The dream slips a knife in; the pain so real her eyelids slam open wide.
Her heart races as she recalls what she just saw.
Excitement and joy mixed together into childlike giddiness, at her inclusion in the planning and execution of their plans. After what seems like years of waiting, she's thrilled to be able to participate in the activities of her people. Finally feeling like she's equipped to do so, assuming that these are the things that guarantee her acceptance into this group of people she trusts.
Little snippets flash that don't make any sense, but she pays them no mind.
They arrive together, the thunder of their horses filling the air, breaking the predawn silence. She barely notices that half the group peels away, going somewhere else that she can't see. Around a bend, through the trees; she doesn't know. She dismisses it as she follows the ones she's always associated with the most.
Parked, dismounted and now seated at the picnic table, the smaller group squares off at the table.
One hums with gaining intensity, one speaks with authority she'd never noticed before; not recognizing their tune or words. And one looks at her, as if waiting to speak to her. Her eyes have no time to look elsewhere before he slides across the worn smooth bench, leaning in to her in feigned intimacy, and whispers tenderly that she's not supposed to be there; a bullet from a silenced gun.
The shock of the betrayal knocks her into immediate action. She jumps back, nearly losing her balance while scrambling to gather her belongings in her retreat.
The rush of blood to her head intensifies the sounds entering her ears. She can hear them behind her, continuing as if now they can do what they came to do.
Her attention drawn away from the pain of the expulsion, now focused on her exodus. Trying to take everything in, she doesn't know where to go. She doesn't know where the rest of the group disappeared to, and rather than risk further embarrassment looking for them, she stoically gets on her ride, and drives away, trying not to notice the lack of response to her exit.
Laying in the dark, replaying the dream to the cadence of the beating pain in her chest, she ponders the solitude, in scenes just like the dream, played out over and over and over in her life.
She accepts, through tears, the Alone.
The tip of the knife came in the form of the one she's closest to, life to life, soul to soul. The tip of the knife was just a poke, the initial offense, slight pressure that breaks the surface, yet altering the surface forever.
The blade behind the point, however, slicing cleanly through flesh; made up of those she thought knew her, those she thought wanted her with them; opening the wound larger, pushing the pain in deeper.
But the blade, with its sharp point and double edged blade, is held together and driven by the molded and formed traditions of the lifestyles and cultures of her people; all people.
Just like church.
The unnoticed snippets and snapshots from the dream foretell how she wasn't really included from the beginning. A mistaken addition to a private email; the women peeling away from the men. It makes sense now.
It doesn't make any sense.
The acid of her tears forces her eyes shut as she retreats into the cave of her bed linens.
Friday, December 26, 2014
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Burning
Endings and beginnings;
hearing and not hearing;
recognizing and wallowing.
Doubting. Questioning. Not knowing for sure, yet hoping; but not our own hope.
Peace reigns despite the unrest; flooding from all sides to counter the unknown.
Sparks ignite in unexpected places.
Do not fear the fire; it burns, yet brings no lasting pain.
Inescapable evolutions;
ripping, tearing, breaking out;
severing the facade from its root bound victim.
Exposing pain, exposing the raw, exposing the need for healing.
Exposing the entirety of self to the impending inferno.
Exposing the cleft that cannot heal unless grafted through flames.
Overcome. Overwhelmed. Undone.
Unaffected by what's outside the surrounding firestorm, flames dance around; yet unconsuming.
The blisters erupt as the fire passes over.
In the midst of the unending, the unseeing; underneath the effects of the assault on the flesh, new life is shaping.
New life forms in its protective immersion, growing and waiting for the veil to lift.
One by one, the marks burn open, revealing the new creation...
Smoldering.
Shining.
Whole.
hearing and not hearing;
recognizing and wallowing.
Doubting. Questioning. Not knowing for sure, yet hoping; but not our own hope.
Peace reigns despite the unrest; flooding from all sides to counter the unknown.
Sparks ignite in unexpected places.
Do not fear the fire; it burns, yet brings no lasting pain.
Inescapable evolutions;
ripping, tearing, breaking out;
severing the facade from its root bound victim.
Exposing pain, exposing the raw, exposing the need for healing.
Exposing the entirety of self to the impending inferno.
Exposing the cleft that cannot heal unless grafted through flames.
Overcome. Overwhelmed. Undone.
Unaffected by what's outside the surrounding firestorm, flames dance around; yet unconsuming.
The blisters erupt as the fire passes over.
In the midst of the unending, the unseeing; underneath the effects of the assault on the flesh, new life is shaping.
New life forms in its protective immersion, growing and waiting for the veil to lift.
One by one, the marks burn open, revealing the new creation...
Smoldering.
Shining.
Whole.
Monday, December 1, 2014
Over Yonder
(Chantal's portion of the sermon:)
Today marks the first Sunday of the Advent season.
For me, Advent's a little weird.
The church celebrates the first coming of Christ, which will culminate in a few weeks as Christmas.
But the spirit of Advent is two-sided, though. Along with the celebration of the first coming, the season of Advent brings along hope; hope for the second coming, which the church waits for with bated breath.
Celebration and hope.
To me, Advent is no different than the mentality of the church during the rest of the year.
This is the mentality we read our scriptures with, and the mentality with which we live our lives.
We take these historic events, Christmas (the birth/first coming of Christ), and Easter (the resurrection of Christ), as celebrations of remembrance. We live our lives between celebrations; happy that we celebrate, thankful for the reason to celebrate, and hopeful for the next.
We live in between the first and second coming of Christ, and so we live in between celebrations.
What are we doing in the meantime, in between these celebrations?
Now, just so you know a little bit about me and my perspective, I don't see things the way most people do; I don't buy into the status quo.
That's why this whole "churchianity" thing has never made any sense to me.
I don't understand how gathering together in our elevated little groups; where we leave the thinking to one person; where when we do think, we think of ourselves as better than everyone else; where we worship a god who looks and sounds and acts profoundly like us; where we only associate with other "Christians" and secretly judge everyone who's not...
I've never understood how any of those things prove that we're the salt and light we're supposed to be, how any of those things bring any semblance of hope to people who have none, how any of those things point to a god that's bigger than us, and how the "hope" that we supposedly live in is restricted to our next celebration of remembrance.
And we wonder why people outside the church... stay...outside the church.
They don't get the "celebration", and they don't see the point of the "hope", because we're not showing them.
All that being said, I want to point out some things in today's Advent scripture, to possibly open your eyes to what we're supposed to be doing between our "celebrations".
Mark 13: 28-37
"Learn this parable from the fig tree. After its branches become tender and it sprouts new leaves, you know that summer is near. In the same way, when you see these things happening, you know that he's near, at the door.
I assure you this generation won't pass away until these things happen. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will certainly not pass away.
But nobody knows when that day or hour will come, not the angels in heaven and not the Son. Only the Father knows. Watch out! Stay alert! You don't know when the time is coming. It is as if someone took a trip, left the household behind, and put the servants in charge, giving each one a job to do, and told the doorkeeper to stay alert. Therefore, stay alert! You don't know when the head of household will come, whether in the evening or at midnight, or when the rooster crows in the early morning, or at daybreak. Don't let him show up when you weren't expecting and find you sleeping. What I say to you, I say to all: Stay alert!"
First off, the fig tree.
We know what a fig tree is, right? We know what the fruit of a fig tree tastes like; we know what the odd shaped leaves look like; we know the shape of the fig tree; we know what the new growth on a fig tree looks like - all segmented and square-ish, with a distinguishable difference between old and new growth.
A fig tree is something we're familiar with, because we've seen them. They're right here, in our time, right now.
When Jesus talks about the fig tree, "After its branches become tender and it sprouts new leaves, you know that summer is near..."; we know that this isn't something profound, this is something we can imagine, because we've seen it. We've experienced it.
We recognize it as one of the signs of the changing seasons. We know that summer is close when we see the fig tree doing this, as well as other plants, too. These are things we've seen and learned as we live our lives.
