It's an ominous feeling that starts in the base of your neck. Some say that their hair stands on end. For me, it was like rubbing Bengay on that part of my head and feeling the numbness sweep through my spine towards my legs.
Sometimes that numbness is interrupted by phrases or memories that jolt me out of the supposed acceptance of "this is how life is." Like someone is karate-chopping my shoulder blades, forcing my upper body to lurch forward in some strange jerking motion. My mom spoke some words to me today that I had not heard in a long time. They almost brought me to tears. Sometimes, all it takes is one person to acknowledge that you've been through pain and that pain isn't over...and that is acceptable. Cradled in my mother's arms on the couch, as only a college student can, my trance was broken when she said something along the lines of "...really hurt you..."
That line, the full line, has been running in my head all day. Hurt does funny things. It causes us to build walls and become frightened at the sight of our own shadow. I have been creating a fortress. As I walk through the streets, everything is the same color, ever aspect is the same. The long process of deconstructing a wall is causing me discomfort. I am being jolted and prodded but I don't want to move. Moving necessitates acceptance and release. The fortified city is littered with tattered bricks. I cannot ignore them. I should pick up some of them, see what caused that aspect/brick to become a part of my wall and then give it up so that God can use it otherwise. Even as I feel like the bricks are falling on my head, I guess I should continue in the painstaking work of cleaning the streets, giving the debris to the One who actually knows what to do with pain.
I know that beauty comes from pain and suffering. This is a promise I can hold onto when I cannot see the point in life events. That sounds really dramatic and I'm not saying that my life is horrible. I am exploring the idea that the burdens I bear at this moment in time seem to have more purpose than helping me realize my fallibility. It is through this weakness that Christ is proven mighty and powerful. This paradox always shakes my core, which isn't hard to do. I hold onto the Anchor that will never be moved and I trust in the Keeper and Provider.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Radical
This is the "catch-all" phrase found in Christian thinking today. It's the popular phrase that illustrates some people's awareness of how things should change.
Here's the question, though. When will "radical" become just like the word "epic" or "awesome"? The original meaning of those words encompassed huge ideas and a sense of shaking reverence... Like saying "WOAH...." all the time. Now, they are at the same level as "cool" or "great." How did that happen? This is just a thought, but overuse seems to fit the culprit description.
I'm reading two books right now (reading in a sense that I pick up the books when I have time): "Radical" by David Platt and "Radical Hospitality" by Lonni Collins Pratt and Daniel Homan. When I starting reading the latter, I felt like the word "radical" was the right term. Some of the concepts hit my head like a suction cup, just sitting there until I tried to wrap my mind around it. Then, I came home from school for Spring Break and my parents told me I had to read this book "Radical." An alarm went off in my head. Wait... I like all of these "radical" books. What does that mean?
All I can say that I know about this is that I don't want to use the word radical. This word makes me sad more than it encourages me now. How did the Church get to the point where living in the example of Christ is considered radical? And with its frequent use, it will become a catch-all phrase, one that people will throw around and not understand. "Yeah! Let's get radical!" Okay...cool. What does that mean? You're saying one thing and I don't see any different actions.
I know that we are humans. (Yeah. Crazy, huh?) As humans, we cannot be at our peak performance all the time. We fall and fail and crash and burn. (Maybe a little to emphatic on the failure?) So, allowing for there to be room for disappointment, I realize that we do not follow through with the things we say. I realize that some people just say things to make it seem like they are going to be better... With all of that realization, I cannot help being disappointed with the cultural influence I find intertwined with Christianity. The notion of being radical is counter-cultural. Yeah. That gets me excited! We are supposed to be in this world and not of this world. That line is hard for us to see, though.
The biggest part of this issue is money. How do we, as Christians, and, more specifically, "young adults" deal with this? I personally do not have any money to speak of. I owed money when I filed my taxes. Here's the best rationale I can come up with: The entirety of my money belongs to God. He has entrusted me with it and whatever I spend it on should glorify him and not me.
