So, recently I posted on Facebook a paragraph or so about how to find interest the Bible. Here's what I posted:
You want a tragic romance? You want a story of love? You want a book that will break your heart? That will fill you up til you overflow? Forget Romeo and Juliet. That crap is child's play. Instead, read your Bible. The Bible is not some dusty history book or some fanciful fairy tale. Its not a collection of wise sayings or outdated social recommendations. The Bible is an epic love story of a loving God and his wayward lover. This is a story that will shatter you to pieces when you come to understand it. This is a story that will blow your mind. Because it's not over. God is romancing you. He is pursuing you. He is chasing after your heart, seeking an intimate committed romance with you. And you will never be satisfied, you will never quench your unending thirst, til you stop your futile running and drink deep of Him.
To be honest, though, I'd never actually tried reading the scriptures in that context. So after posting that paragraph, I wondered, "Does it really work? Could that mindset breathe new life into the Bible?"
I was kinda skeptical. You see, I've been trained very well in theology, the Bible, in sound Christian doctrine. So I'd come to a place where the Bible had become common place to me. To avoid redundancy, perhaps another excerpt from "The Darkness Diary" can best explain:
March 25, 2016
...I've been listening to Xenocide by Orson Scott Card. It's a great thinking book. It really makes one ponder the philosophical questions that life brings. But I'm tired of thinking. I am exhilarated, because I can engage on an intellectual level with Card's logic and philosophy (even though I may not agree with it), but I need more than the intellectual. I need feeling. And not this feeling of loss, shadows, and pain. I want joy and peace and hope and life. I've been craving this for so long, and yet the one source I know to hold all the answers- the Bible- I shy away from. I'm not entirely sure why. I'm guessing that it may be because I feel like I know it all already. I know all the basic premises, dogma, doctrine, and theology of the Christian Faith. And no thought, fact, scripture, or proverb from the Bible is new to me. Again, I need to be engaged beyond the intellectual.
I need a the feeling and experience to make the intellectual knowledge practical. I need it to be experientialy relevant.
So I decided to test my idea. I picked up my Bible and decided to start at the Beginning. I wanted to read the story straight through from beginning to beginning and find out if this new viewpoint of the scriptures could change how I viewed them. (OK, that sounded really redundant, but I hope it made sense.)
And, to some degree at least, it has helped. They Bible is no longer dry to me. All my problems aren't fixed, I haven't met God in a new way, I don't have the satisfaction I am craving. My sadness and pain is still just as present and in no way is it diminished. My depression still kicks in all the time. My agonizing hungry has only increased in intensity. But the Bible now intrigues me, and the Scriptures have new life. I'm learning from them again. And that's more than I can say has happened in a long time.
Friday, May 27, 2016
Tuesday, May 17, 2016
Butterflies
"Butterflies."
Butterflies dancing on sunbeams-
Beautiful, glorious, resplendent.
But only to be seen and not to hold-
For with the crushing of those fragile wings,
So, too, my heart.
Not to say that I haven't tried.
Poured out all myself to keep them perfect.
But perhaps even my love is too strong-
A bruising, ravaging force, wild and untamed,
Spelling despair for these fragile hopes.
Destined to follow, but never to hold-
Admire, yet never feel-
Love, yet never be so.
For my love is too full of pain-
My heart is too dark for true beauty.
The only dreams fulfilled are nightmares,
And the only art is etched in flesh and painted with blood.
So dancing wings flit away,
For I will not approach and risk them harm.
And they will not answer my silent, desperate call.
They alight in other men's hands,
And rest in other men's hearts,
Never knowing I have loved them first and best.
Saturday, May 14, 2016
An excerpt from the "Darkness Diary."
Today I am going to share a journal entry. But be forewarned, it is not going to be pleasant reading, and you're not going to feel encouraged after reading it. The journal entry itself, makes sense in it's own context to me, because I'm the one who wrote it. But for those of you who haven't managed to get inside my head and emotions, perhaps a little explanation is necessary.
Michael Card has a set of lectures that he gave on lament as a form of worship. I would highly recommend listening to them. You can get both parts of this lecture by following THIS LINK. But in this lecture, Michael Card tells how, as a young man growing up during the "Jesus Movement" he would be in church and as he says, "The service opens and before anybody reads a verse or we have prayer or anything, the worship starts, and everybody's up and they go someplace I was just never able to go. I always felt like a second class citizen. What is it that's missing in me that all my friends seem to have possession of?" That is a description of me exactly. Perfectly. And I'm on the worship team at church. I lead that worship that I don't understand. I see my friends and mentors down in the congregation, faces lifted, hands raised, singing for all they're worth. And I think, "What's wrong with me?" I don't understand it. I don't get it.
