence of God—what a stupid phrase. As if God can be ‘present’ to us in any sense. Surely we are present in God’s spaces. It’s not that God has gone away, it’s just that we have focussed on something else. It’s not that God’s presence has disappeared, it’s that we become unaware of it. And now she was becoming aware of it again. Distracted by the very things that were supposed to bring her and God closer—theology, prayer, worship, preaching, fellowship—she had never stopped for a moment to realise that God is here. That we meander through God’s space.
“And if this is God’s space, where are the limits?” she thought to herself. And she reflected on the idea of the vast distances of space again. If God is present in all of that (whatever of ‘that’ could be comprehended), then how can we think God is absent at all in our life experience?
Her cosmic insignificance was beginning to overwhelm her. Some small clouds were slihoutting against the last rays of twilight—well when she thought they were small, she compared them to Mt Crawford and they were several times it’s size. “We really do lose the plot sometimes.” And the gentle lapping of the waves around the posts only enhanced the quietening evening.
She remembered the story of Jesus asleep in the boat on a stormy lake. The terror-struck followers as turbulent violence beat them relentlessly on all sides. They scurried around hopelessly with buckets to bail the water out of the boat, a futile endeavour but one that would give them hope—“hope,” she thought to herself and remembered a conversation with him, “hope in what? They could see it was a losing battle, they could see that there was nothing that they could do. That hope was only a distraction to help them with their fear. Hope! Like a drowning man flailing his arms around to keep afloat, that kind of hope that against it all, would hold one’s breath for just a bit longer to draw out life. Hope? These guys couldn’t do anything except hope in a miracle.” So the men in the boat went to Jesus, who was fast asleep. The sleeping God. The blissfully ignorant God. An indifferent God because this God was unaware of the plight of his people. This God, in the middle of a terrifying storm, remained shut off from the cries of his people, didn’t even lift a finger to help them with bailing out the water.
Rage stirred inside the followers as they saw the Christ so placid. But they hesitated. Is it right that we wake him? He is a miracle worker after all. They knew they ought to, even if it were for the extra hands. In the chaos, at their wits end, in the midst of horror, at the brink of realising their cosmic insignificance, they woke God.
Nature herself seemed bent on subduing her maker. When she saw Jesus awake she threw more and more of her rage at the boat. And Jesus, barely awake, stood on his feet and asserted to the storm “Be Still!”
And it was.
“Be still.” Words that echoed from centuries before, from a song that people used to sing whenever they were under attack. “Be still!” An order shouted by the authority not a gentle little statement. “And know that I am God.” Was God in the raging storm? Was God in the earthquake? Was God in the bushfire that ravaged a country side? Was God in any of the violence? God in those times was in the stillness. The quiet whisper.
She was still now. She waited, anticipating perhaps? Living in ‘hope!’ she thought? “Be still and know . . .”
Nothing.
“what does it mean to ‘know’ anyway?” and she stamped her foot in frustration.
(continued from wharf 1)
She watched him saunter away—his back turned and head bowed. She couldn’t work out how much of his posture was an act, an act to make her feel something. But it was the same walk that anyone who’s been dumped walks away with. Overwhelmingly humiliated, held hopelessly in awkward tension with self-justification. “How sad” he thought about her—“I hope this isn’t the end.” “How sad,” she thought about him, “that this is the way it ended.”
He clearly thought there was another conversation to be had. He knew he was right after all. You can’t argue with experience. He had seen things, heard things, felt things, known things. God was a tangible presence, in every respect as a physical father. The prayers he prayed were answered, his worship was accepted, his heart was lighter and he had really dealt with some of his issues enough to say he was doing ok with room for improvement. “Why can’t she just see? What is it about me that is so offensive?”
Each step away from her even seemed to sound heavier on the wooden boards—a gentle crescendo introducing a final epiphany. As the distance increased so did his sadness. It’s hard to leave misguidedness behind, it’s hard to leave obstinacy unanswered, it’s hard to leave things hanging without even so much as “we agree to disagree” to soften the difference. He felt that she’d missed something fundamental, something foundational, something essential. Her spirituality lacked, and it didn’t need to.
