A Hopeful Heretic

The Heart of the Gospel

OK, so I haven't posted for a while.  Things are a little different these days.  But no excuses here, just a few random thoughts from a suburban, Christian refugee.

I was intrigued by an article in Newsweek about what the current oil crisis might mean to the suburbs.  Are we on the verge of a social revolution of some sort?  The implications are incredible.

Even more interesting was a link buried in one of the comments on the article.  It referred to walkscore.com, a site that uses geocoding to determine an index of "walkability" for a neighborhood, the accessibility of various attractions and services within walking distance of any given address.  My new address, third floor walk-up in a gentrifying neighborhood scores a 98 out of 100.  My previous address (the nice house in the far burbs that I'm hoping to sell without losing too much money) scored a 5.  Now that's a pretty drastic change in lifestyle.

The change is truly evident than what I got to do after work tonight.  I rode my bike over to the local Episcopal parish (I could have walked but it was 10 blocks, right at the edge of my convenience range).  Every Tuesday night there they host a community dinner and give out bags of food.  They serve people who are homeless and people who are just poor with some basic dignity along with something to eat.  They don't require anyone to sit through a sermon, they don't require anyone to show evidence that they are really in need, they don't stigmatize.

When they hand out bags of food they simply ask whether the recipient has a kitchen or not.  That way a homeless person can get food that requires no preparation or special storage.

When a grungy-looking guy asked if he could have seconds on ice cream there was no reason why he couldn't.  It seemed like it was the high point of his day, maybe his whole week.

For me it was a privilege to serve there.  I felt closer to God than I have in any worship service in recent memory.  I hope to make it there every week.

I've been reading one of my favorite bloggers write about being "missional" of late.  I haven't felt able to put actions into that word nearly as much as I would like for too long.  Maybe I've finally landed somewhere.

The Question That Bend My Spine...

The book that I'm reading at the moment has my attention.  Even though I thought to swear off theology books for a while this one is different.  I won't give it a complete review here because I'm not the least bit objective at the moment.  I will say that I highly recommend it.

The book is written in the first person by a character who seems to be a minor disciple in the troupe that follows Jesus in his earthly ministry.  What makes the story so fascinating is that the author chases it back and forth across time and space as if the story of Jesus' time on earth were taking place in our day, at least in some respects.  If that makes no sense at all to you then you simply have to read it.

What has my rapt attention at the moment is what narrator has to say about theodicy, the question of good and evil, the question that he says, "bends his spine."

Whenever you ask why evil exists, why sin seems profitable or why bad things happen to good people - why, oh God, did a train hit this young man's car? - you have entered the dark realm of theodicy...

...Almost half of Christianity is theodicy.  We dress it up with other words - soteriology, atonement, blah, blah, blah - but if you close your eyes and listen to it, you'll recognize the duch by the quack it makes.  Atheism generally makes the same sound, too; it just faces the other direction, unhappy with what it hears.  We're all out here in the swamp, trying to make sense out of conflicting data. [page 128]

The word theodicy, he explains, comes from the Greek words theo for God and dikaioo for "to justify." In contrast to what we think religion is all about, our own justification, it is really our vain, impossible task to justify God. It is our desparate attempt to understand how He can be in control of all that is when our very existence seems to be ruled by chaos, to understand how He can love us when every human life, EVERY HUMAN LIFE, is touched by suffering. It's the question that bends my spine as well.

Last night I found out that the nineteen-year-old daughter of a dear friend just died.  I didn't know her very well; you could count the conversations I've ever had with her on one hand.  But I can honestly say that every time I spoke with her I was impressed with her.  She was bright, confident, witty and genuinely concerned with others.  I was sure that no matter what she'd choose to do in life she would be successful at it.  But this weird accident cut her life short.

Questions of theology in general and theodicy in particular become something altogether more real when the void claims one so young with so much promise; all the more when that someone is your daughter or your sister or your friend.  All the theories and principles fade to the background against the anguished cry, why, God, WHY?  How does this possibly serve your great purposes?

We just huddle closer against the dark and mix our tears together and sob our prayers.  What more can we do?

Well Duh!

Not much of profound thoughts this stormy night, not after a weekend of packing and cleaning and moving.  Just this:

Love is not about control.