That seems pretty simple until you start thinking: Well, does a decorated apartment glorify God or me? Does painting my nails or getting a nice haircut glorify me or God? There are so many other questions and I struggle with placing myself on the radical scale. If it ranges from 1 to 10 (10 being the most minimalist you could get), I would want to be above 5, maybe even 7, but I am realizing that in order to be "radical" in the truest sense of the word, the phrase "die to yourself" assumes another meaning. That idea, dying to oneself, is not one that I like all the time. Sometimes, I feel so miserable in this earthly skin that it's a pleasant thought to give up my decaying self. Other times, I'm content with the material blessings and I rely on them too much to give "dying to myself" another thought. Where do I fall on the "radical" scale? Wanting to be between a 5 and a 7 doesn't mean I actually there. I might actually be a 3.
I guess all of this is to say that in the midst of this newest "fad" in Christianity (and it pains me to say fad, but I have a feeling that this will come and go in American evangelicalism just like the "Emergent Church" idea), I wish that people would follow through with their words. If being radical is speaking from the pulpit and telling the congregation how great they are at giving and how the surplus has helped the little poor churches, then I don't want any. If being radical is cutting back on our own material desires and sacrificing some of that cultural allure in order to pour into a community, then count me in. Don't talk about it and make the congregation feel like they're being patted on the back. Encouragement is great, but giving the surplus of your already-over $3 million budget isn't that much of a sacrifice. In fact, I choke everything I try to swallow the idea of a $3 million budget. Money is the language Americans speak. American Christians are one of the best at speaking money. So, here's a suggestion: be radical with your money. Think about how you are using it and pray about how you SHOULD be using it. I'm going to have to struggle with that for a while longer because I don't want to think about sacrificing a comfortable living style. Sacrificing is uncomfortable. Giving up a theology of celebration is uncomfortable. I hope that the idea of "radical" does not lose its steam and that it prods people to pursue the uncomfortable and dig for answers rather than accepting the words of an earthly authority figure.
Here's the question, though. When will "radical" become just like the word "epic" or "awesome"? The original meaning of those words encompassed huge ideas and a sense of shaking reverence... Like saying "WOAH...." all the time. Now, they are at the same level as "cool" or "great." How did that happen? This is just a thought, but overuse seems to fit the culprit description.
I'm reading two books right now (reading in a sense that I pick up the books when I have time): "Radical" by David Platt and "Radical Hospitality" by Lonni Collins Pratt and Daniel Homan. When I starting reading the latter, I felt like the word "radical" was the right term. Some of the concepts hit my head like a suction cup, just sitting there until I tried to wrap my mind around it. Then, I came home from school for Spring Break and my parents told me I had to read this book "Radical." An alarm went off in my head. Wait... I like all of these "radical" books. What does that mean?
All I can say that I know about this is that I don't want to use the word radical. This word makes me sad more than it encourages me now. How did the Church get to the point where living in the example of Christ is considered radical? And with its frequent use, it will become a catch-all phrase, one that people will throw around and not understand. "Yeah! Let's get radical!" Okay...cool. What does that mean? You're saying one thing and I don't see any different actions.
I know that we are humans. (Yeah. Crazy, huh?) As humans, we cannot be at our peak performance all the time. We fall and fail and crash and burn. (Maybe a little to emphatic on the failure?) So, allowing for there to be room for disappointment, I realize that we do not follow through with the things we say. I realize that some people just say things to make it seem like they are going to be better... With all of that realization, I cannot help being disappointed with the cultural influence I find intertwined with Christianity. The notion of being radical is counter-cultural. Yeah. That gets me excited! We are supposed to be in this world and not of this world. That line is hard for us to see, though.
The biggest part of this issue is money. How do we, as Christians, and, more specifically, "young adults" deal with this? I personally do not have any money to speak of. I owed money when I filed my taxes. Here's the best rationale I can come up with: The entirety of my money belongs to God. He has entrusted me with it and whatever I spend it on should glorify him and not me.