She watched him, the lack of animation in his walk, the confinement of the war inside him forcing different strides—“why does he think he’s got it so sorted?” she mumbled quietly to the breeze. And part of her still wanted what he had. She never once said what he had was bunk. She never once accused him of being brainwashed, of fabricating his experience, being psychologically manipulated by the ‘opiate of the masses’. He had a lot to lose if he was and she couldn’t bring herself to even be that harsh—except when he was really getting under her skin. But still, in amongst the convolution remained an innocence, a small honest voice that spoke of access to divine purity, that beckoned an ascent to glimpse heaven, that stirred the spirit within to seek, to really seek. That voice invoked a different hope and she delighted in it. But she was convinced that this voice had to be at odds with all his ‘spiritual experience’.
And she still watched, determined to see that moment of truth, that accidental vulnerability, that brief reality check where he would stop and look over his shoulder. A look to see if she was still looking. A look to check if there was something to come back to. It never came— how could it? To seek reconciliation would be a tacit admission of defeat. To glance back would be to say there was something desirable about her way. To look back would only bring more pain and agony. This relationship was doomed. (and a voice sounded from the most suppressed part of his being “is it?”).
She watched, the breeze turned colder for a moment and she folded her arms tensely. God seemed bigger now. It was weird, her lover had always had a manner about him that shrunk God. It was like her lover had a way of dominating the spiritual space they inhabited. It felt like he had the monopoly on the landscape—you couldn’t fathom the vastness of your surroundings because you were always focussed on a dominant feature — like how the sun dominates a cloudless sky, or Lion Rock imposes on Piha. But as he walked away, he took his spirituality with him, and perspective literally changed. As he got smaller, the space around her got bigger. As he got further away, God became much closer.
As she watched she was going to miss him, because even though he was so in her face, he provided a safety, a fence, a reference point. Her arguments were sharpened by his presence and her spirituality was focussed in reaction to his dominance. He wasn’t all bad for her but it was clear now, that actually his view of God was just not big enough.
As she watched him disappear into the distance, reducing into the context of this vast open space, and as she realised that this openness was actually filled with a thin holiness . . . she began to feel afraid and she didn’t want to turn her back on the lover whom she’d always known.
When you realise how big the universe is, and how small you really are, run to the comfort of your lover’s arms. Because knowing how insignificant we are, is one of the most horrifying experiences the human spirit can endure. So to find significance in an embrace is a challenge to the enormity of the cosmos, and it always wins.
Her challenge weakened with every of his footsteps on the wharf.
Tonight I participated in hallowe'en. This is the first time ever. I'm 39. and i am struggling to see why i had issues with it all these years.
Let me give you some context. I've been immersed in circles since I was young where the festival was seen as evil, occultic and anti-Christian. and of course it's all been bolstered by the fearful images drawn from horror stories that are centuries old. ghouls, ghosts and monsters; vampires, witches and goblins; the 'scream' face mask, flesh wounds and creepy crawlies. yep, fantastic images that represent evil to us. as such the middle christian response has been to hold 'light parties', to ignore trick or treaters, to disagree with it, to reject it, to even protest it. We wouldn't dare participate in it, for to do that would be to dance with the devil.
tonight we were asked by the parents of one of our son's classmates to go over for a hallowe'en party. we hummed and ha'd about it, and to be honest, both my wife and i had reservations. but as i thought about it more and more i couldn't justify not going for the reasons i talk about below. And it occurred to me that actually my feelings about it were shaped by a paradigm that isn't necessarily from a scriptural paradigm. it started to fall into a grey area, and so i thought "well, why not? let's go and have a look." the last thing i wanted to do was object and create an unnecessary social barrier between me and some parents at the school—some things are worth fighting for, but you better be damn sure you know it's worth it and that you've got good information to fight for it. This does not fall into that category.
so we went. and my thoughts on this are as follows (for what it's worth).
evil is evil, fantasy is not
Genocide in the Sudan is evil. The movie 'the excorcist' is not. it is scary, but it's not evil. The Holocaust is evil. dressing up as a ghost is not. treating people like lesser beings than yourself is evil. vampires are not evil because they don't exist. beating the crap out of your kids is evil. letting them "trick or treat" is not.
in short, ghouls and ghosts, vampires and witchy poos, sorcerers and walking skeletons are not evil. they induce fear, but fear is not necessarily evil. Isaiah was afraid of God. Countless people were afraid of God (and should be in my view). but we ought to be more concerned with the things that DO exist than the things that don't.