Card goes on to explain how lament can be a form of worship. And I think he's absolutely right. But I've also formed another belief, or, should I say, hope. I think, or hope, that all of us- or at least the majority of us- deep down feel the same way Michael Card does. I wonder if maybe we all feel this sort of separation or loneliness. I'm willing to bet that 70% of most church congregations are faking their way through the worship, or at least trying to ride some emotional high. And they look around at their friends who, unbeknownst to them, are struggling with the same feelings. And they think, "Well, they all seem happy, and I don't want to be the only one not happy. I don't want to be the odd man out. I don't want to be weird." And so they fake it, and those friends look at them and think the same thing. So, while a small percentage of the congregation may really be engrossed in worship, most of us just fake it. Or we force ourselves to an emotional state where we can at least feel like we are engrossed in worship. I personally have done both.
So then, this idea meets another idea. Maybe, if one of us dropped the facade, then others could drop theirs. And maybe, just maybe, we could learn from each-other's pain, and come together and offer our grief to God in worship of Him. Maybe, if we were really honest about what we are struggling through, than maybe, we can find answers. And at the very least, we will know that we aren't alone.
But it's a scary prospect. Because, what if you really are alone in the way you feel? No one will understand you? And to let your personal, internal turmoil be known is a dangerous thing. Because people will see you differently. People may think less of you.
But I'm willing to bet that I'm not alone. I'm willing to bet that their are people out there, at least in my generation, who feel exactly like I do in this journal entry I'm about to share. And I'm willing to bet that if I open my heart, there will be others who won't be so afraid to open theirs. Maybe, by showing our scars, we can find healing for them. So here goes.
I don't understand them and, in turn, feel misunderstood. They worship God together with lifted hands, upturned faces, and joyous hearts. I worship God alone- with head bowed, wrapped in a tight ball, tears staining my face. I've only every felt close to God in the midst of my agony.
I don't know how to be happy. I don't know how to really laugh. I don't know how to really smile. I don't know if I've ever truly known the joy of the Lord. And am therefore nearly devoid of strength.
The last time I remember feeling at peace was as a toddler, curled up on my Daddy's chest as he napped on the couch. I would try to match my breathing rhythm to his. But my lungs were so small that it was like holding my breath while I waited for him to exhale. Then, just when I couldn't squeeze one last bit of air out of my lungs, he would finally inhale, and it would all start over again- a little boy trying to be just like his daddy. I remember feeling his heartbeat- sure, strong, everlasting. An infinite source of power and strength as it seemed to me. I remember the smell of his Original Oldspice deodorant. It was the smell of safety and home.
And I knew as long as I stayed wrapped in his arms, nothing could ever harm me.
That was a long time ago. The last time I ever truly felt safe. The last time I ever felt at peace. Now I sit with my back to the wall; I sleep buried under layers of blankets, hidden in the pitch dark. And even then, I know my sense of safety to be an illusion.
I'm not talking about safety from physical forces- I've a pretty high regard for my self-defense capabilities. I'm talking about a spiritual safety, a spiritual peace. And it's not there. As in, nonexistent.
And so I wander aimlessly, burdened with sorrow, weighed down by guilt, clinging to the hope that God has set me free, yet so far from feeling His heartbeat, measuring His breath against my own, smelling Him near. I cry out and hear silence. I weep and hear only my own echo. I strain to see but find only shadows. And bit by bit, the desperation of despair claws away at me.
I just want to know and be known by God. And yet He's never felt more distant than now.
Sometimes at night, agonized rage takes control. I scream silently at the night sky, begging God to come near, begging Him to ravish my heart, begging Him to free me from this never ending maze. I beg Him to hold me. The only answer is the sound of my brother's fan and occasionally the rain from the cloudy sky. I eventual exhaust myself with my violent seizure-like thrashings, unable to cry, and fade to my only escape- sleep. And for a few hours I dream fantasy stories where everything can be explained or needs no explanation, and pain is nothing more than a myth. But in the morning I wake, and the agony fills me again.
So, I don't understand happy people. But maybe now they can understand me.
Below is a link to a demo version of the song "The Desperate."