We try to make it profound, because it's something that Jesus said to his disciples; Jewish men who weren't super educated, or even educated at all. We try to make the season of summer into some metaphor of perfection, or heaven, or whatever.
We try to make it something profound, but Jesus is really just telling his disciples to change the way they think!
The Jewish thought of that time, for the religious leaders and for the common folk, was that the Messiah hadn't come yet, and when he did, they expected him to be a warrior king who would rescue Israel from the Roman occupation they were in the middle of.
This hope for the Messiah was strictly limited to their past and current situation, how horribly messed up the world around them was, having been through numerous exiles in the past, and the current occupation by Rome.
Old Testament Jewish thinking was based on, and limited to, their understanding of the Law given by Moses. Deuteronomy 28 basically told the Israelites that if they did good, good things would happen to them, and if they did bad, bad things would happen to them. They had no theology beyond that; no thought process beyond the here and now.
As time progressed through Israel's history, bad things were happening, and they couldn't understand why. (Never mind the centuries of Israel not doing what God wanted.) As they recalled their history, and the varying groups of people they'd lived among throughout the duration of different exiles, they began to develop and incorporate a thought process of the afterlife, where everything would be perfect, "over yonder".
This "over yonder" mentality gave the Jewish people hope; something to look forward to, after a life of suffering on Earth.
We do the same thing, don't we?
We wait for Jesus to come back, to relieve us from the horror that's happening in the world.
Where evil cannot stand anymore.
Where we wait, doing nothing.
This is the mentality that the disciples have; this is the mentality that Jesus is trying to change.
He's trying to get them to change their thinking from "over yonder" to "now".
He's trying to get them to see that the hope they longed for, that the truth they longed for, that the justice they longed for, that the Messiah they longed for, was sitting right in front of them!
He was there, now.
Just as He is here, right now.
The disciples knew exactly what a fig tree was. They had seen them before; they had eaten the fruit; they had experienced a fig tree.
Jesus was telling them that the "over yonder" they hoped for is just as real as the fig tree. They were experiencing the hope and the truth and the justice of "over yonder", and couldn't recognize it.
If we look at the parable of the fig tree as a parable for "over yonder", then it doesn't quite make sense. What does the fig tree represent? What does 'summer' represent? What does 'tender', or what does 'new leaves', or what does 'sprout' mean?
In our attempt to make it something profound, we complicate it immensely.
Jesus used the fig tree to tell the disciples that the hope they longed for "over yonder" was something tangible, something real, like a fig tree.
The substance of our hope. The fig tree has substance. Our hope... has substance.
If we don't realize and embrace this, we will continue to jump from celebration of remembrance to celebration of remembrance; powerless; ignorant to the fact that for centuries, we've been worshiping the symbol, the celebration, instead of the real and tangible thing: Christ.
In the passing of the time from the early church to now, we've lost the awareness that Jesus, and His Kingdom, is here now. The hope that we long for is not "over yonder", it is just as real as the fig tree!
This also changes our understanding of "this generation won't pass away until these things happen", doesn't it...
Jesus is real, right here, right now. This would make it apply to every generation; from the generation of the disciples, all the way to this generation, right now.
Now hold that thought.
The next thought Jesus introduces tells the disciples to stay alert.
"It is as if someone took a trip, left the household behind, and put the servants in charge, giving each one a job to do, and told the doorkeeper to stay alert. Therefore, stay alert! You don't know when the head of household will come, whether in the evening, or at midnight, or when the rooster crows in the early morning, or at daybreak. Don't let him show up when you weren't expecting and find you sleeping."
The church sometimes see this as a description and a warning of when Christ returns; the event that ushers in our "over yonder" thinking. This line of thinking, this mentality, also effectually removes the responsibility we have in the Body of Christ. (Herein lies my problem with Advent.)
But look: "...put the servants in change, giving each one a job to do..."
Now, I'm somewhat of a word-nerd, but I notice subtleties in our language. I see where "servants" is plural, but "doorkeeper" is singular. An there's something else, too.
Aren't we all servants??
Haven't we done exactly what Jesus told the disciples not to do? We fell asleep!
The Scripture doesn't say that the doorkeeper has to do everyone's job, it says each of the servants has a job to do! Every single one!
We have bought into the Jewish mentality that our pastors and our church leadership have to do all the work, while we sit here and celebrate Christ's birth, and wait for the end of the world; completely disregarding the fullness of WHY Christ came in the first place.
That being said, we can pretty much agree that God's up to something. There has been quite a few changes lately. We see it here. But it's not just happening here, it's happening everywhere.
And in case you're not paying attention, what God is up to now has more to do with the other six days a week than what we do on Sunday morning.
The days of coming to church to be "fed", the days where we rely on our pastors to give us a "good word" from God are all coming to an end.
God is teaching us and speaking to us through our interactions with one another.
He's speaking to us through our meals together.
He's speaking to us through our conversations with one another.
He's teaching us how to be the Body of Christ we're meant to be, by actually being the Body of Christ.
He's speaking to us and showing us His worldview by giving us opportunities to see one another as He sees us, to love one another as He loves us.
He's drawing us all closer to each other, and closer to Him.
It's called community.
As His servants in this community, we've been given a job to do. Are we doing it? Or are we asleep, leaving our responsibilities to someone else?
If you've fallen asleep; if you think you can't experience God in our midst until we're "over yonder", then you'll miss Him now.
Jesus is right here, right now. Just like the fig tree.
Change your thinking from "over yonder" to "right now".
He's right here, right now... Believe it!
If you're asleep, you'll miss Him.
If you think that you have nothing to do except wait for Jesus to return, you'll miss Him... now and then.
If you're not involved in the lives of other people, then you'll miss how God is speaking to them in their situations; you'll miss how God is speaking to you as you partner with other people, to share in this crazy thing called life.
We aren't meant to live a dual life, where God is in a little box that we only pull off the shelf on Sunday mornings.
We're not meant to live ONLY on celebration days.
Stay alert! God's about to destroy the box you (try to) keep Him in. What makes us think we can contain Him? He's God!
Just as we claim that the Holy Spirit is everywhere, start living like you believe it.
Stay alert! So you see Him; in the everyday, in our celebrations, in our interactions, in the mundane, in the pain, in the joys, in the struggles and the victories, in the tears and in the laughter, in those wispy moments of understanding and grace.
Take responsibility for the job He's given you, the time we've been placed in, our here and now, between His first coming and His second coming.
Whatever your job is that you've been given, it will demand that you start thinking outside the box of these four walls.
(Geoff's portion of the Sermon:)
So what do we do with this?
How do we change our way of thinking?
And how do we figure out what we are supposed to do within the community, or what "Body part" we are within the Body of Christ?
Over the last few years I have been around a bunch of people. I hear different people and different church groups talking around the Cruciform, and I hear some things like, "my cross", or "pick up your cross and follow me"; a big joke between some of us is, "I lost my cross".
Let me tell you, WE don't have a cross. There is only one cross, the Cross of Christ. We don't have a cross that is ours, that we can carry around with us, or one that can be lost. The Cross of Christ is firmly planted in place. It has already been carried up the hill, and on that cross everything has been paid in full.
So we have to make a few choices. We have to choose to GO to the Cross. We have to choose to climb our sorry butts on it, knowing full well the pain and suffering that took place on it, and when we fall off, we have to choose to do it again and again, every day.
This looks different for everyone and to everyone.
Within our community here, we use phrases like "die daily" and the Cruciform. I never really realized how common they actually are.
I was sitting in a little truck stop somewhere in Indiana, turned on my TV and did a channel search while I was getting my dinner ready. I was looking forward to a TV show or something give some background noise while I was eating. The channel search finished and left me with only two channels, both Christian channels, and both had pastors sitting in chairs talking.
I wanted to turn the TV off, but not wanting to sit in the quiet, I left it on the first channel and turned the volume down a bit. So as I sat there not really listening, I heard a very familiar phrase, "die daily", so I turned up the volume so I could hear.