. . . and don't get me started on the hypocrisy of some christians who vilify hallowe'en but encourage their kids to read the Narnia books. give me a break (oh yeah and somehow "star wars" get's a get out of jail free card).
engaging with fear is a healthy thing
i think the reason our societies develop myths like those around vampires is because it puts a face to the unknown. and the unknown conjures up fear in us, and it's even more frightening when we can't identify what we are afraid of. So to create a myth can help us to process our fear in a much better fashion. I love how Maurice Sendack approaches this in his book "Where the wild things are" and his comments about the recent movie rendering of it:
What do you say to parents who think the Wild Things film may be too scary? Sendak: I would tell them to go to hell. That's a question I will not tolerate. . . .
Because kids can handle it? Sendak: If they can't handle it, go home. Or wet your pants. Do whatever you like. But it's not a question that can be answered. . . . This concentration on kids being scared, as though we as adults can't be scared. Of course we're scared. I'm scared of watching a TV show about vampires. I can't fall asleep. It never stops. We're grown-ups; we know better, but we're afraid.
Why is that important in art? Sendak: Because it's truth.
fear of the unknown is part of life and i can't help but feel that many of our myths are a cultural attempt at domesticating these 'things that go bump in the night'. to explain the unknown — albeit unsatisfactorily — is a way of dampening our fear. it calms our anxiety that comes from limited vision of things that go on, of experiences that don't make sense. i wonder, and i don't want to be extreme at all on this, but i wonder if sometimes we need to let our kids be afraid?
furthermore i wonder if i when I demonise the fantasy that i set my child up for a fall. if when he discovers that vampires don't exist, that his view of evil will evaporate with the myth. i need to demonise that which is truly demonic and be wary of calling evil that which is clearly not true.
missional means participation
One of the neat things that took place here is that i got to hang out with some people on their terms, in their space doing their thing. Furthermore in doing so, it became our thing. We helped the kids get dressed up, we followed the kids around the various houses and joked around with each other, the kids and those whose doors opened to greet us. If i was still a pastor (don't get me started on this tangent of definitions ) this is a great excuse for door-knocking and saying hi to people and becoming known in the community. Why would i run the risk of not engaging with all these people who were NOT at the light parties that churches have been setting up? did i share the gospel? (whatever that means actually), no. and nor did i feel any compulsion to do so. but what i did do, was simply be part of the community rather than set apart. sometimes we are set apart, no question, but this is not one of those occasions.
generosity abounds for those who want to do it
I loved seeing the lollies being dished out and the lengths some houses would go to to make the kids feel special. it was really nice. in some senses it could be argued that the 'begging' or 'forceful solicitation' of the lollies is more like asking your neighbour if they have a spare egg because you've run out. we only went on their street. we only went in their community. for those who gave it wasn't as though it was 'exacted' from them like tax. no, it was given freely and joyfully. furthermore, those who didn't want to participate didn't open the door. now i understand that it could be annoying as anything to have a steady stream of unwanted traffic at your door, but that's easily solved. put up a sign at the gate "no tricks or treats please". 95% of the kids will pass by. simple. it's purely 'if you want to be involved, be involved'.
final observation
there was a massive difference in costumes between a wealthy area and a poorer area. wealthy areas saw many more spidermen, batmen, optimus-primes and pirates. the poorer areas were vampires, blood and guts, axes with red all over them. just an observation, not a judgement.
at the end of the day, here is the final word on the matter. there were 5 kids at the party we went to. a pirate, batman, batwoman, a tasmanian devil and a ghost. i chuckled at the irony of the fact that quite unintentionally our son was the ghost—the most hallowe'en of them all.
“I’ve lost my faith in faith.” The breeze pushed against her, lifting her hair across her face. Her eyes protected by this fragile shield were intentionally violent. This is a crisis. He relaxed his shoulders resigned to the futility of confronting her protest.