The Desperate
Michael Card has a set of lectures that he gave on lament as a form of worship. I would highly recommend listening to them. You can get both parts of this lecture by following THIS LINK. But in this lecture, Michael Card tells how, as a young man growing up during the "Jesus Movement" he would be in church and as he says, "The service opens and before anybody reads a verse or we have prayer or anything, the worship starts, and everybody's up and they go someplace I was just never able to go. I always felt like a second class citizen. What is it that's missing in me that all my friends seem to have possession of?" That is a description of me exactly. Perfectly. And I'm on the worship team at church. I lead that worship that I don't understand. I see my friends and mentors down in the congregation, faces lifted, hands raised, singing for all they're worth. And I think, "What's wrong with me?" I don't understand it. I don't get it.
Card goes on to explain how lament can be a form of worship. And I think he's absolutely right. But I've also formed another belief, or, should I say, hope. I think, or hope, that all of us- or at least the majority of us- deep down feel the same way Michael Card does. I wonder if maybe we all feel this sort of separation or loneliness. I'm willing to bet that 70% of most church congregations are faking their way through the worship, or at least trying to ride some emotional high. And they look around at their friends who, unbeknownst to them, are struggling with the same feelings. And they think, "Well, they all seem happy, and I don't want to be the only one not happy. I don't want to be the odd man out. I don't want to be weird." And so they fake it, and those friends look at them and think the same thing. So, while a small percentage of the congregation may really be engrossed in worship, most of us just fake it. Or we force ourselves to an emotional state where we can at least feel like we are engrossed in worship. I personally have done both.
So then, this idea meets another idea. Maybe, if one of us dropped the facade, then others could drop theirs. And maybe, just maybe, we could learn from each-other's pain, and come together and offer our grief to God in worship of Him. Maybe, if we were really honest about what we are struggling through, than maybe, we can find answers. And at the very least, we will know that we aren't alone.
But it's a scary prospect. Because, what if you really are alone in the way you feel? No one will understand you? And to let your personal, internal turmoil be known is a dangerous thing. Because people will see you differently. People may think less of you.
But I'm willing to bet that I'm not alone. I'm willing to bet that their are people out there, at least in my generation, who feel exactly like I do in this journal entry I'm about to share. And I'm willing to bet that if I open my heart, there will be others who won't be so afraid to open theirs. Maybe, by showing our scars, we can find healing for them. So here goes.
Saturday, May 14, 2016
There is a man in our church who seems like such a happy person. In fact, most of the people in church seem to be happy. And I don't understand them at all.
The little things they laugh over, I don't understand. I don't understand this happiness that they have. I think their jokes are lame and pathetic; their reasons for smiling- pitiful. Their overabundance or joy I subconsciously consider ignorant, boring, naive.
And I imagine they find me the same way. They probably think I'm a dull, sorrowful person- a grump, a rain cloud. They probably see me as sullen and brooding. And I'd be the first to admit that I probably am. My laughter feels forced. My polite smiles at their silly jokes must seem plastic. My aloof attitude must seem snobbish. Where they have an overabundance of joy, I have an overabundance of sorrow. Where they are brimming over with happiness, I am bleeding out pain. Where they smile, I'm sullen. When they laugh, I weep. And only when they are hurting can I every understand and move in closer.
I don't know how to be happy. I don't know how to really laugh. I don't know how to really smile. I don't know if I've ever truly known the joy of the Lord. And am therefore nearly devoid of strength.
The last time I remember feeling at peace was as a toddler, curled up on my Daddy's chest as he napped on the couch. I would try to match my breathing rhythm to his. But my lungs were so small that it was like holding my breath while I waited for him to exhale. Then, just when I couldn't squeeze one last bit of air out of my lungs, he would finally inhale, and it would all start over again- a little boy trying to be just like his daddy. I remember feeling his heartbeat- sure, strong, everlasting. An infinite source of power and strength as it seemed to me. I remember the smell of his Original Oldspice deodorant. It was the smell of safety and home.
And I knew as long as I stayed wrapped in his arms, nothing could ever harm me.
That was a long time ago. The last time I ever truly felt safe. The last time I ever felt at peace. Now I sit with my back to the wall; I sleep buried under layers of blankets, hidden in the pitch dark. And even then, I know my sense of safety to be an illusion.
I'm not talking about safety from physical forces- I've a pretty high regard for my self-defense capabilities. I'm talking about a spiritual safety, a spiritual peace. And it's not there. As in, nonexistent.
And so I wander aimlessly, burdened with sorrow, weighed down by guilt, clinging to the hope that God has set me free, yet so far from feeling His heartbeat, measuring His breath against my own, smelling Him near. I cry out and hear silence. I weep and hear only my own echo. I strain to see but find only shadows. And bit by bit, the desperation of despair claws away at me.
I just want to know and be known by God. And yet He's never felt more distant than now.