It was a younger guy that was the guest speaker, and he told a story about dying daily.
There was a man and his child, the man was trying to teach his child about Christ, and his phrase "die daily". They went to a cemetery, and the father looked down at his child as they stood next to a grave. The conversation went something like this:
Father: I want you to kick this gravestone.
Child: Oh no! I couldn't!
Father: Why not?
Child: That would be disrespectful!
Father: Okay, then stand back and yell at this person lying here, and tell them they are stupid.
Child: (running and hugging their father's leg) Oh no, please! That would be so mean! I couldn't!
The father bends down and says to the child; "This person laying here, their body is dead. Their body does not understand meanness, disrespect, anger, revenge, regret, hurt feelings; those feelings are only alive in the flesh, and this person's flesh has died.
Emotions drive us in a direction that we want to go.
You ask, what is your part in the community?
Well, how many times do you feel like you are being pushed into a certain direction by God, and you fight it? You end up finding your own direction based on your own emotions, whether they're emotions based on fear, or disbelief, or worry about was is or isn't going against the norm, or thoughts of "this can't be God, so... I'll just go play in the sand over here, because this doesn't make any sense to me."
Galatians 2:20 tells us that it is no longer me that lives, but Christ lives in me.
When that starts to happen, when Jesus starts doing something we're not used to, what do we do?
Does our flesh, our emotions, not want to go, so we kick Him out real quick, sweeping up behind Him saying, "wow, that was close"?
Or do we drag our sorry butts back up the hill and climb on that beat up cross, hang there, saying "Yes sir"?
Once we get on that Cross, that's when you'll find out what it is that's your place in the community, what part of the Body you are.
And it's probably not going to be what we want, or what we think it will be.
Chantal read in Mark about how we're supposed to do our job, but unfortunately, we act like teenagers when their parents go out of town.
You know what I'm talking about, the parents go out for the night, so the kids throw a party. The parents come home, kids get busted.
So the next time the parents go out, the kids think they're smart, and put someone at the window to give a heads up when the parents are home. Parents get home, kids get busted again.
Parents leave again, the kids think they're going to one-up the parents. They set a watchman at the end of the street, to warn when the parents are on their way home.
The kids always get caught! They just keep sending the watchman out, because they're not doing what they should be doing.
We throw down Monday through Saturday, and get the house all cleaned up for Sunday, so it looks like things are cool. But after a year of Sundays, the amount of work to do is so great that we either blame someone else for the condition we created by not doing our job, or we try to hire someone to do the job for us, or we just change the chore list to what we think it should be.
This is the human condition, and the reason why we need to get on the Cross!
Today marks the first Sunday of the Advent season.
For me, Advent's a little weird.
The church celebrates the first coming of Christ, which will culminate in a few weeks as Christmas.
But the spirit of Advent is two-sided, though. Along with the celebration of the first coming, the season of Advent brings along hope; hope for the second coming, which the church waits for with bated breath.
Celebration and hope.
To me, Advent is no different than the mentality of the church during the rest of the year.
This is the mentality we read our scriptures with, and the mentality with which we live our lives.
We take these historic events, Christmas (the birth/first coming of Christ), and Easter (the resurrection of Christ), as celebrations of remembrance. We live our lives between celebrations; happy that we celebrate, thankful for the reason to celebrate, and hopeful for the next.
We live in between the first and second coming of Christ, and so we live in between celebrations.
What are we doing in the meantime, in between these celebrations?
Now, just so you know a little bit about me and my perspective, I don't see things the way most people do; I don't buy into the status quo.
That's why this whole "churchianity" thing has never made any sense to me.
I don't understand how gathering together in our elevated little groups; where we leave the thinking to one person; where when we do think, we think of ourselves as better than everyone else; where we worship a god who looks and sounds and acts profoundly like us; where we only associate with other "Christians" and secretly judge everyone who's not...
I've never understood how any of those things prove that we're the salt and light we're supposed to be, how any of those things bring any semblance of hope to people who have none, how any of those things point to a god that's bigger than us, and how the "hope" that we supposedly live in is restricted to our next celebration of remembrance.
And we wonder why people outside the church... stay...outside the church.
They don't get the "celebration", and they don't see the point of the "hope", because we're not showing them.
All that being said, I want to point out some things in today's Advent scripture, to possibly open your eyes to what we're supposed to be doing between our "celebrations".
Mark 13: 28-37
"Learn this parable from the fig tree. After its branches become tender and it sprouts new leaves, you know that summer is near. In the same way, when you see these things happening, you know that he's near, at the door.
I assure you this generation won't pass away until these things happen. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will certainly not pass away.
But nobody knows when that day or hour will come, not the angels in heaven and not the Son. Only the Father knows. Watch out! Stay alert! You don't know when the time is coming. It is as if someone took a trip, left the household behind, and put the servants in charge, giving each one a job to do, and told the doorkeeper to stay alert. Therefore, stay alert! You don't know when the head of household will come, whether in the evening or at midnight, or when the rooster crows in the early morning, or at daybreak. Don't let him show up when you weren't expecting and find you sleeping. What I say to you, I say to all: Stay alert!"
First off, the fig tree.
We know what a fig tree is, right? We know what the fruit of a fig tree tastes like; we know what the odd shaped leaves look like; we know the shape of the fig tree; we know what the new growth on a fig tree looks like - all segmented and square-ish, with a distinguishable difference between old and new growth.
A fig tree is something we're familiar with, because we've seen them. They're right here, in our time, right now.
When Jesus talks about the fig tree, "After its branches become tender and it sprouts new leaves, you know that summer is near..."; we know that this isn't something profound, this is something we can imagine, because we've seen it. We've experienced it.
We recognize it as one of the signs of the changing seasons. We know that summer is close when we see the fig tree doing this, as well as other plants, too. These are things we've seen and learned as we live our lives.
We try to make it profound, because it's something that Jesus said to his disciples; Jewish men who weren't super educated, or even educated at all. We try to make the season of summer into some metaphor of perfection, or heaven, or whatever.
We try to make it something profound, but Jesus is really just telling his disciples to change the way they think!
The Jewish thought of that time, for the religious leaders and for the common folk, was that the Messiah hadn't come yet, and when he did, they expected him to be a warrior king who would rescue Israel from the Roman occupation they were in the middle of.
This hope for the Messiah was strictly limited to their past and current situation, how horribly messed up the world around them was, having been through numerous exiles in the past, and the current occupation by Rome.
Old Testament Jewish thinking was based on, and limited to, their understanding of the Law given by Moses. Deuteronomy 28 basically told the Israelites that if they did good, good things would happen to them, and if they did bad, bad things would happen to them. They had no theology beyond that; no thought process beyond the here and now.
As time progressed through Israel's history, bad things were happening, and they couldn't understand why. (Never mind the centuries of Israel not doing what God wanted.) As they recalled their history, and the varying groups of people they'd lived among throughout the duration of different exiles, they began to develop and incorporate a thought process of the afterlife, where everything would be perfect, "over yonder".
This "over yonder" mentality gave the Jewish people hope; something to look forward to, after a life of suffering on Earth.
We do the same thing, don't we?
We wait for Jesus to come back, to relieve us from the horror that's happening in the world.
Where evil cannot stand anymore.
Where we wait, doing nothing.
This is the mentality that the disciples have; this is the mentality that Jesus is trying to change.
He's trying to get them to change their thinking from "over yonder" to "now".
He's trying to get them to see that the hope they longed for, that the truth they longed for, that the justice they longed for, that the Messiah they longed for, was sitting right in front of them!
He was there, now.
Just as He is here, right now.
The disciples knew exactly what a fig tree was. They had seen them before; they had eaten the fruit; they had experienced a fig tree.
Jesus was telling them that the "over yonder" they hoped for is just as real as the fig tree. They were experiencing the hope and the truth and the justice of "over yonder", and couldn't recognize it.
If we look at the parable of the fig tree as a parable for "over yonder", then it doesn't quite make sense. What does the fig tree represent? What does 'summer' represent? What does 'tender', or what does 'new leaves', or what does 'sprout' mean?