Moments passed at the end of the Petone wharf. The tension dissipated while he looked at his feet and puzzled about where to go next with the conversation. It wasn’t heated, just pointed and it didn’t seem to go anywhere except round and round. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, but it certainly didn’t change the way he felt. It cut him up to see such a frustrated paradox before him. That wasn’t his fault though : he’d been taught all along that paradox was wrong and it could be argued that this simple paradigm was the source of all their misunderstanding.
She was content with being a paradox. It was authentic. “We’re all a mess,” she would say, “we all live in contradiction. We are told that if only we do x then y will happen. We are taught that life is primarily causal, that relationships are cause and effect, that we can control and subdue our trajectories, that we can and will find ourselves somehow able to make sense of this, this mess, this ‘gift’ of life.”
Too cynical he thought. Why can’t she just settle down and accept that God is actually more in control of this world that she cares to believe.
“We never arrive anywhere, and hope just seems pointless if it’s just a carrot being dangled in front of you at the end of a stick. I’ve been told all my faithfilled life that it’s a journey to wholeness. How much do I have to hate on myself? How much do I have to be in the ‘holy’ spotlight of heaven? How much to I have to be opened up? Torn apart? How often do I need to be . . .” she choked out the last word “. . . broken?”
And his heart ached at the vulnerability. He would wish he could reach out his hand and touch her cheek with an open palm, he imagined her nestling into it for comfort. Somehow it could convey preciousness. The physical touch. But he knew if he tried she would just flinch. He had told her how his faith made life better, that he was more whole now, that he wasn’t always being dashed on the rocks by a violently divine gaze. He said that he was living life more fully, having stripped away the ‘stuff’ of this world and opened himself up to the experience of the Power of God. That there was such a thing as joy.
She didn’t buy it. She couldn’t. “Joy? Where’s the joy? What’s to say the joy I’m feeling at any particular moment is divinely given? What is this joy supposed to look like? I’ve asked God a million times to fill me with joy. ‘When a child asks for bread, what kind of father would give them a stone?’ what’s wrong with my fucking prayer?”
He flinched at her coarseness. It scratched against his moral consciousness. But he couldn’t answer her—but then he didn’t think it was his place to either.
He felt she was so weak because she would burst into tears at the mere mention of charismata. “Why won’t you just let go?” he asked her for the hundredth time.
“Because it’s you whose telling me I need to! Because I don’t think it’s necessary. Because surely life to the full means living life normally? Not seeking the supernatural all the time? Isn’t God the Creator of ordinary too?”
And they would fight like this for hours and had been for years. This evening was the end. It was the last conversation they would ever have.
“You won’t convince me” smashed the relationship into a thousand pieces. Her obstinacy, (she was just trying to be authentic), her lack of faith (her faith meant more if she wrestled with hard questions), her lack of openness (she couldn’t be more open if she tried), her theological looseness (her lack of certainty always took her to more interesting and engaging places), her lack of trust (though to have the courage to curse God invoked more trust that God is actually love and won’t reprimand!).
He turned his back on her for the last time, walking away from the sunset that lit her up radiant as an angel of fire, her silhouette concealing the tear on her face. While she was sad, she was content. This was a good goodbye, because it was an ending to conflict. She lived happily ever after as much as anyone could expect — because now, now she was free.
“So maybe this is joy?” she hmphed to herself as she began to contemplate God free of constraints.
i don't know why i've never read it before, but at last there's a book that articulates what many feel but are afraid to say in churches (lest they feel like a lesser christian). check this out:
Lamentations 3:1–20
I am one who has seen affliction under the rod of God's wrath;
_ he has driven and brought me into darkness without any light;
_ against me alone he turns his hand, again and again, all day long.
He has made my flesh and my skin waste away, and broken my bones;
_ he has besieged and enveloped me with bitterness and tribulation;
he has made me sit in darkness like the dead of long ago.
He has walled me about so that I cannot escape; he has put heavy chains on me;
though I call and cry for help, he shuts out my prayer;
he has blocked my ways with hewn stones, he has made my paths crooked.
He is a bear lying in wait for me, a lion in hiding;
he led me off my way and tore me to pieces; he has made me desolate;
he bent his bow and set me as a mark for his arrow.