Sometimes at night, agonized rage takes control. I scream silently at the night sky, begging God to come near, begging Him to ravish my heart, begging Him to free me from this never ending maze. I beg Him to hold me. The only answer is the sound of my brother's fan and occasionally the rain from the cloudy sky. I eventual exhaust myself with my violent seizure-like thrashings, unable to cry, and fade to my only escape- sleep. And for a few hours I dream fantasy stories where everything can be explained or needs no explanation, and pain is nothing more than a myth. But in the morning I wake, and the agony fills me again.
So, I don't understand happy people. But maybe now they can understand me.
Below is a link to a demo version of the song "The Desperate."
The Desperate
Sunday, May 8, 2016
Hypocrisy, Petty Legalism, and a Christianity Devoid of Christ.
Today I was in church, a place I dearly love and full of people that I love to be with. To me, church is a place to refuel for the week ahead, to commune with other Christians and worship together.
Quick side note: Something you should know about me- I wear a plain brown baseball cap everywhere I go. It's as much a part of me as my belt. I take it off only for bed, while praying, and while leading worship as part of the worship team at church. And sometimes at meals.
So today, like any other Sunday, I got up on stage to play with the worship team. And just like every other Sunday I left my hat sitting in my pew. After the last song, I went back to my pew, set my hat on my head, and sat back to listen to what the pastor had to share. He gave a good sermon on mothers and family. It is mother's day today.
Half way through the sermon, I got a text from the youth pastor asking me if I could help pass out flowers to all the moms after the sermon. I readily agreed. So after the sermon, me and my brother and sister stepped up to the front to pass out the flowers to all the mothers. I had forgotten something though- I was still wearing my hat.
One of the women of the church stepped up to me and ordered me to take it off, calling me disrespectful for wearing a hat in church.
To be honest, I was rather dumbfounded, and was still standing there speechless while she continued to command me to remove my hat. My brother came to my rescue while I was still struggling for words, saying, "God isn't bothered by it." She turned around and walked off, angry I assume at both of us.
Another quick side note about me: Unless you can give me a good reason, I won't follow a direct order. In fact, if you try to command or order me to do something, I will emphatically, blatantly, and purposefully refuse. You have to convince me that what you want done is the right thing to do. Or, you have to have my trust and respect. If you have proven to me that I can trust what you say, I will probably to what you want without asking questions, because I trust you. This woman had neither a good explanation, nor had she earned that level of respect from me.
So I left my hat on.
Service over, I went on to mingle with my fellow Christians, seeking meaningful conversation. I was approached by an older man, someone dear to my heart. A man I care deeply for and for whom I have a high level of respect. He asked me very kindly to not wear my hat in church, stating that that's not the way he was raised. I again replied that God does not feel slighted by my wearing a hat.
Then a few minutes later the husband of the first woman passed me and angrily hollered at me, "A hat in church, dude! REALLY!" I again answered with, "God is not slighted by it, so why should you be?"
But at this point, it wasn't worth hanging around. I was angry and hurt that all they could see was a world through a Pharisaical lens. I left.
What have we become? Where is the love of Christ in all this? God doesn't care two bits about whether I wear a hat or not. For God looks at the heart. Only man looks at the outward appearance. In response to the older man, I have a question: Because you were raised in a certain way with a certain set of rules of etiquette, you are now asking me, who was not raised with the same rules of etiquette to conform to your preconceived, outdated notions of how people should behave? Simply because you were raised to behave a certain way does not give you the right to demand that others conform to your way of thinking.
And to the lady and her husband: What is it that shows disrespect about my hat? Should I take of my shirt too? Where does your idea of respect and disrespect come from? I know Corinthians 11:4-
"Every man who prays or prophesies with his head covered dishonors his head."
That's why I don't wear my hat when I'm praying. I honestly don't understand this verse at all. But God is one of those who has earned my respect to such a high degree that if He tells me something, I can trust it without explanation. Because I know I can trust that He has an explanation, regardless of whether I can understand it or not. I don't need Him to convince me. He has proven that He can be trusted. So I uncover my head in prayer. But I do not understand if this verse is even talking about our actual physical head, or our spiritual head, or what. I simply don't get it. And from looking at all the different variety of ideas about head coverings that have arisen from this section of the Bible, I'm firmly convinced that no one else understands it fully either.
There seems to be this idea that the church is a holy place. But the church is no more holy the bar downtown. There are no more holy places. For it is the people of God that are holy now. We are the church. Not the building. The building is a building. Nothing more.