In our attempt to make it something profound, we complicate it immensely.
Jesus used the fig tree to tell the disciples that the hope they longed for "over yonder" was something tangible, something real, like a fig tree.
The substance of our hope. The fig tree has substance. Our hope... has substance.
If we don't realize and embrace this, we will continue to jump from celebration of remembrance to celebration of remembrance; powerless; ignorant to the fact that for centuries, we've been worshiping the symbol, the celebration, instead of the real and tangible thing: Christ.
In the passing of the time from the early church to now, we've lost the awareness that Jesus, and His Kingdom, is here now. The hope that we long for is not "over yonder", it is just as real as the fig tree!
This also changes our understanding of "this generation won't pass away until these things happen", doesn't it...
Jesus is real, right here, right now. This would make it apply to every generation; from the generation of the disciples, all the way to this generation, right now.
Now hold that thought.
The next thought Jesus introduces tells the disciples to stay alert.
"It is as if someone took a trip, left the household behind, and put the servants in charge, giving each one a job to do, and told the doorkeeper to stay alert. Therefore, stay alert! You don't know when the head of household will come, whether in the evening, or at midnight, or when the rooster crows in the early morning, or at daybreak. Don't let him show up when you weren't expecting and find you sleeping."
The church sometimes see this as a description and a warning of when Christ returns; the event that ushers in our "over yonder" thinking. This line of thinking, this mentality, also effectually removes the responsibility we have in the Body of Christ. (Herein lies my problem with Advent.)
But look: "...put the servants in change, giving each one a job to do..."
Now, I'm somewhat of a word-nerd, but I notice subtleties in our language. I see where "servants" is plural, but "doorkeeper" is singular. An there's something else, too.
Aren't we all servants??
Haven't we done exactly what Jesus told the disciples not to do? We fell asleep!
The Scripture doesn't say that the doorkeeper has to do everyone's job, it says each of the servants has a job to do! Every single one!
We have bought into the Jewish mentality that our pastors and our church leadership have to do all the work, while we sit here and celebrate Christ's birth, and wait for the end of the world; completely disregarding the fullness of WHY Christ came in the first place.
That being said, we can pretty much agree that God's up to something. There has been quite a few changes lately. We see it here. But it's not just happening here, it's happening everywhere.
And in case you're not paying attention, what God is up to now has more to do with the other six days a week than what we do on Sunday morning.
The days of coming to church to be "fed", the days where we rely on our pastors to give us a "good word" from God are all coming to an end.
God is teaching us and speaking to us through our interactions with one another.
He's speaking to us through our meals together.
He's speaking to us through our conversations with one another.
He's teaching us how to be the Body of Christ we're meant to be, by actually being the Body of Christ.
He's speaking to us and showing us His worldview by giving us opportunities to see one another as He sees us, to love one another as He loves us.
He's drawing us all closer to each other, and closer to Him.
It's called community.
As His servants in this community, we've been given a job to do. Are we doing it? Or are we asleep, leaving our responsibilities to someone else?
If you've fallen asleep; if you think you can't experience God in our midst until we're "over yonder", then you'll miss Him now.
Jesus is right here, right now. Just like the fig tree.
Change your thinking from "over yonder" to "right now".
He's right here, right now... Believe it!
If you're asleep, you'll miss Him.
If you think that you have nothing to do except wait for Jesus to return, you'll miss Him... now and then.
If you're not involved in the lives of other people, then you'll miss how God is speaking to them in their situations; you'll miss how God is speaking to you as you partner with other people, to share in this crazy thing called life.
We aren't meant to live a dual life, where God is in a little box that we only pull off the shelf on Sunday mornings.
We're not meant to live ONLY on celebration days.
Stay alert! God's about to destroy the box you (try to) keep Him in. What makes us think we can contain Him? He's God!
Just as we claim that the Holy Spirit is everywhere, start living like you believe it.
Stay alert! So you see Him; in the everyday, in our celebrations, in our interactions, in the mundane, in the pain, in the joys, in the struggles and the victories, in the tears and in the laughter, in those wispy moments of understanding and grace.
Take responsibility for the job He's given you, the time we've been placed in, our here and now, between His first coming and His second coming.
Whatever your job is that you've been given, it will demand that you start thinking outside the box of these four walls.
(Geoff's portion of the Sermon:)
So what do we do with this?
How do we change our way of thinking?
And how do we figure out what we are supposed to do within the community, or what "Body part" we are within the Body of Christ?
Over the last few years I have been around a bunch of people. I hear different people and different church groups talking around the Cruciform, and I hear some things like, "my cross", or "pick up your cross and follow me"; a big joke between some of us is, "I lost my cross".
Let me tell you, WE don't have a cross. There is only one cross, the Cross of Christ. We don't have a cross that is ours, that we can carry around with us, or one that can be lost. The Cross of Christ is firmly planted in place. It has already been carried up the hill, and on that cross everything has been paid in full.
So we have to make a few choices. We have to choose to GO to the Cross. We have to choose to climb our sorry butts on it, knowing full well the pain and suffering that took place on it, and when we fall off, we have to choose to do it again and again, every day.
This looks different for everyone and to everyone.
Within our community here, we use phrases like "die daily" and the Cruciform. I never really realized how common they actually are.
I was sitting in a little truck stop somewhere in Indiana, turned on my TV and did a channel search while I was getting my dinner ready. I was looking forward to a TV show or something give some background noise while I was eating. The channel search finished and left me with only two channels, both Christian channels, and both had pastors sitting in chairs talking.
I wanted to turn the TV off, but not wanting to sit in the quiet, I left it on the first channel and turned the volume down a bit. So as I sat there not really listening, I heard a very familiar phrase, "die daily", so I turned up the volume so I could hear.
It was a younger guy that was the guest speaker, and he told a story about dying daily.
There was a man and his child, the man was trying to teach his child about Christ, and his phrase "die daily". They went to a cemetery, and the father looked down at his child as they stood next to a grave. The conversation went something like this:
Father: I want you to kick this gravestone.
Child: Oh no! I couldn't!
Father: Why not?
Child: That would be disrespectful!
Father: Okay, then stand back and yell at this person lying here, and tell them they are stupid.
Child: (running and hugging their father's leg) Oh no, please! That would be so mean! I couldn't!
The father bends down and says to the child; "This person laying here, their body is dead. Their body does not understand meanness, disrespect, anger, revenge, regret, hurt feelings; those feelings are only alive in the flesh, and this person's flesh has died.
Emotions drive us in a direction that we want to go.
You ask, what is your part in the community?
Well, how many times do you feel like you are being pushed into a certain direction by God, and you fight it? You end up finding your own direction based on your own emotions, whether they're emotions based on fear, or disbelief, or worry about was is or isn't going against the norm, or thoughts of "this can't be God, so... I'll just go play in the sand over here, because this doesn't make any sense to me."
Galatians 2:20 tells us that it is no longer me that lives, but Christ lives in me.
When that starts to happen, when Jesus starts doing something we're not used to, what do we do?
Does our flesh, our emotions, not want to go, so we kick Him out real quick, sweeping up behind Him saying, "wow, that was close"?
Or do we drag our sorry butts back up the hill and climb on that beat up cross, hang there, saying "Yes sir"?
Once we get on that Cross, that's when you'll find out what it is that's your place in the community, what part of the Body you are.
And it's probably not going to be what we want, or what we think it will be.
Chantal read in Mark about how we're supposed to do our job, but unfortunately, we act like teenagers when their parents go out of town.
You know what I'm talking about, the parents go out for the night, so the kids throw a party. The parents come home, kids get busted.
So the next time the parents go out, the kids think they're smart, and put someone at the window to give a heads up when the parents are home. Parents get home, kids get busted again.
Parents leave again, the kids think they're going to one-up the parents. They set a watchman at the end of the street, to warn when the parents are on their way home.