He shot into my vitals the arrows of his quiver;
I have become the laughingstock of all my people, the object of their taunt-songs all day long.
He has filled me with bitterness, he has sated me with wormwood.
He has made my teeth grind on gravel, and made me cower in ashes;
my soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is;
so I say, "Gone is my glory, and all that I had hoped for from the LORD."
The thought of my affliction and my homelessness is wormwood and gall!
My soul continually thinks of it and is bowed down within me.
[irony]Pleasant images of God Vol. 1. Reminds me of the song : 'you are beautiful beyond description, too marvelous for words . . ." [/irony]
Now before the exegetes get all hot and bothered about the fact that this is probably the song of Jerusalem as she was vanquished in the 6th century BC, the resonance is in the emotion and in the assessment of God in scripture.
This is not the side of God that we want to hear about on sundays. not even slightly. but damned if i don't feel like this is the only side that God turns to me sometimes. What's more, as is clearly seen, it's not a-scriptural either. Granted, this comes on the cusp of Israel's unfaithfulness (again), that great sin and infidelity YHWH has taken place to lead them to this point, but the point still remains. This is the heart cry of a God fearing people.
You know why? because faith comes in what follows:
the very next verse is astounding given what we've just read:
Lamentations 3:21–33
But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:
The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases, his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
"The LORD is my portion," says my soul, "therefore I will hope in him."
The LORD is good to those who wait for him, to the soul that seeks him.
It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD.
It is good for one to bear the yoke in youth,
to sit alone in silence when the Lord has imposed it,
to put one's mouth to the dust (there may yet be hope),
to give one's cheek to the smiter, and be filled with insults.
For the Lord will not reject forever.
Although he causes grief, he will have compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love;
for he does not willingly afflict or grieve anyone.
selah
don't feel sorry for me if i say i'm feeling down: i believe it is actually "good to sit in silence when the Lord has imposed it". I also believe that God will not reject me forever. this depression or sadness is an important part of life. it is what needs to be gone through when serious relationships have gone into crisis, it's what needs to be gone through when you suffer for another, it's what needs to be gone through when a heart grieves for hope that has been lost, dreams that have been broken, ideals that have dissolved into mist.
someone asked me if i was depressed while i was a pastor. they asked it as if it were a spiritual problem, an issue of character, a problem for the christian to deal with. the implication was "if you're depressed you can't be a pastor".
i read that last paragraph and see the bitterness in it. i really do. i really really do. but i also feel that some resentment is justified . . . because the criteria. as i understand it, for a pastor is not to 'have it all sorted out', but to be actively sorting it out . . . and that's why i like this scripture. it is all about the tension of emotion and wellbeing. it's all about tensions.
i wish i had a preached on it . . . but that might have been a bit depressing perhaps, and we can't have that now can we . . .
purchased it today with some farewell money. symbolic of a new beginning for me. clean pages. fresh ideas. no accidental thumbing across some of the notes i've made from the last 7 months.
i keep these as a catalogue of stuff. doodles, thoughts, weddings and funerals. it's my officiating book and my ruminating book.
yesterday i realised something: i don't have to be orthodox anymore.
in a church leadership role there are expectations that you've got things 'sorted' theologically. implicit in that is an expectation that you keep static. journey doesn't exist in a leadership role because it is threatening. it's hard to express the questions, because it appears unsafe. it's hard to change your mind about something, because it looks untrustworthy. it's hard to say "i don't have a view on that yet" because it implies that you lack.
these are all things that i have explicitly expressed. and unashamedly so. because my understanding of God has transformed so dramatically in the last 10 years, 5 years, 2 years. however, it has been met with resistance for all the reasons i listed above. but let me be clear on something: cosmic transformational truth cannot be apprehended. end of story. we can't understand enough of God to find absolute credibility within ourselves to make a truth claim. who are we to make such a statement? i'll be even bolder. if you say "i have truth" and i say "i disagree" then we are at an impasse which generally ends up with seeing who shouts the loudest. that's not truth. that's perception. when we say with absolute and unbudging certainty that something is so, i think we overstep the mark. when we say with humility tempered faith that we confidently perceive something to be true, then we are within the limits of our abilities.