Well duh!  Of course it's not.  Paul said as much when he wrote that love is not self-seeking in 1 Corinthians 13.  But we shouldn't need scripture to tell us that, it should be self-evident.  Love that requires anything in return isn't really love, it's just another transaction.  It's a contract or at least a proposed one.

Corporations and corporate churches are all about control.  They're all about getting people to do things or keeping people from doing things.  At least that's been my experience.

I wish I could get better at loving.

Goodbye suburbs...

This morning my commute was 15 minutes.  That's an improvement over last week when it hovered around the two hour mark.  But that freedom, like all freedoms, came with a price.  The nice house in the suburbs is still out there, waiting for me to get some time to clean up and fix up so it can go on the market.  For now, my space and my stuff have been considerably reduced.

It's funny, I never thought I'd have such a problem with material things as I did downsizing and moving.  I'm glad that Jesus didn't make his challenge to me instead of the rich guy in Mark 10.  It felt sickening to me to think of all the stuff that I've accumulated in recent years.  I remember being in college and moving from a temporary housing situation back to my parent's house and fitting everything I owned in the back of a Chevette.

It wasn't the thought of losing all that stuff that bothered me.  Actually, I'd love for it to all just go away.  What bothers me is the idea of it being wasted.  I can't stand waste.  To have bought something and discarded it before it has outlived its useful life is a waste.

Leaving a home that had such dreams attached to it is a waste.  Not enough parties in the last year.  Not enough summer nights on the patio.  Not enough music played.

To have left a job with goals unfulfilled is a waste.  It's a waste to leave behind relationships that never reached their potential or the hopes of those involved.

But there is an upside.  It's called dawn.  It happens every morning to announce a new opportunity.  It's called hope: the things desired but not yet possessed.  And more than anything, it's called freedom.  It's the chance to shrug off the shackles, even the really pretty, shiney ones.  I think that's what Jesus was calling the rich guy to.  Losses, certainly, but the gain is freedom.

I think that the dog and I will go out on the deck for the evening.

And a damn fine zinfandel...

I'm taking a break from packing to have a glass of wine at a nice place near where I live.  Well, where I live for the moment.  Come Tuesday I'll be in a whole different neighborhood.

I first came to this place when I was checking out the area, even before I was offered the job at the church.  I think it was one of the things that attracted me to the whole thing, the idea that there was a wine bar in this sleepy little town.  It's as if there was a little bit of elegance among the commuter parking lots, track house developments and farms.

I'm not here to be all meloncholy or nostalgic.  I'm here because I wanted to savor a moment for the first time in months.  This feels to me like the first good breath you take after having a bad cold for a week.  It feels so good to do something you generally take for granted because it took so much effort just a little earlier.

I was thinking about the Sarah Groves song, Just Showed Up on my long drive home tonight (my LAST long drive home):

...I'm gonna live my life inspired
look for the Holy in the common place
open the windows and feel all that's honest and real
until I'm truly amazed.

I'm gonna feel all my emotions
I'm gonna look you in the eyes
I'm gonna listen and hear until it's finally clear
and it changes our lives...

I believe that I've had it with living in the future tense.  Part of healing from all the grief of the last few years is to learn to find joy in the now.  That's not going to come easily for someone who has spent so many years planning for every possible contingency, preparing for a life that has not cooperated.  I think that I've learned all too well how to grieve.  Life teaches you that as soon as you start paying attention.  Now, I'd like to learn, or re-learn, how to celebrate.  I believe that's what I've been called to do for now.  Maybe just for tonight.

So a little jazz in the background, a basketball game on the TV and a damn fine zinfandel.  Beats packing.

Clawing out of the hole...

Has anyone else ever written a really great post and then navigated away from the page before saving it?  Ok, let's try not to do that again.

I suppose that it's just as well, I was probably a little too raw, maybe a little too honest in what I wrote last night.  The point was two-fold: first to explain a little more what's going on with me, second to thank the people who have written comments of support.  I posted my thanks last night and I echo them again now.  It really touches me that so many people understand the experience of loss after loss.

But here's the explanation, at least a partial one.  I find myself in the process of rebuilding my life after leaving a job at a large evangelical church.  That job was a dream for me, an opportunity to support people doing great work to expand the kingdom.  But that dream turned out to be more of a hallucination.  It turns out that the church was dedicated to growth, more people in the cause, more buildings in which to meet, more money to make it all work.  In my mind that's not necessarily the kingdom that Jesus preached about.