The kids always get caught! They just keep sending the watchman out, because they're not doing what they should be doing.
We throw down Monday through Saturday, and get the house all cleaned up for Sunday, so it looks like things are cool. But after a year of Sundays, the amount of work to do is so great that we either blame someone else for the condition we created by not doing our job, or we try to hire someone to do the job for us, or we just change the chore list to what we think it should be.
This is the human condition, and the reason why we need to get on the Cross!
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Sick
My news feed sickens me this morning. The blaring polarity reminds me just how far we (& I mean all humanity) have to go.
In the midst of writing, I look for temporary distractions, something to clear the webs that are forming in between words; a mental sweeping, if you will.
But now, that distraction to my train of thought has completely derailed me.
Whenever something happens that affects a large portion of society, I pay attention, but from afar. I merely observe. You won't hear my take all too often.
I see emotional responses to polarizing issues, responses that instantly build walls instead of tearing them down, emotional responses that only serve to deepen the divide, instead of bridging the gap.
The differences between "us" and "them" seems to be what's fueling the fire. Or maybe the fire is fueled by the continual attention to, and pointing out of, the differences.
We (& I mean all humanity) have a tendency to promote ourselves above other human beings.
When we (& I mean all humanity) perceive a wrongdoing, it is our human nature to cry "injustice!".
Every group of people does this, on each side of every disagreement, or conflict.
Every. Group.
But regardless of groups, the problem of "us" and "them" remains. As long as there are categories that we (& I mean all humanity) can use to divide us, "us" and "them" will always be an issue.
Unless, of course, we (& I mean all humanity) start to think, instead of relying on our betraying emotions to do our thinking for us.
It seems unheard of for people involved in a conflict to communicate anymore. Not just talk to get the other side to understand, but to listen to the other side as well; the goal of communication being understanding.
Over and over and over again, in the midst of social issues, I don't see honest communication happening. What usually starts with a decision by someone ends up as a shouting match between two sides, where everyone is wearing earplugs. The people doing the shouting can't hear what the other side is saying (and/or won't), but they see the other side's lips moving, prompting more shouting. Meanwhile, the world grows weary and bored of the same exchange happening over and over again, so they just walk away. None of the issues are solved, and no one is giving any attention to either side anymore, which just adds to the unrelieved tensions.
Conflict breeds emotion, some of which can be healthy, and some of which is destructive. Emotions run particularly high on social media, where no one is held accountable for the effects of their opinions and words.
Those who publicly announce their hand-washing of the situation, as well as those who make jokes about the situation, still feed into the conflict.
One post I saw by a public figure was incredibly mindful of both sides of the current conflict. It was beautiful, really.
Being the glutton for punishment I am, I read the comments.
Like an idiot.
And as all comments usually do, they turned my stomach as hundreds of comments rolled by, pointing out the differences between "us" and "them", and in the most derogatory, condescending, and disrespectful ways. Very few even addressed the mindfulness of the original post, they just hammered away, adding bricks to the wall between sides.
It breaks my heart to see how we fail to realize that if we keep pointing out the differences between "us" and "them", instead of addressing the issues that "we" (& I mean all humanity) face, then we are part of the problem, offering nothing worthwhile to a conversation that is so desperately long overdue.
Just like the arguments in the different conflicting social bubbles that continuously plague society, no one is interested in WHY people feel the way they do, or WHY people believe what they believe, or WHY people have the mentality they have, or WHY those difference even exist in the first place.
In order for that to happen, we'd have to get over ourselves. We'd have to admit that we don't have all the right answers, because we haven't even tried on someone elses's shoes, let alone walked a mile in their shoes. We'd have to give a crap about something other than ourselves, and our desire to be right.
Unless that happens, there will be no change; tensions will continue to boil underneath the placid surface of the American utopia, until the scabs that won't heal are ripped off once again.
History repeats itself, over and over, because we (& I mean all humanity) are too stubborn, too proud, and too ignorant to learn from it, to change the course of history for the better.
In the midst of writing, I look for temporary distractions, something to clear the webs that are forming in between words; a mental sweeping, if you will.
But now, that distraction to my train of thought has completely derailed me.
Whenever something happens that affects a large portion of society, I pay attention, but from afar. I merely observe. You won't hear my take all too often.
I see emotional responses to polarizing issues, responses that instantly build walls instead of tearing them down, emotional responses that only serve to deepen the divide, instead of bridging the gap.
The differences between "us" and "them" seems to be what's fueling the fire. Or maybe the fire is fueled by the continual attention to, and pointing out of, the differences.
We (& I mean all humanity) have a tendency to promote ourselves above other human beings.
When we (& I mean all humanity) perceive a wrongdoing, it is our human nature to cry "injustice!".
Every group of people does this, on each side of every disagreement, or conflict.
Every. Group.
But regardless of groups, the problem of "us" and "them" remains. As long as there are categories that we (& I mean all humanity) can use to divide us, "us" and "them" will always be an issue.
Unless, of course, we (& I mean all humanity) start to think, instead of relying on our betraying emotions to do our thinking for us.
It seems unheard of for people involved in a conflict to communicate anymore. Not just talk to get the other side to understand, but to listen to the other side as well; the goal of communication being understanding.
Over and over and over again, in the midst of social issues, I don't see honest communication happening. What usually starts with a decision by someone ends up as a shouting match between two sides, where everyone is wearing earplugs. The people doing the shouting can't hear what the other side is saying (and/or won't), but they see the other side's lips moving, prompting more shouting. Meanwhile, the world grows weary and bored of the same exchange happening over and over again, so they just walk away. None of the issues are solved, and no one is giving any attention to either side anymore, which just adds to the unrelieved tensions.
Conflict breeds emotion, some of which can be healthy, and some of which is destructive. Emotions run particularly high on social media, where no one is held accountable for the effects of their opinions and words.
Those who publicly announce their hand-washing of the situation, as well as those who make jokes about the situation, still feed into the conflict.
One post I saw by a public figure was incredibly mindful of both sides of the current conflict. It was beautiful, really.
Being the glutton for punishment I am, I read the comments.
Like an idiot.
And as all comments usually do, they turned my stomach as hundreds of comments rolled by, pointing out the differences between "us" and "them", and in the most derogatory, condescending, and disrespectful ways. Very few even addressed the mindfulness of the original post, they just hammered away, adding bricks to the wall between sides.
It breaks my heart to see how we fail to realize that if we keep pointing out the differences between "us" and "them", instead of addressing the issues that "we" (& I mean all humanity) face, then we are part of the problem, offering nothing worthwhile to a conversation that is so desperately long overdue.
Just like the arguments in the different conflicting social bubbles that continuously plague society, no one is interested in WHY people feel the way they do, or WHY people believe what they believe, or WHY people have the mentality they have, or WHY those difference even exist in the first place.
In order for that to happen, we'd have to get over ourselves. We'd have to admit that we don't have all the right answers, because we haven't even tried on someone elses's shoes, let alone walked a mile in their shoes. We'd have to give a crap about something other than ourselves, and our desire to be right.
Unless that happens, there will be no change; tensions will continue to boil underneath the placid surface of the American utopia, until the scabs that won't heal are ripped off once again.
History repeats itself, over and over, because we (& I mean all humanity) are too stubborn, too proud, and too ignorant to learn from it, to change the course of history for the better.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Descent
Alone.
He leaves Monday morning, and I descend once again. Into the dark and quiet.
In between seasons, I feel like a leaf that's fallen from the tree, but hasn't reached the ground yet. Suspended; like I'm supposed to see something from here, but I keep closing my eyes.
A leaf isn't supposed to be on the ground, it's meant for the tree!
But it has a purpose on the ground, too. It feeds the soil.
It doesn't do it alone, it can't.
*************************
I'm clinging to my crutches for dear life. Maybe because I know something new is around the corner. The anticipation is killing me. I light another cigarette. Frustration sets in, because I can't see it. Light another cigarette. It tastes like shit, and turns my stomach. Whatever it is that's around the corner is going to be unlike anything we've ever seen. My head spins, either from what this "new" means, or the rush of tobacco.