This petty legalism is a Christianity with no Christ in it. Christ never addressed the etiquette of those he communed with. He never called someone disrespectful for covering or uncovering their head. It was not the mission of Christ to address such issues. And it should not be ours. The church is a church of Pharisaical Christians. All pretty and dolled up on the outside, but when the mouth is opened all we see is rot and decay. This is not a community I want to be a part of. I'm tired of the do's and don't's of the church. I want nothing to do with it. I want nothing more than Jesus Christ.
I am madly in love with Jesus Christ- And thoroughly disgusted with Christians.
Quick side note: Something you should know about me- I wear a plain brown baseball cap everywhere I go. It's as much a part of me as my belt. I take it off only for bed, while praying, and while leading worship as part of the worship team at church. And sometimes at meals.
So today, like any other Sunday, I got up on stage to play with the worship team. And just like every other Sunday I left my hat sitting in my pew. After the last song, I went back to my pew, set my hat on my head, and sat back to listen to what the pastor had to share. He gave a good sermon on mothers and family. It is mother's day today.
Half way through the sermon, I got a text from the youth pastor asking me if I could help pass out flowers to all the moms after the sermon. I readily agreed. So after the sermon, me and my brother and sister stepped up to the front to pass out the flowers to all the mothers. I had forgotten something though- I was still wearing my hat.
One of the women of the church stepped up to me and ordered me to take it off, calling me disrespectful for wearing a hat in church.
To be honest, I was rather dumbfounded, and was still standing there speechless while she continued to command me to remove my hat. My brother came to my rescue while I was still struggling for words, saying, "God isn't bothered by it." She turned around and walked off, angry I assume at both of us.
Another quick side note about me: Unless you can give me a good reason, I won't follow a direct order. In fact, if you try to command or order me to do something, I will emphatically, blatantly, and purposefully refuse. You have to convince me that what you want done is the right thing to do. Or, you have to have my trust and respect. If you have proven to me that I can trust what you say, I will probably to what you want without asking questions, because I trust you. This woman had neither a good explanation, nor had she earned that level of respect from me.
So I left my hat on.
Service over, I went on to mingle with my fellow Christians, seeking meaningful conversation. I was approached by an older man, someone dear to my heart. A man I care deeply for and for whom I have a high level of respect. He asked me very kindly to not wear my hat in church, stating that that's not the way he was raised. I again replied that God does not feel slighted by my wearing a hat.
Then a few minutes later the husband of the first woman passed me and angrily hollered at me, "A hat in church, dude! REALLY!" I again answered with, "God is not slighted by it, so why should you be?"
But at this point, it wasn't worth hanging around. I was angry and hurt that all they could see was a world through a Pharisaical lens. I left.
What have we become? Where is the love of Christ in all this? God doesn't care two bits about whether I wear a hat or not. For God looks at the heart. Only man looks at the outward appearance. In response to the older man, I have a question: Because you were raised in a certain way with a certain set of rules of etiquette, you are now asking me, who was not raised with the same rules of etiquette to conform to your preconceived, outdated notions of how people should behave? Simply because you were raised to behave a certain way does not give you the right to demand that others conform to your way of thinking.
And to the lady and her husband: What is it that shows disrespect about my hat? Should I take of my shirt too? Where does your idea of respect and disrespect come from? I know Corinthians 11:4-
"Every man who prays or prophesies with his head covered dishonors his head."
That's why I don't wear my hat when I'm praying. I honestly don't understand this verse at all. But God is one of those who has earned my respect to such a high degree that if He tells me something, I can trust it without explanation. Because I know I can trust that He has an explanation, regardless of whether I can understand it or not. I don't need Him to convince me. He has proven that He can be trusted. So I uncover my head in prayer. But I do not understand if this verse is even talking about our actual physical head, or our spiritual head, or what. I simply don't get it. And from looking at all the different variety of ideas about head coverings that have arisen from this section of the Bible, I'm firmly convinced that no one else understands it fully either.
There seems to be this idea that the church is a holy place. But the church is no more holy the bar downtown. There are no more holy places. For it is the people of God that are holy now. We are the church. Not the building. The building is a building. Nothing more.
This petty legalism is a Christianity with no Christ in it. Christ never addressed the etiquette of those he communed with. He never called someone disrespectful for covering or uncovering their head. It was not the mission of Christ to address such issues. And it should not be ours. The church is a church of Pharisaical Christians. All pretty and dolled up on the outside, but when the mouth is opened all we see is rot and decay. This is not a community I want to be a part of. I'm tired of the do's and don't's of the church. I want nothing to do with it. I want nothing more than Jesus Christ.
I am madly in love with Jesus Christ- And thoroughly disgusted with Christians.
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