there are so many constraints around us—we are constrained by the mere fact we can only experience the 'present' in a timeline, we are constrained by subjective observation where we can make mistakes, we are constrained by our personalities, our predispositions, our fears, our successes—actually all that is about us that makes us unique—is still a constraint. the multiplicity of factors that dictate to us the way in which we perceive must force us to be humble even though we can be confident about our truth statements.
however, holding things with humility lets us explore. it lets theology become art rather than science. it lets theology be about the story not the outcomes. it lets theology be living and breathing, developmental and open ended, progressive and eternal. God retains an active and comprehensive mystery rather than a mystery in the gaps. yeah, humility towards truth takes us to truth.
but all this is to say that now that i am out here, the pressure to be orthodox as defined by any group of people is now no longer there. suddenly i could say "i'm an open theist" if that's what i really thought. i have the freedom now to declare and to hear how that declaration stands. i process things through talking. and the constraint of orthodoxy inhibits my spaces to explore. orthodoxy has been a mill-stone around my neck.
one caveat though for any naysayers who want to jump on me. having the freedom to be unorthodox doesn't make me unorthodox any more than having the freedom to steal makes me a thief. that unfortunately asks for the naysayer to trust that i'm ok even though i don't use their code words for orthodoxy. enigmatic indeed, but now, yeah now, i have the freedom to be an enigma.
i don't have to be orthodox and now i think i'm free to really pursue truth.
i have been faulted for not being aware of just how little parishioners think about church compared to me as a pastor. that while i did this stuff 24/7, while i was set aside to think about the health of the church, the health of the people, the health of our place in our society and community, how healthy our interactions were with society, how healthy healthy healthy everything about us was, most people in the church, even the committed ones, gave it little thought.
and indeed, that is i suppose how mountains get made out of molehills—both sides. i would make mountains because i was so sure that everything was impacting the church. others would make mountains out of the things that affected them the most : style issues, peripheral theological issues.
i would denounce the classic late 20th century daily devotional "quiet time" as being religious, vacuous and almost misleading. but then i was under pressure to produce the goods every sunday with critical thinking, deep reflection and a need (self-imposed i might add) to be profound and life changing. most people i think, just want some sustenance to get through the day. what i was denouncing was actually all that was life giving.
i had the luxury of being in the crucible. a place of refining and honing my theology, my understanding of God, of Christ and of the Spirit. I would be party to the myriad of discussions that would show the inherent despair in so many people of what they were being taught about their faith (someone challenged me the other day that if it's life giving isn't it arrogance to judge it—i'm still contemplating that . . . i think though at a hunch level that he's wrong).
now i am out of the crucible and i am left undone a little. there's no fire to keep me processing. it's hard to know without the sense of urgency whether things that seemed (and arguably still are) important just don't seem to be worth the effort. my crucible kept my faith accountable. kept my prayers intense. kept my passion alive.
out of the crucible it is apparent that i have two sides to me that have equal voice now. one is no longer held in check by the other and they are at odds with each other. i feel like i know what to say, that i can be passionate about what i say and express it with much of my being. but the other side is simply saying "what's the point?" and for the first time in a long time i'm listening. it's not a cynical question, it's a critical question. I think i've assumed that 'the point' was universally understood, or if not, that people on the faith journey wanted to pursue understanding the point. but with the strong driver to want to promote change and add value to my life and others through a meaningful faith no longer suppressing the "what's the point?" driver, i find i am becoming apathetic. and this has caught me by surprise.
i think i liked suppressing the 'what's the point' voice. because i know there is a point. even if i do not grasp it, understand it or know how to pursue it, i know there is a point. i hope that that hope is enough to keep me driven.
confused? wondering where this is going? whether i am making any sense?
) this is a great excuse for door-knocking and saying hi to people and becoming known in the community. Why would i run the risk of not engaging with all these people who were NOT at the light parties that churches have been setting up? did i share the gospel? (whatever that means actually), no. and nor did i feel any compulsion to do so. but what i did do, was simply be part of the community rather than set apart. sometimes we are set apart, no question, but this is not one of those occasions.