Never seen before.
Never existed before.
Never imagined before.
What the hell does that even mean?
*************************
Stupid cigarettes.
I glance at the lit cigarette between my fingers. I've been smoking for half of my life now, the original intent so far in my past it doesn't even seem possible to recall, yet I do.
I was a kid, just emerging from under the protective proximity of my childhood. Bound and determined to do something new, something productive. In the perfect mix of arrogance and ignorance that we call fearlessness, I was gonna make something of myself.
Sitting in a park at my training base in Texas, with my new best friend, and the guys we're trying to impress.
I still feel the dry heat of that Texas sun beating down on us at that concrete table, sitting on that concrete bench.
I don't remember anyone's face but hers. I remember the path of the sidewalk through the park, I remember the sprawling trees strategically placed in that park.
She smoked, why didn't I smoke? It seemed like everyone around us smoked, so why not then? I choked.
At least, that's what I remember.
I've never been a non-smoking adult. I don't even know what that looks like. That would be something new, wouldn't it.
Never in my adult life have I been free from the grip of these damn things.
I've gone through what seemed like transitions to different lives, but never free from these.
I stare at the wooden cross on my wall, and the smoke tendrils that curl in front of it.
Transitions from base to base, job to job, relationship to relationship. All requiring discipline on my part, if I could muster up the can-do, fearless attitude. My trusty cardboard pack and lighter never leaving my sight.
*************************
I focus on the church, I focus on community, I focus on learning, but all seem like sustained distractions; just a grander version of me sticking my head in the sand.
God's talking to me; afraid of what He might say, I keep covering my ears. With Pinterest. With games. With books. With social media. With my own striving.
I keep running, I keep hiding; timidly crying out for purpose and clarity, but afraid of what that might look like. Frustrated because others see what I don't. Getting more and more pissed at myself for using my crutches to put up a smokescreen, so I can slink back into my descent.
My discipline absolutely sucks. I'm rebelling against it for some reason. Is it for the sake of rebellion, or am I rebelling out of fear?
I don't even know anymore.
*************************
My hometown is getting hammered by lake effect snow right now. The pictures flooding social media and the national news are making me nostalgic.
I remember building forts and tunnels in the snowdrifts at the end of our driveway as a kid, I remember sledding at the golf course, snowball fights and snowmen.
The innocence of winter, not yet realizing that the white blanket covered real life.
Snow days and hot chocolate, rosy noses and wind chapped cheeks thawing, gloves and boots and hats and snowsuits all dripping their melting accumulations onto the basement floor. Strategically shoveling the driveway into one gigantic pile in the yard to play on, dreaming of a pile so large we could reach the roof of the garage, then we could slide down the entire thing.
The days before responsibility, (other than not getting frostbite,) would rob us of these hours of imaginative and fearless play. Before high school, before extracurricular sports and clubs, before driving, before jobs.
Before we grew up.
We can't ever go back, can we.
It wouldn't be the same. The experiences, the lessons, the maturity gained along the way cannot be forgotten. The perspective of "before" is forever altered. We can long for it again, but we know, deep down, that the process of coming out of that was painful. Lessons and mistakes I'd rather not repeat.
I can appreciate the innocence of those days, the blissful ignorance of life yet to come.
I can also recognize that every stage of my life has been marked by "I just didn't know any better."
I'd be a fool if I didn't acknowledge the same could be said of me right now, as well.
What is the "any better" that I'm afraid of?
And why am I so aware of it?
*************************
'Tis the season for me to be writing.
I can't get out of my head long enough to transfer thoughts to paper, let alone put together sentences that mean anything.
There are general ideas floating around in there, like spots you can't focus on when you look too long at the sun, like helium balloons in the sky.
Beautiful, remarkable in that they're lighter than air, and yet they escape me forever when I inevitably let go of the string.
Glimpses of ancient and eternal realities, brilliantly shimmering before being encapsulated by the thin membrane that distinguishes the difference.
The more I learn, the more balloons float away; drifting higher and higher on an unseen current.
I watch them disappear all the time, unable to hold firm to the strings connecting them to me.
I want to hold on, I really do. But I keep running from the one thing I know I need the most.
The awareness of my rebellion physically pains me, shaming me back into the descent.
But the light never stops shining through the window, surprising me, blinding me, reminding me.
Always there.
He leaves Monday morning, and I descend once again. Into the dark and quiet.
In between seasons, I feel like a leaf that's fallen from the tree, but hasn't reached the ground yet. Suspended; like I'm supposed to see something from here, but I keep closing my eyes.
A leaf isn't supposed to be on the ground, it's meant for the tree!
But it has a purpose on the ground, too. It feeds the soil.
It doesn't do it alone, it can't.
*************************
I'm clinging to my crutches for dear life. Maybe because I know something new is around the corner. The anticipation is killing me. I light another cigarette. Frustration sets in, because I can't see it. Light another cigarette. It tastes like shit, and turns my stomach. Whatever it is that's around the corner is going to be unlike anything we've ever seen. My head spins, either from what this "new" means, or the rush of tobacco.
Never seen before.
Never existed before.
Never imagined before.
What the hell does that even mean?
*************************
Stupid cigarettes.
I glance at the lit cigarette between my fingers. I've been smoking for half of my life now, the original intent so far in my past it doesn't even seem possible to recall, yet I do.
I was a kid, just emerging from under the protective proximity of my childhood. Bound and determined to do something new, something productive. In the perfect mix of arrogance and ignorance that we call fearlessness, I was gonna make something of myself.
Sitting in a park at my training base in Texas, with my new best friend, and the guys we're trying to impress.
I still feel the dry heat of that Texas sun beating down on us at that concrete table, sitting on that concrete bench.
I don't remember anyone's face but hers. I remember the path of the sidewalk through the park, I remember the sprawling trees strategically placed in that park.
She smoked, why didn't I smoke? It seemed like everyone around us smoked, so why not then? I choked.
At least, that's what I remember.
I've never been a non-smoking adult. I don't even know what that looks like. That would be something new, wouldn't it.
Never in my adult life have I been free from the grip of these damn things.
I've gone through what seemed like transitions to different lives, but never free from these.
I stare at the wooden cross on my wall, and the smoke tendrils that curl in front of it.
Transitions from base to base, job to job, relationship to relationship. All requiring discipline on my part, if I could muster up the can-do, fearless attitude. My trusty cardboard pack and lighter never leaving my sight.
*************************
I focus on the church, I focus on community, I focus on learning, but all seem like sustained distractions; just a grander version of me sticking my head in the sand.
God's talking to me; afraid of what He might say, I keep covering my ears. With Pinterest. With games. With books. With social media. With my own striving.
I keep running, I keep hiding; timidly crying out for purpose and clarity, but afraid of what that might look like. Frustrated because others see what I don't. Getting more and more pissed at myself for using my crutches to put up a smokescreen, so I can slink back into my descent.
My discipline absolutely sucks. I'm rebelling against it for some reason. Is it for the sake of rebellion, or am I rebelling out of fear?
I don't even know anymore.
*************************
My hometown is getting hammered by lake effect snow right now. The pictures flooding social media and the national news are making me nostalgic.
I remember building forts and tunnels in the snowdrifts at the end of our driveway as a kid, I remember sledding at the golf course, snowball fights and snowmen.
The innocence of winter, not yet realizing that the white blanket covered real life.
Snow days and hot chocolate, rosy noses and wind chapped cheeks thawing, gloves and boots and hats and snowsuits all dripping their melting accumulations onto the basement floor. Strategically shoveling the driveway into one gigantic pile in the yard to play on, dreaming of a pile so large we could reach the roof of the garage, then we could slide down the entire thing.
The days before responsibility, (other than not getting frostbite,) would rob us of these hours of imaginative and fearless play. Before high school, before extracurricular sports and clubs, before driving, before jobs.
Before we grew up.
We can't ever go back, can we.