That seems pretty simple until you start thinking: Well, does a decorated apartment glorify God or me? Does painting my nails or getting a nice haircut glorify me or God? There are so many other questions and I struggle with placing myself on the radical scale. If it ranges from 1 to 10 (10 being the most minimalist you could get), I would want to be above 5, maybe even 7, but I am realizing that in order to be "radical" in the truest sense of the word, the phrase "die to yourself" assumes another meaning. That idea, dying to oneself, is not one that I like all the time. Sometimes, I feel so miserable in this earthly skin that it's a pleasant thought to give up my decaying self. Other times, I'm content with the material blessings and I rely on them too much to give "dying to myself" another thought. Where do I fall on the "radical" scale? Wanting to be between a 5 and a 7 doesn't mean I actually there. I might actually be a 3.
I guess all of this is to say that in the midst of this newest "fad" in Christianity (and it pains me to say fad, but I have a feeling that this will come and go in American evangelicalism just like the "Emergent Church" idea), I wish that people would follow through with their words. If being radical is speaking from the pulpit and telling the congregation how great they are at giving and how the surplus has helped the little poor churches, then I don't want any. If being radical is cutting back on our own material desires and sacrificing some of that cultural allure in order to pour into a community, then count me in. Don't talk about it and make the congregation feel like they're being patted on the back. Encouragement is great, but giving the surplus of your already-over $3 million budget isn't that much of a sacrifice. In fact, I choke everything I try to swallow the idea of a $3 million budget. Money is the language Americans speak. American Christians are one of the best at speaking money. So, here's a suggestion: be radical with your money. Think about how you are using it and pray about how you SHOULD be using it. I'm going to have to struggle with that for a while longer because I don't want to think about sacrificing a comfortable living style. Sacrificing is uncomfortable. Giving up a theology of celebration is uncomfortable. I hope that the idea of "radical" does not lose its steam and that it prods people to pursue the uncomfortable and dig for answers rather than accepting the words of an earthly authority figure.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Rain
Drop. Drop. Drop.
When you first step out into the rain, each drop is annoying, just a reminder that you forgot your umbrella or a reminder that you have an important electronic device on your person which you would prefer to remain as a functioning device.
After a while, though, you can't feel the individual drops because everything is wet. Walking back from class today, I had an umbrella, but my feet still became soaked. I didn't even know the tweed-like fabric of my flats had become so wet until I tried to put them on an hour after taking them off. Due to my laziness, I decided to keep wearing those shoes rather than switching to my rain boots. My shoes remained wet for the rest of the day.
Why is rain significant? Why go into that kind of detail? Allow me to explain.
At Taylor University, there is a week called "Sex and the Cornfields." Please note that it is not "Sex in the Cornfields." This is a week where a speaker comes and talks about the things that Christian colleges tend to gloss over, such as sexuality and our biggest fears in relationships. The speaker this week is talking about two themes in particular: hope and fear.
We, as young Christian college students, are hopeful people. That's what the survey says, the one that 500-some of us took online. I sat in the auditorium and I felt misrepresented. Maybe it's the fact that I feel very raw and broken in this stage of my life, but I do not feel that hopeful. I do not feel fatalistic, but I sure as hell don't feel hopeful. The reason I went to the session tonight was the second theme: Fear.
I get fear. Fear is like that rain for me. It was annoying at first... I was so aware of each insecurity and broken hope. After a while, I did not even notice that I was drenched in the hopelessness of fear: fear of someone else taking and not giving back, someone else deciding that he did not feel like sticking it out, someone else vanishing into thin air without any indication that he was here at all, fear that no one will love me as much as I want to love, fear of being duped. I am drenched.
Every once in a while, I am able to step into a dry environment where I feel safe and loved. I was so close to being there. I had dealt with some issues that I wanted to forget. Tonight, being in that auditorium, was like putting those shoes back on. I resent the coldness of that habit of fear, but I don't know what else to do with it, now that I have been reminded of my insecurities. The speaker did not help me deal with that fear... he just pointed out that my shoes were cold and wet... colder and wetter than I remember.