I have no doubt that the leaders of that church sincerely believe that they are doing God's work and, to a very great extent, they are accomplishing wonderful things.  But they are also leaving a lot of bloody and broken bodies in their wake.  I'm one of those bodies.

What really hurts me is that I've made this mistake before.  This isn't the first dynamic, growing church that I've committed to only to find that I really didn't fit the mold.  It's one thing to make a mistake about which leaders to follow and which movement to join.  It's another thing to make the same mistake twice.  It tends to make one doubt one's judgment.  It comes at a time when other losses in my world have taken their toll and left me weary beyond description.

I've started a new job that will engage my mind but will not break my heart.  I'm leaving a beautiful home where I planted trees in hopes of a few summers in their shade.  I'm leaving behind a ministry that I'd hoped would have been better prepared for my departure.  All losses.  Not nearly the whole list.

This afternoon I told a dear friend that I feel as if I've clawed my way out of a dark pit and I need to take whatever steps I can to keep from falling back into it.  For now I think that means exploring what it life as a disciple of Jesus without being a Christian in the contemporary, western sense of the word.  It means that I intend to be a monk in a hermitage, not in a desert, but in one of the largest cities on the continent.  It means that I need to learn a new language for my faith.

I can see a little daylight now.

A break from packing...

To Grace and her readers, thanks.  You're like cool water in a barren land.

What the angel said...

You can all kinds of theological observations with a little seminary education and too much time on your hands.  You can look at the world and see the aroma of the Divine in the mundane details.  Or, if you're so inclined, the stink of evil.

Tomorrow I start another chapter in life.  It's funny, thinking of it that way, as if I were the author and I had some kind of control over the plot and the dialogue.  I suppose that I've come to realize that I simply have very little.

In a conversation with someone tonight I found myself making the weary observation that I will simply do my best to act wisely and trust God with all else.  He just said that he'd be there for me.  What a weight that lifts from one's shoulders to know that there are others who have your back.

I can make all kinds of profound observations about community and such.  They all seem kind of lame.  What came to mind was what the angel wrote to George Bailey:

Remember, George: no man is a failure who has friends.

May we all have friends.

A poem for Saturday

The quiet is deafening after the last voice is gone

Just the dog and me and the wind

The time between one chapter and the next

            Between the seasons, an equinox of life

Why must it be summer that looms so ominous?

            Such a sweet season to be cursed so.

God, if this journey is your calling for me then lead me well

I lack the will but to follow where I hope you lead

I lack the grace but to stumble

My eyes cloud, my legs fail me

And a bitter wind moans all about me

For anyone still listening...

There's a certain irony that I've spent a lot of time telling people that the only way to have a blog is to really commit to it.  That means posting regularly.  Here I am posting for the first time in weeks.  But I have an excuse.

You see, this has been a really crappy time for me.  I thought that I had experienced every kind of loss imaginable and perhaps I have.  But apparently I wasn't finished losing things.  Or people.

Today was my last day on a job that not very long ago was a dream come true.  It was a job that I thought was a gift from God.  Maybe it was.  Maybe I just needed to learn more about being dependent on Him.  I don't know.  I've heard way too many Christian platitudes in recent days.  If one more person tells me, "whenever God closes a door..." I might have to excuse myself while my head explodes with the force of a small star going nova.

I've lost so much in the last two years.  Losing this job would be a breeze except that it comes at a time when I'm losing other things as well, things that hurt really bad.  Things, people, that I don't want to let go.

The spiritual journey requires one to grieve.  I spend a lot of time thinking about the human condition, that's my curse and blessing in this life.  I know about grief in my head, I know about the process.  It's just that I'm so weary of it.

I once heard Garrison Keillor say in a funny moment, "My heart's been broken so many times that it makes a tinkling sound when I walk."  I think I'd describe it more as a crunching.  Like the sound a knee makes when its old and its lost most of its cartilage.  And it feels about like that too.

I know that this isn't a profound theological observation tonight but it's the best I can do under the circumstances.  If anyone is actually reading what I write here, please accept my apologies.  Sometimes raw is the best we can do.