It wouldn't be the same. The experiences, the lessons, the maturity gained along the way cannot be forgotten. The perspective of "before" is forever altered. We can long for it again, but we know, deep down, that the process of coming out of that was painful. Lessons and mistakes I'd rather not repeat.
I can appreciate the innocence of those days, the blissful ignorance of life yet to come.
I can also recognize that every stage of my life has been marked by "I just didn't know any better."
I'd be a fool if I didn't acknowledge the same could be said of me right now, as well.
What is the "any better" that I'm afraid of?
And why am I so aware of it?
*************************
'Tis the season for me to be writing.
I can't get out of my head long enough to transfer thoughts to paper, let alone put together sentences that mean anything.
There are general ideas floating around in there, like spots you can't focus on when you look too long at the sun, like helium balloons in the sky.
Beautiful, remarkable in that they're lighter than air, and yet they escape me forever when I inevitably let go of the string.
Glimpses of ancient and eternal realities, brilliantly shimmering before being encapsulated by the thin membrane that distinguishes the difference.
The more I learn, the more balloons float away; drifting higher and higher on an unseen current.
I watch them disappear all the time, unable to hold firm to the strings connecting them to me.
I want to hold on, I really do. But I keep running from the one thing I know I need the most.
The awareness of my rebellion physically pains me, shaming me back into the descent.
But the light never stops shining through the window, surprising me, blinding me, reminding me.
Always there.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Gossamer
[This should probably be three or four separate posts. But it's one continuous train of thought; conversation; and it's a long one, where the cars are in no particular order. Better grab a snack.]
Weekends are bad times for me, because my family is home, together. Not just 'off of work' or 'no school'; I really mean they're home. We don't see each other, at all, until the weekends.
So when the phone rings, or the Facebook messenger dings (which annoyed me to no end, and has been permanently deleted), or text messages flood in, I cringe.
I'm not a super social person to begin with. I can hang out with anyone, so long as I'm mentally prepared to do so. "Dropping in" because you're in the neighborhood, or have a few minutes to kill, or "swinging by" because you see my car in the driveway, well, it just doesn't work for me. At all.
As an introvert, as a writer, as a student, my time is one of my crucial commodities. I'm an incessant list-maker, I'm a planner. I schedule out my days with the multitasking prowess of a professional. I could very easily let my schedule rule my life, if I was to let it.
I currently don't work outside the home. But that doesn't make me available at all hours of the day and night. That doesn't mean that I'm home, sitting on the couch, eating a pounder bag of Cheetos, waiting for any- and everyone to come yank me out of my miserable solitude.
What really happens behind the front door I keep shut, behind the blinds I keep closed, behind the walls I erect by not answering every technological intrusion is a lot of wrestling.
As a thinker, as a solitary processor kind of person, my time alone is crucial. It's when I decompress, it's when I vent, when I assess, it's when I pray, it's when I am revitalized. I write about what I'm thinking, what I'm struggling with; pen and paper are the vehicle through which I process it all.
When I'm writing, my thoughts, my words, and God's clarity come together in a breathtaking symphony. Interruptions are like a needle scratching all the way across that record, completely derailing me.
Shocked at the unrequested intrusion, and stunned by the silence afterwards; I'm usually quite pissed.
I process the community God's drawn me to, I process what it could look like. I pray to see possibilities for it, and I pray for strengthening relationships within it. I study it. I dream about it. I ponder my part in it.
I question everything I do in it; am I enabling or equipping, am I contributing anything worthwhile, am I jumping the gun. These aren't questions that can be easily answered; there's usually something I have to learn first, in order to get to the answer.
The timing of all this isn't for me to decide, either.
During the week, during the time that's been afforded to me to be alone, in order to make the best use of the silence, I'll write. When no words come, I spend time in the lives of the people I'm in community with.
We're learning each other, we're sharing stories, sharing hurts and fears, sharing hope. We're seeing Christ in each other, celebrating the minuscule movements and the unplanned adversities that bind us closer together, and closer to Christ. We draw strength from one another, and we begin to see roles develop in a bigger picture we can't quite grasp yet.
These gatherings- whether planned or unplanned, meals, or classes, or baptisms, or work in the physical community- become the fodder for my writing inspirations.
I come home, I think. I pray. I think some more. I wait. I think even more. I'll write.
If I don't get this time alone to process everything through the filter I've been given, it all becomes a jumbled, seemingly silent mess. Then the effort that's been poured into it feels worthless. Which drives me NUTS.
One of my big bouts lately has been the (perceived) dichotomy of my life right now.
I have my weekends with my family, then we all part ways again which leaves me time for writing and community. Because I spend more time by myself and with the community, it's easy for me to feel like that dynamic should continue into the weekend as well. And anyone who knows my family knows that's not gonna happen. Who knows, maybe my retreat into silent solitude on Mondays is my gut reaction to the lack of quiet time over the weekends... (Great. More to ponder.) For months, I've been fighting the busy-ness and noise of the weekends, longing for the quiet again. In the meantime, I've been missing my family. I have no problem pouring into the inner workings of everyone else's lives, but my own has become a nuisance? That's some bullsh*t right there.
Just as I've had to work through that, I also have to work through how 'who I am in Christ' fits into 'community'.
Book after book today tells the church what she needs to do to get back to her roots; different methods and procedures laid out in the hopes of steering this giant ship in the direction that God's moving in. In the circles I run with, the principle of 'dying to self' is the crux of our faith. It's catching on across Christendom, too. At first it delights me, but as I delve deeper and deeper into the outer edges of the mainstream churches claiming this in their pastors' best-selling books, I find the basis misses the point, still fundamentally following a "striving towards" mentality.
I digress.
By focusing on my personality type, or my desires to seclude myself, if I allow the seclusion to take hold, I begin the fight of "either/or".
I'm an "all in" person. I'm of the mindset that if you're going to do something, you give it all you've got. So, the either/or for me has been, I'm either all in with community, or I'm all in with what I see as my calling.
Community doesn't come easy for me, (or anyone else for that matter,) nor is it something that happens overnight. It is a slow, beautiful process for someone like me, who captures these moments in written snapshots.
But, because it is slow, I have a tendency, in my "all-in" mindset (which very quickly escalates to an "all-me" mindset) to try to make things happen where God isn't moving yet, or in places He hasn't revealed the puzzle pieces yet. Sure, it keeps me busy, but it also drains me, further fueling my propensity to retreat altogether.
I'm beginning to understand the delicate balance of each of our roles in community. That community is not, and cannot, be developed or discovered by only a few people, it takes all. Gifts and strengths are dispersed throughout, so that the whole fully expresses Christ.
So by me jumping "all in" (which is my natural inclination); when I'm not the one who should be jumping into each and every situation; I'm stepping into someone else's role. As a result, I'm tired and frustrated, and I've taken away the opportunity for someone else to rise to the occasion, to possibly understand who they are, in community.
I thought I had to get on my cross to participate in community. I had equated "participating in community" with helping those in the community who need help; whether it's transportation, or medical care, or food, etc. A rescuer, in essence.
I've come to realize that I have to get on my cross in order to let Christ do the rescuing, and not me.
By trying to constantly fill the "rescuer" role, (which isn't my role, my job, or my calling) all that did was frustrate me to no end. The frustration came from no matter what my efforts were, however minute or grand, the only places I saw God moving were the places I didn't have my hands in the pot. I was, and still am, overjoyed to see this, but there was still that little inkling in the back of my mind, "why am I not seeing results here??" Silently, my humility was starting to crack.
I focused on my efforts, completely missing the new and deepening friendships that I was part of, and the moments of discipleship happening along the way. I completely missed how God was showing me my part; all of which happened so effortlessly.
At the same time, I was ridden with guilt by any time I did spend alone, which made me question everything I was doing. I began to swirl. I felt like I was stuck in the pages of the book of Ecclesiastes, and I couldn't get out. I could see the big picture, but had no idea where I fit into it, like there had to be a concrete answer to "my calling or (my mistaken idea of) community".