As I try to put off this horrible reminder and come back to the place where I had found shelter before the session tonight, I feel paralyzed. So much of what I had been telling myself seems like empty promises and stupid self-consolation techniques. This makes it sound like the speaker was inept, which he was not. He presented facts that provoked thought in a lot of people who had never been exposed to those particular issues before. For that, I am glad. I am glad that he gave us challenges as a community to redefine beauty and how to understand the opposite gender, giving them more grace and compassion. However, for a session claiming to talk about fear, that is all it was. I was not comforted by the fact that we are products of our society's definitions nor was I soothed by knowing the major problems that each gender faces in relationships. So what? What do you say to the people who have experienced these things and are trying to rebuild? You can't give us broad communal answers and expect us to feel better. I feel worse. I feel like I have been painfully reminded of the fears I was trying to forget.
Rain can be a good thing with expressions like "rain down love" or cleansing imagery. If that's the way you see it, I am sincerely glad for you. I am able to view it in that way sometimes. Today, however, the weather fits perfectly with the reminder that I am stuck wearing cold wet shoes without a solution in sight.
When you first step out into the rain, each drop is annoying, just a reminder that you forgot your umbrella or a reminder that you have an important electronic device on your person which you would prefer to remain as a functioning device.
After a while, though, you can't feel the individual drops because everything is wet. Walking back from class today, I had an umbrella, but my feet still became soaked. I didn't even know the tweed-like fabric of my flats had become so wet until I tried to put them on an hour after taking them off. Due to my laziness, I decided to keep wearing those shoes rather than switching to my rain boots. My shoes remained wet for the rest of the day.
Why is rain significant? Why go into that kind of detail? Allow me to explain.
At Taylor University, there is a week called "Sex and the Cornfields." Please note that it is not "Sex in the Cornfields." This is a week where a speaker comes and talks about the things that Christian colleges tend to gloss over, such as sexuality and our biggest fears in relationships. The speaker this week is talking about two themes in particular: hope and fear.
We, as young Christian college students, are hopeful people. That's what the survey says, the one that 500-some of us took online. I sat in the auditorium and I felt misrepresented. Maybe it's the fact that I feel very raw and broken in this stage of my life, but I do not feel that hopeful. I do not feel fatalistic, but I sure as hell don't feel hopeful. The reason I went to the session tonight was the second theme: Fear.
I get fear. Fear is like that rain for me. It was annoying at first... I was so aware of each insecurity and broken hope. After a while, I did not even notice that I was drenched in the hopelessness of fear: fear of someone else taking and not giving back, someone else deciding that he did not feel like sticking it out, someone else vanishing into thin air without any indication that he was here at all, fear that no one will love me as much as I want to love, fear of being duped. I am drenched.
Every once in a while, I am able to step into a dry environment where I feel safe and loved. I was so close to being there. I had dealt with some issues that I wanted to forget. Tonight, being in that auditorium, was like putting those shoes back on. I resent the coldness of that habit of fear, but I don't know what else to do with it, now that I have been reminded of my insecurities. The speaker did not help me deal with that fear... he just pointed out that my shoes were cold and wet... colder and wetter than I remember.
As I try to put off this horrible reminder and come back to the place where I had found shelter before the session tonight, I feel paralyzed. So much of what I had been telling myself seems like empty promises and stupid self-consolation techniques. This makes it sound like the speaker was inept, which he was not. He presented facts that provoked thought in a lot of people who had never been exposed to those particular issues before. For that, I am glad. I am glad that he gave us challenges as a community to redefine beauty and how to understand the opposite gender, giving them more grace and compassion. However, for a session claiming to talk about fear, that is all it was. I was not comforted by the fact that we are products of our society's definitions nor was I soothed by knowing the major problems that each gender faces in relationships. So what? What do you say to the people who have experienced these things and are trying to rebuild? You can't give us broad communal answers and expect us to feel better. I feel worse. I feel like I have been painfully reminded of the fears I was trying to forget.