I'm learning that the details trip me up. I constantly ask "why", of people around me, and of God. But when I start asking for the "how", I end up in places I shouldn't be, where nothing makes any sense to me at all.
Me trying to figure out "how" my calling fit into community seriously screwed me up. Life became a series of questions, that which each new question, more and more doubt crept in.
Finally, when my head was about to explode, Christ reminded me that when I'm on the cross, He'll take care of the "how".
Oh, the humanity...
Weekends are bad times for me, because my family is home, together. Not just 'off of work' or 'no school'; I really mean they're home. We don't see each other, at all, until the weekends.
So when the phone rings, or the Facebook messenger dings (which annoyed me to no end, and has been permanently deleted), or text messages flood in, I cringe.
I'm not a super social person to begin with. I can hang out with anyone, so long as I'm mentally prepared to do so. "Dropping in" because you're in the neighborhood, or have a few minutes to kill, or "swinging by" because you see my car in the driveway, well, it just doesn't work for me. At all.
As an introvert, as a writer, as a student, my time is one of my crucial commodities. I'm an incessant list-maker, I'm a planner. I schedule out my days with the multitasking prowess of a professional. I could very easily let my schedule rule my life, if I was to let it.
I currently don't work outside the home. But that doesn't make me available at all hours of the day and night. That doesn't mean that I'm home, sitting on the couch, eating a pounder bag of Cheetos, waiting for any- and everyone to come yank me out of my miserable solitude.
What really happens behind the front door I keep shut, behind the blinds I keep closed, behind the walls I erect by not answering every technological intrusion is a lot of wrestling.
As a thinker, as a solitary processor kind of person, my time alone is crucial. It's when I decompress, it's when I vent, when I assess, it's when I pray, it's when I am revitalized. I write about what I'm thinking, what I'm struggling with; pen and paper are the vehicle through which I process it all.
When I'm writing, my thoughts, my words, and God's clarity come together in a breathtaking symphony. Interruptions are like a needle scratching all the way across that record, completely derailing me.
Shocked at the unrequested intrusion, and stunned by the silence afterwards; I'm usually quite pissed.
I process the community God's drawn me to, I process what it could look like. I pray to see possibilities for it, and I pray for strengthening relationships within it. I study it. I dream about it. I ponder my part in it.
I question everything I do in it; am I enabling or equipping, am I contributing anything worthwhile, am I jumping the gun. These aren't questions that can be easily answered; there's usually something I have to learn first, in order to get to the answer.
The timing of all this isn't for me to decide, either.
During the week, during the time that's been afforded to me to be alone, in order to make the best use of the silence, I'll write. When no words come, I spend time in the lives of the people I'm in community with.
We're learning each other, we're sharing stories, sharing hurts and fears, sharing hope. We're seeing Christ in each other, celebrating the minuscule movements and the unplanned adversities that bind us closer together, and closer to Christ. We draw strength from one another, and we begin to see roles develop in a bigger picture we can't quite grasp yet.
These gatherings- whether planned or unplanned, meals, or classes, or baptisms, or work in the physical community- become the fodder for my writing inspirations.
I come home, I think. I pray. I think some more. I wait. I think even more. I'll write.
If I don't get this time alone to process everything through the filter I've been given, it all becomes a jumbled, seemingly silent mess. Then the effort that's been poured into it feels worthless. Which drives me NUTS.
One of my big bouts lately has been the (perceived) dichotomy of my life right now.
I have my weekends with my family, then we all part ways again which leaves me time for writing and community. Because I spend more time by myself and with the community, it's easy for me to feel like that dynamic should continue into the weekend as well. And anyone who knows my family knows that's not gonna happen. Who knows, maybe my retreat into silent solitude on Mondays is my gut reaction to the lack of quiet time over the weekends... (Great. More to ponder.) For months, I've been fighting the busy-ness and noise of the weekends, longing for the quiet again. In the meantime, I've been missing my family. I have no problem pouring into the inner workings of everyone else's lives, but my own has become a nuisance? That's some bullsh*t right there.
Just as I've had to work through that, I also have to work through how 'who I am in Christ' fits into 'community'.
Book after book today tells the church what she needs to do to get back to her roots; different methods and procedures laid out in the hopes of steering this giant ship in the direction that God's moving in. In the circles I run with, the principle of 'dying to self' is the crux of our faith. It's catching on across Christendom, too. At first it delights me, but as I delve deeper and deeper into the outer edges of the mainstream churches claiming this in their pastors' best-selling books, I find the basis misses the point, still fundamentally following a "striving towards" mentality.
I digress.
By focusing on my personality type, or my desires to seclude myself, if I allow the seclusion to take hold, I begin the fight of "either/or".
I'm an "all in" person. I'm of the mindset that if you're going to do something, you give it all you've got. So, the either/or for me has been, I'm either all in with community, or I'm all in with what I see as my calling.
Community doesn't come easy for me, (or anyone else for that matter,) nor is it something that happens overnight. It is a slow, beautiful process for someone like me, who captures these moments in written snapshots.
But, because it is slow, I have a tendency, in my "all-in" mindset (which very quickly escalates to an "all-me" mindset) to try to make things happen where God isn't moving yet, or in places He hasn't revealed the puzzle pieces yet. Sure, it keeps me busy, but it also drains me, further fueling my propensity to retreat altogether.
I'm beginning to understand the delicate balance of each of our roles in community. That community is not, and cannot, be developed or discovered by only a few people, it takes all. Gifts and strengths are dispersed throughout, so that the whole fully expresses Christ.
So by me jumping "all in" (which is my natural inclination); when I'm not the one who should be jumping into each and every situation; I'm stepping into someone else's role. As a result, I'm tired and frustrated, and I've taken away the opportunity for someone else to rise to the occasion, to possibly understand who they are, in community.
I thought I had to get on my cross to participate in community. I had equated "participating in community" with helping those in the community who need help; whether it's transportation, or medical care, or food, etc. A rescuer, in essence.
I've come to realize that I have to get on my cross in order to let Christ do the rescuing, and not me.
By trying to constantly fill the "rescuer" role, (which isn't my role, my job, or my calling) all that did was frustrate me to no end. The frustration came from no matter what my efforts were, however minute or grand, the only places I saw God moving were the places I didn't have my hands in the pot. I was, and still am, overjoyed to see this, but there was still that little inkling in the back of my mind, "why am I not seeing results here??" Silently, my humility was starting to crack.
I focused on my efforts, completely missing the new and deepening friendships that I was part of, and the moments of discipleship happening along the way. I completely missed how God was showing me my part; all of which happened so effortlessly.
At the same time, I was ridden with guilt by any time I did spend alone, which made me question everything I was doing. I began to swirl. I felt like I was stuck in the pages of the book of Ecclesiastes, and I couldn't get out. I could see the big picture, but had no idea where I fit into it, like there had to be a concrete answer to "my calling or (my mistaken idea of) community".
I'm learning that the details trip me up. I constantly ask "why", of people around me, and of God. But when I start asking for the "how", I end up in places I shouldn't be, where nothing makes any sense to me at all.
Me trying to figure out "how" my calling fit into community seriously screwed me up. Life became a series of questions, that which each new question, more and more doubt crept in.
Finally, when my head was about to explode, Christ reminded me that when I'm on the cross, He'll take care of the "how".
Oh, the humanity...
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Waves
Waves rolling
Across the sky...
Nudged & prodded & shaped by the wind;
Ushering in the morning light.
Waves crashing
In the form of time...
Rushing & slowing & passing me by;
Relentless, unchanging.
Waves lapping
At the shores of life...
Rhythms eternal in lessons we fight;
Persistently shaping.
Waves rising
From under the deep...
Surprising, upsetting, and tilting the vessel;
Yet calm waters will no skills teach.
Waves swelling
With destructive intent...
Swallowing those who attempt to conquer;
Arrogance drives us to death.
We cannot beat them,
We cannot stop them.
We can harness and utilize the waves;
Only together.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)