Rain can be a good thing with expressions like "rain down love" or cleansing imagery. If that's the way you see it, I am sincerely glad for you. I am able to view it in that way sometimes. Today, however, the weather fits perfectly with the reminder that I am stuck wearing cold wet shoes without a solution in sight.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
A cup o' joe
Sitting in a coffee shop can encourage academic endeavors, but it can also foster a sense of uselessness. Here, in this booth, I have my feet propped on the bench across from my slouching body. Music blaring in my ears, I occasionally glance at the fellow students. They, too, are slouched, flipping pages of textbooks and furrowing their brows as if to absorb its contents. I am not as successful. Obviously at my computer, my mind swarms with thoughts that bounce like Flubber in my skull.
If I'm completely honest, Shakespeare and his shrew don't have my full attention. I'm supposed to be writing about the disguises the great playwright and poet used in "The Taming of the Shrew" but the thought that keeps thrusting itself to the forefront is the applicability of disguises/masks in my life.
Masks. They really are everywhere. I have a few. Well, more than a few. They are safe...at least, that's what I let myself believe. As I'm discovering through my paper on Shakespeare, I can don any exterior mask but the internal thoughts remain the same. It is not until the internal are exposed that change occurs.
Here's the kicker: What if I don't want change? What if I like my secrets? What if the idea of being separated from everyone else is more appealing than subjecting myself to constructive criticism and accountability?
In reality, it only takes one secret to turn one week into a hard week, a week that you look back and wish you had slept through all those hours. The frustration pounds your morale into the floor and the shame only helps you burrow your secret deeper into your being. That secret, that shame, will more than likely make the following week harder and you will feel beaten into the ground again.
Trampled, holding onto a coffee mug, I convince myself that I have the power to pick myself up again and face another week of living a half-life. Do secrets have that much power? To take away half of my life value? Let me tell you, I believe it does. We spend so much time protecting that secret, caressing it in our minds, scolding ourselves for the caresses, trying to throw it away, and only succeeding in putting it back where it was before.
I can philosophize about secrets but I have to challenge myself and ask why I'm letting these ideas dominate my mind. All of the mental space that God gave me should not be filled with thoughts of self-preservation or control. Where did I get the idea that all of that was acceptable? It's going to take strength stronger than espresso to break my mask and that is only one. Maybe you identify with what I'm saying. That secret you've coddled no longer belongs in your arms. It belongs in God's. I don't know how to get mine there, so only you and God can know how to solve that dilemma. All I know is that my white-knuckled grip isn't going to let go easily.
If I'm completely honest, Shakespeare and his shrew don't have my full attention. I'm supposed to be writing about the disguises the great playwright and poet used in "The Taming of the Shrew" but the thought that keeps thrusting itself to the forefront is the applicability of disguises/masks in my life.
Masks. They really are everywhere. I have a few. Well, more than a few. They are safe...at least, that's what I let myself believe. As I'm discovering through my paper on Shakespeare, I can don any exterior mask but the internal thoughts remain the same. It is not until the internal are exposed that change occurs.
Here's the kicker: What if I don't want change? What if I like my secrets? What if the idea of being separated from everyone else is more appealing than subjecting myself to constructive criticism and accountability?
In reality, it only takes one secret to turn one week into a hard week, a week that you look back and wish you had slept through all those hours. The frustration pounds your morale into the floor and the shame only helps you burrow your secret deeper into your being. That secret, that shame, will more than likely make the following week harder and you will feel beaten into the ground again.
Trampled, holding onto a coffee mug, I convince myself that I have the power to pick myself up again and face another week of living a half-life. Do secrets have that much power? To take away half of my life value? Let me tell you, I believe it does. We spend so much time protecting that secret, caressing it in our minds, scolding ourselves for the caresses, trying to throw it away, and only succeeding in putting it back where it was before.
I can philosophize about secrets but I have to challenge myself and ask why I'm letting these ideas dominate my mind. All of the mental space that God gave me should not be filled with thoughts of self-preservation or control. Where did I get the idea that all of that was acceptable? It's going to take strength stronger than espresso to break my mask and that is only one. Maybe you identify with what I'm saying. That secret you've coddled no longer belongs in your arms. It belongs in God's. I don't know how to get mine there, so only you and God can know how to solve that dilemma. All I know is that my white-knuckled grip isn't going to let go easily.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)